#eunbismut

When I closed the door to my house at the end of the day, the sound of the lock clicking was like the closing of a tomb. My home wasn't a refuge; it was a cold and sterile museum, a space filled with expensive furniture, marble floors that echoed my footsteps, and a silence so thick it buzzed in my ears. It was a house designed to impress guests who never arrived and to maintain the appearance of a perfect life, while I slowly consumed myself inside.

My husband was part of that expensive, lifeless furniture. A man much older than me, whose presence in the house was as sporadic as his interest in my body. We had married for convenience; he wanted the trophy beauty of a young and distinguished woman to complete his image of success, and I... I had sought stability, status, and that economic security that would allow me to walk with my head high. But the price of that security was a loneliness that ate through my guts.

He was almost never there. When he was, he moved through the halls like a ghost, wrapped in his gray suits and phone calls about business and stocks. To him, I was just another piece in his collection; he looked at me with the same indifference he used for a painting hanging on the wall. There was never any passion, never that animal urgency I felt boiling under my skin every time I looked in the mirror. Our interactions were limited to polite greetings and silent dinners where the only sound was the clink of cutlery against fine porcelain.

There were nights when the frustration became physical, an unbearable pressure that started in my tits and traveled down to my clit, leaving me in a state of constant irritability. I would lie in the matrimonial bed—a massive expanse of cold silk sheets—and feel the void beside me like a slap in the face. I would roll over slowly, feeling my huge tits flatten against the mattress, heavy and hot, while I imagined strong, rough hands grabbing them violently, squeezing them until I couldn't breathe.

Sometimes, I stayed staring at the ceiling in the darkness, listening to the graveyard silence of the house, and felt a dull rage grow inside me. It was a cruel irony: I had a body that screamed to be desired, a massive chest that attracted the gaze of every man I crossed in the institute, but I came home to be invisible. I felt like a ripe fruit rotting on the branch because no one dared to pluck it.

There were moments when the sexual hunger was so strong it made me shake. I would get out of bed and walk through the house naked, feeling the cold marble under my feet and the heavy sway of my tits against my stomach. I looked at myself in the hallway mirrors, watching how my white skin glowed under the dim light of the lamps, and wondered if anyone would ever touch me with the vulgarity I craved. I didn't want romance; I didn't want sweet words. I wanted to be treated like an object; I wanted to feel someone claim me with animal hunger, ripping my clothes off and making me moan until I was exhausted.

That lack became a silent obsession. My marriage was a golden cage where I was the most pampered prisoner, but also the hungriest. Every day I spent being the "exemplary wife" and the "respectable teacher," the void between my legs grew deeper. The tension accumulated in my muscles, in my breath, in the way I bit my lips while teaching.

I felt trapped in a constant lie. On the outside, I projected an image of self-sufficiency and glacial coldness, but on the inside, I was screaming. I imagined breaking the silence of that house with screams of pleasure, filling the empty rooms with the sound of skin slapping against skin. But the man who slept beside me—when he was there—was incapable of waking the beast I kept locked beneath my silk blouses.

That accompanied loneliness was what finally broke me. It led me to seek refuge in places where no one knew me, where I wasn't anyone's wife or anyone's teacher. I needed an escape valve for all that accumulated lust, a place where I could stop being marble and start being flesh. I didn't know how it would happen, but I knew I could no longer endure the weight of the silence nor the oppression of my own repressed desires.

It was two in the morning and the house felt colder than ever. I lay in the immense matrimonial bed, my body wrapped in a black silk robe that felt slippery against my skin but failed to remove the feeling of emptiness. Beside me, the space was vacant; my husband was probably in some business hotel or some late-night meeting, and I, as always, was left alone with my thoughts and a dull restlessness gnawing at my nerves.

Insomnia had become my habitual companion. To combat the loneliness and the graveyard silence enveloping the rooms, I turned on my phone. The blue light of the screen blinded me for a moment, casting long shadows against the bedroom walls. I browsed aimlessly, jumping through irrelevant news and empty profiles, looking for anything to distract me from the oppression of my own life. I entered Twitter, scrolling through the feed with mechanical apathy, until a capricious algorithm suggested a profile that had nothing to do with my usual interests.

At first, it was just an image. A blurry photo, probably taken in a mirror, where a woman posed from behind. She wore no clothes; only high red heels that made her ass lift in a provocative and tight curve. But what stopped my heart wasn't the nudity itself, but the rawness of the image. It wasn't a professional or edited photo meant to look elegant; it was vulgar, direct, almost aggressive in its honesty.

I felt a pinch of morbid curiosity and, without thinking, clicked on the profile.

What I found there was a dizzying descent into a world I had only visited in my darkest, most forbidden fantasies. The woman didn't show her face, but she exposed every corner of her body with an animal confidence that left me zoned out. There were entire threads of photos where she showed herself playing with her own nipples, short videos where she bounced her tits in front of the camera while reading dirty comments, and photos where she spread her legs completely, exposing her wetness to the world without a shred of shame.

I froze, phone pressed against my chest, feeling my breathing turn erratic. I had never seen anything like this so openly. In my world, sexuality was something that should be discrete, elegant, and above all, controlled. But here, in this digital corner, vulgarity was the primary language. I read the comments under the photos: unknown men using raw words, calling her a "slut," asking her to masturbate for them, praising the shape of her ass and the size of her tits with a rawness that made me blush.

And then the unexpected happened. Instead of feeling disgust or rejection, I felt an electric spark run down my spine and land directly on my clit.

A damp, stinging heat began to concentrate between my legs. I felt hypnotized by the idea that someone could expose themselves like that, that someone had the courage to turn their body into a pure, animal object of desire for strangers. While observing a photo where the girl squeezed her tits with her hands, distorting the white flesh, I felt my own breasts start to pulse under the silk robe. I brought a hand to my chest, unconsciously squeezing the curve of my tit, and let out a muffled moan that echoed in the silence of the room.

"My God... what am I doing?" I whispered, but I didn't look away.

I felt as if I were looking through a forbidden keyhole. The excitement was born from the morbidity, from the transgression. I imagined for a moment how it would be if I were in that position: to stop being Professor Eunbi, the trophy wife, the pedestal of ice, and become simply flesh. I imagined the feeling of reading those vulgar comments directed at me, the idea that thousands of men were staring at my huge tits and my ass without knowing who I really was.

The idea triggered an adrenaline rush so strong it made me shake. For the first time in years, I didn't feel the void of marriage or the suffocation of my routine; I felt a voracious hunger, an animal need to be seen, to be desired in the dirtiest way possible. I slid down in the bed, feeling the silk of the robe stick to my sweaty thighs. With the phone still on and the image of that exposed woman before me, I brought my hand down, seeking contact with my own damp skin.

I realized I no longer wanted to be just a spectator. The accidental discovery of that account had opened a floodgate in my mind that could no longer be closed. Curiosity had transformed into a dangerous and tangible desire. As I touched myself, imagining thousands of invisible eyes watching me through the screen, I knew my perfect life had just shattered. The ice had cracked, and beneath it, a current of depravity began to flow, promising the only freedom I had ever known: the freedom to be vulgar.

I stayed there, lying in the darkness of my bed, phone illuminating my face and breath ragged. My hand remained anchored between my legs, but my mind was elsewhere, processing the psychological shock I had just suffered. I wondered, with brutal honesty, why this vulgarity had provoked such a violent, visceral reaction. Why did seeing a stranger expose her ass and tits to thousands of strangers make me feel like the air became thick and my clit throbbed with an almost painful urgency?

Then I understood it. And the revelation was like a blow to the stomach.

It wasn't just sexual desire; it was a hunger for freedom. For years, I had built a fortress of ice around myself. I had become the embodiment of perfection: the impeccable teacher, the distinguished wife, the woman who never made a mistake and followed every social rule with military discipline. I had spent so much time being the pedestal where others projected their ideas of respect and decorum that I had forgotten what it meant to be human—or more accurately, what it meant to be an animal.

The idea of becoming exactly what I despised in public—a vulgar woman, an exhibitionist, a digital slut—felt, for the first time in my life, like the only path toward redemption. I imagined freeing myself from that armor of silk and perfect makeup. I imagined breaking the silence of my empty marriage not with words, but with dirty moans while thousands of invisible eyes devoured me through a screen. The mere idea of betraying my own image, knowing that while I corrected exams with coldness in the classroom, there existed on some remote server a proof of my depravity, gave me an adrenaline rush that left me trembling.

I wanted to feel that gaze. I wanted them to desire me not for my intellect or status, but for the mass of my tits and the curve of my ass. I wanted to be an object; I wanted to be consumed; I wanted the world to see me without filters, without rules, and without the suffocating mask of a "good teacher."

Driven by an urgency I couldn't contain, I got out of bed. The silk robe slid off my shoulders, falling to the floor with a dull whisper. I walked naked toward the vanity mirror, feeling the cold night air hit my white skin and prickle the hairs on my arms. I stared at myself. There I was: Eunbi, the woman of ice. But as I observed myself, I began to see myself through the eyes of those men on Twitter. I saw the massive volume of my tits swaying with every breath, the powerful curve of my hips, and the moisture glistening between my legs.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged animal. Fear was there, a cold sting in my stomach, but it was precisely that fear that fueled my excitement. I took the phone with trembling hands and opened the camera.

I positioned myself in front of the mirror, adjusting the angle with obsessive care. I didn't want to show my face; the idea of keeping my identity hidden added a layer of morbidity that made me gasp. I framed myself from the chin down, letting the dim light of the room highlight the shadows and contours of my body.

With a slow movement, I took my own tits with both hands, squeezing them toward the center to create a deep, glistening valley. I felt the softness of my own flesh, the heat of my skin, and the tension of my erect nipples rubbing against the palms of my hands. The contrast between the woman I was in the classroom and the woman who was now standing here, holding her own breasts for an obscene photo, provoked a spasm of pleasure that made me arch my back.

Click.

The sound of the shutter resonated in the room like a gunshot. I stared at the image on the screen: my huge tits, exposed and vulnerable, captured in a moment of pure transgression. A wave of animal euphoria surged through my entire body, from my toes to the nape of my neck. I had crossed the line. I was no longer just a spectator; I had become a participant in the game.

I sat on the cold floor, leaning my back against the wood, while I looked at the photo over and over again. I knew this was the start of something dangerous, something that could destroy my life if anyone ever found out. But as I felt the constant pulsing between my legs and the echo of the click in my ears, I knew there was no turning back. The mask of ice had definitively cracked, and I was anxious to see how much more of it could break before it consumed me completely.

I kept staring at the phone screen, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as I read a comment that repeated over and over in the thread of my last photo. "I want to see those tits moving," one said; another was cruder: "Bet they weigh a ton, make them bounce for us, slut."

The word "slut" resonated in my head like a whip-crack. In the classroom, that word would be grounds for expulsion or a nuclear scandal; but here, in the dimness of my room, while I felt the brush of my silk robe against my erect nipples, that word gave me an electric shock that left me breathless. I felt small, vulgar, and for the first time in years, terribly alive.

I stood up in front of the vanity mirror, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs with an erratic rhythm. I untied the knot of my robe and let the garment fall to the floor, leaving me completely naked before my own reflection. The dim light highlighted the whiteness of my skin and the massive volume of my breasts, which hung heavily, waiting to be released. I felt vulnerable, but that vulnerability was the gasoline fueling my excitement.

I took the phone with one hand and placed it at an angle that captured only my torso and thighs. With the other hand, I touched my chest, feeling the softness of the flesh and the hardness of my nipples, which were already tense like piano wires. I imagined the thousands of men on the other side of the screen, holding their breath, waiting for me to do what they asked.

Then, I did it.

I began to bounce gently on my heels, a short, rhythmic movement that caused my tits to jump violently up and down. The impact was immediate. I felt the real weight of my own body; the inertia of my breasts was overwhelming, swaying with an animal force that made me gasp. Plok... plok... I could hear the dull sound of flesh hitting my own chest with every bounce.

I looked at myself in the mirror and went completely zoned out. Seeing my huge tits oscillate like that, without control, without bras compressing them, was an image of pure depravity. I felt like a beast, a massive object of pleasure that had nothing to do with Professor Eunbi. As I increased the intensity of the jumps, the sway became more chaotic and violent. My breasts bounced with raw energy, pulling at the skin of my shoulders and making my nipples dance frantically in the air.

"God..." I let out a muffled moan that echoed through the walls of the room.

The physical sensation was intoxicating. The weight of my tits swaying created a tension in my back and chest that translated, almost instantly, into an electric sting between my legs. I felt my clit pulsing with violent urgency, flooding my imaginary underwear with thick, hot moisture. Every time my breasts dropped and hit my torso, I felt a bolt of pleasure run down my spine.

I stopped abruptly, left breathless, my chest heaving violently. My tits continued to oscillate slightly from the inertia, and I stared at the screen, watching the comments explode in real-time: "Holy shit, look how they bounce!", "Bet they feel heavy as hell," "do it harder, slut, make them bounce until you're tired."

Reading those words while feeling the echo of the sway in my body provoked a spasm of pleasure that made me arch my back. I felt humiliated and adored at the same time. The idea that those men were watching my tits jump, imagining the weight and heat of that flesh, left me in a state of sexual hyper-awareness. My breathing was now a shallow gasp, and my skin was glistening with a cold sweat starting to bead at my neck.

I stood there, gaze fixed on my own breasts, feeling the hunger grow. The bouncing had only been the beginning; it had awakened a beast that no longer settled for jumping. I wanted more. I wanted to feel the touch, I wanted to fulfill every dirty request, and I wanted to see how far my own depravity could go before it broke me completely.

The phone screen was now a cauldron of lust. Notifications kept arriving, a constant flow of dirty words that hit my mind like lashes. The bouncing video had been the spark, but now the users wanted something more; they were no longer satisfied with natural movement, they wanted to see deformation, they wanted to see how that massive flesh felt under pressure.

"Use your hands," one comment said, standing out above the rest. "I want to see your fingers sink into those tits, I want to see how much space they take up in your palms. Squeeze them until they overflow, slut."

Reading the word "squeeze" triggered an immediate reaction in my body. I felt a violent spasm in my belly and an electric sting that went straight down to my clit, leaving me breathless for a second. I stared at my own breasts, those two monuments of white flesh that were currently rising and falling with the speed of my ragged breath. The idea of following that order, of becoming a toy for thousands of strangers, provoked a wave of heat that blurred my vision.

I approached the mirror, pressing my chest almost against the cold glass. The thermal contrast made my nipples harden instantly, poking the air like two small, dark nails. I took the phone with my left hand and positioned it for an extreme close-up; I wanted every pore of my skin, every tiny blue vein and every drop of sweat to be visible to those on the other side.

Then, I closed the fingers of my right hand over my left tit.

It wasn't a gentle caress. Following the chat's order, I sank my fingers with raw force into the soft mass of my breast. I felt the flesh shift and deform under the pressure, creating deep grooves that left the skin red where my nails dug in slightly. The volume was so massive that my hand couldn't wrap around it completely; the tit overflowed through the sides of my fingers, creating a grotesque and fascinating curve that left me zoned out.

"Oh God..." I let out a husky moan, a guttural sound I didn't recognize as my own.

I saw myself in the mirror and felt a surge of animal euphoria. Seeing how my own hand crushed that massive volume, forcing the flesh to displace upward and sideways, made me feel incredibly vulgar. It was the same hand I used to hold chalk in front of my students, the same hand that corrected exams with glacial severity, but now it was there, buried in my own skin, distorting my body for the pleasure of strangers. The psychological contrast was the spark that lit an uncontrollable fire between my legs; I felt the moisture begin to soak the area, a hot and thick flow that made me feel heavy.

I increased the pressure. I began to knead my breast with slow, strong movements, squeezing and releasing, making the flesh bounce against my own palm. Squelch... plok... The sound of my damp skin slapping against itself echoed in the silence of the room, a wet and obscene noise that sent a violent shiver down my entire spine. I imagined it wasn't my fingers squeezing, but the hands of one of those men from the chat, someone grabbing me violently and forcing me to watch how I was being deformed.

I leaned further toward the mirror, letting my other tit hang heavily, while I continued manipulating the first with desperate urgency. My nipples were now so tense they hurt, and every time I squeezed the flesh, I felt the pressure translate directly to my pelvic area, triggering rhythmic spasms in my clit. I was sweating; a drop slid down my forehead and fell right into the valley of my breasts, glistening under the light before sliding downward.

I looked at the screen and saw that the chat had entered a state of collective hysteria. "That's it! Harder!", "look how her fingers overflow," "bet they're hot and soft." Reading those words while feeling my own flesh deform under my fingers made me arch my back, letting out a shallow gasp. I felt small, exposed, and completely dominated by the desire of those strangers.

I stopped for a second, fingers still buried in my chest, feeling the pulse of my own heart beating against my palms. I was at the limit; the physical tension was already unbearable, and the need to touch myself further began to cloud my judgment. But I knew I couldn't skip steps. I wanted to feel every inch of this humiliation, I wanted to fulfill every dirty request before allowing myself a climax.

The euphoria of deformation still vibrated in my fingers, but the chat's hunger was a bottomless pit. While I recovered my breath, panting in front of the mirror, the notifications began to shift direction. They were no longer satisfied with my tits; now they wanted to explore the forbidden territory, the zone I had kept under lock and key even in the most intimate moments of my empty marriage.

"What about the rest?" a comment said with a rawness that made me shudder. "We want to see that ass. Open your legs, slut. We want to see how wet you are while you look at us."

Reading the word "open" caused a short circuit in my mind. I felt a sting of panic mixed with an excitement so violent it made my knees buckle for an instant. Showing my tits was an act of exhibitionism, but opening myself to the camera was an act of total surrender. It was giving up the last fortress of my dignity. But it was precisely that feeling of absolute vulnerability that pushed me forward. I wanted to feel that freefall; I wanted to know what happened when a respectable teacher became raw meat for public consumption.

I let the phone drop onto the surface of the vanity, leaning it against a perfume bottle so the angle captured the lower part of my body. I turned around, leaving my back to the mirror and facing the camera.

I leaned forward, resting my palms on the cold marble of the furniture. The movement was abrupt and caused my huge tits to hang heavily, pulling at my skin and swaying with a real, almost tangible weight, while they remained suspended in the air. I felt gravity dragging them down, a feeling of heaviness that made me feel even more animal. But my attention was no longer on my breasts; it was on the tension building in my thighs and the curve of my ass.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I began to separate my legs. The brush of my own thighs, damp with sweat and excitement, produced a soft sound, a fleshy slide that echoed in the silence of the room. Sshhh...

I brought my hands back. My fingers, still hot from squeezing my chest, found the firm, rounded skin of my cheeks. With a muffled moan, I grabbed each cheek firmly and began to pull them apart violently, opening myself up.

"Oh God..." I whispered, and my voice came out as a broken wail.

The visual impact on the screen was devastating. By opening myself, I exposed the most intimate and secret part of my body under the raw light of the ring lamp. I saw the contrast between the whiteness of my tight cheeks and the deep pink and wetness of my vulva, which was already glistening from natural lubrication. I felt completely naked—not just of clothes, but of all social protection. I was there, open, exposed, offering my hole to thousands of invisible eyes.

I stayed like that, in a humiliating and provocative position, feeling the cold air hit my most sensitive area. The sensation was overwhelming; I felt as if each of the spectators were stabbing their gaze into my wetness, penetrating me with their sight. The pulse in my clit became frenetic, a constant hammering that made my legs shake.

Then, I saw the chat explode. Words were no longer just comments; they were orders. "Open wider!", "bet she's dripping," "I want to see how that hole glistens," "look at this open slut."

Reading the word "dripping" while I felt the hot, thick flow sliding down my vaginal lips provoked a violent spasm. I felt like a ripe fruit that had finally burst. I imagined it wasn't a camera in front of me, but a real man forcing me to stay like that, open and vulnerable, while he insulted me and claimed me.

I began to move my hips slightly, rubbing the surface of the marble with my wet zone. Plok... plok... The sound of my wet flesh hitting the cold furniture was obscene, a symphony of fluids that made me gasp loudly. I felt small, reduced to a simple orifice, and that reduction gave me the most intense euphoria of my life. There was no longer a teacher, no longer a wife; there was only a woman open and starving, surrendering her secret to the world in an act of absolute depravity.

I stayed in that position for several minutes, enjoying the agony of desire and the pleasure of exposure. My tits continued to hang heavily in front of me, swaying slightly with every gasp, while my lower half was totally surrendered to digital scrutiny. I was on the verge of collapse, muscles tense and mind clouded by an animal lust that screamed it was finally time to stop watching and start touching.

The tension in the room had reached a point of no return. I was there, leaning on the cold marble, legs open and intimacy exposed to thousands of invisible eyes. The freezing air of the room hit my wetness, but I was burning inside. I looked at the phone screen and saw that the chat was no longer asking for photos; now they demanded action. Words flew in a cascade of depravity: "Touch yourself," "I want to see you masturbate while you read us," "use your fingers, slut, get them dirty with your own juice."

Reading the word "get them dirty" triggered an electric spasm through my thighs. I felt like a puppet whose strings were being pulled by strangers, and that loss of control was the most exciting thing I had ever felt in my life. I was no longer the woman dictating rules in the classroom; now I was the one obeying dirty orders from the shadows of her own home.

Slowly, with one hand still resting on the marble to support my weight and the other descending toward my crotch, I began the execution. The first contact of my fingers against my clit was like a spark. I was so lubricated that my finger slipped instantly, producing a short, wet sound. Plok. I froze for a second, listening to that noise in the absolute silence of the room. It was the physical confirmation of my own excitement; I was dripping, completely surrendered to the morbidity.

"Oh God..." I let out a gasp that vibrated in my throat, while closing my eyes and letting myself be carried by the current.

I began to rub myself with circular movements, slow at first, feeling how the flesh of my vulva was swollen and sensitive. Every touch was an exquisite torture. As I increased the speed, the sound became more constant and visceral. Squelch... squelch... The noise of my fingers moving through the viscosity of my own desire filled my ears, mixing with the sound of my breath which was no longer a whisper, but an erratic, animal gasp.

I forced myself to open my eyes to read the chat while I touched myself. "Faster!", "look how your hole glistens," "bet you're thinking about how dirty you are." Reading that I was "dirty" while feeling the friction of my fingers against my clit gave me an adrenaline rush that made me arch my back. I felt divided: one part of me was still Professor Eunbi, horrified by her own conduct, but the other—the real, hungry one—enjoyed every second of this degradation.

I increased the pace, sinking a finger deeply into my vaginal canal while the thumb continued to hammer my clit with blind urgency. The sound was now a wet and obscene symphony. Squelch... plok... squelch... I felt the pressure in my pelvis grow until it became unbearable. My legs began to shake, and I had to press my toes against the floor to keep from collapsing.

In that moment, I forgot about the perfect position; I simply surrendered to raw pleasure. I let my huge tits hang heavily downward, swaying violently with every movement of my hips. The weight of my breasts pulling on my skin contrasted with the frenetic speed of my hand down there. I felt like a beast in heat, a woman reduced to a set of electric impulses and hot fluids.

"Look at me..." I whispered into the phone's microphone, though I didn't know who I was speaking to. "Look how I get... for you..."

The idea that thousands of men were watching my climax in real-time, observing how my fingers disappeared and reappeared in my wetness, pushed me to the limit. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs and the skin of my back prickling. The pleasure was no longer just physical; it was a psychological catharsis. I was breaking every chain they had imposed on me, destroying the image of the perfect woman piece by piece with every movement of my hand.

I was on the edge of the abyss, feeling the tension accumulate in a tight, hot knot just below my navel. My breathing was now a set of husky sobs, and my eyes were clouded by a lust that prevented me from thinking clearly. There only existed the wet sound of my fingers, the raw light of the lamp, and the insatiable hunger to end this torment.

The entire world had been reduced to a point of unbearable heat concentrated in my clit and the deafening sound of my own blood pulsing in my ears. I no longer heard the hum of the air or the silence of the house; I only heard the frenetic rhythm of my own fingers against my wet flesh and the incessant flow of dirty words sprouting from the chat. I was at the peak of the mountain, balancing dangerously over an abyss of pure pleasure and absolute depravity.

"Now! Come for us, slut! Do it right now!" I read on the screen, and that final order was like a bomb's detonator.

I let out an animal scream that tore through my throat, a sound I would have never allowed to escape my lips in any other context. My hand became a blur of movement; there was no longer any technique, no longer any rhythm, only a blind and desperate urgency to reach liberation. I sank my fingers with violent force into my wetness, hammering my clit with a speed that almost hurt, but that pain was the fuel I needed to jump into the void.

And then, it happened.

The orgasm hit me like a thousand-volt electric shock that raced up my spine and left me breathless. It was a violent burst, an explosion of pleasure so intense that I felt my mind fragment into a thousand pieces. My entire body arched against the cold marble of the furniture, my muscles tensed to the limit, and I let out a husky shriek that resonated throughout the room. I felt my belly contract in deep, rhythmic spasms, squeezing my fingers with instinctive force while waves of liquid heat flooded my legs.

It was the most violent orgasm of my life because it wasn't just physical; it was the discharge of years of repression, of matrimonial loneliness, and of a social mask that had been suffocating me. In that instant, I wasn't Professor Eunbi nor the trophy wife; I was simply a woman broken by pleasure, an animal creature surrendering completely to humiliation and desire. My huge tits oscillated violently with my body's spasms, hitting my own chest with a wet, dull sound while I shook in the climax, feeling every pore of my skin scream with satisfaction.

I stayed there, collapsed on the furniture, breath broken and heart hammering against my ribs as if it wanted to escape my chest. Sweat soaked the nape of my neck and my chest, and I felt the cold marble contrasting violently with the residual heat emanating from my crotch. My fingers were still trembling, stained with my own lubrication, while I stared fixedly at the camera with clouded eyes and dilated pupils.

On the screen, the chat was in a state of collective hysteria. "Holy shit, look how she shakes!", "that's the best climax I've ever seen," "she's totally destroyed." Reading those words while I recovered my breath provoked a dark, satisfied smile. I had achieved the unthinkable: I had turned my own vulnerability into a weapon of pleasure. I felt emptied, exhausted, but strangely filled with a clarity I had never possessed.

Slowly, I detached myself from the furniture and stood up, feeling my legs still shaking. I took the phone with a trembling hand and turned off the transmission without saying a single word. Silence flooded the room again, but it was no longer an oppressive silence; it was a complicit one.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was messy, my lips were swollen, and my tits were still rising and falling with the rapidity of my gasps. I saw myself and, for the first time, felt neither disgust nor fear. I felt power. The secret I now kept in my phone was a forbidden jewel, a key that allowed me to escape the marble prison I lived in.

I walked toward the bathroom to clean myself, feeling the brush of my own wet thighs with every step. I knew that tomorrow I would put on the white blouse again, that I would compress my tits in that suffocating bra, and that I would look at my students again with that glacial coldness they all respected. But now there was a fundamental difference: I knew who I was beneath those clothes. I knew that while they saw a perfect teacher, I was the woman who opened herself to the world for pleasure.

The sound of her heels resumed their rhythmic march. I sat there, watching the natural sway of her hips under her pencil skirt and the way her breasts bounced slightly with every step. The coldness of the classroom was the perfect frame for my obsession. I didn't want to break the mask yet; I wanted to see how long she could hold it while I, from the shadows at the back of the room, began to pull the strings of her secret.

Eunbi began walking between the rows of desks to check progress on the exercises. Her heels no longer sounded like a military march; now it was a slower rhythm, the pace of someone who had absolute control over the space. I stayed still, eyes fixed on my notebook, but my ears were tuned only to the sound of her approach. I felt the air grow heavier as she got closer, filled with that cold floral fragrance that seemed to freeze everything in its path.

She's here.

I didn’t look up until I felt her presence right next to my desk. The scent hit me full force, wrapping me in a cloud of sophistication that contrasted violently with the wet, vulgar images burned into my mind. Slowly, I looked up. I found myself staring at her massive breasts, swaying slightly with the rhythm of her breathing. They were so close I could see the weave of the white silk blouse, stretching dangerously over those huge curves.

"Why haven't you moved on to the second page?" her voice was a frozen whip, void of emotion.

I froze for a moment. Her eyes were pits of indifference scanning me with surgical severity. There was no doubt in her, not a single crack in her mask. She was flawless, professional, and totally unaware that I knew exactly how that body looked when it was lubricated and exposed to a camera.

"Sorry, Professor. I got stuck on the third point," I replied in a low, submissive tone, quickly looking back down at the paper.

If you only knew what I'm thinking right now...

As I spoke, I felt a violent surge of heat in my crotch. My hard-on, which was already there, jumped against the fabric of my pants, leaving me almost breathless. I forced my body to stay rigid, avoiding any movement that might give me away. From my angle, I could see her breasts rising and falling rhythmically. The volume was so overwhelming that the buttons of her blouse seemed to be making a superhuman effort not to pop off.

"I don't tolerate a lack of concentration in my class," she declared.

Her tone left no room for argument. I noticed her lean forward slightly to look at my notebook, and the movement made the neckline of her blouse give way another inch. It was an instant, a fraction of a second, but it was enough for me to see the blinding whiteness of her skin and the pressure of the bra compressing those massive tits. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs and my pulse thumping in my temples.

God, they're incredibly huge...

I forced myself to breathe slowly, trying to control the shaking of my hands on the table. The tension was unbearable because she knew nothing; to her, I was just a mediocre, quiet student. That power imbalance gave me a dark euphoria. I felt like a spy infiltrated in the most secure fortress in the world, observing the structure from within while the enemy thought everything was under control.

"Finish the exercise before the bell rings, or you'll stay after class," she added coldly.

I didn't say anything. I just nodded slightly, keeping my head down. I heard her heels resume their march, slowly moving away toward the front of the room. The click... click... click... filled the silence again, but now it left a trail of static electricity behind. I stared at the spot where she had been standing, feeling the dampness in my pants and the painful pressure of my erection.

Still the perfect teacher.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long sigh that got caught in my throat. Eunbi’s ice mask was still intact, impenetrable. But while she went back to writing on the board, I stayed there, savoring the secret. The pleasure wasn't in the confrontation, but in the silence. In knowing that beneath that white silk and severe attitude lived a depraved woman who gave herself over to the filth of the entire world.

I closed my eyes for a second, imagining her image in the classroom merging with her Twitter photos. The cold teacher and the exhibitionist camgirl were now one single entity in my mind. I felt exhausted and excited at the same time, trapped in a loop of desire and secrets that was only beginning to spin.

The way home was a parade of lingering images that left my throat dry and my body tense. I couldn't stop thinking about the way Eunbi had leaned over my desk; the memory of the almost imperceptible touch of her floral scent and the pressure of her breasts against the white silk kept me in a state of constant alert. When I got to my room, I shut the door with a loud bang that echoed in the silent hallway. I didn't turn on the light. I preferred the darkness to wrap around me as I dropped into my ergonomic chair, feeling the cold leather stick to my sweaty thighs.

I need to see her. Right now.

The hum of the computer fan began to fill the void of the room as the screen lit up. The cold blue light flooded the space, cutting my silhouette against the dark walls. My hands shook slightly on the mouse; it wasn't fatigue, it was a visceral urgency burning in my gut. With a mechanical click, I entered her secret profile, navigating that shrine of depravity where the perfect teacher became a creature of flesh and desire.

I spent a few minutes looking at old photos, feeling my breathing become erratic. My eyes traced every curve of her massive breasts and the powerful roundness of her ass, while my hard-on pushed against my pants with painful force. I unbuttoned my pants and slowly lowered the zipper, releasing my cock, which jumped out congested and throbbing.

God, how can she be so perfect in class and so dirty here?

Suddenly, I saw a new post. A red notification glowing like a danger signal. My heart leaped against my ribs and my pupils dilated instantly. I clicked with almost violent urgency. The image loaded slowly, and when it appeared in full screen, I felt the air leave my lungs all at once.

It was a close-up of her torso. Eunbi was completely naked from the waist up, holding the phone with one arm while the other squeezed one of her huge breasts, distorting the white flesh and forcing it to overflow between her fingers. Her nipples were erect, dark and glistening under cold fluorescent light. The sharpness was absurd; I could see every pore of her skin and the slight dilation of the blue veins running along the upper curve of her chest.

"Damn..." I whispered, my own voice sounding hoarse in the dark.

I stood hypnotized by the image, but something didn't fit. The light wasn't the warm lighting of a bedroom or the intimate atmosphere she usually used. I leaned closer to the screen, squinting to analyze the background—that blurred space behind her monumental body. I moved the cursor and started zooming in on the right edge of the image.

There it was. A corner of grey laminated wood with an engraved logo, small but unmistakable: the school crest. Beside it, a part of a green chalkboard with remnants of white chalk and the shadow of a metal filing cabinet typical of administrative offices.

No way...

A violent shiver ran down my spine, leaving me stunned. My pulse began to hammer in my temples as the realization hit me: Eunbi hadn't taken that photo at home. She had stripped naked at school. She had been there, probably alone in the teachers' lounge or an empty classroom, exposing her breasts and her vulnerability in the same place where a few hours ago she had been giving us orders with glacial coldness.

The idea gave me a rush of adrenaline that made me arch my back against the chair. I felt my cock throb with animal force, almost painfully. The excitement was no longer just sexual; it had transformed into an intoxicating feeling of power. I imagined Eunbi, the untouchable teacher, standing in that room, feeling the cold air against her naked breasts while she photographed herself with the adrenaline of risk running through her veins.

She's risking her job... what a fucking slut.

I stared at the photo for minutes, alternating between her lubricated body and the school logo in the background. A dark smile began to form on my face as I felt the game change completely. I was no longer just a voyeur admiring a forbidden beauty; now I had tangible proof of her professional depravity. Risk was Eunbi's drug, and I had just found the exact dose to control her.

I leaned back in my chair, feeling the humid heat between my legs intensify. The screen continued to light up my face with that bluish tone while I processed the magnitude of the discovery. The silence of my room now felt charged, electric. I knew I held the thread that could pull down her entire ice facade.

I stared at the image on the screen for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. My cock continued to pulse with animal force, hard as a rock, while a wave of adrenaline rushed through my spine. The pleasure was the dark thrill of possessing a secret that could destroy anyone's life.

I have the leash on your neck, Eunbi.

Slowly, I moved the cursor to the "Direct Message" button. My fingers shook slightly over the keyboard, but it wasn't fear; it was the electric anticipation of throwing the first stone into that lake of ice. I opened the chat window and stared at the blank space, feeling my heart hammering against my ribs with an erratic rhythm. I didn't want to reveal who I was. Anonymity was my shield and, at the same time, the cruelest tool to torture her psychologically.

She can't know it's me... not yet.

I started writing. I deleted the first message because it sounded too kind. I deleted the second because it was too aggressive. I wanted something that would leave her suspended between terror and excitement—a message that made her understand she was no longer alone in this risk-filled fantasy. I wanted her to feel there was someone else watching from the shadows.

My fingers danced across the keys again. The mechanical sound of the keyboard echoed in the dead silence of my room. I imagined her reaction reading it: the shock, the breath catching, the blush rising up her neck as she realized she'd been caught.

"I love how your tits glow under that fluorescent light... it's a shame nobody at school knows how dirty you are when you're alone in the classroom."

I reread the words and felt a spasm in my balls. The rawness of the message gave me an electric shock. It wasn't just a compliment; it was a mark. I was pointing her out, telling her I knew exactly where she was and what she was doing while photographing herself naked. The contrast between the "perfect teacher" and the phrase "how dirty you are" created a tension in my mind that made me let out a choked moan.

Hit the button. Do it now.

My index finger hovered over the Enter key. Time stopped. I could feel cold sweat sliding down my neck and my pulse thumping in my temples like a drum. I knew that once I pressed that key, there was no going back. The power game would no longer be one-sided; she would enter the board, and I would be the one moving the pieces.

Click.

The sound was dry, final. The message was sent. In that instant, I felt a dopamine rush so strong it left me dazed for a second. I leaned back in my chair, arms extended and breathing erratic. My hard-on jumped violently against my abdomen, pulsing to the rhythm of my racing heart. I was there, in the dark of my room, waiting for a response from a woman who was probably miles away, but now connected to me by an invisible, dangerous thread of tension.

Now it's your turn, you slut professor.

I stared at the "Delivered" indicator. There was no sign she had read the message yet, but the wait was an exquisite torture. I imagined Eunbi at home, or maybe still at school, seeing the notification on her phone. I imagined her eyes dilating, her breath becoming shallow, and the way her breasts would heave as she processed that someone knew her secret.

Every second of silence felt like an hour. I stroked my cock with slow movements, feeling the pre-cum lubricating my tip while my gaze never left the screen. The anticipation was almost more powerful than the orgasm itself. I knew she'd be scared, yes, but I also knew that fear, mixed with exhibitionism, would act as a violent aphrodisiac.

I'm going to make you my slut, Eunbi.

Suddenly, the status changed to "Seen." My heart leaped so hard it almost knocked the wind out of me. I leaned forward, face close to the monitor, pupils dilated and muscles tense. The silence became unbearable. All that was left was to see if she blocked the profile or if, as I suspected, the thrill of being caught would force her to respond.

I stared at the phone screen in the dim light of my room, feeling adrenaline burn through my veins. I had the gallery open and my fingers brushed against the image that would be the atomic bomb of this game: a photo of Eunbi in the classroom, distracted, with her rigid posture and that expression of superiority she used to humiliate students. It was the perfect image of the "untouchable teacher." But I knew what was under that white silk; I knew that monumental body was made to be used and displayed.

Time she knows the game has changed.

With a slow movement, I attached the photo to the chat and sent it. I didn't write anything. I just let the image reach her like a sentence. I leaned back in my chair, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs and my breathing become shallow. The silence of the room was deafening as I waited for the "Seen" indicator. My hard-on, thick and heavy, pulsed against the fabric of my pants, responding to the anticipation of the chaos I was causing.

The indicator changed. "Seen."

A few seconds passed that felt like hours. Suddenly, the phone vibrated with a violence that made me jump in my seat. The response came flying in, charged with palpable hate and panic.

EUNBI: "Who the hell are you? Where did you get this? Tell me who you are right now or I swear I'll find you and have you expelled from the institute today!"

I read the message and a dark smile formed on my face. I licked my lower lip, tasting metal in my mouth. I could imagine her on the other side: eyes dilated, jaw clenched, heart beating a thousand miles an hour while looking at the photo of herself in her workplace. The idea of her trembling with rage and fear gave me an electric shock that went straight to my balls, leaving me dazed.

She thinks she still has the power.

I adjusted myself in the chair, feeling my cock swell even more, pulsing with animal force. I started writing, but not with the caution from before. Now I wanted to break her. I wanted her to feel the weight of my hand on her psychological neck. There was no room for courtesy; only raw domination.

ME: "Shut your fucking mouth and stop barking, Professor. Nobody cares who I am. What matters is that I have the photos and you have a secret that would destroy you in five minutes if I decided to hit send to the school board."

I sent the message and felt a spasm of pleasure run down my spine. The rawness of my words made me let out a choked moan. I imagined her reaction: the shock, the blow of being insulted that way by someone she didn't know, and the absolute terror of losing everything. I felt pre-cum lubricating my tip while I enjoyed the position of absolute superiority.

EUNBI: "You can't talk to me like that! This is a crime! I will find you and I will destroy you!"

Her desperation was intoxicating. I licked my lips again, feeling the air in my room grow thick, charged with sexual and violent electricity. I didn't care about her threat; I knew it was the reaction of someone cornered. Panic was making her vulnerable, and that vulnerability was the most exciting thing I had ever felt in my life.

This is where you break, Eunbi.

I wrote the last message of the block, leaving no room for doubt or negotiation. I wanted her to understand that it was no longer her world, but mine.

ME: "Stop threatening me and start thinking about how to keep these photos from reaching the principal. You have two options: either you start showing me those massive tits right now, or tomorrow the whole school will know how dirty you really are."

I dropped the phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. My chest heaved and I felt an electric tingling in all my limbs. I had dropped the bomb. Now there was only to wait and see if the perfect teacher surrendered to survive or if she made the mistake of trying to fight someone who already had her by the neck. The tension was unbearable—a rope stretched to the limit, about to snap.

The silence that followed my last threat was the most delicious torture of my life. I leaned back in my chair, legs open, heart hammering against my ribs. I knew she was on the other side of the screen, processing the fact that her perfect world had just collapsed. I could imagine her in her room, eyes dilated and breath erratic, feeling panic rise up her neck while looking at the photo of herself in the classroom.

Break already, Eunbi. Give in.

My cock was so congested that I felt the skin tight, pulsing violently against my thighs. The wait was a drug; every second of silence increased the psychological pressure and left me on high alert. I licked my lips, tasting the metallic flavor of adrenaline. I didn't want her to surrender easily; I wanted to feel that internal struggle between her teacher pride and the vulnerability of being a digital slut.

Then, the phone vibrated with a force that made me jump in my seat. The "Typing..." indicator appeared and disappeared several times before the first message arrived. It wasn't a sweet surrender, but a spit of rage.

EUNBI: "I can't believe you're this despicable. You disgust me. But if this is the only way to get you to delete those photos... then take this and get out of my life." → (Thought: My heart is beating so hard it hurts. I'm furious, I want to scream, but the idea of the principal seeing my photos leaves me cold. I feel a treacherous dampness running down my thighs; this fear is suffocating).

I read the words and let out a shaky sigh, almost a moan. I licked my lips again, feeling the electric shock run down my spine to my balls. I didn't care if she hated me; in fact, the fact that she was angry made everything infinitely more exciting. I wanted to see her humiliate herself, I wanted to feel her dignity crumble as she yielded to my whims.

Then came the image.

I clicked and the photo expanded across the full screen. My breathing stopped completely and I felt the air vanish from my lungs. It was a shot from a slightly superior angle, a close-up of her torso where the white blouse was open halfway down her chest. The silk fell to the sides, revealing a deep, aggressive cleavage that left me stunned. Her breasts were monumental, much larger than the bra let on in class. She wore a black lace bra—a small, tight piece that seemed to be losing a battle against the flesh; the breasts overflowed at the top and sides in white, tight, glistening curves that defied any logic.

Damn... those tits are a sin.

I stared at the photo with dilated pupils, feeling my hard-on jump violently against my pants. I could see the glow of the skin in the valley between her breasts and the way the black lace sank into the softness of her white flesh. The image transmitted a brutal tension: she was trying to be minimal, but her body was too massive to go unnoticed. The contrast between the red of her lips (barely visible at the bottom of the photo) and the whiteness of her breasts caused a spasm in my stomach.

EUNBI: "There you have it. I've done it. Now delete everything and disappear." → (Thought: I feel so exposed that my hands are shaking. I can't believe I sent this, but the feeling of giving in gives me an electric shiver in my clitoris. I'm disgusted, but my body reacts to this blackmail as if it were a caress).

I laughed softly, a hoarse, dark sound that echoed in the dim room. I masturbated with slow movements, feeling pre-cum lubricating my tip while analyzing every detail of that cleavage. The photo was incredible, yes, but the idea that she thought that was enough gave me a predatory euphoria. I didn't want a sample; I wanted the full feast. I wanted to see her undress step by step, forcing her to break every single one of her moral rules until she was left bare.

ME: "This is fine for a start, Professor. I love how that black lace tries to hold your tits in without success. But you haven't given me what I want. This is just the appetizer." → (Thought: My cock is hard as a rock, pulsing strongly. Seeing her try to negotiate while she's trapped is more exciting than any professional video).

EUNBI: "What else do you want? I've given you more than anyone deserves! You can't ask for more." → (Thought: My breathing has become shallow—short gasps I can't control. The panic is still there, but something else too... a morbid curiosity to know how far this man will push me).

ME: "You don't decide what I deserve, Eunbi. You do whatever I tell you so your secret stays a secret. And right now, I'm left wanting much more." → (Thought: I bite my lower lip, feeling adrenaline flood my temples. I have her where I want her. Now I just need to tighten the screw until she breaks).

I leaned back in my chair, looking at the photo of her cleavage once more. I imagined Eunbi's face reading my message: the mix of rage and forbidden excitement, the heat rising up her neck as she realized this wasn't a deal, but a total surrender. The game was becoming addictive. It wasn't just sex; it was the pleasure of seeing how a woman so powerful and cold became my sexual toy, step by step.

I stared at the photo for what felt like hours, though probably only minutes. The monitor's glow lit up my face in the dark, and I felt the moisture in my pants becoming sticky. The image was a delicacy, but knowing she was on the other side, trembling and submitted to my will, gave me an euphoria far more potent than any static photo. I licked my lips, tasting the metallic flavor of adrenaline. I no longer wanted captures; photos were memories. I wanted real-time action.

I want to see her break. I want to hear her gasps.

I adjusted myself in the chair, feeling my cock throb with animal force against the leather seat. I wrote the message with deliberate slowness, knowing every word would be like a blow to her pride and a switch for her lust. I didn't want to be subtle; I wanted to be the owner of her sighs and her fear. I wanted her to feel small, exposed, and totally dependent on my mood.

ME: "The photo is a good start, Professor, but I get bored quickly. I want a video. Ten seconds are enough: I want to see you touching your tits hard, I want to see the weight of that white flesh, and I want your face visible. I want to see the expression on your face while you exhibit yourself for me." (I feel an electric shock run down my spine. My pulse thumps in my temples and my hard-on is so tight it hurts. I want her surrendered, humiliated, and moaning in front of the camera).

EUNBI: "No way! That's too much! I can send you more photos, but a video with my face... never. You're crazy if you think I'll do that." (Her fingers tremble on the screen and her breathing becomes erratic and shallow. She feels a void in her stomach, but at the same time, an electric sting runs through her clitoris. The fear is leaving her open and vulnerable).

I laughed softly, a hoarse sound that filled the darkness of my room. I imagined Eunbi at home, eyes dilated and chest heaving as she processed the request. I knew exactly what was going through her head: absolute terror of being caught fighting against a forbidden excitement born from risk. The fact that she refused only made the desire to force her more unbearable.

ME: "You aren't in a position to decide what is 'too much,' Eunbi. Remember that one click and your career turns to ashes. Imagine the faces of your students tomorrow when they see a video where you touch yourself like a slut while thinking of me. Do you still think you have control?" (I bite my lower lip, a dark smile on my face. My cock pulses hard and pre-cum soaks my tip. It excites me to know I'm cornering her, that she has no way out and her only option is to obey).

EUNBI: "... No... it can't be... why is this happening to me?" (She hugs herself, feeling her legs weaken. Her nipples are hard against the fabric of her clothes and a thick moisture begins to run down her thighs. She is horrified, but the fact that a stranger dominates her like this has left her in a state of animal excitement she doesn't understand).

I stared at the screen, enjoying the silence that followed her last message. I could feel her on the other side, fighting her own instincts, feeling how the mask of the perfect teacher was disintegrating to make way for the depraved woman who loved danger. The tension in my body was unbearable; I felt that if I didn't get that video soon, I was going to explode. I licked my lips once more, savoring the anticipated victory.

Break already, Eunbi. Stop fighting it and surrender.

I leaned back in my chair, heart hammering against my ribs. I knew the initial shock had passed and now only surrender remained. Morbidity was Eunbi's most potent drug, and I had just given her a massive dose. All that was left was for her to accept that she no longer belonged to the school or her empty marriage; now she belonged to the anonymous man forcing her to touch herself in front of a camera.

The silence following her last refusal became dense, almost solid. I stared at the phone screen with narrowed eyes, feeling my pulse hammer in my temples. Eunbi's resistance was delicious, but it had reached the limit of my patience. I didn't want more arguments or pleas; I wanted absolute obedience. I wanted her to understand that I wasn't playing a messaging game, but that I had my finger on the button that could erase her professional existence in a second.

Courtesy is over.

I sat up in my chair, feeling my hard-on pulse with painful force against the fabric of my pants. I licked my lips, savoring the adrenaline flooding my system. I opened the email on my computer and began drafting a new message. In the recipient field, I put the official address of the school principal. The subject was simple and devastating: "Report of Immoral Conduct: Professor Eunbi."

I wrote the body of the message with surgical coldness. "Dear Principal, attached are photographic evidence and videos demonstrating the depravity of Professor Eunbi..." I didn't finish the text, but I put enough in so that anyone reading it would feel disgust and horror. I stopped for a second, looking at the words on the screen. I felt an electric shock run through my arms; it was the feeling of having someone's life clenched in my fist.

I took a screenshot of the draft, making sure the principal's name and the inflammatory tone of the message were clearly visible. I saved the image and went back to the chat with her. My fingers shook slightly on the keyboard—not out of fear, but from animal euphoria.

Look at this and tell me if you still feel brave.

ME: "Look closely at this image, Eunbi. It's a draft. All that's left is for me to hit 'Send' so that tomorrow you're the main news for the entire school board. Do you still think you can tell me what you won't do?" (I feel my heart hit my ribs and my cock pulse with blind violence. My breathing is a short gasp, charged with a dark desire to see her finally surrender).

EUNBI: "No! Please, don't do it! I beg you!" (Her eyes widen and the phone almost slips from her hands. She feels a frozen void in her stomach that leaves her breathless; her jaw trembles and a choked sob escapes her lips).

I leaned back in my chair, watching the "Seen" indicator with a predatory smile. I could imagine her perfectly: collapsed on her bed or leaning against the wall, skin pale and eyes full of terror. But I knew that alongside that terror, there was something else. The extreme risk—the possibility of being caught at the exact moment—was the fuel that fed Eunbi's lust. I knew that while she wrote those pleas, her body was betraying her.

ME: "Your begging is useless to me, Professor. Only one thing can stop my finger: a video where you touch yourself with passion, your face visible and moaning my name... or whatever name I want. You have five minutes before the principal receives the email." (I bite the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. My hard-on is so tight it hurts, and pre-cum soaks my tip as I imagine the scene on the other side).

EUNBI: "... Fine. I'll do it. Just... please, delete that message first." (She slides down her bed, feeling her legs weaken and the moisture between her thighs become unbearable. Her nipples are hard, piercing the air, and a liquid heat floods her pelvic area as she accepts her fate as my toy).

ME: "I'll delete it when the video is in my inbox and convinces me that you're an obedient slut. Time is running out, Eunbi. Move." (I feel a spasm of pleasure run down my spine. I lick my lips, feeling that victory is total. The ice mask hasn't just broken; it has been pulverized).

I stayed silent, listening to the hum of my PC fan and the accelerated beat of my own heart. The tension in my body was electric, a rope stretched to the limit about to break. I imagined the scene: her, the most severe woman in the school, undressing with urgency, trembling with fear and excitement, preparing to record herself knowing I was watching from the shadows.

The wait was now an exquisite torture. Every second that passed without the video was a second she sank further into her own depravity. I adjusted myself in my chair, eyes glued to the screen, feeling my cock pulse with animal force. There was no turning back. Eunbi had just entered the point of no return, and I was the only one who held the key to her cell.

The silence of my room was broken by a long, heavy vibration. The phone jumped on the table, announcing that the file had arrived. I lunged for it with animal urgency, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs and gasping for air. I didn't waste a second; I opened the video and the world around me disappeared.

The image was sharp, raw. Eunbi was there, leaning against her bedroom wall, face visible and eyes clouded by a mix of terror and lust. She was completely naked. Her massive breasts, heavy and white, swayed with every ragged breath as she gripped them hard, sinking her fingers into the soft flesh and squeezing the nipples until they turned red. I heard her gasps—a wet, broken sound that made me let out a choked moan.

Damn... she's perfect.

I masturbated with frenetic movements while watching her. Seeing her like this, knowing she was doing it because I ordered her to, was the most potent drug in the world. Her breasts bounced violently as she touched her chest and lowered her hand toward her intimacy, though she didn't show everything. The expression on her face—that struggle between shame and excitement—gave me an electric shock that left me dazed.

When the video ended, I couldn't help it. I needed to raise the stakes. I wanted her to feel the weight of what it meant to be in my hands. I settled into my chair, cock beating like a heart outside the chest, and started writing to her.

ME: "I love how you look when you're scared, Eunbi. But imagine this: me behind you, grabbing your hair while I bury my cock deep inside you. I'd love to feel your tits bounce against my chest while I fuck you furiously, forcing you to moan my name while I spread your legs in front of the mirror." (I feel liquid heat run down my thighs. My breathing is a short, shallow gasp. I want her to feel the same animal urgency as me).

EUNBI: "No... don't say those things... you make me feel..." → (Thought: Her fingers tremble on the phone. She feels thick moisture flooding her pelvic area, a heat that leaves her weak. The mere idea of being possessed like that has left her in a state of unbearable excitement).

ME: "Tell me what you feel, Professor. Tell me how your pussy is right now while you read this and know I own your secret." (I bite my lower lip, a dark smile on my face. My hard-on is so tight it hurts, and pre-cum soaks my tip. I want her surrendered and dripping for me).

EUNBI: "I'm... I'm so wet. I can't stop thinking about what you're saying. I feel dirty... ." → (Thought: She slides her hand under her clothes, rubbing her clitoris with a fast and desperately hungry movement. The fact of being degraded by a stranger causes spasms of pleasure in her belly).

That response was the trigger. I stood up, feeling like my body was a bomb about to explode. I took out the phone and started recording myself. I didn't say anything; I just let the camera capture the tension of my muscles, my sweaty skin, and the violent rhythm of my hand moving over my congested member. When I reached the climax, I let out a hoarse grunt and recorded the image of my cum jumping with force—white and thick, staining the screen and my own fingers.

I sent the video without adding a single word. Just the final act.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Eunbi received the file. Her eyes dilated as she saw the raw image of my orgasm. She didn't respond. Instead, she let out a long moan and sank into her bed, spreading her legs with animal urgency. With one hand holding her massive breasts and the other sinking deeply into her own moisture, she began to masturbate with desperate violence. She imagined it was me penetrating her while watching the video over and over, feeling her clitoris pulse with a frenetic rhythm until she reached a violent orgasm that left her shaking and empty in the dim light of her room.

I didn't know she was coming at that moment; I only felt the post-sex calm and the weight of absolute power. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling while my breathing returned to normal. But the game wasn't over. A new phase had just begun.

ME: "You have class with me tomorrow, Eunbi. I want you to come wearing a very low-cut top—the kind that barely holds your tits in—and a short skirt that leaves little to the imagination. Don't make me wait." (I feel a cold smile on my face. My pulse is slow now, but my mind is already planning every second of tomorrow).

Then it happened. While she pointed out an error in my notebook, her fingers—long and pale as porcelain—accidentally brushed the edge of my hand. It was a fleeting contact, a touch lasting less than a second, but for me, it was as if someone had slammed an electrode directly into my nerves. The electric shock traveled up my arm, down through my chest, and ended with an explosion of heat in my balls, leaving me completely zoned out.

Eunbi looked up. Her eyes were two pits of indifference, icy and distant, while her dark red lips remained closed in a thin, severe line. There was no trace of lust in her; only a professional contempt that made my desire turn darker, more animal.

"If you dedicated as much attention to the books as you do to my movements... perhaps you wouldn't be failing," she let out with surgical coldness before straightening up and walking away.

I remained nailed to my seat, feeling my erection push against the fabric of my pants with a painful, almost violent force. I watched her back as she retreated, noting how the narrow, dark pencil skirt hugged her hips and emphasized the powerful curve of her ass with every step. The contrast was driving me insane: on top, she was an iceberg; below, she had a body that screamed contained depravity. I swallowed hard, feeling the knot in my throat and a desperate need to break that wall, to see this perfect woman reduced to something vulgar, wet, and animal.

The way home was a slow torture, a parade of residual images looping in my mind like a video. Every time I closed my eyes or the bus braked sharply, I was back there in the classroom, feeling the suffocating pressure of the silence and Eunbi’s glacial scent. I couldn't get the image of her massive tits straining the white silk of her blouse out of my head; I felt that the fabric was on the verge of surrender, that one more button of tension and all that massive volume would spill over before my eyes. The mere thought sent a pang of pain through my crotch, a dull throb reminding me that my body remained in a state of maximum alert.

Upon reaching my door, my hands trembled slightly as I slid the key into the lock. The sound of metal clashing against the cylinder echoed in the empty hallway, a dry echo that seemed to announce the beginning of my descent. I entered and slammed the door shut, a definitive noise that separated me from the outside world and its social rules. I leaned against the cold wood for a few seconds, breathing heavily, listening to my own gasps fill the silence of the foyer. I was drenched in a cold sweat that glued my shirt to my back, and I felt the air in the house charged with a static electricity that made the hairs on my arms prickle.

I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't want clarity; I needed the dimness to embrace me, to hide my desperation. I walked toward my room in the dark, guided by instinct, feeling how each step made my erection strike against the fabric of my pants with violent force. The friction of the rough fabric against my already irritated glans was both torment and pleasure. Entering the room, I collapsed into the ergonomic chair. The cold leather of the seat instantly stuck to my sweaty thighs, sending a shiver running down my entire spine until it hit my balls.

I stayed there for a moment in silence, staring at the black screen of the monitor. My heart hammered against my ribs—an erratic, animal rhythm. I felt a tightness in my chest, a mixture of frustration and hunger that nothing could calm. Eunbi’s coldness had left me in a state of toxic arousal; I didn't simply want to masturbate, I wanted to destroy that image of perfection. I wanted to find something as vulgar and depraved as the desire she had awakened in me without even touching me.

With a dry, mechanical click, I turned on the computer. The hum of the fan began to fill the void of the room, a monotonous noise that blended with the rush of blood pulsing in my ears. Suddenly, the blue, icy light of the monitor flooded the space, carving my silhouette against the dark walls and casting long shadows that seemed to observe my misery. The artificial brightness blinded me for an instant, but I didn't look away.

My hand instinctively went to my crotch. The button of my pants felt like an unbearable barrier. With clumsy, urgent fingers, I undid the metal and lowered the zipper slowly, listening to the metallic sound tear through the quiet of the room. I freed my member, which sprang outward, congested and hard as a rock, pulsing with almost painful force. It was so tense that I felt any excessive friction could break me. A drop of precum appeared at the tip, glistening under the blue light of the monitor.

I opened the browser. My fingers flew across the keyboard, but my mind remained anchored in the classroom. I entered a camgirl site—that digital sinkhole where morality vanishes and only flesh remains. I stared at the main page, sliding the cursor over thumbnails: bouncing tits, exposed asses shaking to the beat of cheap electronic music, wet lips whispering dirty promises. But nothing filled me. Nothing was enough because none of those women possessed that aura of glacial superiority that had left me shattered, courtesy of Eunbi.

I was looking for something more. Something forbidden. I began filtering by categories: "masks," "hidden identities," "exhibitionism." I wanted to find someone playing with the idea of a secret, someone who felt like an intrusion into their privacy. As I browsed, my breathing became a shallow gasp and I began to rub my erection with slow, almost torturous movements, trying to sync the rhythm of my hand with the accelerated beat of my heart. The heat in the room seemed to have risen several degrees; I felt a drop of sweat slide down my temple and slowly toward my jaw while my eyes frantically scanned the screens, searching for that final stimulus that would allow me to release the accumulated tension.

My fingers stopped dead on the mouse when a thumbnail appeared in the bottom corner of my screen. It wasn't the typical hyper-edited, glossy promotional image; it was a short video clip, dark, with dim lighting suggesting an intimate and clandestine environment. In the clip, a woman sat in what looked like a blood-red velvet armchair, but the framing was cruelly strategic: the camera was positioned at chest height, deliberately cutting off the face. Only the white curve of her neck and a delicate chin were visible, partially hidden by a black lace mask that gave her an air of depraved mystery.

I clicked with almost violent urgency. The sound of the mouse resonated in the room like a gunshot, and the screen went black for a fraction of a second before loading the live stream.

When the image appeared, I felt the air leave my lungs in one go. The quality was absurd—a high definition so sharp I could see every pore of her white skin and the glint of light reflecting off her body. But what left me completely zoned out were her tits. They were monumental. She wore a black lace bra, a piece of lingerie so small and tight it seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the flesh. The volume was massive; the cups barely managed to contain the weight, letting the upper part of her breasts overflow upward in white, tense, glowing curves that defied gravity.

I stood hypnotized, my hand squeezing my erection with painful force. I couldn't stop watching how those tits swayed slightly every time she breathed—a slow, rhythmic movement that made me feel like my heart was going to jump out of my chest. The woman didn't speak with words at first; she communicated through an animal confidence, a security in her own body that I found hypnotic. She extended a hand with dark red nails and began to caress the edge of the lace, sliding her fingers slowly over the upper curve of her chest, sinking the tips of her fingers into the soft flesh.

"Hello..." the voice finally arrived through my headphones.

It was a velvety whisper, charged with a liquid sensuality that surged through my body like an electric shock. I didn't try to analyze it; I simply let the sound invade me. It was a voice that commanded, seduced, and humiliated all at once, though I didn't know why. The woman on the screen leaned back, arching her spine against the red velvet. The movement caused her massive tits to rise even further, straining the lace until the fabric seemed to emit a dull sound of resistance.

I was already out of control. My breathing was an erratic gasp and I began to rub my member with fast, desperate movements, trying to follow the rhythm of the camgirl's caresses. I felt the precum lubricating my tip, glistening under the blue light of the monitor, while my eyes devoured every inch of exposed skin.

The model then leaned forward, approaching the lens. The movement caused her massive tits to hang slightly, swaying with a real, tangible weight that made me let out a muffled moan. Through the microphone, I could hear the wet sound of her own breathing—a contained gasp that blended with the white noise of the transmission.

"You want to see more... don't you?" she whispered, and that way of asking, that tone of superiority disguised as an invitation, made me grit my teeth.

I felt like a voyeur infiltrating a forbidden sanctuary. I was fascinated by the fact that she wore the mask; the mystery turned the act into something much darker than simple pornography. I wondered who she was behind the lace, what life she led outside that red room, while I watched her fingers now descend along her flat stomach until they reached the edge of a tiny thong that sank deeply between the folds of her generous ass.

The tension in my body reached an unbearable point. I was sweating, my skin felt hot, and the air in the room seemed to have thickened, charging with a sexual electricity that clouded my judgment. I stayed there, trapped in that loop of desire and mystery, observing how this unknown woman played with the audience, manipulating us all like puppets while she delighted in her own exhibitionism. I didn't know who she was, but at that moment, I didn't care about anything other than seeing how much more she was willing to show.

I remained petrified, my hand gripping my member in a frenetic rhythm I could no longer control. On the screen, the atmosphere had shifted; the tension was no longer just a promise—it had become a liquid and heavy reality. The camgirl let out a low chuckle, a guttural sound that vibrated in my headphones and caused a spasm in my balls. Her red nails, long and sharp, stopped caressing the surface of the lace to slide toward the center of her chest, right where the fabric dipped into the deep valley separating her tits.

"You guys have no idea how hard it was to shove these fucking tits into this bra today..." she whispered with a vulgarity that left me zoned out.

That sentence was the spark that ignited everything. I saw her hand move toward the back closure, and although I couldn't see the clasp, I heard the dry, metallic click resonating in the microphone. For a second, the lace stayed in place, held up only by the pressure of her own flesh, creating an unbearable visual tension. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she slid the straps down, letting the garment fall heavily onto her hips.

The visual impact was like a blow to the stomach. Her tits sprang forward with a violent bounce, liberated from the oppression of the lace. They were monumental, much larger than the bra had suggested; two white, heavy masses that swayed with a natural inertia, filling almost the entire frame of the camera. I lost my breath, watching as her white skin glowed under the studio lights, highlighting the perfect roundness and massive drop of her chest.

"Look at them... look how fat they are today," she said, while grabbing one of her tits with her hand, squeezing it hard to deform the flesh.

I saw how her fingers sank deeply into the soft tissue, creating red furrows over the whiteness of her skin. The pressure forced the nipple—a dark, erect circle—to protrude violently, pointing toward the camera like an obscene invitation. The sway of her breasts as she moved was hypnotic; every time she breathed or let out a moan, those massive tits oscillated, weighing in the air with an animal arrogance.

My own reaction was visceral. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs and sweat starting to run down my back, gluing my shirt to my skin. My hand was moving without rhythm now, driven by blind desperation. The precum lubricated my tip, making every rub wetter, more intense. I was so aroused that I felt an electric tingling running through my entire spine; my eyes couldn't detach from the screen, devouring every detail: the contrast of the red velvet against her pale skin, the dilation of the bluish veins running along the upper curve of her breasts, and the way she looked at herself, enjoying the power she exerted over me.

"Do you like them exposed like this?" she asked, while beginning to massage both nipples simultaneously, making fast circles that made them vibrate. "I want you to imagine you're here... I want you to feel the weight of these tits crushing your face."

I let out a muffled moan, closing my eyes for a second to imagine exactly that: feeling that massive, hot volume suffocating me, the scent of her skin flooding my lungs as I sank into that whiteness. When I opened them, I saw she had leaned closer to the camera, letting her tits hang heavily, almost touching the lens. The sway was slow, torturous, and the sound of her agitated breathing filled my ears like a depraved mantra.

I was on the verge of collapse. My body was in total tension, my muscles contracted, and my mind clouded by an animal lust that prevented me from thinking clearly. Only she existed—that monumental body hidden behind a mask—and the desperate need to release all the pressure accumulating in my balls.

The atmosphere in my room had become dense, almost sticky. The hum of the computer fan was now nothing more than white noise serving as a backdrop for the true symphony happening in my headphones: the sound of wet skin crashing against skin. I was in a state of trance, eyes bloodshot, and my hand moving in a frenetic, almost violent rhythm, while I listened to the camgirl begin to play with her own body in a much more explicit way.

On the screen, she reached for a bottle of transparent lubricant on the red velvet. I saw her pour a generous amount of the viscous liquid onto her palms, and the glup... glup... sound of the gel leaving the bottle resonated in my ears with a clarity that made my balls shiver. Then, she brought her hands to her massive tits.

"Now... I want you to hear how they sound," she whispered, her voice a dirty thread of silk. "I want you to feel the moisture through the screen."

Then began the auditory feast. She enveloped her breasts in lubricant, sliding her hands from the base to the nipples, creating a wet, sucking sound. Squelch... plok... squelch... Every time her palms slid over that white, glowing flesh, the noise was visceral—a symphony of fluids that made me imagine I was right there, my hands sunk into that massive volume.

I saw how she squeezed her tits toward the center, pushing them together with force to create a deep, glistening valley of lubricant. The sound of wet skin colliding was rhythmic and obscene. Clap... plok... She began to gently slap the base of her breasts with open palms, causing those huge masses to oscillate violently up and down. The sway was hypnotic; the weight of her tits felt real, tangible, while the sound of the wet impact against her own torso hit my mind like a hammer.

"Look at me... look how they glow," she gasped, and I could hear her breathing become heavier, more erratic. "I'm so wet I can barely hold myself up..."

I was at the limit. My hand no longer followed any logical rhythm; it was an animal movement, desperate. I felt the rub of my palm against my member lubricated by precum, and every time I heard a plok in the headphones, I let out a muffled moan that resonated in the solitude of my room. The contrast was torturous: I was there, alone in the blue darkness, while she, on the other side of the screen, became a creature of fluids and wet sounds.

The woman then slid one of her hands down, crossing her lubricated abdomen until reaching her crotch. I couldn't see it fully, but the sound was devastating. Squelch... plok... The noise of her fingers sinking into her own moisture was so explicit that I felt an electric shock run through my spine. She began to gasp more loudly, and the rhythm of her caresses accelerated, syncing with the violent beats of my heart.

"Oh god... I want you to watch me... I want you to imagine my tits crushing you while I sink into you..." her voice became a broken whisper, charged with an animal lust that clouded my judgment.

I felt suffocated by the tension. My breathing was a shallow gasp and I felt the sweat running down my neck, while my eyes devoured the image of her tits swaying and glowing under the studio lights. The sound of the lubricant being manipulated, the small snaps of wet skin, and those guttural moans escaping her throat created an atmosphere of absolute depravity.

I was so close to the climax that I felt an unbearable tingling in my balls. Every sound, every plok, and every dirty sigh pushed me further toward the abyss. I imagined myself there, holding that massive weight, feeling the viscosity of the lubricant between my fingers and the heat of her white skin against my face. The psychological tension was unbearable; it was no longer just about sex, but a total surrender to that wet symphony that was breaking me from the inside.

I was on the very edge of the abyss. My hand moved with desperate violence over my member, which was so congested and tense I felt the skin was going to tear. My eyes were glued to the screen, absorbing every detail of that lubricated, glowing woman, while my ears continued processing the wet, dirty sounds emanating from the headphones. I felt small, vulnerable, and completely dominated by a digital image, but at the same time, I experienced an animal euphoria that clouded any trace of reason.

On the screen, she had reached a point of critical intensity. Her gasps were no longer seductive whispers, but broken, deep breaths that made her huge tits oscillate violently with every exhalation. I could see how sweat began to bead on her white skin, mixing with the transparent lubricant and creating an almost iridescent glow under the studio lights. She moved with a frenetic urgency, arching her back against the red velvet, while her fingers continued working in her crotch with a relentless rhythm.

"God... I'm going crazy..." she let out, her voice sounding raspy, charged with a need that resonated in my own body like an echo.

Suddenly, something happened that broke the monotony of pleasure. In the middle of a spasm of pleasure, she leaned too far forward, almost crashing into the camera. I saw how a small drop of lubricant or sweat had splashed onto the lens, partially blurring the image and creating a hazy halo over the whiteness of her chest. She let out a grunt of frustration, a guttural sound that made me grit my teeth while I continued rubbing with blind speed.

"Damn it..." she whispered, and the tone of annoyance in her voice was so natural, so human, that for a second it pulled me out of the erotic trance.

I saw her extend her hand toward the camera to clean the lens. It was a quick movement, but for me, it happened in slow motion. In that instant of distraction, as she stretched to reach the lens, the strap of her black lace mask—which was already soaked with sweat and lubricant—gave way. The fabric slid slowly down the curve of her temple, driven by the weight of the wet lace and the abrupt movement of her head.

Time stopped. My hand froze over my erection, precum dripping slowly while my eyes dilated, fixing on the space opening beneath the mask. The lace didn't fall completely, but it slid enough to reveal the upper part of her face. First, I saw the perfect line of a delicate jaw, then the curve of red, wet lips that were slightly parted, letting out hot gasps.

But it was the next movement that left me breathless. To adjust the mask and prevent it from falling completely over her face, she raised her hand and pulled the lace upward with a sharp gesture, fully exposing her gaze for a few seconds.

I felt a violent lurch in my stomach, a sensation of freefall that left me zoned out. The world around my room disappeared; I no longer heard the hum of the fan or felt the cold chair under my thighs. Everything was reduced to those eyes. Eyes that I knew all too well—icy, distant eyes that had spent the last few months judging me from the front of a classroom.

The mask fell back into place almost immediately after she finished adjusting it, but the damage was done. My brain entered a state of electric shock. The image of the perfect teacher—cold and unreachable—fused violently with the image of this depraved, lubricated woman exhibiting herself naked before thousands of people. The contrast was so brutal that I felt a pang of pain in my balls, a psychological tension that surpassed any physical arousal.

I stayed there, breath suspended, staring fixedly at the screen now that she was hidden again. My heart hammered against my ribs with destructive force. It couldn't be her... it was impossible. But my instinct told me I had just opened a door that could not be closed. The excitement was no longer just sexual; it had transformed into something much darker, a feeling of power and discovery that made my jaw tremble.

I stayed frozen, hand suspended over my member, feeling the precum drip slowly while my mind tried to process the short circuit it had just suffered. The world had shrunk to that small square of blue light and the echo of the woman's gasps on the screen. I knew it was her; my instincts, fed by months of silent obsession in the classroom, screamed at me that there was no room for error. But I needed the definitive proof—the irrefutable detail that would transform a suspicion into an absolute fact.

The camgirl, now with the mask back in place but visibly agitated, moved even closer to the camera. She was so close that her breath slightly fogged the edges of the lens, and her massive, lubricated, glowing tits occupied the entire lower frame, swaying heavily with every movement. She let out a long moan, a sound that vibrated in my ears like a forbidden confession.

"God... I'm so turned on my legs are shaking..." she whispered, and that exact inflection—that way of dragging her words when she lost control—was Eunbi’s vocal signature.

Then, the exact moment happened. To wipe away one last drop of sweat sliding down her cheek, she tilted her head slightly to the right, stretching the skin of her face and shifting the mask just a few millimeters upward. It was a fleeting instant, a blink in the transmission, but for me, it was as if a spotlight had been turned on in my face.

There it was.

Just below the left eye, on that white, perfect skin that looked like porcelain, stood out a small dark mole—almost imperceptible to anyone, but iconic to someone who had spent hours studying every inch of Eunbi’s face in the classroom. It was the same location, the same shape, the same distinctive mark she always tried to hide with impeccable makeup during school hours.

I felt an electric spark surge through my entire spine, a discharge so violent it made me arch my back against the chair's headrest. The air in my room vanished; I felt my lungs closing while my heart hammered against my ribs with destructive force. It wasn't just surprise; it was a brutal mental clash. The dichotomy was unbearable: the cold, distant, and severe teacher who humiliated me with a glacial gaze was the same vulgar, depraved woman who was currently touching her ass and exhibiting her huge tits to thousands of strangers for money.

The revelation acted as a physiological trigger. My erection, already at its limit, jumped to a level of tension that was almost painful. I felt blood congesting in my member with violent pressure, making the glans throb with animal force. It was no longer just sexual desire; it was the intoxicating feeling of power. The fact of possessing her secret—of knowing exactly what this woman did when she closed her bedroom door and took off her mask of perfection—triggered a wave of adrenaline that left my fingers trembling.

"It's you..." I whispered in the darkness of my room, my own voice sounding husky, charged with a dark lust. "It's you, damn it..."

I imagined Eunbi tomorrow in the classroom, standing before us with her white blouse tight and her look of contempt, not knowing that I had seen every corner of her lubricated body, not knowing that I had heard her filthiest moans. The idea of looking into her eyes while knowing that beneath those formal clothes she hid that monumental, depraved body caused a spasm in my balls that almost made me lose my balance.

The woman on the screen let out a stifled scream, an auditory climax that resonated in my headphones as she shook violently against the red velvet, her tits oscillating with brute force. I couldn't take any more. The combination of psychological shock and visual stimulation was too much. With a desperate, blind movement, I gripped my member hard and let out all the air from my lungs in a raspy moan.

I came violently, feeling the semen spray against my abdomen and the monitor screen, while my body shook in spasms of pleasure and triumph. I stayed there, panting in the dimness, eyes fixed on the image of the woman who was beginning to regain her calm in the video. Silence returned to fill the room, but it wasn't the same silence as before. Now it was a silence charged with complicity and danger.

I leaned back in the chair, feeling my pulse slowly drop but the obsession grow. I looked at my own hands, still trembling, and then I looked at Eunbi—or rather, the camgirl—on the screen. A dark smile spread across my face. The game had changed completely. She was no longer the predator who humiliated me in class; now I was the one holding the leash around her neck.

I stayed there, sunk into the chair, chest heaving violently as I caught my breath. The scent of sex and sweat filled the air of my room, but my mind was not at peace; it was on fire. The adrenaline rush following the climax left me in a state of hyper-alertness. I couldn't simply turn off the computer and go to sleep. I needed more. I needed to dig deeper into this hole, tracking every digital trace of this woman to ensure there wasn't a single doubt remaining.

With fingers still trembling and gaze fixed on the monitor, I returned to the camgirl's profile. I began exploring every section, every small, hidden link in her bio. I knew models of this level rarely limited themselves to live streams; they usually had digital ecosystems where they fed their followers' hunger between sessions.

And then I found it. A tiny icon, a direct link to a social media account tied to an exclusive content service. I clicked with the same urgency I had used to pull down my pants a few minutes prior.

When the page loaded, I felt my heart leap against my ribs. It wasn't a live stream; it was a gallery. A massive collection of photographs and short videos organized chronologically. The first thing I noticed was the unwritten rule of the profile: she never, absolutely never, showed her face. All photos were carefully framed from the neck down or from the chin up. It was a calculated game of voyeurism, an invitation to focus exclusively on the flesh.

I began scrolling slowly, feeling my pulse accelerate again. The first photo was a close-up of her tits pressed against clear glass. She wore no clothes; only drops of water sliding down the white, glowing skin, highlighting the massive volume of her breasts and the darkness of her erect nipples. I stood zoned out, comparing that image with the memory of her in the classroom. It was impossible for it not to be her. The scale, the shape, the texture of the skin... everything matched.

I scrolled further and found a series of photos where she posed from behind, in front of a steamed-up mirror. She wore a white shirt identical to the one she used for teaching, but it was open, falling off her shoulders and letting her tits hang heavily forward while she looked at her own ass in the reflection. The contrast was brutal: the "perfect teacher" clothes used as accessories to highlight her depravity. Her hips were wide, powerful, and her ass looked firm and rounded, marking a silhouette I had memorized while she walked in front of the chalkboard.

"Damn it..." I whispered, feeling a damp heat concentrate in my crotch again. "You really are an exhibitionist..."

I moved on to the fully nude photos. There were images where she lay on black sheets, opening her legs with an animal confidence that left me breathless. The lighting was dim, but the sharpness allowed me to see every detail: the fine blonde hair of her pubis, the glistening moisture of her vaginal lips, and the way her huge tits flattened against the mattress due to gravity.

What obsessed me most was finding a photo where she held a textbook... the same literature book she used in class. She was naked, leaning against a white wall, holding the book in front of her chest to partially cover her tits, but letting the bottom part of them overflow beneath the volume of the paper. It was an implicit message, a perverse game. She knew exactly who her followers were and what fantasies she was feeding.

I felt as if I were reading her most intimate diary, but written in carnal language. Each photo was a piece of a puzzle that gave me total control over her. I noted the small details: a birthmark on the back of her thigh, the exact way her fingers bent when caressing herself, the glow of her skin under different lights.

I leaned back in the chair, staring at the dark ceiling of my room while the blue glow of the monitor continued to illuminate my hands. It was no longer just a suspicion based on a mole and a voice; I had a complete archive of her depravity. I had visual proof that the coldest, most distant woman in the institute spent her nights photographing herself naked, exposing her massive tits and her ass to the entire world for the pleasure of being watched.

"Look at how she moves that ass..." another replied, his gaze locked onto Eunbi's backside as she slowly sank down into a squat. "That fabric is about to rip. If she keeps doing that, someone's going to lose their fucking mind right here."

Eunbi knew exactly what she was provoking. While she danced, she maintained aggressive eye contact with different men, casting glances loaded with playful lust. She slid across the floor, arching her back and pushing her tits forward, exposing them fully to the hungry gaze of the group. The movement was visceral; every shake of her body sent a signal straight to those men's primal instincts.

Sweat began to run down the soldiers' temples, dripping down their necks and soaking the collars of their uniforms. Their pupils were dilated to the max, consuming every inch of Eunbi's figure. The air in the hangar grew heavy, saturated with the smell of desire and desperation. Many of them had their hands clenched into fists, squeezing so hard that their knuckles turned white, fighting the animal urge to leap into the center of the circle and seize that swaying body.

Eunbi ramped up the intensity. She began moving her shoulders rapidly, making the bounce of her tits more frenetic—a rhythmic, wild movement that made the dress ride up and down dangerously. She put her hands behind her head, stretching her torso and exposing the tension of her belly and the sheer mass of her chest, letting out a small moan that blended with the bass of the music.

"Do you like it?" she asked in the middle of the dance, her voice sounding breathless and wet. "Do you like watching me move for you? I can feel how you're looking at me... I can feel your hunger from here."

She stopped abruptly, standing face-to-face with the group, her breathing heavy and her chest heaving violently. Her tits continued to sway slightly from the inertia of the movement, and a sheen of sweat began to cover her neck and the valley of her cleavage. The soldiers were on the verge of collapse; the sexual tension had reached a critical point where silence was no longer possible and gasps were the only thing filling the space between the notes of the music. Eunbi looked at them with a malicious smile, knowing she had them exactly where she wanted: broken, starving, and completely under her control.

The music shifted subtly; the rhythm became slower, denser, with a bass that seemed to vibrate directly in the men's bones. The air in the hangar was no longer just hot—it was suffocating, saturated by the ragged breathing of dozens of soldiers and the sweet scent of Eunbi's perfume mixing with the smell of stale sweat. She stood still for a moment, her chest heaving violently, observing the hunger in those men's eyes. She knew they had reached the limit; the tension was a string stretched to the breaking point.

Eunbi let out a low giggle, almost a purr, and slowly brought her hands to the shoulders of the dress. She didn't do it quickly; every movement was calculated to prolong the agony. Her fingers, long and delicate, began to slide the fabric down, inch by inch. The sound of the fabric rubbing against her white skin was almost audible over the thumping bass—a soft friction that made the soldiers hold their breath in unison.

"It's too hot in here, don't you think?" she whispered, casting a glance loaded with malice. "I feel like this dress is squeezing me... I feel like it's suffocating me."

As the dress slid far enough to let one of the straps drop, a collective gasp rippled through the circle of men. The white, smooth skin of her shoulder was exposed, shimmering with a fine layer of sweat that reflected the hangar's fluorescent lights. But the most devastating part happened next: as she lowered the fabric, the support of the dress gave way slightly, causing her massive tits to sway with a real and visceral weight. The soldiers saw the massive curve of her chest partially release from the fabric, revealing an obscene amount of white flesh struggling not to jump out completely.

"Fuck!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, unable to contain himself. "Look at that... it's all coming out. Dammit, I'm going to go crazy!"

"Keep going... just take it off already..." another pleaded in a broken whisper, his gaze locked on the valley between her breasts, where sweat formed small droplets that slid slowly down the skin.

Eunbi ignored the pleas, enjoying the absolute power she held over them. She moved slightly backward, arching her back while sliding the dress further down, allowing the garment to fall to her waist in a slow, fluid motion. The dress didn't disappear entirely, but it hung precariously, leaving the upper part of her torso exposed.

What appeared under the hangar lights was a vision that made several soldiers let out a guttural sound (glup). Eunbi was wearing a tiny bikini, a piece of fabric so small it was an insult. The top was barely a strip of material attempting—unsuccessfully—to contain the massiveness of her tits. Flesh overflowed from the top, the sides, and underneath; her breasts were so large that the bikini looked like a joke, a mere suggestion of clothing that left almost everything in sight. One could see the tension of the fabric stretching to the limit, marking the aggressive roundness of her chest and hinting at the pressure of her nipples against the thin material.

Eunbi placed her hands on the sides of the bikini, squeezing the fabric slightly to lift her tits even higher, projecting them forward like two mountains of white, soft flesh. The men were in shock; some had their mouths open, others closed their eyes for a second only to snap them open again, unable to process the magnitude of what they were seeing. Shame had completely vanished, replaced by an animal and voracious hunger.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" she asked, her voice wet and provocative, while swaying her shoulders to make her tits bounce softly under the bikini. "I wonder if it's enough... or if you're still hungry."

The silence that followed was dense, charged with a sexual electricity that made the air spark. The soldiers were no longer a military formation; they were a group of desperate men, veins in their necks dilated and breathing erratic, staring at that exposed body as if it were the most forbidden feast in the world. The tension in their pants had reached an unbearable point, and Eunbi, aware of this, gave them a predatory smile before preparing for her next move.

Eunbi stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the image of the men around her; they were like hungry dogs waiting to be let off the leash. Her eyes scanned the circle, stopping at the trembling hands of some and the way others bit their lower lips to avoid letting out a scream. The dress still hung dangerously around her waist, an insignificant barrier that only served to increase the agony of those present.

With excruciating slowness, Eunbi brought her hands back to the fabric of the dress. She didn't just let it drop; she began to slide it down inch by inch, making the fabric rub against the skin of her hips with a soft sound that seemed to rumble in the hangar's silence. The soldiers were hypnotized, their gazes locked on the line where the fabric separated from her body. They could see the dress sliding slowly down the curve of her white, smooth thighs, revealing skin shimmering with sweat under the white ceiling lights.

When the garment finally hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving Eunbi completely exposed in her tiny bikini, the air in the hangar seemed to vanish instantly.

If the top was an insult, the bottom was a direct and aggressive provocation. She wore a thong that barely existed; a ridiculously thin strip of fabric that sank deeply into the crack of her ass, disappearing between her massive, round cheeks. The bikini covered nothing; it simply accentuated the obscene roundness of her hips and left almost all of her white skin bare. The string of the bikini dug into her sides, creating a small ridge in the flesh of her thighs that made the men want to sink their fingers right there.

The silence was broken by a collective sound—a mix of gasps and heavy exhales filling the space. The youngest recruit let out a muffled moan and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling; his legs shook violently and his breathing was so erratic it looked like he was having a panic attack, though what he felt was absolute sensory overload.

"Holy fucking shit...!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, his voice broken and hoarse. "Look at that ass... fuck, it's huge... it can't be real. Look how the string sinks in!"

"I'm tripping out..." another muttered, his gaze fixed on the curve of her hips, sliding down toward where the bikini barely managed to cover her most intimate area. "Fuck it all, I can't take this anymore. Someone has to touch her now, fuck, my cock is about to explode in my pants."

Eunbi, far from being intimidated by the growing aggression of the comments, let out a playful giggle and took a step back, turning slowly on her heels to face away from the group. She made a deliberate move: she arched her back, pushing her ass backward and making the thong tension even further, sinking deeply into her flesh. The rhythmic sway of her heavy, firm cheeks caused several soldiers to make a guttural sound (glup), swallowing hard as their pupils dilated until they almost covered the entire iris.

"Do you like my clothes?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with an expression loaded with lust. "I think it's a bit small... don't you? I feel like it'll rip at any moment if someone pulls it hard."

The atmosphere had shifted drastically. Military shame and respect had been incinerated by the fire of animal desire. The men were no longer in formation; some had unconsciously stepped forward, breaking the circle to get closer to her. Their faces were distorted, veins in their necks dilated from blood pressure and sweat soaking their uniforms.

Eunbi turned back toward them, her chest heaving violently, making her tits bounce under the small strip of the bikini. She placed a hand on her thigh, sliding her fingers slowly upward, approaching the edge of the bottom fabric dangerously.

"I see you're not shy anymore," she whispered, her voice now hoarser, wetter. "I see you're hungry. And I... I love it when you're hungry. I wonder who among you will be the first to stop looking and start touching."

The challenge hung in the air, dense and electric. The limit had been crossed; the psychological barrier had completely broken. The soldiers were no longer disciplined men; they were predators who had just seen their prey offer herself voluntarily, and the hunger in their eyes was so visceral it could almost be touched. The sexual tension had reached its breaking point: only one movement, one signal, was needed for carnal chaos to erupt in the middle of the hangar.

The silence that followed Eunbi's words was dense, almost solid, interrupted only by the sound of the men's ragged breathing and the electric hum of the speakers. The air was so charged with desire it seemed to vibrate. The soldiers were in a trance, their gazes locked on her, but none dared to take the first step; it was that last vestige of military discipline fighting against the animal tide pushing them forward.

Eunbi, enjoying the agony of those men, decided she had played enough with their minds. It was time to break the physical barrier.

With a predatory gaze, she scanned the circle until her eyes locked onto the youngest recruit—the one who had been trembling since the moment she stepped out of the car. The boy was pale, his lips dry and his eyes wide, totally overwhelmed by Eunbi's presence. She let out a malicious smile and extended her hand toward him, making a slow gesture for him to approach.

"You... come here," she ordered, her voice no longer just playful but imperative, loaded with a sexual authority that left no room for doubt.

The youth took clumsy steps, almost tripping over his own boots. When he reached her, the smell of vanilla and female skin hit him like a sledgehammer, leaving him breathless. Eunbi looked at him from bottom to top, analyzing the tension in his neck and the way his hands shook violently at his sides.

"You're afraid..." she whispered, moving so close that the heat of their bodies merged. "I love it when you're afraid. It means you know exactly what you have in front of you and you don't know if you can handle it."

Without giving him time to respond, Eunbi took the recruit's right hand firmly. Her fingers were soft but strong, and she guided him directly toward her own chest. There was no subtlety; Eunbi slammed the palm of the boy's hand against one of her tits, sinking it deeply into the mass of white, soft flesh that the tiny bikini barely managed to contain.

The recruit let out a muffled moan, a guttural sound from deep in his throat (glup), while his eyes dilated to the max. The impact was visceral. The sensation of warm, wet, elastic skin under his hand, combined with the massive bounce of the tit against his palm, caused a cerebral short circuit. For a second, the boy froze, fearing this was a dream or that someone would punish him for touching a woman like this.

"Don't just stand there stunned, idiot," Eunbi hissed in his ear, her voice now raw and loaded with dirty talk. "Squeeze... squeeze my tits hard. I want to feel you mash my flesh with your calloused hands. Use your hand, fuck, make me feel like you're a man and not a scared child."

The command was the trigger. The recruit, driven by an animal need he could no longer control, closed his fingers over Eunbi's chest, squeezing with desperate force. He let out a grunt as he felt the softness and firmness of that body, the way the tit overflowed between his fingers, escaping the bikini. Eunbi let out a loud gasp, arching her back and closing her eyes, enjoying the roughness of the contact.

Around them, the rest of the soldiers exploded. Seeing the recruit touching her was the signal they were waiting for. The barrier of modesty shattered into a thousand pieces. Several men stepped forward, surrounding them, with hungry gazes and erratic breathing. Some began to shout dirty words, urging the boy not to be selfish, while others simply gasped, watching as the recruit's fingers sank into Eunbi's white flesh.

"Do it harder!" one of the veterans shouted, his voice broken. "Look how her nipples are marking through that fucking fabric! Take that bikini off her now, fuck!"

Eunbi opened her eyes and looked at the group with an expression of absolute lust. She felt excited by the aggression of the environment, by the smell of masculine sweat that now completely enveloped her. With a quick movement, she reached for the knots of the bikini. First, she untied the strap of the top with a sharp tug.

The fabric snapped, instantly releasing her massive tits. The visual impact was devastating; her breasts dropped with real weight, swaying violently before settling, exposing her erect, pink nipples under the hangar lights. The men let out a collective shout—a mix of awe and animal desire. But Eunbi didn't stop there. With the same speed, she slid her fingers down and untied the thong that had been sinking into her ass.

The bikini fell to the floor like an insignificant piece of trash. Eunbi stood completely naked before them, exposed in every inch. Her massive tits, her flat belly damp with sweat, and her intimate area, fully uncovered, were on display for everyone. Silence returned for a moment, but it was an electric silence—the calm before the animals lunged at their prey.

"There's no more clothes..." Eunbi whispered, looking at the men with a predatory smile while her nipples vibrated from the cold and excitation. "I'm ready now. Now... come and get what you want."

The hangar became a pressure cooker that finally exploded. It wasn't a chaotic or disorganized attack, but a slow, heavy tide of masculine bodies closing the circle around Eunbi, suffocating any empty space. The air became dense, saturated by the smell of testosterone, stale sweat, and the growing humidity of arousal. Eunbi was in the center, naked and glorious, feeling the temperature of the place rise several degrees just from the proximity of so many men burning with desire.

The first contact was like an electric shock. Several hands, calloused and rough, lunged at her simultaneously. One soldier grabbed her tits with desperate force, sinking his fingers into the soft, heavy flesh, while another positioned himself behind her, squeezing her ass with a pressure that left instant red marks on her white skin. The contrast was brutal: Eunbi's extreme softness against the roughness of the military uniform and the hardened hands of hard labor.

"Fuck, she's so soft!" one of the men groaned, his voice sounding like it had sand in its throat. "Her tits are like pillows... look how they overflow between my fingers. I can't believe this is real!"

Eunbi let out a long, wet moan, throwing her head back as she felt the group claim her. There was no trace of fear in her; on the contrary, her pupils were dilated and her breathing erratic, enjoying the sensation of being consumed by that animal hunger. She felt the soldiers' tongues roaming her neck and shoulders, leaving trails of hot saliva that shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

"That's it..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and loaded with lust. "Use me... make me feel how much you've wanted me these past months. Don't stop now..."

Eunbi decided it was time to lower the level of the game. With a fluid movement, while feeling hands continue to knead her tits and others explore the crack of her ass, she slid downward. She let herself drop onto her knees slowly, ending up in a submissive yet dominant position, right in front of the soldier who had been the most anxious throughout the encounter.

The man was paralyzed, looking down at the most desired woman in the camp kneeling before him. Eunbi looked him straight in the eyes, a gaze loaded with dirty promises, and brought her hands to the waistband of the soldier's pants. The sound of the zipper going down was like a gunshot in the hangar's silence; a metallic noise announcing the start of true degradation.

When the soldier's cock sprang out of the pants, hard as a rock and throbbing, Eunbi let out a sigh of satisfaction. She could see the dilated veins running along the member, the tip already wet from accumulated arousal. The smell of musk and sex filled her nostrils, triggering her own lubrication. Without warning, Eunbi opened her mouth and wrapped the head of the member with a slow, sucking motion.

Glup.

The sound was wet and visceral. The soldier let out a muffled cry, arching his back and closing his eyes tight as he felt the suffocating heat of Eunbi's throat enveloping him. She was in no rush; she began to suck with rhythm, lowering her head to swallow as much as possible, making her cheeks sink and the sound of the vacuum resonate in the hangar.

Plok, glup.

Every time she descended, the sound of saliva mixing with hot skin was obscene. Eunbi used her tongue to lick the base and the frenulum, moving with an expert technique that had the man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The soldier began to pant violently, his hands instinctively descending toward Eunbi's hair, not to push her away, but to press her head deeper against his crotch.

"Oh God... fuck!" the man moaned, his voice breaking. "It's so hot... her mouth is a fucking fire! Keep going, keep going, dammit!"

Around them, the other soldiers were in a frenzy. Some masturbated openly while observing the scene, others pressed against Eunbi, touching her tits and her ass while she remained concentrated on the oral act. The atmosphere was a chaotic mix of sounds: the hoarse pants of the men, the wet noise of Eunbi's mouth (plok), and the constant rub of sweaty skin against uniform fabric.

Eunbi looked up for a second, the cock still between her lips and a string of saliva connecting her corner of the mouth with the tip of the member. Her eyes glowed with absolute malice; she knew she had pushed them to the limit and there was no turning back. She was turning the hangar into a temple of flesh and fluids, where military discipline had completely surrendered to animal lust.

Eunbi felt the soldier reaching his limit; the man trembled violently, and his hands gripped her hair with almost painful force. Just before he exploded in her mouth, Eunbi pulled away with a slow, deliberate movement, leaving a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the throbbing tip of the member. The soldier let out a grunt of frustration and desire, an animal sound that resonated in the tense silence of the hangar. He couldn't take it anymore; the hunger accumulated for months had transformed into a blind urgency that could only be satiated by penetration.

Without a word, the man grabbed Eunbi by the shoulders and turned her brusquely, forcing her to lean on her hands and knees on the cold floor of the hangar. The position left Eunbi's ass projected upward—a massive white curve that seemed to invite assault. The thong was gone; now only naked, wet skin remained, shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

"Enough games..." the soldier grunted, his voice sounding like a tear. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't get inside you right now."

Eunbi let out a hoarse gasp, arching her back and pushing her cheeks backward, seeking contact. She could feel the man's hot breath against her skin and the smell of sex and sweat emanating from him. The soldier wasted no more time; he positioned himself behind her, and with a firm, dry movement, guided his cock toward Eunbi's entrance.

The first thrust was slow but deep.

Eunbi let out a muffled scream—a mix of pain and extreme pleasure that filled the space. She felt how the flesh stretched to the limit to make room for the thick, hard member, a visceral sensation of fullness that made her shiver from her fingertips to the base of her spine. The soldier let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as he felt the suffocating heat and tight humidity of Eunbi's interior enveloping him completely.

When he finally entered all the way, both froze for a second, allowing their bodies to adjust to the intensity of the encounter. But the calm was short-lived. Animal instinct took command and the rhythm began to accelerate.

Clap.

The sound was dry and loud; the collision of the soldier's balls against Eunbi's ass resonated in the hangar like a gunshot.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

As the rhythm became more frenetic, the noise of flesh colliding became constant and obscene. It was a rhythmic, visceral sound that marked the beat of desire. Eunbi was completely surrendered; her head hung low, her hands gripping the cold floor while her massive tits swung violently with every thrust, bouncing against the concrete in a chaotic and exciting movement.

"Fuck, you're so tight!" the soldier shouted, his voice broken by arousal. "I feel how you're sucking me in!"

Eunbi couldn't articulate coherent words; she only emitted wet moans and erratic gasps. She felt every inch of the member hitting her internal walls, a hot friction that was taking her to the edge of the abyss. But the most visceral part was the sensation of the other men around her. While the first soldier hammered her from behind, the others didn't just watch.

Two soldiers positioned themselves at her sides, grabbing her tits with brute force, squeezing and molding them while she screamed from the pleasure. Another man knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him while he licked her lips and whispered dirty words in her ear, describing exactly what was happening behind her.

"Look how that ass rattles..." one of them muttered, observing Eunbi's white skin turning red from the constant impact of the collision (clap).

Sweat began to rain over them; the mix of fluids and heat created a lubricating layer that made the bodies slide against each other. The veins in the neck of the soldier penetrating her were dilated to the max, his muscles tense as steel cables while he pushed with desperate violence. Eunbi felt her world reduce to that sound of colliding flesh and the massive pressure filling her belly.

The tension reached a critical point. The rhythm became so fast that the clap turned into a continuous hum of skin against skin. Eunbi felt an electric shock run through her nerves, a violent muscular contraction that made her arch her back to the limit. She was about to break, and the man behind her was too. The hangar was no longer a place of discipline; it was a nest of throbbing flesh, sweat, and animal lust where the only language was the noise of raw sex.

The sound of the impact was deafening in the hangar; every thrust from the soldier translated into a dry, violent clap that resonated against the metal walls, an animal rhythm that synced with the desperate gasps of the men surrounding her. But while the cock hammered her from behind, the visual center of attention remained her tits.

Because of the position—leaning on her hands and knees—gravity caused her breasts to hang heavily toward the floor. With every brutal blow she received in the ass, her tits jumped with obscene violence, bouncing up and down like two mountains of white flesh that knew no rest. The movement was hypnotic; the mass of her chest swayed from left to right, bouncing against her own torso and swinging with a real weight that made the observing soldiers lose their minds.

The two men flanking her were no longer content with caressing her; they had moved to a phase of brute possession. Their hands, large and calloused, sank into Eunbi's flesh with aggressive force. One of them grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it so powerfully that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, distorting the roundness of the breast as he pulled it downward. The other did the same with the other, kneading them like clay, sinking fingers into the softness of her white skin until leaving red marks that contrasted violently with her pale tone.

Eunbi let out a gut-wrenching scream, but it wasn't pain; it was the scream of a woman being consumed by the purest and most degrading desire. She turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and, with eyes clouded by lust and mouth open, began to speak dirty, her voice sounding hoarse, wet, and completely broken.

"Yes... fuck! Keep doing that!" she shouted, while a particularly strong thrust made her arch her back. "Mash my tits! Squeeze them until it hurts, you animals! I love feeling your filthy hands distorting my chest while this idiot breaks my ass from behind... keep going, don't stop!"

Her words acted like gasoline on a fire. The soldier penetrating her let out a roar and increased the speed, making the claps so fast they became a continuous hum of flesh hitting flesh. Eunbi felt her body was a war zone; the constant rub of sweaty skin, the massive pressure in her chest, and the burning friction inside her were taking her to the limit.

"Look at my tits!" she exclaimed, panting violently as she saw her own breasts bouncing frantically with every blow. "Look how they jump for you! Don't you want to feel them? Come and lick my nipples while you fuck me! I want to feel all your tongues on my tits right now!"

At the command, another soldier lunged forward and wrapped one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking with voracious force. Eunbi let out a sharp moan that turned into a scream when she felt the pull of the nipple coordinated with the deep impact of the cock in her belly. The contrast was brutal: the vacuum of the suction on her chest and the massive pressure in her sex.

"Yes... like that... fuck!" she gasped, saliva running from the corner of her lips. "Take me all! Don't leave a single inch of my skin unmarked. I want to wake up tomorrow and feel that every one of you left their mark on my body. Harder, dammit! Push me harder against the floor while you bite my tits!"

The hangar was saturated. The smell of sex was so dense it could be tasted; a mix of vaginal fluids, pre-cum, and masculine sweat. The soldiers were out of their minds, their faces distorted by a hunger that no longer had a brake. The veins in their necks were dilated to the max and their breaths were short, erratic gasps.

Eunbi was at the epicenter of the chaos, feeling her body become an instrument of collective pleasure. Her tits continued to oscillate violently, jumping under the hands and mouths of the men, while the rhythm of penetration reached a point of no return. Every clap was now a promise that the final explosion was only seconds away, and Eunbi, with her raw language and her bouncing breasts, pushed them all toward the abyss.

The hangar had become an echo chamber for the crudest lust; the sound of the clap, clap, clap was so rhythmic and violent it seemed like industrial machinery running at maximum power. Eunbi was in a state of absolute ecstasy, her face pressed against the cold cement while her body was shaken by thrusts that threatened to disassemble her. But the most striking part remained her tits: they were two white and heavy masses that, due to the speed of the rhythm, no longer just bounced but swayed in a chaotic frenzy, hitting her own torso and jumping up and down with visceral force.

The soldiers flanking her were out of control. There were no more caresses; only possessive and brutal grips. One of them had both hands buried in her breasts, squeezing them with such fury that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, molding her tits into grotesque and exciting shapes while shaking them to the rhythm of the thrusts. The other soldier had pressed himself against her, licking the sweat from her back and biting her shoulders, while his hands slid down to squeeze her ass, coordinating the pressure with every blow the man behind her delivered.

Eunbi let out a scream that tore through the air, a wet and prolonged sound that ended in a hoarse gasp. With eyes bloodshot from pleasure and mouth open, she began to spit dirty words, her voice sounding as if it were being torn apart by excitation itself.

"Yes... fuck! Feel how I open up for you!" she screamed, while an especially deep thrust made her arch her back and let out a sharp moan. "Look at my tits, you filthy pigs! Look how they jump while you break me inside! They're so big you can't stop looking at them, right?! Tell me you want to lick every drop of sweat from my nipples right now!"

The man penetrating her let out a guttural roar, the veins in his neck dilating to the limit and his face distorted by effort. His hands clamped onto Eunbi's hips, leaving deep red marks on the white skin, while he accelerated the rhythm to an inhuman speed. The sound of the impact (clap) became a continuous hum; there was no longer any space between one blow and another.

"I'm going to cum... fuck, I'm going to cum in you!" the soldier roared, his voice sounding like a wounded animal.

Eunbi felt the internal pressure reaching the breaking point. Her vaginal muscles contracted violently around the member, sucking it with desperate force. In that moment, Eunbi turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and let out one last command loaded with degrading lust.

"Now! Make my head explode! Fill me with everything! I want to feel your hot milk on my skin, on my tits, on my face! Don't hold anything back, you animals, empty yourselves inside and all over me!"

That was the final trigger. The soldier behind her let out a visceral scream and sank in to the root one last time, tensing every muscle of his body while firing thick, hot jets deep into Eunbi's belly. At the same time, the other soldiers, who had been on the edge of the abyss, collapsed in a collective orgasm.

The hangar filled with violent gasps and broken moans as white, viscous milk began to rain over Eunbi. Some fired against her back, others over her cheeks, but most focused on her tits. Hot jets impacted the white, taut skin of her breasts, sliding down the massive curves and filling the deep valley between them, creating an obscene contrast between the whiteness of her flesh and the viscosity of the masculine fluid.

Eunbi collapsed onto the floor, trembling violently, lungs burning and body covered in a shimmering layer of sweat and semen. Her tits continued to sway slightly from inertia, now stained and glistening under the hangar lights. She lay there, panting, feeling the weight of the men collapsing around her, exhausted and empty, while silence slowly returned to the place, broken only by the sound of erratic breathing and the dripping of fluids on the cold concrete.

The silence that fell over the hangar was so abrupt it felt painful, as if someone had cut the power with a single blow. No trace remained of the frenetic rhythm or the animal screams; there was only the heavy, erratic sound of dozens of lungs fighting to recover oxygen. The air remained thick, saturated by that metallic smell of sex, sweat, and fluids that had become the very atmosphere of the place.

Eunbi remained slumped on the cold cement for several minutes, her face resting on an arm and her eyes fixed on an oil stain on the floor. Her body trembled in residual spasms—small electric jolts running down her spine. She felt the weight of her own exhaustion, but also a dark and visceral satisfaction. She was completely naked, exposed and marked; she felt the viscosity of the semen cooling slowly on her skin, creating a sticky film that clung to her curves.

The most evident part were her tits. Those massive breasts, which had been the center of the storm, now rested against the floor, flattened by their own weight. They were glistening, covered in thick white streaks that slid down the sides and accumulated in the deep valley between them. Some drops still slid slowly toward her nipples, which remained erect and sensitive to the brush of the cold hangar air. Eunbi let out a long, wet sigh, feeling the adrenaline fade and give way to a strange melancholy—that post-orgasmic void that feels like a hole in the chest.

Around her, the soldiers were shadows of what they had been ten minutes ago. There was no more aggression or hunger; only defeat remained. They sat or lay on the floor, gazes lost and breathing heavy. Some stared at their own hands, surprised by the brutality with which they had touched that body, while others simply closed their eyes, overwhelmed by the sensory discharge that had just broken their psyche. Military discipline had died in that hangar; they had been reduced to their most primal state, and now, the return to reality was a blunt blow.

"Fuck..." one of them whispered, his voice completely empty, almost without air. "What the hell just happened?"

No one answered. Silence was the only possible response. It was a silence charged with a dull guilt and infinite admiration. They had been possessed by her as much as they had tried to possess her.

Slowly, Eunbi began to pull herself up. The sound of her skin peeling away from the damp cement produced a visceral noise that made several soldiers look up at her. She sat back on her heels, letting her tits sway softly with the movement, scattering the drops of semen still clinging to them. There was no trace of shame in her gaze; on the contrary, she observed them with a predatory calm, like someone looking over a battlefield after winning the war.

She brought a finger to the corner of her lips, picked up a remnant of saliva and fluid, and licked it slowly while maintaining eye contact with the youngest recruit, who was still trembling in a corner. The boy couldn't hold her gaze; he lowered his head, feeling small, forever marked by that encounter.

"Looks like you've recovered your morale," Eunbi said, her voice returning to silk, though now with a hint of satisfied exhaustion. "I hope this 'gift' is enough for you to endure the rest of your service without going crazy."

She stood up with a slow elegance, allowing the fluids to slide down her thighs and fall to the floor in thick drops. She was in no rush to cover herself; she enjoyed the way the men looked at her—a mix of residual hunger and almost religious respect. She knew she was leaving, but she left behind something far more permanent than physical pleasure: she had left them a psychological scar. From that moment on, every time those men closed their eyes or felt the rub of their uniforms, they would remember the weight of her tits, the smell of vanilla mixed with sex, and the feeling of having been completely dominated by one woman.