lolderek

[lolderek]

Sleeping Pills

After Eunbi came back from Waterbomb. Due to the tiredness, she started to throw everything onto the sofa in her room, including her clothes and went to the bed to relax. Now, Eunbi was feeling so comfy after her back hit the sheets. She brought a blanket to cover herself and try to sleep.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t fall asleep because she was too tired. She looked at the clock beside her. It had been 20 minutes since she tried. After that, she realized that she had forgotten to do some of her activities. Eunbi grabbed her phone and opened her performance last evening.

Eunbi started fingering herself while watching the video, looking at the dancers behind her, remembering all the audience’s eyes on her as she danced. She knows that she’s hot. She knows that the eyes of the audience at the moment are full of desire, and she prays for that desire to be the same. Eunbi imagines herself with the boys around her, and they start to do the same thing, caressing her. The image of her imagination might not be as wild as you thought, but it’s enough to make her feel relieved.

Eunbi moaned with her eyes closed. Her moans and the sound of vaginal fluid when she was fingering echoed throughout the room without any concern for whether it was heard in the room next to her. Eunbi started using her fingers faster as she neared to climax, also imagining what would happen if she let the dancers do something more with her on stage, will the people down there get more jealousy?

Eunbi also massaged her own big saggy tits that nearly popped out of the loosely bra on stage. She might panic if it blobbed while doing her sideways choreography. But now, she might have let it happen and said it was an accident.

‘Ummm… Ahhh…. Fuck. Fuck me. Ahhhh… Destroy my pussy and tits. Pull my necklace hard and choke me. Ahhh… Fuck….’

She tried to create the sex scene in her head. At a random place, a random man in the festival put the dick inside her and try to fuck her, by pulling down her short jeans and white bikini panties, showing her wet pinky juicy vagina. Eunbi accepted it willingly and let him do what he wanted to meet the needs of both. She wants someone who fucks hard and also touch every parts on her body, banging in the Doggystyle and Missionary position, and sliding deeper until it hit the wall.

Then, Eunbi just cummed everywhere on her sheets, the water was around below her, the squirt just went down on the flow. Eunbi let out a big sigh after she spurted.

Eunbi trying to sleep again. But in her head, she still has those images that she tried to imagine. The image still struck in her mind. After that, she got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to bring the 7-inches dildo. Eunbi picked it up with the lubes and went back to her bed.

She thought again about the last evening. There was one man around there that's so handsome for her. He is definitely her type. Eunbi wants to suck and fuck him at the moment. Eunbi imagined the guy in front of her taking off his pants and letting her suck his dick. She take the position directly

Eunbi started to sucked on the dildo to create the saliva as a lube. Her sucking skill is so good, it might make a strong man’s legs shake. The tongue roaming around the toy, her deepthroat was reaching the entire length. Her sucking pace was fast which can make people cum in the blink of an eye. As time passed, she got sloppier, her dildo was covered in saliva. She could have thrown away her lubes.

The saliva stains were on the sheets, same as the squirt from the first time. After that, she changed the position, putting the dildo under her folds, poked and teased a little bit before putting the entire length inside her.

She screamed out a big groan. Again, she didn’t care about the neighbors anymore. Eunbi, sitting and pushing the whole dildo inside her, felt a little nauseated but still could continue. She slowly moved up. She felt a thrill and shivering entire body. After she adjusted to it, she started to go harder, moving all the way up and down but trying not to let it slip out. She feels like she is riding an imaginary man’s dick.

‘Oh.. Fuck, daddy. My body is yours. I give my whole body to this dick. I can fuck this dick for my entire life. F-Fuck… AHHH… Just make me cum. Just make me cum again. Make me cum over this dick, daddy. Oh my god.. F-FUCK’

Eunbi closed her eyes with her tense face. She bit her tongue because of the sensation. She made a sound in her head that the man was almost done, but the sound in the room was just her moaning and the bed squeaking. Eunbi goes faster to reach near her orgasm. She rides smoother than recently, not all the way up and all the way down.

‘AHHH.. FUCK.. MAKE M-ME FUCKING C-CUM ALREADY… OH MY G-GOD.. THIS DICK T-TREAT ME SO GOOD… MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A DICK ADDICTED… AH-AHHH'

Then, Eunbi came all over the place. Replace the first one. She removed herself from the dildo and covered it with her water. Her body was shaking when she got up and collapsed after that.

[lolderek]

Negotiate, Bonus, Cashback

Eunbi x Male OC

t/w: threesome, gangbang, multiple orgasm, bukkake

Negotiate

The office of Waterbomb Seoul's production team hums with the low buzz of air conditioning. The festival, Waterbomb 2025 in two weeks away, is the industry's hot topic.

Kwon Eunbi, the former IZ*ONE leader and soloist, is fighting to reclaim her title as the "Waterbomb Queen." Her electrifying performances have made her a legend, but last year's show, with its barely-there outfits and provocative choreography, stirred controversy.

Now, in a glass-walled meeting room, Eunbi faces producers Mr. Park and Mr. Kim, their faces stern as they prepare to reject her for being "too vulgar."

"Eunb-ssi, your history with Waterbomb is undeniable," Mr. Park begins, adjusting his glasses, his tone clipped. "But last year's performance was too much. Too vulgar. We're moving toward new faces."

Eunbi's lips curl into a confident smirk. She leans back in her chair, her tight black blazer accentuating her massive boobs, her low-cut top revealing deep cleavage.

"Vulgar?" she says, smooth but sharp.

"You mean iconic? My fancams crashed the internet. You're telling me Waterbomb doesn't want that heat?" She crosses her legs, her skirt riding up her thighs, drawing Mr. Kim's gaze.

Mr. Kim, younger and less composed, shifts in his seat. "We're aiming for family-friendly now," he says, his voice wavering. "Your... outfits, the choreography... it was too explicit."

Eunbi laughs, low and sultry, standing to pace the room, her hips swaying. "Family-friendly? Waterbomb don't need that. Waterbomb is about water, sweat, and desire. I'm your biggest draw."

She leans over the table, her boobs nearly spilling out, locking eyes with Mr. Park, "You want numbers? My set doubled your engagement last year. You want a queen? I'll show you vulgar."

Mr. Park clears his throat, his face flushing, "We need to maintain an image..."

"Image?" Eunbi cuts in, unbuttoning her blazer, letting it fall to reveal her crop top, her boobs straining against the fabric, nipples faintly visible. "Let's negotiate. I'll show you what makes Waterbomb unforgettable."

She steps closer to Mr. Park, her perfume, jasmine and musk, filling the air, her hand brushing his shoulder. Mr. Kim's eyes widen, but he doesn't look away.

"Eunbi-ssi, this is inappropriate," Mr. Park says, but his voice lacks conviction, his eyes on her cleavage. She smirks, knowing she's got him.

"Inappropriate?" she purrs, moving to Mr. Kim, leaning down, her boobs inches from his face. "Or effective?" She pours water from a bottle on the table over her chest, the liquid soaking her crop top, making it cling to her boobs, her nipples hard and clear.

"This is Waterbomb," she says, her voice low, turning to straddle Mr. Park's lap, her skirt hiking up, revealing black lace panties. "You want bold? I'll give you bold."

Mr. Park's hands hover, then grip her hips, his professionalism crumbling, "Eunbi-ssi, we can't..." he starts, but she grinds against him, feeling his cock harden through his pants. "Fuck," he mutters, his hands tightening.

She laughs, sliding off him to face Mr. Kim, who's already unzipping his pants, his cock rock-hard. "You, too?" she teases, kneeling, pulling his pants down, her lips wrapping around his cock, sucking slow and deep.

"Goddamn, Eunbi," he groans, his hands in her hair, thrusting into her mouth. Her tongue swirls, her lips tight, moaning around him, her eyes locked on his.

Mr. Park stands, unzipping, his cock springing free. Eunbi pulls back from Mr. Kim, smirking, and tugs her crop top off, her black bra barely containing her boobs. She unhooks it, letting her massive boobs spill out, her nipples hard. "Come on, Mr. Park," she says, grabbing his cock, stroking fast, her hand slick with precum.

She leans forward, pressing her boobs around Mr. Kim's cock, giving him a titjob, her soft flesh enveloping him. "Fuck, that's good," Mr. Kim moans, thrusting between her boobs, his cum leaking onto her chest.

Eunbi stands, pushing her skirt and panties down, revealing her wet, plump pussy, the musky scent filling the room. "Who's first?" she says, bending over the table, her ass up, her boobs pressed against the glass.

Mr. Park moves behind her, his cock sliding into her pussy, tight and hot, making her moan. "Fuck, yes," she gasps, her hips rocking back, meeting his thrusts. Mr. Kim steps forward, and she takes his cock in her mouth again, sucking hard, her moans muffled as Mr. Park pounds her doggy-style.

"God, you're tight," Mr. Park groans, his hands gripping her hips, slamming deeper, her boobs bouncing wildly.

Mr. Kim thrusts into her mouth, his cock hitting her throat, her saliva dripping. She pulls back, stroking Mr. Kim, her eyes dark with lust.

"Cum in me, Mr. Park," she demand.

"Fuck..." Mr. Park groaning as his cum spills inside her pussy, dripping down her thighs.

Mr. Kim's close, and she kneels, sucking him faster, her hand stroking his balls. "Cum on my face," she says, and he does, his release coating her lips and chin, dripping onto her boobs.

She licks her lips, smirking, standing to face them, cum dripping from her pussy and face.

"That's vulgar," she says, wiping her chin. "And that's your Waterbomb Queen. Put me on that stage."

Mr. Park, panting, nods. "You're in," he says, his voice hoarse. Mr. Kim, still dazed, agrees. "No one else comes close."

Two weeks later, Eunbi takes the Waterbomb stage in a red top, white bra and shorts jeans, water soaking her skin, her boobs bouncing with every sensual grind. The crowd roars, fancams capturing her every move, and "Eunbi Waterbomb Queen" trends worldwide, ticket sales soaring.

Bonus

The buzz from Waterbomb Seoul 2025 still lingers in the air

Kwon Eunbi, come into the modern office of the festival's production team. The "Waterbomb Queen" had reclaimed her throne a week ago, trended worldwide, proving her point after a tense negotiation with producers Mr. Park and Mr. Kim, where she'd fucked them both to secure her spot, turning their rejection into a win.

Now, she's back in their glass-walled meeting room, summoned for a "bonus" for blowing up the festival, her confidence unshaken, her curves accentuated by a tight black dress that hugs her body, her cleavage on display, her short bob hair cling to her shoulders.

Mr. Park, mid-40s, adjusts his glasses, his face flushed as he slides an envelope across the table. "Eunbi-ssi, your performance was phenomenal," he says, his tone professional but strained, his eyes flickering to her chest. "The festival's success was largely due to you. Here's a bonus for your impact."

Mr. Kim, younger and less composed, nods, his gaze lingering on her thighs as she crosses her legs. "You expected the expectations," he adds, his voice tight. "SNS metrics are through the roof."

Eunbi opens the envelope, her eyes scanning the check... $10.000, a decent sum but far less than she expected for single-handedly blowing up Waterbomb.

Her lips curl into a familiar smirk, her eyes glinting with defiance., "This?" she says, tossing the envelope onto the table, her voice smooth but edged.

"You call this a bonus for making your festival the talk of the world? My fancams crashed servers. I made Waterbomb." She leans forward, her boobs pressing against the table, her dress riding up slightly. "I expected more."

Mr. Park clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "It's a generous amount, Eunbi-ssi. We have budget constraints..."

"Constraints?" she cuts in, standing, her hips swaying as she paces, her dress clinging to her curves. "I doubled your engagement. Sold out your tickets. You want to talk constraints, let's talk about how I negotiated my way onto that stage."

She glances at Mr. Kim, whose face reddens. "I showed you vulgar," she says, her voice sultry, "and it worked. Now, let's negotiate a proper bonus."

Mr. Kim, who's been silent, frowns. "Eunbi-ssi, this is unprofessional,” he says, but his eyes darting to Eunbi's cleavage. Eunbi laughs, low and teasing, stepping closer to him.

"Unprofessional?" she purrs, unbuttoning her dress slowly, revealing a red lace bra that barely contains her massive boobs, her nipples faintly visible. "You loved my unprofessional last time." She lets the dress fall, stepping out in her bra and matching red panties, her skin glowing under the office lights. "You want to reward your queen? Let's make it worth my time."

Mr. Kim's breath hitches, his professionalism crumbling. "Eunbi-ssi, we can't..." he starts, but she straddles his lap, her boobs brushing his chest, her hips grinding against his hardening cock. "Fuck," he mutters, his hands instinctively gripping her hips.

Mr. Park's already unzipping his pants, his cock springing free, hard and ready. Eunbi smirks, sliding off Mr. Kim to kneel before Mr. Park, her lips wrapping around his cock, sucking slow and deep, her tongue swirling, her eyes locked on his.

"Goddamn, Eunbi," he groans, his hands tangling in her hair, thrusting into her mouth, her moans vibrating around him.

She pulls back, stroking Mr. Park's cock, her hand slick with saliva and precum, and turns to Mr. Kim.

“Your turn,” she says, tugging his pants down, freeing his cock, and taking him into her mouth, sucking hard, her lips tight, her tongue teasing the tip. Mr. Kim groans, his hands gripping the chair, his cock throbbing as she alternates, sucking one, stroking the other, her boobs bouncing with every move.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Mr. Kim mutters, his eyes on her boobs.

She laughs, standing to peel off her panties, revealing her wet, plump pussy, the musky scent filling the room. She bends body, her ass up, her boobs swaying free.

"Reward your queen, now," she said husky.

Mr. Kim moves behind her, sliding his cock into her pussy, tight and hot, making her moan loudly. "Yes, fuck me," she gasps, her hips rocking back, meeting his thrusts.

Mr. Park steps forward, and she takes his cock in her mouth again, sucking as Mr. Kim pounds thrusts her, her boobs bouncing wildly, her moans muffled. "God, you're so tight," Mr. Kim groans, slamming deeper, his hands gripping her hips, his cum building.

Eunbi pulls back from Mr. Park, stroking him fast, her eyes dark with lust. "Inside... inside me," she demands.

Mr. Kim comes, "Eunbi-ssi...!" groaning as his release spills inside her, he pulls out his cock, cum dripping down her thighs

"Fuck yes!" Eunbi moans, feeling the warmth inside her pussy.

Park's close too, and she kneels, sucking him harder, her hand stroking his balls. "My boobs, Mr. Park" she says, her voice raw, and he does, his cum coating her massive boobs, dripping over her nipples.

She smirks, wiping her chest, standing to face them, cum dripping from her pussy and boobs. "That's a negotiation," she says, her voice firm. "Now, triple that bonus, or I'll take my talents elsewhere."

Mr. Kim, panting, nods, so as Mr. Park, "Done," he says, his voice hoarse. Mr. Kim, dazed, agrees. "Whatever you want, Eunbi."

She grabs her dress, slipping it on loosely, her bra and panties in hand. "Good. I'm your Waterbomb Queen, and don't forget it." She struts out, leaving them stunned.

Cashback

Eunbi goes into a private rehearsal studio in Seoul's Gangnam district. Her performance a week ago, trending worldwide. Now, fresh off that victory, Eunbi's called her eight male backup dancers to the studio, not for rehearsal, but to reward them for their role in her triumph.

Eunbi stands at the center, her presence commanding in a tight black crop top that barely contains her massive boobs, her nipples poking through, paired with high-waisted leggings that hug her curves. Her short dark hair is hanged there, framing her face.

The dancers, Jun, Moon, Tae, Hyeon, Beom, Kwang, Chan and Seung, all in their mid-20s, toned and still buzzing from the festival's high, form a loose circle around her, their workout clothes damp from an earlier practice.

They're unaware of the full extent of her "bonus" plan, expecting some cash for their flawless performance.

"Guys," Eunbi begins, her voice warm but sultry, a smirk playing on her lips. "You made me look like a queen out there. The lifts, the sync, the energy, you nailed it. Waterbomb's still trending because of us."

She pulls a stack of envelopes from her bag, handing one to each dancer. "A little cash bonus for you all. $2k each. You earned it."

Joon, the lead dancer with a sharp jawline, opens his envelope, his eyes widening at the amount, "Eunbi-ssi, this is huge," he says, the others murmuring agreement, their faces lighting up.

But Eunbi's smirk grows, her eyes scanning them, lingering on their toned bodies. "That's not all," she says, stepping closer, her boobs bouncing slightly, drawing their attention. "You gave me everything on that stage. Now I'm giving you something back. Now you guys do the same." Her voice drops teasing.

"A cashback, let's call it." She peels off her crop top, revealing a red lace bra that strains against her boobs, her skin glowing under the studio lights. The dancers freeze, their eyes locked on her, the air shifting from gratitude to desire.

She kneels in the center of the circle, her hands brushing her hair back, her bra barely holding on, "Come closer," she says, her tone commanding, and they do, their workout pants tenting as they form a tighter circle. "You want your queen? Show me how much."

She unhooks her bra, letting her massive boobs spill free, her nipples hard and dark, the sight eliciting soft groans from the group.

Hyeon, the cockiest, unzips first, his cock springing free, thick and throbbing. "Fuck, Eunbi-ssi," he mutters, stepping forward. She grabs his cock, stroking slow, her hand slick with his precum, her eyes locked on his. "You like that?" she teases, then leans in, taking him into her mouth, sucking deep, her tongue swirling, her lips tight.

Her pussy clenches, already dripping, the thrill of control pushing her close to her first orgasm. The others watch, stroking themselves through their pants, their moans filling the air.

She pulls back, smirking, and moves to Moon, sucking him next, her lips hot and wet, her hand still stroking Hyeon. "Goddamn," Moon groans, his hands in her hair, thrusting gently.

Eunbi alternates, sucking and stroking each dancer, Tae, Seung, Beom, Kwang, Chan, then Jun, her mouth relentless, her hands working two cocks at once, her boobs bouncing with every move. Her pussy throbs, her arousal soaking her leggings, and she rubs her thighs together, chasing her first climax.

"Fuck, you're all so big," she moans, her voice husky, pulling back to catch her breath, her fingers slipping into her leggings, rubbing her clit, pushing herself over the edge. She cums hard, her body shaking, her pussy gushing, a soft moan escaping as she kneels, her skin glistening with sweat.

"More," she demands, standing, peeling off her leggings and panties, revealing her wet, tight pussy, the musky scent driving them wild.

She lies back on a padded mat, legs spread, boobs heaving, her fingers teasing her clit, still sensitive from her first orgasm. "Fuck me, all of you," she says.

Jun steps up first, sliding his cock into her pussy, tight and hot, making her scream, "Yes, fuck!" as he thrusts deep, her boobs bouncing wildly.

Hyeon kneels beside her, pushing his cock into her mouth, her lips stretching around him, her tongue swirling.

Tae and Seung take her hands, guiding them to their cocks, her fingers stroking fast, their precum slicking her palms.

Moon and Beom kneel by her boobs, rubbing their cocks against her nipples, her skin glistening with their precum.

Kwang and Chan stroke themselves, waiting their turn, their eyes locked on her writhing body. Eunbi's pussy clenches around Jun, her second orgasm building fast, her moans muffled by Hyeon's cock.

She cums again, her body convulsing, her pussy squirting slightly, soaking Jun's cock as he groans, thrusting harder.

Jun pulls out, and Tae takes his place, slamming into her pussy, her cum dripping onto the mat. Seung moves to her mouth, fucking her throat, her boobs bouncing with Tae's rough thrusts.

"Fuck, Eunbi-ssi," Seung groans, his cock throbbing as she sucks deep, her hands stroking Beom and Kwang now. Moon kneels, sliding his cock between her massive boobs, tit-fucking her, her nipples hard against his shaft.

Eunbi's pussy spasms, her third orgasm hitting as Tae pounds her, her moans loud, her body shaking, her cum flooding the mat.

"Switch," she gasps, her voice hoarse, pushing Tae out and pulling Chan into her pussy, his cock thick, stretching her, making her scream, "Oh, fuck, yes!" Kwang takes her mouth, his cock sliding deep, her tongue working him. Hyeon and Jun stroke themselves by her boobs, their precum dripping onto her skin.

Eunbi's fingers rub her clit, chasing her fourth orgasm, her body trembling, her pussy clenching around Chan, her moans choked by Kwang's cock. She cums again, her pussy gushing, her boobs bouncing, her skin slick with sweat and precum.

"Cum on me," she commands, kneeling again, her boobs thrust forward, her hands stroking Tae and Seung, her pussy dripping, her body still buzzing from multiple orgasms. "Give your queen a real bonus."

The dancers stroke faster, their cocks surrounding her, and one by one, they cum, Jun's load splashing across her boobs, Moon's hitting her neck, Tae's coating her chest, Seung's dripping onto her nipples, Hyeon's spraying her face, Beom's landing on her cleavage, Kwang's streaking her lips, Chan's pooling in her collarbone.

Their cum mixes, dripping down her massive boobs, her skin glistening, her lips catching a stray drop as she licks it, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Fuck, that's it," she purrs, wiping her boobs with her fingers, licking them clean, her fifth orgasm hitting as she rubs her clit one last time, her pussy pulsing, her body shaking. "That's my cashback."

She stands, grabbing her bra but leaving it off, her leggings discarded, her pussy still dripping. "You're my team," she says, smirking, her voice sultry, her skin glowing with cum and sweat.

"Keep that energy, and we'll dominate Waterbomb again next year."

She struts out, leaving the envelopes and their stunned, panting faces behind, Eunbi not just the Waterbomb Queen, she's their queen, and they know it.

[lolderek]

'Innocent' Massage

Red Velvet Joy x M Manager POV

Tags: Gentle Dominant, Fingering, Oral, Creampie, Cowgirl

I came to Joy's condo to discuss some things about her upcoming schedules. Such as magazine photoshoot, Interviews and the scheduled table read for a Netflix korea series.

I entered the passcode and went inside.

"Joy. We need to discuss some things about your upcoming schedules." I looked up from my papers and froze as I saw Joy sitting down on her hundred thousand dollar sofa chair. The only thing that I am surprised is she's only wearing a wrap white dress. Her bare feet and thighs are exposed. The absence of her underwear is obvious.

"So... Are we going to discuss my schedules or letting you ogling at me?" She giggled. I snapped back and cleared my throat to compose myself.

"Sorry.. It was just unexpected to see you wearing nothing down below."

She smiled. That smile is totally familiar to me. Ever since I got a job as her manager, I couldn't believe that she's a flirt and shameless. She keeps teasing me with dirty innuendos and flirty touches.

"Well... This is my home so I can be practically naked like today." She stretches her arms that caused her dress ride up. Slowly exposed more skin to my sight.

"Why not give me a massage while I'm reviewing the drama script? There's a massage oil at the shelf." She ordered.

I don't have a choice but to obey. This job gives me enough money to survive in this fucked up economy. My friends are jealous because I got to work alongside with a popular celebrity.

I grabbed the massage oil that she wanted then went back to her. She's currently reviewing the script for her netflix korean series project.

"Massage my feet and thighs. It became sore after I jog this morning. I think I took it far than usual." She explained while still looking at the script.

"Fine.. Fine.. Whatever you say so." I opened the cap of massage oil and pours an appropriate amount at my hands then I started to massage her heels all the way to her toes and back.

"It's been a month since you became my manager. Are you happy working for me?"

Her question made me froze. Happy? I guess so. Despite how hetic her schedule most of the times, seeing the work gets clearly done without problems makes me feel good. It's hard but worth it. Work is usually hard anyways.

"So far... Yeah. I'm happy to work for you. It's people's fantasy of working with her favorite celebrity. I'm practically living their dream."

My response made her laugh. "True. It's just like me ages ago when I was dreaming to become a popular celebrity and here I am. Living my own dream."

"Of course, You can easily achieved your dream because you are talented, pretty and hardworking woman. You're the men's dream girl."

"That's the fact. I couldn't even count how many men trying to court me but I keep rejecting them. I'm just a woman who prioritized my career before anything else."

"That's great thing tho. Sometimes, A celebrity relationship won't work at all. It's better to prioritize yourself first."

She nodded solemnly. I remember her and that soloist guy broke up after two years and that break up shocked the whole nation.

"Speaking of relationship. Have you ever been into one?"

I stopped massaging her legs then shyly shakes my head. "Honestly.. I don't have any. I'm scared of rejection so I don't confessed my feelings to the girls that I like."

"Oh really? That's pretty sad. You don't know that maybe one of your crushes is actually likes you too."

"I hope so... For now, Work is my priority."

"Speaking of crushes. Do you have a celebrity crush? Don't be shy. Be honest."

"My... Celebrity crush?" I looked at her then shyly looks down. Continues my massage despite the blush on my cheeks. "Actually... It's you, Joy."

She gasped out loud. As if she didn't expected my answer at all.

"Really? Is it me? Oh my gosh! Look at you, you're blushing hard. So cute!"

"Can you just stop teasing me and just... review the script."

"Fine.. fine... Atleast you're living the men's dream afterall. Massage my thighs as well. I love the feeling of your hands on my skin."

I blinked at her words. There's another hidden innuendo on it. I gulped hard before I proceed to massage her thighs slowly and gently.

"Hmmm~~ That's nice. Keep doing it."

Continues to massage her lower thighs. She lets out a series of gasps and moans as she still reviewing the script.

"Go higher."

I obliged. My oil coated hands went upwards slowly. I tried my best to keep my own arousal hidden as possible. My cock is fully erect and straining against my pants.

"Much higher."

"But..."

"No buts. Just do it."

Hestitantly went higher than appropriate. My hands are now at her inner thighs. At this point, I learned that Joy doesn't really wear her panties today. Practically naked she said.

My fingertips brushed against her most intimate part. That made her head threw aback. She spread her thighs apart.

"More... More touches like that..."

"I.. I don't think this is appropriate, Joy."

She shoots me an angry stare. Clearly disappointed of my hestitation. She reached out and grabs my collar to pull me towards to her.

"I fucking know that. I'm your fucking client and you're supposed to be doing what a client wants. Right now, All I want is your damn fingers on me."

I nodded. "Yes, Joy. I'll do what you want."

She plops back on her chair. "Good. Make it nice and slow right there. Insert your fingers at my cue."

"Understood."

I continued massaging her there. My thumbs courageously rubs her clit. It's wet and warm. I never thought this is that soft. I encircled her clit clockwise and counter motions slowly and gently. Her hips slowly rocking along with my fingers.

"Put two fingers on it."

I nodded. Immediately inserts my fore finger and middle finger slowly inside her wet clit. I gasped on how wet and warm inside of her. It was also tight but I keep pushing my fingers in.

"Ohhhh... Shit. That feels good! It's better than fingering myself."

With a surge of pride and confidence. I curled my fingers to touch her special spot then increased the pace. That made her back arched off from the chair. Her hips keeps grinding against my fingers.

"Fuck... Keep going.. I'm almost there..." She breathlessly said. Her eyes shut tight and her knuckles turned white as she roughly clenches at her sofa chair.

I redoubled my efforts. Determined to satisfy my celebrity crush. My fingers are working non-stop to push her into the edge. To finally reach her climax.

"GODDAMN IT! I'M GONNA...." She didn't finished her words as she lets out a high pitched moan.

Felt the gushing waves of her orgasm. Coating my hand and made a mess on her chair and the floor. She plops down after she experinced the heavenly feeling.

None of us are able to speak. Both of us are in dazed on what just happend. I couldn't believe I got to sexually satisfied my celebrity crush.

Curiousity picks in, I placed my fingers inside my mouth then hestitantly sucking it. It taste better than I imagined. It taste like pineapple. Both sweet and tangy. I just realized that she ordered me to buy a lot of canned pineapple juice yesterday. That makes sense.

"Taste good, right?"

I nodded shyly. "Yeah. It does."

"Now.. now.. Let me return the favor. Sit on this chair. I'll make your fantasies come true."

She guided me to sit on the sofa chair. She kneeled down and working to unbuckles my belt with an ease.

"Wait.. Are you sure about this? This is too far."

"Oh, don't be a coward. I know you wanted this, right? You want my lips around your cock." She removed my pants then groped my erection through my briefs.

"Consider this as a perk of working for me. You worked so hard, You deserved this."

I couldn't help but to moan as she touched my cock. It is true that this is what I fantasized before.

She pulled down my briefs to let out my throbbing cock. It nearly hits her face as it sprang forward.

"Hmmm~~ Very clean and hard. You took a good care of your cock. That's impressive."

Before I could respond. I felt her tongue slowly licking from the base up to the tip. Her eyes are locked on mine as she worked her tongue all over my cock.

"You don't know how much I want your cock. I keep giving you hints here and there. Just sit back and relax."

She wrapped her lips around the tip. I felt her tongue swirling around it. It made me threw my head back.

Because of my reaction, She proceeds to suck my cock inch by inch while she still looking at me. As she reached the base, she slowly went upwards then goes back down again.

The way her cheeks hollowed as she sucking my cock and her tongue working hard underside is insanely good. I watched enough porn but feeling it personally is just too much to handle.

Her hand fondles my balls as she continues to suck my cock. She increased her pace slightly. The lewd mouth sounds of hers fills the whole condo unit.

She guides my hand to hold her hair into ponytail as she redoubles her efforts. I feel like I'm going to cum soon. The prospect of cumming inside my crush's mouth is just crazy shit to imagine.

She felt that I'm almost there. She tripled her efforts. Trying to chase that climax.

"JOY! I'M GONNA CUM!"

I exploded inside her mouth. Ropes and ropes of thick cum spurts inside. It took me a while until it's all done. I plops back at the chair exhausted. I opened my eyes and Joy showed me how much I cum at her mouth. It was overwhelmingly much than I expected.

I was surprised to see her swallowing it with an ease.

"Taste sweet. This is why I told you to drink the pineapple juice."

I remembered that she orders me to drink it along with her. She said it's for the 'health'. Yeah right.

"But we're not done yet, baby. Clearly your cock wants more."

I looked at my cock and still standing strong despite what happend earlier. Before I could speak, She straddled me. Felt my cock entering her wet pussy smoothly. We both moaned in unison. My hands went to grip her hips instinctively.

"Ready to experienced every men's dream? Call me Mommy."

"Y-yes... Mommy... I do."

She smiled sweetly then rocks her hips slowly. She lifts off her dress to expose her fully bare naked body to my sight. Her breasts, full and perfect is bouncing at every moves she makes.

"Want to touch it, baby? Go ahead. It's all yours." She guides my hands to grope her breasts. I knead her busts gently. Felt her nipples poking at my palms. Courageously, I leaned forward to claim her lips in a gentle kiss. I'm inexperienced but due to determination to make her feel good, I tried my best.

She can tell that I'm not used to kiss someone on lips. She patiently guides me how and able to kiss her deeper. Our tongues dancing in a sensual dance of tango. Definitely living the men's dream.

After kissing her, I trails my kisses down to neck. Giving it a gentle bite on her pulse point and suckle on it. Making her moan out loud. Tilting her head for more.

She's kinda sweaty but even her sweat taste good. My hand went to grope your bare ass, kneading it gently as she still riding my cock.

My kisses went down to her breasts. Admiring how full and perfect it is. I peppers kisses on it's swell until I closed my lips into one of her nipples. It made her arms wrapped around my neck as she pulled me closer to her.

Went to other breast to give it an equal attention. I couldn't stop myself loving her breasts.

My hand went to rub her clit. Trying to make her come undone. Matching the pace of her riding my cock.

"Oh gods! My fucking god! baby... I'm almost there!"

I continued fingering her clit. Anytime soon, she will see the stars once again.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Ahhhhh!!!"

Her whole body twitches. Felt the another wave of her orgasm. I didn't stop fingering her until she plops into me. Breathless and spent.

"Mommy... Can I cum inside you?"

"Sure, baby... You can.... I took a pill today."

Swiftly changed our positions. I made her sit on the sofa chair. She gasped because of my sudden actions. I watched enough porn to know what I'm going to do.

Plunged my cock back to her wet pussy and starts thrusting in and out in a hard and deep pace. Felt her arms and legs wrapped around me. Pulling me into impossibly deep.

My breathing comes ragged and heavy as I pistoning my entire length inside her. God, I don't even want this to end. I want to prolong this sensation of our skin slapping skin.

"I'm gonna cum... Mommy..."

"Yes... Do it. For mommy. Fill Mommy's womb with your lovely seed."

That was the trigger. I bursted another wave of cum inside her. Painting her inside white, making sure that even her womb is filled. The sensation is crazy, Unimaginable one. Never thought sex would be this good. Bordering addictive.

We held for each other for a while. Trying to catch our breath as we slowly decended into the reality. I nuzzled to her neck, Inhailing her intoxicating scent of sweat and sex. Our genitals are still stucked together. Neither one of us wanted to get off. Just stayed still under the sunset's glow filled the whole place.

We slept wrapped around each other.

I'm really living the men's dream.

-End-

[lolderek]

We Did Go Too Far

Personally, I blame my parents.

They were the ones who insisted that they needed privacy and banished us down to the finished basement with its old, smelly carpeting and busted up furniture. It was our parents who decided that cable was a huge ripoff and Netflix was a scam, leaving us to explore the depths and dangers of broadcast television. And It was our parents who said -- even though I was a senior in high school and Chaewon was a freshman in college -- that we weren't allowed to go out unsupervised.

It's like they wanted us to get into trouble.

Chaewon and I were sitting on the couch in the basement, TV on in the background, talking about stuff that we probably shouldn't have been. Despite being older than me by a year, my big sister Chaewon was tiny next to me. She had light brown hair down to her shoulders. A perky little nose that turned up just slightly at the end. A wicked, sensuous smile.

Chaewon was telling me about college -- she went to state school but Mom and Dad made her live at home. That whole trust thing again. She talked about classes and friends and, of course, boys. I asked her if she was seeing anyone and she said no.

"How can I with Mom and Dad's rules?" Chaewon asked, "What about you, Ryan? Breaking any high school girls' hearts?"

"Obviously not," I said, "I'm living with the same bullshit you are."

"Seriously," Chaewon said, "All I've got in my life is porn, plus Rosy Palms and her five little sisters."

If I'd been drinking, I'd have done a spit take. My big sister said what?

"Oh come on," Chaewon said, "You can't tell me you don't do it, too. Plus you're a boy. I bet if you don't jerk it at least twice a day your head just pops off."

I laughed and admitted that I did it at least that frequently.

"See?" Chaewon said.

"And you?" I asked.

My big sister blushed. "I do it enough," Chaewon said, "OK, probably a bit more than enough."

I had to laugh at that and Chaewon did too. It was a nervous laugh. Like edging water from a hose, it came out too loud and strong because of all the pressure building behind it.

"Look at us two losers," I said, "Sitting in the basement watching old game shows and talking about masturbating."

"You're not a loser, Ryan," Chaewon said. She reached over and touched my arm. In that moment it felt as intimate as if she'd grabbed my dick. "Your dirty blonde hair. Big green eyes. You have those sexy legs from soccer. You make me laugh all the time. I mean, any girl would be lucky to have you."

"If I could ever take one on a date, let alone bring her home," I said.

"You'll be fine," Chaewon said, "I'm the one who's going to end up as an old maid."

"Oh Chaewon," I said, "Are you kidding? You're fucking gorgeous. If you think my green eyes are so great, well, you've got the same ones. Your lips are so pink and kissable. And your body. I mean, wow."

"No tits," she said.

"They're perfect for your build," I said, "You've got great legs and your butt is just… Not to mention how smart you are. The way you always outwork everyone else. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

"If I could ever take one on a date," Chaewon said, "Let alone bring him home."

"Exactly."

We sighed in unison. "Do I really look that good?" Chaewon asked, "Not to my brother. But if you put your, like, guy goggles on."

I mimed putting on a pair of glasses and then slowly studied my sister from head to toe. "Yup, pretty hot. From what I can see, anyway."

"You're saying if you saw me naked, you might change your mind?" Chaewon asked.

"It's just that… Well, your clothes aren't exactly revealing." Chaewon was wearing a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a beat up, white t-shirt. It looked comfortable, but she wasn't asking me about comfort.

Chaewon smiled at me. I knew that smile. It was the one that said she was about to do something dangerous. My sister had always been a bit of a risk taker. One of the reasons she didn't have a car, that Mom actually dropped her off at school every morning, was that my parents were terrified whenever she was behind the wheel.

"So if I take off my shirt, you might give me a more honest appraisal?" Chaewon asked. She didn't even wait for my response, just ripped her t-shirt over her head. Now my big sister was sitting in front of me in only a thin, white bra. Without the shirt, I saw that she'd sold her breasts short. They were actually pretty big, standing pertly on her chest. It was all those loose clothes she wore -- they made her look less endowed than she was.

"Your turn," Chaewon said.

Reflexively, I looked behind me. Though I can't imagine what I was worried about. We were a full flight of stairs under the rest of the house. There was a thick metal fire door at the top that my father insisted had to stay closed at all times when we were downstairs. In fact, my parents never even came down there -- they'd always just knock and yell if they needed something.

The house was old, too, with thick walls and floors that seemed to swallow sound. Chaewon and I could have started a heavy metal band down there and my parents wouldn't know until we invited them to our first concert.

Sure that the coast was clear, I stripped off my shirt and tossed it to the side. Chaewon's eyes went wide.

"Holy fuck, Ryan!" she said, and started tracing the muscles in arms, my chest, "When did you get these?"

"I don't know," I said. Honestly it wasn't something I really paid attention to. I was trying for a soccer scholarship and so I'd been working out at least twice a day, once with the team and once on my own. "I guess getting ready for the season, I just…"

"You wear such loose clothing," Chaewon said, "I never really noticed."

Her hand hadn't left my bare skin. I couldn't help myself -- I reached out and touched the top of her boob.

"Holy fuck, Chaewon," I said, "When the fuck did you get these?"

My sister gave me a dirty look, but she didn't push me away. "I was 12, remember. You were there."

"Yeah, but, I mean… You were complaining about your boobs before but these are really awesome," I said, still touching the tops of her tits. "You've got an incredible body, Sis."

And she did. I knew my sister was cute, I'd already told her that. But this… Her stomach was washboard flat. Her skin pale. Without really thinking about it, I dropped my hands to her sweatpants and pulled those down.

Chaewon didn't do anything to stop me. She was wearing little purple panties. I could see bits of her brown pubic hair poking out. She was short, but her legs were lovely, with the shape and tone of a taller woman.

Chaewon looked down as if scandalized, then reached over and ripped down my shorts. She didn't even let me keep my underwear. She just took it all in one swift pull. My penis popped up, tall and pulsing. I was hard -- of course I was hard after everything we'd been saying and showing.

"Wow," Chaewon said, "Wow wow wow."

"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't know you were going to…"

"It's so… I mean, I've seen them online and stuff but…" Chaewon was just mumbling to herself. Rambling on and on.

The couch felt weird and scratchy on my bare bottom. The TV was showing ads for carpet cleaner. I suppose I should have been uncomfortable or embarrassed. But instead it felt really natural. Just sitting there naked in front of my sister.

I guess I thought she should have the same experience. I reached over and grabbed at Chaewon's panties. She lifted her perky butt and let me slide them down to the floor.

Her pussy, like the rest of her, was small and well shaped. I'd never seen one live before, but it looked much more perfect to me than anything I'd seen online. Cuter and more feminine. I was desperate to touch it, but I made myself stay back.

Chaewon just smiled, then reached behind herself and undid her bra. Her breasts were gorgeous, little pink nipples all crinkled and hard. We were both now completely naked. Both breathing heavy like we'd gone for a run. Chaewon's whole face and the top of her chest was pink. I felt like I probably looked the same way.

We were siblings, after all.

"Now imagine you're not my brother," Chaewon said, "You're just some guy. What do you think?"

"I think you're amazing, Chaewon. I'm not exaggerating. I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. And you? What would you think if you weren't my sister? Just some girl."

"I want you really bad," she said. "Sister or no." Then she leaned forward and kissed me, hard. Her tongue probing my mouth. Hands drifting over my chest. I leaned back, a little scared. She was so incredible, but…

"But you are my sister," I said. Gasped between kisses. Chaewon sat back and made a pouty face.

"I want you, too," I said, "I really do. But I mean… I just think we can go too far. You know?"

Chaewon nodded. "No, I definitely don't want that. I just…"

"No, I know," I said. We ran our eyes all over each other. Like hunting down every part we wanted to touch and lick and…

"Well what about what I said before?" Chaewon said, "About my friend and her little sisters? Couldn't we just do that?"

"You mean, like, together?"

"Yeah," Chaewon said, "I mean, I'm sure you think about… stuff when you do that. I do. And after today, I mean, I think I'm going to be thinking about my little brother a lot."

I couldn't argue with that.

"So why not just do it together?" Chaewon said, "No touching. Just, you know, together. It's no different than if we went upstairs and closed our bedroom doors and did it. Which I'm telling you is what's going to happen if we don't right now."

I certainly wasn't going to argue with that. Chaewon took my silence to mean I was into it and started working herself with abandon. I'd heard that girls needed time to build, to touch and tease, and gradually work themselves into the mood.

Not my Chaewon. Before I'd even started stroking, she had two full fingers in her twat and was rubbing her clit so fast I could barely see it. We tested the soundproofing of the house that night, let me tell you. Chaewon screamed like she was getting stabbed when she came. A long loud "FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

I wasn't far behind -- I grunted and my semen exploded upwards with a strength I'd never experienced. It splashed warm on my stomach. My legs. When I recovered I looked up and saw that I'd accidentally gotten some on my sister's chest. Right on her boob -- better than if I'd aimed it there.

She just laughed and scooped it up. Then she sucked my sperm off her fingers and I swear I almost came all over again.

"Not bad," she said, "Kinda salty."

We got dressed again and watched TV and eventually my parents called us for dinner. I knew it wasn't over. But, as long as we weren't touching, I figured we'd be fine.

*

We were fucking within a week.

Every day we'd break a new boundary. The next time we rubbed together -- that same evening, right after dinner, if you can believe it -- Chaewon insisted I cum all over her chest and face. Next she wanted to be the one to point my penis when it shot.

That broke the touching taboo. Soon she was stroking my dick while I worked her pussy. It took a couple of false starts -- she gripped too hard, me not hard enough -- but eventually we got really good at getting each other off. It reached the point where the few times I tried to do myself, I couldn't even climax. My big sister had trained me to her touch.

After touching came tasting. Chaewon had sucked my sperm off her fingers (and her tits, and her hair) so of course I had to experience her own girl goo. It was kind of sweet and thick and I loved it so much I had to get some from the source.

So now we weren't even bothering with hands. Just lips and tongues and even a bit of teeth. The first time my sister swallowed my load, I could have died right then and there.

And once your sister has your dick in her mouth while you're licking her snatch, well, it's pretty simple to spin around and jam your cock in her pussy. At least that's what we discovered.

By that point Chaewon had figured out the way to get me to do things that I might not otherwise agree to. If she brought something up cold, like "I want you to fuck my titties." I'd get nervous and say no. But if she started with something I'd already accepted and then stopped right before I blew my load she knew I'd say yes to almost anything.

My cock was in Chaewon's mouth and her sex was in mine. I felt the pleasure building and then I heard a pop as she pulled her mouth off my dick.

"Spin around," she told me and I did. My cock nestled between her legs. The root resting right at her most precious place.

Chaewon kissed me hard, clearly she didn't care about tasting herself. Actually, she told me she thought it was really hot and would find ways to "accidentally" get some of her pussy juice in her mouth.

Then she looked up at me with her big green eyes and said, "Stick it in me."

I froze. I mean, I really did. Like my whole body just stopped responding.

"Come on Ryan," Chaewon said, "I'm on fucking fire and my pussy needs that hard cock so bad. Put it in. Come on. Give your big sister what she needs."

"Condoms," I managed to croak out.

"What? Noooo. I want you inside me not some thing wrapped in latex. I trust you. I know you won't put your stuff in me."

But I argued her out of it. It just wasn't a good idea. We were both smart enough to know that even if I didn't cum in her, I could get my sister pregnant. And that really was too far. Even Chaewon agreed with me on that.

Condoms were the only option. Our parents wouldn't let us go on dates, they certainly weren't going to let Chaewon start taking the pill. My big sister talked about trying a convoluted story about an irregular period, but we both knew such a deception could take months. Neither of us was going to last that long.

"We can go too far," I said, "If we're not careful. If Mom and Dad find out, if anyone did, this would be over in a second."

Chaewon nodded. I knew she didn't want that. But she stayed sulky. I got, quite possibly, the most mundane, indifferent blowjob a sister ever gave her brother. I did my best to get Chaewon off, as well, but after a while we just gave up and went to bed.

So it was that four days after my sister and I had agreed that 'no touching' was a safe boundary for both of us, I slipped out and bought a box of condoms on the way home from high school. That night we were in front of the TV -- Family Feud was on. I remember, because of all the dinging in the background.

We got naked right away. I started kissing her, moving my mouth to her pussy, but she just pushed me away. I swear she almost stuffed my stick inside her before I could put the condom on. It wasn't easy. I fumbled it a few times.

I moved my cock around for a bit, trying to find the right spot. Then Chaewon reached down and guided me in, herself. Just like that, without saying a word, my sister and I gave each other our virginities.

Saying 'just like that' makes it sound simple, which of course it wasn't. First I had to break through her barrier, which made her scream bloody murder. If we hadn't proved how thick the walls in the house were before, we did then.

All that stimulation of sliding back and forth in my sister's tightest place was too much for me and I came. So while my sister was howling in pain, I was rolling in pleasure. I pulled out and the condom was covered in blood, filled with my semen.

That was the point where I knew, truly, that my sister loved me. That was the only way to explain why she was willing to fuck me again after all that. And boy, did she ever.

After we both cleaned up we tried it again. Then again. I penetrated my sister until I could last inside her more than minute. Then we worked at it again until she was -- with a copious amount of clit rubbing -- able to cum on my cock.

The next day I was back in CVS replenishing my condom supply. My original purchase of 15 hadn't been nearly enough.

*

After that, my sister and I fucked like we were incapable of anything else. We would wake up early in the morning and sneak downstairs for a morning fuck. Then after school we'd race down and do each other as many times as we could until dinner. After eating we'd go back for an evening session.

I'm not superhuman but I was in high school and so my cock was able to keep up with a lot of it. When it wasn't, my sister would just ride my face or let me finger her. Sometimes she would sit there and work herself while I watched. We fucked in ways that made rabbits worry we might be overdoing it.

And I say fucked, not made love or had sex or whatever because that's what we were doing. Chaewon told me she loved me on that second day of fucking. I'd blasted my cum into the condom and then worked her till she shuddered. As we separated, Chaewon grabbed my arm.

"I love you, Ryan," she said, "You know that right? Not like a sister. More than a sister. I love you love you."

And I told her that I loved her, too, because of course I did. But if it was supposed to be some big moment or whatever, it wasn't, and as soon as I was able to get another condom out of the foil we were rutting like degenerates on the basement floor. I think I got permanent rug burns from that stupid shag carpet.

We never did the whole slow, loving sex thing where I kissed her and she kissed me and we slowly brought each other to shared ecstasy. We just… fucked. Fucked like teenagers raised on video games and YouTube clips. Drove into each other until we each got what we needed and then, when the satisfaction drained away, we did it again.

*

I kept telling Chaewon we could go too far and she kept proving me wrong. We started a new tradition of finished off our day by sneaking into each other's bedroom and fucking, one door down from our parents. One morning our Mom was running late and so we fucked in the backseat of her car before she came out to drive us to school.

The best was a weekend in April when my parents took a trip with friends to the Poconos and left us to our own devices. If they'd done that a few months before, I'm sure Chaewon and I would have been planning for weeks -- going to parties, setting up dates -- whatever we could to take advantage of our fleeting freedom.

Instead, we spent the whole weekend in the house, fucking in every room including the garage and all three bathrooms. We even fucked on our parents' bed. Twice.

I began to wonder if it wasn't just the sex that got my sister off, but the risk of it. Not just fucking but fucking her brother and doing it in places and ways where we were bound to get caught eventually. And once something was done safely, she had to raise the stakes. Chase that high.

If my parents suspected anything, they never said. Frankly it served them right. It was all their fault, after all.

*

That big April fuckfest weekend turned out to be a turning point. It felt like this big moment, a beginning of something even greater. We'd even jokingly named the whole thing Emancipenis (or Emancipussy, depending on who was talking) Weekend because we felt like we had some freedom for the first time in our lives.

Chaewon had even made an Emancipenis Proclamation speech while riding my cock on the dining room table. There was much applause, I promise you.

I could only imagine where we would go from there and I guess Chaewon felt the same because now nothing seemed to live up to it. Having to hump quietly in our basement hideaway just didn't have the same appeal after screaming orgasms echoing throughout the house.

We tried a public bench one afternoon, but chickened out at the last minute. There was risky and then there was stupid. That's what I told Chaewon, anyway. We really could go too far.

Life started to intrude, as well. I was a month from graduation and I still hadn't heard about my scholarship. It made me stressed and mopey which just sucked away my energy for sex. Chaewon wasn't around often enough for it to matter, anyway. Finals hit hard and she basically disappeared from the basement. She was either studying in her room or at the college library and I almost never saw her.

I knew it was OK, that it was just a thing we had to go through, but one night I got scared. I knocked on her door and she let me in. Her room was covered in dirty clothes and discarded paper plates -- the bed, the floor, everywhere.

Chaewon was wearing a big maroon sweatshirt with grey sweatpants. She had her glasses on, which I almost never saw. She barely looked up from her book when I walked in. We talked for a second, just about boring stuff, and then Chaewon asked if I wanted anything because otherwise she was busy. With the clock ticking I managed to just spit it out.

"Chaewon I know you're super busy and if that's all it is that's fine I'm just worried. Are we breaking up?"

"What?" my sister said, looking at me for the first time, "No. Don't be ridiculous."

So I let her get back to studying. But I swore I heard her crying as I closed the door behind me.

*

It was the middle of May. A drippy, dreary day that seemed to demand everyone stay inside. My Mom was upstairs making dinner and my Dad was in the dining room doing a work thing.

Finals were over. Chaewon was still sweating out test scores, but her time was, once again, her own. I'd gotten the scholarship and I'd be starting at Messiah in the fall. We would still be close enough to see each other -- it was only a three hour drive away -- but still.

For what felt like the first time in forever, my sister had joined me down in what I'd come to think of as our 'playroom.' The basement was lousy when it rained -- it felt damp and stank of mildew, so we sat fully clothed on the couch, wrapped in a heavy knit blanket.

We hadn't fucked in days -- really hadn't been regular for weeks. By this point, my balls had been trained to produce multiple loads of cum for my sister every day. Now it was all just building up in there. Worse, my cock had grown accustomed to Chaewon's pussy (and her mouth, and her hands, and her tits). Jerking off felt strangely empty and unsatisfying.

All this meant that my testicles were incredibly tender. I had to sit in a certain way just to keep from hurting myself. Chaewon seemed fidgety, as well. She kept shifting position and making these little frustrated grunts. But neither of us suggested doing anything. Not even a wink or a playful grope. And so we just stared mutely at the TV as I flipped the channels.

As I said, my parents wouldn't pay for cable so we just got broadcast down there. We had all the basic stuff plus these strange, sub-channels that would play, say, three hour marathons of Night Court or all the Robert DeNiro movies that weren't good.

Every now and again though we'd trip over something classic. That afternoon in mid-May we hit the jackpot: Rebel Without a Cause. Chaewon had never seen it so we watched. The movie had that saturated look from old color movies and the red of James Dean's jacket seem like the warmest thing in the world.

We got to the 'chickie' scene. James Dean gets in a knife fight with Buzz, but that's not enough. They agree to race each other, heading toward a cliff. Whoever jumps out first is 'chickie.' They line up all the other cars and flip on the lights. Each guy gets some dirt on his hands. And then they peel off toward death and destiny.

Chaewon had been sort of in and out of the movie to this point, but when we got to this scene she leaned forward. She just stared, enraptured, as the two cars took off. The cliff got closer. Dean's rival, Buzz, got caught on the door and couldn't escape in time. While Dean rolled to safety, Buzz's car went over the side.

"Holy fuck," Chaewon said, "I want to do that."

"You want to play chickie?" I asked, a little nervous about what my sister might be planning.

"Yeah," Chaewon said, "That would be awesome."

"Seems like a good way to get killed," I said.

"Not like with a car. Just something like that. Where you know that everything is at stake -- your family, your friends, your life -- but you race towards it anyway. Knowing in your heart that you'll have to stop at some point. But driving like you never will. Finding that point where your courage stops and then going just past. It's like… running with the bulls. Or jumping out of a plane."

"You're not exactly selling me on this idea."

"Come on, Ryan. Don't you feel it? We're trapped in this antiseptic life where even if we wanted things to go wrong our parents wouldn't allow it. Don't you just want to test yourself? See where your limits are? See if you can break through them?"

"I understand," I said, "I think. But it also seems kind of scary."

"That's the point," Chaewon said, "To be frightened. To live with real consequences. For once."

"And if you go over the cliff?"

"You don't," Chaewon said firmly, "You know when to stop. But in that moment. Wow. That has to be amazing."

I was sure Buzz planned on getting out of the car before he went over the cliff, too. But I didn't say anything. I just let my sister enjoy her fantasy.

Then she grabbed my hand, maybe a bit too hard. "I have an idea," she said. She tossed off the blanket and stood up. In seconds she went from jeans and a t-shirt to completely naked. Without thinking I did the same. It felt like ages since I'd seen my big sister this way and my body hurt with how much it wanted her.

"I'll get a condom," I said, but Chaewon grabbed my wrist again and shook her head. She pointed for me to lay down on the shag carpet. My penis pointed up proudly, as hard and straight as I'd ever seen it.

Chaewon stood over me, legs apart. She looked down and smiled. Slowly she lowered herself down. Leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. My penis bounced against her bare, unprotected pussy. God, she looked so beautiful.

"Just like in the movie," Chaewon said, "We're both going to do something risky. We're going to race toward that precipice. And we'll see who gives up first. Got it?"

Then she reached back, took my bare cock in hand, and aimed it right at her dripping puss.

Oh fuck. "Chaewon!" I shouted, "If you put me in without a condom I could…"

"Exactly," Chaewon said, "I'm going to stick your dick in my pussy and we're both just going to sit there. Neither of us moves. We just wait until one of us loses the nerve and pulls out."

"Fuck. Chaewon. This… This really is too far now. I mean if I get you pregnant? Our whole lives could be ruined."

"It's not too far," Chaewon said, "Not yet."

"OK, wait," I said, "We haven't done it in a while. My balls are… They feel really full. And my cock. I mean, I doubt I'll last a minute. Maybe we just have a quick fuck first, get out some of the tension. Then try."

"No," Chaewon said, "That's the game. There's the risk. That's what makes it work. Because there is all that danger. Our whole lives in our hands. Besides, you'll stop before it's too late, right?"

I nodded.

"Well so will I." Chaewon smiled and picked up my cock again.She placed it at her pussy and then started to slide back. For the first time, my bare head, my naked shaft, rubbed against Chaewon's labia. Her vagina. And then I was completely sheathed in my sister. Without anything between us.

"Holy FUCK! That feels fantastic!" Chaewon said.

"Uh huh." It was the closest I could come to coherence. I thought we'd been fucking all this time. That I'd known what sex was. It was nothing. Being inside Chaewon without a condom was like the difference between a scrimmage and a championship final. They were barely the same sport.

"How the hell did I ever let you talk me out of THIS?" Chaewon asked.

"Pregnant," I croaked.

"Oh right," Chaewon said, "Good point. Anyway, this is the game. Whoever can stay the longest."

I had to admit, in that moment it was exhilarating. And the same things that made it so exciting -- my naked sister, my condomless penis, her unprotected pussy -- also made it terrifying.

Chaewon rocked back onto her knees. She looked down at our juncture and smiled. "I always thought that looked so hot. You buried inside me."

I could see now that she was teasing me. Using dirty talk to get me to go first. Only she didn't need to tease -- I was ready to burst already. But I held on. I knew I had to. If we stopped now Chaewon would just make me go all over again. I had to let her have her fantasy, just like she said: get as close to the edge without going over.

I shifted a little and Chaewon warned me that I wasn't allowed to thrust. Only to lie back. As if that somehow made things safer. Like her warm, tight pussy wasn't squeezing, pulsing, pulling at my cock for its precious seed.

Instead I reached up and grabbed her breasts. Pinched her nipples. I felt her pussy clench as I did it.

"God, I love these," I said.

"I always thought they were too small."

"They're perfect. You're perfect."

Chaewon reached back and cradled my balls. Two could play this game apparently. "These are really full," she said, "I don't know if I've ever felt them when they're like this."

"Be careful," I said, "They're really tender."

"Is all that build up just from me?" Chaewon asked, "I mean, you were unloading at least five times a day and then… Nothing. There has to be, like… God, at least 25, 30 regular cums in there."

I groaned.

"You might give me quintuplets, all that sperm. Fuck. You'd better not cum in me, Ryan."

"I won't," I said.

"I mean, just imagine, you think you've got it under control, then suddenly you slip and WHOOPS! There's my baby brother's baby inside of me."

"You're cruel," I said. Chaewon just winked. I decided to try giving her a little scare. I flexed my penis in her pussy, almost like I might be cumming. She gasped, her face went white, and she even started to lift off a little. But then she laughed.

"Ohhhh, you almost had me there, big guy."

"Worth a shot," I said.

"You'll be the first to give," Chaewon said, "I just know you will. And then you'll know that I'm the big sister."

She bared down on my cock with her cunt, then laughed again. I groaned. I was getting close now. My need to explode slowly shifting from urge to reality.

"I'm like, really fertile now, too," Chaewon said, "Like, I could probably get pregnant just from standing near some sperm today. My little egg is in my womb just waaaaaaaaiiiiting for some big bad Ryan spermies to come inside."

I rolled my head back. All this talk was driving me crazy. I didn't want to make my sister pregnant but my body did -- my instinctive drive to reproduce didn't care about college or disappointing my parents or any of that. It just wanted to make more mes and my big sister was telling it exactly what it wanted to hear.

I started to pant from all the pressure. The little spark of orgasm that started in the base of my penis slowly spread upwards.

"Getting… close…" I said.

"OOOO, yeah. I can feel that," Chaewon said, "Your cock is like… swelling up inside me. Fuck. And I haven't even touched my naughty little clitty. I'm telling you, Ry, I'm never going back to condoms. We're going to have to find another way. This… this is just too good."

She shifted her weight again, moved up more on her feet. Ready to spring off at the last second. She could see the cliff coming now and my crazy sister just slammed on the accelerator.

"My little brother's going to give me his baby," she started to chant, "My little brother's going to give me his baby."

"No," I said, teeth grinding, "Can't… Won't…"

"Ready to give up then, little Ryan? Admit that your big sister is the best?"

Damn her. "N…no. Not yet." I still had time, I could feel it. Maybe if we were actually humping I would go, but just sitting here, I could maintain control.

Chaewon relaxed a little. She looked down at where we were joined again. She seemed to be thinking. Then she bit her lip and her eyes went wide and wet.

"I missed this," she said, "I really did. I got so used to having you in me. Maybe I forgot how much I need that cock in my pussy."

"I missed you, too," I said.

"I know we didn't… Maybe I didn't say it enough. But you know that I love you, Ryan. I mean it. Please. Please tell me you still love me."

"Oh God, Chaewon. Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in the world."

And then Chaewon's pussy squeezed my cock as hard and tight as I'd ever felt it. Not just a grip but a rolling wave that went from my root, up my shaft, then squeezed my head. Her eyes popped open and so did mine.

It came out of nowhere. That little spark went straight to a raging conflagration, skipping every step in between. I raced to shove her back, to get my cock out of her pussy before…

"I win!" Chaewon threw her arms up in triumph.

I came inside my sister. Not a little spurt but a massive blast of joyous sperm that shot straight into her. A fire hydrant of fertility just opened up -- not a stream or a spurt -- but an explosion of force that filled her pussy in one shot.

"OH F…!" Chaewon started to lift off, but then my cum hit her cervix and she stopped. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell forward. My cock still buried inside her. My second blast was more voluminous than the first. My dick kept going back to the well, expecting to find it empty, but instead there was still more than it could carry and it raced to dump the contents in Chaewon's snatch before rushing back for more.

I wrapped my arms around my sister, thinking I could pull her off my cock, but she held me so tight. Her body convulsing. And then a noise came out of my sister that I'd never heard before and would never forget.

It was a deep, primal sound. Something ancient from her animal brain. It started almost like a whisper and then immediately ratcheted into a deafening shout.

"hhhhhhrrrrrrrrRRRRRRAAAA AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! FUCK! Oh FFFFFFFFFUCK! You're cumming inside MEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee!"

Another blast. Another. Filling my sister's fertile twat over and over again. Ripping right into her womb. Our orgasms simply swallowed us up. I held onto my shaking sister as we both came and came like we would never stop.

"I LOVE my brother's cock!" Chaewon howled, "I LOVE my brother's CUM!"

Impossibly I felt my balls finally start to empty. My cock was still firing, but now it felt like smaller bits. Less and less. Chaewon's orgasms subsided with mine. Oh God. There was no way that. I mean. She was more than pregnant… Oh God.

She stood up, both of us sticky with sweat. As Chaewon got to her feet, a rivulet of her brother's sperm streamed out of her pussy and splashed onto my leg. She reached her hand down to cup under her sex. And then she started to laugh. A kind of low, thing, that sounded almost the same as a sob. I leapt up and wrapped myself around my big sister.

"I love my brother," she said. Whispered it into my ear. "I love my little brother so much."

And I told her I loved her too.

*

My parents heard us. Of course they did. My ears still echo from Chaewon's orgasmic cries. Later, after she and I were able to joke about it, I named it her 'pregnancy shriek.' Her announcement to the world that she had conceived. I joked that she could join the X-Men, but of course that would require someone to knock her up every time they fought a bad guy.

When they heard Chaewon, Mom and Dad raced downstairs. We were still stumbling around like zombies. Covered in sperm and girl cum. There was no point in lying about it. This is meant to be a happy story in the end. So I'll just say that things got ugly.

The good news is that this finally got us out of the house. Pretty much forever, actually. We got our own place. I turned down the scholarship and followed Chaewon to school. Got a job to help pay for things while she worked on her degree.

We stopped fucking after that fateful day. Instead we started making love. I've been lucky enough to hear Chaewon's amazing pregnancy shriek three times so far. I've don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing it.

You really can go too far. I know we did. And it was the best decision we ever made.

[lolderek]

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."

[lolderek]

Comeback of a lifetime: Fromiscuity

Fromis_9 Lee Chaeyoung x m reader x Lee Nagyung

a/n: this is a continuation of the very first fic I ever wrote alone, Comeback of a lifetime. I learned a lot about writing since then lmao.

Word count: 12k words

Let’s recap. You didn’t stop going to the PC bang.

You said you would, and you had all of the intention to. Swore up and down that night was your last. Just one final send off before quitting cold turkey. But then Nagyung crawled in your lap, moaned sweet nothings in your ear, and sucked your dick under the desk while you wiped the floor with a silver ADC—which isn’t even your main role, mind you—and all of sudden, the withdrawal plan didn’t seem like it was all that urgent.

That was two weeks ago. Nowadays, you’re a regular again. Or at least, sort of? You’re not spending your entire day there anymore. You’re also not there for the ranked grind.

No, you show up, because you know the hours Nagyung can show up and you’re there, for those three hours every single day, hoping to get some time with her again.

And sometimes, you do.

She’ll sit down in her usual, secluded spot, wearing a variety of oversized hoodies, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. No one notices her. No one ever does. You can’t help but spot her instantly every time.

You don’t make a big deal out of it. You’re just glad to see her. She always gives you this little nod, and slides into the seat next to you—oh, right, yeah, you also changed your favorite seat so you’re always next to her now—like she never left.

It’s not even a question anymore of whether you’ll play together. You just do. She boots up her client, you log into your smurf, and it’s off for another night of carrying and coaching her.

You lane with her. Peel for her. Shotcall for her. You ping retreat, and she ignores it. Every. Single. Time. Rages a little bit and then looks at you all guilty and cute and impossible to hold a grudge against. Sometimes, she turns around in her chair and beams at you like she just won Worlds. The only readable piece of her face is still her eyes, but you’ve learned to tell.

It’s fun. Still is. But it’s different from that first time.

You never asked her about it, either. About what she said—about next time, and blankets, and letting you fuck her on your lap. You figured if she wanted to follow up, she would.

She hasn’t.

It’s all toned down since then. You carry her, and she squeezes your thigh, rests her head against your shoulder during queue times or gives you a kiss on your cheek if she’s feeling generous after a win. It’s really not a bad deal, just different.

You even got her into Gold because of all that.

She squealed when she hit it. Climbed into your lap again, bounced in your chair, kissed your cheek twice and was going to brag about it for weeks. The closest you got to that original feeling.

That was three days ago. She hasn’t been back since.

She’s not here today, either. No disguise that you can see through in an instant. No oversized americano sitting dangerously close to her keyboard. No kisses on your cheek.

You play a couple of games on your main account. It’s miserable. Not because your teammates are tilting you (not for lack of trying, mind you), but because you’re just bored. The games don’t hit the same without her ignoring your pings and tanking tower shots chasing kills. So you head out.

You grab your shit, walk out the door, and that’s when you see her.

Leaning against the wall, just outside the PC bang entrance, scrolling through her phone. Face mask, cap, sunglasses. A crop top black hoodie. An interesting take on Nagyung’s incognito mode, but it’s not her. You can tell immediately.

This girl’s taller. Shoulders squarer, posture straighter. Her frame’s more athletic—less cute and bubbly smiles, more charismatic. Not petite, but not imposing either. Alluring. Almost your height. Almost.

And she’s switched to watching you.

She tilts her head at you. It’s not coy like Nagyung does. There’s no flirty cheerfulness, no expressive energy hiding under her hoodie. This isn’t a girl acting shy and rocking your world when she isn't.

This is a woman waiting for you to notice her—and being so damn sure you would.

She pushes off the wall, approaches you with too much confidence that you won’t run away. One hand pulls her mask down, the other lowers her mask just enough to reveal her eyes.

Almond-shaped, like a cat. Heavy-lidded. Confident. Sultry in a way that feels inherent, not something that can be taught.

You know those eyes. You know that beauty mark. You know that whole face.

How could you not, after everything you love and have been through?

Chaeyoung.

Oh. 

Fromis_9’s Chaeyoung. So first Nagyung shows up inside your PC bang, and now Chaeyoung outside of it? How the fuck are you supposed to lampshade that?

“You know what’s crazy?” she says, way too confident again that you’re not in shock just from the fact that she’s talking to you. “Our dorm’s five minutes from here.”

You blink. “I’m not sure that’s the craziest thing happening here.”

She slips her phone into the pocket of her hoodie and steps a little closer, letting her face mask snap back into place but putting the sunglasses in her other pocket.

“We can agree on that, but it’s still weird, right?” she says, turning and glancing toward the PC bang entrance. “We’ve both got these big personal setups at our dorm. With the custom gaming chairs and everything.”

She smirks at you like that detail’s supposed to mean something. “That sounds comfortable.”

“I know. So I couldn’t figure out why she’d keep coming back here,” she continues. “I know she used to come here occasionally when she just wanted some me time. But now she’s here all the time. It’s like, obsessive. Right after a rant about quitting League for Overwatch.”

You shrug, pull your best confused face. “Maybe she just likes the snacks they have here?”

“I’d believe you if you didn’t exist,” Chaeyoung shoots back, but there’s no bite to it. She points a finger at you, not accusatory, just stating a fact. “I know you’re why she’s been ranking up rapidly.”

Okay, yeah. Busted. There’s no way to know what she knows, but there’s no point in denying any accusations she makes that hit the nail on the head.

“Was I not supposed to?” you question back, a bit more coy than you would have a month ago.

“Nah, relax,” she says. “I’m not here to criticize you or anything.”

You look at her, intrigued.

“I just figured it was time we met. I want your help to get my rank above Nakko back.”

You’re about to try and turn her down, some sort of loyalty to Nagyung shining through, but she doesn’t wait for you to catch up. “You free now?”

You nod, unsure why. Maybe because you’re not used to saying no to beautiful women, or maybe because Chaeyoung’s presence is more gravitational than conversational.

“Wait, no,” you interject before you even figure out anything further. “I don’t think I should be doing that. I think it might hurt my chances with Nagyung.” It seems your spine hasn’t left you fully just yet, or maybe this is the effect of being a spineless being. Who can tell?

“Look,” she says, stepping in just a little closer, physically looking up at you, just slightly, but really, looking down at you a little bit. “I know she hasn’t been here since she hit gold. Has to not feel great for you either, huh?”

You blink at her, all of her words causing your brain to lag behind. “You’re tracking her now?”

She just shrugs, and the difference in social skills and fluidity is just painful. “I live with her. Not that hard to figure out when she is or isn’t sneaking out in a disguise to go to a PC bang literally 5 minutes away.”

You try to come up with something clever, but nothing lands, not with those eyes piercing you. She keeps going.

“And I’m just saying,” she adds, tone dropping into a more persuasive and smooth version, “I have a reputation to uphold if I still want to get brand deals with HLE. What you get out of it, is a hyper competitive Nakko, one who gets so obsessed with beating my rank, that she won’t leave your side until she does.”

You cross your arms, trying to regain some footing. “So your plan is to get some random dude from a PC bang to coach you up to a meaningless rank in a videogame? Why not get someone with actual qualifications?”

“My plan,” she says, pointing at you again, “is to use you specifically to get a higher rank so I can get under her skin a bit because I fucking love teasing her.”

“Does it have to be me?“

“Yeah, kind of.“ Chaeyoung’s answer is so quick and so direct it makes you feel silly for asking, which is probably the point. “You’ve already proven you can get Nakko up there, and you’ve managed this entire conversation without turning into the worst fanboy. If it’s not you, it won’t work as well. Also, you’re easy on the eyes.“ She says it all with such calculated ease, the last part tacked on like an indulgence added on to a grocery list. The worst is that she doesn’t even look like she’s even remotely kidding.

You’re trying to hide your fluster. “You do realize we just met, right?“

“Yeah, but Nakko trusts you, so it’s probably fine.“

You actually laugh at that.

“So,” she says, tilting her head again, “you game?”

”Fine.” You sigh, then nod. “I’ll do it.”

There’s a lot to be said for all the horrible timelines this could create in where you fuck it all up. But you also know, deep down, this is the only way to move forward. No game-winning play was ever made without risk.

Chaeyoung’s smile is satisfied, like she was just waiting for you to catch up on how great of an idea this is. “Smart. Come on.“

Your instinct is to turn around, back into the colosseum of computers, but instead she starts walking briskly down the street, not even checking if you’re following. You have to jog a few steps just to catch up with her and her impossibly long legs.

“Where are we going?” you ask. Can’t assume anything with these idols after all.

She glances at you, then forward again. “Dorm. I wasn’t lying about the setups.”

You balk at that. “You’re just gonna let a random guy into your dorm?”

“Not a random guy,” she retorts. “My new coach. Try to keep up.“

“And I can’t be your new coach in a public setting? I’m not complaining, mind you.“

“Nope. Nakko might like it, but I hate PC bangs. Constant fear of people approaching me, having to wear this stupid disguise the entire team. I need to be in a good headspace to perform well, y’know?“

“If you were a prodigy, you wouldn’t be talking to me,” you shoot back.

“That’s… a surprisingly good instinct,“ you concede, matching her stride.

“See, I knew that deep down I’m a prodigy,“ Chaeyoung says, and you swear it’s accompanied with a smirk even with the mask in place.

“And if Nakko was gaming with you, you wouldn’t be talking to me.“

You wonder if this is normal for her—if she always is this comfortable and easy to banter with when meeting strangers.

She only lets a beat of silence linger. “Was that mean?“

“It wasn’t wrong.“

“Damn. At least you’re honest,” she says. “I can see how you’d be able to coach Nakko.“

“So.“ She glances over at you, “what’s your main?“

“Ahri,“ you say, and then regret it immediately, her stride stopping and looking at you like you just told her you’re actually three Teemo’s in a coat.

“Oh my god.“

“I take it you’re not the biggest fan of Ahri,” you question, and she’s quick to respond.

“No, I love Ahri. It’s the Ahri mains. They all either are perverts or think they’re hot shit,” she says, turning back on her heels and walking further. “I’m just trying to figure out which one you are.“

“What if I’m both?“ You raise an eyebrow.

She chuckles, and it’s a sound you could get used to. “Then you’re at least self-aware, and your coaching might work.“

“What about you then?“ you question back, seeing if hers is any better.

She strides further, and speaks filled with pride when she answers your question. “I main support. Seraphine.“

“Seriously?“

“Yeah, what about it?“

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?“ You take a beat. “Tall and pretty idol plays tall and pretty popstar champion.“

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?“ she taunts back, clearly unaffected by you trying to make fun of her.

“Isn’t that, like, a requirement for your job?” you volley back, but it’s mostly a stall for time, because this is… something. It’s barely been three minutes and you’re already having more fun than you ever had in solo queue.

“Just like it’s a requirement for my job to tell you that from now on,“ you continue, “you’re not a support main anymore. You main mid now, because otherwise this climb is going to take years.“

“You’re the boss,” she says, matter-of-fact.

The dorm building is exactly five minutes away, like advertised. It’s a newer building, the kind with a digital keylock outside and a tidy little lobby that smells like pine cleaner.

Chaeyoung ushers you in like it’s nothing, and leads you up through the world’s quietest elevator.

You brace yourself, not sure what to expect from a girlgroup dorm; glitter, maybe. Plushies and pastel everything. But the living room is minimalist, almost monastic and monochromatic save from some plants introducing color. Dark gray couches, a glass coffee table with a magazine on it, and a kitchen visible through a wide pass-through. There’s a bowl of instant noodles and a half finished fruit smoothie.

It feels unmistakably normal.

Chaeyoung’s stride doesn’t diminish as she steps out of her shoes and keeps moving. She beelines for the far end of the hallway, and you follow like she has an invisible leash tied to you.

Multiple doors line the walls, and she grabs the handle to the last one on the left. Chaeyoung makes a sharp turn towards you, blocking the frame with her body.

“Wait here,“ she says, holding her hand up to your chest to stop you from following. “I wanna put on something a little more comfortable. Don’t touch anything, don’t go snooping around any of the rooms, just…yeah. Stand there. Wait for me. Try to blend in.“

You nod, she smiles, and she’s disappeared into her room.

You hear a storm of movement inside; drawers, a closet door, some fabric rustling, all at a speed you couldn’t possibly keep up with. Images of her changing pop into your head, and you try to stop yourself from visualising it lest you make it obvious, but that’s a losing battle.

The lock on the door clicks—after barely any time passing—and the door cracks open just the slightest amount. “You can come in now.“

You step inside—and your brain lags.

She’s done away with anything that could hide her identity, but didn’t stop there. She’s swapped the hoodie and joggers for a sleeveless HLE merch top, no doubt customized herself. The whole look is finished with a dark pleated skirt, and black thigh-high socks that stop barely underneath her skirt.

“Is this, like, some kind of power move?“ you ask, because you can’t not. Who has this in mind when they mean something more comfortable?

She clocks you staring, and makes a big show of stretching her arms overhead with a level of comfortable confidence you thought would be reserved for being on stage. “Do you like it? I figured you’d be more motivated if I gave you something good to look at.“

You swallow like an idiot, then try to regain some control. “You’re missing the cliche cat ears.“

She bursts out into laughter, and takes a seat in the only chair available at her desk. Her computer boots up in a matter of seconds, and she’s already logging in to League of Legends.

She smirks, opens a drawer—which had a small plushie of Ahri on a keyring hanging from the handle, the hypocrite—in her white desk where she houses her entire gaming rig, which is all aggressively pink and white, and pulls a pair of headphones with cat ears attached to them. She jams them on her head and strikes a pose, curling her fingers like a cat at you. “Better?“

“Oh my god.“

“So, coach, how do you want to do this?“ The way she says it is so casual, and so full of trust. Nagyung would have thrown a wink in, or added some dirty undertone, but Chaeyoung is all business.

“You comfortable playing mid? I can coach you for support, but if you want to climb fast—“

“Are you sure you don’t want to duo with me? Show me how good you really are?“ she asks, and it feels like a test.

You don’t even consider it for a second. “Well, if you want to drop to silver the second I step out of your room again, we can. But if you want to actually have a shot at staying above Nagyung, I’ll just watch and tell you what you can improve on.“

“You know,” she says as she nods, and looks actually kind of impressed, “most guys like you would jump on the chance to impress me.“

“Yeah, well, most guys like me haven’t been through what I’ve been through with Nagyung. I think.“

Chaeyoung furrows her brow at that, but it quickly disappears as her queue pops. She gets mid, and hovers over Seraphine for a second, then turns to you. “So should I also play Ahri, or…?“

“Play what you’re comfortable with. Seraphine is fine mid.“

She sighs from relief, then locks in Seraphine. The loading screen reveals the harsh truth: she’s Silver III. Better than what Nagyung was two weeks ago, but not a starting point you can get to Gold in a couple of hours. Probably.

The next fifteen minutes are a crash course in how not to play mid. She eats a full Syndra combo when she steps up for a cannon minion, causing her to miss it. But you call her out on it, and it only happened one more time. She tries to roam bot with no prio, while her jungle is top side. Obviously, she dies as she gets collapsed on by the enemy jungle. You explain to her why that was a bad play.

To her credit, she never tilts. She just keeps talking through her thought process, narrating the inner machinations of a Silver.

You even get her far enough ahead to, somehow, win that first game. Her mechanics are sufficient enough for Gold, it’s just game knowledge that’s holding her back.

She clicks past the victory screen, points to her damage stat (highest in the team, thanks to some great coaching), and smugly turns towards you. “See? I told you. Prodigy.“

“Yeah, you only inted like two times—“

“Thank you! I knew you recognized real talent.“

“—per minute.“ You finish, after her premature gloating.

She looks at you for a second, standing next to her, then at her bed. “Are you planning on coaching me while standing the entire time? You’re allowed to sit, you know. The bed is right there.“

You don’t argue with her about it. Plop down on her bed, carefully, and the perfectly made sheets barely crumble under you.

Chaeyoung looks at you as if to check if you’re fine there, and you nod. She’s in a new game already, again mid, again Seraphine, and you settle back into a growingly familiar rhythm of watching her play and you pointing out every single mistake she makes.

You even develop your own little micro-language. You say “risky cannon“ and she knows to back the fuck off; she says “trust me“ and you already know she’s about to int.

It isn’t even all game talk. Well, that still happens (“Chaeyoung, don’t chase, you have no vision.” “That’s a bad trade, you’re sitting on 1.2k unspent gold.“) and she’ll grumble, but she listens. But between deaths, between queues, there’s time and space for you to get to know each other.

She’s just farming, and doesn’t even bother to look at you when she speaks half the time. “You know, you’re not really what I expected from you. You don’t fit the vibe of like, the awkward gamer crowd, I mean.“

“Should I take that as a compliment?“ you ask, skeptical.

She shrugs. “Sure, why not? Most of them are, like, the moment they figure out you’re an idol, they get either weirdly awkward or weirdly… reverent? Like my identity suddenly demanded for them to change. You didn’t blink.“

“Well, yeah, you were disguised,“ you point out.

“Please, don’t bullshit me. You totally recognized me.“ You can see her look at you from the corner of her eye, a smirk to go with it. “I saw the double take you did.“

“A benefit from hanging out with Nagyung, I guess?“

“Probably. Doesn’t make it less refreshing for me.“

She locks in for a moment, you give her the quiet she needs to focus—and much to your surprise, she actually makes a really good play all by herself. Solo kills the enemy laner. This time, she doesn’t gloat, but just picks up where you left off.

“So, you and Nakko,“ she says, while recalling under her turret. “How’d that even start?“

You give a noncommittal shrug, she doesn’t catch it because her eyes are glued to the monitor. “I honestly thought you already knew.“

She chuckles. “She hasn’t told me a single thing. All I know is what I saw with my own eyes while out gathering intel on why she was climbing so fast.“

“Oh. So what did you see?“

“I saw her plant a kiss on your cheek. Like, in public.“

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,“ you say, hoping the casual will stick.

“Not a big deal?“ She spins her chair, casual having the opposite effect. “That’s a fucking big deal for an idol, and that makes you clearly one step above a regular coach helping her score some elo. You know, any guy in your position would have been bragging about how big of a deal that is.“

“I’m sorry?“

“So that can only mean one thing. You’re already desensitized to it.“

She’s so fucking sharp. No wonder coaching her is this easy, she catches anything you say and don’t say.

“Oh, I don’t—“

“So what’s the story?“ she interrupts your pussyfooting around it. “You don’t strike me as the type to hit on random girls. No offense.“

You can’t help but think she’s not wrong about that. “She kind of… chose me. I was just there. Some random in her game was getting on her nerves, and I helped her shit stomp him.“

“Ah, that makes sense,“ Chaeyoung says, but her tone is a gentle breeze. “Did she tell you about her bucket list?“

You shake your head, but she doesn’t catch it again. You kind of feel like an idiot for it, and use your words to say the same.

“She made one when we were in between companies,“ Chaeyoung explains, as if this is her secret to reveal, somehow. “All the stuff she wants to do but couldn’t because of strict company rules and tight schedules. Like hitting diamond in League.“

“That’s… actually kind of adorable,“ you chuckle.

“She is, annoyingly so,“ Chaeyoung says, and there’s this fond tone that carries her voice. “She obsesses over these little goals she gives herself. I guess it’s her style of coping with… life, I guess. She’ll tunnel vision, and then, the second it’s done, she forgets all about it.“

You realize you felt that last bit firsthand. “I just thought she got bored. Or maybe I was getting boring.“

“Wow, you really are dense,“ Chaeyoung says, but not mean. Same fond tone. This time a little more pity carried with it, like she’s teasing a puppy for not knowing how mirrors work. “She probably likes you. Otherwise she would have never played with you a second time. Trust me.“

You want to protest, but the conviction in Chaeyoung’s voice makes you second guess your entire history with Nakko.

Her game ends—already on a three game win streak—and she doesn’t queue, instead, swivels in her chair to turn towards you. “So. What really happened? What got you so desensitized?“

You can’t look at her face. “It’s not a big deal.“

“You saying that makes it sound like a big deal,“ she says. “Which makes me want to figure out what exactly happened.“

“She has me on a proverbial leash, keeping me satisfied with occasional affection.“

She doesn’t look impressed. “That’s not it. I promise I’m not going to use it against you. Besides, Nakko told you to keep this all quiet, didn’t she? Who else do you have to brag to about all this?“

You hesitate, she just waits.

Then finally, because it’s been sitting in your chest for weeks and she’s right and she asked nicely which is a stupid fucking reason but still—

“She sucked my dick.”

She blinks.

You dig a deeper hole.

“First night we met. I think I caught her at a weird time. Helped her put some guy that was flaming her in his place. She sat in my lap, and said I deserved a reward. Under the desk. Mid-game. Even said that next time, she’d let me fuck her. Same place. Blanket over us, wanted me inside her while she played.“

Her lips part just slightly. Not from disgust. Not even shock. Just pure, stunned intrigue.

“Holy shit. Nakko really is running her bucket list at top speed.“ She tilts her head, considering you for all this. “And you didn’t even question it?“

“Have you taken a good look at Nagyung? There’s no universe where I say no to her,“ you admit. “And she’s good at it too. But it’s not like—“

“Man, she's been obsessed with wanting to try public stuff for, like, ever. Used to show me all these fucked up twitter threads and say, ‘Can you imagine?’ like it was a normal thing for girls like us to want.“

“Right. That helps explain it somewhat.“

“So like, you two have fucked already? Why the fuck are you still here?“ she questions, like you’re making a big mistake just being here.

“Oh. No, eh, no we haven’t. That part never came to be. After that first night, she just stuck to giving me kisses on my cheek and other innocent stuff.“

Chaeyoung squints at you like you’ve just missed eight skillshots in a row.

“She promised to let you fuck her while playing videogames, and then just downgraded to cheek kisses?“

“Yeah. I guess.”

“And you didn’t say anything?“

“What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, remember when you offered to fuck a stranger in a public setting? I was just wondering where that fits into your schedule’?“

Chaeyoung turns back toward her screen, but doesn’t click anything. You can see her thinking—eyebrows slightly pulled, a little too amused to be concerned, a little too concerned to be just amused.

Then she says, like it just occurred to her, “Okay, but like… what if it’s your dick?”

You look at her. “What?”

“I’m just saying.” She holds up both hands like she’s presenting a neutral hypothesis. “Maybe you’ve got a weird one, and it scared her off.”

You look at her, stunned. “What?“

“I’m just saying.“ She holds up both hands like she’s presenting a neutral hypothesis. “Maybe you’ve got a weird weiner, and it scared her off.“

“My dick’s not weird.“

“Pretty defensive for a dude with a normal dick.“

You cross your arms, retreating. “Because it’s a weird thing to say.“

“Is it though? Maybe it’s like, aggressively curved. Like a candy cane.“

“What?” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “No.“

“That’s not a thing.“

“It might be,“ she responds, way too excited. “I’m just trying to help you out here dude, damn. Unbiased third party. I could take a look and confirm, if you want.“

“Just kidding!“ she says immediately. Then pauses with a confused look on her face. “Wait, what? You don’t want me to?“

“Absolutely not.“

She frowns. “Why not?“

“Because that’s insane.“

“I mean, yeah, but like, most guys would kill to show their dick to an idol.“

You’re a little flabbergasted. “Still, I don’t—“

“C’mon, I’m literally doing you a favor. For science. To clear your name.“

You stare at her. She stares at you.

“…I’m not showing you my dick.“

She leans forward, her sharp eyes wide now. “Come on. Just a peek. Just enough to say it’s not cursed. I won’t touch. Swear.“

You shake your head.

She pouts, lower lip out, voice pitch rising into her best aegyo whine. “But oppa, how will I sleep without having seen the world's weirdest dick?“

“That works for Nagyung. It doesn’t work for you.“

“Wow, rude?“ she says. “You’ll have to show me your dick now to make it up to me.“

You stand your ground. She crosses her arms.

“Fine,“ she huffs. “Then I guess I have to take a look myself.“

“Wait, what—“

She lunges. Releases an infinite duress upon you.

You try to resist, but it’s hard. She’s agile, quick and stronger than she looks. And you’re trying your best not to hurt her or grab anything inappropriate. She’s already halfway in your lap, having way too much fun, hands fumbling and grasping at your waistband.

“Stop—hey—Chaeyoung—“

“Just a peek! I need to know!“

You try to twist away, but you’re laughing now too, trying and failing to hold her off without elbowing her in the face. She’s relentless.

She gets her hand in your waistband and then the rest is a blur. You’re not fully hard, but she’s got you in a grip, and the effect is changing that quickly. Her face reads, at first, like she’s just won a claw machine prize—a flash of triumph, then a drop into fascination as she pushes the elastic down and your cock springs free, thick and long and heavy against her wrist.

She doesn’t even move for a full second, just—stares at it. Then her eyes flick up at you, then back down. She lets go and pokes at it experimentally, like she’s afraid it might lunge at her. “Oh my god,” she says, under her breath, but there’s no punchline this time.

“You were right,” she says, reverent, voice low. “It’s not weird at all. It’s just—” She cuts herself off, wrapping her fingers around the base like she’s limit testing what fits. “Jesus. It’s like, stupid big. I get it now.” She gives it a single, slow pump across the entire length, followed by two shallow and fast pumps. “I don’t know why you’d even try to hide this thing.“

You start to stammer out an apology, but she lets go, sits back, and watches as your cock slaps against your stomach, fully erect now and leaking at the tip. “Okay, so maybe,” she concedes, “Nagyung wasn’t running away from you, she was just… intimidated. Or maybe she didn’t want to die. Or she just wanted to properly seduce you so she could have you all to herself forever.”

You reach to pull your pants back up, but her hand swats yours away with cat-like reflexes. Her eyes flick up for just a second, before drifting back towards your tower. “What are you doing?“ she says, as if you’re the one acting crazy.

You try to muster a defensive laugh. “I figured you’d seen enough. Not a cursed cock, point proven, right?“

“Not cursed. Unbelievable,“ she mutters. “I had a phase, you know? Like, a legit size difference kink. Masturbating to any videos I could find online almost daily. Thought I got over it, but—“ She gives you another look, more hungry this time, one hand snaking around the base of your cock. “You might have just reactivated it.“

You cough, try to play it off, but your cock twitches in her grip and ruins any pretense that you’re unmoved by this.

She kneels between your legs, and looks up at you with her chin on your thigh. “Do you want me to stop?” she says, but the drip of her voice makes it obvious she doesn’t want you to. “Unless you only let Nakko touch you. There’s something respectable about that.” Her hand doesn’t move away, though.

“I mean—“ you begin, but she cuts you off. “Would be a shame though. I can stop, but you’re so hard right it feels a little rude to just put it away. It’s my fault after all.“

She leans in closer, studying the way your cock twitches under her gaze. “I mean… what if it’s bad for your health?“ she adds, deadpan, fully aware of her own bullshit with her face breaking into a smile luminous enough to bring you to your knees. So to speak.

She pumps you again, then lets her palm rest at the base, fingers splayed so she can appreciate the girth. “You’re not even trying to stop me,” she observes, voice dropping a half octave, which is more than enough to make any loyalty you had vaporize out of your body.

“Let it be known I actually did try. You’re just very convincing,“ you say.

You look down, and it’s a fucking beautiful sight. Her face is flushed, lips parted, pink tongue flicking at the corner of her mouth as she surveys your cock like a luxury item she’s been saving up for. You shake your head, just once.

Then, completely unselfconscious, she leans in and lays her cheek against your shaft, nuzzling it like it’s a plush toy. “It’s so warm.”

She rubs her cheek up and down your length, like the world’s most expensive back massager, sighing happily as she does it. Her palm doesn’t even move, just holds you, cradles you with all the care of an appraiser who just found a masterwork.

She’s not just teasing anymore; she’s shifted to full on stroking your cock up and down, two hands working in tandem.

“God, I can’t believe this,“ she murmurs, delighted. “I was gonna treat you to fried chicken as a thank you for coaching me, you know.“

“Right,“ you grunt out. “That would have been so generous of you.“

Her hand gives you a particularly firm tug. “Shut up! It’s not my fault. I saw your dick and what you did with Nakko and I just… lost the plot.“

She shifts her angle, one hand taking control over your base, and slaps your shaft playfully against her cheek. Once at first, then twice, maybe three times—each making a soft sound against her skin. Your cock is making a reverberating sound against the cheek of a famous idol.

She giggles with each one. “So like, Nakko only gives you kisses on your cheek now, right?“ she muses, eyes sparkling as she taps the tip against her cheekbone again. “How’s it feel letting your dick do the kissing for once?“

It’s obscene.

“Tell me… did she kiss you like this?“ she asks, and leans in, lips pursed against your tip, sloppy and wet and perfect as she presses one, two, three kisses onto you. “Hmm?“

Her tongue flattens out against you as she keeps pressing kisses, and soon it’s a flood—dozens, hundreds, affectionate and endless. She smears her lip gloss across your skin with every press of her mouth.

“C’mon,” she whispers, breath hot against you between kisses. “Whose kisses do you like better?”

This is bait, but you have no vision and you just need to know what happens if you step into it. You try to answer but she doesn’t give you the space. Her lips are everywhere, dotting kisses around the crown, along the shaft, over your slit like she’s worshiping it one kiss at a time.

She’s totally absorbed, the kind of focus you recognize from locking the fuck in to carry a teamfight. That’s not all you notice. She giggles, wipes her chin, and gives a couple more pumps before showering you with open-mouthed kisses again. Then she sits up onto her knees, wipes her palms on the hem of her skirt and inches beneath it.

Chaeyoung’s hand is moving inside, fingers clearly working herself as she looks at you with animal intent.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I had anyone touch me?” she asks, but it’s rhetorical, because her eyes are lustful, her free hand alternating between jerking you off and bracing herself against your thigh.

“You know, technically, you’re doing all the touching,“ you moan back, eyes only half open with a forced smirk.

She pulls her hand out of her cunt, glistening, and brings it up to your mouth, presses her fingers to your lips. “Lick. Please.“

You happily oblige. Her taste is tangy, sticky, unmistakably real—the kind of real you can’t even try to reproduce with the highest end computer builds. Chaeyoung smiles with a constricting satisfaction that doesn’t need to be spoken.

“Good boy,“ she says, velvet and equally sticky as her taste. “Nakko’s been blueballing you, hasn’t she?“

You try to protest—something, anything—but the words don’t come out. Your mouth is still full of her fingers, and she only slowly, teasingly withdraws them, watching your lips chase after the taste as she does.

“I bet you’ve been hoping to get another taste of her every single day you played with her, didn’t you?“

She stands up just enough to trail her fingers along your inner thighs, a line of slick being painted across them. “You’ve been walking around with this for weeks, and Nagyung never even gave you another handjob or anything? Your poor cock must feel so neglected.“

You’re about to answer when she lifts her shirt, exposing her tits and the absence of a bra. This must have been a part of changing into something more comfortable. Your jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight of her peaky nipples, and she gives you a look that tells you she knows you can’t look away.

“Are you just going to stare at them?” she says, fingers clutching the hem of her shirt so the fabric stays barely underneath her neck, as if she’s worried they’ll leap out and attack you. “I thought you Ahri players were supposed to be aggressive.”

You reach, not even pretending otherwise, and cup one in your hand. It’s firm, impossibly soft, the weight of it perfect in your palm. Her nipple is already hard. You run your thumb over it experimentally, and she sighs, eyelids fluttering as if you’d cast Exhaust on her brain.

You play like that for a few seconds, mentally comparing them to Nagyung’s but taking that thought to the grave, and then ask, “Can I suck on them?“

She looks down, one eye closed, the other hooded looking at you but struggling to stay open, before nodding.

The sight and permission hits you like a Rift Herald charge.

You get maybe a second with your mouth on her nipple—just long enough for your tongue to flick over the peak, for your lips to draw a soft gasp from her—before she laughs, pushes you back by the forehead, and pinches your cheek.

“Down, boy,” Chaeyoung says, smirk back in full effect. “You can have more later. Maybe. If you’re a good coach and don’t blow your load in the first minute.”

You’re dick twitches. “First minute?“

“I mean, look at you,” she says. “You’re aching. You’ve been hard since I laid eyes on it. Don’t you want to know how tight I feel with you inside of me? Not your imagination. Not what Nakko said she’d give you. Me. For real.”

“Are you being serious right now?“ you ask.

“You want to, don’t you?“ she whispers. “Because I fucking need to. The size, the stretch—fuck, I want it.“

“Of course I fucking want to. I’m pretty sure every guy ever has wanted to know how tight someone like you feels.“

“Someone like me?“ she asks, raised eyebrow and all. And now you have to be careful.

“Yeah I mean. You know. An idol. Body honed to perfection and all that,“ you blurt out, failing at your one single objective.

“God,“ she chuckles wryly. “You are so lucky you activated my kink like a fucking sleeper agent. You need a coach for flirting.“

You swallow. Your cock twitches again, visible and obvious.

“Say something,” she murmurs. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I do,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “God, I do.”

She smiles—messy and relieved and impossibly turned on.

“I still haven’t hit Gold,” she says. “You promised to help. And I take promises very seriously. So I guess I just have to take responsibility for Nakko’s promise, don’t I?”

You’re thinking of what your next move should be, you know, to prove you’re not completely hopeless at flirting, and she has the audacity to let her tits bounce right in your face as she drops her ass back in her chair. She spreads her legs slowly, her skirt riding up, her underwear already gone (when the fuck did she take them off?), and you realize, with a sudden, sharp clarity, that she’s going to make good on Nagyung’s promise before her. Raw, right here, right now, in front of her computer, and you’re powerless to stop any of it.

Your next move should be to take charge, maybe get up and throw her onto the bed, or at least fuck her standing up so you can pretend you’re in control. Instead, you just look at her, hunched over her desk, skirt flipped up, ass pointed straight at you and a sopping wet slit practically begging for your attention.

She beckons you closer without a word, one hand resting at the top of her thigh, the other adjusting her headphones with cat ears like it’s part of the uniform. You step forward, but she’s already standing, stepping out of her chair, motioning for you to take it. You do, because what else would you do, and the warm indent of her body lingers in the cushion.

She reaches under the desk—no, wait, she’s grabbing something from the side—and with a practiced flourish, she pulls out a thick, fleece blanket and drapes it over both of your laps. “Have to give you the full experience, don’t I?” she says, as if this is all strictly professional.

She doesn’t ride you right away. Instead, she sits on your lap, back to you, skirt flipped up and her bare ass settled right against your cock. She’s warm, absurdly so, and the contact is enough to make you forget all common sense. She shimmies, grinding against you as she clicks back into League, the game humming to life and projecting doom.

“Don’t get comfortable just yet,” she says, and she leans forward, arms extended over to the keyboard and mouse, the whole pose pretentious and theatrical to draw your attention to the perfect arch of her back, the way her ass keeps her skirt nice and rumpled above her hips.

She lifts herself up, glances over her shoulder at you, one eyebrow raised, braces her hands on the armrests of her chair, and then—as fast as she can take it, which is excruciatingly slow—starts lowering herself gently onto your cock. The friction isn’t the issue, she’s so wet it was barely a thought. It’s the tightness.

The first inch is easy, and then there’s resistance, and then she’s shuddering with a full-body tremor as she takes another two. She pauses, breathing hard, eyes shut tight beneath the cat-eared headphones and the smirk that lets you know she still loves it.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, and it’s not performative, not for your benefit. She opens her eyes, gives you a look that’s half smug and half pleading, and then keeps going, lowering herself inch by inch, using her thighs to steady herself on you. You want to help her, but she’s got it handled. She’s so tight you’re worried you might actually break her, but it feels so fucking good you don’t care if you do.

She bottoms out with a gasp, her ass planted firmly against your hips, your cock buried so deep in her you can feel her heartbeat at the tip. She doesn’t move at first, her leg muscles spasming slightly against your thighs and breathing through her nose like she’s trying not to pass out.

“Are you good?“ you ask, hoping the answer is yeah because you can’t wait to start pounding up into her.

“I’m amazing,” she says, “you’re a perfect fit.“ She glances back at you again, lips curled up in a feline smile. “Don’t move. I need to get used to being your cockwarmer first.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, jaw clenched as you try not to explode instantly. The blanket is doing its job, covering you both from the waist down, but the sight of her back, the motion of her hands as she readies the mouse and keyboard, is almost too much.

She logs back into League, queueing up for another game. You think you’re going to get a second to recover, but as soon as she’s loaded in, she starts to grind, subtle at first—tiny, controlled movements, her cunt massaging your cock in slow, deliberate pulses.

“Chaeyoung—” you manage, but she hushes you.

“I need to focus if I’m going to climb,” she says, but her hand reaches back and grabs your wrist, placing it on her thigh. “You can touch, just don’t distract me too much. And definitely don’t stop coaching me.”

You’re going to int. So is she. That’s just part of the deal now. You let your hand drift to the bare skin of her thigh, fingers slipping just under the edge of her sock and squeezing to hold on. She flexes her leg against your palm, then keeps playing, her body still rocking on your cock in the slow, torturous rhythm that’s going to kill you before the game even starts.

You try to watch the screen, see what she’s doing. She’s locked in Seraphine mid again, and you can actually tell she’s improved—her laning is cleaner, she’s dodging more skillshots, but every time she takes a trade, she clenches around you, and you have to bite back a groan.

That’s all you needed to hear. You begin slow, hands firmly gripping her hips, lifting her only slightly and slowly pushing into her, shallowly, just enough to make her know what she signed up for. She keeps playing, but her focus starts to drift, movements growing less precise, skillshots occasionally way off target. You don’t stay that nice though.

You’re not doing a great job of coaching. You’re just grunting, hands squeezing her thighs, occasionally daring to sneak under her skirt, ghosting her abs but no higher. She’s just grinding on you in sync with the action on her screen. It doesn’t really matter. Anytime you try to give her advice now, she doesn’t listen. She’s just enjoying the feeling of you inside her, molding around you, using your cock as a reward system for every good play she makes.

Laning phase ends, she doesn’t have to constantly focus on last hitting minions and wave control, so she leans back, rests her head on your shoulder as her eyes go skyward looking for you, and whispers into your ear, “You can start moving now if you want, Coach.“

You fuck her through a teamfight, already pounding half of your cocks worth in and out of her each thrust, the wet heat of her cunt milking you for all you’re worth, and when she misses a perfect ult opportunity, you lose control and slam into her with a force that nearly knocks her off the chair.

She squeals, high-pitched and utterly un-idol-like, then clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she looks at you. “You’re going to make me lose,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her cheeks flushed and her whole body vibrating with pleasure.

Another victory screen pops up. This one, less deserved. She doesn’t queue for another one, just hangs her head and finds your rhythm.

Chaeyoung’s head is thrown back onto your shoulder now, her breathing coming fast and uneven, and she’s not even pretending to care about the computer anymore. Her thighs are flexing with every bounce, her hands bracing on your knees as she fucks herself down onto you, greedy and desperate and still so tight you can barely move without seeing stars.

She’s moaning in sync with the rhythm of your hips, biting her lower lip to keep it from being audible beyond the walls. Your hands have abandoned all pretense and are everywhere: on her hips, on her tits, on her throat, and back to her thighs, where you squeeze so hard you’re sure to leave marks. She’s loving every second, and the closer you get, the more she grinds back onto you, desperate, greedy, relentless.

You’re so close. She is too—her voice has gone all high and shaky, little moans slipping out after every thrust, and you can feel her cunt start to flutter around you, the beginning of something huge.

You’re about to say something, anything, when the apartment’s outer door thunders open. There’s a thud, the jangle of keys, and then—Nagyung’s voice, bright and echoey from the foyer:

“Chaeng! Are you home? I brought the chicken you asked for!” A rustle, and again, “Chaeng?”

You freeze, but Chaeyoung doesn’t. She rides you harder, her ass clapping down on your lap with new urgency, and she doesn’t even look back as she hisses, “Just be quiet. It’s fine.”

You panic like you’ve been caught in a spotlight, but Chaeyoung just grinds down harder, one hand reaching back to clamp over your mouth. “Don’t stop,” she whispers “I’m so fucking close. ”

You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. The blanket, thank god, is still perfectly in place. Your cock is buried to the hilt in her, and your collective shame is the only thing keeping you both from screaming.

Chaeyoung is breathing so shallow you can see her ribs move. She slumps down into the chair, planting herself even deeper on your cock, grinding her ass in tiny circles to make it look like she’s just sitting, not impaled.

You want to believe it’ll work. You really do.

The door to Chaeyoung’s room swings open. Nagyung stands in the doorway, holding a convenience store bag in one hand and an iced coffee in the other, her hair tied up in a ponytail, a grey hoodie with a white fitted tank, matching grey gym shorts and thigh highs in the same hue to tie it all together..

All three of you freeze. Time stops, or maybe just slows down to the frame rate of a lagging game.

Nagyung blinks at you. Then at Chaeyoung. Then at the space between you. Her mouth forms a small, perfect circle.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re here.”

You open your mouth, but words don’t come.

She takes in the scene: Chaeyoung in your lap, her hands holding the desk, the two of you covered in a blanket even though it’s twenty-six degrees in the apartment. Her eyes narrow, the gears clicking into place.

“Why are you here?”

Chaeyoung sheepishly chimes in. “Nakko, you’re back earlier than I expected.”

“No, Chaeyoung,” she says, crossing her arms, “I’m actually later than I said I would be.”

Chaeyoung’s face twists into an expression you’ve never seen, not even mid-death streak—something between panic and orgasm, which, given the circumstances, might not be all that different. The wince is a full-body thing, and she inadvertently clamps down on you, squeezing so tight it’s like a heartbeat in reverse. Your hips jerk upward just as you try to freeze, and she grinds herself down to bury the evidence, but the blanket bunches and shifts awkwardly.

Nagyung’s gaze tracks the movement. First your face, then Chaeyoung’s, then the blanket, and finally to your lap—where the blanket has failed to hide the shuddering motion of your hips or the way Chaeyoung’s thighs are flush to yours, the tiniest flash of bare skin peeking out as the blanket rides up.

You try to say something, anything, but your entire vocabulary is being squeezed out of you by the girl in your lap.

Nagyung’s gaze slides down, zeroes in, and her nostrils flare. She takes a step closer, tosses the convenience bag on the bed, and points directly at the blanket like she just called a ward in the brush. “What’s under there?”

You start to answer, but Chaeyoung, who hasn’t let you go for a second, turns in your lap and tries to play it off, “I got cold.” She says it so flatly, so unconvincingly, that it lands like a failed flash.

“Take it off,” Nagyung says, tone flat, the kind of command that makes you wonder if you should salute. She’s not speaking to Chaeyoung. She’s speaking to you.

“Excuse me?” Chaeyoung tries to play dumb, ducking her chin into her own shoulder, which only makes her look more caught.

Nagyung drops her grocery bag on the bed. Iced coffee gets put down on the desk. She steps forward, all five feet nothing of her, and yanks the blanket away without warning.

The moment has a physics to it. The blanket peels off, and the tableau is revealed: Chaeyoung’s skirt bunched up, your cock visibly splitting her in half, every inch of you glistening and wet and so deep you can see the outline of your tip against her stomach. Your hands white-knuckled on her hips, her own fingers digging into the armrests for leverage. You’re both so red-faced you look like you’ve just run suicides.

Nagyung’s mouth doesn’t move. Her mask of a face doesn’t even twitch. She just stares.

Neither of you know what to do. Chaeyoung goes to stand, to get off your lap, but Nagyung steps forward and pins her in place with a single, tiny palm on her shoulder.

“Don’t move,” she says, and the command is so final, Chaeyoung shudders and obeys.

Nagyung circles you both, walks around the chair like she’s examining a new champion in the loading screen. Her eyes never leave the place where you’re joined with Chaeyoung. She’s breathing hard, her lips parted, tongue flicking out to wet them, and you realize she’s not mad. Not even a little. She’s jealous. Insanely, violently jealous.

“Are you mad?” Chaeyoung asks, still impaled, already inching up and down with tiny, slutty movements.

“I’m not mad! I’m just—” She looks down at the blanket, then at your face, then at Chaeyoung’s, like she’s running a system diagnostic and the results are inconclusive.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to coach me again tonight,” she says, voice trembling, “but you’re already inside Chae.”

The air in the room is thick with confusion and new possibilities. You try to apologize, but Nagyung just shushes you with a wave. “You were supposed to wait for me, you know. I was finally almost ready.”

You can’t even process that. “Ready for what?”

She ignores the question, instead focusing her attention on Chaeyoung. “And you, Kkwaeng, you couldn’t wait until I hit Platinum before stealing my coach? You’re unbelievable.”

She walks over, kneels in front of the chair, and looks up at the two of you. She reaches out, puts her hand on your thigh, right next to where you’re joined with Chaeyoung, and gives you a look that is pure confusion mixed with a kind of desperate curiosity.

“Does it feel good?” she asks Chaeyoung, her voice a whisper now.

Chaeyoung, mid-orgasmic crisis, manages a shaky nod. “It’s… a lot.”

She leans in, and in her snarkiest voice, says, “That’s my spot, you know.” 

You can’t help yourself. “What were you almost ready for?” you blurt, cutting through the tension, because all your blood is below your brain and you need to know.

Nagyung looks up at you, eyes wide and then immediately rolling like she’s never been so offended by a question in her life. “God, you’re so—” She huffs, reaches up, and flicks your forehead, hard enough to sting. “What do you think I meant, genius?”

You stare at her, mouth open, and she shakes her head, exasperated. “You really are dense. I was getting ready, dumbass.” And then, as if this is more humiliating than anything else in the room, she mumbles, “I literally spent the last week stretching myself out with toys, every night, so I could take you for real this time.”

You blink. Then blink again. “You’ve been training for this?”

Chaeyoung, who’s been half-impaled and quietly losing her mind the whole time, bursts out laughing. “Holy shit, it was your cock! Nakko, You’re such a tryhard. I love it.”

Nagyung scowls at her, then at you. “And I had to time my period, too! I’m already taking enough risk sneaking into a PC bang, I’m sure as fuck not getting busted smuggling a condom into one.” She flicks your forehead again, softer this time, but the point lands.

You try to recalibrate your entire understanding of the last two weeks. “You just… didn’t want to say any of that?”

“I didn’t want to sound like a pervert,” Nagyung mutters, cheeks hot pink now, “even if I am one.” She glances at Chaeyoung, who is still fighting not to break character and cackle again. It’s clearly landing a lot more serious than Chaeyoung thought.

“I also wanted to be first,” Nagyung says. She looks down now, lower lip quivering in a way that is both adorable and heartbreaking at the same time. Chaeyoung’s demeanor instantly switches.

“We can stop,” she says, halting all movements.

“It’s too late for that now.” Nagyung looks back, and she crafts this devilish little smile in an instant. “But you are making it up to me.”

Chaeyoung and you share a look, then both look down at Nagyung, who is now on her knees, her face inches from where you’re joined.

“Can I…?” she asks, and you have no idea what she’s about to do, but you nod, because frankly, she could ask you for anything and you’d say yes.

Nagyung leans forward, and, with a delicacy you did not know she possessed, presses her lips to the spot where your cock meets Chaeyoung’s pussy. She kisses the place where you’re joined, then lets her tongue flick out, just a little, tasting the mix of her rival and you.

She licks again, slower this time, savoring it, never breaking eye contact with Chaeyoung, who looks like she might either faint or melt off your lap entirely. Then, with a gentleness that makes your toes curl, Nagyung runs her tongue the length of your shaft where you’re buried in Chaeyoung, tracing along the seam, lapping up the mixture of slick and sweat, never flinching at the taste of her rival.

Chaeyoung shudders, her head thrown back in shock, but she doesn't move—a statue, trembling with effort, as if moving would break the spell and send her body into a thousand pieces.

Nagyung looks up at Chaeyoung, her eyes glassy and wild. “This isn’t what I expected when you told me you’d be stuffing yourself right now.“

Chaeyoung clutches the armrests, barely able to keep her eyes open as she looks at Nagyung. “I’d share, but I’m just too full to move right now,“ she somehow manages to breathe out with her last bits of smugness, her head lolling back against your shoulder.

Nagyung’s tongue darts out, stronger this time, bold and demanding. She works the clit in tight little circles, her thumb pressing in counterpoint to her tongue, then moves up to Chaeyoung’s stomach, trailing slick fingerprints up her abs while her lips never leave the pressure point. She holds Chaeyoung’s gaze for a second, then leans in and, with a soft click, bites Chaeyoung’s clit, just barely, just enough to send a shockwave through her.

You look down and see her there, on her knees, worshipping the place where you and Chaeyoung are connected, her own thighs squeezed together so tight you’re not sure if she’ll break or combust.

“Holy fuck, Nakko, you’re going to kill me,” Chaeyoung whimpers, voice almost feather-light, eyelids fluttering in disbelief.

Nagyung hums as if to say, “You deserve it, you slut,” and you feel the vibration run through both of you.

She shifts her position, brings her hand between her own legs, and you realize, with an embarrassing thrill, that she’s been touching herself the whole time. Not lazily, not distractedly—she’s two knuckles deep in her own cunt, rubbing herself raw while she devours the sight of Chaeyoung writhing in your lap.

Nagyung pulls back, just for a second, and looks up at you. “Don’t you dare finish before her,” she says, voice low and serious. Then she returns to her work, attacking the vulnerable, trembling bundle of nerves between Chaeyoung’s legs with a new level of focus.

You do your best to help. You steady Chaeyoung’s hips, thrusting up into her with controlled, shallow movements, making sure you don’t go too hard and ruin the moment. You want to cum—you need to—but you want to see how this plays out even more. Mostly you just want to survive. So you try not to black out from the pressure building in your balls. Every time Nagyung’s tongue flicks just right, Chaeyoung’s cunt clamps down on you so tight you see stars, real stars, not the kind working your dick right now.

Chaeyoung’s moaning now, high and whiny and desperate, her hands no longer on the desk but in your hair, pulling you closer, her whole body arched back and trembling. She tries to keep her composure, but Nagyung’s mouth is too much. Her fingers leave deep grooves in your thigh, her head locked back, and she starts cursing profanities that would get her chat banned for life.

Nagyung redoubles her efforts, sucking hard at her clit while her other hand finds Chaeyoung’s breast, pinching the nipple between slick fingers and twisting it, hard, just as she gives her clit another bite.

And that’s it. Chaeyoung explodes, her cunt clamping down on your cock like a vice, her whole body shuddering as she sobs out a laugh-cry into the air. You’re not even sure if the tears in her eyes are from pain or pleasure, but she’s definitely not faking it. She has to physically push herself off your cock before she passes out from the aftershocks. Nagyung sits back on her heels, panting, eyes shining, her mouth and chin a fucking mess.

Chaeyoung collapses forward, forehead thumping against the desk, her body still twitching with aftershocks, and you’re left bleeding precum down your shaft and desperate for release.

Nagyung stands up, wipes her mouth, and looks at you, triumphant. “Don’t disappoint me now, oppa,” she whispers, then gently pushes Chaeyoung off your cock. Chaeyoung slides to the floor, legs splayed, skirt bunched up around her waist, and stares up at the two of you with a dazed, fucked-dumb look that is equal parts awe and admiration.

She doesn’t waste a single second. She peels off her shorts in one smooth motion, crumples her white top above her tits, and straddles you—facing you, because there’s no way in hell she’s not going to look you in the eye while she takes what’s hers.

“Don’t cum,” she says, grabbing your cock and stroking it, getting it slick and shiny with the mix of all three of you. “Not until I say.”

You nod, but you’re not sure you can even speak.

She lines you up, then sinks down in one smooth, practiced motion—fucking herself onto you, slow and soft, like she’s scared to break but eager to find out. She gasps as the head pops inside her, then pushes down, taking more and more with each bounce, until her ass is flush against your thighs and your cock is buried to the hilt.

She doesn’t move at first. She just sits there, shivering, adjusting to the stretch, her hands braced on your shoulders. Then she starts to rock, slow at first, then faster, using her legs and core to ride you with perfect control.

She’s even tighter than Chaeyoung, her walls fluttering and spasming around your cock like she’s cumming a little bit with every thrust. The tip of your cock brushes her cervix and she whimpers, clutching at your shirt with both hands.

You look down and see Chaeyoung on the floor, watching the two of you with glazed eyes, one hand in between her legs and the other propping her up. She’s already fingering herself again, never taking her eyes off the place where you’re spearing Nagyung like she’s built to take it. She catches your gaze, gives you a lazy wink, and mouths, “Don’t let her win.”

Nagyung hears, and looks at you like you’ve made a huge mistake looking at anything but her right now. “Don’t hold back,” she commands, and you don’t. You bounce her in your lap, meeting her thrust for thrust, your hands gripping her ass hard enough to leave marks. Her hair is wild, her eyes wild, her whole body going taut with every slam.

You lose all sense of self. You fuck her, a lethal tempo, and she takes it, meeting every thrust with a hunger that’s been unfulfilled for weeks. She leans in, kisses you—full on the mouth for the first time, her tongue invading, desperate and sloppy. She tastes like coffee, like oxygen, like your new favorite flavor. She’s not giving you an inch, chasing after every sensation you have to offer, trying to catch up to you, and only then do you realize.

She wants to cum exactly when you do.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn, and both girls react instantly. Chaeyoung reaches over and slides her fingers over Nagyung’s clit, rubbing it in hard, fast circles; Nagyung digs her nails into your shoulders at the sudden added sensations, leans in, and bites your neck, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to mark you.

You don’t even try to last. The tension, the jealousy, the weeks of being edged by Nagyung’s games—you grip her hips, slam her down, and explode, filling her with everything you’ve been holding back for weeks. She cums the moment you do, her cunt spasming around your cock, her body pressed tight to yours as she shakes and cries out, voice muffled by your shoulder.

The release is blinding. You can feel yourself pumping, her pussy milking it out of you, her whole body turned to jelly in your arms. When it’s over, she goes limp, collapsing against your chest, breathing so hard you think she might hyperventilate.

You hold her, stroking her back, and look down at Chaeyoung, who’s now on her knees sitting next to you both. She brings her face up to where Nagyung’s pussy is still stuffed full of your cock, and without hesitation, licks at the place where you’re joined, catching every glob of your cum that leaks out.

Nagyung groans, and you realize she’s still trembling, her body refusing to come down from the high. She lifts her head, looks at you, and for the first time, she doesn’t look like she’s about to bite your head off. She looks happy. Then she looks at Chaeyoung, leans in, cups her chin and pulls her up, and shares a kiss, cum and all, right in front of you.

It’s not a competition anymore. It’s a fucking alliance. And you’re just the coach who got lucky enough to make the playoffs.

You and Nagyung both feel yourself shrinking inside of her, and she stands up—albeit wobbly—and shuffles herself over to the bed, with you in tow, and collapses as soon as she’s in reach. You lie down next to her, and she tucks herself under your arm, head on your chest, and Chaeyoung flops down on your other side and does the same, all three of you wrapped up together like it’s the only arrangement that makes sense. You don’t talk about what just happened. You don’t need to.

Nagyung falls asleep first, out cold in seconds, arm slung across your stomach and her leg tangled with yours. You stare at the ceiling, and after a while, you feel Chaeyoung’s fingers tracing lazy shapes on your bare chest.

“You know,” she says, voice low and serious for once, “Nakko’s going to want to do this again.”

You turn to look at her. “Do what? This?” You gesture at the disaster zone you’ve collectively made of her sheets, the aftermath worse than a teamfight resulting in a double ace.

She grins. “All of it. Competition, games, whatever this is.” She runs her hand up to your face, brushing hair off your forehead. “You’re the first person who’s been more than a one-time-only type of deal. She’s never going to let you go now.”

“For the record, I don’t plan on running,” you say.

“Good,” she says, and kisses you, slow and warm and final. “Because I kind of like having you around, too.”

It’s strange, but you smile, fingers ghosting Nagyung’s back in soft circles as you kiss Chaeyoung back, and give in, letting yourself drift to sleep, the warmth of their bodies melting away any worries.

—

You wake up and it’s still night. No surprise with how early you all dozed off for a nap. You’re alone in the bed, but you can hear the giggling from the kitchen, the beeping of a microwave, and the unmistakable absence of a bag filled with fried chicken.

You stumble out, but not before getting dressed, and see both girls at the table, Chaeyoung filling her plate with food, both already changed into their pajamas but traces of your adventure still etched in places that you can find if you know where to search for them.

Nagyung looks up at you, mouth full, and points her chopsticks at the empty chair. “Come eat,” she says, as if that’s all you ever needed to do.

But before you even take a seat, Nagyung holds a finger to her lips and points over her shoulder at the hallway. “Shh,” she says, voice all soft and deadly serious, “everyone else is home.” You freeze, heart plummeting. She rolls her eyes at your panic, then breaks into a grin. “Jiwon, Hayoung, and Jiheon all came back while you were sleeping. They’re in their rooms. You have to be quiet. Like, actually quiet. Or you die.”

You look at Chaeyoung for any hints of sincerity, a subtle but desperate shift of your eyes. She just shrugs and devours another chicken wing. “Don’t freak out, dude,” she says, wholly unconcerned as she licks hot sauce from her fingers. “They know you’re here. If you want to stay the night, just do it.“ She grins, and offers you an iced americano with all the ice melted.

“Yeah. It’s not like they’ll care,” Nagyung adds, almost—almost—rolling her eyes. “Unless you wake them up. Then they care a lot.”

You’re not sure how to respond to this new paradigm where spending the night in a K-pop girl group’s dorm is less scandalous than laughing at the absurdity of being in this place, so you just do what you’re told and sit down.

The conversation stays light, almost mundane: which role is hardest to climb with (they’re both convinced it’s theirs), taking bets on whether or not you’re also good at Overwatch, which guy from HEARTSTEEL is the hottest. At some point, Nagyung leans over and picks a stray crumb from your cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and you realize you’ve crossed a line you didn’t know existed. You feel less like a one-night stand and more like a regular, an accepted variable in their dissonant, beautiful balance.

“So, coach,” Chaeyoung says, smirking as Nagyung curls into your other side, “when’s our next practice?”

[lolderek]

Power (Le sserafim Kazuha)

23.2k words

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The lecture hall’s air hangs thick with whiteboard ink and general disinterest. Twenty minutes into Professor Vance’s droning dissection of post-war Keynesian economics and your brain’s already switched to autopilot. The textbook in front of you lies untouched and unopened. Instead, your phone screen glows under the scarred lecture desk, illuminating the sleek interface of the PayPal app. 

You’re not checking for a measly Venmo reimbursement from Dave for last night’s shitty pizza. No. You’re watching a digital miracle unfold.

Numbers. Big numbers. Incomprehensible numbers. They cascade into your balance like a slot machine hitting the cosmic jackpot. $10,000. $25,000. $100,000. The increments blur. Your thumb hovers, frozen like a stone, as another $500,000 materializes. Then a cool million. Then two. 

There’s no stopping the money train anytime soon. 

A detached part of your mind registers the sheer velocity. This isn’t a trickle; it’s a flash flood drowning your account in liquid green. $15 million. $30 million. The digits climb with uncanny indifference to reality. You feel nothing but a cold, humming buzz behind your eyes. $47 million. $49 million. $50,000,000.00.

The number sits there. Stark. Impossibly large. A digital monument to audacity. A grin, sharp and utterly wicked, threatens to crack your face. 

A bit of that shrewd arrogance tears through a solitary comment.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Not paying attention again, are we? Also, language, young man.”

His voice slices through the humid whir of the lecture hall like shaved ice: cold, precise, utterly devoid of warmth. Professor Vance has stopped mid-sentence, his laser-pointer beam freezing on a graph depicting something terminally boring. Every head in the tiered rows swivels towards you. Air crackles with sudden, uncomfortable attention.

You don’t flinch. Slowly tilting your head up, you meet Vance’s stare across the sea of curious and mildly judgmental faces. His eyes are flinty behind rimless glasses, his thin lips pressed into a bloodless line. He radiates academic disdain, the kind perfected over decades of dealing with entitled, brash undergrads.

"Yes, Professor?" Your voice is smooth. Almost annoyed, even. You don’t bother hiding the phone; it’s already darkening in your lax hand under the desk.

"Perhaps," Vance enunciates each word with glacial precision, "the intricacies of aggregate demand stabilization hold less fascination for you than whatever digital diversion currently consumes your attention. Would you care to enlighten the class? Or perhaps simply enlighten yourself on the material currently being discussed?"

A few stifled snickers ripple through the room. Dave, sitting two rows up, shoots you a look that’s half sympathy, half ‘you dumbass.’

Leaning back slightly in the uncomfortable plastic chair, projecting an aura of effortless nonchalance, "Apologies, Professor. Just confirming a critical—bursar notification." The lie slides out, polished and utterly insincere. You inject just the right note of distracted concern. "Tuition deadlines, you know how it is. Won’t happen again." 

You flash a quick, meaningless smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

Vance holds your gaze for a beat longer, his expression unchanging. Behind the facade, a mask of polished disappointment. He doesn’t believe a word. He doesn’t need to; his point is made.

With a microscopic sigh that’s more a tightening of his jaw, he turns back to the projection screen, the laser pointer flickering back to life. "As I was saying, the multiplier effect under conditions of excess capacity—"

The hall’s collective attention drifts away, a low murmur resuming the dull lecture. With that inconvenience sorted out—kind of—you look back down. The phone screen, reactivated with a tap, still screams its impossible truth: $50,003,421.87.

The ‘bursar notification.’ Right.

A vibration buzzes against your thigh. A text notification overlays the obscene balance:

> Dude. Seriously? Vance looked ready to spit nails. U ok? Rent $$ still coming Fri, yeah? 

You stare at the message. Dave. Good old Dave. Reliable. Boring. Still sweating his part-time job at the campus bookstore to cover a shoebox apartment he shares with three other guys. Still waiting on the $400 you ‘borrowed’ three weeks ago for a speaker system you definitely didn’t need. The text feels alien. Trivial. Irritatingly small.

Your thumbs move with detached efficiency.

> Vance needs a hobby. Chill. Yeah Fri. Maybe. Busy.

You hit send without a second thought. Busy, all right. Busy watching fifty million dollars solidify in an account linked to a fake name, a PO Box, and layers of digital obfuscation you criminally underpaid a sketchy guy in Estonia to set up. Dave’s rent money? A rounding error. A speck of dust on the gleaming monolith of your sudden, dirty wealth.

Here’s the scheme: Veridian Quantum Holdings. Sounded legit. Impenetrable. Cutting-edge. 

You’d spun a web of pure, glittering bullshit. Whitepapers dense with pseudo-scientific jargon about "quantum-encrypted algorithmic arbitrage" and "high-frequency liquidity harvesting across decentralized dark pools." Meaningless phrases and humongous word salads cobbled together from tech blogs and sci-fi novels, designed to sound complex enough to intimidate, promising enough to deceive even the relatively wise. You targeted the desperate and the greedy—aging dentists with midlife crises and crypto bros drowning in FOMO. Promised them 15% monthly returns, compounded. Guaranteed. 

"Proprietary AI-driven market penetration," you’d written, your own bullshit artistry surprising even you during those late-night coding-and-Adderall-fueled sessions building the sophisticated, utterly fraudulent investor portal.

The key was the cascade. Early ‘investors’—mostly you funneling stolen seed money from maxed-out credit cards—got paid. Lavishly. Their testimonials ("Veridian Quantum changed my life! Retiring early!") plastered the fake site. For them, the returns were real. Paid for by the desperate flood of money pouring in from the next wave of suckers, lured by the blinding appeal of impossible, effortless wealth. A classic pyramid. A house of cards built on human greed and gullibility. You knew it couldn’t last. You’d planned to pull the plug, vanish with maybe a couple of million when the heat got too close, disappear to some non-extradition beach.

But this—this was different. This wasn’t a couple of million. This was fifty. The final, massive tranche must have hit: some pension fund manager chasing yield, some oligarch’s bored nephew playing with daddy’s money. Perhaps a combination of both. They’d bought the fantasy wholesale, dumping unimaginable sums into your digital black hole. The absolute scale of it, the breathtaking stupidity of people with real money—it was almost poetic.

A cold laugh bubbles in your chest, ruthlessly suppressed. You stare at the number on the screen. $50,003,421.87. It’s not just about money. It’s power. Unchained, absolute freedom. 

Vance’s rumbling voice fades completely, replaced by a roaring silence filled with possibilities. Private jets materialize in your mind’s eye. Islands. Cars that cost more than this entire lecture hall. The ability to walk out right now and never look back at this soul-crushing charade of education, these uncaring people, this entire suffocating life.

Your thumb hovers over the PayPal app. One transfer. To an offshore account you set up months ago, waiting like a coiled serpent. A few precise taps. The digital equivalent of stuffing a duffel bag. Months of calculated risk, sociopathic charm, and complete, unadulterated fraud culminating in a heist that feels like a masterclass in embezzlement, a new name etched in history’s dastardly acts, to be studied by future scholars and true crime YouTubers.

You execute the transfer. The confirmation screen flashes. A single, breathless thought explodes in the vacuum where your conscience used to be, drowning out Vance, Dave, the fluorescent lights, the dust, the entire pathetic world outside the glow of your phone:

“I can't believe that fucking worked.”

The weight of fifty million dollars settles onto your shoulders. Not as burdens, but wings. Ready to break you free from this prison.

You slip the phone back into your pocket. The lecture hall feels smaller, cheaper. Professor Vance is just an aging man droning into a lifeless, uncaring void. Here today, gone tomorrow. Then you lean back into your seat. A genuine, predatory smile finally touches your lips. The cartoonishly evil chuckle comes naturally. Your first stop after class? The Lamborghini dealership. And maybe hit up a Bugatti showroom right after. 

Fuck Dave’s rent. Fuck macroeconomics. Fuck everything. The game is over. You won. Now comes the spending.

—————

Bolting out of the lecture hall after the initial bell, the fluorescent hallway lights buzz like trapped wasps as you stride toward the exit. The phantom weight of fifty million dollars a tangible pressure between your shoulder blades. Freedom tastes metallic, electric.

"Hey! Hold up!" Dave materializes from a knot of students, his brow furrowed, backpack dangling precariously from one shoulder. He falls into step, a persistent shadow. "Seriously, man. What the hell was that back there? Vance looked ready to spontaneously combust. And you just—grinned?"

You don't slow down. The polished linoleum reflects the harsh light from above. "Vance needs a hobby besides torturing undergrads with aggregate demand curves. Consider it performance art."

Dave grabs your elbow, pulling you to a stop near the fire exit doors. His grip is tight, insistent. "Performance art? Dude, you’ve been weird for weeks. Jumpy. Barely answering texts. Skipping the usual hangs. And now this? Grinning like a maniac in Macro? What’s going on?" 

His eyes search yours, genuine concern etched into his features. Concern that feels alien, irritating.

You shake his hand off. "Busy. Got things going on. Not everything revolves around pizza nights and Econ 101, Dave." The dismissal is cool, smooth. Fifty million dollars makes impatience a luxury you can’t afford.

Dave blocks your path to the heavy push-bar door. "Busy doing what? We’ve got Stats in twenty minutes. Where the hell are you bolting off to like the building’s on fire?" He gestures vaguely back towards the lecture halls, the prison of schedules and syllabi.

A slow, deliberate smile spreads across your face. You meet his confused stare head-on. The answer is simple, absolute, a guillotine blade dropping. "Freedom, Dave." 

Shoving the bar, the door groans open onto the ordinary campus quad, the grey sky, the world waiting to be bought. "I’m going to freedom." 

You step through without looking back, leaving him framed in the doorway, mouth slightly open, the echo of your words hanging in the stale institutional air. His confusion is a speck of dust on the gleaming monolith of your escape.

—————

The Lamborghini showroom smells like new leather, ozone, and unimaginable wealth. Cold, polished concrete reflects the low-slung, predatory shapes under the clinical spotlights. You don't browse; you point. "That one. Aventador. Verde Mantis." 

Its colour is a poisonous, vibrant green that screams obscene wealth. 

The salesman, slick-haired and wearing a suit worth more than your former monthly rent, falters. "Sir, that model requires significant lead time, a deposit, credit verif—"

An answer you already anticipated. You pull out your phone, a sleek, black slab of indifference. The PayPal interface glows. A few precise taps. Holding the screen towards him, the number displayed: a transfer confirmation larger than his annual commission. It silences him mid-sentence. 

His eyes widen, pupils dilating like he’s staring into the sun. 

"Delivery?" you ask, the single word heavy with impatience.

"Immediately, sir. Absolutely." 

His demeanor shifts instantly, obsequiousness replacing skepticism. The paperwork is a blur of signatures. Within the hour, you’re behind the wheel, the Aventador’s engine snarling like a caged beast finally unleashed. Its vibration thrums through the leather seat, up your spine. Freedom has 741 horsepower, a 217 MPH speed limit, and costs over $600,000. 

You peel out of the dealership, leaving rubber on pristine asphalt, the salesman’s utterly stunned face shrinking in the rearview mirror. Traffic is an inconvenience navigated with aggressive acceleration and blithe disregard for lanes. Horns blare; you don’t hear them. You’re insulated by carbon fibre and liquid cash.

Rodeo Drive is a canyon of curated aspiration. You park the Aventador illegally, hazards flashing like a billionaire’s middle finger. First stop: Tom Ford. A sharp-eyed associate glides over. "Looking for anything specific, sir?" 

You sweep a hand dismissively. "Everything. Suits. Shirts. Outerwear. Shoes." 

Size doesn’t matter. Tailors exist for a reason. You’re pointing at mannequins, racks, glass cases. A vicuña overcoat? Yours. A pair of sunglasses costing more than Dave’s car? Worn immediately. Bags accumulate at your feet, a series of black monogrammed totems of excess. The bill is astronomical. A flick of the phone screen settles it. The associate’s smile is fixed, professional, but there’s a flicker of disbelief beneath the polish.

Next: Giorgio Armani. The aesthetic is colder, sharper. More suits. Silk ties like liquid night. A limited-edition watch with a face like a miniature galaxy. You try nothing on. Selection is instantaneous, based on sheer cost and the immediate visual punch. Sales staff move with hushed efficiency, packing garments in tissue paper as delicate as banknotes. Your reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors is a stranger—sharper lines, darker fabrics, an aura of impenetrable coldness radiating from behind the Tom Ford lenses.

Ralph Lauren's flagship offers a different flavor of wealth: old money pretending to be rugged. You bypass the chinos and polo shirts. The Purple Label section beckons. Cashmere sweaters softer than a sigh. A shearling bomber jacket that looks like it belongs on a private jet runway, not a sidewalk. More bags. The Aventador’s nonexistent boot fills past the point where your piles of vanity crumple in the passenger seat. 

But it’s more than just clothes. It’s also about fun. Take the Nintendo Switch 2 for example. An impulse buy from an electronics boutique sandwiched between the temples of fashion. Freshly shipped in, alongside every launch title, extra controllers. A trivial expense, a toy purchased without a second thought, tossed onto the growing pile of treasures.

Lunchtime arrives with a hollow pang beneath the adrenaline. You remember a place: Le Ciel Bleu, a name whispered in reverent tones by finance bros dreaming of expense accounts. Michelin stars. Impossible reservations booked months in advance. 

You park the Aventador ostentatiously out front, ignoring the valet’s hesitant approach. Inside, the maître d', a man carved from ice and disapproval, blocks your path. "Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

"Afraid not, but I’m dying to have a snack." You move to step past him. He doesn't budge. 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. We are fully committed this afternoon. Without a reservation, I'm afraid—"

You don't let him finish. The phone is already out. Not PayPal this time, but a banking app. You navigate to a transfer screen, enter his name—spotted on a discreet brass plaque—and an amount. Five thousand dollars. You show him the screen, the confirmation blinking. "Will this secure a table? A quiet one, preferably."

His eyes dart from the screen to your impassive face, to the Tom Ford suit, the Armani shirt cuff visible beneath the sleeve, the glint of the obscenely expensive watch. His glacial composure cracks, revealing raw avarice beneath. He clears his throat, a sound like gravel shifting. "Of course, sir. A minor oversight. We have the Chef’s Table unexpectedly available. Right this way." 

He snaps his fingers. A flurry of staff materializes. The restaurant, a hushed cathedral of linen, crystal, and anxious whispers, parts before you. Diners glance up, their expressions a mix of curiosity and resentment. You ignore them all. The food is an intricate, beautiful irrelevance. You eat little, savoring instead the power of the transaction, the way money vaporized an immovable obstacle. The bill, presented on a silver tray, is another trivial number annihilated by a tap on glass.

Late afternoon bleeds into starry night. And it’s not just shining from above. The Aventador is a mobile vault now, stuffed with bags from Tom Ford, Armani, Ralph Lauren, the electronics boutique, the watch salon, and your take-out. The unopened Nintendo Switch 2 box lies wedged precariously beside the passenger window. The intoxicating rush of gluttonous acquisition begins to dull, replaced by a strange, hollow fatigue. So you drive on autopilot, the snarling engine a monotonous roar, navigating towards the familiar, grimy part of town.

Then you see it. Your building. A tired, four-story brick structure with peeling paint and sagging fire escapes. Stark reality crashes over you like icy water. You killed nearly two hours choosing between shades of bespoke grey at Tom Ford, and now you're idling a near-million-dollar Lamborghini in Verde fucking Mantis outside a building where rent is perpetually late and the hallway smells faintly of stale cabbage and desperation.

The engine rumbles, a beast incongruous against the backdrop of overflowing dumpsters and chained-up bicycles. Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel. The weight of the bags in the back seat feels suddenly oppressive. 

How do you explain this. How do you carry $15,000 worth of Italian wool and cashmere up three flights of creaky stairs past Dave’s room, past your other roommate Tom’s perpetually open door. The Nintendo Switch 2 box alone screams scalper or drug deal. You are a wolf, yes, but suddenly acutely aware of the cheap polyester sheep's clothing you need to desperately reassemble. 

The cold arrogance that carried you through boutiques and past maître d's evaporates, leaving a thick residue of panic. Freedom, it turns out, has a parking problem. 

You kill the engine. The sudden silence is deafening. The two-door green monster sits there, impossibly bright, impossibly loud, broadcasting your secret to the entire dilapidated block. Staring at your apartment building’s grimy entrance, the adrenaline is replaced by a chilling dread. The game isn’t anywhere close to being over. Here’s the hardest part: pretending nothing has changed.

—————

The Lamborghini’s leather seat cradles you like a pharaoh's sarcophagus. Freedom curdles into logistical panic. Ahead, the apartment building looms, a brick-and-mortar indictment. You can’t haul a Tom Ford trunk show past Dave’s inquisitive eyes, Tom’s perpetual door-gape, and Benny’s oblivious gaming marathons. 

An idea hits. A hotel. Immediate sanctuary. Your thumbs fly across the phone screen, bypassing sensible chains, landing on The Vanguard: penthouse suite, three nights, price tag irrelevant. Booked. 

Then, ice water down the spine. The laptop. Your lifeline to the encrypted offshore accounts, the fragile scaffolding of your fraud. It sits on your cheap particleboard desk, next to half-empty energy drinks and Econ textbooks. Trapped. There’s no choice. 

You shed the most conspicuous bags—the Ralph Lauren shoeboxes, the Nintendo Switch 2 console—stuffing them deeper into the Aventador’s footwells. Only the slim Armani laptop bag makes sense. Then you slip out, leaving the green beast purring illegally at the curb, a beacon of impossible wealth in a sea of rusted sedans.

The familiar stench of stale pizza and damp carpet hits you in the foyer. You move like a ghost, boots silent on the worn stairs. Third floor. Your hand rests on the doorknob to Apartment 3B. Locked. Key fumble. Click. 

Inside, the air is thick with microwaved popcorn and the tinny rattle of gunfire from Benny’s room. Tom’s door is, predictably, ajar, revealing a cyclone of laundry and textbooks. You slide into your own room, shutting the door with careful pressure, the latch catching with a soft snick.

Relief is short-lived. The laptop is exactly where you left it, its complementary power cord snaking across the floor. You shove it into the Armani bag. A quick scan: passport in the desk drawer. Wallet’s on the nightstand. A handful of essential toiletries dumped unceremoniously into the bag. You’re zipping it shut, the Armani jacket’s buttery-soft leather whispering against your arm, when the door bursts open.

Dave fills the frame, breathing hard, eyes blazing. His usual laid-back demeanor is shredded. "What the actual hell, man?" He doesn’t shout, but the intensity is a physical force. "You vanish after blowing off Vance like some Bond villain, ignore every text since, and now you’re sneaking around like a cat burglar?" 

He steps into the room, his gaze sweeping over the Armani bag, lingering on the jacket. Its flawless cut, the subtle sheen of expensive leather utterly alien in this dump. "And what’s with the—" 

Gesturing vaguely at your torso, the unspoken accusation hanging: Since when do you wear clothes that cost more than my tuition?

You sling the bag over your shoulder, adopting an air of distracted urgency. "Dave, relax. It’s handled. Vance? Ancient history. Look, I know I owe you for the speaker and rent. Consider it cleared. Today." Your cadence is smooth, dismissive, the practiced tone of someone used to money making problems vanish in an instant.

"Cleared? You’ve been ghosting me for weeks! Acting like you’re plotting world domination in here!" Dave’s frustration boils over. He gestures at your desk, normally cluttered with textbooks, now suspiciously bare except for the laptop’s absence. "You’re never out here anymore. Just holed up, typing like a maniac. What the hell’s going on?"

The commotion draws Tom. He leans against your doorframe, crunching an apple, curiosity outweighing concern. Benny, having paused his game, appears behind Tom. 

“Whoa. Fight club? Did someone finally kill the fridge smell?" asks Benny, his usual indifference now probing.

"Your roommate," Dave spits, not taking his eyes off you, "is doing his best impression of a spy. Or a fugitive."

Tom takes another bite, the apple core in his hand glistening. "Spy? Fugitive? Dude, did you finally snap from Macro? Vance did look ready to spit nails." He takes a prolonged glance at the Armani bag hanging off your shoulder. "Nice bag. Seriously. Where’d you score that?"

Benny chimes in, oblivious to the undercurrent. "Yeah, man. Where you going? Skipping Stats? Bold move."

Seizing the distraction, the path to the exit lies momentarily clear past Tom and Benny. "Mom called," you state, the lie forming instantly, devised out of habit. "Family thing. Urgent. Gotta head to her place for a few days." You move towards the door, brushing past Tom.

Dave blocks your path again, his hand landing on your chest, right over the stiff, expensive leather of the Armani jacket. "Family thing? Bullshit. You haven’t mentioned your mom in months. What’s the laptop for? Why the vanishing act? And why the fucking jacket?" 

His voice cracks, a fine blend of anger and bewildered hurt. He’s your friend—well, was—and the gulf between you, widened by fifty million dollars of stolen silence, feels suddenly vast and numbing.

You look down at his hand on the pristine leather. A smudge. You suppress a flinch. "Dave. Move." The command is quiet, flat, devoid of the earlier dismissiveness. It’s pure ice.

Tom raises his eyebrows, stepping back slightly. "Whoa, okay. Chill, guys. Family stuff sucks. Go deal with it, man." He gives Dave a back-off look.

Benny nods sagely. "Yeah, moms. Always calling at the worst times. Later, dude. Hope it’s not, like, super bad."

Dave doesn’t move. His jaw works. "This isn't over. You don't just get to act like a lunatic and bail with some BS story about your mom." But the pressure of Tom and Benny’s indifferent acceptance weakens his stance. He sees the determination in your eyes, the utter lack of give. He slowly lowers his hand from your chest, leaving the faintest imprint on the Armani leather.

You don't hesitate. You stride past him, out of your room and down the short hallway. Tom and Ben offer lazy farewells. 

"See ya, man." 

"Don’t let your mom guilt-trip you too hard!"

You hit the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, the Armani bag banging against your hip. The grimy foyer. The front door. Fresh air, tainted by exhaust. The Lamborghini sits where you left it, a viridian green spaceship parked beside a dumpster. You hit the key fob. The locks thunk open with satisfying finality.

Inside the apartment, Dave stares at the space where you vanished. His face is a storm cloud. He pulls out his phone, maybe to text you another furious demand, maybe just to vent-scroll. The screen lights up. A notification banner slides down:

Venmo: You received $3,000.00 > Now leave me the fuck alone. 🖕

Dave’s breath catches. He stares at the screen. Three thousand dollars. Speaker money. Rent overdue. Weeks of worry, annoyance, confusion—settled with a sum that feels obscenely large for the collective debt he’d been asking tirelessly to be paid back.

Before he can process it, before he can even think of showing the others, a sound shatters the apartment’s tense quiet.

It starts as a low, guttural rumble, vibrating the cheap window panes. Then it builds instantly into a savage, snarling roar—the unmistakable sound of a high-revving V12 engine pushed past idle. 

It’s loud. Intentionally loud. Obscenely loud for this usually peaceful street.

Tom drops his apple core. "What the hell was that?"

Benny abandons his paused game entirely, scrambling towards the living room window. "Sounds like a monster truck! Or—a jet!"

Dave, phone still clutched in his hand displaying the damning Venmo notification, is the first to reach the grimy window overlooking the street. He shoves the cheap curtain aside.

Down below, the source of the roar is pulling away from the curb. Not a monster truck, nor a jet. A Lamborghini Aventador. In a shade of eye-searing, radioactive green. The driver, visible for a split second through the windshield, wears a sharp, unfamiliar jacket and sunglasses. He doesn't look up. The Lambo accelerates with brutal, effortless power, the engine note deepening into a predatory bellow as it devours the potholed street, leaving a faint scent of burnt rubber and disbelief hanging in the air.

Tom’s jaw hangs slack. "No. Fucking. Way."

Benny presses his face against the glass. "Was that—? Did he just—?” He shakes his head, rubs his eyes. “In a fucking Lambo? That color! Dude!"

Dave doesn’t say a word. He stares at the vanishing point where the obscenely green supercar turned the corner. Then he looks down at his phone again. 

The $3,000 Venmo notification. The message. The Armani jacket. The locked door. The sleepless nights. The grin in Macro class. The sleek bag. The roar. And finally, the impossible, poisonous green machine.

All the pieces slam together with the force of a wrecking ball. His face drains of color, replaced by utter, profound shock. He slowly raises his eyes from the phone, looking first at Tom, then at Benny, whose expressions mirror pure, dumbfounded awe. The silence in the apartment is absolute, heavy with the echo of the engine and the crushing weight of the impossible truth. 

Dave eventually finds his voice—a hoarse, disbelieving whisper that cuts through the stunned quiet:

"He stole 50 million dollars."

—————

The Vanguard’s penthouse suite is more than a room; it’s an altitude. 42 floors above the city’s grimy pulse, to be exact. 

Silence replaces the symphony of emergency sirens and shouting neighbors. Nighttime air hums with filtered coolness, smelling faintly of lemon verbena and unimaginable money. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Los Angeles like a sprawling, glittering circuit board. 

You step onto plush ivory carpet so thick it swallows your footsteps. A minimalist masterpiece of steel, glass, and bleached oak stretches before you: a living space larger than your entire former apartment. 

Freedom isn’t just tasted now; it’s inhaled and absorbed through the pores. 

You drop the Armani bag onto a low-slung sofa that probably costs more than Dave’s future. Your Lamborghini Aventador feels like the first brushstroke on this blank, expensive canvas. The grin that spreads is slow, cold, utterly satisfied. 

Consider your shackles completely broken.

The intoxication of pure spending power is potent, a drug more addictive than the Adderall-fueled nights building Veridian Quantum Holdings. You feel its pull: the urge to burn through the stolen millions on pure, unadulterated spectacle. A private island. A fleet of superyachts. Commissioning a solid gold replica of your first proper car. An array of wild fantasies flicker, each one growing more seductive and bonkers. But beneath the Armani jacket and the Lamborghini keys, the cold, calculating core that built the pyramid scheme remains. Ego is inflated, yes, but the edges are kept ruthlessly sharp. 

Sudden, stupid wealth dies fast. You need to plant deep roots and establish safety nets. Create plausible deniability woven from legitimate threads.

The next 48 hours are a blur of hyper-focused, predatory finance. Vanguard’s penthouse becomes a command center. One sleek, encrypted laptop remains tethered to the crumbling edifice of Veridian Quantum. Money still trickling in from desperate late-stage investors doesn’t go towards more Rolexes; it flows like diverted poison into legitimate channels instead. 

Fingers fly across numerous fresh keyboards, navigating complex brokerage interfaces. You target bedrock stability: Apple, Microsoft, Berkshire Hathaway, Johnson & Johnson, Visa. Blue-chip stocks. Boring. Essential. Bulletproof. Millions convert into digital shares, a fortress wall built brick by boring brick against future storms. Dividends will flow. Ownership is documented, clean.

But stocks alone feel like hiding. You crave active armor: income streams with teeth. The Aventador was just the start. Luxury isn't just about ownership; it's shared with others like you. 

The idea crystallizes: Lightspeed Customs LA. A shell company, paperwork filed online with dizzying speed and expense. The website is live within hours: minimalist, high-res photos against a black background, contact forms requiring verified credentials. And then there’s the fleet: a Fiorano red Ferrari 296. A beige Bugatti Chiron. And a British Racing Green Aston Martin Valkyrie. All acquired from a single dealerships with no qualms about opening up the tabs.

The rental rates you set are astronomical. $5,000 a day for the Ferrari. $15,000 for the Bugatti. $25,000 for the Valkyrie. Minimum three-day bookings to rent. Security deposits that could buy houses. Insurance policies thicker than the LA phone book. Within hours of the website going live, inquiries ping your secure server. A Saudi prince’s assistant for the Bugatti next weekend. A tech billionaire’s son wanting the Valkyrie for Coachella (denied, too much risk). A Hollywood agent booking the Ferrari for a client’s "image rehab" photoshoot. Money begins flowing in, legitimized, documented. Passive income with a combined W34 roar.

It doesn't end there. High-end collectibles show potential. A flurry of bids on rare, graded Pokémon cards and out-of-print sets, ranging from First Edition to Sword/Shield, secured through specialist auction houses. Not for nostalgia, but for asset diversification. They’ll sit in a secure vault, appreciating silently. 

But there’s more: Fractional shares in a Beverly Hills boutique hotel. A stake in a nascent, overpriced cold-pressed juice chain popular with influencers. The web expands, intricate and resilient. Each strand—the stocks, the rentals, the collectibles, the minor investments—is a thread in a safety net designed to catch you if (when) Veridian Quantum implodes. Lawsuits might come, but they’ll find a labyrinth of legitimate holdings, not just a pile of spent cash. Stolen millions are the seed capital for an empire built on paper trails and exorbitant daily rates. 

You lean back in the Eames chair procured for the penthouse office nook, watching the digital dashboards flicker. The cold hum behind your eyes isn't of panic; it’s the quiet, confident thrum of an apex predator who’s fortified its den.

—————

Two days of relentless financial architecture leave a residue of fatigue, but the good kind. The penthouse is ordered, serene. Los Angeles’ city lights below are a distant galaxy. You’ve built walls against the coming chaos. Now, the itch returns. The itch fifty million dollars was always meant to scratch: pure, unadulterated indulgence. Boredom is a luxury, and you’re drowning in it.

Scrolling through mindless entertainment on the penthouse’s obscenely large OLED screen, a pop-up ad detonates in the corner. Not the usual gambling spam or dubious enhancement offers. This one is sleek, unsettlingly minimalist: a matte black background. A single, stylized Greek letter: Ω (Omega). Below it, some stark white text: Luminary Experiences: Curated Companionship for the Discerning. 

No flashing graphics. No promises of instant gratification. Just an aura of exclusive, expensive mystery.

Your finger hovers over the trackpad, ready to banish it. Obvious scam. Sophisticated phishing. A honeypot for the newly, stupidly rich. Yet—the presentation is too good. Too cold. Too confident. It lacks the desperate sheen of most cons. 

Curiosity, that old, devious accomplice, coils in your gut. Losing a few hundred thousand might be the worst outcome, but it can be written off as a rounding error. A generous donation to a very clever grifter. They know the game as much as you do, and they played their hand to near-perfection. But the potential payoff—access to something truly exclusive, a secret world —prickles with illicit allure.

So you click.

Luminary’s website loads instantly, silent and seamless. No garish banners. No pop-ups. Just a monochrome interface of impeccable taste. A discreet login prompt appears. No option to sign up. Only a field for an invitation code. You stare, growing increasingly riled up. It’s a velvet rope in digital form. The challenge is irresistible. 

A quick dive into the darker corners of forums frequented by the obscenely wealthy yields whispers, not answers. Then, buried in a thread about impossible-to-get reservations, a user drops a single line: Try 'Elysium.’ Heard it works for the new Omega club. Maybe. 

So you enter Elysium into the code field. Within seconds, the screen dissolves, reforming into Luminary’s inner sanctum.

It’s breathtakingly curated. Not the expected grid of provocative photos. Instead, profiles are presented like art gallery exhibits. High-contrast, beautifully lit portraits. Not overtly sexual or gratuitous, but radiating an intense, captivating allure. The aesthetics are flawless—a blend of high fashion and electrifying magnetism. The descriptions are brief, enigmatic:

"Aria: Captivating presence, intellect to match. Conversationalist. Discretion paramount." 

"Kai: Kinetic energy. Adventurous spirit. Understands the unspoken." 

"Juno: Ethereal grace. Depth beyond measure. For the contemplative soul."

Scrolling down, the shock hits. Not models. Faces you recognize. Not A-list movie stars (yet), but undeniable presences in the cultural zeitgeist:

A stunningly beautiful Korean-American social media titan, known for her avant-garde fashion sense and 20 million followers. Listed simply as Luna.

A charismatic British gaming streamer famous for his insane challenge runs and sardonic wit, his face partially obscured by artful shadow. Orion.

A rising alt-pop singer-songwriter whose moody ballads dominate indie charts and Twitter circles, captured mid-laugh in a rare unguarded moment. Lyra.

A former Olympic athlete, sculpted and intense, gaze fixed directly on the viewer. Atlas.

The fees are eye-watering, even for you. $200,000 for 4 hours. $500,000 for an overnight. Payment accepted in untraceable cryptocurrency only. The disclaimer is chillingly clear: Luminary facilitates exclusive companionship. All interactions are consensual between adults. Discretion is not a service; it is a fundamental requirement. Breach of contract results in permanent revocation and potentially disastrous consequences. It’s audacious. Terrifyingly plausible. Or an incredibly elaborate, expensive joke.

The actress’s face catches your eye next. Not just any actress. Florence Pugh. Or rather, the profile named Evelyn. The photo isn’t a paparazzi shot or movie still. It’s intimate, candid. Her looking over her shoulder, sunlight catching the gold in her hair, a thoughtful, almost wary expression in her famous eyes. Her description: "Sophia: Wit sharp as diamonds. Curiosity boundless. Seeks genuine connection amidst the noise." 

And then there’s the fee: $1,500,000 for an evening.

Ridiculous. Yet it's irresistible. There’s no way someone of her caliber, an Academy Award nominee no less, would be moonlighting on such a duplicitous companionship website. Throwing away three-quarters of a million on a potential deepfake scam is the epitome of reckless abandon. But the money—it means nothing. The verification— that means everything. Proof that Luminary is real. Proof that this rarified air, this world behind the velvet rope, is yours to breathe. Definitive evidence that fifty million dollars is a key, not just a number.

Your fingers move with detached certainty. You select Evelyn. Without hesitation, you choose the Evening Engagement option. The screen then prompts for a location and time. You input The Vanguard’s address, specifying the lobby as the rendezvous point. Tomorrow, 11:00 AM. 

A crypto wallet address appears. You initiate the transfer from one of your anonymized offshore accounts. $1,500,000, gone with a single click. 

The confirmation screen flashes: "Your Luminary is en route. Expect Sophistication."

Leaning back, the rush of the thrill mixes with a strange hollowness. You’ve just bet a fortune on a phantom. Tomorrow will tell if you bought an evening with an Oscar-nominated actress or a masterclass in humiliation. 

Sleep is elusive, chased by visions of Florence Pugh’s wary eyes and the cold, elegant menace of Luminary Ω.

—————

Morning arrives painted in LA’s trademark relentless sunshine. You’ve barely slept. The penthouse feels less like a sanctuary and more like a holding cell awaiting verdict. 

Check-out is a blur of efficient staff and murmured pleasantries. Your few belongings—the Armani bag, the crucial, loyal laptop—are packed. Outside, your Lamborghini Aventador awaits, a promise of escape if this goes sideways. You stand in the Vanguard’s opulent, hushed lobby at 10:58 AM, trying to project nonchalance. 

Marble floors gleam. A massive floral arrangement perfumes the air. Wealthy guests glide past in and out, completely oblivious to your self-inflicted predicament. Every second stretches. 10:59. The smooth facade cracks. Doubt begins to settle in, corrosive and taunting. 

Idiot. They have your crypto. They’re laughing in some digital bunker. 

You reach for your phone, ready to call the valet for the Aventador. Cut your losses. Run.

Then, a shift in the lobby’s energy. A subtle hush. Not silence, but a collective intake of breath. 

Heads turn towards the entrance. Phones are subtly raised. Not because of noise, but because of a larger-than-life presence.

She walks in alone. Not disguised in sunglasses and a hoodie, but not ostentatious either. Tailored, cream-colored trousers. A simple black silk top. Her hair, that distinctive blonde-streaked brown, is pulled back in a loose, elegant knot. No makeup beyond maybe a touch of mascara. 

She carries no bag. She looks—real. Startlingly real. And exactly like Florence Pugh.

Her gaze sweeps the lobby, calm, assessing. It passes over the gawking concierge, the paused businessman, and lands directly on you. There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes, or perhaps just professional assessment against a mental image. She walks towards you, her steps unhurried, confident. The expensive hush of the lobby amplifies the soft click of her heels on marble. She stops before you, close enough that you catch the faint, clean scent of expensive soap and something uniquely her.

A small, polite smile touches her lips. Not the red-carpet beam, but something warmer, more curious. When she speaks, it’s exactly as you’ve heard it in interviews: clear, English-accented, carrying a hint of intelligent amusement. She extends a hand, not for shaking, but open, palm up, a gesture that’s both questioning and oddly intimate.

"Evelyn," she says, the single word hanging in the perfumed air. Her eyes, a remarkable hazel-flecked green, hold yours. They search; they weigh. "And you must be—?"

The world narrows. The opulent lobby, the watching eyes, the purring Aventador waiting below—it all recedes. There’s only the impossible reality standing before you, hand outstretched, waiting for your name. The $1,250,000 wasn’t stolen. Luminary isn’t a scam. The velvet rope actually parted. 

The air tastes different up here. Sharper. Rarer. Addictive.

"Holy shit," you think, the words echoing silently in the vault of your skull as you find your voice. "It’s actually real."

Florence Pugh’s hand is warm. It’s as close to real as you can get to touching the stars itself. The slight pressure of her fingers against yours sends a jolt of pure, unadulterated panic through your nerves. You’d faced down Vance, Dave’s righteous anger, the cold calculus of fraud. But standing here, holding the hand of an actual Oscar-nominated actress who just cost you three-quarters of a million dollars is a whole different ball game. 

Almost immediately, the carefully constructed persona of cool, wealthy indifference falls into pieces. The Armani jacket feels suddenly like a janky costume, the penthouse suite a flimsy stage set. Suddenly, you are painfully, excruciatingly aware of every pore on your face, the slightly-too-fast beat of your heart, the utter vacancy where witty banter should reside. Millions suddenly feel like Monopoly money. You are a grifter in a borrowed crown, suddenly thrust onto the real throne. A strangled noise escapes your throat, something between a cough and a whimper.

Florence—Evelyn, rather—tilts her head slightly, that small, polite smile still playing on her lips. Her eyes, sharp and observant, scan your face. You see the micro-expression flicker: not disgust, not amusement, but a kind of recognition. Recognition of the absurdity of the situation, perhaps. Or recognition of the terror beneath the expensive clothes. 

"Breathe," she whispers, surprisingly grounding. Her thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles. "It’s just an afternoon. Or," she adds, a glint of that star-making dry wit surfacing, "a very expensive one. Either way, try not to hyperventilate on the marble. The concierge looks twitchy." 

The touch, the words, the absurdity of her very presence—this confirms it. This isn’t a paid actor nor an elaborate prank. Luminary Co. delivered. It’s finally settling in: you are holding hands with Florence Pugh. The world tilts, then steadies, anchored by the impossible reality of her grip.

—————

The Bentley Bentayga Luminary provided glides through LA like a silent, obsidian shark. In the back, Florence sits beside you, a respectable distance maintained, yet her presence fills most of the space. The partition is up, sealing you in a bubble of leather-scented quiet. You try to channel the cold arrogance that served you at the dealerships and Le Ciel Bleu. It fails spectacularly.

"So," you start, the word echoing loud in the silence. "Lunch?" It sounds inane, even to you. "Somewhere—fancy? Obviously." You gesture vaguely outside the tinted window.

Florence turns her head, resting it against the seatback to look at you fully. Her gaze is direct, unnervingly intelligent. "Fancy is easy. Interesting is harder. What do you like?" 

The question throws you off. Before the money, it was shitty pizza and avoiding Vance. Now, the ability to buy anything instantly has somehow erased specific desire. 

"Surprise me?" you offer weakly, instantly regretting it. This is Florence Pugh. You should have prepared a curated list of impossible-to-get reservations.

A faint smile touches her lips. "Surprises are my specialty." She taps a sequence into a sleek, unfamiliar device embedded in the armrest. No words spoken. Moments later, the Bentley smoothly changes course. As you navigate towards—wherever—you notice the first strange thing. A paparazzo on a motorbike, camera raised near Rodeo, suddenly lowers his lens, scratches his head, and veers off down a side street as if forgetting why he was there. No flash. No pursuit. Just—disinterest. 

You glance at Florence. She’s looking out the window, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, but the delicate silver bracelet on her wrist catches the sunlight at a precise angle. A tiny green flash winks once. Must be a coincidence, or your paranoia working overtime.

Lunch is at Providence, a two-Michelin-starred temple to seafood. The maître d’ greets Florence not by her name, but as Evelyn—with a deference bordering on reverence. On the other end, he doesn’t give you a single modicum of attention. 

The meal is exquisite, intricate sculptures of ocean flavors. You shovel it down, nerves overriding palate, while talking. Talking incessantly. The faux rags-to-riches story you concocted for the Luminary profile tumbles out: the ‘lucky’ crypto investment, the ‘modest’ inheritance suddenly revealed to be larger, the ‘humble’ beginnings. You embellish, trying to sound intelligent, like you’re some future visionary. It feels thin, unconvincing. 

Florence listens, spearing a piece of geoduck with surgical precision. Occasionally, she interjects.

"Fascinating," she says when you describe "researching blockchain fundamentals." Her tone is neutral, but her eyes hold a spark of knowing skepticism. "And the Lamborghini? Was that a strategic asset allocation?" 

A dry, perfectly aimed dart.

Later, walking down Melrose after abandoning the Bentley ("Walking is good for the soul, and better for avoiding certain lenses," she’d said cryptically), you suggest ice cream. "It’s hot," you justify lamely. She agrees, choosing a small, unassuming gelato place. As you stand in line, a group of teenagers nearby, phones perpetually raised, suddenly all look down at their screens simultaneously, frowning as if experiencing a collective glitch. "Weird, my camera just froze,” one mutters. 

Florence selects pistachio. The delicate pendant at her throat, a stylized silver heart, seems to pulse faintly under the shop’s lights when a man across the street raises his phone. He lowers it immediately, looking confused. You take notice. Luminary’s influence isn’t just digital; it’s environmental, bending reality and perception itself. A cold tremor that has nothing to do with the gelato creeps up your spine.

The drive becomes your monologue’s main stage. You navigate the snarling Ferrari 296 GTB (swapped from the hotel garage—showing off feels necessary, pathetic), its red paint screaming for attention Florence seems numb to by now. You talk about the car rentals, the stocks, the cards, trying to project savvy. You mention the Bugatti Chiron ("beige, very subtle"), the Aston Martin Valkyrie ("like driving a fighter jet, honestly"). You’re painting a picture of calculated success. Florence gazes out at the Pacific Coast Highway blurring past, offering occasional, devastatingly concise commentary.

"Passive income is wise," she concedes, during a pause where you desperately try to remember the difference between preferred and common stock. "Though acquiring hypercars like trading cards does lean towards—enthusiastic portfolio diversification." A beat. "Do you actually like driving them, or just owning the idea of them?"

The question lands like a punch. You tightly grip the steering wheel. "Owning the idea," you admit, the honesty surprising you. "Mostly." You glance at her profile. She nods, as if this confirms something she’d suspected.

"Most of my clients," she says, her tone softening slightly, "buy the idea of me. The proximity to fame. The trophy. The story they can almost tell." Turning her head, those hazel-green eyes pin you again. "You? You seem to be buying the idea of being someone else entirely. Someone who belongs in this car, at that restaurant, with—" She gestures vaguely at herself. "—this. It’s exhausting to watch. And a bit transparent."

The Ferrari’s engine note suddenly feels like the roar of your own insecurity. The surveillance, the ignored paparazzi, the glinting tracker-jewelry—it all coalesces into the oppressive weight of Luminary’s unseen control. And you, the fraudulent king, are the most transparent thing of all beneath its gaze.

Dinner is at N/Naka, an intimate kaiseki experience. The hushed, minimalist space, the precise, artful dishes arriving like edible haikus, amplifies your discomfort. The faux narrative has dried up. Money feels like a sinking anchor. Florence, however, seems to relax into the ritual. She savors each tiny course with genuine appreciation, asking the server thoughtful questions about ingredients and technique. The contrast is stark: her focused presence against your fidgeting uncertainty.

Over a dish of perfectly seared wagyu, the silence stretches. Not uncomfortable for her, but agonizing for you. She finally sets her chopsticks down with deliberate care. "You know," she begins, her tone conversational but laced with an unsettling directness, "Luminary has a surprisingly diverse roster. Actors, musicians, athletes, even a disgraced politician who gives fascinatingly bleak ‘inside perspective’ dinners. People crave different things. Access. Glamour. Danger. Validation." 

She takes a sip of sake. "Most of the clients fall into two camps. The first are the ice men. Hedge fund sharks, tech giants. They see us as highly specialized service providers. Efficient, beautiful, discreet. Conversations are transactions. Needs are stated clinically. They feel—nothing. Or they’ve walled it off so completely it amounts to the same thing."

Pausing, studying the delicate porcelain cup in her hands. "The second camp are the heirs. The trust fund constellations. Spoiled, perpetually bored. They want spectacle. Shock value. Stories to top their friends’. They treat us like—exotic pets. Temporary distractions. They also feel nothing, but it’s a different kind of void. Loud, demanding emptiness."

She looks up, her gaze meeting yours across the low table. It’s not unkind, but it’s brutally honest. "You—you don’t fit. You’re trying so hard to be cold, to be polished, to be one of them. But you’re not. You’re all—edges. Nervous energy. Trying too hard to fit in. You flinch when the bill comes, even though you could burn it for fun. You talked at me for three hours straight because silence scared you more than sounding like an idiot." A faint, wry smile touches her lips. "You are unpolished. Rough. Completely out of your depth in this world you bought into."

The assessment is devastatingly accurate. The Armani jacket suddenly feels like a straitjacket. You stare at the intricate arrangement of food, now a nauseating sight for sore eyes. "Is that—bad?" The question escapes, small and pathetic.

Florence tilts her head. "Bad? Not necessarily. Just—unusual. Exhausting, honestly. But also," she adds, a flicker of something gentler in her eyes, "strangely—human. Refreshing, in a chaotic sort of way. Most of my time is spent navigating emotional permafrost or screaming voids. Your flailing self-consciousness is alive. Messy. Genuine." 

She leans forward slightly, lowering her tone. "That’s why I’ll tell you a little secret, one Luminary wouldn’t approve of sharing. Those rules? The ones about anything goes, as long as it’s consensual and discreet?" Her eyes hold yours, a spark of genuine intensity there. "They apply everywhere. The restaurant. The drive. The beach." A deliberate pause. "The bedroom."

The implication hangs in the air, charged with potential. You freeze, endless possibilities crashing over you—fantasies tangled with the terrifying reality of Luminary’s omnipresent watch. The pendant at her throat seems to gleam with a warning light you imagine. 

Before you can formulate a single coherent thought, let alone a response, Florence stands. The movement is fluid, decisive. Your time is up.

"It’s been—an experience," she says, that polite, professional mask effortlessly sliding back into place, though her eyes retain a hint of that unsettling warmth. She doesn’t offer her hand this time. Instead, she steps close. Unexpectedly close, making you hold your breath. The clean, unique scent of her envelops you, drawing you into a hypnotic daze.

Reaching up, her fingers brush your jawline for a fleeting second. Then she leans in and presses a soft, deliberate kiss to your cheek. It’s brief. Chaste, technically. Yet it carries the weight of her assessment, her secret, and the terrifying power of the organization she represents.

"Good luck polishing those edges," she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin. The words are almost lost in the ambient hum of the restaurant.

Before you know it, she’s turning, walking away towards a discreet side exit where a different, unmarked car awaits. She doesn’t look back. One moment she’s there, the next she’s gone like smoke. Just like that.

The secret about the rules echoes in your head. Her pendant’s imagined warning glow pulses behind your eyelids. You’re left alone at the expensive table, surrounded by untouched artful food, the Ferrari waiting uselessly outside, generational wealth feeling suddenly like the price of admission to a game you don’t understand, overseen by an overwhelming presence that stares at its guests back. 

————— Florence’s kiss lingers on your cheek long after the Luminary Bentley vanishes. It’s not desire, not quite. It’s the afterburn of exposure. She saw the cracks in the hastily painted facade, the frantic insecurity beneath the cars and the stocks. It hurts. But it also ignates something else: a sharper curiosity, a gambler’s itch. 

You cracked open the door to Luminary’s world. Now, you need to see what lies beyond the foyer.

Back in a new penthouse (The Asteria, higher, colder views), you log back into the Ω portal. The minimalist interface offers no fanfare, just a discreet notification icon. Clicking it reveals a digital dossier labeled Client Progress. 

Points Awarded: 80. Beneath it, a footnote: Based on Service Duration, Discretion Adherence, and Post-Engagement Survey. 

You vaguely recall a sleek, intrusive questionnaire popping up hours after Florence left, probing your satisfaction with ‘Evelyn’s’ conversation skills, discretion, and overall ‘atmosphere creation.’ You’d clicked five stars across the board, half-dazed, half-terrified of a low rating inviting Luminary scrutiny. Now, the points gleam like digital tokens.

Scrolling further, the tier system unveils itself. Five levels, ascending like a pyramid built on obscene wealth and compliance:

Tier 1 (Initiate): Accessible upon verified entry. Mid-tier influencers, rising musicians, niche athletes. The ‘Luna’s’ and ‘Orion's' you saw initially. This is where you are, currently.

Tier 2 (Acknowledged): 5,000 Points. Unlocks established actors, globally recognized musicians, major sports figures.

Tier 3 (Esteemed): 500,000 Points. A-list actors, chart-topping superstars, political figures (discreetly listed).

Tier 4 (Ascendant): 5,000,000 Points. Legends. Icons whose mere presence shifts cultural landscapes. Names whispered, not displayed openly until unlocked.

Tier 5 (Luminary): Invitation Only. Rumored, never confirmed.

Points are earned solely through spending. Every crypto-fuelled booking accrues them. The system is a meticulously designed engine, encouraging continuous, escalating investment. Reach a tier, glimpse the next level of exclusivity, crave it. Spend more to climb. It’s predatory genius.

The privacy clause, buried in the updated terms of service, snaps into focus: Luminary reserves the right to employ passive monitoring technologies during active companionship periods solely to ensure talent safety, service quality, and strict client adherence to discretion protocols. Data is anonymized and purged post-engagement. 

"Passive monitoring,” you remark, the realization finally dawning.

The glinting jewelry. The disoriented paparazzi. The environmental blind spots. Florence’s vague warning about being watched wasn’t paranoia; it was policy. Your privacy, during those expensive hours, is the price. A chill deeper than the Asteria’s AC settles over you. Luminary isn’t just a service; it’s a panopticon for the privileged, carefully monitored by unseen, all-powerful omniscient wardens. 

—————

The next few weeks become a calculated marathon. The cold, cunning core that built your enterprise of lies is channelled into a new objective: climbing Luminary’s gilded ladder. 

Lightspeed Customs thrives. The Ferrari, Bugatti, and Aston Martin are rarely idle. The Saudi prince’s assistant takes the Chiron for a second outing in a month. A startup’s CEO rents the Valkyrie for his daughter’s graduation, paying the exorbitant fee without blinking. Profits soar, meticulously funneled into more blue-chip stocks and high-yield bonds. 

But the real grind is on the social sphere. Luminary points demand engagement. So you dive into the shallow end of the influencer pool. 

Lunches with Marcus Chen, a travel vlogger with 10 million followers obsessed with private jet interiors. Listening, nodding, as he monologues about optimal lighting for cabin selfies, hanging out with him as ‘Voyager’ for the requisite points. There’s an exclusive rooftop party thrown by Zara Bloom, a fashion influencer known for her savage brand takedowns. You stand awkwardly near the infinity pool, sipping overpriced champagne, while she holds court, booking her later that week (‘Stylus’) for a painfully vapid "consultation" of your ‘personal brand evolution.’ And then there’s an afternoon with Diego Rivera, former eSports champion turned crypto bro streamer ("Nexus"). He tries to pitch you on an NFT project so transparently scammy it makes Veridian Quantum look legit. Nod away, book, collect the points. 

The encounters are transactional, draining. You play the role of the newly wealthy, slightly awkward enthusiast, sprinkling your faux backstory amidst their self-absorption. You learn nothing of value except how to feign interest in inane topics. But the points slowly tick up: 515—1,330—2,670. Each booking feels more like paying dues in a currency of boredom and less wish fulfillment. 

The Armani jacket becomes armor against the emptiness. Benny, texting about crashing at the old apartment and whether you’ve seen his favorite gaming headset, feels like a message from a simpler, dirtier planet.

—————

The notification arrives at 3:00 AM. You’re reviewing Lightspeed’s monthly revenue spike when the Ω portal icon pulses softly on your secondary screen. 

Client Tier Update: Congratulations. You have achieved Tier 2 (Acknowledged).

The new tier unlocks instantly. The profile gallery refreshes. Gone are the Lunas and Orions. The names and faces now carry palpable weight, global recognition radiating from their high-contrast portraits.

A stoic Monégasque F1 driver (‘Eclair’), his intense gaze hidden beneath a blurred helmet visor.

An Italian tenor (‘Aria Forte’), captured mid-note, veins standing out on his neck.

A Grammy-winning R&B superstar (‘Siren’), eyes smoldering, draped in shadow.

A renowned Irish stage actor (‘Tempest’), his face a map of lived-in charisma.

A Spanish football icon (‘Matador’), photographed mid-stride, kicking a ball with effortless power.

And then, nestled among these global stars, you stumble across a familiar constellation. Listed as a unit, but with unlockable individual profiles each. 

Your breath catches. Chaewon. Sakura. Yunjin. Kazuha. Eunchae. High-definition portraits capture their distinct energies: Chaewon’s sharp elegance, Sakura’s knowing gaze, Yunjin’s vibrant confidence, Eunchae’s youthful spark. And Kazuha. Her profile picture isn’t the fierce performer, but a candid moment: mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, dark hair windblown, radiating an approachable, almost goofy warmth. 

The description: "Effortless grace meets infectious joy. A grounding presence. Seeks authentic moments amidst the whirlwind."

Memories of yesterday suddenly crash over you. Of Benny. His cramped room perpetually fogged with vape smoke and the frantic clatter of mechanical keys. The soundtrack to his gaming marathons wasn't just gunfire and explosions; it was the driving beats and razor-sharp vocals of their music. Crazy blasting loudly at 2:00 AM. Antifragile shaking the cheap plaster walls as he would yell at his screen. He’d shoved his phone in your face countless times, waxing poetic about Kazuha’s ballet background, her "ethereal yet dorky" vibe, her quirky rap verses. 

"Bias wrecker, bro! Total bias wrecker!" he’d shout over the noise. It was passive absorption, a sonic wallpaper to your old life. But the hooks sunk in. You’d found yourself humming Smart in the shower. Kazuha, with her unique blend of elegance and unguarded charm, became your default favorite by sheer Benny-induced osmosis.

The idea forms instantly, fueled by a potent mix of nostalgia, newfound power, and a desire to shove your success in the face of the old, cramped world. Take Kazuha. Not just for you. For Benny too. Show up at his disgusting apartment door with a global superstar in tow. See the look on his face. It’s the ultimate flex. The ultimate "fuck you" to the ramen-and-rent-stressed existence of your previous life.

You click Kazuha’s profile. Select Overnight Engagement. The fee flashes: $2,000,000. For one night. The number barely registers anymore. You start the crypto transfer. Then, the system undercuts you. An additional prompt appears:

Talent Origination: Seoul, South Korea

Global Logistics & Discretion Surcharge: + $600,000

Confirm Total: $2,600,000

You stare. Blink a few times to confirm. Over half a million dollars. A bogus surcharge. Like she’s a fucking premium UberEats order. 

"Are you fucking shitting me?" you mutter aloud, a surge of genuine, absurd indignation cutting through the usual cold calculation. The $1,250,000 for Florence, local and presumably already stateside for what you can only assume was press for her new movie, felt extravagant but contained. This feels like getting gouged for the convenience fee on $50 pizza. You picture Kazuha packed in premium economy with a fragile sticker, the ridiculous shipment tax covering extra legroom and a stern Luminary handler ensuring she doesn’t get lost in Incheon Airport or when she arrives at LAX. The ridiculous profiteering behind every little transaction is almost impressive. 

Luminary: where the delivery fee costs more than most people’s yearly incomes.

A sharp and humorless laugh barks out of you. Benny’s gobsmacked face flashes in your mind. 

Worth it. Every ridiculous, overpriced dollar. 

You jab the confirm button. The crypto hemorrhages from your account. Arrival time: 48 hours. 

The Luminary panopticon tightens its watchful gaze. But all you can think about is the doorbell ringing back at Benny’s shitty apartment, and the animated reactions of disbelief about to hit that place.

—————

Luminary’s familiar Bentley glides to the curb like a shadow detaching from the city’s glare. You stand by the Vanguard’s valet stand, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against your thigh. The tailored wool of your fresh Brioni suit feels suddenly heavy, a costume you haven’t quite grown into. 

The door opens. Kazuha Nakamura steps out.

Sunlight catches the honeyed streaks in her dark hair. She wears simple black trousers and a cream silk blouse, the elegance effortless, understated. A single silver bracelet glints at her wrist. No entourage. No disguise. Just—her. In the flesh. Standing five feet away on the hot pavement.

Your mouth goes dry. The carefully rehearsed greeting—something smooth, acknowledging her Tier 2 status, perhaps a casual remark about Korea—evaporates. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this starstruck meeting a star. The last time was with Florence Pugh, which now seems like a lifetime away.

So you aimlessly stare. She meets your gaze, her expression calm, observant. Not cold, not judging, just—present. Her eyes, dark and assessing, seem to catalogue the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremor you’re fighting in your hand. The silence stretches, thick with the city’s hum and the valet’s shuffling feet. 

Words jam in your throat. Say something. Anything. A croak emerges, swiftly swallowed. You can only manage a stiff nod.

Your salvation rumbles up behind the Bentley. The Lamborghini Aventador, freshly washedVerde Mantis, a shriek of toxic green against the muted luxury of the hotel facade. The valet scrambles out, holding the door. Its engine’s low growl vibrates through your bones, keeping you grounded in reality.

"Shall we?" Kazuha is soft, melodic, pulling you back to earth. 

She subtly gestures towards the obnoxious Lamborghini. A faint, polite curve touches her lips. Not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment of the absurdity. 

You practically dive into the driver’s seat, fumbling the key fob, the leather suddenly feeling like butter under your palms. She slides into the passenger side with fluid grace, folding herself in. The doors thunk shut, sealing you in carbon-fiber silence. Knuckles white gripping the steering wheel, fixating on the familiar snarl as you pull away from the curb, leaving the Bentley and the flustered valet behind. Air conditioning does little to dispel the heat rising in your cheeks. You try for nonchalance, adjusting the vents, checking for nonexistent mirror issues. It feels brittle and transparent to her quiet, astute eyes.

—————

The Lamborghini slices through LA traffic, a predator navigating concrete veins. The initial shock of her presence settles into a low thrum of self-consciousness. You feel every awkward shift in your seat, every glance you steal towards her profile. She gazes out the window, seemingly absorbed by the blur of palm trees and stucco, but you know better. Luminary companions observe. Always.

"So," you start, the word too loud in the confined space. You clear your throat, aiming for casual, landing somewhere near strained. "This escort—companionship thing. Luminary. Is it—common? For idols?" You keep your eyes on the road, the chrome badge of a slow-moving Prius blurring past.

Kazuha turns her head slowly. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s no judgment in it. Just calculation. "Common? No. Selective." Her voice is calm and measured. "The service is discreet. Very. Only for those who understand the—requirements. As you do. The cost guarantees that." A pause, filled only by the V12’s purr. "And the isolation."

"Right. The isolation." You drum your fingers on the steering wheel. "But others? Like—Wonyoung? Jennie?" The names feel clumsy in your mouth, like they’re fanboy currency.

A flicker of something—weariness, amusement perhaps—crosses her features. "Tier Three," she confirms simply. "The very top. The demands, the scrutiny—it requires a different kind of commitment. A different kind of shield."

"Higher than Tier Three?" The question bursts out, fueled by morbid curiosity and the lingering sting of Florence’s assessment. "Like IU? Jungkook?"

Kazuha’s gaze sharpens slightly. "Tier Four. Legends. They are—rare. Luminary protects them fiercely. Their participation is— exceptional." She turns back to the window. "Why do you ask?"

The question hangs. You feel exposed. Why are you asking? To find your own place within its tiers? To fill the silence with something other than your own inadequacy? 

"Just—curious," you mumble. "About the ecosystem." The word sounds pretentious even to you.

Silence descends again, thicker this time. You grasp for something, anything, to bridge the gap. The old persona, the one you crafted for investors and boutiques, rises like a reflex. "It’s fascinating, really," you begin, injecting false confidence. "The infrastructure Luminary must maintain. The logistics alone, moving people across borders with that level of secrecy—it rivals intelligence networks. And the vetting! The psychological profiling must be—"

"Do they teach you that?" Kazuha interrupts, still soft, but cutting through your ramble like a knife. She’s looking at you again, her head now tilted slightly. "The—performance. The way you hold yourself. Your choice of words. Ecosystem? Infrastructure?" 

There’s no malice, only a piercing curiosity. "It sounds practiced. Like you were given lines from a script."

Heat floods your neck. The Lamborghini feels like a death trap. The cool arrogance you projected at the dealership, at Le Ciel Bleu, crumbles under her quiet scrutiny. She sees the scaffolding, the hastily assembled persona behind it. Florence saw it too. 

"I—" 

You falter. The words die on your tongue.

"Who are you?" she asks. Not demanding, not accusing. Genuinely wondering. "Underneath the—" Her gesture encompasses the Brioni suit, the Lamborghini, the penthouse air you’re still trying to breathe. "Before all this?"

The question corners you. The carefully constructed narrative of the savvy investor, the lucky heir—it feels like tissue paper tearing. Reality is an ugly beast you haven’t fully faced yourself. You grip the wheel tighter, the leather creaking in protest. 

The city blurs outside. Honesty feels like stepping off a cliff.

"Nobody," you concede, the word scraping out like nails on chalkboard. "I’m just—a guy. A college kid who stumbled into a fucking miracle. Or a disaster. Still figuring that out." The confession hangs, bare and vulnerable. "I built this—thing. Veridian Quantum. Sounded impressive, right? Whitepapers full of bullshit jargon, actually. Promised impossible returns. It was a house of cards. A pyramid scheme. I planned to grab a couple mil and disappear when it collapsed." 

A harsh, humorless laugh escapes you. "Instead—50 million crashed in. From some desperate pension fund or a bored oligarch’s nephew. Luck. Stupid, fucking luck. That’s the ‘elaborate plan’. That’s the foundation of all—" You wave a hand at the car, the suit, her. "This."

You risk a glance. Kazuha isn’t recoiling. She’s studying you, a new intensity found through her dark eyes. Not pity. Something closer to—recalibration.

"So," she says finally, breaking the deafening silence, "The cars, the stocks, the penthouse—the points—it’s armor."

"Trying to be," you mutter, staring straight ahead. "Trying to belong in the world the money unlocked. Trying not to feel like an imposter crashing a party where everyone else knows the secret handshake." You take a shaky breath. The honesty is terrifying, liberating. "Florence—or Evelyn, I should say—she saw right through it too. Called me unpolished. Rough. Out of my depth." 

You glance at her again, a flicker of defiance mixed with resignation. "She was right. Doesn’t mean I don’t want the things the money can buy. Doesn’t mean I don’t want—" 

You trail off, the implication hanging.

"To do something tonight?" Kazuha finishes, her tone matter-of-fact. No coyness. No offense taken. Just stating the transaction.

A flush burns your ears. "Yeah," you admit, the word blunt. "That’s part of the—engagement. What I paid for."

Kazuha nods slowly, a small, understanding movement. "I’m here to make you happy," she states, her voice clear and professional, yet carrying an unexpected warmth. "To do what you want. Within the boundaries Luminary sets." 

She pauses, her gaze remaining steady on you. "But knowing you’re just ‘a guy’—who got impossibly lucky, who wants everything in the world—and is trying not to drown in it—" A faint, almost imperceptible softening touches her expression. "It’s better than the performance. More admirable to hear than whatever bullshit you’re trying to sell."

Respect. That’s what you see flicker in her eyes. Not for the fraud, not for the money, but for the ragged, honest admission beneath the crumbling facade. It’s a strange, unexpected victory. 

You drive on, with fragile understanding now settling between you. The armor is still there, but a crack has appeared, letting in a sliver of breathable air.

—————

The familiar, slightly sagging brick facade of your old apartment building looms: a stark, jarring contrast to the Lamborghini’s predatory gleam. 

Parking haphazardly beside a dumpster overflowing with black bags, stale garbage and urban decay instantly violate the car’s filtered air. Kazuha doesn’t flinch, but her posture subtly tightens. You kill the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the building’s dismal hum: distant bass, and a shouting match several floors up.

"Ready?" you ask, a few feet away from facing your past.

Kazuha offers a small, neutral nod. "Lead the way."

The foyer smells perpetually of damp carpet and cheap disinfectant. You take the stairs, your expensive Oxfords loud on the worn floor. Kazuha follows silently, her presence an anomaly in the grimy stairwell. You stop outside 3B. The door is slightly ajar, the tinny rattle of a video game session spilling out. 

Gently, you push it open.

The scene is a freeze-frame of squalor and shock. Benny, controller in hand, slack-jawed, frozen mid-frenzied button-mash on the worn sofa. Tom, perched on the armrest, crunching an apple, his eyes bugging out like ping-pong balls. Air hangs thick with the greasy residue of last night’s pizza and the sharp tang of cheap vape juice. Empty energy drink cans litter the coffee table, a monument to youthful inertia.

"Hey," you say, sounding unnaturally loud. The persona instinctively snaps back into place: cool, detached, the wealthy visitor slumming it up. "Long time."

Benny drops the controller; it clatters to the floor with a thud. "Holy fucking shit." 

He scrambles to his feet, tripping over a discarded pizza box. "Dude! Is that—? No. Fucking. Way." His gaze is locked on Kazuha, wide with disbelief and burgeoning hysteria. "Kazuha? Nakamura Kazuha? In our apartment?!"

Tom just stares, apple core forgotten in his hand. "You—you actually did it. The Lambo. The—" He gestures vaguely at your suit, then back to your guest. "Her."

You step inside, with Kazuha a silent, elegant shadow behind you. The cramped space feels smaller, dingier than ever under her quiet presence. 

"Where’s Dave?" you ask, scanning the room. His usual spot on the lumpy armchair is empty. The chaotic energy of his textbooks and energy drink pyramids is gone.

Benny tears his eyes away from Kazuha for a millisecond. "Dave? Oh. Yeah. He bounced. Like, two weeks ago? Said he couldn’t take the—" Benny waves a hand vaguely at the surrounding chaos, "—vibe anymore. After you ghosted. Plus, uh—" He scratches his head. "Think he got dropped. Missed too many classes. Vance finally had enough."

The revelation lands with a dull thud in your gut. Dave. The last one who’d shown genuine, irritating concern. Gone. Dropped out. A casualty of your vanishing act. A flicker of something—guilt, maybe regret—tries to surface, but you smother it instantly. 

What does it matter. You’re 50 million dollars removed from tuition deadlines and academic probation. 

"Right," you say, falling flat. "Well. His loss."

Benny’s focus snaps back to Kazuha with laser intensity. He takes a step closer, practically vibrating from head-to-toe. "Oh my God. Kazuha, I’m your biggest fan! Benny! I religiously stream all your content! I know all the dances! That line in Eve, Psyche & The Bluebeard’s wife where you—" He’s babbling, edging closer, his hands fluttering nervously. "Can I—can I get a picture? Please? Just one? Me and you? For proof? The guys will never believe this!"

He reaches out, not towards her hand, but towards her arm, his fingers outstretched, eager to touch the impossible reality before him. Tom watches, bemused, still crunching his apple.

"Benny," you start, a warning note creeping into your voice, but Kazuha is faster. Or rather, Luminary is.

As Benny’s fingers brush the fabric of Kazuha’s silk blouse near her wrist, the delicate silver bracelet she wears gives a sharp, almost imperceptible snick. A tiny blue spark, no bigger than a static shock, leaps from the bracelet to Benny’s fingertips.

"Yowch!" Benny yelps, jerking his hand back as if scalded. He stares at his fingers, then at the bracelet, confusion quarreling with pain on his face. "What the hell?"

Kazuha doesn’t move. Her expression remains perfectly calm, serene even, but her eyes hold a glint of cold, impersonal authority. "Please maintain a respectful distance," she says, her cadence still melodic, but edged with steel. It’s not a request. It’s a command from an unseen higher power.

Benny cradles his hand, staring at her, the fanboy glee replaced by dazed shock and a flicker of fear. "S-sorry. Yeah. Sorry. Just—a little too excited." He backs up a step, bumping into the sofa. An understatement if you’ve ever heard one.

"Told you not to be a creep, Benny,” interjects Tom, his tone dry. He looks at you, then at Kazuha, followed with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. "So, this is your life now, huh? Lambos and pop stars."

"We’re not staying," is your reply, your gaze sweeping over the depressing familiarity of the room: Benny rubbing his fingers, Tom’s apathy, Dave’s absence. It feels like a museum exhibit of a life you’d already incinerated to ashes. "Just passing through."

Benny, undeterred or simply unable to process, fumbles for his phone. "Picture! Please? Just one quick selfie? I won’t touch! Promise!" He holds the phone up, angling it towards himself and Kazuha, his thumb hovering over the button. Kazuha remains still, her expression unreadable.

He clicks. The shutter sound chimes. He grins, triumphant, lowering the phone to look at the proof. His grin vanishes, replaced by utter bewilderment. 

"What? No! Where is it?" He frantically swipes, taps, opens his gallery. "It’s gone! The picture! It’s just—gone! Black screen!"

Tom leans over, squinting. "Dude, you probably didn’t take it. Butterfingers."

"I did! I heard it! I saw the flash!" Benny’s voice rises in panic. He jabs at his phone, swearing profusely. "It’s not in the gallery! It’s not in the trash! It’s just—deleted!"

You meet Kazuha’s eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible tightening around her lips. Luminary’s silent, efficient enforcement. Reminder of their omniscient control, extending even to an old friend’s desperate selfie in a shitty apartment. The message is clear: boundaries are absolute. Consequences are instant and irrevocable.

"Told you," Tom mutters, taking another bite of his apple. "Creep tax."

A wave of revulsion washes over you—not just for Benny’s gropey desperation, but for this entire scene, this stagnant puddle of your past. 

"We’re leaving," you say, your voice clipped. You turn towards the door. Kazuha follows without a word. “See you guys around. Hopefully.”

Benny stares after you, cradling his phone and his shocked hand, looking utterly lost. "But—the picture—Kazuha—"

You don’t give them a second glance. With controlled haste, you stride down the grimy hallway, Kazuha keeping pace beside you. The stale cabbage smell is stronger here. Outside, the Lamborghini patiently waits, a vibrant, expensive insult to the decaying brick. 

You hit the key fob. The locks thunk open.

"Sunset drive?" you ask Kazuha, opening the passenger door for her. The gesture feels stiff, another performance, but necessary.

She slides in, her movements economical. "That sounds pleasant." Her gaze flicks towards the apartment building’s entrance, where Benny might still be gaping. "Your friend—"

"Was never really a friend," you cut in, more harshly than intended. 

You slam her door, then back around to the driver’s side. As you sink into the leather seat, the engine roars to life, a guttural declaration of finality. You glance at Kazuha. She’s looking straight ahead, her features calm, serene. 

But you saw it. The subtle recoil when Benny reached out. The cold efficiency of the bracelet. The silent deletion of the evidence.

Pulling away from the curb, the Lamborghini’s acceleration presses you back into the seat. The dilapidated building shrinks in the rearview mirror. Benny and Tom, the dumpster you previously called home, the stale air—all receding. Ahead, the sky bleeds orange and purple over the Pacific. Freedom, still elusive. But Kazuha’s quiet presence beside you, the lingering echo of your own honesty in the car, the brutal efficiency of Luminary’s control—it all swirls together. 

You’re not the polished fraud, nor are you ‘just a guy’ either.’ You’re something in between, hurtling towards the sunset in a stolen dream, with an idol as your escort and an invisible god watching your every move.

—————

The setting sun paints the penthouse in molten gold as you scroll through your phone. A photo glows on the screen: Kazuha Nakamura, captured for a beauty ad. She’s radiant, ethereal, wearing a dress the precise shade of spun sugar and crushed rose petals. The fabric drapes like liquid silk, hugging her dancer’s lines before flaring gently at the knees, the neckline a tasteful scoop that hints at the elegant slope of her collarbones. Sunlight catches the subtle sheen, making her look like a confection crafted by some divine patissier. 

It’s not overtly provocative; it’s artistry incarnate, emphasizing her innate grace.

You hold the phone out to her where she stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, as city lights begin to sparkle below. "This one," you say, the request feeling audacious even as the words leave your mouth. "For tonight. Would you—wear this?"

Kazuha takes the phone, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat as she studies the image of herself. Then, a slow, genuine smile blooms, warming her dark eyes. It transforms her face, erasing the last vestiges of Luminary’s detached professionalism from the afternoon. "Ah. Lador," she murmurs, a hint of nostalgic fondness in her tone. "That shoot was—messy. Fun, though." 

She hands the phone back. "It’s a beautiful dress. I’d be more than happy to."

There’s barely any time to process her agreement before a discreet chime sounds from the penthouse intercom. Two Luminary attendants materialize as if summoned by thought: a woman with a serene expression and a man carrying a sleek, temperature-controlled garment bag. Upon opening the door for them, they move with silent efficiency, guiding Kazuha towards a guest suite. Within twenty minutes, the suite door opens.

You forget how to breathe.

The photo did not lie, but it failed to capture the living reality. The pink dress flows over Kazuha’s form like a second skin made of dawn light. The color brings out a warmth in her complexion, makes her dark eyes seem deeper, more luminous. The simple elegance is devastating. 

She moves towards you, the fabric whispering with each step, and the subtle fragrance of peonies and clean skin replaces the penthouse’s lemon verbena scent. Her hair is loosely pinned up, exposing the elegant line of her neck. She looks like a dream given form, utterly out of place in your world of stolen millions and constructed personas, yet somehow anchoring you to something real and achingly beautiful. The smitten speechlessness from the valet stand returns, tenfold. You’re adrift, utterly captivated.

"Will this do?" she asks softly, a playful glint in her eyes as she does a small, graceful turn. She knows the effect. She always knows.

"Perfect," you manage, the solitary word hanging thick. "You look—" 

Words fail. Stunning, breathtaking, unreal—all inadequate. You settle for a gesture towards the front door. "Let’s?"

Dinner is at Sparrow, an intimate California-Italian fusion spot tucked away in a quieter corner of Beverly Hills. It’s expensive, naturally, but deliberately understated compared to Le Ciel Bleu—warm wood, soft lighting, the murmur of conversation rather than a hushed cathedral silence. You want atmosphere, not intimidation. 

Kazuha fits seamlessly into the cozy elegance, the pink dress glowing softly under the ambient lights. You’re hyper-aware of every glance she draws, every subtle shift in her posture. You try to channel the cool investor, discussing recent Lightspeed Customs bookings (a French tennis player confirmed for the Bugatti next week) and the steady climb of your blue-chip stocks. It feels hollow, performative, especially under her observant gaze. She listens politely, asking insightful questions about the Aston Martin Valkyrie’s handling that momentarily fluster you. While you own it, you haven’t driven it hard enough to truly know.

It’s during a lull that your gaze snags on a familiar profile across the room. Short hair and stature immediately recognizable. Kim Chaewon. 

She’s seated at a corner booth, her posture impeccably straight, her expression a mask of polite attentiveness. Opposite her is a man who you assume in his early or mid thirties. His suit is expensive but lacks flair, his posture rigid. He’s speaking, gesturing with precise, economical movements, his face devoid of any real animation. Chaewon nods occasionally, her smile professional, flawless, and utterly devoid of warmth. She looks like a beautiful mannequin propped up for display.

"An acquaintance?" Kazuha follows your gaze, hushed and low.

"Chaewon," you confirm. "From your group."

Kazuha’s eyes flicker with recognition and something else: a flicker of shared understanding, perhaps sympathy. "Mr. Lawson," she mumbles, almost to herself. She then takes a delicate sip of her sparkling water. "Senior VP of something terribly important at one of the big tech conglomerates. Tier Three client." 

"Very wealthy. Very—efficient. Florence’s type, I suppose. Ice men." 

Glancing back at you, a subtle, knowing curve crosses her lips. "Not much fun at all, from what I’ve heard. Poor Chaewon. She drew the short straw this trip.”

She gives her fellow member one more compassionate look. “Yunjin is with a music executive who actually knows his Bach from his Beethoven. Sakura—well, being Sakura—she always lands on her feet, usually with someone interestingly chaotic." She pauses, her gaze shifting back on you, playful and assessing. "Except Eunchae. She stayed in Seoul. A bit young for foreign Luminary engagements, they do restrict their younger talents’ activities quite a lot. Probably watching anime and eating tteokbokki."

You watch Chaewon for another moment. The older man is still talking, stabbing the air with his fork to emphasize a point Chaewon clearly finds boring. Her eyes meet yours across the room for a fleeting second. There’s no recognition, only the polished emptiness of the professional companion. She looks away instantly, refocusing on her client with practiced ease.

"Efficient," you echo Kazuha’s earlier word, turning back to her. "Like discussing quarterly reports over sushi rolls and tuna." The image is bleak.

Kazuha leans forward slightly, the pink silk whispering temptation. The soft light catches the gold flecks in her dark eyes. 

"Not exactly the stuff of memorable evenings, is it?" Her tone is light, but the implication hangs between you.

Unlike this.

The observation sends a jolt through you. The carefully constructed armor feels unnecessary here, under this gaze that saw through the lie in the Lamborghini.

“No," you agree, pushing your plate aside slightly. "Memorable requires—something else. Spark. Surprise." You gesture vaguely, encompassing the room, the evening, her. "Not just transactions."

"Transactions have their place," Kazuha counters smoothly, but her eyes hold yours, challenging, inviting. "They guarantee discretion. Comfort. Certainty." She traces the rim of her water glass with a fingertip. The gesture is casual, yet intensely deliberate. "But you didn’t pay for just a transaction tonight, did you? You paid for me. In the pink dress." A faint, coy smile touches her lips. "And I believe in making an experience memorable."

The air between you crackles, heavy with unspoken promises. The restaurant’s warmth intensifies, centering entirely on her presence. Her pink dress, the elegant neckline, the way a stray tendril of dark hair escapes its pin to brush her temple—it’s a meticulously crafted allure, and you’re completely ensnared. The conversation about stocks, about cars, about Luminary tiers, disintegrates. There’s only this building pressure, this magnetic pull towards the inevitable culmination waiting back in the penthouse.

"Memorable," you repeat, sounding lower, rougher than intended. The investor persona is ashes. The ‘just a guy’ is momentarily consumed by pure, focused desire. "That sounds like a challenge."

Kazuha’s smile deepens, transforming into something knowing, seductive. She meets you head on. 

"Perhaps it is," she murmurs. She places her napkin neatly beside her plate, the movement fluid and final. "Shall we see if the penthouse lives up to its view? I find sunsets are best appreciated—privately." 

Standing from her seat, the pink silk cascades perfectly. She offers her hand, not for assistance, but as an invitation, a promise. "Lead the way."

You take her hand. Her skin is warm, smooth. The touch sends an electric current straight to your core. 

The drive back is a blur of city lights streaking past, the engine’s roar a distant thrum beneath the louder pounding of your own pulse. You steal glances at her profile, silhouetted against the neon-lit glow. She’s quiet, but the silence is charged, potent. She catches you looking once and turns her head, meeting your gaze. There’s no shyness, only a quiet confidence, a contained fire in her dark eyes that promises the performance, the experience, is just beginning. She holds your gaze for a long moment before turning back to the window, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips. 

The message is clear: she’s in control of this dance, and she’s leading you exactly where you both want to go.

Upon arrival, the valet takes the Lamborghini without a word. The elevator ride to the penthouse is an eternity contained in glass and steel. Standing side-by-side, avoiding contact, yet the space between you hums with anticipation. Her presence is like a physical warmth, a tight-knit sweater. She looks straight ahead, but her reflection in the polished doors shows that small, knowing smile still curving her pretty lips. 

The doors slide open onto the dimly lit foyer of the penthouse. The city sprawls beyond the windows. A vast tapestry of light and vanity.

Kazuha steps out first, the pink dress whispering against her legs. She walks a few paces into the expansive living area, then stops, turning slowly to face you. Tilting her head, the city lights catch the gold in her eyes, the elegant line of her throat above the pink silk. 

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her presence, the deliberate stillness, the unspoken challenge in her gaze—it’s an invitation more potent than any words. 

It all converges here, in the silent luxury of the penthouse. The inevitable moment is no longer ahead. It’s happening. Now. Waiting for you to step across the threshold and claim it. 

The kiss ignites instantly, a wildfire spreading from Kazuha’s lips to yours. Her mouth is soft, insistent, tasting faintly of expensive champagne and something uniquely her: clean, sharp, like winter air. 

Your hands find her waist, the impossibly smooth silk of the pink dress cool beneath your palms, pulling her flush against you. She yields, then pushes back, her tongue sliding against yours, demanding entry, claiming space. It’s not tentative; it’s a collision. A claim. 

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head, deepening the angle, stealing your breath and replacing it with the heat radiating from her skin. The city lights blur outside the penthouse windows, irrelevant. The press of her body, the frantic beat of your heart hammering against your ribs, and the slick, hungry sound of your mouths moving together. That’s what matters most right now.

You stumble backwards, entangled like two pieces fitting together, a single entity driven by a desperate, shared need. A doorway materializes: one of the Asteria’s obscenely luxurious bedrooms. The kiss breaks only when the back of your knees hit the edge of the enormous bed. 

Kazuha’s eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, hold yours. Her lips are swollen and glistening. A small, satisfied smirk plays at the corner of her mouth as she pushes you gently down onto the mattress. You land with a soft thump, the duvet yielding beneath you. She stands over you, the pink dress glowing softly in the ambient light, a vision sculpted from desire and intimidating beauty.

Her hands move to the tiny pearl buttons at her back. They slip free with practiced ease, one after another, revealing the smooth expanse of her spine, the delicate wings of her shoulder blades. The silk sighs as it slides down her arms, pooling around her waist like melted rose quartz. 

Your breath catches. Underneath, she’s wearing—absolutely nothing.

The dress halts its descent, clinging precariously to the curve of her hips, framing the perfection it reveals. Her breasts are small, high, perfectly shaped, tipped with dusky pink nipples already pebbled tight with chill air. The lines of her torso are a map of honed muscle—the defined ridges of her abs, the subtle sweep of her obliques, the powerful elegance of her dancer’s shoulders and arms. She is lean strength incarnate, breathtakingly fit, every line and contour speaking of meticulous discipline and delicate grace.

You’re so mesmerized, your hands itching to touch, to trace, to possess. Sitting up, reaching for her body, fumbling with the buttons of your own shirt. It feels suddenly restrictive, suffocating. 

Kazuha helps, her fingers surprisingly deft, brushing against your chest as she pushes the fabric off your shoulders. It joins the growing pile of discarded pretense on the floor. Your shoes are kicked off carelessly right after. Shirtless now, as equally exposed. Cold air prickles your skin, but the heat radiating from Kazuha is an inferno.

You pull her down onto your lap, straddling you. The smooth silk bunched at her waist is a maddening barrier against your hardening cock straining through your trousers. Your hands roam her bare back, sliding over satin skin and firm muscle, dipping into the hollows above her ass. You kiss her again, deep and searching, your tongue exploring the sweetness of her mouth. One hand cups her breast, thumb circling the stiff peak, drawing a low moan from her throat that vibrates against your lips. She grinds down against your erection, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that makes you gasp into her mouth.

It’s perfect. She’s perfect. The heat, the scent of her skin—vanilla and clean sweat—the feel of her tight body moving against yours. It’s all-consuming, beyond intoxicating.

Then it hits you. A cold prickle crawling up your spine, unrelated to the air conditioning. Your eyes dart past Kazuha’s shoulder, scanning the elegant, minimalist room. The abstract painting on the wall. The sleek digital clock bedside. The recessed lighting. Any of them could be watching. The delicate silver bracelet glints on her wrist. The pendant at her throat rests against her sternum, catching the light. 

Luminary’s eyes are there. Unblinking. Recording. Judging.

You freeze. Your hands still on her back. Abruptly breaking the kiss, pulling back slightly, your breathing suddenly rags for a different reason. The flush of desire on your cheeks mingles with a wave of sickening self-consciousness. You’re exposed, not just physically, but vulnerable. Performing for an unseen audience. The stolen millions, the car, the penthouse—it all feels like cheap theater under this invisible, oppressive gaze.

Kazuha feels the shift. She leans back, just enough to see your face. Her brows furrow slightly, concern softening the heat in her eyes. "Hey," she mumbles—a low, warm caress. Her thumb gently brushes your cheekbone. "What is it?"

You can’t articulate the violation, the paranoia clawing at your throat. Gesturing vaguely, helplessly, towards the room, towards her jewelry. "Them," you rasp, the word thick with fright and alarm. "Watching."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. Not of surprise, but a weary kind of resignation. She glances down at the bracelet, then back at you. Her expression is open, reassuring, devoid of the practiced seductiveness of moments before. 

"I know," she says simply. "It’s always there. The price of the dress, the key, the—access. There’s no getting around it.” She takes your hand, lacing her fingers through yours, squeezing gently. "But listen to me. It doesn’t change this. Us, right now." 

She leans in, her lips brushing your ear. Her breath is warm, sending shivers down your neck despite the chill inside you. "They see bodies. They hear sounds. They don’t see this." She presses your joined hands against her chest, over her heart. Its steady, strong beat pulses against your palm. "They don’t feel what I feel. And—they don’t really care."

You search her face. It might be part of the act. The reassurance Luminary trains them to give. But her gaze holds yours, steady and clear. There’s a softness there, an unexpected vulnerability that mirrors your own unease.

"They have rules," she continues, dropping even lower, intimate. "Strict ones. For my safety. For theirs. As long as you don’t—" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "As long as you don’t deliberately try to hurt me, cause intentional injury—abuse me—" The words are clinical, stark against the intimacy of your position. "Anything else—" A ghost of her earlier smirk returns, playful, challenging. "Anything you want—is permitted. What happens between consenting adults—stays between us, even if they see it." 

Her hand slides from yours, down your chest, tracing the line of your abs, stopping just above the waistband of your trousers. Her touch is electric, pulling you back from the edge of cold paranoia. "Do you want to stop?"

The question hangs in the air. Stopping feels impossible. The ache in your cock is a physical demand. The sight of her, half-dressed and breathtakingly perfect on your lap, is a siren song. But the eyes—the fucking invisible eyes—

Kazuha doesn’t wait for your answer. She reads the conflict, the lingering desire warring with the fear. She leans in and kisses you again. Not the hungry, demanding kiss from before, but something softer, deeper, more persuasive. It’s a promise, a reassurance. Her tongue soothes, her lips coax. She pours warmth into the kiss, melting the icy knot of your anxiety. Her hands frame your face, holding you gently but firmly, anchoring you to her, to this moment, to the tangible reality of her skin, her taste, her scent.

Then, with a sudden, decisive motion, she pushes you back onto the mattress. You land with a soft whump, looking up at her as she rises gracefully from your lap. Standing beside the bed, bathed in the soft light, she holds your gaze. There’s no hesitation, no coyness now. Just a quiet, fierce confidence. Her hands go to the bunched silk at her waist. With a single, fluid motion, she pushes the dress down over her hips. It slithers down her long legs, a pool of pink at her feet. She steps out of it, kicking it aside.

She stands before you, now with nothing to hide.

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush. Words fail. Luminary’s surveillance is momentarily forgotten, obliterated by the sheer, devastating impact of her. The pink dress was art, but this—this is raw, breathtaking reality. Every muscle defined, sculpted by relentless training—the powerful sweep of her thighs, the tight curve of her ass, the impossibly flat plane of her stomach leading down to the neat triangle of dark hair at the apex of her legs. Her skin seems to glow, smooth and flawless. She is athletic perfection, a living statue of strength and femininity. The subtle power in her frame, the dancer’s grace even in stillness—it’s overwhelming. You’re pinned by the sight, awestruck, humbled by the beauty presented solely for you.

As she watches your reaction, a slow, satisfied smile spreads across Kazuha’s face. She knows the effect she has on people. Revels in it. 

Without breaking eye contact, she climbs back onto the bed, crawling over you on hands and knees. Her movements are deliberate, predatory. She settles directly onto your lap again, her bare heat pressing against the fabric covering your aching cock. Her hands find the button of your trousers, then the zipper. Her fingers are deft, efficient. She pulls them down, taking your boxers with them in one smooth motion. Your cock springs free, thick and hard, straining upwards.

Her eyes drop to it. A low hum of appreciation vibrates in her throat. 

"Beautiful," she murmurs, the word sending a fresh jolt of heat through you. Her hand wraps around your shaft, her touch firm, knowing. Her skin is warm, slightly calloused from years of practice. “It’s so—nice.”

Kazuhaa strokes you slowly, deliberately, from root to tip, her thumb swirling over the slick head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathers there. Her gaze flicks back up to yours, holding it as she works you, her touch expertly coaxing you to full, throbbing hardness. 

"See?" she whispers, a hint of that flirty reassurance returning. "Just us."

Perched on your lap, her hand is a warm, confident cradle around your cock, her gaze locked on yours. The Luminary pendant glints coldly against her throat, a stark reminder, but the sheer, overwhelming presence of her nakedness—the sculpted muscles, the smooth skin, the focused intensity in her eyes—pushes the paranoia momentarily to the periphery. It’s still there, a low hum beneath the surface, but Kazuha’s presence dominates.

Her fingers continue their slow, maddening exploration. Squeezing the base, her thumb tracing a prominent vein, then glides upwards with agonizing slowness, tightening slightly just below the swollen tip. 

A violent shudder runs through you. Her other hand rests lightly on your chest, fingertips brushing your nipple, sending sparks skittering across your skin. 

Leaning down, her breath feels warm against your ear. "So tense," she remarks, a hush that vibrates through your bones. "Let me help you."

Before you can utter a single word, she shifts her weight. With effortless grace, she swings one leg over your hips, settling herself astride you, her knees sinking into the plush duvet on either side of your thighs. Her aching core hovers directly above your straining cock. The heat radiating from her is immense, intoxicating. 

"Tell me," she breathes, her hand still loosely stroking your length, her thumb catching another bead of pre-cum. "What do you want, hmm? Tell me how you want me."

The question hangs, loaded. Images flood your mind: positions, acts, the myriad ways you could lose yourself in her. But the words that tumble out, fueled by the sight of her controlling the situation, by the desire to surrender to her expertise, are simple.

"You. Just—you. Anything you want. Do whatever you want to me."

A slow, radiant smile spreads across Kazuha’s face. It transforms her, lighting up her features with genuine delight, driving away the last vestiges of professional composure. 

"Anything?" she purrs, leaning forward slightly, her breasts brushing softly on your chest. "You trust me that much?"

The question is rhetorical, playful. She sees the answer in your eyes, in the way your hips lift involuntarily towards her heat. 

"Good," she whispers, the sound like silk tearing. "I like that."

She doesn’t hesitate. Releasing your cock, Kazuha braces her hands on your shoulders, her fingers digging in slightly, possessively. Her eyes lock onto yours, holding you captive, demanding your attention. Then, with a deliberate, controlled movement, she sinks down.

It’s slow. Painfully, agonizingly slow.

You feel every exquisite inch of her as she sheathes you. Her inner walls are scorching hot, silken smooth, yet gripping you with astonishing tightness. It’s like sinking into molten velvet. A low, guttural groan tears from your throat as her hips finally meet yours, your cock buried to the hilt inside her. She’s so deep, impossibly full. The fit is so perfect, it steals your breath.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hands flying to her hips, fingers digging into the firm muscle there, anchoring yourself.

Kazuha throws her head back; a sharp gasp escapes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut for a second, her body trembling slightly with the intensity of the sensation. 

"God—yes," she breathes, shaky but triumphant. She looks down at you, her gaze hooded, darkened with pleasure. "So deep—so—good."

She then begins to move. Not frantic, not yet. 

A slow, undulating roll of her hips, grinding against you, letting you feel every ridge, every contour of her inner walls. The friction is exquisite, maddening. Your hands roam her body, desperate to touch, to claim. You trace the defined lines of her abs, the taut muscles shifting beneath smooth skin. Thumbs find the sharp points of her hip bones, then slide upwards, skimming the sensitive skin of her lower ribs. 

She arches into your touch, a soft sigh escaping her.

"You feel—incredible," you sputter out, cracked by budding pleasure. "Your body—so fucking perfect."

A small, pleased smile touches her lips. She leans forward, bracing one hand beside your head on the mattress, bringing her face close to yours. Her other hand guides yours to her breast. 

"Show me," she pleads, her hot breath mingling with yours.

You cup the small, perfect weight, your thumb finding the hardened peak. Circling it, then gently pinching, rolling the sensitive nub between your pads. Kazuha’s breath hitches, her hips stuttering in their rhythm. "Yes," she whispers, her eyes closing again for a moment. "Just like that."

Emboldened, you lean up, capturing her other nipple with your mouth. The taste of her skin floods your senses. You suckle gently, then harder, swirling your tongue around the stiff peak. She cries out in response, a sharp, musical sound, her back arching, pressing her breast deeper into your mouth. Her hips begin to move faster, losing some of that initial, calculated control. The slow grind becomes a purposeful rise and fall, lifting herself almost completely off you before sinking back down, taking you deep with every descent.

The sensations are overwhelming. The tight, wet heat of her pussy gripping your cock. The feel of her powerful thighs pressing against yours. The soft sounds escaping her: gasps, sighs, curses, low moans that vibrate through her chest and into yours. The shift in her features, etched with building pleasure, her eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

You kiss your way down her sternum, tracing the valley between her chest, your tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat. Your hands slide down her back, gripping her ass, feeling the incredible power in the muscles there as she drives herself down onto you. Squeezing, pulling her harder against you on the downstroke, forcing yourself even deeper. She gasps, a sound that turns into a moan.

"Harder," she breathes, charged with need. "Fuck me harder—use me—”

The demand, the permission—it shatters your lingering restraint. 

Your hands tighten on her ass, guiding her movements now, setting a punishing pace. You lift your hips to meet her downward thrusts, driving into her with escalating force. 

Skin on skin slaps fill the room, a rapid, sloppy counterpoint to her spiraling cries. The bed frame groans softly in protest.

Kazuha throws her head back, her long dark hair cascading down her back. Her movements become wilder, less controlled, driven purely by sensation and lust. She rides you with reckless abandon, taking everything you give, demanding more. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your cock, a pulsing, milking pressure that threatens to unravel you completely. You can feel her tightening, the coil winding impossibly tight inside her.

"Look at me," you growl, strained by the building pressure in your loins. “Look at me while you take my fucking cock.”

Her head snaps down, her eyes wide, pupils blown black with lust, meeting yours. The connection is electric. You see the wanton need, the building frenzy, the absolute surrender.

"I’m close," she gasps, the words ragged, breathless. "So close—don’t stop—please don’t stop!"

Her plea ignites something primal. You grip her hips impossibly tighter, slamming her down onto you with bruising force, driving upwards to meet her. The angle shifts, hitting a spot deep inside her that makes her shriek: a sound that’s pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her body locks up, rigid above you. Her eyes fly wide, then squeeze shut. A tremor runs through her, then another, stronger.

"Cumming!" she cries out, the word tearing from her throat. "Fuck! Cumming!"

Her pussy convulses around your cock. A series of intense, fluttering spasms that grip you like a vice. Throws her head back again, a guttural cry ripping from her lungs as her body bows backwards, her back arching spectacularly. She rides it out on your cock, her hips grinding erratically, milking you, her inner muscles clenching and releasing in a frantic, exquisite rhythm.

The tight, wet suction of her throbbing cunt, the desperate little whimpers escaping her lips, the sheer visual spectacle of her body consumed by overwhelming pleasure—it pulls you over the edge with excruciating force.

You slam her down one last time, burying yourself to the root as your cock jerks violently inside her. Thick, hot pulses of cum erupt from you, flooding her depths, each spurt triggering another shuddering clench from her overwhelmed body. Holding her there as you empty yourself into her, the intensity blinding, a white-hot detonation that consumes every thought, every fear, leaving only the shared, quivering intensity of blissful release.

As the strength leaves your limbs, you stagger back onto the mattress, dragging Kazuha down with you. She lands on your chest—a boneless, trembling weight. Her breathing is ragged, coming in harsh gasps against your neck. 

Your own breath saws in and out of your lungs. Sweat slicks both your bodies. The room smells of sex, of exertion, of her scent.

For several drawn out moments, there’s only the sound of your labored breathing and the beat of your hearts slowing gradually. Your arms wrap around her, holding her close, her smooth, sweat-damp skin pressed against yours. Her head rests on your shoulder, her hair tickling your cheek. 

Slowly, the world filters back in. The city lights outside. The penthouse’s faint hum. The lingering, satisfied ache in your muscles. The warm, wet feel of her still wrapped around your softening cock.

Kazuha stirs first. Lifting her head slightly, her eyes meet yours. They’re soft, hazy with spent pleasure, but bright. A small, utterly content smile touches her swollen lips. Shifting slightly, wincing as your cock slips out of her, a trickle of your combined release gushing on her legs and the sheets. She ignores it, nestling her head back onto your shoulder with a sigh.

She finds your hand on her back, lacing her fingers through yours, thumb stroking your knuckles. "See?" she mumbles, thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. "Just us." 

Pausing, the flirty edge gradually returns. "And you’ve still got the rest of the night with me,” she adds, squeezing your hand. "Plenty of time to do whatever you want."

—————

The bathroom towel feels rough against your oversensitized skin as you peel yourself off the sweat-slicked sheets. You grab a second one from the bathroom before returning towards Kazuha. She’s a vision of debauched perfection sprawled across the rumpled silk: skin flushed, dark hair fanned out, your cum glistening on her inner thighs, legs, and stomach, a stark contrast against her lean muscle. 

You hold out the towel. "Clean up?"

Her eyes, dark and still hazy with pleasure, track your movement. A slow, feline smile spreads across her lips. She shakes her head, a barely present gesture. 

"No." She trails a finger through the mess on her lower belly, scooping up a pearly strand. She holds it up, glistening on her fingertip. Her gaze locks onto yours, a playful challenge sparking. "Lick it off."

A surprised laugh bursts from you, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged penthouse. The audacity, the delicious filth of the suggestion after the intensity you just shared. 

"Christ, Kazuha." You rake a hand through your hair, the towel dangling forgotten. "You don’t make it easy, do you?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" Stretching languidly, she shifts, deliberately drawing your attention to the taut lines of her abdomen, the curve of her hip where your cum pools. "You paid for memorable. For everything." 

She lifts her finger towards her own lips, her tongue darting out to taste the tip. A soft moan escapes her, purely for your benefit. "This is part of it. Tasting it. Tasting me."

Despite the burgeoning exhaustion, the pornographic sight, the explicit suggestion, sends a fresh jolt of heat straight to your groin. The Luminary pendant glints coldly against her neck, a reminder of the invisible eyes constantly watching. But Kazuha’s own gaze is warm, inviting, pulling you back into her orbit. She wants to blur the lines further, push you deeper into this mutual depravity. The towel is a flimsy shield against the advance she’s demanding.

"Maybe later," you suggest, every word slow, deliberate. The towel is cast aside on the edge of the bed, now useless and forgotten.

Leaning down, bracing a hand on the mattress near her hip. Her scent—sweat, sex, and something uniquely her—fills your senses. You don’t touch her with your mouth—not yet—but your eyes trace the paths your cum has painted on her skin. 

"It’s on the list. Right after—" 

You let the implication hang, your gaze drifting pointedly towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city.

Her smile widens, triumphant. "Perfect." 

Reaching up your chin, her fingers brush your jawline, a touch surprisingly tender amidst the incoming carnality. "I like your list. Make sure it’s a long one." 

She lets her hand fall back, leaving a phantom warmth on your skin. The moment stretches, charged with the unspoken promise of what’s next, with shared understanding that this night, this transaction, is far from over. The exhaustion is still there, a pleasant ache in your muscles, but it’s rapidly being overridden by the insistent pull of her presence and the challenge gleaming in her dark eyes.

The high-rise windows of the Asteria penthouse transform the city into a sprawling circuit board of light. A silent, glittering audience to the intimacy happening inside. You guide Kazuha towards this panoramic view, her hand cool and small in yours. The air hums with the high-rise’s filtered silence, now dense with the glow of sex and anticipation. She stands before the glass, her bare back facing you, the cityscape painting her silhouette in fractured gold and silver. The reflection shows her face: expectant, a little breathless, a trace of that challenging smile playing on her lips.

Exhaustion still tugs at your limbs, a pleasant echo of the pounding you gave her on the bed. But the sight of her like this, offered against the backdrop of the entire fucking city, ignites a fresh, potent hunger, more ravenous than before. 

You step close, your chest brushing her back, the warmth emanating from her skin sinking into yours. Your hands settle on her hips, fingers splaying over the sharp points of bone, feeling the subtle tremor beneath her skin. Dropping your head, nuzzling the sensitive junction of her neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply: sweat, sex, vanilla, her. A low groan vibrates in your chest.

"Cold?" you gasp against her skin, feeling the slight prickle of goosebumps beneath your lips.

Kazuha shakes her head, a small, imperceptible movement. "No." It’s a husky whisper, wired with subtle impatience. "Just—waiting." 

She leans back infinitesimally, pressing her firm ass against your groin. The contact, even through your slick-filled groin, is electric. You’re not hard yet, not fully, but the embers glow hot, ready to blaze.

"Need a little help with that?" she asks, the playful tease back in her tone. Without waiting for an answer, her hand snakes behind her, fingers slipping around your waist. Her touch is deliberate, knowing. She finds your soft cock, wraps her fingers around the base, and gives a slow, firm stroke upwards. Her thumb swipes over the sensitive head, still damp with remnants of her sheen.

"Mmm, still sticky," she remarks, a note of satisfaction. She strokes again, her grip tightening slightly, her thumb circling the crown, coaxing life back into you with practiced ease. "Let’s get you ready for me again."

Her touch is gasoline to your fire. The friction, the slight roughness of her fingers, the way she squeezes just right at the base—it’s a direct line to your nervous system. 

You bury your face against her neck, teeth grazing her flesh as your cock hardens, responding eagerly to her touch, her command. Your hips push forward involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction against her hand. 

"Fuck—Kazuha," you groan, the sound muffled against her skin.

"Like that?" she purrs, twisting her wrist slightly on the upstroke, her thumb pressing firmly beneath the head. "Getting nice and hard for me again? Good." 

She speeds up her strokes, her other hand reaching back to grip your thigh, anchoring herself as she works you. The wet sounds of her hand on your cock fill the quiet space, obscene and thrilling. You watch yourselves in the mirror, your expressions ever changing in the reflection, of discomfort, of arousal, of bliss. The Luminary bracelet on her wrist winks coldly, a stark contrast to the heat of her touch.

Soon, you’re fully erect, straining against her fist, thick and heavy. A low throb pulses through you, a demand for release that’s only just beginning. Kazuha gives you one final, slow pull, her thumb rubbing firmly over the slit, sending sparks shooting up your spine. 

"There," she breathes, releasing you with a final squeeze. "Perfect." She wipes her hand casually on her own thigh, leaving a glistening streak. "Ready to make a mess on the window?"

Stepping back slightly, your hands grip her hips tighter, turning her fully to face the glass. Her breath hitches as her front presses against the cool surface. Positioning yourself behind her, the hard length of your cock nestles against the cleft of her ass. You slide your hands up her sides, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath her smooth skin, then down over her hips, tracing the swell of her ass. Her skin is warm silk under your palms. 

You knead the firm mounds, savoring the perfect roundness, the tight resilience. She pushes back against your touch with a soft sigh.

One hand stays on her hip, holding her steady. The other slides down, fingers seeking the slick heat between her legs. She’s still wet, alarmingly wet, your load caught between her own nectar. Your fingers glide easily through her folds, finding her swollen clit. A sharp gasp escapes her as you circle it, applying firm, deliberate pressure. Her head drops forward, her forehead resting against the cool glass. 

"Oh, God—" she breathes, her breath fogging a small patch on the window.

Playing with her clit, you watch her reflection: eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. Slide a finger lower, dipping into her entrance. She’s still stretched, still open, but tight. So fucking tight. 

You push one finger in, then a second, curling them upwards. Her inner walls clench around you instantly, a hot, velvety grip. "Still hungry for it, baby?" you growl, thrusting your fingers slowly, deeply. "Still so fucking tight and wet?"

"Y-Yes," she whimpers, pushing her hips back against your hand. "Need it—need you inside—"

Withdrawing your fingers, they glisten with her nectar through the lights. Then you line the tip of your cock against her slick entrance. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the slight tremor in her thighs. 

You hold yourself there, poised, letting the anticipation build. Her reflection shows her biting her lower lip, her eyes wide open now, fixed on yours in the glass. Waiting.

You draw your hand back and deliver a sharp palm to her right cheek.

The ripple echoes sharply in the penthouse. Kazuha cries out, a sound that’s half shock, half pleasure. Her body jerks forward, her ass blooming a vivid red. She pushes back harder against you instantly, a wordless plea.

"Like that?" you demand, spurred with arousal. You brush the spot you just spanked, feeling the heat of her skin in your palm.

"Yes," she gasps, trembling, shaking. "More—please—"

Her other cheek gets it, just as hard. Another cry, this one longer, needier. Her pussy clenches visibly around nothing, dripping. 

"Good girl," you grind out. "Taking it so well."

Gripping your cock, pressing the head firmly against her entrance once more. Applying steady pressure, watching in the reflection as her eyes flutter closed, her mouth forming a silent ‘O’ as you begin to breach her. It’s a tight fit, even wet and stretched. Her inner muscles resist for a second, then fold, dragging you in, inch by agonizing inch. You sink into her slowly, deliberately, savoring the exquisite drag, the hot, clenching pressure enveloping you. 

A low, continuous moan spills from her lips as you fill her, deeper and deeper, until your hips are flush against her ass, your cock buried to the hilt. You both pause, breathing raggedly, joined completely against the vast panorama of the city.

"So deep," she whimpers, thick with pleasure. "Feels—so full—"

"You take it so fucking perfect," you groan, your hands moving to grip her hips tightly. You pull back slowly, almost all the way out, watching your slick cock glisten in the city lights, then thrust back in with a firm snap of your hips. Skin on skin, little sloppy sounds rejoining the rhythm of your fucking.

She cries out, her fingers scrabbling against the smooth glass. "Yes! Like that! So fucking good!"

That’s what she wants: long, deliberate strokes that pull almost all the way out before sinking back into her molten heat. The sounds are filthy and intoxicating: the wet slip of your cock sliding in and out of her drenched pussy, the rhythmic slap of your hips against her ass, her breathy moans and gasps punctuating each thrust. 

You watch her face in the reflection, the play of ecstasy and surrender, the way her lips part with each inward plunge.

"Look at you," you command, tight with exerted control. "Look at yourself getting fucked against the window. Whole city can see what a slut you are for this cock."

Her eyes fly open, meeting yours in the glass. There’s defiance there, but also desire. 

"Let them watch," she breathes, pushing back hard against your next thrust. "Fuck me harder. Show them how you use me."

The challenge ignites you. Your grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging into her flesh. Increasing pace, your thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more insistent. Her moans escalate, turning into high-pitched cries that bounce off the walls. Her tits flatten against the glass with each forward drive, her nipples hard peaks against the cool surface.

"Whose pussy is this?" you demand, hammering into her. Each thrust jolts her body forward, shrieking the glass.

"Yours!" she gasps, fully pressed against the window before you draw her back.

"Say it louder!"

"Yours! Only yours!" Her voice is ragged, desperate. It’s music to your ears.

"That’s right. This pussy—" you hiss, giving her ass a well-deserved spank. “Fucking mine.” 

Her whole body seizes, a sharp scream tearing from her throat. Her inner walls clamp down on your cock like a vise, a fluttering, rhythmic spasm that steals your breath. The pull, the sight, the wanton need in her tone—it’s beyond irresistible.

"Cum," you snarl, pinching her smooth, resilient skin. "Cum all over this fucking cock. Show everyone how good I make you feel."

The command ripples through her body like a freight train. Her back arches impossibly, her head thrown back, a guttural cry drawn from her lungs that echoes in the vast room. Her pussy convulses violently around your shaft, coating you with fresh sheen, pulling you deeper. Her legs tremble, threatening to buckle. You hold her up, fucking her relentlessly through her release, your own control fraying dangerously close at the edges. 

You feel your own climax coiling, a tight, hot pressure building at your base. Her ecstasy is the most potent aphrodisiac.

"Gonna fill you up," you grunt, your thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. "Gonna pump this tight little pussy full of cum again. Make a fucking mess."

"Yes! Please—" she begs, still shuddering, broken and beyond saving. "Fill me—cum all over me—”

With a final, brutal thrust, you bury yourself to the hilt and let go. Your cock jerks violently, spurt after hot spurt of cum bursting deep inside her clenching womb. You grind against her ass, pumping every last drop into her, feeling her pussy flutter and pulse around your shaft, milking you dry. Your vision whites out at the edges, tunneling you to her skin, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as pure, blinding pleasure consumes you.

Collapsing forward, pinning her between your body and the cold glass. Your forehead rests against the back of her neck, your breath coming in ragged gasps that fog the window beside her head. Her body is limp, quivering against yours, her own breathing shallow and rapid. Your cock, remains buried inside her, throbbing gently with aftershocks. Warmth spreads where you’re tangled, your cum melded with hers, plastered against the inside of her thighs.

The city glitters on, indifferent and apathetic. You stay there, slumped against the window, slick with sweat and sex, completely and utterly spent. The cool glass feels grounding against your overheated skin.

Slowly, reluctantly, you soften and slip out of her with a wet sound. A thick rivulet of white immediately escapes her well-used pussy, trailing down her thighs before dripping onto the floor. Kazuha sags against the window, her breath still fogging the glass in shallow puffs. You step back, your own legs shaky.

You watch her for a moment, the perfect lines of her back, the red mark on her ass vivid on her pale skin, the glistening mess between her legs. Then, she moves. Slowly, deliberately, she sinks to her knees on the polished floor, facing the window. 

She doesn’t look at you. Her gaze is fixed on the smear you made on the glass: a thick, opaque pool against the sparkling cityscape.

Holding your gaze in the reflection for a heartbeat, a spark of pure mischief in her eyes, she leans forward. Her tongue darts out, pink and wet, and she licks a slow, deliberate stripe up the glass, collecting a thick glob of your cum. She closes her lips around it, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she swallows. 

A soft, satisfied sigh escapes her. She licks again, cleaning the glass with unhurried, casual swipes, her eyes closing in apparent delight.

The image is profoundly erotic. The submission, the depravity, the casual ownership she takes of your spend. It erases the dying vestiges of your fatigue, replacing it with a fresh wave of hunger. Seeing her on her hands and knees like that, her perfect ass raised, her pussy glistening and swollen, still dripping your cum onto the floor—it’s an irresistible invitation.

You drop to your knees directly behind her. Your hands spread her ass cheeks wide, exposing her completely: the dark furl of her asshole, the glistening, puffy lips of her well-fucked pussy right above it, and the slick trail leading down her thighs. 

So you lean in, burying your face between her legs.

Your tongue finds her first, not on her pussy, but lower. A broad, flat lick from the base of her spine, down over the tight little pucker of her asshole, and then up through her dripping slit. 

Kazuha jerks, a sharp gasp escaping her. "Oh—fuck!"

You ignore her pussy for now, focusing your attention lower. You circle her tight, smaller hole with the very tip of your tongue, teasing the sensitive rim. She shudders, pushing back against your face. 

“Ah—oh shit—” she breathes, tight with surprise and sensory overload.

"Shhh," you hush against her skin, your breath hot, giving her ass a calming squeeze. "Just relax." 

You press your tongue more firmly against her asshole, licking in relaxed, insistent circles. She’s impossibly tight, but clean, tasting only of skin, moisture, and salt. Probing carefully, the tip of your tongue seeking entry, applying gentle pressure. Her whole body tenses, then slowly, reluctantly, yields. The resistance gives way, and you push into her, just a little.

Kazuha lets out a choked moan, her hands clenching into fists against the glass. "Oh God— that’s—different—"

Humming against her, the vibration makes her jump. You work your tongue gently, tasting her tight hole with shallow thrusts, savoring the unique intimacy, the total surrender. Your hands keep her spread wide, holding her open for exploration. Eventually, her trembling subsides, replaced by soft, continuous whimpers. She pushes back more insistently, grinding her ass against your face. "Yes—oh fuck, yes—"

Encouraged, you withdraw and shift your focus upwards. Your mouth finds her dripping pussy, burying your face in her splayed folds. With broad, hungry strokes, lapping up the taste of her arousal mixed with your own cum. It’s wet, musky, addicting. Zeroing in on her swollen clit, sucking it into your mouth, flicking it rapidly with your tongue.

She cries out, her back arching. "Oh! Right there! That’s—"

Feasting on her, driving your tongue deep into her fucked-out pussy, tasting yourself inside her. One hand slides around her hip, fingers finding her skin to hold her steady, pressed close to the window. While the other remains on her ass, a pair of fingers now joining your tongue, spreading her flesh wide as you voraciously devour her cunt.

The stimulation is overwhelming. Her moans escalate into desperate, broken cries. Her hips buck wildly against your face, fucking your mouth. 

"I’m gonna cum again! Oh fuck, I’m cumming!" 

Her body locks up, then shudders violently as yet another orgasm tears through her, less intense than the previous ones but no less impactful. Her cunt pulses around your tongue, a fresh gush of wetness coating your chin.

You ride it out with her, licking her through the tremors until she sags forward, completely drained, her forehead resting on the cool glass again, her breath fogging it once more in rapid bursts. When you finally pull back, your face is drenched, tasting her on your lips. 

Looking up at her reflection, her eyes are closed, drawn with a look of sated exhaustion on her beautiful face. A thin trail of saliva and her own slick glistens on her inner thigh.

You stay knelt behind her for a moment, catching your breath, the afterglow of her sex lingering in the air. The Luminary bracelet glints mockingly on her wrist. Reaching out, tracing a finger down the curve of her spine, you feel slight aftershocks still running through her. Seeing her look so vulnerable, so delicate like this—it stirs your heart. 

So you give her a gentle, loving kiss, spreading from her cheek to her lips.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just breathes. 

Utterly conquered. Utterly yours. At least for now.

—————

Steam curls through the spacious, marble-lined shower, fragrant with the expensive verbena-scented gel Kazuha chose. The roar of the multiple rainfall showerheads drowns out the city, creating a chamber of warmth and privacy. Standing beneath the torrent, the hot water sluices away the sweat, the drying cum, the evidence of the filthy, glorious hours spent exploring every inch of each other.

Kazuha stands facing you, her eyes closed, head tilted back, letting the water cascade over her face, slicking her dark hair back. Steam paints her skin a flushed pink, highlighting the faint red marks your teeth left on her shoulder, the darker bruises blooming on her hips courtesy of your sharp handfuls. The playful challenge is gone, now replaced by a soft vulnerability. She looks exhausted, completely bone-tired, yet peaceful. 

The water streams gracefully down her body, tracing elegant lines of her figure sculpted by relentless training: sharp collarbones, small, perfect breasts with nipples still slightly peaked, the taut plane of her stomach, and the powerful curve of her thighs. Luminary’s pendant rests against her sternum, catching stray droplets. 

You reach out, not with desire, but with a profound sense of awe. Your fingertips brush the pendant aside, then trace the path of the water down her neck, over her collarbone.

Her eyes flutter open, meeting yours. There’s no demand, no tease, only quiet exhaustion and something else: a tenderness. A genuine connection formed from shared, relentless pleasure. You slide your hands down her arms, feeling the lean muscle beneath her slick skin, then back up to cradle her face. 

Without a word, you pull her close. Her body molds against yours instantly, skin sliding on wet skin, her head tucking perfectly under your chin. She fits. Snugly, comfortably, like a missing piece finally slotted into place. 

Beneath the pounding water, you hold her, simply hold her. Her arms wrap around your waist, her fingers splaying against the small of your back. Her breath is mellow against your chest, her heartbeat a slow, steady thud parallel with yours. You revel in her comfort, the smoothness of her skin under your palms as you slowly brush her back, the way her body relaxes completely into your embrace. 

This isn't about possession or performance; it's about the simple, profound intimacy of shared warmth.

Time quietly passes by. The steam thickens inside the shower. You feel the tension slowly ebb from her muscles. Then, driven by a surge of tenderness that surprises you with its intensity, you gently turn her in your arms. She faces you, water beading on her eyelashes, her dark eyes searching yours. 

Questions hover unspoken: about Luminary, about the morning, about what any of this means beyond the transaction.

You silence them all. You cup her face again, thumbs brushing droplets from her cheeks. Then you lean down and kiss her. Not like the hungry, devouring kisses from before. This is slow, deep, achingly tender. 

Your lips move against hers with a reverence that feels entirely new. A soft sigh escapes her as she reciprocates the kiss, her hands rising to tangle in your wet hair. It deepens, tongues sliding together in a quiet affirmation. 

Breaking the kiss, you trail your lips down her jaw and her neck. You peck the hollow of her throat, the spot where the Luminary pendant rests. You leave praises along her collarbone, feeling the delicate bone beneath your lips. Then Your mouth finds the swell of her breast, not to suckle, but to press soft, lingering kisses against the warm, wet skin. 

You worship her: the curve, the softness, everything. 

Moving to the other breast, repeating the tender adoration. Your hands follow your mouth, smoothing over her ribs, her waist, the flare of her hips, memorizing the feel of her skin, not with greed, but with a quiet, possessive admiration. You kneel before her in the streaming water, kissing the sharp point of her hip bone, the strong line of her thigh. It’s a pilgrimage across the landscape of her body, an acknowledgment of its power and surrender. She stands perfectly still, her head bowed, watching you, her breath catching occasionally, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on your shoulders. 

There are no words needed. Only the drumming water, the hiss of steam, and the profound language of touch.

Finally, you rise, pulling her close again. You hold her face, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, before finding her lips once more. Another slow, deep kiss that seems to stretch time itself. 

When you finally pull back, her eyes are luminous, reflecting the soft bathroom light. A silent understanding passes between you. The shower is cleansing more than just bodies.

You find a pristine guest bedroom, completely untouched by the night's debauchery. Without a second thought, you pull them back and guide Kazuha down. She moves with a boneless grace, the deep exhaustion finally claiming her fully. Curling onto her side, facing you. You slide in beside her, the mattress dipping under your weight. 

The silence here is different: expectant and heavy with the unspoken knowledge of the inevitable pressing down on both of you.

She’ll be gone soon. Luminary’s clock is ticking, invisible but inexorable. An hour left, maybe less. The thought is a heartache, a callous lump growing in your chest despite the warmth radiating from her beside you.

Turning towards her, gathering her close. She comes willingly, shifting until her back is pressed flush against your chest, your front spooning her back. Your arm wraps around her waist, pulling her snugly into the curve of your body. 

She fits. Fits perfectly. Her ass nestled against your groin, the back of her head tucked under your chin, her smaller frame enveloped by yours. You can feel the steady beat of her heart against your forearm, the slow rise and fall of her breathing. Her skin is still warm from the shower, smooth as silk against yours.

You hold her tightly, almost desperately, unwilling to let go. Your fingers splay across her flat stomach, feeling the subtle definition even in repose. Pushing her closer, as if you could physically prevent the departure through sheer will. A low sound escapes you, not quite a groan, more a rumble of pure, unwilling protest deep in your chest.

She feels it. Her hand slides up, covering yours where it rests on her stomach. Her fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing gently. She doesn’t speak, but the pressure of her hand, the way she presses back even more firmly against you, speaks volumes. 

I know. I feel it too.

Silence stretches, taut with the shared weight of the end. The Luminary bracelet feels cold against your wrist where it touches hers. 

There’s no point in words. Promises are impossible; denial is useless. All that exists is this moment, this closeness.

Time becomes elastic, stretching and contracting. It feels like hours, yet also mere seconds, before you sense a subtle shift in her breathing, a slight tension entering her body. She knows. The car is already outside. The handler is on their way up. The transaction is concluding.

You hold her tighter, burying your face deeper into her hair, breathing her in. A silent plea. Stay. Just a little longer. She squeezes your hand again, a silent acknowledgment, a shared pang of regret. Then, slowly, reluctantly, she begins to disentangle herself.

You don’t open your eyes. You can’t. It’s been a dream so good, so magical, you refuse to wake up.

Keep yourself shut tight, clinging to the fading warmth of her body beside you, the lingering scent on the pillow, you feel the mattress shift as she slips out of bed. You hear the soft rustle of fabric, what you can only assume is the quick gathering of her clothes. The quiet click of the front door followed by the echo of it slamming shut punctuates the end, leaving you alone for good.

Only then do you open your eyes. The void beside you is vast, the sheets still bearing the imprint of her body, already cooling. You’re left to your own devices again. The only evidence she was ever here is the lingering scent of sex, sweat, and verbena clinging to the sheets, and the undeniable smear on the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, catching the first grey light of dawn. 

The Luminary pendant is gone. The connection has been completely severed.

—————

Sleep, when it finally comes, is deep and dreamless: a black hole swallowing up the exhaustion. You wake not to an alarm, but to the insistent midday sun blazing through the windows, painting sharp rectangles of light on the floor. Late morning, pushing towards lunch. The scent is still there, faint but undeniably hers, on the pillow and on the sheets.

For a moment, you stay lain there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the night in vivid, fragmented flashes: the pink dress pooling at her feet, her screams echoing off the windows, the taste of her on your tongue, the impossible tightness of her body, the quiet worship in the shower, the crushing weight of holding her, knowing she’d vanish. 

Pushing yourself up, you pad naked into the living area. The penthouse is unnaturally still, meticulously tidy except for the battlefield of the main bedroom. Your gaze goes immediately to the panoramic window. The smear is still there, dried now, an opaque testament against the sparkling city. 

Evidence.

A grim smile touches your lips. Abruptly shadowed by a hollow ache in both your stomach and your head.

Coffee. You need coffee.

Brew a pot, the mundane ritual serves as a dull foil to last night’s extremes. Hot mug in hand, you gravitate towards the sleek laptop set up on the minimalist desk in the corner—your personal office, your link to the crumbling facade of Veridian Quantum and, now, to Luminary.

You tap the trackpad, waking the screen. The Ω portal is already open, with a discreet notification icon pulsing in the corner. You click.

Client Engagement Report: Kazuha (Le sserafim)

Rating: ⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ (Client) | ⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ (Talent)

Discretion Adherence: Exemplary

Points Awarded: 19,214

A significant boost. Enough to leapfrog well into Tier 2, but still nowhere close to sniffing Tier 3. The cold efficiency of the notification is jarring. Reducing the raw, messy, profoundly human experience to metrics, algorithms, and stars. But the points are power. Access to greater influence, fantasies beyond your comprehension.

Beneath the notification, a new message banner flashes:

Luminary Management:

Congratulations on a highly successful engagement! Your appreciation for our Talent is noted. Why not discover another facet of Le sserafim? Chaewon, Sakura, Yunjin, Eunchae—each member offers a unique Luminary Experience.

Regards, Luminary Co.

The suggestion is clear, calculated. Move on. Sample the menu. Variety is the spice of life, they always say.

A flicker of something—possessiveness, defiance—sparks in your chest. Kazuha wasn't just a facet. She was—more. Something special.

But the lure of the points, the promise of Tier 3, is potent. With the memory of Kazuha’s warmth, her responsiveness, the sheer fucking high of the night fresh in your mind, you navigate to the booking portal. You find Kazuha’s profile. Still radiant in her candid laugh photo. You select ‘Overnight Engagement.’ The button is greyed out.

System Notification:

Talent Availability Restriction: This Luminary Talent (Kazuha - Le sserafim) may only be booked once per calendar month. This policy ensures equitable access for all valued clients and allows our Talent necessary recuperation time between exclusive engagements. Please consider another Luminary Talent or check availability next month.

A cold splash of reality. Whether it’s truly for her recuperation or, more likely, a deliberate strategy by Luminary to prevent obsession, to keep clients hungry, to force them to sample others and spend more—it doesn’t matter. The wall is there, impenetrable and unscalable. Kazuha, for now, is out of reach. Once a month just isn’t enough. And you certainly aren’t gonna wait that long.

You slam the laptop lid shut, the sound echoing harshly in the quiet penthouse.

Turning away from the desk, you run a hand through your hair, staring sightlessly at the city view outside. The glittering skyline feels hollow and vain, providing no answers.

Then, your gaze catches something on the polished glass coffee table near the sofa. Something that shouldn’t be there.

A small, crisp rectangle of thick, cream-colored paper. Hotel stationery. Folded once.

Frowning, you walk over and pick it up. Unfolding it reveals a single line of neat, elegant handwriting, unmistakably feminine. No name. Just ten digits.

Your breath catches. Luminary’s strict rules scream in your head: No direct contact. Breach of contract. Disastrous consequences. 

This is dangerous. Reckless. For you, potentially. For her, absolutely. 

But she still left it, knowing the risks. After everything. 

A slow, disbelieving smile spreads across your face, cutting through the frustration, the emptiness, the cold corporate notification. 

It’s an ember in the sterile gloom. A reminder of the connection they can’t control, nor can they fully sever. 

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! This took quite a while cause the worldbuilding once again took center stage in the writing process. The prompt made me revisit one of the earlier fics I did with a similar concept, so this feels like an evolution of that! So really happy to explore the concept now but with better knowledge and more experience. Won't say much but we will revisit this world sooner than later. Can't wait to see Le sserafim in just a few weeks. Thank you for reading!)

[lolderek]

Connected, Dialed-In, Late Night Activities

tripleS Hsu Nien Tzu & Kim Nakyoung

Categories/warnings: smut, little bit of piss

Word count: 2.4k

a/n: bfh again and this time it was based off that meme lmao also thanks @kwilquib for beta and title

~~~

The night's a bore, her dorm mates had all gone to sleep, and Nien had run out of things to occupy her. It's just one random message after the last, annoying the other members and latching on to whoever would text back. It's been five minutes since Yooyeon had last sent anything back, but to be fair, she did say she was starting to nod off. The hope that Nien could pester her for just a little bit more had faded anyway, so she goes farther down her contact list to find a new victim. Just for a tiny while longer. 

Then, she spots it: a tiny green dot that paints a brand new target on some other sorry nocturnal member's head. Nien doesn't even check who it is; tap the bubble, type out the random keyboard smash, hit send a hundred times. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as the bubble turns blue, more so when she sees a gray one pop up on the other side of the screen.

You:

aksksfhflshalgfjd

1:30 a.m.

nakynaky:

haha fucks wrong with you

1:30 a.m.

You:

I miss you

1:30 a.m.

nakynaky:

sure baby. go to bed

1:30 a.m.

You:

no

play with me

please

ill do anything

11:31 a.m.

nakynaky:

i’m busy nien

1:31 a.m.

You:

and im not-busy nien >:)

1:31 a.m.

nakynaky:

cute 

what r u up to

1:31 a.m.

A “gotcha” moment if there ever was one. She hits the voice call button, the smile on her face as wide as can be, and she waits as the dial tone starts playing. Her phone meets her ear in anticipation, and as she listens close, it vibrates and a new message pops up.

nakynaky:

sorry baby

i'm stepping into the shower

1:32 a.m.

Quickly Nien ends the call, slightly fumbling her phone as she does so, nearly dropping it as it hovers over her face. The green dot on the corner of the icon flickers, and she frantically hits the other button. Just as a little jokey joke, she swears so up and down. She's blinded for a split second as her screen flashes white and her front camera comes to life; she recovers, and her own video feed shrinks to the corner of the screen. Just as a little jokey joke. 

Instead, the other feed comes to life too, and suddenly Nien is virtually face-to-face with her Nakyoung-unnie, clean white tiles behind her, her laugh echoing badly into her mic and out Nien's earphones. “What does that mean, you ‘miss’ me?”

“Nothing! And what do you mean, ‘cute?’” Nien accuses, trying to keep her voice down lest she wake her roommates. She covers her mouth to stifle more giggles, but she doesn't show Nakyoung the finger that makes its way between her teeth—goddamn does she look pretty. 

“That whole thing, annoying me in the middle of the night, video calling me when I said I was gonna shower.” Nakyoung's reply is light and airy, though her audio is still just as bad. Despite that, her voice sounds clear as rain to Nien's ears, and she could hear—even feel Nakyoung's husky voice just underneath the skin of her arms. “I'm dropping the call now.”

“No!” Nien blurts out, and somewhere off to the side Chaewon shifts in her bed. “No,” much more quietly this time, “just do your business. I won't be a bother.” Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively, and her lips take on a shit-eating grin that she knows for some reason her Nakyoung-unnie just plain loves.

The giggle that passes through Nakyoung's lips is nothing but sinister, and once Nien smells the bait, Nakyoung sets the trap: “Promise?”

Nien is dumbfounded to be turned on so easily; her Nakyoung-unnie doesn't even wait for a response, just sets the phone down against the sink, sits back on the toilet lid, and sighs, shaking her head. Nien watches on, wide-eyed and staring lasers through her phone, as Nakyoung grabs the hem of her shirt, pulling up slowly and showing off her deadly curves. The gentle dip of her waist, the way her shirt stretches as it clears her chest, the sly grin that greets Nien back as Nakyoung takes her top off completely. She leans back onto the toilet, obviously enjoying the attention, but the look in her eyes tells Nien that there's plenty more where that came from. 

She reaches behind her, fiddling with her hooks as Nien grows more interested with each passing second. “A shower of attention is probably just as good,” Nakyoung thinks, watching Nien drool all over herself. But no, this is much too fun. The hooks come undone, and she pulls the bra off of her arms; Nien stifles a gasp as Nakyoung's tits bounce free, and it escapes anyway when Nakyoung reaches up and squeezes them for her.

“Like what you see?” Nakyoung teases, circling her nipples and getting them stiff. Nien's eyes nearly pop out of her head when she puts her hands behind her head and spreads her elbows as far apart as they can go, showing off everything of her boobs, armpits, neck. What's worse, Nakyoung shakes left and right, making her tits bounce and sway all for Nien's viewing pleasure. She's salivating now, wanting to burn the sight to the back of her own eyelids, knowing this will be the fucking best fap material for her to use when she sorely needs a quickie after a long day. 

But, then she's snapped out of it: “Fucking say something,” Nakyoung speaks out breathily, bringing her hands down to her shoulders, squeezing her tits between her elbows. She bites her lip, same as Nien does, and Nien only chokes out, “Unnie is so hot…”

“Oh, come on, baby. I know how you sneak glances at me. Is that the best you can do?” Nakyoung stands up, her abs taking up most of the screen. Her fingers find their way under the garter of her shorts and panties, and she tugs down. Nothing fast, but not slow either. It's the perfect pace for what she's showing off now: her hips that would be oh so delicious to grab onto, the clean-shaved pussy she nearly reveals, the beautiful pair of tits that take the screen up again to jiggle and bounce as she bends down. She rights her posture, and she spreads her thighs to show off her pretty pink cunt, soaking wet with slick nearly running down her thighs. 

“U-unnie looks so… fuckable.” Nien finds her own throat dry, the moisture evidently forming somewhere else instead. She can’t ignore the center of her own legs heating up anymore, and she has to start relieving herself. She thrusts a hand into her shorts, rubbing the delicate folds, matching her unnie's pace. She watches intently, her focus locked on nothing else but Nakyoung's finger as it circles her fuckhole, teasing herself as she draws out more and more of her slick to smear on her fingers and inner thighs. 

“You're so boring,” Nakyoung sighs, and once again her tone gets under Nien's skin, sending goosebumps up and down her arms. “Are you touching yourself, baby? Wanna tell me what you'd do to me if you were here right now?” Deep and luxurious, scratching the good spots in the insides of her ears as her unnie's words make their way straight into her brain. She can't resist for long, not when Nakyoung takes the phone and slips into the shower, nor when she hears the creaking of the shower handle and the beginnings of the artificial rain, and the final straw: Nakyoung sits on the floor, her legs as wide apart as they can go and showing off her dripping core as the water starts splashing all over her body. 

“I'm already wet, baby. Don't be shy—I want all of that filth you keep locked up in that pretty little head of yours.”

She can't resist. Nakyoung looks too fucking good not to catcall, especially when she's asking for it. Nien doesn't even care what the words are anymore so long as she gets to say them: “I'd—fuck—push you up against that glass. I'd get between your legs and lick that slutty little clit of yours til you cum all over my face,” Nien grunts as quietly as she can, her fingers dipping into her heat, “I'd put that fucking leg on my shoulder and shove my tongue right into that goddamned sexy cunt, clean you up inside out, drain you of every last drop of cum until you're fucking shaking and begging me to stop—”

“God, yes, baby, just like that,” Nakyoung moans, rubbing her clit even harder as she shoves three fingers into her fuckhole. Her arm moves like a blur as she strives to get off to the shower of attention, her tits jiggling with each hurried thrust into her pussy that Nien promises would make squirt over and over and over again given the chance. She takes deep breaths with every other idea Nien plants in her mind: Nien's head between her thighs and guzzling her cunt, a fingers or two stretching her asshole wide open, a hand furiously squeezing and slapping her breasts until they were red and sore like mere toys to be played with and thrown away when Nien gets bored. But with the way she makes her desires of her unnie known, the thought of Nien getting tired of her unnie's body seems more and more nonsensical, of course in favor of the rough fucking Nien's advertising. 

And Nien matches the energy, thrusting her fingers deep into her own pussy, reaching for the best good spots she knows she has, wishing so bad that it was Nakyoung's fingers fucking her aching cunt instead. She continues, “If I had a dick, Unnie, I'd never let you catch a break… I'd tear up all your fucking clothes and sit you on my cock all day long,” she grunts as her hand goes faster still, “fill you up ‘til you cry and beg for me to stop. I'd suck those tits of yours until you leak milk, spank that juicy ass until it's red and throbbing…”

And Nakyoung is loving this: her pussy clenches around her fingers as she fucks herself silly, feeling the walls of her cunt stretch and squeeze around her digits like Nien's cock is the one forcing them apart. Except Nien would be so much thicker, girthier than just a pathetic pair of fingers. No, Nakyoung knows for sure that Nien really would make her cry and beg for a break. It would be the best fucking thing to ride her massive cock, to let Nien use her body to jerk herself off like nothing more than a fleshlight. 

“Unnie, your tongue is sticking out… I bet your throat is nice and tight too, isn't it? You'd look so hot choking on me. I'd love if you wrapped those pretty tits around my cock and let me fuck them while you sucked it. You'd be such a good little fuck toy… wouldn't you? You're a slut like that, right?” 

“Mmm, haahh, fuck, I'm cumming…” Nakyoung's voice shakes as she confesses. It's three whole fingers inside her now, chasing a high that she's sure only Nien could ever bring her to. And Nien loves it even more, her unnie's sexy whiny voice turning her on so bad that she needs a third finger inside her as well. She matches her Nakyoung's already breakneck pace, coming to a peak herself, feeling her pussy clench tighter around her fingers, her toes curling and uncurling, her back lifting off her bed, sweat forming on her brow, the taste of iron as she swipes her tongue over her bleeding lip. 

Nakyoung climaxes first, her knees fly apart and her fingers pull out of her throbbing cunt, followed by a sinful stream of squirt that shoots across the shower cubicle. Her eyes shut tight as she jerks and squirms, each one sending another jet of cum flying to hit the opposite wall of the tiny space. Her abs flex and her boobs bounce, and Nakyoung has to stifle her moans with that same hand she fucked herself with. All throughout she still rubs her clit, pushing herself to her limit, wherever or whatever it was, and the wet sounds of slapping reach Nien all the same.

And Nien follows shortly after. She makes one wrong swipe of her own clit, and suddenly without meaning to she seizes and her orgasm takes over the entirety of her body. She pulls her hand back and she cums, hard, right onto her panties, feeling them drench as the wet spreads down her thighs and up to her waist. She jerks again, another stream of squirt that only makes it feel even better. Another, and her bed starts to creak with how restless she's getting to be, squirming and thrashing like she really just did shoot her load into Nakyoung. And one more, before she slowly descends from her high, catching her breath. She settles down, her brow beaded with sweat, and her panties ruined, definitely also her shorts, probably even her blanket, maybe her sheets too. 

She checks one last time and finds Nakyoung panting on the floor, legs still apart, her face buried in her hands. Just then, a stream of gold trickles out from her used pussy, and the puddle keeps spreading and spreading, before Nakyoung gives off a tiny shiver and sigh. In that moment Nien could only stare and wish that she could be with her Naky-unnie and lick up every single drop of it, just bury her face in her crotch and go wild, maybe even force another orgasm or two for her beloved unnie. Two beats of silence, sans the shower splashing water overhead, and Nakyoung finally picks up her phone. She sniffles and sighs, then mumbles out, “Thanks… Goodnight, Nien,” before the video cuts and her screen goes dark again. 

Nien drops her phone somewhere beside her as she drapes her arm over her eyes, still catching her breath. “Fuck, that was hot” is the only thing she can think. She almost drifts off to sleep, when…

“Are you fucking done?” Mayu chimes in from the bunk above her. Instantly Nien feels a blush spread through her cheeks, realizing how loud she must have been. Not waiting for an answer, Mayu asserts, “Good. Go to sleep, please.”

~~~

[lolderek]

Visiting

Staring : male oc x Kwon Eunbi and little cameo from Karina Aespa

Tags : cucklod female, Titjob, blowjob, voyeurisme, fingering, cum transfer, sharing cum, lesbian, titjob, breeding, creampie.

Length : 11000 words

"Keep it baby, suck my cock," you murmured, watching as your wife, Yoo Karina, took you in with a practiced ease. Her eight-month-pregnant belly, a soft mound of life, pushed against the bed with each of your gentle thrusts, her dark hair spilling over the pillow. The room was a still canvas of muted light, the afternoon sun peeking through the blinds and casting a warm glow on her bare skin. Despite the limitations of her pregnancy, she was eager to please, her eyes fluttering closed in concentration as she worked her mouth around you. But your mind wandered, seeking more than the solace she could provide today.

The air grew thick with the scent of sex and anticipation. You couldn't ignore the tightness in your balls, the urge to let go and mark her face with your release. You whispered, "I want to cum, baby," and she looked up, her eyes gleaming with desire. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips as she took your cock out of her mouth, her hand continuing to pump you gently. "On my face," she breathed, her voice thick with lust, "Your load on my face, honey." The words sent a shiver down your spine, the intimacy of the moment only heightened by the knowledge of the life growing inside her.

With a feral growl, you stroked your cock hard and fast, the pressure building as your eyes locked onto hers. The room was silent except for the slick sound of your hand and her heavy breathing, the tension palpable as you approached the edge. Suddenly, you erupted, your semen spurting in thick ropes that splattered across her face, painting her cheeks and hair with your essence. She gasped, a mix of surprise and pleasure, her eyes closing as your hot seed coated her skin. Her full breasts rose and fell with her quickened breath, the tips of her nipples erect from the excitement.

Leaning back, you admired your handiwork, watching as the last drops of cum clung to her lashes before they, too, gave in to gravity. You reached over, your fingers grazing the sticky mess on her face, and scooped up a dollop of the thick, white liquid. With a gentle touch, you traced her bottom lip with it before pushing it into her mouth. Karina's eyes fluttered open, a tired smile playing on her lips as she obediently parted them to accept your offering. She swallowed with a gulp, her throat bobbing as she took the warm, salty taste of you deep into her mouth.

"You're still hard, Honey," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. You looked down at your cock, still standing proud and defiant despite the release you'd just had. "You look tired," you said with a knowing smile. "I can do it myself."

Her eyes searched yours, a flicker of guilt playing in their depths. "I know you want more," she said softly, her hand reaching for you once again. "But I just can't." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her pregnancy. She stroked your still-throbbing cock gently, her touch light and soothing. "It's okay, Karina," you assured her, taking her hand in yours and bringing it to your lips for a tender kiss. "You've given me everything." But deep down, you both knew the truth. Her body was a fortress of love, a vessel for new life, but it was also a cage that kept her from fully satisfying your desires.

With a sigh, you kissed her forehead and slid off the bed. Your cock, now smeared with the last traces of your release and her saliva, remained firm, demanding more. You walked into the bathroom, the cool tiles a stark contrast against the sticky warmth of your skin. The mirror reflected your image, your muscles taut with unsated lust. You turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as you leaned against the sink, stroking yourself to the rhythm of the falling drops. Your hand was a blur of motion, the sound of your palm smacking against your shaft echoing off the tiles.

You closed your eyes and conjured an image of Karina, her belly not as swollen, her body agile and eager. In your mind, she straddled you, her wet pussy enveloping your cock as you drove into her with wild abandon. The steam began to fog the mirror, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. You pictured her moaning, her nails digging into your back, begging for you to go deeper, faster. Your hand moved with renewed vigor, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The shower spray grew hotter, the water cascading down your body as you pumped away at your cock, the frustration and need building within you. Each stroke brought you closer to the edge, the image of your wife's face, stained with your cum, fueling your desire. You felt your orgasm approaching, your legs trembling with the effort of holding yourself upright. With a final, desperate squeeze, you came, ropes of thick white cum painting the toilet seat and the floor.

The next day, the aroma of a nutritious breakfast filled the kitchen. You had risen early to prepare a feast for Karina, determined to care for her in every way possible, even if it couldn't satisfy the carnal hunger that gnawed at you. The sizzle of eggs, the sweet scent of berries, and the earthy aroma of whole-grain toast filled the air. You had meticulously researched pregnancy diets, eager to give her the nourishment she needed and craved. As you plated her meal, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment for the life inside her that kept you from fully claiming her body.

With a plate in hand, you tiptoed into the bedroom, where Karina lay sprawled out, her belly a round hill beneath the covers. You kissed her forehead gently, feeling the warmth of her skin against your lips, then placed your hand on her belly, whispering, "Good morning, baby," to the life growing within her. A smile played on her lips, and she opened her eyes, blinking sleepily at you. "And good morning to my child," you murmured, trying to keep the longing from your voice. Karina's eyes sparkled with love as she placed a hand over yours, her fingers intertwining with yours.

Before she could speak, the shrill sound of the doorbell pierced the quiet of the morning. You both stiffened, the serene moment shattered by the intrusion. "I'll get it," you offered, setting the plate down on the nightstand. She nodded, her gaze never leaving yours, the unspoken conversation of your bodies lingering in the air.

As you approached the front door, the anticipation grew, your hand hovering over the doorknob. When you swung the door open, the sight that greeted you was as unexpected as it was electrifying. A woman you had never seen before, dressed in a tight red tank top that barely contained her ample breasts and short denim cut-offs that clung to her thick, toned thighs, stood on the porch. The hem of her shirt was riding up, revealing a sliver of smooth, seductive belly. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls, and her dark eyes danced with mischief.

"Who are you?" you blurted out, your heart racing. But before the question could fully form in the air, a voice from behind you cut through the tension. "Eunbi unnie, you came!" exclaimed Karina, her voice filled with warmth and excitement. The stranger's eyes lit up at the sound of her name, and she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

They embraced, their laughter mingling with the sound of their bodies reuniting after a long absence. As they held each other's hands, Eunbi said, "I miss you so much, Karina." Karina's smile was bittersweet as she replied, "Me too, the last time we met was before I dated my husband now."

The tension in the air shifted as the two friends caught up, their voices filling the space with stories of past adventures and future dreams. Eunbi's vibrant energy was a stark contrast to Karina's tired, but contented demeanor. She was a whirlwind of excitement, her gestures animated, her laughter infectious. You found yourself drawn to her, not just by her beauty, but by the way she made Karina's eyes sparkle with life again.

As you listened, you couldn't help but feel a little awkward, a silent observer to their reunion. But Karina noticed your curiosity and, with a warm smile, made the introduction you'd been waiting for. "Honey, this is Kwon Eunbi. She was my senior at work before we had to move."

Eunbi held out her hand, her grip firm and her touch electrifying. "My name is Kwon Eunbi," she said with a wink. You replied, "My name is Kim Dokja, and I'm Karina's husband."

As the two of you shook hands, you felt an unexpected spark of arousal. Her skin was soft, her fingers lingering against yours with a gentle pressure that was somehow both innocent and seductive. The sensation sent a jolt of excitement straight to your groin, making you aware of the stark contrast between the two of you. You had to admit, the sight of her was a welcome change from the heavy burden of responsibility that had come with Karina's pregnancy.

But you quickly pushed the thought aside, reminding yourself of your vows, your commitment to your wife. You cleared your throat and took a step back, pulling your hand away from hers. "It's nice to meet you, Eunbi," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. You could see the playful curiosity in her eyes, as if she'd felt the same current of attraction that had just coursed through you.

With a smile on her face, Karina announced, "Eunbi Unnie is going to stay here with us for two months. She's just come back from her travels, and she's got nowhere to go." You felt a sudden tightening in your chest. Two months with Eunbi, so close, so tempting? You managed a smile, "Of course," you said awkwardly, "You're welcome to stay."

As Karina led Eunbi to the spare room, you couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips, the way her ass moved in those tight shorts, and the way her breasts bounced with each step she took. It had been so long since you'd felt the touch of a woman that wasn't your heavily pregnant wife, and your cock responded to the sight with a twitch of anticipation. You took a deep breath and followed them, trying to ignore the traitorous thoughts that began to swirl in your mind.

The next day dawned with the promise of heaven and hell. Eunbi strutted around the house in a pair of short shorts that barely covered her ass, and a lacy bra that did nothing to hide her erect nipples. Her tanned skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and her dark hair was a wild mess of curls that screamed for a man's touch. She flirted with you shamelessly, her eyes lingering on your chest and her lips curling into a knowing smile every time she saw you. It was as if she could sense the desire simmering just beneath the surface.

You tried to keep your thoughts in check, focusing on your morning routine and avoiding any unnecessary contact. But each time she passed by, the faint scent of her perfume, something sweet and exotic, tickled your nose and sent a bolt of lust straight to your groin. It was torture, pure and simple, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until she would leave the house, giving you a reprieve from the heavenly torment.

The next day dawned with the promise of heaven and hell. Eunbi strutted around the house in a pair of short shorts that barely covered her ass, and a lacy bra that did nothing to hide her erect nipples. Her tanned skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and her dark hair was a wild mess of curls that screamed for a man's touch. She flirted with you shamelessly, her eyes lingering on your chest and her lips curling into a knowing smile every time she saw you. It was as if she could sense the desire simmering just beneath the surface.

You tried to keep your thoughts in check, focusing on your morning routine and avoiding any unnecessary contact. But each time she passed by, the faint scent of her perfume, something sweet and exotic, tickled your nose and sent a bolt of lust straight to your groin. It was torture, pure and simple, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until she would leave the house, giving you a reprieve from the heavenly torment.

But even as you worked from home, the sounds of Eunbi's laughter and the rustle of fabric as she moved about in her barely-there outfit floated to your ears, taunting your resolve. You could feel your eyes straying from your computer screen, seeking her out even when you knew you shouldn't. The way she bent over to pick up a fallen book, the curve of her ass outlined so clearly against the fabric of her shorts, was enough to make you bite back a groan. It was as if she was putting on a show just for you, each movement a deliberate tease.

That evening, you were in the living room when you heard the sound of the shower running upstairs. The image of Eunbi's naked body, wet and glistening, washed away the last of your resistance. You found yourself picturing her soaping up her full breasts, her hand slipping down between her legs, and you felt your cock swell in response. With a shaky hand, you adjusted your pants, trying to ignore the ache growing in your balls.

As the water continued to run, you couldn't resist the temptation to sneak a peek. You tiptoed upstairs, your heart thumping in your chest like a drum. The bathroom door was ajar, and through the gap, you could see a slice of heaven. The misty glass of the shower stall obscured most of her, but what you could make out was enough to drive you wild—the curve of her hip, the shadow of her hand moving in lazy circles on her skin. You leaned closer, your breath fogging the glass, your eyes straining to see more.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles was a symphony of seduction, the droplets tracing a tantalizing path down her body. You bit your lip, your hand inching closer to the handle, the need to open the door and join her almost overpowering. But you paused, remembering your vows, the promise you made to Karina, and the respect she deserved. With a Herculean effort, you stepped back, your cock straining against your pants, begging for relief.

Eunbi's laughter echoed through the house as she danced to the music playing in her headphones, oblivious to the storm raging in your mind. You retreated to your room, the walls feeling as if they were closing in around you. The sight of her, so carefree and tempting, was like a siren's call, luring you into dangerous waters. You knew you had to keep your distance, to protect not only your marriage but also the friendship between the two women.

But the days grew longer, and the nights even more so. The tension between you and Eunbi was a palpable thing, thick and heavy in the air. You found yourself making excuses to be in the same room with her, to watch her every move, to inhale her intoxicating scent. And she didn't seem to be making things easier for you. Her outfits grew skimpier, her gestures more flirtatious. It was as if she reveled in the power she had over you, a power she had no intention of giving up.

Then the other day, Karina looked at you with a mischievous smile and said, "I'm going to have a pregnancy yoga exercise with my mother, you can stay here with Eunbi." Your eyes widened, and you felt your heart skip a beat. "Why should mother accompany you, can't I do it?" you asked, trying to keep the hope out of your voice. Karina's expression grew thoughtful before she replied, "Isn't Eunbi a guest here? It's not good to leave her alone here."

The house was eerily quiet once Karina and her mother left. The only sound was the distant hum of cars on the street outside and the thundering of your own heart in your chest. You sat in the chair opposite Eunbi, trying to keep the conversation light, but the weight of the silence was too much. You found yourself getting lost in the dark pools of her eyes, the way her teeth played with her bottom lip as she spoke, the way her breasts moved with every breath she took.

"Let's watch a movie," Eunbi suggested, her voice a whisper that seemed to carry the promise of something more than just a cinematic experience. "I heard there's a new action flick on Netflix."

You nodded, relieved to have something to focus on other than her tantalizing presence. "Sounds good," you managed to croak out, trying to keep your voice steady. You settled on the couch, leaving a respectable distance between the two of you, as she turned on the TV and navigated to the film. The cool leather was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body, the anticipation of being alone with her making you sweat despite the air conditioner's best efforts.

The movie began with a bang, the sound of gunfire and the screech of tires filling the room. The hero, a stoic and handsome cop, chased the villain through the crowded streets of a bustling city. You found yourself getting lost in the story, the explosive action a welcome distraction from your own tumultuous thoughts. But every time the female villain appeared on screen, you couldn't help but feel your cock twitch in your pants, the tight leather of her catsuit clinging to her curves like a second skin.

Eunbi sat closer to you than was necessary, her thigh pressing against yours, sending waves of heat through your body. You tried to focus on the screen, but your eyes kept drifting to her, the way her breasts bounced as she leaned forward, the way her thighs shifted with every heart-racing car chase. The plot of the movie was good, but your mind kept wandering back to the forbidden fruit sitting so tantalizingly close.

The film's climax was a high-speed chase on motorcycles, the hero and villainess weaving through traffic, bullets flying, and explosions lighting up the night. You found yourself leaning in, your heart pounding in sync with the adrenaline on screen. But your gaze kept flickering to Eunbi's hand, resting on her knee, so close to your own. The tension in the room was thick, a heady mix of unspoken desires and the unyielding loyalty to your wife

Then, as the explosions grew louder and the chase grew more intense, Eunbi suddenly gasped, "Ah... very hot!" You turned to her, expecting to see her fanning herself, but instead, she reached back and with a swift motion, pulled her red box shirt over her head, revealing her ample breasts encased in a white lacy bra that struggled to contain them. She fanned herself with the shirt, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yes," you said, your voice a little too high, "It's very hot in here." You couldn't help but stare at the creamy mounds of flesh spilling out of the bra, the fabric cutting into the soft flesh, creating a delicious sight that made your mouth go dry.

"Ehm... Eunbi-ssi," you stuttered, "I can make us a cold drink if you want." She looked at you with a knowing smile, her eyes never leaving your face. "Sure," she purred, "Lemon tea would be perfect. I'm feeling... very hot." The way she said "very hot" was almost a challenge, the allure of her voice wrapping around the words like a silk scarf. You nodded, your throat tight with desire, and practically bolted to the kitchen, your cock bobbing in your pants.

The cold tiles beneath your feet were a welcome relief as you tried to compose yourself. You filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, fumbling with the knob as you turned the heat up. You could hear Eunbi's laughter from the living room, the sound of her voice mingling with the squeal of tires and gunfire from the movie. It was all too much, the anticipation and the need. You took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand, trying to ignore the throbbing in your groin.

Finally, the tea was ready. You filled two glasses with ice, the clinking sound a stark reminder of the frozen state of your resolve. As you carried the drinks back to the couch, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander to her chest, her full, round breasts straining against the delicate fabric of her bra. The sweat that glistened on her skin was like a siren's call, begging you to touch, to taste. You took a deep breath and stepped into the room, placing the glasses on the coffee table with a shaking hand.

"The drinks are ready," you announced, your voice a little too loud in the quiet room. Eunbi turned to look at you, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She took the glass you offered her, her eyes never leaving yours as her hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. The cool condensation was a stark contrast to the heat of your palm, and you felt your cock stir in your pants. You sat back down, the couch groaning under your weight, and took a sip of your tea, hoping the chill would calm your racing thoughts.

Eunbi's eyes never left you as she brought the glass to her lips, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of lemon tea that clung to the edge. She took a sip, her full, pink lips closing around the rim with a delicate grace that had you mesmerized. As she swallowed, a few drops trickled down her neck, tracing a tantalizing path down her chest until they pooled in the valley between her breasts.

The fabric of her bra strained against the weight of her breasts, and a bead of cold tea slipped from the straw and ran down the side of her chin. Without thinking, you reached out and wiped it away with your thumb, the touch sending a bolt of lightning straight to your cock. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as your eyes locked with hers, the air thick with unspoken need. And then, with a clatter, the glass slipped from your trembling hand, the cold liquid spilling onto your crotch.

"Oh, it's all wet," you said, the words coming out more as a choked gasp than a statement. Eunbi's eyes widened, and she sat up with a start, her gaze dropping to the dark patch spreading across your pants. For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the distant throb of the TV's bass and the thundering of your pulse in your ears. And then, in a heartbeat, she was standing in front of you, her eyes gleaming with a mix of concern and something else, something darker, something that sent your pulse racing.

With a grace that seemed almost predatory, she bent over, her breasts straining against the wet fabric of her bra, the lace threatening to give way and reveal the treasure beneath. "Let me help clean up," she murmured, her voice a sweet, seductive whisper.

Her hand slid to your crotch, and your body responded immediately, your cock growing even harder under her gentle touch. "No... Not... You don't have to," you stammered, but it was all too late. The die had been cast, and there was no going back.

Eunbi's fingers danced around the outline of your cock, the fabric of your pants growing taut as your arousal grew. Her eyes never left yours, a smoldering fire burning deep within her gaze. You could see the desire in her face, the same desire that mirrored your own, and it was a heady, intoxicating feeling that made you question everything.

"Eunbi," you choked out, "I don't think this is a good idea." But your words lacked conviction, and she knew it. With a wry smile, she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your neck. "I think it's a great idea," she whispered, her other hand coming to rest on the bulge. "You're so... hard for me."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You were hard for her, your body betraying your every thought, every desire. Your eyes grew wide, and you swallowed hard, trying to form a coherent protest, but she was already moving, her hand sliding down the front of your pants.

Eunbi's eyes widened in a mix of shock and delight as she took in the size of your erection. "Hmm," she murmured, her voice low and sultry, "Karina's really been enjoying this all to herself." The words were a siren's song, a declaration of intent that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt your resolve crumbling, the walls you had so carefully built around your marriage threatening to collapse under the weight of her touch.

Before you could react, her hand was on your shaft, her grip firm but gentle. She began to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate, her thumb brushing against the sensitive head of your cock with a practiced ease that spoke of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. You groaned, unable to hold back the sound of pleasure that had been building inside you for so long.

"You're so big," Eunbi murmured, her voice filled with wonder. "Karina is so lucky to have this all to herself." Her words were a sweet agony, a reminder of the promise you had made to your wife, and yet, they only served to fuel the fire that burned within you. You felt the heat of her breath against your neck, the brush of her hair against your skin, and the pressure building in your cock was almost unbearable.

Her hand began to glide up and down the length of your shaft, her touch feather-light, teasing, as if she was savoring every inch of you. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and a low groan of pleasure escaped your lips. You felt your body leaning into her touch, desperate for more, even as your mind screamed for you to stop, to push her away. But the feeling was too intense, too good to resist.

Eunbi's hand grew wet with your precum, and she brought her thumb to her mouth, licking it off with a look that was equal parts innocent and seductive. The sight was almost your undoing, your cock jerking in her hand as she leaned closer, her warm breath fanning against your skin. You knew what she was going to do before she did it, and the anticipation was agonizing. Her mouth hovered over the tip, her eyes never leaving yours as she took a deep breath.

And then, with one swift motion, she engulfed your entire length, her wet, warm mouth sliding down over your shaft like a tight glove. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, the suction of her lips, the dance of her tongue, the pressure of her throat. You couldn't hold back the strangled cry that tore from your chest, your hand flying to the back of her head, gripping her hair as she began to bob up and down. The sound of her sucking filled the room, mingling with the sounds of the action movie playing in the background.

"Fuck," you groaned, your eyes squeezed shut, as you felt the tension coil in your stomach. You had never cheated on Karina, never even thought about it before, but here you were, with another woman's mouth on your cock, her throat working around you. It was wrong, it was dirty, it was... absolutely amazing. Eunbi's grip on your base was firm, her hand pumping in time with her mouth.

You couldn't help but look down at the sight of her, kneeling between your legs, her eyes closed in pleasure as she took you deep. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen from the abuse, and a line of drool trailed down her chin, pooling in her cleavage. Her breasts, still confined by the drenched bra, bobbed with every movement, and you had the sudden urge to rip it off and watch them bounce freely.

With a snarl that was more animal than human, your hands clenched into fists, grasping her hair, and you slammed your mouth down onto her throbbing cock. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room, mingling with the grunts and cries from the TV. Her eyes shot open, wide with surprise, and she took you in deeper, her throat muscles constricting around you as she choked back a moan.

You couldn't help but look down at the sight of her, kneeling between your legs, her eyes closed in pleasure as she took you deep. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen from the abuse, and a line of drool trailed down her chin, pooling in her cleavage. Her breasts, still confined by the drenched bra, bobbed with every movement, and you had the sudden urge to rip it off and watch them bounce freely.

Then, as if reading your thoughts, Eunbi's hand patted your thighs gently, and you knew exactly what she wanted. With a final, lingering kiss to the tip of your cock, she released you from her warm embrace. You pulled out of her mouth with a soft pop, and she took a deep, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling heavily. You watched as she sat back on her heels, a look of satisfaction on her face that was impossible to miss.

With surprising grace, she reached behind her and unclipped her bra, the straps slipping down her arms like silk ribbons. The fabric fell away, revealing her breasts in all their glory. They were indeed melon-sized, with large, brown areolas and perky, hard nipples that begged for attention. "I know you've always been staring at my tits from the first time we met," she said, her voice a smoky purr. "And now, it's time for you to taste them."

Eunbi straddled your lap, the heat of her pussy radiating through the thin fabric of her shorts. She leaned in close, her breasts pressing against your face, the scent of her skin and the faint hint of arousal driving you wild. Her nipples grazed your cheeks, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine, making your cock throb in response. You felt the weight of her on you, the warmth of her flesh, and you knew that you were crossing a line that you could never uncross.

With a growl that was part lust, part resentment, you whispered, "Fuck the line," and buried your face in the soft, velvety mounds of her breasts. Your tongue found one of her nipples, teasing it to a stiff peak before taking it into your mouth, sucking hard. She gasped, her body quivering, and you felt a rush of power and desire that was almost overwhelming. You switched to the other, giving it the same treatment, feeling it grow hard under your ministrations, the taste of her skin on your tongue like the sweetest nectar.

Her breasts were indeed as heavenly as you had imagined, the softness of her flesh yielding to your mouth, the sound of your wet suckling muffled by the flesh surrounding you. Eunbi's hands found the back of your head, pulling you closer, her hips rocking against you. You felt the heat from her pussy, the wetness seeping through her shorts and onto your thighs. Her breathing grew ragged, her moans matching the rhythm of your suckling.

With every pass of your tongue, you could feel her nipples tighten further, the areolas growing more sensitive to your touch. You knew you had to have more of her, to explore the depths of the desires she had unlocked in you. With one hand, you reached up and cupped her other breast, kneading it gently, rolling the nipple between your thumb and forefinger. She responded with a moan that was music to your ears, her body arching back, offering herself up to you.

But just as you were about to slip a hand into her shorts and feel the heat of her pussy, the world around you shattered. Karina's voice, faint at first, grew louder, cutting through the haze of passion like a knife. "I'm going home..." she called out from the doorway, her tone trailing off as she took in the scene before her.

You jolted upright, your cheeks burning with guilt, and saw your wife standing there, her eyes wide with shock and... amusement? "Honey, this isn't what you think," you stuttered, trying to pull away from Eunbi. But she was still straddling you, her breasts heaving with every breath, her hand resting possessively on your chest.

Karina's gaze flicked from you to Eunbi, and then back again, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Isn't it?" she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. "It looks pretty obvious to me." Despite the situation, she didn't seem upset. Instead, she placed a hand on her distended belly and snorted, "If you're going to do this, you better take it to your room, What if someone passes by? "

Eunbi's laughter, rich and genuine, filled the space between you, and your confusion grew. It was as if you had stumbled into a play where you didn't know the script. "What's going on?" you managed to croak out, your throat tight with guilt and lust.

Karina's smile grew wider, and she took a step closer, placing a hand on Eunbi's shoulder. "You haven't told him yet?" she said, her voice teasing.

Eunbi giggled, her cheeks flushing a delicious shade of pink. "No," she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wanted to keep it a surprise."

"I... I don't understand," you stammered, your eyes darting between the two of them. Karina's face was a mask of feigned innocence, while Eunbi's was a canvas of smug satisfaction. The room felt like it was closing in around you, the air thick with the scent of lust and betrayal.

Eunbi leaned back, her breasts still bared, and spoke in a tone that was both matter-of-fact and playfully seductive. "Your lovely wife," she began, gesturing to Karina with a graceful wave of her hand, "has been feeling rather inadequate in the... bedroom department, given her current condition." She paused, her eyes flicking down to Karina's swollen belly, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "So, she asked me to come over and help out."

Karina's eyes never left yours as she spoke, a hint of apology mixed with something else, something darker. "I know you've been feeling neglected," she said, her voice low and soothing. "And I can't bear to see you like this." She stepped closer, her hand sliding over Eunbi's thigh, her gaze holding yours. "So, I asked Eunbi to help us, to give you what you need."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and you felt your cock twitch at the implication. "We've always shared everything," Eunbi said, her hand sliding down to cup your chin, tilting your face up to hers. "And your desires are no exception." She leaned in and kissed you, her lips soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the fiery passion you had just experienced. You could taste the tea on her tongue, a reminder of the innocent facade you had been living under.

You kissed her back, tasting the faint tang of lemon tea on her lips, and when she pulled away, you nodded, your voice thick with need. "It's okay if that's what you both want," you said, trying to process the sudden turn of events. You looked over at Karina, expecting anger or jealousy, but instead, she was smiling, a wicked glint in her eye.

With trembling hands, you picked her up, her round belly pressing against your chest as she wrapped her arms around your neck. "Of course, baby," you murmured, your voice hoarse with need, "you can only see." Her giggle was like a spark in a dry forest, igniting the passion that had been smoldering between you all afternoon.

You carried her into your room, her legs draped over your arms, her bare breasts jiggling slightly with every step. Eunbi trailed behind you, her hips swaying in a way that made your cock throb anew. You laid Karina down gently on the bed, her eyes never leaving yours, a silent question hanging in the air. "Is this what you want?" you asked, your voice a whisper. She nodded, her smile filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

Eunbi leaned over Karina, her breasts hanging tantalizingly close to her face, and whispered something in her ear. Karina's cheeks flushed, and she nodded again, her eyes glazed with lust. "That is my girl," Eunbi murmured, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She turned to you, the smirk on her face growing wider. "Let's continue our business, Dokja-ssi."

With a grace that was almost taunting, Eunbi hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her denim shorts and began to lower them, her hips swaying seductively with each movement. You watched, transfixed, as the fabric slid over her thick thighs, revealing the matching lacy white panties that hugged her curves. She stepped out of the shorts, standing before you in just her panties and a knowing smile. "Now, this is where the fun begins," she said, her voice a siren's call.

You felt your heart pound in your chest, your eyes drawn to the delicate lace that barely contained her sex. The fabric was damp, the scent of her arousal filling the room. "Can you take these off with your mouth?" she asked, her voice a challenge. The words were like a spell, breaking the last of your resistance. You leaned in, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting her, of feeling the warmth of her skin against your lips.

Like a hungry dog eager for a treat, you stuck out your tongue, tracing the line of her panties from the base of her belly down to the apex of her thighs. Eunbi's breath caught in her throat as you licked the fabric, her hips jutting forward slightly, silently begging for more. You felt the fabric grow wet with your saliva, the scent of her desire strong and intoxicating.

With a growl of your own, you sank your teeth into the delicate lace, tearing it away from her body. The fabric gave way with surprising ease, revealing the treasure beneath. Her pussy was a vision, swollen and glistening with her arousal. You couldn't help but let out a low moan at the sight, your eyes glazing over with pure, unadulterated lust.

Karina watched, her eyes hooded with desire, as you buried your face in Eunbi's sex. Your tongue slid along her folds, tasting the sweetness that was uniquely hers. You felt her shiver at the first touch, her legs spreading wider, giving you better access. Your hands slid up her thighs, gripping her hips as you feasted on her, your tongue delving deep, exploring every crevice, every hidden spot that made her moan.

Eunbi's head fell back, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on to what was left of her composure. "Shit, Karina," she gasped, her voice strangled with pleasure. "His mouth... it's like nothing I've ever felt." You felt a thrill at her words, knowing that you were giving her something that she hadn't expected, something that she craved.

As you continued to explore Eunbi's wet folds, your tongue circling her clit, you heard Karina's voice, breathy and filled with excitement. "Fuck, yes," she moaned, her hand guiding your movements. "Just like that, baby. You're making her feel so good." The sight of your wife's fingers playing with her own pussy was too much, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from coming right then and there.

Eunbi's taste was indeed different from Karina's, but no less intoxicating. Her pussy was like a warm, velvety heaven that you couldn't get enough of, the sweetness of her arousal coating your mouth and making you hunger for more. Her moans grew louder, her body tensing as you found the perfect rhythm, your tongue flicking and stroking in a dance that had her hips bucking against your face.

Her folds were tighter, narrower than what you were used to, and the sensation was both thrilling and intimate. Each stroke of your tongue sent a shockwave through her body, and you reveled in the power you had over her. You felt like a connoisseur of pleasure, savoring the distinct flavor and feeling of her sex, something that was uniquely Eunbi's.

"Oh god," she moaned, her voice strained with pleasure. "Fuck, your mouth is so good." Her words were a symphony, echoing through your mind, pushing you to give her more. You could feel the walls of her pussy tighten around your tongue, her body coiling like a spring about to snap. She was close, so very close, and the knowledge of it had your cock aching for relief.

But your eyes were drawn to Karina, whose own hand was a blur as she feverishly worked her clit. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling with each desperate moan. "Mmmh," she murmured, her eyes locked onto your reflection in the mirror, watching you pleasure her friend. "I can't take it anymore, I want to cum." The sight of her, so close to climax, was like a siren's call, demanding that you give in to the overwhelming tide of lust that surrounded you.

With a final, fierce suck on Eunbi's clit, you felt her body convulse around your face, her legs tightening around your head. She let out a scream that was half pleasure, half pain, as she came, her pussy pulsing against your tongue. And as she did, Karina's own orgasm crashed over her, her body arching off the bed, her hand still working her clit as she watched her friend's face contort with ecstasy.

The room was a cacophony of sounds, Eunbi's cries of pleasure mingling with Karina's moans of satisfaction. You felt a strange sense of accomplishment, knowing that you had brought these two beautiful women to the brink of ecstasy, knowing that you had been the one to push them over.

Eunbi's legs went slack around your head, her body collapsing onto the mattress like a ragdoll. Her pussy quivered, releasing a torrent of fluids that you eagerly lapped up, your tongue greedy for every drop. It was like a fountain of pure desire, a nectar that you couldn't get enough of. You felt the stickiness on your chin, the sweetness coating your tongue as you continued to lick her, savoring the taste of her release.

With a final, lingering kiss to her inner thigh, you sat up and turned to face Karina. Her eyes were hooded with lust, her hand still buried between her legs, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. The scent of Eunbi's orgasm filled the air, a heady perfume that was driving you both wild. You leaned over and captured Karina's mouth in a sloppy kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth and sharing the taste of Eunbi with her.

"How does my best friend's liquid taste?" she asked, her voice a sultry whisper. You could feel her watching you, waiting for your answer, her eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

You took a moment to savor the lingering flavor of Eunbi's orgasm, the sweetness of her arousal still coating your mouth. "Great," you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "Now, may I enter your best friend?"

Karina's eyes darkened with a hunger that mirrored your own. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Take her, claim what's yours." She nodded towards Eunbi, whose legs were still spread wide, her pussy glistening with the evidence of her climax. The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable, and you knew that she was just as eager for this as you were.

With trembling hands, you stood up, your cock pointing straight at the ceiling, a testament to the desire that had been building within you all day. Eunbi watched you, her chest heaving with each ragged breath, her eyes never leaving your throbbing erection. She reached down and touched herself, her fingers playing in the slickness of her own juices, spreading them around her clit. "You've made quite a mess of me," she murmured, her voice a siren's call that had your blood racing.

Her smile grew wider, more seductive, as she beckoned you closer with a crooked finger. "Finally," she said, her voice a whisper that seemed to resonate through your entire body, "bring your big cock to my itchy pussy." The words were like a spell, breaking any remaining resistance you had. You stepped closer, feeling the heat from her body, the scent of her desire wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

With a gentle touch, you placed your hands on her thighs, feeling the softness of her skin, the slight tremble of her muscles. Her legs fell open with an almost audible sigh, revealing the slick folds of her sex. Eunbi's own hand followed, her slender fingers tracing the pink, puffy flesh of her labia. She parted them, giving you an unobstructed view of the wet, glistening pinkness that awaited you. It was a sight that stole your breath, a vision that had your cock pulsing with need.

You took yourself in hand, stroking your erection, feeling the weight and the heat of it. You watched as Eunbi's eyes fell to your movements, her own breath hitching as she watched you touch yourself. Her pussy was like a secret garden, begging to be explored, and you were more than ready to oblige.

With a final, almost reverent stroke, you positioned yourself between her legs. You could feel the anticipation building, a coil of tension in your belly that threatened to snap. You took the head of your cock and pressed it against her wet entrance, feeling the tightness of her folds as they parted for you. She gasped, her body tensing, as you pushed in, inch by glorious inch, her walls clutching at you like a tight, velvet fist.

"Wow..." you murmured, your eyes locked on hers. "Your pussy is so tight, Eunbi-ssi." Her eyes sparkled with mischief and pleasure at your words, and she replied with a breathy moan, "Your dick is also very big, Dokja-ssi." It was a simple exchange, but it sent a bolt of lightning straight to your balls.

You began to move, sliding in and out of her with a deliberate slowness that had you both on the edge of madness. Each thrust was a symphony of sensation, the tightness of her pussy a perfect match for the thickness of your cock. You watched as her face contorted with each movement, a mix of pleasure and pain that was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Her eyes never left yours, a silent communication of need and desire that was more potent than any spoken word.

With each stroke, you felt her tighten around you, her body fighting against the intrusion even as it begged for more. Her nails dug into the sheets, her toes curling with each gasp. You could see the effort it took for her to keep her legs open, the muscles in her thighs quivering with the strain. But she never once asked you to stop, never once suggested that it was too much. Instead, she leaned into the sensation, her body arching off the bed as you pushed deeper and deeper.

Karina's words were a command, a demand that sent a shockwave through you. You watched as she began to strip, her movements deliberate and sensual. Her pregnant belly jiggled as she removed her clothes, her breasts swollen and sensitive. She sat up, her hand slipping between her legs, her eyes never leaving yours as she began to stroke herself. "Yes," she murmured, her voice thick with need, "fuck her hard Eunbi unnie, baby."

Her naked body was a feast for your eyes, her swollen belly a stark contrast to Eunbi's sleek, toned frame. But it was the sight of her fingers moving in and out of her wet pussy that had you on the edge, your cock throbbing in response. You turned your attention back to Eunbi, her eyes glazed over with lust as she watched Karina. "Again," Karina urged, her breath coming in short gasps as she worked herself closer to another orgasm.

With a snarl, you complied, slamming into Eunbi's pussy with a force that had her moaning in pleasure-pain. Her body bounced with each impact, her tits jiggling in a mesmerizing display of sensuality. You could feel her muscles clench around you, her desperate need for release mirrored in every tightening of her core.

Karina's voice was a siren's call, guiding you deeper into the abyss of lust. You reached up and took Eunbi's right breast in your hand, feeling the weight of it, the firmness of her nipple against your palm. With a grin, you squeezed, watching as her eyes shot wide, her mouth forming a silent 'o' of surprise and delight. She gasped, her breath hitching, her pussy tightening around your cock as you began to knead her flesh, rolling her nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

Her eyes never left yours as you did as Karina asked, her own hand still moving rhythmically between her legs. "Yes," she whispered, "just like that." It was as if she were directing the scene, orchestrating every move, every sensation. And you were more than happy to comply, to give her what she wanted, to be the instrument of her desires.

Eunbi's howl of pleasure was like a siren's call, echoing through the room and setting your blood on fire. Her body arched off the bed, her back bowing as she pushed her breasts into your face. You took one of her nipples into your mouth, feeling it harden against your tongue, tasting the sweetness of her skin.

Her grip on your head was like a vice, her nails digging into your scalp as she held you in place. You felt the weight of her breasts pressing down on you, the soft mounds smothering your face as you suckled greedily. Her skin was like silk, her nipples stiff and sensitive against your teeth as you bit down gently, eliciting another guttural moan from deep within her.

Eunbi's hips began to buck in time with your sucking, her pussy tightening around your cock. You could feel her orgasm building, the muscles of her cunt rippling and contracting with each suckle and bite. Her breath grew ragged, her body tense with anticipation as she approached the peak of pleasure.

I'm going to cum," you grunted, the words muffled against the softness of her breasts. The pressure was unbearable, the feeling of her walls closing in around you like nothing you'd ever experienced. She was so wet, so tight, and you could feel your own orgasm approaching, a tidal wave of desire that you couldn't hold back much longer.

"Do it," Karina urged, her voice a sultry whisper. "Breed Eunbi unnie with your hot seed." Her words sent a shiver down your spine, the idea of filling Eunbi with your cum while your wife watched a thrilling and taboo concept that had your balls tightening, your cock pulsing with the need to release.

You complied, your hips moving faster, your cock sliding in and out of Eunbi's tight, wet pussy. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, until you could feel the warmth of her orgasm building around you, her muscles clenching and releasing in a rhythmic dance of pleasure. And then, it was as if you had reached the precipice, the moment of no return.

With a roar that was part pleasure, part primal need, you felt your balls tighten and release, sending a torrent of hot, thick cum deep into Eunbi. She bucked against you, her own orgasm crashing over her as she felt the heat of your seed fill her up. The sensation was like nothing you had ever experienced before, a powerful claiming that left you feeling both exhausted and exhilarated.

Her eyes never left yours as she sucked, her own desire evident in every movement of her tongue. "Was it good?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr. You could only nod, too spent to speak, the intensity of the moment leaving you speechless.

Her hand trailed down to her own pussy, her fingers slipping through the mess you had made, collecting your cum and mixing it with her own juices. She brought them to her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours as she licked them clean, a smug smile playing on her lips. "It tastes like victory," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper that seemed to resonate in your very bones.

You watched, entranced, as she moved towards Karina, her movements fluid and sensual. She straddled your wife's face, her swollen pussy hovering just above Karina's open mouth. "You can taste your husband's semen," she said, her voice filled with a smug satisfaction that had your cock twitching with renewed interest.

Karina's eyes gleamed with excitement, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. She opened her mouth wide, and with a smug grin, Eunbi lowered herself, your cum-soaked cock sliding along her friend's cheek before coming to rest between her open lips. The sight was indescribable, a visual feast that had your heart racing and your blood pulsing.

With a knowing smile, Karina opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to catch the first drops that spilled from Eunbi's pussy. You couldn't believe what was happening, the sight of your wife eagerly lapping up the proof of your infidelity turning you on beyond measure. The tang of your cum mixed with Eunbi's juices was potent, a heady aroma that filled the room, a testament to the intensity of the moment.

Karina's eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and desire as she tasted you on her friend's sex, a silent nod of approval passing between the two women. It was as if they were sharing a secret, a delicious morsel that only they could understand. Each drop that fell from Eunbi's pussy was like a gift, a sweet offering to the goddess of lust that was your wife.

"How does my cum taste, Karina?" Eunbi asked, a playful lilt to her voice. She looked down at your wife, whose mouth and chin were smeared with the evidence of her pleasure. Karina pulled away, a strand of saliva connecting her mouth to Eunbi's pussy, and looked up at you, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Wonderfully," she murmured, licking her lips clean. "I didn't expect it to be this delicious."

The room was thick with the scent of sex, a potent mix of sweat and arousal that seemed to coat everything. Your heart was still racing, your body humming with the aftermath of your climax. But as you watched Karina, you felt a new surge of desire, a hunger that hadn't been sated by the incredible experience of taking Eunbi. It was as if the floodgates had been opened, and there was no going back to the life you had before.

This was your reality now, a world where your pregnant wife not only allowed but encouraged you to indulge in your darkest desires. You had just fucked another woman, her best friend no less, and she was not only okay with it, she had orchestrated it. It was a heady feeling, one that made your blood rush and your cock stir again, already eager for more.

The next two months passed in a blur of passion and pleasure, a time when the boundaries of your marriage stretched and reformed into something new and exciting. Karina watched, sometimes joining, as you explored Eunbi's body in every possible way. Her swollen belly was a constant reminder of the life growing inside her, making the act of sharing her even more thrilling.

Eunbi had taken to wearing nothing but a tiny bikini inside the house, her voluptuous curves and barely contained breasts a constant temptation. You found yourself ogling her more often than not, and she reveled in the attention, often flaunting herself just to drive you wild. Karina didn't seem to mind, in fact, she seemed to get off on the idea, her own arousal spiking as she watched the two of you together.

One hot afternoon, you walked into the kitchen to find Eunbi leaning over the counter, her bikini bottoms riding up, giving you a perfect view of her plump, round ass. You couldn't help but let out a low whistle, your eyes feasting on the crevice of her cheeks, the way the fabric was stretched taut against her flesh. She glanced over her shoulder, her smile wicked as she wiggled her hips. "Like what you see, baby?"

Her ass was a thing of beauty, round and firm, begging to be grabbed. You didn't need another invitation. You stepped closer and palmed her cheeks, squeezing and kneading the flesh before you, feeling her heat radiate into your hand. With a growl, you positioned yourself behind her, your cock nudging against her wet pussy. She was already soaking, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

With one hand on her hip, you guided yourself into her, feeling the tightness of her cunt grip you like a velvet fist. You slammed into her, your hips moving with a fierce rhythm that had her moaning and her ass cheeks jiggling with each impact. The kitchen counter was cold against your chest as you held her in place, your other hand reaching around to tease her clit.

Eunbi's eyes rolled back in her head, her moans growing louder as you fucked her mercilessly. She was so wet, so eager, her body a testament to the desire that had been building between the three of you for weeks. You could feel the beginnings of your orgasm, the pressure building in your balls, the fire in your veins demanding release.

With a final, desperate slap to her ass, you gave into the need, your cock pulsing as ropes of hot cum shot into her waiting pussy. She screamed your name, her body shuddering as she came, her walls clamping down on you like a vise. You held her tight, feeling her spasms milking you dry, your cum filling her up until it began to spill out onto the kitchen floor.

The sound of your breathing and Eunbi's moans filled the room, your heart pounding in your chest. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, a scene that would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. But here you were, fucking your wife's best friend, her swollen belly a silent witness to the new dynamic of your relationship.

Later, the three of you sat down for dinner, the scent of the meal mingling with the faint musk of sex still lingering in the air. Karina looked at you with a knowing smirk, her hand resting gently on her rounded belly.

As you took a sip of water, Eunbi leaned in and whispered something into Karina's ear. You couldn't quite make out the words, but the way your wife's eyes lit up told you it was something naughty. You felt a twitch in your cock, already anticipating the next act in this thrilling play of lust.

Suddenly, the two of them dropped to the floor, their faces disappearing beneath the table. Your heart skipped a beat as you felt Eunbi's warm breath against your crotch, her nimble fingers expertly unzipping your pants. You looked down, seeing Karina's hand guide yours to her bulging belly, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

The sound of their tongues working in unison was like a symphony, each stroke and flick sending bolts of pleasure shooting through you. They both licked your cock, their tongues dancing around the shaft, swirling around the head. It was wet, sloppy, and oh-so-erotic. The sight of your wife's round belly contrasting with Eunbi's bare, flat stomach was a visual feast, adding to the thrill of the moment.

Karina's hand found its way into your boxers, gently stroking your balls, her nails lightly scraping the sensitive skin. Eunbi's eyes met yours, her own desire reflected in the depths of her gaze. She took the head of your cock into her mouth, her tongue flicking the sensitive spot just under the ridge. You gasped, your hips bucking upwards involuntarily. Karina chuckled, her breath warm against your thigh. "Let us take care of you," she murmured, her voice a siren's call that had your cock swelling even more.

Together, their mouths moved in perfect harmony, licking and sucking, their saliva mixing with your precum to create a slick, slippery mess. You could feel your orgasm approaching, the tension in your body building with each wet sound of their lips smacking against your skin. You reached down, your fingers tangling in their hair, guiding their movements, setting the pace for your own release.

Their eyes met over your cock, a silent challenge in their gaze. You knew what was coming, the culmination of this illicit act played out right here at the dinner table. The thought of it was so wrong, so taboo, that it only served to make it even hotter. You felt the pressure in your balls, the tightness in your shaft, the inevitable climax that was barreling down on you like a freight train.

Eunbi took the lead, her mouth sliding down, taking you deep into her throat, her eyes watering as she choked slightly. Karina watched, her own mouth watering, her hand still massaging your balls. The sight of her best friend, her face contorted in ecstasy as she tried to swallow you whole, was too much to handle. You could feel the warmth of their breath against your skin, the softness of their tongues as they danced together, sharing your length.

Karina's hand grew bolder, her fingers gently stroking along the base of your cock as Eunbi sucked. You could feel the tension building, the pressure threatening to spill over. With a roar, you pulled back, your cock glistening with their combined saliva. You watched as they both looked up at you, their eyes shining with a mix of lust and excitement. They knew what was coming, and they were eager for it.

With a trembling hand, you aimed your cock at Eunbi's face, the first rope of cum shooting out and hitting her square in the forehead. She squealed with glee, her eyes closing as you painted her features with your seed. It was a moment of pure carnality, a visual representation of your dominance in this newfound ménage à trois. Karina leaned in, her tongue darting out to catch the next spurt, her eyes never leaving yours.

Their shared hunger for your cum was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, a thrilling mix of love and lust that had you panting and shaking. Each spurt was met with eager tongues and open mouths, both women eager to taste the fruits of your labor. They lapped and sucked at the head of your cock, not wanting a single drop to go to waste, their faces a mess of your semen and saliva.

For the next two months, the three of you embarked on a sexual odyssey that transformed every room in the house into a playground of pleasure. The bathroom mirrors steamed with the heat of your passion, the living room couch cradled your tangled bodies, and the kitchen counter became a stage for Eunbi's acrobatic skills.

In the dining room, Karina would watch with rapt attention as you feasted on Eunbi's pussy, her eyes following every movement of your tongue as you brought her to the brink of ecstasy. The sight of your wife's swollen belly, a stark contrast to Eunbi's lithe frame, only served to heighten the thrill of the act. It was a dance of desire that grew more intricate with each passing day, each space in the house holding a secret memory of your shared passion.

As the weeks rolled by, the baby grew within Karina, and so did the intensity of your sessions with Eunbi. In the living room, you'd find yourself buried between her thick thighs, her moans muffled by the plush cushions as she rode you to climax after climax. The creaks of the old couch became the soundtrack to your illicit love affair, echoing through the quiet house as you claimed her over and over again.

But all good things must come to an end. The day Karina went into labor was a blur of excitement and anticipation. You and Eunbi waited outside the delivery room, holding onto each other for support as the doctor's and nurses' footsteps grew more urgent. The air was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the passionate embraces you'd shared just hours before.

Finally, the day came when Eunbi packed her bags, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and satisfaction. She had been a vital part of your life during these transformative months, a catalyst for the new dynamics that had formed within your marriage. As she leaned in to kiss Karina goodbye, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loss, the reality of her departure sinking in.

The day had been long and tiring, filled with the usual office politics and mind-numbing paperwork. All you wanted was to come home to a quiet evening with Karina and the baby, to escape the mundane and lose yourself in the warm embrace of your family. But as you turned the key in the lock, the unmistakable sounds of passion reached your ears, and your heart skipped a beat.

You paused in the doorway, the sweet, musky scent of sex heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the usual scent of baby powder and cooked meals. Your mind raced, a cocktail of hope and fear mixing within you. You hoped it was just a particularly intense episode of her favorite TV show, but deep down, you knew it was something more. The moan that echoed through the hallway was unmistakable, a sound you had heard countless times before, but never in this context.

You tiptoed down the corridor, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your apprehension. With trembling hands, you pushed open the door to your bedroom, the sight before you freezing your blood in your veins. There they were, Eunbi and Karina, your wife and her best friend, their naked bodies tangled in a sixty-nine position that was as erotic as it was shocking.

Karina looked up, her eyes meeting yours, and the smile that spread across her face was one you hadn't seen in months—sultry and knowing, the smile of a woman who had just been thoroughly pleasured. "You're home, honey," she purred, her voice thick with lust. Eunbi's head lifted, her eyes glazed with arousal as she took in the sight of you standing there, your erection tenting your pants.

"Eunbi was transferred to work in this area," Karina said, her voice casual despite the erotic scene she was nestled in, "and instead of her renting a place, I thought it would be better if she just moved in with us. It's more convenient, and we can all help each other out." Her hand idly stroked Eunbi's hair, the other playing with her own nipple. The room was a tableau of unbridled desire, the air thick with the scent of arousal.

Eunbi looked at you with a glint in her eye, licking her lips, "And I've got plenty to offer for rent," she said, her hand sliding down to cup her own pussy, her fingers slipping inside, glistening with wetness. "Besides, I've always wanted to see how this bed felt with three people."

Karina giggled, her hand moving to caress Eunbi's ass. "You know you're always welcome, Eunbi." She looked up at you, her eyes filled with mischief. "As long as you don't mind sharing."

You swallowed hard, your cock pulsing at the thought of what was to come. The last year had been a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences, but seeing them together again was like coming home to a warm, welcoming embrace. You nodded, unable to form coherent words. "It's okay as long as you can pay the rent," you repeated, your voice thick with desire.

Eunbi's eyes lit up at your words, and she slid off the bed, her body moving like liquid sin as she approached you. "Oh, I'll make sure to pay my rent on time," she whispered, her hand reaching for your cock, giving it a gentle squeeze that had you hissing in pleasure. Karina watched with a knowing smile, her own hand slipping down to caress her already wet pussy, her eyes never leaving yours.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the flickering flames casting shadows that danced across their skin. You couldn't believe this was happening again, that the woman you had once feared losing to another was now welcoming that same woman into your marital bed. The night unfolded before you like a deliciously wicked dream, each moment more erotic than the last.

The end.

[lolderek]

Pink

This took a while to finish, and went in a more unexpected direction writing style wise. Finally got something out for Liz too, thanks to her pink jacket last April. I do like how it turned out in the end, and yes, lots of commas, as usual. Back to TripleS!

4,431 words of Kim Jiwon, well, Liz. Enjoy!

University life is monotonous. Yes, even factoring in the fun parts of it, school festivals, long nights out, mountain escapes from Seoul, and the liberal entertainment of vice, never forget the alcohol. No romanticized edit can represent the boredom you feel on some nights, just reviewing, worse, reviewing a topic that's becoming a chore. Though admittedly, dating was the same, a coin toss of a casual relationship, if you can even describe it as that, or a probable, actual relationship. Hopefully, in a perfect world, though, you can have both.

Living alone amplified that boredom. After giving up and shutting my tablet, after two hours I just enunciated my first word: "Fuck." I had already resigned myself to the thought that tomorrow's quiz could be sacrificed. Then, after watching whatever performative rot and gibberish I could see on my phone's feed, I was just about to give it up and try playing a game, offline, of course, to cure boredom, not transform it into anger. Sigh. One more look. One notification. 

[Are you bored?] Jiwon asked. 

I replied, of course I was. It was just past 10, and I wasn't so full, but not too hungry. Typically, it's "break-cum-procrastination time," but now someone asked to crash in my place. I have been dating Jiwon for a bit now. She was adorable on many days, goofy, silly, and fun to be around. Visually striking too, I could go on about how tall she was, but she had dyed her hair pink recently. That made her easier to spot. 

I asked her, and she was just as bored. 

[You want me to come over?]

I shot up in my bed. This could mean anything. I replied that, of course, I did. 

Another notification, her name, next to "sent a photo," with a play button beside it. Touch.

It was a selfie. Jiwon had her glasses on, angling her hand high with the phone, but she had her pink jacket unzipped, but not open, and she was a brunette now. She wrote something on the lower left side, right below her tits, "I missed you somehow," with a kiss mark. Better than porn. It was an immediate yes from me. 

Another reply: [I'll get on the bus. You have beer there?]

I did, just six, the last six. I'm not much of a drinker, but Jiwon had an appetite for four. That was after we'd gotten used to each other, and it drove the conversations up and released her silly side, then turned it up to eleven. So it doesn't surprise me anymore.  Though, like we've done a few times now, whether it's after dates, even when it would've been wholesome during the daytime. It would end up, at her request, with her undergarments down to her ankles, bent over, pressed against the velvet IKEA couch she helped pick. This was going to be one of those nights again. 

Another photo, this time, she pulled her jacket to the side, it was the obvious sight—no shirt—just her cleavage. The shape of her tits tempted me, but I was an easy man when it came to her. I tried to find a more recent photo of myself and sent it. 

Another notification, it was a more wacky selfie, but she had opened what I sent. Jiwon was in the bus now, sitting in the back. I've seen her naked, but her teasing was always something. I remembered her photo and probably asked about the obvious.

[You really don't have a bra?]

[Nothing at all.]

She was just walking in here expecting to get a fucking. The thought of her just going out in public in her pink sweatsuit—such a loud color—while topless underneath, hoping to get her panties pulled down, and get fucked, already made my blood rush down. Though with eyes as big as hers, taking her missionary was always a treat. Yet, even while stressed out reviewing, I haven’t masturbated all day, so she was going to get more than one.

I did try to do something unnecessary. We never found it more annoying than having nothing to snack on after a session, though mostly, we just get delivery, then walk Jiwon back—though once she sucked me off in a shrub—to her dorm. I tried to intellectualize what was about to happen too; Maybe it was just about her time of the month? Maybe I played too much in our chats? Perhaps she found her fingers boring already. Anyway, she was on her way here, and my left hand was probably cheering for me; Finally, somebody else! It was about to roar its praises. 

[Can you pick me up? I don’t have a card, remember? ㅋㅋㅋ]

Oh, right. I thought it prudent to try not to make myself obvious. Maybe I should just throw a thick jacket on, too? Never mind. But anyway, just before I left my apartment, she did send a picture of herself, with a bag with what was probably some sort of bread or anything she could throw in my microwave. But food was the last thing on my mind. 

I wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to fuck on a fuller stomach, so I went into the staircase. Picking Jiwon up in the lobby of my dorm, I was glad that by then, the middle-aged man who often provided whatever semblance of security with a baton had gone up for his late dinner. From what I’ve heard, he doesn’t care much, though he has occasionally recognized Jiwon as she got off the lift—she was a dancer who never liked the stairs.

We got on the lift going to my floor. It was a more economical six-story apartment, a little dated, greyly brutalist, cheap, but not seedy. It was a slow lift so that we could get the usual pleasantries. Seeing our reflection on the elevator mirror, Jiwon grabbed my hand and put it around her waist. Glancing at the display, it says floor 3B, one more. I checked her word for myself and slid my hand up the back of her jacket. Nothing.

Ding! Jiwon just shot me a look before the doors slid open; she knew curiosity would get the better of me. 

We were greeted by an empty hallway, knowing what was about to happen once I shut the door, I just kept in mind that the walls were pretty thick as I put my passcode in and pushed the handle down. Entering, I didn’t turn the AC off, just down a bit, and hearing the electronic lock, I thought of turning it colder. Then I felt a hand grab me and turn me around. So eager.

Jiwon tried to grab my face and kiss me, but I was able to push her gently to the wall and close the gap first. It wasn’t just a peck; a full-blown make-out erupted only a step from the door. Handsy as she was, I grabbed a handful of her ass and the soft flesh of her tit, squeezing ever so gently as I knew later won’t be so much. At this time, the light pink-haired girl whom people, strolling out and about, or on the city bus, had seen mere moments ago was now getting herself groped with her lips on the offensive. Her breathing was getting heavy only a minute in, but she didn’t come here for a kiss and a hug, no? 

Pulling my lips away, I suggested the couch, and in a pause, found ourselves in front of it. As a homebody Jiwon was, she lay down on the armrest, with me having only my knees and an arm to keep me from falling onto her while we continued where we left off. Waiting on me to do something, I looked for the hem of her pants with my fingertips and got it right on the first try, grabbing her ass with my left hand and squeezing much harder than earlier. Her lips on mine, both my hands in her pants, I thought I needed to do some “magic,” well, some sort of it. My fingers had to get this maneuver right. 

Press one finger, press two fingers. For prudence, she did have her panties on. We already had our tongues against one another, so I kissed her deeper. Jiwon moans; perfect. Her half-lidded eyes were wide open while I pulled away.

“You want to eat me out?”

I think I smirked. A bad impression of it, perhaps. Jiwon giggled as I knelt, pulled everything off her leg, and slid my hands back up. A tall girl, she always stood out from many, so don’t let Insta fool you, that also made her legs easier to fold back by the knee as I pulled away from her. She giggled and was expecting it, knowing that I always liked eating her out, and had readied and cleaned herself before she even told me. 

Jiwon knew that teasing me was enough of an excuse to get herself into my room. 

I got a whiff of her flowery scent, but wanted a taste of it. So I gave her thigh a peck, it was soft, so I put another on the other side. It only took a few kisses before there was a hickey on her left thigh, close to where I intended to land my tongue next. One flick right on her clit made it clear to her, hearing a huff leave her mouth. Sliding my tongue up the sides, and like most food, it tasted rather salty. Though quickly, I just paid attention to her pussy, with her letting out a soft moan as she held her breath, and when my tongue finished drawing, to a barely suppressed cry when I sucked on her clit. I was relentless, and that made her even louder, only shutting herself up when she covered her mouth and weakly tried to push me away. As always, it was a weak ruse. 

“You okay?” I asked Jiwon. Our stares met with a nod from her. So I continued, lick after lick, but making sure I sucked on her clit to make it matter. Wasn’t an hour of eating her out last week enough? Guess not. From holding her breath, she had shut her eyes, with her brows furrowed, arching her back a bit, exposing just enough of her skin through her jacket, with her zipper down but not yet removed. 

Slowly, I got a hold of her thighs while I continued to eat her out. It was more of a measure if she tried to lock her legs with my head in between. Between tracing circles over her clit and the occasional suckling that caused her to yelp and moan, I was more and more being greeted with the slow, telltale drip that came with my effort. Then maybe that was my signal flare to stick my finger in, I teased by sliding and poking it, just the tip, before looking up at the trapped lady on my couch. 

Jiwon had her eyes shut as her chest rose and fell, so I wasn’t about to ask. But she had that certain glow that only arousal can bring about. Even as I had dimmed the lights, just reading her face, she wanted to feel that release. She was close, and it was going to be a loud one.

She was holding her breath more now, though moaning more, arching her back and seizing up, getting wetter as her fingers grabbed onto my scalp. Closer now, so another finger in, careful, I shouldn’t be too hasty, rush, and lose the rhythm. I just knew to keep pressing where I got the loudest moans, and suck at her clit that became all the more swollen. The small, pink bulb was exposed and had nothing to hide from this tongue.

I kept pressing at Jiwon’s spot, aware that her juices would leave a stain on the couch as it dripped down my knuckle, hence the weighted blanket she lay on top of. Now, when she was close to cumming, her legs always began to close in around me, and her arms, long as they were, couldn’t push me. They often would do the opposite, and try to pull me further into her. All I could do was oblige, holding out just a little more before the inevitable came knocking. That telltale sign of a rightfully contorted face as that final bated breath left, her weight sinking and back arching as the long moans began. Her hand grabbed onto the couch as her folds tightened around my two fingers. I kept licking, and her other hand tightened around my hair, pushing me in, as she was at the peak of her orgasm now, feeling her drip to my wrist as she slowly began to come down from it.

For the first time in a while, we were able to talk. Catching her breath, a smile came from her as she patted me on the cheek. I commanded. 

“Turn around.”

Jiwon was quite slow in turning herself over, but soon I was able to undo my shorts and put them on the floor. Yet as I readied myself to fuck her, she called my attention, and the next moment, stood right before her mouth as she laid on all fours. She just looked up at me, craning her neck forward as she stuck her tongue out and took my half-hard cock in her mouth, fingers and lips wrapping quickly over the shaft. She looked up and gave five slow bobs, without breaking eye contact, before she shut them and suddenly sped up as she gave me a quick blow, uncaring if I was twitching. Still, she knew when to stop, even when it's been a while. When her lips popped, it only looked like she put on lipstick—using my cock—and it was all ready to go.

So I finally got behind her, and with Jiwon's eyes beckoning me as she shook her butt a little. I do not think of her as one, but she sure likes to act like a whore for me sometimes. So I gave in. Slightly pushing herself back while sliding my cock between her ass, teasing entry between her folds with a loud spank. Then, I slipped in. A whimper left her, and I pushed forward, my cock disappearing between her ass with the tip causing her to flinch a bit, a long exhale then a slap on her ass as I pushed my entire length inside, the tall brunette automatically snapping into that perfect, roaring in a mix of pain and pleasure as it filled her. 

Make no mistake, she always wanted to take it. 

A hand on her hip, another on her asscheek, and I started. No slow start, those few thrusts to make sure that tight fit didn't make me finish so quickly. The quick blowjob already made sure of it. There was no love for now, only lust. I started ramping up to fuck her, as per her request. Pulling my whole length out and back in, lurching her forward as my pace started to reach a tempo. Yet amongst the slapping that started, and the chorus she began to sing, we were enjoying ourselves. Finally, having an outlet for a long week that no amount of bad habits can satisfy.

Faster now, much wetter than a minute ago. Watching Jiwon’s whole body put us in lewd perpetual motion, the recoil from her ass bouncing back at me, one leg up so I can go deeper as it was met by my loins slapping against hers. It was not long before her breaths were getting shorter and feel her wrapping around my cock, only causing me to fuck her harder. I slipped out. I wanted to try something new, so I put both my feet on the couch, much like a squat, and slipped inside her again. She felt tighter this time, with my cock quickly angling downward. This caused a long groan, then a yelp as she turned her head at me, her eyes awash with pleasure as her mouth hung open. I leaned in for a kiss without breaking tempo. Though with how hard I was and my legs already burning quite a bit, I thought it prudent to throttle back and talk for a bit, finally granting myself the satisfaction of trying a position I saw some time ago. 3-2-1, noise.

I leaned in, able to put my legs down but still deep inside Jiwon, my thrusts now at a shallower tempo. I could appreciate her folds now, thinking of myself as so lucky as her lips came onto mine. I was lost staring into her big eyes when I realized, as a single twitch almost washed us over—she was fucking herself on me—but careful to match my tempo and not preempt the inevitable.

“You’re close again?” I asked. Jiwon just nodded and replied, “Maybe you should’ve asked that earlier.”

We continued in that way for a bit, a slow, gentler interlude to the fucking she asked for. Just giving myself enough time for that tightening feeling in my gut to leave me, but I couldn’t just waste the depth I was in. Yet Jiwon was already making use of it for herself. Spank! Her back arched so I might just hit her spot, her shallow, squelchy, but undeniably needy, hops making me shut my eyes as I tried to not cum before she did. Distracting myself with her lips as she made out with me, but amidst the strong stares, flicking of tongues, and slobbering of lips, she begged for me to cum in her if I wanted to. Often, I was tongue-tied when I was close, so I tried to talk. 

“How about you first?” 

She just smirked. Jiwon smirked. It was a signal for me to do something, and I wasn’t having any of it anymore.

Grabbing her by the elbow, I pulled Jiwon up. Such an angle was just right up her spot as I took back control and jammed my hips forward, the same hand I used to pull her to me was now wrapped around her neck. She looked back with an approving smile before the second one caused her to break, making her shut her eyes and bow her head. By the third one, she was a moaning mess again. I kept to the same tempo, deep but shallow, making her feel the entirety of my length as I hit her spot again and again, all while watching her ass bounce for me. Spank! Her moans began to rise again, having done her share of the work, while I fucked her to the end of it. 

She was often at her wettest when she was close, and I couldn’t guarantee I won’t follow her this time. It was delirium from her, telling me to go harder as she shook, trying to prolong the moment before orgasm that she craved so much. Yet, I followed orders, her orders, and as her back further arched, fingers gripping where she could onto me, she came—suddenly seizing up, throwing her head back and letting out a cry of exasperation as her inside squeezed my shaft. Fuck! I tried to think of anything else to distract me from following her. At her tightest, I didn’t stop moving, slow and deliberate. How counterintuitive! But she needed to ride it through, shaking, and catching her breath, her tune changing into low, weak moans as she came down. 

Pulling out, I wondered how I didn’t follow so soon as I plopped down on the couch. Just looking at Jiwon's dripping pussy, watching as it dripped down her leg, her left ass cheek somewhat red from the few hard spanks I gave her. She was face down, ass up, though maybe she’ll have her chance to see just how long I could hold. Yet I was also asking myself: Could she still ride me?

I didn’t think of what to do next. Jiwon could always do that later; it was my turn to tire now. I acted instinctively, standing before her as she lay on her back. She could only look on in shock as I grabbed her by the leg and flipped over, almost wrapping her in the towel. 

“Wait!” Jiwon yelled. 

Then, for a second, the girl I fell in love with leaned up to kiss me, deep, but it told me something. When I opened my eyes, a tit was peeking out of her jacket, grabbing it as I gave her another peck on the lips, before moving down and sucking hungrily on her nipple. She teased me for it, as always. Having her lie down, I grabbed her legs—long as they were—that I needed to angle them a bit sideways. She laid under me, full view, big eyes, round face, a slightly sweaty, long torso, and a pussy to penetrate. Her smile almost took me out of it. 

I didn’t need a guide as I pushed myself back inside Jiwon again, watching her features curl up into a grimace as she placed her head on the armrest. Her legs closed together made her feel tighter, something we discovered a while back, but had never tried with her this wet. It did allow me to do one thing; push my entire cock in. I did, and Jiwon stopped me once, then told me to continue again. 

A few deep thrusts in, just as I was beginning to fall into her siren song, listening to her moans like the way she would kill at noraebang, I almost lost track of the fact that this was supposed to be just a quickie. I then felt that familiar weight in my gut, but this time, it felt like a necessary end, having done what I had wanted. I looked down, watching her hair splayed out and down over the armrest, much messier than when she came, her expression perfectly lewd as usual. All this as my hips slammed into her, length disappearing into her pinkish folds, the recoil continuing us on. Only then could I make out a word that snapped me out of her trance. 

“Cumming!” Who? Her? 

I looked down as Jiwon's pussy contracted around my shaft. I could take it once, but I lost my grip on her legs when it happened another time, not when I was so close, almost falling mid-thrust as they opened headfirst onto her. She just smiled at me as I caught myself. Her arms embraced me and pulled me into her lips as I continued, needing to make up for my lapse. Oh, right, I needed to fuck her. 

My hips began to move again, and leaning over Jiwon a bit, we both knew the jig was almost up. If she goes this time, I'll go too. I watched her eyes dart and saw how I was railing her on the couch. Slowly, her eyes looked back up and found where the sweat had been pooling on my thin shirt, finally managing to focus on me. She knew I missed her well enough—both in idea and as flesh—to give it everything I've got in the first round. I didn't even ask, and she already answered.

"Cum in me."

I slowed down a bit—a mere feint, more so a pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable. Any longer I try, Jiwon might just tell me to stop. Too fast, and she might hit me for going too hard. I needed to time and not to lose the intensity of the moment. Putting our lips together and going deep, both savoring the feeling of leading and following her into the orgasm I owed. Her moans quickly rose in volume with her embrace pulling me tighter, even talking like a pornstar at one point. She knew she did it—and liked doing it—even if my best reply was just a strained "uh-huh". Though too many times before I already told her just how tight she was, if I did, I would cackle at how porno-like it would be saying it in such a tired state. We shared one last look before she mouthed the exact words again as she pulled me in.

Thud! Jiwon let out a squeal while our lips were together. I felt her arch her back as she tightened, with me halfway out as I felt myself follow. Grunting as I unloaded deep into her, as she wanted, being in the middle of orgasm only made us cum both so much harder. Slowing down as we turn into moaning, devolved messes. The sensitivity of it all was a high we chased and came to, and only shared between us. We have given in to our base instinct; this was the outcome. 

I just hovered over as I caught my breath. Jiwon’s lips were much redder now, another kiss, after which she scrunched her nose and said something that made me giggle too. Slowly, I pulled back and sat down, seeing the wet spot on the towel, which only confirmed why it had been so easy to do something that tight. Though I was just shocked at how much I let out when my load started dripping out the moment I pulled back. As she sat up, she told me not to worry about it before heading to the shower.

I just watched as she closed the door to the shower. Grabbing my phone, I thought about her earlier message. So much for that pink jacket; it was nice on her, and I need to throw it in the laundry. We were both sweaty messes, and I did not want it on such new furniture. 

It took thirty minutes, and then a different scene was on the couch. Jiwon and I were huddled in front of it with chopsticks on a bucket of fried chicken. There was never a dull moment with Jiwon. We were more laid back now, in new clothes, though I had to rummage from the pile she would always leave when she came over. The oversized tee she was wearing made clear she had no bra on, maybe it was intentional, or it was just cold. I think we were supposed to do round two. I’m not so sure about that now. I just needed to say something obvious to break my observation. 

“Really, dipping that much sauce with no bra?” 

“You’ve seen me naked, don’t sound surprised now.”

“Fair.” 

“And you’ll see more later too.”

[lolderek]

Hot Sauce

tags: facefucking, blowjob, deepthroat, rough sex, throatfuck, public humiliation, dominant male, submissive female, spicy play, crying, gagging, degradation, forced exhibitionism, cum in mouth, power play, rough blowjob, tears, rough handling, no aftercare, messy

The hallway reeked of weed, leather, and sweat baked into old concrete.

Ahyeon shifted the warm pizza box against her hip, the glass bottle of hot sauce clinking faintly in the paper bag beneath. She double-checked the door number—805—and knocked.

Before her knuckles met wood a second time, the door swung open.

Tall. Shirtless. Chains glinting. Ink from his jaw to the waistband of sagging jeans. His eyes locked on hers with the slow curiosity of a wolf sizing up a smaller animal. Behind him, two more lounged in sunken armchairs, smoke curling between them.

“You got the wrong place,” the tall one said.

She held up the box. “Four cheese. Extra jalapeños. And…” She fished out the hot sauce. “You asked for this, right? Korean fire blend?”

He took the box, then the bottle, turning it over like it might explode.

“508, not 805,” he said flatly. “You new?”

Ahyeon nodded, flushed. “First week. I’m still getting used to the layout.”

He stepped back. “Come in.”

“I should—”

“Come in.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Inside, the room pulsed with bass and the sweet, dizzying scent of weed and sweat. A humid heat pressed against her skin. She stood there, small and stiff, the empty bag still dangling from her hand.

The two seated men watched her openly, their gazes slow, undressing. The tall one set the pizza down on the coffee table, but not the hot sauce. He held it like it meant something.

“You know why this matters?” he asked, eyes never leaving hers.

Ahyeon shook her head.

He twisted off the cap. The air filled with a sharp, tangy heat—chili, garlic, vinegar. He tipped the bottle slightly and let a crimson stream snake across the cheese.

“Because some things are only good when they burn a little.”

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry.

“Take your coat off,” he said.

She didn’t move.

He started circling her. Slow. Deliberate. The sound of the trap beat dipped, slowed like a heartbeat. His breath hit the back of her neck, warm and spiced.

“You mess up a delivery,” he murmured, “you mess with my night.”

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

He touched her shoulder with just his fingertips. She flinched.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “Yet.”

“I really need to go,” she whispered, glancing at the door. “I have more runs.”

He came around to face her again. Lifted the bottle between them. The label read Hot Blood Fire in sharp red Hangul.

“You stay ten minutes, you leave with triple the tip. That fair?”

She hesitated. Then nodded.

The two on the chairs said nothing. Didn’t need to. Their silence was a fourth presence in the room. Heavy. Humming.

The man smiled—not soft, not cruel. Just sure. He held out the bottle like an offering.

“Pour it.”

Ahyeon reached for it slowly. Her fingers brushed his. The bottle was warm.

The silence thickened, broken only by bass vibrating up through the carpet and into her ankles.

Ahyeon stood frozen, breath shallow, heart rattling like a bird beating against its cage.

Behind her, the boss moved slow—predator-sure. His palm landed on her shoulder. Heavy. Warm. Patient.

“You’re shaking.”

“I should go,” she said, voice cracking under tension.

His hand slid lower. Not rough. Not rushed. He traced the line of her collarbone through the fabric, then dipped—knuckles brushing the zipper of her company jacket, nudging it down an inch. Then another.

She flinched. “Please, I need to—”

“Hush.”

His breath coasted over her ear, rich with smoke and something hotter—chili and heat and want.

Then he let go.

He dropped onto the couch with a slow exhale, legs spread wide, gold chain resting against his sternum like a crown. Watching. Waiting.

“Kneel.”

She didn’t move.

“I’m not gonna touch you unless you stay,” he said. “But I’ll sit here and let you decide how this night ends.”

Ahyeon swallowed. Her jacket hung open halfway now, the cool air kissing the top swell of her breasts through the thin tank beneath.

“I just deliver food,” she whispered. “That’s all I do.”

“Tonight, you delivered more than pizza.” His gaze roamed slow and hungry. “That breath. That mouth. That skin under company cotton. You walked in with all of it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“But you did.”

His voice was quiet, but it owned the room. It curled around her like a rope.

“I’m new,” she said, softer. “I don’t know the rules.”

“I’ll teach you,” he said, voice like molasses. “But only if you’re on your knees, looking up.”

Ahyeon’s legs trembled. She looked at the door—then back to him. Still. Still watching. Still patient.

“Clock’s ticking,” he said, head tilting. “Seven minutes left.”

She dropped to her knees.

The carpet scratched her skin through the tights. Her jacket slipped wider open.

He didn’t move.

“Open it.”

She hesitated. Then tugged the zipper down the rest of the way.

His eyes flickered. Not with surprise. With approval.

“Tank too.”

Ahyeon’s fingers trembled as she peeled the tank up and over her head. Her breasts spilled free—soft, flushed, peaked from the chill. Her nipples tightened under the open air and his stare.

He still hadn’t touched her.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice a shade lower. “The way they ache without even being touched?”

She nodded, barely.

“That’s not fear, baby.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “That’s want.”

The music thrummed. Her nipples throbbed with every bass beat, every second of tension.

He brought the hot sauce bottle back into his hand. Uncapped it. Held it up like a toast.

“Spicy, yeah?”

She nodded again.

“Let’s see how much heat you can handle.”

The carpet was rough under her knees, pressing patterns into her skin as she settled between his thighs.

Ahyeon’s jacket lay somewhere behind her. Her tank top was bunched at her waist. The room still throbbed with trap bass and testosterone.

The boss leaned back, pants open, cock thick and rising in his hand. He held the hot sauce bottle in the other.

“You like spicy, right?” he said, breath shallow. “So do I.”

She blinked. “Wait—what are you—”

He unscrewed the cap and poured.

The sauce dripped in slow lines down the shaft, seeping into every crease, glistening red and slick. He hissed, jaw clenching.

“Fuck.” His eyes rolled slightly. “Burns already.”

“Are you serious?” Ahyeon backed slightly. Her mouth felt dry. “That’ll hurt.”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and guided her forward. Not harsh. But firm.

“Then blow carefully,” he said through gritted teeth. “Make me forget the pain.”

She hesitated. The scent hit her first—chili, vinegar, garlic, sweat. Her eyes watered before her mouth even touched him.

Still, she leaned in.

One lick. Just a test. Her tongue met the heat—literal, searing—and he jolted.

“Shit!” he gasped. “Again.”

She licked again. Slower this time, dragging her tongue under the shaft where sauce pooled. His hips twitched. His grip in her hair tightened.

“You little fuckin’—ngh!”

It hurt him. She could see it. But he wanted it. Needed it.

She wrapped her lips around the head, careful not to inhale too fast. Her tongue swirled over the heat, spreading it.

He screamed—half agony, half ecstasy. His thighs tensed under her hands.

“Holy fuck. That’s it. That’s fucking it.”

She pulled back, coughing. Her lips tingled. Her own mouth was on fire now.

“I can’t—” she started.

But he yanked her back.

“You can.”

Then he began to move. Slow thrusts at first. Her jaw ached instantly, the burn coating every inch of him.

He fucked her face like he’d lost control. The heat, the pain, her wet lips—it pushed him past something.

He roared, a broken, guttural sound as he thrust harder. She gagged, her nose pressed to his skin, the burn catching in her throat.

Spit and sauce mixed. Her eyes streamed. Still, she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

“Take it,” he panted. “It’s yours now. That mouth is mine.”

The other two watched silently, smoke curling in the air. She was past shame. Past hesitation.

Her world was heat. Wet. Surrender.

When he finally came, it was violent—his whole body clenched. He poured into her mouth, and she swallowed without thought. Her tongue was numb. Her lips tingled like they'd kissed a live wire.

Then he pulled out, breathing like a man who’d just survived drowning.

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring down at her. “That was… new.”

Ahyeon barely had time to breathe before he pushed her onto her back. Her legs parted on instinct.

But he didn’t fuck her again. Not now.

Instead, he stood, zipped up, and gestured lazily. “Get dressed.”

She blinked, dazed. “What?”

“You gotta go. We got business.”

“But the pizza—”

“Gone. And your tip? Consider it spent.”

The room tilted. She scrambled up, tank twisted, no bra, no dignity. Her thighs stuck together. Her chin dripped. Her lips burned.

One of the seated men tossed her jacket. She caught it with fumbling hands.

“Door’s there, sweetheart,” the boss said, already lighting a cigarette. “Tell your manager whatever story keeps you employed.”

She opened the door with shaking fingers. The hallway air hit her like ice.

Bare thighs. Jacket zipped to her throat. No underwear. No pizza. No tip.

She walked fast, head down, heat blooming in her face as she passed another guest.

What do I even say? she thought. Wrong room? Mugged? Threw up and left?

Her lips still tingled. Her jaw still throbbed.

And her manager would ask why she came back empty-handed and red-eyed.

She didn’t have the answer. Not yet.

But whatever excuse she made— it wouldn’t be the truth.

[lolderek]

"I didn't ask for your help."

Wonyoung (🐰) X Reader (📖)

Word Count: 2.4k

Wonyoung stood perfectly still amidst the unraveling party — tall, composed, the picture of elegance, with that faint, satisfied curve to her lips. Like she’d done you a favor. Like tearing your night apart was some twisted version of love.

That was the final spark.

You closed the distance fast, fingers curling around her wrist — firm enough to warn, just shy of causing a scene.

"We're leaving," you hissed, dragging her through the thinning crowd before she could get a word in.

Her heels clicked sharply across the marble as you steered her down a side corridor, ignoring the lingering stares, the sting of whispers trailing behind you both. You didn’t stop until the heavy door of a private lounge slammed shut behind you, muting the noise of your crumbling night.

"How romantic," Wonyoung mused, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Dragging a maiden from the middle of the party to your private quarters."

Her wrist still in your grip, her eyes narrowed — but not with fear.

With quiet amusement.

With that maddening look that said she planned this from the start.

You locked the door behind you, the sound sharp, final. When you released her wrist, you did it with enough force that she stumbled back, heels scraping against the polished floor before she caught herself.

Her hand rubbed at the mark your grip left behind, but the smirk never left her face.

“Throwing me around now?” Wonyoung teased softly, her voice sweet poison. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

"What the hell was that?" you snapped, the words cutting through the thick, charged air between you. You gestured toward the door, toward the disaster outside — the emptying room, the investors peeling away, the eyes that would follow you for weeks after this. "You knew how important tonight was."

She hummed, utterly unbothered, stepping closer — slow, predatory, the faint gleam in her eyes impossible to read. "It was important," she agreed, smoothing a hand over her silk sleeve, her expression composed, lethal. "Important that you don’t chain yourself to weak men trying to ride your success."

“They were investors, for fuck’s sake, Wonyoung,” you snapped, frustration crackling through your voice. "You don’t belittle them. You don’t stand there and yell out their dirty secrets like it’s some show.”

“They were corrupt,” she shot back, chin lifting. “Embezzling. Manipulating numbers. Acting proud of it. Am I wrong for stating facts? You should be thanking me for helping you. You don’t want those kinds of people tied to your name.”

"You think I didn’t know?" Your voice dipped low, sharp with exhaustion. "My name—that’s the whole reason I needed them. I don’t care about their money. I needed the recognition. The credibility. And you just—" You exhaled hard, dragging your hand through your hair, frustration boiling over. "You blew it all up."

Her head tilted, the smirk curling again, dangerous. "They were a liability. I’m the only one who truly helps you.”

Your eyes darkened, jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for your ‘help.’ Everything you do — all your games — they’re for your convenience. You call it help, but you count them as favors. You keep score.”

Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed, the faintest crack of something sharp slicing beneath the calm.

“…What?”

Her voice dipped, soft as silk, but the venom coiled beneath every word. Her eyes darkened, the faint curve of her lips sharpening into something colder, crueler.

Then — crack.

Her palm collided with your cheek, the force snapping your head sideways, the sting blooming hot across your skin.

“You’re only standing here,” Wonyoung breathed, voice low, trembling with something bitter, “because I burned my family to the ground for you.”

She stepped closer, her heels whispering against the marble, her presence suffocating, heavy with history.

“I sold them out,” she went on, eyes never leaving yours, each word cutting deeper. “I buried my father’s empire. I dragged my mother’s name through the dirt. I inherited every twisted, bloodstained cent of it — so they couldn’t touch you. So you wouldn’t belong to them.”

Your throat tightened, heart twisting under the weight of it — the truth hanging between you like smoke, inescapable.

“I… I know," you forced out, voice tight, stumbling over the words, "I know what you did — I never — I’m grateful, Wonyoung, I swear—”

Crack.

The second slap landed harder, your vision tilting, the ache flaring down your jaw.

“And when my mother looked at you like another toy to break," Wonyoung hissed, voice trembling now with quiet fury, “when she wanted you — who kept you safe? Who pulled you out of that house, out of that life, out of her hands?”

You swallowed, lungs burning as frustration and shame tangled in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, the words spilling raw now, desperate, as if they could stitch this back together. "I — I’m sorry, I know everything you’ve done, I know what it cost you, I—”

Crack.

The third slap echoed, sharper, your skin burning, pulse pounding, but her voice only softened — more dangerous, more possessive.

“You hate the leash,” she whispered, stepping in, close enough that her breath ghosted across your cheek. “But you forget what happens without it.”

You exhaled hard, voice cracking as the words poured out fast, desperate, unraveling.

“I’m grateful, Wonyoung — you know I am — you saved me — you kept me alive — everything I have — it’s because of you, I never forgot that, I never—”

But she cut you off, voice low, slicing straight through the apology.

“You’re breathing,” Wonyoung interrupted, eyes dark and unflinching, “because when my father painted the walls with your family’s blood…”

Her voice softened, almost sweet. Almost fond.

“…I asked him to let me keep a friend. If I had known you would grow into this ungrateful mutt…”

The word curled between you like smoke; harmless on the surface, but sharp underneath. You knew exactly what she meant. What ‘friend’ had always meant in her world.

Your chest twisted, rage tightening like a vice, drowning out every rational thread of thought.

Friend?

Your jaw clenched, the old memory clawing its way back — the screams, the marble floors slick with blood, her father’s smile twisted with violence — and Wonyoung, ribbons in her hair, wide-eyed, tugging at his sleeve like she was picking out a pet at the market.

Your patience splintered.

Her hand lifted again —

But this time, you caught her wrist mid-air, iron-tight, halting her clean.

The air locked between you both, suffocating, charged.

Her eyes flickered — surprise breaking through for half a second — before narrowing, sharp, calculating, watching you unravel.

"Friend?" you snapped, the word cracking off your tongue, your grip tightening around her wrist.

“Have you ever treated me like a friend — at the very least?”

Your voice came out raw, threaded with years of buried humiliation, control, twisted gratitude snapping all at once.

For the first time tonight, her control faltered — barely, but enough.

And for the first time, you didn’t bow your head.

Wonyoung's eyes darkened, the hesitation gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with cool amusement, sharpened at the edges.

“How much more do I have to treat you then?” she challenged softly, tilting her head. “I saved you from death’s door. I dressed you in a three-piece suit. You eat the food I provide, breathe the air I cleared for you. What’s left?”

She stepped closer, voice dipping low, teasing and cruel.

“Do you want me to treat you like a lover instead?” Her eyes glittered, dangerous. “No? You want me to kiss you? Praise you whenever you do something good? Hm?”

Your lips curled into something sharp, bitter.

“Ah, now that doesn’t sound so bad,” you shot back smoothly. “Will you do that?”

Wonyoung's expression blanked for a second, caught off guard by your answer.

“…What?”

“You never know.” You leaned in just slightly, letting the venom curl behind the words. “Put me in a good mood, I might act like that pet you so desperately wanted.”

Her eyes narrowed, the brief flicker of surprise replaced by something sharper — dangerous amusement simmering beneath the surface.

“Hey…” she warned, voice slipping into low threat, stepping into your space. “Just because you still have your tongue doesn’t mean you can run it however you want—”

“Why not?” you cut in, smile tight, voice curling with quiet defiance. “You didn’t let them cut my tongue, did you?” You leaned in, gaze sharp, unflinching. “Because you wanted me to talk back to you. Isn’t that right?”

The words hung heavy, her wrist still locked in your grip, years of quiet obedience finally cracking open, dangerous and volatile.

“You think you’re the only one who regrets their decision that day?” you breathed, voice shaking, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Wonyoung’s eyes flickered, cold amusement faltering for the briefest second.

“I feel the same,” you continued, voice low, sharp as a blade. “If I’d known—taking your hand that day—meant trading every ounce of peace I had left for this—”

“Stop.” Her voice cut through the space, sharp, commanding. “Don’t speak another word.”

But you were already too far gone to stop.

You tighten your grip, voice cracking, forcing the words out like poison.

“Do you know what it’s like…” Your chest heaved, the memory clawing its way back to the surface, raw and vivid. “To stand in your own house and smell the blood before you even see it?”

Wonyoung’s expression faltered, her lips pressing into a thin line, but you pressed on, ruthless now.

“To walk into your living room,” you spat, every syllable splintering the air, “and see your father lying there — his eyes wide, his throat open — his blood soaking into the carpet your mother picked out?”

Her gaze darkened, her fingers tensing beneath your grip, but still she stayed silent.

“And your mother—” Your voice cracked, the edges splintering with something jagged, ugly. “Begging. Crying. Hands trembling. And above her—your father. Smiling. Laughing. Wiping her blood off his fucking cufflinks.”

You swallowed, the words sticking to your throat like glass.

“And you.” You locked your gaze to hers, unblinking, unrelenting. “Ribbons in your hair, watching it all, tugging at his sleeve like it was some game. Asking to keep me like a fucking pet.”

The room pulsed with the weight of it, the old memories spilling raw between you both, heavy, bitter, unbearable.

“Don’t tell me to stop,” you ground out, your voice quieter now, shaking but sharp. “Don’t stand there and act like you’ve carried this alone.”

Wonyoung’s expression wavered — the cracks in her mask spreading wider, her eyes unreadable, glittering with something between fury and fractured guilt.

But she didn’t speak.

And you didn’t lower your gaze.

The words hung between you like a blade pressed to her throat.

For the first time, Wonyoung’s bravado cracked. The sharp edge in her eyes dulled, her wrist slackening in your grip. She stood there, quiet, the weight of your words settling over her like chains.

You saw it—the flicker of guilt, raw and unfamiliar, twisting across her perfect features.

“I—” Her voice faltered, low, stripped of its usual sharpness. “I don’t know.”

The admission was soft, fragile at the edges, the first sliver of vulnerability you’d seen in her in years.

But it wasn’t enough.

Your grip tightened, your pulse thundering as the words clawed their way up your throat, jagged and bitter.

“You think it stops there?” you hissed, voice shaking, years of humiliation bubbling to the surface. “You think just because you tore your parents down, it made me safe? You think I could breathe easy just because you threw your name over me like a shield?”

Wonyoung’s gaze faltered, but you didn’t stop.

“Your mother still follows me like a shadow,” you snapped, every word sharp, cutting into the cracks of her control. “Cornering me. Laughing. Asking me if I’ve ‘thanked’ you properly for saving my life — like I owe her a favor, too.”

The air tightened, her expression twisting, lips parting — but no defense came.

“And it’s not just her.” You shoved the words forward, relentless now, every scar bleeding open. “Your staff. Your so-called friends. They look at me like I’m a stray you dragged in off the street — something pretty to play with, but never equal.”

Your voice splintered, raw with exhaustion, pride, anger buried for far too long.

“I can’t walk a hallway without someone whispering about how I got here — how I’m just your pet, your charity project. How I should be grateful you let me exist near you.”

You exhaled, the bitter ache in your chest burning sharper than any slap.

“I traded one cage for another.”

The silence after stretched long — her eyes wide, the cool mask shattered entirely, guilt bleeding into every perfect line of her face.

But you weren’t finished.

“And I let it happen,” you admitted, voice lower, more dangerous now. “I let you string me along, tell me it was safety — tell me it was love — but it was just another leash.”

Her throat bobbed, the smallest tremor in her stance betraying her.

The words hung heavy between you, thick with exhaustion, confession, and something far uglier than resentment.

Her eyes stayed locked on yours — wide, glassy, lips parted — but nothing came out. For the first time, Wonyoung looked… lost.

You let her wrist fall from your grip.

The room pulsed with silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in — but you didn’t care anymore.

Your voice stayed quiet, low, final:

“I’m done for tonight.”

Her expression cracked fully, panic flashing behind her eyes, the familiar composure crumbling at the edges.

“Wait—” Her voice wavered, the cool sharpness gone, replaced by something trembling, unfamiliar. “I— I didn’t—”

You didn’t stay long enough to hear the apology form, if that’s what it even was.

You turned your back, steps steady despite the chaos still burning under your skin.

Her hand shot out weakly, fingers brushing your sleeve, clinging for half a second like she always did — desperate to reel you back in, to twist the control back her way.

But this time, you didn’t stop. You didn’t look back.

You peeled her hand off easily, kept walking, the muffled sound of her voice trailing behind you — broken, stumbling, grasping at unfinished sentences, unfinished power.

“I— wait, please, I didn’t mean—”

It didn’t matter.

You pushed open the door, stepping back into the cold, distant hum of the empty hall, her voice silenced behind thick walls.

For once, she wasn’t the one deciding how the night ended.

And for once, you left — on your terms.

A.N.: I started this as writing exercise, inspired by this tumblr post.

[lolderek]

Intense Workout

part 2 of early workout

Chaewon + Wonyoung x Male Reader (Smut)

smut tags: blowjob, pussy eating, threesome, creampie, fingering, ass-eating, anal, anal creampie, fsub.

word count: 4350

You and Chaewon high tailed out of the gym, the brisk morning air hitting you two in full force, although it didn't sober you up in the fucking slightest, Chaewon's earlier promise of head replaying on your mind. The thought of her pink lips wrapping around your cock put you in overdrive.

Thankfully the day was still early, only people around being tired commuters driving past to their long shifts. Which was definitely in Chaewon's favour as the earlier cum seeped through her black leggings, giving it a fresh coat of white paint around her crotch, the look certainly suited her.

"So, you normally eat a sweaty girl's ass within 20 minutes of meeting them?" She asked casually, strolling to your right, her hair now flowing down her shoulders.

"Can't say I do– you normally let dudes cum inside of you 20 minutes after meeting them?"

"Nah, normally I make them wait at least an hour."

"I'm truly honoured then."

Thankfully Chaewon wasn't kidding with how close she lived, only being the next block over– a simple two story house with a black brick roof.

"Here it is, paradise." Her hands fiddled with the lock, taking a shockingly long time to open the door. You bit back the cheesy remark in your head, probably not the girl to play that card on, didn't seem the type.

"I'm sure." The scent of air freshener hit your nose, a citrus of some descriptor, probably grapefruit if you had to guess. On your very first impression of Chaewon the house certainly didn't necessarily match exactly, walls painted a pastel purple all the way until the kitchen.

"Showers upstairs, I forgot to turn the water off last night, guess that's good for us." Her shoes slipped off into the corner, yours quickly followed.

Chaewon took the lead, going up the stairs first, giving you an even better view of her legging-clad ass, firm and perfectly spankable. The urge too strong to resist as you gave it one firm slap.

She yelped in surprise, slowing down to allow you have a second smack, "Mmh!"

"Fuck you've got such a nice ass."

"You already knew that, anyway in the fucking bathroom. Now." She ushered you into the relatively cramped space, the shower even more so, a tall order to fit the two of you and whatever was about to transpire.

"Strip me" She breathed out, lifting her arms up to the air, giving you the perfect window to yank her sports bra off, perky breasts given freedom once more.

Her leggings were next, fingers slipping into the black fabric and panties which weren't adjusted properly, tugging them down in one nice swoop, she was entirely bare in your embrace.

"Fucking hell– you are hot as fuck..." You were practically gawking, salivating at her naked embrace, her inner thighs were glazed in your earlier handywork, bare pussy for the taking.

"Not so bad yourself flatterer." She tugged you closer, falling down onto her knees elegantly even if her actions were anything but. "I want this thick cock in my tight fucking mouth..." She gasped, eyes fixed up towards you, taking long licks at your clothed crotch.

"Then do it." She gave you a smile, clearly in her element on her knees, a mischievous glint forming in her eyes. But she pulled back, tugging your clothes as quickly as possible to make you match her state of undress.

"Not so fast, need to be cleaned up so you can fucking defile me all over again."

Chaewon turned the water on, letting the cold flush itself out so you were only left with the blissful heat. Her hand reaching down, gripping onto your shaft without so much as looking at you. Giving the smallest strokes up and down, cock hardening in her small hand that barely could hold half of your length.

"Water is nice and hot, come on in."

She climbed in first, the space was visibly cramped and even more so now with the presence of another person, but that wasn't going to stop either of you two. Climbing in behind her, there was barely enough space to stand let alone move.

"Oh, poking me?" She smirked, your tip was pressing firmly against her soft ass cheeks.

"Can't help it when your this fucking hot..."

"Oh, let me just." Her hand moved you between her ass, your cock being smothered by her body. You took the opportunity to thrust up and down, the soft flesh driving you up the wall.

"Fuck..."

"Wanna wash my body for me?" She lured, both of you knowing that it was nothing more than a pretense for you to grope at her flawless body. One that you more than happily bit at, her flawless body turned around to face you, your cock pressing firmly against her toned stomach. The barrage of water spilling down her body, wetting you in the process.

You clicked open the bottle, pouring the slimy liquid into your left palm, flowing down into a smooth teal ring. Chaewon let out a small whine when the frigid liquid deposited onto her collar bone, racing to rub it in as much of her skin before the water deposed of it and left bubbles behind. The scent of coconut beginning to seep in to the air.

"You got nice hands there– I think you should take a detour on my breasts..." You had to agree, seizing the opportunity presented, squeezing the supple flesh with very little regard for actually cleaning.

Chaewon responded with little gasps as your fingers rubbed her nipples, head falling back just an narrow inch. "Mmh–" her body was immaculate, sublime.

"Nice fucking tits... Glad I went to the gym this morning." You chuckled breathlessly, pouring even more soap in your hands, rubbing it all over her back.

"Yeah, I'm so fucking glad."

You were curious to see how far either of you could go in this shower, the water far too hot for your own personal comfort, Chaewon seemed to be more than content to ignite herself. Skin turning a blooming red under the steam that radiated from her.

"Fuck– it's hot as shit in here." You groaned.

"Oh? Can't handle a bit of heat? Guess the shower sex will have to wait till later..."

"I never said all of that now did I?" You teased, Chaewon gave you a smirk.

"That's good, but it will have to come later, this shower is not big enough for that, maybe I'll invite myself over to yours?"

"Oh? I guess it would be such a shame to be a one time occurrence."

Chaewon gave an affirmative nod, she moved swiftly and smoothly, her hands all over your body as she took the task of cleaning you off, also as an excuse to stroke your cock for a bit before moving on. You returned the favour, Chaewon's speed finally let you out of the furnace she called a shower.

The two of you didn't even bother putting clothes on, because you didn't have a spare pair and whatever she wore was just going to get ripped off of her.

There was no longer any rowdy music or potential intruders, allowing you in theory to go slow.

But she didn't want that, Chaewon wanted speed, results.

And she made that fairly clear. Tossing you backwards onto the bed, stare lingering like the scent of her body wash, " You are gonna fuck my throat on this cock." Her fingers moved deftly, pressing on your length, spitting thick globs to rub into it.

"I will fuck that throat stranger." The nickname made her smirk, her signature look for the hour you've known her.

"Oh well then stranger. Don't keep a pretty girl waiting." She widened her mouth a bit, making you do the rest of the work, tip brushing against Chaewon's soft lips. Pushing past that that into the warm embrace of her mouth, her tongue reaching out to lick the pre-cum pooling out of your slit.

You are truly thankful you when to the gym this morning, you keep repeating in your head, nearly tempted to snooze your alarm but some judgment prevented you last second. Clearly a higher power looking out for you after some good deed you did.

It was all worth it, with how Chaewon lets your cock slide down your throat, resisting her own gag reflex as she takes it all like a champion.

"Fuck– Chaewon you are such a good little cocksucker..." You praised, yanking yourself out long enough for her to catch a breath and a word.

"Helps when you have a cock this fucking big. Now go faster."

You complied instantaneously, grabbing strands of her auburn hair, lifting her up and down off your cock in harsh slaps. The sound of her throat retching loudly sounding out for the room.

"Fuck Chaewon."

Her satisfaction of being used was not visible on her face, eyes scrunched up as her nose was being slammed against your crotch, but it was obvious if you looked a bit lower. Fingers rubbing her clit so desperately, so feverishly, getting off to being facefucked so helplessly.

You held her there for a moment, letting her feel full, taking you to the hilt. She swallowed every inch with no trouble, the amount of spit she was gagging up significantly reducing.

"Fuck... Look how pretty your cock looks coated in my spit." She looked at you, corners of her ears forming tears with how rough you were, full with a sense of glee.

"You take it so fucking well." You groaned, she didn't even wait for a warning this time, throwing herself back on your cock with no care in the world, cramming it back into her tight mouth. Slurping vigorously all over every inch.

"Hey Chae wanna go get lunch la– for fuck sake!" A higher pitch voice came out to your right, looking over there was a girl. Slightly taller than the woman sucking you off, brows furrowed as she waited? The mysterious woman wore her clothes perfectly, a white sweater clinging onto her slim frame, juxtaposed by the black tracker bottoms she had on.

Chaewon pulled herself off, spit covered and turning to face her aggravated friend. "Oh hey Wony, yeah we can go for lunch later." She said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Cool, I'll just get... out of your way then." She was quick to attempt to leave, but Chaewon had other plans, sliding out from between your legs and grabbing onto her hand softly, the two of them mere inches apart.

"What's the rush Wony?" She asked, voice raised an intentional octave higher than usual.

"You are being a whore again." The sudden expletive caught you off guard, not matching her appearance in the slightest.

Chaewon leaned closer against her friend's ear, whispering something that made her blush vehemently that you couldn't quite make out.

"So why don't you stay a little? You weren't complaining about me being a 'whore' when I was burying my tongue inside that pretty pussy of yours were you?"

"Uhh..."

"And you haven't taken your eyes off his cock since you've stepped into my room, so how about we stop pretending you don't want to get fucked."

You weren't expecting her to be convinced so quickly, but all it was one (literal) shove towards the bed and she was sat on the bed next to you, looking at your cock in a mix of awe and apprehension.

"Wonyoung this is Y/N, Y/N this is Wonyoung, annoying roommate of mine who is far less annoying after cumming her brains out." Chaewon introduced the two of you, sliding to the space right of Wonyoung.

You broke the ice, the tension causing your skin to crawl in anxiousness, "Wow you are really pretty Wonyoung..."

"Thank you, not so bad yourself." She replied, unzipping her sweater, letting it fall down beside her.

"I'm not in the mood for this slow shit today, help me undress this cutie." Chaewon demanded, falling down onto her knees like a natural, pulling down her bottom half in a nice swoop.

You followed, wanting to see what she was hiding under that thin shirt, her arms lifting up in support, it tugged off easily enough, leaving her completely naked in your grasp.

"No underwear Wonyoung?" You teased, running your finger up her smooth chest, stopping at her chin, her expression wasn't as flustered as a few moments ago. The stripping of her clothes like the stripping of her inhibitions.

"Its– comfortable okay?"

Chaewon just gave a curt giggle, eying Wonyoung up like a piece of candy, flipping over the tall girl over, a shacked gasp radiating from her. She now was put on all fours, facing towards Chaewon's large TV.

"Such a pretty pussy." Chaewon looked in awe, spitting all over Wonyoung's bare cunt, rubbing it in with a deliberate twist of her palm, she was surprisingly gentle given how she's acted so far, tongue reaching out to lick Wonyoung's folds, hands faintly resting on her ass.

Wonyoung let out tender whimpers as Chaewon sped up her actions, alternating between kisses and sucking of the wet flesh. "And you taste so fucking perfect."

"Fuck, eat me out!"

Chaewon turned around for a brief moment, then as she turned back, lifting her bubbly butt up into the air as she dove right back into Wonyoung. Her desires were obvious, not on a silver platter but she was handing to you.

You already enjoyed her puckered rim once today, setting your sights lower for her wet folds, she clearly liked getting throatfucked, or maybe it was her actions on her roommate, either way such a sweet treat being neglected was simply unacceptable.

You dragged your tongue flatly across her soft pussy, her taste was sweet and fuck you needed more, as much as you could siphon from her. Her thighs shook slightly in pleasure, letting out a deep guttural moan into Wonyoung.

"Ohh! god–"

You shoved your tongue deep inside, her nectar an addiction that didn't need to be cured. The room dissolved into moans, Chaewon was loud and boisterous, not even slightly suppressed by the cunt she was messily drowning herself with. Wonyoung on the other hand was breathy, ephemeral, but every sound was heavenly to your ears.

You kept up your assault, frenzied licks into the warm, slippery depths. Collecting more of her sticky juices on your tongue. Utterly intoxicated with her taste, scent and quite frankly her.

"You taste so, fucking good– jesus christ." That's all you could say. All that needed to be said, swinging your tongue up and down carelessly, fingers rubbing her clit carelessly.

"Fuck, fuck– Chaewon..." Wonyoung cried out, cumming softly on Chaewon's awaiting tongue, falling onto the bed as she caught some much needed oxygen.

You took the opportunity presented with Chaewon now unoccupied, flipping the position around, pushing her down into missionary, resting on the mattress. Your eyes locked, hers were hazy, high on the pleasure. "Fuckk! That's it! Keep going!" She screamed almost pornographically, raking at your hair. Chasing the explosive orgasm that hung just out of reach, harshly grinding herself against your face.

Her wetness rubbed over your lips, you slurped at her like you were dehydrated. "I'm so fucking– close!" that spurred you on, speeding up, rubbing her clit with your fingers.

"Oh god!" She let out a shill scream, holding you still as she came all over your face. She was on cloud nine, thighs shaking around your head, you took all of it while she came down from heaven.

Her grasp loosened, letting you out to catch your own breath. "God damn Chaewon." You let out a sigh, taking in the sumptuous sight. Chaewon laying there, shaking, breathing heavy, body flushed entirely red. Wonyoung was sat up, watching her friend recover from being ravaged.

But now it was her turn.

"Wonyoung, come here." She scuttled over, crawling to you with a grin.

"Yes?"

"Lay down, next to Chaewon." You demanded, she fell back with grace. Spreading her legs wide open, her bare pussy ready be fucked.

"Are you finally going to put that fat fucking cock in me?" The question was obvious, she was teasing at this point. You were going to make her see stars.

"Fuck her till she can't walk." Chaewon urged you, that was enough.

Well, almost enough. A bit of teasing was always in order.

You dragged your swollen tip all over Wonyoung's wet folds, resisting the urge to give her what she wanted immediately, she whined for more. But not yet, you kept the slow teasing up, rubbing up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

"Daddy... Just shove your cock in my tight pussy– please!" She had you, the nickname taking over your brain like a drug. Pushing deep inside in one smooth stroke, the warmth choked your cock, bottoming out with ease because of how soaked she was post orgasm.

"Oh did that make you crack? Well then daddy fuck the shit out of her." Chaewon said, playing up the theatrics.

"She's so fucking tight..." You grunted through gritted teeth, starting to move. She gripped onto you like her life fucking depended on it. Far tighter than Chaewon, not that you'd admit that to her face, some truths are better left unspoken.

You groaned loudly slamming back into her pussy, fingers digging into the smooth and thick flesh of her thighs. Your thrusts began slow, savouring the way Wonyoung hugged your cock like there was no tomorrow.

"Fuck~ I'm so full..."

She let out a series of breathy moans as you continued the slow thrusts, Chaewon had enough of being an inactive participant, giving you a knowing look as her tongue made contact with Wonyoung's pink nipple, swirling around as she got painted in Chaewon's saliva.

Eventually neither of you could take any more of this ridiculously slow pace. Speeding up your thrusts as you rammed her cunt, she suffocated your cock, slick walls clinging onto you so sweetly.

"Ah! Daddy rail me! Use me until you cum deep inside me– fuck!" Wonyoung wasn't holding back, taking every slam against her crotch and demanding so much more.

"You heard the slut, so quick to call me a whore yet spreads her legs for anybody." Chaewon hissed, nipping at Wonyoung's pale neck. Getting pain twinged moans in response, but she didn't seem deterred, Wonyoung was loving it.

"Are you a slut Wonyoung?"

"N-no!" She said with a faint tremor.

You slowed down to a feeble pace.

"Really? Sluts don't take cock this fucking well. Look at it go in, out of your pussy."

"She's such a fucking slut, the first time we went clubbing she was getting fucked in the boys bathroom within 30 minutes." Chaewon stuck two fingers between her legs, shamelessly fucking her fingers.

"Says the person who ate his cum out of me! Please– faster..." The more you learned about these two you realised they were one in the same.

"I'll go faster when you admit it."

"Or that time she–fuck– blew a guy under the desk cause he bought her a drink." She was fingerfucking herself faster, getting off to the lucid memories playing in her mind.

"He was cute! She let a dude fuck her in the ass on a public bench, walked home without knowing his name!" Wonyoung looked cute angry, desperate to get off while proving her supposed "innocence".

"So you are both sluts then? Why won't you just admit it?"

"Just admit it Wony, you are just like me." The slick noises of her fingers ramming her cunt rang out the room.

"Fine! I'm a slut! Now please just fuck me till you cum inside!" There you go. That was all she needed to say.

You picked up momentum once more, Chaewon moaning in approval. Drilling that sweet pussy without care, restraint. "Fuck your tight Wonyoung– christ!"

"Fuck... Keep going daddy!"

You were spiraling, she was creaming around your cock, coating it in her sticky white juices. "Pound that fucking slut! Oh my god! Oh my god! I'm cu-mming!" Chaewon's legs pressed together, shaking vigorously and uncontrollably. Body moving erratically as a downpour of juices fell onto the bed, creating a puddle under her.

The sight of her orgasm made you even more desperate to fill the needy girl under you. "I'm gonna cum Wonyoung! Gonna fill that tight pussy of yours!" You buried yourself as deep as you could, unloading thick ropes into Wonyoung's velvety walls. Filling her to the brim, she screamed out, cumming underneath you like a bomb to a fuse.

You rested inside her for a few moments, body totally and utterly drained. Cum dripped out of her, not getting a chance to fall onto the mattress but instead Chaewon's awaiting tongue. Collecting the pooled load into her mouth.

"Come here Chae." Wonyoung said weakly, watching as her friend climbed over her body, the prize dribbling out of Chaewon's red lips and into Wonyoung's open mouth.

----

2pm.

The three of you fell asleep in exhaustion following another warm shower (truly a miracle the three of you fit)

But that break was over, a hole you still had to conquer. A circular narrative to fulfill.

You held Wonyoung's face into Chaewon's ass, letting her sample her friend's delicious asshole. She licked the tight rim hungrily, wettening it for your hard cock.

"Lick her fucking ass for me, that's a good slut, following orders like this." You cooed, pressing her in slightly deeper, slightly firmer.

"Mmh, such a good tongue! You always do your best for me!"

You took a glance while Wonyoung kept busy, looking around for any sign of lube. Thankfully they don't have much decorum to say the least. The tiny bottle hanging out of an open drawer.

You left the two to their own devices for long enough to grab it, clicking the blue plastic cap open. Prying her away from Chaewon's ass, putting the bottle in her dainty hand. "Lube her up for me, get her nice and ready for this pounding."

"Of course, anything for you daddy." She really embraced the role, you couldn't lie it was making you feverish.

Wonyoung let the shiny liquid coat her two long fingers, rubbing it into her friend's tight backdoor. Letting a finger penetrate slowly at first, "You are so tight around my finger, you are going to smother his dick."

She warmed Chaewon up, rocking back and forth before gradually increasing the amount of fingers going in. Stopping at three.

"Mhm, he's going to fuck me till I can't walk." She was right about that.

Wonyoung dropped to her knees, stroking in a healthy amount of lube in until you were glistening.

There was no further distractions.

You shoved Chaewon against the side of the bed, spreading her cheeks open, pushing your tip against her rim. "I'm going to destroy you."

"Good, now fucking do it already!" You answered her impatience with a shallow thrust, pushing yourself into her tight ass. She was stretching so well, accommodating your cock like it just belonged there.

"Why are you so slow?! I said fucking pound me!" Fine then.

You went as hard as you could muster. Pulling her against your cock, her ass jiggling hypnotically between every swat of your palm. "Ah fuck! Spank me– oh my god!"

*Smack*

You hit harder, her delicate cheek blooming red underneath you.

"Ah!"

*Smack*

"Wreck me! Destroy my fucking ass like you destroyed me in the gym!"

You had her right where you wanted, your cock disappearing in and out of the tightest hole you've had the luxury of being inside of today, ever. She gripped onto your shaft like she never wanted it to leave the warm confines of her ass.

"Shit– you are tight. Gonna wreck you till you can't walk in the fucking morning!"

You barely even noticed Wonyoung snake below Chaewon, her tongue reaching out to lick her wet cunt between every thrust. Occasionally taking focus on your balls, the dual sensation blissful.

You had no thoughts but to fill Chaewon to the absolute brim. She was losing whatever previous fleeting moments of composure she had, clawing and scratching the silk bed-sheets in her vicinity. "Ughh! You are so fucking big! Fuck! Rail my tight ass!" She screamed so hard that the neighbours could hear crystal clear. Getting the best show of their fucking lives.

"You like this right? Being fucked like a common whore?" You punctuated each word with a slap of its own, her wails only getting more incoherent, more desperate.

"Yes! Oh my god yes! Don't stop- don't you fucking dare stop!"

"Wouldn't fucking dream of it."

"Oh! I'm gonna cum! Shit! Fuck oh!" She tightened in your embrace, stiffening up as she came all over Wonyoung's face.

But you hadn't cum yet.

You kept pounding her ass, fucking her through the soul shattering orgasm. Paying little attention to her overstimulated whines.

"You are getting close right? Gonna cum deep in my dirty ass?" She asked, looking at you with glassy eyes.

"Y-Yeah, fuck..."

"Fill me! Make Wonyoung eat your filthy load out of my ass!"

Her dirty talk made you fucking explode. Painting her walls white with every remaining drop of cum, letting out a satisfied groan.

You pulled out of Chaewon, asshole gaping as your semen began to trickle into Wonyoung's hungry mouth. This time she had no intention to share, swallowing it all as her trophy.

"Wow." Was all you could muster.

"Wow indeed." They chuckled.

Chaewon exhaustedly reached for her phone on the bedside table, handing it to you.

"Put your number in my phone, I think some of my workouts could be replaced by this." She gasped, basking in the afterglow.

Wonyoung withdrew from Chaewon's legs, "Don't count me out! I wanna join in."

"Ha, I could definitely make it work for people as hot as you."

"We'll hold you to that, but for now you two wanna grab late lunch?"

"Of fucking course, let's clean up first."

[lolderek]

Lost in Accendio

IVE Liz x Male Reader (Fan)

Part 2 of Lost In Accendio Series

A day passed agonizingly slowly with no sign of food or water. Your stomach growled incessantly, and your throat felt like sandpaper. You began to wonder if you would die here, starving to death in a cold, dark cell. Just as despair threatened to consume you, a knock echoed through the cell.

The door creaked open to reveal Liz, another Accendio member. She stepped inside, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. "Well," she said briskly, "looks like someone forgot to feed the prisoner. Liz set a tray of food on the floor beside you before kneeling down to unlock your chains. "You're lucky I came along," she muttered. "Or you might have wasted away in here." As she worked on the locks, Liz glanced up at you curiously. "So, what's your story? Why are you really here?"

As Liz unlocked the final chain, you immediately noticed the differences between her and Rei. Where Rei was calculated and controlled, Liz exuded a wild, unpredictable energy. Her hair was a wild mess of dark waves, and her makeup was bold and dramatic—sharp eyeliner and deep red lips that seemed to dare you to look away.

Despite her intimidating appearance, there was a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes as she studied you. "Come on," she said impatiently, tugging on your arm to help you up. "You look like you're about to keel over. Let's get some food in you." Liz led you out of the cell and into a dimly lit hallway. The walls were adorned with dark tapestries and eerie artwork that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. "So," she said over her shoulder, "what's your deal? You're not from around here, are you?"

You shook your head and followed Liz down the hallway. "No, I'm not. I'm a fan of IVE," you admitted hesitantly, unsure of how she would react. Liz stopped abruptly and turned to face you, raising an eyebrow. "IVE?" she repeated, a smirk playing on her lips. "As in the goody-two-shoes version?" She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let me guess—you thought you'd stumble into a magical world and live out your fantasies with them?" Liz's sharp, mirthless laughter echoed through the hallway. "Oh, sweetheart, You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." She grabbed your arm again, pulling you along more roughly this time. "But don't worry. I'll show you the real fun side of things around here."

Liz dragged you into a dimly lit room, and the door slammed shut behind you with an ominous thud. She pushed you roughly onto a plush chaise lounge in the center of the room. Before you could react, she produced a pair of ornate handcuffs and locked your wrists together above your head. "Now," she purred, her eyes raking over your bound form, "let's get you out of these clothes. They're so boring." Liz began to undress you slowly, her movements deliberate and teasing. She started with your shirt, pulling it off and tossing it carelessly aside. Her fingers traced the contours of your chest, her nails scraping lightly against your skin. "You know," she murmured, leaning in close, "I've always wondered what it would be like to corrupt one of those pure little IVE fans." Her lips brushed against your ear as she whispered, "And now I get to find out."

Liz paused in her ministrations, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she heard your desperate plea. "Rei, huh?" she said thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. "So the queen bee already had her fun with you, did she?" Liz's eyes glittered with amusement and a hint of jealousy. "Well, well. Looks like I'm not the only one with a taste for forbidden fruit around here."

She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your skin. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not about to let Rei have all the fun." Liz's hands continued to explore your body, igniting sparks of unwanted desire. "In fact," she purred, "I think it's time we showed you just how much darker things can get in this world."

Despite your protests and struggles against the restraints, Liz pressed on, determined to claim you for herself and assert her dominance over Rei.

She smirked at your futile struggles, finding that your resistance only served to excite her more. She trailed her lips down your chest, pausing to nip and suck your skin until it was marked with her passion.

Her hands quickly removed your remaining clothing, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath her. Liz took a moment to admire the view, her eyes dark with hunger. Without warning, she descended upon you, taking your hardening length into her mouth.

She worked you with expert skill, her tongue swirling and teasing as she sucked deeply. One hand gripped the base of your shaft, and the other gently massaged your balls. Liz's head bobbed up and down in a steady rhythm, determined to drive you wild with pleasure.

Your hands clenched into fists above your head as you struggled with the desire to push her away and the overwhelming urge to pull her closer. Liz sensed your internal struggle and redoubled her efforts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

As you neared your climax, Liz suddenly pulled back, releasing you from her mouth. She crawled up your body and pressed her lips against your ear, whispering, "You know, we're so much better than that boring, good-girl version of IVE. We embrace our desires, our darkness."

She wrapped her hand around your shaft and pumped slowly. "Think about it. Those sweet little angels could never satisfy you like we can. We'll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. Just give in to us. Let us corrupt you completely. You'll never want to go back."

She kissed you deeply, her tongue invading your mouth possessively. As she broke the kiss, she smirked down at you. "Now, are you going to be a good boy and do as I say?" Her hand tightened around you threateningly.

Her smirk widened into a triumphant grin as you nodded in submission. "Good boy," she purred, squeezing your hand in approval. "I'm glad you're finally seeing things our way."

She leaned in close, brushing her lips against your ear, and whispered, "Just so you know, I'm not just some twisted version of Liz. I am Liz — the real, unfiltered me. The one who's always been hiding beneath the surface, waiting to break free." Liz's tongue flicked out and traced the shell of your ear teasingly. "Now that you've met me," she continued, her voice dripping with dark promise, "there's no going back. You're mine now, to play with and corrupt as I see fit." With that declaration, Liz sealed her lips over yours in a searing kiss, plunging you into a world of sin and pleasure that would forever change your perception of IVE.

Liz's kiss was demanding and dominant. Her tongue explored your mouth with fierce hunger. She pressed her body against yours, the fabric of her clothes a tantalizing barrier between you. She slowly broke the kiss and pulled back, a wicked glint in her eye. With deliberate slowness, Liz began to undress, revealing inch by inch of her flawless skin. She peeled off her shirt, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts encased in a lacy black bra, and her pants followed suit, sliding down her legs to pool at her feet.

Liz stood before you in nothing but her underwear, a vision of dark beauty. She ran her hands possessively over her curves, biting her lip as she watched your reaction. "Like what you see?" she asked huskily, turning slowly to give you a full view. "This is what you've been missing out on with that innocent little IVE."

Liz crawled onto the chaise, straddling your hips with predatory grace. Leaning down, she brushed her breasts against your chest and whispered in your ear, "So, what do you think of that sweet, innocent Liz now? Does she seem so pure and perfect compared to me?"

Her hands roamed over your body, her nails scraping lightly against your skin. "I bet you never imagined her doing something like this," Liz purred, grinding her hips against yours suggestively. "Being so bold, so…bad." She nipped at your jawline, her breath hot against your skin. "The truth is, that good girl is just an act. It's a mask she wears to hide the darkness inside, but I don't bother pretending."

Liz's lips found yours again, kissing you deeply as her hands continued to explore. She broke away to trail kisses down your neck and chest. She paused to flick her tongue over a nipple teasingly. "So tell me,"

Liz's voice was a seductive murmur against your skin. "Do you still want her? That innocent, untouched version of Liz?" She looked up at you through her lashes, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Or do you prefer this? The real me, unfiltered and unrestrained?"

Her hands slid down to grip your hips and pull you flush against her. You could feel the heat of her core pressing against you through the thin fabric of her underwear. "I can give you things she never could," Liz promised darkly. "Pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. All you have to do is say yes." She captured your lips again in a searing kiss, pouring all her passion and desire into it. When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, panting softly. "So, what's it going to be?" she asked breathlessly. "Good Liz or bad Liz? The choice is yours."

Hearing your answer sent a thrill through Liz. Her eyes flashed with triumph and desire. "Good choice," she purred. She rewarded you with a searing kiss. In a swift motion, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down, freeing your hardened length.

She positioned herself above you, gripping your shoulders for leverage, and looked down at you with a wicked grin. She slowly lowered herself onto you, taking you inch by inch into her warmth. "Oh God," she gasped, falling back in ecstasy. "You feel even better than I imagined." She began to move, rolling her hips in a sensual rhythm that had you groaning beneath her. Liz's hands slid up to cup her breasts, kneading the soft flesh as she rode you with increasing fervor. "That's it," she encouraged breathlessly. "Touch me. Make me yours."

Liz rode you with wild abandon. Her movements grew more frenzied and desperate by the second as she threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back, chasing her release. The room was filled with the sounds of your labored breathing and the slapping of skin against skin. "Fuck," Liz panted. Her nails dug into your chest. "You're so deep inside me. I can feel you in my soul." Her hips snapped forward, grinding against you as she sought to prolong the pleasure. "Come on," she urged hoarsely. "Give it to me. Fill me up."

With a final, powerful thrust, Liz shattered around you. Her inner walls clamped down like a vise as she came undone above you. The sensation was too much, and with a hoarse shout of her name, you followed her over the edge, spilling yourself deep inside her convulsing heat.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Liz collapsed onto your chest, and you both panted heavily. She nuzzled your neck and placed gentle kisses on your pulse point. "Mmm," she murmured contentedly. "That was even better than I hoped." Liz lifted her head to look at you. Her eyes shone with satisfaction and something softer and more vulnerable. "You know," she said quietly, "I think I might just keep you around." She smiled—a rare, genuine smile that transformed her face and made her look almost innocent. Almost. "At least until I get bored of you," she added with a wink. Liz rolled off you, stretched languidly, stood up, and began to dress. As she pulled on her shirt, she glanced back at you over her shoulder. "Don't go anywhere," she said with a smirk. "I'll be back for round two soon enough."

A couple of hours later, the door to your cell creaked open and Liz stepped inside. But something was different this time. Instead of her usual dark, provocative attire, she wore a dress that looked eerily familiar — the same outfit Good Liz had worn in an earlier IVE music video.

The soft, flowing white dress with delicate lace accents was completely at odds with Liz's usual style. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and her makeup was minimal, accentuating her natural beauty. She looked like a perfect replica of Good Liz, right down to the gentle smile on her face.

Liz closed the door behind her and walked over to you slowly, her movements graceful and almost shy. She sat down beside you on the bed and folded her hands primly in her lap. "Hey there," she said softly, glancing up at you through her lashes.

You couldn't help but stare at her, captivated by her sudden transformation. She looked so innocent and pure in that dress—a stark contrast to the wicked temptress you had come to know. You had the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, Good Liz had come to rescue you, but those innocent illusions were shattered in an instant when Liz's hand suddenly snaked out and gripped your hardening length through your pants. She looked up at you with a mischievous grin; all traces of shyness were gone. "You like the dress?" she asked teasingly, squeezing you. "I thought it might be fun to play dress-up."

Without waiting for an answer, Liz leaned down and began unbuckling your belt with her free hand. She roughly pulled your pants and underwear down, freeing your erection.

Liz's eyes widened in mock innocence as she took in the sight of your bare cock. "My, my," she cooed. "Someone's excited to see me." She wrapped her hand around your shaft and stroked slowly, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Then, without warning, she leaned down and took you into her mouth, swallowing you whole. The sensation was overwhelming—the contrast between her innocent appearance and the filthy act she was committing was enough to make your head spin. Liz sucked deeply, her tongue swirling around your length as she bobbed her head up and down, one hand pumping your shaft and the other reaching up to gently fondle your balls.

She pulled back briefly, leaving a string of saliva connecting her lips to your tip. "You taste even better like this," Liz murmured appreciatively before diving back in and redoubling her efforts to bring you to the brink.

Just as you felt yourself nearing the edge, Liz pulled away abruptly, leaving you panting and desperate. She stood up and hiked her dress up around her waist, revealing that she wasn't wearing any underwear. "I want to feel you inside me when you come," she explained with a wicked grin.

Liz climbed onto the bed and straddled your hips. She guided your throbbing length to her entrance and teased you with shallow thrusts. "Please," you begged, your hips bucking upward involuntarily. "Please, Liz . . ." Your plea was cut off by a moan as she finally sank down onto you, taking you to the hilt in one smooth motion. Liz began to ride you with wild abandon, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she chased her own release. "That's it," she gasped. "Fuck me harder. Fill me up." Her movements grew more frantic, and her inner walls clamped down around you like a vice.

Liz unlocked the cuffs binding your wrists and freed your hands. She leaned back, bracing herself on your chest, and continued to ride you vigorously. Your hands instinctively gripped her hips, your nails digging into her soft flesh.

On a whim, you lifted one hand and sharply slapped her ass. The sound of the slap echoed through the room. Liz froze for a moment, then let out a startled gasp that quickly turned into a moan of pleasure. "Do it again," she demanded breathlessly. "Harder." Encouraged by her reaction, you obliged, raining down a series of stinging slaps on her rear as she bounced on your cock.

Liz's movements became more erratic, and her inner walls fluttered around you as she approached her peak. "Yes!" she cried out. "Just like that! I'm so close…"

With a final, brutal slap to her ass, Liz shattered above you, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She screamed your name, her body convulsing as she rode out the intense pleasure. The sensation of her clamping down around you was too much, and with a hoarse shout, you followed her over the edge.

Your release pulsed deep inside her, filling her to the brim as she milked you for every last drop. Liz collapsed onto your chest, both of you panting heavily as you came down from the high of your shared climax. "Fuck," she murmured into your neck. "That was intense." She lifted her head to look at you with a satisfied smirk. "I think I'm going to keep this dress around."

She climbed off you, straightened her dress, and leaned down to press a quick, hard kiss to your lips. Then she turned and headed for the door. "I'll be back later," she called over her shoulder. "Don't miss me too much." And with that, she was gone, leaving you alone in the cell once more.

You lay there, your mind reeling from the events of the past few hours. You had just slept with two evil versions of IVE members—Rei and Liz. To your shock and dismay, you found yourself enjoying it. The darkness and taboo nature of it all thrilled you in a way you never thought possible.

One part of you screamed that it was wrong and that you were betraying the pure, innocent IVE that you loved so much, but another part whispered seductively in your ear, urging you to embrace this newfound pleasure.

[lolderek]

Can you do Misamo in their favorite position getting dominated and fucked hard, what are the phrases they saying and how would they moan.

The suite hums with quiet opulence, city lights casting fractured gold across silk sheets.

Mina kneels between your legs, spine straight, thighs tucked under her. Her silk robe slips from one shoulder, baring the soft curve of skin that glows in the bedside lamp. She doesn’t speak. Her lips part slightly, breath steady, her gaze fixed on your cock with the calm of a woman who’d decided long ago exactly what she wanted to give.

You let the silence stretch. Her fingers move first, delicate and slow, wrapping around the base of you like she’s measuring the weight of her offering. Then her mouth—hot, velvet, patient—closes over you. No hesitation. No need for praise. This isn’t obedience; it’s devotion.

Your hand slides into her hair. Not to guide. Just to hold. Her rhythm is smooth, fluid, and controlled, every glide of her mouth punctuated by a soft exhale through her nose. Her tongue curls with deliberate pressure, as if tracing every vein is an act of reverence.

She blinks up at you once. The look isn’t pleading. It’s open. Receptive. Wanting only your satisfaction. It stirs something feral.

“Wider,” you say.

She obeys without question, jaw relaxing, letting you ease deeper past her lips. You press forward slowly, watching her throat flex. She swallows, the sensation clenching around you. When her eyes water, she doesn’t pull away. She blinks through it, cheeks hollowing, arms resting neatly in her lap.

You hold her there for a long breath, then withdraw an inch.

“Good,” you murmur. “Again.”

Her body shifts forward eagerly, accepting you, surrendering her throat like it’s sacred space meant for your pleasure. Each motion is unhurried, unflinching. She allows you to use her mouth completely, her only reward the low growl that escapes your throat.

She pulls back just long enough to whisper, voice husky and reverent, "Use me, please... I want to feel you deeper. I want to taste all of you."

Then her lips wrap around you again, messier now, more desperate. Between thrusts, muffled by your length, she moans, "You're so hard for me... so deep in my throat... I love how full you make me feel."

Her hands grip your thighs now, holding steady as you thrust. "Don’t stop," she gasps during a breath. "Keep going... we have all night."

The tempo builds. Your grip tightens. Her moans vibrate along your shaft, soft and muffled, her saliva pooling freely. Outside, the moonlight leaks across the floor, as if it, too, wants to witness this.

When you finally spill, she doesn’t flinch. Just swallows everything with quiet grace, then licks the tip clean, a final act of reverence.

You lean forward, brushing a thumb along the wetness at her lip.

Mina smiles.

“Happy?” she whispers.

“Always,” you say.

The loft is quiet except for the brutal rhythm of your hips slamming into Sana.

She's naked, on all fours over the couch, back arched deep, ass high. Her pale skin is flushed and marked where you've gripped her hard. Her brown hair is a wild mess, strands clinging to her sweaty face as she moans, face buried in the cushions.

You're deep in her, unforgiving. No slow build, no mercy. Just raw dominance. She takes it. All of it.

“You're mine,” you growl, one hand fisting in her hair. “Say it."

She gasps, voice cracking. "I’m yours! Fuck—I’m all yours!"

You pull her hair tighter, her spine bowing as you bury yourself to the hilt. Her cunt clenches, dripping wet, welcoming every brutal thrust.

“You're just a hole for me now, Sana. Say it."

She sobs, arousal soaking the couch beneath her. "Yes! Just your fuckhole! Use me... please use me harder...!"

Her tits bounce violently beneath her with every thrust, nipples raw from scraping fabric. Her legs tremble, thighs slick. You slap her ass, hard.

“Louder. I want the neighbors to know who you belong to.”

“Aaah! I belong to you!” she screams, voice high and broken. “Only you! Fuck me rougher—I can take it!"

You pound her deeper, driving her into the cushions, her breath ragged and cut with cries. Her body rocks with each slap, every inch of her obeying your command.

“Yabai... yamete... hidoi... demo suki... suki...!” she wails, tears streaking her cheeks. Her orgasm hits like a seizure, body locking around your cock as she shudders violently.

You keep going, chasing your own release, using her until you empty deep inside her with a growl.

Sana collapses, twitching, a mess of sweat and cum and raw desire. She turns her head, lips trembling.

"More," she whispers. "Please. More. I'll take everything."

You don’t know how long it’s been. Hours maybe. Days, by how your body feels. The loft reeks of sex—sweat, heat, the sharp scent of Momo’s nonstop release.

She’s still on top of you.

Her thighs straddle your hips, sticky and trembling, but unrelenting. Her skin shines under the overhead light, slick and raw, flushed from crown to toe. Her nails rake down your chest as she rides you again, her hips rolling in ruthless, perfect rhythm.

You lost count of how many times she came. The sheets are soaked, the couch ruined, your body half-broken beneath her. And she just keeps going.

Her eyes are wild. Feral. Her lips parted, gasping for air but grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Because she does.

“Still hard,” she pants. “Good boy. I’m not done.”

You try to speak, but your voice is a scrape. She leans down, bites your bottom lip, then kisses you hard, grinding down to the base.

“Cum again for me,” she growls against your mouth. “I’ll take it. Every last drop. I’ll milk you dry. Ain’t nobody around... do it like you should."

You grip her waist on instinct, but she shoves your hands down, pinning them. She rides harder.

Your mind spins. You don’t know if she loves you or if she’s trying to end you. The way she moans, cries out with every orgasm—yet never stops. The way she looks at you like you're hers to ruin.

She throws her head back. “Fuck… I’m cumming again—don’t you dare stop!”

Her body clamps down, and you explode inside her, helpless, aching, drained. She doesn’t move off.

She just rocks, slow now, savoring it.

“That’s it,” she whispers. “Good fucking boy. You’re mine."

And you believe her.

P.S. You don't dominate Momo, she dominates you. HAHA

[lolderek]

Waterbomb (Nayeon)

Sky feels like a smoldering furnace of raw desire. The air is thick with sweat, heat, and the heady scent of lust, as the Waterbomb Music Festival pulses with roaring crowds, glowing sticks, and a chaotic sea of cheers. I’m standing in the VIP backstage lounge. Nayeon, who’s about to hit the stage for her solo promo. I’ve already cooked up a twisted, filthy game to push her to the edge of ecstasy.

The lounge reeks of their signature perfumes, mixed with the salty tang of sweat from their recent rehearsal, carrying a faint, intoxicating whiff of feminine allure. I pull a small, potent aphrodisiac pill from my pocket—custom-made for them, designed to set every nerve on fire and leave their pussies dripping like a flood. I grip Nayeon’s chin, forcing her to part those luscious red lips, revealing her pearly teeth and soft pink tongue, then shove the pill into her mouth. “Swallow it, Nayeon, you dirty little slut,” I growl. “Tonight, I want you writhing on that stage, letting the whole world see how I’ve fucked you senseless.” Her eyes flicker with a mix of shame and submission as her throat bobs, the pill sliding down. The drug hits fast—her cheeks flush a deep pink, her breathing quickens, and her chest heaves, the swimsuit straining over her trembling breasts, nipples hardening into tight little peaks beneath the fabric.

She’s wearing a sleek, high-neck one-piece swimsuit, deep blue and hugging her curves like a second skin. The neckline climbs to her collarbone, hiding her cleavage, but the fabric clings just enough to outline her full, round tits without revealing too much. It’s thin and tight, moving with her every step, adding a forbidden edge to her look. Before she heads out, I undo my belt slowly, fingers brushing the zipper, and before I can even pull it down, Nayeon drops to her knees like she’s been compelled by some primal urge. Her eyes burn with obedience and hunger, her lips parting to release a warm, sweet breath laced with that feminine scent. Without a word, her trembling hands yank down my boxers, and my cock springs free—rock-hard, like a heated steel rod, a few glistening drops of precum catching the light in a lewd shine. She moans, “Mmm… Master… so hard…” and takes the tip into her mouth, her tongue darting skillfully around the ridge, her warm mouth enveloping me in waves of tingling pleasure.

I lean down close, murmuring, “Nice one, Nayeon. You’re already serving Daddy’s cock—lick harder, let me hear that throat work.” Her head bobs slowly, lips sealed tight around me, a wet “gluck gluck” gurgling from her throat as saliva drips down my shaft, pooling on my balls with a sticky heat that makes me growl. One hand grips my base, thumb pressing into the throbbing vein, while the other massages my sack, her nails grazing the sensitive skin just enough to send a shiver through me. She looks up, eyes glazed with lust, spit dangling from her chin, and moans, “Mmm… ahh… Daddy… your cock’s so hot… I want to drain it dry…” Her tongue swirls around the head, dipping into the slit, sucking with a wet “slurp” that tightens her throat around me like a snug little pussy. I grab her hair, guiding the rhythm, thrusting into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. She chokes out a muffled moan, tears and drool streaking her face, adding to the filthy beauty of it all. Her lips stretch wide, saliva spilling over her chin, soaking the edge of her swimsuit, her tits quivering beneath, nipples poking through the fabric like eager beacons. I order, “Open wider, Nayeon, take all my cum down your throat—don’t waste a drop!” With a final grunt, I erupt, hot streams flooding her mouth. She swallows hard, some spilling past her lips, dripping down her neck and staining her suit, the musky scent of my release filling the air. She licks up the remnants, panting, her gaze now dripping with submission and need.

I don’t give her a moment to catch her breath. From another pocket, I pull out a pink vibrator, smooth with tiny nubs designed to tease her most sensitive spots. I set it to low, the soft buzz humming to life, then tug down her denim shorts, revealing her damp panties. Her pussy’s outline shows through the thin fabric, lips swollen and glistening, a faint musky aroma wafting up like a siren’s call. I slide the toy into her panties, nestling it against her clit and between her folds, pressing until it’s snug in her slit. The vibration hums against her, and she jolts, letting out a stifled moan, “Mmm… Master… it’s… ahh… too much…” Her thighs clench instinctively, trying to dull the electric jolts, but the aphrodisiac has her pussy pulsing, juices trickling down her inner thighs, soaking her panties, the wet patch spreading with a potent sex scent.

I smirk, leaning to whisper in her ear, my tongue flicking her lobe with hot, wicked intent. “Hold it in, my filthy Nayeon. On that stage, I want the world to see you lose it to me.” I crank the remote to medium, and the toy’s buzz intensifies. Her legs buckle, nearly dropping her to the floor, her face flushing crimson, tits shaking under the suit, nipples jutting out harder. She bites her lip, struggling to stand, nodding with eyes full of surrender and desire, completely under my control. A staff member knocks, urging her on, and she stumbles toward the stage while I follow to the VIP area, remote in hand, ready to ramp up the torment and savor her debauched performance.

The stage lights wrap around Nayeon like lustful tendrils, her high-neck swimsuit clinging tighter as water cascades over her, tracing her curves. The deep blue fabric outlines her perfect shape, breasts rising without showing cleavage, adding a mysterious allure. The water drenches her, turning the suit semi-transparent, her nipples and the faint pink of her areolas peeking through under the harsh lights. Her shorts barely cover her plump ass, rips exposing the tender flesh of her upper thighs, the wet panty line clinging to her cheeks, hinting at the crease below and a shadow of pubic hair. Her juices and sweat mix, streaming down her legs, soaking the shorts, some dripping onto the stage with a lewd shimmer.

But her performance isn’t smooth. The aphrodisiac sets her body ablaze with uncontrollable need, her pussy feeling licked by invisible flames, each vibrator pulse striking her clit and deep inside like a live wire, nearly toppling her. She starts with steady dance moves, hips swaying, ass rolling, but when I switch the remote to medium, her legs tremble, juices leaking uncontrollably, staining her shorts with a dark patch. She bites her lip to stifle moans, face red, eyes hazy, like she’s drowning in pleasure. I’m not done—I toy with the settings, flipping between low, high, and medium, tormenting her sweet spots. When it spikes, she freezes, tits quaking, almost collapsing, whimpering, “Mmm… ahh… Master… help me…” The crowd thinks it’s part of the act, cheering louder, but I know she’s teetering on the edge, her pussy clenching, juices pooling on the stage, reeking of raw sex. I crank it to max—her legs give out, she nearly falls, clinging to the beat, a moan slipping out, “Daddy… I… ahh… can’t take it…” Her red hair tangles with sweat and water, tongue licking her lips, eyes begging me yet dripping with seduction. As she nears climax, her pussy spasms hard, a gush of fluid soaking her thighs, legs shaking uncontrollably—then I kill the vibe. She freezes, a flash of frustration and unfulfilled lust crossing her face, her hole still twitching, juices dribbling down as she bites her lip, pleading with her eyes for more.

After the show, the lights dim, and Nayeon staggers offstage, legs wobbling like jelly, her panties and shorts drenched, inner thighs slick with sticky fluid, droplets of cum hanging from the shorts’ edge, splashing the floor with each step. She bolts into the lounge, locks the door, and pounces on me like a horny beast, shoving me onto the couch. Her body presses against mine, tits mashed to my chest, hard nipples scraping through the suit, sending shocks through me. She gasps, voice hoarse and lewd, “Daddy… mmm… ahh… I can’t stand it… ha… the drug… the toy… it’s killing me… mmm… please… ahh… fuck my slutty hole with your big cock… ha… Master… give me your cum… ahh… I want to cum over and over…”

I seize her waist, pulling her close with a wicked grin. “Looks like my little slut’s desperate. Get on all fours—I’m going to break that pussy completely!” Her hands tear at my shirt, buttons popping, fingers raking my chest with hot trails before diving to my waist, ripping open my belt and yanking down my jeans and boxers. My cock’s steel-hard, precum oozing, the thick vein pulsing, tip purple and radiating heat. Her eyes gleam like a cat’s, moaning, “Mmm… ahh… so big… ha… so hard… mmm… Master… I want to lick your cock raw… ahh… let me taste your manly flavor…” She kneels, hands wrapping my base, thumb rubbing the slit, making me growl as precum drips onto her palm. She licks it off, purring, “Mmm… so salty… so thick…”

I loom over her, commanding, “Stop staring, Nayeon—open that mouth and treat my cock like your dinner!” She lowers her head, lips sliding over the tip, tongue flicking the ridge, her warm mouth engulfing me with tingling waves. Her head moves up and down, a wet “gluck gluck” from her throat as spit runs down my shaft, dripping on my balls, the sticky heat making me shudder. One hand kneads my sack, nails grazing, the other strokes my base, thumb pressing the vein, speeding up as she moans, “Mmm… ha… Master… your cock’s so hot… I want to please you… ahh…” Her tongue circles the head, dipping into the slit, sucking with a “slurp” that tightens her throat around me like a pussy. Her lips stretch, saliva spilling down her chin, soaking her suit’s edge, tits jiggling, nipples straining the fabric. I grip her hair, growling, “Suck harder, Nayeon—make me feel your throat worshipping me!” She goes wild, tongue swirling the tip, throat sucking with force that nearly undoes me, spit dripping to soak my pants, the air thick with sex.

Her hands get bolder—one kneads my balls, the other digs nails into my ass, mixing pain with pleasure. She looks up, eyes lost, lips red and stretched, moaning, “Mmm… ha… Daddy… your cock’s so hard… ahh… I want to swallow it…” She takes me deep, throat clenching tight, a wet “slosh slosh” as her tongue laps my base, teasing my balls, then back to the tip, hitting every sensitive spot. I roar, “Perfect, Nayeon—keep deep-throating, I’m going to flood your stomach!” With a final grunt, I cum, hot jets pouring into her throat. She swallows, some leaking out, dripping down her neck, staining her suit, the musky scent overwhelming. She licks up the rest, panting, eyes burning with submission.

She pulls off, cum dangling from her lips, licking them clean, gasping, “Mmm… ha… not done… ahh… Daddy… fuck me… mmm… ram that big cock into my slutty hole… make me cum till I die…” I stand, grabbing her arm with a devilish smirk. “Then Daddy’s turning your pussy into my personal fuck-pit—get ready to scream!” I tug her shorts and panties to her thighs, exposing her soaked cunt—lips swollen, juices running down her legs, pattering the floor. Her clit’s puffed like a grape, glistening, her hole gaping slightly, pink flesh peeking out, reeking of ripe sex. She moans, “Mmm… ha… so wet… ahh… Master… please… mmm… wreck me… ha… fill my slutty hole… make me squirt…” She straddles me, hands on my shoulders, knees on the couch, ass lifted, easing onto my cock with a cry, “Ahh… mmm… so big… ha… it’s in… ahh… hitting my womb… mmm… so hard… ha… Daddy… fuck me to death…”

I growl, “Clamp that pussy, Nayeon—let me feel your walls sucking my cock!” Her insides grip me like a tight fist, hot as a furnace, folds wrapping my head like tiny mouths, each thrust shaking her depths, juices dripping down my base to the couch with a wet “squish.” Her walls are slick and scorching, ridges rubbing my shaft, her womb’s entrance sucking the tip, sending jolts of pleasure. She starts riding, each drop taking me fully, ass slapping my thighs with “smack smack” sounds, her moans mixing in, “Mmm… ahh… so deep… ha… Master… fuck me… mmm… ahh… so good… ha… your cock’s amazing…” Her hips roll like waves, swaying front to back, circling, each tilt grinding her depths against me, fluids spilling from our join, soaking the couch, the air heavy with sex. Her pussy clenches like a hungry mouth, folds massaging me, juices trickling down, hitting my legs with a strong musk.

I slide a hand over her swimsuit, saying, “Your tits are begging for it, Nayeon—I’m going to ruin them!” Though the cleavage’s hidden, I feel them quake under the fabric, grabbing the swell, squeezing hard, thumb rubbing her nipple till it juts out. She screams, “Ahh… mmm… hurts… ha… so good… ahh… Daddy… crush my nipples… mmm… ahh… Master… harder…” My other hand smacks her ass, leaving a red print, the flesh jiggling as she wails louder, “Mmm… ahh… harder… ha… Master… fuck me… ahh… so deep… mmm… ha… spank me again… ahh… make my ass red…” Her walls clamp, nearly making me burst, fluids gushing out, dripping with a lewd sound, her scent thick like she’s lost control. Her ass trembles under my thrusts, the shorts’ edge chafing her thighs, adding a taboo thrill. I slip fingers under her suit, pinching her nipple, twisting till it reddens, saying, “Your nips are rock-hard, Nayeon—Daddy’s turning them into toys!” She shrieks, writhing, her pussy tightening to swallow me whole.

She leans down, lips on mine, tongue invading as she moans into the kiss, “Mmm… ha… ahh… so good… mmm… Master… kiss me… ha… fuck my mouth with your tongue…” I reply, “Open wide, Nayeon—let my tongue drive you wild!” Her tongue dances in my mouth, sucking my tip, spit drooling down her chin, soaking her suit, the slick feel fueling my fire. Her tits press my chest, nipples like stones, sending shocks. She rides faster, breasts bouncing wildly, cries endless, “Ahh… mmm… so fast… ha… Daddy… you’re killing me… ahh… mmm… hitting my womb… ha… Master… deeper…” Her walls convulse, folds grinding me, her womb sucking hard, pleasure overwhelming. She climaxes with a scream, “Ahh… mmm… I’m cumming… ha… ahh… so good… mmm… my pussy’s splitting… ahh… Daddy… cum inside…” I roar, “Take it, Nayeon—Daddy’s filling your womb!” Her walls milk me dry as I shoot, hot floods pouring in, her moan, “Mmm… ha… so hot… ahh… so full… mmm… Master… in my womb… ha… fill me…” Cum and juices spill out, dripping down my balls, the sticky mess on my thighs reeking of sex.

She’s insatiable, kneeling on the couch, ass high, hands on the backrest, glancing back with sultry eyes, panting, “Mmm… ha… again… ahh… Master… fuck me from behind… mmm… ram me hard… make me scream…” I stand, slapping her cheek, saying, “Alright, Nayeon, Daddy’s pounding you into a puddle from the back—brace yourself!” I eye her gaping hole, lips raw, clit swollen, cum leaking, the entrance still pulsing for me. I shift her shorts further, exposing her ass and pussy, leaving the suit and shorts around her thighs, and thrust in deep. She shrieks, “Ahh… mmm… so deep… ha… it’s in… ahh… hitting my womb… mmm… so hard… ha… Daddy… fuck me to death…” Her legs quake, juices streaming down, pattering the couch, the musk hitting hard like proof of her total ruin.

We’ve been at it since dusk, the lounge now a haze of her moans and the slap of flesh, lights fading from warm dusk to murky night. I grip her waist, pounding relentlessly, each thrust bottoming out, her ass quivering with “smack smack” echoes, the flesh blooming red under my hands. I say, “Wiggle that ass, Nayeon—make it better for me!” Her cries flow, “Mmm… ahh… so thick… ha… hitting my womb… ahh… harder… mmm… Master… fuck me… ha… ahh… so deep… mmm…” Her walls are tight, burning, my earlier load squelching with each pump, her broken moans, “Ahh… mmm… so good… ha… deeper… ahh… Daddy… wreck my pussy… mmm… ha… ahh…” I smack her ass again, a red handprint forming, flesh jiggling as I growl, “Louder, Nayeon—let those screams shake the walls!” She turns, eyes dazed, lips bitten red, gasping, “Mmm… ahh… Master… fuck me… ha… harder… ahh… I need… mmm… destroy me… ahh… so deep… ha… Daddy… more…”

Her words ignite me further. I yank her hair back, arching her spine, tits flailing under the suit like ripe fruit. I reach around, squeezing the swell, pinching her nipple hard, feeling it stiffen through the fabric as she wails, “Ahh… mmm… hurts… ha… so good… ahh… Daddy… crush my tits… mmm… Master… fuck me… ha… ahh… amazing… mmm…” I say, “Your tits are bouncing like crazy, Nayeon—I’m squeezing till they beg!” Her walls clench, sucking me in. I speed up, each thrust shoving her forward, ass reddening, her screams peaking, “Ahh… mmm… cumming… ha… Master… you’re killing me… ahh… so good… mmm… cumming… ahh… ha… ahh… Daddy… cum in me…” Her voice cracks between sobs and pleas, walls gripping me tight. I shoot again, flooding her womb, her climaxing shriek, “Ahh… mmm… you came… ha… so hot… ahh… so full… mmm… Master… cumming… ahh… ha… ahh… Daddy… fill me…” Her pussy drains me dry, cum and juices gushing out, splattering my thighs, the couch a mess of sex.

She’s still hungry, turning to face me, bottom bare but suit and shorts tangled at her thighs, body marked with my scratches and bruises, tits bearing my fingerprints, thighs coated in cum and fluids, her pussy swollen and leaking, drops hitting the couch with wet plops. She licks her lips, moaning, “Mmm… ha… not done yet… ahh… Master… mmm… I want more… ha… again… ahh… Daddy… fuck me one more time…” I grin, “You greedy little slut, Nayeon—Daddy’s fucking you till your legs give out tonight!” Her voice is a spell I can’t resist, my cock hardening again, tip slick with her juices and my cum, the sticky feel keeping me on edge.

She pushes me down, straddling me for another round, her hole red and puffy but still tight, burning hot, walls enveloping me as she rides, tits bouncing wildly under the suit, moans nonstop, “Ahh… mmm… so hard… ha… Daddy… fuck me… ahh… I need… mmm… cumming… ahh… ha… Master… deeper…” I say, “Roll those hips, Nayeon—let me go deeper!” Her waist undulates like a snake, each drop slamming me to her womb, “smack smack” ringing out, juices flooding the couch. Her walls are a searing cave, folds grinding me, pleasure surging. Her pussy sucks like a mouth, folds massaging, fluids dripping down, hitting my legs with a strong musk. She leans in, tits on my chest, nipples like rocks, moaning, “Mmm… ha… Master… so deep… ahh… you’re breaking me…” I retort, “Break then, Nayeon—your pussy’s my private fuck-hole, keep going!” I grab her tits, twisting the nipples, her scream, “Ahh… mmm… crush my tits… ha… so good… ahh… Master… harder…” Her walls clamp, I cum again, flooding her womb, her cry, “Ahh… cumming… ha… so hot… mmm… Daddy… fill me… ahh… Master… make me squirt…” A gush soaks me and the couch, the air thick with sex.

We plunge deeper into endless fucking, Nayeon’s pussy a ravenous beast, clenching my cock, the wet slaps and squelches echoing. She rides me through climax after climax, tits flopping, nipples like stones, dripping sweat and cum. Her walls are a blazing tunnel, folds ravaging my shaft, womb sucking the tip, pleasure unmatched. She moans, “Mmm… ha… Master… I love your cock… ahh… Daddy… more… make me your slave…” I say, “You’re already my slave, Nayeon—I’m fucking you till you beg!” I slap her ass, leaving red marks, pinching her nipples, her scream and squirt drenching me, fluids pooling, the musk overwhelming.

She collapses on me, gasping, eyes glazed, licking my ear, “Mmm… ha… Daddy… more… ahh… Master… fuck me forever…” I murmur, “Hold on, Nayeon—my mansion’s got worse in store, get up!” I flip her onto the couch, lifting her legs, shifting her shorts, ramming into her pussy. She shrieks, “Ahh… mmm… so deep… ha… Master… wreck me…” I pound hard, hitting her womb, the “slosh slosh” of cum and juices loud, her orgasms chaining, tits quaking, nipples red from my grip. She moans, “Mmm… ahh… Daddy… I’m cumming… ha… Master… cum again…” I growl, “Another load, Nayeon—your womb’s taking all my seed!” I erupt, filling her, overflow spilling out, soaking the couch.

We decide to head to my mansion for more. The sex stretches from dusk to night, the lounge a fog of lust, her moans and my grunts a dirty symphony. As we dress, her suit and shorts cling with sweat and fluids, her eyes longing. We reach my sleek car parked backstage—I slide into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and Nayeon kneels beside me, lips wrapping my cock again. I grip the wheel, focusing on the road, saying, “Nice, Nayeon—suck while I drive, don’t make me crash into a pole, got it?” The dim interior lights her face, eyes locked on my shaft, tongue teasing the tip with a “slurp,” her warm mouth sending shivers.

I navigate the night streets, skyscrapers reflecting off the glass, contrasting the car’s lewd vibe. I say, “Put some effort in, Nayeon—stick that tongue in, serve my cock right!” Her head bobs, lips tight, a “gluck gluck” from her throat as spit drips down my base, pooling on the seat, the scent thick. One hand grips me, thumb on the vein, the other massages my balls, nails grazing, making me growl. I add, “Don’t stop, Nayeon—make your mouth as tight as your pussy!” She looks up, eyes hazy, spit on her chin, moaning, “Mmm… ha… Master… so hard… ahh… I’ll suck you to the mansion…” Her tongue circles the head, dipping into the slit, sucking with a “slurp,” throat clenching like a pussy.

I steer around traffic, growling, “Faster, Nayeon—let me feel your throat take me!” Her skills sharpen, tongue swirling, throat sucking with force that tests my focus. The car fills with her moans and wet sounds, the air heavy with sex. She speeds up, head pumping, cock sliding in and out with “pat pat” taps, spit dripping to soak my pants. Her hands get daring—one kneads my balls, the other claws my ass, mixing pain and pleasure. I say, “Great job, Nayeon—keep going, I’m cumming down your throat!” She looks up, lips red and stretched, moaning, “Mmm… ha… Daddy… so hard… ahh… I’ll swallow…” She takes me deep, throat tight, a “slosh slosh” as her tongue laps my base, teasing my balls, then back to the tip.

I drive, gripping her hair, “Swallow it, Nayeon—let my cum flood your throat!” I thrust deep, she chokes, tears streaming, sucking harder. The car rolls steady, my focus split between road and pleasure, saying, “Your mouth’s a vacuum, Nayeon—tighter than your cunt!” I cum hard, jets pouring into her, she swallows, some leaking, dripping onto her suit, nipples glistening under the light. I order, “Lick it clean, Nayeon—not a drop left!” She obeys, panting, eyes submissive, moaning, “Mmm… ha… Master… so hot… ahh… I want more…” The car slowly heads to the mansion, we both know it's going to be another sleepless night.

[lolderek]

Waterbomb Chances

Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader

2.9k+

The KINTEX Outdoor Global Stage at Waterbomb Seoul 2025 is sensational on July 6, the crowd shouting as water cannons blast through the summer heat.

You're the captain of Kwon Eunbi's eight male backup dancers, your toned body soaked, your broad bare frame accompanying as you nail for her choreography

The "Waterbomb Queen," owns the stage in her red open dress, revealing a white bra that barely contains her massive boobs, paired with tight jean shorts hugging her curves.

Her bob short dark hair swings, her skin glistens with water and sweat, and her boobs threaten to spill out with every sharp move.

As captain, you're focused on keeping the team tight, but it's nearly impossible not to notice her, especially when her bra shifts during spins, the crowd screaming louder. You grit your teeth, locking in on the choreo, your role demanding professionalism despite the heat creeping up your neck.

During "Crazy In Love," Eunbi grinds close, her boobs brushing your arm as you execute a dip, her teasing smirk catching you off guard. You nearly miss a step, your heart racing, but you recover, leading the team through the final lift that sends the fans into a frenzy.

Her white bra, soaked from water jets, clings to her skin, almost transparent, her curves on full display. You force your eyes to the crowd, not her chest.

The performance ends, and you lead the dancers offstage, leaving Eunbi to play in the water jets, splashing the crowd, her red blouse flapping open, her white bra leaving little to the imagination.

Backstage, you and your teammate, a cocky dancer with a quick grin, towel off in the hallway outside the briefing room, the post-show adrenaline still pumping.

The other dancers are nearby, grabbing water and checking phones, but you keep them in line, ensuring everyone's ready for the next move.

"Fuck, man," your teammate whispers, leaning close, his voice low.

"Eunbi's unreal out there. Those tits? I'd do anything to fuck her." He chuckles.

You shake your head, laugh it off, knowing it's just the high talking, "Keep it real, bro," you say, wiping sweat from your brow. "She's our boss, you can't never fuck her."

But you can't deny to yourself, the image of her boobs nearly spilling out of that white bra during the lift is burned into your mind, her wet blouse framing her curves perfectly.

You shake it off, reminding yourself you're the captain, your job is to keep the team focused, not fuel the locker room talk.

The briefing room door opens, and Eunbi steps out, still in her stage outfit, red dress open, white bra soaked and clinging to her massive boobs, her jean shorts damp and tight.

Her managers trail behind, but she waves them off, focusing on you and the dancers. "Hey, guys," she says, "Gather up."

You motion for the team to form a circle. Eunbi's eyes scan each of you, "You guys killed it," she says, her tone sincere, her boobs shifting slightly as she gestures. "The choreo was so tight, and that final lift? Insane. You made me look good, and the fans are losing it.*

You nod, pride swelling, though her white bra and open blouse make your pulse quicken, "We just followed your lead, Eunbi," you say, keeping your voice steady.

She laughs, brushing wet hair behind her ear, her blouse slipping open further, "Don't play humble, Captain," she teases, her eyes glinting. "You kept everyone on point. Especially you." She nods at you, and the others chuckle, your teammate nudging you subtly. "Seriously, you guys are my backbone. Thank you."

Her words hit deep, and you feel the team's energy lift. "Now go shower—you’re all gross," she says, smirking, her bra still drawing eyes as she adjusts her blouse.

We laugh chuckles, shoving each other playfully, and she heads back to her managers.

Your teammate grins, whispering, "Well damn, she's massive huh?"

You elbow him, smiling. "Shh, shut up." You grab your bag, leading the team out.

After her heartfelt thank you speech, you're ready to go home.

You head to the parking lot, your girlfriend is waiting by your car, Yoobin, her short hair tucked behind her ears.

"Hey, you were amazing out there!" Yoobin says, her smile bright as she steps forward, giving you a quick hug, "I saw the livestream. You killed it."

"Thanks," you say, tossing your bag into the trunk, "It was... intense."

Yoobin leans against the car, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "God, I'm such a fan of Eunbi. I'd kill myself to meet her. Is she still around?"

You shrug, closing the trunk, "She's probably gone by now. Nexting her schedules."

You're ready to head home, but Yoobin's enthusiasm makes you pause, her admiration for Eunbi almost cute.You check your phone before enter your car.

"Hey!"

But some voice draw your attention, you turn to see where the voice coming from.

Yoobin gasps, "It's Eunbi! Oh my god..."

Yup it's Eunbi. She is approaching you still in her red dress, white bra, a her jean shorts hugging her hips.

"Capt, you still here? I need a favor."

"What’s up?" you ask, keeping your tone professional.

Eunbi stops in front of you, her boobs shifting under her open blouse, drawing Yoobin's wide eyed stare.

"My manager twisted her ankle running to get the van," she says, brushing wet hair from her face.

"I need help carrying some stuff to the car. Can you give me a hand?"

"Sure, no problem," you say, nodding.

Yoobin's practically bouncing now, her fan-girl energy uncontainable.

"Oh my God, you’re Kwon Eunbi!" Yoobin blurts, her voice squeaking. "I'm such a huge fan! Can I... can we take a picture?"

Eunbi laughs, her smile genuine despite her exhaustion. "Of course, let's do it, she steps closer.

You pull out your phone, snapping a quick selfie of Yoobin next to Eunbi, still with her outfit whose steal your focus.

Yoobin's thrilled, clutching her phone after you send her the photo, "Thanks so much!" she says, then glances at you. "Go help her. I'll wait here."

You nod, and Eunbi gestures toward a pile of bags near the crew vans. "Just a few things," she says, leading the way.

You hoist the last bag into the van, and you can't help but glance at her chest. Her boobs, straining against the soaked bra, are impossible to ignore, outlining every curve.

"Thanks, Captain," Eunbi says, her voice warm but laced with that teasing edge from the stage.

She catches your gaze, her lips curling into a knowing smirk, "Distracted, huh?"

You clear your throat, trying to play it cool, "Ehm... no... just getting the job done," you say, your pulse quickening.

She steps closer, her red dress flapping open, her white bra barely holding on, and you swear you can see the edge of her nipples peeking out.

"You've been so good today," she says, her tone sultry, leaning against the van, her boobs shifting under the bra, " I wanna thank you properly."

Before you can reply, she adds, "Go ahead, play with them. My treat," she gestures to her boobs, her eyes daring you.

Your heart pounds, hesitation gripping you. Yoobin's waiting, and you're the captain, you're supposed to be professional.

But this chance with Eunbi, the Waterbomb Queen, might never come again.

"Eunbi, I..." you start, but she cuts you off with a laugh, stepping closer, her perfume hitting you.

"Don't overthink it," she says, her voice low, "Just do it."

Your hands move before your brain catches up, cupping her massive boobs through her bra, the soft, heavy weight filling your palms.

You can't believe it, you're touching Kwon Eunbi's boobs, the reality hitting you like a shock.

"Give them a little play," she murmurs, her eyes gleaming with amusement, clearly entertained by your awe.

You knead them slowly, feeling the firm yet soft flesh, every muscle and curve under your fingers, the bra barely containing them.

Eunbi hums, her breath hitching slightly, her, "Not bad," she teases.

She reaches back, untying her white bra and letting it fall, her bare boobs spilling free. Her nipples, hard and dark, stand out against her skin, impossible to ignore.

"Wow..." you mutter under your breath, your hands frozen for a moment, your eyes locked on her bare chest.

She laughs softly, stepping closer, guiding your hands back to her boobs. "Go on, Captain," she says, "You earned it."

You knead her bare boobs now, your fingers brushing her nipples, feeling their firmness, and she moans softly, her head tilting back.

"Mmm, that's good," she says, clearly enjoying your touch, she leans against the van, her eyes locked on yours, that sultry smirk playing on her lips.

"Let's get to the real show, shall we?" she teases,

Before you can respond, she hooks her thumbs into her tight jean shorts, pushing them down slowly, revealing damp white panties clinging to her skin, wet from water and sweat.

The musky scent of her pussy hits you, intoxicating and raw, and your mind spins, Is she really going to let you play with her pussy too?

Your cock twitches in your jeans, your heart pounding fast.

"Go on," she says, stepping closer, her thighs brushing your legs. "Touch me." Her eyes daring you to cross the line.

Your hand moves almost on its own, fingers tracing the outline of her pussy against her wet panties, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric.

She closes her eyes, a soft moan escaping her lips, clearly enjoying your touch. "Mmm, that's it," she murmurs, her hips shifting slightly toward you.

You kneel, the sight of her wet panties now clears in front of you, the musky scent stronger, pulling you in. Your fingers press harder, feeling her folds through the fabric, and she gasps, her hand resting on your shoulder.

"Can I... taste you?" you ask, your voice hoarse, barely believing you're saying it.

Eunbi's eyes open, her smirk widening, amused, "Go for it," she says breathy.

She guides your head closer, her fingers tangling in your hair, pressing your face to her panties.

You hesitate for a split second, but the scent of her pussy and the sight of her damp panties override everything. You lean in, your tongue licking her pussy through the panties, tasting the musky, salty mix of her arousal and the lingering water from the stage.

She moans louder, her grip tightening, "Fuck, yes..." she gasps, her hips rocking slightly against your mouth.

You lick harder, your tongue tracing her folds, the damp panties adding a teasing barrier that makes her shakes.

"God, you're so good," her voice breaking, her boobs bouncing slightly under her open blouse as she leans back against the van.

Your hands grip her thighs, keeping her steady, your tongue relentless, savoring every moan, every shudder of tasting her.

Her pussy so responsive under your mouth. "Keep going,” she moans, her head tilting back. You press your tongue harder, sucking through. She whimpers, her fingers pulling your hair. You're lost in her, the musky taste addictive.

Her breath hitches, her body trembling as your tongue presses harder against her wet panties, her pussy pulsing under your licks.

"Fuck, I'm so close," she gasps, her fingers tight in your hair. But just as she teeters on the edge, she pulls you back, her hands still firm on your shoulders.

"Not yet," she says.

She pulls you up, your taller frame leaning down to meet her, and before you can catch your breath, she kisses you, hard, hungry, her lips crashing against yours.

You taste her musky sweetness on her tongue, Fuck, Eunbi's kissing you.

She’s turned on, her body pressing closer, her red dressopen, her bare boobs brushing your chest. Her arms curl around your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss, her tongue teasing yours, and you lean down further, your height making you bend.

Your hands instinctively find her hips, fingers digging into her curves through her jean shorts, now bunched around her thighs. Testing her, you slide your hands lower, lifting her slightly, and she responds instantly, her legs wrapping around your waist, her damp panties pressing against your stomach.

Your kiss grows more intense, her moans muffled against your lips, her body grinding lightly against you, "Mmm, you're so good," she whispers into the kiss, her voice breathy, her fingers tugging at your hair.

Your cock straining against your jeans, and she feels it, her hips shifting to press closer, the friction making you groan into her mouth.

"Fuck, you're so hard," she whispers, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Your hands grip her ass, holding her up as her legs tighten around you, her pussy's heat can you feel through her panties.

"God, Eunbi," you mutter, breaking the kiss for a second, your voice rough, your hands kneading her ass, "You’re driving me crazy."

She laughs softly, her lips finding yours again, her tongue diving deeper, tasting herself on you.

"But you love it don't you?" she says, her voice husky, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. Her legs stay wrapped around you, her body rocking slightly, teasing your cock through your jeans.

"Want more, Captain?" she whispers, her voice husky, sliding down from your hold, her legs unwrapping but her hands staying on your chest.

Before you can answer, she kneels, her fingers quick as she unzips your jeans, freeing your cock.

Straining, rock hard, precum already beading at the tip, and she licks her lips, her eyes locked on yours, "Fuck, you're big,"

She takes you into her mouth, her lips wrapping around you, hot and wet.

"Goddamn, Eunbi," you groan, your hands tangling in her damp hair, her mouth fucking hot as she sucks you, her tongue swirling around the head, teasing the underside.

She's relentless, bobbing her head, taking you deep, her moans vibrating around your cock, "Fuck, you're so good," you say, thrusting gently into her mouth as she grips your thighs.

She pulls back with string of saliva mixed with your precum, she spit you cock, her hand wrapping around, stroking fast, smearing a mix of her saliva and your precum.

"Like that?" she teases, her voice breathy.

She presses her massive boobs together, sliding your cock between them.

You groan, the soft, warm flesh enveloping you, her boobs bouncing as she gives you a titjob.

"Fuck, Eunbi..." you panting.

She smirk, her eyes glinting with amusement, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You thrust harder, your cock throbbing under the friction, and you're so close, your balls tightening.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum," you gasp, but she pulls back, leaving you at the edge, your cock pulsing, aching.

She stands, smirking, wiping her lips, her boobs bouncing under her open blouse, "Not so fast," she says.

She shifts her damp panties aside, revealing her wet, plump, clean shaven pussy, the musky scent stronger now, more inviting.

"Want this?" she asks, her tone daring, and you nod, your mind too far gone to care about everything. This is your chance to fuck Kwon Eunbi, and you can't hesitate anymore.

She turns, bracing her hands against the van, pushing her ass up, her panties stretched to one side, her pussy glistening, "Fuck me," she says, her voice a command.

You step forward, gripping her hips, your cock brushing her entrance. You thrust in, her pussy tight and hot, gripping you as you fill her.

"Oh, fuck, yes," she moans, her head tilting back, her boobs swaying as you pound her, the van rocking slightly.

"God, you're so tight," you groan, your hands digging into her hips, thrusting hard, her ass bouncing with each move. She pushes back, meeting your rhythm, her moans loud and needy.

"Fucking take it!" you say, your voice rough, and she gasps, her pussy clenching around you.

"Harder," she moans, her voice breaking.

You slamming into her, the sound of skin slapping filling the air. You lift one of her legs, hooking it over your arm, the angle letting you go deeper, her pussy gripping you tighter.

"Fuck, yes, right there," she cries, her body trembling, her boobs bouncing wildly under her blouse.

You pull out, spinning her around to face you. You lift her again, her legs wrapping around you, and slide back into her pussy, fucking her standing, her back against the van.

"Goddamn, you feel so good," you mutter, thrusting hard, her moans loud in your ear.

Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails digging in, and she kisses you again, her tongue messy and desperate.

"Cum on my face," she gasps, her voice raw, and you're too far gone to hold back.

You set her down, her knees hitting the ground, and stroke your cock, her eyes locked on you, her mouth open.

You cum hard, your release spilling across her face, coating her lips and chin, some dripping onto her boobs.

She moans, licking her lips, tasting you, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Fuck," you pant, stepping back, your cock still twitching as you snap back to reality.

You just fucked Kwon Eunbi, her pussy, her boobs, her face. Eunbi stands, wiping her face with a tissue from her bag, her smirk returning as she pulls her jeans up, her panties still damp.

"Worth it, right?" she teases, adjusting her blouse, her boobs still barely covered. You nod, heart still racing, unable to deny it.

She winks, heading to the van's driver door, "See you at rehearsal. Don't tell your girlfriend," she laughs softly, leaving you standing there, your mind a mess.

You know you're in deep, but damn, Eunbi's worth it.