Fresh Smut, Every Friday

That’s how Yujin ended up here, across from Ningning in the corner of a café, the hum of the espresso machine mixing with the steady beat of her heart.

Ningning tilted her head toward the counter. “There. Him.”

Yujin followed her gaze.

A tall barista, sleeves rolled to his elbows, muscles shifting as he worked the machine. His hair messy but deliberate, face sharp enough to be memorable, soft enough to be dangerous. He slid drinks across the counter with one hand, wiped it down with the other, moving with an ease that said he didn’t just make coffee—he owned the space.

Ningning grinned, licking whipped cream off her straw. “That’s Jimin.”

Yujin raised a brow. “That’s it? He’s… a barista.”

“Not just a barista.” Ningning’s grin widened. “He’s a stud. Word is, he makes you forget your own name if you let him.”

Yujin snorted. “You’re insane.”

But when Jimin glanced up, catching her stare for half a second—steady, dark, deliberate—her stomach flipped.

Ningning didn’t miss it.

“You like that?” Ningning teased.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to.” Ningning lifted her empty cup, walked to the counter, and Yujin watched in disbelief as she leaned in, laughing at something Jimin said. Then— She took the stirrer he’d just used and licked it clean.

Bold. Filthy. Effortless.

Jimin only smirked, wiping his hand on a rag, eyes darting once toward Yujin before turning back to Ningning.

Yujin’s pulse skipped.

When Ningning came back, she set down her drink and leaned in. “Told you. He’s different.”

Yujin frowned, biting her lip. “You’re gonna get us banned.”

“Please.” Ningning sipped smugly. “He loves it.”

And Yujin—no matter how hard she tried to brush it off—was starting to believe her.

Ten minutes later, Jimin’s apron was already gone when he slid into their booth, hair still damp from the sink, shirt clinging faintly to his chest. He didn’t sit across from them—he slid in beside Ningning, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ningning curled into his side immediately, like a girlfriend claiming her seat. She draped her arm around his shoulders, pressed her cheek into him, and looked at Yujin with a wicked grin.

“Yujin, this is Jimin oppa,” she purred. “He takes good care of me.”

Oppa. The word hit harder than it should have.

Jimin didn’t even flinch at the title. He just leaned back, stretching his long legs beneath the table, letting Ningning cling to him while his eyes scanned Yujin. Slow. Appraising. Making her pulse skitter.

“You didn’t tell me you had a friend this pretty,” Jimin said casually, eyes never leaving Yujin’s.

Heat crawled up her neck. She couldn’t look away.

Ningning giggled, smacking his chest lightly. “Oppa, stop. You’ll make her shy.”

“I like shy.” Jimin’s lips curved, and it didn’t feel like a compliment. More like a warning.

Ten minutes later, Yujin was in the backseat of Ningning’s car, seatbelt tight, trying to process what the hell was happening.

Because Ningning was in the passenger seat. And Jimin was driving. And Ningning had her head in his lap.

The wet sound filled the car—slick, obscene—and Yujin’s fingers dug into her thighs.

“Ning—what the fuck?” she hissed, staring in disbelief as her best friend’s head bobbed slowly, deliberately.

Ningning glanced up with glazed eyes, lips stretched around him, before pulling back with a pop and a grin. “Don’t look so shocked, babe. You’ll get your turn.”

Yujin’s jaw dropped. “My turn—?!”

Jimin chuckled low, one hand steady on the wheel, the other threading lazily through Ningning’s hair. “Relax. She’s just dramatic.”

Dramatic? Yujin wanted to scream.

Instead, she pressed herself back against the seat, heat rushing through her body as Ningning went down again, moaning around his length like this was nothing new. Like this was routine.

And maybe it was.

“Okay,” Yujin said breathlessly, voice cracking. “How the hell do you two even know each other?”

The car filled with silence for a beat, broken only by the sound of Ningning’s messy slurps and Jimin’s steady exhale.

Then Jimin’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror.

“Funny story,” he said, voice low, deliberate.

And the answer—whatever it was—would change everything.

The car ride stretched out in thick, tense silence. Ningning was sprawled in the passenger seat, wiping her lips with the back of her hand like she’d just sipped a milkshake instead of swallowing Jimin. Her grin was careless, bratty, while Yujin’s jaw stayed locked, eyes wide, staring at the two of them like they had grown horns.

Finally, Yujin broke. “Someone tell me how this even started.”

Jimin smirked, his voice even. “Ask her.”

Ningning twisted in her seat, hair falling around her flushed face. “It’s actually really funny—”

“Funny?” Yujin’s voice was sharp, incredulous.

Ningning waved her hand like Yujin was being dramatic. “Relax. You’re acting like I’m traumatized. I’m not. I… I like it now.”

Her cheeks glowed pink, but her eyes shone. “But it started when I made a tiny mistake.”

Ningning’s laugh bubbled up as she launched into the story.

“I spilled coffee on a professor’s notes. Like, his only notes. If that had gotten out, my grade, my reputation—everything would’ve been ruined. So I begged Jimin here to help me clean up before anyone saw. I told him I’d pay him, whatever it cost.”

She glanced at him, biting her lip, like recalling the moment still sent a thrill through her.

“But oppa wasn’t interested in money.”

Yujin’s stomach dropped. “You’re kidding.”

Ningning shook her head, almost proudly. “Nope. He leaned in, all calm, and said—” She dropped her voice in mock imitation: ‘If you’re gonna buy me, don’t insult me with cash. Show me you’re serious.’”

Jimin chuckled, not denying it. “She looked like a deer in headlights. Cute, spoiled, rich girl—thought money fixed everything. Had no idea what I really wanted.”

Ningning nudged him with her elbow, giggling. “And I was so stupid. I thought he meant, like, a kiss.”

Jimin’s hand flexed on the wheel. “You kissed me, yeah. But then I touched you, and you froze up. I thought you’d run.”

“I should’ve run,” Ningning admitted, voice lilting. “But I didn’t. I let him touch me more. And then…”

She leaned back against the headrest, smirking at Yujin. “Well, let’s just say I figured out that money can’t buy everything, but sucking cock can save your ass too.”

Yujin’s chest felt tight. “That’s not funny. That’s—he coerced you.”

Ningning rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t a kid. I could’ve screamed, I could’ve reported him. I didn’t. I… wanted to see what it felt like.”

Her voice softened, almost dreamy. “And once he was inside me—fuck, Yujin—I couldn’t stop. I kept going back. Over and over. I still do.”

Jimin’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again, locking with Yujin’s. His smirk was sharp, cutting.

“She begged for it,” he said flatly. “Rich little princess addicted to cock because she couldn’t clean up her own mess.”

Ningning laughed again, shameless. “And now I’m addicted to him. That’s the story.”

Yujin stared at her best friend, horrified, as the truth sank in. The imbalance. The manipulation. The way Ningning told it like a joke, while Jimin’s smirk told the real story.

And worst of all— The part of her that was scared.

Because some part of her… wanted to know what that addiction felt like.

The loft smelled like steam and soap. The sound of the shower cut off, water still dripping through the pipes. Yujin sat stiff on the edge of Jimin’s couch, legs pressed together, fists curled tight on her lap.

Ningning lounged beside her, glowing, hair messy, tank top slipping down one shoulder. She leaned close, lips brushing Yujin’s ear.

“You can join if you want,” she whispered, voice honey-sweet and daring.

Yujin jerked away, hissing. “You’re crazy.”

Ningning only smirked. “Crazy for good dick, maybe.” She crossed her legs slowly, deliberately showing the dampness between her thighs. “Yujin, once you try his cock, you’ll never forget it. It’s not like the boys you knew in the States. He knows what he’s doing.”

Yujin’s throat tightened. “That’s not— that’s not a good thing.”

Ningning tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “It’s the best thing.”

The bathroom door clicked.

Jimin stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, droplets running down his chest. He looked like he belonged in control of every room he entered. His gaze flicked once at Yujin, unreadable, then settled on Ningning sprawled across the couch.

Without a word, she slipped off her shorts, panties tangled at her ankles. Like a switch had been flipped, her bratty grin melted into hungry obedience.

“What do you want, oppa?” she purred.

Jimin smirked. “Hands and knees.”

She obeyed instantly, crawling to the floor, ass in the air, glancing back at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Yujin’s breath caught.

Jimin stood behind Ningning, pulling her hair back, his towel falling to the floor. His cock swung heavy, hard—too big, too real. Yujin couldn’t look away even as shame burned her face.

He bent low, pressed his mouth to Ningning’s ear, and caught Yujin watching.

Then, deliberately, he winked.

“You’ll be in this position next time.”

Yujin’s heart slammed in her chest.

“No,” she whispered, but her voice was so small she wasn’t sure anyone heard.

Jimin slid inside Ningning in one slow, brutal thrust.

Her moan tore through the loft, sharp and needy. “Fuck—yes, oppa!”

Her fingers clawed at the rug as he fucked her hard, rough, filling the space with the wet slap of skin. Ningning looked over her shoulder, eyes glassy with lust, smiling right at Yujin.

“See?” she gasped. “Told you—you can’t forget it—”

Jimin yanked her head back, made her arch, and pumped deeper. Ningning’s voice cracked as she came, shuddering, juices slicking his thighs.

Yujin’s nails dug into her palms, shame boiling hot in her stomach.

Jimin didn’t stop. He fucked Ningning through her orgasm, body rolling like a predator at ease. He looked straight at Yujin again, calm, casual, like he had all the time in the world.

Not a word was said.

But the message was clear.

Ningning collapsed forward, body trembling, still smiling deliriously. “God, I love your cock.”

Jimin pulled back, not close to finished, his eyes still locked on Yujin.

“You’ll understand soon,” he murmured.

Yujin swallowed hard, legs pressed tighter, praying her body wouldn’t betray her.

The bed creaked, sheets tangled. Jimin sat back against the headboard, arms loose, cock standing thick and hard. Ningning straddled him, sinking down with a guttural moan that turned into laughter.

“God—fuck—you’re too big,” she gasped, grinding, hips rolling with greedy rhythm.

Jimin’s hand closed tight on her waist, guiding her. He didn’t flinch, didn’t smile—he only watched. Watched Ningning struggle to take him, watched her tits bounce, watched the mess drip down his shaft.

Then his eyes shifted.

To Yujin.

She was sitting stiff on the edge of the bed, still clothed, still clinging to the illusion of distance. Her hands twisted in her lap, nails biting into her thighs.

“Come here,” Jimin said simply.

It wasn’t a request.

Ningning turned, hair sticking to her sweaty face, and grinned. “Yeah, come on, Yujin. Don’t just watch.”

Yujin shook her head. “No, I—”

Jimin reached out, fingers brushing her wrist. Just a touch, enough to break her stillness.

And like a marionette with strings pulled, Yujin leaned forward. Crawled closer. Lay down beside him, rigid, staring at Ningning bouncing on his cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jimin turned his head. His mouth grazed Yujin’s cheek. A lick—slow, deliberate. Her whole body froze, breath caught in her throat.

“Pretty,” he murmured, his voice too calm, too close. “But prettier without all this fabric.”

Ningning giggled, riding harder, pushing herself down to take him deeper. “Yeah, show us, Yujin. Don’t be shy.”

Yujin’s chest tightened. Every nerve screamed at her to run. But Ningning’s laughter, Jimin’s stare, the weight of the room—they pinned her in place.

Her hands shook as she peeled off her shirt. Tank top gone, bra unclasped. She felt the air lick her bare skin, her nipples hardening instantly.

Jimin’s eyes dropped, hungry, and Ningning moaned at the sight.

“Good girl,” Jimin said softly.

He leaned forward, mouth finding her nipple. His tongue flicked once, twice, before sucking hard, wet. Yujin gasped, hands shooting up to push—but then faltering, resting weakly against his shoulders.

Ningning’s laughter spilled over the sound of flesh slapping. “See? He likes your tits too.”

Yujin turned her face away, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Don’t hide,” Jimin murmured against her skin. He licked again, this time biting gently before pulling back. “Feel how your body responds?”

His other hand slid down, fingers tracing her stomach, slipping beneath her waistband. He pressed against the damp heat of her panties, rubbing slow circles.

Yujin whimpered, biting down on her lip.

Ningning’s voice rang out, half-moaned, half-laughing as she bounced on his cock. “Oh my god, she’s wet already.”

Yujin’s thighs clenched. She wanted to close them, to trap his hand, but Jimin was stronger. He slipped beneath the fabric, two fingers sliding into her heat like he’d known her body forever.

Her back arched, a sharp cry breaking from her lips.

“That’s it,” Jimin murmured, licking her other nipple now. His teeth dragged lightly as his fingers pumped, slow and deliberate. “Let me hear you.”

Yujin shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. “No, I— I shouldn’t—”

But her hips betrayed her. Rocking up into his hand, seeking more, even as her mouth formed protests.

Ningning moaned louder, slamming herself down on his cock. “She’s giving in. I told you, Yujin—once you start, you won’t stop.”

Jimin’s mouth left her nipple wet and swollen. His fingers curled inside her, finding that spot, pressing until she gasped his name.

“Yujin,” he said, low, steady, almost tender. “You feel that? That’s mine now.”

Ningning screamed out a climax, collapsing forward against his chest, still twitching around his cock. Jimin didn’t stop fingering Yujin, didn’t stop pushing her body toward the same edge.

Yujin twisted, overwhelmed, torn between shame and desperate need.

And when she came, thighs trembling, cunt clenching around his hand, she cried into his chest like she could hide inside him.

Jimin only smirked, licking her sweat-slick cheek again.

“You’re halfway there,” he whispered.

The room still smelled like sweat, sex, and Ningning’s perfume. Her thighs were still quivering, his cock still wet from her.

And Yujin was still trembling beside him.

Pinned.

“Come on, Yujin,” Ningning cooed, her voice sugar with venom underneath. She straddled her best friend, pressing her wrists into the mattress. “Don’t act innocent now.”

“Ning—stop, please—” Yujin writhed, trying to turn her face away, but Ningning only giggled, hair falling in wild strands across her cheeks.

“She’s ready, Jimin.” Ningning’s grin widened as she looked up at him. “She just doesn’t know how to admit it.”

Jimin’s hand was steady when he gripped Yujin’s chin, forcing her eyes to his.

“You want this.”

Her breath stuttered. “I—I don’t—”

But the heat between her thighs betrayed her, the way her panties clung to her like a soaked second skin.

Ningning rocked against her, pinning harder. “She’s soaked, oppa. She’s been dying for it. Don’t let her fool you.”

Jimin shifted, cock throbbing, leaking. He lined himself up against Yujin’s entrance, dragging the head against her folds. She shuddered, back arching, a sharp cry breaking from her lips.

“Stop teasing,” Ningning said, smirking as she held Yujin down. “Fuck her already.”

“No—wait—” Yujin gasped, shaking her head wildly.

But the moment he pushed— The moment his cock spread her open—

Her protest melted into a strangled moan.

“Fuck,” Jimin hissed, eyes widening as he sank deeper.

Yujin’s nails scratched at Ningning’s arms, her body arching, legs spreading wider against her will.

“Oh my god,” Ningning breathed, watching in shock as inch after inch disappeared into her friend. “She’s… she’s taking it all—”

Yujin squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaking down. “I—I can’t—he’s too—”

But her body swallowed him whole, every inch, until he was buried to the base.

Jimin froze, chest heaving.

“You’ve done this before.” His voice was low, almost accusing. “Who the fuck stretched you like this?”

Yujin’s lip trembled, shame burning her cheeks.

Ningning leaned close, whispering against her ear. “Tell him. Tell him how you spent your time in the States.”

Yujin’s chest rose and fell. She wanted to stay silent. To hide.

But Jimin rolled his hips once, slow, deep, and she broke.

“I—I fucked them,” she gasped, tears spilling. “Big… black cocks… in the US.”

Ningning’s laughter rang through the room, bright and cruel. “I knew it. Our Yujin’s a slut overseas.”

Jimin groaned, thrusting harder now, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room.

“Fuck—you’re trained for this,” he muttered, sweat dripping down his temple. “Taking me like nothing.”

Yujin sobbed, shaking her head, yet her hips rolled to meet him, each thrust dragging her closer to the edge.

Ningning kept her pinned, watching with wide, hungry eyes. “You should’ve told me sooner. I thought you were still a virgin.”

Yujin moaned, biting down on her lip, body betraying her completely.

The bed rocked, the pace building. Jimin’s groans grew deeper, Yujin’s cries sharper, Ningning’s laughter crueler.

And when Yujin came—clawing at the sheets, tears streaking, voice breaking—it was violent, undeniable.

Her pussy clamped tight around him, milking every inch.

“Shit—” Jimin grunted, fighting his release. “She’s squeezing me—fuck—”

Ningning grinned, eyes shining with mischief and shock.

“Our little Yujin… isn’t so little anymore.”

The bed creaked like it was about to snap. Yujin clawed at the sheets, thighs trembling, sweat dripping down her temples as Jimin pounded into her.

Her voice was raw, moans spilling between half-choked sobs.

And Ningning—ever the brat—was still holding her wrists down, laughing like it was some twisted slumber party.

“Stop!” Yujin suddenly snapped, fury flashing through her tear-soaked eyes. Her hand shot out, slapping Ningning hard across the cheek.

The sound cracked through the room.

“Fuck off, Ningning! I’ll do it myself!”

Ningning reeled back, eyes wide, then smirked, rubbing her cheek. “Ohhh, look who grew claws.”

She sat back, still straddling Yujin’s thighs, but now only watching, lips curling into a wicked grin.

“Fine then, bitch. Show me how much you want him.”

Yujin’s arms snaked around Jimin’s shoulders, pulling him down into a sloppy kiss. Her tongue met his, desperate and messy, their lips wet with spit and sweat.

She rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts, finally taking control, every push slamming his cock deeper.

Jimin groaned into her mouth. “Fuck, Yujin…”

Ningning clapped mockingly. “There it is. The real slut.”

But she couldn’t stay still.

Ningning crawled behind Jimin, pressing her tits to his back, her arms looping around to pinch and play with his nipples.

He shuddered, biting down on Yujin’s lip.

“Shit—” he gasped, head tilting back as Ningning teased him.

She kissed along his shoulders, whispering filth into his ear. “Use her, oppa. Fill her up. Make her remember who gave her her first real cock.”

Jimin’s thrusts grew erratic, hips slamming into Yujin with brutal rhythm.

Yujin moaned louder, nails raking down his back. “Please—just—just do it—”

Her words broke apart into sobs as he fucked her through another orgasm, her pussy clenching around him, milking him, dragging him to the edge.

“Fuck—I’m gonna—” Jimin groaned, hips stuttering.

And then he buried himself to the hilt.

Hot cum spilled into Yujin, flooding her, making her gasp and tremble beneath him.

Her legs locked around his waist, holding him inside as her tears mixed with sweat.

Jimin collapsed forward, panting, forehead pressed to Yujin’s collarbone. His cock still twitched inside her.

Ningning pulled him back, helping him slide out with a wicked smile. She leaned down between Yujin’s trembling thighs, licking him clean, savoring every drop.

When she lifted her head, her lips shone with cum.

“Next time…” she purred, crawling up to kiss Jimin, making him taste himself. “…it should be mine again.”

Yujin lay frozen, chest heaving, cum leaking down her thighs. Her eyes flicked between them—her childhood friend and her new betrayer.

And the sickest part?

She wanted more.

Yujin tugged her skirt back over shaky thighs, trying not to let them see how unsteady she was. Her panties were damp in her hand—no use wearing them now—so she stuffed them into her bag.

“Thanks…” she muttered, not looking either of them in the eye. “…for the fuck.”

Her voice cracked on the word.

Jimin sat against the headboard, chest bare and glistening with sweat, cock still heavy but softening. Ningning knelt beside him, straddling his thighs, rubbing oil down his arms, across his abs, over his cock. The scene looked less like aftercare, more like worship.

Ningning’s tone was sing-song, almost mocking. “Oppa, you need to relax. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

She pressed a kiss to his chest, then his neck, then trailed down lower, stroking his length back to life.

Yujin frowned, voice sharper now. “Why are you… paying him?”

Ningning glanced up mid-lick, eyes wicked. “Because that’s how I erase the guilt, baby. The first time he used me, I didn’t want it. But now? Now I choose. Money makes it mine.”

Her words landed like a slap.

Jimin shook his head, catching Ningning’s chin. “I don’t want your money.”

But the bills were already on the nightstand, neatly folded, mocking him.

“It’s not for you,” Ningning whispered, smirking as she palmed his cock harder. “It’s for me. Makes me feel like I bought this dick fair and square. Like I own it.”

Yujin’s lips twitched. The logic was twisted, rotten. But part of her… liked it.

She slid her purse onto her shoulder, eyes locked on the bills. “Book you, huh?”

Jimin’s head snapped toward her. “Yujin—”

She cut him off with a sly smile. “Maybe I’ll make a reservation next time. You come with stamina, right?”

Ningning giggled, delighted, leaning into Jimin’s ear. “See? She gets it.”

By the time Yujin reached the door, Jimin was groaning again, Ningning bouncing on his lap like she couldn’t wait another second.

“Faster, oppa—” her bratty voice carried through the apartment walls as Yujin stepped into the hall.

She paused, listening, heat pooling low in her belly at Ningning’s wild cries. Then she left, shutting the door on the filthy music of skin slapping skin.

Meanwhile, at Yeji's dorm.

Yeji lay on her back, legs spread wide on her bed, her rosary dangling off the nightstand like a forgotten relic.

Taeho was buried deep inside her, hips grinding slow and deliberate. His grin was cruel.

“Not so pure after all, huh?” he whispered against her ear, thrusting harder. “Your little boyfriend already broke you in.”

Yeji cried out, nails digging into his back, half in pain, half in shame.

He laughed low in his chest. “And here I thought I’d get your virginity. Guess you’re just another hole.”

From the porch, his friends watched. Upperclassmen, older, leaner, all home from college too. Beer cans already cracked at noon. Their eyes skimmed her small frame like they owned the right. She felt the weight of it but didn’t say a word.

“You packed like we’re going cross-country, not one night at the lake,” Minkyu teased, looping an arm around her waist. His touch was light, distracted. She forced a smile, but her pulse ran hot under her skin.

“Maybe I like being prepared,” she said.

“Or maybe you like the attention,” one of the guys muttered from the porch. Laughter rolled after it, sharp and mean.

She ignored it, stepping into the car. Inside smelled like sun-baked vinyl and stale fast food. Minkyu fiddled with the aux cord, oblivious, while Kazuha’s gaze drifted to the side mirror. The boys were still watching, grins wide, jaws working gum and beer.

Hours later, the lake spread open before them, green water shimmering under a bleeding orange sky. Coolers thudded onto the sand, tents unrolled, music blasted tinny from a speaker. The air stank of weed and charcoal smoke.

“Let’s swim,” someone shouted. Shirts peeled, shorts dropped. Kazuha tugged off her tank top slow, careful. The thin straps of her bikini cut tight across her collarbones. She felt their stares before she saw them.

“You first, Kazu,” Minkyu said, shoving her playfully toward the water. She stumbled, laughed it off, but her chest burned. He had no idea how exposed she felt—small breasts under wet fabric, long hair heavy down her back. He was blind to it. They weren’t.

“Shy, huh?” Another voice, this one closer, smoky with weed. One of Minkyu’s friends lingered near her, gaze fixed low, not pretending.

“Fuck off,” she muttered, stepping deeper into the lake. Cold bit her thighs, sent a shiver up her spine. Still, she couldn’t stop glancing back at the firelit shore—where they watched, where they wanted.

Later, as the fire cracked high and the bottles emptied, Minkyu passed out first, face buried in a hoodie for a pillow. His snore was soft, pathetic.

Kazuha sat stiff near the flames, hugging her knees, pretending the heat alone reddened her skin. But she felt it—the weight of every look, every crooked grin, every whisper curling around her like smoke.

And somewhere deep in her belly, something knotted, hot and dangerous.

“Bathroom’s free,” Minkyu mumbled, eyes half-lidded, beer-heavy. He stumbled into his sleeping bag and knocked out, breath whistling through parted lips.

Kazuha slipped past him, phone in hand, heart thrumming. The cabin hallway smelled of pine and spilled liquor. She pushed the bathroom door shut, clicked the lock, and leaned against the sink.

Her reflection glared back—long black hair plastered damp against her cheeks, bikini top cutting too sharp into her ribs. Her body still buzzed from the fire, from the heat of their stares. They hadn’t stopped all night, not once.

She tugged the straps off her shoulders, let them fall. Small breasts bared in the dim light, nipples peaked from cold and nerves. She hissed, thighs pressing together.

“Minkyu couldn’t keep up even if he tried…” she whispered.

Her hand slid low, cotton shorts shoved down. Fingers worked fast, wet sounds filling the small room. She bit her lip hard to keep quiet, but a low whine slipped out, sharp and needy.

On the other side of the thin wood, footsteps creaked. Someone stopped. Silence.

Kazuha froze, knuckles slick between her legs. Then—soft metallic click. A phone camera.

She gasped, too late, legs trembling as her orgasm crashed through. The moan tore out of her throat, echoing against tile. She slapped a hand over her mouth, panting, skin burning with shame.

The footsteps retreated, slow, deliberate. She knew then—someone had seen everything. Worse—they had proof.

When she unlocked the door, the hallway was empty. Just muffled laughter drifting from the porch, beer bottles clinking.

But the prickle on her skin told her she wasn’t imagining it. Eyes had been there. Watching. Recording.

And they’d wait for the perfect moment to use it.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Kazuha blinked awake to Minkyu’s voice, the cabin stinking of beer and sweat. His arm was heavy around her waist, his breath sour against her cheek. She pulled away gently, muttering, “Yeah,” while her pulse pounded in her throat.

The night replayed in flashes—the bathroom light, her moan bouncing off tile, the sound of a camera click. Her stomach flipped. She tried to shove it down, but the memory clung, sticky and raw.

By noon, the group gathered by the lake again. Sunlight cut off the water, blinding. Some tossed a football, others dragged cans from the cooler. Kazuha sat on the dock in her shorts, hugging her knees. She caught them looking—two of Minkyu’s friends, whispering, their grins sharp as glass.

She dropped her gaze, heat crawling up her neck.

Later, when Minkyu ran off to help set up the grill, one of them slid onto the bench beside her. His thigh brushed hers, deliberate.

“You sleep good?” His voice low, baiting.

“Fine,” she said flatly.

“Better than last night?” He pulled out his phone, thumb swiping. The glow lit his smirk. Then he turned it—just for her eyes.

Her breath stopped. It was her. Back arched against the sink, bikini top loose, fingers buried between her thighs. Her mouth open in that raw, desperate sound she’d sworn no one had heard.

Kazuha’s heart slammed so loud she thought the others might hear it.

“Delete it,” she whispered, panic cutting through her teeth.

He leaned closer, voice a whisper against her ear. “Or?”

Her body locked, caught between fury and dread. The video looped, her own moans spilling tinny from the speaker. Every second was proof. Every second was power in his hands.

“Relax,” he said, snapping the phone dark. “We’re not monsters. We just wanna have some fun. Later. By the fire.”

He left her there, legs trembling, nails digging crescents into her thighs. Across the dock, Minkyu waved, oblivious, calling her name. She forced a smile, but the truth already twisted hot and sick inside her.

She wasn’t free anymore. They owned her now.

“Drink up, Kazuha! Don’t tell me college made you soft.”

The fire snapped high, sparks climbing into the dark. Cans littered the sand, music blasting tinny from the speaker. Minkyu already swayed where he sat, head drooping onto his folded arms.

Kazuha lifted her can, swallowed hard. Bitter fizz burned her throat. The guys cheered anyway, watching her tongue dart to catch a drop at her lip.

“Atta girl,” one of them said. His stare pinned her. The same one who’d shown her the video.

Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t forgotten. She couldn’t.

A while later, Minkyu had passed out entirely, a deadweight lump in the sand. Someone covered him with a hoodie. No one else cared.

“Truth or dare,” the video-holder announced, grinning wide. Groans and laughter followed, but they joined in, tossing a half-empty bottle like a torch.

It spun, landed pointing straight at Kazuha.

“Truth,” she said quickly.

The guy leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Did you get yourself off last night? In the cabin bathroom?”

Her blood iced. Laughter rippled, some confused, some already knowing.

She forced a laugh, shaking her head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, screen face-down, tapping it once on his knee. “Want me to show them?”

The night pressed in, fire roaring too loud. Her breath locked in her chest. Every eye sat heavy on her skin.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“Then play along.” His smile cut deep. “Or this little movie becomes group entertainment.”

Her thighs pressed tight, nails biting into her palms. Rage, shame, something hotter tangled low in her belly. She’d never felt so exposed, yet all she could do was nod.

“Good girl,” he said softly, loud enough only for her. Then, to the group: “Dare. She takes a dare.”

Chants rose immediately. The bottle spun again, voices shouting over one another. But Kazuha barely heard them. Her fate was sealed in the dark glow of that phone.

The bargaining had begun.

“Take your top off.”

The words cut through the fire’s crackle and the drunken laughter. Silence hit a beat later, everyone waiting to see if she’d cave.

Kazuha’s lips parted, breath caught in her throat. “No,” she said, sharp but thin.

“Then I guess everyone gets a free screening.” The guy flicked his phone on, thumb hovering over the screen. The pale glow lit his grin.

Her heart stuttered. Minkyu was snoring three feet away, useless, dead to the world. No protection, no clue.

“Fuck…” She muttered it more to herself than to anyone else, but her hands still moved. Fingers trembling, she grabbed the hem of her hoodie, dragging it slow over her ribs. Cool night air licked her bare skin. The bikini top underneath hugged too tight, small breasts outlined against thin fabric.

Cheers went up.

“Don’t be shy, Kazuha!” someone jeered.

Her cheeks burned. Every nerve screamed to cover herself, but she caught the glint of the phone screen again. Her chest heaved as she hooked her thumbs under the bikini straps and tugged. The top slipped down, nipples hard in the firelight.

A wave of shouting, laughter, whistling. The sound wrapped her, drowning out her shame. She swallowed hard, face turned away, but her arms stayed at her sides.

“Holy shit,” one of them muttered. “Didn’t think she had it in her.”

The first dare was done, but Kazuha knew it wasn’t enough. She’d given them a crack. Now they’d take everything.

“Spin it again,” the video-holder said, tossing the bottle. His eyes never left hers, and his smile promised worse.

“Dare. She takes a dare.”

The bottle hadn’t even stopped spinning before they all chimed in at once, drunk voices tumbling over each other.

“Flash us.” “Lap dance.” “Make her moan louder than last night.”

Kazuha’s stomach dropped. Last night. That meant more than one had seen. Her eyes darted around the fire—six of them, all watching her. Minkyu passed out in the sand. She felt sick.

“You showed them?” Her voice cracked, barely above the flames.

The ringleader shrugged, phone dangling loose in his hand. “Why keep a masterpiece to myself?”

Heat surged in her chest—anger, humiliation, something darker. “You fucking asshole.”

“Easy,” another cut in, raising a can. “We’re just here to have fun. No one’s gonna get hurt.”

Fun. She almost laughed. She wanted to run, but the thought of her face, her body, her orgasm playing on every group chat back home froze her.

“Fine,” she spat, standing. Sand clung to her bare legs. “But we set rules. My rules.”

That earned a ripple of surprise, then low chuckles. “Oh? The little freshman thinks she’s in charge?”

She forced her chin high. “I’m not your toy. I’ll play, but no touching unless I say. And no videos. One more clip and I walk straight to Minkyu and tell him everything.”

A pause. Six pairs of eyes flicked between her small frame and the glow of the phone screen. Then the ringleader slipped it back into his pocket, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Ground rules. Got it. But you’ll keep us entertained, yeah?”

Kazuha swallowed, pulse thundering. “I’ll… play along. That’s all.”

“Good girl,” he said, smirking. “Now—show us how you did it last night.”

The circle roared again, eager, the fire painting their faces sharp and hungry.

Kazuha’s nails dug into her palms. She’d drawn the line, but she knew it wouldn’t hold for long.

“On your knees, Kazuha. Right here where we can all see.”

The words sliced through the crackle of the fire. No one laughed this time. Six pairs of eyes, six cans dangling loose in their hands, all waiting. Minkyu snored soft in the sand, oblivious.

Kazuha’s body shook, not from the chill but from the heat curling low in her belly. She swallowed, then stepped forward, sand grinding under her bare feet. She sank down in front of the flames, the firelight painting her skin gold.

“Take it off.”

Her fingers caught the waistband of her shorts. She hesitated, then peeled them down slow, heart hammering. The boys leaned in closer, the sound of cans shifting, of someone muttering, “Fuck, look at her.”

Her bikini bottoms clung damp against her slit, fabric riding tight. She hooked her thumbs in and tugged, small gasp slipping out as the night air kissed her bare cunt.

“Good girl,” the ringleader said, voice dark. “Now touch yourself. Like last night.”

Her cheeks flamed. She parted her knees, slender thighs catching the fire’s glow, and slid her hand between them. Fingers grazed slick folds. She bit her lip, forcing a breath.

“Don’t hide it,” another growled. “Spread it.”

Her other hand pulled her lips open, exposing her clit, swollen and wet. Gasps rose around the circle. She rubbed slow at first, the sound obscene in the silence, her small breasts bouncing with each shaky breath.

“Fuck, she’s dripping already.”

“Tell us how bad you want it,” someone demanded.

Kazuha’s voice cracked. “I… I need it.” Her hips twitched forward, fingers circling faster. She felt every stare as heat raced through her veins, shame twisting with pleasure.

The fire popped loud, sparks bursting as her moan spilled free, raw and unrestrained. She pressed two fingers deep inside, pumping hard, wetness slick on her thighs.

“Goddamn, she’s really doing it…”

“Louder, Kazuha. Make him hear you.”

Her eyes flicked to Minkyu—still dead asleep. The betrayal cut deep, but her body betrayed her worse. She curled her fingers inside, thumb grinding her clit, a cry ripping from her throat as she came in front of them all.

Her back arched, hair spilling down her spine, thighs trembling as her orgasm soaked the sand. The circle erupted—cheers, curses, someone groaning into his beer.

Kazuha collapsed forward, chest heaving, sweat slick down her temples. She had given them everything. And she knew this was only the beginning.

“Don’t stop now.”

Her chest still heaved, sweat dripping down the hollow of her throat, but they wouldn’t let her rest. Six men leaned in, the fire throwing shadows across their faces, fists already buried in their jeans.

Kazuha’s hand slid back down between her thighs, fingers slippery. She spread herself open again, cheeks burning as the circle pressed tighter. The wet sounds were louder now, matched by the groans surrounding her.

“Fuck, look at her little cunt stretching.” “She’s shaking—she loves it.” “Go deeper, Kazuha. Show us.”

Her fingers obeyed, slipping in, curling, pushing her small body open. Her moans came without her permission, high and breathless. Shame should’ve drowned her, but instead heat bloomed sharper with every glance, every grunt.

She risked looking up. Two of them had their cocks out already, stroking hard, eyes locked on her. The sight made her pulse skip. Her thighs pressed wider. She didn’t understand why it thrilled her, why the sight of them losing control to her body set her nerves on fire.

“Faster.” The leader’s voice snapped, rough.

She obeyed, hips jerking, slick coating her hand. Another guy groaned, his strokes frantic now. His chest heaved—and then he came, hot streaks splattering the sand inches from her knee.

Her jaw dropped. She froze.

“Don’t stop,” another hissed, palming himself harder.

She rubbed faster, her small breasts bouncing with every sharp breath, and watched—helpless, mesmerized—as the second guy spilled over his fist, curse tearing from his throat.

Her body ached, needy, caught between humiliation and hunger. Each release fed something dark inside her, pulling her deeper.

One by one, they broke. Each climax pulled from them by her fingers, her cries, her trembling thighs. The firelight made it obscene—her slick cunt glistening, their cum painting the sand around her.

She was lost in it when the leader stood.

“No,” she whispered, but he was already there. His hand worked fast, shadow looming over her small frame. He leaned in, eyes burning, teeth gritted.

Then he groaned, and heat splashed across her bare chest—thick, hot, dripping down between her small tits.

Kazuha gasped, recoiling, but the circle howled with laughter and cheers. The fire cracked behind her, cum cooling sticky on her skin, and she knew—she wasn’t in control anymore.

The line was crossed, and they would never stop at just watching again.

“Goddamn,” the leader muttered, staring down at her chest, cum shining wet across her skin. His grin cut wide in the firelight. “You wear it so well, Kazuha.”

Her body flinched. She pulled her arms tight across her small breasts, sticky warmth clinging to her skin. Fury broke through the fog of arousal.

“Delete it.” Her voice cracked sharp, raw. “Now.”

The circle quieted, only the fire popping. One of them snorted. “Relax, no one’s—”

“Delete. It. Or I swear I’ll wake Minkyu right now.” Her voice rose, brittle but steady. She jerked her chin toward the passed-out boyfriend a few feet away. “Tell him exactly what you’ve been jerking off to.”

That hit. The leader’s jaw flexed. He pulled his phone, thumb moving fast across the screen. He held it out for her to see—the file gone, the gallery empty. “Satisfied?”

“Make them all do it.”

A ripple of protest, groans, curses under their breath. One by one, phones came out, screens shown. Deleted. She didn’t blink, didn’t lower her arms until the last one turned his black screen toward her.

“Happy now, princess?” The leader’s tone dripped with mock sweetness.

She stood, sand sticking to her thighs. “I’m not your fucking toy.”

As she turned, a hand brushed her hip—too quick, testing. She shoved it away hard, glare cutting through the smoke. “I said no touching.”

Silence fell again. They let her go, this time.

But the words followed her into the dark, sharp as knives.

“Tease.” “Acting high and mighty now, but we saw you begging for it.” “Her boyfriend’s a joke. She’s ours already.” “Fuck, that little body moaning like that? She’ll crawl back.”

Kazuha’s fists clenched as she stormed toward the cabin, cum cooling tacky on her chest. She had made them delete the video, forced them to respect her line. But their voices still clung, words fucking her long after she shut the door.

She pressed her back against the wood, heart pounding. She’d won a battle—but lost something bigger.

Because deep down, she feared they were right.

---

“Babe, I’ll be back in a bit.”

Kazuha blinked up from the cabin steps. Minkyu tugged on his sneakers, yawning, phone buzzing in his hand.

“Where are you going?” Her voice carried more bite than she meant.

“Grocery run. They said we’re out of beer and ice.” He kissed the top of her head absentmindedly, already scrolling. “I’ll go with Jisoo and Taeyang. Won’t take long.”

Her stomach sank. The fire was already roaring down by the sand. Shadows moved around it, laughter echoing. The same voices that had broken her open last night.

“Minkyu, can’t someone else—”

“Relax.” He grinned at her, oblivious. “They’ll keep you company. Don’t pout, Kazu.”

Company. Her pulse spiked. She looked past him—three of them waiting by the car, smirks plastered across their faces. The leader raised his brows at her, the same smirk from last night when he’d wiped cum from her chest with his thumb.

Her skin crawled.

“Let’s go,” one of them called. “We’ll be back in an hour, tops!”

Minkyu jogged out, keys jangling. The engine coughed to life, headlights sweeping the dirt road. And then they were gone.

Silence stretched. Kazuha’s throat tightened. She was alone. With them.

“Miss us already?” a voice taunted behind her.

She turned. Four of them lingered by the fire, cans in hand, grins sharp. The leader tipped his beer toward her, eyes glittering in the orange glow.

“Looks like you’re ours tonight.”

Her breath caught. Every instinct screamed to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The doorframe pressed hard against her back.

“Don’t look so scared,” another chuckled. “We promised—no touching without your say.”

The words should have soothed her. Instead, they twisted hot inside her chest. Because even without a single hand on her, she already felt stripped bare.

They’d set it up perfect—Minkyu out of the way, her alone in the firelight again.

And this time, she couldn’t bargain her way free.

“Up. Now.”

The leader’s voice cracked like a whip. Kazuha froze on the cabin step, arms locked around her knees. The fire spat behind him, smoke curling like claws.

“I said get the fuck up.” He grabbed her wrist, yanked hard enough to send her stumbling into the sand. She gasped, tugging back, but his grip only tightened.

“Wait—stop—”

“Shut up.” His breath smelled like beer and smoke, eyes cutting through her. “You think you can play games? Get us all hard, then run? Not tonight.”

The others closed in, a half-circle of shadows, faces sharp with hunger.

“You promised no touching—” her voice cracked, desperate, but the words rang hollow.

The leader yanked her closer until her small frame hit his chest. “Yeah? And you promised to be a good little slut when we asked. Fair’s fair.”

Laughter broke around her, low and cruel.

“Strip her.” “Make her show us again.” “Fuck, look how she’s shaking.”

Hands caught her shoulders, not gentle this time, shoving her toward the fire. She stumbled, hot sand biting her bare feet. Her heart hammered, panic and heat tangling.

“Please—”

“Spread your legs.” His command cut sharp. When she hesitated, his palm smacked her ass, hard enough to sting. “Now.”

Kazuha’s body betrayed her—knees buckling, thighs parting. The fire painted her skin raw, small breasts rising and falling with every shallow breath.

“Good girl.” He crouched low, hand gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at the ring of cocks stroking hard above her. “Now make yourself come for us again. Or we’ll make you.”

Her pulse screamed no, but her fingers slid between her thighs anyway, slick with a shameful wetness she couldn’t explain. Every jeer, every growl, every curse dug deeper into her, dragging her under.

Around her, they groaned, fists moving faster. One spat on the sand beside her, another muttered, “Fuck, she’s perfect when she’s scared.”

The leader’s hand traced down her chest, smeared through the sticky memory of his cum still on her skin. He grinned when she whimpered. “You’re ours, Kazuha. You know it.”

And for the first time, she couldn’t even tell herself it was a lie.

“I call dibs.”

The words dropped heavy, louder than the fire, sharper than the laughter. The leader shoved forward, planting himself in front of her while the others jeered.

Kazuha’s breath caught. “No—”

“Yes.” His hand fisted in her hair, tilting her small face up to him. His cock was out already, thick and flushed, glistening under firelight. “You think you get to pick? You got us all worked up, now you pay.”

“I… I said no touching,” she whispered, voice thin, trembling.

His smirk curved mean. “And I said dibs. Guess whose rules matter more?”

Her eyes burned, nails digging into her palms. “You’re disgusting.”

“Say it again,” he taunted, pressing his tip against her cheek, smearing precum across her skin. “Call me disgusting while you open that pretty mouth.”

The circle howled, egging him on.

Kazuha tried to twist away, but his grip tightened, dragging her small frame closer. “I hate you,” she spat, but her lips parted on instinct when he pushed.

“That’s it,” he groaned, sliding across her tongue. “Spit your hate around my cock. Let’s hear it.”

Hot tears blurred her vision, but her words spilled anyway, muffled and broken around him. “F-fuck you.”

He laughed, deep and sharp. “That’s the plan.”

The others leaned in, stroking harder, watching her slender body kneel in the fire’s glow. Their voices cut through her sobs, filthy and relentless.

“Look at her—small mouth choking already.” “She talks tough, but she’s taking it.” “Minkyu’s girl’s a fucking slut.”

Her throat convulsed as he drove deeper, gagging her, spit running down her chin. Her fists hammered weakly at his thigh, but his grip didn’t budge.

“Bitch all you want,” he growled, hips grinding forward, “you’re mine first. I dibs you.”

Her muffled protest cracked, half a sob, half a moan. She didn’t understand why her body quivered, why shame licked heat through her belly even as her throat burned.

But she knew—he had broken her line, and the others were hungry to follow.

“Look at me.” His voice was low, rough, one hand still tangled in her hair. His cock pressed heavy against her lips, smearing her spit across her cheek. “Don’t hide, Kazuha. Tell me how it feels.”

Her eyes burned. She shook her head, tears slipping free. “It feels… it feels wrong.”

“Wrong,” he echoed, dragging her closer until her lips brushed his tip again. “Then why’s your pussy dripping on the sand?”

Her stomach lurched. She hated him. Hated the circle behind him, fists pumping, eyes locked on her small body. Hated the firelight showing everything. And yet—he was right. She could feel the slick heat sliding down her thighs.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, shaking. “I don’t know why.”

He chuckled dark. “I do. Because this—” he rubbed his cock across her lips, forcing her mouth open— “is the first time you’ve been noticed. The first time someone actually made you feel wanted.”

“That’s not true,” she choked. “Minkyu—”

“Is asleep while his girl’s on her knees for me.” His grin was sharp, cruel. “You’re mine tonight, and you fucking love it.”

Her throat tightened. Shame clawed at her chest, but heat twisted lower, hot and heavy. She hated the truth in his words, hated herself for feeling it.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice cutting through the crackle of the fire. “Say how it feels, with all of them watching.”

Her breath shuddered. Tears streaked down her face as she whispered, “It feels… dirty.”

“And?” He shoved forward just enough to make her lips stretch, the salty taste spilling across her tongue.

Her body trembled. She forced the words out, strangled and raw. “It feels… good.”

The circle roared, voices drowning out the fire. He laughed low, triumphant, and pushed deeper into her mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, hips rolling. “Dirty and good. Say it louder while you choke on me.”

Kazuha gagged, spit dripping down her chin, but the words spilled anyway between gags and moans. “Dirty… good… oh god—”

And she realized, horrified, that she meant it.

Her throat ached, jaw sore, spit shining down her chin. The leader’s grip eased just enough for her to gulp in air. He dragged his cock across her lips, smearing precum along her cheekbone, eyes locked on hers.

“Where do you want it, Kazuha?” His voice was low, husky, almost tender despite the fire snapping behind him and the circle of men jerking themselves raw. “Tell me.”

She froze, chest heaving. No one had asked her that—not once. Not Minkyu, fumbling and thoughtless. Not any of the voices spitting filth around her now.

“Where,” he pressed, thumb stroking her wet jaw. “Your mouth? Your face? Down on those pretty tits? You tell me, I’ll give it.”

Her lips trembled. She wanted to scream nowhere, wanted to tell him to choke on his own cum. But heat churned low in her belly, shame curling tighter around her ribs.

“My… my chest,” she whispered, voice shaking.

He grinned, sharp but softer at the edges. “Good girl.”

He shifted, fist pumping hard, cockhead dragging down the valley between her small breasts. His breath hitched, body tensing. “Hold them for me.”

Her shaky hands pressed her tits together, sticky from the last time, nipples hard against her palms. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, hips snapping forward. “Just like that. God, you’re perfect.”

The others groaned, muttering curses, but in that moment it was only him. Only her.

With a deep grunt, he came—hot ropes splattering across her chest, sliding down her sternum, dripping between her clenched tits. He sighed, shuddering, still stroking until every drop painted her.

When it was over, he stepped back, breath ragged. And for once, he didn’t push further. He just looked down at her, sticky and trembling, and said, almost gently, “You did good.”

Kazuha’s hands dropped, cum slick on her skin, heat still burning between her thighs. She didn’t understand why the respect in his voice stung worse than the degradation.

But she knew one thing: he’d given her a choice—and she’d taken it.

The fire hissed, eating through another log. Kazuha sat on her knees, chest glazed and sticky, small tits rising and falling as she caught her breath. Every muscle buzzed.

The leader crouched in front of her again, his hand no longer gripping, no longer forcing. Just resting on his knee as he studied her. His voice came low, deliberate.

“What do you want to do next, Kazuha?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Six sets of eyes still bored into her, fists pumping slow, hungry, waiting. They expected him to push her harder, to claim her again, to break her further.

Instead, he asked.

Her throat tightened. “I… I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Yes, you do.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re not the same girl who showed up here with Minkyu. So what do you want right now? Say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Her skin prickled. She hated the question, hated the knot twisting deep inside her. But her body pulsed with its own answer, wet and restless. She wanted more. Needed it.

Her nails dug into her thighs. “I… I want—”

The circle pressed tighter, muttering, goading. “Spit it out, slut.” “Tell us you need cock.” “She’s dripping, look at her.”

Kazuha’s eyes squeezed shut. “I want to… feel it inside.”

The words cut the air. For a second, even the fire sounded quiet.

Then the leader chuckled, slow and deep. He turned to the others, smirk sharp. “You heard her. She wants cock.”

Kazuha’s heart slammed. Her body shook, shame mixing with hunger. She had said it out loud. She couldn’t take it back.

The leader’s hand stroked her cheek. “Good girl. You’ll get it.” His smile curved cruel. “But not all at once.”

The circle stirred, voices buzzing, heat rising again.

Tonight wasn’t over. It was only beginning.

The leader dropped into the sand beside her, chest still slick with sweat, grin lazy, satisfied. He didn’t reach for her again. He just leaned back on his elbows, watching her shiver in the firelight.

“You did me good,” he said, voice rough. “Now it’s your turn. Who do you want, Kazuha? And how do you want him?”

Her head snapped toward him. “What?”

“You heard me.” He smirked. “I’m done. You’re still burning. So pick. Which one of them do you want to fuck you, and how?”

The circle shifted, restless, eyes blazing. Six men waiting like wolves, fists still wrapped around themselves, chests heaving.

Kazuha’s cheeks flamed. “I… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice sharpened. “You said you wanted it inside. Well, here’s your chance. You choose, or I’ll do it for you.”

Her lips trembled. She hated every set of eyes locked on her small frame, hated the heat pooling slick between her thighs even more.

One of them leaned forward, voice coaxing. “Pick me, Kazuha. I’ll go easy on you.”

Another laughed, crude. “Fuck that, she doesn’t want easy. Look at her shaking. She wants it rough.”

Her heart pounded. She looked down at her sticky chest, cum drying against her skin, thighs slick with need. Her voice cracked. “I… I want someone gentle.”

The leader chuckled. “Gentle, huh? Alright then. You heard her.” He tipped his chin toward the circle. “Which one of you’s man enough to fuck her soft?”

All at once they leaned in, eager, but her eyes settled on one—the quiet one, the one who hadn’t jeered the loudest. His jaw tightened when her gaze met his.

“Him,” she whispered, barely audible.

The leader grinned wide. “Good girl. Tell him how you want it.”

Kazuha’s throat worked. She met the man’s stare, shame thick in her chest. “Slow… on the ground… not in front of everyone.”

The circle erupted in protest, jeers flying, but the leader silenced them with one sharp glance. “You heard her. She makes the rules this round.”

Then he turned back to her, voice low, smug. “See, Kazuha? You don’t just get fucked. You get to decide how.”

Her body burned as the chosen man rose, hand already reaching for her. She wasn’t sure if it felt like freedom, or just another kind of trap.

The quiet one laid her down on a blanket by the fire, his hands steady, his weight careful. For the first time all night, Kazuha felt a touch that wasn’t a shove, wasn’t a dare. His cock slid slow inside her, stretching her small body, and she gasped sharp at the intrusion.

“Easy,” he murmured, hips rocking shallow, almost tender.

Her nails clawed at the fabric beneath her, thighs trembling as her cunt clenched tight around him. Heat built different this time—less violent, more dizzying. She let out a thin moan, eyes fluttering shut.

Then the leader leaned in from her other side, his breath hot against her ear. “How’s it feel, Kazuha? Not so dirty when it’s slow, huh?”

Her chest heaved. “It… it feels…” Her words fractured into a whimper as the man above her buried deeper.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” the leader pushed, his palm flattening over her stomach, pressing down just enough to make every thrust sharper. “Feels better than you expected.”

Kazuha gasped, back arching. “Y-yes—”

“Good girl.” His hand slid up, tweaking a small nipple still sticky with dried cum. She jolted at the overstimulation, a whine breaking free.

Her chosen partner slowed, eyes darting to the leader, but didn’t stop. His cock pumped steady inside her, hips rolling careful.

The leader’s grin widened. He leaned lower, lips brushing her temple. “Now tell me—where do you want his load? You get to choose again. In your tight little cunt? Or dripping down your chest so we can all watch?”

Her breath shattered, caught between the stretch filling her and the teasing hand rubbing circles around her clit. “I—I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.” His voice cut sharp, merciless. “Say it, Kazuha. Tell us where you want him to finish. Tell us what kind of slut you are.”

The quiet one groaned above her, hips stuttering, close to breaking. Her body writhed between them, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and still craving more.

Her lips trembled open. The choice was hers—but the trap was set.

Her breath hitched, voice breaking loose before she could stop it. “Inside—please, I want it inside.”

The leader’s laugh cut through the crackling fire. “There it is. Not so shy anymore, are you?”

The quiet one groaned, thrusts snapping harder now, pace unraveling. Kazuha’s small body shook under him, nails dragging across his back as his cock pulsed deep. Then he broke, hot ropes spilling inside her, filling her raw and bare.

Her mouth opened in a silent cry. The warmth spread low, unbearable, overwhelming. The shame should have crushed her, but instead it burned hotter. She had asked for it. Begged for it.

He pulled out slow, cum sliding thick down her thighs. The circle erupted with curses and cheers, some stroking faster, others groaning at the sight.

The leader stayed at her ear, voice soft but cutting. “Look at you. Used and dripping, and you still want more, don’t you?”

Her chest heaved. She wanted to deny it, to scream no—but her hips twitched, slick thighs rubbing together, betraying her.

“Who’s next?” he asked, voice almost playful. “Pick, Kazuha. And tell him how you want it.”

Her gaze swept the circle, dizzy with shame and hunger. Her eyes landed on a broad-shouldered one leaning back on his elbows, cock thick in his fist. He smirked when her gaze lingered.

“Him,” she whispered.

The leader grinned wide. “Good choice. Now tell him the position.”

Heat burned her cheeks. Her voice was barely audible. “From behind… I want it from behind.”

The smirk turned feral. He pushed off the sand, stalking toward her. Her body trembled, knees already pressing into the blanket, palms sinking into the rough fabric as she lifted her ass high, small frame arching in the firelight.

The leader leaned close, lips brushing her ear again. “See? You’re learning fast. Keep choosing, and maybe we’ll let you pretend you’re in control.”

Her body quivered, exposed, wet, waiting—for the next cock, the next betrayal she couldn’t stop herself from craving.

Kazuha’s palms dug into the blanket, knees spread, ass lifted high. Behind her, the broad-shouldered one lined up, cockhead grinding through her slick folds. She whimpered when he pressed in, stretching her small body wide, inch by inch.

Her breath broke into a cry. “Ah—he’s so big—”

“Keep talking, slut.” The leader crouched low in front of her, his smirk glowing in the firelight. His cock hung heavy inches from her mouth, already half-hard again. “You know what to do.”

She shook her head, eyes watering as the guy behind slammed fully inside her, hips snapping hard. Her small breasts bounced with every thrust, her voice trembling out, “He’s… he’s fucking me from behind—so deep—”

“Louder.” The leader gripped her chin, forced her teary gaze up to his. “Make us all hear how good it feels.”

Her voice cracked, high and raw. “It feels… so good! He’s splitting me open—ahh—fucking me so hard—”

The circle roared, hands stroking faster, curses spilling.

The leader chuckled low. “Good girl. Now open that mouth.”

She gasped as the man behind hammered her harder, his cock pounding deep, wet slaps echoing in the night. She opened wide, spit shining on her tongue.

“That’s it,” the leader growled, sliding his cock over her lips, smearing her spit across the tip. “Say what you’re about to do.”

Her moan choked into words. “I’m—gonna suck you—while he fucks me—”

“Say it nastier.”

Her face flamed, body quaking under the double assault, but she obeyed. “I’m your filthy little slut—I’m gonna choke on your cock while he uses my pussy—fuck—”

The leader shoved forward, his length filling her mouth, her moans muffled, spit spilling down her chin.

Behind her, the broad-shouldered one grunted, hips slamming, cock battering deep. The leader held her face steady, cock sliding across her tongue, voice dark and steady.

“Good girl. Take us both. Let them all watch you get ruined.”

Her muffled cry vibrated around him, obscene and helpless. And she realized through the haze, horror and heat tangled—she wanted them to watch.

Her body bent deeper, arching like a bow as the broad-shouldered guy slammed into her, cock stretching her so wide her toes curled in the sand. She tilted her head back, long black hair spilling down her spine, and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Fuck me harder,” she gasped, voice raw, desperate. “I want you to break me open—make me scream for it.”

His eyes went wide, nostrils flaring. With a growl, his hips pistoned harder, hands gripping her slender waist until bruises bloomed. Her small tits bounced with every brutal thrust, slick dripping down her thighs, pooling under her knees.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, sweat dripping onto her back, “you’re so fucking tight—”

The circle erupted, cursing, stroking themselves to the sight.

At her front, the leader thrust his cock toward her lips. “Where’s my blowjob, slut? You think you get to ignore me?”

But Kazuha just smirked, eyes glassy with lust, voice shattering as she cried out to the man inside her. “Yes—yes, right there! Fuck, you’re filling me so deep—ahh—don’t stop!”

Her hands shot back, clutching the broad guy’s head, pulling him down over her shoulder. He buried his face against her neck, groaning hard, his thrusts turning frantic.

The leader snarled. “Answer me, bitch!”

Kazuha only screamed louder, words filthier, every cry for the cock inside her. “Stretch me out—fuck me raw—fill this slutty pussy till it leaks down my thighs—yes, yes, yes!”

The broad guy’s hands clawed forward, palms wrapping around her small tits, squeezing them rough, fingers tugging her nipples. Her moan ripped high and broken, body shaking under the overload.

The leader’s voice cut sharp. “She’s gone cock-drunk. Look at her—won’t even suck me ‘cause she’s too busy begging to be bred.”

Kazuha’s nails dug into the blanket, her back arching to meet every thrust, her voice rising, shameless and wild. “Cum inside me—please—make me your fucking cumdump—do it—now!”

The man behind her roared, slamming deep, cock twitching hard as he spilled inside her, hot and messy. Kazuha screamed with him, every word dirty, guttural, surrendering.

The leader watched, cock in hand, eyes blazing. She hadn’t given him her mouth—but she’d given them all a show that left no doubt: she wasn’t Minkyu’s anymore.

Kazuha collapsed onto her back, thighs slick, chest heaving, her small body trembling from the pounding she’d just taken. The broad-shouldered guy slumped to the side, spent and gasping. Her hair fanned out across the blanket, face flushed, lips swollen.

She lifted her hands weakly, palms open, voice breaking into something soft—almost girlish.

“Wait… please… give me a break,” she panted, a shy smile tugging her lips. “If you let me rest, I’ll reward you. All of you.”

The circle stilled. Cocks twitched in fists.

Her lashes fluttered as she looked up at them, chest rising high with every shaky breath. “I want you all to cum on me. Right here.” She traced a finger down her own sternum, sticky with dried spend. “Cover me—make me your mess.”

A chorus of curses hit the air. Even the ones who’d already finished found their hands moving again, jerking harder at the thought.

She giggled breathlessly, a sound too sweet for the filth spilling from her lips. “You’ll paint me, won’t you? I’ll look so pretty with all your cum on me.”

They crowded in, cocks looming above her face, chest, belly. Her small hands reached up, fingers wrapping around shafts, stroking them with practiced ease, her voice soft and coaxing.

“Don’t hold back… I want every drop. Make me taste it, make me shine in it. Let me be your cute little cum doll.”

The leader’s laugh cut low. He dropped to his knees, not at her chest, but between her thighs. His cock pressed back inside her sloppy cunt with one hard thrust.

Kazuha gasped, eyes flying wide. “W-wait—”

“No breaks for you,” he growled, pounding into her raw and wet.

Her head tipped back, lips parting into a sweet moan that curled into a smile. She didn’t fight. Instead, she cooed up at the circle even as the leader used her.

“Don’t stop,” she panted, jerking them harder, eyes sparkling through tears. “Cover me while he fills me—cum on your little toy while I take his cock.”

The men groaned, curses spilling, bodies tensing.

One by one, they broke again, spilling across her face, her chest, her belly—thick streaks painting her pale skin as she gasped and giggled, coaxing more with every breath.

“Mm, so good… more, please, give me seconds… make me filthy for you.”

The leader snarled, driving deep, filling her pussy with a hot flood. She cried out, small body shuddering under him, her hands still stroking, still coaxing the others to spill until every inch of her glistened.

Even those who had already emptied themselves once leaned into her sweet words, desperate to give her more.

And Kazuha lay there smiling, cum-soaked, ruined, but impossibly cute—her voice the softest blade, slicing through every shred of control they thought they had.

“Come here.”

The leader’s voice was nothing but gravel and want. He didn’t need to push. Kazuha rose from the blanket, knees wobbling, eyes bright and eager in the low orange of the dying fire. She crossed the sand on bare feet like it was a promise.

He met her halfway, hand warm at the small of her back. No shove. No demand. Just the slow, deliberate press of palm and a look that asked and accepted. “You sure?” he asked, soft for once.

“Yes,” she whispered, and the single syllable carried everything—hunger, need, a smile trembling under it.

He lowered them both onto the blanket, spine to sand, and watched her with a hard, greedy praise in his eyes. “Show me,” he said. “Show me how you do it.”

Kazuha climbed up onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. The scent of smoke and salt hung on her hair. She crawled forward until their chests almost touched, long black hair brushing his jaw. Up close, he could see the damp shine at her lips, the tiny tremor of want in her throat. She looked like a secret he’d been dying to learn.

She kissed him first, quick and needy, then pulled back and met his stare. “I like making you feel good,” she said, voice small and urgent. “I like hearing you.”

His hand went to the curve of her hip, fingers digging in gentle praise. “Tell me,” he rasped. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

Kazuha’s smile was half-innocent, half-wicked. She leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “I want to taste you,” she murmured. “I want you to lose it with my mouth. I want you to watch me take you, to beg me.”

He groaned, a deep animal sound. “Fuck. You’re going to be the death of me.” He rolled his hips a fraction, testing, already hard.

She slid down, palms on his thighs, thumbs stroking the vein that ran hot beneath his skin. The leader—towering, rough-voiced, the one who’d owned the night—let himself fall back on his elbows and watch like a king surveying a conquest. Kazuha smirked, then took him in hand, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving his.

“You like being watched?” she asked, voice silk and knife. “Do you like me on my knees, bossing you with my mouth?”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Do it.”

There were no clumsy hands, no rough manhandling—only the honest press of eager lips and tongue. Kazuha leaned forward, took his tip, and then, with practiced confidence, she swallowed him deep. The leader’s head tipped back, breath hitching. Her mouth was warm and wet, pressure perfect, but it was her rhythm—the small, clever variations in speed and depth—that had him unravelling.

She moved slow, then faster, then slow again, the way a brush pulls paint across skin. In between, she murmured filthy little stories. “You feel so good in my mouth,” she whispered, sliding down and bobbing, a wet suction that pulled a groan from deep behind his ribs. “So big. So hard for me.”

His fingers tangled in her hair, not to force but to keep her in place, to feel the tiny quake of her throat as she took him. “You talk so pretty,” he muttered, voice thick. “Say it. Tell me how much you love this cock.”

Kazuha’s eyes met his, bright with mischief. “I love how you fill my mouth,” she began, words melting into moans, “I love how you make me gag and keep me wanting more. I love when you watch me—watch me make you lose your mind.”

He let out a low curse, hips stuttering. She slowed, then pulled off just enough for him to breathe, the tip painting her lower lip with precum. She tongued it, licking slow, eyes daring him to recover. “Don’t come yet,” she breathed. “Let me make you beg.”

It was a game she played expertly—push-and-hold, tease-and-give—each pause a needle that drew a deeper, more desperate sound out of him. He choked on a laugh, a groan, the air hot and ragged. “Kazuha—” he swore, short and sharp. “Please.”

She smirked and obliged, her mouth a warm cage that tightened, her hands steady on his hips to feel each shiver. He came fast, gripping her hair with a half-pleasure, half-commanding pull, but she took him whole anyway, swallowing down the first, huge burst with a soft, swallowed moan. He shuddered, knees buckling, and she hummed satisfaction, letting him ride his release down into breathy quiet.

When he eased back, spent and messy, Kazuha didn’t stop. She climbed up to straddle him, knees on either side of his hips, and leaned down, forehead to his. The leader’s breath came in ragged bursts. For a long second they simply watched each other: him rough, vulnerable; her flushed, bright-eyed with a satisfaction that made her look dangerous and amused all at once.

“You okay?” she asked, voice gentle. Not a question of permission—an offer.

He swallowed, eyes dark. “Never better.” His hand traced down the smooth plane of her stomach, then cupped her cunt, feeling the slickness left from earlier, feeling how hard she’d become again from the proximity, from the attention.

Kazuha ground back against him slowly, letting his fingers find the wet heat between her thighs. “I want you inside me,” she said, voice low and certain. “Slow. Deep. Make me feel every inch, but don’t rush.”

No coercion. No barked orders. He lifted her, guided himself in with a care that surprised her—the same greedy animal who’d led the night now careful, reverent in a private way. The leader slid in, inch by inch, until she settled on him fully. Her small body took him with a sound that was both need and welcome.

“God, you’re made for me,” he breathed, hips rocking the first slow, perfect stroke. The sand pressed under them, the taste of smoke and salt and the last of the night in their mouths. Kazuha’s hands rested on his chest, feeling the hard thump of his heart beneath her palms.

She moved with him, slow, matching his pace, letting the stretch roll deep into her core. “Harder,” he said at last, voice raw. “But slow.”

She obeyed, sinking and rising in a steady, cheeky rhythm that let him feel every scrape, every inch. When he began to pick up the tempo—long, deep thrusts that made her chest lift and fall—she met them, sound spilling out of her in breathy, filthy sentences.

“You feel so big inside me,” she moaned, voice hoarse and delighted. “Fill me up, please—make me yours.”

His hands roamed, rough and claiming, mapping the hollows of her ribs, the dip of her lower back. He slammed harder, a cadence that made stars explode behind her eyes. Each push hit a place low and wild; each withdrawal left her wanting more. She rode him like a woman who knew exactly how to be taken and how to take back the small reins with nothing but her voice.

“Talk to me,” he demanded between thrusts, breath hot on her ear. “Tell me what you want to feel when I come.”

Kazuha arched, eyes on his. Her words fell like silk and stone. “I want you to fill me—deep in my belly—so I can feel you spill inside me. I want to hear you curse my name. I want you to lose it while I hold you.”

The leader’s knuckles whitened at her hips. “Say it louder.”

“I want you to ruin me,” she cried, voice fierce and wet. “I want you to make me yours until I can’t walk straight. Come in me—fill me—don’t hold back.”

It was a command of a different kind: not his, not to her, but what she demanded of him. He answered the dare with a feral, guttural shout and slammed into her with everything he had left. The world narrowed to the burn of his cock filling her, the slap of skin on skin, the wet music of their bodies colliding.

When he came, it was a raw, roaring avalanche—hot, deep, overwhelming. He spilled into her in thick pulses, each one a claim. Kazuha moaned it all back at him, keening and laughing, eyes squeezed shut as she swallowed every shudder, feeling full and hollow at once.

After, they stayed tangled, breaths slow, sand sticking to sweat-slick skin. He dragged her close, one arm draped heavy across her shoulders, the other tracing idle patterns on her hip.

“You drive me stupid,” he whispered into her hair, voice close and strange with something softer than before.

Kazuha tilted her head, smile lazy and satisfied. “Good. Use it.”

Yeji hugged herself, teeth chattering. She felt his presence close, his hand on the small of her back guiding her toward the sidewalk.

“We should walk,” he said. “Your dorm’s not far.”

She nodded quickly, eyes down, cheeks burning. He’s so close… Every step squelched, water dripping from her hair and down her neck.

The streetlamps reflected off the puddles, painting them in silver and orange. It should have been romantic. But Yeji was panicking. Every brush of his arm against hers, every shift of his body beside her—she felt it.

His body heat. His scent, mingled with rain.

And then—she froze.

Something hard pressed against her hip as they stepped off the curb.

Her eyes widened. She risked a glance up at him. He didn’t notice at first, but when her thigh brushed it again—he smiled. Subtle. Almost invisible.

Yeji’s lips parted, shocked. Her heart hammered. She looked away immediately, biting her lip so hard it hurt.

They didn’t speak of it.

But the silence wasn’t innocent.

By the time they reached the dorm, her whole body was trembling—not just from the cold.

She fumbled with her keys, trying not to notice his eyes dropping down to where her blouse still clung to her breasts. The soaked fabric left nothing to imagination. She wanted to scream, to disappear.

“You’ll get sick if you stay like that,” Jimin said softly. His voice was low, reassuring. It only made her panic more.

“I-I’m fine,” she stammered, unlocking the door.

But when she glanced back—he was shivering. His lips pale, his hands clenched. Guilt cut through her nerves.

“Come up,” she said suddenly.

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re drenched too,” she explained, forcing confidence she didn’t feel. “You can’t go home like this. You’ll catch a cold. Just… just until you warm up.”

Jimin’s lips curved into that small, knowing smirk. He didn’t argue.

Inside the dorm, she rushed him toward her room. The hallways were quiet—most of the girls were still out.

Yeji threw him a towel, her voice too high. “Dry off! I’ll—uh—get something for you to wear.”

She pulled an oversized hoodie and sweatpants from her closet—her comfiest pair, always meant to hide her figure. When she handed them over, Jimin chuckled.

“You really want me in this?” he teased, holding up the pale pink hoodie with little cartoon rabbits on it.

Her cheeks burned. “It’s just until your clothes dry!”

He changed in her bathroom. When he stepped out, Yeji’s breath caught.

The hoodie hung loose on him, sleeves almost swallowing his hands. The sweatpants rode low on his hips. It should’ve been funny, ridiculous. But instead—he looked disarmingly soft, almost boyish, like he belonged here.

And that was the problem.

Yeji couldn’t shake the image of his hard length pressing against her earlier. Couldn’t stop the memory of his smirk when he realized she’d noticed.

She tried to laugh it off, retreating to her desk. “See? You look fine.”

“Fine?” He raised an eyebrow, sitting on her bed uninvited. “I think I look cute.”

Her heart raced. Don’t sit there… don’t look at me like that.

But Jimin leaned back, spreading his arms across her pillows, watching her with eyes that burned.

The rain hammered the windows.

Yeji was still giggling as she rubbed her hair with a towel, her wet clothes clinging like a second skin. Her laugh was light, high-pitched, almost nervous. The kind that made Jimin smile wider than he should have.

“Stop staring,” she scolded, turning her back to him as she opened her drawer for pajamas.

But he didn’t.

Jimin leaned lazily against her desk, arms crossed, eyes shamelessly following the outline of her body as she peeled her wet blouse off her shoulders.

Yeji moved quickly, too quickly, like she could pretend it was nothing. She pulled out a thin cotton pajama top, lifting it to cover herself—forgetting he could still see the slope of her bare back, the faint outline of her breasts swinging as she reached.

“Cute,” Jimin murmured.

Her head snapped toward him. “What—what’s cute?”

“You.” He smiled innocently, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Even when you’re flustered.”

Yeji rolled her eyes, cheeks blazing. “Shut up.”

She slipped into the pajama top, but it clung damply to her chest. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, thinking it would be hidden. She was wrong.

And Jimin noticed immediately.

He didn’t move toward her—not yet. Instead, he sat back on her bed, patting the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said softly. “You’ll warm up faster.”

It was ridiculous logic. But Yeji obeyed. She always did.

She curled onto the bed, her head near his shoulder, her body tense. Jimin draped the blanket over them both, the heat from his body sinking into her damp skin.

For a long time, neither spoke. Just the sound of the rain.

Then—his fingers brushed her arm. Slow. Casual. Crawling closer until they rested at the edge of her pajama neckline.

Yeji stiffened. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice was calm, even sweet. “Just making sure you’re warm.”

Her heart hammered. She didn’t stop him when his fingers lingered, dipping just enough to graze the soft swell beneath.

“Yeji.” His voice was lower now. Serious. “Can I ask you something?”

She turned to face him. His eyes were darker than before, locked on hers.

“Open it,” he whispered. “Just a little. Let me see.”

Her breath caught. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” He smiled faintly. “But I like you. And I don’t want to imagine anymore.”

Her pulse raced. It was insane. And yet—her hands moved. Slowly, trembling, she tugged the pajama collar aside. Just enough.

The soft curves of her breasts peeked out, pale in the dim light. Not too small, not too big—just hers.

Jimin exhaled sharply. His hand lifted, stopping just shy of touching. “Perfect.”

Yeji bit her lip, torn between shame and pride. “It’s weird.”

“No,” Jimin murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

He leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against hers. His hand finally touched—warm fingers grazing the soft underside of her breast. Her stomach flipped, every nerve sparking.

Her breath hitched. She should push him away. She didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her own hand, clumsy and awkward, pressing her tits together, showing them to him like an offering.

“Like this?” she whispered.

His jaw clenched. “Exactly like that.”

The tension grew unbearable. He leaned back against her headboard, pulling her gently down with him until her cheek rested on his shoulder. One arm around her, the other cupping her breast, thumb brushing her stiff nipple through the thin fabric.

Yeji squirmed, her thighs pressing together. She wasn’t supposed to like this. But her body betrayed her.

Jimin’s breaths grew uneven. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Her cheeks burned. “I-I’m trying…”

“Don’t try,” he whispered. “Just be you.”

She hesitated, then placed her hands over her own tits, squeezing them clumsily, whispering dirty little attempts she thought he wanted to hear.

“You’re… you’re hard because of me, right?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked.

“You want to see more?”

“Yes.”

She smiled shyly, embarrassed by her own boldness. “You can’t. Not yet.”

The mix of innocence and teasing undid him. His hips jerked under the blanket, his body tensing as his cock twitched, spilling hot release across his stomach and up—some of it landing warm and sticky against her tits.

Yeji gasped, startled. “Oh my god.”

Jimin laughed breathlessly, leaning down to kiss her. Soft, slow, as if nothing sinful had just happened.

Their lips moved together, her embarrassment fading into the warmth of his mouth.

When he pulled back, he was still smiling. “You’re dangerous, Yeji.”

Her chest swelled at the words. She’d never felt so wanted. So powerful. So… cherished.

And for a fleeting second, she felt like a princess.

He left her room not long after, slipping back into the rain with her oversized hoodie still clinging to him.

Yeji lay on her bed, pajama top sticky, heart racing.

She touched her lips where he’d kissed her and whispered to the ceiling:

“I love him.”

Next morning

The rain had stopped by morning, but the dorm halls still smelled faintly of damp wood and wet clothes. Yeji was in the shared kitchen, towel-drying her hair when Ryujin padded in barefoot, clutching a mug of instant coffee.

“You were out late,” Ryujin muttered, her voice raspy with sleep.

Yeji smiled too quickly. “Mm, just… hanging out.”

Ryujin arched an eyebrow, leaning on the counter. “With Jimin?”

Yeji’s cheeks flared hot. She turned away, pretending to fuss with her mug. “He’s just… nice.”

Ryujin’s laugh was short, sharp. “That’s exactly what they all say before it goes wrong.”

The room was quiet for a beat. Then:

“You think I don’t see it?” Ryujin asked, softer now. “The way he looks at you. The way you look at him.”

Yeji bit her lip. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” Ryujin said flatly. “I do. I’ve been there.”

Yeji turned, frowning. Ryujin’s eyes were hard, but underneath—tired. Bitter.

“You give guys like him an inch,” Ryujin said, “and they’ll take the whole thing. If you don’t give it to him, he’ll just find someone else. That’s how it works.”

Yeji’s heart sank. The words lodged deep, sharp as glass. She wanted to argue, but—her chest tightened. What if Ryujin was right?

Before she could answer, the dorm door clicked open.

Taeho stepped in casually, slinging his backpack onto the couch. His shirt clung tight across his chest, still faintly damp from the drizzle outside.

“Morning,” he said smoothly, eyes flicking over both girls.

“Morning,” Ryujin replied, uninterested. She grabbed her mug and left toward the hallway, tossing a look at Yeji that was part warning, part plea: be careful.

Now it was just Yeji and Taeho.

She felt his gaze almost immediately. Heavy. Lingering.

Yeji fumbled with her spoon, stirring nothing in her cup. “You… should probably knock before coming in like that.”

He smirked, sliding closer. “What for? I’m practically part of this place already.”

Her pulse quickened. She kept her eyes down, pretending to sip.

“You know,” Taeho murmured, leaning on the counter beside her, “Ryujin worries too much.”

Yeji stiffened. “Were you listening?”

“Not really,” he lied, grinning. “But I can guess.” His hand brushed the edge of her mug, knuckles grazing hers. “You don’t have to listen to her. You’re not a kid.”

Yeji pulled back slightly, heart pounding. “I’m not—”

“Relax.” He laughed low, leaning in just a bit more, close enough for her to feel his breath. “I’m just saying… you deserve to figure things out for yourself.”

It sounded harmless. Almost kind.

But the way his eyes flicked down her neckline, the way his body loomed too close—Yeji knew better.

She stepped away, forcing a smile. “I—I should get ready for class.”

Taeho didn’t move at first. Then he straightened, nodding slowly, his smirk widening as if he’d seen right through her.

“Sure,” he said. “See you tonight.”

Yeji froze. “Tonight?”

He winked. “Ryujin’s cooking. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Her throat tightened. She nodded weakly.

When he left, she sagged against the counter, her mug trembling in her hand.

Ryujin’s warning echoed in her head like a curse:

If you don’t give it to him, he’ll just find someone else.

And suddenly, Yeji wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of losing Jimin— …or of what Taeho saw when he looked at her.

THAT NIGHT

The night carried the sharp tang of soju and the faint echo of Ryujin’s laughter fading into slurred nonsense. Her head had collapsed onto Taeho’s shoulder not twenty minutes ago, her breath hot and needy against his neck.

“Let’s go home,” she had whispered, drunk lips brushing his ear.

So they did.

But the second Ryujin’s body touched the mattress, she was out—limbs sprawled, soft snores muffling against the pillow.

Taeho sat at the edge of the bed for a long moment, staring. His jaw clenched, his cock stiff against the denim of his jeans. He’d been teased all evening, her hands sliding too low, her whispers too desperate. Now he had nothing but silence.

He stood, exhaling sharply, and stepped out into the hallway.

The dorm was quiet.

Except—Yeji.

She was in the common area, hair tied up messily, crouched on the floor picking up empty bottles and crumpled napkins. A faint pout tugged her lips, her cheeks still flushed from the alcohol.

Taeho leaned against the doorframe, watching.

“You didn’t drink that much,” he said low.

Yeji startled, almost dropping a bottle. “God—you scared me.”

He smirked, stepping closer. “Sorry.”

She turned back quickly, wiping the table. “You should be with Ryujin.”

“I tried,” Taeho said, voice dipping. “She’s gone.”

The way he said it—flat, edged with hunger—froze Yeji’s movements. She straightened slowly, clutching the rag in her hands, eyes darting to him.

“What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

Taeho took another step, his shadow crossing hers.

“She’s sleeping.” His smile widened. “But I’m not.”

Her stomach knotted.

“You—” Her voice cracked. “Don’t joke like that.”

“Who’s joking?” His eyes dragged down her loose shirt, lingering on the soft outline of her breasts. “You’re standing here… cleaning up, looking like that. Like you’re waiting for me.”

Yeji’s breath caught. “Taeho—stop.”

But he didn’t. His hand slid along the table’s edge, closing the space between them.

“You know how long I’ve been watching you?” he murmured, so close now she could smell the faint burn of alcohol on his breath. “Ryujin brings me here, flaunts me around, but you… you’re the one I can’t stop thinking about.”

Her knees trembled. She gripped the rag tighter, pulse pounding in her ears.

“This isn’t funny,” she whispered, but it came out weak.

He leaned in, lips almost grazing her ear. “Does it feel like I’m laughing?”

Yeji froze, every instinct screaming to move, to shout, to run. But her body betrayed her—locked in place as his words sank deeper, darker.

Her chest rose and fell too fast.

And Taeho knew.

He smiled against her skin, whispering like it was already a secret between them:

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” His hand brushed her wrist, deliberate, slow. “I just… can’t stop wanting you.”

The air between them grew too hot, too tight. Yeji’s back pressed against the edge of the kitchen counter, rag still clutched in trembling hands.

Taeho’s body loomed forward, swallowing all her space, his chest brushing hers every time he breathed. His voice was lower now—confessional, hungry, cutting past every defense.

“Ryujin told me something,” he said, words curling against her cheek. “Said you’ve never… been touched.”

Her eyes widened. “She—she talks too much—”

He smiled like it was the sweetest news he’d ever heard. His fingers found her hips, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. His cock pressed hard against her lower belly, the ridge obvious even through his jeans.

“You know what that means, right?” His lips ghosted the shell of her ear. “I’ve never had one. Never fucked a virgin.”

Yeji shook her head violently. “No—no, stop, don’t—”

But Taeho tilted his forehead down, pressing until their noses almost touched, the warmth of his breath sliding straight into her mouth. Every protest shivered between them, feeding his grin.

“Can I try you, Yeji?” he whispered, every syllable like a thrust without moving an inch. “Just once. Let me see how it feels.”

Her tears finally broke, slipping hot down her cheeks.

“This is wrong,” she choked, hands flat on his chest but with no strength behind them. “I’m not— I’m not yours—”

“You’re not hers either,” he cut in, tightening his grip on her hips, grinding against her crotch with obscene pressure. “But you feel this, don’t you? My cock, right there…”

Her thighs clenched involuntarily, heat surging despite her panic. She sobbed, twisting her head away, but his lips followed—barely grazing her jaw, not yet kissing, just enough to brand her.

“Don’t pretend,” Taeho murmured. “I can feel how alive you are under me.”

Her cries stuttered into fractured words: “S-stop—please stop—don’t make me—”

But she didn’t move. Couldn’t.

And Taeho’s voice, dripping with mock-gentle promise, sealed her in place:

“I’ll be your first, Yeji. And you’ll never forget me.”

Yeji’s palms pressed hard against his chest, but Taeho leaned closer, burying her protests under his voice.

“You don’t want Ryujin walking in, do you?” His hips rolled forward, grinding his cock against the thin cotton of her shorts. “You don’t want her to see you like this—my cock right here—and call you a cheater.”

“Stop—please, Taeho—stop—” she stammered, tears stinging her eyes, her voice trembling more with every thrust.

His hand came up, covering her mouth with rough fingers, muffling her cries. “Shhh. You sound guilty already.” His words slid straight into her ear, hot and poisonous. “Just be quiet. Take it. No one has to know.”

Her body bucked against the counter, pinned by his weight, the thick ridge of his cock grinding perfectly into her covered slit. She hated the way heat shot through her thighs, the way her chest rose faster under his shadow.

When he pulled back enough to unzip, her stomach dropped.

“No—don’t—don’t take it out—”

But he already had, his cock long, thick, heavy in his hand, slapping lewdly against her belly. He grinned at her wide-eyed horror.

“See what you do to me?”

Yeji squeezed her eyes shut, whispering, “Please—just stop, please, I’ll do anything—”

“Then show me,” he taunted.

Her shaking hands hesitated before yanking her oversized shirt up to her collarbone, revealing her tits. Round, trembling, soft. She turned her face away in shame, whispering, “Just look—just stop after this—”

But Taeho’s mouth descended immediately, latching onto her nipple, sucking greedily while his cock ground harder against her clothed pussy. Yeji sobbed, arching away, but her hips betrayed her—pressing down as if to end it faster.

“You’re letting me,” he moaned around her breast, licking, biting. “God, you feel so good—don’t lie to me, Yeji.”

Her voice cracked as she begged: “Please—please, just finish already—I don’t want this—please Taeho—don’t make it worse—”

He laughed against her chest, then pulled her down suddenly, forcing her to her knees on the kitchen tile.

“No—no, not like this—”

“Shhh. Just let me use you,” he panted, stroking his cock right in front of her face before pressing the slick head against her tits. “Hold them for me.”

Her hands trembled as she squeezed her breasts around him, trying to keep her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears. His cock slid between them, smearing pre-cum across her skin as he grunted and thrust.

“God, look at you. Ryujin’s best friend—on her knees, tits wrapped around my cock.”

“Stop saying that—stop it—just cum—please—” she cried, her voice breaking.

And then he did, thick spurts painting her chest, streaking up to her collarbone and throat. Hot, humiliating, sticky.

Yeji whimpered as she felt it drip down, her tits coated. Her hands fell limp at her sides.

Taeho stroked the last drop out onto her nipple and smirked, breathless.

“You’ll thank me later,” he whispered, still looming above her.

She sobbed softly, whispering, “I hate you, Taeho… I hate you…”

But she didn’t move.

Taeho slumped lazily onto the couch, cock still half-hard and glistening from the mess on Yeji’s chest. He patted his lap.

“Sit.”

Yeji froze, arms wrapped tight across her bare chest, trying to wipe his cum with the hem of her shirt.

“No—I can’t—”

“You want Ryujin to wake up?” he cut her off, voice low, sharp. “Want her to find out her best friend was on her knees for me?”

Yeji’s stomach twisted. Slowly, trembling, she moved toward him and lowered herself onto his lap. His jeans were still open, heat radiating from him against her thighs. She held her breath, keeping her body stiff as a board.

“That’s better,” he murmured, his arms sliding around her waist like a snake coiling around prey. His cock pressed against her shorts again, thick and heavy, twitching with each beat of his heart.

“Please… Taeho… don’t…”

He chuckled. “Relax. No one has to know. Not Ryujin. Not anyone. Just our little deal.”

Her chest rose fast against him. She wanted to bolt, to scream, but his words pinned her tighter than his arms ever could.

“You know what a deal means, Yeji?” His breath brushed her ear. “It means you don’t tell. And I don’t ruin you.”

Yeji swallowed, tears blurring her eyes. She nodded once, tiny, broken.

“That’s my girl.”

His hand cupped her cheek, forcing her to face him. She tried to turn away, but his grip was firm.

“No…” she whispered.

“Yes,” he answered simply. Then his mouth was on hers—hot, rough, tasting of power. A predator’s kiss. He pressed until her lips parted, tongue slipping inside. Yeji whimpered, body frozen, letting him take what he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, a string of spit connected them. He smirked at her ruined expression.

“See? Not so hard. Just don’t forget our deal.”

Yeji stumbled away the moment he let her go, running to her room, locking the door with shaking hands.

Inside, she fell onto her bed, clutching the rosary her parents had given her, pressing it hard to her chest as if the beads could scrub away the filth on her skin.

She whispered a prayer between sobs, but the ghost of his kiss lingered, burning hotter than any sin she had ever feared.

And for the first time, Yeji didn’t know if heaven was listening.

IN THE MORNING

Yeji’s knuckles hovered over Jimin’s apartment door longer than they should have. She told herself she was just here because he was sick. Because he needed soup. Because she was a good girlfriend.

But when the door opened and she saw his tired smile, messy hair, and blanket-draped shoulders, the lie unraveled.

“Yeji?” His voice was rough, congested. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to catch this.”

She stepped forward anyway, wrapping her arms around him before he could stop her. The heat of his body, fevered and needy, sank into her bones. She buried her face in his chest.

“Don’t push me away,” she whispered.

Something in her broke when he wrapped his arms around her in return. Safe. Solid. Nothing like last night.

Her lips found his jaw. His neck. He stilled, startled, then melted under the pressure of her mouth.

“Yeji…” he rasped. “What—what are you doing?”

“Don’t ask.” She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her shirt sliding down one shoulder. “Please. Just… let me forget.”

She didn’t wait for permission. She grabbed the hem of her clothes and peeled them away until her body was bare in front of him. The rosary she had clutched the night before still dangled from her wrist, obscene against the swell of her breasts.

Jimin’s jaw dropped. “Jesus, Yeji—”

“Don’t say that name.” Her voice cracked, shame and need tangled. “Just hold me.”

He did. He lifted her up, carried her toward his bed, and laid her down like something sacred. His hands trembled as they explored her body—the curve of her waist, the soft weight of her tits, the untouched warmth between her thighs.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, kissing her collarbone.

Her eyes burned. For a moment she believed him.

He teased her nipples, licked at her trembling chest, slid fingers lower until she gasped and arched. Her pussy was wet, open, aching, and she hated how easy her body betrayed her.

Jimin pulled back, panting, eyes dark with lust and disbelief. “Yeji… can I—” his voice cracked, desperate—“can I fuck you?”

The word hit her like lightning. Her whole life her father’s sermons screamed in her head. Purity. Marriage. Heaven.

But last night’s memory—the weight of Taeho’s cock against her clothed pussy, the taste of his kiss forced onto her lips—screamed louder.

She wanted to erase it. To overwrite it.

“Yes,” she whispered, tears sliding down her temple. “Please… just be gentle.”

Jimin’s lips crushed hers in answer, and the last threads of Yeji’s innocence snapped.

He kissed her like she was fragile, his fingers trembling against her cheek, his body hovering over hers like he was afraid to crush her.

It felt like love.

Until it didn’t.

When he pushed inside her, Yeji’s back arched, mouth opening in a gasp that broke into a sob. The pain burned sharp, foreign, stretching her virgin cunt around his cock. He whispered her name like a prayer, swore she was perfect, kissed the tears from her eyes.

But in the heat of his thrusts, in the weight of his body pinning her down, another face flickered in her mind. Taeho.

The same heat against her hips. The same predatory pressure of someone taking more than she could give.

Her nails dug into Jimin’s shoulders. “Stop,” she whimpered. “Please, Jimin, wait—”

But he was already moving, gentle strokes turning longer, deeper, greedier. His groans drowned her voice out, his kisses smothered her protests. “I love you,” he panted, “I need you—don’t make me stop now.”

Love. That was his excuse. Just like Taeho’s deal, twisted into something she couldn’t escape.

Tears slid down her temples as her body betrayed her, clenching around him, pussy slick with a shameful wetness that made him moan louder.

“You feel so good,” Jimin gasped, sucking at her tits, circling her nipples with his tongue. “So tight, Yeji… you were made for me.”

Her head shook weakly, strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks. She wanted to shove him off, to scream. But the warmth of his cock dragging inside her, hitting places she didn’t know existed, made her hips twitch upward.

She hated herself for it.

“Don’t cum inside me,” she cried, chest heaving. “Please, Jimin, don’t—”

He slowed, eyes wild, sweat dripping from his forehead onto hers. “Then… suck me. Swallow me down. Show me you’re mine.”

Her whole body trembled beneath him. A sob broke into a broken moan as she nodded. She would take his cock in her mouth if it meant he wouldn’t spill inside her, wouldn’t make her carry this sin further than tonight.

He kissed her again, deeper, rougher, pounding harder now with the bargain sealed. The bed creaked, their bodies slick with sweat, her rosary tangled against his chest.

And all Yeji could see was another monster above her. Different name, same hunger.

She closed her eyes, let the thrusts drag through her until her body gave way, and prayed silently that when he pulled out, he would keep his word.

Jimin moaned into her mouth, thrusts deepening as if her kiss was permission. His tongue slid against hers, messy and hungry, his hands gripping her waist to pull her closer.

She should have pushed him away. Instead, she arched into him.

Every drag of his cock burned, stretched, filled. The sharp pain from before softened into aching waves of heat, and her body betrayed her—hips rolling, pussy clenching, like she wanted it. Needed it.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. She kissed him again, harder, muffling her own sobs. “Jimin…” she whimpered against his lips, “please… don’t—”

But he swallowed the words whole, kissing her until her protests melted into moans.

He buried his face in her neck, thrusts erratic now, pounding her deeper with every ragged breath. “I love you, Yeji,” he panted. “I love you too much to stop.”

Her nails scratched at his back, her eyes squeezed shut. “I love you too,” she cried—because if she didn’t say it, she was afraid he would never stop.

The bed rocked beneath them. Her legs trembled around his waist, locking him inside her. And then, with one last thrust, his cock pulsed deep, spilling warmth she had begged him not to give.

Her eyes flew open.

Cum. Inside her.

She gasped, shoving at his shoulders, but he held her tight, burying his release deeper, groaning like it was bliss. Her tears spilled over as she felt it—hot, thick, dripping inside her untouched womb.

He kissed her cheek, her temple, whispering devotion while she cried. “You’re mine now,” he said softly, almost tender. “Forever.”

Yeji turned her face away, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe this was love.

But all she saw, in her mind’s eye, was Taeho’s grin. The monster hadn’t left.

When Jimin finally pulled out, his cum leaked from her pussy, sliding warm down her thighs. Yeji’s sob caught in her throat as she looked down at the mess, at the evidence of what she swore she hadn’t wanted.

She kissed him one last time, soft and broken. Her lips said lover. Her tears said liar.

And Jimin, smiling, never noticed the difference.

The streets were quiet when Yeji walked back to the dorm. Her clothes clung damp with sweat and sex, her thighs sticky with the weight of him still inside her.

She hated the feeling. She hated how her body had clenched around him, how her lips had begged for his, how she had whispered “I love you” just to make it end.

Every step toward her door felt heavier. Every heartbeat louder.

By the time she pushed inside, the dorm was silent. Ryujin’s shoes were at the entrance, but her room was dark—Taeho must have already slipped in with her.

Yeji’s chest tightened.

She hurried past, into her own room, closing the door before her legs gave out.

She collapsed on her knees, hands trembling as she reached for the drawer. Inside was the rosary her father had given her the day she left for Seoul. Smooth beads, cool against her clammy palms.

Her breath shuddered as she pressed the cross to her forehead.

“Forgive me,” she whispered.

The image of Jimin’s face hovered in her mind—eyes glazed, whispering he loved her as he pumped his seed inside her. But the warmth she felt then wasn’t love. It was possession. The same hunger Taeho carried in his eyes.

Her stomach twisted.

She remembered the grind of Taeho’s cock against her, the feel of his hand on her hip, his lips claiming hers like a predator. Now Jimin had done the same—gentle on the surface, cruel beneath.

Her fingers tightened on the rosary until her knuckles went white.

“Forgive me,” she said again, tears dripping down her face. Not because she had sinned— But because she didn’t know if she wanted forgiveness at all.

For a moment, her body still throbbed with phantom heat. Her pussy clenched at the memory, traitorous, aching for more even as her soul screamed.

She buried her face in the sheets, sobbing quietly, clutching the rosary like it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

Outside, in Ryujin’s room, the faint thump of a bed against the wall echoed. Taeho’s laugh, Ryujin’s muffled moan.

Yeji froze, clutching harder. Guilt. Jealousy. Fear. All tangled together.

And through the tears, one thought whispered louder than prayer:

It was the first time she didn't know what to say.

Now, in the suite, she sat across from him, one heel off, her dress high on one thigh. She watched him sink to his knees, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You can stop this anytime," he said.

"I know," she replied. Her voice was softer than usual.

He began at her ankle. Gentle. No rush. As if every inch of her mattered. As if her body wasn't just beautiful—it was sacred.

She inhaled slowly. The feel of his lips on her calf was new. Not arousing in the hungry, predictable way. No. This felt... seen.

When he kissed the inside of her knee, she shivered.

"Why?" she asked, barely a whisper.

He paused. "Because you're more than just someone to touch. You're someone to revere."

And with each kiss, each press of his mouth, she began to believe it.

She leaned back into the chaise, the silk of her dress sliding off her shoulder like a tease she hadn't meant to give.

He looked up, breathing shallow. Her lips parted. She undid the top clasp with a flick, not all the way—just enough to make him ache.

"You're shaking," he said.

"No one's ever seen me," she whispered, "not like this."

He kissed just below her collarbone, tongue tracing a slow path to the swell of her breasts. Her skin was hot, flushed, and impossibly smooth. He let his hands rest at her ribs, thumbs grazing the side of her breasts.

She gasped, sharp and breathy.

"Do you even know," he said, licking along the dip between them, "how fucking divine you are?"

He kissed the top of her left breast, then the right, tongue wetting the soft curve above the lace. No groping. No grabbing. Just mouth, heat, adoration.

Her back arched. "More. Fucking more."

She undid the clasp herself. Let the fabric fall. Her breasts spilled into open air—full, flushed, nipples tight and waiting.

He stared, awestruck. "Jesus fuck."

She laughed, drunk on power and want. "Now you get it."

His mouth closed around one nipple. Tongue swirling, lips sealing around it like a man starved. She cried out, hips twitching. Her thighs clenched as he sucked—not gentle, not rough. Just worshipful. Thorough.

He shifted to the other, lavishing it with the same attention. Wet, hot circles. Open-mouthed kisses along the curve. He moaned against her skin like it fed him.

Her hand gripped his hair. She rolled her hips into nothing, aching. "Fuck, you're good at this."

"I'm not even close to done," he said, kissing between her breasts. "This body deserves hours."

She laughed again, breath hitching. "You planning to pray between my legs too?"

"Already on my knees."

She pulled him by the collar, dragged his mouth back to hers.

She tasted of wine and want, her tongue slipping past his like she owned the inside of his mouth. One hand tangled in his hair, the other slid beneath his shirt, nails dragging across his back hard enough to make him groan.

He kissed back just as rough. No more hesitation. Wet, messy kisses that pulled moans from both of them, teeth clicking, breath mixing. His hands finally rose to her bare waist, then her ribs, then higher—cupping her tits again like he couldn’t believe they were his to touch.

She arched into him, panting against his lips. "Harder."

He squeezed, rolled her nipple between his fingers, swallowed her gasp.

Their mouths crashed together again. Her legs parted to let him press closer, the hard line of his cock grinding against the edge of the chaise, not quite between her thighs, but close enough to make them both shudder.

She grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand lower. "Feel how wet I am."

He groaned into her mouth as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, dragging up her thigh to the heat between her legs. Damp lace. Soaked.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped. "You're dripping."

"What did you expect? You've been kissing me like I’m the only goddamn thing that matters."

He pulled her onto his lap without breaking the kiss. Her dress bunched at her hips. Her chest pressed to his. Their bodies locked together, tongues warring.

She started grinding. Slow, deliberate. The friction made her whimper.

His hands were everywhere. One on her ass, squeezing hard. The other fisted in her hair, tilting her head to kiss her deeper.

She kissed like she wanted to eat him alive.

He kissed back like he was already hers.

She let him guide her, pliant and flushed, as he shifted positions.

His arms wrapped around her from behind, drawing her against his chest. Her back curved into him, her ass nestled perfectly in his lap. The dress had slipped entirely off her shoulders now, pooling at her waist.

He kissed along her spine, slow and open-mouthed, each press of lips softer than the last. One hand held her hips steady. The other reached up to cup her breast from behind—palm full, fingers splayed wide.

"You're unreal," he whispered against her skin.

She tilted her head, eyes half-lidded. "Keep going."

He groaned. His fingers pinched her nipple lightly, then rolled it between his fingertips, flicking it just enough to make her squirm. Her thighs pressed together, hips twitching in his grip.

His other hand slid up her belly, slow and teasing, until both palms framed her chest. He spooned her tits in his hands, fingers circling, rubbing, tugging.

She whimpered. "Fuck, that feels so good."

He bit her shoulder gently. "You look like a fucking dream right now."

Her hips began to move, grinding against the ridge of him beneath her. He let her ride it slow, hands never leaving her breasts. His fingers danced over her nipples, slick with sweat and lust, tweaking, stroking.

Her head fell back on his shoulder. "Harder."

He pinched one tight, thumb brushing the tip until her whole body jerked.

"You're gonna come just from this, aren't you?"

"Maybe," she gasped. "Don't stop."

His mouth moved back to her neck. He kissed up to her ear, voice rough.

"Not until you beg for it."

Chapter 5 — Not Until You Beg Her thighs were slick and shaking when he pulled her back onto the chaise, spreading her open with two firm hands.

"Please," she gasped. "When are you going to fuck me already?"

He said nothing. Just knelt.

Then his mouth was on her.

His tongue slid between her folds, slow and deliberate. He licked upward, flattened his tongue against her clit, and sucked.

Her whole body jolted. She moaned like she'd been hit, her hips rising to meet his mouth. "Fucking hell—yes."

He stayed there, lips wrapped around her, tongue circling, flicking, pressing. Every motion calculated. Intentional. Worshipful.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair. "Fuck me. Now. Please."

He looked up, chin wet, eyes dark. "Not yet."

Then he moved lower. Past her pussy. Past her thighs. Down to her calves, her ankles.

He kissed the top of her foot.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You're not just a body to fuck," he murmured, lips against her arch. "You're a goddess. Every part of you deserves to be honored."

He kissed each toe, slow and filthy, and she trembled.

But her eyes drifted lower. His cock strained hard against his jeans, the outline thick and angry. He wanted her. Badly.

She reached for him, desperate to reciprocate.

He caught her wrist.

"No," he said. Firm. Gentle. "Not until you beg me like you mean it."

Her eyes blazed. Her body was on fire.

He smirked, lips against her ankle. "I'm not the one in control here. You are. The moment you ask the right way—I'll ruin you."

He slid back up her body like a tide coming home, tracing her skin with his lips until they were face to face again.

Her breath caught as his mouth brushed hers—soft at first, then hungrier. She opened for him, kissing him deep, tasting her own arousal still slick on his tongue.

Her hand found him. Pressed against the thick line straining his jeans. He hissed into her mouth.

"Let me," she whispered.

He didn’t stop her.

She undid his fly slowly, fingers brushing along his length as she freed him. Hard, hot, leaking in her palm. She wrapped her hand around him and started to stroke.

Slow. Tight. Controlled.

His hips bucked, just slightly.

She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. Her gaze locked on his, wide and wet, full of raw need.

"I want it," she whispered. "I want you to fuck me. Please. I need it."

He bit back a groan, forehead pressed to hers.

"Say it again," he said.

She pumped him harder, thumb brushing the head, wrist twisting just right.

"Please," she begged, voice breaking. "Please fuck me. Be good to me. I need to feel you inside."

He groaned, hips jerking into her fist. His control cracked.

"Jesus," he growled. "You're killing me."

She kissed him again, filthy and wet, never breaking eye contact. Her hand kept working him.

She didn’t wait for permission.

With a rough push to his chest, she had him flat on his back, his cock rigid and glistening, twitching between them. Her legs straddled his hips in one smooth motion, the dress now a forgotten mess at her waist.

She looked down at him. "I begged. Now I take."

His hands gripped her thighs, breath ragged. "Fucking take it."

She reached down, angled him, and sank onto him in one long, wet slide. Her mouth dropped open in a silent moan as she bottomed out, clenching around him.

He cursed under his breath. "So goddamn tight."

They stilled for a moment, forehead to forehead, breathing hard.

Then she started to move.

Slow rolls at first. Grinding. Riding him deep and deliberate, her pussy gripping him like it never wanted to let go.

He didn’t stop her. Couldn’t. His hands slid up to her waist, then to her breasts—still flushed and sensitive from earlier.

He cupped them again, reverent. Kissed between them. Licked the sweat off her sternum.

"Your tits are perfect," he groaned. "Fucking addictive."

She moaned, riding harder now, rhythm building with each thrust.

He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking with just enough teeth to make her cry out. Her hips stuttered.

She grabbed the back of his head, pressed him closer to her chest.

"Keep doing that. Don’t stop."

He obeyed, worshiping her tits with tongue and lips as she rode him fast, messy, raw. Her moans filled the room. Each bounce sent slick sounds echoing off the walls.

"Fuck," she gasped. "I'm gonna come."

His mouth never left her. His cock throbbed deep inside her. Everything burned.

And still, he worshipped.

Chapter 8 — The Favor Returned Her body tensed, thighs trembling as her orgasm ripped through her. She cried out, riding him to the end, pussy clenching tight around him.

Then she collapsed, boneless, her chest pressed to his, her breath hot against his neck.

He held her close, his cock still rock hard inside her, throbbing. Waiting.

She felt it. Smiled against his throat. "You didn’t come."

He exhaled a shaky breath. "Not yet."

She kissed his collarbone. Then his chest. Then lower.

Sliding down his body, slow and deliberate, she made her way between his legs. Her hands trailed over his abs, her lips worshiping every inch of skin she passed.

He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes dark and dazed.

"What are you doing?"

She looked up at him, licking her lips. "Returning the favor."

Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, wet from her. She kissed the tip first—soft, reverent.

Then she licked from base to crown, slow and hot, making him shudder.

"Jesus."

She smiled. Took him into her mouth.

Warm. Wet. Deep. Her lips sealed around him as she began to suck, tongue swirling under the head. He groaned, head falling back.

She used both hands now, stroking and sucking in perfect rhythm. Every time he twitched in her mouth, she moaned around him, making it wetter, filthier.

Her eyes never left his.

He looked down at her—this woman who had just ridden him into the mattress now kneeling like he was the one to be worshiped.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me—"

She bobbed faster, eyes shining. Her hand worked his shaft while her tongue teased the slit.

Then she pulled off with a loud pop, lips slick, grinning like a sin.

"Look at you," she purred. "So fucking hard for me. You like watching me worship your cock?"

He growled, hips twitching. "Fuck yes."

She licked the head again, slowly. "I can feel every pulse. You're aching, baby. All this for me?"

He nodded, jaw tight.

"You taste so fucking good," she said, stroking him while her tongue flicked back and forth over the tip. "Salty, hot. Like you were made to come in my mouth."

"You're gonna make me lose it," he warned.

She moaned, sucked him in deep again, her voice muffled but filthy. "That’s the idea. Give it to me. All of it. I want your cum down my throat. I want to feel you throb while I swallow."

He lost it.

His body tensed under her, thighs rigid, fingers buried in her hair. He tried to hold back. Failed.

With a guttural moan, he came.

She took it all.

His cock throbbed against her tongue as the first hot pulse hit the back of her throat. She didn’t flinch. She moaned. Kept sucking. Swallowing.

He gasped. "Fuck—"

She pumped him with her hand, mouth sealed around the head, her throat working as she took every last drop. She didn’t stop until he sagged beneath her, panting and wrecked.

When she finally pulled off, a thin thread of cum clung to her lip. She licked it up slow.

Then she crawled up his body, straddled him again, and kissed him.

Hard. Deep. Tongue pushing into his mouth so he could taste himself on her lips.

He groaned, arms wrapping around her. "You’re fucking insane."

She smiled against his mouth. "No. Just devoted."

She licked the corner of his mouth, slow and deliberate. "I wanted it. All of it. You felt so good, baby. Like you were made for my throat."

His breath caught. She pressed her forehead to his.

They slept tangled together, her breath soft against his chest, the sheets warm with the night they’d made.

When he woke, she was gone.

But there was a note. Folded neatly on the pillow, ink still fresh.

Thank you. For seeing me. For making me feel like more than just something pretty to touch. Like I mattered. — Yours, even if just for one night.

He sat with it in his hands for a long time.

The week crawled by.

Then one morning, he saw her again—on the giant LED screen outside the electronics store. Dressed in something sharp and sculpted, hair perfect, smile practiced. Flanked by three men in suits.

A new endorsement. Luxury tech.

The rumors came fast.

She’s their little plaything. She fucks for the contract. They keep her on rotation.

His stomach turned. Not from jealousy. From knowing.

He knew how her voice caught when she laughed too hard. How she trembled when she let herself be worshipped. How her eyes had begged, not for cock, not for power—but for care.

And now she was back in the machine. Glossed over. Owned.

He stared at the screen as the ad played again.

She opened her mouth to argue—then gasped as his fingers sank inside her.

“Stop—oh fuck—”

He curled them hard, fingers slick and deep, rubbing right against her spot while the one kneeling took her nipple between his teeth.

“You’re soaking my hand,” the man behind her growled into her ear. “And you’re still trying to act innocent?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” she breathed, legs shaking. “I didn’t—ah—fuck—”

Her hips jerked. She clenched. They didn’t let her fall.

“You’re coming,” one of them smirked. “You came just from fingers. Look at you.”

“I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

The third was already unzipping his pants. “Then show us you’re sorry.”

He grabbed her chin, pushed his cock against her lips.

“No—wait—”

“Open your mouth, Miyeon.”

She hesitated. One slap across her ass. Another squeeze to her breast. Then—obedience.

She opened. He shoved in.

Her lips stretched. Her throat gagged. The other two watched her suck, her cheeks hollowing, spit sliding down her chin as she moaned around him.

“Fuck, that mouth was made for cock.” “Hold her head. I’m next.”

“Fuck—fuck, stop touching me—” Miyeon gasped, spit trailing down her chin as they pulled her off the cock just long enough to breathe.

But none of them stopped.

One man had her legs spread wide on the edge of the bed, two fingers deep inside her again, knuckles slamming against her soaked cunt, thumb grinding hard over her clit. Another sucked her tit like he owned it, tongue flicking her nipple while his other hand pinched the other tight. The third stood over her, stroking his cock, waiting for her mouth to open again.

“Every time you say ‘stop,’” the one between her legs said, “your pussy grips tighter.”

“I—I can’t—” Her back arched. “It’s too much—”

“Then fucking break.”

He curled his fingers hard and fast. Her breath caught. Her legs kicked. Her thighs clenched.

And she came.

Screaming. Shaking. Thrashing under their grip as her orgasm ripped through her.

They didn’t let up.

“She’s still going,” one laughed, slapping her pussy lightly as she convulsed. “Fucking mess.”

“Can’t even think anymore, can you?” another said, pulling her up by the hair. “Mouth open.”

Her lips parted on instinct. The third shoved his cock back in, deeper this time. Her moan vibrated around the shaft, eyes rolling back.

The one at her tits leaned close, whispering, “You came from just our hands, slut. What do you think happens when we all fuck you?”

Miyeon didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her body was jelly, wrecked, leaking down her thighs.

But her mouth stayed open. Her legs stayed spread.

And her pussy was still twitching.

“Move,” one of them barked, grabbing Miyeon by the hips and yanking her up onto all fours like a ragdoll.

She barely had time to gasp before his cock was shoved against her slit, slick from her last orgasm and dripping down her thighs.

“Gonna show you two how it’s fucking done,” he muttered, lining up. “Watch this pussy lose it.”

“Again?” she whimpered, arms trembling. “I just—fuck—I just came—”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still dripping.”

He rammed in.

No warning. No slow build. Just cock slamming into soaked, swollen pussy, hips smacking against her ass as the other two stood beside the bed, stroking themselves, watching her bounce.

“Look at that ass take him,” one of them muttered. “She’s already shaking,” the other said. “Damn, he’s gonna make her scream.”

Miyeon’s mouth fell open, drool dripping down her chin as he fucked her hard, rough, deliberate.

Every thrust punched a sound out of her—gasps, sobs, broken whimpers.

“Fuck—too deep—he’s too fucking deep—”

“Shut up,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of her hair. “Take it. Show them how pretty you sound when you cum like a filthy bitch.”

He changed angles, shifting her hips higher, one hand slapping her ass hard before digging his thumb into her asshole.

She screamed. Loud.

Her arms gave out. Her face hit the bed. But her ass stayed up—her pussy clenching again, even tighter.

“*Fuck—fuck—*I’m gonna—” she sobbed.

“Yeah, you are,” he grunted. “Come all over my dick in front of your little audience.”

And she did.

Loud. Violent. Soaking the sheets beneath her. Her pussy spasmed around him, juice splattering down his balls.

“Holy shit,” one of them muttered, cock in hand. “You broke her.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her mouth hung open, eyes glassy, hips twitching as he kept fucking her through it, slower now, just to feel her walls flutter.

“Two down,” he said, pulling out with a wet smack. “Who's next?”

“Up.”

Miyeon barely had time to blink before strong arms hoisted her off the sheets and dropped her into his lap.

She landed straddling him, face-to-face, her legs shaking, pussy still raw and soaked from two orgasms.

“No—fuck—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, lining his cock up and guiding her slit down over it. “You will.”

He shoved in.

Her back arched. Her mouth opened in a broken moan as his cock filled her again—deep, thick, stretching her hole wide all over.

“Now ride,” he ordered, grabbing her ass and slamming her hips down harder. “Let them watch you bounce.”

The two men standing beside the bed didn’t wait. One grabbed her wrist, slapped his cock into her palm. The other stepped in and pressed the head of his dick against her lips.

“You’re not gonna just sit there,” one of them muttered. “Open that pretty mouth.”

She whimpered—then obeyed.

Her lips wrapped around the first cock while her hand stroked the second. Her body jolted with each thrust from below, bouncing on the thick length driving up into her soaked pussy.

“Fuck—look at her,” the man beneath her growled. “Milking me while she sucks both of you.”

“Filthy fucking girl,” one of the others said, fucking into her mouth slow and deep. “She wants this.”

Miyeon couldn’t speak. Her body took over—hips grinding, mouth working, spit and pre-cum leaking from her chin. Her tits bounced against his chest, nipples grazed by his skin as she moaned around the cock sliding past her tongue.

“She’s shaking again,” one said. “Gonna cum on his cock while she’s got a mouth full of mine,” the other added.

Her eyes rolled back. Her body seized.

And she broke.

A third orgasm tore through her, sudden and violent. Her pussy clamped down, soaking the man beneath her, her thighs trembling uncontrollably.

He held her down, grinding deep. “That’s it. Fucking drown me.”

She gasped, still licking and stroking the other two as her body spasmed.

All three cocks slick, all three men groaning.

“You don’t stop now,” one said, grabbing her jaw. “We’re just getting started.”

“Keep her legs up,” the man on top growled, gripping Miyeon’s thighs and folding them tight to her chest. “I want to hit the back of this sloppy hole.”

Then he slammed in.

Balls-deep. Fast. Brutal. Her whole body jolted with every thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the dorm walls.

“Too deep—fuck—” she gasped, fingers scrabbling for the sheets. “I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

“You don’t need to,” he snarled. “Let go. Make a fucking mess.”

The man straddling her chest dragged his cock across her tits again, smearing pre-cum over her flushed skin. “Hold those tits up for me, baby.”

She obeyed with shaking hands, sandwiching his cock between her soft mounds.

Another slid his cock back into her open mouth, hissing through his teeth. “Tongue out. Show us how much you love being wrecked.”

Her lips wrapped tight around him, even as her eyes rolled back.

Her whole body twitched.

Then it hit.

Miyeon screamed around the cock in her mouth, back arching hard as her pussy clenched violently—then gushed.

A hot jet of clear fluid burst from her, spraying the man fucking her deep. His thighs, his stomach—soaked.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, thrusting faster. “She fucking squirted on me.”

“Dripping down my balls,” he muttered, pounding harder, chasing his own orgasm. “She’s gushing like a faucet.”

Her hips bucked uncontrollably, body convulsing beneath him as the squirt kept coming.

“Fuck yes,” the one on her tits moaned, jacking his cock through the mess. “That’s what I wanted.”

The one in her mouth grabbed her head. “Swallow it, slut. Don’t spill a drop.”

Miyeon lay flat on her back, legs spread, thighs trembling, eyes half-lidded and glassy. Her chest heaved, flushed and slick with sweat, spit, and cum. She barely blinked when one of them moved between her legs again.

“She’s not even trying to talk anymore,” he muttered, stroking himself over her soaked pussy. “Just lying there… waiting.”

“She’s still clenching,” another said, fingers brushing her inner thigh. “Her body’s begging even if her mouth’s done.”

The first lined up, guiding his cock through the slick mess between her legs—his own and theirs—and shoved in.

Miyeon’s body jolted.

A breathy whimper escaped her lips, her arms twitching weakly at her sides.

“Still tight,” he groaned, grinding into her slow, deep, dragging every inch out before slamming back in. “Like she’s starved for cock.”

The others stood at the sides, watching her take him. One dragged his fingers through the cum leaking from her and rubbed it over her nipples. The other grabbed her chin and tapped his cock against her parted lips.

“Open again,” he said softly. “Don’t sleep yet.”

She blinked slowly and let him in. Her mouth took him on reflex—lips closing, tongue barely moving.

The man fucking her grunted, picked up speed. Her legs bounced with every thrust.

“She’s squeezing,” he muttered. “Every time I bottom out.”

He came hard, buried deep, not even bothering to warn her. Miyeon gasped, her belly twitching as another thick load filled her already-flooded cunt.

He pulled out slow, watching it drip.

“Next.”

The second man was already there, spreading her legs wider. “She’s still leaking. Still open.”

He slid in easily.

She twitched again—soft gasp, unfocused eyes.

He fucked her slower—grinding in, dragging against her overstimulated walls. His hands pressed her knees down, folding her further, fucking her like she belonged to him.

“Gone,” he murmured. “Completely fucked out.”

He came deep again, groaning through his teeth as her pussy fluttered around him.

When he pulled out, the third took his place without a word.

Miyeon didn’t react—just lay there, legs limp, mouth slightly open, cunt dripping.

The last man slid into her used hole, slow and steady. She moaned—soft, broken.

And still took him.

The last man didn’t rush. He kept fucking her slow, deep strokes, watching Miyeon’s wrecked body tremble beneath him. Her legs hung open limply, thighs smeared with cum, eyes half-shut and unfocused.

“You still twitching for me, baby?” he muttered, thrusting in to the hilt. “Still holding on?”

She didn’t answer. Just a weak moan. Her hips lifted barely an inch, enough to let him sink deeper.

“Good girl.”

He leaned in, kissed her sweat-slick neck, and came inside her—thick, hot, slow spurts that pushed her further open, mixing with the others already leaking from her cunt.

He stayed in for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall, her lips parted. Then he pulled out.

A thick trail followed.

“Fuck, look at this mess,” one of them muttered, stepping closer with his phone out.

He snapped a photo—Miyeon spread wide, cum dripping from her hole, tits marked with spit and handprints, eyes barely able to stay open.

“Get the mouth too,” another said, lifting her chin and tapping his cock against her lips one last time. “She sucked like a whore. Gotta remember that.”

Click.

Flash.

Another angle. Cum on her thighs. Her ruined panties still bunched at one ankle.

“Fuck,” the last man said, zipping up. “She’s gonna feel this for days.”

They stood over her, all three silent now. Satisfied.

Miyeon blinked once. Breath shallow. Her body didn’t move.

“Let her sleep.”

The door clicked open.

They walked out.

Tokyo swallowed her again with its neon hum and cold glass towers. Days passed. The visions haunted her sleep, flickering behind her eyelids. She tried to forget. Failed.

It was late when it happened. The train car almost empty, city lights streaking past. Three men boarded at Shinjuku — tall, broad, American. One met her gaze. His smile was slow, easy. Another leaned against the pole, watching her reflection instead of her. The third stayed near the door, but his presence pressed against her skin.

Her breath hitched. The moment shimmered.

Crow. Rope. Wine.

Her thighs pressed together.

One of them stepped forward. "Hey. You alone?"

And suddenly she knew.

She swallowed, eyes darting to the emergency exit map, then the nearest seat. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "Just heading home," she said, her voice even.

He tilted his head, amused. "Cool. You look tense. Long day?"

"Something like that."

The second man chuckled under his breath. Low. Thick like syrup. Sana tried not to flinch.

She turned her body slightly, angling away. A window reflection showed them clearly: three shadows closing in subtle increments.

"I should get off at the next stop," she muttered, mostly to herself.

But her pulse betrayed her.

The first man took a step closer. "You alright? Want us to walk with you? Tokyo's wild late at night."

His tone was warm. Casual. Nothing overt. But her skin burned beneath her coat. Her heart drummed.

"I'm fine," she whispered.

And yet—

The glass of dark wine.

The woman’s thigh.

She gripped the pole beside her, breath catching. The mirror hadn’t lied. It had shown her something primal. Shame warred with the thrill coiling in her belly.

The first man leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers lightly. "You're not saying much. That Tokyo cool?"

His voice curled into her ear, smooth as bourbon. The second man's eyes roamed lazily over her, while the third stayed silent, but his gaze was heavy, fixed.

Sana swallowed hard. "I don't know you."

"Nah," the first one said, smiling. "But feels like we know you."

The words hit deep. Familiar. From the hut. The old man: You will know when the strangers call you familiar.

Her legs tensed. The train rocked slightly. Her hand stayed clamped on the metal pole as if it could anchor her.

"You scared?" the second man asked, tilting his head. "Or curious?"

Her breath hitched again.

"Maybe both," she said.

The third finally spoke. His voice was low, and firm. "There's a place two stops from here. Quiet."

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She didn’t move.

This is a line, she thought. Once I cross it...

The first man leaned closer, his fingers ghosting her wrist. Her skin flared under the contact. Her mind screamed retreat. Her body said: stay.

She closed her eyes. The wine. The rope. The crow.

Everything in her begged for clarity.

Then the second one grinned. "Why wait for the stop?"

Her eyes snapped open.

"Train's empty," he murmured, stepping close enough that his breath warmed her cheek. "We could give you a little preview. Just a taste."

She stared at him, throat dry, knees unsteady.

"You want this," the first whispered.

Sana didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The air felt suspended around her, as if the train car existed in a separate time—one where thought moved slowly, but sensation sharpened.

Her fingers curled tighter around the pole. The knurled metal bit into her palm, grounding her while everything else tilted. Her knees locked. Her breath came shallow. Her heartbeat echoed through her limbs, loud, disorienting.

The second man stepped closer. Not touching, not yet—but close enough she could smell his cologne: leather, citrus, the faint trace of sweat. Her senses narrowed in on details. The scrape of his boots on linoleum. The slight creak of his jacket as he leaned in. The way her body swayed subtly toward him with the train’s motion.

Still, she didn’t move. Not away. Not forward. Her mind split: one part screaming caution, the other hypnotized by the heat coiling low in her belly.

The third man watched in silence. He hadn't moved from the door, but his eyes pinned her as firmly as a hand. She couldn’t read him. That unnerved her most.

"You want this," the first repeated, softer now. As if coaxing.

His hand grazed hers on the pole. Not demanding. Just presence. The kind of touch that waits to be refused. She didn’t pull away.

"It’s okay to admit it," the second said, his voice lower. "We can feel it on you."

A beat of silence passed.

Then his fingers ghosted over the fabric at her waist—light, testing. Her stomach tightened beneath the brush.

Still, no words. No resistance. No permission.

Her lips parted. Breath, not speech.

The train rolled on, rattling through tunnels, slicing through Tokyo night. Fluorescent lights flickered once, briefly, casting the cabin in shadows.

Something within her stirred. Not surrender. Not defiance. Just a slow unfolding.

Not yet yes.

But no longer no.

Sana let go of the pole.

The moment she did, the first man's hand closed lightly around her wrist. Not tight. Not controlling. But present. Claiming, without force. His thumb brushed over the pulse point there, reading the quick throb beneath her skin.

"There it is," he murmured. "That little beat. We heard it before you did."

The second stepped in front of her, one hand reaching to tilt her chin. His fingers were warm. Calloused. The pad of his thumb ghosted over her jawline, slow as breath. "You don’t have to speak," he said, voice low. "But if you want this, show us."

Her mouth parted. She didn’t step back.

The third came around behind her, the heat of his body at her back. Not touching yet, but close enough her coat brushed his chest. His breath touched the base of her neck, steady and slow.

"You don’t have to perform. We don't want a show," he said. "We want you. Just as you are."

The words dropped into her like warm oil. She turned slightly, and her coat slid off one shoulder. Not accidental. Not coy. Her breath deepened.

The first man's eyes darkened, hand rising to her exposed collarbone. He traced a line with his knuckle, from shoulder to sternum. Her skin broke into goosebumps. She didn’t stop him.

"You feel that?" he asked.

She nodded. A whisper of movement.

The second man leaned closer. "And this?"

He ran his hand slowly up the outside of her thigh, just along the seam of her jeans. Her stomach clenched. Heat coiled low in her belly.

Still, she didn't speak. Her body answered for her.

The train rocked, slow and rhythmic. The overhead lights flickered once, then held. She felt every vibration in her spine.

The third man reached forward now, sliding her coat fully down her arms. It fell into a heap at her feet. She sat between them, shoulders bare, heart hammering in her chest.

The man in front dropped to one knee. His hands rested on her knees. "Spread these if you're sure," he said, plain and unflinching.

She held his eyes. Breath trembling. Then, slowly, deliberately, she parted her knees.

The first man exhaled, audible. The third kissed her shoulder.

Everything moved at once.

Hands slid across Sana’s skin with purpose. Mouths followed. No hesitation now. No questions. Her answer had already been given in the way she opened her legs, the way her breath hitched instead of stopping.

The man behind her had both hands on her hips, thumbs dragging under the lace edge of her panties. He kissed the back of her neck, then lower, until his lips touched the line of her spine.

The one in front stayed crouched, eyes level with her center. He peeled the soaked fabric to the side and groaned. "So wet you're dripping down your thighs."

She whimpered.

He buried his face between her legs.

His tongue flattened against her clit, slow and deliberate. Her knees gave, but the man behind held her up, one arm braced across her belly. The other hand palmed her breast, thumb circling her nipple through her bra until it hardened under his touch.

"Let them hear you," he murmured in her ear. "Let the train carry your moans."

She cried out, fingers clawing for balance.

The man on his knees sucked hard, then flicked his tongue with rapid pressure, fingers joining in between strokes. She felt everything. Pressure. Texture. The obscene wet sounds as he worked.

"She’s already shaking," he said, voice muffled by her heat. "She’s close."

The third stepped around her, kissed her open mouth, swallowed the moan she couldn’t contain.

He gripped her jaw. "You want to come?"

She nodded frantically.

"Say it."

"Please... please let me."

He looked down. "Don't stop."

The tongue between her legs flattened and circled. His fingers stroked deeper.

She shattered.

It hit fast and hard. Her body bucked. Her cry echoed off the glass and steel. Her thighs trembled around the man still licking her through it, drawing every pulse from her until she sagged in their arms.

They didn’t speak.

They just held her.

One kissed her temple. Another stroked her hair back. The third whispered, "That was only the beginning."

The train slowed beneath them, steel groaning against steel as the final station approached. The lights overhead dimmed slightly, flickering under the weight of transition. This wasn’t just the end of a route. It was the mouth of something else entirely.

Sana sat still, pulse thudding in her throat, clothes rumpled and breath hot on her lips. Her thighs were sticky with the evidence of what they'd done. What she’d allowed. What she’d asked for without saying a word.

The man in front of her stood, eyes fixed on her face. "Last stop."

The one behind her leaned closer, his voice low. "This is where you choose."

The third moved beside her, fingers brushing hers. "Come with us. No masks. No holding back."

She looked up slowly. "And if I change my mind?"

The first one didn’t blink. "You won’t."

Her eyes narrowed, uncertain. "That sounds like you wouldn’t let me."

The man behind her exhaled, warm breath against her ear. "We’d stop if you screamed. We’d stop if you cried. But you won’t."

The third added, "Because everything inside you is already past the point of return. You feel it, don’t you?"

Sana shivered.

She did. It wasn’t fear. It was the terrifying weight of inevitability. The hunger they’d awoken wouldn’t be satisfied with half-measures.

The doors hissed open.

Outside, the platform was empty. Dark. Quiet. The city pulsed beyond.

One of them stepped forward. Held out a hand.

"You’re not lost, Sana. You’re finally found."

She stared at the offered hand.

Then, slowly, she shook her head.

"No. Not your place," she whispered. "Not yet."

All three froze.

"Then where?" the one behind her asked.

She looked around the car, the soft lights, the quiet hum, the walls that had already seen more of her than most lovers. "Here. Finish it here."

The man in front smiled slowly, dark eyes gleaming. "You want us to take you apart on this train."

She nodded. Just once. Just enough.

He stepped back. "Then don’t move. We’re not done with you yet."

The train doors sealed with a hiss, locking the world out. The carriage fell still again—no movement, no noise but the faint buzz of fluorescent lights above.

Sana stood alone at the center pole, bare thighs brushing metal, her breath visible in the cool air. Around her, they sat. One on the bench in front. One behind. One beside. All watching.

She placed her hands behind her on the pole, arching slightly as if offering herself to their gaze. She didn’t hide. She didn’t fidget. Her voice was clear.

"What do you want from me?"

No riddles now. No soft edges.

The man in front leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes devouring her. "I want to see how you beg. I want to see what it takes to make you cry from being filled too deep."

The one behind spoke, voice low. "I want my hands on your throat while you ride one of us and gag on another. I want your mascara running down your cheeks."

The third, more patient, tilted his head. "I want to make you lose count. I want to hear you say 'please' until the word breaks."

Sana's chest rose, breath quickening.

"And you think I’ll let you do all that?"

The man in front smirked. "You're not just going to let us. You're going to ask for it. You're going to need it."

She stepped toward him, slow and deliberate, until his knees touched her legs. Her fingers reached for his chin, tilting his face up to hers.

"Then ask me. One at a time. Exactly what you want."

The second stood, circling her slowly. "I want your mouth first. On your knees. Eyes up. I want you to take every inch until your throat opens for it."

The third followed, pressing closer. "I want your legs over my shoulders while you scream into his hand. I want to come so deep you taste me for hours."

The first grinned, already hard beneath his jeans. "And I want to see your face when you break. When you don’t know who to beg for next."

Sana licked her lips, chest flushed, heart pounding.

"Then get up," she said. "All of you. Show me who goes first."

They stood.

Sana dropped to her knees slowly, as if the weight of the moment pushed her down. Her fingers trembled slightly against the floor. This was new. All of it. The eyes. The anticipation. The knowledge of more than one.

The first man stepped forward, unzipping with one smooth motion.

"You ever done this before?"

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Not like this."

His cock twitched in his hand. "Good. Then let us show you. Open your mouth."

She obeyed. Her lips stretched around him, taking him in inch by inch. He groaned, his hand settling in her hair.

"That mouth’s made for this," he growled.

Her eyes watered as she adjusted to his size. Her tongue moved tentatively, then with more confidence. She hollowed her cheeks and began to suck, slowly at first, then with more rhythm.

"That’s it. Don’t be scared to choke a little."

She gagged once, then recovered.

The second man stepped to her side, already exposed. Her hand reached for him, fingers uncertain at first, then firm.

"Look at her multitask," the first said, voice thick.

She pulled her mouth off with a gasp, spit trailing down her chin.

"I want to try you," she whispered to the second.

He guided her gently. "Start slow. Get used to it."

She wrapped her lips around him, learning the shape, the weight. Her hand returned to the first, stroking him slickly.

"Fuck, she's shaking," the third murmured.

He stepped in front of her. She glanced up, breathless.

"Can I take all three?" she asked, voice soft.

"You can. We'll make sure of it."

Her hand slid over his shaft, stroking while her mouth moved between the first two. They let her set the pace. Let her discover what she liked.

"You're doing so fucking good," the first said. "Look at you."

She moaned around the second man, hand still stroking the third.

"You ready to be filled?" the third asked.

She pulled back, chest heaving. "Yes. I want to feel one of you inside me."

He dropped to the floor behind her, lying on his back.

"Come ride me. Take your time."

She moved carefully, straddling him. Her hand guided him in. The stretch made her gasp.

"That too much?"

"No," she whispered. "It’s perfect."

The others watched her sink down, inch by inch.

"Look how tight she is," one murmured.

She whimpered, thighs trembling.

"You’re not done yet," the first said. "You’re just getting started."

And she began to move.

She moved slowly atop him, thighs burning, breath coming in uneven gasps. The stretch of him inside her was overwhelming—a deep, thick pressure that made her toes curl and her pulse throb in her throat.

"You’re so fucking tight," he growled beneath her, hands gripping her hips, guiding her rhythm.

Her fingers clawed at his chest, body trembling with the effort to keep pace. It was more than she'd ever taken—not just his cock, but their eyes, their breath, their command.

The second man stepped in close, standing beside her. "Look at me."

She turned her face to him, flushed and panting.

"Spit on it," he said, stroking himself.

She hesitated a second, then parted her lips. A string of saliva slipped from her mouth to the tip of his cock. He groaned.

"Now stroke me while you bounce on his cock. Keep your eyes on mine."

She obeyed, hand wrapping around him, slippery and warm. Her hips rolled slower now, legs shaking from trying to do both.

The third man knelt behind her, mouth near her ear.

"I want you to tell me how it feels. Every inch."

"Full," she gasped. "So full... I can feel him everywhere."

"You like being watched like this? Used like this?"

She moaned. "Yes. God, yes."

"Then say it. Say you’re ours."

She let her head fall back. "I’m yours."

"Louder."

"I’m yours!"

The man beneath her thrust up hard, making her cry out.

"Again."

"I’m yours! All of you!"

The others groaned in approval. Her body burned. Her hand worked one cock while her hips took another. Her mind spun.

And she didn’t stop.

She was still trembling when they moved her.

Hands on her hips, her arms, her waist—firm but careful. They lifted her off him, breathless and dripping, and laid her gently onto the bench. The faux leather was cool against her back, a shock that made her gasp.

"Put your legs up," one commanded.

She obeyed, feet planted wide, knees parted. Her pussy throbbed, slick and swollen.

The second man knelt between her thighs, guiding himself to her entrance. "You ready for more?"

She nodded, hoarse. "Yes. Please."

He pushed in slow, letting her stretch, fill, adjust. Her head fell back, mouth open.

"You’re dripping down your ass," the third murmured from behind, watching. "Fuck, that’s beautiful."

He moved behind her, lifting her hips slightly, giving the second man a deeper angle. She cried out, legs twitching.

"Hold her," the one inside her said.

The third man gripped her thighs, keeping them spread as her body bucked.

"Switch," the first said. "Let me have her mouth."

They moved again.

She was on her side now, one leg lifted, the second man still inside her from behind. The first straddled her face.

"Open."

She took him in, sucking eagerly, her cries muffled by the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Good girl," he growled.

The third watched her, stroking himself, waiting his turn.

Every angle. Every hole. Every inch of her body was theirs to rearrange.

They laid her back again, breathless and flushed, her body slick with sweat and saliva. Her legs trembled as she climbed onto the next man, straddling him with slow, trembling thighs.

"Take your time," he said, holding her hips steady. "Feel every inch."

She lowered herself, gasping as his cock filled her, inch by thick inch. Her hands braced against his chest, her body adjusting, stretching around him.

The others watched, stroking themselves, eyes fixed on the way she sank down, bottoming out with a shudder.

"That’s it. Ride him. Let us see how you move."

She began to roll her hips, slow and deliberate. Moans escaped her lips with every grind, her clit brushing his pelvis. Her thighs shook, pace quickening.

"Look at that fucking view," one muttered.

"She's not done," the next said.

They switched.

She rose, slick and twitching, only to be lifted gently onto the next man. He leaned back, hands gripping her ass as she impaled herself on him.

"Still so tight," he groaned.

Her mouth fell open as he bottomed out. Her hips rocked, faster now, chasing pressure, chasing climax. Her hand reached blindly for the cock nearest her.

"Put it in her mouth," the man beneath her growled.

She didn’t hesitate. Her lips wrapped around the third man’s shaft, moaning around him as she bounced on the second.

"Fuck, she’s doing all of it," someone whispered.

She sucked harder, hand stroking the base, saliva coating her chin. Her other hand reached for the last, stroking him with the same desperate rhythm.

One riding.

One in her mouth.

One in her hand.

Her whole body worked for them.

She dropped to her knees again, hair wild, chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat. Their hands guided her—one at her jaw, another tangled in her hair, the third gripping her shoulder as they surrounded her with hungry groans.

"Open your mouth," one growled.

She did. Tongue out, lips parted.

"Fuck, I'm close," the first said, jerking himself faster.

"Same."

They circled her, stroking harder, breathing ragged. One grabbed her chin and aimed. Hot, pulsing release hit her cheek, her lips. Another followed with a guttural sound, painting across her collarbone and tits. The third groaned deep and spent himself over her tongue.

She stayed perfectly still, accepting all of it. Breathing heavy. Covered in them.

Her hand rose, fingers scooping the warm mess from her cheek. She looked up at them, brows furrowed, breath catching.

"Why didn’t any of you come inside me?"

They were still catching their breath when the quiet broke.

A voice echoed over the train car.

"Because that’s not what the mirror showed you."

They froze.

Sana blinked.

The voice came again, calm and rough like gravel. "Not yet."

She turned slowly.

At the far end of the car, behind the dim operator's window, stood a figure.

The old man.

The face reader.

His eyes met hers through the glass, unreadable.

"Train’s still moving, girl," he said. "And you haven't reached your final stop."

The lights flickered.

When she looked back, the men were gone.

No footsteps. No sound. No trace.

She was alone.

The old man stepped into the car, slow, steady.

She backed up, heart thudding now with something unfamiliar.

Fear.

The air felt wrong—thinner, colder.

Her body was still wet, bare, trembling.

He kept walking toward her.

"What you saw was only a door," he said.

She shook her head, voice caught in her throat. "What are you?"

He stopped a few feet away, expression calm.

"I showed you what you were willing to give."

She swallowed, stepping back.

Yunjin didn’t flinch when his hand slid up her waist, bare skin tightening under his touch.

“How do you want it?” she asked, voice clear despite the heat in her throat.

Seokwoo’s breath caught. That wasn’t fear in her eyes—it was challenge. Desire, yes, but sharp-edged.

“I thought you were the one who kept boys like Minjae away,” she added, tilting her head. “You were supposed to protect me.”

His hand stilled just beneath her ribs. For half a second, the air shifted.

“Protect you?” he said, mouth twitching into something dark. “You outgrew needing that. Don’t pretend you didn’t know someone was going to take you eventually.”

“I didn’t think it’d be you,” she said. “Not like this.”

Seokwoo stepped closer, chest brushing hers. His voice dropped. “No one else could’ve done it like this.”

Her breath trembled—but she didn’t move away.

Behind her, Minjae sat frozen, hands white-knuckled on his knees, chest rising and falling fast. Her boyfriend. Her secret. Now her audience.

Seokwoo leaned in, his lips barely brushing her ear. “On your knees, Yunjin.”

She didn’t break eye contact with Minjae as she sank slowly to the garage floor.

Yunjin stayed low, the rough concrete biting into her knees, her hands resting lightly on her thighs. Her chest rose and fell in tight little movements, but her gaze stayed locked with Minjae’s.

She wasn’t asking for forgiveness. She was telling him—this was for them.

Seokwoo unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving her. “You’re a fast learner,” he said.

Yunjin didn’t answer. Her voice had already said enough.

Minjae sat frozen in the chair, jaw clenched, throat bobbing. His breath was shallow, heart racing. He wanted to look away. He couldn’t.

Seokwoo stepped closer, his shadow swallowing her. He cupped her jaw with one rough hand, fingers curling just under her chin. “Eyes on me now,” he said.

She obeyed.

The tension in the room curled tighter with each second. Minjae’s mind screamed with heat and shame and something darker—something he hadn’t expected: arousal.

Yunjin leaned in—slow, intentional, mouth parting not in surrender, but in power.

Seokwoo looked down at her, then over at Minjae. “This is what silence costs,” he said. “You should thank her.”

Yunjin wrapped her fingers around him like she was picking up something she'd rather not touch. Her grip was too firm, her pace too steady, mechanical.

There was no tenderness. No tease. Just duty.

Her jaw tightened with each movement, lips pressed into a line even as she moved. She didn’t look at Seokwoo. Her gaze locked on Minjae like he was the only thing that kept her from spitting this entire moment back out.

Seokwoo's hand tangled loosely in her hair, guiding, not forcing.

“You’re not enjoying this,” he said, not as a question.

She pulled back just far enough to speak. “You expected gratitude?”

He laughed under his breath. “No. I like it like this.”

Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t stop.

Minjae looked like he was crumbling in the chair. Shoulders hunched, lips parted, eyes wide with guilt. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach out and stop it—except he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Yunjin hated how her tongue moved on instinct, how her body remembered what it meant to please even when her heart refused. But that was the point. She wanted Seokwoo to feel every ounce of resistance in her.

He did.

“Keep that hate in your eyes,” he murmured. “It suits you.”

She dug her nails into his thigh just enough to leave a mark.

He hissed—but didn’t pull away.

Minjae’s breath stuttered.

And still, Yunjin kept going—deliberate, impersonal, punishing.

Seokwoo stepped back just enough to break the rhythm, his hand still tangled in her hair.

“Enough warmup,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Time to fuck.”

Yunjin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand—not gentle, not shy. She stood slowly, spine straight, chest rising with a breath that didn’t quite calm her.

Behind her, Minjae moved like he wanted to speak.

Seokwoo held up a hand without even looking. “No talking to him.”

Yunjin turned. “Excuse me?”

“You’re mine right now,” he said simply. “Eyes on me. Focus on me.”

She held his stare. Her mouth curled—not a smile. “You're not mine.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not.”

He reached for her again, hand curling around her waist.

Yunjin stepped closer, pressing her palm flat against his chest, stopping him just short of what he wanted.

“You remember who you are, don’t you?” she asked, voice sharp.

Seokwoo raised a brow.

“You’re my brother’s best friend,” she continued. “You used to give me rides to school. Now you want to be the reason I can’t look my family in the eye?”

His jaw tightened.

“You think I’m ashamed of this?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I think you forgot what side of the line you’re on.”

They stared at each other, breath heavy, heat stretching between them—not attraction, but challenge.

Behind them, Minjae didn’t move.

Seokwoo’s hand slid down her back, slower this time. “Doesn’t change what happens next.”

“No,” Yunjin said again. “But I want you to know—I’ll never call you anything but a monster after this.”

Seokwoo exhaled through his nose. “Then call me that while I’m inside you.”

Yunjin didn’t flinch.

She turned away from Minjae completely—not to hide, but to make Seokwoo earn every second of her.

Yunjin gasped when Seokwoo filled her—sharp and open, no warning, no gentleness. Her hands slammed against the metal workbench, breath ripped from her lungs as he drove into her like he meant to erase everything she’d been before this moment.

Every thrust hammered that truth deeper.

He used to lift her into the backseat of his car after school. Used to push her on swings when her brother was too busy gaming. Used to ruffle her hair and call her "kiddo" in that low, lazy voice.

Now that voice was right behind her ear, soaked in heat. “Say it,” Seokwoo growled, breath hitting her neck. “Say who’s inside you.”

Her chest ached. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“You,” she forced out. “Oppa.”

His rhythm punished her after that—fast, deep, deliberate. Her thighs quivered, every slap of skin on skin echoing in the garage like thunder. The pain wasn’t sharp. It was dull, spreading heat through her belly, her chest, her throat.

Minjae was still in the chair. She could feel his gaze burning a hole in her back.

Seokwoo tugged her hair gently, pulling her face up. “Eyes forward. On him.”

She met Minjae’s eyes. And it nearly destroyed her.

He looked lost. Wrecked. Red-faced, hands shaking, painfully hard. He shouldn’t be aroused. But he was. That was the curse of this moment. Of what they’d allowed.

“You used to make me peanut butter toast,” she hissed over her shoulder, voice cracking. “You helped me with math homework. And now you're—”

“Fucking you like you were always mine,” he cut in.

His hands gripped her hips tighter, driving into her again, again, again.

“You were never mine,” he added, teeth gritted. “But you wanted me to look.”

“No,” she spat. “I wanted you to stay what you were.”

“Too late.”

She cried out then—not from pleasure, not fully—but her body tightened around him like it didn’t care. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely think. Every thrust blurred the line between hate and need.

Behind her, Minjae groaned.

“Why is this turning me on?” he whispered, wrecked.

Yunjin bit back a sob. “Because I’m still yours,” she said, voice shaking. “Even like this.”

Seokwoo leaned down, mouth brushing her shoulder. “Not tonight, he’s not.”

And still—she let him keep going.

Because love demanded a price.

And silence had become too expensive to buy any other way.

Minjae tried to hold still.

He told himself to grip the chair, to breathe, to count bolts on the garage wall. But his hand moved on its own—slow, desperate—gripping himself through denim with a shame that made his ears burn.

Across the room, Seokwoo hadn’t slowed.

Yunjin’s body jolted forward with every thrust, her fingers still pressed to the workbench, her breath shallow and fast. Her skin glowed with sweat, thighs trembling, hair clinging to her neck.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Minjae’s hand between his legs.

Her face changed.

Not shock. Not shame. Just... disappointment.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “You couldn’t wait?”

Minjae’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You said this hurt to watch,” she said, her tone raw. “But now you can’t stop touching yourself.”

He looked away, hand frozen. “I didn’t want to.”

“But you are.”

The words hit harder than Seokwoo’s rhythm.

Still, she didn’t tell him to stop. Her eyes softened just enough. Not forgiving. But accepting. “Then if you’re going to—do it for me.”

Minjae blinked.

“Let go,” she whispered, voice shaky. “Don’t look away. Just… finish with me.”

Seokwoo let out a short, breathless laugh. “That’s cold.”

She didn’t answer him. Not at first.

His rhythm shifted—sharper, harder. Her body rocked with it, her voice climbing into something that wasn’t quite a moan, wasn’t quite a sob.

Then he spoke again, breath heavy at her neck. “Where do you want it?”

She bit her lip. “Where it won’t make this worse.”

Seokwoo paused just long enough to press his lips to her shoulder.

Then he grinned. “I’ll decide.”

And behind them, Minjae's breath caught. His body tensed. And the sound he made when he finally gave in was something he’d never made before.

The rhythm had turned brutal—Seokwoo pounding his hard cock into her like he wanted to bury something in her spine. Each thrust slammed her hips into the edge of the workbench, her breath punching out in sharp, guttural sounds. She wasn’t moaning. She wasn’t resisting. Her body rocked, used, but her eyes stayed clear.

She stared at Minjae.

He stood now—shaking, aroused, devastated. One hand on his dick, trembling. The other curled into a fist at his side. His lips moved silently, like he wanted to say her name but couldn’t speak it aloud.

Yunjin’s skin was slick with sweat, her tits bouncing under the punishing rhythm, her hair stuck to her back, her thighs trembling.

She didn’t break eye contact.

“You loved watching,” she said, voice hoarse. “Then cum.”

Minjae gasped, like the words struck something deep. His breath turned wild. His hand moved faster.

“Do it,” she said again, louder. “Mark me”

He jerked forward—eyes locked on her, mouth open, shame rippling across his face as he cried out.

His whole body clenched as he came, shoulders curling in, knees buckling slightly. His face broke as it happened—caught between guilt and need, red-eyed and undone.

Yunjin didn’t flinch.

Behind her, Seokwoo groaned darkly, his pace shifting—he was close. She could feel it in the way his grip tightened on her hips, the way his breath turned raw at her neck.

“Where do you want it, sweetheart?” he growled.

“Cum on my face,” she hissed.

He pulled out without hesitation, dragged her around by the arm, shoved her down to her knees like she was a prize he’d earned.

Yunjin’s eyes never left Minjae as Seokwoo stroked himself in front of her.

“Look at me,” he snapped.

She turned her chin toward him.

Seokwoo came with a deep groan, releasing across her face and tits—thick, hot, claiming. It dripped down her skin in messy trails, glistening under the flickering garage light. She didn’t blink. Didn’t wipe it away.

Minjae’s breath hitched like he might break again.

Yunjin didn’t rush.

She knelt slowly, every motion deliberate, hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves—messy, glowing, ruined. The tension in the room didn’t lift. It thickened, changed flavor.

Seokwoo watched her with narrowed eyes, chest still heaving. “What’s this?” he asked.

She looked up at him through her lashes, voice low and warm. “Just finishing what you started.”

He smirked, cocky and breathless. “Didn’t think you were the sweet type.”

“I’m not,” she said, tongue just brushing her lip. “But I can pretend. When it counts.”

Seokwoo grunted as she came closer—slow, teasing, her presence more dangerous now than when he was inside her. She moved like she belonged to no one. Not Minjae. Not him. Just the moment.

He hissed softly. “Careful. You’re playing with fire.”

She smiled. “Good. I want it to burn.”

She hovered close—not touching, not kissing, just letting him feel the heat of her breath, the hum of her voice like silk sliding over a blade.

“You’ll keep quiet,” she said, soft as honey.

Seokwoo raised a brow. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she purred. “Because if my brother finds out what his best friend did to his baby sister, the one he used to walk to piano practice—” She leaned in closer. “You’re the one who dies first.”

She laughed, sweet and bright. “And you’ll still be hard when it happens.”

That shut him up.

She stood, slow and graceful, licking the corner of her mouth as if wiping the taste of the moment—not out of shame, but out of power.

“You were never dangerous,” she said, pulling on her shirt. “You just looked like it when I was young enough to be stupid.”

She brushed past him on the way out, her voice trailing behind her like perfume.

“Oppa,” she cooed. “Thanks for being obedient.”

He didn’t stop her.

She looked between them. Her pulse roared now, heavy and real. This wasn’t flirtation. Not anymore.

"Get out," she said, stepping back.

Luca only looked at Emil.

Emil didn't smile. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket and placed it on the table. "You read this before we do anything else."

"I'm calling the front desk," she said, reaching for her phone.

Luca shook his head. "There's no line. Not right now."

Her hand paused. A chill spread down her arms.

The air in the room felt wrong now—too still, like a breath being held. Her phone was in her hand, but she didn't press the screen. Both men just stood there. Not moving. Not lunging. But present in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Why?" she asked, her voice small. "Why are you doing this?"

Emil tilted his head. "Because you let us in. Because you looked at us like you wanted to be owned."

She shook her head once, sharp. "I didn't."

Luca's voice was quiet. "You did. Even if you didn’t mean to. We’re giving you a choice. A controlled one. But make no mistake—this room belongs to us until you decide otherwise."

Her breath turned shallow. "If I scream—"

"No one will hear you over the rain," Emil said, his voice almost kind. "And we won’t touch you. Unless you ask. That part is real."

She didn't believe him. Not fully. But the room was a trap of her own making, and they knew it.

Her hand hovered near her phone again. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t run. And the moment she didn’t, she realized she was no longer in control of the silence.

Emil stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the coffee table was all that separated them. He held the folded sheet of paper like a menu she’d been forced to order from.

"You think we want to hurt you?" he asked. Not softly. Not cruelly. Just loud enough to make her spine go rigid. "We could have. We didn't. You're still standing. Still clothed. Still free to scream. So scream."

Momo didn’t move.

"Exactly," he said.

Luca stood by the door like a second lock. His arms were folded now. No warmth in his face. Just patience. Or boredom. Or something colder.

"This isn't about us," Emil went on. "This is about what you did. You opened the door. You let us in. You waited. Now you’re scared of the thing you asked for. That fear? That’s honesty."

"I didn’t ask for this," she hissed.

"Didn’t you?" Luca finally said, his voice deep and flat. "Not with words. With the way you looked at us. The way you lingered. The way you didn’t flinch when the door shut."

Her mouth parted. No sound came.

Emil unfolded the page and placed it on the table between them. "Read it. Or don’t. Makes no difference to us. We’re not the ones shaking."

Momo looked at the page but didn’t reach for it. Her stomach turned. Her chest was tight. She couldn’t tell anymore if the danger was real or if they were just experts at crafting it.

"Why me?" she asked.

Luca tilted his head. "Because you looked like someone who wanted to disappear."

A pause.

"And we’re very good at making people vanish," Emil added.

The chill that moved down her spine then wasn’t theatrical. It was chemical.

"You want choice? You have one," he said. "Door or table. Say the word."

Her eyes flicked to the door, to Luca, then back to the sheet of paper. Her body screamed to run. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She wasn’t sure who she was outside this pressure.

Momo moved to the couch and sat, but only just. Her knees touched. Her hands folded tight.

Emil didn’t wait for another word. The moment she sat, her silence became consent. Her fear, confirmation.

Luca moved first. He didn’t ask. He took her phone from the coffee table and slipped it into his back pocket. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her protest died in the space between fear and realization.

"You don’t need it anymore," Emil said, already circling the couch. "For now, you listen. You obey. You endure."

She turned her head toward him. That was all she could do. The moment she shifted, Luca’s hand was on her shoulder again. Firm now. Guiding.

"No more bargaining," he said near her ear. "Not until we’re finished."

Momo's spine locked, breath caught in her chest. The control she thought she'd have had been an illusion—a kindness offered once, now revoked.

Emil crouched in front of her, leveling his eyes with hers.

"You want out?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

"Too slow."

His hand gripped her jaw, not cruel, but unyielding. Luca shifted behind her. Pressure. Heat. Presence. A wall against her back.

"You're going to do exactly what we say," Emil continued, voice low and certain. "Not because we asked nicely. But because your silence signed the contract."

Momo’s hands trembled in her lap. Still, she didn’t speak.

Luca reached around and undid the top button of her blouse. One. Then another. Then stopped. Waiting.

Emil watched her face. "Don’t bother nodding. You had your chance to choose."

Momo swallowed. The room tilted. Time bent.

Luca didn’t wait. He slid his hands down her arms, rougher now, catching the edge of her blouse and yanking it down to her elbows, trapping her own limbs in the sleeves. The fabric clung. Her breath caught.

"Hey—" she started.

Emil moved faster. One step, two. His hand clamped gently but firmly over her mouth.

"No more warnings," he said near her ear. "You sit. You listen. You learn your place."

Momo jerked her head back, but he didn’t flinch.

Luca grunted behind her, hands traveling over the exposed top of her chest. "Soft. Warm. Already shivering."

Her blouse hit the floor.

She twisted. Emil grabbed her chin, not hard, but commanding. He forced her to look at him.

"No one's hurting you," he said. "Unless you make us earn it."

Her mouth moved under his hand. A protest, swallowed.

"Try that again," Luca said, dragging the back of his knuckle down her spine, slow. "See what it gets you."

She stilled.

Emil released her mouth. "Words, now. You want this stopped, you better say so like you fucking mean it."

She didn’t.

Silence. Her own breathing. Too loud. Her skin flushed. She hated how warm she was.

Luca unhooked her bra, quick and final.

Emil stepped back and looked her over like a hunter admiring a kill. "That's better."

Momo wrapped her arms across her chest, shaky. "You think this proves something? That you can scare me into letting go?"

Luca circled her, voice low. "You're still trying to win. That’s cute."

Emil pulled her hands down with little effort, exposing her fully. "But we already own this moment. You gave it up the second you stopped fighting."

She bit her lip, eyes hot with fury. Shame. Something she refused to name.

"You don’t get to break me."

Luca smirked. "No, sweetheart. You’ll do that all by yourself."

Momo stood stiff, chest rising fast, arms trembling as they tried again to cover what little was left untouched. Emil didn’t stop her. Not at first. He only watched her hands with calm disdain, like they were disrespectful.

Then he moved. Quick.

He caught both her wrists, yanked them down to her sides, and held them there.

“Enough,” he said. “No more hiding.”

Luca stepped in close, his presence a wall. Momo backed into Emil's grip. She didn’t mean to. Her body betrayed her.

“Look at her,” Luca murmured, tilting his head.

Emil did. His gaze dragged over her chest, flushed and rising with every breath, nipples tight from cold and shame—or maybe not just that.

“Pretty when she’s pretending not to want it,” Emil said. “Prettier when she stops pretending.”

He pulled her backward into him, pinning her with the full weight of his body. His hands gripped her wrists like anchors. She tried to turn, to twist—something—but Luca stepped in, mouth brushing the top of her breast.

Momo gasped.

“Soft,” he said again, low. “Responsive.”

His lips closed around her nipple without warning.

She cried out, a sound too sharp for pleasure, too hot for pain. Emil caught it in her ear, his voice low and cruel.

“Didn’t say no,” he whispered. “Didn’t say stop.”

Luca sucked harder. His free hand cupped the weight of her other breast, thumb flicking. Momo’s knees buckled. Emil held her upright.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.

“You think you can still win this?” he asked.

Luca dragged his tongue slow across her skin. “She wants to lose. Just needs permission.”

Momo whimpered. Her hands, still pinned, stopped struggling.

Emil leaned down and latched his mouth to her other nipple, his tongue hot and merciless.

Her whole body jolted. Her head dropped back against his shoulder.

They devoured her like a dare—like they knew the moment she moaned would be the moment she broke.

Her breath faltered. Her knees nearly gave out, and Emil caught her before she collapsed entirely, guiding her back to the couch. Not sitting. Displayed. Spine arched. Arms limp at her sides.

Luca knelt first.

Then Emil.

Both in front of her now, twin shadows at her feet.

She blinked, dazed, and realized they weren’t watching her body anymore. They were watching her face.

"From this point on," Emil said, eyes steady and dark, "everything happens in twos."

"You’ll be touched in sync, tasted in sync," Luca added, his voice lower.

They leaned forward together.

Momo drew a breath to ask—what does that mean? But the question died as their mouths pressed against her. Not rough. Not claiming. Worshiping.

Warm lips trailed over her skin, tongues flicking in perfect rhythm, mouths mapping her like sacred ground. She gasped. Her head fell back. It was too much and not enough.

They didn’t grope. They didn’t rush. They adored.

Two mouths. Two pairs of eyes. One unspoken command: feel everything.

She looked down once, and the sight undid her. Both men, kneeling, mouths on her, staring up. Devoted. Ravenous. Controlled.

It shattered something.

Momo let out a noise she didn’t recognize, hands clutching the edge of the couch. Her thighs tensed, then trembled. Her breath was uneven. The power of their gaze—matched, steady, almost reverent—pierced deeper than touch ever had.

Emil moved first. He rose slowly, still on his knees, tracing his mouth up the valley of her body. Over ribs. Between breasts. Past her collarbone. Until he reached her face.

He paused just long enough to let her see the heat in his eyes before he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft.

It was claiming.

At the same time, Luca shifted downward, spreading her knees with his broad palms. He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak. He simply bent low and pressed his mouth between her thighs like it belonged there.

Momo arched.

The kiss at her lips deepened as her moan fed directly into Emil’s mouth. His hands cradled her jaw. Luca’s gripped her hips. They moved in perfect opposition—one tasting her surrender, the other swallowing it.

She was caught. Anchored.

Pleasure mounted too fast. Too sharp. Her mind blurred.

Two mouths. Two rhythms. One descent.

She came fast.

Her body snapped tight, then dropped, breathless and boneless against the cushions. A sound tore from her throat, raw and startled. The kind of sound that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but surrender.

Luca pulled back first, lips wet, chin slick. He looked up at her with a crooked smirk.

Emil kissed the side of her jaw one last time, then leaned back, chest rising steady.

They laughed. Not cruel. Not soft. A knowing sound. Male. Certain.

"So much for holding out," Emil murmured.

Luca stood, towering. He unfastened his belt with a practiced flick, metal whispering. "She’s better at breaking than bargaining."

Momo blinked slowly, still catching air. The room swam.

Emil reached down and unzipped. The sound felt louder than it should have. Final.

"Get on your knees," he said, voice low and unshakable. "Use that mouth for something useful."

Luca added, already stepping closer, "Both of us. Side by side. No favorites."

Momo dropped to her knees.

The rug scratched her skin. The air was thick with sweat and command. They stood above her, belts undone, cocks heavy and waiting. No tenderness now. No slow seduction.

She looked between them. Then up.

They didn’t smile. They didn’t have to.

Emil went first. One hand cradled the back of her head. The other guided her mouth. No instructions. No easing in.

She gagged. Loud. Wet.

Luca chuckled low beside her. "Too eager."

"She’ll adjust," Emil said. "They always do."

She coughed, throat tightening, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t stop. Not until she stilled.

Then he pulled back.

"Now him," Emil said, breath rough.

Luca stepped in, his fingers tracing her jaw first—a mockery of care. Then he pushed in.

She closed her eyes, breath shaking through her nose. He was slower, but thicker. She choked again, shoulders jerking.

"Good girl," he muttered. "You’ll take both soon."

They began to trade her mouth like breath.

Back and forth. One in. One out. Rhythm building. Hands guiding her like she was nothing but hunger and obedience.

No favorites.

Just service.

They pulled back from her mouth, breath heavy, knuckles flexing. Momo knelt between them, chest rising fast, lips swollen, eyes glazed. The carpet burned her knees. Her throat burned worse.

Luca stepped away first. Emil followed.

“On the bed,” Emil said.

She didn’t move.

Luca grabbed her by the arm, firm, not cruel, but with finality. She flinched. Then twisted.

“Wait,” she said, voice cracking.

Neither man paused.

They guided her to the bed, bent her forward. Her hands clutched the sheets. Her breath caught when Emil's palm rested on the small of her back, holding her there.

Then Luca’s hands spread her legs.

She snapped.

“No,” she gasped. “Wait. Don’t—please, not both."

Emil froze. His fingers tightened.

“Look at me,” he said. She did. Barely.

His voice didn’t soften. But it lowered.

“Then say it clear. Say stop. Say you want this to end."

Momo shook her head, breath ragged. “I just… I can’t. Not that."

Emil didn’t move.

He looked at her, dead-on. One second. Two.

Then he turned to Luca and nodded.

Momo blinked. “Wait,” she said, voice rising. “I said I can’t.”

Luca was already moving. Hands on her hips. Knees on the bed.

Emil leaned over her back, his voice a whisper. “You didn’t say stop.”

Her breath seized.

“That was your rule,” he added, mouth at her ear. “You wanted control. Use it. Or we take over.”

Luca spread her legs wider.

“No—”

Her voice cracked.

Emil's hand slid under her chin, forcing her head up. “Say it. Loud. Say stop. Say enough. Or we keep going."

She couldn’t. Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Her body betrayed her. It didn’t fight.

Luca shifted behind her, his breath hot. His grip was final. Her thighs trembled.

Emil kissed her temple. “Then you know what happens next.”

Momo tensed under him, a breath caught so sharp it almost hurt.

“Wait,” she said, barely audible.

Luca's hands were already on her hips, adjusting her position. She tried to rise, to twist away, but Emil pressed her back down with a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Please, I—I said not that,” she choked out.

Emil's tone didn’t change. “You didn’t say stop.”

Luca's voice came from behind, lower. “She’s scared. That’s good.”

Her legs kicked, once. Her breath turned frantic.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We do,” Emil said calmly, sliding his hand along her spine. “Because you let us.”

Luca shifted behind her. She felt the heat, the intent.

“No,” she gasped. “No, please, I can’t take both. I can’t.”

Emil leaned down close. “You will. Or you say the word. You scream. You fight. But if you freeze, we keep going.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her body shuddered.

Then the pressure began.

One at her hips. One higher, angling. Pinned between them.

She sobbed, legs buckling. Her voice came broken: “Stop. Please stop.”

Emil paused.

“Is that your word?”

Momo trembled. Silence. A second. Two.

“No,” she whispered.

“Good girl,” Luca said.

Then they entered her.

Together.

Momo gasped, body seized between them, the word echoing in her skull. Their rhythm began slow—coordinated, deliberate. Every movement precise. Every breath stolen.

“Fuck,” Luca hissed behind her, low and hot. “Tighter than I thought she’d be."

Emil gripped her jaw, forcing her head back against his shoulder. “That’s because she’s fighting it. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I can’t,” Momo breathed, tears on her cheeks. “It’s too much. You can’t both—I—please—”

Emil's voice was pure steel. “You took us in your mouth like you were starving. Now take the rest."

She sobbed, back arching with the next thrust. Her hands fisted in the sheets.

Luca growled behind her, pace picking up. “She’s melting. Feels it now."

“No,” she whimpered. “No, I’m not—I don’t—”

Emil silenced her with a hand to her throat, not squeezing, just there. “You are. You’re dripping. Shaking. You fucking love it."

Her legs gave. Only their hands kept her up.

“She’s close,” Luca said. “You feel that? She’s pulsing.”

Momo moaned without meaning to. Her voice fractured. “Don’t say that. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

Emil's fingers tightened around her jaw. “Then act like you’re here. Own it.”

Luca grunted behind her, his pace sharp, relentless. “She’s trembling. Fuck, she’s right there."

Momo shook her head, face burning. Her hands clawed at the sheets, nails tearing the fabric. Her breath came in sobs now—half protest, half need.

“Don’t,” she begged, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t make me. Not like this.”

Emil's voice dropped to a growl. “You're already gone, baby. Let go.”

She tried to speak. The words fell apart. Her body arched.

The pressure cracked.

It hit her hard—a climax torn from somewhere deep, shaking and brutal. Her mouth opened on a scream she couldn't silence. Her muscles clenched around them. Her eyes flooded.

Luca cursed. Emil held her tighter, letting her ride it out, his breath in her ear.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Give it up. All of it."

And she did.

She spilled over their rhythm, a girl turned wreckage in their hands.

She spilled over their rhythm, a girl turned wreckage in their hands.

Emil didn’t slow. Neither did Luca. If anything, they tightened around her, using every inch until her body jolted with each thrust.

“Goddamn,” Luca growled, slamming deeper. “I'm gonna cum in her ass. She’s begging for it without saying a word."

Emil was shaking against her back, sweat dripping. “Fuck—I’m close. Gonna fill her up. Flood her pussy 'til it spills."

Momo tried to speak, to plead again, but her mouth stayed open in a silent cry. Her body wouldn't respond.

Luca grunted, thrusts turning brutal. “Take it. Fucking take all of it."

Emil bit out a moan, grip bruising her waist. “Cumming. Right now. Gonna pump this pussy full. Keep it. Fucking keep it."

They finished together.

Luca cursed as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fucking emptied me.”

Emil growled into her skin. “That’s it. Take our cum. Every last drop. You’re ours now."

Her body trembled, wrecked and leaking.

They stayed inside her for a breath. Then another.

The silence stretched, too long. Momo's body trembled, but not from pleasure anymore.

Luca pulled out first. She flinched. Emil followed, slower, and she hissed in pain.

Momo twisted away, breath catching. "You got what you wanted," she snapped, voice raw. "We're done."

Luca grabbed her wrist before she could crawl off the bed. "Not quite."

She yanked, snarled. “Get your fucking hands off me."

Emil stepped in close, crouching at the edge of the bed. His tone didn’t rise. That made it worse.

“You think this ends when you say so? After what you just gave us? After what you took?"

Momo spit at the floor between them. “You don’t own me."

Luca leaned in beside Emil, voice a low threat. “You’re dripping with us. Still open. Still shaking. And you’re going to clean every fucking drop."

“No,” she growled.

Emil grabbed her chin, hard. “Then we make you.”

She struggled. Kicked. Cursed. But her body betrayed her again—weak, drained, trembling.

They pinned her, not cruel, but practiced. Controlled.

Luca brought himself to her lips. “Open your mouth. Or we hold it open. Either way, you're going to taste what you begged for."

Her mouth clamped shut. Eyes blazing.

Emil smirked. “That fire won't save you now."

Momo stared up at him, defiant. But it was cracked now. Her lips parted, breath ragged, fury twisted with something she hated to name.

“You want me to clean it up like I enjoyed it?” she snapped.

Luca stepped forward, still exposed, heavy and unapologetic. “No. We want you to clean it because you did.”

She looked away, eyes wet. Her hands curled into the sheets.

“Make it quick,” she muttered. “Then you leave."

Emil didn’t move. He let her crawl. Let her mouth inch forward.

She paused. One last time.

Then took him in.

The taste was bitter. Salt and heat and shame.

Luca grunted behind her, guiding her pace. “Don’t rush. Use your tongue. Make it good."

She gagged once, coughed, then kept going. Emil's hand found the back of her head, steadying her.

“There you go,” he said. “Earn your silence."

She finished one. Then the other.

When she sat back, her jaw ached. Her throat burned.

Emil dressed without a word. Luca wandered to her suitcase, casually unzipping it. He flipped through her things.

Momo pulled the blanket over herself, watching.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Seeing who you came with,” Luca said. “You weren’t alone in the lobby. Cute girl. Tight dress. Same eyes."

Emil picked up her phone. Open. Unlocked.

Momo's stomach turned. “Don’t.”

He ignored her. Tapped through her apps. Pulled up a tagged photo.

Sana.

“Room 611,” Emil read aloud.

Momo sat up. “You’re not touching her.”

“We’re not asking,” Luca said.

Emil smirked. “But you’ll tell her, won’t you? Right after we leave. And she won’t believe a word. Not after what she saw on your story."

They walked to the door.

“She’ll open it for us,” Emil added. “They always do."

Click.

“You’re wearing the product. You’re representing the brand,” he said, stepping closer. “Now we see if you fit the image.”

“I’m here for a photoshoot,” she snapped, voice brittle.

“Photos come after,” he said, eyes dipping to the hem of her skirt. “This is internal quality control.”

She backed up one step. “I’m not doing this.”

“If you walk,” he said, “we’ll call it breach of contract. The penalty will be public. Career-ending.”

The walls pressed in. She saw the headlines before he touched her.

“You don’t scare me.”

“You should be scared,” he murmured—and caught her wrist.

She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”

But he did.

She slapped him, and he caught her again. This time, he didn’t let go.

He pulled her forward, spun her toward the couch, forced her down. The clipboard hit the floor with a slap.

“You’re not making me,” she whispered, legs kicking.

“You’re proving loyalty,” he said, his weight pinning her hips. “That’s what ambassadors do.”

She twisted, her voice breaking. “You don’t get to use me like this.”

“I own the campaign. I choose the message.”

He peeled the blazer from her shoulders. The lace underneath glinted in the sunlight.

“No,” she hissed, tears starting.

“Yes,” he said, cold. “You said yes when you signed.”

She struggled harder, but her skirt was already sliding up. Lace torn. Thighs bared.

“Stop—”

He kissed her throat, bit down.

“Say it louder,” he taunted.

“Stop!” she gasped.

“Still not loud enough.”

Her body bucked, instinct firing wild, but he absorbed it like stone—unshaken, unmoved. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, not with violence but with purpose. Measured. Exact. The velvet beneath her muffled her protest, swallowed her breath, until even her fear made no sound.

"Fight all you want," he said near her ear, voice a thread of silk drawn tight. "No one's listening."

She thrashed again, but his grip didn’t shift. He didn’t restrain her harshly—he didn’t need to. Every movement he made was deliberate, choreographed like he’d done this before. Knew how resistance wore itself out.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I didn’t come for this.”

“You came,” he said, fingers brushing her lapel, “wearing lace the brand paid for.”

He reached up slowly, methodically, and undid the first clasp of her blouse. One. Then two.

“You dressed the part,” he murmured. “Now perform.”

She flinched as he spread the fabric, exposing her bra—brand-stamped, sheer, meant for cameras not skin. His fingers brushed over the swell of her breast, not gentle, not rough—just certain. Like claiming a product. Like inventory.

“You feel it?” he asked quietly. “The contract in action?”

She clenched her jaw. Her body didn’t answer, but her skin did—burning under his touch, betraying what her voice wouldn’t allow.

He found her nipple beneath the lace, caught it between two fingers, rolled once.

She gasped—sharp, unwilling—and he smiled against her hair.

“There it is,” he said. “Honest branding.”

“Please,” she sobbed, voice cracking. “Don’t—”

But he was already in her.

She cried out, stiffening. Her hips jerked, fought, failed. The couch creaked beneath them. His grip never wavered.

“You’re just product now,” he said.

She turned her head, tears smudging her cheek. “Don’t cum in me,” she choked.

He stilled. Looked down at her. His breath ragged.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“Don’t. Please.”

His hand slid around her throat—not squeezing, not yet—just enough pressure to make her still. Not a gesture of lust, but of ownership. A quiet, practiced dominance.

“Don’t mistake this for rage,” he said, voice low. “Rage is noisy. This is precision.”

Yeji froze beneath him, her body locked between velvet and command. Her breath hitched, shallow against his palm.

“You signed,” he reminded her. “You walked in. You knew what wasn’t written.”

He moved again, slow but firm—like someone finishing what was already decided. Her spine arched involuntarily, every inch of her responding in betrayal, in defeat.

Her hands twitched, unsure whether to push or plead.

“You’re not in control here,” he whispered. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”

The chandelier light caught her reflection in the window—eyes wide, mouth parted, body held still by the weight of something she couldn’t undo.

“No,” she cried.

“Yes.”

He groaned as he came, deep inside her, holding her hips down so she couldn’t pull away.

She sobbed into the cushion, body trembling, ruined lace clinging to her skin.

He pulled out slowly. Adjusted his shirt. Smoothed her skirt like nothing happened.

“Photoshoot’s at ten,” he said, stepping away. “Smile like you’ve been satisfied.”

Yeji didn’t respond.

She lay silent, mascara streaking down her cheek, the mansion echoing around her.

Her contract was fulfilled.

He studied her for a moment—how her blouse clung slightly at the collarbone, the way her lips parted just enough when she waited for more instructions. Then he gestured.

“Come into my office.”

She rose instantly, smoothing her skirt, following him in silence. His office was darker, lit only by a lamp in the corner and the glow of city lights washing through the windows.

He sat. She remained standing.

Mr. Kang looked at her for a long time—hands folded, expression unreadable.

“You’ve been here three weeks,” he said. “And in that time, you’ve outperformed nearly everyone on your floor.”

Her cheeks colored. “I just try to do things right.”

He tilted his head. “Is that what you want?”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“To be right? Or to be good?”

Her breath caught.

“I…” She swallowed. “I want to be good.”

His smile was small, deliberate. “Then take off your blouse.”

She froze. Heart pounding.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t coax. He simply waited.

Hanni reached up with trembling fingers, unfastened the buttons one by one. The blouse slid off her shoulders, soft and slow, revealing pale skin and a pale pink bra—simple, girlish.

He nodded toward her. “Come here.”

She stepped forward. The sound of her bare feet on the carpet was almost too loud.

“Closer.”

She stopped at his knee.

Mr. Kang reached up, fingers brushing her hip. “You don’t flinch. That’s impressive.”

“I want to do well,” she whispered.

He leaned back slightly. “Take the rest off. Slowly.”

She obeyed.

Her skirt slipped down her legs, the zipper barely making a sound. She stood in lace panties, her bra still fastened, eyes down.

When he reached for the front clasp, she didn’t stop him.

The bra came undone with a snap. Her breasts spilled free—small, soft, rising and falling with every breath.

He palmed one gently, thumb brushing her nipple. It hardened instantly.

“Sensitive,” he said.

She nodded, unable to speak.

He pinched, twisted gently. She gasped, thighs shifting.

“Does praise make you wet, Hanni?”

She nodded again.

“Say it.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. “It does.”

His hand slid down, fingers brushing the soaked lace at her center.

“You’ve been a very good girl tonight.”

And then he pulled her down into his lap.

Her legs folded to either side of his, her bare skin brushing his suit. He cupped both breasts now, lifting them, testing their weight. His thumbs circled her nipples until they stood stiff and flushed, then pinched—first gently, then harder—watching her squirm.

“Keep still,” he murmured. “Let me enjoy this.”

She tried, but every twist of his fingers made her gasp. Her hips rolled in his lap without thinking, grinding softly against the bulge beneath his trousers.

He smiled. “You like when I touch you here,” he said, fingers flicking her nipples just enough to sting.

She whimpered, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girls don’t fake it.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “I promise.”

“Prove it.” He reached beneath her chin, guiding her gently down to the floor. “On your knees.”

She moved with slow reverence, hair falling forward. Her hands found his belt, her eyes flicking up once for permission.

He nodded.

She undid his trousers, pulled him free, and took him in her mouth—slow at first, tentative, then deeper with each pass. He let out a low breath, one hand in her hair, not forcing—just there. Her lips moved with quiet desperation, tongue gliding, throat flexing as she gave him everything.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re perfect, Hanni.”

She moaned around him—soft, grateful.

When he was too close, he tugged her up, settling her back in his lap.

“Now,” he said, lining himself against her soaked entrance, “where do you want me to finish?”

She blinked, dazed. “Sir?”

“You’ve earned the choice,” he said, kissing her jaw. “Inside you, or on your skin. Tell me.”

Her breath hitched. The trust in his tone unnerved her more than any command.

“…Inside,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

He smiled against her ear.

“Good girl.” His hands gripped her hips, guiding her down onto him—slow, deliberate, filling her inch by inch. Her gasp stuttered in her throat as he bottomed out, holding her there. Her thighs trembled as she adjusted to the stretch, her walls fluttering around him with helpless precision.

“That’s your reward,” he murmured, lips brushing her collarbone. “You get all of me, because you asked so sweetly.”

She clung to his shoulders, overwhelmed, every nerve lit with praise and pressure. Her forehead rested against his temple, the scent of his skin—clean cologne and something darker—imprinting on her memory.

He moved slowly at first, patient. Letting her feel it. Letting her ache for it.

Each stroke was measured, each breath intentional. Like he was writing her into his rhythm.

“Smart.”

A thrust.

“Obedient.”

Another, deeper.

“Perfect.”

Her body trembled with every word. Her legs locked tighter around his waist. She couldn’t think. She could only feel.

Her hands clutched at his shirt, the fabric wrinkled and damp under her palms. He bit gently at her jawline, then soothed the mark with his tongue.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice rough.

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s how good girls get treated.”

He rolled his hips again, slower now, grinding deep. Her body arched into him, her breasts pressing to his chest, nipples grazing the starched cotton of his shirt with every movement.

“Tell me what you need.”

“You,” she whispered. “More.”

He smirked. “More what?”

She blinked hard, flushed. “More of you. Please.”

He pulled back, nearly all the way out, then slid back in with one firm thrust. Her cry caught in her throat.

“God, you’re tight when you beg.”

He shifted their position, pushing her back slightly so she was angled over his lap, her hands on his shoulders, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow gasps.

His fingers gripped her hips tighter. He started to fuck her in slow, controlled strokes—deep, thorough, hitting every part of her that mattered.

“You know what I like about you?” he asked.

She could barely form words. “W-what?”

“You listen. You give everything. And you love to be told you’re doing it right.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her core clenched around him.

“I do,” she gasped.

“Say it.”

“I love it,” she whispered. “I love hearing it from you.”

“Good girl.”

He thrust harder, and her nails dug into his shoulders. Her mouth found the curve of his throat, lips parted on his skin, her breath hot and unsteady.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, low and close. “You’re taking me so perfectly.”

His words made her moan—soft and high, broken by the pace building inside her.

He moved one hand to her lower back, tilting her just right so every thrust landed deeper, tighter, sharper.

Her legs shook around him.

“Please,” she whispered.

He slowed again, eyes fixed on hers. “What do you want now, Hanni?”

“I want to come.”

“Earn it.”

She clenched around him involuntarily.

“You make me proud,” he added. “And proud girls get to fall apart.”

He slid his hand between them, fingers brushing the slick heat where they were joined. He found her clit with practiced ease, circling just enough to make her twitch.

“Sir—”

“I know. Let go.”

Her eyes rolled back as it hit her—tight, overwhelming, bursting behind her eyes. Her orgasm took her like a wave she couldn’t brace for, ripping a sound from her throat she didn’t recognize.

He kept moving, letting her ride it out on his lap, letting her tremble and press closer.

His hands gripped her hips again, grounding her as he drove into her with hard, tight thrusts. She felt his rhythm break, felt the flood of heat as he came, deep and hard, groaning into her shoulder.

He held her there, buried deep, his chest rising and falling against hers.

“Mine,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

She nodded into his shoulder, undone and glowing in the shape of his approval. Her body sagged into his, spent, boneless.

He stroked her back slowly, hand warm against her spine.

“You did so well, Hanni.”

She didn’t reply—not with words. Just a soft, sleepy smile against his neck.

Tiffany crossed her arms over her rhinestone-covered chest, shifting in her stilettos. Her dancers giggled just outside the curtain, voices sharp and close. They couldn’t hear this. They couldn’t know.

“Look,” she whispered. “I get it. You have a job. But you coming here? Backstage? You trying to ruin me?”

“I’m trying to collect what’s owed.”

She stepped closer, voice tight with panic. “Please. Just give me a week. I’ll book another show. Two, even. I’ll make it work.”

He didn’t move. “I don’t get paid on promises.”

Tiffany backed into the narrow vanity counter. Her pulse pounded in her throat. Her reflection showed too much—sweat at her collar, the flush rising fast beneath her makeup.

“You want noise?” she said, voice sharp. Then it softened, mouth close to his. “Or do you want me to pay another way?”

His eyes darkened. The moment stretched. Then he turned the lock behind him with a soft click.

She exhaled.

Her hands moved fast, fingers undoing his belt. “Don’t talk,” she muttered. “Not one word. If they hear anything, I’m done.”

He opened his mouth to speak. She shoved him down into the loveseat, straddling him, pinning his voice with her lips.

The room spun with tension. Her body pressed to his, nerves buzzing. Her skirt rode up as she ground against him, the hard line of his cock straining through his briefs. She bit his bottom lip, just hard enough.

He groaned. She slapped a hand over his mouth. “No,” she whispered, shaking. “No sound.”

She freed him, dragging his pants down just enough. Her hand wrapped around him, stroked once, twice. Then she sank onto him slowly, her breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She rocked against him, hips rolling. Each thrust felt risky. Exposed. Dangerous. Outside, laughter spiked—heels clicked on linoleum. Her dancers were steps away.

“Please,” she breathed, not to him, not even to herself. Just to the universe. “Don’t let them hear.”

He gripped her thighs, tried to thrust up into her. She pressed him back with a hiss, fingers curled in his hair. “You want this to be over?” she asked, lips trembling. “Then let me do it my way.”

Sweat slid down her spine. Her muscles ached from restraint. Every time he touched her deeper, her breath caught, held. Her moans caught in her mouth, swallowed down like a sin.

When his hands wandered beneath her top, palming her breasts, she bit his shoulder to keep quiet. Her body stuttered over him, release building like static under her skin.

“Please,” she whispered again. Not to stop. Just to hold on. “Please.”

He cupped her face, kissed her this time, deep and slow. Their mouths stayed locked as she came—quiet, shattering, her body trembling violently.

Only when she felt him stiffen, hands gripping her hips with urgency, did her breath hitch in warning.

“No,” she whispered sharply against his mouth. “Not inside. Pull out.”

He didn’t answer. His hips surged upward, breath ragged.

She froze, eyes wide. “I said no. Pull out, now.”

“You’re not the one collecting,” he growled under his breath, voice dark with intent.

Tiffany shoved at his chest. “I’m serious—don’t you dare.”

He held her down tighter, forcing her to take every inch. His voice came low, unshakable. “You want it clean? Then don’t pay in flesh.”

She gasped, fighting to lift herself, but he anchored her hard, his thrusts brutal now, desperate.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, voice breaking.

But he buried himself deep, one final time, his body seizing as he came. She slapped her hand over his mouth to muffle his groan, hot and furious.

Her eyes stung. Her body locked. She felt every pulse of it inside her, every violation of the line she drew.

When he finally let her go, she rose in silence, pulling her skirt down with shaking hands.

Outside, someone knocked.

“Ten minutes, Fany-ah!”

She didn’t speak. Just stood there, shaking, lips white with tension.

The collector stood slowly, zipping his pants, smoothing his shirt like nothing happened.

“That’s what owed means,” he said quietly.

She turned her back to him, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the mirror.

She didn’t thank him.

She didn’t look at him again.

She just waited until he left, and the lock clicked open.

She kissed a path down, slower than needed—across the base, then beneath, until her mouth pressed to the soft skin behind his balls. Her hands spread him open, thumbs digging just enough to part him. He flinched, breath hitching. Not from fear—never that. Just from knowing.

Karina licked once, a flat, wet stripe that dragged a sharp noise out of his throat.

“You clean like I told you?” she asked, not pausing.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Twice.”

“Good.” She licked again, deeper, slower. Then again. And again.

Every muscle in his legs tensed, locked, twitched. His hands fisted the sheets. Her tongue circled and pressed, tongue-slick and deliberate, until his voice broke on her name.

Her mouth never left him. “Happy birthday,” she whispered.

Then she went back to work.

He groaned, deep and guttural, hips trying to lift but pinned by her grip. She alternated between firm pressure and soft flicks, every stroke intentional. Her tongue moved with devotion, not just lust—like she was savoring every part of him, even the ones he never imagined giving away.

“Karina…”

“Don’t talk,” she said, not unkindly. Her breath coated him. “Just feel it.”

It took everything in him not to come right there. Every nerve in his body lit up, fed by the slow grind of pleasure rolling from somewhere deeper than just sex. She made him feel worshiped. Known. Vulnerable.

When she paused to kiss the inside of his thigh, he caught her eye. She smiled, lips wet, flushed from breath and heat. “You trust me?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice shaking. “More than anyone.”

“Good.” Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, lazy strokes now. Her mouth returned to his rim, firmer, deeper this time, teasing just past the surface. He cried out, shuddering.

He never thought he’d enjoy this. The idea used to embarrass him. But Karina—Karina had a way of stripping shame from everything she touched. She made it holy.

Memories flicked behind his eyes—their first fight, her first laugh in his apartment, the way she looked in the rain. This moment wasn’t just about sensation. It was a vow. Her tongue said what words hadn’t yet: I want all of you.

When she finally rose, lips swollen and chin glistening, she crawled up his body and kissed him hard, letting him taste himself on her tongue. He moaned into her mouth.

“Still think you didn’t want a gift?” she teased.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “I want to marry you.”

She grinned, sliding her hand between them, guiding him inside her in one slow, slick movement. His head fell back.

Later, with her thighs trembling and her voice wrecked from moans, she collapsed beside him, laughing breathlessly. “Well. You win. That was a gift.”

Ryan turned his head, still panting. He looked at her like a man seeing something sacred. Then he leaned in, kissed her collarbone, her neck, and whispered, “Your turn.”

Karina arched an eyebrow, already grinning. “You trying to top me?”

He slid down her body, slow and reverent. “Not trying,” he said. “Promised.”

He spread her open with both hands, laying her back across the cool sheets. Her scent hit him first—heady, sweet, and still slick with the last wave of pleasure. He kissed the inside of her thigh, trailing slowly inward, breath warm against flushed skin.

When his mouth met her pussy, she gasped, hips twitching. He licked up her folds with the same patience she’d shown him, savoring every shiver. His fingers gripped under her thighs, pulling her closer.

Then he lowered farther. Kissed lower. Slower. Until his tongue pressed behind her, teasing.

Karina’s body jolted. “Ryan… are you serious?”

He looked up, mouth wet. “Dead.”

She laughed once—a startled, shaky sound—then groaned as his mouth sealed against her ass, tongue stroking with careful, practiced pressure.

“Fuck, baby…” Her voice cracked.

He was deliberate—slow, thorough, utterly focused. Each flick of his tongue drew out a new sound, a new tremble. He rimmed her until she was moaning into the pillow, fingers buried in his hair.

He didn’t stop until she begged. Until her thighs quivered from overuse and her voice had broken twice over his name.

When he finally kissed his way back up, she grabbed his face and kissed him hard. “Next year, I’m buying you something worse,” she gasped. “Because I’m never topping this.”

She shrugged off the coat slowly. Underneath — sheer black lace, soft mesh clinging to curves he hadn't seen since she left. The bra lifted her breasts high, her hips framed in delicate straps that led to garters and thigh-highs. No heels. Just bare feet on the cool floor. She knew exactly what she was doing.

He exhaled. “Tzuyu…”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said softly. “A lot.”

“You can’t just walk in dressed like that and expect—”

“I don’t expect anything,” she interrupted, walking closer. “I just hoped.”

He stayed frozen, jaw tight. “We didn’t end clean.”

“I know.”

She was close now — arms down, not touching him, but heat radiating from every inch of her.

“You said you didn’t want to see me again,” he murmured.

“I lied.”

Her voice cracked just enough to show it.

“I’ve missed this,” she added. “Us. Your hands. The way you looked at me when you were inside me.”

His breath hitched. That ache in his chest — the one he’d buried — stirred back to life.

“Why now?” he asked.

“Because I finally realized no one’s ever made me feel the way you did.” Her fingers toyed with the edge of his shirt. “And I still wear the lingerie you liked. Just in case.”

He looked down — the set was familiar. Not new. Not picked at random. One he’d bought her two birthdays ago. It fit better now. Fuller breasts, softer curves.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, and kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry — the kind of kiss you give someone you’ve dreamed about every night and promised you’d never touch again. Her mouth opened to him immediately. She melted into it.

His hands slid around her waist, fingers dipping under the lace, feeling bare skin he used to worship. She moaned into his mouth, pressed her body flush against him.

“You want this back,” he said, voice low.

“Yes.”

“You want me back.”

“More than anything.”

His hand slid down, cupped her ass, pulled her tight against his growing hardness. “Then show me.”

Tzuyu dropped to her knees. No hesitation.

She looked up. “Let me remind you.”

Tzuyu looked up, eyes steady but glassy with need. Her hands moved slow — like this wasn’t a performance but a memory she was slipping back into. She unbuttoned his jeans the way she used to, careful, quiet. The tension in the room thickened with each passing second.

She freed him with both hands, fingers brushing the length of him like she was reacquainting herself.

“You missed this?” he asked, his voice strained.

She nodded. “Every night.”

He ran a hand through her hair, not guiding — just needing to touch her.

She didn’t speak again. Just leaned forward and took him in — lips parting, tongue soft against the underside as she swallowed the first few inches.

“Shit,” he hissed, head tipping back.

Her rhythm was slow. Purposeful. No rush. She wanted him to feel it — the weight of her mouth, the way her tongue curled around him, the warmth he hadn’t felt since the night they stopped calling each other.

“You’re still so fucking good at this,” he muttered, hand curling tighter in her hair. “Like your mouth never forgot me.”

Tzuyu moaned low in her throat, the vibration running up his spine. She pulled back with a slick sound, spit clinging to her lips, then sank down again, deeper.

“Fuck—” he growled, his hips jerking forward before he caught himself. She let him. Welcomed the pressure. One hand rested on his thigh, the other slid between her own legs.

He looked down. “You touching yourself while you do this?”

She nodded around his cock, lips stretched, eyes dark with need.

He grunted. “You’re filthy.”

She pulled off just enough to whisper, “Only for you.”

And she meant it.

He let her go for a while — listened to the messy sounds of her mouth working him, the soft slaps of her fingers between her thighs, the quiet whimpers she couldn’t suppress. Her face flushed, jaw working, hair slipping from behind her ears.

“I missed your taste,” she whispered between strokes. “Missed your cum.”

That nearly did it.

“Tongue out,” he said. She obeyed instantly.

He stroked over her tongue, cock glossy and hard, her spit shining down the shaft. “You want me to finish in your mouth?”

She nodded, already opening wider. “Please.”

He gripped her hair, gave in.

His orgasm hit fast — hot, sudden. She moaned as he came, swallowing as much as she could, the rest streaking across her chin and lips. When it was done, she closed her mouth and looked up again.

“Still think I don’t belong here?” she whispered.

He stared at her. Chest heaving. Pulse hammering.

“No,” he said. “But this isn’t over.”

Tzuyu smiled. “I’m counting on that.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing hard, eyes still locked on his.

He stood there, cock twitching, chest rising and falling, mind spinning faster than he wanted to admit. Everything about her — the lingerie, the way she swallowed him, the softness in her voice when she whispered please — was pulling him backward and forward all at once. Back into something he thought was dead. Forward into something he didn’t understand yet.

He exhaled, stepping away, one hand bracing the wall.

“You alright?” she asked, still kneeling.

“Yeah,” he said, but the tension didn’t fade. “I just… need to piss.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “Bathroom’s down the hall, right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, but didn’t move.

She watched him a second longer, something shifting behind her eyes. Then, slowly, softly: “You don’t have to go alone.”

His brows furrowed.

She leaned back on her heels, voice steady but low. “You could do it here. On me.”

He stared. “Tzuyu.”

She didn’t flinch. “I want you to. If you need to… I’d rather you not walk away just yet.”

A pause. Heavy. Thick.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

“I want everything,” she said. “Not just the sex. Not just the parts that feel good. If we’re doing this—” her hand slid over her stomach, over her still-wet bra, “—I want it all. Even the things that feel a little scary.”

He stepped toward her, slowly, like approaching something sacred.

“You know what you’re saying?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss belonging to you,” she said simply. “And this… letting you mark me again? It makes me feel like I still do.”

His heart stuttered.

He stood over her now, cock in hand, already heavy again with a different kind of urgency. She opened her legs slightly, resting her hands on her thighs, looking up with a quiet trust that cut him open.

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Wherever you need to let it go.”

He inhaled, and let go.

The stream came slowly at first — warm, golden, splashing softly onto her chest. She gasped at the heat, but didn’t move. Her hands slid behind her, resting on her heels as she tilted her face toward it.

It hit her collarbone, ran between her breasts, soaked into the delicate lace until it clung wet and dark against her skin. He groaned, watching her breathe through it — eyes closed, mouth parted.

“You look filthy,” he whispered. “But so fucking beautiful.”

She opened her eyes, voice breathy. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He angled lower — over her stomach, her thighs, then finally over her panties, soaking the thin fabric again. She whimpered, the sound soft but desperate. Her hands twitched at her sides.

“You want to touch yourself?”

She nodded fast.

“Then do it.”

Her fingers moved under the wet fabric instantly. Slow, practiced circles that made her tremble as he finished.

The stream faded. The air buzzed with the scent of sweat, arousal, and something deeper — surrender. She rubbed harder now, back arching slightly, the wet lace grinding against her.

“Cum,” he whispered. “Right there. Let d*ddy watch you fall apart.”

She gasped, body seizing, thighs shaking as she came for the second time that night — soaked, flushed, completely his.

He knelt down in front of her afterward, thumb brushing her cheek.

“You sure you want to come back to this?” he asked.

Tzuyu looked up through damp lashes, smiling.

“I never wanted to leave.”

Rain tapped the window as he zipped up his jeans.

Tzuyu stayed kneeling, chest rising and falling, her skin sticky with sweat, spit, and the last golden stream he’d poured over her thighs. Her hair clung to her neck. Her lips were swollen, eyes glassy, but clear with something deeper than lust.

He looked down at her, chest still heaving. “You should go.”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

He glanced away. “I have someone waiting at home.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m not here for your heart anymore.”

That froze him.

“I’m here for your body,” she continued. “Your need. Your filth. I want to be the place you come to when you can’t be clean with her.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not about fair,” she said, shifting to sit back on her heels, hands resting on her soaked thighs. “It’s about what I want.”

He crouched in front of her, searching her face. “Say it, then. If you really mean it.”

Tzuyu licked her lips. “I want to be your cumdump. Your piss can. Anytime you need release, you come to me. No questions. No strings. Just mess.”

His breath caught. “And when I go home?”

“You’ll kiss your girlfriend with my taste still in your mouth.” Her voice didn’t tremble. “I want that.”

A beat passed. Then another.

He kissed her once — hard, rough, almost angry. Then he stood.

She stayed on the floor as he left the room.

Weeks Later

Soft knock at the back door, 11:43 PM. She opens it in a robe. He doesn’t speak. Just unzips. She sinks to her knees.

Bathroom floor, midday. He urinates on her chest while scrolling his phone. She moans quietly, rubbing herself while the warm stream pools in her collarbones.

Rainy parking garage. She leans over the hood of his car. He fucks her rough, finishes inside her, zips up, drives off without a word.

Voice message at 2:17 AM: “I need you. Be wet.”

She is.

Hotel room, clean sheets turned messy. He fills her mouth. She swallows. Asks if he’ll stay. He doesn’t answer.

His girlfriend’s social media feed: smiling selfies, dinner dates, sunrise hikes. Tzuyu scrolls. Watches. Waits.

Same night. She’s on her knees again.

He never says he loves her.

She never asks.

He didn’t deny it. Just leaned closer, voice dropping. “Maybe I do.”

Winter looked away, breath shallow. “You said you liked me because I’m different. That I’m not like other girls.”

“I meant it.”

And in that moment, she wanted to believe him.

He touched her thigh. Just above the knee. Gentle, warm.

“You know you don’t have to do anything,” he said. “We can just chill.”

But she shook her head. Not because she felt pressured. But because she did want something. Him. His hands. His closeness. That dizzy, aching feeling she got whenever he looked at her like she was more than some girl sitting on his bed.

Winter leaned in first.

Their lips touched. Soft at first. Testing.

Then he kissed her like he meant it.

His hand slid up her side, tentative at first, then bolder as he found the edge of her shirt. She stiffened slightly when his fingers brushed the underside of her bra.

“Hey,” he murmured against her lips. “You okay?”

She nodded slowly, but her breath came fast. “I’ve just… never done this.”

He kissed her again, slower. “We’ll go slow. Only what you’re comfortable with.”

His fingers explored again, this time lifting the fabric gently. She gasped when he cupped one breast—small, firm, her nipple pebbling under his palm.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Winter blushed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t say that just because you want to see them.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

He slid her shirt up, slow enough to let her stop him. She didn’t. Her bra followed next. Her hands twitched like she might cover herself, but he caught her wrists, kissed her knuckles, and guided her arms back down.

“Let me see you,” he said. “Please.”

So she did.

And Jaemin looked at her like she was something rare—not something to take, but something to worship.

Winter sat still, bare from the waist up, arms at her sides, chest rising and falling fast. Her nipples were tight, flushed pink from the cool air and his warm gaze. She'd never let anyone see her like this. But she didn't feel exposed. Not under the way he looked at her.

He leaned in slowly, hands cradling her waist as his lips pressed to her collarbone. Then lower. His mouth dragged across her chest, soft, reverent.

When he reached her breast, he kissed around the edge first. Then, without a word, his lips closed around her nipple.

Winter gasped.

He sucked gently, tongue circling, then flicking as his hand massaged the other. Heat pooled low in her stomach. She felt every pull like a tug inside her—deep, aching.

“Jae...” she whispered, eyes fluttering.

He groaned softly against her skin. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

She shook her head. “Don’t stop.”

His other hand slid lower. Down her stomach. Past the waistband of her skirt. He paused, looking at her.

“Can I?”

She nodded. A tiny sound left her throat when his fingers slipped past her underwear.

“You're so wet,” he breathed, stroking gently. “Is this all for me?”

She bit her lip, barely able to speak. “I think about you all the time.”

His fingers found her clit, slow circles that made her back arch. All while his mouth stayed on her breast, tongue teasing her peak until she whimpered.

Then one finger dipped lower. Slid in. Her body clenched around him.

“God, you're tight...” he muttered. He pulled back slightly to watch her face.

Winter was flushed, lips parted, hips moving without meaning to.

He added another finger.

She moaned, soft and high, hands fisting in the bedsheets. His thumb pressed up just right, working her slowly while his mouth sucked harder.

She was falling apart.

And he hadn't even undressed yet.

Winter lay beneath him, flushed and trembling, her chest rising fast. Her nipples were slick from his mouth, and between her legs, his fingers moved in slow, knowing circles. She could barely think, barely speak. Every sound from her lips was soft, helpless.

Jaemin watched her carefully. “Lift your hips a little,” he said, voice low.

She blinked. “Why?”

“Just making you more comfortable,” he said, sliding a pillow beneath her lower back. Her hips tilted, her thighs parting slightly.

She squirmed. “I didn’t know it was like this...”

“Like what?” he asked, pausing.

“All this touching,” she said, cheeks burning. “I thought it was just... you know. The actual part.”

Jaemin smiled gently and leaned over to kiss her nose. “It can be. But it’s better like this. Slower. I want you to enjoy everything, not just get through it.”

Her lips parted. That made her chest ache in a way she didn’t expect. “You mean... you don’t just want to... do it and stop?”

He shook his head, brushing his thumb over her belly. “No, baby. I want to know every sound you make. Every way your body reacts. That’s the part I want most.”

Winter swallowed. “Even... my boobs?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Especially your boobs.”

She gave a tiny nervous laugh, but didn’t stop him when he leaned down again, taking one breast into his mouth, tongue swirling her nipple until her fingers curled in the sheets.

He kissed down her stomach next. Slow, reverent.

“Can I taste you?” he asked, mouth at the hem of her underwear.

Her legs tensed. “Do you have to?”

He looked up. “No. I don’t have to. But I want to. You don’t have to let me if you’re uncomfortable.”

Winter hesitated. Her voice was a whisper. “It just feels so... personal.”

“It is,” he said. “But that’s why it matters.”

She looked at the ceiling, breath shaky. Then nodded. “Okay... just be gentle.”

“Always,” he promised.

He slid her panties down slowly, watching her the whole time. When she was bare, she turned her head and bit her lip, but she didn’t stop him.

“Put your hands up again,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She did.

He opened her with gentle fingers, kissed the inside of her thighs, then finally leaned in. The first touch of his tongue made her jolt.

“Oh… oh god,” she gasped, legs twitching.

“Is that okay?”

She nodded fast, face flushed. “It’s… more intense than I thought.”

He smiled against her, then continued—slow, soft strokes with his tongue as his hand returned to her chest, cupping and teasing.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmured. “Just let go. Let me show you how good it can feel.”

She whimpered, breath shaking as she surrendered.

Jaemin eased back, lips glistening, eyes dark with want. He moved slowly up her body, planting soft kisses along her belly, then her ribs, until he hovered just above her face.

Winter looked up at him, still breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes dazed from the way he’d made her feel.

He brushed a hand gently over her hair. “You okay?”

She nodded. “It’s... a lot. But I’m okay.”

“You’re doing amazing,” he said softly.

He sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt off, revealing a lean chest and a small scar under his ribs. Winter touched it, silent. Then her gaze drifted down.

“Can I see?” she asked.

He gave a small nod and pushed his sweats down. He was already hard, thick and flushed dark. Winter blinked, unsure if she should stare or look away.

“You okay?” he asked.

She gave a shy laugh. “It looks... kind of scary.”

He smiled. “That’s normal. You don’t have to do anything. But if you want, I can show you.”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay. I want to try.”

He took her hand and wrapped it around him, guiding her movements. It was warm and heavy in her palm. Strange. Not bad—just new.

“That feels good,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

She watched him, curious, then leaned down and gave the tip a tentative kiss. It tasted faintly salty. Her nose wrinkled.

“You okay?”

“It’s just... weird,” she admitted. “It’s not like I thought.”

“Most first times are weird,” he said gently. “Don’t force yourself.”

She tried again, taking him into her mouth, just a little. The shape was awkward, her jaw strained quickly, and she pulled back with a quiet cough.

He was already reaching for her, helping her sit up. “It’s okay. We can stop.”

“I want to learn,” she said softly. “But I didn’t think it would feel so... icky in my mouth.”

He laughed quietly. Not unkind. Just real. “It can. It gets better. But only if you want to keep going.”

She nodded, unsure. Her fingers stayed on him, stroking slowly. That felt easier. More natural.

“This okay?” she asked.

“Perfect,” he said, voice rough. “Just having you touch me... I love that.”

She smiled faintly. Still unsure. Still curious. But willing to try.

Jaemin leaned back against the headboard, his eyes heavy-lidded, chest rising with uneven breath. Winter knelt beside him now, bare from the waist up, still flushed from everything he'd done to her. Her fingers stayed curled around him, moving slowly, watching his reactions.

He groaned softly. “That feels really good.”

Winter bit her lip. “You're really... hard.”

“That's all you,” he said with a lazy grin.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. Her nerves still sat under her skin, but the look on his face every time she touched him made her feel something close to brave.

Jaemin reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You sure you're okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just still getting used to all this.”

“Want to stop?”

Winter hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I want to know what it feels like. For you. I want to learn everything.”

He smiled, kissed her forehead. “We’ll take our time.”

She leaned down again, kissed the tip, slower this time. Her lips parted, and she took him in, breathing through her nose. He was thick, awkward in her mouth, but this time she didn’t pull back right away. She moved carefully, remembering his voice, the way his hand had guided her.

Jaemin exhaled, hand brushing her hair back. “Fuck, Winter...”

His praise lit something in her. She bobbed her head a little, feeling him slide along her tongue. The taste was still strange, but his pleasure made it worth it.

Then, without warning, his hand gripped the back of her head and he thrust up into her mouth.

Winter gagged hard, eyes wide, trying to pull back but his hips followed, deep and sudden. She slapped his thigh twice, fast. He stopped instantly.

She pulled off, coughing, wiping her mouth. “Ow,” she rasped, blinking through the shock. “What the hell was that?”

Jaemin winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. That was too much.”

Her brows knit as she caught her breath, glaring half-heartedly. “You said we were taking our time.”

“I know. I got carried away.”

She narrowed her eyes, then smacked his chest. “Next time, warn me before you try to deepthroat me like that.”

He laughed, sheepish. “You’re right. I will. Promise.”

Winter rubbed her jaw, muttering, “Felt like my throat got punched.”

He kissed her hand. “Still love me?”

She gave him a long look. Then grinned. “Maybe. If you behave.”

He pulled her into his lap, arms around her waist. “I can be good.”

“I doubt it,” she whispered against his neck, but her voice was softer now. “But I still want you.”

She looked down at him again, now fully hard between them, her breath catching. The nerves hadn’t disappeared, but something else was rising in her—curiosity, ache, boldness.

He brushed his lips against her ear. “You want to try again?”

Winter swallowed, nodded. “Yeah. But this time, if you want to... move like before... tell me first.”

“Deal,” he murmured. “And I want you to touch yourself while I’m in your mouth. Can you do that for me?”

She hesitated, then nodded again, her cheeks burning. “I’ll try.”

They shifted again—him back against the headboard, her kneeling between his legs. He guided her hand to his cock and watched her lips part as she leaned down, more sure this time. She opened her mouth for him.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his hand resting gently on the back of her head.

She started slow—lips slick, jaw tight, tongue tracing his length. The taste still made her flinch faintly, but she didn’t stop.

“Touch yourself,” he breathed. “Let me hear you while you take me.”

Winter reached down, fingers slipping between her thighs. Her gasp vibrated around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Jaemin groaned. “Just like that.”

He moved—slowly at first, guiding her rhythm. She followed his lead, taking more with each bob of her head. Her fingers circled her clit, heat spreading fast and low through her belly.

“Ready for more?” he asked, voice strained.

She pulled off just enough to whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He tightened his grip in her hair, not rough—but firm. “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat.”

Then he began to thrust—shallow, careful, but deeper. She moaned around him, the pressure intense, her fingers moving faster between her legs.

The room filled with the slick sound of her mouth, her soft whimpers, his choked groans.

“Winter—fuck, I’m close—”

She looked up at him, eyes watering, lips stretched. Her hand trembled between her thighs.

That did it. He spilled with a gasp, pulsing hot onto her tongue. She flinched, startled, but didn’t pull away.

As the taste hit her, her body spasmed—waves crashing, heat breaking, her orgasm tearing through her unexpectedly. Her thighs shook, her fingers soaked.

She pulled off him, gasping, flushed, dazed.

Jaemin looked down at her, stunned. “You just...?”

She nodded, catching her breath. “I think I squirted.”

He reached down, cupped her face gently, kissed her forehead. “You’re unbelievable.”

Winter huffed, swiping at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “You came so much, Jaemin. That was disgusting.”

He laughed, pulling her gently up into his lap. “You didn’t have to swallow it all.”

She smacked his chest lightly. “I tried not to, but you were holding my head and—you didn’t even warn me!”

He grinned, nosing into her hair as he hugged her tight. “You looked so fucking pretty, I couldn’t help it.”

She was still catching her breath, her body sore and humming. She leaned against him, then paused.

“…Wait. Are you still hard?”

Jaemin didn’t answer at first. He just shifted, and she felt it again—thick, hot, still pressed between them.

Winter blinked up at him, eyes wide. “Seriously?”

He kissed her cheek. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?”

Her brows rose. “You just came in my mouth. And I—ugh—I think I squirted all over your sheets.”

“You did,” he said proudly. “Twice.”

She covered her face with both hands. “This is the most embarrassing night of my life.”

He gently pulled her hands down. “It’s the hottest night of mine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So now what?”

Jaemin leaned in, his voice lower, rougher. “Now you let me fuck you.”

Winter stilled. Her heartbeat skipped.

“You’re already open for me,” he said, hands sliding down to her waist. “Already dripping, already mine.”

She looked down between them, then back at him. Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t pull away.

“I want you to feel it,” he whispered. “Really feel me this time.”

Her throat tightened. She bit her lip. Then gave a small, shaky nod. “Okay.”

Jaemin kissed her, deep and slow.

Winter’s hands curled into his shoulders as he shifted over her, gently guiding her down onto the bed. Her back hit the sheets, and he settled between her legs, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the soft line between her breasts.

He took his time. Palms smoothing down her sides, fingertips grazing her hips. She felt stripped down in more ways than one.

“Bend your knees for me,” he whispered.

She did. Legs parted, breath catching.

He wrapped one arm beneath her thigh and reached down with the other, guiding himself to her entrance.

“Breathe, baby. Just feel me.”

Winter whimpered as the tip pressed against her. Even after everything, it was still intimidating—the size, the heat, the pressure. Her body tensed.

“It’s okay,” Jaemin said softly, kissing her temple. “We go slow.”

He pushed in gently. She gasped.

“Jaemin—” Her voice trembled. “It hurts a little.”

“I know.” He paused, still just at the entrance. “Let your body adjust. You’re doing so good.”

She nodded, tears pricking her lashes. “It feels... weird. Like I shouldn’t be doing this.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t want to?”

“I do. I do,” she said quickly. “I just... I keep thinking about how I’ve never let anyone see me like this. And now you’re inside me. And I can’t ever take that back.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll never forget this either. But if there’s even a piece of you that’s not ready—”

She cut him off with a shaky kiss. “I want to. I’m just scared.”

“Then let me take care of you,” he whispered.

He pushed deeper, inch by inch, her body stretching around him. She cried out softly, gripping his arms.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmured. “Almost there.”

The burn was real—full and raw—but her body pulsed around him, craving more even through the ache.

When he finally bottomed out, they both stilled. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

“I’m full,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

“Is it too much?”

“No,” she said, eyes wet. “Just... don’t move yet.”

He kissed her jaw. “Take your time.”

She felt everything. Every beat of his heart inside her. Every breath he took. And slowly, her fear ebbed, replaced by something new.

Winter shifted beneath him, hips twitching. The stretch still ached, but it was beginning to melt into something warmer. He kissed her softly.

“Can I move now?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded. “Yeah. I think I want you to.”

Jaemin pulled out just slightly, then eased back in. Her breath hitched. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

He groaned. “You feel insane. Like you were made for me.”

Each thrust was slow, deliberate, letting her feel every inch. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her moans growing louder with each push.

Then he shifted his weight, hips angling deeper. She gasped—sharp, startled.

“There?” he asked.

She nodded fast, nails digging into his back. “Right there.”

He picked up the pace—still careful, but harder now, more controlled. Their bodies slapped together with wet heat, her cries broken by breathless whimpers.

“Jaemin—” Her voice cracked. “Oh my god.”

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, sweat sliding down his spine. “So fucking tight. Can you give me more?”

She looked up, dazed. “More?”

He kissed her lips. “Turn over for me. I want to see you like that.”

Winter hesitated, blinking. “Like... from behind?”

“Only if you want it,” he said, brushing hair from her face. “I’ll go slow. I promise.”

She bit her lip, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

He pulled out slowly, helping her roll onto her stomach. She lifted her hips, arms braced beneath her, heart pounding.

Jaemin slid back behind her, hands on her waist. “Just relax, baby.”

She felt the tip again—hot, slick, nudging her open.

Then he pushed back in. Winter moaned loud into the pillow, the angle hitting deeper, fuller.

“Oh—Jaemin—”

He gripped her hips, rolling his hips slow and steady.

“That's it,” he growled. “Take it all. Let me see how deep I can go.”

She arched into him, her body opening without hesitation now.

There was no room left for guilt.

Jaemin felt the change in her body—the way her hips pushed back to meet him, the breathless way she moaned with each thrust. No more hesitation. No more doubt.

She wanted this. All of him.

He gripped her hips tighter, his rhythm turning rougher, deeper. The sound of their bodies filled the room, wet and fast, skin on skin.

Winter gasped, her back arching instinctively. He watched the curve of her spine, the way she opened for him like she couldn’t get enough.

“Just like that,” he growled. “You’re perfect like this.”

She tried to speak, but it came out a broken moan. He leaned forward, chest pressing to her back, never stopping.

One hand slid under her, catching her breasts. He kneaded gently at first, then firmer, thumbs brushing her nipples until she cried out.

“You like that?” he whispered against her ear.

She nodded, breathless. “Yes—yes, please—”

He grinned, kissed the side of her neck, then her jaw, then her mouth—catching her lips in a deep, desperate kiss while he drove into her harder than before.

She whimpered into his mouth, her body trembling under the intensity.

“I can’t—Jaemin—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he said, voice rough. “Let me feel you come around me.”

His rhythm turned relentless. Her hands clutched the sheets. Her cries turned to gasps as her body shook, arching even harder into him.

She came with a soft, choked sob, her legs twitching, body clenching around him in waves.

And Jaemin wasn’t far behind.

Winter collapsed against the sheets, her body a trembling mess of sweat and slick skin. Her limbs were heavy, boneless, her chest rising in uneven waves. Every nerve felt exposed. She blinked up at the ceiling, dazed.

Then she felt him move behind her.

A strong arm looped under her back, lifting her carefully. She let out a tiny, startled breath as he pulled her into his lap, her thighs spreading instinctively around his waist.

“Why are you still so hard?” she murmured, voice hoarse.

He kissed her shoulder. “Because I’m not done with you.”

Her head lolled against his. “Jaemin, I can barely move.”

“Then I’ll move you.”

She barely registered it—his hand guiding himself to her again. The thick heat of him nudging against her sore, soaked entrance.

“Wait—” she breathed. But it wasn’t protest. Just shock.

“You can take it,” he whispered. “You’re still so wet.”

And she was. Her body welcomed him, pulsing around the stretch. She gasped as he slid inside, inch by inch.

“Oh my god—”

Jaemin groaned beneath her, his hands gripping her hips. “You feel unreal. You were made for this.”

She whimpered as he began to move her—lifting, lowering—using the strength of his arms to bounce her gently on his cock. The angle hit different. Every thrust deeper. She was too sensitive, too full, and yet it made her ache in the best way.

Her hands braced on his chest. “Jaemin—”

He kissed her hard, tongue stroking hers as he fucked up into her with longer strokes. His moans were rough, guttural.

“You’re so tight. Fuck, I’m not gonna last.”

She was already on the edge again. Her clit rubbed against him with every grind, her breath sharp and wild.

“I’m gonna—Jaemin, I’m gonna—”

“Look at me,” he said.

She opened her eyes. His face was flushed, mouth open, eyes dark and locked on hers.

“Come for me. Now.”

Her body obeyed. Her head snapped back as the orgasm hit, a sharp scream ripping from her throat. She clenched around him, shaking hard.

And he lost it.

He thrust up one last time, hard and deep. His shout echoed through the room as he came inside her, his arms wrapped around her, holding her down.

She felt it—every pulse, every spurt. Hot, raw, filling her until it leaked around him.

“Fuck—Winter—” he gasped, shaking under her. “So good—so fucking good—”

They collapsed together, tangled in limbs, breathless and soaked. Her head fell against his shoulder, her thighs twitching around his waist.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

She could feel him inside her. Softening. His cum still deep where he left it.

“Did you really just...?” she whispered.

He nodded, brushing hair from her cheek. “I couldn’t stop.”

Her breath shook. “I didn’t stop you.”

His voice softened. “Are you okay?”

Winter nodded slowly, lips parting in something close to a smile.

“Yeah. I just... I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Jaemin pulled the blanket around them both, still buried inside her. He kissed her forehead.

“Neither have I.”

Winter collapsed against Jaemin’s chest, still wrapped around him. Their skin stuck with sweat, the scent of sex heavy between them. Her body trembled in aftershocks, muscles twitching from the relentless rhythm he’d given her.

Jaemin kissed her shoulder, her jaw, her temple—then eased her off his lap. She whimpered faintly as he slipped out of her, a slick trail of warmth sliding after him.

“Stay open for me,” he said, gently guiding her thighs apart.

She lay back, legs splayed, too far gone to protest. He knelt between them, his gaze fixed on the mess leaking from her.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging two fingers through the creamy mix between her folds. “So full.”

Winter flushed. “It’s dripping out...”

“I know,” he said, voice thick. “That’s mine. All of it.”

He pressed his fingers back inside her slowly, watching her squirm. “Still so soft, but your body’s sucking me in. Like it doesn’t want to let go.”

She moaned, hips twitching. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over her clit while his fingers curled inside.

“You’re still wet,” he whispered. “Still open for me. You liked it that much?”

Winter nodded, eyes heavy. “I didn’t know it could feel that good.”

Jaemin pulled his fingers out slowly, coated in everything. He brought them to her lips.

“Taste it,” he said.

She blinked at him, but opened her mouth. He slid his fingers onto her tongue, and she sucked them clean with slow, shy licks.

He groaned. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Then he leaned back, his cock still semi-hard, glistening. “Help me with this,” he said, nodding.

Winter pushed herself up, crawling toward him. She took him into her mouth without a word, licking him clean—every drop of herself, of him. Her lips worked gently, tongue tracing every line.

When she finished, she kissed the tip and rested her cheek against his thigh.

“That was the most intimate thing anyone’s ever done to me,” she whispered.

Jaemin stroked her hair. “You gave me everything.”

He pulled her into his arms, laid her against his chest. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

But morning came.

The bed was cold.

Winter woke slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar light. The room was quiet. Too quiet.

She turned. Empty.

No clothes on the chair. No breath beside her.

No Jaemin.

She sat up fast, her heart slamming against her ribs. The blanket slipped down her bare chest. Her body still ached in places she’d never known could feel anything.

She reached for her phone with shaking fingers.

No messages. No missed calls.

She opened their chat.

Last message: You’re mine.

She typed quickly.

Winter: “Where did you go?”

Winter: “Are you okay?”

Winter: “Please don’t ghost me.”

Message failed to send.

Blocked.

The screen dimmed. Her hands shook. She checked Instagram.

Unfollowed.

His profile? Gone.

Snapchat? Disconnected.

Every app. Every thread. Every trace of him—cut.

Her breath hitched. Her eyes burned.

The night before replayed in flashes—his fingers in her mouth, his hands holding her hips, the way she whispered yes when he told her she was his.

He looked like he meant it.

She curled up, knees to her chest. The soreness between her thighs throbbed. But it wasn’t sweet.

It was a bruise.

Three days later, she heard his name again.

A bathroom stall. Girls whispering outside the sink.

“He actually made her ride him after creaming inside her?”

“She sucked him clean after. Like, full surrender. He said she begged for it.”

“She’s a freak. No wonder he won.”

Laughter.

Winter sat frozen on the toilet seat, breath caught in her throat.

Her phone buzzed in her lap. A text from Soojin.

Did you really fuck Jaemin? Was it for a bet? People are talking...

That’s when her stomach dropped.

She didn’t leave the stall. She didn’t reply.

She stared at the floor. Her panties damp. Her thighs sticky.

She felt everything and nothing.

The following week, someone called her the campus slut to her face.

It was a joke. A boy from her economics class.

“You’re Jaemin’s girl, right? Got room for a second round?”

She didn’t flinch.

She looked him in the eye, smiled faintly, and said:

“Depends if you’re going to finish in me too.”

He blinked. Then grinned. “You really don’t care, huh?”

And maybe she didn’t.

Maybe being wanted—even like this—hurt less than being discarded.

The next night, someone else fucked her.

He asked no questions. Used no condom. Came inside her and left.

She lay there after, fingers between her legs, holding it in like it meant something.

That got him. His lips parted in the beginnings of a grin—lazy, knowing. Wonyoung felt it low in her belly. There was something about him. Not just the quiet confidence, the accent that smoothed over his vowels like melted sugar. It was how he moved. Controlled. Measured. Like he didn’t have to say much to own every room.

She didn’t know his full name. Only the nickname he let people use—“M.” No one asked why.

It was a week later, after their third group study meet, that he offered to walk her back. October wind curled under her cropped sweater. He didn't offer his coat. He didn’t need to. Just walked close enough that she felt the heat rolling off him, smelled cedar and skin.

At her dorm door, Wonyoung hesitated. A moment caught in the hum between her thighs and the dare on her tongue.

“You ever been in a Korean girl's room before?” she asked, sweet and quiet.

He laughed, low and soft. “Is that an invitation or a warning?”

She stepped aside, letting the door creak open. “Guess you’ll find out.”

Her dorm was warm, faintly floral. Not spotless—books stacked, bed unmade. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her sweater onto a chair, leaving her tank top to cling to the curve of her waist. He didn’t stare. But she felt his eyes burn all the same.

They didn’t touch. Not right away. She poured them both juice from a mini-fridge. Sat too close on the small couch. Their thighs brushed. His hand rested behind her head, not touching, just near.

“I’ve been wondering something,” she said. Her voice dipped lower.

He angled toward her. “What’s that?”

Wonyoung bit her bottom lip. She was already flushed. “Is it true what they say about… American guys?”

That smile again. This time, edged with something darker. “Depends who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

He reached over and plucked the empty cup from her hand, setting it aside. “You sure you want to find out like this?”

Her breath caught. “Only if you want to show me.”

He kissed her—slow and deep. No hesitation, no rush. His lips firm, hands steady as they cupped her jaw. Wonyoung melted, knees tucked under her as his mouth worked hers open, tongue coaxing a soft whimper from her throat.

The tank top came up. His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, pulling her closer until she straddled his lap. She felt it then—thick and heavy beneath his jeans. Her eyes widened slightly as she shifted.

“You’re…” She trailed off, flushed.

He held her hips and rolled them gently, letting her feel. “Still curious?”

Wonyoung nodded. Breathless.

He took his time. Lifting her shirt inch by inch. Kissing every new inch of skin. She tugged his hoodie off, dragged her nails down his chest. When he finally unzipped his jeans, her breath hitched.

Thick. Dark. Longer than she'd dared to imagine.

She stared. Her throat dry. “No fucking way…”

He just looked up at her. “Still want me to show you?”

She didn’t answer. Just slid down to her knees.

Carpet brushed her shins as she settled between his spread legs. Her hands trembled, not from nerves—but from heat. From the impossibility of what he’d just pulled from his jeans.

It curved slightly left, thick like her wrist at the base, veined and flushed dark.

Wonyoung blinked. Licked her lips. “How the fuck…”

M watched her, hooded eyes flicking over her parted lips, the dainty tilt of her chin. “Start slow,” he murmured. “Get to know it.”

She wrapped a hand around the shaft. Or tried to. Her fingers barely touched. It twitched against her palm, heavy and alive.

“God, you’re so fucking big,” she whispered.

He smiled, thumb brushing her cheek. “Won’t bite, unless you do.”

Wonyoung leaned in, kissed the tip—wet and swollen. He exhaled, low. She dragged her tongue around the head in slow circles, tasting salt and skin.

When she tried to take him in, her lips stretched wide. Too wide.

It hit her tongue, then her throat, and still he didn’t fit.

She gagged lightly, pulled back, spit-slick strings glistening between her mouth and the shaft.

“I can’t,” she breathed.

“You can,” he said, voice soft but firm. “Use both hands. Just take what fits.”

So she did. One hand at the base, the other cupping beneath. Her mouth bobbed shallow, wet and eager, jaw aching already. He groaned when she swirled her tongue under the crown.

His hand cradled the back of her head but didn’t push. Just stroked her hair, thumb trailing behind her ear.

“You got such a pretty little mouth,” he said, looking down at her. “Even when it can’t take all of me.”

Wonyoung moaned around him. Her spit dripped from her chin. He tasted good—clean, earthy, faint musk that made her thighs clench.

After a few more strokes, he pulled her gently back.

“Lie back,” he said. “Let me see them.”

She blinked up, dazed. “See what?”

“Your tits, baby.”

Wonyoung crawled backward, peeled off her bra, and lay against the rug. Her breasts rose with each breath—round, natural, perfectly soft.

He knelt beside her, big hands sliding under them, lifting, weighing.

“Fuck, look at these…” he whispered. “Perfect for me.”

He straddled her waist, pressing his cock between them. It looked obscene against her chest—dark, thick, glistening with her spit.

He pushed her tits together around it. “Hold them for me.”

She did, squeezing as he rocked his hips forward. His cock slid between the soft press of her breasts, tip grazing her chin.

Wonyoung watched his face. The way his mouth parted. The tension in his jaw.

“You like that?” she asked.

“Shit, yeah. They’re perfect. Soft as fuck.”

He leaned down, took one nipple in his mouth. Sucked hard, then soft, then mouthed the skin above.

She gasped. “Wait—feels so good when you do that…”

He grinned, breath hot against her. “Wanna worship ‘em while I fuck ‘em. Think I deserve that.”

She moaned, arching under him. His hands massaged her breasts while his cock moved through the valley between.

“You were made for this,” he murmured. “These tits. This mouth. All of you.”

She bit her lip, slick pooling between her thighs. “Wanna feel you inside…”

He didn't answer. Just looked at her the way men look at goddesses they're about to ruin.

Wonyoung lay there, chest flushed, eyes wide, breath short. Her tank top was long gone, her skin already marked from his mouth—wet circles around her nipples, bite trails blooming along her ribs. She should have been nervous. But all she felt was heat.

M rose up on his knees, looming over her. His cock rested against her navel, thick, veined, heavy. It made her stomach flutter. There was just so much of him. She wrapped both hands around the base, and still the tip stood proud above her fingers, dark and slick from her mouth.

“It’s too big,” she said, half a gasp, half a moan. “I can’t—”

“You can,” he said. “But I’ll make you beg before I give you all of it.”

He dragged his tip down between her breasts, circling each nipple slowly before pressing it back into her cleavage.

“Hold them for me,” he murmured. “Just like that. Fuck, look how perfect you are.”

She did. Pressed her tits together and let him slide through. The friction was wet and obscene. Each thrust brought a new noise from her mouth—half whimpers, half helpless praise.

“M,” she whispered, dazed. “Please...”

He leaned forward, kissed the top of each breast, sucked hard on one until she squirmed.

“You were made to take dick like this,” he said, voice low. “Pretty mouth, soft tits, soaking wet without even getting fucked yet.”

Her thighs twitched. Her core pulsed, aching.

He pulled back, cock wet from her skin. Crawled down her body like he owned it. Then paused between her legs, just watching.

“You want to feel me stretch you, baby?”

She nodded, throat tight.

“Say it.”

“Stretch me,” she whispered. “Make me feel it for days.”

“That’s my girl.”

She felt him press against her entrance—broad, slow, deliberate. Her back arched instantly.

He grunted. “Shit. Tight as fuck.”

She sobbed once. Not in pain—in shock. The sheer pressure of him. Her body stretching around him, inch by inch. It was more than fullness. It was overwhelming.

Her hands gripped the sheets. Her eyes locked onto his.

“Keep going,” she gasped. “I can take it.”

And she did. Barely. Her body trembling, jaw slack, eyes rolled back with every deep push. He bottomed out slowly, hips grinding against hers as he filled her completely.

She felt ruined. Claimed. Worshiped and wrecked all at once.

And she never wanted anything else again.

His rhythm turned ruthless—each thrust deep, dragging moans from her throat. Her tits bounced with every motion, sweat slick on her chest as he gripped her hips and drove in harder. The slap of skin echoed off her dorm walls.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You're taking me like you were made for this.”

“I am,” she choked out. “I want it all. Every drop.”

He pulled out just in time. Straddled her chest, stroked his thick shaft with one hand, the other tangled in her damp hair.

“Open up for me,” he said. “You’re gonna wear it.”

She obeyed. Tongue out, eyes glazed.

The first pulse hit her chin, thick and hot. Then another across her chest, streaking her breasts, slicking her nipples. One more shot smeared over her lips, and she moaned, licking him off her mouth like sugar.

He groaned, watching her painted in him. “Fuck, look at you.”

She lay back, ruined and radiant, smeared with his release, her thighs still trembling.

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

Ahyeon huffed. “Fine.” She looked down, biting her lip dramatically. “This girl would like to serve you, Sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Brat voice doesn’t count.”

She whined. “Ugh, Sir. Let me serve you?”

He took a seat on the edge of the low platform where he’d just shot her. “Start with your knees.”

She sank slowly, knees pressing into the studio’s smooth floor. “Like this?”

“Fix your posture. Back straight. Hands on thighs. Eyes down.”

She adjusted—still pouting, but now silent.

He let her wait. One minute. Then another.

“Ready to start earning it?”

She nodded.

“No. Words.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He leaned forward. “Crawl to me. Slow.”

She did—hips rolling slightly as she moved, teasing on purpose.

He ignored it. “Undo my belt.”

She knelt between his legs, hands delicate as she worked the buckle, then the button, then the zipper.

He wasn’t hard yet. She looked up, curious.

“No eye contact.”

She dropped her gaze. “Yes, Sir.”

“Take me out.”

She obeyed, wrapping her fingers around him gently, pulling him free. Still soft, warm, heavy in her palm.

“You want to make me hard?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then use your mouth. Slowly. No hands.”

She hesitated—then leaned in. Her lips brushed the tip, then parted, taking him in with a soft, wet breath. She hollowed her cheeks, tongue circling.

He let out a quiet exhale. “Good. Make it worth my time.”

She worked him slow, messy, playful—letting her mouth fall off with a pop now and then. Testing him.

He reached down, gripping her hair tightly.

“No teasing.”

She moaned in response, sinking deeper. Her mascara was already smudging at the corners.

Minutes passed. He hardened fully in her mouth, and she adjusted—jaw straining, saliva dripping to the floor.

“Hands behind your back,” he said.

She obeyed, even as her mouth stretched wider. Her throat fluttered around him.

“Stay there.”

He stood—her mouth still full—then guided her back slowly until her shoulders met the cool wall behind her. Still kneeling, still serving.

“Now use your hands. Stroke while you suck.”

She obeyed instantly—faster, more eager now.

He grunted. “You think you’ve earned it yet?”

She pulled off, breathless. “This girl thinks she’s close.”

“You think wrong.”

He grabbed her hair, dragged her mouth back down onto him. She moaned around him, louder.

“Serve properly,” he said. “Make me cum without another word.”

She nodded, working faster, deeper. Her body shuddered, wetness pooling between her thighs from the helpless position.

His voice went low, tight. “Eyes on mine.”

She looked up—wet-faced, mouth full, eager.

He exploded with a sharp breath, gripping her hair tight as he came down her throat.

She swallowed. Every drop. Slowly. Then pulled off with a soft whimper.

He looked down at her. “You’ve earned part of it.”

She blinked. “Part?”

He smirked. “We’re not done. Get up.”

She did—legs shaky, face flushed.

He pointed to the desk. “Now bend over. If you want to earn the rest...”

She caught it more than once during dinner: his gaze dragging down when she leaned forward, the flicker of his tongue over his lips. It made her shift uncomfortably in her chair, pressing her thighs together.

“Still jetlagged?” he asked, smirking.

She rolled her eyes. “Still nosy?”

He chuckled, and their mom just hummed, oblivious.

By the third day, the jet lag had softened, but Taeho hadn’t. If anything, his presence pressed heavier—opening doors for her too close, brushing her wrist when passing the soy sauce, asking questions about college boys that made her ears burn.

She told herself she was imagining it. That being away so long made everything feel… different.

That night, she padded to his room with her phone tucked under her arm. Loose tank top, cotton shorts. Comfy. She didn’t think twice.

“Movie night?” she asked, peeking in.

He was on the couch, controller in hand. “Only if you make the popcorn.”

She laughed and dropped beside him, legs folding. After a few minutes, she got restless and shifted, laying her head against his thigh like old times. His body stiffened under her ear.

She scrolled absently on her phone, not paying attention to the flicker of the TV—until she felt it.

A hand.

His.

Hovering at first, then brushing. Not quite an accident. Not quite deliberate. Her breath caught when the back of his knuckles grazed her chest through the thin tank.

She froze.

“Oppa…”

“Relax,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen. “We promised to take care of each other, remember?”

“That’s not what that meant.”

His fingers slid again, slow, almost reverent now. She shifted, about to sit up—but stopped when she looked up at him.

He wasn’t watching the movie anymore.

He was watching her.

Heat crawled up her neck. She wanted to shove him, scream, storm out. Instead, she froze harder.

And then he cupped her.

“Stop—” Her voice cracked. “This is… this is twisted.”

He smirked faintly. “Feels like you don’t hate it.”

Her stomach flipped. Anger, shame, something hotter she couldn’t name. She slapped his chest, hard enough to sting.

He didn’t move his hand.

So she grabbed him. Freed him. His cock was hot in her palm, pulsing like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Fine,” she hissed, eyes narrowing. “But this is it. Only this.”

His jaw tightened, but he leaned back, eyes dark and greedy.

She stroked him, bratty smile curving despite her trembling. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he muttered, voice low.

She rolled her eyes, pretending she wasn’t shaken. “God, you’re pathetic.”

But her hand didn’t stop.

They locked eyes. Neither looked away.

Her cheeks burned, lips parted, his breathing heavier with each stroke.

She hated how real it felt—how much he wanted her, how part of her didn’t want to stop.

The movie kept playing in the background. Forgotten.

Her wrist ached, but her pride refused to stop. Yujin’s hand slid up and down Taeho’s cock in steady strokes, her lips tight, chin lifted in defiance.

“Take care of each other, huh?” she muttered, voice thick with mockery. “This what you meant when you made me promise?”

Taeho leaned back against the couch, eyes half-lidded, smirk curling. “I said take care of me. You’re the one taking it literal.”

Her jaw dropped. “Literal? You—” She squeezed harder, watching his smirk twitch. “You know this is disgusting.”

He groaned softly, cock twitching against her palm. “Disgusting… but effective.”

Her cheeks burned. Her wrist was killing her. She rolled her eyes, huffing. “This is gonna take forever. My hand’s cramping, asshole.”

“Then…” Taeho tilted his head, gaze sharp. “Use your mouth.”

She yanked her hand away for a second, glaring. “Not a chance.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re pathetic.”

Minutes dragged. She kept going, stubbornly mechanical, biting her lip as he teased. The TV flickered in the background, the sound of their bickering filling the room.

“You call that stroking? No wonder you’re single,” Taeho taunted.

Her nostrils flared. “You wanna cum or not?”

“You’ll break your wrist before I do.”

That was the spark. The breaking point.

“Fine.”

She straddled him.

His eyes widened.

Yujin pressed herself down, grinding over his cock through the thin barrier of her shorts. The heat of him pulsed right against her—no panties to shield her.

“Wha—” Taeho’s voice caught.

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear, bratty whisper dripping like venom. “You like this better? You feel how close I am? Look at me, oppa. Look at what I’m letting you see.”

She arched slightly, letting the neckline of her tank top slip, exposing a swell of her tits. His eyes were glued there, jaw tight, chest heaving.

Her hips moved in slow, dirty circles, slick already staining the fabric. She moaned softly, just enough to taunt him, biting her lip.

“You’re picturing me naked, aren’t you? Imagining how tight I’d feel?”

Taeho swallowed hard. “You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re about to cum,” she shot back.

He groaned, head falling back as her grinding got sharper, more desperate. Her tits bounced lightly, her bratty grin splitting into a hiss of pleasure as she pressed down harder.

Just when his breath got ragged, she pulled back enough to grab his cock again. Her hand worked fast, merciless, aided by her slick from the dryhump.

“Cum for me. Do it.”

And he did.

Hot spurts shot over her hand, dripping on her shorts, his groans filling the room. She laughed breathlessly, watching his face twist with release.

She stood, wiping her hand on her thigh, and padded to his bed. Collapsing on her back, she looked at him with wide puppy eyes, cheeks flushed.

“I’m close too…”

His cock twitched at the confession. He moved toward her, reaching. “Let me finger you.”

“No,” she cut him off, firm but trembling. “You can rub me. On top of my shorts. That’s all.”

Taeho grinned. “Deal.”

He slid in beside her, spooning her from behind. His hand rubbed over the damp spot on her shorts, pressing, circling.

She burst into uncontrollable laughter, curling into him. “Stop—ahh, it tickles—”

Her body betrayed her, grinding back against his hand. She laughed, moaned, squirmed all at once until she was shaking, gasping into the sheets.

Afterglow settled heavy. She lay tangled with him, his hand still lazily rubbing her thigh. The air smelled of sweat, sex, and guilt.

“What… the hell are we doing?” she whispered, staring at the ceiling.

Taeho kissed her shoulder, low chuckle against her skin. “Exactly what we promised. Taking care of each other.”

Next day, the night air hummed with cicadas, but inside Taeho’s room, it was silence—tense, electric, waiting to snap.

Yujin sat cross-legged on his bed, tank top already tugged low from his earlier “accidental” brush. She kept glaring, bratty, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her.

“You’re such a pervert, oppa,” she said, crossing her arms under her small tits. “Before I left… you changed. You weren’t my sweet protector anymore. You were… possessive. Weird.”

Taeho leaned back on the headboard, smirking. “I knew you were leaving. I thought I’d lose you forever. What’s weird about wanting to keep my favorite girl close?”

“You’re still my brother.” Her words snapped like a whip, though her thighs pressed tighter. “I know we're not even blood related. But why act like—like I was yours?”

He tilted his head, eyes dark. “Because you promised to take care of me forever. And I believed you.”

The silence after hung heavy. Yujin’s lip trembled, but she didn’t move when his hand reached out, brushing her hair back, fingertips grazing her cheek.

“You grew into everything I imagined,” he murmured. His thumb pressed over her nipple through the thin fabric, and she shivered. “Fuck, these tits… I thought about them every night you were gone.”

“Oppa—” she whispered, but she didn’t stop him when he peeled her top off completely.

Her small breasts bounced free, perky and flushed. Taeho sucked in a breath. “Perfect. Mine.”

She bit her lip, hating how her body arched into his hand.

He pushed her back on the bed, kneeling between her legs, kissing down her chest until his tongue circled her nipples. Yujin gasped, hand flying to his hair.

“You’re crazy—”

“You love it.” He nipped gently at her skin, then slid his hand down, slipping beneath her shorts. One stroke and she was already wet.

She cried out softly, covering her mouth.

“You’re dripping for me,” he groaned. “America must’ve fucked you raw, huh? Tell me.”

Her face flamed, but the words spilled. “I… I loved it. Being used. Treated like a toy. They didn’t care if I was a small asian. They just—” She moaned as his fingers curled inside her. “They just fucked me.”

Taeho’s cock throbbed painfully. “Fuck… I want a piece of that. Let me use you.”

“No!” she gasped, hips jerking as he pressed harder against her spot. “That’s crazy. It’s taboo. You’re— you’re supposed to be my favorite brother.”

“I’m not blood,” he growled, twisting his fingers, thumb teasing her clit. “Stop hiding behind excuses.”

She shook her head wildly. “I can’t— I won’t let you fuck me. But… but I can get away with compromises.”

“Compromises?”

Her bratty smirk broke through her moans. “Enough to make you horny. Enough to remind you I still care. Enough… to make you beg for more.”

And then she squirted, legs shaking, juices soaking his sheets. Taeho watched in awe, licking his fingers clean.

“Holy shit, Yujin. You’re mine.”

“No,” she panted, pushing his chest. “I just promised to take care of you. That’s all.”

She slid down, smirk returning, eyes glittering. “And this… is how I’ll take care of you.”

Her lips wrapped around his cock, and Taeho nearly blacked out.

“Fuck, Yujin,” he groaned, hand tangled in her hair. “Your mouth...”

She bobbed with obscene skill, spit dripping down her chin. She pulled back with a pop, licking her lips. “Better than Ryujin?”

He gritted his teeth. “Better than anyone.”

“Good.” She stroked him, tongue teasing his slit. “Because this is your compromise, oppa. Not my pussy. Just this filthy mouth.”

She deepthroated him suddenly, nose pressing to his stomach, then pulled back coughing, laughing through tears. “Still the best sister, huh?”

“Fuck yes.”

She smirked. “Tell me I’m the best cocksucker you’ve ever had.”

“You’re the best,” he panted.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“You’re—fuck—you’re my slut, Yujin.”

Her eyes gleamed, bratty and wicked. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She pumped him harder, stroking his balls, teasing him with her tongue. “You’re close, aren’t you? Look at you, all twitchy. You’re about to cum just from my mouth.”

He exploded across her face, hot ropes of cum streaking her cheeks, dripping into her open mouth.

Yujin blinked through the mess, sticking out her tongue, cum dripping from it. Then she pouted brattily. “Oppa! Look what you did! You ruined my face!”

“You look perfect,” he groaned.

She sighed dramatically, wiping cum into her tits with mock annoyance. “You’re disgusting. And I hate you.”

But then she crawled up beside him, laying her sticky face on his chest, kissing his collarbone softly. “Don’t forget… I promised to take care of you.”

They lay tangled, her bratty huffs slowly melting into quiet breathing.

“Drive me to the mall tomorrow,” she whispered, eyes fluttering.

“Ryujin will be there,” Taeho warned. “Behave.”