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The sealed envelope from the FBIA Decisions Bureau arrived at precisely 7:00 AM. Director Park’s elegant script on the front read: "Park Ji-hyo (TWICE) – Level 3 Comprehensive Inspection. Immediate priority due to upcoming comeback preparations. Senior Inspector Y/N assigned. Agent Kang and Agent Lee to provide support as needed."
Inspector Y/N stood in the softly lit preparation room of the FBIA’s hidden wing, reviewing the file with his usual calm focus. In his early thirties, tall and composed, he was known for his precise technique and ability to maintain professional boundaries even during the most intimate protocols. The luxury clinic above served as a perfect cover; down here, in the soundproofed suites with warmed tables and ambient lighting, the real work of ensuring Korea’s top female talents remained in peak condition took place.
Agent Kang entered first, his broad, imposing frame moving with military efficiency. “Preparations complete. Table at optimal temperature, oils and lubricants prepared, logs initialized.”
Agent Lee followed, tablet in hand, his sharper features carrying a faint, professional smirk. “Miss Jihyo has arrived and reviewed the consent forms. She’s cooperative but understandably nervous about the full sensory mapping.”
Y/N nodded. “Reconfirm everything at each stage. Bring her in.”
Jihyo stepped into the room moments later, the standard white robe wrapped tightly around her. At twenty-nine, the TWICE leader exuded quiet strength, but in this private setting her cheeks already carried a soft pink flush. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, and she offered a small bow.
“Inspector Y/N… Agent Kang, Agent Lee,” she greeted softly. “I understand this is mandatory for the comeback.”
Y/N’s voice was low and reassuring. “It is. The Bureau’s orders are strict, but your comfort and consent come first. We’ll proceed step by step: visual assessment, palpation, full-body sensory mapping with fingers and tongue. You may stop or adjust at any time. Do you consent to the complete Level 3 protocol?”
Jihyo took a steadying breath, then nodded. “I consent.”
“Very good. Robe off and lie face up on the table when you’re ready.”
She let the robe fall, revealing her beautifully toned idol body — full, rounded breasts with soft pink nipples, a gentle curve at her waist, smooth shaved mound, powerful thighs shaped by years of choreography, and dainty feet. The warm lights highlighted every smooth inch of her skin.
Y/N began the visual assessment, circling slowly while Agent Lee documented. “Skin healthy, no visible issues. Some residual shoulder tension noted.”
He warmed his hands and started palpation at her neck, fingers pressing firmly along the muscles. Jihyo exhaled shakily. Agent Kang stepped forward to support her shoulders, allowing deeper access. Y/N’s fingers worked the trapezius, easing knots, before he leaned in for sensory mapping. His tongue dragged slowly from her collarbone up the side of her neck, tasting the light salt and faint floral trace on her skin. She shivered.
The inspection continued downward. Y/N cupped her full breasts, kneading them with careful pressure to check tissue and tone. His thumbs circled the nipples until they stiffened. Lowering his head, he licked long, wet stripes beneath each breast, then swirled his tongue around the peaks, sucking lightly. Jihyo’s breathing quickened, soft sounds escaping her.
“Turn over, please,” Y/N instructed after several minutes. With Agent Kang’s steady hands on her hips, she rolled onto her stomach. Y/N traced her spine with firm fingers, then followed with his tongue in one continuous, slow lick from nape to the dimples above her ass. Agent Lee applied warming oil, helping everything glide.
“Posterior checks complete. Turn back over.”
Now came the more intimate phase. “Lower body inspection. Consent check.”
“I… I consent,” Jihyo whispered, voice already breathy.
Y/N positioned himself between her parted thighs. Agent Kang supported one leg firmly at the knee, opening her fully while maintaining stability. Y/N’s fingers gently spread her smooth folds, sliding along every ridge and sensitive crease in slow, clinical strokes. He checked texture, responsiveness, and any hidden tension, circling her clit lightly before pressing shallowly at her entrance for inspection purposes only.
“Breathe deeply for me,” he murmured. His tongue joined — long, thorough licks from her entrance up over her clit and back down, tasting her growing wetness. Jihyo moaned openly, hips twitching. The sensations built rapidly under the relentless, professional attention.
To deepen the protocol and assess self-stimulation response — a standard part of Level 3 for high-stress idols — Y/N spoke calmly. “As part of the full check, I need you to touch yourself while we continue. Show us how you relieve built-up tension. This helps verify natural responses.”
Jihyo’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded, cheeks burning. Her hand moved down, fingers finding her clit as Y/N’s tongue continued its mapping. Agent Lee noted the responses professionally. She began rubbing herself in small circles, matching the rhythm of Y/N’s licks and finger strokes along her folds.
The room filled with her soft, escalating moans. Y/N licked every inch — inner thighs, the crease where leg met body, back to her dripping entrance — while his fingers assisted, spreading and stroking. Jihyo’s own fingers moved faster, dipping shallowly and rubbing her swollen clit as the inspection intensified.
Agent Kang held her leg steady, voice low. “Good. Let it build naturally.”
The combined stimulation proved overwhelming. Jihyo’s body tensed, thighs trembling against Agent Kang’s hold. Her fingers worked frantically now, rubbing and pressing while Y/N’s tongue lapped steadily at her most sensitive spots.
“Ah—! Inspector… I’m—!”
She cried out as the orgasm hit hard. Her body convulsed, and with a gush of clear fluid, she squirted powerfully across Y/N’s tongue and fingers. The warm release coated his chin and hand as he continued gentle licks, guiding her through the intense peak without pause. Jihyo’s hand kept moving through it, drawing out every shudder until she collapsed back, panting heavily, legs shaking.
Y/N straightened, voice steady and approving. “Excellent response. Natural lubrication and release within healthy parameters. The Bureau will note strong resilience.”
They gave her a brief rest, wiping her gently with warm cloths. Agent Lee updated the logs. Then the inspection resumed on her posterior lower body.
Turning her again with the agents’ assistance, Y/N kneaded and spread her firm ass cheeks. His tongue traced the cleft slowly, licking over her tight hole in careful circles before moving down the backs of her thighs and behind her knees. Jihyo, still sensitive from her earlier release, whimpered softly but endured the thorough mapping.
Finally, the feet. Y/N lifted one dainty foot, sucking each toe into his mouth one by one, tongue sliding between them, then licking firm strokes across the sole and arch. He repeated on the other foot, ensuring complete coverage.
Nearly two and a half hours had passed by the session’s end. Jihyo lay flushed, glistening with oil and traces of her own release, every single body part having been meticulously inspected, touched, and tasted.
Y/N helped her sit up, draping a fresh robe around her shoulders. “You passed exceptionally well, Jihyo. Minimal strain overall. The squirting response indicates good pelvic floor health and stress relief capacity — very positive for your schedule.”
She looked at him with hazy, grateful eyes, still catching her breath. “Thank you… all of you. It was intense… embarrassing at first, but I feel much lighter now. Relieved.”
Agent Kang offered a rare, approving nod. “Protocol executed perfectly. No deviations.”
Agent Lee smiled lightly while finalizing the report. “Clean bill. We’ll recommend follow-up sessions if the Bureau deems necessary. Rest well, Miss Jihyo.”
As she prepared to leave, Y/N walked her to the door. “Take care of yourself. The work you do is demanding, but we’re here to support you.”
Jihyo paused, offering a small, genuine smile. “I will, Inspector Y/N. If the Bureau calls again… I won’t be as nervous next time.”
The door closed softly behind her. Y/N washed up at the station, reflecting on the session. The FBIA’s protocols were strict, intimate, and highly effective — protecting these women through thorough, hands-on care. Moments of raw release like Jihyo’s squirting were not uncommon in deep inspections and always documented professionally.
Agent Lee chuckled. “She handled the masturbation and release component beautifully. Next order should be coming in soon.”
Y/N glanced at the secure tablet. “Indeed. The Bureau never rests.”
The dealer’s fingers twitched—just once—before the cards slid across the felt. Kazuha caught it, the way she always did.
Back in the hotel suite, Chaewon was scrolling through TikTok, legs draped over the armrest of the couch. "Where do you even go?" she asked without looking up. The question was casual, the kind tossed between bites of room service fries. "Every night, like clockwork."
Kazuha shrugged, twisting the hotel key card between her fingers. "Just walking. Jet lag." The lie tasted like the stale air of the casino floor—too many bodies, too little oxygen.
The elevator doors opened to the lobby, where the chandeliers dripped light onto marble. A concierge nodded at her, polite and practiced. She kept walking. Past the fountain, past the couples taking selfies with their phones held too high, past the security guard who didn’t blink when she turned left instead of right.
The casino wasn’t loud. That was the first thing people got wrong. It hummed, a low, insistent thing under the clink of chips and the occasional burst of laughter. Kazuha slipped into a seat at the baccarat table like she belonged there. The dealer didn’t ask for ID. She’d made sure of that weeks ago.
The chips stacked in front of Kazuha weren’t just plastic—they were warm, almost alive, as if they pulsed with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The dealer’s expression remained neutral, but she saw the flicker in his eyes when she pushed another stack forward. *Too much*, he was thinking. *Too fast*. She didn’t care. The thrill wasn’t in the money; it was in the tilt of the dealer’s wrist, the way the cards whispered against the felt before they betrayed their secrets.
A hand settled on her shoulder—too heavy to ignore, too light to be a threat. “Miss Nakamura.” The voice was smooth, the kind of practiced politeness that came with a six-figure salary. “We’d like to extend an invitation.” The man’s suit was tailored just shy of ostentatious, the cufflinks catching the light like tiny, accusing eyes. Kazuha didn’t turn. She knew what he was offering before he said it. The VIP room. The real game.
The VIP room smelled like leather and something sharper—whiskey, maybe, or the crisp bite of high-stakes adrenaline. Five faces turned toward her as the door clicked shut behind her. The African American man lounged back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, his suit a deep navy that swallowed the light. Across from him, the old guy—fiftyish, with silver threading through his temples—rolled a chip between his knuckles like it was a worry stone. The Japanese man nodded once, just a slight dip of his chin, his gaze unreadable behind round, wire-framed glasses. He could’ve been her uncle, or a professor, or anything but what he was: a shark in a silk tie.
The white guy was already dealing, his movements fluid, practiced. He didn’t bother looking up. "Ante’s ten grand," he said, as casually as someone ordering coffee. The last man, mid-forties with a tan that spoke of golf courses and private jets, grinned at her like they were sharing a joke. "You sure you wanna play with us, sweetheart?" His teeth were too white, too even.
Kazuha slid into the empty seat without answering, her chips stacking neatly in front of her. The dealer’s eyes flicked to her hands—no tremors, no hesitation. She let the silence stretch, just to see who’d break first.
Round One
The casino's private poker room was unusually quiet.
Six players sat around a circular table beneath a golden chandelier. Outside the room, hundreds of voices echoed across the casino floor, but inside, only the sound of shuffling cards could be heard.
The dealer finished preparing the deck.
Around the table sat six very different men.
Kazuha, calm and unreadable, rested his hands on a neatly organized stack of chips.
Beside him sat the Japanese man, dressed in a black suit, his expression as cold as stone.
Across from them was the White man, younger than the others, confident and slightly arrogant.
To his right sat the fifty-year-old man, a veteran player whose silver hair reflected decades of experience.
Next was the forty-year-old man, broad-shouldered and aggressive, the type who preferred forcing opponents into difficult decisions.
Finally, there was the African American man, composed and observant, quietly studying everyone at the table.
The dealer distributed the cards.
The first round had begun. The forty-year-old man was the first to act. He glanced at his cards and immediately tossed several chips forward.
"Five hundred." An aggressive opening.
The White man looked at his hand and folded without interest. The fifty-year-old man called. The African American man called as well.
The action moved to Kazuha. She carefully lifted the corner of his cards.
Nine of Spades. Queen of Spades.
Not a premium hand, but one with potential. She looked around the table. The forty-year-old man was trying to establish dominance early. Kazuha decided to challenge him.
"One thousand five hundred." A re-raise. Several eyebrows lifted.The Japanese man stared at Kazuha for a moment before calling.
The forty-year-old man called immediately. The African American man called. The fifty-year-old man hesitated before eventually folding. Four players remained. The pot was already growing.
The dealer revealed the flop.
Ten of Clubs. King of Hearts. Two Diamonds.
Kazuha remained still. She had an open-ended straight draw. Any Jack would help her. Any Ace would help her.
Eight cards in the deck could complete his straight. The forty-year-old man bet again.
"Two thousand."
The African American man called. Kazuha studied both opponents. The bet wasn't particularly large. The pot odds justified continuing.
She called. The Japanese man called as well. Nobody wanted to surrender. The dealer burned a card and revealed the turn.
Ace of Diamonds.
Kazuha felt a spark of excitement.
She now held:
Nine. Ten. Queen. King. Ace.
Only a Jack separated him from a straight. The board had become dangerous. It also created opportunities for bluffing. For the first time, the forty-year-old man checked. The African American man checked. The Japanese man checked. Three checks.
An invitation Or a trap.
Kazuha reached for chips.
"Five thousand." The bet landed heavily in the center. The forty-year-old man frowned before folding. The African American man called. The Japanese man called. Three players remained. The tension grew thicker.
The dealer revealed the river.
Jack of Hearts.
Kazuha's heart remained calm. Inside, however, she knew exactly what had happened. She had completed the strongest possible straight.
Broadway.
Ten. Jack. Queen. King. Ace.
The perfect straight.
But showing excitement now would be fatal.
She remained expressionless.
The African American man suddenly leaned forward.
"Twelve thousand." A large bet confident.
The Japanese man stared at the board for nearly a minute. Then he calmly pushed out a tower of chips.
"Thirty thousand." A raise.
The room became silent. Even the dealer seemed to pause. The African American man's eyes narrowed. After a long stare at the Japanese man, he finally called.
Now it was Kazuha's turn. The pot had become enormous. Many players would be intimidated by the pressure. Kazuha wasn't.
She replayed the hand from the beginning. The Japanese man had shown caution on every street. The sudden aggression on the river felt unnatural. The African American man appeared strong, but not unbeatable. Neither player was telling a completely convincing story.
Kazuha gathered a stack of chips.
"Call." The showdown began.
The African American man revealed his cards first. Ace-Queen. Two pair. A powerful hand. Several spectators nodded in approval.
The Japanese man turned over his cards. Jack-Ten. Two pair as well. His river raise had been an attempt to represent something stronger. A bold play. A dangerous play.
But not enough. Finally, Kazuha revealed her hand. Nine of Spades. Queen of Spades. For a second, nobody reacted. Then realization spread around the table. Ten, Jack, Queen, King, Ace.
A straight.
The strongest hand in the game. The dealer pushed the mountain of chips toward Kazuha. The forty-year-old man shook his head. The White man let out a low whistle. The fifty-year-old man laughed quietly. The African American man leaned back in disbelief.
The Japanese man stared at Kazuha for several seconds before giving a small nod.
"Well played."
Kazuha said nothing. She simply stacked his newly won chips into neat towers.
Round One was over.
The chips migrated across the table like slow, inevitable tides—always toward Kazuha. The white guy went first. His confidence had been all bluster, his bets too eager, his folds too late. By the tenth hand, he shoved his last stack forward with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, only for Kazuha’s flush to swallow his two pair whole. He left without a word, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
The Japanese man lasted two more rounds. He was methodical, calculating—but Kazuha had spent years perfecting the art of stillness under scrutiny. When she bluffed on the twelfth hand, pushing all-in with nothing but a pair of threes, he hesitated just a fraction too long before folding. She caught the exact moment he realized his mistake, his jaw tightening as she revealed her cards. He stood, bowed slightly—more out of habit than respect—and disappeared into the hallway’s dim glow.
The fifty-year-old veteran held on through sheer stubbornness. He played tight, folding more often than not, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It never came. On the fifteenth round, Kazuha trapped him with a slow-played full house, luring him into betting big on what he thought was a winning straight. His sigh was almost relieved as he pushed back from the table, patting his pockets like he’d misplaced something intangible.
The forty-year-old aggressor didn’t go quietly. He growled at the dealer, cursed under his breath, and tried to bully Kazuha with reckless raises. She let him. Waited until the twentieth hand, when his stack was brittle as matchsticks, then snapped it in two with a rivered royal flush. His chair toppled as he stood, his face flushed with something between rage and admiration. "You’re a goddamn machine," he muttered before storming out.
"You have a lot of money," Kazuha said, stacking her chips with deliberate precision. The African American man—Y/N—just gave her a little smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't smugness. Wasn't pity. Just *acknowledgment*, like they both understood this was the moment the table had been waiting for. The twenty-first round began with the dealer's practiced flick of the wrist.
The flop came: 9 of hearts, 9 of clubs, 9 of diamonds. A triple threat. Kazuha's pulse jumped—her hidden 9 of spades meant quads. Unbeatable. Until the turn: 8 of hearts. The river: 7 of hearts. The board now a bizarre tableau—three nines, two hearts. Y/N hadn't flinched once. No tell, no hesitation. Just that infuriating calm.
Kazuha pushed her entire tower forward. "All in."
Y/N didn't even blink. "Call."
Her victory tasted like static—sharp, electric—until he flipped his cards. Jack of hearts. Ten of hearts. A straight flush. The math hit her like a backhand: the board's 7 through jack in hearts. Her quads evaporated.
The dealer's hand hovered over the chips, then swept them toward Y/N. Kazuha's throat tightened. Not at the loss—she'd lost before—but at *how*. The way his fingers grazed the felt as he collected his winnings, like he'd known. Like it was inevitable.
"You..." She swallowed. "Had that the whole time?"
Y/N stacked the chips neatly, his smile never widening. "Not the whole time." He tapped the river card. "Got lucky."
The air in the VIP room thickened, pressing against Kazuha's skin like a second suit. She didn't reach for her purse—didn't even blink—just let the silence stretch until it frayed at the edges. Y/N's smile remained unchanged, his fingers laced loosely over his mountain of chips.
Kazuha's credit card hit the table with a dull plastic thud—declined for the third time. The concierge's polite cough might as well have been a gunshot. She barely registered it, her fingers twitching toward her empty chip tray. The numbers didn't add up. They *couldn't*. Not after Seoul, not after Macau, certainly not here in this leather-lined coffin of a room where the air tasted like other people's victories.
Y/N's cufflinks caught the light when he shifted. "Problem?"
She hated how his voice stayed level, how his knuckles didn't whiten around his whiskey glass. The remaining chips—*her* chips, *her* money—formed a neat pyramid between his hands. She counted them without meaning to: two hundred thousand. Three. More.
"Double or nothing." The words left her mouth before she could choke them back.
Y/N's chuckle was warm, practiced. "On what? Your dignity?" He watched her fingers tighten around her dead credit card. "Let's make it interesting." He pushed the chips forward with one finger. "All this, if you win." The pause stretched just long enough to make her skin prickle. "If I win... you come with me. My apartment. No security, no managers. Just us."
Your groan while Hyoon rides you, her skirt swept to the side and her massive breasts wobbling with every bounch. You reach up to grope her tits, holding on while she works your fat load out of your cock. Hyoon dorsnt even slow down when your seed spews into her sloppy pussy 🥴
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Important Note: This is not totally original, is a reversion of THIS other story. Of course I made all the necessary changes.
Just as a suggestion consider reading this story why listening THIS, or something like this, just to create some atmosphere.
PLAY DIRTY
The bass of the techno music made the walls of the dirty bathroom vibrate just as Somi’s heart pounded against her ribs. Boom, boom, boom! An incessant pounding that set a frenetic rhythm, a march that the hundreds of people on the dance floor followed, each in their own way. But here, in the apparent and fake calm of the bathroom, there was a different atmosphere. Here, the air was thick with the smell of cheap floor cleaner, urine, and a few other unidentifiable things that were intoxicating to the censes.
A mirror with a cracked edge, almost as dirty as the walls, reflected a distorted image of herself. Crooked, dirty, dimmed by the dim light that the room’s only light bulb barely managed to emit. But it didn’t matter, why did she want to see herself? She had fucked a thousand times in front of mirrors, all much cleaner and in better condition than this specific one. In much cleaner and better equipped places to fuck than this dirty bathroom. No, the important thing here was not to see her reflection, nor the person standing behind her. Standing, so to speak.
What was his name? Mark, Julius… Dylan maybe? It didn’t matter; in an hour or so, she wouldn’t need to remember it. Actually, she didn't even need to do it right now. What really mattered was the thick cock he was shoving up her ass. Big, veiny, and throbbing, it pushed its way through her anus, ramming against her walls. With each new thrust, Somi’s plump ass vibrated at a different rhythm than her heart or the techno banger resonating through the speakers.
Her shirt was hiked up, revealing the glory of her massive cleavage. Her shorts were bunched up around her knees, along with her tiny thong. Shorts that, when properly worn, didn’t cover much. They were so short that her buttocks spilled over the edge, leaving almost half of her ass exposed, or maybe her ass was just too big to be contained by such tiny shorts. That boldness in her dress had served her well in seducing Mark. A single glance, a wiggle of her hips, and her ass jiggling like jelly was all it took to seduce him.
Somi was beautiful, but she had perfected that fake expression that made her look stupider than she really was, but at the same time almost cute. A contradiction that was her most lethal weapon if you didn't take into account how exuberant her body was. She just had to put on that expression while her hot body did the rest. If her ass was big and overflowed the edges of her denim shorts, her tits were the same. Barely contained by the bra that squeezed them and made them look firmer than they really were. Her outfit was completed by a see through white shirt, with a bold message printed in it, which revealed her simple black bra. As a final detail, or as the icing on the cake, there was the leather choker that she had firmly tightened around her neck, and it ended up giving her the look of a cheap whore that she had been determined to maintain that night. But even so, somehow her outfit was rather modest for the place she was in.
After dancing with Julius for a few minutes, she simply took him by the hand and led him to one of the bathrooms. They didn’t talk much; there was no need. Somi spoke perfect English, but she preferred to use her dumb face to fool people. According to her, it made her look hotter, more exotic, at least to the kind of people she had come here to find. A stupid Asian slut who barely understood the language, but was totally willing to have sex with anyone. Deep down, that was what Somi wanted, just to fuck anyone. Wild sex with a stranger in a place where no one knew her, where she was just another face in the crowd. Another one dancing and having a good time as if nothing else mattered in the world.
That’s how she ended up in that small, dirty bathroom, leaning against the sink, her shorts around her knees. The best part was Dylan fucking her in the ass. His cock was big enough to be a challenge for Somi, especially since the only thing she had to use as lubricant was saliva. But Somi had taken the cock in her ass like a real champ, or rather a real slut accustomed to that kind of excess, and now she moaned like crazy with every thrust of that big piece of meat.
She didn’t care about making noise, she didn’t care if someone saw her, nothing mattered. There were very specific rules about behavior here, and the most sacred one was not to disturb others. Which actually had nothing against fucking in the bathroom. Hell, there were better places to fuck in the club, that’s what they were there for, but doing it in this dirty, battered bathroom was so obscene to Somi that it made her pussy throb. She could have found a better place, something more comfortable, but she had come looking for excitement and adrenaline, something naughty, not an average experience.
That bathroom offered her everything she wanted for that night, even exposure she wasn’t actively seeking. While they were in the bathroom, two people had come in, one when she was on her knees with Mark’s cock deep down in her throat, and another when he was already fucking her ass. Both people used the bathroom, watched for a few minutes, and then left without washing their hands. Perhaps if one of them had been more daring, Somi would have let them join in, but both stuck to the rule of not joining in unless invited. In Somi’s opinion, at least tonight, that was a shame.
On the bright side, it had been a long time since she had been fucked like that, in such a rough and animalistic way. Julius held her by the waist with one hand and with the other he spread her buttocks so he could see his dick going in and out of Somi’s no longer so tight asshole. From time to time, he spat on her ass crack and let the saliva run down to his cock to make penetration a little easier. Somi’s abused anus appreciated the extra lubrication every time he spat on there. Either way, with or without saliva, Somi’s ass swallowed his cock all the way to the hilt.
Rarely in her life had she made such obscene, pleasure filled faces as she did now. The little that the mirror reflected allowed her to see herself totally consumed by pleasure, at times with her tongue out and gasping for breath. Putting on quite a show for Dylan or anyone who decided to walk through that door. She was sure her moans could be heard outside the bathroom. Perhaps the music managed to muffle them a few feet beyond the door, but whoever crossed it was fully aware of what they were getting into. The noises coming from the bathroom were like the growls coming from a beast’s lair. The beast was apparently Somi, who looked like a bitch in heat.
Luckily for Somi’s exhibitionist side, a third person entered the bathroom. This time, instead of just relieving himself, watching, and leaving, he stayed in a corner leaning against the wall. Cock in hand, the stranger began to masturbate while watching Somi get fucked. This was the audience she was looking for after the other two ignited that spark on her. An audience more proactive, openly reveling in the show she was putting on. She chose to reward the stranger by winking mischievously at him before sticking out her tongue and panting for him. But she didn’t stop there; she also pulled down her bra to make the whole situation even more erotic. Instantly, one of her tits fell free, heavy and hanging in all its glory, now without nothing to contain it. She kneaded it while continuing to look at the stranger, moaning and feeling her whole body tremble from the thrusts of this man whose name she couldn’t remember. At that moment, they were just three strangers having a good time in a dirty smelly bathroom at a techno club lost in some part of Detroit.
His cock opened her anus and stretched its walls frantically, making her pussy throb and get wet. She needed attention there too, at least some caresses on her swollen and soaked lips. She thought about inviting the new stranger, but would she be able to? Could she go that far? Could she truly abandon herself to pleasure and surrender her body to be used as those two men wished? For the moment, she was enjoying the extra attention too much, but the night was still young, and perhaps venturing into it so soon was premature. For now, she decided to indulge herself by using her own hand to satisfy her needy cunt. She let her breast hang free, swaying to the rhythm of the thrusts, so she could touch her wet hole.
Indeed, she was very wet, and also in need. Two fingers entered so easily that it seemed like that was their natural place to be. Mark, or whatever his name was, fucked her ass while she kept pace with her fingers. It was a kind of obscene dance that for the moment had only one spectator, who remained in his corner touching himself. Indulging himself in the pleasure of watching Somi’s lustful body tremble with each new thrust, with each new stroke of those hips against her fat ass.
It was all so obscene. The dirty and smelly bathroom, a stranger sticking his cock in her ass as deep as it could go, and another man masturbating to the show they were putting on. Oh, Somi felt like she was in heaven, and her fingers only took her higher. Her orgasm didn’t take long to arrive, hitting her hard and almost by surprise. Somi was too immersed in all the sensations surrounding her to even see it coming. By the time she realized it, it was too late, she was already trembling and the walls of her pussy were squeezing her fingers. But that was nothing compared to her ass walls closing around the cock that kept fucking her nonstop.
She moaned wildly as she enjoyed her well deserved orgasm, but for some reason her pussy was still burning. Inside her was a fire that seemed impossible to extinguish, quite the contrary, it only seemed to increase in intensity. She needed more, she wanted something extra to seal this casual encounter with strangers she would never see again. Maybe she wouldn’t use her pussy right now, but there were other ways.
Without remorse and totally sure of what she was doing, she reached out her hand to the stranger in the corner, the one who was masturbating, and opened and closed her hand in an unmistakable gesture of invitation. The man hesitated for a few seconds before approaching, and when he was within reach, Somi grabbed his cock and began to masturbate him. The man took advantage of the closeness, the invitation, and grabbed Somi’s tits. She was overcome with joy.
Julius fucked her ass with powerful thrusts that made her body vibrate in the same way the music had done on the dance floor, but now more erratically. Somi realized that he was now closer to her, and when she felt him open her ass with both hands and bury himself deep inside her, she knew what was coming. She squeezed her anus to give him more pleasure and managed to make him explode inside her. Instantly, a torrent of warm semen flooded her insides. The heat spread through her like a flood of pleasure, and Somi contributed by squeezing her ass to milk every last drop of semen she could get out of him as her well deserved prize.
The other man didn’t last much longer. With Dylan still buried deep in her ass, Somi received the second stranger’s load in her hand. She didn’t stop masturbating when she felt him cum; on the contrary, she increased the pace of her hand. She couldn’t help but milk him too for every last drop. When she felt that nothing more was coming out, she brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers. She ran her tongue over every corner of her hand until it was completely clean and shiny, until she swallowed all the semen in her hand. When the stranger saw that she had eaten everything, that there was nothing left, he simply thanked her, put his cock back in his pants, and left the bathroom.
Mark, for his part, slowly pulled out his cock while keeping Somi’s buttocks well apart. When he was finally out, he admired his work. Somi’s anus was slowly closing, and he took the opportunity to take out his phone and take some pictures. Seeing what he was doing, Somi helped him keep her butt cheeks apart and even made her anus blink for him. The idea that a stranger had photos of her freshly fucked ass, in which you could probably see the semen they had filled her with dripping out, excited her immensely. It was as if it were the culmination of what she had come to this club, to this city.
When he had enough photos of Somi’s ass, and her anus finally closed, Dylan also put his cock back in his pants and left the bathroom. He knew there was no need to say anything, not even a goodbye or a thank you. He had helped make Somi’s crazy fantasy come true, and that was enough for him. Besides, he was sure that in half an hour she would no longer remember anything about him. The only existing memory of this chance encounter would be the many photos he had taken and some soreness in Somi’s asshole, nothing more.
And so Somi was left alone in the bathroom, with an irritated asshole, one tit still hanging free, and her guts full of two stranger's hot semen.
The excitement of that fleeting encounter coursed through her veins and led her to make yet another daring decision that night, so she simply took off her bra and tossed it somewhere onto the dirty floor. Her tits hung freely in all their glory, revealing just how big and heavy they really were. But she covered it by put on her shirt, making sure her hard nipples were clearly visible through the fabric, and then pulled up her shorts. When her buttocks spilled over the edges of the shorts again, she tugged at the straps of her thong to make it clear just how skimpy was the excuse of underwear she was wearing.
Somi felt revitalized, as if the energy and anticipation of going out on the hunt had taken over her body once more. She fixed her hair while looking in the dirty, broken mirror, already thinking about her next move. The night was young and the club was full; she still had time to dance, drink, and maybe choose someone else. Yes, she was definitely going to do it, but this time she wouldn’t be looking for a cock. Her second course of the night would be something different and more wet, just to make some changes and let her holes rest for a while.
A/N: After that anon asked me which of my stories would fit with other idols, I started thinking about this one in particular. I couldn't resist and had to do it because I really think this fits Somi very well.
I feel like this somehow ended up being dirtier than the original version. What do you think?
Warning : The story theme was contained with Incest, father-daughter, drunk sex, deflowering.
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[Daughter]
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Karina and your father. How is the relationship between the two of them actually?
In your opinion, you can say that your father is a figure of understanding and care in taking care of you. He never distinguishes affection between you and Karina.
Until one day, they look close, maybe people won't even believe that they are father and daughter because they are so close. The day began when it was your sister's eighteenth birthday, the day all the messes happened.
***
It's started when my 18 birthday, Five years ago
The door creaked open with the same tired groan it always had—Karina's schoolbag thudding to the floor with the weight of half-finished assignments and unopened love letters.
"I'm home," she called out, toeing off her shoes with the precision of someone who'd performed this ritual a thousand times before.
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
Your father's voice came from the kitchen, thick with something Karina couldn't place at first. Not until she rounded the corner and saw him leaning against the countertop, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms still damp from hurried washing.
Karina blinked at the sight of your father's soaked sleeves clinging to his forearms, droplets still trailing down his wrists.
"Dad, what happened?" she asked, fingers twitching toward the dish towel hanging forgotten on the oven handle.
Your father chuckled—a sound too deep, too warm for the tension coiling in Karina's shoulders.
"Don't worry sweetheart," he said, shaking water from his hands with a practiced flick that sent droplets splattering across the tile.
"Daddy just cleaned some dirty dishes, " His smile widened, showing teeth, "Or else your mother will be angry when she comes home from the hospital after take care of Eunhae.”
Karina sighed, her fingers twisting the dish towel into a tight spiral as she watched water droplets slide down her father's forearms.
"Let me continue, Dad," she said, nodding toward the soapy sink, "It's better for you to change your clothes or later you'll get sick and catch up with Eunhae in the hospital."
Your father chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he shook his hands dry with exaggerated flicks that sent water splattering across Karina's school uniform.
"Okay, sweetheart."
The lights flicked off.
The last plate clattered into the drying rack as Karina wiped soapy water from her brow, blinking against the sudden darkness that swallowed the kitchen whole. Her pulse stuttered—just for a second—before golden light erupted from the hallway, flickering like fireflies caught in a jar.
"Happy birthday to you..."
The song curled through the darkened kitchen like smoke—your father's voice rasping the familiar melody with an odd, throaty warmth that made Karina's fingers tighten around the damp dish towel.
"Happy birthday our sweetheart, happy birthday our Karina ", your father murmured, the words sticking to his teeth like caramel as the frosting gleamed under eighteen trembling candle flames.
Karina's hands flew to her mouth, fingers pressing hard against her parted lips as if trying to push the startled, "Oh, Daddy! "
"Even in a situation like this," your father murmured, his voice dropping into that rich register that always made Karina's shoulders tense unconsciously, "dad won't make dad's favorite daughter miss her birthday cake."
Karina's breath caught in her throat—eighteen candle flames flickering against the sudden wetness in her eyes.
"Thank you, dad," she whispered, voice cracking like the first thin ice of winter.
The candles extinguished with a soft whoosh, leaving only the ghost of smoke curling between them.
The cake knife left glistening trails of frosting across the porcelain plate as Karina pushed a bite between her lips, the sweetness clashing with the bitter tang of the wine still lingering on her tongue.
"You know, Dad," she said, swirling her fork in the cream, "this time there are so many love letters in my locker. It makes me sick."
The words came out half-crowned, muffled by the cake still dissolving on her tongue.
Your father chuckled—a deep, rich sound that vibrated through his Soju glass as he took another sip.
"My little girl's growing up too fast," he murmured, watching her over the rim of his glass.
Karina leaned forward, the hem of her skirt riding up slightly as she balanced her chin on her palms.
"Hey, Dad," she said, her voice softening into something almost girlish, "Tell me about how you met Mom for the first time!"
The soju glass clinked against the table as your father set it down, his fingers lingering on the rim where condensation had started to form.
"I used to be just a new office employee," he began, his voice roughened by alcohol and something nostalgic.
"And your mother worked at a café near my office", His thumb traced the edge of the glass absently, "Back then, she wore her hair shorter—just brushing her shoulders—and always had this habit of tucking it behind her ear when she handed customers their change."
Karina's fingers tightened around her fork, the tines scraping against her plate in a quiet screech.
"And then?"
She prompted, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.
Your father's grin turned wolfish as he poured himself another shot.
"Then I dared to ask her out, after a few dates, I proposed to her and she accepted me", he said, knocking back the soju with practiced ease.
"Wow, what a sweet story!" Karina giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as her wine-flushed cheeks dimpled.
Your father's fingers twitched against the soju glass, his thumbnail catching on a chip in the rim that hadn't been there before dinner.
"But sometimes I think..." His voice trailed off into the humid kitchen air, the words dissolving like sugar in hot tea,”Ah forget it! ”
"You can tell me, Dad," she murmured, voice dipping low enough that the kitchen seemed to hold its breath around them.
Your father exhaled through his nose—a slow, measured sound—before swirling the last of his soju.
"I don't know," he admitted, thumb tracing the rim of his glass where her lipstick still smudged the edge,"Sometimes I feel like your mother has no feelings for me."
The confession hung between them like a swung pendulum.
"It seems like she's just looking for a family that she didn't have when she was a child. Some kind of... obsession."
"It might just be your feelings, Dad," she murmured, forcing lightness into her voice even as her pulse hammered against her ribs.
"I'm sure Mom loves you."
Her gaze fell to the half-empty bottle between them, the glass slick with moisture.
"Mmm, Dad," she said abruptly, tilting her head with exaggerated curiosity, "you really like alcohol. How does it feel to drink it?" The question hung between them—a clumsy diversion, but the only lifeline she could grasp at.
"I know it might be ridiculous," he said, voice roughened by alcohol as the soju bottle clinked against the rim as he poured another shot, the clear liquid swirling with tiny bubbles that burst against the glass.
"It tastes bitter and a little burning..." His fingers tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening, "But it can make your mind a little free from everything that weighs you down."
Your father's gaze into Karina, "You want to try it, sweetheart?" The question hung between them, thick with unspoken implications.
"I'm still 18, Dad," she murmured, but the protest sounded hollow even to her own ears—the numbers tasting like cardboard on her tongue.
Your father's chuckle was a dark ripple in the amber-lit kitchen.
"Sst..." He pressed a finger to his lips, the gesture pulling at the laugh lines around his mouth.
"This will be our secret only."
The words curled between them like smoke, intimate and conspiratorial.
Karina watched the way the overhead light caught the rim of his glass—how it illuminated the ghost of her lipstick still smudged on the edge. Her throat tightened. Slowly, as if pulled by invisible strings, she nodded.
That was the beginning of the mess that occurred, when your father offered Karina and your older sister to accept without knowing the consequences in the future.
The first sip burned Karina's throat like swallowed embers—her father's chuckle vibrating through the kitchen as she coughed into her sleeve. By the third sip, the alcohol unspooled warmth through her limbs like liquid gold. Karina giggled at nothing—at the way the overhead light fractured through her glass, at her father's crooked smile when he refilled it without asking. Her fifth sip coincided with the moment her father's knee brushed hers beneath the table. Karina didn't pull away. The contact burned hotter than the alcohol—a line of heat searing through her stockings as his leg pressed firm against hers.
"Daddy," she breathed, the word thick with alcohol and something darker, "if you feel like you don't get love enough ..." Her stockinged foot slid up his calf beneath the table, the nylon rasping against his slacks.
"Maybe I can give myself to you."
Her giggle dissolved into a hiccup as she struck a pose—head tilted, lips parted, one strap of her school uniform slipping off her shoulder with calculated negligence.
"You're too drunk, sweetheart," your father murmured, though his gaze lingered too long on the way her skirt rode up when she stumbled forward.
Karina's answering giggle dissolved into a hiccup as she climbed into his lap with the graceless determination of the truly intoxicated. Her stockinged knees pressed into the chair on either side of his thighs, her skirt rucking up to reveal the lace-edged garters holding up her thigh-highs.
"Hehehe," she slurred, fingers tangling in his shirt collar, "I'm not drunk, Daddy."
The scent of peach wine and strawberry lip gloss clung to her breath as she leaned in.
"I'm honest. You deserve a good one, sincere love..." Her hips rocked forward, the heat of her pressing against his belt buckle.
"And I can give you that.”
"Karina, this is already—" His protest died against her mouth, swallowed by the wet heat of her lips pressing clumsily against his.
The kiss tasted of Soju and strawberry gloss, sticky-sweet and sloppy with drunken intent. Her fingers tangled in his collar, pulling him closer as her hips rocked forward—the lace of her panties damp against his belt buckle through the thin fabric of her skirt.
Your father's hands flew up to grip her shoulders, fingers digging into the starched fabric of her school blouse—not pushing away, not pulling closer, just holding her suspended in that breathless moment where morality frayed at the edges.
"Ummph, Daddy....", Karina whimpered into his mouth, her tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip with clumsy desperation.
Their lips parted with a wet sound that seemed obscenely loud in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.
Karina's breath came in shallow gasps, her pupils blown wide with alcohol and something darker—something that tightened the knot in your father's stomach as his fingers flexed against her hips. The overhead light caught the slick sheen of saliva still connecting their mouths for a fleeting second before it broke, leaving them both staring at each other with expressions caught between shock and hunger.
Karina's fingers trembled as they fumbled with the buttons of her father's shirt, the fabric parting to reveal skin flushed pink with arousal and the lingering burn of soju. His breath hitched when her nails scraped lightly over his collarbone—that tiny sound, barely audible, seemed to snap something inside them both.
Clothes became obstacles to be destroyed rather than removed; her school blouse tore at the shoulder seam as he yanked it down her arms, the fabric catching at her elbows before pooling on the floor. His belt buckle clattered against the tile when she wrenched it open, the metallic noise swallowed by her needy whimper as their mouths crashed together again.
Their breath hunted each other with their bodies that were already without a piece of cloth at all, naked.
Karina arched her back sharply as your father's mouth crashed against her right breast—his tongue rough and hot as it circled her nipple with punishing pressure before sucking hard enough to pull a broken scream from her throat.
"Daddy....Daddy....Daddy—!" Her fingers scrambled at his shoulders, nails biting into skin already flushed pink with arousal. His other hand kneaded her left breast with brutal efficiency, fingers digging into soft flesh until it spilled between his grasp like overripe fruit.
The sensations tore through Karina's alcohol-fogged mind—the sharp sting of teeth grazing her nipple, the wet heat of his tongue soothing the ache moments later, the calloused pads of his fingers pinching her other nipple with calculated cruelty. Every nerve ending felt electrified, raw, like her skin had been peeled back to expose something unbearably sensitive beneath.
The sound was obscenely wet—slurp... slurp...—your father's mouth working Karina's nipple with the same greedy suction he used on the last dregs of soju bottles.
Spit glistened between his lips and her swollen flesh, strands stretching thin before snapping as he switched breasts with a groan. Karina's back arched off the kitchen chair, her thighs clamping around his hips as her fingers twisted in his hair.
He stopped and grabbed Karina's thigh.
Your father's fingers dug into the meat of Karina's thighs, spreading her wider across his lap—the nylon whisper of her stockings splitting against his slacks as her knees slid apart. The scent hit him first—peach wine and something muskier, richer, the unmistakable wet heat of arousal soaking pussy.
His breath stuttered against her collarbone.
"Sweetheart," he rasped, the word crumbling at the edges like burnt paper.
Karina's face burned—not just from the alcohol, but from the way her father's breath hitched when she rolled her hips against his face.
"Mmph, Daddy," she slurred, the words thick with soju and something darker, something sticky-sweet between her thighs.
The chair legs screeched against tile as your father shoved forward, his grip on Karina's thighs tightening like a vice. She gasped—half-protest, half-invitation—as his mouth crashed against her bare pussy with a wet, desperate sound that made her toes curl in split nylon stockings.
His tongue dragged through her folds with rough urgency, tasting peach wine and the musk of her arousal, the scent of her childhood shampoo still clinging faintly to her skin beneath layers of sweat and sex. Karina's hips jerked involuntarily, her fingers knotting in his hair as his nose pressed against her clit.
"Daddy, Why is this so amazing, this feeling Urgh !" The word tore from her throat in a ragged moan as he sucked hard on her labia, his tongue flicking against her swollen flesh with brutal precision.
Karina's scream fractured into a breathless sob as her father's tongue plunged deeper—rough, insistent strokes that mapped every trembling contour of her pussy. The chair groaned beneath them, wood straining against their frenzied movements as she arched into his face, her thighs clamping around his head like a vice.
"Daddy—oh god—right there—" Her words dissolved into a wet, gasping moan as his tongue curled upward, pressing hard against that spongy spot inside her that made her vision whiten at the edges. The sensation was unbearable—too much and not enough—her fingers twisting in his hair to grind herself harder against his mouth.
Karina's thighs trembled violently, her breath hitching in ragged gasps as that unfamiliar pressure coiled tighter in her belly—something hot and liquid and terrifyingly inevitable.
"D-Daddy," she slurred through wine-thick lips, "s-something weird... Uh Mmmph..." Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, nails biting crescent moons into his skin.
"Something would come I don't... know what it—ah!"
Your father didn't answer—his tongue dragging a wet trail up Karina's slit before curling inward with deliberate pressure. The vibration of his muffled chuckle against her sensitive flesh made her toes curl violently in her ruined stockings. Then came the fingers—two, pressing bluntly against her entrance before twisting in without ceremony, stretching her with a suddenness that punched the air from Karina's lungs.
Karina's thighs clamped around her father's head like a vice—her breath hitching in ragged gasps as something hot and liquid coiled impossibly tight in her belly. She could feel it building with each rough stroke of his tongue, each twist of his fingers inside her—that terrifying pressure swelling until her vision whited out at the edges.
"Daddy—!" The word tore from her throat in a fractured scream as her body arched violently off the chair.
A gush of warm liquid flooded her father's mouth, her inner muscles pulsing in erratic contractions that soaked his face and dripped onto the kitchen tiles.
Your father's tongue swiped one last lingering stroke through Karina's folds, collecting the last traces of her climax as she trembled against the kitchen chair—legs spread wide and stockings torn at the thighs. When he finally lifted his head, their gazes locked in the dim kitchen light. Karina's pupils were blown wide—not just from alcohol anymore, but from something darker, something hungry that mirrored the feverish gleam in her father's eyes.
He surged up without breaking eye contact, capturing her mouth in a kiss that tasted of salt and her own arousal. Karina whimpered as his tongue pushed past her lips, sharing the remnants of her fluids between them in a slick, obscene exchange.
Karina pulled back just enough to see the string of saliva still connecting their lips in the dim kitchen light. "What...what was that?" Her voice trembled between breaths like a lifeline. "That feeling was...so wonderful."
Your father's thumb swiped across her lower lip, collecting the moisture there before bringing it to his own mouth.
"That, sweetheart," he murmured against her fingertips, "is love." His other hand slid up her thigh, the split nylon of her stocking rasping against his palm. "Do you want to feel even better?"
Karina nodded.
The tip of his cock pressed against Karina's slick entrance, her climax still dripping down her thighs—hot and trembling as her body instinctively clenched around the intrusion.
Your father exhaled sharply through his nose, the scent of her arousal mingling with spilled soju and birthday cake frosting still clinging to the tablecloth.
"Mmmph... Daddy's sweet girl," he slurred, his hips jerking forward with drunken impatience, "still so tight for me—" The words dissolved into a groan as the head of his cock popped past her resisting muscles, her inner walls fluttering wildly around the first inch of him.
Karina's fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as her breath hitched—part gasp, part whimper. Her thighs trembled against his hips, the torn nylon of her stockings rasping against his slacks with every shallow thrust.
"It—it hurts," she whimpered, her voice cracking like thin ice, though her hips rocked forward to meet his next tentative push.
Your father's chuckle vibrated through her chest where they pressed together, his teeth scraping against her collarbone.
"Shh, babygirl," he murmured, his breath hot and sticky with alcohol, "just like riding your first bike. "
His hands slid down to grip her ass, kneading the flesh roughly as he pulled her closer.
"Daddy'll go slow."
The chair creaked dangerously beneath them as your father bottomed out with a ragged groan, Karina's inner muscles clamping down in erratic pulses around his shaft. Sweat beaded along his temple, dripping onto her chest where it mingled with the saliva still glistening on her breasts.
Karina's mouth fell open in a silent scream—her body stretched impossibly wide, the burn of intrusion blurring with the lingering aftershocks of her earlier climax. Her father stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers as they shared the same labored breaths. Then his hips rolled experimentally, drawing a broken moan from Karina's throat as her nails raked down his back.
Karina's whimpers softened into moans—little wounded-animal sounds that curled into the hollow of her father's throat as his hips began moving in earnest. The initial sting had melted into something hotter, stranger, a liquid pull low in her belly that coiled tighter with each thrust. And that moment is Karina's hymen tore and marked by a sound—not the gasp she expected, but the wet crunch of cake frosting smeared beneath her father's knee as he drove deeper. Her cry dissolved into the sticky air between them, swallowed by the slick slap of skin meeting skin with increasing urgency.
Their hips met with a wet slap that echoed through the kitchen, drowned out only by Karina’s breathless stammer.
"Oh... Daddy," she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she arched against him, her torn stockings slipping against his thighs, "Urgh... so good, I love this feeling."
The words spilled from her lips like a confession, sticky-sweet and desperate.
Your father groaned against her neck, his teeth scraping the delicate skin there as he thrust deeper, his cock dragging against her inner walls with a roughness that bordered on pain. Karina’s thighs trembled around his hips, her body torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away—her breath hitching in ragged, uneven bursts.
The world had narrowed to the heat between them, the sweat-slick press of skin, the way her pussy clenched around him with each thrust, as if her body was trying to keep him inside forever.
"You'll like this too, baby," your father murmured, his voice thick with alcohol and something darker, something primal.
His hands gripped Karina's waist with possessive strength, lifting her effortlessly into his lap until she straddled him—the cowgirl position forcing her to bear down on his cock with her own weight. Karina gasped as the sudden shift sent him deeper than before, her inner walls fluttering wildly around his shaft.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her movements with rough insistence.
"That's it," he groaned as she tentatively rocked forward, her torn stockings rasping against his thighs,"Ride Daddy just like that."
The words sent a hot shiver down Karina's spine, her drunken mind struggling to reconcile the filth spilling from his lips with the man who'd tied her shoelaces and packed her school lunches.
Karina's throat arched backward like a drawn bowstring, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her father's cock speared into depths she hadn't known existed. The angle was obscene—her thighs splayed wide across his lap, knees digging into the chair cushions while her torn stockings flapped against his thighs with every frantic bounce. Her vision whited out at the edges, pupils rolling upward until all she could see were the kitchen light fixtures swaying in time with their brutal rhythm.
She tried to speak, to beg, to scream—but all that escaped was a wet, guttural sound that dissolved into the sticky air between them. Her fingers scrabbled against his sweat-slick chest, nails catching on the silver hairs there before sliding off helplessly.
Karina's inner muscles fluttered around your father's cock like desperate fingers grasping at silk—irregular pulses that tightened incrementally until his breath hitched against her collarbone. Her body arched violently, the chair legs screeching backward as her climax tore through her with jagged intensity. A guttural moan ripped from her throat, half-sob and half-scream, as warm liquid gushed around his shaft in erratic spurts.
Your father groaned—a sound dredged from somewhere primal—as Karina's pussy milked him with frantic, sucking contractions. The sensation bordered on painful, her inner walls twitching like a heartbeat around his cock as her climax wrung every drop of pleasure from her trembling body. Fluid seeped between their joined flesh, dripping onto the chair cushion with obscene wetness.
"D-Daddy—!" Karina's voice shattered into fragmented syllables, her fingers scrabbling against his sweat-slick chest for purchase.
Karina slumped boneless against her father's chest, her breath coming in wet, hiccuping gasps against his collarbone—half-sob, half-exhausted pant. Her thighs trembled where they still straddled his hips, the torn nylon of her stockings clinging damply to his sweat-slick skin. Between them, his cock remained rock-hard, pulsing against her oversensitive flesh with a heat that made her whimper weakly into the hollow of his throat.
"Good girls, sweet heart. Your good girl", your father combed Karina's hair.
Karina gasped as her father's hands flipped her onto her stomach with startling force, her cheek pressing against the sticky kitchen table where frosting smeared beneath her skin. The air smelled of spilled soju and sweat—her own thighs trembled against the wood grain, her torn stockings catching splinters as she tried to brace herself. Behind her, she heard the wet sound of her father spitting into his palm before gripping himself, the obscene squelch making her stomach clench.
Her breath hitched when his calloused hands spread her thighs wider—the split nylon of her ruined stockings rasping against the table—exposing her dripping pussy to the humid kitchen air.
"D-Daddy—" The protest died in her throat when his cockhead bumped against her swollen folds, already slick with her own spend. He pushed in without preamble, the stretch burning worse than before now that she wasn't drunk enough to mute the pain.
The table legs screeched against tile as Karina's father drove into her with a force that sent plates rattling—his hips pistoning forward with drunken abandon, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin and the sharp clatter of silverware.
"Ohhh, sweetheart," he slurred into the nape of her neck, his breath hot and sticky with soju, "Karina's pussy is freaking awesome."
The words dripped from his lips like syrup, thick with arousal and something darker, something that curled around Karina's spine like smoke. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the lace-edged garters still clinging to her thighs as he pulled her back onto his cock with a groan that vibrated through her ribs.
Karina's voice cracked like thin ice underfoot—"Oh, Da...ddy.... Har...der"—each syllable warping with the strain of pleasure and alcohol. The words slithered from her lips without conscious thought, morality dissolving like sugar in soju.
The sound of their skin colliding filled the kitchen—a wet, rhythmic slap that drowned out the dripping faucet and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Each impact sent Karina's breasts jolting against the sticky tabletop, her nipples rasping over frosting-smeared wood grain as her father's hips pistoned with brutal precision. Her thighs trembled violently, the split nylon of her ruined stockings catching on splinters with every forward thrust.
Karina's father groaned—a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her spine as his thrusts turned erratic, his hips stuttering against her bruised flesh. His breath came in ragged bursts against her ear, the scent of soju and sweat clinging to his lips as they brushed her earlobe.
"Oh my sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal, "Daddy will leave a mark of love for you—will you accept it?"
His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her tighter against him as his cock twitched inside her, already pulsing with the first waves of his climax.
Karina nodded frantically, her damp hair sticking to the sticky tabletop as she gasped, "Y-yes, Daddy—please—!" The words dissolved into a whimper as his teeth scraped the nape of her neck, the sharp sting blending with the overwhelming fullness of his cock buried deep inside her.
“Urgh… I'm cumming “.
The first hot spurt hit Karina's inner walls like molten wax—a scalding rush that made her thighs jerk violently against the sticky table. Her father groaned through clenched teeth, his fingers biting into her hips hard enough to leave crescent-shaped bruises as his cock twitched inside her.
"Take it all, sweetheart," he gasped, hips stuttering forward with each thick pulse. Karina whimpered as warmth flooded her womb—each throb of his shaft pressing deeper, spreading his seed where no father's should ever reach.
***
"So you had sex with Dad?" you asked.
Karina looked at you—embarrassed, guilty, the ghost of her strawberry lip gloss still clinging to her bitten lower lip—and nodded. The movement was almost imperceptible, her chin dipping just enough to send a strand of sweat-damp hair sliding across her forehead.
You didn't have point to judge Karina and your father for having a taboo relationship, because you're also fucking with your own mother behind their backs.
"After that we tried to forget about it but we lost," Karina's voice cracked, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt where a loose thread unraveled like her composure. "We did it again and again until..."
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Leeseo always loved a dangerous game: the art of being watched. She wasn't some mastermind with a grand plan; she just lived for the rush of knowing she was getting under people's skin without saying a word. For her, clothes weren't just outfits—they were tools of power. That day, as she got ready for a sleepover at Eunchae’s, she picked an outfit that played with that exact vibe. She wore a short pleated skirt that barely covered anything and a tiny g-string that dug into her crack with every step. On top, she threw on an oversized cardigan to look fragile—a "good girl" mask to hide the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra under her thin white tee.
The taxi ride was the perfect warmup. Leeseo sat in the back, staring out the window with a dreamy expression, enjoying the fact that the driver kept checking her out in the rearview mirror.
"Visiting a friend, right, sweetie?" the driver asked in a fatherly tone, though his eyes never left her legs.
Leeseo let out a cute little giggle, leaning toward him and resting her chin on her hand, playing the part of an innocent kid. "Yes, sir. Eunchae invited me for a sleepover. We're so excited," she replied in that melodic voice that makes any man drop his guard.
The driver smiled, convinced he was hauling some innocent girl. But when they reached the address, Leeseo decided to have some fun before getting out. When it came time to pay, she didn't just hand him the money; she leaned forward slowly and deliberately, invading his space.
"Here you go, thanks for the ride," she whispered, locking eyes with him. As she stretched, she let the collar of her white shirt slip completely. Without a bra, her breasts were right there in plain sight. The driver went mute, hypnotized by her skin and the tips of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. Leeseo heard him swallow hard and felt a spark of pleasure seeing him completely thrown off.
But the finale was the best part. As she opened the door to leave, she didn't just jump out. She leaned against the car frame and arched her back hard, letting the short skirt ride up dangerously. She stayed like that for a few seconds, giving the driver a perfect view of her ass and the string of her thong disappearing between her cheeks.
"Have a great day, sir," she tossed a glance over her shoulder before slamming the door shut, leaving him frustrated and hard.
Now she was in front of the house. She adjusted her oversized cardigan, putting her "fragile" disguise back on. When Eunchae opened the door with a scream and a huge hug, Leeseo let herself be swept up in her friend's excitement.
"Leeseo! You're here!" Eunchae exclaimed. "Come in quick, my dad is in the living room and wants to say hi."
Leeseo followed her inside, chatting away like a normal teenager, until she stepped into the living room. And then, she saw him.
Eunchae’s father was standing by the sofa. He was an imposing man—broad shoulders and a stern look that screamed authority. He wore a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off strong forearms with veins popping under tanned skin. The moment their eyes met, something happened inside Leeseo. It wasn't a planned thought; it was a violent biological reaction. She felt an electric shock shoot down her spine and a sudden spasm in her stomach that left her breathless.
Suddenly, desire hit her like a wave. This man wasn't just her friend's dad; he was mature, powerful, and he woke up an animal hunger in her she didn't know she had. Her pupils dilated and she felt her thong get wet instantly from the anticipation.
"Hello... it's a pleasure to meet you, sir," she whispered, lowering her gaze in a submissive bow. As she leaned, that instinct to provoke returned, but now with a much better target. She deliberately let the cardigan slide off her left shoulder, exposing her collarbone and the top edge of one breast, teasing the limit of his vision.
Leeseo didn't look up, but she could feel the father's gaze anchored to her bare skin. The silence became suffocating; a void filled only by the sound of the man’s held breath and Leeseo’s heart hammering against her ribs. When she finally looked up, her eyes were misty and her lips slightly parted.
"I hope I'm not a bother by staying here," she murmured in a tiny voice.
The man didn't answer right away. He swallowed hard—a visceral gesture that showed his composure had just cracked for the first time. Leeseo smiled inwardly. It wasn't just about being watched anymore; now she wanted this man, and she knew exactly how to get him.
The air in the room felt thick. Leeseo could tell he was still staring at her even when they weren't face-to-face. Eunchae, completely clueless about the short circuit her friend had just caused, started talking about weekend plans, dragging Leeseo toward the kitchen while her father followed a few steps behind, his heavy presence absorbing all the oxygen in the room.
"I'm starving! Dad, can we order pizza or should we make something quick?" Eunchae asked, opening the fridge with enthusiasm.
Leeseo leaned against the cold granite counter, watching the man out of the corner of her eye. He didn't speak; he just nodded slightly while keeping a safe distance, but his eyes kept scanning Leeseo’s silhouette. She noticed how he avoided looking at her face, preferring to focus on the movement of her hips or the way her cardigan opened slightly every time she breathed.
"I can help with the glasses," Leeseo murmured in that soft, vulnerable tone. "Where are they?"
"In the lower cabinet, next to the oven," he replied. His voice sounded raspier than before, like his throat was dry.
Leeseo headed for the cabinet. She knew exactly where he was standing; she could feel the heat radiating from his body right behind her. Instead of crouching naturally, Leeseo did it with torturous slowness. She didn't bend her knees; she lowered her torso while keeping her legs straight, letting the short pleated skirt ride up dangerously.
She felt the cold kitchen air hit her cheeks and knew—by the sudden silence and the erratic breathing behind her—that the man had a perfect view of her ass. The string of her thong, buried in her skin, was now the center of attention for this mature man. Leeseo stayed there, pretending to struggle with the glasses, slightly swaying her hips so the fabric of the skirt brushed her thighs and revealed more skin than necessary.
"I can't find them... they're too far back," she whispered, letting out a small moan of frustration that sounded more like an invitation than a complaint.
Then, Leeseo faked a trip. As she tried to stand up, she let her body stumble backward, deliberately slamming into the man's chest. The impact was dull and visceral (clap). She felt the hardness of his pectoral muscles and the searing heat through his dark shirt. Leeseo didn't pull away immediately; she stayed there, pressed against him a second longer than necessary, feeling his heart hammering violently against her own ribs.
"Sorry... I'm so clumsy," she murmured, looking up at him. As she did, she tilted her head back, exposing the line of her neck and letting the cardigan open fully. Her breasts, free from a bra, pressed against the man's chest due to the proximity, and she felt the exact friction of her white shirt against his. She saw his pupils dilate and noticed how his large, strong hands were shaking slightly as he tried not to touch her, clenching his fists to contain the animal impulse to grab her right there.
"Be more careful, Leeseo," he said, though his voice was barely a raspy thread—a plea disguised as a warning.
"I just get nervous in new houses..." she replied with a small, malicious smile, her eyes glowing with hunger. "Do you think I'm too distracted?"
The man didn't answer. He couldn't. He was trapped in a storm of desire and guilt, while Leeseo looked up at him, knowing that every "accidental" touch was destroying the last bit of willpower he had left.
"Hey! Did you guys fall asleep back there?" Eunchae yelled from the other side of the kitchen, breaking the bubble of tension.
Leeseo pulled away slowly, brushing her hip against his leg before stepping aside. She gave him a fleeting look—a spark of pure mischief that clearly said this was only the beginning. Eunchae's father stood there, breathing heavily, feeling a forbidden desire knotting in his crotch, while the "good girl" went back to smiling at her daughter with terrifying innocence.
The tension in the house was no longer a silent secret; it had become a physical presence floating between Leeseo and the father like a thick fog. After the kitchen incident, the man seemed to be on high alert, avoiding direct eye contact, but his senses were hypersensitive. Every time Leeseo moved, he heard the rustle of her skirt and smelled the sweet, almost cloying perfume she radiated.
Eunchae had taken them back to the living room, where she flopped onto the sofa with her phone, absorbed in social media and gossiping about her classmates. Leeseo, however, didn't sit next to her. She stood near the table where Eunchae’s father was reviewing some papers, taking advantage of the lamp light that highlighted the tension in his shoulders and the firmness of his neck.
"Sir..." Leeseo called him with that tiny, silk-thread voice. "Could you help me with this? My phone is lagging and I don't know why."
The man looked up slowly. His eyes were bloodshot with a mix of frustration and contained lust.
"Sure, bring it here," he replied, though his voice sounded harsh, as if the words were hard to push out.
Leeseo didn't just hand him the phone. She walked toward him with a rhythmic sway of her hips that made the short skirt dance on her thighs. When she reached him, she didn't leave a single inch of personal space. She pressed against him, forcing him back slightly against the edge of the table.
"I don't get why it's doing this..." she murmured, bringing the screen close to his face. To do so, Leeseo leaned in so far that her shoulder brushed his arm and her breasts, without a bra, pressed softly against his side. She could feel the rigidity of his muscle under the shirt—an animal tension vibrating through every fiber of his body. Leeseo stayed there, suspended in that tiny gap, letting the heat of their bodies merge.
"You just have to restart the app..." he started to say, but his voice cracked.
Leeseo took her chance. She got closer until her lips were millimeters from his ear. She could feel the heat of his skin and the intense scent of tobacco and masculinity surrounding him.
"Do you do this often?" she whispered in his ear with a malice only he could perceive. "Do you usually help girls who don't know how to use their phones?"
The man let out a sharp gasp, a visceral sound that showed he had run out of air. His hands, holding the phone, shook visibly. Leeseo felt his breathing become erratic and heavy against her neck. She could tell he was fighting a brutal internal war; his knuckles were white from gripping the device, avoiding touching Leeseo’s bare skin at all costs, even though his instincts were screaming at him to grab her and slam her against the table.
"Leeseo... back up a bit," he growled, though he didn't move to push her away.
She let out a soft giggle that vibrated directly in his ear, and deliberately brushed her thigh against his leg while staying pressed to his side. She felt him tense up like a string about to snap.
"Why? Am I making you nervous, sir?" she asked, looking up at him with glowing eyes and parted lips, projecting the fragility she knew was her deadliest weapon.
In that moment, the man looked at her. It wasn't a look of protection or courtesy; it was hungry and raw, dropping quickly from her eyes to her lips and then down to the cleavage her cardigan could no longer hide. The desire in his pupils was so obvious that Leeseo felt an electric spark of pleasure between her legs; her thong felt wetter than ever, sticking to her skin as she imagined what would happen if he lost control right now.
"Hey, Leeseo! Look at this video, it's hilarious!" Eunchae yelled from the sofa, breaking the tension like shattering glass.
Leeseo pulled away with agonizing slowness, deliberately brushing her hip against his one last time. She turned to her friend with an angelic smile, while behind her, Eunchae's father leaned against the table, closing his eyes and letting out a heavy sigh, feeling his dick straining against his pants, tortured by a girl who played him like a toy.
Night fell over the house, wrapping it in a dimness interrupted only by the soft lamps and the blue glow of Eunchae's phone. The atmosphere had become suffocating; it wasn't just desire anymore, it was a war of nerves. They’d had a light dinner—a torturous process where Leeseo spent her time watching the man from across the table while he tried to focus on his food without being drawn, like a magnet, to the girl.
Now they were all in the living room. Eunchae was sunk into the sofa with headphones on, totally lost in a stream. Her father was sitting in his armchair, trying to read a book, but Leeseo knew he hadn't passed the same page in ten minutes.
Leeseo sat on the floor, leaning her back against the sofa, right at the man's feet. She settled in with agonizing slowness, crossing and uncrossing her legs, letting the short skirt ride up to expose the top of her smooth white thighs. She didn't look at him directly, but she knew exactly where his attention was. She knew he was fighting the urge to look down, but that he couldn't help it.
"It's hot in here, don't you think?" Leeseo murmured, breaking the silence with a voice that was pure velvet and poison.
The man looked away from the book. His eyes locked with hers, and for the first time, there was no trace of shyness in Leeseo’s gaze. She held it. It was a steady, heavy look, loaded with an intention so raw that the man felt a punch to the stomach. Leeseo gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible smile; not the smile of a good girl, but of someone who knows exactly which buttons to push to disarm a man.
Eunchae's father felt his throat tighten. Leeseo’s position on the floor, with her legs exposed and that cardigan hinting at the movement of her breasts every time she breathed, was psychological torture. He could feel his dick straining against the fabric of his pants—a dull, throbbing pain that made him feel dirty and desperately hungry at the same time.
Leeseo brought a hand to her neck, stroking her skin slowly while staying locked in the man's eyes. Suddenly, she leaned forward, pretending to reach for something on the floor, but she did it so that her chest almost brushed the adult's knees.
"Are you okay, sir? You're very quiet," she whispered, lowering her voice so only he could hear, her eyes glowing with predatory malice.
The man let out a shaky sigh, closing the book with a sharp thud (clap). He looked at her with a mix of anguish and animal lust. He was cornered in his own living room, with his daughter inches away, while a girl who looked like an angel was stripping him mentally with her gaze. The silence between them became electric; every second that passed without a word increased the pressure, turning the room into a pressure cooker about to blow.
"You should... you should go get some rest with Eunchae," he managed to say, though his voice came out raspy, almost like a growl.
Leeseo didn't move. Instead, she slid a few inches closer, entering the man's most intimate space. She looked up, and for an instant, let her lips part, letting out a hot sigh that seemed to caress his skin. In that moment, Leeseo wasn't a guest; she was a visual obsession consuming him alive.
"I'm not sleepy," she replied in a whisper full of double meaning. "I have other things on my mind..."
The man felt the world fade away. He no longer heard Eunchae’s music or saw his home. Only Leeseo existed: her scent of vanilla and sin, the whiteness of her legs, and that look telling him she was willing to do anything just to see him break. The psychological wear had reached its limit; he was no longer in control—he was a prisoner of forbidden desire, desperately waiting for the tension to finally explode into something physical and violent.
The living room lights were completely off, leaving only the flickering blue glow of the TV. They'd decided on a movie marathon, and the vibe was a dangerous mix of domestic comfort and suffocating lust. Eunchae was sprawled in the center of the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, half-asleep from the boring plot, but Leeseo wasn't there to rest. She had positioned herself at the end of the sofa, right next to Eunchae’s father, feeling his body heat radiate toward her like an oven.
Leeseo knew darkness was her best ally. In the dim light, boundaries blur and inhibitions fall. She started playing with her position, moving slowly, pretending she couldn't get comfortable. First, she stretched upward with a soft moan, arching her back so that the cardigan opened completely. Without a bra, her breasts lifted and tightened, nipples visible against the white fabric under the cold TV light.
She made an "accidental" move to reach the popcorn bowl on the coffee table, leaning forward with torturous slowness. In that instant, the short skirt rode up to the limit, exposing her white thighs and the top curve of her ass, where the thong string dug deep into her skin. Leeseo stayed there, suspended in that vulnerable position, feeling the man's breathing stop abruptly beside her.
"Ugh... this popcorn is too far away," she whispered, turning her face slightly toward him. Her lips were parted and her eyes, reflecting the screen, had a predatory glint.
Eunchae's father didn't respond. He was paralyzed, eyes glued to the view in front of him. He could see the tight skin of Leeseo’s thighs, the fragility of her back, and the volume of her breasts pressing against the fabric. For him, it was Chinese torture; he was sitting next to his friend's daughter, but felt like he was alone in a room with a woman who was stripping him with every "clumsy" move.
Leeseo sat back up, but didn't return to her original spot. She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, which made the skirt ride up even more and compressed her breasts, highlighting their shape.
"Don't you like the movie, sir? You seem very distracted," she murmured, giving him a look full of malice.
The man swallowed hard (glup). His hands were clenched on his thighs, and he could feel his dick throbbing against his pants—a dull pain that made him shift restlessly in his seat. The tension was so high that Leeseo could hear the man's heavy breathing, an animal sound that sent an electric shock straight to her crotch.
Then, it happened. Leeseo moved once more, letting herself fall slightly to the side, resting her head on the back of the sofa and letting one leg hang, exposing the whiteness of her skin and the edge of her lace thong. It was a perfect angle—an image of purity broken by vulgar desire.
Driven by a hunger he could no longer reason with, Eunchae's father reacted instinctively. Without realizing what he was doing, he slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a quick, almost desperate movement, he aimed the camera at the girl and pressed the button.
Click.
The sound was almost imperceptible over the movie audio, but for Leeseo, it was like an explosion. She didn't move; she stayed frozen in that provocative pose, knowing exactly what had just happened. A slow, cruel smile formed on her lips while she kept her eyes on the TV, though every fiber of her being was focused on the man beside her.
The man lowered the phone quickly, looking at the screen with a mix of horror and absolute excitement. There it was: a clear photo of Leeseo, capturing the curve of her ass and the tension of her breasts under the blue light. He had crossed a line. It wasn't just a mental desire anymore; he now had physical proof of his betrayal—a forbidden image that tied him to her in a dark, permanent way.
Leeseo leaned slightly toward him, brushing her shoulder against his arm, and whispered so low only he could hear:
"Do you like taking photos, sir? I hope it turned out well..." she said, feeling the moisture between her legs increase, knowing she now had him completely in the palm of her hand.
The tension in the room had reached an unbearable saturation point, but just as the air seemed ready to explode, Eunchae broke the bubble. With a yawn that echoed through the room, she stood up from the sofa, wrapping herself in her blanket like a cocoon.
"I can't take it anymore... I'm going to sleep," Eunchae announced in a sleepy voice. "Leeseo, come on, we have to wake up early for the mall tomorrow. Dad, don't stay up reading those papers, turn out the lights soon."
Leeseo felt a sting of frustration, but she knew the game was more enjoyable when the hunger reached its limit. She stood up with calculated slowness, letting her skirt brush her thighs and casting one last look at the man. It was a quick glance, but loaded with a dark promise; her eyes clearly said this wasn't over.
"I'm coming, Eunchae," Leeseo replied in her usual sweet tone, following her friend up the stairs.
As she climbed, Leeseo could feel the father's gaze anchored to her back, tracing the sway of her hips and the way the skirt hugged her ass at every step. She didn't turn around, but smiled to herself. She knew she was leaving him in a state of pure torture, alone with his memories and that forbidden image on his phone.
Upstairs, Leeseo waited patiently for Eunchae to settle in and fall into a deep sleep. She stayed silent, listening to her friend's rhythmic breathing, feeling how her own excitement made her vibrate. Her thong was soaked, the lace string irritating her skin, reminding her she was in enemy territory and the prize was a mature man broken by desire. Once she was sure Eunchae wouldn't wake up even if there were an explosion, she slid out of bed and walked down the stairs barefoot, moving like a shadow in the dark.
When she reached the ground floor, she didn't turn on any lights. She stayed hidden in the doorway to the study, where the man was still awake. The only lighting came from his phone screen—a blue glow that silhouetted Eunchae’s father in the darkness.
Leeseo held her breath and watched. The man was sitting in his chair, legs open and pants pulled down to his thighs. His right hand moved with frantic urgency, sliding up and down his erect dick, which glowed under the cold light of the phone. With the other hand, he held the phone in front of his eyes, staring at the photo he'd taken on the sofa.
Leeseo felt a visceral spark of pleasure seeing him like this. The man was completely surrendered to his own lust; he let out heavy, raspy gasps, and his pupils were dilated, fixed on the image of Leeseo’s breasts and ass. She could hear the wet sound of friction (slap, slap), an animal rhythm filling the silence of the house. The man was sweating; a drop rolled down his temple as he clenched his teeth, muttering unintelligible words—probably her name or some dirty fantasy about what he wanted to do to this girl.
Leeseo decided it was time to enter the scene. She made no noise, simply sliding toward him and stopping right behind the chair. She leaned in slowly, letting her hair brush the back of his neck, while whispering with a voice full of malice:
"Seems like you really like that photo... are you enjoying the show, sir?"
The man let out a muffled scream and jumped violently, almost dropping the phone. His heart hammered against his ribs and his breathing became erratic—a chaos of panic and absolute excitement. He looked up and saw Leeseo watching him with a predatory smile, dressed only in her translucent tee that showed her erect nipples and the short skirt that hid nothing of her intention.
"Leeseo... my God! What are you doing here?" he managed to say, though his voice was a broken thread, while he desperately tried to cover his dick with his hand, unsuccessfully.
Leeseo let out a low giggle and moved forward, circling the chair until she was in front of him. She squatted down, bringing herself to the level of his crotch, staring fixedly at the hardened flesh still pulsing before her.
"Don't bother hiding," she told him, extending a hand to softly stroke the man's knee. "I saw everything. I saw how you were masturbating thinking about me. I wonder... if the photo is that good, wouldn't you prefer if I took some more for you?"
The study was submerged in a dense dimness, broken only by the cold glow of the phone and a small desk lamp projecting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The man remained trapped in his chair, dick still erect and pulsing, looking at Leeseo as if she were a sinful miracle or a nightmare he didn't want to wake up from. His vulnerability was total; he was emotionally naked and physically exposed before the girl who had just caught him in his most animal moment.
Leeseo stood up slowly but didn't move away. She stayed inches from him, enjoying the way the man swallowed hard (glup), unable to hold her gaze while his hands shook. She knew she had absolute control. She had transformed blackmail into an invitation and the man's shame into fuel for desire.
"If you want to capture reality, sir... you have to know how to ask for it," she whispered, her voice swinging between childish sweetness and raw malice. "But first, I want you to look at me properly. I want you to see exactly what you're missing by trying to be a 'good father'."
Leeseo took a step back, moving just enough for the man to admire her full silhouette under the dim light. Suddenly, she changed her pose. She straightened up, brought her hands to the edges of her pleated skirt, and with a slow, coordinated movement, pulled it upward, exposing the total whiteness of her thighs and letting the thong string mark her skin.
She leaned slightly forward, arching her back in a classic schoolgirl pose, resting one hand on her cheek while tilting her head with an innocent smile that contrasted violently with the obscenity of the position.
"Do you like it like this, daddy?" she let slip, using the term "daddy" for the first time. The word hit the man like an electric whip.
The man let out a muffled moan, a sound born deep in his throat. Seeing her like that—disguised as schoolgirl innocence but with a gaze loaded with lust—was destroying his last remnants of sanity. His fingers gripped the phone tight and, without a word, he raised the camera again.
Click.
"More... I want more," he growled, his voice now completely broken and animal.
Leeseo let out a crystalline giggle and moved toward the desk. She climbed onto the polished wood surface, brushing papers aside with a rough movement that sent some flying across the room. She sat on the edge of the desk, opening her legs enough for him to see the moisture glistening on the lace of her thong. She brought her hands to the collar of her white shirt and pulled it down hard, exposing her breasts almost completely; only a thin strip of fabric stopped her nipples from jumping into view, but the pressure of the textile left them marked, erect and dark under the light.
"Look at my boobs, daddy... look how they're beating for you," she whispered, as she began to stroke her thighs, sliding her fingers slowly toward the edge of her underwear. "Isn't this much better than a simple photo? Tell me you want to touch me. Tell me you want your good girl to be very bad with you."
The man was out of his mind. He stood up from the chair with a sudden movement—the chair screeched against the floor (skree)—and walked toward her with heavy steps. His eyes were dilated, fixed on Leeseo's cleavage and the whiteness of her legs open on the desk. He was sweating; a drop ran down his temple while his dick, tense and painful, hammered against the fabric of his pants with every step.
Leeseo looked down at him with an expression of sexual superiority. She put a finger to her lips, biting it softly while maintaining her provocative schoolgirl pose.
"Take another photo... " she ordered in a whisper. "But this time, I want you to get so close that you can smell my wetness. I want you to feel that I'm about to soak myself just from you looking at me."
The man reached her and, though he didn't touch her yet, stayed so close that his hot breath hit Leeseo's breasts. The sound of the camera shutter became frantic (click, click, click), capturing every forbidden angle: the arch of her back, the tension of her ass against the wooden desk, and the predatory gaze of a girl who was leading him straight into the abyss.
The sound of the last click hung in the air, but the silence that followed was much louder. The man stood there, inches from her, lungs burning and gaze lost in Leeseo's cleavage. The tension was so thick you could almost touch it; a rope stretched to its limit that only needed one touch to break into a thousand pieces.
Leeseo didn't move from the desk. She stayed there, legs open and back arched, enjoying the expression of absolute defeat on the man's face. She extended a hand and, with sadistic slowness, grabbed the lapel of Eunchae’s father's shirt, pulling him down until their faces were millimeters apart. She could smell the sweat and desire emanating from his skin—an animal aroma that made her get even wetter between her legs.
"Look at me closely, daddy..." she whispered, and her voice no longer had a trace of innocence; it was the voice of a woman who knew exactly how to destroy a man. "Look into my eyes while you think about what you're doing."
The man let out a raspy moan, closing his eyes for an instant as if trying to erase the image, but Leeseo didn't allow it. She stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers, sliding slowly down toward his neck.
"What are you thinking right now?" she asked in a whisper full of malice. "Are you thinking that I'm your daughter's best friend? Does it turn you on to know that while Eunchae is sleeping upstairs, you're down here with a dick so hard it almost breaks your pants because of your daughter's friend?"
The man let out a violent gasp and opened his eyes. The mention of Eunchae didn't stop him; on the contrary, it acted as a catalyst, lighting the flame of the taboo. The risk of being caught, the betrayal of his own blood, became the most potent aphrodisiac.
"Shut up... please, just shut up," he growled, though his hands could no longer stay still and had descended to Leeseo's thighs, squeezing her white flesh with desperate force.
Leeseo let out a low, vibrating giggle, throwing her head back as she felt the pressure of his fingers on her skin.
"Why do you want me to shut up? Do you like it when I remind you?" she told him, lowering her voice to a dirty purr. "Imagine Eunchae's face if she walked in right now and saw how her daddy has her best friend sitting on the desk, legs open and boobs out, begging him to fuck her. Would you like that, daddy? Or do you prefer it to be our dirtiest secret?"
The man let out a muffled roar and buried his face in Leeseo's neck, inhaling her scent with animal voracity. His lips didn't kiss; they bit and sucked the white skin, leaving reddish marks that screamed possession. Meanwhile, his hands moved with brutal urgency toward the pleated skirt.
There was no delicacy. The man grabbed the fabric and yanked it up to her waist, exposing the total whiteness of Leeseo's legs and the thong string digging into her tight ass. With one hand, he gripped her hip so hard his fingers left white marks on the skin, while with the other he began to pull the lace of the thong to the side.
The sound of fabric sliding over wet skin was almost audible in the deathly silence of the house. Leeseo felt the cold air hit her exposed intimacy just before the man's searing heat covered her again. They were there, at the absolute limit; the touch of the glans against her wet entrance was a promise of destruction.
"Look at me," he ordered, pulling away just a centimeter to force her to see him. "Look into my eyes while I open you up, bad girl. I want to see that smile vanish when you feel me break you from the inside."
Leeseo looked at him, and in her dilated pupils there was no fear—only an animal hunger that matched his own. They were a millimeter away from explosion, hearts hammering against ribs, with the scent of forbidden sex filling every inch of the study. Time seemed to stop, leaving only the sound of their heavy breathing and the vibration of a tension about to erupt in a scream.
The silence of the study was annihilated by a wet, dry sound—a visceral plok that echoed in the room as the man's dick, hard as a rock and engorged, forced its way into Leeseo's burning moisture. It wasn't a fast thrust; it was a slow, deliberate, and agonizing invasion. The man pushed inch by inch, forcing Leeseo's internal walls to stretch to a limit she had never experienced.
Leeseo let out a moan that was more of a muffled scream, burying her face in the man's shoulder while her nails dug into his back. The sensation was overwhelming; she felt the total fullness of him filling her, displacing all the air from her lungs and leaving her shaking. The thickness of the dick opened her with brute force, and for a moment, the pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain—an electric discharge that blurred her vision and left her suspended in a void of pure instinct.
When the man finally sank in to the root, completely buried inside her, he stopped. He didn't start moving immediately; he stayed there, anchored deep in her belly, allowing both to feel the suffocating pressure of their fused bodies. The heat was unbearable—a wet, hot friction that made Leeseo let out erratic gasps while she felt the man's heart hammering against her own chest in a frantic rhythm.
The man pulled back just a few millimeters, enough to look into her eyes, but without leaving her. His pupils were dilated, and his face reflected a mix of animal triumph and dark curiosity. His voice, when he spoke, was a low growl that vibrated directly inside Leeseo.
"Tell me the truth, bad girl..." he whispered, squeezing her thighs against the desk with a force that left marks. "Is this what you wanted? Do you like this? Provoking men until they lose their minds... playing the innocent while leading them to the edge of the abyss."
Leeseo tried to answer, but could only let out a raspy moan. The feeling of having him inside her, so big and hot, had her in a trance. The man didn't let her stay silent; he dug his fingers into the flesh of her hip, anchoring her against the cold wood of the desk.
"Do you do this with everyone?" he continued, his tone becoming more inquisitive and raw. "Does it amuse you to see how men go crazy for a schoolgirl who knows exactly where to touch and how to look? Tell me... does it turn you on knowing you have the power to turn a mature man into a desperate animal?"
Leeseo looked up, her eyes misty with tears of pleasure and a malice that hadn't faded. Despite being physically dominated, her smile was still there—small and poisonous.
"I love it..." she gasped, arching her back to squeeze him even tighter. "I love seeing how they break... I love knowing that you, the big man, the perfect father... are right now buried in your daughter's friend and can't stop shaking."
The man let out a guttural roar at her response. Leeseo's brutal honesty was the final trigger. There were no more questions or psychological pauses. The man began to move, but not with softness; he started with slow, heavy thrusts that made the desk screech against the floor (skree), deliberately seeking to rub the internal walls of Leeseo in every movement.
"Then you're going to learn what happens when a man gets tired of playing," he growled as he accelerated the pace. "You're going to feel exactly how much it can hurt and feel good to be fucked like the provocative bitch you are."
Leeseo let out a muffled scream when the first strong thrust hit her, feeling the man's dick claim her with animal fury. The sound of flesh colliding (clap) began to fill the study, and Leeseo closed her eyes, letting herself go with a current of pleasure that no longer had a name, while the risk of Eunchae waking up upstairs turned every thrust into an electric discharge of pure adrenaline.
The study had become an echo chamber where only the sound of the desk screeching and the wet, rhythmic, brutal noise of bodies colliding (clap, clap, clap) existed. The man's dick entered and exited with a force that made Leeseo's head bounce against the cold wood, but she didn't stop smiling. She was in the center of a hurricane of pleasure and sin, feeling how each thrust tore a moan from her that struggled not to become a scream that would wake the whole house.
The man was out of it. His hands no longer just held Leeseo's hips; now he gripped them with violent possessiveness, digging his fingers into her white flesh while moving with animal urgency. He stopped for a second, keeping his dick buried to the bottom, and looked at Leeseo with eyes that were pure fire and lustful contempt.
"Tell me..." he growled, his voice broken and raspy. "Tell me while I'm opening you up like this. How many more? How many men have you left crazy with your little good-girl game?"
Leeseo let out a giggle that sounded like pure sin, arching her back to squeeze him closer. Her breasts bounced violently against the man's chest, and sweat made their skins slide in an electric friction.
"Whoever wants it, daddy..." she gasped, digging her nails into the adult's shoulders. "I love seeing how they get. It fascinates me to see their faces when they realize the sweet girl has a hunger they can't fill. I'm a slut, right? A pretty little slut who knows exactly what to do to make a man forget his own name."
The man let out a guttural roar upon hearing that word. Leeseo's confession was like throwing gasoline on fire. The fact that she owned it, that she enjoyed her provocative nature while in her friend's house, drove the man insane.
"You are a slut..." he confirmed, thrusting into her with renewed force that made Leeseo let out a muffled cry. "A damn intelligent slut. You like playing with fire, don't you? It turns you on knowing half the world is drooling over you while you pretend not to know what's happening."
"It drives me crazy..." she replied, closing her eyes and throwing her head back. "It drives me crazy feeling how they want me... feeling like I'm a forbidden prize. And you're the best of all, daddy. There's nothing more exciting than seeing my daughter's father losing his dignity to lick my tits and fuck my ass in his own office."
"Shut up... just shut up!" he roared, though his words were a plea for her to continue. "I'm fed up with your games... but I love them. I love knowing you're a slut and that right now you're MY slut."
The pace became frantic. The man was no longer seeking slow pleasure; he sought destruction. Every thrust was a dry, deep hit that left Leeseo breathless. The sound of flesh colliding (clap) became faster and wetter, while the scent of sex and betrayal saturated the air.
"Keep going! Fuck me like you want to break me!" she screamed in a desperate whisper. "Make me remember this moment every time I look Eunchae in the face! Fill me up, damn it!"
The man let out an animal moan and accelerated, his hips moving with brute power that made the desk shake. Leeseo felt she was reaching the limit; the pressure in her belly was unbearable and the friction of the dick against her internal walls was taking her straight to a pleasure abyss. The risk of being caught, the rawness of the words, and the man's potency merged into a sensory storm that left her completely exposed.
"Look at me, slut!" he ordered, forcing her to open her eyes while he looked at her. "Look how I'm fucking you. Look at yourself right now, begging for more while your friend sleeps upstairs."
Leeseo looked at him and saw no trace of the responsible man; only an animal that possessed her with blind fury. She responded with a look of absolute triumph, knowing she had him exactly where she wanted: reduced to nothing but desire and flesh.
The study was no longer a room; it was an oven of flesh, sweat, and betrayal. The pace had become so frantic that the sound of bodies colliding (clap, clap, clap) was no longer rhythmic but chaotic—a storm of wet friction threatening to blow both their nerves. Leeseo was in a state of delirium; she felt the man's dick entering and exiting her like a hydraulic piston, hitting her cervix with a force that tore broken, desperate gasps from her.
"God... I can't take any more! I'm going to come!" the man roared, his voice now an animal growl, while his hands squeezed Leeseo's thighs with such violence that his fingers sank into her white skin.
Leeseo threw her head back, hitting the wood of the desk, eyes rolling back and tongue brushing her lips. She felt her own body start to betray her; the walls of her vagina contracted in involuntary spasms, trapping the man's thickness in a suffocating embrace that only accelerated the agony of pleasure.
"Do it! Come inside me, daddy!" she screamed in a torn whisper, digging her nails into the man's shoulders until she drew red furrows. "Fill me up! I want to feel how you mark me inside while your daughter sleeps upstairs! Make it impossible to forget me!"
That last sentence was the final trigger. The man let out a guttural moan, a sound born deep in his chest that echoed through the study. He buried his face in Leeseo's neck, biting her skin with brutal urgency, while his hips gave the last thrusts—deep and violent, seeking to reach the absolute limit.
"I'm coming! Damn it, I'm coming in you!" he screamed in a hoarse, desperate whisper.
In that instant, the world stopped. Leeseo felt an electric shock run down her spine and explode in her belly just as the man reached his climax. She felt the first hot, thick jet filling her interior—a visceral feeling of fullness that made her arch her back with a violent spasm. The hot fluid flooded her internal walls, wave after wave, while the man kept pulsing inside her, emptying himself completely in an orgasm that seemed endless.
Leeseo let out a muffled scream against the man's skin, feeling her own climax hit her in successive waves, leaving her shaking and breathless. Her breasts bounced against the adult's sweaty chest, and the moisture of the sex kept them stuck in a suffocating union. The sound of their erratic, heavy breathing filled the void left by the noise of colliding flesh.
They stayed like that for several minutes, fused in an embrace of exhaustion and sin. The man didn't withdraw immediately; he stayed leaning over her, his body weight crushing her against the desk, while their hearts beat in unison, hammering against ribs like trapped animals.
Slowly, the man pulled away. The sound of the dick sliding out of Leeseo's moisture was wet and slow (plok). Leeseo let out a sigh of emptiness, feeling the hot semen start to slide down her thighs, staining the wood of the desk and the lace of her displaced thong.
The silence that returned to the study was now much heavier than before. It wasn't a peace silence, but a devastating emotional hangover. The man stepped away, looking at his shiny, wet dick, then looked at Leeseo. The girl was sprawled on the wood, hair messy, lips swollen and gaze lost in the ceiling. Her breasts still rose and fell violently from lack of air, and the man's mark was imprinted on every inch of her skin.
Leeseo turned her head slowly and looked at him. There was no regret in her eyes; only a cold, predatory satisfaction.
"Look at yourself now, daddy..." she whispered, voice broken but full of triumph. "Look in the mirror. You're not the perfect father anymore. Now you're just a man who came inside his daughter's friend."
The man didn't respond. He covered his face with his hands, letting out a shaky sigh that sounded like total defeat. He had obtained the most intense pleasure of his life, but he knew the price was his own dignity. Leeseo, instead, licked her lips and smiled inwardly. She had him dominated. The bond was sealed not only by flesh, but by the filth of the secret they now shared.
The study remained in a deathly silence, broken only by their heavy breathing and the rhythmic drip of some faucet in the distant kitchen. Leeseo stayed lying on the desk for a few more moments, feeling her body vibrate in a hangover of pleasure and exhaustion. The cold air of the room hit her sweaty skin, sending shivers that made her nipples harden once more. She looked at the man; he was still there, standing like a salt statue, gaze empty and face distorted, processing the magnitude of the abyss he had just fallen into.
Leeseo sat up slowly, moving with an almost feline leisure. She was in no rush. She enjoyed the image of the defeated man. She slid off the desk and immediately felt the thick, hot fluid sliding down her thighs toward her knees. She didn't bother to clean herself; on the contrary, that viscous trail was her trophy—the physical mark that she had possessed him mentally while he possessed her physically.
She bent down to pick up her thong from the floor. The lace was wet and deformed from the struggle. She pulled it up with a rough movement, feeling the fabric stick to her soaked pussy, trapping the semen against her skin. She didn't care about the discomfort; every time she took a step, she felt the moisture crushing between her lips, reminding her at every inch of movement that she was full of him. She put on her pleated skirt, which now felt heavy and cold against her wet thighs, and adjusted her white shirt, now wrinkled and smelling intensely of sex and tobacco. Finally, she put on her oversized cardigan, wrapping herself in that mask of fragility once more.
"It was a pleasure, daddy," she whispered, casting one last look full of malice before leaving the study silently.
The walk back to the room was a delicious torture. She climbed the stairs feeling the fluid dripping slowly down the inside of her thighs, staining the fabric of her underwear. Entering the room, Eunchae didn't even move; she was still submerged in a deep and heavy sleep. Leeseo slid into bed, but couldn't sleep immediately. She spent hours staring at the ceiling, feeling the pulsing of her own body and the heat of the semen drying slowly inside her, creating a dirty feeling of fullness that made her smile in the dark.
The next morning arrived with a white, cruel light that seemed to want to expose all the house's secrets. Leeseo woke up feeling renewed, though the feeling of moisture between her legs persisted—a viscous reminder of the previous night. She dressed carefully, making sure to look as innocent and sweet as day one, though inside she felt like a predator who had just finished a feast.
While bringing down the bags, Eunchae was excited, telling her how much she'd miss her and when they'd see each other again. Leeseo nodded and laughed with that melodic voice, but her eyes were fixed on the hallway, waiting for the man to appear.
When Eunchae's father appeared in the living room, the air became dense instantly. He couldn't look her in the eye; his gaze avoided Leeseo's, fixed on some indeterminate point on the floor. He looked tired, with deep dark circles and a rigid posture, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was devastated, but Leeseo could tell that despite the guilt, his body reacted to her. She could see how his hands shook slightly and how his breathing became erratic the moment she approached.
"Well... I'm leaving now," Leeseo said, stopping right in front of him while Eunchae finished closing the back door.
Leeseo leaned slightly forward, letting the scent of her sweet perfume hit the man's face. In a quick movement almost imperceptible to anyone not paying attention, she brushed her hip against his leg—a fleeting contact but loaded with violent electricity.
"Thanks for everything, sir," she whispered, lowering her voice to a forbidden purr. "I had an... incredibly good time. I hope you keep my photos safe."
The man let out a shaky sigh and, for a brief second, looked up. His eyes met Leeseo's and she saw hunger, fear, and addiction mixed in one expression. There were no words, only a silent promise that this dark bond wouldn't be broken by a goodbye.
"Bye, daddy," she added with an angelic smile before turning around and walking toward the car, knowing she was leaving behind a psychologically shattered man completely addicted to the taste of her betrayal.
The house had returned to a deathly silence, but it was a fake calm, loaded with a tension that still floated in the air. Eunchae was alone in the living room, submerged in a soft melancholy after her friend's departure. While picking up some things left behind, her eyes caught her father's phone, which he had forgotten on the study table in his dazed state.
Out of pure curiosity, and with the blind trust a daughter has for her father, she took the device. There was no password; the screen was open to the gallery.
Eunchae felt the world stop. The air became glacial and her fingers started shaking violently as she scrolled through the screen. There they were. Photos of Leeseo. But not the Leeseo she knew. They were raw, vulgar images; her friend in obscene poses, skirt up, exposing her ass and breasts under a light that screamed sin. She saw Leeseo's expression in the photos: that predatory look, that malicious smile she had never shown her.
The shock was a physical blow that left her stomach churning. Eunchae felt a bitter nausea rise in her throat as she processed the double betrayal. Her father, the man who was her pillar; and Leeseo, the girl she called "best friend," who had infiltrated her home to use her father as a sex toy.
But then, something happened. The pain and disappointment didn't turn into tears, but into a cutting coldness. Her pupils dilated and the shaking of her hands stopped, replaced by a glacial rigidity. She looked at the photo of Leeseo—so pretty, so innocent in appearance—and felt a deep disgust that quickly transformed into a hunger for justice.
So this is what you are... Eunchae thought, while her knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. You think you're the hunter. You think you can walk into my house, fuck my father, and leave with a smile.
Eunchae closed her eyes for a second, imagining Leeseo's face when she realized she no longer controlled the secret. An idea started to form in her mind—a dark and meticulous plan. She wasn't going to scream, cry, or confront them right now. She knew exactly where Leeseo's weak points were: her public image, her career, her good-girl mask.
You want to play at being a professional slut, Leeseo... Eunchae reflected with terrifying calm while placing the phone exactly where she had found it. But you have no idea what happens when the prey learns how to bite.
Eunchae stood up and walked to the window, looking down the path Leeseo had taken. A cold, empty smile appeared on her lips. The game wasn't over; it had simply changed owners. And she would make sure Leeseo paid for every second of that betrayal with the most painful currency: her own destruction.
Even though your header is Dreamcatcher, there's surprisingly little content of them, haha. Not sure if there's any in your backlog but just wanted to start sending some, in case there isn't. Cheers!
(Dreamcatcher's Jiu X Male Reader) Wordcount: 1110 words
The forest is quiet except for the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. Golden sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled patterns across the mossy ground. You wait behind the old oak tree, heart pounding like it always does when you sneak away to meet her. Your hands are still numb from hammering steel earlier. Your clothes are simple and stained with soot. Nothing fit for royalty.
Then she appears. Jiu steps lightly between the trees in her flowing yellow gown, the intricate lace and tulle shimmering like captured sunlight. The strapless bodice hugs her chest, sparkling with delicate jewels, while the large, layered skirt sways. Her long dark hair cascades over one shoulder, and tiny crystals glitter beneath her eyes like teardrops of starlight. She looks every bit the princess she is...
But when her eyes find yours, her entire face softens into a smile that belongs only to you.
“You came.”
She lifts the heavy skirt with both hands and rushes toward you.
You meet her halfway, pulling her into your arms. The contrast is stark. Your rough blacksmith hands against the delicate silk of her gown.
“I always will.”
You murmur against her hair.
“Even if your father would have my head for it.”
She pulls back just enough to cup your face, admiring your features.
“Then let him try. These moments are worth any risk.”
Your lips meet in a desperate kiss, months of longing poured into every brush and press. Her mouth is soft and sweet, tasting faintly of the honeyed wine served at the palace. You kiss her deeper, hands sliding down her waist, feeling the corseted bodice and the flare of her hips beneath all that luxurious fabric.
“I missed you.”
She breathes between kisses.
“Every banquet, every ball… all I could think about was you.”
You rest your forehead against hers.
“And I thought of nothing but my princess while working the forge every day.”
She smiles, but there’s sadness in it.
“I wish things were different. If I weren’t the king’s daughter…”
You silence her with another kiss.
For now, the forest is your kingdom.
The two of you have moved deeper into the hidden glade, far from any trails. Jiu’s massive yellow gown is spread out beneath her like a golden blanket on the soft grass. She lies on her back, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes, the crystals under her eyes catching the light.
You hover over her, shirt already discarded, muscles honed from years at the forge. Your hands tremble slightly with reverence as you push the layered tulle of her skirt higher, bunching the fabric around her waist. She’s bare beneath, no undergarments, just what she teased you with in her last letter. Her smooth thighs part for you willingly.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Your fingers trace up her inner thigh. She gasps when you brush against her folds, circling her clit with slow, teasing strokes.
“Touch me.”
Jiu pleads.
“I’ve waited so long.”
You slide two fingers inside her, curling them gently while your thumb continues teasing her clit. She arches her back, the bodice of her gown straining against her breasts. The sight of the elegant princess writhing in the grass, her royal dress ruined with dirt and grass stains, makes your cock throb painfully against your trousers.
You lean down and kiss her again, swallowing her moans as you pump your fingers faster. Her hips roll against your hand, chasing the pleasure. When you add a third finger, stretching her, she cries out, nails digging into your shoulders.
“I need you…Please… I want to feel all of you.”
You pull your fingers free and quickly free your cock. Positioning yourself between her spread thighs, you rub the head along her slick entrance before pushing in slowly. The tightness is overwhelming. She’s hot, wet velvet gripping every inch as you sink deeper.
Jiu moans, legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer.
“Yes… just like that.”
You bottom out with a groan, staying still for a moment to savor the feeling. Then you begin to move with slow, deep thrusts that make her full skirt rustle. The contrast is intoxicating. The delicate, sparkling princess beneath you, moaning like a commoner’s lover while her royal gown pools around her like spilled sunlight.
You pick up speed, fucking her harder, the wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the glade. Jiu’s hands clutch at your back, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Her breasts nearly spill out of the jeweled bodice with every one of your thrusts.
“Harder.”
Her voice sounds a little more demanding. For a moment you wonder if that’s what she sounds like in the palace when she orders servants around. But you can’t form a picture in your head. The Jiu you love has been nothing more than the personification of beauty and happiness.
Now, her voice breaks.
“I’m yours…only yours.”
You grip her hips and drive into her with everything you have, the slap of skin on skin echoing. One hand slides up to pull down the front of her dress, freeing her breasts. You lean down and capture a nipple in your mouth, sucking and biting gently while you pound into her.
Jiu’s moans grow louder and more desperate. Her walls start fluttering around you, tightening rhythmically.
“I’m close-don’t stop!”
You thrust faster, grinding against her with every stroke. She shatters moments later, crying out your name as her orgasm washes over her. Her pussy pulses tightly around your cock, milking you, her entire body trembling beneath you in the golden dress.
The sight and sensation push you over the edge. With a deep groan, you bury yourself to the hilt and cum hard, filling her with thick, hot spurts. You keep moving through it, grinding deep until every drop is spent inside her.
For a long moment, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and the rustling leaves. You stay buried inside her, leaning down to kiss her softly on the forehead, cheeks, lips. The crystals under her eyes are slightly out of place now, her hair a mess, her royal gown wrinkled and grass stained.
Jiu smiles up at you, cupping your face with both hands.
“I don’t care what my father says. My heart belongs to the blacksmith’s son.”
You kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the stolen moment. The forest keeps your secret for now, but both of you know the danger is always waiting beyond the trees.
Still, as you hold her in the golden sunlight, her body warm and soft beneath yours, you know every risk is worth it.
What is the responsibilities of the member of The Host Committee of The Met Gala? What is this Hidden Room in Met??
The shift from playful dancing to outright seduction happened so gradually that I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, but suddenly everything felt charged with a different kind of energy. The men surrounding me weren't just dancing anymore – they were touching me with deliberate intent, their hands lingering on my waist, sliding down to my hips, occasionally brushing against the curve of my ass as we moved together. And I? I was eating it up, pressing back against their touches shamelessly, grinding my body against whoever was closest with increasingly explicit movements that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My blazer had long since been abandoned somewhere, leaving me in just my white bra and pants, my skin glistening with sweat under the dim lights as I moved between all ten of them like the shameless slut I was proud to be.
Damson pulled me back against him again, but this time his hands slid from my hips to my stomach, his fingers splaying possessively across my bare skin as he ground his very hard cock against my ass. I could feel exactly how much he wanted me, and instead of being subtle about it, I pushed back harder, rotating my hips in a way that made him groan directly in my ear. ASAP Rocky was in front of me now, his eyes dark with lust as he watched me grinding on Damson, and when I reached out to trail my fingers down his chest, he caught my hand and brought it lower, pressing my palm against his own obvious erection through his pants. The bold move made me gasp and then laugh breathlessly, my pussy absolutely flooding with arousal at the shameless display.
"Fuck, Lisa, you're killing us out here," Lewis Hamilton said from beside me, his hand sliding up my side to brush just under my breast, testing boundaries that I had absolutely no intention of enforcing. I turned my head to look at him, my expression pure mischief and lust, and deliberately pressed my chest forward so his hand made fuller contact.
"Killing you? Baby, I'm just warming up," I purred back, my voice dripping with seduction. The circle of men around me erupted in appreciative groans and laughter, and I felt hands everywhere now – on my waist, my hips, my thighs, my back. Nothing overtly sexual enough to cross lines in this public space, but intimate enough that everyone watching knew exactly what was happening. Bad Bunny moved behind me as Damson shifted to my side, and I immediately pressed my ass back against him, grinding shamelessly as his hands gripped my hips tightly.
"Yo, Lisa, real talk though," Kareem Rahma called out, his voice playful but edged with genuine desire as he danced closer, his hand trailing down my arm. "When are you gonna stop torturing us and head to that Hidden Room? Because I don't know how much longer I can watch you move like this without completely losing my mind."
That question opened the floodgates. Suddenly all ten men were chiming in, their voices overlapping with excitement and barely contained hunger:
"Yeah, Lisa, when? You've been teasing us all night!"
"I've been thinking about fucking you since Anna told us you were chosen."
"Come on, baby, don't make us wait too much longer."
"We're dying here, Lisa. Look at what you're doing to us."
I threw my head back and laughed, the sound genuine and delighted, loving every second of their desperate attention. My hands trailed up my own body slowly, deliberately, running over my stomach and up to cup my breasts through my bra as I continued moving sensually between them. Their eyes tracked every movement like starving men watching food, and the power I felt in that moment was absolutely intoxicating.
"Soon, boys, soon," I teased breathlessly, spinning around to face Bad Bunny and pressing my body flush against his, my arms looping around his neck as I ground against him shamelessly. "You really think I'm gonna rush the best night of my life? I want to savor this – savor all of you desperate and hard and aching for me. Besides, we still have time before everything's set up properly." I punctuated my words by rolling my hips against Bad Bunny's obvious erection, making him curse under his breath, before spinning away to dance against Jeremy Pope, my ass pressing back against his crotch as my hands reached back to grip his thighs.
"You're actually evil," Diplo said with a laugh, though his hand was sliding possessively around my waist from the side. "Beautiful, sexy as fuck, and absolutely evil."
"Evil? Or just giving you something to really look forward to?" I shot back with a wicked grin, reaching out to trail my fingers along Colman Domingo's jaw as he moved closer. "Trust me, when I finally walk into that Hidden Room and you all get to have me however you want – every hole, every position, no limits – you're gonna appreciate that I made you wait. Made you so desperate that you're gonna fuck me like the shameless little slut I am until I can't walk straight for a week."
My explicit words had the desired effect – I heard multiple sharp intakes of breath, felt hands tightening on my body, saw the pure hunger in all their eyes. Adam Badaiwi pulled me against him from behind, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke:
"You promise we can have you however we want? No holding back?"
I turned my head to meet his intense gaze, my smile absolutely filthy with promise. "Baby, I'm gonna be your perfect little fucktoy. Whatever you want, however you want it. That's what I'm here for – to be used and filled and ruined by all of you incredible men. So yeah..." I ground back against him hard, feeling his cock pressing insistently against my ass, "...soon. Very soon. But right now? Right now I'm having too much fun watching you all lose your minds wanting me."
The moment Bad Bunny brought up Tokyo, I felt my cheeks flush with genuine heat – a rare occurrence for someone as shameless as me. The memory came flooding back: March 7th, his Spotify Billion Club concert, the electric energy backstage after his performance, and yes, absolutely, we'd made out like teenagers in one of the dressing rooms.
Multiple times. His hands had been everywhere, and I'd been just as eager, pressed up against the wall while crew members walked past the door completely oblivious. The blush spreading across my face now made all ten men burst into laughter, their teasing energy shifting from purely sexual to something more playful and genuine.
"Oh my GOD, Benito!" I shrieked, using Bad Bunny's real name as I playfully smacked his arm, though I was laughing too hard for it to have any real force behind it. "You're really gonna expose me like that in front of everyone?"
"Expose you? Lisa, baby, I think everyone here already knows you get around," Kareem jumped in with a huge grin, earning more laughter from the group. "The real question is – how many songs does BLACKPINK have? Like, what, fifty? Sixty total including solo work?"
"Around that, yeah," Wisdom Kaye added helpfully, clearly setting up the punchline.
"Right, so Lisa's out here with more bodies than bars," ASAP Rocky finished, and the entire circle erupted in laughter and whoops. I covered my face with my hands, laughing so hard my stomach hurt, my embarrassment genuine but also mixed with pride because honestly? They weren't wrong, and I had zero shame about it.
"You guys are TERRIBLE!" I protested through my laughter, dropping my hands to reveal my grin. "I can't believe y'all are coming for me like this! I'm out here living my best life, and this is the treatment I get?"
"Living your best life? Girl, you're living your BEST lives – plural," Diplo chimed in, his DJ humor making everyone crack up again. Even I had to admit that was a good one, shaking my head while continuing to dance, my movements now more playful than seductive as the energy shifted to something lighter and more joyful.
Lewis Hamilton moved closer, still laughing as he danced beside me, his hand resting casually on my lower back. "But for real though, that Tokyo story – were you at least subtle about it, or did the entire stadium know what was happening backstage?"
Bad Bunny answered before I could, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Subtle? This one? Nah, man. I came out for my encore and my lips were swollen as fuck. My makeup artist was pissed."
I gasped in mock offense, though I was grinning from ear to ear. "Okay, FIRST of all, your lips were already swollen from performing for two hours! Second of all, you're the one who pulled me into that dressing room, so don't act like I corrupted innocent little Benito!"
"Innocent? Him?" Jeremy Pope laughed, gesturing at Bad Bunny. "Please, I've heard stories."
"Everyone's heard stories," Colman Domingo added with his sophisticated smile. "But I have to say, Lisa, the fact that you're blushing right now is absolutely adorable. Who knew the woman who was just grinding on all of us like a professional could get flustered?"
I stuck my tongue out at him playfully, spinning in a circle with my arms spread wide as the music shifted to something more upbeat and fun. "I'm a woman of many talents! I can be a shameless slut AND have feelings, thank you very much! Multitasking is my specialty!"
That earned another round of laughter and appreciative comments from the men, and I felt the atmosphere settle into something perfect – still flirtatious, still charged with the promise of what was coming later, but also genuinely fun and joyful. We continued dancing together, the teasing continuing but now mixed with genuine conversation about music, fashion, and ridiculous industry gossip. Adam told a story about a disastrous photoshoot that had everyone crying with laughter. Damson shared behind-the-scenes drama from his latest show. The energy was pure celebration – ten successful, attractive people enjoying each other's company without overthinking it.
This was exactly what I loved about nights like this: yes, I knew where it would end, knew that soon enough I'd be in that Hidden Room fulfilling my role as their collective fucktoy. But right now, in this moment, I was just Lisa – dancing, laughing, being teased by friends who appreciated both my talent and my shameless sexuality. And honestly? That felt fucking perfect.
After what felt like hours of dancing and laughing with my incredible circle of men, I heard Paul Anthony Kelly calling my name from across the room, his camera man already raised with his camera and that signature photographer energy radiating off him. I immediately broke away from the group with an excited squeal, my body still buzzing with adrenaline and arousal as I made my way over to where he was setting up a group shot. Chase was already there looking absolutely stunning in her golden outfit, and within moments Ningning and Karina from AESPA had joined us too, their faces lighting up when they saw me. Samuel Hine from GQ was adjusting his jacket, looking effortlessly cool as always, and we all clustered together in front of Paul's lens, our bodies pressed close in that casual but deliberate way that made for the best candid shots.
"Lisa! You're glowing! What have you been up to?" Ningning teased in Korean as we posed together, her arm looping around my waist. I could feel the sweat still cooling on my skin, my bra slightly askew from all the grinding and dancing, but I just grinned wider.
"Just living my best life, obviously," I replied in Korean, earning giggles from both her and Karina. The camera man snapped several shots of us laughing together,
the energy playful and genuine, before calling for different configurations – just me and Chase, then me with Samuel, then all of us together in various poses. I was having so much fun that I almost forgot about the Hidden Room waiting for me... almost. But then, just as Paul was reviewing his shots and complimenting our chemistry, I felt strong hands grab me from behind, spinning me around with enough force to make me yelp in surprise.
Shaboozey's grinning face greeted me, his energy infectious as he pulled not just me but Chase, Ningning, Karina, and Samuel closer into his orbit, his excitement palpable. Behind him I could see several of the men from my earlier dance circle – Damson, Bad Bunny, Rocky – all watching with amused expressions, clearly having sent Shaboozey over as their messenger.
"Yo, Lisa, seriously though – when is this Hidden Room thing starting? Because the suspense is literally killing everyone," Shaboozey said with a huge smile, though his eyes were dark with genuine hunger. His question made Ningning and Karina exchange slightly confused glances, clearly not privy to that particular secret, while Chase just smirked knowingly. I reached up to playfully push Shaboozey's shoulder, my expression pure mischief as I felt multiple eyes from across the room locked on our interaction.
"You boys are SO impatient! I swear, it's like dealing with children who can't wait for Christmas morning," I teased back, my voice carrying just enough to reach the other men watching us. I saw Rocky shake his head with a laugh, and Damson called out something that was drowned out by the music but made everyone around him crack up. "It'll start when it starts, baby. Good things come to those who wait... and trust me, I'm gonna be SO worth the wait."
Shaboozey groaned dramatically but was grinning from ear to ear, and then suddenly his hand came up to wrap around my neck – not squeezing, just resting there possessively as he pulled me against his side. "Alright, but if we're waiting, at least give me a photo to remember this torture by. Paul! Get this shot!"
The camera man immediately raised his camera again, and I instinctively leaned into Shaboozey's hold, tilting my head slightly to give the perfect angle.
The position was intimate and suggestive, his hand around my throat making the power dynamic crystal clear even in a casual photo, and I could feel my pussy clench with fresh arousal at the promise it represented. The camera flashed several times as we held the pose, my expression confident and teasing while Shaboozey's was pure hunger barely restrained. When the camera man finally lowered his camera and gave us a thumbs up, Shaboozey's hand lingered for just a moment longer before releasing me, his fingers trailing down my neck in a deliberately possessive gesture that made me shiver.
"Soon," I promised again, reaching up to straighten my bra with shameless confidence as both Ningning and Karina watched with wide eyes. "Very, very soon. But right now, I'm gonna enjoy every second of watching you all squirm."
As soon as I pulled away from Shaboozey and the photo group, I felt it – that magnetic pull drawing me right back to where I belonged. The circle of ten men had maintained their spot on the dance floor, their energy calling to me like a beacon, and I didn't even hesitate before gravitating back toward them. There was something about their collective masculine presence that made me feel alive in a way nothing else could – the way they moved with confidence, the casual dominance in how they claimed space, the raw sexual energy mixed with genuine joy. Lewis saw me approaching first and immediately extended his hand, pulling me back into their orbit with a grin that made my stomach flip. Within seconds I was back in the center of them all, my body moving to the heavy bass as hands found my waist, my hips, my back – all those casual bold touches that had become so normalized throughout the night that none of us even thought twice about them anymore.
Bad Bunny's hand slid up my spine as I danced, his fingers tracing my vertebrae through my sweat-slicked skin while he talked animatedly with ASAP Rocky about some collaboration they were planning. I pressed back against him instinctively, my ass grinding against his crotch while I listened to their conversation, genuinely interested in the creative process they were describing even as I shamelessly used his body for my own pleasure. Rocky's hand came to rest on my bare stomach, his thumb stroking my skin absently while he spoke, the casual intimacy of the touch making my pussy clench. This was what I loved – being their collective dance partner, their shared entertainment, existing in this space where I could be both respected for my mind and desired for my body simultaneously.
"So wait, you're telling me you produced that entire track in one night?" I asked Rocky incredulously, turning slightly in Bad Bunny's hold to face him better. Damson moved in closer on my other side, his hand sliding from my hip to cup my ass boldly as he joined the conversation, the touch so casual and natural that I barely registered it beyond the spark of arousal it sent through me.
"One night, straight through until like 7 AM," Rocky confirmed with pride, his hand still resting possessively on my stomach. "Sometimes the best shit comes when you just lock yourself in and don't overthink it, you know?"
"That's literally how I approach choreography," I replied excitedly, my hands gesturing animatedly as I spoke, completely unbothered by Damson's hand squeezing my ass or Jeremy Pope sliding up behind me to press his chest against my back. "Like, when we were preparing for our Coachella performance, I spent an entire night just freestyling movements until something clicked. Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts and let the creativity flow."
Lewis Hamilton moved in front of me now, his sophisticated smile directed at my face even as his hands found my hips, guiding my movements against Jeremy behind me. "I get that same feeling with racing lines sometimes. Everyone thinks it's all calculated, but there's this moment when you just feel the car and know exactly what to do without thinking."
Colman Domingo laughed from beside us, his hand trailing up my arm as he danced. "Listen to us – a rapper, a dancer, a racer, and an actor all basically describing the same creative process. That's beautiful, actually."
"It really is," I agreed breathlessly, spinning between them so my back was now against Damson instead of Jeremy, my hands reaching up to loop around his neck while I continued facing the others. "This is what I love about nights like this – yeah, we're all gonna fuck later and it's gonna be incredible, but right now? Right now we're just vibing, talking about our passions, enjoying each other's company. You know how rare that is? To find people who appreciate both sides?"
Diplo appeared with fresh drinks for several of us, his free hand immediately finding my waist as he handed me a glass. "Cheers to that – to finding people who understand that you can be brilliant AND a freak."
"I'll drink to that!" I laughed, raising my glass as the others did the same, the toast turning into more dancing as the music shifted to something faster and more intense. And just like that we were back to pure movement and joy, my body grinding against whoever was closest while conversations flowed around me – some about music, some about fashion, some absolutely filthy promises about what was coming later, but all of it natural and perfect and exactly where I wanted to be.
---- Few moments later ----
The moment I saw Fai Khadra walking into our circle alongside Shaboozey, my entire face lit up with genuine excitement. Fai and I had this amazing history through Jennie – they'd been friends forever, and let's just say I'd heard PLENTY of stories about their hookups over the years. Which meant there was absolutely zero awkwardness between us, just pure comfortable shamelessness. Before I could even move toward him, Fai's hands were already reaching for me, pulling me away from Damson with a huge grin on his gorgeous face. I went willingly, laughing as I crashed against his chest, my hands immediately finding his shoulders as the music pulsed around us.
"Fai! Oh my god, when did you get here?" I squealed, already starting to move my hips against him in that familiar rhythm we'd found countless times before at various parties. His hands slid down to my waist possessively, and I felt that delicious spark of recognition – this man knew exactly how I liked to be touched, had probably learned it from comparing notes with Jennie. The thought made me grin wickedly as I began grinding on him properly, my movements bold and shameless because why the fuck wouldn't they be? Fai had seen me in far more compromising positions than this.
"Just got here like ten minutes ago. Shaboozey said you were holding court with half the industry, so obviously I had to come see for myself," Fai replied, his voice low and amused as his hands tightened on my waist, guiding my movements against him. "Jennie texted me earlier saying you were about to have the night of your life. I'm assuming this is what she meant?"
That made me laugh outright, my head falling back as I continued dancing, and suddenly I felt too constrained by my blazer. Without even thinking about it, I reached up and shrugged the white fabric off one shoulder,
letting it hang loosely and expose even more of my skin, my white bra now almost completely visible. The movement was deliberate and shameless, and I saw Fai's eyes darken with appreciation as he took in the view. Behind him, I could hear ASAP Rocky wolf-whistle while Bad Bunny called out something in Spanish that made everyone laugh. I just grinned wider, pressing myself even closer to Fai as I ground my hips against his in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"Oh, Jennie doesn't know the HALF of it," I teased, my hands sliding up to loop around Fai's neck as I moved with him. "But yes, tonight is definitely going to be memorable. And more importantly, when are you two gonna stop pretending you're just friends and actually make it official?"
Fai laughed, spinning me around so my back was pressed against his chest, his hands splayed across my bare stomach possessively as we continued dancing. Lewis and Colman moved in closer on either side of us, clearly enjoying the show, while Jeremy and Wisdom were having their own conversation nearby but kept glancing over with obvious interest. The energy was perfect – playful and sexual and completely comfortable all at once.
"Jennie and I have an understanding," Fai replied against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. "Just like I'm guessing you and I have an understanding right now. She told me to come take care of you tonight, make sure you're having fun. So here I am, taking care of you."
His hands slid lower on my stomach, not quite reaching my pussy but close enough to make my breath hitch, and I ground my ass back against him shamelessly, feeling his hardness through his pants. God, I'd forgotten how good Fai felt when he was turned on. Shaboozey appeared beside us with drinks, laughing at how quickly I'd gone from dancing with the whole group to being completely wrapped up in Fai's arms, and I just stuck my tongue out at him playfully while continuing to move my body in ways that were absolutely indecent for a public party. While also Ningning had joined us too with me Ningning and Fai dancing,
But that was the beauty of nights like this – with these people, in this space, I could be exactly who I was without apology.
---- After some time ----
The moment Fai's hands tightened on my waist and he spun me around to face him, I felt the energy in our circle shift completely. The playful dancing suddenly became charged with pure sexual intent, and when Fai leaned down – his eyes locked on mine with that hungry look I'd seen so many times through Jennie's stories – I knew exactly what was about to happen. His lips crashed against mine with no hesitation, hot and demanding, and I immediately opened my mouth to let his tongue slide inside. The kiss was absolutely filthy, our tongues tangling together as his hands gripped my bare waist possessively, and I moaned into his mouth shamelessly, my body melting against his. The sound that erupted from the men around us was deafening – shouts, whistles, encouragement, celebration – and it only made me kiss Fai harder, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I poured every ounce of my arousal into that connection.
When Fai finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, and I could see the same hunger reflected in every single face surrounding us. The Hidden Room had officially begun, and my pussy was already soaking wet with anticipation. Before I could even catch my breath properly, Shaboozey was there, his hand cupping my jaw as he turned my face toward him.
"My turn," he said with that gorgeous grin, and then his mouth was on mine, kissing me with enthusiasm and heat that made my knees weak. I whimpered into the kiss, my hands coming up to grip his shirt as I kissed him back just as eagerly, feeling the other men pressing closer around us, their hands never leaving my body even as Shaboozey claimed my mouth. When he pulled away, Bad Bunny was already moving in, not even giving me a moment to recover.
Bad Bunny's kiss was familiar from our Tokyo hookup, but somehow even more intense in this context – his hands tangling in my hair as he kissed me deeply, possessively, reminding me exactly what his mouth was capable of. I was completely lost in sensation, my body being passed from man to man like their shared toy, and god it felt incredible. Paul Anthony Kelly was next, his kiss surprisingly gentle compared to the others but no less passionate, followed immediately by Samuel Hine who kissed me like he was trying to devour me whole. My lipstick was completely destroyed by now, smeared across all their mouths, but none of us cared. Adam Badaiwi's kiss was confident and skilled, making me moan loudly enough that everyone laughed, and then Kareem Rahma was spinning me around to press me against his chest as he captured my lips.
Colman Domingo's kiss was the most intense yet – slow and deliberate and absolutely devastating, his hands cradling my face like I was something precious even as his tongue fucked my mouth filthily. Diplo followed, his kiss playful and teasing, making me giggle against his lips before he bit my lower lip hard enough to make me gasp. Wisdom Kaye's tall frame bent down to reach me, his kiss sweet but hungry, and Jeremy Pope kissed me like he'd been waiting all night for this moment, his hands gripping my ass boldly as our tongues tangled. Finally, Damson Idris pulled me against him, and his kiss was pure sin – deep and demanding and possessive in a way that made my entire body shudder with need.
"Holy fuck," I breathed when Damson finally released me, my voice wrecked and my body trembling as I stood in the center of all twelve men, every single one of them looking at me like they wanted to devour me. "That was... god, that was just the beginning, wasn't it?"
The grins on their faces and the obvious bulges in their pants told me everything I needed to know, and I felt a fresh wave of wetness soak my already drenched panties as I realized this night was about to get so much better.
The second those words left my mouth about heading to the Hidden Room, everything shifted into pure chaotic energy. Before I could even take a step, Lewis Hamilton swept me up into his arms bridal style,
and I squealed with delight. The entire group immediately surrounded us like a pack of hungry wolves, and we started moving through the penthouse as one collective mass of sexual energy and anticipation. I tried to give directions between breathless laughs and moans, pointing toward the far hallway while Colman Domingo leaned down to capture my lips in another searing kiss, his tongue sliding into my mouth possessively even as Lewis continued carrying me forward.
"Down that hallway, past the bar area, there's a hidden door on the—oh fuck!" My directions were cut off by Damson's hand sliding up to grope my breast through my white bra, his fingers finding my nipple and pinching it roughly enough to make me arch against Lewis's chest. Bad Bunny moved in from the other side, his hand joining Damson's to squeeze my other breast, and suddenly both my tits were being fondled shamelessly as we walked. Jeremy Pope's hand slid up my thigh from below where Lewis held me, his fingers trailing dangerously close to my soaking wet pussy, and I whimpered loudly, my head falling back as pleasure sparked through every nerve ending.
"Keep giving directions, beautiful," Lewis murmured against my ear, his arms tightening around me possessively. "We need to know where we're taking you to ruin you properly."
"Left at the bar!" I managed to gasp out, only to have Shaboozey lean in to suck on my exposed neck, surely leaving a mark that would be visible for days. Fai Khadra's hand joined the others groping my ass from below, squeezing the flesh hard enough to make me moan. "The panel with the—god, yes, right there—the panel with the gold trim. You have to press it twice and—"
Paul Anthony Kelly cut me off with another deep kiss, his tongue fucking my mouth thoroughly while Samuel Hine's hands worked to push my bra cups down slightly, exposing more of my breasts to Damson and Bad Bunny's eager touches. I was completely overwhelmed with sensation, being passed between their mouths and hands like their collective fuck toy even before we reached our destination, and my pussy was absolutely dripping with need. Wisdom Kaye reached over to trace his fingers along my collarbone, while Kareem Rahma's hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head for better access as Adam Badaiwi captured my lips next. We were barely making progress toward the Hidden Room because they couldn't keep their hands and mouths off me, and honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.
"You're all so fucking impatient!" I laughed breathlessly when Adam finally released my mouth, my voice full of joy and arousal as I looked around at their hungry faces. "We're almost there, I promise. Just down this hallway and through that door, and then you can have me however you want. Every single one of you gets to use every single one of my holes until I'm completely ruined and filled with your cum. That's what you want, right? To gangbang me until I can't remember my own name?"
The collective groan that responded to my shameless words made my pussy clench with anticipation, and Diplo pressed closer to whisper hotly against my neck while his hand joined the others groping my ass.
"We're gonna fucking destroy you, Lisa. Make you our perfect little cumslut."
"God, I'm counting on it," I moaned, finally managing to point to the correct panel as we approached. "Right there. Press it twice and the door will open. And then... then the real fun begins."
Hastily many of them pressed the button twice and the door opened, the room is huge and immediately I was thrown on the bed.
The moment my back hit that massive bed, I let out a breathless laugh of pure exhilaration, my body bouncing slightly on the plush surface as I propped myself up on my elbows
to watch all fourteen men file into the Hidden Room. The click of the lock behind them sent a shiver of anticipation racing down my spine, and I bit my lip as I watched them take in their surroundings – the enormous bed that could easily fit half of us, the entertainment setup with the PS5 and massive TV, the fully stocked mini-fridge that promised we could keep this party going all night long, and all the furniture scattered around that I knew they were already mentally cataloging as potential fuck surfaces. The energy in the room was electric, charged with raw masculine hunger and the promise of absolute debauchery, and I was right at the center of it all, exactly where I belonged.
I slowly sat up on the bed, reaching behind to unclasp my white bra and toss it aside carelessly, finally freeing my breasts completely. My nipples were already hard peaks from all their earlier attention, and I made no move to cover myself as I watched fourteen pairs of eyes lock onto my exposed chest with obvious appreciation. Sliding off the bed, I stood before them in just my white pants, my hands trailing down my own body teasingly as I took in the sight of all these incredible men crowded into this space with me.
"So this is it, boys," I said with a wicked grin, my voice dripping with excitement and shameless arousal. "This whole room is ours for the entire night. That bed? That's where you're going to fuck me senseless, where you're gonna make me your perfect little cumslut. But I love that there's a PS5 and drinks too, because let's be real – not all fourteen of you can use me at once, right? So while some of you are destroying my holes, the others can relax, have a drink, play some games, and just... enjoy the show. Take turns ruining me. This is literally a fuck party where I'm the entertainment."
ASAP Rocky moved toward the fridge first, pulling out champagne bottles and passing them around while Wisdom Kaye immediately claimed the gaming setup, turning on the TV with an amused laugh. Fai Khadra settled into one of the chairs, spreading his legs confidently as he watched me with those knowing eyes that had seen Jennie in similar positions. The casual way they were claiming the space, making themselves comfortable while still looking at me like I was their meal for the night, made my pussy clench with need.
"Damn, this is actually perfect," Shaboozey said, cracking open a beer as he surveyed the room. "We can literally party all night, rotate who's fucking you, and nobody has to rush. This is gonna be fucking legendary."
I moved closer to the group, my hips swaying deliberately as I reached for one of the champagne bottles Bad Bunny held, taking a long sip directly from it before passing it to Colman Domingo beside me. The alcohol burned pleasantly down my throat, adding to the heat already building between my legs.
"I want you all to use me however you want," I continued shamelessly, my eyes moving from face to face, taking in Damson's hungry expression, Jeremy's obvious arousal, Paul's calculating gaze as he assessed the furniture options. "Fuck me on that bed, bend me over that table, make me ride you on those chairs while the others watch. Pass me around like the shameless fucktoy I am. Fill every single one of my holes with your cum until I'm overflowing. Ruin me completely. And when some of you need a break? Grab drinks, play games, talk shit, whatever – but I'll still be here, servicing whoever wants me next. I'm yours for the entire night, all fourteen of you, and I'm gonna make sure each and every one of you leaves here knowing you just had the best fuck of your life."
Lewis moved behind me, his large hand coming aroung my shoulder possessively as he pulled my ass against his obvious erection, and I moaned softly at the contact, grinding back against him while maintaining eye contact with the others.
Samuel Hine was already unbuttoning his shirt, while Diplo and Kareem exchanged excited grins. The anticipation was almost unbearable now – we were finally here, the night stretched endlessly before us, and I was about to fulfill my ultimate fantasy of being the collective slut for the most powerful, talented, gorgeous men I'd ever met.
Lisa circulated through the Met Gala afterparty with her white blazer open over a cream-colored bralette top, complemented by a light beige faux fur collar, white tailored trousers, and a delicate silver necklace with bright stones that glinted under the lights. She acted at events like this like a high-end luxury escort. Several clients had already paid amounts in advance through a discreet service, just for her to attend the event and be available. She was there to serve, and she served very well.
In a more secluded corner of the party, Lisa chatted with a small group of friends, all holding champagne glasses. The conversation was light and full of laughter. One of them, with a mischievous smile, commented:
— Wow, Lisa… you always show up at these events and disappear real quick. Must be “serving” a lot of important people, huh?
Another completed, laughing:
— Yeah, looks like your “work” today is pretty busy. Careful not to tire out your mouth, ok?
Lisa took a sip of her drink, laughed naturally, and responded without embarrassment, in a light and playful tone:
— Ah, girls, you know how it is… I like to give my best at what I do. When the client leaves satisfied, everyone wins. And look, the yield is usually pretty high. — She winked lightly, making her friends burst into laughter.
They continued the conversation for a few more minutes, Lisa drinking, laughing at the teasing, and responding with the same relaxed naturalness, never getting defensive.
Until at a certain point in the night, Lisa felt the urge to pee. She said goodbye to her friends with a smile and headed to the private bathroom of the venue, an elegant space with light flooring and soft lighting. The sound of her heels echoed faintly as she walked. She entered the bathroom, closed the main door, and chose the farthest stall, the last one in the row.
Inside the stall, Lisa locked the door with the latch, turned towards the toilet, and positioned herself in front of it. She lowered the white tailored trousers along with her delicate panties to her knees, sat down on the cold seat, and leaned forward slightly, her thighs slightly apart. The relief came almost immediately. A hot, continuous stream of pee began to fall into the toilet, filling the silence of the stall with a soft, rhythmic, constant sound. Lisa closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her body completely relax. The stream was strong at first, then slowly diminished, with a few final drops dripping. The faint smell of urine mixed with the expensive perfume she wore. She remained seated for a few more seconds after finishing, enjoying the pause, her hands resting on her own thighs.
While she was still sitting, finishing cleaning herself with toilet paper, she heard a deep male voice from the other side of the partition wall:
— Five thousand to suck this cock.
Lisa threw the paper in the toilet, pulled her panties and white trousers up (but didn't button them yet), and knelt on the cold, hard floor of the stall. She adjusted her open white blazer so it wouldn't get in the way and looked through the hole in the wall. Through it appeared a black cock, long, thick, and full of veins, swinging heavily in the air. It was semi-erect, the dark skin contrasting with the bright environment of the bathroom, the head already glistening with a bit of precum.
Lisa smiled triumphantly, her lips curved in a confident, almost superior grin.
She knew exactly how much that man desired to feel her soft, warm lips wrapping around that rigid, throbbing flesh, wanted to shove it deep into her mouth until she choked on the size, wanted to forcefully fuck her throat, wanted to see the thick, hot cum spurt onto her face, marking her skin, her silver necklace, and her cream top.
Without hesitating, Lisa reached out and grabbed the cock. The weight was impressive, the heat radiating into her palm. She began to caress it slowly, feeling the veins pulse under her fingers and the head swell more. The man on the other side hurried her, his voice hoarse:
— Bitch, I don't have all night.
Lisa laughed softly, provocatively, and brought the thick, swollen head to her mouth. Her lips stretched around the girth, swallowing the glans first. It was enormous, much bigger than the last guy's. She licked the head with her tongue, savoring the salty taste of the leaking precum. Then she started sucking for real, moving her head back and forth, swallowing as much as she could — just over half the length. She massaged the rest with both hands, twisting her wrists, squeezing the base, and pumping in the same rhythm as the suction.
Saliva started to accumulate quickly. Thick strands ran from the corners of her mouth, dripped onto her chin, and fell onto her top's neckline, forming wet, shiny stains. She sucked eagerly, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing firmly on the underside of the cock as she pulled hard. The member hardened completely inside her mouth, becoming even thicker, hotter, and more throbbing. The man groaned lowly on the other side, pushing his hips slightly against the hole in the wall.
She knew how much he yearned to fuck deep into her throat, hold her head, and use her like a warm, wet toy until he exploded. And she gave it all. She increased the rhythm, sucking faster and deeper, making wet, obscene sounds echo in the stall. Saliva streamed in strands down the cock and her chin, dripping onto the open white blazer and staining the top. Her hands worked non-stop on the base, squeezing, twisting, and pumping while she sucked eagerly.
The man warned, his voice hoarse and urgent:
— Gonna cum…
The first strong, hot spurt hit the back of Lisa's throat. She gagged slightly, her body trembling, but swallowed what she could. She quickly pulled the cock out of her mouth, and the rest of the cum jetted in thick, hot bursts onto her face: one blast hit her right cheek, another fell on her nose, a third struck her lips and ran down her chin. Part of the thick cum hit the silver necklace, dripping down the bright stones, and landed directly on the neckline of the cream top, staining the light fabric with wet, white patches.
Lisa, still smiling, put the cock back in her mouth while he continued to cum, sucking the last drops eagerly, licking the swollen head to clean it all. She swallowed the rest, feeling the strong, salty taste go down her throat. The cock pulsed a few more times and began to soften. She let it go slowly, licking her cum-stained lips. The member withdrew through the hole, and then a 1-dollar bill with a QR code was pushed through the hole to her side. Lisa put the bill in her blazer pocket.
She stayed kneeling for a few more seconds, catching her breath, her face shining with the hot cum that slowly ran down her chin and neckline. With the white blazer open, the stained cream top, and the dirty necklace, she looked even more provocative and satisfied. Lisa stood up, left the stall still with the strong taste of the first client in her mouth. She went to the bathroom sink, turned on the cold water tap, and leaned over, washing her mouth several times, spitting and running her tongue over her teeth. With wet hands, she tried to clean her face, lightly rubbing the cum stains that were already starting to dry on her cheek and chin. On the neckline of the cream top, there were still shiny traces, and she ran her finger over them trying to hide as much as possible, although she knew she wouldn't be able to erase it all. She adjusted the open white blazer over it, took a quick look in the mirror, and grabbed her makeup bag to touch up her makeup — applied new lipstick, fixed her mascara, and tried to disguise the shine the cum had left on her skin.
While she was focused on the mirror, the bathroom door opened, and one of her friends entered, also touching up her own lipstick.
— Served a client, huh? — asked the friend with a complicit little smile, no judgment, just curiosity.
Lisa stopped what she was doing for a second, felt her jaw ache slightly and her throat a little scratchy, a direct consequence of having swallowed such a thick, long cock. Her voice came out a bit hoarse when she replied:
— Yeah… I did. — She let out a low chuckle, running her finger over the corner of her mouth as if cleaning a bit of leftover lipstick. — It was… intense. I'm still feeling it here. — She lightly touched her own throat with her fingertips, feeling the residual heat and the slight difficulty swallowing.
Her friend laughed, finishing her lipstick.
— You washed your mouth too early. There was a line of men outside the bathroom when I arrived. Looked like they were waiting their turn.
Lisa's eyes widened, surprised and at the same time excited by the information. She finished putting away her makeup, slowly opened the bathroom door, and peeked outside. There were indeed four or five men leaning against the corridor wall, trying to look discreet, but clearly there because of the glory hole. She smiled maliciously, opened the door wider, and greeted them in a sexy, hoarse voice:
— Hey there, boys… ready to use my mouth? — she said, running her tongue slowly over her swollen lips. — Whoever wants can get in line properly.
She winked and slowly closed the door. The men entered the first stall (the one with the glory hole in the partition wall) while Lisa would stay in the second, kneeling and waiting.
Without rushing, Lisa began to undress right in the middle of the bathroom, in the sink area. First, she took off the white blazer, folded it carefully, and placed it on the marble counter next to the sink. Then, she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of the cream bralette top, and pulled it up slowly. Her round breasts sprang free, small and natural, with dark-pink nipples already hard and goosebumped from excitement and the cold bathroom air. She ran her hands under them, lifting them slightly as if showing them to herself, feeling the soft weight in her palm before letting the top fall to the floor, right by her feet.
Then came the trousers. She unzipped them, grabbed the sides, and lowered them slowly, bending her body forward. Her round, firm ass became prominent, the two firm, well-shaped cheeks separating slightly with the movement, revealing the thin panties that barely covered the middle of her ass. She took off one heel at a time, bracing herself on the sink, and only then managed to remove the trousers completely. She folded the garment neatly and placed it on top of the white blazer, forming an organized pile on the counter. She put her heels back on, now only in delicate white panties, the silver necklace with bright stones still shimmering against the bare skin of her breasts.
Her nipples remained hard, pointing forward, sensitive to the air. Her breasts swayed slightly with each step as she walked barefoot for a moment before putting her heels back on. Her ass swayed provocatively, the round, soft cheeks contrasting with the thin panties that rode up between them.
Lisa entered the second stall, closed the box door, and locked it from the inside. She knelt on the cold, hard floor, wearing only panties, heels, and necklace. She ran her hands over her breasts, squeezing them lightly, pinching her nipples with her fingers as she waited, already feeling the excitement grow between her legs. Her ass rested on her heels, her buttocks raised and on display for whoever entered the next stall.
She was ready. Almost naked, dirty with the previous client's cum, locked in the bathroom with a line of men outside waiting to use her mouth.
The first cock that appeared was black, 24 cm long, smooth and shiny, with heavy, full, well-shaven balls. Lisa smiled openly, her eyes shining with desire as she looked at it.
— What a beautiful big black cock… look at the size of that thing. And those heavy, smooth balls… so full for me. I'm going to take very good care of you.
She grabbed the base with one hand and started sucking the head, alternating between swallowing deep and going down to lick and suck the heavy balls, sucking one at a time. While doing this, her other hand squeezed her own breast, pinching the hard nipple and pulling lightly. She moaned lowly against the cock, clearly addicted to the taste and weight, murmuring between licks:
— Delicious… so hot and heavy on my tongue. I love these smooth balls.
When the man warned he was going to cum, she quickly returned to the head, swallowing the first strong spurts in her throat and then going back down to lick the balls while the rest of the cum was jetted onto her back and ran down the cock and her chin. Her face became dirty with cum and saliva. Lisa moaned with pleasure, rubbing her fingers over her own pussy through her wet panties, and spoke hoarsely, licking her lips:
— That's it… cum it all for me. Thick and tasty cum… running all down my chin.
When the cock softened and withdrew, Lisa stayed kneeling for a few seconds in the short interval. She ran her fingers over her chin and breasts, spreading the still-hot cum on her skin, then sucked her own fingers clean. She pinched her dirty nipples, moaning softly, and rubbed her pussy over her panties, eagerly, murmuring to herself:
— Next? I want more.
The second cock was very pale white, 25 cm, extremely veiny with thick blue veins all over, a dark purple cut head. As soon as it appeared, Lisa licked her dirty lips.
Lisa began a non-stop blowjob, going up and down fast, pressing her tongue against the bulging veins while her other hand went down and inside her panties, rubbing her swollen clit. During the sucking, she moaned and spoke against the cock:
— These veins… I can feel every single one pulsing on my tongue.
The climax came rhythmically and strong — six long, thick, hot spurts that seemed endless. Lisa moaned, vibrating on the cock, swallowing everything she could, but the volume was so much that she pulled the cock out a bit just to breathe, gagging slightly before quickly returning, swallowing the rest. When she finished, her face was red and panting, drooling, with cum running down her chin. She licked the head of the still-pulsing cock and murmured:
— What a delicious load… you almost choked me with so much milk.
In the short interval that followed, Lisa ran her tongue over her lips and chin, collecting what she could, then brought her fingers down to her breasts and spread the cum that ran down her hard nipples. She squeezed her own breasts with both hands, massaging the mixture of saliva and cum into her skin, moaning softly while rubbing her clit more eagerly. She looked at the empty hole and spoke hoarsely:
— More… give me the next one now.
The third cock appeared, it was light brown, 23 centimeters, thick, with lots of sensitive skin and a pinkish head that looked almost delicate; the skin moved easily over the shaft, loose enough to slide back and forth effortlessly.
Lisa looked up.
Her face was a mess – clumped eyelashes, shiny cheeks, a thick strand of cum running from her chin down to her neck. Even so, she smiled. A small, intimate smile she hadn't rehearsed.
— Look at you — she murmured, running her fingertips along its length. The warm skin slid under her touch with an ease that made her sigh. — Light-skinned brown, thick… with that little pink head.
She pulled the skin down, exposing the glans, and watched the color transition – from light brown skin to the vibrant pink of the head.
— I love it when there's a lot of skin like this — she said, more to herself than to him. — Gives me something to play with.
Lisa tilted her head, licked the side of the cock from bottom to top, just with the tip of her tongue, feeling the soft, warm texture. Then she wrapped her lips around the head and pulled, sucking slowly, while her tongue circled the tip in lazy movements.
The man groaned low.
She let the cock out of her mouth with a wet pop and looked at her work.
— It's gonna get hard fast. I'm gonna get it all drooly.
Lisa produced saliva abundantly – spat into her palm, spread it on the cock, spat again, spread it with her fingers. Saliva ran down its length, thick and shiny, dripping onto the stall floor between her knees. When she started sucking for real, the sound was obscene. Wet. Echoing in the small space as if there were a small flood inside her mouth.
Gluck… gluck
She wasn't in a hurry. Each dive was deep, taking the cock to the back of her throat, holding for a second, coming up slowly. The excess saliva ran down her chin, mixing with the dry and fresh cum already there, creating a thick, white paste that dripped down her neck and onto her breasts.
While she sucked, one of her hands went up and squeezed her own breasts. Her fingers sank into the soft flesh, spreading the hot mixture of cum and drool over her nipples. Her nail lightly scratched the tip of a nipple, and she moaned against the cock.
Her other hand went down, slipped inside her soaked panties. Two fingers slid over the entrance of her pussy, not entering – just rubbing, pressing on her clit from above, feeling her own honey running hot between her fingers.
She alternated: sucked deep, moaned, fingered her clit, squeezed her breasts.
Between one swallow and another, she took the cock out of her mouth just to talk.
— So sensitive… — she whispered, her voice hoarse, drawn out. — I feel you pulsing in my mouth. Every time I squeeze with my tongue, you throb.
She licked the thick vein running up the side of the cock. Then the head again.
— What a delicious cock to suck — she murmured, almost voiceless. — I could stay here all night.
The man didn't complain.
She went back to sucking with more eagerness, now faster, more desperate. Her fingers inside her panties sped up the rhythm, pressing her clit harder, and she felt the orgasm approaching slowly, like a wave rising without haste.
That's when he started to cum.
The first spurt caught her off guard. It shot straight onto the roof of her mouth, hot and abundant. Lisa swallowed by instinct, without even thinking, and kept sucking – suck, pull, suck, pull – while the following spurts filled her mouth.
She didn't stop. Even with her mouth full, she kept sucking.
Semen ran from the corners of her lips, down her chin in thick strands. She opened her mouth a little to let it drip, wanting to feel that hot mess running down her skin.
There were eight very strong spurts. A bit more liquid than the previous ones, running easily, mixing with the saliva that already covered her entire chin and neck. It turned into a hot, white paste running down her chest, between her breasts, dripping onto her stomach.
When he stopped cumming, Lisa let the cock out of her mouth slowly, like someone saying goodbye to something precious. The pinkish head was hypersensitive, pulsing, and she couldn't resist – gave it one more lick, just with the tip of her tongue, right in the slit.
The man shuddered.
She laughed softly.
— Was that too much? — she asked, and didn't wait for an answer.
Lisa licked her lips, collecting the excess. She ran the back of her hand over her chin, but only made it messier.
The cock was still half-hard. She held it with her hand and continued sucking – slowly now, almost a caress. Her tongue slid over the sensitive head in slow movements, circling, pressing. The man groaned, lower than before, as if caught between pleasure and pain.
Lisa didn't stop.
— So delicious — she murmured against the head of the cock, her mouth still touching the hot skin. — You came so much that you made a lovely mess all over my chest.
She looked down. Her breasts were covered – an uneven layer of cum and drool, some areas thicker, others more liquid, slowly dripping towards her stomach.
She ran her finger over her own chest, collected a generous amount, and brought it to her mouth.
She licked her finger slowly.
— You got me all dirty — she said, and the smile that spread was genuine. — You did a good job.
The man was still panting, leaning against the wall that separated them.
Lisa remained kneeling, her panties soaked, her fingers still inside herself, her entire body covered in semen, saliva, and her own honey.
She still had more men to serve.
The interval between the third and fourth man was short. She looked at the stall door, at the dark hole where the men appeared, and her eyes were glazed, eager.
— Next can come — she whispered, her voice coming out broken, almost pleading. — I'm ready.
The fourth man entered.
Lisa's eyes widened.
He was different from all the others. The cock was black – not dark brown, but black, like polished ebony. 26 centimeters with a girth that was absurd, almost like a bottle, so wide her hand wouldn't even close around it. Thick veins bulged from the skin, snaking along the length like ropes under tension. The head was purple, large, shiny, completely exposed – there was no foreskin hiding that swollen glans. The balls hung heavy underneath, full, swinging with the movement.
Lisa held her breath for a second.
Then let the air out in a low, hoarse laugh.
— Fuck — she said, and the word came out like a moan. — What a monster.
She didn't touch it immediately. Just observed, her eyes running over the length, the girth, the veins.
— So thick it looks like a bottle — she continued, her voice drawn out, almost hypnotized. — That shiny purple head… all those bulging veins…
Lisa ran her fingertips over the main vein, which ran from the base to the middle of the shaft. The skin was hot, soft, but underneath, the hardness was absolute.
— I'm going to try to swallow you all the way — she murmured, and it was more a promise to herself than to him.
Then, Lisa leaned in, braced her hands on the wall, wanted the rest of his body. She just opened her mouth – wide open, jaw stretched – and went down on the purple head. Her lips stretched around the girth, barely able to cover the circumference. She went down further, forcing her throat to accept what was clearly not meant to fit there.
She gagged on the first attempt. The head was too big, too thick, and her throat contracted in protest. She came up, coughed slightly, saliva running from the corners of her mouth, and went down again. This time she went deeper, her eyes watered, and her nose ran. But she didn't stop.
— Gluck… gluck… hnnngh…
The sounds were wet, loud, almost violent. Each time she went down, the purple head disappeared into her throat, leaving a trail of shiny drool in its wake. When she came up, her lips were red, swollen, stretched.
While she sucked, her hand returned to squeeze her own breast hard – so hard her fingers sank into the flesh, leaving red marks around her nipple. Her other hand went down to her panties and rubbed her clit eagerly, quick, hard movements, without delicacy.
Her moans came out muffled, vibrating against the cock buried in her throat.
— So thick — she managed to say when she took the cock out of her mouth to breathe, her voice destroyed, almost inaudible. — Barely fits in my mouth.
She took a deep breath. Licked her lips.
— But I want it all.
She went back down.
The man started to groan louder. Lisa sped up, her mouth going up and down, up and down, in a frenetic rhythm. Drool cascaded down, dripping onto the floor, running down her breasts, wetting her already soaked panties.
She felt the cock swell, knew what was coming, and was sorry it was coming so soon.
The first spurt went straight into her throat. Lisa swallowed by instinct, without thinking, feeling the hot liquid run down her esophagus. But the second spurt was stronger – so strong she genuinely gagged, her eyes tearing up, cum escaping from the corners of her mouth and running down her chin in thick strands.
She didn't take the cock out of her mouth, even while gagging and with her eyes full of water, even with cum running down her face, she kept the cock deep in her throat, moaning muffledly, swallowing as much as she could.
The spurts continued. Seven. Eight. Each one thick, hot, creamy – so abundant she felt the volume filling her mouth, running down her throat, overflowing from the corners.
Her body trembled with excitement. Each spurt she swallowed – or tried to swallow – left her wetter, closer to her own orgasm. When the cock finally softened, she let it go slowly. The purple head escaped her lips with a wet, obscene sound.
Lisa stayed kneeling, panting. Her face was unrecognizable – covered in cum, drool, tears. Her chin dripped. Her breasts shone. Her panties were so soaked that a small puddle had formed between her knees.
She licked her lips. The taste was strong, pure, slightly sweet.
— What an absurd load — she murmured, her voice hoarse, destroyed, but with a tired, proud smile on her face. — Almost drowned me with so much thick milk.
Lisa ran her fingers over her chin, collected the dripping cum, and brought it to her mouth.
She licked slowly, looking at the hole and seeing the sticky cock being withdrawn.
— Delicious — she finished.
The trend continued. The minute one cock came out, another appeared immediately. Each time, Lisa was rewarded with a mouthful of sperm and a 1-dollar bill with a QR code pushed through the hole. She lost herself completely. With each new client, she touched her own body more — squeezed her breasts, pinched her nipples, fingered her pussy inside her wet panties, spread the cum and drool over her skin as if she wanted to mark herself entirely. Muffled moans, glazed eyes, face and breasts increasingly dirty. Time ceased to exist. She sucked, swallowed, licked, touched herself, and asked for more without words.
Finally, after who knows how long, the cocks stopped appearing. Lisa waited a few seconds on her knees, her body still vibrating, then stood up slowly, her legs shaky and thighs damp. She left the stall and looked at herself in the large bathroom mirror. She was a complete mess: her face covered in dried drool and cum residue, her breasts so soaked with saliva and sperm that she felt the warm mixture like a second skin stuck to her body. The silver necklace was dirty, her nipples still hard and sensitive. Her panties were soaked, stuck between her buttocks and in the front.
She started cleaning herself alone with paper towels and sink water, going slowly over her face, neck, and breasts, but the bathroom door opened and her friend entered, locking it from the inside with the key.
— My God, Lisa… you really lost yourself today — said the friend with a complicit little smile, already grabbing more paper towels and helping without asking too many questions.
While the friend cleaned the excess from her face and neckline with quick, practical movements, Lisa picked up one of the 1-dollar bills with a QR code that were scattered on the stall floor. She opened the camera on her phone, scanned the code, and her eyes widened. Notifications started popping up: transfers of absurd amounts falling into her account — thousands of dollars at once, then more, then even more. Each QR seemed to unlock the full payment from the clients who had booked in advance. She bit her lower lip, trying to hide the satisfied smile as she watched her balance rise obscenely.
— You served… quite a few people today, huh? — commented the friend while helping Lisa take off the dirty panties, throwing them in the trash. Her voice had a light tone, but loaded with double meaning. — Looked like the line would never end. Did you tire out your mouth, or can you handle more “work”?
Lisa laughed softly, already putting on clean, dry panties that her friend had brought in her bag.
— I can handle it, yeah. But those clients today… they came pretty “heavy”. I had to use both hands and my mouth at the same time to keep up. — She adjusted the new panties on her buttocks, feeling the fresh fabric against her still-sensitive skin. — But it paid off. Look how much it paid off.
Her friend laughed and helped Lisa get dressed in the rest. First, she put on the clean white tailored trousers, pulling them up slowly over her legs and fitting them at the waist, the fabric slightly marking the curve of her ass. Then she put on a new top — a transparent blouse made of thin, slightly shiny fabric, in a light cream color, which the friend had kept as an “emergency option”. The fabric was so thin it let the shadow of her breasts and the outline of her nipples, still somewhat marked by excitement, show through. Over it, Lisa put on the open white blazer, the same one from before, creating an elegant but at the same time revealing look. The silver necklace returned to its place, clean, shimmering against the skin of her transparent neckline.
The friend finished fixing her hair and applied a little compact powder to her face to disguise the residual shine.
— Ready to go back as if nothing happened — she said, giving Lisa a pat on the shoulder. — Just don't forget to smile at the guests as if you spent the last two hours just drinking champagne.
Lisa looked once more in the mirror. Despite everything, she was presentable. Her breasts showed slightly through the transparent fabric, the open blazer left the look sexy without being vulgar. She put her phone in her bag, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom with her friend, crossing the party with calm, elegant steps. No one seemed to notice anything other than a beautiful, well-dressed woman returning to the party.
Jihyo blows you a kiss as she pulls you into her trailer, slamming the door shut behind you. Before your eyes can adjust her backside is pressed up against you while her hands haul your pants down. Soon the dull slap of flesh echoes around the trailer while you mount Jihyo 😩
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This Work Is Purely Fiction, So Beware of Rape! and Gangbang. This is a Commision Work for My Friend @sinbaddict Hope Yall Enjoyed It.
The words wouldn’t settle. They kept swimming, rearranging themselves into shapes that made your stomach twist into something cold and unfamiliar. You’d read the article three times now, each pass peeling away another layer of the person you thought you knew.
“I don’t really care about my fans. As long as they give me financial freedom, I’m happy.”
Kwon Eunbi. Your ultimate bias. The woman whose photocards lived in a binder on your desk, whose fancams you’d watched at three in the morning when sleep refused to come, whose voice had pulled you through the worst months of your life after the accident that took Dad. You’d been there since Produce 48. You’d voted. You’d cried when IZ*ONE disbanded. You’d supported her solo debut, bought the albums, streamed the MVs until your eyes burned.
And she didn’t care.
Not about you. Not about anyone who’d ever cheered for her.
The screen dimmed from inactivity. Your reflection stared back at you from the black glass—twenty-one years old, hollow-eyed, jaw tight. The university-issued desk lamp cast a jaundiced glow across your dorm room. Outside, someone laughed in the hallway. The sound felt like it belonged to a different world.
Your phone buzzed.
A notification from KakaoTalk. A group invitation.
The name made your thumb pause mid-swipe: Eunbi Haters — Seoul Chapter.
You should have declined. You should have blocked the sender—someone with a display name that was just a string of numbers—and tried to forget the article existed. That was what a rational person would do.
But the article was still open in your browser. And the words were still there.
You accepted the invite.
The chat exploded.
Messages scrolled past faster than you could read them—curses, screenshots, voice notes, links to forums you’d never heard of. Dozens of people. Hundreds. All of them furious. All of them hurt. The same wound, replicated across every member, festering in real-time.
A message from Admin_Zero pinned itself to the top of the chat:
“Welcome, newcomers. You’re here because you know the truth now. Eunbi doesn’t care about us. She cares about our wallets. If you want to do something about it, stay. If you’re here to defend her, leave now. We’re not interested in forgiveness.”
Your fingers typed before your brain caught up.
“I’m in.”
Three weeks later, you were sitting in a basement in Hongdae.
The room smelled like stale cigarette smoke and instant ramen. Seven other men sat around a low table cluttered with soju bottles, laptop screens, and printed photographs. You recognized some of them from the chat. Jae-hyun, a former fansite master who’d spent tens of millions of won on camera equipment and concert tickets, sat directly across from you, his knuckles white around a glass. Min-seok, a soft-spoken guy with glasses who’d run one of the biggest Eunbi translation accounts, was wedged into a corner, chewing his bottom lip raw. The others—Dong-soo, a thick-necked former security guard; Young-chul, a fashion student with vacant eyes; Ho-jin, a tech specialist who smelled like he hadn’t showered in days; and Kyung, a quiet, watchful presence who hadn’t spoken a word since you’d arrived—filled the remaining spaces.
At the head of the table sat Admin_Zero.
He was older than you’d expected. Mid-thirties. Sharp cheekbones, hair slicked back, a scar bisecting his left eyebrow. He’d introduced himself simply as “Zero” and offered no other name. The way he held the room reminded you of a spider at the center of a web.
“Everyone’s here,” Zero said. His voice was calm. Measured. “Let’s begin.”
He tapped his laptop. The screen facing the group displayed a schedule. Performance dates. Venue details. Security layouts. All of it centered around one event:
Waterbomb Seoul 2026.
“She’s headlining the Saturday slot,” Zero continued. “Closing performance. High exposure. Lots of cameras. Lots of fans. She’ll be at her most untouchable on stage.” He paused, letting that sink in. “And her most vulnerable afterward.”
Your pulse ticked up. You could feel it in your temples, in the hollow of your throat. You’d known, abstractly, that this meeting was about doing something. The chat had been full of furious rhetoric for weeks—talk of revenge, of teaching her a lesson, of making her understand what it felt like to be used and discarded. But sitting in that basement, surrounded by men who looked as wound-up as you felt, the abstract had become concrete.
Dong-soo leaned forward. His shoulders strained against his shirt. “Security?”
“Standard idol detail,” Zero said. “Four bodyguards. Two stay with her vehicle, two escort her to the dressing room. The backstage area at Jamsil Sports Complex is a maze. I’ve mapped it.” He clicked to a new slide. Blueprints. “There’s a service corridor here. Connects the loading dock to the dressing rooms. No cameras. Minimal foot traffic after the event ends.”
Min-seok’s voice came out thin. “This is… we’re really talking about this?”
Zero’s gaze slid toward him. “You’re free to leave.”
Nobody moved.
The silence stretched until it became something heavier—a shared complicity that settled over the room like a second skin. You looked at the faces around the table. None of them looked like criminals. None of them looked like monsters. They looked like fans. Disillusioned, heartbroken, furious fans.
You wondered if that was worse.
“What exactly,” Jae-hyun said slowly, “are we proposing?”
Zero smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “She said she only cares about financial freedom. She said fans are nothing but wallets. So we’re going to remind her that wallets don’t protect you. We’re going to remind her that actions have consequences.”
He clicked to the next slide.
Your stomach dropped.
The photographs showed Eunbi at various events—airport departures, fansigns, backstage moments. Candid shots, the kind only someone with insider access could capture. And beneath each photo, notes. Her schedule patterns. Her habits. Her vulnerabilities.
“We’re going to take something from her,” Zero said. “Something she’ll never get back. And then we’re going to make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.”
The planning stretched across weeks.
You attended every meeting. You told yourself it was because you wanted to know what they were capable of. You told yourself you were just observing, just gathering information, just making sure things didn’t go too far. But late at night, when you lay in your dorm bed staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t escape the truth.
You were still angry.
Angrier than you’d ever been.
The article had cracked something inside you. Every time you saw Eunbi’s face on a billboard, every time one of her songs came on in a cafe, every time you stumbled across an old fancam—the crack widened. The woman you’d loved, the woman you’d devoted years of your life to supporting, had looked at her fans and seen ATMs.
You weren’t just angry at her. You were angry at yourself. For being naive. For believing that any idol actually cared.
So you kept going to the meetings. You kept listening. You kept telling yourself you hadn’t crossed any lines.
Until the night Zero singled you out.
“You,” he said, pointing across the table. “You’ve been quiet.”
The others turned to look at you. Seven pairs of eyes, some curious, some wary, some flat with indifference.
“Just listening,” you said.
“You were one of the first to join the chat.” Zero’s voice was casual, but there was something sharp beneath it. “Why?”
You thought about lying. But what was the point? You were already here. You were already complicit.
“She broke something,” you said. “I want her to understand what that feels like.”
Zero held your gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, slow and satisfied.
“Good. Because I have a specific role in mind for you.”
The night of Waterbomb Seoul 2026 arrived humid and electric.
Jamsil Sports Complex swelled with bodies. Fifty thousand people, maybe more, packed into the open-air venue. The bass from the speakers thrummed through the concrete, through your bones, as you stood backstage with a lanyard around your neck and a forged crew ID clipped to your shirt. Ho-jin had handled the credentials. The man was unsettling—too quiet, too precise—but his skills were undeniable.
You weren’t alone. Dong-soo stood to your left, his bulk barely contained by the black security uniform Zero had procured. Young-chul hovered near the dressing room corridor, pretending to check equipment. Kyung was somewhere in the crowd, a ghost among the audience, his role unclear. Jae-hyun and Min-seok waited in the service van outside, engines running, nerves frayed.
And Zero—Zero was everywhere and nowhere. Coordinating through earpieces. Watching through feeds Ho-jin had tapped into. A puppeteer pulling strings.
“She’s coming off stage in ten,” Zero’s voice crackled in your ear. “Everyone in position.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
Through the monitor mounted on the backstage wall, you could see her.
Kwon Eunbi.
She was performing “Underwater,” her most recent single, and the crowd was losing their minds. Water cannons arced across the stage, catching the lights, drenching her white bodysuit until it clung to every curve. Her hair, dark and wet, streamed down her back. Her smile was incandescent. Her body moved with the fluid precision of someone who had spent half her life training, every hip roll and shoulder dip calibrated to maximum effect.
She was beautiful. She had always been beautiful.
That was part of the problem.
The performance ended. The crowd roared. Eunbi bowed, waved, blew kisses that meant nothing to her, and disappeared into the wings.
Right on schedule.
“She’s heading to the dressing room,” Zero said. “Dong-soo, you’re up.”
Dong-soo moved with surprising stealth for a man his size. You followed three paces behind, your pulse a war drum in your ears. The service corridor stretched ahead, fluorescent-lit and empty, just as Zero had promised. The dressing room door was at the end, marked with a laminated sign: KWON EUNBI — NO ENTRY.
Dong-soo knocked.
A muffled voice from inside: “One moment!”
The door opened.
Eunbi stood there in a silk robe, her stage makeup still fresh, her hair damp. Up close, she was smaller than she appeared on stage. More fragile. Her eyes, dark and expressive, flicked from Dong-soo to you. Confusion creased her brow.
“Yes? Can I help—”
Dong-soo moved. One hand clamped over her mouth. The other wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet. She struggled—kicked, clawed, a muffled shriek swallowed by his palm—but he was too strong. Too fast.
Your job was to close the door.
You did.
The lock clicked shut.
Eunbi’s eyes found you over Dong-soo’s shoulder. Wide. Terrified. Pleading.
You looked away.
“Good,” Zero’s voice murmured in your ear. “Phase one complete. Proceed to phase two.”
They’d planned this part meticulously.
Dong-soo carried Eunbi to the vanity and set her down in the chair with a gentleness that felt obscene given the circumstances. Young-chul locked the secondary exit. You stood by the door, a sentinel, while the others moved around you with rehearsed efficiency.
Nobody spoke to Eunbi.
That was the first instruction. Don’t engage with her. Don’t let her humanize herself. She’s not a person right now. She’s a target.
Eunbi’s breath came in ragged gasps. Her robe had slipped, exposing one shoulder, the strap of her stage costume beneath. Her hands gripped the armrests of the vanity chair, knuckles white.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, whatever you want—money, I have money—”
Young-chul snorted.
“She really doesn’t get it,” he said. His voice was flat, disappointed. “After everything.”
Dong-soo moved behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders with a weight that made her flinch. He didn’t squeeze. Not yet. Just held her there, pinned in place by the sheer threat of his presence.
“Eunbi-ssi,” Zero’s voice came from the doorway.
He’d entered without a sound. Because of course he had. He stood there in a black suit, his scar vivid under the dressing room lights, looking for all the world like a businessman who’d wandered into the wrong meeting.
Eunbi’s head snapped toward him. “Who—who are you?”
Zero smiled that empty smile. “Someone you disappointed.”
He walked toward her with unhurried steps. Each footfall was deliberate, measured, a metronome of dread. Eunbi tried to shrink back, but Dong-soo’s hands held her fast.
“You said you don’t care about your fans,” Zero said. “You said they only matter as long as they give you financial freedom. Do you remember saying that?”
Eunbi’s face went pale. “That—that was taken out of context—”
“Was it?” Zero pulled out his phone. Tapped the screen. “Let’s hear the audio.”
The recording played. Her voice, unmistakable: “I don’t really care about my fans. As long as they give me financial freedom, I’m happy.” No context. No editing. Just her words, hanging in the air like a verdict.
“I was—I was tired,” Eunbi stammered. “It was a long interview, I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean for it to come out,” Zero interrupted. “That’s the only thing you regret. Not the sentiment. Not the contempt. Just the fact that we heard it.”
He pocketed his phone.
“But we did hear it. And we decided to take it personally.”
Zero looked at you. “Come here.”
Your legs carried you forward before your brain could object. You stopped beside him, close enough to smell Eunbi’s perfume—something floral, expensive, already souring with sweat.
“Tell her,” Zero said. “Tell her what you told me.”
Eunbi’s eyes met yours.
And in that moment, something shifted.
It would have been easier if she’d looked defiant. If she’d sneered, or dismissed you, or spat in your face. But she didn’t. She looked at you like you were her last hope. Like you, specifically, might save her.
That was the cruelty of it. Because you had loved her. You had loved her so much that the betrayal had hollowed you out and filled the empty space with something corrosive.
“I supported you since Produce 48,” you said. Your voice came out steadier than you felt. “I voted for you. I streamed your music. I bought your albums. When my dad died, your voice was the only thing that got me through.”
Eunbi’s lips parted. Something flickered in her expression—recognition, maybe. Or fear that she should have recognized you but couldn’t.
“And you don’t care,” you continued. “You never did. None of it mattered to you.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered. “That’s—please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“You meant it,” you said. “You just didn’t mean for us to hear it.”
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.
Zero nodded, satisfied. “There it is. That’s the truth.” He turned back to Eunbi. “You’ve built your entire career on the backs of people like him. People who gave you their time, their money, their devotion. And you threw it back in their faces. So now we’re going to take something back. Something you can’t buy. Something you can’t earn. Something you can’t smile your way out of.”
Eunbi’s breathing quickened. Her chest rose and fell beneath the robe, the fabric pulling taut across her breasts. She was trying to hold herself together, but you could see the cracks spreading—the tremor in her jaw, the wetness gathering along her lower lash line.
“Please,” she said again. The word came out thin, reedy. “Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” Zero tilted his head. “We haven’t done anything yet.”
He let that sit.
“But we’re going to.”
What happened next unfolded in stages.
Zero gave the signal, and the atmosphere in the room changed. It went from a coiled threat to something in active motion. Dong-soo’s grip shifted from restraining to holding, his thick fingers pressing into the meat of Eunbi’s shoulders with enough force to dimple the skin. Young-chul stepped closer, pulling something from his pocket—a length of black silk, the kind used for blindfolds.
Eunbi saw it and started thrashing.
“No—no, wait, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll say whatever you want, I’ll apologize publicly, I’ll donate to charity, I’ll—”
The silk slid over her eyes.
Her world went dark.
You watched her panic spike—the way her spine arched, the way her mouth opened on a scream that never came because Dong-soo’s hand clamped back over her lips. She was breathing through her nose now, short sharp bursts of air that made her nostrils flare.
“She’s scared,” Ho-jin observed from his position by the monitors. His voice was clinical. Detached. He might have been discussing weather patterns.
“She should be,” Zero said.
He gestured to you.
“You’re up.”
You knew what he meant. You’d been briefed. You’d been prepared. But standing there, looking at Eunbi—blindfolded, trembling, small in the vanity chair—the knowledge of what you were supposed to do next felt like a physical weight pressing down on your chest.
She broke something. You want her to understand what that feels like. That’s what you said.
You stepped forward.
Your hand, when you raised it, wasn’t steady.
Eunbi couldn’t see you, but she could hear you—the scuff of your shoes on the floor, the rustle of your clothes, the proximity of your body to hers. She turned her head toward the sound, blind behind the silk, and you saw a tear escape beneath the fabric. It traced a slow path down her cheek, cutting through the stage makeup, leaving a pale streak in its wake.
“Who’s there?” Her voice cracked. “Please, just tell me—”
Your fingers found the collar of her robe.
She went rigid.
One of the others—Young-chul, maybe—let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Not amusement. Something darker. The sound of anticipation curdling in the air.
You pulled the robe aside.
Her shoulder emerged. Then the swell of her collarbone. Then the strap of her stage costume, a damp white band that cut diagonally across her chest. The bodysuit was still wet from the performance, clinging to her skin like a second layer. You could see the outline of her nipple through the fabric, peaked from cold or fear. Probably both.
“Please,” Eunbi breathed. “You don’t have to do this. You’re—you’re a fan, right? You said you supported me. That means something, doesn’t it? That means you care.”
Your hand stopped.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
You had cared. You had cared so goddamn much. And that was the problem. You still cared, even now, even after everything. The part of you that had loved her wasn’t dead—it was just buried under layers of rage and humiliation, scratching at the dirt, trying to get out.
“I did care,” you said. Your voice came out rougher than you intended. “That’s why I’m here.”
Another tear slipped beneath the blindfold.
“Then don’t do this,” she said. “Prove you’re better than him.” She tilted her chin toward where Zero’s voice had come from. “Prove you’re better than all of them. Just—just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear. I’ll pretend this never happened.”
Zero chuckled. “She’s good. I’ll give her that.”
“I’m not pretending,” Eunbi insisted. “I’m—I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it like that. I was exhausted, I was frustrated, I said something stupid and cruel and I regret it. I regret it so much. Please.”
Silence.
Somewhere in the building, the distant thump of a bass drop signaled the next act taking the stage. The crowd roared. Fifty thousand people who had no idea what was happening thirty meters away.
“The recording,” Ho-jin said abruptly. “We’re still rolling, right?”
Zero nodded.
“Good.” Ho-jin’s fingers danced across his laptop. “Because I think we should document everything. For leverage. In case she forgets tonight’s lesson.”
“No,” Eunbi gasped. “No, no, no—please don’t—you can’t—”
Dong-soo’s hand tightened over her mouth, muffling the rest.
“Phase three,” Zero announced. “Final preparations. We move on my mark.”
The other men shifted into position. Young-chul produced more silk—this time for her wrists. Kyung emerged from the shadows with a camera rig, professional-grade, the kind used for high-end fansite photos. The irony wasn’t lost on you. Ho-jin angled his laptop so the recording would capture a clear view of the vanity area.
And you—
You were still standing there with her robe half-open under your fingers, watching a woman who had once seemed untouchable come apart at the seams.
“Mark,” Zero said.
Young-chul secured her wrists to the armrests. She fought—how could she not?—but the silk held. Dong-soo released her mouth, and the sound that came out was somewhere between a sob and a wail. The camera captured everything: the open robe, the damp bodysuit, the tears carving tracks through makeup, the way her throat worked as she tried to find words that might save her.
“I’ll give you money,” she tried. “All of it. Everything I have. Just name a price.”
“We don’t want your money,” Min-seok said. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room. He’d been silent for so long you’d almost forgotten he was there. “We wanted your gratitude. Your respect. Basic human decency. You couldn’t give us that. So now we’ll take something you can’t buy back.”
Eunbi’s blindfold was soaked through now. Dark stains spreading across the silk.
“What… what are you going to do to me?”
Zero stepped forward. He knelt beside the chair, bringing himself to her level, and his voice dropped to something almost gentle.
“We’re going to remind you that you’re not untouchable,” he said. “We’re going to remind you that every idol, no matter how famous, no matter how beautiful—is just a person. And people can be broken.”
He reached up.
And pulled the blindfold away.
Eunbi blinked, eyes streaming, vision adjusting to the light. She looked at you first—because you were closest—and then at Zero, and then at the others, one by one, cataloging faces she would never recognize but would never forget.
“This is your last chance to say something that matters,” Zero told her. “Last chance to prove you’re not the person in that recording.”
Eunbi swallowed.
Her lips moved. Words half-formed, then abandoned. She was trying. You could see her trying. But whatever she came up with—apology, plea, bargain—died in her throat before it reached her tongue.
Because there was nothing she could say.
She’d said it all already.
Zero rose. He looked at you, and his expression was unreadable.
“You’re first.”
Your stomach lurched. “What?”
“You’ve supported her the longest. You’ve given her the most. She broke you first.” He gestured at Eunbi. “So you get to break her first.”
The room held its breath.
Eunbi stared at you. Her eyes—those dark, expressive eyes that had graced magazine covers and music show stages—were puffy and red-rimmed and absolutely fixated on your face. She was searching for something in your expression. Mercy, maybe. Or confirmation that this was all a nightmare she’d wake up from.
“I know you,” she said suddenly. “I—I’ve seen you before. At a fansign. You gave me a letter. You said… you said my music helped you through a hard time.”
You went cold.
She remembered.
She actually remembered.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” Eunbi’s voice cracked on a note that might have been hope. “You wrote about your father. I read it. I read it. I cried in the van afterward because—because it reminded me of my grandmother, the way she—”
“Stop,” you said.
The word came out harsher than you intended. A blade instead of a shield.
Eunbi flinched.
And that flinch—that small, involuntary recoil—did something to you. It made you feel powerful. It made you feel monstrous. It made you feel like the person you’d been before the article, before the heartbreak, before the anger had eaten everything good inside you, was still there somewhere, watching from a very long way away.
Don’t do this, that person whispered.
But that person wasn’t in control anymore.
“You read my letter,” you said. “And you still said those things. You still looked at a camera and told the world we don’t matter.”
“I was wrong,” Eunbi said. “I was so wrong. I see that now. I—”
“You see it now.” The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. “Now that you’re tied to a chair. Now that there are cameras on you. Now that you’re scared. That’s not remorse. That’s survival.”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because you were right.
Zero placed a hand on your shoulder. The weight of it was approving. Proprietary. “You understand now. Good. Take your time. The night’s still young.”
He stepped back, and the others formed a loose semicircle around the vanity. A jury of the betrayed. Dong-soo’s arms crossed over his chest. Young-chul’s camera still recording. Ho-jin’s laptop whirring quietly. Min-seok’s expression unreadable. Jae-hyun’s jaw set. Kyung’s silence somehow the loudest thing in the room.
And you, standing in front of Eunbi, your hand still resting on the collar of her robe.
“Take it off,” Zero said. “The robe. Slowly. Let her feel it.”
Your fingers obeyed before your brain caught up.
The silk slid from her shoulders. It pooled around her elbows, then fell to the floor, a white puddle on the cheap linoleum. She was left in the bodysuit—still damp, still clinging, still hiding nothing. The stage lights had been kind to her. The dressing room lights were not. You could see the goosebumps raised along her arms. The faint blue veins at her wrists. The way her stomach muscles tensed beneath the fabric as she tried to control her breathing.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Zero murmured. “They always are. That’s how they get away with it.”
Eunbi’s eyes stayed on yours. She wasn’t looking at the others anymore. Wasn’t pleading with Zero or struggling against Dong-soo’s grip. She was looking at you, and her gaze was saying something her voice couldn’t.
You can still stop this. You can still be the person who wrote that letter. You can still choose.
Your hand moved toward her face.
She didn’t flinch this time. She held steady, trembling, tears still falling, but steady. Your fingers brushed her cheek. The skin was soft. Warm. Streaked with mascara. You traced the tear track down to her jaw, then lower—along the column of her throat, where her pulse beat fast and frantic beneath your touch.
She swallowed. You felt it.
“What’s your name?” she whispered.
It was such a human question. Such an ordinary question. She wanted to know the name of the person who was about to destroy her. Some part of her still believed that if she could just humanize you, just connect with you, just remind you that you were both people in this room together—she could stop what was coming.
You didn’t answer.
Your fingers slid lower. Down to her collarbone. Down to the strap of her bodysuit, hooking beneath the damp elastic, pulling it aside.
The fabric shifted. Slipped. Revealed the upper curve of her breast, pale and smooth and rising with each shallow breath.
“No,” Eunbi breathed. Not a scream. Not a plea. Just a word. A sound. A tiny raft in a rising tide.
The strap moved further.
The curve became more. Became the swell beneath. Became the shadow of her nipple, still hidden, still just out of view, but only barely.
Your hand stopped.
Everyone waited.
Eunbi’s chest heaved. A single tear fell from her chin and landed on your knuckle. Hot. Real. Human.
“Phase four,” Zero said quietly. “Initiate on my mark.”
You looked down at Eunbi. She looked back up at you. And for a single, suspended second, the rest of the room fell away. There was only her. Only you. Only the space between what you were about to do and who you used to be.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
And you didn’t know which one of you you were apologizing to.
“Mark,” Zero said.
Your hand tightened on the strap of her bodysuit. The damp elastic resisted, then gave, sliding down her shoulder with a wet whisper. The fabric peeled away from her skin, revealing the full curve of her left breast—pale, smooth, the nipple already tight and pebbled from the cold dressing room air.
Eunbi’s eyes stayed closed.
“There she is,” Zero murmured. He was close now, standing just behind your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. “The real Kwon Eunbi. Not the idol. Not the brand. Just flesh.”
Dong-soo’s hands shifted from her shoulders to her upper arms, his thick fingers dimpling her skin. Young-chul moved the camera closer, the red recording light blinking steady. The others—Min-seok, Jae-hyun, Ho-jin, Kyung—formed a loose semicircle, silent, watching.
“Please,” Eunbi whispered. The word came out cracked, barely audible. “You don’t—you can still stop.”
Nobody answered.
Your fingers found the other strap. You pulled. The bodysuit sagged, caught on her nipples for a heartbeat, then slipped lower, bunching at her waist. Her breasts were bare now, full and round, rising and falling with each shallow breath. A single bead of sweat traced a path between them, catching the harsh fluorescent light.
“Fucking beautiful,” Dong-soo breathed. His voice was different now. Lower. Hungrier. “Better than the fancams.”
Young-chul zoomed in.
Eunbi’s cheeks flushed red. Not arousal—shame. The color spread down her throat, across her collarbone, blooming on her chest. She turned her face away, chin trembling, and another tear slipped from beneath her lashes.
“Look at her,” Zero said. “She’s blushing. After everything she said about us, after dismissing millions of fans as nothing but walking wallets—she still has the capacity to feel embarrassed.” He circled the chair slowly, his footsteps deliberate on the linoleum. “That’s good. That means there’s still a person in there. Something we can reach.”
He stopped in front of her and crouched, bringing his face level with hers.
“Open your eyes, Eunbi-ssi.”
She shook her head, a tiny, desperate motion.
“Open them, or I’ll have Dong-soo hold them open for you.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes—dark, glistening, red-rimmed—met his.
“Good girl,” Zero said. “Now. You’re going to answer some questions. And you’re going to answer them honestly. Do you understand?”
Eunbi’s throat worked. “Yes.”
“Do you care about your fans?”
“Yes. I do. I—”
“No,” Zero interrupted, his voice still calm, still measured. “That’s a lie. We’ve already established that. Try again.”
Eunbi’s mouth opened. Closed. The tears came faster now.
“I… I care about some of them. The ones who—”
“Another lie.” Zero rose to his feet. “You know what I think, Eunbi-ssi? I think you’ve spent so long playing the role of the grateful idol that you’ve forgotten how to be honest. You’ve smiled for so many cameras that your real face has atrophied.” He gestured at the men around him. “So we’re going to help you remember. We’re going to strip away all the pretense, all the performance, until there’s nothing left but the truth.”
He looked at you.
“You first. She knows you. She remembers your letter. That gives you a connection.” His scarred eyebrow lifted. “Use it.”
Your pulse pounded in your temples. The room felt too hot, too close. Eunbi’s eyes found yours again, and the look in them—fear, yes, but also something else, something you couldn’t name—made your stomach clench.
You stepped forward.
Your hand, trembling only slightly, reached out and cupped her left breast.
She flinched. A sharp inhalation hissed through her teeth. But she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away, bound as she was to the chair.
Her skin was softer than you’d imagined. Warmer. You could feel her heartbeat through the flesh, a rapid flutter against your palm. Your thumb brushed her nipple, and it tightened further, crinkling into a hard point.
“Don’t,” she breathed. “Please.”
You rolled the nipple between your thumb and forefinger. Gently at first. Then harder.
A sound escaped her throat—half gasp, half whimper.
“You wrote me a letter,” she said, her voice strained, “telling me about your father. Telling me how my music helped you. That person—that person wouldn’t do this.”
“That person doesn’t exist anymore,” you said. “You killed him.”
You pinched.
She cried out. Her back arched involuntarily, pushing her breast further into your hand. The camera captured everything—the way her nipple darkened as blood rushed to the surface, the way her mouth fell open, the way her hips shifted on the chair.
“Interesting,” Zero observed. “Her body’s responding.”
“I’m not—I’m not—” Eunbi’s words came out fractured, desperate. “That’s just physiology. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” Zero tilted his head. “Ho-jin. What’s her heart rate?”
Ho-jin glanced at his laptop screen. He’d tapped into the backstage medical monitoring somehow—of course he had. “Elevated. Hundred and twelve. Pupils dilated.” He paused. “Elevated skin temperature in the pelvic region.”
“Pelvic region,” Zero repeated, amusement flickering across his angular features. “You hear that, Eunbi-ssi? Your body’s calling you a liar.”
“That’s not—you’re hurting me, I’m scared, that’s all it is—”
Zero nodded at Dong-soo.
The big man’s hands moved from her arms to her waist. He lifted her easily, as if she weighed nothing, and repositioned her on the vanity chair so that her legs hung over the edge, spread wide by the restraints around her ankles. The bodysuit, still bunched at her waist, rode up, exposing the pale skin of her inner thighs.
“No,” Eunbi gasped. “No, please, not there—”
Dong-soo’s thick fingers hooked into the fabric at her crotch and pulled. The bodysuit tore with a harsh ripping sound. The white fabric parted, revealing simple cotton panties beneath—plain, practical, the kind worn for comfort during long performances.
“Not very idol-like,” Young-chul murmured from behind the camera. “I expected lace.”
The observation was so mundane, so absurdly casual, that it took a moment for its meaning to register. They were dissecting her. Reducing her to individual parts for inspection and comment. And Eunbi, bound and exposed, could do nothing but listen.
“Take them off,” Zero said to you. “Slowly.”
Your fingers found the waistband of her panties. The cotton was damp—from sweat, from the water cannons, from something else you didn’t want to name. You pulled.
The fabric slid down her thighs, past her knees, over her ankles. You tossed it aside.
Eunbi’s cunt was bare. Completely waxed, smooth, the outer lips plump and pressed together like a seam. The position—legs spread, restrained at the ankles—kept her open, the inner lips just barely visible, pink and glistening.
“Fuck,” Jae-hyun breathed. It was the first word he’d spoken in an hour.
Young-chul moved the camera between her thighs. The lens was inches from her most intimate flesh, capturing every detail in high definition. Eunbi’s face burned crimson. She turned her head away, teeth clenched, jaw tight.
“No hiding,” Zero said. “Look at the camera, Eunbi-ssi. Look at what we’re seeing.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. And you will.”
Dong-soo’s hand found her chin and turned her face forward. Her eyes, wet and wild, stared directly into the lens.
“Good,” Zero said. “Now. Let’s see if you’re as dry as you claim to be. You’re not aroused, correct? This is all just ‘physiology’?”
He nodded at Min-seok.
The soft-spoken translator hesitated. His glasses had fogged slightly from the heat of the room. He removed them, cleaned them on his shirt, replaced them. His hands, when he knelt between Eunbi’s spread thighs, were steady.
“Please,” Eunbi said again. “Min-seok-ssi—I know you. You ran the translation account. You were always so kind. You helped so many international fans connect with me. Please.”
Min-seok paused. For a heartbeat, something flickered behind his lenses.
Then it was gone.
“That was before,” he said quietly. “Before I knew it was all a transaction to you.”
He reached out. His fingers—slender, careful, the fingers of someone who spent his life typing—parted her outer lips.
The sound Eunbi made was not a scream. It was something softer, something that lived in the space between a gasp and a moan. Her inner flesh was slick, pink, glistening with moisture that coated the folds and gathered at the entrance of her cunt.
“Well, well,” Zero said. “Look at that.”
“It’s from the water performance,” Eunbi choked out. “The cannons—I was soaked—”
“The water cannons hit your shoulders and chest. Not between your legs.” Zero’s voice was almost gentle. “You’re aroused, Eunbi-ssi. You’re wet. Your body is preparing itself. Whether you want to admit it or not, some part of you wants this.”
“No,” she sobbed. “No, that’s not true. That’s not—”
Min-seok’s finger slipped inside her.
Her words dissolved into a shuddering exhale. Her bound hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. Her inner walls gripped Min-seok’s digit, tight and hot and unambiguously slick. He pushed deeper, then pulled back, then pushed again, a slow, exploratory rhythm that left no doubt about her state.
“Tight,” Min-seok reported. His voice had changed—flat, clinical, as if he were describing a specimen. “Walls are contracting. Significant lubrication. She’s ready.”
“I’m not ready,” Eunbi cried. “I’m not—I don’t want—please, you have to stop—”
But Min-seok’s finger kept moving. In, out. In, out. Each thrust produced a faint wet sound that seemed deafening in the silent room.
Then he added a second finger.
Eunbi’s hips jerked. Her head fell back, throat exposed, and a sound tore from her lips that was unmistakably a moan. She caught herself immediately, teeth clamping down, but it was too late. Everyone had heard.
“There it is,” Zero said. “The truth. Finally.”
“I hate you,” Eunbi whispered. The words came through gritted teeth. “I hate all of you.”
“Good. Hate is honest. Hate is real.” Zero gestured at the others. “This is what we wanted, Eunbi-ssi. Not your gratitude. Not your love. Those were always lies. But this—this is real.”
He crouched beside her again, close enough that his lips nearly brushed her ear.
“Now we’re going to see just how real it gets.”
Min-seok withdrew his fingers. They came out coated, strands of her arousal connecting them to her flesh before breaking. He looked at them, expression unreadable, then wiped them on his pants.
Dong-soo released her chin. Her head lolled forward, chin touching her chest, dark hair falling around her face in damp ropes. She was crying openly now, tears dripping onto her bare thighs.
“Phase four,” Zero announced. “Full engagement. You first—” he pointed at you “—since you have the connection. Then Dong-soo, Jae-hyun, Min-seok, Young-chul, Ho-jin, Kyung. Take whatever you want. Use whatever hole you prefer. The only rule is there are no rules.”
Eunbi’s head snapped up. “All of you? You’re going to—all at once?”
“That’s the idea,” Zero said mildly.
“You’ll kill me. You’ll split me apart.”
“Probably not. But you’ll wish we had.” He smiled that empty smile. “And then you’ll learn to love it.”
Your hands moved to your belt.
The leather slid through the buckle with a sound that seemed impossibly loud. Eunbi watched, her tear-streaked face pale, as you unbuttoned your pants and let them fall. Your boxers followed. Your cock sprang free, already hard, already aching, the head flushed dark and slick with pre-cum.
She stared.
You weren’t the biggest man in the room—Dong-soo had you beat there by a margin that was almost absurd—but you weren’t small either. Your shaft curved slightly upward, thick enough that your own fingers couldn’t fully encircle it, veins prominent along the underside.
“No,” Eunbi breathed. “No, no, no—it’s too big, it won’t fit, you can’t—”
“You’ll make it fit,” Zero said. “Get on the chair. Straddle her. Make her taste it first.”
You stepped out of your pants and moved toward her. Each footfall was a countdown. Eunbi’s eyes tracked your approach, wide and glassy, her lips parted on shallow, rapid breaths.
You climbed onto the vanity chair. Your knees bracketed her thighs. Your cock, jutting forward, hovered inches from her face.
She could smell you. You could tell from the way her nostrils flared, the way her throat worked. Musky. Saline. Animal.
“Open your mouth,” you said.
She shook her head.
“Dong-soo,” Zero said.
The big man stepped forward and pinched Eunbi’s nose between his thumb and forefinger, cutting off her air. She held out for ten seconds. Fifteen. Then her mouth opened on a desperate gasp, and you pushed your cock between her lips before she could close them again.
The sensation hit you like a fist.
Wet. Hot. Silken. Her tongue, soft and involuntary, pressed against the underside of your shaft. Her lips stretched around your girth, the corners of her mouth going white with the strain. Her jaw worked uselessly, trying to accommodate something far too large.
“Glrrk—” The sound came from deep in her throat, half-choke, half-moan.
“Take it deeper,” you heard yourself say. The words felt foreign, like someone else speaking through your mouth. “You’ve taken everything else from us. Now take this.”
You pushed.
Another inch disappeared into her mouth. Her eyes bulged. Her throat convulsed around your cockhead, the muscles spasming in rhythmic waves. The sensation was obscene—tight and wet and clenching, her gag reflex fighting you with every millimeter.
“Fuck,” Dong-soo grunted. He’d released her nose and was now stroking himself through his pants, eyes fixed on her distended throat.
Saliva began to pool at the corners of her mouth. It spilled over, tracing thick rivulets down her chin, dripping onto her bare breasts. Your cock pistoned in and out, each thrust going slightly deeper, each withdrawal coated in more of her spit.
Eunbi’s hands, still bound to the armrests, clenched and unclenched. Her throat worked frantically. The sounds she made—wet, choking, desperate—filled the dressing room like a perverse soundtrack.
You pulled out. A bridge of saliva connected your cockhead to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.
She gasped for air, chest heaving, breasts bouncing with each ragged inhalation. Her face was a mess—tears, saliva, smeared mascara. But beneath all of it, beneath the fear and the shame and the desperation, you saw something flicker in her eyes.
Hunger.
It was gone as quickly as it appeared, buried under layers of denial. But it had been there. You were certain of it.
“Again,” Zero commanded. “And this time, don’t stop until you’re touching her tonsils.”
You grabbed a fistful of her damp hair and pulled her head back. Her throat arched, vulnerable, exposed. You lined your cock up with her lips—swollen now, reddened, already looking thoroughly used—and pushed.
This time she opened for you without being forced.
It was a small surrender. Barely perceptible. But as your cock slid past her tongue, past her soft palate, into the tight clench of her throat, you felt her jaw relax. Felt her tongue move—not just yielding, but pressing, tasting, exploring the underside of your shaft.
You groaned.
Zero noticed too. “She’s learning. Good girl, Eunbi-ssi. Good fucking girl.”
Your hips found a rhythm. Not gentle—there was no gentleness left in you—but steady, relentless, each thrust driving your cock deeper into her throat until your balls pressed against her chin. Her nose flattened against your pubic bone. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but take it.
And take it she did.
Her throat milked you with every withdrawal, the suction obscene, the sounds—gulk, glrk, hnnngh—echoing off the walls. Her eyes rolled back, showing white. Her bound hands stopped clenching and went limp.
“She’s close to passing out,” Ho-jin observed. “Oxygen saturation dropping.”
“Let her,” Zero said. “She’ll come back.”
You pulled out just as her eyelids fluttered.
Eunbi collapsed forward, gasping, drool pouring from her mouth onto her thighs. Her whole body shuddered. Her breasts heaved. She made a sound—half-sob, half-moan—that seemed to come from somewhere primal and broken.
“Please,” she rasped. “Please, I can’t—I can’t take any more—”
“That’s not true,” you said. And the words tasted like ash and honey on your tongue. “You just took all of me. Every inch. Down your throat. And you’re still here. Still breathing. Still—” you gripped her chin, tilting her face up to meet your gaze “—wet.”
Her eyes widened.
She knew it was true. You could see the knowledge crash over her like a wave—the realization that somewhere between the choking and the tears and the degradation, her thighs had become slick with more than just saliva. Her cunt was dripping now, the inner lips swollen and parted, the entrance visibly pulsing with a need she refused to name.
“No,” she whispered. But the word had lost its conviction. It was a reflex now, not a refusal.
“Enough oral,” Zero said. “Dong-soo. You’re next. Fuck her cunt while she’s still wet from the throat-fucking.”
Dong-soo didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped forward, already unbuckling his pants. When his cock emerged, Eunbi’s face went slack with horror.
It was massive.
Thick as a wrist, long enough to reach her cervix and then some. He couldn’t even fully hold it in one hand—when he gripped the base, both fists wrapped around the shaft with room to spare, the purple head still protruding, leaking a thick bead of pre-cum that dripped onto the floor.
“That’s—that’s not going to fit,” Eunbi stammered. “You’ll tear me apart. You’ll—I’m not—it’s impossible—”
“It’ll fit,” Dong-soo said. His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. “They always fit eventually.”
He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her off the chair, turning her around so that her bound hands were braced against the vanity, her ass presented to him. Her bound ankles forced her legs together, which only made the visual more obscene—her thighs pressed tight, her cunt lips peeking between them, already swollen and glistening from Min-seok’s fingers and her own betraying arousal.
Dong-soo positioned himself behind her. The head of his monster cock nudged against her entrance, a grotesque size comparison that made her look like a doll being mounted by something designed for a different species entirely.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, it’s too big. Please don’t. I’m not—I can’t—”
He pushed.
The head popped inside her.
Eunbi screamed.
It was a raw, ragged sound that tore from her throat and bounced off the walls. Her back arched. Her bound hands scrabbled at the vanity surface. Her inner walls, already tight around your cock, now stretched to accommodate something far beyond their design specs.
“Fuck,” Dong-soo grunted. “She’s strangling me. Strangling my fucking cock.”
He pushed deeper. Another inch. Another scream.
“You’re splitting me—you’re splitting me open—I can feel you in my stomach, please, please, it’s too much—”
Dong-soo’s response was to grab her hips and slam forward.
His entire length disappeared into her cunt.
Eunbi’s scream died in her throat. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, but no sound came out. Her eyes were wide, fixed on something in the middle distance, seeing nothing. A single tear slid down her cheek.
Then Dong-soo started moving.
The fucking was brutal. There was no other word for it. His hips pistoned with the force of a machine, each thrust driving his cock into her depths with a wet, meaty slap. The vanity shook. Her breasts, pressed against the cold surface, jiggled with each impact. Her bound hands scrambled for purchase, knocking over makeup containers, sending brushes clattering to the floor.
“Take it,” Dong-soo growled. “Take my fucking cock, you ungrateful bitch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Financial freedom? Here’s your payment.”
He reached around and grabbed her breasts, twisting her nipples between his thick fingers. She bucked against him, a convulsive movement that was half-escape, half-embrace. Her cunt, despite the overstretching, despite the impossible fullness, was gushing now—fluid running down her thighs, coating Dong-soo’s balls, splattering the floor with each thrust.
“She’s creaming,” Young-chul reported from behind the camera, his voice tinged with something that might have been awe. “She’s actually creaming on his cock.”
“Because she’s a whore,” Zero said casually. “She always was. She just needed someone to strip away the pretense.”
Eunbi heard them. Her face, pressed against the vanity, went crimson. But she didn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny it. Not while her hips were pushing back to meet Dong-soo’s thrusts, not while her cunt was making sounds like wet applause, not while her mouth hung open on a moan that was no longer entirely pained.
“Harder,” she whispered.
Everyone heard it.
Dong-soo paused mid-thrust. “What was that?”
Eunbi squeezed her eyes shut. Her thighs trembled. Her cunt, stretched obscenely around his girth, clenched and fluttered.
“I said—harder. Fuck me harder.”
The room exploded with laughter. Not kind laughter—dark, knowing, cruel. Dong-soo grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her spine into an impossible arch.
“Beg for it properly,” he said, his lips against her ear. “Tell me you need it. Tell me you’re a worthless cocksleeve who exists to be fucked.”
“I—I—” Her voice cracked. The words were there, dancing on her tongue, but saying them aloud would change something fundamental. Would make this real in a way it hadn’t been before.
Dong-soo pulled out until only the head remained inside her. Then he waited.
The emptiness was worse than the fullness. Eunbi’s cunt gaped, the stretched opening pulsing, desperate to be filled again. A whimper escaped her throat.
“Say it,” Dong-soo growled.
“I’m a worthless cocksleeve,” Eunbi sobbed. “I exist to be fucked. Please. Please fuck me. Please fill my cunt. I need it. I need it so bad.”
Dong-soo slammed back in.
The sound she made was not human. It was a wail of pure sensation, pain and pleasure fused into something beyond distinction. Her eyes rolled back. Her tongue lolled from her mouth. Her bound hands went slack, all resistance gone, her body surrendering completely to the rhythm of his thrusts.
“That’s it,” Zero murmured. “That’s what we came for.”
They used her for hours.
That was what it felt like, anyway. Time had become meaningless—measured only in the number of cocks she’d taken, the number of orgasms that had been ripped from her unwilling body. The dressing room clock on the wall still ticked, but no one was watching it anymore.
Dong-soo finished first, pulling out at the last second and painting her back with thick ropes of cum that splattered from her shoulders to the swell of her ass. Then Jae-hyun took his place, thinner but longer, his cockhead able to nudge against her cervix with every thrust. When she came on that—the first orgasm, a scream that left her throat raw—Zero made her thank him. Made her kiss his feet. Made her lick his balls while he jerked off into her hair.
Min-seok was next. He was gentler, almost tender, which somehow made it worse. He fucked her face while Jae-hyun recovered, her lips stretched around his cock, her throat bulging with each thrust. When he came, he did it deep—pumping his load directly into her stomach, holding her head in place until she’d swallowed every drop.
“Good girl,” he whispered, stroking her sweat-soaked hair. “You take it so well.”
Eunbi’s response was a whimper that sounded almost grateful.
Young-chul bent her over the vanity and took her from behind while Ho-jin filmed close-ups of her face—the tears, the drool, the way her eyes crossed when his cock hit something deep enough to make her vision blur. She came again on his cock, a messy, squirting orgasm that soaked the vanity and made her legs give out. Young-chul had to hold her up by the hips just to keep fucking her.
“You’re a fountain,” he laughed, breathless. “A fucking fountain. Does it feel good? Does my cock feel good in your ruined little cunt?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, yes—”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, your cock feels good. Yes, my cunt is ruined. Yes, I’m a fountain. Yes, I love it. Yes, I love being fucked like this. Yes, I’m a whore. Yes, I’m your whore. Is that what you want to hear? Is that enough?”
She was babbling now, the words spilling out in a torrent, her mind struggling to keep pace with the sensations flooding her body. Each new cock brought a fresh wave of degradation. Each orgasm stripped away another layer of the idol she’d been.
By the time Kyung stepped forward—silent as ever, his expression unreadable—Eunbi was barely recognizable. Her hair was matted with sweat and cum. Her mascara had carved black trenches down her cheeks. Her lips were swollen, her throat bruised, her nipples dark and tender from a dozen mouths and fingers. Her cunt gaped, the lips puffy and parted, the entrance no longer a tight hole but a well-used passage that invited entry rather than resisted it.
Kyung, uniquely, didn’t fuck her cunt.
He turned her around, bent her over the chair, and spread her ass cheeks with both hands. The puckered ring of her asshole was pristine—the only part of her that hadn’t been violated yet.
“No,” Eunbi said. Some of the fire returned to her voice. “Not there. Not—please. Anything but that.”
“You said that about your throat,” Zero observed. “And your cunt. And look at you now.” He gestured at her glistening thighs, her swollen lips, the cum dripping from her chin. “You’ll love this too. Eventually.”
Kyung pressed his thumb against her asshole. The muscle clenched reflexively, trying to keep him out. He pushed harder. The tip of his thumb breached her, and Eunbi let out a strangled cry.
“No lube,” Ho-jin noted. “That’s going to be rough.”
“She’s wet enough,” Kyung said. It was the first time he’d spoken since you’d arrived. His voice was soft, almost gentle, which made the words more terrifying.
He withdrew his thumb and replaced it with his cock. Not as thick as Dong-soo’s, but substantial enough. The head, slick with her own juices, pressed against her forbidden entrance.
Eunbi’s hands, still bound, clawed at the chair. Her teeth clenched. Her whole body went rigid.
“Relax,” Kyung murmured. “It’ll hurt more if you fight.”
“I don’t—I can’t—”
He pushed.
The head popped past her sphincter.
Eunbi’s shriek was muffled by the chair cushion, but it still filled the room. Her asshole stretched around Kyung’s shaft, the rim whitening, the skin pulling taut. He gave her no time to adjust—just kept pushing, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips were flush against her ass.
“Full,” she choked out. “So full. I can feel you in my—I can feel you everywhere.”
Kyung started moving. Slow at first, then faster. The dry friction must have been painful, but Eunbi’s cries quickly shifted pitch—from agony to something more complicated. Her hips started pushing back. Her asshole, impossibly, started to relax.
“She’s taking it,” Jae-hyun said, disbelief coloring his voice. “She’s actually taking it up the ass.”
“They always take it,” Zero replied. “It just takes the right motivation.”
Kyung fucked her ass with the same silent intensity he brought to everything. His thrusts were deep, measured, relentless. Each one pushed a grunt from Eunbi’s lips. Each withdrawal left her asshole gaping slightly before the next thrust sealed it shut again.
You watched, stroking yourself idly, as another orgasm built inside her. You could see it in the way her back arched, the way her breath stuttered, the way her bound hands clenched into fists. When it hit, she didn’t scream. She sobbed—great, heaving sobs that shook her entire frame while her asshole spasmed around Kyung’s cock and her cunt gushed onto the floor.
He came inside her ass. You could tell from the way his thrusts stuttered, the way his jaw clenched, the way he pressed himself as deep as possible and held there, grinding, while Eunbi whimpered beneath him. When he finally pulled out, a thin stream of cum followed, dripping from her stretched hole onto the chair.
Her asshole didn’t close. It stayed open—a dark, gaping void that pulsed with her heartbeat, revealing the pink interior beyond.
“Beautiful,” Zero said. “Absolutely beautiful.”
You were inside her again.
You didn’t remember moving. Didn’t remember positioning her on her back on the floor, her bound wrists above her head, her legs hooked over your shoulders. But here you were, your cock buried to the hilt in her cunt, staring down into her tear-streaked, fuck-drunk face.
“You,” she breathed. “It’s you again.”
“It’s me.”
“The one who wrote the letter.”
“Yes.”
Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft. Even after everything—the stretching, the pounding, the brutal abuse—her cunt was still tight. Still hot. Still wet.
“You were my favorite fan,” she said. “I kept your letter. I still have it. In my nightstand. I read it when I can’t sleep.”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to know.” Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “I want you to know that it mattered. I want you to know that it still matters. Even now. Even like this.”
You stared at her. The woman who’d broken your heart. The woman you’d helped destroy.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
You did.
Your hips drove forward, burying your cock as deep as it would go. The head nudged against her cervix, that tight ring of muscle that guarded her deepest chamber. You felt it give slightly, yielding to your pressure.
Eunbi’s eyes went wide. “You’re—you’re in my—”
“I know.”
You pushed harder. The cervix stretched, resisted, then—with a sensation like popping through a tight band—surrendered. Your cockhead slipped into her womb.
The sound Eunbi made had no name. It was beyond a scream, beyond a moan, beyond any vocalization you’d ever heard from a human throat. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, thick with saliva. Her body convulsed, muscles locking and releasing in rapid waves, as an orgasm crashed through her with the force of a tidal wave.
“In my womb,” she babbled. “You’re in my womb. You’re fucking my womb. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god—”
You pulled back and thrust again. Cervical penetration. The ultimate violation. Her womb clenched around your cockhead like a second cunt, impossibly tight, impossibly hot. Each thrust pushed a fresh scream from her lips. Each withdrawal made her sob with emptiness.
“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop. Please fuck my womb. Please breed me. Please. I need it. I need your cum in my womb. Please.”
The others gathered around, watching. Dong-soo stroked himself back to hardness. Young-chul filmed everything. Zero smiled his empty smile.
“That’s it, Eunbi-ssi,” he murmured. “That’s what we wanted. That’s the real you.”
You felt your orgasm building—a pressure at the base of your spine, a tightening in your balls. Your thrusts became erratic, desperate, driven by pure biological imperative.
“Inside,” Eunbi sobbed. “Come inside me. Come in my womb. Please. Please. I’m begging you. I’m fucking begging you.”
You buried yourself to the hilt, your cockhead nestled in her womb, and let go.
The orgasm was a detonation. Thick ropes of cum flooded her deepest chamber, pulse after pulse after pulse. You felt her womb expand with the volume of it, felt her inner walls milk your shaft for every last drop. She came with you—a final, shattering orgasm that left her limp and trembling, her face a mess of tears and drool and ecstatic surrender.
When you finally pulled out, your cum flowed from her gaped cunt in a white river, pooling on the floor beneath her ass. Her cervix was visible deep inside—bruised, swollen, but still pulsing with satisfaction.
She lay there, bound and broken and utterly spent.
And smiling.
“More,” she whispered, her cracked lips curving into something that was almost a grin. “I want more.”
Eunbi's grin didn't fade. It stretched wider, cracking the dried cum on her cheeks, exposing teeth that still held traces of your load from earlier. She pushed herself up on her bound hands, arms trembling, and fixed her eyes on Dong-soo's half-hard cock with an expression that could only be described as reverent.
"Let me," she rasped. "Let me taste him again."
Zero tilted his head. "You're asking now? Not begging?"
"I'm asking." Her voice steadied. "Because I want it. Not because you're making me."
The room went quiet. Young-chul lowered the camera an inch. Ho-jin's fingers paused on his keyboard. Even Kyung, still wiping his cock on a rag, stopped mid-motion.
Zero walked over to where she knelt and crouched, bringing his face level with hers. "Say that again."
"I want his cock in my mouth." Eunbi held his gaze. "I want to suck him until he's hard enough to fuck me again. I want to taste every inch. I want him to fuck my throat until I can't breathe." She licked her cracked lips. "I want all of you. Every hole. Every load. I don't care anymore. I just want more."
Zero's scarred eyebrow lifted. Then he laughed—a genuine sound, surprised and delighted. "There she is. The real Kwon Eunbi. Not hiding behind tears and pleas anymore." He stood and gestured at Dong-soo. "She's all yours. Give the whore what she's asking for."
Dong-soo stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the fluorescent light. His cock, even half-soft, was thicker than most men fully erect—a heavy slab of meat that swung between his thighs, the head still glistening from her earlier juices. He grabbed a fistful of her matted hair and pulled her face toward it.
"Open up," he grunted.
Eunbi didn't just open her mouth. She lunged.
Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock with a hunger that made your own dick twitch. She sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue working the slit with quick, desperate flicks. Her bound hands came up to cradle his shaft—both hands, because one wasn't enough to hold him—and she stroked what wouldn't fit in her mouth with slow, worshipful movements.
"Fuck," Dong-soo breathed. "She's different now."
She was. The Eunbi from an hour ago had choked and gagged and fought every inch. This Eunbi was devouring him like she'd been starved for cock her entire life. Her jaw stretched wide to accommodate his girth, the corners of her lips going white, but she didn't stop. She pushed forward, taking him deeper, her throat bulging as the head pressed past her soft palate.
Saliva poured from her mouth, slicking her hands, dripping onto her bare breasts. She pulled back with a wet pop and kissed the tip—soft, reverent pecks that seemed almost absurd given the context. Then she dragged her tongue along the underside, tracing every vein, every ridge, before dipping lower to suck his balls into her mouth one at a time.
"Look at her," Young-chul murmured, the camera fixed on Eunbi's face. "She's in love with it."
"She's in love with being a whore," Zero corrected. "There's a difference."
Eunbi heard them. Her eyes flicked toward Zero, and instead of shame, instead of denial, she pulled off Dong-soo's balls with a wet slurp and smiled.
"Maybe I am," she said. "Maybe I always was. Maybe you were right." She turned back to Dong-soo's cock, now fully erect, a monstrous pillar of flesh that seemed too large to fit in any human orifice. "Now shut up and let me worship this fucking cock."
She took him back into her mouth.
This time she didn't stop. She pushed forward until her nose pressed against his pubic bone, until her throat was stretched around his shaft, until her chin touched his balls. She held there, not breathing, her eyes watering, her throat convulsing around him in rhythmic waves.
Dong-soo groaned. His thick fingers tangled in her hair, holding her in place. "That's it. Stay there. Fucking stay there."
Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.
Eunbi's face went red, then purple. Her bound hands flailed, slapping against his thighs, but she didn't tap out. Didn't pull back. When he finally released her, she gasped back to life with a ragged inhale, drool pouring from her mouth in thick ropes.
"More," she croaked. "Fuck my throat. Please. Use me."
Dong-soo didn't need more encouragement. He grabbed her head with both hands and started fucking her face with brutal, piston-like thrusts. Each impact pushed a wet choke from her throat. Each withdrawal left her gasping for air. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, coating her chin in spit.
You watched, your hand moving to your cock without conscious thought. It was hardening again, rising from your thigh despite the hours of abuse you'd already put it through. Something about seeing Eunbi like this—broken, eager, transformed—ignited a fresh pulse of arousal.
"Kyung," Zero said. "Get behind her. Fill that ass while she sucks."
Kyung stepped forward without a word. His cock was already hard again, slick with the remnants of his earlier load. He knelt behind Eunbi, positioning himself between her spread thighs, and lined up with her still-gaping asshole.
"Push back," he murmured. "Take me in."
Eunbi pulled off Dong-soo's cock just long enough to gasp, "Yes. Fuck yes. Fill my ass. Both holes. I need both holes filled." Then she swallowed Dong-soo again, taking him to the root in one desperate motion.
Kyung pushed forward. Her asshole offered no resistance—it was still stretched from his earlier fucking, the rim loose and welcoming. His cock slid in to the hilt with a wet squelch, and Eunbi moaned around Dong-soo's shaft, the vibration making him curse.
"Fuck, she's humming on my dick," Dong-soo grunted.
Kyung started moving. His thrusts were slow at first, deep and grinding, his hips pressing flush against her ass with each stroke. Then faster. Then harder. The sound of his pelvis slapping against her cheeks joined the wet choking sounds from her throat, creating a filthy percussion that echoed off the dressing room walls.
Eunbi was caught between them—Dong-soo's massive cock stretching her throat, Kyung's length reaming her ass—and she was loving every second. Her bound hands gripped Dong-soo's thighs for balance. Her hips pushed back to meet Kyung's thrusts. Her cunt, neglected for the moment, dripped onto the floor in a steady stream.
"Ho-jin," Zero said. "The toys. Get them."
Ho-jin looked up from his laptop. "Which ones?"
"The tentacle set. All five."
Your pulse quickened. You'd seen the bag earlier—a black duffel that Ho-jin had brought, filled with silicone implements that ranged from intimidating to impossible. The tentacle dildos were the worst of them: five ridged, tapered shafts in various sizes, each one modeled after some deep-sea nightmare, with suckers and nodules running along their curves.
Ho-jin retrieved the bag and unzipped it. The toys spilled onto the vanity counter with obscene thumps—purple silicone, blue silicone, black, green, a deep crimson that looked almost black in the fluorescent light. Each one was thicker at the base and tapered to a pointed tip, the suckers becoming more pronounced toward the thicker end.
"Perfect," Zero said. "Kyung, pull out."
Kyung withdrew his cock with a wet pop. Eunbi's asshole gaped behind him, a dark void that pulsed with her heartbeat, the pink interior visible, cum already leaking from the stretched rim.
"No," Eunbi whined. "No, don't stop. Why did you stop?"
"Because we're going to fill you properly," Zero said. "Dong-soo, keep her mouth occupied."
Dong-soo shoved his cock back between her lips, cutting off her protests. She sucked automatically, her eyes still wide and questioning.
Kyung picked up the first tentacle—the purple one, the smallest, though "small" was relative. It was still thicker than two fingers, its length covered in dime-sized suckers that would drag against her inner walls. He pressed the tapered tip against her asshole.
Eunbi tensed. A muffled sound escaped around Dong-soo's shaft.
"Relax," Kyung said softly. "You wanted all your holes filled. We're filling them."
He pushed.
The silicone slid into her ass with obscene ease. Her sphincter stretched around the first sucker, then the second, then the third, each ridge disappearing inside her with a wet slurp. When the base lodged against her cheeks, the tapered tip was visibly pressing against her lower belly—a faint bulge beneath her skin.
"One," Zero counted.
Eunbi moaned around Dong-soo's cock. Her thighs trembled. Her cunt gushed a fresh pulse of fluid onto the floor.
Kyung selected the second tentacle—blue, slightly thicker, with more pronounced suckers. He pressed it against her asshole alongside the first.
"Wait," Jae-hyun said, his voice uncertain. "Can she even—"
"She'll take it," Zero interrupted. "Won't you, Eunbi-ssi?"
She pulled off Dong-soo's cock just long enough to gasp, "Yes. Give it to me. Stretch me open. I want to feel them all."
Then she swallowed him again, deeper than before, her nose pressed flat against his pelvis.
Kyung pushed the second tentacle in.
The resistance was greater this time. Her asshole stretched wider, the rim going white, the skin pulling taut between the two silicone shafts. Eunbi's muffled scream vibrated through Dong-soo's cock, making him curse and grab her hair tighter. Her bound hands scrabbled at his thighs, nails leaving red lines.
But she didn't pull away.
The blue tentacle slid deeper, its suckers catching on her inner walls with wet clicking sounds. When it was fully seated, both toys lodged in her ass, her sphincter was stretched into an oval that seemed impossibly wide.
"Two," Zero said. "How's she doing, Ho-jin?"
"Heart rate elevated. Blood pressure spiking. But—" Ho-jin paused, squinting at his screen. "Endorphin levels are through the roof. She's not in distress. She's in ecstasy."
"I told you," Eunbi gasped, pulling off Dong-soo's cock. Her voice was wrecked, barely a whisper. "I told you I wanted more. Give me the rest. Give me all of them."
Her eyes were wild now—pupils blown wide, irises barely visible. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. Cum and saliva coated her chin and neck in a glistening sheen. She looked nothing like the idol who'd walked off that stage. She looked like something feral. Something hungry.
Something that would never be satisfied.
Kyung picked up the third tentacle—green, thicker still, its suckers arranged in spiraling patterns along the shaft. He pressed the tip against her stretched rim alongside the other two.
"No easing it in," Zero instructed. "Shove it."
Kyung shoved.
Eunbi screamed. Not a muffled scream this time—a full-throated wail that bounced off the walls and probably carried down the service corridor. Her asshole stretched beyond what seemed physically possible, the three silicone shafts forcing her sphincter into a triangle of strained flesh. The suckers on all three toys caught and dragged against each other, creating a sensation that must have been overwhelming—too much friction, too much stretch, too much everything.
"Three," Zero said. "You're doing so well, Eunbi-ssi. Halfway there."
"Halfway?" Jae-hyun's voice cracked. "You're putting all five in?"
"She said all her holes. She meant all her holes." Zero crouched beside Eunbi's trembling form. "Isn't that right?"
Eunbi couldn't answer. Her mouth hung open, drool dripping onto Dong-soo's cock, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes were unfocused, staring at something in the middle distance. But when Zero asked the question, she nodded—a jerky, desperate motion.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. More. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Your cock was fully hard now, aching in your grip as you stroked yourself. The scene was hypnotic—Eunbi impaled on three tentacle dildos, her asshole stretched into a gaping void, her body trembling with something that looked equal parts agony and bliss. Dong-soo's massive cock still hovered at her lips, and she turned back to it automatically, sucking the head into her mouth with a hunger that hadn't diminished.
"Keep her mouth busy," Zero told Dong-soo. "She takes the toys better when she's choking on cock."
Dong-soo thrust back into her throat, and Kyung selected the fourth tentacle—black, the second-largest, its suckers large enough to leave visible impressions on her inner walls. He didn't wait. He pressed it against the stretched rim, angled it alongside the other three, and pushed with steady, unrelenting pressure.
Eunbi's body convulsed. Her hands, still bound, flew to her own tits, squeezing and twisting her nipples with brutal force. Her hips bucked, impaling herself further on the toys. The muffled sounds coming from around Dong-soo's cock were beyond words—animal noises, guttural and raw.
The fourth tentacle slid home with a wet squelch. Her asshole was now stretched around four silicone shafts of varying colors, the rim a thin band of whitened flesh, the suckers of each toy visible just inside the entrance. Her lower belly was visibly distended, the outlines of the toys pressing against her skin from the inside.
"Fuck," Young-chul breathed. His camera was inches from her ass, capturing every detail. "She's taking four. Four fucking tentacles in her ass."
"Four," Zero counted. "One more, Kyung. The crimson one. The big one."
The fifth tentacle was a monster. Thick as a forearm at the base, its surface covered in suckers and nodules and ridges, the tip tapered to a blunt point. Kyung lifted it with both hands, showing it to Eunbi before pressing it against her ruined hole.
"This one's going to hurt," he said, his soft voice carrying an edge of something darker. "Do you still want it?"
Eunbi pulled off Dong-soo's cock. A bridge of saliva connected her bottom lip to his shaft, stretching, breaking.
"I want it," she said. Her voice was raw. Wrecked. But absolutely certain. "I want to feel it in my stomach. I want to feel full. I want to feel like I'm being split apart. Put it in. Put all of it in. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if I can't walk tomorrow. I just want to be full."
Zero smiled. "You heard her."
Kyung pressed the crimson tentacle against her asshole. The tip was thicker than the space remaining between the other four toys. He had to angle it carefully, working it into the tiny gap, the silicone sliding against the other shafts with wet squeaking sounds.
Eunbi's head fell back. Her mouth opened on a silent scream. Her fingers dug into her own breasts, nails leaving crescent marks in the soft flesh.
"Breathe," Kyung murmured. "Breathe through it."
She sucked in a ragged breath. Then another. Then—
He pushed.
The fifth tentacle breached her. Her asshole stretched wider than it had any right to, the rim now a thin white line barely visible between the five multicolored shafts. The suckers on all five toys caught and dragged against her inner walls, against each other, creating a symphony of obscene wet sounds. Her stomach bulged further, the outlines of the tentacles visible beneath her skin like something out of a body horror film.
Eunbi came.
The orgasm hit her like a bolt of lightning. Her entire body locked up, muscles seizing, back arching until you thought her spine might snap. A wail tore from her throat—not words, not even a scream, just pure primal sound. Her cunt, still untouched, gushed fluid in a powerful stream that splattered across the floor and hit Kyung's chest. She squirted again and again, her inner muscles convulsing around nothing, desperate for a cock that wasn't there.
"Fuck me," she sobbed. "Someone fuck my cunt. Please. I need a cock in my cunt. I need to be filled everywhere. Please please please—"
You moved before Zero could give the order. Your cock was already hard, already leaking, and her cunt was right there—swollen and dripping and desperate. You knelt between her spread thighs, lined up your shaft with her entrance, and thrust in to the hilt in one brutal motion.
Her inner walls clamped around you like a fist. Even after everything, after all the cocks and toys and brutal pounding, she was still tight. Still hot. Still wet. The pressure of the five tentacles in her ass pushed against your shaft through the thin wall of flesh separating her holes, creating a sensation unlike anything you'd ever felt—tight in a way that was almost painful, each thrust grinding the silicone against your cock from the other side.
"There," Eunbi gasped. "There. Fuck. Yes. Both holes. Both holes full. Don't stop. Don't ever stop."
Dong-soo grabbed her chin and turned her face back toward his cock. "You're not done with me either, whore. Open up."
She opened. He thrust back into her throat, and now she was truly filled—mouth stuffed with Dong-soo's monster cock, cunt impaled on your shaft, ass stretched around five tentacle dildos. Three points of penetration, each one brutal, each one pushing her further beyond anything she'd ever experienced.
You started fucking her in earnest. Your hips pistoned with short, sharp thrusts, the head of your cock nudging against her cervix with each stroke. The tentacles in her ass shifted with your movements, their suckers dragging against both your shaft and her inner walls, creating friction that bordered on overwhelming.
"Harder," Eunbi choked out around Dong-soo's cock. "Harder. Break me. Split me open. I don't care anymore. I just want to feel it. I want to feel everything."
The others gathered closer, watching. Young-chul's camera captured every angle—her stretched mouth, her bulging stomach, her cunt stretched around your cock, her ass impaled on five multicolored shafts. Ho-jin monitored her vitals, muttering numbers that no one listened to. Jae-hyun stroked himself openly, his eyes fixed on the spectacle. Min-seok watched with clinical detachment, though his hand had found its way into his pants.
Zero stood at the head of the scene, arms crossed, scarred eyebrow raised in satisfaction. "This is what happens when you strip away the pretense. This is what's underneath every idol, every celebrity, every person who thinks they're above the rest of us. Just flesh. Just hunger. Just need."
Eunbi heard him. Her eyes, wet and wild, flicked toward Zero. And she nodded.
She fucking nodded.
"More," Dong-soo grunted, his hips moving faster. "She's sucking harder. She's trying to swallow my fucking cock."
She was. Her throat worked frantically around his shaft, the muscles milking him with each thrust. Her tongue pressed against the underside, tracing veins and ridges. Her bound hands had moved from her own tits to his thighs, pulling him closer, encouraging him to go deeper.
Kyung, still behind her, grabbed the bases of the tentacle dildos and started fucking them in and out of her ass. Not just leaving them buried—actively thrusting them, all five at once, their suckers catching and dragging with each stroke. The sight was obscene beyond words: five silicone shafts of varying colors sliding in and out of her ruined asshole, her sphincter stretching and contracting around them, cum and lube and something darker leaking from the stretched rim.
"Look at her stomach," Young-chul said, zooming in. "You can see the toys moving. You can fucking see them."
You could. With each thrust of the tentacles, the outlines beneath her skin shifted and bulged, creating a grotesque puppet show of her own violation. The sight pushed something primal in your brain—disgust, arousal, fascination, all fused together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.
You fucked her harder. Your cock slammed into her cervix with each stroke, the tight ring of muscle yielding slightly, then yielding more. You felt yourself starting to breach her womb again, the head of your cock slipping past that final barrier.
"In my womb," Eunbi gasped, pulling off Dong-soo's cock. "You're in my womb again. Fuck. Breed me again. Fill my womb with cum while my ass is full of toys. Please. Please. I need it. I need to be bred. I need to be overflowing."
"You hear that?" Zero said. "She's begging to be bred. The idol who didn't care about her fans is begging to be impregnated by one of them."
"I'm not an idol anymore," Eunbi sobbed. "I'm not anything anymore. I'm just holes. I'm just a body. Fill me. Use me. Breed me. I don't care. I just want to be full."
Dong-soo grabbed her chin and thrust back into her mouth, cutting off her babbling. Kyung increased his pace with the tentacles, the five shafts pistoning in and out of her ass with wet squelching sounds. And you—you buried yourself in her cunt, your cockhead nestled in her womb, and let your orgasm build.
It didn't take long.
The pressure at the base of your spine became a roar. Your balls drew up tight. Your thrusts became erratic, desperate, animal. Eunbi's inner walls clenched around you in rhythmic waves, her own orgasm building in tandem with yours.
"Inside," she tried to say around Dong-soo's cock. The word came out garbled but unmistakable. "Insiiiide—"
You came.
The first pulse of cum flooded her womb directly, painting her deepest chamber white. The second pulse was just as strong, then the third, then the fourth, each one pumping more seed into her already overflowing body. She came with you—her cunt clamping down, her asshole spasming around the tentacles, her throat constricting around Dong-soo's cock—a full-body orgasm that left her convulsing and sobbing and squirting onto the floor in a powerful gush that splattered your thighs and stomach.
Dong-soo pulled out of her mouth and grabbed his cock, stroking himself furiously. "Where do you want it, whore? Tell me where you want my cum."
"On my face," Eunbi gasped. "Paint my face. Mark me. Make me yours."
He roared and let go. Thick ropes of cum splattered across her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. Pulse after pulse, more cum than seemed possible, coating her features in a white mask that dripped into her open mouth and down her chin. She caught what she could on her tongue, swallowing greedily, and what she couldn't catch, she wore like warpaint.
Kyung was next. He pulled the tentacles out of her ass one by one—the crimson first, then the black, then the green, then the blue, then the purple—each withdrawal producing a wet pop and a fresh gush of fluid from her ruined hole. When the last one came out, her asshole stayed open, a gaping void that revealed the pink interior beyond, her sphincter too exhausted to close.
"Fuck," Kyung breathed, and he shoved his cock into that void and pumped his own load deep into her bowels. His orgasm was silent—just a sharp exhale and a tightening of his jaw—but the way he ground against her, pressing as deep as possible, told you everything.
When he pulled out, cum leaked from her ass in a thick stream, pooling on the floor beneath her.
Eunbi collapsed forward. Her bound hands couldn't catch her, so she landed face-first on the linoleum, her cum-coated cheek pressing into the cold surface. Her body twitched and shuddered with aftershocks. Her holes—all three of them—leaked various fluids, creating a mixed puddle beneath her prone form.
She was utterly destroyed. Utterly used. Utterly satisfied.
And still, impossibly, she was smiling.
"More," she whispered, her cracked lips barely moving. "I can still feel emptiness. I need more."
Zero crouched beside her, tilting her chin up with one finger. "There is no more, Eunbi-ssi. We've used every hole. We've filled you with more cum and silicone than most women take in a lifetime. What else could you possibly want?"
Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, found yours. "Him. Again. I want him to fuck my ass. I want to feel his cock in my ass while I suck someone else. I want to be airtight. I want to be so full I can't think. I want to forget my name. I want to forget I was ever anything but this."
Your cock, still half-hard despite everything, twitched at her words.
Zero noticed. "She's insatiable. Completely broken. A mindless cock-hungry whore." He stood and gestured at you. "Well? She asked for you specifically. Are you going to disappoint her?"
You looked at Eunbi—cum-soaked, sweat-drenched, her holes gaping and leaking, her eyes pleading—and felt something shift inside you. The anger that had driven you here, the betrayal that had festered in your chest for weeks, was gone. In its place was something simpler. Something purer.
Hunger.
"Position her," you said. "Face down, ass up. Jae-hyun, get in front of her. She said airtight, so she's getting airtight."
Jae-hyun moved into position without hesitation, his thinner but longer cock already hard again. Dong-soo grabbed Eunbi by the hips and lifted her into a kneeling position, her bound hands braced against the floor, her ass presented to you like an offering. Her asshole was still gaping, still leaking Kyung's cum, the rim loose and welcoming.
"No condom," Eunbi breathed. "No lube. Just your cock. Just cum. Breed my ass like you bred my womb."
You knelt behind her, lining up your shaft with her ruined hole. Jae-hyun grabbed her hair and pulled her face toward his cock. She opened for him immediately, taking him deep without being told, her throat working to accommodate his length.
"Now," Zero said.
You thrust into her ass.
The sensation was different from her cunt—looser, sloppier, but somehow more obscene. The cum still inside her served as lubricant, allowing you to sink in to the hilt in one smooth motion. Your cock was surrounded by heat and wetness and the lingering stretch of the tentacles, her inner walls fluttering weakly around your shaft.
Eunbi moaned around Jae-hyun's cock. The sound was muffled but unmistakably pleased.
You started fucking her with long, slow strokes, each thrust pushing a fresh grunt from her throat. Jae-hyun matched your rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of her mouth in tandem with your thrusts. She was truly airtight now—mouth stuffed, ass filled, cunt still dripping and neglected between her thighs.
"She needs something in her cunt too," Dong-soo said. He picked up one of the tentacles—the purple one, still slick with her fluids—and shoved it into her empty pussy without ceremony.
Eunbi's scream was swallowed by Jae-hyun's cock.
The three points of penetration drove her higher, her body convulsing with what was either another orgasm or the aftershocks of the last one. Her bound hands clawed at the floor. Her toes curled. Her muffled moans became a continuous stream of sound that vibrated through Jae-hyun's shaft.
"Fuck, she's humming again," Jae-hyun gasped. "She's going to make me come."
"Then come," Zero said. "Fill her throat. She's not done swallowing loads."
Jae-hyun thrust deep and held there, his cock buried in her throat, and came. Eunbi swallowed around him, her throat milking his shaft for every drop, her eyes rolling back in something that looked almost like bliss. When he pulled out, she licked her lips, chasing the taste.
"More," she rasped. "Who's next? Who else wants to fuck my throat? My ass? My cunt? I can take all of you. All at once. I want to be drowning in cum. I want to be dripping from every hole. I want—"
Dong-soo's cock, fully hard again, silenced her. He didn't ask permission. He just shoved his monster shaft between her lips and started fucking her face with the same brutal intensity he'd used on her cunt. Her throat bulged around his girth. Her jaw stretched to its absolute limit. Her eyes watered and her nose ran and she couldn't breathe.
And she loved every second.
Your own orgasm was building again, the tight heat of her ass pulling you toward release. You grabbed her hips and fucked her harder, your balls slapping against her cunt with each thrust, the tentacle still lodged in her pussy shifting with each impact. Her asshole, loose as it was, still gripped your shaft with residual tightness, the stretched rim catching on your head with each withdrawal.
"Going to come," you grunted. "Going to fill your ass."
"Mmm-hmm," Eunbi hummed around Dong-soo's cock. The vibration pushed him over the edge, and he came with a roar, pumping his load directly into her stomach for the second time that night.
You came a heartbeat later. Your cum flooded her bowels, joining Kyung's earlier load and the residual fluids from the tentacles. You pumped until your balls ached, until there was nothing left to give, until her ass was so full that cum leaked around your shaft with each pulse.
When you pulled out, her asshole stayed open—a gaping, cum-filled void that pulsed with her heartbeat. The tentacle in her cunt slipped out with a wet plop. Her mouth hung open, Dong-soo's cum dripping from her lips onto the floor.
She was a mess. A ruin. A masterpiece of degradation.
And she was still smiling.
"More," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Please. More. I can still feel empty. I need—"
"Enough," Zero said. His voice wasn't harsh. It was almost gentle. "You've taken enough for one night, Eunbi-ssi. More than enough."
He crouched beside her, tilting her chin up with one finger. Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, tried to meet his.
"You're not an idol anymore," he told her. "You're not a celebrity. You're not even the woman who made that stupid comment about her fans. You're something new now. Something we made together." He wiped a streak of cum from her cheek with his thumb. "How does that feel?"
Eunbi's smile stretched wider. Cum dripped from her teeth. Tears and drool and sweat streaked her face. Her holes gaped and leaked and pulsed. Everything about her was obscene.
Everything about her was honest.
"It feels," she said, her ruined voice barely a whisper, "like freedom."
Eunbi's whisper still hung in the air when Zero clapped his hands together, the sharp crack cutting through the humid silence of the dressing room.
"Not yet," he said. "You don't get to tap out. You don't get to rest." He nudged her hip with the toe of his shoe. "Roll over."
She couldn't. Her bound wrists and ankles made the motion clumsy, a graceless flopping that left her on her back in the puddle of mixed cum, her gaped holes leaking onto the linoleum. The fluorescent lights cast her in harsh white—every bruise, every smear of mascara, every swollen lip and stretched rim laid bare for the camera Young-chul still held steady.
"Look at her," Dong-soo grunted. He was half-hard again, his monster cock twitching against his thigh as he stared down at her ruined body. "She's still hungry. I can see it in her eyes."
He wasn't wrong. Eunbi's gaze, glassy and unfocused as it was, tracked toward your cock with the single-minded intensity of a predator. Her tongue—thick, coated white—slid across her cracked lips.
"Him," she rasped. "Just him this time. Alone."
Zero's scarred eyebrow lifted. "You're making demands now?"
"Requests." A ghost of her old smile flickered across her cum-streaked face. "I'm making requests. I want him to fuck me like he means it. Like he's not angry anymore. Like he—" Her voice cracked. "Like he still loves me. Just a little. Just for a moment."
The room went quiet.
You felt every pair of eyes turn toward you. Dong-soo's expression was unreadable. Jae-hyun looked away, jaw tight. Min-seok cleaned his glasses with shaking fingers. Kyung, silent as ever, tilted his head like a bird examining something curious.
And Zero—Zero was watching you with that empty smile, waiting to see what you'd do.
"She wants you," he said. "The fan who wrote the letter. The one whose father died. The one who cried when IZ*ONE disbanded." He gestured at her prone form. "She wants that person back. Just for a moment. Can you give her that?"
Your feet carried you forward before your brain caught up.
Eunbi's eyes followed you, wet and wide and terrifyingly hopeful. You knelt beside her, your knees pressing into the sticky mess on the floor, and reached for the silk restraints around her wrists.
"Leave them," Zero said.
"I'm not asking permission."
You worked the knots loose. The silk fell away, revealing the red marks they'd left on her skin. Her hands, when you took them in yours, were cold. Trembling. She flexed her fingers, staring at them like she'd forgotten she had hands at all.
"My legs too," she whispered. "Please. If you're going to—if this is really going to be different—I want to hold you. I want to feel like a person again."
You untied her ankles.
She didn't run. Didn't even try. Just lay there, naked and ruined and covered in the evidence of everything that had been done to her, and waited for you to decide what came next.
"Camera's still rolling," Young-chul said.
"Let it roll." You didn't look at him. Your eyes stayed on Eunbi's face—on the way her expression shifted as she realized you weren't going to hurt her. Weren't going to degrade her. Weren't going to treat her like the hole she'd begged to become. "This one's different."
"How touching," Zero murmured. But there was something in his voice—curiosity, maybe, or the satisfaction of a man watching his experiment yield unexpected results. "Go on, then. Show us how a fan fucks his idol when he's not angry anymore."
Eunbi reached up.
Her fingers, still unsteady, touched your cheek. Traced the line of your jaw. Brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from your forehead. The gesture was so gentle, so human, that it made your chest ache.
"You kept my letter," you said.
"In my nightstand." Her voice was barely audible. "I wasn't lying. I read it when I can't sleep. When the anxiety gets bad. When I feel like I'm disappearing behind the idol mask and no one sees the real me anymore." She swallowed hard. "I read your letter and I remember that I mattered to someone. That I made a difference. Even when I said stupid, cruel things in interviews because I was exhausted and frustrated and not thinking."
"You broke my heart."
"I know." Tears welled in her eyes—fresh ones, not the fucked-out weeping from before. Real tears. "I know I did. And I can't undo it. But I can—right now, in this moment—I can be the person you thought I was. Just for you. Just for this."
You kissed her.
It was the first kiss of the night. The first one that wasn't forced or brutal or transactional. Her lips were swollen, split in one corner, tasting of salt and cum and something metallic. But she kissed you back with a tenderness that seemed impossible given everything that had happened—her mouth soft, her tongue tentative, her fingers threading through your hair like you were something precious.
"Fuck," Dong-soo muttered. "This is weird."
"Shut up," Min-seok said quietly. "Just—shut up and watch."
Your hands moved to her body. Not grabbing. Not claiming. Just touching. Your palm settled on her hip, feeling the bone beneath the skin, the tremor of exhausted muscles. Your other hand cupped her breast—bruised now, marked by teeth and fingers, but still soft. Still warm. Still responding when your thumb brushed her nipple.
She arched into your touch. A small sound escaped her throat, not quite a moan, not quite a sob.
"Missionary," she whispered against your lips. "I want to see your face. I want to watch you while you're inside me. I want—I want to remember this. Whatever happens after, whatever they do with the footage, whatever I become—I want to remember this."
You positioned yourself between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around your waist—no restraints now, just her own choice, her own desire. Her heels pressed into the small of your back, urging you closer.
Your cock, hard again despite everything, nudged against her entrance. Her cunt was a mess—swollen, gaped, leaking the cum of three different men. But when the head of your shaft pressed against her, she gasped and her inner muscles fluttered in anticipation.
"Slow," she breathed. "Please. Slow this time."
You pushed in.
The sensation was different from before. Before, it had been about dominance—forcing your way into her, claiming territory, extracting revenge. Now it was about connection. Her cunt, loose from hours of abuse, still gripped your shaft with residual tightness. Still hot. Still wet. Still welcoming.
You sank in to the hilt and held there, letting her feel the fullness, letting her adjust.
Eunbi's eyes never left yours. Her hands came up to frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, fingers curling behind your ears. Her lips parted on a trembling exhale.
"You're crying," she said.
You were. You hadn't noticed until she pointed it out, but there were tears tracking down your cheeks—hot and unexpected and utterly unstoppable. The anger that had driven you here, the betrayal that had festered for weeks, the cruelty you'd inflicted on this woman, the things you'd watched and participated in—it all hit you at once, a tidal wave of emotion that left you shaking.
"I'm sorry," you choked out. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"I know." She pulled your face down to hers, pressing her forehead against your brow. "I know you are. I'm sorry too. We're both—we're both so fucking broken. But right now—right now, just move. Just feel. Just be here with me."
You moved.
Your hips rolled in slow, deep strokes, each thrust pushing your cock to the very depths of her cunt. The head nudged against her bruised cervix, and she whimpered, but she didn't tell you to stop. Her legs tightened around your waist. Her fingers dug into your shoulders. Her breath came in shaky gasps that matched your rhythm.
"Fuck," Young-chul muttered from behind the camera. "They're actually—this is actually intimate."
"Told you to shut up," Min-seok said.
Eunbi's body responded to you in ways it hadn't with the others. Her cunt grew wetter—not the forced lubrication of degradation, but genuine arousal. Her inner walls clenched and released in waves that seemed to pull you deeper. Her hips rose to meet your thrusts, her movements growing more confident, more eager.
"Harder," she breathed. "You can go harder. I want to feel you. I want to feel everything."
You increased your pace. The wet sounds of your fucking filled the room, but they were different now—less brutal, more rhythmic. Your balls slapped against her ass with each thrust, the impact sending ripples through her cum-slicked thighs. Her breasts bounced with the motion, the nipples dark and hard, still glistening with someone's spit.
She pulled your mouth back to hers. The kiss was deeper this time—hungrier. Her tongue slid against yours, and you tasted the salt of her tears and the bitter residue of the loads she'd swallowed. It should have been disgusting. Instead, it was the most intimate thing you'd ever experienced.
"Tell me," she gasped, breaking the kiss. "Tell me what you're feeling."
"I'm feeling—" Your voice caught. "I'm feeling like I'm fucking the woman I loved. The woman I still love. The woman who broke my heart and somehow still has it."
"I still have it?"
"You still have it."
She sobbed—a broken, desperate sound—and pulled you deeper. Her heels pressed harder into your back. Her cunt clamped around your shaft like she was trying to milk you, trying to keep you inside her forever.
"Come inside me," she begged. "Not because they're watching. Not because you want to degrade me. Because you want to. Because you still love me. Even a little. Even just for now."
Your thrusts grew erratic. The pressure at the base of your spine built and built, a roaring wave that threatened to engulf you. But you held back—held on—because you didn't want this moment to end. Didn't want to lose the connection you'd found in the wreckage of what you'd done to her.
"Not yet," you grunted. "Not in missionary. I want—I want to be deeper. I want to be as deep as possible when I fill you."
Eunbi's eyes, still glassy, still wet, sparkled with something that might have been recognition. "Mating press. Put me in a mating press. Fold me in half and fuck my womb. Breed me properly. Make me yours."
You pulled out. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound, reluctant to release you. You grabbed her legs and pressed them back—knees to her chest, ankles over your shoulders, her ass lifted off the floor. The position was obscene. Her gaped cunt was fully exposed, the swollen lips parted, the entrance visibly pulsing. Her asshole, still stretched from the tentacles, winked beneath.
"Beautiful," Zero murmured. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
"Shut up," Eunbi said. It was the first time she'd spoken to him directly since the shift. "This isn't for you. This isn't about you. This is about us."
Zero's smile flickered. For the first time all night, something other than satisfaction crossed his angular features. But he didn't interrupt.
You lined your cock up with her entrance and pushed.
The angle was different—steeper, deeper. You felt the head of your shaft hit her cervix immediately, that tight ring of muscle that guarded her womb. But this time, instead of battering against it, you nudged through. The cervix stretched, yielded, and your cockhead slipped into her deepest chamber with a sensation like breaking through a sealed door.
Eunbi screamed.
It wasn't a scream of pain. It was a scream of absolute, overwhelming sensation—the kind of sound that came from a place beyond language, beyond thought, beyond anything but pure physical response. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Her tongue lolled from her mouth. Her hands, no longer bound, flew to your shoulders and clawed deep furrows into your skin.
"In my womb," she babbled. "You're in my womb. You're so deep. You're so fucking deep. I can feel you in my stomach. I can feel you everywhere."
You started fucking her—not the brutal, piston-like thrusts from before, but deep, grinding strokes that kept your cockhead nestled in her womb. Each movement pushed a fresh sound from her lips. Each withdrawal left her gasping with emptiness. Her stomach bulged with each thrust, the outline of your shaft visible beneath her skin—a sight that made Young-chul zoom in, that made Dong-soo curse under his breath, that made Zero's smile return in full force.
"I can see you," Eunbi moaned. "I can see your cock moving inside me. Look. Look at what you're doing to me. Look at how deep you are."
You looked. You couldn't help it. The visual was hypnotic—your shaft disappearing into her swollen cunt, the faint bulge in her lower belly shifting with each stroke, her body literally reshaping itself around your intrusion.
"You're fucking my womb," she continued, her voice cracking with every word. "You're breeding me. Actually breeding me. I can feel your cockhead pressing against the walls of my uterus and I—I'm going to come. I'm going to come so fucking hard. Please. Please come with me. Fill my womb. Flood it. Make me overflow."
The pressure in your balls became unbearable. Your thrusts lost their rhythm, became desperate, animal, driven by pure biological imperative. Eunbi's cunt clamped around you in rhythmic waves, her own orgasm building in tandem with yours.
"Now," she sobbed. "Now now now now—"
You buried yourself to the hilt and let go.
The orgasm was a detonation. Thick ropes of cum flooded her womb, pulse after pulse after pulse, each one making her stomach bulge slightly more. You felt her uterus expand with the volume of it, felt her inner walls milk your shaft for every last drop, felt her own orgasm crash through her in response—her cunt spasming, her asshole clenching, her throat releasing a wail that bounced off the dressing room walls.
"Fuck," Jae-hyun breathed. "She's coming again. She's still coming."
She was. Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of convulsive pleasure that left her thrashing and sobbing and squirting a clear fluid that splattered your stomach and thighs. Her cunt gushed around your still-buried cock, the fluid mixing with your cum and leaking onto the floor in a steady stream.
When it finally subsided, she lay limp beneath you, chest heaving, face streaked with tears and drool and the drying remnants of a dozen loads. Her eyes, when they focused on your face, held something you couldn't name.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for that."
You pulled out. Your cum flowed from her gaped cunt in a white river, pooling on the floor beneath her ass. Her cervix was visible deep inside—bruised, swollen, but still pulsing with satisfaction. Her womb, now thoroughly flooded, left her lower belly slightly distended.
Zero started laughing.
It wasn't his usual controlled chuckle. This was something else—something genuine, something surprised, something almost joyful. He clapped his hands together as the laughter rolled through him, and the others joined in—Dong-soo's deep guffaw, Young-chul's nervous giggle, even Kyung's silent, shaking shoulders.
"This tape," Zero managed, wiping a tear from his eye. "This footage. Everything we captured tonight—the degradation, the surrender, the tentacles, the gaping, and then this—this twisted, beautiful, fucked-up love scene at the end." He grinned, and for once, the expression reached his eyes. "This tape is gonna be fucking expensive."
"Millions," Ho-jin agreed, his clinical detachment cracking into something almost like enthusiasm. "If we release this—and we control the distribution, staggered releases, premium access—we could make millions. Maybe tens of millions."
"Or we could sell it back to her agency," Min-seok said quietly. "They'd pay anything to keep this from going public."
Eunbi heard them. Her gaze flickered toward Zero, and instead of fear, instead of shame, something else crossed her exhausted features.
"You're going to blackmail me," she said. It wasn't a question.
"We're going to leverage an asset," Zero corrected. "There's a difference."
"You're going to own me."
"Legally? No. Practically?" He spread his hands. "You said it yourself. You're not an idol anymore. You're something new. Something we made together. And what we made—" he nodded at Young-chul's camera, at the hours of footage it contained "—has value. Immense value."
Eunbi was quiet for a long moment. Her cum-streaked face was unreadable. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Cum leaked from her cunt onto the floor. Drool still glistened on her chin. Her ruined holes gaped and pulsed. Everything about her was obscene.
But her eyes—her eyes were clear.
"You're wrong," she said.
Zero's smile flickered. "About what?"
"About owning me. About this footage having value." She pushed herself further up, until she was sitting, until she was looking at him eye-to-eye despite her nakedness, despite her degradation, despite everything. "I'm not going to be blackmailed. I'm not going to be controlled. You think you broke me? You think you made me into something you can use?"
She stood.
Her legs were unsteady. Her body was a ruin. But she stood, and she faced them—all seven of them—with a steadiness that seemed impossible given what she'd endured.
"You didn't break me. You freed me. You stripped away the idol mask, the public persona, the constant pressure to be perfect and grateful and untouchable. And what's underneath?" She gestured at her own body—the bruises, the cum, the gaped holes. "This is underneath. A woman who likes being fucked. A woman who likes being degraded. A woman who begged for more and meant it. That's not a weakness. That's not something you can use against me. That's a truth I've been hiding from myself for years."
Zero's smile had disappeared entirely. His scarred eyebrow was a hard line. His jaw was tight.
"So release the footage," Eunbi continued. "I don't care. Release it, and I'll go on every talk show in Korea and tell them exactly what happened. Tell them I enjoyed it. Tell them I begged for more. Tell them it was the most honest I've ever been in my entire career." She took a step toward him, and despite everything—despite his power, his planning, his control—he took a step back. "You wanted the real me. Congratulations. You found her. And you have no idea what to do with her."
Silence.
Then Zero laughed—a different laugh this time. Sharper. Darker. The laugh of a man who'd been outplayed at his own game.
"Interesting," he said. "Very interesting." He looked at you. "She's remarkable. I can see why you loved her."
"Still do," you said. The words came out before you could stop them.
Eunbi turned to look at you. Her expression was complicated—gratitude, confusion, something that might have been hope. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
"Take her home," Zero said abruptly. "Clean her up. Let her rest. We'll discuss the footage later." He pocketed his phone and headed for the door. "Consider this a gift. You broke her. You put her back together. She's yours now. Do what you want with her."
The others followed him out—Dong-soo with a last, lingering look at Eunbi's body, Young-chul still filming until Ho-jin tapped his shoulder, Kyung silent as a ghost, Min-seok pausing at the door.
"I'm sorry," he said, not meeting Eunbi's eyes. "For what I did. For what I said. I was—I was so angry. I forgot you were a person."
"I know," Eunbi said. Her voice was gentle. "I forgot too."
Min-seok nodded once and left.
The door clicked shut.
You and Eunbi were alone in the dressing room. The fluorescent lights hummed. The distant thump of the festival's closing acts vibrated through the walls. Somewhere, fifty thousand people were cheering for an encore, oblivious to everything that had happened thirty meters away.
"I meant what I said," Eunbi said quietly. "About the letter. About reading it when I can't sleep. About you being my favorite fan."
"I know."
"I also meant what I said about liking this." She gestured at her body—the cum, the bruises, the evidence of everything that had been done to her. "I didn't think I would. I thought I'd hate it. I thought I'd feel violated. But somewhere in the middle of everything—somewhere between choking on Dong-soo's cock and having those tentacles shoved in my ass—something snapped. Something good. Something that had been wound too tight for too long finally broke, and underneath it was just—hunger. Pure, unfiltered hunger. And it felt like freedom."
You pulled your pants on. Found your shirt. Grabbed a towel from the vanity and held it out to her.
"Let's get you cleaned up."
She took the towel. Her fingers brushed yours, and the contact sent a shiver through both of you.
"And then what?" she asked.
"And then we figure out what comes next."
She wiped the cum from her face—slow, methodical strokes that left streaks on the towel. When she looked up at you again, some of the exhaustion had faded. Some of the fire had returned.
"Promise me something," she said.
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll still be my fan. Even after tonight. Even after everything you've seen me do. Even after everything you've done to me. Promise me you'll still be the person who wrote that letter."
Your throat tightened. "I promise."
She nodded. Wrapped the towel around herself. Took a shaky step toward the door.
"Good," she said. "Because I think I'm going to need a fan like you. Someone who sees the real me and doesn't run away. Someone who knows what I am and still—" Her voice cracked. "Still thinks I matter."
"Matter," you said, stepping forward to steady her as her legs wobbled. "Eunbi-ssi, you're the only thing that's ever mattered."
She leaned into you. Her weight was slight, her body trembling with exhaustion, but her grip on your arm was fierce.
"Take me home," she whispered. "Please. Take me home."
You did.
The festival was still raging outside. Music pounded. Crowds roared. Lights strobed across the Seoul skyline. But in the service corridor, in the quiet space between the dressing room and the exit, you walked with Eunbi's arm around your shoulder and her cum-streaked hair brushing your cheek. Behind you, the dressing room sat empty—the only evidence of what had happened there the puddles on the floor, the discarded silk restraints, the five multicolored tentacle dildos still glistening on the vanity.
And somewhere, in a van pulling out of the loading dock, six men sat with a camera full of footage and no idea what to do with it. Zero's laughter had stopped. His smile had faded. His plan—so carefully constructed, so meticulously executed—had crumbled in the face of a woman who refused to be broken.
Because Eunbi was right. They hadn't broken her.
They'd freed her.
And the real Kwon Eunbi—cum-soaked, hole-gaped, psychologically cracked open but spiritually whole—was more dangerous than the idol had ever been.
The service door opened onto the night. Cool air hit your face. The stars, dimmed by Seoul's light pollution, still managed to glitter overhead. Eunbi tilted her head back to look at them, and for the first time all night, her smile was soft. Real. Unguarded.
"Freedom," she murmured, and the word tasted different now. Not the desperate, broken whisper from before. Something steadier. Something true.
You hailed a taxi. The driver took one look at Eunbi—disheveled, towel-wrapped, clearly not in any state to be out in public—and wisely said nothing. The address she gave wasn't her agency dorm or her luxury apartment. It was somewhere else. Somewhere you didn't recognize.
"Where are we going?" you asked.
"My real home," she said. "The one the company doesn't know about. The one I bought with my own money, not their contracts." She leaned her head against your shoulder. "I keep your letter there. In my nightstand. I want you to see it."
The taxi pulled into traffic. Seoul slid past the windows—neon and concrete and crowds of people who had no idea that Kwon Eunbi, headliner of Waterbomb Seoul 2026, was currently leaking cum onto the backseat of a Hyundai while wearing nothing but a towel and a smile.
"When we get there," she said, her voice drowsy, "I want you to fuck me again. In my bed. In my sheets. No cameras. No audience. Just you and me and whatever this is between us."
"And if I'm too tired?"
She laughed—a genuine laugh, surprised and bright. "Then I'll fuck you. I've learned a few things tonight. I think I can manage."
The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. You caught his gaze and shrugged.
"She's had a long night," you said.
He turned his attention back to the road.
Eunbi's hand found yours. Her fingers interlaced with yours, sticky and warm. She closed her eyes, and within minutes, her breathing evened out. She was asleep—or close to it—her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion that had been held at bay by adrenaline and arousal and sheer force of will.
You watched her sleep. Watched the rise and fall of her chest beneath the towel. Watched the bruises darkening on her throat and shoulders. Watched the ghost of a smile that lingered on her swollen lips.
Somewhere in the van driving in the opposite direction, Zero was probably already formulating a new plan. Dong-soo was probably already thinking about the next time he could get his hands on Eunbi's body. Young-chul was probably already reviewing footage, cataloging angles, calculating value.
But here, in this taxi, in this moment, none of that mattered.
What mattered was the woman asleep on your shoulder—the idol who'd broken your heart and the whore who'd put it back together. The fantasy you'd worshipped and the reality you'd helped create. The letter in her nightstand and the cum dripping down her thigh.
What mattered was that she'd asked you to stay.
What mattered was that you intended to.
The taxi turned down a quiet street, away from the neon and the crowds, toward a part of Seoul you'd never seen. Toward a home that wasn't on any company registry. Toward a bed where Kwon Eunbi—not the idol, not the brand, not the broken doll of Zero's creation—would pull you down beside her and whisper your name like it meant something.
Toward whatever came next.
And in the dark of the taxi, with her hand in yours and her breath steady against your neck, you realized you were smiling too.
A/N: Second part of Irene's comeback fic, containing two more fics with somewhat similar themes, one of which is Irene as a bit of a sub (writing Irene as a sub was not easy, I much prefer her being a domme and trampling all over me in my head). I had two requests about Irene's comeback fic, and accommodated the requests as best I could. Scroll a bit down for the one with Irene in the yellow dress.
“This outfit looks amazing on you, Juhyun-ah. You really suit the color red.. Can you keep wearing it for a bit?” I asked, my mind hazy with Irene’s beauty shining through the red outfit for the last day of her biggest fan music show performance at Inkigayo.
“Yeah? What do I get in return?” Irene asked teasingly, her eyes shining with a playful energy that showed up when she had something risque planned in her mind, but wanted me to find my way to it.
“My undying love? My eternal devotion?” The moment I blurted them out, Irene laughed out loud at me acting like a simp in front of her staff, although this was definitely not the first time. “I have those already, don’t I? What else will I get if I keep wearing this outfit that you like so much?”
Irene’s voice was soft, laced with just a hint of naughtiness, pointing me to the kind of answer she was expecting as she walked towards me with a sway in her hips that was nothing short of sexy, the openings on her outfit showcasing bare skin of her waist. Her breath ghosted over my lips as she stood right in front of me and looked into my eyes.
I leaned forward to whisper for her ears only, her staff oblivious to the conversation between us in the middle of the waiting room. “My cock?” I asked, softly kissing Irene’s earlobe as I leaned back to look at her eyes again. Irene’s smirk at hearing my response was equal parts alluring and triumphant. “Correct.” Her voice was louder now, for her staff to hear. “Can everyone give me some privacy for 15 minutes? I need to clear my head a bit before the interview starts.”
Everyone left immediately, already knowing not to come back in 30 minutes minimum, and Irene’s manager had the good sense to lock the door behind her. Irene jumped into my arms the moment the waiting room was empty; her milky white thighs wrapped around my waist, her arms wrapped around my shoulder and her tongue wrapped around mine. She pulled away after she let me suck on her tongue for a bit, and looked into my eyes, hers now filled with unbridled lust.
“How are you going to fuck me if you don’t want me to take off my outfit, baby?”
“I think I can manage. Do you trust me?”
“Not particularly, but I am too horny to care right now.”
I grabbed onto Irene’s waist tightly as I carried her to the makeup table, her legs still wrapped around my waist as I lay her down. She let her thighs off of my waist, instead, she pulled her flexible legs up perpendicular to her torso on the table, letting her feet rest against my shoulders. I took Irene’s leather boots off, revealing her bare legs wrapped around with fishnet stockings as she looked at me with eyes filled with arousal. I kissed her perfect feet against my shoulders, softly licking the bottom of her feet and sucking on her toes over the stockings before I hooked my fingers on the strings around her inner thighs, pulling tautly but waiting. Waiting for her permission.
As Irene lay on top of the makeup table, her inner thighs lined perfectly with my bulge, her legs resting on my shoulders, she looked at me and nodded once, knowing what I wanted to do with the tiny strings in my fingers. I pulled at them immediately, tearing the fishnet stocking around her inner thighs, allowing my hands to touch the warm, smooth skin of her inner thighs, a warmth already seeping from her core.
“Your thighs are perfect, Juhyun-ah. So fucking underutilized.” I rubbed my bulge against her inner thighs, my arms grabbing onto her knees as Irene moaned my name softly, her voice turning huskier and more aroused by the second. “What do you want to do with my thighs, baby?” she asked, already knowing, already loving the answer to the question.
“You already know what I will do, baby. I will fuck your thighs. And I’ll get to look at you wearing your red outfit as I fuck them.” Her inner thighs were covered in light sweat from her recordings already, and my bulge rubbing against them kept her warm. I grabbed a jar of vaseline from the makeup table, scooping a generous amount on my fingers and lathered it evenly on her inner thighs. Irene moaned again at my rubbing on her bare, sensitive skin, biting her lips as she kept her eyes locked onto mine.
I took my pants off in a hurry, kicking them aside along with my boxers. My cock sprang free, already rock-hard and leaking precum from the tip, that was how badly I needed her. Irene’s eyes dropped to it immediately, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in that unconscious way she had when she was starving for me. She crossed her legs deliberately, pressing those perfect, milky thighs together to create a tight, inviting tunnel. The torn fishnets framed the smooth skin beautifully, the red outfit still hugging her body, the deep v shaped neckline offering teasing glimpses of her cleavage with every breath.
I stepped closer, wrapping my hands around both of her knees. Her thighs felt incredible on my hands, soft on the surface but with that toned muscle underneath from years of dance practice, warm and slightly slick with a light sheen of sweat and the vaseline I rubbed earlier. I pushed my cock between them, groaning at the smooth, tight friction against her skin. The mix of my precum and the generous layer of vaseline made my cock glide so fucking smoothly. I started thrusting, slow at first, savoring the way her inner thighs squeezed around my shaft like they were made for this.
“Fuck, Juhyun-ah… your thighs are heaven,” I muttered. I kept one hand locked on her knees to hold them together while the other slid through the opening of her red outfit, fingers digging into the soft, bare skin of her waist. The fabric felt luxurious under my palm, but it was Irene’s bare skin and body heat that drove me crazy with arousal.
Each thrust made my cockhead brush against her clit through the thin thong she wore, the kind she liked wearing all the time, and my heavy balls slapped rhythmically against her dripping pussy. I could feel how soaked she was already as hot, slick arousal coated my balls with every smack, the musky-sweet scent of her filling the air between us and mixing with the faint floral notes of her stage perfume.
Irene moaned, low and throaty and needy, her head tilting back against the table. Her dark hair fanned out around her beautiful face, lips parted, cheeks flushed that pretty pink that always appeared when she was losing herself in pleasure. “Mmm… harder, baby. Use me. I can feel how much you love fucking my thighs like this.” Her voice had that husky edge that I could never get enough of, the one that made my cock twitch inside the warm, almost suffocating embrace of her thighs.
“You’re such a dirty little slut for me, aren’t you?” I said, thrusting my hips faster. “Letting me fuck your perfect, milky thighs right here on the makeup table while you’re still in your stage outfit. Anyone could’ve walked in earlier. Does that turn you on, Juhyun-ah? Knowing how badly I need your body?”
Irene bit her lip, eyes fluttering half-closed as she nodded. “Yes… God, yes. Use my body however you want. It’s yours. My thighs, my pussy, all of it, fuck, just use what you want.” Her words felt like an explicit invitation to her body that I did not know I could ever receive, feeding my lust for her more, if that was even possible. I started giving her longer thrusts, pulling my cock almost all the way out until only the swollen tip remained nestled between her slick inner thighs, then slamming back in. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room; obscene, loud, hot, and so fucking perfect.
On one particularly deep thrust, as my hand gripped onto her legs and my eyes locked into her eyes, my aim slipped a bit in the best way I could think of. Instead of sliding back between her thighs as I was fucking Irene’s thighs, my cockhead caught against the drenched entrance of her pussy and pushed inside in one smooth, accidental glide, her thong gleefully making way for my cock.
Irene’s eyes flew open wide, a sharp squeal of pleasure escaping her as her walls clenched around me instantly, as if she was waiting for me to slip up just like this. “Ah- fuck! Baby!” She was impossibly tight, hot, and soaking wet, her inner muscles fluttering against and gripping my cock immediately. The sudden switch from the soft pressure of her thighs to the searing, wet heat of her cunt made my head empty and vision blur for a second.
I did not stop. I could not. I gripped Irene’s waist with both hands now, the red fabric bunching under my fingers, and started fucking her with deep and powerful strokes that made the makeup table creak beneath her. Her legs stayed up on my shoulders, flexible body bent nearly in half as I drove into her. Every thrust bottomed out, my balls wet with her arousal slapped against her ass, her thong pushed to the side, useless now.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I groaned, leaning down to capture her mouth in a messy kiss as her legs were still against my shoulders, making full use of her flexibility. Our tongues tangled, saliva mixing as I pounded into her. “So fucking wet and tight. This pussy was dripping for me the whole time I was using your thighs, wasn’t it? You are such a needy little slut, Juhyun-ah.”
Irene had gone completely submissive under me, her usual teasing domme energy melting away into pure lust. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt as she whimpered and moaned with every thrust.
“Yes, fuck yes, I’m your slut. Fuck me harder. Please, baby, I need it.” Her hips were trying to buck up to meet me despite her flexible body being folded in the middle, her legs still against my shoulders as I kept tasting her lips. I could feel her getting even wetter, her juices coating my cock and dripping down to soak the table under her ass. The scent of sex was thick; musky, sweet, heady, perfect.
“Look at you, still in that sexy red outfit, legs spread for me like a good girl. I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy for anyone else and you’re gonna let me, aren’t you, Juhyun-ah? Gonna cum all over my cock while your staff waits outside.” I nipped at her earlobe, then sucked on it, tasting the faint salt of her skin as I whispered. My hands roamed all over her body, squeezing her waist, sliding up to cup her breasts over the outfit, pinching her nipples through it until she arched sharply.
Irene’s orgasm hit her hard. Her entire body tensed, legs clamping around my head as best they could in that position, a loud, keening moan tearing from her throat. Her pussy fluttered wildly around me, gushing fresh wetness that squirted lightly against my pelvis. I fucked her through her peak, prolonging her pleasure with steady, deep thrusts until she was shaking and gasping for air.
But I was not done yet. I pulled out briefly, flipping Irene onto her stomach on the table so her toned, round ass was presented to me like the gift it was, the red outfit riding up beautifully. Her legs dangled off the edge now, fishnet-clad toes brushing the floor.
Squeezing her cheeks with my hands, I spread them open, her puckered hole untouched but wet with sweat and her arousal. I admired how her pussy glistened, puffy and red from the rough fucking, before sliding back inside in one long stroke. Irene felt even tighter from behind. I grabbed a fistful of her long black hair firmly, not pulling too hard but enough to arch her back, and started fucking her again.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so deep,” Irene panted, pushing her ass back against me. Her voice was hoarse now, completely wrecked from how she moaned constantly. I reached around to rub her clit in tight circles, feeling her clench my cock again. All of my senses were overloaded in the best way possible as I felt the slick heat of her cunt, the soft jiggle of her ass with every impact, the way her red outfit contrasted against her pale skin, the faint creak of the table, her breathy moans, and the wet squelching sounds echoing in the locked room.
I was about to cum. The pleasure built at my core, balls tightening as I chased release. “I’m close, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Irene’s response was immediate, her domme side flickering back just enough to take control of the moment. “Don’t ruin the dress you like so much, baby. Cum inside. Fill me up. I want to feel it leaking out of me during the interview.” As I moaned Irene’s name loud, I buried myself to the hilt and came hard inside her pussy. Thick pulses of cum reached deep inside her, filling her pussy completely as my hips jerked involuntarily. My legs gave out, and I collapsed on top of her, my chest pressed to her back, still buried inside as Irene’s tight pussy made sure that my balls unloaded inside her completely.
We stayed like that for a moment, breathing heavily, our skin and outfits slick with sweat. I kissed the nape of her small neck and under her earlobe, my lips pressed against her flushed skin. The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, the taste of her skin were intoxicating.
But then a sharp knock sounded on the door.
Irene’s eyes snapped open, that familiar mischievous, dominant spark returning in an instant. She looked back at me, her pussy squeezing my cock hard one last time to tease. “Time’s up, baby,” she whispered, voice low and commanding. “We are done for now, but nowhere near done for today. Fix my outfit and go sit on the sofa. I’ll handle my staff, and once I am done with Inkigayo, I will take back what’s mine. You.”
Irene pushed me back gently but firmly, standing up on slightly shaky legs. My cum trickled down her inner thighs, mixing with the remnants of vaseline and her own wetness. She didn’t wipe it away. Instead, she adjusted her red outfit with practiced ease as she smoothed the fabric over her hips and waist and checked her reflection quickly in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed, lips swollen, and hair a bit messy; but she looked every bit the composed idol again. Except for the wicked glint in her eyes when she glanced back at me.
I quickly pulled my pants back on, heart still racing, and sat on the sofa as if we were just chatting just as her manager’s voice called through the door. “Irene-ssi? Five minutes until the interview.”
“Come in,” Irene called, voice perfectly steady, though I could hear the subtle huskiness underneath. The door unlocked and staff filtered back in, oblivious. Irene shot me one last heated look over her shoulder before turning to them with a bright, professional smile. “Let’s go. I’m feeling… refreshed.”
Irene looked adorable in this photo, right? Pure, innocent, with an angelic pout on her lips that made me want to pat the pearl headband adorning her beautiful hair softly and kiss her forehead lovingly.
But this photo, and all the other official photos from this performance did a disservice to Irene’s outfit. While she looked like a freshly bloomed flower reveling in purity in most photos; the total outfit and the way it showcased her bare navel, waist, and back was nothing less than eroticism personified. The way she moved on the stage should have looked the most innocent, but somehow, to me, it looked the sexiest; my eyes locked onto her perfect waist as she moved, taking in every little detail as her abs and waist was on full display, as if her body promised unparalleled sinful bliss. And not many idols could walk that perfectly balanced line.
That’s why when I saw Irene upfront, sitting in the waiting room with her staff surrounding us, the only thing I could think of doing is to tug on the big satin bow on her chest, as if to unwrap the gift of the Gods that was her breasts. And that’s the first thing I did.
I tugged on the satin bow with impatient fingers, the glossy fabric slipping loose under my touch, the sheer jacket sliding from Irene’s shoulders with a soft whisper of material and pooling behind her on the sofa. Her eyes widened in surprise, her lips curving into a surprised yet welcoming smile. “Wait,” she whispered, her voice already grown low as she glanced toward her staff hovering near the door. “Not yet, they’re still here. Just… wait until they leave.”
But I couldn’t. My hands were already on Irene’s exposed waist, growing more greedy and restless as I felt her skin on mine and pulled her closer. Her hair, neatly bound in a bun on top of her made sure her neck and shoulder was now bare against my mouth, as I buried my face against the curve of her neck, inhaling the sweet, warm scent of her skin mixed with the faint floral notes of her perfume.
My lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, kissing, then sucking gently at first before turning wilder. I pressed open-mouthed kisses down to her shoulder, tasting the faint salt of her skin after the performance, feeling the delicate strap of her yellow satin top brush against my cheek.
Irene inhaled sharply at the actions of my impatient lips, anticipating what was about to come next. She moaned softly next, a low, husky moan that felt heavenly in my ears, the kind of sound that sent heat straight to my cock. “Ahh… mmh… baby..”
It was supposed to be meant only for my ears, but it was loud enough to travel to the door of the waiting room. Her staff exchanged quick glances, murmuring something about checking on the schedule outside, and within seconds the door clicked shut behind them. We were alone.
I knelt in front of her immediately, the cold floor of the waiting room sharp against my knees, but I just could not care about anything else except the gift in front of me, waiting to be fully unwrapped. I positioned myself between her legs, as Irene sat back on the sofa, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on my shoulders.
I hooked my fingers into the hem of her yellow satin top and pulled it down to free Irene’s breasts. They spilled out, full and soft and perfect, pink nipples pebbling in arousal already, fueled by the spontaneity and the risk of being in the waiting room as her staff waited right outside. My hands started roaming immediately, one palm rubbed slow circles over Irene’s flat stomach, tracing the elegant lines of her waist, then sliding around to caress the smooth expanse of her lower back.
I focused my mouth fully on Irene’s tits; kissing the soft undersides, sucking a nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive peak before giving it a light bite, immediately coating it with my saliva as I sucked on it again to soothe my bite. My mouth and my hand took turns tasting and grabbing her breasts, as I immediately squeezed and kneaded the tit not being sucked on by my mouth, and softly pinched the nipple slick with spit, just as my mouth left it.
Irene arched into me with a louder moan, her low, husky voice filling my ears. “Ohh… yes… like that…” Her hands wrapped around my neck, fingers threading into my hair as she pulled my face harder against her chest as if she could not get enough. The risk of someone walking back in the waiting room and the way her body was exposed in this semi-public space made every sensation sharper, every moan hotter.
My hand moved from touching Irene’s bare waist and slipped under the hem of her short skirt, finding the thin layer of safety shorts. I tugged them down her legs, letting them pool at her ankles before tossing them aside. Irene was not wearing any panties, my hand immediately found just smooth, bare skin and the wet warmth of her cunt I could never get enough of.
I kept my mouth busy on Irene’s breasts, alternating between them, sucking harder now as if to savor the taste fully, leaving faint marks that would remind her of this later. My fingers were on her clit, rubbing slow, firm circles, making Irene buck her hips forward immediately.
“Mmmh… ahh!” Irene’s moan was louder this time, unrestrained and careless. She gradually submitted to the pleasure. Her legs parted wider for me as I knelt there, worshipping her. I pushed one finger inside her slowly, feeling her familiar tight, wet heat clench around it. Immediately, I curled it upward, stroking that spongy spot inside her that made her gasp sharply. “There, right there, ah-” Irene breathed, her voice husky and desperate and full of desire. My mouth stayed glued to her tits, one hand kneading and pinching a nipple while the other thrust steadily inside her pussy, adding a second finger.
Irene’s hips started rocking against my hand, feeling the rhythm of my fingers curving inside her. “Don’t stop… it feels so good…” Her low voice cracked on the words, turning into a long, throaty moan as I sped up. I could feel her walls fluttering, tightening, clenching on my fingers. I sucked hard on her nipple at the same moment I pressed firmly against her g-spot, and she came with a shuddering cry with my name on her perfect lips; her entire body trembling at the pleasure as her thighs clamped around my wrist.
Irene pushed at my hand weakly, oversensitive and panting, seeking relief and pleasure at the same time, but I did not stop, I could not. I pulled my fingers free and immediately shoved her tiny skirt up fully around her waist, exposing her completely. Grabbing her hips, I pulled her orgasming pussy closer to my lips as I leaned in and dragged my tongue up her soaked slit in one long, slow lick, savoring her perfect taste. Irene jolted, her hands flying back to my head.
“Oh god… your mouth… fuck..” She moaned loudly again, that husky tone fueling my hunger for her taste. I lapped at Irene’s clit like a starving man; licking, sucking, tasting, my tongue flicking rapidly over her swollen clit while my hands roamed everywhere on her body. I squeezed her waist, traced the curve of her bare back as she arched her back in pleasure, then reached up to grope her tits, rolling and pinching her nipples between my fingers. The thought that the door was unlocked and anyone could knock at any second made pleasuring her feel that much filthier, especially as Irene’s legs were spread on the sofa and my face was buried between her thighs for anyone to see.
I kept sucking her sensitive clit into my mouth, humming vibrations against it as I pushed two fingers back inside her, thrusting faster. Irene’s moans were low, breathy and constant that grew louder with every curl of my fingers, making sure anyone from her staff or the production team would know what was going on in the waiting room.
“Yes… eat me out… I’m—mmhh—close again..” She submitted fully to my touch and the pleasure I was giving her, her hips grinding against my face, chasing her orgasm without shame. Her wetness coated my chin, sweet and slick, an aphrodisiac fueling my own arousal.
I added a third finger, stretching her, thrusting that perfect rhythm while my tongue worked her clit relentlessly. Her second orgasm hit harder, her body seizing as Irene cried out. “Ahh.. cumming! Don’t stop baby..” Her thighs clenched around my head the way her pussy clenched around my fingers, her fingers tugging my hair almost painfully as she orgasmed on my mouth.
I eased Irene through it with softer licks, then pulled back just enough to catch my breath. Rising up, I captured her lips in a deep and filthy kiss, the first kiss of the morning, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Irene melted into it, arms wrapping around my neck as she kissed me back hungrily, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.
We stayed like that for a moment, lips moving in sync, tongues pushing against each other, tasting each other's mouth as much as we could. Our loud, filthy makeout session only fueled our lust as I could feel her hands sliding down my chest, tugging at my shirt impatiently.
“I am yours to ruin, baby,” Irene whispered against my lips, a small smile playing there despite the flush on her cheeks. There was a hint of playful submission in her tone as if she was giving in to whatever came next, trusting the pleasure I could give her. “And I will,” I replied, nipping at her bottom lip. “I want your staff to know how loud you get when you let go.”
I stood up as I pulled her up with me just enough to turn her around, bending her slightly over the arm of the sofa. Irene’s skirt was still bunched at her waist, breasts hanging free as she braced her hands on the cushions. From this angle, the curve of her ass and the glistening wetness between her thighs was on full display only for me. I knelt again behind her, spreading her legs wider.
My hands gripped her perfect waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin there as I leaned in to eat her out from behind. Long, slow licks from her clit all the way up, savoring every drop, inhaling her musk and arousal fully as my nose pressed against her pussy to her puckered hole with every lick. Irene moaned loudly into the sofa cushion, muffling it slightly before giving up and letting it out loud. “Mmm, eat me out… ruin me…”
I alternated between sucking Irene’s clit and fucking her with my tongue, my hands roaming up to squeeze her hanging breasts, pinching her nipples, then sliding back down to grip her ass cheeks, spreading her open for me. The taste of her arousal, her soft and warm skin under my palms, the husky timbre of her moans echoing in the room; all combined into me licking her, touching her, pleasing her better, more intensely.
Irene came a third time like this, pushing back against my face with desperate little rocks of her hips. “Fuck, I’m cumming again..” Her voice was broken and huskier than usual due to constant moaning, body shaking as I held her waist to steady her through the orgasm, neither my mouth nor my hands resting for a bit.
When Irene finally caught her breath, I pulled her back down onto the sofa, this time straddling my lap as I sat. Her bare breasts pressed against my chest, nipples hard points rubbing through my shirt. We kissed again, slower this time; as her hands cupped my face, mine exploring every inch of exposed skin: the dip of her navel, the elegant line of her spine, the soft fullness of her thighs.
“You’re still so wet for me, Irene.” I murmured between kisses, sliding a hand between us to rub her clit lightly. Irene whimpered, a soft, needy sound in that husky voice, still wanting more. “I can’t help it baby… you make me feel like this,” she admitted, grinding down against my fingers. I took my pants off, my cock hard and aching and leaking from pleasing and feeling Irene’s body and making her cum again and again. She looked at my eyes first, then as she looked down, her hand wrapped around my cock, stroking slowly and guiding the tip to her entrance.
I thrust up into Irene slowly, burying myself fully, feeling the tight heat of her pussy enveloping me completely. She threw her head back, her arms on my shoulder. “Ohhh… so full…” We moved together, Irene riding me with increasing urgency, breasts bouncing softly right in front of my face. My hands gripped her waist, guiding her, then roaming up to play with her tits as I squeezed, sucked and bit gently. The sounds were filthy and loud and clear; our wet skin slapping, her wet pussy taking my cock over and over, and those constant, beautiful moans from her low voice.
“Harder… please, like you own me..” Irene gasped, her mind clouded with pleasure as she blurted something this submissive for the very first time. I obliged immediately, her words fueling my lust as I thrusted up hard to meet her, one hand slipping between us to rub her clit. The sofa creaked beneath us, a reminder of how recklessly we were doing this in the waiting room where anyone could interrupt.
Irene’s fourth orgasm built faster than I would have thought, her walls clenching around me rhythmically, tightening her grip on my cock every time. “I’m.. fuck… I’m gonna cum on your cock” She cried out loudly as if she wanted her staff waiting outside to know. Her body shuddered as she came hard, milking my cock with pulsing contractions, her pussy made slicker with her orgasm, feeling all that more heavenly.
I was transfixed looking at Irene being flushed all over, moaning, completely lost in pleasure, and my orgasm built immediately. I pulled out at the last second, spilling my cum straight upwards across her stomach and breasts. Irene watched with eyes clouded with pleasure, then scooped up some of my cum with her fingers and tasted it, that innocent-yet-sinful contrast making my still hard cock twitch with anticipation.
We collapsed together on the sofa, tangled and breathing hard, us kissing each other everywhere we could. After a few minutes of messy kisses and wandering hands, I laid Irene back down, spreading her legs once more. This time I took my time, kissing down her body as I lingered on her navel and the sensitive skin of her inner thighs before teasing her with my mouth, tasting the familiar taste of her arousal yet again.
My cock was hard and ready the entire time I was enjoying kissing and touching her body after fucking her, and I pushed my cock inside her inviting pussy again, this time slower and deeper. My body pressed up onto hers as I started fucking her missionary on the sofa so I could watch her face. We rocked together softly, our bodies slick with sweat, the room filled with the scent of sex and her natural musk. My hands never stopped moving: tracing her waist, cupping her breasts, pushing my thumb inside her mouth as she softly sucked on it, our eyes locked onto each other all the while.
Irene came once more around me, pulling me close, nails digging into my back as she moaned my name. I followed soon after again because making her cum on my cock was just that satisfying, cumming inside her this time with a deep groan.
We lay on the waiting room’s sofa afterward, catching our breath, her head on my chest as I stroked her hair and bare back, her pearl headband still adorning her beautiful black hair after all we have done. Irene traced lazy patterns on my skin with her fingers, still trembling occasionally from the afterglow. “That was… intense,” voice laced with satisfaction. “I can’t believe we did that in the waiting room as my staff waited right outside.”
“We should have done this earlier,” I replied, kissing her forehead like I’d imagined after seeing her photo, but with far less innocence. “You’re insatiable, Irene. And much more submissive with an audience present.” I paused, looking at her eyes with promise.
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