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“oh my..” you gasped out, your hands gripping the silk material of wanda’s sheets that lay a mess on her bed.

“so… how long have you worked here for?” a customer asks in front of you, one you had forgotten the name of, and as the night before plays in your mind in broken pieces, you force yourself to pay attention.

“a while.” you stare down at the glass in your hand and take a sip of the rum and coke. “it’s always smart to stay at a place that looks after you, you know?”

“i couldn’t agree more,” the customer replied with a smile. “i’ve been with my firm for ten years.”

your hands thread through thick auburn hair, your gaze stuck to the woman as her tongue, which she had flattened out, lapped at your clit, and as she shifted to leave open-mouth kisses against the bundle of nerves that throbbed against her touch, you moan and continue to watch the way wanda’s mouth shines from your wetness.

your left leg begins to bounce gently, and you close your eyes briefly. you needed something stronger than conversation to cloud over the distracting memory. “care to tell me about it in a dance?” you ask with a smile, and when the man’s eyes dropped down to your chest, which was clad in your usual red attire, you knew you had him hooked.

“lead the way.” he replies with a grin.

ᗢ

as you sighed in a chair you now resided in, you leaned back in it, looking up at the dimly lit chandelier hanging above you.

It was now the quiet period before another busy one came, and although you wouldn’t be around to witness it, you relished in the peaceful atmosphere anyway. a majority of the customers had begun to filter out of ‘house of harkness’, and as you lowered your head, you pulled your phone out from the clutch upon your lap, and looked down at it.

it illuminated the time eight-fifty pm, and when you unlocked it, you decided to scroll absentmindedly on twitter whilst you finished off the drink that had been bought for you.

“i had an amazing time with you, y/n.”

the words echoed in your mind, and you smiled like an idiot. wanda’s voice; so sickly sweet and husky. god, you were impatient, and you wish you could hear it now, have her in front of you, her laughing at one of your jokes, or you admiring her suit-clad body.

as you continued to look down, your phone blurred in your hand as you ruminated on your afternoon.

“i had an amazing time, too,” you replied, the seat beginning to vibrate under you from the rumbling of the car's exhaust as wanda started it up. “and thank you for taking me home.”

“oh, nonsense, pretty girl. i will happily do this again for you.”

“yeah?” you asked with an excited smirk you couldn’t quite hide. she wanted to see you again. god, the exhilaration was almost too much to bear. “i would really like that. but only because of that house of yours.”

“naturally,” wanda laughs, her eyes focused on the road that now looks different to you, compared to the previous night drive to her huge abode. the sunny day now illuminated the stunning greenery on either side of the road. “i come with more perks, though. i can be quite the cook sometimes.” she adds.

“talented in bed, talented in the kitchen… what else are you good at?”

the redhead shoots a glance at you. “how about i tell you more tonight? over dinner.”

“that sounds lovely,” you respond, your stomach doing a flip at the thought of being wined and dined by wanda. “although i’ll be working at the club first…”

“that’s okay, darling. if you can play pretend, i’d like another dance, i’m afraid yesterday's was too short for my liking.”

you felt your cheeks blush at the prospect of it. this wasn’t something that crossed your mind, one that had been filled with nothing but wanda’s skin and lips, and every inch of her body. you can’t believe you hadn’t thought about it sooner - you had been awake for a couple of hours and at no point did you think how a situation like this would progress.

“well then,” you cooed, deciding you liked the idea wanda had presented to you. “let’s say nine pm? i’ll show you my dancing skills again, and you can showcase your cooking skills.”

and as you waited in anticipation as the minutes inched closer and closer to your scheduled time with wanda, you continued to scroll past boring tweets until one caught your eye. more specifically, a certain someone.

wanda maximoff pictured last week with her brother pietro maximoff at a conference.

the image attached made you gape in awe. you paid no mind to the woman’s brother and instead your eyes burned into wanda, and how gorgeous beyond belief she looked. she donned a grey tweed dior suit, with a matching jacket and black boots, and as luscious locks of ginger curls hung over her shoulders, you felt a knot form in your stomach.

with your body temperature rising all too quickly, you locked your phone and returned it to your clutch.

“scarlet. it’s nice to see you again.”

your head whipped up from your lap to the familiar voice in front of you. “wanda.” you smiled brightly, the embarrassing thought briefly passing in your mind that you had no idea how long she had been standing there for, and if she saw the contents on your phone. but with no indication written on her face, you ignore the mortifying thought and instead observe the classy raiment she wore.

wanda shot you a sultry look as you took in the cinched black blazer and the ankle-grazing skirt to match. you gulped dryly. wanda not wearing pants, was new to you, and your eyes raked up and down her body, appreciating the sight.

you outstretched a heel-clad foot to slightly push back the seat opposite you, which wanda happily sat down on, a leg crossing over the other as she rested her hands on the arms of the chair.

“you look incredible.” the sight of her made your head spin. “i mean… really, really, incredible.”

“thank you, darling.” wanda replied with a smile. her eyes bore into you, and you felt like she was drinking you in. “i like the silk robe you have on tonight.”

the compliment made you shift in your seat, and you grabbed your glass and raised it to gulp down the rest of the alcohol before placing it back on the small table between you. “thank you,” you purred, feeling your cheeks grow hot, “so, did you miss me?”

wanda nodded, a smirk spread on her plump lips, “you were quite a distraction for me in meetings today.”

“i was?” the knot in your stomach tightened from the exciting confession, “well then, you should know you’ve also been quite disruptive to my attention tonight.”

you didn’t miss the way wanda’s eyes fell to your thighs, and the red garter belts that hugged them. “a good night, though, i hope?” she asked.

“yes, but it’s about to get even better.”

ᗢ

after wanda had paid for another dance at the till, this one longer than the last, you led her by the hand through the corridor, purple fairy lights that hung overhead illuminating the way. and then, when you reached your desired booth, you felt your body buzz with great thrill.

after stepping into the purple-lit booth, the colour of your attire changed in the light to a shade that almost matched wanda’s. and as the redhead shifted to take her place on the seat, you glanced at the mirror beside you, one of many that littered the small room, and took in the two of you together. and god what a sight it was. you couldn’t believe your luck of being in close quarters with such a woman.

as you mused on the thought, you plugged your phone into the speaker behind the redhead and pressed play on your go-to playlist, and as the slow beat kicked in, you gazed down at wanda. intense eyes enraptured you as she softly bit down on her plump lower lip.

“mommy, you look so fucking good.” every fibre of your being urged you to kiss her. it took everything in you not to as you began to move your body to the music, your hips swaying gently.

“baby…” wanda gasped out at your words, her hands that rested on either side of her hips shifted to grip the edge of the seat. “i thought of you calling me that again, you sound so perfect when you do.”

though you couldn’t press your lips against the redheads, you needed to be closer to her, so you instead of standing, you straddled wanda, leaving a small gap between your thong and the material of her skirt, which you know would feel soft and expensive to the touch.

you began to move your hips, grinding in the space above her lap as you let your hands rest on her shoulders.

“and those legs of yours,” the redhead continued, her hips instinctively jutting upwards slightly, and inadvertently bumping against your clit. your breath caught in your throat at the sensation, and your hands on wanda’s shoulders tensed, your fingers pressing into her blazer. “so smooth and grabbable.”

“shit.” you panted, and although your mind whirled with wanda and the pleasure you were already feeling, you continued to dance and move your hips, following the sensual beat of the song. “i can’t wait for later, it’s been on my mind since i left you.”

“likewise, darling,” wanda beamed, “same plan I assume?”

You turn on the system, eyes widening to see Sana standing naked before a man. You watch on the screen as Sana gets between his legs, a playful smile on her lips as she grasps his cock. “It’s so big,” she giggles, her hand moving slowly along his length. Sana gathers her saliva and lets it drip onto the head of his cock, watching it flow down before finally moving her hand and spreading it around his thick shaft. Sana looks eager, like she’s holding herself back. “Time to eat,” she says softly before wrapping her lips around the tip, her tongue swirling quickly as she begins to bob her head. One of her hands goes between her legs, and she touches herself, moaning softly around his cock. Occasionally, your girlfriend glances up at him with excited eyes. Sana begins taking more of him into her mouth, and her tongue runs along the underside, tracing his veins. 

You watch as Minsoo places his hand on the back of her head and forces Sana to the base of his cock. You can hear her clearly, choking, gagging on it as it hits the back of her throat. A thick layer of spit coats his cock as her body makes more of it. Through it all, Sana’s moans get louder. She’s pushing her fingers deeper into her slit at the rough treatment. You can feel your cock straining against your pants as you watch her do her work. You can see just about every angle with all the cameras around the room. Your girlfriend was on her knees being facefucked by another man. 

When he finally lets go of her head and gives her a chance to breathe, you can just barely see her face as she leans back. Drool coats her chin, dribbling down on her chest. Sana smiles, clearly happy with the results. Her hand stays on his cock, stroking it before she goes back in for more. Sana pushes herself closer to the edge, her fingers rubbing her clit now as she pushes his length into the back of her throat. It’s a tight fit; she has to have her jaw wide open to fit him in, but listening to his moans pushes her onward. Sana could feel him throbbing. She briefly debated pulling away and having him cum on her face, but decided that that could be done later. She cradles his heavy balls in her hand, giving them gentle squeezes as he explodes in her mouth. Each time his cock throbs, Sana can feel more of his pouring down her throat, filling her belly. A warmth spread across her body. 

Sana bobs her head twice more as he nears the end of his climax. When she pulls away, she makes sure to have her mouth wide open, showing just how well she ate every drop up. She licks her lips and thanks him for the meal before standing up. Sana places her hand on her stomach, slowly dragging it lower until she reaches her needy cunt, “Can you feed this mouth too?” She asks in a sweet, needy voice. Your cock throbs as you hear your girlfriend begging for another man’s cum. Your eyes remain glued to the scene, watching as he pulls Sana to the bed, getting her on all fours. “Minsoo!” Sana cries out as he drives his length into her cunt. Her warm walls cling to his cock, refusing to let go now that they’re connected. 

He grabs her arms, pulling them as he drives himself deep into her. Sana’s moans grow louder and louder with each thrust. The only sound between them was the clap of their bodies from the strong thrusts. “How do you like this? Better right?” He grunts. 

Sana can hardly speak; moans keep spilling out of her. Minsoo drops one of Sana’s arms and brings his hand down on her ass. The sharp sting from the hit makes her yelp. Your girlfriend’s toes curl as pain mixes with pleasure. “Better! So much better! Bigger, thicker, longer!” She moans out. Sana was being split in half. If that wasn’t enough, he was ramming into her womb with every thrust. The sensation had her drooling onto the bed. Here was your girlfriend telling another man how much better he was, and you were sitting there watching it. You don’t even know when you started jerking off to it. 

You continued to watch the action. Minsoo delivered more rough smacks to Sana’s ass, turning the formerly pale skin a bright red, his hand imprinted on her flesh. “More! Hit me again!” Sana cried out, loving each smack that she got. It couldn’t go on forever, though. He pulled her against him and grabbed her tits, fingers digging into her flesh as he kneaded the soft mounds. Sana started to whine, a sound you know all too well. She was getting close to cumming. Her walls were clamping down like a vice on his shaft, already trying to milk his cock for more of his seed. He was pushing her over the edge. One hand went to Sana’s sensitive nipples, pulling on the dusty pink nub while the other hand went to her clit. Her walls continued to tighten around his cock. “I-I’m cumming!” Sana cried out. Her body jerked and twitched as she came on his cock. 

Minsoo continued to thrust, speeding up as he got close. You had a prime view of Sana’s tits bouncing as he fucked her; you could see the pleasure on her face as he buried himself inside her. The tip of his cock was pressed right against Sana’s womb as he came, flooding her body with thick and potent baby batter. Sana rested against his body, reveling in the moment. She could hardly feel her body with how much it tingled. Sana collapsed onto the bed, softly moaning. She could just barely feel Minsoo slapping his cock against her ass. Despite the weakness in her arms and legs, Sana did her best. She got onto her knees and arched her back, presenting her ass to him. Your girlfriend reached back and spread her cheeks. “Here too. My boyfriend has never been allowed in here.” Sana cooed as she felt the thick cock slide between her cheeks. She bit her lip, holding back a smile as she waited for him to push inside her other hole. 

“You dirty slut,” With how covered his cock was in cum, and Sana’s nectar, Minsoo pushed ahead, prodding the ring of muscle, slowly stretching it. Sana’s muffled moans still managed to fill the air. The pleasure she felt was just too good. He was stretching her so much. Sana was feeling full, and he wasn’t even all the way in. Minsoo pressed on Sana’s back, forcing a deeper arch. He was enjoying himself; he had a whore of a woman in front of him who was seemingly okay with everything. He would’ve sworn he could ram his entire length into her ass in one go and she’d thank him. He didn’t, though; he pushed in slowly. If Sana’s pussy was tight, her ass was levels above that. It was crushing. It was almost like he was being sucked in as well. “Fucking dirty whore,” he grunted. “So fucking tight. I bet you wouldn’t even be able to feel your boy toy.”

“He’s nothing,” Sana groaned. “You’re so much better. You’re going to ruin me,”

“I’m not even halfway in,” he replied. You could’ve sworn Sana’s eye rolled into the back of her head at this point. He was still holding her down when he finally had enough and pushed the last few inches into her petite body. Sana came instantly, nectar splashing onto the bed, her walls trapping him inside her ass. 

“Fuck, fuck me up,” Sana mumbled. He was buried deep in her guts. Sana knew she was in for a ride. She pushed her ass back as much as she could in her position. “Move, please, I need you to fuck me.” Sana slipped a hand between her legs, rubbing her clit as she continued. “Use me, fuck this tight ass, make it yours. Reshape my insides,” she begged. After a moment, Minsoo finally started moving, dragging his cock out of her, leaving just the tip inside before ramming it all the way back inside. Sana came again, her mind slowly leaving her. Her body was on autopilot, her hands never left her clit as Minsoo used her. 

You listened to Sana’s moans, her whines, and whimpers for more. You had already cum a few times watching the erotic sight of your girlfriend being taken from another man, yet you couldn’t stop jerking off. Your eyes remained glued to the screen, watching Sana take his cock like it was second nature. She kept begging for more, “You’re the only one I need. Fuck me like the cheap whore I am! Cum inside your cheap fleshlight.” She would say whatever Minsoo wanted her to if it meant he would keep fucking her. She was degrading you and herself. You had never heard Sana speak so vulgarly. It all had to end soon enough, though. Minsoo was reaching his limit. He gripped Sana’s shoulder and placed the other hand on her waist, holding her tightly as he reached his climax. He pushed himself against Sana’s plush ass and unloaded, filling her with cum again. 

“There’s so much,” Sana mumbles, placing her hand on her stomach. She had both holes filled with another man’s cum. She was on cloud nine, smiling like an idiot as she was pumped full of the stuff. Sana couldn’t support herself at all, collapsing once Minsoo let go of her body. Sweaty and dripping with cum, Sana was flipped over onto her back and moved until her head hung off the bed’s edge. Minsoo slapped his cock against her face, degrading your girlfriend further. It wasn’t like she hated it, though. Sana opened her mouth, welcoming the sour appendage into her mouth, lapping up the cum that remained on his cock, while he played with her tits. Sana popped him out of her mouth and kissed his shaft, dragging her tongue along his length as she sang its praises. “I’ll never need another cock as long as you’re here. This thing is perfect. My boyfriend doesn’t even compare; he’s a shrimp. Now make sure you mark your property.” She said, kissing it for longer before taking it back into her mouth. 

In this position, you have to watch Minsoo thrust his cock down Sana’s throat; you could’ve sworn you were seeing it bulge. Sana, for her part, didn’t seem to mind, even as his balls smacked against her face. Her fingers were circling her clit in slow circles. “Damn, right you’ll never need anyone else. I’ll be fucking this pussy until it’s made into my image.” Sana had no response, she couldn’t what with his cock down her throat. Her moans were enough to tell him what he wanted to know, though. Minsoo was quickly reaching his final climax. Sana’s throat vibrating around his cock was becoming too much. He shifted his hand to her throat, wrapping them tightly around Sana as he rammed his cock down her throat. He was on the edge, and Sana gently tapped his legs, reminding him of what she wanted.

Minsoo pulled out at the final second and stroked his cock, pouring his semen onto Sana’s face, painting it with a few spurts before moving over her body and coating her body in a layer of his cum as well. Sana brought her hand to her face, scooping some of his cum off her face and tasting it as she lay there. 

Minsoo took in the sight of the ruined woman, snapping a picture of Sana holding the peace sign across her face before going to the shower and eventually leaving your girlfriend by herself. The whole time Sana stayed on the bed, refusing to move her aching body. The only part of her that moved was her fingers as they gingerly moved over her body, pinching her nipples or rubbing her clit. 

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens, a moment later, and Sana turns her head and smiles. “Did I do good?” She asks with a smile of pure happiness. 

“You were great,”

“My acting was top-notch, right?” Sana follows you with her eyes as you sit beside her sweaty and stained body. 

“I think you really fooled him.”

“It’s not so hard,” Sana giggles. “Did you get off, though? Or do I need to…” Sana pressed her tits together, offering them to you. 

“Yes, I did. We can do that at home.” You place your hand on Sana’s thigh, “Though, I have to admit, I do want to reclaim you right now.” 

Sana smiles sweetly, her nose scrunching as she boops your nose. “Now, mister, you just said we can do that at home. I’ll go take a shower. You need to get the cameras down. Then we can watch it together later.” Sana’s eyes smile at you as she mentions the last part. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Take as long as you need. Are you going to need some help getting into the shower?”

“I can handle it,” Sana replied. You watch as she tries to sit up, grunting as she does so slowly. It was almost comical to see her struggle so much. You end up helping her, pushing her back until she’s seated. Slowly but surely, Sana waddles her way to the bathroom. Once the door closes, you get up and start removing the cameras from around the room, making sure not to leave a trace. You pack everything up and wait for Sana, then the two of you leave the hotel and return home after a couple of hours. 

Sana smiles happily as she watches a replay of the action while she bounces on your cock. She was more than thankful about the situation; both of you got what you wanted. You got to watch your girlfriend lose herself to pleasure time and time again, only to reclaim her later. And Sana would get to live out two fantasies every time, being treated like a toy and being watched. Knowing you were always watching the sessions with strangers turned her on more than anything else. As Sana watches herself getting facefucked, she recalls the beginning. 

You'd seen her face everywhere. Billboard in Gangnam. Subway advertisement for soju. The thumbnail of every third video on your YouTube feed. Karina. Yu Ji-min. The face of AESPA, the woman whose wedding had crashed three different entertainment news sites, whose husband, some shipping magnate's son had apparently decided that a wife was something you acquired, not something you maintained.

"That's the job," Senior Park had said. "She called us. Not the other way around. Remember that."

And now here you were, sitting in your Hyundai at the security gate of a house that looked more like a modern art museum, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The gate buzzed before you could press the intercom.

A woman's voice, softer than you'd expected. "Come in. The front door is around the fountain."

The gate swung open.

The walk from your car to the front door took exactly forty-three steps. You counted them. Anything to keep your mind from spinning out. The fountain in the driveway was one of those minimalist things, a black stone slab with water sheeting down the sides. Classy. Expensive. The kind of thing you could stare at and feel nothing about.

Your professional training ran through your head like a checklist Senior Park had drilled into you months ago. Posture. Eye contact. Don't stare. Let her set the pace. The first meeting is always about making them comfortable enough to admit what they want.

But none of the training had mentioned what to do when Karina opened the door.

She wasn't wearing makeup. That was the first thing you noticed, not what you'd expected. Every image you'd ever seen of her was polished to a high gloss, stage-ready, camera-ready. The woman standing in the doorway had her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping at the temples. She wore an oversized gray sweater that hung off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet on the marble floor.

And her face. Jesus Christ, her face.

The bone structure that launched a thousand fan edits. Lips that were slightly chapped, slightly parted. Eyes that held yours with something between curiosity and exhaustion.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Take off your shoes."

You did. Brain on autopilot. The foyer was all white marble and indirect lighting, a staircase curving up into shadow. The house smelled like fresh laundry and something floral… lilies, maybe. A bouquet sat on a console table near the door, still wrapped in cellophane, the card unopened.

"I'm…" you started. "I know who you are." She was already walking toward what looked like a living room. "The agency sent me your file. Do you want something to drink?"

The living room was vast and somehow still felt empty. A sectional sofa big enough for twelve people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden you couldn't see in the dark. No photographs on the walls. No magazines on the coffee table. It looked like a showroom, like no one actually lived here. "Water would be great," you managed.

Karina gestured toward the sofa. "Sit." She disappeared through an archway. You heard water running, the clink of glass. Your heart was doing something ridiculous in your chest—not racing exactly, more like it was trying to relocate to your throat.

The file Senior Park had given you was thin. Married eight months. Husband's name was Lee Joon-ho, heir to Lee Shipping & Logistics. According to the tabloids, he'd been spotted at clubs in Gangnam with actresses whose names you didn't recognize, while Karina attended industry events alone. The word "lonely" appeared in a lot of the articles, usually paired with photos of her looking wistful at award shows. "Here."

She was back, holding two glasses. One water, one something amber. Whiskey, maybe. Your eyes tracked the movement of her bare arm as she set the water down on the coffee table between you. "You're nervous," she said, settling onto the opposite end of the sectional. Not a question.

"A little."

"Why?"

Because you're Karina. Because every man in this country has fantasized about you. Because I'm sitting in your mansion and you're wearing that sweater and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands. "New clients are always nerve-wracking," you said instead. "For both of us."

Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or skepticism. She took a sip of her drink—whiskey, definitely—and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate architecture of her collarbones where the sweater had slipped. "How long have you been doing this?"

"A year."

"And before that?" You hesitated. The training said honesty was valuable, but only in measured doses. "I was a personal trainer. Senior Park recruited me. Said I had the right… temperament."

"Temperament." She said the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what they call it?" The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled something against the glass—a branch, probably. The house was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming from two rooms away.

"Why did you call the agency?" you asked. Karina's gaze slid toward you. "Aren't you supposed to know the answer to that?"

"I'd rather hear it from you." Another sip of whiskey. Her throat moved as she swallowed. "The agency brief didn't tell you?"

"It said you were recently married. It said your husband travels frequently for work."

"Travels." A short laugh, not especially warm. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

You didn't answer. Sometimes silence was the best tool you had. Karina set her glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the cavernous room. "He doesn't travel. He's in Seoul. He just doesn't come home." She was looking at the windows now, at her own reflection in the dark glass. "Three months. I've seen him three times in three months, and each time it was for less than an hour. Photo opportunities, mostly. His PR team coordinates them."

"That sounds lonely." Her jaw tightened. "Don't."

"Don't what?" "Don't do the sympathetic thing. I'm not paying for sympathy."

You shifted on the sofa, turning to face her more directly. "What are you paying for?"

The question landed differently than you'd intended. Karina's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment the mask slipped—the idol mask, the one she wore in every interview and variety show appearance. Underneath it was something rawer. Something hungry and furious and so tired of pretending. "I want to feel something," she said. "Something that isn't…" She gestured vaguely at the house around her. "This."

"This?"

"Empty." The word came out smaller than the others. She picked up her whiskey again, took a longer drink. "Everything in my life is scheduled and managed and presented to the public in exactly the right light. My marriage. My career. My face." Another drink. "I wake up in this house and I feel like I'm already a ghost. Like I'm haunting my own life." You watched her fingers tighten around the glass. The knuckles went pale.

"So when you ask what I'm paying for," she continued, "I'm paying for something real. Something that isn't polite. Something that doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." The air in the room had changed. Thicker, somehow. Charged with something you couldn't name.

"Have you done this before?" you asked. "With anyone from the agency?"

"No."

"And you understand how this works? The boundaries, the rules—"

"I understand." She cut you off with a look that was almost defiant. "I read everything. I know about the safeword protocols. I know I can stop anything at any time. I know this isn't…" She paused, searching for the word. "Conventional."

"It's not," you agreed. "Which is why I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

Karina raised an eyebrow, and for a second you caught a glimpse of the stage persona, the one who commanded thousands with a single glance. "Ask."

"Are you sure you want this?" The question hung between you. Outside, the wind picked up again, and somewhere in the house a door creaked—settling, probably, or the air pressure shifting. Karina didn't look away from your face.

"Do you want me to prove it?" she asked.

"I want you to tell me." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her glass down again, stood up from the sofa, and walked toward you. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the marble floor. The sweater slipped further off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something light, citrus and white flowers—and underneath it, the clean scent of her skin. "I've been thinking about this for three weeks," she said. "Ever since I found the agency's number in a forum I wasn't supposed to be reading. Ever since I realized that the only person who's touched me in eight months is my makeup artist." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. "So yes. I'm sure. I want this."

She held out her hand. "I want you to make me feel something. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's ugly. I want to stop being Karina for a few hours and just be… a body. A woman. Whatever is left of me when all of this"—she waved at the house, at the empty walls, at the unopened flowers—"isn't here anymore." Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. Her hand was still extended, palm up, waiting.

"Tell me your safeword," you said.

"Red."

"And if you can't speak?"

"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them." You'd said the same words to half a dozen clients before her, but something about the way Karina recited them back—steady, rehearsed, like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror—made your chest tighten.

"Okay," you said. And you took her hand. Her skin was warm. Soft, the way you'd imagined, but there was strength in her grip too—the hand of someone who'd spent years in dance studios, who'd trained her body to do exactly what she wanted it to. She didn't flinch when you stood up, which brought you close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing her eyes, the tiny mole near her left eyebrow, the way her lips had parted slightly.

"Before we do anything," you said, "I need you to understand something."

"What?"

"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge or filling a void or proving something to yourself." You kept your voice low, even. "This is about what you want. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists." Karina's eyes searched your face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because something in her expression shifted—a loosening, a letting-go.

"Nothing else exists," she repeated.

"Good girl." The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the effect was immediate. Karina's breath caught. Her pupils dilated, just slightly. The hand in yours tightened its grip.

"That's what you want?" you asked. "To be good?"

"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop thinking. I want someone else to be in charge. Just for a while." You lifted your free hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The movement was gentle, almost reverent, and it made no sense with the things you were about to do—but that was the point, wasn't it? The contrast. The collision of tender and brutal that would short-circuit her brain and give her exactly what she was asking for.

"Your bedroom," you said. "Take me there."

She led you up the curved staircase, her hand still in yours. The upstairs hallway was lined with doors, all of them closed except one at the far end. Soft light spilled out of it, and as you got closer you could see the corner of a bed—a huge bed, king-sized at least, with white sheets and too many pillows. The master bedroom. Karina's bedroom.

The room that her husband had probably not set foot in for months. She paused at the threshold, and for a moment you thought she might hesitate. Might change her mind. Might realize what she was about to do and decide it was too much, too fast, too far outside the carefully constructed image of Yu Ji-min, beloved idol, perfect wife.

Instead, she turned to face you. "What do you want me to do first?" The question was genuine. Not a test. She was waiting for you to take the reins, willing to hand over control before you'd even started.

"First," you said, stepping into the bedroom and pulling her gently after you, "I want you to take off that sweater." Karina's hands moved to the hem of the gray wool. The fabric lifted, revealing the black lace you'd glimpsed earlier—a bralette, delicate and expensive-looking, the kind of thing you wore when you wanted to feel beautiful even if no one else would see it. The sweater came over her head and dropped to the floor.

Her skin was luminous in the low light. Pale and smooth, with the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dancing—toned arms, a flat stomach that tensed as she breathed, the curve of her ribs just visible beneath the skin. "Now the leggings." She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, bending at the waist. The movement was efficient, not seductive, but it didn't matter—the sight of her body unfolding as she straightened up, the black lace of her underwear matching the bralette, the long lines of her legs.

You circled her slowly. She stood very still, the way she'd probably been trained to stand for fittings and stage checks, but there was a tremor in her thighs that she couldn't quite control. Anticipation. Maybe fear. Probably both. "Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back."

Karina did as she was told. The mattress barely dipped under her weight—memory foam, probably, the kind that cost more than your monthly rent. She arranged herself in the center of the white expanse, arms at her sides, looking up at the ceiling. "Close your eyes." Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The room was silent except for her breathing, which had gone shallow and quick. You stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled against the sheets. The faint flush spreading from her neck to her collarbones.

"How do you feel?" you asked. "Exposed."

"Good." You moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, close enough that your hip nearly touched hers. Karina's breathing hitched at the proximity.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

A pause. "No." "I'm going to use you." The words came out rougher than you'd intended. "I'm going to take everything you're willing to give me, and I'm going to make you feel every second of it. Your body belongs to me tonight. Do you understand?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

"And you want that?"

"God, yes."

"Look at me." Her eyes opened. They were glassy already, the pupils blown wide. The composed idol from five minutes ago was already starting to dissolve, replaced by something more vulnerable and infinitely more real. "Your husband," you said. "Does he ever look at you like this?"

Karina flinched—a tiny movement, but you caught it. "No."

"Does he touch you?"

"No."

"Does he make you feel anything at all?" A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple and into her hair. "No." You leaned closer. "Then forget him. Forget all of it. Right now, there's only me and you and what your body can take. Nothing else. No Karina. No Yu Ji-min. Just a woman who needs to be fucked like she matters."

The tears were coming faster now, but she wasn't sobbing—just leaking, silently, the release of pressure that had been building for months.

"Please," she said. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Make me forget." You stood up and began unbuttoning your shirt. Karina watched you through blurred vision, her chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn't seem to control. The black lace of her bralette had shifted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts, the skin there flushed and warm.

"Last chance to change your mind," you said, pulling your shirt off and letting it fall. Her eyes traveled over your chest, your arms, the line of your stomach. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than it had been.

"I'm not changing my mind."

"Good." You unbuckled your belt and pulled it free from the loops with a single smooth motion. The leather whispered against the fabric of your pants. "Because I'm just getting started." The belt was still in your hand. Karina watched it loop between your fingers, the leather dark against your palm. Her tears had left shiny tracks down her temples, disappearing into the hairline, and her breathing had gone shallow again—not from crying now, but from something else. Something that made her thighs press together on the white sheets.

“Sit up,” you said. She pushed herself upright, the bralette shifting as she moved. One strap slipped off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. You folded the belt in half and ran your thumb along the smooth side. “You said you wanted to stop being Karina for a few hours.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to take away your sight.” Her lips parted. A micro-flinch—not fear, not exactly. More like the body’s instinctive response to a cliff edge. The moment before the jump. “The blindfold,” you continued, “stays on until I take it off. If it becomes too much, you use the taps. Three of them. Anywhere you can reach me.”

“I know the rules.”

“I know you do.” You stepped closer, until your knees touched the edge of the mattress. “But I want to hear you say it. What happens if you need to stop?”

“Three taps.” Her voice was steadier now. “On you. Anywhere.”

“And what’s your word?”

“Red.”

“Good.” You reached down and brushed your knuckles along her jawline. The contact was feather-light, almost accidental. “Lift your hair.” She gathered the dark strands and held them up, exposing the nape of her neck. The movement arched her back slightly, pushed her chest forward. The black lace strained against her breasts. You brought the belt around her head. The leather was cool, supple from use. You positioned it across her eyes, careful not to catch her hair in the buckle, and pulled it snug against her temples. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that she wouldn’t see anything but darkness.

“How does that feel?”

Karina exhaled. “Dark.”

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Good.” You fastened the belt at the back of her head and let your fingers trail down the side of her neck as you withdrew. Her pulse hammered against your fingertips. “Now lie back down.” She lowered herself onto the mattress. The movement was different now—less controlled, more tentative. Without her sight, every shift of her body became a negotiation with the unknown. Her hands found the sheets and gripped them. You stood at the edge of the bed and looked at her. The idol that half of Korea fantasized about. The face on every billboard. Reduced to a blindfolded woman in black lace, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid cycles, her lips slick where she’d licked them.

“Spread your legs.” Karina’s thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant—but she did it. The matching black panties were cut high on her hips, the fabric thin enough that you could see the suggestion of her underneath. A dark shadow. A slight dampness already bleeding through.

“Wider.” She obeyed. Her knees fell open, exposing the full length of her. The panties pulled taut across her cunt. The outline of her lips. The little seam where they parted.

You didn’t touch her there. Not yet. Instead you climbed onto the bed, positioning yourself beside her. The mattress dipped under your weight, and Karina’s body shifted toward you instinctively—gravity pulling her toward the heat of your skin. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “And while you do, I’m going to play with these.” Your fingers found the strap of her bralette. You pulled it down. Then the other strap. The lace caught on her nipples for a moment—already peaked, already hard—before you tugged it free and let the fabric pool around her waist.

Karina’s breasts were full and pale, the nipples a dusty rose color that darkened at the tips. They stiffened further in the open air, and she made a small sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. “You like that.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You like being blindfolded. You like not knowing what’s coming next.”

“I… yes.” You traced a circle around her right nipple with your fingertip. The skin puckered. Karina’s back lifted off the mattress.

“Don’t move,” you said. “Stay still and let me touch you.” She forced herself down. The effort was visible—her abdominal muscles tensed, her hands fisting in the sheets. You circled the nipple again, closer this time, and then you took it between your thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The sound she made was not a moan. It was a broken exhale, a noise that started in her chest and caught in her throat. Her hips bucked once—an involuntary spasm—and then she forced them still. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Let your body react. Don’t fight it.”

You rolled the nipple between your fingers, working it slowly. The texture was fascinating—the way it tightened and pebbled under your touch, the way the areola crinkled around it. Karina’s breathing had gone ragged. A flush was spreading down her chest, past her collarbones, toward the swell of her breasts. “Does your husband ever touch you like this?”

“No—” The word came out strangled.

“Does he know what your body does when someone pays attention to it?”

“He doesn’t… he never…”

“He never what?”

“He never touches me.” The confession was barely a whisper. “He never—ah—” You’d switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Roll. Squeeze. A gentle twist that made her gasp and arch before she remembered she was supposed to stay still.

“Then he’s a fool,” you said. “Because your body is extraordinary.” You leaned down and took her nipple into your mouth. Karina cried out. The sound was sharp and sudden, echoing in the vast bedroom. Your tongue laved across the tight bud, traced circles around the areola, and then you sucked—a long, pulling pressure that made her whole body go rigid.

“Oh—oh god—” Her hands came up, flailing in the dark, and found your shoulders. Her nails dug in. You didn’t tell her to stop. Instead you sucked harder, pulling the nipple deep into your mouth while your other hand continued working its twin—rolling, pinching, tugging in counterpoint to the rhythm of your tongue. She was making sounds now that had no words in them. Just vowels. Just broken, desperate vowels that rose and fell with the movement of your mouth. You released her nipple with a wet pop.

“Hands down,” you said. “We’re not done.” Karina’s fingers uncurled from your shoulders. She lowered her arms back to the bed. Her chest was heaving, both nipples now slick and swollen, darker than they’d been before. The blindfold had shifted slightly—just a millimeter—but she hadn’t tried to remove it. “Good girl. Now.” You unfastened your pants and pushed them down. Your boxers followed. “I want you to sit up. I want you on your knees. Can you do that?”

She nodded. The belt bobbed with the movement. Getting her upright was an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see the edge of the bed, couldn’t gauge the distance. You guided her by the shoulders—first into a sitting position, then turning her so her legs hung off the side of the mattress. “On your knees,” you said. “On the floor.” Karina slid off the bed. Her knees hit the hardwood with a soft thud. The position put her face level with your hips, and even though she couldn’t see you, she must have sensed your proximity, because her breath quickened. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “The way you’ve been thinking about since you first called the agency. The way you’ve imagined in this empty bed at night while your husband was god knows where.”

Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, wetting them. “But you don’t get to use your hands. Not yet. Just your mouth. And while you work, I’m going to keep playing with your nipples. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You guided yourself toward her mouth. The head of your cock brushed her lower lip—just a touch, just enough for her to feel the heat. Karina’s whole body shuddered. “Open.” She did. Her jaw dropped, and you pushed forward, sliding the tip past her lips. The inside of her mouth was hot. Wet. Her tongue met the underside of your shaft, tentative at first, then bolder—flattening against you, tracing the ridge of the head. You groaned. The sound was involuntary. “That’s it. Take more.”

She did. Her lips stretched around your girth, and you watched her jaw work as she accommodated the intrusion. There was no hesitation now—the blindfold had freed her from something. From the performance. From the expectation. From Karina Yu, the idol, and all the ways that identity constrained her. The woman kneeling on the floor was just a woman. A woman who wanted to suck cock. You reached down and found her nipples again. Both of them this time, one in each hand, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as she began to move.

Karina moaned around your shaft. The vibration traveled through you, up your spine, into the base of your skull. “Mmm—”

She pulled back, let her tongue swirl around the head, then pushed forward again—deeper this time. Her throat flexed. A gag reflex triggered, and she choked, but she didn’t pull away. She held herself there, breathing through her nose, letting her throat adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck,” you breathed. “You’ve done this before.” She couldn’t answer—her mouth was full—but the way she moved said everything. This wasn’t practice. This was muscle memory. Somewhere in her past, before the fame and the management and the carefully curated image, there had been a girl who knew exactly what to do with her mouth. You pinched her nipples harder. She whimpered. Bobbed her head. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room—the slick slide of lips on skin, the soft suction when she pulled back, the obscene little pop when she reached the tip and let go for just a moment before diving back down.

“Look at you.” Your voice had gone rough. “The most famous woman in Korea. On her knees. Blindfolded. Choking on a stranger’s cock.” Karina’s response was a moan that vibrated through your entire shaft. She sucked harder. Faster. Her tongue worked the underside of your cock with the kind of precision that spoke to experience—flicking against the frenulum, tracing the vein that ran along the length, pressing flat and wide when she reached the base. You tugged her nipples in rhythm with her bobbing. Pull when she went down. Release when she came up. The coordination turned her body into an instrument—you played her nipples, and she played you with her mouth. Saliva dripped down her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, ran in thin rivulets toward her collarbones. She was messy now. Undone. The composed idol from an hour ago was dissolving into something rawer and infinitely more beautiful.

“Deeper,” you said. “Take it deeper.” She pushed forward. Her throat constricted around the head of your cock—a tight, hot pressure that made your vision swim. She gagged again, harder this time, and you felt her throat spasm around you. “Stay there.” She held. Her shoulders trembled. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold—not from crying, but from the physical reflex of her throat trying to expel the intrusion. The tear tracked down her cheek and mixed with the saliva on her chin. You released her nipples and cupped her face instead. Your thumbs traced the stretched line of her lips, the bulge of your cock visible through her cheek.

“You’re perfect like this,” you murmured. “Blind. Choking. Desperate. This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be nothing but a mouth.” Karina made a sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded as much as she could with your cock buried in her throat. You pulled back. Let her breathe. A thick strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of your cock.

“Don’t swallow yet,” you said. “Let it drip.” She obeyed. The saliva pooled and spilled, running down her chin and onto her chest. It made her skin glisten in the low light.

“Now use your hands. Both of them. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about this.” Her hands came up immediately—eager, almost frantic. One wrapped around the base of your shaft while the other cupped your balls. Her fingers were cool against the heat of your skin. She squeezed gently, testing the weight, and then her mouth was back on you—lips stretched wide, tongue working, throat opening. The blindfold was soaked now. Tears and sweat had darkened the leather around her eyes. You reached down and found her nipples again. Plucked them. Rolled them. Pinched them until she keened around your cock, the sound high and desperate. “You love this. You love being on your knees for a stranger. You love not being in control.”

“Mmmhmm—” The affirmation vibrated through your shaft.

“Say it. Pull off and say it.” She let you go with a gasp. Her lips were swollen, the color darkened to a deep rose. “I love it. I love being on my knees. I love—” She swallowed, her throat working. “I love not being in control.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Her blindfolded face tilted up toward your voice. “Because for once I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be Karina. I can just be… this.”

“A mouth.”

“Yes.”

“A set of holes.”

She shuddered. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a mouth.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a set of holes. I’m just—I’m just a body that wants to be used.” You stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Now open up.” She did. Her jaw dropped, tongue extended—a gesture of pure, shameless submission. You guided yourself back into her mouth and this time you didn’t let her set the pace. You fucked her throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her lips stretch around you, watching her chest heave as she struggled to breathe through her nose.

Your hands never left her nipples. They were dark now, engorged, slick with the saliva that had dripped down from her chin. You twisted them in opposite directions and Karina screamed around your cock—a muffled, desperate sound that was swallowed by the column of flesh filling her throat. “Again.” Twist. Scream. Her thighs squeezed together, and through the thin black panties you could see her cunt clenching on nothing.

“You’re getting wet from this. From choking on a stranger’s cock while he twists your nipples.” She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and bob her head and take it. You pulled her off again. She gasped, coughed, and then immediately tried to lean forward—to get you back in her mouth. You held her by the hair. “Not yet. I want to look at you.” Karina knelt there, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick, chin dripping. The blindfold was a dark slash across her face. Her nipples jutted out from the flushed mounds of her breasts, hard and dark and wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you said. “And I mean that. Not Karina the idol. Not the image. This. Right here. A woman who finally stopped pretending.”

Her lips trembled. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me finish. Please let me taste you. Please—I need—I need to feel you—”

“You need to feel me come down your throat.”

“Yes.” The word was a sob. “Yes. Please. Use my mouth. Use my throat. I don’t care if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel it. I want to taste it. Please.” You guided her back onto your cock. She took you deeper than before—no hesitation, no slow build. She swallowed you whole, her nose pressing against your abdomen, her throat working around the intrusion like it was made for this. Made for you. Your hands found her nipples one last time. You pinched them hard—the hardest yet—and held the pressure as she sucked. Karina’s whole body convulsed. Her thighs pressed together so tightly that the muscles in her legs stood out in sharp relief. A muffled, keening sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. She was close. Even without touching her cunt, even without any stimulation below the waist—she was close. The nipple play and the blindfold and the degradation had wound her up to a breaking point.

You felt your own climax building. A tightening at the base of your spine. A coiling pressure that radiated outward. “I’m going to come,” you said. “And you’re going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?” Karina’s response was to suck harder. Her tongue worked the underside of your shaft, pressing and stroking in time with her bobbing. Her hand cupped your balls and squeezed—gently, then harder—and that was it. The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. You groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and your hands tightened on her nipples as the first pulse of cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed. You felt her throat work around the head of your cock, milking you, drawing out every pulse. The second shot. The third. She took them all, her lips sealed tight around your shaft, not letting a single drop escape.

“Fuck. Fuck, Karina—” She pulled back just enough to let the last pulse land on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed again, her throat moving in a long, deliberate gulp. When she finally released you, she sat back on her heels. Her chest was still heaving. Her nipples were dark and swollen. Her chin glistened. A single drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth and was tracking slowly down toward her jaw. You reached down and wiped it away with your thumb. Then you pressed your thumb to her lips. She sucked it clean.

“Thank you,” she whispered. You crouched down in front of her. The blindfold was ruined—soaked through with tears and sweat, the leather darkened to near-black. You reached behind her head and unbuckled it. The belt fell away.

Karina blinked. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils so dilated that her irises were barely visible. Tear tracks striped her cheeks. Her lips—swollen, bruised-looking, the lipstick she hadn’t been wearing long since replaced by a deeper, more honest color. She looked wrecked. She looked free. “How do you feel?” you asked.

A long pause. Then a smile—small, fragile, but real. “Like I’m still here. Like I’m actually… in my body. For the first time in months.” You brushed the hair away from her face. “We’re not done.” Karina’s smile widened, just a fraction. “I know.” “Lie back down on the bed. On your stomach this time.” She rose on unsteady legs and climbed onto the mattress. The black panties were soaked through now—a dark, wet patch that spread from the gusset all the way to the waistband. She arranged herself face-down on the white sheets, her arms stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart.

The position made her ass look incredible. Round and full, the cheeks peeking out from beneath the lace.

You climbed onto the bed behind her. Your cock was still half-hard, already stirring again at the sight of her. “I’m going to take these off now,” you said, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her panties. “And then I’m going to find out just how wet choking on a stranger’s cock made you.”

Karina’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yes. Please. Touch me.” You pulled the panties down. And stopped breathing. The panties slid down the curve of her ass, the black lace peeling away from skin that glistened with moisture. The gusset left a shining trail across the backs of her thighs—a snail's track of arousal that caught the bedroom's low light. You stopped breathing.

Karina's cunt was laid bare before you, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose, parted just enough to reveal the darker, wetter flesh within. Her arousal had coated everything—the inner thighs, the neat strip of dark hair above her mound, the puckered swirl of her asshole that winked at you as she shifted on the mattress. The scent hit you next: salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, the raw perfume of a woman who'd been sucking cock while her nipples were tortured and had loved every second of it.

"Fuck," you breathed. Karina's response was muffled by the pillow. "What? What is it?"

"You're dripping. You're actually—" You ran one finger along the seam of her cunt, not pushing in, just gathering the slick that had pooled there. The touch made her whole body jolt. "You're soaked. All the way down your thighs."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "I could feel it. While I was—while you were in my mouth—I could feel myself getting wetter and I couldn't do anything about it."

"Did you want to?"

"Yes. God, yes. I wanted to touch myself so badly. But you told me not to move. So I just… leaked." You brought your slick-coated finger to your mouth and tasted her. Salty. Slightly bitter. Clean. The flavor bloomed on your tongue, and something in your chest tightened—not just lust, though there was plenty of that, but something closer to awe. The most famous woman in Korea was face-down on her marital bed, her cunt drooling onto the sheets, waiting for a stranger to decide what to do with her.

"Please," Karina whispered. "Please touch me. I've been waiting. I've been so patient. Please."

"How long has it been since someone touched you here?"

"Eight months. Since before the wedding. He never—Joon-ho never—" She choked on the name. "He never wanted to. Even before we got married. He said it was… messy. He said he preferred—"

"Preferred what?"

"His hand. His own hand. While I lay next to him pretending to be asleep." The confession hung in the air. You looked at the perfect curve of her ass, the trembling muscles of her thighs, the slick heat of her cunt that some man had decided wasn't worth his time. "His loss," you said. "Don't move." You positioned yourself behind her, kneeling between her spread legs. The position gave you a view of everything—the long line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the dark cleft of her ass, and at the center of it all, her cunt. Swollen. Wet. Waiting.

"Two fingers," you said. "I'm going to put two fingers inside you. And you're going to scream into that pillow." Karina grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her face. You pushed your middle finger into her first.

The heat was staggering. Tight—god, she was tight—but so wet that your finger slid in to the second knuckle without resistance. Her inner walls clenched around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that traveled from base to tip. Karina's back arched. A strangled sound escaped the pillow.

"One," you said. "Here comes the second."

Your index finger joined the first. The stretch made her gasp—a sharp intake of air that she cut off by biting the pillow. You pushed both fingers deep, curling them upward, searching for the rough patch of tissue that would make her see stars.

You found it.

Karina screamed.

The sound was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to echo in the vast bedroom. Her hips bucked backward, driving your fingers deeper. Her cunt clamped down with a force that made your knuckles ache.

"There it is," you murmured. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone to find it. Someone to touch it. Someone who isn't afraid of a little mess."

"Don't stop—please don't stop—"

You didn't stop. You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them against that spot every time you bottomed out. The wet sounds were obscene—a slick, squelching rhythm that filled the room. Her juices coated your hand, dripped down your wrist, pooled on the sheets beneath her.

"Listen to yourself," you said. "Listen to how wet you are. You sound like a—"

"Like a whore." The word came out muffled but clear. "Say it. I want you to say it."

"You sound like a whore. A dripping, desperate whore who's been neglected for eight months and finally has someone's fingers in her cunt."

Karina moaned—a long, wavering sound that rose in pitch as you increased your pace. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her ass lifted higher, presenting herself more openly, and you watched her cunt stretch around your fingers, the lips clinging to your knuckles every time you pulled back.

"More," she gasped. "More. I need more. I need—"

"You need what?"

"I need to come. Please. Please let me come. I've been so good. I swallowed everything. I didn't spill a drop. Please."

You slowed your fingers. Stopped them entirely, buried to the hilt inside her.

Karina whimpered. "No—no, why did you stop—"

"Because I want to hear you beg properly." You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're not Karina right now. You're not an idol. You're just a wet hole that wants to be filled. So beg like one."

A shudder ran through her body. Her voice, when it came, was smaller than before—stripped of the polish, stripped of everything except raw, naked need.

"Please fuck me with your fingers. Please make me come. I've been empty for so long. I've been so empty and so lonely and the only thing that's made me feel anything in months is your cock in my throat and your fingers on my nipples and now I need—I need you to let me finish. I need to feel something break inside me. Please. I'm begging you. I'm begging like the desperate slut I am. Please."

"Good girl."

You resumed fucking her with your fingers. Faster this time. Harder. The curl against her G-spot became a pounding rhythm, and Karina's whole body began to shake. Her thighs quivered. Her ass clenched and unclenched. The pillow was soaked with saliva and tears.

"I'm close—I'm so close—"

You pulled your fingers out.

"No!" The word was a howl. Her cunt gaped for a moment, empty and clenching on nothing, and then she collapsed forward onto the mattress. "Why? Why did you—I was right there—"

"Turn over."

She rolled onto her back. Her face was a wreck—eyes wild and glassy, cheeks blotchy with tears, lips still swollen from the blowjob. Her chest heaved. Her nipples stood out like dark berries against the pale swell of her breasts.

"Spread your legs."

She did. Her cunt was even more obscene from this angle—the lips engorged and spread, the inner flesh a slick, vivid pink, the hood of her clitoris pulled back to reveal the pearl beneath. Everything glistened.

"Touch yourself."

Karina's hand flew to her cunt. Her fingers found her clit and began rubbing in tight, frantic circles. Her other hand grabbed her breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.

"That's it. Show me how you make yourself come when you're alone in this empty house."

"It's always you," she panted. "Not you—not you specifically—but someone. Someone who isn't him. Someone who wants me. I imagine—I imagine being taken. Being used. Being ruined." Her circles grew faster. "I imagine a stranger's cock. A stranger's hands. I imagine being bent over and fucked until I can't walk. Until I can't think. Until I forget my own name."

"And does your husband ever make you come?"

"Never. Not once. Not even—not even when we—ah—"

"Don't stop. Keep rubbing."

Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her hips lifted off the mattress. The muscles in her stomach stood out in sharp definition. She was close again—you could see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth fell open, the frantic, jerky movements of her hand.

"Please," she gasped. "Please let me—"

"Stop."

Her hand froze. A sound came out of her that wasn't human—a guttural, animal keen of pure frustration. Her clit twitched visibly, denied its release. Her cunt spasmed, squeezing around nothing, gushing a fresh surge of fluid that soaked the sheets.

"Fuck!" She slammed her fist against the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

You grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. "Look at me."

Karina's eyes met yours. They were wet and desperate and furious and grateful all at once.

"You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined doesn't mean easy. Ruined doesn't mean I let you come the moment you ask nicely. Ruined means I take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but the animal underneath. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.

"Do you still want this?"

"God, yes. Yes. Ruin me. Please. I want to be ruined."

You released her wrist. "Then get on your hands and knees. I want to see all of you."

Karina scrambled into position. The movement was ungraceful, uncoordinated—the idol's dancer precision abandoned in favor of pure, sloppy need. She presented herself on all fours, her back arched, her ass lifted high. The position opened her completely—her cunt a dark, wet gash between her thighs, her asshole a tight pink knot, everything glistening with the evidence of her arousal.

"Spread your ass cheeks."

Her hands reached back. Her fingers dug into the full flesh of her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing herself more completely. The vulnerability of the gesture made your cock throb.

"Wider."

She stretched herself open until the pink of her cunt gaped slightly, until you could see the dark entrance of her body, the place where her wetness pooled and dripped in a slow, viscous thread onto the sheets.

"Please," she breathed. "Please ruin my pussy. I need your cock. I need it inside me. I've needed it since you walked through my door. Since before that. Since I first saw your picture in the agency file. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm nothing."

You positioned yourself behind her.

Your cock was fully hard again—thick and veined, the head an angry purple, a bead of precum already forming at the slit. You gripped the base and ran the tip along her slit, coating yourself in her slick. The contact made her shudder.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes—"

You pushed the head against her entrance. The heat of her cunt kissed the tip of your cock.

"Say it again. Louder."

"YES. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ruin my pussy. I want to feel you in my womb. I want to feel you for days. I want to walk into my next schedule and still feel where you've been. Please—"

You thrust forward.

One motion. No gradual entry. No easing her open. You buried yourself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke, and Karina's plea dissolved into a scream that had no words in it.

Her cunt was impossibly tight. The wet heat of her gripped every inch of you—a clenching, rippling pressure that traveled from base to tip. You felt the head of your cock butt against her cervix, felt the resistant give of that deepest barrier, and then you pushed past it.

Karina's scream pitched higher.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck, you're so deep—you're in my—"

"Your womb. I know."

You stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft—spasms of sensation that were half pleasure, half shock. Her fingers were still digging into her ass cheeks, holding herself open, and you could see exactly where your bodies joined. The stretched ring of her cunt. The way her lips clung to the base of your cock. The shine of her fluids on your skin.

"You're taking all of it," you said. "Every inch. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes—yes, I feel it—I feel you in my stomach—"

"Good."

You pulled back. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. Then you slammed forward again, harder than before, and Karina's head dropped between her shoulders, her whole body rocking forward from the force.

"AH—"

"Again."

Another thrust. Harder. The sound of your bodies colliding was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her ass rippled with the impact. Her breasts swung beneath her.

"You wanted to be ruined," you growled, gripping her hips. "So I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to fuck this tight little cunt until you can't remember your own name. Until you can't remember his name. Until the only thing in your head is my cock and how deep it is and how hard I'm using you."

"Yes—yes—fuck—harder—"

You gave her harder.

The rhythm you set was brutal—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the room. Your balls slapped against her clit. Sweat dripped from your forehead onto her back, tracing rivulets down her spine.

Karina was making sounds that didn't belong to any language. Guttural moans. High-pitched whines. Broken syllables that might have been words if she'd had enough control to form them. Her fingers had released her ass cheeks and were now fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, arms trembling.

"Look at you. The most famous idol in Korea. On her hands and knees. Getting her pussy destroyed by a stranger. Moaning like an animal. This is what you needed, isn't it? Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband and the perfect house. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."

"YES—YES, THIS—THIS IS WHAT I—OH FUCK—"

You reached around her body and found her clit. The bundle of nerves was swollen and slick, hard as a pebble under your fingertip. You pressed down and circled—not gently, not teasingly, but with the same brutal intensity as your thrusts.

Karina's whole body convulsed.

The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking against rocks. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt—a rhythmic, pulsing squeeze that traveled in waves from her core outward. Her back arched impossibly. Her head flew up, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back so far that only the whites were visible.

Then the sound came. A wail. A keening, animal cry that started low in her chest and rose to fill the room. Her arms gave out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, but you followed her down, never stopping, never slowing, fucking her through the orgasm with the same relentless pace.

"Thaaaat's it—don't stop—don't stop—don't—I can't—it's too much—"

"You can take it. You wanted to be ruined. You're going to take every thrust until I'm done with you."

"It's too much—it's—oh god—OH GOD—"

A second orgasm crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This one was stronger—violent, almost. Her cunt gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Her body shook with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than muscle, somewhere primal.

"Please—please—I can't—I can't take any more—"

"One more. Give me one more."

"I can't—I can't—"

"You can. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? That's what you needed. Not his empty house. Not his empty promises. This. A cock that fills you up. A body that knows how to use yours. Come for me again, Karina. Come on this cock like the desperate whore you told me you are."

Her response was unintelligible. A stream of syllables that might have been Korean, might have been English, might have been neither. A confession. A prayer. A surrender.

You drove into her harder—deeper, if that was even possible—and pressed your thumb against her clit. The stimulation was merciless. Her cunt seized around you. Her sobs pitched higher.

And then she shattered.

This orgasm was different from the others. Quieter. Deeper. Her body went rigid for a long, suspended moment—every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked into the mattress beneath her.

Karina's voice broke on a single word: "Fuuuuck—"

Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed into the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs twitching with aftershocks. Her cunt still pulsed weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.

You slowed your thrusts. Eased to a stop. Buried yourself deep inside her one last time and held there, feeling the heat of her body, the slick grip of her cunt, the violent thudding of her heart that you could feel through the walls of her core.

The room was silent except for her breathing—ragged, broken gasps that gradually slowed to something approaching normal.

"Are you still with me?" you asked.

A long pause. Then, muffled by the mattress: "I don't know. I think so. I think… I think that was…"

"That was what?"

"That was the first time. The first time anyone's ever—" She swallowed. The movement traveled through her whole body. "The first time anyone's ever made me come. Not just during sex. Ever."

You pulled out slowly. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound as you withdrew—reluctant, almost, as if her body didn't want to let you go. A gush of fluid followed, clear and viscous, pooling on the already-soaked sheets.

Karina whimpered at the emptiness.

"Turn over," you said. "Look at me."

It took her a moment to find the strength. When she finally rolled onto her back, the sight of her made your chest tighten.

She was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes swollen and glassy. Her lips—still puffy from the blowjob—were parted, a thin trail of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her nipples were dark and angry-looking, surrounded by faint marks where your fingers had been. Her thighs were slick with her own fluids. Her cunt gaped slightly, the lips engorged and spread, still pulsing with aftershocks.

She had never looked more beautiful.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw, used up. "I've been numb for so long. I didn't even realize how numb until… until you made me feel all of this. The pain. The pleasure. The—the shame. The humiliation. I felt all of it. I'm still feeling it."

"And right now? How do you feel?"

Karina's eyes found yours. The glassiness was fading, replaced by something clearer. Something almost peaceful.

"Full," she said. "And sore. And wet. And tired. And…" A pause. "Alive. I feel alive."

You reached down and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. The gesture was gentle—a stark contrast to everything you'd just done to her body.

"Good," you said. "Because we're still not finished."

Her eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her wrecked face—small and fragile and utterly genuine.

"I know," she said. "I was counting on it."

The shower was a rainfall fixture, wide enough for two, the water coming down in a steady, warm curtain. Steam fogged the glass enclosure. You stood behind Karina, cupping water in your palms and letting it run down her back. The rivulets tracked the geography you'd already memorized—the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the twin dimples just above the swell of her ass.

She leaned against the marble wall, forehead pressed to the cool stone.

"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.

"That's normal."

"Is it?" A laugh, breathy and exhausted. "Good to know."

You reached for the body wash—something expensive, sandalwood and bergamot—and worked it into a lather between your hands. When you touched her shoulders, Karina sighed. The sound was different from the ones that had filled the bedroom an hour ago. Softer. Quieter. The sigh of a body that had been wrung dry and was finally allowed to rest.

Your hands moved down her back in slow circles. Over the faint red marks your fingers had left on her hips. Across the small of her back where sweat had pooled and dried. Down to the curve of her ass, where you kneaded the muscle with careful pressure.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," you said.

"Good." Her voice was muffled against the marble. "I want to be sore. I want to remember."

"Remember what?"

She turned around. Water sluiced down her front, plastering her hair to her neck and shoulders. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was long gone, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, still slightly swollen. The marks on her nipples had darkened. Her lips—still puffy, still that deep bruised rose—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"That I'm a real person. That someone wanted me. That for a few hours, I wasn't just a photograph."

You cupped her face. Your thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You were never just a photograph."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." You leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then each eyelid, feather-light, the way you'd close a book you weren't finished reading. "But you need to hear it anyway. You're not what he made you feel. You were never what he made you feel."

Karina's breath shuddered out. Fresh tears mixed with the shower water—silent ones this time, not the wrenching sobs from before. She didn't answer. Didn't need to. You held her there in the steam until the water started to cool.

Later, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than your monthly car payment, Karina walked you to the front door.

The foyer was different now. Less cavernous. The unopened flowers still sat on the console table, but something about them had shifted—they looked less like an accusation and more like a relic. A fossil from a life she was leaving behind.

She pressed a small folded paper into your palm.

"My real number," she said. "Not the one the agency has. Not the one my manager screens." Her fingers lingered on your wrist. "Call me. Or text me. I don't care which. Just… don't disappear."

You unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, precise—idol training, probably, years of signing autographs until every stroke was perfect. Ten digits. No name. She didn't need one.

"I won't disappear," you said.

"You say that now."

"I mean it." You caught her hand and lifted it to your lips. Kissed her knuckles. Then the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thin and the pulse still fluttered. "You survived eight months of being invisible in your own house. The least I can do is answer a text."

She laughed—a real one this time, short and surprised. "That's a low bar."

"I'm a simple man."

Karina pulled her hand back, but slowly, the way you set down something fragile. "Go. Before I ask you to stay."

You didn't say goodbye. The training had taught you better than that. Goodbye implied an ending, and endings were the one thing clients like Karina didn't need more of. Instead you stepped out into the cool night air, the paper clutched in your hand, and let the door click shut behind you.

Three weeks passed.

Senior Park called on a Tuesday.

"New client," he said, the way he always did—like he was offering you a gift and daring you to guess what was inside. "Young. Married. The usual story."

"The usual story" had become a kind of shorthand between you. Rich husband. Neglected wife. A mansion full of expensive things and no warmth. You'd heard it so many times now that the details blurred together—only the faces changed, and even those were starting to feel familiar. Actresses. Idols. The wives of men who'd acquired beauty like a stock portfolio and then forgotten to check on it.

"Who is it?" you asked.

A pause. Park was savoring this.

"Jang Wonyoung."

The name hit you like a bucket of cold water.

"Wonyoung? From IVE?"

"The one and only." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Married at twenty-eight. To Kim Seok-joong. The producer. You know him?"

Everyone knew him. Kim Seok-joong had produced half the hits on the charts for the last five years—a genius behind the mixing board, a tyrant in the studio, and, according to every rumor mill in the industry, a man who treated marriage vows like a suggestion. The tabloids had run photos of him leaving clubs with trainees young enough to be his daughters. Wonyoung's name always appeared in the same articles, usually paired with words like "humiliated" and "trapped."

"She called us directly," Park continued. "Apparently she heard about us through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who spoke very highly of your work."

You thought of Karina. Of the paper still folded in your wallet.

"Mutual acquaintance?"

"I don't ask. I don't want to know. I just make the arrangements." The rustle of paper on his end. "She's in Hannam-dong. The penthouse. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

Hannam-dong at night was a different kind of wealth than the gated mansions of the suburbs. Here the money went vertical—glass towers that stabbed into the sky, each floor a monument to someone's ambition. The penthouse elevator required a code, which Senior Park had texted you an hour earlier along with a single line: She's nervous. Go slow.

The elevator ascended in silence. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics. You watched the floor numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that Jang Wonyoung was waiting at the top of this building. Jang Wonyoung, who'd debuted at fourteen and been famous before she could legally drive. Jang Wonyoung, whose face had sold a million magazines. Jang Wonyoung, who'd married a man twice her age and apparently regretted it before the ink on the certificate was dry.

The doors opened onto a private foyer.

The penthouse was smaller than Karina's mansion—everything in Seoul was smaller than Karina's mansion—but it made up for it in verticality. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Han River, the city lights reflected in the water like scattered coins. The furniture was minimalist: a low white sofa, a glass coffee table, a single orchid in a concrete pot. No photographs. No personal touches. It looked less like a home and more like a hotel suite where someone had been staying for too long.

Wonyoung stood at the window with her back to you.

She was taller than you'd expected. Taller than she looked on stage, where the camera angles and the choreography and the other members had a way of shrinking her. In person, barefoot on the marble floor, she was statuesque—long legs, a narrow waist, the kind of proportions that designers fought to dress. She wore an ivory silk robe that fell to her ankles, her dark hair loose and straight, still damp at the ends as if she'd just showered.

"It's a nice view," you said.

She didn't turn around. "I used to think so."

Her voice was different from Karina's. Lower. Flatter. Where Karina's words had crackled with suppressed fury, Wonyoung's came out like the air leaking from a tire—slow, deflated, resigned.

You stepped further into the room. "Senior Park said you wanted to meet me."

"Meet you." A short laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it."

"I can leave."

"Can you?" Now she turned. The sight of her face hit you like a physical force—the kind of beauty that felt almost aggressive, all sharp angles and full lips and eyes that were too big for her face. But there was something hollow behind them. Something that had been scooped out and never filled back in. "You can leave. You can stay. You can do whatever you want. I'm just… here."

"How long have you been 'just here'?"

Wonyoung crossed her arms over her chest. The robe was silk, thin enough that you could see the outline of her body beneath it—the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the long lines of her thighs. She wasn't trying to be seductive. She wasn't trying to be anything. That was the most unsettling part.

"A year," she said. "Maybe longer. I stopped counting."

"A year of what?"

"Of waiting. Of pretending. Of showing up to award shows on his arm while everyone in the audience knows he fucked one of his backup dancers the night before." Her jaw tightened. "Do you know what that's like? To smile for cameras while your husband's mistress is standing ten feet away, adjusting her earpiece?"

You didn't answer. You'd learned with Karina that sometimes the best response was no response—just the space to let the words hang in the air until they lost their poison.

Wonyoung uncrossed her arms. Let them fall to her sides. "I'm not looking for sympathy."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"The same thing everyone who calls your agency is looking for." She met your eyes, and for a moment the hollowness flickered—replaced by something harder. Something almost defiant. "I want to feel like I exist. Like I'm not just… a decoration. A trophy. Something he acquired and then forgot about."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"And how old is he?"

A pause. "Fifty-two."

You let the number sit there. Fifty-two. Older than her father, probably. Old enough to know better. Old enough to treat a twenty-eight-year-old bride like a collectible—desirable right up until the moment the paperwork was signed, and then irrelevant.

"What does he say when you confront him?" you asked.

Wonyoung's laugh was empty. "He doesn't. He just… leaves. Goes to the studio. Comes back three days later smelling like someone else's perfume. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice. I'm supposed to be grateful. He made my career, after all. Half my songs were his. Half my image. Half my life." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I was nineteen when I met him. I didn't know anything. I thought it was love."

"What do you think it was now?"

"Ownership." The word came out flat. "He didn't want a wife. He wanted a muse. Something beautiful to inspire him. And now he's inspired by someone else, and I'm just… here. In this penthouse. With this view. Waiting for him to come home and pretending I don't know where he's been."

You moved closer. Not close enough to touch—not yet—but close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep meeting your eyes.

"What do you want from tonight?"

Wonyoung held your gaze. The defiance was back, stronger now, warring with the exhaustion. "I want to stop waiting. I want to be touched by someone who actually wants to touch me. I want…" She swallowed. "I want to feel like a woman instead of a photograph. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense."

"And you can do that? You can… give me that?"

"I can give you whatever you're willing to take." You held out your hand, palm up, the same way you had with Karina three weeks ago. "But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're sure."

Wonyoung looked at your hand. The hesitation was visible—the same hesitation every client had, the moment before they crossed the line from thinking about it to doing it. The moment where the life they'd been living warred with the life they wanted.

Then she took it.

"I'm sure," she said. "I've been sure for six months. I just didn't know who to call."

"Your safeword?"

"Red."

"And if you can't speak?"

"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them."

Her palm was cool against yours. Her fingers were long and slender—pianist's fingers, though you knew she didn't play. The silk of her robe brushed against your wrist.

"Before we start," you said, "I want you to know something."

"What?"

"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge. This isn't about making him feel what you've been feeling." You squeezed her hand gently. "This is about you. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists. Do you understand?"

Wonyoung's lips parted. For a moment she looked younger—not twenty-nine, but nineteen again, standing in a studio somewhere and believing that the famous producer who'd noticed her was offering her the world.

"I understand," she said.

"Good. Now take off the robe."

She released your hand. Her fingers went to the sash at her waist, the silk loosening with a whisper. The robe slipped off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.

Underneath she wore nothing at all.

Her body was long and lean, with the kind of proportions that seemed almost impossible outside of a magazine spread. Small, high breasts with nipples the color of pale tea. A waist that nipped in dramatically before flaring into hips that had launched a thousand fan cams. Long legs, smooth and toned, the muscles of a dancer visible beneath the skin. A dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, neatly trimmed.

But what struck you most wasn't the beauty. It was the stillness. Karina had been trembling with suppressed energy, her body practically vibrating with need. Wonyoung stood completely motionless, her arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. She looked like a statue—beautiful and cold and utterly detached from the body she occupied.

"You're very beautiful," you said.

"I know." Not arrogant. Just… factual. "People tell me that a lot."

"Do you believe them?"

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or confusion. "What?"

"Do you believe them? When they tell you you're beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?"

Wonyoung's brow furrowed. "I don't… I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do." You circled her slowly, the way you'd circle a sculpture in a gallery. "You've been told you're beautiful your whole life. It's on every magazine cover. Every comment section. Every introduction. But when you look in the mirror, what do you see?"

Her voice was quieter now. "I see what everyone else sees."

"That's not what I asked."

You stopped behind her. The view from here was just as striking—the sweep of her back, the curve of her ass, the way her hair fell in a dark curtain between her shoulder blades. She hadn't turned to follow you. She was still facing the window, still looking at the river and the lights.

"I asked what you see," you continued. "Not what they see. Not what the cameras see. What you see."

The silence stretched. Outside, a boat moved across the Han River, its lights reflecting in the dark water.

"Nothing," Wonyoung said finally. "I see nothing. I see a body that exists to be looked at. A face that exists to be photographed. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I see…" She trailed off.

"A product."

"Yes." The word was barely audible. "A product. Something that was packaged and sold before I understood what I was agreeing to."

You stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of your body registered against her bare back. Close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she'd be touching you.

"That ends tonight," you said. "Tonight, you're not a product. You're not a photograph. You're not what your husband neglected or what the cameras captured. You're a woman. Just a woman. And I'm going to make you feel like one."

Wonyoung's breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her shoulders rose and fell in the window's reflection.

"How?" she asked.

"First, I'm going to touch you. Not the way a photographer touches you. Not the way a stylist touches you. I'm going to touch you the way a man touches a woman he wants." You raised your hand and let it hover just above her shoulder—not making contact, but close enough that she could feel the heat of your palm. "And you're going to stand right here and let yourself feel it. All of it. Every sensation. Do you understand?"

Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."

"Good."

You let your hand settle on her shoulder.

The contact was light—just your palm against her skin, your fingers curving over the ridge of her collarbone. But Wonyoung's reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened. The muscles beneath your hand went rigid, then slowly, gradually, began to soften.

"When's the last time someone touched you?" you asked.

"I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't remember."

"Months?"

"Longer. Before the wedding, maybe. He was… interested then. Before he had me. After that…" She shook her head.

You moved your hand down her arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting your fingers trace the curve of her bicep, the dip of her elbow, the smooth skin of her forearm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of your touch.

"Close your eyes," you said.

She did. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks, dark against the pale skin.

"Now I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Not what you're thinking. Not what you're worried about. Just the physical sensation. My hand on your skin. The heat of my body behind you. The cool air on the rest of you. Can you do that?"

"I can try."

"Don't try. Just do."

You brought your other hand to her waist. The silk of the robe had been thin, but her bare skin was thinner—softer, warmer, alive in a way the fabric never could be. You felt the slight give of flesh over muscle, the delicate architecture of her ribs. Wonyoung's lips parted. A tremor ran through her.

"Good," you murmured. "That's it. Stay present. Stay here."

Your hands moved together now—one sliding up to cup her breast, the other tracing the curve of her hip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. You weren't trying to arouse her yet. You were trying to wake her up. To remind her body that it was capable of sensation beyond the clinical touches of stylists and makeup artists and the indifferent hands of a husband who'd long since stopped seeing her as anything but an acquisition.

Her breast was small and firm, fitting perfectly in your palm. The nipple was already tightening—an involuntary response, the body's language for yes, this, more. You circled it with your thumb, not quite touching the peak, letting the anticipation build.

"Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just the single syllable, but it was the most human sound she'd made since you'd arrived.

"You feel that?"

"Yes."

"What does it feel like?"

"Warm. It feels… warm. And tingly. Like—like pins and needles, but soft."

"That's your body waking up." You brushed your thumb across her nipple, finally making contact. The peak was hard now, pebbled and tight. Wonyoung's breath caught. Her hips shifted—an instinctive movement, barely conscious. "That's your body remembering what it feels like to be touched."

"Don't stop," she whispered.

"I'm not stopping. I'm just getting started."

You turned her around to face you. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, a flush spreading across her chest. The cool, detached statue from five minutes ago was already beginning to thaw.

"Open your eyes," you said.

She did. The hollowness was still there, but it had receded slightly—pushed back by something warmer. Something hungrier.

"Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back. I'm going to touch every inch of you, and you're going to stay present for all of it. No disappearing. No retreating into your head. You're going to feel everything. Do you understand?"

Wonyoung's voice was steadier now. "Yes."

"Good. Then let's begin."

She walked toward the bedroom—the same statuesque stride, but looser now, less guarded. The ivory robe stayed in a puddle on the floor behind her, already forgotten.

You followed her. The penthouse bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights glittering below like a mirror image of the stars. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room. White sheets. Too many pillows. The same story, different setting.

Wonyoung lay down in the center of the mattress. Arranged herself with her arms at her sides, her hair spread across the pillow, her legs slightly apart. The position was almost clinical—like she was posing for a photograph. Muscle memory.

"Relax your arms," you said. "Above your head."

She lifted them. The movement pulled her breasts higher, flattened her stomach.

"Close your eyes."

Her lashes swept down.

You knelt on the bed beside her. In the silence, you could hear her breathing—quicker than before, but still controlled. Still holding onto something. You would need to break through that control. Not with force. With patience. With attention. With the kind of touch she'd been starved of for years.

"Now," you said, letting your hand hover over her stomach. "Let's find out what Jang Wonyoung feels like when she stops being a photograph and starts being a woman."

Your palm settled on her skin.

And Wonyoung began to tremble.

Your palm settled on Wonyoung's stomach.

The trembling started small—a flutter of muscle beneath warm skin—then spread outward, rippling through her thighs, her belly, the flat plane of her chest. She kept her eyes closed, arms still arranged above her head in that posing-for-a-photograph way that had become second nature.

"You're shaking," you said.

"I know." Her voice was thinner now. "I can't seem to stop."

"Don't stop. Let it happen."

Your hand moved in a slow circle, tracing the faint definition of her abdominal muscles. The skin here was softer than you'd expected—yielding, warm, the kind of softness that came from being young and healthy and well-cared-for in every way except the one that mattered. Wonyoung's breath stuttered when your palm grazed the bottom of her ribcage.

"What are you feeling?"

"Your hand." A pause. "It's… warmer than I expected."

"What else?"

"I don't know. It's been so long since—" She swallowed. The movement traveled down her throat, a subtle ripple. "Since anyone touched me without an agenda. My stylists touch me to adjust my clothes. Photographers touch me to fix my hair. Seok-joong…" The name came out like a curse. "He doesn't touch me at all."

You traced the lower curve of her breast. Not the nipple—not yet—just the swell where her chest began to rise. The skin was impossibly smooth, pale as cream in the city light streaming through the windows.

"When's the last time you touched yourself?"

Wonyoung's eyes opened. The question had surprised her. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I don't…" Her brow furrowed. "I don't do that."

"You don't masturbate?"

The word made her flinch. A tiny recoil, barely visible, but you caught it. "That's not something I—I mean, I've never really—"

"Never?" You kept your hand where it was, still and warm against the curve of her breast. "You've never made yourself come?"

Wonyoung closed her eyes again. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck, blooming across her collarbones like spilled wine. "Once. Maybe twice. A long time ago. Before I debuted. Before everything got so…" She trailed off.

"So controlled."

"Yes."

"Show me."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"Sit up." You withdrew your hand and sat back on your heels. "I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see how Jang Wonyoung pleasures her own body when no one else is looking."

The hesitation was visible—a war playing out behind her eyes. The trained idol, the curated image, the woman who'd spent her entire adult life being looked at without ever being touched. Then something shifted. A crack in the facade. Her lips parted.

"Okay," she whispered.

She sat up slowly. The movement was graceful despite her trembling—dancer's muscle memory, the body knowing what to do even when the mind was unmoored. She propped herself against the headboard, the white sheets pooling around her hips. Her breasts were small and high on her chest, the nipples still tight from your earlier attention.

"Lie back," you said. "Spread your legs. Let me see all of you."

Wonyoung arranged herself against the pillows. Her thighs parted with visible reluctance—not resistance, but the shyness of a woman who'd been taught that her body was a commodity, not a source of pleasure. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, the lips beneath barely visible in the dim light.

"Touch your breasts first," you said. "The way you like it."

Her hands lifted. The movement was hesitant, almost clinical, like she was examining herself rather than pleasuring herself. Her fingers brushed her nipples and she gasped—a sharp, surprised sound.

"That's it. They're sensitive, aren't they?"

"Yes—I didn't know—no one's ever—"

"No one's ever played with your nipples?"

"No." The word came out strangled. Her fingers circled the tight peaks, tracing the areolae with tentative strokes. "Seok-joong said breasts were for—ah—for looking at. Not for—"

"Not for touching."

"Not for touching."

You watched her hands grow bolder. The circles became pinches—gentle at first, then harder, the way you'd done earlier. Her back arched slightly. Her mouth fell open.

"Good girl. Now move one hand lower. Touch yourself between your legs."

Wonyoung's right hand slid down her stomach. The trembling was worse now—her whole body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the forbidden nature of what she was doing. Her fingers reached the dark curls and stopped.

"I don't know if I can—"

"You can. Part your lips for me. Show me your cunt."

The vulgar word made her gasp. But her fingers obeyed—they slid through the trimmed hair, parted the outer lips, exposed the pink flesh within. Even from where you knelt, you could see the gleam of moisture. The way her inner lips clung together, then separated with a wet, sticky sound.

"You're wet," you said. "You're wet and you haven't even touched your clit yet."

"Is that—is that normal?"

"It's more than normal. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." You leaned closer. "Now find your clit. The little pearl at the top. Touch it."

Wonyoung's middle finger found the swollen bud. The contact made her whole body jerk. A sound escaped her—half moan, half whimper—and her thighs snapped shut around her hand.

"Keep them open. I want to watch."

"I can't—it's too—"

"You can. Open your legs, Wonyoung. Let me see what your body does when you stop being a photograph."

She forced her thighs apart. The effort was visible—muscles trembling, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Her finger began to circle her clit in slow, tentative strokes. The hood pulled back with each pass, revealing the slick pearl beneath. Her other hand stayed on her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple in counterpoint.

"There," she breathed. "Oh—there—that feels—"

"What does it feel like?"

"Tight. Hot. Like—like something's building. Like I need to—" Her circling grew faster. "Like I need to—"

"You need to come."

"Yes." The word was a sob. "Yes. I need to come. Please. I've never—not with anyone watching—not with anyone—"

"Come for me, Wonyoung. Let go. I've got you."

Her body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. The hand between her legs moved frantically—rubbing, pressing, chasing the climax that was crashing over her. A keening sound escaped her throat, high and desperate.

Then she collapsed.

Her chest heaved. Her thighs quivered. The hand on her breast fell away, and the other remained pressed against her cunt—not moving now, just holding, as if she couldn't bear to let go of the sensation.

"That was your first orgasm with an audience," you said.

Wonyoung's laugh was breathless, almost giddy. "That was my first orgasm. Period. I don't think the other times—I don't think they were real. Not like that."

"Not like that."

"No." She opened her eyes and looked at you. The hollowness was gone—replaced by something brighter, something almost hungry. "I want more. I want—" She swallowed. "I want you inside me. But I want to be in control. Just this once. I want to decide."

You raised an eyebrow. "You want to ride me."

"Yes." The word came out stronger now. "I've spent my whole life being positioned. Being told where to stand and how to pose and what to wear. I want—just this once—I want to be the one who decides. Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense."

You stood up from the bed and unbuckled your pants. Wonyoung watched with open curiosity—the way her eyes tracked the movement of your hands, the way her lips parted when you pushed your boxers down and your cock sprang free. She'd seen it earlier, of course, but now she looked at it differently. Like she was sizing it up. Like she was planning.

"It's thicker than I thought," she murmured.

"Is that a problem?"

"No." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "It's just… I've never seen one this close before. Not like this. Seok-joong and I—the few times we—it was always in the dark. Always over quickly. He never let me look."

"Look all you want."

She did. Her gaze traveled the length of your shaft—the vein that pulsed along the underside, the ridge of the head, the way the skin pulled tight when you were fully hard. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.

"Lie down," she said. "On your back."

You obeyed. The sheets were cool against your shoulders. Wonyoung rose on her knees and swung one long leg over your hips, straddling you. The position put her cunt directly above your cock—you could see the pink of her inner lips, still slick from her orgasm, still parted and ready. A drop of her arousal fell onto your stomach.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Reverse."

"What?"

"Turn around. Face my feet. Reverse cowgirl."

Wonyoung blinked. Then understanding dawned, and with it came something you hadn't seen on her face before—a flicker of genuine excitement. "I've seen this position. In… things I've watched. When I was alone."

"Then you know how it works."

She turned around. The movement was awkward—she had to lift one leg, then the other, bracing herself with a hand on your thigh—but the awkwardness was part of the appeal. She wasn't performing. She wasn't posing. She was just a woman figuring out how to take what she wanted.

When she settled into position, facing away from you, the view was spectacular. The long sweep of her back. The curve of her ass, round and firm. The dark cleft between her cheeks, and below that, her cunt—still wet, still open, positioned directly above your cock.

"Reach back," you said. "Take hold of me."

Her hand fumbled behind her. Fingers brushed your shaft, then your balls, then closed around the base. Her grip was tentative—too light, too careful—but she guided the head to her entrance anyway. The contact made her gasp.

"Oh god. You're so—I can feel how big you are just from this—"

"Take your time. You're in control."

Wonyoung lowered herself an inch. The head of your cock pressed against her opening, parting the slick lips. The heat of her was incredible—wet and tight and pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She stopped there, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of your hips.

"I don't know if I can—"

"You can. Slowly. Just a little at a time."

She sank down another inch. The head slipped inside her, and Wonyoung cried out—a sharp, startled sound that was half pain and half pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around you, a rippling squeeze that traveled from tip to base.

"Fuck—fuck, you're stretching me—"

"You're doing so well. Take what you need."

Another inch. Then another. Her cunt was impossibly tight—tighter than Karina's, tighter than anyone you'd been with in recent memory. The walls gripped you like a fist, hot and slick and pulsing. Wonyoung's breathing had gone ragged. Her head dropped forward. Her hands braced on your thighs, nails digging in.

"I'm only halfway—oh god—I'm only halfway and I already feel so full—"

"Keep going. You wanted control. Take it."

She took it. Her hips dropped the rest of the way, and your cock buried itself to the hilt inside her. Wonyoung screamed. The sound was raw and uncontrolled—nothing like the polished idol voice, nothing like the careful, measured tones she'd used earlier. This was pure animal. Pure sensation.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're in my stomach—I can feel you in my stomach—"

"Good. Now move."

She lifted her hips. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. When she dropped back down, the impact sent a visible ripple through her ass. The cheeks jiggled with the force of it.

"Yes—" She did it again. Faster. "Yes—this is—this is what I wanted—this is what I needed—"

"Tell me what it feels like."

"Full. So full. Like—like I'm being split open. Like I'm being—ah—like I'm being claimed." She was moving faster now, finding a rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that spoke to years of dance training. The muscles in her back flexed and released with each stroke. "But I'm the one claiming you. I'm the one—I'm the one in control—"

"That's right. You're in control. Take your pleasure, Wonyoung. Take all of it."

Her pace quickened. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the bedroom—a slick, rhythmic slap every time she bottomed out. Your cock was coated in her arousal, glistening in the city light. She reached back with one hand and grabbed your chest—not for balance, but for leverage, pulling herself harder onto you with each stroke.

"Touch my—touch my breasts—please—I need—"

You reached up and cupped her breasts from behind. The position was awkward but the effect was immediate—Wonyoung's rhythm faltered, then resumed faster than before. You pinched her nipples and she sobbed.

"Yes—yes—harder—"

You twisted. She keened. Her hips became a blur—up and down, up and down, fucking herself on your cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. Her head was thrown back now, her dark hair cascading down her spine, her whole body sheened with sweat.

"I'm close—I'm getting close again—I can feel it building—"

"Look at you. Jang Wonyoung. The nation's sweetheart. Riding a stranger's cock in her marital bed. Moaning like an animal. Dripping down my thighs."

"Yes—yes—I'm dripping—I'm making a mess—Seok-joong would hate this—he'd hate how wet I am—he'd hate how—how much I love it—"

"How much do you love it?"

"So much—so fucking much—I love being full—I love being stretched—I love being in control—I love that you're letting me—" Her voice cracked. "I love that you're letting me take what I need—"

The tears started then.

They came without warning—a sudden spill from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks and dripping onto your thighs. Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing hitched and broke into sobs.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't know why I'm—"

"Don't stop." You squeezed her breasts gently. "Don't apologize. Keep moving. Let it out."

"I can't—I can't stop crying—" But her hips kept moving. Slower now, but still moving. "It's just—it's been so long—I've been so alone—"

"I know."

"No one touches me. No one looks at me. No one wants me. I'm just—I'm just a thing he bought and forgot about—"

"You're not a thing. You're a woman. A beautiful, passionate woman who deserves to be touched and wanted and pleasured. Keep moving. Let yourself feel it."

The sobs grew louder. Her hips moved faster, chasing the release that was building despite—or maybe because of—the tears. Her hand tightened on your chest, nails digging crescents into your skin.

"I want to come—please—please let me come—"

"It's yours. Take it. Come on my cock, Wonyoung. Come while you're crying. Come while you're in control. Show me what you look like when you let go."

She shattered.

The orgasm hit her like a wave—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her thighs clamp around your hips. Her cunt seized around your shaft, a rhythmic pulsing that milked you from base to tip. The scream that tore from her throat was wordless and raw, echoing off the penthouse windows.

And then she squirted.

The fluid gushed around your cock—a hot, copious flood that soaked your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Wonyoung's hips kept moving through it, grinding down onto you, drawing out every pulse of her climax. The squelching sounds were obscene. Her sobs mingled with moans.

"Oh god—oh god, I'm still—it's still going—I can't stop—"

"Don't stop. Take everything."

She rode the orgasm until her thighs gave out. Then she collapsed backward, her spine landing against your chest, her head falling back onto your shoulder. Her cunt was still spasming weakly around your cock. Her chest heaved. Her face was a wreck—tears and sweat and smeared mascara that she hadn't been wearing.

You wrapped your arms around her waist and held her.

The silence stretched. Outside, the Han River glittered in the darkness, indifferent to everything happening in this penthouse. Wonyoung's breathing gradually slowed. The tremors in her thighs subsided.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." She turned her head, her cheek pressed against your chest. "No one's ever… I've never cried during sex before. I've never cried at all. Not since the wedding. I thought I'd forgotten how."

"Tears are just your body's way of releasing what you've been holding too long."

She laughed—a small, wet sound. "You sound like a therapist."

"I've had practice."

Silence again. Then, quieter: "Will you stay? Not—not for more sex. Just… stay. Until I fall asleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."

You pressed a kiss to her damp temple. "I'll stay."

Wonyoung sighed. The sound was different from before—not resignation, but relief. The relief of a woman who'd finally let go of something she'd been carrying for years.

"Good," she murmured. "That's good."

She closed her eyes. In the penthouse bedroom, with the city lights glittering below and your cock still half-hard inside her, Jang Wonyoung finally stopped trembling.

You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her body went slack against yours. Until the tears on her cheeks dried to salt and the wetness between her thighs cooled on your skin.

Tomorrow, you'd leave. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being Jang Wonyoung, idol-turned-trophy-wife, and you'd go back to whatever Senior Park had lined up next.

But tonight, she wasn't a photograph. Tonight, she was just a woman who'd remembered how to feel.

And that, you'd learned, was worth more than any paycheck the agency could offer.

Waking came in stages.

First, the soft gray light of early morning pressing against your eyelids. The penthouse windows had no curtains—Wonyoung liked to wake with the sun, you'd learn later—and the Han River was a sheet of hammered silver outside the glass.

Second, the weight. Or rather, the absence of it. Sometime in the night she'd shifted off your chest, and now the mattress beside you was warm but empty.

Third, the sensation.

Wet. Hot. A rhythmic pressure that started at the base of your cock and traveled upward in slow, deliberate pulls. Your hips stirred before your mind caught up—an instinctive response, the body recognizing pleasure before the brain had finished booting up.

You opened your eyes.

Wonyoung was between your legs.

Her dark hair spilled across your thighs in a tangled mess, still sleep-mussed from the night before. The sheet had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her bare—the long sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, the soles of her feet crossed at the ankle behind her. She'd positioned herself on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and her mouth was wrapped around your cock.

She was still learning. The technique was messier than Karina's had been—more enthusiasm than skill, more eagerness than precision. Her tongue moved in uncertain patterns, tracing the ridge of the head, then the vein underneath, then back again as if she couldn't decide which part she wanted to taste most. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips and dripped down your shaft, slicking her fingers where they curled around the base.

But what she lacked in experience, she made up for in something else. Something rarer.

She was happy.

You could see it in the way her cheeks bunched—the muscles straining to smile even with her lips stretched wide. In the little hums that vibrated through your shaft every time she took you deeper. In the way her hips wiggled slightly, a tiny dance of satisfaction, like a cat kneading a favorite blanket.

You chuckled. The sound was rough with sleep.

Wonyoung's eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were clearer than they'd been last night—the hollowness replaced by something bright and mischievous. She didn't stop sucking. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working the underside of your shaft with renewed determination.

"What a cheeky girl," you murmured.

Your hand found her head. Your fingers threaded through the dark tangles of her hair, not pulling, not directing—just holding. Just letting her feel the weight of your palm against her scalp. Wonyoung's eyes fluttered closed. The hum she made this time was different—softer, more satisfied. A sound of pure contentment.

She pulled back until just the tip remained in her mouth. Her tongue circled the head—once, twice, a slow figure-eight that made your breath catch. Then she pushed forward again, taking you deeper than before, and you felt the head of your cock bump the back of her throat.

She gagged. Coughed. Pulled back with a wet, gasping laugh.

"Too much?" you asked.

"Not enough." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw from the night before, from the screaming and the crying and now this. "I wanted to… I woke up and you were still here and I just wanted to…"

"To what?"

"To taste you. Before you left." She rested her cheek against your thigh, her breath warm on your damp skin. "Is that weird?"

"No." You stroked her hair. "It's not weird."

"I've never done that before. The morning thing. I've never woken up next to someone and thought… I want to make them feel good. Just because." Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. "I've never woken up next to anyone, actually. Seok-joong never stayed the night. Even when we were engaged. He said he couldn't sleep in unfamiliar beds."

"His own bed was unfamiliar?"

Wonyoung's laugh was bitter. "I was the unfamiliar part."

You sat up. The movement dislodged her from your thigh, and she rose with you—sitting back on her heels, her hair a wild curtain around her shoulders, her lips swollen and slick. The morning light caught the angles of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the full mouth, and for a moment she looked exactly like the magazine covers. The nation's sweetheart. The girl who'd debuted at fourteen and never stopped smiling for cameras.

But the smile she gave you now was different. Smaller. Realer. A smile that belonged to her and no one else.

"Come here," you said.

She came. You gathered her in your arms and lifted her—bridal style, her long legs draped over one arm, her head cradled against your shoulder. She was lighter than you'd expected. All those years of dieting for comebacks, probably. All those years of being told she needed to be smaller, thinner, more perfect.

"The shower," you said. "We're both a mess."

"Your fault." But she was grinning as she said it.

"Entirely."

The bathroom was all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a rainfall showerhead even larger than Karina's. You set Wonyoung down on the heated tile floor—her bare feet made a soft sound against the stone—and reached into the glass enclosure to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the room almost immediately.

She stepped into the shower first. You followed.

The water was hot but not scalding, beating down on your shoulders and back in a steady rhythm. Wonyoung tilted her face up into the spray, letting it run over her closed eyelids and down her throat. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was still absent, and without it she looked younger. Not twenty-nine. Not the weary trophy wife from last night. Just a woman in the morning, clean and bare and unguarded.

You reached for the body wash—something floral, jasmine maybe—and worked it into a lather between your palms.

"Turn around," you said.

She did. You started with her shoulders, the same way you had with Karina. The same ritual. The same aftercare. The same reminder that what happened in the bedroom wasn't just about sex—it was about being seen. Being handled. Being treated like a body that mattered.

Wonyoung sighed as your hands moved down her back. "You do this for all your clients?"

"The shower?"

"The… gentleness. The talking. The staying until morning."

"Most of them." You worked the soap into the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. "The ones who need it."

"And how do you know which ones need it?"

You turned her around to face you. Water sluiced down between you, washing away the suds. Her eyes were level with your collarbone; she had to tilt her head back to meet your gaze.

"Because they're the ones who cry," you said. "And you cried."

Wonyoung's expression flickered—something passing through it too fast to name. Then she reached up and took the body wash from the shelf behind you. Poured some into her own palm. Worked it into a lather.

"Your turn," she said.

Her hands on your chest were tentative at first—the same hesitance from last night, the same uncertainty about what she was allowed to do. But as she grew bolder, her touch firmed. Her palms traced the lines of your pectorals, the ridges of your abdomen, the V of your hips. She was washing you, but she was also learning you. Mapping the geography of a body that wasn't hers.

"You're different from what I expected," she said.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Less… transactional." She rinsed her hands under the spray. "When I called the agency, I thought it would be like ordering room service. Something mechanical. Something I could pretend didn't happen afterward. But this is…"

"This is?"

She looked up at you. The water had plastered her hair to her skull, darkened it to near-black. Droplets clung to her lashes.

"Real," she said. "This feels real."

You cupped her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her eyes. She leaned into the touch—pressed her cheek against your palm like a cat seeking warmth.

"It is real," you said. "Whatever happens in this room, whatever you feel—it's real. The pleasure is real. The tears are real. You're not pretending anymore. You're not performing. You're just… here."

"Just here." She tested the words. "I like that. I've never been 'just here' anywhere. There's always been a camera. Or a manager. Or a husband who wanted me to be somewhere else."

"Not here."

"Not here." She rose on her toes. Her lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Thank you."

"You already thanked me."

"I know. I want to do it again. Properly." She kissed you again, deeper this time. Her lips parted, and her tongue traced the seam of your mouth—asking permission, not demanding it. You opened for her, and she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, as her tongue met yours.

The kiss was different from the ones last night. Last night had been hungry. Desperate. A woman starving for contact and finally given permission to eat. This kiss was slower. Sweeter. A kiss of gratitude rather than need.

Her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands found her waist. The water beat down on both of you, and the steam rose around you like a curtain, and for a long moment there was nothing in the world but this—the heat and the wet and the soft pressure of her mouth on yours.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were pinker than before. Kiss-swollen. The color had risen in her cheeks.

"I put my number in your phone," she said.

"You what?"

"While you were sleeping. Earlier. Before I…" She gestured vaguely downward, toward the general vicinity of your crotch. "I wanted to make sure you had it. In case you wanted to call. In case you wanted to…"

"To what?"

"To see me again. Not as a client. Not through the agency. Just… me." Her voice had gone smaller. The confidence from moments ago was fading, replaced by the same vulnerability you'd seen last night. "Is that allowed? Is that something you do?"

You considered the question. The agency had rules about this—Senior Park was very clear about keeping things professional, about not blurring the lines between service and relationship. But Senior Park wasn't here. And Wonyoung was looking at you with those too-big eyes, the ones that had been empty last night and were now full of something fragile and hopeful.

"It's allowed," you said. "But I should warn you—I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not going to be. Whatever this is, it's not going to become something else."

"I know." She didn't look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want another man who owns me. I just want… someone who sees me. Someone who touches me like I'm real. Someone who'll answer when I call." A pause. "Will you answer?"

"Every time."

She kissed you again—quick and fierce, a press of lips that was more gratitude than passion. Then she stepped back, out of the spray, and reached for a towel.

"You should go," she said. "Before I ask you to stay again."

The elevator ride down was quiet. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics and the memory of Wonyoung's voice: Please… call me again.

You checked your phone in the lobby. There it was, in your contacts, added sometime in the early morning hours while you were still asleep: Wonyoung ♡. The heart was a nice touch. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.

You smiled despite yourself.

Three days passed.

Senior Park called on a Friday.

"New client," he said, the same way he always did—that particular lilt in his voice that meant he was enjoying himself. "Actress. Very famous. Very married. Although her marriage is…" A pause. "Complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"You'll see. She's been asking for you specifically. Apparently your reputation is spreading."

"Who is it?"

"Moon Ga Young."

The name made you stop walking. You were on the street in Gangnam, the afternoon sun beating down on your neck, and for a moment you just stood there with the phone pressed to your ear.

"Moon Ga Young? The actress?"

"The one and only. Star of True Beauty. The Interest of Love. Half a dozen other dramas I've never watched but my wife loves." The rustle of papers on his end. "She's staying at the Signiel. Suite 2704. Tonight, eight o'clock."

"Wait." You stepped into the shade of a building, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. "Moon Ga Young is married? I didn't know that."

"Neither did anyone else. She kept it quiet. Very quiet. No press, no announcement, no wedding photos in the tabloids." Park's voice had gone sly. "The husband is some finance executive. American. Works in New York. They've been married for two years, and in those two years, he's been in Seoul for a total of six weeks. You do the math."

Six weeks out of a hundred and four. You did the math.

"Same story," you said.

"Same story, different window. The view from the Signiel is nicer, though. She's booked the suite for the whole weekend. Says she wants to take her time." Another pause. "She also said—and I quote—'Tell him I'm not fragile. Tell him I don't need the gentle version.' End quote."

You raised an eyebrow. "She said that?"

"Word for word. I think you're in for an interesting night."

The line went dead.

The Signiel Seoul occupied the 76th through 101st floors of the Lotte World Tower. It was the kind of hotel where the lobby was on the 79th floor and the elevator ride up made your ears pop. The kind of hotel where the staff wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent and the vases in the hallways were probably worth more than your car.

Suite 2704 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was a slab of dark wood with a brass number, and when you knocked, the sound was swallowed by the thick carpet.

"Come in. It's open."

The voice was lower than you'd expected. Smokier. The kind of voice that belonged in a noir film, all shadows and secrets.

You pushed the door open.

The suite was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seoul skyline, the city lights glittering below like a spill of diamonds. The furniture was modern and understated—a low gray sofa, a glass coffee table, an abstract painting that was probably worth more than everything you owned. The bedroom was visible through an open doorway, the bed enormous and white and untouched.

And there, on the balcony, stood Moon Ga Young.

She was smaller in person than she appeared on screen. The camera had a way of adding presence, of making actors seem larger than life. In reality, she was petite—barely over five feet, with delicate wrists and a narrow frame that made her look almost breakable. Her hair was long and dark, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. Her face was the same one you'd seen in a dozen dramas—the wide eyes, the full lips, the delicate bone structure that made her look younger than her thirty-something years.

But the robe she was wearing was anything but delicate.

It was silk, pale champagne in color, and almost entirely transparent. The fabric clung to her body like a whisper, revealing the outline of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her thighs. She wore nothing beneath it. The robe was held closed by a single sash, loosely tied, and as she turned to face you, the front gaped open slightly—just enough to confirm that yes, she was completely naked under there.

In one hand, she held a flute of champagne. The liquid was pale gold, the bubbles rising in lazy spirals.

"You're punctual," she said. "I like that."

"Senior Park said you didn't want the gentle version."

"Did he?" A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I said I didn't need it. There's a difference." She raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes never left yours. "Would you like a drink? There's a bottle on the minibar. It's not cheap—I made sure of that."

"I'm working."

"So am I. Or at least, I'm about to be." The smile widened. "One drink won't hurt. Consider it part of the negotiation."

You crossed to the minibar. The champagne was vintage, the label one you recognized from a previous client's penthouse. You poured yourself a glass—not because you wanted it, but because refusing would mean ceding the rhythm of the encounter to her. And Ga Young, you were already beginning to understand, was someone who was used to setting the rhythm.

She joined you at the sofa. The robe gaped further as she sat, revealing the pale curve of one breast. She didn't bother to adjust it.

"So," she said, settling back against the cushions. "You're the man who made Karina cry."

You paused with the glass halfway to your lips. "She told you?"

"She told someone, who told someone, who told me. The idol world is small. Smaller than you'd think." Ga Young swirled her champagne. "The rumor is that you were… thorough. That you gave her exactly what she needed. That you didn't treat her like glass."

"I don't treat anyone like glass."

"No. I don't imagine you do." She leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table. The movement made the robe fall open completely, exposing the full length of her body. She didn't seem to notice. Or if she noticed, she didn't care. "Here's the thing. I've been married for two years. In those two years, I've had sex exactly four times. All of them on our wedding night. After that, my husband decided he preferred New York to Seoul. He calls me once a week, usually from his office, usually while he's doing something else. Reading emails. Checking stocks. He's never once asked me how I'm feeling."

"Does he know you're here?"

"He knows I'm at a hotel. He doesn't know why." Ga Young's smile was sharp. "He probably thinks I'm having a spa weekend. That's what he'd do, if he thought about it at all. 'Ga Young's having a spa weekend. How nice for her.'" The mimicry was cruel and precise. "He doesn't know me well enough to suspect anything else."

"And what are you looking for tonight?"

She leaned back. The robe fell open completely now, pooling on the cushions around her. She was leaner than Karina, leaner than Wonyoung—the body of a woman who'd spent years in front of cameras, who'd been told she needed to be thinner, always thinner. Her breasts were small, the nipples a pale pink. Her stomach was flat. The hair between her thighs was dark and neatly trimmed.

"I'm not looking for therapy," she said. "I'm not looking for someone to hold me while I cry. I'm not looking for validation or reassurance or any of the things your other clients probably need." She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. The movement was deliberate. Performative. "I'm looking for a good fuck. That's it. That's all. I want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name. I want to walk bowlegged tomorrow. I want to feel like a woman instead of a mannequin. Can you do that?"

You set your champagne glass down next to hers. "Safeword?"

"Red."

"Tap-out?"

"Three taps. Anywhere." She cocked her head. "You're very professional. I like that too."

"Part of the service."

"Then let's get started." She stood up. The robe stayed on the sofa, a champagne-colored puddle of silk. "The bedroom's through there. I want you to use every inch of that bed. I want you to use every inch of me. And I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break." She walked toward the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. At the doorway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm not going to break. I promise."

The bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights spread out below like a circuit board. The bed was king-sized, the sheets white, the pillows arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Ga Young climbed onto the mattress and positioned herself in the center—on her back, her arms above her head, her legs slightly apart. The pose was deliberate. A parody of submission. The same way she'd done everything so far—with a wink, with a smirk, with the implicit understanding that she was playing a role.

"The last time I had sex," she said, "was my wedding night. He was drunk. I was nervous. It lasted maybe six minutes. He fell asleep immediately afterward, and when I woke up the next morning, he was already on a plane to New York." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't have an orgasm. I've never had an orgasm with another person. Not once. I'm thirty-four years old, and I've been faking it since I was twenty."

You unbuttoned your shirt. "You don't have to fake anything tonight."

"I know. That's why you're here." She watched you undress with open appraisal, her eyes tracking the movement of your hands. "I've done my research. I know about the agency. I know about Senior Park. I know about the other women you've been with. The idols. The heiresses. The wives. I know you're discreet. I know you're skilled. I know you're exactly what I need."

"Which is?"

She met your eyes. The smirk was gone. For the first time since you'd walked through the door, her expression was completely serious.

"Someone who isn't afraid of me," she said. "Everyone's afraid of me. My husband's afraid of me. My managers are afraid of me. The directors I work with are afraid of me. I'm Moon Ga Young. I'm the nation's sweetheart. I'm the girl next door who's been in a dozen dramas and never had a scandal." Her voice was flat. "People think I'm delicate. They think I'm fragile. They think I need to be protected. No one's ever looked at me and thought—she wants to be destroyed."

"Do you?"

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "God, yes. I want to be destroyed. I want to be ruined. I want someone to look at me and see what I really am, not what the cameras see. Not what my husband sees. Not what the public sees." She swallowed. "I want to feel something real. Even if it's pain. Even if it's rough. Especially if it's rough."

You finished undressing. Your clothes made a pile on the floor—shirt, pants, boxers. Your cock was already half-hard, responding to the challenge in her voice, the directness of her gaze. Ga Young looked at you and didn't flinch.

"Good," she said. "Now come here. I've been waiting two years for this. I'm not waiting any longer."

Moon Ga Young watched you undress with the eyes of a woman who'd spent two decades being looked at and had finally decided to do some looking of her own.

"On your knees."

The command landed in the space between you. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more a recognition. This was what she'd asked for. This was what she'd been waiting two years to receive.

She slid off the bed. The movement was liquid, all those years of dance training and red carpet practice translating into something that looked effortless. Her knees met the carpet with a soft thud. The city lights through the window painted her bare skin in shades of amber and gold.

"Hands behind your back."

She complied. The position made her small breasts lift, the nipples still pale pink and tight. Her eyes stayed on yours. Defiant. Hungry. The smirk was still there, but it had thinned—become something sharper, more expectant.

You picked up the champagne-colored robe from where it had fallen on the sofa. The silk was cool and slippery in your hands. You pulled the sash free with one sharp tug, and the fabric whispered against itself as it came loose.

"Wrists."

Ga Young's smirk flickered. "You're going to tie me up?"

"I'm going to do a lot of things." You crouched behind her, looping the silk around her wrists. Not too tight—you knew the difference between restraint and injury—but snug enough that she'd feel the pull every time she moved. "You said you wanted to be destroyed. Destruction requires surrender. You can't be in control and be ruined at the same time."

"I know." Her voice was quieter now. The bravado was still there, but something else was bleeding through. Something that sounded almost like relief. "I know. That's the point."

You tied the knot. Tested it with two fingers. "Too tight?"

"No."

"Good."

You stood and walked around to face her. From this angle, with her wrists bound behind her back and her knees pressed into the carpet, she looked smaller than before. More vulnerable. The nation's sweetheart, stripped of her armor, kneeling naked in a hotel suite with her pulse visible in her throat.

"Open your mouth."

Ga Young's lips parted. Her tongue was pink, wet, waiting. You took hold of your cock—fully hard now, thick and veined, the head already slick with the first bead of precum—and guided it toward her waiting mouth.

"Wider."

She stretched her jaw. The corners of her lips went taut. You pressed the head against her tongue, and she made a sound—something between a hum and a whimper—as the taste of you filled her mouth.

"Good girl. Now take it. All of it."

You pushed forward.

The first few inches slid in easily. Her tongue moved beneath your shaft—uncertain at first, then finding its rhythm, tracing the ridge of the head, the sensitive spot just beneath. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. The suction was strong, practiced, the muscle memory of a woman who'd done this before even if it had been years.

Then you pushed deeper.

The head of your cock hit the back of her throat, and Ga Young gagged. The sound was wet and sudden—a choked, spluttering cough that made her whole body convulse. Her bound wrists strained against the silk. Her eyes watered. A thick string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth and landed on her chest.

"Don't fight it. Relax your throat."

She tried. You could feel her trying—the way her muscles fluttered around your shaft, the way she forced herself to breathe through her nose. But the gag reflex was strong, and when you pushed another inch deeper, she convulsed again.

"Fuck—" The word came out muffled, garbled around your cock.

You pulled back. Let her gasp. A bridge of saliva connected your shaft to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.

"I can't—" She coughed again. "I can't take it all. It's too thick—"

"You can." You grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed now—a long, pale column, the skin delicate and unmarked. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined means taking cock down your throat until you can't breathe. Ruined means gagging and choking and still pushing deeper. Do you understand?"

Ga Young's eyes met yours. They were wet now, the first tears clinging to her lashes. But behind them, something was blazing. Something that looked almost like joy.

"Yes."

"Then open your mouth."

She did. You pushed inside again, and this time you didn't stop. Your cock slid past her tongue, past the soft palate, into the tight grip of her throat. Ga Young's whole body seized. A guttural, choking sound vibrated through your shaft. Her bound hands clawed at the air behind her back. Her throat muscles clamped down around you—spasming, fighting, then slowly, gradually, yielding.

"There you go. Take it. Take all of it."

Your hips met her face. Your cock was buried to the hilt in her throat, and Ga Young's nose was pressed against your pubic bone. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only gag and choke and let the tears stream down her cheeks while you held her there, impaled on your length.

You held the position for a count of five. Then ten. Her face was turning red. Her body was writhing—not fighting, not trying to escape, but writhing with the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.

You pulled back.

Ga Young gasped. The inhale was ragged and desperate, followed by a coughing fit that made her whole body shake. Saliva dripped from her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her carefully arranged hair a tangled mess.

"More," she rasped. "Give me more."

You slapped her.

The crack of your palm against her cheek echoed through the suite. Ga Young's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin—the shape of your hand, stark and undeniable.

"Did I tell you to speak?"

She shook her head. The defiance was still there, but it was muted now—submerged beneath something deeper. Something that looked almost like peace.

"Then don't speak. Your mouth has one purpose right now. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Her cheek was still red. The tears had multiplied, tracking mascara-less lines down her face.

"Good. Now show me you understand."

She opened her mouth. Leaned forward. Took your cock between her lips with a hunger that bordered on worship. This time, when you pushed into her throat, she didn't gag. She swallowed around you—a deliberate, rhythmic clenching that traveled from her throat to the base of your shaft. The sensation was electric. Your vision swam.

"That's it. That's my good little throat-whore."

She moaned. The vibration traveled through her throat and into your cock, and the pleasure was so intense that your hips bucked involuntarily. You grabbed her head with both hands—fingers tangled in her hair, thumbs pressed against her temples—and began to fuck her face in earnest.

The rhythm was brutal. Deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against the back of her throat with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—squelching, choking, gagging, the slap of your balls against her chin. Ga Young's bound hands clenched and unclenched behind her back. Her body swayed with the force of your thrusts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming freely, but she never pulled away. Never tapped out. Never gave any signal that she wanted this to stop.

"You love this. You love being used like a toy. Tell me you love it."

She couldn't speak—not with your cock buried in her throat—but she moaned again. The sound was desperate. Affirmative. Broken.

"Then take it. Take every inch. I'm going to come down your throat, and you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"

Another moan. Higher-pitched. Almost frantic.

You fucked her throat faster. The tension was building—a coiling pressure at the base of your spine that spread outward, downward, gathering force with every stroke. Ga Young's throat muscles were fluttering around you now, spasming in rhythm with her muffled moans. Her body was trembling. Her bound hands had gone limp behind her back, all the fight drained out of her.

"I'm close—fuck, I'm close—"

You slammed into her throat one last time and held there. Buried to the hilt. Her nose crushed against your pelvis. Her throat working desperately around your shaft, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to do everything at once.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train.

The first pulse of cum shot directly down her throat—thick, hot, copious. You felt her swallow reflexively, the muscles of her esophagus contracting around your shaft. The second pulse followed immediately, and the third, and the fourth, each one painting her throat white with your seed. You kept your grip on her head, holding her in place, making sure she couldn't pull away until every last drop was drained.

"Swallow. All of it."

She did. You felt her throat constrict again and again, gulping down your cum with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. When you finally pulled back, a thick string of saliva and semen connected your cock to her bottom lip. Ga Young's mouth hung open. Her tongue was coated white. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at something only she could see.

She swallowed once more. Licked her lips. The taste of you was still on her tongue, and she savored it—closing her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The words were hoarse. Fucked-raw. Barely audible. But the gratitude in them was real.

"We're not done."

Ga Young's eyes opened. The smirk was back—smaller now, more fragile, but still there. "I know."

You untied her wrists. The silk sash left faint red marks on her skin—nothing that would bruise, nothing that would last, but enough to remind her tomorrow of what had happened tonight. She rubbed her wrists absently. Then she looked up at you, and the question in her eyes was clear: What now?

"Against the wall."

She rose. Her legs were unsteady—the long minutes of kneeling had left her knees red, her thighs trembling. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her palms against the glass. The city lights glittered below, indifferent to the scene unfolding above them. Her reflection stared back at her—naked, disheveled, marked.

"Spread your legs."

She did. The position opened her completely—the long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks. Her cunt was visible from this angle, the lips swollen and glistening. She was wet. Had been wet since the moment you'd pushed into her throat, probably. Maybe since the moment you'd walked through the door.

You stepped behind her. Your left hand found her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, a reminder of who was in control. Your right hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, between her cheeks. You spread her open, exposing the tight pink knot of her asshole, the darker, wetter flesh of her cunt below.

"Look at you. Moon Ga Young. The nation's sweetheart. Bent over against a hotel window with her cunt dripping and her throat full of cum. What would your fans think?"

"I don't care." Her voice was raw, almost defiant. "I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Just fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you mean it."

You tightened your grip on her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her feel the pressure. Just enough to remind her that you could.

"Beg."

"Please." The word came out strangled. "Please fuck me. I've been waiting two years. Two years of empty beds and empty phone calls and pretending I'm fine when I'm dying inside. Please. I need this. I need you. I need your cock inside me. I need to feel something real. Please—"

You thrust into her cunt in one brutal motion.

Ga Young screamed.

The sound was raw and animal—nothing like the polished, controlled voice she used in interviews. This was a scream torn from somewhere deep inside her, a scream that had been building for two years and finally found its release. Her cunt was tight—tighter than you'd expected, the walls clenching around your shaft with a force that made your breath catch. She was soaked, though, and the slick heat of her made the brutal entry possible.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're so deep—"

You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed forward again, harder than before. The impact made her palms squeak against the glass. Her breasts pressed against the window, leaving smears of sweat on the pristine surface. Your left hand stayed on her throat, your right hand gripping her hip, and you fucked her with a rhythm that was punishing.

"This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for. To be fucked like an animal. To be used like a toy. To be ruined."

"Yes—yes—harder—"

You gave her harder. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the suite—squelching, slapping, the rhythmic thud of your hips meeting her ass. You could see her reflection in the window—her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. The idol image was gone. Completely obliterated. What was left was just a woman, raw and desperate, taking cock like she'd been starving for it.

You tightened your grip on her throat. Squeezed. Not enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her lightheaded. Enough to make the edges of her vision go dark. Ga Young's eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened wider. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp.

"That's it. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? This is what you needed. Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband who never touches you. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."

"YES—YES—THIS IS—"

You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale that made her whole body shudder. Then you grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her even harder. The pace was brutal now—piston-like, relentless, each thrust driving her against the window with a force that made the glass vibrate. Her ass rippled with every impact. Her breasts bounced. Her reflection stared back at her with wild eyes and a slack mouth, and she looked at herself like she didn't recognize what she was seeing.

"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become. You're not an actress right now. You're not a wife. You're just a wet hole. A set of holes. A body that exists to be fucked. Do you see her?"

"I see her—" Ga Young's voice was broken, sobbing. "I see her—I see myself—"

"And what do you see?"

"A whore." The word came out on a sob. "A desperate, dripping whore who's been neglected for two years and finally has a cock inside her. I see a whore. I see a whore. I see—"

You felt her cunt seize around you. The orgasm was sudden and violent—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her legs give out. You caught her before she collapsed, pinning her against the window with your body, and kept fucking her through it. The clenching of her walls was rhythmic, almost painful in its intensity, milking your shaft from base to tip.

"That's it—that's it—come on my cock—come while you're watching yourself—"

"I'm coming—I'm coming—oh god, I'm—"

She squirted. The fluid gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, splashing against the window, dripping down the glass in long, obscene rivulets. Ga Young's scream was wordless, primal, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her body convulsed in your arms. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered around your shaft, and the sensation was so intense that you felt your own orgasm building—a tightening pressure at the base of your spine.

But you weren't done.

You pulled out of her. Ga Young whimpered at the emptiness. Her cunt gaped for a moment, then clenched around nothing, gushing another pulse of fluid onto the carpet. You turned her around—roughly, hands on her shoulders, spinning her like a doll—and pushed her back against the window. Her shoulder blades hit the glass. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, still hazy from the orgasm.

"Hold onto me."

Her arms wrapped around your neck. Her legs wrapped around your waist. You gripped her thighs and lifted her, positioning her cunt above your cock, and thrust inside her in one smooth motion.

Ga Young's head fell back against the glass. "Oh ffffuuuuck—"

"You wanted to be ruined. I'm not finished ruining you."

You fucked her against the window. The position was different—deeper, somehow, the angle letting you hit spots inside her that you hadn't reached before. Ga Young's moans were continuous now, a stream of broken syllables and guttural sounds that didn't belong to any language. Her nails dug into your shoulders. Her heels pressed into the small of your back. Her cunt was a mess—slick and swollen and pulsing, still gushing intermittently with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"Harder—please—harder—"

You slammed into her. The window rattled. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that there were probably people in the building across the street, people with binoculars, people who might be watching. Let them watch. Let them see what Moon Ga Young looked like when she was being fucked properly. Let them see the nation's sweetheart with her legs wrapped around a stranger, her cunt dripping down his thighs, her mouth open in a scream that had no end.

"Look at me."

She forced her eyes to focus. They were glassy, tear-filled, but they met yours.

"You're going to come again. You're going to come on this cock while I'm choking you. And you're going to watch yourself in the reflection while you do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes—yes—"

Your left hand found her throat again. Squeezed. Harder this time. Ga Young's face began to flush. Her lips parted. Her eyes rolled back. But she didn't tap out. Didn't signal. Didn't do anything except moan—a thin, wheezing sound that vibrated against your palm.

"That's it. Let go. Let yourself fall."

You fucked her harder. The rhythm was punishing—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. Your right hand found her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves slick and hard under your fingertip. You pressed down. Circled. Ga Young's body convulsed.

Her orgasm hit like an explosion.

This one was different from the first—quieter, deeper, more devastating. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked the carpet beneath you.

"Fuuuuuuuck—"

Her voice broke on the word. Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her arms sliding from your neck. Her cunt was still pulsing weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.

You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale—and then she started to laugh.

It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't bitter, either. It was the laugh of a woman who'd been holding something inside for years and had finally, finally let it out. The laugh turned into sobs, and the sobs turned into silence, and through all of it you held her against the window, your cock still buried inside her, your hands gentle on her back.

"Thank you," she whispered again. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

She kept saying it. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the only words she had left.

You carried her to the bed. Laid her down on the white sheets. Her body was marked—red impressions of your fingers on her throat, faint bruises already forming on her hips, her cunt swollen and gaping and still leaking onto the mattress. She looked up at you with eyes that were clearer than they'd been all night.

"Stay," she said. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."

You climbed into the bed beside her. Pulled the sheets over both of you. Ga Young curled against your chest, her face pressed into the hollow of your throat, her breath warm on your skin.

"I haven't felt this alive in years," she murmured. "I haven't felt anything in years."

"Feel it now."

She did. Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles since the moment you'd walked through the door finally, fully released.

Outside the window, the city glittered on, indifferent and eternal. Inside the suite, Moon Ga Young closed her eyes, and for the first time in two years, she slept without dreaming of being somewhere else.

The morning light through the Signiel's floor-to-ceiling windows was the color of honey. It pooled on the white sheets, caught the edge of the champagne flute still sitting on the coffee table, painted Ga Young's bare shoulder in shades of gold.

She was still asleep.

Her breathing was slow and even, her face half-buried in the pillow, her dark hair fanned across the cotton like spilled ink. The marks from last night were already fading—the faint impressions on her throat, the bruises on her hips. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp, sardonic edge that had defined her when you'd walked through the door had melted away, replaced by something unguarded.

You slid out of bed carefully. The sheets whispered against your skin. Ga Young stirred but didn't wake—just shifted, her hand reaching out to the empty space where you'd been, her fingers curling around nothing.

You dressed in silence. Shirt. Pants. Belt. The routine was automatic, muscle memory from a dozen similar mornings. The suite was quiet except for the distant hum of the HVAC system and the soft shush of traffic eighty floors below. Your shoes were by the sofa where you'd kicked them off. You bent to pick them up.

"Where are you going?"

The voice was sleep-roughened but still unmistakably hers—that smoky, noir-film cadence that made everything sound like a secret. You turned.

Ga Young was sitting up in bed. The sheet had fallen to her waist. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes still puffy from sleep and last night's tears. She looked nothing like the polished actress from the dramas. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked and had slept better than she had in years.

"Home," you said. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

She laughed. The sound was low and warm and entirely unselfconscious. "Nuh uh." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room toward you with the sheet still trailing behind her like a train. "I'm still your client. The weekend, remember? You're not going anywhere."

She reached you and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. Her cheek pressed against your spine. Her bare breasts flattened against your back, and the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt. She smelled like sex and sleep and the faint floral remnants of whatever expensive soap the Signiel stocked in its bathrooms.

"Ga Young—"

"Shh." Her arms tightened. "You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until I say so."

The suite door clicked open.

You heard it before you saw it—the soft sound of the electronic lock disengaging, followed by the whoosh of the door swinging on its hinges. Two voices drifted in from the hallway, mid-laugh, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came from years of friendship.

"—and then he said, 'That's not a prop, that's my actual—'" The voice cut off.

Karina stood in the doorway.

Wonyoung was right behind her.

They were both carrying shopping bags—the discreet, expensive kind that came from boutiques in Cheongdam-dong, the logos embossed in subtle gold foil. They were both wearing black outerwear—Karina in a long trench coat, Wonyoung in a cropped leather jacket—and they were both staring at you with expressions that shifted from surprise to recognition to something else entirely.

Something hungrier.

"Unnie!" Ga Young's voice was delighted. She released you and stepped around, completely unbothered by her nudity, the sheet slipping from her shoulders and pooling on the floor. "You're early. I thought you weren't coming until noon."

Karina's eyes flicked from you to Ga Young and back again. A slow smile spread across her face. "We wanted to surprise you." She stepped into the suite, and Wonyoung followed, closing the door behind her. "But it looks like you're the one with the surprise."

"Wait." You looked at Ga Young. Then at Karina. Then at Wonyoung. "You three know each other?"

"We're best friends." Wonyoung's voice was light, almost teasing. She set her shopping bag down on the console table by the door. "We've been best friends for years. Since trainee days. Did you really think it was a coincidence that we all ended up calling the same agency?"

"We talk," Karina said. She was still smiling, but there was something sharper beneath it—a blade hidden in silk. "We talk about everything. The husbands. The loneliness. The emptiness." She paused. "The men we hire to make us feel alive again."

Ga Young had retrieved her robe from the floor—the champagne-colored silk, still wrinkled from last night—and was tying it loosely around her waist. "When I heard that Karina unnie had found someone who actually made her come, I had to see for myself. And then Wonyoungie called me the next morning, practically glowing, and I knew." She turned to you, her eyes bright. "I knew I had to book you. And I knew I had to make it a weekend."

"A weekend?"

"Senior Park didn't tell you?" Karina's trench coat was already unbelted. She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it slid to the floor in a whisper of black fabric. Beneath it, she was wearing lingerie—not the practical black lace from your first encounter, but something deliberately chosen. A deep burgundy set, the color of aged wine, the bra cupping her breasts in a way that made them look fuller, the panties high-cut and sheer. "This booking is for all three of us. The whole weekend. Friday to Sunday."

Wonyoung was unzipping her leather jacket. Her movements were slower than Karina's, more deliberate, but no less confident. The jacket came off, and beneath it was a pale lavender set—the color soft against her skin, the fabric delicate, almost bridal. The contrast between the innocent lingerie and the knowing look in her eyes was intentional. You could see it in the way she tilted her head, the way she watched you watching her.

"Three clients," she said. "Three women who need to be reminded what it feels like to be touched." She stepped closer. "Three women who've been talking about you for weeks."

On the coffee table, you noticed for the first time a folded piece of paper. It was propped against the champagne bottle, your name written on the front in Senior Park's precise, old-fashioned handwriting. You crossed to it and picked it up.

Your client for this weekend is the three of them. They've been planning this for a month. Don't disappoint them. — SP

You swallowed.

The sound was audible in the quiet suite. Ga Young heard it and laughed—that same low, warm laugh from before. "Nervous? The man who made me come twice against a window is nervous?"

"Not nervous." You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. "Just… recalibrating."

"Recalibrate faster." Karina had crossed the room to stand beside Ga Young. The two of them together were a study in contrasts—Karina's burgundy against Ga Young's champagne, the idol's sharp, aggressive beauty against the actress's delicate, knowing allure. "We've been waiting a long time for this. All three of us. We've been planning it ever since Wonyoungie called me the morning after your session."

"I didn't just call her." Wonyoung had moved to your other side, bracketing you between the three of them. Her lavender lingerie made her skin look luminous, the pale tea-colored nipples visible through the sheer fabric. "I told her everything. Everything you did. Everything you said. Every way you made me feel." Her voice dropped, became something softer, more intimate. "And she told me what you did with her. And then Ga Young unnie said she wanted to find out for herself, and we decided—why not all three of us? Why not a weekend?"

"Because none of us has ever had this." Ga Young's hand found your shoulder. Her fingers traced the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "None of us has ever had a man who knew what he was doing. Who cared about making us feel good. Who looked at us like we were women instead of objects." She paused. "We wanted to share you. Just for a weekend. Just to remember what it feels like."

"To be alive," Karina said.

"To be wanted," Wonyoung added.

"To be fucked properly," Ga Young finished.

The three of them were close now. Close enough that you could smell them—Karina's perfume, something floral and expensive; Wonyoung's shampoo, jasmine and vanilla; Ga Young's skin, still warm from sleep, still carrying the faint musk of last night's sex. They were looking at you with the same expression. The same hunger. The same desperate, aching need that you'd seen in each of them individually but never all at once.

"Take off your shirt," Karina said.

The command was soft but firm. The same voice she'd used when she'd first welcomed you to her mansion, but stripped of the nervousness now. This was a woman who'd spent three weeks waiting for this moment. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

You unbuttoned your shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. The three of them watched every movement—the slide of each button through its hole, the parting of the fabric, the reveal of your chest. When you shrugged the shirt off your shoulders, Wonyoung made a small sound—a quiet, involuntary hum of appreciation.

"His body is different in the daylight," she murmured. "I couldn't see it properly last time. It was dark. I was…" She swallowed. "I was distracted."

"You were crying," Ga Young said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. "You told me you cried."

"I did. I cried a lot." Wonyoung's eyes met yours. "But I also came. Twice. The first real orgasms of my life."

"Mine too." Karina's voice was quieter now. "The first real ones. The only real ones."

Ga Young's hand slid from your shoulder to your chest. Her palm was warm against your skin. "And I came twice last night. The first time I've ever come with a partner. The first time I've ever come without faking it." Her fingers traced the line of your pectoral, down to your abdomen. "So you see, we have a lot to thank you for. And a lot more we want to experience."

"Together," Karina said.

"Together," Wonyoung echoed.

The word hung in the air between you. Together. Three women who'd spent years being neglected, being ignored, being treated like accessories to their husbands' careers. Three women who'd found each other in the loneliness and decided to do something about it. Three women who were looking at you now with the same expression—expectant, hungry, alive.

"Are you going to be able to handle all three of us?" Ga Young's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question beneath the playfulness. "We're not going to be gentle with you. We've been planning this for a month. We have… ideas."

"Three days," Karina said. "Three women. One man." She stepped closer, close enough that her breasts—still encased in that burgundy lace—brushed against your arm. "Think you can keep up?"

"Senior Park seemed to think so." You looked at the note still folded in your pocket. "He wouldn't have booked me if he didn't."

"Senior Park is a smart man." Wonyoung had moved behind you. Her hands found your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle, kneading gently. "He told us you were the best. He told us you could handle anything. He told us you wouldn't break."

"I won't break."

"Good." Ga Young's hand was still on your chest, her thumb tracing idle circles over your sternum. "Because we're not going to break you. We're going to use you. All three of us. However we want. Whenever we want. For the whole weekend." She looked up at you, and her eyes were dark and serious despite the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Is that understood?"

"Understood."

"Good boy." She patted your chest and stepped back. "Then let's get started. The bedroom's big enough for all four of us. I checked."

She turned and walked toward the bedroom, the champagne robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Karina followed, her hips swaying with that dancer's grace she'd never lost despite years away from the stage. Wonyoung released your shoulders and moved around you, her lavender lingerie pale against the gray walls of the suite, and when she reached the bedroom doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

The question was simple. The answer was simpler.

You followed them into the bedroom.

The bed was still rumpled from the night before—the sheets twisted, the pillows scattered, the faint impressions of Ga Young's body still visible on the mattress. The morning light was stronger here, flooding through the windows, making everything look clean and bright and new. The three women arranged themselves on the bed with the ease of long practice—Ga Young in the center, propped against the headboard; Karina on her left, sitting cross-legged with her burgundy lingerie stark against the white sheets; Wonyoung on her right, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her lavender set a soft contrast to the sharper colors around her.

They looked at you. Waiting.

"Clothes off," Ga Young said. "All of them. We want to see what we're working with."

You unbuckled your belt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement of your hands—the slide of leather through the buckle, the pop of the button, the hiss of the zipper. Your pants fell to the floor. Your boxers followed.

Your cock was already half-hard. Responding to the attention, the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming presence of three beautiful women watching you undress. Ga Young's eyes flicked down, then up again. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"He's bigger than I remembered," Karina murmured.

"He's thicker than I remembered," Wonyoung added.

"And he knows how to use it." Ga Young's voice was satisfied. "He used it in my throat last night. And in my cunt. And against the window." She gestured at the glass, still faintly smeared from where her body had pressed against it. "I left a mark."

"So did I." Wonyoung's voice was soft, almost wistful. "At my penthouse. On the sheets. I haven't washed them yet. I keep thinking I should, but I can't bring myself to do it."

"I know what you mean." Karina's eyes met yours. "I still have the sheets from my first time with him. They're in the back of my closet. Joon-ho never goes in there. He never goes anywhere in that house except his study and his bedroom." She paused. "He has his own bedroom. We've always had separate bedrooms. He said it was better for his sleep."

"Seok-joong has his own apartment." Wonyoung's voice was flat. "He lives there with his current girlfriend. A trainee. She's nineteen."

"My husband has his own continent." Ga Young's laugh was bitter. "He's been to Seoul for six weeks in two years. Six weeks. He's probably slept with half of Manhattan in that time."

The three of them were quiet for a moment. The morning light poured through the windows, and the city glittered below, and the three women on the bed were looking at each other with an expression that was part grief and part fury and part something else—something that looked almost like hope.

Then Ga Young shook her head. "No. No more talking about husbands. That's not what this weekend is for." She looked at you, and the fire was back in her eyes. "This weekend is for us. For pleasure. For release. For everything we've been denied." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here. It's time to earn your paycheck."

You climbed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The three women shifted to accommodate you—Ga Young making room in the center, Karina and Wonyoung flanking her on either side. You ended up face-to-face with Ga Young, close enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin from some childhood accident, the way her pupils were already dilating with anticipation.

"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, and then kiss them. We've been waiting. We've all been waiting."

You kissed her.

It was different from last night's kisses. Last night had been about dominance—the rough press of lips, the battle for control, the assertion of power. This kiss was slower. More deliberate. A kiss of greeting rather than conquest. Ga Young's lips parted beneath yours, and her tongue met yours with a soft, exploratory touch. She tasted like sleep and champagne and something indefinably her.

When you pulled back, she was smiling. "Now Karina."

You turned. Karina was watching you with dark eyes, her burgundy lingerie stretched tight across her breasts, her breathing already uneven. She didn't wait for you to lean in. She closed the distance herself, her hands coming up to frame your face, her kiss hungry and urgent and full of three weeks of waiting.

"It's been too long," she whispered against your mouth. "Three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about you. Three weeks of touching myself and pretending it was your hands."

"And now?"

"Now I don't have to pretend." She kissed you again—quick and fierce—then pulled back. "Wonyoung's turn."

Wonyoung was the shyest of the three. She'd been hesitant last night, tentative in the penthouse, uncertain about what she was allowed to do. But now she leaned in with more confidence, her lips brushing yours with a gentleness that was almost teasing. Her hand found your chest, her palm flat against your sternum, feeling your heartbeat.

"I've been thinking about you too," she murmured. "Every night. Every morning. I've been thinking about what you did to me. What you made me feel." She kissed you again—longer this time, deeper. "I want to feel it again. All of it. Everything."

"You will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She smiled. The expression transformed her face—made her look younger, lighter, more like the idol she'd been before the marriage and the neglect and the loneliness. "Good. Then let's get started. Ga Young unnie's been waiting the longest. She should get the first turn."

"Agreed." Karina was already shifting on the bed, repositioning herself to give Ga Young more room. "We've got three days. We can take our time."

and if i say…..mikasa who sneaks her strap™ in the backstage?? sure, this is enjoyable enough when she has the relying of her fingers only, but something new wouldn’t hurt anyone, am i right? anywayss……feeling the prominent bulge as you press yourself further and furrowing your brows in confusion until you let a soft chuckle slip, realizing what it is. “you’re wearing that? seriously?” mikasa shrugs a look; instead of answering back to your obvious, sarcastic point, she frowns, as if she were personally offended. “y-you don’t like?” she looked unbelievably confident when she approached you, and whenever you play along with it, it lasts — if that. her hips withdraw a little, shyly because of your tone. “no, hey! i do like it,” you calmly answer, trying to soothe her apprehension. “s’just— i didn’t see that coming….you know,” you hiss, “i wouldn’t ever expect someone like you to bring that to backstage.”

people passing by the hallways of the building muffles itself down to white noise as mikasa genuinely whines from your statement; she might even like to talk back at your conclusion until she utterly remembers that your time’s arranged. not many tugs on the line you own: not a mere second will go to waste, she thinks to herself. a hand slithers to your hip whereas the other goes straight your shoulder, balancing you to keep steady against the concrete wall. as your lips come in contact with one another again, your crotch ruts against the bulge with purpose now, the fabric giving the friction you’ve been searching for throughout the whole day. “mhh—” you drawl out, almost too loudly for how quiet you should be now. therefore, mikasa dispatches her lips from yours & slams the hand that was previously on your shoulder to your mouth. “shh,” your eyes widen slightly in bewilderment to her spontaneity, “you know i love when you make those noises, but we can’t be heard now.”

tossing her hand away from a few inches, you annoyingly complain: “augh c’mon, how come we can’t be seen? it’s not like we’ll get crucified or something!” and to your complete surprise, mikasa’s middle & ring fingers (from the same exact hand!!) jam down your throat within the speed of sound. you choke around the heavily calloused digits, a filthy gag sound spills from the back of your throat. “please don’t make me go hard on you.” as much as mikasa wills to own a dominant stance, she looks indeed desperately feral. as if that sounded more like a question than an affirmation, her eyes lighten in crave & her mouth’s curled in a needy pout. your pulse drums against your ribcage at a brutal pace, the ache in your clit growing simultaneously. lifting your head up to find some room to speak, “or else?” you groan much to your dismay: was it supposed to be a threat?

one thing leads to another: one minute you’re teasing each other about the fact that you two should remain hidden, and the other mikasa’s pounding into you from behind with the strap buried in your plush cunt. your walls clamp around the silicone shaft as the flesh of your asscheeks slaps along her lap, the whole predicament has her behaving like a bitch in heat. her fingers linger above your hips, maneuvering you to keep composure as her thrusts grow sloppier. soft uh uh uh’s wheel forward with your muffled moans & a familiar knot in your lower belly.

“fuckfuck— mika!” you mewl, trying your best effort to be as quick and quiet as possible — even if mikasa’s turning it into a challenge. the tip of her cock brushes against that particular spot that makes your vision go blurry anytime, her momentum is fucking relentless and your slick pools in between your thighs. you fuck yourself on the toy progressively, bouncing your hips as to prove that you possibly need more, which makes her move faster if possible. “shh— fuck, i told you to be quiet,” she breathes. your mouth hangs open, letting out louder whines as she moves you uppermost, settling herself to give you a harsher, maybe the fateful thrust that makes your head spin and set atop of your shoulder to face her and state: “m’so close!”

that sight only is enough for her to become a furious beast, which increases by the way her clit bumps against the base of the harness. her grip on your waist tightens to the point that her nails dig in your skin, leaving a few half-moons upon the flesh. “uh-uh….oh baby,” she outright gasps, “come for me, i know you can—”

knock knock.

mikasa stops her movements and you tempt yourself not to scream when you hear someone hitting the door repeatedly, turning both your gazes to the metal handle. “rehearsals in 5 minutes. are you ready?” fuck, is she early or are we late? these questions tempest mikasa’s mind until she hears you from beneath: “don’t you dare stop.” as you state your desire, she looks at you baffled; though, in total honesty, given the conditions you’re both in, 5 minutes or even less would be enough, right? sweat dribbles from her forehead as she finds herself stuck, unmoving. “miss y/n?” the presence wonders, the thrill (as needed for the crazy bitch you are) makes a smirk poke from the corner of your mouth & leaves you curious on how mikasa will handle the situation: until, to prove the opposite of your point, instead of letting it go for good, mikasa plays along with it and fulfills your pride by moving her hips like she was doing before.

she hesitated a little before committing to the action, but given the fact that you’re both incredibly close, this is the most inappropriate way to escape the shame; i mean, wouldn’t it be weak to leave up on you like that? as a matter of fact it’d be worse, considering how many fans would kill off their firstborn to have a chance with you. strokes begin timidly, still leaving the person standing by the door hanging, until you have the idea to mutter: “y-yeah, i’m almost ready. give me a minute.” god, it’s a miracle not a single noise slipped through.

“alright.” as soon as you hear footsteps on the floor, that gives mikasa the green light to go rougher. your folds part around the strap once again, leaking in so much wetness the toy slips in & out of your effortlessly, for now. mikasa feels overwhelmed as if she was the one getting fucked, panting and undecided on whichever she should stare at. yet, for sure, your back is truly a sight to behold; curved in a beautiful arch, revealing to her the mess you’ve gathered in between your thighs.

“mh, so pretty,” she rasps, “i can’t believe i get to have you for myself.” you buckle your hips until you feel mikasa’s thrusts becoming more sporadic; latter to a fault, unlike the easiness you were slithering onto it with previously, your walls clench around the strap violently now. “fuck! m-mikasa….m’gonna cum.” you moan out boldly, uncaring of people hearing by any chance. your head leans back one more time until, to your surprise, the orgasm washes all over you, spilling upon the floor. your juices flow down to your ankles, leaving mikasa’s mouth agape. you give yourselves a minute to recollect, bathing in the quietness of the room that slowly turns in crowd’s noises. “i guess,” you pant, “i guess i’m not the only one who loves doing it in public, am i right?”

🏷️ tags . . . @bewitched-pearl @mimipeeeeepee @pancakes21 @bbatzvil @diouna @mariistic @mojo-is-rising @creamypvssy @akiautumnn @thebaddestbitcheva @thatredheadloserlesbian @jazfartz2 @livcdc @cherrybomb61 @stillastilza @420slvtt @meriegemeringue @skullio11 ➥ if you wanna join comment on this post !!

I had grown sullen and depressed, and my wife would tear into me about it, saying, how did I think she felt? Over time, our eighteen-year-old daughter had taken notice of our arguments. She approached me one afternoon while her mother was at work. She'd asked me how I was doing. When I told her that things were rough since she got hurt, I tried to sound positive and said that we'd get through it. That's when my daughter, Iroha, told me that she thought mom was faking so she wouldn't have to have sex. When I asked her what gave her that idea, she told me that she'd caught Mom masturbating and that she keeps a dildo in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. I immediately went to look, and sure enough, there was a ten-inch dildo under her nightie and body lotions.

I was at a loss for words. I was heartbroken. My wife had been lying to me because she didn't want to have sex with me. Anger, rage, and betrayal all flooded my mind and quickly led to thoughts of leaving her. Iroha sat on the edge of the bed next to me, telling me that she didn't want to be from a divorced home. She said that she'd be willing to help out. That she'd do anything to keep us together. She hugged me from the side, pressing her large breasts into my shoulder. She snorted when I asked what she thought she could do to save our marriage. She sank to her knees at my feet, looking up into my eyes, saying, "I'll do anything to keep you from leaving us, Dad."

I surveyed a canyon of cleavage as I looked down, watching my little girl staring up at me with pleading puppy dog eyes. She slid her hands up my thighs to the zipper of my pants. I sat in utter shock, frozen as she unzipped my pants. Iroha slipped her hand in the opening of my boxers to fish my penis out of my pants. She blushed at its size when she finally freed my trouser snake.

My cock is a modest eight inches and was likely the biggest that she'd ever seen. "Let me help you, Daddy," she whispered as she took my cock between her lips, sucking me erect. Her head bobbed as she swirled her tongue down the length of my shaft. My little girl sucked my cock until I released my seed into her mouth. I could hear her gulp as she swallowed my cum. It had been so long that there must have been a gallon of it.

Once she finished swallowing every last drop, she rose to her feet, wiping her lips. I stood there wobbly kneed, uncertain whether to thank her or not. When I opened my mouth to speak, she stopped me, saying that she was glad to do it as long as it kept me from leaving the family. She hugged me and said, "Let me know when you need me to help you again," as she left the room. I was left dumbfounded. Iroha had just sucked my cock to keep me from divorcing her mother. I was stunned and aroused at the same time. Iroha let me know that she was available for sex when I needed her.

My cock was swinging in the breeze as I followed her down the hallway to her room. I walked into her room just as she sat on the foot of her bed. I don't remember doing it, but I had shed the rest of my clothes by the time I had gotten to her room. I never dreamed I'd ever be thanking my daughter for a blow job, but here I was. I thanked her and asked her what she meant. "I mean, I don't want to be from a broken home," she said. "And if that means that I have to take over for Mom, then I will. If she's going to be selfish, then I will fuck you. I will do anything to keep you happy."

Hearing my little girl say that she'd fuck me sent a tingle through my balls, and I started to get hard again. I was standing right in front of her, and she grinned when my pecker stared her in the face. She smiled as she stood and slipped her shirt over her head. She then stripped off the rest of her clothing and stood fully nude in front of me. She was absolutely gorgeous, all five feet of her. Her golden hair was tied in pigtails with little bows. Her slender body looked like an anime character with her life-preserver sized tits. She took my hand and pulled it into her clean-shaven vagina, pushing my finger between her wet puffy pussy lips. I leaned in and kissed her as my fingers penetrated her vagina. Our lips parted at the same time, and our tongues danced in each other's mouths while I slid my finger in and out of her slippery slit.

I swept Iroha off her feet, carried her around to the side, and placed her on the bed, climbing in next to her. I leaned over her, kissing her softly, thanking her for being such a loving and giving daughter. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to do this. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Daddy," she said, bringing her lips to mine, kissing me, and driving her tongue back into my mouth. "Dad, I'm not leaving for college in the fall unless I know you and Mom aren't going to split up," she said adamantly. "Otherwise, I will attend locally."

I cupped her breast, sucking the nipple as I slid my fingers back into her warmth. My thumb grazed her clit, eliciting a faint moan. I did it again and again, softly rubbing circles on her clitoris. I fingered her until she came. I wanted to pleasure my daughter as she had just done for me. I spread her legs and positioned myself between her thighs, kissing her glistening pussy lips. I slid my tongue between the folds of her labia, dipping it into her drooling hole, fucking her with my tongue. I raised her knees, laying her legs over my shoulders as I licked her to another orgasm. My little girl wrapped her legs around my head and began to hump my face. She grabbed my head, pulling it harder to her cunt as she drove her tight little twat into my mouth. She gasped as a powerful climax hit her like a ton of bricks. Her hips bucked and undulated until her climax ebbed. I tried to slip my fingers back into her pussy, but she pushed my hand away, saying, "No, Daddy. I want your cock in me. Get on your back."

I fell off the bed when I tried to lie next to her. I laughed, telling her that maybe it was time we got her a bigger bed. My baby girl crawled off the bed so I could lie down. She straddled me, dangling her breasts over my face. I grabbed her titties, pressing my face into her boobs, kissing and sucking them. Iroha slid her slipping slit on my cock, guiding its tip into her dripping hole. Her mouth gaped wide as she lowered herself onto my rigid member. She exhaled, "Ahhh fuuuck," escaped her lips as my cock bottomed out inside her pussy. I pointed her nipples together and sucked them in unison, flicking them with my tongue as she began to ride my cock. God, she was tight. Her twat gripped my cock like a python with its prey. It didn't take long before she was squealing with delight. Wave after wave of orgasm washed over her as she continued to hump her hips on my dick. My baby girl grabbed the headboard as she pounded herself faster on my cock. I could feel her twat pulsing on my shaft as she was building to another colossal climax. Her cunt muscles gripped my shaft tightly as she climaxed, pushing me over the edge. "Baby, I'm going to cum!" I gasped.

"Go ahead, Daddy. Cum in me. Cum in my cunt," she hissed in ecstasy.

I grabbed her hips, thrusting my cock as deep as I could into her tantalizing tight twat. She came as soon as my steamy seed streamed into her cunt. "God, I'm cumming!" I groaned.

"Me too, Daddy. Me too!" she shrieked.

She started bucking her hips front and back, grinding the tip of my cock against her cervix as I filled her with my warm goo. She pulled a bit too hard on the headboard, breaking it. A loud CRACK echoed in the room as it snapped, hitting me on the head. The two of us continued humping each other, desperately trying to extend our ecstasy. Just as Iroha fell onto my chest in exhaustion, the head of the bed fell to the floor. "Jesus, Dad. What a way to make our first fuck memorable," she laughed as she tried to get up.

"Well, shit! How are we going to explain that to Mom?" she asked.

"Let's go and get you a new bed before mom gets home," I said. "Call it a thank you for fucking my brains out."

"That's what I was going to say," Iroha said as she wiped my cum out of her dripping hole.

"Oh, Sweetie. I'm sorry, I didn't even think about using a condom," I apologized.

"Dad, I've been on the pill since I was sixteen. Remember?" she asked.

We decided to go get my truck to work today from the plant where my wife works. She was working twelve-hour shifts, and I thought I would exchange vehicles and park the car in the same spot. Hopefully, she'd figure out what we did. As we were leaving the lot after exchanging vehicles, we saw my wife getting into a male coworker's car. We watched as her head quickly disappeared below the dashboard. Iroha and I sat in utter shock as the man reclined the driver's seat. Every once in a while, we would see the top of my wife's head bob up and down. Iroha fumed, calling her mother a fucking slutty bitch.

I drove closer to where they were parked and shut the truck off. We watched as my wife's head bobbed faster in the guy's lap. Iroha and I got out of the truck, leaving the doors open so as not to alert them of our presence. I realized that my wife was sucking her married supervisor's cock during their lunch break. She'd pulled her shirt up and undid her bra so the guy could play with her tit while she blew him. I don't know why, but I grabbed my phone and started recording just before Iroha knocked on the window, yelling, "You cheating slut. Fuck you, Mom, for wrecking our family!"

My wife's head came up just as the guy started blowing his wad. Streams of cum shot up, splashing off of her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock at being discovered with another guy's dick in her mouth. The guy's last spurt of cum landed on her on her lips as she screamed that she was sorry. The screams of my wife and daughter attracted the attention of other employees who were on break, and a number of employees approached to see what the commotion was about. Luckily, none of them pulled out their cell phones like I had. My wife scrambled to cover herself, slipping in the process, and smashed the guy in the nuts as she fell forward. He screamed in pain as my wife pushed down with that hand to raise herself off of him. She scrambled out of the car with her tits still out while the guy lay there doubled over in agony. "Oh my god!" my wife gasped as the CEO and the head of HR walked up. Both my wife and the dude she was blowing burst into tears when the CEO told them not to bother punching out. You're both fired! A couple of people in the back of the crowd clapped.

"Don't bother coming home," I told my wife as she pleaded with me.

"Where am I supposed to go?" she wailed. "He's married."

"He won't be when this goes viral!" I said, still recording.

"Pleeease noo," my wife cried after Iroha and I as we got back into the truck to leave.

I gave Iroha the keys to the car, telling her to drive it home and leave my wife stranded. I called my daughter, asking her to have my toolbox out when I got home. I was going to stop at the hardware store by our house and pick up new door locks for the house. My phone started ringing as soon as I hung up with Iroha. My wife was calling me, so I swiped to reject the call and sent it to voicemail. She called twice more than I sped to the hardware store. I answered the last call when my thumb accidentally bumped the answer tab on the steering wheel. I could hear my wife wailing over the phone. She must have inadvertently redialed me, as she was arguing with the guys about giving her a ride home. The guy told her to fuck off. He had his own problems having to explain to his wife why he got fired. I hung up as I pulled into the parking lot of the hardware store.

I grabbed two new knobs and deadbolt kits and quickly headed home. I wanted to change the locks before my wife had a chance to get home. I pulled into the garage and closed the door behind me. My darling daughter had used my screw gun and already had the front door deadbolt and door knob removed by the time I got home. She went to remove the locks from the back door while I installed the new locks. The whole time we were working to change the locks, our phones rang. First mine, then the house phone, and finally my daughters. I disconnected the house phone and then blocked my wife's number on my cell. Iroha listened to a couple of messages from her mom before she, too, blocked her mom's number.

After we finished, we put the tools away. I went upstairs to our bedroom and packed up a bunch of my wife's clothes into plastic garbage bags. Iroha tossed her mother's toiletries into a bag as well. We threw them on the front porch with a note saying, "I reported all of your credit cards stolen except the Visa. Don't bother knocking. Just take your shit and go!"

The icing on the cake was when Iroha came running out of the house with her mom's dildo and placed it on the stack of trash bags. As we went back inside, Iroha reminded me about the external keypad for opening the garage door. I went and ripped it from the door frame. "Fuck that bitch!" Iroha said in a Russian accent, like the movie we had watched earlier in the week.

About an hour later, we heard a car door slam. We peeked out the closed blinds and watched my wife and the guy load her bags into his car and leave. I sank back onto the couch, relieved that she didn't make a scene for our neighbors. I read through some of the text messages that my wife left before I blocked her number. They were pitiful, begging me not to post them anywhere and stating that I had already cost both of them their jobs. I showed it to Iroha, asking her what she thought I should do? "Wait until she pulls something, then post it," she said.

Iroha snuggled next to me, pulling my arm around her and wrapping her arms around me. She laid her head on my shoulder and squeezed me tightly. When I hugged her back, my hand accidentally cupped her breast. I gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you for today, Honey. I wouldn't have been able to control myself if it hadn't been for what you did for me today," I said, massaging her tit.

She slid her hand to my groin, giving my dick a squeeze, saying, "My offer still stands. You are going to need me more than ever now. Huh?"

"Baby, you shouldn't have to do that for me." I kissed her on the top of her head.

"I'd be doing it for the both of us. What you did to me today was amazing, and I want more. In fact, I don't ever want you to stop doing it with me," she said, stroking my penis erect.

Iroha lowered her head to my lap as she fished my cock out of my pants. Her pigtailed head started bobbing in my lap, and the image of my wife's head flashed through my mind. Iroha's pigtails bounced every time her head took another stroke. She sucked me until I was fully erect. That's when my little girl stood and asked, "Are you ready for me, Daddy?" as she stripped out of her clothes.

I shimmied out of my pants and pulled my shirt over my head. Iroha straddled my lap and pulled my face to her breasts. She held my head as she lowered her onto my cock. I suckled her nipples as my little girl bounced her twat on my dick. She pulled my face to hers, kissing me passionately as we fucked. Our tongues twirled and danced in each other's mouths. Iroha sucked on the tip of my tongue, swirling it with hers like she had been doing on my cock.

I thrust my cock into her, matching her every stroke, causing her to have the beginning tingle of an orgasm. She leaned back as she humped my cock, allowing me to resume sucking her nipples. Iroha wrapped her arms around my head, squeezing my face to her nipple as she came. She swirled and pivoted her pelvis as she ground her cervix on my rigid shaft. I clenched to keep myself from blowing my wad too soon. I even had to grab her hips to keep her from moving lest I lose my load. I held her still until the sensation waned.

Iroha climbed off my lap, turning her back to me. She sat on my lap, wiggling her hips as she tried to get the tip of my cock back into her slippery slit. She placed her feet on the cushion next to my knees as she leaned back against my chest. She began slamming her cunt onto my cock with long, steady strokes. The echos of our bodies clapping together filled the house. I grabbed her titties, squeezing them and pinching her nipples, cascading her into another climax. For a split second, I wondered where she'd learned this.

Her thrust became more sporadic and uncoordinated when she reached back and placed her hands on my shoulder so she could take longer thrusts. She took too long of a stroke on my shaft, causing it to slip out of her tight twat. On her downward thrust, my slickened snake slammed into her starfish. She let out a shriek but kept hammering herself on my cock. I reached around her and slipped two fingers into her cunt, fingering her til she came again. A warm gush of fluid coated my fingers as she climaxed.

In all the excitement, I couldn't hold back, and I blasted a load of cum up her pooper. I continued to thrust my cock into her until I emptied my nuts deep in her dumper. I kept fingering her twat until she couldn't take it anymore, and she pushed my hand away. I grabbed my shirt and tucked it between her ass cheeks as she slid off my cock. I took her hand and led her to the bathroom. I started the shower so we could wash off. I was a bit surprised when Iroha stepped into the shower with me. She took the bar of soap and began to wash my chest, washing her way down to my pubes. Her soapy hands stroked my cock and balls, scrubbing them of any remnant of our anal fuck fest. She smirked at me, asking if she'd done a good job. I nodded in the affirmative. "Good. Now you do me," she said, handing me the soap.

I lathered up my hands and let them wander over her luscious young body. I squeezed her breasts with my soapy, making them slip through my fingers. She giggled as I played with them like a little boy with a new toy. I knelt in front of her, letting my hands trail down her abdomen and finally to her pussy. I lathered up my hands again to wash her bald pussy, slipping my fingers through the folds of her vagina. I hesitated when my fingers neared her pussy hole. She nodded when I peered up at her. I slipped my fingers into her hole, washing it clean of from earlier in the day. She spun around, saying, "Don't forget the backside."

I slid my soapy fingers through her ass cheeks, washing her crack and sphincter. I noticed a bit of blood when I removed my hand.

"It's okay, Dad. It's normal for me after anal,"

"What do you mean, normal?" I asked.

"Dad. I'm a good Catholic girl. I know about the loophole," she giggled.

"Is that why you kept going when it slipped in?"

"Um, hum," she nodded. "I like anal sometimes."

I rinsed the suds off of her body and grabbed a bath towel to wrap her in. She, too, grabbed a towel and dried me off, spending a bit too long on my cock.

We wrapped ourselves in the towels and headed down the hallway to our bedrooms. She paused at her door before entering. "Where am I going to sleep tonight?" she said coyly as she looked through her bedroom door at her busted bed. "You broke my bed, fucking me earlier."

"Wait. I didn't break your bed. You were the one who yanked it apart." I jokingly replied.

"Yeah. Cuz your cock was giving me such a great fuck," she laughed as she took my hand and led me into my bedroom.

Rei's pussy is a spire the way you slay it, your cock is a spire the way she

slays it. You could call it Slay The Spire 2…

But let's back up, there was a bit more before that.

The night started simply, Liz told you to BEGONE! So you went over to your best friend's house. You knocked on her door, she was half naked with her headphones on. Both excited and unexcited to see you, she dragged you in before you could think of an Escape Plan.

She pushes you to her bedroom, Lifting you up the stairs. You'd never guess what's on her computer monitor, hey at least she's on Aeonglass. She must be a Master of Strategy, where were you?

Oh yeah, the 'fucking' thing.

There wasn't any Prep Time. "You interrupted my gaming, so you will be my game." She groans, pushing you onto her comfy bed– adorned with all the Slay The Spire makeship plushies money could buy, "Understood?"

"Yes, Rei."

"It's the Reigent to you."

You are so not calling her that, she's quick to Expose her lower half in one go. Pattering over as she climbed over your face. More accurately you are Crushed Under the weight of Rei's pussy on your mouth, but that's more a blessing than a curse. You greet her instantly, letting her ride your tongue. There's No Escape from the pace she sets, fast and hard as all of her taste hits you.

"Know Thy Place!" She moans, rolling her hips, holding on to the headboard and using you for her pleasure. You aren't above showing Greed, drinking up all of her, feasting on her cunt more than just what was allowed. Perhaps that is what this is, an endless Folly.

But if this is your Folly, may you toil eternally.

You moan, she moans, the soundtrack of her game is the backdrop for all of these sounds. "Fuck! Mm, that's a good interruption, pretty glad you are here, fuck." Rei Monologues, while you Prolong your actions. Oxygen is irrelevant right now.

Though evidently, sexual action with Rei is just like the game, being turn based. Now its your turn, an Energy Surge empowers you to push her off your face. She falls into her mattress and you are Unrelenting, grabbing her thick thighs and pulling close.

She trembles as your tongue is back up against her, this time though its fully in your control. Through sheer True Grit you devour her, it's erotic, filthy and disrespectful. Her wetness gets smeared all over your lips, the corners of your mouth. If you are her game and the win-condition is an orgasm.

You will Make It So.

"Mmh!" You have to keep Rei on the bed, her legs actively trying to Defy and reach Act Three. She's the best elite combat you've ever had, she's in a Haze while you keep up your combo. Rei's whining and the games truly back, two of your fingers join in. Thrusting in and out, doing some Hand Tricks. Hitting all the right spots, sucking her clit.

It's all a Well-Laid Plan, your eyes look up at her, her mouth's agape, she's so close.

"I'm, gonna, gonna cum!" That's a Victory? The orgasm has her Glowing, gushing all over your fingers and her sheets. You Wish to be in this moment forever, but the show isn't over yet. Rei recovers in a Blur, suddenly she's back up and your pants are down.

"Let me see what you are working with." She treats your cock like the Ironclad's sword, holding it firmly. Spitting on tip and rubbing it in recklessly. "Let me Stoke it a little, get you ready for what's to come."

She does just that, making out with you as her hand pumps you, both of you Huddled Together. Rei's hand is warm, really warm. It feels like the Brightest Flame. Fuck.

Rei's shamelessly sticking her tongue as deep into your mouth as you did her hole. Her spit mixes with yours (there's a lot of it.) Sloppily making out while she gets to terms with your cock. She's The Smith the way she's made you harder than a steel beam.

Her lips pull off yours and you are Dazed. "There's so much I could do, suck your cock until you shoot it down my throat. Or I could slide it in, ride it until you pass out. Maybe I could push my thighs around it, lift up and down until you helplessly spurt all over them. Decisions, Decisions."

Rei has her mind made up, truly in Demon Form as she pushes you down. "So big, so hard." You breathe heavily as your tip is brushing against her, a Tremble while Rei rubs against you, it's bliss, hell, how quickly she's got you Enthralled.

"This cock is going deep inside me, I need it so badly." With that, Rei Follows Through, slipping down and engulfing every inch of you. She's intoxicating, like taking every Elite even though you know it's a bad idea. You just lay there and take it, she bounces and you watch your cock come out wetter than it was before.

She's quick, a Bombardment of bounces, skin slapping against each other. Rei is a very adamant woman, nothing is going to stop her from riding you like the world's going to explode. Not even an Heirloom Hammer to the face.

"You are going to see stars, generate stars, whatever, fuck." Well logic was out of the window awhile ago, you are just happen to get Bury'd deep inside of Rei. She's so horny that she can't maintain rhythm, just chasing her Ascension 10. you both knew from the moment you began you were on Borrowed Time.

And now here you are, back at the beginning. Rei's the spire and you are the spire, she's delivering her attempt to finish the game by making you finish. Her turn's not over yet, being inside her raw has truly Captured your Spirit.

Sweat shines on her deliciously smooth skin, if her hands weren't forcing you into the bed you'd lick it all clean. Ravage her body like the eager slut you are. But you are always Thinking Ahead, and when she starts to slow you say nothing. Just pick her up and throw her back onto the bed. Your sex is the true roguelike experience, pick a different build (face riding, cock riding) and still go onto the same route.

How poetic.

You pounce onto her, sliding into her cunt at the same time you are on top of her. Your dick must be enchanted with Momentum the way her moans get louder with every time you push deep, targeting the right spots. "Fuck ne harder, fuck!"

You lick all the salty sweat off her skin, it turns you on so much that you throb helplessly inside of her. But this is not where the run ends, you are far too Feral. "Oh, oh my god, okay! Fuck me, fuck me harder!" You were surprised you were even able to, Overlocking your thrusts and Doubling your Energy. Everything to make Rei feel euphoric, even if you have to Scavenge the power to keep going.

"I, your cock is so good! I can't hol-" Rei gives up, cumming her brains out as you plow her through it. impressive how you don't follow, she Claw's at your back while you pound her like a Osty. You are fucking her full, the only thing left to do is…

Your orgasm Rattles you, dumping your thick load deep inside, filing her to the brim– you are truly the Conqueror to her spire, hitting the Knockup Blow instead of the Knockout Blow. The legend, another Victory? Her walls milk more of your cum out. she's bred, happy.

But, there's four acts.

Something happens, a spark, you've been fucking on video game logic and this is no different. A few minutes and you are inside Rei's tight asshole, lube was the three keys. This is the summit, you've never been here before but your memory is crystal clear.

Normally you fight a spear, this time you are the spear, spearing inside of her. The easiest way to a girl's heart is to make her cum, so it seems like you will be finishing this final act. Rei's ass cheeks Thunderclap with every thrust, it's total Havoc. It's sort of like a multiplayer card, you pound her ass like she begs and she fingers her cum filled pussy.

Teamwork.

You continue to Heavenly Drill the another orgasm out of her, another shriek and more. No matter how many times you make her cum, you never seen to get further in winning the fight. An infinite stalemate, though her juices Splash off her fingers and into the bed, which is close enough to a victory.

"Please, treat my ass however you want! Fuck, keep going!" The entire street hears it, a Countdown is active. You can only go for so long, a final Spur to make sure this orgasm is The Bomb. "More, please, please, please, I Am Invincible I can take it!"

Helix, Heavenly, what does it matter? You are drilling her, time is drawing to an end. You are Doomed, flooding her asshole with a load of it's own, that's the true Victory. Rei completely dripping, both your cum and her sheer arousal. Converged into one.

It's complete Mind Rot when you pull out, watching it flow out all into a pile, your body is Withering. This run might be over. But you and Rei can definitely do another some other time.

"That was really… really good. You are my new fuck toy, got it?"

━•✦•━•✦•━

You didn't know who she was. You didn't know who she was with. You didn't know where she was from. You knew practically nothing about her.

Except her name was Lily and she had the most stupidly sexy Aussie accent you'd ever heard.

You had met her that same day, around noon, during the set of a Tech House DJ you were a fan of. She turned out to be in the same area of ​​the audience that you had come to in search of getting a little closer to the stage, near the middle. The click was instantaneous.

At first you had been at a considerable distance from each other, only giving each other discreet glances between drops. That's where you noticed how hot that woman was, with those damn tight latex pants and that perfect belly. Her bust was moderate, but she didn't need much more. Not with that sexy look and that damn attractive nose.

The interest had been mutual; it had been evident by the way she looked back at you, subtle checks up and down, lip bites and small winks. By the time the set was over, she had already stood on her back right in front of you so you could dance with her, her lascivious ass against your bulge, her sweaty back against your chest.

The advances were constant, one after another. Light touches at first, then firmer grips, then caresses, then more brazen movements on her part to tease you. When you had least expected it, you had already kissed her with such fierceness that you had her moaning into your mouth.

Now, you knew it was serious when she started squeezing your cock through your pants. She did it at the most unexpected moments to catch you by surprise, and your way of responding was always to grab her ass. But she wanted more. You wanted more.

So there you went, straight to your festival tent, located rather towards the back, almost bordering on the forest beyond. It was one in the morning, and you both had a good amount of beers in your system. She was carrying an unopened one in her hand, in fact. You weren't surprised; the little you knew about her was that she was quite the party girl.

You walked in with her hand in hand and zipped up the tent behind you. Lily soon threw her arms around your neck and pressed herself against you, the cold beer can pressed against your upper back. In contrast, it was hot in there. Largely because of how horny you both were.

"Mmm, fucking finally huh?" she murmured hoarsely before crashing her lips against yours.

You immediately wrapped your arms around Lily's curvy, slightly fleshy body, one around her waist and the other across her back, accepting her lips in a desperate, disastrous kiss. The tent was large, with a padded floor and a high ceiling, allowing you to move comfortably with her to the center, near the mat where you later hoped to sleep with her.

A moan escaped Lily's mouth as you brought your face to her neck and, without a second thought, gave a long upward lick to her soft, sweaty skin, your hands gripping her waist tightly. Normally, at a festival, after hours and hours of sun and heat and sweat, you would be smelly and sticky. Not Lily. She continued to give off the same pleasant and addictive lavender aroma.

"My god, you're so fucking hot," you growled between kisses and hickeys on her neck and jaw. Now you had her by the ass, with strong grips that made her push against you. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

"Of course not, idiot," she grumbled, reaching a hand inside your sweatpants to pull out your erect cock and stroke it. It was the hand she held the beer with, so it was cold and wet to the touch, the sensation amplified by the cold metal of his rings.

"Great" you returned to her lips, a few more slobbery kisses before looking into those deep black-lined eyes. "Although if I'm honest, if you had I wouldn't have given a damn."

"What a jerk."

"I'm serious," you now moved down her neck and collarbone, avoiding her choker and the gold necklace she was wearing. When you were on your knees in front of her, both hands on her wide hips, you looked into her eyes. "You could be wearing an engagement ring right now, woman, but I'd still fuck your brains out."

“Shut the fuck up and worship me,” she demanded, cupping your face with the same icy hand, her nails digging into your cheeks. "You've been pawing at my belly all day and drooling over it, haven't you? Fucking kiss me there. Go on."

Lily released your face with a gentle nudge, letting you bury yourself fully against her abdomen. So perfect. So soft. So deliciously gifted by the gods. You showered it with kisses, every single inch: her sides, right along her Adonis belt; her lower abs; all around her navel. Even the flesh of her waist, on either side, ended up soaked with your saliva.

With both hands on her hips, you spun her around abruptly so that her ass was now what lay right before your face. Your fingers worked quickly on the button of her latex pants and on her zipper, which you pulled all the way down before giving a sudden yank downward. The pants were already stupidly tight to begin with, but, compounded by the sweat, they clung so tightly to her skin that you had to pull them down inch by inch, hard, until they bunched up right at the tops of her thighs, forming a sexy ring of soft flesh spilling over the latex.

You left them right there. It was exactly what you needed, nothing more. Her ass lay exposed just inches from your face, round and lovely. She wore a pair of pretty black lace panties that left almost her entire buttocks bare. Before doing anything else, you gripped her thighs and let your lips roam over the soft flesh of her ass. Lily, watching you over her shoulder, lips parted and a faint blush rising in her cheeks, gasped with every little kiss.

"This is what you’ve wanted all day, isn't it?" Lily asked. The question made you smile as you slowly slid her panties down. "You haven't stopped staring and grabbing it all fucking day."

"And you haven't been able to stop rubbing it against my dick," you retorted. Lily’s panties ended up bunched around her thighs, sitting at the exact same level as her pants. She was soaked down there, you could tell even in the dim light of your tent. "We'll see how you get when I shove it in your mouth and fuck your throat."

"We're not talking about me, you punk."

As soon as she finished that sentence, Lily grabbed the hair at the back of your head and buried your face deep between her ass cheeks. Your mouth found the soft flesh of her slippery folds, slightly salty to the taste. The moan she let out was enough to drive any man wild. You explored her slit, thirsty. Your heavy breathing and hot breath warmed against her skin. There wasn't a single part of her pretty pussy that your tongue didn't stimulate.

You heard the unmistakable gaseous hiss of a beer can popping open.

You looked up.

"Fancy a coldie, party boy?"

You smirked. Just how freaky were you feeling on this particular day? Lily’s gaze, heavy with lust and a faint spark of mischief, gave you the answer: pretty damn freaky.

"Go on."

Lily didn't wait; she brought the beer can down to her lower back and poured the cold liquid right between her ass cheeks. The steady stream, cascading down her crack and dripping over her buttocks, met your lips. You lapped it up as best you could, all while your tongue worked away at her pussy. The tent floor was going to be a total disaster, but it was going to be worth every damn second.

Still not satisfied, Lily kept pouring the beer down her ass crack. With both hands cupping her ass, you devoted yourself completely to the task, drinking up as much as you could while squeezing and massaging her buttocks. It was a bit of a waste, considering the vast majority of the beer just ended up on the floor. But seriously, who the fuck cared?

The beer can went empty; you heard Lily toss it into a corner of the tent.

"I hope that was delicious, you bastard," she growled. Her grip remained on the back of your neck, tighter now. Her fingernails dug into your scalp as you continued to devour her. "I could have just drunk that myself."

"You’ve already had like six of those. One more wouldn't make a difference."

You spread Lily's ass cheeks apart and, with determination, let your tongue work faster. Your focus was her clit. Lily squealed with pleasure, and it wasn't long before she thrust her hips against your face as she reached her climax.

"Ohhh shit!" Lily moaned, smothering you with her ass, her thighs trembling. "You really were hungry for that pussy, huh?"

You pulled away and sprang to your feet, grabbed Lily by the waist, and delivered a stinging slap to her right ass cheek. The red mark appeared instantly.

The truth was, you were horny as hell. You weren't even thinking straight when, with a single yank, you pulled your sweatpants and boxers down to your calves, spat in your hand to lube up your cock, and buried it deep inside the best pussy you’d ever had in your damn life.

"Nnnngh, you son of a bitch!" she growled.

Lily, still with her knees slightly bent, instinctively bent her upper body downward, desperately searching for something to grab onto while you remained buried inside her, balls-deep. She only managed to find one of your wrists. Her other arm hung limply beneath her.

The lascivious, wet sounds of sweaty flesh slapping together took over the tent. Your thrusts were wild, each one sending your glans slamming against her cervix and making that sexy flesh jiggle like jelly. She was wet as hell. Every inch of your veiny cock slid slickly in and out of her. Lily struggled to keep her balance amidst all the shaking, the movement of her legs restricted by the way her pants remained (and would continue to remain) bunched up around her thighs. Her moans, more screams than anything else, vied for acoustic space.

You gave her no respite, not even for a second, blinded by lust and perhaps a little by the eight beers coursing through your blood. With a growl, you grabbed her by the forearms, yanked her arms back, causing her back to arch, and pumped your hips in an animalistic frenzy until Lily came with a sharp, strangled cry.

"God! I drive you fucking crazy, don't I?" Lily looked back at you over her shoulder, her face twisted in pleasure, her thighs and hips still writhing. "Is that why you're fucking me like a filthy whore?"

You yanked yourself abruptly out of her, released her arms, and let her drop to her knees. Lily followed you with her eyes as you circled around her, grabbed a handful of her long platinum hair, and forced your cock deep into her mouth. She sucked you hard, tasting her own pussy through you, slurping up the very saliva she left behind.

"Oh yeah, be a filthy whore and suck that cock," you growled, your grip firm on her hair.

Lily wrapped three fingers around the base, holding your cock straight as she diligently pumped the head at a steady rhythm, gagging each time her lips brushed against her own fingers. You landed a sharp slap against her cheek, making her moan with your flesh still inside her, then grabbed your cock and pulled it out of her mouth.

"Mmm, how would it bother you to smudge that pretty eyeliner just a little bit?" you asked, tapping your cock against her outstretched tongue.

"Minus fucking two," she said, rubbing herself against your shaft, using her beautiful aquiline nose to trace its length. "You can throat-fuck me, spit on me, slap me, choke me. Fuck, get me pregnant if you feel like it."

"Alright, well, we'll draw the line at that last one."

Lily laughed, maintaining an amused expression even as you shoved your cock back into her mouth. You thrust straight down to the bottom, both hands cupping the back of her head. The teasing smirk vanished from her face. She scrunched up her nose and gagged around you. A trickle of saliva spilled down past her lower lip.

"That's it, choke on it, bitch," you growled through clenched teeth, driving her head against your pelvis.

More saliva dripped onto the floor. You held her there for several long seconds, and then, instead of letting her breathe, you started pumping your hips. Fast, deep thrusts. Your balls slammed against her chin with every stroke. More and more saliva. Lily locked eyes with you as tears began to well up in her own. These soon slid down her cheeks.

It took a good number of thrusts to keep her crying. With a triumphant smile, you finally stopped when the black eyeliner ran beneath her eyes, merging with her tears. You pulled out of her mouth with a sharp tug. Lily gasped for air, a complete mess; her entire mouth and chin were smeared with thick saliva, which dripped straight down into the cleavage of her top and onto her thighs.

You delivered a sharp slap to her cheek just as she was trying to catch her breath. A moan escaped her lips.

"Happy?" you asked.

Lily raised her eyes and met your gaze.

"Not until you make my pussy absolutely dripping wet," she declared in a faint voice. "And when I say dripping... I mean really dripping. I want to turn your damn tent into a swimming pool."

Fuck.

You immediately dropped to your knees and laid her flat on her back. She couldn't spread her legs, not even a couple of centimeters. Your only option—and one you didn't complain about in the slightest—was to press both of her knees up against her torso. Lily held her legs in place, gripping them behind the knees with both arms. Her pussy, squeezed tight between her thighs, made your mouth water.

You drove your cock inside her with a forceful thrust. Her pussy was so slick that the smooth motion made you gasp.

With your hands on her thighs, fingers digging firmly into her soft flesh, you began to fuck her pussy with deep, reckless thrusts. Lily’s back arched. With her eyes closed, she parted her lips, doing nothing but panting. Every now and then, a sensual moan escaped her.

"Fuuuuck!" Lily growled, her fingernails digging into the latex of her pants so hard that she actually punctured it slightly. "So fucking good, oh my god... oh my god, oh my god!"

You leaned forward, bracing your fists against the tent canvas on either side of her arms, and transitioned into an up-and-down motion, slamming her pussy against the floor. Lily lost her breath with the first few thrusts, but then managed to regain her breathing and looked up at you. Her smudged eyeliner had left dark streaks across her cheeks.

"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned. "Pound me, you fucking punk. Pound me hard!"

Lily came with a primal growl just seconds later. As her thighs trembled, her pussy made a soft squelching sound with every one of your thrusts. You felt a tiny spurt of warm liquid splash against your shaft. It wasn't enough, and you knew it. You continued, relentless. You moved her arms away from around her legs and replaced them with your upper torso, pinning her between yourself and the ground.

Finally, you were forced to pull out of her when she came so hard that, this time, a jet of fluid shot upward, splashed against your abdomen, and trickled back down.

"Just like that, fuck!" Lily shrieked, so ecstatic that her cheeks were flushed with a blush that spread all the way down to her chest. "You’re a fucking marvel!"

The way she said it burrowed into your brain and sent tingles through you. With that sexy accent of hers. That alluring way she rolled her R’s and emphasized her L’s.

God, you were starving for her.

You laid her down on her side and kept fucking her, her knees pressed against her torso, one hand on her fleshy waist, and the other right where the latex bunched up against the flesh of her thighs. You brought her to climax two more times like that, resulting in two more spurts of squirt. The first one stronger than the last.

True to her word, Lily had turned your tent into a goddamn swamp. The entire floor between your legs was soaked. Little rivulets branched out from the main pool, spreading toward the sides. She was breathing in ragged gasps, completely overstimulated. Her long, platinum hair was a total mess. There were fresh tears in her eyes. She was just as sweaty as you were.

"As obsessed as I am with how you look trapped inside those pants, I’m starting to want to see a little more of you," you said.

"I couldn't agree more," Lily panted.

It was a struggle to get her pants off, given how tightly they clung to her skin, but within a few minutes, you managed to strip her completely naked. You undressed yourself as well. Then, you climbed on top of her and spent a good while just kissing her, letting your hands explore every inch of her body until she guided you back inside her.

You fucked her missionary-style, then on your sides, sucking and licking her modest yet full breasts, and you even let her ride you. The mess from a moment ago didn't repeat itself, but you could tell from her gaze that each orgasm was triggering an increasingly severe short circuit in her brain.

About half an hour later, when you felt you’d reached the point of no return on your way to climax, and just as Lily was riding out another orgasm, she grabbed your chin and made you look her in the eye.

"Fuck my ass," she murmured. "Raw. I don't care if it doesn't fit all."

"Are you sure? Have you done this before?"

"I didn't ask you to interrogate me about my sex life. I asked you to fuck my ass." Lily turned around and got onto her hands and knees, her ass thrust up toward you, mere centimeters from the ground. "Now."

Well, who were you to refuse?

You quickly rose onto your knees behind her, placed a hand on her waist to steady her, and, after a bit of preliminary lubrication courtesy of your own saliva, pressed your glans against her asshole. Lily hissed in pain at first, but her walls eventually yielded. Only partially, though; you only managed to get about half your shaft inside. Any deeper became painful for her.

It was perfectly enough for you. You planted a foot on the ground, gripped her by the hips, and began thrusting up and down. You both had an absolutely fucking amazing time, moaning almost in unison against the backdrop of the festival’s roar and the activity in the surrounding tents. Lily’s ass ended up bright red with hand marks. Her hair? A tangled mess. Her body? Dripping with sweat.

You had her held fast by her choker, pulling back and half-choking her, when you felt the tingling sensation in your lower body.

"I'm going to cum inside you," you growled, clenching your teeth. You were certain the veins were bulging in your temples. "I'm going to fill your fucking ass."

"Then fill my fucking ass," Lily growled back, the right side of her face pressed against the bottom edge of your mat, her arms tucked underneath it. She was already melting with pleasure; her brain must have felt like mush, her head clouded by lust. "That is, after all, why I’ve been messing with your head all day."

"Would you have done this with just any other good-looking guy?" you asked.

"Why lie to you?" A mocking smile formed on her face. "Probably. You were just in the right place at the right time."

"What a fucking bitch." You yanked harder on her choker, making her gasp for air. "Fuck, mmph!"

Lily laughed faintly again, closing her eyes as she felt the first thick gush of semen flood her tight cavity. She tried to moan, but only a soft breath escaped her lips. You filled her up like a goddamn cream pie, throbbing deep inside her. Before long, the cum began to spill over the edges.

You released the choker, allowing her breathing to return to normal. Very slowly, you pulled out of her, stepped back, and admired your handiwork: her dilated ass, brimming with thick whitish fluid that trickled down her cleft, ran through the folds of her pussy, and dripped onto the floor.

You delivered one last hard smack to her ass, sending her tumbling onto her side. Lily looked up at you.

"Don't take that last thing I said to heart..." she murmured. "My expectations were actually pretty low. I actually like you."

"...Thanks?" You went to lie down beside her, sweaty, exhausted, and with aching knees. "Shall we sleep?"

A dry, sharp laugh made you look at her with a frown. She met your gaze.

Jim scrambled up from the couch, his naked body protesting every movement. Sana stirred beside him, murmuring something unintelligible, the sheet falling away to expose the curve of her breast. He grabbed the first thing he could find, a white cotton bathrobe, worn thin at the elbows and fraying at the belt, and tied it hastily around his waist.

He opened the door a crack. "What?"

Yujin stood there, holding two cups of coffee, her hair still damp from her own shower. She took one look at him—his flushed face, the love bites visible on his neck, his hair standing up in every direction, and her eyes widened with delighted comprehension.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, pushing past him into the apartment. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, look what the pussy-"

"Yujin!" Jim hissed, trying to block her view of the living room. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? I'm being a good friend. Bringing sustenance." She craned her neck, trying to see around his shoulder. "Is Sana here? Is she okay? Did you break her? I need to see the carnage."

"She's fine. Everything's fine. You can go now."

But Yujin was already tiptoeing, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She tried to dart around him, peeking toward the couch. "Is she naked? Is she covered? Did you use protection? I have so many questions-"

Jim sidestepped, spreading his arms wide, his bathrobe gaping open to reveal his bare chest. "Yujin, stop. Respect the privacy. Please."

"Privacy? You lost your right to privacy when you made a sex tape in my apartment building." She tried to duck under his arm, but he caught her, spinning her back toward the door.

"Out. Now. What do you want?"

Yujin finally relented, allowing him to guide her into the hallway. She leaned against the wall, sipping her coffee with infuriating calm. "I just wanted to check if everything's okay. After last night. The tape. The hammer. The... reconciliation." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Did you two... reconcile hard?"

"Yujin," Jim groaned, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "We're fine. Better than fine. Can you please just... give us a few hours?"

"A few hours?" She gasped mockingly. "Professor, I didn't know you had that kind of stamina. Sana's a lucky woman. Or is it Sana who has the stamina? Tell me, how many times did you-"

"Goodbye, Yujin." He pushed her gently toward her own door. "I'll see you later. With clothes on. Both of us."

"Spoilsport," she called after him, but she was grinning as she disappeared into her own apartment.

Jim returned to find Sana sitting up, the sheet clutched to her chest, looking adorably confused. "Was that Yujin?"

"Yeah. Being Yujin." He sat beside her, kissing her shoulder. "Go back to sleep. I'll get rid of her for good next time."

But Sana was already lying back down, her naked body stretching out on the couch, completely uncovered, her breasts spilling to the sides, her legs parting slightly in her sleepiness. Jim covered her with a throw blanket and went to make coffee, smiling like a fool.

Across the hall, Yujin burst through her own door to find Karina sitting on the dining table, swinging her legs, eating a bagel.

"Well?" Karina asked, crumbs falling from her mouth. "What happened? Did you see her? Was she walking funny?"

Yujin dropped into a chair, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, they definitely had sex. I'm sure of it. Jim looked like he'd been run over by a truck in the best possible way. Flushed, disheveled, hickeys everywhere. And the way he was blocking the living room? Sana was definitely in there, probably naked, probably recovering."

Karina squealed, clapping her hands. "I knew it! I knew they'd get together! But..." Her face fell slightly, a strange expression crossing her features. "Jim missed his chance."

Yujin looked up from her coffee. "What chance? What do you mean?"

Karina shook her head quickly, her dark hair swinging. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Karina, what-" Yujin stopped, her nose wrinkling. "Do you smell that? Is something burning?"

"Oh shit, the toast!" Yujin bolted for the kitchen.

Just then, Henry emerged from the spare bedroom, shirtless, his hair matted on one side, clearly having slept in Yujin's guest room. He yawned widely, scratching his stomach. "Morning, ladies. Why does it smell like cremation in here?"

"Henry!" Karina hopped off the table. "You won't believe it. Jim and Sana had sex!"

"Had sex?" Henry blinked, then grinned. "No way. Professor Jim? Finally got his head out of his books and into Sana's-"

"Henry!" Karina swatted him, but she was laughing. "Yujin confirmed it. She saw him this morning. He looked... satisfied."

"Well, good for them," Henry said, collapsing onto the couch. "About time. They've been circling each other for like, two years."

Yujin emerged from the kitchen, waving a smoking piece of charcoal that might once have been bread. "Okay, I'm going to shower. Kimmy!" She called toward the bedroom. "Join me!"

"Coming!" Kimmy's voice came back, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Yujin and Kimmy disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water starting shortly after.

Karina sat down next to Henry on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. She was quiet for a moment, picking at a loose thread on the cushion.

"Hey," Henry said, nudging her with his shoulder. "You okay? You got weird when Yujin mentioned Jim and Sana."

Karina sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I've been thinking... about that movie role. The one my agent asked me about months ago."

Henry turned to face her, his expression serious. "The main lead? The indie film? I thought you said you weren't sure."

"I wasn't. But now... I don't know. I think I want to accept it."

Henry's face lit up. "Karina, that's amazing! Why didn't you say something sooner? What's stopping you from taking it?"

Karina bit her lip, her cheeks flushing pink. "It's the intimate scenes. There's a lot of them. And it's... it's my first time. Doing that. On camera."

"First time?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "Karina, you've had sex before. Don't act like you're some virgin innocent."

She slapped his arm playfully. "Not my first time having sex, you idiot. My first time doing it on camera. For an audience. With cameras and lighting and a crew watching." She shuddered slightly. "It's different."

"Is the male actor not good looking or something? Is that the problem?"

"God, no," Karina laughed, but it was strained. "He's the opposite. He's... he's goddamn handsome. Like, unfairly handsome. Greek statue come to life. If the sex was real, I'd be thrilled. I'd be counting down the days. I'd probably beg for extra takes." She paused, her voice dropping. "But it's acting. And I don't know if I can make it look real when it's not. When there are thirty people standing around with equipment."

Henry was quiet for a moment, studying her face. "So what were you planning to do?"

Karina looked down at her hands. "I thought... I thought about asking Jim to help me. With method acting. You know, since we found out about the tape thing. I thought maybe he could... practice with me. Help me get comfortable with being intimate on camera. But now that he and Sana are together..." She trailed off, then looked up at Henry, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "I shouldn't ask him now, right? That would be weird. So I don't know what to do."

She looked at Henry, really looked at him, and something shifted in the air between them.

Henry's expression changed, something like hurt flashing across his features. "Are you for real? Karina... you thought of choosing Jim over me?"

"I... what?"

"Let me say this," Henry continued, his voice dropping, leaning closer to her. "I was the one who told Jim about the video thing. I did a lot of method acting before. I've done intimacy workshops, I've done scenes with nudity, I've done simulated sex on stage. And for your information, I'm an actor as well. A good one."

He moved closer, until they were inches apart, his breath warm against her face. "So wouldn't it honestly be better if you asked me?"

Karina's breath hitched. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "Yea-Yeah," she stammered. "I... I didn't think..."

"Obviously," Henry said softly, not unkindly.

"So..." Karina swallowed hard. "Will you help me? With the method acting?"

Henry held her gaze for a long moment, something intense and unreadable in his dark eyes. Then he smiled, slow and sure. "Of course I will."

"Tonight," Karina said quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Come to my place tonight. We can... we can start then. The method acting."

"I'll be there," Henry promised.

Karina's agent called that afternoon. The news was crushing, the role had been cast. Someone else had been hired weeks ago, and the production was already underway. Karina had waited too long.

She sat on her couch for an hour, staring at the wall, the phone still in her hand. Then she thought of Henry. Of his promise. Of the way he'd looked at her, inches apart, his breath mingling with hers.

The doorbell chimed through Karina's apartment like a promise. She checked her reflection one last time, the silk bathrobe clung to her curves, the fabric thin enough that her nipples pressed visibly against the material, hard and expectant. The belt was tied loose, revealing the valley between her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach. She'd spent three hours preparing for this.

When she opened the door, Henry stood there with a script in his hand and confusion already knitting his brow. He took one look at her and froze.

"Hey," Karina breathed, stepping aside to let him in. "Come in."

Henry entered slowly, his eyes scanning the apartment. She'd transformed it. Candles flickered on every surface, vanilla and sandalwood, warm and inviting. The lights were dimmed, casting everything in honey-gold shadows. Soft jazz played from hidden speakers, saxophone notes curling through the air like smoke.

"Wow," Henry said, turning in a slow circle. "It looks like... I don't know what it looks like. A spa? A bordello?"

"Something like that," Karina smiled, pouring him a glass of wine from the bottle waiting on the coffee table. She handed it to him, letting her fingers brush his. "Drink?"

"Thanks." He took it, but didn't drink, his eyes dropping to her chest, to the obvious peaks of her nipples straining against silk. "Karina... the bathrobe..."

"Oh, this?" She ran a hand down her side, the fabric shifting to reveal even more of her thigh. "I wanted to be comfortable. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, I just..." He shook his head, tearing his gaze away. "Where's the script? I thought we were rehearsing the bedroom scene tonight. The one where they argue and then fall onto the bed?"

"About that," Karina said, taking a sip of her own wine, letting the red liquid linger on her lower lip before licking it away. She saw Henry track the movement with his eyes. "The scene got cancelled."

Henry blinked. "Cancelled?"

"Yeah." She set her glass down, moving closer to him, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something musky and floral, intimate. "My agent called. The director decided to cut that scene entirely. Rewrite the script. So..." She shrugged, the motion making her breasts sway, the silk sliding dangerously. "No more rehearsal needed, I guess."

"Oh." Henry looked genuinely disappointed, then confused. "But if the scene is cancelled, why did you invite me over? And why..." He gestured vaguely at the apartment, the candles, her attire. "Why all this?"

"I need to use the washroom," Karina said suddenly, turning away from him. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

She disappeared down the hallway, the silk robe fluttering behind her like a flag of surrender. Henry stood alone in the living room, surrounded by candlelight and implication, utterly baffled.

"Why is the mood different here?" he muttered to himself, pacing to the window and back. "And if the scene is cancelled, why is she wearing the bathrobe? With her nipples showing? What the hell is happening?"

He ran a hand through his hair, checking his phone, putting it away. He wandered to the bathroom door, listening. He could hear water running, the sound of movement. Then,

"Henry?"

He froze. Her voice came muffled through the door, soft and beckoning.

"Yeah? You okay?"

"Can you come here?"

Henry walked to the bedroom first, then stood by the bathroom door, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I'm here. What happened?"

A hand emerged from the crack in the door, slender, wet, glistening with droplets. "Towel? I forgot to bring one."

Henry looked around frantically, spotting a plush white towel folded on her dresser. He grabbed it and pressed it into her waiting hand. Their fingers touched, wet and warm, and lingered for a moment too long.

"Thanks," she whispered.

The door closed. Henry sat on the edge of her bed, the mattress soft beneath him, the sheets already turned down, pillows fluffed and inviting. He could hear splashing from the bathroom, the scent of roses and something sweeter drifting out from under the door.

Then her voice again, clearer this time, sultry and sure. "Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"Come in."

His breath caught. He stood, his legs suddenly unsteady, and walked to the bathroom door. He pushed it open.

Steam billowed out, warm and fragrant, carrying the scent of jasmine and bath oils. Through the mist, he saw her. Karina reclined in the bathtub, her body hidden beneath a mountain of white foam and floating rose petals, red and pink, scattered across the water's surface like drops of blood and kisses. But the foam couldn't hide everything. He could see the curve of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples breaking through the bubbles. Her shoulders were bare, glistening with water, her hair piled messily on top of her head, tendrils escaping to frame her face.

She looked like a goddess emerging from a cloud. Like a dream he'd been too afraid to have.

"Join me," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Karina..." His voice cracked. "The scene is cancelled. You said..."

"The scene is cancelled," she agreed, her eyes dark and endless. "But this isn't about the scene anymore, Henry. This is about us. It's been about us for a long time, hasn't it?"

He couldn't speak. He could only nod, his throat tight.

"I've wanted you," she continued, her hand emerging from the water to beckon him closer. "Not for acting. Not for practice. Just... you. In this tub. With me. Now."

Henry moved like a man in a dream. He stripped quickly, his clothes falling in a heap on the tile floor. When he was naked, he paused, letting her look her fill at his body, lean from running, scarred from childhood accidents, his cock already half-hard and growing under her gaze.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

He stepped into the tub, the water hot and silky against his skin, and sank down opposite her. The tub was large, but not large enough, they had to draw their knees up, their legs intertwining, her foot brushing against his thigh, his calf sliding against her hip. The water lapped at their chests, the foam shifting to reveal glimpses of her body, her collarbone, the swell of her breast, the dark shadow between her legs.

"Come here," she murmured.

He slid forward, kneeling between her spread legs, the water rising around them. She sat up, her breasts breaking the surface, foam clinging to her nipples like snow. He reached for her, his hands finding her waist, and pulled her against him. Her wet skin slid against his, slick and hot, her breasts flattening against his chest.

They kissed, slow and deep, tasting wine and mint and each other. His hands roamed her back, her sides, cupping her ass beneath the water, lifting her slightly so she could feel his hardness pressing against her stomach. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him close.

"Let me wash you," she whispered against his lips.

She reached for the soap, a bar of French lavender, and worked it between her hands until they were slick with lather. Then she touched him, his shoulders first, massaging the tense muscles there, working down his arms, across his chest. Her soapy hands slid over his nipples, making him gasp, then lower, over his stomach, following the trail of hair downward.

"Karina..."

"Shh," she soothed, her hand closing around his cock under the water. She stroked him slowly, the soap making her grip slippery, her thumb circling his sensitive head. "Just feel."

He groaned, his head falling back, his hips bucking into her touch. She worked him with one hand while the other explored, his thighs, his hips, his balls, cupping them gently, rolling them in her palm.

"My turn," he growled, taking the soap from her.

He lathered his hands and touched her with reverence, her neck, her collarbones, the hollow of her throat. He washed her breasts slowly, circling the soap around each mound, over each nipple, pinching them gently between slippery fingers until she was panting, her back arching into his touch. He moved lower, over her stomach, her hips, then between her legs, his soapy fingers finding her clit, rubbing in slow, torturous circles.

"Henry~oh god~"

"You're so wet," he murmured, his fingers sliding through her folds, dipping inside her, feeling her heat even in the warm water. "Not just from the bath."

"For you," she gasped, grinding against his hand. "All for you. Always."

He kissed her again, harder this time, his fingers working her faster, feeling her tighten around him, feeling her pleasure build. She came with a cry that echoed off the tile, her body shuddering, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Bedroom," she panted when she could speak again. "Now. I need you inside me."

They rose, water cascading off their bodies, leaving them glistening and flushed. Henry grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, lifting her out of the tub, carrying her bridal-style to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, the towel falling away, her body bare and wet and perfect beneath him.

He covered her with his body, his mouth finding hers, then her neck, her breasts. He sucked her nipples hard, drawing cries from her throat, his hand finding her wetness again, preparing her, stretching her with his fingers until she was begging, writhing beneath him.

"Please, Henry. Please, I need you. Fuck me. Now."

He positioned himself at her entrance, his cock throbbing, leaking precum onto her thigh. He looked down at her—her hair spread across the pillow, her eyes dark with desire, her lips swollen from his kisses, and pushed inside.

They both cried out. She was tight, impossibly tight, her heat enveloping him, sucking him in. He filled her completely, bottoming out against her cervix, and paused there, letting her adjust, feeling her walls flutter around him.

"Move," she begged, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heels digging into his ass. "Please, Henry. Fuck me."

He withdrew slowly, almost completely, then slammed back in, making her scream. He set a rhythm, hard and deep, their bodies slapping together, wet skin on wet skin. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, and he bent his head to capture a nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

"Yes~yes~like that~don't stop~"

He flipped them, pulling her on top of him, his hands gripping her hips as she rode him. She ground down against him, her clit rubbing against his pelvis, her hands braced on his chest. He watched her, mesmerized, her head thrown back, her breasts swaying, her wet hair dripping onto his skin.

"Touch yourself," he commanded. "Show me how you like it."

She did, her hand sliding between her legs, her fingers circling her clit as she bounced on his cock. The sight was too much, her pleasuring herself while he filled her, her abandon, her beauty. He felt his orgasm building, his balls tightening, his spine tingling.

"Come with me," he gritted out, his fingers digging into her hips, guiding her rhythm. "Karina, come with me. Now."

She shattered, her walls clamping down on him like a vice, her scream tearing from her throat. He followed, his cock pulsing, spilling inside her in hot, thick spurts, filling her completely, marking her as his.

She collapsed forward, her body covering his, both of them panting, trembling, their hearts hammering against each other. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his cock still buried inside her, still twitching with aftershocks.

"Henry?" she whispered against his neck.

"Yeah?"

"The scene might be cancelled," she said softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "But this... this is just beginning, right?"

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, and rolled them onto their sides, still joined, still tangled. "This is definitely just beginning," he agreed, tucking her against him. "We have a lot of... rehearsing... to do."

Pathetic.

And now, you’re helplessly freestyle skating on a cliff.

“AW! AGH! OUCH!” You rolled like a damn pinball.

“Ah-AGUUUHHH—” You crashed straight into a tree trunk—smashed your eggs into an omelette.

After a moment of endless suffering, the fall finally stopped. So what? You’re battered up anyway.

“Shit.” You can’t even stand straight.

“Why the fuck did I go after a naked woman! I knew that was a bad idea, but that girl kept wiggling her ass at me as if she had a tail— a tail.

You definitely saw a tail earlier; that’s the reason why you chased her.

“It’s something… no woman had a tail, right? Should I look for her?”

You scanned your surroundings; aside from dried trees and massive rocks, there was an endless darkness beyond.

“Why the fuck should I still look for her?”

You shake off the dust from your clothes and limp to find a way. You already fucked up the moment you went after her, and yet you even have the guts to consider looking for her.

You kept walking.

Every step’s draining your remaining energy; you should conserve it.

“Fuck, I’m lost.” You’re just walking non-stop.

“Pst.”

A voice out of nowhere.

“Huh!? Who’s there!?” You’re terrified.

You looked at the location where the voice came from, but there’s nothing. Just darkness.

“Show yourself!” You yelled at nothing.

“Wait! Slowly… please.” For a second thought, you’re kind of scared and might faint if it suddenly pops.

The fact that the voice wasn’t from a woman, it’s deeper.

“Pst.”

“WAAAH! What!? Don’t kill me! Sorry! Spare me!” Your feet stumbled in panic.

You wanted to run, but you can’t.

You wanted to plead for mercy, so you just muttered sorry.

“Why are you here?”

A question that you can easily answer, but you can’t speak, your tongue got stuck while your jaw’s numb.

There’s a reason why, the reason is hiding in the bushes beside you.

Sharp eyes, large white silhouette, white fangs.

“WAAHHH! Don’t eat me! I don’t taste that good! Here— pwe! Salty! Pwee!” You bit your arm, trying to prove something.

“I’m not eating you… yet.”

“WAHHH! MOM! DAD!” Your butt scrapes the ground.

Stomp.

“WAAAH!” You kicked your feet rapidly, but you ain’t moving.

Stomp.

Step after step, it’s heavy for sure.

Then the moonlight shone through its leg, its foot alone enough to scare you even more.

It’s massive, chunky, and scaly; it wasn’t human, and definitely wasn’t any animal that you could encounter in a secluded forest.

“Haa…” It took another step.

The leg alone is much bigger than your body.

“...”

You can’t run anymore, since running will be meaningless in front of a dragon. A white dragon.

“D-d-d-dragon…. DRAGON! HAAA— AW!” Its monstrous wing slapped you.

“You’re noisy.” Its voice is a little calmer this time, its… sounds like a woman.

“WAHH– Oh— okay.” You instantly behaved when you saw its wing move. Another slap will dislocate your jaw in an instant.

“...”

In that moment of silence, the dragon is just staring at you. It must have been thinking whether to eat you raw or cook you with its fire breath.

“Please!” You knelt, head on the ground, hands clasped in the air.

“As I said, I’m not cooking you… yet.”

“What’s with the— YET?” You mimicked the way the dragon said it.

“You’re not burning me, aren’t you!?” You added, it must be right, you just said you're salty, a little effort to torch must taste good since you're already seasoned up with dust!

It sits, you think— it was even wagging its tail!

“Tail?” Now you remember why you were there.

A naked lady with its wagging tail… so, it was a trap! To lure a pervert minded guy like you all the way to its nest.

You’re dead meat, literally. A food just walks straight into its lair.

“Please!” You had no choice but to plead mercy.

“What do you prefer? Rare, medium rare, or well done?” The dragon’s wing poked your shoulder. It must be testing if you're tender enough.

“Well done!” You answered instantly, in that way you could think of a way to escape— but upon realizing that it was just a slow death…

“Rare! I mean rare’s better!” Yes, the right way. You can resist a few burns, and it can eat you right away— but you can’t run…

“Medium rare! Final answer!” It’s like a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire scene, but it was a Who Wants to Be a Skewer instead.

Either of the three choices, you’re fucked up. You’re destined to be eaten!

“Please… not me, mighty dragon of all dragons! I can bring you tasty foods instead.” You thought of bringing your friends instead if the dragon agreed. What a friend.

“But, I want you… You did not hesitate to follow me, a naked woman.”

“...”

That’s it! One of your guesses just came true. You’ve been lured to be eaten—

“WAAHH– AW! Now you’re tenderizing the meat! WAHHH!” You forgot for a second that the dragon doesn’t want noise, so the tail slapped you this time around.

“Breed me.” The dragon said.

“WAHHH! First you season me, now you’re breading me before frying me!?” You cried.

“...”

“...”

“Huh? B-b-b-breed!?” You absolutely heard it wrong.

“Yes, breed.” The dragon insists.

You tilt your head, and the dragon mirrors your action.

“You did not bite your tongue or something? Do you mean bread or breed?”

“No.” The dragon licked your whole body.

“YOU DEFINITELY SAID BREAD! LOOK AT YOU TASTING ME!” In just one lick, you’re instantly covered in sticky liquid.

“I said breed. Breed functions as both a verb (to reproduce, raise, or cause) and a noun (a distinct variety of animal/plant, or a particular type of person/thing).” It explained.

This dragon’s hella smart.

“You sure a dragon? Not a dinosaur, you speak like a thesaurus… You know, dinosaurs have this saurus kind of thingy in their name.” For a second, you forgot you’re speaking with a dragon.

“No, I’m a dragon, you’re here after getting drag-on.” The dragon surprisingly joked back.

“...”

It’s not funny, the dragon just basically admitted it lures you in! Time to face reality, it’s either it’ll eat you, or you breed it…?

“Wait! If what you said is true? Will you spare me if I agree to breed you?”

Honestly, you’re not into bestiality, but you had no choice. Breed or dead? Damn, those two rhymed.

“Yes. No need to bring your friends, you’re enough. You did not hesitate to follow the illusion I made, the naked woman, which means your libido is strong.” You did not get the dragon’s logic, but you can’t admit that you’re just horny either.

“Yes.” You simply nod.

“If everything’s clear, then we can start.” The dragon turns around.

Back shots for a dragon? Must be insane.

“Okay…” You hurriedly stripped off your pants, then your underwear. It wasn’t because you’re looking forward to it; it's just because you wanted to live.

You approached the dragon, the tail’s on the way. You grabbed to move it—

“AGHH!! OUCH!” It slapped you, harder this time.

“WAHH!” The dragon shrieked; it must be startled by you. “Don’t suddenly touch my tail!” It roared.

“S-sorry!” You quickly apologized, the dragon might eat you anytime now. “B-but, there’s no hole! I’m looking for the hole! The tail’s on the way!” You followed up with your reasons.

“What hole? Can’t you see I’m transforming!?”

“Transforming?” You’re confused, but who wouldn’t?

“My human form. Wait a second.” The dragon lit up. It’s as bright as the moonlight.

“...”

The dragon’s silhouette slowly changed into a slim woman. The light glow eventually dimmed.

There she is, her human form. Naked, pure, and her dragon features prominently strong.

“Wow…” You fell in love, you knew it, your heart and dick knew it.

“When I’m with this form, they call me Yeji.” She elegantly bowed.

A soft woman like her is a contrast to the scary dragon you met a while ago.

“Yeji… what a beautiful name… as beautiful as you.” You muttered, mouths agape, amused by her beauty.

“Thank you.” She smiled.

Her eyes, her skin, her face, her tits, her waist, her pussy, her thighs, her knees, her toes. Everything’s perfect.

“Ten out of ten.” You nodded, and your dick salutes.

“Excuse me?” She’s puzzled by your sudden rating.

“I mean, ten— what are we wai-ten for? Let’s breed.” You voluntarily approached her, grabbing her by the waist, and feel her smooth skin.

No scales, just pure butter.

“Sure, master.” She kissed you. Her lips are as soft as a bun; they taste sweet and tangy, a dragon’s kiss.

You kissed back, a warrior who was desperately fighting for his life, risking it all by making love with a dragon.

Tongues slithering like a sword clashing, an intense fight for two strangers who just weirdly met and are now intimate.

“How did you know that?” You muttered through the kiss, steam seeping out in between your glued mouths. For a moment, you were scared to see a faint smoke; she might spit fire.

“What?” She paused from kissing you.

“That I’m a master.” You joked and squeezed her butt.

“Master?” She still didn’t get it, her hands sliding from your sides to your hard dick.

“Masterbaiter.” That’s it, a man’s past time. Mostly sports guys, playing different kinds of balls.

“Of course, because I’m a masterbaiter, too. You took the naked woman bait, remember?” She stroked your dick, like taming your wild beast.

“I’m glad I took it.” You admitted.

You hate the fact that chasing that naked woman caused you unfortune, but who knows, you’ll get to be a daddy of dragons instead, you little dra-ddy.

“Stop playin’ and breed me.” She hissed.

The moonshine put a spotlight on both of you. She rides you intensely, her insides gripping your tube like a vice grip. A few more pumps, you’re about to leak.

“Ahhh~ Ahhh~ Human~ Breed me~” She kept on riding.

The dragon’s riding the human, what a reversal.

“Let’s populate~” She kept bouncing, her tits bouncing as well.

“Populate? You sound like you’re hatching an egg in just days.” You reach for her breast like a baby in a crib reaching for the stars at the ceiling.

“Yes~ Ahng~” She leaned in, giving you enough distance for you to reach her breast. You squeezed it instantly.

“AHHH!” She spits fire.

You hurriedly put your hands on her waist instead.

“Yeji… then… We’ll have sex now and then?” You’re keeping your cool, but the fact is you’re about to cum.

You’re just holding it; you need the answer.

“Yes! You’ll live here with me… hngg~ in the forest! Raise our kids~ and be a father!” She rested her ass and rolled her hips.

She damn knew what method could make you cum.

“H-h-huh? Live here? Hnngg~ but Yeji! AHHH~” You cum. She’s too much for you to handle.

Your dick blew thick fluids in the depths of her dragon–human anatomy or whatever her womb must be right now. A pussy’s still a pussy, then womb’s still a womb. You kept planting seed inside her.

How many eggs will she lay? Three? Four? You might have quandroplets of baby dragons in a week.

“Hngg~ one more.” She moved her hips again.

“AHHH! Yeji~” You’re still sensitive.

So that’s why the dragon was perceived as a wild myth and a strong creature. She’s limitless, and probably can go rounds after rounds.

You can’t run now.

You realized that agreeing to breed her was your biggest mistake.

She’s planning to make you the father of her babies, the great founder of the dragon army. 

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Help me…” You lost ten pounds of liquid in a night, and there’s more to go.

*****

“A man has been missing for a month. His last track had been found on this cliff, which led to the notorious dragon’s cliff. The forest below it is said to shelter the ancient dragons who ruled Korea before humans took control over the country. The officials had finally concluded the case as closed; we wish that man and his soul a warm goodbye. I’m Jung Min Jun, reporting.”

The media had packed up; you can see them at the top of the cliff.

“He…lp…” You’re drained, exhausted.

“Papa, Ms. Dragon Shin is here.”

“D-d-d-dragon Shin? Isn’t your mom dragon Hwang?” You wonder what the hell one of your kids says?

“Oh, there you are. My clan needs a father, breed me.”

You could feel yourself gushing when Billie turns to face you, slowly making her way to her with a borderline maniacal smile on her lips, her long fingers slowly unzipping her jeans.

“You’re not going anywhere but to poundtown, baby,” Billie husks, hovering over you, sending shivers all over your body. “Seems like you’re basically a permanent resident there, too.”

You groan at the terrible joke, feeling yourself being even more turned off yet somehow even more turned on at Billie’s horrible taste in humour and what she could only think to be her version of dirty talk.

But that somehow has her even more addicted.

“Take your pants off, princess,” Billie grins, and you nearly moan at the nickname—the one that she usually used teasingly had a whole different effect on you under these circumstances. “I wanna see you.”

You comply uncharacteristically obediently, a huge contrast from your not sex activities. You shimmy your way out of your rather tight shorts with help from Billie, who chucks it across your room.

Billie’s smirk grows wider when she sees your cute pink panties, so soaked with your arousal that it was nearly see-through. She caresses it with her fingers, making sure she was grazing over your clit, leaving you mewling.

Billie slips off your panties rather easily, licking her lips as if she hasn’t eaten in days at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with your slick and looking oh-so-welcoming.

“Someone’s been missing me,” Billie chuckles as she whips her cock out from inside her briefs, stroking it languidly and spreading her precum all over her length as her other hand inserts a finger into you, who claws at the sheets, already feeling overwhelmed. “You’re a waterpark, and I’m an excited kid on holiday.”

Maybe Billie being normal and talking dirty normally is too much to ask.

“God, fucking—Billie, please just fuck me already,” you groan in exasperation as your hole clenches desperately around her finger, which was far from the usual girth that you’d grown accustomed to. “You’re so annoying.”

“Geez, okay, I was just trying to prep you,” Billie frowns as she pulls her finger out of your hole, drenched in fluid, putting it into her mouth and sucking. “You taste decent.”

You roll your eyes, but you find your eyes rolling far back than you’d intended when Billie’s length rammed into you at full strength, hitting the deepest part within you that none of your toys had managed to reach.

“So tight,” Billie growls, grabbing your waist and readjusting herself before moving her hips, and you whine when Billie’s length plunges in and out of you, grazing against your walls, white hot pleasure flowing through your veins.

“Fuck—Billie—ah!” You whine when Billie tugs at your ankles, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and throwing your legs over her shoulders. “Oh my god—”

You’ve done this enough times for Billie to know you enjoyed taking it rough—you loved to have the living daylights fucked out of you, to be manhandled and dominated like the slut you were, to be marked everywhere with dark hickeys as a fond reminder of the person who has you begging and screaming every night—but Billie couldn’t know that.

Of course, Billie had her secrets too—she couldn’t deny that the only person who came to mind whenever she needed to blow off steam was you, the girl whom she resented with her whole being, her biggest weakness. Soft grunts leaving her lips as she tugged herself to the thought of that bobbed hair, those soft lips, the bratty attitude, the infuriatingly pretty face with brown doe eyes to match, the small hands that clawed at her back or grabbed desperately at her arms every time—

She’d get hard just at the memory of you under her, whimpering, writhing, begging, sobbing as you gave in and left your pride at the door, leaving the most vulnerable part of you out for Billie to bathe in—the one that screamed her name for everyone to hear; the one that grabbed tightly onto Billie, pulling her close, as if you’d die if your skin didn’t touch; the one that allowed Billie to do whatever she wanted with you.

Billie—please, I need you—

Fuck me harder, I’m yours…

“How long have you waited for this?” Billie asks, her voice huskier than usual, making you gush just a little more. “I know you must’ve been humping everything you could see while waiting for me to come back… horny little whore.”

You were shameless, anyone who knew you knew this, but Billie was privileged—or not—enough to see the most shameless side of you, the side that casually asked for her to send dickprint pics, full dick pics, and even videos of herself jerking off with the sound on so you could touch yourself when Billie was away at some interstate tournament.

Billie was more than happy to comply—it was the second-best option, unless Billie was okay with chopping her dick off and shipping it back to your house.

You reciprocated too, sending Billie the most lecherous, debauched pictures of yourself when you knew Billie had practice or was in class with a teacher that targeted specifically her for whatever reason—a picture of your bare body, porcelain skin boasting all the marks Billie had left on you previously; a mirror picture of yourself wearing Billie’s oversized shirts or hoodies that you love to steal, the both of them knowing full well that you had nothing on underneath; a selfie of yourself in the shower, soapy tits in full view with the caption ‘if only you were here’ paired with a vomiting emoji.

People don’t usually send nudes to the people they hate, but people don’t usually have sex with their enemies on a daily basis, either.

Leave it to these two to be in denial.

“N—No,” you huff, face flushed from how hard Billie was pounding into you, fingers clawing at the sheets to keep yourself grounded. “I’m—not that—ah fuck, right there, please—”

“Yeah?” Billie smirks, taking one of her hands off your hips to tug your blouse and bra up, revealing your perfect perky tits, and you couldn’t help but giggle at Billie’s expression, eyes wide open as if it was her first time seeing boobs, but for Billie, seeing your tits never got old.

Billie dips down, sucking on a nipple and drawing a loud moan from you. It’s no secret that you enjoy having your tits sucked on—especially if it was Billie Eilish (only if it was her, actually)—and you scream when Billie lightly bites, so overstimulated you could cry.

One thing you like about Billie that wasn’t her cock, was that she paid equal attention to both your tits, one of her hands massaging a boob while she sucked the other, all the while her thrusts never faltered, maintaining the same steady pace that had you writhing.

One of your hands move to tug at Billie’s hair while the other clawed at the fabric of her hoodie, which you were disappointed she hadn’t taken off. Billie looks up from sucking on your tits, and your heart flutters when you see the puppylike expression on her face, her chin wet with saliva and pupils blown wide.

You had established several unspoken rules ever since the start of this arrangement, with one of them being no kissing, for obvious reasons, but now, with Billie’s face so close and so kissable, you had to physically restrain yourself from pulling her stupid face into a stupid little kiss.

You can kiss someone without meaning!

Right.

Billie, meanwhile, was impossibly hard, and the sight of you still donning her letterman while getting pounded made her somehow harder than she already was.

There was something so arousing about seeing the bane of your existence wear something that belongs to you whilst simultaneously submitting her body for your use. With Billie’s name on her letterman, it felt as if you were branded, reduced to simply a belonging, a toy that Billie owned.

Finally opening your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, you feel yourself become impossibly more aroused at the sight before you—Billie’s eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back, sweat pouring down her face and nails digging into the skin of your thighs as she rammed her cock into you over and over again with commendable stamina—she wasn’t the star football player for no reason, anyway.

If only you had the strength and flexibility to rip that stupid hoodie off her—which fucking loser wears a hoodie while fucking one of the hottest girls in school?

Billie Eilish, apparently.

Your back arches off the bed when Billie hits that one spot inside you that has you whimpering, and that spurs Billie on, her climax just at her fingertips. The jock grunts as she pushes your legs up to your chest for a better angle, making sure not to hurt you as she continues pounding away like nobody’s business.

“Shit,” Billie grits her teeth, breathing harshly beside your ear. “Ah fuck—”

“Gonna cum for me, baby girl?” you still manage to tease despite being in the midst of getting railed to filth, and in response, Billie just fucks you harder, making you jerk with every movement.

“Shut up,” Billie hisses, sinking her teeth into the side of your neck, earning a choked cry from you.

“Don’t—no marks, Bi—llie—shit!”

“I don’t care,” Billie borderline growls, making you feel scared and aroused at once. She continues to nip at your sensitive skin, licking over each bite to soothe. “Let people see what a slut you are—I want them to know who you belong to.”

That was the tipping point for you—you come, loud and hard, your thighs shaking from the sheer intensity of your orgasm as you scream into Billie’s neck, fingers clawing at her back when Billie continues moving her hips, sending you into overdrive.

“Fuck shit oh my god—” Billie groans as she finally reaches her climax, plunging her cock deep into your womb before unloading, hot semen splattering all over your walls.

Billie finally goes limp, flopping onto you with a whine, her heartbeat racing in her chest.

“Oh my god,” you rasp, your voice almost completely gone from all the wild fucking. You grunt, pushing Billie off of you and making her roll onto her back. “You came so much.”

Billie lifts her head just enough to see your ruined pussy, white liquid dripping out of your hole, and she smirks to herself in satisfaction.

“Please tell me you’re on the pill,” Billie groans, her limp cock sticky and uncomfortable against her stomach.

“What if I wasn’t?”

“I’d pay for plan B, I’m not about to become your baby daddy,” Billie teases, earning a weak slap on the shoulder from you.

“Also, I’ve been meaning to ask,” you turn to face Billie, who seemed to be experiencing post-nut clarity, a blank look in her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling. “What does the number on the back of your letterman mean?”

Billie flushes, and a look of panic enters her face at the unexpected question.

“It’s random,” Billie simply responds, shrugging. “It’s—a nice number. But it’s nothing. Really. I think you should go to sleep.”

You merely scoff at that—usually you’d taunt Billie ’till she gave in, but the post-fuck tiredness was creeping into your system, and it wasn’t long before you eventually give in to the shackles of slumber. You roll onto your side, inching yourself closer towards Billie before snuggling up against her chest, much to the jock's surprise.

“Um,” Billie coughs, blushing at the sudden affection—as if she wasn’t just inside you not one minute ago—but she doesn’t make a move to push you off her, oddly comforted by the gesture, albeit foreign.

“Good night, I guess.”

Billie just lies there in silence, still half naked, a million thoughts running through her mind, with at least a quarter of them being you.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have time to drown in her current crisis as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway snaps her out of her thoughts, reeling her back into reality.

It was eight in the evening, your parents were home, and their daughter was naked in bed with the daughter of their business partners.

Fuck.

Billie quietly makes her way out of bed, careful not to wake you, and begins to straighten herself up, trying her best to not make it obvious to your parents that she’d just banged their daughter. She covers you with the blanket before standing there and watching you somewhat awkwardly, the only noise filling the room being your soft breathing.

For the first time, a room was quiet while they were both in it.

Billie’s eyes trailed over your sleeping form, still draped in her letterman, the red fabric eye-catching as ever, but Billie decides to leave you be—she doesn’t have the heart to take it back.

“See you tomorrow,” Billie whispers before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

“Oh, Billie! Fancy seeing you here!” Your mother greets her as she descended the stairs. “Working on another project again, I suppose?”

“Ah, um, yes,” Billie stutters, putting on her most parent-friendly smile she could muster. “We didn’t even realise how late it was. Sorry about the disruption.”

“It’s all fine, how’s my daughter?” Your father pipes in, taking off his coat by the front door.

“She’s asleep already,” Billie replies, hoping they wouldn’t question why their eighteen-year-old was already asleep at eight in the evening.

“Wow, this early? Must’ve been a rough day, yeah?” your dad laughs, and Billie flushes. “Well, you should probably get on your way, I bet your parents must be worried.”

“Oh, for sure, see you soon Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” Billie nods, not waiting for a response as she bolts out the front door.

What a night.

Billie smiles to herself after sending the last message, but she doesn’t even get a second to come to her senses and wipe the stupid lovesick grin off her face before Zoe came slithering up to her.

“You didn’t tell me?” Zoe shrills, eyes wide open and hands gripping her shoulders.

“Tell you what?” Billie blinks, a million possibilities running through her mind. Are all her past mistakes coming back to bite her in the ass? Did the security guard snitch? Did the principal finally find out that she was the one who called him a ‘pedo wanker’?

“You and y/n are a thing?” Zoe blinks back, and Billie was equally as surprised as she was.

“What—what makes you think that?”

“She came in with your letterman!” Zoe practically screams at her face. “Your name and all—I thought we were friends, Billie. You said you’d tell me anything! But it's honestly about fucking time. Me and Ava were kinda betting on it.”

Billie doesn’t register anything past ‘letterman’, and before she could properly respond, she sees none other than you yourself strut into her line of sight, proudly sporting her letterman which was far too big for you, making heads turn for more than one reason now.

Despite being partially out of it, Billie swears she could hear the hushed gossip of the students around her—

" The star quarterback and hottest cheerleader are banging? "

" I called it! "

" They’re probably the ones who fucked on the stairs that time. "

" I mean, they look good together. "

" I thought they hated each other! "

" Plot twist? "

“Hey,” you are also donning a smirk on your lips as you approached Billie, who was looking you up and down as if she’s never seen you in her life. “Good morning.”

“Good—morning,” Billie stutters, too shocked to realise that Eunchae had scrambled away to give them ‘privacy’.

“You don’t look very happy to see me,” you frown, tilting your head and revealing the dark marks Billie had left on the left side of your neck from last night. Billie shivers at the memory, still fresh in her mind.

“My letterman,” Billie were the only words she could manage, her tongue feeling like it’s been tied into a hundred knots—she's never felt like this before, what the fuck was happening?

“You left it at my place last night,” you grin, and Billie winces at the sheer volume of your voice, as if you want everyone around them to know. “You can tell me if you want it back.”

“No,” Billie blurts out, surprising both herself and you. “Um, I mean, you can… keep it.”

“How sweet of you,” you purr, settling yourself onto Billie’s lap so naturally it’s as if you've done this a million times before (you have).

Billie’s mind is completely blank, but her cock was reacting for her, starting to harden underneath you, who could obviously feel it, your smirk widening.

Today was going to be a long day.

Og writer : oatbowl

One Shots:

* = smut 😝, ~ = angst, ♡ = fluff, ♤ = spicy, ♧ = dark (mean/toxic)

Natasha Romanoff

She has You. ~♡*

On The Run...*

Mini Natasha♡

Baby Romanoff♡

Run, Run Run... *♧♡

Save A Horse*

Strikingly So... (daddy kink vers.)

Strikingly So... (no daddy kink.)

Filled Up*

Lil' Bulge*

Get You Back. ~♡

Rosey*

Anniversary*

Insecure ~♡

Anniversary*

Babysitter (1) ♤

Babysitter (2) ♤

Bulging Boxers ♤

Tied Up*

Guess*

Kitchen Island~♤

So Soaked*♡

As You Wish ♤ (lil bit~)

Zora Bennet

"You shouldn't have."~♤

More to come...

Mini Series:

She's 'Busy'.

She's... 'busy'?~♧ part 1.

She's 'sorry'... ~♧ part 2.

She wants to talk.~♡ Part 3. (Fluff version)

She wants to talk. ~ (Angst version)

The One Where She Explains ~♡

Her Benefits

Her Benefits~*♧

Part 2. ~♧(♡?)

Part 3.♡

Part 4. (Tiny bit ~)

Series:

Don't Hate The Player, Hate The Game.

Summary: Basically, Natasha is a player. She accepted a bet at a party to make you fall in love with her in 3 months.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, cringe flirting, mentions of Kate and Yelena, sex talk (inappropriate comments and jokes), mentions of drinking and drinking, drugs (weed)

(Inspo from the movie 'She's All That' and 'After' combined with an imagination of my own. ✨️)

Chapter 1. Party Time

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

...

_ __ _ __ _ __ _ __ _ __ _ __

Lost and Found:

Summary: Inspired by the love story of Bill and Frank from The Last of Us. Imma mix in some of The Walking Dead in here too... 👀

Warnings: Violence (guns and knives), zombies (walkers, clickers), swearing, drinking, and sex later down the line. Slow burn(??), angst, death, murder. Age gap romance??? Uhm... Nat is older but not specified yet.

Chapter 1. Lost

Chapter 2. Liability.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

...

Stalker!Nat

Summary: Natasha has been stalking you for a while now. She's finally worked up the courage to talk to you and get you to fall for her.

TW: Stalker!G¡PNat, you're getting stalked. Nat is obsessed with you. Smut... eventually.

Watched♧ pt 1.

Watched pt. 2

_ __ _ __ _ __ _ __ _ __ _ __

😝 (Will be continued updating 👀)

I woke up before my alarm, stared at the ceiling for three full minutes, and tried to remember what part of yesterday had been real. TWICE had visited the Top Floor. ITZY had signed the NDAs. Jihyo had revealed the TWICE arrangement with John. Mina and I had almost been accused of planning a polite corporate takeover. Ryujin had demonstrated things with couch cushions. Yuna had narrated her first time like a coming-of-age film with legal protection. Nayeon had asked John to punish her in front of everyone. I had smoked. Yeji had kissed me in front of the room. Then told me that was the last kiss I would get if I didn’t stop smoking.

Then I had apparently survived dinner, tattoo accusations, almost-wife allegations, and an impending temporary tattoo appointment that now involved Yeji choosing placement and font.

I closed my eyes “Outstanding.”

Beside me, Yeji shifted. Not fully awake yet. But awake enough “You’re thinking too loudly.” I turned my head. She was lying on her side, hair loose against the pillow, eyes still half-closed but already judging me with terrifying accuracy “I am silently suffering.”

“You do that loudly.” “That feels unfair.” “You earned unfair.”

I smiled despite myself. She opened one eye “Don’t look cute. I’m still mad.”

“That implies I look cute.”

“Benjie.” I immediately stopped smiling. Mostly. Yeji sighed and sat up, pulling the blanket around herself. The morning light softened her face, but not enough to hide the fact that she was already preparing herself for the day.

Leader mode. Girlfriend mode. Wife voice in reserve. Terrifying combination “We need a gameplan,” she said. I pushed myself up against the headboard “For JYP?”

“For everything.”

That was worse because it was correct. She counted on her fingers “JYP. The retreat cover. Mina and the money. John and Jihyo’s role. The tattoo appointment. Yuna’s vacation plan. Ryujin not committing crimes. Chaeryeong and Lia shopping. And you not buying another establishment because someone annoys you.” I looked at her “That last one feels targeted.”

“It is.” “Good to know.”

Yeji reached for her phone and checked the time “We leave in two hours.”

“For JYP.”

“For JYP first,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. “Then Frankie.” I had made the mistake of telling her the tattoo artist’s name last night. Now she said it like someone had entered a witness protection list “It’s temporary,” I reminded her.

“And I choose placement.” “You choose placement.” “And font.” “And no portrait.”

“No portrait.” “And no wedding date.” “For now.”

She turned her whole head toward me. I looked away “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” She threw a pillow at me. I caught it. That was when the bedroom door opened without permission. Ryujin leaned in “Are you decent?” Yeji clutched the blanket higher “Ryujin!” Ryujin looked at her. Then at me. Then at the pillow in my hands.

“Emotionally, no. Physically, probably.” “Get out,” Yeji said. “I’m here for the morning briefing.” “There is no morning briefing in our bedroom.” “Our?”

The silence changed. Ryujin’s smile widened. Yeji closed her eyes “Leave.” Ryujin pointed into the room “She said our.”

“I heard it,” Yuna called from the hallway. Lia’s voice followed, tired and resigned “Everyone heard it.” Chaeryeong added softly, “I was trying not to.” I looked at Yeji. Yeji looked at me. Her face turned pink before she pulled the blanket over her head. Ryujin grinned.

“Great. Breakfast in ten. Your wife has assignments.” “I am not his wife!” Yeji shouted from under the blanket. “Yet!” Yuna shouted back.

Ryujin closed the door before Yeji could throw the second pillow. I sat very still. Under the blanket, Yeji said, “Do not laugh.”

“I would never.” “You’re smiling.” “I am emotionally licensed to be happy.”

The blanket lowered just enough for one eye to glare at me.

“I hate that sentence.” “You loved it last night.” “I tolerated it under duress.” “Marriage duress?”

The pillow hit me directly in the face.

Breakfast was less a meal and more a tactical deployment. Yuna had taken over one side of the kitchen island with a notebook, a tablet, two pens, and the expression of a woman who had been given responsibility and planned to make it everyone else’s problem. Chaeryeong was checking the pantry. Lia was making a list on her phone. Ryujin was eating cereal directly from the box again, which meant civilization had already failed. Yeji sat beside me, still radiating mild anger, while pretending she was not leaning close enough for her knee to brush mine.

I accepted this as progress. Yuna tapped her pen against the notebook “Okay. Vacation pitch.”

“No,” Lia said immediately. Yuna frowned “You haven’t heard it.” “You started with a title voice.” “It needs a title.” “It needs JYP approval first.” Yuna waved a hand “Details.” “They are not details,” Chaeryeong said from inside the pantry. Yuna ignored that “I am preparing the vacation activities pitch for everyone. If we’re getting a week—” “If,” I said. Yuna looked at me “When.” “That is not better.” “It is more confident.” “It is more dangerous.”

Ryujin lowered the cereal box “What if JYP says no?” Yuna looked personally offended “Then Ben and Mina accidentally become a problem again.” Yeji turned toward her “Yuna.”

“What? I said accidentally.” Lia looked at me over her cup “Your influence is terrible.” “I have been saying that.”

Chaeryeong came out of the pantry with a haunted expression “Momo sunbaenim ate everything.” Ryujin nodded solemnly “Biblical.” Chaeryeong looked genuinely distressed “I stocked for three days.” “She is TWICE’s final boss,” Yuna said. “Momo is not a final boss,” Lia said. “She ate like one,” Ryujin replied. Chaeryeong looked at me “I need to restock.”

“Use my card.” Yeji turned toward me immediately. I lifted both hands “Not buying the grocery store. Just groceries.” She watched me for a second. Then nodded “For now.” I sent a quick message to my accountant. Before I could put the phone down, it buzzed. I read the reply and sighed. Lia noticed “What?” “My accountant says he is happy to oblige as long as the shopping request is from Chaeryeong.”

Yuna slowly looked up from her notebook “Excuse me?” I read the message aloud “‘If it is Ms. Chaeryeong, absolutely. Please tell her she may purchase whatever pantry supplies she needs. If it is Ms. Yuna, I require itemized pre-approval after the spa incident.’”

The kitchen erupted. Yuna’s mouth dropped open “That was one time.” Lia looked at her “It was not one time.”

“It was one spa arc.” Ryujin pointed at her “You traumatized the man.” “I improved his exposure to luxury wellness.” “You submitted a reimbursement request that had aromatherapy candles categorized as emotional infrastructure.” Yuna lifted her chin “They were.”

Chaeryeong looked between us “Should I itemize?”

“No,” I said. “Buy everything you need.” My phone buzzed again. I glanced down “He added a smiley face for you.” Chaeryeong blinked “For me?”

“Yes.”

Yuna gasped “He never sends me smiley faces.” Lia sipped her drink “That is because you send him invoices that make him question morality.” Yuna pointed at her “You’re also going shopping.” Lia nodded “For vacation needs.” I forwarded her accountant access too. A second later, my phone buzzed again. I read it “‘Approved for Ms. Lia. Sensible purchases expected.’” Yuna slapped the table “This is discrimination.”

“It is pattern recognition,” I said. Ryujin leaned over “What does he say about me?” I stared at her “You are not shopping.” She looked offended “Why?”

“Because your assignment is to try not to do any damage that can’t be undone.” Ryujin froze. Then slowly smiled “That leaves a lot of room.”

“No, it does not.” “It does if you’re creative.” “Ryujin.”

Yeji finally spoke, calm and dangerous. “Do not make me assign you to JYP aegyo TikTok preparation.” Ryujin sat down immediately “Understood.” Yuna whispered, “Wife authority.” Yeji pointed at her without looking “I heard that.” Yuna went back to writing. I stood and adjusted my watch “Yeji is coming with me to JYP.” Everyone looked up. Ryujin grinned “For emotional support?”

“Yes.” Yeji blinked. I continued, “I need my wife around for emotional support during this coup.” The room froze. Yeji turned bright red “Ben.” Ryujin screamed. Yuna nearly fell off her chair. Lia closed her eyes like she had been spiritually defeated. Chaeryeong looked down, smiling despite herself. I corrected smoothly “Jokingly.”

“That correction came too late,” Lia said. Ryujin pointed at Yeji “She reacted before the correction.” Yuna nodded “She liked it.” “I did not like it,” Yeji said.

I looked at her. She looked at me. I smiled. She kicked my ankle under the table, then her hand found mine anyway.

We left before Ryujin could make it worse. Unfortunately, the day had already decided worse was the theme. JYP’s office felt different when there were five of us walking in. Jihyo first, because she had the folder. John beside her, because suffering was apparently his full-time position. Mina behind them, quiet and composed, carrying no visible threat but somehow radiating legal consequences. Then Yeji and me.

JYP was already seated when we entered. He looked from Jihyo to John. Then Mina. Then Yeji. Then to me.  His expression settled into the weary calm of a man watching a storm arrive with paperwork “Why do I feel,” he said slowly, “that this meeting will cost me money?” John muttered, “Because you’re learning.”

Jihyo elbowed him lightly. I bowed “Thank you for seeing us.” JYP looked at me “Benjamin, when you speak politely, I become extremely more concerned.”

“That feels unfair.”

“It is experience.” Mina took a seat without being asked. JYP looked at her. Then at me. Then at Jihyo’s folder. His eyes narrowed “You brought both of them…” Jihyo smiled “I brought structure.” JYP did not smile back “You brought financial equivalent of a small country.” Mina blinked. I blinked. John whispered, “He’s not wrong.” JYP pointed at him.“Do not help them.”

Jihyo opened the folder “We are proposing a senior-junior wellness retreat.” JYP stared at the folder “For TWICE and ITZY.”

“Yes.” “For how long?”

I answered before anyone else could “One week.” Mina said nothing. Yeji sat beside me, straight-backed and composed, looking every bit like the leader who had walked into meetings like this for years and survived worse rooms than this one. JYP looked at the proposal. Then at me. “One week?”

“Yes.” “And the purpose?”

Jihyo took over “Recovery, mentorship, privacy, and controlled decompression after Waterbomb. Publicly, it becomes a senior-junior wellness retreat. TWICE and ITZY. Company-approved. Clean narrative. No speculation.”

JYP listened. He did not interrupt, that somehow felt worse.

Jihyo continued “Schedules would need adjustment. Staff compensation would need coverage. Transportation, security, lodging, privacy, and contingency logistics would all be handled externally.”

“Externally,” JYP repeated. I nodded “I’ll cover ITZY.” Mina nodded “I’ll cover TWICE.”

JYP closed his eyes. John leaned toward him “That reaction is normal.” JYP opened his eyes again “How much?” I slid the estimate forward. Mina placed a second document beside it. JYP looked at the numbers, then he looked at us. Then looked at the estimates again. His face did not change. But his soul did. “You are both insane.”

Mina’s expression remained calm “The numbers are conservative.”

“That makes it worse”. I nodded “It does, actually.” JYP looked at me “You are agreeing with me?”

“On accounting language, yes”. JYP leaned back “I have concerns.”

“Expected,” Jihyo said.

“Good. Then expect many.” He lifted one finger. “First. Moving schedules for one week is already difficult.”

“Yes,” Jihyo said. “Second. Moving both TWICE and ITZY creates speculation.” “We have a cover plan.” “Third. A private location reduces risk but does not remove risk.” “Agreed,” Mina said. “Fourth.” His eyes moved to me. “I do not like how Ben solves everything by means financial flashbanging.”

Yeji’s posture shifted. I looked down. JYP noticed. His voice softened by one degree “I am not saying the care is wrong. I am saying the method is dangerous.”

“I know,” I said. “Do you?”

Yeji answered before I could “He does.” Everyone looked at her. She sat straight. Calm. Leader-like “He knows. That is why he did not come alone.”

That landed. On JYP. On me. On everyone. Yeji continued “ITZY can keep working. We can keep performing. We can keep smiling and doing schedules. But that does not mean we are okay.” Jihyo’s expression softened. Mina watched Yeji quietly. JYP’s face changed.

Not much, but enough. Yeji took a breath “The Top Floor helped. Ben helped. But it is still attached to everything. The building. The schedule. The pressure. Staff. Reports. Calls. We need space away from all of it before we start treating containment like recovery.”

Silence.

Then JYP looked at me “You said that?”

“No,” I said quietly. “Lia did.” His eyes shifted “Smart girl.”

“Yes”. JYP looked at the folder again. Then at Mina, towards me, then at Jihyo. For a moment, nobody spoke. He tapped one finger against the desk. Once. Twice. Then he said “No”. John whispered, “Here we go.” Yeji’s hand tightened slightly on her knee. Mina was reaching for something in her bag, I leaned forward “Sir—”

“One week is not enough.” The room completely stopped. Jihyo blinked. John’s head snapped toward JYP. Mina’s hand was still in her bag, and her expression did not change but her eyes sharpened. I stared at him.

JYP leaned back in his chair like a man who had decided the best way to survive a storm was to control where it landed “I will give you two.” Nobody moved. John was the first to fail “Wait. That worked?” JYP pointed at him “Do not make me regret this faster.” Jihyo recovered first “Two weeks?”

JYP nodded “If this is recovery, one week will become a countdown. The first three days will be spent adjusting, the last two preparing to return, and everyone will pretend the middle was enough. Two weeks gives them time to settle. It also gives the company one clean explanation instead of repeated schedule reshuffling.”

I stared. Mina nodded slowly “Efficient.” JYP pointed at her “And that brings me to the conditions.” John whispered, “Peace treaty.”

JYP ignored him. “First. You cover all costs.” “Done,” I said. “Split,” Mina added. JYP’s eye twitched.

“Second. Staff compensation, schedule adjustment fees, security, lodging, transportation, medical standby, privacy measures, and contingency costs will be covered before anyone leaves, and anything else that comes up regarding you ‘retreat’ in any form.” “Done,” I said. “Split,” Mina said again. JYP rubbed his forehead.

“Third. Legal documentation.” Jihyo lifted her pen “Expected.” “No,” JYP said. “Not only for the retreat.” The room shifted. His eyes moved to Mina. Then to me.

 “Both of you will sign an agreement that neither of you, alone, together, directly, indirectly, emotionally, financially, strategically, through shell entities, friends, family offices, investment vehicles, private holding companies, anonymous proxies, or any other creative nightmare you can invent, will attempt to acquire, influence, pressure, restructure, destabilize, or otherwise interfere with JYPE.”

Silence. Absolute. John slowly turned toward me. I looked at Mina. Mina looked at me. JYP slapped one palm lightly on the desk “Do not look at each other like that.”

John whispered, “Oh my God.” Jihyo covered her mouth. Not to hide shock. To hide laughter. Yeji stared at me “Ben.” I looked at her “I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.” “That is not illegal.”

JYP pointed at me “It will be if I ask legal.” Mina tilted her head “Restructuring is not inherently destabilizing.” John stood halfway “No.” Mina looked at him “What?”

“You are proving why he needs the clause”. JYP nodded “She is.” Mina paused. Then folded her hands again “Reasonable.” I looked at her “Reasonable?” She looked back “Under the circumstances.”

John pointed between us “See? This is exactly what terrifies everyone. You two just negotiated not buying the company like normal people discuss not ordering dessert.”

JYP looked exhausted “Fourth. If anyone asks, this retreat is company-approved. Not Ben-approved. Not Mina-approved. Company-approved.” Jihyo nodded “That protects the narrative.”

“Fifth. No public-facing signs of anything that makes me need a medical team before noon.” John muttered, “That is broad.” “It needs to be.”

JYP looked at each of us “Two weeks. Costs covered. Legal agreement. Company-approved narrative. No corporate interference. No public scandal.” He paused “Do we understand?”

Jihyo nodded “Yes.” Mina nodded “Yes.” I nodded “Yes.” John nodded “With fear.” Yeji nodded “With supervision.”

JYP looked at her for a second. Then, for the first time, smiled faintly “Good. Someone has to.”

The meeting ended with more signatures than I liked. Mina signed the anti-interference clause without hesitation. I signed after reading every line, mostly because JYP watched me like I might discover a loophole mid-stroke. Which was offensive— not entirely inaccurate. But offensive.

John read over my shoulder and whispered “No shell companies.” “I can read.” “No emotional acquisitions.” “That is not a legal term.” “It is in spirit.”

Jihyo gathered the signed copies. Mina looked quietly satisfied. Yeji looked relieved. JYP looked like a man who had bought himself two weeks of peace by selling his legal department’s soul. As we stood, he looked at me one last time “Ben.”

“Yes, sir?” “No buying restaurants.”

Yeji’s head snapped toward me. I stared at JYP. John slowly turned. Jihyo closed her eyes. Mina blinked “How did you know about that?” JYP leaned back “I have instincts.” John whispered, “He’s evolving.” I bowed “No restaurants.” Yeji folded her arms.

“Or buildings.” “No buildings.” “Or companies.” “No companies.”

JYP looked between us. Then sighed “Good luck.” I frowned “With the retreat?” His eyes moved to Yeji “With you.”

We left before Yeji could agree too enthusiastically. In the hallway, John exhaled like he had been holding his breath since 2023 “Two weeks.” Jihyo looked at the folder “Two weeks.” Mina adjusted her bag “Efficient outcome.” John pointed at her “You are banned from saying efficient for the rest of the day.” Mina pouted at John “Why?”

“Because every time you say it, someone signs away corporate sovereignty.”

I looked at Jihyo “I did offer for you to come with us.” Jihyo looked up “To the tattoo appointment?”

“Yes.” John immediately stiffened. Jihyo’s smile turned slow “No.” John relaxed. Then she added “If I went, I would end up making John get one too.” John stopped breathing. Nayeon was not even there, but somehow I felt her approval in the universe. Jihyo continued calmly “All nine names.” John looked at her “You would not.” Jihyo looked back “I absolutely would.” He stared at her. Then looked at me “Help.”

I lifted both hands “No. If Jihyo decided that, you would have no way out.” John looked horrified because he knew it was true. Mina looked thoughtful “All nine names would require planning.” John pointed at her “Stop contributing feedback to the tattoos.” Jihyo smiled sweetly “Relax. I’m not going.”

“That does not make me feel safe.” “It should not.”

We separated at the parking level. Jihyo and Mina headed back toward the company wing to begin the official retreat paperwork. John, Yeji, and I headed for the tattoo shop. Or as John called it “Evidence creation.”

Frankie’s studio was private by design. No walk-ins. No visible signage. No social media tags unless he approved them himself. The kind of place that looked like nothing from the outside and too expensive from the inside. John still looked ready to scan the walls for cameras “This is insane,” he said as we entered “It is temporary ink.”

“You keep saying that like the problem is the ink.” Yeji was beside me, sunglasses on, cap low, mask in place. She looked like an idol trying not to be recognized. Which was accurate. She also looked like an angry girlfriend trying to pretend she was not excited— also accurate.

Frankie looked up from the counter. He was broad, tattooed up to his neck, with silver rings on three fingers and the expression of a man who had seen too much to be surprised by normal things. Then he saw Yeji. He stopped. Looked at me. Looked at Yeji, then back to me “Boss.”

“Frankie”. He blinked once. “When you said Yeji, you meant Yeji—Yeji.” Yeji stiffened. John’s soul visibly exited his body. I nodded “Yes.” Frankie stared for half a second longer. Then sighed “Honestly? Baffled. Not surprised.” John turned toward me “That is not comforting.” Frankie looked at John “You must be John.” John’s eyes widened “Why do you know that?”

“Boss said a tired manager might come in sweating through his spine.” I looked away. John turned to me “You described me like a medical warning.”

“The Boss’ description was accurate”. Frankie lifted both hands before John could spiral “Before anyone panics, not a word leaves this room.” His tone changed. Less joking. More certain “I don’t post clients. I don’t talk clients. I don’t hint clients. I don’t leak clients. Especially not his.” He nodded toward me “I still remember what he did for me with that investment broker.” Yeji looked at me. John stiffened.

Frankie continued while setting out the temporary ink materials “Guy thought because he had money and connections, he could walk out on my bill. Boss asked for a name. Next thing I knew, the man who was at the top of the food chain in his line of work was now bussing tables for tips.”

John went pale “You kept tabs?” Frankie smiled “Of course I kept tabs.” Yeji slowly turned toward me “Benjie.” I sighed “Please do not start here.” Frankie looked between us. Then grinned “Oh, that’s the voice.” John pointed at him “You hear it too?”

“Man, I tattooed him through worse ideas than this. I know when his woman is the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.” Yeji turned pink “I am not—”

“His wife?” Frankie guessed. The room froze, Yeji stared, John made a helpless sound. I closed my eyes “Frankie.”

“What? Lucky guess.” “It was not a lucky guess.”

Frankie looked at Yeji “Girlfriend?” Yeji lifted her chin “Girlfriend.” Frankie nodded seriously “Understood. Girlfriend with wife privileges.” John whispered, “I hate how fast everyone gets there.”

Frankie slid a paper across the counter “If it gives you peace of mind, I’ll sign whatever. NDA. Confidentiality. Blood oath— well not literally, unless the boss is paying extra.” John grabbed the paper “Yes. Thank you.” I looked offended “You do not need that.” John was already reading “I absolutely need that.”

Frankie looked at me “With respect, boss, the people around you look like they rarely experience peace of mind.”

“That is unfair.” Yeji looked at me. John looked at me. Frankie looked at me. I sighed “Somewhat unfair.” Frankie laughed “That’s why I like you, boss. You have more money than a small country and yet you’re pretty much down to earth.”

John slid the confidentiality paper back “Sign.” Frankie signed without hesitation. Then slid it back “Better?” John clutched it like scripture “A little.” Frankie turned toward Yeji “Alright. Temporary chest piece. Original draft was ‘Ben + Yeji.’” Yeji immediately shook her head “No.”

Frankie nodded “Good. It was corny as hell.” I looked at him “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on the side of decent composition.” Yeji stepped closer to the stencil samples “It should be ‘Yeji + Ben’, that sounds and looks better.” I looked at her. John looked at her. Frankie looked at her, Yeji froze “What?” I smiled “Nothing.”

“You are smiling.” Yeji pointed out. “I am emotionally licensed.” “You are not.”

Frankie leaned over the page “Yeji + Ben balances better.” Yeji nodded, suddenly focused “And this font is too sharp.” Frankie blinked “Oh.”

John whispered, “She’s actually doing it.” Yeji ignored him “This one is better. Still readable but softer.” Frankie nodded “Good eye.” Her confidence grew “And little hearts.”

I slowly turned toward her “Little hearts?” She pointed at the paper like a woman commanding an army “Not big ones. Small. Around the names. Maybe one between.” Frankie looked at me, I looked at Yeji. Her cheeks were pink, but her eyes were serious. I shrugged “Whatever the wife wants, man.”

Yeji snapped toward me “Girlfriend.” Frankie lifted both hands “Whatever the girlfriend with wife privileges wants.” John muttered, “This is a disease.”

Yeji glared at both of us “I am choosing design quality.”

“Of course,” I said. “And preventing disaster.” “Obviously.” “And the hearts are ironic.”

Frankie looked at the hearts “They are not ironic.”

“They are artistically necessary,” Yeji corrected. Frankie smiled “I am not going to debate that.” then he glanced at me “So we’re using the gun, right?”

I paused “What?” Frankie lifted the machine from his station with a grin that immediately made me distrust him “Temporary ink through the gun. All the pain of a real tattoo, none of the permanence— it also makes the temporary ink last longer.” John slowly turned toward Frankie. For the first time all day, he looked hopeful “That is an option?”

Frankie nodded “Sure.” Yeji looked at the machine. Then at me. Then back at the machine “I like that option.” I stared at her “B-babe…”

“You wanted drama.” “I wanted temporary romance.” “You can have temporary romance with consequences.”

John pointed at Frankie “I like him now.”

“You hated this place thirty seconds ago.” “I have evolved.”

Frankie looked at me with no sympathy whatsoever “Boss, you did say whatever the wife wants, the wife gets.” Yeji lifted one finger “Girlfriend.” Frankie nodded. “Whatever the girlfriend with wife privileges wants, the girlfriend with wife privileges gets.” I stared at him “You just met her, Frankie...” Frankie shrugged with a grin “Composition has consequences, and I’m just following instructions”

John sat in the corner with the confidentiality paper in hand, looking like he had just found religion “This is the safest I have felt all day.”

“That is deeply offensive,” I said. Yeji crossed her arms “Shirt off.”

I looked at her. She looked back. Not smiling. But almost “Placement review,” she said.

“Of course.” Frankie prepared the stencil. Temporary. Harmless. Ridiculous. And now apparently painful because everyone I loved had betrayed me in under three minutes. Yeji watched every adjustment. Font. Spacing. Heart placement. Whether the plus sign looked too childish. Whether it should be slightly tilted. Whether the names should sit centered or angled over my chest.

Finally, Frankie held up the finished temporary stencil. Yeji studied it. Then nodded once “That one.” I looked at the design. Yeji + Ben. Small hearts. Soft font. Over the left side of my chest. Not too high. Not too obvious under normal clothes, exactly where she wanted it.

“Approved?” Frankie asked. Yeji crossed her arms “For temporary.” I smiled faintly “For now.” She turned toward me “Do not start.” Frankie applied the stencil. Then the machine started buzzing. I looked at him “You are enjoying this.”

Frankie smiled “A lil’ bit.” The needle touched skin. I exhaled through my nose. John leaned forward. “How is it?” I glared at him “I can feel the love.”

“That does not answer the question.” “It answers enough.”

Yeji stood beside me, watching with far too much satisfaction for someone who claimed this was only damage control “You okay?” she asked. I looked at her “Yes.”

“Good.” “That sounded affectionate.” “It was.”

I smiled. Then the needle moved over a more sensitive patch. My smile died but Yeji’s smile grew. That was when I realized I was in love with a dangerous woman. Frankie worked quickly, but not quickly enough for my dignity. Temporary ink was nothing compared to the hours I had spent under real needles, but the room treated it like I was signing a marriage contract on my skin— which, given the past twelve hours, was not entirely inaccurate.

When Frankie finished, he stepped back. “There.” Yeji went quiet. John lowered his eyes from the ceiling. Even he stopped joking. The temporary tattoo sat over my chest.

Yeji + Ben.

Small hearts. Ridiculous. Soft. What was supposed to be mine, now hers too. Temporary… for now. Yeji stared at it for a little too long. Then looked away “It’s stupid.”

I smiled “You like it.” “I hate it.” “You like it.” “Benjie.”

Frankie nodded “She likes it.” John pointed at him “Do not join him.” Frankie shrugged “I know happy panic when I see it.” Yeji covered her face “I hate everyone today.” I pulled my shirt back on slowly enough that she noticed. Her eyes narrowed “You did that on purpose.”

“Yes.” “At least you are honest.”

John stood “Great. We have evidence, paperwork, temporary body art, pain compliance, and no leaks. Can we leave before he buys the building?” Frankie looked at me “You want to buy the building?”

“No,” Yeji said immediately. I looked at her “I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought of something.” “That is not illegal.” “It will be if I ask JYP.”

John pointed at her “Good. Use that.” Frankie walked us to the private exit. Before we left, he looked at Yeji “For what it’s worth, I really won’t say anything.” Yeji’s expression softened “Thank you.” Frankie nodded. Then looked at me “And boss?”

“What?” “If the permanent one happens after the wedding, please let her choose the font again.”

Yeji made a strangled sound, John pushed the door open “We’re leaving.” I smiled “You can ink it in front of the crowd during the wedding, Frankie.”

“Benjie!”

We left the studio with John muttering about confidentiality, Yeji pretending not to look at my chest every few seconds, and me feeling strangely lighter than I probably deserved. Outside, John stopped beside the car “Tomorrow we are turning JYP’s private approval into an operational nightmare.”

“We got approval.” “We got private approval. Now we need schedule coordination, staff instructions, cover story consistency, security routing, and whatever additional clause JYP invents because you keep revealing new problems.”

Yeji looked at me “No new problems.” I nodded “No new problems.” My phone buzzed. All three of us looked down. Yuna had sent a message to the group chat.

YUNA: Vacation plan draft ready. Do we think “Healing Retreat” sounds too boring? I have alternatives. RYUJIN: Call it Hostile Wellness. LIA: Absolutely not. CHAERYEONG: I restocked the pantry. Please do not invite Momo unnie again without warning. NAYEON: I vote Hostile Wellness.

John stared at the phone “When did Nayeon get into this chat?” I looked at Yeji. Yeji looked at me. Neither of us answered, John closed his eyes “I hate all of you.”

Yeji looked at my chest again. Just once. Then looked away. I smiled. She pointed at me “Do not look excited.” Too late. Tomorrow, we would begin turning the retreat from permission into reality.

Two weeks, TWICE and ITZY. JYP-approved. Legally protected against hostile rich-people nonsense. Publicly wholesome. Privately impossible. And tonight, apparently, I had survived the temporary tattoo appointment… Mostly.

Yeji slid into the car beside me and muttered “Show me again when we get home.” I looked at her. She stared out the window, cheeks pink “For placement review.”

John made a sound from the front seat like his soul had finally quit. I smiled “Of course, you can look at it anytime you want.” Because apparently, the easier problem had still found a way to ruin us.

By the time we returned to the Top Floor, the place had somehow become a headquarters.

Not officially. Officially, nothing was happening yet. Officially, the retreat still needed final schedule coordination, staff routing, transport assignments, cover story alignment, and whatever corporate language Jihyo planned to use to make “two groups of idols disappearing into privacy with two managers and too much money” sound like wellness.

Unofficially, Yuna had already taken over the main table. There were papers everywhere.

A tablet. Three pens. A color-coded list. A separate page titled POSSIBLE ACTIVITIES, with the word “Hostile Wellness” crossed out so aggressively it had almost torn through the paper. Ryujin was lying sideways on the couch, looking suspiciously proud of herself. Lia sat near the kitchen with shopping bags at her feet, calm in the way people became after surviving war. Chaeryeong was restocking the pantry with the solemn focus of someone rebuilding civilization after Momo.

TWICE had arrived again in clusters. Jihyo and Mina were already seated with the documents. Nayeon was too comfortable. Sana was too delighted. Dahyun was too ready.

Momo was already looking toward the pantry. Chaeryeong noticed and froze “No,” she said softly. Momo blinked. Chaeryeong immediately bowed her head “I mean… not yet.” Momo nodded, accepting the terms of war.

John stepped out of the elevator behind us and stopped “No.”

Jihyo looked up “What?” “This is a meeting.” “Yes.” “With everyone.” “Yes.” “After the day we’ve had.” “Yes.”

John looked at me “You did this.” “I did not.” “You created the conditions.” “That is different.”

Mina looked at the folder “It is structurally similar.” John pointed at her “You are still banned from helping.” Mina blinked “I was clarifying.”

“That is helping.” Yeji walked in beside me and immediately straightened. Leader mode returned as naturally as breathing. No hand-holding. No softness. No obvious girlfriend anything. Not because she was hiding from them anymore. Because this was the final meeting. And Yeji respected the difference. Unfortunately, the room did not.

Ryujin’s eyes moved from Yeji to me. Then to my shirt. Then back to my face. Slowly. Dangerously. I knew that look. I should have stopped there. I should have sat down quietly, let Jihyo take over, and avoided giving the room any reason to remember what had happened at Frankie’s studio. Instead, I chose violence. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just a tad bit enough.

I reached up, adjusted the collar of my shirt— acting like I was trying to fix something in my clothing, and let the fabric shift half an inch lower than necessary. Only for a second. Only enough. A small curve of temporary ink appeared near the left side of my chest. Not the whole thing. Not the hearts. Not even the full name. Just the beginning “Yej—"

Ryujin sat up so fast the couch cushion nearly slid with her. Yuna stopped writing. Nayeon’s mouth opened. Sana gasped. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone appeared out of pure instinct. Yeji turned toward me slowly. Very slowly. I looked straight ahead. Like an innocent man. John stared at me.

“You did not.” “I adjusted my shirt, can’t a man try to adjust for comfort?” “You exposed evidence.” “I adjusted my shirt.”

Ryujin pointed at me like she'd just solved a murder case “He did it.” Yuna slapped both hands over her mouth “He actually did it.” Nayeon stood halfway out of her seat “No, no, no. Show us the rest.”

“No,” Yeji said immediately.

Sana leaned forward “Yes.”

“No.” “Please?” “No.”

Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: partial tattoo reveal causes immediate public demand for full disclosure.”

“I am not disclosing anything,” Yeji said. Mina glanced up from her folder “Technically, it is not your tattoo.” Yeji turned toward her “Mina…” “It is a factual statement.”

John stood there for another second, staring at me. Then his face changed. Not surprise— decision “Oh,” he said quietly. I looked at him “No… You did not?” He reached into his pocket “Yes.”

“JOHN.”

He pulled out his phone. I pointed at him “Don’t you fucking dare.” Yeji looked between us “What?” John was already connecting his phone to the television “I have documentation.”

The room froze. Then every head turned toward him. Yuna whispered, “Documentation?” Ryujin slowly rose from the couch like a spirit summoned by gossip “You recorded it?” John looked at me, completely shameless “For identity protection.”

“That is not why you recorded it.” “It began as identity protection.” “And then?”

John tapped his phone, the television came alive. Frankie’s studio appeared on the screen. There I was. Shirt off. Sitting under the lights. Frankie standing over me with the machine. Yeji beside me, arms folded, looking terrifyingly focused. The entire room went silent for exactly half a second.

Then the Top Floor detonated.

“OH MY GOD,” Yuna screamed. Ryujin grabbed a pillow and nearly threw it at the screen. Nayeon clapped once. Sana covered her mouth, delighted. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone returned with renewed purpose “Breaking news: private evidence enters public record.” Yeji turned scarlet “John!” John lifted both hands “You chose the hearts. They deserve context.”

“I chose them privately!” Nayeon gasped “She chose the hearts?” Ryujin spun toward Yeji “There are hearts?” Yuna looked ready to ascend “There are actual hearts?”

The video continued.

Frankie’s voice came through the speakers “Whatever the girlfriend with wife privileges wants.”

The room exploded again.

Yeji covered her face with both hands “I hate this.” Sana leaned toward Nayeon “Girlfriend with wife privileges.” Nayeon nodded solemnly “Accurate title.”

“I am not his wife,” Yeji said through her hands. Dahyun lifted the imaginary microphone “Sources confirm wife privileges remain under dispute.” Jihyo pressed her fingers to her forehead “I cannot believe this is the meeting.” Mina studied the screen with surprising seriousness “The stencil placement is tasteful.”

“Mina,” John said. “What? It is.”

Onscreen, Frankie lifted the machine “So we’re using the gun, right?” The room paused. Then my voice came through the TV “What?” Frankie grinned onscreen “Temporary ink through the gun. All the pain of a real tattoo, none of the permanence.”

Ryujin fell backward onto the couch. Yuna screamed again. Nayeon pointed at the screen “He suffered for it?” John turned toward everyone “He did.” I stared at him “You sound proud.”

“I am.”

Onscreen, Yeji said “I like that option.” The room turned toward her. Yeji lowered her hands just enough to glare at the floor “It was fair.”

“It was betrayal,” I said. “It was consequences.”

The video showed the needle touching skin. I exhaled through my nose onscreen. John, from the video, asked “How is it?” My recorded self glared “I can feel the love.”

The room lost whatever composure it had left.

Even Lia was laughing now. Quietly but visibly. Chaeryeong smiled behind one hand “That is actually kind of cute.” That somehow embarrassed Yeji more than the screaming “It was supposed to be damage control,” she mumbled. Ryujin pointed at the screen as Frankie finished “There. Pause it. Pause it there.”

John paused the video. The final shot froze on the temporary tattoo

“Yeji + Ben”

Small hearts. Soft font. Over the left side of my chest. Ridiculous. Embarrassingly sincere, and very, very visible.

Silence. For one full second.

Then “She picked the hearts!” Ryujin shouted. “I knew it,” Nayeon said. Sana clasped her hands “That is disgustingly cute.” Dahyun lifted the imaginary microphone “Breaking news: tattoo confirmed. Hearts confirmed. Victims include everyone present.” Momo nodded toward the screen “Frankie is good.” Mina nodded “The line work is excellent.”

“Mina,” John said again. “It is.”

Chaeryeong looked between me and Yeji. Then smiled softly “It’s actually really pretty.” Yeji’s shoulders dropped. Just a little “Thank you,” she mumbled. Ryujin immediately pointed at her “She likes it.”

“I picked it.” “You love it”. Yeji buried her face in both hands again. Yuna grabbed her notebook and began writing furiously. Lia saw it “Do not add tattoo evidence to the meeting minutes.”

Yuna paused. Then slowly crossed something out. John disconnected his phone from the TV and looked at me with the expression of a man who had done a public service. I stared at him.

“You betrayed me.” “You weaponized your chest first.” “You streamed my suffering.” “For transparency.” “This was not a government inquiry.”

Dahyun lifted a finger “It became one.” Jihyo finally opened the folder with enough force to silence most of the room “Meeting,” she said.

The room settled. Not because the chaos was finished. Because Jihyo had decided it was. That was different. She looked around the table “JYP approved the retreat.” Everyone froze for the second time. This time, it was not because of my chest. Yuna lowered her pen “The week?” Jihyo looked at me. I looked at Yeji. Yeji exhaled. Then said it “Two weeks.”

For half a second, nobody moved. Then the Top Floor detonated again.

Yuna screamed first. Ryujin shot upright. Sana clapped. Nayeon grabbed Dahyun’s arm. Momo looked pleased for reasons that were probably food-related. Chaeyoung laughed under her breath. Tzuyu smiled faintly. Chaeryeong stood frozen beside the pantry, holding a bag of rice like it had become emotionally significant. Lia closed her eyes and smiled. Just a little. Like relief had found her before she could stop it. Yuna pointed both pens at me “I knew it.”

“You knew nothing.” “I manifested it.” “You did not.” “She kind of did,” Ryujin said. “No,” Lia said. “Emotionally, yes.”

Jihyo tapped the folder “Two weeks with conditions.” That sobered the room enough. Not completely. Enough.

Mina spoke next, calm and precise.

“Costs are split. ITZY under Ben, TWICE under me. Staff compensation, transport, private lodging, security, medical standby, and contingency coverage are included.”

John leaned back “And because Ben and Mina scared JYP enough— they signed a legal promise not to buy, influence, restructure, destabilize, pressure, or creatively interfere with JYPE.”

Ryujin slowly turned toward me “You had to sign a no-coup paper?” I looked away “It was more nuanced than that.” Mina nodded “Barely.” Nayeon’s eyes widened “A no-coup paper.” Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again.

“Breaking news: wellness retreat approved after anti-takeover peace treaty.”

Jihyo pointed at her “Do not make that the title.” Yuna immediately wrote something. Lia leaned over “Yuna.” Yuna covered the page “It is not the title.”

“It is absolutely the title.”

Yeji glanced at me “No loopholes?” I looked offended. She waited. John waited. Jihyo waited. Mina looked mildly curious. I sighed.

“Ironclad, no active loopholes. I should have my lawyers check that.”

The room groaned. Yeji stared at me “Ben.”

“I am joking.” “Are you?” “Yes.”

Mina looked at me “Mostly.”

“Mina.” “What? Accuracy matters.”

John rubbed his face with both hands “I am begging one wealthy person in this room to be normal.” Mina and I said nothing. John lowered his hands “That was the worst possible response.”

Jihyo returned to the plan before the room could spiral again “We leave tomorrow morning. The official announcement goes out as an internal senior-junior wellness retreat. No public location. No livestreams. No staff posting. No casual hints. No accidental spoilers.”

Her eyes went to Nayeon. Nayeon gasped “Why me?”

“Because I know you.” “That is profiling.” “That is leadership.”

Dahyun raised one finger “What about creative hints?”

“No.” “Symbolic hints?” “No.” “What if the caption is just a cloud emoji?” “No.”

Sana smiled “What if it is two cloud emojis?” Jihyo closed the folder “No weather-related crimes.” Ryujin whispered to Yuna “She’s good.” Yuna nodded “Terrifying.”

Mina took over the logistics “The vans will meet in the private parking level. TWICE and ITZY will separate for departure routes, then converge outside the city. Phones stay normal until we reach the first checkpoint. After that, private devices only.”

Chaeryeong raised a hand slightly “Food?” Momo also raised a hand. Jihyo looked between them “Food has been accounted for.” Chaeryeong relaxed. Momo looked satisfied. Lia looked at Yuna’s activity sheet “What is ‘voluntary emotional sunrise session’?”

Yuna looked proud “It’s a wholesome bonding activity.” Ryujin leaned over “It says mandatory in parentheses.” “That was a draft note.”

Lia kept reading “And why does one item just say ‘Ben trial by water’?” Yuna took the paper back “Still workshopping.” Yeji turned toward me “No.”

“I didn’t even do anything.” “You looked interested.” “I did not.”

Ryujin grinned “He looked afraid.” “Good,” Yeji said.

The meeting moved faster after that. Mostly because Jihyo refused to let anyone rename the retreat. Yuna presented three activity categories: healing, bonding, and “things that would be funnier if Ben was involved.” Lia deleted the third category. Ryujin brought it back under a new title. Chaeryeong volunteered to help with meals and immediately became Momo’s favorite person again.

Nayeon suggested group games. John said no. Nayeon asked what kind. John said that was not what he meant. Sana asked if the retreat had couple activities. Jihyo told her to define couple. Sana smiled. Jihyo withdrew the question.

Eventually, the meeting ended not because everything was solved, but because everyone was too excited to be useful. That was enough. For now.

Jihyo stood, folder under one arm “Tomorrow morning. Parking level. Do not be late.” Mina looked at me “And do not buy anything overnight.” I frowned “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you hear limits as suggestions,” John said. Yeji nodded “He does.” I looked at her. She smiled sweetly. It was not sweet. Jihyo started herding TWICE toward the elevator. Nayeon paused beside Yeji “So.”

Yeji looked at her suspiciously “What?” Nayeon pointed subtly at my chest “Did you choose the hearts?” Yeji’s face went red. Sana appeared behind Nayeon instantly “She chose the hearts?” Yeji closed her eyes “They were artistically necessary.”

Ryujin screamed from the couch “I knew it.” Yuna wrote something down again. Lia took the pen away. John looked at me “You see what you did?”

I adjusted my collar back into place “Leadership requires sacrifice.” “That was not leadership.” “It created morale.” “It created paperwork.” “Same thing today.”

John looked like he wanted to argue. Then realized I might be right. That hurt him more. The elevator doors closed on TWICE’s laughter. ITZY stayed behind for a while after. Not talking much. Just moving. Packing lists. Charging devices. Laundry. Small questions. Soft excitement. The kind that grew when nobody wanted to scare it by naming it too loudly.

Two weeks. It had sounded impossible yesterday. Now it was a departure time.

The next morning, the private parking level looked like the beginning of a secret operation badly disguised as company logistics. Two vans idled near the far end. Black. Tinted. Clean enough to look official and suspicious at the same time. Security stood in quiet positions near the exits.

Staff loaded bags with the mechanical precision of people who had been told not to ask questions and paid enough to obey.

TWICE arrived first.

Of course they did not arrive quietly. Nayeon stepped out of the elevator mid-sentence. Sana was laughing. Dahyun was carrying a small camera case that Jihyo immediately confiscated. “It is not for posting,” Dahyun said. “No.”

“It is for memories.” “No.” “It is off.” “No.”

Dahyun sighed and handed it over “Cruel.” Momo had a snack bag. Chaeryeong saw it and visibly relaxed. Jeongyeon noticed. “You brought backup food?” Chaeryeong nodded. Momo smiled at her like they had achieved peace between nations. Mina arrived last among TWICE, checking something on her phone. John saw her and immediately said “No more efficiency.” Mina blinked “I was checking route timing.”

“That sounds efficient.” “It is.”

John looked toward the ceiling “I am surrounded.”

ITZY gathered near the second van. Yuna had her vacation notebook tucked under one arm. Ryujin wore sunglasses indoors and refused to explain why. Lia looked comfortable enough to be dangerous. Chaeryeong had somehow packed snacks for both vans. Yeji stood beside me, arms folded, pretending not to be excited.

I noticed. Of course I noticed. She noticed me noticing.

“Do not say anything.” “I was not going to.” “You were.” “I was going to say you look happy.”

Her face softened despite herself. Then she looked away “I am.” That was enough to make the noise around us fade for half a second. Then Ryujin appeared beside us “Gross.”

Yeji sighed “You were not invited into this moment.” “I live here emotionally.” Yuna joined from the other side “Are we doing seating arrangements?”

John immediately straightened “No.” Nayeon smiled “Yes.”

Jihyo stepped between them with the authority of someone who had prevented wars before breakfast “Assigned vans. Assigned routes. Assigned silence until the first checkpoint.”

Ryujin lifted a hand “What about emotional noise?” “No.” Yuna lowered her notebook “What about activity planning?” “No.” Dahyun raised her hand “What about documenting no one talking?” Jihyo stared at her, Dahyun lowered her hand. “No.”

Mina glanced toward me “Did you remember the anti-interference clause?” I stared at her “Why would I need to remember it in a parking lot?” John pointed at me “Because you might see a toll booth and buy the highway.” Yeji turned to me immediately “You are not buying a highway.”

“I was not planning to buy a highway.” Yuna whispered, “Planning.” Lia nodded “He said planning.” Ryujin grinned “So spontaneous highway acquisition is still possible.”

“Everyone get in the vans,” Jihyo said. The command worked. Mostly. Bags were loaded. Doors opened. TWICE separated into their assigned vehicle with John, Jihyo, and Mina coordinating like this was normal. ITZY moved toward ours.

Before Yeji stepped in, she looked at me. Her eyes dropped once. Very briefly. To my chest. Then back up “Is it covered?” “Yes.” “Fully?” “Mostly.” “Benjie.” “It is covered.”

Ryujin, already inside the van, leaned toward the open door “What’s covered?” “Nothing,” Yeji and I said at the same time. Yuna gasped “Tattoo.” Lia closed her eyes “Too early.” Chaeryeong climbed in quietly, smiling to herself.

John shouted from the other van “If I see even one letter during travel, I am filing a report.” Nayeon’s voice followed “Make sure it’s Yej—” the rest of her sentence vanished when Jihyo shut the van door.

Yeji looked at me. I looked at her. For once, I behaved. I buttoned the top of my overshirt. She smiled. Small. Proud “Good boy.”

From inside the van, Ryujin screamed “I heard that.” Yuna laughed. Lia sighed. Chaeryeong made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh too. I looked at Yeji. She looked back, cheeks pink but chin lifted. Then she stepped into the van. I followed. The door slid shut.

For a moment, the world became tinted glass, low engine vibration, quiet breathing, and the strange realization that we had actually made it this far. Two weeks. TWICE and ITZY. Company-approved. Legally anti-takeover protected. Publicly wholesome. Privately impossible.

The van started moving. Yeji’s hand found mine between the seats. No one said anything. Not at first. Then Yuna whispered from the back “So… Hostile Wellness?”

“No,” Lia said immediately. Ryujin whispered, “Temporary title.” Chaeryeong whispered, “Maybe something gentler?”

I looked out the window as the parking level lights slid past one by one. For the first time in days, we were not walking into a meeting. Not a confrontation. Not a secret. We were leaving. And maybe, if the universe was feeling generous, we would come back a little less broken than when we left.

Then Ryujin leaned forward and whispered “Ben.” I closed my eyes “What?” “Can we see the tattoo at the first checkpoint?”

The bass from the stage vibrated through the floor, through the soles of Billie's sneakers, up into her bones. She stood in the VIP section of the O2 Arena, surrounded by the people who mattered most—Ava, Jane, Quen, Odessa, her brother Finneas, Claudia, Alex, Rozzi—all of them packed together on the elevated platform, drinks in hand, eyes fixed on the stage. On you.

You were in the middle of your third song, the one that always brought the house down. The one where you changed into that bodysuit.

It was barely anything. A shimmering piece of fabric that hugged every curve, cut so high on your hips that the bottom swell of your ass peeked out, so low-cut that the valley between your breasts was practically on display. The material was sheer enough to hint at the dark circles of your nipples beneath. And when you moved—when you dropped into that slow, rolling grind that made the crowd roar—the suit rode up, exposing the crease where your thigh met your hip.

Billie's throat went dry.

She felt it before she could stop it. That familiar stir low in her belly, the thickening between her legs as her blood rushed south. She tried to shift her weight, cross her arms, do something to hide what was happening, but the baggy black sweatpants she'd worn suddenly felt like they were made of tissue paper. Her cock began to fill, pressing against the soft cotton, and she knew—knew—it was only a matter of seconds before it became unmistakable.

On stage, you dropped to your knees, arching your back, running your hands down your own thighs as you bounced in time with the beat. The crowd screamed. Billie bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. Her dick swelled further, the head now clearly outlined through the fabric, a thick ridge that pointed upward and to the left. She tried to adjust herself discreetly, but her hand only made it worse, pressing the fabric tighter against the shaft.

"Whoa," Alex said, elbowing Finneas. He didn't bother to lower his voice. "Dude, did you know she was packing that much heat? Look at that thing. That's not just a chub, that's a full-on boner."

Finneas glanced at his sister, then quickly looked away, a mix of embarrassment and brotherly concern on his face. "Bro, keep it in your pants. Or everyone's gonna see. Seriously. There are cameras everywhere." He lowered his voice to a sharp whisper. "Mom would kill me if she saw this on Twitter."

Billie let out a strangled laugh, trying to play it cool. "Shut up, it's fine. I'm fine. It's just... the adrenaline. The lights. Whatever."

But it wasn't fine. Her dick was now at full mast, a clear, thick tent stretching the front of her sweats. The tip was so hard it looked like it might poke through. She could feel the weight of it pushing against her waistband, the way her balls tightened up against her body. She tugged at the elastic, tried to angle it downward, but it sprang back up immediately. The lights from the stage swept over the VIP area, and she could feel eyes flickering to her crotch, then away.

Ava leaned closer, her voice soft and teasing. "I mean, I get it. I'd be like that too if my girl was up there doing that." She giggled, bumping her shoulder against Billie's. "Don't worry, we're all friends here. But seriously, your girlfriend knows exactly what she's doing. She's looking right at you."

She was right. On stage, you had turned around, bent over, and were shaking your ass directly at the VIP section. The sheer fabric of the bodysuit pulled so tight. You glanced over your shoulder, caught Billie's eye, and winked.

Billie groaned. A real, audible groan.

"I'm not worried," Billie muttered, but her voice cracked. Her hands were clammy. She couldn't take her eyes off you as you stood up, spun around, and began to grind your hips in a slow, deep circle that made your ass bounce with each rotation. The crowd roared. Billie's cock twitched, and she saw a small, dark spot appear at the tip of her sweats—precum soaking through.

Finneas noticed too. He leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. "Billie, for real. You're leaking. Go to the bathroom or something. I'm not kidding."

"I can't just leave," she hissed back. "She'll think something's wrong."

"Something is wrong," Alex said, grinning. "You've got a fucking fire hydrant in your pants and she's on stage spreading her legs like she's offering you dessert."

"Alex, shut up," Rozzi said, slapping his arm. But she was laughing too.

The song ended. The lights dimmed. Billie exhaled a shaky breath, her entire body trembling with the effort of not touching herself. She watched you take your bow, then blow a kiss directly at her. The crowd went wild.

Backstage was chaos. Crew members rushed past, the hum of the crowd still vibrating through the walls. The hallway was narrow, packed with equipment cases and people. Billie stood near the door to your dressing room, hands shoved in her pockets, trying to will her erection down. It didn't work. If anything, the anticipation made it harder.

And then you appeared, still in that bodysuit, glistening with sweat, your face lit up with post-show adrenaline. Your hair was damp, your skin flushed. The thin fabric of the bodysuit clung to every curve, the triangle of your pussy clearly visible beneath it.

"Billie!" You ran to her, throwing your arms around her neck. She hugged you back, but her body was stiff, her breathing uneven. When you pulled away, you saw it—the strain in her jaw, the way her hips were tilted back as if trying to hide something. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown.

You glanced down. The tent in her sweats was impossible to miss. A dark wet spot had formed at the tip, right where the head pressed against the fabric, subtle for the rest, but you recognized it the second you saw it. You could see the outline of the corona, the slight curve of the shaft.

"Oh," you breathed, a smile spreading across your face. "Someone had a good show."

Billie groaned, a low sound of pure misery. "Baby, I'm literally dying over here. I mean it. I think I'm going to pass out. My balls hurt."

You giggled and grabbed her hand, lacing your fingers with hers. "Hold on, let me just say hi to everyone. Then we can go."

You moved through your friends, hugging Ava, high-fiving Alex, thanking Finneas for coming. Claudia asked about the encore, Rozzi complimented your vocals, Odessa and Quen pulled you aside to talk about the lighting. Billie stood behind you, her hand still in yours, her entire body thrumming with tension. Every time you moved, the scent of your sweat wafted toward her. She could see the sheen on your skin, the way the bodysuit rode up your ass crack every time you bent to pick something up.

Finally, you were done. "Okay, let's go back to the hotel now."

The car ride was torture for Billie. She sat with her legs pressed together, her hands clasped in her lap, trying to think about anything other than the way your thighs had looked under those lights. The chauffeur was a professional—he kept his eyes on the road, his face impassive. But Billie couldn't relax. Her cock was still painfully hard, the head now fully wet, the precum soaking through her boxers.

You were scrolling through your phone, the glow illuminating your face. Then you stopped.

"Babe," you said slowly, a smirk curling your lips. "Look at this."

You turned the phone toward her. It was a fan video from the show, but the camera wasn't on you. It was zoomed in on the VIP section. On Billie. The caption read: "bro billie's about to put that to good use, wish we could see it."

In the video, Billie was visibly adjusting herself, the outline of her erection painfully clear against the black fabric of her sweats. Her hand moved, but it only made it worse. A few people around her were sneaking glances, laughing.

Billie's face went red. "Fucking hell. I'm going to kill them."

"Don't worry," you whispered, leaning close, your lips brushing her ear. "You're gonna put it to good use tonight. I promise."

The chauffeur didn't react. But Billie felt your hand slide onto her thigh, squeezing, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Your fingers moved higher, brushing against the bulge in her sweats. The fabric was damp. She felt your fingertips trace the outline of her cock, from the base to the tip.

"So hard," you murmured. "How long have you been like this?"

"Since the third song," she admitted, her voice strained. "Maybe earlier. I don't remember. I can't think."

"Good." Your hand squeezed harder. "I want you to stay hard until we get to the room. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," she breathed.

You smiled in the darkness of the car, your hand remaining on her thigh, fingers tracing slow patterns. Billie squirmed in her seat, her cock twitching under your touch. The car hit a bump, and she jolted, the friction making her gasp.

"Easy," you said.

She shook her head frantically. "I can’t."

The hotel suite was all glass and marble, with a king-sized bed dominating the center of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, you pushed Billie against it, your body pressed against hers. She was taller than you, not a lot, but you had her pinned, your hand sliding down her stomach to the waistband of her sweats.

"Not yet," you said, pulling away. You held up a finger, a wicked glint in your eyes. "I'm in charge. Got it?"

Billie's breath hitched. "Yeah. Okay."

"You're gonna do exactly what I tell you. And you're not gonna cum until I say so."

"Fuck," Billie whispered, her hips bucking toward you involuntarily.

You made her undress slowly. First the hoodie, then the t-shirt, revealing the lean muscle of her torso, the curve of her hips. She was toned, her stomach tight, her shoulders broad.

When she pulled down her sweats and boxers together, her cock sprang free—thick, hard, the tip already glistening with precum. It stood at attention, curved slightly upward, the veins visible along the shaft. Her balls were tight against her body, heavy and full.

You circled her, running a single finger down the length of her shaft. She shuddered, her eyes closed. The touch was feather-light, tracing the ridge of the head down to the base. You did it again, and again, until she was trembling.

"Look at me," you commanded and she opened her eyes.

"Get on the bed. On your back. Hands above your head."

She obeyed immediately, crawling onto the massive bed, lying down with her arms stretched out. Her cock lay against her stomach, thick and wet, a drop of precum gathering at the tip. You climbed on top of her, straddling her thighs, still wearing your bodysuit. The fabric was damp from sweat, clinging to you like a second skin. You leaned forward, letting your breasts brush against her chest, and whispered, "I want you to watch me take this off. Slowly."

And you did. You peeled the straps down, one by one, revealing your breasts, your nipples hard and dark. The fabric caught on your skin, peeling away with a soft sound. Billie's hands twitched at her sides, desperate to touch. You took her hands and brought them to your chest, letting her cup your breasts for a moment before pulling away.

"No touching," you said firmly. "Not yet."

You shimmied the bodysuit down your hips, over your ass, your thighs. The fabric gathered at your knees, then fell away. Finally, you were naked, your pussy slick and glistening, inches from her cock. The scent of your arousal filled the air.

"You're so wet," Billie breathed. Her voice was hoarse.

"All for you. But you don't get to fuck me yet." You reached down, wrapping your hand around her shaft, stroking her slowly. Her hips bucked into your grip. The skin was hot, smooth, the precum making your hand glide easily. "First, I want you to eat me out."

Billie's eyes widened, but she didn't argue. You shifted forward, positioning yourself over her face. Your knees on either side of her head, you lowered yourself, feeling her warm breath on your thighs. Her hands came up to grip your ass, pulling you closer.

And then her tongue was on you.Warm, flat, dragging through your folds in a long, slow stroke. You moaned, grinding against her mouth. She lapped at your clit, circled around it, then sucked it between her lips. The sensation shot through you like electricity.

"Fuck, Billie. Just like that."

She obeyed, her tongue diving deeper, fucking you as you rode her face. You grabbed her hair, pulling, guiding her rhythm. The pleasure built fast, coiling tight in your belly. Your thighs trembled, your breath coming in short gasps.

"I'm gonna cum," you gasped. "Don't stop."

She didn't. She doubled down, her lips sealed around your clit, her tongue flicking fast. One hand came up, two fingers sliding into your pussy without warning, curling up toward your g-spot. You cried out, your whole body tensing as the orgasm hit you. Waves of pleasure crashed through you, your pussy clenching around her fingers, your juices soaking her chin. She kept licking you through it, gentler now, until you slumped forward, panting.

You slid off her face, collapsing onto the bed beside her. Her chin was slick with you, her eyes hazy with lust. Her cock was still standing, wet at the tip, a bead of precum rolling down the shaft.

"Good girl," you said, your voice hoarse. You crawled over to her, taking her cock in your hand again. "Now. I want to ride you."

She started to sit up, but you pushed her back down. "No. Stay like that."

She obeyed, her eyes locked on you. You straddled her again, not over her face this time, but over her cock. You lined it up with your entrance, the head pressing against your slick folds. The tip caught on your clit, and you both moaned. You held there, teasing, barely pushing in before pulling away.

"Please," Billie whimpered. Her whole body was shaking.

"Please what?"

"Please let me fuck you."

You smiled, then sank down.

The stretch was perfect. She filled you completely, the length of her sliding deep, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. You both cried out together—a raw, primal sound. Her cock pulsed inside you, and you felt her hands grip the sheets, fighting the urge to grab you.

You started to move. A slow, deliberate grind, your hips rolling in circles. The friction was incredible, the head of her cock nudging against your g-spot with every rotation. Billie's hips bucked up to meet you, but you slapped her thigh.

"Don't. I'm in control."

"Fuck, you're so—" She couldn't finish. Her head fell back, her mouth open, as you rode her. The sound of your wetness, the slap of your ass against her thighs, filled the room. You picked up the pace, bouncing on her cock, taking her deeper.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, clicked the camera open. Billie's eyes flew open. "What are you—"

"Recording," you said, breathless. "So we never forget." You panned the camera down to where your bodies connected, the wet sounds loud in the speaker. Then you turned it to her face. "You thought she was the one in control? Look at her. Look at how desperate she is."

Billie's face was flushed, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed. She was panting, her chest heaving.

"Say something," you commanded.

"I—I need—" She swallowed. "Please, let me—"

"Let you what?"

"Let me fuck you. I need to fuck you. Hard."

"Not yet." You kept riding her, your thighs burning, your clit aching. The pleasure was building again, coiling deeper this time. You reached down to rub your clit, your fingers wet with her precum and your own juices. "I'm going to cum on your cock. And then—"

But you were losing rhythm. The pleasure was too much. Your thighs burned, your clit ached for more friction. Billie saw the crack in your resolve.

Without warning, she flipped you.

You landed on your stomach, a gasp escaping your lips. Before you could protest, she was behind you, her body covering yours, her cock pressing against your ass. She grabbed the back of your neck, pushing your face into the pillow.

"Change of plans," she growled, her voice low, different. Possessive. "I'm taking over."

She didn't ask. She grabbed your hips and slammed into you, all the way to the hilt. You screamed—a raw, broken sound—as she started fucking you hard, fast, desperate. The bed frame banged against the hotel wall. Her balls slapped against your clit with every thrust.

"That's right," she panted, her hand gripping your hair, pulling your head back. "You think you can tease me all night? Make me hard in front of everyone? Spray precum in my pants like a teenager?"

"Billie—fuck—I'm gonna—"

"Cum for me. Now."

She reached under you, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles. The pressure was perfect, her thrusts slamming into your g-spot, her fingers on your clit. You came undone, your orgasm ripping through you, your pussy clenching around her cock. You screamed into the pillow as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your whole body shaking.

She kept fucking you through it, chasing her own. The sound of her hips slapping against your ass was wet, obscene. Her breathing was ragged, her grip on your hips bruising.

"I'm close," she gasped. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Cum inside me. Fill me up."

With a roar, she buried herself deep, her whole body shuddering as she emptied into you. You felt it—hot ropes of cum painting your walls, filling you, the sensation triggering another mini-orgasm. She pulsed inside you, her cock twitching, her breath coming in gasps.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, drenched in sweat. The weight of her was comforting, her body pressing you into the mattress.

But it wasn't over. She stayed inside you, still hard, still thick. She shifted, and you felt her cock twitch again.

"Round two," she whispered.

She pulled out slowly, turned you onto your back, and spread your legs wide. Your pussy was messy, cum leaking out, mixing with your own juices. She knelt between your legs, took her cock in her hand, and smeared the head through your folds, collecting the wetness.

"Look at you," she said, her voice full of wonder. "Look at what I did to you."

She drove into you again, slow and deep. This time it was different—no urgency, no desperation. It was deliberate. She watched your face as she fucked you, watched your eyes roll back, watched your mouth fall open.

"I love watching you fall apart," she said, her thrusts growing faster. "I love that I can do this to you."

You couldn't speak. You could only lie there and take it, your hands clawing at the sheets, your legs wrapped around her waist. She leaned down, kissing you, her tongue sliding into your mouth as her cock slid into you.

"Don't stop," you managed to whisper. "Please don't stop."

She didn't. She fucked you through the next buildup, her pace relentless. Her hand found your clit again, rubbing in time with her thrusts. The second orgasm built slower, deeper, an avalanche threatening to bury you.

"Come on," she murmured against your ear. "One more. One more for me."

"Billie—I can't—"

"You can. Let go. I've got you."

And you did. The orgasm hit you like a freight train, your entire body arching off the bed, a scream tearing from your throat. Your pussy milked her cock, the clenching too much for her. She buried herself deep one last time and came again, her hot cum flooding you, adding to the pool already inside you. She kept thrusting, shallow, riding out the aftershocks.

Finally, she pulled out, collapsing beside you. Your cum-slicked thighs pressed together, the sheets a mess beneath you. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just breathing, just existing.

After a few minutes, Billie got up. Her legs were shaky. She walked to the bathroom, and you heard the faucet run. She came back with a warm, damp towel. Gently, she spread your legs and cleaned you, wiping away the cum and sweat from your thighs, your pussy, your stomach. The towel was warm against your sensitive skin. She was careful, tender, her touch soft.

Then she cleaned herself, wiping her dick and balls, the towel coming away stained. She tossed it into the hamper and climbed back into bed, pulling you into her arms.

You nestled against her, your head on her chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin. The room was quiet now, the only sound was the hum of the city outside.

"Thank you," she whispered, her lips pressed to your hair. "Thank you for letting me ruin your pretty pussy, mama."

You laughed softly, the sound muffled against her skin. "God, I need to let you be more in charge, Billie. That was amazing."

She kissed the top of your head. "Any time. I mean it."

You lay there, tangled together, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. The hum of the London night filtered through the curtains. Outside, a siren wailed in the distance, but inside the room, everything was perfect.

Then your stomach growled. Loudly. Making you both burst out laughing.

"Room service?" you asked, your voice hopeful.

"Hell fucking yeah."

She reached for the phone on the nightstand, her arm stretching over your head. You watched her dial, her fingers moving lazily over the numbers. She ordered a feast—vegan burgers, fries, an insane amount of water—and when she hung up, she pulled you closer.

"Best night in a long time," she said.

"Best night in a looooooong time," you agreed, and snuggled deeper into her arms, ready for round three—or at least, ready for the food to arrive.

You gave the customer their receipt as you did your practiced saying of greetings and seeing them again next time. Your eyes happen to travel to the tall redhead, the woman was in all black; black jeans, black combat boots, black tank top and a black leather jacket that looked more expensive than half the books you own.

"Hi there," her voice was smooth as her green eyes held yours. "Hi, welcome to our bakery. What can I get you?" You keep your voice light with kindness. "Coffee. Black. No sugar," the green eyed woman stated as if it should have been a known fact. "Order for?" You stare up at her as you ask her name. "Natasha," her name rolled off her tongue with her Russian accent hinting through.

"Will that be all, ma'am?" You type the order in the machine. "An apple danish too, please." She easily swiped her black card in the card machine. Natasha made her way to a chair in the corner as she waited for her order. Her greens eyes trailed over your figure as you personally tended to her coffee with such... care and focus, it almost made her smile. Almost.

"Order for Natasha!" You call out as you slid the coffee cup and the boxed apple danish on the counter for collection. Natasha made her way to her collection, "Fast service here." Her voice was smooth as she popped a lid on her to-go cup. "Yes, ma'am," you give a polite smile that was used for every day customers, "efficency is in our name." Natasha hummed as she sipped the piping hot coffee, "I bet it is." She tilted her cup towards you, "good coffee too. But an even better coffee brewer." Her green eyes watched yours as she was silent for a moment, "I just hope the baked goods are just as good."

"Thank you for coming, we hope to see you again soon," you reply with the rehearsed lines and a smile. "I'm sure you will, sweetheart." Natasha walked away with a smug smirk she couldn't keep off her face as she sipped her coffee once again, her fingers twitch against the box the apple danish laid rested in. The Russian felt a feeling stir within her, deep and mysterious but she ignored it for now.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

From that day, Natasha has been frustrated with thoughts of you and your smile and those innocent eyes that stare up at her, constantly. That same day was when Natasha looked you up, you had no family besides your mother, you live alone, and you love to read. She figured since she's followed you to book stores thrice in a week.

That's when she also found out that you've never been with anyone before, especially given your mother's rules of dating. How you have to be 'kept pure' for your future... 'husband.' Little did she know you were a homosexual, you would never tell her in fear of what she might do if she found out.

You basically kept to yourself, yet was familiar with the regular customers at your bakery. Mrs Mapple, an old English teacher, whenever you two talk all the old woman ever talked about were her cats, and sat in the booth and drank her tea.

Then there's Mr Edward, an old accountant who had retired two years ago to focus on his health. Natasha made a list of their names- for safety purposes, of course, she wants you to be safe. She can't have what's hers be getting hurt.

Natasha had come back from a long mission that forced tension to build in her body. She knew she shouldn't have but she did. She stopped in front of the bakery, her cold green eyes watched as you locked up for the night.

You walked home with your cold hands in your pockets as you searched for warmth, Natasha slowly followed you, she stuck to the shadows as she trailed you down. As you walked to your place, you looked around, your eyes scanning dark corners as the hairs at the back of your neck stood up.

You rubbed your face as you carried on walking home, ignoring the gut feeling of something bad happening.

Natasha watched from behind a thick oak tree, the Russian groaned as her eyes watched your hips move as you climbed the steps to your front door before entering your home. The redhead sighed, her forehead against the rough bark as she fingers grasped the trees body, her jeans suddenly feel tighter. She knew she shouldn't have, but she did.

The Widow climbed the side of your house and grinned in succession as she landed in front of your bedroom window, she was careful. Silent. As she watched you get undressed, your skin revealing itself for her eyes only. Excitement grew inside her body as she waited for you to fully strip bare for her. The older woman gulped as her jeans somehow felt tighter, she reached down to readjust herself with a relieved sigh.

The Russian heard the shower go on, green light. The Widow used her pocket knife to wedge open the window, sliding the frame up as she silently climbed inside the warm room.

It smells like you.

Her green eyes scanned the room, she glanced at the bathroom door before crouching down to the floor, she used the tip of her blade to pick up your discarded underwear.

Lace.

Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to not do anything too... revealing. She had to remain silent and hidden. She dropped the material as she stood up. Her hands automatically searched the bedside tables for anything she missed, only coming across a Jane Austin book with a book mark poking out.

The shower turned off.

Shit.

Had it really been that long?

Natasha quickly, stealthily climbed out the window, closing it fully. She didn't leave just yet as she watched your body emerge from the bathroom. Skin glistening and steaming from the hot shower. You dried your body off with your towel before throwing on your pajamas, Natasha felt her lips twitch in a smirk, you don't wear underwear to bed. Easy access.

You finally closed your eyes for the night, sighing as you got comfortable under your duvet, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders. Natasha waited, her eyes tracked your breathing, making sure you were in a deep sleep before opening the window again.

The Widow entered the warm room again, closing the window behind her, she stood still.

Fingers flexing as her jaw ticked. She shouldn't.

She really fucking shouldn't.

But she did.

Natasha got her boots off and neatly laid her jacket over the arm of the chair that sat in the corner of the room. The Russian's heart thumped as she took a step closer to the bed. Then another. Then her knee was on the mattress and next thing she knew she was on her side.

Natasha released a breath, her hand hovered over your hips as she moved her body closer to yours, heat radiated off her body onto hers. Then finally her arm wrapped around your mid section, Her face buried in your neck as she released a low groan of satisfaction.

The woman left in the early morning, leaving nothing but a lightly heated patch where she laid in bed. Your hand goes to your waist, your finger tips ghost over your hips. You could have sworn... you shake your head and throw the warm feeling if being held as a lucid dream.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Russian's routine became ordering a black coffee with an apple danish, that she felt was too sweet, every morning. Natasha gave a nod, "You know me so well." Her green eyes watched as you worked the counter and boxed her dessert. 'Almost as well as I know you,' she thought.

You served the customers as per usual. "Natasha," you greet with a smile, "the usual?"

"You sleep well last night, sweetheart?" The Russian let her mouth move before her brain could stop her. She noticed how you seemed to run more smoothly, more energy. More of your beautiful smile just for her to see.

"What?" You hands froze on the boxes lid. "I mean, you just look so well rest today," Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, "I know you've had a busy week. It is a well known bakery you're running here, yes?"

You nod in response, "Oh," you close the dessert box, "yeah, uhm. I slept soundly."

'Oh, I know,' Natasha grinned as she thought to herself. "What about you?" You only ask back in politeness. "Best sleep I have had in years," Natasha tipped her coffee at Elena as she took a sip, "always the best." The redhead walked out the bakery with new found confidence.

You only slept so peacefully because of her. You were safe and sound in her arms and her arms only.

A pattern formed over the weeks. Natasha sneaking in through your window and got comfortable to cuddle you from behind, even going as far as getting under the blankets with you. Yet you still remained unknowing... well, in her eyes at least.

But you did, you did notice. You saw how her green eyes lingered on your face, your body. On you. How her fingers brushed yours when grabbing her order.

One night, you left your window open. Just an inch. But Natasha noticed, she always did.

The Russian happily climbed inside your room that always seemed perfectly warm with your scent. She watched your for a long second, then got undressed with a knowing smile, she bit her bottom lip to suppress a smug remark. The Widow settled in behind you again, under the sheets as her bicep twitched pulling you closer to her body.

Then you shifted back onto her.

She knew it. She fucking knew it.

She could tell by your breathing. The window you left open. Just for her.

Your bottom pressed against her front comfortably as her arm was firmly wrapped around your waist, her face tucked in your neck as she breathed in your scent. The Widow felt your body relax in her hold. Natasha's face was in your neck as she breathed in your scent. The Widow felt your body relax in her her hold as you succumbed to your sleep, she followed shortly with a hum of content.

Natasha left in the early morning, but she did not leave without a trace. A small note on your pillow laid beside your head.

'Thanks for the cuddles, sweetheart. :)' it read with a small drawn smiley face next to it.

That day you added a note to her dessert box.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

'For my favourite customer :)' you could only tease back, drawing a smiley face of your own for her.

The battle of teasing notes began, Natasha would hint to the night before of you guys cuddling in her notes. Till one day, a note of hers read, 'I love it when you press yourself against me in bed. You could hear her whisper those words in your ear with a rasp.

A small box sat beneath the note, and in it held a small silver chain with a single 'N' on it. You wore it the next day, the silver glinted under the bakery's lights and Natasha's green eyes immediately caught on to it. Her lips lift into a smug grin as she got herself a croissant for the morning.

The next day, you decided your stalker also needed a... gift.

So, what else would be a better gift than your underwear. You laid your underwear on your bed, along with a note that read, 'Just for you.

You looked at the finished gift and made your way to your bathroom to shower. The hot water hitting your skin perfectly as it soothed your tense muscles.

Natasha on the other hand, just came through the window, her eyes immediately found the little surprise waiting for her. Her trained ears pick up the sound of running water. Her feet make light work as she made her way to your bed like normal, she reads the note with a smirk as her tongue licked at her bottom lip. Her hands pick up the lace material, her thumbs rubbing over the lace hem then without a doubt, puts it in her pocket.

It is a gift after all, right? It's only right she keeps it.

Natasha looked towards the bathroom door, her body moving on its own as she followed the sound of water. Natasha's ear pressed against the doorlas she heard the water running, her imagination ran wild as she thought of you.

Naked. Warm. Her hands running up and down your sides as she kissed you all over your warm body while steam surrounded your bodies. Natasha's rough palm rested against the door, her fingers ticking towards the handle, her jaw ticked. She couldn't.

Just then, her phone lit up with a notification from Steve. Perfect timing. Steve is waiting for Natasha at the hangar to leave for their mission. Natasha's jaw clenched, her ears filled with sound of running water as her mind ran through thoughts of you then to the mission she needed to be on.

With a heavy sigh, Natasha pockets her phone as she slowly moved away from the door, she didn't leave without leaving a note of course, 'I'll be back soon, sweetheart. Thanks for my prize.'

Natasha left in a hurry, she didn't need Steve tracking her phone to find out where she's been. She does not need to hear about morals, not when you so perfectly fit in her arms at night.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After two days passed of Natasha on her gruelling mission and long nights without her love to hold, she finally came back.

The Widow entered the bakery to someone flirting with her woman. Her lover. Her future wife.

"You know, I bet you taste sweeter than those cakes," the customer flirts but you can only laugh along as you hid your internal feeling of uncomfort, your eyes finding Natasha's as she watched you two interact. Natasha let out a silent huff as she left the bakery, knowing the action of kissing you or taking you out the back would make headlines with her Avengers status.

Natasha is a woman of patience though. So she waited till late at night, in her car watching the camera feed of you. Footage from the camera she set up in your room from long ago.

The screen showed how your eyes glanced directly at the camera before you began to strip yourself naked, deliberately slow and teasing.

You made her wait.

In Natasha's other hand, her fingers fiddled with your house key, a gift from you. Natasha had the key to your house she could easily let herself in, let her presence be known. But that would be too easy.

Natasha loved every second of it. Her eyes hungry for more as she watched your skin get revealed to the lens, her eyes watch as your nipples harden in the cold air. Her pants felt tight. Too tight.

Instead, she took the... 'normal' way. The path she took every night and climbed into your bedroom instead. The Russian entered your room again, her eyes tracking your form as you sat bare in only a single top made of thin material. You've been waiting for her. She knew it.

"Hi." Natasha easily smiled as she made eye contact with you. "Hi," you could not help but respond, your voice a whisper yet loud enough to fill the room.

The redhead shrugged off her leather jacket and hung it over a chair in the room, then she took off her combat boots, "You waited up for me, sweetheart?" Your eyes trace her well built form, lingering a bit on the subtle bulge in her pants, "Always."

Natasha's fingers made work of her belt buckle as she pushed the black denim off her legs, the Widow in her black top and boxers stood before you, her skin soft under the moon light.

Natasha hummed as she crawled on the bed, her heavy frame hovering over yours, her green eyes bore into yours, "How long?" You swallowed nervously, your heart banging against your ribcage, "What?"

"How long have you known that it was me?" Natasha's fingers lightly trained up your bare thigh, causing goosebumps to arise along your skin.

You gulp nervously, your chest heavy as you breathed faster, your eyes never leaving her greens as she waited for an answer. "Only after you asked how I slept," your palms rest beside you as you shift back bit, intimidated by her stern eyes, "my suspicions were confirmed when you gave me the necklace."

The Russian's eyes immediately went to the sliver that still laid on your chest, her fingers traced her own initial before picking the silver up. "Do you like it?" Her voice is soft as her thumb traced over the 'N'.

"I love it. Thank you," your hand moved to cover hers in a reassuring squeeze, "I wear it every day." The Russian smiled, leaning in so close her lips graze yours, "I know."

Natasha looked at you before leaning in properly, her lips ghost against yours before fully kissing you, deeply. She waited ages for this. To kiss you. To feel your soft lips on her own.

"Your lips are so soft, I knew it," Her voice is a deep rasp as she spoke, her forehead against yours. "You... thought about this?" You couldn't help but ask. "Every night, every day," Natasha leaned in again, her nose touching yours, her lips threatening to kiss you again, "every waking hour I spent... wanting you. To feel you. I want you, always." Her throat bobbed as she confessed, her Russian accent coating her words in a revealed heated obsession.

"You have me," You whisper back, her hand moves to her hand on your thigh, watching her reaction as you move her hand higher, into the inner of your warm thighs. "I know," her voice is teasing as she squeezed at your inner thigh, you gasp, clutching on her forearm, "I always have."

Her lips found the skin of your neck, her mouth moved feverishly as she nipped at your skin, then she moved down to kiss across your collarbone following it to the middle of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.

She pulls her hand from your thigh, her hands work to remove the barrier between her lips and your skin. Immediately your nipples begin to harden under the cold breeze before Natasha is back to kissing you.

The assassin pulled away, looking at you for a moment before kissing your lips again only to pull back and get rid of her own clothing. The older woman now fully bare before your eyes, your eyes couldn't help themselves but look at her, her old scars from missions she's been on, her muscle from working out, your eyes trail down her abs to her neatly trimmed and well taken care of patch of red hair that surrounds her erect cock with a red tip, dripping precum as she waited. The woman noticed, of course, she's a trained assassin, she noticed everything.

Her lips move against yours in passion, "I'll be gentle. I promise." Her voice is deep, husky as she positioned herself between your legs. "You don't have to be," You breathe heavily as your heart tries to catch up with your breathing.

Natasha eyed you cautiously, she wouldn't take advantage of being your first and your only time.

The Russian's lips trailed down the column of your neck to the soft skin on your stomach and thighs, her teeth grazing the warm flesh as she left her marks on you. Natasha settled in the middle of your thighs, her face deadly close to your aching warmth. You sat on your elbows, watching Natasha, her green eyes watch your chest rise with a hint of unease.

"Relax, detka," Natasha's arm moved up your body to pin your chest down and pin your body to the bed, "trust me." Her red lips were felt on your inner thigh, her voice vibrated through your skin causing your body to buzz with excitement.

"I trust you," you nod as you watch her kiss your thighs, your hip bone before settling comfortably in front of you again. "Good." Her lips press a gentle kiss to your sensitive bundle of nerves, your breath hitched, "just feel for me, baby." Her warm pink muscle from her mouth soothed up your labia gently.

"Natasha," you immediately gasp, going to sit up before being held back down again by her hand on your chest. "Relax, baby," Natasha's hand moved to squeeze at your chest, feeling the soft flesh in her grasp as her thumb and index finger rolled your areola as her mouth worked wonders on your body.

Your hands moved to hold hers on your chest, squeezing her wrist and hand as you felt her suck your clit gently with a swipe of her tongue.

Your hips twitch up towards Natasha's mouth, the Russian smirked as her other arm moved to pin your hips gently.

Natasha is hearing music right now, your beautiful moans of her name as she works on you, her tongue sliding through your labia easily as she sucked and nibbled at your clit. Natasha removed her arm from your hips, instead putting it up to your mouth, her middle finger tapped your bottom lip, "Open." And obediently you did, your warm mouth and soft lips invite her digit in. "Suck, get it nice and wet for me, moya lyubov." Natasha kissed your thigh as she watched, and felt, your warmth tongue against your finger as you sucked.

Natasha pulled her hand away, "Good girl." Her hand teased it's way down your body as she made sure to look at you. Her now wet middle finger, teasing your entrance.

"Natasha-" you gasp out a moan, your hands tighten around her hand on your chest. With a low hum, the Russian pushed her digit in, slowly, watching for any minor reaction and emotion change. Your hand moves from Natasha's wrist to her hair, the other still holding onto her hand, Natasha groaned as she pressed another kiss to your sensitive clit, her finger fully pushed inside of you. Natasha's warm muscle exited from between her lips as she looked at you, dead in the eyes, as she began to eat you out again as her finger started moving inside of you again.

Your muscles tense as your thighs instinctively close around Natasha's head as your body heats up, a warm pool in your lower abdomen, "Nat-Natasha!" Your body shook as you moaned loudly, exploding on her tongue and finger.

"Mhm...," The redhead hummed as she placed a kiss on your stomach, soothing your body, "you are sweeter than your desserts. So much more."

Natasha brought her hands to hold your thighs open yet secure around her head as she finished up her meal.

You feel your face heat up despite the room once being cool, now warm with the smell of sex in the air. Natasha kissed her way up your body, then to your lips, a deep and heavy kiss to your reddened lips as she groaned deeply when her tip made contact with your clit.

Natasha pulled away with a few pecks to your lips, her hand moving down to take hold of herself, her fist moving in up and down motions on her member.

Natasha licked her lips as she stared down at your wetness, then her hips twitched forward as she guided her tip to your entrance. "Breathe for me, baby." Her voice is husky with her Russian accent seeping through.

You inhaled sharply as you felt the Russian push in, stretching you out. Natasha made sure her hips moved slowly against yours, giving soft thrusts, each time pushing a little deeper in until her hips rest against yours. You felt stretched out. Full. So completely full of her, your Natasha.

Natasha's hands moved to your hips as she ground herself, her thumbs soothing over the skin of your hip bones before releasing a moan of your name. Natasha felt you tighten around her as her hips moved, she knew you were close.

She could feel it, how you beautifully clung to her. As if you never want to let her go.

The assassin's lips started attacking your neck as her hips moved in a rhythmic pace, her cock hitting deep spots inside of you that made you see the stars and beyond.

The Russian smirked as she felt your hips twitched against hers as your legs tightened around her waist. Natasha pulled out only to watch her come swell from between your labia, the milky white substance was thick as it dripped down your sex. Natasha immediately got obssessed, the idea of filling you up with her come and breeding you properly over took her mind. The Russian immediately guided her cock back inside of you without a doubt filling you up again.

Your back arched off the bed as you moan out her name loudly, your fingers clawing at her biceps. Natasha held your hips down this time, "Call me by my name, detka." Natasha lets out a heavy breath as her hips moved in a steady thrusting pace, a wet sound arising due to wet skin slapping against one another every time Natasha pounds into you. "Natasha!" You moaned aloud when her tip rubbed against your spongy G-stop deliciously. "C'mon, baby," Natasha grinned, red strands stuck to her sweaty forehead as she huffed, her hips giving a particularly harsh thrust as she got herself buried inside of you as deep as possible, "you know you can scream louder than that." You felt her hand steady herself beside your head as the other held your thigh open for leverage.

Words could barely escape your mouth as the pleasure clouded your brain. Natasha coaxed you, her hand leaving your thigh only for her rough thumb to attack your clit with firm circles.

"N-Natasha!-" the word escape from your lips before you could stop it. "That's it, baby. Keep screaming for me," Natasha's hips drove forward deep into yours, "Holy fuck." The Russian panted. Her green eyes trailed over your face, "You'll look so beautiful pregnant."

"Natasha, please," your moans are choked out as you felt the tip of her cock repeatedly rubbed over the spongy g-spot. "So round and full with my babies, you'll be utterly and completely mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Mine to love."

You couldn't help but agree with the muscular Russian towering over you as she relentlessly plowed your hips into the mattress, "P-please-" you could only break out as your fingers clutched at her strong shoulders, her skin warm with a thin layer of sweating covering.

"Please what, dorogaya?" Her voice is low in a mock as she kissed at the middle of your neck. "Breed me, Natty, please," you chocked out a sob as the pleasure turned blinding, your core muscles tighten again, the warmth felt stronger like fire as it waited to explode in your abdomen. Your shaking thighs managed to wrap themselves around Natasha's hips which only seemed to spur the Russian on.

"Oh, fuck-" the redheads head dropped in your neck as she moaned, her hips seemed to moved faster, "say that again, baby. Tell me what you need." Her warm breath fanned across your skin as her teeth nipped at the skin at the base of your neck. "Breed me, Natasha, please," your legs tightened around the redheads waist, as if trying to drive her deeper inside of you. You can't get enough.

Natasha sat up to lean on one hand beside your head again as the other still worked circles on your overwhelmed clitoris. Your hands move to cup the back of Natasha's neck as if it were some sort of support. Her green eyes looked down to where you two connected, how your cum seemed to mix together and form the perfect lubrication as she moved inside of you.

"Natty, I'm gonna-" your voice seemed to stop working as moans only left your throat and chest heavy as your body began to tighten around Natasha. "I know, baby, I know," she moved to lean on her elbow, her thumb still moving in continuous circle around your clit, "Come for me, baby. Come for me."

The Russian was not far behind, a few thrusts later she let out a moan, "Fuck. Baby," Natasha planted her hips firmly against yours as she came deep inside of you, breeding you and officially marking you as hers. Her lips met your kiss bruised lips in a passionate frenzy as she groaned, feeling you milk the last of her come from her before her hips slowly came to a still.

You exploded, back arching, thighs tensing as your legs tightened around Natasha's waist.

A moment of comfortable, tired silence went by of the Russian's hot, sweaty body on top of yours as her breath tickled your neck as she sighed out in bliss, her hand moved back to your thigh, giving it a good squeeze just to see you shake.

"I'm going to get you a ring," her voice is mumbled as her lips moved against your skin, "that way, I can make sure my wife stays properly bred."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Can you like… stay fucking still??” She hissed as she firmly squeezed your wrist, holding it right above her palm.

She was hunched over your hand. Her face was obstructed by locks of her bob, so close to your fingers you could feel the soft warmth of her breath coursing through them. Her gaze was fixed on your nails while she drew perfect, deliberate strokes on them.

She was doing nail art, on your nails. Not that it hurt your masculinity or anything—in fact, you had always liked how she did her nails. It was just that it was the first time she’d asked you to be her “guinea pig” for her designs. Well, “asked” was putting it too nicely. She had practically kidnapped you out of your 67th play through of Baldur’s Gate III. Though, for someone who ran a nail art shop—a side hustle, as she’d always corrected you—it was ridiculous that somehow she had run out of practice tips.

“You know you have your own nails, right?” you said, earning yourself another squeeze, her sharp nails now digging into your wrist. Heh, fortunate you were masochistic enough for the pain. Hell, the wincing from your bitten lower lip could’ve been mistaken for a moan had she not been so focused on drawing the final stroke.

“I hope you stub your toes, actually” she said, rolling her eyes as she applied the final coatings. “I told you I ran out of rounded tips. I’ve done my nails already, and you just happened to have… neatly clipped nails, ‘kay?”

“You could always ask Jiwoo to come over,” you shrugged.

“And let you ogle at my girlfriend again? No thank you, perv.” She scoffed, doing a final check, admiring her brand new design.

She carefully brought both of your hands into the UV machine. “And as much as I wanna nail my girlfriend,” she looked up expectantly before turning on the machine, checking to see if you’d misinterpreted her words. And of course, you were putting on the most annoying grin ever. “Her nails are usually long. Not only that, she’s also currently away.” The UV light cast upon your fingers as she pressed the power button. “And this is a practice anyway. Soo… I don’t wanna mess up her nails, if I were to mess up.”

“So if you mess me up, that is okay?”

She crossed her arms on the desk, grinning so smugly it was so obvious to her “Why else would I drag you here, bozo?”

“To… ogle at your girlfriend’s girlfriend?” you said, so lightly you started to wonder how come she hadn’t kicked you out yet for being so down bad for her for the longest time.

“Ha, ha. Don’t even need to drag you along with me when you’re fucking ogling me all the time.” She rolled her eyes distastefully, yet somehow endearingly. “You’re lucky you somehow happened to be my bestest friend—”

“With benefits?”

“—of high quality nail art, that is.” she said, putting on a mocking smile, flexing her nails centimeters away from your face.

“Unfortunately…” Your gaze shifted from her decorated nails to her obstructed face across her fingers. “They are really, really cool though. You know I love them all.”

“See? You can be somewhat nice.” She threw her hands up as she leaned back on her chair, quite taken aback by your genuine compliment. “Is it really so hard to appreciate your home girl’s work, instead of her body all the time?”

“Can’t help it,” you shrugged innocently, as if it was normal to begin with. You were lucky indeed she was also weird like that. “So… how long does this usually take?” You looked back at your illuminated fingers under the violet light.

“Couple minutes tops.” she says dismissively, opening her phone to check on her girlfriend.

“You’re taking my sweet sweet time from finishing the game, y’know?”

“Sweet time my ass, you’re still in Act 1, save scumming tryna steal Voss’ Sword for HOURS! IT’S YOUR 67th PLAYTHROU-” She cut her own words off to catch a minuscule movement of your hands. She dropped her phone and immediately halted your hands before you could even attempt to pull them out.

Oh, how she knew you very, very dearly.

“Nooo you are NOT doing the 67 HAND THINGY, KEEP YOUR HANDS IN!! HOW OLD ARE YOU??”

“Old enough… according to Miss JiU next door.” you grinned ever so smugly with such confidence, name-dropping the MILF next door the two of you had been thirsting over ever since moving in.

“She is such a MILF isn’t she… yeah….” Her mind instantly got distracted, wandering off to the resident MILF. Then, it dawned on her. She shook off the thoughts to fully process what you’d just said. “W-wait… YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH HER?”

“Jealous much?”

“Nah, with that behavior of yours? Highly unbelievable actually.” She leaned forward mockingly, her arms crossed on the desk.

“AckSHualLy ☝️🤓… I’m only like this when I’m with you, bestie <3” you winked.

“Okay, gross.” She cringed. “Sweet, but gross.”

“I have always been sweet, what is you talm bout.”

“You have been, weirdly, INAPPROPRIATELY sweet—even for your standards, which are in hell. If I were dense, I wouldn’t have noticed the pattern that you want something.” She said, her eyes suspiciously narrowing.

“I suppose I am deserving of a small form of gratitude for being your… object of interest today, my Lady.”

“Disinterest, actu-” she shot her eyes out before you could even air out another AckSHualLy. She sighed. “But fine, whaddya want, my… Unbecoming Lord?”

“Let’s just say I happened to have uhh… other rounded tip you can practice on too. Would that be of your interest as well, madame?”

“You’re saying you want me to prick your dick with the brush, 2 kids 1 sandbox style??” That was a deep cut, literally.

“YOU’RE OOLLLD”

“SO ARE YOU!!! So keep your dick to yourself… eugh.” Her eyes drifted back to her phone as it was vibrating.

Jiwoo sent a video.

She stood up, moving from her chair to her bed just behind it, sitting on the edge.

The play button still unpressed—she didn’t even need to. She could tell it was a spicy one just by looking at the blurred thumbnail, filled with colors akin to Jiwoo’s skin tone.

This has gotta be the worst timing ever, she thought. But truly, she blamed herself. She couldn’t possibly be mad at her girlfriend for sending a spicy video, nor could she blame the timing, for she had been so fucking horny for the past week since Jiwoo left for a work trip.

She glanced at you. Then back to her phone.

You again, then back.

Her eyes resorted to her fingers, though with such pity. Her own fingers hadn’t been doing it for her the past few days, not to mention she currently had sharp nails on.

Then she looked up at you once again, lost in thought, probably thinking of another multi-class combo.

I’m going fucking crazy, she cursed herself. I can’t possibly be even considering this mf…

“... Unless…” her heart skipped a beat. Her body acted faster than her mind. She was desperately horny.

“Am listening…” You locked the fuk in.

“Unless you’re the very last person on earth. Then, I’d consider it.”

“CONSIDER??? Girl you’d be fucking no one but me.”

“No, I meant it when I say you’re the very last person on earth. I’d kill myself before we even—”

Fuck, she cursed. That was somewhat a nice save, but her last sentence? She’d be lying to herself knowing she was actually considering you. But time was crueler still, never sparing her, as the alarm on her phone rang, forcing her to nod at you, beckoning you to come.

“Sooyoung-ah…” You towered her, showing off the finished result to her face. “These are fucking rad.”

“I know.” She held your hands, pulling them slightly to observe the details, while you, instinctively, knelt before her lap, resting your arms on her thighs.

She grabbed her phone to take pictures of your nails, another masterpiece added to her catalog.

As she angled her phone for the final pic, she saw you through the screen.

On your knees.

Between her legs.

Your elbows positioned off her shorts, touching her bare exposed thi-

“You done?” you interrupted her tweaking, tilting your head into view of her screen.

“Y-yeah…” She shook her head, then took the final picture.

She reviewed every picture attentively. Her thumb tapped in to zoom, then swiped onto the next pic every other second. She kept swiping and swiping, even after the final pic, she didn’t keep track of how many she’d taken, and it happened.

Jiwoo’s video slid into view of her screen.

That’s it.

“Ookaayy… I’m keeping these on, by the way. Lowkirkenuinely sick af.”

I can’t hold it anymore.

“Uuuh… Sooyoung?”

I’m so sorry, Chagiya.

“I’ll… Leave it to you then… Hope it sells a fuck ton tho.”

Before you could even stand up properly, she held you down. Her grip firm on your shoulder, pinning you onto the floor.

You were preparing for the worst. You did pull your hand out from the machine once to scratch your balls when she wasn’t looking. Well, at least that’s what you’d thought, perhaps she had seen you after all, and now you were so fucked.

“S-sooyoung-ah… I-” You looked up to her.

“Shut up.”

“A man has his needs… And I needed to sc-”

“Exactly. And I have mine too.” She stared down at you.

“huH……. You have a girl dih??” Your eyebrows shot up through the roof, and you were down for whatever she had down there.

“W-what??? Well, I kinda wish,” she recoiled before taking your query thoughtfully for a second, “but no, what the fuck are you talking about??” She groaned at your stupid question. But despite that, she sighed—not at you, but at her own resignation to temptation.

You would do.

“Anyways…” she finally pressed the play button. “Jiwoo’s been away.”

Heavy breathing.

“W-what is this……”

Faint squelching.

“And my fingers not doing it as of late.”

Soft whimpers.

“So, I’m giving you this one chance...”

A sudden sharp moan.

“... Of…?” You asked.

Then came a soft feminine voice, calling out to… Sooyoung??

“To…” She hesitated, but eventually broke off her own shackles… kinda. “K-… kiss my… kitty…”

“… But, we don’t have a kit-”

“MY PUSSY GOD DAMMIT!” She yelled as she grabbed the hem of her shorts and pushed them down off her legs, together with her panties. Her movement was ragged and desperate, her legs kicking you off your balance, your elbow propping you up on the floor.

And there you had it.

For years you had been so down bad for the hottest woman you’d ever known. No visual cues, hints, or even reciprocal teasing that’d lead to anything. Somehow life was worth living again, as now Ha Sooyoung, your lifelong hot best friend, had her kitty out in the open, mere centimeters away from your senses.

“Oh… THAT kitty….”

“Yes, this kitty…”

Her face was lush red, both embarrassed and horned tf out. She gathered all her courage, and with a groan, she said. “Let’s just say this is your reward for… whatever reason.” She scoffed. “Tch, my girlfriend just sent a video of her fingering the fuck out of her pussy, and I’ve been horny af for the past week, and I wanna touch myself but my fingers not cutting it anymore.” She sighed. “Look, just fucking eat me while I watch my girlfriend finger herself.”

All your down bad comments towards her, your teasing—all of them just gone. Nothing in your life could’ve prepared you for all that. You tried to process the series of words she’d just said, especially the last one. She was asking you to eat her out, WHILE she watched her girlfriend screw herself??? You didn’t even know if you were being a cuck or if Sooyoung was just being sinfully unfaithful—maybe even both. But none of that mattered anymore when you were rock hard, mouth agape, still fixated on her pussy with Jiwoo’s moaning in the background.

You gently wrapped your arms around her thighs from below, you were so close to her pussy you could breathe in her musk doing you like crack. It was dripping, through the tendrils of her well-kept bush. Not that it bothered you—somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice definitely yours said Even better. The hem of her black tank top rode up, your eyes tracked the soft thin happy trail up to her exposed navel, then eventually you met her flushed gaze from above. You could never be happier in life, being put in place by your hot lesbian home girl.

“Y-you sure about this…?”

Her left hand ran through your hair, grasping what she could palm. You could feel her desperation in her nails poking your scalp, while the other held the moaning device for her to watch.

“Just fucking eat me, bozo.”

And so you did, unleash the beast.

You kissed her kitty—though not the way you’d kiss a real kitty, obviously. You ate her like you hadn’t eaten for weeks. You ran your tongue in laps and laps all over her pussy as if cleaning her girl juice off, replacing it with your own saliva. She tasted nothing like the countless 2AM sessions in your head (and hand). She tasted miles better, intoxicating as you breathed her in, the folds and crevices felt like they’d been perfectly sculpted for your tongue to slip into.

But that was putting your hunger too nicely.

It was more like you were in a biology exam with a blindfold on, mapping out her pussy with your tongue and trying to answer what part, what flesh or folds of her pussy it was. But the best part was, you didn’t know shit about biology.

You swirled around her clit, then sucked it with such suction you were basically slurping on it. Congratulations—you earned yourself a guttural moan from her. She started slow, but eventually rode your face, finding the right answer—which you weren’t going to spit out to begin with.

“F-fuck… Chagiya…” She moaned, her eyes totally fixated on Jiwoo’s sticky fingers pumping into her pussy.

Well, that wasn’t your name, but it was now. You were standing in for a lesbian with supple tits and the most God-sent DSL apparently. Was it cuck-ish? Kinda. You’d argue Jiwoo was the cuck, considering you were the one eating Sooyoung. But that was beside the point, and the point being how Sooyoung wasn’t even complaining or bullying you for your tongue game. Knowing her, she would’ve bullied you for the most nothing-burger reason ever, and honestly, she might’ve been for the past few minutes. But you wouldn’t have heard it anyway, all you could still hear were both of them moaning, though faintly, due to her plush thighs suffocating you from both sides. You could feel all the pressure of her grasping hand from above, all around your head, wrapped between her legs.

She’s fucking enjoying this, you patted your ego in the back.

Your tongue game matched that of a lesbian eating a pussy. Your ego blasted off the roof, you’d successfully masked yourself as Jiwoo, with a rock-hard cock down under, that is.

Jiwoo with a cock.

Jiwoo with a cock? Jiwoock??

That didn’t sound bad at all, actually. But you were Jiwoo now—did that count as self-cest? You’d been given a chance to be in heaven—that was, Ha Sooyoung’s pussy—and you were still thinking of another girl with a cock. By Merlin’s beard, you were greedy.

You grew bolder as your left hand slithered up, roaming on her flat tummy, which you’d cummed on multiple times in your dreams. Meanwhile, your right hand was in the rightest place of all, slipping under her tank top to join forces with her own hand groping her tits.

“You’re not allowed to be this— Aah…!” You squeezed her nipple. “F-fucking go~od!” She finally referred to you for the first time in minutes. Not Jiwoo, you. Thank God it wasn’t self-cest after all.

She looked ungodly above you. Darker spots of moisture started wetting her top. She was still holding up her phone, her arm pinned high, perfectly exposing a small, tantalizing opening of her right armpit to your view from below. Your eyes greedily tracked down all beads of sweat trickling down from her flushed forehead and neck, pooling right at the delicate, sensitive hollow at the base of her arm. She is swelteringly sweating. It was so damp you could literally see small reflection from the room lighting gleaming off her slick skin.

The intoxicating musk of her raw sweat mixed with her arousal sending a feral jolt straight to your broin—brain and groin. A thick bead of sweat trailed down the soft crease, soaking the trim of her tank top’s armhole. Your mouth practically watered along with her wetness, down dripping on the floor. You stared at the glistening textured folds of the hollow, a degenerate, desperate, pathetic thought crossed your mind.

Maybe, if you ate her out hard enough, she would actually indulge your sickly, filthy fantasy on her.

So you nuzzled her clit as you buried your face deeper. But not as deep as your tongue, working inside her pussy so hard she crossed her calves behind your neck, locking and pulling you deeper in her pussy. Suddenly, death by suffocation didn’t sound bad at all.

Though as much as Sooyoung loved getting fucked by your… no, Jiwoo’s? Nah, it was your tongue—she needed something more. Something that could reach deeper, something more rigid. And she could only think of your digits, for now.

So her wish was your command.

You trailed your left hand down to her mound, stopping right on her clit. You’d dreamed about this. Numerous times you had sacrificed enough sleepless nights jacking off while writing about rubbing one out for Ha Sooyoung. But somehow your fingers worked her clit with way too much care in contrast to the beast, that was your tongue. They were stiff, careful, and definitely not sensual at all. So you switched up the strategy.

You were now back to sucking her clit while your fingers down there hesitantly rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed. You knew how to finger a woman—you had seen videos, read fan fics, and pretty sure this wasn’t your first rodeo with a woman. You were being awkward af.

Then, it hit you. You still got your nails on. You really didn’t want to ruin it, you actually liked her design and genuinely appreciate the art. You really wished you had Mage Hand right now, on second thought that’d actually be so hot. But again, that was beside the point, you had a better question. Is it even safe…?

Sooyoung noticed, of course she did.

“The fuck… Are you doing…?” She said, in the middle of her panting.

You pull off your tongue out of her pussy, your lips smothered by her girl juice. “It’s… Been a while, y’know?” You reasoned weakly.

“No shit. Somehow your foul mouth works better in my pussy than your neat fingers.” Backhanded as it was, you took half the compliment to your ego. “You never touched a woman before??”

“I have-!”

“Eaten a woman? Yeah, I can tell. But your finger game lacking so bad omg you’re ruining the mood!” She yelled, her brows furrowed as she glared at you intensely from above, and of course your ass only got hornier seeing her angry like this.

“I-… I don’t wanna mess up my nails, okay!?”

You could see a faint blush on her cheeks. Despite her blazing arousal, she was genuinely flattered that you actually cared that much about her work.

“I-it won’t mess ‘em up!” she argued, reaching down to grab your wrist.

“Is it even safe???” you hesitated. As much as you wanted to ruin her, you didn’t want to actually make her sick or anything.

“YES!”

“How would you know?”

“… Grok.”

“I’m leaving.”

“I’m fucking kidding!” She let out an exasperated laugh, her nails digging firmly into your wrist. “I’m a nail artist, dumb ass! I WOULD KNOW.”

She let her phone slip from her grasp, tumbling onto the messy sheets to her right, though you could still hear Jiwoo’s soft moaning hands free. She twisted your freshly painted digits, angling it directly against her soaking entrance.

“So, shut up,”

She didn’t even give you a chance to argue. With a firm, determined pull of your arm, she forcefully thrust two of your fingers deep inside herself.

“And stop thinking about your nails.”

So you did.

At this point, you were sure your pre-cum was already wetting your boxers just from the extremely lewd, shattered moan ripped from her throat the second your fingers cave in. But alas, you let go of your restraint completely. Fuck your nail, literally. You curled your fingers and drove them deep into her core. She could feel the smooth, cold surface of your freshly cured nails rushing along the slick of her soaking walls. You fell into a ruthless rhythm, thrusting and curling your knuckles upward against her sweet spot relentlessly like it was a button mashing Quick Time Event, all while your tongue kept its starving, aggressive assault on her swollen clit.

“F-fuck! God, y/n!” Sooyoung shrieked, her back arching off the mattress, she was seeing stars.

At last, she succumbed to you. She lost it the moment she found it fucking hot seeing you under her mercy like a dog. She had completely forgotten about who she was fantasizing on her knees. The last remaining remnant of Jiwoo was the moaning on her phone she’d discarded next to her face. It was a man, only you, her perverted gooner best friend between her thighs giving her the best oral she had ever gotten.

Her hips bucking against your fingers while she threw both her hands up, grasping the sheets above her head. She was basically presenting herself to you. With a loud slurp on her clit, you started trailing wet kisses up her happy trail, tasting the sweat up pass her navel, to the hem of her tank top just below her tits. Her small under boobs peaked just enough to get you riled up even more. With your free hand you took her top off.

You had seen her braless in a thin see through shirt before, you swore if someone were to ask where exactly her nipples are placed, you’d know it by heart. But seeing her fully topless like this was just a whole another level. You squeezed it with your free hand, earning another italic moan from her. Sure, she wasn’t as well endowed as your ex Hyeju. But you couldn’t care less.

Tits are tits, and man’s gotta eat.

Your tongue hit first, swish and flicking around her light brown nipple. With a firm squeeze of your hand, you sucked on it hard you were practically milking the fuck out of her.

“Harder!” She arched her back, catching your mouth.

“Which one?” You asked as you lightly grazed her nipple with your teeth, slightly biting on it.

“HnnGHh~ FUCK!” She howled. “Both, fucker.”

“Say less.” You upped your fingers tempo, more ragged and messy, while your mouth switch between her tits sloppily, covering them with your saliva.

Then it was time.

Your free hand pinned hers above as you dragged your tongue from her left tit, upwards, not to her neck nor collarbone, but the sensitive, glistening armpit. Your tongue glided along the axis, lapping all the sweat pooled at the now fully exposed hollow.

Sooyoung flinched, a sharp gasp ripping from her throat.

“Wait—what the fuck??” she shrieked, her body squirming against your hold. She looked down at you lavishing her armpit, her face burning, humiliated red. “EW, Y/N, STOP! That’s mmngHh~ disgusting! I haven’t showered all fucking day!”

She tried to twist her arm away from your pinning, glaring at you with a mix of genuine disgust and a newfound arousal. “You’re a fucking FREAK oh my G~od!”

But you paid her no mind, her protests fading into the background beneath the deafening, wet slurping of your own depravity. You definitely rolled a NAT 20 today. You had always secretly loved how she smelled every morning you passed by her at the kitchen counter. Since it was a lazy holiday afternoon after all, meaning she had no plans, home all day, there was absolutely no need for her to put on any deodorants or perfume. So the Unwashed status effect multiplied to her natural pheromones, and having her arm pinned securely above her head gave her an automatic Disadvantage on all Strength saving throws. And it left you with a 100% guaranteed hit chance to feast upon the raw, unfiltered, intoxicating musk that was uniquely her.

So you took full advantage of her debuff completely. You nuzzled your nose into the damp skin as you dragged your wet tongue deeper into her sensitive hollow, meticulously mapping out the topography of her underarm like a starved explorer. You could literally feel the delicate texture as your tongue pushing ruthlessly into every tiny, slick crevice and fold, slurping obscenely, savoring the sharp, salty tang of the raw moisture straight out of her pores.

Her disgusted remarks now fractured into breathy, needy whine. Her pinned arm went limp, fingers twitching helplessly on the mattress. She couldn’t help but get aroused by your weird kink.

“F-fuck… You’re so gross.” She whimpered, her voice cracking.

Contrast to her own insult, her free arm suddenly flew, wrapping tightly around the back of your head. Her fingers tangled deeply into your hair, nails pricking your scalp, forcefully shoving you deeper into the damp hollow, smothering you in her raw musk, all while her hips subconsciously bucked harder against your fingers still relentlessly plowing her soaking core.

“Oh my God…” She sobbed out. “Don’t stop.”

She was finally close. You could feel the tension in her thighs, her walls inside tightening, trapping your fingers like that one scene in A New Hope as she desperately chased her climax.

You were both entirely preoccupied, blissfully lost in the filthy, undeniable sin you were committing on this God-forsaken mattress. But you felt something missing from all of this.

You consented to this, she definitely consented to this.

Then it dawned on you. You asked yourself, isn’t there somebody you forgot to ask?

“I don’t!” Time said, ever so cruel.

The screen of her phone lit up brightly, cutting off the spicy video that was somehow still looping after what it felt like 30 minutes, with a deafening, obnoxious ringtone.

“Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!“

You froze.

You heard it right, you couldn’t possibly mistake it. It wasn’t the generic default ringtone of any normal device. It wasn’t as if the writer didn’t know how phones ring—they definitely knew exactly what a default iOS or Android ringtone sounded like.

No, this was definitely a targeted assault on the reader. The writer had specifically chosen to ruin it with the 2013 viral electronic dance hit “What Does the Fox Say” by Ylvis.

“Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!“ the phone blasted at max volume from the messy sheets, obliterating the filthy tension between the two of you.

Incoming Call: Jiwoo

“SHIT!” Sooyoung hissed.

With sheer panic, she violently shoved you off your balance. You tumbled backward off the mattress, hitting the floor with a hard thud, bruising your elbows.

“What the fu—”

“SHUT UP! Shut up, shut up, shut up.” she frantically shush-ed you. She scrambled to sit upright, cleared her hoarse throat, and accepted Jiwoo’s call on loud speaker.

“H-heeyy… Chagiya!” Sooyoung answered, her voice was an octave higher than usual.

“Heyy… Are you… Okaay?” Jiwoo’s sweet, concerned voice echoed through the now quiet room. “I was just… Worried. I sent you the video like half an hour ago and you haven’t replied since. Was it a bad time…? I’m so so—”

“NO!” Sooyoung even startled herself. She cleared her throat again. “I mean, yeah! I saw it! It was… Great!” She stammered. Her pants ragged, chest still heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing. “There is… Absolutely nothing wrong. I was just… Busy!”

There was something so hot the way she referred to both your uncouth shenanigans as busy.

Heh, busy? I’ll show you busy

A mischievous, wicked grin stretched across your face. You got back on your knees, moving right back between her dangling legs off the edge of the bed. Sooyoung’s eyes widened in horror as she realized exactly what you were about to do. She glared down at you, silently mouthing “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Despite her glaring, her legs didn’t show any sign of restraint or fight as you spread it wide open once again. You leaned in and aggressively buried your face right back to where it belonged, Ha Sooyoung’s soaking, edging core.

Sooyoung jolted, her spine snapping straight. Her free hand flew up, slapping it over her mouth to hold her squealing. But of course, that wasn’t enough to contain the pleasure in from her phone.

“Chagiya…?” Jiwoo’s concerned voice now had a slight suspiciously teasing tone to it. “Are you… Out of brea—”

“NO!” Sooyoung forced out an answer through her gritting teeth. Her knuckles gripping the phone turned white as you swirled your tongue mercilessly, slurping her dripping folds. “I just… Dropped something!”

There was a moment of silence on Jiwoo’s end of the line. Then, a soft, incredibly sweet giggle echoed from her line.

“Chagiya… Are you…? Are you touching yourself to my video right now??” Jiwoo teased, her tone completely shifted playfully.

Sooyoung was in absolute chaos. She was terrified of getting caught, but the sheer thrill of her girlfriend unknowingly listening to her get eaten out by her bestie was too much for her to handle. She wanted to deny it, push you away and end whatever the fuck this was. But her body betrayed her completely, and so did her mind, consumed by the unfaithful arousal.

“… Perchance…”

“Oh my God!” You could hear Jiwoo’s laughing echoed through the room. “But it was only like one half a minute video! Were you looping it? You’ve been gooning to me this whole time?”

“Yeah… You, only you!” Oh how fired up you were listening to Sooyoung’s lies.

“You wanna kiss my kitty so bad hmm? Want me to kiss yours too?” Jiwoo teased, which Sooyoung could only give an agreeing moan as an answer. Ah, so this where the kitty kissing came from, you thought.

The absolute, catastrophic irony of the situation messed up your already messed up broin. You were eating the fuck out of Sooyoung’s pussy, while Jiwoo gave gooning instruction to her … And you? At this point, it worked both ways for Sooyoung and you. Of course, you wanted in too like yeah you wanna kiss Jiwoo’s kitty too. Now you and Sooyoung both were gooning to Jiwoo. This is so weird and fucking hot, you both thought respectively.

“So I was interrupting your gooning! Were you close, Chagiya?” God, Jiwoo’s cute giggle was so out of place yet her husky tone right now was so right.

“Mhmm…” Sooyoung whimpered, her fingers messing up your hair as your tongue relentlessly lapped her folds.

“Then tell me.” Jiwoo’s voice grew even huskier. “Tell me what you would have me do, if I was right, there. On the bed. With you. Tell me, Chagiya…”

You could see the massive lump going down Sooyoung’s throat. She turned her eyes to you as you greedily slurped her core. Unfortunately fortunate, she was just as fucked up as you. A wicked, fucked up idea sparked into life within her.

She didn’t even have to use her imagination, when she had you on her kitty.

“I’d want you… to spread my thighs,” she breathed heavily into the phone, live reporting your exact movements, word for word. “I want your face buried in my pussy… Swirling your tongue right on my clit… Sucking on it so ha~ard I can’t eve- Aah! Breathe!”

“Hmmm yeah… What else?” Jiwoo urged for more, her own breath hitching.

You smirked against Sooyoung’s wetness. You were more than happy to put on a live… Show? Podcast? Smut audio book for Jiwoo? Hell, whatever this was, you were nailing your role. But a stagnant, repetitive narration would only bore the audience. You had to be creative, feed more narration into Sooyoung, keep the audience entertained, you had to be the star.

So you flip the script.

You pulled your face off of her dripping slit and with firm grips under her thighs, you lifted her legs upward, exposing an entirely new different map. Sooyoung’s brows furrowed in confusion, she was positioned as if she was trying to give birth to electro pop.

And before she could even ask, you dragged down your soaked tongue from her pussy, then pressed it firmly onto the concave surface of her musky tight, puckered rim that was her asshole.

Sooyoung violently jolted you could feel her entire body shudder. “HNGH— FUUUUCKKK!” she shrieked, the unfiltered, no audio gate, soul-leaving-the-body kind of shriek. Her free hand flew up, grasping the sheets hard. Nothing in her life could’ve prepared her for an ass eating, they didn’t teach her about this in school. Her face burned aflame, mortified as you stared right back beneath her. She really didn’t want to narrate this newfound arousal, but she had to. She had to commit to the bit.

“I… I want...” She took the sheet to cover up her burning face as she shamefully confessed. “I want you to go lower…”

“L-lower…?”

“Yeah…” She whimpered, her hips bucking deliberately as you pushed the tip of your tongue into her tight pucker. “I want you to lick my ass…”

Another brief silence on the other end of the line. You could imagine Jiwoo’s stun locked face by Sooyoung’s confession.

“Wai-… Wha-… Really??” Jiwoo squeaked, Sooyoung’s confession completely rendered her off guard. “You… You want me to rim you…? Well, I… I never done it but… Since when are you into that?!”

“N-now??”

“I… I don’t know what to say!” She let out breathless laugh. “I mean, I would do it if you want to, Chagiya~” Her tone shifted back into that husky whisper.

That was it. That was your entry for Best Directing at the Academy Awards.

Jiwoo’s green light was basically a “Yes I will, in fact, eat ass.” for you, it was now lore accurate. With another swish and flick of your tongue, and her lower back literally levitating off the mattress, giving you unrestricted access to lap and scoop all the tangy, bitter sweat and musk. Professor Flitwick would be proud of you.

You flattened your tongue, made it rigid, and deliberately, you forcefully thrust the tip straight pass her puckered ring. It was incredibly, very, very tight. But Thank God your tongue was already warmed up and practically ripped the fuck up from the earlier biology exam. So you pushed through as hard as you possibly, physically could, essentially tongue fucking her dirty hole in a wet, filthy rhythm.

But then, you decided that the layer of filth was not enough for the climax.

So you added another.

While your tongue was busy violating her asshole, you brought your old friends, brother and sister finger, right back into the frame. You drove them straight back into her core, thrusting upward, pumping them against her sweet spot while perfectly in sync with the brutal movement of your tongue.

“Ch-chagiya—!” Sooyoung sobbed, she couldn’t even stand a chance, the double stimulation on both her holes rendered her overwhelmingly devastated. Her phone slipped and tumbled onto the mattress again as she grabbed fistfuls of your hair. “I’m— FUCK!”

Her spine arched so high and her trembling thighs clamped down aggressively, suffocating you in the splash zone.

Then, the dam finally broke.

She upcast Climax with a level 6 spell slot, her core convulsing as she flooded your hand with her release. She came so fucking hard that her spasming inside crushed your fingers, forcing them to slip out with a wet pop, drenching your face with her sweet, sticky girl juice.

“D-did you just… I never heard you cum that hard…” Jiwoo’s voice stunned from the discarded phone. “Maybe I should eat your ass when I go back home…”

“You… Should, Chagiya… T-thanks?” Sooyoung said out of breath, still coming down from her high.

“Anything for my baby apple <3 We’ll try it out next week~”

The call finally ended.

After you licked her sensitive pussy clean, you crawled over her on all fours. You both stared each other, flushed and exhausted. You licked your lips, wiping the last remaining of her cum as you put that smug grin back on your face.

“You’re… You’re fucking crazy…” She panted.

“You’re crazy too.”

“Armpits?? Really…??”

“Yeah… Really.”

“That was…” All of a sudden, she felt conscious of her armpit still sticky from your saliva earlier. “Fuck… I also can’t believe you ate my ass while— Tch, JIWOO WAS ON THE CALL!”

“And you fucking loved it.”

“Th-… That’s beside the point!” She blushed, she couldn’t deny how hot it was for her too. “Not a fucking word to her, you hear me??” She grabbed a fistful of your shirt.

Then, she felt her wetness in her palm, she had forgotten how hard she came, she didn’t realize she soaked your shirt. Her eyes then trailed down your whole body and stopped at the protruding relief on your pants, you were still completely clothed and hard. She scoffed, looking away from your face above. Then, with a deep sigh, she finally gave in.

With all the strength she had left, she shoved you to the side. The room lighting cast over her from above, she set the scene so fucking good as she was now on top of you, you could still see the glistening sweat, your drying saliva and her cum on her backlit body.

“I suppose… You deserve a reward.” Her hands scrambled to unbutton your pants.

“I thought that earlier was the reward?”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to go full on glizzy overdrive??” She let go the hem of your pants. “Fine.” She said dismissively.

“WAIT!” You instantly grabbed her before she could get off of you. “Hehe, please commence glizzy overdrive.”

She rolled her eyes as she got off the bed, getting on her knees and with a firm pull, she took off your pants and boxer altogether.

For the first time, she finally took witness of your cock, standing proud, towering her flushed face. She was expecting it to be disgusting, or ugly given to her preference. But the sheer size of your cock rendered her into a loading state you could see the clogs working in her mind, calculating the size of it compared to her face.

“Holy fuck…?” she said in awe.

“Nothing we done this afternoon has been hol-.”

“You’re fucking huge!” she cut you, her face shocked, with a spice of concern of her well-being as images of your cock if it were to get inside of her flooded her mind.

“Aw, you don’t have to sa-”

“NO LIKE… You’re HUGE huge…!” She reiterated, bringing her arm into frame. “It’s almost as big as my arm!!”

She hesitated, her expression was a mix of disgust and curiosity. But eventually, she reached for your cock. Her touch was hesitant, nails grazing along your length. She then tried wrapping her fingers but her index couldn’t even meet her thumb around the diameter. It felt painfully hard, like literally, you were holding it in for what it felt like a whole day. And considering the sun setting by the window, you were probably right.

“I literally can’t wrap my hand around it.” She said dumbfounded.

You sit up straight, and your dream came true.

Ha Sooyoung on her knees, holding your hard wet cock, ready to suck the life out of you.

You admired the ungodly sight for a tad bit too long, you were woken up by her squeeze on your shaft.

“Eugh… Just so you know, I never done this, obviously.” She started stroking half of your length with such distaste. “Is this fine?”

“Hmmnggh… A bit faster…” You moaned.

So she tried, her best at least.

As much as you want to bully her for her stroking game, you really, really needed this. This was literally the dream, you wouldn’t want her to leave you blue balled just because you were teasing her all the time. Though, eventually she caught onto a steady rhythm, her small hand pumping your length with just enough pressure, and surprisingly good grip. You threw your head back with a groan.

“Fucking perv.” She sneered. “You dreamed about this, huh?”

“Yeah…” You confessed so lightly, completely shameless. “Every night.”

She scoffed at your raw confession, rolling her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. But despite her protests, she applied more agonizing pressure to her strokes, her sharp nails would lightly graze against your throbbing length every one or two pumps.

“What a freak, jerking off to your best friend…” she mocked, leaning in closer as if she was inspecting the disgusting rod she were never interested in at first.

At first.

Fuck.

She paused her pumping. Her face was mere centimeters away, and as her bare chest heaved, she breathed in the musk radiating off your cock. Something about your musk just put her in a trance as she felt the shudders running along her body.

This is fucked.

Slowly, but hesitantly, she parted her glossy lips and stuck her tongue out. She pressed her flattened tongue to the base of your shaft and dragged it in one long, agonizingly slow lick all the way up to your tip, lapping up the dripping pre-cum from your slit.

She pulled back, her eyes widened in deep regret.

Not because it was gross—well, it was still gross for her, but she actually, highkey liked how you tasted.

She couldn’t believe what she was feeling. The sharp, salty tang of your hour long arousal completely turned something on within her. At this point, her cheeks were toast by how many times she had gone red. She lost the plot. She was supposed to be disgusted by your cock, but now it looks so disgustingly delicious I wanna swallow it whol— WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME.

Before she hastily wiped her lips with the back of her hand, she glared up at you with masked arousal. You were utterly, pathetically desperate for her, and God he looks so pathetic I love it, she thought.

Fuck it all.

“You’re lucky I’m your best friend, perv.” she purred, deliberately, slowly licking the remaining slick off her glossy lips as she resumed her stroking.

“Can’t help it when you walk around half-naked around the place all the time” you countered.

“Oh, so it’s my fault you’re a fucking degenerate??” She squeezed harder, her voice dark yet clearly she turned on by your candidness. “No wonder I heard someone calling my name every other night, I thought this place was haunted. It was you after all, huh? Whining my name while you stroked this stupid, fucking massive thing.”

“Fuck… Yes… Sooyoung please—”

“Please what?”

“Suck my— Agh!” you hissed as she grazed her sharp nail along your slit.

“Hm? Can’t hear you.” She teased, letting out a breathy, arrogant laugh.

“Fuck you.”

“Hmph, you wish.” She smirked, deliberately misconstrued your cursing. “Beg for i—”

“Please please pleeasseee, suck my cock, Ha Sooyoung I’M TIRED OF JACKING OFF TO YOUR PICS EVERY DAY PLEASE JUST LET ME HAVE ONE CHANCE.”

…

Dead silence.

The sheer, unadulterated weight of your pathetic preaching hung heavily in the air. Sooyoung stopped her stroking on your shaft, her eyes went wide, blinking almost comedically as she tried to process the absolute all time low of your dignity.

For a moment, you thought you pushed it too far.

That was, until her lips twitched, followed by a snort, then immediately a full-chested laugh that shook her entire system. She laughed so fucking hard she collapsed against your thigh, completely obliterating her composure for a brief moment.

“Oh… My fucking God.” she wheezed, wiping her teary eyes. “I knew you were pathetic, but I didn’t know you were THIS pathetic.”

She let out another breathless giggle, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with a sigh, she went back to your towering erection. She scoffed in disdain, though hungry as ever.

“I mean, seriously, look at this… thing.” she mocked, squeezing the thick base firmly, making your hips bucked helplessly. “It’s ridiculous. It’s disgustingly huge, it’s way too veiny, and honestly? It’s just fucking ugly.” and I fucking love it.

You let out a pathetic whimper, not even trying to defend your pride. You loved this.

“But…” she trailed off, her voice an octave lower as she smeared your pre-cum over your tip with her thumb. “I’m only going to suck it just because you’re begging me like such a good, pathetic, little dog.” She said, dangerously close you could feel her hot breath making you throb harder.

She puckered her glossy lips and with a smack, she kissed your frenulum.

She parted her lips, her eyes staring right back at your heavy dirty soul.

“And you’re lucky I actually like you this way.”

Before the red could fill your entire face, she flattened the tip of her tongue on your frenulum, then slowly, she took your weeping head directly into her mouth. Her plush lips sealed around it, in an ever so agonizing pace, she sank down with her tongue flattened, gliding along the underside of your length. You let out a guttural groan, bliss rushing through your veins.

This was it.

You had finally reached the absolute peak of your existence.

Countless sleepless nights and pathetic, desperate fantasies…

Ha Sooyoung actually had your cock in her mouth.

However, as she started to bob on your length, a sharp sting followed.

“Aish— FUck,” you hissed, your cock twitched and tensed as her front teeth clumsily scraped against the sensitive skin of your shaft.

Despite the blazing hot dominant aura she just put on, it was a painful reminder that she was still very much a lesbian. She had absolutely zero idea how to suck a cock properly. She was rather amateur, sloppy and uncoordinated. Not that you actually minded the pain, you had established you were a pathetic, masochist when it came to her. And honestly? Her sheer, stubborn effort as she hollowed her cheeks, trying to force herself to sink down half of your length was truly commendable.

And if you were being entirely honest… You found her inexperience rather… Cute.

The way her nails grazed your skin as she pumped you at the base, her eyes teared, fluttering upward every time she pushed herself too deep. The obscene, bubbling mix of spit and pre-cum slipped out of her glossy, plush lips as she coughed and gagged around your length.

God her gagging is so lewd, you mused.

It was terribly, uniquely, endearingly her.

You had never been so painfully, euphorically happy in your entire life.

Her throat spasmed, and with a slippery sloppery schlorp, she pulled her mouth off of your cock to catch her breath.

Lumps of saliva dripped down from her lips to your tip, you could see the glistening string connected still to her lips. She coughed hard, her free hand wiping her mouth as the other remained its chokehold on your cock.

“Fuck… You’re too fucking huge!” she managed to gasp out as she glared up at you. Her bangs damp with sweat, stray hairs plastered, sticky all over her flushed forehead and temples. “God, I can barely swallow half of it without choking.”

She sighed as she finally took witness of your shiny cock coated in her spit. “This is so gross…”

“Heh, you do seem a tad bit too engrossed in it for a wuhluhwuh.” you grinned ever so smugly.

“… A what??” She blinked.

“En-gross-ed…? Get it? Because you said gross, but you seem to—”

“No, I fucking know English, dick head.”

You tensed up your cock, your head twitching in response “He begs to differ. You clearly don’t get the jo—”

“WUH-LUH-WUH!!!” she yelled exasperatedly. “Did you just try to pronounce W-L-W??”

“Yeah, isn’t that what you guys are? Lesbians?”

“YOU MEAN WOMEN LOVING WOME—”

“OOOHHH yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“I’m starting to regret doing this…” She cringed.

“NOOOO, you’re actually doing great, Sooyoung-ah hehehe~”

“Fuck, no! Don’t patronize me, I was terrible! You squirmed every time my teeth were on it, you were literally hissi—”

“What makes you think I don’t like it?”

“…” She blinked. “The fuck?” She recoiled, thoroughly confused.

“I find it particularly cute, actually,” you admitted nonchalantly, rendering her speechless.

She didn’t expect you to genuinely enjoy her terrible blowjob, even she knew she was absolute dogshit at it, yet she couldn’t help but feel lowkey flattered.

“You are so weird...” she rolled her eyes, though the corner of her lips smugly curled as she resumed her stroking. She milked the slick skin of your coated shaft, but as she did, her eyes drifted lower, completely hypnotized by the twin pendulums that were your balls, swaying beneath her hand.

She stared at them, her eyes flickering mischievously as she went down on you. You let out a muffled groan as she pressed her plush lips against them, tentatively kissing the sensitive skin of your sack.

“How much longer do I have to suck this thing before you pop?” she murmured, her tongue darted, down to scoop one of your balls into her mouth.

Your fingers instantly tangled into her bob, knuckles turning white. “Fuck… not long if you keep doing that…”

With her hand still working on your length in a steady rhythm, she finally sucked your balls. Her tongue swirled, fondling them lewdly with a filthy slurping, smacking, and popping of her lips. The wet tip of her tongue would occasionally glide dangerously low, tracing the stretched skin near your asshole, making you squirm helplessly on the mattress.

I am a wuhluhwuh, she muttered inside.

Women are soft, smell like vanilla, taste like honey. Yet there she was, eagerly slurping on a disgusting pair of sweaty, musky, dirty balls like they were Michelin fucking star. Her soaking core throbbed all over again as she tasted the degrading filth that felt like sin on her tongue.

“Fuck, Sooyoung-ah…” you breathed heavily, your hips twitching as her lips took your balls in and popped them out in tandem. “I’m so close… Like… Really fucking close.”

She pulled back with a smack, your balls glistened with her spit. “Well, you’re gonna have to help me then,” she said invitingly, her thumb deliberately smearing your pre-cum on your frenulum. “I can’t possibly do allat again by myself.”

She upped her tempo, letting out a stifled laugh. “I mean, I can’t exactly get the goat milk out all on my own.”

Your edging broin stalled for a moment. “… Goat milk?”

Her smirk quivered, her broin rotten to the core. “Yeah. If I milked you, I’d get goat milk…”

Despite her brutally quickening stroke, a snicker escaped her lips as she laughed at herself.

“’cuz you da #goat”

You snapped.

You didn’t even let her have a full-blown laugh as your hands flew to grab her head from both sides, violently tangling them into her roots. With a surge of brain-rotten adrenaline, you stood up from the mattress and forcefully impaled your throbbing cock straight into her open mouth, plunging down her throat.

Hmpphkk!

Hnghk

Gawk

Glorp (Bogos binted?)

Now that was the sound of heaven.

You pulled her head hard every time you pushed your goat in. Your pace was unforgiving and brutal. Her hands instinctively anchored to your thighs, nails digging as you mercilessly fucked the joke out of her.

But the devastating momentum of your thrusts was quickly becoming too much for the poor girl as your hips kept pushing and chasing her mouth, forcing her to tilt backward. Her hands shot back to prop herself from collapsing on her back. With her body arched, you took full advantage of it as your hand palmed the crown of her head while the other wrapped around her slender neck. Looming over her, you angled your hips and drove your heavy length downward with gravity.

Gag reflex be damned, you managed to bottom out nearly all of your length—you could literally feel your bulge plunging in and out of her neck.

Tears trailed from the corner of her eyes down to her flushed cheeks. But she didn’t even try to tap out. Her arms stood their ground, bracing hard as you fucked her throat into Oblivion so hard that it actually got remastered.

You nailed her mouth in a feral rhythm, balls slapping against her chin each time you tried to burrow even deeper into her incredibly tight throat. You could only think about how tight her ass would be if her throat was already this tight, but that was a story for another day. Perhaps. It was time to end this fuck-ass fic, the writer thought. So, eventually, you felt it coming.

“Fuck!” you roared, shudders running all over your body. “Take it all!”

You locked her in place, and with a one-hundred horse power thrust—maybe a hundred and twenty four—you bottomed out like a dragoon and blew your load.

Torrents of your release erupted straight down her esophagus. Suffocated by the sheer volume of your cum, you could feel the peristaltic spasms of her throat violently milking the goat. She tried to swallow it all, but you kept coming and coming she couldn’t keep up.

It was just too much. Her throat completely overflowed.

She coughed so violently it popped your cock out of her throat. Freed from the confines of her mouth, your cock sprayed the remaining ropes across her ruined face. Sticky mess splattered over her cheeks, nose, and damp fringes on her forehead as she collapsed back on her hands, coughing and gasping for air.

As the stream began to subside, you got back on her lips and milked the pulsing trickle down into her cum-filled mouth. You could only stare, mesmerized by the absolute filth that was Ha Sooyoung, face and mouth fully covered with your cum.

Her tongue darted out slowly, lecherously licking your slit off the final rope, then wiped the ropes around her lips as she finally downed your pooling cum in her mouth.

Gulp

Gulp

Gulp

It took her three fucking gulps to down all your hot cum into her tummy.

You stared down at her, chest heaving as you took in the absolute masterpiece of her face, beautifully dazed and glistening with your release. She had never looked better, and you had never felt better.

“I guess I really am the goat.”