Liebe

You wake around the same time the next morning, the city still quiet, the traffic and the distant noise of the city just beginning to swell beyond your window.

Your clothes are on the desk, as always—a top and panties and a skirt that’s most likely short enough to expose you when you bend over. You go to the bathroom first, then pull them on, glancing at your phone that you’d left charging next to them on the desk. There’s nothing new, really; just a few posts Maya’s sent you on Instagram.

You’re not particularly interested in what’s on your phone right now, you realise as you scroll through them. Everything you’re interested in is already in the house.

You huff slightly, softly, just enough to feel the cold air brush across your lips. You’re not sure what to do. You don’t hear any of them outside your room; no footsteps in the hall, no voices from downstairs—just silence. A thin silence, unsure, like it doesn’t know how to sit or what to do with itself.

Maybe you’ll go downstairs. Yeah, you could do that. You’ll go downstairs, maybe get a drink, and watch some TV until they come down.

You wrap a blanket around your shoulder, one a thin, loose knit that’s practically see-through You’re not trying to hide yourself, really; it’s just cold air and instinct that has you tugging it over your chest.

San is there on the couch when you shuffle into the living room, already dressed, reading something on his phone and looking up when you walk in. Something in his expression seems to spark and soften at the same time.

“Morning, pretty,” he smiles. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Did you?”

“I slept great,” he says. He pauses, hesitating for a moment. For a second, maybe two, he just looks at you; silent, a little scrutinising, like there’s something he’s trying to gauge. Something he’s trying to understand. Then his face evens out, calms, like a mess of laundry now folded into neat piles, and his smile widens. “You know, though,” he continues, and his voice is lower than before. “I was bouncing off the walls a little bit.”

“The walls?” You giggle. The look on his face—something like seriousness wrapped in intention, like there’s something you’re missing that he’s waiting for you to understand—wipes the smile off your face. You swallow. Suddenly nothing seems funny. “Why?”

“The same reason I’m wondering why you’re on your feet.”

You blink. “What?”

He stands up, not suddenly nor aggressively, but just the movement makes you cower like he’s all but run at you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes have sharpened, or how his voice dipped as he spoke—the next small indicators, now impossible to ignore, that the game has begun.

Or maybe you’re just on edge, because you know it has.

“What did we tell you you’d be doing today?” He asks, voice level, even, but not quite light. “What did we tell you you’d be today?”

Oh. The memory of last night—of their hands, their words, their promises—hits you like something solid. Your reply comes soft, shaking, face heating up already. “A—a puppy, sir.”

“Then get down.”

It feels odd to be doing it so early, in here yet with only one of them. You don’t even feel fully awake yet—but San has given you an order. That’s what matters. You’re on your knees before the words have even settled in the air.

“Good,” San says. He takes a step towards you, then another, until he’s close enough to take your chin in his hand. “That’s a good puppy.”

You keep your eyes down, fixed on the floor, and it’s as hard as it’s ever been—San sounds, feels, so confident and dominant and in control that you want nothing more than to look up at him, to see him. See the way he stares you down, eyes narrowed, like you’re nothing and everything all at once.

And today—like you’re a pet. A puppy.

You’ve definitely thought about pet play before; fantasised, and you’d taken a few tentative steps in that direction with Maya. But even those steps were barely so—certainly nothing like this. This is already much, much deeper.

“You look troubled, pup,” San says gently. “Something on your mind? You can speak. Tell me what’s going on in that head.”

“Nothing sir,” you say. “There’s nothing on my mind.”

He hums like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Eyes up.”

His face, you find, is the same as his tone—gentle, calm, but stern and very much owner. He slots a thumb past your lips and lets it sit inside your mouth. “You shouldn’t be thinking about anything,” he tells you, voice firmer now. “Nothing except being good and following directions. That’s all puppies should care about. Is that what you were thinking about?”

“Kind of, sir.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Kind of?” He repeats.

You nod. “I was thinking… I was thinking that I like this.”

“Being a puppy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well I suppose that’s good,” he smiles. “We want you to like it. I’d rather you weren’t thinking at all, but we’ll work on that. One day you’ll be able to switch your brain off on command.”

Your stomach swoops at the thought, the image, the fact that by now you have very little doubt that he’s telling the truth; your breath hitches, caught in your chest, and you see on his face him taking stock of each small response of your body to his words.

What you don’t do—pointedly so—is clench your thighs together. Because you’re not allowed to anymore. He notices, of course; he must see the way your thighs tense then start to move, like you’re about to press them together but stay stubbornly apart like you’re forcing yourself not to, and he makes a noise that sounds like satisfaction. “Good girl,” he praises. “There’s your control. You’re learning.”

You hear footsteps in the hall, getting closer, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of San. He doesn’t take his off of you, either. “Very good,” he says.

“I see we started early.”

Jongho. He sounds tired still, voice rough, but there’s a slight edge to it that betrays something else.

San chuckles and pulls his thumb halfway out of your mouth, far enough to smear your saliva over your bottom lip, tugging on it a little and seeming to enjoy the way your head moves with it without a choice. “I had to,” he says. “She came in looking like a lost puppy, poor little thing. She was practically begging someone to put her down.”

“And is she being good?”

“Wonderful,” San tells him. “Didn’t even hesitate when I told her to get down. I think we’re weeding that instinct out of her already. Starting to, at least.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Jongho emerges from behind you, coming to stand by San; he’s already dressed, too—comfy, casual, but still dressed. He frowns. His eyes narrow, honing in on your top half that’s still concealed by the blanket. “Is she covering herself?”

“Just a blanket,” San shrugs. “Harmless. You want it off her?”

“Is she cold?”

San looks at you expectantly. “Well, pup? Are you cold?”

“No sir,” you whisper.

“Off then,” Jongho says bluntly. You shrug the blanket off; it falls from around your shoulders, sliding down your back and landing on the floor around you. He tilts an eyebrow, expectant; warning. “Are you going to leave it there?” He asks, sharper now. “On the floor? You’re going to make a mess in our house?”

You falter, hesitating. He cuts you off before you can speak. “Pick it up,” he instructs, voice hardened at the edges. “You don’t make messes here.”

“Yes sir,” you mumble. You move to obey, reaching for it, but Jongho stops you before you can.

“Do dogs use their hands?” He asks.

You pause, turning to him, then shake your head. “No sir.”

“Then neither do you. Pick it up. Use your mouth.”

Your heart is pounding, heat blooming in your chest and neck as you lean down for it; you take the fabric between your teeth, biting down, then look back up at him like you’re silently asking for instruction. “You know what to do,” he says. “Dogs don’t walk, either, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You whine before you can help it; you half expect him to scold you for it, but he just breathes out a low laugh and nods towards the coffee table. “Go.”

So you go—you crawl, just as you’ve done before, under those same stern, watchful gazes, pulling the blanket between your teeth along the floor next to you, then pull it up onto the coffee table and drop it there.

“Good,” San says. “Turn around. Let’s have a look at you.”

They’re smiling now, you see when you obey, turning around on your hands and knees until you’re facing them; small, soft smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. San clicks his fingers then points down to the floor in front of him. “Here. Come. I have something for you, my girl.”

You perk up, intrigued; if you really did have a tail you’re certain it would be wagging now. They watch, silent, smiling slightly, as you crawl towards them and settle on your knees with your back straight.

“Good posture,” Jongho murmurs.

“Good puppy,” San says. There’s another, newer quality to his voice now, and you know what it is. The same thing that, for you, is making everything seem fuzzy and warm and thrilling.

“Chin up,” San orders. He grasps it in his hand, held between his finger and his thumb, then tilts your head upwards a little more. “There’s my puppy,” he breathes. “Keep your head like this, sweetheart, don’t move it. Stay docile.”

He crouches down so he’s at your level and runs his finger lightly across your neck. Gentle, without pressure, from one side to the other, like he’s tracing the outline of where a collar would be.

Then he reaches into his pocket and actually does pull out a collar.

It’s white, leather, a few centimetres thick, with a small metal ring hanging from the front. You stare at it for a moment, unsure what to say—your face, though, seems to say everything. San’s lips twitch; a small, knowing smirk. “You like it?”

You nod. “Yes sir.”

“Good,” he says. “This is just a play collar, for when you’re a puppy and we need something to tug you around with. Once you’re officially ours you’ll get a real collar; something you can wear all the time. Something formal, a little more subtle so you can wear it out. But this is sweet too, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir. Can I wear it now?”

“Yes you can. Stay still, honey, I’ll get it on you.”

He fastens it around your neck, slotting two fingers between your skin and the leather while he tightens it. “You need room to breathe,” he tells you before you can ask. “If you wanna try breath play, that’s a conversation to have when you’re in your right mind. For now you’re breathing freely. How’s that feel, baby?”

“Feels good, sir.”

“Not too tight or too loose?”

“No sir.”

“Good girl. And how do you feel?”

You pause, still for a moment, trying to find the words—to know what they’d be if you could. It feels rather like they’re running away from you right now.

You feel… “Floaty,” you settle on. “And… and light.”

“There’s your subspace,” he smiles. “You love it there, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“We love you there, too. So sweet and obedient. God, even looking at you like this it feels like you were meant to be a puppy. How’d you survive so long without an owner, baby? Without someone to look after you?”

Your face is burning, you feel it; flames twist in your gut and scorch you in just the way you need it. Your breathing stutters, catching in your throat. “Not— not easily, sir,” you whisper.

“I bet,” he hums. “Poor baby. It’s okay. We’re here now. We’re gonna do everything for you.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” Jongho says a moment later. “No more talking, That’s not puppy-like, is it, baby? You need to get used to being a pup, keeping quiet. Alright?”

You open your mouth to reply, purely instinctual, but stop yourself just in time. Jongho nods, satisfied. “That’s it.”

“Oh my.”

Seonghwa’s voice, soft but sudden, cutting through the silence unexpectedly, almost has you turning towards it. You stop yourself just in time, just as your head starts to move; San makes a noise of satisfaction that has something warm and comfortable swelling in your chest.

You feel Seonghwa’s presence behind you, approaching from the doorway; slow, relaxed footsteps, a soft sound against the floor. You want to look. You want to see him. Fuck, you want…

“I didn’t realise we’d have a puppy already,” he says. God, he’s right there, you feel it— “She’s a pretty one. Where’d you find her?”

He takes another step; then, finally, his hand comes to rest on your head, flat against your hair. It takes everything in you not to keen into his touch.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Jongho says to him, but he’s still looking at you. “Seems like a show pup to me, all perfect and pretty. I hope she has the temperament to match.”

“She’s been very obedient so far,” San says. “But I think she needs more training. Her previous owners seem to have been a little hands off.”

“Well we can’t have that.” You hear the smile in Seonghwa’s voice; the laughter he’s barely holding back. Everything about this is over the top, is ridiculous—should be ridiculous, and yet it doesn’t feel ridiculous at all. It feels the opposite, actually—it feels right. Natural. Needed. You feel yourself sinking into it like quicksand you don’t want to free yourself from. “We’ll have to train her up, if her previous owners didn’t. A pretty thing like her deserves nothing less.”

His hand moves forwards, tracing the path of the collar on your neck then grabbing your chin. He doesn’t move you; he just holds it there. He pushes his thumb past your lips and lets it sit there, too.

You want to suck it, badly. Maybe chew on it. But you don’t.

“She’s trying so hard to be good right now,” San clicks his tongue. “Look at her. Poor little thing. Bet she wishes she could tell us how bad she needs it.”

“Shame puppies can’t talk,” Jongho says. “She’ll just have to bark and whine and whimper if she wants something, I guess.”

“You’re doing well,” Seonghwa says; you can tell just from the tone, even before the words sink in, that this is meant for you now. His voice has dipped some, quieter than before, lower; like a secret the two of you share. “You can suck, sweetheart.”

He pushes his thumb in further, down to the knuckle, and you suckle at it; tentatively, at first, then more keenly. It’s strangely relaxing; a little instinctual. He hums. “Eager. I like it.”

“Where’re the others?” Jongho asks. He hides it well, but you still hear the faint impatience in his voice. The excitement.

Seonghwa laughs. “Excited, huh? They’ll be along. For now, why don’t we get some breakfast?”

The way Jongho smiles makes you think it’s probably not pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen. Seonghwa pulls his hand from your lips then taps your jaw with two fingers. You manage not to whine at the loss in your mouth.

“Stay still,” Seonghwa murmurs. “Eyes down. Keep them there. No matter what we do.”

He’s pulled away completely now, no longer touching you; you don’t like it, really, you want him to touch you again, but what you want even more than that is to please him. To hear him call you a good puppy. Maybe you’ll even find out what their version of a treat will be.

So your eyes stay on the ground, firmly, almost stubbornly, as San steps forward then clips a leash to the ring on your collar.

Oh fuck. You’re not surprised, exactly, but shit. They genuinely have you on a fucking leash.

“Come on,” San says, then tugs at it just firmly enough to make you whimper. He heads towards the kitchen, Seonghwa and Jongho in tow, and you follow on all fours. The only sound is their footsteps, your hands and knees padding against the floor, and the sound of your heartbeat pounding between your ears.

They don’t point it out to you. They let you spot it on your own—the little pink bowl on the floor by the table.

It’s not meant for people. The word puppy in bold blue letters on the front only affirms it.

San nudes you forward with his foot where you’ve frozen mid-crawl. “Go on,” he croons. “Breakfast.”

It’s full, you realise as you approach it. It looks like—

“It’s cereal,” Seonghwa tells you. “We’re not giving you dog food.” There’s a layer of amusement in his voice.

“I’m sure we don’t have to tell you not to use your hands,” Jongho says.

No, you think. He doesn’t.

“If you do feel tempted, though,” San adds, “you should remember what happens to puppies who don’t behave. A rolled up newspaper should remind you of your role today. If it doesn’t, a few lashes of your leash against your thighs definitely will.”

You can’t help but wince at the thought, and he laughs. “Eat up. Good puppies obey the first time.”

You don’t think you’ve ever found the act of lowering your head down and taking a bite to be quite so daunting. It’s a little awkward like this, hard to hold yourself, but you manage.

They pay you no attention—none. They just… go about their morning. Sitting at the table. Talking in low voices you can’t quite make out. Then, when you finish, Jongho beckons you over with two fingers and a “here, girl.”

You crawl over to him—not far, but your bare shins on the cold tiles makes it feel a lot further—and settle on your knees. He scratches the back of your head, between your ears, and hums.

“Good girl,” he grunts. “I’m gonna finish my breakfast. Why don’t you curl up at my feet til I’m done, hm?”

He pushes you down, gently, a hand on the back of your neck nudging you towards the floor. “Down you go,” he murmurs.

Time, you realise, passes strangely at Jongho’s feet. You’re not sure how much elapses like that—curled up, your head resting on his slippers, cold tile pressed against your bare skin, eyes half closed. But it’s peaceful. You’re not too cold, either, despite your near nudity; maybe they’ve turned the heating up a little bit, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re already feeling, well, hot.

It might well be both.

Every now and then Jongho reaches down to pat your hair, or nudges you gently with his foot, like a little silent assurance that you aren’t forgotten. It’s nice—knowing that even when you’re being ignored, they’re still paying attention.

You get so comfy like that, so far away in your own head, that you don’t realise they’re done until you’re being pulled back up onto your knees by the leash.

“All fours,” he orders, and you obey without thinking. “Good.”

He tugs at the leash again, already walking away and you pad through to the living room by his side, Seonghwa and San following closely behind.

Your face heats up a little, being so exposed, feeling their eyes on you, but you hardly register it. All you register—all you have the capacity to register like this—are the individual steps you’re taking and your desperation to do a good job of it.

Wooyoung arrives in the living room just as you do, shuffling in from upstairs. Your head is bowed still, eyes cast downwards like a good puppy; you dare to raise them for a moment, just a moment, but it’s long enough to catch his reaction; he pauses briefly, eyes widening for a moment, lips parting in surprise then curling into something more intentional. Something sly.

You force your eyes back down as soon as he meets them. For a moment you worry that’s not enough—that you shouldn’t have dared to raise them in the first place, even subtly—but no one moves to correct you on it.

Perhaps you get a little leeway like this. You dare to hope so.

“Well, well,” Wooyoung says. “I wasn’t expecting the puppy this early.”

“She was desperate for it,” San says mildly. He nudges you with his foot, a soft kick to the back of your thigh. “Sit, pup.”

You obey easily, settling on your knees, staring resolutely at Wooyoung’s feet, snug inside dark slippers partially concealed by the hems of his black pyjama pants. You want to look at him, of course, see the approval you hope you’d find on his face, but you know better. You’ve chanced it enough already.

He rests his hand atop your head, ruffling your hair gently; this time you can’t help but keen into his touch. He laughs. “So cute,” he coos. “Little pup can’t help herself, huh? Needs to be touched. Eyes up.”

He looks soft. That’s your first, immediate thought; hair unstyled, a little messy, face bare, eyes gentle if still holding a little of the sharpness they always seem to with you.

“You’re a little lax today,” he hums, but he doesn’t sound scolding—just observational. “Looking up when you shouldn’t be. Chasing my touch, but that’s okay. Puppies get more leeway than regular subs, ‘cause they’re cute and they don’t know how to talk back. You go deeper into your subspace as a puppy, so you can’t think as clearly, can’t catch yourself like you usually would. You get the leniency to reflect that.”

He’s stroking you as he talks, soft, circular motions, just enough pressure to feel grounding; it makes it hard to digest his words as he speaks, but you manage to when you concentrate. He smiles—a kind, smug, knowing smile like he’s reading your mind exactly.

“You’re a good girl,” he murmurs. “Pretty. We’ll show you how to be a good puppy, too. Come.”

You follow him to the couch; the leash is gone, you realise, unclipped some time after they’d tugged you into the kitchen, but you must have missed it in the haze of your headspace. Still, you crawl obediently by Wooyoung’s feet as if you were still attached to it, until he sits himself down on the couch and points at the floor between his parted legs. “You can kneel here,” he says. “No pets on the furniture.”

The other three are already seated, following you with their eyes; San reaches across Wooyoung’s lap to ruffle your hair. “Good puppy,” he smiles, eyes in crescents. “You just sit there.”

Wooyoung’s legs are pressing against you, not tight, no pressure, just holding you where you are and keeping you straight. You could lean against him if you get tired, you think, without breaking position. You don’t want to break position. So that’s good.

Wooyoung runs a long finger over your head, following the parting of your hair, and hums. “Didn’t we get her some ears?” He asks. “Poor little pup doesn’t have any.”

“We did,” Jongho replies. He looks up from his phone, brows furrowing a little, then looks back down again. “We got her everything she needs.”

“Well, she needs ears,” Wooyoung says. “What kind of puppy doesn’t have ears? Or even a tail? Was it docked off at the breeder or something?”

San snorts. “As if we’d let them do that to her.”

“The stuff is in Seonghwa’s room,” Jongho adds.

Wooyoung hums. “Well, go and get it.”

“You go and get it.”

Wooyoung reaches around you to grab your chin, fingers digging into your cheeks, and yanks your head around to face Jongho. You squeak, half in surprise and half in pain; they ignore you. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Wooyoung snaps. “I have a puppy to train. You go and get it.”

“I’ll go,” Seonghwa says. “You two, stop acting like children. We’ve our own little girl now.”

He leaves before the words can really settle, but your reaction is instant, instinctive. A sharp intake of breath, catching in your chest; a shudder that makes your whole body quake.

Jongho laughs lowly, knowingly. Wooyoung, his grip on your face released now, tugs on your hair hard enough to make your eyes water.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” San’s smile has stretched into a grin now, all teeth. “She wants to be our little girl, doesn’t she?”

“Seems that way,” Jongho says. “She’d be a cute one, wouldn’t she?”

“She would,” Wooyoung hums. “All tiny and bratty and clingy. Suits her.”

“Maybe we’ll try it some time,” San says.

You’re only half following; your eyes are fixed on the empty doorway Seonghwa left through, the small expanse of hallway you can see through the opening. For a moment you heard his footsteps as he retreated, getting quieter and further away until they were gone too; you’re frowning, lips pushed out into a pout, you realise when San laughs, nudging your thigh with his foot. “Hwa will be back soon, puppy. Poor thing, you didn’t want him to leave, huh?”

You shake your head; just as you do, as if summoned by magic, Seonghwa appears again, and you straighten up instinctively, lifting your head, back arching some like you’re trying to show him how poised and proper and good you can be. He smiles, coming to stand in front of you and patting your head. “Here we go,” he says.

He’s holding a couple of things. First, a pair of floppy white ears, attached to a headband that he crouches down to clip into place in your hair. “Don’t want you losing ‘em,” he smiles.

The other is a pair of what looks like mittens, in the same colour as the ears. “Paw,” Seonghwa says. It takes you a moment to realise what he means; you hold out your hands, one at a time, and watch silently as he fastens the mittens around your hands and ties them at the wrists. “Puppies don’t use their hands,” he tells you. “This way you won’t have to remember not to.”

The last thing in his hands is a box. It’s small-ish, nondescript, and you can’t tell what’s in it; you look up at Seonghwa with pleading eyes, hoping it’ll sway him into telling you, but he just laughs. “That’s not gonna work today I’m afraid,” he says. “This is for later, if you’re good and if you want it. We’ve already given you, what, three gifts today? If I give you this now you’re gonna end up spoiled.”

“She’s gonna end up spoiled anyways, just look at her,” Wooyoung says. “The sweetest little puppy. I already want to give her whatever she wants.”

“It’s hard to resist,” San says. He’s standing now, next to Seonghwa, eyes raking over your bare, kneeling form, taking in the sight of you. He looks pleased. “Jongho, bring her bed over here.”

The words take a moment to settle; from the corner of your eye you watch as Jongho rises, walking across the room and picking up— oh. Of course.

That’s why they’d been so insistent that the thing you’d been lying on last night wasn’t a dog bed—because they were about to give you something that actually was.

Jongho puts it down in front of the couch, near to where you’d been kneeling. It’s a dark brown, soft looking, big enough to hold you if you curl up. Seonghwa nudges your attention back towards him with a hand on your chin. “Okay,” he says softly. “We’ve let you be curious for a bit. Let you get a good look at what’s going on. Now you listen. Eyes down.”

Your gaze falls, just as instructed; Seonghwa makes a noise of satisfaction that sits warm in your belly. “Good,” he says. “You remember. There’ll be no more wandering eyes today. We’ll keep you on track. Show me your panties.” He nudges your knees, pressed together, with his foot, humming when you realise what he wants you to do and part your legs accordingly. He crouches down for a better view of them, the black cotton and lace snug against your cunt. His hand wraps around your thigh and nudges your leg open a little bit further.

It doesn’t improve his view, already unimpeded; you think he just wanted to feel your body obeying him.

“Cute,” he smiles. “Are you wet? Nod or shake your head.”

Tentatively, you nod, though you’re all but certain. There’s no way you couldn’t be wet now, right?

“I’d like to check myself. Nod or shake your head.”

You nod again. Seonghwa exhales. His hand moves up your thigh, then two fingers press against your clothed cunt. You inhale, a sharp, sudden breath, and bite down a whimper.

Seonghwa’s touch feels like static, reaching you in every corner of your body; finds you in the smallest, darkest corners and crevices. You can tell he knows it. He presses down a little harder, the corners of his lips quirking in amusement, then pulls away, standing back up again. He lifts the two fingers that were pressed against your cunt and shows them to San.

“Look at that,” Seonghwa says. “Sheen. All the way through her panties. Leaking like a little faucet.”

“Good call having her wear panties, then,” San laughs. “She’d be dripping all over our floors.”

“You like it this much?” Wooyoung asks. His voice comes from behind you, landing on the back of your neck like a cold breath. “Being a pet. You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you?”

Not consciously, you think. But you’re taken aback by how natural this feels. You make to respond, mouth opening; you catch yourself just in time, and a soft, throaty whine slips out from where you’d held the words back. Wooyoung coos.

“Eyes up.” Seonghwa’s hand is on your chin now, gripping it between two fingers, forcing your attention onto him where it had started to drift away. “Good puppy. Now. I’m going to give you some instructions, and you’re going to listen very, very carefully. Yeah?”

You nod, straightening up a little; Seonghwa smiles. “Good,” he says. “You’re going to curl up in your little dog bed here. You won’t speak, unless it’s to call a safeword. You’re going to be a good puppy. You won’t bother us. You’ll wait for us to put you to use, and you’ll be grateful for what you get. Go on now. Crawl.”

He smacks your ass as you start to obey, on the patch of skin where your skirt’s ridden up; you don’t react, determined to show them you can control yourself and focused on your mission of getting to the bed.

It’s soft, more padded than you thought it would be. You take a second to get yourself comfortable, finding a position that works and allows the bed to hold you in your entirety, then let your head rest on the raised side. When you look up, you can see Wooyoung and San, but they’re not looking at you. No one is looking at you.

You sigh softly, turning your head back to where it was lying comfortable before, facing outwards; you yawn, humming slightly, and without really thinking, you push two fingers past your lips and into your mouth.

You’re not even conscious of it until someone laughs.

“Is that her version of a chew toy?” You’re not sure where Hongjoong’s voice is coming from, and by now you’re too comfy to lift your head to look, but you hear the slight sleepiness, the soft amusement in his tone. “Her own fingers?”

Seonghwa is in front of you a second later, crouching down by your bed and yanking your fingers out of your mouth. He smacks your cheek, not too hard but certainly not gentle, clicking his tongue. “Bad dog,” he says. “You don’t decide what goes in your mouth. We do. Understand?”

You nod. Seonghwa smiles gently. “Good girl.”

He reaches to pat your head, ruffling your hair slightly, and then he’s gone.

You hear them telling; at some point, the voices of the others come into the mix, but you don’t fully digest what they’re saying. It’s not about you, though, you know that; while Yeosang gives a short, fond laugh when he walks in and sees you there before turning the conversation to something else, Yunho and Mingi say nothing at all. From this angle, you can’t be certain they even looked at you.

It’s surprisingly easy to just lie there, doing nothing, even with your subspace making you so needy for them; the same subspace that makes you hot and desperate, like this, is making you calm. Floaty. Fuzzy. You’re happy just lying curled up in the warmth of your little bed and think of nothing but obeying them.

You do wonder what their intention here is, though. You know the purpose, of course, to show you what it’s like to be a puppy, but you’re not certain why. Everything they do with you seems to have a reason—that first day, when they took you apart, it was to set the tone and the expectations for this relationship; the second day, when you were wrapped up in rope and spanked into total and complete submission, it was to teach you to surrender. To show you the freedom of losing control. Yesterday, when they had you strung out and denied all day, it was to teach you control itself. To teach you to obey.

You’re not sure what it is today.

They turn on the TV, a variety show none of them seem to be watching, but with nothing else to do you start to follow along. They’re speaking quickly, the hosts, a little faster than you’re used to or comfortable with in your second language, but it’s not too hard to keep up.

They’re playing a game; the group, rookies you haven’t heard of, are split into two and playing some odd sort of playground game. It’s neck and neck. The tiebreaker round is next.

Just as it’s about to start, the channel changes. Your head lifts off of the bed, only slightly, and a confused sound escapes your throat before you can help it.

A hand fists into your hair and pulls you upwards, far enough that you’re on your knees and staring right into San’s face.

He doesn’t look annoyed. He looks amused. “Were you watching that?” He asks.

You keep your mouth shut. The corner of his lips quirks on one side. “Poor thing,” he says. “You haven’t quite learned yet, have you? Puppies don’t know how to think. That’s why they need their owners to do it for them. But I think you were thinking, weren’t you, pup?”

Your gaze drops, cheeks flushing pink, a small measure of shame breaking through the haze. San laughs. “Don’t worry, baby,” he coos, “I know it’s hard. You’ve spent so long trying to be a person, haven’t you? It must be hard to turn it off. We’ll help you.”

He lets go of your hair and you fall back down, not expecting to suddenly be unsupported; you’re kneeling with your ass against your shins now, staring up at San with an empty expression.

Help you. What does that mean?

“We need to dumb her down a little,” San says. “A bone, how about that?”

“Do we have a bone?” Mingi asks.

“I think we do,” Seonghwa says. “More of a chew toy. We never got around to using it, when we had— yeah, I know where it is.”

“And the other thing?” Wooyoung asks.

“Later,” Seonghwa says. “She hasn’t earned it.”

You wonder what it is you haven’t earned yet, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it now, because Seonghwa is walking out of the room to go and get you a bone, a chew toy, and the thought fills you with excitement and curiosity. You wonder if it really will make you go down; make the thoughts and the coherence and all the human stuff happening in your head just turn off. If the act itself doesn’t, the praise you hope they’ll give you for chewing on it so nicely surely will.

Seonghwa returns with it in hand, still wrapped up in plastic; he pulls it out, discarding the wrapping on the table, then walks over to you. “Kneel,” he says. “Eyes up. Open your mouth.”

Your lips part obediently; Seonghwa shakes his head. “Wider.”

Once it’s wide enough, so wide that it’s starting to hurt your jaw, he slides the toy in and rests it on your bottom row of teeth. “Bite down,” he says. “Carefully, I don’t want your slobber on me. If your mouth touches my hand I’ll beat you.”

You close your mouth slowly, carefully; when you’re biting down hard enough he pulls his hand away, ruffling your hair a little. “Good girl,” he smiles. “Lie back down. We have some things to talk about today—no, not with you, don’t worry—so you’re going to lie there and be good while we do it. Just chew on your toy and entertain yourself.”

You sigh, curling up in your bed again, this time with the toy between your teeth. You start to bite down on it, hesitant, still getting used to the feel of it in your mouth and— oh. It squeaks.

It’s a quiet sound the first time you hear it, your bite weak enough to only just make it go off; you try again, biting down a little harder, and it comes louder now. Oh, that’s fun. You bite down faster this time, two bites in quick succession, and the squeaks are faster and shorter in tandem. You smile around the toy, biting down again; it’s wet now, drool beginning to soak into the plastic and drip down onto your bed, but you hardly notice. You’re having fun. Someone reaches down to scratch your head, gentle, and you keen into the touch a little bit. You don’t know how long they stay like that for, and it doesn’t even dawn on you to look up to see who it is. You’re focused on your toy. On the squeaks. On the oddly soothing feeling of soft plastic between your teeth.

You hear them speaking; hear their voices, low and serious, talking about work from the few words you care to make out—practice, stage, choreography. You hold the toy between your two mitten-clad hands, keeping it steady as you bite down harder. You wonder if the plastic would rip, if you did it hard enough. You wonder how tough it is—would it still squeak if it was ripped open? Maybe it would squeak even louder, actually, if it didn’t have the plastic muffling it.

That’s something to do.

You bite down as hard as you can, dragging your teeth across the plastic, trying to tear a hole somewhere. You manage to make one near the middle, where the plastic is thinner, and the squeak is louder, just like you’d thought.

“What are you doing?” You pause, looking up; Hongjoong is standing over you, peering down with an eyebrow raised. “Get up,” he says. “On your knees.”

You pull yourself up into position, staring up at him with the toy still held between your teeth. Hongjoong holds his hand out in front of your face. “Drop it.”

You do; it lands in his hand and he lifts it, moving it so the end is held between two fingers. “Covered in slobber,” he says. “Embarrassing. Is that a hole you’ve made in it?”

“A hole?” Yeosang appears suddenly by Hongjoong’s side, a slight smile catching on his lips. “She made a hole in it?”

“Right here,” Hongjoong says, pointing to it. “I think that was on purpose, don’t you? I don’t think a little puppy could do that by accident.”

“Definitely not,” Yeosang agrees. “I think the dog—” He pauses for a second, gaze flickering down towards you then back up, “—has some lessons to learn about respect.”

“She’s just a pup,” Wooyoung says from behind you. “It’s normal for them to break things. You were just playing, weren’t you honey?” He leans down, nuzzling his face into your hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“She still needs to learn,” Hongjoong says, voice firm. “Look at me, dog. Eyes up.”

He doesn’t look angry, of course; just stern. His voice is quiet and firm and final.

“You do not break things. You do not tear holes in things. When we’re nice enough to give you something, you treat it with respect. Do you understand me?”

You nod. He doesn’t look impressed. “No,” he says, “we let you be a quiet little lap dog because we thought you could behave like one. But if you want to chew holes in things, you can act like the untrained stray you seem to think you are. So now, if we ask you a question, you’re going to bark. Understood?”

Jesus Christ. Your breath hitches, catching in your throat; Hongjoong is staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to respond, and you force out a quiet little yip that might be the most pathetic sound you’ve ever made.

Hongjoong looks delighted.

“Good dog,” he grins. “You’ve lost the privilege to play with toys, I’m afraid, so you’re going to come and sit with me. Any more misbehaviour and you’ll be whipped, understood?”

You bark again, a little louder this time; Hongjoong clicks his fingers, pointing to the floor next to him. “Come, girl.”

You crawl by his side as he returns to his seat on the other couch, next to Jongho; you feel Yeosang following behind you, hear his quiet footsteps against the floor, and when you settle kneeling by Hongjoong’s feet Yeosang sits down on the other side. Hongjoong puts the toy away somewhere out of your sight, then parts his legs. “Kneel in between them,” he says, pointing to the floor. “You’re going to learn to be respectful of your things. So instead of a chew toy, you’re going to keep my fingers in your mouth; maybe that’ll make you more considerate. I understand puppies can’t think as clearly as humans, but you knew better. You made a conscious choice to destroy that toy, so now you’re going to learn not to.”

He pushes two fingers into your mouth once you’re in position, pushing right to the back of your throat; you gag around them, but it’s more out of surprise at the intrusion than an actual inability to breathe, and when he pulls them out far enough to sit comfortably on your tongue you settle down. He pushes the side of your head gently with his hand, guiding it to rest against his thigh. “Good puppy,” he coos. “Suck on my fingers, sweetheart. We still have a few more things to discuss.”

His other hand is a firm presence on the back of your neck as the conversation starts up again, keeping you still, the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin pushing you deeper into the haze. His grip is so firm, so assured; his control of you, of your body, so palpable you feel like you could reach out and touch it.

You can’t believe how easy it is with them. How little it takes to put you into subspace; to push you further into it and keep you there. How they can do it with barely more than a glance.

You float there for a while, content, until someone speaks.

“Are you enjoying this?”

You look up, blinking, meeting Hongjoong’s blank gaze. Um.

“I think you are,” he says. Let’s see how wet you are.”

He lays you flat over his lap, your ass in the air, like Wooyoung had done yesterday with your legs spread and your toes grazing against the floor. He runs two fingers up your inner thigh, slowly, steadily, easing closer and closer to your cunt. His touch is feather-light, a tickle that makes it hard to stay still and quiet.

“Such a good dog,” he murmurs. “I can see how hard you’re trying to stay still. Sensitive, hm?”

Finally he reaches your cunt; his fingers push through your folds, grazing across your hole and your clit, gathering your wetness in his hand. He hums. “Soaking,” he says. “Wet cunt on a wet dog. She just has no shame at all.”

“She can’t help it.” Another hand, a little larger, fingers thicker and rougher, settles on the back of your thigh, pressing slightly into the skin. Jongho. “She’s gone all the way down now, I think. Exactly how we wanted her.”

“I think she’s earned her reward,” Hongjoong says.

“I agree.”

You’re moved then; lifted from Hongjoong’s lap and placed back down on the floor, on your knees the way you’d been before. Hongjoong grabs your jaw, pushing his thumb into your mouth and using it to ease it open. “Show me your tongue,” he says. “And your throat. Gotta make sure.”

You must look confused, because Jongho, sat next to Hongjoong and peering down at you with equal intensity, huffs out a low laugh. “Sweet girl doesn’t get it, do you? Puppies need to be inspected all over. That includes the mouth. Anywhere that can take a finger or a dick needs to be checked.”

Oh, right. You let your mouth open a little more, jaw falling slack, something warm pulsing in your chest at the satisfied sound Hongjoong makes in response. He looks focused, brows furrowed slightly, finger pressing down on your tongue, then pushing to the back of your throat, then running across your bottom lip. “Very good,” he says. “Seonghwa, come here. Bring her tail.”

A tail. You perk up, back straightening some, and something tightens in your gut at the thought. Hongjoong smiles. “Eager, huh?” He says. “The tail matches your ears.” He reaches to tug at one of the ears gently, the clips it’s fastened to tugging at your hair slightly. “It’s fixed to a plug. Can you take a plug right now?”

You nod, barking quietly. You can definitely take a plug now; you haven’t eaten much, and you cleaned yourself out this morning as you always do. Hongjoong nods. “Good,” he says. “Lean over, then. Ass up.”

You feel the presence behind you, then your ass grazing against someone’s crotch. His hands comes to rest on your hips, steadying you, then push your skirt the rest of the way over your ass where it has already started to fall. “Easy,” comes a low murmur. Seonghwa’s hand moves down, the other locked in place to hold you still, and slowly starts to tug down your panties. They’re pulled to your mid-thigh, far enough down to expose you but high enough that the fabric keeps your legs pressed together somewhat. The sound of a cap being undone, then liquid squeezed out, makes your breath catch in your throat.

You exhale, steadying yourself. It’s just a plug. You’ve taken things in your ass before.

It’s cold, both the lube and the what feels like steel of the plug; you gasp, flinching ever so slightly, but you manage not to react too much. Seonghwa’s hand stays firm on your hip while the other pushes the plug in past your rim; it’s a full feeling, intrusive, but not quite a stretch.

“There we go,” he hums, pushing it the rest of the way inside until your rim is curled around the base of it. He pats your ass, not quite a smack, but there’s a slight sting to it that makes you wonder if there’s still a sensitivity there from the spanking you took a couple of days ago. “Now she’s a puppy,” Seonghwa says. “Isn’t she cute?”

“Adorable,” San says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Looks natural, doesn’t it? I wonder how it feels.”

“Full, probably,” Jongho says. “Kneel, puppy.”

You feel their eyes on you as you push yourself up onto your knees; your panties are still bunched around your thighs, the fabric slightly tangled, damp and sticky at the crotch, but you don’t try to move them. You know better than that.

You wonder what their plans are for you; if they have any at all, or if they just want to have you like this. Hongjoong sighs, adjusting himself, hips pushing outwards slightly, then points downwards. “Here, girl.”

You crawl over to him as gracefully as you can, settling on your knees by his side; he rests a hand on your head and runs his thumb over your scalp. “Eyes up,” he orders. “Good girl, you’re a natural. And so pretty with your little tail, aren’t you?”

His hand moves down to grip your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, then pulls away. You hear the smack before you feel it; the loud, sharp sound that rings out on its own for a few seconds before the pain hits.

It’s not overly hard. It doesn’t knock the wind out of you. But the sound and the sting and the way his expression doesn’t change—still cool, still passive, as though nothing had happened at all—makes something in your stomach swoop and your vision blur at the edges. You bite back a whine, afraid it will come out louder than you can get away with, but something in your face must betray you, because Hongjoong breathes out a laugh then hits you again. “Pathetic,” he says, but the softness of his tone makes the word land like praise. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes.”

“She probably feels a little lost right now,” Jongho says. “All floaty and fuzzy and hardly being touched. Wondering if we’re gonna put her to use or just string her out.”

“Must be hard not knowing,” Hongjoong says. “Colour, puppy? You can speak.”

“Green.” The word feels oddly unfamiliar on your tongue; the sound of your voice, small and soft, strangely foreign. You’ve already gotten accustomed to being quiet. To barking and whining and whimpering. Speaking feels… wrong.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong replies. “Then I’ll put you out of your misery. You’re not getting off today. Clear?”

You nod. You’d sort of figured.

“Good,” he says. “Then you can get your bed and bring it over here. Save the floor digging into your poor little knees. Go on.”

You nod, turning away from him; he sends you off with a smack to your ass as you start to crawl away. It makes the plug shift inside you, reminding you of the presence that had already started to slip your mind, and you whimper.

You feel them watching you as you move. When you reach the bed, for just a moment, you hesitate.

You can’t use your hands; they’re still snug in those soft mittens, and you doubt you’d be allowed to anyway. So how…?

“Teeth,” someone says. “Come on. You’ve seen puppies pick things up, haven’t you?”

You have. It’s not as easy to pick up as your bone was, of course (rest in peace to that poor piece of plastic), but you manage to tug it along the floor as you crawl back over to Hongjoong. He takes it from you once you’re within reach, putting it down between where he and Jongho are seated, then taps it with his foot. “Down,” he says. “On your knees. Face Jongho.”

Jongho slips his fingers past your mouth just as Hongjoong had done, pulling your head to rest against his thigh; his fingers are splayed across the back of your head and neck, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin, and you can’t help but sigh contentedly.

You’re so comfy. This is so easy. You’re right where you want to be.

Nothing much happens for the next while. You stay there, still and silent, as they go about their day; people come and go, to their rooms, Hongjoong and Mingi leaving for a while to get a hook recorded before they forget it, but you don’t move. Nor does Jongho. He takes his hand away from your head after a while, but his fingers stay in your mouth, resting atop your tongue.

You’re not really thinking about much. Time seems to slip by separate from you; independently, like you’re floating somewhere it can’t quite reach. You don’t fall asleep—but you’re not exactly awake, either. You’re just… there.

They feed you your lunch by hand, sandwiches cut up into small bites, then hold a bottle of water to your lips until you’ve downed at least half of it. Your plug comes out a little while later; you don’t want it to, of course, enjoying the feeling of fullness and the softness of your tale against your legs, but Yunho’s narrowed eyes and the threat of a whipping stops your whining before it can really start.

“You’ve had it in long enough,” he says. “I can easily go and get your leash. Do you need some lashes on your thighs with it to help the point sink in?”

You shake your head quickly, biting down on your lip as if to physically trap your protests in your throat. Yunho nods, humming, a noise halfway between amusement and satisfaction sounding out in the silence as he slowly eases the plug out of you.

“Good puppy,” he murmurs. “You’re going to start to come up now. Slowly. You’ve been down for a while, haven’t you?”

True to his words, you come down steadily, at your own pace. They don’t rush you; Jongho’s other hand returns to rest against your head where it had been before, caressing you slowly, his touch just heavy enough to feel grounding and stabilising as you come back to earth.

The paws are the first to come off, untied and pulled off of your hands so quietly you don’t even notice. Your ears are next. Your collar comes off only once you’ve been lifted off of your bed and settled by Jongho’s side.

“There we go,” he says. “Coming up, huh? In your own time, baby. You can speak whenever you want to.”

“Sir.” The word is quiet, mumbled, your face pressed into Jongho’s side, eyes half closed.

“I’m here,” he assures you. “You did well.”

His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, you realise, hand rubbing up and down your back. He’s slid it under your shirt so his skin is pressed directly against yours, and his hand is warm, the skin soft.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” he tells you. “Do you think you can eat?”

“Wanna stay here,” you respond. “Comfy.”

“You can eat here,” he says. “We’ll bring the food through, just this once.”

“Once?”

“Not really,” he says. “Usually we eat at the table. But I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind you eating in here when you want to. Especially when you’ve just been so good and sweet for us.”

Another hand, larger, comes to rest on your thigh, following the curve of it where it’s angled towards Jongho. “How’s the pup?” Mingi asks, his voice a low drawl.

“Still coming up, I think,” Jongho answers. “Not sure you still calling her pup is gonna help the process though.”

Mingi huff, snorting slightly. “That has nothing to do with the scene,” he says. “She looks like a little puppy all the time to me. Tiny and naughty and eager to please.”

“I suppose she does.”

“How’s your hole, honey?” It takes a second for you to register that Mingi is talking to you.

“Fine,” you respond. “Empty.”

He laughs. “I’ll bet. You take a plug well, don’t you? Good at having your ass full. You like it?”

“Like it,” you repeat. “Comfy.”

“I’m sure it is.”

They feed you your dinner, too, noodles in a light soup that Jongho balances in your lap while he feeds you small mouthfuls of it, praising you with each one. You’ve never been praised for something so unremarkable before.

You don’t do any more scenes that day, but the small, lingering pieces of the high and the peace and the calm fuzziness stay with you until nightfall.

San comes to check on you when you’re tucked in, just before you turn off the light. He’s in his pyjamas too, soft looking blue checkered ones, his glasses sitting on his nose and his feet snug in his navy blue slippers. He looks homely. Cozy. Like something you could hide away in.

He runs his hand up your body where it’s tucked beneath the blanket, from the bottom of your legs to your cheek; his hand lingers there for a second, cupping your face, and there’s nothing but softness in his eyes. “You did well today,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.”

He leans into you slightly, just a little, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you; where his lips would land is another question, of course, but something in his expression seems to speak to an intention along those lines.

But then he hesitates. Stops. Moves back again. The smile on his face is no less genuine even as he retreats.

He’s just starting to turn for the door when you speak, the words slipping past your lips before you can consider them.

“San,” you call quietly. “Stay?”

He pauses, smile fading and for one moment, ice cold, you think he’s going to say no and the illusion of care and fondness they’ve created for you over these past few days will shatter into tiny pathetic pieces. But then the smile comes back softer, gentler, and he nods, climbing into bed with you and pulling you into his arms. “Course,” he murmurs. “C’mere, puppy.”

His hold is strong and firm but not hard; it yields and gives where you want it to and holds you tight where you don’t. He, they, seem to do much the same.

“Why do you do this?” You ask, out of the blue. Sleepiness has always loosened your tongue a little. “Like, have a sub all together.”

“As opposed to what?” He asks.

You shrug. It feels like a trick question somehow, but he’s looking at you with nothing but patience. “One sub each, or hookups, or…girlfriends or something.”

He’s quiet for a moment; thoughtful. “Think of it like this,” he starts. “Everyone needs connection, right? And release. With our jobs we aren’t really able to meet those needs in a meaningful way; too busy for girlfriends, of course, and it can get messy as idols anyway. We had hookups, as well, but it didn’t do it for us.”

“Why not?”

“Because release on its own does nothing for us. It has to be both. There has to be connection, deep connection. We couldn’t get that from just sex. We were all feeling it but we weren’t sure what else to do other than, like, fuck each other, which, no.”

He makes a face, exaggerated and you giggle softly. He glances down at you with a small smile and adjusts you in his hold a little; now, held against his chest, you feel the low, calm vibrations of his voice as he speaks to you. “Then I just… started thinking about it. Saw someone online talking about their sub and it made me think. Not just about having a sub but about sharing with the others, too. We’d all tended to take dominant roles in sex, and when we were doing hookups we’d sometimes share a girl together, in twos or threes usually. Turns out we all wanted something deeper too, and we all get a lot of fulfilment from being in control. From taking care of someone, taking charge of them. Which led us here.”

“That makes sense,” you hum. “Do you think…do you still feel lacking anything, like you did before?”

He takes a second to think. “No,” he answers. “This feels right. In a job like ours your whole life is controlled; everything is decided for you. But with you, with this, we can have control. We can have responsibility and bear it. And by having it together we find our own bond with each other deepens. Hey, look at me.”

He suddenly shifts you, tilting your head upwards by the chin to meet his eyes. “Whatever happens, we’ll never take for granted this gift you’ve given us,” he says. “I want you to know that.”

“Gift?” You repeat. “What gift?”

“Your submission,” he responds. “Your surrender. Letting us have control when we usually have none. It’s not a small thing to us. Never would be.”

“Thank you.” It slips out without any thought; instinct rather than reply. It feels a little strange, to say it, not really certain what you’re thanking him for, but he hums like he knows exactly what you mean and pulls you closer.

You fall asleep that way, in his arms, wrapped in the shared silence.

told you it was coming back! thank you so much for waiting. i hadn’t anticipated how crazy this school year was going to be but im so glad to finally be able to continue this. i promise i will not make u wait that long again!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There must be, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically.

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

“Joong,” you whine.

He raises an eyebrow amusedly. “Yeah?”

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

“You want me to touch you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Say thank you,” Hongjoong orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It also gets… even larger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And cock?” You ask.

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

“Mm.”

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

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

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

“Play?” You repeat.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grunt again. He snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it yummy?”

“Yummy,” you echo.

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

“Sorry,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir,” you whine. “Sir, please, in—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir,” you mumble around his fingers.

“Right here, pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Sir,” you gasp. “I n— I need—”

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

“Need,” you nod. “Pee—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s it feel now?”

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

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

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

“Does she feel good?” Someone asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine, shaking your head. “Empty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir,” you repeat.

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

“Be good,” you nod. “I will.”

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

“Please, sir. M’good.”

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

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

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

“She does seem relaxed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he groans. “Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do. Seonghwa damn near weeps through his orgasm.

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

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

“Do you want me to stay inside you, honey?” Seonghwa asks. “I’m not as hard anymore, but it’ll keep you full, hm?”

“Don’t think she got any of that,” San says. “But I’m pretty sure if you try to pull out she’ll burst into tears.”

“She’s still pulsing.” Seonghwa laughs lowly, shaking his head like he’s in disbelief. “Still clenching around me. Don’t think her cunt is letting me out anyway.”

“She needs to eat something,” San says. He gently pushes you forwards until your head lands against Seonghwa’s chest; you nuzzle into it, humming contentedly, and San smiles. “It’s been a few hours.”

Has it? You don’t know what time it is, couldn’t even guess; it could be morning just as easily as it could be night. Seonghwa hums, adjusting you in his hold, tapping his hand against your ass. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “Get her something light, easy to swallow, I don’t think she can handle much more.”

A few minutes later—but it could equally be seconds, or hours, or days—you’re being moved so you’re held sideways in Seonghwa’s lap, San sitting down next to you, and something soft and sweet is being spooned into your mouth. Oatmeal, you think, with something sweet and syrupy soaked into the grains. “Look at you,” Seonghwa hums, “eating so well.”

“Such a good girl,” San agrees. “That yummy, sweetheart?”

You nod, grunting, swallowing another spoonful; it’s hard to keep it all in your mouth, not quite present enough to hold your jaw shut on your own. It’s dribbling down your chin, coating your lips; Seonghwa clicks his tongue, wiping his thumb over your chin and mouth. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “You eat well, don’t you?”

“Is she done?” You don’t know where Wooyoung came from; if he’s just walked in or if he’s been hanging around in here the whole time, but there’s an impatience in his voice that you just about pick up on. “I want my dick sucked.”

“She’s done,” Seonghwa says. “But I think she needs her cunt filled right now, too. She was getting fussy about it.”

“Put a dildo in her then,” Wooyoung says. “Or someone else can fuck her pussy. I want her throat.”

Seonghwa sighs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t protest; he lifts you off of his lap slowly, gradually, trying to make the inevitable shock of emptiness easy on you. You cry out when it happens, tearing up straight away, and he shushes you. “You’re fine,” he says. “Just wait a moment and we’ll get you filled, be a good girl now.”

You’re put onto your knees; Wooyoung takes a fistful of your hair and uses it to keep you upright while he sits himself down, legs spread, and pulls his dick out with his other hand. He lets go of your hair, moving his hand to tap your jaw. “Open.”

Your jaw slacks, falling open, and he slides his dick past your lips and straight to the back of your throat. He’s leaking already, the tip sticky against the roof of your mouth, and his thrusts and loose and sloppy, arousal and desperation evident in every movement. He rests his hand on the top of your head, pulling you back and forth to bob up and down on his length. “Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it. Hot little mouth.”

He’s going hard, fast, no thought or consideration for you, but your mouth welcomes him, holds him easily, pulls him deeper, even as drool begins to drip down your chin and pool on your chest; as your eyes water, vision blurring at the edges, and your breaths sound like gasps, gargles, splutters around his girth.

“She’s got a fucking mouth on her,” someone says, sounding impressed. “She even gagging?”

“Barely,” Wooyoung grunts. “Knows how to take it, anyway. Such a warm, tight throat.”

You’re not really thinking anything now; don’t think you could if you wanted to. You’re conscious, faintly, of the feeling of his dick moving in and out of your throat, but not anything else. Not the pressure building in your tummy, tightening every time he pushes your head further down his shaft; the blunts of his fingers pressing against the back of your head; his breathing quickening, getting sharper and shallower as your lips tighten around him. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Jesus, I’m go— I’m gonna—”

“Already?” Seonghwa says.

“Yes, already, shut u—” Wooyoung grunts, eyes squeezing shut; he pulls your head closer to him, dick all the way inside your mouth, you face practically pressed against his stomach as he cums. It’s fast, hot, thick; this time you do choke, gagging, spluttering, but you don’t spit it up. You don’t think you could, with his dick lodged so deep.

“God,” he breathes. “Good girl.”

He moves to pull out, slowly easing your head backwards off of him, but you whine. You don’t have anything in your cunt still, and your ass feels empty too, and if Wooyoung pulls his dick out of your mouth then—

“Okay, woah, easy.” He’s cooing now, laughing; you’re gripping his shirt in tight, desperate fists, clinging to him; he gently grasps your hands in his and eases them off. “You’re fine, honey. Hwa, do we have a dildo she can suck on?”

“Let me go clean it first,” Seonghwa says. “Stay in her mouth for a sec.”

“There we go.” Wooyoung is cupping your face in his hand, his fingers curling with your jaw to rest beneath your chin; he holds you gentle but firm against his stomach, his dick, mostly soft, now resting on your tongue. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

Seonghwa comes back soon enough, the dildo now clean in his hand. They work quickly, efficiently, so by the time you register the emptiness after Wooyoung pulls out your dildo is already sitting in your mouth, big enough to feel full without too painful a stretch. Wooyoung pats your hair, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, as you’re picked up and settled on the couch in someone’s lap.

“Come here, bunny.” Yeosang’s voice is soft, gentle, but his dick is solid against your back. He doesn’t move to do anything with it, though. Perhaps he thinks you need a rest.

“Sir,” you mutter, the words muffled around the dildo. You move back a little, pressing yourself against his hard-on; he hisses, tensing, his grip tightening around you, but he still does nothing.

“Needy,” he says, no mockery nor praise behind it; just more. Observing.

You whine, pushing back more; Yeosang’s hand lands sharp and heavy on your thigh in warning. “Enough,” he says. “You have a dildo already. Put it in your cunt if that’s where you need to be filled right now, but this isn’t about you. I’m in charge here, and I want to sit with my good girl all fucked out and pliant in my lap. Can you do that?”

You blink, processing his words. He waits for a moment, all patient, then breathes out a laugh. “Right,” he nods. “Yeah. I forgot your brain’s off. Let me dumb it down. If you want something in you, use the dildo. I’m in charge. Understand?”

You reach for the dildo unconsciously, wrapping your hand around the base; Yeosang smiles. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s your dildo. Mouth, cunt or ass, it’s up to you, but it’s all you’re getting.”

“Mouf’,” you slur out; you like it like this, sitting steady in your throat—it keeps you calm, satiated, without stretching or pleasuring you unnecessarily. You’re not certain there’s any point in stretching your cunt out for your own sake; you should keep it for them, you reason. For them to use, or for them to entertain themselves with. You press your head against Yeosang’s chest, sucking harder on the dildo, swirling your tongue around the cold plasticky tip the way they’d taught you to; the way they’d made you prove you could do on this very same dildo before they let you take them in your mouth.

Your training dildo, they’d called it back then. You’d practiced all your skills on it, under their watchful eyes, from sucking to bouncing to simply just taking it. It brings back memories, in a way, having it in your mouth like this. At the very least, it settles you. Stills you. Calms you enough to allow your eyes to slowly start to close.

Yeosang is swaying steadily, rocking you back and forth, his voice a low, distant murmur, words too far to follow.

It’s just as you’re falling asleep that you feel something pressing against your cunt.

“Easy,” someone says. “Get your rest. Keep sucking.”

You do.