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jupiterpilgrim · 8 days ago

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Hands-On Help

Eunbi x Wonyoung x male reader

word count: 10K

The gentle crunch of gravel under your tires is the first sound of home you’ve both heard in days. You kill the engine in the driveway, the sudden silence amplifying the soft sigh that escapes Eunbi’s lips from the passenger seat. You look over at her, not as a patient in a sterile hospital room, but as your girlfriend, finally back where she belongs. Her left leg is encased in a thick, white cast from her ankle to just below her knee, propped up awkwardly on a pile of pillows you’d arranged.

You get out and circle the car, opening her door with a careful slowness. She gives you a tired but grateful smile as you lean in, your hands already moving to help her navigate the impossibly clumsy exit from the car seat. Her fingers grip your arm. You slide one arm under her legs, avoiding the cast, and the other around her back, scooping her up. She’s light, always has been, but you’re hyper-aware of every potential jostle, every move that could send a jolt of pain through her.

Oh yeah. The next few months are gonna be pretty tough for Eunbi.

Her guilt about the accident is evident in every breath. It’s been hanging around her like a cheap perfume since it happened. Just a stupid, simple accident. She was at the studio, reaching for a box on a high shelf, overextending on a wobbly step stool she knew she should have thrown out ages ago. The fall was nasty. A clean break in her tibia and a severely bruised lower back from where she slammed into a rack of equipment on the way down. You’ve told her a dozen times it wasn’t her fault, that it was just bad luck, but you see the way she winces, and you know it’s not just from the pain.

"I got you," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her temple as you carry her toward the front door. You fumble with the keys for a second before managing to get the door open, stepping over the threshold into the familiar comfort of your home. The crutches are waiting right where you left them, leaning against the entryway table.

You gently set her down on the plush living room couch, her body sinking into the cushions. For a moment, you both just breathe. She’s home. Finally.

"Alright, mission accomplished," you say, trying to keep your tone light. "Now you have one job and one job only: be a couch potato. A queen, even. Your throne awaits. I'll take care of literally everything else."

Eunbi’s brow furrows, that familiar look of stubbornness you know so well creeping onto her face. She pushes herself up a bit, her hand resting on her sore back.

"I can't just sit here and watch you do everything. It’s not fair. Let me at least handle dinner. I can sit on a stool in the kitchen."

You move to sit on the coffee table in front of her, taking her hands in yours. They feel small and cool.

"Hey. We talked about this. No. You need to rest, properly rest, so you can heal. I’ve got this. All of it. I want to do it."

You lean in and kiss her, a soft, lingering press of lips that’s meant to convey everything you can’t always put into words. Your love, your relief, your unwavering promise to care for her. When you pull back, you see the shine of guilt still swimming in her eyes. You know she feels like a burden, and you hate it.

"First things first," you say, changing the subject. "Let's get you out of these hospital-issue sweats and into a proper shower. You’ll feel a million times better."

Getting her to the bathroom is a slow, careful process involving the crutches and your steadying hands. The bathroom feels small and cramped as you help her. You grab the plastic shower stool you bought yesterday and place it securely under the spray. You help her peel off the loose-fitting clothes, your fingers brushing against her warm skin. Her body is just as you’ve memorized it: compact, toned, but crowned with those incredible breasts, full and heavy and so wonderfully out of proportion with the rest of her petite frame.

They’re your favorite paradox.

The logistics of the shower are tricky. You wrap her cast securely in a heavy-duty plastic bag, sealing it tight with tape. You help her onto the stool, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance. You stay with her, adjusting the water temperature until it’s perfect, lathering a washcloth and gently scrubbing her back, her shoulders, her arms. It’s an act of pure intimacy, stripped of lust and built on a foundation of care. You wash her hair, your fingers massaging her scalp, and she leans her head back, her eyes closed, a genuine, relaxed smile finally gracing her lips. After rinsing her off, you carefully help her out, wrapping her in the fluffiest towel you own before getting her into a pair of your softest sleep shorts and one of your old, worn-in t-shirts. The fabric hangs loose on her, smelling like you.

Once she’s settled back on the couch, a fortress of pillows built around her, you head to the kitchen with a renewed sense of purpose.

"To celebrate your triumphant return, I will be preparing your absolute favorite," you announce dramatically. "Spicy kimchi jjigae."

You can hear her soft laugh from the living room. You’re not the best cook, but you can follow instructions. You pull up a tutorial on your phone, propping it against the backsplash. You wash the rice, chop the onions and tofu, and pull the tub of aged kimchi from the fridge. The familiar, pungent smell fills the kitchen. You’re focused, determined to make this perfect for her. The sizzling of pork belly hitting the hot pot is a satisfying sound, and for a while, you lose yourself in the methodical process of cooking.

You’re stirring the bubbling, vibrant red stew when you hear the soft thud and scrape of crutches against the hardwood floor. You turn to see Eunbi standing in the kitchen doorway, looking small and serious in your oversized shirt.

"Hey, you're supposed to be resting, remember?" you chide gently.

She ignores you, her gaze intense.

"So, how are we going to do it?"

You blink, confused by the sudden shift in topic. You gesture with the ladle towards the steaming pot.

"Do what? The soup? It's almost done. Smells pretty good, right?"

"No," she says. "Sex."

You almost drop the ladle. You let out a short, surprised laugh, turning back to the stove to busy your hands.

"Babe, that’s... not exactly a priority right now. It's irrelevant. The only thing you need to be focused on is getting better."

She hobbles a step closer, her expression unwavering.

"It’s not irrelevant. It's a healthy and necessary habit for human beings. Especially for us."

And damn it, she’s right. The two of you fuck. A lot. It’s not just a habit; it’s a part of your language, the way you connect and de-stress and show love. It’s woven into the fabric of your relationship. You can’t imagine going weeks, maybe even a month or more, without it. Without feeling the weight of her on top of you, without burying your face in those amazing tits, without burying yourself deep inside her.

The memory of the hospital handjob flashes in your mind. It was late, after visiting hours, the room dim and quiet. She’d insisted, her small hand working you under the thin blanket with a practiced skill that was both frustrating and incredibly hot. You’d come with a muffled groan, the release sharp but fleeting, a pale imitation of the real thing. It was a temporary fix for a much bigger problem.

You turn off the stove and face her fully, leaning back against the counter. You let out a long breath, your eyes tracing the outline of her body.

"Don't worry about it right now," you say. "Seriously. We'll figure something out. One thing at a time. The only thing on the menu tonight is my world-famous, YouTube-certified kimchi jjigae."

She holds your gaze for a long moment, and you know this conversation isn't over. Not by a long shot. But for now, she gives a small nod, a silent truce.

—

The days bleed into a new kind of rhythm, a quiet routine built around medication schedules and careful movements. Your leave from work stretches out, and the apartment becomes your entire world. Mornings start not with a shared alarm and tangled limbs, but with the soft whir of the coffee maker and the task of preparing a breakfast tray. You carry it into the bedroom where Eunbi is already awake, propped up against a mountain of pillows, her laptop open. She’s slowly getting the hang of this forced inactivity, finding a certain peace in the long, uninterrupted hours to read or catch up on shows she’d missed.

"Morning, your highness," you say, placing the tray over her lap. Today it’s avocado toast and a perfectly peeled orange. "Your loyal servant brings offerings."

She smiles, a genuine, warm thing that still makes your chest ache. "My loyal servant is going to throw his own back out if he keeps sleeping on that goddamn couch."

"The couch and I have come to an understanding," you retort, sitting on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her. "Besides, you need the space. I'm a restless sleeper. I'd probably kick you in my sleep and then I'd have to kill myself out of guilt."

"You would not," she says, but she squeezes your hand. "Thank you, though. For being so careful."

You lean in and kiss her, a soft, chaste peck. It’s the new currency of your physical affection. These small, tender moments have replaced the deep, hungry kisses that used to lead to tangled sheets and bruised lips. You take care of everything. The laundry, the dishes, the grocery shopping. You learn how to navigate the narrow aisles of the supermarket with a cart full of things she likes, you learn how to clean the bathroom without waking her, you learn the precise angle to arrange the pillows on the couch for maximum comfort and minimal back pain. You don't mind it. Seeing her comfortable, seeing that small flicker of her old, bright energy return, is worth every bit of it.

Some evenings, a couple of her friends, Yena and Chaewon, come over. They bring cheap wine and gossip, spreading out on the living room floor while Eunbi holds court from the couch.

"Honestly, you're milking this," Yena says, gesturing dramatically with her wine glass. "Full-time house husband, meals on demand. You should break your other leg when this one heals."

Eunbi laughs, a real, full-throated sound that feels like a victory. "Don't tempt me. I could get used to this."

You just smile from the kitchen, refilling a bowl of chips. You play their games, listen to their stories, and for a few hours, things almost feel normal. But then they leave, and the quiet settles back in, loaded with the things you're both not saying.

—

Almost a month has passed. Twenty-seven days. You're keeping count. Twenty-seven days since you last felt the slick heat of her around you, since you last heard the noises she makes when you push her over the edge. The absence is a physical thing, a constant, low-level hum of arousal under your skin. It's become a source of torment, a ghost in the house that lingers in every room.

Tonight, it's particularly bad. Eunbi took her pain medication an hour ago and is deep asleep in the bedroom, the door left slightly ajar. The only light in the apartment is the glow of your phone screen as you lie on the couch, the lumpy cushions digging into your back. You can't sleep. Your dick is uncomfortably hard against your pajama pants, a familiar, frustrating ache.

Giving up, you clench your jaw and let your mind drift, your hand tentatively moving down your stomach. It’s become your own secret, shameful routine. You close your eyes and summon her, the highlight reel of your sex life playing on the back of your eyelids.

Your fingers wrap around your length, slick with pre-cum, and you think about the beach. That trip you took to Jeju two summers ago. The thrill of it, sneaking away from the crowded shoreline at dusk, finding a secluded cove hidden by black volcanic rocks. The scratch of sand on your ass as she rode you, her silhouette stark against the bruised purple and orange of the sunset. Her gasps lost to the sound of the crashing waves, the salty spray misting on her skin. You remember the taste of salt on her lips when you kissed her.

Your pace quickens. You think about her parents' house, at the very beginning of your relationship. Sneaking her back into her room after a late movie, convinced you were silent assassins. The sheer, terrifying thrill of fucking her in her childhood bed, the headboard bumping softly against the wall with every slow, careful thrust. You had your hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her moans, her eyes wide and shining with a mixture of fear and exhilaration in the dim light filtering through her window. The memory of that risk, that shared secret, makes you groan quietly into your pillow.

You shift on the couch, your hips starting to buck into your hand. Your mind jumps forward. The first time you fucked her ass. She’d been nervous, but curious. You remember the ridiculous amount of lube you used, the patience in your hands as you prepped her, your fingers gently working her open until she was slick and ready. You remember the feeling of her tight, virgin heat finally engulfing you, the way she’d gripped the sheets, her knuckles white, her breath hitching. The way she’d looked back at you, a look of complete and utter trust, as you moved inside her.

Your climax is building, but you need one more push. You picture the last time you came inside her, just a few days before the accident. She’d been on her hands and knees on the bed, her ass high in the air, that incredible view of her cunt, slick and swollen for you. You were pounding into her from behind, your hands gripping her hips, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. You remember telling her you were close, asking her if you could, and her breathless, "Yes, please, fill me up." The memory of that hot, explosive release deep inside her, of seeing your cum leak from her as she collapsed onto the bed, panting, is what finally sends you over the edge.

A shudder wracks your body. You come with a muffled grunt, the sticky cum spreading across your stomach. For a moment, there is only relief. But it’s quickly followed by a wave of crushing emptiness. It’s not the same. Wiping yourself clean with a tissue, you pull your pants back up and lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling more frustrated than you did before.

The next morning, you’re quiet. You go through the motions of making breakfast, of bringing her coffee, but the energy between you is off. You’re distracted, your thoughts still sticky with last night’s memories. You’re standing at the sink, staring out the window while washing the dishes, when she speaks from the couch.

"You’re stressed."

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. You turn, drying your hands on a dish towel.

"I’m not stressed. Just tired."

She gives you a look that says she sees right through your bullshit. She adjusts herself on the couch, a slight wince as she moves her back.

"I can feel it," she says, insistent. "It’s like you're a guitar string that's been wound too tight. I know you miss it. Fucking hell, I miss it too. Don’t think I don’t lie in bed at night, feeling you on the couch, and just... ache. We need to do something about this. It's not good for you. For us.”

And she's right. Even when doing household chores, your body is starting to betray you, trying to express what you don't want to say with words. The bathroom is steamy and warm, the mirror already fogged over. You’ve got the routine down to a science now. You help Eunbi hobble in, her hand gripping your bicep while the other manages her crutch. You get her settled on the closed toilet seat first, then run the bath, checking the temperature with your wrist until it’s just right, adding a capful of the lavender Epsom salts the doctor recommended.

Today, she’s just in a simple cotton bra and panties, the easiest things to get off without too much movement. As you help her stand, ready to guide her over the edge of the tub, she hesitates. Her fingers tighten on your arm.

"You're soaked," she says, her eyes drifting down to the dark, damp patches on the front of your t-shirt and jeans from where you’d leaned over the tub. "You get drenched every time you do this. Just get in with me."

You shake your head, a small smile on your face. It's an old argument. "I'm fine, seriously. It's just water. It's easier for me to help you from out here anyway."

You start to move again, but her hand slides from your bicep, down your chest, down your stomach, until her fingers brush against the front of your jeans. She doesn't need to press hard. Your dick, already half-aroused from the simple, intimate act of being so close to her nearly naked body, gives a traitorous twitch. Her fingers close around the thick ridge.

"You're not fine," she murmurs. Her eyes meet yours, and they're filled with a familiar, hungry look you haven't seen in weeks. "You're hard. You're always hard when we do this, aren't you?"

A hot flush of shame creeps up your neck. "Eunbi, stop. I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's not right, getting a boner while I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

"Why isn't it right?" she challenges, her thumb stroking you through the rough denim. "I'm your girlfriend. I love that my body still does this to you, even when it's broken." She looks down at her hand on your crotch. "Let me help you. I want to."

"It's okay," you insist, voice strained. The feeling of her hand, the look in her eyes, it’s all making you ache with a desperate, painful need. "We don't have to."

"Take off your pants," she commands softly. "Help me sit back down on the toilet. Please."

Her insistence breaks through your wall of guilt. The want, the raw need from both of you, is too strong to ignore. You nod slowly. With painstaking care, you help her pivot and lower herself back onto the toilet lid. It's not a graceful movement, and you see a flicker of pain cross her face as her back twinges. Still, she settles in, looking up at you expectantly.

You quickly unbutton your jeans and push them down, along with your boxers. Your cock springs free, thick and slick with precum, throbbing in the humid air. The sight of it seems to please her. A small, wicked smile plays on her lips.

"There you are," she whispers. "Come here."

You step between her legs. The angle is awkward. She has to lean forward from the waist, her hands gripping the edges of the toilet seat for balance. You try to help, placing your hands on her shoulders, but there’s no comfortable way to do this. She takes you in her mouth, and for a glorious second, it's heaven. Her lips are soft, her tongue is wet, and the feeling is so intensely familiar it almost makes your knees buckle.

But then she groans, a low sound of pain, not pleasure. She pulls back, her face tight.

"My back," she gasps, pressing a hand to her lower spine. "Fuck. I can't... I can't bend like that."

"It's okay. It's fine. Don't push yourself, seriously."

"No," she says. She glares at your still-throbbing erection as if it’s personally offended her. "It's not fine. I'm finishing this."

Before you can protest, her hand is wrapped firmly around your shaft. She starts stroking you, her movements sure and practiced, her eyes locked on yours. She uses the skills you know so well, the ones that drive you crazy, her fingers twisting at the base while her thumb circles the head. It's intensely hot, but it’s also clinical. It's a solution to a problem, not a shared act of passion. You watch her face, see the concentration, the determination, and you know she’s feeling the same disconnect. You close your eyes, trying to focus on the pleasure, but it's impossible to ignore the context, the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, the faint smell of lavender salts, the fact that your girlfriend is giving you a handjob while wincing in pain.

You come quickly, your orgasm a tight, almost painful burst of sensation. Your body shudders, and you bite back a groan, spilling your seed onto her hand and the floor. She doesn't flinch, just keeps stroking until the last twitch subsides. Then she slowly, carefully, reaches for some toilet paper and cleans herself off, her movements stiff.

—

A few days later, you’re in the middle of folding laundry in the living room when the doorbell buzzes, loud and jarring in the afternoon quiet. You frown, not expecting anyone. You open the door to find Wonyoung standing on your doorstep, a whirlwind of vibrant energy. She’s wearing a bright yellow sundress and oversized sunglasses, her arms laden with shopping bags that look like they’ve come from every cute boutique and fancy grocer in the city.

"Hey!" she says, her voice bright and cheerful. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing perfectly made-up eyes. "Surprise!"

"Wonyoung, hey," you say, genuinely surprised. "Wow. Come in."

You step back to let her in, taking some of the bags from her. They're heavy.

"How is she?" Wonyoung asks immediately, her smile dimming with concern as she looks around the quiet apartment. "I feel so awful. My phone was barely working in half the places I was, and I just got back into the country yesterday. I came as soon as I could. I've been texting, but it's not the same."

"It's okay, she gets it," you assure her. "She's... she's doing okay. As much as she can be. She's in the bedroom, probably binge-watching something terrible."

Wonyoung nods and heads straight for the bedroom, leaving you to place the bags on the kitchen counter. You hear her call out Eunbi's name, followed by a squeal of pure delight from the bedroom that is the happiest sound you've heard from Eunbi in a month.

You follow them and lean against the doorframe, watching. Eunbi is sitting up straighter than you've seen her in weeks, her face lit up with a joy that’s completely real. Wonyoung is perched on the edge of the bed, already chattering a mile a minute, her hands fluttering as she talks. She looks sad for a moment, her eyes tracing the line of the cast on Eunbi's leg, but she quickly masks it with her bubbly personality.

"Okay, so, since I couldn't be here to play nurse, I brought supplies," Wonyoung announces, reaching for the bags you just brought in. She starts pulling out items with the flair of a game show host. "First, from the bakery she likes, a box of those stupidly expensive macarons. Then, a stack of the trashiest romance books I could find, because you need to rest your brain as well as your body. Also, these sheet masks that are supposed to make you look like a newborn baby, a bottle of this ridiculously fancy hand cream, and... ta-da! The entire season of that dumb show which isn't available on any streaming service in this country, for some reason.”

Eunbi laughs, picking up the box of macarons. "Wony, this is too much."

"Nonsense," Wonyoung declares. "It's the bare minimum for my best friend who decided to try out for the Cirque du Soleil without me."

Eunbi smiles, and it’s a good smile, but as she looks over the pile of gifts, you see it falter. Eunbi’s gaze shifts from the pile of gifts on her bed to you, leaning in the doorway. There's a new, resolute glint in her eyes. She gives you a small, deliberate smile.

"Honey, could you be an absolute angel and make me a coffee? A proper one, from the machine. I think I need the caffeine."

She then turns her attention back to her friend.

"Wony, do you want anything? Tea? Water?"

Wonyoung shakes her head, her eyes still full of concern for Eunbi, not taking her gaze off her for a second. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Sure," you say, happy for a task, happy to do anything that might make her feel even a little bit better. You push yourself off the doorframe. "One life-saving latte, coming right up."

You head to the kitchen, leaving them alone. You busy yourself with the familiar ritual of the espresso machine (grinding the beans, tamping the grounds, steaming the milk). The loud, mechanical noises fill the apartment, covering the low murmur of their voices from the other room.

The moment the door clicks shut, the bright, performative energy in the bedroom evaporates. Wonyoung scoots closer on the bed, her expression serious. She takes Eunbi's hand, her thumb stroking over her knuckles.

"Okay, spill. And don't you dare say you're 'fine' again. What's actually going on? How are things... with you two?"

Eunbi lets out a long, shaky breath, the one she's clearly been holding in. She squeezes Wonyoung's hand.

"He's been amazing. Honestly, Wony, he's been perfect. He does everything. He cooks, he cleans, he sleeps on that awful couch just so I have more room. He's been so fucking patient and sweet and careful... I couldn't ask for a better guy. I love him so much it hurts."

Wonyoung nods, a soft, understanding smile on her face. "I know. He's a good one. I'm so happy he's taking such good care of you." She pauses, her gaze sharpening slightly. "So if he's so perfect, what's wrong? Why did you look like you were about to cry when I showed you those stupid face masks?"

Eunbi’s shoulders slump. She looks down at their joined hands, unable to meet her friend's eyes.

"It's the sex," she whispers. "We haven't. Not properly. For almost a month. And you know me. You know what that's like for us."

Wonyoung's face softens completely. Oh. Of course. That. She knows Eunbi better than almost anyone. She knows that for Eunbi, sex isn't just sex; it's communication, it's stress relief, it's the glue. It's as necessary as breathing. And Wonyoung has seen firsthand just how high Eunbi's libido runs.

"Oh, poor girl," she murmurs sympathetically. "God, I can only imagine. That has to be so hard. For both of you."

"He's been so good about it," Eunbi continues, her voice gaining a desperate edge. "But I see it. He thinks he's hiding it, but he's so... frustrated. He's tense all the time. He gets this look on his face sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking. I just wish there was something I could do for him, to thank him, to make him feel good. He deserves to feel good."

Wonyoung sighs, patting her hand. "It's a shitty situation, there's no way around it. But there really isn't anything you can do right now except focus on getting better. Soon enough, you'll be healed, and you two can go back to fucking like rabbits, just like always."

Eunbi is quiet for a moment. She stares at the wall, a strange, thoughtful expression on her face. Then, her eyes slowly widen. A spark ignites in their depths, an idea so sudden and brilliant it's almost visible. She turns to Wonyoung, her grip tightening. The shift in her energy is so abrupt it makes Wonyoung straighten up, a sense of unease creeping over her.

"What?" Wonyoung asks, worried. "What's that look for? That's your crazy idea face. I know that face."

"You said there's nothing I can do," Eunbi says. "But maybe there's something you can do."

Wonyoung lets out a nervous laugh, pulling her hand away. "Me? What could I possibly do to help? I can bring more macarons?"

Eunbi shakes her head, her gaze unwavering. She recaptures Wonyoung's hand, holding it tight. "I know this is going to sound insane. Completely crazy. But you're the only person in the entire world I trust enough to even ask this."

She takes a deep breath.

"I want you to have sex with him."

The words hang in the air, stunning Wonyoung into absolute silence. Her jaw goes slack. A deep, crimson blush floods her cheeks, so immediate and intense it looks painful. She snatches her hand back as if she’s been burned.

"What? Are you—Eunbi, what the fuck? No! I can't—you can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life," Eunbi presses. "He's amazing in bed, Wony. You won't regret it. He's attentive, he's strong, he knows what he's doing."

Wonyoung stands up from the bed, pacing the small space between the bed and the wall. She's flustered, running a hand through her hair. "That's not the point! That is so, so not the point! He's your boyfriend!"

"And you're my best friend!" Eunbi counters. She softens her tone, trying a different tactic. "Wony, remember... back in the day? Before him. It wouldn't be the first time for us. For you and me."

The reminder hangs in the air, a ghost of drunken nights and shared beds and blurry, exploratory touches. Wonyoung stops pacing, her back to Eunbi.

"That was different," she says quietly. "That was years ago. And you were single. We were just... messing around. This is... this is your life. Your partner."

"Which is why it has to be you!" Eunbi insists, her voice pleading now. "Because I trust you. I would be so, so grateful. I can't stand seeing him like this, and I can't stand feeling so useless. Please, Wony. Do it for me. As a favor."

Wonyoung lets out a long, shaky sigh. She turns around slowly, her face a mess of conflicting emotions. She's horrified, flattered, and undeniably intrigued, all at once.

"Does... does he know about this insane plan?"

A sly, confident smile touches Eunbi's lips for the first time. "I can convince him. He'll do anything for me right now." She pats the spot on the bed next to her. "Come over for dinner. This Friday. We'll open some wine, I'll talk to him. It'll be cool. Relaxed."

Wonyoung stares at her, her mind racing. It’s a terrible idea. A catastrophic, relationship-destroying idea. But she also sees the desperate hope in her best friend's eyes. And a deeper, more selfish part of her, a part she hates to acknowledge, feels a flicker of curiosity.

"I'm going to need a lot of wine," Wonyoung finally mumbles, sinking back down onto the bed in defeat. "Like, a whole fucking case."

Eunbi giggles. She leans over and hugs Wonyoung tightly. "Thank you," she whispers into her ear. Then she pulls back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "And don't even try to pretend that a tiny part of you doesn't like the idea."

Just then, the bedroom door opens, and you walk back in, a steaming mug in your hand. You’re smiling, oblivious to the monumental, life-altering conversation that has just taken place.

"One perfectly crafted latte for the patient," you announce, handing the mug to Eunbi. "So, what were you two whispering so intensely about? Solving world peace?"

Eunbi takes the mug, her expression instantly transforming back into one of casual sweetness. She shoots a quick, warning glance at Wonyoung, who is still looking slightly shell-shocked.

"Nothing much," Eunbi says smoothly. "Just girl stuff. And by the way, Wonyoung is going to come over for dinner on Friday night. Isn't that great?"

You beam at Wonyoung. "Awesome! Yeah, that'll be great. It'll be nice to have you here."

You are completely, blissfully unaware of what you've just agreed to.

—

The aroma of baked cheese, rich tomato sauce, and garlic fills your small apartment. You pull the lasagna from the oven, its top a beautiful, bubbling mosaic of golden-brown mozzarella. You managed not to burn it. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. You place the heavy ceramic dish on the stovetop to cool, feeling a flicker of pride.

You've spent the better part of the afternoon helping Eunbi get ready. It felt good, like a return to a different kind of normalcy. You helped her pick out a dress; a simple, black slip dress that hangs beautifully on her frame and is easy to wear even with her cast. She looks breathtaking. The simple black fabric highlights the creamy skin of her shoulders and the swell of her breasts, and the dark makeup makes her eyes look huge and luminous.

She hobbles into the kitchen on her crutches, a vision in black silk, and a real, predatory smile on her lips. She looks you up and down, and for the first time in a while, her gaze feels less like that of a patient and more like that of a lover assessing her prey.

"Everything looks amazing, baby," she says. "And you know, since you've been such a good boy, working so hard to take care of me... I have a little surprise for you tonight."

You turn from the lasagna, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. "A surprise? What kind of surprise? Did you order me a medal for my world-class nursing skills?"

Her smile widens. "Something like that. Our good friend Wonyoung, being the absolute saint that she is, has graciously agreed to come over tonight to help you... ease some of your tension."

You let out a confused laugh. You look at her, then at the two wine glasses and the extra bottle of red wine sitting on the counter. "Okay, you're going to have to be a little clearer than that. Is she bringing a massage gun? Because my back is killing me from this couch."

Eunbi takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her crutches making a soft thud on the linoleum. She closes the small gap between you, looking directly into your eyes.

"No, baby. No massage gun. Tonight, you're going to fuck Wonyoung's tight, pink pussy."

You actually feel your brain stutter, trying to process the sentence. You almost choke on your own saliva and a wild, nervous laugh bursts out of you. It sounds unhinged even to your own ears.

"What? Eunbi, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm dead serious," she says, her expression not faltering for a second. "I invited her over tonight specifically for this. She knows the deal. She's already agreed. It's my present to you. For being so patient. For being so perfect. You deserve it."

You stare at her, dumbfounded, your mind racing. This can't be real. You reach out and place a hand on her forehead as if checking for a fever. "Babe, are you okay? Is it the painkillers? Are you hallucinating? We are not doing this. This is insane."

You try to pull away, to put some distance between you and this crazy idea, but she grabs your wrist, her grip surprisingly strong.

"I am perfectly fine," she says leaving no room for argument. "And you don't need to be afraid. This was my idea. I asked her. I want you to feel good. And besides," she adds. "I want it too. I want to watch."

She lets go of your wrist and her hand travels down, brazenly cupping you through your jeans. Your cock gives a powerful, involuntary throb at her touch, a complete betrayal by your own body. She smirks, feeling the thick, hard length of you.

"See? Your body isn't arguing," she whispers. "I can't participate, not really. But I can sit in my favorite armchair, and I can touch myself while I watch you take her apart. While I watch you fuck my best friend right in front of me."

You're uncomfortably hard now, the pressure in your pants almost painful.

"Eunbi..." you manage to say. "We can't. What if this makes everything weird? She's your best friend."

"She is," Eunbi agrees, her fingers idly tracing the prominent ridge of your erection. "And she's beautiful, isn't she? So hot. And just as naughty as me, even if she hides it better. You have no idea the things we used to talk about." She leans in closer, her warm breath ghosting across your ear. "She’s not doing this because she feels pressured. She’s doing this because the idea of it gets her wet, too."

You're losing this battle. Every logical argument in your head is being systematically dismantled by the raw, carnal need she's stoking. You look down into her eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, any flicker of uncertainty. You find none. Only a dark, swirling pool of desire and determination.

"Are you absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure about this?" you ask. "If there is any part of you that—"

She cuts you off by surging up and crushing her mouth to yours. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s hungry, demanding, a kiss of ownership. Her tongue plunges into your mouth, and she bites down hard on your lower lip, drawing a faint, metallic taste of blood. The small sting of pain is incredibly grounding, incredibly arousing. She pulls back, leaving you breathless.

"Yes," she says. "I am sure. Now listen to me. This night is for you. Your only job is to feel good. Your only obligation is to cum as much as you can and to make Wonyoung scream so loud the neighbors complain. And don't be gentle. She likes to be treated harshly. She likes to be reminded who's in charge. Pin her down. Pull her hair. Fuck her like you're trying to break her. Do you understand?"

Before you can even form a response, the sharp, clear sound of the doorbell chimes through the apartment.

Eunbi’s lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. She gives your crotch one last, firm squeeze.

"Speak of the devil," she purrs, her eyes locked on yours. "Your sex doll has arrived."

Holy fuck. The way she says it, the casual cruelty and possessiveness in her tone, sends a final, decisive shockwave through your system, obliterating any remaining shred of protest. You are no longer just shocked or confused. You are electrified.

Your heart races faster and faster as you approach the door. You take a deep, steadying breath and pull the front door open.

Wonyoung is standing there, bathed in the warm, yellow light of the porch lamp. She looks incredible, and your brain short-circuits for a second. She’s wearing a simple, elegant navy blue slip dress. The silky fabric drapes over her body, hinting at the curves beneath without revealing anything. Her long, dark hair is down, sleek and shining, and she’s wearing a touch more makeup than usual, her lips a shade of deep, berry red. She’s clutching a bottle of expensive-looking red wine in one hand and her purse in the other, and you can see the tension in her knuckles. Her smile is bright, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hey," she says, a little breathless. "Am I late?"

"No, you're perfectly on time," you manage to say. You step back. "Come on in."

She steps over the threshold. An awkward silence hangs between you for a beat too long before you close the door.

"Eunbi's at the table," you say, gesturing towards the small dining area. "Can I take that for you?" You motion towards the wine.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

You take the bottle, your fingers brushing against hers. Her eyes dart away. You head to the kitchen to grab a corkscrew, your mind a chaotic mess of Eunbi's words and Wonyoung's perfume.

When you get back to the dining table, Eunbi is already holding court, laughing at something Wonyoung said. Wonyoung looks more relaxed in her presence, the nervous energy having subsided slightly. You pour generous glasses of the wine for all three of you. You serve the lasagna, the conversation starting with the usual, safe pleasantries.

"This is actually really good," Wonyoung says after her first bite, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Don't sound so shocked," you joke, though it comes out a little stiff. "My talents extend beyond burning toast."

"He's been watching a lot of YouTube tutorials," Eunbi adds. "He's in his domestic era. It's very sexy."

Wonyoung just hums in agreement, taking a large gulp of her wine. The conversation drifts. You talk about Wonyoung's trip to Thailand, about a new series Eunbi has been binge-watching, about a stupid project at your work. It's a fragile performance of normalcy. You and Wonyoung are carefully skirting around the giant, throbbing elephant in the room, while Eunbi seems to be riding it, a queen on her throne, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. She keeps refilling Wonyoung’s glass, her movements casual, but you know it’s deliberate.

The wine is definitely taking effect. The tightness in your shoulders begins to loosen, and Wonyoung's laughter is less forced, her posture more relaxed. The flush on her cheeks is from more than just the heat of the lasagna. Everything is going smoothly. Too smoothly.

That's when Eunbi makes her first move. She sets her fork down, a thoughtful expression on her face as she studies Wonyoung.

"You know," she starts, "I think you gained a little weight since I saw you last. In a good way. You look fantastic. Your hips look fuller. Right, honey?"

Wonyoung freezes mid-chew, her eyes wide. You feel your own face flush. Your gaze, against your will, drifts over Wonyoung's body, really looking this time. Eunbi is right. The dress clings to a slightly softer, curvier frame than you remember. Her hips have a new, womanly swell, and her breasts seem to press more insistently against the delicate fabric of her dress. She looks healthy, fertile, incredible.

"Uh," you stammer, your mouth suddenly dry. You clear your throat. "Yeah. You look... you look beautiful, Wonyoung. As always."

It's a clumsy, safe answer, but it seems to satisfy Eunbi. Wonyoung gives a tight, embarrassed smile and mumbles a thank you into her wine glass, draining the rest of it. You quickly reach over and refill it for her.

Eunbi lets the silence sit for a moment before she leans forward, her elbows on the table, her expression turning conspiratorial.

"So," she says. "What color lingerie are you wearing under that pretty dress?"

This time, the silence is deafening. Wonyoung chokes on a sip of wine, coughing into her napkin. You just stare at your plate, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. This is so far beyond normal dinner conversation.

"Eunbi!" Wonyoung whispers, her face a shade of deep crimson.

"What? I'm just curious," Eunbi says, all innocence. "We used to tell each other everything. Don't be shy."

Wonyoung looks trapped. She won't look at you. She stares at her plate, at her wine glass, anywhere but at you or Eunbi. She takes another long moment, another deep breath.

"...Black," she finally whispers.

Eunbi smiles, a slow, deeply satisfied smile. "Of course it is." She looks at you. "Black is my favorite color on her. So, tell me. Did you wear it for a special reason? Or was it just a coincidence? Sometimes a girl just feels like wearing her best set, you know? Just in case.”

Wonyoung looks like a student who’s been called on in class without knowing the answer. Her eyes are wide, her mouth opens and closes a few times before any sound comes out.

“I—uh.” She pushes a piece of stray lasagna around her plate with her fork, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “It was just… It was clean. I just grabbed it.”

It’s the lamest excuse you’ve ever heard, and from the look on Eunbi’s face, she knows it too. But she lets it slide, for now. Eunbi leans back in her chair, taking in the spectacle she’s created.

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m sure it’s lovely.” She dismisses the topic with a wave of her hand, but the damage is done. The fragile wall of normalcy has been bulldozed. She turns her gaze to you, and it’s filled with such warmth and adoration it feels almost performative.

“This one here,” she says, reaching out to pat your forearm. “He’s been an absolute saint, hasn’t he, Wony? A full-on, professional-grade nurse.”

Wonyoung nods quickly, seizing the opportunity to talk about something - anything - else.

“Totally. He’s been amazing. You’re so lucky, Unnie.”

“I really am,” Eunbi agrees, her fingers tracing a light pattern on your arm that sends a shiver through you. “He does everything. Cooks, cleans, puts up with me when I’m grumpy from the pain meds. He even carried me to the bath every single day for a month. All that heavy lifting... he must be exhausted.”

Her eyes drift over your shoulders and chest with a pointed, appraising look.

“All that physical exertion,” she continues, her tone turning thoughtful. “It builds up a lot of… tension. Don’t you think? It’s not healthy to just let that sit in your system. It needs an outlet. A proper release.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been channeling it into my world-class lasagna-making skills.”

Eunbi just smiles, completely ignoring you. Her focus is entirely on Wonyoung.

“He’s being modest. I see it. He thinks he’s hiding it, but I can feel it whenever he’s near. He’s like a tightly wound spring. It’s my fault, really. I’m the one who broke myself.” She sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “And his needs have been… neglected. It’s just biology, isn’t it? A healthy man needs a certain amount of physical affection to function properly. It’s like vitamins, or water.”

Her clinical, matter-of-fact delivery is so much more devastating than if she’d been seductive. She’s presenting this entire, insane situation as a logical solution to a health problem.

“And I just hate to see him suffering,” she finishes. “It’s been a month, Wony. A whole month. Can you imagine?”

Wonyoung, who has been staring intently at her plate this whole time, finally looks up. Her face is flushed, her eyes are wide, and she looks at you with a new, complicated expression. She knows exactly what Eunbi is asking. And she knows there's only one right answer.

“No,” Wonyoung says. “No, I can’t.”

“See?” Eunbi says as she looks at you. “I knew she would get it. She’s always been the most understanding person I know. So selfless.”

Wonyoung flushes an even deeper shade of red at the praise, mumbling something into her wine glass that sounds like, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, it’s everything,” Eunbi insists, her happiness infectious. “It’s about taking care of each other. All of us.” She takes a sip of wine. “You know,” Eunbi says to you, though her gaze is fixed on her friend. “You have to be careful with this one. Don’t let the sweet face fool you. She looks like a perfect little doll, doesn’t she? All polite and proper. But she’s secretly a monster,” Eunbi declares with a dramatic flair. “A complete and total freak. She likes things… intense.”

Wonyoung’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with horror. “Eunbi, what are you doing? Stop it!”

“I’m just telling him the truth!” Eunbi laughs. “He needs to be prepared. This one,” she points her fork at a mortified Wonyoung, “likes it rough. She likes to be manhandled a little. Thrown around. Don’t you, Wony?”

“That is not true!” Wonyoung protests, though her denial is weak, undermined by the crimson blush that now covers her entire chest.

“Oh, please,” Eunbi scoffs. “Don’t lie to your future… well, you know. I’m just giving him fair warning. Don’t be too gentle, baby. She’ll act all shocked and shy, but she secretly loves a firm hand. A little hair pulling. Being pinned down. It makes her feel safe.”

“You’re making that up!” Wonyoung insists. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Am I?” Eunbi challenges. She leans forward. “Or am I just reminding you of who you really are? I’m just trying to give him a proper user manual. For example,” she says, turning to you, “I should tell you about the boy she dated for two months our freshman year.”

“Oh my god, do not,” Wonyoung pleads, burying her face in her hands. “Please, Eunbi, I’m begging you.”

Eunbi completely ignores her. “He was this terrible cliché. Rode a motorcycle that was always backfiring, smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap leather, had a truly awful dragon tattoo on his forearm. We all hated him. But Wonyoung? She was obsessed.”

She takes a dramatic sip of wine, letting the suspense build.

“She’d sneak him into the dorms, and she thought she was being so quiet. But our walls were paper-thin. We could hear… things.” Eunbi smirks. “Bumps against the headboard. Little muffled squeals. And she’d come back to our room the next morning looking like a storm-tossed angel, all blissed-out and exhausted. And covered in these little bruises on her hips and inner thighs.”

“I’m clumsy!” Wonyoung cries out from behind her hands, her voice thick with mortification.

“Yes, a very specific kind of clumsy that only happened after she saw him!” Eunbi retorts with a laugh. “She’d always have some excuse. ‘Oh, I fell down the library stairs again.’ Or ‘I walked into a door!’ It was always a door. A very oddly shaped door, apparently, with five distinct knuckles.”

You can’t help it. You look at Wonyoung, who is peeking at you through her fingers, her face the color of a ripe cherry. The image Eunbi is painting is so vivid, so contrary to the demure woman sitting across from you, that it feels like your brain is being rewired. And so you just remain silent, there’s not a minimally normal thing you can say in the middle of all this, but your mind is noisy with all the information your girlfriend is exposing about her best friend.

“The point is,” Eunbi says as she looks at her friend with genuine affection. “You’ve always liked a man who isn’t afraid to take charge. Who can be a little bit of a monster. You just like to pretend you don’t.”

Wonyoung slowly lowers her hands. She stares at her plate, her fight completely gone. She pushes a single olive around with her fork for what feels like an eternity.

Finally, she lets out a tiny, resigned sigh.

“...Maybe,” she whispers. “Sometimes. A little.”

Eunbi claps her hands together softly, a single, triumphant sound. “Aha! The truth comes out! I knew it!”

She beams, looking from Wonyoung’s defeated, blushing face to your stunned one. Her eyes roam over you, appraisingly, like she’s matching a fine wine with the perfect meal.

“Well, in that case,” she says, “I think he is going to serve you very, very well tonight.”

There’s no hiding behind subtext anymore; it’s all out in the open.

“He’s got that same streak in him, you know,” Eunbi continues, as if discussing your merits at a job interview. “He’s mostly a perfect gentleman, a total sweetheart… but when he gets that look in his eye? He can be very firm. He has very strong hands.”

Her gaze drops meaningfully to your hands, which are resting on the table. Wonyoung’s eyes follow hers, and you feel as if your skin is burning under their combined scrutiny.

“He’ll know exactly what to do with a girl like you,” Eunbi concludes with an air of finality.

After that, conversation dies. What else is there to say? The rest of dinner passes in a thick, charged silence, it boils down to tension and wine (lots of wine). When the plates are empty and the bottle is nearly gone, Eunbi claps her hands together softly, as if calling a meeting to order.

"Well," she announces to the room. “The house is a little too quiet for my taste, don't you think? Let's make some noise.”

She turns to you. "Baby, be a doll and help me to the bedroom. My back is starting to get stiff." She then fixes her gaze on a very tipsy-looking Wonyoung. "Wony, you come too."

Wonyoung’s eyes widen in a mild panic. "Now? We're... we're going to do this now?"

"Yes, now," Eunbi says firmly, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Before you finish that entire bottle of wine and pass out. I need you awake for this."

"Sorry," Wonyoung mumbles, looking down at the table. "I'm just... I'm a little nervous."

You stand up, your chair scraping against the floor. The sound is unnaturally loud. You gather the plates, your movements stiff and robotic, and carry them to the kitchen. You place them in the sink, the clatter of ceramic on steel echoing in your head. You're just stalling. You turn back around. Eunbi is watching you, waiting patiently.

You walk over to Eunbi and help her to her feet, her arm looping around your neck for support. She leans her weight against you.

The time has come.

The walk to the bedroom is the longest ten yards of your life. Every sound is amplified: the soft thud of Eunbi’s crutches, the delicate click-clack of Wonyoung's heels on the hardwood floor behind you, the frantic pounding of your own heart. You can feel Wonyoung’s presence behind you, a ghost of perfume and nervous energy.

You guide Eunbi into the master bedroom. It’s your shared space, a sanctuary that suddenly feels like a stage. You lead her to the plush, oversized armchair in the corner, the one she loves to curl up in and read. It’s positioned perfectly, with a clear view of the entire room, especially the bed. You help her lower herself into it, her movements slow and careful. Once she’s settled, she looks up at you.

"Help me with my dress, honey."

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. You kneel in front of her, your fingers finding the tiny, delicate zipper on the side of her black slip dress. You pull it down slowly, the sound deafening in the quiet room. You peel the silk fabric down her body, over her shoulders, her arms, her torso. The dress pools around her waist, revealing her full, heavy breasts, the pale skin of her stomach, and the smooth, shaved skin between her legs. She’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

She sighs, a sound of deep satisfaction, and leans her head back against the chair. She gestures vaguely towards the two of you, a queen giving a royal decree.

"The show can begin."

You rise slowly to your feet and turn to face Wonyoung, who has been standing awkwardly by the door, watching the entire exchange with wide, unblinking eyes. You have to give her one last out. You have to.

"Wonyoung," you say. "Are you absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure about this? You don't have to. We can just... call it a night."

She swallows hard, her gaze flickering from you to Eunbi, then back to you. The wine has given her a courage that feels both real and fragile.

"Yes," she says. "I'm sure. I think we should just... get started. Before this gets any weirder than it already is."

You nod, accepting her answer. You close the distance between you in two long strides. Up close, she smells of wine and flowers. Your eyes do a quick, involuntary inventory. She’s so different from Eunbi. Taller, leaner, her body a collection of long lines and elegant angles. Her breasts are smaller, tighter, fitting the frame of a model. She’s exquisite, but in a completely different way.

"Don't just stand there staring at each other," Eunbi's voice cuts through the tension from the armchair. "You two don't need to be so shy. Put your hand on her waist," she commands you. "Just like you do with me."

You lift your hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second before placing it on Wonyoung's waist. The silk of her dress is cool and smooth beneath your palm. You feel the lean muscle of her side, the sharp curve of her hip bone. She draws in a sharp breath at your touch.

You lean in and kiss her. Her lips are softer than you imagined, plump and coated in a sweet, fruity gloss. It’s a tentative kiss at first, a gentle exploration. Then you feel her respond, her own lips parting slightly. Her hands, which had been hanging limply at her sides, come up to rest on your chest. Her fingers begin to fumble with the buttons of your shirt, her movements unsure at first, then growing more confident. One button, then two, then three, until your shirt is open, exposing your skin to the cool air.

Her hand slides from your chest, down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your jeans. She hooks her thumb in, her fingers pressing against the thick, hard ridge of your erection. Damn, she doesn't waste time.

"He's already hard, isn't he?" Eunbi asks from her throne, a smug, satisfied tone in her voice.

Wonyoung lets out a soft, breathy moan, a sound of confirmation that is pure fuel on the fire. "Yes," she whispers against your lips. "He's very hard."

"Then take off your pants for her," Eunbi directs you.

Breaking the kiss, you quickly toe off your shoes and unbutton your jeans, pushing them and your boxers down your legs in one messy motion. You kick them aside. Wonyoung watches you, her eyes wide, a blush high on her cheeks. She kicks off her own heels, the sound of them hitting the floor punctuating the moment. Her hands go to the zipper on the back of her dress. With one smooth pull, the navy silk falls from her body, pooling at her feet. She stands before you in nothing but a set of exquisite black lace lingerie. A delicate, strappy bra and matching panties cut high on her hips.

"Now that's better," Eunbi purrs. "You two look so hot like this." She pauses, letting the moment last. "Wonyoung, darling. Show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do."

Something shifts in Wonyoung. The last of her nervousness seems to evaporate, replaced by a sultry, alcohol-fueled confidence. She looks from Eunbi to you, a wicked little smirk playing on her lips. She places her hands on your bare chest and pushes you firmly, urging you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you sit down on the mattress.

She kneels between your legs, her eyes locked on your exposed, throbbing cock. She reaches out and pulls down the last of your boxers, freeing you completely. The head of your dick is already beaded with precum, shining under the bedroom lights. Her eyes widen slightly, genuinely impressed.

She looks up at you from under her long lashes, then glances over at Eunbi.

"Jesus," Wonyoung says. "How do you even fit all of this inside her tiny body?”

You look from her upturned, beautiful face to Eunbi, who is watching from the armchair with an expression of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

"Magic, sweetheart," you say. "Pure fucking magic. But I think you're about to find out for yourself."

Eunbi laughs from her chair, a throaty, delighted sound. "That's right, she is. Showtime."

Wonyoung seems to take that as her cue. She leans forward, her long, dark hair curtaining her face, and her pink tongue darts out. She slowly, deliberately, licks the bead of precum from the tip of your cock. Her eyes are locked on yours as she does it. The sensation is electric, a hot, wet swipe that makes your hips buck involuntarily.

"Fuck," you breathe out, your fingers digging into the bedsheets.

She hums, a low, pleased sound, clearly enjoying the taste of you. Then, she lowers her head and takes the head of your cock into her mouth. Her lips are incredibly soft, and she closes them around you with a gentle pressure, sucking lightly. It’s a tentative start, a testing of the waters, but it feels incredible.

"That's a nice start," Eunbi's voice cuts in, calm and directorial. "But you're being too polite. He doesn't like polite. Don't be afraid of it, Wony. Take more of him. He can handle it, I promise."

Wonyoung looks over at Eunbi, a flicker of her earlier nervousness returning. She seems to be seeking confirmation. Eunbi just gives her a slow, encouraging nod. Wonyoung turns back to you, takes a deeper breath, and slides her mouth further down your shaft.

Your breath hitches in your throat. "Oh, fuck... yes. Just like that."

She takes a good few inches, her mouth hot and wet, and the pressure is intense. She starts to move her head, a slow, steady bob that is immediately effective. You lean your head back, your eyes closing as you focus on the feeling.

"See? You're a natural," Eunbi says with approval. "Now, use your hand. He loves it when you use your hand at the same time. Hold him firmly at the base. Yeah, right there. You have to work the whole thing, not just the part in your mouth."

You feel Wonyoung's hand, cool at first, wrap around the base of your shaft. She starts stroking you in time with the movement of her head, her palm sliding up and down your length while her mouth works the top. The combination is devastating. A low groan escapes your lips, and you look over at Eunbi.

She's watching the two of you with a ravenous hunger. Her legs are parted slightly, and you see her hand slip down from her lap, her fingers disappearing inside her pussy. Her eyes are glazed over, her lips slightly parted as she begins to touch herself, her own breathing growing heavier.

"That's it, Wony, you're getting it," Eunbi murmurs, a little strained. "Now try to take him all the way to the back of your throat. Let him hit the back of it. He loves that feeling."

Wonyoung hesitates for a second, then seems to steel herself. She pulls back for a moment, takes another deep breath, and then surges forward, taking you deeper than you thought possible. You feel the distinct pressure as the head of your cock bumps against the soft tissue at the back of her throat. She gags for a fraction of a second, her eyes watering, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she does it again.

"Holy fuck, Wonyoung," you gasp out, your hips thrusting up to meet her mouth. "Yes. God, yes."

You reach down, your hands tangling in her silky hair. You’re not rough, just holding her, guiding her, your fingers flexing with every incredible sensation.

"Look at her, baby," you say, your eyes locked on Eunbi. "Look at what you're making your best friend do for me. She's so fucking good at this."

Eunbi lets out a loud, wet moan as her fingers move faster against her clit. "She's a fast learner, isn't she? I knew she would be." She shifts in her chair, getting a better angle. "Okay, Wony, new trick. Swirl your tongue around the head every time you pull back. Drive him crazy."

Wonyoung obeys instantly, her confidence clearly soaring with every word of praise. As her mouth slides off the head of your cock, her tongue darts out, licking and swirling in a wet, circular motion before she takes you deep again. It's a new, maddening sensation, a sharp, specific pleasure that contrasts with the deep, throbbing pressure of her throat.

"Perfect, Wonyoung. Fucking perfect," Eunbi's voice cuts through your haze. She's breathing heavily from her armchair, and you can hear the faint, wet sounds of her fingers moving against herself. "But you're forgetting a key part of the meal. Get down there and take care of his balls for me. I want you to suck on them, get them nice and drooly. I want to see them shining when you're done."

Wonyoung doesn't even hesitate. She immediately releases your shaft and lowers her head further, her silky hair brushing against your inner thighs. She takes one of your balls into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth, her tongue immediately flicking and swirling against the sensitive skin. A jolt, completely different from the sensations on your shaft, shoots through you, making you arch your back off the bed.

"Oh, holy fuck," you groan, your eyes rolling back in your head.

You’re in absolute heaven. Fuck, you’ve been dying for this, aching for it for weeks. The simple, primal feeling of a warm mouth on you, the complete surrender to pleasure. You’d forgotten how good this specific part felt, the gentle, pulling suction, the thorough, worshipful attention. Wonyoung is methodical, taking one ball fully into her mouth, then the other, laving them with her tongue until they're slick and heavy.

Eunbi lets out a low, satisfied sigh from across the room. She can see the bliss on your face, the way your body is completely undone by this simple act.

"Look at your face," she says with love, even amidst the depravity. "You're completely gone for her, aren't you? Are you enjoying the present I got for you, baby?"

You manage to open your eyes, your gaze finding hers. She looks feral and beautiful, flushed with arousal, her hand still working between her legs. You're overwhelmed with a sudden, powerful wave of love for her, for her mind, for her trust, for this insane, perfect gift.

"Enjoying it?" you choke out, a humorless laugh escaping you. "Eunbi... fuck, I'm... this is the best thing ever. Thank you. Seriously, thank you for planning this, for trusting me." You take a ragged breath. "I love you so fucking much."

A genuine, radiant smile breaks across her face. "I love you too, baby. So, so much. And I am also loving watching this. Seeing you feel this good, seeing her make you feel this good... it's making me so wet."

As if on cue, Wonyoung finishes her work on your balls and moves back up, resuming her incredible assault on your cock. She alternates now, her mouth sliding up and down your shaft, then dipping down to give your balls another lick, her hand never ceasing its steady, rhythmic stroking. She’s not just following directions anymore. She's improvising. She's enjoying this, you can feel it in her touch, in the eager, hungry way her mouth works on you.

The pleasure is building, coiling in your gut, tighter and hotter this time. Your hips are starting to move on their own, a slow, hypnotic bucking motion to meet her mouth. Eunbi notices immediately.

"Okay," she says, voice suddenly rougher, more demanding. "Look at him, Wony. He's so close. His hips are starting to buck. It's time to take it to the next level." She leans forward in her chair. "I want you to let him fuck your pretty face. I want him to use your mouth like it's a tight little pussy for him to pound into. He needs to release some of that energy."

Wonyoung seems to feel the shift in energy. She slows her movements, pulling her mouth off your cock with a wet, sucking sound. She looks up at you, her eyes wide and glazed with pure lust, her lips red and swollen, a string of saliva connecting them to the head of your dick. The perfect picture of a debauched angel. The nervousness is a distant memory, replaced entirely by need.

"Please?" she whispers. "Can you? I want you to. Fuck my throat. Please, use my mouth."

Eunbi lets out a sharp, delighted gasp from her chair. "Listen to her," she says with a dark, triumphant pride. "Already begging for it. Such a filthy little slut for you. Don't keep her waiting.”

The last shred of restraint you were clinging to evaporates. This is happening. You are going to give her exactly what she’s begging for.

"Is that what you want?" you ask. You look from Wonyoung's flushed, expectant face to Eunbi, who is practically vibrating with excitement in her armchair. You then look back down at Wonyoung. "You want me to use your pretty mouth?"

She can't speak, but she gives a frantic, desperate nod.

That’s all the confirmation you need. You reach down and tangle your fingers in her long, silky hair, gathering a thick handful at the back of her head. You tug sharply, not to hurt her, but to establish control, to tilt her head back and expose the long, elegant line of her throat. She whimpers at the gesture, a sound that is equal parts pain and pleasure.

"Good girl," you murmur. "Open wide for me, then."

She obeys instantly, her jaw going slack, her mouth opening as wide as she can manage. You position the thick, slick head of your cock at her lips and, without any further warning, you thrust forward.

The first push is hard and deep. You bypass her tongue entirely, plunging straight to the back of her throat. Her body convulses. A choked, gagging sound escapes her, and her eyes water instantly, tears beginning to spill down her temples. Her hands fly up to grip your thighs, her nails digging into your skin, but she doesn’t push you away. If anything, she tries to accommodate you, her throat muscles working, trying to take you deeper.

"Yes! Fuck, yes, just like that!" Eunbi cries out from her chair. "Pound her throat, baby! Don't be gentle. Make her take all of you. Forget she needs to breathe. She’s your toy now, your personal little fleshlight. Use her!"

You pull back until just the tip of your cock is between her lips and then slam forward again, a brutal, punishing rhythm. You set a relentless pace, fucking her mouth with the same mindless intensity you’d fuck her pussy. Each thrust pushes her head back, her body jolting with the force of it. Saliva and tears mix, dribbling from the corners of her mouth and down her chin. It’s a messy, chaotic, beautiful sight.

"Look at her, Eunbi," you pant, your eyes locked on your girlfriend, even as your hips continue their savage rhythm. "She takes it so well. This pretty little face was made to be fucked."

"She loves it," Eunbi agrees as she continues to pleasure herself. "Look at the tears in her eyes. Those aren't from pain, are they, Wony? You love feeling him choke you with his cock, don't you?"

Wonyoung can only let out a series of muffled, guttural moans and gags in response, which seems to be answer enough.

You look back at your handiwork, at the beautiful girl you have completely undone. Her perfect makeup is a disaster, her mascara starting to run, her lipstick long gone, her face flushed a deep, rosy red. And through it all, her eyes, though streaming with tears, are fixed on you with a look of pure, blissful adoration. This is what she wanted. This degradation is her pleasure.

You pull out of her mouth completely, the sound a wet, obscene noise. She collapses forward, gasping and coughing, desperately sucking in air. A thick string of your spit and her saliva connects your cock to her chin. She doesn’t wipe it away. After a few deep, ragged breaths, she looks up at you, her expression dazed but hungry.

"More," she rasps. "Please... don't stop."

You look over at Eunbi.

"Don't you worry, baby," you say. "I'm not stopping until I've completely ruined her pretty face for you. She won't be able to think straight for a week when I'm done with her."

Without another word, you grab her hair again, more forcefully this time, and slam your cock back into her waiting, wanting mouth. You fuck her face with a renewed, animalistic vigor, your hips a blur, your only focus the incredible friction of her throat and the filthy, encouraging moans coming from the woman you love as she watches the entire, sordid spectacle.

You follow through on your promise immediately. Your grip on Wonyoung's hair tightens, and you begin to fuck her face with a relentless, punishing rhythm. There's no tenderness left, no gentle exploration. This is pure, selfish, animalistic pleasure. You are using her, and all three of you are reveling in it. Your hips slam forward again and again, your cock plunging deep into her throat, forcing guttural, gagging sounds from her with every brutal thrust.

"That's it," you pant, your eyes locked on Eunbi, who is watching with a feverish intensity, her own body writhing in her armchair. "I'm breaking her for you, baby. Look how she takes it. She was made for this."

"Yes!" Eunbi cries out. "Punish her throat! Don't give her a second to breathe. I want to see you own her completely! Fuck my best friend's face until she forgets her own name!"

Your thrusts become even more frantic. You pull out for a second, just to watch Wonyoung gasp for a breath, her chest heaving, before you ram back in, cutting her off. Her tears are flowing freely now, mingling with the saliva and spit that coats her chin and your shaft. She’s a beautiful, debauched wreck, and the sight of her, so utterly undone for you, for your pleasure, is pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You use your free hand to grip her jaw, holding her steady as you fuck her mouth from a different angle, your hips rolling as you grind against her tongue, her teeth.

"You love being our little fuck toy, don't you?" you spit out. "You love being used like this. Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while I destroy your throat."

Her eyelids flutter open. Through the tears, her gaze is hazy, dazed, but she obeys. She looks at you with an expression of such complete and total submission it nearly makes you come right then and there. This is what she wanted. To be pushed past her limits, to be treated like an object, to be utterly degraded for the pleasure of her best friend and her boyfriend.

"I'm so close, baby," Eunbi gasps from her chair, her own orgasm clearly imminent. "Keep going! Don't you dare stop! Fill her up for me! I want to see it!"

Her desperation is the final push you need. The feeling that has been coiling in your balls for weeks, a hot, aching pressure, finally breaks free. It’s an unstoppable tidal wave of sensation, a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.

"Get ready," you roar. You grip her head with both hands now, holding her completely immobile. "I'm going to fill your fucking throat. You are going to swallow every last drop for me. Every. Fucking. Drop. You swallow it for her."

Your body convulses as the first powerful wave of your orgasm hits. You shout out, a loud, wordless cry of pure ecstasy, as you pump your hot, thick seed deep down her throat. It’s been so long, the release is overwhelming. It feels endless. Wave after wave of hot cum floods her, your hips continuing their frantic, shuddering thrusts until you are completely and utterly drained.

You hold her there for a long moment, even after the last pulse has subsided, ensuring she has no choice but to take it all. Finally, you pull out, your now-soft cock sliding from her lips with a wet slickness.

Wonyoung collapses forward on the floor, her body trembling violently. She’s a mess of spit, tears, and cum. She chokes, her throat working convulsively as she struggles to swallow the massive load you shot into her. Her whole body shudders with the effort, a series of violent coughs and gags, but she does it. She swallows. She lies there on the carpet, panting, her chest heaving, completely and utterly spent. Her face is ruined, just as you promised.

Across the room, Eunbi lets out a long, shuddering moan as her own orgasm finally crashes over her, her body going rigid in the armchair before she slumps back, completely satisfied. A beat of silence passes, filled only with the sound of Wonyoung’s ragged, wet-sounding breaths.

Then, Eunbi’s voice, hoarse and dripping with satisfaction, cuts through the quiet.

"Wony," she says, a soft, possessive command. "Come here, baby girl."

With a visible, monumental effort, Wonyoung pushes herself up. She’s shaky, her limbs weak. She crawls the few feet across the floor to Eunbi's armchair, collapsing at her feet like a loyal, exhausted pet.

Eunbi reaches down, her hand gentle as she tangles it in Wonyoung's messy hair. She tilts her head up, a tender smile on her face.

"You were so good," Eunbi whispers. "So good for us."

And then, she asks Wonyoung to come closer, until their faces are inches apart. Wony obeys without hesitation and she rewards her with a kiss, deep and full of tenderness, like in the old days, her tongue plunging into Wonyoung's mouth. It’s not a kiss of romance, but of ownership, of shared experience. She is tasting you, tasting your release, directly from the throat that just held you. She’s tasting the fruits of her perfectly executed, beautifully filthy plan, and as she pulls away, a string of saliva connecting their lips, you see the same look of triumphant satisfaction on both of their faces. Wonyoung slowly pushes herself into a sitting position on the floor, her body still trembling, her eyes dazed and unfocused. She looks at you, a slow, genuine smile spreading across her swollen lips.

"That was..." she starts. "That was amazing. You were amazing."

A wave of tenderness, a stark contrast to the brutal lust of a moment ago, washes over you. You grab a handful of tissues from the nightstand and kneel in front of her. "Here," you murmur. You begin to carefully wipe her face, cleaning away the streaks of mascara, the saliva, the faint stickiness of your release. You are as delicate now as you were violent before.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your eyes searching hers for any sign of genuine distress.

She leans into your touch, a soft, contented sigh escaping her. "Yeah," she rasps, swallowing hard. "I'm okay. Just... a little bit of a sore throat."

"I'll make you some tea with honey later," you promise, tucking a stray strand of her damp hair behind her ear.

"See?" Eunbi's voice, smug and satisfied, drifts from the armchair. "That's what I love about him. He'll completely destroy you, treat you like you're nothing... and then he'll patch you up and take care of you with so much love it makes your heart ache."

Wonyoung looks from you to Eunbi, a knowing look in her eyes. "It's a dangerous combination."

"The most dangerous," Eunbi agrees, her gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. "It's why I'm so completely in love with him. He's a monster and a saint all wrapped up in one perfect package."

"You chose well," Wonyoung says softly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you finish cleaning her face.

"I know," Eunbi says. "And speaking of how well he destroys things... Baby, look closer. You think the show is over? Look at what you did to her."

Your gaze follows hers, dropping from Wonyoung’s face down her body. Your breath catches. The delicate black lace of her panties is soaked through, a dark, glistening patch at the juncture of her thighs. Her inner thighs are slick with her own juices, a clear, pearlescent wetness that testifies to just how turned on she was by the entire ordeal. She got off on the degradation, on being used, on watching you please Eunbi.

Without a word, you slide your arms under her, one behind her back and the other under her knees, and lift her from the floor. She's surprisingly light, and she melts against your chest, her arms looping loosely around your neck, completely pliant and trusting. You carry her the few steps to the bed and gently lay her on her back, her head sinking into the pillows.

You hover over her, your body caging hers. You start a slow trail of kisses from the hollow of her throat, down her chest, your tongue tracing a line over her sternum. You pause to take one of her small breasts into your mouth through the lace of her bra, sucking gently, and she arches her back with a soft moan. You continue your descent, your lips brushing across her stomach, lower and lower, until your face is right above the dark, wet patch of her panties.

You don't bother trying to slide them off. You hook your fingers into the elastic waistband on either side of her hips and, with one sharp, satisfying rip, you tear the delicate lace apart.

"You won't be needing these anymore," you murmur against her skin.

Wonyoung sighs, a shaky, contented sound. You toss the ruined scraps of fabric aside and part her legs. With your thumbs, you gently push her slick folds open, revealing her to the lamplight, to Eunbi's watchful eyes, to your own ravenous gaze. She is perfect. An absolute work of art. Her outer lips are plump and pouty, a healthy, flushed pink from her arousal. They give way to the delicate, almost translucent inner petals, slick and glistening with her eagerness. It's a tight, neat little package, looking almost untouched, virginal, despite the copious amount of drool she's produced for you. Every part of it seems soft, delicate, and impossibly inviting.

You position the head of your cock, still slick from its time in her throat, right at her entrance. You don't push in. You just rub yourself against her, a slow, torturous friction, smearing your spit and her juices together. Her hips begin to buck against you, a silent plea for more.

As you continue to tease her, she reaches up and unhooks her bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Her breasts are small, but they're flawless; perky, high on her chest, with pale pink, rosebud nipples that are pebble-hard with arousal.

"So?" Eunbi's voice is low. "What do you think, baby? Now that you can see it properly. Isn't her pussy just perfect?"

You don't take your eyes off the sight between Wonyoung's legs as you answer. "Perfect doesn't even cover it, Eunbi. It's pristine. So fucking pink and tight... look how wet she is for us. It's like a brand new toy you've just unwrapped. I want to live in here."

"God, it really is," Eunbi breathes. "I wish I had a dick right now. I'd fuck her so good for you. I'd stretch that tight little thing out myself." She pauses. "Since I can't, you'll have to do it for me. Fuck her for me, baby. Claim that pretty little pussy for us. Make it ours.”

You look down at Wonyoung, at the perfect, glistening pink of her pussy, already slick and dewy from your teasing. Her hips are twitching, a desperate, involuntary rhythm against your hand. She wants you, needs you, but you’re not going to make it that easy for her. Not when Eunbi is watching.

"So wet for me," you murmur. You slide the thick head of your cock through her drenched folds, a slow, torturous caress. You press into her, just enough for her to feel your blunt tip against her entrance, a promise of what's to come, before pulling back again. "Look at this mess you've made, Wonyoung. All for a cock you haven't even felt yet."

You dip your fingers into her slickness and bring them up for her to see, the clear, stringy fluid catching the light.

"Look at that, Eunbi," you say, turning your head to your girlfriend without breaking the rhythm of your teasing. "She's practically dripping. So ready for it. Don't you think she looks ready?"

Eunbi leans forward in her armchair. "Oh, she looks ready," she agrees. "But looks can be deceiving. I don't know, baby. She seems a little too quiet. A little too composed. I think a girl who really, truly wants it would be making a bit more noise. Don't you?"

Wonyoung whimpers. Her eyes are pleading. "Please," she breathes out, her hips pushing up against your hand more insistently. "Please... fuck me now. I can't wait anymore."

You glance at Eunbi, a silent question passing between you. Eunbi just shakes her head, a slow, deliberate motion.

"I don't know," you say, your thumb circling her clit, making her gasp and buck. "'Please' is a good start. But I think our pretty little toy can do better than that. A lot better. She needs to convince me." You look back at Eunbi. "She needs to convince us."

"Exactly," Eunbi says. "I want to hear you beg for it, Wony. I want you to tell him exactly what you need. Use your words. Tell him how much you need his big cock stretching you out. Tell him you can't stand another second of his teasing. Beg him like the little whore you are right now."

The command, so crude and direct, seems to shatter the last of Wonyoung’s inhibitions. Tears of pure, unadulterated need well up in her eyes. This is the final hoop, the last test.

"Please," she sobs. "Please, I need it. I need your cock. I need to feel you all the way inside me, filling me up. I can't take it anymore. I'll do anything you want. I'll be your good little whore, I'll be anything, just please... please fuck me!"

That's what you were waiting for. That’s what Eunbi was waiting for. You lean down and kiss her, a hard, possessive kiss that tastes of her desperation. "That's my good girl," you murmur against her lips.

You position yourself between her legs, spreading them wider with your knees. You grab her hips, tilting them up to meet you. You press the head of your cock against her slick, waiting entrance one last time, and then, with a slow, deliberate pressure, you begin to push your way inside.

The moment your thick, crowned head breaches her entrance, a sharp, piercing gasp escapes her lips. Her eyes fly wide open. "Oh, god," she whispers.

She is impossibly, unbelievably tight. It’s like sinking into hot, wet velvet that clings and grips you from all sides. You have to force yourself to go slow, to fight every instinct telling you to slam into her. You push forward, inch by agonizing inch, feeling her inner walls stretch and accommodate you. Her flesh resists, clutching at you, trying to deny you entry even as her wetness beckons you deeper. You can feel every ridge, every fold of her interior, a sensation so intense it makes you groan.

You look down at your bodies. Her legs wrapped high around your waist. Her face is a perfect portrait of overwhelmed pleasure, her lips parted, her eyes glazed over.

"Look at that, Wonyoung," Eunbi moans from the armchair. "Oh my god, look at her stomach."

Your eyes follow her command. Just above her navel, on the flat, smooth plane of her lower belly, a distinct, thick bulge is visible under her skin. It moves with your slightest shift. It's you. All of you, buried so deep inside her that you're visibly reshaping her from the inside out. It is a beautiful, brutal mark of your possession.

"You can see all of him inside you," Eunbi continues. "That's his whole cock, stretching you out, filling that perfect pussy. Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

Wonyoung can only let out a soft, keening moan in response. Finally, with one last, deep push, you sink yourself all the way in, your pubic bone pressing against hers. You’re seated to the hilt, and for a long moment, you just stay there, perfectly still, letting her body adjust, letting all three of you bask in the overwhelming sensation of being completely, totally joined.

Then, you begin to move. Your first thrusts are impossibly slow, long, deep strokes that pull you almost all the way out before sinking back in, stretching her to her absolute limit. The sounds are obscene; the wet, slick slap of your bodies, the soft, sweet moans that fall from Wonyoung’s lips with every push.

"Deeper, baby," Eunbi urges from her chair. "I want you to hit her cervix. I want you to rearrange her guts. Make her feel you in her soul."

You obey, tilting your hips to change the angle, pushing even deeper. Wonyoung cries out, a higher-pitched sound this time, a mixture of pain and pleasure that is pure music. Her fingernails dig into your back, and her hips rise off the bed to meet you, trying to take you even further. You settle into a steady, powerful rhythm, your bodies moving in perfect sync, a testament to the beautifully depraved plan conceived by the woman watching you both with hungry, loving eyes.

The rhythm is slow and deep, a hypnotic cadence of pleasure. Each long, deliberate thrust fills Wonyoung completely, stretching her tight, wet walls, and with every slow withdrawal, her body clings to you, a silent plea for you not to leave. Her moans are soft, breathy whispers of your name, little sighs of bliss that are almost lost to the wet, slapping sound of your bodies meeting. You’re holding her hips, guiding her, your thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above her ass. You look down at her, at the way her small, perky breasts jiggle with each movement, the way her lips are parted, her eyes hazed over with pure sensation. It’s perfect. It’s serene.

And that’s exactly the problem.

"She takes you so well, baby," Eunbi says from her armchair, a contemplative hum. You can hear her shifting, the slick sound of her fingers moving faster between her legs. "Look at her face. So peaceful. So blissed out." She pauses. "Maybe... she's a little too peaceful. I think our pretty little doll needs another reminder of who's in charge here. A reminder that this pleasure is a gift, and it can be taken away at any second."

You don't break your rhythm, but you look over at your girlfriend. "You think so?" you ask. "What did you have in mind, baby? What does our queen command?"

"I want to see your hand around her throat," Eunbi says. "I want to watch you fuck her while you're choking her. I want you to make her struggle for it. I want her to have to earn every single one of these pretty thrusts you're giving her."

Your gaze snaps back down to Wonyoung. Her eyes are wide now, a flicker of something new in them, not fear, but a sharp, electric anticipation. She heard every word. This isn't just a command for you; it's a new rule of the game for her. You slowly, deliberately, move your left hand from her hip. You watch her watch your hand as it travels up her stomach, over her chest, until it settles at the base of her throat. Her skin is hot and slightly damp with sweat. For a moment, you just rest it there, your thumb stroking the frantic pulse you can feel beating against your palm.

"You heard the queen," you whisper, your eyes locked with hers. And then, you squeeze.

Your hand fits perfectly around her delicate neck. It’s not a violent, crushing grip, but a firm, possessive pressure that immediately restricts her airflow. The effect is instantaneous. The soft, sweet moan she was about to release dies in her throat, replaced by a choked, strangled gasp. Her eyes, which were hazy with pleasure, are now crystal clear, focused entirely on you, wide with a thrilling combination of shock and submission. Her body tenses beneath you, her inner walls clenching around your cock in a powerful, involuntary spasm.

"Fuck," you groan, the sudden tightness almost pushing you over the edge.

"Yes! That's it!" Eunbi cries out. "Squeeze harder! Look at her eyes, baby, look at how she’s looking at you! She loves it! She loves being your helpless little doll! Fuck her now! Fuck her harder for me!"

As if her words are a trigger, you change your rhythm completely. The slow, deep, loving thrusts are gone. In their place is a frantic, punishing pace. Your hips slam into her with a brutal, jarring force, your only goal to drive yourself as deep as you possibly can, again and again.

Wonyoung is thrashing beneath you now, her hips bucking erratically. Her whimpers are now choked squeaks and muffled gags as she struggles for air. But she isn't fighting you. Her hands aren't pushing you away; instead, they're gripping the sheets, her knuckles white. Her legs are wrapped even tighter around your waist, pulling you closer, deeper. She is embracing it. She is loving the degradation, the powerlessness, the sheer overwhelming force of you taking complete control.

You maintain eye contact the entire time, staring deep into her soul as you fuck her and choke her simultaneously. You are the source of her pleasure and the arbiter of her survival.

"That's right," you pant. "Take it. Take my cock while you can't even breathe. You wanted to be my whore, didn't you? This is what it feels like. You belong to us now. You breathe when I say you can breathe."

From the corner of your eye, you see Eunbi. She's on the edge of her seat, her body slick with sweat, her hand a blur between her legs. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. She’s watching every detail, her own orgasm building in time with the violent rhythm you’ve created.

You keep up the frantic pace for what feels like an eternity, pushing Wonyoung, pushing yourself, pushing the entire scene to its absolute breaking point. Her face is flushed a deep red, her eyes streaming with tears that have nothing to do with sadness. Just as you feel a tremor run through her body, the precursor to an orgasm she can't even properly voice, you release your grip on her throat.

The sound of her first ragged, desperate gasp for air is the loudest thing in the room. She sucks in oxygen greedily, her chest heaving, coughing slightly. At the same time, you slow your thrusts, returning to the long, deep, stretching rhythm from before. The sudden shift from violent punishment to deep pleasure makes her cry out, a real, full-throated moan of pure, unadulterated bliss.

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear, your body still moving deep inside hers.

"Good girl," you whisper. "See how easy it is to obey?”

She looks up at you, her eyes wild and unfocused, her body still trembling from the pleasure and the oxygen deprivation. The brief respite has only made her needier, more desperate for the punishment you just gave her.

"More," she whimpers, broken thing. She pushes her hips up against you, a frantic, uncoordinated movement. "Please... don't stop. Don't be gentle. Do it again. Choke me again while you fuck me. Please."

Eunbi lets out a low, wicked laugh from her armchair. "Did you hear that, baby?" she says, breathless from her frantic masturbation. "She's begging for it. She wants you to be her monster. She doesn't want the saint right now, she wants the punishment." Eunbi leans forward, her eyes glittering. "So do it. Give the girl what she wants. Ruin her for me. Break her completely. Don't stop until she's a quivering, sobbing mess of cum and tears."

Her words are a command, a permission slip, a prophecy. You look down at Wonyoung’s pleading face, and a cruel, dominant smile curls your lips. You lean down and whisper in her ear:

"You want to be ruined?" you murmur. "Then let's ruin you."

Your hand snakes back to her throat, your grip more confident, more possessive this time. You squeeze, not just cutting off her air, but claiming her. Simultaneously, you reignite your assault, your hips slamming into her with a renewed, savage fury. The bed slams against the wall with every punishing thrust, creating a brutal, rhythmic backbeat to the scene. She's going crazy beneath you, her body a live wire of overstimulated nerves. There is no thought, no gentleness, only the primal, driving need to push her past every limit she has ever had.

"That's it, you little fuck toy," you grunt, your words timed with each impact. "Take my cock. It's all you're good for."

With every degrading word, with every second her breath is stolen, you feel her pussy clench around you, impossibly tight, gripping you like a fist. It's the most exquisite sensation, a direct, physical response to her own humiliation. She is getting wetter, hotter, slicker with every insult. The clear, creamy evidence of her arousal slicks your shaft, making your violent thrusts even more punishingly smooth.

"Look at her, Eunbi!" you shout. "The meaner I am, the tighter she gets! The more I treat her like a whore, the wetter she gets for me!"

"I see it!" Eunbi screams back, her own pleasure reaching a fever pitch. "She's so fucking broken for you! Look at your cock moving her stomach! It’s so beautiful! Fuck her harder! Make her cum for us!"

You look down. The bulge on Wonyoung's stomach is moving violently. Her whole body is trembling on the verge of release. Her back is arched so high only her shoulders and heels are touching the bed. Her hands are flailing, gripping your arms, the sheets, anything to anchor herself in the storm.

"You're so close, aren't you, you little slut?" you growl, your mouth next to her ear. You tighten your grip on her throat, pushing your cock in as deep as it will go and holding it there. "You want to cum? You want to feel good? Then you look at me. Look at me and cum for your owners. Now."

That's all it takes. Her body, already pushed to its absolute limit, finally shatters. A violent, full-body convulsion seizes her. Her eyes roll back into her head, showing only the whites, and a choked, strangled sound rips from her constricted throat. And then it happens. A hot, gushing fountain of clear liquid erupts from between her legs, spraying across your stomach, soaking the sheets beneath her, the sheer volume of it shocking. Her pussy clenches around you in a series of powerful, milking spasms that threaten to undo you completely.

The second her orgasm begins, you release her throat. The sudden rush of air allows her to finally scream, a long, piercing shriek of pure, unadulterated lust that echoes in the room. But you don't let her rest. As her body still pulses and spasms around your cock, you slide your free hand down between your bodies, your thumb finding her clit immediately. It's swollen and pebble-hard, exquisitely sensitive. You begin to rub it in firm, circular motions, still fucking her with a deep, steady rhythm.

"No, no, we're not done yet," you whisper.

The effect is instantaneous. Another gush of squirt sprays from her, not as powerful as the first, but still significant. She screams again, a different sound this time, a plea.

"Please, oh god, stop, I can't..."

"You can," you command, continuing your relentless assault on her clit. "More. Give me more."

You make her squirt again, and then again, smaller and smaller bursts, until she is completely and utterly drained, a sobbing, trembling mess of bliss beneath you. Her body is limp, her energy completely spent. She is ruined, just as Eunbi wanted.

You slow your thrusts to a gentle, loving pace, sheathing yourself inside her warm, wet depths. You slide your hand from her clit to her cheek, your grip still firm, and tilt her face to yours. Her eyes flutter open. They are dazed, unfocused, her lashes clumped together with tears, her lips swollen and parted. She is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

"Look at me," you demand softly. "Kiss me. Now."

She melts into the kiss, her lips soft and pliant against yours. It's a kiss of total surrender, of complete worship. She presses her exhausted body against you, trying to get closer still. She can't take any more pleasure, any more degradation, any more emotion. Her mind is broken, her body is spent. The carefully constructed walls of her identity have been obliterated, and in their place, there is only one, single, undeniable truth. It falls from her lips in a broken, breathless whisper against your mouth, a final, ultimate confession.

"...daddy.”

The word is a fragile, explosive thing. It settles over the room, changing the already-charged atmosphere into something else entirely, something heavier and more significant. Wonyoung’s eyes are wide, as if she’s shocked the word even escaped her own lips. A sharp, delighted laugh cuts through the quiet from the armchair. Eunbi leans forward, her expression radiant with satisfaction.

"Did you hear that, baby?" She is practically beaming. "Did you hear what our good little girl just called you?"

You don't take your eyes off Wonyoung’s flushed, beautiful face. "I heard."

The confirmation seems to snap Wonyoung out of her trance. A wave of panicked embarrassment washes over her. She looks frantically toward her friend. "Oh my god, Eunbi, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to— I just— it slipped out. Calling your boyfriend... I shouldn't have."

"Shhh." Eunbi waves a dismissive, elegant hand. "Don't you dare apologize. It's more than okay. In fact, I think I loved hearing it more than anything else tonight. He can be your daddy for tonight. I'll allow it. I'll even insist on it."

Wonyoung lets out a shaky laugh, a sound of pure relief. She sinks back against the pillows, her exhausted body going boneless. She sighs, a long, contented exhalation that seems to carry all her remaining tension with it.

"I have never," she begins, "ever been fucked that rough in my entire life." Her gaze becomes distant, remembering. "I feel like my brain was scrubbed clean. I'm in heaven." She turns her head to look at Eunbi again, her expression full of genuine affection. "Am i... Am I doing it right? Are you guys enjoying it?"

"Yes." Eunbi’s answer is simple, firm, and leaves no room for doubt. “You're being perfect, sweetie."

"I will never, ever forget this night," Wonyoung vows.

"No, you won't." A new, contemplative look crosses Eunbi’s face. An idea is forming, you can see it in the way her eyes narrow slightly. "But just to be sure... just to give you a little souvenir to remember us by..."

She trails off, letting the suspense build.

"I think daddy needs to mark you," Eunbi declares. "In a way that ensures you'll never, ever forget who you belonged to tonight."

Wonyoung’s eyes light up with a fresh wave of excitement and submission. She looks from Eunbi to you, her new title ready on her lips.

"Yes," she whispers, her plea directed at you now. "Daddy. How... how are you going to mark me?"

You know exactly what to do.

"On your hands and knees. Now."

Wonyoung obeys without a single flicker of hesitation. She scrambles to turn over, her movements clumsy with exhaustion but fueled by eagerness. She settles on the bed, her back to you, presenting you with the most incredible view. You take a moment to admire it before you bring your hand down with a loud, sharp smack against the high, round curve of her right ass cheek. The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. A perfect, red handprint immediately blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a sound of pure, startled pleasure.

"Stay just like that," you order. "Don't you fucking move."

You slide off the bed and walk over to where your discarded pants lie in a heap on the floor. You unthread your belt, a thick, black leather one, from the loops.

When you turn back to her, she is exactly as you left her, a perfect picture of obedience. Her ass is high in the air, a perfect offering. It’s a masterpiece. Not large, but so perfectly shaped and perky it defies gravity. The cheeks are high, round, and tight, forming a flawless heart shape that tapers down to her thighs. The skin is smooth and pale, marred only by the bright red handprint you just left. And nestled right between those perfect cheeks is the main event: her pussy, swollen and pink from her orgasm, glistening with her squirt, an open, inviting target.

You kneel on the bed behind her, the cool leather of the belt dangling from your hand. You press the head of your cock against her slick entrance, feeling her jolt as your flesh meets hers. Her whole body tenses in anticipation.

Then, you raise the belt. You bring it down not with full force, but with a sharp, stinging crack right next to your handprint. Another red line appears on her perfect skin. She cries out again, her hips bucking instinctively.

You lean forward, your mouth close to her ear, your cock still teasing her entrance.

"Now move," you command. "Ride my cock. You do the work."

A shudder runs through her body. A low, guttural moan escapes her lips. And she obeys. She starts to move, slowly at first, pushing her ass back against your stationary cock, impaling herself on you one inch at a time.

Her first backward thrust is slow, hesitant, a question. The hot, wet walls of her pussy envelop you, the tightness from this new angle making you hiss through your teeth. She moves with a careful, deliberate slowness, impaling herself on your stationary cock until you are buried to the hilt once more. She holds herself there for a moment, her whole body trembling with the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely.

You give her a moment to adjust, and then you lift the belt.

The sound of the leather slapping against her skin is sharp and loud, a stark punctuation mark in the quiet room. It lands squarely on her left ass cheek, leaving an immediate, angry red line. She screams, a high, piercing sound that is nothing like her earlier moans. This is a scream of shock, of pain, of pure, unadulterated sensation. And as she screams, she instinctively thrusts her ass back hard against you, a desperate, convulsive movement.

"Yes," you growl. "That's it. That's the rhythm. You want my cock? You earn it with your screams.

Another sharp smack, this time on the other cheek. She screams again, and again her hips slam back against you, grinding down on your shaft. She’s getting it now. The connection between the sting of the belt and the deep, stretching pleasure of your cock is being hardwired into her brain.

"Oh god... yes!" she cries out. "Please, daddy, more! Hit me again!"

"You want more?" you ask. You bring the belt down again, harder this time, right over the first mark. "You want me to punish this perfect ass?"

"Yes! I love it! Please!" she sobs. She’s moving faster now, her initial hesitation completely gone. She’s a natural, a perfect little slut who was born to be broken like this.

"Listen to her, baby!" Eunbi’s delighted shout comes from the armchair. You glance over. She’s a vision of pure lust, her body slick with sweat, her hand moving between her legs so fast it’s a blur. "Listen to her screaming for you! It's making me so fucking wet! Leave bruises on her! I want her to see them for days and remember who she belongs to!"

Wonyoung seems to hear her, and it only spurs her on. "Please, daddy, leave your marks on me! I want to see them! I want everyone to know I'm your whore!"

Her plea is so utterly debased, so beautifully pathetic, that you grant her wish without hesitation. You abandon any pretense of gentleness. You begin to spank her in a steady, relentless rhythm, the belt falling again and again, crisscrossing over her skin. You don't aim for the same spot twice, instead creating a brutal, beautiful lattice of red welts across the pale canvas of her ass. And with every single impact, she screams and fucks herself down onto your cock harder, faster, her moans becoming a constant, breathless litany of "yes," "please," and "daddy."

The view is intoxicating, a fucking masterpiece of depravity that you are both the artist and the subject of. Her back is arched, her spine curved in a perfect line of submission. Her long, dark hair is a sweaty mess, clinging to her neck and face. Her knuckles are white where she grips the sheets. And her ass... her perfect, round, tight ass is now a mess of angry red lines and the fading handprint from before, flexing and clenching around the base of your cock as she rides you with frantic abandon. You can see her pussy from this angle, her swollen pink lips stretched wide around your shaft, glistening with her juices. It’s a sight you will never forget.

"You're doing so good, Wony," Eunbi pants from across the room, her own orgasm clearly approaching. "You sound so fucking good when he hurts you. Keep screaming for him. Scream for us."

"I'm screaming," Wonyoung sobs, her body trembling violently. "I'm close, daddy, please, I'm so close."

You can feel it. Her inner walls are fluttering and clenching around you in a series of powerful spasms. She's on the verge of another orgasm, this one born from a perfect, chaotic storm of pain, pleasure, and humiliation. You bring the belt down one last time, a hard, definitive smack that makes her whole body jolt.

"Then cum for me," you roar. "Cum from the pain. Cum from my cock. Cum like the good little slut you are."

It’s all she needs. Her body locks up, her back bowing at an impossible angle. A long, guttural scream rips from her throat as her second orgasm crashes over her, this one even more violent than the first. Her pussy clenches around you in a series of deep, milking convulsions, and you feel another gush of her sweet, hot cream flood her, coating your cock, dripping down onto the already-soaked sheets. She collapses forward onto the bed, her body a trembling, shuddering mess, her frantic riding slowing to a weak, exhausted grind. But you don't stop. You grab her hips, pulling her back up, and begin to fuck her yourself, your own rhythm hard, deep, and steady, taking control now that she has nothing left to give.

Wonyoung’s orgasm doesn’t bring her a moment's peace. There is no gentle afterglow, no tender comedown. The second her body begins to relax from its violent, shuddering climax, you renew your assault. You don't give her a single second to recover. You begin fucking her again with a hard, driving rhythm, your hips slamming into her bruised, trembling flesh without mercy. Her body is exquisitely, painfully sensitive, every nerve ending raw and screaming.

The pleasure quickly curdles into over-stimulation. Each deep thrust, which moments ago was a source of bliss, is now an almost unbearable jolt to her system. She starts to whine, her head thrashing from side to side on the bed.

"No, please, daddy, stop," she begs. "Just for a second. Please, it's too much. I'm too sensitive right now... please..."

You ignore her. Her pleas are just noise, the desperate squeaks of a toy being used exactly as it was designed to be used. From the armchair, Eunbi lets out a low groan, her own pleasure reignited by the sight of her friend's suffering. "Don't you dare stop, baby," she pants. "Don't you listen to her. She'll take it. She loves it. Make her take it for me."

You grab Wonyoung's hips, your grip firm, almost bruising, holding her in place as you pound into her relentlessly. Her pussy is still clenching around you in weak, residual spasms, the walls slick with her squirt. With your rhythm steady and punishing, you slowly, deliberately, move your right thumb from her hip. You trace the deep crease of her ass, your thumb gliding easily through the fluids that have trickled down from her pussy.

You find what you're looking for. Her asshole is a tight, perfect, pink little knot. It's beautiful. The force of her recent orgasm has it twitching and blinking non-stop, a tiny, puckered star in the center of her bruised cheeks. It's so incredibly tempting.

You press the pad of your thumb against the tight, wrinkled entrance. She flinches, a sharp intake of breath as she feels the unexpected pressure.

"Shhh," you murmur into her ear. "Just take it."

Slowly, you push your thumb inside.

A choked, high-pitched moan rips from Wonyoung's throat as she feels the invasive pressure, the new sensation of being filled in a way she wasn't prepared for. Her whole body goes rigid, her pussy clenching around your cock so tightly it almost makes you lose control. For a moment, she is completely overwhelmed, her mind overloaded with sensation: the deep, punishing thrusts of your cock in her pussy, the stinging welts on her ass, and now the blunt, stretching pressure of your thumb deep inside her tight little asshole. But then, as you start to gently move your thumb in and out in time with your thrusts, her tension melts away, giving way to a new fresh wave of helpless, abject pleasure. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

She twists her head, looking over her shoulder with wild, pleading eyes, not at you, but at her friend, the architect of her beautiful destruction.

"Eunbi!" she screams. "Oh my god, I'm going to cum again! I can't believe it! He’s not stopping! He's destroying my pussy! Your boyfriend is ruining me!"

Eunbi throws her head back and laughs. The sight of her friend, so completely broken and undone, is the hottest thing in the world. Her own frantic fingering doesn't slow for a second.

"Is he?" Eunbi calls back. "Good. You’re our toy, Wonyoung. You exist to be ruined for our pleasure. You're a whore on your hands and knees, taking cock. Now turn your fucking head around and beg your daddy properly. Beg him to make you cum again. Beg him to break you."

"Please, Daddy," she sobs, her hips bucking frantically against you. "She's right. Please ruin me. I need to cum again. I need you to make me. Please break my pussy, fill both my holes, just please make me cum!"

Her desperate, filthy plea is your cue. As she begs, you release her hips and reach forward, grabbing a thick handful of her long, silky hair. You yank her head back, exposing her throat, forcing her to look up towards the ceiling. The new angle changes everything, driving your cock deeper, hitting a spot that makes her scream in a way she hasn't yet.

"That's my good little whore," you growl, fucking her with a new, savage intensity, using your grip on her hair to control every movement. "Begging so prettily for it."

She’s right there, on the very edge of the cliff. Her body is starting to seize up, the tell-tale tremors of an imminent, massive orgasm.

At the same time, a sharp, strangled gasp comes from the armchair.

"Fuck! I'm coming!" Eunbi shouts, a raw, desperate cry. "Baby, right now! Don't stop!"

Wonyoung hears her, and it seems to push her even further. "Me too! Oh god, daddy, I'm coming too! Together!"

The thought of it, of both your girls climaxing at the exact same moment, for you, because of you, is the ultimate power trip. You focus all your energy on that single goal.

"Yes," you roar. "Together! Both of you! Cum for your daddy! Now!"

It happens all at once.

A piercing, world-shattering scream rips from Wonyoung’s throat as her orgasm finally hits. Her body goes completely rigid, then convulses violently around you. Her inner walls clench and milk your cock in a series of impossibly tight spasms, and you feel another hot gush of her squirt flood from her, soaking you both. At the very peak of her release, you thrust into her as deep as you can possibly go, burying yourself to the hilt, holding her there as she rides out the tidal wave.

Simultaneously, Eunbi’s body goes ramrod straight in her armchair. She screams your name as her own climax crashes down. In her bliss, she instinctively arches her back, a powerful, convulsive movement to heighten the pleasure. The sudden, sharp motion sends a stab of pain shooting up her injured spine. But the pain doesn't curdle the pleasure; it ignites it. The pain and pleasure slam together, amplifying each other into a singular, supernova of sensation. Her scream is not one of simple joy, but of a pleasure so intense it borders on agony. When the last wave finally subsides, she collapses back into the chair, completely boneless, her body slick with sweat. You stop moving, your cock still buried deep inside Wonyoung’s twitching, sensitive pussy as she whimpers softly on the bed, utterly spent.

Eunbi lets out a long, shaky moan. She shifts slightly in the chair, a small wince crossing her face as she feels the dull, residual ache in her lower back: a faint echo, a small price to pay for the tidal wave that just hit her.

"God..." she pants. "I missed cumming that hard." She looks at you, a dazed, grateful smile on her face. "That was... so fucking intense. Fuck, my back is killing me right now, but it was worth it.”

You slowly, reluctantly, pull out of her. The sound is obscenely wet, a soft noise that echoes in the sudden quiet. She whimpers at the loss, her body slumping fully onto the mattress, a beautiful, ruined doll.

Your first concern is for your girlfriend. You turn your head, your eyes finding her in the armchair. She’s still breathing heavily, a hand pressed to her lower back.

"Eunbi? Are you okay?"

She takes a few deep, shuddering breaths before answering, her words a little shaky but firm. "Yes," she gasps, a weak but genuine smile touching her lips. "God, yes. My back is just... reminding me it exists. But I'm fine." She gestures with her head toward the bed, her gaze softening as she looks at her friend. "You should worry about her, not me. Go on."

You turn your full attention to Wonyoung. She is utterly wrecked in the most exquisite way possible. Her hair is a tangled, sweaty halo around her head. Her skin is flushed and covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. The red marks from your hand and the belt stand out in stark, beautiful contrast against her pale ass cheeks. She looks like she’s been through a war and come out the other side in a state of pure bliss.

You crawl onto the bed beside her, leaning close so your lips are next to her ear. "Hey," you whisper gently. "How are you doing? You with me?"

She turns her head slowly, her movements languid. A weak, impossibly cute smile graces her features. Her eyes are hazy and unfocused, but they find yours. "I'm fine," she breathes. "More than fine. And I really want to make you cum now. I want to feel you cum inside me." Her gaze is earnest, pleading. "You can use me however you want. Do anything. Fuck me until you explode inside me and fill my whole pussy with your cum. It's okay," she adds, a practical little detail in the midst of the chaos. "I'm on the pill."

You look from her open, offering face to Eunbi, who has been watching the tender exchange with a knowing smile. The full, twisted reality of the moment hits you. Your girlfriend, the woman you love, is sitting in an armchair, recovering from a pain-laced orgasm, while her best friend begs you to fill her with your seed. It's so fundamentally wrong, so far outside the bounds of a normal relationship, but it's the hottest, most intensely arousing thing you've ever experienced.

You don't have to ask for permission. Eunbi sees the question in your eyes and answers it before you can speak.

"Wonyoung is offering you a gift, baby," she says. "A beautiful, filthy, generous gift. This moment is all yours. You've taken such good care of us tonight. Now it's our turn to take care of you." She leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. "Do what you need to do. And when you're ready, you fill her up. Fill that perfect pussy with your cum. I want to see it."

Wonyoung beams at her friend's words, a radiant, happy smile.

A new wave of purpose surges through you. You grab Wonyoung by the waist, pulling her from her languid state into a sitting position. "Up you get," you command softly.

You slide off the bed and pull her with you. She's shaky on her feet, but you don't let her stand for long. You scoop her up into your arms with an ease that surprises even you. She gasps, her arms instinctively wrapping around your neck, her legs around your waist. She is light, pliant, and fits against you perfectly.

With her held securely against you, you turn and stride across the room, stopping directly in front of Eunbi's armchair. You are presenting your offering to your queen. You want her to see everything, up close and personal.

Wonyoung adjusts herself, her pussy, still dripping and swollen, now hovering right in front of your rigid cock. You guide yourself to her wet entrance, the head of your dick nudging against her slick folds. She moans in anticipation, pushing her hips forward.

With a powerful upward thrust of your hips, you sink into her.

She cries out as you fill her completely, her body held aloft only by your strength. You begin to fuck her right there, in the air, standing a mere foot from your girlfriend's face. You start with slow, powerful thrusts, your hips driving upward, seating your cock as deep inside her as it can possibly go. Each movement is a deliberate, calculated act of possession, and the view is all for Eunbi.

Your girlfriend leans forward in her armchair, her eyes wide and dark with lust, her lips parted. She has a front-row seat, a privileged, exclusive view of the show she orchestrated. She can see everything.

"Oh my god," she breathes, cutting through the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting. "Yes, right there. I can see it all perfectly from here. I can see the base of your cock disappearing into her, baby. It's... perfect." She looks at Wonyoung, whose head is thrown back in ecstasy. "Look at that, Wony. Look at how he fills you up for me. Isn't it beautiful?"

Wonyoung lets out a long, shuddering moan, her body trembling in your arms. She turns her head, her lips brushing against your ear. "Yes, daddy," she pants. "Fuck me for her. Let her watch you use my body. I love it when she watches. Please, go harder."

Her words, her complete and total submission to the dynamic, shatter the last of your control. You begin to fuck her with abandon, your hips slamming into her with a raw, animalistic fury. You’re using her like the fuckdoll she begged to be, a warm, wet hole for your pleasure.

"That's it!" Wonyoung screams, a full-throated cry of ecstasy that rings through the room. "Yes, like that! Don't be gentle! Use me! Use me up!"

"I am," you grunt. "I'm going to fuck you so hard right in front of her, you'll forget whose cock this is. You'll forget everything but this."

The view from Eunbi’s chair must be utterly obscene. She can see the way Wonyoung’s entire body jolts and shakes with every powerful impact. She can see the muscles in your back and shoulders straining as you hold her aloft, your bodies slick with a shared sweat. She sees Wonyoung's face, contorted in a mask of pure, overwhelming pleasure, her mouth open in a silent scream as she takes you again and again. It’s a raw, unfiltered display of ownership, and it’s all for her.

"Yes, baby, yes!" Eunbi cries out. "She's our doll! Our perfect little fuckdoll! Look at how she takes it! She loves it! Fuck her harder! Make her scream my name while you do it!"

You lean in, your lips brushing against Wonyoung's ear again, your thrusts never faltering. "You heard her," you command. "Scream her name for me. Let her know who this is for."

"Eunbi!" Wonyoung shrieks. "Oh god, Eunbi, he feels so good!"

The sound of her name on her friend's lips, screamed out in the throes of passion, seems to amplify Eunbi's pleasure tenfold. Her hips begin to buck in her armchair, her moans becoming louder, more desperate. She's close again, driven there by the sheer, unadulterated filth of the scene unfolding before her.

"Keep going, baby," Eunbi urges from her throne. "Don't you slow down. Not for a second."

You don't. You can't. You’re reaching your absolute limit. Every cell in your body is screaming for release. Wonyoung’s pussy is a slice of heaven, a hot, tight sheath that grips and milks you with every powerful thrust. It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt, and you could fuck her like this for an eternity. The thought of stopping is impossible, but the thought of continuing is pushing you right over the edge.

"Are you getting close?" Eunbi’s question is sharp, cutting through your haze. "Tell me you're close."

"Yes," you pant. "Fuck, I'm so close."

She somehow finds another reserve of energy, her hips beginning to grind against you with a new fervor. "Daddy," she sobs against your neck, the name a brand of ownership. "Oh god, daddy..."

You’re almost there. The point of no return is rushing toward you, a freight train of pure sensation. The world narrows to the feeling of her tight, wet heat, the sound of her whimpers, and the sight of your girlfriend watching it all.

That's when they start begging.

"That's it, baby, you're right there!" Eunbi cries out. "Don't you dare hold back! Give it to her! Give us your cum! We've been such good little sluts for you, we deserve it! Drown her in it!"

"Please, Daddy, please cum inside me!" Wonyoung pleads, her hot breath ghosting across your skin. "Fill me up! I want to feel you explode inside my pussy! I need to be your good girl and take all of your cum! Please!"

"Beg him, Wony!" Eunbi commands. "Beg him for it!"

"Please, daddy! For her! For me! Cum for us!"

Their pleas, their unified desire to be used and filled and to witness it, is the final trigger. A guttural roar tears from your chest. Your grip on Wonyoung’s hips becomes iron, almost bruising. You pull her impossibly tighter against you, your bodies flush, and you fuck her with a final, brutal surge of force. Your thrusts are no longer about rhythm; they are about obliteration. You are trying to drive yourself straight through her, to connect your body to Eunbi's through the vessel of her best friend.

And then, you explode.

Even after coming before, this second release is a torrent. It’s a massive, powerful eruption that has been building for weeks. A huge, hot load of your seed shoots from the head of your cock, pumping deep, deep inside her. You feel the powerful contractions of your own orgasm, the unstoppable flood of release, and you continue to thrust, burying every last drop as deep as it will go.

The sensation of your hot cum flooding her womb is what sends Wonyoung over the edge one last time. A final, piercing scream is torn from her lips as she cums again, her orgasm a direct, violent response to yours. Her whole body convulses in your arms, her inner walls clenching around your still-pulsing cock in a series of exquisite, milking spasms.

In the armchair, Eunbi delights in the shared climax. She screams along with Wonyoung, her hips bucking, her body mimicking the pleasure she’s witnessing. Her own orgasm is a phantom, a sympathetic reaction so powerful it's as if you had actually come inside her, her moans a testament to the absolute success of her depraved, beautiful plan.

For a long moment after, the only sound is the harsh, ragged panting of all three of you. You remain buried deep inside Wonyoung, your forehead pressed against hers, her weight a heavy, satisfying burden in your arms. Finally, with a groan of utter exhaustion, you slowly, carefully, pull your now-softening cock out of her.

Her pussy makes a wet, sucking sound as you withdraw, a sound of obscene finality. And then, a thick, creamy white stream of your cum begins to leak from her swollen, pink lips, the evidence of the massive load you just deposited inside her. You carry her back to the bed and gently lay her down. She is completely boneless, a dazed, blissful smile on her ruined face.

"I'm so full," she whispers, her eyes fluttering shut. "Thank you, daddy."

You look over at Eunbi. She looks sated, triumphant, and utterly exhausted. "That," she says, "was the single hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. You were both so good for me.”

You look from Wonyoung’s blissed-out, ruined face on the bed to Eunbi’s triumphant, sated expression in the armchair. Panting, you find the breath to speak.

"Don't get too comfortable," you manage to say. "I have one more surprise for you."

Eunbi’s eyebrows shoot up. A fresh spark of interest ignites in her exhausted eyes. "A surprise?" she asks. "What could you possibly have left after... all of that?"

You look directly at her, your grin widening. "I saved a load just for you."

Her jaw drops slightly. A slow, delighted blush creeps up her neck. "No way," she whispers. "You're still...?"

"He is," Wonyoung confirms from the bed. She pushes herself up with a groan, her movements slow and lazy. As she stands, another thick, creamy white trickle of your cum escapes her pussy and runs down her inner thigh. She doesn't seem to notice, or care. She stumbles over to you, leaning against your side for support, and gestures toward your groin. "I don't understand how it's possible. He's still hard. Even after coming twice like that. It's amazing."

You wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "It's easy when I have the two most beautiful women in the world dedicated to my pleasure." You press a kiss to Eunbi's forehead, then look down at her magnificent breasts. "But this last one... this one is reserved exclusively for the queen." You look at Wonyoung. "I need your help, though. I need you to give me a nice, slow handjob. I want to cum all over your best friend's tits."

Eunbi’s face lights up with pure, unadulterated joy. It's her favorite. "Oh my god, please," she begs, her hands coming up to cup her own breasts in offering. "Please, baby, cover them for me."

Wonyoung smiles, happy to be of service once more. She kneels dutifully in front of you and Eunbi, taking your still-hard cock in her hand. It's slick and sticky with a mixture of her fluids and your own, and her grip is warm and confident. She starts to stroke you, her movements much slower and more deliberate than before.

"That's it," you groan, your head tipping back as she works you with an expert touch. Her speed gradually increases.

"He's getting close again," Eunbi observes, her eyes wide. "Look at his face. Come on, baby. Cum for me. Give it all to me."

The sound of your girlfriend begging for your cum, after everything that has already happened tonight, is so incredibly potent. It’s the final push you need.

"I love you so fucking much," you pant, your eyes locked on hers.

"Please, daddy," Wonyoung whispers from below, her hand focusing its efforts on the sensitive head of your cock, rubbing and twisting in. "Give it to her. Cum for your girls."

"I'm—fuck!—I'm coming!"

And then you do. With a final, guttural roar, you erupt. Another hot, thick load shoots from your cock, splattering all over Eunbi’s waiting chest. You unload everything you have left onto her, painting her beautiful, full breasts with your release. She moans as the hot liquid hits her skin, a sound of pure, decadent bliss. Wonyoung doesn't stop, continuing to stroke your shaft with a gentle, steady rhythm until the last twitch has subsided and your cock finally goes soft in her hand.

For a moment, all is quiet again, save for your ragged breaths. Eunbi looks down at the mess on her chest with a look of utter contentment. She dips a finger into the puddle of cum and slowly, sensually, spreads it all over her tits, coating them in a thick, pearly white sheen.

“Oh, wow,” Wonyoung breathes. “He painted you so perfectly. It’s a shame to just… wipe it away.” She looks up, her eyes meeting Eunbi’s. “Let me clean that up for you, baby. Please?”

Eunbi shifts in the armchair, adjusting herself to give Wonyoung better access, a queen preparing to receive tribute.

“I was hoping you’d offer,” Eunbi purrs. “Don’t let it get cold. Come here.”

Wony crawls forward, looking up at the canvas of your seed on her best friend’s skin with the focus of a master artist.

“So much…” Wonyoung murmurs, reaching out a hesitant finger to trace the edge of a thick white puddle on Eunbi’s right breast. She brings the finger to her lips, tasting you. Her eyes flutter shut for a second. “Mmm. You taste so good on her. Salty and perfect.”

“Then stop tasting with your finger and start using your mouth,” Eunbi commands softly, her hands coming up to tangle in Wonyoung’s hair. “Be a good girl and clean your mess.”

Wonyoung obeys instantly. She leans forward and latches onto one of Eunbi’s large, pink nipples, her mouth hot and eager. She doesn’t just suck; she worships. Her tongue darts out, swirling around the hard nub, licking away every drop of your seed with a meticulous, practiced care. She laves the entire areola, her mouth creating a gentle suction that makes Eunbi’s head fall back against the armchair with a sharp hiss of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck… Wony…” Eunbi gasps, her knuckles white where she grips the arms of the chair. “Your mouth feels… holy shit.”

“God, I missed these big tits,” Wonyoung murmurs against her skin. She works her way across the swell of the breast, her tongue lapping up every last trace of your cum until the skin is clean, pink, and glistening with her own saliva. She pulls back for a moment to admire her work, her lips wet and shiny.

“See?” Wonyoung says, looking up proudly. “All clean. It was too pretty to waste.”

Eunbi’s chest is heaving, her breathing heavy and strained. “Don’t you dare stop now,” she pants, her gaze flicking down to her other breast, still coated in your cooling cum. “The other one is feeling very left out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wonyoung promises.

She leans in again, this time starting at the base of the breast, slowly licking a hot, wet path upwards through the sticky mess. She takes her time, cleaning every inch with a devotion that is breathtaking to watch. You can only stand there, completely mesmerized by the scene.

“Look at her, baby,” you say. “Look how she takes care of you for me.”

“I’m watching,” Eunbi breathes. “Fuck, I think I’m getting wet again. It feels so good. Wony, your tongue… it’s magic.”

When Wonyoung finally reaches the second nipple, she takes the entire thing into her mouth, sucking hard, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. She works it with her tongue and lips until Eunbi is writhing in her chair, soft, wet moans falling from her lips. She cleans and cleans, meticulously, worshipfully, until not a single drop of your seed remains, leaving only two perfectly clean, saliva-slicked breasts, flushed and pink from the attention.

Wonyoung pulls back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to Eunbi’s nipple for a split second before it snaps. She looks up, her expression one of pure, triumphant adoration.

Eunbi lets out a long, shuddering sigh of pure bliss, her body going limp in the armchair.

“Good girl,” she whispers, her fingers gently stroking Wonyoung’s hair. “You’re such a good, good girl for us.”

A soft, needy whimper escapes Wonyoung’s lips as Eunbi praises her. She looks up, her face a perfect portrait of adoration, her eyes shining with an almost religious fervor. Her lips are wet, glistening, and her cheeks are flushed a deep, rosy pink.

“Did I do a good job?” she asks, her query a fragile, breathless thing. So beautiful. “Does it make you happy, mommy?”

The new name hangs in the air, it shifts the dynamic yet again, slotting a final, perfect piece into the puzzle of the night. Eunbi just smiles. She loves it. Of course she loves it. Her grip in Wonyoung’s hair tightens, not painfully, but with a firm, definitive ownership.

“Yes,” Eunbi breathes. “It makes mommy very, very happy. You’re such a good girl.” She tilts Wonyoung’s head back slightly. “Did you like it? Tasting him on me?”

Wonyoung nods frantically, her whole body seeming to vibrate with eagerness. “So much. He’s delicious.”

“Good,” Eunbi murmurs, her gaze dropping to Wonyoung’s swollen, glistening lips. “Then I want to taste him, too. Right now.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She guides Wonyoung’s face forward, pulling her into a kiss. It’s not a gentle, tender thing. It’s a kiss of pure decadent claiming. The moment their lips touch, Eunbi’s mouth opens, her tongue plunging inside with a demanding urgency.

Wonyoung gasps into the kiss, her body going limp as she surrenders completely. She meets Eunbi’s demand with her own brand of desperate, worshipful passion. It’s a wet, messy, glorious kiss. You can hear the slick, slobbery sounds as their tongues meet and tangle, a frantic dance in the cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth. Eunbi is exploring, tasting every surface, her mission clear: she wants to taste you, to experience the flavor of her own pleasure, recycled through the mouth of her devoted best friend.

She groans, a deep, guttural sound of pure bliss, as she finds what she’s looking for. The distinct, salty tang of your release is still coating Wonyoung’s tongue, and Eunbi savors it, laving her tongue against Wonyoung’s in long, slow, greedy strokes. The kiss deepens, becoming even more carnal, a exchange of spit and arousal. Wonyoung’s hands come up to grip the arms of the chair, her knuckles white, as she’s kissed with a devouring, all-consuming force that seems to steal the very breath from her lungs.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Eunbi pulls back. She moves slowly, dragging the kiss out until the last possible second. A thick, shining string of saliva connects their lips for a moment before it snaps, and you watch, utterly transfixed, as Eunbi licks it from her own lips.

“Mmm,” she sighs, looking down at the completely undone girl at her feet. “He’s even better on you.”

Finally, you move. You crouch in front of Eunbi's chair, taking her hands in yours. You look her in the eye, your heart full. "Baby, I don't even know what to say… Thank you for this," you say. "For the most amazing night of my life. You were right. You're always right. It was perfect." You lean in and kiss her deeply. "I love you."

Wonyoung comes to kneel beside you, taking Eunbi's other hand. "I love you too, mommy," she says. "And thank you... for trusting me with this. With him. It... it means a lot to me. More than you know."

Eunbi looks between the two of you, her eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears. She lets out a shaky, nervous laugh. "Okay, okay, stop it, you two," she says, trying to sound stern but failing. "You're going to make me get all emotional and cry, and that will definitely ruin the mood."

You all laugh together.

"I think," you say, standing up and stretching your tired muscles, "that a bath is in order. A very long, very hot bath."

"I agree," Eunbi says, a tired but happy smile on her face. She looks at Wonyoung. "You should sleep here tonight. If you want to. I think you can survive a night on the couch." She then glances at you, a wicked, suggestive glint returning to her eyes. "It definitely has room for both of you. You know... just in case you get horny again in the middle of the night and need a wet little pussy next to you." She looks back at Wonyoung. "It happens often," she adds, her tone deadpan.

"Are you sure?" Wonyoung asks, a hint of shyness returning. "I don't want to... impose or anything."

"Impose?" Eunbi scoffs, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Wony, after tonight, you're not just another guest. You're the piece that connects us. Besides, I want you here in the morning. We can have breakfast and some really hot morning sex. Of course, unless his back doesn't get fucked up because of the couch.”

"My back will be fine," you interject with a mock-serious tone. "But I'm not sure that couch is big enough for me, my ego after tonight, and a 'wet little pussy'."

Wonyoung giggles, leaning her head on your shoulder. "I'm sure we can find a way to make it all fit."

"See? It's settled," Eunbi declares, then she sinks deeper into her chair, a look of utter contentment on her face. "Now, about that bath... I think daddy should probably wash both of his good girls.”

—

The past two months established a rhythm that was as strange as it was intoxicating. A new kind of normal settled over your apartment, one filled with secret smiles, lingering touches, and nights that were anything but conventional. The routine became second nature. Wonyoung would come over, sometimes under the guise of a movie night, sometimes with no pretense at all. And you would fuck her. You fucked her on the couch while Eunbi directed from her armchair. You fucked her on the floor, on the kitchen counter, against the wall. And every single time, Eunbi was there, a willing, eager audience of one, her hand always slipping between her legs. She loved it. She loved watching you be the monster, and she loved watching her best friend embrace her inner slut. And gradually, amidst this beautifully depraved new life, she healed. The deep ache in her back faded, her movements became less stiff, and her reliance on the crutches lessened until they were finally leaned against a wall, forgotten.

Today marks the final step. The freedom. You walk out of the orthopedic clinic and into the bright, warm afternoon sun, Eunbi’s hand tucked securely in yours. Her leg, pale and a little thin from its time in captivity, is finally free of the heavy plaster cast. She practically skips beside you, a giddy, infectious energy radiating from her.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out, a wide grin spreading across her face as she reads the message. She shows you the screen. It’s a text from Wonyoung.

Wony <3: Heard the jailbreak was a success! I’m bringing victory pizza for dinner tonight to celebrate. Be there around 7. Don’t have too much fun without me ;) xxx

You can’t help but smile. The thought of seeing Wonyoung, of all three of you being together without the specter of injury hanging over you, feels incredibly good.

—

The moment you step through the front door of your apartment, Eunbi lets out a whoop of pure joy. Before you can even react, she launches herself at you, jumping into your arms. You stumble back a step, laughing as you catch her, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist. It’s the most unguarded, athletic movement she’s made in months.

"Whoa there, killer." You tighten your grip on her, easily holding her weight. "Just because you're one hundred percent recovered doesn't mean you need to start trying to break the other leg. I'm running out of couches to sleep on."

She just pouts, burying her face in the crook of your neck. You carry her over to the sofa and drop down, her still comfortably settled in your lap. "It feels good to have you complete again," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Whole."

"Mmm, it feels good to be whole." She leans back. "You know what this means, don't you? No more restrictions. We can finally go back to having lots, and lots, and lots of sex. The real kind."

"I am very aware," you confirm, your hand sliding down to squeeze her ass. "And I am very much looking forward to it." You pause. "Wonyoung was… she was a really good friend through all of this. A lifesaver." A thought strikes you, and you voice it. "I was a little worried things might get awkward between all of us, you know? Once you were better. But it’s not. It feels… normal."

"Of course it's not awkward." Eunbi says it with such confidence, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We’re all well-adjusted, mature adults who can handle complex emotional and sexual situations."

You let out a soft, almost wistful sigh, thinking of the intense, secret nights of the past two months. "Yeah. I guess so. Still… it was good while it lasted."

Eunbi’s smile turns into a slow, mischievous smirk. She traces a finger over your bottom lip. "Who said anything about it ending?"

You frown, confused. "What do you mean? You're healed. We don't need… her help… anymore."

"Need?" She lets out a soft laugh. "Oh, baby. This stopped being about 'need' a long, long time ago. This is about 'want' now." She leans in closer. "It turns out, I enjoyed watching you fuck Wonyoung even more than I imagined I would. Seeing you so primal, so dominant… and seeing her so happy to take it, so broken for you… it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. It’s a part of us now. Our relationship is working better than it ever has."

She punctuates her sentence with a soft kiss. "So why on earth would we stop doing something that makes all three of us this happy?" She pulls back, her eyes glittering with her grand finale. "But, of course, there’s going to be one major change to the arrangement."

You stare at her, your mind trying to catch up. "What change?"

"Now," she purrs, "I'm going to join in, too."

You look at her, searching her face for any hint that this is a joke, a fantasy. You find none. Only pure, delicious, serious intent. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious."

The three of you. Together. No restrictions. Wow.

"Wow," you breathe out. "Wonyoung is going to be very, very happy when she finds out about this." You think back to the last time, just a few days ago. The energy was different, tinged with a quiet sadness. It felt like a farewell. "That last time… it was kind of melancholy. I think she really thought it was over for good."

"Then she’s in for a very nice surprise at dinner tonight, isn't she?" Eunbi says, her smile triumphant. She shifts in your lap, grinding down against you. "But dinner is hours away." Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling your face down to hers. "And we have two months of lost time to make up for. Right now." Her lips are inches from yours.

"Take me to the bedroom, daddy."

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jupiterpilgrim · 18 days ago

Text

Find. Watch. Change

Tzuyu x Minnie x Shuhua x Soyeon x Miyeon x Yuqi x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

The last of the big stuff is finally off the truck, thank fuck. Your back aches, a dull throb that’s settled deep in your lumbar, and your t-shirt is sticking to you with a film of sweat that’s more city grime than honest exertion. Still, looking around the main room of the new apartment, gives you a jolt of something warm and buzzing, a feeling that almost makes the five-story walk-up worth it. Boxes are stacked everywhere, a cardboard mountain range promising weeks of discovery and the inevitable question of “why the hell did we keep this?” But it’s your mountain range. Yours and Tzuyu’s. You’ve been together three years now. Feels like a lifetime and no time at all. This move, though, this is the big one. Trading two cramped studios for this slightly-less-cramped three-bedrooms feels like planting a flag. The beginning of something new and very promising.

You drop a heavy box labeled kitchen - essentials onto the already burdened countertop.

“Right,” you pant, wiping a forearm across your forehead. “Fridge is looking seriously fucking depressing. Like, post-apocalyptic barren. I’m gonna make a quick run to that market we passed on the corner, grab some actual food so we don’t starve on our first night.”

Tzuyu wanders in from what will eventually be the bedroom, a smudge of dust on her cheek and her dark hair pulled back loosely, wisps escaping to frame that face you still can’t quite believe is yours to wake up to. She’s in a pair of those ridiculously short denim shorts that show off the insane length of her legs; legs that are leanly muscled, sculpted perfection from years of unconscious grace rather than any dedicated gym routine, and a loose, faded band t-shirt you vaguely recognize as one of yours that she’s long since claimed.

Her feet are bare, toes wiggling on the unfamiliar wooden floor. Even covered in a fine layer of moving-day dust, she’s fucking radiant. That tall, elegant frame, the gentle curve of her hips under the denim, the subtle swell of her small, firm breasts beneath the soft cotton. She’s all effortless beauty, that rare kind that doesn’t even seem aware of its own power, her slim waist tapering elegantly, her shoulders delicate. Her eyes, those famously large, expressive pools of dark chocolate, find yours and she offers a small, tired smile.

“You sure? I can come with, if you want.”

“Nah, you look like you’re about to conquer Box Mountain single-handedly. Stay, get a head start if you’ve got the energy. I’ll be quick. Promise.” You step towards her, cupping her cheek, thumbing away the smudge of dust. Her skin is so soft. Always.

She leans into your touch, a little sigh escaping her. “Okay. Don’t be too long. And get ice cream. The good kind.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything less.” You lean down and kiss her, a proper one, lingering just enough to feel the soft press of her lips. “Love you,” you murmur against her mouth.

“Love you too,” she whispers back, a genuine warmth in her eyes that makes all the sweat and strained muscles totally worth it. “Be safe.”

With one last squeeze of her hand, you grab your keys and wallet, heading out into the cacophony of the city, leaving her to the quiet hum of impending domesticity.

Tzuyu watches you go, a fond smile lingering on her lips until the heavy thud of the apartment door closing echoes through the sparsely furnished space. Then, with a little sigh that’s more contentment than weariness, she turns back to the cardboard kingdom. A low hum starts in her throat, a vaguely familiar pop song, as she surveys the remaining towers. There’s a lightness in her chest, a bubbly, almost giddy feeling that’s been her constant companion for weeks, ever since you both signed the lease. This apartment, this step, it feels… solid. Real. The future unfolding, bright and full of promise, right here amongst the half-unpacked boxes and the smell of fresh paint.

She’s so ridiculously lucky, she knows it. You, her first real boyfriend, her first everything when it came to the messy, awkward, surprisingly wonderful world of sex, now the man she’s building this life with. It’s the kind of story she used to roll her eyes at in movies, too perfect to be true, yet here she is, living it.

Her hands get busy, slitting tape with a stray utility knife you’d left on a windowsill, pulling out bubble-wrapped treasures and miscellaneous junk. She flattens boxes with a satisfying crunch, the pile of cardboard casualties growing steadily in one corner. Most of the big stuff is out, the furniture roughly in place, but it’s the little things, the bits and pieces that truly make a space a home, that are left. Your shared collection of mismatched mugs, her ever-expanding assortment of skincare products, the truly appalling number of charging cables you both seem to possess. It’s in a box labeled with your scrawled handwriting – JUNK - OFFICE? – that she finds it.

This box is a chaotic miscellany: old notebooks, a few forgotten tech gadgets from bygone eras, chargers for phones you haven’t owned in years. She’s sorting through it, a ruthless glint in her eye as she designates items for the ‘keep’ pile versus the rapidly growing ‘what the fuck is this even for and why did we move it?’ trash bag. Her fingers brush against something small, smooth, and plastic. A flash drive.

She plucks it out from a nest of greyish cables. It’s a simple black rectangle, no branding, a little scuffed around the edges but otherwise looking perfectly functional. She frowns, turning it over in her fingers. She doesn’t remember this one. You’ve got a couple you use for work, but this one isn’t familiar. And she’s actually been meaning to get a new flash drive, something to back up her photos, maybe some important documents now that she’s officially co-habitating and adulting hard. If you just tossed it into this box of forgotten relics, you probably don’t even remember you have it, right? It’s practically abandoned. No harm in seeing if it still works, and if it’s empty… well, finders keepers.

Her laptop is perched on a stack of coffee table books, a temporary command center amidst the chaos. With a little hum of anticipation, she plugs the flash drive into a USB port. The laptop chimes a moment later, a small notification popping up in the corner of the screen: ‘USB Drive (F:) Detected.’ Cool. It still works. She clicks to open the drive, expecting it to be empty, or maybe containing a few old work files you’ve forgotten about. Instead, a window pops up, populated with a surprisingly large number of files and one solitary folder. The folder is just titled ‘VIDEOS.’ Her brow furrows. That’s… a lot of files for a forgotten drive.

A sudden, inexplicable prickle of unease runs down her spine. She glances over her shoulder, a ridiculous gesture given that she’s completely alone, the only sound the distant wail of a siren and the ticking of the old clock she’d just unpacked. You’ll be gone for a bit longer, surely. The market isn’t that close, and you’ll probably get distracted by the bakery section. She’s always been curious, a trait that has gotten her into minor trouble a few times, but mostly just led to interesting discoveries. It’s probably nothing. Old movies you downloaded ages ago? Game captures? Still, the sheer number of files is odd. Hesitantly, her finger hovers over the trackpad, then clicks.

The folder opens, and her breath catches in her throat. Thumbnails. Dozens and dozens of video thumbnails fill the screen, stark and explicit. Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing a sudden, hot crimson. It’s porn. A lot of porn. Orgies, from the looks of several of them, bodies tangled in impossible configurations. Jesus. Okay. Don't panic. People watch porn, she knows that. It’s a thing. You’ve even watched some together, a little awkwardly, mostly ending in giggles and a quick switch to something more… physical. But downloading it? Keeping it? This much? It feels a bit… much. A bit desperate, almost. A wave of something uncomfortable and a tiny, unwelcome flicker of judgment, washes over her. This isn’t like you, the you she knows.

She forces herself to take a steadying breath, about to close the window, to just pretend she never saw this, when her gaze snags on one particular thumbnail near the top. It’s clearer than some of the others, the lighting less murky. A man, his back mostly to the camera, but his profile… Her heart stutters. The line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders… It’s… familiar. Too familiar. Her blood runs cold. No. It can’t be. Her eyes dart to another thumbnail, then another. Her stomach plummets, a sickening, icy freefall. There, in sharper focus, unmistakable. Your face. Your fucking face. Clear as day, looking directly into the camera in one shot, a predatory grin stretching your lips. You’re surrounded by women. Five of them. Naked. All over you. Her mind struggles to process the visual information, the sheer impossibility of it. This isn’t just some random porn you downloaded.

This is you. In the videos. Fucking.

The laptop lid snaps shut with a click that sounds like a gunshot in the sudden, oppressive silence of the apartment. Tzuyu stumbles back, away from the desk, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a sound that’s half gasp, half sob. It’s not just porn. It’s you. With other women. So many women. Doing… things.

She paces, a caged animal in the small confines of the spare room that’s supposed to be your shared office, her sanctuary for writing. One hand is pressed to her chest, feeling the frantic, panicked thumping of her heart, the other raking through her long, dark hair, pulling it, anything to give purchase to the storm raging inside her. Her mind is a fucking washing machine, thoughts tumbling, crashing, making no sense. You. How? Why? When? Who are they? Did you… did you enjoy it? Do you still… no. Stop. She feels sick. Actually, physically sick, like she’s going to throw up the nothing that’s in her stomach. This has to be a mistake, some colossal, fucked-up misunderstanding. Maybe it’s not even you. People make those deepfake things, right? Videos that look real but aren’t? It has to be that. It has to be.

Her eyes dart to the laptop, then to the flash drive. Just pull it out. Throw it away. Burn it. Pretend this never happened. Easy. Except it’s not easy, because the images are already seared into her brain, vivid and horrifyingly clear. Your face. Your body. She takes a jerky step towards it, fingers outstretched, ready to yank the damn thing free and delete this whole nightmare from existence. But then she hesitates. Her gaze flicks to the bedroom door, a flimsy barrier between her and the rest of the apartment, between this awful secret and the life she thought she was building. If she’s going to… if she’s going to look again, really look, she can’t do it out here.

A strange compulsion, cold and insistent, overrides the panic. Before she can second-guess it, she’s moving. She crosses to the bedroom door, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and her thoughts are so jumbled that she just shuts the door, forgetting to lock it. Then, she’s back at the laptop, scooping it up, the flash drive still firmly embedded. She carries it to the bed, her bed, the one you’ll both sleep in tonight, and sinks onto the edge of the mattress. Her hands are trembling so badly she almost drops the damn thing. She sets it on the duvet, takes a shaky breath that does nothing to calm her, and slowly, deliberately, opens the lid again. The screen flares to life, illuminating her pale, drawn face. That folder. ‘VIDEOS.’ It’s still there.

Her finger hovers over the trackpad, a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor running through her arm. Just one. Just to see. To understand. Or maybe just to punish herself further. She doesn’t know anymore. With a final, resigned sigh, she clicks. Not on the same thumbnail as before, but another one, near the top of the list. The media player pops up, a black screen for a heart-stopping second, and then… it plays.

The quality is surprisingly good. Too good. It’s clearly not some grainy, amateur footage. This was filmed properly. And the scene that unfolds makes her blood run cold, then hot, then cold again. You. You’re there, stretched out on what looks like a plush, king-sized bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows, and you’re not alone. Oh god, you are so not alone. Five women. Five stunningly beautiful, completely naked women are artfully arranged around you, on you. And Tzuyu knows them. Her breath catches, a sharp, painful intake of air.

It’s I-DLE. The actual, real-life, chart-topping, world-famous I-DLE. Soyeon, with her fierce eyes, sharp chin, and that aura of absolute command even when she’s wearing nothing but a predatory smirk, her compact, athletic body lean and toned. Miyeon, impossibly gorgeous, her classical features serene even as she’s doing something utterly depraved, her curves softer, more conventionally feminine but no less perfect, her skin like porcelain. A perfect doll. Minnie, her feline eyes heavy-lidded, her slender, willowy frame exuding a languid sensuality. Yuqi, the pocket rocket, radiating bubbly energy even in this context, her deceptively cute face alight with mischief, her body surprisingly curvy and strong. And Shuhua, the ethereal beauty, looking almost shy but with a glint of something knowing in her dark eyes, her pale, slender form like something out of a painting. All of them. Naked. With you.

This isn’t a dream. This is a fucking nightmare. Or some twisted, surreal fantasy brought to life. This must have been from when you worked at Cube, that vague job you’d mentioned, A&R or something. Years ago, before her. But still. I-DLE. The shock of it is a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs. How was this even possible?

The video seems to be at some sort of beginning. Soyeon is sitting cross-legged near your hip, a queen surveying her domain. She’s talking. “I’m so glad you finally agreed to this, you know,” she says, her gaze flicking over your body, possessive and appraising. “You’re going to be… exceptionally useful for us. Stress relief, as we discussed. And don’t worry,” a slow, dangerous smile spreads across her lips, “you’ll be very, very well rewarded.”

As Soyeon speaks, Miyeon, positioned closer to the foot of the bed, leans forward. Her long, dark hair curtains her face as she reaches out a perfectly manicured hand and slowly, reverently, wraps her fingers around your already hard cock. Tzuyu’s stomach clenches. Miyeon strokes you, her thumb circling the head, her touch agonizingly slow, expert. You let out a low groan, your head falling back against the pillows.

“I think,” you manage to say, “this is going to be fucking amazing.”

Yuqi, kneeling beside Miyeon, lets out an excited little squeal. “Can we start now, Soyeon-unnie? Please? I’ve been waiting all week for this!” Her eyes are practically sparkling as she reaches out, her smaller hands joining Miyeon’s on your shaft. Shuhua, on your other side, quieter but no less eager, mirrors the action, her delicate fingers dancing over your balls, then up the length of you. Three of them, Miyeon, Yuqi, and Shuhua, now focused entirely on your erection, their heads bent in devotion, a tableau of explicit worship.

Meanwhile, Minnie has draped herself along one side of you, her warm, naked body pressing against yours. She’s kissing your neck, her lips hot, her breath tickling your ear as she murmurs something Tzuyu can’t quite make out but that makes you laugh, a deep, unrestrained sound. Soyeon, seemingly satisfied with her pronouncements, shifts, leaning in to press a long, slow kiss to your mouth, a kiss you return with an enthusiasm that makes Tzuyu’s insides twist.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Minnie sighs as she moves to kiss your chest.

“Beyond hot,” Miyeon agrees, voice a little muffled as she takes the head of your cock into her mouth, her tongue immediately getting to work. Yuqi and Shuhua make appreciative noises, their hands still busy, stroking, squeezing.

Tzuyu is horrified. Absolutely, fundamentally horrified. She’s shaking, a fine tremor running through her entire body. She swallows hard, her throat dry and tight. This is… this is too much. It’s obscene. It’s you, the man she loves, the man who was her first, being pleasured by a goddamn K-pop group like some kind of living sex toy. But beneath the horror, beneath the shock and the rising tide of nausea, there’s something else. A strange sensation, coiling low in her belly, a hot, uncomfortable throb that she doesn’t want to acknowledge, doesn’t want to name. Her nipples are hard, aching, pressing insistently against the thin fabric of her t-shirt. She can feel them, pebbles of sensation that send illicit sparks through her.

Her eyes are glued to the screen, watching with a kind of sick fascination as Miyeon sucks you deeper, her cheeks hollowing, Yuqi giggling as she licks a stray drop of precum from your shaft, Shuhua looking up at you through her lashes with an expression of pure adoration. Knowing it’s you there, seeing your face contort with pleasure, hearing your groans… it’s doing something to Tzuyu. Something awful and confusing and undeniably… arousing.

Her own hand, as if with a will of its own, clenches, then unclenches. She squeezes her own breasts, a gasp escaping her lips, the pressure against her hardened nipples sending a jolt straight to her core. The girls continue their ministrations, and Tzuyu’s hand, a traitor to her conscious mind, slides down from her chest, over her flat stomach, down, down, until her fingers find the hem of her shorts and slip beneath, pressing against the warm, damp cotton of her panties, right over her rapidly slicking cunt, her body arching unconsciously into her own touch.

It’s so wrong, so fucked up, but god, the sight of you, her man, being so thoroughly, expertly worshipped… it’s like a drug.

On screen, the I-DLE girls are a whirlwind of activity around your cock. Miyeon finally pulls off with a wet, sucking pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the glans. Her face is flushed, eyes glazed. “Oh my god,” she gasps, licking her lips slowly. “Soyeon-unnie, he’s… incredible. It’s so fucking big.”

“Told you,” Soyeon says. She’s shifted, now kneeling beside you, one hand idly stroking your thigh, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “Twenty-two centimeters of pure trouble. And so thick, right?” She gives your thigh a squeeze. “Fits perfectly, doesn’t it, girls?”

“Perfectly!” Yuqi chirps, already taking Miyeon’s place, her mouth closing eagerly over you. She attacks your dick with an almost comical enthusiasm, her small head bobbing vigorously, muffled slurping sounds filling the audio. Shuhua, never far behind, dives for your balls, her tongue darting out to lave them with a reverence that makes Tzuyu’s stomach flip. Minnie, meanwhile, is giggling, leaning over to trail kisses along your abs, her fingers dancing over your nipples.

“He tastes so good,” Shuhua murmurs, her tongue working magic. “Salty, and… mmm, manly.”

“Don’t hog him all down there, Shushu!” Minnie teases, sliding lower. “I want another taste of that giant lollipop too!” She playfully bats Yuqi’s head. “You’re drooling all over it, Yuqi-ah! Share the wealth!”

Yuqi pulls off with a protesting whine, your cock, slick and glistening, springing free. “But it’s so yummy! And it makes such good noises when I suck it hard!” She grins, a string of your combined spit dangling from her chin. “Hear that, oppa? Hear how much we love your amazing dick?”

You let out a strangled groan, your hips bucking weakly off the bed. “Fuck… yes… feels so… holy shit…” Your voice is raw, shredded with pleasure, a sound Tzuyu has heard before, but never like this, never so utterly undone, so publicly exposed. And hearing it now, knowing it’s those famous, beautiful girls wringing those sounds from you, seeing them adore that massive 22cm cock that is, by all rights, hers… it’s a mindfuck of epic proportions. A possessive, almost feral heat floods Tzuyu’s veins, a desperate need to reclaim, to assert, even as her own body betrays her with wave after wave of shameful, delicious sensation. Her fingers work faster, slicker now, chasing a release she both craves and dreads. Soft, almost inaudible moans escape her lips, lost in the louder sounds from the laptop.

“He’s so responsive,” Soyeon observes, a clinical sort of approval in her tone, though her eyes are burning. “Loves having his balls licked, don’t you, big boy?” She reaches down, her fingers deftly finding your perineum, pressing firmly.

Your answer is a choked gasp, your whole body tensing. “God… Soyeon… yes…”

On the screen, the action shifts. You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, your chest heaving, your eyes glazed but focused. “Okay… fuck… one of you… I need… I need a face to ride. Now.”

Miyeon is instantly scrambling up your body, her eyes alight with a predatory gleam. “Me! Me first, oppa! Please! I’m so fucking wet for you, look!” She spreads her legs slightly, showcasing the glistening sheen between her thighs, her pussy lips plump and slick. “I’m literally drooling for your mouth.”

“Then get the fuck up here,” you growl, lying back flat on the bed, your hands reaching up to grip her hips.

Miyeon needs no further encouragement. She swings a leg over you, positioning herself directly over your face, her movements fluid and practiced. With a delighted sigh, she lowers herself, her wet cunt pressing firmly against your mouth. You groan into her, your tongue immediately darting out. Tzuyu can’t see your face, buried as it is, but she can see Miyeon’s, thrown back in ecstasy, her fingers digging into your shoulders.

“Oh, fuck yes, oppa! Lick it! Lick my clit just like that!” Miyeon gasps, her hips starting to grind against your face. “You have such a good mouth!”

While this is happening, Yuqi, never one to be left out of the action, has straddled your hips, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance. “Don’t forget about me down here!” she says with a playful pout, before expertly guiding your still-throbbing cock to her own sopping entrance. With a little wiggle and a gasp, she slides down onto you, taking your full length with a practiced ease that makes Tzuyu’s breath hitch. “Oh! Yes! So big! You fill me up so perfectly!” Yuqi starts to bounce, her small breasts jiggling, a triumphant grin on her face as she rides you.

The other three girls are not idle. Soyeon has moved to the edge of the bed, her legs spread, one hand disappearing between her thighs, her eyes fixed on the spectacle of Miyeon on your face and Yuqi on your cock. Her expression is intense, focused, a small smile playing on her lips as her own fingers work. Minnie and Shuhua are curled up together near your legs, their arms around each other, their free hands busy. Shuhua is leaning her head on Minnie’s shoulder, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted as she masturbates, while Minnie watches you and Yuqi, her tongue licking her lips, her own fingers a blur against her crotch.

“Fuck, Miyeon, you taste amazing,” your voice comes out, muffled but audible, from beneath her. “So sweet…”

“It’s all for you, oppa!” Miyeon cries out, her rhythm quickening. “I’m gonna come! Oh god, I’m so close!”

“Ride his face harder!” Yuqi shouts, her own pace becoming more frantic. “Make him drink all your cum! He loves it!” She throws her head back, moaning loudly. “Fuck, oppa, you’re so good! You’re stretching my little pussy out so well!”

“Is that what you like, Yuqi-ah?” you grunt, your hips thrusting up to meet hers. “My big cock stretching you out?”

“Yes! Yes! Harder!”

Tzuyu can barely breathe. The flickering images on the laptop screen are a vortex, sucking her deeper into a world of raw, shameless pleasure she never knew existed, a world where you, her boyfriend, her love, are the undeniable, worshipped center. Her fingers are moving tirelessly against her clit, each stroke building an almost unbearable tension, a desperate, aching need that eclipses the shame, the shock, everything but the raw, thudding pulse between her legs. She’s barely aware of her own soft moans, little whimpers and gasps that synchronize with the louder, more performative sounds erupting from the laptop speakers.

She fumbles with the trackpad, her vision slightly blurry, her whole body humming like a live wire. She doesn’t want to see every single permutation, every girl taking her turn, though a dark, possessive part of her registers it – you fucked all of them, you really fucked all of them. It’s too much, too overwhelming. Her finger jumps the video forward, skimming through scenes of tangled limbs, glistening bodies, and your face, sometimes contorted in pleasure, sometimes focused and intense as you drive into one girl or another. She lands somewhere near what feels like an ending, a crescendo. Minnie is on her back, legs wrapped high around your waist, her screams are high-pitched, animalistic, as you hammer into her with a brutal, relentless rhythm.

“Oh, fuck, oppa! Yes! Right there! Don’t stop! I’m gonna… I’m gonna… AHHHH!” Minnie’s voice cracks, her whole body convulsing around you.

Even through the haze of her own arousal, Tzuyu feels a pang of something (jealousy? Awe?) at the sheer intensity of it. And then your voice, deeper, rougher than she’s ever heard it, cuts through Minnie’s fading cries.

“Fuck… I’m close. I’m gonna cum. Get ready!”

Instantly, the atmosphere on screen shifts. The other girls, who had been watching with varying degrees of rapt attention, some still touching themselves, scramble closer.

“Yes, oppa! Cum for us!” Yuqi yells.

“On my face, oppa! Please, on my face!” Miyeon begs, already positioning herself.

“All over us! Give it all to us!” Soyeon commands.

Shuhua just nods eagerly, her gaze fixed on your straining cock.

Tzuyu’s breath catches in her throat, a painful, sharp hitch. A facial. They want you to cum on their faces. It’s a fantasy she’s seen in porn, something that always made a weird, shameful flutter happen low in her belly. You’d even hinted at it once or twice, playfully, asking if she’d ever be curious, but she’d always blushed and changed the subject, too scared, too… vanilla. The thought of your hot cum on her skin, in her hair… it was too much, too messy, too intense. But seeing it now, seeing you about to do it, about to drench these beautiful, famous, eager girls… it messes with her head, big time.

On screen, you pull out of a still-twitching Minnie. Your hand wraps around your own cock, thick and engorged, veins standing out like cords. With your other hand, you unclip the camera from its small tripod, the view suddenly becoming handheld, shakier, more intimate. You pan across the girls, their faces upturned, expectant, mouths slightly open, eyes gleaming. They look like fucking pagan priestesses waiting for their offering.

“Who wants it most?” you growl, your own hand pumping your shaft with long, deliberate strokes.

“Me, baby! Please, me!”

“Give it to me!”

“Don’t make us wait, you bastard!”

“So much, I want so much!”

Their voices blend into a chorus of desperate, needy begging. And then, a small, broken sound joins them, a whispered plea from the shadowed bed in the new apartment. “Please… cum… cum for me too…” Tzuyu whispers, her eyes locked on the screen, her own hips starting to buck against her relentless fingers. She’s lost, completely immersed, her reality an X-rated film starring the man she loves. You, on screen, let out a deep, guttural moan, your knuckles white as you grip your cock, your whole body tensing for release. “Almost… there… fuck…!”

The bedroom door creaks open.

“Hey, babe, guess what? They had that double-chocolate chunk you like, so I grabbed… a… few…” Your voice, your real voice, cheerful and familiar, trails off, the plastic grocery bag slipping from your suddenly nerveless fingers, thudding softly onto the wooden floor, the sound as loud as a thunderclap in the charged silence.

Tzuyu freezes. Every muscle in her body locks. Her eyes, wide and horrified, snap from the laptop screen (where your video doppelgänger is still a breath away from orgasm) to you, standing in the doorway. The color drains from her cheeks, leaving her ghostly pale. Her hand yanks itself from inside her shorts as if burned, her fingers slick and trembling. She fumbles with the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it down, a completely inadequate gesture of modesty. She’s exposed, caught, a deer in the fucking headlights of an oncoming semi. Sweat prickles her skin, no longer from arousal but from pure, unadulterated terror.

“Oh,” you manage. Then, a little softer, “Oh, Tzuyu.”

She can’t speak. She can’t breathe. Her heart is trying to hammer its way out of her ribcage. She scrambles backwards on the bed, away from you, like you’re the monster under it, not the man she was just fantasizing about.

“Hey, hey, it’s… it’s okay,” you say. You take a hesitant step into the room. “You don’t… you don’t need to look like that. It’s fine.”

She shakes her head, a jerky, convulsive movement. “I… I…” She tries to get up, to flee, but her legs feel like water.

“Tzuyu, calm down. Please.” You’re closer now. “You don’t need to be ashamed.”

Ashamed? She’s fucking mortified. She wishes the floor would swallow her whole. “I… I c-can’t…” she stutters, tears welling in her eyes, blurring your image.

“What… what were you watching?” you ask, your gaze flicking towards the still-glowing laptop screen, where the video is paused after she instinctively hit the spacebar.

She tries to answer, to form words, any words, but all that comes out is a strangled, “S-saw… I…” It’s useless. She can’t even string two syllables together.

You see the flash drive plugged into the side of her laptop. Recognition dawns on your face, slow and unwelcome. Your jaw tightens. You run a hand through your hair, a gesture of frustration, of weariness. “Shit…” you mutter, so low she almost doesn’t hear it. Then, louder, to her, “Fuck. That thing. I thought I’d lost it.” You look at her, your face etched with a sudden gravity. “Okay. Okay, listen, I can explain. This isn’t… it’s not what you think.”

“Why… why d-didn’t you ever tell me?”

You sigh, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, though not too close to her, respecting the invisible wall she’s thrown up. “It’s… fuck, Tzuyu, it’s not exactly an easy thing to bring up, is it? ‘Hey, honey, guess what I used to do for a living before I met you?’” You look at her earnestly. “I swear to you, on everything, this was all before us. Long before. Years before I even knew you existed.” You pause, then ask: “How much… how much did you see?”

She swallows, still trembling. “Just… just one video,” she whispers, which is technically true. One long, horrifying, unbelievably arousing video file.

You nod slowly, a muscle working in your jaw. “Right.” You reach out a hand, slowly, tentatively, and when she doesn’t flinch away this time, you take her cold, clammy one in yours. You edge closer, and then, carefully, you pull her into a hug. She’s stiff at first, resistant, but then something inside her crumbles, and she sags against you, a choked sob finally escaping. You just hold her, stroking her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense until the worst of the tremors subside.

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling back just enough to look at her tear-streaked face. “Let me try and explain this properly: remember I told you I worked in A&R at Cube for a while? Well, that was… part of it. The unofficial part.” You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “The girls… I-DLE… they were under a lot of pressure. All the time. Comebacks, touring, practice… it’s relentless. And they… they found a way to cope. A way to de-stress. And I… I became part of that. Their… stress reliever.” The words sound clinical, almost absurd, but your eyes are serious, holding hers. “It started small, kind of a joke, almost. And then it just… grew. It was a consensual thing, Tzuyu, on all sides. It was a weird, fucked-up bubble we all existed in for a while. But it was a phase. After I left the company, that was it. Done. I haven’t had any contact with them since, not like that. Not at all. That was years ago. That whole part of my life is completely in the past.” You gesture vaguely at the flash drive. “I genuinely thought that thing was long gone. Thrown out in one of my many moves before I met you.”

Tzuyu just stares at you, her mind reeling, trying to process the information. Stress reliever. For I-DLE. It’s still so surreal, so far beyond anything she could have imagined for your past. She doesn’t know what to say, what to think.

You kiss her forehead, a soft, tender gesture. “I love you, Tzuyu,” you whisper. “You have to know that. And I am so, so sorry I didn’t tell you about this. It’s… it’s something I’m not exactly proud of, you know? And I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react, if you’d… if you’d look at me differently.” You cup her face, your thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tears that have started to fall. “You’re the only girl in my life now. The only one that matters. Nothing and no one else even comes close.” You take both her hands in yours, squeezing them gently. “Do you… do you hate me?”

She shakes her head slowly, a tear splashing onto your joined hands. “No,” she says. “No, I don’t… I don’t hate you. I’m just… shocked. Confused.”

You kiss her again, a longer, deeper kiss this time, a kiss that speaks of reassurance, of love, of a desperate need for her to understand, to forgive. When you pull away, there’s a new light in your eyes, something a little more probing, a little less purely apologetic. “The videos…” you start. “When I came in… you looked… well, you were pretty into it. Did they… did they turn you on, Tzuyu?”

Her face flames scarlet. She pulls her hands away, suddenly flustered all over again, looking anywhere but at you. “I… I don’t know! It was… it was just… I was curious!” she stammers, the lie flimsy even to her own ears.

“It’s alright, baby. Seriously. There’s nothing to be ashamed of if they did. It’s just… images on a screen, right?” Your hand, warm and sure, slides down her arm, over her hip, and then, with a casual intimacy that makes her gasp, it slips inside the waistband of her shorts. Your fingers find her panties, find the slick, damp heat there. She freezes, her breath catching. You don’t go further, just rest your palm against her, feeling the undeniable evidence of her earlier activities. “Wow,” you murmur. “You’re completely soaked, Tzuyu.”

A soft, involuntary moan escapes her lips. She can’t help it. Your touch, your words, the memory of what she was watching, what she was feeling… it’s all crashing together. You kiss her neck, a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss, making her arch slightly into your touch.

“So,” you whisper, your lips moving against her skin, sending little electric shocks everywhere. “Since you were, uh, exploring your curiosity so thoroughly… and you seemed to be enjoying yourself quite a bit… why don’t we continue what you were watching? Together?”

Tzuyu lets out a shaky, nervous laugh, a sound that’s half terror, half unwilling excitement. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Deadly. Ice cream can wait.” You take a step closer, your own cock starting to thicken in your jeans. Her t-shirt is still slightly askew from her earlier frantic adjustments. “This is… a little distracting, though, isn’t it?” you whisper, your gaze dropping to the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric. You lift the cotton slowly, inch by agonizing inch, your eyes locked on hers, watching for any sign of resistance. There’s none. Just that wide-eyed, hypnotized stare. Her nipples are tight, dark peaks, clearly visible, practically begging for attention. You trail your fingertips over the sensitive skin of her abdomen as the shirt rises, a feather-light touch that makes her gasp, her stomach muscles clenching under your exploration. Little goosebumps erupt in the wake of your touch. Each tiny reaction from her is like fuel to your fire.

“You love this, don’t you?” you breathe, your lips close to her ear. “My fingers on your skin. Knowing what I’m going to do to you.” You don’t wait for an answer, just continue your slow, deliberate unveiling. The t-shirt comes up and over her head, and you toss it carelessly aside. Her small, firm breasts are bare now, nipples still pebble-hard, pointing straight at you.

The vulnerability in her pose, combined with the clear signs of her arousal (the flush on her chest, the rapid beat of the pulse in her throat), is insanely hot. You lean down, your lips tracing a path from her collarbone, down into the valley between her breasts, then lower, your tongue flicking out to lave a circle around one taut nipple. She lets out a strangled moan, her head falling back, her fingers clutching at the duvet.

“So fucking responsive,” you growl against her skin. You trail kisses lower, down her ribcage, over the soft curve of her belly, each touch a spark against her heated skin. She’s trembling now, a fine tremor that speaks of barely suppressed pleasure and overwhelming anticipation. When you reach the waistband of her shorts, already unbuttoned and loose, you don’t hesitate. You hook your thumbs into the denim and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, pull them down, dragging her soaked panties along with them.

Her pussy is completely exposed, glistening, a swollen pink jewel nestled between her tanned thighs. The scent of her arousal, musky and sweet, hits you like a drug. You groan, burying your face against her mons, inhaling deeply. “Fuck, Tzuyu… you smell incredible. So fucking wet for me.”

She whimpers, her legs falling open a little wider, an unconscious invitation. You lave a broad stripe with your tongue up one silky inner thigh, then the other, tasting her, teasing her. She’s squirming now, her hips starting to lift off the bed, chasing your touch.

“Please…” she whispers.

“Please what, baby?” you murmur against her skin. “Tell me what you want.” You kiss the sensitive skin just beside her clit, making her jolt. “Want me to make you feel good? Want my mouth all over this sweet, wet pussy?”

She nods frantically, unable to speak. You position the laptop on a nearby chair, angling it so she can still see the screen clearly from the bed. You hit spacebar, and the video springs back to life, your video-self still on the precipice of orgasm, hand wrapped tight around your own cock, the I-DLE girls a chorus of begging, expectant faces.

“How was it?” Tzuyu manages to whisper, her eyes flickering between the screen and your face, now level with her exposed cunt. “Cumming… on their faces like that? Did it… did it feel good?”

“Good?” you chuckle, your breath ghosting over her clit, making it twitch. “Baby, it was fucking phenomenal. One of the hottest things I’ve ever done.” You press a kiss right to the head of her clit, a direct, possessive claim. “But you know what’s going to feel even better?” Before she can answer, your mouth closes over her, your tongue immediately finding that hypersensitive nub, sucking it, laving it, driving her wild.

Tzuyu screams, a raw, uninhibited sound that’s quickly muffled as your mouth works its magic. Her world explodes into a kaleidoscope of pure sensation. Your tongue is everywhere, a relentless, skillful assault on her senses. One moment it’s flicking rapidly against her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her entire body, the next it’s delving deep, broad strokes that paint her inner folds, then it’s sucking, a gentle, insistent pressure that pulls at her core, making her cunt throb with an almost painful need.

On the screen, your video doppelgänger finally roars, a guttural sound of pure release. “FUCK! I’M CUMMING!” Thick ropes of your cum shoot out, arcing through the air, drenching the upturned, eager faces of I-DLE. Soyeon gets a direct hit across her cheek and forehead, her eyes squeezing shut for a second before she opens them, a wild, triumphant grin spreading across her face as she licks at the splatters near her lips. Miyeon catches a load right in her open mouth, swallowing greedily, her eyes rolling back in her head. Minnie gets a spray across her tits and chin, giggling as she tries to catch the drips with her tongue. Yuqi and Shuhua are similarly plastered, your hot seed painting their pretty faces, dripping into their hair, coating their parted lips.

“Oh my god, yes!” Soyeon groans, wiping a thick glob from her eyebrow and sucking it off her finger. “So much! You gave us such a big load, oppa!”

“Tastes so good!” Miyeon declares, her face a mess of white. “Better than any dessert!” She leans over and licks a thick stream of cum from Yuqi’s cheek, making Yuqi giggle.

“Hey! Get your own, unnie!” Yuqi laughs, but she tilts her head, offering more access. “But you’re right, it’s delicious! He’s like a cum factory!”

Tzuyu is bucking against your mouth, her fingers tangled in your hair, her own little moans and gasps a counterpoint to the lewd exclamations from the video. The sight of your cum, so much of it, coating those famous faces, mixed with the incredible sensations your tongue is creating between her legs, it's causing some seriously naughty damage to her vanilla brain. She can feel your lips pulling at her, your teeth lightly grazing her swollen clit, the vibrations of your hungry hums resonating deep inside her.

Minnie scoops a handful of cum from her own chest. “Shuhua-yah, you missed a spot on your chin!” she says playfully, before leaning in and smearing her cum-covered fingers onto Shuhua’s lips, then kissing her deeply, a messy, semen-flavored kiss. Shuhua moans into the kiss, her hands coming up to tangle in Minnie’s hair, pulling her closer.

“Fucking whores,” Soyeon says, but there’s no malice in it, only a fond, shared depravity. “Look at us. Covered in his spunk like a bunch of cheap sluts.” She turns to the camera you’re still holding in the video. “You like that, oppa? Seeing your girls share your load? Licking it off each other for you?”

Your video-self just grins, still panting. “Love it. Clean each other up good for me.”

And they do. With gusto. It’s a scene of gleeful, sisterly sluttiness. They lick and suck your cum from each other’s faces, tits, anywhere it landed, their tongues darting, their laughter ringing out, their moans of appreciation mixing with praises for your potency. They’re like kittens with a bowl of cream, utterly uninhibited, reveling in the mess, in each other, in the shared experience of being your cum targets.

Your tongue finally leaves Tzuyu’s clit for a moment, moving to trace the sensitive line of her perineum, then dipping to taste the entrance to her tight, wet cunt. She’s panting, her body slick with sweat, her eyes glazed as she stares at the screen, at the aftermath of your explosive orgasm.

“What do you think, baby?” you murmur, your mouth still wet with her juices. “Hot, isn’t it? Seeing them like that? Knowing my cum is all over them?” You can feel the answer in the way her hips jerk, in the renewed wetness that seeps onto your tongue. She’s loving every second of this forbidden education.

“So… so hot…” she gasps out. “They… they really liked it.”

“They fucking loved it,” you confirm, giving her clit another long, slow suck that makes her cry out. “And so did I.” You pull back slightly, looking up at her flushed, beautiful face. “Would you like that, Tzuyu? My cum on your face? Hot and thick, all over your pretty skin?”

The heat in the room, the explicit images on the screen, your relentless, skillful attention to her pussy; it’s all working on her, stripping away years of inhibition, awakening a dormant, darker part of her sexuality. She meets your gaze, a new kind of fire in her eyes, something bold and hungry.

“I… I think so,” she says, voice stronger now. “Feeling your cum on my face… knowing you’d like it… seeing it on me…” She shivers, a delicious tremor. “Then I could… I could spread it all over. Taste it.” As she speaks, her arousal flares visibly, her nipples tightening further, her cunt clenching around an imaginary cock. She’s getting hornier just talking about it, and your tongue, returning to its devoted worship of her clit, is definitely helping. Each lick, each suck, punctuates her burgeoning fantasy.

She moans, her head thrashing on the pillows. “Fuck… yes… more… I want to see more videos,” she gasps, and it is an order, not a request. “Show me more. Show me everything.”

You smile against her slick folds. You trail a line of kisses up her inner thigh, your hand moving to cup her breast, squeezing gently. “Oh, baby,” you say, “l have a feeling you're going to love this next one, baby.” You trail a line of kisses up from her pussy, over her navel, between her bare breasts, until you capture her mouth in a deep, tongue-tangling kiss that tastes of her own arousal. She moans into your mouth, her hips still twitching.

You reach over to the laptop, your fingers deftly navigating the trackpad. The previous video vanishes, replaced by a new file name. You click play, and then your attention is fully back on her. Your mouth leaves hers, and you slide down her body again, but this time, instead of your tongue, your fingers find her, parting her wet folds. Two fingers slide inside her easily, and she gasps, her back arching. You begin a slow, rhythmic in-and-out pump, your thumb finding her clit, rubbing steady circles.

"Watch, baby," you whisper.

On the screen, a new scene begins to unfold. The perspective is handheld. Miyeon and Minnie are on all fours on a large, plush bed, their asses prominent, facing away from the camera but occasionally glancing back over their shoulders. Soyeon is kneeling between them, a large bottle of lube in her hand. She’s all business, her expression focused as she applies generous amounts of the clear gel to Minnie’s asshole, then Miyeon’s, her fingers occasionally dipping inside them, making them squirm. Shuhua is kneeling at the foot of the bed, in front of your video-self’s crotch. Her head is bobbing rhythmically, her mouth full of your cock, slobbering and sucking with enthusiastic abandon, her eyes occasionally flicking up to you with a look of pure devotion. Yuqi’s voice, bubbly and excited, comes from behind the camera.

"Alright, I-dle Productions is rolling!" Yuqi chirps. "Tonight, we have a very special, very exclusive premiere! I-DLE’s first foray into… backdoor adventures! How are our stars feeling?" The camera zooms in, first on Minnie’s tightly puckered, lubed-up asshole, then Miyeon’s. Yuqi lets out a little giggle and reaches out a hand, delivering a sharp, playful slap to Minnie’s left ass cheek, then Miyeon’s right. "Looking good, girls! Tight and ready!"

Minnie flinches slightly at the slap, a nervous giggle escaping her. "A little… apprehensive, Yuqi-a. But also… curious?"

Miyeon, on the other hand, arches her back, pushing her ass out further. "I'm fucking ready! Been wanting to see what all the fuss is about. Stretch me out, daddy!" she calls over her shoulder to your video-self, whose face isn't visible as Shuhua is still diligently working on his cock.

Tzuyu’s eyes are wide, glued to the screen, her own breathing becoming shallow. The fingers inside her pause their steady rhythm for a moment, and you can feel the way her cunt clenches around them. "Oh my god," she breathes. "You… you really fucked their asses?"

"Every single one of them, baby," you confirm. You resume your fingering, sinking deeper, stretching her a little. "And they fucking loved it. You’ll see."

Her head thrashes slightly on the pillow. "It’s… it’s so much," she gasps, but her hips are already starting to rock against your hand, meeting your thrusts.

On screen, Shuhua pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, leaving it glistening with saliva, thick and fully erect. "All lubed up for you, daddy," Shuhua murmurs, looking proud of her work, a string of spit connecting her chin to the head of your dick.

Soyeon pats Minnie’s ass. "Alright, Minnie-yah, you’re up first. Remember what I told you? Relax, breathe, and let daddy take care of you. He knows what he’s doing." Soyeon’s eyes flick to your video-self. "Don’t you, slave? You’re going to be gentle with her first time, then you’re going to fuck her brains out, understand?"

"Yes, mommy," your video-self grunts, moving between Minnie’s spread legs. He grips her hips, and the camera moves in for an extreme close-up as the head of your cock presses against Minnie’s lubed asshole.

Minnie lets out a sharp hiss, her knuckles white as she grips the bedsheets. "Okay, okay, easy, daddy, please…"

"Just breathe, baby girl," your video-self soothes, pushing slowly, steadily. The head of your cock disappears into her, and Minnie cries out, a sound that’s half pain, half surprise.

Tzuyu whimpers, her own cunt clenching hard around your fingers. "Oh god, it looks… it looks like it hurts her."

"A little at first, maybe," you say, your thumb circling her clit faster, harder. "But it’s a good hurt. The kind that turns into incredible pleasure. You feel that, don’t you, Tzuyu? That little ache deep inside when I stretch you?" Your fingers flex, opening her wider.

She gasps, nodding frantically. "Yes… fuck… it’s… kinky." Her eyes are still locked on the screen.

Video-Minnie is panting, her face turned to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress. Your video-self is slowly, methodically working his cock deeper into her ass, inch by inch. "That’s it, Minnie, take it all for daddy," Soyeon encourages, her hand now on Minnie's back, rubbing soothing circles. "You’re doing so well. Such a good girl."

"Fuck… it’s so… big…" Minnie groans. "I can feel… every inch… oh, daddy…" Then, her breathing starts to even out, and a new sound creeps into her moans, a note of pleasure. Her hips start to rock back, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, meeting your video-self’s thrusts.

Yuqi’s voice is practically purring from behind the camera. "Oh yes, Minnie-unnie! You’re taking it like a champ! Look at that ass, just swallowing daddy’s cock! Is it good? Tell us!"

"It’s… oh fuck… it’s amazing!" Minnie cries out. "So full… it hurts so good… deeper, daddy! Fuck my ass harder!"

Your video-self obliges, his thrusts becoming faster, more powerful. Soyeon is watching with a satisfied smirk, occasionally barking orders. "That’s it, slave! Pound her! Make her scream for you! Show her what that big dick is for!"

Tzuyu is writhing under your touch, her pussy incredibly wet, your fingers sliding in and out of her with almost no friction. "She’s… she’s liking it so much," Tzuyu gasps. "Seeing her… the pain, then the pleasure… God, it’s so fucking hot." She twists her head to look at you, her eyes glazed and needy. "I… I think I want to try that. With you. Oh god, what am I saying?!"

"You’re saying you’re a dirty girl, Tzuyu. And you want daddy to stretch your tight little asshole too, don’t you?" You give a particularly deep thrust with your fingers, hitting her g-spot, and she cries out, her whole body convulsing.

"Yes! Fuck, yes!" she sobs, the admission torn from her. "Please… I want to feel it."

"All in good time, baby," you soothe, returning to a steady rhythm, letting her ride the edge. "Let’s see how Miyeon handles it first, hmm?"

On screen, your video-self pulls out of Minnie’s ass with a wet, sucking sound. Her whole body is trembling, her face flushed, eyes blissed out. "Thank you, daddy," she pants, collapsing onto the bed.

Soyeon pats her head. "Good girl. Now, Miyeon, your turn to show us how much you want daddy’s cock in your ass."

Miyeon is already arching her back, her perfectly round, lubed-up ass presented eagerly. "I’m so ready, Soyeon-unnie! Please, daddy, I’ve been waiting! Don’t be gentle with me!"

Your video-self moves behind Miyeon, and this time there’s less gentle coaxing. He aligns his spit-slicked cock with her eager asshole and, with one powerful thrust, buries himself to the hilt. "Fuck yes! Oh my god, daddy! It’s huge!”

Shuhua is ecstatic. "Whoa! Miyeon took it all in one go! What a fucking queen! Get a close-up of that, Yuqi! Make sure you capture how her asshole just devours him!" The camera angle shifts slightly, zooming right in on the junction of your video-self’s cock and Miyeon’s stretched-tight asshole. Every thrust is visible in graphic detail, her flesh gripping your shaft.

Soyeon is now beside her, one hand on her hip, the other spanking her ass in time with your video-self’s thrusts, leaving red handprints on her pale skin. "That’s it, Miyeon! Take daddy’s dick! Show him who owns that cock! Scream for him, you little slut!"

Tzuyu is practically vibrating under your touch. "Her face… she’s in so much pleasure… and Soyeon spanking her… Fuck, it’s… it’s making me so wet," she pants, grinding her clit against your thumb. "I never thought… watching something like this… I’d want it. But god, seeing them… seeing you doing that to them…" Her voice trails off in a series of soft, desperate moans.

"It’s okay to want it, baby," you murmur. "It’s hot as fuck, isn’t it? Watching them take me, knowing they’re doing it for my pleasure, for their pleasure, for everyone watching." You slide your fingers out of her, just for a second, before plunging them back in, all three of them this time, stretching her wider than before.

She screams, a short, sharp sound, her eyes flying wide open. "Oh, fuck! That’s… so much… yes!" Her hips buck wildly now, completely out of control.

The video on the laptop screen continues its relentless assault on your senses, and your fingers inside Tzuyu are a mirror to the on-screen action; relentless, probing, possessive. Your video-self is still buried deep in Miyeon’s ass, her earlier screams of pleasure now punctuated by desperate, needy gasps as she grinds back against your shaft.

“Fuck, daddy, I’m so close!” Miyeon cries out. “Please, don’t stop! I’m right there!”

Your video-self responds with a guttural growl, his pace becoming even more punishing, his hips slamming into her with brutal force. He reaches out, his hand landing squarely on her right ass cheek with a resounding smack that echoes from the laptop speakers. Miyeon screams, a raw, high-pitched sound. Another slap, this time on the left cheek, even harder. Red welts begin to bloom on her pale skin.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, daddy, spank me!” she begs. “Harder! Make my ass red for you! I’ve been such a bad girl, I deserve it!” Her blush is incandescent, spreading from her cheeks down her neck and chest, a stark contrast to the livid marks appearing on her flesh. Yuqi holding the camera under Soyeon’s direction, zooms in on the action, capturing every brutal impact, every quiver of Miyeon’s abused flesh.

Tzuyu lets out a low, keening moan, her body bucking hard against your hand. “Oh my god… you’re so rough with her,” she gasps, her eyes wide and glazed, fixed on the screen. “Look at her ass… those marks… it’s… fuck, it’s so hot.” She writhes, her inner muscles clenching around your fingers.

“Are you… are you enjoying watching this, baby?” you murmur, your thumb rubbing relentless circles on her clit. Your fingers inside her are deliberately slow now, a teasing contrast to the frantic pounding on screen. You can feel the slick heat of her, her pussy practically weeping.

“Yes!” she whimpers, a desperate edge to her voice. “So much… I… I want you to do that to me. Spank me like that, please. When you fuck me. I want to feel it.” She sounds shocked by her own words, but there’s an undeniable hunger there too.

“Oh, I will, baby,” you promise. “I’ll make your pretty ass so red you won’t be able to sit for a week. But not yet. You need to earn it. You need to beg for it properly.” You give her clit an extra hard rub, and she cries out, a frustrated, needy sound. You’re determined to edge her, to draw out this exquisite torture until she’s a wreck.

On the laptop, your video-self is driving Miyeon to her peak. “That’s it, slut,” he pants. “Take daddy’s cock, take his spanking! You love it, don’t you? You love being my little ass-whore!” Each insult, each degrading name seems to fuel her further. Her screams intensify, her hips bucking wildly until, with a final, shuddering cry that seems to rip from her soul, her whole body goes rigid, then starts to convulse violently around your video-self’s invading cock. She’s coming, an explosive, earth-shattering anal orgasm.

Your video-self continues to pound into her for a few more brutal thrusts, milking every last tremor from her, before finally pulling out. Miyeon collapses onto the bed, a shaking, sobbing mess of flushed skin and jiggling flesh, her ass a canvas of angry red marks. Your video-self leans down, grabs her by the hair, and pulls her face up to his, capturing her mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, sucking on hers as if trying to devour her very essence. The camera doesn’t flinch, capturing every intimate, saliva-slick detail.

“Fuck… she looks so… broken… but so happy,” Tzuyu whispers, breathing ragged. The intensity of Miyeon’s orgasm, coupled with the raw possessiveness of the kiss, has clearly struck a chord. Your fingers continue their maddeningly slow, deep strokes inside her, keeping her on that knife’s edge of pleasure.

The scene on the laptop shifts. Minnie, looking surprisingly recovered and now sporting a predatory grin of her own, is kneeling between Shuhua and Yuqi, who are now on all fours, presenting their asses. Soyeon is now taking on the role of continuing to film. Minnie takes the lube bottle and generously slicks up Shuhua’s tight-looking asshole, then Yuqi’s. Her fingers work expertly, teasing and preparing them. Then, she turns her attention to your video-self’s still-hard cock, which is glistening with Miyeon’s juices. Minnie pours a copious amount of lube onto your shaft and begins to stroke it, her hands slick and sure, her eyes full of unconcealed desire as she spreads the lubricant, her thumbs pressing into the underside, squeezing the thick shaft.

"Mmm, still so hard for us, daddy?" Minnie purrs. "You just fucked Miyeon-unnie senseless, and you're ready to go again. You're a fucking machine." She leans in and captures your video-self’s mouth in a hot, lingering kiss, her tongue darting out to taste him. Soyeon’s voice cuts in, cool and commanding.

"Alright, my little virgins. Shuhua, you’re next. Try not to scream too loud, wouldn’t want to break the camera lens, would we?"

Your video-self moves behind Shuhua. Her ass is bigger, rounder than Miyeon's, her skin pale and flawless. As the head of your video-self's cock presses against her clearly very tight, lubed entrance, Shuhua lets out a terrified squeak, her whole body tensing up like a bowstring. “Wait! Oh god, wait, daddy, please! It… it feels so… impossibly tight!” Her voice is a thin, reedy murmur, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Soyeon-unnie, I don’t know if I can!” Shuhua cries out, her face turning a shade of crimson. “It’s… it’s burning already, and he’s not even in!”

“Breathe, Shuhua-yah,” Miyeon says soothingly from off-camera, her voice still a little rough from her own recent exertions. “It’s always the worst right at the beginning. Just try to relax your muscles. Think of how good it’s going to feel once daddy’s all the way inside you.”

Yuqi chimes in, her voice surprisingly encouraging. “Yeah, Shushu! You can do it! We’re all here for you! Imagine how jealous all the fans would be if they knew daddy was about to stretch out your perfect little asshole!”

Even Soyeon offers a rare crumb of softer encouragement, though her tone is still firm. “They’re right, Shuhua. Take a deep breath. We’re not going to let him hurt you… much. Now, be a good girl and take it for us. For daddy.”

Your video-self whispers something in Shuhua's ear, inaudible to the microphone, and then, slowly, with excruciating care, he begins to push. Shuhua screams, a genuine, piercing shriek of pain, her face contorting. “It burns! Fuck, it burns so much! I can’t!” Tears start to stream down her face.

Tzuyu gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, her own body tensing in sympathy. “Oh, poor Shuhua… she’s really hurting,” she whispers. Your fingers inside her still, allowing her to process the scene. “Does it… does it always hurt that much the first time, for everyone?” she asks.

“It can, baby,” you reply softly, your thumb gently stroking her clit. “Everyone’s different. Some girls are tighter, some are more sensitive. But see how the others are helping her? Talking her through it?” You resume a slow, shallow movement with your fingers. “And you see how careful I’m being now? I got her used to it.”

Indeed, on screen, your video-self is barely moving, just holding himself steady inside Shuhua, letting her adjust to the immense pressure. He’s murmuring to her constantly, soothing words mixed with a firm insistence. Slowly, very slowly, her screams subside into ragged sobs, then into tense, shaky breaths. Her face is still red and tear-streaked, but the absolute terror is fading.

“That’s it, Shuhua… just breathe into it… feel me inside you…” your video-self coaxes. “You’re doing so good, baby girl. So brave for daddy.” He begins to move again, tiny, almost imperceptible thrusts, easing himself deeper by millimeters.

Meanwhile, the camera pans slightly to show Miyeon, who has moved to kneel beside Yuqi. Miyeon’s fingers, slick with lube, are now working on Yuqi’s asshole, gently probing, then sliding one, then two fingers inside. Yuqi lets out a series of excited giggles. “Ooh, unnie, that feels… weirdly good! Get me nice and ready for daddy! I don’t want to scream like Shuhua-unnie, I want to take it all at once!”

Miyeon chuckles. “Impatient, are we, Yuqi-ah? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re nice and loose. daddy’s going to slide right into you.” Her fingers work expertly, stretching Yuqi’s asshole wider and wider, making her moan with discomfort and anticipation.

Your fingers inside Tzuyu are mirroring Miyeon’s actions now: gently stretching, preparing. “See, baby?” you murmur. “Sometimes a little preparation helps. Makes it easier to take something so big.” You can feel her watching, absorbing every detail, her pussy becoming even slicker, if that’s possible. She’s completely captivated, her earlier fear being steadily replaced by a raw, undeniable horniness. Shuhua, on screen, is actually starting to moan with something other than pain now, a low, guttural sound as your video-self finally reaches her depths and begins a slow, steady rhythm.

After a few more minutes of Miyeon diligently working on Yuqi’s ass, she pulls her fingers out with a wet sound. “All ready for you, daddy!” Miyeon announces proudly, gesturing to Yuqi’s visibly gaping, glistening asshole. “She’s practically begging for your cock now!”

Your video-self grunts in approval, then carefully maneuvers himself, positioning Shuhua and Yuqi side-by-side, their asses beautifully presented. With Shuhua now accustomed to his size and rhythm, he pulls out of her slightly, just enough to angle his still-slick cock towards Yuqi. With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside Yuqi’s pre-stretched ass, and she lets out a triumphant yell. “YES! FUCK YES, daddy! YOU FILL ME UP SO GOOD!” She immediately starts to rock back against him, her movements confident and shameless, chasing the incredible feeling of being so completely, utterly filled. "Oh my god, it's even bigger than I imagined! Yes! Just like that, daddy!"

"Get a close-up of that, Soyeon-unnie!" Minnie squeals from the foot of the bed, her own hand already a blur between her thighs. "Look at how her asshole just swallows him! Yes daddy, Fuck her tight little Chinese ass!"

Soyeon laughs contentedly behind the camera. "A natural backdoor slut, our little Yuqi. I knew she had it in her."

Almost immediately, without giving Yuqi more than a few glorious seconds to savor the feeling, your video-self pulls out of her. The sound is a wet, resisting schlick, and Yuqi lets out a sharp, protesting whine, her ass still twitching. "No! daddy, wait, come back!" she begs, turning her head to look back at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Don't leave my little ass empty already! It was just starting to feel so good!"

He ignores her pleas for now, his attention already shifting. He slides his thick, glistening cock back into Shuhua, who moans in pure, unadulterated pleasure, no trace of her earlier pain remaining. Her body, now fully acclimated, welcomes him with a surprising eagerness, her own muscles clenching around him. She’s no longer the terrified girl from before; she's a convert. "Oh, daddy... yes... it feels... so good now," she gasps, her head falling forward, cheek pressed against the mattress. "So full... I love feeling you stretch me..."

He begins to fuck them both, a master of his craft, establishing a slow, brutal, possessive rhythm. He sinks deep into Shuhua's tight, welcoming heat for six long, powerful strokes, each one drawing a shaky, blissful moan from her lips. He watches her hips rock, her body surrendering to his invasion. Then, with a slick pull, he withdraws, leaving her whimpering.

"Please... more..." Shuhua whispers, her expression a broken, needy thing. "daddy, don't stop..."

He shifts, the head of his cock, now coated in a mixture of their juices, pressing against Yuqi's waiting, puckered entrance. He thrusts into her, and she lets out another delighted scream, her hips bucking to meet him. "YES! He's back! Fuck, yes, daddy, my turn! Pound my ass, please! Forget about her, I'm the one who really wants it!"

He gives her five hard, fast thrusts, her energetic body matching his rhythm perfectly, her bubbly enthusiasm a stark contrast to Shuhua's dazed, sensual surrender. The sight of them side-by-side, reacting so differently to his cock, is an incredible turn-on. His powerful body works like a piston between their two eagerly receiving asses, the camera capturing the incredible sight of his one cock servicing two of K-pop’s biggest stars simultaneously.

"That's it, slave," Soyeon commands from behind the camera. "Work them both. Show them what a good toy you are. A few for Shuhua, make her remember how good it feels to be stretched. Then a few for Yuqi, reward her for being such an enthusiastic little slut. This is perfect."

He pulls out of Yuqi, who again protests loudly. "No, daddy, you bastard! You can't just give me a little taste and then leave! My pussy is getting so wet listening to you fuck Shuhua-unnie!"

He sinks back into Shuhua, who lets out a sigh of pure relief, her body melting around him. "Thank you, daddy... thank you..." she moans. "I was so empty without you inside me. Please don't leave me again."

Minnie is practically writhing on the bed. "Oh my god, listen to them! They're both begging like little whores for your dick! Shuhua sounds so pathetic and needy, I love it! And Yuqi is so demanding! Fuck them, daddy! Fuck them until they can't remember their own names! Turn them into your mindless, ass-fucked little dolls!"

Your fingers inside Tzuyu are mimicking this teasing rhythm, sometimes deep and slow, stretching her, then shallow and quick, rubbing against her g-spot, driving her absolutely wild. She’s panting against your shoulder, her body slick with sweat, her cunt so incredibly wet it feels like fucking silk around your digits.

“Oh god… watching them… watching you with them like that…” Tzuyu gasps. “It… it reminds me…” She hesitates, a new kind of blush creeping up her neck. “Remember that night? After your friend's party? We were so drunk… and we were talking… things got a little… spicy.”

“Vaguely. My memory of that night involves a lot of cheap wine and you trying to teach me a TikTok dance in the kitchen at 3 AM. What spicy conversation are we talking about, baby?” You slide your fingers out of her almost completely, just the tips teasing her entrance, before slowly pressing back in, making her gasp.

“You… you said…” she swallows hard, her eyes flicking between the screen and your face, “you said you wanted to try… that… with me.” Her gaze darts to the screen where your video-self is now gripping Shuhua’s hips, his pace quickening. “Anal. You said you’d always wondered what my ass would feel like wrapped around your cock.”

“Ah,” you murmur, a slow smile spreading across your face. “That conversation. I remember you got very quiet all of a sudden. Practically sobered up on the spot.” You nuzzle her neck, inhaling her scent. “You never really told me why you shut that down so fast, just changed the subject to needing more pizza rolls.”

“I… I was scared,” Tzuyu whispers, and her admission is practically inaudible over Yuqi’s increasingly loud moans from the laptop. “I wanted to… god, even then, the thought of it… it made me feel… tingly. But then I thought about… about how big you are, your cock…” She shudders, not entirely from fear. “I just… I didn’t think I could take it. I thought it would hurt too much, that I’d tear or something. I was embarrassed to even admit I was curious.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, your fingers pausing their movement inside her. You shift slightly, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look her in the eyes. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen, her pupils blown wide. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And it’s natural to be a little scared of something new, especially something that seems… intense.” You lean in and kiss her deeply, a slow, tender kiss that’s meant to reassure. “But look at them,” you whisper against her lips, gesturing with your chin towards the laptop. “Look at Shuhua now. She was terrified, remember? And listen to her.”

On the screen, your video-self has Shuhua’s small waist in a vice grip, his thrusts deep and powerful. “Oh daddy! Yes! Right there! Fuck! Deeper! I’m… I’M SO FUCKING CLOSE! DON’T STOP!” With a few more brutal, perfectly aimed thrusts, her whole body locks up, her back arching impossibly high as a shattering orgasm rips through her, her screams echoing.

Tzuyu watches, mesmerized, her own body trembling in sympathy. “She… she really liked it,” she breathes, a sense of awe in her voice. “Even after being so scared.”

“Exactly,” you say softly, resuming your fingering, a slow, deliberate glide in and out of her slick heat. “And if you ever wanted to try… truly wanted to… we would go so slow. So much lube, so much preparation. I would never, ever hurt you, Tzuyu. It would be all about your pleasure, making you feel good. And honestly?” You lean in, “the thought of my cock sliding into your tight, virgin ass… it’s one of the hottest fucking things I can imagine. If you wanted it, baby, it would be an absolute pleasure to fuck that sweet ass of yours.”

A choked sob escapes Tzuyu’s lips, and she nods frantically, tears welling in her eyes; tears of arousal, of relief, of burgeoning excitement. “Yes… please… I… I think I really want to.”

“Good girl.”

On the laptop, Shuhua is a spent, quivering mess. Your video-self pulls out of her slowly, his cock glistening. Yuqi, who has been watching with rapt attention while rubbing her own clit, immediately scrambles closer. “Me next, daddy! Oh my god, that was incredible! Shuhua-unnie, you were so loud! Now make me scream like that! Please, fuck my ass until I can’t walk!” She’s practically bouncing with eagerness.

Your video-self needs no further encouragement.

He repositions behind Yuqi, who arches her back, presenting her ass with enthusiasm. He plunges into her with a single, powerful stroke, and Yuqi lets out a whoop of pure joy. “Yes! Oh fuck, daddy! It’s SO good! Just like that!” She’s already grinding back against him, her fingers working her clit with frantic speed. “Soyeon-unnie, are you getting this?!” she yells. “This is the best feeling in the world! Everyone should try anal with daddy’s giant cock!” The scene is a whirlwind of motion and sound, your video-self pounding into Yuqi’s ass, her body bucking and spasming as she rides her own fingers and your invading dick towards a spectacular climax. Within minutes, she’s screaming her release, her whole body drenched in sweat, her clit visibly throbbing as she comes hard.

Tzuyu is panting, her hips bucking against your hand. “They’re so… uninhibited,” she gasps. “Saying exactly what they want… doing what they want… God, it’s… liberating just to watch.”

The video shifts again. Soyeon’s voice, cool and authoritative, cuts through Yuqi’s fading moans. “Alright, my little sluts, you’ve had your fun. Miyeon, take the camera. My turn to play with our favorite toy.” Soyeon hands the camera to Miyeon, whose face is flushed with a knowing smirk. Shuhua and Yuqi, looking utterly wrecked but blissfully satisfied, scramble to make room on the bed. Then, Soyeon turns to your video-self. She doesn’t ask; she commands. With a surprisingly strong shove, she pushes your video-self backwards. He stumbles, then falls back onto the mattress, landing on his back. Soyeon stands over him, a queen surveying her conquest. She grabs the lube bottle. Your video-self’s cock is still impressively hard, glistening with the juices of Shuhua and Yuqi.

Soyeon slowly, deliberately, drizzles fresh, cool lube over the head and shaft. She then straddles his hips, her own perfect, tight asshole hovering just above his waiting dick. She reaches down, takes his thick, lubed cock in her hand, and with a slow, deliberate movement, positions the head right at her own entrance. Her eyes lock with his. “You ready to be mommy’s good boy again?” she purrs.

The image on the laptop screen is electrifying. Soyeon, perched atop your video-self, is a vision of absolute control. She moves with a practiced, fluid grace, her hips rolling and bucking, taking every inch of his cock deep into her ass with an expression of intense concentration mixed with undeniable pleasure. Her hands are braced on his shoulders, her knuckles white, not for balance, but for leverage, for dominance. Your video-self is flat on his back, his own expression a mixture of pained ecstasy and complete surrender as Soyeon rides him like she was born for it.

“Wow…” Tzuyu breathes. Your fingers are still deep inside her, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that keeps her simmering. “Soyeon… she’s… incredible. The way she moves, her confidence… she’s not just fucking you, she’s owning you.”

“She is, isn’t she? Soyeon’s a force of nature, baby. In every sense of the word. Truly amazing. She always knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it.” You slide your fingers a little deeper, brushing against her cervix, and Tzuyu gasps, her hips bucking slightly. “Does her being in charge like that… does it do something for you, Tzuyu?”

Before Tzuyu can answer, the girls in the video start chanting. “Fuck him, Soyeon-unnie! Fuck daddy good!” Yuqi yells, her face flushed with excitement. Shuhua is nodding eagerly beside her, her eyes wide. Minnie chimes in: “Yeah, Unnie! Make him beg! Show him who’s boss!”

Soyeon smirks, a predatory glint in her eyes, but she doesn’t break her rhythm. Then, she looks directly at your video-self. “You hear that, slave? They want me to fuck you senseless.” She leans down. “But first… I think my good boy needs a little treat. A taste of his adoring fans.” She glances over at Minnie. “Minnie-yah, you first. Come give daddy a proper offering.”

Minnie’s eyes light up. She scrambles closer, leans over your video-self’s face, puckers her lips, and a thick string of saliva arcs from her mouth directly into his open, waiting one. Your video-self swallows, a small groan escaping him. “Good girl,” Soyeon purrs. “Yuqi, you’re next. Make it juicy for him.” Yuqi, giggling, follows suit, her spit landing with a wet smack. Shuhua, looking a little shy but determined, leans in and adds her own offering. Finally, Soyeon looks at Miyeon, who’s still expertly handling the camera. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this, Miyeon-ah. Get over here and give daddy what he deserves. Make sure the camera catches it all.”

Miyeon, ever the professional, keeps the camera steady on your video-self’s face with one hand while she leans in, angles herself perfectly, and lets a generous stream of spit fall into his mouth.

Tzuyu is watching this, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. She looks… utterly enchanted. A strange, almost unreadable expression on her face. “They… they all spat in your mouth,” she whispers, as if trying to process the sheer audacity of it. “And you just… took it. You liked it.”

“I loved it.” You shift your fingers inside her, pressing them upwards, rubbing against the sensitive wall of her g-spot. “Being used like that, by all of them… it’s a rush. Does the thought of that… spitting… intrigue you, Tzuyu? The idea of someone having that kind of… intimate power over another?”

Her breath hitches. “I… I don’t know,” she stammers, but her eyes are still glued to the screen, where Soyeon, having ensured your video-self has been thoroughly ‘seasoned’, leans down and captures his mouth in a deep, wet, open-mouthed kiss. It’s a kiss that’s more about claiming than affection, Soyeon’s tongue plunging into his, tasting her own girls’ spit mingled with his. All the while, her hips continue their relentless, grinding assault on his cock, buried deep in her ass.

“It’s… intense,” Tzuyu finally manages. “The thought of… tasting someone like that… or being tasted… after…” She trails off, a dark blush staining her cheeks. “And her kissing him, with all of their… essences… it’s so… possessive. So dominant.”

“Is that what you find enchanting, baby?” you probe gently, your fingers now moving in a steady, circular motion inside her, stoking the flames. “Soyeon’s dominance? Or is it something about the… shared intimacy of it all? The fluids?”

Tzuyu moans softly, a confused, aroused sound. “Both, I think. The power she has… it’s undeniably hot. But then… the spitting, the kiss… it’s so… primal. So degrading, but in a way that seems to make you even more hers.” She shivers. “I… I’ve sometimes wondered… what it would be like… to be that… free. To do something so… forbidden. Or to have it done to me.”

Your video-self is clearly nearing his limit. His groans are louder now, his hips starting to buck up to meet Soyeon’s thrusts. Soyeon picks up the pace, her movements becoming faster, harder, her own breathing growing ragged. “He’s close!” Yuqi shrieks excitedly. “Unnie, he’s gonna cum! Make him shoot it all inside you!”

“Cum for mommy, slave!” Soyeon commands. “Give me every last drop of that hot load you’ve been saving for me!”

“Mommy!” your video-self roars. “Fuck, mommy, I’m cumming!”

Soyeon rides him with a final, furious burst of speed, her hips moving with an almost impossible skill, milking his cock, her own eyes squeezed shut, a mask of intense concentration. His body arches off the bed, a long, shuddering groan tearing from his throat as he floods her asshole with his hot seed. The sensation, the sight, the sheer intensity of his release clearly pushes Soyeon over the edge too. A split second later, she screams, a beautiful, melodic sound that’s pure, unadulterated bliss, her inner muscles clenching violently around his still-pulsing cock as she achieves her own powerful anal orgasm. She collapses onto his chest, a boneless, panting heap, her body trembling.

The other girls erupt in cheers and applause. “Yes, Unnie! You did it!” Minnie shouts. “You made daddy your cumdump!”

Tzuyu is practically vibrating against your hand, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “you called her mommy,” she whispers, her eyes glazed. “And she made you cum inside her… and she came too… oh god…” The combination of the dirty talk, the power dynamic, and the simultaneous orgasms has clearly hit a nerve. Your fingers are working her relentlessly now, pushing her closer and closer to her own edge.

After a moment, Miyeon’s voice, still a little breathless, comes from behind the camera. “Okay, okay, break it up, lovebirds! Let’s see the damage! Soyeon-unnie, show us what daddy gave you!”

Soyeon, with a tired but triumphant smile, slowly, almost theatrically, lifts herself off your video-self’s cock. As his thick, spent shaft slides out of her, a thick, creamy torrent of white cum begins to ooze from her stretched asshole, running down between her thighs. It’s a lot. Hot and viscous.

“Whoa!” Yuqi exclaims. “Look at all that! daddy really filled you up, Unnie!”

Shuhua, ever helpful, gently spreads Soyeon’s ass cheeks, revealing the glistening, cum-coated entrance. Without a word, Minnie and Yuqi are there, their heads bent, tongues darting out to lick up the leaking seed from Soyeon’s flesh, from the base of your video-self’s cock, catching every stray drop. Miyeon zooms in, capturing their eager, lapping tongues in graphic detail. “Mmm, tastes so good,” Minnie hums, her voice muffled. “daddy’s cum is the best.” Yuqi nods in agreement, her face a mess of semen and saliva. Then, they turn to each other, their lips meeting in a slow, sensual, cum-flavored kiss, their tongues tangling right in front of the camera.

Tzuyu lets out a strangled sound, something between shock and raw, undeniable arousal. “They’re… they’re licking it up… from her… and kissing…” Her hips are bucking wildly against your fingers now, her pussy clenching and unclenching. “That’s… so incredibly filthy… so fucking hot…” Her voice breaks on a sob. “I… I want to be that shameless… I want to taste you like that… from someone else… or… or have them taste you from me… Oh god, what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, baby,” you groan, your own cock stone hard in your pants, your control rapidly slipping. “You’re just finally admitting what you want. And it’s fucking beautiful.”

Her eyes, wild and dark, lock onto yours. Then, with a surge of newfound boldness, Tzuyu leans up and kisses you, a deep, searching kiss that tastes of her own slick arousal and the remnants of her shocked, breathless words. When she finally pulls back, a slow, genuine smile spreads across her flushed face.

“Okay,” she breathes after pulling back. “Okay. Another one. Please. And…” she bites her lip, a flicker of shyness returning, quickly overwhelmed by a wave of heat in her eyes, “can you… will you go back to…?” She gestures vaguely downwards, towards her own still-throbbing, exquisitely sensitive cunt. “Your mouth… it felt so good.”

“Anything for you, my curious little explorer,” you murmur. You reach for the laptop, your other hand already gently parting her thighs again. “And I think I have just the thing. This next one… it’s a little different. A change of pace. You might find it… enlightening.” You select a new file, hit play, and then, with a groan of pure pleasure that’s entirely your own, you bury your face between her legs, your tongue immediately finding her clit, flicking and laving with renewed devotion. Tzuyu gasps, her fingers instantly tangling in your hair, her hips starting to rock against your mouth.

On the screen, the new video flickers to life. The camera is static this time, positioned on a tripod, offering a wide, clear view of a luxurious hotel room. Your video-self is sitting on the edge of a large bed, looking surprisingly… docile. Soyeon and Minnie are on either side of him, their expressions mischievous and full of playful intent. In their hands are two pair of gleaming, metallic handcuffs. Miyeon, Shuhua and Yuqi are lounging on a nearby armchair, watching the proceedings with undisguised amusement, like spectators at a particularly interesting show.

“Right then, our favorite boy toy,” Soyeon announces as she dangles the handcuffs in front of your video-self’s face. “We’ve decided you’ve been a little too in control lately. Time for a change of management, wouldn’t you say, Minnie-yah?”

Minnie giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Definitely, Unnie! He needs to learn his place. And I think his place today is… thoroughly restrained.” She takes one of your video-self’s wrists and, with a flourish, snaps one cuff around it, and then she ties the other one to the headboard. Soyeon mirrors the action on the other side. Within moments, your video-self’s hands are cuffed to the bed.

Tzuyu lets out a soft, involuntary whimper. Her clit swells under your tongue. You can feel the shift in her arousal, a new, sharper intensity. Her hips are grinding against your face with more purpose now. Through the haze of her pleasure, she manages to gasp, “You… they handcuffed you… you’re… submissive.” There’s a strange, breathless quality to her voice, shock and burgeoning, undeniable horniness. “Did you like it?”

You pause your licking for a moment, just long enough to look up at her, your chin still resting on her damp thigh. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, fixed on the screen. “Did I like being handcuffed, baby?” you murmur. “Oh, I fucking loved it. Having them take control like that… knowing I was completely at their mercy… it was an incredible turn-on.” You dip your head again, sucking her clit deep into your mouth, and she cries out, a raw, needy sound.

On screen, Soyeon and Minnie are now maneuvering your video-self so his cuffed hands are secured to the ornate headboard of the bed, stretching his arms above his head, leaving him completely exposed and vulnerable. He’s not fighting it; in fact, there’s a small, almost eager smile playing on his lips.

“Perfect,” Soyeon declares with satisfaction, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “Now he looks like a proper offering.”

Shuhua, Yuqi and Miyeon, who had been watching with barely suppressed giggles, now approach the bed. Miyeon kneels down right in front of your video-self’s exposed, already hardening cock. Shuhua kneels beside her. “Well, look what we have here,” Miyeon purrs, her fingers ghosting over his shaft. “All tied up and ready for worship. You’ve been a very good boy, daddy, letting us do this to you.”

Shuhua, less talkative but equally enthusiastic, leans in and takes the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue immediately getting to work. Miyeon joins her a second later, her lips closing around the base, their heads bobbing in a delightful, slobbery rhythm. They suck and lick with a focused intensity, their cheeks hollowing, their eyes occasionally flicking up to meet his, a silent acknowledgment of his captive state. Yuqi is practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh my god, yes! Look at them go! He can’t even move his hands to touch them! This is amazing!”

Your tongue is working overtime on Tzuyu, slow, deep laps from her clit down to her perineum, then back up to suck and nibble with maddening precision. She’s moaning constantly now, soft, broken sounds that tell you she’s getting closer. But you’re holding her back, teasing her, letting the video build the tension.

“They’re… they’re so good to you… even when you're tied up,” Tzuyu pants. “You look… helpless… but you're clearly enjoying it so much.” A strange thought flickers through her mind, a fleeting image of you, the real you, tied up like that, her hands exploring your body, her mouth…

Just as your video-self looks like he’s about to lose it from the combined oral assault, Soyeon reappears in the frame. She’s holding something black and menacingly phallic: a large, realistic-looking strap-on dildo, already gleaming with lube. A wicked grin spreads across her face. “Alright, girls, playtime is evolving,” she announces. She adjusts the straps of the harness around her own hips. “Now, who wants to ride mommy, and who wants to keep daddy company?”

Minnie’s hand shoots up instantly. “Me! I want to ride mommy! Please, Unnie, let me feel that big cock of yours!” Her eyes are practically sparkling with depraved excitement.

Shuhua, her mouth still slick from your video-self’s cock, looks up with wide, pleading eyes. “Can I… can I ride daddy, Unnie? Please? He feels so good, and I want to feel him inside me while he’s tied up like this.”

Soyeon nods, her grin widening. “Excellent choices. Form an orderly queue, ladies.” She gestures to the bed. With a little shimmy, she lies down on her back next to your video-self, the strap-on cock jutting proudly upwards. Minnie scrambles onto the bed and eagerly positions herself over Soyeon’s artificial erection, her wet cunt already glistening. Shuhua, with a triumphant look, climbs onto your video-self’s lap, carefully guiding his still-throbbing, cuffed-and-helpless cock towards her own eager entrance.

Yuqi, meanwhile, have abandoned her armchair and are now curled up at the foot of the bed with Miyeon, their arms around each other, their free hands already disappearing between their own legs as they watch the impending dual-penetration scene. “Oh, this is going to be epic,” Yuqi breathes. Miyeon just nods, her lips already parted in a silent moan.

Tzuyu is practically levitating off the bed, your mouth still working its magic on her. “A… a strap-on…” she gasps. “Soyeon’s going to… fuck Minnie with that? While Shuhua rides… you?” The sheer audacity of the scene, the layers of kink (submission, voyeurism, group sex, strap-on play) are clearly overloading her senses in the best possible way. “It’s… it’s so much… so incredibly decadent…”

On screen, Minnie lets out a delighted squeal as she slowly lowers herself onto Soyeon’s strap-on, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Oh, fuck, Unnie! Yes! It feels so real! So big!” She starts to bounce, her small breasts jiggling. Simultaneously, Shuhua, with a sigh of pure bliss, sinks down onto your video-self’s cock, her tight cunt enveloping him. Your video-self groans, his head thrashing against the pillows, his helpless state only seeming to amplify his pleasure and hers. The video now shows a scene with multiple things happening simultaneously: Minnie riding Soyeon’s strap-on with wild abandon on one side, and Shuhua expertly grinding on your video-self’s captive cock on the other, while Miyeon and Yuqi provide a chorus of moans and encouraging dirty talk as they pleasure themselves.

Your tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure against Tzuyu’s clit, on screen, Minnie is riding Soyeon’s thick strap-on with a fierce, almost desperate energy, her face flushed, eyes half-closed in ecstasy while Soyeon squeezes her small breasts. Beside them, Shuhua is a revelation. Mounted on your cuffed, helpless video-self, she’s moving with a newfound confidence, her hips rolling and grinding, her earlier shyness completely obliterated by a raw, possessive hunger. Her hands are braced on your video-self’s chest, her knuckles white as she works his cock, her moans a steady, guttural counterpoint to Minnie’s higher-pitched cries.

Miyeon and Yuqi are a tangled, giggling heap at the foot of the bed, their hands busy on each other and themselves. “Oh my god, look at Shuhua go!” Yuqi gasps, her own fingers slick between her thighs. “She’s fucking him like she owns him! Who knew our little innocent maknae was such a secret slut?”

Miyeon groans, her head thrown back as Yuqi’s fingers find her clit. “She��s… amazing… And Minnie, fuck, she’s going to break Soyeon’s dick off if she keeps that up!” They’re both panting, their eyes glued to the dual performance, their own pleasure feeding off the intensity of the scene.

Your mouth is working Tzuyu with an almost religious fervor, your lips sucking, your tongue swirling, teasing the very edge of her orgasm. “They’re… both so… into it,” Tzuyu manages to pant as you momentarily lift your head, though your fingers take over, two of them sliding deep inside her, your thumb resuming its relentless circling of her clit. “Shuhua… she’s completely different. So… dominant with you.”

“She found her calling, didn’t she?” you murmur, your breath hot against her inner thigh before you dip your head again, taking her whole clit into your mouth, sucking hard. She screams, a muffled, ecstatic sound.

In the video, Soyeon watches Shuhua with a critical, appraising eye. “Alright, Shuhua-yah,” Soyeon calls out, voice sharp over Minnie’s increasingly frantic moans. “You’re doing well, but you’re still being too… polite. daddy here needs to be reminded who’s in charge. He’s been a very naughty boy, letting himself get tied up like this, hasn’t he?” She looks at your video-self. “He needs a little… punctuation. Slap his face. Hard.”

Shuhua visibly flinches, her rhythm faltering. Her eyes dart nervously between Soyeon and your video-self’s face. “Slap… slap him, Unnie?” she whispers, her newfound confidence wavering. “But… I don’t want to hurt him…”

Your video-self immediately chimes in. “Yes, please, Shuhua-yah! Do it! I deserve it! I’ve been so bad, letting myself be your helpless toy! Punish me! Make me feel it!” His eyes are wide, pleading, a masochistic eagerness burning within them.

Tzuyu gasps against your mouth, her body tensing. “You… you want her to?” she whispers. Your tongue gives her clit a particularly sharp flick in response.

Shuhua, emboldened by your video-self’s plea, takes a shaky breath. She raises a hesitant hand and delivers a light, almost apologetic tap to his cheek. It barely makes a sound.

Soyeon scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Pathetic! Is that the best you can do? Minnie!” she barks, her attention snapping to the girl currently bouncing enthusiastically on her strap-on. “Show this timid little kitten how a real bitch marks her property!”

Minnie, caught up in her own pleasure, misinterprets. With a wild grin, she reaches out and delivers a surprisingly sharp slap right across Soyeon’s cheek.

Soyeon freezes mid-thrust, her eyes wide with shock, then narrowing into a furious glare. “NOT ME, YOU DUMB BITCH!” she roars. “HIM!” She points a finger imperiously at your video-self.

The entire room erupts in laughter. Yuqi and Miyeon are practically hysterical, clutching their stomachs. Minnie’s face flames crimson, but she’s laughing too. “Oh my god, Unnie, I’m so sorry!” she gasps out between peals of laughter. “I just… got carried away!” She quickly turns her attention to your video-self and, with a renewed, almost vicious energy, cracks him across the face with a slap that echoes through the room. A bright red handprint blooms instantly on his cheek.

Your video-self groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. “Fuck, yes! Thank you, Minnie! That was perfect!” His eyes flick to Shuhua, burning with a new intensity. “Your turn again, Shuhua-yah! Don’t be afraid! Show me how much you want to own me!”

Tzuyu is squirming under your mouth, her pussy incredibly slick, her moans becoming more desperate. “The slap… you actually liked it…” she pants. “It’s… it’s so wrong, but… god, seeing that red mark on your face… knowing you're tied up and asking for it…”

“Does it make you wet, baby?” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at her. “The thought of me being humiliated like that? Of you being the one to do it?”

Shuhua, her face set with a new determination, takes a deep breath. She raises her hand and brings it down hard across your video-self’s other cheek. This time, the sound is sharp, authoritative. Your video-self lets out a choked gasp, his head snapping to the side. A look of fierce triumph flashes in Shuhua’s eyes.

“Yes!” Soyeon approves, a satisfied smirk on her face. “That’s more like it! Again!”

Shuhua doesn’t hesitate this time. Another slap, then another, each one harder than the last. She’s straddling your video-self, her hips still grinding against his cock, but her focus is now on his face, on the act of marking him, claiming him. A guttural sound rips from her throat. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, you pathetic little toy?” she snarls, almost unrecognizable. “You like being my bitch, don’t you? Taking my slaps while I ride your helpless cock?” She punctuates each insult with another stinging slap.

Your video-self is moaning, a litany of “Yes, Mistress Shuhua,” “Please, more,” “I’m your property.”

“Holy fuck,” Tzuyu breathes. “Shuhua… she’s… she’s incredible. So dominant… so cruel… And he’s… he’s loving it.” Her own hips are bucking against your mouth, her clit throbbing, desperate for release.

Soyeon, clearly pleased with Shuhua’s transformation, turns her attention back to Minnie. She reaches down and gives Minnie’s ass a hard, stinging slap of her own. “Alright, you little sex maniac, you’re not getting off that easy! Faster! Ride mommy’s cock like you mean it! I want to feel you cumming all over me!”

Minnie, jolted by the slap, lets out a yelp and then redoubles her efforts, her hips a frantic blur on Soyeon’s strap-on. “Yes, mommy! I’m so close! Fuck!” Her eyes are rolling back in her head. Just as she’s about to tip over the edge, Soyeon’s hand snakes up and closes around her throat, squeezing, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to restrict her breath, to intensify the sensation. Minnie lets out a strangled, ecstatic cry, her body convulsing violently as a powerful orgasm rips through her, her eyes rolling back completely white for a moment.

Simultaneously, Shuhua, fueled by her newfound dominance and the relentless friction, throws her head back and screams, her own orgasm tearing through her as she grinds down hard on your video-self’s cock, milking every last drop of pleasure from him and herself. She collapses onto his chest, panting, her body trembling, and then, with a surprising tenderness, she leans down and kisses him deeply, a possessive, claiming kiss.

Before anyone can even catch their breath, Yuqi and Miyeon are scrambling onto the bed. “Our turn!” Yuqi announces, playfully shoving a still-dazed Minnie off Soyeon’s lap. Miyeon does the same to Shuhua, who giggles weakly. “You two had your fun! Now it’s time for the real pros to show you how it’s done!” They quickly position themselves, Yuqi over Soyeon’s still-ready strap-on, and Miyeon over your video-self’s miraculously still-hard, captive cock.

With surprising agility, they both flip around, now facing away from their respective mounts, their asses presented in glorious, high-definition reverse cowgirl. Miyeon settles onto your video-self’s still-impressively-hard cock, her back to his chest, her hands gripping his thighs for leverage. Yuqi, with a delighted squeal, does the same on Soyeon’s strap-on, her perfectly round cheeks flexing as she impales herself. Their asses, tight and sculpted, sway in perfect, mesmerizing rhythm, a decadent visual feast for your video-self and Soyeon, and by extension, for you and a gasping Tzuyu.

By the way, your mouth is a furnace of pleasure against Tzuyu’s swollen clit. She’s bucking against you, her fingers tangled so tightly in your hair you’re surprised she hasn’t ripped clumps out. The sight of those two perfect, jiggling asses on the screen, combined with the feeling of your tongue working its magic, is clearly pushing her towards an precipice.

“Oh my god… look at them… their asses…” Tzuyu pants, each word punctuated by a desperate writhe of her hips. “They’re just… grinding on them… so shameless… Yuqi’s ass on that… that thing… and Miyeon… on you…” She lets out a shuddering gasp as you slide your tongue deep into her slick folds, then suck hard on her clit. “It’s too much… watching them… feeling you… knowing it’s your cock she’s taking…”

“Does it make you wet, baby?” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ultra-sensitive nub, tasting her copious arousal. “Knowing my dick is buried deep inside another woman’s tight cunt, even on a screen? Knowing she’s using my helpless, cuffed body for her pleasure?” You give her a particularly long, slow lick, and she whimpers, her whole body quivering.

On screen, Miyeon is a goddess of motion, her hips rolling and grinding with a practiced, sensual skill that speaks of complete confidence in her sexual prowess. She’s taking your video-self’s entire length, her back arched, her head thrown back, a cascade of dark hair tumbling down her spine. Each downward thrust makes her moan, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through the speakers. Your video-self is groaning beneath her, his own hips trying to buck upwards, but his cuffed hands strain uselessly against the headboard. “Fuck, Miyeon… you feel… incredible…” he pants. “So tight… so fucking good… riding me like you own me…”

“Oh, I do own you right now, daddy,” Miyeon purrs, not even bothering to look back at him, her focus entirely on her own pleasure and the sensation of his thick cock filling her. “Every inch of you. Especially this big, helpless dick. You’re just my fucktoy, tied up and waiting to be used.” She grinds down hard, a wicked smirk on her lips.

Beside them, Yuqi is a whirlwind of energetic, almost frantic motion on Soyeon’s strap-on. She’s bouncing and bucking, her hair flying, her giggles and squeals a stark contrast to Miyeon’s more sultry moans. “Oh, mommy Soyeon! Your cock is so amazing!” Yuqi yelps. “It feels so real! I’m gonna ride you all night long! Harder, mommy, fuck me harder with that big purple monster!”

Soyeon, lying back with an amused, almost regal expression, occasionally reaches out to slap Yuqi’s bouncing ass. “That’s it, my little slut. Take mommy’s dick. Show me how much you love it. You’re such a good little whore for my cock, aren’t you?”

Minnie and Shuhua, now somewhat recovered from their own recent exertions, are propped up on pillows at the foot of the bed, watching the dual performance with rapt attention, occasionally reaching out to touch each other, their fingers tracing patterns on sweat-slick skin. “Damn, look at Miyeon,” Minnie says. “She’s going to break him. He’s completely at her mercy.”

Shuhua nods, her eyes wide and still a little glazed. “And Yuqi… she’s like a little jackrabbit. Soyeon-unnie is going to wear her out.” She giggles, then leans over and whispers something in Minnie’s ear that makes Minnie burst out laughing and slap her playfully.

Your tongue continues its devoted worship of Tzuyu’s cunt. You can feel her coiling tighter and tighter, her inner muscles clenching around an imaginary cock, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “The way Miyeon’s talking to you… calling you her fucktoy…” Tzuyu pants. “And you… you just take it… you like it…”

“Being completely helpless while a beautiful woman uses my body for her pleasure?” you murmur against her clit, before giving it a sharp suck that makes her cry out. “What’s not to like, baby? The feeling of being utterly controlled, of surrendering completely… it’s a different kind of power. A different kind of ecstasy.”

“Fuck, baby… look at them…” Tzuyu pants as you momentarily lift your head, leaving a trail of her slickness on your chin. Your fingers immediately take over where your mouth left off, plunging deep into her soaking cunt. “The way they’re… using you… and Soyeon… Yuqi’s riding that… that purple cock like her life depends on it…”

“She’s always been an enthusiast, our little Yuqi,” you murmur. You can feel the tremors racking her body, the way her muscles clench around your invading fingers. “And Soyeon knows exactly how to push her buttons. Watch closely, Tzuyu. You might learn a thing or two about… buttons.” You dip your head again, your tongue darting out to lave her entire pussy before focusing once more on that pebble-hard nub, sucking it with a possessive force that makes her cry out.

On screen, Yuqi is indeed a blur of ecstatic motion, her small, tight ass bouncing furiously on Soyeon’s formidable strap-on. Sweat plasters her hair to her temples, and a continuous stream of high-pitched, breathless moans and giggles pours from her lips. “Oh, mommy Soyeon! Yes! YES! It’s so big! It fills me up so perfectly! You’re so much better than any real boy!” she shrieks, her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. “Fuck me harder, mommy! Make your little slut scream!”

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you? You think you can handle mommy’s full attention? You want me to make you scream, Yuqi-ah? Are you sure you’re ready for what that entails?”

“Yes, mommy! Please!” Yuqi begs, her rhythm becoming even more frantic. “I’m so close! I can feel it! Just a little more! Please, Unnie, make me cum! I’ll do anything!”

Soyeon’s eyes narrow, a cruel, knowing glint appearing in their dark depths. “Anything, you say?” she purrs. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her free hand, her fingers slick with Yuqi’s copious juices. She traces a line down Yuqi’s spine, making her shiver, then lower, over the swell of her ass cheeks. Yuqi lets out a confused, anticipatory whimper. Then, with a predatory smile, Soyeon slides her thumb directly into Yuqi’s tightly puckered, already clenching asshole.

Yuqi’s eyes fly wide open. A sound rips from her throat that’s unlike anything she’s uttered before; a raw, strangled shriek that’s part shock, part agony, and part the most intense pleasure imaginable. Her body goes completely rigid, her back arching like a bowstring, her ass grinding down onto the strap-on with a sudden, violent force as that unexpected, deeply invasive pressure on her backdoor catapults her into a different dimension of sensation. “Oh! My! Fuuuuuck! mommy! W-what are you doin—oh my fucking god, It's sooo good!”

“Just giving my good girl what she needs,” Soyeon murmurs, her thumb now working in slow, deliberate circles inside Yuqi’s ass, pressing against that sensitive, forbidden flesh. “You said you were close, didn’t you? mommy’s just… helping you find that special button.” She pushes her thumb a little deeper, and Yuqi’s screams dissolve into a series of shuddering, gasping sobs, her entire frame convulsing as an orgasm of seismic proportions tears through her. Her fluids gush down Soyeon’s thighs and the shaft of the strap-on, her body bucking and spasming uncontrollably for what feels like an eternity before she finally collapses, a boneless, whimpering heap, onto Soyeon’s chest.

Minnie and Shuhua, watching from the sidelines, are practically apoplectic with shared excitement. “Holy shit, did you see that?!” Minnie screeches, grabbing Shuhua’s arm. “Soyeon-unnie just fingered her ass while she was cumming! That’s… that’s genius! Evil genius!” Shuhua is speechless, her jaw slack, her eyes and a mischievous smile on her face.

Tzuyu, beneath you, is a trembling, overheated mess. Your tongue has been merciless, mirroring the intensity on screen, and the sight of Yuqi’s overwhelming, anally-stimulated orgasm has clearly resonated deep within her. “Her… her ass…” Tzuyu gasps. “Soyeon just… oh god… that looked so… intense. Yuqi’s face… I’ve never seen anyone come like that.” She twists her head, her eyes pleading, finding yours. “Does it… does it really feel that different? That… good?”

“It can, baby,” you murmur, your lips brushing her clit. “It’s a whole other set of nerves. A different kind of full. A different kind of… forbidden. Is that something you’re curious about now, Tzuyu? Feeling a finger… or more… sliding into your tight little backdoor while you come?” You don’t wait for an answer, just give her clit a possessive suck that makes her cry out, her hips bucking wildly.

Meanwhile, Miyeon has been methodically, relentlessly riding your video-self. Her pace is slower than Yuqi’s had been, more sensual, more controlled, but no less devastating. Each downward slide of her hips engulfs his cock completely, her inner muscles milking him. Your video-self is a wreck beneath her, his face contorted in a mask of helpless pleasure, his cuffed hands straining uselessly, his hips trying to meet her thrusts.

“Fuck, Miyeon… yes… don’t stop… you feel so fucking good…”

“Shhh, daddy,” Miyeon purrs as she grinds down on him, her eyes closed, lost in her own sensations. “Just lie there and take it. Let me use your helpless cock. Let me ride you until I’m satisfied. You’re all mine right now, aren’t you? My captive cock. My personal fuck machine.”

“Yes… fuck… yours…” he gasps, his control fraying rapidly. “Miyeon… please… I… I can’t hold back much longer… you’re too good… too tight…” His voice cracks, a note of genuine desperation creeping in. “If you keep this up… if you don’t slow down… I’m going to… I’m going to cum!” The warning is torn from him, a last-ditch effort to regain some semblance of control, but it’s clear he’s already lost.

Miyeon’s eyes snap open at his plea. But there is no concern in them, no hint of slowing down. Instead, a slow, wicked, utterly triumphant grin spreads across her beautiful, sweat-slicked face. She can feel his cock throbbing a desperate, frantic rhythm deep inside her, the unmistakable, tell-tale sign of his impending orgasm. She lets out a low, throaty laugh.

“Oh, are you now, my helpless little stud?” she purrs. “Perfect timing. Did I forget to mention? I’m ovulating. Right now. My eggs are just waiting, daddy. Begging for your hot seed.”

Before he can even process the terrifying implication, she deliberately, cruelly, increases her pace. Her hips become a furious, driving piston, her tight cunt clenching and unclenching around his straining shaft, milking him, torturing him. Each downward thrust is an explicit, possessive claiming of his body and his load.

“You think a warning is going to make me stop?” she grinds out, her own breath growing heavier. “Honey, that’s all the fucking encouragement I need! You’re not pulling out! You’re not going to waste a single drop!”

“Yes, unnie! Breed him!” Yuqi shrieks, practically bouncing with excitement. “Knock her up, daddy! Fill her womb with your baby batter!”

“Don’t you dare let him pull out, Miyeon!” Soyeon commands from her spot at the foot of the bed. “Ride that helpless cock until he blows his load! Make him give you every last drop! We want to see you leak his cum for days!”

Minnie claps her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "Put a baby in her, daddy! We can all be its aunties!"

“NO! Fuck! Miyeon! Please!” your video-self screams as he struggles uselessly against his cuffs, trying to pull away. But he is completely at her mercy. “I can’t… I’m gonna… FUCK!”

His desperate struggles only seem to fuel her. She rides him like a machine, her focus absolute, her body a perfect engine of pleasure. “That’s right, you fucking helpless stud!” she pants, her own pleasure building. “You’re going to shoot every last drop of your pathetic load deep inside me, right where I want it! You’re going to fill me up with your baby-making cum! You’re going to get me pregnant, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”

His hips buck violently, uncontrollably, his entire body going rigid as his orgasm finally rips through him, a helpless, explosive torrent of hot, thick semen flooding her deep, welcoming cunt. He roars, his essence pumping into her again and again in a seemingly endless flood.

The hot gush of his seed inside her is the final push Miyeon needs. She throws her head back and screams in pure triumph, her own body convulsing around his erupting cock as she meets his powerful release with her own shattering orgasm. She rides out his final, fading pulses, her inner muscles milking him dry, a look of supreme, almost divine satisfaction on her face as she feels him fill her completely.

“YES! That's it, daddy! fill me!” she shrieks. “Coat my fucking womb with your hot cum! Make me your baby mama!”

She collapses next to him, a panting, trembling, blissed-out mess, their sweat-slick bodies clinging together. For a long moment, the only sounds are their ragged gasps for air and the faint, celebratory giggles from the other girls. After she catches her breath, Miyeon slowly pushes herself up, propping herself on her elbows to look down at his face. Her hair is a mess, her makeup is smeared, and she’s never looked more beautiful. A soft, gentle, loving smile replaces her predatory grin.

She leans down and presses a tender kiss to his lips. “Just kidding, daddy,” she whispers sweetly, eyes twinkling with affection. “I’m on the pill.”

The sight of your video-self, cuffed and helpless, being forced to cum so completely inside Miyeon, the raw, explicit words, the sheer, unadulterated triumph on Miyeon’s face as she takes his entire load… it’s the final, devastating blow to Tzuyu’s already crumbling defenses. Her body is a taut, vibrating bowstring against your mouth. Her own orgasm is a roaring inferno, a supernova of sensation threatening to consume her. “Oh, god… you… you came inside her… she made you…” she gasps. “I’m… I’m going to…”

And with a final, lingering, possessive suck on that engorged, pleading nub, you lift your head, pulling your mouth away from her just as the first tremors of her release begin to shake her core.

“N-no… please…” Tzuyu whimpers, her eyes flying open, wide and wild and desperate, staring at you in sheer, uncomprehending disbelief. Her body is still spasming, her breath catching in ragged, frustrated sobs. Sweat slicks her entire frame, her hair plastered to her temples, her chest heaving. She looks utterly debauched, completely undone, and more beautiful than you’ve ever seen her.

You lean close to her, your lips brushing against her ear. “Not yet, my sweet, greedy girl,” you whisper, your fingers still teasing the entrance to her slick, swollen cunt. “Patience. We have so, so much more to explore. You can’t possibly cum yet”

“No… you can’t… I was right there,” she whimpers. “Please, I need to… I need to cum. I can’t take it anymore. The heat… it’s unbearable. Please, baby, just… just let me finish.” She’s practically begging, her hips making small, involuntary rocking motions against your hand, chasing that phantom pleasure that you so cruelly snatched away.

You lean down, your face just inches from hers. You look every bit the villain from a dark romance novel, and you know she’s both terrified and impossibly turned on by it. “I know, my sweet girl. I know you were right there,” you whisper. “I felt you trembling. I tasted you on the edge. It was exquisite.” You lean in and capture her mouth in a deep, punishing kiss, your tongue plundering hers, taking her desperate gasps for your own. When you pull back, a string of saliva connects your lips. “But you can wait,” you state, not as a request, but as a fact.

“You can wait just a little longer. Because there’s still something else. Another piece of the puzzle. Another lesson you need to learn before you can truly let go.” You slide your fingers out of her, ignoring her pitiful whimper of protest, and reach for the laptop. “You have to hold on, Tzuyu. Trust me. Build it up. Let it simmer. Think about how good it’s going to feel when I finally, finally let you fall apart completely.”

She stares at you, her chest heaving, her mind reeling. Every instinct is screaming at her to protest, to demand release. But looking into your eyes, seeing the dark promise there, seeing the absolute certainty… a different, deeper part of her responds. A part that is realizing, with a terrifying thrill, that it loves being denied, that it craves this exquisite torture, that it wants to surrender completely to your control. With a shuddering sigh that’s more submission than resignation, she nods.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay… for you. I… I can take it.” She swallows, her gaze flicking down to her own glistening, still-throbbing cunt, then back to you. “But you’re right… when I finally do… it’s going to be… overwhelming.”

“That’s the whole point, baby,” you grin, clicking on a new video file. “Welcome to the next lesson.” You resettle yourself between her open, trembling thighs, but you don’t touch her. Not yet. You just let her watch.

The new video opens on a scene that’s immediately more playful and relaxed than the last. The five members of I-DLE (all of them already naked, as usual), are all lounging on the bed with your video-self, who is sitting in the middle of them, looking a little overwhelmed but amused. They’re all laughing, their energy bright and conspiratorial. Minnie turns to the camera, which appears to be on a tripod again. “Okay! Get ready for a very, very special feature presentation!” she chirps. “This is going to be absolutely wonderful, I promise!”

Shuhua and Miyeon are zeroed in on your video-self’s ass. He’s wearing a pair of tight boxer briefs, and they’re making no secret of their admiration. Miyeon runs a perfectly manicured hand over the firm curve of his left cheek, giving it a firm squeeze. “Mmm, seriously, daddy’s got the best ass,” she declares to the camera. “It’s so big and muscular. Perfectly shaped.”

Shuhua nods in vigorous agreement, poking his other cheek. “So yummy! It’s like two perfect, hard peaches! I just want to bite it!” She giggles, then actually leans in and nips him playfully through the fabric, making him yelp and the other girls laugh.

Tzuyu lets out a small, involuntary giggle of her own, a brief respite from her overwhelming arousal. She’s always loved your ass. It’s one of her favorite things about your body, a fact she’s told you many times, usually accompanied by a possessive squeeze or a playful slap when she thought no one was looking. Seeing these world-famous idols fawning over it in the exact same way sends a strange, proprietary thrill through her. “They’re not wrong,” she whispers, almost to herself, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of your body on the screen.

Soyeon claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, alright, stop molesting the talent’s glutes,” she says, though a smirk plays on her lips. She turns to the camera, her expression turning theatrical. “Tonight, we’re going to prepare something really, really tasty. A brand-new recipe. You see, tonight… daddy is going to be our little girl.” The statement hangs in the air and, without giving anyone a moment to question it, she points a finger at your video-self. “On all fours. Now.”

Your video-self, with a look of resigned, almost eager submission, complies immediately, stripping off his boxer briefs and getting into position on the bed, his muscular, much-admired ass now perfectly, vulnerably presented to the camera.

Yuqi’s hand shoots up. “Ooh! Ooh! Can I prepare him, Unnie? Please? I’ll be so good at it!” she begs, practically bouncing on the mattress.

Soyeon grants her permission with a regal nod. As Yuqi scrambles into position behind your video-self, Miyeon moves to help, kneeling beside him and taking one of his ass cheeks in each of her hands, pulling them apart, spreading him wide open, exposing the tight, puckered little bud of his asshole to the camera.

Tzuyu goes completely still. Her breath catches in her throat. Her brain seems to short-circuit for a moment as it struggles to process what’s about to happen. She’s seen men’s asses in porn, of course, but it was always clinical, a detail on the screen, never the center of attention. This… this feels different. This is presentation. This is… worship. The sight of your asshole, so intimately, vulnerably exposed by Miyeon’s delicate hands, is something she never, ever conceived of seeing, let alone finding… arousing. But she can’t deny the sudden, sharp jolt of heat that shoots straight to her core.

Yuqi leans in, her face close to his exposed flesh, her own expression a mixture of intense curiosity and playful glee. She licks her lips, then, without any further hesitation, she presses her mouth against him and her tongue darts out, delivering a wet, exploratory lick right across his asshole.

Your video-self lets out a choked gasp, his entire body jolting from the unexpected, intensely intimate sensation. Yuqi giggles against his skin, then settles in, her tongue now working with a surprising expertise, lapping and swirling, dipping and tasting.

“That’s it, Yuqi-ah,” Soyeon purrs, watching with a satisfied, almost clinical interest. “Do a good job. Leave him nice and wet for me. mommy doesn’t like to work with dry ingredients.”

Tzuyu is utterly paralyzed. The sight is so far beyond anything she’s ever imagined, it’s like her brain has been wiped clean and rewritten with this one, singular, taboo image. You. Her boyfriend. The man she loves. On all fours, ass spread wide, being eaten out by a beautiful K-pop idol. It should be weird. It should be gross. But it’s not. It’s… undeniably, terrifyingly, incredibly fucking hot. The sheer power dynamic, the role reversal, the vulnerability of your position contrasted with the eager worship of Yuqi’s mouth… it’s captivating. It’s amazing.

As if sensing her mind being blown, you finally move, sliding your hand back between her thighs. You gently part her slick folds and slide two fingers inside her, beginning a slow, almost lazy rhythm, a stark contrast to the frantic energy of moments before. You’re not trying to push her over the edge now; you’re simply reminding her you’re there, grounding her in this new, bewildering sea of sensation.

In the video, your video-self is groaning, his head pressed into the mattress, his voice a strained, breathless thing. “Oh, fuck… Yuqi… holy shit…” he gasps. “Your tongue… it feels… oh my god, that feels so fucking good.”

Yuqi giggles again, her voice muffled against his skin. “Mmm, you taste good, daddy! Salty and so… manly! I love it!” She seems to be having the time of her life, her tongue becoming bolder, more insistent. She’s not just licking now; she’s sucking, her lips creating a gentle pressure around his asshole, her tongue darting inside with quick, shocking little probes that make him cry out. “I’m gonna make you so wet for mommy Soyeon! You’re gonna be my favorite lollipop!”

“Fuck, yes… lick me…” he moans. “Eat my ass, you good little slut…” His hips are starting to rock, an unconscious, helpless movement in time with her relentless tongue. The scene is one of pure, unadulterated, gender-bending taboo, and Tzuyu, despite her initial paralysis, is drinking in every single, filthy, mind-altering second.

“That’s it, Yuqi-ah, get right in there,” Miyeon encourages. “Don’t miss a single spot. We need him to be perfect for Soyeon-unnie.” She leans closer to your video-self’s ear, her hot breath ghosting against his skin. “You feel that, daddy? You feel her tongue all over your little hole? You like being mommy’s good little girl, don’t you? Getting your pussy eaten out for her?”

Your video-self can only manage a series of choked, guttural moans, his head buried in the plush duvet, his hips making small, involuntary circles, chasing the incredible sensation. “Fuck… yes… feels so… holy shit, Yuqi…” he gasps out with a pleasure so intense it’s borderline painful. “Your mouth… it’s… heaven… Don’t you ever stop, please…”

“Never, daddy!” Yuqi’s muffled voice promises from between his cheeks. She pulls back for a second, a mischievous grin on her face, a glistening sheen of saliva on her lips. “Your ass is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted! I could do this all day!” She dives back in with renewed vigor, her tongue now tracing the rim of his asshole with maddening precision before plunging as deep as it can go, eliciting a sharp, high-pitched cry of pure bliss from him.

Tzuyu watches, utterly transfixed, her body a strange mixture of rigid paralysis and trembling, uncontrolled arousal. Your fingers are still moving inside her, a slow, deep, almost lazy rhythm that does nothing to quell the raging fire inside her, but instead seems to stoke it, spreading it to every corner of her body. The sight on the screen is just so… alien. So taboo. Yet, the sounds of your video-self’s unrestrained pleasure are undeniable, and they’re resonating with something deep inside her, something she never knew existed.

While the main event continues, the camera’s wide shot captures a secondary scene unfolding. Soyeon is sitting up, now holding the formidable black strap-on dildo. Minnie and Shuhua are beside her, their roles now that of dutiful handmaidens preparing their queen for battle. “Okay, hold it steady,” Soyeon commands, and Minnie holds the base of the dildo while Shuhua helps Soyeon adjust the leather straps of the harness, pulling them tight around her lean hips.

“Wow, Unnie, it's even bigger than the old one!” Shuhua says as she runs a finger down the thick, veiny shaft of the dildo. “Are you really going to put all of that inside him?”

Minnie giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Of course she is! She’s going to make him scream! He won’t be able to walk straight for a week after mommy gets done with his little boy-pussy!”

Soyeon just smirks, a look of supreme confidence on her face as she cinches the final buckle. “He’ll take every inch,” she says. “And he’ll beg me for more. He always begs for more.”

Tzuyu gaze snaps from the screen to your face, then back again. Her own fingers come up to her lips, as if to stifle the words, but they tumble out anyway, a shocked, hesitant whisper.

“Wait…” she breathes. “You… the way Soyeon is talking… that thing she’s putting on… have you… have you already done this before? Has she… has she actually fucked your ass?”

You look into her eyes, seeing the genuine, almost fearful curiosity there. You give her a slow, knowing smile. “You’re a quick study, baby,” you murmur. You decide she’s earned more than a simple yes or no. She’s earned the story. “The very first time they decided I was going to be their ‘stress reliever’… this was part of the initiation. My final test, Soyeon called it.”

You resume your fingering, your pace matching the cadence of your story, each stroke a punctuation mark, each circular rub of your thumb on her clit a deep, thrumming underscore. “I was just as nervous as Shuhua was in that other video. Maybe more so. The idea of it… of being penetrated… it was completely alien. Terrifying, honestly.” Tzuyu’s eyes are locked on yours, her entire being focused on your words, her body unconsciously absorbing the narrative.

“They had me tied down, just like in that other video, but to a different bed, with silk scarves,” you continue. “Soyeon stood over me, wearing a strap-on similar to that one, only smaller, looking like some kind of dark goddess. She lubed me up herself, her fingers so slow, so deliberate. I was trembling, my heart was hammering against my ribs, I was so scared of the pain.” You can see Tzuyu’s own body tense in sympathy, her breath hitching. “And the beginning… it did hurt. A sharp, burning pressure, like I was going to split in two. I begged her to stop.”

“But she didn’t, did she?” Tzuyu whispers.

“No,” you say. “She didn’t. She held me down, whispered in my ear that I was her property, that my body was hers to use, and that I would learn to love it. And then… she pushed past the pain.” Your fingers inside Tzuyu mimic this, pushing just a little deeper, stretching her in a way that makes her gasp, a sound that’s half protest, half plea for more. “And once she was all the way inside me… god, Tzuyu… the pain just… melted away. It was replaced by this feeling of incredible… fullness. A pressure that wasn’t painful anymore, but deeply, profoundly pleasurable. It hit a spot deep inside me I never even knew existed. A man’s g-spot, I guess.”

You can feel Tzuyu’s pussy getting impossibly wetter, her juices flowing freely over your hand. Her hips are starting to move again, a slow, instinctive rocking. “Every time she thrusted, it was like a jolt of pure pleasure. It was overwhelming. I was completely at her mercy, completely filled by her, dominated in the most absolute way imaginable. And when I came… it wasn’t like a normal orgasm. It was deeper, coming from the very core of my body. It shattered me.” You lean in, your lips brushing hers. “I’ve never felt anything like it. And yes, baby… I fucking loved it.”

Tzuyu lets out a long, shuddering moan. “Oh my god,” she breathes, her eyes glazed over, a universe of newfound desire swirling in their depths. “To feel that… to be that full… that… helpless…” Her voice trails off, but her body says the rest, her cunt clenching desperately around your fingers, her hips bucking with a renewed, urgent need.

On the laptop, Yuqi is reaching the grand finale of her task. She’s been meticulous, her tongue laving every inch of your video-self’s flesh, her lips sucking and tasting, leaving him a moaning, quivering mess. The other girls are cheering her on, a chorus of lewd encouragement. “That’s it, Yuqi-ah! He’s sparkling!” Minnie yells. “I think he’s ready for the main course!” Miyeon adds, finally releasing his ass cheeks, which are now flushed a delicate pink.

Yuqi pulls back one last time. She turns to give a thumbs-up to a waiting, now fully-harnessed Soyeon. “All done, mommy!” she declares, voice ringing with pride. “I made him extra wet and ready for you! His little boy-pussy is practically begging for your big cock now!”

Your video-self is still on all fours, his ass glistening under the hotel room lights, his body trembling with the aftershocks of Yuqi’s talented tongue. On the bed beside him, Soyeon rises like a predator, the formidable black strap-on jutting from her hips, a clear and present threat. Her eyes are locked onto your video-self’s vulnerable, presented form.

Tzuyu, mesmerized, watches it all unfold, her breath caught somewhere in her chest. The story you just told her, of your own first time being pegged, is still echoing in her mind, layering a new, deeply personal context over the scene.

Soyeon stalks towards your video-self. She doesn’t rush. Every movement is deliberate, a testament to her absolute control. She picks up the bottle of lube from the bedside table and squirts a generous amount onto the head of her strap-on, rubbing it in with a slow, circular motion that is both practical and intensely provocative. Then, she kneels behind your video-self, her knees bracketing his thighs, claiming the space, owning him. She applies more lube directly to his ass, her fingers callously smearing the cold, slick gel over the sensitive, puckered flesh that Yuqi had so lovingly warmed up. Your video-self flinches, a choked gasp escaping him.

“Shhh,” Soyeon whispers. “mommy’s just making sure it’s nice and easy for you to take what you deserve.” She leans forward, pressing her body against his back, her firm breasts against his straining shoulder blades. “But don’t get me wrong. This won’t be easy. This is your purpose now. Your only purpose. To be a hole for my cock. Do you understand, my sweet little girl?”

“Yes… yes, mommy,” your video-self chokes out. “I understand… please… I’m ready for you…”

The other four girls have arranged themselves into a willing audience at the foot of the bed, a beautiful, tangled tableau of glistening limbs and hungry eyes. Minnie and Shuhua are curled up together, Minnie’s arm draped possessively over Shuhua’s waist, her fingers already starting to ghost over Shuhua’s breasts. Miyeon and Yuqi are sitting cross-legged, facing each other, so close their knees are touching, their hands already finding their own clits, their gazes locked on the impending penetration.

“Oh my god, she’s really going to do it,” Yuqi breathes. “She’s going to break him.”

Miyeon just nods, a slow, languid smile spreading across her face. “He’s going to love every second of it. And so are we.”

Soyeon positions the thick, intimidating head of the strap-on against his asshole. She pushes, just a little at first, stretching the entrance, making him gasp and clench. “Relax,” she commands. “Take a deep breath and open up for me. That’s a good girl.” Then, with a single, smooth, powerful thrust of her hips, she drives the dildo deep inside him.

Your video-self screams, a raw, piercing sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming, soul-shattering pleasure. His back arches violently, his entire body locked in a state of sensory overload. Soyeon holds him there for a moment, letting him feel the incredible fullness, the reality of her invasion, before slowly pulling out almost completely and then thrusting back in, this time even deeper.

Tzuyu lets out a sharp, choked cry, her own cunt clenching violently around your fingers. You feel the shift in her, the last vestiges of fear and hesitation being utterly annihilated by a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered lust. This is what she wanted to see. This is what she needed to feel. You increase the pace of your fingering, your movements becoming harder, faster, more demanding, matching the brutal, relentless rhythm Soyeon is establishing on screen.

“I… love this,” Tzuyu gasps, the confession torn from her, raw and honest. “Oh my god, baby… I love watching this. Hearing you… hearing you moan like that… so… so helpless under her…” Her hips are bucking against your hand now, a frantic, desperate rhythm. “It’s making me so fucking wet… please, don’t stop…”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you groan . Seeing her like this, so open, so shamelessly enthralled by your submission, is an incredible turn-on. “God, Tzuyu, I love seeing you discover this side of yourself. So honest. So fucking horny. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your fingers plunge deeper, faster, and she screams your name, her head thrashing on the pillows.

Soyeon is a machine. She’s fucking your video-self with a steady, punishing rhythm, her hips working with a tireless, athletic power. Her face is a mask of intense concentration, her body slick with a fine sheen of sweat. With every thrust, she whispers a fresh litany of humiliation into his ear. “That’s it, my little cunt… take mommy’s cock… every fucking inch… You were born for this, weren’t you? Just a hole for me to use… a pretty little thing for my girls to watch while I break you…”

“Yes, mommy! Thank you, mommy!” your video-self chants. “Please… fuck me harder… humiliate me… I’m nothing without your cock in my ass… nothing…”

The other girls are a chorus of moans and gasps. The sight of their powerful leader so thoroughly dominating their shared plaything has sent them into a frenzy of self-pleasure. Miyeon and Yuqi are now openly masturbating, their hands a blur against their pussies, their heads thrown back, their eyes glazed over. “Fuck, look at her go…” Miyeon pants. “She’s pounding him so hard… he’s taking it all…”

Minnie and Shuhua are no longer just touching. Minnie has Shuhua’s nipple in her mouth, sucking hard, while her other hand is rubbing Shuhua’s clit with a frantic energy. Shuhua is grinding against Minnie’s hand, her own fingers tangled in Minnie’s hair, her moans harmonizing with the rhythmic slap of Soyeon’s thighs against your video-self’s ass.

Soyeon changes the angle, pulling out slightly and then driving back in from the side, a move that hits a different spot, a deeper spot, and elicits a whole new level of screaming from your video-self. She starts slapping his ass in time with her thrusts, the sharp, stinging slaps leaving angry red welts on his already flushed skin. “You feel that?!” she grunts, her own breathing growing heavier. “That’s me marking you! You’re mine! My property! My fuck-slut! Now scream for me! Scream so all my pretty girls can hear how much you love being mommy’s little bitch!”

He obliges, his screams echoing through the room, a raw, uninhibited testament to his complete and utter surrender. The sight, the sounds, the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the scene is pushing Tzuyu to the absolute brink. Her entire body is coiled tight, a spring of pure, unadulterated sexual energy. Her moans are constant now, her pussy clenching and unclenching around your fingers with a desperate, frantic rhythm. She’s closer than she’s ever been, her world narrowing to the sight of your submission on the screen and the feeling of your relentless fingers inside her. She can feel the orgasm building, a massive, unstoppable wave cresting within her, promising a release so powerful it might just tear her apart.

Soyeon is fucking your video-self with a brutal, commanding rhythm, each thrust of her hips a clear statement of ownership, each slap of the thick strap-on against his ass a punctuation mark in her sermon of dominance.

The other girls are a beautiful, writhing chorus of encouragement. They’ve formed a sort of decadent daisy chain at the foot of the bed, a tangle of limbs and glistening skin. Miyeon is lying on her back, her legs spread wide, while Yuqi kneels between them, her mouth working skillfully on Miyeon’s clit. Minnie, in turn, is eating out Yuqi from behind, her tongue a blur of motion, while Shuhua, with a dreamy, blissed-out expression, is stroking both Minnie’s and her own cunt, her fingers slick with their combined juices. Their moans are a constant, rising tide of sound that washes over the room.

Tzuyu is lost. Your fingers are a relentless engine inside her, her own juices making your every movement slick and effortless. Her mind is reeling, trying to process the sheer, overwhelming depravity on the screen. She has never imagined sex could be like this; so layered, so performative, so utterly devoid of shame and so full of raw, intricate power dynamics. She’s watching you, the man she loves, being systematically broken down and remade into a pleasure object, and every fiber of her being is screaming with an arousal so profound it borders on spiritual.

Soyeon leans forward, her body flush against your video-self’s sweat-slick back. She grabs a handful of his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look over his shoulder, his eyes wide and pleading, locking with hers. She doesn’t break her rhythm, the thick shaft of the dildo continuing its merciless assault on his prostate.

“You feel that, you little bitch?” Soyeon snarls. “That’s my cock, buried deep in your ass. That’s my power filling you up, stretching you out, making you scream.” She thrusts deeper, a vicious, punishing movement that makes him cry out, a sharp, piercing sound. “You used to be the daddy, didn’t you? Strutting around, thinking your big dick made you the king. Well, look at you now.” She yanks his head back harder, forcing a choked sob from his lips. “You’re on all fours, taking my cock like the good little girl you are. Your dick is useless. You are no longer the daddy here.” She pauses, letting the words sink in, then delivers the final, devastating blow. “Now, I’m the daddy. And you’re just my pretty little fuck-slut. Say it.”

Your video-self is sobbing now, tears of humiliation and overwhelming ecstasy streaming down his face. “Yes…” he chokes out. “Yes… you’re the daddy… mommy Soyeon is my daddy now…”

Tzuyu's whole body convulses, a violent, full-body tremor that has nothing to do with an orgasm and everything to do with her mind being utterly, completely blown. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “She’s… she’s your daddy now… you’re… you’re her bitch…”

“Yes, mommy is your daddy!” Yuqi cheers, words muffled by Miyeon’s thigh. She pops her head up for a second, her face flushed, her lips glistening. “Fuck him, daddy Soyeon! Fuck our little bitch until he forgets his own name!”

Miyeon groans as Yuqi’s tongue finds her clit again, but she manages to add her own encouragement. “Look at him, unnie… taking your cock so perfectly… He was made for this… made to be your girl…”

Soyeon, fueled by their worship and your video-self’s complete submission, grins, a terrifyingly beautiful sight. “That’s right, my pretty whores. He was made for me.” She begins to fuck him with a renewed, almost demonic energy, her thrusts so deep and powerful it looks like she’s trying to split him in two. He’s screaming with every impact, a continuous, high-pitched wail of agonizing pleasure, his body completely at her mercy. “You love being daddy’s little girl, don’t you?!” she roars over his screams. “You love the way my cock feels, stretching out that tight little hole of yours! You’re going to beg me to cum, aren’t you? You’re going to beg daddy to fill you up with her love!”

“Please, daddy! Please, mommy!” he shrieks, his mind clearly too fractured to keep the honorifics straight. “Please fuck me! Don’t ever stop! I'll do anything! I'm yours!”

The sight is too much. The sounds are too much. Tzuyu is completely gone, lost in a world of pleasure and sensation so intense it’s rewriting her very DNA. She’s no longer just watching; she’s participating, her own mind casting her in the scene. She imagines it’s her with the strap-on, you on all fours beneath her, screaming her name, calling her daddy. The fantasy is so vivid, so powerful, that it makes her forget to breathe.

“I… I want to be your daddy too,” she whispers, the confession a hot, shocking secret against your ear. “Oh god, baby, I want to tie you up… I want to make you my bitch… I want to fuck your ass and make you scream my name…”

Your fingers start to go deeper inside her, your thumb rubbing her clit incessantly. You’re pushing her, driving her, determined to take her right to the very edge of that overwhelming release she so desperately craves. On the screen, Soyeon is reaching her own crescendo, her movements becoming faster, more frantic. Your video-self is clearly on the verge of a powerful, helpless orgasm, his whole body trembling on the brink of release. The entire room is a pressure cooker of sexual energy about to explode. Tzuyu is right there with them, her own explosion imminent, her body coiling for a release that promises to be nothing short of transcendent.

Soyeon is a beautiful, demonic engine of pleasure, her hips a relentless piston driving the strap-on deep into your video-self’s ass. Her face is flushed with exertion and sheer, unadulterated power, a triumphant smirk plastered on her lips. Your video-self is completely undone, a mess of sweat and tears and raw, uninhibited screams, his body arching with every brutal, punishing thrust.

Your own fingers are a blur inside a soaking, trembling Tzuyu. You’ve increased your speed to a frantic, almost punishing pace, your digits pistoning in and out of her slick, swollen cunt. The sounds are incredible: the wet, sloppy noises of your hand working her, her own ragged, desperate gasps, and the soundtrack of filth pouring from the laptop speakers. Her entire body is shaking, violent tremors that speak of a pleasure so intense it’s borderline unbearable. She’s so, so close, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around your fingers with a desperate, frantic rhythm.

On screen, Soyeon is leaning in, her lips right next to your video-self’s ear. “You feel that, my little girl? You feel my cock rearranging your insides? You’re so close to shooting your pathetic little load, aren’t you? I can feel you twitching around my dick, begging to be allowed to cum.” She pulls out almost completely, then slams back into him with a force that makes him shriek, a raw, high-pitched sound of pure sensory overload. “But you don’t get to cum until daddy says so. You’re going to beg for it first.”

“I’m… I’m close…” your video-self sobs.

“I’m close too!” Tzuyu cries out, her hips bucking wildly against your hand, her eyes squeezed shut. “Oh my god, baby, please, I can’t… I can’t hold on!”

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear, your hot breath contrasting to the cool sweat on her skin. Your fingers don’t slow, they maintain their maddening, relentless pace, holding her right on that razor’s edge. “Wait,” you whisper. “Just a little longer, Tzuyu. Hold on for me. I want you to feel this with me. I want you to come with your boyfriend. Wait for my signal.”

A frustrated, desperate sob escapes her lips, but she nods, her body coiling even tighter, a spring of pure sexual energy wound to its absolute breaking point. She’s trusting you, surrendering her own release to your control, and the knowledge of it makes your own cock strain painfully in your jeans.

The other girls in the video are reaching a fever pitch. Their collective masturbation has become a frantic, desperate race, their moans and cries a chaotic chorus of pure lust. “Fuck, Unnie, I’m gonna cum just watching you destroy him!” Miyeon shriek.

“He’s taking it so well!” Minnie adds, her face buried between Shuhua’s thighs. “Look at his ass, just eating up daddy Soyeon’s cock!”

Soyeon seems to draw power from their worship. She looks down at your video-self, a final, triumphant, almost benevolent smile on her face. “You hear that, my sweet little bitch? You’ve been so good for me. So obedient. You’ve taken my cock, you’ve taken my name, you’ve screamed so prettily for all my girls.” She gives him one last, deep, soul-shattering thrust. “Alright. I’m feeling generous. You can have it now. No more holding back. Let it all go for me. Cum for me now! Cum for your daddy!”

That’s the signal.

As your video-self on screen lets out a final, earth-shattering scream, his entire body locking up, his back arching off the bed in a violent, uncontrollable spasm as his prostate is mercilessly milked by Soyeon’s relentless fucking. His cock, untouched all this time, erupts, shooting a huge load that makes the girls around the bed gasp with delight and surprise.… you give Tzuyu one final, deep, powerful thrust with your fingers, hitting her G-spot with unerring accuracy, while your thumb grinds down hard on her clit.

“Now, Tzuyu!” you roar. “Cum for me!”

Her control shatters. It doesn’t just break; it fucking disintegrates. A sound rips from her throat that you have never heard before, a raw, primal scream that’s less human and more pure, elemental force. Her eyes roll back in her head, the whites completely showing, and her body bows upwards, rigid and vibrating.

And then, she squirts.

It’s not a trickle, not a small gush. It’s a fucking torrent. A hot, powerful jet of her clear, musky fluid erupts from her, soaking your hand, your wrist, the bedsheets beneath her, the floorboards, even spattering against the laptop screen. It's a shocking, explosive, utterly uninhibited release that seems to go on and on. Her body is wracked with violent, full-body convulsions, each one sending another powerful gush of liquid out of her, her heels digging into the mattress, her toes curling. She’s screaming your name, or maybe just screaming, her mind completely lost in the white-hot intensity of the most powerful orgasm of her entire life.

You don’t stop. You keep your fingers moving inside her, a steady presence amidst the storm, feeling the incredible, pulsing contractions of her inner walls milking your digits, feeling the hot spray of her release coating your entire hand. The sight is breathtaking, the sound is intoxicating, the feeling is sublime. “That’s it, baby!” you shout over her screams. “Let it all out! Look at you! Look at what you’re doing! You’re so fucking beautiful! Keep going! Give me all of it!”

Your encouragement seems to push her even further, her convulsions intensifying, another wave of fluid soaking the already drenched sheets. She’s completely gone, a vessel of pure, unadulterated pleasure, her body finally, finally getting the release it has been so desperately craving.

On the screen, your video-self collapses, a spent, shuddering mess, his own orgasm leaving him completely boneless, a satisfied, triumphant Soyeon still buried deep inside him. The other girls are similarly reaching their own peaks, their cries joining the chaotic symphony before they too collapse into a panting, glistening pile of limbs.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Tzuyu’s convulsions begin to subside, her screams tapering off into long, shuddering, breathless moans. Her body goes limp, slumping back against the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her eyes still fluttering behind her closed lids. You slowly, gently, withdraw your fingers from her, the sound a wet, sloppy squelch. Your hand is utterly drenched, dripping with her cum, the musky, sweet scent of her climax filling the air.

You look down at your hand, then back at her beautiful, flushed, utterly wrecked face. A slow, possessive grin spreads across your lips. Without a word, you lift your hand to your mouth. You look her right in the eyes as you slowly, deliberately, suck your first finger into your mouth, cleaning it of her essence with your tongue. You then move to the next, and the next, until your entire hand is clean.

“Mmm,” you hum. “Delicious. The best you’ve ever tasted, baby.” You lean down and give her a slow, deep kiss, letting her taste herself on your tongue. “My good, messy girl.”

Tzuyu is a beautiful ruin on the bed, her body limp and boneless, drenched in a sheen of sweat and the evidence of her own explosive release. She’s panting, shallow, ragged breaths that do little to slow the frantic, triumphant hammering of her heart against her ribs. Her head is spinning, the room tilting slightly, the only anchor in her sea of sensation being your continued presence, your scent, your warmth. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still rolling through her, little phantom pulses that make her muscles twitch and her cunt clench weakly. She has never, in her entire life, felt anything remotely close to that level of absolute, soul-shattering oblivion.

You lean over her, brushing a stray, sweat-soaked strand of hair from her flushed cheek. “Hey,” you murmur. “How are you doing, baby? You with me?”

It takes her a moment to form words, her brain still trying to reboot, to piece together the scattered fragments of her consciousness. A slow, languid, utterly boneless smile spreads across her face, her eyes fluttering open to look at you. They’re glazed over, her pupils huge and dark, swimming with a mixture of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated bliss. “Oh my god,” she breathes. She lets out a soft, airy giggle. “I feel… amazing. I don’t think… I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before. Ever.” She giggles again, the sound a little stronger this time. “Wow. I’ve never felt so good in my entire life.”

On the screen, Soyeon, with a tired but triumphant smile, finally dismounts. Her formidable strap-on glistens under the lights, slick with lube and the residue of her conquest. Your video-self is a collapsed, shuddering heap on the mattress. The other girls swarm the bed, a pack of beautiful, hungry wolves descending on the spoils.

“Oh my god, look at the mess daddy made!” Yuqi squeals, her eyes wide with greedy delight as she crawls onto the bed. “Soyeon-unnie, you really broke him! He shot his load everywhere!” Without a moment’s hesitation, she dives face-first into the puddle on the sheets, her tongue eagerly lapping at the thick, creamy seed. “Mmm! So yummy! Tastes the best right after you fuck his ass!”

Minnie is right beside her, giggling as she shoves Yuqi’s head playfully. “Don’t hog it all, you little!” She lowers her own head, her tongue darting out to lick a large glob of semen directly from the sheet. “Oh, wow. He’s so warm. And so thick today! You really did wring him out, Unnie!”

Miyeon joins the feast. She kneels elegantly on the bed, her long hair cascading around her as she delicately licks the edges of the puddle, savoring it. “He always makes the biggest loads for us after Soyeon-unnie reminds him of his place,” she purrs, a knowing look on her face. “It’s like she unlocks something deep inside him.” She looks over at your video-self’s still-trembling form. “You liked that, didn’t you, baby? Being mommy’s little girl and making a big mess for your sisters to clean up?”

Your video-self can only manage a choked, pathetic whimper in response, his face still buried in the pillows.

Meanwhile, Shuhua, with an expression of pure, undiluted worship, tends to the victorious Soyeon. She carefully unbuckles the leather straps of the harness, her fingers moving with a gentle reverence. As the strap-on comes free, Shuhua’s eyes fixate on its glistening shaft before she leans in and gives the tip a shy, exploratory lick, tasting the mixture of lube and his essence. Her eyes flutter shut in bliss.

Tzuyu’s gaze flicks from the screen back to you, she reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb gently stroking your skin. “Hey,” she says. “Thank you.”

“For what, baby?” you ask, leaning into her touch, covering her hand with your own. “For the orgasm?”

She shakes her head, a small, definite movement. “For all of it. For not running away when I found the videos. For calming me down and explaining everything to me. For not making me feel ashamed when you caught me. For… for showing me all of this. For helping me see that… it’s okay to like these things. To want these things. Thank you for not judging me… and for helping me explore.”

“Tzuyu, I’m the one who should be thanking you. I was terrified when I saw you with that flash drive. I thought… I thought you’d look at me like I was some kind of monster. So thank you for not judging my past. I’m just… so fucking glad you liked what you saw. So glad I get to share this with you.”

A determined fire ignites in her eyes. The shy, hesitant girl from an hour ago is gone, replaced by a woman who has stared into the abyss of her own desires and found it beautiful. “I meant it, you know,” she says. “When I said I wanted to explore these things with you. All of it. The spanking, the anal… the… the daddy thing…” A faint blush colors her cheeks at that last part, but she doesn’t look away. “I think it’s time to spice things up. I’m tired of vanilla sex, baby. I want the whole damn sundae, with all the weird, kinky toppings.”

Hearing her say that, so confidently, so eagerly, is like pouring gasoline on the fire of your own arousal. Your cock, which has been straining painfully against your jeans for what feels like an eternity, gives a hard, demanding throb. “I love hearing you say that more than you can possibly imagine,” you groan. You kiss her again. Then, you pull back. “So… what do you think about us starting this new chapter… right now?”

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips still tingling from your kiss. “Now?” she asks, a hint of her old uncertainty creeping in. “How?”

In response, you push yourself off the bed and stand up. You’re fully clothed, but the tent in your jeans is stark, aggressive, and impossible to ignore. From her vantage point, lying in the glorious, sticky mess of her own making on the bed, you look impossibly tall, powerful, and overwhelmingly desirable.

“Watching those videos with you… hearing you get so turned on… feeling your pussy get so wet for me… seeing you come apart like that…” You take a step closer to the bed, your hand gesturing towards your crotch. “It’s made me really, really fucking horny, Tzuyu. And that first video we watched… the one where they were all begging for my cum on their faces…” You let the sentence hang in the air, your eyes locked on hers. “I want it so bad right now, baby. I want to shoot my load all over your beautiful face. What do you think about getting a proper facial… as your first official act as a certified kinky girl?”

She stares at you, her mouth slightly agape, her mind processing the sudden, intense proposition. This is different. This isn’t watching. This isn’t even her receiving pleasure. This is her giving it, in a way that’s messy, and intense, and so far beyond the simple, clean sex they’ve had before. For a moment, you see a flicker of fear, of hesitation. And then… it’s gone.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I think that’s a very good idea.”

With a newfound grace that’s almost startling, she pushes herself up and slides off the bed, completely unbothered by her nudity or the slickness on her thighs. She walks towards you, her eyes never leaving yours, and slowly, deliberately, sinks to her knees in front of you. The sight of her, a beautiful, powerful goddess kneeling in submission, ready to worship you, almost makes your knees buckle.

Her hands, still slightly trembling but now full of purpose, reach for the button of your jeans. She unfastetches it, then slowly pulls down the zipper, her knuckles brushing against the rigid length of your cock through the fabric. She peels the denim down your thighs, then hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your boxer briefs, pulling them down too.

Your cock springs free, thick, heavy, and magnificent, veins standing out like cords of steel along the shaft, a glistening bead of precum already welling at the slit in the head. It pulses with a life of its own, a testament to the hours of intense arousal you’ve endured.

Tzuyu lets out a soft, appreciative gasp, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and hunger. She reaches out a tentative hand, her fingers barely grazing the tip, before leaning forward. Her hot breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, and then, with a reverence that makes your toes curl, she presses her soft lips to the head of your cock, kissing the bead of precum away, her tongue darting out to lick the spot clean. The taste, salty and uniquely you, makes her shiver.

Her hand, so delicate yet surprisingly strong, wraps around the base of your thick, pulsing cock. Her skin is soft, her grip firm yet tentative at first. She looks up at you, her dark eyes wide with concentration, and a raw, burgeoning hunger that makes your knees feel weak. A small, confident smile plays on her lips as she gives you a slow, experimental stroke, her thumb rubbing over the thick vein that runs along your shaft.

“Oh, wow,” she whispers.. “I think I've never seen it so... hard.. So alive.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” you groan, your head tilting back, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment to savor the feeling. “Your hand on my cock… it’s perfect.”

That little bit of praise is all the encouragement she needs. She finds her groove, her hand sliding up and down your shaft with an increasing, purposeful speed. The sound of her skin sliding over your own, lubricated by the steady bead of precum, fills the quiet room. She’s watching your face intently, her eyes tracking your every reaction, learning what you like, her own arousal building with every twitch of your thigh, every ragged gasp you let out.

“You’re so big,” she pants, her knuckles brushing against your balls with every downward stroke, sending shivers of delight through you. “I can barely fit my hand around you. I love it. I love feeling how hard I’m making you.”

She leans forward, her free hand coming to rest on your thigh for balance, her hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. She kisses the head of your cock again, her tongue darting out to swirl around the sensitive slit before taking you into her mouth for a deep, wet suck that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She pulls off with a wet sound, her lips glistening, and looks up at you through her lashes, a look of pure, unadulterated lust on her face.

“God, you taste so good,” she murmurs, before resuming her relentless, skillful stroking. “I can’t wait… I can’t wait to taste the rest of you. I want it so bad, baby. Please… I’ve been so good, haven’t I? I’ve waited. Now I want my reward.”

Her words, the sight of her kneeling before you, so beautiful, so willing, so utterly consumed by this shared, filthy desire, is pushing you closer to the edge. Her hand is a blur now, her wrist working with a surprising stamina, her grip impossibly perfect. You can feel the familiar, deep pull in your balls, the tell-tale sign that you’re getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, Tzuyu… that feels incredible,” you manage to groan, your hands coming down to rest on her head, your fingers tangling in her soft, dark hair. “You’re so fucking good at this. Stroking my big cock for me… telling me how much you want my cum…”

“I do!” she insists, her tone becoming more desperate, more needy. Her pace quickens even more, her strokes becoming shorter, faster, focused on your sensitive head. “I need it! After watching all of that… after coming so hard… all I can think about is tasting you, feeling you on my skin. Please, baby, don’t make me wait any longer! I want your facial! I want you to cover me! Drench me in your cum, please! I’ll be your good girl! Just give it to me!”

Her begging is the most potent aphrodisiac you’ve ever known. The sight of her, this perfect, beautiful woman who you love more than life itself, looking up at you with such raw, shameless need, pleading to be covered in your seed, shatters the last of your control. Your vision begins to tunnel, your breath coming in harsh, ragged pants.

“You want it all, baby?” you roar. “You want daddy’s hot load all over that pretty face? Are you ready?!”

“Yes! Please! Now!” she screams, her hand a frantic piston on your shaft.

“Look at me, Tzuyu!” you command.

Her eyes, wide and dark and full of absolute trust and adoration, lock with yours. Her lips part slightly in anticipation. And then, with a final, guttural roar that seems to be torn from the very depths of your soul, you erupt.

Your hips buck forward violently, your entire body going rigid as your orgasm rips through you. A thick, heavy, almost obscenely large torrent of your hot cum shoots from your cock, arcing through the air. The first rope hits her right on the forehead, and she gasps, a sharp intake of breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a second at the initial shock and heat. But she doesn’t flinch away. She stays right where she is, kneeling, accepting her reward. Another thick jet splatters across her cheek and nose. Then another coats her chin and lips, a final, powerful pulse even catching in her dark, silken hair.

You’re still panting, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your release, your cock still twitching in her hand, as you watch her. Her beautiful face is painted with thick, white ropes of your cum. She looks stunned, overwhelmed, and more breathtakingly beautiful than ever before.

For a moment, she just stays there, kneeling, her eyes fluttering open. She can feel the warmth of your seed on her skin, the slight stickiness as it begins to cool. She can smell its musky, masculine scent. She slowly lifts a hand, her fingers trembling slightly, and touches the thick glob on her cheek. She looks at her cum-coated fingertips, her expression one of wonder.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that makes your heart stop, she brings her fingers to her mouth and licks them clean.

A slow, beatific smile spreads across her face, a smile of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. “Oh my god,” she whispers, then leans her head forward and licks the cum from her own lips, her tongue darting out to catch every last drop. Finding that isn’t enough, she uses her hands to scoop the cooling seed from her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and eats it with a greedy, almost reverent hunger.

When she’s cleaned most of it away, she looks up at you, her face still glistening, her eyes shining with a light you’ve never seen before; a dark, confident, knowing fire.

“I loved it,” she says. “Baby… I absolutely fucking loved it. It tasted… so good.”

You sink to your knees in front of her, your own body weak with relief and a love so profound it aches. You cup her face, your thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. Her skin is warm, slick, and glistening with your seed. A thick, pearly white glob remains on the curve of her cheekbone.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” you breathe. “Covered in my cum.”

“It was better than I imagined, baby. The taste, the feeling… I want to do it again.”

“I know you do.” Your gaze drops to the remaining cum on her cheek. “Looks like you missed a spot, though.”

Slowly, deliberately, you slide your index finger through the thick glob, scooping it up. You hold your cum-coated finger up to her lips, an offering. An invitation.

Her eyes never leave yours. There’s no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. This isn’t the shy girl from the beginning of the day; this is a woman who has discovered a deep, undeniable part of herself and is embracing it completely. Her lips part, and she leans forward, taking the tip of your finger into her mouth.

She sucks.

Her tongue swirls around your fingertip, cleaning it with a slow, deliberate, almost reverent thoroughness while her gaze holds you captive. The sensation is incredibly intimate, a final, definitive act of submission and acceptance that seals the promise of this new beginning. When she’s done, she pulls back slowly, her lips glistening.

You look at her, this incredible, beautiful woman, kneeling before you, having eagerly taken every filthy, wonderful thing you had to offer and asking for more. Your kinky girl.

A slow, wicked, unbelievably sexy smile spreads across her face.

“So,” Tzuyu purrs. “What’s for lesson two, daddy?”

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jupiterpilgrim · 25 days ago

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Hi Juju. So, about that latest Rina fic.

I don't know what is it with these whole childhood/long time hidden crush turns lovers thing that just keeps getting me so easily, like, that kind plot just clicks with me too easily by default. And here you are, taking that thing to a whole new level. Like, man just the fact that it is so plot heavy for like 3/4 of it just focuses on (re)-building the relationship and bond between the 2, reminiscing the past, giving a good amount of pushes and pulls, back and forth of doubts and uncertainties, jealousies, anxieties, all sorts of emotions comes to play all the way before it all unravels at that final part in the apartment is just meticulously, beautifully, perfectly done by you. Like this fic can do just well without any smut, but having that smut part as some sort of the climax, almost feels like it's a necessary "reward" that might feel empty without it there really makes the entire thing feels way hotter than it is. Really love the little outro as well, just waking up, remembering how wild the night was to seeing her in the kitchen looking so domestic, feeling so natural, man i love that kind of little extra scene at the end like that.

Main highlights got to be the amount of different emotions though, every emotions came out at the perfect times and displayed to perfection pretty much all the way through and definetly helps makes the reading feels more whole and much more fun.

I don't know why but this kind of format, this kind of story heavy thing, where you writers just exploring the feelings and building up the relations, the bonds just ever so slowly always hits me a bit different, giving a different kind of happiness, almost to the point i wanted to say it's the kind of format that i loved the most but i know i'd say that to some other formats too.

But yeah, i yapped too long, bottom line is, just so fucking beautifully done Juju. Well fucking done to you and thank you for this one too. Will happily waiting with a huge smile for the next parts as well. Take care Juju 🫡

Hey you :)

Okay, I don’t even know where to start with this. You know, every time I see your name pop up, I already know I’m about to be spoiled with a fantastic review that will make me notice details in the story that I hadn't noticed before.

You're so right about the childhood crush > slow build > emotional tangle pipeline. There’s just something about the ache of two people circling each other with all that history behind them, but they keep second-guessing, stumbling on the memories, the what-ifs, the “do you remember when…”s. I love that you felt it in this one. That push and pull, the way the past keeps bleeding into the present, like they're rediscovering each other but never really forgot. It’s messy. It’s tender. The fact that you felt how much the drama of the plot directly influenced the smut makes me very happy. Because yeah, the sex isn’t just there to be hot (even though yeah, it has to be hot). It’s that release, that moment when all the emotional friction catches fire. I wanted that climax to feel earned, you know? Like we took our time, they took their time, and when it finally happens: it means something

And saying that every emotion came out at the perfect time, it's the best thing I could read about this chapter. Because that’s what I agonize over most: the pacing of feelings. Making sure nothing feels rushed or out of nowhere. Letting them feel messy and jealous and unsure and vulnerable, but never forced.

Thank you for this review. For how thoughtful it is, how generous. For the way you really see the work that goes into these stories. And thank you for always showing up with such genuine love. I’ll be thinking about this review for days :)

Take care of yourself too, Shin ♥️

#asks #ask me anything #ask

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jupiterpilgrim · 25 days ago

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That .. that new Karina fic ...

I want to tell you that I was so hooked into the romance that it felt dirtier reading the smut because it felt so intimate in the not-meant-for-my-eyes kinda way

This is sooooo damn good

Whoa, this is such a tough connection peak to reach, I get what you mean, I've felt this when reading some fics. Thanks for reading, and glad you liked it!!

#asks #ask #ask me anything

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jupiterpilgrim · 25 days ago

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before the world knew, such a beautiful fic, the mutual pining is a perfect combination of fluff and angst, and i love reader’s feelings of worship for karina, this dynamic you constructed is so sweet and pretty im so glad this piece will continue!!

Thank you so much for reading, and I'm thrilled with all the love this fic is getting. I'll do my best to make the second chapter just as special as the first

#asks #ask #ask me anything

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jupiterpilgrim · 28 days ago

Text

New Skin

Irene Bae x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

It’s mid-afternoon, that point where productivity takes a nosedive and the clock hands seem to wade through treacle. You push back from your desk, time to stretch the legs. And, coincidentally, time to see if Irene Bae actually finished inputting those quarterly projection figures. That’s the official reason, anyway. The one you’d type into a time-tracking app if this place were that anal.

Unofficially? You just want to talk to her.

Irene. She’s been with the company for three or four months now. Casual contract, data entry, the kind of gig that’s meant to be a revolving door. But she’s stuck around. And in that time, she’s cultivated an air of almost complete invisibility. She’s a whisper in the office cacophony, a muted color in a palette of forced corporate brightness. She does her work, meticulously, flawlessly. Never complains, never participates in the break-room bitching sessions or the awkward birthday cake celebrations. Most people probably don’t even know her real name.

But you do. Bae Joohyun. You’d seen it on her initial paperwork. Irene’s the name she goes by here.

She speaks to you. Not much, never initiating, but she responds. There's a politeness there, a guarded stillness that never tips into outright rudeness, which is more than some of the other office drones manage. Maybe it’s because you’re her supervisor, a rung or two up the ladder. Maybe it’s because you’ve made a point of being… well, not a dick. Friendly, even. You try to be, anyway. God knows this place needs a bit less soul-crushing bureaucracy and a bit more basic human decency.

You weave through the maze of cubicles, a landscape of grey fabric and flickering screens. The usual suspects are in their pens: Wendy from accounts scrolling through what definitely isn’t work-related, Seulgi from marketing on yet another clearly personal call, her explanations pitched low and urgent. You offer a vague nod if anyone catches your eye, but your trajectory is set. Irene’s little nook is at the far end, slightly more isolated than the others, a small mercy in this open-plan purgatory.

As you round the last partition, you see her. And fuck, she looks… good. Really good. It’s nothing outrageous, nothing that would breach the unwritten dress code. She’s wearing a simple black top, some kind of soft, clinging material, with three-quarter sleeves. It’s understated, like everything about her, but it hugs the lean lines of her petite frame in a way that makes you notice the toned strength beneath. Her black hair, usually just neatly tied back or falling straight, has a slight wave today, like she maybe didn’t have time to fully straighten it, and it catches the shitty office light, making it gleam. Her head is bent, focused on her screen, one slender hand guiding a mouse, the other resting near the keyboard. Even the line of her neck, exposed where her hair parts, seems delicate, smooth.

You pause for a beat, a couple of feet from her desk, just taking her in. It’s not a leering thing, not really. More like… appreciation. Like noticing a rare, quiet bird in a flock of pigeons. There's a subtle tension around her, even in repose, like a coiled spring. You’ve always sensed it.

You clear your throat, just a little, not wanting to startle her. "Hey, Irene."

She looks up, and for a split second, before the usual mask of polite reserve slides perfectly into place, you see something else. A flicker of… surprise? No, not quite. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s gone before you can properly catalog it. Her dark eyes meet yours, large and surprisingly intense in her small face. No smile, not usually, but the tightening around her eyes isn't hostile.

"Oh. Hi," she replies. Her speaking manner is soft, not quite a whisper, but definitely low, like she’s conserving energy, or maybe just doesn’t want her syllables to travel too far.

"Just doing the rounds," you say, leaning a casual shoulder against the fabric wall of her cubicle. Trying for breezy. "Making sure everyone’s still alive after that marathon budget meeting this morning." You didn’t actually ask her to be in that meeting; her role doesn't require it. Just making conversation.

A tiny, almost imperceptible dip of her chin. "It sounded… long."

"You have no idea. I think a part of my soul shriveled up and died in there." You give a mock shudder. "Anyway, I was wondering how you were getting on with those quarterly figures. The ones for the Anderson account?"

She swivels slightly in her chair, her movements economical and precise. Her gaze drops to her monitor, then back to you. "I finished them about an hour ago. They should be in the shared drive, under 'Q3 Projections - Final'."

Of course, she did. Meticulous. You knew she would be. "Ah, brilliant. Knew I could count on you." You make a mental note to actually check them later, just for form's sake. "No problems with the source data? Sometimes marketing sends it through looking like a dog’s breakfast."

"There were a few inconsistencies in the initial dataset from last Tuesday, but I cross-referenced them with the updated figures from yesterday morning. It should be accurate now."

See? Smart. Doesn’t just blindly input. She actually thinks. Most of the temps just plough through, garbage in, garbage out. You find yourself smiling, a genuine one. "That’s great, Irene. Seriously. Saves me a headache later."

Her eyes flick down, then back up. Is that a hint of… satisfaction? Hard to tell with her. She’s a masterclass in neutral. "I just try to make sure it’s done correctly."

"And you do," you affirm, pushing off the wall slightly, taking a half-step closer, more into her personal space than you usually would, but keeping it open. "So, uh, besides saving the company from numerical chaos, what else is on the agenda for you today? Any exciting plans for… data collation?"

She considers the question, or at least appears to. Her fingers tap once, very lightly, on her desk. The nails are bare, neatly trimmed. No polish. "I have the backlog from the Henderson merger to sort through. It’s… substantial."

"Sounds thrilling," you say, and this time, you think you see the corner of her mouth twitch. A ghost of a smile. Progress. "Well, don't let it swallow you whole. If you hit any major roadblocks, or if the sheer tedium becomes a threat to your sanity, you know where I am."

"Thank you," she says, and her gaze lingers on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual. There’s an odd sort of directness in her eyes when she properly meets your look, like she’s assessing something deep inside you. It’s unnerving and intriguing as hell. "I appreciate that."

"No worries." You linger for another moment, searching for something else to say, some way to keep this fragile thread of interaction going. You notice a small, potted succulent on the corner of her otherwise bare desk. It’s a tiny, unassuming thing, but it’s green and alive. "New plant?"

She glances at it. "Oh. Um. Yes. My… neighbor was moving and couldn’t take it."

"It’s… resilient looking," you offer, which is a stupid thing to say about a plant, but it’s out there now.

A tiny, almost inaudible huff of air escapes her. It might have been a laugh. It really might have been. "It’s supposed to be hard to kill. That’s what she said."

"Always a good quality in an office plant," you agree. "Or an office worker, for that matter. Well, I’ll let you get back to the thrilling Henderson merger files. Thanks again."

"You’re welcome," she says, her attention already starting to drift back towards her screen, the brief opening in her defenses slowly closing up. But it was there. A little crack.

You find yourself reluctant to leave, to let the usual office drone silence settle back over her. The way that black top clings just so to the curve of her back as she turns slightly, the faint, clean scent that you can only catch when you’re this close (something like fresh laundry and maybe a hint of a very subtle, floral soap). It’s doing things to your concentration that have absolutely nothing to do with quarterly projections. You know you should probably just go, get back to your own mountain of work, but there's a pull, a quiet magnetism she exudes that makes you want to just… stay. See if another tiny piece of the real Irene Bae might surface if you wait long enough, patiently enough.

That faint, almost-laugh, the tiny, fleeting opening… it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Now or never, idiot. Before the professional shell hardens completely again, before she retreats back into that fortress of polite distance.

"So," you begin, trying to make it sound like the most casual afterthought in the world, even as a different, less casual thought hammers in your head, don't fuck this up. "Seeing as it's Monday, and Mondays officially suck by universal decree… I was thinking of grabbing a drink after work. You know, just to sort of… defiantly kickstart the week. Would you, uh, be interested in joining? In case you don't have any other more interesting plan. No big deal if you have, totally get it."

There, it’s out. You hold your breath without meaning to.

Irene’s gaze, which had started to drift back to her monitor, snaps back to you. For a moment, her face is perfectly, utterly blank. Not surprised, not annoyed, just… still. Like a photograph. Then, a slow blink. She looks down at her neatly folded hands in her lap, then back up at you.

"That’s… very kind of you," she says. "But I think I’ll have to pass. I have a few things I need to finish up here."

A polite decline. Of course. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, managing a smile that you hope looks understanding and not like you just got gently punched in the gut. "Hey, no problem at all. Totally understand. Rain check for another lifetime, maybe?" you add, trying to keep it light, to show her it’s genuinely okay.

A tiny, almost imperceptible softening around her eyes. "Maybe." She offers that. "I’ll send through that Henderson merger summary report by end of day."

"Sounds good," you nod, already backing away, giving her space. "Don’t let it bury you alive. And, uh, thanks again for the Anderson stuff."

"You’re welcome."

And just like that, she turns back to her screen, the brief window of interaction decisively closed. You walk away, a familiar mix of mild disappointment and a strange sort of respect for her unbreachable composure settling in. Well, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.

The rest of the afternoon crawls by. You actually do your work, or at least a passable imitation of it. Around five-thirty, an email pings into your inbox. Subject: Henderson Merger Summary - Irene Bae. You click it open. The report is attached, and even a cursory glance tells you it’s immaculate. Clear, concise, all the key data points highlighted, potential issues flagged with brief, intelligent notes. Fucking hell, she’s good. Way too good for a casual data entry gig. You fire off a quick reply: "This is perfect, Irene. Seriously, amazing work. Thanks!"

No reply to that. You didn’t expect one.

By six, the office is starting to empty out. The symphony of keyboards has dwindled to a few sporadic taps. You grab your bag, sling your jacket over your shoulder, and head for the elevators. As one slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh, you step in, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors are about to close, a hand darts out, stopping them.

Irene.

She slips inside, her movements quick and economical as always. She’s got a small, plain handbag over her shoulder, and she looks… tired. There are faint shadows under her eyes that weren’t as noticeable in the brighter office lights. The doors close, encasing you both in the small, brushed-steel box. An awkward silence immediately descends. This is always the worst part of accidental shared elevator rides.

"Hey," you manage, because the silence is starting to feel like a physical weight. "That report you sent? Seriously, top-notch. You made my evening a lot easier."

She looks up at you, a brief flicker in her dark eyes. "I’m glad it was helpful."

Her reply is soft, barely disturbing the canned muzak seeping from a hidden speaker. The silence stretches again, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the elevator descending. One floor. Two. You can feel the seconds ticking by. You want to say something else, anything, but the words just don’t come. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself. Don’t be the slightly-too-eager supervisor cornering the quiet girl in an elevator.

She probably just wants to get home. Respect that.

The doors slide open onto the ground floor lobby. Freedom.

"Well, have a good night, Irene," you say, stepping out, already turning towards the exit. "See you tomorrow."

You’re halfway to the main glass doors when you hear it.

"You asked… if I had plans."

Her words are so quiet you almost miss them, almost think you imagined them against the backdrop of distant traffic noise and the lobby’s echoing emptiness. You stop. Turn around slowly. Irene is standing just outside the elevator, her bag clutched in front of her, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

"Yeah," you say, walking back towards her. "I did."

"I don’t," she states. Just like that. No preamble, no explanation for the earlier refusal. Just: "I don’t have plans."

Holy shit. Your brain seems to short-circuit for a second. Okay. Okay, asshole, she just threw you a goddamn lifeline. Don't drown. You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of composure, to make your next words sound casual and not like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

"Oh. Well, in that case," you begin, a slow smile spreading across your face, "the offer for that drink still stands. To, you know, combat the general Monday-ness of things. I know this great little bar not too far from here, actually. Good music, not too loud, and they make a mean old-fashioned, if you’re into that sort of thing." You pause, holding her gaze. "What do you say?"

She looks at you, properly looks, for what feels like a full minute. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a terrifying second, you think she’s going to say no again. Then, the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" you echo, a grin breaking free. "Yeah, okay. Brilliant. My car’s just in the parkade across the street."

The walk to your car is filled with a slightly giddy, slightly surreal silence. You keep stealing glances at her. Irene Bae, willingly accompanying you somewhere. It feels… momentous. You unlock the car, a slightly battered but reliable sedan, and open the passenger door for her. She murmurs a "thank you" and slides in.

Once you’re both in and you’ve navigated out of the dimly lit parkade into the early evening traffic, the atmosphere in the car feels charged, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the buzz of something new, unexpected.

"So," she says, breaking the silence first, her gaze on the passing cityscape, a blur of office lights and neon signs. "This job. Is it… what you always wanted to do?"

You laugh, a short, surprised sound. "Managing quarterly reports and navigating inter-departmental squabbles? Not exactly the dream I had when I was, like, ten." You glance at her. "It’s alright, though. Pays the bills. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, you know? Found a rhythm. Got a decent team, for the most part. People I actually don’t mind seeing every day. That’s something, right?"

"It is," she agrees, turning her head slightly to look at you. "You’re good at it."

That surprises you. "You think so?"

"Yes," she says, with a quiet certainty that makes you sit up a little straighter. "You don’t… take advantage. Of your position." Her eyes flick to the road, then back to you. "You treat everyone like they matter. Even the casuals." There's a faint emphasis on the last word, a shadow in her tone that makes you wonder.

"Well, that’s just… basic decency, isn’t it?" you say, a little embarrassed by the praise. "Nothing to write home about. Everyone’s just trying to get through their day."

"Not everyone sees it that way," Irene counters, her words flat, devoid of inflection, but carrying a weight nonetheless. "I’ve worked in places… with terrible superiors."

"Ah, the petty tyrants of middle management," you sigh, shaking your head. "People with miserable, unhappy lives who get a tiny sliver of power and suddenly think they’re Genghis Khan in a polyester suit. They try to feel better by making everyone else feel smaller. It’s pitiful, really. Because at the end of the day, they’re still just employees. Same as anyone else. One major screw-up, one too many complaints, and they’re out on their ass just like the next person." You glance at her. "Hope you didn’t have to deal with too many of those."

She doesn’t answer directly, just looks out her window again. "It happens."

A beat of silence. You change the subject, not wanting to dwell on whatever bad experiences she’s clearly had. "So, do you live around here? Or am I kidnapping you to the other side of the city for this drink?"

"No, I live pretty close by, actually. Just a few blocks from the office."

"Oh, good," you say. "Well, after we’ve thoroughly deflated Monday’s ego with a beverage or two, I can drop you off, if you like. Save you the walk."

She turns to you again, and this time, the smile is a little more definite, reaching her eyes. "Thank you. I’d like that."

The bar is that classic thing: dimly lit, exposed brick, a long mahogany counter gleaming under strategically placed spotlights and indie rock plays at a conversational level. It’s busy enough to have a buzz, but not so packed you can’t find a quiet corner. You spot a small, empty table tucked away near a bookshelf filled with mismatched paperbacks. Perfect.

You lead her over, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs for her. "Best seat in the house," you announce with a mock flourish.

She slides into the chair, her handbag placed neatly on her lap. "It’s nice," she says, looking around, taking it all in. "I like it."

"Glad it meets with your approval," you grin. "Now, the crucial question: what are you drinking?"

Her eyes scan the chalkboards behind the bar listing craft beers and cocktails. "Um. Maybe a… gin and tonic? If they have a good gin."

"Consider it done." You head to the counter, weaving through a few small groups. You order her G&T, specifying a decent small-batch gin you know they carry, and an old-fashioned for yourself. Waiting for the bartender to work his magic, you glance back at Irene. She’s watching the other patrons, her expression unreadable but not, you think, uncomfortable. She looks small and almost delicate in the low light, yet there’s that core of resilience you always sense in her.

Drinks secured, you carry them carefully back to the table. You set her tall, clinking glass in front of her and place your own squat tumbler down. Sliding into the chair opposite, you make sure you’re facing her directly. This feels good. Really good.

You pick up your glass. "Well," you say, raising it slightly.

Irene mirrors your action, her dark eyes questioning yours over the rim of her glass. "What are we toasting to?" she asks

A grin spreads across your face. "To new beginnings," you start, then amend it. "No, scratch that. To Monday nights that don’t suck. And, more importantly," you meet her gaze directly, "to the best goddamn casual worker this company has ever had the dumb luck to hire."

A beat of silence. Then, something remarkable happens. Irene laughs. It’s not a loud laugh, not a boisterous one. It’s a soft, breathy sound, genuine and utterly unexpected, crinkling the corners of her eyes and making her whole face light up for a precious, unguarded moment. "Oh my god," she says, still chuckling, shaking her head slightly. "Thank you." She clinks her glass against yours. "I’ll drink to that.”

That shared laugh, her unexpected, genuine amusement: it’s like a key turning in a rusty lock. The air between you shifts, losing some of its earlier, fragile tension, replaced by something warmer, more… possible. You take a slow sip of your old-fashioned, the sharp bite of whiskey and bitters a pleasant counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. Her gin and tonic is already a little lower in its tall glass, the ice clinking softly as she sets it down.

"So," you begin, leaning back a fraction, trying to project casual interest rather than the full-blown interrogation your curiosity is screaming for. "Aside from being a spreadsheet wizard and a savior of Monday nights, what else does Irene Bae get up to?”

"Nothing too extraordinary. I like to read. And I walk a lot. Explore the city."

"Reading, huh? Anything good lately?" You try to keep your follow-up equally light. You’re intensely aware that every question is a potential landmine. Too personal, too probing, and she might just vanish back into that shell.

"I just finished a collection of short stories," she offers, her words measured. "Modern gothic. Quite dark."

"Sounds… cheerful," you remark, raising an eyebrow. "Matches the general Monday vibe, I guess." Your internal monologue is whirring: Modern gothic. Dark. Okay, that’s… interesting. Not exactly chick-lit. Adds another layer to the enigma.

She gives a tiny shrug, a graceful, minimal movement. "I find it interesting." She takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes watching you over the rim. Then, before you can formulate another carefully casual question, she flips it. "What about you? When you’re not cracking the whip at the office or rescuing Mondays, what’s your grand passion?"

The question, coming from her, feels like a small gift. You lean forward, genuinely pleased to share, to keep the conversational ball rolling. "Ha, 'cracking the whip.' If only. Mostly I just try to keep the ship from hitting the nearest iceberg." You grin. "Passions? Let’s see. I’m a bit of a film nerd. Old movies, foreign films, anything that isn’t a superhero sequel, basically. And I attempt to play guitar – emphasis on 'attempt.' My neighbors probably hate me."

"A film nerd?" A flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Any particular director or era you favor?"

"Oh, man, where to start?" You launch into a slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of your love for classic film noir, the French New Wave, the oddball genius of Kurosawa. You talk about the satisfaction of finally tracking down a rare print, the joy of watching a masterpiece on a big screen, even if it’s just at the local art-house cinema. You’re aware you’re probably rambling a bit, but she’s listening. Or at least, she appears to be. She’s still, her gaze fixed on you, not interrupting, just… absorbing. It’s more attention than she’s ever given you in the office.

You eventually wind down, a little breathless, feeling slightly foolish for your impromptu lecture. "Sorry," you say, laughing a bit. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about black and white cinematography."

"No, it’s… interesting," she says, and you think she actually means it. Or maybe she’s just incredibly polite. "You’re passionate about it. It’s clear."

"Yeah, I guess I am." You take another swallow of your drink. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your chest, mingling with the unexpected warmth of this conversation. "So, you said you walk a lot. Any favorite spots in the city? Hidden gems I should know about?"

"I haven't found any particularly interesting places yet. But, uh, I went to a historic library this month and the place is really pretty. I think that's a start."

"Sounds interesting. The city’s definitely got a lot to offer if you just wander. I keep meaning to do more of that myself, but, you know, life. Work."

"It can be hard to find the time," she agrees, her gaze returning to yours. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are observant, constantly gauging. You have the distinct feeling you’re being carefully evaluated. "Do you… enjoy living here? In this city?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," you reply honestly. "It’s not where I grew up, but I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home. There’s always something going on, good food, decent music scene. And it’s big enough that you can disappear if you want to, but small enough that you still run into people you know. What about you? Are you originally from here?"

Another brief hesitation. "No. Not originally." She offers no more than that. Another door, gently closed. You’re learning the rhythm of it: she’ll answer the direct question, but volunteer nothing extra about herself.

"Well, no need to thank me for revealing the best gin in the city," you joke, gesturing to her glass.

A tiny smile again. "This place is cool. And the gin is really good."

"Well, I know you are a reserved person, but I’m honored you made an exception for my 'kickstart the week' initiative."

"It was…" she pauses, as if searching for the right word, "...a good suggestion."

The conversation flows like that for a while longer, a gentle ebb and flow of questions and answers. You learn that she prefers tea to coffee, that she finds crowded places overwhelming, that she once had a cat but doesn’t currently. Each piece of information is tiny, almost inconsequential on its own, but you hoard them like precious gems. In return, you tell her about your disastrous attempts at cooking, a funny story about your college roommate that happened years ago, your undying loyalty to a consistently terrible local sports team. You’re careful to keep it light, to match her level of disclosure, but inside, you’re buzzing. You’re actually talking to Irene Bae, and she’s… talking back. It feels like a minor miracle.

Her drink is nearly empty, and yours isn't far behind. The initial energy of the bar has mellowed into a comfortable, late-evening hum. You catch the bartender’s eye, you lift two fingers, then tap your chest and mouth "non-alcoholic beer for me this time." He nods, already reaching for a specific bottle from the cooler. Driving Irene home safely is suddenly a very high priority.

When he brings the drinks, a fresh, fragrant G&T for her, and a dark, malty-looking non-alcoholic brew for you, Irene is watching you, that quiet, considering look in her eyes again.

"So, about the work,” you start, “are you actually, you know, enjoying your time at the company? Aside from my brilliant supervisory skills, of course."

"It’s… okay," she says, which from Irene is practically a glowing endorsement. "I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, since I’m usually… quiet."

"Hey, quiet is fine," you interject quickly. "You’re always polite, you do incredible work, and you haven’t tried to set fire to the servers yet. Honestly, that puts you in the top percentile of casuals we’ve had." You mean it. "Seriously though, as long as you’re not miserable, that’s what matters."

"I’m not miserable," she confirms. "It’s… structured. Predictable. I appreciate that."

"Good." You nod, relieved. "So, what’s the plan then? Your current contract is up in, what, another month or so? Any thoughts on what you’ll do next? Back to the exciting world of job hunting?" You try to keep it light, but there’s an underlying purpose to your question now.

She looks down into her drink, swirling the ice with a long, slender finger. The small gesture somehow seems incredibly thoughtful. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead," she admits. "Find another job, I suppose. That’s usually how it goes."

This is it. Your opening. Your heart gives a little thump. "Well," you begin, trying to sound casual, like this is just a random thought that popped into your head. "About that. There’s actually been some talk… about your role."

Her head comes up, eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"The thing is, Irene," you lean forward a fraction, "you’re kind of indispensable. And some of us, higher up the food chain, have noticed that." You take a breath. "So, I was wondering… how would you feel about making your position full-time? Permanent contract, benefits, the whole shebang."

She stares at you, her expression unreadable. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a hint of suspicion? "You… can do that?"

"Not me, personally," you clarify quickly. "This isn't me pulling strings as your dashingly handsome supervisor." You shoot her a quick grin, which she doesn’t return, her focus entirely on your words. "The decision actually came from the big boss, old Henderson himself, after seeing the quarterly summaries and the work you did on that merger data. He was… impressed. He asked me to sound you out, see if you’d be interested. I was planning on talking to you about it sometime this week, but, well, now seems as good a time as any, right?"

Irene is silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point over your shoulder. You can almost see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she looks back at you. "I… I’d have to think about it."

"Of course," you say immediately. "No pressure at all. Seriously. Take your time. But," you can't help adding, "it would be really great to have you on board properly. As a, you know, full-fledged contract worker."

She cocks her head, a tiny, bird-like movement. "Why?"

The question is so direct, so simple, it throws you for a second. "Why?" you echo. You hesitate, searching for the right words. The real reasons are a tangled mess of professional admiration and a rapidly growing personal affection that feels way too soon, too intense to articulate. "Well, because… because you’re an excellent professional, Irene," you land on, hoping it sounds convincing. "You’re efficient, you’re meticulous, your attention to detail is incredible. You make my job easier, and you make the whole team look good."

She shakes her head slowly, a faint frown touching her lips. "What I do… it’s no big deal. Data entry, report summaries. There are plenty of people out there who can do the same thing."

You lean forward, a mock-serious expression on your face. "Actually, Irene, I don't like you just doing your job," you say, letting the pause hang for a split second before a grin breaks through. "Because what you do isn't just 'your job.' It's exceptional. And no, not 'several out there' can do it like you." You soften your expression, meeting her gaze earnestly. "Besides, everyone at the company genuinely appreciates you, and your work."

A beat of silence. Then, Irene laughs again, that soft, breathy sound that does ridiculous things to your insides. Her eyes, though, are sparkling with a teasing light you’ve never seen before. "Oh really?" she says, a playful lilt in her quiet words. "Is it everyone? Or is it… just you?"

Heat floods your face. You can feel the blush creeping up your neck. You look away, flustered, trying to come up with a clever retort, but your brain has apparently short-circuited. Shit. You’re usually better at this.

Seeing your reaction, her expression softens. "Hey," she says, her words a soft balm. "I’m just joking." She reaches out, just for a second, and her cool fingertips brush the back of your hand where it rests on the table. "Don’t look so terrified."

You manage a shaky laugh, looking back at her. Her eyes are kind. More than kind.

"And for the record," she continues, her gaze holding yours. "I appreciate that you like my work. You're very kind.”

Irene’s gaze is steady on yours, a hint of that earlier blush still dusting her cheekbones, but her expression is open, almost serene. That tiny, brave nod she gives is more articulate than a thousand words.

"Alright," you manage, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay. That’s… that’s really good to hear, Irene. So," you venture, your smile softening, "does this mean you’re going to accept my incredibly generous, Henderson-approved proposal to become a permanent fixture of corporate excellence?"

She chuckles. It’s amazing how quickly she seems to be shedding layers of that formidable reserve, at least with you, in this moment. "I said I’d think about it," she reminds you, a playful glint back in her eyes. "No need to rush such a life-altering decision, right?"

"Right, right, of course," you concede, still grinning like an idiot. "Strategic deliberation. I respect that."

And just like that, the initial fear peak passes, settling into a comfortable, warm plateau. You talk. For hours, it seems. The second round of drinks arrives, your non-alcoholic beer surprisingly satisfying, her gin and tonic still her companion. The conversation meanders easily now, a stark contrast to the careful, step-by-step navigation of your earlier interactions. You touch on office matters: the ridiculousness of certain company policies, the upcoming (and dreaded) office move to a new floor, the latest gossip about which department head is feuding with another (which Irene, surprisingly, seems to have a few wry, understated observations about).

Then you drift to side things. You talk more about films you both like, discovering a shared appreciation for a particular cult sci-fi series from the 90s that you’re both shocked the other has even heard of. She mentions, very briefly, a passion for minimalist photography, focusing on urban decay and overlooked details, and you make a mental note to ask her more about it another time, when it feels right. You tell her about your disastrous attempt to learn coding during lockdown, which ended with you accidentally wiping your own hard drive. She doesn’t laugh uproariously, but her shoulders shake a little, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes you smile unconsciously.

Time seems to dissolve. The bar gradually empties. You’re both leaning in slightly over the small table, the rest of the world faded into a pleasant, out-of-focus backdrop. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the clock behind the bar, nudging past midnight, that you realize how long you’ve been here.

"Whoa," you say, genuinely surprised. "Look at the time." You glance at Irene. She does look a little tired now, the earlier animation softened by a gentle weariness around her eyes, though her expression is still content. "I should probably get you home. You must be exhausted."

She stifles a small yawn, then nods. "Probably a good idea. Mondays, even good ones, take their toll."

When the bartender brings the bill, Irene immediately reaches for her handbag. "Let me get my share," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

You wave your hand dismissively. "Nope. Not a chance. My treat. I did invite you to defiantly kickstart the week, remember?"

"But we had four or five rounds," she protests mildly. "And you offered me a job. The least I can do is pay for my own gin."

"Consider it a pre-emptive signing bonus discussion fee," you counter, already pulling out your card. "Seriously, Irene. It’s on me. Please."

She hesitates for a moment, then a small, appreciative smile touches her lips. "Okay. Thank you. That’s… very chivalrous."

"I have my moments," you say, winking, as you settle the bill.

In the car, the city lights painting fleeting stripes across the dashboard, Irene gives you her address; a street in a quiet, older residential area not far from the office, just as she’d said.

"So," you ask, as you navigate the familiar streets, "you live alone?" It’s a casual question, but your heart beats a little faster waiting for the answer.

"Yes," she replies, looking out at the passing buildings. "For a few years now." She turns her head. "You?"

"Same here," you say. "Just me and my old movie collection. The second part probably justifies the first."

She gives a soft chuckle at that.

You pull up outside a well-maintained older apartment building, with a small, neat garden out front. It looks… peaceful. Like her.

"Well, here we are," you say, putting the car in park.

Irene turns in her seat to face you more fully. "Thank you," she says, her gaze direct and sincere. "For the invitation, for the drinks. It was… a really nice chat. I enjoyed it."

"Me too, Irene," you reply, your own sincerity matching hers. "Thanks for your company. It was a lot of fun. Definitely the best Monday I’ve had in a long time."

"Good night, then," she says softly. Her hand hovers near the door handle. For a wild second, you wonder if you should lean in, if this is the moment for a goodbye kiss, but something in her stillness, a lingering hint of that old reserve, tells you not yet. Don’t push it. Not now.

"Good night, Irene," you echo. "Get some rest."

She nods, gives you one last small smile, and then she’s out of the car, a fleeting figure disappearing into the building’s warmly lit entryway. You wait until you see the lobby door close behind her before pulling away, a wide, goofy grin plastered on your face that doesn’t fade the entire drive home.

—

From that night on, something undeniably shifts. Your bond with Irene, forged in the dim light of that quiet bar, begins to progress in subtle but significant ways. In the office, she still maintains her discreet presence, never drawing undue attention to herself. But with you, things are different. She seeks out your gaze more often across the expanse of cubicles, a small, almost imperceptible smile usually accompanying it. When you approach her desk, she looks up immediately, the guardedness you were so used to now noticeably lessened, replaced by a welcoming warmth in her dark eyes.

She talks to you more, too. Not just about work, though she’s still impeccably professional. She’ll share a wry observation about a particularly mind-numbing office memo, or ask your opinion on a new software rollout. Sometimes, she even initiates the conversation, a quiet "Got a minute?" when she has a genuine query or, increasingly, just something she wants to share. And jokes (Irene actually makes jokes). They’re subtle, dry, delivered with that understated wit you’re quickly coming to adore, but they’re there, little sparks of humor that light up your interactions.

It makes you ridiculously happy, this gradual unfolding. Every shared glance, every quiet conversation, every fleeting smile feels like a victory, a testament to the connection you’re building. You find yourself looking forward to seeing her each day with an eagerness that’s entirely new. There’s no denying it, not anymore. You’re liking Irene Bae more and more, and the thought of where this all might be heading fills you with a buoyant, thrilling anticipation.

The week has been a blur of spreadsheets that all look the same and meetings that could have been emails. Standard. You do your usual wander through the office tundra, a flimsy excuse to stretch your legs and make sure the drones haven't revolted. You offer the requisite nods, the "how’s it goings," the feigned interest in weekend plans that involve either mind-numbing DIY or equally mind-numbing children's soccer games. But really, your internal compass is pointing one way: Irene’s desk.

She’s there, a small, still point in the surrounding office chaos. Head down, focused. God, she’s beautiful. It’s not even a conscious thought anymore, just an accepted fact, like gravity or the office coffee being terrible. Today she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, soft and slightly oversized, that makes her look even more delicate. Her dark hair is clipped back loosely, a few stray strands feathering her cheek. As you approach, she senses you, looking up. And this time, there’s no hesitation, no fractional delay before her polite mask clicks into place. This time, a small, subtle smile touches her lips almost instantly. It’s a tiny thing, barely a curve, but on Irene, it’s like a goddamn sunrise. Your chest does that stupid warm lurch it’s been doing a lot lately.

"Morning, Irene," you say, leaning against the partition of her cubicle, trying to match her quiet energy. "Or, well, almost afternoon, I guess."

"Good morning," she replies, her words soft, but the smile lingers in her eyes. That’s new. And definitely not unwelcome.

"Just checking in. How’s that… uh… creative asset compilation for the new campaign coming along? The one I dumped on you yesterday with zero notice?" You’d asked her to pull together a bunch of visual elements and a draft for some new ad copy. A bit outside her usual data-entry scope, but you had a hunch she’d be good at it.

"Almost done," she confirms, gesturing vaguely at her screen. "Just finalizing the font choices for the header. It should be ready by three."

"No rush at all, you’re a miracle worker as it is." You glance at her screen, trying to seem interested in fonts, but your attention snags on the small, almost hidden detail on her desk – a tiny, exquisitely wrapped parcel, no bigger than a matchbox, tied with a simple silver ribbon. It wasn't there yesterday. "So," you continue, keeping your tone light, "anything exciting happen since I last graced your cubicle with my overwhelming presence?"

Her gaze flickers to the small parcel, then back to you, and the subtle smile widens just a fraction. "Actually," she says, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly, "I received what you sent."

Ah. So she got it. This week was her birthday. You’d thought about organizing something, a small surprise with a few of the nicer people on the team. But then you’d pictured Irene, the center of attention, forced smiles, awkward small talk… and you’d nixed the idea. She wasn’t the surprise party type. So, you’d sent a small, carefully chosen gift to her apartment instead (you still had her address from that night at the bar). A collection of short stories by an author she mentioned being a fan of and, apparently, she didn't have this book yet, which is a new release.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, feigning mild surprise. "Well, I hope I didn't choose something boring. Choosing gifts isn't really something I'm very talented at."

A soft chuckle escapes her. "No, it was… lovely. Thank you. You really didn't need to bother, though."

"Hey, what are supervisors for if not to occasionally bother their best employees with unsolicited tokens of appreciation?" you say, grinning. "Glad you liked it." You pause, then decide to take the plunge. "So, listen. Friday today. End of a massively busy week. Any chance I could tempt you with another round of drinks? All on me, of course.”

She looks up, and for a moment, you see that familiar flicker of hesitation, the slight tensing around her eyes. She bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the desk. "I don't know…" she begins, her words very quiet. "Don't you think… people in the office might find it a bit strange? Just you and me, going out for drinks together again?"

Her concern is valid. You’re her supervisor. And while this office isn't exactly a hotbed of malicious gossip, people notice things. But the thought of not seeing her outside these four grey walls, especially after the progress you’ve made, feels… deflating.

You shrug. "Let them think whatever they want. Honestly, Irene, who cares? It's just a couple of colleagues grabbing a drink after a long week. Besides," you add, leaning in a fraction, lowering your tone slightly, "no one here is interesting enough to be a dedicated gossip columnist. They’re too busy worrying about their own TPS reports. You don't need to worry about it."

She looks at you for a long moment. You can see the internal debate warring in her eyes. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I’d like that."

—

Lunchtime. You’re at your desk, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that’s threatening to induce a coma, when a small shadow falls over your keyboard. You look up, surprised.

It’s Irene. She’s holding a small, clear plastic container, tied with a simple piece of kitchen twine. Inside, you can see a neat stack of perfectly round, golden-brown cookies. Homemade. No doubt about it.

"Hi," she says, a little shyly, holding out the container. "I, uh… I made these last night. For you. As a thank you. For the… for the other day. And the gift."

You’re genuinely speechless for a second. Irene Bae baked you cookies. You take the container, your fingers brushing hers. "Irene, wow. You… you really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to," she says, that faint blush back on her cheeks. "They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy." She pauses, then adds, with a tiny, playful smirk, "Don’t get spoiled."

"Too late," you say, already prying the lid off. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate hits you. "These look incredible. Seriously." You take one, biting into it. It’s perfect: soft and chewy in the middle, slightly crisp around the edges. "Holy shit, Irene, these are… you’re a wizard."

"They’re just cookies."

"No, these are not 'just cookies'," you insist, taking another enthusiastic bite. "These are edible drops of pure happiness. You’re wasted on data entry, you know that? You should open a bakery."

"One business is enough for now," she says, but she looks genuinely pleased by your reaction. She lingers by your desk for a moment, not quite meeting your eye, but not leaving either. "How’s… how’s your day going? You look a little tired."

It’s true. The past few days have been a relentless onslaught of urgent requests, looming deadlines, and a particularly tedious software integration project that’s been fighting you every step of the way. You probably look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.

"Yeah, it’s been a bit of a beast," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "Lots of fires to put out. Trying to get the specs finalized for the Q4 roll-out, plus Henderson is breathing down my neck about those new compliance protocols. Standard corporate fun and games." You try for a light tone. "But I’m fine. Just need about seventeen more cups of coffee."

Her expression softens with something that looks a lot like genuine concern. "Don’t try to do too much," she says. "You’ll burn yourself out."

"Words of wisdom from the cookie queen," you say, smiling at her. "I’ll try to take it easy. Especially since," you add, your grin widening, "I’m really looking forward to those drinks later."

You expect her to just nod, to give one of her polite, non-committal responses. But instead, her eyes meet yours, and there’s a surprising warmth, a definite spark in their depths. "Me too," she says, her words clear and, to your utter astonishment, tinged with what sounds like genuine anticipation.

—

The end-of-day exodus is in full swing, the usual shuffle of tired bodies and the clatter of keyboards being powered down. You catch Irene’s eye as she’s gathering her things, and that subtle smile, the one that’s becoming less of a rarity when you’re around, touches her lips. She does look tired, a faint weariness around her dark eyes, but it doesn’t diminish the quiet prettiness that always seems to cling to her. If anything, the slight vulnerability makes her even more striking.

You meet her by the elevators, a silent agreement passing between you. No need for forced office goodbyes today.

"Ready to officially declare war on the work week?" you ask as you both step out into the cool evening air. The city is already starting to glitter, streetlights blinking on against the fading daylight.

She glances up at you, noticing you're not heading towards the parkade. "No car today?"

"Nope," you say, hands in your pockets as you start walking. "Figured if we're going for drinks, actual drinks, then driving is counterproductive to the whole 'getting drunk and forgetting responsibilities' vibe. Thought we’d walk."

Irene falls into step beside you, her pace surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so weary moments ago. "Didn't you come to work by car today? But… I could have said no to the invitation. You would have walked for nothing."

You shoot her a sideways grin. "Nah. I had a pretty good feeling you’d say yes."

"Very presumptuous of you," she murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement.

The walk to the bar is easy, the conversation flowing more naturally than it ever has in the sterile confines of the office. You talk like coworkers, at first. The new coffee machine in the breakroom, which everyone agrees is a downgrade despite its fancy chrome exterior. The inexplicable disappearance of all the good pens from the supply closet.

"Seriously," you say, shaking your head as you navigate a cracked paving stone, "it’s like there’s a pen gremlin. I bought a pack of twelve on Monday. By Wednesday, they were all gone."

Irene actually chuckles at that. "It’s Henderson. I saw him pocket one of mine yesterday when he thought I wasn’t looking."

"No way!" you exclaim, genuinely shocked. "The CEO? Stealing pens? That’s… actually kind of hilarious."

"He has very specific preferences for blue ink," she says, her tone dry, and you both laugh.

It’s like this, small talk, office anecdotes. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal, but it’s comfortable. You notice the way she walks, with a quiet grace, her gaze often drifting to the small details of the cityscape around you; an interesting piece of graffiti, an old, weathered doorway, the way the light hits a particular window. She doesn’t say much about what she sees, but you get the feeling she’s absorbing it all.

The bar is the same familiar spot, a haven of dim lights and good music. You find your preferred corner table, and Irene slides into the chair you pull out for her with a small, appreciative nod.

"Same again?" you ask, already knowing her answer.

"Gin and tonic, please," she confirms.

You head to the bar, ordering her drink and another of those surprisingly decent dark ales for yourself.

When you return, she’s watching the crowd, a faint smile on her lips. You set the drinks down, the tall glass of her G&T clinking softly against your bottle. You slide into the chair opposite her, the small table creating a sense of comfortable intimacy.

"Alright," you say, picking up your bottle and raising it slightly. "First round."

She lifts her glass, her dark eyes meeting yours. "To what, exactly, are we dedicating this particular round of defiance against the universe?"

You grin. "To surviving another week of corporate warfare. To Fridays. And," you pause, your gaze softening, "to the fact that the mystery of the stolen pens was finally solved, thanks to your important intel."

"You’re welcome. Happy to assist in the fight against executive kleptomania." She clinks her glass against your bottle. "Cheers."

You both take a sip, a comfortable silence settling between you for a moment. The bar’s atmosphere wraps around you, the low murmur of other conversations, the distant clatter from the kitchen, the bluesy track oozing from the speakers. It feels… right.

"So," you begin, after a while, setting your bottle down. "That whole full-time contract thing. Still mulling it over?"

Irene takes a slow sip of her G&T, her eyes thoughtful. "I am," she admits. "It’s… a big decision. More responsibility. More… permanence."

"No pressure," you reiterate. "The offer stands. But Henderson was genuinely impressed. You’ve made a good mark."

"It’s just… data," she says, looking down into her glass. "It’s not like I’m revolutionizing the industry."

"Hey," you say, leaning forward slightly. "Don’t sell yourself short. You have a knack for seeing patterns, for making sense of chaos. That’s a rare skill. And honestly, the way you transformed that Henderson merger data from an absolute clusterfuck into something coherent? That was art, Irene. Pure, unadulterated, spreadsheet art."

She looks up, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks, but also a flicker of something else (pride, maybe?) "You really think so?"

"I know so." You pause, then decide to just go for it. "Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. The main reason Henderson wants you on full-time is because you’re damn good at what you do. But for me?" You meet her gaze, holding it. "I just… I really like having you around the office, Irene. You make the place better."

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, her lips parting slightly. The blush deepens. She looks away, down at her glass, then back at you, a complex mix of emotions playing across her usually composed features. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, takes another sip of her drink.

She finally sets her glass down with a soft click, her fingers tracing the condensation. "That’s… a really nice thing to say," she says.

Your smile widens at her quiet admission, the sincerity in her dark eyes hitting you with a pleasant warmth. "Well, 'nice' is a good start," you say, your own words softer now. "I was aiming for at least 'not actively terrible,' so I’m calling this a win."

She gives a small, almost shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the G&T she’s cradling. The ice cubes shift and clink as she swirls the glass. "You set a low bar for yourself."

"Hey, gotta manage expectations," you retort, grinning. "Especially on a Friday when the main goal is to de-stress, not to impress." You take another sip of your non-alcoholic beer. It’s not bad, actually. Almost makes you feel like a responsible adult.

The conversation flows easily after that, the topics meandering from the absurdities of office life to more general things. She listens with an unreadable but attentive expression as you recount a particularly disastrous client presentation you had to salvage earlier in the year, even managing a small, sympathetic grimace when you get to the part about the projector dying mid-PowerPoint. Hours seem to melt away, marked only by the gradual lowering of the liquid in your glasses and the comfortable rhythm of your shared talk.

It’s Irene who eventually steers the conversation into more personal territory, and it’s so unexpected it almost makes you choke on your beer. She’s been quieter for a few moments, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a new sort of intensity.

"So," she begins, her words careful, measured, "you mentioned your friends at the office. The ones you started with."

"Yeah?" you prompt, curious where this is going.

"Is it… just friendships? Or is there anyone… more specific?" Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and you realize she’s not just making small talk. This is deliberate. She’s plucking up the courage, right here, right now.

You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel a faint heat rising in your own cheeks. "More specific how?"

"You know," she says, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. "A girlfriend? Someone you’re seeing?" Then, her eyes flick to a point just past your shoulder, a subtle shift. "Like… Seulgi? You two seem… very close."

Ah. Seulgi. You should have seen that coming. Seulgi is vibrant, outgoing, and yes, you two are close. You share a lot of inside jokes, grab lunch together sometimes, and there’s an easy camaraderie between you that probably looks like more than it is to an outside observer. Especially an observant one like Irene.

You lean back in your chair, considering how to answer. Honesty seems like the best policy here, especially with the way Irene is watching you. "Seulgi and I…" you begin, then pause, choosing your words. "Yeah, we’re close. But it’s not… like that. Not anymore, anyway."

Irene’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Anymore?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Might as well just lay it out. "Look, years ago, when we both first started at Henderson Corp, fresh out of uni, barely knew which way was up… yeah, Seulgi and I had a thing. An affair, I guess you’d call it. It was intense, for a while. But it was a long time ago. We were young, stupid, figuring things out." You meet her gaze. "It burned out pretty quick. Honestly, we realized we were much better as friends. And that’s what we are now. Good friends. Nothing more, I promise."

She absorbs this, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, "Aren’t… relationships between employees frowned upon? At the company?"

"Officially?" you shrug. "There’s no explicit rule against it, as long as it doesn't involve a direct reporting line, which ours didn’t, even back then. Henderson’s surprisingly old-school about some things, but pretty laissez-faire about others. Unofficially, the policy is basically: keep it professional at work, don’t let it affect your performance, and for God’s sake, no dramatic breakups in the middle of the quarterly budget cycle." You take a sip of your beer. "What you do on your own time, outside the office walls, is generally considered your own business. As long as you’re not an idiot about it and it doesn’t spill into work, they tend to look the other way."

Irene nods slowly, processing that. "So… it’s okay?"

"Yeah, mostly. Just gotta be smart, maintain professionalism when you're on the clock. Everything’s fine. Honestly, there are probably more office romances brewing in that place than anyone realizes." You grin. "Henderson Corp: Where Careers and Questionable Life Choices Collide."

She gives a small, hesitant smile at that. The conversation drifts a little after that, back to safer, more general topics. You order another round, she sticks to her G&T, you get another non-alcoholic ale. The bar is thinning out now, the Friday night energy mellowing into a late-evening calm. Irene seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her. She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the table, her earlier tension almost entirely gone. She even initiates a couple of topics, asking about a book you mentioned earlier, a small, thoughtful question about one of the characters.

It’s as you’re describing a particularly ridiculous plot twist that she starts to chuckle. Not a full laugh, but a series of soft, breathy huffs of amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" you ask, grinning. "Too unbelievable?"

"No, it’s not the book," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "It’s you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," she confirms, and there’s a definite warmth in her gaze now. "You’re… you’re actually quite funny." She pauses, as if surprised by her own admission. "It’s… rare. For me to find men funny."

You blink, then let out a surprised laugh yourself. "Is that a compliment, Bae Joohyun?" you tease, using her full name for the first time, enjoying the way a slight blush rises on her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," you say, your grin spreading wider. "I’m officially adding 'surprisingly humorous to discerning women' to my resume." You lean forward, your elbows on the table, the atmosphere between you feeling lighter, more charged than ever. The drinks, the late hour, her unexpected praise… it’s all coalescing into something…

promising.

"So, Irene Bae, now that we’ve established this mutual… "liking"," you drawl the word out, enjoying the faint blush that returns to her cheeks, "does this improve the odds of you accepting Henderson’s most gracious offer of permanent employment?"

She picks up her G&T, takes a thoughtful sip. "Still thinking," she says, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass. "Wouldn't want to seem too eager, would I?"

"Heaven forbid," you agree, playing along. "Strategic ambiguity. Very professional."

The conversation continues, hours evaporate. The bar staff are starting to wipe down distant tables, the music has shifted to something even more mellow, and the crowd has thinned to a few lingering couples and solitary drinkers. Irene glances at the small, elegant watch on her slender wrist.

"Wow, it’s… getting pretty late," she says, her words carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

You nod, a reluctant sigh escaping you. The beer has settled into a comfortable warmth in your system, your limbs loose, your head pleasantly fuzzy. "Yeah, you’re right." You pause, looking at her, at the soft way the low light catches her dark hair, the way her eyes seem even deeper, more expressive in the intimate gloom. "Damn shame. I wish this night wouldn't end."

She meets your gaze, her smile soft, questioning. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"

The alcohol has definitely loosened your tongue, stripped away a few layers of your usual caution. "Because I like being around you, Irene," you confess, the words coming out easily, honestly. "Your presence… I don’t know. It’s kind of hypnotic." You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And now I’m going to go home and just… keep thinking about you."

"You… think about me?" she asks.

"Yeah," you admit, feeling your own cheeks warm a little. "A lot, actually."

She’s silent for a moment, then, very slowly, her hand reaches across the small table, her cool fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt straight up your arm. "What… what do you think about?"

"Everything," you say, your gaze locked on hers, feeling a bit drunk on more than just the beer now. "The way you concentrate when you’re working. The way you have that tiny little frown when you’re figuring something out. The way your hair falls across your cheek when you’re not looking." You shake your head, a small, dazed smile on your face. "Lately, Irene, you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind."

Her fingers intertwine with yours, a soft, hesitant pressure. Her dark eyes are searching yours, and you can see a storm of emotions in their depths. "Lately," she confesses, "I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you too."

"Yeah? What do you think about me, Irene Bae?"

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to your joined hands, then lifting back to your eyes, bold and vulnerable all at once. "I think about… what it would be like… if you kissed me."

The world around you just… stops. Your brain stutters, reboots. You lose focus on the bar, the music, everything but her face, her eyes, the feel of her hand in yours. She thinks about you kissing her. That’s it. That’s all the fucking permission you need.

Before you can second-guess it, before the moment can break, you’re moving. You lean across the small table, your other hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb stroking her soft skin. And then you kiss her.

It’s insane, the moment your lips meet. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting faintly of gin and lime. She gasps softly into your mouth, then kisses you back, her initial hesitation melting away into a surprising, eager passion. Her tongue, tentative at first, then bolder, meets yours. It’s not a polite, end-of-the-date kiss. It’s hungry, searching, like you’ve both been starving for this without even knowing it. Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads are resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Don’t let the night end here, Irene," you whisper. "Please."

She opens her eyes, her gaze dark, hazy with desire. "Okay," she breathes. "My apartment."

You’re on your feet in a second, fumbling for your wallet, the earlier weariness completely gone, replaced by a thrumming, urgent energy. Irene is already sliding out of the booth, her movements a little unsteady but graceful nonetheless. You throw some cash on the table (way more than enough to cover the bill) and then you’re out, into the cool night air.

You’re definitely tipsy, the world having a pleasant, fuzzy edge. Irene stumbles slightly as you step onto the uneven sidewalk, and you instinctively reach out, your arm going around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leans into you, her body warm against yours, her head resting against your arm. She’s giggling, a light, infectious sound that makes you laugh too, a stupid, happy, drunken sound. You walk like that, a tangled, giggling mess, your steps uneven but your direction certain.

Her apartment.

—

The elevator ride up to her floor is a blur of stolen kisses and breathless laughter. You’re pressed against the cool metal wall, her hands in your hair, your mouths searching, hungry. Every time the elevator dings at a floor, you pull apart, slightly dazed, only to crash back together the moment the doors close.

She fumbles with her keys at her apartment door, still kissing you, her body pressed flush against yours in the narrow hallway. Finally, the lock clicks. She pushes the door open, stumbling inside, pulling you with her. Her bag hits the floor with a soft thud. And then, before you can even register your surroundings, she jumps, her legs wrapping around your waist, her mouth finding yours again in a bruising, desperate kiss. You catch her instinctively, your hands splaying across her ass, lifting her, holding her tight against you as you kick the door shut.

She pulls back for a moment, her chest heaving, and a wide, triumphant smile spreads across her face when she sees yours. "You’ve got my lipstick all over you," she says, her words a delighted slur, as she reaches up to smudge a pink streak on your cheek with her thumb.

You glance around then, taking in her apartment for the first time. It’s small, neat, surprisingly minimalist but with touches of warmth: a stack of books on a low shelf, a soft throw draped over a simple armchair, a couple of framed black and white photographs on the wall. "Nice place," you manage.

Her eyes sparkle. "Did you come here to look at my apartment, or do something else?" she teases, her hips giving a suggestive little squirm against yours.

"Definitely something else," you growl, taking your "revenge" by burying your face in her neck, your lips finding the soft skin just below her ear, nibbling gently.

She yelps, a surprised, delighted sound, then dissolves into giggles, her body squirming in your arms. "Hey! That tickles!"

"Bedroom," you murmur against her skin. "Show me the way."

She points vaguely down a short hallway, still giggling, and you carry her, your mouths finding each other again, kissing deeply as you navigate the unfamiliar space. You find the door, push it open, and then you’re gently depositing her onto the bed, following her down, never breaking the kiss.

The world narrows to the feel of her beneath you, the taste of her, the soft sounds she’s making. After a moment, you pull away, reluctantly. "Clothes," you manage, your breath ragged. "Need these off."

You roll off her and stand, your fingers already working at the buttons of your shirt. Irene watches you, her eyes dark and hungry, as she sits up and reaches for the hem of her own sweater. It comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Her petite body is, as you’ve always known, perfectly toned, every line and curve an invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers going to the clasp of her bra next.

The cotton of your shirt feels like a restriction, a barrier. Your fingers, clumsy with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline, work at the buttons, fumbling them free one by one. It hits the floor. Shoes next, kicked off with impatient shoves of your heels, then the belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather sliding free. Your pants join the shirt in a heap on the floorboards. You’re standing there in just your boxers, the air of her bedroom suddenly cooler on your skin, or maybe that’s just the fever pitch of your own blood.

Then it’s her turn. Her hands go to the delicate clasp of her black lace bra. It gives way easily, and she shrugs the straps down her pale arms, letting the flimsy garment fall. Her breasts are revealed, small, yes, but perfectly shaped, round and perky, with pale pink nipples already pebble-hard in the cool air, or perhaps from anticipation. They’re exquisite. You’ve imagined them, of course, in fleeting, guilty moments, but the reality is so much fucking better. Then, she reaches for her shoes. She kicks them off one by one, the soft thud against the wooden floor loud in the charged silence. Finally, her hands go to the waistband of her pants, a simple black one that clung to her hips. It slides down her legs with a soft rustle, pooling around her ankles, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a pair of sheer black panties. They’re scandalously tiny, doing very little to hide the curve of her ass.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

You’re on her in a second, moving without conscious thought, your body acting on pure, undeniable instinct. You climb onto the bed, settling over her, your weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Your mouth finds hers again, but this kiss is different from the one at the bar. It’s rougher, needier, your tongue plunging, seeking, demanding. She meets your intensity, her own hunger flaring.

Your kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, your lips and teeth mapping the sensitive skin there. She arches into you, a soft whimper escaping her. You reach her breasts, your mouth closing over one hard nipple. She moans instantly, her fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight. You suck, hard, your tongue laving the peak, then flicking, teasing. Her whole body shudders.

"Fuck… yes…" she gasps, her hips starting to buck beneath you. "They’re… so sensitive…"

You grin against her skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same relentless attention. You squeeze and suck, feeling the delicate flesh swell in your mouth, the nipple hard against your tongue. The skin around it is already turning a delicious shade of pink, flushed and slightly raw from your attention. Her moans are getting louder, less inhibited, open-mouthed gasps of pure pleasure.

Her hands, which were gripping your hair, slide down your back, then lower, her fingers finding the thick, insistent ridge of your cock straining against your underwear. She squeezes, a playful, testing pressure, and a low growl rumbles in your chest. She feels you, hard and ready, and a wicked little smile dances on her lips, visible even as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations you’re creating.

Then, just as you’re about to lose yourself completely in the taste and feel of her breasts, she moves. With surprising strength, her hands are on your shoulders, pushing, guiding.

"My turn," she breathes

She pulls you, making you lie back against the pillows. You watch, dazed, as she straddles your hips, her gaze fixed on your groin. Her movements are slow, deliberate, almost torturous. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers.

"Been waiting for this," she murmurs.

She pulls your underwear down, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, her knuckles brushing against your straining erection with every downward tug. The fabric slides past your hips, down your thighs, until your cock springs free, thick, veined, and brutally hard, slick with pre-cum.

She just stares at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A genuine, almost awestruck smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile of someone who has just been presented with their favorite fucking meal.

She reaches out, her small hand surprisingly confident as it wraps around your shaft. It’s a perfect fit, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "Jesus," she breathes, her thumb stroking the thick, prominent vein that runs along the length. "It really has been a while since I’ve had sex." Her gaze lifts to yours, burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "You have no idea," she says, "how much this cock, your cock, is everything I want right now."

Before you can even process the raw honesty of her words, she leans down. Her tongue, pink and wet, flicks out, lapping delicately at the bead of pre-cum glistening on the slit of your tip. Then, she takes a mouthful of her own saliva (you see her gather it) and lets it dribble slowly onto your shaft, her fingers working quickly to spread the slickness all the way down, coating you, preparing you.

And finally, her mouth descends.

The moment her lips close around the head of your cock, you fucking groan, your hips bucking involuntarily. Her mouth is hot, wet, impossibly soft. She starts working you immediately, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Her lips create a perfect seal, her tongue swirling, lapping, teasing, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with a practiced, almost reverent skill. This isn't the tentative exploration of a novice. This is the confident, devastating expertise of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Holy shit. Irene Bae is a fucking professional.

You can feel the muscles in her throat working, a gentle, rhythmic pulse that’s already threatening to undo you. And her eyes. Fuck, her eyes. They’re locked on yours, wide, dark, and glittering with a deadly combination of intense focus and raw, unadulterated lust. There’s a challenge in them, a silent dare. Think you can handle this? they seem to say. Think you can last?

"Fuck, Irene…" you groan, your hips giving an involuntary jerk. "That’s… holy shit…"

A low hum vibrates from her throat against your shaft, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. She pulls back just enough for the head of your cock to pop free with a wet, obscene sound, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of your slickness.

"You like that, baby?" she murmurs. "Like the way my mouth feels wrapped around your big, thick dick?"

"Yes… God, yes…" you pant, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. "It’s… you’re amazing, Irene. Fuck, you’re so good at this."

Her smile is a predatory flash against your skin before she takes you in again, deeper this time. Her tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure, lapping, swirling, flicking against every sensitive nerve. She knows exactly where to press, where to tease, how to vary the pressure and speed to keep you right on that knife-edge of unbearable pleasure. It’s not just her mouth, either. Her hands are working you too, one wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her sucking, the other gently cupping your balls, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles.

"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good," she says, her words slightly muffled but no less potent. She breaks suction for a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your hypersensitive skin. "I love the way you get so hard for me, the way your cock just throbs in my mouth." She punctuates the statement by taking just the swollen head between her lips and sucking, hard, focusing all her attention there, her tongue doing that insane swirling thing that makes your vision blur.

"Shit, Irene… don’t stop…" you gasp out, your voice rough, pleading. "Please, don’t stop…"

Her head bobs faster, a satisfied, almost guttural sound coming from her throat. "Oh, I’m not stopping, baby," she promises, her eyes blazing into yours. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want to hear you fucking beg." She sucks harder, her lips pulling, teasing. "Moan for me, supervisor. Let me hear how much you love your little casual worker sucking your dick."

The sheer audacity of her words, the way she so effortlessly flips the script, calling you out, it’s fucking electrifying. A raw, broken groan tears from your throat. "Fuck… yes… Irene… please… feels so good…"

"That’s it, baby," she purrs, her mouth still working you relentlessly. "Louder. I want to hear every filthy sound you make when I’m sucking you like this. I want to know I’m driving you absolutely fucking insane."

And you are. You’re losing it. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, and she’s wielding it with devastating precision. She shifts her attention, her lips sliding down your shaft, her tongue laving a hot, wet path until she reaches your balls. You tense, anticipating, and then her mouth closes over one, warm and wet, and you fucking cry out.

"Oh my god… Irene… fuck…"

She sucks, gently at first, then with increasing hunger, her tongue rolling, massaging. Your balls are heavy, aching, and her mouth on them is an entirely new level of torture and bliss. She leaves them absolutely soaked, glistening with her spit when she finally moves back up your shaft.

"You like that, huh?" she breathes, her lips brushing against the underside of your cock, right where the skin is thinnest, most sensitive. "Your balls taste just as good as your cock. So salty… so fucking you."

Her tongue flicks out, targeting your frenulum with an accuracy that makes your entire body jolt. She plays with it, licking, teasing, nipping ever so gently with her teeth before sucking that sensitive ridge into her mouth. You’re bucking against her now, completely lost, your own moans a constant, ragged soundtrack to her ministrations.

"Fuck… Irene… please… I can’t… I’m so close…" you plead, your voice a shredded mess.

Her only answer is to work faster, harder. Her hand is a blur on your shaft, slick with spit and your own pre-cum, while her mouth continues its relentless assault. She takes you as deep as her little mouth can manage, her throat working, a series of soft, choked gagging sounds escaping her that are, perversely, driving you even wilder. She’s not just sucking your cock; she’s fucking devouring it, worshipping it.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" she asks, pulling back for a split second, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown. Saliva strings from her lips to the head of your cock. "I want it. I want your hot load all over my tongue. I want to swallow every last drop. Please, baby, give it to me. Begging you."

That’s it. Her words, the sight of her, so beautiful, so depraved, kneeling before you, mouth open, waiting for your release…it shatters your last shred of control.

"Irene!" Your shout as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips slam upwards, your back arching off the bed. Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot from your cock, hitting the back of her throat. She doesn't flinch. She takes it all, her throat working, swallowing, her eyes locked on yours, a triumphant, ecstatic glint in their depths. You keep pumping, jet after jet, emptying yourself into her waiting mouth. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming. You’re vaguely aware of your eyes rolling back in your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. It feels like you’re cumming for an eternity, each pulse a fresh wave of unbearable pleasure.

When the last viscous glob finally spurts out, you collapse back against the pillows, panting, drenched in sweat, utterly fucking spent. You’re in heaven. Or hell. Or some glorious, filthy place in between.

Irene stays there for a moment, gently sucking the last drops from your now twitching, softened cock. Then, slowly, reverently, she pulls away, her lips making a wet sound. She licks her own lips, savoring the taste, a small, incredibly satisfied smile playing on her features.

"Holy… fucking… shit, Irene." You shake your head, still trying to process the sheer intensity of what just happened. "That was… That was, without a fucking doubt, the best blowjob of my entire life."

Her smile widens, a genuine, radiant thing that makes her eyes sparkle. The exhaustion is there, but beneath it, there's a deep, purring satisfaction. She leans forward, pressing a soft, sticky kiss to the now-sensitive head of your cock.

"Good," she murmurs. "That’s what I like to hear." Then she looks up at you. "I aim to please, supervisor. Especially when the benefits are… this rewarding.”

You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her. She’s still kneeling between your legs, that pleased, cat-who-got-the-cream smirk playing on her lips, now glistening with your cum.

"Irene," you rasp. "Where in the ever-loving fuck did you learn to do that?”

She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in her chest. She reaches up, wiping a stray smudge of your load from the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger, then slowly, deliberately, licks it clean, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture alone is enough to make your semi-flaccid cock give a hopeful twitch.

"Every woman has her secrets, supervisor," she purrs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you some of them." Then, before you can even process that delicious, infuriating coyness, she’s moving. climbing onto you with a fluid grace. Her petite, pale body straddles your chest, her knees bracketing your shoulders. She leans down, her dark hair curtaining your face. "Besides," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours, "who said anything about being done?"

Her mouth finds yours, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you, of her, of pure, unadulterated lust. While her lips work their magic, her body begins a slow, deliberate crawl down yours. Kisses are pressed against your jaw, your throat, lingering on the pulse point there until you can feel your heart hammering in response. She moves lower, her tongue flicking out to trace the line of your collarbone, then lower still, across your pecs.

When she reaches your right nipple, she pauses. Her gaze, hot and knowing, flicks up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before her mouth closes over it. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting that. Her tongue swirls around the already sensitive peak, rough and wet, then she starts to suck, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling the nub into her mouth, her teeth grazing it ever so lightly.

"Nghh… Irene…" A surprised, helpless moan escapes you. Fuck, that feels good. Way better than it has any right to.

"Sensitive here, are we?" she murmurs against your skin. "I thought so."

She continues her assault, licking, sucking, her lips working your nipple like it’s the head of another cock. And all the while, one of her small, deceptively strong hands snakes down your torso, past your navel, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your lower abdomen. You feel the heat of her palm as it hovers, then finally settles, over the base of your now rapidly re-hardening cock.

"Oh, look at that," she says. "Not so spent after all, are you, big boy?"

Her hand closes around you. Even through the haze of pleasure radiating from your nipple, you can feel the change. Your cock, which had been softening, content in its post-orgasmic haze, now surges back to life, thickening, lengthening, pressing urgently against her grip. She starts to stroke you, slow, deliberate movements, her fingers slick with the remnants of your earlier release and her own gathering wetness.

"The night is far from over, supervisor," she whispers, her mouth leaving your nipple to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses towards the other one. "I know you can give me more. Much more." She punctuates the last word by taking your other nipple into her mouth, sucking on it with a greedy, demanding pressure that mirrors the rhythmic pull of her hand on your shaft. "And you will give it to me."

And she’s right. Fuck, she’s absolutely, undeniably right. Your cock is already granite-hard again, throbbing in her skilled grip, every nerve ending in your body screaming for more of her, more of this. The lingering exhaustion is a distant memory, burned away by this fresh, potent wave of desire she’s so effortlessly conjured. The slight ache in your balls is back, but it’s a good ache now, a heavy, needy throb that promises another explosive release if she keeps this up.

Her hand on your reawakened cock is a brand, her touch electric. The soft, rhythmic stroking, combined with the devastating assault on your nipple, is a one-two punch of pure, unadulterated sensation. Your breath hitches, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.

"That’s it, baby," Irene purrs against your chest, her lips still teasing your other nipple, her words a hot, damp caress. "Feel that? Already getting hard for me again. You just can’t get enough, can you?"

"Fuck… no…" you manage to groan out, your eyes fluttering. "Not… not when you do that…"

"Mmmm, I know," she hums, a smug, satisfied sound. "The night is far from over, supervisor.” Your cock is already iron-hard again, throbbing with a renewed, almost painful urgency against her skilled fingers.

With a lithe movement that takes your breath away, Irene shifts, disentangling herself from your chest and sliding down your body. She straddles your hips, her petite frame settling over you, and the sight of her poised above you: dark hair tousled, lips swollen from your kisses, her small, perky breasts bare and flushed, nipples still pebble-hard; is enough to make your vision swim. She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her sheer black panties.

"You like these, baby?" she teases. "Thought you might."

She doesn't wait for an answer. With a slow, deliberate tug, she pulls them aside, hooking the flimsy fabric around one hip, exposing her pussy to you. It’s perfect. Pink, glistening, the inner lips slightly swollen and already dewy with her arousal. The dark thatch of hair above is neatly trimmed.

"Ready to feel me again?" she whispers, her gaze locked on yours.

Before you can form a coherent word, she’s lowering herself onto you.

The way she takes your cock is a revelation. There’s no hesitation, no tentative exploration. She knows her body, she knows yours, and she sinks down with a practiced, almost arrogant ease, her hips rolling, her inner muscles clenching around you, milking you from the first fucking inch. A guttural groan rips from your throat as she takes you deeper, her tight, wet heat a scalding brand.

"Fuck, Irene… so tight…"

"Mmmm, you love how tight my little pussy is, don't you?" she moans, her head falling back, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she starts to bounce. "Love the way it squeezes your big, thick cock?"

"Yes… God, yes…"

Her rhythm is insane. She starts riding you with a skill that leaves you breathless, her hips a blur of motion, bouncing, grinding, rotating in ways that hit every goddamn nerve. She’s not just fucking you; she’s performing, a symphony of sensual movement designed to drive you absolutely wild. Her small breasts jiggle with every thrust, the pink nipples bouncing hypnotically. You can see the way her pussy lips stretch, glistening, around the base of your shaft as she lifts herself up, only to slam back down, taking you to the hilt.

"Look at me, baby," she pants, her eyes finding yours again. "I want you to watch me ride your cock. I want you to see how much I fucking love it."

You can’t look away if you tried. The sight of her, so beautiful, so utterly consumed by pleasure, her body moving on yours with such raw, uninhibited abandon, is seared into your brain.

"You’re… incredible…" you gasp out.

"I know," she says, a smug, breathless laugh escaping her. Then her expression shifts, darkens. "But you’re getting distracted." Her free hand snakes out, unbelievably fast, her fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to demand your absolute attention. "You close your eyes on me again, supervisor, and I’ll make you regret it. Got it?"

The sudden pressure, her fingers cool against your heated skin, the sheer dominance in her gaze... Your cock gives a hard, convulsive throb inside her. "Fuck… yes… Irene…"

"Good boy." Her grip loosens slightly, but her hand stays there, a possessive brand. "Now, look at me. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I make you feel good. I want to see every fucking expression." She punctuates the command by grinding down, hard, her hips rotating in a slow, torturous circle that makes you cry out.

You reach up, your hands finding her breasts, squeezing them, needing to touch her, to feel her. They’re soft, full in your palms, the nipples like hard little pebbles against your skin. "Fuck, your tits are perfect, Irene…"

She moans, leaning forward, pressing them against your chest as she kisses you, a deep, filthy, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, you like them, baby?" she whispers against your lips, her hips still moving, still squeezing. "You can play with them all you want… as long as you keep fucking me with that big, thick cock of yours—God, it’s so good—It fills me up so perfectly!”

You can see it then, when she leans back slightly, her stomach tight, the unmistakable bulge of your cock pressing against her lower abdomen, a clear testament to just how deeply you’re buried inside her, how perfectly her petite frame is taking every inch of you. It’s a brutally hot visual, a stark reminder of your size against her smallness, and the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

"Jesus, Irene… I can see it… You’re so fucking tight…"

"I know," she pants. "Now make me cum, supervisor. Fuck me until I can’t see straight. I want your load. Give it to me."

This isn't the Irene from the office, the quiet, mysterious woman who barely met your eye. This is someone else entirely: a wild, insatiable creature of pure, unadulterated lust. And fuck, you love this Irene. You love every goddamn demanding, filthy, beautiful inch of her.

She rides you harder now, faster, her moans turning into raw, broken cries. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s chasing it, that shattering release, and she’s dragging you right along with her. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing, milking, each contraction an exquisite torture.

"I’m… I’m gonna cum…" she screams, her voice cracking, her back arching as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.

Her body seizes, her walls clenching around your shaft in a series of violent, unbearable spasms. She’s crying out your name, her head thrown back, her entire being consumed by the pleasure. It’s beautiful, watching her shatter like this, so completely undone, so utterly yours.

But she doesn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her, her hips keep moving, a desperate, frantic grinding, her pussy still milking your aching cock.

"Fuck, Irene… I’m close…" you gasp out, your own release clawing at you. "I’m gonna cum…"

The moment the words leave your mouth, she’s moving. With a surprising agility, she pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, her own body still trembling. Before you can even register what’s happening, she’s scrambling off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of you, her flushed face upturned, her dark eyes blazing with a renewed, almost manic hunger.

"Give it to me, baby," she pants. "I want it all over my face. Drench me. Make me your fucking whore."

Your brain short-circuits. Her words, the sight of her kneeling there, so eager, so fucking filthy, it’s too much. You get out of bed, standing in front of her. You grab your cock, your hand slick and shaking, and start stroking, hard and fast.

"Look at me, Irene," you growl. "Open that pretty little mouth for me."

She does, her tongue flicking out in anticipation. You stroke faster, your balls tight, your vision blurring. One more stroke… two…

"FUCK!"

With a guttural roar, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot from your cock, spurt after spurt, splattering across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. She takes it all, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the hot, sticky load coats her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. A thick glob lands on her lips, and her tongue darts out, instinctively licking it away, a soft, pleased moan escaping her. You keep cumming, more than you thought possible, drenching her, covering her, marking her as yours.

When the last pulse finally subsides, you’re left panting, your body trembling, your cock still twitching in your hand. Irene stays there, kneeling, your cum dripping from her face, her hair stuck to her slick skin. She looks utterly debauched. Utterly fucking beautiful.

She opens her eyes, her dark gaze meeting yours. There’s no shame there, no disgust. Only a wild, exhilarated pleasure. She slowly brings a hand up to her cheek, her fingers tracing through the thick, creamy mess, then brings them to her lips, sucking your cum from her skin with a delighted, almost reverent expression. Receiving your load like this, being painted with it, clearly turns her on as much as it does you. It feels fucking amazing, this raw, shared depravity.

You can't resist. You lean forward, your own body still thrumming with the aftershocks of release, and dip your thumb into the thickest patch of your load still clinging to her cheek. You bring your slick finger to her lips.

"Taste good, Irene?" you murmur.

Without a word, her eyes still locked on yours, she parts her lips and takes your thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, hot and wet, sucking sensually, cleaning every last trace of you from your skin.

You let out a long, slow sigh, your whole body going lax. "That was… Jesus, Irene. That was fucking amazing."

She releases your thumb with a soft, wet sound, a tiny, almost smug smile playing on her lips. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees, her usual quietness now laced with a husky, satisfied confidence. "Best Friday night I’ve had in… well, a very long time." She pushes herself up, her movements fluid and graceful despite the intensity of what just happened. "I should probably… shower now."

"Yeah," you manage, watching her. "Good idea."

She disappears into the en-suite, and you hear the distant hiss of the shower starting. You lie there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your mind a blissful, empty buzz. Eventually, you push yourself up. You should probably leave, give her space. It’s the decent thing to do, right? Even if every fiber of your being wants to crawl back into that bed and wait for her.

By the time she pads back into the bedroom, you’re mostly dressed – pants on, shirt half-buttoned. She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel that looks ridiculously large on her petite frame, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck, her face scrubbed clean and glowing. She stops when she sees you, her brow furrowing slightly.

"You’re… leaving?" Her words are soft, a hint of something unreadable in them.

"Yeah," you say, trying for casual, even though your limbs feel heavy, your head still pleasantly swimming from the beer and everything else. "Figured I shouldn’t bother you. It’s late."

She walks closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the fresh, clean scent of soap and her skin. "You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?" she observes, her gaze steady.

You shrug, a sheepish grin touching your lips. "Maybe a little. The beer was good. The company was… distracting."

"You can stay," she says. "It’s no problem. You shouldn't be walking around like that.”

You look at her, surprised. "You sure? I don’t want to impose."

"I’m sure," she replies. "The bed’s big enough."

And just like that, the decision is made. You reverse the process, now unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your pants. Irene takes off her towel, drys her hair, and puts on comfortable pajamas. You both slide into her bed, the sheets cool against your skin. She keeps a respectable distance at first, lying on her side facing away from you. You lie on your back, staring up into the darkness, your mind replaying the night’s events.

"That was…" you begin, "quite a night."

She shifts slightly, turning her head on the pillow to look towards you, though you can barely make out her features in the dark. "It was," she agrees, her reply just as soft. "It’s been a long time since I… since I had a night that good."

"Me too," you admit. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, intimate. "So, this whole 'not going out much' thing," you venture, remembering her earlier comment at the bar. "Are you, like, super strict with your routine? Or is it just a general aversion to humanity?"

"A bit of both, maybe." She pauses. "But it’s also… more than that." Her words are hesitant now. "I just… I ended up depriving myself of some things. For a long time. For my own good, I thought."

"Things like… fun? Or just human contact in general?" you ask gently, trying to understand.

"Things like… letting go," she says, her meaning still veiled. "Being… open."

You process that for a moment. "Well," you say, trying to inject some lightness, "I hope, as your newly appointed (and incredibly charming) supervisor, I can attempt to bring a little more… spice? Unpredictability? Into your carefully curated life. Supervisors can be cool too, you know. It’s not all spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails."

She gives a weak, tired chuckle. "You’re cool," she concedes.

Silence again. This one’s heavier, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wraps around you both like the comforter you’re only half under. Her presence is warm and grounding, even with the distance she’s keeping between your bodies.

And just when your mind starts fuzzing at the edges, drifting toward sleep, you hear it.

“…hey.”

Your eyes flutter, but you don’t answer immediately.

She tries again. “Hey. You awake?”

You manage a half-conscious “Hmm?”

“I… I need to tell you something,” she says, her tone suddenly different. Strained. Fragile. “And I don’t think I’ll get another chance like this.”

You roll your head a little, but you’re already falling. You’re trying to stay up, your body fighting it, but there’s alcohol in your blood and pillows under your skull and her voice sounds like a lullaby even when it’s trembling.

“It’s kind of awful,” she says. “I mean: I think it is. Most people would think it is. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I guess… it’s easier when I can’t see your face.” Her voice catches. She swallows. “And I’m drunk,” she adds bitterly. “That helps. Brave little idiot version of me that only comes out after gin and zero lighting.”

You want to say something, your brain claws for words, but you’re slipping. The room is tilting, your breath slowing, mouth too heavy to open.

“I don’t want this to blow up,” she goes on, like she’s already sure it will. “But you’re… nice. Too nice. And I think it’s going to matter eventually. So maybe it’s better you know now.”

She turns, the sheets rustling. Her breath’s close. She's watching you.

“I used to do porn,” she says into the dark. “I know it’s horrible. But, God, I liked it. Not just the attention, not just the money. I liked the sex. I was… addicted. Like, actually. Probably still am. I think I’m a… I don’t know. A nympho? That sounds dramatic. But it’s true. And I’m terrified you’re gonna look at me differently if you ever find out. Like it’ll be all you see. Like I’m… stained.”

A sharp breath.

“You probably will look at me differently. If not now, then later. And that’ll kill me. Because I think I actually like you. And you’re the first person in forever who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide.”

Her hand reaches out under the blankets, not to touch you, just to rest nearby.

“I’m still not sure if I’m ashamed because I regret it… or because I liked some of it too much. Isn’t that worse?” She exhales. “I tried to cut it all off. Cold turkey. Quit the industry. Quit everything. No sex. No relationships. No late nights. No bars. No letting anyone get close. I started hiding from everything I wanted. Because I had to. My last relationship was a disaster. Everything fell apart. I wanted to be invisible again. Safe. And I thought if I worked a boring job, wore boring clothes, kept my mouth shut, nobody would see me. Nobody would want me.” She pauses. The next words are like admitting a sin:

“And then you saw me.”

“You were kind to me. Just… kind. That’s all it took. And I started feeling again. I tried to fight it. I told myself you were just being nice. That it wasn’t anything. But every time you smiled, or made some dumb joke, or talked to me like I mattered… I couldn’t stop it.” She sounds exhausted. Hollow. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to kiss in years. The first one I’ve wanted to touch. The first one I’ve let into my bed. And I hate that I like you. I hate that it scares me. Because I’m not… good.”

Her voice breaks, just a little.

“I’m not someone who deserves soft things. Or quiet moments. Or this stupid, beautiful night.” Another deep breath, followed by a silent bitter laugh. “And you’re asleep. Of course you’re asleep.”

She waits. Hopes, irrationally, for some murmur of understanding, some unconscious twitch of your hand to say you’re still with her. But there’s nothing. Nothing. Your chest rises, falls. Silent. Peaceful. Asleep.

Another rustle of sheets as she rolls back onto her side, facing away again.

“Maybe that’s better,” she whispers. “Maybe if you knew, you’d leave. Or worse… maybe you’d stay for the wrong reasons. I just wanted you to know. Even if you never hear it.”

She tugs the comforter up to her shoulders, folds in on herself, and presses her forehead to the pillow, eyes closed, breath warm against the sheet. And then she whispers one last thing. So quiet it almost doesn’t exist:

“Please... don’t hate me.”

—

The days that follow are not what you expected. Not at all. After that night, after the intensity, the confessions, the shared intimacy, you thought you’d climbed a new step with Irene, reached a new layer. You imagined easier smiles in the office, maybe even her initiating a coffee break, a casual lunchtime chat. You pictured the comfortable progression from Friday night drinks to something… more.

Instead, it’s like you’re back at square one. Worse, even.

Irene is a ghost again, but this time, her politeness is tinged with an almost painful discomfort. She still does her work, still impeccably, but she avoids your gaze. Your attempts at casual conversation are met with short, clipped answers. The easy banter, the shared laughter from that night at the bar; it’s all gone, replaced by a strained, awkward formality.

You try, of course you try. You invite her to your apartment to watch that terrible sci-fi series you’d bonded over. "Sorry, I have plans," she’d murmured, not looking at you. You suggest grabbing a quick drink after work, just like before. "I can’t, I’m busy." Even a casual, "Hey, fancy grabbing lunch in the park? Sun’s actually out for once," is met with a polite, "Thank you, but I brought my own."

Each refusal is a small, sharp sting. Always polite. Always with a hint of something that looks like regret, or discomfort, in her eyes. But always a refusal.

You know what this means, or at least, you think you do. She regretted that night. Of course she did. She was drunk. You were too. Maybe she was feeling lonely, vulnerable, and just got carried away by the alcohol and the moment. You probably came on too strong, misread the signals, pushed too hard, too fast. And now you’ve messed it up, scared her off, ruined whatever fragile connection you were starting to build. The thought settles in your gut like a cold, heavy stone. You fucking idiot.

Weeks bleed into each other. The distance between you and Irene solidifies, an invisible wall of her polite deflections and your own frustrated, confused silence. You stop trying so hard. What’s the point?

Then, the email from HR lands in your inbox. A reminder: Irene Bae’s casual contract is due to expire at the end of next week. Department heads need to submit any recommendations for extension or permanent placement by close of business Friday.

Your office feels colder than usual when you call her in. You keep your expression neutral, professional, as she walks in and sits in the chair opposite your desk. She doesn’t meet your eye, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.

"Irene," you begin, your own words sounding unduly formal. "Thanks for coming in. As you know, your current contract is… coming to an end." You pause, waiting for some reaction, any reaction. Nothing. She just sits there, perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "HR needs a final decision regarding the full-time offer we discussed. This is… well, this is pretty much your last chance to decide." You try to keep the disappointment, the faint, stupid hope, out of your delivery. "So, I need to ask. What conclusion have you reached?"

She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze is still averted, focused on the framed print of some abstract cityscape hanging on your wall. When she finally speaks, her reply is short and cold.

"I… I’m going to have to decline the offer.”

You look at her. She’s still not meeting your eye, her gaze resolutely fixed on that abstract cityscape print on your wall as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap, her knuckles are white. You know. Of course, you fucking know. It’s not about the job, not really. It’s about that night. It’s about you.

"Irene," you begin, your carefully constructed professional composure starting to fray at the edges. You try to keep your delivery even, reasonable. "That… that doesn’t make a lot of sense, professionally speaking. This isn't just a casual offer. It’s a permanent position. Full benefits package, paid time off, a significant salary increase from your current rate. Henderson genuinely likes your work; he specifically mentioned your efficiency with the merger data. This office… it’s a good environment. People respect you here. There's clear potential for promotion down the line, further salary increases. Turning this down… frankly, it’s not a rational career move for someone with your skills."

You’re laying it on a bit thick, the corporate spiel, but you need her to see, to understand that you’re trying to offer her something good, something stable. Something she deserves.

Still, she doesn’t look at you. "I understand the terms, and I appreciate the opportunity." Her words are precise, almost robotic.

"Then what is it?" you press, a note of frustration creeping in despite your best efforts. "Because it sounds like you’re about to walk away from a genuinely great opportunity for no good reason." You lean forward, resting your elbows on your desk. "Irene… I know why you want to turn this down."

Her head snaps up at that, her dark eyes finally, belatedly, meeting yours. "No," she says, her reply sharper than usual, cutting through her quiet demeanor. "You don’t know."

"I think I do," you insist, your gaze holding hers. "It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it? That night. After the bar."

Her expression shutters again, becoming unreadable, guarded.

"Look," you continue, softening your approach, trying to sound reassuring, "if that’s what this is about… if you’re sorry it happened, or if you felt pressured, or if you’re just uncomfortable now… it’s okay. I get it. I swear, I won’t pressure you, I won’t bother you at work. We can just… go back to how things were. Professional. I respect you, Irene. Your decision, whatever it is." You’re laying your cards on the table, trying to give her an out, trying to make this easier for her, even if it twists something in your own heart.

"It’s not because of you."

Not because of you? Then what the hell is it? "Then what?" you ask, genuinely bewildered now. "What’s the reason, Irene? Because I’m not seeing it."

She sighs, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. "It’s… complicated." She pushes her chair back slightly, her hands gripping the armrests. "I should probably just… go." She starts to get up, a clear intention to flee in her movements.

"No." The word is out before you can stop it, sharper, more commanding than you intended. You’re on your feet too, moving around your desk, stopping her before she can reach the door, positioning yourself between her and her escape route.

She freezes, her eyes wide, trapped.

"Irene, wait," you start, “okay, look. I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For that night. We were both drunk, I know that. And if you’re uncomfortable now because of it, if I made you feel… pressured, or weirded you out, then I am truly sorry. That was never my intention. I just… I thought you liked me too. I guess I misinterpreted things." God, you sound like a desperate idiot.

"I do like you," she says. "I told you that. At the bar."

"Yeah, but…" you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I thought you were just… drunk. Saying things. I didn’t think…"

"That’s the problem," she cuts in. "Liking you. That’s the problem." She finally looks up at you. "If I stay here… in this job… in the same environment as you… things will… they’ll develop." Her gaze is pleading, desperate. "And I know how it will end."

You stare at her, completely lost. "Develop? End? I… I’m confused, Irene. Is it so bad? Liking me?"

A sad, hollow little laugh escapes her, a sound that tears at something inside you. It’s devoid of any humor, filled only with a deep, weary pain. "Oh, you have no idea. It’s not about whether liking you is bad." She looks up, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of liking you."

"But… it’s mutual, Irene," you say, stepping closer, wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but holding back, unsure. "I like you. A lot. I… I thought that was obvious. The way I act around you, the way I talk to you…"

"I know," she whispers, a single tear finally escaping, tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. "I know you do. You… you treat me so well. Better than I deserve."

"Don’t say that."

"But it’s true!" Her words gain a desperate edge. "And that’s why I’m afraid! I’m afraid you’ll… you’ll be disappointed in me. Like any other guy would be. Eventually."

"That won’t happen, Irene," you assure her, your conviction absolute, even if you don’t fully understand the depths of her fear. "Not with me."

Her gaze searches yours, desperate for reassurance, for a guarantee you can’t possibly give, not without knowing what demons she’s fighting. "How?" she breathes. "How can you be so sure?"

"You just… you have to trust me.”

She sighs then, a long, shuddering exhalation that seems to carry the weight of years. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers. "I… I have a past," she says. "A past that I’m… I’m not proud of."

"It’s okay," you say gently. "Everyone has things in their past they’re not proud of, Irene. That doesn’t define who you are now."

She shakes her head, still not looking at you. "No, this is… this is different." She takes another shaky breath. "When I was younger… much younger… I… I was a porn star." The words come out in a rushed, choked whisper, as if saying them aloud might shatter her. "For three years."

Porn star. Irene? Your quiet, meticulous, reserved Irene? Your brain struggles to reconcile the image with the woman standing before you, so vulnerable, so afraid.

"I… I almost told you," she continues, her words tumbling out now, as if a dam has broken. "That night, at my apartment… when we were in bed. When I was drunk and feeling… brave. But you were already asleep. And I just… I gave up. Maybe, I thought, maybe it was better that way. Better for you not to know."

She finally lifts her head, her eyes raw, pleading. "My last relationship… it was four years. And it ended the moment he found out about it. He didn’t just leave. He… he leaked it. To my work, to everyone I knew. As revenge. Because he felt… betrayed, I guess." Her words are choked with remembered pain. "I had to leave. My job, my apartment, everything. I was… traumatized. Completely exposed." She shudders. "That’s why I only work as a casual worker now. I’m terrified of staying in one place too long. Terrified that eventually… someone will find out. That it will all happen again."

She looks at you then, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrible, naked fear. "So now you know… Do you… do you think I’m disgusting now? Do you think I’m a whore?"

You listen, your own expression carefully neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions is raging: shock, yes, but overwhelmingly, a deep, aching empathy for what she must have endured. Disgusting? Whore? The words feel alien, obscene when applied to the woman in front of you.

You step closer, very slowly, and gently, calmly, you reach out and take her trembling hands in yours. Her skin is cold.

"No, Irene," you say, your gaze holding hers, willing her to believe you. "No, I don't think you're disgusting. And I sure as hell don't think you're a whore." You give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am no one to judge you. No one. And what you went through… at your old work, with your ex… Jesus, Irene, I am so incredibly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma of feeling exposed like that, of having your life and your privacy violated so brutally."

She stares at you, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous surprise. It’s as if she was braced for a blow, and instead, you offered her… understanding.

"The job offer," you continue, your tone unwavering, "it still stands, Irene. Henderson wants you because you’re brilliant. I want you here because this team, this office, is better with you in it. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed that."

"You’re… you’re serious?"

"Deadly serious," you affirm. "The contract is yours if you want it. No questions asked, no judgments made." You pause, then take another step closer, your grip on her hands tightening just a fraction. "And more importantly, Irene…" Your words are softer now, laced with all the unspoken emotion that’s been building between you for weeks. "I still want to keep… seeing you. Dating you. Whatever this is that we’re starting." You search her eyes. "If… if you still want to, of course. After all this."

For a long, breathless moment, she just looks at you, her expression a maelstrom of shock, relief, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she steps forward, closing the small distance between you. Her hands leave yours, sliding up your arms, to your shoulders, and then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her face lifting to yours.

Her lips meet yours, soft, hesitant at first, then deepening with a desperate, grateful intensity. It’s not like the hungry, alcohol-fueled kisses from before. This is something else entirely. It’s a kiss of acceptance, of relief, of a future that suddenly feels possible again. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining, her cheeks wet, but she’s smiling. A real smile. Radiant.

"Yes," she whispers, but the words come out clear as day. "Yes to both.”

—

Two months have passed since the night Irene told you her secret. You hadn’t pressured her for details after that. You figured she’d share more when she was ready. And maybe you’re dying to know, because there’s a whole life behind those eyes you’re only just beginning to uncover, but you’ve kept quiet. The important thing is simple: Irene’s here, now, with you. Not a passing contract worker anymore, but a full-time part of the company, of your team, of your life. She’s taken root, quietly but firmly, in your space.

And the sex? If anything, it’s only gotten wilder, like with the weight of her secret off her chest, she’s finally able to let go in ways you hadn’t seen before. The shy smiles, the slow, calculated movements…still there, sure, but now layered with something hungrier, less reserved, like she’s reclaiming something with every time you push her over the edge. You love it. Love her.

Which brings you to today. Your birthday. You didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Seulgi, who usually insists on dragging your ass out for overpriced cocktails every year. No thank you. You didn’t want a party. All you wanted was your day off, the luxury of doing absolutely nothing with Irene. You arranged to meet her at 6:00 PM at your apartment, which left your afternoon free. You went for a run in the park, as you usually do, and for some reason, the day feels brighter; maybe because it’s your birthday, or maybe because you know you’ll be seeing Irene in just a few hours. The air was cool, but the city was beautiful, glinting in that late afternoon gold.

By the time you got home, you were sticky with sweat, a faint sheen from the walk making your shirt cling to your back. You opened the door expecting the familiar sprawl of your apartment (the faintly messy pile of laundry on the chair, the open laptop on the coffee table), but instead, you stopped dead.

She was standing there, barefoot on your rug, a modest little cake perched on the kitchen counter, a couple of small, wrapped boxes beside it, the faint scent of chocolate and flour in the air.

“Irene… what the fuck…” You blink, stunned, taking it in: the simple but unmistakable gesture. She’s dressed so casually it almost undoes you: black tank top, thin and loose enough that you can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, and tiny gray cotton shorts that barely cover the tops of her thighs. Her hair’s pulled back, but messier than usual, strands framing her face. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it pisses you off a little, how she always does this without even trying.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you say, still standing in the doorway, key half out of your hand. “Seriously.”

She shrugs, but her lips curl up, pleased. “It was a pleasure,” she says, walking toward you, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. “You deserve it.”

You exhale, feeling something tight release in your chest. She’s already so close now, tilting her head up to kiss you. You bend down automatically, catching her mouth in yours, slow and grateful. She tastes like the chocolate she must’ve sampled from the cake.

You pull back, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I’m disgusting after that walk.”

She smirks, and her hand snakes out, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “But you look hot like that.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be quick.”

She lets you go with a small, satisfied hum, and you head to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Under the hot spray, you let your muscles relax, your mind drifting. This week’s been a nightmare: training a bunch of new hires who couldn’t give a shit about what you say, their apathy bleeding into your own work, your inbox piling up, everything a fucking mess. You rinse your hair, scrubbing shampoo out, and call out loud enough for her to hear in the other room.

“I swear to god, babe, this week’s been brutal. I’ve been babysitting these useless newbies, none of them care, none of them listen—” You towel off roughly, stepping out, water still dripping down your chest. “—and I still have to keep up with all my own shit. It’s like I’m doing two jobs.”

You walk into the bedroom, still talking as you rub the towel over your head. “I should’ve just told Henderson to shove it and let them sink.”

And then you stop mid-sentence.

She’s standing there.

Naked.

Not a single stitch of clothing, just her flawless, toned petite frame, the faintest sheen of lotion on her smooth skin, her black hair loose now, falling around her shoulders. And her nipples (your breath catches) her nipples are each dabbed with a smear of dark, glossy chocolate, the scent of cocoa rich and unmistakable from where you stand.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Do you really want to talk about work? And by the way, I don’t think you’ll be needing clothes right now.”

You’re frozen, towel hanging loose around your hips, your cock already stirring in response to the sight of her.

She steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over the edge of your towel, teasing, tugging, and with a practiced flick, she pulls it free. Your cock springs up, hard and ready, and she smiles like she expected nothing less.

“You didn’t really think cake and presents were your only gifts, did you?” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your length appreciatively.

Before you can answer, she pushes you gently but firmly backward, making you sit on the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread, leaning on your elbows, watching her climb up, her knees on either side of your thighs.

“It’s time for your second gift,” she says.

She shifts forward, and her small, perfect breasts are suddenly right there in front of you, chocolate gleaming on her tight little nipples.

You groan, sitting up and catching one of her nipples in your mouth without hesitation. You suck hard, your tongue circling the hard peak to clean away the bittersweet smear of chocolate. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers immediately threading through your damp hair, gripping the strands, holding your head firmly in place. You take that as an invitation.

You drag your tongue over every last trace of the chocolate, lapping at her skin, feeling the delicate flesh swell and tighten even more under your attention. The taste is insane; dark, rich chocolate melting into the salty, warm taste of her skin. Once the first nipple is clean, glistening, and pink from the friction of your tongue, you move to the other. This time you start with your teeth, grazing them ever so gently over the hardened bud.

She shivers violently, a full-body tremor, her hips giving a small, involuntary buck against the mattress. "Fuck… yes…" she pants. "Right there… don't stop."

"You like that?" you murmur against her breast, your hot breath making her shiver again. "Like it when I bite?"

"I… fuck, yes," she admits, her hands tightening their grip in your hair, almost pulling. "Bite it harder."

You do, clamping your teeth down just enough to make her gasp again, a sharp, pained-pleasured sound that makes your cock throb. Then you soothe the faint mark with your tongue, lapping at her, sucking her deep into your mouth until her moans become a steady, breathless rhythm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally pulling back to look at her, your lips wet and dark with chocolate. "You taste so fucking good."

She smirks. "I know," she purrs. "I was hoping you'd think so." She leans forward, her clean, hard nipples brushing against your lips. "They're all yours tonight, supervisor. A birthday present. You can do whatever you want to them."

"Anything?" you ask.

"Anything," she confirms, her eyes glinting. "Suck them, bite them, cover them in your cum… Just make them feel good. Make them feel used."

That's all the permission you need. You dive back in, taking her left nipple into your mouth again, but this time your assault is rougher, needier. You suck hard, creating a powerful suction, pulling at the flesh, your tongue a relentless engine against the peak. She cries out, a raw, open-mouthed sound, her body instinctively pressing closer against yours.

"God, you're so fucking sensitive," you mutter against her skin, loving the way her body reacts to your every touch. "I love how your nipples get so hard for me, how they just stand at attention, begging for my mouth."

"They are," she gasps, her hips starting to writhe. "They've been aching for you… for weeks… every time you look at me in the office…"

You pull away from her breast just enough to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her chest, over her collarbone, until you reach her mouth. You capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Your tongue, slick with her taste and melted chocolate, plunges past her teeth, and she meets it eagerly, her own tongue wrestling with yours. You let her taste herself on you, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of her skin.

When you finally break the kiss, you're both panting, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. "See?" you breathe. "I told you you taste good."

Irene licks her swollen lips, a dazed, utterly debauched look in her eyes. "Fuck," she whispers. "You're right." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then back up again. "You know what else tastes good?” she asks, cupping the back of your head and guiding you down, down until your shoulders hit the mattress again. Then she moves, her thighs sliding up, one smooth motion as she positions herself right over your face, her pussy bare and slick, already dripping for you.

You barely manage a breath before she lowers herself onto you, her inner thighs framing your face, her weight pressing you down in the best possible way.

“This will be more delicious than the cake,” you say, voice muffled against her.

Irene smiles down at you lazily, like a queen about to settle onto her throne. Her hands find the headboard above your head, bracing herself, and then, finally, she lowers herself onto your mouth, her warmth enveloping you, her thighs tightening around the sides of your head.

The first contact is enough to make your cock twitch against your stomach. You slide your hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips tracing the toned, soft muscle there, and then up further to her ass, gripping it firmly as you pull her closer, burying your face in her cunt. She’s soaked already, the slickness smearing across your lips and chin as you flatten your tongue and drag it slowly from the very base of her slit all the way up to her clit, savoring every second.

She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips twitching forward instinctively.

“Shit…” she breathes, looking down at you, her expression already beginning to shift from teasing control to raw need.

But for now, she’s still in charge. She rocks her hips forward just a little, her pussy sliding wetly over your mouth and nose, smearing you with her arousal. You keep your tongue out, letting her use your face however she wants, just occasionally giving her little flicks against her clit to remind her how eager you are.

“You love this, don’t you?” she says, her tone soft but with that dangerous little edge that always drives you crazy. Her fingers tangle in your damp hair, holding your head still as she starts to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles against your mouth. “Love being under me… letting me use you…”

You can’t answer (she’s not giving you space to) but your moan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her slick folds as you slide your tongue back up to her clit and start circling it in slow, agonizingly steady motions.

“Mmm, fuck…” she exhales, head falling back slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.

She’s setting the pace. You know better than to rush her. Your hands stay planted firmly on her ass, kneading the flesh as she rides your face, her hips rolling smoothly, confidently. The heat of her grows with every pass of her pussy over your tongue, her slick spreading across your cheeks and chin, and every time you flick the tip of your tongue against her clit just a little harder, she gasps and rocks her hips more forcefully.

“You always… eat me so fucking good…” she mutters, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as you latch your lips around her clit and start sucking gently, your tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

Her thighs tense around your head, the muscles flexing beautifully as she grinds down harder, chasing more friction. The more you give, the more she takes, rolling her hips with more intensity, dragging her soaked slit all over your face, smearing herself on you like she owns you (and she does).

Right now, she does.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping your hair tighter, anchoring herself as she starts to lose some of that controlled rhythm, her movements becoming more desperate, more erratic.

You moan into her, the sound vibrating directly against her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, needy sound that makes your cock throb with how much you want her. But this is her moment. You flatten your tongue again, letting her grind against it, letting her slide herself up and down at her own pace, her pussy getting wetter, creamier, with every second.

“Fuck… fuck, you’re making me so wet…” she gasps, looking down at you, her dark hair sticking to her temples now as her body starts to glisten with sweat.

She lifts herself slightly, just to reposition, then slams her hips down against your mouth again, harder this time, her pussy mashing against your tongue and nose. You slide one hand from her ass to her lower back, steadying her, encouraging her to keep going, to use you just like this.

You can feel the shift now. The subtle change in her moans, from teasing and playful to raw, involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Her thighs begin to shake slightly on either side of your head as she rides your face, her slick coating your lips and chin, the taste of her getting thicker, sweeter, more intoxicating.

“I’m so fucking close…” she whimpers, her voice cracking with how hard she’s working herself against your mouth.

You respond by tightening your grip on her ass, pulling her down harder, guiding her against your tongue as you focus all your energy on relentless, steady strokes against her clit. She gasps, her whole body shuddering above you, her head dropping forward so her hair hangs in her face.

“God… yes… just like that… don’t you fucking dare stop…” she growls, grinding her pussy against your face with wild, desperate circles now, her control all but gone.

The wet sounds of her pussy dragging over your lips fill the room, slick and obscene, her arousal practically dripping onto your chest now as she rides you, using your face like her own personal toy. You keep your tongue out, letting her smear herself all over you, letting her control everything, loving how small but powerful she is, how easily she can overwhelm you with just her hips and her need.

“Shit… shit…” she pants, her thighs clamping tighter around your head, her fingers gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles go white.

You feel it, the way her pussy clenches, her body going rigid above you as she slams her hips down one final time and cries out, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the walls. Her whole body quakes as she cums, her pussy gushing over your mouth, slick and creamy, her arousal spilling down your chin and onto your chest as she grinds out every last wave of her orgasm against your face.

You don’t stop. You keep your tongue moving gently, lapping up everything she gives you, licking around her swollen clit and savoring the taste of her cum as she rides out the aftershocks.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she collapses forward, her body draping over yours, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her thighs tremble as she slowly lifts herself off your face, and you look up at her, lips and chin gleaming with her wetness, your eyes glazed with pure, feral hunger.

She smiles weakly, her breathing still ragged. “Happy birthday…” she whispers, voice hoarse but full of smug satisfaction.

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Best fucking birthday ever.”

She laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate slide.

And then she pulls back, biting your lower lip gently, her eyes still dark with want.

“But we’re not done,” she says as her hand trails down your chest and wraps around your cock, already throbbing and slick with precum. “That was just your first gift…”

You groan, tilting your head back, already ready for whatever she has planned next as she shifts her weight and starts to slide down your body.

You laugh breathlessly, wiping the last traces of her slick from your chin with the back of your hand, still riding that high from having her grind out her orgasm on your face. “Jesus,” you exhale, your chest heaving. “That’s already the best fucking birthday I’ve had in years.”

She chuckles, low and throaty, still catching her breath. Then she leans in, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

That pulls a grin out of you immediately. You squeeze her ass, your fingers digging into the soft but firm flesh, pulling her closer as you smirk. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

She pulls back just far enough to give you that look: mischievous, calculated, playful. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, then she bites the inside of her cheek and says, almost sing-song, “Wait here.”

Then she’s sliding off you, her bare feet hitting the floor with that soft, soundless grace that only she seems to have. You watch her as she pads out of the room, completely naked, that tight little body moving with unhurried confidence, her hips swaying just enough to make your already rock-hard cock give another desperate throb.

From the bedroom, you hear the faint sound of a zipper, metal teeth rasping open. A pause. Then some soft rustling. Your heart picks up, your curiosity burning, trying to piece together what the hell she’s planning. And then, her footsteps again, crossing the hall, getting closer.

She comes back into the room, eyes glinting, and tosses something at you. You catch it on instinct.

It’s a small bottle.

You turn it over in your hand, read the label.

Lube.

Your brows shoot up and you look at her, grinning in disbelief. “What the hell do you plan on doing with this?”

She climbs back onto the bed, crawling up slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey, her eyes locked on yours, her knees spreading on either side of your hips until she’s hovering right above you.

“You’re the one who’s gonna do it.”

You blink, your brain still processing, the words sticking in your throat for a second. “Wait… what?”

She leans down, her lips grazing yours as she whispers, “Because it’s your birthday…” she kisses you, slow and soft, then pulls back, “…and because you’re such a great supervisor…” another kiss, deeper this time, “…you get the privilege of fucking my ass today.”

Your whole body tightens instantly, your cock jerking so hard it practically aches. You stare at her, eyes wide, like she’s just handed you the keys to some secret vault you didn’t even know existed. “Are you… are you serious?”

She sits back on her heels, all casual, like she didn’t just offer you the dirtiest birthday present imaginable. “Of course I’m serious.”

Then she reaches behind her, drags her fingers slowly down the curve of her own ass, giving one cheek a light slap, making it jiggle just enough to send your pulse into overdrive.

“It’s been a long time since I took it in the ass…” she says, almost absentmindedly, her voice that same casual, almost shy tone she uses when discussing quarterly reports, like this is just another item on her to-do list. Then she looks right at you, her eyes dark and steady, “…and I kind of love anal.”

Your jaw slackens a bit, your mind racing with images, with questions, with raw, hungry need.

She grins at your reaction, shrugging one bare shoulder. “Makes sense, right?” she adds, almost teasing. “Former porn star. Guessing I’ve done it… more times than I can count. It's part of the job.” Then her voice drops just a little more, breathier, more vulnerable. “But… it’s been years since I’ve had a real dick back there. Just… toys. Dildos.”

Your cock twitches violently at that, thick and hard, standing straight up against your stomach. You groan, dragging your palm slowly along your length, almost needing to ground yourself with the sensation. “Fuck, Irene…” you mutter, shaking your head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But you like it… don’t you?”

“Like?” you laugh quietly, breathless. “This is… this is the best fucking gift.”

She smiles, pleased with herself, then crawls forward a little more, turns, and gets onto all fours right in front of you. That perfect little ass of hers tilted up, back arched so her cheeks spread just slightly, giving you the clearest possible view of her tight, pink little asshole. Your throat goes dry.

She glances back over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Well… supervisor… you gonna get started?”

Your heart is hammering out of your chest. “Damn right.”

You pop open the bottle of lube, the faint plastic crack of the cap clicking free, and squeeze out a generous amount into your palm. It’s cool and slick, coating your fingers easily as you rub them together, warming it up a little.

Without wasting any more time, you slide closer to her, one hand gripping her hip, the other bringing the lube to her ass. You let the first cold drop fall right onto her tight little hole, watching as she shivers at the sudden temperature shock.

“Ohhh… fuck,” she breathes out, her back arching deeper as her hands grip the sheets.

You smear the lube over her asshole with slow, steady circles, massaging it in, spreading it across the perfect crease of her ass, making sure it’s slick and glistening all over. Her cheeks are shining now, slippery under your fingers, and that tight little star is all slicked up, glistening and ready.

The more you work the lube in, the more she relaxes, her breaths coming deeper, slower.

“You’re loving this,” you murmur, running your thumb gently along the rim of her hole, teasing her.

She looks back at you, biting her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. “You have no idea…”

You apply a little more pressure with your thumb, testing her, and she pushes back slightly, welcoming it, her body already opening up for you.

“Mmm… that’s it,” you say under your breath, gripping one cheek and spreading her wider, admiring the way her asshole puckers and flexes, slick and inviting.

The contrast between the shy, composed Irene everyone knows at the office, and the filthy, unashamed woman kneeling naked in front of you now, offering you her ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world… it’s fucking intoxicating. You love this about her. That duality. That quiet power.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the small of her back, your hand still massaging circles around her entrance, feeling her pulse there, steady and hot. She shivers again, but it’s not from the cold now; it’s pure anticipation.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

She laughs, breathless. “Don’t make me beg…”

You grin, sliding your lubed fingers lower, brushing her slick pussy briefly, just enough to make her moan softly, before bringing your hand back up to her ass. You add a little more lube to your fingers, making sure it’s dripping, then slowly, carefully, you press the tip of your index finger against her tight, pink hole.

Her breath hitches. Her whole body tenses as you apply steady pressure. The tiny muscle fights you for a second, a stubborn little ring, before it finally gives way with a soft squelch. You slide your finger in, just to the first knuckle. She groans, a low, guttural sound that’s half pain, half pure bliss.

"Fuck…" she breathes out, her hips twitching. "Okay… okay, that’s… mmm."

You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of being filled, your finger still and warm inside her. Then, you start to move it, a slow, gentle circling motion. Her asshole clenches around you, tight and hot.

"Easy, baby," you murmur. "Just relax for me. Let me open you up."

She exhales, a long, shuddering breath, and you feel her body soften, her tight muscle relaxing just a fraction around your finger. You push in a little deeper, hooking your finger slightly, massaging her from the inside.

"Oh, god… that feels…" she trails off. She pushes back against your hand, wanting more. You continue the slow, steady rhythm, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. "It's… it's so nice," she whispers. "To be able to do this again."

You keep moving your finger, feeling her pulse against the tip. "Do what, baby? Take a finger up your ass?" you tease gently.

She lets out a wet little laugh. "That too. But… just this. All of it. The sex… being filthy…" Her voice drops, becoming more serious. "But feeling… safe. Feeling protected while I do it. Knowing you’re not going to… hurt me at the end. Or judge me." Her hips rock back, pressing her ass more firmly onto your hand. "God, I’m so happy you didn’t give up on me. That you insisted on staying."

You slide your finger out slowly, coat it with more lube, then add a second finger to the first. You press them both against her entrance. She gasps as you work them in together, stretching her, filling her more completely.

"I would never lose a woman like you, Irene," you say. "You're the most beautiful, intelligent, fucking amazing woman I've ever met. Past, present, all of it. You're perfect."

She shudders as your fingers begin to move inside her again, a slow scissoring motion that makes her moan, a high, keening sound this time. She looks back over her shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Fuck… that’s…" she bites her lip, a shy blush creeping up her neck despite the raw vulgarity of the situation. "That’s… really nice of you to say, but… maybe we can leave the love talk for later?" she gasps out between moans. "Talking about these things while you have your fingers in my ass isn't exactly… the best time."

You bark out a laugh, the tension breaking. "You're right. My bad." You lean in and bite her ass cheek playfully. "Sorry for trying to be romantic while I finger-fuck you."

"It's okay, baby," she giggles, her whole body relaxing into your touch now. "Just… focus on the finger-fucking part for now."

"Whatever you want, boss," you say, grinning. You add a third finger, and she cries out, her ass clenching hard around you, starting a slow, relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of her tight little hole. The lube makes a wet, slapping sound with every thrust of your hand, a filthy soundtrack to her ragged moans. Her ass cheeks are spread wide, giving you a perfect, obscene view of her pink, stretched muscle gripping your fingers. You watch, fascinated, as she completely melts under your touch, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

"Fuck, Irene… look at you," you growl. You rotate your fingers inside her, feeling her stretch wider around them. She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound. "You're taking my whole hand like a champ. Just imagine how good this is gonna feel when it's my thick cock stretching you out instead."

"Mmmm… don't… don't stop," she pleads, her words broken by gasps as she pushes her ass back onto your violating fingers, meeting the pressure.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," you promise, your pace quickening slightly. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "I think I'm gonna get addicted to this. To your perfect ass. I'm going to want to fuck it every single day." You thrust your fingers deeper, imitating a hard fuck. "How's that sound, baby? Waking up every morning with my cock already buried deep inside your ass, filling you up before you've even had your coffee."

Her response is a raw, guttural moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her hips begin to grind against your hand in wild, needy circles. "Yes… fuck… keep talking," she pants. "Tell me more… tell me what you're gonna do to my ass…"

You glance down between her thighs and your own cock gives a hard throb. A glistening, clear trail of her arousal is dripping from her soaking wet pussy, running down the inside of her thigh and pooling on the sheets. She's not even touching herself, but the thought of you fucking her ass is making her cunt gush.

"Look at that," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the slick path of her juices. "You're so fucking wet for this, aren't you? So horny just thinking about my cock in your ass that your pussy is weeping for it." You dip your thumb into her slickness and bring it back up to her asshole, smearing her own cunt juice around the rim of her hole, mixing it with the lube. "Let's make it even messier."

"Please…" she whimpers, completely gone. "Please, just… fuck me… I need it…"

You pull your fingers out of her with a loud, wet sound. Her asshole, stretched and glistening, puckers greedily, empty for only a second. You can see how ready she is, how open you've made her.

You draw your hand back.

The sound of your palm connecting with her ass cheek is sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. A perfect, red handprint blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a shocked, ecstatic sound, her whole body jolting. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide, dazed, and full of pure, unadulterated need. Her chest is heaving, her lips are parted, and her ass is red, abused, and beautifully, perfectly ready for you.

The lube glistens like syrup under the low light, a sheen coating the delicate wrinkle of her pink asshole, smeared slick between the cleft of her cheeks and dripping slowly toward the tight seal of her pussy. She keeps herself open for you, kneeling deep into the mattress, arms stretched forward, arching her back like a fucking exhibit. She’s panting, her head down, black hair spilled over her shoulder blades in wild, careless strands.

You trace the tip of your cock along the seam of her hole, barely nudging the outer ring, and she makes a noise: sharp, needy, almost angry.

“Don’t tease me,” Irene growls, hips pushing back against you, practically punching your cock with the weight of her ass. “Put it in. Now.”

You obey. You press forward slowly, resisting the urge to just bury yourself to the hilt and fuck like an animal. Her hole yields just a little, then grips you, impossibly snug, sucking you in with a hot, slick resistance that makes your whole body twitch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath, biting down on a curse as the ring of muscle clamps around your head, slow and greedy, dragging every millimeter into her. “Jesus, you’re… tight.”

“I know,” she smirks into the pillow, biting down on her bottom lip as she breathes through the stretch. Her tone is breathless but taunting. “I haven’t been used in a while. Not properly. Not like this.”

You ease in another inch. Then another. Her asshole flutters and clamps, adjusting around your girth like it’s testing you.

“That’s it,” Irene whispers, then harder: “Keep going. All the way. Don’t you dare stop until your balls are fucking pressed against me.”

You grit your teeth, rocking your hips gently forward, both hands gripping her sides to keep steady. Inch by inch you sink into her, the resistance melting into slick pressure. She moans, a raw, throaty sound full of pain twisted with hunger. Her whole body shudders as the last inch disappears into her heat.

When your pelvis finally nestles flush against the swell of her ass, your balls brushing her dripping cunt, she exhales hard; like she’s just been filled with something holy.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, locked inside her, unmoving for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of it. “You’re gonna break me.”

“No,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look back at you. “You’re gonna break me. Keep moving, or I’ll sit on your face until you pass out.”

You pull back slow, dragging yourself out until just the thick head is left buried inside, then push back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes her whine low in her throat.

“That’s it,” Irene murmurs. “Nice and deep. I want to feel every inch. I want to feel it in my fucking stomach.”

You start to move, slow and steady, your cock plunging deep into the hot grip of her ass and pulling out again, over and over, building a rhythm. Her moans rise in pitch, sharp and cut with whimpers, but her ass keeps pushing back onto you, meeting every thrust with a greedy snap of her hips.

“Faster,” she snarls. “Don’t be gentle. I don’t want gentle.”

You pound into her harder, the slap of your skin against her ass echoing in the room, obscene and constant. Her back arches deeper, the curve of her spine a perfect invitation, and you drive in deeper still, your hands spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear again and again into that slick, stretched hole.

“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “That’s it. That’s your hole. Say it.”

Your brain is on fire, body wound tight, but you nod, fucking her faster, harder. “My hole. All mine. Fuck—so good, Irene.”

“Tell me what I am,” she spits, grinding her ass against you mid-thrust. “Tell me what you’re fucking.”

You groan, barely coherent. “My whore. My nympho slut. My fucking anal-obsessed goddess.”

“That’s right,” she laughs, low and mean, pleasure twisting her words. “I’m your filthy bitch. Keep filling me. I want you so deep I can’t walk tomorrow.”

You grip her hips and slam into her, cock buried to the base every time, her ass stretched wide around you. Her pussy is a mess now, slick and twitching, untouched and throbbing with every shockwave of your rhythm.

“Harder,” she snarls. “I want to feel your cock rearranging my guts.”

"Alright, ma'am," you growl.

You give her exactly what she's begging for. Your hips become pistons, slamming into her with a brutal, relentless force. All your strength is channeled into your cock, driving it into her ass again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, obscene and glorious. You grip her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, using them as handles to anchor her as you pound into her without mercy.

Her moans shatter, turning into raw, animal cries of pain and ecstasy. She pushes back against you with every brutal thrust, her body a taut bow of pure sensation. You watch your cock disappear into her tight, glistening hole, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately around you. Her untouched pussy is a mess below, dripping her slick onto the bed with every jarring impact. She's so fucking hot, so insatiable.

"Tell me again what a filthy whore I am!" she snarls, voice cracking. "Tell me how much you love fucking my tight ass!"

"You're my perfect little anal slut," you pant, the words ripped from your throat as you continue your assault. "You take this cock so fucking good. Your ass was made for this. Made to be stretched, used, and filled by me."

"It was," she sobs, the words half-lost in a scream of pleasure. "It's yours! My ass is your fucking property! Now wreck it! Wreck me!"

Her body starts to tremble, fine tremors at first that grow into violent, uncontrollable shudders. Her asshole, which was already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock like a vise, spasming, milking you with an intensity that almost makes you lose control. She's close. So fucking close.

"That's it, baby," you groan, feeling her body start to come apart around you. "You feel that? You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum all over my cock from your ass."

"I am… fuck… I'm… oh god…"

Her head whips back, a choked, guttural scream tearing from her lips as her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike. Her entire body locks up, her back arching so high her knees lift off the bed. Her asshole spasms violently around your shaft, a series of deep, rhythmic pulses that feel like she's trying to suck your cock clean out of your body. She’s coming, harder than you’ve ever seen anyone come, purely from the brutal, relentless fucking you’re giving her ass.

"FUUUUCK!" she screams as she shatters. Her body convulses around you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. She's sobbing, drool trailing from the corner of her open mouth, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation. You don't stop, slamming into her through it, dragging her along the edge of that climax until she’s twitching, sobbing, her thighs soaked, everything between her legs shaking from overstimulation. Her asshole clenches over and over, like it’s trying to keep your cock inside her permanently. The sound of your name on her lips turns into a whimper, a plea.

And then she collapses.

She goes limp under you, body gone soft, her face buried into the mattress, hair plastered to her neck with sweat. You slow just enough not to hurt her more, but you're still buried in her, and she’s still trembling like something in her got snapped and rearranged.

You reach down, cup one hot, twitching cheek in your palm, fingers sinking into the softness, then you slap her ass. She jerks violently, crying out again, a fresh gush of wetness from her untouched cunt.

Irene’s panting like a dog, but she lifts her head slowly, pushing herself up on shaky elbows. Her asshole is raw and red, clenching around nothing now that you’ve pulled out, and your cock stands slick and flushed, aching to go again.

You run a hand down her back, smearing sweat, and watch her shiver under your touch, still catching her breath. She looks over her shoulder, eyes dark and dazed, lips parted.

“What now?” she asks, still high on it, a smirk tugging at the edge of her fucked-out expression.

You crawl over the mattress, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping under your weight until you’re hovering above her. You reach out, brush her damp hair away from her cheek, and tilt her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours; you lean in and kiss her.

It’s not rushed. Not forceful. Just the soft press of your lips on hers, a quiet connection that feels startlingly out of place after how violently you’d just been inside her. But it fits. Her lips part easily, kissing you back, slow and sweet, her moan caught between you like breath being passed from one lung to another.

When you pull back, your thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone, you speak low and close.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She blinks once, then laughs; a little stunned, a little disbelieving, the sound raspy and full of heat. She shifts onto her side, hair falling in her face, her lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “That’s a hell of a romantic thing to say after you fucked my ass like it owed you rent.”

You laugh too, forehead pressed to hers, eyes shut for a second. “I mean it.”

“Yeah?” she whispers, her palm sliding up your chest, nails dragging faintly across skin. “You always get all poetic when I let you wreck my holes?”

“I’m discovering new talents,” you say, and kiss her again, deeper this time, longer, your tongue meeting hers slow and deliberate, savoring her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. Her fingers find your hair, tangling in it, keeping you there until she finally pulls back, panting softly, her lips swollen and wet.

You straighten, letting your hand glide down her bare side, palm trailing over the curve of her hip. “Come on,” you murmur, fingers nudging at her.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she stretches lazily, catlike, then rolls onto her back, arms above her head, bare chest rising and falling. “Make me,” she says, grinning like a brat, teeth flashing beneath the curtain of black hair stuck to her cheek. “If you want me up so bad, you better earn it.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re in that mood again?” you mutter, and before she can blink, you lunge, grabbing her under the thighs, flipping her off the bed in one fluid motion. She shrieks, half-laughing, half-startled as your arms lock around her, her bare ass landing square in your hands.

“Hey!” she gasps, but she’s laughing, eyes bright. “Assault!”

“You asked for it,” you growl against her throat, kissing her hard, biting the skin there just enough to make her squirm.

Still holding her up, you reposition your grip—one hand under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around your waist like it’s instinct. She clings to your shoulders, breath hitching as your cock brushes against her inner thigh, then her slick, drenched cunt.

You drag the tip along her folds, once, twice.

She gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m—” she starts, but your head nudges inside, the slickness between her legs so intense it practically sucks you in.

“Sensitive,” she finishes, her whole body jolting.

You groan as you push deeper, her pussy hot and swollen and soaked from everything that came before. She’s not just wet—she’s drenched, her folds clinging to your cock like velvet, the entrance spasming as you ease in inch by slow inch. Her breath stutters out of her mouth in broken moans, arms tightening around your neck, her nails biting into your skin.

“Irene—fuck—you’re soaking,” you hiss, your lips brushing her ear.

“I know,” she moans, her words thick with need. “It’s from before…I came so hard… ahh, god, don’t stop, don’t—”

You don’t.

You fuck her slowly in the air, each thrust smooth and deep, her weight light in your arms but heavy on your cock. Her pussy clenches with every movement, already overstimulated and begging for more. Her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, mouth open in helpless pleasure as you move inside her.

Her moans get louder, warmer, wetter, her body rocking with every motion, the slap of skin against skin muted by the softness of her thighs wrapped tight around you.

“You like that?” you whisper, kissing her collarbone, trailing your tongue between the swell of her breasts. “You like getting fucked right after I ruined your ass?”

She nods frantically, face flushed, lips parted. “Y-yes, I—fuck, yes, I need this, don’t stop, I’m so close already.”

You kiss her, swallowing her cries, letting her whimper into your mouth as you keep thrusting up into her, slow and deep, filling her again and again until her cunt spasms, her whole body clinging to yours like she’s afraid to fall. Her moans melt into kisses, breathy, broken, desperate, like she’s trying to stay anchored through her own bliss.

And you just keep holding her, hips rolling, fucking her deeper… slower… not letting her come down yet.

Your arms are burning with the effort, but you don't care. The feeling of her wrapped around you, your cock buried deep inside her slick, hot cunt, is worth everything. Her body is a dead weight of pure pleasure, clinging to you, her head thrown back as you continue the slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, a lazy roll of your hips that slides you all the way in until your pelvis presses against her, then draws you almost all the way out before sinking back down.

She whimpers into your mouth every time you pull back, a desperate, needy sound. "Please..." she breathes against your lips, her own hips trying to buck, to rush the pace, to find the friction she so clearly craves.

"Shhh," you murmur, capturing her mouth in another long, slow kiss. "Just feel this, baby. Let me love you." You fuck her with an infuriating gentleness, your movements tender, almost reverent. It's the exact opposite of what her body is screaming for, and you both know it.

That’s the fucking point.

"You're... torturing me," she pants, her nails digging into the muscles of your shoulders. Her pussy is so wet it's practically frictionless, dripping down onto your thighs, but it clenches around your cock with a desperate, pulsing grip.

"Am I?" you whisper, your lips tracing a path down her throat to her collarbone. You continue the slow, deep strokes, ignoring her plea. "I'm just loving you, Irene. Showing you how much you mean to me. How perfect you feel." You thrust upwards, slowly, filling her completely, and hold yourself there for a moment, letting her feel every thick inch. She moans, a long, frustrated wail.

"No... please... I need it harder," she begs, voice cracking. She starts to writhe in your arms, trying to grind her hips against you, to create her own rhythm. "Fuck me... please, just fuck me properly."

You chuckle softly against her skin, a low, dark sound. "But I like this," you say, resuming the agonizingly slow pace. "I like feeling you squeeze me. I like hearing you beg." You kiss her again, a deep, possessive kiss that smothers her protests. You can feel the frantic, thrumming energy building in her, the pleasure coiling into a tight, unbearable knot of pure need.

Her body is trembling now, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "You're an asshole," she gasps, her voice a mix of fury and arousal. "You know what I want... you know what I need, and you're just... playing with me."

"I am," you agree easily, your hips still rolling in that same, maddeningly slow rhythm. "And you love it. Look at you. You're soaked. Shaking. Completely coming apart just from me being inside you."

"Then make me come!" she cries out, her control finally snapping. "For fuck's sake, stop making love to me and just FUCK ME! Fuck me hard! Use me like I'm a toy, like I'm just a fucking fleshlight you own! I need it! Please, I need you to ruin me!”

You kiss her neck gently, your lips brushing her skin in a gesture of pure affection that completely contradicts the filthy words she just screamed.

"A fleshlight?" you murmur against her ear, your voice a soft, teasing caress. "Is that all you think you are to me, Irene? Just a set of holes to use?" You slide almost all the way out of her, making her gasp and instinctively clench her pussy around the thick head of your cock, trying to keep you inside. Then you push back in, slowly, deeply, until you bottom out against her cervix. "That doesn't sound very romantic."

"I don't want romantic right now!" she cries. Her body writhes in your arms. "I want to be used! I'm just a cunt for you! A tight, wet hole for your big dick! Please, I'm begging you, just pound me! Pound my cunt until I'm stupid! Forget my name! Forget everything but how good it feels to fuck me!"

"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice still infuriatingly calm and gentle. You continue the slow, deep fucking, each stroke a deliberate act of torture. "Because I love making love to you, Irene. I love holding you like this. Feeling your heart beat against mine."

"Fuck my heart!" she sobs. "Fuck my heart and fuck my brain! Just fuck my pussy! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be your good little whore, I promise! Just stop teasing me! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to come just from this, and I'll fucking hate you for it!"

You stop moving.

For one torturous second, you are completely still inside her. She whimpers, her body frozen in anticipation. "Alright," you growl. "If you're going to beg for it like a good little whore, then I guess I have to give you what you want."

"Yes..." she breathes.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of her ass as you slam her down onto your cock harder, rougher, the sound of her soaked cunt getting louder, wetter. The wet smack of flesh on flesh fills the room, and she yelps, then laughs through it, her eyes wild, her smile twisted with too much pleasure.

“God, yes—fuck me, use me—don’t stop—don’t you dare—”

You do exactly what she demands.

You use her.

You fuck her like she’s a doll made just to take cock, just to squeeze and stretch and be filled until her mind breaks and drips out of her pussy. You slam into her over and over, brutal rhythm, zero mercy. Her nails are digging into your shoulders, her forehead pressed to yours, moaning every breath into your mouth as her body takes the full force of your thrusts.

“Fucking hell,” you growl, gritting your teeth as her pussy tightens and pulses around your cock, “you’re taking it like a fucking slut, Irene.”

“I am,” she pants, the words shuddering out of her, “I’m your fucking slut—I’m your toy—make me fucking cum, I want it, I want it, please!”

You feel the change before you see it. The muscles inside her pussy, already clenched tight around you, suddenly begin to flutter, then seize, locking down on your shaft like a superheated vise. Her eyes, which were squeezed shut, fly open wide, not with pleasure, but with pure, unadulterated shock.

"Oh... oh my god... I'm..."

A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her as the first gush erupts from her cunt. It’s not just wetness; it's a hot, violent spray that shoots out, soaking your stomach and thighs, splashing on the floor below you. It’s a shocking, uncontrollable release, and her entire body locks up, trembling in your arms as she comes so hard she can’t breathe, can’t think.

You don't stop. You don't even slow down.

The sight, the sound, the feeling of her completely letting go like this makes you lose control. You keep slamming into her, your cock driving through the gushing fluid, making it splash and spray with every thrust. The fucking is louder now, wetter, a constant, obscene slapping sound. Another powerful torrent shoots from her, then another, seemingly endless. Her pussy is a broken faucet, gushing warm, clear fluid that runs in rivers down your legs, pooling on the floor.

"Aaahhh—fuck—it's still coming!" she screams. "I can't stop it—what's happening?! Fuck, fuck, don't you dare stop!"

Her legs, locked around your waist, are trembling so violently she can barely hold on. Her entire body jerks with every stroke, completely helpless in your grip. You fuck her through the flood, your own vision blurring, your body on fire. You watch her face, see her mind completely erased by pleasure, her eyes rolled back, her mouth wide open in a silent, unending scream.

You only slow when the last pulses drain from her, the violent gushes finally slowing to a warm, steady trickle down her thighs. Her limbs go limp, her body slumping against you, completely boneless and spent. She collapses against your chest, shivering and dazed, her entire body buzzing in the aftermath.

With a groan, you stumble back with her still in your arms and half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still on your lap, your cock buried deep inside her wrecked, dripping pussy. Her arms curl weakly around your neck and she buries her face in the crook of your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

You hold her tight, your own heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands slide slowly up and down her back, a soothing, grounding motion. You kiss her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, whispering her name over and over.

Finally, you tilt her chin up to kiss her. Her lips are soft, wet, and slow to respond, her body still floating, completely fucked-out. She moans weakly into your mouth, a sound of pure, exhausted bliss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are barely open, her long lashes wet with tears and sweat.

"Mmm," she sighs, nuzzling her cheek against yours. Her gaze drifts down, looking at the mess. Your bodies are gleaming, the floor is soaked, and the air is thick with the clean, musky scent of her release. "Your cock is magic," she whispers. "That was… Jesus Christ. I don't even squirt. Like, ever. I think I've maybe done it once in my entire life, and it was nothing… nothing like that."

You chuckle, your forehead pressing against hers. "Well, I guess your pussy just really, really likes me."

"I guess so," she murmurs, a lazy, dazed smile spreading across her face. "Or maybe you just finally fucked me hard enough to break me.” Then her hand slips between the two of you, down to your lap. Her fingers wrap around your shaft, still rock hard, still throbbing inside her. “Are you close?”

You nod, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”

Her smile changes—still soft, but wicked underneath.

“Good.”

Then she pushes you back, palms on your chest, making you fall flat onto the bed with a surprised grunt. She rolls her hips as she pulls off your cock, the slick noise of her body separating from yours obscene, strands of wetness sticking to your shaft.

She straddles you like she owns you; knees braced on either side of your hips, sweat-slick thighs trembling but determined, ass flexing as she angles herself just right. You’re flat on your back, heart thundering in your chest, cock twitching and red and glistening with her slick, twitching against your stomach until she grips it with one hand, lines the head up with the soaked, glistening pucker of her asshole, and then sinks.

Your breath catches in your throat as her ass envelops you again, tight and hot, that familiar pressure building immediately as she sinks down with a slow, sinful twist of her hips. The tip slides in, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and defiance, her back arching, hair sticking to her damp face. Her hole stretches around you perfectly, so perfectly it borders on painful, but she keeps going, inch by inch, until her full weight settles against your hips and you’re buried to the base.

You groan, your fingers digging into the sheets as her ass clenches around your cock like a fist. She lifts her head, licking her lips, eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“Still so fucking hard,” she murmurs. “You love my ass, don’t you?”

You nod, helpless.

“I could ride this cock all night,” she whispers, then smiles wickedly. “And I just might.”

She starts to move.

No slow buildup, no gentle grind: she fucks you, bouncing on your cock with reckless rhythm, ass clapping against your thighs, wet, loud, filthy. You groan through gritted teeth, hands finding her waist to keep yourself grounded, but it’s impossible to keep up with her. She’s wild. Even after cumming twice, even after being reduced to a trembling, soaking mess; she’s still fucking insatiable. Every drop of strength she has is poured into fucking herself on your cock like a nymphomaniac possessed.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hips thrusting up instinctively to meet her. “Irene—Irene, I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“I know you’re close,” she gasps, riding you harder. “I can feel it. Your cock’s throbbing like it’s about to explode. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, and slaps your face (not soft). Your head rocks to the side, the sting immediate, and your cock jerks hard inside her.

“Cum,” she hisses, breath hot against your mouth. “Fucking fill me. Cum in my ass. Do it.”

Your hands clamp onto her hips, pulling her down with every thrust, using her body like a goddamn toy, because that’s what she wants—her words, not yours. She’s a toy, a whore, a filthy little anal slut who wants nothing more than to milk the last fucking drop out of you.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” she pants, her nails dragging down your chest. “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re right there. Do it—cum inside my ass.”

Your brain goes blank. There’s no air, no words, just pleasure, pure and blistering, like you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking up into her as the orgasm slams into you like a bomb.

“Fuuuck—” you groan, head thrown back, every muscle tightening.

You cum. Hot, thick spurts of seed shoot deep into her tight little ass, each pulse more intense than the last, her body milking you with every squeeze, every rhythmic clench. It pours out of you, heavy and helpless, so much it feels like your balls are emptying themselves completely into her. She moans low and deep as she feels it, still grinding, slow now, purposeful, drawing out every spurt like she’s harvesting it.

“Fuck yes,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut. “So hot inside me… I can feel it—all of it. So warm. So fucking full.”

You can't stop moaning, your voice a pathetic, broken thing in the quiet of the bedroom. Your orgasm has left you hollowed out, your body trembling and weak, but she’s still moving. Her hips continue their slow, tight circles, grinding your now hypersensitive cock against the walls of her asshole. Every tiny movement sends a jolt of raw, overstimulated friction through you that’s almost painful. Your semi-flaccid cock twitches again, spasming weakly, squeezing out another dribble of cum into the hot, slick grip of her ass. The wet, squelching sound is obscene.

“Jesus,” you whisper. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your whole body tense. “Irene—I can’t—please, stop…”

She just laughs. It’s not her usual soft, sweet chuckle. This is a low, throaty, cruel sound that vibrates down through her body and into yours. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her sweat-slick hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. Her eyes are glittering with a wild, sadistic light.

“Stop?” she purrs, her hips not pausing their relentless, grinding motion. “Oh, baby. We’re not stopping. We’re just getting started.” She grinds down harder, a deliberate, punishing circle that makes you cry out. “Remember earlier? When I was begging you to fuck me harder, and you just kept going slow? When you were teasing me, making me wait, making me plead for it?”

You nod weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Well,” she says. “Payback’s a bitch. This is my revenge. Now it’s your turn to beg. It’s your turn to lie there and take it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want me to stop. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to pull out. You just take it. Understood?”

“Irene… please… I’m empty,” you plead, your hips instinctively trying to squirm away from the relentless pressure.

Her hands shoot out, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your head. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “I said, don’t move,” she hisses. “And you are not empty. I know you, baby. I know your body. There’s always more. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop out of you before I’m done.”

With your arms pinned, you’re completely at her mercy. She speeds up, just slightly. The slow, torturous grind transitions into a purposeful, steady rhythm. The wet, sloppy sounds of your cum lubricating her fucking get louder. She’s using your own release against you, turning it into a slick coating for her relentless ride.

“That’s it,” she moans, her own pleasure building again. “Feels so good, riding you when you’re this sensitive. I can feel your cock twitching inside my ass with every fucking squeeze. You love it, don’t you? Even though it hurts. You love being my toy.”

“It’s too much, babe…” you groan, your head thrashing on the pillow. Your cock, against all odds, is hardening again inside her, engorging with trapped blood, the sensitivity becoming an unbearable, burning ache.

“Too much? Oh, no. This isn’t even close to too much,” she taunts, her pace quickening even more. She starts bouncing on you, her ass slapping against your thighs, each impact sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your overstimulated nerves. “I’m not stopping until I cum again. And you’re going to be hard and buried inside my ass for that whole ride. You’re going to fill me up again while I’m screaming.”

She’s a fucking demon, a beautiful, insatiable nympho riding you into oblivion. She can feel you getting hard again, feel your body’s unwilling response. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, look at that,” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now. “Getting hard again for me. Such a good boy. You can’t help it, can you? Your cock just wants to please me. It just wants to be milked by my greedy little asshole.”

Her words are a death sentence to your self-control. Your body is already screaming, a raw nerve of overstimulation, but her filthy promises send a fresh wave of heat through you. You’re actually hardening again, impossibly, painfully, inside the slick, tight grip of her ass.

“You’re on the edge again, aren’t you?” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now, a brutal, merciless bouncing on your raw cock. “I can feel it. Your cock is twitching inside my ass, getting ready to shoot for me again. Good. I want it. I want your hot load coating my insides. I want to feel you pump every last drop into my greedy little hole.”

“Irene… please… I can’t…” you plead.

“Shhh. You don’t get a say in this. You don’t decide when you’re done. I do. I’m going to milk your balls dry, and you’re going to lie here and take it like the good little toy you are. I want to feel you come apart inside me. I want to feel you lose your fucking mind.”

She feels the tell-tale tremor run through you. She knows. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, yes… right there…” she hisses, her pace becoming even more punishing. “You’re going to give it to me now. You’re going to fill your whore’s ass up again. Fucking beg me for it. Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please,” you sob, the word ripped from a place beyond your control. “Please, Irene… let me cum… please…”

“That’s it,” she purrs. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

She lets go of your wrists, braces her hands on your shoulders, and with a final, guttural cry of her own, she sits down on you. Hard.

The sudden, overwhelming pressure is blinding. It forces the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Your body goes rigid, your back arching violently off the bed as the second orgasm rips through you with a force that feels like it’s tearing you apart. It's a complete system overload, a raw, involuntary expulsion that is pure, agonizing bliss.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum shoot deep inside her again, flooding her, filling the space that was already slick with your first release. You’re screaming, incoherent, your mind completely blanked out by the intensity.

As you flood her, a sound tears from her throat; not a taunt, but a raw, shocked scream of her own. Her whole body locks up, seizing around you. Her ass muscles spasm violently, a deep, powerful clenching that milks you even harder, drawing out every last drop of your release. The sheer force of you coming inside her, filling her so completely, has pushed her over her own edge.

“OH FUCK!” she screams, voice cracking as her own orgasm hits her suddenly. She’s coming apart on top of you, her body convulsing, her mind wiped clean. You feel her climax in the way her inner walls flutter and pulse around your still-erupting cock. She’s coming from your cum, from the feeling of being brutally, completely filled.

She rides out the violent waves, her body still moving on instinct, until the last shuddering tremor racks through both of you. Finally, with a long, shuddering sigh, she collapses, her body a dead weight on top of yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting, drenched in sweat, completely and utterly broken. Her ass is still wrapped snugly around your now-softening cock, your combined releases making a warm, sticky mess between you.

For a long time, the only sound in the room is your ragged, shared breathing. You stroke her hair, your fingers trembling slightly, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks. She feels impossibly warm, impossibly real, molded against you.

You let the silence stretch, letting the intensity fade into a soft, warm quiet. You feel her press a weak, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.

“I love you, Irene,” you whisper. It's the first time you've told her that. It feels like the only true thing in the universe right now.

You feel her tense for a second, then melt against you even more. She lifts her head, her face a beautiful wreck. Her eyes are hazy, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks at you, and the raw, unadulterated love in her gaze steals your breath all over again.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. She leans down and kisses you.

She pulls back, resting her forehead against yours. “Jesus,” she breathes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “No one’s ever… done that to me before.”

“Done what?” you murmur, your thumb stroking her cheek.

“That,” she says, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “Made me feel so… completely dominated. So used and broken. And then… made me feel so completely loved, all in the same breath. I didn't know that was possible.” She nuzzles her face into your chest. “I trust you so much. I can be… all of this… this filthy, needy thing… and I know you won't leave. I know you’ll still be here to hold me after. You are the first person to understand me completely."

You wrap your arms tighter around her. “I’m never leaving,” you say. “You can be whatever you want with me, Irene. Dominant, submissive, a fucking demon, an angel. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”

She sighs, a sound of pure, contented relief. “Good,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because I think you broke my ass. You’re going to have to carry me to the shower.”

You chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”

—

An hour later, after a long, hot shower that washed away the sweat and cum but left the buzzing, bone-deep satisfaction, you're both on the couch, tangled together in a thick blanket. The apartment is quiet and dark, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. You take the cake that Irene prepared and put it on the coffee table.

It's a rich, dark chocolate cake, with a glossy ganache frosting that’s a little uneven on the sides, a testament to the fact that she made it herself. A few simple, elegant chocolate shavings are scattered on top. It looks cute and real. You find a few candles in a drawer and stick them in the center.

"Alright, birthday boy," she murmurs. "Make a wish."

You look from the flickering candles to her face, her skin glowing in the warm light, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with exhaustion and love. "Already got it," you say quietly.

You lean forward, and blow the candles out in a single, gentle puff. The wicks glow red for a moment before extinguishing, leaving thin trails of smoke curling in the air. You cut a large, messy slice and hold the fork up to her lips. She parts them, taking the bite, and her eyes flutter shut. A low, genuine moan of pure bliss rumbles in her chest.

“Holy shit,” she sighs as she chews slowly. “Okay. This is what I needed all along.”

You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "What, not the two hours of borderline-abusive anal sex?"

She nudges you with her shoulder, swallowing. “Okay, both,” she concedes, her lips quirking into a grin. “But this is a very, very close second. I can’t believe the cake actually turned out good. I had to whip it up in a rush before you got back from your walk.”

"This is honestly the best chocolate cake I've ever had," you say, meaning it. You pause, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "But... I think I still prefer the taste of it on your tits."

Her laugh is sudden and bright, a beautiful, airy sound. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she hides her face in your shoulder for a second. "Oh my god, you're an idiot," she murmurs into your t-shirt, but she’s still shaking with laughter. “In my head it was an incredibly erotic idea.”

She leans her head against your shoulder, tucking her legs up under the blanket, and you both eat the cake in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the fork.

“I really like this,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?” you ask, nudging her gently with your head. “What part?”

She sighs, a sound of deep, bone-deep contentment. “All of it. The chaos from earlier. The quiet now. You.” She pauses, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket over your thigh. “Just… this. Sitting on a couch, eating cake. It feels so… normal. I haven’t felt normal in a very long time. I think I forgot what it was like.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. “For years, I just felt like this… lonely creature. Hiding. Just trying to get through the day without anyone really seeing me. It’s so nice to not feel like that anymore. To just be… here. With you. And for it to be this easy.”

You put the plate down and turn, wrapping your arms fully around her, pulling her into your lap. You kiss her forehead, holding her close. “This is your new normal, Irene,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re not a lonely creature. You’re my amazing, brilliant girlfriend who makes killer chocolate cake and who I get to come home to. You’re not alone anymore.”

She burrows her face into your neck, holding you tight. You feel a wetness on your skin and realize she’s crying, but it’s a quiet, happy, cleansing cry.

After a moment, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a watery but radiant smile on her face. She leans in, kisses you softly, deeply.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers again against your lips. “This was a really good day.”

—

It’s deep into the night by the time you make it to bed. The room’s completely dark except for the faint glow of the city filtering in through the slats in the blinds. Irene’s lying on her side, bare under the sheets, one leg tangled with yours, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

You turn to face her. “Always.”

She takes a breath. “It’s… about my past. The… stuff I used to do.”

You nod, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

“No. I want to.” Her hand presses against your sternum, anchoring herself. “I just haven’t really… said this out loud in a long time. But I think it's time to tell you the whole story.”

You wait.

“I got into porn when I was twenty-one,” she says, slowly, like each word needs to be chosen carefully. “I was drowning in student loans. I’d dropped out after two years of college because I couldn’t keep up financially, and I was so fucking angry; at myself, at my parents, at the system. I was doing retail. I was behind on rent. I was living in a place with mold on the walls, sharing a mattress with someone I didn’t even like.”

You nod, your hand finding hers under the blanket and squeezing it.

“People think porn is this glamorous, expensive thing you fall into because you’re greedy or slutty or broken. But it wasn’t like that. It was desperation. And curiosity. And yeah, maybe a little recklessness too.” She chuckles, but it’s dry. “I found an ad on the internet. It was a new adult film studio that was gaining popularity. I think it no longer exists today, but it was becoming well-known at the time. The ad didn't say much, just ‘professional shoot, high pay, women 18–30.’ And I thought… fuck it. What else am I gonna do?”

A new adult film production company

Your thumb runs along her knuckles slowly. She continues.

“I wasn’t scared, really. I was more scared of being broke forever. I’d always been… into sex. A lot. Like, way more than anyone I knew. Masturbating three times a day since I was a teenager. Hookups that made my friends call me names behind my back. But porn? It felt like a way to finally own that part of myself. Monetize it. Flip the script.”

She shifts, her cheek brushing your chest. Her voice steadies, but it’s raw.

“The first shoot was awkward as hell. I cried afterward. Not because I hated it. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the power of it, the thrill of being watched, of giving someone a fantasy and being in control of how far I’d take it. After spending 1 week filming the scenes, I came home with two thousand dollars in a brown envelope and the weirdest feeling that I’d just started something I couldn’t undo.”

The way she talks—it’s not rehearsed. It’s not for pity. It’s like she’s finally giving herself permission to speak it out loud.

“And from there it just… grew. I filmed more. I used different names. I met people who pulled me in deeper. Some were great, honestly. Some were predators. But the money came fast. I paid off my college debt in under a year. Got a better place. Better food. Clothes. And I was fucking constantly. It was like being high.”

She pauses. Her fingers clutch yours tighter.

“I got addicted. Not to the money. Not even to the attention. To the sex. To the permission. Like I was finally allowed to be as filthy as I’d always been inside. And people were clapping for it. Commenting. Downloading. Jerking off to me. I became this thing. A brand. A body.”

You feel her exhale. Her voice cracks at the edges.

“Eventually I couldn’t tell where Irene the girl ended and Irene the performer began. I’d be doing grocery shopping and people would stare at me and I’d wonder if they recognized me. Or if I was just imagining it. I stopped dating. Who the hell wants to date a girl who’s had fifty dicks on camera? I started pulling back. Told myself I’d film one last scene. Then another. Then another… Eventually I met a guy, he was nice. And I thought maybe this was my chance to leave that world and live a normal life. I had no idea what was yet to come.”

Her voice fades for a second, and you hear her swallow.

"My relationship fell apart when he discovered everything. I had every intention of telling him the truth—I swear I didn’t mean to deceive him—but it was such a difficult thing to bring up. I was trying to find the right moment, building up the courage. By then, I had already left the adult film industry and was working a regular job, trying to move on with my life. But I waited too long, and somehow, he found out. I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe one of his friends stumbled across something and told him, or perhaps he came across one of my old videos online. It doesn’t really matter now. After that, my world unraveled. He told everyone: our friends, even people at the company where I worked. The shame and judgment were overwhelming. So, I just… vanished. I cut ties completely. Deleted all my social media accounts, changed my phone number, and moved to a new city to start over.”

You can feel her heartbeat through her chest, thudding softly against yours.

“And since then, I’ve been alone. Not just physically. I mean… alone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t let anyone touch me. I thought if I deprived myself long enough, I’d stop wanting it. That I’d be better. Cleaner. Deserving of a different life.”

She lifts her head, finally. She looks at you like she’s terrified. And yet still determined.

“Then you came along. And for the first time in years, I wanted to want again. Not just for the release. But for the way you looked at me. The way you talked to me, saw me. You didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared. You didn’t treat me like I was made of broken parts.”

You move your hand to her cheek and stroke it gently.

“I was scared I’d fall back into old habits. That if I let myself be touched again, I’d become… her. That insatiable thing. The one who always needed more. But it’s different with you. I don’t feel empty after. I don’t feel used.”

She exhales, her lips trembling. “I feel… real. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m allowed to be who I am. And still be loved.” Then quieter. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”

Your response is immediate. Fierce.

“No. Not even close.”

Her lip trembles. “I’ve done things that would probably make you run if I told you. Stuff I can’t take back. And I still want sex. I’ll probably always crave it too much. I’m still trying to balance it. Be healthy. Not lose myself in it again. But it’s hard. It’s messy. I feel like damaged goods, sometimes.”

You cup her face in both hands, pressing your forehead to hers.

“You are not damaged. You’re not sick. You’re brave. You’re human. And you’ve survived more than most people even think about. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you have a right to want. To need. To feel.”

She lets out a sound like a sob, but it turns into a laugh, wet and breathless.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “No one’s ever said that to me. Not like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this. Not even me.”

You pull her close, so close there’s no air left between you.

“You deserve to be loved, Irene. Every inch. Every version. Every mood. You deserve it.”

She stays curled against your chest, her breath soft and steady now, her body wrapped around yours like she’s trying to memorize the shape of safety.

“I was such a bitch when I started,” she says.

“You were not.”

“I kind of was.” She laughs quietly, her nose brushing against your jaw. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I barely made eye contact with you the first two weeks.”

“You were reserved,” you correct her gently. “Not rude.”

“I was terrified,” she admits. “Not of you, just… of everything. I had the feeling that I was constantly being watched. I thought I’d last maybe a month before someone recognized me. Before the whispers started.”

You nod, stroking her spine slowly with your fingertips.

“I almost quit the second week,” she confesses. “I wrote the email. Had my resignation drafted and everything. I thought it’d be easier to just run. That’s always been my thing—run when it starts to feel like people care too much.”

You tilt your head, nudging her nose with yours.

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” she says, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “You wouldn’t let me.”

You smirk. “That makes me sound controlling.”

She giggles, quiet and real, the kind of laugh she only gives you when it’s just the two of you in the dark like this.

“No, you were just… kind. And persistent. You kept checking in. Bringing me coffee even when I wouldn’t talk to you. Including me in conversations even when I’d pretend I was busy.” You shrug like it was nothing. Because to you, it was nothing. The bare minimum. But to her? It’s clearly more. “I don’t think I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you,” she says, voice dipping lower again. “You didn’t push. You didn’t ask too much. You just… let me be, while still reminding me I wasn’t invisible.”

Her fingers skim your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of your mouth. “So yeah. Thank you. For being patient. For not giving up on me before you even knew what I was hiding.”

You meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t know what you were hiding, but I knew you were worth knowing. That was enough.” She looks like she’s about to protest again, maybe deflect or crack a joke, but you don’t let her. “And for the record,” you add, leaning in just a little, your lips grazing hers, “you being here tonight? With me? That’s the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a second like she’s letting it soak in. Then she leans forward and kisses you, slow and unsure at first, but then deeper, warmer, like her body’s catching up to what her heart’s just now starting to believe. Her fingers wind into your hair, her chest pressing to yours, and her lips stay against you for long moments, whispering wordless thank-yous between every soft drag of her mouth.

—

Everything is fine. For months, everything is fucking perfect.

The revelation of Irene’s past, that raw, terrifying confession in the dark of your bedroom, didn’t break you. It bonded you. A routine settles in, easy and comfortable. She keeps the apartment, a permanent fixture now, her quiet confidence growing day by day. She starts talking to people more, a small smile here, a shared joke there. She’s still Irene, reserved, observant, but the wall of fear has been dismantled, brick by brick. She’s a common face in your life now, an essential one. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom holder. Your hoodie is her favorite thing to sleep in. You trade nights at each other’s apartments, building a small, shared world of takeout, inside jokes, and lazy Sunday mornings.

And the sex. Fuck, the sex. Knowing her history, knowing the deep well of experience she draws from, only makes it hotter. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a form of communication, a place where she can be completely, uninhibitedly herself. And you… you’re falling in love with her. It’s not a sudden realization, but a slow, creeping certainty that settles in your bones. You’re in love with every part of her—the quiet office worker, the demanding lover, the brave woman who is learning to trust again. Everything is fine.

Until today.

The office is quiet. It’s break time on a Monday. Half the staff are outside or in the break room. You’re just walking back to your desk after refilling your water bottle when you see it. A huddle. Four, maybe five guys from the junior sales and IT teams, clustered around a workstation at the far end of the open-plan space. Their backs are to you, their shoulders hunched together, their focus absolute.

You hear murmurs, low and conspiratorial. A snicker.

"…Jesus, look at her take that…"

"No way that’s really her…"

"God, I’d pay good money…"

A familiar, unpleasant prickle goes up your spine. You start walking over, your curiosity piqued. Probably just watching some stupid viral video or a sports highlight. You come up behind them, peering over the shoulder of some fresh-faced IT kid.

And then you see it. Your heart stops. Literally fucking stops. The blood in your veins turns to ice.

On the monitor, displayed for anyone to see, is a porn video. The image is sharp, clear, and utterly undeniable. It’s her. It’s Irene. Younger, yes, but unmistakably her. She’s on her knees, her mouth wrapped around some guy’s cock, her eyes looking straight into the camera with a practiced, dead-eyed expression that is so alien from the woman you know it makes you physically sick.

You freeze. For one, long, terrible second, your brain cannot compute. The two realities: Irene, your Irene - the woman who makes you laugh and brings you cookies, and this woman on the screen, a sexual commodity - violently collide, and your mind just… shorts out.

You don’t even think. You move. You shove your way through the huddle of gawking men, their surprised yelps barely registering.

"Who the fuck put this on?" you scream, your words ripping through the quiet office, echoing off the partitions.

Your eyes land on the person in the chair. It’s fucking Kyle. A newbie from the sales team, barely twenty-two, a smirking, entitled little shit you’ve disliked from day one, the kind of kid who thinks sexual harassment policies are just a suggestion.

You grab him by the collar of his preppy polo shirt before he can even react, hauling him out of the chair, slamming him back against the cubicle wall. His feet scramble for purchase.

"Was this you?" you roar, your face inches from his, your knuckles white where you’re gripping his shirt. "Did you do this?”

His smug little face has dissolved into pure, slack-jawed terror. "Whoa, man, chill out! I-It wasn’t just me!" he stammers, his eyes wide, darting between you and the screen where Irene is now taking the guy’s cock deeper down her throat.

"I’m going to ask you one more fucking time," you snarl, giving him a hard shake. "Did. you. put. this. on?"

"N-no! I mean, yes, but—but Kevin recognized her!" he squeaks, pointing a trembling finger at another terrified-looking newbie cowering nearby. "He said he’d seen one of her movies before, and we didn’t believe him, so we just… we just looked it up to see if it was true! It was just a joke!"

"'A joke'?" you repeat. "You think this is a fucking JOKE? You had no right. No fucking right!" You draw your fist back, every ounce of rage in your body screaming at you to smash it into his stupid, terrified face, to wipe that pathetic excuse off the planet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on over here?"

The commotion has drawn a crowd. Park Sooyoung from HR is there, her face a mask of stern disapproval. Seulgi from accounts is peering over a cubicle wall. And then, among the new faces trickling in from the break room, drawn by your shouting, you see her.

Irene.

She stops, a cup of tea in her hand, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Then she follows everyone’s gaze. First to you, holding Kyle pinned against the wall. Then to the huddle of now-terrified men. And finally… to the monitor.

Time slows down. You watch as her eyes land on the screen, as they widen, as she processes the grainy, moving image of her younger self. You see the exact moment of recognition. You see the color drain from her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen grey. You see her mouth fall open in a silent, horrified expression. You see her worst fear, the trauma she’s been running from for years, realized in the most brutal, public way imaginable. And it breaks your fucking heart. The rage in you evaporates, replaced by a cold, sickening horror that mirrors her own.

Her cup slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor, splashing hot tea across the grey carpet. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are still glued to the screen, her body frozen. Then, a choked, strangled sound escapes her lips. She turns, her face a mask of such absolute, bone-deep horror that it will be seared into your memory forever, and she runs.

"Irene!"

You let go of Kyle, shoving him away so hard he stumbles and falls. You push past Wendy, past the stunned onlookers, your entire being focused on getting to her. But she’s already at her desk, her movements frantic, clumsy. She snatches her handbag, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold it.

"Irene, wait!" you call out, but she’s not listening. She’s a cornered animal, driven only by the instinct to escape. She bolts, running for the elevators, her footsteps echoing in the now-silent, watching office.

You lunge, your body moving on pure instinct, throwing yourself through the gap just as the polished steel doors of the elevator begin to slide shut. You land inside with a heavy thud, the doors closing behind you, sealing you both in the small, descending box. The world outside: the shocked faces, the murmuring, the obscene image still frozen on that monitor, is gone. It’s just you and her.

And she’s broken.

Irene doesn’t just stumble; she collapses. Her body gives out completely, her legs folding beneath her as she hits the floor in a heap. A raw, animal sound of pure agony is torn from her throat, a sound that has nothing to do with the quiet, composed woman you know. She curls into a fetal position on the cold, sterile floor, her hands clawing at her hair, her whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

"No… no, no, no…" she gasps, her words dissolving into ragged, hyperventilating breaths.

This isn't just crying. This is a panic attack, full-blown and terrifying. You’re on the floor with her in an instant, you gather her into your arms, pulling her trembling body against your chest, trying to shield her from a horror that’s already inside her head.

"Irene, hey, I’m here. I’ve got you," you murmur. You hug her tight, trying to use your own body to still her shaking. "Breathe, baby. Just try to breathe with me."

"I knew it," she whines, her face buried in your shirt. "Oh god, I knew this would happen… I was so stupid… so fucking stupid to think I could just… leave it behind…" Her words are punctuated by desperate, panicked gasps for air. "It’s never going to stop. It’s always going to find me. It’ll never fucking stop haunting me…"

"Shh, shh, no, that’s not true," you insist, your heart fracturing at the sheer, raw despair in her words. You gently take her face in your hands, forcing her to look away from the floor, to look at you. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, her beautiful face streaked with tears and twisted in a mask of pure terror. "Irene. Hey. Look at me." Your tone is firm but gentle, trying to cut through the noise in her head. "Look at me. I’m right here. You see me?"

Her gaze flickers, struggles to focus on yours. She gives a tiny, shuddering nod.

"Good," you say, your thumbs stroking her tear-soaked cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me? I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. We… we can get through this. Together. But I need you to be strong right now, Irene. I need you to just hold on for me. Can you do that?"

"I can’t…" she chokes out, a fresh wave of sobs shaking her. "I can’t go back there. I can’t face them. I can’t…"

"You don’t have to," you say immediately. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." And then, the words, the most honest, urgent truth you possess, just… come out. A desperate anchor thrown into the storm of her panic. "I love you, Irene."

Her frantic, panicked breathing stutters. Her wide, terrified eyes blink, the wildness in them receding for just a second, replaced by a look of stunned, utter disbelief. She stares at you as if she’s never seen you before.

"I love you," you repeat. "And because I love you, I will fight for you. I will protect you. Those fuckers who did this? They will be punished. They will be gone from that office before the sun comes up tomorrow, I fucking swear it. I will talk to Henderson. I will talk to HR. I will talk to every single person in that office and I will explain exactly what happened; that a couple of immature, pathetic little shits violated your privacy and humiliated you, and that they don’t represent what our company stands for."

You lean closer, your forehead pressing against hers. "Remember what I said? That it’s a good office, with good people? That is still true, Irene. The people who did this… they are the exception. They are newbies who don’t fucking belong there. You do. You belong there."

Her breathing is starting to even out, her gaze still fixed on yours, clinging to your words.

"You don’t have to be silent," you continue. "You don’t have to hide. I can be your voice, if you want me to. I will scream for you until my own throat is raw. All I ask… all I need from you right now… is that you don’t run away. Not from this. And not from me."

For a long moment, she just looks at you, the tears still flowing silently down her face, but the raw panic has subsided. Then, with a shuddering cry that’s more relief than pain, she collapses forward, her arms wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just disintegrated around her.

"I love you too," she whispers, her words muffled against your shoulder, choked with sobs. "God, I love you so much."

A huge, shaky smile breaks across your face, even as your own eyes start to burn. You hug her back, hard, burying your face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "That’s great," you whisper, laughing a little through the sheer, overwhelming emotion of it all. "That’s… that’s all that matters." You pull back, looking into her eyes again. "We can do this, Irene. Together."

She looks at you, her face a mess, her body still trembling, but for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of her old strength, her resilience, in her eyes. She nods, a small, jerky movement. "Yes," she says. "Okay. Yes. I can… I can try."

Just then, a soft chime rings through the small space, and the elevator doors slide open with a gentle whoosh, revealing the brightly lit, indifferent emptiness of the ground floor lobby.

—

The hours that followed your escape in the elevator were a blur of cold, focused fury. While Irene was safely behind the locked door of your apartment, you went to war. You didn’t just want to find out what happened; you wanted names, you wanted details, and you wanted blood. Leveraging your supervisor credentials and a couple of quiet, pointed conversations with reliable sources (people you knew weren’t part of the office’s smirking underbelly) the whole pathetic story spilled out.

It was exactly as the terrified little shit Kyle had stammered. A rookie named Kevin, a recent transfer from another branch, had recognized Irene. He’d apparently bragged to his new friend Kyle that he’d jerked off to one of her films back in college. Kyle, ever the skeptic and dickhead, had called bullshit. So, on a slow Monday afternoon, they looked her up. When they found the videos, confirming Kevin’s claim, their pathetic little minds were blown. They couldn’t just keep it to themselves. They had to prove their discovery, gathering a small, willing audience of other bored, morally bankrupt juniors to gawk at their coworker’s past, laid bare on a company monitor.

The ugliest part, the detail that made you want to find them and break their fucking hands, came from Park Sooyoung in HR, who had pulled one of the other witnesses aside. Just before you’d walked in, Kyle had allegedly joked to the group that maybe he should make Irene a "proposal" (a bit of quid pro quo). She could fuck him, and in exchange, he’d keep her secret from spreading to the rest of the company. He claimed, when confronted, that it was "just banter." You classified it as attempted blackmail and gross misconduct of the highest order.

Their expulsion was swift and brutal. You, Sooyoung, and Henderson, the big boss himself, had them in a conference room before they could even clock out. By the time they were escorted out by security, their careers at Henderson Corp were over, and the big boss promised you he’d be making a few calls. Thanks to his contacts, those two little shits were going to have a very, very difficult time finding another job in this industry, in this city, ever again.

Now, the next morning, you stand at the head of the main conference room. Your entire team is here, seated around the long, polished table. And so is Irene. She’s sitting between Wendy and another woman from her department, a silent, formidable wall of female support flanking her. She looks pale, exhausted, her eyes slightly puffy, but she’s here. She showed up. The sheer, breathtaking courage of that simple act makes you look at the people in the room with renewed determination.

You clear your throat, and the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on you.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, your tone calm, level, professional. You let your gaze travel around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "I’ve called this meeting because I need to address the incident that occurred in our workspace yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to go into the explicit details, because frankly, they are irrelevant. What is relevant, what is critical for every single one of us to understand, is what that incident represents."

You pause, letting the weight of your words sink in.

"Yesterday, a member of our team had her fundamental right to privacy violated in the most egregious way possible. She was exposed, without her consent, to a small group of employees in an act that constitutes severe, targeted harassment." You can feel the anger, still simmering just below the surface, but you keep it leashed, transforming it into cold, hard authority. "Let me be absolutely, unequivocally clear: this type of behavior is not just unacceptable within this company; it is antithetical to everything we stand for. This is a zero-tolerance policy issue. The individuals responsible for perpetrating this act, for creating what is legally defined as a hostile work environment, have already been terminated. Their access has been revoked, and they will not be returning."

A few people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.

"We are all human beings here," you continue, your tone shifting slightly, becoming more personal, more human. "We come to this office every day from different walks of life. We all have experiences, we all have histories, we all have traumas and triumphs and pasts that are entirely our own. And no one—no one—in this room, or in this company, has the right to excavate another person’s history and put it on public display for their own amusement or judgment. The moment we start believing we have that right is the moment we lose our own humanity."

Your eyes find Irene’s across the room. She looks up, meeting your gaze. You give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, one meant only for her.

"I am incredibly proud, and frankly, humbled," you say as you continue to look at her, "that our coworker chose to walk back into this office today. That she chose to stay with this team, even after what happened. That choice shows an incredible amount of trust in us. In all of us." You look around the room again, at your team. "It shows that she believes this incident was an anomaly. That she believes the rest of us are better than that. And I hope, I expect, that every single one of you will spend every day proving to her that she is absolutely right to place her trust in us once more."

"We have an obligation to maintain not just a physically safe workspace, but a psychologically safe one. And what happened yesterday was a profound breach of that psychological safety. It will not happen again." You take a deep breath. "Irene, what you did today, just by being here, took more courage than most people will have to show in their entire careers. You are facing this with your head held high, and you have the full, unwavering support of this company’s leadership, and of your team." You start clapping, a slow, deliberate sound in the quiet room. "I’d like to ask for a round of applause for Irene."

For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Sarah, sitting next to Irene, starts clapping loudly. Then another person, and another, until the entire room erupts in a wave of sustained, genuine applause. It’s not polite, corporate clapping; it’s loud, it’s heartfelt. The women beside Irene grab her hands, squeezing them tight, hugging her shoulder. You see a single, fresh tear roll down Irene’s cheek, but this time, she’s smiling through it, a watery, overwhelmed, but real smile.

You let the applause continue for a long moment, a testament to her, a cleansing of the ugliness from yesterday. When it finally dies down, you clap your hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brings the focus back to you.

"Alright," you say, your tone shifting back to that of a no-nonsense supervisor. "Thank you for your attention. The matter is dealt with. Let’s get back to work. We have deadlines to meet, and no one is slacking off on my watch."

A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room as people start to stand, the tension finally broken. You wait as the last person files out of the conference room. You inhale and exhale slowly your shoulders slumping slightly. It’s over. The worst is over.

Then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair. It’s Irene. She didn’t leave with the others. She pushes herself to her feet and slowly walks towards you, navigating the maze of chairs.

"That was a great speech," she says.

You manage a tired grin, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Well, I have to live up to my fancy supervisor title sometimes, right? Can’t just be about chasing you for reports and stealing your pens."

Her smile widens. "Henderson steals the pens, not you."

"Right." You look at her, and she looks, even at this delicate moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. "How are you doing? For real."

She considers the question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "I’ll be fine," she says. "Tired. A little… wrung out. But I’ll be fine."

"Do you think you can work today?" you ask gently. "Because if you want to go home, you just say the word. I’ll handle everything here."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I want to stay. I need to stay." She meets your eyes, and there’s a flicker of her newfound fire in them. "I’m done running."

"Okay," you nod. "Okay. But you take it easy." You pause, then a thought strikes you, a desire to anchor this new beginning with something normal, something just for you two. "Hey. You wanna… you wanna go out to dinner tonight? After work? A proper place, with tablecloths and everything. No dive bars."

"Wow, look at you," she teases. "We’re evolving. No more getting me drunk at a bar. Now it’s romantic dinners?"

"Well, now that you've said you love me—twice—I figure I don’t have to get you drunk anymore to trick you into liking me. Saves me some money."

She chuckles again, reaching out and patting your shoulder lightly. "You’re an idiot." Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours. "Hey… can I kiss you?"

You glance instinctively towards the glass door of the conference room, a conditioned reflex. "As long as it’s quick," you whisper back, your heart starting to hammer again for a much, much better reason.

She rises up on her tiptoes, her hands coming to rest on your chest, and presses her lips to yours. It starts as a quick, sweet thank you, but neither of you can hold back. It deepens, fast, her mouth opening against yours, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against you. It’s a long, full, passionate kiss, filled with all the terror and relief and love of the last twenty-four hours. It’s a victory.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathless, she reaches up with her thumb and gently wipes the corner of your mouth. "My lipstick," she murmurs. She looks you right in the eye, her own gaze clear and steady. "I love you," she says again, not as a desperate confession in a falling elevator, but as a simple, solid statement of fact.

"I love you too, Irene," you reply.

She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, a comfortable, contended sigh escaping her. "I’m happy to be here," she says softly. "I like it here."

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. "I hope that’s because of me, and not just because of the significant salary increase and comprehensive benefits package."

"Mmm, it’s mostly because of the salary, to be honest," she says, deadpan. "But you’re nice too, I guess."

"Alright, you," you say, reaching out to playfully nudge her. "We better get going before someone walks in and finds us. Back to pretending we’re just professional coworkers."

"Okay, boss," she says. As you both turn to leave, she gives your ass a sharp, surprising slap.

You yelp, jumping in surprise and turning to look at her with wide, laughing eyes. "Hey! That’s harassment!"

She just winks, her smile turning wicked. "Not my fault you have such a nice ass."

You shake your head, still laughing, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up inside you. "Well, it seems like you’re not that shy, mysterious woman from a few months ago anymore."

She steps closer, looping her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk towards the door together.

"You’re right," she says, and that confidence of hers that you love so much is back. "I’m not." She looks up at you, her eyes full of love and fire and endless possibilities. "Now, I’m your woman.”

#kpop smut #irene x reader #irene smut #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #m!reader #kpop angst #irene red velvet smut #red velvet irene #kpop male oc #gg smut #kpop gg smut #irene #red velvet smut #red velvet #Bae Joohyun smut #irene bae

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jupiterpilgrim · 1 month ago

Text

Before the World Knew

Part 1

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x male reader

word count: 20K

The automatic glass doors hiss shut behind you, sealing you back into the humid chaos of a Seoul afternoon. You shove your hands deep into your pockets, shoulders slumped, the stiff collar of the button-down you wore specifically for this interview suddenly feeling like a noose. "Nailed it", you think. Yeah, right.

Nailed it like a coffin lid.

That interview was a fucking train wreck. Stuttering over standard questions, sweating through your shirt despite the blasting AC, pretty sure you called the interviewer by the wrong name at least once. You can practically feel the rejection email drafting itself in their system right now. Landing a decent PR job in this city is proving harder than cracking Fort Knox with a toothpick. You thought graduating with a Public Relations degree, even from a university abroad, would give you some kind of edge. Turns out, it just makes you another drop in an ocean teeming with overqualified, hyper-competitive graduates who probably know the right people (something you definitely lack).

It's been a few weeks since you touched down at Incheon, hauling two overweight suitcases and a boatload of naive optimism. Seoul. The big leagues. You figured, new city, new start, maybe finally shake off that aimless post-college dread. You found a shoebox apartment that costs a criminal amount of money and have been pounding the pavement, digitally and literally, trying to find something, anything, that doesn’t involve fetching coffee or making copies for peanuts. So far? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Just a growing pile of polite "we'll keep your resume on file" emails and the soul-crushing realization that your savings account is evaporating faster than puddle water in August.

Only a divine miracle would be able to make you feel anything remotely close to happiness now.

You sigh, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. The city rushes around you, a blur of impeccably dressed office workers, delivery scooters weaving through traffic like suicidal insects, the distant thrum of k-pop blasting from a storefront. It’s overwhelming, vibrant, and right now, utterly indifferent to your dwindling prospects. You just want a decent meal and maybe to wallow in front of Netflix for twelve hours straight.

Lost in your pity party, you don't see the person turning the corner until it's too late. Thump. You stumble back, colliding shoulders hard enough to knock the phone clean out of their hand. It clatters onto the pavement with a sickening plastic crack.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, my bad!" you blurt out, scrambling to pick it up, praying the screen isn't spiderwebbed. You snatch the phone (miraculously intact) and look up to hand it back, apology ready on your lips.

And then your brain just… stops.

Everything stops. The noise of the city, the frantic rush, the self-pity spiral: it all evaporates. Because the person standing in front of you, rubbing their shoulder with a slight wince, eyes wide behind a pair of large, stylish sunglasses… No. It can't be.

She’s smaller than you remember, but the face… fuck, that face. The perfect, almost unreal symmetry, the sharp jawline softened by full cheeks, the distinctive curve of her lips, currently pressed into a thin line of surprise. Even with the sunglasses and a simple baseball cap pulled low, obscuring most of her hair, it's undeniably her. Years have passed, sure. She’s changed. She’s… Karina now, a name screamed by millions, plastered on billboards, dominating charts. But beneath the idol gloss, beneath the global fame, it’s still her.

It's still Jimin. Yoo Jimin. Your childhood best friend. The girl you haven't spoken to since she vanished into the K-Pop trainee vortex years ago.

She takes the phone, her fingers brushing yours for a split second, sending a jolt up your arm that has nothing to do with static electricity. Her gaze flicks up, meeting yours through the dark lenses. You see confusion flicker there, then a dawning recognition that mirrors your own shock.

Her lips part slightly. “No way…”

Her voice. It’s softer than you remember, maybe a bit huskier, but it’s still Jimin’s voice. Hearing her say your name after all this time feels like being struck by lightning. You just stare, dumbfounded, unable to form a coherent thought.

She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing those large, dark eyes you used to get lost in during boring classes back home. They widen further as she really looks at you.

“Holy shit, it is you! Oh my god! What the hell are you doing here?”

The sheer, unadulterated surprise in her voice snaps you back to reality. You manage a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Jimin? Wow. Uh, hi.” Eloquent, very eloquent.

She laughs, a bright, musical sound that cuts through the city noise. It’s the same laugh you remember, the one that always made your stomach do stupid flips. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got after, what, six years? Seven?”

“Something like that,” you say, still reeling. “Damn. You, uh… you look…” Famous? Untouchable? Like a goddess who accidentally stumbled onto a mortal sidewalk? “…different.” Lame. You mentally kick yourself.

Jimin grins, the expression lighting up her whole face. It’s that specific grin, the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. God, you missed that. “Yeah, well, a few things have happened since middle school.” She gestures vaguely, a hint of playful understatement in her tone.

“Yeah, no kidding,” you say, finally finding your footing. “Saw you… everywhere, basically. Aespa, huh? That’s insane, Jimin. Congratulations.”

Her smile softens slightly at the use of her real name. “Thanks. It’s… been wild.” She glances around quickly, lowering her voice a fraction. “But seriously, what are you doing in Seoul? Last I heard, you were going to college somewhere overseas?”

“Yeah, I was,” you explain, stuffing your hands back in your pockets. “Finished up my PR degree a few months back. Moved here a few weeks ago to, you know, try and find a job. Join the rat race.” You grimace, thinking of the disastrous interview. “Not going great so far, but hey, Seoul’s cool.”

Her eyes light up, genuine happiness flashing across her features. “You live here now? That’s amazing! Oh my god, I can’t believe it!” She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, looking genuinely thrilled. The reaction warms something inside you that the job rejection had chilled.

“Yeah, it’s… definitely a change of pace,” you admit. It hits you again: you’re standing on a random street corner, catching up with Karina from Aespa. One of the biggest names in K-Pop. Your childhood friend, the one who disappeared into SM Entertainment and became someone else entirely. What are the actual, statistical chances of this happening? It feels like the universe is fucking with you, dangling a piece of your past right in front of your face when you least expect it. Fate? Maybe. Or just Seoul being a surprisingly small world sometimes.

“We have to catch up properly,” Jimin says immediately, her excitement palpable. “Like, actually talk. Are you busy right now?”

You glance down at your slightly rumpled interview clothes. “Uh, not exactly. Just finished bombing a job interview, so my schedule’s wide open for existential dread and instant noodles.”

She winces sympathetically, then pulls out her phone again (the one you nearly shattered). “Okay, first, give me your number. Is it still the same old one?” You rattle off your new Korean number, and she quickly taps it in, sending you a test message immediately. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

It’s really you!!!

You look up, grinning. “Got it.”

“Good.” She slides her phone away, pulling her cap down a bit lower. “Look, I’m kind of on my way to practice right now, but are you free later this week? Or maybe this weekend? We could grab coffee? Drinks? Food? Whatever works.”

Hanging out with Jimin again. After all these years. After… everything.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah, definitely. Coffee sounds great. Or drinks. Whatever’s easier for you, I know you’re probably crazy busy.”

“Never too busy for you,” she says, and the way she smiles; warm, genuine, a flash of the girl you knew before the fame… makes your heart do that stupid flip again. “Seriously, text me when you’re free. We’ll figure it out. It’s… it’s really, really good to see you.”

“You too, Jimin,” you reply, meaning it more than you thought possible. “Like, really fucking good.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. “Okay, I actually have to run before my manager sends out a search party.” She steps back, adjusting her cap and sunglasses, the idol persona clicking back into place. But just before she turns away, her eyes meet yours one last time, and there’s a spark there; something familiar, something you both thought was long buried.

“Text me!” she calls over her shoulder, before disappearing into the flow of the crowd, leaving you standing there, blinking in the afternoon sun, wondering if any of that actually just happened.

—

The days following that almost-too-surreal-to-be-true bump-in on the street are a weird blur of text messages and tentative plans. You’re talking to Yoo Jimin. Karina. Actually talking. Not just a polite exchange, but actual back-and-forth, interspersed with smiley faces and those little KakaoTalk character reactions she always overused, even back then. You finally manage to nail down a time to meet properly, a casual stroll through one of Seoul’s sprawling, meticulously landscaped parks. Her idea. Probably safer for her, less chance of being mobbed.

You tell yourself the knot in your stomach is just… nerves. Normal, run-of-the-mill nerves. Anyone would be a little keyed up about meeting a global superstar, right? Especially one you used to share juice boxes and secrets with in your dorky pre-teen years. Yeah, that’s it. It’s the Karina factor. Definitely not the Jimin factor, not the sudden, unwelcome resurgence of that colossal, all-consuming crush you thought you’d successfully buried under six years of distance and a different continent.

Nope. Not at all.

But your brain, the traitorous bastard, keeps replaying flashes of the past. Jimin, with her scraped knees and fierce determination during school sports days. Jimin, laughing so hard milk nearly shot out her nose in the cafeteria. Jimin, biting her lip in concentration while trying to teach you a ridiculously complicated handshake. These images, once faded and dusty, are now vivid, almost painfully sharp, overlaid with the equally mind-boggling reality of who she is now. It’s a strange cocktail, this potent nostalgia mixed with the sheer absurdity of her current life. You feel like you’re about to meet two people at once: the girl next door and the untouchable idol.

—

You spot her near the park entrance, leaning against a cherry tree that’s probably in full, glorious bloom (though you barely register the flowers). She’s wearing a dress today, something new, light, and airy that dances around her knees when the breeze catches it. It's a soft, pastel color that makes her skin look even more luminous. Simple, yet on her, it looks like it walked straight off a runway. Her hair is down, long and dark, catching the sunlight. Even from a distance, she’s ridiculously, effortlessly beautiful.

“Hey,” you say, trying for casual, hoping your voice doesn’t crack.

She turns, and that smile (the one that could probably power a small city) spreads across her face. “Hey yourself! You found it okay?”

“Yeah, a park. Pretty hard to miss,” you joke, falling into step beside her as you start down a wide, tree-lined path. It’s surprisingly uncrowded for a weekend afternoon.

The conversation flows easier than you expected, or maybe feared. You start with the safe stuff: how crazy it is to see each other after so long, the "what are the odds" of it all. She’s a natural in front of a camera, even if it’s just her phone. Every few minutes, she’ll stop, pointing. “Ooh, here! The light’s perfect.” And you, feeling like an unqualified, suddenly very sweaty personal photographer, do your best to capture her. She poses with an easy grace, a slight tilt of her head, a playful smile, a candid laugh as a gust of wind messes with her hair. Each shot is stunning. She’s just…photogenic doesn’t even begin to cover it. She makes a random park bench look like a high-fashion editorial.

“So,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear after a particularly enthusiastic mini-photoshoot by a koi pond, “tell me everything. College overseas must have been wild. Did you turn into some party animal I wouldn’t recognize?”

You laugh. “Hardly. Mostly just late-night study sessions fueled by questionable instant ramen and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. PR’s no joke. But it was good. Different. What about you? From quiet Jimin who was scared of the dark to… well, Karina, leader of Aespa, breaking records and being the it girl of this generation. How does that even happen?”

She chuckles, a soft, genuine sound. “It’s… a lot. Still feels unreal sometimes. The training was brutal, no lie. There were days I wanted to quit, thought I wasn’t good enough.” Her voice drops a little, a hint of vulnerability seeping through. “But then… we debuted, and suddenly everything changed. The fans, the music, performing… it’s a different kind of magic, you know?”

You nod, trying to imagine it. The Jimin you knew was fiercely talented, Always singing and dancing at school talent shows, but this level of fame? It’s on another planet. “I can’t even picture it. Standing on those huge stages, millions of people screaming your name.”

“It’s terrifying and amazing all at once,” she admits. “But enough about me. What about your job hunt? Any better luck since… the sidewalk incident?” She grins, and you groan.

“Marginally. Had a couple more interviews. One was for a junior PR role at a gaming company, actually sounded pretty cool, but I think I fumbled the ‘what’s your five-year plan?’ question. Said something about ‘not starving’ which, in hindsight, maybe wasn’t the power move I thought it was.”

Jimin laughs, bumping your shoulder playfully. “Hey, honesty is a virtue. Besides, gaming PR? You’d be great at that. You practically lived in arcades back in the day.”

“True. But ‘great at Street Fighter’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘hire me’ on a resume.” You sigh. “It’s tough out here, man. Competition’s insane.”

She nods, her expression turning more serious. “How are you managing? Like, financially? Seoul’s not cheap.”

You shrug, trying to keep it light. “Oh, you know. Freelance gigs here and there. Been doing some weekend shifts at a department store in Myeongdong, in the electronics section. Surprisingly good for people-watching. And it pays the bills. Barely.” You force a smile. “It’s fine. Temporary. Just until something in PR lands.”

Jimin stops walking, turning to face you properly. She’s biting her lip, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. “Send me your resume.”

“What?”

“Your resume,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “And your portfolio, if you have one. Anything that shows off your PR skills. I’ll send it to the team at SM.”

You can’t help it; a laugh bursts out of you, loud and incredulous. “Jimin, no. Come on.” You even raise your hands in a placating gesture. “I appreciate it, seriously, that’s incredibly sweet of you, but… SM Entertainment? They’re not going to hire some random, inexperienced guy who just rolled into the country. Especially not for their PR team. They probably have a waiting list a mile long of geniuses with connections.”

Her expression doesn’t waver. If anything, it becomes more determined. “Don’t doubt me. And don’t doubt yourself. You’re smart, you’re good with people, you get how things work. Just send it to me. What’s the worst that can happen? They say no? Big deal. You’re already getting that.”

There’s a conviction in her voice that’s hard to argue with, even though every rational part of your brain is screaming that this is a pipe dream. “I… I don’t want you to go out on a limb for me, Jimin. Especially if it’s for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing if I believe in you, is it?” she says softly, and damn her, that hits you right in the feelings. “Just promise me you’ll send it. Please?”

You let out a long breath, rubbing the back of your neck. She’s looking at you with that earnest, hopeful expression, and you know you’re going to cave. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll send it tonight.” You still think it’s a snowball’s chance in hell, but for her? You’ll try.

She beams, her good mood instantly restored. “Good! It would be so crazy if we ended up working at the same place, wouldn’t it? Like fate, again!”

“Yeah,” you agree, a small, hesitant smile on your own face. “Completely insane.” But the thought, as outlandish as it seems, sparks a tiny, traitorous flicker of hope. It’s nice, you realize, to have someone in your corner. Someone who, despite the years and the fame, still seems to genuinely care.

“Ice cream break?” she suggests, pointing towards a small vendor cart surrounded by happy kids. “My treat. To celebrate your future employment at SM.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you groan, but you’re already following her, the weight on your shoulders feeling a little lighter than it did before.

The ice cream is sweet, cold, and a welcome distraction. You talk about lighter things: terrible movies you’ve both seen, the weirdest food trends in Seoul, the time you both tried to dye your hair with Kool-Aid in eighth grade and ended up looking like deranged parrots. It’s easy, comfortable, like no time has passed at all.

As the sun begins to dip lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you find yourselves back near the park entrance.

“This was… really great, Jimin,” you say, meaning it. “Thanks for today.”

“I had fun too,” she replies, her smile soft. “We definitely need to do this again. And sooner than another six years, okay?”

“Deal.”

She pulls out her phone. “Okay, one more photo. But this time, you have to be in it.”

You instinctively start to protest. “Oh, no, I’m good. I’ll just–”

“Nope! Non-negotiable,” she says, already switching to the front-facing camera. She grabs your arm, pulling you closer until your shoulders are pressed together. You’re acutely aware of her warmth, the faint scent of her perfume, the way her hair tickles your cheek. She holds the phone up, angling it for the perfect shot. “Okay, smile! Or… try not to look like you’re being held hostage.”

You manage a slightly stiff, awkward smile as she snaps a few pictures. She scrolls through them, a pleased expression on her face. “Cute! See? Not so bad.” She shows you one where you’re both actually smiling, the city lights just starting to twinkle in the background. It is cute. This crazy, unexpected reunion, now captured in a small digital frame.

She sends the photo to you, and as you look at it on your own screen, a feeling of… something warm, something hopeful, settles in your chest. Okay, maybe this move to Seoul wasn't a complete disaster after all. Maybe fate really does have a weird sense of humor. And maybe that spark you both felt isn't just a relic of the past.

—

You’re elbow-deep in a tangled mess of headphones and Bluetooth speakers at your soul-crushing electronics store job a few days later, trying to explain to a very persistent customer why his twenty-year-old MP3 player probably isn’t compatible with the latest Bose noise-cancelling monstrosities, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You almost ignore it (probably another scam likely call) but the insistent vibration continues. Excusing yourself with a strained smile, you fish it out.

Unknown number.

You almost swipe it away, but something makes you answer. “Hello?”

A clear female voice speaks your name.

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you reply, already bracing for a sales pitch.

“This is Kim Hana from SM Entertainment’s Human Resources department. We received your resume regarding a potential opening in our Artist Relations team, specifically working with Aespa. Are you available for an interview later this week?”

Your brain short-circuits. SM Entertainment? Aespa? You almost swallow your tongue. The headphones in your hand slip, clattering onto the counter. The customer gives you a weird look. You try to speak, but only a strangled squeak comes out. Clearing your throat violently, you manage, “Excuse me? SM… Entertainment?”

“Yes,” Ms. Kim says, her voice betraying no hint of surprise at your shock. “Yoo Jimin forwarded your details. She spoke very highly of you. We have an opening for a Junior PR and Communications liaison for Aespa’s team. It involves assisting with press releases, social media coordination, and general support for the group's public-facing activities. Would Thursday at 2 PM work for you?”

Yoo Jimin. Holy shit. She actually did it. Your head is spinning. This has to be a prank. But the voice on the other end sounds far too official, far too… SM.

“Uh, yes! Yes, Thursday at 2 PM is… perfect,” you stammer, your mind racing a mile a minute. Junior PR liaison. For aespa. Working with Jimin. This is insane.

“Excellent. We’ll send a confirmation email with the details and address. Please bring a physical copy of your resume. We look forward to meeting you.”

“Thank you! I mean, yes, looking forward to it too!”

The line clicks dead. You stare at your phone, then at the annoyed customer, then back at your phone. Your first instinct is to call Jimin. You dial her number before you even consciously decide to, heart hammering against your ribs.

She picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?” Her voice is bright, cheerful.

“Jimin! You… you actually sent my resume to SM?” you blurt out, pacing behind the counter.

She laughs, that easy, musical sound. “Of course, I did. I told you I would, didn’t I? So, did they call you?” There’s a playful, knowing tone in her voice. She knew.

“They just called! I have an interview on Thursday! For a PR liaison role with Aespa! Jimin, this is… I don’t even know what to say. Thank you isn’t enough.”

“Hey, no need to thank me,” she says, her voice warm. “You’re qualified. You just needed a foot in the door. Now go ace that interview. I know you can.”

“But… SM? And working with your team? That’s… that’s insane.”

“Is it?” she teases. “Or is it fate? Again?” You can practically hear her smiling. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you. And hey,” her voice drops a little, becoming softer, more personal, “it would be pretty cool to see you around the office.”

“Yeah,” you manage, your voice a little breathless. “Yeah, it really would.”

—

Two days later, you’re standing in front of the imposing SM Entertainment building, dressed in your only decent suit, clutching your resume like they’re religious relics. The place is even more intimidating from the inside. Sleek, modern, buzzing with an undercurrent of focused energy. You see trainees rushing by, staff members with headsets, snippets of music drifting from behind closed doors. It’s a whole other world.

The interview itself is a blur. You meet with Ms. Kim from HR and a stern-faced senior manager from the Artist Relations department. They grill you on your PR experience (minimal, aside from college projects), your knowledge of the K-Pop industry (decent, from a fan perspective), and your ability to handle pressure (questionable, judging by the sweat currently soaking your palms). You try your best, channeling every ounce of professionalism you can muster, talking about your degree, your adaptability, your passion for creative communication. You highlight your international college experience, hoping it sounds impressive. You don’t mention Jimin, not directly, but you talk about your admiration for Aespa’s innovative concepts and global appeal.

When it’s over, you’re convinced you’ve blown it. You thank them, shake their hands, and walk out feeling a familiar wave of disappointment. Well, at least you got to see the inside of SM. That’s something, right?

You’re about to head for the exit, already composing a ‘thanks anyway’ text to Jimin, when you spot her. She’s further down the hallway, talking to someone who looks like a choreographer, dressed in stylish dance practice gear. Your heart does a nervous leap. You almost don’t approach her, but then she turns, her eyes meeting yours. A bright smile instantly lights up her face.

“Hey! How did it go?” she asks, excusing herself from the choreographer and walking towards you.

You can’t help but smile back, despite the lingering anxiety. “Hey. It was… an experience.”

She tilts her head, searching your face. “That doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.”

You sigh. “Honestly, Jimin, I think I tanked it. I was a nervous wreck. Pretty sure I forgot my own name at one point.”

Jimin just laughs, lightly punching your arm. “Oh, stop it. I’m sure you were great.” Then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, she asks, “So, did they offer you the job on the spot? Did they weep with joy at finding such a PR prodigy?”

“Hardly. They said they’d be in touch. Which is corporate speak for ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you, and by ‘we’ll call you,’ we mean never.’”

Just as you say it, your phone buzzes. You glance down. It’s Ms. Kim from SM. Your blood runs cold. Jimin peers at your screen, her eyes widening. “Well? Answer it!”

With trembling fingers, you swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Ms. Kim’s voice says. “We were very impressed with your interview. The team feels your background and enthusiasm would be a great asset. We’d like to offer you the Junior PR and Communications Liaison position for Aespa. Congratulations.”

You actually sway on your feet. Jimin grabs your arm, her eyes wide and questioning. You just stare at her, speechless, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across your face. You manage to stammer out a “Thank you, I accept!” to Ms. Kim, who tells you HR will be in touch with the contract and start date details.

As soon as you hang up, Jimin is practically bouncing. “You got it?! You actually got the job?!”

You nod, still in shock, then burst out laughing. “I got the job! Holy shit, Jimin, I actually got the job!”

“I told you!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a spontaneous, ecstatic hug. You hug her back, lifting her off the ground slightly, both of you laughing like idiots in the middle of an SM Entertainment hallway. When you finally set her down, you look at her, your heart full. “Thank you, Jimin. Seriously. This… this is because of you. I owe you big time.”

She waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is radiant. “You owed me for that time I covered for you when you broke Mrs. Lee’s prize-winning bonsai tree in fifth grade. Now we’re even.” She winks. “Besides, it’s going to be awesome having you here. Just try not to be too starstruck all the time, okay?”

“No promises,” you say, still grinning like a fool. Working at SM. With Jimin. This is actually happening.

—

Your first day is a whirlwind. You’re officially part of Aespa’s core PR team. The office is a hive of activity, a stark contrast to the quiet desperation of your job hunt. You meet your direct supervisor, a sharp, no-nonsense woman named Ms. Park, who walks you through your responsibilities: drafting social media posts, liaising with journalists (under strict supervision, of course), helping coordinate schedules for interviews and appearances, and generally being an all-hands-on-deck support for the group’s public image. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s exciting. You’re actually doing PR, not just theorizing about it in a classroom. And the best part? Your desk is in the same wing as Aespa’s dedicated team rooms. You can hear snippets of their music, see them occasionally passing in the hallways. It’s surreal.

During a much-needed lunch break, you’re trying to decipher the SM cafeteria menu when Jimin appears at your elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Lost, newbie?” she teases.

“Completely,” you admit. “This place is a maze. And I think I accidentally ordered fermented skate for lunch.”

Jimin laughs, shaking her head. “Rookie mistake. Come on, I’ll show you the good stuff. And then there are some people I want you to meet.”

She leads you through the bustling cafeteria to a slightly quieter corner where three other girls are already seated, chatting animatedly. Your breath catches. Ningning. Giselle. Winter. The Aespa. In the flesh. Eating bibimbap.

Jimin grins, pulling you forward. “Girls, here he is. He’s the new PR liaison for our team. And also my super old, super dorky childhood friend.”

All three of them look up, their expressions ranging from curious to friendly.

Ningning, with bright, expressive eyes, offers a wide smile. “Oh, you’re the friend Jimin’s been talking about! Welcome to the chaos! I’m Ning Yizhuo.” Her energy is infectious.

Giselle, looking effortlessly chic even in casual clothes, gives you a cool, appraising nod. “Hey. Aeri Uchinaga. Or Giselle, whichever you prefer. Nice to finally meet you. Jimin’s been… enthusiastic about you joining.”

Winter, with her softer, almost ethereal beauty, offers a shy smile. “Hi. I’m Kim Minjeong. It’s nice to have you on the team.”

You manage to stammer out hellos, feeling completely out of your depth. You’re shaking hands with idols, people you’ve seen on giant screens and in glossy magazines. And they’re just… eating lunch. Talking. Laughing. It’s the most normal, yet utterly abnormal, situation you’ve ever been in.

The conversation is surprisingly easy. They ask you about yourself, where you’re from, how you know Jimin. You keep your answers vague about the ‘how you know Jimin’ part, sticking to the ‘childhood friends’ line. They talk about their upcoming schedule, a new music video concept, the usual idol banter. They’re all incredibly nice, welcoming, and you find yourself relaxing, actually enjoying their company. It’s still hard to reconcile these friendly, down-to-earth girls with the powerhouse performers they are on stage.

After lunch, as you’re heading back to your desk, Jimin falls into step beside you.

“So? What did you think?” she asks. “They’re pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, still a little dazed. “They’re… amazing. And this whole thing is still kind of blowing my mind, to be honest. Working here, meeting them, seeing you…”

She bumps your shoulder playfully. “See? Told you it would be fun. It’s really good to have you here. Like, really good.” There’s an undercurrent to her words, a warmth that makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s good to be here, Jimin,” you reply. You look at her, and her presence so close to you makes you feel a mix of strange sensations; your childhood friend, now a global superstar, who somehow pulled strings to get you a job at one of the biggest entertainment companies in the world, just so you could be close. The thought is overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

The dynamic between you is already shifting, the old, forgotten feelings bubbling closer to the surface now that you’re in her orbit again. And as you walk back to your new desk, you wonder if she is also feeling the same way as you.

—

It’s been a couple of weeks since you officially became Junior PR and Communications Liaison for Aespa, and that initial feeling (the one that hit you walking back to your desk after Jimin’s introduction to her members, that premonition of everything changing) hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s intensified.

You try to shove it down, to compartmentalize. You’re here to work, to prove Ms. Park, your sharp-as-a-tack supervisor, right for hiring you (even if Jimin’s recommendation was the battering ram that got your resume through the door). You spend your days buried in spreadsheets tracking social media engagement, drafting press release snippets that get dissected and reassembled ten times over, and fetching coffee more often than you’d care to admit. It’s grunt work, mostly, the bottom rung of the PR ladder, but it’s real. You’re in the game. And every so often, you catch a glimpse of the glittering prize: a quick, positive comment from Ms. Park on a draft, a nod of approval from the senior team members, the quiet satisfaction of a task completed efficiently.

Your attempts to maintain an air of cool professionalism around Jimin are… a work in progress. A fucking daily battle, if you’re being honest with yourself. She, on the other hand, seems to have no such internal conflict. Jimin is clearly, unequivocally, incandescently happy you’re there. It’s in the way her eyes light up when she spots you across the bustling open-plan office, the way she makes a beeline for your desk pretending to need a paperclip or ask about a non-existent email, her shoulder brushing yours a little too long as she leans in. It’s in the extra-bright "Morning!" that cuts through the general office murmur, often accompanied by a smuggled pastry from some high-end bakery she “just happened to pass.”

You try to reciprocate with a polite, colleague-appropriate smile and a "Morning, Jimin-ssi," emphasizing the honorific, a subtle reminder of the professional context. Sometimes. Other times, when she winks, or her smile is just for you, that old, familiar warmth floods your chest, and "Jimin-ah" slips out before you can catch it, a relic from a time before honorifics and idol personas mattered between you two. Her answering grin on those occasions is like a shot of pure sunshine, potent and dangerously addictive.

The other Aespa members are great. Ningning often swings by your desk to ask about some new Western slang she’s heard or to show you funny videos on her phone. She’s easy to talk to, her curiosity genuine, and you find yourself quickly falling into a comfortable banter with her. Giselle is cooler, more reserved initially, but possesses a dry wit that catches you off guard and makes you laugh out loud. She’s sharp, observant, and you get the feeling not much gets past her. Winter is quieter, often observing with a gentle smile, but when she does speak, it’s thoughtful and kind. You make a point of being equally friendly and professional with all of them, mindful of your role. You’re part of their team, here to support them, not to be a distraction or play favorites.

It's during one of these interactions with Ningning, about a week into your third week, that you notice it for the first time. You’re both hunched over your monitor, Ningning giggling as you try to explain the nuances of a particularly baffling English meme that’s gone viral. You’re leaning back in your chair, pointing at the screen, and she’s close, peering over your shoulder, her hair tickling your ear. It's an innocent, work-adjacent moment.

"Ah! So that's what it means!" Ningning exclaims, clapping her hands together. "Okay, okay, I get it now. You have a future as an official idol translator."

You chuckle. "Modesty aside, I am really well versed in the nuances of the English language, especially when it comes to memes."

"Apparently!”

The weeks bleed into a month, then two. You’re no longer the wide-eyed newbie fumbling with the coffee machine or getting lost on the way to the third-floor dance studios. You’ve found your rhythm in the relentless pulse of SM Entertainment. Your PR drafts for Aespa are getting fewer red marks from Ms. Park, you’ve memorized the building’s labyrinthine layout (mostly), and you actually feel like you’re contributing something more than just an extra body in meetings. You’ve even started to differentiate between the dozen slightly different shades of black that seem to constitute 90% of the staff’s wardrobe.

The other members of Aespa have become familiar, friendly faces. You’re careful, always. Professionalism is your mantra. You’re staff. They’re idols. But in those stolen moments, the casual chats in the quieter corners of the building, a genuine camaraderie is forming.

Jimin, though… Jimin is another story. She’s undeniably, overtly thrilled to have you around. Her smiles are brighter when directed at you, her laughter louder. She seeks you out for “work-related questions” that could have easily been answered by anyone else, her hand lingering a fraction too long on your arm when she makes a point. She brings you your favorite coffee "just because she was passing by the good place." While a part of you, the part that still remembers sweaty palms and a racing heart from your teenage years, basks in that focused attention, the professional, adult part of you is on high alert.

You’ve seen the glances. The whispers that die down when you approach a group of staff members. The subtle, almost imperceptible raising of eyebrows from some of the senior managers when Jimin’s interactions with you are a little too familiar, a little too warm for a global superstar and a junior PR guy. Idols, especially female idols at the top of their game, aren’t supposed to be this close, this visibly chummy, with male staff. It’s a dangerous line, and you’re terrified she’s either blissfully unaware of it or, worse, doesn't care. You try to dial back your own responses, keeping things friendly but more reserved, adding the honorific "Jimin-ssi" more consistently, hoping she’ll take the hint. Sometimes she does, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before her professional mask slips on. Other times, she just bulldozes past it with that radiant grin, leaving you feeling like you’re walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers.

Her thing with the other members… that’s new. And it’s weird, kinda unsettling if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s never anything, like, obvious. She never says anything. But you see it.

Or you think you do.

It’s in the little things. Like when you’re cracking up with Ningning, sharing some stupid meme, and you catch a glimpse of Karina out of the corner of your eye. There’s a flicker of something in her expression, a barely-there tightening around her mouth before it smooths out into a small, polite smile. It’s so fast you question if you even saw it.

Or when Giselle gets all close, leaning into your space to show you a video on her phone, and Karina’s eyes just seem to… stick. They linger on you for a beat too long, her gaze heavy in a way you can’t quite decipher before she blinks and looks away, suddenly engrossed in her own phone.

Maybe you’re just making it up, projecting or something. But then she’ll walk over when you and Winter are in the middle of a conversation, laughing and vibing, and it’s like the temperature drops a few degrees. Her posture shifts, just a fraction, but she seems

One late afternoon, you find yourself in one of the smaller, less-used lounges on Aespa’s floor. It’s a comfortable space, rarely occupied, with a couple of plush sofas, a low table littered with old magazines, and a window overlooking a surprisingly green courtyard. You’d ducked in to escape the main office buzz for a few minutes, intending to just scroll through your phone and decompress. Ningning had found you first, plopping down beside you to complain good-naturedly about a particularly grueling choreography session. Soon after, Giselle and Winter had wandered in, drawn by Ningning’s animated voice, and the three of them were now comfortably arrayed on the sofas opposite you.

You’re in the middle of recounting a truly disastrous blind date your college roommate had dragged you on years ago (a story involving a mistaken identity, an escaped ferret, and a very public argument with a mime). You’re hamming it up, using voices, expansive gestures, and the girls are in stitches. Ningning is practically falling off the sofa, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Giselle, usually so composed, is clutching her stomach, her shoulders shaking. Even Winter keeps asking you for more details about the story, and for a moment, you forget the pressures of the job, the complexities of your situation with Jimin, everything. You’re just a guy, shooting the shit with friends.

"...so then the mime starts gesturing wildly, right? And my roommate, bless his clueless heart, thinks the ferret belongs to the mime and is trying to give it back!" you say, trying to catch your breath between laughs. "And the mime is getting more and more agitated because, apparently, he's deathly afraid of rodents..."

Ningning lets out another shriek of laughter. "No! Oh my god, a mime afraid of ferrets! That’s too much!"

Giselle wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. "Okay, that’s actually the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Poor ferret, though. And poor mime!"

"The ferret was fine!" you assure them, grinning. "Made a clean getaway into a nearby bakery. The mime needed therapy, probably."

Winter shakes her head, still chuckling softly. "You always have the craziest stories."

"It's a gift," you say with a mock bow, eliciting another round of giggles. "Or a curse. Depends on whether you're the one living through it or just hearing about it."

It’s at this moment, surrounded by their genuine laughter, that the door to the lounge creaks open. You don’t even register it at first, too caught up in the shared mirth. But then a shadow falls across the room, and a new voice, cool and distinct, cuts through the air.

"Having fun?"

Your laughter catches in your throat. The shift in atmosphere is instantaneous, like a cold front rolling in. Ningning, Giselle, and Winter all visibly react; their smiles falter, their postures subtly stiffen. You turn, your heart giving a sudden, uncomfortable thump against your ribs.

Jimin is standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe. She’s dressed in sleek black leggings and an oversized hoodie, her practice gear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her expression is unreadable, a carefully blank mask, but her eyes… her eyes are fixed on you, sharp and intense. There’s no smile, no warmth, just that unwavering, assessing stare.

You scramble to your feet, a little too quickly. "Oh, hey, Jimin-ssi. We were just, uh..."

Ningning, recovering first, offers a slightly strained smile. "Jimin-unnie! We were just listening to his hilarious story."

"Yeah, unnie," Giselle adds, her voice a little less effusive than it was moments before. "He was telling us about his old roommate’s disastrous date."

Jimin’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. She takes a slow step into the room, her presence suddenly dominating the small space.

"A disastrous date?" Jimin repeats, her voice still devoid of any discernible emotion. Her eyes finally flick towards the other girls, then back to you. "Sounds captivating. You seem to have them quite entertained."

There’s an edge to her words, a subtle accusation. You can feel a prickle of sweat on your palms. This is exactly the kind of situation you’ve been dreading, her finding you in a moment of unguarded ease with her members, their laughter clearly for you, excluding her.

Winter shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, her earlier smile completely gone. Ningning is fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoodie, avoiding eye contact. Giselle maintains a neutral expression, but her eyes dart between you and Jimin. You feel like you're under a fucking microscope, and Jimin is the one holding the lens, her gaze burning into you, searching for… something.

"Well," you begin, clearing your throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. You force a casualness you don't feel, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "I should probably, uh, get going. Got that report Ms. Park wanted… needs finishing." It’s a flimsy excuse; the report isn’t due until tomorrow afternoon, but escape is paramount.

You offer a quick, slightly strained smile to the other girls, who are still looking like they wish the floor would swallow them. "Was fun chatting, though. See you guys later."

Ningning manages a small, "Bye." Giselle gives a curt nod, her eyes still flickering towards Jimin. Winter offers a tiny, almost imperceptible wave.

As you turn to leave, Jimin’s voice stops you again. "I'll walk with you."

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Your mind screams No, absolutely fucking not, bad idea, abort mission! but your mouth, like a traitor, says, "Oh. Uh, sure. Okay." Because what else can you say? Arguing would only make it worse, draw more attention, confirm whatever suspicions are brewing in her mind.

The walk from the lounge down the hallway towards the main office area feels like miles. The silence stretches between you, taut and uncomfortable. You can feel her presence beside you, a subtle tension in the air that wasn't there before. You risk a quick glance at her. Her expression is still set, jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head. You brace yourself.

Finally, as you round a corner into a less populated corridor, she speaks, her voice low.

"You and the others seem to be getting along really well."

It’s a neutral observation on the surface, but you hear the undercurrent. You try to keep your own tone light, even. "Yeah, they’re great. Easy to talk to." You pause, then add, trying to steer the conversation onto safer ground, "Isn't that good? They're your members, your friends. I'm your friend, working with your team. It’s good that we all… you know, get along."

Jimin doesn’t look at you. Her gaze remains fixed on some indeterminate point down the hallway. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" you ask, afraid of what will come next.

"Depends if you start ditching me for them," she says. "Because lately, it feels like you’re avoiding me."

Your step falters for a split second. "Avoiding you? Jimin, that’s… that’s not true." The denial is automatic, but even as you say it, a flash of guilt hits you. You have been more reserved, more careful.

She finally turns her head, her eyes, dark and intense, meeting yours. There’s a flicker of hurt in them that makes your chest ache. "Isn't it? What about yesterday, in the cafeteria? I waved, you just nodded and hurried off with your tray. And Monday, when I asked if you wanted to grab a coffee after that marketing meeting, you said you were swamped. I saw you five minutes later scrolling through your phone at your desk." Her voice isn't accusatory now; it's quieter, tinged with a genuine bewilderment and that raw hurt. She remembers specific instances, and fuck, she’s not wrong. You were being short, deliberately creating distance.

Your throat feels tight. You glance quickly up and down the corridor. It’s relatively empty, just a couple of junior staffers disappearing around a distant corner. This isn't a conversation for public consumption. You stop, turning to face her more directly, lowering your own voice.

"Okay, look," you begin, trying to choose your words carefully. "Can we just… can we be real for a second?"

She watches you, waiting, her arms crossed over her chest now, a defensive posture.

"Jimin," you say, your voice earnest, "you know I’m happy to be here. And I’m happy you’re here, obviously. But you have to understand… this isn't like before. You’re Karina. You’re one of the biggest idols in the world. I’m… just a guy who works for the company. Your PR guy, technically."

Her brow furrows slightly, a hint of confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it," you insist. "Don’t you see how it looks? How we look? You being so… openly friendly with me, all the time? The little extra things, the way you seek me out? People notice that stuff, Jimin. Staff talk. Hell, fans would lose their minds if they saw half of it. This industry… it’s brutal. One wrong rumor, one misinterpreted photo, and it could be disastrous. For you, especially. For Aespa."

You run a hand through your hair, feeling the stress of it all. "I haven’t been avoiding you, Jimin. I’ve been trying to be careful. Trying to protect you. Trying to protect us from… from that. From the bullshit that could come from it. When I seem distant, or 'short' as you put it, it's not because I want to be. It's because I’m trying to keep a professional boundary in public, for both our sakes. I’m worried about your career, about you getting dragged into some stupid scandal because people misunderstand."

You let out a breath, the words tumbling out, a weight lifting slightly now that it’s said. You search her face, hoping she understands, hoping she doesn’t see it as a rejection.

Jimin stares at you, her expression slowly shifting as your words sink in. The defensiveness in her posture softens. The intensity in her eyes dims, then something akin to… embarrassment. Her gaze drops from yours to the floor, a faint blush creeping up her neck, painting the apples of her cheeks. She uncrosses her arms, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie.

When she finally looks up, her eyes are wide, a little watery, and full of a vulnerability that punches you right in the gut.

"Oh," she says. "Oh my god. You’re… you’re right." She winces, biting her lip. "I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking about it like that. At all." She shakes her head, looking genuinely mortified. "I'm so sorry. I’ve been… God, I’ve been acting like such an idiot. Paranoid." She lets out a shaky little laugh that has no humor in it. "I don’t even know why I’ve been like this. So… clingy or weird. It’s just…" She trails off, looking lost.

Seeing her like this, so exposed and contrite, melts away any lingering frustration you felt. All you want to do is reassure her.

"Hey," you say softly, taking a hesitant step closer. "It’s okay. Seriously. Don't beat yourself up about it." You offer a small, gentle smile. "It’s a weird situation for both of us, right? We’re figuring it out."

You pause, then add, you add, your tone surprisingly gentle, imbued with all the sincerity you feel, "And for what it’s worth, Jimin… you know how much I like having you around. How much I like you. Being near you, talking to you… it’s the best part of this whole crazy thing. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you. I haven’t forgotten that. Not for a second."

Her eyes, still glistening, meet yours. The blush on her cheeks deepens, but there’s a flicker of relief, of gratitude, in her gaze now. "Thank you," she murmurs. "For… for saying that. And for being honest. And for, you know, looking out for me even when I’m being a dumbass."

"Always," you say, and the word feels solid, true.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. "So," you say, breaking the quiet gently, "how about this? To make up for my perceived avoidance, and your… non-dumbass-ness…" You grin, and she lets out a small, watery chuckle. "Later this week, or whenever you’re free from practice and schedules, we do something. Properly. Just you and me. No work, no office, no other members. Like old times, but… new times."

Her face lights up, a genuine, brilliant smile chasing away the last of her embarrassment. It’s the Jimin you remember, the one whose happiness is infectious. "Just us?"

"Just us," you confirm, your own heart feeling a little lighter, a hopeful anticipation bubbling up.

"I’d really like that," she says. "A lot." She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling again, this time not with suspicion, but with something that looks a lot like the excitement you’re suddenly feeling too.

—

The relief that flooded you after that honest, vulnerable conversation with Jimin in the hallway lingers for days. It’s like a heavy weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying has been lifted. There’s a new lightness in your interactions, a shared understanding that makes the stolen glances and brief smiles across the busy office feel less fraught with anxiety and more like thrilling little secrets.

True to her word, before you part ways that day, Jimin’s eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief.

"So, about that 'just us' time," she says, leaning against the wall, a playful smirk on her lips. "My place. Dinner. I’ll cook. Don’t look so surprised, I can actually make more than instant ramen."

You raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. "Oh really? Color me intrigued. Are we talking a five-star gourmet experience or something that might involve a fire extinguisher?"

She swats your arm playfully. "Hey! I’ll have you know my kimchi jjigae is legendary. Or, at least, edible. You in?"

The thought of it: Jimin, cooking for you, in her apartment, away from the relentless scrutiny of SM, it feels intimate, a significant step. "Absolutely in," you say. "When?"

She pulls out her phone, already scrolling through her calendar app, a frown of concentration on her face. "Hmm, schedule’s insane next week… What about… Friday? A week from today? I think I have that evening clear. For now, anyway."

"Friday it is," you confirm, a grin spreading across your face. "I’ll even bring dessert. To, you know, potentially counteract the legendary kimchi jjigae."

"You wound me! But deal." She winks, then with a quick, "Gotta run, practice!" she’s off, leaving you feeling a ridiculous sense of anticipation for a dinner that’s still a full week away.

The following days pass in a blur of work, punctuated by those small, shared moments with Jimin. A quick coffee break where you actually sit together for ten minutes, talking about nothing and everything. Her dropping by your desk with a new song recommendation, leaning in close so you can share an earbud, her hair brushing your cheek. The professional boundaries are still there, especially when others are around, but the fear and awkwardness have been replaced by a conspiratorial warmth. You’re both more careful, more aware, but the connection feels stronger, deeper.

Friday arrives, and you spend most of the day in a state of low-level excitement, replaying your outfit choices in your head, wondering what her apartment is like, what it will feel like to just be with her, without the roles of "idol" and "staff." You even bought an expensive cake from that fancy bakery she likes.

Then, around 3 PM, your work phone buzzes with a message from Jimin:

NOOOO! I’m SOOOO sorry! Next week's photoshoot was brought forward to today. I'll be tied up until late. They just told us. I was really looking forward to it. Stupid schedules. Can we reschedule? Please say yes!

Disappointment settles in your chest, but you push it down. This is idol life. This is what you signed up for, being in her orbit.

You text: Of course. No worries at all, totally understand. We’ll find another night. Good luck with the shoot! You’ll kill it.

You’re the best. Raincheck for sure!!! Next week? I’ll make it up to you!

But "next week" turns into a series of near misses. An unexpected variety show filming crops up for her. A last-minute fan sign event gets added. You have a late night at the office handling a minor PR flare-up for another group. The universe, it seems, is conspiring against your private dinner. The expensive cake sits in your fridge, a sad, delicious monument to your thwarted plans.

And as the days turn into another week, something else starts to creep into your awareness, a subtle, unwelcome shift in your own internal landscape. You’re part of aespa’s PR team, which means you’re privy to schedules, collaborations, and the general buzz around them. You see Jimin interacting with other people in the company, naturally. She’s the leader, charismatic and friendly. It’s her job, her personality.

But it’s her interactions with some of the male idols that start to… prickle.

It begins subtly. You’re in a meeting discussing upcoming cross-promotional content, and one of the senior members from a popular SM boy group, a guy known for his sharp looks and easy charm, casually mentions how he and Jimin were just laughing about a shared embarrassing trainee story the other day in the practice rooms. A tiny, almost imperceptible muscle tightens in your jaw. They just happened to be in the practice rooms? Laughing? You tell yourself it’s nothing. Colleagues. Friends.

Then, a few days later, you’re walking past one of the recording studios and you see Jimin through the soundproof glass, headphones on, talking animatedly with a well-known producer, also male, also handsome. He leans in close to adjust something on the mixing board, his hand brushing hers. She throws her head back and laughs at something he says, a bright, unrestrained sound. The knot in your stomach tightens a little more. You find yourself lingering a second too long, watching them, a sour taste creeping into your mouth. You force yourself to walk away, chiding yourself internally. She’s working. He’s a producer. This is normal. Get a grip.

The worst is when you’re scrolling through internal staff memos or even semi-public social media feeds from other idols. A candid behind-the-scenes shot from a music show, and there’s Jimin in the background, deep in conversation with a member of a rival boy group, both of them smiling. A congratulatory post from another male idol for am Aespa’s latest achievement, with a throwback photo of him and Jimin making silly faces from some past event. Each instance is like a small papercut, insignificant on its own, but collectively, they start to bleed.

You start to question yourself, this ugly feeling coiling in your gut. Am I actually… jealous? The thought is mortifying. You have no right. You’re her friend, her colleague. You buried that teenage crush years ago, didn’t you? This is different. This is… possessiveness. It’s irrational, and you hate it. You tell yourself it’s just protectiveness, the same kind you talked to her about, you’re worried about her image. But who are you kidding? That’s bullshit. This isn’t about her image. This is about that tight, angry clench in your chest when you see another guy make her laugh that specific way, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. The way she only laughs with you. Or so you thought.

You try to subdue it, to crush the feeling down with logic. She’s an idol. Her circle is full of other idols, producers, industry people. Male, female, it doesn’t matter. She’s allowed to have friends. You are being a fucking psycho. You try to focus on your work, burying yourself in spreadsheets and press drafts, but your gaze keeps drifting, your ears straining for any mention of her name, your mind replaying those brief, observed moments, dissecting them, looking for… you don’t even know what. Reassurance? Confirmation of your fears?

This slow burn of jealousy is exhausting. It simmers beneath the surface of your carefully constructed professionalism, a toxic undercurrent poisoning your thoughts. You haven’t said anything to Jimin. You haven’t changed your outward behavior towards her, not in any way she’d notice, you hope. You’re still friendly, still supportive, still the guy she relies on. But inside, you’re a mess, increasingly tangled in a knot of feelings you don’t want and can’t seem to shake, this unwelcome, undeniable jealousy taking root, growing stronger with each passing day, with each shared smile she gives to someone who isn’t you.

—

Most of the nine-to-fivers have already made their escape, and even the usual thrum of idol activity has quieted to a muted pulse. You’re tucked away in a small, blessedly empty meeting room on one of the upper floors, nursing a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. You’re supposed to be reviewing social media analytics (riveting stuff, truly) but mostly you’re just staring out the window at the sprawling grey expanse of Seoul, lost in the delightful internal monologue of your own burgeoning, and entirely irrational, jealousy. It’s becoming quite the hobby, this mental self-flagellation.

The click of the door opening barely registers until a familiar, melodic voice cuts through your brooding.

"Hiding out?"

You nearly jump out of your skin, sloshing coffee onto a stack of decidedly unimportant papers. Turning, you see Jimin leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile playing on her lips. And just like that, the carefully constructed wall of your professional cynicism crumbles into pathetic, lovestruck dust.

She’s not in practice gear today. She’s wearing a simple, cream-colored knit sweater that looks ridiculously soft and some dark, well-fitted jeans. Her hair is down, cascading over her shoulders in those perfect, effortless waves that probably take a team of stylists two hours to achieve. Her makeup is minimal, making her look younger, softer, more like the Jimin you knew before she became Karina, global phenomenon and recurring star of your anxiety dreams.

"Hey," you manage, trying for nonchalant and probably landing somewhere near 'startled chipmunk.' "Didn't hear you come in."

She pushes off the doorframe and ambles further into the room, her presence instantly making the generic corporate space feel… smaller, somehow. More charged. "Sorry to interrupt your very important… paper-staring session."

"It's a critical part of my process," you say, attempting a dry wit that she, thankfully, seems to appreciate with a small laugh. "Deep contemplation of spreadsheet ergonomics."

"Right." She perches on the edge of the ridiculously oversized conference table, her legs crossed casually. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry if I’ve been a bit MIA the last few days. Schedules have been… well, you know. Insane."

"Ah, the glamorous life," you quip, though the relief at her explanation is a palpable thing easing the tension in your shoulders. So, it wasn’t you. Or, not just you. Probably. "No worries. Figured you were off conquering another continent or something equally mundane."

She smiles, a genuine, tired-around-the-edges smile. "Something like that. Endless meetings about tour logistics, new endorsement shoots, trying to learn choreography when every muscle in your body screams for rest." She sighs, then her gaze softens as it meets yours. "It’s just… been a lot. Haven't had much chance to just… breathe. Or talk."

"I get it," you say, and you do. The pace here is relentless. "You look…" You pause, searching for the right word, because 'good' feels like an insult to whatever cosmic alignment is happening with her features right now. "You look beautiful today, Jimin." The words are out before you can second-guess them, honest and a little too raw. You quickly try to backtrack, to lessen the impact, lest you sound like a complete lovesick fool (which, of course, you are). "I mean, you always look beautiful, obviously. It’s kind of your brand. But today… there’s something. Extra. You’re glowing. Or maybe it’s just the cheap office lighting playing tricks on my caffeine-addled eyes."

A delicate blush, the color of a summer peach, rises on her cheeks. She ducks her head for a moment, a shy gesture that feels impossibly endearing. "Thank you," she says softly, looking up at you through her lashes. The directness of her gaze, coupled with that blush. "That’s… really nice to hear. Especially today."

You should probably say something about those analytics. Or the weather. Anything but stare at her like she’s the only source of oxygen in the room.

Then, her expression shifts. A wistful, almost faraway look enters her eyes. "Hey," she says, her tone quieter now, thoughtful. "Do you remember… do you remember that time, we must have been, what, thirteen? When we biked all the way out to old Haeundae beach, even though our parents would have skinned us alive if they knew?"

The question catches you off guard. The sudden shift to such a specific, distant memory throws you. But of course, you remember. How could you forget? Your mind immediately conjures the scene: the reckless thrill of that forbidden adventure, the salty spray on your faces, the cheap, borrowed bikes threatening to fall apart beneath you.

"Yeah," you say, a slow smile spreading across your face as the details flood back. "With those ridiculously ancient bikes we 'borrowed' from your uncle’s shed? The ones where the brakes only worked if you prayed really, really hard?"

Her answering smile is luminous. "Exactly! And then that insane storm blew in out of nowhere. One minute it was sunny, the next it was like the sky just… cracked open."

"Torrential," you agree, a chuckle escaping you. "We were soaked to the bone in about ten seconds. I thought my sneakers would never dry out."

"And we found that tiny, busted-up old bus stop shelter way up on the coastal road," she continues, her eyes sparkling with the recollection, lost in the memory with you. "It was leaking, there were probably spiders the size of my fist in there, but it felt like a palace."

"We were freezing," you remember, "shivering like crazy. And all we had to eat was that one squashed packet of stale crackers I’d forgotten in my backpack."

Jimin laughs. "And we split it, didn’t we? Crouched in that damp, smelly shelter, rain hammering down outside, sharing those awful crackers like it was a feast." She looks at you then. "We talked for hours, waiting for it to stop. About everything. Stupid stuff, serious stuff."

"Our grand plans to escape our boring town," you supply, the memory so vivid now it feels like you could reach out and touch it. "Your dreams of being famous, my dreams of… well, probably something equally ridiculous I’ve thankfully forgotten."

"It wasn't ridiculous," she says softly, her gaze holding yours. "It was just… us. Just talking. It felt like we were the only two people in the world for a few hours."

You know what she means. It was more than just getting caught in the rain. It was a moment of unvarnished connection, of shared vulnerability, of feeling utterly, completely understood by another person, a feeling so rare and precious, especially at that tumultuous age. You remember the damp chill, yes, but more clearly, you remember the warmth of her shoulder pressed against yours as you huddled together, the easy rhythm of your conversation, the feeling that, for a little while, all the complexities of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you and the roaring storm.

"I still think about that day sometimes," Jimin says, her eyes still locked on yours, searching, questioning. "A lot, actually."

Your carefully constructed composure, already teetering, threatens to shatter. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the small room. The irony isn't lost on you; here you are, a grown man, unraveled by a shared memory of stale crackers and a rainstorm from over a decade ago. Pathetic, really.

"Why?" The question slips out, hushed, almost involuntary. Your mind is racing. Why now? Why bring this up? What does it mean?

Jimin holds your gaze for another long moment, and you can see a universe of unspoken emotions swirling in the depths of her dark eyes. Then, she looks away, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the distant, indifferent city. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips.

"Actually, I don't know," she says, so quietly you almost miss it. "I really don't know."

It's an answer that's not an answer, a perfectly crafted piece of ambiguity designed, it seems, to send your already overthinking brain into a full-blown spiral. You watch her, this enigma you’ve known your whole life, and feel a familiar, frustrating helplessness. All those years, all that shared history, and she can still reduce you to a state of dumbfounded confusion with three little words.

She pushes herself off the conference table, the movement fluid and graceful. "Well," she says, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual brightness, though her eyes still hold that distant, thoughtful quality. "Maybe it’s better if I go. Don’t want to keep bothering you with… ancient history. And I actually do have that choreography meeting. Can't keep the dance monster waiting."

She turns and walks towards the door, each step feeling like a countdown timer on your chance to say something, anything, to pierce through this sudden, unbearable tension.

She reaches the door, her hand on the knob. It’s now or never, brainiac.

"Jimin," you call out.

She pauses, her back still to you, hand frozen on the doorknob. This is it. Your moment to say something profound, something that clarifies everything, something that bridges the gap of years and fame and unspoken feelings. Your mind races, a frantic slideshow of possibilities. 'What did you mean?' 'Do you feel it too?' 'That day meant something to me too, you know.'

And then, like a cold splash of reality, the internal killjoy (the one that pays the bills and reminds you of your precarious position) pipes up: She’s an idol, you idiot. Global superstar. You’re staff. This is how you lose your job and become a cautionary tale. Don’t be a walking, talking HR violation.

The grand, sweeping declaration dies on your lips, replaced by a pathetic little puff of air. When she finally turns her head slightly, looking back at you with a questioning gaze, all that comes out is a lame, "It's… uh… nothing. Never mind.”

A small, enigmatic smile plays on her lips. It’s impossible to tell if it’s knowing, amused, or just polite. With Jimin, it could be all three. "Okay," she says softly. "See you around."

And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a gentle finality, leaving you alone once more with your lukewarm coffee, your useless analytics, and the fresh, agonizing weight of all the things you didn't say.

Hours later, the office has thinned out almost completely. You’re packing up your bag, ready to call it a day and go home to stare meaningfully at your ceiling, when Ningning bounces over to your desk.

"Heading out?" she asks, perching on the corner of your desk like an overgrown, incredibly cheerful pixie.

"Yep. Day is done. My brain feels like overcooked jjigae."

She giggles. "Mine too! We had vocal training for three hours straight. My throat is screaming." She leans in a little. "So, work stuff aside… how are things?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Things? Vague. But… okay, I guess? Survived another day in the K-Pop trenches. You?"

"Good, good!" she says, then her eyes get that tell-tale sparkle of curiosity you’re beginning to recognize all too well. "Actually… I was wondering. About, you know…" She gestures vaguely between herself and an imaginary Jimin. "You two."

Ah. Here we go. The subtle interrogation phase. You try to keep your expression neutral, a Herculean effort. "Us two? Do you mean Jimin? We’re… old friends. Colleagues. As previously established in multiple official and unofficial briefings."

Ningning tilts her head, her smile a little too knowing. "Riiight. Old friends. But, like… how old? What’s the real story there? Unnie can be… a little selective with details sometimes."

Before you can even begin to formulate a suitably evasive yet charmingly informative answer, footsteps approach. Giselle and Winter appear, looking equally ready to bolt for the day.

"What are you two whispering about over here?" Giselle asks. Winter offers a quiet smile from beside her.

Ningning beams at them. "Perfect timing! I was just asking about him," she points a thumb at you, "and our dear leader. The true story."

Giselle’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches. "Oh? The origin story? Spill it. We’ve only heard Jimin-unnie’s version, which, let's be honest, is probably heavily romanticized."

Winter chuckles softly. "She did mention something about a very dramatic rainstorm once."

Now all three of them are looking at you, expectant and clearly ready for some prime gossip, or at least, your side of the folklore. You’re surrounded. There’s no escape.

"Okay, okay," you say, raising your hands in mock surrender, trying to buy yourself some thinking time. "There’s nothing really interesting in our story. Mostly just a lot of questionable teenage fashion choices and an unhealthy obsession with the same five boy bands."

"Details, details!" Ningning urges, leaning forward. "What were you like in school? Was she always… Karina-like? Or was she a secret dork?"

"Definitely a secret dork," you say, a genuine smile touching your lips as you think back.

This gets a laugh from all of them.

"And you?" Giselle prompts. "What was your role in this dynamic duo?"

"Chief instigator of dumb ideas, probably," you admit. "And expert in procuring illicit snacks for movie marathons. We spent a ridiculous amount of time watching terrible action movies and critiquing them like we were seasoned film critics." You share a few more harmless anecdotes: the time you both tried to bake a cake that ended up looking like a volcanic eruption, the disastrous school play where you both forgot your lines, the endless summers spent biking around the city, dreaming of bigger things. It’s easy to talk about the past, the safe, sepia-toned memories. It makes the present, with all its unspoken tensions and Jimin’s idol status, feel momentarily distant.

As you’re talking, weaving these tales of your shared youth, you see your opening. It’s a long shot, and your attempt at casualness will probably be about as convincing as a politician's promise, but you have to try.

"Speaking of Jimin," you say, aiming for a nonchalant tone that you’re pretty sure misses the mark by a country mile, "she’s, you know, so busy and in the public eye all the time. Must be tough to… have a personal life. Is she… seeing anyone? Or, you know, hanging out with anyone in particular? Just curious, as a friend. Worried about her, you know. Safety, happiness, all that good stuff."

You try to make it sound like a casual afterthought, a fleeting concern from a dear old platonic pal. You think you almost pulled it off, right up until you see the looks on their faces.

Ningning’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and she exchanges a lightning-fast glance with Giselle. Giselle’s lips twitch, a smirk threatening to break free. Winter just smiles like she knows what's going on in your head. Oh, you are so transparent. They see right through your flimsy "concerned friend" charade.

"Hmm, 'seeing anyone'?" Giselle repeats slowly, drawing out the words. "Nope. Can't say that she is. Unnie's pretty much married to her work these days. And us, of course."

"Yeah," Ningning chimes in, a little too brightly. "No mysterious romantic entanglements that we know of! Our leader is a free agent!"

"Why do you ask?" Winter asks her gaze lifting to meet yours.

"Oh, you know," you say, waving a dismissive hand, trying to project an air of breezy indifference. "Just… she’s an old friend. You worry about your friends, right? Want them to be happy, not get mixed up with… undesirables. Standard friend protocol."

The three of them share another look. This one is longer, more laden with unspoken understanding. It’s the kind of look that says, “Oh, honey, you are so delightfully screwed.”

"Right," Giselle says. "Undesirables. Of course."

Ningning nods vigorously. "Totally. Friend protocol. We get it."

"So," Giselle starts, "all these shared memories, the dorky school days… was there ever, you know, anything more? Between you two back then?"

You can feel the heat rising up your neck. Your brain is frantically sifting through a thousand possible deflections, each one more unconvincing than the last. This is where your PR training truly shines, in the art of saying absolutely nothing while appearing to consider something deeply. A true masterclass in verbal evasion is about to unfold, you can just feel it.

"I mean, the bond between you two is… remarkable," Ningning adds, helpfully twisting the knife. "Unnie was so, so excited when she found out you were coming to work here. Like, beyond normal 'old friend joining the company' excited. More like 'rare Pokémon spotted in the wild' excited."

Giselle snorts delicately. "Eloquent, Ningning. But she’s right. There’s definitely… a vibe."

Just as you’re about to launch into what would undoubtedly be a completely disastrous attempt at a nonchalant denial, a voice cuts through the charged atmosphere.

"There you guys are! I’ve been looking all over for you."

Jimin. Of course. Her timing is, as always, impeccably dramatic. She steps into the lounge, her gaze sweeping over her members, then landing on you, a slight question in her eyes. She’s still in her practice clothes, a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead, making her look both ethereal and remarkably real. The girls, bless their meddling, gossipy hearts, snap into action with the practiced ease of seasoned operatives.

"Oh, hey, Unnie!" Ningning chirps. "We were just… talking."

"About what?" Jimin asks, stepping further into the room, her gaze lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. Or maybe you’re just imagining that part. Your imagination has been working overtime lately, particularly where she’s concerned.

"Nothing major," Giselle says smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "Silly things. Random office gossip. You know how it is." She stands, stretching languidly. "Actually, we should probably head out. It’s getting seriously late.”

"Yeah, same," Ningning agrees, bouncing to her feet. Winter nods, already halfway to the door. "My everything aches."

You seize the opportunity, a drowning man grasping at a life raft made of convenient excuses. "Me too, actually. Long day. Lots of… spreadsheets." You try for a weary, put-upon sigh. You’re not sure it lands.

The girls offer quick goodbyes, a chorus of "See ya!" and "Night, Unnie!" and then they’re gone, leaving you and Jimin standing in the sudden quiet of the empty lounge. She turns to you. "They keeping you entertained?"

"They’re… a force of nature," you admit. "Never a dull moment."

"Tell me about it," she says with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of a thousand schedules. "Well, I guess I should let you escape too." She gestures towards the door. "I’m heading out as well. Want to walk?"

And just like that, you’re accompanying her again, the two of you falling into step as you navigate the increasingly deserted corridors of SM Entertainment. You find yourself acutely aware of the space between you, of the subtle scent of her perfume, of the way her hair catches the low evening light filtering through the hallway windows. It’s all terribly poetic and deeply unhelpful for your already addled state of mind.

As you approach the main lobby, her voice, soft and a little melancholic, breaks the quiet. "Have you ever wondered," she begins, not looking at you, her gaze fixed on the gleaming marble floor, "what might have happened? If… if things had been different? If I hadn’t gone into training when I did, if you hadn’t gone off to study in another country? If we hadn't… you know, gone our separate ways back then?"

The question, so similar to the one that started your recent emotional tailspin with her, catches you off guard. It’s a "what if" laden with years of distance and change, a path untaken, a story unwritten. You glance at her profile, the perfect line of her jaw, the slight furrow in her brow. She looks so much like the fierce, determined girl you knew, yet also like someone entirely new, someone shaped by experiences you can only guess at.

"I don't know," you say honestly, the words feeling inadequate but true. It’s your go-to answer for her profound, soul-searching question, apparently. "It’s… hard to predict those kinds of things, isn’t it? One tiny change back then could have led to a million different todays." You try for a philosophical shrug, as if you ponder alternate timelines on a regular basis. You mostly ponder what to have for dinner.

She nods slowly, still not meeting your eyes. "You’re right. It’s impossible to know." A beat of silence, then she adds, almost to herself, "Still. Sometimes I wonder."

Before you can overthink it, before your internal HR department can issue a cease-and-desist, you find yourself saying, "But, Jimin… whatever those other million todays might have looked like, this one? This is the one where we’re both here. You, me, in this crazy building, against some pretty insane odds when you think about it." You meet her gaze then, hoping she sees the sincerity in yours. "That’s got to be worth something, right?"

A slow smile spreads across her face, a genuine, heart-stoppingly beautiful smile that reaches her eyes and chases away some of the weariness you saw there earlier. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I think it is." She finally looks directly at you, and there's a warmth there, a shared acknowledgement of the strange, unlikely thread that still connects you.

"Thank you for saying that."

"Just stating the facts," you reply, though your heart is doing a fair impression of a hummingbird’s wings. You pause, then, emboldened by the moment, you ask, "Are you okay, though? You seem… a little tired." A masterful understatement, considering the grueling life she leads.

She lets out a soft sigh. "Yeah, I’m okay. Just… tired is my default setting these days, I think." She manages a wry smile. "This week has been particularly brutal. But it’s okay. It’s part of it."

"I’ve been seeing it up close, you know," you say, your tone earnest. "You, the girls… the amount of work you all put in, the sheer dedication… it’s actually insane. I had no idea, not really, before I started working here. It’s… genuinely incredible. You’re all amazing." You hesitate, then add, "Just… don’t overdo it, okay? Take care of yourself. Seriously."

Her smile widens, softens. The appreciation in her eyes is unmistakable, and it makes you feel ridiculously warm inside. "Thank you," she says again. "That means a lot. I will. I promise."

You reach the main exit, the cool night air of Seoul beckoning from beyond the glass doors. This feels like another one of those moments, a pause before the story shifts again.

"Well," you say, "my chariot awaits. Or, you know, the subway."

She laughs, a light, easy sound. "Same here. My manager’s probably already sent out a search party." She turns to you, and for a moment, it feels like there’s something more she wants to say, something hovering on the edge of her words. But then she just smiles that enigmatic smile again. "Good night. And… thanks. For the walk. And the concern."

"Anytime," you reply. "Goodnight, Jimin."

And with that, she’s gone, disappearing into the waiting black van that always seems to materialize out of nowhere. You watch her go, a strange mix of hope and confusion and that ever-present, damnably persistent affection swirling inside you.

—

The weekend arrives with all the fanfare of a damp squib. You spend Saturday mostly alternating between staring blankly at your laptop screen, pretending to job-hunt for something that isn’t your current, emotionally hazardous employment, and replaying every single micro-expression Jimin has made in your vicinity for the past two weeks. It’s a productive, well-adjusted way to live, you tell yourself with a hefty dose of irony. You’re bored, tired of your own internal monologue, and a little bit adrift.

You’re cleaning your room, contemplating mentally the profound existential question of whether to order jjajangmyeon or just eat cereal for dinner for the third night in a row, when your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You almost ignore it, expecting another spam text about a crypto scam or a discount on air fryers. But then it buzzes again, insistent. With a groan, you reach for it.

It’s a message. From Jimin.

Hey! Are you by any chance, miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably… free tonight? My schedule just cleared up like magic (don’t ask, it’s a K-Pop miracle). That dinner we talked about… still interested? My legendary kimchi jjigae awaits its challenger! Let me know! Fingers crossed! ✨🍜🤞

You stare at the message, reading it once, twice, a third time just to make sure your sleep-deprived brain isn’t hallucinating. Her schedule cleared? She’s asking tonight? After all the cancellations, all the near-misses? A slow grin, a genuine, uncomplicated, shit-eating grin, spreads across your face. All the weariness, the boredom, the overthinking from the past few days, evaporates like morning mist.

You type back, your thumbs flying across the screen, a surge of adrenaline making your hands shake slightly.

Tonight? Miracles do happen! Yes, absolutely, 100% still interested. My taste buds are primed and ready for legendary status. Send me the address. I’ll even brave rush hour for this.

Her reply is almost instantaneous. A string of happy emojis, followed by her address and a time.

It’s set. It’s actually, finally, set.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, loud and unrestrained in the quiet of your small apartment. Suddenly, your weekend isn’t looking so bleak. Suddenly, you’re not tired at all. Suddenly, the only thing that matters is that in a few short hours, you’re going to Jimin’s apartment for dinner. Just the two of you.

—

The hours leading up to your dinner with Jimin are a masterclass in controlled chaos, existing primarily within the confines of your own skull. You tell yourself, with the stern authority of someone trying to wrangle a particularly unruly toddler, not to overthink it. It’s just dinner. A casual meal between old friends. One of whom just happens to be a globally recognized K-Pop sensation who occupies a significant, and frankly unhealthy, amount of your daily thought processes.

Yes, perfectly normal.

Your attempt not to overthink manifests as a meticulous, hour-long deconstruction of your entire wardrobe, a frantic search for an outfit that screams "effortlessly cool and put-together" while simultaneously whispering "I definitely didn't try too hard, but please notice I tried a little." You settle on dark jeans that actually fit well and a soft, unassuming button-down shirt (casual, yet hinting at the possibility that you own an iron).

On your way to her neighborhood, a sudden pang of "don't show up empty-handed, you heathen" strikes you. You duck into a small, upscale market, ostensibly for a bottle of wine or some trendy artisanal sparkling water. As you’re Browse, your eyes snag on a particular brand of imported Swiss chocolate, a rich, dark hazelnut bar. It’s a lightning bolt from the past. Jimin used to be absolutely obsessed with this exact chocolate back in your school days. She’d save up her allowance for it, savoring each square like it was a precious jewel. It’s a ridiculous, sentimental impulse, but you grab it, along with a respectable bottle of white wine that looks like it knows what it’s doing. The chocolate feels like a small, secret handshake with the past, a nod to the girl she was… a girl you knew before the world did.

Her apartment building is sleek and modern, nestled in a quiet, affluent part of Seoul. You buzz her apartment number, your voice sounding surprisingly steady through the intercom when you announce your arrival. A moment later, the lock clicks, and you’re granted access to the inner sanctum. So far, so good. No alarms triggered.

Standing outside her actual apartment door, a fresh wave of nerves – oh, hello again, old friend – washes over you. You perform the sacred pre-door-knock ritual: a quick, surreptitious sniff of your own breath (minty, check), a frantic adjustment of your shirt cuffs, and a final, desperate smooth-down of your hair. You take a deep breath, then you knock.

The door swings open, and there she is. And just like that, your carefully constructed composure evaporates. Jimin. Even in simple, dark lounge pants and a ridiculously soft-looking, oversized grey sweater that swallows her frame, she looks… breathtaking. Her hair is tied up in a loose, messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her makeup is so light it’s almost non-existent, just a hint of color on her lips and a subtle definition to her incredible eyes, making her appear more close to you, more vulnerable, more… Jimin. The effect is devastatingly beautiful, far more so than any stage costume or red-carpet glamour. This is her, unvarnished, in her own space.

You just sort of… stare for a beat, your brain temporarily short-circuiting. She offers a small, slightly shy smile. "Hey. You made it."

"Yeah," you manage. "Traffic was… surprisingly cooperative. For once." You then remember the social contract requires more than just grunting acknowledgment. "You, uh… you look amazing, Jimin. Really." There, you said it. Not as smooth as you’d hoped, but honest.

Her smile widens, a genuine, pleased crinkle around her eyes. "Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself." She steps back, holding the door open wider. "Come on in. Don’t mind the mess, I was literally in the middle of a creative explosion in the kitchen."

You step inside, and as you do, you present your offerings. "Brought some wine," you say, handing her the bottle. "And, uh, this." You pull out the chocolate bar. "Not sure if you still… but I remembered."

Her eyes widen when she sees the familiar wrapper, a gasp of pure, unadulterated delight escaping her. "Oh my god!" she exclaims, taking the chocolate from you with an almost reverent care. "This! I haven’t had this in ages! How did you even remember?" Her face is alight with genuine happiness. "This is… this is the best. Thank you." That she’s happier about the relatively cheap chocolate bar than the expensive wine says everything. It’s a direct hit to the heart, that shared memory made tangible.

"My memory retains crucial information," you say, trying for a light, teasing tone to cover the sudden thickness in your throat.

She laughs, clutching the chocolate bar like a long-lost treasure. "Apparently so." She gestures around. "Well, this is it. Karina's home. Or, you know, Jimin’s slightly-less-glamorous-than-you’d-expect-for-an-idol-but-still-pretty-nice apartment."

You take a proper look around as she leads you further in. It is beautiful. Definitely what you’d expect for someone of her status – spacious, with high ceilings, large windows offering a glittering panorama of the Seoul skyline. The furniture is modern and stylish, a palette of soft neutrals and rich textures. But threaded throughout the obvious expense are unmistakable touches of her. A shelf overflowing with books, a worn acoustic guitar propped in a corner, a collection of quirky art prints that are more charming than high-concept, a ridiculously fluffy throw blanket draped over a plush sofa that just begs for someone to curl up on it. It’s a home, not just a showpiece. It’s… Jimin. And you’re in it.

The aroma filling Jimin’s apartment is genuinely incredible, a rich, spicy, and deeply comforting scent that immediately makes your stomach rumble in anticipation. She’s bustling between the small, open-plan kitchen counter and the dining table as she places steaming bowls and an array of colourful banchan (pickled radish, seasoned spinach, glistening myeolchi bokkeum) onto the table. You try to offer help, a classic "can I do anything?" gesture, but she waves you off with a smile, directing you to simply take a seat.

"Guest of honor tonight," she declares, "your only job is to eat and, hopefully, not require medical attention afterwards." It's a joke, but there's a hint of nervous pride in her eyes as she surveys her culinary efforts. It's endearing, this glimpse of her outside the polished perfection of Karina, the idol. This is Jimin, hoping you like her cooking.

You settle into a chair at the intimate wooden table, which is perfectly sized for two and positioned to offer a breathtaking view of the city lights beginning to ignite the deepening twilight outside. She slides a bowl of rice in front of you, then the centerpiece: a bubbling, vibrant red earthenware pot of kimchi jjigae, the steam carrying its potent, delicious fragrance. She serves herself, then gestures for you to dig in. "Well," she says, a little breathlessly, "moment of truth."

You pick up your chopsticks, you take a careful spoonful of the jjigae, the rich broth warming your tongue, the tender pork and tangy kimchi a perfect balance. It’s not just edible; it’s genuinely, profoundly good. Your eyes widen in honest surprise.

"Jimin," you say, after a moment of appreciative silence, letting the warmth spread through you. "This is… seriously incredible. You weren't kidding about the legendary status. This is restaurant-quality stuff." You’re not just being polite; it’s the best kimchi jjigae you’ve had in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

A pleased, slightly flustered blush colors her cheeks. She ducks her head, stirring her own bowl a little too intently. "Oh, stop," she says, but her smile is radiant. "It’s just an old family recipe. My grandmother taught me. I don’t get to make it that often, so… I’m glad it turned out okay." She takes a tentative bite herself, then nods, a little surprised. "Huh. Not bad, if I do say so myself."

You both eat in a comfortable, almost reverent silence for a few minutes. You try some of the banchan she gestures towards, a crisp, spicy cucumber salad, some savory pan-fried tofu. Everything is meticulously prepared, bursting with flavor. It's clear she put a lot of effort into this, and that knowledge warms you even more than the jjigae.

It's as you’re both reaching for the water glasses at the same time, your fingers brushing for a fleeting, electric instant, that the full weight of the situation seems to properly land. You pull your hand back a little too quickly, a jolt going up your arm. You look up, and she’s looking at you, her eyes wide, a similar awareness dawning in them. Here you are. Alone. In her apartment, a space few outside her closest circle probably ever see. Sharing a home-cooked meal. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly, but it’s undeniably there: a potent mix of history and the sheer, unadulterated weirdness of your lives having converged like this again.

A small, nervous chuckle escapes her lips, a delicate, airy sound. Almost instantly, a similar laugh bubbles up from your own chest; a little shaky, a little breathless, but a genuine release of the mounting tension. It’s a shared acknowledgment of the elephant.

"Okay," she says, setting down her chopsticks and picking up her water glass. "This is… this is a little bit weird, isn't it?" She takes a sip of water, her gaze still holding yours over the rim of the glass. "Not bad-weird," she clarifies quickly, perhaps sensing your own internal monologue already composing a list of polite escape routes, "definitely good-weird. But still… wonderfully, ridiculously weird."

"Good-weird is my favorite kind of weird," you manage. The shared laughter, the naming of the awkwardness, has somehow made it less… awkward. "And yes, 'wonderfully, ridiculously weird' pretty much sums up my entire existence since moving to Seoul and, you know," you gesture vaguely to encompass her, the apartment, the situation, "all of this." You take another mouthful of jjigae, savoring the spice, buying yourself a moment. "Honestly, if you’d told fourteen-year-old me, the one convinced that high fashion was wearing a band t-shirt without holes in it, that one day I'd be having homemade kimchi jjigae in global K-Pop superstar Karina's apartment…" You shake your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Well, let's just say his tiny, angst-ridden brain would have imploded. He probably would have assumed it was a very elaborate prank involving hidden cameras."

Jimin laughs, a bright, clear sound that seems to chase away some of the shadows in the room. "Oh, please. Fourteen-year-old you was far too cynical for hidden camera pranks. You’d have assumed it was a stress-induced hallucination brought on by too many all-night gaming sessions." She pauses, her smile softening into something more reflective as she looks around her living space, then back at you, her dinner guest, the boy from her past sitting so improbably in her present. "But look at us now, huh? Actually sitting here, eating dinner, in my own place. Talking about nothing relevant… and just being. Like two reasonably functioning adults who manage to feed themselves without burning the building down." She takes a slow, deliberate bite of rice, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the vast, glittering expanse of Seoul spread out below them. "Who would have thought any of this was possible back then?" She turns back to you, a wistful, almost tender smile on her lips. "Time flies, doesn’t it? Feels like a lifetime ago, and yesterday, all at once.”

There's a shared melancholy in the air, a sweet ache for the irretrievable past, but it's also undercut by the sheer, vibrating improbability of your present. You nod slowly, swirling the last of the spicy jjigae broth in your bowl, the warmth of it seeping into you, mirroring the warmth spreading through your chest from just… being here, with her.

"It really does," you agree. "One minute you're plotting how to get out of gym class, the next you're… well, you're an international icon, and I'm marveling at your exceptional kimchi jjigae skills and wondering if adulting comes with a manual they forgot to give me." You offer a small, self-deprecating smile, which she returns with a knowing one of her own.

"Tell me about it," she sighs, pushing her empty bowl away slightly. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and I'm still half expecting to see that gangly teenager with the terrible bangs staring back, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to lead a group and remember lyrics in different languages." She pauses, then a playful spark ignites in her eyes, chasing away the momentary wistfulness. "Speaking of adulting… that wine you brought isn't going to drink itself, is it?”

"An excellent point."

"Yeah," she says, already rising from the table. "Let me just wash these dishes and then we can relocate. My couch is significantly more comfortable for serious wine contemplation than these dining chairs. And you haven't even seen my prized collection of questionable drama movies yet, a true adult indulgence."

She begins clearing the table with an efficient grace, and you quickly stand to help, gathering bowls and chopsticks. "Questionable dramas, huh? I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Oh, you should be. We're talking peak early 2000s angst."

While she rinses the dishes (a task you offer to do but are again cheerfully waved off from) you retrieve the bottle of white wine from the counter where you’d left it. You find a corkscrew in a drawer after a brief, the satisfying pop of the cork feels like a small, official commencement of the evening’s next, less formal, chapter. Jimin reappears with two elegant, long-stemmed wine glasses.

Soon, you're both settled on her ridiculously plush sofa. It’s U-shaped, large enough that you’re not exactly pressed against each other, but close enough that you’re acutely aware of her presence, the subtle scent of her shampoo, the way the soft lamplight catches the curve of her cheek. She curls her legs up beneath her, looking impossibly small and cozy, and takes a grateful sip from her wine glass.

"Mmm," she hums, her eyes closing for a moment. "Okay, this is good. Way better than the soju bombs from our trainee day survival kits, that’s for sure."

You take a sip yourself. The wine is crisp and cool, a pleasant counterpoint to the lingering spice of the jjigae. "Glad it meets the approval of your sophisticated palate," you tease, settling back into the cushions. The sofa really is incredibly comfortable. Dangerously so. "Though I have a feeling even drain cleaner would taste good after some of the trainee stories I’ve heard."

She laughs, a full, unrestrained sound this time, and the warmth of it, combined with the wine already beginning to hum pleasantly in your veins, makes you feel… good. Really good. Relaxed in a way you haven’t been in weeks, maybe months.

"You have no idea," she says, shaking her head, a smile still playing on her lips. "There was this one time, during our first evaluation prep, we were all so stressed and sleep-deprived, Ningning tried to microwave a banana. The whole banana. Peel and all."

You snort with laughter, nearly choking on your wine. "No! What happened?"

"Let’s just say the dorm smelled like radioactive fruit for a week, and we were banned from unsupervised microwave usage," Jimin recounts, her eyes sparkling with shared amusement. "Our manager almost had a conniption. Good times. Peak adulting, right there."

The wine flows easily, and with it, the conversation. You find yourselves reminiscing more about those "good old days," the stories becoming funnier, sillier, with each glass. You remind her of the time she tried to dye her own hair blue using a questionable internet tutorial and ended up with three distinctly different shades of swamp green. She counters with the story of your spectacularly failed attempt to build a skateboard ramp in your backyard, which resulted in more bruises than airtime. The laughter comes more frequently now, less self-conscious, more open. There's a comfortable intimacy in revisiting these shared embarrassments.

With the second glass of wine, a subtle shift occurs. The silliness is still there, but it’s becoming tinged with a more playful, flirtatious edge. Maybe it’s the alcohol lowering inhibitions, or maybe it’s the cozy proximity on the sofa, or maybe it’s just the inevitable result of two people with a mountain of buried feelings finally being in a private, relaxed space together. You find yourself watching the way her lips curve when she smiles, the way she gestures animatedly when she’s telling a particularly outrageous story, the way her eyes seem to catch and hold yours for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"You know," she says, swirling the wine in her glass, her gaze a little unfocused, a little dreamy, "you were always surprisingly good at listening. Even when I was rambling about the most ridiculous, angsty teenage dramas. You’d just sit there and nod, like it was the most profound stuff you’d ever heard."

"Hey, your angst was top-tier," you reply. "It deserved a captive audience. Besides, someone had to make sure you didn't actually follow through on your threat to run away and join the circus after that disastrous school talent show audition." You lean a little closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Though, for the record, I still think your interpretive dance to that heavy metal song was… creatively ambitious."

She throws her head back and laughs, a genuine, unrestrained peal that makes your chest ache with a strange, sweet tenderness. When she sobers, she lightly punches your arm. "Oh, shut up! That was performance art! You just didn't understand my vision!" Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed from the wine and the laughter, and she’s looking at you with an open, unguarded expression that makes your breath catch. "But seriously," she adds, "you were a good friend. Still are."

The compliment, simple as it is, lands with surprising weight. "You too, Jimin," you say, your voice equally soft, meeting her gaze. "Always."

Her eyes search yours, and you feel like she can see right through your carefully constructed facade, right down to the terrified, hopeful teenager still lurking somewhere inside. The wine has definitely done its job; the world feels a little softer around the edges, your inhibitions are pleasantly fuzzy, and the desire to just reach out, to bridge that small remaining distance on the couch, is becoming overwhelmingly, dangerously strong.

The wine, crisp and cool, continues its delightful work, unspooling the tightly wound threads of formality and apprehension that had clung to the early evening. Each sip seems to loosen your tongue a little more, and Jimin’s too. The comfortable U-shaped sofa, initially a vast expanse, feels like it’s subtly shrinking, or perhaps you’re both just… gravitating. Her laughter, when you recount another particularly embarrassing anecdote from your shared school days, is no longer just a polite chuckle. It’s a full-bodied, unrestrained peal of mirth that makes her lean back against the cushions, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand playfully batting at your arm.

You find yourself grinning like an idiot, the warmth spreading through your chest having very little to do with the alcohol content of the wine and everything to do with the sound of her unbridled joy.

"It’s funny, isn’t it? All those little things we obsessed over back then, thinking they were the most important things in the world." She swirls the wine in her glass, watching the pale liquid catch the light. "Who you sat with at lunch, whether you got picked for the team, if that one person looked at you in the hallway…"

Her voice trails off on that last phrase, and there’s a subtle shift in her tone, a new layer of something… emerging from beneath the playful banter. She takes a breath, then turns to you, her eyes, luminous in the dim light, searching yours. The playful glint is gone.

"Can I… can I tell you something? Something really stupid I used to think back then?"

Your heart gives a little thump. "Of course," you say. "My lips are sealed. And my capacity for judging stupid teenage thoughts is, believe me, at an all-time low, considering my own track record."

She offers a small, grateful smile, then her gaze drops to her wine glass, her fingers tracing the rim. "Okay, well… don’t laugh." A pause, then, so softly you almost miss it, "I… I used to have the biggest crush on you."

Your brain, already pleasantly fuzzy from the wine, seems to stall for a moment, trying to process. Jimin. Had a crush. On you. The fourteen-year-old version of you, the one with the questionable sense of humor and the complete inability to talk to girls he actually liked without sounding like a malfunctioning robot, would have spontaneously combusted from sheer disbelief and elation. Even now, the adult, slightly-more-composed version of you is struggling to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

She peeks up at you through her lashes, a nervous blush creeping up her neck. "See? Stupid, right? I was so sure you just saw me as, like, your annoying little sister’s best friend, or just… Jimin, the dork who was always around. I used to spend hours overthinking every single thing you said to me, trying to decipher if there was some hidden meaning." She lets out a shaky little laugh. "God, it was exhausting."

You stare at her, a slow, incredulous smile starting to spread across your face. The irony, oh, the beautiful, painful irony of it all. All those years of your own silent, all-consuming crush, your own agonizing over every shared glance, every casual word, thinking she was completely oblivious, completely out of reach.

"Jimin," you begin. You clear your throat. "That’s… wow." You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up, a laugh of pure, unadulterated shock and a strange, retroactive relief. "The only thing 'stupid' about that is that I was doing the exact same goddamn thing."

Her head snaps up, her eyes widening, the blush on her cheeks deepening to a vibrant crimson.

"What?" she breathes. "You… you did? With… with me?"

"With you?" you echo, a wide, disbelieving grin plastered on your face. "Are you kidding? You were all I thought about. I was hopelessly, pathetically gone on you. I just… I figured you were way out of my league. That you only tolerated my presence because we were stuck in the same school and our families knew each other." The confession tumbles out, easy now, liberating, fueled by the wine and the sudden revelation of her own past feelings. It’s like a dam has broken, years of unspoken emotion finally finding their release.

She just stares at you, speechless for a long moment, her wine glass forgotten in her hand. Then, a tiny, incredulous laugh escapes her. "No. Way." She shakes her head slowly, as if trying to rearrange the entire narrative of her teenage years. "All that time? We were both…?"

"Apparently," you confirm, still grinning. "Two oblivious idiots, crushing on each other in silence. We could have written a really angsty, badly plotted teen drama."

She finally lets out a full laugh, leaning back against the sofa, looking utterly flabbergasted but also… lighter. "This is insane. I can’t believe it." Her eyes are shining, and not just from the wine anymore. "You know," she says, her voice regaining some of its earlier playful lilt, though it’s softer now, more intimate, "I used to get so jealous. Back then. If I saw you talking to… to other girls. Especially if they were, you know, prettier, or cooler." She makes a face, a little embarrassed. "It sounds so silly now, but it was true. I’d be all smiles on the outside, but inside, I’d be like, 'How dare she laugh at his stupid jokes? I’m the one who’s supposed to laugh at his stupid jokes!'"

You reach out, without really thinking, and gently touch her arm. "Hey. It wasn't silly. Or if it was, then I was just as silly."

Her gaze meets yours, and there's a warmth, a connection in that look that feels more real, more profound, than anything you've shared in years. She holds your gaze for a long moment, then a shadow crosses her face, her voice drops again, hesitant. "It’s funny… or, not funny, but… I kind of felt that way again. Recently." She looks down at her lap, tracing patterns on her pants with a fingertip. "When I saw you talking with Ning and the others that day in the lounge."

Your heart clenches. You remember that day, her sudden appearance, the tension.

"You all looked like you were having so much fun," she continues, "And they’re all so… bright, and funny, and talented. And for a second, this stupid thought just popped into my head, like… what if you ditch me for them? What if they’re more entertaining, or cooler to be around now? What if… what if I’m not that interesting anymore, compared to them?" She lets out a little, self-deprecating huff of air. "It sounds even dumber saying it out loud."

You gently cup her chin, tilting her face up so she has to look at you.

"Jimin," you say. "Listen to me. There is no one, no one, who could ever make me ditch you. And there is absolutely no one, not Ning, not Giselle, not Winter, not anyone on this entire planet, who is 'cooler' or 'more entertaining' or 'more interesting' than you are to me." You search her eyes, willing her to believe you. "And no one," you add, "no one makes me feel the way I feel when I’m with you. Not then. And definitely not now."

Her eyes search yours, wide and luminous, and you can see the emotions warring within them: surprise, disbelief, and then, slowly, a dawning, fragile hope. A single tear escapes and traces a path down her cheek, and you reach up, your thumb gently brushing it away, your touch lingering on her soft skin for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

"When… when we met again," she begins, so fragile you have to lean in slightly to catch it. "That day on the street? All those… those old feelings…" She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to her hands, now twisting in her lap. "They just… they came rushing back. All of them. And I thought… I really thought I was over it. Over you." She attempts a small, shaky laugh that doesn't quite land. "So stupid. I’m a grown woman, a K-Pop idol, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t be… I shouldn’t be feeling like a confused teenager all over again just because my childhood crush reappeared."

She tries to continue, her lips parting, but the words seem to catch in her throat. Her brow furrows in frustration, and she shakes her head, a gesture of helpless self-reproach. "I… I can’t even…" Another aborted attempt. She looks up at you, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, a look of utter bewilderment on her face. "I'm sorry," she blurts out. "I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. It must be the wine. It’s making me all… emotional and stupid." She gestures vaguely, a hand fluttering near her chest. "I’m probably ruining everything, aren't I? Just… ignore me. I’m being ridiculous." She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to physically block out her own chaotic emotions.

And in that instant, watching her so raw, so vulnerable, so utterly terrified of her own feelings (feelings that mirror your own chaotic internal landscape so perfectly) something inside you just… snaps. All the overthinking, all the caution, all the years of unspoken longing, converge into a single, undeniable impulse. The wine, the dim lights, the confessions, her tear-streaked face so close to yours… it’s a perfect storm, and you’re right in the eye of it. To hell with professionalism, to hell with the risks, to hell with everything but the raw, undeniable truth thrumming between you.

Before you can second-guess it, before your internal HR department can scream bloody murder, you lean forward and kiss her.

It’s not a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s clumsy, desperate, fueled by years of pent-up emotion and too much wine. Your lips meet hers, and for a split second, she’s completely still, a statue beneath your sudden onslaught. Her eyes fly open, wide and startled, pupils blown huge in the dim light, reflecting a pure, unadulterated shock. You feel the soft, unexpected give of her lips, the faint taste of wine and something uniquely Jimin, a taste you realize, with a jolt, you’ve been subconsciously craving for more than half your life.

For a horrifying moment, you think you’ve made a monumental mistake. Idiot! You absolute, unmitigated idiot! your brain screams. You’ve broken her! You’ve ruined everything! The irony of her exact words now applying to your actions is not lost on you, even in your panic.

But then, just as you’re about to pull away, to stammer out a mortified apology, something shifts. Her eyelids flutter closed. A tiny, almost inaudible sigh escapes her, a breath she seems to have been holding for a lifetime. And then, slowly, tentatively, she gives in. Her lips soften against yours, responding with a hesitant pressure that builds, her body relaxing slightly against the sofa cushions. The kiss deepens, still a little clumsy, still a little desperate, but now with an undeniable mutuality, a shared exploration of a boundary crossed together.

When you finally, breathlessly, pull apart, the silence in the room is deafening. You stare at her, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Her eyes are still closed for a moment, her lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. Then they slowly open, and she just… stares back at you, her expression unreadable, dazed, her lips slightly swollen and glistening. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can only watch her, bracing for the fallout.

And then, her face crumples. Her lower lip trembles, and her carefully constructed composure shatters completely. A choked sob escapes her, and fat, silent tears begin to stream down her cheeks, unheeded. It’s not the reaction you were hoping for. It’s definitely not the reaction you were hoping for.

"Oh, god, Jimin, I…" Panic, cold and sharp, seizes you. You have ruined it. "I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I just… I’m an idiot. Please, don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry." The words tumble out, a frantic, jumbled apology.

She shakes her head, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, though more quickly follow. "No," she whispers. "No, it’s… it’s okay." And then, to your utter astonishment, she launches herself at you, her arms wrapping around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder, her body trembling with silent sobs. You instinctively wrap your arms around her, holding her close, your mind reeling.

"I… I liked it," she mumbles into your shirt, her voice muffled but audible. "I really did." She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a confusing mix of emotions. "It’s just… it’s all… it’s a lot. Everything. All at once. Coming back. I feel… I feel kind of weird." She lets out another shaky laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Overwhelmed, I guess."

Fuck. She liked it. She actually liked it. You haven't irrevocably destroyed your friendship, your job, and your chances of ever experiencing joy again. Small victories. You gently shift on the plush sofa, pulling her more fully into your embrace until she’s settled somewhat in your lap, her side tucked against your chest. It feels incredibly intimate, yet also profoundly comforting. You rest your cheek against the top of her head, her hair soft against your skin, smelling faintly of her shampoo. After a few long minutes, her trembling stops. She lets out a deep, shuddering sigh and slowly lifts her head from your shoulder. Her eyes are still puffy, her cheeks tear-stained, but there’s a new calmness in her expression, a fragile sort of peace. She looks at you, her gaze soft and searching.

Then, a small, watery smile touches her lips. She reaches up, her hand, so small and delicate, coming to rest on your cheek. Her thumb gently strokes your skin.

"You know," she whispers. "for someone who claims to be an idiot…" Her smile widens, a genuine, almost dazzling Jimin-smile breaking through the tear-stained landscape of her face. "You’re not always wrong."

And then, before you can even process that, before you can form a coherent thought or even remember how to breathe properly, she leans in, her eyes fluttering closed, and kisses you.

This time, there’s no surprise, no hesitation. It’s a kiss that is both a question and an answer, a culmination and a beginning. It’s soft, tender, yet filled with an undercurrent of all those years of unspoken feelings, of rediscovered emotions, of the undeniable, terrifying, exhilarating truth that is thrumming between you. It’s a kiss that tastes of wine, and tears, and a hope so potent it makes your head spin.

When she pulls back, her eyes are galaxies, dark and swirling with emotion, a universe you’re only just beginning to navigate. A delighted, slightly breathless giggle escapes her, then you’re laughing too, a shared, giddy sound that bounces off the walls of her apartment.

"Wow," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "This… this really happened, didn't it?" Her eyes search yours, looking for confirmation in a world that suddenly feels wonderfully, terrifyingly new.

"It really, really did," you affirm. The air between you is no longer just charged; it’s practically incandescent, thrumming with a potent energy that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. The earlier nervousness hasn’t vanished, but it’s been transmuted into something else. She leans her forehead against yours for a moment, just breathing, then pulls back slightly, her eyes alight.

Her fingers, still feather-light against your skin, drift down from your jaw to the collar of your shirt. She toys with the fabric, a slow, deliberate movement, her gaze fixed on yours. The city lights outside paint her in hues of gold and shadow, making her look even more ethereal, more achingly beautiful.

"You know," she says, "you haven't, uh… you haven't seen my room yet." Her eyes flick towards a hallway leading off the main living area, then back to yours.

Your own breath hitches. You try to swallow, your throat suddenly dry. "No, I haven't," you manage. You search her eyes, needing to be absolutely sure. "Would you… would you like to show me?"

A slow, devastatingly beautiful smile spreads across her face. It’s a smile of pure, unadulterated desire, mixed with a touch of that endearing shyness that still clings to her, even now. "Yes," she breathes. "Yes, I really would."

That’s all the confirmation you need. In one fluid movement you lean forward, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. You lift her effortlessly from the sofa, her gasp of surprise quickly turning into a delighted laugh as she instinctively wraps her arms around your neck, her legs around your waist. She feels impossibly light, yet incredibly solid in your arms, a perfect, intoxicating weight. And then you’re kissing her again, deeply, hungrily, the earlier tenderness now ignited with a fiercer, more demanding passion.

"Which way?" you murmur against her mouth, your lips still brushing hers.

"That way," she whispers, gesturing with a slight tilt of her head down the hallway, never breaking the kiss, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

You carry her through the apartment, your steps sure and steady despite the roaring in your ears and the way your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest. Each step feels monumental, a journey into uncharted territory. She guides you with soft murmurs and the pressure of her body against yours, her kisses becoming more urgent, more demanding, her breath coming in soft, quick gasps against your skin.

Her bedroom is at the end of the hall. She reaches out a hand, fumbling for the doorknob, then pushes it open. You step inside, and the world seems to tilt again. The room is bathed in a soft, ambient glow from the city outside, filtered through sheer curtains, creating an atmosphere that is both intimate and dreamlike. It’s perfect.

You carry her over to the bed, your lips still locked with hers, a desperate, continuous kiss that speaks of years of unspoken longing. Gently, reverently, you lower her onto the soft duvet, following her down, bracing yourself on your hands on either side of her head. You break the kiss, just for a moment, to gaze down at her. Her eyes are dark and dilated, her lips swollen and flushed from your kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

"God, Jimin," you breathe. You lower your head, burying your face in the soft skin of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling the frantic pulse throbbing beneath your lips. "You are so unbelievably beautiful." You kiss the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder, then trail a line of slow, deliberate kisses up towards her ear. "The most beautiful girl in the world," you whisper, your lips brushing her earlobe. "You always have been. Always."

A soft, shuddering moan escapes her as you continue your exploration, your lips and tongue tracing patterns on her sensitive skin, tasting the salt and sweetness of her. Her breathing becomes more irregular, deeper, her fingers tightening in your hair, her hips starting to shift restlessly beneath you. You feel her arch into your touch, a silent plea for more.

Your hands, which have been resting on the bed beside her, begin their own exploration. They find the hem of her soft, oversized sweater, your fingers brushing against the warm, pale skin of her stomach beneath it. Her skin is like silk, radiating a heat that sets your own nerves on fire. You tug at the sweater gently, slowly, agonizingly, your eyes locked on hers, watching her reaction. Her eyelids are heavy, her lips parted, a look of pure, unadulterated anticipation on her face. With a final, deliberate pull, you slide the sweater up and over her head, tossing it carelessly aside.

And there they are.

Her breasts, even constrained by the delicate lace of her bra, are undeniably magnificent. Full, heavy, spilling slightly from the cups, their pale, creamy expanse a stark, breathtaking contrast to the dark fabric. You can see the gentle slope, the promise of their weight. Your own breath hitches in your throat. This is the reality of Karina, of Jimin, laid bare before you, a sight you’ve only dared to dream of in your most secret, most forbidden fantasies.

You take off your shoes, kicking them aside, never taking your eyes off her. As you reach for the hem of your own shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons in your haste, you see her hands move to her back. With a deft, practiced movement, she unhooks her bra. She holds it in place for a moment longer, her gaze locking with yours, a shy, almost vulnerable smile playing on her lips.

"I… I hope you like them," she whispers.

Then, with a deep breath, she lets the bra fall away.

Your world stops. Absolutely, irrevocably stops. Her breasts are… perfect. More than perfect. They are everything you've ever imagined, and so much more. They are large, gloriously full, spilling into her hands as she cups them for a moment, as if presenting a sacred offering. The skin is so pale it seems almost luminous in the dim light, smooth and flawless, save for the faint blue veins tracing delicate patterns just beneath the surface, hinting at the life and warmth within. Her areolas are a dusky rose, wide and perfectly formed, and at their centers, her nipples, a deeper, more insistent pink, are already hard and erect, puckered tight, practically begging for your touch, for your mouth. They look so incredibly soft, so utterly… juicy, for lack of a better, more reverent word.

You’re mesmerized, completely transfixed, your throat dry, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank save for the overwhelming, primal need to touch, to taste, to worship. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds, you slowly reach out a trembling hand. Your fingers make contact with the warm, yielding softness of her right breast. She gasps softly as you cup its weight, your thumb brushing over the taut, sensitive peak of her nipple. So warm. So unbelievably soft. You gently squeeze, a possessive, reverent pressure, and a low moan rumbles in her chest, vibrating against your palm.

She lies back fully on the bed then, her arms stretching above her head, her body an open, trusting invitation. You quickly shed your shirt, your movements urgent, driven by a desire that is rapidly consuming every last shred of your self-control. You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself above her, your knees on either side of her hips, your gaze still fixed on the breathtaking sight of her bare, beautiful breasts.

And then, you lower your head and take one of those perfect, pink nipples into your mouth.

She cries out, a sharp, breathless sound that is pure, unadulterated pleasure, her back arching off the bed, her fingers digging into your shoulders. Her breast fills your mouth, the taste of her skin, salty and sweet, intoxicating. You suck gently at first, then more strongly, your tongue laving, teasing, drawing the hardened peak deeper. She is melting beneath you, writhing, her hips starting to buck a little, a silent plea for more.

"Oh, god," she gasps. "Yes… fuck, yes… right there… they’re so… so sensitive…" Her words are broken, punctuated by moans and sharp intakes of breath. "Please… don’t stop… keep going… it’s… it’s making me so fucking horny…"

You shift your attention to her other breast, giving it the same devoted worship, laving, sucking, gently nipping, while your hand continues to squeeze and caress the one you just abandoned, ensuring both are bathed in sensation. You can feel the frantic thrumming of her heart against your chest, the heat radiating from her skin, the way her entire body is trembling, on the verge of completely unraveling. You lift your head for a moment, just to look at her, at the sight of her, utterly consumed by lust, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, her beautiful breasts flushed and glistening from your attention. This is Jimin. This is Karina. And she is yours, in this moment, completely and utterly yours to worship, to pleasure, to drive absolutely insane.

You continue your worship of her breasts, alternating between them, lavishing each with an equal, fervent devotion. One hand cradles the breast you’re not currently feasting on, your thumb flicking, teasing the already hard nipple, while your mouth works its magic on its twin. You suck strongly, drawing the peak deep, feeling the responsive tug in her body, the way her hips tilt upwards, seeking a friction that isn’t there yet.

"Fuck, yes," she pants, her fingers still tangled in your hair, now gripping, almost painfully tight, but you welcome the anchor in the storm of sensation you’re both caught in. "They’re so… oh god… so good… your mouth…"

You lift your head for a moment, your lips slick, your gaze devouring the sight of her: her chest flushed a deep rose, her nipples impossibly tight, glistening with your saliva, already looking delightfully, beautifully ravaged.

"Yours are the best, Jimin," you growl. "Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. I could suck on these gorgeous tits all night."

A choked laugh, half sob, half pure ecstasy, bubbles from her throat. "Please do… God, yes… you suck so fucking well…"

You dive back in, attacking her nipples with renewed ferocity, sucking, licking, nipping gently with your teeth, drawing out her moans. You leave your marks, faint red circles blooming on her pale skin where your lips have been. Her breasts are indeed glistening, slick with your drool and her own faint sheen of sweat. She’s thrashing beneath you now, no longer trying to control her reactions, her head tossing from side to side on the pillows, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Each pull of your mouth seems to send shivers racking through her entire frame.

Slowly, reluctantly, you drag your mouth away from her sensitive breasts, leaving them flushed, swollen, and thoroughly worshipped. Her soft whimper of protest is cut short as you begin to trail a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the center of her torso, over the subtle curve of her ribcage, across the quivering expanse of her flat, pale stomach. Each kiss is deliberate, lingering, your tongue flicking out to taste her skin. You feel the muscles in her abdomen clench and flutter beneath your lips.

"Don’t stop," she whispers, her hands now gripping the bedsheets on either side of her. "Please… whatever you’re doing… just… more."

You continue your downward pilgrimage, your lips brushing against the waistband of her lounge pants. They’re soft, loose-fitting, and offer little resistance as your fingers find the drawstring. With a deft tug, you loosen it, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, begin to slide the fabric down her hips, revealing the delicate curve of her hipbone, the smooth, pale skin of her thighs. Your hands skim down her legs, pushing the pants further, until they’re pooled around her ankles. You kick them impatiently off the end of the bed, your gaze fixed on the prize they were concealing.

Her panties. A tiny scrap of pale pink lace, stretched taut across the apex of her thighs, already dark with her wetness. Her thighs, usually so strong and toned from years of dancing, are trembling uncontrollably now, a fine sheen of moisture glistening on their pale inner surfaces. The musky scent of her arousal is stronger here. You can practically feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

"Look at you," you murmur as you trail your fingers along the damp lace, feeling the heat and moisture seeping through. "So wet for me already, aren’t you, babe? Fucking dripping."

A broken sob escapes her. "Yes… oh god, yes… please… I need…" She can’t even finish the sentence, her body arching, her hips instinctively grinding against the mattress.

You pull the panties down, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, revealing her to your hungry gaze.

And she is, as you knew she would be, perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Her shaved pussy is nestled between her thighs, a delicate, swollen mound. The outer lips are plump, flushed a deep, inviting pink, already glistening with her slick, arousal-heavy dew. They part slightly as you watch, revealing the even pinker, more tender flesh within, and the glint of her clit, a tiny, perfect pearl peeking out, already engorged and throbbing. This is the core of her, the secret, hidden place you’ve only ever dreamed of, now laid bare for your worship.

You shift your position, moving from beside her to kneel between her parted thighs. They tremble slightly as you settle there, and she lets out a shaky breath, her eyes, dark and wide, fixed on yours. There’s a beautiful, terrifying vulnerability in her gaze, a silent plea that makes your cock ache with an almost painful intensity. But you’re not going to rush this. Oh no. This moment, this offering, is too precious, too long-awaited. She needs to feel every second of this descent into pleasure, every nuance of her own burgeoning, desperate need. You’re going to make her burn for it. You’re going to make her beg.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Jimin," you murmur. Your gaze drops from her eyes to the glistening treasure nestled between her thighs, then deliberately, slowly, travels to the pale, trembling skin of her inner thigh. "So incredibly, exquisitely responsive."

Instead of diving straight for her pussy, as every instinct screams at you to do, you lean down and press a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin high on her inner left thigh, just inches from that wet, waiting heat. She gasps, her whole body jerking, her thighs instinctively trying to clench together, but you gently hold them apart, your hands firm but gentle on her hips.

"Easy now," you whisper against her skin, your breath hot. "Don't want to miss any of this, do we?"

You trail another kiss, then another, working your way in a slow, agonizing circle around that central, beckoning core, never quite touching it, but always promising it. Your tongue darts out, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin, the faintest hint of her arousal that has already slicked even this far out. With each kiss, each lick against her thigh, you feel her tremors intensify. Her fingers are fisted in the bedsheets, her knuckles white.

"What… what are you doing?" she pants. "Please… you’re… you’re driving me crazy."

"Am I, babe?" you purr, your lips brushing the impossibly soft skin just beside one of her swollen, pink outer lips. You can smell her now, that rich, musky, uniquely feminine scent of pure, unadulterated horniness, and it’s making you lightheaded, drunk on her desire. "Driving you crazy how? Tell me." You dip your tongue out again, this time lapping up a stray droplet of her slick wetness that has trickled onto her thigh. Her taste… fuck, it’s even better than you imagined. Sweet, tangy, utterly addictive. You groan softly into her skin. "Oh, you taste so fucking good right here… just a hint of what’s waiting for me."

"Please…" she begs. "Don’t… don’t tease me like this. I can’t… I can’t take it." Her hips are starting to move now, a small, involuntary rocking motion, trying to seek out the pressure of your mouth.

"Can't take what, Jimin?" you ask. You drag your open mouth slowly up her inner thigh, leaving a wet trail, then switch to the other, lavishing it with the same agonizingly slow attention. You can feel the heat pouring off her in waves. "You need to tell me what you want. Use your words, baby. You want me to stop?" You deliberately pull back a fraction of an inch, letting the cool air hit her heated skin, and she whimpers, a raw, frustrated sound.

"No! No, don’t stop, please, whatever you do, don’t stop," she cries. "I want… I want your mouth. There. Please. I need it. I’m so wet for you, can’t you feel it? Can’t you taste it?" Her words are a torrent now, the carefully constructed composure of Karina completely shattered, leaving only the raw, needy core of Jimin. "I’m aching… I’m fucking aching for your tongue, please… just… just eat me out. Suck my clit. Please, I’m begging you."

Her plea is music to your ears. She’s so close, so desperate. But you’re not quite done with her yet. You want her utterly, completely undone.

"Beg me how, sweet girl?" you murmur, your lips now hovering directly over her glistening, swollen clit, your hot breath fanning the sensitive nub. She gasps, her whole body seizing. "Tell me how badly you need it. Tell me what a good girl you’ll be if I finally give you what you’re craving. Convince me." The strategic irony here is that you're already convinced, already harder than you've ever been in your life, but the game, the sight of her unraveling at your command, It's the best feeling in the world.

"I’ll be so good," she sobs, her thighs trembling violently now, threatening to clamp shut around your head. "So fucking good for you. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please… please put your mouth on me. I’m dying here. I need to feel your tongue… I need you to make me cum… I’m so close… Please, babe, suck me… suck me like you mean it…"

Her words, that broken, desperate plea to be eaten out, are the only permission you need. You lower your head, your hair brushing against the pale skin of her inner thighs, and finally, finally, you give in. You press your mouth fully against her, parting her slick, swollen lips with your own, and your tongue finds her clit. A sound is torn from her throat, a high, sharp keen that’s half shock and half pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her entire body jolts as if struck by lightning, her hips slamming upwards into your face in a single, convulsive movement. The taste of her floods your senses, and it's everything. It’s not just the sweet, tangy flavor of her arousal you'd already sampled from her thighs; it's deeper, muskier, the very essence of her, and it's intoxicating.

You're instantly, hopelessly addicted. You begin slowly, a reverent worship. Your tongue is soft, exploratory, lapping at her gently, learning the landscape of her. You trace the delicate shape of her outer lips, then dip inside to swirl around the plump, sensitive inner folds before focusing on that hardened pearl of her clit.

"Oh, god..." she breathes, her hands flying up to tangle in your hair, not pulling, just holding on as if she might float away. "Yes... that's..."

You hum against her, a low, deep vibration that you feel travel through her entire body. She lets out another soft cry. Her muscles are still coiled with tension, but it's the tension of overwhelming sensation, not desperation. She is melting, and you are the cause.

"Just relax for me, baby," you murmur against her slick flesh. "Just let me taste you. You're so perfect."

You settle in, continuing the slow, deliberate worship. For long minutes, this is all that exists: the sound of your mouth against her, her soft, breathy moans, and the rich, intoxicating taste of her on your tongue. Her hips are no longer bucking but have settled into a slow, swaying rhythm, rocking against your mouth in time with the gentle lapping of your tongue. She has given you control, and you intend to savor it. You can feel the change when her body becomes fully accustomed to the pleasure, when the slow worship is no longer enough. Her gentle sways become more insistent, her breath hitches with a new need, and her fingers tighten in your hair, this time with a subtle, pleading tug. She wants more. And you are going to make her beg for it.

You shift your technique, beginning the torture. You pull your mouth away from her clit, trailing your tongue down along the slick valley between her labia. She whimpers in protest, her hips pushing up, seeking the focused pressure you just denied her.

"Shhh," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to one of her swollen inner lips. "So much to taste here. Can't rush."

You proceed to lavish attention on every other part of her, everywhere but the one place she is dying for you to be. You lick the plump flesh of her lips, suck gently on the inner folds, your tongue darting out to trace the rim of her opening, dipping just the very tip inside before pulling away. With every near-miss, a frustrated cry is torn from her throat.

"Please..." she pants, her hips rocking more frantically now. "Please... you're... you're driving me crazy. My clit... I need you there."

"Here?" you ask. You flick your tongue directly over the sensitive nub one time, fast and hard. She yelps, her whole body convulsing. Then you pull away again, moving to trace lazy circles on the sensitive skin around her. "You liked that, didn't you? Tell me how much you liked it."

"Yes! Fuck, yes, I loved it," she sobs. "Please, do it again. Don't tease me... I can't take it. Just... just suck it, please."

"Beg me," you command softly, your hot breath ghosting over her clit, making her shiver. "Tell me exactly what you want my mouth to do to you. I want to hear how desperate you are for it."

She’s a mess, completely undone by your teasing. "I'm so desperate for you," she cries, her words tumbling over each other. "I need your tongue on my clit. I need you to suck on it, hard. Lick me until I can't think. Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Just go back there. I feel like I'm going to die if you don't."

Her plea is everything you wanted. You slide your mouth back over her, but instead of the hard pressure she's begging for, you give her the opposite. You open your mouth wide, your tongue flat, and you just... lick. Long, slow, deliberate strokes from the base of her mound, up over her clit, all the way to her perineum, and back down again. It’s a broad, wet, agonizingly gentle sensation.

"No..." she groans, a sound of pure frustration. "Harder... please, you have to do it harder."

"I don't have to do anything, baby," you murmur, continuing the slow, torturous laps. "I'm in control here. You'll take it how I give it to you. And right now, I want to feel you squirm."

She thrashes beneath you, so close to the edge but held back by your deliberate restraint. Her nails are digging into your scalp now, not painfully, but with a frantic urgency. It’s time to escalate. It's time to break her completely. While continuing the slow, steady rhythm of your tongue, you slide one hand down between her thighs. Her skin is flushed and hot to the touch. Your fingers find her entrance, already slick and gaping, practically weeping with need. You slide one finger inside her.

She screams, a raw, ragged sound, as the new sensation of being filled sends a fresh shockwave through her system. She’s so tight, so hot, clenching around your finger instantly. You push your finger deeper, feeling the texture of her inner walls, the way she convulses around you.

"That's it, Jimin," you praise, your voice muffled against her. "Take my finger. Feel how wet you are? Fucking dripping for me."

Now you change the rhythm of your tongue, finally giving her the focused attention she craved. You suck her clit into your mouth, your tongue working fast and hard, while your finger inside her establishes a steady in-and-out rhythm. The dual sensations are too much. She is completely lost.

"Fuck! Yes, both..." she gasps. "It's… it's too much… I'm going to…"

You add a second finger, stretching her, filling her more completely. She cries out again, her back arching so high off the bed it's a perfect, strained bow. Her pussy milks your fingers, slick and greedy. You can feel the muscles deep inside her starting to flutter, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is gathering strength.

"You feel that, baby?" you ask, curling your fingers inside her, rubbing them against the nub of her g-spot. "My tongue on your clit, my fingers deep in your cunt. Does that feel good?"

"So good!" she screams. "It feels so fucking good! I'm so close, don't stop, please, please don't stop!"

You are her entire world now. She is aware of nothing but your mouth and your fingers, driving her towards the abyss. You increase the pace of everything. Your tongue is a frantic engine on her clit, sucking, flicking, laving. Your fingers pump in and out of her relentlessly. You can feel the final tension coiling in her body, a string stretched to its breaking point. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and her moans have become a single, continuous, high-pitched keen.

"I'm going to make you come so hard, Jimin," you growl into her. "You're going to scream my name. Get ready."

You feel it start, the first deep, internal clench around your fingers. Her entire body goes rigid.

"I'm cumming! Oh fuck, I'm cumming! I'm cummmmming!"

Her scream is primal as her orgasm rips through her, a violent, world-shattering release. Her body convulses, her hips slamming up against your mouth in a desperate, uncontrollable rhythm. Her juices gush out of her, hot and thick, flooding your mouth with the sweet, musky taste of her release. You swallow greedily, catching every single drop as her body is wracked by wave after wave of intense pleasure. You don't stop your ministrations, gentling your touch now, your tongue soothing her hypersensitive clit, your fingers massaging her inner walls as the aftershocks ripple through her.

Slowly, her body goes limp, collapsing back onto the mattress. She’s trembling from head to toe, her chest rising and falling in deep, ragged pants. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, her face flushed a deep crimson. You finally lift your head, your chin and lips slick with her, and look at the masterpiece of your work.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a stark contrast to the hungry, desperate kisses you shared before. This one is tender. She moans softly into your mouth, and you taste it: the lingering, musky sweetness of her own climax. She tastes it too, a jolt going through her body as she recognizes herself on your tongue. A faint blush rises on her already flushed cheeks, a mix of shy embarrassment and burgeoning arousal.

You pull back just enough to gaze down at her. Her hair is a wild halo around her head, her lips are swollen, her eyes are still dazed and beautifully unfocused. She is the most magnificent thing you have ever seen.

"You look so beautiful like this," you say. "Completely undone for me."

"You're an asshole," she whispers, but there’s no heat in it, only a deep, lingering pleasure. "Don't you ever tease me like that again." As she says it, she shifts, leaning up just enough to press her teeth against the side of your neck in a playful, possessive bite. It’s not hard, just a firm pressure.

You chuckle, then pepper her cheeks with soft kisses. "I'm sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "I couldn't help it." You lean in close, your lips brushing her ear. "Hearing you beg for me, Jimin… hearing you lose control and tell me how much you needed it… it makes me fucking crazy. It’s addictive. I don't think I'll ever get enough of it."

Her breath hitches. Your words, your confession that her submission drives you wild, are exactly what she needs to hear. As you pull back, her eyes, now clear and focused, glitter with a new, dangerous kind of light. Her hand slides from your cheek, down your chest, over your stomach, coming to rest directly on the hard ridge of your cock through the denim of your jeans. Her fingers close around you, a firm, knowing grip that makes you hiss through your teeth. She squeezes, feeling the full, thick length of your cock straining against the fabric.

A slow, devastatingly confident smile spreads across her face. "Addictive, huh?" she purrs, her voice regaining its strength. "I can beg for a lot more than that." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your crotch, then back up, her expression pure, unadulterated hunger. "And right now," she says, her grip tightening, "I really, really want your cock."

Her words are a command and a plea all in one. Without another word, you pull away from her, getting off the bed. Her eyes are wide, tracking your every move as you reach for the button on your jeans. You undo it, the sound loud in the quiet room, then slowly pull down the zipper. You never break eye contact. You hook your thumbs into the waistband and push the jeans down over your hips, kicking them off impatiently.

Now you stand before her in just your dark boxer briefs. The fabric does little to hide the truth, straining to contain the thick, heavy bulge of your erection. You see her eyes fixate on it, her lips parting slightly. A sharp intake of breath is the only sound she makes. She is, as you suspected, absolutely captivated.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. "You wanted this, remember?" you ask. You drag the fabric down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until your cock springs free, heavy and thick in the dim light.

Jimin lets out a long, shuddering sigh. It’s a sound of pure awe. Your cock is fully hard, glistening with a bead of clear, slick precum. It’s big, bigger than she probably imagined, and her eyes trace its length, from the heavy weight of your balls to the thick shaft and the promising, wet tip.

You don't give her too long to just look. You move back to the bed, climbing on and positioning yourself between her parted legs. They tremble slightly as you settle in, her thighs falling open to grant you full access. She's still so beautifully wrecked, so open and waiting for you. You take your cock in your hand, stroking it slowly, the pre-cum making your skin slick. You want her to watch. You want her to see exactly what is about to fill that empty, aching space inside her.

"Wait," you say. The thought hits you, a brief flash of real-world responsibility in this haze of lust. "Condoms. We should..."

"No," she says immediately, her voice firm, cutting you off. She shakes her head, her eyes blazing with a fierce, undeniable need. "No. I don't care about that right now. I need to feel you. All of you. I just want to feel your dick inside me. Now."

You hesitate, searching her face. "Jimin, are you sure?"

"Yes," she moans. Her hips arch off the bed, a desperate, silent invitation. "Please. I'm on birth control. Just… please, I need it. Don't make me wait anymore."

That's all you need. Her certainty, her raw need, erases any doubt. But you’re not going to let her off that easy. The teasing isn't over yet. You lean forward, bracing your hands on either side of her head, and lower your body until the tip of your cock is pressed against her. She gasps as the heat of you makes contact with her slick, swollen folds. She is unbelievably wet, her juices from her earlier orgasm making a perfect lubricant.

"So wet for me," you murmur, grinding the head of your cock against her clit. "You want this cock so badly, don't you?"

"Yes! Please, just put it in," she begs, her hands fisted in the bedsheets.

You ignore her plea, continuing the agonizing tease. You slide the head of your cock up and down her slit, gliding through her slickness, letting her feel your thickness, your hardness, but denying her the entry she craves. With every pass, she whimpers, her body straining, trying to force you inside her.

"Look at you," you whisper. "Trying to impale yourself on my cock. You can't wait, can you?"

"I can't," she sobs. "It feels so good… just the tip… please, I need to feel all of it. I need you to stretch me. Fill me up."

"Then you know what you have to do," you say, pausing your movements, holding the head of your cock right at her entrance, a promise and a threat. "Beg for it. Beg me to fuck your tight, wet pussy. Tell me how much you need this cock inside you."

"Please," she cries. "Please fuck me. I'm begging you. I need your cock. I need it inside my pussy right now. Please, I'll be so good for you, just fuck me!"

Her desperate, broken plea is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. "Good girl," you praise.

And then you give her what she's begged for. You shift your hips, aiming the thick head of your cock at her entrance.

You push.

The feeling is indescribable. You stop, buried deep inside her, and the world just… ceases to exist. There is only this. The sensation is overwhelming, a sensory overload that shorts out every coherent thought in your brain. Her pussy is a revelation. It’s impossibly tight, a velvet clench around your entire length, gripping you with an intimate pressure that’s both demanding and welcoming. It’s slick, her juices coating your cock in a hot, wet sheen that makes every tiny shift an act of pure friction and pleasure. And it’s so, so hot, a deep, internal heat that feels like it’s seeping right into your bones.

Jimin lets out a choked, shuddering gasp, her eyes squeezed shut as her body tries to process the feeling of being so completely and utterly filled like this. Her inner walls pulse and clench around you, an involuntary, welcoming spasm that nearly makes you come right then and there. You have to clench every muscle in your body to hold back.

"Fuck, Jimin..." you groan. "You feel... I don't even have words. You feel so fucking perfect."

"You're so big," she whispers, her voice trembling. Her hands come up to rest on your chest, her fingers pressing into your skin. "You... you fill me up completely. I can feel you all the way inside me."

"I want to feel every inch of you," you say. You begin to move, but not in the hard, fast way you're both craving. Not yet. You pull back, agonizingly slowly, until just the thick head of your cock is inside her. She whimpers, a raw sound of protest at the loss, her hips lifting instinctively to follow you. Then, just as slowly, you push back in, letting her feel the full length of you sliding home once more.

"Oh, god," she moans, her head tossing on the pillows. "That... that feels..."

"I know," you say, continuing the slow, torturous rhythm. In and out. A deep, deliberate friction that is designed to let both of you savor every millimeter of contact. "I want you to feel all of it. Every time I slide into your tight, wet pussy. I want you to remember this feeling forever."

You do this for what feels like an eternity, just fucking her slowly, deeply, letting the tension build to a fever pitch. Her initial awe begins to melt away, replaced by a raw, hungry lust. Her hips are no longer just receiving you; she’s starting to push back, meeting your slow thrusts with an eagerness that makes your blood run hot. She’s ready.

"Okay, baby," you rasp, grabbing her hips firmly, your thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her hipbones. "You wanted this. Now you're going to get it."

You change the rhythm. Your thrusts become hard, deep, and punishing. You slam into her, your cock slapping against her wet folds, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the quiet room. You fuck her with a desperate, pent-up energy, each thrust driving you deeper, stretching her, filling her completely.

And she loves it. She cries out with every powerful slam of your hips, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even deeper. Her head is thrown back, her neck arched, a long, continuous moan spilling from her parted lips. This is what you’ve both been waiting for.

You watch her as you fuck her, your gaze devouring the sight of her. And her breasts… fuck, her breasts are perfect. With every hard thrust, they bounce, a heavy, hypnotic jiggle that mesmerizes you. They are large and full, their weight made obvious by the way they sway and tremble with the force of your fucking. Her nipples, still hard and puckered from your earlier attention, are a deep, flushed pink, pointing right at you as if in offering.

"Look at them," you pant, your voice strained with effort and lust. "Look at your perfect tits bouncing for me. Every time I fuck you."

She glances down, a dazed, lust-filled smile spreading across her face as she watches the motion. "Fuck..." she breathes. "They're… they're so heavy…"

"I love how they move," you say, never breaking your rhythm. "I want to see them bounce harder."

You increase your pace, pounding into her with a relentless, frantic energy. You’re lost in it now, lost in the feeling of her tight, wet heat, the sight of her beautiful body taking you, the sound of her cries filling the air.

"More!" she screams. "Please, don't stop! Fuck me harder! I need it harder!"

"Like this, baby?" you growl, slamming into her with as much force as you can muster. "You want your pussy fucked like this?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes!" she cries, her nails digging into your back, leaving fiery trails on your skin. "Your cock… it feels so fucking good inside me! It's hitting everything! Please… don't ever stop!"

You are both drenched in sweat, your bodies slick, moving together as one. You lean down, fucking her senseless, and she is taking every inch, begging for more. You press her deeper into the soft mattress, your combined weight creating a perfect hollow of heat and friction. You are buried inside her, a seamless join of wet, hot flesh, and yet you crave more. You need to consume her, to taste her, to feel her surrender in every way possible. You capture her lips, crashing your mouth against hers again. It’s not a tender kiss; it’s a rough, hungry claiming. It’s the kiss of two people who have starved for years and just found a feast.

She kisses you back with an equal, startling fervor. This isn’t a passive acceptance; it’s a demand. Her tongue pushes against yours, her hands leaving your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your mouth harder against hers. You are both lost in it, fucking and kissing, a closed circuit of overwhelming sensation. The deep, rhythmic plunge of your cock into her pussy is punctuated by the wet slap of your mouths, the soft, desperate moans she makes when you deepen the kiss, the guttural groans you can’t hold back when she sucks your tongue into her mouth. It’s filthy, it’s perfect, and it’s driving you both insane.

But it’s still not enough. You break the kiss, leaving her panting and breathless, her lips swollen and glistening. You look down at her, at the magnificent sight of her breasts, flushed and trembling with each powerful thrust of your hips. You need to taste them again. While maintaining the relentless, pounding rhythm of your fucking, you lower your head. Her skin is slick with a fine sheen of sweat, and it tastes salty and sweet as you lick a path from her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts.

"God, you're so beautiful," you rasp, your lips moving against her skin. "So fucking perfect."

You reach the peak of her right breast and take the nipple into your mouth. She screams, a high, sharp sound of pure ecstasy. The dual stimulation; the deep, stretching fullness of your cock filling her pussy while your mouth works its magic on her sensitive nipple: is too much for her nervous system to handle. Her back arches violently off the bed, trying to push herself deeper onto your cock and, somehow, press her breast harder into your mouth at the same time. You suck strongly, laving the hardened peak with your tongue, nipping gently with your teeth. Her moans change, deepening from pleasured cries into long, keening wails.

"Fuck! Oh, fuck, yes!" she gashes. "That… your mouth… while you're… inside me… it's too much! I can't…"

You switch to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, refusing to let either feel neglected. You feel the frantic thrumming of her heart against your chest, the way her entire body is trembling on the verge of completely unraveling. You continue to fuck her hard and fast, your hips a relentless engine of pleasure, your mouth a vortex of sensation on her breast. She is being attacked from all sides, besieged by a pleasure so intense it’s a breath away from pain.

"Please," she sobs. "Please, I need to… I need to cum. You have to let me."

You lift your head from her breast, your lips slick, and look her in the eyes. Her gaze is wild, unfocused, pupils blown wide. "You want to cum for me, baby?" you ask, not slowing your pace for a second. You drive into her, hard, and she cries out. "You want to feel my cock deep inside your pussy when you come?"

"Yes! Yes, please, I'm begging you!" she cries, her hips bucking wildly, trying to match your frantic rhythm. "I can't hold on anymore. It's so good… it's too good. Please, make me cum. Fuck me until I cum."

This is it. This is the surrender you crave, the sound you are addicted to. Her begging is the sweetest music you’ve ever heard. You lean in close, your mouth right next to her ear, your hot breath ghosting over her skin. You can feel the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.

"You're so close, aren't you?" you whisper. You feel her shiver violently. "I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock. It's getting tighter. You're about to fall apart for me."

"I am," she whimpers, turning her head, trying to capture your mouth with hers, but you deny her, wanting her to focus on your words, on your cock filling her. "Please… let me. Let me go."

"Then go," you command, grabbing her hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle, driving your cock into a spot deep inside her that makes her see stars. She lets out a sound you’ve never heard before, a raw, animalistic cry of pure sensation. "Let go for me, Jimin. Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my cock. I want to feel your pussy milk me while you scream my name. Cum for me now!"

The command, the raw filth of your words, combined with the relentless, punishing fucking, is what finally does it. You feel the first tremor deep inside her, the unmistakable sign that she's tipping over the edge.

"I'm gonna cum!” she screams, the sound exploding right next to your ear, a hot, vibrating wave of pure ecstasy. "OH FUCK, I’M CUMMING!!”

Her orgasm is a violent, beautiful storm. Her body convulses around you, her inner walls clenching and pulsing on your cock in a frantic, unstoppable rhythm. She throws her head back and screams, a long, ragged sound of pure, untethered release. Her hips slam against you, no longer in rhythm, just wild, spasmodic movements as the pleasure rips through her. You don't stop fucking her; you match her intensity, pounding into her as she comes, driving her deeper into her climax. You feel her hot juices flood her cunt, coating your cock in her release.

After what feels like an eternity, the violent convulsions begin to subside, replaced by deep, shuddering tremors. She collapses back onto the mattress, completely spent, a string of breathless, broken sobs escaping her lips. You slow your thrusts, moving in and out of her gently now, letting her ride the last waves of her pleasure. You pull out slowly, your cock slick and dripping with her essence, and collapse beside her, pulling her sweat-drenched body against yours. You are both trembling, both breathless, both utterly, completely undone.

You hold her, your bodies slick with sweat, tangled together in the rumpled sheets. You can feel the frantic, rabbit-fast beat of her heart starting to slow against your chest, her ragged pants gradually deepening into something more controlled. For a long moment, you just lie there, listening to the sound of your own breathing mingling with hers, feeling the aftershocks of her powerful orgasm tremble through her body. You press a soft kiss to her damp forehead, your thumb gently stroking her back.

After a few minutes, she stirs, letting out a long, contented sigh. She lifts her head from your chest, her hair a wild, beautiful mess, her face flushed and glowing.

"Hey," you whisper. "How are you feeling?"

She looks at you, her eyes still a little dazed, but shining with a bright, clear light. A slow, languid smile spreads across her face. "Great," she pants, the word a soft puff of air. She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "No, that's… that's not the right word." She shakes her head, as if searching for a better one. "I've never… ever felt that good in my entire life. I feel… obliterated. In the best possible way." She reaches out, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You made me cum so hard. I think my soul left my body for a minute."

"Good. That's what I was going for." You love seeing her like this, so completely sated, so open and unguarded. "So, I guess that answers my next question," you tease, your hand sliding down her back to cup her ass, squeezing gently. "Or do you think you can take any more?"

You expect her to laugh, to say she needs a break, to maybe curl up and fall asleep. But the look in her eye changes.

"More?" she says. She lets out a soft, throaty laugh. "Of course I can."

Before you can react, she moves with a sudden, surprising strength. She grabs your shoulders, pushing you firmly onto your back. You go willingly, sinking into the mattress, intrigued by this sudden shift in energy. She straddles your chest, her knees on either side of your head, and leans down, her face just inches from yours.

"But," she whispers, her hair falling around you like a dark curtain, "it's my turn now."

She pulls you up by your hands, maneuvering you until you're sitting up, then pushes you back down again until you're lying flat on your back in the center of the bed. She crawls over you, her movements fluid and deliberate. She settles over your hips, straddling you, her knees planted firmly on the mattress on either side of your body. The view is breathtaking. You look up at her, at the perfect, heavy swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, her pink, swollen pussy still slick with her juices.

She reaches down, her fingers wrapping around your still-hard cock. You hiss as her cool fingers touch your hot, sensitive skin. She strokes you slowly, once, twice, watching your reaction, her eyes glittering with newfound power.

"You liked making me beg, didn't you?" she asks. "You liked hearing how much I needed you." She leans down, her lips brushing against yours. "Well, now it's your turn to feel what it's like. To just lie there and take it."

She positions herself, guiding the thick, slick head of your cock to her entrance. You can see the muscles in her thighs tense as she prepares to take you. She lowers herself with agonizing slowness, her eyes locked on yours. You watch her face as she takes you in, her expression a mixture of intense concentration and dawning pleasure. Her lips part, a soft hiss escaping as the head of your cock slides past her wet folds. She sinks down, inch by excruciating inch, her tight, hot pussy swallowing you whole.

The feeling of her taking you, of her being in complete control, is a whole new kind of ecstasy. When she has taken your entire length, she sits still for a moment, letting you both get used to the feeling of being joined again in this new configuration.

Then, she begins to move. It’s not the hard, frantic fucking from before. This is different. This is pure, sensual control. She starts with a slow, deep grind, her hips rolling in a lazy, circular motion. You groan, your hands coming up to grip her hips, but she just smiles, placing her hands on top of yours, stilling them. "No," she whispers. "My turn, remember? Just lie back and enjoy the ride."

She moves with an innate, hypnotic rhythm, her hips swaying, rotating, grinding your cock against all of her most sensitive inner walls. You can do nothing but lie there, completely at her mercy, as she plays your body like an instrument. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her breasts dangling just inches from your face. She picks up the pace slightly, her slow grinds transitioning into a steady, sensual bounce. She rises up on your shaft, then sinks back down, her movements fluid and graceful. With every downward slide, she lets out a soft, contented sigh, her head falling back, her eyes closing in bliss. This is Jimin in her element, a performer, a dancer, and right now, you are her stage, and she is giving the performance of a lifetime, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, grinding your cock against her deepest, most sensitive walls.

Each rotation sends a wave of exquisite friction through you, a pleasure so profound it’s almost agonizing. You can do nothing but lie there, a willing captive to her rhythm, your hands gripping the sheets at your sides to keep from grabbing her, from disrupting the perfect, hypnotic control she has established. Her head is thrown back, her eyes closed, a single, continuous, breathy moan spilling from her lips. She is completely lost in the sensation of filling herself with you, of being in total command.

It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever witnessed. The soft light from the window traces the elegant curve of her spine, the subtle flex of the muscles in her back and stomach as she moves. Her breasts, full and heavy, sway with each languid motion, their own mesmerizing dance. You watch, transfixed, as she smiles, a slow, secret smile of pure, selfish pleasure.

You can’t resist any longer. Your hands leave the sheets and come up to her, not to her hips to control her, but to her breasts. You cup their weight, your thumbs finding her still-puckered nipples. Her flesh is soft and warm, yielding to your touch. You squeeze gently, and her eyes fly open, locking with yours. Her moan deepens, becoming a throaty, guttural sound, and her hips grind down on you harder, a clear, unmistakable response. She likes it. She likes you touching her, worshiping her, even as she controls the fucking.

You continue to knead her breasts gently as she rides you, your thumbs flicking over her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through her that you can feel in the way her pussy clenches around your cock. The combination of watching her, touching her, and feeling her move on you is an intoxicating cocktail of sensations.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, bringing her face close to yours. Her eyes are dark, swirling with a mixture of lust, power, and something else, something playful.

"Have you ever," she whispers as she continues her slow, steady bounce on your cock, "imagined this? Fucking a K-Pop idol? Having Karina from Aespa ride your dick like this?"

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound half disbelief, half pure awe. "Never," you say. "Not in my wildest, most fucked-up dreams, Jimin. I never thought I'd even speak to you again, let alone… this." You gesture vaguely to the impossible reality of your bodies being joined. "This is… beyond anything I could have ever imagined." You reach up, your hand leaving her breast to cup her cheek. "You are so unbelievably beautiful right now. On top of me. Taking my cock. I can't… I can't even process how beautiful you are."

She leans into your touch, her hips never ceasing their hypnotic, sensual movement.

"I think…" she says, so soft you have to strain to hear it over the wet sounds of your fucking. "I think this is where I belong." She searches your eyes, a desperate need for validation in her gaze. "On your cock. Like this. It feels… right."

"You do," you say. "You're right. This is exactly where you belong, Jimin. You're mine."

Your words are the final permission she needs. It’s as if you’ve unlocked the last cage, unleashing the wild, untamed creature she keeps hidden from the world. The shift is instantaneous. The slow, sensual grind vanishes. She picks up the pace, her hips slamming down on your cock with a force that drives you deep into the mattress. She starts riding you with a frantic, desperate energy, no longer teasing or exploring, but fucking. She is fucking you with everything she has.

Her hair whips around her face, her body is drenched in sweat, and a stream of filthy, broken moans pours from her lips. She moves with a startling, intuitive skill, her hips tilting, rotating, grinding in a way that she knows, that her body inherently understands, will maximize your pleasure. She’s hitting hard with every downward slam, dragging the head of your cock along all the right walls. Her breasts are no longer swaying gently; they are bouncing wildly, a beautiful, chaotic jiggle that mirrors the abandoned rhythm of her hips. You are completely at her mercy, pinned beneath her, as she rides you with a single-minded goal: to drive you absolutely insane.

"Fuck, you're so hot," she pants. "Your body… I can't believe this is real. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, that I'm riding you." She shakes her head, a look of genuine, wondrous disbelief on her face. "I feel like I'm going to wake up."

You want to anchor her to this reality, to prove to her that this is not a dream. You lift your hands from her tits and reach for hers, the one still braced on your chest and the other tangled in the sheets beside you. You capture them, your fingers intertwining with hers, your grip firm and steady. She gasps, her eyes locking with yours. You squeeze her hands, a silent message passing between you. I'm real. This is real. We are real.

The gesture works. A new wave of confidence washes over her, the last vestiges of her disbelief burned away by the simple, grounding touch of your hands locked with hers. A fierce, determined look enters her eyes. She picks up the pace again, her bounces becoming higher, harder, each downward slam of her hips punctuated by a shared grunt of effort and pleasure. You can feel the tension coiling in your own body, the familiar pressure building deep in your balls. You’re getting close, and she can feel it too. The way your hips have started to buck up to meet her thrusts, the way your breath is catching in your throat—she knows.

She leans down, her face close to yours, her expression a perfect mixture of seductive confidence and genuine curiosity. "You're close, aren't you?" she asks. "I can feel you twitching inside me. You're going to come for me soon." She grinds her hips down, a slow, deliberate circle that makes you groan her name. "Tell me where you want it. Where do you want to cum?"

The question is so direct, so filthy, so utterly her in this new, empowered state, that a raw laugh escapes you. "Guess," you manage to rasp.

A wicked, knowing giggle bubbles from her lips. She doesn't even have to think about it. "On my breasts," she says immediately, full of certainty. "You want to cover my tits with your cum, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" you ask, your hips thrusting up involuntarily.

"A little," she teases, a wide, beautiful smile lighting up her face. "You're such a pervert."

"Can you blame me?" you groan, your gaze dropping to her magnificent, bouncing breasts. "They're perfect. I've been thinking about doing this since the moment you took off your sweater."

"I know," she says, and the way she says it, so full of pride and satisfaction, makes your cock throb inside her. "They're all yours." She leans in again. "But you have to make a good mess. I want you to cover them completely. Get them all sticky and hot with your cum. Promise me."

"Fuck, Jimin," you gasp, your body trembling. "Don't say things like that unless you mean it."

"Oh, I mean it," she says, her hips beginning to move in a final, frantic assault. She’s bouncing on your cock with a wild, desperate energy, trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from you. "I want it all. I want you to empty your balls for me. Cum for me, baby. Come on my tits now!"

"I'm going to!" you shout, the words ripped from you. "Karina, I'm going to cum!"

Without a word, she breaks the connection, sliding her body off your cock with a wet, sucking sound that echoes the hollowness you now feel. Before you can even question it, she moves with a dancer's deliberate grace, crawling to the edge of the bed and sinking to her knees on the soft rug below. She looks up at you from the floor.

You follow her lead, your mind reeling, your body acting on pure instinct. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand before her. The world has tilted on its axis. The sight of Jimin, your childhood best friend, Karina, a global icon, the woman whose face adorns billboards and magazines, kneeling at your feet is so surreal, so intensely erotic, it feels like a fever dream. Her hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders, her face is flushed with exertion, her lips are swollen and parted, and her eyes… her eyes are fixed on your cock with a look of devotional worship.

She is waiting.

You take your cock in your hand, the skin slick with her juices and your own precum. The head is swollen, twitching with need. You start stroking yourself, a slow, steady rhythm, your gaze locked with hers. You want her to watch. You want to see her expression as you bring yourself to the edge for her.

Your hand moves on your cock, a slick, frantic motion, but it's almost unnecessary. Her gaze, her posture, her very existence in this moment is all the stimulation you need. She squeezes her breasts together, pushing them up, the pale, heavy flesh forming a perfect canvas, a perfect target. The nipples are hard, dark points in the soft mounds, practically begging to be decorated.

"Please," she whimpers. "Look at them. They're waiting for you. I want to feel your hot cum all over them. I need it. Please, baby, give it to me. Drench me." She shifts on her knees, her eyes wide and pleading. "I want to be your good, filthy whore. I want you to paint my tits."

Her words are a lit match to a barrel of gasoline. A deep, primal roar tears itself from your throat, a sound of pure, untethered release. Your hips snap forward, your eyes roll back into your head, and the world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot flash of sensation.

"Fuck! Jimin!" you scream as the first torrent of your orgasm erupts from the tip of your cock.

It's a powerful, shockingly thick shot that arcs through the air with surprising force, splattering directly in the center of her chest, in the deep valley created by her hands squeezing her breasts together. A thick, pearlescent glob lands with an audible smack against her hot skin.

She gasps, a sharp, shuddering intake of breath, her whole body jolting as if you’d touched her with a live wire. "Yes!" she cries out, her eyes fluttering shut. "Oh god, it's so hot... so warm..."

But you're just getting started. Your body is a machine now, completely outside of your conscious control. You grip your cock, your knuckles white, and with another guttural groan, a second, then a third powerful spurt are unleashed. These ones are ropes, thick and heavy, that land higher, one splattering across her right breast, covering the dark, puckered areola completely, the other hitting her delicate collarbone and starting to drip slowly down her neck.

"More!" she pants, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensation of being covered by you. "Give me all of it! Don't hold back!"

You obey her command, your hips continuing their involuntary bucking motion. Spurt after spurt flies from you, a relentless, massive load that you didn't even know you were holding. You paint her with your release, a chaotic, beautiful masterpiece of pure lust. A thick shot coats her left breast, another lands on her shoulder. You see a long, thick strand connect from your cock to her chin for a split second before it falls, adding to the growing mess on her chest. She is taking it all, not flinching, not shying away, only sighing and shivering as each hot, wet impact makes contact with her skin.

Even as the initial, powerful torrents begin to subside, you don't stop. You wrap your hand firmly around the base of your shaft and start to stroke, determined to give her everything. "Every last drop is for you, Jimin," you manage to gasp out. You milk your cock, forcing out the last, thickest globs of your semen, adding them to the already considerable mess. Your cum is everywhere. It’s pooled in the hollow of her throat, it’s dripping in thick, slow trails between and under her breasts, it has completely coated her chest and neck in a sticky, glistening layer.

Finally, your orgasm spends itself completely. You sway on your feet, your knees weak, your body utterly drained. You stare down at the scene, your breathing coming in ragged, harsh pants.

Karina stays kneeling for a long moment, her chest rising and falling heavily beneath the cooling, sticky evidence of your pleasure. Then, slowly, she opens her eyes. She looks down at herself, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on her face.

"Wow," she whispers. She looks up at you, her eyes shining. "Look what you did to me. You came so much."

Then, she does something that makes your already overloaded brain short-circuit again. She dips the index finger of her right hand into the thickest pool of your cum between her breasts. She lifts it, watching the thick, white strand stretch and then snap. A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her face. She uses her finger to swirl the cum around, drawing lazy circles and patterns on her own skin.

"It's so sticky," she says with a giggle, completely devoid of shame, full of nothing but a raw, playful joy. She dips the fingers of her other hand in, spreading the mess further, connecting the splatters, ensuring every inch of her chest and the full, heavy curves of her breasts are coated in a uniform, glistening layer of you. "Am I pretty like this?" she asks, looking up at you through her lashes, her face a picture of filthy innocence. "All covered in your hot cum?"

You can only nod, completely speechless.

She sees your state and her smile widens. She leans forward, takes the now-sensitive, post-orgasm head of your cock into her mouth, and gently, reverently, sucks you clean. Her tongue is soft and methodical, a soothing, incredible sensation that makes your knees threaten to buckle.

When she's done, she pulls back and looks up at you again, her own masterpiece complete. "All clean," she says softly. She gestures down at her chest. "All of it is on me now. Just like I wanted."

You finally find your voice. "You're… perfect," you say. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

You sink to your knees in front of her, your strength completely gone. You cup her face, your thumbs wiping away a stray drip of your own cum from her chin. You look at her, this incredible woman, your childhood friend, your idol, your lover, covered in your filth at her own request. And then you kiss her, a deep, soul-searing kiss that tastes of salt, and sweat, and sex.

—

You crack an eye open, the morning light filtering through a gap in Jimin’s bedroom curtains, painting stripes across the far wall. The space beside you in the massive bed is empty, though the sheets are still rumpled, still faintly radiating her warmth and her unique, intoxicating scent. You’re sprawled on your stomach, clad only in your boxer briefs. You push yourself up, wincing slightly as your muscles protest, and swing your legs over the side of the bed.

The apartment is quiet, save for the distant, comforting clatter of something in the kitchen. Coffee. The thought alone is enough to make you move. You pad out of the bedroom, your bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor, still feeling the pleasant, lingering ache in your groin, a happy souvenir from the night’s activities.

And there she is.

Jimin is standing at the kitchen counter, her back to you, humming softly to herself as she expertly works her fancy espresso machine. And she’s wearing your shirt. Your button-down from last night, the one you’d discarded so carelessly on her bedroom floor. It’s ridiculously oversized on her frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times, the hem falling to her mid-thighs, offering tantalizing glimpses of her long, pale legs. Her hair is piled on top of her head in another one of those effortlessly perfect messy buns, a few errant strands escaping to kiss the nape of her neck.

It’s such an incredibly domestic scene, but the irony isn't lost on you: one minute she’s a K-pop idol, the next she’s your childhood crush confessing feelings, then she’s a screaming, cum-covered goddess, and now… now she’s just Jimin, making coffee in your shirt in her sun-drenched kitchen. Your head is still trying to catch up with the whiplash.

You lean against the doorframe just watching her for a moment. She moves with an easy grace, even when she’s just reaching for a mug, a quiet confidence in her posture that wasn’t there when you first reconnected. She turns then, two steaming mugs in her hands, and her own smile, soft and a little shy, blooms when she sees you.

"Oh, good morning," a slight blush creeps up her cheeks, but her eyes are warm. "I wasn’t sure when you’d surface. Or if you’d even remember where you were."

"Morning," you reply, your own speech still a little rough from sleep. You push off the doorframe and walk towards her, your gaze lingering on the way your shirt drapes over her. "And trust me, last night is pretty… unforgettable. Slept like a fucking log, though. Best sleep I’ve had in ages."

"Me too," she admits, her blush deepening slightly as she hands you one of the mugs. The rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills your senses, a welcome antidote to the lingering haze of your hangover. "Black, two sugars, right? Or has your sophisticated palate evolved since our high school instant coffee days?"

You chuckle, taking a grateful sip. Perfect. "Still remember, huh? Impressive. And no, some things are sacred. This is… this is exactly what I needed." You take another long, appreciative gulp. "So, are you feeling the after-effects of that wine as much as I am?" you ask, gesturing vaguely to your head. "My skull feels like it's been crushed by a baseball bat."

She laughs, a light, airy sound. "Tell me about it. Definitely a two-aspirin, one-gallon-of-water kind of morning for me too." She sips her own coffee, her eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug, a comfortable, knowing silence settling between you for a moment. "So," she begins, her gaze dropping to her mug for a second before returning to yours, a hint of that earlier vulnerability creeping back in. "Last night… that was… " She trails off, searching for the words.

"Amazing," you supply, your own words soft but firm, leaving no room for doubt. "It was fucking amazing, Jimin. All of it."

A relieved, almost dazzling smile breaks across her face. "Yeah," she breathes, her shoulders relaxing visibly. "Yeah, it really, really was." She takes another sip of coffee, then, almost as if she can’t help herself, she adds, "You… you really know how to make a girl feel good. Like, really good."

"Just returning the favor," you say, a teasing glint in your eyes. "You weren't exactly holding back yourself." The memory of her, riding you with such wild abandon, her cries echoing in the room, makes a heat rise through your body, making your cock give a responsive throb in your boxers. You discreetly shift your weight. This domestic morning-after scene is lovely, but your body clearly hasn't forgotten the main event.

A comfortable lull settles as you both sip your coffee, the shared memories of the night before a warm, unspoken presence. But then, you see a flicker of something in Jimin’s eyes, a subtle shift in her expression. She sets her mug down on the counter, her fingers tracing the rim. The tension, which had dissipated, slowly begins to creep back into the room. Here it comes. The inevitable "what now?"

"So…" she begins, her gaze fixed on her coffee cup, her words careful, almost tentative. "What… what happens now? With us?" She finally looks up at you, her eyes wide and searching. "Was last night just… you know… a one-time thing? Because of the wine, and the confessions, and… everything?"

You set your own mug down, your heart giving a familiar, uncomfortable thump.

This is it. The moment of truth.

"A one-time thing?" you repeat. You let out a short, humorless chuckle, running a hand through your already messy hair. "Jimin, after last night… after you… do you honestly think I could just… walk away from that? Pretend it didn't happen?" You meet her gaze, your own expression deadly serious now. "I really, really like you. More than like you, if I’m being completely honest. And… and I don’t think I can be the same around you anymore. Not after yesterday." You take a deep breath. "I think… fuck, I know… I need you. Like it’s oxygen. And that terrifies the absolute shit out of me, but it’s the goddamn truth."

The silence that follows is deafening. For a heart-stopping moment, you think you’ve said too much, gone too far, laid yourself too bare.

Then, slowly, miraculously, a smile begins to spread across her face. It’s not just any smile. It’s a Jimin-smile, a radiant, all-encompassing beam of pure, unadulterated happiness that lights up her entire being, that chases away every last shadow of doubt and fear in the room. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Without a word, she pushes herself off the counter, closes the small distance between you in two quick steps, and then her arms are around your neck, her body pressing against yours, and she’s kissing you. It’s a kiss that tastes of coffee, and relief. It’s a kiss that seals the deal, a kiss that says everything you both needed to hear. And as you kiss her back, your own arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, feeling the soft warmth of her body clad only in your shirt against your bare chest, You suddenly remember that Jimin, your Jimin, is no longer just yours, is no longer just Jimin, your dork childhood friend.

You pull back slightly, your gaze searching hers. "Jimin," you begin, "this is… this is incredible. You’re incredible. Last night was… beyond anything." Her smile softens, her eyes shining with affection, but you press on. "But… what the hell do we do now? I meant what I said, about needing you, about all of it. But us… like this…" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, encompassing the intimacy, the secret now hanging palpably in the air of her sunlit kitchen. "You know what your life is like. The spotlight, the fans, the company… SM isn’t exactly known for its progressive stance on its idols having, well, this." Your irony here is bitter, a defense mechanism against the very real fear clenching your heart. "This could be… dangerous for you. For your career. I don’t want to be the one who…"

Jimin’s fingers gently press against your lips, silencing you. Her expression is soft, understanding, but there’s a new firmness there too, a resolute calm that wasn’t present during her earlier, more vulnerable moments.

"Shhh," she murmurs, her thumb brushing your lower lip. "Don't. Don't do that. Don't spiral." She leans in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to your mouth, then another to your cheek, then your forehead. Her touch is like a balm, soothing the sharp edges of your anxiety. "I know all of that. Believe me, I live it every single day. But right now," she continues, her eyes holding yours, clear and unwavering, "right now, I don’t want to think about any of it. Not SM, not the fans, not the potential fallout. Not yet."

She pulls back just enough to look you squarely in the eyes, her hands now resting on your shoulders. "What happened last night, what’s happening right now," she says, "this is real. And it’s ours." Her lips curve into a small, almost conspiratorial smile. "No one needs to know about this. Not now, anyway. It’ll be our secret, okay? Just for us."

Her words, her confidence, the delicious, illicit thrill of a shared secret with her: it’s an intoxicating, dangerous combination.

"Our secret, huh?" you echo, an eyebrow quirking upwards. "You know, that’s… that’s actually kind of fucking sexy, Jimin. The danger of it all… it’s a little exciting, isn't it?" You can't help the way your own words deepen, the way your gaze drops to her lips.

She lets out a delighted, throaty chuckle. "See? I knew you’d get it." She leans in again, her lips brushing yours, a silent promise of more to come. "Danger is always more exciting." Her breath is warm against your skin, her proximity reigniting the embers of last night’s events.

Between feather-light kisses that dance along your jawline, your neck, she murmurs, "But, speaking of not wanting things to get… complicated… or, you know, result in tiny, K-pop-superstar-related accidents…" She pulls back slightly, her expression turning a little more practical, though the sultry glint in her eyes remains. "I think it might be a very, very good idea for you to acquire some condoms. Like, a lot of them. A truly impressive, perhaps even alarming, quantity." A playful smirk dances on her lips. "We can’t exactly keep pushing our luck like last night, as… memorable as it was."

"Duly noted. I’ll arrange for a strategic acquisition of latex-based defenses. Consider me on a mission."

"Good," she purrs, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your mouth. Then, her hand, which had been resting on your shoulder, slides down your chest, a slow, deliberate trail of fire, down, down, until it reaches the front of your boxer briefs. Her fingers close around your already-hardening cock, her touch light but possessive, sending a jolt straight through you. You gasp, your hips giving an involuntary twitch.

She looks up at you through her lashes, her smile turning wicked, utterly predatory. "Because," she whispers, her breath hot against your lips, her fingers giving you a slow, deliberate squeeze that makes your knees weak, "while we wait for those… reinforcements… there is something I can do for you right now. Something that definitely doesn't require a condom."

And with a final, devastatingly innocent flutter of her eyelashes, she slides from your embrace, her hand never leaving your groin, and slowly, gracefully, sinks to her knees on the kitchen floor in front of you. The morning, it seems, is far from over.

In fact, this is just the beginning.

#karina x reader #karina aespa #aespa karina smut #karina smut #aespa karina #aespa karina x reader #yoo jimin #yoo jimin smut #kpop smut #kpop m!reader #m!reader #kpop male reader #kpop male oc #gg smut #kpop gg smut #Aespa #aespa smut

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jupiterpilgrim · 1 month ago

Note

Sovereign Desires. There's already quite a few pieces i read that easily comes into mind as hottest fics this year, this easily goes into that category as well.

The fact that THE Top 4 are in it alone is already a huge win for whoever reading it. Let alone you depict all of them oh so well, and most definetly love how they treated us readers like that, just looked down as nothing but an object, something about it just makes the whole thing even hotter. The action don't need too much to say, just nonstop amazing filth all the way through and really loves everytime writers kept everyone actively involved one way or another, and man do i love those little GxG scenes as well throughout the way.

Conclusion. Hot as fuck. You put the top 4 and did all of them absolute justice with just how ridiculously hot this was. Just well done Juju as damn always 🫡

Thank you so much for your comment, Shin. As always, gracing us with your detailed reviews. Glad you enjoyed it. It was undeniably one of the most fun fics I’ve worked on recently; dom idols are simply something else, not much to say, it’s just hot. I tried to keep everything dynamic and engaging, giving each idol their share to make the fic kinkier, plus Wony as the puppet master keeping everyone on the same obscene wavelength the whole time, and, of course, degrading and arousing for the reader, as it should be

Thanks for reading, Shin, you’re the best 🙂‍↕️

#asks #ask #ask me anything

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jupiterpilgrim · 1 month ago

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im sorry, was the many faces of winter II postponed or something? i can’t help but find myself looking through your blog for it

Update: the chapter is already finished!! Right now I'm working on editing and reviewing some points. It might still take a while because it's a pretty long chapter (which is a good thing, I hope), but yeah, it's almost there 🙏

#asks #ask #ask me anything

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jupiterpilgrim · 2 months ago

Text

Sovereign Desires

Wonyoung x Karina x Yuna x Sullyoon x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

Boredom doesn't seem to go away in the office. You think that one day you will get used to it, that day never comes. Slumped in your ergonomic chair, pretending to analyze quarterly reports while actually doomscrolling through an endless feed, you would give anything to shake things up in your life right now. Another Tuesday, another slow march towards the sweet release of 5 PM. Then your phone, lying screen-down on the desk amidst coffee rings and scattered pens, buzzes.

You barely register it. Probably just another Slack notification from accounting about the missing TPS reports, or a group chat exploding with irrelevant memes. You sigh, ready to silence it without looking.

But when you flip it over, it's not from accounting.

It's a DM.

There's a name.

And holy shit, not just any name. It's Karina. Yeah, the Karina. From Aespa. Except the contact isn't her stage name. It's the one you punched in years ago, still stubbornly saved under her actual name: Jimin. That old, familiar ache, that weird nostalgic flutter, tightens in your chest. Suddenly, you're not staring at sales projections; you're seventeen again, a sweaty, nervous wreck on some sun-baked summer sidewalk, every fiber of your being screaming just kiss her, you idiot, just do it, while you probably mumble something about the weather.

You blink, hard, because this makes zero sense. You haven't spoken to her for years. And the way it ended… a full-on, no-explanation ghosting after that spectacularly cursed attempt at a hookup. What a fucked day.

It wasn't even like you actually did anything. You didn't even get that far. You’d just managed to get her clothes off, lips still slick from making out, hands trembling as you lifted her onto your lap on that beat-up couch. The second your dick came out, she just… panicked. Froze up like she’d just seen a goddamn monster crawl out of your jeans. She let out this shaky, nervous laugh, mumbled something about a curfew she’d totally forgotten. But you know. Oh, you know exactly what it is. The sheer, improbable size of it. That sick, familiar twist in your gut as you realize it has happened again. You weren't even fully hard yet. Doesn’t matter.

She ran. Bolts like the place is on fire.

You can’t even really blame her (okay, maybe a little). You're always the weird, skinny dude, the one people probably figure is packing an innie until proven otherwise. And Karina (Jimin, back then), she has this effortless cool-girl vibe that just makes your brain short-circuit whenever she so much as glances your way for too longl. You try, so fucking hard, not to fall for her. Fail. Spectacularly. And then that one chance, your one shot to escape the friendzone, gets instantly demoted to a horror story she probably now dishes to her bandmates between grueling dance practices and sold-out stadium shows.

Except… she's actually messaging you. Right now.

hey

it’s been a while huh?

You jolt upright in your chair so fast your colleague in the next cubicle peers over the divider with a raised eyebrow. Her profile pic is pure idol perfection: full glam, hair in those impossibly soft, expensive-looking waves, eyes that are somehow both icy and flirty. This isn't Jimin anymore. This is Karina of Aespa, a literal K-pop goddess. The kind of woman entire nations fantasize about from behind their phone screens, and she’s DMing you, a random office drone, like you’d just casually bumped into her at a 7/11.

i was thinking about you the other day

kinda random but i’d like to catch up

you free this weekend?

No emojis. No awkward apologies or explanations. Just straight to it, like those six years of absolute silence haven't even happened.

Your chest feels tight, but not in a bad way. More like a champagne bottle about to pop. A million questions scream in your head, why now? what the hell is this about? but your thumbs are already a blur across the screen:

yeah

just tell me when and where

The typing bubble appears, blinks, disappears, then reappears. Teasing you. You wonder if she remembers. That night. That… thing about you. She has to. No way she’s forgotten something like that. Maybe she thinks you’ve… grown into it? Learned to manage it better? Maybe she's curious to see.

Then:

okay :)

I’ll send the details soon

looking forward to it

You stare at your phone screen long after her name vanishes, the glow of the monitor reflecting in your wide eyes. The phantom sensation of her weight, her presence, still echoes in your lap like a deeply ingrained muscle memory. The way she has of making any room, any space, subtly bend around her. The way you used to bend around her, orbiting like a damn fool, just waiting for her to look your way and actually mean it.

And now, impossibly, she's looking again.

—

The address pops up just after noon, no preamble. Just a pin-drop in Gangnam with a bar name you don’t recognize (some sleek little English mashup that screams exclusivity), the kind of place influencers pretend to discover and rich people keep quiet about. You Google it anyway. The front’s barely labeled, no neon sign, just this faint etched logo over heavy black glass doors, like you’re supposed to already know where it is. One of those underground cocktail lounges, dim and expensive and deliberately vague.

Of course she’d pick somewhere like this.

You get there ten minutes early, which feels both desperate and practical. The room’s all moody lighting and brass. Like stepping into a perfume ad: everything smells expensive. Candles flicker in tiny glass jars at each low table, and there’s jazz playing, soft but rhythmic. You start scanning the booths, heart ticking like a countdown, nervous in a way that feels kind of humiliating. You're not in high school anymore.

But then you see her.

She's in a corner booth, half-shadowed by one of those gold-bar dividers. Hair down, silky black and parted to the side, soft curls kissing her collarbones. She's dressed like she knew exactly how this would go: long-legged, crossed at the knee, thighs poured into a leather mini-skirt that barely creases when she moves. A sheer black blouse with little sparkly threadwork running through it like constellations, the fabric so thin it flirts with the curves of her bra underneath. Not scandalous. Not vulgar. Just perfectly engineered to hold your gaze. One hand’s around her drink, some golden thing in a faceted crystal glass, and the other’s thumbing her phone like she’s half-focused, tapping fast. She looks up just once—sees you.

Smiles.

“Wow,” she says as you approach, rising halfway, fingers brushing your wrist as she gestures for you to sit across from her. “You really came.”

“Of course I did,” you say, but your voice is almost inaudible. You clear your throat and try again. “Jimin.”

Her eyes widen just slightly. The smile twitches. Not fake, just surprised. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”

“Still your name, right?”

“It is,” she says, sitting back down, crossing her legs the other way, and you catch the flash of glossy black boots under the table, knee-high, sharp-heeled, definitely not made for walking. “Only a few people still get to use it though.”

You slide into the seat across from her, still trying not to stare, but fuck it’s hard. She’s… glowy. Confident in a way that makes you feel like you’re dressed wrong even though you picked this outfit twice and stood in the mirror trying poses before heading out. She doesn’t need to try, doesn’t need to check the mirror; she knows what she’s doing. Every part of her outfit, her body language, the tone of her laughter, it’s all loaded like performance, but smoother. Natural. She's grown into it. Into this idol thing.

You’re still staring when she lifts her glass toward you.

“Drink?” she offers. “First one’s on me.”

“You paying?” you ask, raising a brow.

“For sure,” she says, grinning. “This idol thing pays well.”

A waiter materializes like magic. She orders another of whatever she’s having, something citrusy with gin, you catch the word yuzu, and you mutter your preference like it matters. It’s one of those bars where they probably judge you for ordering a beer.

“Damn,” you say after a beat, glancing at her with a crooked smile. “So this is your idea of casual now?”

She shrugs, sips. “This is how I dress when I want someone to look at me.”

You swallow hard. “It’s working.”

There’s a beat. A silence that stretches long enough for your drink to arrive. Her eyes never leave yours.

“You’re still such a flirt,” she says, amused. “But you’ve mellowed out. You used to be way more nervous.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely panicking inside,” you admit, taking a sip that burns and soothes at the same time. “I just got better at hiding it.”

She laughs, and the sound is all warm honey. It hits some buried part of you, it fucks with you.

“So how’ve you been?” she asks, smoothing a hand over her thigh. “Besides taller, obviously.”

You snort. “You’re still taller than me.”

“By this much,” she says, holding two fingers apart. “And the boots.”

“Even without the boots.”

“Some things don’t change.”

You both sip. And then the reminiscing begins. You start talking about school, about mutual friends, about the time you both got high and watched bad dramas all night, quoting lines and making each other laugh so hard she snorted kimchi soup out of her nose. She acts scandalized when you bring that up.

“I told you never to mention that again,” she groans, burying her face in her hand.

“And yet here we are.”

“Blackmail. That’s what this is.”

The drinks keep coming. You’re halfway through your third when you notice she keeps checking her phone. Quick glances. A tap here and there. She’s not scrolling for fun, no, it’s deliberate. Controlled. You figure it must be work. Maybe her manager checking in. Maybe something about her schedule. It doesn’t seem suspicious at first. You’re too busy watching the way her lips wrap around her straw, how her hand drapes over the rim of her glass, fingers tapping idly. You wonder how many guys have sat across from her like this, thinking maybe this time I get to take her home.

You’re not even sure what this is. Is it a catch-up? A date? Just nostalgia? But she invited you. She dressed like this. She's been holding eye contact like it’s a game. You’re buzzed now, not sloppy, just loose enough to lean in, resting your chin on your hand.

“You remember,” you say softly, “That time you were at my house and we kissed?”

Jimin looks up. Caught off guard. But not embarrassed. Her smile is smaller this time. Realer.

“Of course I do,” she murmurs. “You tasted like lemon soda.”

“You ran. You ran before we could... You know.”

“I had a panic attack,” she says, surprisingly blunt. “Didn’t even realize it until I was halfway down the street. I thought it was… I don’t know. Too much.”

“Was it because of me?”

She’s quiet. Her eyes dip to her drink. Then her phone buzzes again. She glances at it. This time her face changes (just a flicker). A subtle switch behind her eyes. Something has clicked.

“No,” she says finally, meeting your gaze again. “It wasn’t you. Not really. And I really, really want to redeem myself with you.”

But she doesn’t explain. Just downs the rest of her drink in one go and flags the waiter for another.

You mean to press more. To ask what that meant. But before you can, her phone buzzes one more time. She doesn’t check it. Just flips it over, screen-down. And leans forward with a little smile, as if she’s about to say something intimate, something she’s been holding in for a while. Her fingers trail along the rim of your glass, close but not quite touching yours.

Then she says: “Hey. You trust me, right?”

You say it without hesitation. Maybe it's the alcohol humming in your bloodstream or the way she's looking at you; clear, serious, a softness in her expression that strips away the glamor and shows just a little of the girl you remember. “Yeah,” you murmur, letting the word settle in your throat, simple and solid. “I trust you.”

That’s all she needs. Her eyes flicker like she’s confirming something to herself, then her fingers swipe across her phone, firing off a text with no explanation. You catch the little smirk at the corner of her lips, not playful, not cruel… something more satisfied. Purposeful. She slides her phone back into her clutch and stands, straightening the hem of her skirt. Her legs look even longer when she moves. The heel of her boot clicks once on the floor.

“Come on,” she says, brushing a hand lightly over your shoulder as she walks past you. “There’s a car waiting.”

You follow, blinking through the slow haze of three drinks and a thousand unspoken thoughts. Outside, it’s colder than you expect, the air sharp against your cheeks, but the car is there, sleek and black, window-tinted with the kind of purr you associate with rich people and K-drama antagonists. The driver doesn’t ask your name. Just opens the door.

You slide in after her, trying not to let your thigh brush hers too hard even though she’s made no effort to keep distance. Inside the car, the seats smell like leather and faint perfume. Karina settles in beside you, adjusting the strap of her bag, checking her lipstick in the reflection of her phone screen. She catches you looking.

“What?” she asks, amusement in her tone, head tilting.

“Where are we going?”

She leans back, one knee brushing yours, fingers sliding into her hair like she’s trying to undo the tension at her scalp. “To an apartment. Somewhere we can actually talk without everyone staring. Somewhere more comfortable.”

“Is it yours?”

She shrugs, teasing. “Partially.”

“Must be nice.”

“You’ve got no idea,” she grins, and then something flickers behind her eyes again, calmer now, more vulnerable. “I meant what I said back there. About redeeming myself.”

You glance at her. Her knees are still crossed, hands folded loosely in her lap. She’s not fidgeting. She looks totally in control. But her voice is quieter now, measured.

“I really fucked up back then,” she says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I know I did. You probably felt… rejected.”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah. I did.”

She turns slightly toward you, just enough to face you head-on. “And I get it now. It wasn’t just me walking out—it was me making you feel like something was wrong with you. Like you were some freak.”

You don’t say anything. The car’s too quiet. The engine hums beneath you, smooth, and the city lights flicker through tinted windows. You focus on her words, the precision of them, the way she’s not sugarcoating any of it.

“I used to think everything had to be this perfect fantasy,” she continues. “And I wasn’t ready for something real. I wasn’t ready for… you.”

You exhale slowly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay,” she says, "but I still want to make it right.”

The rest of the ride passes in that charged silence, the kind that isn't awkward but thick with implication, like something's about to tip. You’re not entirely sure what you expected when she messaged you, but this? This is surreal. You're tipsy and hot under your collar, knees bouncing slightly, wondering if you should be nervous, or excited, or both.

You settle on both.

The car slows in front of a tall, anonymous building with glass that reflects too cleanly to be anything short of expensive. A valet greets her with a nod. You follow her inside, past a lobby that smells like orchids and designer soap. The elevator is silent, smooth, rising so fast it barely registers.

When the doors open, she leads you into an apartment that looks more like a photoshoot set than somewhere someone actually lives. Polished hardwood floors, ambient recessed lighting, modern furniture in sharp angles and plush velvet textures. There’s a huge floor-to-ceiling window spilling moonlight across the living room, and a minibar tucked beside a long black couch. She moves through it like she’s done this a hundred times before.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says, stepping behind the bar and reaching for bottles you can’t even pronounce. “Shoes off, if you want. The floor’s heated.”

You toe your sneakers off and sink into the couch, running your hand over the fabric absently. Your head's spinning a little now, and it’s not just the alcohol. It’s her. It’s the fact that she brought you here, into this private space, dressed like a fantasy and saying everything anyone would like to hear. The lines are blurred and blurring further.

She turns back with one glass, something crystalline and amber glowing under the lights. She hands one to you with a smile.

“What is it?” you ask, sniffing it. It smells like honey and something herbal.

“Something special,” she says, settling beside you on the couch. “It’s got a little kick. But it’ll help you… relax. Feel good. Get in the mood.”

You blink. “Get in the mood?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “For tonight. For me. Just drink.”

You hesitate, but only for a second. You're already floating. Her thigh is pressed to yours now, warm through the thin fabric of your pants. You take a sip. It's smoother than expected, sweet at first, then biting, like cinnamon chased with a punch of something foreign. Your body responds immediately, heat blooming in your chest, your arms, your thighs.

“Strong,” you say, wincing as you go for a second sip.

“Mmhm,” she hums. “But you’ll feel amazing.”

Your skin starts to prickle, not uncomfortably. Just... heightened. Like everything is vibrating a little faster than it should. Your fingers twitch. You glance at her. Her pupils are wide, lips parted just slightly as she watches you drink.

You set the glass down, heart beating a little too fast now. “What’s in it?”

“Something that’s gonna make tonight unforgettable,” she murmurs, leaning in to brush her lips just below your jaw. Not a kiss, just a graze. “And I’ve got a surprise.”

Your pulse thumps. “Another one?”

She stands again, smooth and sudden, stepping across the room and pulling her phone from her clutch. She types something. A long message. Sends it.

Then she turns to face you again, hair tumbling over her shoulder, eyes dark and gleaming.

“They’re almost here,” she says.

You blink. “They?”

Karina approaches you again and sits on your lap, settling her weight fully onto your thighs. It's instant fire. Her warmth seeps through your pants, directly against the hardness already straining there, a painful, thrilling pressure. Her hands find your shoulders, fingers digging in just slightly, claiming the space.

"So," she starts, leaning closer, her breath ghosting over your ear. "About... that night. My little freakout."

You swallow, eyes locked on the curve of her neck, the faint pulse beating there.

"You're not the only one who knows about... well. Your impressive little toy downstairs."

A blush creeps up your neck. Toy? Little? It feels anything but little right now, jammed against her ass.

"W-what? Who else—"

"Shhh," she cuts you off, a finger tapping your lips. "No need to be ashamed. Not anymore. In fact..." Her lips curve into that slow, knowing smile you saw downstairs, the one that felt like she held all the cards. "It kinda got... rushed straight into my friend group."

Heat flares through you, hotter than the alcohol buzz. The drink, whatever it is, makes everything feel ten times more intense. Your cock gives a hard throb against her, impossible to hide.

"I... I don't think I get it, Jimin," you stammer out, feeling small under her gaze, even though she's the one practically draped over you.

"You will," she murmurs. "Soon. Very soon."

Right on cue, a crisp ding-dong echoes through the apartment. The doorbell.

Karina lifts herself off your lap with infuriating grace, smoothing down her skirt. The sudden absence of her weight makes your erection ache. She glances towards the door, then back at you, a quick, almost apologetic flicker in her eyes before it's replaced by resolve.

"Showtime," she mouths, then turns and strides towards the entrance.

The lock clicks. The heavy door swings inward. And suddenly, the spacious living room feels crowded. Three figures step inside, bringing a wave of expensive perfume and overwhelming presence. Towering over Karina, towering over you.

Wonyoung is first, draped in a long, dramatic beige trench coat that swamps her frame but somehow still looks regal. Her expression is pure, unfiltered impatience, lips pursed into a perfect pout. Beside her, Yuna practically spills out of a tiny black leather tube top and matching micro-skirt, fishnets snaking up her long legs, a predatory grin already fixed on you. And then there's Sullyoon, looking almost angelic in a white lace corset top and ridiculously short pleated skirt, but her wide, curious eyes dart nervously between you, Karina, and Wonyoung, clutching a small designer handbag. They’re all impossibly beautiful. And impossibly tall.

You just swallow, hard, sinking back into the plush velvet of the couch. Your brain short-circuits. Four K-pop goddesses. In the same room. Looking at you.

"Finally," Wonyoung mutters, tapping an expensively manicured finger against her arm, not even bothering to hide her irritation. "Took long enough."

Karina closes the door, turning back to the group, her hostess smile firmly in place, though you see the slight tension in her shoulders. "Girls, this is the guy I was talking about. You... probably already know who they are, right?" she directs the last part at you, a weak attempt at normalcy.

You nod dumbly, unable to form words.

Wonyoung's sharp eyes rake over you, from your hair down to your feet. A dismissive little sniff escapes her.

"Huh. You're even smaller in person," she remarks, sounding unimpressed. She glances sharply at Karina. "Are you sure about this, Jimin?"

Karina nods quickly. "Yes. Positive."

Wonyoung just hums, unconvinced. Then, with fluid nonchalance, she reaches up and undoes the belt of her trench coat. The fabric falls open. Underneath, she's wearing nothing but a scandalous black lace lingerie set; push-up bra showcasing perfect cleavage, matching high-waisted panties emphasizing her tiny waist and long legs, held up by intricate garter straps. She absolutely came prepared. Your mouth goes dry.

Karina turns back to you, offering a hand. "Come on, stand up."

Your legs feel shaky. The bulge in your pants is painfully obvious now, throbbing in time with the frantic beat in your chest. You take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. You feel like a child standing among them.

Wonyoung's gaze flicks down to your crotch, then back up, a flicker of something – interest? Disdain? – in her eyes. "Did he already drink?” she asks Karina, nodding towards the empty glass on the coffee table.

"Yep. All of it," Karina confirms.

Your head snaps towards Karina, sudden alarm cutting through the horny haze. "Drink what? What are you talking about?"

Karina laughs nervously, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, it's nothing serious! Just a little something... to help you keep up. You know." She gestures vaguely at the three other women staring at you. "Four girls is no joke, right? Need stamina!"

"You... you literally drugged me?"

“Drugging is a very strong word!” she retorts, laughing nervously. “Look at you, conscious and healthy! What you drank was just an aphrodisiac, totally harmless.. and natural too.”

Yuna lets out a delighted giggle, covering her mouth with perfectly painted nails. "Aw, look at him. He's finally catching on!"

"Is... is what I think is going to happen... actually going to happen?" you ask Karina.

Wonyoung steps forward, silencing Karina before she can answer. She stops right in front of you, close enough you can smell the sweet, powdery scent of her skin beneath the perfume.

"If what you're thinking," Wonyoung states, her tone flat and bored, "is that you're about to get used like a personal dildo by four incredibly hot girls who are way out of your league... then yes. You are absolutely right."

Your breath hitches. Before you can process, Wonyoung gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Immediately, Yuna and Sullyoon are flanking you. Strong hands grip your arms, surprisingly firm. Yuna's touch is confident, almost playful; Sullyoon's is hesitant but locks on tight. You flinch, trying instinctively to pull away, a pathetic little struggle.

"Hey, relax," Karina says quickly, stepping closer, her expression pleading. "Just... go with it. It'll be fun."

Fun? Your head is spinning, your body is on fire, and four idols are manhandling you after drugging you. But fuck, the dominant way Wonyoung is looking at you, the hungry glint in Yuna's eyes, even Sullyoon's wide-eyed curiosity... it's terrifyingly hot.

Wonyoung reaches out, her long fingers landing on the button of your jeans. Her touch is cool, deliberate.

"Alright," she announces, her gaze fixed on your crotch. "Let's see if Jimin was telling the truth, or if she just has a really weird memory of high school dick."

Her fingers work quickly, expertly. The button pops. The zipper slides down. Before you can even react, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and boxers together and yanks them down past your hips, down your thighs, letting them pool around your ankles.

Your cock springs free, fully, violently hard. It bounces heavily against your lower belly, thick and veiny and flushed a deep, angry red from the drug and the sheer, overwhelming arousal. Ten and a half inches of raw, improbable meat jutting out from your otherwise skinny frame.

Yuna gasps, her eyes widening comically. Sullyoon makes a tiny choking sound, her grip tightening on your arm as her gaze locks onto it, mesmerized. Even Karina lets out a soft, breathy sound, her eyes glued to your erection.

"Wow," Karina whispers, sounding genuinely awed. "Okay... maybe it is even bigger than I remembered."

Only Wonyoung remains utterly impassive. Her face is a mask of cool appraisal, like she's judging a piece of art. Or livestock. She studies it for a long moment, then, without warning, her hand closes around the base. Her grip is strong, cool. She gives it a few slow, deliberate strokes, thumb pressing firmly against the thick vein running down the shaft.

A strangled moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your hips buck involuntarily.

"Is this it?" Wonyoung asks coolly, still stroking, her eyes meeting yours. "Is this fully hard? Or does it get bigger?"

"Y-yes," you gasp out, eyes squeezed shut. "That's... that's it."

Wonyoung stops stroking. She clicks her tongue. "Hm. Well then." She looks directly at Karina, her expression hardening. "We have a problem."

She bends slightly, reaching into an inner pocket of her fallen trench coat. You tense, wondering what the hell she's doing now. She straightens up holding... a sleek, metallic ruler.

"Wait, Wonyoung, are you seriously—" Karina starts, aghast.

"Of course I am," Wonyoung snaps, cutting her off. She kneels slightly, holding the ruler flat against the top side of your shaft, pressing the end firmly against your pubic bone. Her fingers are cold against your heated skin. You flinch, utterly humiliated, but Yuna and Sullyoon hold you fast. Wonyoung squints at the measurement.

"Ten... point five," she announces. She stands up straight, glaring daggers at Karina. "Ten and a half inches. You liar."

Karina shrinks back slightly. "What?"

"You told me," Wonyoung accuses, poking a finger towards Karina, "that it was bigger than my bodyguard's. You specifically said bigger than the bodyguard. He's twelve inches, Jimin! Twelve! This isn't even close!"

"I... I haven't seen it in years!" Karina defends herself frantically, blushing furiously. "It was dark, and it happened so fast! I was scared! It looked bigger back then, I swear! I thought it was enormous!"

Wonyoung rolls her eyes dramatically. "Disappointing. Utterly disappointing."

"Oh my god, Wonyoung, stop being so dramatic!" Yuna cuts in, finally letting go of your arm to reach down and cup your heavy balls possessively. Sullyoon mirrors her, her hesitant hand closing around the thick shaft just below Wonyoung's earlier grip. Their combined touch sends sparks through your system. "Who cares if it's not twelve inches? Look at this thing!" Yuna gives your balls a gentle squeeze. "It's still incredibly big. And so thick! We can have plenty of fun with this." Her eyes meet yours, hot and challenging. "Right? I'm already getting wet just holding him."

Sullyoon nods eagerly, running a tentative finger over the smooth head, her eyes wide with fascination. "Yeah, Wonyoung. It's... it's really amazing."

Wonyoung sighs, a long-suffering sound, but her eyes linger on the sheer girth of your cock, now being eagerly handled by the other two. "Fine," she concedes grudgingly. "It is impressively thick, I'll give you that. It might be good for something after all." She pauses, then pins Karina with a sharp look. "But you still lied. And liars need to be punished."

Karina swallows hard, nervousness flashing across her features again. "Punished? How?"

"You'll see," Wonyoung says cryptically. She turns her attention back to you, dismissing Karina entirely. "You. Finish taking off your clothes. Now. And get in the bedroom." She gestures vaguely towards a door down the hall. "I don't have all night."

Without waiting for a response, Wonyoung turns on her heel, her lingerie-clad form disappearing towards the indicated room, the trench coat abandoned on the floor.

Yuna leans in close, her hot breath fanning your ear. "You heard the princess. Hurry up," she whispers, then plants a quick, wet kiss on your cheek before releasing your balls and following Wonyoung.

Sullyoon gives your aching cock one last, surprisingly firm squeeze, her eyes flicking up to meet yours with a mixture of shyness and burgeoning excitement. Then she too lets go and scurries after the others, leaving you standing there alone in the middle of the luxurious living room.

Your pants are around your ankles, your shirt is still on, your monster erection is throbbing painfully in the open air, slick with pre-cum and the lingering touch of three different idols. Your head spins from the drug, the humiliation, the sheer terror, and the undeniable, overwhelming wave of horniness flooding your system. What the fuck just happened? And what the fuck happens next? You stand frozen, caught somewhere between wanting to run and wanting to crawl into that bedroom immediately. Obviously, driven by a total lack of shame and an unbearable horniness, combined with no sense of self-preservation, you choose the second option.

Fuck it. You kick off your fallen pants and boxers fully, leaving them in a pathetic heap on the expensive floor, and start walking towards the bedroom door Wonyoung vanished through. Your bare feet pad silently on the cool hardwood.

Karina falls into step beside you, her bare shoulder brushing your arm. You glance sideways at her, the mix of betrayal and horniness churning in your gut.

"You lied to me," you state. "The whole time. Downstairs. In the car."

She flinches slightly but keeps walking, her gaze fixed on the bedroom door ahead. "Okay, technically... maybe a little bit by omission?"

"A little bit?" you scoff, feeling a hysterical laugh bubble up. "You drugged me, Jimin! You set me up to be... to be some kind of human dildo for your idol friends!"

"Hey!" she protests, stopping for a second. "I did want to see you again. Honestly. That part wasn't a lie." She searches your face, her expression earnest, though it's hard to trust anything she says right now. "Things just got... complicated. And Wonyoung kinda insisted after I... might have mentioned you."

"Mentioned me? Or mentioned this?" you gesture vaguely downwards at your still stubbornly rigid cock.

"Both?" she offers weakly.

You shake your head, feeling dizzy again. "It's kinda hard to believe anything you say right now."

You reach the bedroom doorway and hesitate, peering inside. The room is huge, dominated by a massive bed with a dark grey headboard and way too many pillows. Soft light glows from hidden fixtures. Yuna and Sullyoon are near the foot of the bed, casually shedding their clothes. Yuna unhooks her leather top with a flourish, letting it drop to reveal a simple, strappy black bra that barely contains her curves. Sullyoon is more methodical, carefully folding her pleated skirt before unzipping the back of her lace corset, revealing matching white lace panties and a push-up bra that gives her an impressive silhouette. They’re both practically glowing with confidence, completely unbothered by your presence.

Karina gently pushes you forward, over the threshold. She reaches up and pulls her sheer blouse over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it onto a nearby armchair. Her bra is pale pink lace, elegant but functional, doing its best to support her surprisingly full, pale breasts. They swell invitingly over the delicate fabric, nipples visibly hard beneath the lace. You can't help but stare for a beat, remembering the feel of them pressed against your chest years ago.

She catches you looking and gives a small, self-conscious smile before starting to unzip her skirt. It slides down her legs, pooling around her knee-high boots before she finally takes them off. Underneath, she wears matching pink lace panties. "Your turn," she prompts, nodding towards your shirt. "Unless you want Wonyoung to rip it off you."

The thought is strangely appealing, but you comply, pulling your t-shirt over your head and tossing it vaguely towards hers. Now you're standing there in just your socks, utterly exposed.

"So..." you begin, looking between the four women, feeling incredibly out of place and ridiculously turned on. "What... uh... what happens now?"

"Now?" Wonyoung's drawl comes from the bed. You see her lounging against the pillows, still in her black lingerie, legs crossed, watching you with predatory amusement. "Now the fun begins, tiny."

Wonyoung slides off the bed with feline grace. Yuna and Sullyoon turn from their discarded clothes, their eyes immediately locking onto your cock again. Together, the three of them approach, moving with unnerving synchronicity. They stop a few feet away, then slowly, deliberately, sink to their knees in front of you. Three pairs of stunning eyes staring intently at your dick. It’s like some weird, terrifyingly hot religious ceremony.

Karina takes a step forward, starting to kneel beside them, but Wonyoung shoots her a look sharp enough to cut glass.

"Ah-ah," Wonyoung chides, clicking her tongue. "Not you. Not yet."

Karina freezes, her cheeks flushing slightly. She straightens up quickly, looking uncertain. After a moment's hesitation, she steps beside you instead, looping an arm comfortingly around your shoulders, pulling you slightly against her side. Her skin is warm. She leans in and presses a soft, quick kiss to your temple.

"Just breathe," she whispers, her lips brushing your ear. "Try to enjoy it?"

Enjoy it? Your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest, but as Wonyoung reaches out, followed immediately by Yuna and Sullyoon, their hands hovering just inches from your shaft, a low groan rumbles in your chest.

Wonyoung's fingers, cool and clinical, land first. She wraps them around the base again, testing the weight, her thumb tracing the thick vein. Yuna goes straight for the head, her touch surprisingly bold as she wets a fingertip with her tongue and circles the sensitive tip, making you gasp. Sullyoon hesitates for only a second before tentatively cupping your heavy balls, her touch feather-light at first, then growing firmer as she seems to gain confidence.

"Holy shit," Yuna breathes out, her eyes wide as she keeps teasing the head of your cock. "It's like... holding a fucking baseball bat. But, like, a really nice, warm baseball bat."

Sullyoon giggles nervously, her fingers exploring the taut skin of your scrotum. "It doesn't even look real up close. How does this even fit on someone?"

Wonyoung ignores them, focusing her attention on the shaft, running her other hand slowly up and down its length, mapping the texture, the heat. "Forget the length," she murmurs, almost to herself. "The girth on this thing... Now this is interesting." She squeezes slightly, eliciting another strangled sound from you. "Definitely something to work with."

Karina's arm tightens around your shoulders, a silent signal of... support? Apology? Shared anticipation? You can barely think straight, trapped between her comforting presence and the overwhelming sensation of three gorgeous idols worshipping your freakishly large dick like it's the eighth wonder of the world. Your knees feel weak, the room spins gently, and all you can focus on is the heat building low in your belly, spiraling outwards from their exploring hands.

Wonyoung maintains her grip on the base, anchoring you, while her tongue makes slow, deliberate laps around the thickest part of the shaft, pressing hard. It's methodical, almost analytical, but feels incredible. Yuna, giggling, dives lower, taking one of your heavy balls fully into her mouth, sucking strongly while her other hand playfully squeezes its twin. You cry out, hips jerking, hands clenching into fists at your sides. Sullyoon, seeming to take her cue from Yuna, mimics the action on your other ball, her technique less practiced but no less enthusiastic, her cheeks hollowing with the effort.

"Mmmph," Yuna hums around your ball, her eyes sparkling up at you. "So salty. You taste good."

Sullyoon nods vigorously, her mouth still full.

Karina's arm tightens around your shoulders. You can feel the slight tremor running through her. "God," she breathes out, her gaze fixed on the scene below. "Look at them..."

Wonyoung lifts her head slightly, her lips glistening. "Alright, girls, new plan." Her tone is all business, but there's a dark spark in her eyes. "I need him really wet. Like, dripping. Slobber him up properly. I have plans for all that lube later."

Yuna pulls off your ball with a wet pop. "Ooh, bossy Wonyoung! My favorite!" She winks, then immediately latches onto the mid-shaft, sucking hard and deep, making deliberately sloppy noises. "You want drool? You got drool, princess!"

Sullyoon, blushing furiously but clearly eager to please, releases your other ball and joins Yuna on the shaft, her mouth smaller but working just as diligently, their tongues occasionally bumping. It's a hot, messy tangle of lips and saliva coating your straining cock.

Wonyoung watches them for a second, a critical glint in her eyes, before lowering her head again, her tongue darting out to flick teasingly at the sensitive underside, right where the shaft meets your balls. You groan, head tipping back against Karina's shoulder.

"Oh my god," Karina whispers, her own breathing quickening. She leans her cheek against your hair. "Are you... are you okay? Are you enjoying this?"

Is she serious? Your brain is soup, your body is humming like a live wire, and three of the most beautiful women on the planet are tag-teaming your dick like it owes them money.

"F-fuck," you manage to gasp out, legs trembling. "Y-yes? Maybe? God, Jimin, it's..." You can't finish. Another wave of pleasure crashes over you as Yuna somehow manages to take even more of you into her throat, her hand pumping the base in time with her sucking. Pre-cum beads thickly at the tip, immediately licked away by Sullyoon's inquisitive tongue.

"He likes it!" Sullyoon announces proudly through a mouthful of spit and dick.

"Course he likes it, dummy," Yuna retorts, pulling back just enough to talk. "Look at him! Leaking like a faucet already. We're doing a great job making him nice and slippery for Wonyoung's mysterious plans." She gives Wonyoung a suggestive look.

Wonyoung just smirks, her tongue still tracing lazy circles near your balls. "Focus, Yuna. More spit. Less talk."

"Yes, ma'am!" Yuna salutes mockingly, then dives back in, somehow managing to sound even wetter this time. Sullyoon follows suit, their combined efforts painting your cock in thick, glistening ropes of saliva. The wet sucking sounds fill the room, punctuated by your helpless moans and the occasional giggle from Yuna or encouragement from Karina.

"Damn," Karina murmurs again, her fingers tightening on your shoulder. "You really are... something else." She sounds genuinely impressed, and maybe a little turned on herself. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your temple, the heat in the room, or maybe just in your own body, becoming almost unbearable. This is insane. It's degrading. It's terrifying.

And fuck, you hope they don't stop anytime soon.

"More," Wonyoung demands, her own mouth leaving your balls for a moment to issue the order. "I want him practically drowning in it. Yuna, Sullyoon, don't be shy with the spit."

Yuna grins wickedly around your shaft. "You hear that, Sullyoonie? Permission to be absolutely disgusting!" She pulls back slightly, gathers saliva in her mouth (you can literally hear it) and then leans in, letting a thick, clear stream drizzle directly onto the head of your cock. It mixes with the pre-cum already leaking there, creating a pearly mess. "How's that, boss?"

"Better," Wonyoung approves, nodding slightly. She then looks pointedly at Sullyoon. "Your turn."

Sullyoon hesitates for only a split second, blushing scarlet, before copying Yuna. Her spit is maybe a little less voluminous, but she makes up for it with enthusiasm, adding another layer of wetness. You groan loudly, bucking against their mouths as the warm liquid coats you. It feels unbelievably degrading and yet insanely hot.

"Oh my god, they're actually spitting on it," Karina whispers beside you, sounding both horrified and utterly captivated. "Is that... does that feel okay?"

"F-Feels..." you gasp, trying to catch your breath. "Feels fucking weird! Good weird! Fuck!"

"Language," Wonyoung chides absently, though she doesn't sound genuinely annoyed. She seems focused on the task at hand. She uses her fingers to smear the combined spit and pre-cum all over the shaft, ensuring every inch is glistening under the soft bedroom lights. "See? Nice and slick. Almost ready."

"Ready for what?" Yuna asks playfully, her tongue now lapping up the excess spit near the base, her cheeks puffed out. "You gonna use him as a slip-n-slide?"

Wonyoung ignores her. "Tip duty. Both of you," she commands Yuna and Sullyoon.

They obey instantly. Sullyoon’s smaller tongue darts out, carefully tracing the ridge of the corona, while Yuna goes straight for the slit, flicking her tongue rapidly over the hypersensitive opening, drawing out even more pre-cum. Their tongues brush, slide over each other, working in tandem to worship the very head of your cock. It’s an agonizingly precise torture.

"Mmm, look how much pre-cum he's making," Sullyoon murmurs, her eyes wide with fascination. "It tastes good."

"Told ya," Yuna slurps, managing to get her lips around the entire glans for a moment, sucking hard before releasing it with another wet pop. "He's like a leaky faucet of man-juice. Keep licking, Sullyoon, let's make it nice and shiny."

They continue their ministrations, tongues swirling, lapping, occasionally flicking out to catch stray drips running down the shaft. Wonyoung watches critically, occasionally adding a guiding touch with her finger or a low hum of approval. Karina is practically vibrating beside you now, her hand gripping your shoulder tightly, her knuckles white. You can feel her shallow, rapid breaths against your neck.

The combined stimulation is relentless. Your toes curl, your back arches off the floor slightly, supported only by Karina's arm. A high-pitched whine escapes your throat. You feel dangerously close, the pressure building low and deep, coiling tight in your balls.

Just as you think you might actually lose it, Wonyoung gives a sharp nod. "Okay. Enough."

Yuna and Sullyoon pull back simultaneously, leaving your cock absolutely drenched, glistening obscenely, thick ropes of saliva and pre-cum dripping onto the floor. It stands there, twitching slightly, impossibly hard and looking utterly debauched.

Wonyoung leans back on her heels, surveying their handiwork with a critical eye. A small, satisfied smirk touches her lips. "Acceptable," she declares finally. Then, her gaze shifts, sharp and imperious, landing squarely on Karina, who is still holding you up, looking flushed and breathless from watching.

"Karina," Wonyoung commands, her tone leaving no room for argument. "On your knees. Now.”

Karina practically beams, relief washing over her face as she drops eagerly to her knees before you, eyes fixed on your glistening, spit-slicked cock. She clearly thinks it’s finally her turn, leaning forward slightly, lips parting in anticipation. Oh, how wrong she is.

Wonyoung watches her kneel with a predatory stillness, letting the hope bloom on Karina’s face for a torturous second before shattering it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wonyoung asks, her tone deceptively soft.

Karina blinks, confused. "I'm... you told me to kneel?" Her gaze flickers towards your cock, then back to Wonyoung, clearly expecting the order to suck.

"Yes. Kneel for your punishment," Wonyoung corrects coolly. "For lying to me about the merchandise." She gestures towards your erection with a flick of her wrist. "You don't get to taste it yet. First, you pay the price for exaggerating."

Karina's hopeful expression evaporates, replaced by wide-eyed confusion, then dawning fear. "Punishment? Wait, what—"

Beside her, Yuna claps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Sullyoon tries to stifle a giggle behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. They clearly knew this was coming.

"H-how... how are you going to punish me?" Karina stammers, looking genuinely scared now.

Wonyoung's lips curl into a cruel, slow smile. "With this," she declares, and before Karina can react, Wonyoung reaches out, her hand closing firmly around the base of your thick, dripping cock. She lifts it slightly, like she’s hefting a weapon. Then, with a swift, deliberate motion, she swings it sideways, slapping the wet, heavy shaft right across Karina’s cheek.

The sound is shockingly loud, wet and fleshy. Karina cries out, head snapping to the side from the impact, a bright red mark instantly blooming on her pale skin, smeared with your spit and pre-cum.

Yuna and Sullyoon absolutely lose it, bursting into loud laughter, clutching each other for support.

"Oh my god! She actually did it!" Yuna howls between giggles.

Wonyoung ignores them, her focus entirely on Karina’s stunned, reddening face. "Rule number one, Jimin: Don't bullshit me about dick size," she states calmly. "Since you were off by almost two inches, but we'll round down... let's make it ten hits. One for every lovely, thick inch he actually has." She adjusts her grip on your shaft, preparing for the next swing.

The sensation is… bizarre. Jarring at first, then this strange, intense vibration travels up the shaft with each impact, making your cock throb pleasurably. You stand there, rooted to the spot, watching Wonyoung use your own dick to punish Karina.

SMACK! "One," Wonyoung counts, hitting the other cheek this time. Karina whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut but holding her position.

SMACK! "Two." Another wet impact, leaving another glistening smear.

SMACK! "Three." Karina lets out a low moan this time, a sound that’s halfway between pain and something else. Her hands clench into fists on her thighs.

SMACK! "Four." Your cock feels incredibly sensitive, the repeated slapping friction oddly satisfying against the wetness. It feels… good. Way better than it should.

"Look at her face!" Sullyoon squeals, pointing. "It's all red and shiny!"

SMACK! "Five." Wonyoung delivers this one harder, snapping Karina’s head back slightly. A tear escapes the corner of Karina's eye, but the soft sigh that follows it sounds suspiciously like pleasure.

Fuck, is she actually getting off on this?

"Damn, Wonyoung, you're really going for it," Yuna comments, still chuckling. "Can we have a turn? Please? It looks fun! Like that baseball bat I mentioned!"

Wonyoung pauses after the fifth hit, considering Yuna's request while keeping a firm grip on your throbbing shaft. Karina uses the moment to take a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes still closed, face flushed and marked.

"Fine," Wonyoung concedes with a shrug. "But don't mess up the count. Five more hits."

Yuna squeals with delight and practically lunges forward, grabbing your cock just below Wonyoung's hand. Sullyoon eagerly joins in, her smaller hands closing around the shaft as well. They wield it together, a combined grip that feels incredibly tight and encompassing.

"Our turn, Jimin!" Yuna chirps happily. "Ready for the big leagues?"

Karina nods mutely, bracing herself.

SMACK! Yuna and Sullyoon swing together, their combined force making the impact even heavier. "Six!" Yuna yells gleefully.

SMACK! "Seven!" Sullyoon shouts, getting into the spirit. The wet slap echoes in the room. Karina moans louder this time, a definite note of arousal in the sound now, her hips shifting slightly on the floor.

SMACK! "Eight!" They're literally using your dick like a club, and the friction, the impact, the sheer humiliation of the scene it's pushing you closer to the edge again. Your cock feels impossibly hard, straining against their tight grips between hits.

SMACK! "Nine!" Karina's breathing is harsh now, her lips parted, another tear tracking through the smear of spit on her cheek, but her eyes, when they flutter open for a second, look hazy and aroused.

"Last one!" Yuna announces. They swing back for momentum—

SMACK! "Ten!" The final hit lands solidly, leaving Karina panting, her face a mess of red marks and glistening wetness, looking utterly wrecked and undeniably horny.

Yuna and Sullyoon release you abruptly, stepping back and admiring their handiwork, giggling like schoolgirls. Your cock springs free, still dripping, throbbing from the repeated impacts, feeling incredibly sensitive and somehow even harder than before.

Karina stays kneeling on the expensive rug, her face still flushed, marked with the fading red impressions from your own dick. Her eyes, though, they aren't filled with pain or anger anymore. They're locked onto your cock, still dripping thick ropes of spit and pre-cum onto the floor, throbbing from the abuse it just dished out.

"Wony... please," Karina asks, her eyes flickering up to the dominant girl who stands observing like a bored queen. "Can I... Can I clean him up? Please? Just let me taste it."

Wonyoung taps a long, perfectly manicured finger against her chin, pretending to mull it over. The silence stretches, Yuna and Sullyoon watch with barely concealed amusement, clearly enjoying Karina's predicament.

"Hmmmm," Wonyoung hums, drawing out the moment. "Let me think..." She pauses dramatically. "No."

The single word hits Karina like another slap. Her face falls, hope instantly extinguished, replaced by stinging disappointment. She looks down, biting her lip hard.

"Maybe later," Wonyoung adds dismissively, like tossing a scrap to a dog. "If you're a good girl. But first, I need to see if this... thing... is actually any good. Can't have substandard equipment tarnishing my reputation, can we?" She turns that cool, appraising gaze back to you, dismissing Karina entirely. "If I don't like it, Jimin," she says, deliberately using Karina's real name, "then you are royally screwed. Understand?"

Karina just nods mutely, looking utterly dejected.

"You," Wonyoung commands, pointing a sharp finger at you. "Bed. Now."

Your body feels disconnected from your brain. Part of you wants to bolt, to run screaming from this luxurious nightmare penthouse. But the aphrodisiac humming in your veins, combined with the overwhelming presence of these four women and the undeniable, terrifying arousal Wonyoung sparks in you, roots you to the spot. You hesitate, muscles locking up.

Before you can make a conscious decision, Yuna and Sullyoon are grabbing your arms again. Their initial playful exploration is gone, replaced by a firm, almost rough grip. They practically drag you across the room, your bare feet stumbling slightly on the plush carpet. They don't exactly throw you, but they guide you firmly onto the enormous bed, pushing you down until you're lying flat on your back amidst the sea of expensive pillows and crisp grey duvet. The mattress sinks slightly under your weight.

You lie there, utterly exposed, your erection jutting towards the ceiling like some obscene monument. The humiliation burns, but fuck, so does the heat pooling in your gut. The three of them (Wonyoung, Yuna, Sullyoon) climb onto the bed with predatory grace, surrounding you. Karina lingers near the foot of the bed, looking lost and unsure, still just in her pink lace bra and panties, hugging herself slightly.

Wonyoung positions herself directly between your legs, kneeling over you. She reaches down, grabbing your ankles and pulling your legs further apart, forcing you into an even more vulnerable position. Her eyes rake over your cock with that same critical appraisal, as if deciding where to start.

"Alright, let's see," she murmurs, almost to herself. Wonyoung puts her panties aside, then she reaches out, her fingers wrapping around the base, cool and clinical. Then, slowly, deliberately, she guides the thick, slick head towards her own entrance. You watch, breathless, as she tries to position herself, biting her lip slightly in concentration. Her pussy looks impossibly tight, incredibly intimidating compared to the sheer girth she's trying to take.

She lowers herself slowly, carefully. There's a sharp intake of breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a second as the head breaches her entrance. A low hiss escapes her lips.

"Fuck," Wonyoung grits out. "Okay. Wow. The thickness is really something else."

She stops, only the head and maybe an inch or two inside her. She breathes deeply, trying to relax, her hands braced on your chest. You can feel the muscles inside her clenching tightly around you, resisting the invasion.

"Just... give me a second," she mutters, more to herself than to you. She takes another slow breath and pushes down again, harder this time. A strangled gasp tears from her throat, her back arching slightly. She manages another inch, maybe two. The friction is intense, almost unbearable for both of you. You can feel every ridge, every vein of your cock scraping against her impossibly tight walls.

"See?" she pants, forcing a strained smile as she looks up at you. "Told you... I could handle it."

She starts to move then, tentative at first. Tiny, almost imperceptible shifts of her hips, trying to ease herself further down onto your length. Each small movement sends jolts of raw pleasure through you, but it's mixed with the undeniable sight of her pain. Her face is screwed up in concentration, sweat beading on her forehead.

"God, it... it kinda hurts," she admits through clenched teeth, pausing her movements. "But..." A different kind of noise escapes her then, a low moan that's equal parts pain and dawning pleasure. "...But it also feels... fuck, it feels kinda good, too. Stretching me out like this."

She starts moving again, a little bolder now, lifting herself slightly before sinking back down, taking a fraction more of you each time. The initial pain seems to be giving way, replaced by the friction, the sheer fullness. You can see the shift in her expression, the tight lines of discomfort slowly melting into something hotter, needier. She's managed to take maybe five, six inches now; just over half your length, but already filling her completely.

"Okay," Wonyoung breathes out, her rhythm becoming more confident, a slow, steady grind. "Okay, I see the appeal." Her eyes flick towards Yuna and Sullyoon, who are watching the scene with rapt attention. "This girth... it hits different."

Then, her gaze drops back to you, and the cruelty returns, sharp and sudden. "Look at you," she sneers as she continues her slow, torturous ride. "Just lying there. Taking it. Like a good little freak."

"Letting me just... use you," she continues, picking up the pace slightly, her moans starting to mingle with her insults. "Because that's all you're good for, isn't it? With a dick like that on a body like yours? You're just a fucking toy. A novelty. Something to be passed around and used up when we're bored." She leans down, her face close to yours, her eyes cold. "You have no dignity, do you? Just a pathetic little fucktoy waiting for orders."

You flinch, turning your head away, shame warring with the undeniable arousal her words, her movements, are stirring in you. A low sound escapes your throat, a mix between a whimper and a groan.

Wonyoung laughs, a harsh, satisfied sound. "Oh, you like that? Being put in your place?"

Beside the bed, Yuna and Sullyoon are practically vibrating with excitement. The sight of Wonyoung dominating you, humiliating you, is clearly turning them on immensely. Yuna reaches out, her fingers fumbling with the clasp of Sullyoon's white lace bra. Sullyoon gasps softly but doesn't stop her, instead leaning in to press a kiss to Yuna's shoulder as the bra falls away, revealing her surprisingly full, pale breasts, nipples already hard. Yuna moans, her hands immediately cupping Sullyoon's chest, thumbs circling the stiff peaks. Sullyoon arches her back, pushing into Yuna's touch, her eyes fluttering shut as Yuna leans down to suckle one nipple greedily. They start touching each other, slow, sensual caresses, lost in their own world but clearly fueled by the scene playing out on the bed.

You can't help it, your hands start to move, wanting to grip Wonyoung's hips, wanting some semblance of control, some way to push back against the humiliation, to match the intensity of her ride. But the second your fingers brush her skin, her hand flashes out, slapping you hard across the face.

It hurts. A lot.

The force of it snaps your head to the side, your cheek stinging instantly. Stars explode behind your eyes.

"Don't touch me unless I tell you to!" Wonyoung orders sharply. "Just lie there and do what you're told, toy. Be useful."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, from the slap, the humiliation, the sheer overwhelming nature of it all. You nod mutely, letting your hands fall limply to your sides. You obey. Because what else can you do?

Karina, who has been watching all this unfold from the foot of the bed, her face a mixture of arousal, pity, and fear, finally speaks up. Her voice is small, hesitant. "Wony... maybe... maybe take it easy on him? He's..."

Wonyoung cuts her off with a venomous glare, pausing her rhythmic grinding on your cock just long enough to snap, "Shut the fuck up, Jimin." Her voice is ice. "Did I say you could talk? No. You're lucky you're even in this room after lying to me." She gestures dismissively towards Karina's chest. "Now take off that fucking bra, whore. I want those big pale tits of yours out. Now."

Karina flinches as if struck, but the order, the sudden harsh attention, also seems to ignite something in her. A flicker of desperation, a need to please, to get back in Wonyoung's good graces (or maybe just to feel something other than sidelined). Without another word, her hands move to her back, fumbling slightly with the clasp. The pink lace falls away, revealing her own full, pale breasts, nipples tight and dark against her skin. She keeps her eyes down, looking utterly miserable yet strangely defiant.

Wonyoung gives a grunt of approval, then immediately resumes riding you, harder now, her moans mixing with yours. Your own moan escapes, louder this time, raw with the conflicting mess of pain, humiliation, and overwhelming pleasure. You can't help it; despite everything, despite the slap still stinging your cheek, the sight of Wonyoung grinding down on you, her perfect body moving above yours, is undeniably beautiful.

"Damn, you’re so fucking hot," you groan out, the words ripped from you involuntarily.

Wonyoung pauses for a beat, tilting her head slightly as if she just registered your words through the haze of her own pleasure. A slow, incredibly smug smile spreads across her face.

"I know," she says simply.

Across the room, Yuna lifts her head from Sullyoon's breast, her lips wet. Sullyoon moans softly as Yuna's hand slides between her legs. Yuna's eyes flick between you and Wonyoung, a knowing smirk blooming on her face.

"Oh?" Yuna says, her voice sly. "Looks like our little toy likes being used after all. Likes being treated rough."

Sullyoon giggles breathlessly, nodding in agreement, her eyes also fixed on your reaction. "He really does…”

Wonyoung is definitely having fun now. The initial tightness and discomfort have melted away, replaced by pure, unadulterated pleasure radiating from her face. Her movements are stronger, more demanding, her hips rocking against yours with a practiced rhythm that steals your breath. She throws her head back, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, a genuine, guttural moan ripping from her throat as she grinds down hard, milking another wave of intense friction from your thick shaft.

"Oh, fuck," Wonyoung gasps out, her eyes half-lidded, glazed with pleasure. "Okay, okay... this is... goddamn... the thickness is insane. It feels... holy shit." She grips your hips tighter, digging her perfectly manicured nails into your skin, leveraging herself for deeper strokes. "Forget the length, this girth..." she groans again, riding you with renewed vigor. "It fills me up completely. Hits everything."

Karina, still standing nearby with her bra discarded, sees her opening. Her eyes light up with a desperate need for validation, latching onto Wonyoung's praise like a lifeline.

"See?" Karina blurts out, stepping closer to the bed, her voice hopeful. "See, Wony? I told you! I told you it was amazing! I knew you'd like it!"

Wonyoung's eyes snap open. She glares daggers at Karina, her rhythm faltering slightly.

"Shut up, Jimin," Wonyoung snaps. "Don't interrupt me when I'm busy. And don't think a lucky guess about the thickness makes up for you lying about the size. You said twelve inches. You lied."

Karina shrinks back, wilting under the glare. "I didn't lie!" she protests weakly, twisting her hands together. "I just... I remembered it wrong! It was years ago! I made a mistake!"

"A convenient mistake," Wonyoung scoffs, but her attention is already shifting. A wicked glint enters her eyes as she looks Karina up and down, lingering on her bare chest. "Fine. You want to be useful? Bring those big tits over here. Right now."

Karina hesitates for only a fraction of a second, glancing nervously at you, then back at Wonyoung. The desperation to please, to be included, wins out. She quickly climbs onto the bed, kneeling beside Wonyoung, carefully avoiding touching you. She leans forward tentatively, offering her chest.

Wonyoung doesn't waste a second. She leans over, still impaling you, and captures one of Karina's large, pale nipples between her teeth, sucking hard. Karina cries out, a sharp gasp that's equal parts surprise and pleasure, her back arching instinctively. Wonyoung uses her free hand to mercilessly squeeze Karina's other breast, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the already hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

"Mmmph," Wonyoung hums around Karina's nipple, her eyes fluttering shut again as she focuses on the dual sensations: your thick cock stretching her tight cunt, Karina's soft breast filling her mouth. "Okay... gotta admit, Jimin... these are pretty fucking amazing too." She releases the nipple with a wet pop, leaving it glistening and dark red, before latching onto the other one. "So full... so soft..." she murmurs, squeezing the first breast possessively.

Karina is panting now, her face flushed, eyes hazy. She looks utterly wrecked, caught between the intense stimulation and the relief of finally having Wonyoung's attention, even like this.

Yuna, who has paused her ministrations on Sullyoon to watch, lets out a theatrical sigh. Sullyoon is leaning against her, completely bare now, her small breasts flushed, nipples pebbled hard as she watches Wonyoung and Karina with wide, fascinated eyes.

"Ugh, not fair," Yuna whines playfully, cupping her own smaller chest for comparison. "I wish mine were big and squishy like Karina's. Lucky bitch."

Sullyoon nods in agreement, her gaze still fixed on Karina's chest being manhandled by Wonyoung.

Now, the sight is fucking unreal: Wonyoung riding you, her tight pussy gripping your thick cock with every downward thrust, while simultaneously devouring Karina's breast like it's the finest dessert. The combined visual is overwhelmingly hot, your breath hitches, catches, turns into ragged pants that fill the otherwise quiet room (save for Wonyoung's increasingly loud moans and Karina's breathy gasps). You can't help the sounds escaping you, raw groans torn from your throat with every powerful stroke Wonyoung delivers.

"Ah... Fuck... W-Wonyoung... Oh god..."

Wonyoung seems to reach a new peak, her movements becoming frantic, her grip on Karina's breast tightening almost painfully. Karina cries out again, but Wonyoung doesn't seem to notice, lost in her own pleasure. Then, abruptly, the intensity breaks. Wonyoung slows her pace, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on her skin. The sudden change makes your own ragged breathing sound even louder in the relative quiet.

Wonyoung glares down at you, annoyance flashing across her sweat-slicked face. "Ugh, can you stop making so much noise?" she complains, sounding like the spoiled princess she is. "It's distracting. Seriously, shut up." She glances over at the other two girls, who are now just watching, hands idle. "One of you, deal with this. Shut him up. Sit on his face or something. I don't care, just make him quiet."

Yuna and Sullyoon exchange excited glances. Sullyoon looks slightly hesitant, but Yuna grins wickedly.

"Ooh, face-sitting duty? Dibs!" Yuna declares immediately.

"Hey! No fair! I wanna do it too!" Sullyoon protests, pouting slightly.

Yuna rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine, drama queen. Rock paper scissors for it? Winner gets to smother him."

Sullyoon nods eagerly. They both hold out their fists.

"Rock! Paper! Scissors! SHOOT!"

Yuna throws paper. Sullyoon throws rock.

"Ha! Yes!" Yuna cheers triumphantly, pumping her fist. "Paper covers rock! Face is mine!"

Sullyoon groans dramatically but doesn't argue further, instead settling back to watch with keen interest. Yuna crawls purposefully towards your head, her movements fluid and confident. She's completely naked now, her lithe body gleaming slightly under the soft lights, her earlier play with Sullyoon having clearly left her thoroughly aroused. She positions herself directly over your face, straddling your neck, her bare pussy hovering just inches above your mouth. You can smell her arousal; musky, salty, intoxicating. She's definitely wet.

Yuna leans down slightly, her dark hair falling around her face, brushing against your cheeks.

"Alright, noise machine," Yuna purrs, lowering herself just enough that her wet folds brush against your lips. "Princess Wonyoung wants you quiet. So you're gonna focus on me now." She shifts her hips, grinding her clit lightly against your mouth. "Open up and eat. And don't stop until I tell you to."

She settles her weight down fully then, pressing her wetness firmly against your mouth and nose. The sensation is overwhelming; the soft pressure, the intimate scent, the taste of her arousal instantly flooding your senses. Wonyoung is still moving on your cock below, a steady, demanding rhythm, her moans starting up again, quieter now. Karina is still kneeling beside her, breasts bare, watching Yuna with wide eyes. Sullyoon is watching everything, touching herself lightly. And Yuna... Yuna is grinding onto your face, demanding your tongue, muffling any sound you might make besides muffled gasps into her flesh.

"That's it," Yuna murmurs. "Lick me, freak. Use that tongue. Make me feel good while Wonyoung breaks you." She moans as your tongue finally finds her clit, flicking against the sensitive nub. "Oh fuck... yeah, right there... Don't stop!”

Across the bed, Sullyoon is completely naked now, lying on her side, propped up on one elbow. Her eyes are wide, dark, fixed on the tangled mess of limbs. Her free hand is working furiously between her own long legs, fingers slick and glistening as she rubs herself, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

"Oh my god," Sullyoon gasps out, watching Wonyoung slam down onto your cock. "Look how deep she's taking him... Fuck, Karina, she's murdering your tits too..." Her fingers move faster, her knuckles white. "Girls, this is... this is so hot..."

Wonyoung lets out another high, keening moan, throwing her head back again. Her grip on Karina's breast tightens, eliciting a sharp cry from her. Wonyoung doesn't seem to notice, her focus entirely internal now, chasing her own climax.

"Nnngh... Fuck... Almost... almost there..." Wonyoung pants, her words broken. Her hips slam down onto you with punishing force, again and again, driving you deeper into the mattress. The sheer thickness of your cock seems to be exactly what she needs, stretching her, filling her, pushing her closer to the edge. "Fuck... yes..." Wonyoung pants. "God, this girth... it's perfect. Hits me just... ah... right."

Meanwhile, Yuna is making your life a living hell in the best/worst possible way. Her slick cunt grinds relentlessly against your mouth, demanding attention. Your tongue is working frantically, trying to keep up, licking and sucking at her clit as she rides your face like she was born for it. The musky taste of her fills your senses, making your head spin even more than the aphrodisiac already is. Her hands grip the sides of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you firmly in place.

"Lick faster, toy," Yuna commands. "Don't you dare slack off. Make me feel good."

You try to comply, your tongue moving in frantic circles, lapping at the wetness she’s providing. Suddenly, she shifts her weight awkwardly, wobbling slightly. Your hands instinctively shoot up, grabbing her hips to steady her before she can completely fall off balance.

"Nnngh-!" Yuna gasps, surprised by your quick reaction, but she settles back down immediately, grinding even harder against your mouth now that she has your hands supporting her. "Yes! Hold me right there, fucker! That's it! Hold me steady while I ride your face off! Fuck, use that tongue, bitch!"

Watching this chaotic scene, Sullyoon is practically vibrating on the spot. Her hand is a blur between her legs, fingers working her clit with frantic speed. Her face is flushed crimson, eyes wide and glazed, fixed on the tangle of bodies. A thin sheen of sweat covers her skin, and it is possible to see the creamy wetness starting to seep from between her own folds, slicking her fingers.

"Oh my god... oh fuck..." Sullyoon moans. "Wony... Yuna... you guys are so... fuck..."

Even Karina can't resist. Her free hand, the one not being crushed by Wonyoung, creeps down hesitantly at first, fingers brushing against her own damp panties. Seeing Yuna and Sullyoon so lost in pleasure, feeling Wonyoung's mouth still working her nipple, watching you get absolutely used... it's too much. Her fingers slip underneath the lace, finding her own clit, and she starts rubbing herself with small, desperate movements, her breath hitching.

Wonyoung throws her head back again, a loud, piercing moan tearing from her throat as she slams down onto your cock particularly hard, her tight walls milking you intensely.

"Fuck! Yes! Right there! Oh god, I'm... I'm getting close!" she screams. "Fuck, this dick is... magic!"

Yuna hears her and lets out an ecstatic shriek muffled against your lips. "Yes! Wony, yes! Me too! Let's cum together! Fuck!" She picks up her pace, grinding her clit against your tongue so hard it's almost painful, her whole body trembling.

"No! Wait!" Sullyoon cries out from the side, her fingers flying even faster. Her knuckles are white, her breathing ragged. "Wait for me! I'm almost there too! Fuck, please wait!"

Wonyoung laughs, a wild, breathless sound. "Hurry up then, Sullyoonie! Can't hold back much longer!" She leans further onto Karina, her weight pressing down as she continues her relentless ride, her pussy squeezing your cock with punishing intensity. She continues to squeeze Karina’s breast like it’s putty in her hand, twisting the nipple until Karina gasps sharply. "Feel that, Jimin?" Wonyoung taunts breathlessly between moans. "Feel how good he is? Feel what you missed out on because you were too scared?"

Karina just whimpers, her own fingers moving faster between her legs now, chasing her own release despite the humiliation.

"Almost... almost..." Wonyoung pants.

"Fuck... me too... gonna... cum!" Yuna gasps against your mouth.

Then, something shifts. Wonyoung reaches out, her hand finding Yuna's. Their fingers lace together tightly, a strange moment of connection amidst the chaos. They look at each other, eyes locked, faces flushed and identical masks of impending ecstasy.

"Now?" Yuna mouths silently.

Wonyoung nods curtly, then her eyes flick down to you, still filled with that cruel amusement even as she's about to lose control. "Look at you," she spits out between pants. "Just a fucking pole for us to ride. A mouth for us to use. Pathetic little freak, letting us do whatever we want to you." Her hips slam down one last time. "Good boy!"

"WAIT!" Sullyoon screams.

But it's too late.

Wonyoung throws her head back, a raw, guttural scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashes over her. Her inner walls clamp down on your cock hard, pulsing violently, milking you intensely. Simultaneously, Yuna lets out a high-pitched wail against your mouth, her hips spasming uncontrollably as she comes hard, her juices flooding your tongue, your throat, spilling down your chin. Sullyoon shrieks in frustration and pleasure as she finally tips over the edge milliseconds later, her body convulsing, fingers still buried inside herself.

Only Karina is silent, her hand stilled between her legs, watching the other three completely fall apart with wide, almost fearful eyes.

It takes a long moment for the intensity to subside. Wonyoung slowly, shakily, lifts herself off your still-throbbing cock. Her legs are trembling, her breath coming in harsh gasps. She looks utterly wrecked, but supremely satisfied. Yuna collapses forward onto your chest, panting, leaving your face completely soaked in her slick, sticky arousal, her scent clinging to you. Sullyoon curls into a ball on the bed, whimpering softly, spent.

Wonyoung recovers first, of course. She pushes her sweat-soaked hair back from her face and glares down at you, her usual imperious expression returning, though her flushed cheeks and slightly trembling hands betray the intensity of her orgasm.

"Well," she says, voice still a little shaky but regaining its commanding tone. She kicks your thigh lightly, not hard, just a dismissive nudge. "You were... adequate. As a piece of equipment." She looks you up and down. "You should thank us, you know. For even bothering to use you. Giving a little freak like you this kind of attention."

Your head is spinning. Your face is covered in Yuna’s juices. Your cock aches. Humiliation and arousal are waging a war inside you. But faced with Wonyoung’s unwavering command, the ingrained response kicks in.

"T-thank you," you stammer out. "Thank you... for using me."

Wonyoung gives a curt nod of satisfaction. Sullyoon, seemingly recovered, stirs beside you. She sits up slowly, her eyes landing on your face, still glistening wet. A slow, slightly dazed smile spreads across her lips.

"Hey, you're all messy," Sullyoon says softly. She crawls closer, leaning down towards your face. "Don't worry. I'll clean you up."

Before you can react, her tongue flicks out, tentatively licking at the sticky wetness on your cheek; Yuna's juices. She hums softly, seeming to enjoy the taste.

Yuna sees what Sullyoon is doing, and bursts into delighted giggles. "Yah! Sullyoon-ah!" she exclaims, reaching over and giving Sullyoon's bare ass a sharp, playful slap. "You little slut! Cleaning up after me already? So eager."

Sullyoon jumps at the slap, blushing furiously but giggling too as she continues to lick your face clean, her tongue surprisingly thorough.

Wonyoung’s chest rises and falls slow but heavy as she catches her breath, cheeks still flushed. She waves a hand lazily and snaps:

“Yuna. Water.”

Yuna’s already halfway up like she was waiting for the command, a little dazed but obedient, disappearing toward the suite’s kitchenette. You’re still on your back, cock slick and half-hard, twitching like it knows more’s coming.

Behind you, Karina’s voice pipes up, almost sheepish.

“Is it my turn now?”

Wonyoung tilts her head, pouting, turning with faux sweetness dripping from every syllable.

“Aww… Is our little Karina super horny right now?” She steps toward her slowly, arms crossed under her chest, tilting her head.

Karina nods, almost embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“You must be fucking insane,” Wonyoung purrs, biting her bottom lip, “to wanna feel that thing inside your pretty little pussy.” Her hand gestures lazily at your cock, still shiny with Wonyoung's Juices. “That thing you ran away from, remember? Screaming, even.”

Karina swallows hard and nods again. “I know… I was dumb…”

Wonyoung chuckles, low and wicked. “C’mere.”

Karina obeys instantly, stepping forward like she’s being summoned by a queen (which, yeah, she is). Wonyoung grabs her by the waist and pulls her in, lips crashing into hers. There’s hunger in it. Desperation. Karina clings to her, arms wrapping around her back as their tongues tangle and slide together.

Wonyoung’s hands move with zero shame, cupping Karina’s tits, squeezing hard, like she can’t help herself. The moan Karina lets out is real, shaky, needy.

“Mmm,” Wonyoung hums against her mouth. “Your mouth’s a lot more useful when it’s busy kissing than when it’s lying to me.”

Karina pulls back, blinking. “It wasn’t a—”

But Wonyoung shuts her up with a single finger pressed to her lips, eyes narrow.

“Shhh.”

Then kisses her again, harder this time. Rough. Like she’s marking her.

Yuna comes back into the room holding the glass of water like a dutiful maid, handing it over. Wonyoung grabs it, downs it in a few gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Okay. I’m good now.”

She turns back to Karina, tossing the empty glass somewhere on the carpet without looking. Her smile sharpens.

“Take off your panties.”

Karina's hands are already on the hem of her panties before Wonyoung even finishes the sentence. She kicks them off, a little clumsy, cheeks red but thighs pressed together, as if she’s trying to hide how wet she already is.

Wonyoung doesn’t even look at her for long. She turns her gaze to you and Sullyoon, still tangled together.

“Well, looks like you two are having fun.”

Sullyoon giggles, brushing hair behind her ear, resting her hand on your chest.

“He’s cute.”

Wonyoung’s face shifts immediately, stern.

“Don’t fucking treat it like a person,” she says, voice cold. “It’s a toy. Just a fucktoy. You don’t call your vibrator cute, do you?”

Sullyoon straightens up a little, nodding quickly.

“No. Right.”

Wonyoung smirks and walks over to the edge of the bed.

“Since you two already warmed it up, now it’s your turn to ride it, babe.”

Sullyoon doesn’t hesitate. She stretches out on her back right beside you, her eyes locked on yours. You look down at her and, fuck, she’s a masterpiece.

Long, flawless legs, skin pale and creamy, like she’s carved from glass and silk. Her legs are spread for you already, thick thighs leading up to plush hips that move slightly like she’s getting comfortable, preparing herself. There’s a little sheen between them, already wet, already throbbing.

Her torso is slim, but her curves are unreal, that perfect hourglass drawn to scale, with soft perky tits rising and falling with her breath, nipples stiff from arousal. Her eyes look up at you like she knows exactly what you are: just something to make her cum; and it makes your cock pulse hard all over again.

You’re climbing over her, lining up, and—

“Wait!” Karina whines from the side, still bottomless, fists clenched at her sides. “I thought it was my turn…”

Wonyoung doesn’t even look at her at first. Then she steps up, grabs Karina by the cheeks and squishes her face like a child being scolded.

“Aww, poor baby,” she mocks. “Thinking she gets what she wants.”

Karina huffs, pouting against Wonyoung’s grip. “I—”

“You don’t get to talk right now,” Wonyoung cuts in sharply, still holding her by the face. Then her expression softens slightly, eyes flicking toward Yuna, who’s just watching silently, smiling.

“Go open the drawer.”

Yuna nods and turns immediately, heading toward the bedside cabinet with a knowing look.

Wonyoung lets go of Karina’s face and turns back to the bed.

“Go on. Fuck her.”

Your hands plant on the bed on either side of Sullyoon’s head. She’s already got her knees up, heels digging into the mattress, guiding your hips toward her with her legs. You feel her hand grip your cock and guide it down between her legs, slick heat greeting the tip. She rubs you along her folds once, then twice, then lines you up. You push.

She lets out a low moan, head tilting back.

“God, you’re fucking big…”

You keep pressing in. Her pussy stretches around you, velvet heat swallowing you inch by inch, and she takes it all without even flinching, like she’s built for this. Her back arches slightly, tits rising toward your chest, and her mouth opens, breath catching.

“Fuck yes…”

From the corner of your eye, Wonyoung is still standing over Karina, whispering something into her ear while her fingers toy with one of her nipples. But you don’t get to look for long because Sullyoon pulls you down by the neck, her thighs trembling a little around your waist, and whispers against your lips:

“Go easy, okay?”

You nod, leaning down, brushing your lips over her cheek. “I promise.”

That makes her smile, and she reaches for your hands, guiding them down to her hips. You shift your weight, angle your hips, the head of your cock dragging along her wet folds. She’s soaked, pussy creamy from being teased and fingered, and when you start to push in slow—god—she tightens around you immediately.

“Oh my god… you’re thick… this cock is a fucking weapon.”

Her fingers dig into your arms, breathing fast now. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever… fuuuck, go slow, please, go slow…”

You don’t even need the reminder. She’s gripping you like a fist, squeezing you inch by inch as you sink deeper, her walls fluttering like she’s already close from just the stretch alone. You pause halfway in, hips twitching with restraint, watching her face melt into something caught between pain and pure fucking pleasure.

“I got you,” you murmur, stroking her side, kissing her collarbone. "If you want me to stop, just say so.”

Meanwhile, behind you, Yuna walks back in, holding a thick black anal plug in one hand and a shiny silver tube of lube in the other. Her smile is too wide, too excited. Karina sees her and visibly tenses, backing half a step toward the couch.

“Wait… what’s that for?” Karina’s voice is shaky, eyes locked on the plug like it’s going to jump at her.

Wonyoung grins like a devil in a model's body. “If you wanna feel cock today, you’re gonna need to offer up that cute little ass.”

Karina stammers, blinking. “I’ve… I’ve never done that…”

“I know,” Wonyoung says calmly, stepping forward. “Now get on all fours.”

Karina’s mouth opens like she’s about to argue, but she hesitates too long.

“Right now,” Wonyoung snaps. “Or get the fuck out.”

Silence. Then Karina slowly turns, face red, and lowers herself to her knees. She looks humiliated, turned on, afraid (everything Wonyoung seems to love). Her thick thighs ripple as she gets into position, ass high, cheeks clenched, legs trembling slightly.

Yuna kneels behind her and pats her ass once, affectionate. “You’re gonna love it,” she says softly. “It’s like… my favorite.”

Wonyoung flicks her wrist. “Prep her.”

Yuna grins. “Can I lick it first?”

Wonyoung rolls her eyes. “Yes. Obviously.”

Yuna wastes zero time. She spreads Karina’s cheeks, leans in, and starts to lick, slow broad strokes at first, then narrowing in, teasing her little hole with the tip of her tongue. Karina whimpers, cheeks burning red as she hides her face in her arms.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung strolls back to you and Sullyoon, casually watching as you slowly roll your hips forward again, burying a little more of yourself inside her. Sullyoon’s thighs shake, her hands fisting in the sheets now, every breath a moan.

Wonyoung stands beside the bed, arms crossed, smirking.

“Is she enjoying it?” she asks.

Sullyoon moans louder. “Yes… oh fuck yes, Wony… it’s fantastic…”

Wonyoung tsks. “Too slow.”

Before you can react, she slaps your ass, sharp and loud, fingers leaving a sting that burns hot through your skin.

“Faster,” she commands.

You grunt, your body reacting without hesitation. You grip Sullyoon tighter and start thrusting harder, deeper, the slow roll of your hips turning into something more brutal, more rhythmic. She cries out, legs locking tighter around you.

“Aaah—fuck-fuck, I can't, it's too big!”

Wonyoung laughs like she’s at a party, delighted, stepping back to watch your hips hammer into Sullyoon, her body bouncing under you, moans pouring out of her with every thrust. She grabs one of Sullyoon’s tits, squeezing it roughly, pinching the nipple until Sullyoon arches off the bed.

“Much better,” Wonyoung says, grinning. “Now that’s how you use a toy.”

Behind you, Karina’s moaning too. Muffled and high-pitched. Yuna’s fingers are buried between her cheeks, tongue still teasing. The plug rests beside them on the bed, gleaming, waiting for its turn. Karina’s legs are trembling harder now, her ass slick, her breathing short and fast. But Wonyoung’s eyes are on you. On your cock driving into Sullyoon like you’re trying to fuck the shape of her pussy into your hips, her moans turning ragged and desperate, tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes as the pleasure crashes through her.

Karina’s face is buried in her forearms, but her back is arched high, thighs pressed together as tightly as they can be with Yuna nestled between them. She keeps letting out these soft, confused little gasps, tiny moans like she doesn’t know what her body is doing or why it’s starting to like it. Her ass cheeks twitch every time Yuna’s tongue flattens out and drags upward, slow and wet, lingering at her tight rim before she flicks the tip of her tongue over it again. Yuna hums like she’s savoring something sweet, both hands spreading Karina’s cheeks apart like she’s exposing a gift, holding her wide while she works her mouth.

“Mmh, you taste so good…” Yuna breathes, kissing the spot softly before swirling her tongue around again. “God, your little asshole’s clenching like it’s trying to kiss me.”

Karina’s breath hitches. “It—it feels weird…”

Yuna giggles into her skin. “Weird’s just code for new. Sensitive, huh?”

Karina nods fast, her voice muffled. “Yeah—yes, I—it’s really sensitive, I d-don’t know if I—”

“Shhh,” Yuna whispers against her. “Let it happen. You’ll like it. I promise.”

She presses her tongue flat again, dragging it in a circle this time, slow and teasing. Karina jolts, her hips shaking, one of her hands clutching at the sheets.

“I-it tickles—oh my god…”

From the bed, your eyes flicker toward them, and the image hits like a shot of lust straight to your chest: Yuna's pretty face buried between Karina’s shaking thighs, her mouth wet, eyes half-lidded with focus while she laps at her like she’s starving. Karina’s whole body shudders again, her back arching deeper. Her hole’s glistening now, twitching and helpless while Yuna traces it with delicate, skilled strokes.

And still, you’re balls-deep in Sullyoon.

She’s so tight you swear you’re being milked. Every thrust in makes her body tremble under yours, her fingers tangled in the sheets, jaw slack from the pleasure stretching her open. You go back to fucking her slowly, just like she asked, deep, controlled strokes, feeling her clench every time you bottom out, It's the only way for you not to cum because her pussy is impossible good, but the moans that keep spilling from her lips are fucking addictive, and you have to resist the urge to sink your entire cock into her pussy. Her moana are soft at first, then louder, sharper, her voice cracking as she starts pushing her hips up to meet yours, wanting more. Your hands tighten on her waist, and you pull back before thrusting in again, the sound of it wet and obscene, skin on skin. Her eyes are rolling back, and you’re getting lost in it. The heat, the pressure, the way her pussy grips you like it’s desperate to keep you inside.

From beside the bed, Wonyoung watches everything.

She’s seated now, legs crossed elegantly, but her eyes are burning with attention. Her lips curl into a smirk when she sees how hard you’re holding back, how tight your jaw is as you fight the urge to rail Sullyoon into the mattress.

“You’re being too gentle again,” she says, voice calm, but there’s that edge again, that dominance that makes your cock twitch even deeper inside Sullyoon.

You look at her, sweat starting to bead at your forehead. “She asked me to—”

“I didn’t ask what she said,” Wonyoung cuts you off. She leans forward, her gaze sharp. “Put your hand on her throat.”

Your heart skips. Sullyoon hears it too, she shivers under you, her pussy tightening, her voice going breathless.

“D-Do it,” she whispers.

You reach out, slow, sliding your hand up from her chest to her neck. She tilts her head back, offering herself up, your fingers curl around her throat, gentle but firm, and the way her whole body reacts, hips lifting to press you deeper, a high moan escaping her lips, is fucking unreal. Wonyoung smiles like a queen watching a jester perform on command.

“Better.”

You start moving again, your thrusts picking up pace, dragging your cock deep into Sullyoon while your hand tightens slightly around her throat. She whines, her fingers scrabbling at your arms, her eyes fluttering half-shut as her breathing turns into high, broken gasps. Her back arches, tits brushing against your chest, nipples stiff and flushed from the friction.

“I—ah—fuck, I can feel it in my stomach…”

“You love it,” Wonyoung says, watching her with hungry eyes. “Say it.”

“I l-love it—fuck, I love it—it’s s-so fucking thick, it’s splitting me—”

You groan, head dipping to kiss her neck, tongue tracing her pulse, your hips slamming into hers with more weight now, every thrust deep enough to make the bed creak.

Behind you, Yuna’s still at it. She’s licking deeper now, more focused, her thumbs spreading Karina’s cheeks wider so her tongue can press closer, firmer. Karina’s hips keep jerking away on instinct, but Yuna doesn’t let her go anywhere.

“Stop running,” Yuna murmurs. “Just let me make you feel good…”

Karina whimpers. “Y-Yuna—fuck—it’s—it’s so much, I—I don’t know if—”

“Just wait till I lube you up, baby,” Yuna says sweetly, biting down gently on the soft flesh of her ass. “Then we’ll really see how much you can take.”

She picks up the bottle finally, uncapping it with a pop, and squeezes some of the cold gel onto her fingers. But she doesn’t rush it. She dips one finger between Karina’s cheeks, rubbing slow, spreading the lube around the tight entrance while Karina trembles and gasps with every little push and tease.

Wonyoung turns to glance over her shoulder, watching Karina squirm.

“She better be ready soon,” she says lazily. “Or I’m plugging her dry.”

Karina moans out loud at that, almost in panic. “N-no, wait, I—I’ll try, I’m trying—”

“Then fucking stay still, slut!” Wonyoung snaps.

Yuna grins and adds a second finger, the lube making slick noises as she circles the rim, pushing gently but insistently.

“She’s gonna be ready,” Yuna promises. “This hole’s too cute to go to waste.”

Wonyoung turns back to you, eyes raking down your body, then landing on where your cock disappears into Sullyoon again and again.

“Keep that pace. Don’t let her cum yet. She doesn’t get to finish until I say so.”

You nod, not trusting your voice, focused on Sullyoon’s flushed face, the way she looks up at you like she’s drowning in every inch you give her. She bites her lip hard, her thighs twitching around your waist.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Please don’t fucking stop…”

Yuna’s fingers glisten with lube as she finally stops teasing and starts pushing one inside Karina. Karina jolts forward with a gasp, her ass still high, thighs shaking. She wasn’t ready for how it’d feel (wet and slick, yes, but so deliberate). Yuna’s finger presses slow but firm, the lube squelching audibly as it disappears past the tight rim. Karina clenches around it, hips trying to buck away, but Yuna just holds her there, one hand gripping her waist.

“Holy shit,” Karina breathes. “It’s… f-fuck, it’s going in…”

Yuna smiles against her back. “Of course it is, babe. That hole’s got potential.”

Karina groans through her teeth, forehead pressed to her forearms again. “It’s so fucking weird, I—ah—shit, it’s burning a little—”

“That’s just the stretch. You’ll love it once it’s open,” Yuna coos, sliding her finger deeper until she’s knuckle-deep. “Tight as hell, though… God. Your ass is starving.”

Karina lets out a choked noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and her legs twitch like she’s trying to stay still, even as her body reacts instinctively to the invasion.

“Stop clenching so much,” Yuna murmurs, moving her finger in shallow thrusts. “Let me in, Karina.”

Wonyoung, lounging beside the bed with her legs crossed and a slight sheen of sweat on her collarbones, doesn’t even look back at them.

“She’ll stop fighting it once the second finger goes in,” she mutters, eyes locked on you.

She points at Sullyoon’s trembling body beneath you, voice smooth but sharp:

“Bury it. All the way in. Now.”

You lock eyes with Sullyoon, her face flushed, eyes glassy, breath trembling, and she nods once, barely able to speak.

“Do it,” she whispers.

You shift your weight, grab her hips tighter, and push forward until your pelvis slams flush against her ass. Every thick, veiny inch of you is buried inside, and Sullyoon’s mouth drops open in a silent scream. Her eyes roll back immediately.

“OH MY FUHH—FUCK!!” she moans, her nails digging into your arms hard enough to draw blood. “It’s… all of it—fuck, I can feel it in my stomach, oh my god!”

Wonyoung lets out a quiet little laugh.

“She’s better like this,” she says, tilting her head. “More obedient. Tighter too, probably. Grip her neck again—tighter this time. Make my cute little slut cum.

You don’t hesitate. Your hand slides right back up, closing around Sullyoon’s throat, fingers pressing firmer now. Not choking her, but enough that she gasps and looks up at you with that fucked-out, submissive stare that sends blood rushing to your cock again.

Her voice comes out hoarse. “Harder, babe… please…”

You hold her there and start fucking her deep, slow, brutal strokes that make her tits bounce and her pussy gush around you. Every thrust hits her cervix like a drumbeat, and the little choking moans spilling out of her just egg you on. And behind you, Karina’s breathing has gone rapid and high-pitched. Yuna has two fingers in her now, both slick with lube, working them in and out in slow, deliberate pumps that have Karina rocking back against her without even realizing it.

“F-fuck, Yuna—stop, I-I’m gonna—gonna cum if you keep—fuck!” Karina moans, biting her own hand.

Yuna leans in, lips brushing Karina’s ear, breath hot. “Cum from a finger in your ass? That’s so fucking cute.” Karina’s whole body clenches, her ass twitching as Yuna scissors her fingers, stretching her open more with each motion. “You’re doing good, baby,” Yuna hums. “Almost ready…”

Wonyoung glances back now, amused. “Is the brat loosened up yet?”

Yuna smirks. “See for yourself.”

She pulls her fingers out slowly, the sound wet and filthy, then holds them up for Wonyoung to see: slick with lube and cream, glistening in the light. Karina’s still trembling on all fours, face buried, ass wet and twitching, her hole flexing involuntarily, stretched and needy. Wonyoung stands up, stretches, walks over like she owns the whole damn room (and she kind of does). She picks up the plug from the bed, weighing it in her hand, then crouches behind Karina.

Karina looks back, wide-eyed.

“Wait—wait, it’s big—fuck, I don’t know if I—”

Wonyoung slaps her ass hard enough to make her jolt. “You’re ready,” she says coldly. “Now stay still while I make you better.”

Yuna licks her fingers clean with a soft moan, then crouches back behind Karina like she’s settling into her favorite seat at a show. She plants her palms on Karina’s ass, spreading her cheeks wide, holding them apart so her tight, glistening little hole is fully exposed, twitching, raw and shining with lube and slick from her own juices. Karina’s breath stutters as she feels the air hit her, and her thighs shake like she might collapse, but Yuna keeps her wide, grinning like she’s already proud of the work they’ve done.

“Hold still, baby,” Yuna murmurs, her nails dimpling into Karina’s pale skin. “Let her give you your present.”

Wonyoung crouches low, plug in one hand, the lube-slicked tip already glistening under the soft lighting. She presses it right up against Karina’s hole, testing it. Karina gasps loud, her head lifting suddenly as her eyes fly open.

“Wait, wait, wait—f-fuck, Wonyoung, it’s big, I-I’m not ready, I—!”

Wonyoung doesn’t respond with words. She just applies pressure. The rounded head pushes inward, and Karina screams.

Her voice cracks like a sob, body lurching forward instinctively, but Yuna holds her in place with a grunt, gripping her hips like handlebars. Karina babbles through the pain, a slurry of panicked syllables and ragged breaths.

“Ah—ah—shit, oh my god, it’s too big, it’s too big—it burns—it fuckin’ burns!!”

“Then you shouldn’t have lied to me,” Wonyoung mutters, cool and detached, her hand steady as the thick plug stretches Karina wider with every slow, brutal inch. “You want cock, you get the punishment that comes first.”

Karina’s whole body trembles, ass clenched tight around the intruding plug, every inch sending more shockwaves of pain and humiliation through her. Her face is soaked with sweat already, lips parted in disbelief at how deep it’s going. Behind her, Yuna’s breath is hot, tongue flicking the edge of Karina’s ear as she leans over her back. “You sound so fucking hot like this,” she whispers. “You’re gonna be perfect once it’s all the way in. Such a good little plug slut.”

The scream Karina lets out next is sharp and raw, almost broken. You hear it, feel the vibration of it behind you like the air’s alive, and you’re still buried to the hilt in Sullyoon. Her legs are shaking around your hips, your hand’s still on her throat, and her pussy is pulsing, squeezing your cock like it’s trying to memorize it. The way Karina’s moaning next to her, screaming as she gets her ass opened, is fuel for Sullyoon. Her eyes roll back and her mouth drops open, chest rising and falling like she’s being devoured by the pleasure.

“I—I can’t—I can’t hold it!” she pants. “I’m gonna fucking cum—I swear—I can’t—oh my god kiss me, please, please kiss me, I wanna cum while you’re kissing me, I wanna feel your mouth when it hits—pleaseee!"

You don’t even hesitate. You lean down fast, your hand tightening on her throat just a little more as your mouth crashes into hers. Her lips are soft, wet, desperate. Her tongue meets yours immediately, greedy and wild, kissing you like she needs it more than air. The second your lips connect, she snaps. Her entire body tenses, heels digging into the bed, thighs clamping tight around your waist, and her pussy clamps down hard; a perfect vice, spasming and pulsing around your cock like she’s trying to pull you in even deeper. She lets out a high, shaking moan straight into your mouth, hands flying up to grab your face, kissing you harder, sloppier, while she cums in waves all over you. Your cock’s completely drenched now, soaked in her release, her body rocking beneath yours as the orgasm shakes through her like a storm, long and loud and so fucking hot you’re fighting every instinct not to unload inside her right there.

Wonyoung glances back, smirking, still pushing the plug deeper into Karina’s stretched hole with cruel precision. It’s almost fully in now, the thickest part parting Karina’s trembling rim, her voice hoarse from moaning and crying through the stretch.

“Look at that,” Wonyoung says, eyes on Karina but voice raised just enough to carry. “While you’re getting your tight little asshole split by a plug, Sullyoon’s over here creaming herself on cock like it’s the best day of her life.”

Karina sobs out a moan, too far gone to respond, just breathing raggedly while the final inch of the plug sinks in, slow and merciless.

“You jealous yet?” Wonyoung whispers near her ear. “You wanted this. You chose this. And now you get to be plugged up like a good little toy while someone else gets her guts rearranged.”

Yuna’s still holding Karina open, watching the plug disappear inside her with awe and glee.

“Almost there,” she says, licking her lips. “You’re taking it so well…”

Karina’s still panting into the mattress, arms trembling, her ass raised with the thick plug now buried deep inside, barely visible except for the slick base nestled between her swollen cheeks. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks streaked with a flush of sweat and tears, and her thighs are twitching from the slow, rhythmic throbbing inside her. She lifts her head slightly, voice weak but hopeful.

“S-So… what happens now?” Her words come out breathy, unsure. “Is it… is it my turn?”

Wonyoung doesn’t answer right away. She stands upright with a smug little stretch, licking the edge of her finger clean from guiding the plug in, her expression sharp with amusement. Then she lets out a dry, condescending chuckle.

“Not yet.” Karina blinks at her, blinking fast like she misheard. Wonyoung tilts her head, smiling cruelly. “Yuna hasn’t had a turn with that cock yet.”

Karina’s shoulders sag, and her face collapses into a tired, frustrated sigh. She lets her head fall back down onto her arms with a faint groan, too wrecked to protest more than that.

Yuna laughs, light, teasing, and smacks Karina’s ass again, right on the plug, making her yelp and jerk forward with a strangled moan.

“Be patient, princess,” Yuna grins. “You’ve already got a little friend stuffed in there to keep you busy. Don’t be greedy.”

Wonyoung shoots her a quick glance, neither amused nor annoyed, just sharp. Always sharp.

“Yuna,” she says flatly, “he’s ready.”

Yuna turns her head to you and waves a finger, grinning wide like a cat with cream on its tongue. “Come here, toy. Sit down. Edge of the bed.”

You obey immediately, there’s no part of your brain even pretending to fight it anymore. You climb off Sullyoon, who’s still panting and glowing from her orgasm, and move to the edge of the bed. Your thighs ache. Your cock is glistening with her slick, flushed dark, veiny, painfully hard. You sit down, muscles twitching from exertion, and look up as Yuna struts toward you. She turns around and backs herself up, settling her toned legs against yours, ass grazing your thigh, there’s a golden sheen of sweat clinging to her lower back and the curve of her ass cheeks glistening as she lowers herself onto you.

“You can touch me,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a wink. “I’m not Wonyoung.”

Your hands rise instinctively, gripping her slim waist. She’s warm under your fingers, tight and toned. Yuna’s body is fucking unreal; lean but thick where it counts. Her waist is slim, but her hips flare out wide, ass plump and round with the kind of bounce that makes it impossible not to stare. Her thighs are powerful, soft over muscle, her skin is smooth, flawless, with that slight golden glow under the lights.

You squeeze her hips a little, breath catching in your throat.

“Fuck, you’re… perfect,” you mutter. “You’re fucking hot.”

Yuna giggles, rolling her hips back just enough to brush your cock against her folds.

“You know how to sweet talk a girl,” she purrs.

But Wonyoung’s voice slices in before you can say anything more.

“Stop talking to him like he matters.”

Yuna turns slightly, side-eyeing her with a sigh.

“Wonyoung…”

Wonyoung crosses her arms, eyes narrowing.

“He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your friend. He’s a cock. A cumdump. A toy we’re borrowing for a good time, then tossing out.”

Yuna rolls her eyes, positioning your thick head right at her entrance, her slick folds gliding over it as she angles her hips.

“You’re so fucking cruel sometimes,” she mutters under her breath. “Let a bitch have one moment.”

And then she sinks down.

Your breath punches out of you like you’ve been hit. Her pussy is molten hot, wet, gripping the crown of your cock so tight you’re not even sure you’re going to get more than an inch in. She moans, sharp and rough, her hands bracing on your thighs.

“Jesus fucking fuck, it’s… it’s so big, holy shit—”

She pauses, knees shaking, muscles tense as she eases herself lower. Behind you, the mattress dips again as Sullyoon crawls back up, her skin flushed pink, hair a little messy, that dreamy post-orgasm look still painted across her face. But her eyes are focused on Karina now.

Karina hasn’t moved, still on all fours, ass stuffed, hair sticking to her cheeks, panting. Sullyoon leans in, wraps her arms around her waist gently from behind, pressing their bodies close.

“Hey,” Sullyoon whispers, brushing Karina’s sweaty hair off her cheek. “You okay?”

Karina nods slowly, leaning back into her friend’s touch.

“It hurts,” she says quietly, breath shivering. “But… not in a bad way.”

Sullyoon presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, then another to her neck.

“I’ll take care of you,” she promises, pulling Karina closer. Her arms wrap tighter, soothing. “You were so brave.”

Karina’s lips part to answer, but Sullyoon’s already leaning in again, this time pressing her mouth to Karina’s. Their kiss is gentle, slow, nothing like the desperation you’ve been drowning in all night. Their tongues meet, slow and lazy, tasting each other with softness that's somehow kind of hot. But Sullyoon’s hand starts to slide down Karina’s belly, grazing over her trembling thighs, fingertips dancing toward her pussy.

“Let me help you feel good,” she murmurs, her fingers slide between Karina’s legs, just brushing her slick folds—

“Stop right there.”

Wonyoung’s voice is sharp, cold steel. Both girls freeze. She strides over, her eyes locked on Sullyoon like a schoolteacher catching someone cheating. “She doesn’t get help,” Wonyoung says, grabbing Sullyoon’s wrist and pulling her hand away. “She didn’t earn it. Let her sit with the plug for a while.”

Sullyoon swallows, pulling her hands back respectfully, returning to holding Karina with just arms and lips now, keeping her warm but not touching further. Karina sighs into her mouth, kissing her again slowly, eyes fluttering closed. Meanwhile, Yuna’s moaning as she forces another inch of you inside her. Her pussy is soaking, clenching like crazy, her breath stuttering as she lowers herself little by little, adjusting with every thick ridge you press past her walls.

“Goddamn,” she gasps, laughing breathlessly. “It’s like—I don’t even—fuck, how do you carry this around without passing out?”

You grip her waist tighter, watching her ass ripple as she eases further down. Her thighs flex with every movement, sweat rolling down her spine as she moans louder.

“You’re so tight,” you groan, digging your fingers into her hips.

“Yeah?” she pants, twisting her hips to get the angle right. “Well, this pussy doesn’t play, baby.” Then she gasps sharp, eyes wide. “Shit! There we go—fuck—there it is—!”

She finally bottoms out, her ass slapping against your lap, every inch of your cock buried in her slick, clenching heat. She leans forward, chest heaving, moaning low in her throat like she’s drunk on it.

“Oh my god,” she laughs, trembling. “It’s inside. It’s fucking in.”

And from across the room, Wonyoung watches with a satisfied little smile, voice cutting clean through the soft gasps and stifled kisses. “Good. Now ride him.” Then, to Karina, still squirming in Sullyoon’s arms: “Take notes. You’re next.”

Yuna starts to move with that kind of self-aware sensuality that makes your brain turn to soup. Her hips roll in slow, hypnotic circles as she grinds her soaked pussy down on your cock, using her entire body like she’s showing it off just for you, every shift, every drag of her slick walls over your length is deliberate. She knows how tight she is, how good she feels, and she’s savoring every reaction you can’t hide. You’re still seated at the edge of the bed, thighs flexed, hands gripping her waist like your life depends on it, and she just rides, slow and deep, her ass clapping lightly against your lap with each bounce, like a steady rhythm meant to tease.

She leans back against you, pressing her spine to your chest, arms raised, looping her hands around your neck while her breath rolls out in these soft little gasps. “Mmm… you like that?” she purrs, grinding down hard and slow again, making your cock throb inside her. “So deep… so fucking thick…”

Your fingers twitch on her hips. You’re trying so hard not to snap, not to grab her and slam her down on you until she screams, not to break that rhythm, even though your cock is pulsing with the need to unload.

Sullyoon watches from the bed, her head tilted as she strokes Karina’s hair gently, the other girl now slumped in her lap, the plug still buried deep in her ass, legs slightly parted. Karina’s out of breath, still flushed and shivering, lips swollen from their kissing. Sullyoon’s gaze flicks from Yuna’s bouncing hips back to you, a grin tugging at her mouth.

“You know,” she says, softly but loud enough for all to hear, “he deserves some fucking credit for not blowing already.”

Wonyoung raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. She doesn’t interrupt, just watches. Yuna chuckles breathlessly as she grinds her hips again, this time harder, clenching on your cock as she lifts and sinks, her thighs flexing with every controlled motion. “Mmm, right? He’s being such a good boy,” she coos, rolling her hips, her voice dipping to a low murmur. “Holding back like that, keeping it in. Such good control…”

She pauses, sitting all the way down on you again, then leans forward with a grin, twisting to look at your face. Her hand slides down, past your stomach, and cups your balls through the base of her pussy. The squeeze is careful but firm, her fingers exploring the weight of them as her grin widens.

“Shit,” she says under her breath. “These are so full. They feel heavy as fuck.” She lifts her hips a little, stroking your length from the inside with her muscles, then settles back down with a wet slap, her ass jiggling from the impact. “There’s probably a lot in there by now,” she teases. “You’ve been holding it in through Sullyoon riding you, Karina moaning with a plug stuffed in her ass, me grinding your cock like it’s my job… damn, when you finally blow, it’s gonna be fucking insane, isn’t it?”

You grunt, tightening your grip on her waist, your abs flexing from the effort it takes not to cum right then and there. Every time she lifts off you, your cock throbs in the air, aching for release. When she slides back down, slow and snug, your balls tighten under her hand. She keeps touching them, rolling them in her palm as she rocks her hips in slow figure-eights, her walls clenching rhythmically around your shaft. You can barely breathe. Every second she draws it out is another second closer to your breaking point.

Behind her, Karina moans faintly, still flushed, her voice muffled against Sullyoon’s shoulder. Sullyoon’s fingers stroke her back now, soothing, her eyes watching Yuna like she’s impressed. She laughs lightly.

“I think he’s gonna pass out if you keep doing that,” she says.

Yuna grins and kisses your neck, her lips soft and teasing. “Not yet,” she whispers. “He hasn’t earned it yet.”

Yuna’s movements shift from teasing to needy, the playfulness in her hips giving way to urgency. She's been riding you for minutes that feel like hours, slow and deep, drawing out every drop of pleasure like it’s foreplay for herself. But it’s not. Her rhythm’s breaking. Her thighs start trembling every time she lifts herself off your cock, her breath catching in her throat with these sharp little gasps, lips parted and swollen, chest heaving against her bra. You feel her pussy start to pulse around you; tightening and fluttering with every downward drop, every slap of her ass against your thighs… her body chasing something she’s trying to hold off, but it’s not working anymore.

She lets out a louder moan, sharp and cracking.

“F-fuck… I’m close… fuck, I’m so close…”

She doesn’t stop riding you, if anything, she moves faster, grinding her clit against your pelvis with every bounce, her hands grabbing onto your shoulders now, nails biting into your skin for leverage. Her voice trembles when she speaks again, a whisper at first, then louder, breathless and wild.

“Don’t hold back, don’t fucking hold back—fuck me—fuck me hard—make me cum!”

Fuck, that's all you wanted to hear.

Your fingers clamp down on her waist, and you slam her down onto your cock, hard, your hips jerking upward at the same time, bottoming out deep inside her with a wet, brutal smack. She screams (a real one) choked and high, head snapping back as her pussy clamps down on you like a vice. You don’t give her time to breathe. You start fucking her like your brain’s gone, your hands guiding her body up and down on your cock, her thighs clapping against your hips, the bed frame groaning from the weight of your thrusts. It’s all messy now, no rhythm, just raw need, your cock punching into her soaked, fluttering cunt again and again, harder each time. Yuna’s moans are desperate now. Loud, cracked, real. She slams her palm between her legs, fingers going straight to her clit, rubbing fast and sloppy, hips bucking into her own hand, mouth falling open with every spasm of pleasure that racks her body.

“Oh god—oh my fucking god—yes—right there—right there—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!!!”

She’s babbling, voice broken, almost sobbing from how deep you’re buried inside her. Her whole body is tight, coiled like a spring, legs twitching, her stomach tensing with every thrust, her clit swollen and soaked from how hard she’s been rubbing. Wonyoung steps forward slowly, eyes locked on the scene, and her voice is like a whip crack.

“Make her cum. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You slam her down again, burying every thick inch into her, your grip bruising tight as your cock throbs inside her fluttering heat. Yuna’s hand is a blur between her legs, her voice pitching into a scream.

“I’m cumming—I’m fucking cumming—fuck, it’s too much—”

Her entire body goes stiff in your lap. Then it hits.

She explodes with a scream, shaking violently as the orgasm overtakes her, every muscle locking up. Her pussy grips you like it’s trying to crush you, pulsing and spasming around your cock as waves of heat roll through her core. Her legs kick out, her back arches, and she clings to your shoulders like she’s drowning. Her thighs spasm against your hips, her fingers digging into your chest now, nails scraping down your skin.

You hold her there, not moving anymore, just feeling her ride the wave, her cunt milking you in hard, rhythmic squeezes. She keeps twitching, little cries spilling from her lips as she rides every aftershock, her pussy making these messy, obscene noises with every throb, her clit still pulsing from the overload.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck—” she gasps, collapsing forward against you, face buried in your neck, breath ragged, sweat pouring down her back. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close while she trembles and whimpers against your skin. It takes a full minute for her to calm down, her thighs still twitching, her chest rising and falling like she just ran a marathon.

Then Wonyoung clears her throat.

“That’s enough,” she says flatly.

Yuna groans in protest but slowly lifts herself off your cock, her legs shaking under her weight, your cock sliding free with a wet, messy squelch, still rock-hard and soaked in her cum. She stumbles over to the bed, collapsing onto it face-down with a heavy exhale, ass still wobbling from the force of the ride.

Sullyoon leans over with a little grin, raises her hand, and smacks her ass hard, right over the reddened skin. Revenge. The sound echoes, and Yuna yelps, jolting slightly.

“Damn, Yuna,” Sullyoon giggles. “You rode him like a fucking demon.”

Yuna mumbles something into the mattress, breathless and ruined, one hand reaching back to rub her sore cheek.

“Shut up and gimme five minutes…”

Wonyoung just smirks and turns to Karina.

“Now. Your turn. Get back on all fours.”

Karina obeys without speaking. Her knees sink into the mattress, palms bracing in front of her as she positions herself, ass high, head down, breathing slow and shaky. She doesn’t look back. Wonyoung steps forward without a word, crouching behind her, and places her hand on the base of the plug. Karina whines at the touch alone, thighs twitching inward.

“Be still.”

Karina nods and braces.

Wonyoung slides the plug out in one smooth, slow pull. Karina gasps, her back arches, a broken moan ripping from her throat as her rim stretches wide then closes again, twitching, raw and gaping. Slick lube coats the plug’s shaft, creamy and glistening, and Wonyoung sets it down with a little smirk, running her fingers lightly along Karina’s ass just to watch her shiver.

“You were obedient,” Wonyoung says, almost fond. “You stayed plugged like a good girl. You followed every fucking order.”

Karina’s breath catches, hope flickering in her voice. “So I can… finally…?”

Wonyoung smiles. “Yes.” She turns her head toward you and snaps her fingers. “Come here, freak. She’s earned her reward.”

You’re already moving before she finishes the sentence. You’re still hard, aching, throbbing, and you can barely think through it, but the tension in the room makes you slow your steps.

“But,” Wonyoung says, raising her voice just enough to stop you in your tracks, “it’s going in her ass.”

Karina’s entire body stiffens. Her head whips around, wide-eyed, lips parting in stunned disbelief. “W-what…?”

Wonyoung steps to the side, folding her arms again. “If you want to cum tonight, it’s going to be on his cock—in your ass.”

Karina’s voice cracks. “But—it’ll hurt—fuck, I’ve never—Wonyoung, please, that’s—”

“I didn’t ask,” Wonyoung cuts her off coldly. “You can take it. You want your orgasm? Then shut the fuck up and take what you’re given.”

Yuna lets out a delighted little gasp, grinning like Christmas came early. “Oh my god, this is gonna be so good…”

Sullyoon, already on the bed beside her, frowns faintly, brushing a hand over Karina’s shoulder. “You don’t have to if—”

“She’s doing it,” Wonyoung says, turning her glare on Sullyoon, who backs off immediately, hands up in surrender. Karina swallows hard, her face still red, eyes darting between the three of you, and then, finally, she nods. Hesitant. Reluctant. But nodding.

“I’ll do it…” she says quietly, glancing at you. “But please—go slow…”

You step closer, gently resting your hand on her back, fingers brushing up her spine.

“I will,” you whisper. “I promise.”

Wonyoung clicks her tongue.

“He doesn’t make the rules,” she mutters. “But yes—slow, obviously. Now do your fucking job.”

You nod once and slide your hand down Karina’s lower back, palm splayed over the dip just above her ass. Her body tenses, breath hitching at your touch, but she doesn’t pull away. She’s trembling, terrified and aroused all at once, and your stomach knots in that strange way again, torn between lust and something dangerously close to care.

Yuna’s suddenly right beside you, grinning, holding the bottle of lube in one hand.

“Here,” she says cheerfully, popping the cap and squeezing a generous line along your cock. It’s cold, shocking against your skin, but you grunt as she smears it in with her hand, slow and thorough. “We’ll make sure she’s nice and slick.”

Then she moves behind Karina, spreading her cheeks again with one hand, and pours more lube directly onto her twitching hole.

Karina whimpers.

“Gotta help her too,” Yuna says, rubbing it in with two fingers, slow circles that make Karina gasp and moan. “Poor baby’s so tight…”

Once everything’s coated, Yuna pats your cock and steps back, clapping her hands. “Alright, stud. She’s ready.”

You grip your shaft, position yourself, and slide forward, just the tip pressing against her entrance. The resistance is immediate. Hot and tight and trembling. Karina sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. You pause, lean down, whisper against her ear.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

She nods without looking up. “Just… slow. Please…”

You push forward a little. Even just the head feels like a violation. Her body shudders, a loud moan breaking from her lips, half pain, half disbelief.

“Oh—oh fuck! it’s huge!”

You stop again, one hand on her hip, the other stroking her back. You wait for her to breathe, to settle. Then you start again. Millimeter by millimeter, your cock stretches her open, and Karina whines through her teeth, fists clenching the sheets, toes curling. Her thighs are soaked, slick drips down the insides of her legs, proof that pain and arousal have long since blurred. Every few seconds, you stop, just long enough for her to catch her breath, before you push a little deeper.

“God,” Sullyoon whispers from behind, hugging a pillow to her chest, eyes wide. “He’s really doing it…”

Yuna sits beside her, fascinated. “Look at her hole,” she says gleefully. “It’s fucking swallowing him.”

Karina cries out again as another inch slips in.

“F-fuck, it’s—too big—please—”

“You’re doing amazing,” you murmur, and you mean it. “Just a little more…”

Her body clamps down, squeezing you like it’s trying to push you out and pull you in at the same time. You slow down again, your cock slick and throbbing, the pressure unbelievable, her body wrapping around you tighter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Wonyoung watches it all from the corner of the bed, arms crossed, lips curled into a quiet, satisfied smile.

“That’s it,” she purrs. “Stretch her out. She’ll never forget it.”

Karina’s moans rise in pitch, her body soaked with sweat now, ass flushed and stretched, you're still halfway in, cock glistening with lube and Karina’s juices, your hands gripping her hips like she’ll drift away if you let go. Her body is trembling under you: legs shaking, back arched, her forehead pressed to the sheets. Her moans come in shaky bursts, broken syllables spilling from her lips between gasps. You’re going slow (agonizingly slow) but even that feels like too much for her. The pressure is overwhelming. The stretch makes her wince with every inch, but she hasn’t told you to stop yet, and her soaked thighs betray the truth: she’s aching for it, terrified of it, and turned on beyond words.

You keep your pace steady, pushing in another inch. She cries out, voice cracking, one hand flying back to grip your wrist.

“S-stop—please—I can’t—it’s too much—!”

You freeze immediately, body tense, chest heaving as you struggle to not blow from the way she squeezes around you, like a velvet vice locked in desperation. Sweat drips from your forehead onto her lower back as you hold yourself there, just breathing, feeling her twitch and clench around the thick girth pulsing inside her. Your cock’s only a little more than halfway in, but the look on her face says she’s already overwhelmed.

Her face is buried in the sheets, bright red and dripping with sweat. Her eyes are shut tight, lips parted in a silent moan. And between her legs, her pussy is dripping, messy and obscene, leaving trails down her thighs. She’s shaking from the stretch, but she’s dripping from the want. It’s chaos, and her body is split right down the middle. Wonyoung shifts on the bed beside her, standing now, arms folded across her chest. Her gaze drops to where you’re still inside Karina’s ass, her head tilting slightly. Cool and calculated.

“How much?” she asks you. Her voice is flat, but curious.

You glance down your shaft. “Little more than half.”

She kneels beside Karina, brushing strands of hair from her face, then leans in close. Karina’s still gasping, unable to speak. Wonyoung looks back up at you.

“That’s enough.”

You pause, nodding, your cock twitching from the pressure building between restraint and raw, near-painful pleasure.

“Start moving,” Wonyoung commands. “Let her feel what she earned.”

You shift your grip on Karina’s hips, sliding your hands up her waist as your thighs tense. She lets out a shaky, helpless sound when you pull back just a couple inches, her body clenching again, like she doesn’t want to let you go, and then you push forward again, slow and deep, not adding more depth but grinding within what she can take.

Karina groans—long and broken.

“Fffuuckk…” she moans into the mattress, hips quaking. “It’s so big, so thick, I can’t believe you’re in my ass… fuck—it’s too much—it’s so full…”

You move again, withdrawing slightly and thrusting slowly back in. Her body jerks with each motion, every slow grind making her rim flutter, her ass stretched and twitching. The sensation has your spine tingling, a tight, searing heat wrapping around your cock like wet silk squeezed over bone. Yuna leans over the edge of the bed, eyes wide with awe, a dirty grin painted across her face.

“She’s taking it like a champ,” she says, grinning. “Look at her—look at that grip. Holy shit.”

Sullyoon’s perched at the headboard, arms hugging her knees, watching with this mix of sympathy and raw curiosity. Her cheeks are pink, eyes wide, lips parted.

“She’s doing so good…” she whispers. “I don’t think I could…”

Wonyoung leans in and cups Karina’s cheek gently, tilting her face so she can see her expression. Karina’s eyes flutter open; glassy, unfocused, filled with overwhelmed heat.

“You’re not gonna forget this,” Wonyoung murmurs, a little smile touching her lips. “No one ever forgets their first real stretch.”

Karina whines, biting her lip, trying to stay still as your hips begin to find a rhythm. You rock into her gently, each thrust short and slow, giving her body time to adjust while her moans grow louder, more broken. Her thighs glisten with arousal, and her hands fist the sheets so tight her knuckles go white.

“I-it’s too good,” she sobs out. “I didn’t know it would feel like this—why does it feel so fucking good?”

You thrust a little deeper, not by much, just enough to push the limits she’s already enduring. Her moan cuts off into a gasp, her body twitching under yours, and you swear you feel her pussy throb at the same time; her cunt untouched, but soaking like it’s getting fucked just from how your cock is stretching her ass.

Your hand slides to her lower back, stroking it gently, whispering low.

“You’re doing perfect, Karina. So fucking good…”

Her answer’s a raw moan, her ass arching slightly, offering you better access without even thinking. You start grinding deeper into her with more confidence, your cock gliding through her slickened hole in a slow, punishing rhythm that has her gasping every time your hips press against her. Yuna slides closer, one hand slipping between Karina’s thighs, hovering just above her glistening folds but not touching.

“You’re dripping all over the bed,” she says. “You love this, huh? Getting your ass fucked by the cock you ran from?”

Karina sobs into the sheets, too fucked out to answer.

Wonyoung circles behind you like a queen inspecting her soldiers, her gaze drops to the slick, stretched spot where your cock disappears into Karina’s ass, the loud, wet rhythm of your thrusts filling the room in obscene contrast to Karina’s trembling moans. Your grip is still tight on her hips, your pace steady, giving her the depth she can handle, but not much more than that.

Wonyoung exhales sharply, almost bored. “Pick up the fucking pace.” Her voice snaps through the air like a whip. “Make her scream, freak."

Before you even register the shift, her hand cuts down hard against Karina’s ass, a brutal, open-palmed slap that sends a jolt through her entire body. Karina cries out, her head lifting from the mattress, her back arching, eyes wide as her moan turns into something raw and sharp. You grit your teeth and follow the order. Your hips slam forward, the new rhythm vicious and unrelenting. Every stroke now punches into Karina’s stretched ass with a thick, wet slap, your cock sliding deeper with each thrust, balls slapping against her soaked thighs. The change is instant. She screams, loud, guttural, her hands scrabbling at the sheets, her voice cutting through the air with no filter, no shame.

“Ah—ahhh fuck—it’s too much—too much!”

You don’t slow down. You can’t. Not when Wonyoung’s standing behind you with that look in her eyes. Not when Karina’s body keeps pushing back against you like it wants every inch. Her tits bounce violently with every impact, full and heavy, swinging under her with each slam of your hips, her nipples dragging against the sheets.

Wonyoung steps forward and grabs a fistful of Karina’s hair, yanking her head up so her moaning face is fully exposed.

“This what you wanted, Karina?” she snarls, leaning down near her ear. “You begged for this cock. You begged to cum tonight. You begged for your fucking ass to be split open, and now you’re fucking screaming. Is this what you wanted?”

Karina sobs and nods through it, eyes wild, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth as she cries out, “Yes! Oh my god yes, yes, yes—please—fuck, don’t stop!”

“Pathetic,” Wonyoung mutters, releasing her hair with a shove that makes Karina collapse forward again, her ass thrust up perfectly for more abuse. Then she looks at you, her expression hard. “And you,” she snaps. “Look at you. Huffing and panting like a fucking dog. You two deserve each other. Ruin this lying slut!”

You grab Karina’s hips tighter, your pace going savage now, hammering her with everything you’ve got. Her voice breaks into a string of high-pitched moans and screams, every thrust punching into her ass with punishing force, her body bouncing forward from the impact. The clap of flesh on flesh echoes through the room, her sweat-slick thighs shaking as she takes it, her pussy dripping onto the sheets like a faucet, untouched and soaked. Wonyoung watches the chaos she’s orchestrated, arms crossed again, a twisted smile forming at the corners of her lips.

“Fuck her until she forgets her name.”

Your hands stay locked on Karina’s hips, holding her firm, thumbs digging into the curves just above her ass as your cock pistons in and out of her stretched, twitching hole. She’s beyond trying to speak in full thoughts now; just babbling, moaning, her mouth open and drooling against the sheets, words falling from her like she’s half-delirious. Her spine arches deeper with each thrust, every part of her trembling as you slam into her again and again, the obscene slap of your hips meeting her ass echoing through the room, wet and brutal.

Her voice jumps pitches without warning, cracking with raw pleasure. There’s no control left in her body. Her thighs are shaking, her arms weak, her pussy glistening untouched beneath her as it drips onto the bed from the pressure alone. You watch the muscles in her ass flex and quiver with every movement of your cock, your shaft stretching her open wider than she’s ever taken, buried inside her like you’re trying to reach her fucking soul.

Yuna leans in from the edge of the bed, laughing in this low, teasing purr that’s half arousal and half mocking delight.

“Holy shit. Look at her. She’s gonna cum just from taking it in the ass like a fucking whore.”

Karina whimpers something into the sheets, something like no or yes or both at once, but her eyes are rolled back, jaw slack, her moans breaking apart like she doesn’t even understand her own body anymore. You keep going. Your thrusts stay relentless. The heat of her body, the grip of her ass around your cock, the way her hips bounce and jerk under you with every impact: it’s pure addiction. You feel her starting to tighten even more, impossibly tight, her whole body locking up like she’s about to snap in half, and her moans spiral into a high, broken whine.

“F-fuck—oh my god, it’s too—ahhh—it’s too much, I’m gonna—I can’t!”

She’s drooling onto the sheets, arms weak, knuckles white from gripping the bedding like it’s all that’s keeping her grounded. Her back arches deeper, like her body’s trying to get away and get more at the same time. Her ass swallows your cock with this obscene wet sound, slick with lube and her own mess, but so fucking tight you can feel every spasm as her rim flutters around your shaft. You glance at Karina’s face; she’s a fucking wreck. Eyes rolled back, mouth open, sweat dripping down her neck. She’s not looking at anyone, just moaning, gasping, shaking. Her pussy’s untouched, but it looks already mid-orgasm, creamy and glistening between her thighs. You slam your cock into her again, and she jolts, sobbing out a half-word, half-wail.

“I’m close,” she gasps out suddenly, louder this time. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna cum!”

Wonyoung steps forward slowly, arms folded, eyes locked on Karina like she’s waiting to pull the trigger. “Then cum.” Karina’s whole body jerks at the sound of her voice. “Cum now,” Wonyoung growls. “I want to watch you lose it.”

You slam into her again, deeper, faster—and that’s it. That’s all it takes.

Karina screams.

She screams like her body’s being ripped open and baptized at the same time, her voice breaking as her ass clamps down around your cock like a vice, spasming, pulsing, gripping you like she’s trying to suck every drop of cum out of you without you even releasing yet. Her thighs twitch violently, knees buckling beneath her, and she collapses onto the bed fully, her face buried in the mattress, her whole body convulsing as she cums hard from her ass alone.

“Fuuuuck—oh fuck I’M CUMMING! Oh my god—fuck-fuck-fuck!!”

Her pussy gushes under her, untouched and throbbing, slick running down her thighs like her whole body’s melting. Her back arches once, twice, then drops, but she keeps shaking, every nerve lit up like she’s been plugged into a live wire. Her fists are tight in the sheets, her mouth open, drool and moans pouring out without rhythm.

She’s sobbing now, babbling through the aftershocks.

“I—oh god, I didn’t know—I can’t stop, I’m still cumming, I can’t stop, It's so good, it's so fucking good…”

You’re still inside her, cock twitching with every clench of her hole, but you don’t move, just hold her there, one hand still locked on her waist, the other stroking her back like you’re trying to keep her from slipping through the mattress.

Yuna’s staring in disbelief, biting her lip, cheeks flushed.

“She just fucking came… from her ass,” she breathes. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Sullyoon crawls closer, eyes wide and sparkling with awe, her hand hovering near Karina’s trembling shoulder. “Is she okay?” she whispers.

“She’s perfect,” Wonyoung says flatly, stepping beside her and crouching. She brushes Karina’s hair off her face. “She came like a filthy little anal slut. And she needed that.” There’s a moment of silence, then Wonyoung looks at you. “Your turn,” she says flatly. “You’ve been edging like a good little bitch all night. Now you give us your cum.”

You’re still buried in Karina’s ass, but the moment she hears Wonyoung’s voice shift like that, she groans softly and starts to lift herself. Her whole body shivers as she slowly slides off your cock, her asshole fluttering open before clenching tight, empty, twitching from the stretch. Your entire length is gleaming with slick, twitching hard as it’s exposed to the air again. You reach up, help steady Karina. She’s weak, legs barely holding her. Her skin’s flushed deep pink, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, sweat dripping down her chest. She stumbles a bit, and you help ease her down. She kneels, then braces herself upright, arms shaking, tits rising and falling with each breath. Her mouth is still parted, cheeks red, eyes dazed, but she’s looking up at you, obedient, waiting.

Wonyoung watches with one eyebrow raised.

“You made it this far,” she mutters. “Color me shocked. Most guys would’ve been pumping their load into a tissue in the first ten minutes.”

Yuna giggles, kneeling in front of you, her eyes still sparkling with a manic energy. “That’s because you scare the cum out of most guys just by walking into the room, Wony. They probably blow their load just thinking about disappointing you.”

“It’s a talent,” Wonyoung shrugs, a picture of regal indifference, though her eyes are fixed on your straining cock with an unnerving focus. She runs the tip of her tongue over her plump lower lip. “But you,” she says, “you don’t have to hold back anymore. You’ve been a good little freak, edging for us all night. Now it’s time for your reward… or perhaps, our reward from you.”

Sullyoon moves next, a quiet, graceful wraith in the dimly lit room. She slides up beside Karina and brushes a stray strand of hair behind Karina’s ear, then leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. Karina leans into the touch, a soft whimper escaping her lips, her body trembling almost imperceptibly. Sullyoon rests a comforting hand on Karina’s thigh, her thumb stroking gently, before turning her full attention to you. Her eyes, usually wide with an innocent curiosity, are now dark, dilated, and utterly captivated by the sight of your huge cock.

You’re standing now, swaying slightly, your body a live wire of overstimulated nerves. Your cock is a flushed, angry purple, pulsing with a life of its own, veins snaking across its thick shaft like swollen rivers. It’s utterly drenched, glistening from base to tip with a disgusting, beautiful cocktail of the slick lube Yuna had applied earlier, and the clear, sticky juices that seeped from Karina’s ass as you stretched her. It’s still leaking pre-cum—one fat, pearly droplet hanging precariously from the swollen head, threatening to fall. The ache in your balls is a relentless, throbbing agony, a heavy, full sensation that promises an explosive release. Every inch of your skin is buzzing, screaming with a desperate, almost painful need.

Yuna, never one for patience, has already wrapped her surprisingly strong fingers around the base of your shaft, her touch possessive and demanding.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” she whispers, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and greedy anticipation. She gives you a preliminary squeeze, making you grunt. “He’s still this fucking hard? After being inside four of us? You didn’t cum once?” Her voice is incredulous, a hint of challenge in it.

“Not yet,” Sullyoon breathes. She licks her lips slowly, her gaze unwavering from your cock. “But he’s close. I can feel it. He’s about to burst.”

“Let’s fix that,” Wonyoung declares. She glides forward and kneels before you, a queen preparing to receive tribute. The way she settles at your feet, eyes already devouring your erection, doesn't feel like submission; it feels like she’s about to break you open and claim what’s hers.

Then, it truly begins.

Wonyoung’s grip on your shaft is like iron, cool and clinical, yet sending shivers of heat through you. Her other hand instantly dives down, fingers deftly finding and cupping your aching, heavy balls. They feel like overripe fruit, swollen and tender. "Fuck, these are absolutely full," she grunts. She gives them a calculated squeeze, just enough to make you let out a strangled moan, your hips twitching. Meanwhile, Karina, seemingly over her initial trepidation, has crawled forward, her eyes glazed with a new kind of desperate hunger. She takes the very tip of your cock into her warm, wet mouth, her tongue flicking nervously against the sensitive slit. "You've been saving it all up for us, haven't you, my little freak?" Wonyoung continues. "Such a good little cum-toy, filled to the brim, just waiting for your goddesses to drain you."

"He's gonna paint us! He’s going to fucking drench us!" Yuna shrieks with manic delight, her own hand a blur at the base of your cock, stroking furiously. The friction is intense, slick with spit and your own copious pre-cum. Her tongue becomes a relentless tease around the thick crown, darting, licking, swirling. "Give it to me, toy! I want every last drop!"

Sullyoon is pressing kisses up your thigh, her breath hot against your skin, her hands gripping your other leg for balance. Her voice, usually so gentle, is surprisingly demanding, raw with need. "Please... oh god, please just let it go... I need to see it… I need to taste you… Don’t make us wait anymore, you bad boy!"

Karina, trembling visibly, lifts her head, her eyes wide and unfocused, a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the glistening tip of your cock. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing ragged. "You can do it... cum for us... please, after everything... just let us have it," she begs. "Fill me up too..."

Wonyoung meets your eyes, that cruel, beautiful smirk is back. "That's right, toy. You heard them. They’re begging for your filth. Sullyoon wants to taste it. Karina wants you to fill her pathetic mouth. Yuna wants you to drown her. They’re all desperate for it. But I demand it." Her voice drops to a menacing growl. "You’re going to fucking erupt. You’re going to cover every last inch of us in that disgusting, potent seed you’ve been brewing inside that freakish cock of yours. Do you understand? This isn't about your pleasure. This is about ours. This is your sole purpose." Her fingers tighten on your balls, her thumb pressing hard and deep into the sensitive perineum, making you cry out. "Now. Explode for your queen, you worthless piece of meat!"

Her hand on your shaft speeds up to match Yuna's frenetic pace. Both of them are now a dizzying blur of motion, tugging, stroking, squeezing, their combined efforts an exquisite torture. Karina latches her mouth onto the entire head of your cock, sucking with a primal, vacuum-like force that steals your breath, her tongue a rough, insistent pressure coiling around the shaft. Yuna’s ecstatic giggles turn into sharp, needy moans as she feels the tell-tale, unstoppable convulsions starting deep within your groin, traveling up the base of your cock. Sullyoon and Karina press closer, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands, their touch now almost frantic, greedy, fingers grabbing at your thighs, your stomach, your hips, anywhere they can make contact, as if trying to absorb your impending orgasm through sheer proximity.

"He's doing it! He's really gonna blow! Oh my god, look at him shake!" Yuna screams.

"Fucking finally!" Wonyoung growls stroking your cock. "Give it to your queen, you pathetic mutt! Give me every last fucking drop!"

And then it happens. Your vision whites out completely. A guttural, inhuman roar tears from your throat, a sound you don’t even recognize as your own, echoing off the walls of the luxurious apartment. Your hips buck uncontrollably, a violent, spastic jerk that nearly throws the girls off you.

The first jet of your cum shoots out with impossible, almost painful force, thick as cream and blindingly white. It splatters directly onto Wonyoung’s perfectly sculpted face. She barely flinches, just lets out a choked gasp, her eyes widening for a split second in surprise at the sheer power before they narrow again in dark triumph. Your hot seed is already dripping from her chin, smeared across her cheek, mixed with her saliva, a victorious smirk plastered on her semen-streaked face. "Yes! That's it, you filthy animal! Fucking drown me!"

Another jet follows, then another, and another, each one seemingly hotter, thicker, more voluminous than the last. You're a fucking firehose, completely and utterly out of control, your body just a vessel for this unstoppable eruption.

"My turn! My turn! Hit me with that fucking load!!" Sullyoon screams, scrambling forward with surprising agility, her usually angelic face now contorted into a mask of fierce, desperate need. She positions herself right in the line of fire, her small hands cupping her equally small breasts, her mouth wide open like a baby bird. A thick rope of your cum arcs through the air and lands squarely on her chest, another jet splattering across her cheek and directly into her parted lips. She gasps, a delighted, messy sound, already licking it up with greedy swipes of her tongue. "Oh my god... it's so much... so warm... and it tastes… amazing!"

"Don't you dare forget me!" Karina cries out. She’s pushing past Sullyoon, her eyes fixed on your still-spewing cock like it’s the only thing in the world. "Please! I need it! I earned this!" A fresh torrent of your seed catches her full in the face, soaking her hair, plastering it to her forehead, coating her eyelashes, and dripping in thick streams into her open, gasping mouth. She moans, a long, shuddering, broken sound, tears welling in her eyes (whether from the impact or sheer overwhelming emotion, you can’t tell) as she swallows convulsively, then licks her lips with a dazed, almost worshipful expression on her cum-painted face.

Yuna is practically vibrating beside you, her hands still gripping your shaft, trying to aim the spray, though it’s bucking too wildly for any real control. "Fuck yes! Me next! Fucking drown me in it, you goddamn animal!" she yells, practically shoving Karina aside to get closer. You oblige without conscious thought, another powerful surge coating her face, her neck, her small, perky tits that are now glistening under a thick layer of your seed. She throws her head back and laughs, a wild, uninhibited, joyous sound, as your cum drips down her body like a perverse baptism. "It’s like a fucking geyser! I've never seen anything like this! He's a cum machine!"

Jet after jet after jet, it just keeps coming, an unending, impossible flood. You’re emptying yourself completely, your balls cinching tight, contracting painfully with each pulse, a hollow, almost unbearable ache spreading through your loins and up into your stomach. The girls are an absolute mess, drenched, glistening, their perfect idol skin smeared and utterly coated with your thick, white seed. They’re not even trying to be neat or dignified anymore; they’re reveling in it, laughing, moaning, smearing it on each other.

"Holy shit," Wonyoung says, breathless for once, a genuine note of awe in it. She looks down at her own cum-splattered chest and hands. "He really was full. Fucking packed to the rafters." A small, almost proud smile touches her lips. "Good boy." She slowly wipes a thick smear of cum from her perfect lips with a thumb and licks it clean with deliberate, sensual slowness.

Finally, with one last, shuddering, weaker pulse, you’re empty. Utterly spent. Your cock twitches pathetically, still painfully hard but no longer gushing, merely slick and dripping with their combined spit and your own rapidly cooling load. You sag forward, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling from the sheer intensity of the release, black spots dancing in front of your eyes. The room slowly comes back into focus, filled with the sounds of their ragged panting, their wet, satisfied laughter, and the overwhelmingly pungent, salty-sweet smell of your spilled seed..

"Fuck," Yuna breathes, looking down at your dick, which is still defiantly, impressively erect despite the massive load you just shot. "Is it... is it still hard? After all that?" She reaches out a tentative, cum-slicked finger and pokes the head. Your cock gives a noticeable throb in response. Yuna’s eyes widen. "Oh my god. It is still hard." She looks up, her eyes meeting Wonyoung’s, then Sullyoon’s, then Karina’s. "Girls... I think our toy isn't done playing yet."

Sullyoon crawls closer. "No way... really? Can he go again?"

Karina, looking utterly debauched and surprisingly radiant under her coating of your cum, nods enthusiastically. "He has to! That was... that was incredible. I want more."

They all start to speak at once, their voices a chorus of greedy demands.

"More, toy!"

"Don't tell me you're finished!"

"You’ve got more in there for us, don't you?"

"Come on, freak, give us another load!"

Wonyoung silences them with a raised hand. She leans close to you again, that imperious glint back in her eyes, her gaze dropping to your still-throbbing erection. Her hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around your slick shaft. "You heard them," she says. "They're not satisfied. And frankly," she gives your cock a slow, deliberate stroke, "neither am I."

Her other hand comes up, and with a speed that surprises you, she delivers a sharp, stinging slap right across the head of your dick. A choked gasp tears from your lips, your hips instinctively jerking. The pain is shocking, but it’s instantly followed by a wave of intense, almost unbearable pleasure. Your cock pulses violently in her grip.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Wonyoung sneers. "Like being roughed up a little? Like being reminded you’re just our fuck-meat?" Another slap, harder this time, landing on the already hypersensitive tip. You cry out, a raw, helpless sound.

"Answer me, slut!" she barks.

"Y-yes," you gasp out, shame and arousal warring within you. "Yes, I like it..."

"Pathetic," she spits, but her lips are curved into a satisfied smile. She continues to stroke you with one hand, her rhythm firm and steady, while the other delivers a relentless series of slaps. Each impact sends jolts of pure, agonizing pleasure through your system. Your balls are tightening again, an impossible ache building deep inside. The girls are watching, breathless, their faces a mixture of shock and intense arousal. Yuna is openly touching herself, her fingers disappearing between her cum-smeared thighs. Sullyoon is biting her lip so hard it’s a wonder it’s not bleeding. Karina is just staring, her mouth slightly agape.

"Beg for it," Wonyoung commands, her strokes becoming faster, her slaps more precise, each one aimed at the most sensitive parts of your cock. "Beg me to let you cum again, you disgusting freak."

"Please," you groan, "Please, Wonyoung... let me cum... I need to..."

SMACK! This one is directly on the slit, a brutal, stinging impact.

Your vision explodes in white light. You can’t hold it back any longer.

With a strangled scream, you erupt again. It’s not the voluminous flood from before, but it’s thick, ropy, and impossibly potent, shooting out in desperate, pulsing spurts.

Wonyoung doesn’t flinch, doesn't stop stroking, doesn’t stop slapping. She just watches, a terrifyingly beautiful goddess of pleasure and pain, as your second load sprays across her hand, her arm, adding to the sticky mess already coating her.

The other girls cry out in unison, scrambling closer, mouths open, hands outstretched, desperate to catch any stray drops. Yuna manages to get her mouth under the stream for a moment, swallowing greedily, while Sullyoon and Karina try to catch the ropes of semen on their tongues, their faces eager and flushed.

It goes on and on, your body wracked with spasms, your mind completely gone, lost in a whirlwind of humiliation and ecstasy. More slaps, more strokes, more cum, until you’re utterly, completely drained, gasping for air, your vision blurry.

They’re all around you, closer now, their bodies slick and gleaming, their faces alight with a primal satisfaction. Wonyoung finally lets go of your now semi-flaccid, thoroughly abused cock, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"Good boy," she purrs, wiping a fresh glob of your cum from her cheek and licking it from her fingers. "You finally learned how to be useful."

Instead of rushing to clean up properly, they start playing. Yuna, giggling like a maniac, licks a thick glob of your cum from Sullyoon’s small, firm breast. "Mmm, salty," she declares, then dives in to suckle the nipple, her tongue swirling. Sullyoon moans, arching into it, her hands coming up to smear more of your sticky seed from her stomach onto Yuna’s cheek.

"You’re such a nasty whore, Yuna." Sullyoon laughs.

Karina, looking dazed but with a soft smile playing on her lips, tentatively licks a streak of cum from her own arm. Wonyoung watches them for a moment, a rare, almost fond smirk on her face, before she grabs Karina’s wrist. "Don't waste it, idiot," she says, then pulls Karina’s hand to her own mouth, licking the cum from Karina's skin with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue, her eyes daring Karina to react. Karina just shivers, her cheeks flushing a deeper red.

It’s an insane, beautiful, disgusting sight. Four of the most lusted-after women on the planet, acting like depraved sluts, covered head-to-toe in your fucking seed.

Your legs finally give out. You collapse onto the massive bed, your body a dead weight, every muscle screaming in protest. Exhaustion hits hard a deep, boneless fatigue that makes even breathing feel like an effort.

One by one, the girls, still sticky and laughing, crawl onto the bed around you, their combined weight making the mattress sag. They’re not careful, their cum-smeared bodies pressing against you, against the pristine grey duvet, leaving wet, pearly patches everywhere. Yuna flops down beside you, throwing a sticky arm over your chest. Sullyoon curls up on your other side, resting her head on your shoulder, her hair damp with sweat and semen. Karina hesitates, then slowly settles at the foot of the bed, leaning against your legs. Wonyoung, of course, perches at the head, looking down at all of you like a queen surveying her messy, sated kingdom.

"I... I can't believe this actually happened," you manage to croak out.

Karina looks at you, her eyes soft, a genuine concern in them. "Are you... are you good? You look wrecked."

"Yeah," you sigh, your head lolling to the side. "Just... exhausted. Completely fucking drained."

"Aren't we all," Yuna groans, nuzzling her face into your chest. "But holy shit, that was... incredible. Best night of my life, no joke."

Sullyoon nods against your shoulder. "Definitely the most... memorable."

"I think... I think it was worth it after all, having been deceived by Karina just to be used by you, girls," you admit, a tired smile touching your lips as you look at Karina.

Karina’s expression flickers. "You’re... you’re not mad? That I tricked you? Lied to you?"

Before you can answer, Wonyoung cuts in. "Mad? He should be on his fucking knees thanking us. Grateful that he had the privilege of spending a night with us, serving a purpose. Most losers only dream of this, and he got to live it. He got to empty his pathetic balls into K-pop royalty."

Yuna and Sullyoon murmur their agreement. "She's right, you know," Yuna says, patting your cheek with a sticky hand. "You hit the jackpot, toy."

"So, how's that pretty little ass of yours feeling, Jimin?" Wonyoung asks, her gaze shifting to Karina, a cruel amusement dancing in her eyes.

Karina shifts uncomfortably, wincing. "It’s... burning. A lot. Like, really a lot."

"Good," Wonyoung says, utterly unsympathetic. "It'll hurt even more tomorrow. And the day after that. Maybe then you'll learn your lesson about exaggerating dick sizes to me. Or lying in general."

Karina sighs, a weary sound that’s tinged with exasperation. "You’re a fucking maniac, Wonyoung. You know that, right?"

Wonyoung’s smile is pure, unadulterated wickedness. "Yes, I do," she purrs. "A total, unrepentant maniac. But," she spreads her arms, gesturing to the cum-soaked bed, the exhausted bodies, the lingering scent of raw sex, "I also organize the best group sex you’ll ever have. And all you bitches fucking love it."

Yuna pushes herself up on her elbows. "Fuck yes, we do, Queen Wony!" she practically screams. "Holy shit, this was… this was next level. I thought I knew what good dick was, but this," she gestures vaguely towards your groin with a cum-stained hand, "this little freak that Karina brought us? And everything you made us do to him? And what you made him do to us?" She shivers, a full-body tremor. "My cunt is still twitching just thinking about it. My face is a glazed fucking donut of his spunk, and I've never felt hotter. You're a goddamn visionary, Wonyoung. A cruel, twisted, dick-obsessed visionary, and I fucking worship you for it!" She collapses back onto you with a happy sigh, nuzzling her sticky face into your neck.

Sullyoon, curled beside you, nods slowly. "She's right, Wony.” Her fingers, still tracing absentminded patterns on your cum-smeared arm, tighten slightly. "I… I’ve never experienced anything like tonight. Ever." A shy, almost guilty smile touches her lips. "When you… when you made him put his hand on my throat while he was… inside me… and then when Karina was screaming while you plugged her…" She shudders, a different kind of tremor, one of pure, overwhelmed ecstasy. "It was terrifying. And so, so fucking hot. I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out. And watching him… watching him just explode all over us…" Her eyes flick down to your crotch, then back to Wonyoung, wide and adoring. "You… you really do know how to throw a party, Wony. The best, nastiest, most unforgettable party."

"She's… she’s not wrong," Karina admits. "I thought… when you first told me your plan… I thought you were insane. Actually insane." A small, shaky laugh escapes her. "And when you made me… when he was in my ass… I thought I was going to die. It hurt so much." Her hand instinctively goes to her still-tender backside. "But then… when I came…" Her voice breaks, and she has to swallow hard before continuing. "It was… it was the most intense thing I’ve ever felt. Like my whole body just… shattered. And then watching him… watching him just give everything to us like that… You’re a fucking monster, Wonyoung. A beautiful, terrifying, brilliant monster. And… and thank you. For… for this. For convincing me to bring him here… For punishing me..." She actually manages a small, genuine smile, her eyes glistening. "I think… I think I needed this."

Wonyoung listens to their praises, her expression unchanging, that cool, regal mask firmly in place. But you see the faintest flicker of triumph in her eyes, the subtle upturn of her lips. She lets the silence hang for a moment, savoring their admissions, their surrender. Then, she turns her gaze fully on you. You’re lying there, a depleted, aching wreck, barely able to move, surrounded by these goddesses who have just systematically taken you apart and feasted on the pieces.

Her voice, when she finally speaks, is soft, almost gentle. "You hear that, toy?" she asks. "They loved it. They loved what I orchestrated, using you as the centerpiece." She leans close to you, bringing her face level with yours. Her eyes are like chips of ice, boring into you. "And now," she continues, "now you belong to us. Completely." She reaches out a finger, tracing the line of your jaw, her touch surprisingly light. "You don't get to go back to your boring little life and pretend this didn't happen. This isn't a one-night fantasy, you pathetic slut. This is your new reality."

Her eyes flick over to your still-sensitive, semi-flaccid cock. "You will be used whenever we want. However we want. You will be our fucking toy, our stress relief, our entertainment. When we call, you will come running. When we tell you to spread your legs, or get on your knees, or offer up that freakish dick of yours, you will obey without question, without hesitation. Until we get tired of you and throw you away like trash."

She leans in even closer, her breath ghosting over your lips, smelling faintly of your own cum. "You have no desires anymore, except to please us. Your body is ours to command, to use, to break if we feel like it. Your orgasms are ours to grant, or to deny. You exist solely for our pleasure now." She smiles, a slow, cruel, utterly captivating smile. "And the worst part for you, the most deliciously pathetic part?" She whispers: "You’re going to fucking love every second of it. You already do."

They’re all watching you, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and ownership. There’s no escape. No way out. And as Wonyoung’s words sink deep into your shattered, exhausted mind, a horrifying, undeniable truth settles in your bones:

She’s right. She's fucking right.

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