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Pitching Mound

Kim Chaehyun x Male reader

Word count: 632 words

Notes: Girlfriend¡Chaehyun, public sex, daddy kink.

The sweet taste of victory. As the ace pitcher, you successfully strike out the opponent's hitter, resulting in a win for your team. The euphoria of celebration has died down for a while now, but you still have butterflies in your stomach. Right now, you're on the mound again, but not alone like you are used to. Chaehyun, your beautiful girlfriend is with you. Being the school cheerleader, she shouted your name the loudest, and her cheers helped you zone in to win the game.

"B-babe, are you sure?" Chaehyun stutters as her round eyes wander around the empty field. The game had ended for quite a while, and people had left the stadium. But you stay behind with your girlfriend after the celebration. When the coast is clear, you pull her out into the open field.

#chaehyun #chaehyun smut #chaehyun kep1er #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #reader insert #idol x reader

•18+ Adults Only

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autumnyacorn

look at me

Reader x fromis_9's Lee Chaeyoung

~7.4k words

The sun looked at her.

Chaeyoung squinted as rays were cast on her skin. She skittled through the sand, escaping back towards the lifeguard tower to seek abode.

She hated the sun.

Not because it was hot — she could tolerate heat. It was what the sun did to her skin.

Ultraviolet rays were relentless. UVA accelerated wrinkles, dark spots and aging. UVB left painful burns and if exposed long enough? Early death through cancer.

There was only so much sunscreen lotion could do, and whilst she had countless tubes of exaggeratedly high SPF lotions tucked in the side basket mounted on her lifeguard tower seat, nothing was more effective than a good old parasol that provided absolute defensive shade from skin damage.

“Stupid punks,” Chaeyoung grumbled, looping the ropes around the hook on her chair’s legs as she hung the lifebuoy back into place. “Fucking jebaiting and tricking me that they were drowning.”

She kept muttering to herself as she climbed back up, sitting back into her barely comfortable throne before she casted her eyes over the beach.

“I hope a jellyfish stings your balls.”

autumnyacorn

Perpetual

male reader x fromis_9's Lee Nagyung

~9k words

“Let's break up.”

izlts

My teacher’s secret -3

Kwon Eunbi

The sound of her heels clicking on the linoleum was the only sign that time was still moving in that room. Click... click... click. A sharp, military rhythm that forced an immediate silence every time she moved. I leaned back against my desk, watching her from the back of the classroom while she wrote on the board with mechanical coldness. Her back was straight as a board and her movements were precise—almost surgical.

It’s crazy how well she can fake it.

She wore a white silk blouse that seemed to be losing a battle against her own body. Her breasts were massive, absurdly huge, straining the fabric to its absolute limit with every move. I could see the tension in the center buttons—those little plastic circles clinging to the cloth to keep all that volume from jumping forward. Every time she raised her arm to write a formula, the silk stretched, becoming almost translucent over the heavy white curves of her chest.

"If any of you think you can pass this class without studying, you can pack your things and leave right now," she said without even turning around.

Her voice was like an ice blade, completely devoid of warmth. I stared at the way her neck stayed rigid and how her hair fell perfectly over her shoulders. She looked like the perfect teacher: distant, severe, and untouchable. But my mind didn't see that as the truth anymore; now, it looked like a costume.

If only they knew what she does when she turns off the lights in her room...

I felt heat begin to pool in my crotch, a dull, heavy throb pushing against the fabric of my pants. My heart started racing against my ribs—not out of fear, but from the pure adrenaline of the secret. I looked at the other students; several of them were staring at Eunbi’s cleavage with obvious, animalistic lust. There was a thick sexual tension filling the air, a collective desire that she seemed to ignore, or perhaps simply despised from her pedestal of superiority.

"Is there a problem with the lesson?" she asked, finally turning around.

Her eyes were two pits of freezing indifference. She looked directly at me, and for a second, I felt the air grow heavy. I didn’t look away. On the contrary, I let my eyes roam over her, from her lips painted a severe red down to those enormous breasts that rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths. The mask was intact; there wasn't a trace of nervousness or doubt in her expression. She was in total control.

That’s the problem. She thinks she owns everything.

I licked my lips, tasting something metallic in my mouth as a dark smile formed on my face. The psychological satisfaction was intoxicating. Knowing that this woman, who now looked at us with professional contempt, exposed herself naked to thousands of strangers turned every severe word she spoke into a private joke. I imagined the white skin of her breasts glowing under ring lights, the sound of her heavy breathing, and the way she touched herself while reading vulgar comments.

"You..." she said, pointing at me with the whiteboard marker. "You seem very focused on something other than the board. Do you want to share your thoughts with the class?"

Her tone was sharp—a direct challenge. I felt an electric shock run down my spine. My pulse quickened and my cock throbbed against my underwear, soaking the fabric. I shifted in my chair, feeling my hard-on become tighter and almost painful.

"I was just thinking about how fascinating discipline is, Professor," I replied with a calmness that bordered on provocation. "Especially when someone can keep it so... perfect."

Eunbi narrowed her eyes. There was no violent reaction, just a silence charged with electric tension. She studied me for a moment, trying to decipher the subtext of my words, but she found nothing she could process as a real threat. To her, I was still just another student—albeit an especially insolent one.

"Less philosophy and more exercises," she declared, turning back to the board.

weepypepperoni

Girl on a Concrete Floor

Idol : Karina (Aespa)

Tags : Anal, Rape, Gagging, Nipple Play, Forced Oral, Double Penetration, Humiliation, Degradation, Armpit Licking, Creampie

Word Count : 3330

That evening, the streets around the convenience store sat empty under the yellow glow of streetlamps. Nine o'clock had passed and the neighborhood had gone still. Karina adjusted the shopping bag in her right hand, the plastic handles cutting into her fingers. She'd bought snacks for the long night of dance practice ahead — crackers, a bottle of water, something sweet. Her long black hair swayed across her shoulders as she walked, and beneath her thin T-shirt, her breasts shifted with each step, the nipples tightening against the fabric in the chilly air. She pulled the hem down once, then twice, but it didn't help much.

She didn't hear the footsteps behind her. They were soft, deliberate, matching her pace but staying back. Two shadows. One broad-shouldered. The other thinner, watchful.

A hand clamped over her mouth. Rough skin. Calluses. The shopping bag hit the ground, crackers scattering across the pavement. Karina's eyes went wide, her body locking for a half-second before she started to struggle. The first man's body — thick, solid, smelling of sweat and cheap liquor — pressed her into the brick wall of an alley. The roughness scraped through her T-shirt, grinding into her spine.

"Shut up, whore."

His breath was hot against her ear. His grip on her shoulder felt like iron, the fingers digging deep enough to bruise. She tried to bite his palm, tried to twist away, but the second man was already there, grabbing her legs, lifting. Her sneakers kicked at air. She opened her mouth to scream into the hand over her face but the sound came out muffled, swallowed.

The black van's side door yawned open.

She was tossed inside. Her head cracked against the metal floor, and stars burst across her vision. Then a wet cloth pressed over her nose and mouth — sweet, chemical, choking — and the world went syrupy, then dark.

When she came to, the smell hit her first. Damp concrete. Sweat. Something metallic, like old blood. The air was thick, stuffy, pressing against her skin. Karina blinked, her vision swimming, and found herself strapped to a wooden chair. The ropes around her wrists were rough, biting into the soft skin with every movement. Her ankles were tied to the chair legs, spread wide apart, the denim of her shorts pulling tight across her thighs. She could feel her own pulse hammering in her throat, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid gasps.

The first man stood in front of her. He was built like someone who worked with his body every day — broad shoulders, thick arms, a face lined with small scars that caught the dim light. He grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

"Wake up. Tonight you are ours."

His voice scraped through the room like gravel. Karina's stomach turned. She pulled at the ropes, the fibers burning her wrists, but they didn't give. Not even an inch.

The second man stood to the side. Slimmer. Clean-shaven. His eyes moved over her body the way a butcher eyes meat — assessing, unhurried. He held a coil of extra rope in one hand, letting it swing slightly. His expression didn't change when he looked at her. Not anger. Not excitement. Just satisfaction.

Karina opened her mouth to scream.

The first man crossed the space in two steps. His finger pressed against her lips, hard, pushing them back against her teeth. "Don't you dare scream." He forced her jaw open with his thumb, pressing down until her molars ached, and shoved the rubber ball gag between her teeth. It was slick, tasted of latex and something stale. He cinched the strap behind her head, tight enough that the buckle dug into the base of her skull. The ball filled her mouth, pressing her tongue flat, and she couldn't close her lips around it. Saliva started pooling immediately, spilling over the rubber, running down her chin.

She made a sound. Not a word — just a noise, low and animal, from the back of her throat.

The first man laughed and stepped back.

The second man switched on a spotlight. The beam hit Karina's face, and she squinted, turning her head, but he stepped forward and grabbed her chin, forcing her back into the light. Her eyes watered. The skin of her face felt hot under the bulb.

He adjusted the camera tripod with his free hand, positioning the lens at groin height, angled up to catch her full body in the frame. The red light blinked on. The second man checked the microphone, tapped it once, then nodded.

"Record everything," the first man said, his voice pitched for the camera. "So your fans can see this."

He grabbed her chin and forced her face toward the lens. She closed her eyes, but the second man pinched her cheek, the nails digging in, forcing them open. "Look at the camera," he said, his voice calm. "Show how scared you are."

Karina stared into the lens. Her reflection in the glass — a girl with wet cheeks and a rubber ball stretching her lips apart. She couldn't look away.

The first man moved closer. His hands found the collar of her T-shirt. The fabric tore with a sound like something breaking — threads giving, seams ripping — and her breasts spilled out into the cold air. Her skin broke into goosebumps immediately. The nipples, pink and already hard from the cold, stood out against the pale curve of her breasts. The strap of her bra hung loose against her shoulder, useless.

She hissed through the gag. The sound was wet, desperate. Tears tracked down her cheeks, catching the light, and dripped onto her chest.

The first man's palm covered her right breast. His hand was rough, the calluses scraping her skin as he squeezed, the flesh pressing between his fingers, reddening. "Look at this," he muttered. "Breasts that drive men mad."

The second man stepped in, his hands smoother but firmer, pinching her left nipple between thumb and forefinger. He twisted gently at first, a slow rotation that sent a sharp spike through her chest. Then harder. The pain bloomed white-hot, radiating through her breast, and Karina bucked against the ropes, a muffled cry escaping the gag. Her squirm made his grip tighten.

"Your nipples are incredibly sensitive," he said, the words rolling off his tongue like a compliment at dinner. "Like a professional whore."

They worked in tandem. Squeezing. Pinching. Rolling the swollen nubs between their fingers until they darkened, until they ached from the pressure alone. Karina's breasts turned pink from the handling, the marks of their fingers blooming across her skin. She closed her eyes, breathing through her nose in sharp huffs. Saliva ran from the corner of the gag, down her chin, onto the swell of her chest.

The first man released the rope around her left ankle, retied it wider, then did the same with the right. Her legs were forced apart at an angle that pulled at her hips, the chair creaking under the strain. He grabbed the waistband of her shorts and ripped them down. The denim gave, the zipper breaking, and then her underwear was gone too, peeled off and tossed aside. The cold air hit her cunt, wet and exposed, and she shuddered.

The second man clicked his tongue softly. His hand touched her inner thigh, fingers trailing over the sensitive skin, moving upward slowly. When his fingers reached her cunt lips, they found them slick. "You're already wet." Not a question. His finger pressed between her folds, rubbing gently but with no mercy, circling her clit until her hips tried to jerk away. She shook her head weakly, but all that came through the gag was a soft, strangled moan.

The first man moved closer to her side. He pressed his nose against her armpit, inhaling deeply. Her skin was soft there, slick with sweat from the struggle, and the scent was salt and something floral from her deodorant. He licked her — a long, slow stroke of his tongue across the curve of her underarm. The salt hit his palate and he hummed with satisfaction. "Your armpit tastes lovely. Like honey." He licked again, deeper, his teeth grazing the skin, biting down just hard enough to leave marks.

Karina's body jerked. The sensation was wrong — intimate in a way that made her stomach churn, her skin crawling. She pulled at the ropes but they bit deeper into her wrists. The second man leaned in and licked her other armpit, his tongue cold and wet, drawing slow patterns that dried in the open air.

The first man reached for the strap of the gag. He unbuckled it roughly, pulling the rubber ball out of her mouth, and it came free with a wet pop. Saliva strung from the ball to her lips. Before she could do more than gasp, his hand was on her jaw, pressing hard, forcing her mouth open. His mouth crashed onto hers. The taste of tobacco and old coffee flooded her tongue. His tongue forced its way inside, thick and insistent, sweeping her palate, tangling with hers. Karina gagged, tried to pull back, but the second man held her head from behind, fingers digging into her scalp.

"Kiss me," the first man growled against her mouth. "Or we'll make it worse."

She gave in. Her lips moved, weak and reluctant, and his mouth consumed hers. The kiss went on — wet, smothering, leaving the taste of him coating her tongue. When he pulled back, the second man shoved the gag back between her teeth before she could speak.

The first man reached for the bedside table. A black dildo, thick as a fist, its surface slick with lubricant. He handed it to the second man, who pressed the tip against her cunt. "Now, feel this."

He pushed. The tip stretched her entrance, the silicone cold, and then it sank inside her in a slow, steady press. Karina's body arched, her muscles clenching against the intrusion. The fullness was overwhelming — her walls stretching, the dildo sliding deeper, reaching places she'd never felt before. A muffled scream tore from her throat. The second man twisted it, the ridges grinding against her inner walls, and her hips bucked. Sweat broke across her skin, her breasts swaying with each small thrust.

The first man picked up a second dildo. Smaller. Ribbed. He turned her body, adjusting her against the chair, and pressed the tip against her ass. "Your arse is tight, darling. It'll feel good once it's stretched."

He pushed. The resistance was immediate, her body fighting the intrusion. But he didn't stop. The tip breached her, and a searing burn shot through her — a pressure that built and built as the dildo sank deeper, inch by inch. She screamed into the gag, the sound muffled but raw. The two men worked together, thrusting in tandem, the dildos moving in synchrony — one in her cunt, one in her ass — filling her completely. Her body trembled with each thrust, her vision blurring at the edges.

The camera's red light stayed on. The lens never blinked.

"This is only the beginning, Karina," the first man said.

She closed her eyes. Her breath came in wet, hitching gasps. Somewhere beneath the terror, beneath the pain, a small voice in her head kept repeating the same thing: someone — anyone — please.

The first man pulled the dildo from her ass in one rough motion. Her hole clenched on empty air, the pain flaring, a raw ache spreading through her. She whimpered, her body limp against the ropes. The second man withdrew the dildo from her cunt — a wet sound, a smear of lube and her own slick running down her thigh to drip onto the concrete.

"Enough with the dildo," the first man said, his voice dropping low. "Now it's time for the real thing."

He unstrapped the gag. It fell to the floor with a wet thud, and Karina's jaw ached from being held open so long. Saliva still ran freely, dripping onto her bare chest.

"Please!" Her voice cracked, raw, unrecognizable even to her own ears. "Don't — please, let me go!"

Her screams bounced off the concrete walls, swallowed by the room's emptiness. The second man grabbed her jaw, forcing her face up. "Too late, whore. You're ours now. Go on, scream — no one will hear you."

The first man's zipper came down. His cock sprang out, already hard — thick, at least twenty centimeters, the veins mapping the shaft in dark lines. The head was red, slick with pre-cum, swollen and angry. He stepped forward, wrapping his fingers in her black hair and yanking her head forward. "Open your mouth wide."

She shook her head, her lips trembling. "No — please, don't put it in my mouth — I don't — "

The second man's hand caught her jaw, pressed her cheeks until her lips parted. The first man thrust forward. His cock filled her mouth in one brutal motion, slamming against her tongue, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged immediately, her throat convulsing around the intrusion, her eyes going wide. The taste hit her — salt and sweat and skin, the bitter tang of pre-cum. Tears flooded her eyes as she choked.

The first man began to move. His hips set a punishing rhythm, fucking her mouth in deep, rough thrusts, the head of his cock punching her throat with each stroke. "Suck it," he barked. "Don't just stand there."

His hand pressed her head down, forcing her deeper. Her nose pressed into his pubic hair. She couldn't breathe. Her hands balled into fists against the ropes, but she couldn't move, couldn't push him away. She gave in — her tongue touching the shaft, tracing the veins, because fighting only made it worse. Her throat relaxed just enough to let him pass, and the next thrust slid deeper.

A muffled sound. "Mmmph — stop — "

It only made him fuck her harder.

The second man unzipped his trousers. His cock was longer but slimmer, curving slightly upward, fully erect. He pulled his partner back and took his place, sliding his cock into her wet, open mouth. "My turn." His voice was calm, almost conversational. His cock went deeper than the first man's, reaching further, and her gag reflex convulsed again. Saliva and pre-cum bubbled at the corners of her mouth. They took turns — pulling out, swapping, thrusting in — their hands on her hair, her jaw, forcing her to take them. Her mouth was full, her cheeks stretched, drool running down her chin and onto her breasts.

The first man pushed his partner aside and took her mouth again. His hips slammed forward, his breathing turning ragged. "I'm coming. Swallow it all, you slut."

She felt the pulse in his cock — once, twice — and then the hot flood hit her throat. Thick, salty, bitter. It filled her mouth faster than she could swallow, spilling from the corners of her lips, running down her chin. He pressed her head down, forcing her to swallow. "Don't waste it. It's a gift for you."

She swallowed. The taste coated her tongue, her throat. She gagged but forced it down.

The second man took his turn immediately, sliding his cock into her still-wet mouth. He fucked her mouth slowly, deliberately, savoring each thrust, his hand reaching down to pinch her nipple. She moaned — "Enough... please..." — but the sound was swallowed by his cock. He came hard, spurting into her mouth, filling it until it overflowed, warm semen running down her chin, mixing with the first man's release.

She swallowed again. Her body shook. The room spun.

They laughed, wiped the heads of their cocks against her lips, and tucked themselves back into their trousers.

The first man cut the ropes binding her ankles. The second cut her wrists. She collapsed forward, her body hitting the concrete floor in a heap, but they grabbed her arms and pulled her up, handling her like she weighed nothing. The first man lay on the dirty floor, pulling her on top of him, positioning her hips above his. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her cunt — still slick from the dildo, still open — and he shoved upward in one hard stroke.

"Ahh — your pussy is so tight!"

The stretch was blinding. Her walls clenched around him, trying to push him out, but he was too thick, too deep. The pain and fullness fused into something unbearable. She screamed. "No! Get out — it hurts!"

Behind her, the second man grabbed her hips. His cock pressed against her ass, and she felt the head breach her, sliding in through the slick left by the dildo. Her body was pinned between them — both cocks inside her, filling her completely. The first man thrust upward into her cunt, making her breasts bounce. The second man drove deeper into her ass, the two rhythms finding a sync — in and out, in and out, a savage, punishing cadence.

"Oh — stop — both of you — I can't take it!"

Her body took them anyway. Her cunt and ass stretched around them, the thin wall between the two passages feeling every inch of their cocks as they moved. The sensation was too much — she was drowning in it, the pressure, the fullness, the pain.

Behind her, the second man leaned forward and started licking the sweat from her back. His tongue traced her spine, the curve of her waist, up to her shoulder blades. He bit down gently on her shoulder, then harder, leaving marks. His hand snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her clit and pressing, rubbing in tight circles. "Your body feels good," he murmured against her skin. "Wet all over."

He licked the curve of her armpit, the salt sharp on his tongue. He bit her neck, her ear, his tongue tracing the line of her jaw as the first man fucked into her from below. His fingers pushed into her cunt alongside the first man's cock, stretching her wider, and she bucked against them, the stimulation too raw, too much.

She stopped fighting. Her body went slack between them.

"Enough," she whispered. "I... I've lost..."

The first man's hips drove harder, faster. His cock throbbed inside her, and she felt the pulse before the heat flooded her — hot, thick, filling her womb. "Take it all in your pussy," he groaned, his body shuddering beneath her.

The second man followed, his rhythm faltering, then pushing deep into her ass. His release hit her in hot, pulsing waves, filling her until it dripped around the seal of his cock. He pulled out, and the warm mixture ran down her thighs, pooling on the first man's stomach.

Karina collapsed between them, her body limp. Her holes ached, still clenching on nothing, empty and raw. Semen trickled from her cunt, from her ass, puddling on the concrete beneath her. Her tears had dried into salt tracks on her cheeks. Her eyes were open but empty, staring at a crack in the ceiling.

The first man stood up. He grabbed his phone and connected it to the camera, downloading the footage. "Perfect. Now I just upload it online, and your fans will see this."

He worked quickly. A title: Karina Double Raped. A few tags. Hit upload.

The notifications started within minutes. Thousands of views. Tens of thousands. By the end of the first hour, it had crossed a million.

Karina lay on the floor. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, weak breaths. She didn't hear the camera's fan. She didn't hear the men laughing, or the phone buzzing with notifications, or any of it.

She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body open and empty on the cold concrete floor.

•18+ Adults Only

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weepypepperoni

STUCK

Idol : Isa/Lee Chae-young (Stayc)

Tags : Deepthroat, Rough Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Ahegao, Face-Fucking, Creampie, Cum in Mouth, Cum on Face, Squirting, Multiple Orgasms, Public Humiliation, Corruption

Words : 2555

The bell above the minimarket door jingled as Isa slipped inside, pulling the hood of her oversized black sweatshirt further over her forehead. Three songs into the night's promotional cycle and her bladder was screaming. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting that sickly blue-white glow across aisles of ramen and chips. She didn't make eye contact with the cashier behind the counter — a guy in his late twenties, wiry, with a thin mustache and dead eyes fixed on his phone.

She found the bathroom at the back, past the coolers humming with soju and energy drinks. The door was half-open, the light already on. She pushed through.

The bathroom was a narrow closet of a room — a toilet, a sink with a rusted faucet, a single bulb flickering above a mirror cracked in the corner. And on the wall beside the toilet, a hole the size of a car tire. Dark drywall dust caked the edges where something had punched through from the other side — the stockroom, probably. The hole gaped open like a mouth.

She stared at it for a second, then laughed under her breath. What the hell.

On impulse — girlish, bored, playful — she crouched, stuck her head through, and pushed.

Her shoulders cleared the hole. Then her chest. The drywall scraped against her sweatshirt, showering her in white dust. She was halfway into the stockroom, her hands braced on the concrete floor on the other side, her lower body still in the bathroom.

She tried to wriggle forward and her hips caught.

She pushed harder. Nothing. She tried to pull back — her ribs ground against the jagged edges of drywall. She was stuck. Perfectly, completely wedged. Her ass was still in the bathroom, her arms stretched out into the stockroom, her sweatshirt bunched up around her ribs, leaving a strip of pale skin exposed between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans.

"Shit," she muttered, her voice echoing in the empty stockroom.

She pushed again, her sneakers scuffling against the bathroom floor. The drywall bit into her hips. No give.

The stockroom door swung open. A sliver of light from the main store bled across the concrete floor, illuminating cardboard boxes stacked against the walls. She heard footsteps stop.

"What the fuck?"

Male voice. Young. She recognized it — the cashier.

"Hey — hi," she said, forcing a laugh, her voice bright and embarrassed. "I know this looks crazy. I got kind of, um, wedged in here. Can you give me a push? From the back, I mean. Just —"

He crouched in front of her. His eyes widened. She saw recognition hit him like a physical thing — his mouth parted, his gaze tracing her face, the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the jet-black hair splayed across her shoulders, the full lips pulled into an awkward apologetic smile.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "You're Isa. From STAYC."

"Listen, I really need to —"

"Manager!" He was already on his feet, moving to the door. "Hyung, get in here! You won't believe this."

She heard footsteps approach, heavier. Another man appeared in the doorway — older, thicker, with a gut straining his polo shirt and a five-o'clock shadow darkening his jaw. The manager.

"Look," the cashier said, pointing at her like she was a sideshow attraction.

The manager's eyes traveled over her. First her face. Then the exposed strip of her stomach. Then the curve of her ass still visible from the bathroom side, her jeans pulling tight across her hips.

"Please," Isa said, her voice lighter now, the first thread of unease working through her composure. "I just need a shove from the other side. Or — can you break the wall a little more? Just enough for me to —"

The manager didn't answer. He looked at the cashier, and something passed between them — a silent calculation. The cashier grinned.

"Got your phone?" the manager asked.

The cashier pulled it out.

"Don't." Isa's voice cracked. "Don't — just help me out, okay? I won't tell anyone about this. I'll pay you. I can —"

The manager knelt behind her, his hands landing on the curve of her ass through her jeans. Not pushing. Squeezing.

"Pretty little idol," he said, his voice low. "Stuck like a rabbit in a fence."

"Get off me." She tried to kick, but her legs were useless — she could only scuff her sneakers against the tiles, trapped between the two rooms. "I'm serious. Let me go."

The cashier stepped closer, already recording on his phone. "Say hi to your fans, Isa."

Tears burned the corners of her eyes. She'd been taught how to smile through exhaustion, through ankle injuries, through vocal strain. No one had taught her this.

The manager undid her jeans.

The button popped open, the zipper rasped down, and his rough fingers hooked into the waistband, dragging denim and underwear down her thighs. The cold air hit her skin, and then his hand — calloused, warm — cupped her bare ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"Nice," he murmured. "Really fucking nice."

"Stop — please, I'm begging you —"

"Deeper," the cashier said, phone angled over her. "Get her face."

The manager shoved her sweatshirt up, baring her back, and his palm cracked across her right ass cheek. The sound echoed in the small room — a sharp, wet slap that sent a shockwave through her body, her hips jerking against the drywall. She gasped, the air punched out of her lungs.

"Look at that," the manager said, and hit her again. Harder. Her skin bloomed red under his palm. "Fucking perfect."

Her "no" came out strangled. But the third slap made her thighs clench, and the fourth — harder, aimed at the tender skin where her ass met her thighs — drew a sound from her throat that wasn't quite a scream.

The manager grabbed her hips, yanked them higher. She felt his cock against her — the heat of it through his pants, the thick shape pressing into the cleft of her ass.

"Open your mouth," the cashier said, shoving his phone in her face, one hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. "Open your mouth for your fans."

"No —"

He shoved the phone closer. "Say 'ahh.' Say it, or I'll make sure every STAYC fan sees this video. Your group's reputation. Your career. All gone."

She stared into the camera lens. Her reflection in the black glass showed her dark eyes wide, her mascara starting to run, her lips parted in a desperate O.

"Ahh," she whispered.

"Louder."

"Ahh."

He shoved his cock into her mouth.

The taste of him — salt and sweat and the faint chemical residue of soap — flooded her tongue, and she gagged instantly, her throat convulsing around the head. He was thick, uncut, and he pushed deeper without waiting, past her lips, past her teeth, into the hot wet cave of her mouth.

"Deepthroat that shit," the manager grunted from behind, and she heard his belt unbuckle, his zipper come down.

The cashier's hips bucked forward, and his cock slid down her throat. She couldn't breathe — couldn't — her hands scrabbled against the concrete floor, her nails scraping, her eyes streaming. He pulled back just enough for her to gasp and then drove in again, deeper, his balls slapping against her chin.

"There she is," he breathed, his voice rough. "You wanted this. Look at you — perfect idol slut, taking it like a pro."

From behind, the manager's hands spread her ass cheeks apart, and she felt the thick, blunt head of his cock press against her entrance — dry, too dry, and she whimpered around the cock in her throat.

"Wait — fuck — wait, she's tight as hell," the manager muttered. He spat into his palm, smeared it over himself, and pressed again. This time the head breached her, and she screamed — a muffled, guttural sound that vibrated around the cashier's shaft.

"Shh, shh, easy," the cashier cooed, mock-gentle, fucking her mouth with shallow strokes while the manager worked his cock deeper into her pussy. "You can take it. You're made for this."

The manager pushed. His hips met her ass with a wet slap, and she felt him seated inside her, impossibly deep, splitting her open. Her pussy clenched around him, trying to expel the invasion, and he groaned.

"Oh fuck — she's gripping me like a fist."

He started moving. Long, slow drags at first, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, each stroke a hammer blow that shook her whole body. The drywall scraped her ribs raw. The cashier's cock slid down her throat, cutting off her air, and when she gagged, both men groaned in unison.

"That's it," the cashier hissed. "Contract those throat muscles. Fuck, that's good."

The manager's rhythm picked up. His balls slapped against her clit with every thrust, and the friction — mixed with the spit from his hand, with her own wetness starting to respond — built a heat she didn't want to feel. Her body was betraying her, her pussy slickening around him, her nipples hardening under her bra.

"Recording this?" the manager asked, breath ragged.

"Every second."

"Get her face."

The cashier pulled his cock out of her mouth — a wet suction sound, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the tip. He angled the phone down at her, and she saw herself in the screen: her makeup destroyed, her lips swollen and red, drool running down her chin, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

"That's the face," he said. "Ahegao. Look at her — fucking gone."

She couldn't stop it. The expression her face was making — tongue lolling, eyes rolled back, cheeks flushed — wasn't a choice. It was the involuntary surrender of a body that had been pushed past resistance into something else. Something dark and melting.

"I — I don't —" she tried to say, but the words came out slurred.

The manager smacked her ass again, and she cried out — but it wasn't a denial anymore. It was a gasp. A want.

"Yeah," he growled. "You're starting to like it."

His hand snaked around her hip, fingers sliding through her wetness, finding her clit. He rubbed rough circles into the bundle of nerves, his cock still pistoning into her from behind, and the combination — the fullness inside her, the pressure on her clit, the degradation of being filmed — sent a shockwave through her pelvis.

"No, no, I'm not — I'm not —"

"Tell your clit that," the manager said, and pressed harder.

Two fingers pushed into her, alongside his cock, stretching her impossibly full, crooking up to find that soft spongy spot inside her front wall. She screamed — a broken, keening sound — and her body locked up, her thighs trembling, her pussy gushing around his fingers.

"Fuck, she's a squirter," the cashier said, voice reverent. "Look at that. Look at her."

A stream of fluid — hot, clear, gushing — sprayed out of her, soaking the manager's hand, running down her thighs, pooling on the concrete floor. She sobbed through the orgasm, her body wracked with spasms her mind hadn't consented to.

The manager didn't stop. He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on her ass, and kept fucking her through the aftershocks. "More," he said. "I want more."

He pushed her upper body flat against the stockroom floor, her cheek pressing into the cold concrete, and mounted her from behind like an animal. His cock rammed into her g-spot with every stroke, the head of him slamming against her cervix, her womb, a deep bruising pressure that made her see stars.

"Your womb is taking it," he grunted. "Feel that? Feel me hitting your fucking womb?"

She couldn't answer. Her mouth hung open, drool pooling on the concrete. Her eyes rolled back again. The cashier crouched in front of her, stroking his cock, his phone propped against a box to capture the full scene.

"Open," he said. "Tongue out."

She obeyed. Her tongue lolled out over her bottom lip, and he painted it with his cum — thick ropes landing on her tongue, her lips, her cheek. She tasted him, salt and bitterness, and swallowed without being told.

The manager was close. She felt it in the way his rhythm stuttered, his hips slapping against her ass harder, faster, frantic. He pulled out, and she felt the sudden emptiness like a wound.

"Where?" he rasped.

"Inside," the cashier said. "Cream pie her. Mark her."

He shoved back in, three more thrusts, and then she felt it — hot, flooding, endless. His cum filled her, pumping into her pussy in pulse after pulse, dripping out around the base of his cock, running down her thighs. He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, breathing hard, before pulling out with a wet sound.

Cum pooled beneath her. Her own fluid mixed with his, a slick mess on the concrete.

The cashier picked up his phone again, zooming in on her face. "Say thank you."

She blinked at the lens. Her lips moved. "Th-thank you."

"Thank you who?"

"Thank you... for using me."

The manager laughed, a low brutal sound. He yanked her sweatshirt up, exposing her breasts — small, perfect, with pink nipples hard from the cold and the stimulation. He bent down and sucked one into his mouth, biting down on the peak, and she arched her back instinctively, pressing into him.

"That's it," he murmured against her skin. "Beg for it."

"Please," she whispered. "Please, I —"

He bit down harder, and she came again — a smaller orgasm, weaker, but real, her pussy clenching around nothing, her cum and his leaking out of her.

The cashier recorded it all. Her face, her breasts, the mess between her legs, the way her body shuddered with each aftershock.

They took turns for the next hour.

The cashier fucked her mouth again, deeper this time, holding her head still while he emptied himself down her throat. The manager bent over her back, spreading the creampie over her ass, spanking her until her skin was raw and red and she was crying openly, begging through the sobs.

"Please — no more — I can't —"

But her hips kept pushing back. Her mouth kept opening. Her body, stripped of pride and resistance, kept obeying.

When they were done, the manager zipped up his pants. The cashier pocketed his phone, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Someone will find you," the cashier said. "Eventually."

They left. The stockroom door swung shut, plunging her into darkness.

She was still stuck in the hole, half in the bathroom, half in the stockroom. Naked from the waist down. Her sweatshirt bunched around her shoulders. Her hair — that long, straight, jet-black hair she'd spent hours perfecting for the music show — matted with sweat and cum and dust.

The fluorescent light in the stockroom hummed. The bathroom light flickered. Above her, the crack in the mirror caught the glow and threw it back in splinters.

She couldn't move. Couldn't even try anymore.

Sweat dried on her skin. Cum dripped down her thighs. Her pussy ached, swollen and used, a dull persistent throb that pulsed with her heartbeat. Her ass burned. Her throat was raw.

Somewhere, in the main store, the bell jingled. A customer's voice called out. Footsteps passed the stockroom door, oblivious.

She stared into the darkness of the stockroom, her cheek pressed against the concrete, and couldn't find the strength to call for help.

weepypepperoni

The Pet and the CEO

Idol : Sohyun (TripleS)

Tags : Pet play, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Face-fucking, Vaginal sex, Anal sex, Creampie, Sex against window, Recording, Praise kink, Dirty talk, Orgasm control, Cum play

Words : 3120

The summons came through her private phone at 9:47 PM — a single message from a number saved under a name no one else would recognize.

My office. Now.

Sohyun's pulse kicked against her ribs in that familiar way, half nerves and half thirst. She was already dressed for it — she'd known, somehow, when she chose the white camisole this morning instead of the thicker blouse. Tight enough to show the shape of her breasts through the fabric, the outline of her nipples visible if the light hit right. The low-waist brown pants sat below her navel, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband. She'd painted her nails two nights ago, pink-lavender, running a brush along each with care, imagining his hands holding hers to examine them.

She slipped the black cardigan over her shoulders — open, never buttoned — and grabbed her bag. Told her roommate she forgot something in the practice room. The lie came easy now.

The company building was mostly dark on the upper floors. Security knew her face, waved her through. The elevator hummed ascending, and she watched her reflection in the polished brass doors — the flush already rising across her collarbone, the soft wet heat beginning between her thighs.

She knocked on his door. Three light taps.

Come in, pet.

He never said it aloud. It was always in the message that appeared on her phone after she knocked. She pushed the door open.

The office took up the whole corner of the fifteenth floor. City lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul spread out below like circuitry. His desk sat at the far end, mahogany, spotless except for a single lamp casting amber light across the surface. Bookshelves lined one wall. A dark gray couch against another.

He sat behind the desk, watching her enter. Dark suit jacket draped over the chair behind him, sleeves of his white shirt rolled to his forearms. The silver glint at his temples caught the lamplight. His eyes moved over her slowly, deliberately, the way a man checks something he owns for damage.

"Lock it," he said.

She turned the deadbolt. The click echoed.

"Come here."

She walked toward the desk, and he watched every step — the sway of her hips, the way her bare stomach tensed with each stride. When she reached the edge of the desk, he held up one hand.

"Stop."

She stopped.

"Look at me."

She raised her eyes. His gaze pinned her where she stood, and she felt it everywhere — between her legs, in the tightening of her nipples against the camisole, in the way her breath shortened without her permission.

"You've been good today?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Tell me."

"I was good today. I did everything you asked. I thought about you during the video shoot. I thought about coming here."

"Thought about what would happen when you did?"

She nodded, her cheeks burning.

"Use your words."

"Yes. I thought about what you'd do to me."

Something shifted in his face — not softening, but deepening. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a strip of black leather. Thin, maybe half an inch wide. A small silver O-ring at the end.

"Come around."

She walked around the desk, her legs unsteady. He turned in his chair to face her, and she stood between his knees, close enough to smell his cologne — sandalwood and something metallic, like clean coins.

He reached up and brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His thumb ran across her cheekbone, feather-light. She leaned into his touch.

"You're so beautiful," he said quietly, and the shift in his voice — from command to something softer — made her chest ache. "Every time I see you, it surprises me. That you're real. That you're here."

"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm always here."

His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair at the nape. He tilted her head back gently, studying her face like a painting.

"I know, baby. I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft, lingering. "You're my good girl. My perfect little pet."

She felt the words in her stomach, warm and liquid.

"Will you wear this for me?"

He held up the leash. The silver buckle caught the lamplight.

"Yes," she said. "Please."

His hands were gentle as he fastened the collar around her neck — a second, thinner strap of black leather fitted to her throat, the O-ring resting just below her Adam's apple. He buckled it at the back, his fingers brushing her nape. Then he clipped the leash to the ring, and the weight of it tugged forward slightly.

"There."

He sat back, holding the leather coiled loosely in his fist. She watched his chest rise and fall with a slow breath. His eyes were dark, reverent.

"Look at you."

She felt the collar against her skin, the leash a line of tension between them. Her pulse beat against the leather.

"On your knees, pet."

She sank slowly, her knees meeting the carpet. The leash went slack as she descended. She looked up at him from the floor, her hands resting on her thighs.

"Good girl." His thumb traced her lower lip, pressing slightly. She parted her mouth, and he slid his thumb inside. She sucked gently, watching his eyes darken. "That's it. You know what to do."

He pulled his thumb free, wet and glistening, and wiped it across her lower lip.

"Undo my pants."

Her fingers found his belt — familiar now, practiced. The leather tongue slid free, the button popped, the zipper descended. She pulled his pants open and his cock sprang up against his stomach, already hard. The sight of it sent a pulse through her cunt. Thick, veined, the head flushed dark, a bead of pre-cum pearled at the slit.

She licked her lips without thinking.

"You want it?"

"Yes. Please. I want to taste you."

"Then show me how hungry you are. Open."

She opened her mouth wide, tongue flat and waiting. He guided the head to her lips and she took him in, slow, savoring the first stretch of her lips around his girth. Her tongue pressed against the underside of his shaft, tracing the ridge of a vein. She heard his breath catch above her.

"Fuck. Yeah. Just like that."

She sank deeper, taking him inch by inch, her throat relaxing to accept him. Her nose reached his pelvis and she held there, her throat full, her eyes watering. She looked up at him — the leash still in his grip, the city lights behind him — and the sight made her cunt clench around nothing.

He let her set the rhythm at first, watching her bob her head along his length. Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. Saliva ran down her chin, slick and obscene. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, and the sounds — wet, hungry, desperate — filled the office.

"That's my girl," he groaned, his hips beginning to rock. "Look at you. On your knees. Leashed. Taking my cock down your throat like you were made for it."

She moaned around him, the vibration making his grip tighten on the leash.

"You were made for it, weren't you? Made for me."

She pulled off just long enough to gasp, "Yes. Made for you. Only for you," before taking him back, deeper this time, pushing past her gag reflex and feeling her throat stretch around the head of his cock.

His hand moved to her hair, gathering the long black strands in his fist. "Deep breath, pet."

She inhaled through her nose, and he thrust upward, burying himself fully in her throat. She felt his pelvis against her face, his balls against her chin. The pressure was everything — the fullness, the submission, the way her throat pulsed around him. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them.

He held her there for three heartbeats, four, five. Then he pulled back, letting her breathe, and the air hit her raw throat like a burn.

"Good. So good." He stroked her hair, his voice thick. "Again."

She took him again, and again, each time deeper, her throat loosening, her hunger growing. Saliva soaked the front of her camisole, the white fabric clinging to the swell of her breasts. Her hands moved to her own body — one gripping her thigh, the other pressing between her legs, rubbing herself through the brown pants.

He caught her wrist. "No. That's mine. You don't touch without permission."

She whined, pulling off his cock. "Please. I need—"

"I know what you need. Turn around. Hands on the window."

She pushed to her feet, unsteady, her legs shaking. The leash stayed clipped to her collar as she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window. Seoul spread below her, thousands of lights, thousands of people with no idea what was happening behind this glass. The thought made her dizzy.

She placed her palms flat against the cool glass. Her reflection stared back — flushed, wrecked, the collar dark against her throat.

Behind her, she heard his belt unbuckle fully, his pants drop. She didn't turn.

"Arch your back."

She pushed her hips out, bending at the waist, pressing her chest toward the glass. Her breasts flattened against the cool surface, her nipples tightening into hard peaks against the camisole. The brown pants were pulled tight across her ass.

He stepped behind her and ran one hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, gripping the flesh hard. His other hand yanked her pants and underwear down to her mid-thighs, exposing her. The air hit her wet cunt and she shivered.

"Look at you. So wet for me. So ready."

She felt his cock slide between her thighs, not entering, just dragging through her slickness, coating himself. She pushed back against him, trying to take him in, but he held her hips still.

"Ask me."

"Please," she gasped. "Please fuck me. I need you inside me."

"Inside where?"

"My pussy. Please put your cock in my pussy. I need it so bad."

"Good girl."

He lined up and pushed in, one slow, relentless inch at a time. Her cunt stretched around him, gripping, pulling him deeper. She cried out, her forehead pressing against the window. The city spread below, indifferent.

"Fuck, you're tight," he growled, his hands gripping her hips. "Every time. Like you've never been touched."

He bottomed out, his pelvis against her ass, and stayed there. She felt him pulsing inside her, felt the fullness reaching deep into her belly.

"Look at yourself."

She raised her eyes to her reflection — the girl in the window, collared, pants around her thighs, breasts flattened against the glass, a man buried inside her. Her own face, slack with pleasure, eyes half-lidded.

"See what you are," he said, beginning to move. Slow, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive inch of her walls. "You're my pet. My perfect little whore. You belong to me."

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, I'm yours."

He fucked her slow at first, each thrust deliberate, watching himself disappear into her body. Her breasts pressed and dragged against the cold glass, the friction through the camisole making her nipples ache. Her hands slid on the window as she braced against each impact.

Then his pace quickened, his grip tightening on her hips hard enough to bruise. The sounds — his skin slapping against hers, her moans, the wet noise of his cock pumping into her — filled the office.

"Harder," she begged. "Please, harder."

He gave it to her. His thrusts turned punishing, deep and fast, driving her into the glass. Her breath fogged the window in front of her face. Her tits bounced with each impact, pressed flat then released, the camisole soaked with sweat and saliva.

"Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours. All yours."

"Say my name."

"CEO," she gasped. "Sir—"

"No. My name."

She knew it. He'd given it to her in the dark of his bed one night, whispered against her hair. She'd never said it to anyone else.

"Jaeho," she breathed.

His rhythm stuttered. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear.

"Again."

"Jaeho. Please. Please don't stop."

He didn't. He drove into her, faster, harder, the head of his cock hitting that deep spot inside her that made her vision blur. Her orgasm coiled tight in her gut, building with each stroke.

"I'm close," she whimpered. "I'm gonna—"

"Not yet. Not until I tell you."

She tried to hold it back, her muscles clenching around him, her whole body trembling. He reached around and pressed his fingers against her clit through the fabric of her panties, still bunched at her thighs.

"You want to come?"

"Yes. Yes, please."

"Then come for me. Come on my cock like a good pet."

He pressed hard on her clit and thrust deep, and she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, her cunt clenching and pulsing around him, her scream muffled against the glass. Her legs gave out but he held her up, still fucking her through it, drawing every wave out of her body.

When she came back to herself, she was slumped against the window, barely standing. Her reflection stared back, wrecked and beautiful.

He pulled out slowly, and she felt the absence like a loss.

"Don't move."

She stayed where she was, face against the glass, ass still exposed. She heard the drawer open — the soft click she recognized. The camera.

"Jaeho—"

"Shh. I know. You're so beautiful like this. I want to keep it."

She didn't argue. She never did. She heard the tiny red light come on.

"Show me your ass."

She pushed her hips back, presenting herself. The air was cool on her wet, swollen cunt.

"Spread yourself."

Her hand reached back, fingers finding her own skin, pulling her ass cheek aside. She heard him exhale, slow and reverent.

"Perfect." A soft click. "Now touch yourself. Show me how wet you are."

Her fingers slid through her slickness, gathering it, spreading it. She felt her own heat, the sheen of her arousal.

"Put your fingers in your mouth."

She obeyed, tasting herself on her tongue. Salty and sweet.

"Get on the couch. On your hands and knees."

She crawled across the carpet, the leash trailing behind her. The leather was damp and warm against her neck. She climbed onto the gray couch, positioning herself on her knees, her ass in the air.

He moved behind her, the camera still recording. She heard him spit, heard the wet sound of him working it into her.

"Open for me, pet."

She felt his thumb press against her asshole, circling, pressing gently until the ring of muscle gave way. She gasped, her fingers gripping the couch cushions.

"You want it here?"

"Yes. Please. I want you in my ass."

"Beg."

"Please, Jaeho. Please fuck my ass. I want to feel you there. I want to be so full of you. Please."

He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with the head of his cock, pressing slowly. She felt the stretch — different from her cunt, tighter, more intense. Her breath came in sharp gasps as he pushed past the first resistance.

"Breathe," he said, his voice strained. "Let me in."

She forced herself to relax, to open, and he slid deeper. The sensation was overwhelming — fullness and pressure and a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

"That's it. Taking me so well. All the way, baby."

He seated himself fully inside her, his pelvis flush against her ass. She felt impossibly full, stretched, claimed.

"Look at the camera."

She turned her head, finding the lens. Her eyes were glassy, her makeup smeared, her lips swollen and wet.

"Tell me who you belong to."

"You," she whispered. "I belong to you."

He began to move, slow thrusts that made her whole body rock. The camera captured everything — the way her ass rippled with each impact, the leash swinging against her throat, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her.

He fucked her ass with increasing urgency, his breathing ragged, his composure cracking. She pushed back into each thrust, taking him as deep as he could go, wanting all of him.

"I'm going to come," he warned. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside. Please. Fill me up."

"You want my cum in your ass?"

"Yes. Please. I want to feel it. I want to be full of you."

He drove into her one last time, buried to the hilt, and she felt his cock pulse inside her as he came. Hot, thick, endless. She felt each spurt, felt her body accepting it, claiming it. She moaned at the sensation — being filled, being marked from the inside.

When he finished, he stayed inside her for a long moment, both of them breathing hard. Then he pulled out slowly, and she felt the emptiness, felt the warmth of his cum beginning to leak out of her. It ran down her inner thigh, a slow trickle.

She collapsed sideways onto the couch, her body giving out completely. Her limbs felt like water. The leash lay coiled on the cushion beside her.

He set the camera down and knelt beside the couch. His hand found her hair, stroking gently, pushing the strands back from her face.

"You did so well, baby. So perfect."

She couldn't answer. Her body was still trembling, small aftershocks rolling through her muscles. She felt the cum seeping out of her, pooling on the cushion beneath her. The sensation was obscene and perfect.

He lifted her legs onto the couch and covered her with his suit jacket, the expensive fabric draping over her nakedness. He sat on the floor beside her, his back against the couch, his hand never leaving her hair.

"I love you," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

She turned her head, her cheek against the cushion, looking at him through half-closed eyes. The city lights painted his face in gold and shadow.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For wanting me. All of me. Even this part."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth.

"This part is my favorite part. Because this part is only mine."

She smiled, small and dreamy, her body still humming with spent pleasure. The cum continued to leak out of her, warm against her skin. The camera's red light glowed silently from the desk, capturing her in the aftermath — limp, full, utterly owned.

And she had never felt safer in her life.

weepypepperoni

Hiatus

Idol : Yuna (ITZY)

Tags : Rape, Gangbang, Ahegao, Creampie, Triple Penetration, Anal, Oral, Vaginal, Doggy Style, Missionary

Words : 3840

The hallway smelled of antiseptic and boiled vegetables. Yuna pulled her crimson hair into a loose ponytail as she walked past the rows of doors, each one a small room housing someone's grandfather. Someone's history.

She'd volunteered here three weeks ago, when the company announced her hiatus. "Rest," they'd said. "Recharge." But Yuna couldn't sit still. The nursing home needed hands, and she needed somewhere to exist that wasn't a practice room or a dormitory where she'd stare at the ceiling wondering if she'd ever dance again.

Room 204. Mr. Park. Room 206. Mr. Choi. Room 208. Mr. Kim. She knew them all by now — knew which ones liked their tea with two sugars, which ones needed help reaching the top shelf of their closets, which ones let their eyes wander a few seconds too long when she bent over to adjust their blankets.

She didn't mind. They were old. Harmless.

The common room was quiet when she entered, just the low hum of a television playing a drama from the 90s. Four men sat at the round table near the window — Mr. Park, Mr. Choi, Mr. Kim, and the newest resident, Mr. Kang. All in their late seventies or early eighties, all watching her with that particular stillness that meant they'd been talking about her.

"Good afternoon," Yuna said, smiling. "Does anyone need fresh water?"

Mr. Park's eyes tracked down her body as she walked past. She wore fitted black leggings and a loose white blouse tied at the waist — modest enough for a volunteer, but nothing could hide the curve of her hips, the full swell of her breasts beneath the thin cotton.

"Always so kind," Mr. Kim said, his voice thin and reedy. "Sit with us awhile."

"I have rooms to check—"

"Just five minutes." Mr. Choi patted the empty chair beside him. "We don't get many pretty visitors."

She hesitated. Something in the way they were all looking at her — not scattered glances but a synchronized focus, like wolves sharing a single pair of eyes.

But she was being silly. They were old men. Frail, slow, harmless.

Yuna sat.

Mr. Kang poured her a cup of tea from the pot on the table. His hands shook slightly — Parkinson's, she remembered — but his eyes were clear and fixed on the collar of her blouse, where the top button had come undone during her morning rounds.

"You work so hard," Mr. Park said, leaning forward. His knees cracked. "Running around all day. Taking care of everyone."

"It's my job," Yuna said, accepting the cup. The ceramic was warm against her palms.

"Someone should take care of you," Mr. Choi added. "For a change."

She laughed, a little nervously. "I'm fine, really—"

The hand on her mouth came from behind.

Yuna's eyes went wide as a palm clamped down hard over her lips, fingers digging into her cheeks. Mr. Kim — she hadn't even heard him stand — pressed his other hand against the back of her head, holding her still. His grip was surprisingly strong, the wiry strength of a man who'd spent decades working with his hands.

She tried to scream. The sound died against his palm.

Her tea cup hit the floor. The ceramic shattered. Hot liquid splashed her ankle.

"Easy now," Mr. Park said, rising from his chair with a groan. His joints popped audibly. "Don't hurt her."

Mr. Choi and Mr. Kang were already on either side of her, grabbing her arms, pulling her up from the chair. Yuna thrashed — she was twenty-two, flexible from years of dance training, strong from hours of practice — but there were four of them, and they moved with a coordinated purpose that suggested this wasn't improvised.

Mr. Kim's hand stayed locked over her mouth. Her muffled cries were barely louder than the television drama.

"Get her to the storage room," Mr. Kang said, his voice calm. "We've got an hour before the night nurse comes."

They dragged her down the hallway. Yuna's heels scraped the linoleum. She tried to bite through the flesh covering her teeth, but Mr. Kim's palm was pressed too flat, too tight. She tried to wrench her arms free, but Mr. Choi and Mr. Kang held fast, their fingers digging into the soft flesh of her biceps.

The storage room was small — filled with folded linens, spare blankets, boxes of medical supplies. A single fluorescent bulb flickered overhead, casting everything in a sickly pale light.

They pushed her inside. The door clicked shut.

Mr. Kim finally pulled his hand from her mouth.

"HELP—!"

Her scream cut off as Mr. Park's hand replaced it, shoving against her lips. He was faster than she'd expected, stronger. His thumb pressed against her jaw, forcing her head back.

"Shh," he whispered. "No one can hear you. The walls are thick. The rooms are empty."

Tears spilled down Yuna's cheeks. She could taste salt on her tongue. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might crack her ribs.

Mr. Choi and Mr. Kang each took one of her arms, pinning them behind her back. Mr. Kim stepped forward and began unbuttoning her blouse, his trembling fingers working the buttons one by one.

"Please," Yuna whimpered against Mr. Park's palm. "Please don't—"

The blouse parted. Her breasts swelled over the cup of her white lace bra, pale and full.

"Oh my," Mr. Kim breathed. "Look at those."

His hands — those shaking, gnarled hands — cupped her breasts through the lace. He squeezed, testing their weight. Yuna jerked back, but there was nowhere to go. Mr. Choi and Mr. Kang held her in place.

"So soft," Mr. Kim murmured. "So young."

He pulled down the cups of her bra, and her breasts spilled free — large, heavy, with pink nipples that tightened in the cold air. Mr. Kim's mouth dropped to her chest without hesitation, his lips closing around one nipple while his fingers pinched the other.

Yuna sobbed into Mr. Park's hand.

"Don't cry," Mr. Park said, his voice almost gentle. "You'll enjoy it eventually. They always do."

Mr. Kim sucked hard, drawing her nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue rough against the sensitive bud. His teeth grazed her, and Yuna's body betrayed her, a shudder running through her spine. He switched to the other breast, laving attention on it while his hand worked the first, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Get her on the floor," Mr. Kang ordered.

They lowered her to the blankets. The linoleum was cold through the thin fabric. Mr. Park finally released her mouth, but before she could scream, Mr. Choi straddled her chest, his bony knees pinning her shoulders.

"Try to scream," he said, unzipping his pants. "See what happens."

His cock was already hard — thin and long, veined and pale, emerging from a nest of gray pubic hair. He leaned forward, and Yuna turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Open."

She pressed her lips together.

Mr. Choi grabbed her jaw, forcing it open. His thumb pried at the seal of her lips, and when she gasped for breath, he shoved his cock into her mouth.

The taste of him hit her tongue — salt and musk and something stale. Yuna gagged. Her throat convulsed around the intrusion. Tears streamed down her face.

"That's it," Mr. Choi groaned, his hips beginning to move. "That's a good girl."

He fucked her mouth in shallow thrusts, his cock sliding across her tongue, hitting the back of her throat with each push. Yuna's hands clawed at the floor, at his legs, but he was too heavy, too anchored.

Mr. Kim had peeled off her leggings and panties. She was naked now, completely exposed beneath the flickering light. Her thighs were pale and smooth, and between them, her cunt was untouched — pink, clean-shaven, the lips sealed tight.

"Look at this," Mr. Kim said, spreading her legs. "Like a flower."

He lowered his head between her thighs. Yuna felt his breath first — warm against her most sensitive flesh — and then his tongue, flat and wet, dragging up her slit.

She tried to buck away, but Mr. Kang was there, holding her hips down, keeping her open.

"No—!" The word came out garbled around Mr. Choi's cock.

Mr. Kim's tongue found her clit. He circled it slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. His mouth was warm and wet, and despite everything — despite the terror, the disgust — Yuna felt her body respond.

Her hips twitched.

"Ah," Mr. Kim said, pulling back. "She likes it."

"I felt her tighten," Mr. Kang agreed, his hand sliding up her thigh. His fingers found her entrance, pressing against it. "So wet already."

"I'm not—" Yuna gasped as Mr. Choi pulled out of her mouth. "I'm not enjoying this—"

"No?" Mr. Kim's tongue lapped at her clit again, harder this time. "Then why is your pussy dripping, little idol?"

Her face burned. Her body was a traitor.

Mr. Kang's finger pushed inside her. One knuckle. Two. Yuna cried out — a sound caught between protest and something else entirely. His finger was thick, calloused, and it moved inside her with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You're so tight," he said. "Perfect."

Mr. Kim replaced his tongue with two fingers, spreading her open. His mouth found her clit again, sucking hard, and Yuna's back arched off the floor.

"No no no no no—"

Yes, her body said. Her hips rolled against their hands. Her cunt clenched around Mr. Kang's finger.

"We're going to take turns," Mr. Park said, his voice coming from somewhere above her. She hadn't noticed him moving. He was naked now, his cock hard and curved, jutting out from his thin body. "You're going to take all of us. And you're going to love it."

Mr. Kim pulled away from her cunt, his chin wet with her slick. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock — thick and short — pressing against her entrance.

Yuna shook her head wildly. "Please, I'm a virgin, please don't, I've never—"

Something flickered in Mr. Kim's eyes. Hunger. Triumph.

"Even better," he said.

And he pushed inside her.

The pain was sharp and immediate, a tearing stretch that made Yuna scream. Mr. Choi's cock shoved back into her mouth, swallowing the sound. The taste of her own blood mixed with his salt.

Mr. Kim's hips pressed forward, seating himself fully inside her. Her virgin cunt gripped him like a fist, hot and tight and slick with her blood and arousal.

"So good," he groaned. "So fucking tight."

He began to move — slow thrusts that dragged against her inner walls, each one sending a shock of pain-pleasure through her core. Yuna's hands fisted in the blankets. Her thighs trembled.

Mr. Park knelt beside her head, his cock brushing her cheek. "Make room," he said to Mr. Choi, who pulled back just enough for Mr. Park to angle himself toward her mouth. "Open wide, princess."

She tried to turn away, but Mr. Choi grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Mr. Park's cock slid past her lips, joining Mr. Choi's. Two cocks in her mouth at once — thick, hot, filling her throat.

"Breathe through your nose," Mr. Kim instructed from between her legs. "You'll need to learn."

They moved in tandem — Mr. Kim thrusting into her cunt, Mr. Choi and Mr. Park feeding her mouth in alternating strokes. Yuna's body bounced between them, a ragdoll caught in their rhythm.

Mr. Kang circled around behind her, lifting her legs over his shoulders. His cock pressed against her asshole — tight, untouched, virgin there too.

"No—" she tried to say, but the word was lost in the mess of cocks in her mouth.

"Shh," Mr. Kang said, his thumb spreading lubricant across her tight hole. "This is the best part."

He pushed.

The pressure was immense — a fullness that bordered on pain as his cock forced its way into her ass. Yuna's scream vibrated around the cocks in her throat. Her body arched, every muscle straining.

All three holes filled at once.

Mr. Kang's cock sank deep into her ass. Mr. Kim's cock bottomed out in her cunt. Mr. Choi and Mr. Park's cocks slid together in her mouth.

Triple penetration.

Yuna's mind went blank. She existed only as sensation — stretched, filled, used. The men began to move, finding a rhythm together. In and out, push and pull, a three-way fucking that left no part of her empty.

Mr. Kim's hand found her clit, rubbing in circles. The pleasure spiked, sharp and undeniable. Yuna sobbed around the cocks in her mouth as her hips began to buck involuntarily, meeting Mr. Kim's thrusts.

"That's it," Mr. Park groaned, his cock sliding across her tongue. "Feel good, doesn't it?"

She tried to shake her head. She couldn't.

Her cunt was dripping now, the initial pain fading into a deep, burning pleasure. Her ass had adjusted to Mr. Kang's girth, clenching around him with each withdrawal. Her mouth was numb, drool running down her chin, but her tongue had started moving on its own, lapping at the cocks feeding her.

"Look at her," Mr. Choi laughed. "She's a natural."

Yuna wanted to deny it. She wanted to hate them, hate this, hate herself for the way her body was responding.

But then Mr. Kim hit something inside her — a spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids — and she came.

Her orgasm ripped through her without warning, her cunt clenching around Mr. Kim's cock, her ass squeezing Mr. Kang, her throat convulsing around the cocks in her mouth. She heard herself moaning, a deep, guttural sound that wasn't a scream of protest anymore.

Mr. Kim groaned, his hips slamming forward as he came inside her. She felt it — hot ropes of cum flooding her womb, thick and warm, filling her with each pulse of his cock.

"Fuck yes," he hissed. "Take it. Take every drop."

Mr. Kang followed seconds later, his cock swelling and then releasing deep in her ass. The feeling of being filled from both ends at once — it was too much. Yuna's eyes rolled back.

Mr. Choi and Mr. Park pulled out of her mouth in unison, jerking their cocks over her face. She felt the first splash of cum hit her cheek, then her lips, her nose, her forehead. They painted her face white, ropes of semen covering her features, dripping into her open mouth.

When they were done, Yuna lay there, gasping, covered in cum, her body trembling with aftershocks.

"That was round one," Mr. Park said, wiping himself on her hair. "We've got three more."

They flipped her onto her stomach.

Her knees were raw against the linoleum. Her elbows buckled as she tried to hold herself up, but Mr. Kang pressed on her lower back, forcing her into a deeper arch. Doggy style. Her tits hung heavy beneath her, swaying with each breath.

Mr. Kim entered her from behind, sliding into her cum-soaked cunt with ease. The wet sound of his thrusts filled the small room — squelching, obscene, rhythmic.

"Look how loose she's getting already," he said, his hand gripping her hip. "She was so tight an hour ago."

Mr. Park knelt in front of her, his cock still hard, still slick from her mouth. "Open up."

Yuna opened.

Her lips parted and her tongue extended, and she took him into her mouth without being told twice. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice screamed — what are you doing, fight, stop — but her body had made its choice.

She sucked. Her cheeks hollowed. Her tongue worked the underside of his cock.

"That's my girl," Mr. Park groaned, his fingers weaving into her crimson hair.

Mr. Choi was behind Mr. Kim, waiting. "Is there room for me?"

"She's got two holes left," Mr. Kang said. "Ass is empty now."

Mr. Kim pulled out of her cunt, and Mr. Choi immediately replaced him, his thin cock sliding into her dripping wetness. At the same time, Mr. Kim's cock pressed against her asshole, pushing past the loosened ring of muscle.

Yuna moaned around Mr. Park's cock as she was filled again — cunt and ass and mouth, a circuit of flesh.

They fucked her harder this time. Faster. The slaps of skin against skin echoed off the walls. Yuna's body rocked forward with each thrust, her tits swinging, her face buried in Mr. Park's pelvis.

"Fuck her ass," Mr. Choi grunted from behind. "She loves it."

She did love it. She couldn't deny it anymore. The shame was there, buried somewhere beneath the pleasure, but every nerve in her body was firing with raw, electric sensation.

Mr. Park's cock hit the back of her throat, and she didn't gag. She swallowed around him, taking him deeper. He groaned, his hips bucking.

"I'm going to—"

She felt him pulse against her tongue. Warm cum filled her mouth, thick and bitter, and she swallowed. Every drop. When he pulled out, she licked her lips clean.

Her mouth found Mr. Kim's cock as it emerged from her ass, slick and shining. She cleaned it too, her tongue tracing the veined length.

"Turn around," Mr. Kim commanded.

She did, lying on her back, legs spread. Mr. Kang lifted her hips, positioning her over a stack of folded blankets, raising her cunt to the perfect angle.

Mr. Park entered her first, missionary style, his weight pressing her into the floor. He leaned down and kissed her — a deep, tongue-filled kiss that tasted like his own cum. Yuna's arms wrapped around his neck.

"Such a good girl," he murmured against her lips. "Our beautiful little idol."

Mr. Kim slid in beside her, lifting her leg over his shoulder. His cock entered her ass from the side, filling her alongside Mr. Park. She could feel both of them inside her, separated only by the thin wall of flesh between her holes.

"Double," she gasped. "Oh god—"

Mr. Kang straddled her chest, his cock bobbing above her face. She lifted her head, opening her mouth, and he slid inside.

Triple penetration again. Filled in every hole, sandwiched between four men.

They moved together — a symphony of thrusts and moans and the wet sounds of sex. Yuna's hips bucked, meeting them, chasing the pleasure that was building again.

Mr. Kim's hand found her clit, rubbing hard circles. Mr. Park's cock hit her deepest spots. Mr. Kang fucked her throat with a steady rhythm.

"I'm close," Mr. Park said, his voice strained.

"Me too," Mr. Kim echoed.

"Inside," Yuna heard herself say. "Cum inside me."

She didn't know where the words came from. But she meant them. She wanted to feel them fill her, wanted to be marked and claimed and used.

Mr. Park came first, his cock pulsing deep in her cunt, flooding her with hot cum. Then Mr. Kim, his release filling her ass, leaking around the seal of his cock. Then Mr. Kang, his cum shooting down her throat, thick ropes that she swallowed eagerly.

When they pulled out, she felt the cum leaking from her holes — rivulets of white running down her thighs, pooling beneath her on the blankets.

Mr. Choi had been watching, stroking himself. "My turn," he said, positioning himself between her legs.

He lifted her hips, entering her cunt, now overflowing with Mr. Park's cum. The excess spilled out around his cock, dripping onto the floor. He fucked her fast, hard, using her cum-filled hole like a sleeve.

Yuna's head fell back. Her mouth hung open. The pleasure was blurring into something else — a surrender so complete that she couldn't remember what resistance felt like.

"Look at her face," Mr. Kim said, pointing.

Mr. Kang laughed. "She's in heaven."

Her eyes had rolled back. Her tongue lolled out. The ahegao expression was involuntary, a physical response to the overload of sensation rushing through her body.

Mr. Choi came inside her, adding his cum to Mr. Park's. Her stomach was warm and full.

Mr. Kang lifted her.

Standing carry. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. Her back pressed against the wall. Mr. Kim stood behind them, positioning himself at her ass. Mr. Park and Mr. Choi held her legs apart, opening her up.

Mr. Kang's cock slid into her cunt as Mr. Kim's entered her ass at the same time. She was suspended between them, held in place by four sets of hands, impaled on two cocks.

"Please," she begged. "Please, more, I need—"

"You need what?" Mr. Park asked, his cock pressed against her lips.

"Everything. I need everything."

She took him into her mouth, bobbing her head as Mr. Kang and Mr. Kim thrust up into her from below. The standing position changed the angle — deeper, fuller, every thrust hitting new places inside her.

Her body was limp. They held her up. They fucked her into the wall, her sweat-slick back sliding against the painted surface. Her muscles had given out — all the fight drained, replaced by a desperate, consuming need.

"Look at me," Mr. Kang commanded.

She forced her eyes open. Her vision was blurry, but she could see him — his wrinkled face twisted in pleasure, his thin body driving up into hers.

"You belong to us now," he said. "Say it."

"I belong—" Her voice broke as Mr. Kim thrust deeper. "I belong to you."

"Again."

"I belong to you. All of you. I'm yours."

Mr. Kang's orgasm hit, his cum flooding her cunt for the third time that night. Mr. Kim followed, filling her ass again. Mr. Park came in her mouth, and Mr. Choi on her face.

Cum dripped down her chin. Cum leaked from her cunt. Cum ran down her thighs and pooled on the floor.

They lowered her to the ground. She collapsed onto the cum-soaked blankets, her body spent, her muscles trembling, her holes gaping and leaking white.

Yuna lay on her back, staring at the flickering fluorescent light. Her crimson hair was matted with sweat and cum. Her body — her pale, smooth, beautiful body — was painted in it. Thick ropes of semen covered her tits, her stomach, her face. It pooled in her navel. It dripped from her open mouth.

Her tongue lolled out again. Her eyes rolled back. The ahegao expression was frozen on her face, a look of pure, blissful emptiness.

"I want more," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, barely audible.

Mr. Park knelt beside her, stroking her cum-slick hair. "There's always more, princess."

She smiled, dazed and dreamy. "Good."

From somewhere far away, a bell rang. The night shift arriving.

"Clean her up," Mr. Kang said, already pulling on his pants. "We'll need her again tomorrow."

Strong hands lifted her. Warm water ran over her skin, washing away the evidence. But inside — in her cunt, her ass, her mouth — she could still feel them. Could still taste them.

As they dressed her in fresh clothes and walked her to the door, Yuna found herself thinking about tomorrow. About what they'd do to her. What she'd let them do.

She couldn't wait.

bunnsfw

Hannya: Act III 空虚 (Kūkyo) - Emptiness

Summary: You stopped wanting things. Then Wonyoung handed you a warning Tsuki couldn't take back. You started asking questions she hoped you'd never think to ask.

Tags: Tsuki (Billlie) & Jang Wonyoung (IVE) x Male Reader (Named OC) | Wordcount: 10,842~ | Supernatural, Smut, Corporate Drama

A/N: Welcome back or just welcome, if you're new. Chapters 1 and 2 are posted somewhere; I'd recommend starting there. Bunn took an embarrassing amount of time on this one. I get it, he's been feeling empty recently, too. A warning: I might not be at my lowest, but I'm somewhere, weirder, emptier. Same arrangement as before: you're still in my head, and Tsuki is still playing games with us. Leave a comment whenever you think I fucked up or said something you agree with; I read every one. Tell me at the end if you'd have done anything differently. And Tsuki said she'll reply if it compels her. — 日の出明宏

Recommend Reading This On Fanprose.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

usedpidemo

infinity

ive x le sserafim x m!reader 26.5k words fanprose (thank you to @bunnsfw for the book cover & @xantithesis for beta reading!)

—————

You stopped fearing death the moment you understood it.

You imagined how it would end a number of ways: getting struck by a drunk driver or a hit and run by some rich asshole late one night, maybe they're one and the same. Or your liver giving up after one too many shots after work, and you'd be found lying on the sidewalk, drowning in a pool of your own piss. Maybe you'd just get hit by a stray brick landing on your head because life is unpredictable like that.

You'd given up on a quiet, peaceful rest in some hospital bed in your old age a long time ago. You just didn't think you'd go out like this: becoming ground zero for an asteroid.

It was the last thing your mind. It was the last thing on everyone's mind.

•18+ Adults Only

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sprenthecreator

Never wanted to eat a 😺 this bad in my life

proudspring

Resexdent Evil ft. Asa

Read it on Fanprose

Clang. Clang.

Can’s clinking, box rustling, and winds blowing. Just another random sound for a random guy like you, but you’re used to it.

You’re at a ruined convenience store near the skirts of Gangnam, and there’s no one around you. Shelves lay overturned. Blood had long since turned black on the tiled floor. Outside, abandoned cars clogged the road beneath Gangnam's silent skyline.

izlts

My teacher's secret

POV Kwon eunbi

The silence of my room at six in the morning had a dead weight to it, a freezing atmosphere that seemed to suck away any trace of warmth before I could even feel it. I stood in front of the vanity mirror, staring at my reflection with a blank, almost mechanical gaze. At this hour, before the world knew me as Professor Eunbi, I was nothing more than a body trapped in constant tension, a woman fighting a silent war against her own anatomy.

Naked, the pale light of dawn highlighted the almost unreal whiteness of my skin and the overwhelming volume of my tits. They were heavy, massive, two spheres of flesh that dominated my silhouette and always seemed designed to draw every single eye, even though I spent every second of my life trying to kill that effect. I stared at them, watching how gravity pulled at them, creating a deep, generous curve that reminded me of the hunger deep in my belly—a void that no amount of professional respect could ever fill.

Then began the ritual of suffocation.

I reached for the white lace bra, a garment designed to compress, to contain, to erase. Getting into it was always a physical and psychological struggle. First, I fought with the straps, feeling them dig into my shoulders as I tried to force the flesh of my tits into the cups. I let out a muffled groan, almost a grunt of frustration, when I felt the fabric stretch to its breaking point.

Sshhh... The sound of the lace stretching to the limit echoed in my ears. I had to use my hands to push and mold the flesh, sinking my fingers into the softness of my tits to force them to stay flat, crushed against my chest. I felt my white skin turn pink from the excessive pressure, and the air began to fail me as the bra squeezed my ribs like a noose. The result was an unbearable feeling of oppression; my tits were there, trapped in a fabric cage, fighting for breath, pulsing against the restriction with every beat of my heart.

I put on the white silk blouse, hearing the soft brush of the fabric sliding over skin that was already damp from a cold sweat breaking out at the nape of my neck. As I buttoned it up, I felt that familiar and torturous tug on the middle buttons. Each button was a critical point of tension; I knew that if I leaned too far or breathed too deeply, the fabric would give way. But that oppression was necessary. Formal clothes weren't just attire; they were my armor.

I approached the mirror to do my makeup, tracing the perfect line of my red lips and ensuring my skin looked flawless, without a single trace of weakness. As I applied the powder, a shiver ran down my spine. I looked into my own eyes and saw the woman disappear to make way for the mask: that icy, distant, and severe gaze that projected an unreachable superiority.

But beneath that white silk, beneath that perfect makeup and that expression of ice, my body was screaming. I felt an electric tingle in my clit, a dull throb reminding me that I was alive and starving. The physical suffocation of my clothes translated into emotional suffocation; I felt like a caged animal inside a marble statue. I knew that the moment I crossed the threshold of the institute, everyone would see the perfect teacher, the untouchable woman who despised any sign of vulgarity.

None of them could imagine that this coldness was the result of unbearable pressure, that my mask of ice was the only thing keeping me from crumbling under the weight of my own desires. I adjusted my pencil skirt, feeling it hug my hips with military rigidity, and let out a shaky sigh that made the buttons of my blouse groan once more. I was ready to start another day of lies, carrying the weight of my tits and the loneliness of my life, not knowing yet that the path to depravity had already been traced inside me.

sprenthecreator

are you FUCKING kidding me?

elryuse

WORLD CUP INCIDENT

KWON EUNBI GANGBANG

Tags : Rape!, Gangbang, Creampie, Hardcore Sex, Used, Breeding, Multiple Penetration, Kinky, Whore, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Crying, Mature, Public Sex, World Cup

Words: 3,358 Words

This Story contains Rape! So Reader Discretion is Advised. This story is a Commision Work for @sinbaddict Hope Yall Like it.

The roar of eighty thousand voices hit Eunbi like a wall of sound the moment she stepped out of the VIP tunnel.

She'd worn a simple white summer dress—loose cotton that ended mid-thigh—and a red bucket hat pulled low, hoping to blend in. Hoping to just be another fan in the stands for Korea's World Cup semifinal against Brazil. The disguise was laughable. Within thirty seconds of finding her seat in the premium section, the phones started coming out.

"Is that..."

"Holy shit, that's Kwon Eunbi..."

•18+ Adults Only

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izlts

Broken Stars

Eunbi x Winter x Karina x ceos

The morning sun hit the windows of the Coca-Cola skyscraper, creating golden reflections that made the building look like an architectural jewel in the middle of the city. When the luxury car pulled up to the main entrance, Karina and Winter stepped out with smiles on their faces, feeling more than ever like they were on top of the world. The air was crisp and smelled like spring; everything just felt like a total win. There was no tension—just that electric buzz you get when you know you're about to hit a new milestone in your career.

"Look at this place, Winter," Karina said, spreading her arms as she admired the massive building. "It’s incredible. I feel like even the air up here is more expensive."

Winter giggled, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She looked radiant, with genuine joy on her face. "It's impressive. They told me the executive offices have a view that goes all the way to the horizon. I can't believe they actually invited us as the main ambassadors for the World Cup. It’s Coca-Cola!"

They both walked toward the entrance, where they weren't met by stern guards, but by a PR team with warm smiles and friendly gestures. The lobby was an open space, flooded with natural light from giant floor-to-ceiling windows. Massive arrangements of white lilies and orchids filled the air with a sweet, relaxing scent. Soft jazz played in the background, making the whole place feel more like a five-star hotel than a corporate office.

"Welcome! It’s an absolute honor to have you here," exclaimed a young man in a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, stepping forward to greet them. "I'm Marcus, the image coordinator for this project. The CEOs are anxious to meet you in person; they've followed your careers with a lot of admiration."

"Thank you, Marcus. This place is beautiful," Karina replied, projecting that natural confidence she was known for. She felt comfortable and relaxed, enjoying every admiring glance from the staff passing by. "You’ve made us feel very welcome since the first email."

"It's the least we can do for the stars of the moment," Marcus replied with a friendly wink. "Please, follow me. Before heading up to the main office, we have a small lounge area where you can freshen up and have a drink while we finalize the last details of the contract."

They walked through wide, cream-colored carpeted hallways, where the walls were decorated with historical photos of the brand mixed with modern art. There were no intrusive cameras or awkward silences; instead, every employee they passed gave them a cordial greeting or a whispered compliment about their beauty and talent. Karina and Winter felt like VIPs in the purest sense of the word.

"Would you like something to drink? We have infused waters, fresh juices, or specialty coffee," Marcus offered as they entered a private waiting room that looked like a luxury lounge, with white leather sofas and glass tables. "Make yourselves at home. We really want you to be comfortable today."

"An orange juice would be great, thanks," Winter said, sinking into one of the sofas with a sigh of satisfaction. "God, Karina, I feel so relaxed here. I thought it would be a super stiff and boring environment, but it's the opposite. It’s almost... cozy."

Karina sat next to her, crossing her legs elegantly and looking around with a knowing smile. "Told you. When you're the face of the biggest brand in the world, they're the ones who have to work hard to impress us. Look at this place... it's perfect."

They stayed there for a few minutes, chatting excitedly about their expectations for the 2026 World Cup and laughing about stories from their tours. There wasn't a single red flag or dark thought crossing their minds. For them, this day was the payoff for years of hard work; they were in the right place, with the right people, surrounded by luxury that made them feel secure and valued.

unholybacon355

Play Dirty

Jeon Somi x Male OC

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist

Important Note: This is not totally original, is a reversion of THIS other story. Of course I made all the necessary changes.

Just as a suggestion consider reading this story while listening THIS, or something like this, just to create some atmosphere.

PLAY DIRTY

The bass of the techno music made the walls of the dirty bathroom vibrate just as Somi’s heart pounded against her ribs. Boom, boom, boom! An incessant pounding that set a frenetic rhythm, a march that the hundreds of people on the dance floor followed, each in their own way. But here, in the apparent and fake calm of the bathroom, there was a different atmosphere. Here, the air was thick with the smell of cheap floor cleaner, urine, and a few other unidentifiable things that were intoxicating to the censes.

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