Scooze

You press the doorbell. It chimes somewhere deep inside the house, then nothing. You wait. You're about to press it again when you hear footsteps coming closer, bare feet on tile by the sound of it, light and quick.

The door swings open. And there she is. Jenna Ortega, wrapped in an oversized bathrobe that's clearly hers and clearly too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands so only her fingertips peek out. Her hair is damp, dark strands sticking to her neck, and her face is bare, no makeup, just those faint freckles scattered under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. She's smaller than you expected. People always are.

"Hi," she says, looking up at you with a smile that's already halfway to something mischievous. "You're the masseur, right? Please tell me you're the masseur and not somebody selling me solar panels."

"That'd be me," you say, and you give her your name. "I'm with the spa your assistant booked through. Sorry if I'm a little early."

"No, early's perfect. Come in." She steps back and holds the door for you, which is a small thing, but you notice it. A lot of clients at this level let the door hang and expect you to manage. She doesn't. "I'm Jenna, but you probably know that. Or maybe you don't. Honestly that'd be kind of refreshing."

"I know who you are," you tell her, stepping inside. "I try not to make it weird, though."

"Good. Make it weird and I'm docking your tip."

The inside of the place is exactly as nice as the outside promised. High ceilings, big windows, light pouring in across pale wood floors. There's a half-empty mug of tea on a side table, a phone face-down next to it, a hoodie thrown over the back of a chair. Lived-in, despite the showroom bones of it. You ask her where she'd like to set up.

"Okay, so, this is going to sound bougie," she says, leading you through the main room with that quick barefoot stride. "But this place came with these massage tables? Like, they were just here. In a whole room. So I figured, why not actually use them instead of letting them collect dust."

She pushes open a door and there it is, a proper little treatment space, two padded tables and soft lighting and a stack of folded towels that look untouched. You set your case down in the corner.

"Is this your first time getting a professional massage?" you ask, already starting to lay out your oils.

She laughs, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed inside those too-long sleeves. "Don't laugh at me, but yeah. First time. I know, I know, twenty-three and I've never done this. I just never sit still long enough."

"I'm not laughing," you say. "You'd be surprised how many people wait until their body forces the issue."

"Yeah, well, the body has officially filed a complaint." She rolls one shoulder and winces, and it's genuine, not a bit. "Press tour just wrapped. Three weeks. Different city every couple days, like, four hours of sleep, sitting in chairs answering the same questions over and over while smiling like my life depends on it. My neck is basically concrete."

"We'll take care of it," you tell her. You mean it, too. There's something satisfying about untangling a body that's been through it.

You run her through the package quickly, what it covers, full body, deep tissue where she needs it, how long it'll run, that she should tell you if anything's too much. She nods along, watching your hands as you talk more than she's listening to the actual rundown, you think. When you finish, you gesture toward the table.

"Whenever you're ready, you can lie down. Face down to start. You can use a towel to cover yourself.”

She gives you a look, something light dancing in it, but she doesn't say whatever she's thinking. She just slips out of the room for a moment, comes back having ditched the robe for the towel and a pair of small underwear, and climbs up onto the table. She settles face down, arms tucked, cheek turned to the side so she can keep talking.

You warm the oil between your palms first. Then you start at her shoulders, and the second you press in you can feel exactly what she meant. Knots like marbles under the muscle.

"Oh my god," she groans into the headrest. "Okay, that already hurts in a good way."

"You're carrying a lot up here," you say, working slow circles into the tight ridge along her neck. "Have you been doing all this with your shoulders up by your ears?"

"Probably. That's just my permanent state of being." A pause, then, "So how long have you been doing this? The massage thing?"

"Years now. Long enough that I stopped counting."

"Was this, like, the dream? Little kid version of you, big plans to rub strangers' backs?" There's a tease in it, but it's warm.

You smile even though she can't see it. "Not exactly. It wasn't what I pictured for myself, no. I sort of fell into it. But honestly it's not a bad way to spend a life."

"How come?" she asks. She's relaxing under your hands now, you can feel the muscle starting to give, the stiff line of her spine easing.

"It's good work. Taking care of people. Somebody comes in wound up like a spring and they leave actually feeling like a person again. I like being the reason for that."

She's quiet for a second, and when she speaks again the teasing has softened into something more curious. "That's a really nice answer. Most people just say money or whatever."

"The money's fine. The other part's better."

"Mm." She shifts a little under your hands. "You're really good at this. Like, I keep waiting for it to stop feeling incredible and it just doesn't."

You move down to the broad muscles around her shoulder blades, leaning your weight in. "You're loosening up. You were tense everywhere when I started. This is already better."

"Don't let it go to your head." Then, a low sound slips out of her, half a moan, as you press into a particularly stubborn knot. "Oh. Okay. Right there, that's the spot, do not leave that spot."

"That one's been there a while," you say, easing into it with your thumb until you feel it finally release.

"Everything's been there a while. I'm twenty-three and I have the back of a forty-year-old." She turns her cheek the other way, getting comfortable. "What's the weirdest place somebody's made you do a massage? Like, on location."

"Once on a yacht in choppy water. The table kept sliding. I spent half of it just trying not to fall on the client."

That gets a real laugh out of her, her shoulders shaking under your palms. "Okay, that's amazing. Did you fall on them?"

"Nearly. Caught myself on the edge of the table at the last second."

"Tragic. I would've paid extra to see that." She wiggles a little, settling deeper into the cushion. "Okay your hands are actually magic, I need that on the record. Like, witnesses, the whole thing."

"Noted," you say, working your way down toward the small of her back, keeping your pressure even, your touch entirely professional. You can feel the tension draining out of her in real time, the way her breathing's gone slow and heavy. "How's the pressure? Too much anywhere?"

"No, it's perfect, you're perfect, marry me." A beat. "Kidding. Sort of. My assistant would say something but she's not here."

You let that one pass with a small huff of amusement and keep working, kneading along the muscles framing her spine. The room is warm and quiet apart from the soft sound of her breathing and the occasional hum she lets out when you hit something good. She's stopped filling every silence now, content to just lie there and let you work.

"Hey," she says after a while, lazy and half-melted into the table. "Do you do feet too? Because mine are honestly the worst part. Heels for three weeks straight. I can't feel my toes in a normal way anymore."

"I do," you say. "I'll do the whole job. Don't worry, I won't leave you half-finished."

"Good. I want my money's worth." She sighs, blissful. "God, I should've done this years ago."

You finish out her lower back, smoothing your palms in long strokes to ease off the deep work, then step back and reach for more oil.

"Alright," you say. "I'm going to have you turn over for me. On your back."

She makes a small noise of protest at having to move at all, but she does it, rolling over slow and lazy, one arm coming up to push the damp hair off her face. The towel shifts with her, and she tugs it back into place across her chest, though not quite as carefully as before. She blinks up at the ceiling, then at you, that little smile creeping back onto her mouth.

"Feet now?" she asks.

"Feet now," you confirm, and you move down to the end of the table.

You lift her right foot first, cradling the heel in your palm, and you go straight for the arch with your thumbs. She practically whimpers.

"Oh my god," she breathes, her toes curling. "That's the spot. That's exactly the spot. My feet have been trying to file for divorce from the rest of me."

"Three weeks of heels will do that," you say, pressing slow lines from her heel up toward the ball of her foot. "You've got everything bunched up in here. No wonder you couldn't feel your toes."

"They're alive again. You resurrected them." She lets her head fall back against the table, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "I bet you've worked for a ton of famous people, right? Like, I can't be the most ridiculous house you've shown up to."

"Some," you say, keeping your attention on the muscle, working the tension out of her instep. "I don't really talk about it. Discretion's kind of the whole job."

"Mm, smart. Loyal. I like that." She wiggles her toes as you press into them one by one. "Okay, can I ask you something? And you have to be honest. Like, actually honest, no professional dodge."

"Go ahead," you say, switching to her other foot and starting the same slow work on the heel.

She takes a second, and there's a little curl at the corner of her mouth before she even says it. "Have you ever gotten hard giving someone a massage?"

You don't stop your hands, but you do glance up at her. "Oh. So that's where we're going."

"I'm just curious." She's all innocence, which fools nobody. "Professional question. For research."

"No," you tell her, even and easy, going back to her arch. "It's rare. You learn to keep your head in the work."

"Rare, huh? So you're telling me, if I touched your cock right now, it'd be soft? Nothing there?"

You open your mouth to ask her why on earth she would do som- and that's when her foot slips out of your grip. It slides down, slow and unhurried, and presses flat against the front of your pants, right over you, rubbing once with the ball of her foot.

"Liar," she says, delighted, her eyes lighting up. "You're hard. I can feel it."

"That's the fabric," you say, even as you catch her ankle. "These pants bunch up, it's not what you think."

She presses again, firmer this time, her toes curling against the shape of you through the fabric. "Nope. Felt it that time. Clear as day. You're not hiding anything from me, you absolutely cannot blame the pants for that."

You exhale and ease her foot back down to the table. "Okay. That one's on you. You kept rubbing my cock with your foot. What exactly did you think was going to happen?"

"Hey, I think it's kind of flattering, honestly." She props herself up on her elbows, the towel sliding dangerously low. "If it makes you feel any better, you touching me like that has me pretty worked up too. So we're even."

"I know your type," you say, letting your hands rest on her shins. "The kind of client who books a massage with a whole other agenda already in mind."

"That's not fair," she protests, though she's grinning the entire time. "I genuinely did not plan this. My back was actually killing me. But, you know. We're both here. We're both clearly a little worked up." She tilts her head, that bratty little spark fully lit now. "So what if I asked for a special massage? Hypothetically."

You hold her gaze. "I'd charge more for that."

"Money's not a problem. You can put whatever number you want on the invoice."

"Alright," you say, and you let yourself relax into it. "It's fine. I know a bit of erotic massage. It's not really my thing, but I'm not going to pretend I don't know what I'm doing." You reach for a different bottle in your case, the warming oil, and uncap it. "I'll need you to open the towel for me."

She doesn't hesitate. She lets it fall open and away, and there she is, topless, just a pair of small panties left, her tanned skin catching the soft light. Her breasts are perfect and small, her stomach toned, and she stretches a little under your gaze like she wants to make sure you get the full picture.

"You like what you see?" she asks, that smile turned up to its full wattage.

"Yes," you say plainly, because there's no point lying about that either. "Obviously."

That answer pleases her. She settles back down, arms relaxing at her sides, and watches you pour the warm oil into your palms. You rub them together to spread it, to get the heat into it, and then you start where you always start, but with intent this time. The professional foundation is still there in your hands, the steady pressure, the patience, but now you let it wander into places the standard package never touches.

You begin at her collarbones, smoothing the oil across them with both thumbs, working outward toward her shoulders and back in. She lets out a soft sound and her eyes flutter. You take your time there, easing the slick warmth into her skin, before you let your palms drift lower, onto the soft swell of her breasts.

"Oh," she says quietly, her chest rising into your hands. "Okay. That's a different kind of massage."

"You asked for the full job," you remind her, cupping her, kneading slowly, letting your thumbs pass over her nipples just enough to feel them stiffen under your touch. You don't rush it. You circle them, glide around the curve of her, and come back to brush across the peaks again, and her breath catches each time.

"You're doing that on purpose," she says, half accusation, half plea.

"I'm being thorough." You roll one nipple gently between your fingers and watch her stomach pull tight. "Tension lives everywhere. You'd be surprised."

"That is such a line." She laughs, but it breaks off into a groan when you press your palms flat and drag them down off her breasts, smoothing the oil down across her ribs. "God. Okay. Keep being thorough. Don't let me stop you."

Your hands travel down to her stomach, spreading the warmth across her abs, and she's clearly enjoying it now, her hips shifting just slightly, restless. You knead the soft muscle there, work your thumbs in slow lines down toward her navel, then fan out across her hips. Every pass of your hands is unhurried and certain, the same patient rhythm you'd use anywhere on the body, except now the route is taking you exactly where she's been steering you this whole time.

"You're really good at this," she murmurs, watching your hands move over her. "Like, genuinely. I don't know why you say it's not your thing."

"Because it usually isn't." You press into the soft hollow beside her hipbone and her breath goes ragged. "But I'll admit, you're making it hard to remember that."

"Hard. Cute." She bites her lip, looking up at you. "I can feel how warm everything is. Whatever that oil is, it's doing something."

"It's supposed to," you say. "Heats the skin. Opens everything up." You spread it down across her lower belly, just above the waistband of her panties, and her hips lift a fraction toward your hands without her seeming to decide to do it.

You move down, away from where she clearly wants you, to her thighs, and you hear the small frustrated sound she makes when you skip past the obvious. You take one thigh in both hands and start working the oil into it from the knee up, slow and firm, your thumbs pressing into the inside where the muscle is soft and sensitive. Her legs part for you, easy and willing, giving you room.

"You're a tease," she says, her head rolling to the side as she watches you. "You're going the wrong way on purpose."

"I'm being methodical." You drag your hands up the inside of her thigh, getting closer, the heel of your palm sliding along that tender stretch of skin until you're so near to where she's aching that you can feel the heat of her against your fingers. "You don't rush the good part. You earn it."

"Oh my god," she groans, her hips chasing your hands. "You're going to kill me. You know that, right? You're actually going to kill me."

You smooth your thumbs up the last inch of her inner thigh, oil-slick and warm, your fingertips just barely grazing the edge of the fabric still between her legs, and you stop right there.

You stay right where you are, your thumbs parked at the soft crease of her inner thigh, oil-slick and warm against her skin, and you let the moment stretch out longer than is fair. You smooth your palms back down toward her knees and then up again, tracing the same patient lines, skirting the heat of her every single time, watching the way her hips chase after your hands and never quite catch them. Her stomach is rising and falling faster now, the muscles pulling tight each time you get close, and there's a flush spreading across her chest that has nothing to do with the warming oil and everything to do with the fact that you've been keeping her on the edge of this for what has to feel like an eternity.

"Okay," she finally says, propping herself up on her elbows again so she can glare at you, though there's no real heat in it, just desperation barely held together. "I need you to stop pretending you don't know exactly what you're doing. You've been an inch away for like five minutes. You're going to touch my pussy. Right now. I'm not asking anymore."

"You sure about that?" you ask, and you let one thumb drag right up to the edge of where she wants you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her. "Because the second I touch your pussy, this officially stops being a massage. There's no walking that back."

She lets out a breathless little laugh, her head dropping back for a second before she lifts it again to look at you. "Are you serious right now? This stopped being a massage a long, long time ago. I think it stopped being a massage the second you put your hands on my tits and looked at me like that. So let's not pretend we're still being professional here."

"Okay… Yeah, fair enough," you say, and you can't quite keep the amusement out of it.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and she lifts her hips for you without being asked, eager, helping you peel the small scrap of fabric down her thighs and off her ankles. The crotch of them is soaked through, a dark wet patch against the light cotton, and you make sure she sees you notice it before you set them aside. She bites her lip, watching you, and she's got that bratty little spark in her eyes even now, even spread out and bare and dripping on a massage table in a rented villa.

"That's a lot of mess for someone who claims she didn't plan this," you say.

"Shut up," she fires back, but she's grinning.

You don't go for her right away. You start at the soft crease where her thigh meets her body, working the warm oil into the skin there, your thumbs pressing slow circles into the tender spots just beside her lips without yet touching them. She makes a high, frustrated sound and her thighs fall open wider, an invitation that couldn't be clearer. You massage the whole area around her pussy, the smooth skin above it, the sensitive insides of her thighs, everything but the place that's aching for you, and you watch her come apart by degrees.

"You feel so good," she breathes, her hips rolling up into nothing. "Oh my god. I've never, I swear I have never been this turned on in my entire life. This is insane. You're being so mean and it's working."

"Now," you say, finally letting your fingertips slide to her center, "it really starts."

You part her with one finger, slow and careful, opening her up and finding her slick and hot and ready. She gasps at the first real contact, her whole body going taut, and you take your time getting to know her, dragging your fingertip up through her folds and back down, learning the shape of her, the places that make her breath stutter. You find her entrance and you sink one finger into her, slow, in to the knuckle, and her back arches off the table.

"There you go," you murmur, working that single finger in and out of her in an unhurried rhythm, curling it just slightly on the way in. "Relax for me. We've got all the time in the world."

"That's the problem," she manages, her hands gripping the edges of the table. "You're going to take all that time, aren't you? You're not going to rush a single second of this."

"Not a chance," you say, and you add a second finger.

She moans low at the stretch, her hips canting up to take more of you, and you start a deeper rhythm now, two fingers sliding into her with a slow drag that has her panting. Your free hand leaves her thigh and travels back up her oiled body, over the soft plane of her stomach, up to her breast, where you take one stiff nipple between your fingers and roll it in time with the work of your other hand. The double sensation makes her gasp and squirm, her body caught between the two points of contact, not knowing which way to push.

"Oh, that's not fair," she groans, her chest heaving up into your palm. "That's two hands. You're using two hands on me. Who taught you this? Who taught you to do this with your hands?"

You find that spot inside her, the soft swollen ridge along her front wall, and you start working it with the pads of your fingers, a slow firm stroke that has her hips jerking. "Lots of practice," you say.

"I bet." Her eyes are squeezed shut, her mouth open, and she's still trying to talk through it because of course she is. "I bet every single girl you've ever been with was completely ruined for everyone else. I bet they still think about your hands. This is- oh god- this is out of this world, what you do with your hands should honestly be illegal."

"Keep talking," you tell her, picking up the pace just slightly, "and I'm going to make you forget your own name."

You feel her clench around your fingers at that, and you smile. You keep going, that steady rhythm inside her while your thumb finds her clit and starts circling it, light at first, then with more pressure as you read what makes her thighs shake. You strum her with a precision you've earned over years, hitting that swollen front wall on every stroke in and brushing her clit on every pull out, your other hand still kneading her breast, rolling her nipple, and she's losing the thread of her own sentences now, the smart remarks dissolving into broken moans.

"I'm going to make you come like this," you say, watching her face. "With my hand. Just like this."

"I don't doubt it," she gasps out, one hand flying up to grab your forearm, not to stop you, just to hold on. "God, I don't doubt it for a second. Go ahead. Do the honors. I want to see if you're as good as you think you are."

That's all the permission you need. You set your mind to it now, fully, every bit of focus going into her body and the signals it's giving you. You curl your fingers to nail that spot on every stroke, faster now, your thumb pressing tight circles against her clit, and her bratty composure crumbles entirely. Her thighs are trembling against your sides, her hips rocking up to meet your hand, and the sounds coming out of her have gone high and helpless and completely genuine.

"Oh fuck, oh my god," she pants, her grip on your forearm tightening, her nails biting in. "Okay, that's, that's the spot, you found the spot, please do not stop, do not you dare stop now."

"I've got you," you say, your hand never breaking rhythm. "I'm not going anywhere."

You work her relentlessly, reading every twitch and clench, adjusting your angle when her breath catches sharper, keeping that perfect pressure on her clit while your fingers drive into her over and over. She's writhing now, her whole body a string pulled tight, her head thrown back against the table and her dark hair stuck to her flushed neck. The flush has spread all the way up to her cheeks and she can barely keep her eyes open.

"It's close," she chokes out, her thighs starting to clamp around your hand. "Oh god, it's so close, it's right there, I can feel it."

"I know," you tell her, calm and certain, and you press in harder, faster, that swollen spot under your fingertips and her clit under your thumb, both at once, refusing her any room to back off. "Let it happen. Don't fight it."

She breaks. Her back bows clean off the table and a strangled cry tears out of her, her cunt clenching down around your fingers in hard fluttering waves as the orgasm slams through her. Her thighs lock around your hand and her hips grind up against your palm, riding it out, and you keep your rhythm steady through all of it, drawing it out, working her through every last shudder until she's gasping and twitching and finally collapsing back down onto the table, boneless and shaking, her chest heaving.

You slow your hand gradually, easing her down, your fingers stilling inside her and then sliding out slick and warm. You smooth your palm over her hip, gentle now, while she catches her breath. Her eyes are glassy and half-lidded and there's a dazed little smile spreading across her flushed face.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm flung over her forehead. "Okay. Okay, that was… I don't even have a comment. You broke my brain. I had a whole thing I was going to say and it's just gone."

"Take your time," you say, wiping your hand on the towel beside her.

She lies there a moment longer, the rise and fall of her chest gradually slowing, and then she turns her head to look at you with those dark eyes, the bratty spark already crawling back into them even in her wrecked state. She crooks a finger at you.

"Come here," she says.

You lean over her, and she reaches up, fists her hand in the front of your shirt, and pulls you down into a kiss. It's slow and deep and unhurried, her lips parting against yours. She kisses you like she's making a point, and when she finally pulls back, she keeps her hand twisted in your collar so you can't go far.

"Okay," she says, looking up at you, her thumb dragging along your jaw. "So now I know exactly what your hands can do. That part's settled. No notes. Genuinely incredible." She bites her lip, and her eyes drop down your body and back up to your face. "But that just raises a whole new question, doesn't it? Because now I really, really need to know what your cock can do."

She pushes herself up slowly, swinging her legs off the side of the table, still a little unsteady on them as she stands, and she presses her bare body against your front, looking up at you through her lashes.

"Come on," she says, tugging you by the shirt toward the door. "Forget the table. We're going to my room.”

You let her lead you out of the treatment room and down the hall, her small hand fisted in your shirt, her bare feet quick and sure against the cool tile. Her bedroom is big and bright with a bed that's far too large for one person, white linens half-rumpled where she's clearly been sleeping diagonally across the middle of it. She lets go of you long enough to spin around and walk backward toward the bed, watching you with that look on her face, and you start working the buttons of your shirt, shrugging it off your shoulders and tossing it onto a chair.

You're still working at your belt when she drops to her knees in front of you, just like that, no hesitation, and takes over. She pops the button and pulls the zipper down and tugs your pants and underwear off your hips in one motion, letting them fall down to bunch around your thighs, and your cock springs free right in front of her face. She makes a low pleased sound at the sight of it, her dark eyes going wide and hungry. She wraps one small hand around the base and gives it a slow stroke, tilting her head as she studies it.

"Mm. Okay. Hello." She licks her lips and looks up at you through her lashes, that bratty grin curling across her mouth. "So... You're about to get a blowjob from Jenna Ortega. How does that feel? Be honest. Bucket list moment, right? You're going to remember this forever."

"Honestly?" you say, looking down at her with a calm you know is going to drive her crazy. "I'm pretty chill about it. Go ahead, though. Don't let me stop you."

Her jaw drops in mock outrage and she smacks your thigh with her free hand. "Oh, fuck off. Chill? You're chill?!" She narrows her eyes up at you, still slowly stroking you the whole time. "You're a fan of mine, don't even lie to me. You knew exactly who I was when I opened that door."

"I know who you are," you tell her with a shrug. "Doesn't mean I'm a fan. You were great in X, even though slashers aren't really my thing. But I don't follow your career or anything."

She stares at you for a moment, clearly caught off guard, before breaking into a bright laugh and shaking her head.

"Wow. Okay. The disrespect. You're unbelievable." She leans in close, her breath warm against the head of your cock, and her eyes flick back up to yours. "Fine. You know what? You will be a fan after this. Guaranteed. By the time I'm done you're going to be streaming my entire filmography."

And then she gets to work. She drags her tongue flat up the underside of you from base to tip, slow and warm, and then wraps her lips around the head and sinks down, taking you into the wet heat of her mouth. She knows exactly what she's doing, that much is immediately obvious. She works you with a hand and her mouth together, twisting her wrist on the upstroke, hollowing her cheeks on the way down, her tongue pressing along the underside on every pass. She takes you deeper each time, her nose nearly brushing your stomach, and the sounds she's making are filthy and wet and completely shameless, little hums of enjoyment vibrating through your cock.

At one point she pulls off you with a slick pop, a string of spit connecting her bottom lip to the head of your cock, and she looks up at you while she catches her breath, still stroking you with her slick hand.

"By the way," she says, grinning up at you, "I'm just messing with you. With the whole celebrity thing. I'm not that kind of girl, I swear. It's totally fine that you're not a fan. I actually kind of love it. It's refreshing." She gives the head a little kiss. "Most guys would've passed out by now."

"I know you're messing with me," you say, your hand coming up to brush her damp hair back off her face so you can see her better. "Now keep going. You were doing really well. Maybe I'll actually become a fan of yours after this."

That gets a smirk out of her, slow and satisfied, and she takes that as the challenge you meant it to be. She goes back down on you with renewed purpose, both hands now, working you with her mouth and her fists in tandem, her tongue swirling around the head every time she comes up before plunging back down. She gets you sloppy and wet, spit running down over her fingers and onto the floor, her saliva coating every inch of you until you're slick and gleaming and aching. She bobs on you with a steady rhythm, her cheeks hollowed, her eyes watering just slightly, completely committed to the task, and the obscene wet sounds of it fill the room. She keeps it up until you're soaked and twitching against her tongue, until she's clearly proven whatever point she set out to prove.

She pulls off you again, breathing hard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and rocks back on her heels with a satisfied look. "Okay. I'm ready. You're definitely ready." She rises to her feet, a little wobbly, and climbs up onto the bed.

You finally kick off the pants and underwear still bunched around your thighs, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor, and when you straighten up she's already positioning herself in the middle of that big white bed, getting up onto her hands and knees and presenting herself to you. Her petite body looks even smaller out there on the wide expanse of the mattress, her tanned skin a warm contrast against the pale sheets, and she arches her back and looks at you over her shoulder, her perky ass tipped up in the air for you.

"Damn," you say, climbing up onto the bed behind her and putting both hands on her, palming the full round cheeks of her. "Your ass is actually pretty big for someone this small. Where are you hiding all this?"

"Years of squats and good genetics," she says, glancing back at you with a smug little grin, and she gives her hips a slow wiggle, shaking her ass at you, taunting. "You like it? Come on. Stop staring at it and do something about it."

You squeeze a handful of her, watching the way the flesh gives under your fingers, and then you take yourself in hand and line up against her. She's still soaking wet from earlier, slick and ready, and you drag the head of your cock through her folds a couple of times, coating yourself, teasing her entrance until she pushes her hips back at you impatiently. Then you start to press in, slow and steady, feeding yourself into her tight heat inch by inch, and she gasps and drops her head between her shoulders as her body stretches to take you.

"Oh my god," she breathes, her fingers twisting into the sheets. "Okay, you're- oh, that's a lot. Go slow, go slow, fuck. There. Like that."

"You okay?" you ask, holding still once you're seated all the way inside her, your hips flush against the soft cushion of her ass.

"I'm great. I'm so great. Don't you dare stop." She pushes back against you, taking that last bit, a long shaky breath leaving her. "Just give me a second. You're really packing, you know that? Like, criminally."

You give her the second, both of your hands gripping her hips, and then you start to move. You pull back slow and slide back into her just as slow, an easy unhurried rhythm to let her get used to the size of you, savoring the way her tight little cunt grips you on every stroke. She moans low and drops onto her forearms, changing the angle, her ass tipped even higher, and you take advantage of it, your pace picking up by degrees. Each thrust drives a little gasp out of her, and you watch your cock disappear into her over and over, slick and shining, her ass jiggling against your hips every time you bottom out.

"There you go," she pants, rocking back to meet you now, her hips snapping to match your rhythm. "Oh, fuck, that's so good. You feel so good. I knew it, I fucking knew your cock would be as good as your hands."

"You talk a lot for someone getting fucked from behind," you say, and you punctuate it with a harder thrust that makes her whole body jolt forward.

"Get used to it," she shoots back over her shoulder, breathless and grinning even now. "I'm a multitasker. I can run my mouth and take your cock at the- oh- oh god- okay, do that again, do exactly that again."

You do it again, snapping your hips into her with more force, and her smart remark dissolves into a long moan. You build the pace steadily now, your hands holding her in place by the hips while you drive into her, the smack of your body against her ass filling the room along with her gasps. You reach forward and grab a fistful of her dark hair, not pulling hard, just gathering it up and using it for leverage, and the sound she makes at that is something needy and wrecked. You fuck her like that, her back arched, her hair wrapped around your fist, her tight cunt swallowing every thrust, and you can feel her starting to clench around you, her thighs beginning to tremble.

"You getting close?" you ask, never breaking your rhythm, slamming into her with steady purpose.

"Yeah, yeah, oh god, I'm close, I'm so close, please don't stop, I swear if you stop I'll kill you." Her words are coming apart now, breaking up between thrusts, all the bratty composure gone. "Right there, that spot, you're hitting it, oh fuck, keep hitting it just like that."

You keep hitting it, exactly like that, driving into the same spot over and over while she falls apart underneath you. Her moans climb higher and her whole body goes rigid, her cunt squeezing down around your cock so tight you have to grit your teeth, and then she shatters. She cries out into the mattress, her back bowing, her pussy fluttering and clenching around you in waves as she comes hard on your cock, her arms giving out so her face presses into the sheets while her ass stays up in the air, riding it out against you. You fuck her through every pulse of it, slowing only when she starts to twitch and whimper from the overstimulation.

She collapses fully then, sliding off your cock as she goes flat onto her stomach against the bed, and a breathless laugh bubbles out of her, muffled by the sheets. She rolls onto her side to look up at you, her hair a mess across her flushed face, that dazed grin spreading wide.

"Okay," she gasps, still catching her breath, one hand pressed to her own chest. "That was really, really good. Holy shit. Role reversal: I'm the fan now. Officially. Card-carrying."

"It's not over yet," you tell her.

Before she can ask what you mean, you reach down and scoop her up off the bed entirely, one arm under her thighs and one around her back, hauling her petite body up into the air against your chest. She lets out a sharp surprised gasp, her arms flying around your neck and her legs scrambling to wrap around your waist, clinging to you as her feet leave the mattress and the whole world tilts.

You pull her closer, one arm locked under the swell of her ass, the other pressed flat against the small of her back, and you kiss her. She kisses you back immediately, no hesitation, her arms tightening around your neck as her mouth opens against yours. It starts hungry and gets hungrier. Her tongue slides against yours and you suck on it, tasting her, and she tilts her head and licks into your mouth and it goes from a kiss to something messier, something wetter, spit slicking between your lips as you devour each other. She breaks away just long enough to breathe and comes right back, biting at your bottom lip and tugging before sealing her mouth to yours again. Her fingers dig into the back of your neck and her legs squeeze around your waist and you can feel the heat of her slick cunt grinding against your stomach, leaving a wet streak across your skin as she rolls her hips without even seeming to realize she's doing it.

You adjust your grip on her, hitching her higher against your body, and her weight shifts in your arms. She's so light it's almost nothing. You reach between your bodies, angle yourself, and press the head of your cock against her entrance. She pulls back from the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against yours, and you start lowering her body down onto you. Slow. Gravity does most of the work. Her cunt stretches around you again and she whimpers, her mouth hanging open an inch from yours, her breath hot and shaky against your lips.

"Oh fuck," she whispers, her nails biting into your shoulders as you fill her. "Oh, that's deep. That's so deep like this. I can feel every inch of you."

You bottom out with her fully seated in your arms, her weight pinning her down onto the whole length of you, and for a second neither of you moves. You just stand there, holding her up, buried to the hilt inside the tight clench of her, and she looks at you with those glazed dark eyes and her swollen wet mouth, and she says exactly what you need to hear.

"Use me like this," she breathes, her fingers threading into the hair at the back of your head. "Just lift me up and drop me on your cock. Fuck me like I'm your little fleshlight. I want you to wreck me."

You pull her up and bring her back down. Hard. Her entire body jolts in your arms and the sound that tears out of her is raw and broken and loud in the quiet room. You do it again, and again, finding a brutal rhythm with nothing but the strength of your arms, lifting her off your cock until just the tip stays inside and then slamming her back down so her ass smacks against your thighs. She bounces on you, helpless in your grip, her breasts pressing against your chest and her legs locked tight around your waist and her head thrown back, completely given over to it.

"God, you're strong," she gasps, her fingers pulling at your hair. "You're just throwing me around- fuck! Look at you, I'm nothing to you, you're picking me up and fucking me like I weigh nothing."

"You barely do," you tell her, your arms burning in the best way, and you snap her down onto you hard enough to punch the breath out of her. Her cunt is so wet around you that every stroke makes an obscene sound, slick and loud, and her body clenches down on you each time she bottoms out.

She pulls your face to hers and kisses you again mid-thrust, sloppy and uncoordinated, more tongue and teeth and shared breath than anything that could be called a proper kiss. Your mouths slide together wet and messy while you keep fucking up into her, and she moans directly against your tongue, the vibration of it traveling down your throat. She breaks the kiss to gasp and you chase her lips and catch them again, biting down on her bottom lip and then licking into her open mouth, tasting the sounds she's making. Spit connects your mouths when you pull apart and she licks it off her own lips and grins at you like a feral little thing.

"You're so filthy," she pants, rocking her hips to meet your thrusts even from this angle. "I can't believe you walked in here all professional and polite and this whole time you had this in you. This is what you were hiding."

"You're the one who kept pushing," you remind her, driving into her deep and holding there for a second, grinding against her, and she whines and squirms in your arms.

"Best decision I ever made." She tightens her legs around you and rolls her body, taking you at a new angle that makes her whole face screw up in pleasure. "Fuck- right there, I can feel you so deep, you're in my stomach, I swear I can feel you everywhere."

You fuck her like that, standing in the middle of her bedroom, your arms wrapped around her small body and your cock buried inside her, her weight bouncing on you with every thrust. The pace stays relentless. You can feel the sweat building where your skin meets hers, can feel her thighs trembling where they grip your sides, and her cunt is getting tighter around you with every passing minute, that telltale flutter starting to build. She's babbling now, her face buried in your neck, her teeth grazing your shoulder between broken fragments of sentences.

"You're going to make me come again," she mumbles against your skin, her breath hot and fast. "You already made me come twice and you're going to do it again, I can't believe you, I can't believe my body right now, you ruined me, you completely ruined me."

"Come on my cock again," you tell her, bouncing her faster, harder, your hands gripping the meat of her ass and spreading her so you can thrust even deeper. "I want to feel it. Give me another one."

"Oh god- oh fuck- it's building," she gasps, pulling back to look at you, and her eyes are glassy and wet and completely undone. "Keep going, please, don't change anything, you're hitting the spot, you're right there, I'm gonna- oh fuck I'm gonna cum so hard."

You slam her down onto your cock and hold her there, grinding up into her, and it crashes through her hard. Her whole body seizes, every muscle locking up at once, her cunt clamping down around you in rhythmic pulses so tight it's almost painful, and she buries her face in your shoulder and cries out against your skin, shaking and clutching and spasming around you. You hold her through it, still buried inside her, rocking gently to wring out every last tremor until she goes limp and heavy in your arms, panting and twitching.

You carry her the few steps to the bed and set her down on the mattress, sliding out of her as you lower her onto the rumpled sheets. She sprawls back, boneless, her chest heaving, her skin flushed pink and gleaming with sweat, and she stares up at the ceiling looking thoroughly destroyed.

"Come here," she says after a moment, breathless and hoarse, reaching for you.

You lean down toward her and she grabs you, both hands on your chest, and with surprising strength she pushes and maneuvers you until you're lying on your back beside her, and then she's crawling over you, straddling your hips. Her thighs settle on either side of you and she plants both hands on your chest, looking down at you with her tangled hair falling around her face and that bratty spark flickering back to life behind the fucked-out haze in her eyes.

"You've been showing off," she says, pressing her palms flat against your pecs, her nails dragging lightly. "Making me come over and over again, with your hands, with your cock, while carrying me around the room. Very impressive. You've made your point. I get it." She sits up straighter, rolling her shoulders back. "But you haven't come yet. Not once. So now it's my turn. I'm going to show you that I can do the same thing you've been doing to me. I'm going to ride you until you lose your mind."

She reaches behind herself, her small hand wrapping around your cock, still slick and hard and aching from being inside her. She lifts her hips and positions you right at her entrance, the swollen head pressing against her folds, and she looks down at you with that knowing little smile curling the corner of her mouth.

"Wow," you say, looking up at her perched on top of you with your cock in her hand. "Jenna Ortega. Hollywood actress and professional rider. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Shut up," she says, flicking your chest with her free hand. "Stop being cute and just lie there and enjoy yourself. You've done enough work tonight. Let me handle this."

She lowers herself onto you, one slow, excruciating inch at a time. Her eyes flutter and her lips part and her thighs tense on either side of your hips as she sinks down, taking the full length of you into her for the fourth time tonight, and by now her body knows yours well enough that she slides all the way to the base without stopping. She sits there for a moment, fully seated, her palms flat on your chest, adjusting to the stretch with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she starts to move.

Slow, at first. Long, rolling motions of her hips, lifting up until you're almost out and gliding back down, grinding on you when she reaches the bottom. She finds a rhythm quickly, her body undulating on top of you with a fluid grace that tells you she wasn't bluffing when she said it was her turn to show off. Her hands slide up your chest and she arches her back, changing the angle, and the new position has her riding you with her whole body, stomach rolling, hips circling, her perky tits swaying with each motion. She looks down at you and catches you staring, and that smug little grin spreads across her face.

"You're watching me like you can't believe what you're seeing," she says, rolling her hips in a slow figure eight that sends a jolt straight through your spine.

"I'm just admitting that you actually know what you're doing up there," you tell her, your hands resting on her thighs, feeling the muscles flex and release under her tanned skin. "You said you were going to show me something and you're delivering."

"Damn right I am." She picks up the pace, bouncing on you now with more purpose, her ass slapping softly against your thighs on every downstroke, and she throws her head back and lets her hair tumble down her spine. The view from below is obscene. This tiny girl, a hundred pounds of toned Latina body, riding your cock with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how good she looks doing it. Her stomach pulls tight with every roll and her freckled face is flushed and gorgeous and completely lost in the pleasure of it.

"Look at you," you murmur, your thumbs tracing circles on her hipbones. "You look incredible up there. You're putting on a whole show for me."

"You earned a show," she says breathlessly, planting her hands on your chest again and leaning into her rhythm, riding you harder. "After what you did to me tonight? Three orgasms? You earned front row seats." She clenches around you on a downstroke, tight and intentional, and grins when your jaw tightens. "Oh, you liked that. I felt you twitch. I can do that whenever I want, by the way. Just squeeze you whenever I feel like it."

"You're dangerous," you tell her.

"You have no idea." She does it again, bearing down on you and squeezing, and you grip her thighs harder. She laughs, breathless and pleased with herself, and then she changes her approach entirely, leaning forward until her chest presses against yours and her face hovers above your face, close enough that her damp hair brushes your forehead. She rolls her hips in tight, grinding circles, keeping you buried deep, and she looks into your eyes and kisses you.

It's slower than the kisses before. Her lips part against yours and her tongue slides into your mouth lazy and thorough, tasting you while she rocks on your cock, and the combination of her mouth and the tight wet grip of her pussy has you gripping the sheets on either side of your body. She kisses you deep and messy, pulling back to lick across your bottom lip and then diving back in, swallowing the groan you didn't mean to let out. She hums against your mouth, satisfied, and keeps riding, never breaking rhythm, rolling her body against yours while her tongue tangles with yours.

You can't take it anymore. Your hands come up and lock around her waist, fingers digging into her soft skin, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress and start thrusting up into her from below. She breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp, her eyes going wide, and you don't give her time to recover. You fuck up into her hard and fast, using your grip on her waist to pull her down to meet every thrust, and the sound of your hips smacking against her ass fills the room. Her whole body bounces on top of you, her tits pressed against your chest, her mouth open and panting next to your ear.

"Oh my god," she chokes out, her nails digging into your shoulders. "Oh fuck, there you go, now you're the one showing off, you can't just let me have my moment, can you?"

"You had your moment," you grunt, snapping your hips up into her. "Now take it."

"I'm taking it, I'm taking it, god you feel so good," she gasps, burying her face in your neck. "You're so deep, I can feel you in my guts, you're splitting me open."

You pound up into her relentlessly, holding her in place while you fuck her from below, and her body tightens around you with every stroke, that familiar flutter of her walls gripping and releasing. You can feel the heat building at the base of your spine, that coiling tension, and you know you're getting close. After a night of watching this girl come apart for you three separate times without letting yourself go once, your body is finally demanding its turn.

"I'm close," you tell her. "Jenna, I'm gonna cum."

"My face," she says immediately, no hesitation, already pulling herself off your cock with a slick sound. "Give it to me on my face. I already got the massage, now it's time for skincare."

She slides off the bed and drops to her knees on the floor between your legs, looking up at you with her messy hair and her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips, and she grabs your cock with both hands. It's soaked, glistening with her wetness from base to tip, and she starts stroking you with quick, practiced twists of her wrist. Every few strokes she leans in and wraps her lips around the head, sucking firmly, her tongue laving over the sensitive underside before she pulls off and goes back to her hands.

"Come on," she murmurs, looking up at you while she works you, her small fists pumping your slick shaft. "Give me a facial. I want to feel it all over my face. Cover me." She dips down and sucks the head into her mouth again, cheeks hollowing, and the sight of her on her knees with her big dark eyes staring up at you while her lips stretch around your cock is what finally tips you over.

You come hard. Your hand grips the edge of the mattress and your hips jerk and the first thick rope hits her across the cheek and the bridge of her nose, painting over those faint freckles. She pulls back and aims you with her hand, milking you through it, and the second streak lands across her lips and chin. She keeps stroking, squeezing every last drop out of you, catching it on her skin until her pretty face is glazed and dripping, white streaks across her cheekbone, her nose, her mouth and her jaw.

She looks absolutely filthy. She looks up at you through the mess on her face with those big brown eyes and she's never looked better. She raises one hand and drags her finger through the cum on her cheek, collecting a thick glob of it on her fingertip, and she puts it in her mouth and sucks it clean, her tongue curling around her finger.

"Mm," she says, pulling her finger out with a little noise. "Salty. Not bad." She grins up at you, still on her knees, still covered. "That was really fun. I feel so much more relaxed now. You should put that on your business card. Full body tension relief, guaranteed."

You laugh, dropping back onto the mattress for a second before sitting up and reaching for your clothes on the floor. You pull your underwear on and step into your pants, and she watches you dress from her spot on the carpet, still looking thoroughly debauched.

"So," she says, finally rising to her feet and stretching, completely unconcerned about being naked and cum-covered. "How much do I owe you for the special treatment? What's the upcharge on that? Because it felt pretty premium."

You snort as you pull your shirt on, working the buttons. "You don't owe me anything extra. I was kidding about that. It's just whatever you paid when you booked. Seriously, don't worry about it."

"Really?" She raises her eyebrows. "That's very generous. You could've squeezed me for a fortune and I would've paid it."

"I'm sure you would've," you say, tucking your shirt in. "Consider the special treatment complimentary."

"Well, thank you then," she says. "That was an amazing experience. I mean it. My first massage ever, and I don't think anything will ever top it. You ruined massages for me. Every masseuse from now on is going to be a disappointment."

"Happy to help," you say, gathering your case from the treatment room. When you come back through, she's grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand and is wiping her face clean, casual as anything. She catches your eye and grins through the tissue.

She follows you through the house still completely naked, padding along beside you on bare feet, and only pauses when she spots the towel she'd left on the floor of the hallway earlier. She scoops it up and wraps it loosely around herself, though it's more of a formality than actual coverage at this point. She walks you all the way to the front door, leaning against the frame just the way she had when she first let you in, except now her hair is a disaster and her lips are swollen and there's still a faint sticky shine on her cheekbone she missed with the tissue.

"It was a real pleasure meeting you, Jenna," you say, your case in one hand, turning back to look at her in the doorway.

She tilts her head, that slow bratty smile spreading across her face one last time. "Trust me," she says, crossing her arms over the towel and leaning into the doorframe. "The pleasure was all mine.”

—

A week passes. Seven days of normal life, normal clients, normal work. You do a couple's session at a resort downtown, a deep tissue for some tech CEO, and a sports recovery for a college swimmer with a pulled trapezius. Routine stuff. You go home, you eat, you sleep, you do it again. And you don't think about Jenna Ortega.

Okay, that's not true. You think about her a little. You think about her when you're setting up in someone else's living room and you catch yourself glancing at the door like you're expecting a girl in an oversized bathrobe to answer it. You think about her when you're working a client's feet and your brain flashes to the feeling of her toes pressing against the front of your pants. You think about her in the shower, briefly, and then you shut that down because you're not a teenager and you have a schedule to keep.

Now, about what happened with Jenna… It's not the first time. You're not going to sit here and pretend it is, because that would make you either a liar or delusional. In the years you've been doing this work, there have been three other occasions where a client turned the appointment into something else entirely. Three women who were attractive enough and forward enough and the circumstances were aligned enough that you let it happen. An interior designer in her forties who tipped you in cash and a kiss on the mouth. A fitness influencer who pulled you into her pool house after a ninety minute session. A divorce lawyer who locked the door of her home office and told you she needed a different kind of stress relief. Each time, it happened once, and you never went back. Not because it was bad. Because it was complicated. You work through a spa. You have a reputation. You have repeat clients who trust you to be professional, and the second that trust erodes, your entire livelihood goes with it. So the rule is simple. It happens, you enjoy it, you move on, and you never repeat the process.

Jenna should be the same. She should already be filed away in the same mental drawer as the other three, a great story you'll never tell anyone, a memory you'll revisit occasionally and leave alone. That should be the end of it.

Your phone buzzes on a Tuesday evening while you're eating leftover pad thai on your couch. Instagram notification. A message request from an account you don't recognize at first, and then you look at the profile picture and the verified checkmark and the follower count that has more digits than your bank balance, and you set down your fork.

Been thinking about you

How did you even find my Instagram?

Went to the spa's profile. They have this photo of all the employees at some company event and you're in the back row. Your profile was tagged. Easy. Took me like two minutes

So you stalked me

Absolutely I did. You should lock your doors and windows tonight. I know where you live now

You don't know where I live

Not yet. Give me another two minutes Okay I'm not going to be weird about this. I'm just going to say it. I really liked you. And not just because of the sex, which, for the record, was incredible, genuinely top tier, I'm still thinking about it a week later which is embarrassing but whatever

You're a cool guy. You're funny. You went along with all my bullshit and you didn't get weird about it, you just matched my energy the whole time, and I really, really enjoyed that. Most people either get intimidated or they try too hard and it's exhausting. You just showed up and were normal and hot and good with your hands and I haven't stopped thinking about it

You read that twice. Then a third time. You're aware that this is the point where you should type something polite and final. Something about how it was great meeting her too and you wish her the best and maybe you'll see her around. That's what you did with the other three. Clean, simple, no loose ends.

But Jenna isn't the other three. And you know that already, have known it since she opened the door in that bathrobe with her hair dripping, because none of the other three made you laugh while you were inside them. None of the other three made you actually want to stay and talk after it was over. None of the other three texted you a week later being honest and funny and a little bit vulnerable underneath the bravado, and none of the other three made you sit on your couch staring at your phone like an idiot trying to figure out what you actually want.

You're cool too. I had a really good time

So...

So what?

So how about we meet up? Like, actual hanging out. Get drinks, talk, be normal people for a couple hours. And then maybe go back to my place and be not-normal people for a couple more hours. No massage table required

You lean back into the couch and stare at the ceiling. In a normal situation, you'd say no. You know you'd say no, because you've said no before, and it was the right call every time. But Jenna is genuinely funny. She's sharp and self-aware and she doesn't take herself too seriously despite having every reason to, and she's beautiful in a way that hits different when you've seen her with no makeup and no performance and no pretense, just a girl on a massage table being honest about how tired she is. And the sex was, frankly, some of the best you've ever had, and you're not in the habit of lying to yourself about things like that.

Fuck it. Why not?

I'm in. Where and when?

Her response is instant. She sends you the name of a bar you've never heard of, some place in a part of the city you don't go to often, and it occurs to you that she probably picked it because it's low-key enough that nobody's going to bother her there. Smart. Then she sends a time, Thursday at nine, and a follow-up message.

I'll be there first. I'll grab us a spot. Don't be late or I'll find another masseuse

There's no other masseuse like me and you know it

Cocky. I love it. See you Thursday

You put your phone down and pick your pad thai back up and eat the rest of it without tasting any of it, because your brain is already somewhere else entirely. You're thinking about what you're going to wear, which is not something you usually waste energy on, and that alone tells you that you're already in deeper than you planned to be.

—

Thursday comes faster than it should. After your last client, you shower, get dressed, and spend entirely too much time pretending you don't care what you're wearing. Then you head to the bar she sent you. It's small, dim, and pleasantly unpretentious. Good music, good atmosphere, the kind of place where people actually talk to each other. You walk in and scan the room. She's sitting in a booth near the back with a drink already in hand.

You spot her immediately. Jenna spots you, too, and she looks different tonight. Not worse, not better, just different. Her hair is down and dry and loose around her shoulders, and she's wearing a simple top and jeans and just enough makeup that you can tell she put thought into looking like she didn't put thought into it. The freckles are still there under her eyes. She lifts her glass to you from across the room and flashes that same bratty grin.

You walk over to the booth and slide in across from her.

"You're on time," she says, looking pleased. "I was ready to be stood up."

"Wouldn't miss it," you say, settling in. "You stalked me across the internet to set this up. Least I can do is show up.”

A waiter materializes beside the booth with the easy timing of someone who's good at his job, and you order a drink, something simple, while Jenna swirls the last of her amber whatever and asks for another. He nods and disappears back toward the bar, and you settle into the booth, taking in the place properly now.

"So do you come here a lot?" you ask, glancing around at the dim warm lighting and the small clusters of people who all seem to be minding their own business.

"Yeah, pretty often," she says, leaning back against the cushioned seat. "Usually with friends. It's one of the few places around here where I can just sit and not have my phone out in someone's hand pointed at my face the whole time. The staff knows me and they're cool about it. They don't make it a thing. It's a good spot."

"Then I'm flattered," you say. "You brought me to your secret good spot. That's basically a state secret."

She laughs, that bright unguarded sound you remember from the massage table. "Don't let it go to your head. I haven't decided yet if you've earned full clearance."

The waiter returns with both drinks and you settle into the rhythm of it, the easy back and forth, and it turns out to be effortless in a way that surprises you a little. She's funny, quick with comebacks, willing to make herself the punchline, and she listens when you talk, which is not something you expected from someone who spends her life being the center of attention. A few drinks later, she pauses, sets her glass down, and gives you a measured look, intrigued but not entirely convinced.

"Okay, so be honest with me," she says, tilting her head. "This has to happen all the time, right? Clients catching feelings for you, getting your number, taking you out. Your hands are basically a public health hazard. Your schedule must be absolutely stacked with women trying to get you alone."

You almost choke on your drink. "Okay, no. You're really misreading the situation here."

"Am I?" She arches an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. "Come on. I refuse to believe I'm special. You've got a whole roster, don't you? A little black book of housewives."

"I don't do this," you say, setting your glass down. "Like, ever. And I mean that. It's true that a few times something's happened with a client, I'm not going to lie to you about that. But three times. In years of doing this. Three."

She holds up four fingers and waggles them at you. "Four now."

"Four now," you concede, and she grins, delighted with herself. "But here's the thing. Out of those, I never once went back. Not a single repeat. It happens, it's nice, and then I keep it professional and move on, because the alternative is a disaster waiting to happen. So you're not just an isolated case. You're an isolated case among isolated cases. You broke a rule I've never broken."

That seems to do it. She studies you for a moment, absently turning her glass on the table as the teasing gives way to something more sincere. "Okay. So what made you break it, then? What's so different about this time that suddenly Mister Professional is sitting in a bar with a girl he gave a massage to a week ago?"

You consider lying, giving her something smooth. But she's been straight with you all night, so you give it to her straight back. "Honestly? I don't know. I just like you. That's the whole answer. And I kept thinking about that day all week, which doesn't usually happen, so when you messaged me it just felt like the right thing to do. So here I am. Breaking my own rules."

Something passes across her face, pleased and a little caught off guard, and she covers it by taking a sip of her drink. "Wow... Okay. That was almost dangerously sincere. I don't know how to handle you when you're not being a smartass."

"Get used to it. I have layers."

She laughs again, then goes quiet for a second, picking at the edge of her napkin. "I'm a little rusty at this, by the way. The whole dating, meeting people thing. I should probably just tell you that now so you don't expect me to be good at it." She shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. "Like, I've never really had much experience with it. I grew up on sets. I've been working since I was a little kid, always busy, always somewhere new, always with a chaperone or a tutor or a crew of forty people around me. So this kind of thing, just sitting in a bar with someone, going on an actual date, it's still kind of new territory for me."

"You're still really young," you tell her. "You've got plenty of time for all of it. More chances will come along, trust me."

"Sure," she says, and then she gives you a sideways look, that bratty spark flickering back. "But I'm living one of those chances right now, aren't I?"

You can't help but smile. "I guess you are."

"So?" She props her chin on her hand, watching you. "What's the verdict so far? How am I doing? Am I a disaster?"

"You're doing great. You're way better at this than someone who claims to be rusty."

"I'm enjoying it," she admits. "It's funny. I've shot a hundred scenes like this. First dates, bars, the whole flirty getting-to-know-you thing. I could do it in my sleep, hit every mark. But real life is so much more interesting. There's no script. I have no idea what you're going to say next and that's kind of terrifying and kind of great."

You keep talking, and the drinks keep coming, and the conversation wanders all over the place, from her ridiculous press tour stories to the worst client you've ever had to a long pointless debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza that gets weirdly heated. At some point, well into your fourth or fifth round, she sets her glass down and looks at you with an expression that's gone thoughtful and a little softer around the edges from the alcohol.

"Can I tell you what actually got me?" she says. "About you. From the start."

"Go for it."

"It's that you know I'm famous and you just genuinely don't care." She says it plainly, like she's still a little amazed by it. "From the very first second. When you walked in the door, even. And I'll be honest, at the beginning it kind of bugged me. I kept thinking, okay, I know you're being all polite and professional and saying you don't make it weird, but deep down I know what you're really thinking, I know you're freaking out a little on the inside. I was waiting for the mask to slip."

"And?"

"And it never slipped. Because there was no mask. You're just like that." She shakes her head, smiling. "That's so rare. You have no idea how rare. Normally people make this huge production out of it. They either pretend they don't recognize me and it's so obvious they do, or they go the other way and get all weird and starstruck, or worst of all they act normal for like ten minutes and then ask for a photo. But you were just, consistently, the entire time, treating me like a person. And that's actually what made me brave enough to message you."

"How so?"

"Because I knew you weren't going to screw me over," she says. "I didn't have to worry about it. Like, do you know how scary it is for me to flirt with someone? To send a message? Because there's always this thing in the back of my head going, what if he screenshots this, what if this ends up on some gossip site tomorrow, Jenna Ortega caught DMing her massage therapist, what if the whole world sees me being a normal person who likes a guy. But with you I just knew. I knew you'd never do that."

"I'd never do that," you confirm. "And not just because I'm a nice guy, though I am. It's also pure self-preservation. The second I do something like that I'm screwed too. I lose my job, my reputation, everything. So you're safe with me on a purely selfish level if nothing else." You take a sip of your drink. "But also, like, I figured you've got people fawning all over you constantly. Falling all over themselves. The least I can do is be normal and treat you like I'd treat anybody."

"You'd be surprised how few people actually do that. It sounds like the easiest thing in the world, just be normal, and almost nobody manages it." She raises her glass toward you. "So. Thank you. For having basic common sense. Apparently that's a rare and precious gift."

"To basic common sense," you say, clinking your glass against hers.

Time does that thing where it stops existing. You're deep in conversation and then you blink and the bar is emptier than it was and your glass is empty again and you realize you're both pretty drunk, the good kind of drunk, loose and warm and laughing too easily at things that aren't that funny. Jenna's leaning across the table now, gesturing with her hands while she tells you some story about a costar that has her giggling so hard she keeps losing the thread of it, and you're laughing too, and at some point you both seem to silently agree that it's time to go.

Jenna is the one who pulls out her phone and fumbles through the Uber app, squinting at the screen as she books the ride with the sluggish concentration of someone several drinks past sober. By the time she's done, she's drained the last of her cocktail, and the two of you make your way outside into the cool night air, lingering near the curb while the car makes its way over.

A few minutes later, the Uber rolls up. You both climb into the back seat, and Jenna immediately sinks against the upholstery, looking ready to pass out. The ride has barely begun when she suddenly notices something on her phone. With a groan, she realizes she'd entered the wrong destination while drunk and hastily updates the trip, correcting the address before letting herself slump back into the seat beside you, eyes half-closed as the car heads off into the night.

The city slides by outside the windows, all glowing signs and empty intersections, and after a couple of minutes you feel her shift and then the weight of her head settling against your shoulder. Her hair smells like whatever she put in it and faintly like the bar. She gets comfortable, tucking herself into your side.

"Just so we're clear," she mumbles, "this isn't romantic or anything. I'm just tired. Don't read into it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you say, and you feel her smile against your shoulder.

"Good. Because it's not. It's purely a logistics thing. Your shoulder is conveniently located."

"Very convenient. Premium shoulder real estate."

"Mhm." She goes quiet, and for a while the only sound is the hum of the road and the driver's radio turned down low, and you let her stay there, this tiny famous girl half asleep against you in the back of a stranger's car, and you think about how strange and good this all is and how thoroughly you've broken your own rule.

The Uber eventually pulls up the private drive you recognize, the bougainvillea spilling over the white wall lit up by the headlights, and Jenna stirs and sits up, blinking herself awake. You thank the driver and the two of you climb out, and she leads the way up to the door, fishing her keys out of her bag with the slightly exaggerated care of someone who's had a few. She gets the door open on the second try and steps inside, then turns around to face you in the entryway, leaning against the frame, that grin spreading slow across her face.

"Well," she says, spreading her arms a little. "Welcome back.”

You step through the doorway after her and the place is exactly as nice as you remembered, all high ceilings and soft lamplight, though there's something different about being here now, at night, with both of you swaying a little from the bar.

"It's good to be back," you say, and you mean it more than the words suggest.

She heads deeper into the house and you follow, and she's walking ahead of you but twisted around at the waist so she can keep talking to you, telling you something about how she rearranged half the furniture when she moved in because the staging was hideous, and she's so busy looking back at you that she doesn't see the low side table directly in her path. Her shin catches the edge of it and she pitches sideways with a startled yelp, and you lunge and get an arm around her before she goes all the way down, hauling her back up against your chest.

"Okay," you say, holding her steady. "You are a genuine hazard when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk," she protests, though she's still clutching your forearm and clearly grateful you caught her. "Okay, I'm a little drunk. But that's not the point. That table was not there before. I swear to god. Somebody moved it."

"Oh yeah? Who do you think moved it?"

She gets very serious, looking up at you with wide eyes. "I don't know. But I hear things at night. Voices. Footsteps." She drops her voice to a stage whisper. "I'm not alone in this house. There's something here. It rearranges the furniture to kill me slowly."

"That's deeply concerning," you say, still holding her against you, smiling down at the absurd earnest expression on her face. "You should probably move."

"Can't. The ghost would just follow me. We're bonded now."

You're about to say something else but she doesn't let you. She pushes up onto her toes and kisses you, and whatever you were going to say evaporates. It starts soft and goes from soft to hungry fast, her mouth opening against yours, her hands sliding up to fist in the front of your shirt. You kiss her back and she makes a small sound into your mouth and presses closer, the two of you start moving toward the bedroom without breaking apart, a clumsy drunken shuffle down the hallway, bumping into a wall, knocking a frame crooked, neither of you caring. She walks you backward through her bedroom door and your tongues are tangling, her fingers are pulling at your collar and it's all heat and wet and the taste of whatever you were both drinking.

She breaks away just long enough to kick off her shoes, hopping on one foot, and you toe off yours, and then she grabs you again and the two of you tumble down onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs, her laughing against your mouth as you land. You end up on top of her, settling between her thighs, and you kiss her again, sloppier now, more teeth, more spit, the kind of kiss that's lost any sense of finesse and doesn't want it back.

You break from her mouth and move down to her neck, dragging your lips along the warm skin there, and you can taste the faint salt of a light sweat on her, the night and the bar and her own heat. She tilts her head to give you more room and sighs, her fingers threading into your hair. You work your way along her throat, and at some point you lift your head and your eyes meet hers in the dim lamplight, and there's a beat where you just look at each other.

Then she leans up and licks your face. One long stripe from your jaw to your cheekbone, completely without warning.

"What the hell," you say, pulling back. "You're a freak."

"Excuse you," she says, grinning up at you, utterly delighted with herself. "That was the single most romantic thing I could have done. I poured my whole soul into that lick."

"Okay. You want romantic? I'll show you romantic." You reach for the hem of her top and she lifts her arms and lets you peel it off over her head, tossing it somewhere into the dark of the room. She's not wearing a bra, just like you suspected, and there she is, her small perfect breasts and her tanned skin glowing in the low light. You don't waste a second. You dip your head and kiss across her chest, pressing your mouth to the soft swell of her breast.

"Oh," she breathes, her back arching slightly. "Okay. Yeah. That's romantic. Worshipping my tits. Very gentlemanly of you. A true romantic hero."

You wrap your lips around one stiff nipple and suck, and her words dissolve into a sigh. You take your time with her, lavishing attention on one breast and then the other, kissing and licking and sucking, your tongue circling each peak before you draw it into your mouth. You cup the other in your hand while you work, rolling her nipple between your fingers, switching back and forth so neither one feels neglected. She squirms beneath you, her fingers tightening in your hair, her chest pushing up into your mouth, the drunken giddiness slowly giving way to something heavier and more breathless.

"You're really committed to this," she murmurs, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "I was joking but you're actually- oh, okay, keep doing that."

When you finally lift your head, both of you are flushed and glowing in the dim light, a faint sheen across her skin and yours, her breasts wet and shining where your mouth has been. You move down her body and hook your fingers into the waistband of her jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down, and she lifts her hips obligingly so you can peel them off her legs, taking her panties along with them in the same motion. You toss the whole bundle off the side of the bed, and now she's bare beneath you, completely.

"Okay," she says, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "My turn. Off with all of this." She reaches for you, tugging at your shirt, and you let her undress you, helping where you can. She gets your shirt off and runs her hands appreciatively down your chest, then works at your belt and pulls your pants down your legs until you're left in just your underwear. She sits back on her heels, looking you over with frank approval, and then a particular kind of mischief creeps into her expression.

"So," she says, drawing the word out. "I was thinking. I want to do something a little different tonight. For a change."

"Different," you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "What's more different than having sex with your masseur? I feel like we already cleared the bar for different."

"Funny." She crawls off the bed and pads over to the nightstand and pulls open the top drawer. She rummages around for a second and then turns back to you holding a bottle of lubricant, brandishing it like a prize. "Okay, hear me out. I'm thinking we switch roles tonight." She climbs back onto the bed and tosses the bottle onto the mattress beside you. "It's not one of your fancy expensive massage oils or whatever, but it'll do the job just fine." She gives you a little push toward the headboard. "So. Lie back. On your back. And those need to come off." She nods at your boxers.

You look at the lube, then at her, and you understand exactly what she's got in mind.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband and lift your hips off the mattress, peeling your boxers down your thighs and kicking them off the end of the bed. Your cock springs up, already hard, standing thick against your stomach, and Jenna's eyes drop to it with that unabashed directness she has, no shyness, no pretending she's not looking. She picks up the bottle of lube from where she tossed it on the sheets and uncaps it, squeezing a generous amount into her palm, and the slick clear liquid pools in the center of her small hand.

"Let me do this properly," she says, settling onto her knees beside you. "You're always the one with the oils and the fancy products. Let me have my moment."

She wraps her lubed hand around the base of your cock and you feel the cool slick of it immediately, her fingers tightening and then sliding upward in a slow stroke, coating you. She's thorough about it, spreading the lubricant from root to tip with both hands now, her small palms twisting in opposite directions, making sure every inch of you is gleaming and slippery. She pays particular attention to the head, circling her thumb across the sensitive underside, and her eyes flick up to your face to watch your reaction while she works. Her grip slides all the way back down to the base and back up again, one long gliding stroke, and she gives you a satisfied nod.

"There we go," she says, examining her handiwork. "All ready. Now comes the master touch."

She shifts on the bed, repositioning entirely, turning so she's sitting facing you with her legs extended toward your hips. She leans back on her hands for support and lifts both feet, placing them on either side of your slick cock, pressing the soft warm arches against your shaft. Your cock sits between her soles, trapped in the gentle pressure of them, and the lube makes the contact impossibly smooth.

"Oh," you say, looking down at the sight of her bare feet cradling your cock. "Okay. This is a new type of massage."

She grins, wiggling her toes against you. "What? Have you never massaged someone with your feet before? It's a whole technique. Very ancient."

"In case you haven't noticed," you say, gesturing at yourself, "I am not an orangutan. My feet don't do the same things my hands do. They're purely structural."

She throws her head back and laughs, her whole body shaking with it, which incidentally makes her feet shift against your cock in a very interesting way. She has to take a second to compose herself, pressing one hand to her chest while she catches her breath.

"Damn," she manages, still grinning so wide her eyes are nearly shut. "Okay, that was genuinely a good one. I'll give you that. Full marks." She takes a breath and then fixes you with a stern look that's completely undermined by the fact that she's still fighting off giggles. "But hey. This is supposed to be hot, alright? We're having a sexy moment here. So stop being so funny. You're ruining my whole vibe."

"My apologies," you say. "Please continue. Show me the ancient technique."

She narrows her eyes at you, then starts to move. She presses her feet together with your cock sandwiched between them and slides them upward, the arches of her feet dragging along your shaft from base to tip, the lubricant making the motion fluid and easy. When she reaches the top, she curls her toes slightly around the head and then slides back down, setting up a slow, rhythmic stroke that has you exhaling through your teeth.

Nobody has ever done this to you before. In all your experience, all the various encounters and the handful of clients who crossed the line, this particular act has never come up. But the feeling of it is unexpectedly good. Her feet are small and impossibly soft, the skin smooth and warm, and the lube turns every pass into something slick and effortless. She finds a rhythm, her feet pumping up and down your length in tandem, and she watches your face the entire time with a look of concentrated satisfaction, reading your reactions the same way you read hers on the massage table.

"Look at you," she says softly, her feet gliding up your cock and back down again. "The big professional masseur, lying on his back, getting a footjob from his client. How does it feel to be on the other side? To be the one getting worked on instead of doing the work?"

"Still getting used to it," you admit, your stomach tightening as she picks up the pace slightly, her arches squeezing around you. "But it feels great. You've actually got real talent here."

"Thank you," she says, almost prim about it, as if you'd complimented her on a performance. "I take my craft very seriously."

She adjusts her angle, tilting her feet so one sole presses flat against the underside of your shaft while the other rubs along the top, creating a different kind of friction. The change in sensation makes your hips shift on the mattress and she catches it, noting what works, and she keeps that configuration going, one foot stroking the sensitive underside while the other applies pressure from above. Her toes curl around the head every few strokes, gripping gently, and the combination of soft skin and warm lube and the sight of her sitting there between your legs, naked and focused and so small that her feet barely span your full length, is doing something to you that you didn't anticipate.

"You're really into this," she observes, her eyes traveling from your face down to where her feet are wrapped around you. "Your whole body just tensed up. I can feel your cock twitching against my feet."

"You know what you're doing," you say, and your breathing is getting heavier now, you can hear it yourself, the steadiness leaving it.

She pumps her feet faster, finding a quicker rhythm, her soles slipping up and down your lubed shaft with a smooth wet glide. She presses her feet together tighter, increasing the friction, and starts working the top half of your cock with short quick strokes, her toes teasing the ridge of the head on every pass. You can feel the heat building in your gut, that familiar tightening at the base of your spine, and your hands grip the sheets on either side of you.

"Yeah, there it is," she murmurs, watching you with that knowing look, her feet never stopping. "I can see it in your face. You're getting close, aren't you? My feet are getting you off. That's so filthy. I love it."

She's right. The pressure is building fast, faster than you expected, and her small soft feet pumping your slick cock are pulling you toward the edge with alarming efficiency. You feel it coiling tighter, your thighs going rigid, your abs clenching, and she can see all of it, she can read your body the same way you read hers.

And then she stops. Both feet lift off your cock entirely and she pulls her legs back, tucking them underneath her, leaving you throbbing and slick and aching in the open air. The sudden absence of contact is almost painful, your cock twitching against your stomach, and you let out a breath that's somewhere between frustration and disbelief.

"No," she says simply, shaking her head, that bratty grin blooming across her flushed face. "Not yet. We've barely started. You don't get to finish that fast."

"Oh," you say, dropping your head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, I see where this is going."

"Do you?" She tilts her head innocently.

"This is because of the massage, isn't it." You lift your head to look at her. "The first time. When I made you wait. When I kept teasing you and wouldn't touch where you wanted me to touch. This is payback."

She presses her lips together, trying not to smile, and fails completely. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you squirm. Could be either one. Could be both." She stretches her arms above her head, casual and unhurried, as if she didn't just edge you within an inch of your sanity. "In any case, tonight I'm going to have some fun with you. So just stay lying down like that. Get comfortable. You're going to be there for a while."

You exhale slowly and let your head fall back against the pillow again. "You're evil."

"I'm adorable and you love it." She repositions on the bed, sliding down between your legs, lying on her stomach with her face level with your hips. Her dark hair spills across your thigh as she settles in, and she props herself up on her elbows, one hand reaching out to wrap around the base of your still-slick cock. She tilts it toward her mouth, studying it up close with an expression of genuine appreciation, and she presses a soft, slow kiss to the tip. Her lips linger there, warm and full, and then she pulls back just enough to look up at you through her lashes.

"Now," she says, her breath warm against the wet head of your cock, "let's see how long you can last.”

She starts with her hand, just her hand, her fingers wrapped around you loosely at first and then tightening as she finds her grip, stroking you from base to tip with long, lazy pulls. The lube from before is still slick on your skin and her palm glides effortlessly, her thumb pressing into the underside on every upstroke, finding that sensitive ridge and dragging across it. She's in no rush. She watches her own hand working you, studying the way your cock responds to each variation of pressure, cataloguing what makes your stomach clench and what makes your breath stutter, and there's something almost clinical about the attention she's paying.

"You're so hard," she murmurs, squeezing gently and watching a bead of precum well up at the tip. "This is all for me. All of this." She swipes her thumb through the slick drop and spreads it around the head in a slow circle. "I barely touched you and you're already leaking. That's really flattering, you know."

Then she leans in and replaces her thumb with her tongue. She starts at the base, pressing the flat of her tongue against the underside of your shaft, and drags it all the way up in one long, wet, unhurried stroke. When she reaches the head she circles it once with the tip of her tongue and then goes back down and does it again, licking you root to tip, coating you in warm saliva, tracing the veins and the ridges. She licks up one side and down the other, her tongue traveling the full length of you over and over, and by the time she's done your cock is glistening and twitching and her lips are shiny and swollen.

"You taste good," she says, looking up at you from between your legs with those dark eyes. "Clean. A little salty. I could do this for a while."

She opens her mouth and takes you in. The head first, her lips stretching around you, and then she sinks lower, letting you slide across her tongue and into the tight wet heat of her throat. She goes slow, agonizingly slow, taking more of you with each bob, her cheeks hollowing as she applies suction, her tongue working the underside in constant motion. She pulls back until just the tip sits between her lips, sucks firmly, and then descends again, deeper this time, and you feel the back of her throat and the flutter of her swallowing around you.

"Fuck, Jenna," you breathe, your hand finding the back of her head, fingers threading into her dark hair.

She hums around you, pleased, and the vibration travels straight through your cock and into your spine. She settles into a rhythm, bobbing on you with a slow, savoring pace, and it's clear she's enjoying this as much as you are. She pulls off after a while and dips lower, her tongue tracing down past the base of your shaft to your balls. She takes one into her mouth, gentle, rolling it on her tongue while her hand keeps stroking you, and the dual sensation makes your hips jerk off the mattress.

"Stay still," she tells you, releasing you with a wet sound and moving to the other one, sucking it softly into her mouth while her fist pumps your slick cock. "I'm working here. Let me concentrate."

She lavishes attention on your balls until they're wet and tight, then licks her way back up your shaft and swallows you again, picking up speed now, her head bobbing faster, spit dripping down your length and pooling at the base. The sounds are obscene, wet and sloppy, and she doesn't try to be delicate about it. She's messy and thorough and she keeps her eyes on yours while she works, watching you unravel with visible satisfaction.

The first edge builds like a wave you don't see coming until it's already cresting. Your thighs go rigid and your abs clench and your hand tightens in her hair and you're right there, right at the precipice, your cock pulsing in her mouth, and she feels it. She feels the telltale throb against her tongue and she pulls off immediately, her hand releasing you, leaving you straining and twitching in the open air with your orgasm dissolving just before it breaks.

"Not yet," she says, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, grinning up at you while you groan and grip the sheets. "Patience. You taught me that, remember? On the table? You made me wait forever. This is educational."

"You're a nightmare," you manage, your chest heaving.

"I'm a delight and you know it." She waits, watching your cock throb and settle, and when she's satisfied that you've pulled back from the edge enough she dips her head and takes you in her mouth again.

The second round is worse. Or better, depending on perspective. She's learned exactly what gets you close now and she exploits it mercilessly, alternating between slow deep strokes that push you toward the back of her throat and quick focused suction on the head, her tongue flicking across the sensitive spot just below the tip. She drops down to your balls again when she feels you getting too close, lapping at them while she lets your cock cool down for a few seconds, and then she's right back on you, swallowing you deep and moaning around your length like the taste of you is the best thing she's ever had in her mouth. Her free hand comes up to cup your balls, rolling them gently while she sucks you, and the added stimulation pushes you toward the edge at alarming speed.

"Jenna," you warn her, your hand gripping her hair. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."

She doesn't stop. Not immediately. She takes you all the way to the base, her nose pressing against your stomach, and holds you there in her throat for a long moment, swallowing around you, and your vision whites out at the edges. Then, at the absolute last possible second, she pulls off and squeezes the base of your cock firmly, cutting it off, and you feel the orgasm shatter and recede without ever fully arriving.

"Oh my god," you groan, throwing an arm over your face. "You're killing me. You're actually going to kill me."

"Don't come yet," she says, her breathing heavy, her lips puffy and wet and utterly ruined. She releases your cock and crawls up your body, her small frame sliding along yours, skin against skin, until she's lying on top of you with her face above your face. "I have plans for all your cum. Every single drop. So you don't get to waste it in my mouth. Not tonight."

She leans down and kisses you, and you can taste yourself on her tongue, salty and warm. You kiss her back hard, your hands coming up to grip her waist, and when you break apart she's breathing fast and her pupils are blown wide in the dim light.

You put your hand on her neck, just holding, your fingers spanning the slender column of her throat, and you use that grip to guide her off of you and onto the mattress, rolling her beneath you in one smooth motion. She goes willingly, her dark hair fanning out across the white pillow, her legs falling open as you settle between them. You reach down between your bodies and take your cock in hand, guiding it down until the swollen head presses against her folds. She's soaking wet already, you can feel the heat and the slickness of her against your tip, and you drag yourself through it, parting her lips with the head of your cock and sliding up to nudge her clit before pulling back down to her entrance.

"Is this where you want it?" you ask, pressing forward just enough that the head catches at her opening. "Right here? You want me to fill this pretty little pussy up?"

"Yes, daddy," she whispers, her hips tilting up toward you, trying to take you in. "Put it all inside me. Every drop."

"You sure about that?" You push forward another fraction of an inch, just barely stretching her entrance, holding there. "Because once I start I'm not pulling out."

"I'm sure," she says, her hands gripping your shoulders, her nails biting in. "I'm on the pill. I want to feel you come inside me. I've been thinking about it since last time. Please. I need it."

You press forward, and the tight wet heat of her begins to swallow the head of your cock, her body opening for you inch by slow inch.

You bottom out inside her and hold there, buried to the hilt, feeling her tight wet walls grip every inch of you. She exhales beneath you, long and shaky, her body adjusting to the fullness of you, and you give her a moment before you start to move. The first stroke is slow, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking back in deep, and she gasps, her nails pressing into your shoulders. You set an unhurried pace, long and thorough, each thrust filling her completely before withdrawing again, and you can feel how soaked she is, how easily you glide in and out of her, the obscene slick sound of it filling the quiet bedroom with every stroke.

"Put your hand back on my neck," she breathes, looking up at you through heavy lids. "Please. Like before."

You bring your hand up and wrap it around her throat, your fingers settling against the warm skin, and you apply just enough pressure that she can feel it without it restricting anything. Her eyes flutter and her lips part and she melts deeper into the pillow beneath her.

"Like that?" you ask, your hips still rolling into her at that same slow, punishing pace.

"Yes, daddy," she whispers, her hand coming up to rest on your wrist, not pulling you away, just holding on. "Just like that. Don't let go."

You tighten your grip the slightest fraction and thrust into her deep, holding yourself there while she squirms on your cock. "You had your fun earlier. Edging me with your mouth. Bringing me right to the edge and pulling me back. Watching me suffer." You pull back and slide into her again, slow and deep, and she whimpers. "Now it's my turn. I'm going to take what I want from you. And you're going to give it to me."

"Yes," she breathes, her hips rising to meet you. "Take whatever you want. I'm yours tonight. Use me, daddy. However you want. I'm right here."

You start building the pace. Not all at once but gradually, each thrust coming a little faster and a little harder than the one before, your hand still on her throat and your eyes locked on hers. She holds your gaze, those big dark eyes glazed with pleasure and something raw and trusting underneath it, and her mouth hangs open as the increasing rhythm starts to drive louder sounds out of her. You lean down over her, changing the angle so your cock drags along the front wall of her on every stroke, and you kiss her. Not gentle. You press your mouth to hers and push your tongue between her lips and she opens for you eagerly, moaning into your mouth, and you suck on her tongue, pulling it into your mouth and sucking hard before releasing it and diving back in. She kisses you back with equal ferocity, sloppy and breathless between the jolts of your hips driving into her, her teeth catching your lip, her tongue chasing yours.

Her legs come up and wrap around your waist, her ankles locking together at the small of your back, and the new angle pulls you deeper inside her. She gasps against your mouth and her thighs squeeze you, holding you close, and now every thrust grinds your pelvis against her clit and buries you as deep as her body will allow. She breaks the kiss to throw her head back, her throat pressing into your palm, and her fingers rake down your back harder.

"Oh god," she pants, her legs tightening around you. "Oh god, you're so deep. I can feel you everywhere. You're reaching places nobody's ever reached."

You pick up the pace again, fucking into her with steady, powerful strokes, and she starts to unravel beneath you. Then Jenna looks up at you with those wet eyes and her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips and she starts talking, and the filth that pours out of her pretty mouth makes your cock throb inside her.

"Breed me," she gasps, her hips bucking up to meet every thrust. "I want you to breed this little pussy. I want to feel you come so deep inside me. Fill me up, daddy. I want every single drop. I want to be dripping with it. I want my pussy so full of your cum it's leaking out of me."

"Yeah?" you grunt, snapping your hips harder, the bed creaking beneath you. "You want me to cream this tight little cunt? You want me to pump you full?"

"Yes, please, oh fuck, please," she begs, her nails digging into your back, her body jolting with each impact. "Make my pussy all creamy inside. I want to feel it, I want it so bad, I've been thinking about it all week, thinking about your cock filling me up and leaving me stuffed and dripping."

You release her throat and plant both hands on either side of her head, caging her beneath you, and you give her everything you have. Your hips piston into her relentlessly, the wet smack of your body against hers echoing off the bedroom walls, and she takes every stroke, her small frame absorbing the force of you, her tits bouncing with each impact. You can feel the sweat building between your bodies, can feel the heat of her skin pressed against yours, and her pussy is clenching around you tighter with every thrust, gripping you, pulling you deeper, refusing to let you go.

"Give it to me," she pleads, her legs locked around you so tight you couldn't pull out even if you wanted to. "Give it all to me. Come inside this little pussy. Please daddy, fill me up, I need it so bad!”

The orgasm builds from somewhere deep in your core, a pressure that's been accumulating all night through every edge and every denial, and it rises through you now unstoppable and enormous. Your thrusts go erratic, slamming into her with no rhythm left, just raw desperate need, and you bury yourself to the hilt and hold there as it hits you. You come harder than you've ever come in your life. The first pulse shoots deep inside her and your whole body locks up, your cock throbbing and pumping, flooding her with thick hot ropes of cum, filling her so completely you can feel the warmth of it around your own shaft. It keeps going, wave after wave, your balls emptying into her tight little pussy, and she feels every single pulse of it.

"Oh my god, I can feel it," she cries out beneath you, her eyes going wide, her walls clamping down on your cock. "I can feel you coming inside me, it's so warm, oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm cumming too, I'm cumming."

Her orgasm crashes into her at the same moment, triggered by the sensation of you flooding her, and she shatters around your cock, her pussy convulsing in hard rhythmic squeezes that milk every last drop out of you. Her back arches off the mattress and her legs clamp around you and her whole body trembles violently, the two of you locked together, coming together, your cock buried deep and pulsing inside the tight fluttering grip of her. You feel her cum mix with yours, feel the wet heat of it, and the clenching of her walls draws out your orgasm until you're shuddering and spent and completely emptied into her.

You collapse onto her, catching yourself on your forearms at the last second so you don't crush her, your face buried in her neck, both of you gasping and shaking and slick with sweat. You can feel your cock still twitching inside her, the last weak pulses, and her pussy still fluttering around you in aftershocks.

"Don't pull out," she whispers immediately, her arms wrapping around your back, holding you against her. "Stay inside me. Just a little longer. I want to feel you in me."

You obey. You stay buried in her, softening slowly inside the warm wet mess you made of her, and she sighs beneath you, a sound of total and complete satisfaction. Her fingers trace lazy patterns across your shoulder blades and her breathing gradually evens out, her heartbeat slowing against your chest.

"That was really intense," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Like, genuinely. I felt that in my soul. We came at the same time. I've never done that before. I didn't think that actually happened outside of movies."

"First time for me too," you say, lifting your head to look at her. "That's never happened before."

"Really?" She searches your face, and whatever she finds there makes her smile. "So we lost our simultaneous orgasm virginity to each other. That's kind of special."

"Kind of special," you agree.

For a moment, she says nothing. Her thumb traces your jaw while she looks at you, her gaze carrying a softness that feels entirely new. "Stay tonight," she says. "Sleep here. With me. In this bed."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." She pushes a strand of damp hair off your forehead. "And in the morning we can have morning sex. Slow and lazy, the kind where you're both still half asleep. And then maybe I'll even make you breakfast. I can do eggs. They're not great, but they're edible."

"Wow." A grin spreads across your face. "Morning sex and mediocre eggs? That's a really hard invitation to turn down.”

"I know it is," she says, her own grin matching yours. "I made it impossible on purpose. I'm very strategic."

"Then I'm in," you tell her.

She lifts both hands to your face and gently draws you down to her. Her lips meet yours in a slow, lingering kiss, carrying traces of the night. You melt into it, tangled together in the soft white sheets, letting the kiss linger longer than either of you intended.

—

Jenna has a way of slipping into your life without warning. No grand entrance, no announcement. Just a text at nine in the morning while you're preparing for your first client, or a photo of her breakfast, while you send back a photo of your massage table and she replies that seeing it gives her flashbacks and she needs to lie down. This goes on. Throughout the day, between clients, during her meetings or her fittings or whatever it is she's doing on any given Wednesday, your phone buzzes and it's her. Never anything heavy. Never anything that demands a response right this second. Just the steady, easy presence of someone who's thinking about you and isn't trying to hide it.

You see her again three days after that first night. She picks a ramen place this time, somewhere loud enough that nobody pays attention to anyone else, and you sit across from her in a corner booth slurping noodles and talking about nothing in particular.

You end up back at her place. The sex is good, but what strikes you is how different it feels from the first time. Nobody's trying to impress anyone anymore. Nobody's keeping score. You don't even make it to the bedroom. She ends up riding you on the couch, and at one point she has to stop because she's laughing too hard at the cushion constantly sliding off the frame. You're holding onto her with one hand and trying to keep the couch together with the other. Afterward, she stays curled up on top of you while the TV runs in the background. Neither of you could tell anyone what was on. Her fingers drift lazily over your collarbone, and for a while neither of you says anything at all. The quiet feels nice.

You sleep at her place that night. And the next time you see her. And the time after that. It becomes the default, somehow, without either of you formally establishing it. Her bed is bigger than yours and her sheets are nicer and she has a fancy espresso machine that you figure out how to use by the third morning, which earns you a standing ovation from her while she sits on the kitchen counter in your t-shirt with her hair going in six directions.

She starts sleeping at your apartment too, occasionally. The first time, she looks around your place with genuine curiosity, picking things up and examining them, asking questions about the framed photo on your shelf and the stack of books on your nightstand. Your bed is smaller and your neighborhood is louder and she tells you she loves it, that it feels lived in, that her house sometimes feels like a showroom designed by someone who's never actually inhabited a space. She curls up on your side of the bed and steals both pillows and falls asleep before you've even finished brushing your teeth.

Between these nights, in the ordinary hours, you learn things about her. Not the things you could read in any magazine profile, not the filmography facts or the career milestones, but the small private details that only proximity reveals. She's particular about her morning routine in a way that borders on ritualistic, always in the same order, face wash then moisturizer then sunscreen, and she does it with a focus that suggests the world might end if she skips a step. She gets anxious before phone calls with her manager and paces the kitchen while she talks, opening and closing the fridge repeatedly without ever taking anything out. She watches horror movies the way other people watch nature documentaries, analytically, pausing to comment on the practical effects or the score choices, pointing out where the scare was telegraphed and where it actually landed. She's terrified of moths for reasons she refuses to explain. She can quote entire scenes from films you've never heard of.

She learns about you too. That you played soccer in college but blew out your knee sophomore year, which is how you ended up in physical therapy and eventually massage. That your parents are divorced and you're closer to your mother. That you read before bed every night without exception and if you skip it you can't fall asleep. That you're genuinely uninterested in social media and your Instagram exists purely because the spa required it. That you cook well but only three things, and you rotate between them with no shame. She absorbs all of it quietly, storing it away, and you notice her remembering details you mentioned once in passing, bringing them up days later in a way that tells you she was actually listening.

The conversations always have that same easy quality. Nothing forced. She's funnier in private than she probably is in any interview, quicker and meaner and more willing to be the butt of her own joke. She never tries to impress you with stories about her career and you never ask. When work comes up it's casual, the same way you'd mention a difficult client or a long day. She talks about a fitting that ran three hours and made her want to scream. You talk about a deep tissue session that left your hands aching. These things sit side by side, equal and unremarkable, and that seems to be exactly how both of you prefer it.

One night, maybe two and a half weeks in, she asks you about the three other clients. Not with jealousy. With curiosity. She's lying next to you in her bed, on her stomach, chin propped on her folded arms, and she asks what happened with them and why you never went back. You tell her the truth. That they were nice enough but there was nothing beyond the physical. That repeating it would have been complicated and ultimately pointless. That none of them made you want to break the rule.

She falls silent for a second before saying, "And I did.”

"You did," you confirm.

She smiles into her arms and doesn't say anything else about it, but you feel her foot slide over to touch yours under the covers and stay there.

By the third week, you stop counting. You stop tracking the timeline in your head, stop noting which night is the fourth or fifth or sixth, because the numbers stop mattering. She is simply present. A fixture. The girl whose toothbrush is in your bathroom and whose hair ties are on your nightstand and whose sleepy morning texts arrive before your alarm goes off. The girl who argues with you about what to order for dinner and always wins.

It's a Saturday evening, or maybe a Friday, and you're on her couch. Some movie is playing on the screen across the room, something she picked, and the lights are low and the remnants of takeout containers sit on the coffee table. She started the movie sitting next to you, her legs tucked underneath her, but over the course of the first act she migrated, shifting and resettling, and now her head is in your lap, her body stretched along the length of the couch, her dark hair fanning across your thigh. She's watching the screen with half-focused attention, occasionally murmuring commentary about the cinematography or the lead actor's choices, and your hand is in her hair. Not doing anything particular. Just stroking, your fingers combing through the dark strands, moving from her temple back over her ear and down to the ends and then starting again. She leans into the contact the way a cat does, tilting her head subtly to follow the path of your fingers, and every now and then her eyes close for a few seconds before she opens them again to keep watching.

"That shot was gorgeous," she murmurs at one point, not looking up at you. "The framing. The way they held the wide angle. Most directors would've cut to the close-up way too early."

"Mm," you say, your fingers working a gentle path through her hair.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you."

"Not even a little bit."

Jenna laughs softly, then she reaches up and finds your free hand and laces her fingers through yours, bringing your joined hands to rest against her chest. She holds them there, your knuckles against her sternum, then she turns her attention back to the screen, and it hits you all at once how completely this moment exists outside anything you ever planned for.

—

She shows up at your door on a Monday afternoon. No text beforehand, no warning, just a knock, and when you open it she's standing there in a plaid skirt and an oversized cream sweater that swallows her frame, a pair of sunglasses pushed up on top of her head. She looks like she's on her way somewhere. You know immediately that something is off because she doesn't greet you with a joke or a kiss or a complaint about traffic. She just says hi and walks past you into the apartment.

She sits on the arm of your couch instead of the cushion. Not relaxed. Perched. Like she might need to leave quickly. You close the door and lean against the kitchen counter across from her, giving her room, and you wait.

"So," she says, picking at a thread on her sweater sleeve. "I got the part. That project I've been talking about. They confirmed it yesterday."

"That's great," you say. "Congratulations. That's the one you really wanted."

"It is. Thank you." She's looking at the floor between you. "Filming starts in twelve days. In London."

"London."

"Yeah." She finally looks up at you. "I'll be gone about six months. Maybe longer depending on reshoots, but the core shoot is six months."

Six months. You turn the number over in your head, automatically calculating where that puts you. Sometime next year.

"Wow," you say. "That's a long time. That's like, a really significant stretch."

"I know." She pulls at the thread harder. "I know it is."

"You could've sent a message, you know. You didn't have to come all the way across town for this."

"No, I wanted to tell you in person. The flight is in six hours. I've got a car picking me up at four. I just, I didn't want to text you something like this. It felt wrong."

"Okay. So this is serious business, huh."

She gives a nervous little laugh. "Yeah. I mean." She pauses, runs her hand over her face, and exhales. "It kind of feels like things between us have gotten a little out of control. Don't you think? Like, we started this as one thing and now it's, I don't know. It's something else. And I'm about to leave for half a year and I feel like we should probably talk about that."

You push off the counter and move to the couch, sitting down on the actual cushion beside where she's perched on the arm. You look up at her. "Okay. I think it's time we're honest about what's going on between us."

"Agreed," she says. "One hundred percent. Let's do that."

Silence. She looks at you. You look at her.

"You start," she says.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the good guy," she says, gesturing at you with both hands as if this is self-evident. "This is the part of the movie where the good guy declares his feelings for the good girl. You give the speech. I react emotionally. It's a classic structure. I've done this scene a dozen times."

"I'm not sure that's entirely accurate," you say. "And you're not exactly the good girl in this scenario. Let's be real."

"Rude. But fair. Go ahead. Tell me."

You lean back into the couch and take a breath. "Okay. In the last few weeks, things between us have gotten pretty intense. And I know we both felt that happening and neither of us said anything about it because it was easier to just keep going and not put a label on it. But it went past casual a while ago. We both know that. And I don't mind. I'm not scared of it. I've actually been enjoying it, a lot. Waking up next to you these past couple of weeks has been, honestly… it's been amazing. You're amazing. And six months without that is going to suck. I'm going to miss you."

She's quiet through the whole thing, her eyes on yours, and you watch the tension in her shoulders gradually release as you talk. When you finish she nods slowly, pressing her lips together, and you can see her processing.

"Okay," she says softly. "Yeah. I feel the same way. About all of it." She slides off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion next to you, tucking one leg underneath herself. "And I think that's been kind of obvious, right? Like, embarrassingly obvious. I was sleeping at your apartment four nights a week. I have a toothbrush in your bathroom. I reorganized your spice cabinet last Thursday and you didn't even comment on it. We were both just playing at being naive and pretending this was still casual when it clearly stopped being casual somewhere around the third week."

"Probably earlier than that," you admit.

"Probably." She exhales and stares at her hands in her lap. "And now I'm leaving and we don't have time to figure out what this actually is. That's the part that's messing with my head. We were in the middle of something and now there's going to be this huge gap right when it was getting real." She looks at you, and there's genuine worry beneath the composure. "Do you think it's too late? For us to figure this out?"

"I think maybe we need to admit what this is. What it already is. And then see if the feeling survives six months of distance. Because if it does, if we both still feel this way on the other side of it, then it's worth investing in for real. All the way."

"I'll text you every day," she says. "I mean it. Every single day. You'll be sick of me by month two."

"I'll hold you to that. Every day. No exceptions."

"No exceptions." She nods firmly, more to herself than to you, and then she leans over and kisses you. Her hand coming up to rest against your cheek, her lips pressing to yours gently, and you can feel the emotion packed into it, all the things she didn't quite say out loud folded into the contact of her mouth against yours. You kiss her back and she pulls away, but she doesn't stand up. She doesn't move toward the door. She stays right there on the cushion next to you, her knee touching your thigh, her fingers still resting against the side of your face.

"We still have a few hours," she says quietly. "I don't want to spend them being sad about leaving."

"A farewell fuck," you say, and you watch the corner of her mouth twitch. "That sounds totally like us."

"It sounds exactly like us," she agrees, and then she's kissing you again, harder this time, her hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you into her. You wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her deep, your tongue meeting hers, and without breaking the kiss you pull her toward you and she follows, climbing into your lap with ease, her skirt riding up her thighs as she straddles you on the couch. Your hands settle on her hips and her fingers thread into your hair and the kiss gets wetter, needier, the kind of kiss that knows it has to last for six months.

She breaks away to breathe, her forehead against yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks at you for a long second. Then she takes your face in both hands, tips your chin up, and spits into your open mouth.

You swallow it. Blink. Look at her.

"That one's new," you say.

"Improvised," she says, completely unapologetic, that bratty little spark back in her dark eyes. "Felt right in the moment. Went with it."

"You actors really are good at improvising," you say, licking your lips. "Fully committed to the choice. Very bold."

"Thank you. I trained extensively." She shifts in your lap, settling her weight, and she goes still as she feels the hard length of you pressing against the inside of her thigh through your pants. Her eyebrows lift and she rolls her hips once, slowly, grinding against you, confirming what she felt.

"Okay," she murmurs, rocking against you again, feeling you twitch beneath her. "Enough with the improv. I think it's time I follow the script." She reaches between your bodies and presses her palm flat against the bulge straining against your zipper, squeezing gently. "And we both know exactly how this scene goes.”

You reach between your bodies and fumble with your zipper, lifting your hips off the couch enough to shove your pants and boxers down your thighs in one motion, Jenna rising up on her knees to give you room without climbing off your lap. Your cock springs free, hard and flushed, and she looks down between them at it with that hungry little expression you've come to know well. She reaches down and pulls the crotch of her panties to one side, holding the fabric taut against her inner thigh with two fingers, and with her other hand she gathers her skirt up around her waist, bunching the plaid fabric so nothing is in the way.

You take yourself in hand and angle upward, pressing the swollen head against her slick folds, and she's already wet, and you drag the tip through the warm mess of her, parting her, finding her entrance. She braces one hand on your shoulder and starts to lower herself. Her thighs flexing on either side of yours as she takes you in bit by bit, her tight cunt stretching to accommodate you, her breath going shallow. You watch her face as she sinks, watch the way her brow creases and her lips fall open and her eyelids flutter, and then she bottoms out with her full weight in your lap and your cock buried completely inside her, and she exhales long and unsteady.

"There," she breathes, settling, adjusting, her inner walls squeezing around you in a slow pulse. "God... Every time. Every single time it feels like the first time."

She starts to move. Lifting herself with her thighs and dropping back down, finding a rhythm that's slow and grinding, her hips rolling in small circles every time she takes you to the base. Her hand stays fisted in her skirt, holding it out of the way, and you can see everything, your cock disappearing into her, the way her pussy stretches around your girth, the shine of her arousal coating your shaft as she rises and falls. She keeps the pace unhurried, savoring it, and you realize she's memorizing this. Banking the sensation for the months ahead.

You pull her face to yours and kiss her, catching her mouth mid-rise, and she moans softly against your lips as she sinks back down. You kiss her deep and slow, matching the pace of her hips, your tongues sliding together while she rides, and she tastes warm and familiar and a little desperate. She breaks away to pant, her forehead pressing against yours.

"I'm going to think about this every night I'm away," she murmurs, lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping, her pussy gripping you on every stroke. "In some hotel room in London, alone in bed, I'm going to think about your cock inside me and touch myself and it's not going to be enough."

"Then make this one count," you tell her, your hands finding her waist through the bulky sweater. "Take what you need."

"I plan to." She rolls her hips in a tight circle and you feel your cock stir inside her, nudging deeper at a different angle, and her breath catches. "I plan to take everything I can get in the next few hours."

You tug at the hem of her sweater, pulling it upward, and she releases her skirt long enough to raise her arms so you can peel it off over her head. It goes somewhere behind the couch. Underneath she's wearing a simple black bra, nothing fancy, the kind of thing she threw on this morning without thinking, her skin is warm and flushed beneath your palms as you run your hands up her bare sides. She's still riding you, never stopped, her rhythm continuous and steady, and the absence of the sweater lets you feel the heat of her body against yours, the slight dampness building between your chests.

"Get this off too," you say, your fingers finding the clasp at her back.

She reaches behind herself and unhooks it with one hand and shrugs the straps off her shoulders. The bra falls away and her small breasts are bare, nipples already stiff, and you fill your hands with them immediately. You cup both in your palms and squeeze, feeling the soft give of them, your thumbs finding her nipples and pressing, rolling them between your fingers while she rides your cock. Her back arches into your touch and a low sound escapes her throat, needy and pleased.

"You love my tits," she says, watching you touch her, her hips still working steadily. "Every time. The second they're out, your hands are on them."

"Can you blame me," you say, pinching lightly, tugging, and she gasps and grinds down harder on you. You squeeze them together and run your thumbs across both nipples simultaneously, and her pace falters for just a second before she recovers.

"Fuck," she pants, planting both hands on your chest now and leaning into you, using the leverage to ride you faster. The angle shifts and your cock hits deeper and she makes a choked sound that she tries to swallow. "Your hands… I swear. Even now. Even when you're just sitting there and I'm doing all the work, your hands make me insane."

"That's literally my profession," you remind her, rolling her nipples between your thumbs and forefingers. "Hands are my whole thing."

"Shut up and keep touching me." She bounces on you harder, her thighs flexing, her ass slapping against your lap on every downstroke, and you keep your hands on her breasts, kneading and squeezing and teasing her nipples while she fucks herself on your cock. Her skirt is bunched around her waist, her panties still pulled to the side, and the visual of her half-dressed and riding you, tits in your hands and her face twisted in pleasure, is something you want burned into your memory for the next six months.

"You feel incredible," you tell her, squeezing her breasts harder. "Your tight little cunt. The way you ride. I'm going to think about this too. Every single day you're gone."

"Good," she gasps, her nails digging into your chest. "I want you thinking about me. I want you unable to function. I want your cock hard in the middle of a massage because you thought about me for half a second."

"That's going to cause problems at work."

"I don't care." She slams down on you and grinds, rotating her hips with you buried to the hilt, and you feel every inch of her tight wet heat clenching around you. "I want to ruin you for six months. I want you counting the days until you can have me again."

She leans forward and kisses you, her breasts pressing against your chest, your hands sliding from her tits around to her back, holding her against you while her tongue pushes into your mouth. She rides you through the kiss, shorter strokes now, keeping you deep, her clit grinding against your pelvis on every roll. You kiss her until neither of you can breathe, until spit is smeared across both your chins and her lipstick is on your mouth and your lungs are burning.

You kiss her again, one more time, hard and brief, and then you grip her hips and lift. She gasps as your cock slides out of her, the sudden emptiness making her whimper, and you guide her off your lap and turn her around. She reads your intention immediately, planting her knees on the couch cushion and bracing her hands on the armrest, her back arching, her skirt still rucked up around her waist and her panties still pulled crookedly to the side. She looks back at you over her shoulder, hair falling across her face, and spreads her knees wider on the cushion.

"There she is," you murmur, getting up on your knees behind her, one hand on her hip and the other guiding your slick cock back to her entrance.

"Come on," she says, pushing her ass back toward you. "We don't have all day. Put it back in me.”

You sink into her to the hilt in one long steady stroke, her pussy so slick and swollen from the edging that you meet almost no resistance, just tight wet heat swallowing you whole. She groans into the armrest, her fingers clawing at the fabric, and you grip both cheeks of her ass, spreading them, watching your cock disappear between her flushed pink lips. You pull back slowly and push in again, setting an easy rhythm. Her cunt is so wet that every thrust produces a thick squeaking noise, that unmistakable sound of a pussy that's been thoroughly worked over, drenched and puffy and desperate to be fucked. Each time you pull back there's a slick sucking quality to it, her walls clinging to your shaft, reluctant to let you withdraw, and each time you push back in there's that soft squelching that gets louder as you build speed.

"Listen to that," you say, squeezing her ass, pulling her cheeks apart so you can watch yourself sliding in and out of her glistening cunt. "Listen to how wet you are."

"It is a mess," she agrees breathlessly, her back arching deeper. "My pussy is a total mess for you. Fuck, I can feel it running down my thighs."

You thrust into her harder and the wet sound intensifies, and you can see it now, the white cream starting to build at the base of your cock, that telltale frothy ring forming where her body meets yours. Every stroke churns it, pulling it out along your shaft in thick milky strings that coat you and smear across her swollen lips. Her pussy is getting creamier with every passing minute, her arousal whipped into something visible and filthy by the steady pistoning of your cock.

"Look at you," you murmur, watching the cream gather and spread. "Getting all creamy on my cock. Making a mess all over yourself."

"I can't help it," she whines, pushing her hips back to meet your thrusts. "My body's been ready to come since I sat on your lap and now it's just leaking everywhere. You did this to me."

You pick up the pace, your hips snapping forward with more force, and she starts throwing her ass back to meet you, matching your rhythm thrust for thrust. The collision of your bodies fills the room alongside the wet sticky sounds of her cunt taking your cock, and her ass ripples with each impact against your hips. You watch the way her small frame absorbs every stroke, the way her spine flexes and her shoulders tense and release, and you can see the cream coating your shaft thicker now, visible even in the dim afternoon light filtering through the apartment windows.

You reach forward and gather her hair in your fist, wrapping the dark strands around your hand once, twice, and you pull. Not violently. Firm and steady, enough to arch her neck back and lift her face off the armrest, and she gasps, her scalp tingling, her back bowing into an extreme curve that changes the angle of your cock inside her.

"Oh god," she chokes out, her hands bracing against the armrest now that her head is pulled back. "Pull my hair and fuck me. Just like that. Make it count. I want to feel this for weeks. I want to be in London with a sore pussy thinking about you."

"You will be," you tell her, tightening your grip in her hair and driving into her harder. "Every time you sit down on set you're going to feel where I've been. Every time you cross your legs in a meeting you're going to remember what my cock feels like splitting you open."

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, I will. I'm going to think about your cock every single day. I'm going to touch myself in my hotel room and pretend it's you and it's never going to be enough."

You fuck her with her hair wrapped in your fist, pulling her head back just enough to keep that arch in her spine, your other hand gripping her hip for leverage. The pace is relentless now, steady and powerful, and her pussy is making the most obscene sounds you've ever heard, wet and thick and creamy, her arousal churned into froth by the constant friction. You can feel her tightening around you, her walls starting that familiar rhythmic clenching, and her breathing is climbing in pitch, getting shorter and more ragged with every thrust.

"I'm getting close," she pants, her thighs trembling against the couch cushion. "Oh fuck, I'm getting so close. Your cock is hitting the perfect spot. Every time you thrust I feel it in my whole body. My legs are shaking."

"Come for me," you tell her, releasing her hair and gripping both hips, pulling her back onto your cock with every forward thrust, driving as deep as her body will allow. "Come all over this cock, Jenna. Let me feel that creamy little pussy squeeze me. Give it to me. Everything. Right now."

"Oh god," she cries out, her fingers white-knuckling the armrest, her whole body going rigid. "Oh god, I'm coming, I'm coming, it's happening."

Her orgasm crashes through her in waves. You feel it start deep inside, a vice-like clenching around your shaft, and then it pulses outward through her entire body, her legs shaking violently, her abs contracting, her back seizing into a tight arch. She buries her face in the cushion and screams into it, muffled but raw, and her pussy clamps down on you so hard it's almost difficult to keep thrusting. But you do. You fuck her straight through it, never slowing, maintaining that punishing pace while she convulses around you, and each stroke draws another wave of clenching and another broken sound from deep in her chest. The cream on your cock multiplies, thick and white, pushed out of her with every thrust, coating her lips and dripping onto the couch beneath her.

The orgasm rolls through her in what feels like thirty continuous seconds, her body clenching and releasing and clenching again, and you feel your own release building at the base of your spine, drawn out by the relentless milking pressure of her cunt around your shaft. Your balls tighten and your stomach clenches and the heat gathers low and urgent and you know you're almost there.

You give her three more deep thrusts, each one burying yourself completely, grinding against the deepest part of her, and then you pull out. Your cock slides free of her pussy with a slick wet sound, glistening and coated in thick white cream, and you grip yourself and angle upward. You press the swollen head against the tight little ring of her asshole, still shiny and sensitive from your tongue, and you stroke yourself twice, three times, and you come.

The first thick rope pulses out of you and lands directly on her asshole, hot and white against the pink puckered skin. You groan through it, your hand pumping steadily, and the second and third streaks follow, painting her tight little hole in thick creamy lines that pool and drip. You keep stroking, milking yourself empty, watching your cum gather in the cleft of her ass, coating the rim of her asshole until it's glazed and dripping and obscene. A thick bead of it runs slowly down from her asshole toward her spent pussy, leaving a glistening trail across her perineum.

Jenna moans softly as she feels it, a low satisfied purr, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "I can feel it," she murmurs into the cushion, her eyes closed. "Your cum on my ass. It's so warm. It's dripping everywhere."

You milk the last drops out onto her, watching them fall onto the mess you've already made, and then you release yourself and sit back into the corner of the couch, your chest heaving, your cock softening against your thigh, still slick with her cream and your own cum. You let your head fall back against the cushion and close your eyes, catching your breath.

Jenna stays face down for a long moment, her body slack and boneless, draped over the couch with her ass still slightly raised, your cum slowly sliding down her skin. Then she melts all the way flat, lowering herself onto her stomach with a contented sigh, her cheek pressed against the cushion, her eyes half open and glazed. Her skirt is still bunched around her waist. Her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, comprehensively ruined.

"That was really good," she says, her breathing still uneven, a lazy smile spreading across her flushed face. "The ass thing. The tongue. All of it. That was a strong farewell performance."

"Had to make it memorable," you say, still catching your breath.

She crawls across the couch toward you, slow and languid, and tucks herself against your side. She tilts her face up and kisses you, soft and unhurried, tasting faintly of salt and warmth, her hand resting on your chest over your heartbeat. When she pulls back she stays close, her nose almost touching yours, those dark eyes searching your face with something tender lurking beneath the post-orgasm haze.

"How many times do you think we can come before I have to leave?" she asks, her thumb tracing idle circles on your chest. "My car is coming at four. That gives us, what, a few more hours?"

You glance at the clock on the wall behind her. You have time. Plenty of it.

"I think we can find out," you say.

Jenna smiles. Not the bratty grin or the teasing smirk or the performative confidence she wears for the rest of the world. Just a real, genuine, warm smile from a girl who's about to leave for six months and wants to spend every remaining minute exactly where she is.

She's on all fours in front of you, her back arched, her knees spread wide on the couch cushion, her panties stretched crookedly to the side and her skirt bunched around her waist like a belt. She's looking back at you over her shoulder, expecting you to slide back inside her, expecting the blunt press of your cock against her entrance, and instead you grip both cheeks of her ass and spread them apart and press your mouth directly against her tight little asshole.

She jolts. Her whole body tenses and her fingers grip the armrest of the couch and her head whips around, her eyes wide with genuine shock.

"Oh," she breathes, and there's a note of real surprise in it, not performance, not bratty posturing, actual unfiltered surprise. "Oh my god. That's, okay, that's new."

You pull back just enough to talk, your thumbs still holding her open, your breath warm against the sensitive puckered skin. "Thought I'd improvise."

She lets out a shaky laugh, her thighs trembling on either side of your hands. "Using my own material against me. Okay. Respect."

You lean back in and lick her. A slow, flat, broad stroke of your tongue from just above her pussy all the way up to the tight ring of muscle, pressing firmly, and you feel her entire body shudder in response. You do it again, slower this time, letting her feel every millimeter of the contact, and she drops her forehead against the armrest and makes a sound that's somewhere between disbelief and surrender.

"Nobody's ever done this to me," she says into the cushion, her fingers clutching the fabric. "Not once. I've thought about it but nobody's ever actually, oh fuck, oh my god."

You seal your lips around her asshole and suck gently, then release and follow it with the pointed tip of your tongue, tracing tight little circles around the rim. The muscle twitches beneath your mouth, reactive and sensitive, and you keep at it, circling and licking and pressing, varying the pressure, listening to the sounds she's making to guide you. She's vocal in a way she hasn't been before, louder and less controlled, the novelty of the sensation stripping away whatever composure she usually maintains.

"That's insane," she pants, her hips pushing back against your face. "That's absolutely insane. How does that feel so good? It shouldn't feel that good. What the fuck."

You push your tongue against the center, pressing firmly, not penetrating but applying steady targeted pressure, and her thighs clench and her spine dips into a deeper arch. You can feel the tension in her glutes under your hands, the way her body is fighting between instinct and unfamiliarity, wanting more but not sure how to ask for it. So you give her more without making her ask. You flatten your tongue and lap at her in long steady strokes, thorough and wet, getting her slick with spit, and then switch back to the pointed tip, flicking rapidly across the sensitive nerve endings.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she whimpers, grinding back against your mouth. "You're eating my ass on your couch. This is so filthy. I love it. I love every second of it. Don't you dare stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You grip her cheeks harder, spreading her wider, burying your face between them, your tongue working her asshole with focused relentless attention. You lick and suck and probe, alternating between techniques, keeping her guessing, and her reactions tell you everything. The rapid breathing when you circle the rim. The full body shiver when you press the flat of your tongue against her and hold it there. The whine that escapes her throat when you point your tongue and push just barely inside, just the tip, just enough to feel the tight ring of muscle give the slightest fraction.

"Right there," she gasps, pushing back. "Oh my god, right there, your tongue, I can feel your tongue trying to get inside my ass, that's so dirty, that's the dirtiest thing anyone has ever done to me."

You keep your tongue where it is, pressing rhythmically against that tight entrance, and you bring your right hand down from her cheek and slide it between her thighs from behind. She's drenched. Your fingers find her pussy swollen and slippery, her arousal coating her inner thighs, and you run two fingers through the mess of it, gathering the wetness, before pressing both fingertips against her opening and pushing inside.

She cries out when you enter her, her cunt clenching around your fingers immediately, tight and hot and soaking wet. You sink both fingers in to the second knuckle and curl them forward, finding the spongy spot on the front wall, and you start to fuck her with your hand while your tongue continues its assault on her ass.

"Oh my god," she practically sobs, her arms giving out, her chest dropping to the cushion while her hips stay raised. "Both. You're doing both at the same time. Your tongue in my ass and your fingers in my pussy. I can't handle this. I actually cannot handle this."

You pump your fingers steadily, curling them on every inward stroke, massaging that sensitive spot inside her, and your tongue keeps circling and pressing and lapping at her asshole, and the combination turns her into something you've never quite seen before. She's writhing, her whole body undulating on the couch, her face pressed into the armrest, and the sounds pouring out of her are raw and broken and utterly without pretense.

"Don't stop, daddy," she begs, rolling her hips between your mouth and your hand, fucking herself on your fingers while grinding back against your tongue. "Please don't stop. Your mouth feels so good on my ass. Your fingers feel so good in my pussy. I'm losing my mind. You're making me lose my mind."

You add more pressure with your fingers, pumping faster, the wet sound of them sliding in and out of her filling the room alongside her desperate panting. Your tongue pushes against her asshole with renewed purpose, firm and insistent, and you feel the ring of muscle relaxing incrementally under the sustained attention, opening to you, her body learning to accept this new kind of pleasure. You seal your lips around her and suck while your tongue works the center, and she practically screams into the cushion.

"Daddy, please," she whines, her thighs shaking violently, her pussy gripping your fingers so tight you can barely move them. "Nobody's ever made me feel like this. My whole body is on fire. I can feel it everywhere. Your tongue on my ass is making my pussy throb and your fingers in my pussy are making my ass clench and it's all connected and I'm going crazy."

You can feel her building toward it. The telltale signs you've learned over these weeks together. The rhythmic clenching of her walls around your fingers, getting tighter and faster. The trembling in her thighs moving into her core. The pitch of her breathing climbing higher. Her whole body is coiling, tensing, approaching that edge with increasing speed, and you know she's close.

"Oh god, daddy, something's happening," she gasps, her hips bucking erratically. "Something's building, it's so intense, it's different from before, it's bigger, I think I'm going to come, daddy, I think I'm going to come from you eating my ass, that's so filthy, I'm so close, I'm so close, please don't stop, please."

You stop.

You pull your mouth away from her ass and slide your fingers out of her pussy in one clean motion, leaving her empty and exposed and teetering on the precipice. She lets out a sound of pure anguished frustration, her hips pushing back toward you searching for contact that isn't there anymore, her body clenching around nothing.

"No," you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Not yet. I want you to come with my cock inside you. I want to feel this one around my dick."

She drops her face into the armrest and laughs, breathless and shaky, her whole body still trembling from how close she got. "You're so cruel. You are genuinely the cruelest person I have ever met in my life. You just edged me with your tongue in my ass. That's a war crime."

"You edged me three times the first night we were together," you remind her. "Consider this ongoing retaliation."

She laughs again, shaking her head against the cushion, and then she looks back at you over her shoulder with those glassy dark eyes and flushed cheeks and swollen lips. "Okay. Fine. I accept it. The idea of coming on your cock is better anyway. I want to feel you stretching me when I go over." She bites her bottom lip and pushes her ass back toward you. "But put it in now, daddy. Right now. My pussy is aching. I need you so bad it hurts. Fill me up."

You grip her hip with one hand and take your cock in the other, lining the swollen head up with her dripping entrance, pressing forward until you feel her heat engulf the tip, and you push inside.

You sink into her to the hilt in one long steady stroke, her pussy so slick and swollen from the edging that you meet almost no resistance, just tight wet heat swallowing you whole. She groans into the armrest, her fingers clawing at the fabric, and you grip both cheeks of her ass, spreading them, watching your cock disappear between her flushed pink lips. You pull back slowly and push in again, setting an easy rhythm, and the sound that fills the room is obscene. Her cunt is so wet that every thrust produces a thick squeaking noise, that unmistakable sound of a pussy that's been thoroughly worked over, drenched and puffy and desperate to be fucked. Each time you pull back there's a slick sucking quality to it, her walls clinging to your shaft, reluctant to let you withdraw, and each time you push back in there's that soft squelching that gets louder as you build speed.

"Listen to that," you say, squeezing her ass, pulling her cheeks apart so you can watch yourself sliding in and out of her glistening cunt. "Listen to how wet you are. That's from my mouth on your ass. I ate your little asshole and your pussy turned into a fucking mess."

"It is a mess," she agrees breathlessly, her back arching deeper. "My pussy is a total mess for you. It's been dripping since you put your tongue on me. I can feel it running down my thighs."

You thrust into her harder and the wet sound intensifies, and you can see it now, the white cream starting to build at the base of your cock, that telltale frothy ring forming where her body meets yours. Every stroke churns it, pulling it out along your shaft in thick milky strings that coat you and smear across her swollen lips. Her pussy is getting creamier with every passing minute, her arousal whipped into something visible and filthy by the steady pistoning of your cock.

"Look at you," you murmur, watching the cream gather and spread. "Getting all creamy on my cock. Making a mess all over yourself."

"I can't help it," she whines, pushing her hips back to meet your thrusts. "You edged me so hard. My body's been ready to come for the last twenty minutes and now it's just leaking everywhere. You did this to me."

You pick up the pace, your hips snapping forward with more force, and she starts throwing her ass back to meet you, matching your rhythm thrust for thrust. The collision of your bodies fills the room alongside the wet sticky sounds of her cunt taking your cock, and her ass ripples with each impact against your hips. You watch the way her small frame absorbs every stroke, the way her spine flexes and her shoulders tense and release, and you can see the cream coating your shaft thicker now, visible even in the dim afternoon light.

You reach forward and gather her hair in your fist, wrapping the dark strands around your hand once, twice, and you pull. Not violently. Firm and steady, enough to arch her neck back and lift her face off the armrest, and she gasps, her scalp tingling, her back bowing into an extreme curve that changes the angle of your cock inside her.

"Oh god," she chokes out, her hands bracing against the armrest now that her head is pulled back. "Pull my hair and fuck me. Just like that. Make it count. I want to feel this for weeks. I want to be in London with a sore pussy thinking about you."

"You will be," you tell her, tightening your grip in her hair and driving into her harder. "Every time you sit down on set you're going to feel where I've been. Every time you cross your legs in a meeting you're going to remember what my cock feels like splitting you open."

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, I will. I'm going to think about your cock every single day. I'm going to touch myself in my hotel room and pretend it's you and it's never going to be enough."

You fuck her with her hair wrapped in your fist, pulling her head back just enough to keep that arch in her spine, your other hand gripping her hip for leverage. The pace is relentless now, steady and powerful, and her pussy is making the most obscene sounds you've ever heard, wet and thick and creamy, her arousal churned into froth by the constant friction. You can feel her tightening around you, her walls starting that familiar rhythmic clenching, and her breathing is climbing in pitch, getting shorter and more ragged with every thrust.

"I'm getting close," she pants, her thighs trembling against the couch cushion. "Oh fuck, I'm getting so close. Your cock is hitting the perfect spot. Every time you thrust I feel it in my whole body. My legs are shaking."

"Come for me," you tell her, releasing her hair and gripping both hips, pulling her back onto your cock with every forward thrust, driving as deep as her body will allow. "Come all over this cock, Jenna. Let me feel that creamy little pussy squeeze me. Give it to me. Everything. Right now."

"Oh god," she cries out, her fingers white-knuckling the armrest, her whole body going rigid. "Oh god, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, it's happening."

You feel it start deep inside, a vice-like clenching around your shaft, and then it pulses outward through her entire body, her legs shaking violently, her abs contracting, her back seizing into a tight arch. She buries her face in the cushion and screams into it, muffled but raw, and her pussy clamps down on you so hard it's almost difficult to keep thrusting. But you do. You fuck her straight through it, never slowing, maintaining that punishing pace while she convulses around you, and each stroke draws another wave of clenching and another broken sound from deep in her chest. The cream on your cock multiplies, thick and white, pushed out of her with every thrust, coating her lips and dripping onto the couch beneath her.

The orgasm rolls through her in what feels like thirty continuous seconds, her body clenching and releasing and clenching again, and you feel your own release building at the base of your spine, drawn out by the relentless milking pressure of her cunt around your shaft. Your balls tighten and your stomach clenches and the heat gathers low and urgent and you know you're almost there.

You give her three more deep thrusts, each one burying yourself completely, grinding against the deepest part of her, and then you pull out. Your cock slides free of her pussy with a slick wet sound, glistening and coated in thick white cream, and you grip yourself and angle upward. You press the swollen head against the tight little ring of her asshole and you stroke yourself twice, three times, and then you come.

The first thick rope pulses out of you and lands directly on her asshole, hot and white against the pink puckered skin. You groan through it, your hand pumping steadily, and the second and third streaks follow, painting her tight little hole in thick creamy lines that pool and drip. You keep stroking, milking yourself empty, watching your cum gather in the cleft of her ass, coating the rim of her asshole until it's glazed and dripping. A thick bead of it runs slowly down from her asshole toward her spent pussy, leaving a glistening trail across her perineum.

Jenna moans softly as she feels it, a low satisfied purr, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "I can feel it," she murmurs into the cushion, her eyes closed. "Your cum on my ass. It's so warm. It's dripping everywhere."

You milk the last drops out onto her, watching them fall onto the mess you've already made, and then you release yourself and sit back into the corner of the couch, your chest heaving, your cock softening against your thigh, still slick with her cream and your own cum. You let your head fall back against the cushion and close your eyes, catching your breath.

Jenna stays face down for a long moment, her body slack and boneless, draped over the couch with her ass still slightly raised, your cum slowly sliding down her skin. Then she melts all the way flat, lowering herself onto her stomach with a contented sigh, her cheek pressed against the cushion, her eyes half open and glazed.

"That was really good," she says, her breathing still uneven, a lazy smile spreading across her flushed face. "The ass thing. All of it. That was a strong farewell performance."

"Had to make it memorable," you say, still catching your breath.

She crawls across the couch toward you, slow and languid, and tucks herself against your side. She tilts her face up and kisses you, tasting faintly of salt and warmth, her hand resting on your chest over your heartbeat. When she pulls back she stays close, her nose almost touching yours, those dark eyes searching your face with something tender lurking beneath the post-orgasm haze.

"How many times do you think we can come before I have to leave?" she asks, her thumb tracing idle circles on your chest. "My car is coming at four. That gives us, what, a few more hours?"

You glance at the clock on the wall behind her. You have time. Plenty of it.

"I think we can find out," you say.

Jenna smiles. Not the bratty grin or the teasing smirk, just a real smile from a girl who’s about to leave for six months and wants to spend every minute she has left exactly where she is.

—

You're brushing your teeth when the apartment finally catches up with you. The silence of it. Not the usual silence of living alone, but the silence of an absence.

Her sneakers aren't by the door anymore. The couch cushion where she was stretched out a few hours ago still holds the faint impression of her body. The whole apartment carries traces of her: a hint of perfume, the lingering aftermath of sex…

You spit, rinse, wipe your mouth, and pad into the bedroom. The sheets are clean because you changed them this morning, before she came over, before everything, and they feel too smooth and too cold when you climb in. You plug your phone into the charger and set it on the nightstand and you're reaching for the lamp when the screen lights up.

A photo. Jenna in an airplane seat, first class, her hair pulled back under a baseball cap, her face bare and a little tired. She's doing a peace sign. Behind her you can see the curve of the cabin wall and the edge of a window showing nothing but dark tarmac.

It's going to be a long flight

You pull the phone off the charger and settle back against your pillow, typing with one thumb.

How long?

Like 11 hours. I'm going to lose my mind 🫩

Sounds rough. You should try to rest during the trip. You'll need it when you land

I will. Eventually. I'm too wired right now. My body is still buzzing from earlier.

I'll probably dream about you. Just so you know.

That's actually really romantic. I'll dream about you too

You better. If I find out you dreamed about someone else I'm flying back immediately to fight you

Nobody else worth dreaming about

She doesn't respond right away to that one. Three dots appear and disappear twice before her next message comes through, and you can picture her in that airplane seat, cap pulled low, chewing her lip, trying to figure out how to respond to sincerity the way she always does.

It's going to be a long six months

We'll survive it

You think so?

I know so

How? How do you know?

You stare at the screen for a moment, thinking about what to say. You could send something long, something thoughtful about how the last few weeks have shown that this is real, that it's worth holding onto. But that's never really been how the two of you communicate. You say what matters and leave the rest unsaid. Right now, she doesn't need a speech. She just needs to know.

Because nothing about this has felt temporary. Not once. And I don't think six months changes that

I really like your confidence. It's annoyingly attractive

That's my best trait. Top of the list. Everything else is secondary

Oh please. Your best trait is your hands and we both know it

Fair point. Confidence is second then. Now rest. Seriously. Sleep on the plane. We'll talk when you land

Okay okay. I'm going to sleep. Talk later

Talk later. Bye, Jenna

Bye babe

You stare at that last message. Babe...

Two syllables. Four letters. Dropped into the conversation like it was something she'd been saying for months. But she hasn't. Not once in all the weeks of texts and nights together and mornings tangled in sheets has either of you used a pet name. Not once. She's called you daddy in bed but that's different, that lives in a separate category, and outside of those moments you've both operated in the careful neutral territory of first names and pronouns. Well, it seems that has changed too.

And you like it. You really like it.

Six months. A hundred and eighty days, give or take. She'll be in London, on sets, in costume, surrounded by crews and actors and the entire machinery of her career, and you'll be here, in this apartment, at the spa, running your hands over strangers' backs and checking your phone between clients. The distance will be real and constant and some days it will probably be terrible. You know that. You're not naive about it.

But you're not worried either, and that might be the strangest thing of all. There isn't even a trace of doubt. What started on a massage table in a villa has become woven into the fabric of your days; there in the mornings, there in the evenings, there in the ridiculous smile that appears whenever her name lights up your screen at eleven o'clock at night. It wasn't something either of you performed into existence. It just happened, slowly and naturally, between two people who weren't looking for it but found it anyway.

You close your eyes. Your phone lies untouched on the nightstand. Somewhere over the Atlantic, a girl in a baseball cap is curling up in a first-class seat, falling asleep thousands of miles away. And somehow, you're completely certain that when you wake up, there'll be a message from her.

You slip the straps off her shoulders. Her dress falls to her waist. She’s bare from the waist up.

The sun on her bountiful chest is the last thing you ever needed to see. You think you might cum without being touched by just staring at it. You stand at the foot of the bed and look at her and you cannot understand what you are seeing. Her tits are bigger than you imagined and you have explored that visual in your head so many times. The skin between them swallows light like no other; cleavage as deep as Mariana’s Trench.

Her nipples pink as the cherry blossoms of spring, erect like thorns from roses, and you have to grip your own thigh to stop yourself from doing something stupid.

“Stop staring.”

Words refuse to come out of your throat.

She laughs, soft as the fields of cosmos you used to play in when you were both young, embarrassed. “Come on, stop it.”

“I can’t—”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t stop staring. I’m sorry, noona. I’ve been with you for most of my life and I’ve never noticed.”

“Come here.”

You approach her. You climb onto the bed and you put your face into her neck before you do anything else, because her neck smells like her, and you breathe in for a long time, and your brain malfunctions.

“Sohyun-noona.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“You smell like flowers in early spring, the first ones, the wet ones.”

“Oh, how romantic.”

“I want to put my face on every part of you. I want to know what your skin smells like from your ear to your ankle.”

“That tickles.”

“I know.”

You kiss her neck. The skin there is so soft you make a sound in your throat without meaning to. You kiss her shoulder, the bones of it. The hollow at her clavicle that you have looked at across the library table for years. You kiss the inside of her wrist that has rested on a textbook in front of you, and your cock is so hard in your pants, thinking becomes a chore.

“Be careful,” she breathes. “I bruise.”

“Good.”

“What?”

“I want to leave marks on you. I want you to find them tomorrow on the plane and think about my mouth. Please tell me I can.”

“…yes, of course you can.”

You suck on the place between her shoulder and her neck until a deep red spot blooms there. The sound she makes resembles the birds that flock around your garden; small and melodic. You feel her soft thighs shift on the bed below you. You stop and look at her and her eyes are already wet and her cheeks are red.

“You’re insane.”

“You make me insane.”

You move down. Her chest is in your face now and you cannot believe it is real. You take one nipple into your mouth and your eyes roll back. Intoxicating you like a poisonous nectar you’re willing to die for. You suck and you taste every note of musk, and skin, and scent of her that translates to numerous neurons activating and your tastebuds firing off signals that it has never transmitted before.

The tenting arousal under you is starting to hurt. Her hands find your hair and she gasps. You give her tit the time you have spent fantasising about it, which is a fuck ton. You feel her arching off the bed, she’s trying to push more of herself into your mouth and you of course let her.

You move to the other side, give that pillowy-goodness the same amount of attention and time. You spend so long on her tits that her hand goes from gripping your hair to stroking it, slow, like she’s the one trying to comfort you.

“You’re going to be here all night,” she breathes, heavy and labored.

“Oh, that’s the plan, noona.”

“Oh god.”

You move down further. Push the slip off her hips and it falls to the floor and now you can see her fully and you have to close your eyes for a second because the sensation is too much now. You open them. She is the most you have ever seen. You kiss the soft slope of her belly and you bite, not hard, just enough to feel it, just to know what her skin gives like, and she makes a lovely noise.

“Did you just try biting me?”

“Yes and I’m not done.”

You bite her again. You kiss her hipbones. You drag your nose down the line where her thigh meets her hip and your nose is full of her flowery scent and you cannot stop your hips from grinding into the mattress. You are still fully clothed but your cock has been leaking in your pants.

“Ms. Park Sohyun.”

“Yes, baby boy?”

“I’m going to be eating you for a while. Do you understand that?”

“For how long?”

“An hour or so, maybe more.”

“…okay.”

“Now spread those legs.”

She spreads her legs and you stop breathing for a moment.

Her cunt smells like flora in early spring and you can’t get enough of it. You shove your face there and you breathe in and you don’t come up for air for so long she has to ask if you’re still alive.

“Are you okay down there?” She asks while being almost breathless herself.

“I am doing better than okay, noona.”

“Can you still breathe?”

“I can replace this with oxygen for all I care.”

You lick her. You taste her and your eyes roll back once more. You growl from the ecstasy that lands on your tongue. She tastes like something you would walk a hundred miles for just to taste again. You lick her a second time and you start drooling uncontrollably. You don’t care, you stop trying to be a person and you let the animal inside you free.

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, you’re—”

“What?”

“You’re so good, you’re shaking.”

“I know.”

You stay there. You learn the topography of her folds with your tongue and find the treasure that sits atop of her cunt that makes her hips lift, and when you find it you make a small triumphant sound into her body and her thighs squeeze your head. You suck, you taste, your saliva mixes with her nectar and you stay there.

She cums and her whole body violently shakes from the intense sensation. Her hand flying to her face to muffle her moans.

You continue.

“Wait! Wait.”

“I told you I’ll be here for a while.”

“Oh god.”

You keep going, you lick the parts of her that are still trembling. You suck the small place that is now so sensitive you swear she starts hiccuping because of it. You drink the honey like it’s the only sustenance you have left on planet Earth. You think about the rest of your life having to taste anything else and you almost lose it from sadness.

She comes the second time louder, with both hands in your hair, pulling.

“You’re going to kill me.”

You make her cum a third time before she can catch her breath. You’re not doing it to take care of her anymore. You’re doing it because you cannot stop. The sun has dropped lower and blue hour covers the sky. The light on her stomach now coming from moonlight and you admire her like she is the most beautiful thing ever conceived in this reality. Words can’t justify how perfect she is.

“When you’re done with your studies, will you visit me?”

“Of course, noona. I’ll find a way to work near where you are.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She goes silent for a long time. Then she takes your wrist and pulls you in for a long messy kiss. Your tongues intertwine as she tastes herself from your tongue.

You break the kiss, and you lower your mouth to her again.

My hips sway as I walk past the delicious mess our juniors are making right next to the exit of the stage, Julie sharing my laughter as our dear little whores make us proud. She has the same hunger in her eyes that I do, those perky lips of hers already moist and red with arousal, this bitch is so horny I almost consider giving the watching students an unforgettable show... Julie smirks, and mouths, later, so we keep walking instead. The path out of the temporary stadium was kept clear, the pair of us are able to circle around the vast number of people filling the gentle grass bowl to watch the performances. From our relative height we can spot the small eddies and whirls of the crowd, watching the two vortexes of Belle and Haneul drifting their way through the press. Julie scans the crowd, eyes narrowing until she sees what she is after, and with a kiss goodbye, she penetrates the living wall of students. See you later, girlfriend!

Every slut has their own particular tastes, and Julie's is hunky jocks. She just loves being manhandled by guys with more meat than brains, picked up and used by them like the petite sex toy she acts like. Which is pretty fun to watch, and my thighs moisten further as I saunter along remembering it, it's almost enough to make me turn around so I can watch, and join in the fun. Almost. Studs are boring. They already get enough pussy from their groupies, if they aren't pounding the school beauties then they have the weirdos lined up to service their cocks. So they might be good fucks, but there's no enthusiasm to them, no spice, you're just another hole they deserve to fuck. Which can be fun, but like, also boring. Nah, if you want to really get fucked, you go and find the losers.

The dregs. The perma-virgins. The losers whose only sex has been paid for or with their own hand. They want it. They want it so fucking bad. And when I open my legs for them its like dropping a fat juicy steak in front of a starving job. They go feral. They fuck me like it's the last pussy they'll get in a decade, pounding me until their dicks break or they pass out from exhaustion. Way more satisfying than some entitled asshole giving you the ol' pump-n-dump! And like any good slut, I did my research before this performance, and make a beeline towards one of the nearby buildings scattered around the stage. I slide through the scattered groups of students, losing my usual saunter to avoid too much attention. I mean, I'm Natty, of course people are going to stop and stare, but at least I can avoid getting gangbanged before reaching my goal.

Several handies and an unsurprisingly quick blowjob later, I'm inside the building, and after a few more hand jobs I'm walking towards the door I've been looking for. Idle music blares through the open windows, the breeze stirring my hair, as an announcer drones about the upcoming artists on next. Aespa. Their performances might be a bit stale, but they sure know how to make those panties drop and cocks pop. I breeze past some gawping morons (okay, I actually got spitroasted, but shush), before finding the correct room number. "The Anime Club", the piece of paper taped to the door reads, oh this is going to be so much fun. Wearing my widest smile I slam open the door and pose against the doorframe, my eyes sweeping across the startled faces filling the room, the stench of sweat and undrained balls tickling my nose, "Hey losers," I purr, "Wanna fuck?" One guy lets out a startled moan and clutches at his crotch, did he just cream himself? Oh fuck yeah, this is the right place.

I strut into the room like I own it, which I do now, shedding my clothes as I go, revealing my tanned, curvy body for these low-lives to drool over. There are girls mixed in to the press, over-dressed and with too much makeup on, no doubt used to lording over the men in here, glaring at me jealously as a lay claim to their little harem. But the smirk on my face as I glance at them tells them that this was an inclusive event, why bother having a gangbang when you can have an orgy instead. I saunter into the middle of the room, which coincidentally already has a space cleared in it, the surrounding desks and chairs kicked aside, and set my hand on my hip, "Well, do you want to fuck an idol or not?" I sigh sluttily, "Don't bother with protection, none of you have fucked enough to catch anything..." silence greets this announcement, and I roll my eyes in irritation, "That means you can fuck me raw, idiots," and like magic their clothes come flying off.

Before I can blink I am surrounded by sweaty losers, each pushing and fighting to get a handful of me, to grope my thick ass or my perky breasts, to get to kiss my perky lips with their filthy mouths. A dozen hands hungrily roam my body, clammily rubbing and squeezing my premier flesh, desperate to experience what they've watched happen a hundred times on their screens. The door slams shut behind me, and I hear the clunk of the lock, and then the screech of a table being shoved against it, and I know the only way I was leaving this room was covered in cum. Just the way I love it. Their erect cocks rub and poke at me, and soon my hands are busy once more, drifting between dicks and the occasional pussy as I say hello to them all. Then I drop into a squat so I can greet my new friends with a big sloppy kiss.

The trick to getting blowbanged is to make sure nobody gets a good handle on your head when they're in your mouth, because otherwise the will fuck your face until they- I gulp down the thick example of my lesson, some guy groaning while his cum fills my mouth; okay fine, it's not as easy as it sounds. I finish slurping and turn my head to accept the next cock into my mouth, sucking on his warm, hard meat before quickly moving onto the next one. It's fun having some guys creampie my face, but when all of them get to do it it gets boring fast. I've got other holes that need to be filled too! Speaking of which, one of the girls is doing a great job eating me out while I crouch over her face, having been scooted into the scrum on her back. She keeps getting stepped on, but I think she enjoys it. Another loser unloads into my hair from behind, just as the dick in my right hand hand explodes onto my face, my pussy starts making louder noises as I relish the feeling of being covered with spunk. Fuck it, I need to get plowed.

I rise up from the ring of smelly bodies like a beautiful flower, my gaze sweeping the room to drink in the details that I missed while I was buried in pulsing cocks. Things have gotten a bit crazy while I was down, and it looks like the orgy is in full swing. One girl is on her knees rubbing two cocks together, while another slut is taking it up the ass. Two bitches are busy fisting each other, some pervert is jacking off using one of their hair, and one of the gaudily dressed girls turns out to be a boy after all, and has her skirts up around her waist while she gets plowed from behind, her flaccid cock flopping leakily with every thrust. Hot. Well it's time to join in the fun, and I languidly lean forward while hands find my body once more, I start sucking one of the dicks being shoved into my face, letting whoever was behind me figure it out. There's some commotion behind me, but soon enough something warm and hard is pushing between my cheeks. Hopefully it ends up in my pussy and not my ass, these morons can never get it in the right hole.

To my slight surprise my pussy gets filled with throbbing man-meat, and I shudder with delight as pleasure suffuses my belly, god I love taking dick. Warmth pulses through my groin as my lover roughly pounds away at me with an almost virginal lack of skill, so greedy to creampie me, to unload his cum as deep inside of me as possible, he's desperate for it. Confident that things will work themselves out back there, I turn my attention to cock in my mouth, and start showing off a little; I am an idol after all. I take my lover's burning rod down my throat, my tongue flickering against his shaft while I swallow him to the hilt, my chin nestled against his hairy balls. Then I look up at him and wink, causing his member to spasm as it spurts down my throat. Whoops. And right on schedule, the trash filling my other hole adds his own load to the party, flooding my pussy with his sticky warmth. Mmmph.

Then fresh cocks take their places, and once more I am bouncing between two dicks, spitroasted by losers who have barely even kissed a girl, and now they're fucking an idol raw. God they are pounding me so damn hard. One blows, and then the other, and then another just empties himself all over my butt before some other deviant shoves his dick in my ass. Thin, thick, long, small, doesn't matter the size, I take them all! It all blurs together, a ceaseless plowing from both ends, broken only when a coochie gets shoved into my mouth instead of a cock, half the time they're already dripping with semen. Delicious. I won it like the slut I am, until finally there's enough of a break for me to stand up and take stock of what I've missed. I smile. The orgy is in full swing, all inhibitions tossed aside, cocks spray over quivering flesh, fingers dig into pliant holes, mouths open in groans only to be filled by sopping genitals, half the couples here will either break up or discover they enjoy a few more bodies in their relationship. I am so fucking wet.

With a smirk I lay back on a nearby table, my hair soaking in a puddle of squirt and jizz, my legs open wide in invitation for anyone who wants a taste of premium idol pussy. My first partner arrives, some obese loser with a dick shorter than my pinky, and I lick my lips as he buries me beneath his bulk. My feet kick in the air while he ruts atop me, his waist too wide to wrap around, I can't even tell if he is in me, but judging by his pitiful grunts, he certainly thinks he is. I kiss him, my tongue slithering wetly in his mouth, as his groans grow louder and more desperate. I squeeze him, and feel something in the sloppy mess of my folds, before he lets out a final whine and fills me with his virgin cum. Holy fuck. I am unable to contain a moan as his jizz pours into me, burning hot and so thick it's like peanut butter, I feel so damn full! When I finally manage to shove him off me his glutinous seed stays within me, if I wasn't an idol, my belly would be full of his baby. The thought of this lowlife knocking me up only makes me more aroused.

The next few guys use my butt after seeing the stinking mess that fatass left in my pussy, though one bitch does spend like ten minutes eating me out, which was nice. Then she sits on my face, and I get to enjoy having my asshole violated by several deviants while I gouge hers out with my tongue, she keeps squirting all over my tits. Eventually someone noticed my favorites assets are unoccupied, and soon my tits are getting fucked as hard as my butt is. God I love getting used like this. After a bit of this, the slut unmounts my face, just in time for someone to jizz all over it. I laugh with joy as more join in the fun, my skin plastered with a thick layer of spunk until some girls are jealous enough to lick it off of me. The bitches.

I am delighted to discover my next lover is that crossdresser from before, her dick sprouting from her layers of stockings. I love fucking weebs, they're always so perverted. Even if they sometimes make you crawl into a body pillow with a hole in it first. One time I got stuck in a D.VA one at an anime convention and ended up being voted the most popular stall. I honestly thought I was going to end up pregnant! Ah... The adorable girl wastes no time in mounting my clogged cunt, happy to fuck those nasty sloppy seconds out of me. Then things get even better, another guys comes up behind her and shoves himself into her ass, forming a little fuck-train. The crossdresser squeals and gasps atop me, her elaborate dress and petticoats dripping wet from where her body presses against mine. I'm pretty sure she's already cum in me, but the boys just don't stop lining up to fuck her into me, I can feel her pitiful dick twitching inside of me with every thrust. I kiss her tenderly, I love it when a new slut discovers her calling!

After that all sorts itself out, with the crossdresser ending up bent over next to some other sluts while they all get plowed by a train of losers, I move onto something a bit more intense. With a winning smile I mount some lowlife busy jerking his dick to two whores making out with jizz all over their faces, and loudly invite anyone to join in the fun. Before long I'm getting double stuffed, which is pure fucking bliss as far as I'm concerned. The idiot I'm riding creampies me within a minute, so I roll onto my side and let the room go to town on my holes; it's too bad none of these losers can last very long. I'm in heaven as my ass is plowed while my cunt is getting railed, dicks of all shapes and sizes taking their turn to use my holes for their pleasure. Until finally some perverted pair finally do what I've been wanting this whole time, and shove both their quivering dicks into my asshole. Fuuuck...

There's something so heartwarming about watching a roomful of guys discover that the best thing aside from fucking a hole, is fucking a hole with someone else. Soon the other sluts' holes are being put to the test as the deviants try and shove as many dicks into their partners as possible. I see one chubby whore taking three at once in her loose cunt, and I cheer to watch such a size queen getting stretched out like that. Meanwhile I've got four in my ass, and two in my cunt. I love playing "Stuff the Natty"! And fuck am I getting stuffed. These nasty perverts violate me with endless enthusiasm, at this point all of my holes are getting filled at once, often by multiple cocks, these losers slaking years of lust on my gorgeous body. A normal girl would have passed out an hour ago, but hey, I'm a fucking idol for a reason.

The sun is starting to set when the last deviant spends his thin seed upon my tits, before collapsing off of me with an exhausted groan. With a purring sigh I sit fully upright, and look on with satisfaction at the mess I made. The floor was literally an inch deep with sexual fluids and piss, bodies sprawled everywhere, and the stench- oh the stench! Humming happily to myself, I tiptoe through the maze of passed out losers, not even bothering to grab my clothes before I kick a table out of the way and saunter out the door; I'm pretty sure I saw them dissolving in a trashcan filled with jizz. Heads turn as the fugue of sweaty sex fills the hallway, several people puke or gag in disgust. Wearing my winning smile I sashay through the press of horrified onlookers, my only clothes the thick layer of jizz coating every inch of me. I only get mounted eleven times before I make it outside, guys can be so timid about sloppy seconds!

The sunset fills me with joy as I practically skip along the path, I just love being a good slut! After all, a slut should open her legs for everyone, especially the losers, what's the point of being a meat-hole if everyone can't take a turn? Along a knoll someone waves, and I speed up when I see its Julie. We embrace with messy squelch, both of our bodies slick and sweaty, our lips locked together for what has to be like ten minutes. We share a knowing smile, Julie found her jocks, and I found my losers, and now...? And now we bend over together and invite the line already forming nearby to use our bodies. We might have our favorites, but that doesn't mean everyone else doesn't get to fuck us too!

“But you already ‘inspected’ me last night!” Yeojin whines, kicking her legs up cutely.

“I said daily, didn’t I? You can’t expect me to not inspect you when you’re dressed like that.” Yeojin’s is wearing minimal livery, the porcelain smoothness of her skin revealed to maintain minimal weight.

“Now, car off.” You place a hand over her mouth, and Yeojin is docile, arms spread wide across the hood of the car.

You examine your tiny ride, and spot a little “dent” on her thigh.

“What’s this?” You run a finger over it, and Yeojin gasps.

“O-Ow, I don’t know, I think you grabbed me too hard last night.”

“Did I? I guess that’s understandable, a ride with so much mileage is bound to get a few dings and scratches.”

“Are you calling me old?!”

“No, I’m calling you poundable.”

“That’s more like it.” A firm press on her back is enough to get Yeojin to shut up again, and you start stripping her bare, pulling on the zipper of her tiny shorts first.

You leave her panties on for now, examining the little groove between her legs—from experience you know that she’s grippy, and that little groove is why.

Yeojin whines when you leave her half clothed, but you’ll get to enjoy her bare frame shortly.

"Come on, time to inspect the airbags.”

As soon as you pull the tube top off her she’s teasing you, arms pressed together to make sure her airbags are as big and bouncy and “shock-absorbing” as possible.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think it’ll need a more thorough inspection.” Yeojin coos as you squeeze one tit, then the other, their softness a contrast to how hard you are getting.

“Maybe you’ll need to crash into them to really feel their effects.”

“Oh there’ll be plenty of testing, turn back around.” Yeojin shivers a little as she bends back over the car, and you place her top under her chest to make it a little more bearable.

You pull down her panties, revealing that her “tire” is not only well grooved and grippy, but also a slick one, used to strong forces and high speed racing.

You slip a finger in to check her pressure, and yes, it’s high.

“Hnngh oppa…” As your finger slides out, it’s coated in fluids, some of it dripping to the floor.

“Hmm, my little ride is leaking, I should check that.” You use one, then two dipsticks to check your ride, and confirm that it is leaking, quite profusely at that.

“That’s not good, I’m going to need something to seal up the leak.”

“Or a plug perhaps? A thick and long one might do the trick!” Yeojin chirps up.

“Maybe, I only have one around though, I wonder if it’ll be a tight fit.”

“Only one way to find out.” Not so subtly Yeojin has reached around, pulling on her own cheeks and spreading her hole a little bigger.

A clink of your belt, a drop of your pants, and you’re rubbing your tip against Yeojin’s leaking cylinder.

“I’m not sure it’ll fit—”

“Stop teasing and just fuck me already!” You plunge your crankshaft deep into Yeojin in one stroke. “Oh hnngh…” The purr of her engine only spurs you on, and it’s time to take a test drive on your ride.

The car rocks ungently, and Yeojin might be picking up another bruise or two on the next inspection (you’ll be sure to note them down on her checklist) with how hard you’re gripping her hips—you’re making sure she doesn’t smash into the car and actually hurt herself, but also ensuring that she’s being pistoned into at maximum force each thrust, making her see sparks behind her freerolling eyes.

“So fucking tight!” you growl, testing Yeojin’s suspension, making her ass jiggle as she bounces off your hips each time. “Come on, up you go.” She whimpers as her feet leave the ground—with the car hood as support you wrap an arm under and around Yeojin’s tiny waist and lift her hips, giving you a more direct angle to fuck straight at her womb.

“Oppa no, oh fuck! Hnngh I’m—” Anyone looking from behind could easily tell what’s going on as Yeojin’s legs suddenly go taut, toes pointed straight down as there’s a sudden stream of fluids leaking from between her legs. Said legs then relax, beginning to dangle and splay as you continue to pound her.

Yeojin’s boneless against the hood, rocking in rhythm with the car as the test drive continues. She barely registers the gear change, her leg being raised to the side and rested against the hood, opening her up for a deeper inspection. She definitely feels it soon after, the seal to her womb being tested by your constant knocking.

“Fuck Yeojin!” Finding your ride to be satisfactory, you groan and seal Yeojin up tight with cum, flooding her core. Yeojin combusts with you, redlining and ensuring the compression ratio stays as high as possible for maximum pleasure.

You pull out, and it is time for your second favorite test to run on Yeojin, the emissions test. You rub Yeojin’s eject button and plug her exhaust pipe, keeping her feet off the ground and making sure she can’t squirm away. There’s no more rev and pep in Yeojin, and at a certain point she simply pops.

“Ahh oppa!” A jet of squirt and cum spray out of her, and Yeojin’s a moaning mess as she gushes and releases all the slick you’ve teased out of her alongside all the cum you’ve pumped into her. Streams of fluids leak down her legs uncontrollably, dripping off her toes as she continues to dangle on the hood of the car.

You make a mental note in your head:

Inspection complete, schedule another one for tomorrow.

You press the doorbell. It chimes somewhere deep inside the house, then nothing. You wait. You're about to press it again when you hear footsteps coming closer, bare feet on tile by the sound of it, light and quick.

The door swings open. And there she is. Jenna Ortega, wrapped in an oversized bathrobe that's clearly hers and clearly too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands so only her fingertips peek out. Her hair is damp, dark strands sticking to her neck, and her face is bare, no makeup, just those faint freckles scattered under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. She's smaller than you expected. People always are.

"Hi," she says, looking up at you with a smile that's already halfway to something mischievous. "You're the masseur, right? Please tell me you're the masseur and not somebody selling me solar panels."

"That'd be me," you say, and you give her your name. "I'm with the spa your assistant booked through. Sorry if I'm a little early."

"No, early's perfect. Come in." She steps back and holds the door for you, which is a small thing, but you notice it. A lot of clients at this level let the door hang and expect you to manage. She doesn't. "I'm Jenna, but you probably know that. Or maybe you don't. Honestly that'd be kind of refreshing."

"I know who you are," you tell her, stepping inside. "I try not to make it weird, though."

"Good. Make it weird and I'm docking your tip."

The inside of the place is exactly as nice as the outside promised. High ceilings, big windows, light pouring in across pale wood floors. There's a half-empty mug of tea on a side table, a phone face-down next to it, a hoodie thrown over the back of a chair. Lived-in, despite the showroom bones of it. You ask her where she'd like to set up.

"Okay, so, this is going to sound bougie," she says, leading you through the main room with that quick barefoot stride. "But this place came with these massage tables? Like, they were just here. In a whole room. So I figured, why not actually use them instead of letting them collect dust."

She pushes open a door and there it is, a proper little treatment space, two padded tables and soft lighting and a stack of folded towels that look untouched. You set your case down in the corner.

"Is this your first time getting a professional massage?" you ask, already starting to lay out your oils.

She laughs, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed inside those too-long sleeves. "Don't laugh at me, but yeah. First time. I know, I know, twenty-three and I've never done this. I just never sit still long enough."

"I'm not laughing," you say. "You'd be surprised how many people wait until their body forces the issue."

"Yeah, well, the body has officially filed a complaint." She rolls one shoulder and winces, and it's genuine, not a bit. "Press tour just wrapped. Three weeks. Different city every couple days, like, four hours of sleep, sitting in chairs answering the same questions over and over while smiling like my life depends on it. My neck is basically concrete."

"We'll take care of it," you tell her. You mean it, too. There's something satisfying about untangling a body that's been through it.

You run her through the package quickly, what it covers, full body, deep tissue where she needs it, how long it'll run, that she should tell you if anything's too much. She nods along, watching your hands as you talk more than she's listening to the actual rundown, you think. When you finish, you gesture toward the table.

"Whenever you're ready, you can lie down. Face down to start. You can use a towel to cover yourself.”

She gives you a look, something light dancing in it, but she doesn't say whatever she's thinking. She just slips out of the room for a moment, comes back having ditched the robe for the towel and a pair of small underwear, and climbs up onto the table. She settles face down, arms tucked, cheek turned to the side so she can keep talking.

You warm the oil between your palms first. Then you start at her shoulders, and the second you press in you can feel exactly what she meant. Knots like marbles under the muscle.

"Oh my god," she groans into the headrest. "Okay, that already hurts in a good way."

"You're carrying a lot up here," you say, working slow circles into the tight ridge along her neck. "Have you been doing all this with your shoulders up by your ears?"

"Probably. That's just my permanent state of being." A pause, then, "So how long have you been doing this? The massage thing?"

"Years now. Long enough that I stopped counting."

"Was this, like, the dream? Little kid version of you, big plans to rub strangers' backs?" There's a tease in it, but it's warm.

You smile even though she can't see it. "Not exactly. It wasn't what I pictured for myself, no. I sort of fell into it. But honestly it's not a bad way to spend a life."

"How come?" she asks. She's relaxing under your hands now, you can feel the muscle starting to give, the stiff line of her spine easing.

"It's good work. Taking care of people. Somebody comes in wound up like a spring and they leave actually feeling like a person again. I like being the reason for that."

She's quiet for a second, and when she speaks again the teasing has softened into something more curious. "That's a really nice answer. Most people just say money or whatever."

"The money's fine. The other part's better."

"Mm." She shifts a little under your hands. "You're really good at this. Like, I keep waiting for it to stop feeling incredible and it just doesn't."

You move down to the broad muscles around her shoulder blades, leaning your weight in. "You're loosening up. You were tense everywhere when I started. This is already better."

"Don't let it go to your head." Then, a low sound slips out of her, half a moan, as you press into a particularly stubborn knot. "Oh. Okay. Right there, that's the spot, do not leave that spot."

"That one's been there a while," you say, easing into it with your thumb until you feel it finally release.

"Everything's been there a while. I'm twenty-three and I have the back of a forty-year-old." She turns her cheek the other way, getting comfortable. "What's the weirdest place somebody's made you do a massage? Like, on location."

"Once on a yacht in choppy water. The table kept sliding. I spent half of it just trying not to fall on the client."

That gets a real laugh out of her, her shoulders shaking under your palms. "Okay, that's amazing. Did you fall on them?"

"Nearly. Caught myself on the edge of the table at the last second."

"Tragic. I would've paid extra to see that." She wiggles a little, settling deeper into the cushion. "Okay your hands are actually magic, I need that on the record. Like, witnesses, the whole thing."

"Noted," you say, working your way down toward the small of her back, keeping your pressure even, your touch entirely professional. You can feel the tension draining out of her in real time, the way her breathing's gone slow and heavy. "How's the pressure? Too much anywhere?"

"No, it's perfect, you're perfect, marry me." A beat. "Kidding. Sort of. My assistant would say something but she's not here."

You let that one pass with a small huff of amusement and keep working, kneading along the muscles framing her spine. The room is warm and quiet apart from the soft sound of her breathing and the occasional hum she lets out when you hit something good. She's stopped filling every silence now, content to just lie there and let you work.

"Hey," she says after a while, lazy and half-melted into the table. "Do you do feet too? Because mine are honestly the worst part. Heels for three weeks straight. I can't feel my toes in a normal way anymore."

"I do," you say. "I'll do the whole job. Don't worry, I won't leave you half-finished."

"Good. I want my money's worth." She sighs, blissful. "God, I should've done this years ago."

You finish out her lower back, smoothing your palms in long strokes to ease off the deep work, then step back and reach for more oil.

"Alright," you say. "I'm going to have you turn over for me. On your back."

She makes a small noise of protest at having to move at all, but she does it, rolling over slow and lazy, one arm coming up to push the damp hair off her face. The towel shifts with her, and she tugs it back into place across her chest, though not quite as carefully as before. She blinks up at the ceiling, then at you, that little smile creeping back onto her mouth.

"Feet now?" she asks.

"Feet now," you confirm, and you move down to the end of the table.

You lift her right foot first, cradling the heel in your palm, and you go straight for the arch with your thumbs. She practically whimpers.

"Oh my god," she breathes, her toes curling. "That's the spot. That's exactly the spot. My feet have been trying to file for divorce from the rest of me."

"Three weeks of heels will do that," you say, pressing slow lines from her heel up toward the ball of her foot. "You've got everything bunched up in here. No wonder you couldn't feel your toes."

"They're alive again. You resurrected them." She lets her head fall back against the table, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "I bet you've worked for a ton of famous people, right? Like, I can't be the most ridiculous house you've shown up to."

"Some," you say, keeping your attention on the muscle, working the tension out of her instep. "I don't really talk about it. Discretion's kind of the whole job."

"Mm, smart. Loyal. I like that." She wiggles her toes as you press into them one by one. "Okay, can I ask you something? And you have to be honest. Like, actually honest, no professional dodge."

"Go ahead," you say, switching to her other foot and starting the same slow work on the heel.

She takes a second, and there's a little curl at the corner of her mouth before she even says it. "Have you ever gotten hard giving someone a massage?"

You don't stop your hands, but you do glance up at her. "Oh. So that's where we're going."

"I'm just curious." She's all innocence, which fools nobody. "Professional question. For research."

"No," you tell her, even and easy, going back to her arch. "It's rare. You learn to keep your head in the work."

"Rare, huh? So you're telling me, if I touched your cock right now, it'd be soft? Nothing there?"

You open your mouth to ask her why on earth she would do som- and that's when her foot slips out of your grip. It slides down, slow and unhurried, and presses flat against the front of your pants, right over you, rubbing once with the ball of her foot.

"Liar," she says, delighted, her eyes lighting up. "You're hard. I can feel it."

"That's the fabric," you say, even as you catch her ankle. "These pants bunch up, it's not what you think."

She presses again, firmer this time, her toes curling against the shape of you through the fabric. "Nope. Felt it that time. Clear as day. You're not hiding anything from me, you absolutely cannot blame the pants for that."

You exhale and ease her foot back down to the table. "Okay. That one's on you. You kept rubbing my cock with your foot. What exactly did you think was going to happen?"

"Hey, I think it's kind of flattering, honestly." She props herself up on her elbows, the towel sliding dangerously low. "If it makes you feel any better, you touching me like that has me pretty worked up too. So we're even."

"I know your type," you say, letting your hands rest on her shins. "The kind of client who books a massage with a whole other agenda already in mind."

"That's not fair," she protests, though she's grinning the entire time. "I genuinely did not plan this. My back was actually killing me. But, you know. We're both here. We're both clearly a little worked up." She tilts her head, that bratty little spark fully lit now. "So what if I asked for a special massage? Hypothetically."

You hold her gaze. "I'd charge more for that."

"Money's not a problem. You can put whatever number you want on the invoice."

"Alright," you say, and you let yourself relax into it. "It's fine. I know a bit of erotic massage. It's not really my thing, but I'm not going to pretend I don't know what I'm doing." You reach for a different bottle in your case, the warming oil, and uncap it. "I'll need you to open the towel for me."

She doesn't hesitate. She lets it fall open and away, and there she is, topless, just a pair of small panties left, her tanned skin catching the soft light. Her breasts are perfect and small, her stomach toned, and she stretches a little under your gaze like she wants to make sure you get the full picture.

"You like what you see?" she asks, that smile turned up to its full wattage.

"Yes," you say plainly, because there's no point lying about that either. "Obviously."

That answer pleases her. She settles back down, arms relaxing at her sides, and watches you pour the warm oil into your palms. You rub them together to spread it, to get the heat into it, and then you start where you always start, but with intent this time. The professional foundation is still there in your hands, the steady pressure, the patience, but now you let it wander into places the standard package never touches.

You begin at her collarbones, smoothing the oil across them with both thumbs, working outward toward her shoulders and back in. She lets out a soft sound and her eyes flutter. You take your time there, easing the slick warmth into her skin, before you let your palms drift lower, onto the soft swell of her breasts.

"Oh," she says quietly, her chest rising into your hands. "Okay. That's a different kind of massage."

"You asked for the full job," you remind her, cupping her, kneading slowly, letting your thumbs pass over her nipples just enough to feel them stiffen under your touch. You don't rush it. You circle them, glide around the curve of her, and come back to brush across the peaks again, and her breath catches each time.

"You're doing that on purpose," she says, half accusation, half plea.

"I'm being thorough." You roll one nipple gently between your fingers and watch her stomach pull tight. "Tension lives everywhere. You'd be surprised."

"That is such a line." She laughs, but it breaks off into a groan when you press your palms flat and drag them down off her breasts, smoothing the oil down across her ribs. "God. Okay. Keep being thorough. Don't let me stop you."

Your hands travel down to her stomach, spreading the warmth across her abs, and she's clearly enjoying it now, her hips shifting just slightly, restless. You knead the soft muscle there, work your thumbs in slow lines down toward her navel, then fan out across her hips. Every pass of your hands is unhurried and certain, the same patient rhythm you'd use anywhere on the body, except now the route is taking you exactly where she's been steering you this whole time.

"You're really good at this," she murmurs, watching your hands move over her. "Like, genuinely. I don't know why you say it's not your thing."

"Because it usually isn't." You press into the soft hollow beside her hipbone and her breath goes ragged. "But I'll admit, you're making it hard to remember that."

"Hard. Cute." She bites her lip, looking up at you. "I can feel how warm everything is. Whatever that oil is, it's doing something."

"It's supposed to," you say. "Heats the skin. Opens everything up." You spread it down across her lower belly, just above the waistband of her panties, and her hips lift a fraction toward your hands without her seeming to decide to do it.

You move down, away from where she clearly wants you, to her thighs, and you hear the small frustrated sound she makes when you skip past the obvious. You take one thigh in both hands and start working the oil into it from the knee up, slow and firm, your thumbs pressing into the inside where the muscle is soft and sensitive. Her legs part for you, easy and willing, giving you room.

"You're a tease," she says, her head rolling to the side as she watches you. "You're going the wrong way on purpose."

"I'm being methodical." You drag your hands up the inside of her thigh, getting closer, the heel of your palm sliding along that tender stretch of skin until you're so near to where she's aching that you can feel the heat of her against your fingers. "You don't rush the good part. You earn it."

"Oh my god," she groans, her hips chasing your hands. "You're going to kill me. You know that, right? You're actually going to kill me."

You smooth your thumbs up the last inch of her inner thigh, oil-slick and warm, your fingertips just barely grazing the edge of the fabric still between her legs, and you stop right there.

You stay right where you are, your thumbs parked at the soft crease of her inner thigh, oil-slick and warm against her skin, and you let the moment stretch out longer than is fair. You smooth your palms back down toward her knees and then up again, tracing the same patient lines, skirting the heat of her every single time, watching the way her hips chase after your hands and never quite catch them. Her stomach is rising and falling faster now, the muscles pulling tight each time you get close, and there's a flush spreading across her chest that has nothing to do with the warming oil and everything to do with the fact that you've been keeping her on the edge of this for what has to feel like an eternity.

"Okay," she finally says, propping herself up on her elbows again so she can glare at you, though there's no real heat in it, just desperation barely held together. "I need you to stop pretending you don't know exactly what you're doing. You've been an inch away for like five minutes. You're going to touch my pussy. Right now. I'm not asking anymore."

"You sure about that?" you ask, and you let one thumb drag right up to the edge of where she wants you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her. "Because the second I touch your pussy, this officially stops being a massage. There's no walking that back."

She lets out a breathless little laugh, her head dropping back for a second before she lifts it again to look at you. "Are you serious right now? This stopped being a massage a long, long time ago. I think it stopped being a massage the second you put your hands on my tits and looked at me like that. So let's not pretend we're still being professional here."

"Okay… Yeah, fair enough," you say, and you can't quite keep the amusement out of it.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and she lifts her hips for you without being asked, eager, helping you peel the small scrap of fabric down her thighs and off her ankles. The crotch of them is soaked through, a dark wet patch against the light cotton, and you make sure she sees you notice it before you set them aside. She bites her lip, watching you, and she's got that bratty little spark in her eyes even now, even spread out and bare and dripping on a massage table in a rented villa.

"That's a lot of mess for someone who claims she didn't plan this," you say.

"Shut up," she fires back, but she's grinning.

You don't go for her right away. You start at the soft crease where her thigh meets her body, working the warm oil into the skin there, your thumbs pressing slow circles into the tender spots just beside her lips without yet touching them. She makes a high, frustrated sound and her thighs fall open wider, an invitation that couldn't be clearer. You massage the whole area around her pussy, the smooth skin above it, the sensitive insides of her thighs, everything but the place that's aching for you, and you watch her come apart by degrees.

"You feel so good," she breathes, her hips rolling up into nothing. "Oh my god. I've never, I swear I have never been this turned on in my entire life. This is insane. You're being so mean and it's working."

"Now," you say, finally letting your fingertips slide to her center, "it really starts."

You part her with one finger, slow and careful, opening her up and finding her slick and hot and ready. She gasps at the first real contact, her whole body going taut, and you take your time getting to know her, dragging your fingertip up through her folds and back down, learning the shape of her, the places that make her breath stutter. You find her entrance and you sink one finger into her, slow, in to the knuckle, and her back arches off the table.

"There you go," you murmur, working that single finger in and out of her in an unhurried rhythm, curling it just slightly on the way in. "Relax for me. We've got all the time in the world."

"That's the problem," she manages, her hands gripping the edges of the table. "You're going to take all that time, aren't you? You're not going to rush a single second of this."

"Not a chance," you say, and you add a second finger.

She moans low at the stretch, her hips canting up to take more of you, and you start a deeper rhythm now, two fingers sliding into her with a slow drag that has her panting. Your free hand leaves her thigh and travels back up her oiled body, over the soft plane of her stomach, up to her breast, where you take one stiff nipple between your fingers and roll it in time with the work of your other hand. The double sensation makes her gasp and squirm, her body caught between the two points of contact, not knowing which way to push.

"Oh, that's not fair," she groans, her chest heaving up into your palm. "That's two hands. You're using two hands on me. Who taught you this? Who taught you to do this with your hands?"

You find that spot inside her, the soft swollen ridge along her front wall, and you start working it with the pads of your fingers, a slow firm stroke that has her hips jerking. "Lots of practice," you say.

"I bet." Her eyes are squeezed shut, her mouth open, and she's still trying to talk through it because of course she is. "I bet every single girl you've ever been with was completely ruined for everyone else. I bet they still think about your hands. This is- oh god- this is out of this world, what you do with your hands should honestly be illegal."

"Keep talking," you tell her, picking up the pace just slightly, "and I'm going to make you forget your own name."

You feel her clench around your fingers at that, and you smile. You keep going, that steady rhythm inside her while your thumb finds her clit and starts circling it, light at first, then with more pressure as you read what makes her thighs shake. You strum her with a precision you've earned over years, hitting that swollen front wall on every stroke in and brushing her clit on every pull out, your other hand still kneading her breast, rolling her nipple, and she's losing the thread of her own sentences now, the smart remarks dissolving into broken moans.

"I'm going to make you come like this," you say, watching her face. "With my hand. Just like this."

"I don't doubt it," she gasps out, one hand flying up to grab your forearm, not to stop you, just to hold on. "God, I don't doubt it for a second. Go ahead. Do the honors. I want to see if you're as good as you think you are."

That's all the permission you need. You set your mind to it now, fully, every bit of focus going into her body and the signals it's giving you. You curl your fingers to nail that spot on every stroke, faster now, your thumb pressing tight circles against her clit, and her bratty composure crumbles entirely. Her thighs are trembling against your sides, her hips rocking up to meet your hand, and the sounds coming out of her have gone high and helpless and completely genuine.

"Oh fuck, oh my god," she pants, her grip on your forearm tightening, her nails biting in. "Okay, that's, that's the spot, you found the spot, please do not stop, do not you dare stop now."

"I've got you," you say, your hand never breaking rhythm. "I'm not going anywhere."

You work her relentlessly, reading every twitch and clench, adjusting your angle when her breath catches sharper, keeping that perfect pressure on her clit while your fingers drive into her over and over. She's writhing now, her whole body a string pulled tight, her head thrown back against the table and her dark hair stuck to her flushed neck. The flush has spread all the way up to her cheeks and she can barely keep her eyes open.

"It's close," she chokes out, her thighs starting to clamp around your hand. "Oh god, it's so close, it's right there, I can feel it."

"I know," you tell her, calm and certain, and you press in harder, faster, that swollen spot under your fingertips and her clit under your thumb, both at once, refusing her any room to back off. "Let it happen. Don't fight it."

She breaks. Her back bows clean off the table and a strangled cry tears out of her, her cunt clenching down around your fingers in hard fluttering waves as the orgasm slams through her. Her thighs lock around your hand and her hips grind up against your palm, riding it out, and you keep your rhythm steady through all of it, drawing it out, working her through every last shudder until she's gasping and twitching and finally collapsing back down onto the table, boneless and shaking, her chest heaving.

You slow your hand gradually, easing her down, your fingers stilling inside her and then sliding out slick and warm. You smooth your palm over her hip, gentle now, while she catches her breath. Her eyes are glassy and half-lidded and there's a dazed little smile spreading across her flushed face.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm flung over her forehead. "Okay. Okay, that was… I don't even have a comment. You broke my brain. I had a whole thing I was going to say and it's just gone."

"Take your time," you say, wiping your hand on the towel beside her.

She lies there a moment longer, the rise and fall of her chest gradually slowing, and then she turns her head to look at you with those dark eyes, the bratty spark already crawling back into them even in her wrecked state. She crooks a finger at you.

"Come here," she says.

You lean over her, and she reaches up, fists her hand in the front of your shirt, and pulls you down into a kiss. It's slow and deep and unhurried, her lips parting against yours. She kisses you like she's making a point, and when she finally pulls back, she keeps her hand twisted in your collar so you can't go far.

"Okay," she says, looking up at you, her thumb dragging along your jaw. "So now I know exactly what your hands can do. That part's settled. No notes. Genuinely incredible." She bites her lip, and her eyes drop down your body and back up to your face. "But that just raises a whole new question, doesn't it? Because now I really, really need to know what your cock can do."

She pushes herself up slowly, swinging her legs off the side of the table, still a little unsteady on them as she stands, and she presses her bare body against your front, looking up at you through her lashes.

"Come on," she says, tugging you by the shirt toward the door. "Forget the table. We're going to my room.”

You let her lead you out of the treatment room and down the hall, her small hand fisted in your shirt, her bare feet quick and sure against the cool tile. Her bedroom is big and bright with a bed that's far too large for one person, white linens half-rumpled where she's clearly been sleeping diagonally across the middle of it. She lets go of you long enough to spin around and walk backward toward the bed, watching you with that look on her face, and you start working the buttons of your shirt, shrugging it off your shoulders and tossing it onto a chair.

You're still working at your belt when she drops to her knees in front of you, just like that, no hesitation, and takes over. She pops the button and pulls the zipper down and tugs your pants and underwear off your hips in one motion, letting them fall down to bunch around your thighs, and your cock springs free right in front of her face. She makes a low pleased sound at the sight of it, her dark eyes going wide and hungry. She wraps one small hand around the base and gives it a slow stroke, tilting her head as she studies it.

"Mm. Okay. Hello." She licks her lips and looks up at you through her lashes, that bratty grin curling across her mouth. "So... You're about to get a blowjob from Jenna Ortega. How does that feel? Be honest. Bucket list moment, right? You're going to remember this forever."

"Honestly?" you say, looking down at her with a calm you know is going to drive her crazy. "I'm pretty chill about it. Go ahead, though. Don't let me stop you."

Her jaw drops in mock outrage and she smacks your thigh with her free hand. "Oh, fuck off. Chill? You're chill?!" She narrows her eyes up at you, still slowly stroking you the whole time. "You're a fan of mine, don't even lie to me. You knew exactly who I was when I opened that door."

"I know who you are," you tell her with a shrug. "Doesn't mean I'm a fan. You were great in X, even though slashers aren't really my thing. But I don't follow your career or anything."

She stares at you for a moment, clearly caught off guard, before breaking into a bright laugh and shaking her head.

"Wow. Okay. The disrespect. You're unbelievable." She leans in close, her breath warm against the head of your cock, and her eyes flick back up to yours. "Fine. You know what? You will be a fan after this. Guaranteed. By the time I'm done you're going to be streaming my entire filmography."

And then she gets to work. She drags her tongue flat up the underside of you from base to tip, slow and warm, and then wraps her lips around the head and sinks down, taking you into the wet heat of her mouth. She knows exactly what she's doing, that much is immediately obvious. She works you with a hand and her mouth together, twisting her wrist on the upstroke, hollowing her cheeks on the way down, her tongue pressing along the underside on every pass. She takes you deeper each time, her nose nearly brushing your stomach, and the sounds she's making are filthy and wet and completely shameless, little hums of enjoyment vibrating through your cock.

At one point she pulls off you with a slick pop, a string of spit connecting her bottom lip to the head of your cock, and she looks up at you while she catches her breath, still stroking you with her slick hand.

"By the way," she says, grinning up at you, "I'm just messing with you. With the whole celebrity thing. I'm not that kind of girl, I swear. It's totally fine that you're not a fan. I actually kind of love it. It's refreshing." She gives the head a little kiss. "Most guys would've passed out by now."

"I know you're messing with me," you say, your hand coming up to brush her damp hair back off her face so you can see her better. "Now keep going. You were doing really well. Maybe I'll actually become a fan of yours after this."

That gets a smirk out of her, slow and satisfied, and she takes that as the challenge you meant it to be. She goes back down on you with renewed purpose, both hands now, working you with her mouth and her fists in tandem, her tongue swirling around the head every time she comes up before plunging back down. She gets you sloppy and wet, spit running down over her fingers and onto the floor, her saliva coating every inch of you until you're slick and gleaming and aching. She bobs on you with a steady rhythm, her cheeks hollowed, her eyes watering just slightly, completely committed to the task, and the obscene wet sounds of it fill the room. She keeps it up until you're soaked and twitching against her tongue, until she's clearly proven whatever point she set out to prove.

She pulls off you again, breathing hard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and rocks back on her heels with a satisfied look. "Okay. I'm ready. You're definitely ready." She rises to her feet, a little wobbly, and climbs up onto the bed.

You finally kick off the pants and underwear still bunched around your thighs, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor, and when you straighten up she's already positioning herself in the middle of that big white bed, getting up onto her hands and knees and presenting herself to you. Her petite body looks even smaller out there on the wide expanse of the mattress, her tanned skin a warm contrast against the pale sheets, and she arches her back and looks at you over her shoulder, her perky ass tipped up in the air for you.

"Damn," you say, climbing up onto the bed behind her and putting both hands on her, palming the full round cheeks of her. "Your ass is actually pretty big for someone this small. Where are you hiding all this?"

"Years of squats and good genetics," she says, glancing back at you with a smug little grin, and she gives her hips a slow wiggle, shaking her ass at you, taunting. "You like it? Come on. Stop staring at it and do something about it."

You squeeze a handful of her, watching the way the flesh gives under your fingers, and then you take yourself in hand and line up against her. She's still soaking wet from earlier, slick and ready, and you drag the head of your cock through her folds a couple of times, coating yourself, teasing her entrance until she pushes her hips back at you impatiently. Then you start to press in, slow and steady, feeding yourself into her tight heat inch by inch, and she gasps and drops her head between her shoulders as her body stretches to take you.

"Oh my god," she breathes, her fingers twisting into the sheets. "Okay, you're- oh, that's a lot. Go slow, go slow, fuck. There. Like that."

"You okay?" you ask, holding still once you're seated all the way inside her, your hips flush against the soft cushion of her ass.

"I'm great. I'm so great. Don't you dare stop." She pushes back against you, taking that last bit, a long shaky breath leaving her. "Just give me a second. You're really packing, you know that? Like, criminally."

You give her the second, both of your hands gripping her hips, and then you start to move. You pull back slow and slide back into her just as slow, an easy unhurried rhythm to let her get used to the size of you, savoring the way her tight little cunt grips you on every stroke. She moans low and drops onto her forearms, changing the angle, her ass tipped even higher, and you take advantage of it, your pace picking up by degrees. Each thrust drives a little gasp out of her, and you watch your cock disappear into her over and over, slick and shining, her ass jiggling against your hips every time you bottom out.

"There you go," she pants, rocking back to meet you now, her hips snapping to match your rhythm. "Oh, fuck, that's so good. You feel so good. I knew it, I fucking knew your cock would be as good as your hands."

"You talk a lot for someone getting fucked from behind," you say, and you punctuate it with a harder thrust that makes her whole body jolt forward.

"Get used to it," she shoots back over her shoulder, breathless and grinning even now. "I'm a multitasker. I can run my mouth and take your cock at the- oh- oh god- okay, do that again, do exactly that again."

You do it again, snapping your hips into her with more force, and her smart remark dissolves into a long moan. You build the pace steadily now, your hands holding her in place by the hips while you drive into her, the smack of your body against her ass filling the room along with her gasps. You reach forward and grab a fistful of her dark hair, not pulling hard, just gathering it up and using it for leverage, and the sound she makes at that is something needy and wrecked. You fuck her like that, her back arched, her hair wrapped around your fist, her tight cunt swallowing every thrust, and you can feel her starting to clench around you, her thighs beginning to tremble.

"You getting close?" you ask, never breaking your rhythm, slamming into her with steady purpose.

"Yeah, yeah, oh god, I'm close, I'm so close, please don't stop, I swear if you stop I'll kill you." Her words are coming apart now, breaking up between thrusts, all the bratty composure gone. "Right there, that spot, you're hitting it, oh fuck, keep hitting it just like that."

You keep hitting it, exactly like that, driving into the same spot over and over while she falls apart underneath you. Her moans climb higher and her whole body goes rigid, her cunt squeezing down around your cock so tight you have to grit your teeth, and then she shatters. She cries out into the mattress, her back bowing, her pussy fluttering and clenching around you in waves as she comes hard on your cock, her arms giving out so her face presses into the sheets while her ass stays up in the air, riding it out against you. You fuck her through every pulse of it, slowing only when she starts to twitch and whimper from the overstimulation.

She collapses fully then, sliding off your cock as she goes flat onto her stomach against the bed, and a breathless laugh bubbles out of her, muffled by the sheets. She rolls onto her side to look up at you, her hair a mess across her flushed face, that dazed grin spreading wide.

"Okay," she gasps, still catching her breath, one hand pressed to her own chest. "That was really, really good. Holy shit. Role reversal: I'm the fan now. Officially. Card-carrying."

"It's not over yet," you tell her.

Before she can ask what you mean, you reach down and scoop her up off the bed entirely, one arm under her thighs and one around her back, hauling her petite body up into the air against your chest. She lets out a sharp surprised gasp, her arms flying around your neck and her legs scrambling to wrap around your waist, clinging to you as her feet leave the mattress and the whole world tilts.

You pull her closer, one arm locked under the swell of her ass, the other pressed flat against the small of her back, and you kiss her. She kisses you back immediately, no hesitation, her arms tightening around your neck as her mouth opens against yours. It starts hungry and gets hungrier. Her tongue slides against yours and you suck on it, tasting her, and she tilts her head and licks into your mouth and it goes from a kiss to something messier, something wetter, spit slicking between your lips as you devour each other. She breaks away just long enough to breathe and comes right back, biting at your bottom lip and tugging before sealing her mouth to yours again. Her fingers dig into the back of your neck and her legs squeeze around your waist and you can feel the heat of her slick cunt grinding against your stomach, leaving a wet streak across your skin as she rolls her hips without even seeming to realize she's doing it.

You adjust your grip on her, hitching her higher against your body, and her weight shifts in your arms. She's so light it's almost nothing. You reach between your bodies, angle yourself, and press the head of your cock against her entrance. She pulls back from the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against yours, and you start lowering her body down onto you. Slow. Gravity does most of the work. Her cunt stretches around you again and she whimpers, her mouth hanging open an inch from yours, her breath hot and shaky against your lips.

"Oh fuck," she whispers, her nails biting into your shoulders as you fill her. "Oh, that's deep. That's so deep like this. I can feel every inch of you."

You bottom out with her fully seated in your arms, her weight pinning her down onto the whole length of you, and for a second neither of you moves. You just stand there, holding her up, buried to the hilt inside the tight clench of her, and she looks at you with those glazed dark eyes and her swollen wet mouth, and she says exactly what you need to hear.

"Use me like this," she breathes, her fingers threading into the hair at the back of your head. "Just lift me up and drop me on your cock. Fuck me like I'm your little fleshlight. I want you to wreck me."

You pull her up and bring her back down. Hard. Her entire body jolts in your arms and the sound that tears out of her is raw and broken and loud in the quiet room. You do it again, and again, finding a brutal rhythm with nothing but the strength of your arms, lifting her off your cock until just the tip stays inside and then slamming her back down so her ass smacks against your thighs. She bounces on you, helpless in your grip, her breasts pressing against your chest and her legs locked tight around your waist and her head thrown back, completely given over to it.

"God, you're strong," she gasps, her fingers pulling at your hair. "You're just throwing me around- fuck! Look at you, I'm nothing to you, you're picking me up and fucking me like I weigh nothing."

"You barely do," you tell her, your arms burning in the best way, and you snap her down onto you hard enough to punch the breath out of her. Her cunt is so wet around you that every stroke makes an obscene sound, slick and loud, and her body clenches down on you each time she bottoms out.

She pulls your face to hers and kisses you again mid-thrust, sloppy and uncoordinated, more tongue and teeth and shared breath than anything that could be called a proper kiss. Your mouths slide together wet and messy while you keep fucking up into her, and she moans directly against your tongue, the vibration of it traveling down your throat. She breaks the kiss to gasp and you chase her lips and catch them again, biting down on her bottom lip and then licking into her open mouth, tasting the sounds she's making. Spit connects your mouths when you pull apart and she licks it off her own lips and grins at you like a feral little thing.

"You're so filthy," she pants, rocking her hips to meet your thrusts even from this angle. "I can't believe you walked in here all professional and polite and this whole time you had this in you. This is what you were hiding."

"You're the one who kept pushing," you remind her, driving into her deep and holding there for a second, grinding against her, and she whines and squirms in your arms.

"Best decision I ever made." She tightens her legs around you and rolls her body, taking you at a new angle that makes her whole face screw up in pleasure. "Fuck- right there, I can feel you so deep, you're in my stomach, I swear I can feel you everywhere."

You fuck her like that, standing in the middle of her bedroom, your arms wrapped around her small body and your cock buried inside her, her weight bouncing on you with every thrust. The pace stays relentless. You can feel the sweat building where your skin meets hers, can feel her thighs trembling where they grip your sides, and her cunt is getting tighter around you with every passing minute, that telltale flutter starting to build. She's babbling now, her face buried in your neck, her teeth grazing your shoulder between broken fragments of sentences.

"You're going to make me come again," she mumbles against your skin, her breath hot and fast. "You already made me come twice and you're going to do it again, I can't believe you, I can't believe my body right now, you ruined me, you completely ruined me."

"Come on my cock again," you tell her, bouncing her faster, harder, your hands gripping the meat of her ass and spreading her so you can thrust even deeper. "I want to feel it. Give me another one."

"Oh god- oh fuck- it's building," she gasps, pulling back to look at you, and her eyes are glassy and wet and completely undone. "Keep going, please, don't change anything, you're hitting the spot, you're right there, I'm gonna- oh fuck I'm gonna cum so hard."

You slam her down onto your cock and hold her there, grinding up into her, and it crashes through her hard. Her whole body seizes, every muscle locking up at once, her cunt clamping down around you in rhythmic pulses so tight it's almost painful, and she buries her face in your shoulder and cries out against your skin, shaking and clutching and spasming around you. You hold her through it, still buried inside her, rocking gently to wring out every last tremor until she goes limp and heavy in your arms, panting and twitching.

You carry her the few steps to the bed and set her down on the mattress, sliding out of her as you lower her onto the rumpled sheets. She sprawls back, boneless, her chest heaving, her skin flushed pink and gleaming with sweat, and she stares up at the ceiling looking thoroughly destroyed.

"Come here," she says after a moment, breathless and hoarse, reaching for you.

You lean down toward her and she grabs you, both hands on your chest, and with surprising strength she pushes and maneuvers you until you're lying on your back beside her, and then she's crawling over you, straddling your hips. Her thighs settle on either side of you and she plants both hands on your chest, looking down at you with her tangled hair falling around her face and that bratty spark flickering back to life behind the fucked-out haze in her eyes.

"You've been showing off," she says, pressing her palms flat against your pecs, her nails dragging lightly. "Making me come over and over again, with your hands, with your cock, while carrying me around the room. Very impressive. You've made your point. I get it." She sits up straighter, rolling her shoulders back. "But you haven't come yet. Not once. So now it's my turn. I'm going to show you that I can do the same thing you've been doing to me. I'm going to ride you until you lose your mind."

She reaches behind herself, her small hand wrapping around your cock, still slick and hard and aching from being inside her. She lifts her hips and positions you right at her entrance, the swollen head pressing against her folds, and she looks down at you with that knowing little smile curling the corner of her mouth.

"Wow," you say, looking up at her perched on top of you with your cock in her hand. "Jenna Ortega. Hollywood actress and professional rider. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Shut up," she says, flicking your chest with her free hand. "Stop being cute and just lie there and enjoy yourself. You've done enough work tonight. Let me handle this."

She lowers herself onto you, one slow, excruciating inch at a time. Her eyes flutter and her lips part and her thighs tense on either side of your hips as she sinks down, taking the full length of you into her for the fourth time tonight, and by now her body knows yours well enough that she slides all the way to the base without stopping. She sits there for a moment, fully seated, her palms flat on your chest, adjusting to the stretch with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she starts to move.

Slow, at first. Long, rolling motions of her hips, lifting up until you're almost out and gliding back down, grinding on you when she reaches the bottom. She finds a rhythm quickly, her body undulating on top of you with a fluid grace that tells you she wasn't bluffing when she said it was her turn to show off. Her hands slide up your chest and she arches her back, changing the angle, and the new position has her riding you with her whole body, stomach rolling, hips circling, her perky tits swaying with each motion. She looks down at you and catches you staring, and that smug little grin spreads across her face.

"You're watching me like you can't believe what you're seeing," she says, rolling her hips in a slow figure eight that sends a jolt straight through your spine.

"I'm just admitting that you actually know what you're doing up there," you tell her, your hands resting on her thighs, feeling the muscles flex and release under her tanned skin. "You said you were going to show me something and you're delivering."

"Damn right I am." She picks up the pace, bouncing on you now with more purpose, her ass slapping softly against your thighs on every downstroke, and she throws her head back and lets her hair tumble down her spine. The view from below is obscene. This tiny girl, a hundred pounds of toned Latina body, riding your cock with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how good she looks doing it. Her stomach pulls tight with every roll and her freckled face is flushed and gorgeous and completely lost in the pleasure of it.

"Look at you," you murmur, your thumbs tracing circles on her hipbones. "You look incredible up there. You're putting on a whole show for me."

"You earned a show," she says breathlessly, planting her hands on your chest again and leaning into her rhythm, riding you harder. "After what you did to me tonight? Three orgasms? You earned front row seats." She clenches around you on a downstroke, tight and intentional, and grins when your jaw tightens. "Oh, you liked that. I felt you twitch. I can do that whenever I want, by the way. Just squeeze you whenever I feel like it."

"You're dangerous," you tell her.

"You have no idea." She does it again, bearing down on you and squeezing, and you grip her thighs harder. She laughs, breathless and pleased with herself, and then she changes her approach entirely, leaning forward until her chest presses against yours and her face hovers above your face, close enough that her damp hair brushes your forehead. She rolls her hips in tight, grinding circles, keeping you buried deep, and she looks into your eyes and kisses you.

It's slower than the kisses before. Her lips part against yours and her tongue slides into your mouth lazy and thorough, tasting you while she rocks on your cock, and the combination of her mouth and the tight wet grip of her pussy has you gripping the sheets on either side of your body. She kisses you deep and messy, pulling back to lick across your bottom lip and then diving back in, swallowing the groan you didn't mean to let out. She hums against your mouth, satisfied, and keeps riding, never breaking rhythm, rolling her body against yours while her tongue tangles with yours.

You can't take it anymore. Your hands come up and lock around her waist, fingers digging into her soft skin, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress and start thrusting up into her from below. She breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp, her eyes going wide, and you don't give her time to recover. You fuck up into her hard and fast, using your grip on her waist to pull her down to meet every thrust, and the sound of your hips smacking against her ass fills the room. Her whole body bounces on top of you, her tits pressed against your chest, her mouth open and panting next to your ear.

"Oh my god," she chokes out, her nails digging into your shoulders. "Oh fuck, there you go, now you're the one showing off, you can't just let me have my moment, can you?"

"You had your moment," you grunt, snapping your hips up into her. "Now take it."

"I'm taking it, I'm taking it, god you feel so good," she gasps, burying her face in your neck. "You're so deep, I can feel you in my guts, you're splitting me open."

You pound up into her relentlessly, holding her in place while you fuck her from below, and her body tightens around you with every stroke, that familiar flutter of her walls gripping and releasing. You can feel the heat building at the base of your spine, that coiling tension, and you know you're getting close. After a night of watching this girl come apart for you three separate times without letting yourself go once, your body is finally demanding its turn.

"I'm close," you tell her. "Jenna, I'm gonna cum."

"My face," she says immediately, no hesitation, already pulling herself off your cock with a slick sound. "Give it to me on my face. I already got the massage, now it's time for skincare."

She slides off the bed and drops to her knees on the floor between your legs, looking up at you with her messy hair and her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips, and she grabs your cock with both hands. It's soaked, glistening with her wetness from base to tip, and she starts stroking you with quick, practiced twists of her wrist. Every few strokes she leans in and wraps her lips around the head, sucking firmly, her tongue laving over the sensitive underside before she pulls off and goes back to her hands.

"Come on," she murmurs, looking up at you while she works you, her small fists pumping your slick shaft. "Give me a facial. I want to feel it all over my face. Cover me." She dips down and sucks the head into her mouth again, cheeks hollowing, and the sight of her on her knees with her big dark eyes staring up at you while her lips stretch around your cock is what finally tips you over.

You come hard. Your hand grips the edge of the mattress and your hips jerk and the first thick rope hits her across the cheek and the bridge of her nose, painting over those faint freckles. She pulls back and aims you with her hand, milking you through it, and the second streak lands across her lips and chin. She keeps stroking, squeezing every last drop out of you, catching it on her skin until her pretty face is glazed and dripping, white streaks across her cheekbone, her nose, her mouth and her jaw.

She looks absolutely filthy. She looks up at you through the mess on her face with those big brown eyes and she's never looked better. She raises one hand and drags her finger through the cum on her cheek, collecting a thick glob of it on her fingertip, and she puts it in her mouth and sucks it clean, her tongue curling around her finger.

"Mm," she says, pulling her finger out with a little noise. "Salty. Not bad." She grins up at you, still on her knees, still covered. "That was really fun. I feel so much more relaxed now. You should put that on your business card. Full body tension relief, guaranteed."

You laugh, dropping back onto the mattress for a second before sitting up and reaching for your clothes on the floor. You pull your underwear on and step into your pants, and she watches you dress from her spot on the carpet, still looking thoroughly debauched.

"So," she says, finally rising to her feet and stretching, completely unconcerned about being naked and cum-covered. "How much do I owe you for the special treatment? What's the upcharge on that? Because it felt pretty premium."

You snort as you pull your shirt on, working the buttons. "You don't owe me anything extra. I was kidding about that. It's just whatever you paid when you booked. Seriously, don't worry about it."

"Really?" She raises her eyebrows. "That's very generous. You could've squeezed me for a fortune and I would've paid it."

"I'm sure you would've," you say, tucking your shirt in. "Consider the special treatment complimentary."

"Well, thank you then," she says. "That was an amazing experience. I mean it. My first massage ever, and I don't think anything will ever top it. You ruined massages for me. Every masseuse from now on is going to be a disappointment."

"Happy to help," you say, gathering your case from the treatment room. When you come back through, she's grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand and is wiping her face clean, casual as anything. She catches your eye and grins through the tissue.

She follows you through the house still completely naked, padding along beside you on bare feet, and only pauses when she spots the towel she'd left on the floor of the hallway earlier. She scoops it up and wraps it loosely around herself, though it's more of a formality than actual coverage at this point. She walks you all the way to the front door, leaning against the frame just the way she had when she first let you in, except now her hair is a disaster and her lips are swollen and there's still a faint sticky shine on her cheekbone she missed with the tissue.

"It was a real pleasure meeting you, Jenna," you say, your case in one hand, turning back to look at her in the doorway.

She tilts her head, that slow bratty smile spreading across her face one last time. "Trust me," she says, crossing her arms over the towel and leaning into the doorframe. "The pleasure was all mine.”

—

A week passes. Seven days of normal life, normal clients, normal work. You do a couple's session at a resort downtown, a deep tissue for some tech CEO, and a sports recovery for a college swimmer with a pulled trapezius. Routine stuff. You go home, you eat, you sleep, you do it again. And you don't think about Jenna Ortega.

Okay, that's not true. You think about her a little. You think about her when you're setting up in someone else's living room and you catch yourself glancing at the door like you're expecting a girl in an oversized bathrobe to answer it. You think about her when you're working a client's feet and your brain flashes to the feeling of her toes pressing against the front of your pants. You think about her in the shower, briefly, and then you shut that down because you're not a teenager and you have a schedule to keep.

Now, about what happened with Jenna… It's not the first time. You're not going to sit here and pretend it is, because that would make you either a liar or delusional. In the years you've been doing this work, there have been three other occasions where a client turned the appointment into something else entirely. Three women who were attractive enough and forward enough and the circumstances were aligned enough that you let it happen. An interior designer in her forties who tipped you in cash and a kiss on the mouth. A fitness influencer who pulled you into her pool house after a ninety minute session. A divorce lawyer who locked the door of her home office and told you she needed a different kind of stress relief. Each time, it happened once, and you never went back. Not because it was bad. Because it was complicated. You work through a spa. You have a reputation. You have repeat clients who trust you to be professional, and the second that trust erodes, your entire livelihood goes with it. So the rule is simple. It happens, you enjoy it, you move on, and you never repeat the process.

Jenna should be the same. She should already be filed away in the same mental drawer as the other three, a great story you'll never tell anyone, a memory you'll revisit occasionally and leave alone. That should be the end of it.

Your phone buzzes on a Tuesday evening while you're eating leftover pad thai on your couch. Instagram notification. A message request from an account you don't recognize at first, and then you look at the profile picture and the verified checkmark and the follower count that has more digits than your bank balance, and you set down your fork.

Been thinking about you

How did you even find my Instagram?

Went to the spa's profile. They have this photo of all the employees at some company event and you're in the back row. Your profile was tagged. Easy. Took me like two minutes

So you stalked me

Absolutely I did. You should lock your doors and windows tonight. I know where you live now

You don't know where I live

Not yet. Give me another two minutes Okay I'm not going to be weird about this. I'm just going to say it. I really liked you. And not just because of the sex, which, for the record, was incredible, genuinely top tier, I'm still thinking about it a week later which is embarrassing but whatever

You're a cool guy. You're funny. You went along with all my bullshit and you didn't get weird about it, you just matched my energy the whole time, and I really, really enjoyed that. Most people either get intimidated or they try too hard and it's exhausting. You just showed up and were normal and hot and good with your hands and I haven't stopped thinking about it

You read that twice. Then a third time. You're aware that this is the point where you should type something polite and final. Something about how it was great meeting her too and you wish her the best and maybe you'll see her around. That's what you did with the other three. Clean, simple, no loose ends.

But Jenna isn't the other three. And you know that already, have known it since she opened the door in that bathrobe with her hair dripping, because none of the other three made you laugh while you were inside them. None of the other three made you actually want to stay and talk after it was over. None of the other three texted you a week later being honest and funny and a little bit vulnerable underneath the bravado, and none of the other three made you sit on your couch staring at your phone like an idiot trying to figure out what you actually want.

You're cool too. I had a really good time

So...

So what?

So how about we meet up? Like, actual hanging out. Get drinks, talk, be normal people for a couple hours. And then maybe go back to my place and be not-normal people for a couple more hours. No massage table required

You lean back into the couch and stare at the ceiling. In a normal situation, you'd say no. You know you'd say no, because you've said no before, and it was the right call every time. But Jenna is genuinely funny. She's sharp and self-aware and she doesn't take herself too seriously despite having every reason to, and she's beautiful in a way that hits different when you've seen her with no makeup and no performance and no pretense, just a girl on a massage table being honest about how tired she is. And the sex was, frankly, some of the best you've ever had, and you're not in the habit of lying to yourself about things like that.

Fuck it. Why not?

I'm in. Where and when?

Her response is instant. She sends you the name of a bar you've never heard of, some place in a part of the city you don't go to often, and it occurs to you that she probably picked it because it's low-key enough that nobody's going to bother her there. Smart. Then she sends a time, Thursday at nine, and a follow-up message.

I'll be there first. I'll grab us a spot. Don't be late or I'll find another masseuse

There's no other masseuse like me and you know it

Cocky. I love it. See you Thursday

You put your phone down and pick your pad thai back up and eat the rest of it without tasting any of it, because your brain is already somewhere else entirely. You're thinking about what you're going to wear, which is not something you usually waste energy on, and that alone tells you that you're already in deeper than you planned to be.

—

Thursday comes faster than it should. After your last client, you shower, get dressed, and spend entirely too much time pretending you don't care what you're wearing. Then you head to the bar she sent you. It's small, dim, and pleasantly unpretentious. Good music, good atmosphere, the kind of place where people actually talk to each other. You walk in and scan the room. She's sitting in a booth near the back with a drink already in hand.

You spot her immediately. Jenna spots you, too, and she looks different tonight. Not worse, not better, just different. Her hair is down and dry and loose around her shoulders, and she's wearing a simple top and jeans and just enough makeup that you can tell she put thought into looking like she didn't put thought into it. The freckles are still there under her eyes. She lifts her glass to you from across the room and flashes that same bratty grin.

You walk over to the booth and slide in across from her.

"You're on time," she says, looking pleased. "I was ready to be stood up."

"Wouldn't miss it," you say, settling in. "You stalked me across the internet to set this up. Least I can do is show up.”

A waiter materializes beside the booth with the easy timing of someone who's good at his job, and you order a drink, something simple, while Jenna swirls the last of her amber whatever and asks for another. He nods and disappears back toward the bar, and you settle into the booth, taking in the place properly now.

"So do you come here a lot?" you ask, glancing around at the dim warm lighting and the small clusters of people who all seem to be minding their own business.

"Yeah, pretty often," she says, leaning back against the cushioned seat. "Usually with friends. It's one of the few places around here where I can just sit and not have my phone out in someone's hand pointed at my face the whole time. The staff knows me and they're cool about it. They don't make it a thing. It's a good spot."

"Then I'm flattered," you say. "You brought me to your secret good spot. That's basically a state secret."

She laughs, that bright unguarded sound you remember from the massage table. "Don't let it go to your head. I haven't decided yet if you've earned full clearance."

The waiter returns with both drinks and you settle into the rhythm of it, the easy back and forth, and it turns out to be effortless in a way that surprises you a little. She's funny, quick with comebacks, willing to make herself the punchline, and she listens when you talk, which is not something you expected from someone who spends her life being the center of attention. A few drinks later, she pauses, sets her glass down, and gives you a measured look, intrigued but not entirely convinced.

"Okay, so be honest with me," she says, tilting her head. "This has to happen all the time, right? Clients catching feelings for you, getting your number, taking you out. Your hands are basically a public health hazard. Your schedule must be absolutely stacked with women trying to get you alone."

You almost choke on your drink. "Okay, no. You're really misreading the situation here."

"Am I?" She arches an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. "Come on. I refuse to believe I'm special. You've got a whole roster, don't you? A little black book of housewives."

"I don't do this," you say, setting your glass down. "Like, ever. And I mean that. It's true that a few times something's happened with a client, I'm not going to lie to you about that. But three times. In years of doing this. Three."

She holds up four fingers and waggles them at you. "Four now."

"Four now," you concede, and she grins, delighted with herself. "But here's the thing. Out of those, I never once went back. Not a single repeat. It happens, it's nice, and then I keep it professional and move on, because the alternative is a disaster waiting to happen. So you're not just an isolated case. You're an isolated case among isolated cases. You broke a rule I've never broken."

That seems to do it. She studies you for a moment, absently turning her glass on the table as the teasing gives way to something more sincere. "Okay. So what made you break it, then? What's so different about this time that suddenly Mister Professional is sitting in a bar with a girl he gave a massage to a week ago?"

You consider lying, giving her something smooth. But she's been straight with you all night, so you give it to her straight back. "Honestly? I don't know. I just like you. That's the whole answer. And I kept thinking about that day all week, which doesn't usually happen, so when you messaged me it just felt like the right thing to do. So here I am. Breaking my own rules."

Something passes across her face, pleased and a little caught off guard, and she covers it by taking a sip of her drink. "Wow... Okay. That was almost dangerously sincere. I don't know how to handle you when you're not being a smartass."

"Get used to it. I have layers."

She laughs again, then goes quiet for a second, picking at the edge of her napkin. "I'm a little rusty at this, by the way. The whole dating, meeting people thing. I should probably just tell you that now so you don't expect me to be good at it." She shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. "Like, I've never really had much experience with it. I grew up on sets. I've been working since I was a little kid, always busy, always somewhere new, always with a chaperone or a tutor or a crew of forty people around me. So this kind of thing, just sitting in a bar with someone, going on an actual date, it's still kind of new territory for me."

"You're still really young," you tell her. "You've got plenty of time for all of it. More chances will come along, trust me."

"Sure," she says, and then she gives you a sideways look, that bratty spark flickering back. "But I'm living one of those chances right now, aren't I?"

You can't help but smile. "I guess you are."

"So?" She props her chin on her hand, watching you. "What's the verdict so far? How am I doing? Am I a disaster?"

"You're doing great. You're way better at this than someone who claims to be rusty."

"I'm enjoying it," she admits. "It's funny. I've shot a hundred scenes like this. First dates, bars, the whole flirty getting-to-know-you thing. I could do it in my sleep, hit every mark. But real life is so much more interesting. There's no script. I have no idea what you're going to say next and that's kind of terrifying and kind of great."

You keep talking, and the drinks keep coming, and the conversation wanders all over the place, from her ridiculous press tour stories to the worst client you've ever had to a long pointless debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza that gets weirdly heated. At some point, well into your fourth or fifth round, she sets her glass down and looks at you with an expression that's gone thoughtful and a little softer around the edges from the alcohol.

"Can I tell you what actually got me?" she says. "About you. From the start."

"Go for it."

"It's that you know I'm famous and you just genuinely don't care." She says it plainly, like she's still a little amazed by it. "From the very first second. When you walked in the door, even. And I'll be honest, at the beginning it kind of bugged me. I kept thinking, okay, I know you're being all polite and professional and saying you don't make it weird, but deep down I know what you're really thinking, I know you're freaking out a little on the inside. I was waiting for the mask to slip."

"And?"

"And it never slipped. Because there was no mask. You're just like that." She shakes her head, smiling. "That's so rare. You have no idea how rare. Normally people make this huge production out of it. They either pretend they don't recognize me and it's so obvious they do, or they go the other way and get all weird and starstruck, or worst of all they act normal for like ten minutes and then ask for a photo. But you were just, consistently, the entire time, treating me like a person. And that's actually what made me brave enough to message you."

"How so?"

"Because I knew you weren't going to screw me over," she says. "I didn't have to worry about it. Like, do you know how scary it is for me to flirt with someone? To send a message? Because there's always this thing in the back of my head going, what if he screenshots this, what if this ends up on some gossip site tomorrow, Jenna Ortega caught DMing her massage therapist, what if the whole world sees me being a normal person who likes a guy. But with you I just knew. I knew you'd never do that."

"I'd never do that," you confirm. "And not just because I'm a nice guy, though I am. It's also pure self-preservation. The second I do something like that I'm screwed too. I lose my job, my reputation, everything. So you're safe with me on a purely selfish level if nothing else." You take a sip of your drink. "But also, like, I figured you've got people fawning all over you constantly. Falling all over themselves. The least I can do is be normal and treat you like I'd treat anybody."

"You'd be surprised how few people actually do that. It sounds like the easiest thing in the world, just be normal, and almost nobody manages it." She raises her glass toward you. "So. Thank you. For having basic common sense. Apparently that's a rare and precious gift."

"To basic common sense," you say, clinking your glass against hers.

Time does that thing where it stops existing. You're deep in conversation and then you blink and the bar is emptier than it was and your glass is empty again and you realize you're both pretty drunk, the good kind of drunk, loose and warm and laughing too easily at things that aren't that funny. Jenna's leaning across the table now, gesturing with her hands while she tells you some story about a costar that has her giggling so hard she keeps losing the thread of it, and you're laughing too, and at some point you both seem to silently agree that it's time to go.

Jenna is the one who pulls out her phone and fumbles through the Uber app, squinting at the screen as she books the ride with the sluggish concentration of someone several drinks past sober. By the time she's done, she's drained the last of her cocktail, and the two of you make your way outside into the cool night air, lingering near the curb while the car makes its way over.

A few minutes later, the Uber rolls up. You both climb into the back seat, and Jenna immediately sinks against the upholstery, looking ready to pass out. The ride has barely begun when she suddenly notices something on her phone. With a groan, she realizes she'd entered the wrong destination while drunk and hastily updates the trip, correcting the address before letting herself slump back into the seat beside you, eyes half-closed as the car heads off into the night.

The city slides by outside the windows, all glowing signs and empty intersections, and after a couple of minutes you feel her shift and then the weight of her head settling against your shoulder. Her hair smells like whatever she put in it and faintly like the bar. She gets comfortable, tucking herself into your side.

"Just so we're clear," she mumbles, "this isn't romantic or anything. I'm just tired. Don't read into it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you say, and you feel her smile against your shoulder.

"Good. Because it's not. It's purely a logistics thing. Your shoulder is conveniently located."

"Very convenient. Premium shoulder real estate."

"Mhm." She goes quiet, and for a while the only sound is the hum of the road and the driver's radio turned down low, and you let her stay there, this tiny famous girl half asleep against you in the back of a stranger's car, and you think about how strange and good this all is and how thoroughly you've broken your own rule.

The Uber eventually pulls up the private drive you recognize, the bougainvillea spilling over the white wall lit up by the headlights, and Jenna stirs and sits up, blinking herself awake. You thank the driver and the two of you climb out, and she leads the way up to the door, fishing her keys out of her bag with the slightly exaggerated care of someone who's had a few. She gets the door open on the second try and steps inside, then turns around to face you in the entryway, leaning against the frame, that grin spreading slow across her face.

"Well," she says, spreading her arms a little. "Welcome back.”

You step through the doorway after her and the place is exactly as nice as you remembered, all high ceilings and soft lamplight, though there's something different about being here now, at night, with both of you swaying a little from the bar.

"It's good to be back," you say, and you mean it more than the words suggest.

She heads deeper into the house and you follow, and she's walking ahead of you but twisted around at the waist so she can keep talking to you, telling you something about how she rearranged half the furniture when she moved in because the staging was hideous, and she's so busy looking back at you that she doesn't see the low side table directly in her path. Her shin catches the edge of it and she pitches sideways with a startled yelp, and you lunge and get an arm around her before she goes all the way down, hauling her back up against your chest.

"Okay," you say, holding her steady. "You are a genuine hazard when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk," she protests, though she's still clutching your forearm and clearly grateful you caught her. "Okay, I'm a little drunk. But that's not the point. That table was not there before. I swear to god. Somebody moved it."

"Oh yeah? Who do you think moved it?"

She gets very serious, looking up at you with wide eyes. "I don't know. But I hear things at night. Voices. Footsteps." She drops her voice to a stage whisper. "I'm not alone in this house. There's something here. It rearranges the furniture to kill me slowly."

"That's deeply concerning," you say, still holding her against you, smiling down at the absurd earnest expression on her face. "You should probably move."

"Can't. The ghost would just follow me. We're bonded now."

You're about to say something else but she doesn't let you. She pushes up onto her toes and kisses you, and whatever you were going to say evaporates. It starts soft and goes from soft to hungry fast, her mouth opening against yours, her hands sliding up to fist in the front of your shirt. You kiss her back and she makes a small sound into your mouth and presses closer, the two of you start moving toward the bedroom without breaking apart, a clumsy drunken shuffle down the hallway, bumping into a wall, knocking a frame crooked, neither of you caring. She walks you backward through her bedroom door and your tongues are tangling, her fingers are pulling at your collar and it's all heat and wet and the taste of whatever you were both drinking.

She breaks away just long enough to kick off her shoes, hopping on one foot, and you toe off yours, and then she grabs you again and the two of you tumble down onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs, her laughing against your mouth as you land. You end up on top of her, settling between her thighs, and you kiss her again, sloppier now, more teeth, more spit, the kind of kiss that's lost any sense of finesse and doesn't want it back.

You break from her mouth and move down to her neck, dragging your lips along the warm skin there, and you can taste the faint salt of a light sweat on her, the night and the bar and her own heat. She tilts her head to give you more room and sighs, her fingers threading into your hair. You work your way along her throat, and at some point you lift your head and your eyes meet hers in the dim lamplight, and there's a beat where you just look at each other.

Then she leans up and licks your face. One long stripe from your jaw to your cheekbone, completely without warning.

"What the hell," you say, pulling back. "You're a freak."

"Excuse you," she says, grinning up at you, utterly delighted with herself. "That was the single most romantic thing I could have done. I poured my whole soul into that lick."

"Okay. You want romantic? I'll show you romantic." You reach for the hem of her top and she lifts her arms and lets you peel it off over her head, tossing it somewhere into the dark of the room. She's not wearing a bra, just like you suspected, and there she is, her small perfect breasts and her tanned skin glowing in the low light. You don't waste a second. You dip your head and kiss across her chest, pressing your mouth to the soft swell of her breast.

"Oh," she breathes, her back arching slightly. "Okay. Yeah. That's romantic. Worshipping my tits. Very gentlemanly of you. A true romantic hero."

You wrap your lips around one stiff nipple and suck, and her words dissolve into a sigh. You take your time with her, lavishing attention on one breast and then the other, kissing and licking and sucking, your tongue circling each peak before you draw it into your mouth. You cup the other in your hand while you work, rolling her nipple between your fingers, switching back and forth so neither one feels neglected. She squirms beneath you, her fingers tightening in your hair, her chest pushing up into your mouth, the drunken giddiness slowly giving way to something heavier and more breathless.

"You're really committed to this," she murmurs, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "I was joking but you're actually- oh, okay, keep doing that."

When you finally lift your head, both of you are flushed and glowing in the dim light, a faint sheen across her skin and yours, her breasts wet and shining where your mouth has been. You move down her body and hook your fingers into the waistband of her jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down, and she lifts her hips obligingly so you can peel them off her legs, taking her panties along with them in the same motion. You toss the whole bundle off the side of the bed, and now she's bare beneath you, completely.

"Okay," she says, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "My turn. Off with all of this." She reaches for you, tugging at your shirt, and you let her undress you, helping where you can. She gets your shirt off and runs her hands appreciatively down your chest, then works at your belt and pulls your pants down your legs until you're left in just your underwear. She sits back on her heels, looking you over with frank approval, and then a particular kind of mischief creeps into her expression.

"So," she says, drawing the word out. "I was thinking. I want to do something a little different tonight. For a change."

"Different," you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "What's more different than having sex with your masseur? I feel like we already cleared the bar for different."

"Funny." She crawls off the bed and pads over to the nightstand and pulls open the top drawer. She rummages around for a second and then turns back to you holding a bottle of lubricant, brandishing it like a prize. "Okay, hear me out. I'm thinking we switch roles tonight." She climbs back onto the bed and tosses the bottle onto the mattress beside you. "It's not one of your fancy expensive massage oils or whatever, but it'll do the job just fine." She gives you a little push toward the headboard. "So. Lie back. On your back. And those need to come off." She nods at your boxers.

You look at the lube, then at her, and you understand exactly what she's got in mind.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband and lift your hips off the mattress, peeling your boxers down your thighs and kicking them off the end of the bed. Your cock springs up, already hard, standing thick against your stomach, and Jenna's eyes drop to it with that unabashed directness she has, no shyness, no pretending she's not looking. She picks up the bottle of lube from where she tossed it on the sheets and uncaps it, squeezing a generous amount into her palm, and the slick clear liquid pools in the center of her small hand.

"Let me do this properly," she says, settling onto her knees beside you. "You're always the one with the oils and the fancy products. Let me have my moment."

She wraps her lubed hand around the base of your cock and you feel the cool slick of it immediately, her fingers tightening and then sliding upward in a slow stroke, coating you. She's thorough about it, spreading the lubricant from root to tip with both hands now, her small palms twisting in opposite directions, making sure every inch of you is gleaming and slippery. She pays particular attention to the head, circling her thumb across the sensitive underside, and her eyes flick up to your face to watch your reaction while she works. Her grip slides all the way back down to the base and back up again, one long gliding stroke, and she gives you a satisfied nod.

"There we go," she says, examining her handiwork. "All ready. Now comes the master touch."

She shifts on the bed, repositioning entirely, turning so she's sitting facing you with her legs extended toward your hips. She leans back on her hands for support and lifts both feet, placing them on either side of your slick cock, pressing the soft warm arches against your shaft. Your cock sits between her soles, trapped in the gentle pressure of them, and the lube makes the contact impossibly smooth.

"Oh," you say, looking down at the sight of her bare feet cradling your cock. "Okay. This is a new type of massage."

She grins, wiggling her toes against you. "What? Have you never massaged someone with your feet before? It's a whole technique. Very ancient."

"In case you haven't noticed," you say, gesturing at yourself, "I am not an orangutan. My feet don't do the same things my hands do. They're purely structural."

She throws her head back and laughs, her whole body shaking with it, which incidentally makes her feet shift against your cock in a very interesting way. She has to take a second to compose herself, pressing one hand to her chest while she catches her breath.

"Damn," she manages, still grinning so wide her eyes are nearly shut. "Okay, that was genuinely a good one. I'll give you that. Full marks." She takes a breath and then fixes you with a stern look that's completely undermined by the fact that she's still fighting off giggles. "But hey. This is supposed to be hot, alright? We're having a sexy moment here. So stop being so funny. You're ruining my whole vibe."

"My apologies," you say. "Please continue. Show me the ancient technique."

She narrows her eyes at you, then starts to move. She presses her feet together with your cock sandwiched between them and slides them upward, the arches of her feet dragging along your shaft from base to tip, the lubricant making the motion fluid and easy. When she reaches the top, she curls her toes slightly around the head and then slides back down, setting up a slow, rhythmic stroke that has you exhaling through your teeth.

Nobody has ever done this to you before. In all your experience, all the various encounters and the handful of clients who crossed the line, this particular act has never come up. But the feeling of it is unexpectedly good. Her feet are small and impossibly soft, the skin smooth and warm, and the lube turns every pass into something slick and effortless. She finds a rhythm, her feet pumping up and down your length in tandem, and she watches your face the entire time with a look of concentrated satisfaction, reading your reactions the same way you read hers on the massage table.

"Look at you," she says softly, her feet gliding up your cock and back down again. "The big professional masseur, lying on his back, getting a footjob from his client. How does it feel to be on the other side? To be the one getting worked on instead of doing the work?"

"Still getting used to it," you admit, your stomach tightening as she picks up the pace slightly, her arches squeezing around you. "But it feels great. You've actually got real talent here."

"Thank you," she says, almost prim about it, as if you'd complimented her on a performance. "I take my craft very seriously."

She adjusts her angle, tilting her feet so one sole presses flat against the underside of your shaft while the other rubs along the top, creating a different kind of friction. The change in sensation makes your hips shift on the mattress and she catches it, noting what works, and she keeps that configuration going, one foot stroking the sensitive underside while the other applies pressure from above. Her toes curl around the head every few strokes, gripping gently, and the combination of soft skin and warm lube and the sight of her sitting there between your legs, naked and focused and so small that her feet barely span your full length, is doing something to you that you didn't anticipate.

"You're really into this," she observes, her eyes traveling from your face down to where her feet are wrapped around you. "Your whole body just tensed up. I can feel your cock twitching against my feet."

"You know what you're doing," you say, and your breathing is getting heavier now, you can hear it yourself, the steadiness leaving it.

She pumps her feet faster, finding a quicker rhythm, her soles slipping up and down your lubed shaft with a smooth wet glide. She presses her feet together tighter, increasing the friction, and starts working the top half of your cock with short quick strokes, her toes teasing the ridge of the head on every pass. You can feel the heat building in your gut, that familiar tightening at the base of your spine, and your hands grip the sheets on either side of you.

"Yeah, there it is," she murmurs, watching you with that knowing look, her feet never stopping. "I can see it in your face. You're getting close, aren't you? My feet are getting you off. That's so filthy. I love it."

She's right. The pressure is building fast, faster than you expected, and her small soft feet pumping your slick cock are pulling you toward the edge with alarming efficiency. You feel it coiling tighter, your thighs going rigid, your abs clenching, and she can see all of it, she can read your body the same way you read hers.

And then she stops. Both feet lift off your cock entirely and she pulls her legs back, tucking them underneath her, leaving you throbbing and slick and aching in the open air. The sudden absence of contact is almost painful, your cock twitching against your stomach, and you let out a breath that's somewhere between frustration and disbelief.

"No," she says simply, shaking her head, that bratty grin blooming across her flushed face. "Not yet. We've barely started. You don't get to finish that fast."

"Oh," you say, dropping your head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, I see where this is going."

"Do you?" She tilts her head innocently.

"This is because of the massage, isn't it." You lift your head to look at her. "The first time. When I made you wait. When I kept teasing you and wouldn't touch where you wanted me to touch. This is payback."

She presses her lips together, trying not to smile, and fails completely. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you squirm. Could be either one. Could be both." She stretches her arms above her head, casual and unhurried, as if she didn't just edge you within an inch of your sanity. "In any case, tonight I'm going to have some fun with you. So just stay lying down like that. Get comfortable. You're going to be there for a while."

You exhale slowly and let your head fall back against the pillow again. "You're evil."

"I'm adorable and you love it." She repositions on the bed, sliding down between your legs, lying on her stomach with her face level with your hips. Her dark hair spills across your thigh as she settles in, and she props herself up on her elbows, one hand reaching out to wrap around the base of your still-slick cock. She tilts it toward her mouth, studying it up close with an expression of genuine appreciation, and she presses a soft, slow kiss to the tip. Her lips linger there, warm and full, and then she pulls back just enough to look up at you through her lashes.

"Now," she says, her breath warm against the wet head of your cock, "let's see how long you can last.”

She starts with her hand, just her hand, her fingers wrapped around you loosely at first and then tightening as she finds her grip, stroking you from base to tip with long, lazy pulls. The lube from before is still slick on your skin and her palm glides effortlessly, her thumb pressing into the underside on every upstroke, finding that sensitive ridge and dragging across it. She's in no rush. She watches her own hand working you, studying the way your cock responds to each variation of pressure, cataloguing what makes your stomach clench and what makes your breath stutter, and there's something almost clinical about the attention she's paying.

"You're so hard," she murmurs, squeezing gently and watching a bead of precum well up at the tip. "This is all for me. All of this." She swipes her thumb through the slick drop and spreads it around the head in a slow circle. "I barely touched you and you're already leaking. That's really flattering, you know."

Then she leans in and replaces her thumb with her tongue. She starts at the base, pressing the flat of her tongue against the underside of your shaft, and drags it all the way up in one long, wet, unhurried stroke. When she reaches the head she circles it once with the tip of her tongue and then goes back down and does it again, licking you root to tip, coating you in warm saliva, tracing the veins and the ridges. She licks up one side and down the other, her tongue traveling the full length of you over and over, and by the time she's done your cock is glistening and twitching and her lips are shiny and swollen.

"You taste good," she says, looking up at you from between your legs with those dark eyes. "Clean. A little salty. I could do this for a while."

She opens her mouth and takes you in. The head first, her lips stretching around you, and then she sinks lower, letting you slide across her tongue and into the tight wet heat of her throat. She goes slow, agonizingly slow, taking more of you with each bob, her cheeks hollowing as she applies suction, her tongue working the underside in constant motion. She pulls back until just the tip sits between her lips, sucks firmly, and then descends again, deeper this time, and you feel the back of her throat and the flutter of her swallowing around you.

"Fuck, Jenna," you breathe, your hand finding the back of her head, fingers threading into her dark hair.

She hums around you, pleased, and the vibration travels straight through your cock and into your spine. She settles into a rhythm, bobbing on you with a slow, savoring pace, and it's clear she's enjoying this as much as you are. She pulls off after a while and dips lower, her tongue tracing down past the base of your shaft to your balls. She takes one into her mouth, gentle, rolling it on her tongue while her hand keeps stroking you, and the dual sensation makes your hips jerk off the mattress.

"Stay still," she tells you, releasing you with a wet sound and moving to the other one, sucking it softly into her mouth while her fist pumps your slick cock. "I'm working here. Let me concentrate."

She lavishes attention on your balls until they're wet and tight, then licks her way back up your shaft and swallows you again, picking up speed now, her head bobbing faster, spit dripping down your length and pooling at the base. The sounds are obscene, wet and sloppy, and she doesn't try to be delicate about it. She's messy and thorough and she keeps her eyes on yours while she works, watching you unravel with visible satisfaction.

The first edge builds like a wave you don't see coming until it's already cresting. Your thighs go rigid and your abs clench and your hand tightens in her hair and you're right there, right at the precipice, your cock pulsing in her mouth, and she feels it. She feels the telltale throb against her tongue and she pulls off immediately, her hand releasing you, leaving you straining and twitching in the open air with your orgasm dissolving just before it breaks.

"Not yet," she says, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, grinning up at you while you groan and grip the sheets. "Patience. You taught me that, remember? On the table? You made me wait forever. This is educational."

"You're a nightmare," you manage, your chest heaving.

"I'm a delight and you know it." She waits, watching your cock throb and settle, and when she's satisfied that you've pulled back from the edge enough she dips her head and takes you in her mouth again.

The second round is worse. Or better, depending on perspective. She's learned exactly what gets you close now and she exploits it mercilessly, alternating between slow deep strokes that push you toward the back of her throat and quick focused suction on the head, her tongue flicking across the sensitive spot just below the tip. She drops down to your balls again when she feels you getting too close, lapping at them while she lets your cock cool down for a few seconds, and then she's right back on you, swallowing you deep and moaning around your length like the taste of you is the best thing she's ever had in her mouth. Her free hand comes up to cup your balls, rolling them gently while she sucks you, and the added stimulation pushes you toward the edge at alarming speed.

"Jenna," you warn her, your hand gripping her hair. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."

She doesn't stop. Not immediately. She takes you all the way to the base, her nose pressing against your stomach, and holds you there in her throat for a long moment, swallowing around you, and your vision whites out at the edges. Then, at the absolute last possible second, she pulls off and squeezes the base of your cock firmly, cutting it off, and you feel the orgasm shatter and recede without ever fully arriving.

"Oh my god," you groan, throwing an arm over your face. "You're killing me. You're actually going to kill me."

"Don't come yet," she says, her breathing heavy, her lips puffy and wet and utterly ruined. She releases your cock and crawls up your body, her small frame sliding along yours, skin against skin, until she's lying on top of you with her face above your face. "I have plans for all your cum. Every single drop. So you don't get to waste it in my mouth. Not tonight."

She leans down and kisses you, and you can taste yourself on her tongue, salty and warm. You kiss her back hard, your hands coming up to grip her waist, and when you break apart she's breathing fast and her pupils are blown wide in the dim light.

You put your hand on her neck, just holding, your fingers spanning the slender column of her throat, and you use that grip to guide her off of you and onto the mattress, rolling her beneath you in one smooth motion. She goes willingly, her dark hair fanning out across the white pillow, her legs falling open as you settle between them. You reach down between your bodies and take your cock in hand, guiding it down until the swollen head presses against her folds. She's soaking wet already, you can feel the heat and the slickness of her against your tip, and you drag yourself through it, parting her lips with the head of your cock and sliding up to nudge her clit before pulling back down to her entrance.

"Is this where you want it?" you ask, pressing forward just enough that the head catches at her opening. "Right here? You want me to fill this pretty little pussy up?"

"Yes, daddy," she whispers, her hips tilting up toward you, trying to take you in. "Put it all inside me. Every drop."

"You sure about that?" You push forward another fraction of an inch, just barely stretching her entrance, holding there. "Because once I start I'm not pulling out."

"I'm sure," she says, her hands gripping your shoulders, her nails biting in. "I'm on the pill. I want to feel you come inside me. I've been thinking about it since last time. Please. I need it."

You press forward, and the tight wet heat of her begins to swallow the head of your cock, her body opening for you inch by slow inch.

You bottom out inside her and hold there, buried to the hilt, feeling her tight wet walls grip every inch of you. She exhales beneath you, long and shaky, her body adjusting to the fullness of you, and you give her a moment before you start to move. The first stroke is slow, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking back in deep, and she gasps, her nails pressing into your shoulders. You set an unhurried pace, long and thorough, each thrust filling her completely before withdrawing again, and you can feel how soaked she is, how easily you glide in and out of her, the obscene slick sound of it filling the quiet bedroom with every stroke.

"Put your hand back on my neck," she breathes, looking up at you through heavy lids. "Please. Like before."

You bring your hand up and wrap it around her throat, your fingers settling against the warm skin, and you apply just enough pressure that she can feel it without it restricting anything. Her eyes flutter and her lips part and she melts deeper into the pillow beneath her.

"Like that?" you ask, your hips still rolling into her at that same slow, punishing pace.

"Yes, daddy," she whispers, her hand coming up to rest on your wrist, not pulling you away, just holding on. "Just like that. Don't let go."

You tighten your grip the slightest fraction and thrust into her deep, holding yourself there while she squirms on your cock. "You had your fun earlier. Edging me with your mouth. Bringing me right to the edge and pulling me back. Watching me suffer." You pull back and slide into her again, slow and deep, and she whimpers. "Now it's my turn. I'm going to take what I want from you. And you're going to give it to me."

"Yes," she breathes, her hips rising to meet you. "Take whatever you want. I'm yours tonight. Use me, daddy. However you want. I'm right here."

You start building the pace. Not all at once but gradually, each thrust coming a little faster and a little harder than the one before, your hand still on her throat and your eyes locked on hers. She holds your gaze, those big dark eyes glazed with pleasure and something raw and trusting underneath it, and her mouth hangs open as the increasing rhythm starts to drive louder sounds out of her. You lean down over her, changing the angle so your cock drags along the front wall of her on every stroke, and you kiss her. Not gentle. You press your mouth to hers and push your tongue between her lips and she opens for you eagerly, moaning into your mouth, and you suck on her tongue, pulling it into your mouth and sucking hard before releasing it and diving back in. She kisses you back with equal ferocity, sloppy and breathless between the jolts of your hips driving into her, her teeth catching your lip, her tongue chasing yours.

Her legs come up and wrap around your waist, her ankles locking together at the small of your back, and the new angle pulls you deeper inside her. She gasps against your mouth and her thighs squeeze you, holding you close, and now every thrust grinds your pelvis against her clit and buries you as deep as her body will allow. She breaks the kiss to throw her head back, her throat pressing into your palm, and her fingers rake down your back harder.

"Oh god," she pants, her legs tightening around you. "Oh god, you're so deep. I can feel you everywhere. You're reaching places nobody's ever reached."

You pick up the pace again, fucking into her with steady, powerful strokes, and she starts to unravel beneath you. Then Jenna looks up at you with those wet eyes and her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips and she starts talking, and the filth that pours out of her pretty mouth makes your cock throb inside her.

"Breed me," she gasps, her hips bucking up to meet every thrust. "I want you to breed this little pussy. I want to feel you come so deep inside me. Fill me up, daddy. I want every single drop. I want to be dripping with it. I want my pussy so full of your cum it's leaking out of me."

"Yeah?" you grunt, snapping your hips harder, the bed creaking beneath you. "You want me to cream this tight little cunt? You want me to pump you full?"

"Yes, please, oh fuck, please," she begs, her nails digging into your back, her body jolting with each impact. "Make my pussy all creamy inside. I want to feel it, I want it so bad, I've been thinking about it all week, thinking about your cock filling me up and leaving me stuffed and dripping."

You release her throat and plant both hands on either side of her head, caging her beneath you, and you give her everything you have. Your hips piston into her relentlessly, the wet smack of your body against hers echoing off the bedroom walls, and she takes every stroke, her small frame absorbing the force of you, her tits bouncing with each impact. You can feel the sweat building between your bodies, can feel the heat of her skin pressed against yours, and her pussy is clenching around you tighter with every thrust, gripping you, pulling you deeper, refusing to let you go.

"Give it to me," she pleads, her legs locked around you so tight you couldn't pull out even if you wanted to. "Give it all to me. Come inside this little pussy. Please daddy, fill me up, I need it so bad!”

The orgasm builds from somewhere deep in your core, a pressure that's been accumulating all night through every edge and every denial, and it rises through you now unstoppable and enormous. Your thrusts go erratic, slamming into her with no rhythm left, just raw desperate need, and you bury yourself to the hilt and hold there as it hits you. You come harder than you've ever come in your life. The first pulse shoots deep inside her and your whole body locks up, your cock throbbing and pumping, flooding her with thick hot ropes of cum, filling her so completely you can feel the warmth of it around your own shaft. It keeps going, wave after wave, your balls emptying into her tight little pussy, and she feels every single pulse of it.

"Oh my god, I can feel it," she cries out beneath you, her eyes going wide, her walls clamping down on your cock. "I can feel you coming inside me, it's so warm, oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm cumming too, I'm cumming."

Her orgasm crashes into her at the same moment, triggered by the sensation of you flooding her, and she shatters around your cock, her pussy convulsing in hard rhythmic squeezes that milk every last drop out of you. Her back arches off the mattress and her legs clamp around you and her whole body trembles violently, the two of you locked together, coming together, your cock buried deep and pulsing inside the tight fluttering grip of her. You feel her cum mix with yours, feel the wet heat of it, and the clenching of her walls draws out your orgasm until you're shuddering and spent and completely emptied into her.

You collapse onto her, catching yourself on your forearms at the last second so you don't crush her, your face buried in her neck, both of you gasping and shaking and slick with sweat. You can feel your cock still twitching inside her, the last weak pulses, and her pussy still fluttering around you in aftershocks.

"Don't pull out," she whispers immediately, her arms wrapping around your back, holding you against her. "Stay inside me. Just a little longer. I want to feel you in me."

You obey. You stay buried in her, softening slowly inside the warm wet mess you made of her, and she sighs beneath you, a sound of total and complete satisfaction. Her fingers trace lazy patterns across your shoulder blades and her breathing gradually evens out, her heartbeat slowing against your chest.

"That was really intense," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Like, genuinely. I felt that in my soul. We came at the same time. I've never done that before. I didn't think that actually happened outside of movies."

"First time for me too," you say, lifting your head to look at her. "That's never happened before."

"Really?" She searches your face, and whatever she finds there makes her smile. "So we lost our simultaneous orgasm virginity to each other. That's kind of special."

"Kind of special," you agree.

For a moment, she says nothing. Her thumb traces your jaw while she looks at you, her gaze carrying a softness that feels entirely new. "Stay tonight," she says. "Sleep here. With me. In this bed."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." She pushes a strand of damp hair off your forehead. "And in the morning we can have morning sex. Slow and lazy, the kind where you're both still half asleep. And then maybe I'll even make you breakfast. I can do eggs. They're not great, but they're edible."

"Wow." A grin spreads across your face. "Morning sex and mediocre eggs? That's a really hard invitation to turn down.”

"I know it is," she says, her own grin matching yours. "I made it impossible on purpose. I'm very strategic."

"Then I'm in," you tell her.

She lifts both hands to your face and gently draws you down to her. Her lips meet yours in a slow, lingering kiss, carrying traces of the night. You melt into it, tangled together in the soft white sheets, letting the kiss linger longer than either of you intended.

—

Jenna has a way of slipping into your life without warning. No grand entrance, no announcement. Just a text at nine in the morning while you're preparing for your first client, or a photo of her breakfast, while you send back a photo of your massage table and she replies that seeing it gives her flashbacks and she needs to lie down. This goes on. Throughout the day, between clients, during her meetings or her fittings or whatever it is she's doing on any given Wednesday, your phone buzzes and it's her. Never anything heavy. Never anything that demands a response right this second. Just the steady, easy presence of someone who's thinking about you and isn't trying to hide it.

You see her again three days after that first night. She picks a ramen place this time, somewhere loud enough that nobody pays attention to anyone else, and you sit across from her in a corner booth slurping noodles and talking about nothing in particular.

You end up back at her place. The sex is good, but what strikes you is how different it feels from the first time. Nobody's trying to impress anyone anymore. Nobody's keeping score. You don't even make it to the bedroom. She ends up riding you on the couch, and at one point she has to stop because she's laughing too hard at the cushion constantly sliding off the frame. You're holding onto her with one hand and trying to keep the couch together with the other. Afterward, she stays curled up on top of you while the TV runs in the background. Neither of you could tell anyone what was on. Her fingers drift lazily over your collarbone, and for a while neither of you says anything at all. The quiet feels nice.

You sleep at her place that night. And the next time you see her. And the time after that. It becomes the default, somehow, without either of you formally establishing it. Her bed is bigger than yours and her sheets are nicer and she has a fancy espresso machine that you figure out how to use by the third morning, which earns you a standing ovation from her while she sits on the kitchen counter in your t-shirt with her hair going in six directions.

She starts sleeping at your apartment too, occasionally. The first time, she looks around your place with genuine curiosity, picking things up and examining them, asking questions about the framed photo on your shelf and the stack of books on your nightstand. Your bed is smaller and your neighborhood is louder and she tells you she loves it, that it feels lived in, that her house sometimes feels like a showroom designed by someone who's never actually inhabited a space. She curls up on your side of the bed and steals both pillows and falls asleep before you've even finished brushing your teeth.

Between these nights, in the ordinary hours, you learn things about her. Not the things you could read in any magazine profile, not the filmography facts or the career milestones, but the small private details that only proximity reveals. She's particular about her morning routine in a way that borders on ritualistic, always in the same order, face wash then moisturizer then sunscreen, and she does it with a focus that suggests the world might end if she skips a step. She gets anxious before phone calls with her manager and paces the kitchen while she talks, opening and closing the fridge repeatedly without ever taking anything out. She watches horror movies the way other people watch nature documentaries, analytically, pausing to comment on the practical effects or the score choices, pointing out where the scare was telegraphed and where it actually landed. She's terrified of moths for reasons she refuses to explain. She can quote entire scenes from films you've never heard of.

She learns about you too. That you played soccer in college but blew out your knee sophomore year, which is how you ended up in physical therapy and eventually massage. That your parents are divorced and you're closer to your mother. That you read before bed every night without exception and if you skip it you can't fall asleep. That you're genuinely uninterested in social media and your Instagram exists purely because the spa required it. That you cook well but only three things, and you rotate between them with no shame. She absorbs all of it quietly, storing it away, and you notice her remembering details you mentioned once in passing, bringing them up days later in a way that tells you she was actually listening.

The conversations always have that same easy quality. Nothing forced. She's funnier in private than she probably is in any interview, quicker and meaner and more willing to be the butt of her own joke. She never tries to impress you with stories about her career and you never ask. When work comes up it's casual, the same way you'd mention a difficult client or a long day. She talks about a fitting that ran three hours and made her want to scream. You talk about a deep tissue session that left your hands aching. These things sit side by side, equal and unremarkable, and that seems to be exactly how both of you prefer it.

One night, maybe two and a half weeks in, she asks you about the three other clients. Not with jealousy. With curiosity. She's lying next to you in her bed, on her stomach, chin propped on her folded arms, and she asks what happened with them and why you never went back. You tell her the truth. That they were nice enough but there was nothing beyond the physical. That repeating it would have been complicated and ultimately pointless. That none of them made you want to break the rule.

She falls silent for a second before saying, "And I did.”

"You did," you confirm.

She smiles into her arms and doesn't say anything else about it, but you feel her foot slide over to touch yours under the covers and stay there.

By the third week, you stop counting. You stop tracking the timeline in your head, stop noting which night is the fourth or fifth or sixth, because the numbers stop mattering. She is simply present. A fixture. The girl whose toothbrush is in your bathroom and whose hair ties are on your nightstand and whose sleepy morning texts arrive before your alarm goes off. The girl who argues with you about what to order for dinner and always wins.

It's a Saturday evening, or maybe a Friday, and you're on her couch. Some movie is playing on the screen across the room, something she picked, and the lights are low and the remnants of takeout containers sit on the coffee table. She started the movie sitting next to you, her legs tucked underneath her, but over the course of the first act she migrated, shifting and resettling, and now her head is in your lap, her body stretched along the length of the couch, her dark hair fanning across your thigh. She's watching the screen with half-focused attention, occasionally murmuring commentary about the cinematography or the lead actor's choices, and your hand is in her hair. Not doing anything particular. Just stroking, your fingers combing through the dark strands, moving from her temple back over her ear and down to the ends and then starting again. She leans into the contact the way a cat does, tilting her head subtly to follow the path of your fingers, and every now and then her eyes close for a few seconds before she opens them again to keep watching.

"That shot was gorgeous," she murmurs at one point, not looking up at you. "The framing. The way they held the wide angle. Most directors would've cut to the close-up way too early."

"Mm," you say, your fingers working a gentle path through her hair.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you."

"Not even a little bit."

Jenna laughs softly, then she reaches up and finds your free hand and laces her fingers through yours, bringing your joined hands to rest against her chest. She holds them there, your knuckles against her sternum, then she turns her attention back to the screen, and it hits you all at once how completely this moment exists outside anything you ever planned for.

—

She shows up at your door on a Monday afternoon. No text beforehand, no warning, just a knock, and when you open it she's standing there in a plaid skirt and an oversized cream sweater that swallows her frame, a pair of sunglasses pushed up on top of her head. She looks like she's on her way somewhere. You know immediately that something is off because she doesn't greet you with a joke or a kiss or a complaint about traffic. She just says hi and walks past you into the apartment.

She sits on the arm of your couch instead of the cushion. Not relaxed. Perched. Like she might need to leave quickly. You close the door and lean against the kitchen counter across from her, giving her room, and you wait.

"So," she says, picking at a thread on her sweater sleeve. "I got the part. That project I've been talking about. They confirmed it yesterday."

"That's great," you say. "Congratulations. That's the one you really wanted."

"It is. Thank you." She's looking at the floor between you. "Filming starts in twelve days. In London."

"London."

"Yeah." She finally looks up at you. "I'll be gone about six months. Maybe longer depending on reshoots, but the core shoot is six months."

Six months. You turn the number over in your head, automatically calculating where that puts you. Sometime next year.

"Wow," you say. "That's a long time. That's like, a really significant stretch."

"I know." She pulls at the thread harder. "I know it is."

"You could've sent a message, you know. You didn't have to come all the way across town for this."

"No, I wanted to tell you in person. The flight is in six hours. I've got a car picking me up at four. I just, I didn't want to text you something like this. It felt wrong."

"Okay. So this is serious business, huh."

She gives a nervous little laugh. "Yeah. I mean." She pauses, runs her hand over her face, and exhales. "It kind of feels like things between us have gotten a little out of control. Don't you think? Like, we started this as one thing and now it's, I don't know. It's something else. And I'm about to leave for half a year and I feel like we should probably talk about that."

You push off the counter and move to the couch, sitting down on the actual cushion beside where she's perched on the arm. You look up at her. "Okay. I think it's time we're honest about what's going on between us."

"Agreed," she says. "One hundred percent. Let's do that."

Silence. She looks at you. You look at her.

"You start," she says.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the good guy," she says, gesturing at you with both hands as if this is self-evident. "This is the part of the movie where the good guy declares his feelings for the good girl. You give the speech. I react emotionally. It's a classic structure. I've done this scene a dozen times."

"I'm not sure that's entirely accurate," you say. "And you're not exactly the good girl in this scenario. Let's be real."

"Rude. But fair. Go ahead. Tell me."

You lean back into the couch and take a breath. "Okay. In the last few weeks, things between us have gotten pretty intense. And I know we both felt that happening and neither of us said anything about it because it was easier to just keep going and not put a label on it. But it went past casual a while ago. We both know that. And I don't mind. I'm not scared of it. I've actually been enjoying it, a lot. Waking up next to you these past couple of weeks has been, honestly… it's been amazing. You're amazing. And six months without that is going to suck. I'm going to miss you."

She's quiet through the whole thing, her eyes on yours, and you watch the tension in her shoulders gradually release as you talk. When you finish she nods slowly, pressing her lips together, and you can see her processing.

"Okay," she says softly. "Yeah. I feel the same way. About all of it." She slides off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion next to you, tucking one leg underneath herself. "And I think that's been kind of obvious, right? Like, embarrassingly obvious. I was sleeping at your apartment four nights a week. I have a toothbrush in your bathroom. I reorganized your spice cabinet last Thursday and you didn't even comment on it. We were both just playing at being naive and pretending this was still casual when it clearly stopped being casual somewhere around the third week."

"Probably earlier than that," you admit.

"Probably." She exhales and stares at her hands in her lap. "And now I'm leaving and we don't have time to figure out what this actually is. That's the part that's messing with my head. We were in the middle of something and now there's going to be this huge gap right when it was getting real." She looks at you, and there's genuine worry beneath the composure. "Do you think it's too late? For us to figure this out?"

"I think maybe we need to admit what this is. What it already is. And then see if the feeling survives six months of distance. Because if it does, if we both still feel this way on the other side of it, then it's worth investing in for real. All the way."

"I'll text you every day," she says. "I mean it. Every single day. You'll be sick of me by month two."

"I'll hold you to that. Every day. No exceptions."

"No exceptions." She nods firmly, more to herself than to you, and then she leans over and kisses you. Her hand coming up to rest against your cheek, her lips pressing to yours gently, and you can feel the emotion packed into it, all the things she didn't quite say out loud folded into the contact of her mouth against yours. You kiss her back and she pulls away, but she doesn't stand up. She doesn't move toward the door. She stays right there on the cushion next to you, her knee touching your thigh, her fingers still resting against the side of your face.

"We still have a few hours," she says quietly. "I don't want to spend them being sad about leaving."

"A farewell fuck," you say, and you watch the corner of her mouth twitch. "That sounds totally like us."

"It sounds exactly like us," she agrees, and then she's kissing you again, harder this time, her hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you into her. You wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her deep, your tongue meeting hers, and without breaking the kiss you pull her toward you and she follows, climbing into your lap with ease, her skirt riding up her thighs as she straddles you on the couch. Your hands settle on her hips and her fingers thread into your hair and the kiss gets wetter, needier, the kind of kiss that knows it has to last for six months.

She breaks away to breathe, her forehead against yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks at you for a long second. Then she takes your face in both hands, tips your chin up, and spits into your open mouth.

You swallow it. Blink. Look at her.

"That one's new," you say.

"Improvised," she says, completely unapologetic, that bratty little spark back in her dark eyes. "Felt right in the moment. Went with it."

"You actors really are good at improvising," you say, licking your lips. "Fully committed to the choice. Very bold."

"Thank you. I trained extensively." She shifts in your lap, settling her weight, and she goes still as she feels the hard length of you pressing against the inside of her thigh through your pants. Her eyebrows lift and she rolls her hips once, slowly, grinding against you, confirming what she felt.

"Okay," she murmurs, rocking against you again, feeling you twitch beneath her. "Enough with the improv. I think it's time I follow the script." She reaches between your bodies and presses her palm flat against the bulge straining against your zipper, squeezing gently. "And we both know exactly how this scene goes.”

You reach between your bodies and fumble with your zipper, lifting your hips off the couch enough to shove your pants and boxers down your thighs in one motion, Jenna rising up on her knees to give you room without climbing off your lap. Your cock springs free, hard and flushed, and she looks down between them at it with that hungry little expression you've come to know well. She reaches down and pulls the crotch of her panties to one side, holding the fabric taut against her inner thigh with two fingers, and with her other hand she gathers her skirt up around her waist, bunching the plaid fabric so nothing is in the way.

You take yourself in hand and angle upward, pressing the swollen head against her slick folds, and she's already wet, and you drag the tip through the warm mess of her, parting her, finding her entrance. She braces one hand on your shoulder and starts to lower herself. Her thighs flexing on either side of yours as she takes you in bit by bit, her tight cunt stretching to accommodate you, her breath going shallow. You watch her face as she sinks, watch the way her brow creases and her lips fall open and her eyelids flutter, and then she bottoms out with her full weight in your lap and your cock buried completely inside her, and she exhales long and unsteady.

"There," she breathes, settling, adjusting, her inner walls squeezing around you in a slow pulse. "God... Every time. Every single time it feels like the first time."

She starts to move. Lifting herself with her thighs and dropping back down, finding a rhythm that's slow and grinding, her hips rolling in small circles every time she takes you to the base. Her hand stays fisted in her skirt, holding it out of the way, and you can see everything, your cock disappearing into her, the way her pussy stretches around your girth, the shine of her arousal coating your shaft as she rises and falls. She keeps the pace unhurried, savoring it, and you realize she's memorizing this. Banking the sensation for the months ahead.

You pull her face to yours and kiss her, catching her mouth mid-rise, and she moans softly against your lips as she sinks back down. You kiss her deep and slow, matching the pace of her hips, your tongues sliding together while she rides, and she tastes warm and familiar and a little desperate. She breaks away to pant, her forehead pressing against yours.

"I'm going to think about this every night I'm away," she murmurs, lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping, her pussy gripping you on every stroke. "In some hotel room in London, alone in bed, I'm going to think about your cock inside me and touch myself and it's not going to be enough."

"Then make this one count," you tell her, your hands finding her waist through the bulky sweater. "Take what you need."

"I plan to." She rolls her hips in a tight circle and you feel your cock stir inside her, nudging deeper at a different angle, and her breath catches. "I plan to take everything I can get in the next few hours."

You tug at the hem of her sweater, pulling it upward, and she releases her skirt long enough to raise her arms so you can peel it off over her head. It goes somewhere behind the couch. Underneath she's wearing a simple black bra, nothing fancy, the kind of thing she threw on this morning without thinking, her skin is warm and flushed beneath your palms as you run your hands up her bare sides. She's still riding you, never stopped, her rhythm continuous and steady, and the absence of the sweater lets you feel the heat of her body against yours, the slight dampness building between your chests.

"Get this off too," you say, your fingers finding the clasp at her back.

She reaches behind herself and unhooks it with one hand and shrugs the straps off her shoulders. The bra falls away and her small breasts are bare, nipples already stiff, and you fill your hands with them immediately. You cup both in your palms and squeeze, feeling the soft give of them, your thumbs finding her nipples and pressing, rolling them between your fingers while she rides your cock. Her back arches into your touch and a low sound escapes her throat, needy and pleased.

"You love my tits," she says, watching you touch her, her hips still working steadily. "Every time. The second they're out, your hands are on them."

"Can you blame me," you say, pinching lightly, tugging, and she gasps and grinds down harder on you. You squeeze them together and run your thumbs across both nipples simultaneously, and her pace falters for just a second before she recovers.

"Fuck," she pants, planting both hands on your chest now and leaning into you, using the leverage to ride you faster. The angle shifts and your cock hits deeper and she makes a choked sound that she tries to swallow. "Your hands… I swear. Even now. Even when you're just sitting there and I'm doing all the work, your hands make me insane."

"That's literally my profession," you remind her, rolling her nipples between your thumbs and forefingers. "Hands are my whole thing."

"Shut up and keep touching me." She bounces on you harder, her thighs flexing, her ass slapping against your lap on every downstroke, and you keep your hands on her breasts, kneading and squeezing and teasing her nipples while she fucks herself on your cock. Her skirt is bunched around her waist, her panties still pulled to the side, and the visual of her half-dressed and riding you, tits in your hands and her face twisted in pleasure, is something you want burned into your memory for the next six months.

"You feel incredible," you tell her, squeezing her breasts harder. "Your tight little cunt. The way you ride. I'm going to think about this too. Every single day you're gone."

"Good," she gasps, her nails digging into your chest. "I want you thinking about me. I want you unable to function. I want your cock hard in the middle of a massage because you thought about me for half a second."

"That's going to cause problems at work."

"I don't care." She slams down on you and grinds, rotating her hips with you buried to the hilt, and you feel every inch of her tight wet heat clenching around you. "I want to ruin you for six months. I want you counting the days until you can have me again."

She leans forward and kisses you, her breasts pressing against your chest, your hands sliding from her tits around to her back, holding her against you while her tongue pushes into your mouth. She rides you through the kiss, shorter strokes now, keeping you deep, her clit grinding against your pelvis on every roll. You kiss her until neither of you can breathe, until spit is smeared across both your chins and her lipstick is on your mouth and your lungs are burning.

You kiss her again, one more time, hard and brief, and then you grip her hips and lift. She gasps as your cock slides out of her, the sudden emptiness making her whimper, and you guide her off your lap and turn her around. She reads your intention immediately, planting her knees on the couch cushion and bracing her hands on the armrest, her back arching, her skirt still rucked up around her waist and her panties still pulled crookedly to the side. She looks back at you over her shoulder, hair falling across her face, and spreads her knees wider on the cushion.

"There she is," you murmur, getting up on your knees behind her, one hand on her hip and the other guiding your slick cock back to her entrance.

"Come on," she says, pushing her ass back toward you. "We don't have all day. Put it back in me.”

You sink into her to the hilt in one long steady stroke, her pussy so slick and swollen from the edging that you meet almost no resistance, just tight wet heat swallowing you whole. She groans into the armrest, her fingers clawing at the fabric, and you grip both cheeks of her ass, spreading them, watching your cock disappear between her flushed pink lips. You pull back slowly and push in again, setting an easy rhythm. Her cunt is so wet that every thrust produces a thick squeaking noise, that unmistakable sound of a pussy that's been thoroughly worked over, drenched and puffy and desperate to be fucked. Each time you pull back there's a slick sucking quality to it, her walls clinging to your shaft, reluctant to let you withdraw, and each time you push back in there's that soft squelching that gets louder as you build speed.

"Listen to that," you say, squeezing her ass, pulling her cheeks apart so you can watch yourself sliding in and out of her glistening cunt. "Listen to how wet you are."

"It is a mess," she agrees breathlessly, her back arching deeper. "My pussy is a total mess for you. Fuck, I can feel it running down my thighs."

You thrust into her harder and the wet sound intensifies, and you can see it now, the white cream starting to build at the base of your cock, that telltale frothy ring forming where her body meets yours. Every stroke churns it, pulling it out along your shaft in thick milky strings that coat you and smear across her swollen lips. Her pussy is getting creamier with every passing minute, her arousal whipped into something visible and filthy by the steady pistoning of your cock.

"Look at you," you murmur, watching the cream gather and spread. "Getting all creamy on my cock. Making a mess all over yourself."

"I can't help it," she whines, pushing her hips back to meet your thrusts. "My body's been ready to come since I sat on your lap and now it's just leaking everywhere. You did this to me."

You pick up the pace, your hips snapping forward with more force, and she starts throwing her ass back to meet you, matching your rhythm thrust for thrust. The collision of your bodies fills the room alongside the wet sticky sounds of her cunt taking your cock, and her ass ripples with each impact against your hips. You watch the way her small frame absorbs every stroke, the way her spine flexes and her shoulders tense and release, and you can see the cream coating your shaft thicker now, visible even in the dim afternoon light filtering through the apartment windows.

You reach forward and gather her hair in your fist, wrapping the dark strands around your hand once, twice, and you pull. Not violently. Firm and steady, enough to arch her neck back and lift her face off the armrest, and she gasps, her scalp tingling, her back bowing into an extreme curve that changes the angle of your cock inside her.

"Oh god," she chokes out, her hands bracing against the armrest now that her head is pulled back. "Pull my hair and fuck me. Just like that. Make it count. I want to feel this for weeks. I want to be in London with a sore pussy thinking about you."

"You will be," you tell her, tightening your grip in her hair and driving into her harder. "Every time you sit down on set you're going to feel where I've been. Every time you cross your legs in a meeting you're going to remember what my cock feels like splitting you open."

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, I will. I'm going to think about your cock every single day. I'm going to touch myself in my hotel room and pretend it's you and it's never going to be enough."

You fuck her with her hair wrapped in your fist, pulling her head back just enough to keep that arch in her spine, your other hand gripping her hip for leverage. The pace is relentless now, steady and powerful, and her pussy is making the most obscene sounds you've ever heard, wet and thick and creamy, her arousal churned into froth by the constant friction. You can feel her tightening around you, her walls starting that familiar rhythmic clenching, and her breathing is climbing in pitch, getting shorter and more ragged with every thrust.

"I'm getting close," she pants, her thighs trembling against the couch cushion. "Oh fuck, I'm getting so close. Your cock is hitting the perfect spot. Every time you thrust I feel it in my whole body. My legs are shaking."

"Come for me," you tell her, releasing her hair and gripping both hips, pulling her back onto your cock with every forward thrust, driving as deep as her body will allow. "Come all over this cock, Jenna. Let me feel that creamy little pussy squeeze me. Give it to me. Everything. Right now."

"Oh god," she cries out, her fingers white-knuckling the armrest, her whole body going rigid. "Oh god, I'm coming, I'm coming, it's happening."

Her orgasm crashes through her in waves. You feel it start deep inside, a vice-like clenching around your shaft, and then it pulses outward through her entire body, her legs shaking violently, her abs contracting, her back seizing into a tight arch. She buries her face in the cushion and screams into it, muffled but raw, and her pussy clamps down on you so hard it's almost difficult to keep thrusting. But you do. You fuck her straight through it, never slowing, maintaining that punishing pace while she convulses around you, and each stroke draws another wave of clenching and another broken sound from deep in her chest. The cream on your cock multiplies, thick and white, pushed out of her with every thrust, coating her lips and dripping onto the couch beneath her.

The orgasm rolls through her in what feels like thirty continuous seconds, her body clenching and releasing and clenching again, and you feel your own release building at the base of your spine, drawn out by the relentless milking pressure of her cunt around your shaft. Your balls tighten and your stomach clenches and the heat gathers low and urgent and you know you're almost there.

You give her three more deep thrusts, each one burying yourself completely, grinding against the deepest part of her, and then you pull out. Your cock slides free of her pussy with a slick wet sound, glistening and coated in thick white cream, and you grip yourself and angle upward. You press the swollen head against the tight little ring of her asshole, still shiny and sensitive from your tongue, and you stroke yourself twice, three times, and you come.

The first thick rope pulses out of you and lands directly on her asshole, hot and white against the pink puckered skin. You groan through it, your hand pumping steadily, and the second and third streaks follow, painting her tight little hole in thick creamy lines that pool and drip. You keep stroking, milking yourself empty, watching your cum gather in the cleft of her ass, coating the rim of her asshole until it's glazed and dripping and obscene. A thick bead of it runs slowly down from her asshole toward her spent pussy, leaving a glistening trail across her perineum.

Jenna moans softly as she feels it, a low satisfied purr, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "I can feel it," she murmurs into the cushion, her eyes closed. "Your cum on my ass. It's so warm. It's dripping everywhere."

You milk the last drops out onto her, watching them fall onto the mess you've already made, and then you release yourself and sit back into the corner of the couch, your chest heaving, your cock softening against your thigh, still slick with her cream and your own cum. You let your head fall back against the cushion and close your eyes, catching your breath.

Jenna stays face down for a long moment, her body slack and boneless, draped over the couch with her ass still slightly raised, your cum slowly sliding down her skin. Then she melts all the way flat, lowering herself onto her stomach with a contented sigh, her cheek pressed against the cushion, her eyes half open and glazed. Her skirt is still bunched around her waist. Her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, comprehensively ruined.

"That was really good," she says, her breathing still uneven, a lazy smile spreading across her flushed face. "The ass thing. The tongue. All of it. That was a strong farewell performance."

"Had to make it memorable," you say, still catching your breath.

She crawls across the couch toward you, slow and languid, and tucks herself against your side. She tilts her face up and kisses you, soft and unhurried, tasting faintly of salt and warmth, her hand resting on your chest over your heartbeat. When she pulls back she stays close, her nose almost touching yours, those dark eyes searching your face with something tender lurking beneath the post-orgasm haze.

"How many times do you think we can come before I have to leave?" she asks, her thumb tracing idle circles on your chest. "My car is coming at four. That gives us, what, a few more hours?"

You glance at the clock on the wall behind her. You have time. Plenty of it.

"I think we can find out," you say.

Jenna smiles. Not the bratty grin or the teasing smirk or the performative confidence she wears for the rest of the world. Just a real, genuine, warm smile from a girl who's about to leave for six months and wants to spend every remaining minute exactly where she is.

She's on all fours in front of you, her back arched, her knees spread wide on the couch cushion, her panties stretched crookedly to the side and her skirt bunched around her waist like a belt. She's looking back at you over her shoulder, expecting you to slide back inside her, expecting the blunt press of your cock against her entrance, and instead you grip both cheeks of her ass and spread them apart and press your mouth directly against her tight little asshole.

She jolts. Her whole body tenses and her fingers grip the armrest of the couch and her head whips around, her eyes wide with genuine shock.

"Oh," she breathes, and there's a note of real surprise in it, not performance, not bratty posturing, actual unfiltered surprise. "Oh my god. That's, okay, that's new."

You pull back just enough to talk, your thumbs still holding her open, your breath warm against the sensitive puckered skin. "Thought I'd improvise."

She lets out a shaky laugh, her thighs trembling on either side of your hands. "Using my own material against me. Okay. Respect."

You lean back in and lick her. A slow, flat, broad stroke of your tongue from just above her pussy all the way up to the tight ring of muscle, pressing firmly, and you feel her entire body shudder in response. You do it again, slower this time, letting her feel every millimeter of the contact, and she drops her forehead against the armrest and makes a sound that's somewhere between disbelief and surrender.

"Nobody's ever done this to me," she says into the cushion, her fingers clutching the fabric. "Not once. I've thought about it but nobody's ever actually, oh fuck, oh my god."

You seal your lips around her asshole and suck gently, then release and follow it with the pointed tip of your tongue, tracing tight little circles around the rim. The muscle twitches beneath your mouth, reactive and sensitive, and you keep at it, circling and licking and pressing, varying the pressure, listening to the sounds she's making to guide you. She's vocal in a way she hasn't been before, louder and less controlled, the novelty of the sensation stripping away whatever composure she usually maintains.

"That's insane," she pants, her hips pushing back against your face. "That's absolutely insane. How does that feel so good? It shouldn't feel that good. What the fuck."

You push your tongue against the center, pressing firmly, not penetrating but applying steady targeted pressure, and her thighs clench and her spine dips into a deeper arch. You can feel the tension in her glutes under your hands, the way her body is fighting between instinct and unfamiliarity, wanting more but not sure how to ask for it. So you give her more without making her ask. You flatten your tongue and lap at her in long steady strokes, thorough and wet, getting her slick with spit, and then switch back to the pointed tip, flicking rapidly across the sensitive nerve endings.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she whimpers, grinding back against your mouth. "You're eating my ass on your couch. This is so filthy. I love it. I love every second of it. Don't you dare stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You grip her cheeks harder, spreading her wider, burying your face between them, your tongue working her asshole with focused relentless attention. You lick and suck and probe, alternating between techniques, keeping her guessing, and her reactions tell you everything. The rapid breathing when you circle the rim. The full body shiver when you press the flat of your tongue against her and hold it there. The whine that escapes her throat when you point your tongue and push just barely inside, just the tip, just enough to feel the tight ring of muscle give the slightest fraction.

"Right there," she gasps, pushing back. "Oh my god, right there, your tongue, I can feel your tongue trying to get inside my ass, that's so dirty, that's the dirtiest thing anyone has ever done to me."

You keep your tongue where it is, pressing rhythmically against that tight entrance, and you bring your right hand down from her cheek and slide it between her thighs from behind. She's drenched. Your fingers find her pussy swollen and slippery, her arousal coating her inner thighs, and you run two fingers through the mess of it, gathering the wetness, before pressing both fingertips against her opening and pushing inside.

She cries out when you enter her, her cunt clenching around your fingers immediately, tight and hot and soaking wet. You sink both fingers in to the second knuckle and curl them forward, finding the spongy spot on the front wall, and you start to fuck her with your hand while your tongue continues its assault on her ass.

"Oh my god," she practically sobs, her arms giving out, her chest dropping to the cushion while her hips stay raised. "Both. You're doing both at the same time. Your tongue in my ass and your fingers in my pussy. I can't handle this. I actually cannot handle this."

You pump your fingers steadily, curling them on every inward stroke, massaging that sensitive spot inside her, and your tongue keeps circling and pressing and lapping at her asshole, and the combination turns her into something you've never quite seen before. She's writhing, her whole body undulating on the couch, her face pressed into the armrest, and the sounds pouring out of her are raw and broken and utterly without pretense.

"Don't stop, daddy," she begs, rolling her hips between your mouth and your hand, fucking herself on your fingers while grinding back against your tongue. "Please don't stop. Your mouth feels so good on my ass. Your fingers feel so good in my pussy. I'm losing my mind. You're making me lose my mind."

You add more pressure with your fingers, pumping faster, the wet sound of them sliding in and out of her filling the room alongside her desperate panting. Your tongue pushes against her asshole with renewed purpose, firm and insistent, and you feel the ring of muscle relaxing incrementally under the sustained attention, opening to you, her body learning to accept this new kind of pleasure. You seal your lips around her and suck while your tongue works the center, and she practically screams into the cushion.

"Daddy, please," she whines, her thighs shaking violently, her pussy gripping your fingers so tight you can barely move them. "Nobody's ever made me feel like this. My whole body is on fire. I can feel it everywhere. Your tongue on my ass is making my pussy throb and your fingers in my pussy are making my ass clench and it's all connected and I'm going crazy."

You can feel her building toward it. The telltale signs you've learned over these weeks together. The rhythmic clenching of her walls around your fingers, getting tighter and faster. The trembling in her thighs moving into her core. The pitch of her breathing climbing higher. Her whole body is coiling, tensing, approaching that edge with increasing speed, and you know she's close.

"Oh god, daddy, something's happening," she gasps, her hips bucking erratically. "Something's building, it's so intense, it's different from before, it's bigger, I think I'm going to come, daddy, I think I'm going to come from you eating my ass, that's so filthy, I'm so close, I'm so close, please don't stop, please."

You stop.

You pull your mouth away from her ass and slide your fingers out of her pussy in one clean motion, leaving her empty and exposed and teetering on the precipice. She lets out a sound of pure anguished frustration, her hips pushing back toward you searching for contact that isn't there anymore, her body clenching around nothing.

"No," you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Not yet. I want you to come with my cock inside you. I want to feel this one around my dick."

She drops her face into the armrest and laughs, breathless and shaky, her whole body still trembling from how close she got. "You're so cruel. You are genuinely the cruelest person I have ever met in my life. You just edged me with your tongue in my ass. That's a war crime."

"You edged me three times the first night we were together," you remind her. "Consider this ongoing retaliation."

She laughs again, shaking her head against the cushion, and then she looks back at you over her shoulder with those glassy dark eyes and flushed cheeks and swollen lips. "Okay. Fine. I accept it. The idea of coming on your cock is better anyway. I want to feel you stretching me when I go over." She bites her bottom lip and pushes her ass back toward you. "But put it in now, daddy. Right now. My pussy is aching. I need you so bad it hurts. Fill me up."

You grip her hip with one hand and take your cock in the other, lining the swollen head up with her dripping entrance, pressing forward until you feel her heat engulf the tip, and you push inside.

You sink into her to the hilt in one long steady stroke, her pussy so slick and swollen from the edging that you meet almost no resistance, just tight wet heat swallowing you whole. She groans into the armrest, her fingers clawing at the fabric, and you grip both cheeks of her ass, spreading them, watching your cock disappear between her flushed pink lips. You pull back slowly and push in again, setting an easy rhythm, and the sound that fills the room is obscene. Her cunt is so wet that every thrust produces a thick squeaking noise, that unmistakable sound of a pussy that's been thoroughly worked over, drenched and puffy and desperate to be fucked. Each time you pull back there's a slick sucking quality to it, her walls clinging to your shaft, reluctant to let you withdraw, and each time you push back in there's that soft squelching that gets louder as you build speed.

"Listen to that," you say, squeezing her ass, pulling her cheeks apart so you can watch yourself sliding in and out of her glistening cunt. "Listen to how wet you are. That's from my mouth on your ass. I ate your little asshole and your pussy turned into a fucking mess."

"It is a mess," she agrees breathlessly, her back arching deeper. "My pussy is a total mess for you. It's been dripping since you put your tongue on me. I can feel it running down my thighs."

You thrust into her harder and the wet sound intensifies, and you can see it now, the white cream starting to build at the base of your cock, that telltale frothy ring forming where her body meets yours. Every stroke churns it, pulling it out along your shaft in thick milky strings that coat you and smear across her swollen lips. Her pussy is getting creamier with every passing minute, her arousal whipped into something visible and filthy by the steady pistoning of your cock.

"Look at you," you murmur, watching the cream gather and spread. "Getting all creamy on my cock. Making a mess all over yourself."

"I can't help it," she whines, pushing her hips back to meet your thrusts. "You edged me so hard. My body's been ready to come for the last twenty minutes and now it's just leaking everywhere. You did this to me."

You pick up the pace, your hips snapping forward with more force, and she starts throwing her ass back to meet you, matching your rhythm thrust for thrust. The collision of your bodies fills the room alongside the wet sticky sounds of her cunt taking your cock, and her ass ripples with each impact against your hips. You watch the way her small frame absorbs every stroke, the way her spine flexes and her shoulders tense and release, and you can see the cream coating your shaft thicker now, visible even in the dim afternoon light.

You reach forward and gather her hair in your fist, wrapping the dark strands around your hand once, twice, and you pull. Not violently. Firm and steady, enough to arch her neck back and lift her face off the armrest, and she gasps, her scalp tingling, her back bowing into an extreme curve that changes the angle of your cock inside her.

"Oh god," she chokes out, her hands bracing against the armrest now that her head is pulled back. "Pull my hair and fuck me. Just like that. Make it count. I want to feel this for weeks. I want to be in London with a sore pussy thinking about you."

"You will be," you tell her, tightening your grip in her hair and driving into her harder. "Every time you sit down on set you're going to feel where I've been. Every time you cross your legs in a meeting you're going to remember what my cock feels like splitting you open."

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, I will. I'm going to think about your cock every single day. I'm going to touch myself in my hotel room and pretend it's you and it's never going to be enough."

You fuck her with her hair wrapped in your fist, pulling her head back just enough to keep that arch in her spine, your other hand gripping her hip for leverage. The pace is relentless now, steady and powerful, and her pussy is making the most obscene sounds you've ever heard, wet and thick and creamy, her arousal churned into froth by the constant friction. You can feel her tightening around you, her walls starting that familiar rhythmic clenching, and her breathing is climbing in pitch, getting shorter and more ragged with every thrust.

"I'm getting close," she pants, her thighs trembling against the couch cushion. "Oh fuck, I'm getting so close. Your cock is hitting the perfect spot. Every time you thrust I feel it in my whole body. My legs are shaking."

"Come for me," you tell her, releasing her hair and gripping both hips, pulling her back onto your cock with every forward thrust, driving as deep as her body will allow. "Come all over this cock, Jenna. Let me feel that creamy little pussy squeeze me. Give it to me. Everything. Right now."

"Oh god," she cries out, her fingers white-knuckling the armrest, her whole body going rigid. "Oh god, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, it's happening."

You feel it start deep inside, a vice-like clenching around your shaft, and then it pulses outward through her entire body, her legs shaking violently, her abs contracting, her back seizing into a tight arch. She buries her face in the cushion and screams into it, muffled but raw, and her pussy clamps down on you so hard it's almost difficult to keep thrusting. But you do. You fuck her straight through it, never slowing, maintaining that punishing pace while she convulses around you, and each stroke draws another wave of clenching and another broken sound from deep in her chest. The cream on your cock multiplies, thick and white, pushed out of her with every thrust, coating her lips and dripping onto the couch beneath her.

The orgasm rolls through her in what feels like thirty continuous seconds, her body clenching and releasing and clenching again, and you feel your own release building at the base of your spine, drawn out by the relentless milking pressure of her cunt around your shaft. Your balls tighten and your stomach clenches and the heat gathers low and urgent and you know you're almost there.

You give her three more deep thrusts, each one burying yourself completely, grinding against the deepest part of her, and then you pull out. Your cock slides free of her pussy with a slick wet sound, glistening and coated in thick white cream, and you grip yourself and angle upward. You press the swollen head against the tight little ring of her asshole and you stroke yourself twice, three times, and then you come.

The first thick rope pulses out of you and lands directly on her asshole, hot and white against the pink puckered skin. You groan through it, your hand pumping steadily, and the second and third streaks follow, painting her tight little hole in thick creamy lines that pool and drip. You keep stroking, milking yourself empty, watching your cum gather in the cleft of her ass, coating the rim of her asshole until it's glazed and dripping. A thick bead of it runs slowly down from her asshole toward her spent pussy, leaving a glistening trail across her perineum.

Jenna moans softly as she feels it, a low satisfied purr, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "I can feel it," she murmurs into the cushion, her eyes closed. "Your cum on my ass. It's so warm. It's dripping everywhere."

You milk the last drops out onto her, watching them fall onto the mess you've already made, and then you release yourself and sit back into the corner of the couch, your chest heaving, your cock softening against your thigh, still slick with her cream and your own cum. You let your head fall back against the cushion and close your eyes, catching your breath.

Jenna stays face down for a long moment, her body slack and boneless, draped over the couch with her ass still slightly raised, your cum slowly sliding down her skin. Then she melts all the way flat, lowering herself onto her stomach with a contented sigh, her cheek pressed against the cushion, her eyes half open and glazed.

"That was really good," she says, her breathing still uneven, a lazy smile spreading across her flushed face. "The ass thing. All of it. That was a strong farewell performance."

"Had to make it memorable," you say, still catching your breath.

She crawls across the couch toward you, slow and languid, and tucks herself against your side. She tilts her face up and kisses you, tasting faintly of salt and warmth, her hand resting on your chest over your heartbeat. When she pulls back she stays close, her nose almost touching yours, those dark eyes searching your face with something tender lurking beneath the post-orgasm haze.

"How many times do you think we can come before I have to leave?" she asks, her thumb tracing idle circles on your chest. "My car is coming at four. That gives us, what, a few more hours?"

You glance at the clock on the wall behind her. You have time. Plenty of it.

"I think we can find out," you say.

Jenna smiles. Not the bratty grin or the teasing smirk, just a real smile from a girl who’s about to leave for six months and wants to spend every minute she has left exactly where she is.

—

You're brushing your teeth when the apartment finally catches up with you. The silence of it. Not the usual silence of living alone, but the silence of an absence.

Her sneakers aren't by the door anymore. The couch cushion where she was stretched out a few hours ago still holds the faint impression of her body. The whole apartment carries traces of her: a hint of perfume, the lingering aftermath of sex…

You spit, rinse, wipe your mouth, and pad into the bedroom. The sheets are clean because you changed them this morning, before she came over, before everything, and they feel too smooth and too cold when you climb in. You plug your phone into the charger and set it on the nightstand and you're reaching for the lamp when the screen lights up.

A photo. Jenna in an airplane seat, first class, her hair pulled back under a baseball cap, her face bare and a little tired. She's doing a peace sign. Behind her you can see the curve of the cabin wall and the edge of a window showing nothing but dark tarmac.

It's going to be a long flight

You pull the phone off the charger and settle back against your pillow, typing with one thumb.

How long?

Like 11 hours. I'm going to lose my mind 🫩

Sounds rough. You should try to rest during the trip. You'll need it when you land

I will. Eventually. I'm too wired right now. My body is still buzzing from earlier.

I'll probably dream about you. Just so you know.

That's actually really romantic. I'll dream about you too

You better. If I find out you dreamed about someone else I'm flying back immediately to fight you

Nobody else worth dreaming about

She doesn't respond right away to that one. Three dots appear and disappear twice before her next message comes through, and you can picture her in that airplane seat, cap pulled low, chewing her lip, trying to figure out how to respond to sincerity the way she always does.

It's going to be a long six months

We'll survive it

You think so?

I know so

How? How do you know?

You stare at the screen for a moment, thinking about what to say. You could send something long, something thoughtful about how the last few weeks have shown that this is real, that it's worth holding onto. But that's never really been how the two of you communicate. You say what matters and leave the rest unsaid. Right now, she doesn't need a speech. She just needs to know.

Because nothing about this has felt temporary. Not once. And I don't think six months changes that

I really like your confidence. It's annoyingly attractive

That's my best trait. Top of the list. Everything else is secondary

Oh please. Your best trait is your hands and we both know it

Fair point. Confidence is second then. Now rest. Seriously. Sleep on the plane. We'll talk when you land

Okay okay. I'm going to sleep. Talk later

Talk later. Bye, Jenna

Bye babe

You stare at that last message. Babe...

Two syllables. Four letters. Dropped into the conversation like it was something she'd been saying for months. But she hasn't. Not once in all the weeks of texts and nights together and mornings tangled in sheets has either of you used a pet name. Not once. She's called you daddy in bed but that's different, that lives in a separate category, and outside of those moments you've both operated in the careful neutral territory of first names and pronouns. Well, it seems that has changed too.

And you like it. You really like it.

Six months. A hundred and eighty days, give or take. She'll be in London, on sets, in costume, surrounded by crews and actors and the entire machinery of her career, and you'll be here, in this apartment, at the spa, running your hands over strangers' backs and checking your phone between clients. The distance will be real and constant and some days it will probably be terrible. You know that. You're not naive about it.

But you're not worried either, and that might be the strangest thing of all. There isn't even a trace of doubt. What started on a massage table in a villa has become woven into the fabric of your days; there in the mornings, there in the evenings, there in the ridiculous smile that appears whenever her name lights up your screen at eleven o'clock at night. It wasn't something either of you performed into existence. It just happened, slowly and naturally, between two people who weren't looking for it but found it anyway.

You close your eyes. Your phone lies untouched on the nightstand. Somewhere over the Atlantic, a girl in a baseball cap is curling up in a first-class seat, falling asleep thousands of miles away. And somehow, you're completely certain that when you wake up, there'll be a message from her.

You always liked when the last bell rang, because that's when the girls cornered you with their plans.

Today it was Hayeon who tugged your sleeve before you could even put your notebook away, "Hey, my parents are out tonight," she whispered, eyes shining like she was about to commit a crime. "Let's go to my place. We can hang, order food, maybe… you know."

The way she dragged out "you know" made Chaewon roll her eyes and snort. "What, binge dramas until sunrise? Again?"

"Don't pretend you don't want it," Hyerin shot back, laughing. "But yeah, Hayeon's house is big and empty, which means… freedom."

Soomin leaned her chin on your shoulder like it was her personal armrest. "You're coming, right? You don't get to say no. You're our emotional support boy."

You groaned, but it was mostly for show. Being dragged around by these four wasn't new. Growing up with two older sisters at home, you'd learned how to exist in a sea of girl chaos—makeup smells, loud laughter, casual teasing. It didn't bother you. If anything, you were too used to it.

So after school you found yourself walking with them, backpacks swinging, the late sunlight painting the sidewalks gold.

Hayeon's house wasn't just a house—it was a two-story playground. Shoes were kicked off in the entryway, bags dumped near the stairs, and the girls instantly scattered like they owned the place.

Chaewon made a beeline for the fridge. "Why do rich families always have the good yogurt?" she muttered, already ripping one open.

Soomin was sprawled on the living room couch in less than a minute, hugging the remote to her chest like she'd claimed the TV by divine right. "I'm in charge of channels. No arguments."

"Please," Hyerin said, pushing her legs off the couch so she could sit. "You always pick those lame reality shows where people scream at each other."

"Exactly, and you watch every second of it," Soomin fired back.

You dropped your bag and stood in the doorway, laughing softly. This was normal. Loud, messy, comfortable. "Should I, like… be useful? Get plates or drinks or something?"

Four pairs of eyes snapped to you.

"You're volunteering?" Hyerin smirked. "Dangerous move."

"Kitchen's yours," Hayeon said with a sly grin. "We'll call you… houseboy."

"Or maid," Soomin chimed in immediately. "I can totally picture you in a frilly apron."

Chaewon almost choked on her yogurt laughing. "Yes! He'd look too natural in it."

You sighed, heading toward the kitchen, pretending their teasing didn't fluster you. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't expect gourmet."

By the time you came back with chips, soda cans, and a half-decent tray of cookies, they'd already started fighting over what to watch.

"I said horror," Hyerin was pouting.

"And I said rom-com," Soomin countered, remote clutched tightly in her hand.

"Split the difference," Chaewon suggested. "Romantic horror. People kissing while getting stabbed."

"That's not a genre!" Hyerin groaned.

"It should be," you said, setting the tray down.

Instantly, Soomin reached for a cookie and shoved it into her mouth before anyone else. "See? He gets me. He's on my team."

You sat cross-legged on the carpet, snack plate between your knees, watching them argue like it was some kind of sport. Honestly, you liked this. Being the only boy didn't feel like pressure—it felt like belonging. You knew when to joke, when to shut up, when to play the "annoying little brother" role.

But tonight… something was different.

Maybe it was the empty house. Or maybe the way the girls' laughter felt looser, wilder, without parents nearby. Their teasing seemed sharper, their eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual.

At some point, the argument fizzled out and the TV settled on a random variety show. Nobody was paying full attention, though. The energy in the room had shifted to lazy sprawls and half-distracted chatter.

You leaned back against the couch, Hyerin sitting cross-legged right next to you. Her shoulder brushed yours every time she shifted.

"Hey," she said suddenly, her voice low enough that it cut through the noise. "Do your sisters boss you around as much as we do?"

You chuckled. "Worse, honestly. At least you guys don't steal my stuff."

"Oh, we could," she teased, flicking her finger against your arm. "Maybe we should."

From the couch above you, Soomin leaned over upside down, hair dangling. "Bet he wouldn't even complain. He likes it."

You tilted your head back, staring at her smug grin. "Why do you sound so sure?"

"Because you're always too nice. Girls like me, we test boundaries. If you hated it, you'd snap. But you just… take it." She grinned wider, like she'd figured out a secret.

Chaewon, who'd been quiet with her phone until now, snorted. "He's just trained. You don't grow up with sisters without learning how to shut up and survive."

"You call that surviving?" Hayeon came back from the kitchen with a tub of ice cream and four spoons. "Looks more like submission to me."

"Submission," Soomin repeated dramatically, dropping the word like it was dirtier than it was. She poked your cheek with the end of the remote. "Yeah. That's the vibe."

You felt your face heat, but forced a laugh. "You guys are weird."

The night rolled on with snacks, silly games, and bursts of laughter that made your stomach hurt. At one point, Chaewon dared you to sing into a hairbrush, and you ended up half-screaming the chorus of some cheesy pop song while they clapped and howled.

Later, Soomin tried teaching everyone a TikTok dance, and you completely failed to keep up—arms flailing, legs uncoordinated. She laughed so hard she nearly fell over. "Oh my god, you're hopeless. Cute, but hopeless."

You groaned into your hands. "Why do I let you people do this to me?"

"Because you love it," Hayeon answered simply, handing you a soda. "You like being the only boy here. Don't even try to deny it."

She said it so casually, but something about her tone made your stomach flip.

You looked around. Four girls, all watching you with mischievous little smirks. The TV glowed, the snacks were half-eaten, and the air was heavy with warmth and something else you couldn't quite name.

And yeah… maybe she was right.

The night felt like it had hit that sweet spot, the house echoing with laughter, and the kind of reckless energy that only happens when no parents are around.

It was Hyerin who leaned forward suddenly, eyes glinting like she'd just thought of trouble. "Okay, I've got a game."

Chaewon groaned immediately. "God, here we go. This girl and her games."

"No, no, this one's fun," Hyerin insisted, bouncing on the carpet. She pointed straight at you. "Rock, paper, scissors. Just me and him."

You blinked. "That's… not a game. That's like, deciding who takes the trash out."

"Not the way I play," Hyerin said, her grin widening. She let the silence hang just long enough before dropping the hook: "Each time you lose… you strip."

The room instantly reacted—Soomin choking on her soda, Chaewon's eyebrows shooting up, Hayeon smirking like she'd expected this all along.

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice breaking a little.

"Oh my god," Soomin gasped, clapping her hands. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I'm so in."

"Relax, it's just between them," Hayeon said, curling up on the couch like she had front-row seats. "But I'm not stopping anyone else from joining later."

Chaewon threw a pillow at Hyerin. "You're insane." Then she smirked at you. "But I want to see if he actually has the guts."

You swallowed hard. The girls were watching, waiting. Your heart pounded, but that familiar little push—the one that came every time they teased you—shoved you forward. "Fine," you said, trying to sound braver than you felt. "But don't cry when you lose."

The first round was quick—paper versus rock.

"Yes!" you shouted, pumping your fist like it was a championship win.

Hyerin groaned but didn't hesitate. With a playful pout, she shrugged off her cardigan and tossed it onto the couch. "Happy now?"

You grinned, pretending to focus on the game but not missing the way her blouse clung a little tighter without the extra layer.

Round two—scissors versus paper. You won again.

"Unbelievable," Hyerin muttered, but there was no shame in her voice. Slowly, deliberately, she began unbuttoning her blouse. Each little click of a button made the room quieter. She slipped it off her shoulders, revealing a snug white tank top underneath.

Still covered, still casual. But the sight of her bare arms, the soft fabric stretched across her chest—it already felt like too much.

"Not bad," Soomin teased. "Our boy's holding his own."

You smirked, though your palms were sweating. "Told you."

Round three—rock versus paper.

"Damn it," you muttered as Hyerin whooped in victory.

"Strip," she said immediately, leaning forward like she'd been waiting for this.

You sighed dramatically, then peeled your shirt off over your head. The girls' eyes lingered longer than you expected, tracing the lines of your shoulders, your chest, your stomach.

Soomin wolf-whistled. "Okayyy, didn't know you were hiding muscle under there."

Your ears burned. "It's just P.E."

"Mmhm," Hayeon hummed, smirking.

Next round—scissors versus paper. You won again.

Hyerin froze for a second, biting her lip. Then, with deliberate slowness, she hooked her fingers under the hem of her tank top and lifted it over her head.

The room felt like it exhaled all at once.

Her bra was simple, pale pink with a tiny bow in the middle, but the way it cupped her full breasts made your throat dry. She tossed the tank top aside casually, but her cheeks were warm.

Soomin's whistling tonally, "Damn, nice bra, Hyerin,"

"Holy shit," Chaewon whispered, sitting up straighter.

Hayeon coughed into her hand. "Well. This escalated."

You tried to breathe, but your eyes kept flicking back to her chest, to the smooth swell of skin, the straps cutting soft lines into her shoulders.

Hyerin caught you staring and smirked, tilting her head. "What's wrong? Losing focus already?"

Your mouth went dry. "N-no. I'm fine."

"Good," she said, settling back on her knees, hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. "Because we're just getting started."

Round five— you rock she paper.

"Ha!" Hyerin grinned, clapping her hands. "Got you again."

Your stomach twisted. You knew what that meant. With a nervous laugh, you pushed yourself up onto your knees and unbuttoned your pants. The zipper felt way too loud in the quiet room. You slid them down, stepping out clumsily, left in nothing but your boxer shorts.

Soomin squealed, covering her mouth but peeking through her fingers. "Oh my god, he actually did it."

Chaewon covering her eyes, but she's still peeking through the gap.

Hayeon leaned back, smirking. "Not bad. I was expecting SpongeBob boxers or something."

Round six—scissors versus rock. You lost again.

Hyerin's grin widened. "Take it off."

You froze. The only thing left on your lower half was your short pants over your boxers. You hesitated, glancing around. The girls were waiting, expectant.

"Rules are rules," Hayeon reminded softly, her tone almost teasing.

Your pulse hammered in your ears. Finally, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband and slid the shorts down, kicking them aside. Just your boxers now—thin fabric barely hiding the shape underneath.

Soomin let out a low whistle. "Mmm. Someone's getting nervous."

Your cheeks burned. They weren't wrong—you could already feel the pressure building against the fabric, and you prayed they couldn't see it.

Next round—paper versus rock. You won.

"Yes!" you breathed, relief rushing through you.

Hyerin groaned dramatically, then stood, unzipping her skirt at the side. She let it slide down her legs, pooling at her feet. Now she was standing in her panties and the same short safety pants most girls wore under skirts. The sight made your mouth dry.

Hyerin kicked the skirt aside and struck a playful pose. "Happy now?"

Your throat bobbed. "Not complaining."

Round eight—scissors versus paper. Another win for you.

Hyerin raised a brow, but there was no hesitation this time. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her short pants and pulled them down slowly, leaving only her panties. Pale skin, curves framed by soft fabric. Your chest tightened at the sight.

Chaewon gasped, fanning herself with both hands. "This is insane. I can't believe we're actually doing this."

Soomin muttered, "I feel like I shouldn't be watching… but I can't look away."

You shifted where you sat, but it was impossible to hide the way your cock was hardening inside your boxers. Hyerin's eyes caught it—lingering just long enough before she smirked and returned to the game.

Round nine—paper versus rock. You won again.

Hyerin's face was flushed now, but she didn't back down. With a quick inhale, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The straps loosened, and she slid it off, baring herself completely.

The room fell silent.

"Holy shit," Soomin whispered. "She actually did it."

Her breasts were full and perfect, she immediately covered her nipple with one arm, laughing nervously. "Don't stare too much, or I'll get shy."

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body screaming.

Chaewon's eyes darted between you and Hyerin. "This… is way past a game."

Hayeon smiled slyly. "Don't stop now."

Round ten—rock versus scissors. You lost.

The girls leaned in like a pack sensing blood.

You froze, looking down at yourself. Your cock was straining hard against the thin fabric, a dark outline pressing against your boxers. You hesitated, pulse racing.

"Come on," Hyerin teased, still covering herself with one arm. "Don't tell me the big brave boy's chickening out now."

"You have to," Soomin urged, her voice breathless. "Rules are rules."

Hayeon smirked, eyes sharp. "Don't break the game. Strip."

Your face burned, but with shaking hands you slid your thumbs into the waistband. You pulled your boxers down, freeing your cock into the open air.

The girls gasped all at once—sharp little intakes of breath.

Soomin's eyes went wide, then darted down and back up. "Holy fuck."

Chaewon raised her brows but said nothing, her smirk faltering, then blushing.

Hayeon's lips curved into the faintest, knowing smile.

And Hyerin… Hyerin's eyes locked on you, her face flushed, her arm still across her chest. But even through her composure, you could see it—the way her breath caught, the way her lips parted just slightly, Hyerin licked her lips before said:

"Next round."

The room was fill with tension now, nobody daring to move too much, all of them glued to the sight of your bare cock jutting up between your legs. The game should've ended right there—but Hyerin wasn't finished.

You threw your hand out for the next round, heart pounding.

Paper versus scissors.

You lost.

Your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you looked down at yourself, then back up at her. "I don't… I don't have anything left to strip."

Hyerin tilted her head, her hair spilling over one shoulder, eyes locked shamelessly on your cock. She smirked, biting her lower lip just enough to make your chest ache.

"Oh, you do," she murmured. "You've still got something to strip… to unload, precisely."

For a moment, silence swallowed the room. You felt every set of eyes follow her gaze down to your hardness.

Soomin gasped, half-laughing, half in disbelief. "Wait—she's not saying what I think she's saying, right?"

Chaewon's mouth opened, but no words came out. Her face was red, though she was trying hard to hide it with her usual smirk.

Hayeon sat up straighter, her smile turning sharper. "Oh, she absolutely is."

Your cock twitched under their stares, humiliatingly obvious. Heat rushed into your face, your chest, even your ears. "That's… that's not part of the rules."

"That's the new rule," Hyerin said smoothly, leaning closer, still covering her breasts with one arm. "If you lose and you've got nothing else to strip… you pay another way. You unload right here."

The girls shifted, a mix of shock and curiosity rippling through them.

"Holy shit," Soomin whispered, practically bouncing in her seat. "Do it. I wanna see if he actually—"

"Are you crazy?" Chaewon hissed, though her eyes kept flicking down toward you.

"Not crazy," Hayeon corrected softly. "I think he's going to."

Your pulse hammered, your cock aching with every second of silence. Hyerin leaned closer still, her face inches from yours, whispering so only you could hear:

"Come on. Show us."

You waved off your hesitation with a shaky laugh. "Fine… I'm a man of my word."

The girls went silent as you wrapped your hand around your cock and stroked it, slow at first, testing the air, testing their reactions. Heat burned up your face, but the way their eyes widened, the way their lips parted—it only made you harder.

Soomin whispered a sharp little, "Oh my god," hugging a pillow to her chest.

Chaewon shifted where she sat, pretending to be unfazed, but her ears were red burning.

Hayeon just leaned forward with a sly smirk, studying you like she was memorizing every twitch.

Your cock throbbed in your fist, precum beading at the tip, slicking your strokes. You gasped softly when it dribbled down your shaft.

Hyerin suddenly leaned in and caught your wrist. "Okay. That's precum." She gave you a wicked smile. "We'll count that as a strip-off. You unloaded something, so we keep going."

You blinked at her, chest heaving. "You're insane."

The next round—scissors versus paper. You won.

Hyerin pursed her lips, then let out a soft laugh. She slowly lowered the arm she'd been using to cover her breasts, freeing them completely, her nipples hardening from the cool air, but the room felt hotter instantly. Then, with both hands, she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties.

"Rules are rules," she said, sliding them down her hips and letting them fall to the carpet. Now she was utterly bare, flushed from head to toe, standing proud even as her chest rose and fell quickly.

Soomin squealed into her pillow again. "She's actually naked. She's really—oh my god."

Chaewon muttered, almost to herself, "No way…" though her eyes never left Hyerin.

Hayeon just smiled like she'd expected it from the start.

Hyerin's eyes glimmered with challenge. "Alright. New rule." She raised her hand, poised for the next round. "If it's a draw… we both have to strip."

You gave a breathless laugh. "But you're already naked."

"Exactly," she smirked.

"Ready?" Hyerin said, voice thick.

One, two, three—both your hands shot out at the same time.

Rock. Rock.

It was a draw.

The girls gasped in unison, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

Soomin squealed, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

Chaewon covered her face, groaning, "You idiots actually made it happen."

Hayeon leaned forward, smiling wickedly. "Well, rules are rules."

Hyerin's grin was dangerous. "Both of us strip." She looked down pointedly at your cock. "Your turn."

"Wait—hold on." Chaewon raised a hand, her face red but her voice sharp. "What do you mean, both of you should strip? you both already naked!"

Hyerin smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. "Exactly. Which means this—"

Before you could react, Hyerin suddenly shoved you down onto the carpet, your back hitting the rug. You gasped, cock jerking in the air, hard and leaking under all their eyes.

"H-Hyerin—what are you—"

"Playing fair," she cut you off with a grin. Her hands wrapped around your cock, warm and firm, and she started stroking you. Slowly at first, savoring the way you jolted beneath her touch.

The girls froze.

Soomin's mouth fell open. "She's actually touching him—holy shit."

Chaewon's eyes were wide, but she couldn't look away. "This is—this is insane."

Hayeon just smiled faintly, like she'd been waiting for this, her voice soft. "Well… I knew this would happen."

Hyerin's strokes quickened, her grip perfect—tight enough to make your toes curl, slow enough to drive you insane. You groaned, heat flooding your body, your hips twitching up helplessly into her hand.

Then she shifted forward, pressing her bare chest down against you. The soft weight of her breasts enveloped your shaft, slick with your leaking precum. She squeezed them together with both hands, sliding up and down.

The sight was unbearable—your cock buried between her tits, glistening with wetness, Hyerin's flushed face above, eyes locked on yours with a wicked smile.

"Oh my god," Chaewon whispered, clutching a pillow to her face but peeking over it with wide, hungry eyes.

Soomin muttered something under her breath, but her gaze was locked on the motion between Hyerin's breasts.

Hayeon leaned her chin on her hand, smirking. "You're really going to make him cum like that, aren't you?"

Hyerin chuckled low, bouncing her breasts tighter around your cock. "That's the idea."

Your breath came ragged, every thrust of her soft flesh around you making your head spin. You couldn't hold back the groans, couldn't stop the way your hips jerked up to meet her rhythm.

"Hyerin—I'm—"

"Go on," she urged, her voice low, sultry. "Unload. Strip yourself the only way left."

Her tits slid faster, precum smeared across her skin, your cock swelling harder and harder until you couldn't hold it anymore.

With a strangled groan, you came—thick white ropes spurting up across her breasts, streaking her chest, even splattering toward her collarbone. Hyerin gasped softly but didn't stop, stroking you through every spasm until you were drained, chest heaving.

The room was dead silent except for your panting.

Soomin broke it with a half-shocked, half-thrilled laugh. "He actually—he really—oh my god, I can't believe we just saw that."

Chaewon muttered, "Insane. You're both insane." But her voice was shaky, betraying more than she wanted.

Hayeon smiled slowly, eyes flicking between you and Hyerin's cum-glazed chest. "Looks like the game's not over yet."

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling, cock twitching even as it softened against Hyerin's cum-smeared breasts. Your whole body was sensitive, nerves buzzing.

That's when Soomin leaned forward, sliding off the couch onto the carpet, her eyes fixed on your cock.

"I'm curious…" she murmured, edging closer on her knees.

"Careful," Hyerin warned, her hand still resting lightly on your shaft. "He's really sensitive right now."

Soomin's lips curved into a playful smirk. "That's interesting." She tilted her head, watching your cock throb with leftover aftershocks. "You've done this before, Hyerin?"

Hyerin wiped a streak of cum off her chest with her fingers, licking it teasingly clean as if to prove her point. "Well, yeah… I mean, how else do you think I get A+ in math? I sleep with that pervert math teach."

Soomin's jaw dropped, then she laughed in disbelief. "You—damn, you're such a whore." The insult came with a grin though, her tone more amused than cruel.

Before you could react, Soomin reached out boldly and wrapped her hand around your cock.

You groaned instantly, hips twitching at the sudden contact. "S-Soomin—"

"Shh," she hushed you, her smirk widening as she felt you flinch under her touch. "Wow… it's still hard. Sensitive, but still hard." She started pumping slowly, deliberately, dragging her fist up your shaft.

You jerked against the carpet, teeth gritted. "Ah—too much, I—"

Hyerin leaned in close to Soomin, grinning. "See? Told you. Sensitive."

Soomin licked her lips, watching the way your cock twitched with every stroke. "He looks like he's in pain, but… also kinda loving it."

Chaewon had her arms crossed tight over her chest, face flushed. "This is getting out of hand—" but her eyes betrayed her, locked on your cock sliding through Soomin's fist.

Hayeon tilted her head, her smile calm but sharp. "Or maybe it's just getting interesting."

Your body trembled as Soomin's strokes grew firmer, cruel in their teasing rhythm. Your cock leaked again, fresh precum slicking her hand.

"Sensitive and leaking already," Soomin teased, holding up her wet fingers for the others to see. "Guess he really likes the attention."

Your heart pounded, your voice broke, "F-fuck, Soomin…"

She leaned closer, her grin wicked. "Say it louder. Let them all hear."

Soomin kept stroking you lazily, her grin smug every time your hips twitched. "See? I told you he'd like it. Look at him, he can't even stop himself."

You bit down a groan, chest heaving. Your cock glistened with her pumping, precum smeared over her hand.

Hyerin leaned over suddenly, her grin sharp. "Come on. Don't act like you all don't want to try."

Her eyes flicked to Chaewon, who instantly stiffened. "N-no way. I'm not—"

Before she could finish, Hyerin snatched up Chaewon's wrist and shoved it down toward your cock. Chaewon gasped when her fingertips brushed the wet tip, jerking back like she'd touched fire.

"Ahhh!" she squealed, half-grossed out, half-shocked. "What the hell, that's— that's disgusting!"

But her eyes stayed on it, wide and locked, even as she hugged her other arm across her chest.

"You're curious," Hyerin teased, still holding Chaewon's hand just above your shaft. "I can see it. Don't pretend."

"I'm not—!" Chaewon tried to pull back, but her voice cracked.

That's when Hayeon slid behind her on the couch, leaning close until her lips nearly brushed Chaewon's ear. Her hands slipped down, guiding Chaewon's wrist gently back toward your cock.

"You'll do it if I do… right, Chaewon?" Hayeon whispered, her voice husky and coaxing.

Chaewon froze, her breath hitching. Her cheeks burned crimson as Hayeon pressed her from behind, their hands wrapping together around your shaft.

You moaned out loud this time, the mix of Soomin's grip loosening and Chaewon's hesitant touch joining in. The heat of two hands, one firm and teasing, one trembling and curious, made your cock throb helplessly.

Chaewon bit her lip hard, her hand jerking slightly as if the pulse of your cock startled her. "It's… so hot. And—ugh—it's sticky."

Hayeon smirked against her ear, whispering again. "Sticky, but kind of exciting… isn't it?"

Chaewon shuddered, her eyes fixed on your leaking cock as her hand stayed where it was, trapped between Hayeon's guidance and her own curiosity.

Soomin laughed breathlessly, watching all of it. "Oh my god. This is insane. We're actually doing this."

Hyerin leaned back, licking a drop of cum still clinging to her finger, her eyes never leaving you. "And we're not stopping yet."

She shifted up toward your head, lowering herself until your face was pillowed against her bare lap. Her thighs were soft and warm under your cheeks, the faint scent of her sex drifting down. She bent low, hair brushing over your skin, her lips close to your ear.

"You like this, don't you?" she whispered, her voice sultry. "Being our toy… letting us strip you down, use you however we want…"

A shiver ran through you as she pressed a teasing kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lips.

Meanwhile, Soomin licked her lips, eyes flicking to Hyerin before smirking down at you. "If she gets his mouth… then I'll take the other end." Before anyone could stop her, she leaned down and wrapped her lips around your cock.

You groaned into Hyerin's kiss, your body jerking as Soomin's tongue swirled around the sensitive tip. She bobbed her head slowly at first, letting her spit mix with your precum, pumping with her hand as her mouth slid down over you.

Chaewon gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. "She's actually—oh my god, she's actually sucking him!"

Soomin popped off with a filthy grin, stroking you and showing the others the slick strand of spit connecting her lips to your cock. "Mmm. He tastes better than I thought."

You moaned helplessly, trapped between Hyerin's kisses and Soomin's hot mouth.

And then there was Hayeon. She hadn't made a move yet—until now. She slid her arms around Chaewon from behind again, her lips brushing Chaewon's ear.

"You're shaking," Hayeon murmured, her fingers teasing along Chaewon's blouse buttons. "Are you scared? Or excited?"

Chaewon stammered, "I—I don't know—"

"You'll know then," Hayeon whispered, and with a smooth tug, she started undoing Chaewon's blouse.

Chaewon gasped, grabbing at Hayeon's wrists, but her resistance was weak. Button by button, her chest was revealed, a pale bra showing underneath. Hayeon's hands slid lower, tugging the fabric loose, stripping her piece by piece while Hyerin and Soomin kept you overwhelmed.

Chaewon whined softly, half-protest, half-need. "H-Hayeon… not in front of them…"

Hayeon chuckled, pressing her lips to Chaewon's neck. "Especially in front of them."

Hyerin kissed you harder now, her tongue slipping into your mouth, while her hand stroked your hair. "Don't hold back," she whispered against your lips. "Cum again. Show us all how much you want this."

Soomin gagged softly as she pushed her mouth deeper onto your cock, her eyes watering slightly but her determination unshaken. She popped off only long enough to smirk up at you. "Bet I can make him blow faster than you can whisper."

While Hyerin's lips kept brushing your cheek and Soomin's mouth worked your cock.

The sudden sound of a soft moan cut through the room.

All of you froze for just a second.

It came from Chaewon.

In the corner, Hayeon was peeling Chaewon's blouse off completely, her bra straps slipping down her shoulders. Chaewon's face was red, but her eyes never left your cock, wet with Soomin's spit, twitching inside her friend's mouth.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her body stiff in Hayeon's arms, but her lips parted in that trembling, breathy sound none of you had ever heard from her before.

Hayeon had her pressed back against the couch, one hand gripping her waist, the other slipped under her skirt. Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, stroking between Chaewon's thighs.

"You're so wet already," Hayeon whispered into her ear, her voice low and wicked. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Chaewon whimpered again, her hand clutching Hayeon's wrist but not pushing her away. Her bra straps slid down her arms, her blouse completely gone, her chest heaving.

The rest of you couldn't look away.

Hyerin leaned close to you, her voice a sultry whisper. "Didn't you know?"

You blinked, "Know… what?"

"Hayeon and Chaewon," Hyerin murmured, lips brushing your ear. "They're dating. Hot topic, isn't it?"

Your eyes widened. You looked at the way Hayeon kissed Chaewon's neck, the way Chaewon trembled, the flush on both their faces. It clicked in an instant.

"I… I didn't know," you said, panting. Then a small, breathless smile crossed your face. "That's… kinda sweet. Congrats, honestly."

Hyerin chuckled, stroking your hair.

Soomin popped her mouth off your cock with a wet slurp, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She glanced toward Hayeon's hand still moving between Chaewon's thighs, the soft moans Chaewon couldn't hold back.

"You two do this a lot?" Soomin asked, tilting her head. Then she pointed at them with your cock still in her fist, precum smeared across the tip. "Like… do you just finger her after school while pretending to study?"

Chaewon's eyes flew open, her face burning crimson. "S-Soomin!" she squeaked, voice cracking into another moan as Hayeon curled her fingers inside her.

Hayeon only smirked, not stopping her movements. "Sometimes," she admitted, whispering it against Chaewon's neck before sucking gently at her skin.

Chaewon hid her face in her hands, but her hips betrayed her, rolling back against Hayeon's fingers as another needy whimper spilled from her lips.

Soomin laughed breathlessly. "Unbelievable. Our quiet little Chaewon's a moaner."

And all the while, your cock throbbed in Soomin's slick grip, Hyerin's breath hot against your cheek as she whispered, "Tell me… do you want to see them go all the way?"

"Fuck, he's tough… didn't blow off," Soomin muttered, pumping your cock with her spit-slicked fist. She pulled her hand away, staring at it like she couldn't believe how hard you still were.

"Hmph. Amateur," Hyerin said, smirking as she shifted off your lap. She tugged your arm. "Sit up."

You blinked, dazed from all the stimulation, but you obeyed, pushing yourself upright on the couch. Across from you, Hayeon still had Chaewon pinned, her fingers working deep, Chaewon's soft moans filling the room. The sight alone had your cock twitching, but Hyerin wanted the spotlight now.

"This," she said, tossing her hair back with a grin as she knelt between your legs, "is how you give a blowjob. Take notes, rookie."

Soomin shuffled closer, her eyes wide, watching like a student at the front of the class. "Fine, show me then."

Hyerin smirked up at you once more before wrapping her hand around your shaft. She spat directly onto the head, letting the thick string slide down your cock before she stroked it once, coating it in shine. Then she leaned in, lips parting, and took you into her mouth with a confidence that made your whole body jolt.

Her tongue swirled under the tip, then pressed flat against the underside as she sucked hard, dragging you deeper.

Your head snapped back against the couch. "F-fuck—!"

Soomin gasped, her jaw dropping. "Whoa… he's trembling instantly. That's—damn, that's so different than when I did it."

Hyerin pulled off just enough to smirk, her lips still wrapped around the head. "See?" she said, her voice muffled around your cock before she sank back down.

Her cheeks hollowed as she bobbed with steady rhythm, her hand twisting at the base, her spit bubbling down your shaft. Every motion was practiced, deliberate—she wasn't teasing, she was showing off.

You couldn't stop yourself from grabbing fistfuls of the couch cushions, your thighs quivering under her mouth. "Oh god, Hyerin—"

Soomin leaned closer, eyes wide and shining as she watched your cock disappear between Hyerin's lips. "How the hell… you make it look easy. I was choking just trying to take half."

Hyerin pulled off again with a wet pop, stroking you fast, her hand shiny with spit. "That's ‘cause you don't know how to control your throat yet. Watch carefully."

She immediately went back down, this time deeper, taking you until her nose brushed your stomach. Her throat swallowed around you, and your entire body shuddered, a groan ripping out of your chest.

Soomin's face was flushed, her thighs rubbing together unconsciously as she whispered, "Holy shit… she's actually deepthroating him…"

And across the room, Chaewon let out another helpless moan as Hayeon's fingers pushed deeper, her voice trembling, "H-Hayeon… they're watching—"

But Hayeon only laughed softly against her neck, eyes locked on you, whispering, "Let them."

Hyerin bobbed down deep again, her throat swallowing around you while her hand twisted in perfect rhythm. Your thighs trembled, your breath ragged. Every nerve in your body screamed that you were close.

"Damn, look at him," Soomin whispered, licking her lips unconsciously. She leaned in beside Hyerin, her hand wrapping around the base of your shaft, stroking in time with Hyerin's mouth. "Let me— I wanna feel it too."

Hyerin didn't protest. She pulled back just enough to suck the head hard, letting Soomin's strokes the rest of your length. Their teamwork was messy, wet, relentless.

Your whole body tensed. "F-fuck, I—I can't—"

Hyerin popped off just long enough to smirk up at you. "Don't hold back. Give it to us."

That was it. Your stomach clenched and you groaned loud, hips jerking as your cock erupted. Thick ropes of cum shot out hard, spraying across their faces.

"Ahhh—!" Soomin squealed as a hot strand streaked across her cheek and lips. Another hit her chest, splattering against her uniform.

Hyerin only laughed, jerking your cock through the spurts so it painted her mouth, her chin, her breasts. She let one rope hit her tongue, moaning as she swallowed it.

"F-fuck—it's everywhere!" Soomin gasped, blinking through a drip of cum clinging to her lashes. She looked down at herself and groaned, pulling at her sticky blouse. "Ugh, it even hit my uniform—damn it. I should've just taken this off earlier."

Without hesitation, she started unbuttoning, peeling the stained fabric away from her body. The others watched, breathless, as she shrugged it off, leaving her bra and skirt clinging to her flushed skin.

Hyerin licked her lips, cum still smeared across her cheek as she smirked. "See, rookie? That's how you finish a guy."

Soomin wiped at her chest, then glared half-heartedly at Hyerin. "Tch. You hogged all the fun." But her voice trembled as she looked down at your twitching cock again, still slick and leaking even after painting them both.

Across the room, Hayeon's fingers never stopped moving inside Chaewon, her lips curled in a sly smile. "And you thought we were the only show."

Chaewon whimpered, hiding her face against Hayeon's shoulder, but her hips rocked helplessly against those fingers as she whispered, "It's… it's too much…"

Soomin wiped another streak of cum from her chest with the back of her hand, grinning wide. "Chaewon! Hayeon! You wanna take a turn?"

You almost jumped out of the couch. "Shit—no, no way. I'm still sensitive!" Your cock twitched anyway, defying your words, standing half-hard and still wet with spit and cum.

Hyerin smirked, stroking your thigh with lazy fingers. "Don't be dramatic. Just play with them. They've only ever messed around with toys… never had the real thing."

That froze the air for a second.

Hayeon's eyes glittered as she finally pulled her hand free from between Chaewon's thighs, leaving the girl flushed and trembling. She licked her fingers slowly, before standing and guiding Chaewon toward you, "Let's go, Chaewon."

Chaewon's legs were unsteady, her blouse gone, bra slipping dangerously low, her skirt wrinkled from Hayeon's grip.

They stopped in front of you, both of them staring down at your cock.

"Look at this, Chaewon," Hayeon murmured, her hand brushing over your shaft casually, making you hiss. "It's different than our dildo, right?"

Chaewon swallowed hard, nodding shyly, her lips parting. "It's… it's alive. It twitches…"

"Mm," Hayeon smirked, stroking you once, watching your hips jerk. "Live. Big. Hot." She leaned closer, her breath ghosting against your cock while her arm wrapped around Chaewon's waist, pulling her near. "I wish I could have this to fuck you."

Chaewon gasped softly at the words, her eyes darting from your cock to Hayeon's face. Her whole body was trembling now, caught between embarrassment, fear, and a heat that everyone could see spreading through her.

Soomin laughed, wiping at her cheek again. "Shit, they're actually serious."

Hyerin leaned against your shoulder, her smile wicked. "Of course they are. They've been dying to try it for real. Haven't you, Chaewon?"

Chaewon's face flamed, but she didn't deny it. Her eyes stayed locked on your cock, shiny with spit and cum, while her lips parted like she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

Hayeon slipped away for a moment, leaving Chaewon standing nervously in front of you, her arms wrapped around herself. When she returned, she held a long, thick pink dildo in her hand, the silicone glistening faintly under the room light.

She dangled it between her fingers, holding it next to your cock for comparison. "So, Chaewon," she said smoothly, her eyes never leaving you. "What do you want? This…" She wiggled the dildo teasingly. "…or that?"

Chaewon's cheeks burned crimson. She bit her lip, her gaze darting back and forth between the fake toy and your hard, leaking cock. The silence stretched, heavy, everyone watching.

Finally, with a tiny, trembling motion, Chaewon raised her hand and pointed at you. At your cock.

"Good girl," Hayeon whispered, satisfaction curling in her tone. She tossed the dildo toward Hyerin, who caught it with a laugh and passed it over to Soomin like it was some prize.

"Let's play with it then," Hayeon murmured, placing her hands on Chaewon's shoulders and guiding her down, gently, until she was kneeling between your legs.

Your heart raced, your cock throbbing under her hesitant stare.

Hyerin slid onto the couch beside you, her bare thigh brushing yours. She leaned in close, her lips at your ear. "God, she's so nervous… doesn't it make you want to ruin her?" she whispered, her fingers tracing circles on your inner thigh.

On your other side, Soomin climbed up too, careless with the discarded dildo in her hand, tossing it onto the floor. Instead, she pressed her lips to your chest, licking at your nipple. Her tongue flicked wetly against it, then dragged across your skin to your collarbone. "Mm… salty," she teased, leaving little marks along your neck.

Your body shivered under the triple assault—Hyerin's dirty words curling in your ear, Soomin's hot mouth roaming your skin, and Chaewon's wide eyes staring at your cock inches away, her breath shaky, her lips trembling as Hayeon's hand urged her closer.

"Look at it, Chaewon," Hayeon whispered from behind her, one hand stroking down her arm, the other resting at her waist. "It's not plastic. It's hot. It's alive. It wants you."

Chaewon's lips hovered just a breath away from your cock, trembling so close you swore you could feel the warmth of her breath. But she froze, her hands gripping the hem of her skirt tight.

You groaned, tilting your head back against the couch as Hyerin chuckled at your reaction. "She hasn't even touched it yet, and you're already melting. Or maybe you just love being her first."

And Soomin's tongue dragged up your neck to your ear, whispering, "Let her taste you… I want to see her break."

Cheyeon's body stiffened, and Hayeon chuckled softly behind her, stroking her hair. "Still shy? Then watch me, baby."

Hayeon knelt beside her, steady and calm, her hand wrapping around your base. She licked her lips, then leaned forward, her tongue sliding along the underside of your shaft. The heat of it made you groan instantly, hips jerking.

"See?" Hayeon murmured, smirking up at Chaewon. "It's just like when we take out the dildo at night. Only this one alive."

Chaewon gasped sharply. "Hayeon!" She grabbed Hayeon's cheeks with both hands, pulling her back gently, eyes wide and full of panic. "But—it's him. Isn't this… isn't this cheating?"

For a heartbeat, the room stilled, everyone holding their breath.

Hayeon only laughed softly, brushing a strand of Chaewon's hair from her face with the tenderest touch. "No, silly. We're doing this together. We enjoy this together. There's no cheating… not when I'm right here with you."

Chaewon's lips parted, her eyes trembling with emotion. You could see her body loosen just a little under Hayeon's reassurance.

"Damn," Soomin muttered from your side, shaking her head with a grin. "They're really sweet. Like… disgustingly sweet. Even while sucking dick."

Chaewon's hands trembled on your thighs, her lips still hovering, but this time Hayeon didn't let her freeze. She cupped Chaewon's chin gently, tilting her face toward your cock again.

And then both of them leaned in.

Hayeon's lips wrapped around the head, sucking slow and deliberate, while Chaewon's tongue hesitantly licked along the side. The contrast sent shockwaves through you—Hayeon confident and steady, Chaewon timid and soft, the two of them sharing your cock like it belonged to them.

Your head fell back against the couch. "F-fuck…" The groan ripped out of you, your hips twitching at their combined touch.

Chaewon peeked up through her lashes, cheeks red, but when she saw the way you trembled, she grew bolder. She pressed her mouth lower, licking and kissing the shaft while Hayeon sucked the tip, and soon their tongues brushed against each other over your length.

The wet heat, the sloppy sound, the sight—it was overwhelming.

Your body shook, desperate for more, and instinctively you reached out, finding Hyerin beside you. She was already watching with a smirk, her thighs pressed together tightly.

You grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss, your tongue diving into her mouth. Hyerin moaned softly against your lips, surprised but hungry, and when your hand slid down between her thighs, she gasped into your kiss.

She was soaked—your fingers slipped easily under her panties, stroking her swollen folds. "Nnnh—god, finally," she hissed, biting your lip.

On your other side, Soomin squirmed, her eyes locked on Hayeon and Chaewon's mouths working your cock. "Hey… don't ignore me," she pouted, shifting closer.

Your free hand slid down to her too, pushing under her skirt, finding her wet and needy just like Hyerin. She shivered instantly, her breath catching, then moaned against your neck as your fingers curled inside her.

Now you were pinned in every direction—Hayeon and Chaewon sucking and licking your cock together, Hyerin moaning into your kiss as you fingered her, and Soomin writhing against your other hand, licking your neck like she was starving.

You were groaning nonstop, your hands buried under Hyerin's and Soomin's skirts, two sets of wet folds clutching at your fingers. Their moans mixed with the obscene wet sounds below.

"God, look at them," Soomin whispered breathlessly against your neck, her hips rocking against your hand. "Like they've been starving for cock their whole lives."

Hyerin licked your ear, her voice sharp with jealousy. "Tch… enough of this."

Before you could react, she suddenly shoved Hayeon's shoulder. "Move."

"Hey—" Hayeon blinked, surprised, but Hyerin didn't even glance at her. She grabbed Chaewon by the arm and pulled her off you too, leaving your cock slick, wet, and throbbing in the open air.

"I'm done waiting."

Her eyes locked on yours as she climbed onto the couch, straddling your lap. Her hair spilled down over her shoulders, sweat glistening at her temple, she reached between you, wrapped her fist around your cock, and lined herself up.

Your eyes widened. "H-Hyerin—"

"Shut up," she hissed, kissing you hard, biting your lip. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch them all night."

And then she sank down.

Your cock slid into her in one long, wet push. The tightness was unreal—her pussy gripped you like a fist, hot and soaking.

"F-fuck!" you groaned, your hands flying to her waist.

Hyerin gasped sharply, her nails digging into your shoulders. "God—" She trembled, but a wicked grin spread across her face as she ground down, burying you deep. "You're… bigger than I expected."

You couldn't stop yourself from thrusting up, the tight walls clenching around you. She moaned shamelessly, rocking against you, her breasts bouncing as she moved.

Across from you, Hayeon scoffed, her arm wrapped around Chaewon protectively. "Impatient slut," she muttered, though her eyes never left the sight of your cock disappearing into Hyerin.

Chaewon's cheeks burned, her hand covering her mouth, but she couldn't look away either. "It… it actually fits inside her…" she whispered, trembling.

Soomin groaned at your side, rubbing her thighs together, her eyes glued to Hyerin riding you. "Damn, I'm jealous. She looks so fucking full."

Hyerin leaned down, her lips brushing your ear as she bounced harder, her pussy clenching you in ripples. "Mnhh—do you feel that? That's me owning you. They can lick and play all they want, but I'm the one fucking you first."

Your hips bucked up into her, and she moaned louder, hair flying, sweat dripping down her chest. "Tighter than hell, isn't it?" she gasped, grinding down with brutal force.

"Come on," Hyerin panted, sliding off your lap, her thighs slick with the proof of what you'd just done together. She grabbed your wrist, her hair sticking to her flushed face. "Hayeon's room. Bigger bed. Let's go before I lose it again."

The others followed, half-giggling, half-dazed, like they were drunk on the night's madness.

Hayeon's room was exactly what you expected—a soft pink comforter, scattered books, and a dresser with a mirror that would soon catch every filthy angle.

The second you were inside, Hyerin pushed you onto the bed and crawled over you, lips crashing into yours. She spread her legs wide, grabbed your cock with no hesitation, and guided you back into her.

This time you had control. You rolled her beneath you, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrapped around your waist, her pussy gripping you as you drove in deep.

"Ahhh—fuck, yes," Hyerin cried, her back arching. "Deeper, harder—don't hold back."

Your hips slammed against her thighs, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, her nails clawing down your back. She was tight, needy, but you didn't let up—you fucked her with sharp, steady strokes that made her voice crack.

Soomin suddenly climbed onto the bed too, giggling as she pressed her body against your back. Her breasts squished against your shoulders, her hands sliding down your sides.

"Mmm… you're too greedy, Hyerin," she teased, licking at your neck. "Don't hog him."

"Shut up," Hyerin moaned, clutching you tighter. "He's mine right now!"

Your thrusts grew faster, rougher, and you felt the pressure building. Hyerin's legs locked around you like a trap, her moans turning into desperate cries.

"I'm—fuck, I'm gonna—!"

You pulled out just in time, stroking yourself quickly as you spilled thick ropes of cum across her stomach. Hyerin gasped, looking down at the mess, her chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. "God… you covered me…"

"Mm, my turn," Hayeon's voice chimed from the other side of the bed.

You looked up to see her already lying back, her uniform shirt half open, her skirt hiked to her waist. She spread her legs deliberately, her panties pushed aside, her eyes daring you.

"Come here."

You didn't hesitate. Still hard from Hyerin's tightness, you shifted over her, lining yourself up with her slick entrance. She guided you in with a breathless sigh, her pussy welcoming you in a hot squeeze.

"Ohhh… oh my god," Hayeon moaned, tossing her head back against the pillow. "He's inside me, Chaewon… he's so much better than our toys."

Chaewon, left sitting on the edge of the bed, flushed scarlet. She hugged her knees, torn between watching and looking away. But Soomin noticed.

Soomin's smirk was wicked as she crawled toward her, raising her eyebrows like she was plotting something. "Hey Chaewon."

Chaewon frowned nervously. "W-what?"

"Let's play," Soomin purred, grabbing her wrist.

Chaewon squeaked, resisting half-heartedly, but Soomin's hand was already sliding up her thigh.

"No! Hayeon-ah!" Chaewon cried out, flustered, her voice cracking. "Soomin's—she's—she's touching me!"

Hayeon was too busy moaning beneath you, her nails digging into your arms as you fucked her steadily. She managed to glance up through half-lidded eyes, seeing Soomin pinning Chaewon down.

"W-wait, Chaewon—oh god—ahhh, this feels too good," Hayeon gasped, her moans breaking apart as your cock slammed into her. "Don't let her take you from me—ohhhh fuck, he's so deep—!"

Chaewon's face burned hotter, her body arching despite herself. "So—Soomin, stop, this is—ahhh—wrong!"

"Wrong?" Soomin teased, grinding her fingers against Chaewon's soaked panties. "You're dripping all over my hand already. Don't pretend you're not loving this."

Chaewon squirmed, torn between Hayeon's desperate cries and Soomin's relentless teasing.

Meanwhile, you slammed into Hayeon harder, your cock gliding effortlessly from how wet she was. She clung to you, her lips brushing your ear.

"I c-can't… I can't hold it," she whimpered. "Fuck me harder, please, don't stop, don't stop—"

Her legs tightened around you, her body shaking, and then she let out a sharp cry, her climax hitting her in waves. She writhed beneath you, her pussy squeezing you so tight it nearly pushed you over the edge again.

You groaned, fighting to stay inside her as she came, watching her fall apart under you.

At the same time, Chaewon's whimpers turned into high-pitched moans. Soomin had her panties pulled aside, her fingers sliding deep, curling perfectly.

"Ahhh, n-no—don't—Hayeon-ah! She's fucking me with her fingers—!"

Hayeon, barely catching her breath, reached for Chaewon's hand blindly. "D-don't let go of me—Chaewon-ah, I… I don't want to lose you."

Soomin only grinned, leaning in to whisper against Chaewon's neck. "Then cum for both of us. Let her hear how sweet you sound when you break."

Chaewon's back arched violently, her cries filling the room as Soomin drove her over the edge.

Hyerin still wiping your cum off her stomach, "What a drama," she said shakes her head.

Soomin's fingers slid out of Chaewon, leaving her trembling and breathless on the sheets. With a satisfied smirk, she turned her attention to you.

"Alright, my turn," she said, crawling on all fours toward you. Her skirt was already bunched at her waist, her panties shoved to one side. She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming, then reached behind to spread her ass wide with both hands.

"Come on, don't make me beg."

The sight made your cock twitch violently—her glistening pussy framed by the tight roundness of her ass, her cheeks spread open shamelessly.

"God, Soomin…" you muttered, grabbing her hips.

"You're wasting time," she teased, shaking her ass at you. "I want it rough."

That was all the permission you needed. You pushed into her in one hard thrust, burying yourself deep.

Soomin let out a strangled cry, her back arching. "F-fuck—yes!"

Your hips snapped against her ass, the smack of skin echoing in the room. You gripped her waist tight, pounding into her, each thrust making her knees buckle.

"Holy shit, he's—he's splitting me open!" she gasped, her voice breaking. She shoved her ass back against you, greedy for every inch. "Harder—don't you dare go easy on me!"

You answered by driving into her even rougher, your balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. The sound was obscene—wet, raw, unrelenting.

Chaewon, still trembling from Soomin's fingers, peeked up with wide eyes. Her cheeks burned red at the sight of you hammering into Soomin from behind. "T-that looks… too much…"

Hayeon, lying spent on the bed beside her, bit her lip, watching you fuck Soomin mercilessly. "No… it looks perfect. Look at her face, Chaewon-ah. She's in heaven."

Hyerin crawled up next to Soomin, grabbing her chin to make her look forward. "Eyes open, slut," she hissed, smirking. "Show him how much you love getting wrecked."

Soomin's tongue lolled out, her moans spilling freely. "Ohhh god—I can't—he's fucking me so good—!"

You slammed into her again, sweat dripping down your back, your cock buried to the hilt each time. She was tighter than you expected, her pussy clenching around you, milking you for every drop you had left.

"Fuck, Soomin," you groaned, gripping her hair, yanking her head back. "You're dripping all over me."

"Y-yeah? Then fill me up!" she cried, shaking under you. "Don't pull out this time, I want it inside—ahhh!"

Your thrusts grew frantic, the pressure building fast. Her ass jiggled with every impact, her body trembling like she was about to collapse.

Around you, the others moaned and squirmed at the sight—Hyerin rubbing herself shamelessly, Hayeon biting Chaewon's neck as her hand wandered down between her legs again.

Your thrusts grew harder, slamming into Soomin until the bedframe rattled. Her moans turned high and broken, her hands slipping as her arms gave out. She collapsed onto her elbows, cheek pressed to the mattress, ass still in the air as you fucked her relentlessly.

"Ahhh—ahhh fuck—!" she screamed, her whole body jerking. "I'm—I'm cumming! Don't stop—don't fucking stop—!"

Her pussy clenched down on you in wild, pulsing waves, soaking you with her release. Her thighs trembled violently, her nails clawing at the sheets. She wailed one last time, her voice cracking into silence as her body gave out, trembling under you.

You slowed, then pulled out with a sharp groan, your cock still throbbing, slick with her wetness. A thick line of her cum dripped down her inner thighs, proof of just how hard she'd been wrecked.

Soomin collapsed fully, panting into the pillow, sweat dripping down her back. "Holy… f-fuck… I can't feel my legs…" she mumbled with a weak laugh.

But your cock still stood hard and angry, veins bulging, desperate for release. You weren't done yet. Not until the last girl.

Your gaze shifted.

Chaewon.

She was pressed against the headboard, knees hugged tight to her chest, eyes wide. She'd been watching the whole time, and now the spotlight had fallen squarely on her.

Hyerin smirked, wiping sweat from her chest as she followed your gaze. "Guess who's last," she teased, reaching out to tug Chaewon's ankle.

Chaewon jerked back, her face redder than ever. "W-wait, no—! I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Hayeon cut in, her voice soft but firm. She crawled up beside Chaewon, cupping her flushed cheeks. "Don't be scared. You saw how good it felt. You want it too, right?"

"I—" Chaewon stuttered, her eyes flicking nervously between Hayeon's reassuring smile and your cock, still slick and throbbing in your hand.

Soomin raised her head weakly from the mattress, smirking through her panting. "Don't be shy, princess… he's saved the best for you."

You reached out, steadying your voice even though your body was on fire. "Chaewon… I'll go slow. I promise."

Her lips trembled, her thighs pressing together tight. But Hayeon kissed her softly, brushing her hair back, whispering against her lips. "I'll be right here with you. Let's do this together."

And slowly, nervously, Chaewon let her knees fall open.

Chaewon trembled as you eased over her, your hands planted firm on the mattress so you wouldn't crush her. Her thighs quivered, spread awkwardly, but Hayeon stayed right beside her, stroking her hair, kissing her cheek softly.

You lined yourself up, the head of your cock brushing her slick folds. She gasped sharply, clutching Hayeon's hand like she'd fall apart from just that.

"Easy…" you whispered, nudging forward slowly. "Tell me if it's too much."

Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, but then she nodded, biting her lip.

The first push made her cry out, her nails digging into the sheets. Hayeon immediately kissed her lips, muffling the sound, whispering, "Shhh… you're okay, Chaewon-ah. I've got you."

Bit by bit, you sank deeper, the heat and tightness drawing a groan from your throat. Chaewon's legs trembled around you, her eyes wide and watery, but then—something shifted. Her body adjusted, her moans softened, and she clung to Hayeon like an anchor.

"See?" Hayeon murmured between kisses. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Chaewon's shy nod turned into a soft moan. "Mmh… y-yeah…"

You started gentle, rocking your hips in shallow strokes, giving her time to get used to the stretch. Her pussy squeezed you snugly, her breath breaking into little gasps each time.

But the more you moved, the more her moans grew. Her body arched, hips lifting to meet you without realizing.

"F-faster," she whispered suddenly, her voice desperate.

Your eyebrows shot up, but you obeyed. You drove deeper, harder, your hips smacking against her thighs. Chaewon's moan pitched higher, her back arching beautifully against the sheets.

"Ohhh god—Hayeon—!" she cried, clutching her girlfriend's shoulders.

Hayeon kissed her feverishly, her own moans slipping as she watched you slam into Chaewon. "Yes, let him—fuck, you sound so hot."

The rhythm grew rougher, each thrust shaking the bed. Chaewon's cries turned needy, shameless, every sound spilling free into Hayeon's mouth.

And you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a growl, you pulled out just as your orgasm ripped through you, stroking your cock desperately until hot ropes of cum splattered across Chaewon's flushed face.

Her eyes flew wide, stunned, dripping with your release.

"Yah!" Hayeon shoved at your chest, laughing breathlessly. "You ruined my beautiful girlfriend!" She leaned down without hesitation, her tongue darting out as she licked a thick streak from Chaewon's cheek. "Don't worry, Chaewon-ah, I'll clean you up…"

Chaewon whimpered, flustered, but melted under Hayeon's kisses as she licked and sucked your cum off her skin, moaning like it was candy.

Across the bed, Soomin burst out laughing, still sprawled weakly on her stomach. "That's exactly disgustingly sweet, isn't it, Hyerin?"

Hyerin, sitting back against the wall with her arms crossed and legs still trembling from earlier, only hummed, smirking faintly. "Mm… sweet, disgusting, whatever. I'm just jealous she's the one tasting it now."

The room filled with mixed giggles, panting, and lazy moans—the chaos mellowing into soft aftershocks.

You collapsed back against the mattress, cock still twitching, utterly drained, but surrounded by four sweaty, flushed, and satisfied girls.

And somehow, you knew the night was far from over.

Chaewon lay against Hayeon's chest, still red-faced and trembling as her girlfriend kissed away the last of your cum from her cheeks. Soomin sprawled out half-asleep, lazily stroking herself as if she couldn't stop. Hyerin stretched her arms behind her head, eyes glittering with smug satisfaction as she watched you try to catch your breath.

But your cock never truly went down.

Hyerin noticed first. "Tch," she scoffed, sliding closer, straddling your stomach. Her slick folds brushed your abs as she grinned down at you. "You're still hard. Figures. Guess we'll break you tonight."

That was all it took. The cycle began again.

Hyerin rode you raw until she screamed herself hoarse, her nails dragging red lines across your chest. You flipped her over, fucking her into the mattress while she begged for more.

When she finally collapsed, Soomin crawled over, pushing Hyerin aside with a laugh. "Move, slut. My turn again." She went face down, ass high, and you pounded into her doggy until her legs gave out. Her cries shook the walls, her pussy dripping all over your thighs.

Hayeon wasn't far behind. She pulled you by the arm, dragging you onto her, whispering, "Fill me this time. Don't pull out." Her needy voice broke into sobs of pleasure as you obeyed, spilling inside her while she clutched Chaewon's hand.

Chaewon, red and shaking, was coaxed back by the others. "He'll be gentle," Hayeon whispered, guiding her again. But this time, Chaewon wasn't shy for long—her hips bucked wildly once she adjusted, and she clung to you desperately, moaning your name until you painted her stomach with cum again.

And so it went, round after round.

Hyerin bouncing on top of you while Soomin licked your nipples.

Soomin grinding down on your cock while Hyerin pulled your hair, kissing you rough.

Hayeon straddling Chaewon's face while you drove into her from behind, both of them screaming each other's names.

Chaewon, finally emboldened, begging for it harder, until you lost yourself and drenched her again.

Hours blurred into one endless knot of bodies—skin on skin, tongues, moans, cries, the bed squeaking and sheets tangled beyond saving. Every hole was explored, every position tried, every girl taken more than once.

By the time dawn slipped through the curtains, you were wrecked—throat raw from groaning, cock sore and swollen, your body covered in scratches, bites, and sweat.

The girls were no better. Hyerin slept sprawled over your chest like she owned you. Soomin curled at your side, smirking even in her sleep. Hayeon and Chaewon tangled together at the edge of the bed, still whispering sweet nothings between lazy kisses, their thighs sticky with everything you'd given them.

You closed your eyes, utterly drained, surrounded by heat, by softness, by the weight of four girls who had claimed you in every possible way.

The breakup wasn’t dramatic or some big scene.

She had sat across from you at the kitchen table with her hands folded.

“I think we’ve become different people. I don’t see a future here… a future with you anymore.” You asked for specifics. All you got were generic non-answers.

None of it felt real.

It felt like she was reading statement she prepared for a meeting at work. When she got up to leave, she didn’t even hug you. She just have you a pat on the shoulder and walked out.

Then she walked out and when the door clicked shut. That’s when you just didn’t care about anything anymore.

For days, you didn’t leave your apartment. You ordered food you didn’t eat. You aimlessly doom scrolled for hours on end.

Your friend Sunghoon called every evening. His voice on the phone was a buoy in a flat, gray sea. “You’re alive. That’s a start. We build from there.”

You didn’t build. You just floated aimlessly in your own thoughts.

Sunghoon is a music producer. A very successful one, you’ve seen his name on credits for songs you’ve heard just about everywhere you go. He lives in a nice part of Seoul, it’s a place with a view that costs more than your entire monthly salary.

Two days ago, he decided that you needed a birthday party.

“It’s your birthday,” his tone leaving no room for debate. “You will be in my apartment and there will be people and there will be music. Dude, there will even be a cake for you that isn’t from a convenience store. This is not optional.”

You argued with him, fuck that. You said that you weren’t ready for crowds, weren’t for pretending to be okay. He cut you off. “You don’t have to pretend man. You can chill in a corner and people watch. But you will be here.”

So here you are at your birthday party in his apartment.

Sunghoon’s apartment is huge with it’s open floor plan. One entire side of it is just windows and another side has a balcony, all of it having a crazy view of Seoul at night. The music isn’t loud, just a some lounge music Sunghoon probably worked on. The place smells like citrus and smoke from both Sunghoon’s love of essential oils and the people smoking on the balcony.

You sit on a wide leather ottoman with your back against the wall holding a glass of something amber-colored that Sunghoon handed you. You haven’t sipped it. He said you could just sit in a corner and people watch, so that’s what you do.

Sunghoon really is a conductor as he moves through the room. He laughs with a group near the kitchen. He adjusts the volume on a speaker with a tap of his phone. He introduces people to each other with ease. He is clearly in his element.

You are most certainly not.

A woman with short dyed red hair approaches you. You know her as a friend of Sunghoon’s, someone you’ve met once before at some random gallery opening, her name is Chae, at least as far as you can remember.

“Sunghoon said you might be… still recovering.”

“He talks too much.”

Chae nods. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just stands there for a moment. “The view is better from the balcony. There’s less… people,” gesturing toward the sliding glass doors.

Less people sounds good so that’s where you go. You step out into the cool air with the distant noise of the city streets below. A couple of people are smoking while looking to be in some sort of romantic conversation. Those were the days. They glance at you, then return back to their convo.

You lean against the railing with the glass of whatever cool against your palm. You look down at the streets, the moving dots of cars, the patterns of lit windows. You just want this day to be over.

Sunghoon finds you ten minutes later. He comes out alone carrying his own drink and stands next to you at the railing. He doesn’t look at you, he just looks out onto the city.

“Sorry that it’s not a great party. That you’re not having a good time.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. The vibe is too chill. I think I invited the wrong people,” taking a sip from his glass. “But it’s happening. That’s the important part.”

You turn your head to look at him.

“Why is it important?”

“Because you’re here. You’re outside your apartment. You’re breathing air that isn’t stale with your own misery. That’s why it’s important, it’s a building block.”

You don’t answer. You look back at the city.

“She called me,” Sunghoon says.

Your body stiffens. You don’t move.

“Jen?”

“Yeah. Two days ago. She asked me if you were okay.”

Nope. You definitely weren’t okay.

You wait.

“I told her you were alive. I told her that was the current status report. She asked if you were eating. I said I wasn’t your mother.” Sunghoon pauses. “She sounded… fine. Not sad. Not guilty. Just curious. Like checking the weather for a place she used to live.”

The metaphor is apt and makes your throat tight.

“Did you tell her about this?”

“Of course I didn’t man. This is your thing. Not hers. You don’t owe her shit. She made her choice. You get to make yours now. Starting with not letting a Tuesday be just a Tuesday.”

The music inside changes to a new track, the bass is now vibrating through the glass door.

“Come on inside dude. At least take a look at the cake. It’s a great cake. I paid a lot for it.”

You follow him back in. You can tell a few more people have arrived. You recognize a face from college, a guy who used to study film. He nods at you from across the room. You nod back.

The cake is on a table near the kitchen and you hate to admit it, but it look amazing. Definitely done by a professional. This should’ve been for someone else, someone who deserves it more.

Sunghoon claps his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay everyone, who wants cake?”

People gather around the table. Some smile. Some look amused. Some just look interested in the cake. Sunghoon grabs a knife and starts cutting the cake.

“This is me, I’m forcing this slice of happiness upon you,” slicing a generous portion. He plates it and hands it to you.

You take it.

You don’t want cake.

You take it because it’s easier than saying no.

Someone, Chae maybe, tries to start the Happy Birthday song. It’s half-hearted, almost ironic. Sunghoon shakes his head.

“That was pathetic. Let’s never do that again.” People laugh. The tension breaks.

You take a bite. It’s rich. It’s good. The fact that it’s good feels like a minor betrayal. You deserve to be eating something tasteless.

Sunghoon watches you eat. He doesn’t comment. He just turns back to the cake, serving others.

For the next hour, you make a round through the apartment. You owe it to Sunghoon to at least do that. You do speak to a few people. You answer questions about your work, that you’re a copy editor for a technology company, a fact that feels embarrassing in this room of producers and artists. You listen to stories about projects, about trips, about studio tea. You nod. You smile when it seems required.

Sunghoon is always nearby. He doesn’t push you into conversations. He just makes sure you’re not alone in a corner for too long. He introduces you to a songwriter who talks about lyric structure for ten minutes. You don’t process any of it.

You shed your jacket as it starts to heat up as more people show up, leaving it on a chair by the window. You finally finish your drink. Sunghoon replaces it with another, something clear and fizzy. Guess he has you on the Kennedy Package from How I Met Your Mother.

“More social lubricant.”

You drink it. It tastes like lime and something minty.

You end your trip around the room sitting on a different ottoman that’s next to a booksheld. A photographer Sunghoon collaborates with sometimes, Soojin, sits on a stool next to you. She asks you about the book you’re pretending to look at on the shelf.

“Have you read that?”

“No.”

She gets the message loud and clear and just sips her drink as she quietly sits there.

You catch yourself thinking of Jen again as the time passes, what she’d be doing right now. Probably at home, reading. She liked quiet nights. You liked quiet nights with her. Now everything has been a different kind of quiet.

It’s empty.

Sunghoon comes to sit next to you on the ottoman. Soojin had left you to talk to someone else.

“How’s the social lubricant?”

“It’s… lubricating,” the attempt at humor feels hollow.

“Good. I have a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“A guest. Someone you wouldn’t expect to be here. Someone I wouldn’t normally have at my apartment.” He checks his phone. “She should be getting here just about… now.”

You can’t help but be a little curious.

“Who?”

Sunghoon stands up.

“You’ll see. And don’t ask questions. Just… try to be normal or your version of normal, which currently is a fascinating study of a bookshelf.”

You follow his gaze to the closed door to the apartment while the buzz of the party continues.

Then the door opens.

A woman wearing a simple black dress steps inside.

Sunghoon goes to greet her.

“You made it!”

The woman smiles back you can tell the energy in the room changes a bit when people see her walk in.

Wait… you know her face. You’ve seen it on screens, on music videos, on variety shows. You’ve heard her voice on songs that play literally everywhere in Seoul.

It’s Giselle… from aespa.

Your brain freezes.

What the fuck?

She greets Sunghoon with a quick hug.

“Sunghoon! Thanks for inviting me. Sorry I’m late.”

“You have perfect timing,” Sunghoon guides her further into the apartment. “The party was getting way too mellow. You’re the cure.”

Giselle laughs and scans the room, scoping everything out. She nods at a few people who nod at her.

You remain on the ottoman. You watch. Your brain tries to process what’s happening. Giselle is here. In Sunghoon’s apartment. At your birthday party.

Sunghoon leads her toward the kitchen area, introducing her to a small cluster of people. She engages, smiling, shaking hands when offered. She looks like she belongs somewhere else with way more famous people, not here.

Sunghoon glances back at you. He gives a slight nod, telepathically saying to stay there. He continues talking to Giselle just as relaxed as one can be talking to someone like her. Maybe they’ve worked together.

You finish your drink leaving you slightly buzzed but you’re no longer stuck in your own head. You stand up from the ottoman. You don’t move toward Giselle. You move toward the window, looking out again at the city lights.

By the window you can people watch without being seen. Giselle moves through the room with Sunghoon. She stops to talk to the film graduate from your university and she looks genuinely engaged. She is performing, but the performance seems natural, effortless. It’s her job, after all, to be engaging with whoever and about whatever.

Eventually Sunghoon leaves Giselle next to the bookshelf to go talk to someone else. You watch Giselle check out a few out before putting them back. She turns and just looks around the party.

Her eyes briefly meet yours before you watch her walk out and lean against the railing to look out at the city.

You stay by the window and watch her. She is the surprise guest and Sunghoon’s plan, whatever it is, has introduced a new element into your stagnant equation. But, you haven’t met her. You haven’t spoken to her.

The party is still going strong.

Sunghoon was talking to the songwriter again, gesturing towards the speakers as if he was showing off. You watched from your spot near the window. Giselle remained on the balcony. You wondered what she was thinking. Probably nothing. Probably just taking a moment away from the crowd. You could relate.

You turned away from the window. Your glass was empty again. You considered going to the kitchen for water. Instead, you just stood there.

Then Sunghoon was beside you. His hand landed on your shoulder.

“You’ve been over here for a while bro, let’s go talk to someone.”

You looked at him. “Like who?”

“The surprise guest. You haven’t met her.”

“I saw her.”

“Seeing is not meeting. Meeting involves words. Possibly facial expressions.” He squeezed your shoulder. “Come on. She’s out there all alone. Perfect setting. Quiet. No audience.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s interesting. Because I invited her here for you, not for me.” He gave you a look that was uncharacteristically serious. “Trust me man.”

You didn’t have a reason to refuse. So you nodded.

Sunghoon took you by the arm and dragged you outside.

Sunghoon cleared his throat.

“Aeri.”

He really does know her since he’s calling her by her real name.

Aeri turned. The phone light vanished as she lowered the device.

“Sunghoon, what are you doing out here? You just escaping the noise?”

“Bringing you the birthday boy,” Sunghoon nudged you forward a step. “This is the friend. The one whose birthday we are technically celebrating, despite his commitment to staying in a corner like he’s in the Blair Witch Project.”

Aeri’s eyes moved from Sunghoon to you. She gazed right at you. She didn’t extend a hand. She just looked at you.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Sunghoon patted you on the back. “I’ll leave you two to… talk about the weather or something. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

He went back inside, leaving you and Aeri alone.

Aeri turned back to look out over the city.

“It’s a good view,” she said after a moment. “Sunghoon’s place is nice. High up. You can see everything but you don’t hear everything. That’s the trick.”

You leaned against the railing too, mimicking her stance. The metal was cold under your palms.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t talk much.”

“Not tonight.”

“Birthdays are weird.”

From her clutch bag she took out a metal flash and took a swig.

“You’re not drinking what’s inside?”

“The stuff inside is fine. This stuff is way better.”

She offered the flask toward you. “Want some? It’s just whiskey. Good whiskey.”

You hesitated. You hadn’t planned on drinking more, but it was a nice gesture. You reached out and took the flask. You sipped. That is good whiskey.

“Thanks,” you handed her the flask back and she put it back in her bag.

“Sunghoon said you had a rough month.”

You stiffened. “He talks too much.”

“He definitely does, but he means well. He worries. He throws parties for sad friends. It’s his thing.”

She turned to look at you, her face was illuminated by the city light.

“Listen I’m not here to pry, he just asked me to come. He said you might need a… distraction.”

“A distraction?” The word felt odd.

“Yeah. Something new for you. A new face for you to look at. A new conversation for you to have. I’m good at this sort of thing, it’s part of my job. I have to talk everywhere I go.”

“Is this a job conversation?”

She smiled. “No. This is a balcony conversation, there’s different rules out here.”

“What are the rules?”

“No cameras, no microphones, and no need to be charming. Just… talk. Or don’t talk. Both are fine.”

She leaned against the railing more. “I like balconies. You can people watch, but they can’t watch you.”

You absorbed that. It made sense. “Do you get tired of being watched?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

“Sometimes, but it’s the trade off of being an idol. I get to sing. I get to dance on stages. I get to wear clothes that cost more than most people’s first car. So I’m fine with being watched most of the time.”

She glanced back at you. “But tonight, I’m here. On a balcony. With a stranger who doesn’t want to talk about my last comeback.”

“I don’t know anything about your last comeback.”

She laughed. “Good because most of the time when I meet someone new they pretend and act like they know everything about my life and my job. It’s so exhausting. You’re just… here. Not pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’m not good at that.”

“That’s obvious. Everything you’re feeling is right there on the surface. Sadness. Confusion. A bit of annoyance at Sunghoon for forcing this.”

You blinked. “Is it?”

“To me it is. I know how to read people pretty well,” taking out her flask to take a drink. “I can to tell that you just want to be left alone.”

“But you’re not.”

“Because Sunghoon asked me not to. Maybe it’s because I’m a little curious too. I meet very few people who aren’t just trying to impress me. It’s honestly refreshing. Also, you haven’t asked me for a selfie or for my autograph. That’s a plus.”

“What if I asked for a selfie?”

“I’d say no. Politely. Then I’d probably leave. You would’ve broken the balcony rules.”

“So no selfies.”

“No selfies, also no questions about what the other members are like. No questions about our next comeback. No questions about dating rumors. Those are all balcony rule violations.”

“What’s allowed?”

“Weather. City views. Complaints about parties. Thoughts about Sunghoon’s terrible taste in art, he has a painting in the living room that looks like a confused squid. Whiskey. General life complaints. That’s all allowed.”

You felt a small smile tug at your lips. It was involuntary. “The squid painting is pretty bad.”

“It’s horrible. I told him last time I was here. He said it had ‘abstract energy.’ I told him it was a squid having a stroke.”

“He didn’t move it.”

“He doubled down and bought another one. It’s in his studio now. A matching squid that had a stroke. He’s so stubborn, but he’s a good producer.”

The conversation was drifting, easy. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t meaningful. It was just words passing between two people on a balcony. You found yourself relaxing into it. The tightness in your shoulders eased a fraction.

“Why did you come? Sunghoon asked, but you could have said no.”

She leaned her elbows on the railing, “I was bored. My schedule today was light. After having to do a few things this morning I just sat in my apartment doing nothing. Sunghoon texted me, said he had a party for a friend who was going through it. So I came. Also, I like parties where I’m not the main event. Here, I’m just a guest. You’re the main event. It’s a nice change.”

“I’m not a main event.”

“You are. It’s your birthday. The cake says your name on it. Sunghoon’s whole production is for you. I’m just a supporting character.” She smiled again. “It’s a good role. Less pressure.”

You looked down at the street below. “I don’t feel like a main event.”

“That’s okay. You can feel like a bystander. The event can still happen around you.” She now fully face you. “Sunghoon said you got broken up with. Recently.”

The mention of Jen was like a cold draft. You felt your body tighten again. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t give details. Just said it was… a clean break.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“Clean breaks are the worst. No drama. No fighting. Just… a decision. Then a door closes. It leaves no scars to point to. You just have a blank space where something used to be.”

Her words mirrored your own thoughts so closely it startled you.

“You sound like you’ve had one.”

“I’ve had a few. Not romantic ones. Professional ones. Friendships that just… ended because schedules changed. Because priorities shifted. No arguments. Just a slow fading out.” She took another sip from her flask, then offered it to you again.

You took it and drank a larger sip this time. The burn was stronger, spreading through your chest. You handed it back.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She tucked the flask away again. “So. You’re sad. I’m here. Sunghoon is inside, probably defending his squid art. What do you want to do?”

The question was unexpected. “Do?”

“On your birthday. Usually people do something. They make a wish. They blow out candles. They get drunk and sing bad songs. You’ve done the candle part. The singing was done for you, badly. The drinking is… getting there. What’s next?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Last year my birthday was all jam packed full of schedules. I didn’t have to decide.” She paused. “It was nice, but it wasn’t… mine. It was the company’s birthday for me.”

You considered that. The idea of a birthday that belonged to someone else. “This isn’t my party either. It’s Sunghoon’s.”

“But you’re here. You could take it.” she playfully said, teasing. “You could go inside and demand a different song. You could tell everyone to leave. You could sit in the center of the room and declare yourself king of the ottomans.”

“That sounds… chaotic.”

“Birthdays can be chaotic. They’re a celebration of surviving another year. Survival is chaotic.” She grinned. “I like chaos. In controlled doses.”

You watched her grin, it was infections. For the first time you felt in a long time you felt like smiling again. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. More… formal. More guarded.”

“I’m guarded when I need to be. And right now, I don’t need to be.” She leaned backand stretched her arms. The movement made her dress tighten across her chest for a second. “I’m just Aeri. On a balcony. Talking to a sad depressed boy. Trying to make him less sad and depressed by talking about squid art and bad birthdays.”

“It’s working a little.”

“Good.” She seemed pleased. “That’s the goal.”

The sliding door opened again, Sunghoon stepped out, holding two fresh glasses. They were filled with something clear and bubbly. “I brought reinforcements. Also, Soojin has been defeated. My bookshelf remains organized by author, not by color. A small victory for my sanity.”

He handed a glass to Aeri and one to you. You took it.

“What is it?” Aeri asked, examining her glass.

“Something fizzy and non-whiskey based. To cleanse the palate. Also, to hydrate. You two look like you’re having a deep philosophical discussion about urban loneliness.”

“We were discussing your art collection,” Aeri said, her tone dry.

Sunghoon sighed. “Listen, the squids are misunderstood. They’re about the fluidity of creative energy.”

“They’re about the fluidity of bad taste,” Aeri countered, taking a sip from her new glass.

Sunghoon laughed. He looked at you. “You’re smiling. That’s a new facial expression. I was worried your face had frozen into a permanent grimace.”

You took a drink. The bubbles tickled your tongue. “It’s temporary.”

“I’ll take temporary.” Sunghoon leaned against the balcony door frame. “So. How is this balcony summit going?”

“It’s going. We’ve established rules. No selfies. No career questions. Weather is acceptable. Your art is a key topic.”

“Excellent.” Sunghoon looked at you. “You should invite her to critique your apartment decor. It’s mostly empty walls and a single sad plant.”

“The plant is doing fine.”

“It’s dying. You water it with guilt.”

Aeri laughed again. You found yourself watching her laugh. It was a full body reaction, unrestrained.

“I like your friend,” Aeri said to Sunghoon. “He’s… blunt. In a quiet way.”

“He’s a wordsmith. He edits text for a living. He’s allergic to unnecessary adjectives.”

“That’s a good allergy,” she looked at you. “Most people use too many adjectives. They say things are ‘amazing’ or ‘incredible’ or ‘literally the best’ for everything. It’s exhausting.”

“You hear that a lot?” you asked.

“Every day. In interviews, in comments, in meetings. Everything is ‘iconic’ or ‘legendary’ or ‘next level.’” She rolled her eyes. “I prefer words like ‘fine.’ Or ‘acceptable.’ Or ‘not terrible.’”

“Not terrible is my favorite compliment,” Sunghoon said.

The three of you stood there for a moment. Sunghoon asked Aeri about a song she’d recently recorded, but in a technical way to try to skirt the balcony rules, about the vocal processing, not the content. Aeri answered with specifics, talking about microphone types and compression settings. It was a world you didn’t understand, but you listened anyways.

After a few minutes, Sunghoon excused himself. “I have to go prevent another crisis. Someone is trying to connect their phone to my speaker system. That’s a line I must defend.” He slipped back inside, leaving you and Aeri alone again.

The night air had grown cooler. Aeri rubbed her arms briefly. “Getting cold.”

“We can go inside.”

“I like the cold though. It’s refreshing. Anyways, birthday boy. What’s the plan for the rest of the night?”

“I don’t have a plan.”

“There has to be something you want to do.” She took the last sip from her fizzy drink then placed the empty glass on a small table near the door. “I think have a plan.”

“What’s your plan?”

“My plan is to leave this party soon. It’s nice, but I have a… limit for social gatherings. Two hours is my limit. After two hours, I start wanting to be somewhere else.” She checked a slim watch on her wrist. “I’m at one hour forty-five. So I have fifteen minutes.”

You felt a strange sense of disappointment. It was faint, but still there. The balcony conversation had actually been nice. Its ending meant returning to being in the corner of the room, alone. “Where will you go?”

“Home. My apartment. It’s not far from here. Ten minutes by car. You know, there also part two of my plan. It involves an invitation.”

You waited. The city noise seemed to fade for a moment.

“You could come with me, if you want. The party will keep going. Sunghoon will be fine. You could… leave. Have a different kind of birthday.”

The offer hung in the air. You processed it slowly. “To your apartment?”

“Yes. To my apartment. It’s quiet. It has a better view than this one, actually. And I have much better whiskey.” She smiled, a smaller smile this time. “No terrible art. No people. Just a quiet space. You could sit. You could talk. You could not talk. The balcony rules would still apply, but indoors.”

Your brain supplied questions. Why? What does she want? Is this normal? The idea of leaving though pushed those questions away. Going somewhere entirely new was appealing.

“I’m not… I’m not good company right now.”

“I don’t need good company. You’re interesting. You’re sad, but you’re not boring. You listen. You don’t try to impress me. That’s interesting.” She leaned a little closer. “Also, I’m bored when I’m home alone. Having someone there would be less boring. It’s a selfish invitation.”

“You really think Sunghoon would be okay with it?”

“Sunghoon would probably applaud it. He wants you to have a distraction. This is a distraction. A private, quiet distraction. But it’s your choice. You can stay here, eat more cake, listen to more conversations about lyric structure. Or you can leave with me.”

Aeri watched you think. She didn’t press. She didn’t try to give you more reasons. She just stood there, waiting.

“Okay.” The word left your mouth before you fully decided, but once it was out, it felt the right call. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Her smile returned, brighter now.

“Good. That’s a plan.”

She checked her watch again. “Five minutes left in my party allowance. Let’s say goodbye to Sunghoon. Then we can get out of here.”

You followed her back to the warmth inside and saw that Sunghoon was near the kitchen, talking to Chae. He saw you and Aeri and his expression shifted to one of curiosity.

“We’re getting out of here,” Aeri announced.

Sunghoon looked at you. “Departing? Together?”

“Yes,” you said. “Aeri’s… invited me to her place.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Aeri then back at you with a slow grin spreading across his face. “Excellent.” He clapped your shoulder again. “Have fun with her. Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t.”

“That’s a lot of things,” Aeri deadpan.

“Just make sure to have a good time. Text me if you need a rescue. Or if you get lost. Or if you decide to critique her art collection.”

“I don’t have an art collection, I have plants. They’re alive. Unlike his.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Go. Escape. The party will survive without its main characters.”

Aeri gave Sunghoon a friendly pat on the arm. “Thanks for inviting me. It was… not that bad.”

“High praise,” Sunghoon grinned.

You nodded at Sunghoon. “Thanks. For the party.”

“You’re welcome. Now go.” He waved you off, turning back to Chae.

Aeri led you toward the door to leave. She moved with grace through the room, nodding at a few people as she passed. You followed. The room’s attention seemed to follow her, but she didn’t stop for anyone.

At the door, she paused, turning to you. “You have everything? Phone? Keys?”

You checked, your phone was in your pocket. But your jacket, it was last on the chair by the window. “My jacket.”

“Get it. I’ll wait.”

You went and grabbed it off the chair and slipped it on. When you urned around to walk back, you noticed Aeri was watching you, checking you out.

You got back to the door and followed her out into the hallway. The noise of the party vanished as it closed behind you.

The elevator was just a few steps away, Aeri went to go push the button to go down. The doors opened immediately once she did and you both stepped inside.

The elevator was small and covered in mirrors on one side. You saw your reflection, the tired face, the plain jacket while beside you, Aeri looked stunning in her simple dress.

She pressed the button to go to the ground floor and leaned against the back wall.

“So, now it’s just us.”

You just nodded.

The descent was smooth. Aeri shifted, turning her body slightly toward you without leaving the wall. “My driver is waiting downstairs. Mr. Park. He’s… good at his job. He won’t talk.”

“Okay.” A driver. Of course she had a driver.

“He’ll take us to my building. It’s in Hannam-dong. Not a long drive. You know you can change your mind between here and the car. Or between the car and the apartment. I’d understand. Just say the word.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” The statement came out a lot more confident than you felt.

“Good.” A small smile briefly touched her lips.

The elevator came to a stop and you followed Aeri into the lobby. A man in a dark suit stood near the door with his hands clasped in front of him. He nodded as Aeri approached.

“Mr. Park, we’re going home. This is my guest.”

Mr. Park’s eyes moved to you for a fraction of a second. He gave a single, shallow bow. “Of course.”

A black sedan was at the curb. Mr. Park opened the rear door and Aeri slid in first, moving to the far side. You got in after her, the leather seat cool through your jeans. The partition between the front and back seats was up, a sheet of dark glass.

The car pulled away from the curb. You watched Seoul stream by through the window, your shoulder inches from Aeri’s. You could feel the slight warmth radiating from her.

“You’re quiet again,” looking out her own window.

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how this is… not something I expected to happen.”

She turned her head. In the dim light, her features were softened. “Life is mostly unexpected events, they usually bring the best memories.” She reached down, pulling out a bottle of water from the door and offered it to you. “Hydration. Important after whiskey and fizzy things.”

You took the bottle and drank. The water was cold and crisp. You offered it back to her.

She shook her head. “It’s for you.” She pulled out another for herself. “Mr. Park stocks them. He’s thoughtful like that.”

You drank more.

“Do you always invite strangers from parties to your home?”

Aeri took a sip from her own bottle before answering.

“No. Almost never. My home is… my space. I don’t share it casually, but tonight didn’t feel casual. You didn’t feel like a stranger.”

“I am a stranger.”

“Are you? We talked for half an hour. I know you’re sad. I know you edit words for a living. I know you have a dying plant. I know your friend cares about you enough to orchestrate a party and summon an idol as a distraction. That’s more than I know about most people I meet at industry dinners.”

You held her look. “And what do I know about you?”

“You know I hate bad art. You know I have a two hour party limit. You know I carry my own whiskey. You know I value honesty over charm. That’s the main thing. The rest is just details, job titles, song names, gossip. The foundation is what matters.”

The car pulled up to a security gate. Mr. Park lowered his window to punch a code into a keypad. The gate slid open and the car drove up the curving driveway towards a tall modern apartment building.

“Home.”

The car stopped under a cantilevered portico. Mr. Park got out and opened your door for you to get out. Aeri emerged from the other side, smoothing her dress.

“Thank you, Mr. Park. I won’t need you again tonight.”

He bowed again.

“Very well. Goodnight.”

Mr. Park got back into the car and drove away.

You were now alone with Aeri standing in front of her building. The entrance was a set of double doors. Aeri walked toward them and pressed her thumb to a discreet panel. A soft beep, a click, and the door unlocked. She pushed it open and held it for you.

“After you.”

The lobby definitely made you realize this place was way outside your pay grade. It had a vertical garden on one side and a wall of glass looking out onto a hidden courtyard on the other side.

“The elevator is over here,” Aeri led you across the open space. “Penthouse level. Only one unit per floor.”

The elevator here was huge, paneled in wood. She pressed the top button. The ascent was swift, silent. You watched the numbers as the elevator climbe.

10… 20… 30…

“Do you like heights?”

“They’re fine.”

The doors opened directly into her apartment.

The The view of Seoul out of the panoramic window on the other side of her living room took your breath away. Her place was huge, but it had very little furniture. The plants though, they were everywhere. The place look so alive.

“See?” Aeri kicked off her heels by the door. “No squid art. Just plants and a view.” She walked barefoot into the room. “Make yourself at home. The sofa is super comfy, go test it yourself. While you do, I’m going to get the good whiskey.”

She disappeared through a doorway that seemed to lead to a kitchen while you just took it all in. It felt like a treehouse for a billionaire. You walked slowly to the glass wall. It was just a silent up here, just a sprawling light show. You could see the winding dark line of the Han River, the neon clusters of Gangnam, the distant peak of Namsan Tower.

“Impressive, right?” Aeri came from behind you carrying two crystal glasses and a bottle. “It never gets old. Sometimes I just sit here and watch.”

She poured whiskey into the glasses after setting them on a table next to the sofa.

“This is the really good stuff. No flask required.”

She handed you a glass. You swirled it and brought it to your nose. This was indeed the really good stuff.

Aeri clinked her glass gently against yours. “To unexpected birthdays.”

“To unexpected birthdays.”

You both drank.

“Wow,” you said.

“Told you.” Aeri sat down on the couch with a smile on her face, tucking her legs beneath her. She patted the cushion next to her, an invitation.

You sat, carefully leaving a foot of space between you. The sofa was as comfortable as promised. You both looked out at the city, sipping the whiskey in silence.

“So Sunghoon said you write?” Aeri said after a while, her eyes still on the city.

“Edit. I edit. Technical manuals, mostly. Sometimes marketing copy. I make bad writing less bad.”

“That’s a noble profession. The world needs less bad writing. Do you like it?”

“It’s a job. It pays the rent. It lets me afford water for my dying plant.”

She laughed. “You and that plant. It’s a motif.”

“It’s my only roommate.”

“I have plants as roommates too. They don’t eat your food or leave hair in the drain like the normal ones.” She turned to face you, drawing one knee up onto the cushion. It her dress ride up her thigh a few inches, not like you noticed or anything.

“So. Editing. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to fix…”

And so you talked. Not about anything super deep, but about the random things you usually talk about at 2am with a person you just met.

You told her about the industrial printer manual disaster, how the Korean translation had been so mangled that entire sections read like Dadaist poetry. "Lubricate the circuit boards with cooking oil," you repeated, miming the act of drizzling sesame oil onto microchips. "We had to recall five thousand copies. The person that wrote it still sends me holiday cards out of sheer trauma." Aeri snorted into her glass, and for a moment she wasn’t an idol, she was just a woman tickled by absurdity.

The conversation unspooled from there. You compared notes on films that ruined you, her pick was a bleak drama about a fisherman’s grief, yours, an old Taiwanese romance where the leads never touched until the final frame. "That’s worse," she decided, stretching her legs across the sofa until her bare toes brushed your thigh. "It’s cruelty to not have some sort of release."

You argued about cities where rain felt theatrical (London, drumming on black cabs for her and Paris, rain that created puddles reflecting the glow of the city for you) versus miserable (mutual agreement on Seattle’s "drizzle that seeps into your bones").

When she mentioned hating airports, you learned she could had every inch of Incheon’s Terminal 2 memorized.

"Gate 26 is home to the only coffee machine that doesn’t suck. Also, if you have to cry, do it in the bathroom in the rewards lounge where no one else can hear you." The offhand confession lingered between you, unjudged. You replied with your own, how editing manuals had taught you to spot loneliness in passive voice, how writers buried their isolation in endless subordinate clauses.

This, you realized, was what made a real connection, not just swapping anecdotes, but the way she lit up when you got her obscure film references, how your pulse jumped when she absentmindedly bit her lip during pauses.The way she hugged a throw pillow when talking about being exhausted on tour, how your spoke when you explained why you loved flawed translations.

The night went on as you both worked your way through the very good whiskey. Somewhere in all the laughter and stories, you noticed she had moved closer to you. That her shoulder was now pressed to yours. Neither of you glanced at the time. There was no audience here, no schedule. Just the warm, slow unfurling of two people discovering how seamlessly their edges fit together.

The whiskey in your glass dwindled. Aeri got up to refill them without asking. As she poured you watched her. The simple black dress hugged her body. Her black hair fell across her back as she bent her head to focus on pouring.

She caught you looking as she handed you the fresh glass. Her eyes met yours. She didn’t say a word. She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before sitting back on the sofa next to you.

You were telling her about your first week in Seoul, the confusion of the subway system. She listened, her head propped on her hand.

“And I ended up in Nowon when I was trying to get to Hongdae.”

“A classic blunder. You know… you have a nice voice. When you tell a story. It’s… calm. Steady.”

“Yours is too. When you’re not doing the interview voice.”

She laughed and took a slow sip, watching you over the rim of her glass.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

And there it was.

The spark.

It was a silent, mutual recognition that passed between you in the space of that exchanged look. No words were needed.

The hours of conversation, the shared whiskey, the night as a whole led up to this. You saw it reflected in her eyes and you felt it in your own chest. It was feeling that had nothing to do with your sadness or the past. It had everything to do with the woman next to you.

The background noise of your thoughts faded away.

She didn’t look away. Neither did you.

The moment stretched, thick and sweet as the whiskey on your tongue.

Aeri slowly placed her glass on the table. The crystal made a soft tok sound against the marble. She shifted her body fully toward you, drawing her other leg up onto the sofa so she was curled facing you.

“This is my favorite part of the night. When the talking stops being necessary.”

You swallowed. Your mouth was dry despite the drink. “What happens then?”

“That’s when you find out if you were right.” A faint, challenging smile touched her lips. “Right about the person.”

“And were you? Right? About me?”

“I’m finding out.”

Her eyes went from your eyes to your mouth, then back up.

“I think I might be.”

She leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull back.

You didn’t.

You leaned in to meet her.

Her lips were soft. The kiss was tentative at first before you leaned into the touch. Her hand came up, her fingers brushing your jaw.

The kiss deepened.

She tasted so good. Your hand went to her waist, the fabric of her dress smooth under your palm.

You kissed for a long time, the world narrowed to just the sound of her quiet sigh through her nose and the heat building where your bodies were not quite touching. When you finally parted, it was only by a touch. Your foreheads rested together. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing had slowed.

“Yeah,” the word a warm puff against your lips. “I was right.”

She kissed you again with a lot more confidence in what she wanted to do to you. Her tongue touched your lower lip. You opened for her and the kiss turned deeper and so much wetter. Your hand on her waist pulled her closer. She straddled your laps and put her arms around your neck.

You had a hand in her hair and the other hand was on shoulder, where your thumb stroked the exposed slope of her shoulder.

One of her dress straps had slipped down.

You broke the kiss and you both tried to catch your breath.

“Your dress. The strap.”

She glanced down at where your thumb was still moving on her bare shoulder. “Mmm. That strap has been a problem.” She leaned in and gave you a quick kiss.

“Actually, the whole back is one big problem. The zipper is stuck.”

You blinked. “Stuck?”

“Right at the top. I think it got caught on something this afternoon. I couldn’t reach it before the party. I’ve been dealing with it all night.”

You stared at her.

“I could… take a look.”

“Could you?” Her eyes held yours. “That would be… very helpful.”

She turned away from you and puller her hair over her shoulder to show you. You saw the dress had a zipper running from the top of her neck and went all the way down to the small of her back.

“See?” she said, muffled. “It won’t budge.”

You looked. The zipper teeth looked fine. There was no fabric caught. It wasn’t stuck. It looked like just a normal zipper.

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Play it cool, man.

You reached out, your fingers trembled. You touched the cool metal of the pull tab. Her skin was warm beneath your knuckles.

“Just… give it a try.”

You tried to give the zipper a gentle tug down.

It didn’t move.

You pulled a little harder.

It slid down one inch with a soft, metallic whirr.

The back of the dress opened, revealing a strip of pale skin and the hint of a black lace strap beneath.

You froze with your fingers still on the tab. Aeri went perfectly still too. You could see the goosebumps form on her skin.

“Again.”

You pulled the tab down another inch. Another soft whirr. More skin appeared. The lace strap was part of a bra. You could see the delicate pattern now.

Your own breathing felt shallow. You pulled again. Another inch. The zipper was now halfway down her back. The dress gaped open, held up only by the structure in front and her arms. The line of her spine was a beautiful, delicate curve.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your fingers slipped from the metal tab and you placed your palms flat on her exposed back.

Her skin was hot. She gasped at the contact. She arched her back slightly, pressing into your hands.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips inbetween her shoulder blades.

She shuddered.

“Ah” she cut off by biting her own lip.

You kissed up her spine, one hand moving to her side, the other still on her warm skin. You reached the top of the zipper, where the dress still clung to her neck. You used your teeth to gently tug the fabric aside, continuing to kiss her exposed back.

She trembled.

“Turn around.”

She obeyed and turned around. Her eyes pupils were blown wide. The front of the dress was still held up by her hands. The open back meant it was only a matter of letting go.

She didn’t let go of the dress, she just looked at you. The playful wit was gone, replaced by a naked, hungry intensity. She reached for you, her hands framing your face.

She kissed you. It was nothing like the earlier kisses. This one was desperate. Her tongue slid against yours. One of her hands left your face to pull the hem of your shirt up. You broke the kiss to take it off for her. You felt her hands explore the newly exposed skin of your chest.

You reached for her and grabbed the side of her dress where it still clung to her upper arms. You didn’t pull it down.

You looked at her, a question in your eyes.

She nodded.

You slid it down her arms. It caught for a second on her elbows before falling to her waist leaving her in a black lace bra. It was sheer in places and it held her full perky breasts. Her stomach was flat and her waist narrow. She took your breath away.

You just stared for a second to just take the view in.

“You’re beautiful.”

A small smile appeared on her lips. “So are you.”

She kissed you and pushed you back onto the couch. Her legs straddled your hips and you felt her heat coming through the thin fabric of her underwear.

It was driving you crazy.

She ground down against you in a way that made you groan into her mouth.

Her hands were everywhere.

You found the clasp of her bra and fumbled with it. She reached back and undid it herself, taking it all the way off.

And then she was bare from the waist up, hovering above you. You reached up, your hands finally, fully cupping her breasts. They were soft and heavy in your palms. Her nipples hardened into tight peaks against your thumbs. She threw her head back and arched her back.

“Oh, god…”

She looked down at you.

“Touch me. “Just… don’t stop touching me.”

You didn’t. Somehow while touching her she ended up underneath you on the couch. You kissed everywhere you could.

Her hands clutched at your back and her legs wrapped around your waist to pull you closer.

Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through you. She was speaking a stream of broken Korean, Japanese, and English mixed together against your skin.

You kissed your way back up to her mouth. She met you with a ferocity that matched your own.

It was wet and messy.

It was perfect.

You ground into her in a way that left her gasping, her nails digging into your shoulders.

She broke the kiss, panting.

“The… the dress. Get it off. Now. All of it.”

You pulled everything off of her and tossed it to the side.

You stared as she lay beneath you.

She watched you watch her.

“You’re staring.”

“I can’t not stare.”

A smile touched her lips.

“Fair.”

You lowered yourself onto her and felt the heat of her skin.

You felt her breasts press against your chest.

You felt her legs drag your hips in.

You felt ALIVE.

You kissed her again and her hands came up to your face.

The kiss deepened. Her hands slid down your back and you went to kiss her neck.

She whispered something in Japanese.

She grabbed your jeans and fumbled with the button. You pushed yourself up to kneel between her legs to help her. She finally got it open and tugged them down over your hips, and you kicked the jeans off along with your briefs. You were both fully naked now, on the wide sofa across from the vast skyline.

Her eyes traveling down your body.

“Come back here,” she whispered, reaching for you.

She wrapped her legs around your waist and lock you in tight. She felt so warm and wet and open against you. It was almost too much and it made you groan.

“Slow, we have time.” she breathed into your ear.

You nodded, though you didn’t want to be slow at all. But, you obeyed her guidance. You kissed her collarbone and then the swell of her breast. One of her nipples ended up in your mouth and you just sucked it. She gasped and arched her back. Her hands gripped your hair.

“Ah… yes…”

You moved to her other breast and gave it the same attention. Your tongue circled the hardened peak, your lips closed around it.

She was really panting now.

You kissed your way down her stomach.

She shuddered, lifting off the cushion.

“Lower,” she whispered.

You moved lower.

You kissed the inside of her thighs. The skin there was so soft and you could see from her reactions that it was sensitive too. She trembled under your touch.

You settled between her legs, looking up at her.

She watched you.

You placed your hands on her inner thighs to spread her wider. She was so open to you, her folds were so wet already. That alone made you ache with want. You leaned in and kissed her core.

She cried out.

Her hands flew into your hair.

“AGAIN.”

You kissed her folds again but with more force. Your tongue followed, tracing the puffy lines.

She moaned.

Her hips rocked.

You circled her clit with your tongue and then flicked it.

She gasped, her thighs tightening around your head.

“Oh…!”

With your tongue focused there, you listened to every sound she made. Her body told you what she liked. It told you in the way her hips jerked when you applied a certain pressure. The way her breath hitched when you increased your speed. You used your lips, your tongue, the flat of your hand against her stomach to anchor her as she began to move more urgently.

All you heard was a mishmash of Korean, Japanese and fragmented English.

“Right there… please… don’t stop… god…”

You could feel the tension building in her body, a gathering storm of sensation. You were relentless.

You wanted her to feel this.

To drown in it.

You wanted to erase every other thought, every other memory, from her mind and yours.

She was pushing against your face, losing control of her movements. A high, thin sound escaped her lips. Her whole body stiffened, then shook. You felt the tremors through her thighs, through the hands clutching your head.

You didn’t stop.

You pushed her through it, over the peak, until the shaking subsided and she collapsed back onto the sofa like a wet noodle.

You lifted your head, your mouth soaked.

You looked at her.

Her eyes were closed, the sweat glistened on her forehead. She a faint smile on her lips. You kissed up her body, all the way to her lips.

She opened her eyes, she was cum drunk. She touched your lips with her fingertips.

“You’re…” shaking her head.

She pulled you down into a kiss. It was slow and deep. When it ended, she kept her face close to yours.

“I want you. I want all of you.”

You moved to your knees on the cushions of the couch. She was now on all fours with her mouth in front of you, guiding your hips.

You let her.

She looked at you. Her gaze was focused.

She lowered her head.

The first touch of her lips was a gentle kiss at your tip.

You melted.

She kissed it again, then opened her mouth. She slowly took you in, her tongue flat against you. The heat, the wetness, the sheer reality of it made your head swim. She went deeper until her mouth enveloped you. She tasted you, her tongue moving in slow circles around you.

You watched her do her thing. You held her hair for her. With her eyes closed, she was utterly focused on the act, focused on you. She pulled back then went down again, deeper this time. Her pace began to build, a steady rhythm that was both tender and intense.

She was so sloppy.

She let saliva pool, let it drip down you.

She made the messiest of sounds.

She took you almost all the way, then pulled back to just the tip, swirling her tongue around it before diving deep again. Her other hand cupped and pulled on your balls.

She looked up at you, her eyes opening briefly. You could tell she liked this. She was enjoying the taste, the feel, the amount of control.

The sight alone almost finished you. You dug your fingers into the cushions and groaned. You tried to hold back, but your body was screaming for more.

She could tell and she started going faster. Her hands joined her mouth, working in tandem. Not the Gluck Gluck 9000. She was relentless now. Her cheeks were so flushed. She was lost in the act of giving you pleasure.

You couldn’t speak.

You could only feel.

The pressure built, a tight coil winding in your core.

Your thighs shook.

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You were on the brink.

She pulled back, looking at you with pure lust. The strings of saliva were connecting you to her mouth.

“Let go. For me.”

You nodded. She took you so deep into the back of her throat you felt the world dissolve.

You cried out with half groan, half gasp. You felt yourself spill into her, a hot, pulsing release. She took it, her throat squeezed down as she swallowed it all.

When it was over you slumped against her shoulder. She held you there, her hand stroking your back with her lips pressed to your temple. You could feel her smile against your skin.

“Happy birthday.”

You laughed, breathless. “Thank you.”

She grabbed her whiskey glass and took a sip, swirled it in her mouth, then swallowed.

“Nice palate cleanser,” she grinned.

You leaned over and kissed her shoulder.

“This sofa is amazing, but… my bedroom is better. The bed is… enormous. And the sheets are clean.”

The invitation hung in the air.

She leaned closer, her nose brushing yours.

“I want you on my bed,” she whispered.

You followed her to her bedroom, taking in the view of her as she walked.

She opened the door at the end of the hall. As promised, the bed was enormous.

Aeri moved to the bed and pulled back the duvet.

She looked at you.

“Come here.”

You stopped a foot from her. She placed her hands on your chest, her palms felt so warm. They slid down your stomach, tracing you muscles, then lower…

…and lower. Her fingers brushed against you making you feel a fresh surge of arousal despite the recent release. Your were ready for round two.

“Well I think someone is ready to go again.”

“For you.”

She smiled, leaned in and kissed you. Her hands continued exploring your body, moving over your hips and thighs. Then she started to pull you towards the bed.

“Lie down.”

You laid down on the bed. It was probably the best bed you’ve ever laid on. She climbed onto the bed and knelt beside you. Her gaze traveled over your body.

She was studying you.

She wrapped her fingers around you and began to slowly stroke your length.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, but you still watched.

Once she thought you were ready, she straddled you and placed her hands on your chest for balance. Her breasts were just above your face.

You reached up to touch one, but she shook her head.

“Wait… let me.”

You lowered your hand. She leaned down and kissed the skin on your chest.

The she kissed her way down lower…

and lower…

and lower.

You could feel the coil winding tight inside you. Her kisses were gentle, but their cumulative effect was overwhelming. She was taking her time. She was owning this moment.

You were so ready for her. She repositioned herself carefully over you.

Aeri reached between her own legs, her fingers finding working her folds. Then she brought her fingers to your length, spreading her wetness over your skin.

It felt so good.

She did it again…

and again…

and again.

When she was satisfied she slowly lowered herself.

She took you inside her, inch by inch, her body stretching out to accommodate you. It felt so good. Her eyes never left yours. You watched her face as she took you in fully. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened slightly. A gasp escaped her.

She stayed there, motionless, letting you feel her, all of her. Her hands came to rest on your chest.

“Okay?” she whispered.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “Yes.”

She smiled and then began to move.

She lifted herself up until you were almost free of her and then sank back down. She set a rhythm that was slow and deep. You watched her work. The muscles in her stomach tightened with each motion.

Her breasts swayed.

You could see the pleasure on her face.

You felt every fraction of movement. The friction was smooth, slick, perfect. You could only lie there and take it. Your hands gripped the sheets beside you, your back arching slightly to meet her.

She moved her hips back and forth, testing different angles and depths. When she found a position that made her gasp, she stayed with it. You could see the pleasure building in her.

Her breaths became shorter.

She slowly lost control.

She leaned forward, changing the angle again. This put more of her weight on your chest, brought her face closer to yours. She kissed you, a messy, open mouthed kiss that broke as she moved.

Her rhythm sped up.

Her hips rocked faster, driving you deeper into her with each downward stroke.

The noises she made…

Soft grunts of effort.

Sharp inhalations.

Words in languages that you couldn’t understand but whose meaning was clear, she wanted more.

She gripped your shoulders you for leverage. Her nails dug into your skin, hard enough she was marking you.

You placed your hands on her hips. She allowed it, her rhythm uninterrupted. You could feel the building heat in your own body, getting closer and closer to another peak.

She sensed it. Her eyes opened, meeting yours.

“Not yet. Just… feel it.”

You nodded, your breathing was becoming labored. You gripped tighter. Her pace became frantic, a desperate, driving motion that pushed you both toward the edge. She was crying out now. Her body was trembling and her thighs shaking with the effort.

You felt the peak approach.

Your vision blurred.

Your fingers dug deep into her hips.

She was chasing her peak too until she let out a long, shuddering moan that vibrated through your body.

That was the trigger.

The wave broke.

You felt yourself release inside her. It felt like nothing you’ve felt before. At the same time, she clenched around you.

She cried out and her whole body shook.

Her back arched.

Her hands clawed at your shoulders.

You held her through it until she collapsed onto you. Her heart was beating so loud, you could feel it.

She didn’t move for a long time. You two just laid there wit her still on top of you, sweaty. You could feel the tremors that still occasionally passed through her. You laid there and stroked her back.

Eventually she lifted her head and you could tell she was extremely cum drunk. She looked at you and smiled,

“That was… I don’t have the words.”

“You don’t need them.”

She kissed you and lifted herself off you, rolling onto the bed. She curled against you, her head on your shoulder, one leg thrown over yours.

You just lay there together in silence for forever. Your bodies were cooling, the sweat drying on your skin. The air smelled of sex, of her, of the clean sheets.

After a while, she sleepily spoke against your skin. “We should clean up.”

“Shower?”

“Yes, you know, my shower is also enormous.”

You smiled. “Show me.”

She got up first and moved in a cum drunk state to the bathroom. You got up and followed.

Aeri wasn’t lying, the bathroom was huge.

Aeri walked to the shower and turned on the water. Steam began to rise. She adjusted the temperature and stepped in. She turned to look at you, waiting.

You joined her. The water was hot, almost scalding. It cascaded over your shoulders, washing away the evening. You stood under the stream, letting it pound against your skin.

Aeri moved closer. She took a bottle from a shelf and poured a clear gel into her hands. She began to wash you and once she was done, she turned so you could do the same for her. You took the gel and worked it into her skin. She leaned into your touch, her head tilted back to let the water run over her face.

After you both washed off, she turned off the water. She grabbed a couple of towels and you watched each other dry off.

She looked at you, her hair wet and clinging to her neck, her skin glowing from the heat.

“Bedtime?”

“Bedtime.”

The two of you walked back to the bedroom. You dropped your towel on the floor and slid under the duvet. She did the same and curled up to you. Her head found your shoulder again and she threw her leg over your hip.

Your body was tired and your mind was quiet for the first time in weeks. The memory of Jen, the breakup, the birthday sadness, it all felt distant, blurred by the heat of Aeri’s skin against yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For tonight. For deciding to leave your own birthday party to come here with me.”

You turned your head to look at her. Her eyes were closed. “I’m glad I did.”

You kissed her forehead. She sighed and closed her eyes again.

You felt your thoughts drifting, scattering. You held onto one, just before sleep took you.

This is real.

---

The light coming through the blackout curtains woke you up. Aeri was still curled up next to you, her head tucked under your shoulder.

You were awake and the world was quiet.

You watched her as you remembered how amazing last night felt.

She is incredible.

You carefully slid out from under her making sure not to wake her up. You grabbed a pillow to replace the shoulder she had her head on. She murmured something you couldn’t understand and grabbed the pillow before falling back sound asleep.

You walked out to her living room and found your boxer briefs next to the couch, sliding them on. You walked to the window and stared out.

Seoul felt different in the morning. It was a weekday. The world was waking up, starting its routine. You felt divorced from it, you were just a spectator from above.

Your stomach rumbled and you looked towards the kitchen.

The fridge was nearly empty. It was stocked for an idol who’s been on tour and unable to settle in. A bottle of imported water. A carton of oat milk. A small tray of strawberries. A package of smoked salmon. A block of butter. Eggs in a ceramic bowl. Everything was fresh, high-quality, and looked like it had been placed there by a stylist. You also felt like you were doing an impression of a Stefan bit from SNL, This fridge has everything.

You closed the fridge and opened cabinets. You found a cast-iron skillet and a small saucepan. You found coffee. Real coffee beans in a bag, and am espresso machine that looked intimidating.

Okay. You can do this.

You filled the kettle to make some tea, deciding the espresso machine was a battle for another day. You grabbed a few eggs along with the butter and salmon. Cracking eggs into a bowl, you whisked them with a fork. You melted a pat of butter in the skillet, watching it foam and sizzle.

You were doing this.

The smell of cooking butter filled the air.

You were pouring the whisked eggs into the skillet when you heard someone behind you.

Aeri was leaning against the doorway that led to the hallway. She was wearing your shirt. It was way too big for her, hanging off one shoulder, the hem fell to her thigh. Her hair was a wild, beautiful mess. She had one arm crossed over her stomach, the other holding a mug of water. She watched you, her eyes still puffy with sleep.

“You cook.”

“I try to,” giving the eggs a gentle push with the spatula. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry.”

“I’m always hungry.” She pushed off the doorway and came to stand beside you at the island, watching the eggs cook.

“You left the bed.”

“I woke up. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You didn’t. I woke up when the pillow replaced you. I prefer the warmth of you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. What are you making?”

“Scrambled eggs. With salmon. If that’s cool.”

“Of course it is. I think the only thing that’s ever been cooked on that stove is water for ramyeon. I think you might want to check the eggs though, they look like they are going to stick.”

You looked down. She was right, you’d been distracted. You quickly scarped them in the pan.

“Rescued.”

She smiled. She pulled out one of the stools at the island to sit on. The shirt rode up, exposing more of her thighs. You looked back at the eggs.

“Tea’s in the kettle.”

“I’ll get it in a minute.” She rested her chin in her hand, her elbow on the countertop. She was studying you now, the same way she’d studied you in bed last night.

“You’re good at this. The morning after thing.”

You kept your eyes on the eggs. “What’s the morning after thing?”

“The not freaking out. The making breakfast. Just being normal. It’s rarer than you’d think.”

You didn’t know how to answer that. You divided the eggs between two plates, put the salmon on top, and added a few twists of black pepper. You slid one plate in front of her, then brought yours around and sat on the stool next to her. You handed her a fork.

“Thank you,” taking a bite. She chewed slowly and she closed her eyes. “Mmm. Okay, you’re not trying. You’re actually good at this.”

You ate. The eggs were creamy, the salmon salty and rich. It was good. The simple pleasure of food, of doing something competently, felt great.

You ate in silence for a few minutes. The sun climbed higher, and the stripe of light through the main living room windows stretched across the floor.

Aeri finished her eggs and pushed the plate away. She swiveled on her stool to face you.

“So… it’s the day after your birthday.”

“It is.”

“How does it feel?”

You put your fork down. You looked at her. She was waiting for a real answer.

“Different. It feels different than yesterday did.”

“Good different?”

“Just… different. Yesterday felt like an ending to something. Like how it feels after a storm passes, you’re not in the middle of it anymore, but you’re still wet and you don’t know what the storm washed away.”

She nodded and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

“I know that feeling.”

She was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the city.

“Sunghoon told me. About your girlfriend. The dancer. That it was recent.”

You felt a familiar pang. You nodded. “Jen.”

“He said you were taking it hard. That’s why he… did all of this. To give you a distraction.”

“It was some distraction.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, then faded. “Was it just a distraction?”

The question hung in the air between you.

You met her eyes. “No, it wasn’t just a distraction.”

“Good. Because I don’t really do those. Not anymore. The ‘let’s make you feel better for a night’ ones. They get complicated. And lonely.”

“This doesn’t feel lonely.”

“It doesn’t, that’s what’s confusing.”

“Why is it confusing?”

“Because my life isn’t built for… that. My life is built for airports and schedules and managers and cameras. For being ‘on’. For keeping things simple. Uncomplicated. This…” She gestured between the two of you. “… feels complicated already. And we haven’t even had a real conversation.”

“We’re having one now.”

“Are we? Or are we just skirting around the edges of it? The ‘what happens now’ part.”

Your throat felt tight. “What do you want to happen now?”

She unfolded her legs and stood up and walked up to the window.

“I want to be honest. Which is stupid, because I barely know you. And being honest is the one thing I’m literally trained not to do in public. Last night was real. For me. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t a favor for Sunghoon. I liked talking to you on the balcony. I liked that you were sad and didn’t try to hide it. I liked that you looked at me like I was a person, not a photo. I liked… all of it.”

Each sentence was a quiet hammer blow.

“But, my life is not my own. I have a schedule for the next few years. I have a contract. I have rules about dating, about being seen, about… everything. I live in this fishbowl,” waving a hand at the penthouse. “A very nice, very expensive fishbowl, but still a fishbowl. Anyone I’m with gets put in the bowl with me. And it’s not fair to them. It’s a lot of pressure. It’s a lot of hiding.”

She pushed off the window and walked back toward the island, stopping a few feet away. “So when I ask ‘what happens now,’ I’m not asking for promises. I can’t make them. I’m asking… what do you want? Knowing all that? Knowing that if we walk out that door together, someone might see. Knowing that I might have to go to Japan for three weeks tomorrow. Knowing that I can’t just… be your girlfriend. Not in any normal way.”

You stood up.

You took a step closer.

Then another.

You stopped when you were within arm’s reach. You could see the faint pulse in her throat and the uncertainty in her eyes.

“I don’t know what I want. A week ago, I thought I wanted Jen back. Or I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the life I thought I had. That’s gone. I know that now. Last night… it didn’t fix me. But it showed me I wasn’t as broken as I thought. That I could still feel something that wasn’t just hurt.”

You took a final step, closing the distance. You didn’t touch her. You just looked down at her. “I want to see you again, Aeri. That’s what I want right now. I don’t know what it looks like. I don’t know about fishbowls or schedules. I just know that yesterday, you were a surprise guest at a party. And today, you’re the realest thing in my life. And I don’t want to let that go just because it’s complicated.”

Her eyes searched yours. She was looking for the lie, the placation, the starstruck fantasy. You held her gaze, letting her see whatever was there, the confusion, the hope, the raw need for connection that had been starving inside you.

Slowly, her expression shifted. The tension around her eyes softened. The defensiveness in her posture melted away. A small smile bloomed on her lips, shaky at first, then steadying.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Her fingers brushed against the back of your hand.

“We can… figure out the complicated part. Together. Slowly.”

You turned your hand over, catching her fingers in yours.

“Sounds good to me.”

“I have to leave this afternoon. I have yet another fitting then vocal practice.”

“That’s okay.”

“And you probably have… a life. A job?”

“I do. It’ll keep.”

She laughed. “See? Complicated,” squeezing your fingers. “But we can text. Like normal people. And maybe… when I have a window. A real one. Not just a stolen night.”

“I’d like that.”

She stepped forward then, letting go of your hand to place both of hers on your chest. She looked up at you.

“Last night was a birthday present. Today is… today. No expectations. Just this.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed you.

It was nothing like the kisses from the night before. There was no whiskey-fueled hunger, no desperate heat. This was a morning kiss. Soft. Closed mouthed. A gentle press of lips that spoke of quiet understanding, of a beginning rather than a culmination. It lasted only a few seconds. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright.

“I should get ready,” she said, but she didn’t move her hands from your chest.

Her name was currently sitting in second place.

For the average college student, a volunteer drive for a community organization was just a bullet point to pad a resume. But Jihyo wasn’t average. She didn't enter competitions to place; she entered them to dominate. This afternoon, the regional council had upped the stakes entirely, sending out an emergency broadcast to all members: the scout who brought in the single highest sales volume by midnight would be granted an immediate rank promotion to regional coordinator, alongside a fully sponsored, two-week luxury vacation to a tropical resort.

Jihyo could already feel the cool ocean breeze and taste the cocktails, but a rival scout from the neighboring chapter was currently fifty boxes ahead of her, stubbornly holding the top spot.

Her fierce, unyielding competitive streak didn’t just flame; it roared into an absolute wildfire. She looked down at her inventory. The wagon was loaded to the brim with premium, organization-branded goods: artisanal cookie boxes, heavy containers of organic rolled-oat cereal, and glass bottles of fresh, chilled whole milk from the valley dairy drive.

Traditional door-to-door pitches, polite smiles, and asking for neighborly charity weren't going to bridge a fifty-box deficit in a single evening. If she wanted that tropical beach, she needed a radical, completely unorthodox strategy.

Stopping under the shade of a large oak tree on the sidewalk, Jihyo took a deep breath and smoothed down her uniform. The pleated green skirt was already tailored a little shorter than regulation, hugging the tight curve of her thighs. With a steady hand and a calculating smile, she reached up and deliberately unbuttoned the top two buttons of her crisp white collared shirt. She shrugged the fabric back slightly, exposing the smooth, sun-kissed line of her collarbone and the soft, inviting swell of her breasts.

She knew exactly what her most devastating, darkest secret asset was: she possessed an intoxicating, magnetic allure that men found impossible to resist, and she was entirely prepared to weaponize it.

Her eyes swept across the manicured lawns of the cul-de-sac, landing directly on your well-maintained two-story home. Just moments prior, she had watched from a distance as a woman—your wife—loaded a large rolling suitcase into the trunk of her car, exchanged a brief wave toward the front door, and drove away out of the neighborhood. Jihyo glanced toward your driveway. Your sedan was still parked under the carport.

You were home. Completely alone.

Jihyo’s lips curled into a sharp, victorious smile as her resolve hardened. She gripped the wagon handle and began wheeling her heavy cargo up your concrete driveway, ready to present an offer that no red-blooded man could ever turn down.

Inside the house, you let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, rubbing the stiff muscles at the back of your neck. Your wife had just left for a three-day weekend professional conference out of town, and she had left you with a dauntingly long list of household chores, grocery runs, and repair tasks to tackle in her absence. The quiet of the house was almost absolute, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioning.

Suddenly, the sharp chime of the front doorbell echoed through the entryway.

Groaning slightly, you stood up from the couch and made your way to the foyer. You weren't expecting any deliveries, and you certainly weren't in the mood for neighborhood small talk. You unlocked the deadbolt and swung the heavy wooden door open, expecting a mail carrier.

Instead, your eyes locked onto a stunning, ethereal college student standing on your welcome mat. She was breathtaking. She had a bright, dazzling smile, large, expressive eyes that seemed to read you instantly, and a green scout sash draped diagonally across a uniform that was doing absolutely nothing to hide her incredible busty figure.

"Hi there! Good afternoon," Jihyo said, her voice dropping into a sweet, perfectly practiced, melodic rhythm. "I'm Jihyo, and I'm representing the local college scout chapter. We're running our final annual drive to fund our youth community projects. Would you be interested in supporting our cause today?"

You leaned your forearm against the edge of the doorframe, offering her a polite but tired smile, trying your best to keep your eyes firmly on her face rather than the deep, distracting plunge of her unbuttoned shirt. "Oh, wow. Uniform and everything. Look, Jihyo, I appreciate the hustle and it's a great cause, but my wife usually handles all of our grocery shopping and pantry stocking. We're actually pretty set on snacks right now."

"I see," Jihyo murmured, her smile shifting from wholesome fundraiser to something far more predatory and intoxicating. She took a deliberate step forward, crossing your threshold and closing the distance between you until you could smell the faint scent of vanilla and sweat on her skin. The innocent scout demeanor completely evaporated, replaced by a heavy, unblinking gaze that locked tightly onto yours. "But you see, I offer a very special, highly exclusive tier of customer service for my premium buyers."

You blinked, your throat tightening as the atmosphere in the hallway suddenly shifted from a mundane neighborhood interaction to something thick with tension. "Customer service?"

Jihyo let her heavy clipboard rest against the curve of her hip, tilting her head to the side as she tracked your reaction. "I am an incredibly competitive girl. I absolutely must win this sales drive by tonight. And because I'm determined, I'm willing to make a very private bargain. A special menu, if you will… customized just for you, especially while your house is so nice and quiet."

Your breath hitched sharply in your chest. Your mind raced, suddenly acutely aware of the empty house behind you and the quiet street behind her. You looked past her shoulder toward the empty driveway, then back to the intense, burning desire radiating from the girl standing right in your doorway. "What kind of menu are we talking about?"

Jihyo leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a sultry, confidential whisper that sent a violent shiver of anticipation straight down your spine.

"It's very simple," she purred, her eyes scanning your face. "Buy one box of our premium cookies, and I'll give you a blowjob right here on your knees in the hallway. Buy a box of our organic cereal, and you get to return the favor—oral sex for me, until I am completely satisfied. Buy a bottle of our fresh milk, and you get a chance to take your time, opening my shirt wide open to suck and play with my breasts. And if you decide to hoard the entire wagon? You get to keep me here, having sex with me as much as you can handle for the rest of the afternoon."

Your throat went completely dry, your heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs. It was utterly insane. It was a complete betrayal of your marital vows. But looking at Jihyo—the perfect, full curve of her pink lips, the way her short skirt hugged the flare of her hips, and the absolute, unadulterated confidence radiating from her—the temptation was a physical weight crushing your resolve. Your wife wouldn't be back until later in evening. The neighbors were indoors. No one would ever know.

"One box of cookies," you croaked, your voice thick and completely rough with sudden, undeniable arousal. "To start."

Jihyo’s smile widened into a beautiful, victorious grin. She had you hooked. "A wonderful choice, sir. That will be fifteen dollars."

You reached into your back pocket with trembling fingers, pulling out your wallet and throwing a twenty-dollar bill at her, not even caring about the change. Jihyo stepped fully into your house, reaching back to close the heavy wooden door with a solid, definitive click, effectively shutting out the rest of the world and locking the two of you in a private haven.

She set her clipboard down on your entryway table and unbuckled her scout sash, letting it slide carelessly to the hardwood floor. Without a single hint of hesitation or shyness, she dropped down onto her knees directly in front of you.

You stood transfixed, your breath shallow as Jihyo reached up with both hands, her warm, deft fingers undoing your belt buckle. She slipped the leather strap free, unbuttoned your pants, and lowered your zipper with agonizing slowness. The moment her fingers slipped inside your underwear and freed your fully hardened, aching cock into the cool air of the hallway, you let out a low, ragged groan, your hands instinctively hovering over her shoulders.

Jihyo looked up at you through her thick lashes, a playful, wicked spark of dominance in her eyes, before she leaned forward. Her warm lips parted, tasting the very tip of you first. She swirled her wet tongue slowly around the sensitive crown, listening to the way your thighs trembled under her touch. Then, with a smooth, deliberate motion, she slid her mouth all the way down your shaft.

The sensation was absolutely electric. She used one hand to firmly grip and caress the base of your length, pushing it deeper into her throat while her mouth worked with a rhythmic, suffocating heat. You gripped her shoulders tightly, your knuckles turning white as you stared down at this stunning college scout giving you the most incredible, intense oral pleasure you had ever experienced. She sucked tightly, bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, intentionally making wet, messy, uninhibited sounds that echoed loudly off the walls of your quiet hallway.

Just as you felt the intense pressure building in your lower stomach, reaching the absolute point of no return, Jihyo expertly and suddenly pulled back. She swiped a thumb across her glistening lower lip, looking up at your dazed, panting expression with a smug, beautiful smirk.

"That was just the appetizer," she purred smoothly, standing up and gracefully smoothing down the pleats of her green skirt. "What’s next on the menu?"

You were completely breathless, your chest heaving as your body screamed for the completion she had just cruelly denied you. You couldn't let her leave like this. "The cereal. And the milk. Both of them." "A very healthy breakfast choice," Jihyo teased, her voice dripping with playful mockery. "That will be twenty dollars."

You blindly reached for your wallet again, your hands shaking as you pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and tossed them onto the entryway table next to her clipboard.

Jihyo smiled, taking you firmly by the hand and leading you away from the front door, deeper into the privacy of your living room. Instead of heading for the couch, she walked straight over to your sturdy wooden dining table. With an agile, effortless movement, she hopped up onto the polished edge, pulling her green skirt all the way up to her waist.

Your eyes widened. She wasn't wearing traditional undergarments; instead, a tiny pair of sheer lace panties met your gaze, barely covering her soft, manicured center. She slid them slowly down the length of her long, toned legs, tossing them carelessly onto a nearby chair, before parting her thighs wide open for you.

"Your turn to please me," she whispered, her eyes dark with rising heat. You didn't need to be told twice. Driven by pure instinct, you dropped to your knees between her parted legs, burying your face directly into her dripping cunt.

Jihyo gasped sharply, her fingers immediately locking tightly into your hair as your tongue found her highly sensitive, swollen core. She tasted incredibly sweet, and she was already deeply slick with her own arousal. You stroked her with long, wet, purposeful laps of your tongue, listening to the breathless, high-pitched whimpers that began to escape her throat.

Her hips began to buck helplessly against your face as you accelerated the pace, your tongue mimicking the hard, localized friction she so desperately craved. Jihyo’s toes curled tightly, her inner thighs clamping around the sides of your head as a sudden, violently intense orgasm rocked through her entire body. She arched her back off the table, letting out a loud, completely uninhibited cry of pure pleasure that echoed off your high ceilings.

As her frantic breathing gradually began to slow, she looked down at you, her chest heaving heavily. With a sultry, inviting grin, she reached up to the remaining buttons of her white shirt, popping them open one by one until the fabric fell away, revealing a lace black bra. She reached between her breasts, unclipping the front clasp and letting her full, heavy, perky breasts swing free into the open air. Her nipples were completely taut, caramel, and flushed from the aftershocks of her climax.

"The milk," she reminded you, her voice a breathless, demanding whisper. “It’ll taste better with the cereal, you should try.”

You leaned up from your knees, wrapping your arms around her waist as you threw a handful of cereal oats to your mouth before you took one turgid, aching nipple entirely into your mouth. You sucked greedily, swirling your tongue hard around the sensitive, bumpy areola as you felt her milk filling your cereal-filled mouth while your free hands cupped, lifted, and heavily kneaded the soft, responsive flesh of her other breast spilling some of her sweet dairy in between your fingers.

"You're right, it's way more delicious." Jihyo whimpered loudly, leaning back on her hands on the table, completely surrendering to the sensation. She guided the back of your head, groaning deeply as you bit gently at the very tips of her nipples, sending frantic sparks of electricity straight back down to her core.

But you were reaching your absolute breaking point. You were fully erect, throbbing, and this agonizingly slow teasing was driving your mind into a frenzy. You pulled your mouth away from her breast, swallowed the breastmilked-flavored cereal before looking up at her with dark, primal, unchecked desire.

"The whole wagon," you said, your voice a raspy, commanding growl that left no room for negotiation. "Fuck it. I want every single thing you have brought. How much for everything?"

Jihyo’s eyes flashed with an absolute, dazzling spark of triumph. She had broken you completely; she had you exactly where she wanted you. "For the rest of the stock? A hundred dollars. And I’m entirely yours for the rest of the afternoon."

You didn't even hesitate for a microsecond. You stood up, walking over to the large decorative ceramic bowl on your kitchen counter where you always kept an emergency stash of household cash. You reached in and pulled out a thick, crisp stack of hundred-dollar bills. Marching back over to the dining table, you pressed the cold cash directly into her open palm.

Jihyo counted the five bills with lightning-fast precision, a genuine thrill of victory running down her spine. The competition was definitively hers. The rank was hers. The tropical vacation was hers.

She carelessly tossed the money onto the clipboard on the entryway table and turned back to you, wrapping her long legs tightly around your waist, pulling her slick, dripping core flush against your aching pants. "Then let's not waste another second."

You lifted her sexy, voluptuous frame up off the table with ease, carrying her over to your large, plush leather living room sofa. You laid her down against the cushions, hovering directly over her as you aligned your aching length with her heat. The moment you guided yourself in and pushed deep inside her, Jihyo let out a sharp, ragged gasp, her eyes widening at the sheer fullness of yourcock stretching her open.

The rest of the afternoon dissolved into a complete, chaotic blur of raw, sweaty heat and intense physical friction. You moved with a desperate, hungry, unbridled pace, fueled by the highly forbidden nature of the act and Jihyo's intoxicating, uninhibited energy.

Jihyo met you stroke for stroke, her manicured nails clawing desperate red lines down your back, her voice filling your empty, hollow house with loud, unvarnished moans of pure pleasure.

You changed positions frantically, pounding her in the center of the living room as both continuously search for deeper satisfaction. You flipped her over, sitting back as she climbed on top of you, controlling the depth, looking down at you like a dominant goddess claiming her rightful prize.

Then, you rolled her onto her hands and knees, driving into her heavily from behind, reaching forward to pull her hair gently to tilt her head back so you could help her watch her expressions and her tits being mashed by your other hand in the living room mirror.

The sofa was then fully occupied with your bodies stacked together, hers aligned in reverse to yours as you ate each other out for a classic 69, then Jihyo sat at your lap, plunging deep into her again as you bounced her rotated naked body onto your cock in reverse cowgirl.

You both rode the waves of intense, breathless pleasure over and over again, completely losing all track of time as the bright afternoon sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting long, dramatic golden shadows across the room. Finally, with one last, desperate, deeply penetrating surge, you cried out at your last orgasm, your entire body seizing up as you collapsed against her damp back, completely filling here with your cum as you spent every last drop of your energy, thoroughly exhausted and deeply satisfied.

An hour later, the sharp click of your front door opening and shutting broke the silence of the house.

Jihyo stepped out onto your concrete front porch, looking completely immaculate and put together once more like as if nothing chaotic just happened. Her green uniform skirt was neatly straightened, her white shirt was perfectly buttoned up to the collar, her sash was aligned, and her long hair was tied back up into a neat, professional ponytail, although with some strand sticking out due to the aggressiveness of your tugging earlier.

The only difference now was the incredibly heavy envelope of cash tucked securely inside her scout canvas bag, and the completely empty plastic wagon sitting idly on your sidewalk.

Inside the house, you lay stretched out flat on your back across the sofa, thoroughly satisfied, physically drained, and staring blankly up at the ceiling with a lazy, content smile plastered across your face. You had a living room full of unwanted cookie boxes and organic cereal to frantically hide before your wife’s return in a few days, but in that exact moment, you didn't care in the slightest. It had been worth every single dollar in that bowl.

"Call me if you'd like to buy again. I'll be your personal retailer from now on. Thanks again for these, daddy." You pushed the contact card she gave you just before she left your household into your pocket.

Jihyo pulled her empty wagon down your concrete driveway, the plastic wheels clicking rhythmically and loudly against the seams. She pulled out her phone, checking the digital leaderboard one last time as she typed in her massive, newly acquired sales totals.

The graph updated instantaneously, shooting her name straight past her rival by an insurmountable margin, solidifying a dominant lead that no one could possibly hope to catch up to before the midnight deadline.

You shake your head, pulling out your phone. "Nah, I drove separately. Figured he'd be here already." The two of you try calling and texting Patrick for the next hour, but it goes straight to voicemail. Finally, a message pings through from Patrick's sister: he had felt like shit the night before, went to the ER, and was admitted for dehydration and a nasty stomach bug. He was stuck there, IVs and all. "Damn," Harry mutters. "Poor guy. But... the pairings."

The bridesmaids and groomsmen had been meticulously paired off, mostly because several were already couples or married. Chaewon and Jiyeon, the two stunning women in the bridal party, were supposed to walk with you and Patrick since you were both single. No awkward exes or dates to complicate things. Now, with Patrick out, the math didn't add up. The wedding planner looked frazzled as she explained the issue in the hallway outside the suite.

Chaewon (the petite blonde with the shoulder-length bob, bright eyes, and playful energy) and Jiyeon (the elegant black-haired beauty with long, silky waves, sharp yet soft features, and a confident aura) stood nearby in their matching floral chiffon dresses, delicate white fabric adorned with soft pink roses, ruffled layers that hugged their lithe bodies, short hemlines showing off toned legs, and halter-style tops that accentuated their perky breasts and smooth shoulders. They looked like they had stepped out of a floral garden innocent yet irresistibly seductive.

After a quick talk, Harry shrugged. "It's your call, girls. We can scramble the lineup or... figure something else out."

Chaewon glanced at Jiyeon, then at you, a mischievous smile curving her full lips. "A trio could be fun," she said, her voice light and teasing. Jiyeon nodded, biting her lower lip. "Yeah, why not? As long as it's with him. We've seen you around enough to know you're not some creep." Their consent was enthusiastic, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Problem solved, for the ceremony, at least.

The wedding went off without a hitch. You walked down the aisle with both women on your arms, one on each side, drawing amused whispers and smiles from the guests. Chaewon's hand felt warm and small on your arm; Jiyeon's grip was firmer, more assured. During the reception, as the music swelled and drinks flowed freely, champagne, cocktails, shots of soju mixed with whiskey, the dynamic of us three being together started to click.

You danced first with Chaewon, her body pressing close during a slow song, her floral dress swirling around her thighs. Her breath tickled your ear as she whispered, "You're a good dancer... and you smell nice." Her hips swayed against yours, the sheer fabric doing little to hide the heat radiating from her skin. Then Jiyeon took her turn, dancing with you to a more sensual rhythm, her long black hair brushing your chest as she looked up at you through hooded eyes. "Don't think we're letting you off easy today," she murmured, her fingers tracing the back of your neck.

As the night wore on, the three of you stayed close, laughing, clinking glasses, bodies brushing in the crowd. The alcohol loosened some inhibitions and made the time less awkward. Chaewon's cheeks flushed pink, her giggles turning breathy. Jiyeon's touches grew bolder, her hand lingering on your thigh under the table. By midnight, the party was winding down, but the chemistry between you three was just building up.

"Hotel room?" Jiyeon suggested, her voice low and husky as she leaned in on one side, her full breasts pressing against your arm through the thin dress. Chaewon nodded eagerly on the other side, biting her lip. "Ours is a suite. Plenty of space... for three."

You barely made it through the door of their luxurious hotel suite before the tension snapped. The room was dimly lit by bedside lamps, a king-sized bed dominating the space, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Chaewon kicked off her heels first, giggling as she pushed you back onto the bed. "We've been thinking about this since the dance and how you treated us," she confessed, crawling over you. Her short blonde hair framed her face as she kissed you deeply, her tongue slipping into your mouth with surprising hunger. She tasted like sweet champagne and strawberries.

Jiyeon watched for a moment, then joined, shedding her dress in one fluid motion. The floral fabric pooled at her feet, revealing lacy white lingerie that barely contained her perky B-cup breasts and a tiny thong that accentuated her toned ass and smooth, shaved pussy. "My turn," she purred, pulling Chaewon off you gently and claiming your lips. Her kiss was deeper, more dominant, her long hair cascading over your shoulders as her hand slid down to palm the growing bulge in your pants.

You groaned, hands exploring. Chaewon's dress came off next, her body even more petite and lithe underneath, small, firm B-cup breasts with pink nipples already hard, a flat stomach, and matching lacy panties soaked through. "Touch me," she whispered, guiding your hand between her thighs. Your fingers found her wet folds, slick and eager, slipping one inside her tight heat as she moaned, grinding against your palm.

Jiyeon freed your cock from your pants, her eyes widening appreciatively at the thick, veiny length. "Fuck, you're big," she breathed, wrapping her soft hand around the shaft and stroking slowly from base to tip, her thumb circling the leaking head. Chaewon leaned down, her tongue flicking out to lick along the underside while Jiyeon pumped you, their mouths working in tandem, kissing each other around your cock, sucking on the head together, saliva dripping down your balls. The sight was obscene: two beautiful women, one blonde and playful, one dark-haired and seductive, sharing your throbbing dick.

You pulled Chaewon up first, her lithe, petite body flushed and trembling with anticipation. You laid her gently but firmly on her back in the center of the massive king-sized bed, the silky sheets already rumpled from your earlier making out. You spread her smooth, toned legs wide apart, knees bent and feet planted on the mattress, fully exposing her glistening pussy. Her outer lips were puffy and pink, inner folds slick with her arousal, a thin string of wetness already dripping down toward her tight little asshole. Her clit peeked out, swollen and begging for attention.

You dove in without hesitation, burying your face between her thighs. Your tongue flattened and dragged slowly from her dripping entrance up to her clit in long, deliberate strokes, savoring her sweet tangy, musky flavor, pure feminine nectar mixed with the faint taste of her earlier excitement. You circled her clit with the tip of your tongue, then sucked it firmly between your lips, flicking rapidly as she bucked her hips. Chaewon cried out sharply, her small hands flying to your hair, fingers tangling tightly in the strands as she pulled you harder against her cunt. "Yes! Right there—ahh! Fuck, your tongue feels so good!" she moaned loudly, her voice high-pitched and breathy.

Jiyeon didn't wait to be invited. She swung one long leg over Chaewon's face, straddling her friend's mouth in a smooth motion while facing you. Her perfect, round ass hovered just above Chaewon's eager lips as she lowered her own soaked pussy onto the blonde's waiting tongue. Jiyeon's long black hair cascaded down her back as she ground her wet cunt forward and backward, smearing her juices across Chaewon's mouth and chin. Chaewon's tongue immediately pushed inside her, licking deep and hungrily, making wet, obscene slurping sounds. "Mmm, yes, eat my pussy," Jiyeon purred, her voice husky with pleasure.

While Chaewon was busy devouring Jiyeon, the older girl reached down between your bodies, her elegant fingers wrapping around your throbbing, rock-hard cock. She stroked you firmly a few times, spreading the precum leaking from your tip, then guided the fat, swollen head right to Chaewon's tight entrance. You pushed forward slowly, inch by inch, feeling her velvety walls stretch and clench around your girth. Chaewon was incredibly tight, almost painfully so, her pussy gripping every ridge and vein of your shaft like it was made for you. When you finally bottomed out, balls deep, her cervix kissing the tip of your cock, she let out a muffled, guttural moan directly into Jiyeon's pussy. "So fucking full... you're stretching me so much," she gasped between desperate licks, her words vibrating against Jiyeon's clit.

You gave her a moment to adjust, then started thrusting harder, long, powerful strokes that made your hips slap loudly against her firm little ass. Her small, perky tits bounced rhythmically with every impact, pink nipples stiff and begging to be sucked. The wet squelching sounds of your cock pistoning in and out of her drenched cunt filled the room, mixed with the girls' moans and the slick noises of Chaewon's tongue working Jiyeon's pussy. Jiyeon leaned forward, her full breasts pressing heavily against your chest as she captured your mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss, her tongue dancing with yours. Her hard nipples dragged across your skin while Chaewon's muffled cries sent pleasurable vibrations straight to Jiyeon's clit, pushing the black haired beauty closer to the edge.

After several minutes of pounding Chaewon senseless, you switched positions. You pulled out with a wet pop, her pussy visibly gaping for a second before clenching around nothing. You flipped Jiyeon onto all fours, her perfect heart-shaped ass raised high in the air, back arched deeply. Her pussy lips were swollen and shiny with a mix of her own juices and Chaewon's saliva. You gripped her narrow waist and slammed into her in one powerful thrust, burying yourself to the hilt. Jiyeon was wetter than Chaewon but still incredibly snug, her walls gripping you like a hot, silky vice. "Fuck yes—harder!" she demanded immediately, pushing her ass back against you greedily. You obliged, fucking her with deep, brutal strokes, your balls slapping against her clit with every thrust.

Chaewon slid underneath Jiyeon on her back, positioning her face right at the action. Her tongue lapped eagerly at Jiyeon's clit and the base of your cock as you thrust in and out, tasting the creamy mixture of their combined arousal. She sucked one of Jiyeon's swinging breasts into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the nipple while her fingers found Chaewon's own clit again, rubbing furiously. The room was filled with the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, wet squelching, and raw moans, "Deeper! Fuck me harder!" from Jiyeon, and Chaewon's muffled whimpers of pleasure.

You rotated between them for what felt like hours, lost in a haze of lust and alcohol-fueled stamina. Next, Chaewon rode you reverse cowgirl, her tight little ass jiggling hypnotically as she bounced up and down on your cock, her hands braced on your thighs for leverage. You could see every detail, your thick shaft disappearing into her stretched pink pussy, her juices coating your balls and dripping down. After a bit Jiyeon straddled your face at the same time, smothering you with her dripping cunt as you devoured her, sucking her clit and tongue-fucking her hole while she made out with Chaewon above you, their tongues and tits pressed together.

Then you flipped Jiyeon into missionary, her long legs wrapped tightly around your waist, heels digging into your back as you pounded her deep and fast. Her nails raked red lines down your shoulders and back while Chaewon made out sloppily with her, fingers buried in Jiyeon's pussy alongside your cock, stretching her even more. Chaewon occasionally leaned down to lick Jiyeon's clit or suck on her bouncing tits.

The orgasms came crashing through them in waves. Chaewon's first one hit like a storm, she suddenly tensed, her pussy clamping down like a fist around your cock as she squirted lightly, clear fluid gushing around your shaft and soaking your groin and the sheets. She screamed, body shaking violently, eyes rolling back. Jiyeon followed soon after on her turn, her walls convulsing rhythmically, milking your cock as she shuddered and cried out, her thighs quivering uncontrollably.

Finally, you couldn't hold back. "I'm gonna cum," you growled. They both knelt eagerly in front of you, tongues out, hands stroking your slick cock. Thick ropes of hot cum painted their faces and tongues, splattering Chaewon's blonde hair and pretty cheeks, coating Jiyeon's lips and tits. They kissed, swapping your load, giggling breathlessly.

Exhausted, you collapsed together on the bed in a tangle of limbs, their bodies pressed against yours, Chaewon's head on your chest, Jiyeon's leg draped over your thigh. "Best wedding ever," Chaewon murmured sleepily. Jiyeon smiled, tracing patterns on your skin. "And we're not done with you tomorrow morning..."

SinB's fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her champagne glass. The bubbles tickled her throat as she drank, trying to settle the fluttering in her chest. Twenty-eight years old today. Twenty-eight years of being the perfect idol—smiling, dancing, saying the right things in interviews. Twenty-eight years of hiding the secret that had burned inside her since she was a trainee, since that night when she'd stumbled across a video on a borrowed phone in the practice room.

She remembered the way the girl in the video had looked—wrecked, used, utterly destroyed. The way her eyes had rolled back. The way she'd begged for more even when she couldn't take anymore.

That's going to be me tonight.

The thought sent heat pooling between her thighs. She pressed them together, feeling the slick warmth that had been building all evening. Her friend had arranged everything—the hotel, the privacy, and most importantly, the men. Three of them. All strangers. All packing exactly what she'd been craving for a decade.

SinB checked her reflection one more time. Her dress was simple but devastating—a black slip dress that clung to every curve, the neckline plunging deep enough to show the swell of her breasts. No bra. Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, already hard with anticipation. She'd chosen the shortest length possible, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh. Underneath, a scrap of lace that was already soaked through.

She didn't bother with underwear. She stripped it off, letting it fall to the floor. If she was going to be a fucktoy tonight, she might as well start acting like one.

The hallway stretched before her, carpet plush beneath her heels. Each step made her thighs quiver. She could feel her arousal building, her cunt growing wetter with every stride. The walls of the hotel seemed to pulse with her heartbeat.

Room 412. The numbers glowed on the door. SinB raised her hand to knock, then stopped.

Last chance to turn back. Last chance to be good little SinB, the innocent idol.

She smiled. That SinB didn't exist anymore.

She pushed open the door.

The room was dim, lit only by the glow of city lights filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. The bed dominated the space—king-sized, pristine white sheets waiting to be ruined. But it wasn't the furniture that held her attention.

Three men stood near the window, their silhouettes tall and broad against the cityscape. They turned as she entered, and SinB's breath caught in her throat.

They were magnificent. Dark skin gleaming in the low light, muscles straining against tight shirts, and in their eyes—that look. That hungry, predatory look that made her cunt clench around nothing.

"Happy birthday," one of them said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her chest. He stepped forward, and SinB caught the subtle movement beneath his jeans—the outline of something massive shifting against his thigh. "Your friend told us you've been waiting a long time for this."

SinB swallowed hard. Her voice came out breathier than intended. "Ten years."

"Ten years," another repeated, moving to flank her other side. "That's a lot of pent-up frustration." He was taller than the first, his bald head gleaming, his smile showing white teeth against his dark complexion. "We're going to make sure you get everything you've been dreaming about."

The third man hadn't spoken yet. He stayed by the window, arms crossed, watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. His eyes traveled down her body, taking in the hard nipples, the trembling thighs, the bare skin beneath her dress.

"No underwear," he observed, his accent thick and deep. "She came ready."

The first man laughed softly. "Of course she did. Look at her." He moved closer, close enough that she could smell him—musk and spice and something uniquely male. His hand came up, fingers brushing the strap of her dress. "You're going to be our little toy tonight, SinB. Our personal fucktoy. That's what you want, isn't it?"

She nodded, unable to find words.

"Use your words," he commanded, his voice gentle but firm. "Tell us what you are."

SinB's lips parted. Heat rushed to her face. She'd never said anything like this out loud before. But the words came anyway, pulled from somewhere deep inside her.

"I'm your fucktoy. Your meatsleeve. I want you to use me—all of you—until I can't walk. Until I can't think." Her voice cracked slightly. "Until I'm ruined."

The third man finally moved, crossing the room in three long strides. He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand wrapped around her throat—not squeezing, just holding. Claiming.

"Look at me," he ordered.

SinB raised her eyes to meet his. Dark. Intense.

"When we're done with you," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "you won't even remember your own name. You'll just remember how good it felt to be destroyed by big black cock."

Her whole body shuddered. A moan slipped past her lips—soft, desperate, needy.

Fuck, I'm already so wet.

The man holding her throat smiled. "Now get on your knees, little slut. Show us how much you've been wanting this."

SinB dropped.

Her knees hit the carpet with a muffled thud, and SinB found herself eye-level with the most magnificent sight she'd ever witnessed. Three massive bulges strained against denim, and her mouth watered at the sheer size of what lay beneath.

"Fuck," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The first man chuckled, his hand moving to his belt. "That's right. Get a good look at what's going to ruin you tonight."

Metal clinked against metal as he undid his buckle. SinB's trembling fingers reached up, helping him work the button free. The zipper came down with a slow hiss, and then—

Her eyes went wide.

His cock sprang free, thick and dark and impossibly huge. It curved upward slightly, the head a deeper shade of brown than the shaft, glistening already with precum. Veins ran along its length like rivers, and the musky scent of him hit her like a wave.

"Oh god," she moaned, leaning forward without thinking. Her tongue darted out, licking the precum from his tip. The taste—salty, masculine, intoxicating—made her cunt clench.

"Eager little thing," the second man observed, stepping closer. His own jeans hit the floor, revealing a cock even longer than the first—straight as an arrow and easily ten inches. "Your friend said you'd been dreaming about this. Said you used to watch videos and fuck yourself thinking about black cock."

SinB's face burned with shame and arousal. "Y-yes. Every night. I couldn't stop."

"Show us," the third man commanded from behind her. "Show us how much you love big black cock."

She wrapped her lips around the first man's head, her jaw stretching wide to accommodate his girth. Her tongue swirled over the sensitive underside, tasting every ridge and vein. He groaned above her, his hand tangling in her dark hair.

"Fuck, her mouth is good," he said, his hips pushing forward slightly. "Take more, slut. I know you can."

SinB relaxed her throat, breathing through her nose. She'd practiced this—on toys, on bananas, on anything she could find. But nothing had prepared her for the reality of a thick, hot, pulsing cock sliding past her tonsils.

Glrk.

The sound echoed through the room, wet and obscene. Her eyes watered as he hit the back of her throat, but she didn't pull back. Instead, she swallowed, her throat muscles working around him.

"Shit," he hissed. "She's a natural."

Behind her, she felt hands on her hips, lifting her dress. The cool air hit her soaked pussy, and she trembled.

"Look at this," the second man said, his voice appreciative. "Dripping wet already. This little Asian cunt is begging for it."

He spread her ass cheeks wide, exposing both her holes to the room. SinB moaned around the cock in her mouth, the vibrations making the first man groan.

"Keep that mouth busy," the third man ordered. "Don't you dare stop sucking."

She felt hot breath against her pussy, and then—

His tongue dragged from her clit to her asshole in one long, devastating lick.

"Mmmmph!" Her cry was muffled by cock, her back arching. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. His tongue circled her asshole, wet and insistent, while his thumb rubbed her clit in tight circles.

"She tastes sweet," the second man reported, pulling back momentarily. "Sweet little Korean pussy, all soaked for black cock."

"Let me get the camera," the third man said.

SinB's eyes widened, and she pulled off the first man's cock with a wet pop. "W-wait, camera?"

The third man held up a small device, his smile predatory. "Did you think we'd let you leave without proof? Every idol fears blackmail. We want you to know we have it."

Fear spiked through her—sharp and cold—before dissolving into something darker. Hotter.

Do it, a voice whispered inside her. Let them record you. Let them have proof of what a whore you are.

"Go ahead," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Film me. Film me being your slut."

"Fuck," the first man groaned. "You're perfect."

He pushed her head back down, his cock sliding between her lips again. The red light on the camera blinked to life.

SinB lost herself in the rhythm—sucking, licking, worshipping. Her head bobbed on his shaft while behind her, the second man feasted on her holes. His tongue pushed past her asshole's resistance, fucking her there while his fingers worked her pussy.

"Her throat is so tight," the first man said to the camera. "This little K-pop slut was made for BBC."

Tears streamed down SinB's face, her mascara running in black rivers. Her jaw ached, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Every cell in her body screamed for more.

The second man pulled back, his face slick with her juices. "I need to be in her mouth too."

He moved to stand beside the first man, and SinB found herself between two massive cocks. She grabbed both, her small hands barely wrapping around their girths. Alternating between them, she sucked one while stroking the other, her tongue leaving trails of spit across their dark skin.

"Look at the camera," the third man ordered. "Show everyone what a cock-hungry whore you are."

SinB raised her eyes to the lens, her mouth full of thick black cock, and moaned.

"Sloppy little thing," the first man praised, his hand tight in her hair. "You wanted this for ten years, didn't you? Ten years of dreaming about black men using you."

She nodded as best she could with her mouth full.

"Tell us what you are," the second man demanded.

SinB pulled back, gasping. Saliva connected her lips to their cocks in long, glistening strings. "I'm a slut," she panted. "A whore for BBC. A fucktoy for black cock."

"And what do you want?"

"I want you to destroy me," she begged, looking up at them with desperate eyes. "Use all my holes. Fill me with cum. Make me yours."

The first man grinned, wiping her spit from his shaft. "Beg for it properly."

SinB pressed her forehead to his cock, nuzzling it like something sacred. "Please," she whispered. "Please, I've waited so long. I've been such a good girl for so long. Let me be bad. Let me be your whore. I'll do anything—anything you want. Just please, please fuck me."

The camera captured every word. Every tear. Every drop of arousal coating her thighs.

"Good girl," the third man said, setting the camera on a shelf with a perfect angle. "Now let's see how much you can really take."

The first man hauled SinB up from her knees like she weighed nothing, his strong hands gripping her waist. She stumbled on her heels, legs shaky from kneeling so long, but he didn't give her time to find her balance. He spun her around and marched her toward the bed.

"Time to break in this tight Asian pussy," he growled.

Her dress bunched around her hips as he shoved her forward. She caught herself on the mattress, the white sheets cool against her flushed skin. Behind her, she heard him positioning himself, felt the blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance.

"Wait," she breathed, glancing over her shoulder. "I haven't—nobody's ever—"

"First time taking something this big?" The second man had moved to the head of the bed, his massive cock jutting out obscenely. "Don't worry. We'll make it fit."

"She's soaked," the first man observed, running his fingers through her slick folds. "This little cunt is practically dripping. She's been waiting ten years for this moment."

SinB whimpered, pressing her face into the mattress. The shame of it—being so exposed, so wet, so desperate—made her skin burn. But beneath the shame lay something far more powerful: a hunger so deep it threatened to consume her entirely.

"Look at me," the second man commanded.

She raised her head. His cock hovered inches from her face, that straight ten-inch shaft gleaming with her saliva. He stroked it slowly, his dark hand a stark contrast against the deep brown of his skin.

"When he starts fucking you, you're going to take me down your throat. Understand?"

SinB nodded, her mouth already opening.

"Good girl. Now thank him for giving you what you've wanted for so long."

She turned back, looking over her shoulder at the first man. His cock pressed against her pussy lips, spreading them wide. The head alone felt impossibly thick.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for—oh fuck!"

He pushed forward.

The stretch was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Her pussy lips clung to his shaft as he sank deeper, her walls stretching to accommodate his girth. Every inch felt like a revelation—painful, overwhelming, and impossibly pleasurable all at once.

"Shit, she's tight," he groaned, his hands digging into her hips. "Tightest pussy I've ever felt."

"Halfway," the third man observed from nearby. SinB had almost forgotten he was there, camera in hand. "She's got five more inches to take."

Five more. She could barely breathe around the five she already had.

The second man's hand cupped her chin, turning her face forward again. "Open up, slut. Time to fill that mouth."

She obeyed, her jaw stretching wide. His cock slipped past her lips, salty and musky and so hard against her tongue. The angle was different like this—her face parallel to the mattress, her neck extended—and she felt him slide deeper than before.

"Mmmph!"

The first man chose that moment to thrust forward.

SinB's eyes flew wide as he buried himself to the hilt. Her pussy spasmed around him, stretched beyond anything she'd imagined possible. She could feel every ridge, every vein, every pulsing inch of him lodged deep inside her cunt.

"Fuck yes," he groaned. "Taking it all now. Every inch of that big black cock buried in your tight Korean pussy."

She couldn't respond—not with her mouth full. But her body answered for her, her back arching, her hips pushing back against him. The pleasure was already building, white-hot and demanding.

"Ready, slut?" The second man's hand wrapped in her hair. "I'm going to fuck this pretty face now."

He pulled back, then snapped his hips forward.

Schlk.

The wet sound of her throat being fucked filled the room. SinB gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but she forced herself to relax. She'd dreamed of this—being used at both ends, filled completely—and she wouldn't ruin it by failing to take what they gave her.

The first man set a brutal pace behind her. Each thrust drove her forward onto the second man's cock, each pull back dragged her throat off that massive shaft. She was caught between them, impaled on both ends, helpless to do anything but take it.

"That's it," the first man growled, his hips slapping against her ass. "Take that BBC like a good little whore. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be our fucktoy?"

"Gmmph," was all she could manage.

The third man appeared at her side. He'd stripped at some point, and she found herself staring at his cock—thick and dark and already leaking precum. Without being asked, her hand reached for it.

"Look at that," he chuckled. "She needs more. Three cocks and she still wants more."

SinB's fingers wrapped around his shaft as best they could. Her small hand couldn't even circle his girth completely. She stroked him awkwardly, her coordination shot to hell by the dual assault on her pussy and throat.

"Filthy little thing," the third man said, his voice low. "Getting all her holes used and begging for more with her eyes."

He was right. She could feel it—the desperation, the need. Her pussy clenched around the first man's cock with every thrust, her throat working around the second man's shaft even as her hand pumped the third. She was surrounded by them, filled by them, and still she wanted more.

The sounds filling the room were obscene. Wet squelching noises as her pussy was fucked. Gagging and choking as her throat was used. Skin slapping against skin. Moans and groans and filthy words.

"Look at the camera," the third man ordered, aiming it at her face. "Show everyone what a mess you are."

SinB raised her eyes to the lens. Her vision was blurry with tears, her mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks. Saliva dripped from her chin, pooling on the white sheets below. Her lips were swollen and red, stretched obscenely around the second man's dark shaft.

"Beautiful," the third man said. "Fucking beautiful mess."

The first man's rhythm faltered behind her. "She's squeezing me so fucking tight. This pussy is going to make me cum."

"Not yet," the second man said. "Let's see how many positions we can ruin her in first."

He pulled out of her throat with a wet pop. SinB gasped, gulping in air, her chest heaving. Strings of spit connected her lips to his cock, stretching and breaking as she panted.

"On your back," the first man ordered, pulling out of her pussy. The sudden emptiness made her whimper. "I want to see your face when I breed you."

SinB scrambled to comply, flipping onto her back. The sheets were already damp beneath her—her arousal, her spit, their precum. Her dress was bunched around her waist, her breasts spilling out where the fabric had shifted. Her nipples stood hard and desperate, her chest heaving with each breath.

The first man crawled between her legs, positioning himself at her entrance once more. This angle felt different—deeper, more intimate. She could see his face now, the concentration and pleasure etched into his features as he pushed back inside.

"Oh god," she moaned, her head falling back. "So deep. You're so fucking deep."

"Get used to it," he said, bottoming out. His pubic bone pressed against her clit, the coarse hair adding another layer of sensation. "We're going to be in you all night."

The second man knelt beside her head, his cock hovering over her face. "Open."

She opened her mouth, her tongue extending. He slapped his shaft against it—thwap, thwap, thwap—before sliding back between her lips.

"Mmm, that's it. Suck those balls clean."

He'd said the same thing earlier, and she'd loved it. The degradation of it, the sheer filth. Her hand found his shaft again, stroking what she couldn't fit in her mouth while her other hand returned to the third man's cock.

"Switch," the first man said suddenly. "I want her on top."

He pulled out and flipped onto his back, pulling SinB on top of him. She straddled his hips, her slick pussy hovering over his cock. This position put her in control—or so she thought, until his hands gripped her hips and slammed her down.

"Ah! Fuck!"

The new angle drove him even deeper, if that was possible. She could feel him in places she didn't know existed, his cock head kissing her cervix with every thrust.

"Ride me," he commanded. "Show me how much you love BBC."

SinB planted her hands on his chest, her nails digging into his dark skin. She lifted her hips and dropped them, fucking herself on his cock. The pleasure was blinding now, building toward something massive.

"That's it, slut. Use that cock. Make yourself cum."

The second man appeared behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Don't stop riding. Keep that pussy full."

He pressed against her back, his cock sliding between her ass cheeks. She froze, realization flooding through her.

"Wait—I've never—"

"We know," the third man said, still filming. "Your friend told us you're an anal virgin. We're going to change that tonight."

Panic surged through her, mixing with the arousal until she couldn't tell them apart. "I don't know if I can—"

"You can," the first man said, his voice steady beneath her. "And you will. But not yet. First, we're going to make you cum on this cock."

He grabbed her hips and started thrusting up into her, hard and fast. The new angle hit something inside her—a spot she'd only read about—and suddenly she was seeing stars.

"Oh god. Oh fuck. Right there. Don't stop, please don't stop!"

The second man's cock pressed against her lower back, leaving a trail of precum across her skin. His hands reached around to cup her tits, pinching and pulling her nipples. The dual sensation—her pussy being pounded, her nipples being tortured—pushed her closer to the edge.

"I'm going to—please, can I—"

"Cum," the first man growled. "Cum on this big black cock like the whore you are."

SinB shattered.

Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, stealing her breath and her sanity. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, spasming wildly. Her whole body shook, her vision going white at the edges. Sounds poured from her mouth—moans and sobs and words that didn't make sense.

"Fuck, she's squeezing me so hard," the first man groaned. "Gonna fill this cunt up."

"Do it," the second man said. "Breed her."

SinB felt the first man's cock pulse inside her, felt the first hot spurts of his cum flooding her pussy. He groaned long and low, his hips jerking up into her as he rode out his orgasm.

The sensation of being filled—truly filled—with cum pushed SinB into another orgasm. Her body convulsed on top of him, her pussy milking every last drop from his cock.

"Holy shit," she breathed, collapsing onto his chest. "That was—"

"We're not done," the second man said. He pulled her off the first man and positioned her on her hands and knees. "My turn."

SinB's pussy was dripping now—the first man's cum leaking out, mixing with her own juices. The second man didn't seem to mind. He lined himself up and pushed in, his longer cock reaching even deeper.

"Fuck, she's sloppy," he observed, his voice thick with pleasure. "Love a used pussy."

The wet sounds of him fucking her were obscene—squelch, squelch, squelch. Cum and arousal dripped down her thighs, staining the sheets beneath her.

The third man appeared in front of her, his cock jutting toward her face. "My turn for that mouth."

SinB opened obediently. Her jaw ached from all the use, but she didn't care. She wanted to be full again—wanted to be used at both ends like the fucktoy she'd always dreamed of being.

"Look at the camera while you suck," he ordered. "Show everyone what a cum-drunk whore looks like."

She raised her eyes to the lens. Her face was a mess—mascera streaked, lips swollen, eyes glassy with pleasure. Behind her, the second man fucked her with long, deep strokes that made her whole body jerk forward with each thrust.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" The third man's hand wrapped in her hair. "Ten years of fantasizing about BBC, and now you're getting exactly what you dreamed of."

SinB moaned around his cock, unable to form words. But they all knew the answer.

"Tell me," he demanded, pulling her off his cock. "Tell the camera what you are."

She gasped for breath, her chest heaving. "I'm a slut," she panted. "A BBC whore. A fucktoy for black cock."

"And what do you want?"

"I want you to use me. All of you. Fill me with cum until I'm overflowing. Make me yours." Her voice cracked. "Please. Please."

The third man smiled, pushing her head back down onto his cock. The second man's pace quickened behind her, his thrusts growing erratic.

"Gonna cum," he announced. "Gonna breed this Korean pussy."

"Do it," SinB managed to say between sucks. "Fill me up. Please, I need it."

He slammed into her one final time and held, his cock pulsing deep inside her. SinB felt the heat of his cum coating her walls, adding to the mess already inside her.

The sensation triggered another orgasm—smaller this time, but still powerful. Her pussy clenched around him, milking every drop.

"Good girl," he said, pulling out. "Good little cum dump."

Cum leaked from her pussy in thick streams, pooling on the sheets beneath her. Her thighs trembled, barely able to hold her weight.

But the third man wasn't done yet.

He positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her other entrance.

"Wait—" SinB's voice came out shaky. "I've never—"

"Shh." His hand stroked her back. "Relax. We'll go slow."

The first man appeared in front of her, his cock already hardening again. "Distract her."

He pushed into her mouth, and SinB focused on sucking, on relaxing her throat. Behind her, she felt pressure against her asshole—insistent, demanding.

"Push out," the third man instructed. "Like you're trying to push me out. It'll help."

She did as she was told, and suddenly the head of his cock popped past the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh fuck!"

The stretch was overwhelming—painful, intense, and strangely pleasurable. He held still, letting her adjust.

"Breathe," the first man said. "Just breathe."

SinB forced herself to relax, her breath coming in short pants. Slowly, inch by inch, the third man pushed deeper. The fullness was unlike anything she'd ever experienced—dirty and wrong and so fucking right.

When he was finally buried to the hilt, he paused.

"How does it feel?" the second man asked, camera aimed at her face.

"Full," SinB gasped. "So full. I can feel him in my stomach."

The third man started moving—slowly at first, then faster. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her body, the pleasure building in ways she didn't expect.

"Play with your clit," he ordered. "Make yourself cum on my cock."

Her hand moved between her legs, finding her swollen clit. She rubbed in tight circles, the dual stimulation pushing her closer to the edge.

"Fuck, she's tight," the third man groaned. "Tightest ass I've ever fucked."

"Use it," the first man said. "Use it like the hole it is."

His words sent a bolt of arousal through her. She was just a hole—a collection of holes to be used. The thought should have horrified her. Instead, it made her cum harder than she ever had before.

Her orgasm triggered something in the third man. He slammed into her one final time, his cock pulsing deep in her ass.

Hot cum flooded her bowels, triggering another orgasm. SinB screamed around the first man's cock, her body convulsing.

When it was over, she collapsed onto the bed. Cum leaked from both holes, pooling beneath her. Her body ached, her jaw was sore, and she'd never felt more satisfied in her life.

But looking up, she saw all three men were still hard.

"Ready for round two?" the first man asked with a grin.

SinB's pussy clenched around nothing.

Yes. God, yes.

"I want—" She swallowed, trying to find her voice. "I want you to lift me."

The men exchanged glances.

"Lift you how?" the second man asked.

"Pick me up. Use me. Fuck me in the air like I'm nothing."

The first man's grin widened. "You heard the lady."

He hauled her up effortlessly, his strong hands gripping her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her cum-slicked pussy pressing against his cock.

"Hold on tight," he warned.

And then he was inside her, fucking her standing up. Each thrust bounced her on his cock, the new angle hitting different spots inside her.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god—"

The second man moved behind her, his cock pressing against her ass again.

"Time to airtight this slut," he announced.

SinB's eyes widened. "Both at once? I don't know if—"

"You will," the first man said. "You'll take everything we give you."

The second man pushed into her ass, and SinB saw stars. Two massive cocks inside her at once, separated by only a thin wall of flesh. The fullness was overwhelming—too much and not enough all at once.

"Look at the camera," the third man ordered, filming from nearby. "Show everyone how a Korean idol takes double BBC."

SinB raised her eyes to the lens, her face a mask of pleasure and pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't want them to stop.

"More," she begged. "Please. More."

The men found a rhythm—one pushing in while the other pulled out. SinB was impaled on their cocks, held up by nothing but their strength and her desperation.

"She's so fucking tight like this," the second man groaned. "Can feel you through her."

"Best pussy I've ever had," the first man agreed. "Tight Asian cunt was made for BBC."

Their words added fuel to the fire. SinB was losing herself—losing her mind—to the pleasure. She was just a vessel now, a collection of holes to be filled, and she'd never been happier.

"I'm going to cum again," she warned. "Please, can I—"

"Cum," both men said in unison. "Cum on our cocks like the whore you are."

SinB shattered.

This orgasm was different—deeper, more all-consuming. Her vision went black, her body seizing between them. She felt like she was floating, her mind wiped clean of everything but pleasure.

When she came back to herself, she was lying on the bed. Cum leaked from both holes, her body sore and satisfied.

"Good girl," the first man said, stroking her hair. "You did so well."

SinB smiled weakly. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making my dreams come true."

The third man laughed. "We're not done yet. Not even close."

He positioned himself between her legs, his hard cock pressing against her sloppy pussy.

"Time for round three."

SinB spread her legs wider, her cunt clenching in anticipation.

Yes. More. Always more.

She was their fucktoy now—their meatsleeve—and she wouldn't have it any other way.

As the third man pushed inside, filling her with yet another massive black cock, SinB knew she'd never be the same. Ten years of fantasizing, and the reality was so much more than she'd imagined.

The camera captured everything—every thrust, every moan, every drop of cum.

but they were not done. Not yet.

One of them, grab SinB by the neck, torturing her with his Big Black Cock, forcing SinB to pleasure Him.

The third man's cock stretched her sloppy pussy wide, sinking into the mess of cum that already filled her. SinB's back arched off the mattress, her oversensitive walls gripping him instinctively. Three loads leaked from her holes, pooling beneath her, and still she needed more.

"Such a greedy little cunt," he growled, his thick accent rolling over each word. He bottomed out inside her, his coarse pubic hair grinding against her swollen clit. "You want more already, don't you, slut?"

"Yes," she breathed, her voice ragged. "Please. More. I need—"

A sharp knock cut through her begging.

SinB's head snapped toward the door, panic flaring in her chest. But the first man just laughed, his hand tightening in her hair.

"Right on time," he said.

The door swung open, and her eyes went wide.

Five more men filed into the room. Then seven. Then ten. Broad shoulders and dark skin and hungry eyes, all of them stripping off clothes as they entered. The smell hit her instantly—musk and sweat and pure masculinity, so thick she could taste it.

"Happy birthday, slut," the second man whispered in her ear. "We invited friends."

SinB's cunt clench around the third man's cock. Her heart hammered against her ribs, fear and arousal tangling into one throbbing pulse between her legs.

"Th-there's so many—"

"Fifteen of us total," the first man said, counting heads. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at the semicircle forming around the bed. "And every single one of us is going to use you tonight."

The third man started fucking her again, his pace brutal and claiming. Each thrust drove the air from her lungs, his cock hitting depths that made her vision blur. Cum squelched around his shaft, the obscene wet sounds filling the room.

"Look at that," one of the newcomers said. His voice was deep, his cock already hard and jutting out from his body—thick and dark with a prominent vein running along the underside. "Asian bitch is already creaming herself."

"Been dreaming about this for ten years," the second man told them. "Practiced on toys. Watched videos. This little whore has been desperate for BBC since she was a trainee."

SinB's face burned with shame. But her pussy only got wetter.

"She know we're filming?" another man asked, nodding toward the camera.

"She begged for it."

The third man pulled out suddenly, leaving her empty and gaping. Her cunt fluttered around nothing, cum leaking from her stretched hole.

"Get her up," someone ordered.

Hands grabbed her from every direction—strong dark fingers digging into her arms, her waist, her thighs. They hauled her off the bed like she weighed nothing, positioning her on her knees in the center of the room.

"Open your mouth, whore."

She obeyed, her jaw aching from earlier use. A new cock pressed past her lips—longer than the others, thin but reaching deep. The man groaned above her, his hand fisting her hair.

"Fuck, her throat is tight," he hissed. He started fucking her face, his balls slapping against her chin. "Swallow it all, slut. Every inch."

Behind her, someone spread her ass cheeks wide. A tongue dragged from her clit to her asshole, lapping up the cum that leaked from both holes. She shuddered, moaning around the cock in her mouth.

"Tastes like a proper cum dump," the man behind her said. "Who's breed her already?"

"Three of us."

"Then let's make it four."

He pushed into her pussy without warning, his cock thicker than any she'd taken tonight. The stretch bordered on painful, her walls forced to accommodate his massive girth. She screamed around the shaft in her throat, tears springing to her eyes.

"Too much?" the first man asked, appearing in her vision. He cupped her face, his thumb wiping away a tear. "Ask us to stop."

But she didn't want them to stop. She shook her head as best she could, her tongue working the cock in her mouth.

"That's what I thought."

More hands found her body—pinching her nipples, slapping her tits, grabbing fistfuls of her ass. Someone spat on her face, the saliva running down her cheek. Another man pressed his cock against her free hand, curling her fingers around his shaft.

"Stroke," he commanded.

She pumped him awkwardly, her coordination shot as two cocks abused her from both ends. The man behind her set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming against her sore ass with each thrust.

"Look at her take it," someone laughed. "Fifteen cocks and she's still hungry for more."

The man in her mouth suddenly gripped her head tight, burying himself down her throat. His cum erupted directly into her stomach, pulse after pulse of hot seed. He pulled back halfway, the last spurts coating her tongue.

"Swallow," he ordered.

SinB swallowed, the taste of him filling her senses. Salty and thick and undeniably male.

"Good girl."

He stepped back, and another cock immediately replaced him. This one was wider, stretching her jaw to its limit. She gagged, spit pouring from the corners of her mouth.

"Breathe through your nose," someone instructed. "You've got a lot more of us to get through."

The man behind her buried himself deep and held, his cock twitching inside her. She felt his cum flooding her already-sloppy pussy, adding to the mess. He pulled out with a wet schlick, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

But not for long.

Another man took his place, pressing against her asshole instead. She tensed, her body remembering the earlier stretch.

"Relax," he said, his palm connecting with her ass cheek in a sharp slap. The sound echoed through the room, followed immediately by another slap on the other side. "Let us in."

She forced herself to relax, and his cockhead popped past the tight ring of muscle. The burn made her gasp, her eyes watering. He didn't wait for her to adjust—just pushed deeper, inch by inch, until his balls rested against her dripping cunt.

"Fuck, she's even tighter here."

His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as he started moving. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her body, the pleasure-pain mixing until she couldn't tell them apart.

Meanwhile, the cock in her mouth withdrew, slapping against her face—thwap, thwap, thwap. Another took its place, this one curved upward. The head hit the roof of her mouth with every thrust, sending jolts of sensation straight to her clit.

"She's dripping," someone observed. "Pussy's empty and she's still making a mess on the floor."

"Put something in it then."

A hand grabbed her free wrist, guiding it backward. She felt another hard cock press against her palm. Now she was stroking two, her hands working automatically while her mouth and ass were used.

They passed her around like a party favor. Cock after cock filled her holes, each man taking his turn. Some finished inside her, adding to the growing mess. Others pulled out at the last second, spraying cum across her face, her tits, her back.

"Close your eyes," someone ordered.

She obeyed. Hot cum splattered across her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks. It dripped down her face in thick rivers, mixing with her mascara and tears.

"Open."

She blinked open her cum-crusted eyes to see the camera pointed directly at her face.

"Tell everyone what you are."

SinB's voice came out wrecked—hoarse and broken from hours of use. "I'm a whore," she rasped. "A fucktoy for BBC. A cum dump for black cock."

"And what do you want?"

"I want you to use me. All of you. Fill me until I can't hold any more."

Someone grabbed her throat from behind, tilting her head back. A cock pressed against her lips again.

"Beg for it properly."

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please fuck me. Use me. I'm just a set of holes for your pleasure. Ruin me. Break me. Make me forget my own name."

The men exchanged satisfied glances.

"Good slut."

They positioned her differently now—someone lying on the bed, his cock standing straight up. They lowered her onto him, her pussy swallowing his length. Another stood at the head of the bed, his shaft pushing into her mouth. A third approached from behind, his cock pressing into her ass.

Three holes. Three cocks. Airtight.

"Ride," the man beneath her commanded.

She planted her hands on his chest, lifting her hips and dropping them. The dual penetration made every nerve ending fire, her body stretched beyond anything she'd imagined possible. The man in her ass matched her rhythm, his thrusts driving her forward onto the cock in her mouth.

"Oh god—oh fuck—"

Her moans were muffled by cock, her body moving on instinct alone. She was lost now—completely and utterly lost in the sensation of being filled in every possible way.

"She's about to cum," someone observed.

"Stop."

Everything stopped. The cocks inside her held still. The one in her mouth withdrew completely. She whined, her body trembling on the edge of release.

"Please—please let me—"

"No." The first man's voice was firm. "You don't cum until we say so."

They held her there, poised on the precipice, her body screaming for release. Tears streamed down her face, frustration and need mixing into one overwhelming ache.

"Beg properly."

"I'm sorry—please—I need it so badly—"

"Need what?"

"To cum. Please let me cum. I'll do anything. I'll be your whore forever. Just please, please let me cum."

The men exchanged glances again.

"Since she asked so nicely…"

They started moving again. The cock in her pussy pistoned upward while the one in her ass slammed deep. The third returned to her mouth, fucking her throat with renewed intensity.

The orgasm hit her like a wave. Her entire body seized, her holes clenching around the cocks inside her. White-hot pleasure consumed her, wiping her mind clean of everything except the sensation of being utterly, completely filled.

"Fuck, she's milking me," the man beneath her groaned. His cock pulsed, adding his load to the countless others already inside her.

The man in her ass followed moments later, his cum flooding her bowels. The one in her mouth withdrew, spurting across her face and tits.

But they weren't done. Not even close.

They lifted her off the bed, passing her between them like a toy. Someone held her in the air, her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock buried in her cunt. Another pressed against her ass, entering her already-stretched hole.

"Take it," someone growled in her ear. "Take every fucking inch."

She lost track of how many times they made her cum. Lost track of how many loads filled her holes, painted her skin, dripped from her chin. Lost track of everything except the endless cycle of pleasure and pain and more, more, more.

At some point, they flipped her onto her back again. Someone straddled her chest, pushing her tits together and fucking the channel between them. Others knelt beside her head, their cocks pressing against her lips.

"Stick out your tongue."

She obeyed. Cock after cock rubbed against it, leaving trails of precum and cum. She was covered in it now—her face, her hair, her body, the sheets beneath her.

"Look at the camera, slut."

She turned her gaze to the lens. Her reflection stared back at her—wrecked and ruined and utterly destroyed.

"Tell everyone what you learned tonight."

SinB's voice was barely a whisper. "That I'm a whore," she breathed. "That I was made for BBC. That I'll never be satisfied by anything else."

"And?"

"And I want more. I want this every day. I want to be used until I can't remember my own name."

The camera captured every word. Every drop of cum. Every tear-streaked, mascara-smeared inch of her ruined face.

"Good girl."

They used her for hours more. Passed her around like a party favor. Filled her until her belly swelled with cum, until it leaked from every hole in a constant stream. Slapped her, choked her, spat on her—treating her exactly like the fucktoy she'd always dreamed of being.

By the time the last man finished, SinB lay in a puddle of cum and sweat and tears, her body sore and satisfied beyond anything she'd ever known. Her holes gaped obscenely, cum leaking from them in steady streams. Her face was unrecognizable, coated in layer after layer of seed.

But her smile—her smile was radiant.

"Happy birthday," the first man said, running a hand through her matted hair.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you thank you thank you."

"For what?"

"For making me what I always knew I was."

The camera continued recording as she lay there, wrecked and ruined and happier than she'd ever been in her life.

Tomorrow, she'd have to face the world—interviews, rehearsals, the constant scrutiny of idol life. But tonight, she was exactly what she wanted to be: a BBC fucktoy, used and abused and loving every second of it.

And she knew, with absolute certainty, that this was only the beginning.

She'd tasted her fantasy, and now she'd never be able to go back.

Hi! :DD I just wanted to give a huge thank you to all the writers involved in this project! Friends, you guys were a joy to work with, and to all the readers who come across our compilation, I sincerely hope you guys take the time to check out each of these amazing writers' blogs! I'm immensely thankful that they poured their time and effort into this, and they deserve all the credit and praise. <:)

Masterlist:

Curated Companions: Part 1

Artms Heejin - @worldsover

Le Sserafim Sakura - @mintwithchoco

SNSD Seohyun - @kesujo

VIVIZ Eunha - @0cta9on

Aespa Karina - @sumirhatos

IVE Yujin - @craycr4y

Busters Takara - @writerpeach

Kiss of Life Julie - @authorhjk1

Dreamcatcher JiU - @midnightdancingsol

TWICE Sana - @co-reborn

Curated Companions: Part 2

IVE Wonyoung - @okaylikesmomo

Le Sserafim Chaewon - @gangplanksorenji

ALICE Sohee - @sparklingblu

Everglow E:U - @smuttysabina

BLACKPINK Rose - @passingnotions

ITZY Chaeryeong - @chunksworld

BINI Aiah - @octoberautumnbox

Kwon Eunbi - @rosiesmuts

(G)-IDLE Minnie - @svndaysaweek

WJSN Bona - @fiorituramara

Curated Companions: Part 3

ITZY Yuna - @capslocked

fromis_9 Nagyung - @nsfwmaemi

TWICE Mina - @costinblazetwice

ITZY Yeji - @syeollock

Aespa Ningning - @thelibrarian69

BADVILLAIN Emma - @coldfanbou

Le Sserafim Yunjin - @praeluxius

IVE Rei - @banananutsmuthie

Lee Chaeyeon - @brokennightmares01

Curated Companions: Part 4

Aespa Winter - @sinswithpleasure

ITZY Ryujin - @kooyabooya

(G)-IDLE Shuhua - @digipigichopshop

H1-KEY Yel - @mechaknight-98

Jeon Somi - @thelastdrop

IVE Gaeul - @msafterhours

Le Sserafim Kazuha - @usedpidemo

BLACKPINK Jennie - @jeneveuxrein

Newjeans Hanni - @i-am-lifeform24

Please refer to the list above to find familiar writers, and maybe discover some new (very talented) favorites! Thank you so much for the support :DD

You reach up, thumb brushing across her knuckles. Small hands. Smooth skin. Expensive perfume. "Gotta be the janitor," you say. "Pretty sure we're moving way too fast, though."

The hands pull back immediately. Then a tiny offended noise. Footsteps around the table.

"Ha. Ha. You're sooo funny, nerd. I like you already.”

Enami Asa steps into your line of sight and every coherent thought you had about thermodynamic equilibrium just evaporates. She's wearing all black. Cropped top, short skirt, boots that go halfway up her calves. Red lipstick that makes ignoring her full lips completely impossible. Her black hair falls straight past her shoulders and she's looking at you with this amused little tilt of her head.

You blink hard and rub your eyes.

Enami Asa: one of the most beautiful girls on campus. Right there, in the dead zone of the university library. Staring at you. What the fuck is happening?

"You know you're insanely hard to find, right?" she says, placing her backpack on the table before dropping into the chair across from you. She crosses her legs and leans back, eyes drifting over the dusty shelves. "Do you always hide out back here? I literally did two full laps around the building.”

"I was studying," you say, closing your laptop halfway. "Can I help you with something?"

She grins. Not in a nice way.

And you're not dumb. You get it. You've spent enough time here to understand how the whole social hierarchy thing works. Girls like Asa don't go looking for guys like you in some forgotten library corner unless they want something. Notes. Homework help. A study guide. Some favor they can cash in with a cute smile and forget about a few hours later.

"You can, actually," she says. "In fact, you might be the only person who can help me right now."

"That's a bold statement."

"I'm a bold girl," she says, adjusting in her seat until she's comfortable. Then she casually drops, like this is the most normal topic ever, "So there's this challenge going around on Twitter."

"X."

"Eat shit, it's literally the same app." She waves you off. "Anyway. It's trending right now. Me and my friends got into it too. Sort of a competition, I guess. NSFW stuff.”

Your pen stops moving.

"Oh…"

"Yeah." Now she's fully studying your face, looking way too entertained by the horror slowly spreading across it. "The idea's simple. You record yourself getting facefucked, upload it, get some likes, drive more people to your OF. Then gooners start ranking clips and arguing in the comments over which one's best. It's become this whole thing. Hashtags and all.”

You look left. You look right. You check behind you to make sure nobody has a camera pointed at this table. "Are you serious right now?" you ask.

"Of course I'm serious," she says, sounding almost offended. "Why the hell would I walk all the way to the ass end of this library and say that kind of shit to a guy like you if I wasn't serious?"

"I genuinely don't know. It's just... a pretty strange request."

"Don't be scared. Be flattered."

"I am neither of those things." You lean back in your chair. "Look, there are like ten thousand guys at this school. You literally have a different one on your arm every week. Go ask one of them."

Asa shakes her head. Just one slow motion. "Nah. Can't do that. We set a rule that every one of us has to find a different guy for the video." She leans back a little. "Has to be a nerd. Someone who'd normally have zero chance with any of us. That's the whole trend."

You stare at her for a few long seconds. "Damn, Asa. Really appreciate you putting me in the 'absolutely no shot' category.”

She laughs, loud enough that it echoes through the shelves and instantly makes you paranoid someone nearby heard the conversation. "Don't take it like that. Seriously. It's not even an insult. Think of it as charity." Her head tilts slightly. "Besides..." Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at you. "You've actually got something going on. Nerd glasses, messy hair… It's kinda cute."

"Amazing. Please engrave that on my grave."

"Stop being so dramatic."

"No. That's my final answer," you say immediately. "Find another victim.”

Asa gets to her feet. Then she does something that completely fries your remaining brain cells. She circles the table at an annoyingly calm pace and sits right in your lap. Just... casually. Her arm drapes over your shoulder while she gives you this ridiculous pout.

"Pleeease?" she says, all soft and sweet. "It'll take like five minutes. Nobody comes back here anyway. You've been hiding in this corner for hours and not one person walked past." She adjusts herself slightly. “I just need you to lend your cock and hold the phone. That's it."

You blink at her. "I can't believe this trend actually exists."

"Oh, it exists.” She already has her phone out. She pulls it from her skirt pocket and drops back onto your lap, scrolling lazily. “See? Hashtag RuinThePrettyFace. It blew up like four days ago.”

She holds the phone inches from your face. One clip after another. Smudged eyeliner. Sloppy expressions. Girls posing for the camera after getting absolutely wrecked. Your eyebrows climb higher with every swipe. Then she opens her own profile. Asa’s account is basically curated nude photography. Soft lighting. artsy filters. Careful angles. Nude after nude after nude.

“Hold on. This is your account?”

“My NSFW alt, yeah.” She shrugs. “Got twelve thousand followers. So?”

"No. Never.”

"Why not?"

"Because I have dignity. And you should try having some too. What you're describing is slutty."

She pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. Zero shame. Zero hesitation. "But I am a slut," she says simply. "So that argument doesn't really work on me. Please," she repeats. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?”

"Anything." A pause. Then she laughs, catching herself. "Well. I can't exactly offer you sex as a reward because that's basically what's already going to happen. So that's off the table as a bargaining chip." She taps her chin, pretending to think. "Buuut you'll have my gratitude. My eternal, undying gratitude!”

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do with your gratitude?"

"I don't know, maybe shove it up your ass and stop playing hard to get?!" She hops off your lap and does a little spin in the aisle between shelves, arms out, letting you look. She stops facing you, one hand on her hip. "Look at me," she demands. "I'm hot. I'm perfect. Any guy on this campus would sell a kidney to be sitting where you're sitting right now. And you're telling me no? Be so fucking for real, dude.”

You rub your temples. "You're actually insane."

"Maybe. But I'm also not leaving until you say yes. I'll sit here all night. I'll follow you to your car. I'll show up at your next class. I will make this so much worse for you if you keep being difficult."

"That's called harassment."

"Call campus security then. Tell them Enami Asa won't stop asking you to let her suck your dick. See how much sympathy you get."

You let out a long breath through your nose. She's got you cornered and she knows it. You can see it all over her pretty face already, that smug little grin spreading because she's realized she's winning.

"Fuck me..." you mutter.

"Is that a yes?!"

You close your laptop with a soft click. Pinch the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. Then you look up at her. At the ridiculously gorgeous girl standing between rows of dusty shelves in that little black outfit, red lips, and absolutely zero sense of shame. You make a decision that's either going to haunt you forever or randomly hit you at age eighty and make you smile. "Fine. Make it quick.”

Asa actually lights up. She bounces on her heels and claps once before she can stop herself. "Yes! Okay! Perfect!" She grins at you. "You seriously won't regret this.”

"I already regret this." She starts to lower herself to her knees right there, but you raise a hand and she freezes. "Wait," you say. "Can we at least make out a little first? Just to, you know… set the mood. I can't just go from thermodynamics to getting my dick sucked with no transition."

She stares at you for a second before rolling her eyes so hard it's honestly impressive.

"Oh my god." A sigh. "Fine. Sure. Whatever you need."

She comes back and sits on your lap again, this time facing you fully, her knees on either side of your thighs in the library chair. Your hands find her waist on pure instinct, settling on the strip of bare skin between her top and her skirt. She's warm. Unbelievably warm.

"You're unfairly hot, by the way. I'm having a hard time believing this is a real situation right now."

"I know," she says immediately, completely shameless. Her hands slide onto your shoulders. "Now enough with the compliments. Kiss me.”

You kiss her. It starts slow because you're still half convinced this is an elaborate prank and someone's going to jump out from behind the reference section with a camera. But Asa's lips are soft and she tastes like mint and whatever that expensive lipstick is made of, and your brain stops looking for the trap pretty quickly. Your hands settle on her waist, thumbs pressing into the narrow strip of bare skin above her skirt. She's tiny under your palms. You can almost feel her ribs.

She's good at this. Obviously she's good at this. Her tongue finds yours and she tilts her head just right, and there's this little sound that comes out of her, this quiet, pleased hum against your mouth that makes your fingers tighten on her waist without you meaning to. She shifts on your lap, pressing closer, and her hands slide from your shoulders to the back of your neck.

You're getting into it. Really getting into it. Your hand starts to drift up her side and she makes another sound, breathier this time, and you can feel the vibration of it through her whole body. Then she turns her head, breaking the kiss, and her palm lands flat on your chest. "Okay, okay. Enough."

"What?"

"I said enough." She wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinky finger, checking for smudges. "You're going to ruin my lipstick before we even start. My makeup needs to get destroyed on camera, not during the warm up."

"You have very specific priorities."

"I have excellent priorities." She rolls her hips once on your lap, settling her weight, and then goes completely still. You watch her expression shift. Her eyes drop down between your bodies, then come back up to your face. "Well," she says, and there's something new in the way she's looking at you. "I think we can start."

She picks up her phone from the table, slides off your lap, and drops to her knees on the library carpet. She taps the screen a few times, opens the camera app, and holds the phone out to you. "Here. You're filming."

You take it. "Vertical or horizontal?"

“Of course it’s vertical. This is Twitter content, not cinema.”

You angle the phone. She reaches for your belt. Her fingers work the buckle loose, then the button, then the zipper, and she's efficient about it, tugging your jeans down your thighs with a little help from you lifting your hips. Your boxers are still on. The outline of you through the fabric is, well… it's pretty obvious.

Asa pauses. Her hands don't move, still resting at your waistband, but her eyes do. They settle on the bulge and stay there.

"Huh?'' she mutters.

Then she pulls your boxers down. Your cock springs free and bobs once, heavy and thick, settling against your lower stomach. The shaft is fat, veiny, flushed. In the dim lighting of the library corner, it looks even bigger than usual, and Asa is just kneeling there, looking at it, her hands frozen in midair. "Wow," she says quietly. Then, louder, like she's trying to convince herself as much as you. "Okay. This might be harder than I imagined."

You look down at her. "You can always give up."

Her head snaps up. The shock on her face converts instantly to pure, offended determination. "Excuse me? You think I'm afraid of a big cock? Are you seriously sitting there telling Enami Asa to give up?"

"I'm just saying."

"Don't underestimate me." She wraps her fingers around the base and the tips barely meet her thumb. She stares at that for a second, jaw flexing, then shakes it off. "Okay. Here's how this works. I'm going to suck your dick first. Get it nice and wet, do my thing. Then when I tap your thigh twice, like this," she demonstrates, two quick pats on your leg, "that's your signal. That means you can start fucking my face. Got it?" You nod. "Use one hand for the phone, one hand on the back of my head. And keep the angle tight on my face. This isn't about you, this is about me looking good."

"And then looking bad."

"And then looking incredible while looking bad." She adjusts her position on her knees, straightens her back, flips her hair over one shoulder. "You can start recording."

You hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.

The shift is immediate. Asa was already pretty, already the kind of person who pulled attention without trying, but the second the camera goes live, something changes. Something clicks into place. Her posture straightens slightly. Her chin lifts. A slow smile pulls at her lips. Suddenly she isn't looking at you anymore. She's looking at the lens. Looking at the people on the other side of it. The ones who'll watch this alone in bed at some stupid hour of the night.

And just like that, she's performing.

She leans forward and presses her lips to the tip of your cock. Just a kiss. The red lipstick leaves a faint mark on your skin and she pulls back to admire it, still smiling at the camera. Then her tongue comes out, flat and pink, and she drags it across the head in one slow pass. Another kiss, this time on the underside, right where the shaft meets the ridge. She's teasing. Taking her time. Making sure the camera catches every angle of her pretty face against your thick cock.

She licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, her dark eyes locked on the lens the entire time. Then another. Then she swirls her tongue around the head, slow and wet, collecting the precum that's already beading at the slit. She holds it on her tongue for a beat, letting the camera see it, then swallows and licks her lips clean.

She opens her mouth and takes you in. The feeling is insane. Her mouth is hot and tight and her tongue does this thing where it presses flat against the underside of your shaft as she sinks down, creating this slick pressure that makes your toes curl in your shoes. She takes about half of you on the first pass, which given the girth is genuinely impressive, and her cheeks hollow as she pulls back up.

And she looks so fucking beautiful doing it. Enami Asa, on her knees on the library floor, with her black outfit and her red lipstick and her sharp little face stuffed full of your cock. The visual is so absurd, so completely disconnected from everything your life has been up to this point, that you almost forget to keep the phone steady.

She sucks you with purpose. Bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, taking a little more each time, letting the spit build up until it's coating your shaft in a slick layer. She pulls off with a wet sound and spits on your cock, a thick string that drips down the length, and then her fist wraps around you and pumps, spreading it, twisting at the head. She jacks you off with both hands for a few strokes, watching the way your cock throbs in her grip, and then she's back on it, hungrier this time.

You can feel her jaw stretching around you. Can see the effort in the way her brow furrows slightly, the way her throat works as she tries to accommodate the width. But she doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. She finds her rhythm and sticks with it, her head moving in smooth, controlled bobs, her lips sealed tight, her tongue working the underside.

She pulls off just long enough to glance up at you. Not at the camera this time. At you.

"You better be getting my good side," she murmurs, her fist still pumping slowly.

"You're kind of busy to be giving direction."

"I'm always giving direction." She licks the tip once more, then sinks back down.

A minute passes. The wet sounds of her mouth on you fill the quiet corner of the library, obscenely loud in the silence. Spit drips from her chin onto her black top. Her lipstick is starting to smear, red bleeding past the edges of her lips, staining your shaft in uneven rings.

Then you feel it. Two quick taps on your thigh. She takes you back into her mouth, both hands dropping to rest on your knees, and tilts her head up so the camera can catch her full face. Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are swollen. She looks up at you through her lashes and gives the smallest nod.

You adjust the phone in your right hand, making sure the frame is tight on her face. Then your left hand slides to the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair, and you grip.

Your fingers tighten in her hair. You guide her head forward, slow, feeling the resistance of her throat as your cock pushes deeper than she was taking it on her own. Asa's hands grip your knees and her jaw stretches wide, lips pulling taut around your girth. She gags once, a tight spasm at the back of her throat, and you pull her back. She gasps, spit connecting her lower lip to your shaft in a thin strand, and before she can fully recover you push her down again.

The rhythm is careful at first. You're testing how much she can handle, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flex against your legs. Each push goes a little deeper. Each pull gives her just enough time to suck in a quick breath before you feed her your cock again. The wet sounds are filthy in the silence of the library. Every gag, every slick glide of her lips echoes off the bookshelves.

Asa's brow creases. She's concentrating, trying to relax her throat, but the girth keeps catching her. You can feel it, the involuntary tightening each time the thickest part of your shaft hits the back of her mouth. Her eyes water. Not crying, just the reflexive response of her body fighting what her brain has decided it's going to do. She breathes hard through her nose, hot bursts against your pelvis, and pushes through.

You set a pace. Your hand guides her head in smooth bobs, your hips rolling up to meet her on the downstroke. Spit builds and spills from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin in messy lines. The red lipstick is wrecked now, smeared in wide streaks across her cheeks and along your shaft, leaving your cock painted in uneven bands of crimson. Her mascara holds for a while, longer than you'd expect, but the constant watering finally wins and dark smudges start bleeding beneath her lower lashes.

She pulls off your cock abruptly, gasping, a thick rope of saliva stretching from her lips to your head before snapping and landing on her chin. She coughs once, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the lipstick further. Her eyes are glassy and red rimmed when she looks up at you.

"How is it," she asks between breaths. "How do I look?"

You angle the phone down at her, making sure the frame catches everything. The ruined lipstick, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the spit glistening on her chin and neck, the way her usually perfect hair is sticking to the damp skin of her forehead.

"Beautiful," you say. "Completely ruined. You look incredible."

"Good," she says. "That's the point." She opens her mouth and takes you back in, and this time you don't start slow. Your grip tightens in her hair and you thrust up into her mouth with real intent, your hips snapping, the back of her throat meeting your cock on every stroke. Asa groans around you, the sound vibrating through your entire shaft, and her hands fly to your thighs for balance.

The pace is punishing now. Her head bobs in your grip, guided by your hand, and the sounds coming from her mouth are obscene. Wet, choked, guttural. Drool pours freely, coating your balls, dripping onto the carpet between her knees. Her black top is spotted with dark wet patches. She gags hard on a deep thrust and you hold her there for a second, your cock buried to the hilt, her nose pressed against your pelvis, feeling her throat convulse around you before you let her up.

She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her lips still brushing the head, and looks up at you with those ruined, watery eyes.

"Fuck," she pants. "This cock is so thick. I can barely fit it in my mouth." She jacks you with one hand, spit making the motion effortless, her small fingers unable to close around the circumference. "How does a little nerd end up with something like this? It's not fair."

"Genetics," you manage.

"Shut up." She licks a flat stripe up the underside, collecting the mess of spit and precum. "I'm serious, this thing is fat. My jaw is going to be sore for a week." She presses her lips to the head, almost affectionately, then opens wide and takes you deep again.

You fuck her face harder. The library is dead quiet except for the relentless, sloppy rhythm of your cock in her throat. Asa has given up trying to look composed. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears cutting clean tracks through her smudged mascara. Her cheeks are flushed pink beneath the mess of ruined makeup. Spit and drool coat her entire chin, dripping in long strings onto her chest. She looks nothing like the sharp, immaculate girl who sat down across from you twenty minutes ago.

She looks better.

Your balls tighten. The pressure that's been building low in your stomach pulls into a hard knot and you feel the edge approaching fast. Asa must feel it too, the way your cock swells, the way your grip shifts in her hair, because her eyes open and lock onto yours. She doesn't pull back. She grabs your hip with one hand and pulls you deeper, taking your cock into her throat until her lips stretch around the base, and holds herself there.

You cum. The first shot fires directly into her throat and Asa's eyes go wide. You can see the muscles in her neck working, trying to swallow around the sudden flood. Your cock pulses again, a second thick load, then a third, each one making her throat bob as she struggles to keep up. It's a lot. More than she expected, clearly, because her eyes start to water fresh and you can hear this strained, gurgling sound as she tries to swallow without pulling off.

She manages. Barely. Her throat works overtime, gulping, swallowing, her fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave marks. Some of it escapes, a thick white trail leaking from the corner of her sealed lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone. She stays on you through the last few pulses, her throat milking every drop, until you finally stop throbbing and your grip in her hair loosens.

Asa pulls off slowly. Your cock slides from between her lips with a slick, heavy sound, and she sits back on her heels, breathing hard.

Her face is destroyed. The red lipstick exists only in faint, smeared traces across her cheeks and chin. Her mascara has bled into dark streaks that reach almost to her jawline. Her eyes are bloodshot, rimmed in red, lashes clumped together with moisture. Drool and cum coat her chin, her neck, the front of her top. Her hair is tangled and damp where your fingers gripped it.

She looks at the camera and smiles. This wide, satisfied, absolutely filthy smile, cum still glistening on her lower lip. She holds the look for a few seconds, letting the camera drink it in.

You stop recording. The timer reads eleven minutes and forty seven seconds. Your thumb hits the red button and the screen freezes on the last frame. Asa on her knees, wrecked, smiling. "How'd it turn out," she asks, her speech slightly hoarse. She reaches for the water bottle on the table and takes a long drink.

You scroll back through the footage, skimming. "Pretty good, actually. You have a genuine talent for this."

"I have a talent for most things." She holds her hand out. "Let me see." You pass her the phone and she watches sections of the clip, scrubbing through with her thumb, pausing on certain moments. Her expression is clinical now, analytical. She's reviewing footage, not reliving the experience.

"When are you posting it," you ask, pulling your boxers back up, getting your jeans situated.

"Probably tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I still need to throw the video into Premiere and polish the edit a bit.”

"...You're editing blowjob footage in Premiere. Okay, sure. I don't know why I'm still surprised."

"Well yeah?" She looks at you like you're the weird one. "The lighting back here was awful. I need to fix the exposure, warm up the colors a little, cut out the dead space at the beginning..." She swipes through the footage. "Probably clean up the framing too. Blur anything that points back to you. Add captions… I'm not uploading raw footage. Be serious.”

You stare at her. "Is all that really necessary? It's a blowjob video, not a short film."

"It is absolutely necessary. You can't just upload raw footage like some amateur. Quality matters. Presentation matters. This is going on my page, and my page has an aesthetic."

She puts the phone down, reaches for her backpack on the table, and pulls out a small face towel and a compact mirror. She flips the mirror open and examines her reflection, tilting her head side to side, cataloguing the damage. Then she starts cleaning up, wiping the mascara streaks, the spit, the residue from her chin and neck.

"Thank you, by the way," she says, not looking up from the mirror. "Your dick is really nice. Genuinely. It looked great in the video. The size contrast between me and that thing is pretty hot."

"Thank you. I guess."

"You're welcome. I guess." She mimics your tone without missing a beat, still dabbing at her face. "You can leave now. I need to finish putting myself back together and I can't do that with you watching me."

You gather your laptop, your notes, your pens. Everything goes into your backpack. You zip it shut and stand up, pushing the chair back under the table. "Hey. One thing."

"What."

"Change my voice in the video. Pitch it up or down, whatever. Just alter it enough that nobody can identify me."

She waves dismissively. "Already planned on it. I'll run it through a filter. I'm a pro at this stuff." She meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection. "Now bye."

"Bye, Asa." You sling your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the dead zone of the library, past the dusty reference shelves, back toward the main floor where normal people are doing normal things. The late afternoon sun hits you through the library's front windows as you push through the doors. Fresh air fills your lungs. You adjust your glasses, fix your hair, and start walking toward the parking lot.

It was a little degrading. You're aware of that. You just let a girl you barely know use you for content, boss you around, and treat you like a prop in her social media strategy. That part stings, a bit, if you think about it too hard.

On the other hand, it was also one of the best orgasms of your life. So maybe sitting with it too long isn't necessary.

—

The girls have officially taken over the theater lobby.

Ning’s holding a popcorn bucket almost as big as she is, carefully picking out the best coated pieces first. Shuhua has already loaded up on candy and a slushie. Yunjin’s in the middle of debating the water bottle policy with the cashier. Somi’s texting someone nonstop. Chaeyoung is fully invested in the ingredients list on a candy box for reasons nobody understands. Asa is standing slightly apart from the group, examining her nails.

“Has anyone recorded it yet?" Ning asks, popping a kernel into her mouth. "The challenge, I mean. I haven't even picked a guy."

General murmurs of negation ripple through the group. Shuhua shakes her head. Yunjin is still fighting the cashier. Somi doesn't look up from her phone. Chaeyoung quietly puts the candy box back on the shelf.

"I have," Asa says.

Every head turns.

"Already?" Shuhua's eyes go wide. "It's been like two days since we agreed on this."

"It was this afternoon, actually." Asa inspects a cuticle with surgical focus. "I finished about four hours ago."

Ning abandons her popcorn curation entirely. "Send it. Right now. Group chat."

"Absolutely not. I haven't finished editing. The raw footage needs color correction, the audio is unbalanced, and I want to add text overlays for the—"

"Oh my god, just send the raw version,” Ning groans.

"No. You'll see it when it's ready."

Shuhua leans in, lowering her tone even though nobody else in the lobby is paying attention. "Is it someone from our college?"

"Yes."

"Someone we know?"

Asa lets out a short laugh. “Absolutely not. He’s literally just some random library guy. Total loser. But Jesus Christ, his dick is huge. Like, weirdly huge. I was not mentally prepared for that at all.” Ning's eyebrows climb her forehead. "It was fucking hard to handle," Asa continues, touching her throat absently. "My throat still hurts a little, honestly. The girth on that thing was insane."

"The quiet ones always pack," Yunjin offers, having apparently won her water bottle argument. She rejoins the group with the confidence of a courtroom victor. "It's like a rule of the universe."

Chaeyoung has been quiet this whole time, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. She clears her throat softly. "I've been thinking, and I might not do the challenge. I don't think I can just walk up to some random guy and ask him to, you know. I'd rather die."

Somi finally looks up from her phone. She crosses the gap between them in two long strides and puts her hand on Chaeyoung's shoulder. Firm. Decisive. "You're not backing out," Somi tells her. "I won't allow it."

"But I literally cannot approach a stranger and say those things to his face. I would combust."

"Then don't. You're recording with me. We'll do it as a duo."

Chaeyoung blinks. "Wait, really?"

Yunjin nods encouragingly. "If you want, we can help you find someone too. I know a few guys in my econ lecture who would probably pass out if you looked at them."

Somi cuts her off. "No need. I already have someone picked out. Chae records with me, I handle the talking, she just needs to show up and look pretty." She squeezes Chaeyoung's shoulder. "Easy."

Relief floods Chaeyoung's face. "Okay. If we're doing it together, then yeah. I'm in. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just bring lip gloss and a hair tie."

Asa tilts her head, considering the arrangement. "A duo is smart, actually. The contrast will look really good on camera. Two girls, one cock. The timeline will eat that up."

"It's going to be so hot," Ning agrees, pulling out her phone to check the trending hashtag.

Armed with popcorn, candy, and oversized drinks, the six of them file into the theater. They talk about the movie previews, assignments, dumb campus gossip. As if they’re not all going into this week with the exact same goal: finding someone with a nice dick.

—

The next day arrives. You're walking through the main corridor on the second floor, laptop bag over your shoulder, earbuds in, heading toward your next lecture. The hallway is busy. Students moving between classes, conversations overlapping, the usual controlled chaos of midday foot traffic.

"Hey, you!"

You don't react. That shout belongs to someone else's life.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Glasses!"

Still probably not you. Lots of people wear glasses. You keep walking. Fast footsteps come up behind you, then a manicured hand lands on your shoulder and whips you around surprisingly hard.

Jeon Somi stands in front of you.

Blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. A designer jacket thrown over a top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide her massive breasts. Long legs wrapped in fitted jeans. Sharp cheekbones, light brown eyes, and a look that feels dangerously close to a threat.

“Are you deaf?” she asks bluntly.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were talking to me. People don’t usually yell at me in hallways.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Her gaze drags over you from head to toe, quick but thorough, leaving you feeling weirdly inspected. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where? Why?”

She doesn't answer. She grabs your hand and starts walking. Not beside you. Ahead of you. Pulling you behind her like a rolling suitcase. Her grip is strong and her strides are long and you have to half jog to keep up without tripping. People notice immediately. Heads turn. Conversations pause. You catch students doing double takes as you pass. Two guys from your programming class nearly short-circuit when they see Jeon Somi towing you down the hall.

And yeah, you get why. Everyone knows who she is. The leaked nude scandal last semester made sure of that. So did the endless rumors afterward, the guys she’s been seen with, the stories people tell about her like she’s some campus celebrity. Someone like her choosing someone like you feels fundamentally wrong to everyone watching.

By tomorrow, half the school is probably going to know your name too.

Somi takes you up a stairwell. First floor, second floor, third floor. Down a corridor that gets progressively emptier. Past classrooms that are clearly in use, then past ones that aren't. The fluorescent lights up here flicker intermittently. One of the ceiling tiles has a water stain shaped like Florida.

"Somi. What do you want so badly that you had to physically drag me across the building."

"It's just a favor," she says over her shoulder.

And there it is. That word again. Favor. The exact same word Asa used yesterday at your table in the library, right before she dropped the most insane proposition you’d ever heard in your life. Suddenly the pieces line up perfectly in your head. They know each other. Asa and Somi. Same friend group. Same social circle. Same weird fucking challenge.

Yesterday it was Asa. Today it’s Somi.

You stop walking and pull your hand free from her grip. She turns around, annoyed, "What?!"

"This is about that challenge. The Twitter thing."

Somi stares at you for a beat. "You know about it?"

"I'm familiar, yeah."

"Great. So I don't need to waste time explaining." She folds her arms under her chest, drawing your attention exactly where she probably expects it to go. “Are you in?”

"Why me specifically?"

"Because you're the most pathetic looking guy on this campus." She says it without a shred of hesitation or remorse. "But you're also decent enough that I wouldn't gag just from touching your dick. That's a narrow window, and congratulations, you fit through it."

"That's the worst compliment anyone has ever given me."

"It wasn't a compliment." The two of you are standing outside a classroom at the very end of the corridor. A laminated sign taped to the door reads CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.

"This is where you picked," you say, looking at the sign. "A room that's closed for maintenance."

"Nobody will come in here. It's been shut for two weeks."

"A ceiling panel could literally fall on our heads."

"It's not going to." She pushes the handle and the door swings open. "Stop making excuses and get in."

You step into the classroom. The room is dim, lit only by thin strips of sunlight slipping through the blinds along the far wall. Desks have been shoved aside in crooked rows, and dust drifts lazily through the light. Half-erased equations still cover the whiteboard, leftovers from whatever class used this room last. And at the front of the room, perched casually on the professor’s desk, is a girl you’ve seen around campus but never spoken to. She has a pretty, sculpted face, big round eyes and dark hair with faint highlights catching the light. She's wearing an oversized cream colored sweater and a plaid skirt; the whole look makes her seem way too cozy and cute for a place this depressing.

She sneezes violently out of nowhere.

“Somi!” she groans, rubbing at her nose. “This room is disgusting. I’ve been here fifteen minutes and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed lung disease.”

"Stop being dramatic, Chae. A little dust never killed anyone." She closes the door behind you and strides further into the room. She motions between you and the girl on the desk like she’s hosting introductions at some awkward social event. “This is the guy I was talking about. Nerd boy, meet Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, meet nerd boy.”

Chaeyoung hops down from the desk, landing lightly on her sneakers. She’s almost the same height as Somi, though Somi still has a couple inches on her. "I've seen you around before," she says. "You're usually in the library, right? Or sitting by the fountain near the engineering building."

"Yeah, that's my usual orbit."

"We've never actually spoken, though." She extends her hand. "I'm Chaeyoung. Lee Chaeyoung."

You shake it. Her grip is gentle, her palm warm. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

Finally, you think. Someone with basic social skills and a functioning sense of decency. You glance between the two of them. They're both wearing a noticeable amount of makeup. Chaeyoung has this soft, glowy look, peachy tones and delicate details. Somi went heavier. Contoured cheekbones, defined brows, lips glossed to a mirror finish. They look like they're ready for a photoshoot, not a afternoon on the third floor of a building with water stained ceiling tiles.

"Great," Somi announces, clapping her hands once. "Now that we all know each other and we've done the little handshake thing, let's record."

You lean against one of the pushed aside desks. "Can I ask what the point of this is? Genuinely. What do either of you gain from recording this?"

"Likes," Somi says immediately. "Followers. Engagement. Clout. Take your pick."

"And that's worth it?"

"We don't care what you think. It's none of your business what we do with the video." She crosses her arms. "You're here to provide a service. That's it."

Chaeyoung shifts her weight, tugging at the cuff of her oversized sweater. "I almost gave up on the whole thing, honestly. I know it's kind of crazy. Like, objectively, this is insane behavior."

"It is insane behavior," you confirm.

"But she's here now," Somi cuts in, putting her arm around Chaeyoung's shoulders. "And she is not backing down. Right, Chae?"

"Right. Yeah. I'm here. I'm doing it."

Somi turns her attention back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Speaking of which. Your dick. Is it at least big? Because I swear to god, if I dragged you up three flights of stairs and you pull out a micropenis, I will be furious."

"It's decent."

"Decent, huh? That's exactly what guys say when they have a tiny cock. Every single time. 'It's decent.' 'It gets the job done.' And then you pull their pants down and it's like finding a AA battery in a sock."

"That's a very specific image. Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Don't test me right now."

Chaeyoung steps forward, putting herself slightly between you and Somi. "Can you stop being so mean to him? He's already doing us a favor by agreeing to this. The least you can do is be civil."

Somi rolls her eyes with her entire body. Her head tilts back, her shoulders drop, her hands fly up. "Please. Look at him, Chae. Look at this guy. He has never received a blowjob in his life. We are going to be the first people to ever touch his dick. He should be on his knees thanking us for the privilege."

"That's not true," you say. "I've had sex before."

"Sure you have."

"I'm serious. I actually got a blowjob yesterday."

Both of them look at you. Chaeyoung with genuine curiosity. Somi with theatrical disbelief. "Oh, really?" Somi takes a step closer, tilting her head. "Who gave you a blowjob yesterday? Name and surname, please."

The name almost leaves your mouth. It sits right there on the tip of your tongue, ready to go. And for a split second you consider it, because telling Somi that her friend already used you for this exact challenge would probably create enough chaos to shut this whole thing down. Asa mentioned that every girl had to pick a different guy. If Somi finds out she's not the first, that Asa already had you, she'd lose her mind.

Better to keep that card in your back pocket.

"It's personal," you say.

Somi stares at you for two full seconds, then turns to Chaeyoung. "See? Obvious lie. He panicked and couldn't even make up a name." She points at a chair near the center of the room. "Now sit over there."

You grab your backpack, drop it in the corner by the door, and sit in the chair she indicated. It's one of those standard classroom chairs with the little desk arm attached, but you push the arm out of the way and settle in. Somi is already moving around the room, scouting angles. She finds a spot on a shelf near the whiteboard, props her phone against a stack of old textbooks, and adjusts the lean until she's satisfied with the frame.

"The phone stays here,” she explains, tapping the screen. “It'll get both of us in the shot."

"Professional setup,” you say.

"I don't do amateur." She walks back toward you, Chaeyoung falling into step beside her. "Here's how this works. It's simple. The goal is for us to get facefucked until our makeup is ruined. That's the whole point of the trend. Cute face goes in, wrecked face comes out. So you need to not cum in thirty seconds like some premature disaster. Hold it together until our makeup is properly smudged. Can you manage that?"

"I think I can handle it," you say.

Somi raises an eyebrow. "You think?"

"... I'll handle it," you correct.

She nods once and starts heading toward the phone to hit record, but you lift a hand.

"Wait. One thing."