#(lynn)

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.