nsfwlguess

[nsfwlguess]

Between the Lines

Irene x Seulgi x male reader

word count: 15k

A sudden warmth envelops you from behind, arms sliding around your shoulders and pulling you back against a soft, firm body. You don't even have to guess. The specific mix of her flowery perfume and that little hint of vanilla is unmistakable, a scent you've associated with playful ambushes and heartfelt hugs for years. You lean your head back, still smiling, and twist in your chair to see her. And damn. Just, damn. Seulgi is glowing. It’s a word that gets thrown around a lot, but right now, it’s the only one that fits. Her reception dress, a sleek, form-fitting number covered in subtle shimmering beadwork, catches the light from the paper lanterns aboves, she looks like a human star. Her cheeks are flushed with happiness and maybe a little bit of champagne, and a few strands of her dark hair have escaped her elegant bun, framing her face in a way that’s effortlessly, breathtakingly beautiful.

The wedding was perfect. Now, the after-party is a necessary chaos.

You feel a surge of pride so strong it almost knocks the wind out of you. This is your best friend. And she looks so, so happy.

“So? What’s the verdict? Best party of the year or best party of all time?”

You reach up, your hands finding hers where they rest on your chest, and you give them a gentle squeeze. You turn more fully in your seat to face her properly, your own goofy happiness reflected in her beaming smile. “Are you kidding me? This is incredible, Seulgi. Everything is. You two looked… seriously. Up there at the altar? It was unreal. You and Irene, you both looked so beautiful I think I almost cried for real.”

Seulgi lets out a peal of laughter. “You’re more emotional than my mom, and she was sobbing before the music even started.”

“Hey, this moment means a lot to me, too,” you protest, rubbing your thumbs over her knuckles. “Watching my two best friends in the whole world get married? It’s like the finale of a movie I’ve been watching for years. This is it. The peak. There’s no way this night could possibly get any more special than it already is.”

She tilts her head, and for a split second, a look you can’t quite decipher flickers in her eyes that’s there and gone before you can even begin to process it. She leans in a little closer, her words a soft, teasing murmur just for you. “I don’t know about that. The night is still young. More things could still happen, who knows?”

You just grin back at her, completely taking it at face value. Maybe they planned a surprise fireworks display, or there’s a late-night taco truck coming. That sounds exactly like something she’d do. “Oh yeah? Well, you know me. Whatever you guys have planned, I’ll be waiting with open arms.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” The way she says it is low and smooth, and the smile that spreads across her lips seems deeper, more satisfied, for reasons that fly right over your head. She gives your hands one last squeeze before letting go and straightening up. “Okay, I gotta go make the rounds. I promised Irene I’d help her hunt down her cousin for the bouquet toss. I’ll see you later?”

“Always,” you reply, watching as she navigates through the tables, stopping to laugh with a group of relatives. You turn back to your drink, a warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the whiskey. You find yourself drifting, your gaze unfocused as you get lost in memories. You remember the night you first introduced them at a crowded, sticky-floored bar downtown. Seulgi, with her boundless, goofy energy, had just spilled a drink down the front of her shirt and was laughing it off, while Irene had been in the corner, looking like a porcelain doll someone had accidentally placed in a mosh pit; all quiet grace and reserved observation. They were polar opposites. Seulgi was the unstoppable force, Irene the immovable object. And yet, from that first night, you saw how they just… fit. Seulgi made Irene laugh, a real, unguarded laugh that transformed her entire face. And Irene’s calm, steady presence seemed to ground Seulgi, giving her a safe harbor in the middle of her own happy chaos. They completed each other in a way you’d never seen before. And you, you got to have a front-row seat for the whole thing. Yeah, you think, swirling the last of the amber liquid in your glass. It really, truly, doesn’t get any better than this.

—

The whiskey has done its job. Hours have bled into one another, marked only by the changing songs the DJ plays and the dwindling number of sober people. Your head is fuzzy in that pleasant, warm way, your limbs feel loose and uncoordinated, and your brain is operating on a significant delay. The main tent is still a riot of sound and light, but it’s starting to feel a bit like being in a fishbowl. You need air. Stumbling just a little as you push your chair back, you navigate your way past the dance floor and out onto the stone veranda that overlooks the hotel’s sprawling, manicured gardens. The cool night air is an instant relief, clearing some of the fog from your head. And that’s when you see her.

Leaning against the stone balustrade, a champagne flute held loosely in one hand, is Irene. Even from a distance, she’s captivating. The moonlight catches the intricate lace of her own white dress, a more elegant and ethereal counterpart to Seulgi’s sparkling one. Her posture is perfect, her profile sharp and regal as she stares out at the distant city lights. She looks exactly like what she is: a work of art. Her beauty is of a different kind than Seulgi’s; where Seulgi is all warm, kinetic energy, Irene possesses a quiet, stunning grace that makes you feel like you should lower your volume just by being near her. She looks serene and maybe a little lonely, and your drunk, loyal heart decides that can’t be allowed. You make your way over, your steps a little unsteady on the flagstones.

“Hey, stranger.”

She turns her head, and the reserved, thoughtful expression on her face melts away into a small, genuine smile when she sees it’s you. It’s a rare, precious thing, an Irene smile, and it makes you feel like you’ve been let in on a secret. “Hey yourself. I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

“Just… you know.” You gesture vaguely back toward the tent. “Social obligations. Telling my buddy Dave for the tenth time that no, I don’t think his ex is here. The usual stuff. You okay? Needed to escape the madness?” You lean against the railing beside her, following her gaze out to the horizon. She gives a tiny shiver, rubbing her bare arms, and without a second thought, you’re shrugging out of your blazer. It’s a little rumpled and probably smells like whiskey and whatever perfume rubbed off on you from the dozen congratulatory hugs you’ve received, but it’s warm. “Here. You look cold.”

She looks at the jacket, then at you, and her smile softens even more. “Thank you.” She slips her arms into it, pulling the lapels closed in front of her. The dark fabric is huge on her delicate frame. “That’s much better.” You both fall into a comfortable silence for a moment before you gesture to a nearby stone bench, half-hidden in an alcove of jasmine vines. “Wanna sit?” She nods, and you sit down together, the scent of the flowers thick in the air. “So, what’s on the mind of one of the beautiful brides on her wedding night? World domination? The merits of champagne versus prosecco?”

A quiet laugh escapes her, a delicate puff of sound. “Everything. Just… everything. How insane this all is. How happy I am. What comes next.”

“What does come next?” you ask, genuinely curious. “You two are gonna finally take that trip to Spain you’ve been talking about for three years, right?”

“Eventually,” she agrees, taking a small sip from her flute. “But first, the usual. Find a house somewhere a little quieter. Settle down. Start a family.”

You can picture it so clearly: Irene trying to teach a kid how to be patient, Seulgi teaching them how to climb a tree. They would be the absolute best moms. “Yes! I knew it. That’s amazing. You guys are going to be incredible parents.” Then, your alcohol-soaked brain connects a few dots in the worst possible way. “So how’s that gonna work? You gonna just, you know, try your luck on the wedding night and hope for the best? Or are you having one of those stork delivery situations?”

The look she gives you isn’t angry, but it’s sharp enough to cut through some of your drunken haze. The words are calm and level, but they carry a distinct chill. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

You immediately recoil, shamefaced. “Oh, god. Shit. Irene, I’m so sorry. That was stupid. It’s the alcohol. I’m being an idiot, seriously. I didn’t mean anything by it.” You run a hand through your hair, groaning. “Of course you guys will figure it out. You always do.”

She watches you for a second, then her expression softens, accepting your apology. “It’s okay. And yes, we will. In fact,” she says, swirling the champagne in her glass, her gaze distant again, “Seulgi and I have been thinking about some… possibilities. Ways to make it happen.”

That sounds complicated and private, and your dumb mouth has already gotten you into enough trouble. “Hey, you know what? Better if I don’t even know the details. It’s your journey. Just send me a text when I’m officially going to be an uncle, that’s all I ask.”

She smiles at that, a real smile again. “We’ll do that.” She nudges your shoulder with hers. “What about you? When are you finally going to let someone tie you down? Get married, start a family. You certainly wouldn’t have any problems with the second part.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shrugging. “Nah. I wasn’t cut out for all that. I’d be a terrible husband. And a terrible father? Even worse.”

“That’s not true.” Irene’s reply is immediate and firm, and she turns on the bench to face you properly. Her eyes are serious. “You’re one of the kindest, smartest, and most decent men I have ever met. You’re loyal and you’re good.” She pauses, a hint of a playful smirk touching her lips. “And you’re quite handsome, you know. That girl, Park Sooyoung? From Seulgi’s office? She was asking me about you earlier.”

You just shrug again, feeling a flush creep up your neck, embarrassed by the praise. “It’s better this way. Spare her the disappointment of getting to know me and breaking the spell.”

“What are you two whispering about over here?”

Seulgi’s cheerful query breaks the moment, and you both look up to see her approaching, already beaming. Without any hesitation, she bypasses the empty space on the bench and plops herself right onto Irene’s lap, wrapping an arm around her wife’s shoulders and stealing her champagne flute for a long sip. Irene, for her part, just settles back, looking completely content with her lapful of Seulgi.

Irene smooths a hand down Seulgi’s back. “Just talking about the future.”

“Ooh, our favorite topic,” Seulgi says, her eyes sparkling as she looks at you. “We were just saying earlier how we’re thinking about starting our family. Soon.”

“Yeah, Irene told me,” you say, a big, genuine smile returning to your face. You lean forward, putting all the sincerity you can muster into your slurred words. “And I meant what I said. You guys can count on me for anything. Babysitting, building a crib, being the goofy uncle who teaches them bad jokes. Anything. I would do anything for you two.”

Irene and Seulgi exchange a look over your head, a silent conversation that you’re not privy to. Then, at the same time, they each reach out and take one of your hands. Irene’s grip is cool and delicate, Seulgi’s is warm and firm. “We know,” Irene says, her gaze intense.

“We know we can count on you,” Seulgi finishes, and her smile is wide, but it holds that same unreadable, knowing quality as before.

A huge yawn suddenly cracks your jaw. The combination of the booze, the emotional highs of the day, and the cool night air is finally catching up to you. “I’ll be here for whatever you need,” you mumble, your eyelids feeling heavy. Just then, one of Irene’s cousins pokes her head out onto the veranda.

“There you are! They’re about to do the cake cutting!”

Seulgi groans dramatically, leaning her head back against Irene’s shoulder. “Duty calls.” They both start to get up, reluctantly releasing your hands. “You coming?” Seulgi asks.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Nah, I think I’ll just stay out here for another minute. Enjoy the quiet before I brave the dance floor again.”

Seulgi leans down, and for a second you think she’s going to hug you, but she just adjusts the blazer on Irene’s shoulders. The words she speaks are for you, though, a low, playful murmur. “Don’t go to sleep just yet. The party isn’t over.”

“I’ll try,” you say, giving them a weak wave as they walk back toward the light and noise of the reception, hand in hand. You lean back against the cool stone, closing your eyes, feeling happy and drunk.

—

The last of the guests have finally trickled out, their happy, drunken goodbyes echoing in the grand hotel lobby. The party is officially over. All you can think about is your bed. Your body feels heavy, a pleasant, bone-deep exhaustion from a day packed with emotion, dancing, and far too much good whiskey. You manage the elevator ride up in a bit of a daze, humming one of the songs the DJ had on repeat and fumbling for your room key as you navigate the plushly carpeted, blissfully quiet hallway. You’re just about to slide the key into the lock when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, squinting at the bright screen.

It’s a message from Irene.

Hey, are you still up?

You type back, your thumbs feeling thick and clumsy.

Barely. About to crash. What’s up?

Can you come by the suite? I want to give you your blazer back.

You groan. The presidential suite is two floors up, and the thought of getting back in the elevator feels like a Herculean task right now.

Its fine just give it to me tomorrow at brunch. Go enjoy ur wedding night lol

The three dots appear instantly. She’s typing again.

No, I want you to have it now. COME NOW.

The all-caps hits you like a splash of cold water. It’s so unlike her usual calm, measured texting style. It’s a command, not a request. You let out a long, weary sigh that seems to deflate your whole body. Arguing with Irene, especially when she’s using that tone, is a battle you learned long ago you would never win.

Ok ok. On my way.

The door to the presidential suite is a heavy, dark wood affair that makes your own room’s door look like a flimsy piece of cardboard. You knock twice, the sound seeming way too loud in the silent hall. You can hear faint music from inside. A moment passes, and then her reply comes, clear and calm. “You can come in.” You turn the handle, push the door open, and step inside, already launching into a good-natured, drunken complaint. “You know, for someone who just got married, you’re awfully demanding, summoning me up here at this hour. I was having a very important meeting with my pillow, you should know…”

You stop. Your words die in your throat, your brain short-circuiting as it tries, and fails, to process what you’re seeing. The suite is enormous, all cream-colored couches and dark wood furniture, with floor-to-ceiling windows showing the glittering cityscape. The lights are dimmed, casting everything in a soft, warm glow. And right in the center of it all, on the massive, perfectly made king-sized bed, are Irene and Seulgi. And they are wearing almost nothing. Irene is in a delicate, intricate black lace piece that seems to both hide and highlight everything, looking like a dangerous, beautiful queen on her throne. Seulgi is beside her in a soft, white silk teddy that contrasts sharply with her dark hair, one knee bent, leaning back on her elbows with a lazy, confident smile. They aren’t doing anything. They’re just… waiting.

A hot flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck, and you feel the whiskey sour in your stomach. You’ve just walked in on your best friends on their wedding night. Your idiot brain finally catches up, and you instinctively start to back away, raising your hands in surrender. “Oh. Shit. My bad. So sorry. I’m just—I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Congrats again!” You’re fumbling for the doorknob behind you, your only thought to escape the mortifying situation you’ve created.

“Idiot.” Seulgi’s tone isn’t angry, it’s fond, but it stops you dead. “Get back here.”

You freeze with your hand on the doorknob, turning your head just enough to see them. Irene hasn’t moved a muscle, her gaze fixed on you. “Come closer,” she says, and it’s not a suggestion.

“Uh, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. You guys are, you know. Busy.”

A small smirk touches Seulgi’s lips. She sits up a little straighter. “What, are you scared of us?”

The honesty blurts out of you before you can stop it. “At this point? Yeah. A little bit.”

Irene finally moves, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, the movement fluid and deliberate. “Get over here before I have to get up and pull you.”

You know she means it. With a feeling of profound dread, you let your hand fall from the doorknob and slowly, hesitantly, walk towards the bed, feeling like you’re approaching two very beautiful, very unpredictable wild animals. You stop a few feet away, unsure what to do with your hands, your body, anything. As if on cue, they each reach out, their hands finding yours. Seulgi’s is warm and strong, Irene’s is cool and delicate. They gently but firmly pull you forward, making you sit on the edge of the thick, soft mattress between them. The bed dips under your weight. You’re overwhelmed by the scent of their perfumes, the warmth radiating from their skin. Seulgi leans in close, her breath tickling your ear.

“This is where the real party happens.”

The last of your drunken fog evaporates, replaced by a sharp, ringing confusion. “What the fuck is going on? What are you two doing?”

Irene squeezes your hand, drawing your attention. Her expression is perfectly serious. “Do you remember earlier tonight? When we said we were thinking about starting a family?” You nod slowly, your throat dry. “Well,” she says, her gaze unwavering, “this is it. This is where it starts.”

It takes a second for the words to land. When they do, it’s like a physical blow. You wrench your hands from their grasp and scramble off the bed, stumbling backward until you hit a plush armchair. The implication, the sheer insanity of what she’s suggesting, hits you all at once. “No. No, no, no, absolutely not.” You shake your head, waving your hands frantically. “No way. I am not doing that.”

“Why not?” Seulgi asks, her tone genuinely curious as if she can’t possibly comprehend your objection.

“Why not?” you repeat, your pitch rising with disbelief. “Because you’re my best friends! You’re… you’re married! To each other! I was the best man, for Christ’s sake! I can’t do… that.”

“That’s exactly why it has to be you,” Irene says calmly, her logic cutting through your panic. “Because we trust you. Completely. We don’t trust anyone else in the world with something this important.” She cocks her head. “And besides… you have good genes. You’re smart, you’re healthy. That’s not an insignificant detail.”

“That is a really, really weird thing to say to me right now, Irene,” you manage, running a hand over your face.

“You promised,” Seulgi says. “Tonight. You said you’d do anything for us.”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to force your spinning thoughts into some semblance of order. You have to be the rational one here. “Okay, look. If you’re being serious about this, then… okay. But there’s a way to do this. I’ll… I can donate. We can go to a clinic, I’ll sign whatever you want. I’ll give you my sperm, or whatever. We can do it the right way.”

Irene shakes her head, a look of distaste on her face. “No. I don’t want to go through all that. The paperwork, the cold, sterile rooms, the bureaucracy. It’s impersonal. This way is easier. It’s… warmer. It’s all of us, together.”

A horrible, practical question pops into your head before you can stop it. “So… who? Who is going to…?”

“Both of us,” Seulgi answers immediately, showing they’ve clearly discussed this. “The chances of one of us getting pregnant will be higher this way.”

“I was just asking out of curiosity!” you clarify, panicked again. “I didn’t agree to anything!”

And then, in a move so unexpected it completely disarms you, they both slide off the bed and onto the floor. They kneel in front of you, Seulgi grabbing your right leg, Irene your left, looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Please,” Seulgi begins, her lower lip pushed out in a ridiculous pout. “Please, please, please do this for us.”

You can’t help it. A shocked, slightly hysterical laugh bursts out of you. You’re still a little drunk, and the situation is so profoundly absurd you can’t process it any other way. “Get up. Stop it. You guys are insane. This is completely insane.”

“It would be the perfect wedding gift,” Irene says, her voice dead serious even as she’s kneeling on the floor, clinging to your pants.

“Please,” they say in unison.

You look at Irene, a genuine question cutting through the madness. “By the way… I thought you were a lesbian?”

She gives a small shrug, a wry, determined look in her eye. “Mostly. But for this? For you? I’m willing to make a very specific, one-time exception.”

They get up, still holding your hands, pulling you to your feet. They stand close, their faces earnest and open, their expressions now stripped of all games and theatrics. “Think about it,” Irene says softly. “We want to be mothers more than anything in the world. And we want our child to have a piece of the best man we know. Someone kind, and funny, and loyal.”

“We want our baby to have a piece of you,” Seulgi finishes, her eyes shimmering. “Our family, started with our best friend.”

The emotional appeal, the raw sincerity of it, hits you right in the chest, bypassing all of your panicked objections. This isn’t just a crazy, impulsive scheme to them. They mean it. Every word. You look from Seulgi’s hopeful, pleading face to Irene’s steady, determined one. Your shoulders slump in defeat. A long, shaky sigh escapes you.

“Okay.” You clear your throat and say it again, louder. “Fine. Okay.”

The explosion of joy is immediate. They both let out triumphant whoops, their faces breaking into radiant smiles. They throw their arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug and then falling backward onto the bed in a heap of limbs and laughter. You’re sandwiched between them, their joy so infectious you almost forget the insane reality of what you’ve just agreed to.

“We love you so much!” Seulgi shouts into your shoulder.

“We love you,” Irene echoes.

And in that moment, tangled up with them, you mean it more than ever. “I love you guys, too.”

Irene lifts her head from your shoulder, her dark eyes searching yours. Seulgi does the same on the other side. And then, before you can process it, they both lean in. Irene’s lips find yours, soft and surprisingly warm. At the exact same time, Seulgi kisses the corner of your mouth, a messy, enthusiastic press. It’s overwhelming, a dizzying, confusing collision of silk and lace and the taste of champagne.

You’re lying on your back, sandwiched between them, the weight of their bodies a comforting, terrifying pressure. The scent of their perfume, the soft silk of Seulgi’s teddy, the intricate lace of Irene’s lingerie - it’s a sensory overload that has your head spinning faster than the whiskey ever did. Your brain is still screaming a frantic, high-pitched no, but your body, pressed flush against theirs, is humming a traitorous tune. You have to try, one last time, to anchor this to something you understand.

“Wait,” you manage, your words muffled by a curtain of Seulgi’s hair. You push yourself up slightly, so you can look between them. “You have to promise me. Promise me this doesn’t change things. Between us. That we’re still… us.”

Seulgi pulls back, her expression softening with genuine sincerity. “Of course. You’re our best friend. Our family. That is never, ever going to change. This doesn’t replace that; it just… adds a new layer.”

“She’s right,” Irene adds. “This is about making a family. It’s built on our friendship, not destroying it. We promise.”

Her promise is punctuated by the slow, deliberate slide of Seulgi’s hand from the small of your back, down over the curve of your ass, and onto your thigh. The touch is electric, a clear signal that the conversation part of the evening is well and truly over. Seulgi’s eyes have a mischievous, challenging glint in them. “Okay, promise made. Now, you have to promise something. Admit it. You think we’re attractive.”

“Of course I do. You’re both beautiful. You know that. But I’ve just… I’ve never thought about you like that.”

“Don’t play nice now,” Irene chides softly, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “There’s no need to be polite anymore. We’re past that.”

As if to prove her point, Seulgi’s hand continues its journey, sliding from your outer thigh inward, her palm coming to rest directly over the strained fly of your pants. You suck in a sharp breath. There’s no hiding the rigid length pressing against her palm. Her smirk widens, full of triumph. “See? For someone who has never thought about us ‘like that,’ you seem pretty excited down here.”

“It’s—it’s just a natural reaction,” you stammer, your face burning with a heat that has nothing to do with body warmth. “An involuntary physiological response.”

Seulgi lets out a delighted laugh. “Oh, I love when you get all technical.” She leans over you to speak to Irene, her tone full of bubbly excitement. “You know, Irene has never tried a real one before. Just dildos and strap-ons. This is going to be an interesting new experience for her.”

Before you can even process that piece of incredibly intimate information, Irene is already moving, her focus singular. Her nimble fingers go to the top button of your shirt. “Let’s get these off,” she says, her movements deft and practiced. “You look uncomfortable.” At the same time, Seulgi shifts, moving to the end of the bed. She grabs one of your feet, easily pulling off your shoe and then your sock before starting on the other one. Then, her hands are at your waist, unhooking the button of your pants with a decisive flick.

The feeling of being undressed by them is surreal. Irene’s fingers brush against your chest as she works her way down the buttons of your shirt, each touch sending a shiver through you. Seulgi tugs your pants down your legs, her movements efficient and surprisingly strong. Within moments, your pants and shirt are tossed onto a nearby chair. Irene leans over you, her hair tickling your skin as she presses a soft, wet kiss to the sensitive spot on your neck. Her hands begin to roam, mapping the planes of your chest, her cool fingers a stark contrast to the heat of her mouth.

“You’re so strong,” she murmurs against your skin, her hands squeezing your biceps. “All this time, and I never really noticed.” They both seem fascinated, their hands exploring your shoulders, your stomach, your arms, appreciating your body in a way that’s both clinical and deeply sensual. Irene nips gently at your earlobe, her breath hot as she whispers. “Is this okay? Your two best friends treating you like this?”

Your eyes are screwed shut. Your brain is a warzone of ‘no’ and ‘yes,’ of ‘wrong’ and ‘right,’ but your body has already surrendered. A low groan rumbles in your chest. “It’s good,” you admit. “Unfortunately, it is.”

You’re only in your boxer briefs, feeling impossibly exposed between them. Irene kneels on the bed next to Seulgi, so they’re both positioned in front of you, looking down. Then, in unison, they hook their thumbs into the elastic waistband of your underwear and slowly, deliberately, pull them down. The cool air of the hotel suite hits your exposed skin, and you feel yourself twitch, fully, shamelessly hard in front of them.

Seulgi lets out a low whistle, her eyes wide with genuine surprise and appreciation. “Whoa. Okay. I did not know you were hiding that. If I’d known about this nice cock back in college, maybe you and I would be married by now.”

“Seulgi,” Irene says, nudging her with her shoulder.

“I’m joking! I still love you baby, don't worry,” Seulgi says, her eyes still fixed on you. And then their hands are on you. It’s an immediate, overwhelming shock of sensation. Seulgi’s touch is exactly what you’d expect: confident, hungry, her fingers wrapping firmly around your base while her other hand cups you from below. But Irene’s is different. Her touch is one of pure curiosity. She traces the veins with a single, delicate finger, her touch light and questioning. She gently weighs your balls in her palm, exploring their shape and texture with the focus of a scholar examining a rare artifact. Your cock throbs in their dual grip, pulsing with a desperate, needy rhythm.

Then Irene does something that shorts out every thought in your head. She leans down, her hair falling around your thighs, and she simply… smells you. A deep, curious inhalation, as if trying to memorize your scent. At the same time, Seulgi leans in and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss directly to the swollen, weeping tip of your cock. It’s too much. A strangled noise escapes your throat. And then, it gets even more intense. Seulgi’s tongue darts out, licking at the bead of pre-cum, a sweet, possessive taste. Irene, seeming to take her cue, mirrors the action, her own tongue, tentative at first, tracing a wet line down your shaft.

You grip the bedsheets, your knuckles white, your back arching as they both lower their heads and take you into their mouths. It’s a wet, hot, chaotic collision of sensation. Seulgi is all enthusiastic suction, taking as much of you as she can, her head bobbing eagerly. Irene is more methodical, her lips soft, her tongue exploring, learning. You can feel the slight scrape of her teeth, a sign of her inexperience that’s somehow more arousing than any practiced skill. You are being worshipped, studied, and devoured all at once by your two best friends, and the last vestiges of your resistance melt away into pure, unadulterated sensation.

Your thoughts are a thick, soupy mess of whiskey and want. This is so wrong, on so many levels. It’s a violation of a decade of friendship, a line so bright you never even conceived of crossing it. And yet… it’s them. It’s Seulgi, your goofy, steadfast companion who once helped you move a couch in the pouring rain. It’s Irene, your poised, brilliant friend who proofread your college thesis three times without complaint. The overwhelming love you have for them, a deep, platonic bedrock of your life, is getting twisted up in the slick heat of their mouths, and it’s making everything a thousand times more intense.

Seulgi is a force of nature. She knows exactly what she’s doing, her mouth working on you with a practiced, powerful rhythm that has your hips bucking instinctively. She takes you deep, her throat muscles contracting, and you can feel a low, appreciative hum rumbling from her chest. Irene, on the other hand, is a study in intense concentration. Her movements are more hesitant, her lips and tongue mapping you like she’s trying to create a detailed blueprint in her mind. You can feel the occasional, accidental scrape of her teeth, a mistake that Seulgi immediately corrects without breaking her rhythm.

“Loosen your jaw a little more, baby,” Seulgi murmurs against your skin. She pulls back just enough for Irene to have more room, her own lips still circling your base. “Don’t think of it like you’re just trying to fit him in. Use your tongue. Like this.” She demonstrates, her tongue swirling around the head of your cock in a dizzying pattern that makes you see stars. Irene watches for a second, her dark eyes wide and focused, before she mimics the movement. Her technique is less fluid, more deliberate, but the effect of their combined effort is devastating.

Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets, find their way into their hair. You fist your fingers in Seulgi’s dark, silky strands, and gently cup the back of Irene’s head, your thumb stroking behind her ear. A low groan escapes you, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Oh, he likes that,” Irene notes. She glances up at you, her cheeks flushed, her lips slick and red. “Is that right? Am I doing it right?”

“You’re doing great,” Seulgi encourages her, before turning her attention back to you. “She’s a fast learner, isn’t she?” Seulgi then shifts her focus, her mouth sliding lower, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of your shaft. “Don’t forget the rest of him,” she instructs Irene. “It’s a full meal.” She moves lower still, taking one of your balls fully into the heat of her mouth, sucking gently. The sensation is exquisite, a deep, tugging pull that radiates through your entire body. You let out a choked cry, your hips lifting off the bed.

Irene watches, fascinated, before she hesitantly follows suit, her lips closing around your other testicle. Her touch is softer, more reverent, her tongue carefully licking, tasting. She seems completely absorbed by the task, by the newness of it all. They continue like that for a long moment, one pleasuring the shaft while the other lavishes attention on your balls, a coordinated assault on your senses that has you trembling on the edge of reason.

“Can you believe it, baby?” Seulgi says, her words hot against your skin as she moves back up your length. “This is it. This is the magic wand that’s going to bring us our baby.”

“It’s so much… warmer than the toys,” Irene replies, full of a strange, clinical wonder as she presses her cheek against your thigh, looking up at your cock, which is still being expertly serviced by Seulgi. “It feels… alive.”

“Of course it’s alive,” Seulgi laughs. “It’s our perfect, beautiful, baby-making machine.” She takes you deep again, as if to emphasize her point. “He’s going to fill one of us up so full,” she continues. “And our perfect little baby is going to start right here. Made from your love, and my love, and this incredible cock.”

The words should be weird. They are weird. But hearing their deepest desire spoken so plainly while they have you in their mouths is pushing you closer and closer to a ledge. “Fuck,” you gasp out, your fingers tightening in their hair. “Seulgi…”

“Shhh, not yet,” she whispers, pulling off for a second. “We’re not done appreciating the gift just yet.” She looks at Irene, who seems to understand immediately. Irene pushes herself up, her eyes locking with yours. She looks determined, a perfectionist ready to ace her final exam. She takes you into her mouth again, and this time, there’s no hesitation. She mimics Seulgi’s movements with a newfound confidence, her jaw working, her tongue swirling, her throat opening to take you deeper than before.

She’s trying so hard to please you, and the sheer force of her effort is intoxicating. While Irene gives you her full, undivided attention, Seulgi’s hands are still busy, her fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs, her thumbs pressing into the muscle right where your legs meet your torso, sending sparks all through you. You are completely at their mercy, a trembling, groaning mess, caught in a feedback loop of their desire and your own exploding pleasure, the thought of release a frantic, burning need that they are expertly holding just out of your reach.

The feeling of their mouths on you is a slick, hot paradise. Your brain has officially checked out, leaving your body in the very capable hands (and mouths) of your two best friends. It’s a relentless, dual-pronged assault. Seulgi’s deep, confident suction at the base sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, while Irene’s more tentative, curious work at the head makes you twitch and tremble. This is happening. It’s really, fucking happening.

Then, Seulgi changes her approach. You feel her pull back for a second, a slick, wet pop that makes you whine in protest. But then she comes back, her lips wide, and you feel an impossible pressure as she engulfs you. Her mouth slides all the way down, the tip of your cock bumping softly against the back of her throat. She takes you completely, swallowing you whole in a move of pure, breathtaking skill. Your eyes roll back in your head.

Irene stops what she’s doing, pulling away with a gasp. “Jesus Christ, Seulgi,” she breathes. “How many dicks have you had to suck to learn how to do that?”

Seulgi pulls off you slowly, a trail of spit connecting her lips to the head of your cock. She looks at her wife with a soft, reassuring smile, completely unfazed. “Don’t you worry about that,” she says, reaching out to cup Irene’s cheek. “Your pussy is and always will be my favorite meal, baby. No dick is ever coming near it.” She leans in and gives Irene a soft, lingering kiss, a gesture of pure love and ownership that feels insanely intimate to witness. Then she turns her predatory grin back to your throbbing erection. “Now, where were we?”

They descend on you again, working together. It feels so fucking good, the combination of Seulgi’s expertise and Irene’s determined, focused effort. The pleasure is building, coiling tight and low in your gut, a frantic, unstoppable pressure. “Fuck,” you gasp, your hips starting to jerk off the mattress. “If you keep… holy shit… if you keep doing that I’m gonna cum.”

Irene pulls off, looking concerned and excited. “Should we start? Is it time for the penetration?”

“Relax, baby,” Seulgi says without pausing her efforts, her words a wet slur against your skin. “No need to rush. I’m sure he’s got plenty of loads for us tonight.” She looks up at Irene. “And besides, you told me you wanted to taste it for the first time. Remember? We can’t waste this first one inside somebody. It’s for us.”

The words are like gasoline on a fire. The thought of them sharing your cum, of Irene tasting it for the first time, makes your cock throb violently.

“Hey, Irene,” Seulgi says. “Wanna see something cool?” Without waiting for an answer, she shifts her focus. Her tongue, hot and wet, darts out and flicks directly against the thin, hyper-sensitive ridge of your frenulum. An electric shock, white-hot and blinding, shoots through you from the tip of your dick to the base of your skull. You cry out, a sharp, involuntary sound.

“Is it sensitive there?” Irene asks, full of genuine curiosity as she watches your whole body arch.

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” you manage to get out, your voice cracking.

“It’s like the G-spot of the dick,” Seulgi explains, her tongue flicking against the spot again and again, a precise, torturous rhythm. “The secret button.” She looks at her wife. “Come on. Help me out.”

Irene needs no further encouragement. She leans in, and now you have two tongues, two sets of wet, slick muscles, zeroing in on that one tiny, agonizingly sensitive point. They lick and flick in perfect unison, maintaining intense eye contact with each other the entire time, as if they’re communicating in a secret language of pure filth. You can see the spit glistening on their chins, the focused, predatory look in their eyes.

“Licking him right here,” Seulgi murmurs, her tongue never ceasing its relentless assault. “It makes his cum like a fucking volcano, Irene. Watch.”

The feeling is too much, too intense, too targeted. Your vision whites out. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you shout, and your body gives a massive, shuddering convulsion. The first thick, heavy pulse of your orgasm erupts from the tip of your cock. Irene flinches for a split second, a natural instinct, but Seulgi doesn’t stop. If anything, she gets more intense, her tongue lapping greedily at the hot jet of your cum. Seeing this, Irene’s hesitation vanishes. She dives back in, imitating her wife, their mouths and tongues working frantically as you continue to spurt.

You’re groaning loudly, helplessly, as your cum just keeps coming, thick ropes of it pumping out of you, coating their lips, their chins, their tongues. They don’t miss a drop. They lick you clean as you pulse, their faces smeared with your release. Finally, you fall back against the pillows, twitching and panting, completely and utterly drained.

They both pull back, their faces shiny, their lips glistening with your seed. Irene’s eyes are wide, her breathing heavy. She tentatively licks her lips, tasting a man’s cum for the very first time.

Seulgi watches her, a smug, satisfied smile on her face. “So? What’s the verdict?”

Irene looks from Seulgi to your wilting, messy cock, and then back to Seulgi. “It’s very hot,” she says, voice husky. “It’s… a different taste. Salty. But it’s not bad. It’s good.”

“Good,” Seulgi says. “Now watch this.” She puts a hand on the back of Irene’s neck and pulls her in. “Open up,” she commands, and Irene obeys instantly. Seulgi crashes her mouth against Irene’s, a hot, filthy, open-mouthed kiss. You have a perfect, head-on view as they swap your cum between them, their tongues tangling in a slick, messy dance. You can literally see the pearly white ropes of your own seed moving from Seulgi’s tongue to Irene’s, a shared, conquered prize. It is the most insane, most depraved, most amazing thing you have ever seen in your life.

Your softening cock gives a hard throb against your thigh, a defiant pulse of life reacting to the sheer depravity of the scene. Seulgi finally pulls away from Irene, her tongue darting out to lick a stray white smear from the corner of her wife’s lips, a final, possessive cleanup. Irene’s breathing is heavy, her gaze flicking between Seulgi’s face and your twitching dick.

“So,” Irene says. “Should we… wait for him to get hard again?”

Seulgi doesn’t take her eyes off you as she speaks to Irene. “We don’t have to wait for anything, baby. We can help him.” With the fluid grace of a panther, she rises from the floor, her body, still clad in that flimsy piece of white silk, a breathtaking sight. Irene, ever her perfect mirror, follows the movement, getting to her feet as well. They approach the bed where you’re sprawled, a willing, panting sacrifice. They gently push you back until you’re lying flat on the mattress, your arms spread wide. You are completely at their mercy.

Seulgi leans over you, her dark hair curtaining your face, and lowers her mouth to your chest. She latches onto your nipple, her mouth hot and wet, her tongue flicking against the sensitive nub before she begins to suckle, a strong, rhythmic pull that sends a bolt of lightning straight to your groin. On your other side, Irene copies the action, her technique more delicate, her lips softer, but no less effective. The dual sensations are insane. You never knew you were sensitive there, but now it feels like they’ve plugged a live wire directly into your nervous system. You groan, your head lolling to the side as their hands drift down from your chest, finding your semi-hard cock. Four hands, a collection of soft palms and curious fingers, begin to stroke you lightly, teasingly, coaxing you back to life.

As they work you over, their mouths latched onto your nipples, their hands gently stroking your shaft, Seulgi’s voice, a wet murmur against your skin, cuts through the haze of pleasure. “So,” she says, as if asking what you want for dinner. “The big question. Who do you want to breed first?”

The question is so blunt, so fucking insane, that it takes you a second to even process it. You look from Seulgi’s face, her cheeks hollowed as she sucks, to Irene’s, her eyes closed in concentration. “I… fuck… I don’t know,” you stammer out. How are you supposed to choose?

“Maybe it should be Seulgi,” Irene says, her voice surprisingly clear. She pulls off your nipple, her gaze sharp and analytical. “She seems… the most excited. Practically vibrating with it.”

“I’m excited to be a mother,” Seulgi retorts, not missing a beat in her ministrations. “I’m excited to get filled up with his baby batter and feel my belly start to swell. That’s what this is all about.”

Irene lets out a short, disbelieving snort. “Okay, you hormonal slut. Whatever you say.”

Your cock, which was merely half-mast moments before, surges with blood, kicking hard against their palms until it’s standing at full, rigid attention, thick and throbbing and ready.

Seulgi feels the change instantly. A triumphant, guttural moan escapes her. “Oh, yeah. Look at that. I think he’s ready for me.” She pulls away from your chest, leaving a wet, red mark on your skin. “Okay, then. Decision made. I’ll be the first to take our magic wand for a ride.” She looks down at you. “You just stay right there. Don’t move a muscle. I want to feel every inch of you filling me up.”

She turns to her wife. “Baby, help me out of this.”

Irene is on her feet in an instant, her movements efficient. She finds the tiny, complicated clasps on the back of Seulgi’s teddy and undoes them with practiced ease. The white silk slides down Seulgi’s body, pooling at her feet, leaving her completely, gloriously naked. Irene places her hands on Seulgi’s waist and gives her one last, deep kiss. “Milk him nicely for us,” Irene whispers against her lips. “Get every last drop of that baby-making cum.”

Seulgi approaches the bed again, and the sight of her, naked and purposeful, steals the air from your lungs. She’s perfect, her body lean and strong, her skin glowing in the dim light. She climbs onto the bed, straddling your hips, her knees on either side of you. Her own cunt is glistening, a wet, rosy pout in the thatch of her dark hair. She reaches down, her fingers slick with her wetness, and wraps her hand around the base of your cock. “God, you’re so hard,” she breathes, painting your shaft with her own juices. “Perfect for breeding. Just perfect.”

She guides the thick head of your dick to her entrance, rubbing the slick tip against her swollen clit for a moment, making you both groan. “Irene, watch,” she commands. “Watch him make me a mom.” Then, bracing her hands on your chest, she begins to lower herself.

The feeling is fucking incredible. She is unbelievably, impossibly tight. You feel her wet folds stretch, her inner walls clenching around you as she takes you one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Her head is thrown back, a long, keening moan tearing from her throat, her eyes squeezed shut in a rictus of pure pleasure and pain. “Oh, fuck… you’re so big… so thick…” she pants, her knuckles white where she’s gripping your pecs. You can feel the muscles of her pussy fluttering and spasming around you as she continues her descent. Irene is kneeling on the bed right beside you, her face inches from the point of connection, her eyes wide and unblinking, watching every millimeter of your cock disappear inside her wife.

Finally, with a last, shuddering gasp, Seulgi sinks all the way down. Your entire length is sheathed inside her, her pussy gripping you like a hot, wet fist. You can feel the tip of your cock bumping against her cervix. You are completely buried inside her. She lets out a long, shaky breath, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. “There,” she whispers, looking down at you. “It’s all in. The magic wand is ready to cast its spell.”

You’re pinned to the bed, a willing sacrifice to their singular, shared purpose. With you buried deep inside her, Seulgi begins to move. It’s not a frantic, hurried pace; it’s a slow, deliberate, grinding motion, designed for maximum friction. She lifts her hips with painstaking slowness, your cock sliding out of her hot, wet depths until just the thick head remains inside, and then she sinks back down with a heavy, wet squelch that echoes in the quiet room.

Her entire body is engaged, her lean, hard abs already slick with a sheen of sweat, her thighs trembling with the effort. Every downward slide feels like she’s trying to absorb you, her tight inner walls milking your shaft relentlessly. Your hands find her waist, your fingers digging into her soft skin, holding on as if she’s the only solid thing in a world that has completely dissolved into pure sensation.

Irene watches from her spot on the bed, her expression a rapturous blend of awe and a deep, abiding love. She’s not just watching a fuck; she’s watching her wife in a moment of pure, primal bliss, and she’s mesmerized. Her eyes are glued to the point where your bodies are joined, to the sight of your thick, hard cock disappearing completely into Seulgi’s wet, swollen folds with every downward rock of her hips. “Oh, baby,” Irene breathes. “You look so beautiful like that. So fucking perfect.” She scoots closer, reaching out a hand to caress Seulgi’s sweaty stomach. “Are you enjoying it? Does he feel good deep inside you, trying to make our baby?”

Seulgi’s head lolls back, her eyes fluttering shut as she lets out a long, guttural moan that seems to be pulled from the very depths of her soul. “Yes… Oh, fuck, yes.” The words are a ragged pant. “He’s so… so full. I can feel him hitting my cervix… It’s like he’s knocking on the door, trying to plant his seed.”

Irene leans in, capturing Seulgi’s mouth in a deep, passionate kiss just as Seulgi sinks down onto you again. While they kiss, Irene’s hands slide up to cup Seulgi’s breasts, which are flushed and bouncing with her rhythm. Irene squeezes them, her thumbs rubbing hard over the beaded nipples, and Seulgi moans into the kiss, her body arching, grinding down onto you even harder.

The feeling of her tight pussy clenching around you as another wave of pleasure hits her is almost too much. Seulgi is loving every second of it, completely lost in the triple assault of your cock filling her, Irene’s mouth on hers, and Irene’s hands on her tits. Breaking the kiss, Irene takes Seulgi’s free hand in hers, their fingers lacing together. Then, she reaches for your hand, linking it with theirs, so all three of you are connected, a closed circuit of raw, procreative energy.

“That’s it,” Irene whispers. “Keep riding him like that. Take every inch of his big cock. He’s going to knock you up so good for me.”

Seulgi’s eyes snap open, locking with yours. They’re wild, dilated, and full of a terrifying, exhilarating purpose. “Did you hear that?” she pants, her rhythm picking up slightly, her pussy getting even wetter, slicking your shaft with her juices. “She wants me to take it all. She wants you to fill me up.” She grinds down hard, a delirious smile on her face. “This is how it should be. No cold clinics, no fucking needles. Just our best friend, fucking me raw on our wedding night until I’m pregnant with his baby.”

“Fuck my wife,” Irene encourages. She leans in close to your ear. “Fuck her so good for us. I want you to imagine you’re pumping your hot load right up against her cervix. I want to watch her belly swell up because of what you’re doing to her right now.”

The explicit, filthy talk is like a drug. You’re not just having sex; you’re participating in their deepest, most twisted fantasy. “I want to feel you pulsing inside me when you shoot your load,” Seulgi groans, her nails digging into your shoulders. “I want to feel our baby starting its life inside my womb, made from this perfect fuck.” She leans down, her sweaty hair brushing against your face, her lips right next to your ear. “Don’t you want that, too? Don’t you want to be the one who makes me a mother? Don’t you want to knock me up?”

You can’t speak. You can only nod, a helpless, jerky motion, your hips starting to thrust up to meet her downward grind. The sounds in the room are a symphony of depravity: the wet, slapping sound of her body hitting yours, their combined moans and gasps, and the constant, relentless stream of their breeding dirty talk, promising you, commanding you, to fill her up and turn their wedding night into the night their family truly began.

The slow, deliberate pace Seulgi had started with is a distant memory. Now, she’s riding you with a frantic, desperate energy, her hips slamming down onto yours with a wet, percussive slap that echoes off the hotel room walls. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles taut, her head thrown back as a continuous stream of breathless moans escapes her lips. You’re no longer just a passenger; your hips are bucking up to meet her, chasing the incredible friction, burying your dick as deep as it can possibly go inside her tight, hot channel.

“Oh, fuck… yes, just like that,” she pants, her hands braced on your shoulders, her knuckles white. “Your cock feels so good, so fucking perfect inside me.” She grinds down, a circular motion that makes you see stars. “I can feel the head of your dick rubbing my g-spot with every single thrust. You’re going to fuck me pregnant tonight, I can just feel it.” Her eyes are wild, her voice a raw, pleading cry. “You’re going to fill my womb up with our baby!”

The sight of her, so completely lost to pleasure, so focused on her mission, combined with the feeling of her pussy milking you, is intoxicating. But as you look past her, you see Irene, kneeling on the bed, watching with an expression of pure, unadulterated lust. Her own hand is between her legs, her fingers rubbing furiously through the thin fabric of her lingerie. A new, demanding thought cuts through your pleasure-soaked haze. You want more. You want all of it.

“Irene.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes locking with yours.

“Come here,” you order, your hips still thrusting up into Seulgi. You gesture with your head. “Sit on my face.” The words taste like power. "None of the mommies should be left out of the fun.”

The effect is instantaneous. Both of their faces light up with identical, predatory smiles. They see it. They see that you’re finally with them, not just physically, but mentally. You’re part of the game now. “Fuck yes,” Seulgi grunts, her pace getting even harder. “Listen to him, babe. He wants to worship you, too.”

Irene needs no more encouragement. She crawls up the bed, her movements sinuous and deliberate. She positions herself over your head, and you get a perfect, intoxicating view up at her. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her lacy black panties, but she doesn’t pull them off. Instead, she just pulls the crotch gusset to the side, revealing the prize beneath. Her pussy is gorgeous, a perfect, swollen pout, glistening with her own wetness. Her clit is a hard, beaded pearl, already engorged.

“You want to taste your future baby’s other mommy?” she whispers, a sultry purr. “You think you can handle it?” She lowers herself slowly, giving you an agonizing moment to just look, to smell the heady, musky scent of her arousal, before she settles down, her wet folds pressing against your mouth.

The taste of her is electric. She’s salty, sweet, and musky all at once. You dive in, your tongue darting out to lick at her slick, swollen lips before focusing on her clit. You flick your tongue against the sensitive nub, and a sharp gasp escapes her. Above you, Seulgi screams in delight. “Yes! Eat her out! Eat my wife while you fuck me!”

Irene’s hips begin to grind against your face, a mirror of Seulgi’s movements on your cock. You open your mouth wider, sucking her clit between your lips, laving it with your tongue. She moans, a high, keening sound, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding your head in place. “Oh, god, yes, just like that,” she pants. “Get it all wet and ready for your cum. You have to breed me next, you hear me? You have to fill me up, too.”

You’re in a sensory overload, a heaven of pure filth. You can feel the hot, tight clench of Seulgi’s pussy around your dick, the relentless, pounding rhythm of her riding you. You can hear her screaming your name, begging you to put a baby in her. At the same time, you have the taste of Irene on your tongue, the feeling of her wetness dripping into your mouth, the sound of her own desperate moans as you eat her out, her own dirty talk a filthy counterpoint to her wife’s.

“Listen to her moaning for you,” Seulgi grunts, her body slapping against yours. “She’s getting so sloppy wet for her turn on your baby-making cock. Fuck, we’re going to take turns riding you all night until we’re both dripping with your seed.”

“Make me cum, please,” Irene begs, her voice cracking as you slide two fingers inside her, feeling her slick, tight heat. She’s so fucking wet. “I want to cum on your face while she’s riding your dick. Please.”

You oblige, your tongue working faster on her clit while your fingers pump into her. Seulgi feels the shift in energy, her own movements becoming more frantic. “Are you eating her out good?” she screams. “Is she as wet as I am? Fuck, I think I’m getting close just watching you.”

The scene is one of beautiful, obscene chaos. Your world has been reduced to the incredible friction of Seulgi’s pussy, the delicious taste of Irene’s, the weight of their bodies, and the sound of their voices, a constant duet of moans and gasps and filthy, desperate promises of the family you’re all making together.

Seulgi’s riding becomes a desperate, powerful piston. She’s no longer just seeking pleasure; she’s hunting it, her hips slamming down with a force that has the whole bed shaking. “Oh, fuck, he’s so deep inside me,” she screams. “Irene, can you feel how deep he is? He’s hitting my cervix with every single thrust! He’s trying to force his baby seed right into my womb!”

Below you, Irene is trembling, on the absolute ragged edge. Your tongue is a whirlwind on her clit, never stopping, never slowing, while your fingers pump a steady rhythm inside her slick channel. “Keep riding him, baby!” Irene cries out. “I’m so close! His tongue… oh god, his tongue is magic! I’m going to cum on his face, Seulgi, watch me!”

“Yes! Cum for him!” Seulgi encourages, her own pace becoming even more frantic. “Show him how wet you are for his cock! I’m right behind you, baby, I can feel my orgasm building! He’s going to make me cum so hard my eggs will just drop and catch his sperm!” She looks down at you, her eyes glazed over, a line of spit connecting her lip to her chin. “You feel that? My pussy is getting so tight around your dick! It knows your cum is coming soon! It wants to be bred!”

“Let’s cum together!” Irene shrieks, her body starting to buck and spasm against your mouth. “Let’s show him how his good little mommies feel when they orgasm! Reach for my hand, Seulgi!”

As Irene’s orgasm begins to take hold, her inner muscles clenching violently around your fingers, she reaches a trembling hand out. Seulgi, still pounding herself onto your cock, meets her halfway. Their fingers lock together, a desperate, sweaty grip, their knuckles white. They are a single entity, united in their ascent.

Irene goes first. A piercing, soul-shattering scream is torn from her throat as her whole body goes rigid. You feel the eruption as a scalding hot flood in your mouth. Her cunt convulses around your fingers, pulsing uncontrollably as she pumps her slick, musky orgasm all over your face, down your chin, into your mouth. You don’t stop, you keep your tongue on her clit, licking her through the climax, swallowing every last drop of her release. Her hips grind down, a helpless, frantic motion as she moans your name over and over, her body completely lost to the waves of pleasure you’re giving her.

The sight of her wife coming apart is the final push Seulgi needs. With a guttural roar, her own orgasm hits. Her back arches so severely she’s almost lifted off you, her pussy clenching around your hard cock in a series of violent, ecstatic spasms that threaten to pull you over the edge with her. It feels like she’s trying to milk you dry, to pull the seed from your very balls with the sheer force of her climax. “Fuck! Yes! You're putting a baby in me!” she screams. “I’m cumming on your cock! I’m cumming for our baby!”

She collapses forward, her body still shuddering, her tight, hot pussy still fluttering around your shaft. Irene goes limp above you, her breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps, her hand still locked with Seulgi’s. The only sounds in the room are their desperate panting and the wet, slick noises of their cooling bodies.

You are so, so close. The feeling of Seulgi’s post-orgasm convulsions gripping your dick is a special kind of torture. Every pulse sends a jolt of near-unbearable pleasure through you. Your own balls are tight, aching, your entire body buzzing with a need that is screaming for release. But you hold on, biting your lip, riding the aftershocks of their pleasure. You are still buried deep inside Seulgi, Irene is still sprawled across your face. You are surrounded by them, drenched in them, and still throbbing, still ready for more.

Irene lifts her head, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. A shaky sigh escapes her lips as she pushes herself up, her face flushed and beautiful, her lips swollen and still glistening. She looks down at you, her eyes full of a new, profound respect. “Fuck,” she breathes. “You are amazing with your tongue.”

Seulgi is a boneless, panting weight on top of you, her face buried in the crook of your neck. Her entire body is humming like a live wire. “I’m so tired,” she gasps, her voice muffled against your skin. “I can’t… I can’t ride anymore.” She lifts her head, her eyes dazed and unfocused, but a sliver of her determined spirit shines through. “You have to finish the work,” she commands. “It’s your turn now.”

“No problem.”

With a surge of strength, you grip Seulgi’s slick, sweaty waist. With a guttural grunt, you lift her off you, flip her over, and press her down onto the mattress in one smooth, dominant motion. The wet sound of your cock pulling out of her is obscene. She lands on her back with a soft noise looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes, her legs already falling open for you.

You don’t waste a second. You move between her thighs, grab your own thick, dripping cock, and drive back into her pussy without any preamble. She screams as you fill her again. She’s so unbelievably hot and wet, her post-orgasm cunt swollen and impossibly sensitive, clenching around you like a fist. You begin to fuck her, a hard, relentless, driving rhythm that’s all about your own building pleasure. You slam into her again and again, your balls slapping against her wet flesh, your hips grinding against hers.

“You feel that?” you growl. You pull out almost all the way and slam back in, hitting her cervix with a force that makes her cry out. “You feel how much I have for you?” You lean down, your mouth next to her ear. “You want it, don’t you? You want my cum deep inside that pretty womb of yours.”

“Yes… oh god, yes…” she babbles, her head thrashing on the pillows. The hypersensitivity of her pussy is driving her insane, every thrust sending waves of aftershock through her spent body.

“It’s not enough to want it,” you command, your pace getting faster, harder. “You have to beg for it. Beg me to fill you up. Beg me to put my baby inside you.”

“Please,” she sobs, the word torn from her. “Please, I’m begging you… cum inside me… Fill me up… I want your baby so bad… Please give me your cum!”

Irene, seeing that the moment is finally here, kneels beside the bed, her eyes wide and fervent. She becomes your cheerleader, your priestess of filth. “That’s it, Seulgi, beg him!” she urges. “Beg him to give you his hot load! He’s got so much for you, you have to earn it!” She puts her hand on your back, her touch electric. She pleads with you, for her wife. “Please, cum in her! Fill my wife’s pussy up with your seed! Drown her cervix in it! Make her pregnant for us, please!”

Their voices, Seulgi’s desperate begging and Irene’s filthy encouragement, are the final trigger. The sight of your beautiful best friend spread out beneath you, taking your pounding, her legs shaking, while your other best friend coaches her, begging for your release… it’s too much. A tidal wave of pressure builds in your balls, a feeling so intense it borders on pain. You let out a roar, a deep, animalistic sound of pure, unrestrained release.

“I’m cumming!”

You drive your hips down one last time, burying yourself as deep as you can possibly go, and your orgasm rips through you. The first massive load shoots from your cock, a hot, thick jet that you feel pump deep inside her womb. Seulgi screams as it hits her, her inner walls clenching down on you. A second, heavier load follows immediately after, flooding her completely. You groan, your teeth gritted, your whole body locked and rigid as a third and final torrent empties from your balls, ensuring she is absolutely, unequivocally full of you.

You collapse on top of her, your body trembling, your mind a complete, blissful blank. You can feel her heart hammering against your chest. Below you, Irene lets out a long, satisfied sigh, her hand still resting on your back. After a long moment, you find the strength to pull out. Your cock slides free with a wet, sloppy sound, and immediately, a thick, pearly white stream of your cum begins to leak from her swollen, gaping cunt, threatening to spill onto the pristine hotel sheets.

Before a single drop can be wasted, Irene is there. She darts forward, dips two fingers into the puddle of your seed at the entrance to Seulgi’s pussy, and gently but firmly pushes it all back inside her wife. “Nope,” Irene murmurs as she holds her fingers there for a second, a human plug. “We’re not wasting a single drop. You just stay in there and make a baby.”

Seulgi is still panting beneath you, her body a warm, pliant weight. Irene’s fingers, slick with your seed, finally pull away from Seulgi’s swollen pussy.

Seulgi lets out a weak, breathless laugh. “You know you only need one microscopic sperm to get pregnant, right?”

“Better to have too much than too little,” Irene retorts with a smug, clinical satisfaction. She crawls up your body, her movements tired but graceful. She wraps her arms around your neck, ignoring the sweat and grime, and plants a firm, proprietary kiss on your cheek. “You did an excellent job,” she murmurs.

With a groan, Seulgi rolls off you and onto the bed. She looks at her wife, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. “My turn now,” she announces, and it’s clear she’s not talking about getting fucked. She’s talking about her role as the orchestrator. She approaches Irene, who is still kneeling on the bed, and begins to work on the clasps of her black lace lingerie.

“Let’s get this off you,” she whispers, pressing soft kisses to Irene’s shoulders and neck as the fabric falls away. “You are going to be such a beautiful mommy. Your belly is going to look so perfect when it’s round and full of our baby.”

“So is yours,” Irene whispers back, eyes full of love for her wife. “We both will be.”

Once Irene is naked, Seulgi gestures to the space between them. “Come on,” she says to you. “Lie down. He’s going to need a little help getting ready for round two.” You obey, settling back against the pillows, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your dick is soft, spent, lying against your thigh. Seulgi looks at it, then at her wife. “Irene, baby. You know what to do. He needs your magic mouth.”

Irene nods, a newfound confidence in her eyes. She crawls between your legs, her gaze locked with yours. She’s learned so much in the last hour. She reaches out, her touch surprisingly sure as she takes your soft cock in her hand. “You were so good to my wife,” she says. “Now it’s my turn to be good to you.” She leans down and takes you into her mouth.

The sensation is different this time. There’s no hesitation, no learning curve. She knows what you like. Her mouth is hot and wet, her tongue immediately flicking against the most sensitive spots, her lips creating a perfect, gentle suction that coaxes you back to life. You watch, mesmerized, as she works, her cheeks hollowing, her dark hair pooling on your thighs. You can feel your cock stirring, thickening, slowly but surely hardening right there in her mouth.

Seulgi lies down on the bed next to you, her head propped on her hand, watching the spectacle with a proprietary air. She leans in, her lips brushing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Look at her,” Seulgi whispers. “Isn’t she so beautiful sucking your cock? Look at how she takes it. She wants it so badly.”

“She looks so fucking hot,” you groan, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.

“She learned from the best,” Seulgi purrs. “Me. But she’s a natural. She knows exactly how to get that magic wand ready to breed her.”

Irene continues her ministrations, her pace picking up as you get harder, until you are fully, painfully erect, throbbing in her mouth. She sucks you for a moment longer, drawing a groan from deep in your chest, before she pulls off with a wet pop. She leans down and plants a soft, loving kiss right on the weeping head of your cock, as if anointing it for its holy purpose.

Seulgi’s hand comes to rest on your chest, her expression turning serious for a moment. “Don’t hurt my girl,” she says. “She’s not used to this. It's her first time with a real cock. Go easy on her. At first, at least.”

“I promise,” you say. You turn your attention to Irene, who is looking up at you with wide, trusting eyes. You reach out and take her hand. “Come here,” you say gently, pulling her up onto the bed. You maneuver her until she’s lying on her side, facing away from you. “We’ll do this with care.”

You lie down behind her, your body spooning hers, your chest pressed against her back. The position is intimate, tender. Seulgi is right there, on Irene’s other side, stroking her hair, whispering encouragement. “That’s it, baby,” Seulgi murmurs. “He’s going to be so good to you. Just relax and let him fill you up.”

You reach down, your hand slick with Irene’s spit, and take your own cock. You guide the head to her entrance. She’s so wet, you can feel the heat radiating from her. You press forward, very, very slowly. Her pussy is tighter than Seulgi’s, a slick, almost virginal heat that greets you with a slight resistance. You push gently, steadily, entering her one painstaking inch at a time. She gasps, her fingers gripping Seulgi’s hand tighter.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good,” Seulgi coos.

You continue your slow, careful invasion until you are all the way inside her. She feels incredible, a snug, wet sheath gripping you from base to tip. You rest there for a moment, letting her body adjust to the feeling of being completely full.

“Oh, god,” she whispers. “You’re so… hot. You’re so hot inside me. It’s so different from a dildo. It feels… alive.”

Your cock is sheathed inside her, and the world seems to pause. The feeling of Irene’s pussy is a revelation. It’s a different universe from Seulgi’s. Where Seulgi was a confident, hungry heat that gripped and pulled, Irene is a shy, tight velvet that seems to be cautiously, curiously learning your shape. You can feel the delicate, sensitive texture of her inner walls, the way her muscles flutter around you in tiny, involuntary spasms. She is so, so tight. You stay completely still, letting her adjust, your chest pressed against the elegant line of her back, your arm wrapped around her waist, your hand resting on her stomach. It’s an intensely intimate position, more tender than anything else you’ve done tonight, and it makes the raw carnality of the act feel even more profound.

Irene lets out a long, shaky breath, her body melting against yours just a fraction. “It’s… so much,” she whispers. “I can feel every ridge. Every vein. It’s like… you’re a part of me.”

Seulgi leans in closer, stroking Irene’s hair back from her face. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” she murmurs. “The perfect magic wand to make our perfect baby. Just relax and let him in, baby. Let him feel like he’s home.”

“It’s… it’s good,” Irene admits, her voice gaining a bit more strength. She shifts her hips just a fraction, a tiny, experimental movement that sends a wave of pure fire through you. “It feels good to be this full.”

You can’t help yourself. You have to move. You pull back, just an inch, the motion agonizingly slow. Irene gasps, a sharp, surprised sound. You push back in, just as slowly. “Just tell me if it’s too much,” you whisper, your lips brushing against her ear.

“No,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”

So you begin. A slow, gentle rhythm. In and out. You’re barely moving, just sliding a few inches, letting her get used to the friction, the feeling of being stretched and filled by you. Every slow thrust is a lesson for her body, teaching it your length, your thickness. With every careful movement, you can feel her muscles starting to relax, her initial tension melting away into a pliable, wet heat.

“That’s it,” Seulgi purrs from her ringside seat. “Look how she’s taking you. My girl is a natural. She was made to be bred by a cock like yours.” She places a hand on Irene’s thigh, her thumb rubbing slow circles. “Are you getting wet for him, babe? Is he making you feel like a good mommy-to-be?”

Irene doesn’t answer with words. She answers by pressing back against you, a clear, silent instruction to go deeper. You oblige, your next thrust sinking further inside her, your rhythm becoming a little stronger, a little more confident. Her breathing hitches, and a soft, mewling sound escapes her lips. It’s the sound of her resistance breaking, of her body succumbing to pure pleasure.

This is Irene, your brain marvels. The quiet one. The composed one. And you’re inside her. You’re making her make these sounds. You’re unlocking a side of her that maybe no one, not even Seulgi, has ever seen before.

You continue your slow, steady fucking, your hand moving from her stomach to cup her breast, your thumb stroking her nipple through her skin until it beads into a hard point. You lean in, whispering in her ear. “You feel so good, Irene. So fucking tight and hot. I can feel every inch of you squeezing me.”

“You’re so big,” she pants, her hips starting to meet your thrusts in a shy, tentative rhythm. “I feel like you’re splitting me in two, but… I like it. I really, really like it.”

“I told you,” Seulgi says. “I told you she’d love it. She just needed the real thing. She needed to feel a real man’s dick stretching her pussy open, getting her ready for his seed.” She leans over Irene to look you in the eye. “Don’t you think she’d look beautiful with her belly swollen up with your baby? Can’t you just picture it?”

The image flashes in your mind, unbidden and shockingly vivid: Irene, her belly round and full, looking at you with that same soft, trusting expression. It sends a fresh surge of blood to your cock, and your pace quickens, your thrusts becoming deeper, more powerful. Now, you’re fucking her. And from the way she’s crying out, a string of breathless, high-pitched moans, she’s more than ready for it. Each stroke sinking you to the hilt in her tight, wet heat.

Seulgi’s arms are wrapped around her, holding her close, her lips pressing reverent kisses to Irene’s forehead, her cheeks, her neck. Their hands are clasped tightly, a lifeline in this storm of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, look at that,” Seulgi breathes right next to Irene’s ear. Her free hand moves down, her fingers spreading across Irene’s lower belly, right above her pubic bone. “Look, you can actually see him inside you.”

Your eyes follow her hand. And she’s right. With every deep thrust you make, you can see a distinct, hard ridge pressing up against Irene’s pale skin from the inside. It’s the outline of your own cock, moving within her. The sight is so fucking obscene, so possessive, it almost makes you lose your mind. You are visibly marking her, filling her so completely that you’re changing her shape.

“She’s so petite,” Seulgi continues her worshipful commentary, her thumb stroking the hard bulge that is you. “So small and perfect. And you’re just stretching her, filling her up so completely. Does it feel good, baby? Does it feel good to have his big, hard cock rearranging your guts, getting you ready for his baby?”

“Yes,” Irene sobs, the word breaking in the middle. Her pussy clenches around you, a desperate, involuntary squeeze. “He’s so… so deep…”

“He’s trying to get to your eggs,” Seulgi says. “He’s trying to find them and cover them in his cum. You have to let him. You have to take all of his dick, all of his power.” She kisses Irene’s temple again. “That’s it, take it all, baby. Take all of his dick for me. Show him what a good girl you are. Show him you’re ready to be a mommy.”

You don’t need any more encouragement. You pull out until just the head is inside her, then drive back in with all your force, a brutal, deep thrust that makes them both cry out. You find a rhythm, a hard, punishing pace that has the bed groaning in protest. You’re fucking Irene with an abandon you didn’t know you possessed, driven by the sight of your cock bulging in her belly and the sound of Seulgi’s constant, filthy praise. Your hand continues to cup Irene’s breast, your thumb rolling her nipple relentlessly, while your other arm holds her pinned against you.

“Fuck… please…” Irene pants, her body starting to tremble with an energy that has nothing to do with the motion of your fucking. Her inner walls are fluttering around you, a sure sign she’s getting close.

“That’s it,” Seulgi urges, her voice rising in excitement. “He’s making you feel so good, isn’t he? He’s going to make you cum so hard. Let it happen, baby. Come for him. Come for our new daddy.”

The words, the sensations, the sheer intimacy of the moment all converge. Irene’s body goes rigid. Her back arches, pressing her pussy even harder onto your cock. Her hand grips Seulgi’s with bone-crushing strength. A high, keening wail tears from her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. “Seulgi!” she screams, her pussy convulsing around you in a series of violent, exquisite spasms. Her orgasm is a tidal wave, her whole body shaking, her head thrown back as she comes undone.

The feeling of her climax gripping your cock is the most intense thing you have ever felt. It’s a hot, wet, spasming fist, milking you, pulling at you, begging for your own release. You’re right there, on the absolute precipice, your balls aching, your own cum a desperate, burning pressure. But you hold on, gritting your teeth, your own body trembling with the strain of holding back. You continue to fuck her through her orgasm, your deep thrusts fueling her climax, pushing her higher and higher until she’s a sobbing, shuddering mess, completely and utterly spent, her body still twitching around your impossibly hard cock.

Irene’s body is a live wire against you, her orgasm rippling through her in glorious, shuddering waves. You hold her tight, your cock still buried deep inside her, feeling every last exquisite spasm of her climax. Seulgi, ever the devoted wife, leans over and begins to pepper Irene’s face and shoulders with soft, adoring kisses. You follow her lead, your own lips finding the slick, sweaty skin of Irene’s neck, tasting her. Irene is overwhelmed, a helpless, blissful sigh escaping her as she’s cocooned between the two of you, drenched in affection and the afterglow of her own release.

“You’re so beautiful when you come apart like that,” Seulgi whispers. She kisses Irene’s lips, a tender, lingering press. After a moment, she pulls back, a wicked, familiar glint returning to her eyes. “You know,” she says. “I know how to make this even better.”

Irene, still boneless and dazed, manages a weak, “How could it possibly be better?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Seulgi says, her grin widening. She looks from Irene’s face to yours, a silent, filthy proposition hanging in the air. “Remember that night, a few months ago, after all those margaritas? When you confessed your deepest, darkest fantasy to me? The one you were too shy to say out loud when you were sober?”

A deep blush creeps up Irene’s neck. She knows exactly what Seulgi is talking about. “Seulgi…” she warns, a weak protest.

“You said you wanted to try DP,” Seulgi announces, completely ignoring her wife’s protest. “You wanted to feel a cock in your pussy and a cock in your ass at the same time.” She gestures between you and herself. “Well, it just so happens that he has a dick. And, as luck would have it, I brought my dick. So, I think we can make this work.”

You feel your own cock, still sheathed inside Irene, give a hard, involuntary throb. Irene looks at you, her eyes wide, a flicker of fear warring with a blaze of pure, unadulterated lust. She gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. She wants it. And goddammit, you want it too. The thought of filling Irene’s pussy while Seulgi fills her ass, of the three of you connected in the most intimate, depraved way possible… it’s a fantasy you didn’t even know you had until this very second.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, the words escaping before you can stop them.

With a triumphant whoop, Seulgi scrambles off the bed. “Don’t you two move,” she orders, heading for her suitcase, which is sitting open on a luggage rack in the corner. She rummages through neatly folded clothes with a casualness that is utterly at odds with the situation, finally pulling out two items: a large, economy-sized bottle of lube and a black harness with a thick, realistic silicone dildo attached.

“Okay,” she says, returning to the bed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “First things first. We need to get this pretty little asshole nice and ready. It’s been a while since she took it in the ass.”

She directs Irene to move, and Irene obeys without question, rolling off you and onto her hands and knees, presenting her perfect, heart-shaped ass to her wife. The sight is breathtaking. Seulgi squirts a generous amount of lube into her palm, rubs her hands together to warm it, and then places her hands on Irene’s cheeks, spreading them gently. “She really likes to take it in the ass every now and then,” Seulgi informs you, her voice taking on a clinical, instructive tone as she begins to work the lube into Irene’s tight, puckered hole. She slides one finger in, then two, her movements slow and careful. “Especially when she’s drunk. The alcohol makes her naughtier, loosens her up.”

“Seulgi, stop talking,” Irene groans, though she’s already arching her back, pushing back against her wife’s probing fingers.

Seulgi just grins and gives her a sharp, stinging slap on the ass, the sound echoing in the room, leaving a pink handprint behind. “I’m not telling any lies,” she says cheerfully. “You love being a little slut for us.”

“You were the one who suggested anal first,” Irene retorts, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“And you were the one who agreed immediately,” Seulgi counters without missing a beat. She continues her work, her fingers sliding in and out with practiced ease, until Irene’s ass is thoroughly prepped, glistening and ready. “There we go. All slick and ready for a good fucking.”

She stands up and quickly straps on the harness, adjusting the buckles until it sits snugly on her hips. She grabs the thick, veiny dildo, giving it a few practice thrusts in the air. Then she turns to you, striking a pose, and asks in a comically deep voice, “So? What do you think? Mine’s bigger than yours.”

You can’t help it; you burst out laughing. “Just shut the fuck up and get over here.”

“Alright, alright, positions everyone,” Seulgi says, back to business. “This requires some coordination.” She points at you. “You, on your back. Irene, you’re going to straddle him. I’ll get behind you, baby.”

You lie back on the pillows, your heart hammering in your chest. Irene moves over you, her body a perfect silhouette against the city lights. She straddles your hips, her knees on either side of your waist, her wet, ready pussy hovering just inches above your waiting cock. Then, Seulgi moves into position behind her, a formidable, powerful presence with her artificial dick jutting out from her hips. The three of you are in place, a perfect, obscene triangle of flesh and intention.

You’re lying on your back, a willing foundation for their depraved architectural project. Irene is poised above you, her eyes wide with a potent cocktail of fear and feral desire. Behind her, Seulgi stands like a conquering hero, her fake dick glistening with lube. This is her fantasy as much as Irene’s.

“Okay,” Seulgi says. She places her hands on Irene’s hips, steadying her. She looks at you. “We go in together. Slow and easy. Don’t you dare rush it. I want her to feel every single millimeter.”

You nod, your throat too dry to speak. You reach up and take Irene’s hands, pulling her down slightly so she can brace herself on your shoulders. Her hands are trembling. You guide the head of your cock to her slick, waiting entrance. Behind her, Seulgi does the same, pressing the thick, purple head of the dildo against her wife’s well-lubricated asshole.

“Ready, baby?” Seulgi murmurs. Irene gives a shaky, terrified nod. “Okay. On three. One… two…”

On three, you both push forward.

A strangled scream is torn from Irene’s throat. Her body goes rigid, her back arching as she’s simultaneously impaled from both sides. Her eyes roll back in her head, and her hands grip your shoulders with painful intensity. The feeling is beyond anything you could have imagined. Her pussy, already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock with a desperate, spasming grip as it tries to make sense of this new, overwhelming invasion. You can feel the reverberations inside her as Seulgi’s dick slides into her ass.

“Oh, god… oh, fuck…” Irene chokes out, her head thrashing from side to side. “It’s too much… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Seulgi grunts. She’s only halfway in. “You were made for this. My greedy little slut, wanting two cocks at once.” She thrusts her hips forward, pushing the dildo deeper into her wife’s ass. “Take it. Take both our cocks.”

You push forward as well, your own movement slow and steady, until you are both fully, deeply buried inside her. She is completely, utterly full. The sight is staggering. Your best friend, the quiet, elegant Irene, being spit-roasted by you and her own wife.

For a long moment, nobody moves. The only sound is Irene’s ragged, frantic panting as her body tries to accommodate the sheer volume of being so thoroughly stretched and filled. Then, the initial shock begins to fade from her eyes, replaced by a dawning wonder, a slow-blooming pleasure. A low, guttural moan rumbles in her chest.

“It feels…” she whispers, “so good. I’m so full.”

“That’s my girl,” Seulgi praises. She begins to move, a slow, powerful thrust of her hips. “Look at you, taking two dicks like a champ. My perfect little whore.” The degrading words are spoken with so much love, it’s a paradox that only makes the scene hotter. “You love this, don’t you? You love having both your pretty little holes stretched wide open.”

Irene doesn’t deny it. Instead, she begins to move her own hips, starting to ride you with a slow, grinding motion that matches the rhythm of Seulgi’s thrusts. “Don’t… stop,” Irene begs. “Please, don’t stop.”

And you don’t. You begin to fuck her from below, your thrusts deep and steady, a grounding rhythm against Seulgi’s harder, more punishing pace. The three of you find a tempo, Seulgi’s possessive thrusts into her ass make Irene’s pussy tighten around your cock, sending waves of pleasure through you both. Your own deep strokes make Irene grind back against Seulgi’s dildo. It’s a perfect, perverse feedback loop.

“Look at her,” Seulgi says to you, full of pride. “Taking it like she was born for it. I bet she wants us to fill her up at the same time. A load of your baby batter in her pussy,” she says, nodding at you, “and a nice, creamy load in her ass from her wife.” She leans down and kisses Irene’s shoulder. “Would you like that, slut? A pearl necklace on the inside?”

Irene can only sob in response, her body completely given over to the overwhelming sensations. She’s being used, claimed, and utterly worshipped, all at once. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy, her body a vessel for your shared, depraved fantasy.

You are no longer being gentle. You are fucking Irene with a raw, driving power, your hips a relentless piston of flesh and need. Seulgi matches your energy, her own thrusts with the strap-on becoming harder, faster, a possessive, punishing rhythm against her wife’s asshole. Seulgi’s free hand comes up and smacks down hard on Irene’s ass cheek, the sharp crack echoing in the room, leaving a bright red print in its wake. Irene just screams, a sound that’s half pain, half pure ecstasy, and grinds back harder against both of you.

You are so fucking close, a razor’s edge away from release. The feeling of Irene’s tight, hot pussy clenching around you with every thrust, the sight of her beautiful, overwhelmed face, the sound of Seulgi’s filthy encouragement; it’s all converging into a single point of unbearable pressure in your balls.

“Oh god, it’s so good,” Irene wails. “Don’t stop… please, don’t ever stop, it’s so fucking good… I love it… I love you both…”

The pressure is becoming too much. You know you can’t hold on for much longer. “I’m going to cum.”

The announcement acts like a lightning rod. Their shared focus, which was already intense, becomes laser-sharp, zeroed in on you and the precious load you’re about to deliver. They need this. They need your seed.

“Yes!” Seulgi screams. She slaps Irene’s ass again, harder this time. “Did you hear that, you little breeding whore? He’s going to fill you up! He’s going to knock you up right now! You have to take it all! Take all of daddy’s cum!”

“Please,” Irene sobs, her eyes locking with yours, wide and pleading. “Please cum inside me. Give me your baby. Fill my womb up, please!”

Their desperation is the final push. You surge with a fresh wave of adrenaline, a dominant, possessive energy. You reach up, your hand wrapping around the back of Irene’s neck, holding her in place as you pound into her even harder, your rhythm brutal and deep. You lean down, your lips brushing her ear, the heat of your breath a stark contrast to the cool sweat on her skin. “Is that what you want?” you demand. “Do you want me to make you a mommy?”

“Yes!” she screams.

“Say it, then!” Seulgi commands, punctuating the order with another loud, stinging slap to Irene’s ass. “Call her what she is! Our perfect little mommy!”

“Our slutty mommy,” you add, the words tasting like power on your tongue.

Irene rolls her eyes in a gesture of pure, ecstatic surrender. She is having the time of her fucking life, being used and praised and degraded by the two people she loves most in the world. The sight of her, so completely undone, is your undoing. The orgasm hits you with the force of a physical blow, a blinding, white-hot wave that surges from the base of your spine.

“I’m cumming!” you roar. “It’s now!”

“Give It to me!” Irene screams, arching her back to take you even deeper.

“Fill her up!” Seulgi bellows, giving one final, massive thrust with the strap-on, burying the dildo to the hilt in her wife’s ass.

And then you explode. Your hips pump uncontrollably, a frantic, repeated pounding as you shove your release as deep inside Irene’s womb as you possibly can. The first massive load shoots from you, hot and thick. Irene screams, her own orgasm triggering in perfect, earth-shattering synchrony with yours, her inner walls convulsing violently around your erupting cock. A second, heavier load follows, flooding her completely.

As you pump a third and final torrent into her, Seulgi holds her dildo deep inside, pinning her, holding her steady as she’s filled and fucked and sent soaring. Irene’s body is a conduit for all three of your combined energies, a beautiful, screaming, convulsing mess. Your cock throbs inside her, pulsing endlessly even after you’re empty, and Seulgi watches the whole thing, a look of fierce, triumphant love on her face as she sees her wife get pregnant right before her eyes.

Finally, the waves subside. You collapse onto Irene, your body trembling, your mind blissfully blank. She goes limp beneath you, her head lolling to the side, her breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps. You’re still inside her, your now-softening cock bathed in the combined heat of your cum and her pussy. You gently brush the damp strands of hair from her face, your touch tender, protective. You hug her close.

Seulgi waits a moment before slowly, carefully, pulling her dildo out of Irene’s ass. Irene moans softly into your neck as it slides free. With a sigh, Seulgi unstraps the harness and tosses it onto the floor. She crawls onto the bed, her movements tired but graceful, and wedges herself into the space beside you.

“That,” she says, “was beautiful. It was perfect.” She leans over and kisses Irene’s forehead, then turns and kisses your cheek. She settles down, lying next to you, completing the tangle of limbs. Irene is on top of you, Seulgi is beside you, the three of you a single, exhausted unit. “I love you both so much,” Seulgi whispers into the quiet room. She strokes Irene’s back. “How are you feeling, baby?”

A slow, lazy smile spreads across Irene’s face. She doesn’t even open her eyes. “I’ve never been better,” she murmurs.

Seulgi laughs, a soft, happy sound. You feel a sense of profound peace settle over you. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you start to move, intending to pull out of Irene. Her arms immediately tighten around you, her legs locking you in place.

“No,” she whispers, a hint of panic in her voice. “Not yet.” She shifts her weight, pressing down, as if to keep you from escaping. “I want to feel you inside me for a little longer. I want to keep all your cum stored up nice and warm.”

You relax, sinking back into the pillows. “Okay,” you agree, the thought of your seed being carefully incubated inside her sending a pleasant shiver through you. The girls visibly relax, their bodies melting against yours, happy and content that you’re so willing to play along with every part of their dream.

“This is… this is everything I ever wanted,” Irene says softly. “Us, you… all of us together.”

“I know,” Seulgi agrees, her hand finding yours and giving it a squeeze. “So,” she says, “place your bets. Who do you think it’ll be? Who’s the lucky mommy?”

“My money’s on you,” Irene mumbles. “He really filled you up. I saw it. It was… a lot.”

“Yeah, but he came inside you and we kept it all in there. Your pussy got the prize.” She pauses, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Unless… what if it’s both of us? What if he’s just that potent? We could have twins! One for each of us to carry.”

The idea is so insane, so utterly them, that you can’t help but laugh.

“Thank you,” Irene says suddenly. She lifts her head to look you in the eyes. “Thank you for this. For agreeing to this crazy, insane plan. For trusting us.”

“Yeah,” Seulgi adds, her own eyes full of genuine emotion. “Thank you for being our best friend. And… for being our perfect daddy.”

The weight of their words, of the whole night, settles on you, but it’s not a burden. It’s a warm, heavy blanket of love and belonging. “You don’t have to thank me,” you say. “I’d do anything for you guys. You know that.”

“We do,” Seulgi says. She yawns, a wide, jaw-cracking yawn. “You should spend the night. Don’t go back to your room.”

“The bed is big enough for the three of us,” Irene adds, already snuggling back down onto your chest. “It’ll be more enjoyable this way. We can all wake up together.”

You look at the two beautiful women tangled up with you, their mission for the night accomplished, their faces full of hope and happiness. There’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

“Okay,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around them both, pulling them closer. “I’ll stay.”

—

The text message from Seulgi arrives on a Tuesday afternoon. The past few weeks had been a strange, quiet limbo. You’d replayed the events of that insane wedding night in your head a thousand times, each memory a vivid, high-definition snapshot of lust and love and beautiful, shared madness. But you hadn’t pushed. You’d waited, giving them the space they needed to navigate the beginning of their new life together, your new, bizarre role in it still undefined. The message is short, simple, and utterly devoid of context.

Hey, you free tonight? Need you to come over. It’s important.

That’s it. No smiley faces, no explanation. Just a summons. Your heart immediately starts hammering against your ribs. Important. What kind of important? Did their families find out? Did someone get sick? Are they regretting it? Is this the conversation where they tell you it was a huge, drunken mistake and they need you to pretend it never happened? The drive to their chic, downtown apartment is a special kind of torture, your mind a frantic whirlwind of worst-case scenarios. By the time you’re standing outside their door, you’ve convinced yourself that this is the end of the most beautiful and insane chapter of your life. You take a deep breath and knock, your hand trembling slightly.

The door swings open, and they’re both there, standing side-by-side like a welcoming committee. They look… different. Not bad, just… charged. There’s a nervous, electric energy crackling in the air around them, a barely contained vibration that sets you on edge. Seulgi is wearing a simple grey sweatshirt and leggings, her hair piled into a messy bun. Irene is in an elegant, oversized cashmere sweater, looking as poised as ever, but her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, a tell-tale sign of her nerves.

“Hey,” you say. “You said it was important. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Irene says, a little too quick, a little too bright. “Come in, come in.”

They usher you into the entryway but don’t invite you to sit down. They just stand there, facing you, shifting their weight from foot to foot. The suspense is killing you.

“Okay, you’re officially scaring the shit out of me,” you say, trying for a light tone and failing miserably. “What’s going on? Are you guys breaking up? Did you burn the apartment down trying to cook? Just tell me.”

“No, nothing like that,” Seulgi says. She shares a look with Irene, a silent, lightning-fast conversation passing between them. “We just… we have something to tell you. Something to show you, actually.”

“A surprise,” Irene clarifies.

Your mind races. A surprise? Your anxiety immediately gives way to confusion. “A surprise? What, did you finally buy that ridiculously expensive espresso machine you were arguing about?”

“No,” Seulgi says, shaking her head, her smile widening.

“Did you get a cat? Please tell me you didn’t get a cat, Irene is allergic,” you guess again.

“Not a cat,” Irene confirms.

“Okay, I give up,” you say, throwing your hands up in surrender. “What is it?”

Seulgi’s expression turns serious, though the excited energy is still buzzing around her like a force field. “Close your eyes,” she says. “And hold out your hand.”

“Oh, come on, this is ridiculous,” you protest, but you do it anyway, closing your eyes and extending your hand into the space between you. You feel her take your hand, her palm warm against yours. Then, she places a small, light, plastic object into your palm. It’s long and thin. A key? A flash drive? You have no idea.

“Okay,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “You can open them.”

You open your eyes and look down at your hand. You’re holding a pregnancy test. And on its small digital screen, in clear, undeniable letters, is the word: PREGNANT.

The world goes silent. You stare at the little plastic stick, at that one, life-altering word, and your brain slowly, painstakingly, connects the dots. Your gaze drifts up from the test to their faces. They’re watching you, their expressions a mixture of terror and hope, waiting for your reaction.

“Is this…” you start. “Is this what I think it is?”

Seulgi’s face breaks into the widest, most radiant smile you have ever seen. She nods, a single, explosive movement. “If you’re thinking that our insane plan actually fucking worked,” she says with happy tears, “then yes. You’re right.”

“Oh my god!” you shout, lunging forward and pulling them both into a massive, clumsy group hug. You lift them both off the ground, spinning them around in a circle, laughing like a madman. “Holy shit! You did it! We did it!”

You finally put them down, and you’re all laughing and crying at the same time. You take a closer look at the test, as if the word might have changed. “This is incredible,” you say, shaking your head in wonder. Then, the logical question hits you. “Wait, whose is this?”

Seulgi’s smile, if possible, gets even wider. She raises her hand slowly, like a student who knows the answer to the teacher’s question. “That one,” she says full of pride, “is mine.”

“Oh my god, Seulgi!” You pull her into another tight hug, lifting her off her feet again. You hold her face in your hands. “You’re going to be a mom. A real mom. That’s… that’s insane.” You then turn to Irene and pull her into an equally enthusiastic hug. “And you’re going to be a mom! You guys are going to be parents!”

You’re buzzing, absolutely levitating with joy. You’ve never felt happiness like this. It’s pure, uncut, overwhelming. But as you pull back, you see a strange, playful look on Irene’s face. She’s watching you, a quiet smile on her lips.

“That’s wonderful news for her,” Irene says, voice calm and even, which only makes her next words more impactful. “But what about mine?”

She holds up her hand. And in it, she’s holding a second test. Another little plastic stick. And on its screen is the same impossible, beautiful word. PREGNANT.

The world stops spinning. It screeches to a dead halt. You stare at the first test in your hand, then at the second test in hers. You look at Seulgi’s beaming face, then at Irene’s serene, triumphant one. The math doesn’t add up. It can’t be. It’s not possible. But it is. Your brain finally catches up, and the only two words that can possibly encapsulate the magnitude of this moment escape your lips in a raw whisper.

“Holy. Shit.”

They burst into laughter at your reaction. “Yes,” Irene says, her eyes shimmering. “Both of us.”

“You’re… you’re both pregnant?” you ask.

“Surprise,” Seulgi says, wiping a tear from her eye. “It seems you’re a little more potent than we anticipated.”

You just stand there, dumbfounded, shaking your head, a wide, stupid grin plastered on your face. You pull them both into another hug, this one gentler, more careful. You’re hugging three people now. No, four.

“We wanted you to be the first to know,” Irene says softly, her head resting on your shoulder. “Before our parents, before anyone. We wanted to have this moment, just the three of us.”

“You made this happen,” Seulgi adds, her hand finding yours and squeezing it tight. “We literally couldn’t have done it without you.”

You laugh, a real, deep belly laugh this time. “Well,” you say. “It was my absolute pleasure to help. Literally.”

They both groan and laugh, swatting at you playfully. They pull you over to the couch, and for the next hour, they talk excitedly, often over each other, about everything. They’re already looking at houses a little outside the city, with yards and extra bedrooms. They argue playfully about nursery themes; Irene wants something minimalist and neutral, Seulgi wants cartoon animals and bright colors. They talk about car seats, and strollers, and the sheer, terrifying, wonderful reality of having two babies at the same time.

“Listen,” you say, interrupting their debate. You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Okay, but for real. What am I to them? What do you want me to be?”

“That’s… a conversation we wanted to have with you,” Irene says. “We didn’t want to just decide for you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“There’s no roadmap for this, you know?” Seulgi adds, gesturing between the three of you. “We broke the map and set it on fire on your wedding night. We can’t just go online and search ‘what to call my best friend who knocked up me and my wife so we could start a family’.” She says it with a wry smile, but her eyes are completely serious. “Honestly? We don’t have a fucking clue.”

“We know we want you in their lives,” Irene states, her gaze locking with yours. “Deeply. Not as some distant uncle or just a… friend. But what we call it? What it looks like day-to-day? That’s something the three of us have to build from scratch. Together.”

You look at their faces: the fear of the unknown is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the absolute certainty of their trust in you, and yours in them. You take a deep breath, the path forward uncertain but undeniably shared.

"Okay. Then let's figure out how to be a family.”

[nsfwlguess]

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."

Jun, 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. I'm giving you something back. Now, you guys will 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.

[nsfwlguess]

ROOMMATES

Kang Hyewon POV x Kwon Eunbi

Tags: Lesbian, WLW, Fingering, Dorm sex, Titsucking

This is the 2025 version of my 2021 smut. Enjoy!

"Finally, we're home!"

Her loud greeting after she open our dorm's door. We just got back from L.A. for our appearance on KCON. It's already 10:40 pm, me and Eunbi are sitting in this couch while others are going to sleep some more.

We're too exhausted to unpack our luggage. It's too quiet so we thought they're asleep now.

I'm planning to go to bathroom to wash my face only cause I'm too lazy to shower.

"Are you gonna use the bathroom?"

"Yep, why? You too?"

"Yeah but you first, I'll wait here."

I scanned her, she brought her shower towel, oversized tshirt and pyjama pants.

"let's go together." I bluntly said.

"What? Are you serious?" She laughed.

"Yeah, I am. We're both girls and we shouldn't use too much water." I explained. She stared at me for a few seconds, Probabl thinking if I'm just joking or not. She smiled at me. That smile is too obvious to me.

"Are you--"

"No I'm not. I'm gonna wash my face, I'm too lazy to shower."

"Okay if you say so." She still smiling and lightly shaking her head, She really thought I want to see her naked.

I said no but the truth is I always wanting to see her naked body. Good thing I controlled myself everytime I see her practicing and changing clothes. I always wanting to touch those two big mountains.

Sometimes I had a chance but failed. I envied Sakura cause she touched those before.

It's too awkwardly quiet here in bathroom. Eunbi undressing herself while humming, I keep stealing stares at her while she's showering. Her boobs are bouncing at every move she makes, it feels like they're teasing me. Imagine how soft it is. It makes me drool. Lucky soap.

"You're taking too much time cleaning your teeth, Hyewon." It brought me back to my senses and i'm doing my best to avoid eye contact while i'm gurgling.

"I'm eating too much these days so i clean it thoroughly."

"Oh, that makes sense."

laying down on my bed and keep staring at the door. The gameplay sounds of PUBG turned into faint background as my focus is on that door. Wondering why is she taking that long.

Finally the door opens and I'm awestuck at her, she still humming while drying her blondie short hair. Quickly turn my attention to my game when she looks at me. My team is already dead but i'm faking it just to avoid her eye contact.

"I'm turning off the light, Hyewon." I nodded.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

"Good night, Hyewon. Don't stay up too late."

"I know. Good night to you too."

Almost an hour later, I know she's asleep already so I quietly going down on my bed and lay down beside her and slowly hugging her. I waited for a few seconds and she's really asleep so took this chance to touch her racks starting by a slow and cautious grope on her left tit.

She's not wearing bra and that's too fucking good to me, No obstacle. Rubbing it clockwise and I just felt her hard nipple poking through the shirt, Ibstopped and looked at her if she still sleeping and continuing rubbing her other tit.

My heart beats like a drum while doing it. I placed my hand under her shirt and now i'm feeling her smooth skin that I longed for so long. I played her nipple by rubbing it using my two fingers.

"Uhhh.. Ahh.." She moaned but instead of stopping it, I keep playing her nipple. Sucking my fingers and gave a lot of saliva to it before playing her nipple again. I had a thought of sucking her nipple but I'm completely satisfied in this, for now. I want to stop but because of how soft her tits are, I'm still doing it.

"Hyewon? Hyewon! What are you doing?!" I covered her mouth and shushed her. She removed my hand with an annoyed face.

'I need your answer now." I sighed.

"I... I'm attracted to you, Eunbi. Also your body as well. Sorry I can't help it."

"As I expected." she sighed too.

"Since you're honest to me. Okay, I'll allow you."

I nodded. "I want to kiss you Eunbi."

"Do whatever you want to do tonight, Hyewon. Let's start nice and slow."

I smiled and kiss her passionately, that makes her surprised for a second and following my kisses. I let my tongue wandering around her mouth. Our tongues danced while moaning in unison.

While kissing her, I'm roughly kneading her tits that makes her moan a bit louder. After her lips, my kisses trails down to her neck.

I starting licking and giving her gentle bites on her pulse point and it makes her breathing heavily. "Ohh... Hyewon.. I love this.. Keep it going."

I lifted off her shirt enough to expose her big breasts and hungrily sucking her nipple. Finally, my dream came true. She moaned so long because of that.

"More! Hyewon.. more! Ughh...."

I keep sucking her breasts simutaneously over and over again. My right hand snaked under her pyjama pants and surprised that she isn't wearing panties. Roughly rubbing her wet clit that makes her back arched off from the bed.

As my fingers collected enough of Eunbi's essence. I courageously tasted it. Just curious about the taste of her.

"Taste good. You want to taste mine?" I smiled and guiding her hand into my clit.

She slowly did it and It was incredible than doing it by myself.

"Now.. taste it." I ordered.

She hestitates but I still give her a nod to continue. She finally did it.

"it's good, right?" She nodded.

Now I can't wait to taste her pussy. I pulled down her pyjama pants and began kissing her thighs upwards. Before I proceed to taste the heaven, I looked at her and she gave me a nod.

Slowly licking her pussy from bottom and her hips are shaking. Slowly but now I'm licking it a little faster and rougher. "Ahhhh.. Ahhh.. Ahhhh.. Ummm.."

Her moans are driving me crazy! I inserted my middle finger inside her. Her inner walls are so tight and warm but also wet. As soon as I spotted her special spot, I started fingering on it. That makes her whole body twitching like she's possessed. Her moans are louder that before and clearly not giving a damn to other members.

When I noticed that she's almost at her climax, I stopped. It made her whine and urged me to continue what I started.

"Not yet, Eunbi. If you want to cum, Satisfy me first." I proceed to undressed myself.

Shes now atop of me and worshipping my tits, like I did to her earlier. Playing around my left tit nipple while sucking the other one.

"Ahhhh shit! Suck it harder!" She followed and it makes me so crazy as she simultaneously sucking my tits. After that, she proceeds to lick my pussy and doing it harder.

I gripped a handful of her hair as I'm grinding my cunt into her eager mouth. I rolled my eyes back as I'm seeing stars right now. The sensation. That fucking good feeling.

She's suckling my cunt like a soup. I felt my orgasm building rapidly, so I ordered her to lay down and fucking each other in a scissoring position.

We moaned harder and our body noises following it. Harder. Faster. Bed creaking so much. Members will gonna to wake up anytime soon because of our sex noises.

"Ahhh!! Ahh!! Ahhhh!! Hyewon I'm cumming!"

"Yeah! Me too! Uhhhh! Ahhhh! We cum together! Ahhh!!"

We hugged each other while rubbing it faster. We moaned as we came together. We collapsed back to the bed. We keep panting hard as tried our best to calm ourselves up after this intense lovemaking.

"You naughty girl. That was my first time." she said that between her deep breaths.

"I'm glad to be the first one."

She laughs and I hugged her, "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Not as a friend. I really love you Eunbi."

"You silly girl. Stop th-"

I kissed her. Smack kiss. To let her know that I'm serious.

"let's keep this private. Okay?"

"Yeah. Of course."

-End-

[nsfwlguess]

Daddy's girl

Newjeans / NJZ Haerin

tags: Submissive, Rough, Incest

(Third Person POV)

Haerin had always been an enigmatic figure at school, her dark attire and reserved demeanor earning her the reputation of a loner. Because of her mother's tragic death, she felt that she lost half of her self. She loved her mother so much.

Her father saw how her daughter drastically changed after his wife's death. Instead of being alarmed on how Haerin changed, He understands her. Losing someone is truly hurts.

He tried his best to understand her daughter even tho she isn't chatty as before. Also tries his best to stay beside her, To show her that she isn't alone when she still mouring.

Believe it or not, Haerin is starting to realize that her father tries his best to reconnect with her. She starting to appreciate life once again.

Until she felt something that she knew it didn't existed from the start. It was love, A taboo one.

It started innocently enough, Haerin's face lighting up whenever her dad was near, his presence coaxing out a radiant smile that never failed to captivate him. As time passed, their bond deepened, and so did Haerin's feelings for her father. The once aloof girl now found herself growing possessive and jealous at the mere sight of him interacting with other women.

One evening, as they sat together in the living room, Haerin's gaze drifted to her father's phone when a phone call flashed on it's screen, It was her father's co-worker named Da-hye. She saw her few times before as Da-hye is clingy to her father.

That stirred something within Haerin, a pang of jealousy that caught her off guard. She felt her heart race as she stared at his phone, her mind conjuring images of her father's arms around another woman. The thought alone made her blood boil.

Without thinking, Haerin reached over and snatched the phone then hanged up the incoming call, proceed to turn thr phone off. "Why is she calling you at this hour?" she seethed silently, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

Haerin's eyes flashed to her father's, seeking reassurance. But instead of the comfort she craved, she saw only concern etched across his features. He rose from the couch, closing the distance between them until they stood face-to-face, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Haerin's breath came in short gasps as her father loomed closer, his presence overwhelming yet comforting. She could smell the familiar scent of his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from his body. It was intoxicating, and she found herself leaning into him instinctively.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" her father murmured, his voice low and soothing. His hands came up to gently cup her flushed cheeks, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. In that moment, Haerin felt lost, adrift in a sea of emotions she didn't fully understand.

"I... I don't want her to have you." Haerin whispered, her words barely audible. "Only you." The admission hung heavy in the silence, a confession of forbidden desire that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Her father's eyes widened slightly at Haerin's confession, a flicker of surprise giving way to a tender expression. He pulled her close, enveloping her in a warm embrace that felt both protective and intimate.

"Oh, sweetheart." he breathed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You're my whole world. No one else compares to you." His words sent a shiver down Haerin's spine, igniting a fire within her that she struggled to contain.

As if sensing her turmoil, her father stepped back, his hands still resting on her shoulders. He looked at her intently, searching her face for any sign of distress or uncertainty. "We need to talk about these feelings, Haerin. About what's happening between us."

Haerin nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as she met her father's gaze. She knew what he meant, understood the gravity of the path they were heading. But she couldn't deny the longing that consumed her, the desperate need to claim him as hers alone.

"I know it's wrong," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't help how I feel. Every time I see you with someone else, it hurts. I just... I want you all to myself."

Haerin's eyes dropped to her father's lips, remembering the countless times she'd fantasized about kissing him. The urge was overwhelming, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in, brushing her lips against his in a soft caress.

Her father's breath hitched as Haerin's lips touched his, the sudden contact sending a jolt of electricity through his body. For a moment, he simply stood still, savoring the feel of his daughter's lips against his own.

Then, with a low groan, he wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss. It was a mistake, he told himself, even as he lost himself in the taste and texture of her lips. But he couldn't pull away, not when every fiber of his being yearned for more.

Haerin melted into the embrace, her own arms wrapped around her father's neck as she poured all her pent-up desire into the kiss. It was raw, passionate, and completely taboo - everything she'd ever fantasized.

Their lips moved in perfect sync, the kiss growing more intense with each passing second. Haerin's fingers tangled in her father's hair, pulling him closer as she nipped at his bottom lip. A low moan escaped her throat, a sound of pure need.

Her father's hands roamed her back, sliding down to grasp her hips and pull her flush against him. She could feel the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against her belly, fueling the inferno raging inside her.

Breaking the kiss, Haerin gazed up at her father with lust-clouded eyes, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. "Take me to your bedroom, Daddy.." she panted, her voice husky with desire. "Please."

Her father looked at her eyes for a second, He can see how her own daughter wants him but there's a nervousness on it. Instead, He cupped her cheeks. "Haerin, Listen to me. Don't push yourself into something that you're not completely ready."

Her breath hitched as her father's words. She blinked few times, processing his words. 'Am I ready for this? He's right. I don't think I am.' She slowly nods. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

He embraced her gently. "You don't have to, Darling. Let's wait until the right time. Okay?"

"Okay.." She snuggled close to him. They fell asleep after.

Haerin's Birthday

Haerin doesn't want an engrande birthday party. She just want her father to celebrate her birthday. He took a work leave to be with her daughter for the whole day.

They went to the mall to buy everything that Haerin wants. She chose some shirts and even a matching pyjama set for them. Later on, She went to the lingerie section and brought the red lacy one that made him almost forgot to breathe. They went to the movie theater right after.

As soon as they arrived at their home, Haerin embraced him then pressed a gentle lingering kiss. "Daddy... Let's go to my bedroom. Make my wish come true please."

That's it. He lifted Haerin up into his arms, her arms and legs wrapped around him as he carried her towards the stairs. Their lips found each other again, a sensual dance of tongues and lips that left them both breathless.

Once in her bedroom, her father laid Haerin down on the bed, his hands roaming her body with a hunger that matched her own. He kissed a trail down her neck, pausing to suckle at the pulse point that made her moan.

"You're so beautiful, baby girl. Reminds me of your mother." he murmured against her flesh. The line of normal father-daughter relationship is now crossed.

With that, he claimed her lips once more, his hands working to remove her clothes as he settled between her thighs. The air was heavy with anticipation, the promise of forbidden pleasure hanging in the balance.

Haerin arched beneath her father, her back bowing off the mattress as she reveled in the sensation of his touch. His hands were everywhere, exploring her curves with a reverence that bordered on worship.

She reached for him, desperate to feel his skin against hers. With nimble fingers, she worked at the buttons of his shirt, popping them free one by one until she could slip her hands inside to caress the heated flesh beneath.

"Don't hold back, Daddy." Haerin begged, her voice a needy whimper. "I want it raw and rough, Please..." The words slipped out unintentionally, but it felt right, a testament to the depth of her feelings for him.

"There's a rope at my drawer. Lower part."

He immediately understood what her daughter wants. He went to pull out the rope at the drawer. He didn't even questioned her daughter about why there's a rope at her room.

He start tying-up her wrists to the bed's headboard. Not too tight, just right enough. He crawled back to the bed, Atop of her blushing naked daughter who's willing to give her virginity to her own father.

Her father's eyes locked onto hers, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "Are you ready, darling?"

"Yes, Daddy. Make my birthday special right now."

With a growl of primal need, her father claimed Haerin's mouth once more, swallowing her gasp of delight as his fingers delved between her thighs. He found her already wet, her arousal coating his fingers as he stroked her slick folds.

"So ready for me." he praised, his thumb circling her clit with deliberate slowness. "Such a good girl, getting so hot and needy for Daddy..."

Haerin's hips bucked into his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. She was lost in the pleasure, her mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.

"More, Daddy... Please, I need..."

But before she could finish the sentence, her father shifted position, positioning himself at her entrance.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, her father sank into Haerin's welcoming heat, filling her inch by inch. They both groaned at the intimate connection, the feeling of skin against skin, of forbidden love consummated.

Haerin wrapped her legs around her father's waist, drawing him deeper into her core. She reveled in the stretch, the slight burn as he claimed her virginity, marking her as his in the most primal way possible.

"So tight.." he rasped, his forehead pressed to hers as he began to move. "You feel incredible, baby girl." Each thrust was measured, controlled, designed to drive Haerin wild with pleasure.

And it worked. Within moments, she was on the brink, her inner walls clenching around her father's throbbing length.

"Daddy!" Haerin cried out, her voice a high-pitched wail of ecstasy as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her. Her vision blurred, her body trembling with the force of her climax.

He slowly turned her around. Her butt facing him. He gave her butt cheeks a few spank each, made Haerin squeal but not in pain. She keeps swaying her hips, Enjoying the rough treatment from her father.

Her father continued to thrust in her abused wet hole, driving into her with renewed vigor as he chased his own release. His thrusts became more rougher and deeper than the last. He reached out to grab a handful of her hair to pull it tight. His other hand still spanking her butt. The sounds of their forbidden desire filled the room - the slap of skin, the creak of the bed, Haerin's breathy moans and gasps.

"That's it, baby." he urged, his pace growing erratic as he neared the edge. "Come for Daddy again. Let me feel you..."

With a final, powerful thrust, her father buried himself to the hilt, spilling his seed deep within. Filling her up.

In the aftermath of their passion, Haerin lay sprawled across the bed, her father's weight pressing her into the mattress. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, a rhythmic echo of her own racing pulse.

He slowly reaching out to untie her wrists. As he did, He peppers kisses all over her face until he pressed her lips gently.

"I love you, Haerin. Forever and Always."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of trepidation. She knew what it meant, also knew the risks of their relationship.

They're so exhausted that they easily slept for the rest of the night.

Morning later, Her daddy woke up and saw Haerin slowly riding his cock. He was mesmerized on how her daughter moved atop of him. He reached out to gently grope her perky breasts. Rolling the stiff nipples on his fingers.

Haerin's eyes fluttered open, meeting her father's gaze with a sultry, half-lidded stare. She was astride him, her slender thighs gripping his hips as she rode him with a sensual grace that belied her inexperience.

A soft moan escaped her lips as her father's fingers found her nipples, teasing the sensitive buds into hardness. The dual stimulation of his cock inside her and his touch on her breasts sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body.

"Good morning, Daddy." Haerin purred, her voice husky with sleep and desire. She rocked her hips, taking him deeper with each downward motion.

Her father's eyes darkened with lust at the erotic sight before him. He watched, transfixed, as Haerin's pert breasts bounced with each rise and fall of her body, her rosy nipples straining against his fingertips.

"Fuck, baby girl." he groaned, his grip tightening on her tits as he rolled the hardened peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. "You're so fucking sexy like this..."

Emboldened by his reaction, Haerin increased the tempo of her movements, her inner walls clenching around her father's shaft. She leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss as she rode him with wild abandon.

Their lips moved feverishly, tongues tangling in a passionate dance as Haerin's hips undulated above her father. The sensation of her slick heat enveloping him was intoxicating, and he found himself losing control, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding.

"Harder, baby." he commanded between kisses, his voice strained with pleasure. "I wanna fill you up again."

Haerin's response was immediate, her pace quickening to a frenzied rhythm as she chased her impending climax. She could feel the tension building within her, the telltale flutter of her cervix signaling her approaching peak.

With a keening cry, Haerin threw her head back, her body tensing as the orgasm ripped through her. Her inner muscles spasmed around her father's cock, milking him for all he was worth as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her.

Her father followed suit, his own release crashing over him like a tidal wave. He groaned loudly, his hips jerking upward as he emptied himself deep inside Haerin's. The sensation of her pulsing walls squeezing his spent cock was indescribably pleasurable, prolonging his climax until he was left completely spent beneath her.

For a long moment, they remained entwined. panting heavily as they stared at each other flushed faces.

"Let's take shower together, Daddy." Hinting about another round of sex behind those words.

A sly grin spread across his face as he realized Haerin's intentions. He returned her smile with equal mischief, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Sounds like a plan, baby girl." he said, his voice low and husky with promise. "Let's get cleaned up... and maybe we can dirty ourselves up again."

Haerin giggled, a playful, flirtatious sound that sent a fresh surge of desire coursing through her veins. She leaned forward to claim her father's lips in a lingering kiss, pouring all her passion and lust into the embrace.

"Race you to the shower." she teased, breaking away to get off the bed and make her way to the bathroom, her bare ass swaying enticingly with each step.

Her father chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. He rose from the bed, his cock still semi-erect and leaking with residual arousal. With a wink at his reflection in the mirror, he followed Haerin to the bathroom, his strides purposeful and predatory.

By the time he entered the steam-filled shower, Haerin had already positioned herself under the spray, her back to him as rivulets of water cascaded down her lithe form. She turned to face him, a coy smile playing on her lips as she beckoned him closer with a crooked finger.

"Get in here, Daddy." she purred, her voice husky with desire. "I need you to wash me... thoroughly."

Her father obliged, stepping into the shower and wrapping his arms around Haerin's dripping body.

Under the warm spray, her father's hands roamed over Haerin's curves, soaping up a rich lather to glide over her smooth skin. He paid special attention to her breasts, kneading the soft flesh and teasing her nipples back to stiffness.

"You're so gorgeous, baby." he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Every inch of you is perfect... especially this sweet little pussy."

Haerin shivered at his words, her core clenching in anticipation. She reached down to guide his hand between her thighs, pressing his palm firmly against her slick mound.

"Show me how much you want me, Daddy," she whispered, her voice thick with need. "Make me yours all over again."

With a low growl, her father complied, sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into Haerin's eager cunt. He pumped them in and out, curling them to stroke her sensitive inner walls, while his thumb circled her clit with deliberate slowness.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me already." he groaned, his own arousal surging at the feel of her velvety heat. "You really do crave my cock, don't you, baby?"

Haerin's only response was a breathy moan, her hips rocking against her father's hand as she sought more of that delicious friction. The combination of the warm water, his skilled fingers, and the filthy promises in his voice quickly pushed her toward the brink of another climax.

Her father added a third finger to her slick channel, scissoring them to stretch her open further. At the same time, he increased the pressure on her clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in firm circles.

"Gonna fill this tight little cunt with cum soon." he promised, his voice a guttural rasp of lust. "Mark you as mine, inside and out..."

Haerin's cries of pleasure echoed off the tiled walls as she hurtled toward her peak, her father's words and actions pushing her over the edge. With a sharp cry, she came undone, her pussy clamping down on his fingers as waves of ecstasy crashed over her.

Panting heavily, Haerin slumped against her father's chest, her legs trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Her father lifted her up, Making Haerin instinctively wrapped her arms and legs around him. As her father slowly sinking her cunt into his shaft. As her father's cock slid into her, Haerin let out a contented sigh, her body molding perfectly to his. She savored the feeling of being filled, complete, as if she'd finally found her missing piece.

Their kiss deepened, tongues dancing in a sensual tango as her father began to move, carrying her through the shower in a slow, sensual rhythm. Water cascaded over their entwined forms.

"Love you, Daddy.." Haerin breathed against his lips, her voice muffled but filled with genuine affection. "So much..."

Her father's reply was a low, rumbling purr, vibrating through his chest as he held her close. "Forever and always, baby girl." he vowed, his hands gripping her hips possessively as he continued to thrust into her welcoming heat.

Their lovemaking in the shower was a symphony of pleasure, the sound of water splashing against tile, their heavy breathing, and the occasional gasp or moan of ecstasy. It was a sensual, intimate dance, each movement choreographed to bring them both closer to the pinnacle of bliss.

As her father's thrusts grew more insistent, Haerin tightened her grip around him, her nails digging lightly into his back as she felt the familiar coil of tension building within her once more. She broke the kiss to press her forehead against his, her eyes locked onto his as she rode the crest of her impending climax.

"'Daddy... I'm gonna..." Haerin trailed off, her voice cracking with the effort of holding back.

Her father understood, his own release not far behind.

"Cum for me, baby." he urged, his voice a husky whisper against her ear. "Let go... I've got you."

With those words of encouragement, Haerin surrendered to the torrent of pleasure sweeping through her. A loud, keening cry tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, her pussy clenching rhythmically around her father's pistoning cock.

The sensation of her inner walls milking him triggered his own climax. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt, spurting stream after stream of hot semen deep within Haerin's waiting womb.

Together, they rode the waves of their shared ecstasy, lost in the intimacy of the moment, the water still cascading over their entwined bodies as they basked in the afterglow of their passion.

At this point, Nobody can stop them for loving each other. For still crossing the line of a normal father and daughter relationship. To them, they needed each other. They may crossed the line, but the love for each other is obvious.

-End-

[nsfwlguess]

Breaking her: Eunchae

Le sserafim Eunchae

tags: BWC, Groupsex, Creampie, CNC

(Third Person POV)

Eunchae is excited because she's going to the America. Her friends thought Eunchae is just excited despite her first time going there and can't speak english well but Eunchae has a different plan.

She wants a big white cock. It was her fantasy to get fucked. She doesn't care if it's group of horny men. She just wants it.

Late at night, She sneaked out to go to the club nearby. She's legal to drink a beer then went to the crowd as she danced along.

The pulsing beat of the club throbbed through Eunchae's body as she swayed to the music, her hips moving beneath the tight croptop. Suddenly three men approached her - tall, muscular men with hungry eyes that raked over her curves.

"Hey there, sweetheart." growled the one with the tribal tattoo snaking down his arm. "I never saw you before. Is this your first time?"

"Y-yes... My.. first time in America.." Shyly said. Eunchae's voice is obvious with a strong south korean accent.

"Oh really? What a brave soul you are." His hands snaked to her arms. Gently stroking her delicate flesh. "Do you want to have a taste of a real American hospitality?"

"I... I don't know..." She clearly doesn't understand what kind of hospitality he's talking about but Eunchae felt the heat on his touch. The way that three men's eyes can't stop looking at her body.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We're nice people. We just wanted to have fun with you tonight." Said the second man, As his hands possesively holds her hips.

Eunchae's heart raced, her thighs pressing together instinctively. She'd fantasized about this moment ever since she bought the plane ticket - rough hands tearing away flimsy clothing, meaty cocks stretching her untouched holes...

"Fun? Sure... okay.."

Her agreement made the three men looked at each other with a smirk on their faces. Third man leans to her ear. "By the dawn, Pretty sure you will crave for more."

The third man swiftly hiking up her skirt to expose lace-clad thighs trembling with anticipation. His hand slowly cupped her mound. "Fuck! she's dripping already." the third man chuckled. "Gonna split it open on our dicks."

They led her out of the club, passed by the oblivious bouncer and went to the secluded part of the parking lot where a white van is parked.

They opened the backdoors of the van. Strong arms lifted Eunchae off her feet, carrying her inside. They dumped her onto a stained mattress reeking of sex and sweat, ripping her clothes away like tissue paper.

The first cock slapped against her cheek, precum glistening on the swollen tip. "Open wide, slut." the first man growled, fisting her hair. As she obeyed, He roughly fucked her mouth, two more shafts impatiently waiting for their turn to use her mouth. No mercy, no foreplay - just raw, animalistic need.

They used her like a ragdoll, passing her as they took turns violating her mouth. Tears streamed down Eunchae's face but her cunt can't stop leaking slick juices, her mind fracturing under the overwhelming pleasure-pain.

The first latched onto Eunchae's pert nipple, sucking roughly while rolling its twin between thumb and forefinger. She moaned softly, arching into his touch as jolts of electric pleasure shot straight to her core.

Under her, the second man spread her thighs wider, burying his face between them. His tongue delved into her dripping sex, lapping up her juices greedily before circling her clit. "You taste amazing, slut." he grunted against her sensitive flesh, driving two fingers knuckle-deep inside her quivering channel. It made Eunchae's back arched off the mattress.

The third man captured her lips in a hungry kiss, exploring her mouth eagerly. He sucked on her tongue roughly, swallowing her moans as their tongues danced together. All three sets of hands roamed her body shamelessly, giving her intense pleasure.

The trio worked in harmony to drive Eunchae towards an explosive climax. The first man teased her sensitive nipples with his fingers while the second one behind her focused on her swollen clit, expertly fingering it until she was squirming with need.

The third man whispered filthy words into her ear, urging her on as she neared the brink. "Come for us, Sweetheart. Let go and give us everything you've got."

Eunchae obeyed without hesitation, surrendering herself completely to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. As she shattered around them, the men cheered, their own desires spiraling higher as they watched her writhe in ecstasy. This is her first time squirting infront of others.

Eunchae breathing so hard. Her half closed eyes catches a sight of an injection. Her eyes widen at the sight of a clear fluid injects to it.

"W-what.. is that?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. It's safe. This will make you feel good. Trust me." First man reassures her then immediately injects it on her forearm.

The drug hit Eunchae's system like a freight train, sending adrenaline surging through her veins. Every nerve ending crackled with heightened sensitivity as the second man lined himself up with her dripping entrance.

Instead of the expected pain, only intense pleasure radiated outward as he pushed past her hymen, stretching her impossibly wide around his thick girth. "Oh my god.." she gasped, nails scoring red lines down his flexing biceps. "Yes! More! Give me more!"

Her body moved on autopilot, hips bucking wildly to take him deeper. The first man positioned himself at her lips again, smearing pre-cum across her bottom lip. She opened obediently, sucking him down her throat as the third man slid home in her tight ass.

Trapped between their bodies, Eunchae lost all sense of self as they pistoned into her ruthlessly. Sweat-slick skin slapping together filled the air alongside her wanton cries. The drugs amplified every sensation tenfold - the stretch of her abused holes, the weight of their rough hands on her skin, the musk of masculine arousal flooding her senses.

Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks but her cunt squeezed tight around invading cock, milking it desperately. She's begging for release, pleading to be filled with hot seed. But the men ignored her pleas, prolonging her torment until she blacked out from sheer overload.

Even when she's unconscious, The trio continues to sexually violate the naive and drugged south korean girl. They took turns on thrusting and filling her abused cunt. She's no longer virgin, she's now a broken mess.

"Fuck! This girl is a great catch tonight!"

The trio laughed as they looked at her unconscious state.

"She's too easy and quite willing. Her body isn't disappointing. It sucks that she blacked out already."

"Shall we put her to the auction?"

The question made them silent. After a while, the first man spoke. "Nah. We let this one go. Afterall, the drug will make her forget our faces."

When consciousness returned hours later, Eunchae found herself sprawled naked on the dirty blanket, cum leaking from her abused cunt and butthole. The men were gone, leaving only sticky evidence of their violation.

Every muscle screamed in protest as she sat up shakily, wincing at the soreness between her legs. Yet beneath the discomfort pulsed a dark satisfaction - her deepest, most depraved fantasy had finally been fulfilled.

With trembling legs, she tries her best to stand up. She looked around and she realized she's at the dark alleyway where trashbags are pilled together.

Using a dirty blanket, she wrapped her naked body. Still feeling the drug's effects. She can't tell the faces of the men who brought her into this state. All she can remember is how sex made her feel so good.

Her eyes, now frantically searching for someone. Not for rescue but for someone to fullfill her needs. Last night wasn't enough, She needs MORE. Her pussy is aching for a cock to fill her up.

It doesn't take her a long time and she spots a male jogger approaching her way. As soon as they close to each other, She grabbed his arm to stop him from his tracks.

She immediately dropped down on her knees and fingers are already tugging the waistband of his shorts. Desperate for a big white cock.

"H-Hey! What are you doing?!? Stop!!"

Eunchae didn't listen to the jogger's plea and still pulling down his shorts to free his semi-erect cock. She quickly holds it in one hand and suck the whole length down to her throat. Her free hand grips on his hip.

The jogger tried his best to push Eunchae away from him. It was a losing battle. Feeling Eunchae's warm and experienced mouth enveloped his cock, made his cock fully erect at the sensation. He knows this is all wrong but can't deny how Eunchae made him feel good.

She keeps bopping her head. The taste of a manhood is what she's craving. She felt him almost reaching his climax, she redoubles fer efforts to get what she want.

'Almost there.' She thought. Just as the jogger almost reaching his limit, A loud shout cut through the fantasy. The jogger eyes went wide and panickly pushes Eunchae away as he saw some people going towards to them.

Eunchae is shocked that she was pushed away. "Wait! No! Come back!" She plead. She was trying to get him but he ran away quickly.

"Hong Eunchae!"

Her friends approached her with worry. Eunchae wanted to chase down the jogger but she was held back by Sakura and Yunjin.

"No! Please come back! I want more cock!"

Her words made the four women shocked. Clearly there's something really wrong happend to Eunchae. They tried their best to calm her down and cover her naked body using a jacket.

"Our poor maknae." Kazuha said.

Chaewon, watched Eunchae as she fingering her own cunt in desperation. Her hands closed into fists. "I will kill whoever did that to our Eunchae. I fucking swear!"

Eunchae pleasuring herself out in public. Doesn't really care about her friends nor other people watching her.

The naive, cheerful and innocent Eunchae is now gone, turned into lustful, cock desperate girl.

-End-

-If the trio decides to sell her off to the auction-

The van speeds up from the club's parking lot. They knew that this tied-up drugged asian teenage girl is worth thousands or even a millions of dollars.

After a long time, They arrived infront of the huge mansion. The trio carried the unconscious Eunchae all the way to the main hall where an auction is going to start.

Over an hour, Eunchae finally gained consciousness. She felt the ropes at her wrists and the metal collar around her neck that she feels weirdly familiar.

"Next one is... A fresh young asian girl!"

She saw a masked man pulling her like a leashed pet. She tries to speak but muffled by a gag on her mouth.

As soon as the masked men stopped pulling her. The spotlight flashed into her. She saw a lot of people, both men and women sitting on the chairs and watching her with an awe and some are pokerfaced.

"Three Hundred Thousand!"

"Three Hundred Thousand! Is there anyon-"

"Five Hundred Thousand!"

"Nine Hundred Thousand!"

"One point Five Million!"

"Wow! Over a Million, Is there anyon-"

"Three Billion Dollars!"

The man's offer made the whole venue quiet. Some are awed, some are judging the mysterious man who just offered three billion dollars to a girl like Eunchae.

"Anyone? No objections? Alright! Deal is now closed, Ladies and Gentlemen!"

She was pulled again until she finally met the mysterious bidder upclose.

"Gosh.. You're so beautiful, sweetie." He reached to gently caressed her cheek. She leans to his touch. Still feeling the drug's effect, she put his finger into her mouth and sucking it like it's a cock.

The man chuckled at her sudden action. "Oh... You're so eager huh? Alright, I get it."

He pulled out his finger from her mouth. That made Eunchae whined softly. He gripped the leash and pulled her much closer to him.

"Better make every dollar worth it, my pet. Understood?"

"Y-yes.. Master..."

He smiled at her then pulled her along with him. She can't stop looking at this mysterious man who's now her master.

"Master... Can I.. ask.. question?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"What's your name?"

He stopped and faced her. "My name is Bang Si-Hyuk."

-End-

[nsfwlguess]

Idol Pickup ft. Yujin

tags: virgin loss, rough sex, face sitting, riding, deep penetration, creampie, idol scandal, forced orgasm, dominant male, submissive female, public sex risk, no condom, van sex, oral sex, reluctant arousal, humiliation, first time, power imbalance, messy aftermath, breeding risk

The cab's interior smelled like worn leather and cinnamon gum.

Yujin was already breathless when she pushed through the crowd outside the event hall. Fans screamed, flashes popped, and ssassngns pressed phones to her face like knives. Her manager had said he'd be right back—just a quick phone call.

He never returned.

Panic prickled under her skin. She ducked her head, hoodie up, cap low, sunglasses firm. She pushed toward a black van idling just beyond the barricades. Door open. No markings.

A hand reached out, guiding her in.

"Get in. Quickly."

She obeyed without thinking, heart racing. The door slammed shut behind her. Only then did she glance up.

The driver was a tall, broad man with skin like polished onyx and eyes that didn’t blink. Calm. Unbothered.

"You alright?" he asked, shifting the van into drive.

"Where's my manager? He was supposed to—"

"He said to take you home."

"He did?" She frowned. Her voice was sharp now. "What’s your name?"

"Marcus."

"Marcus who?"

He just smiled and pulled away from the crowd, leaving the noise behind.

She exhaled, then checked her phone. No messages. No calls.

"This isn’t his number," she said, holding up a text from an unknown sender. Just coordinates. No explanation.

"Strange," Marcus said. "Could’ve been someone pretending to be him."

Her gaze snapped to his.

"What do you mean pretending?"

"It happens. Girls like you don’t watch your backs as well as you think."

Yujin reached for the door.

Locked.

Her pulse jumped. "This isn’t funny."

"Did I laugh?"

She stared at him, breathing shallow. Her disguise was slipping—the coat hanging open, the dress beneath clinging to every sharp breath.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere private. Safer than throwing you back into a crowd of fanboys and stalkers."

"Stop the van."

He did not.

"You can either calm down," he said, voice deep and easy, "or I open the doors and let you run."

She blinked. "You’re bluffing."

"Am I? Go on. Picture the headlines: 'Yujin in panic, chased by fans, no security in sight.' Or..."

His hand tapped the dash, right near the lens of a small camera.

"...we strike a deal."

Her voice dropped. "A deal?"

"You stay. You relax. And you let me enjoy the reward of saving your pretty little ass. Or I stop, unlock the door, and the wolves eat you alive."

Her throat worked. "This is blackmail."

"Only if you say no."

Silence. Her chest rose and fell. She looked at him, really looked. Broad hands. Thick wrists. That dangerous stillness.

"You have protection?"

He glanced at her through the mirror. "Yeah. But I won't use it."

Her lips parted, caught between protest and breath. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious. You want safety, princess, you give me all of you. Raw. Or I open that door right now."

She leaned back against the seat, heart pounding. Her sunglasses came off. Her voice dropped to a whisper—but her hands trembled in her lap, and her legs pressed tight together beneath the coat.

"I don't want this," she said, barely audible. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"

He smiled, slow and dark. "That's right."

She closed her eyes, fighting the quake in her limbs. "Then stop somewhere no one sees."

He didn't reply. Just turned the wheel and disappeared into the shadows.

The van rolled to a slow halt in the back corner of a shadowed parking lot. Rows of dim streetlights flickered above, casting faint, broken pools of orange light. The air outside was heavy and still.

Yujin didn’t move. Her breath fogged the window beside her. She didn’t bother wiping it clear.

Marcus turned off the engine. The silence in its absence was almost violent.

He turned in his seat, letting his hand fall from the steering wheel with a slow, deliberate motion. "You know what comes next."

She didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed fixed ahead. Her hands gripped her coat like a shield.

He watched her a moment longer, then got out. The door slid open. He climbed into the back.

She could feel the space shift with his presence.

"Breathe," he said, voice low. "You’re not a victim unless you choose to be."

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her throat was dry.

Slowly, she loosened her grip on the coat. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, skin flushed from heat and tension. Underneath, her white tank top hugged her ribs, her stomach taut and exposed. The outline of her nipple patches showed faintly beneath the thin cotton.

She didn't look at him. Her mind whispered, Just get through this. Just breathe.

Her fingers trembled as they moved to the clasp of her shorts.

Marcus didn’t stop her.

"You doing this for me or for yourself?" he asked, eyes heavy.

She whispered, "For survival."

He said nothing, only watching as she drew the zipper down. The shorts clung to her thighs like a final resistance.

Her chest rose, slow and sharp. She whispered to herself, over and over, like a fragile spell: "Stay calm. Stay calm. This doesn’t own you."

The stillness outside pressed against the windows.

Her hands stilled, resting in her lap, palms open. She met his gaze for the first time.

"Just don’t hurt me."

He reached out—slow, deliberate. His hand settled on her knee. Warm. Solid. Not soft, but steady.

She didn’t pull away.

He shifted closer, his fingers tracing up her thigh, brushing just beneath the hem of her shorts.

She swallowed. "How many girls have you done this to?"

His voice came calm. "Enough to know who breaks and who breathes."

Her eyes flicked to the roof, then closed. "Is this really necessary?"

"For me? No. For you? Absolutely."

She winced, barely. "What if I wired you money?"

"You think this is about cash?"

His hand slid higher. She tensed, breathing through her nose.

"You're trembling," he said.

"I know. I'm still here, aren't I?"

He nodded slowly, fingers pausing. "Then keep breathing."

Her voice cracked. "I'm trying."

The van's interior was thick with silence. Not peace—something heavier. Like the breath before a fall.

Yujin sat still, her coat slipping halfway down her arms, her body caught in an awkward halfway point between exposed and hidden. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her shorts. Not to fight. Just to feel something solid.

Marcus remained close but relaxed, his posture unhurried, his presence a looming certainty. He didn’t coax. Didn’t plead. He just waited, eyes steady, letting the pressure do its work.

"You know how this ends," he said. Not a question. A quiet inevitability.

She didn’t argue. What was there to argue against? He had the power—the control, the timing, the camera still silently aimed, its red light steady. She saw it now. Had probably seen it before but only now truly noticed.

Her voice was hoarse. "That recording... it’s on?"

He didn’t blink. "It is."

She breathed, slow and trembling. "You’ll use it. If I say no."

"I’ll keep it. Unless you say yes."

Silence.

"And if I say yes now, here... then it's part of the game?"

He nodded. "Your name stays out of it. Your face too. Unless you tell me otherwise."

She bit her lip. Her thoughts spun. But beneath it all, a grim calm started to form.

"You planned this."

"I gave you the door. You walked through it."

"Because I had no choice."

"You had one. You still do."

Her eyes stung. She blinked hard. "Then tell me why it doesn’t feel like it."

Marcus leaned forward slightly. Not touching. Not crowding. Just near enough to cast a shadow.

"Because this is how pressure feels before you decide what kind of person you are."

She looked away, down at her lap. Her hands were trembling.

"It’s better than being torn apart out there," she whispered.

"Exactly."

The silence stretched. Then her coat slipped off her arms entirely, pooling behind her. She didn’t move to fix it.

"If I say yes... if I agree... then this is mine too. The video, the choice."

"All yours."

She nodded slowly. Her voice barely rose above the silence. "Then yes. Record it. Just blur my face."

Marcus's mouth curled, not quite a smile. "Make it memorable... and maybe I delete it altogether."

His hand moved to her thigh. Warm. Heavy. Certain.

She flinched—but didn’t pull away.

"This will happen," she said. "Not because I want it. Because I understand it."

His voice came quiet. "That’s enough."

She exhaled, long and slow.

And didn’t say no.

The van was quiet but not still. The hum of the engine gone, the air hung tense, thick with everything unspoken.

Yujin sat motionless, the hem of her coat slipping from her lap. Her thighs stayed pressed together, her shoulders hunched, as if curling into herself might undo what she'd agreed to.

Marcus didn’t speak. He just watched her for a moment longer, then moved closer.

Her eyes darted to the red light on the dashboard—recording. Still blinking. Still watching.

"Don't overthink it," Marcus said low. "You knew this would come."

She flinched when his hand touched her leg. Not because it hurt—but because it didn’t. Because it was slow. Measured. Like he was testing her tension.

"You're still scared," he murmured.

She nodded once.

His fingers slid over her knee, brushing higher. She inhaled sharply.

"I didn’t think it would feel this real," she whispered.

"It is real. You gave the word."

"That doesn't mean I know how to feel about it."

He didn’t reply right away. His hand kept moving, warm against her skin. Higher. Testing.

Yujin's breath hitched. She clutched the edge of her coat. But she didn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to like it," he said. "You just have to remember you chose it."

Her eyes burned. A tear slid free before she could stop it.

"This is so messed up," she whispered.

"Maybe. But it’s happening. Right now. With or without guilt."

He pushed the coat aside, exposing her bare thigh fully. She shivered. Her hands stayed tight in her lap.

When he leaned down, his mouth brushed her shoulder, then lower. She tensed again.

"It’s just touch," he said, his voice calm. "Breathe."

She tried. Her throat worked around a sob she didn't let out.

His mouth reached her collarbone. Kissed. Bit.

Yujin jerked, eyes squeezed shut. Her breathing shook.

"You can still stop it," he said. "But if you stay, then stay with me."

More tears slipped free. She didn’t wipe them away.

"I hate that I said yes," she murmured.

"But you did," he replied, tone soft but firm.

He pulled her tank top higher. Her chest rose with her breath, fast and shallow. When he mouthed her breast, she gasped.

Her fingers trembled in her lap.

He slowed, his breath warm against her skin. "If you're here, be here. Don't drift. You deserve to decide this moment."

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. And for the first time, didn't look away.

She whispered, "Then let me choose it again."

He paused, the tension coiled and waiting.

Yujin took a breath. And nodded.

"Okay. Keep going. But only if I say when to stop."

He nodded once.

Then he didn’t stop.

The air between them thickened, not with desire, but understanding. Her consent was there—shaky, incomplete, but present. It came with conditions. A trade.

Marcus’s eyes locked onto hers. There was no smugness, only intent.

“You remember what I said,” he murmured.

Yujin didn’t speak. She nodded once.

“Make it memorable, and it disappears. All of it.”

She didn’t ask if he meant it. She didn’t trust him. But the red light on the dash was still blinking, and the deal was all she had.

He leaned forward, pressing his hand against the back of her neck. Not rough, but firm. Grounding. Guiding.

“You don’t have to enjoy it,” he said, low. “You just have to give it everything.”

Her pulse raced. She stayed still.

He moved first. Unfastened his belt. Unzipped. The shift in his voice followed: darker now, heavier with heat.

“On your knees, Yujin.”

She hesitated. Then moved, slow and stiff, sliding down the seat until she knelt awkwardly on the floor of the van. The carpet was rough beneath her knees.

She didn’t look at the camera. She didn’t look at him.

“Eyes on me,” he said.

Her chin lifted.

Marcus guided her hand to his waistband. Her fingers were cold, trembling. The metal buckle clinked as she worked it open, fumbling once, then finding the motion.

“This is the deal,” he said. “You want safety, you earn it. Make me remember you.”

Her breath trembled. But she nodded.

He leaned back in the seat, legs parted. Waiting.

Yujin swallowed and shifted forward. Her fingers pulled the fabric down inch by inch, exposing him to the dim cabin light. She didn’t let her eyes linger—just focused, precise, mechanical.

The first touch was hesitant. Her lips parted slowly, her hand wrapping around the base. The weight of him surprised her.

She lowered her head.

It wasn’t instinct that guided her, it was duty. Motion. Rhythm. She let him slide against her lips first, finding the shape of him. Then her mouth opened fully. She took him in.

He groaned softly—one hand lifting to her hair, not pushing, just resting.

“Good,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

She gagged lightly as he hit the back of her throat. Pulled back. Breathed.

“Don't stop now,” he said. “You’re doing better than most who’ve done this willingly.”

Yujin’s cheeks flushed. Whether from shame or oxygen or effort, she didn’t know. But she pushed forward again, slower this time.

His fingers curled tighter in her hair, guiding now. Not forcing. Steering.

She blinked, startled by the shift in control. But she didn’t resist.

He found a rhythm for her. Deeper. Slower. Then again.

“That’s it,” he said, voice husky. “Follow my pace.”

Her lips sealed tighter. She adjusted to his hand. Her breathing quickened, but she moved with him.

He hissed through his teeth. “Just like that. You’re learning, Yujin.”

She couldn’t reply. But her eyes met his again.

He nodded. “Let me use you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She flinched. Then nodded faintly.

Her mouth moved with his guidance. Her hands braced on his thighs, keeping balance as he took more control.

“Keep going,” he growled. “Make me forget everyone else.”

And she did.

Her jaw ached. Her knees burned. But she stayed with him.

She hated it. But she owned it.

And he would remember.

Marcus's hand tightened suddenly in her hair—not with aggression, but with finality.

"Stop."

Yujin froze, mouth still parted around him, heart pounding as she slowly pulled back. Her lips were wet, chin streaked. She blinked up at him, uncertain.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Her voice came out hushed, hoarse.

He looked down, chest rising, breath heavy. "No. You’re doing everything right."

Confusion washed over her features.

He leaned forward, cupped her chin in one hand, and lifted her gaze to meet his. "You kept your end of the deal."

She swallowed, unsure where this was going. "Then why stop?"

"Because it’s time to finish it."

She stared. Her breath caught.

"We said memorable," he continued, voice low. "You want that video gone, I want all of you. No more steps. No more pretending it’s just business."

Yujin sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face stayed blank for a moment. Processing. Then she nodded once.

Slowly, she stood, climbing back into the seat beside him. Her hand found the coat she’d shrugged off earlier. She didn’t pull it on.

She met his eyes again, and this time her voice didn’t shake. "Then turn off the camera."

He didn’t move right away.

Then his mouth curved. "Then make me."

And the real deal began.

The van's interior buzzed low with silence, lit only by the streetlamp bleeding through the tinted windows.

Yujin's breath hitched. She pulled back slowly, lips wet, cheeks flushed. Her hand rose instinctively to wipe her mouth, then hovered halfway, hesitating. Her heart punched inside her chest, harder than any beat she knew how to dance to. Every inch of her trembled, but not from cold. From him. From what she knew came next.

Marcus sat still. Watching. His eyes didn’t waver. Just the slow rise of his chest, then the subtle shift in his hips. He adjusted himself with a casual motion that wasn’t casual at all.

"You did good," he said. Voice low. Rough. Like gravel sliding under velvet.

She looked up, uncertain. "Is that... all?"

He leaned forward. His hand found her thigh, bare now beneath her pushed-up skirt. Warm fingers skimming her skin like he had every right.

"The deal's not done yet," he said. "Not unless you want to walk away with that tape untouched."

Yujin froze. Her eyes darted toward the front of the van, dark and sealed. No escape. Only him. Only her. And the weight of what she'd promised without understanding the cost.

"I don't... I've never..."

"You said make it memorable," he said. His hand slid higher, patient but firm. "Let me do that. I'll lead. You just follow."

Her breath trembled. She bit her lip, nodded faintly. "Just... go slow. I don't know how."

He tugged her jacket off gently, baring her shoulders. Her tank top clung to her body, thin and trembling with her. His hands moved under it, slow and sure, lifting it inch by inch until her breasts were bare. She covered herself without thinking, arms across her chest.

Marcus caught her wrists, not rough, but absolute. "No hiding. You're already here."

"Okay," she whispered.

He pulled her into his lap. She climbed over awkwardly, legs straddling his thighs. The pressure of him underneath her made her flinch.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Exactly like this." He guided her hips, his size undeniable between them.

Her core pressed against him. There was no fabric in the way now. He was already bare from the waist down, heavy and slick from her mouth, thick and impossible between her thighs.

He kissed along her collarbone, slow and steady. Her breath caught. "That’s... sensitive."

"Then I’ll stay there."

His mouth explored her skin while his hands learned her body, sliding down her back to the curve of her ass. He shifted beneath her, lifting her just enough. No zippers. No buttons. Just him, already hard, already exposed.

Yujin looked down. Her breath stuttered. He was massive. Wide. Darker than her hand where she touched him. She'd never seen one in person. Never imagined it this big.

She swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can... fit that."

"You can," he said. "You’re wet enough for me."

He slid her panties aside, fingers stroking her slit, parting her slowly. She was wet, but she hadn’t meant to be. Her body moved ahead of her thoughts, betraying her.

He pressed the tip of him to her entrance. No pause. No coaxing.

She winced hard as he forced the thick head inside. Her eyes flew wide. Her jaw dropped.

"Ah—oh my God—it doesn't fit… it’s too big—"

He grunted low, pushing deeper. Her body fought it, stretched impossibly around him.

"Tight little thing," he muttered, breath harsh. "You feel that? That stretch? That’s all you. Gripping me like you hate it."

She clawed at his arms. It burned. Her insides rebelled. Her thighs twitched to close but he held her hips steady.

"It’s too much," she gasped. "Marcus, it’s too big—I can feel everything."

"Yeah, I bet you can," he said, tone almost amused. "First time and already trying to swallow it down."

He didn’t wait. Another inch. Then another. Her walls stretched wider than they were made for, nerves flaring.

She cried out again, face twisting. "It hurts. You’re... it’s too much."

He groaned, dragging her down harder onto him. "Don’t pretend this wasn’t what you wanted. You offered yourself up. And now you’re full of me. Just like you said you would."

Yujin trembled. The pressure inside her was overwhelming. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel natural. It felt foreign, massive, a constant stretch that wouldn’t let up.

"Look at you," he said, cocky now. "Clenching around me like you're afraid. But you took it. All of it."

He started to move. Each drag out scraped her open again. Each push back in forced her to relive the ache.

"Hurts, doesn’t it?" he whispered in her ear. "Too wide, too deep. But your body's learning. You can't help it."

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. But her hands still gripped him. Her breath still hitched with each thrust.

He laughed, low and pleased. "You’re shaking. And still taking every inch. Not bad for a first-timer."

Yujin bit her lip, refusing to speak. Refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He fucked into her, slow but relentless. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the van. Her body rocked with each thrust, caught and pinned in place.

"Told you I’d make it memorable," he said, voice rough and smug. "And you? You’ll remember every second this cock split you open."

She whimpered, face buried in his neck. She didn’t want to give him this. But her body had already betrayed her.

He shifted, pulling back. His hands gripped her hips tight, guiding her off him slowly. Then he leaned back, eyes dark and full of heat.

"On top," he said. "Face me. Ride it. Let me watch you take it all."

Her thighs trembled. Her breath stuttered. But she moved.

Marcus leaned back against the seat, arms sprawled, his cock rigid and gleaming in the low light. His eyes didn’t leave her face. "Come on, baby. Let me see you take it."

Yujin climbed over him hesitantly, straddling his lap. Her knees sank into the cushion, hands clinging to his shoulders. Her brows drew together.

"Take what?" she whispered. "I don't... I don't know what you mean."

He smirked, grip tightening on her hips. "Ride it. Sink down on this cock. Use those thighs and fuck yourself on me."

Confusion flickered in her eyes, but he didn’t give her time to hesitate. He lifted her by the waist, angled her over him, and let her feel the heavy length pressing at her entrance again.

She gasped, eyes wide. Her body was still sore, everything inside still protesting the stretch. "I don’t know how to... I—"

"You don’t need to know," he said, breath hot against her cheek. "Just lower yourself. Let it in."

With shaking hands, she braced against his chest and began to sink down. The head pushed inside, that same thick pressure spreading her painfully wide.

She winced, a breathless cry caught in her throat. "It’s too much. I can't move."

"You can," he said. "You're already halfway there. Look at you—tight as a fist and still opening up."

Her face twisted. Her thighs trembled with effort as she tried to lower herself further. Every inch made her feel split, like she was being reshaped around him.

"Keep going," he growled. "All the way. I want to feel every inch inside you."

She obeyed, bit by bit, until she was fully seated. Her legs quivered, her body overwhelmed.

"Now bounce," he said.

She stared at him. "I... I don't understand."

He laughed under his breath, mocking. "Lift yourself. Then drop back down. Simple. Think of it like sitting on my lap over and over—except this time, you're doing it with my cock inside you."

Tentatively, she pushed up with her legs, lifting an inch, then sank back down with a small cry. Her eyes shut tight.

"Good," he murmured. "Again."

The van’s interior had gone fever-hot. The windows fogged. Her skin slick. Sweat curled beneath her breasts and behind her knees. The only sounds were their breaths, the wet slap of skin, the soft creak of the seat beneath them.

Yujin straddled him, trembling. Her thighs ached from holding herself up, from lowering herself again and again on the thick shaft splitting her open. Pain hadn’t left her. It had merely settled into a dull burn deep in her belly. Every downward slide of her hips brought a fresh flare of it, but she kept moving because he was holding her there. Because he demanded it. Because she didn’t know what else to do.

Marcus’s hands gripped her waist, fingers firm, guiding every slow, shaking bounce. He watched her like a man watching art—savoring the tension in her face, the ragged edge of her breath, the twitch in her lip as she tried not to make a sound.

"There you go," he said, voice low, amused. "Didn’t even know what riding meant, and now look at you—working yourself like a little pro."

Her head dropped forward, black hair sticking to her damp cheeks. She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her chest rose fast, like she’d just run for miles, and her legs threatened to give every time she lifted off him.

"Hurts, doesn’t it?" he went on, his tone almost affectionate in its cruelty. "Still sore. Still raw. And you’re bouncing on me like it’s the only thing your body knows how to do."

She closed her eyes. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance.

Then it happened.

Without warning, her body locked. A strange, unfamiliar pressure coiled low in her stomach and burst—hot, electric, primal. It rolled through her with a sharp, pulsing tremor that made her gasp.

"Ah—"

Her spine arched. Her fingers curled. Her thighs clenched tight around him.

Marcus’s breath caught. His eyes flashed. "Well damn."

Yujin froze. She wasn’t sure what just happened, only that it left her dizzy and shivering. She tried to still her hips, but they jerked again, a second tremor rippling through her like an aftershock.

"You just came?" he said, mockery thick in his voice. "From that? From riding me like a clueless little virgin?"

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her breath stuttered in her throat. Her legs shook under her, too weak to lift anymore.

He laughed, low and rough. "Oh, you did. You fucking came."

His hands slid to her ass, grabbing hard. He rocked her down, forcing her to take him to the base again, pulling a broken sound from her lips.

"Thought it hurt? Thought you couldn’t handle it? But that sweet little pussy still soaked me, didn’t it? Didn’t even know what was happening to you."

She whimpered, clutching his shoulders, tears prickling behind her eyes.

"That’s what I like," he murmured. "You can cry if you want. But your body’s already made the decision."

He shifted beneath her, angling his hips to thrust up. She gasped again, her whole body jolting.

"You’re gonna ride again," he said. "This time until I finish inside you."

Her head shook weakly, but her body didn’t resist. Her muscles twitched, worn and pliant. She was breathing hard, helpless against him.

Marcus leaned in, mouth at her throat. "Better get used to this. This is what you agreed to. This is what you were built for."

She shivered. He moved again.

With a grunt, he began to lift her with his hands, setting a slow rhythm. Up. Down. Up. Down. Her body protested every motion. Her knees were jelly. Her hips sore. Her pussy stretched and pulsing with every thrust.

"That’s it. Feel that? Feel how full you are? That’s mine now."

He grabbed her hair, tugging her head back to look at him.

"Keep your eyes open," he ordered. "I want you looking right at me when I finish."

She blinked, lips parted, dazed.

"You came without permission," he said. "So now you’re gonna watch while I take what’s mine."

She tried to lift, to help him, but her legs failed. He laughed again.

"So weak already? You just got started. Don’t worry—I’ll keep you moving."

His grip on her waist tightened, muscles flexing as he started to thrust up into her harder, bouncing her limp frame against him. The sound of their bodies echoed inside the van.

"That’s what I want," he said between gritted teeth. "Look at this. You didn’t even know what riding meant, and now you’re dripping all over me."

She moaned, barely a breath, body jolting with every thrust.

He leaned in, his tongue dragging over the sweat at her collarbone.

"You gonna come again?"

She shook her head, biting her lip.

He thrust harder. "Don’t lie. Your body wants it. You can feel it building again, can’t you?"

She gasped. Her head fell against his.

"You don’t get to choose when it stops. I’ll tell you when it stops."

He shifted the angle, and she cried out, a sharp gasp that turned into a sob.

"Right there? Yeah, that spot. That’s where I’ll keep you until you break again."

Her nails scraped at his back, her body starting to tremble.

"No—no more—"

He grinned into her neck. "More."

He pounded up into her now, relentless. Her cries blurred with the slap of skin. Her muscles spasmed, overstimulated and raw.

Then it snapped.

Her whole body convulsed. A deeper climax, violent and shaking, ripped through her with a soundless scream.

Marcus held her down, eyes locked on her face. "That’s the one. That’s the break."

She collapsed against him, boneless, breath ragged.

He didn’t stop.

"One more," he growled. "You can give me one more."

Yujin’s thighs trembled, barely holding her upright. Her arms clung to Marcus's shoulders, fingers curled hard into his sweat-slick skin. Her body ached, overstretched and spent, yet the motion didn’t stop. He was guiding her now, hands locked at her hips, pulling her down, thrusting up into her with slow, brutal depth.

She whimpered, forehead resting against his. Her whole body felt swollen, fragile, and impossibly sensitive.

"You’ve got one more in you," Marcus growled. "I can feel it. That little pussy’s still clenching like it wants to break again."

She shook her head weakly. "I can’t... I already—"

He slammed up harder. She gasped, voice breaking.

"You will. You’re not done until I say you are."

The heat inside her reignited. She tried to resist it, but her body betrayed her again. Pressure coiled low in her belly, sharp and hot, until it snapped all at once. Her cry tore out of her, raw and shocked, as her body clamped around him in a full-body spasm.

"Fuck—" she choked.

"That’s it," Marcus groaned, voice tight. "That’s what I wanted."

She shook, barely able to breathe. Her orgasm rolled through her in violent waves, her body convulsing on top of him. And then she felt it—

Him.

With a rough thrust and a loud grunt, he drove up deep inside her and spilled. The rush of his release was thick, flooding her already-overwhelmed core.

Her eyes flew open.

"Wait—" she gasped. "You—inside?"

Marcus let out a heavy breath, holding her flush against him. "Yeah. Came right with you. Couldn’t help it."

She froze, shivering. Her body still fluttered around him, trembling from aftershocks. The feeling of him inside, filling her that completely, left her dazed.

"You didn’t even warn me."

He smirked, dragging his fingers slowly up her spine. "Didn’t need to. Your pussy was already pulling it out of me."

She tried to lift herself, but he held her in place.

"Don’t. Stay right there. Let it sink in."

Her breath came in short, uneven pants. His cock still throbbed inside her, still thick and heavy even after release.

"You came with me," she said softly, stunned.

He leaned in, mouth brushing her ear. "Damn right I did."

Yujin barely moved. Her body was still trembling, filled, used, and frozen with the weight of what had just happened. Marcus didn’t let her go. His voice stayed low, like a secret he wanted only her to hear.

"Might’ve knocked you up just now. Ever think about that?" he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Rising pop star, accidentally pregnant by some nobody in the back of a van. That’d make headlines, wouldn’t it?"

Her breath caught. The weight of his words pressed heavier than his body ever had.

"You think your agency could clean that up? Or would they dump you the second it hit Dispatch?"

He chuckled, deep and low. "Imagine that press conference. You sitting there, silent and glowing while they scramble to explain why their next idol has a belly full of scandal."

Yujin tried to pull away, but he still held her, not hard—just enough. Enough to remind her she hadn’t moved.

"You said... you said you’d erase the video," she whispered, throat raw.

Marcus nodded, unbothered. "I will. I’m not a liar."

Only then did he let her slide off him. The stretch, the slick heat between her legs, made her wince. Her body resisted every motion. Her panties dangled from one ankle, forgotten.

Marcus tugged up his pants, slow and casual. Then, with the same hands that held her down, he pulled her jacket gently over her bare shoulders.

"Come on," he said. "I’ll get you back before someone notices you’re not tucked in bed, dreaming about debut stages."

The van started with a low growl. He pulled onto the street. The only light came from passing signs and the glow of her phone screen, untouched in her lap.

About five minutes in, she shifted, legs pressed together tightly.

"What?" he asked, glancing sideways.

She shook her head.

Marcus smirked. "Come here."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Climb over."

She hesitated, then moved slowly across the center console. He guided her down. She knelt between the seats, hair spilling over her face.

His fly was already open. He was half-hard. Slick from both of them.

"You know what to do."

Her lips parted, unsure. But her mouth lowered. She took him in slowly, tentatively.

He exhaled hard, one hand on the wheel, the other sinking into her hair.

"That’s my girl."

The van hummed down the road, steady. She moved quietly, mouth working while he drove, the only sounds her breath and the soft wetness between them.

Just before they reached the dorm, he pulled her up gently by the hair. His cock was still glistening.

"That was sweet," he murmured. "You didn’t have to. But I’m glad you did."

They pulled up behind the trainee building. No lights. No cameras.

"Thanks for the night," he said. "You were unforgettable."

She didn’t reply.

"And the video? Gone. Like I promised."

She opened the door, legs shaky, silent.

"See you around, star."

The van door shut behind her.

[nsfwlguess]

Silk Cage ft. Red Velvet

tags: bwc, idol corruption, power imbalance, ritual sex, submissive training, corporate domination, public-private duality, oral worship, doggy style, reverse cowgirl, face-sitting, punishment sex, reluctant obedience, missionary with eye contact, high-class degradation

The hotel suite smelled of roses, wood polish, and practiced submission.

Irene adjusted the knot of her ivory bathrobe, knees already sinking into the rug before he even knocked. The same pattern. The same hour. Ten years had ironed out any hesitation.

The door unlocked with a soft beep. He entered like he owned the room—because he did. Chairman Kwon, late fifties, clean-shaven, suit sharp enough to slice. He didn’t speak as he walked past her, only loosened his tie and glanced down with those dull, hungry eyes.

She opened the robe. Pale skin, perfect posture, nipples already hard from the air conditioning or anticipation—did it matter? Her mouth found the zipper first. She pulled it down slow, lips brushing fabric.

“You know why I come in person,” he muttered, voice like ash and smoke.

She didn’t answer. Her hands freed his cock, hardening with memory, not lust. A familiar weight. Her lips parted, tongue warm, obedient. He exhaled through his nose as she began.

Soft suckling filled the quiet. Wet sounds, careful pressure. She had this down to a rhythm—three slow bobs, one swirl of tongue under the tip. She didn’t gag. Never had. He liked that.

“Still the best mouth in Korea,” he said, hand resting on her head, not guiding. Just… reminding.

Her jaw ached, but she didn’t slow. Slurped him deeper, then let him slip free with a string of spit. She looked up, face passive. “Shall I ride now?”

He nodded.

She stood, robe slipping from her shoulders like silk shedding from bone. Naked, flawless. Ten years of crafted skin and sculpted obedience. She climbed into his lap on the leather chair near the window. No foreplay. No need.

She lined him up, sank down in one smooth glide. Wet enough, warm enough—tight, still. Her breath caught on the way down, a small noise. Not pleasure. Not pain. Just habit.

He grunted, hands on her hips. She started moving.

“Ten more years,” he said, watching her face. “Renewal keeps you on payroll. Image team’s got big plans—retro glamour concept, full album, solo shoot in Paris.”

She rocked her hips faster. Her fingers gripped his shoulders.

“But… you’re thirty-four now. Not young. Not the center anymore.”

“I understand.” Her voice was soft, eyes half-lidded.

“We’ll give you six months off. Europe. Somewhere warm. Keep your pay, keep your apartment. After that—we refocus on the young blood. Aespa’s the new torch. You’ll support.”

She clenched around him, not on purpose. He twitched.

“You’ll still be our face in some brand deals. But less tours. Less center stage. More... prestige roles.”

She bounced harder now. Her breath caught, neck arched.

“Still want it?” he asked, voice rougher now.

She nodded fast. “Yes. Please. Let me stay.”

He grabbed her hair, forced her to look at him as she rode him toward her edge.

“You’ll do anything?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Anything—”

He came with a growl, cock twitching deep inside her. Her own climax hit a beat later—tight, silent, legs trembling.

They stilled.

For a few seconds, all she heard was their breathing.

She exhaled, voice breathy. “Thank you. For the contract. And…”

He smirked. “You still suck cock like you need to eat.”

She climbed off, legs shaky, cum dripping down her thigh. She knelt again, mouth already open.

He stood, let her clean him with her tongue. Every drop. She swallowed with grace, wiped her lips.

He zipped up, fixed his cufflinks.

“Flight’s at noon,” he said, dialing his secretary. “Lisbon, first-class. You’ll like it.”

She nodded. Still kneeling. Still naked.

He left without another word.

She stood only after the door clicked shut, moving to the mirror. The woman who stared back looked tired. Beautiful, but faded around the edges.

She touched her lips. Then turned away.

Next day, Seulgi’s palms pressed flat to the mattress, spine dipped low, knees braced wide. Her hair was in a tight bun, exposing the nape of her neck the way he liked—clean, poised, like a ballerina awaiting cue. She didn’t flinch when the belt hit the floor.

He was behind her already, rough hands grazing her hips. She knew the routine.

“You’re lucky we’re keeping you,” Chairman Kwon muttered as he pressed in. “They say you still pull numbers in Japan.”

A hiss escaped her teeth as he filled her, thick and raw. No prep. Just spit. Her thighs tensed. She’d danced through worse.

His grip tightened. He started pounding into her, unceremonious. The slaps of skin echoed off the tall windows, glass trembling like her breath. She stayed still—just enough sway to meet him, just enough tension to draw him deeper.

“Winter’s younger,” he grunted. “Tighter. Fans love her smile. Pure.”

She closed her eyes. Took it. Felt each thrust like a beat to follow, counted the rhythm in her head. One, two, three, breathe.

“But you… you fuck like you know what I need.”

He slammed deeper. Her moan slipped loose.

“You know how to work your cunt around a cock. Trained.”

He pulled out with a wet sound. “On your back. Show me the dancer.”

Seulgi rolled without a word, straddling him reverse. Her hips descended in slow choreography, thighs flexing as she sank back onto him. A dancer’s control. She rode him with deliberate grace, like she was timing it to music only she could hear.

Every thrust sent a ripple up her back, small tits bouncing in hypnotic rhythm.

“That’s it,” he growled, watching her ass clap against him. “Winter can’t do this. She’s all blush. You—fuck, you’re seasoned.”

She tightened her pace. Faster now. Sweat slicked her spine, her moans growing guttural. Her orgasm hit hard, sudden—hips stuttering, thighs shaking.

“Turn around,” he demanded. “I want your face.”

She twisted mid-thrust, now straddling him face to face, tits bouncing in rhythm. He grabbed her hips, fucked up into her.

“You want another five years?” he spat.

“Yes,” she gasped, riding him harder. “Please—I’ll do whatever.”

“You’ll shadow train the new girls. Mentor, fucktoy, whatever we ask.”

“Yes—just keep me.”

He groaned, eyes locked on her bouncing tits, the flushed desperation in her face. He came inside her, thick and deep. She didn’t stop moving, grinding until every drop was wrung out.

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, sir.”

He let her slide off, dripping onto the sheets. She stood with dancer’s posture, only wobbling slightly.

As he dressed, she grabbed her phone.

“I’ll call Irene,” she said.

He waved a hand. “Go ahead. Let her know the company still takes care of its stars.”

Seulgi stepped into the bathroom, cum trailing down her thigh. She leaned on the sink, dialed with one hand.

Irene answered on the second ring. “Done?”

“Signed, sealed, and stuffed,” Seulgi murmured, running a finger along her swollen lips.

Irene sighed. “Europe’s gonna feel like mercy.”

“Don’t get too soft. We’re still property, even on vacation.”

They didn’t laugh.

The following night, Joy stood in the center of the room, tall and bare under the glow of a glass chandelier. Her smile was soft but calculated—cheeks blushed, lips slicked. She posed like a mannequin, hands at her sides, legs just slightly parted.

Chairman Kwon leaned on the minibar, watching. Beside him, Mr. Yamada, the Japanese cosmetics magnate, sipped whiskey with greedy eyes.

“She’s our new face,” Kwon said. “You’ll have exclusive rights across Asia.”

Yamada set his glass down, stepped closer. “Before I invest, I like to confirm texture. Feel. Performance.”

Joy didn’t blink. She knelt automatically and started undoing Kwon’s belt while Yamada unzipped.

The spit-roast began with practiced ease.

Kwon took her from behind first, thick cock driving into her already-prepped cunt. Yamada fed her his length slowly, then gripped her head, using her mouth like he owned it.

Her body moved in perfect time—tight, rhythmic, soft groans muffled by Yamada’s cock. She gagged twice, eyes tearing slightly, but never pulled back. Kwon groaned as he slammed into her, praising her grip.

“Better than advertised,” Yamada murmured, voice calm as he fucked her throat.

“She can hold pace for half an hour,” Kwon said, slapping her ass. “She trained under Seulgi.”

Joy moaned around the cock in her mouth, thighs trembling as her own climax built. They didn’t stop. Kwon came inside her first, sharp grunt, filling her full. She didn’t flinch. Just kept sucking until Yamada exploded down her throat, hands trembling on her skull.

She swallowed. Every drop.

When they finished, she collapsed onto the carpet, chest heaving.

“Good investment?” Kwon asked.

“Perfect,” Yamada replied, buttoning his shirt. “I’ll double the endorsement budget.”

She excused herself with a bow, walking nude into the bathroom, cum slicking her thighs.

Inside, she cleaned up fast, not bothering with a towel. Her phone buzzed as she dried her lips. She tapped into group chat—Seulgi, Irene.

Joy: Got the contract. With extra bonus. Spitroast with brand owner lol. Seulgi: Proud of you, maknae. Irene: Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts. Joy: Unnie… you’re still leaving? Irene: Just for a while. Lisbon’s calling.

Joy put the phone down. The bathwater had already gone lukewarm.

When she stepped out, towel wrapped around her waist, Chairman Kwon was still there. Shirtless. Sitting calmly.

“You missed a spot,” he said, unzipping again.

She knelt silently, opened her mouth, and began.

Ten minutes later, his cock glistened from root to tip, spotless. He tapped her cheek gently.

“Only three signed,” he said. “You, Seulgi, and Irene. Wendy passed. Yeri’s done.”

Joy nodded.

“Irene leaves tomorrow. Say goodbye tonight.”

She licked her lips clean. “Yes, Chairman.”

Meanwhile, Wendy lounged on the leather chaise, legs crossed, blouse unbuttoned to the midpoint of a silk bra. The boy—because that’s how she thought of him, despite the suit—poured whiskey like he was already sure he’d earned her.

Jay Park, twenty-nine, newest CEO of a rising indie label, sharp jaw, lean frame, ink on his neck that peeked out just enough. He looked more like an idol than an executive.

She tilted her head. “I thought leaving SM meant this part was done.”

He chuckled, sipping his glass. “No, sweetheart. This part’s industry standard.”

Wendy smirked, stood, and stepped between his knees. “Then let’s make it worth the rate.”

She sank down slow, unzipping him, freeing him from slacks like she was opening a gift. His cock twitched in her hand. Thick. Hard already. She kissed the tip once, then took him in.

Deep. Immediate. No warning.

Jay gasped, hips bucking. “Fuck—no wonder they kept you hidden.”

She bobbed with a steady rhythm, wet slurps echoing in the quiet. She gagged once, then pushed deeper. Her throat adjusted, flexed around him, pulled him closer. Her hand braced his thigh as her eyes stayed locked on his face.

He groaned, fingers twisted in her hair. “Best head I’ve had. Fuck, my girl never—”

She popped off with a string of spit, wiped her mouth, and smiled. “Then don’t waste time on girls.”

She straddled him without being asked. Slid him inside with a tight hiss. She bounced slow, hips grinding, taking her time.

“So here’s what I want,” she said, breath catching. “Full control on my radio show. My choice of guests. No management interference.”

Jay’s mouth hung open, hands gripping her waist.

“And I keep my name. No rebranding. No bubbly reinvention.”

“Fuck—yeah, yeah, done—”

She rocked faster. “Also, travel budget for international segments. I like food.”

He grunted, nodding, his eyes locked on her tits bouncing under her shirt.

“Cum outside,” she whispered. “I don’t do creampies anymore.”

He groaned hard, hips jerking. She pulled off just in time—his cum splashed across her chest, hot and heavy, catching on her collarbone and bra.

She moaned. “God, I love your cum.”

He barely had time to breathe before she was back on her knees, licking him clean. Every drop. Her tongue dragged slow along the underside, teasing.

“You’re going to fuck me again,” she murmured, “next time your girlfriend’s out of town. Because I’m better.”

He only nodded, brain short-circuiting.

She left him slumped in the chair, drained, dazed.

Her phone buzzed as she cleaned her chest. Group chat. Irene’s flight was confirmed.

Wendy: Unnie, be safe. Joy: You’ll visit right? Seulgi: We’ll keep the bed warm. Irene: Of course. But maybe I won’t come back the same.

Wendy smiled at her screen.

“Good,” she whispered. “Maybe none of us will.”

Lisbon woke slowly, the air heavy with sea salt, morning haze, and baked stone.

Irene sipped espresso on her balcony, wrapped in a cotton robe and silence. Below, trams rattled lazily through cobbled streets. In the distance, the Tagus glittered gold.

The penthouse was a gift—but not really. More like a gilded leash. Her company’s way of saying, Rest, but stay beautiful. Be ready when we call.

Still, it was freedom. For now.

She checked her phone. No messages from the company, but the web never slept. A trending clip of Seulgi bowing at an event. Joy’s new cosmetics deal promo. Even Wendy’s viral radio moment, charming a rising soloist live on air.

They were moving. Adapting. Surviving.

She smiled faintly. Good girls. Stay sharp.

By the time she laced her sneakers, the city had softened into early sunlight. The air tasted clean. No fans. No staff. Just locals and tourists and her. She ran with a slow, even gait—down the narrow incline, past shuttered bakeries, toward the river path.

She didn’t see him until they collided.

A firm chest. A startled curse. Their bodies thudded, his arm instinctively grabbing her waist to steady her.

“Fuck—sorry,” he said. English, but not from here. His hand lingered. “Didn’t see you.”

Irene stepped back, breath caught. Tall, lean build. Unshaven jaw. Slate gray joggers, white tee soaked at the collar. Tattoos curled along his forearm—ocean waves and a compass.

She blinked. “No harm.”

His eyes locked on hers a beat too long. Recognition flickered—then vanished.

“You live in the tower?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Same,” he said, offering a hand. “Daniel.”

She hesitated, then took it. Warm grip. No squeeze. “Juhyun.”

He smiled. “Well, Juhyun. Sorry for almost knocking you over. You want to finish the jog together?”

She glanced at the path ahead. Her pulse wasn’t from the running.

“Sure,” she said. “But try to keep up.”

They hit the last bend in stride, sweat beading at their brows, Lisbon’s morning haze wrapping them like a loose shawl. Irene’s ponytail stuck damply to her neck; Daniel’s shirt clung to his back, collar stretched from movement.

“You keep pace well,” she said between breaths.

He grinned, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “You run like someone with something to outrun.”

She almost smiled. “Maybe I do.”

They slowed to a stop just past the tram line. A small café sat tucked between two buildings, terrace shaded by faded umbrellas and the scent of cinnamon and espresso in the air.

“Want to grab a coffee?” he asked, not reaching, not insisting.

She looked at the empty table beside the window. Small. Safe.

She nodded. “Sure.”

They took a corner seat, him pulling her chair out with a natural fluidity. No performance, no phone aimed for selfies, no ogling. Just two coffees. Hers black. His with milk.

It unsettled her more than staring would’ve.

Even the joggers earlier—their eyes had lingered on her legs, her ass, her face. One even tripped turning to stare. But Daniel… hadn’t looked twice.

Or he was just good at pretending.

“So,” he said, stirring his cup. “What brings you to Lisbon? Work?”

She sipped. “Break, actually. Long time coming.”

“From?”

She hesitated. Then: “Entertainment.”

He nodded like he didn’t press for more. “You sing?”

“Sometimes.”

He smiled. “I shoot people.”

Her brow lifted.

“With cameras,” he clarified. “Photojournalist.”

“Ever shoot singers?”

“Not on purpose.”

That made her laugh—quick, real. He smiled wider, then bit the inside of his cheek, embarrassed.

They talked through two refills. Music. Food. City maps and weather complaints. He mentioned a rooftop bar he liked. She feigned interest. She didn’t know how to say she wasn’t used to being treated like… just a woman.

By the time they reached the lobby of their building, she could feel the sun climbing behind her. He walked beside her, respectful distance.

They entered the elevator together. He hit the button for 5.

Silence wrapped them.

At floor 5, he glanced at her. “This is me.”

She nodded.

He stepped out. “See you around, Juhyun.”

Before the doors could close, she slipped out and walked to the far elevator bank. Swiped a hidden keycard, pressed PH.

She wasn’t ready to let him know just how high above the world she still lived.

They were halfway through their usual path when the scream cut through the breeze.

“Unnie?!”

Irene’s stomach dropped before she turned. The girl looked no older than twenty—K-pop hoodie, phone gripped like a weapon, eyes wide with disbelief. She rushed forward before Irene could process it.

“Oh my God, it’s really you! You’re—”

“Shh.” Irene lifted a finger gently. “Please. Quiet.”

But it was too late. The girl was already filming, breathless and starstruck, talking into her screen.

“I’m with Irene! In Lisbon! I can’t believe—wait, can we take a picture? Please, I won’t tag you, I swear—”

Daniel stepped between them.

“Hey. She said quiet.”

The girl blinked, startled. “Who are you?”

“Just a neighbor. Give her some space, yeah?”

There was something in his voice—not harsh, but firm. The kind that didn’t entertain pushback.

The fan hesitated. Irene used the moment to lean in.

“No photos. I’m serious. If you post that, they’ll track my location.”

The girl nodded, reluctantly. “Okay… okay, sorry. I’m just a huge fan. I won’t post. Promise.”

Irene touched her arm lightly. “Thank you.”

They turned back toward the path, Daniel keeping a slow pace beside her.

He waited a minute before speaking. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Just… wasn’t expecting it.”

He glanced sideways. “You’re more well-known than I thought.”

“I was trying not to be.”

They walked in silence until the edge of the park.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” he said quietly. “Or make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” She paused. “You helped.”

He hesitated. “You want to come up for lunch? My place. No pressure. Just food. You can pick the playlist.”

She gave him a long look.

She was sweaty. On edge. But the thought of hiding in her own penthouse again—alone, paranoid, checking Twitter for leaks—exhausted her.

And Daniel was still looking at her the same way he had before that fan screamed. Like she was just Juhyun.

“Sure,” she said. “As long as you’re not secretly a maniac.”

He smiled. “Only on Sundays.”

She let herself laugh, even as her nerves stirred. Not from fear. From how badly she wanted this to feel real.

The kitchen smelled of garlic, sautéed onions, and something dangerously close to happiness.

Irene sat cross-legged on Daniel’s couch, a chipped ceramic bowl balanced in her lap. Pasta—not fancy, but real. Handmade sauce, soft bread, a drizzle of olive oil. Nothing was measured. Everything was warm.

She hadn’t eaten like this in years. Not on a shoot. Not in makeup. Not under a calorie quota.

Daniel poured more wine, barefoot, playlist humming low behind them—old Portuguese jazz, breezy and light.

“You cook like someone who doesn’t need to impress anyone,” she said.

He grinned. “That’s because I don’t. Impressing people is a terrible career path.”

She laughed—really laughed—and his smile widened at the sound.

They talked through lunch. Childhoods. Favorite beaches. He showed her a few photos—protests in Athens, a quiet shot of an elderly couple in Morocco, a warzone skyline.

“I try to stay behind the lens,” he said.

She hesitated, then pulled up a private playlist on her phone.

“Here,” she said, handing him one earbud. “My turn.”

He listened, brows furrowed.

“It’s… pop?” he said slowly.

“K-pop.”

He blinked. “Like Korean Spice Girls?”

She laughed, shoulders shaking.

“Kind of. But with better choreography.”

He smirked. “You’re not the sporty one, are you?”

“No,” she said, still laughing. “I was the cold one. Elegant. The untouchable ice queen.”

He looked at her like she was anything but.

When she stood to leave, he moved toward the door, instinctively reaching for his keys.

She stopped him. “Don’t. It’s fine.”

He tilted his head. “What, worried I’ll see your floor number?”

She smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

She slipped out without letting the moment linger.

The elevator ride felt longer than usual. The air cooled the moment she stepped into her private hall.

The penthouse door was ajar.

Chairman Kwon sat in her armchair, legs crossed, a whiskey sweating on the table.

“So you’re playing house now?” he said. “Jogging, lunch dates, earphones? What if that leaked? What if Dispatch had been outside?”

Her spine straightened instinctively. “It was nothing.”

“It’s never nothing. You forget what face pays your bills?”

She didn’t answer.

He stood, walked slowly around her. “Ten years, and still you need reminders.”

His fingers brushed her chin. “You know what comes next, don’t you?”

Her lips parted. A breath. A nod.

She led the way to the bedroom, her steps slow and steady.

rene knelt at the edge of the bed, robe loose at the shoulders, hair pinned up so nothing touched her face. Her gaze stayed down—not out of fear, but design. She knew how he liked it.

Chairman Kwon sat back on the velvet armchair, legs spread, belt already undone. He didn’t speak as she crawled forward, hands gliding over his thighs. Her lips brushed the inside of his knee first—an unspoken ritual. Deference in motion.

“You know what this is for,” he said.

She nodded once. “Yes, Chairman.”

She freed his cock, already half-hard. Her hand moved slow, her mouth slower. No teasing—just warmth, wetness, skill. She used her throat like an instrument, breath steady, rhythm controlled. Every suck was purposeful, tongue swirling under the tip, just the right pressure.

He groaned low, hand gripping her hair—not rough, not gentle. Ownership.

“You break the mold,” he muttered, watching her. “You think hiatus means you get to be human again?”

She moaned around his cock, swallowing him deeper. Her eyes watered, spit dripping onto her chest.

“It means you rest,” he hissed. “Not create new rumors. You want a comeback after this, you need to stay intact.”

She pulled off slowly, tongue trailing along the shaft, then kissed his tip.

“I understand,” she whispered, voice breathy.

Then she climbed into his lap, straddled him in silence. No underwear. No resistance.

She eased him inside her with one slow push, her breath catching. He filled her tight, and she clenched around him just the way he liked. Her hips started rolling—graceful, trained, devastating.

“I’ll behave,” she whispered against his ear, “if you let me keep running.”

He grunted, hands on her waist. She bounced harder, breath broken into soft whimpers, riding him in earnest now. Sweat slicked her skin, her nails dug into his shoulders.

She came first—sharp, sudden. Her walls pulsed around him. A real orgasm, but perfectly timed.

Then she shifted angles, milking him deeper, faster. Until he came with a grunt, cock twitching inside her.

She stayed straddling him, chest heaving, sweat dripping between her breasts.

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched her.

Then:

“You can keep jogging. But check your six every single time.”

A breath of relief escaped her lips.

“Yes, Chairman.”

He dressed without another word and left the penthouse like it was his own.

She lay back on the sheets, body trembling, not from the sex—but from the high-wire balance she’d just pulled off.

She still had room to play.

For now.

[nsfwlguess]

I love your work!

Would you be open to write a wonyoung femdom smut?

GOOD BOY.

Wonyoung x Male Reader

You don’t know exactly when things shifted.

One day, Wonyoung was just your idol crush—a stunning fantasy from screens and stages. The next, she was sitting on your lap in real life, her long legs casually crossed, her glossed lips ghosting over your ear as if she already owned you.

“I like how obedient you are when you’re nervous,” she whispered that first night. “It makes me want to ruin you.”

You thought she was joking.

But tonight—your back hits the couch, and Wonyoung straddles your thighs like she was born to command them.

She's not wearing much: just a black silk robe lazily tied at her waist, and thigh-high stockings that squeeze the softness of her legs in a way that makes your throat dry.

She tilts her head, watching your eyes drink her in.

“Already staring?” she smirks. “And I haven’t even shown you what’s underneath.”

Your voice barely works. “Wonyoung…”

“Mmm. What is it, baby boy?” she coos, gripping your jaw gently and tilting your head up to meet her gaze. “You want me to be gentle?”

You gulp.

She giggles darkly. “Too bad.”

Her fingers undo the knot on her robe with a slow drag, revealing sheer black lingerie—lacey and tight in all the right places. Her breasts press softly against the mesh, and her hips shift against your growing hardness like she's deliberately measuring your reaction.

“See this?” she murmurs, tracing the edge of her bra with one finger. “I picked this just to see how desperate I could make you. Does it hurt already, baby?”

“…A little,” you admit, ashamed of how hard you already are.

She hums. “Good. I like that.”

Then her lips crash against yours—hungry and unrelenting. Her hands slide up your shirt, nails dragging faint lines down your chest as she grinds her hips against you, not giving you a second to breathe.

You moan against her lips, and that’s when she pulls back, eyes narrowed.

“Already moaning?” she teases, stroking your cheek. “How pathetic. I barely touched you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she’s already shifting down your body, kneeling between your legs like royalty settling into her throne.

She undoes your belt slowly. Purposefully.

“Hands behind your back,” she orders without looking up.

Your breath catches. “Wonyoung—”

“Behind your back,” she repeats, firmer. “Now.”

You obey.

Her long fingers drag your pants and boxers down, exposing your aching length. She grins when she sees how hard you are.

“Such a good little thing,” she purrs. “Always so hard for me. Like a toy waiting to be played with.”

She leans forward, tongue flicking the tip slowly. You twitch.

“Sensitive,” she notes, before suddenly taking you into her mouth.

Your head falls back with a groan as she bobs her head—slow at first, then cruelly fast. Her tongue swirls with practiced precision, teasing the underside of your shaft with every wet stroke.

“Fuck—Wonyoung—”

She pulls off with a loud pop. “You don't get to cum yet.”

“Please—”

“No,” she smirks, stroking you with her hand instead. “Beg better.”

You nearly sob. “Please, Wonyoung. Let me—”

“Let you?” she says, rising to straddle your face this time. “Sweetheart, you haven’t earned it yet.”

She hikes up her lingerie, revealing her soaked slit just inches from your mouth.

“Be a good boy and worship me first,” she says, grinding forward until you’re buried between her thighs.

Your hands grip her ass instinctively, and she lets you—just this once—as your tongue explores her heat, savoring the way she moans above you.

“That’s it,” she gasps. “Fuck—yes. You know how to use that pretty mouth.”

She rides your face with increasing desperation, hips rolling faster until she’s panting, nails digging into the back of the couch.

And when she finally cums—trembling above you, thighs clamping tight around your face—you feel like you’ve won the greatest prize on earth.

But then she climbs off you.

And sits back on your lap.

“Oh, no,” she murmurs, looking at your still-dripping erection. “You thought I was going to let you finish now?”

You whimper. “Please… I need it, Wonyoung—”

She slaps your cheek lightly. Not hard—just enough to make your eyes widen and your cock twitch.

“Need it?” she repeats. “You're going to earn it. Lie down.”

You do. Fast.

She straddles you again, this time pressing your tip against her entrance—but not sinking down.

You groan. “Wonyoung—”

“Shut up.”

She rubs her wet folds along your shaft, soaking you in her arousal, teasing you with every motion. But she never lets you in.

She smiles.

“Beg me. Loudly.”

You arch up against her, desperate. “Please, Wonyoung. I want to feel you. I need to be inside you. I’ll do anything.”

She leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Anything?”

“…Anything.”

She finally—finally—sinks down onto you in one slow, tight slide.

Your eyes roll back.

She rides you like a queen—grinding and bouncing, hands braced on your chest, moaning with control. You feel everything—her tightness, her rhythm, her smirk every time you twitch too soon.

“Good boys don’t cum without permission,” she pants, tightening her grip on your shoulders. “Are you going to be a good boy?”

You nod, trembling. “Yes. I’ll be good—I’ll wait—”

She picks up the pace, slamming down harder, faster.

And just as you're on the edge—

She stops.

Completely.

You whimper, your whole body on fire.

Wonyoung leans down, sweaty and satisfied, lips brushing your trembling mouth.

“Good boys wait,” she whispers. “You waited… so now—cum for me.”

One roll of her hips is all it takes.

You explode inside her with a guttural cry, body arching, everything flooding out of you as she moans with satisfaction, milking every drop.

She kisses you softly afterward. Sweetly.

Then grins.

“Lesson one complete,” she whispers. “Next time… no touching yourself for a week. Understand?”

You nod weakly, chest heaving.

“Yes, Wonyoung.”

“Good boy.”

[nsfwlguess]

Beautiful Creature

Starring : Male oc x Karina Aespa

Tags: Not incest, supranatural, Female Dom, Mommy Kink, breast feeding, Women on top, Demon, Hypnotic, Blowjob.

Lenght: 1100 words

storagese dense, velvet embrace of night, a figure flits through the shadows of your slumber. Her wings, vast and inky, stretch out like the sails of a phantom ship, cutting through the dark sea of your mind. Her horns, twin spikes of ivory, gleam faintly in the silvery moonlight, hinting at secrets long buried beneath layers of doubt and innocence. Her eyes, a fiery crimson, burn with a hunger that could swallow you whole. They beckon, whispering sweet nothings wrapped in the siren's call of temptation.

Her form is a mere outline, a silhouette of desire that sends your heart racing. Each beat echoes through the caverns of your subconscious, a pulsing drum that sets your blood aflame. The smell of rain-damp earth and a hint of jasmine fills your nostrils, a scent that is both strange and eerily familiar, like the warmth of a mother's embrace on a cold, lonely night. You feel drawn to her, an invisible thread of fate pulling you closer with each breath you take. Her smile is a crescent moon, a promise of revelations and transgressions that await you should you dare to take that final step.

But as the light of the moon grows brighter, the edges of her figure begin to sharpen. The horns that crown her head, once a symbol of power and protection, now seem like a warning, a stark reminder of the secrets she holds. The crimson eyes, once a beacon, now bore into your soul, as if daring you to look away from the truth she is about to reveal. The alarm clock's shrill cry pierces the quiet of the night, jolting you from the depths of your dream. Your eyes fly open, and the figure dissipates into the fabric of the early morning light, leaving behind a lingering sense of anticipation and trepidation.

You stare at the alarm clock, the red digital numbers blinking a cold, unfeeling 06:00 AM. You mutter to yourself, "Same dream again."

After the cobwebs of sleep had been washed away by the hot shower, you pull on your school uniform. The crisp fabric clings to your skin, a second skin that you've worn almost every day for the last decade. The scent of soap lingers, mingling with the faint smell of the sea that seems to follow you from your slumber. As you make your way down the stairs, the aroma of your mother's cooking fills the air, a familiar embrace that grounds you in reality. The savory scent of seaweed soup wafts from the kitchen, a warm, comforting presence that has been a staple in your life since you were a child. The crackling sound of fried egg rolls sizzling in oil joins the symphony of smells, and your stomach growls in response.

In the kitchen, you find Karina, your mother, her back to you as she tends to the stove. She's wearing a long black sleeveless dress, a stark contrast to the apron wrapped around her waist. At 40, she still boasts a figure that could make any man's heart race. Her skin is a canvas of soft shadows, highlighting the curves that time has only served to enhance. The muscles in her arms flex and ripple as she stirs the pot with a wooden spoon, a silent dance that speaks of strength and grace. You watch her for a moment, admiring the way she moves, the way she embodies the duality of fierce protector and gentle nurturer.

You step closer, the scent of her body washing over you like a gentle wave. It's a blend of your favorite childhood memories: the freshness of a spring breeze, the warmth of her hugs on cold winter nights, and the faint hint of the vanilla perfume she's worn for as long as you can remember. You wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body against your chest. "Good morning, Mom," you murmur, your voice still groggy with sleep.

Karina's shoulders tense for a brief second, but she quickly relaxes, turning to face you with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Good morning too, baby," she says, her voice a melodious lullaby that has comforted you countless times.

"Can you let go of your hug, baby?" she asks gently, her hands still busy with the breakfast preparations. "Mommy's got to cook."

You hesitate, reluctant to break the warm cocoon of your embrace. "Can I still hold you, Mom?" You ask, your voice a soft plea. "Your body is so warm and comfortable.”

Karina nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Sure, baby. You can hug mommy whenever you want." She turns back to the stove, her eyes never leaving the bubbling pot of soup.

As your arms encircle her waist again, she gasps inwardly, her body temperature rising by several degrees. The creature inside her, a creature of shadow and myth, stirs restlessly, feeling the warmth of your touch. It's a sensation that she hasn't felt in years, not since the night she swore to protect you from the truth. The creature's whispers grow louder, a seductive melody that fills her mind with images of the night sky and the freedom of the hunt. But she steels herself, pushing the creature back down with a silent mantra.

"Not Now," she murmurs, her breath hot against your cheek. "Please, hold it until midnight.”

The two of you sit at the dinner table, the aroma of seaweed soup and fried egg rolls creating an invisible barrier around you, a wall of comfort in the quiet sanctuary of your home. The soup is a warm embrace, a tangible manifestation of your mother's love. The egg rolls crackle as you bite into them, the crunchy exterior giving way to the soft, savory interior.

Karina watches you with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with a love so profound it could light the darkest of nights. You feel the weight of her gaze, the unspoken words that hang in the air between you.

"Why are you staring at me all the time, Mom?" You ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

Karina smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Shouldn't it be, a mother looks at her grown-up child?" She says, stroking your hair gently. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine, a peculiar warmth that you can't quite explain.

Her voice, normally soothing, now has a strange allure, a siren's call that beckons you to the shoreline of her secrets. Her scent, a blend of your favorite childhood memories, has changed, grown more potent, more lusty. Her gaze, usually filled with warmth, now holds something darker, a hunger that makes your pulse quicken.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, focusing on the task at hand: finishing your meal. The egg rolls seem to stick to your tongue, the soup a thick, unyielding river that you must navigate. Each mouthful is a deliberate act of defiance against the emotions that surge within you, a silent protest against the inevitable revelation that approaches.

As you stand to leave for school, Karina calls out to you, a box of milk in her hand. "Don't forget to drink the milk box," she says, her voice a gentle reminder of the routine that has bound you both for so long.

The box is cold against your palm, a stark contrast to the heat that now pulses through your veins. You nod, mumbling your thanks, and slip the strap of your backpack over your shoulder.

At the bus stop, you lean against the cold metal pole, the chilly morning air doing little to cool the fever in your soul. You watch the world around you with a new set of eyes, the mundane rituals of everyday life taking on a strange, almost alien quality. The creature from your dreams flits at the edge of your vision, a shadow that darts away whenever you try to focus on it. You've always felt its presence, a familiar stranger that lurks in the corners of your mind. Now, it feels closer than ever, as if it's trying to tell you something.

The plastic milk box in your hand is a talisman, a symbol of your mother's love and protection. You've never missed a day of drinking the milk she prepares for you. It's a ritual that has become as essential to you as breathing. As you peel back the foil, the sweet scent of the milk fills your nostrils, a reminder of the simple joys of childhood.

But fate, it seems, has other plans. A sudden jostle from a passerby sends the box spiraling out of your grasp, the white liquid arcing through the air like a comet before it splatters onto the cold, unforgiving concrete. You stare at the puddle of milk, your heart sinking.

When you look up to confront your clumsy assailant, you're met with the dazzling smile of a girl you've never seen before. Her eyes, the color of a clear summer sky, are filled with apology, and her cheeks are flushed with the pink of early dawn.

"Sorry," she says, her voice a melody that could charm the stars from the heavens.

"It's okay," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You're not sure if she hears you over the din of the early morning traffic. Her smile broadens, and she nods, her hair bouncing around her face like a halo of golden light. You watch as she walks away, the sway of her hips a mesmerizing dance that seems to pull at the very fabric of reality.

As you board the bus, you can't shake the feeling that something has changed. Your classmates look at you differently, their glances lingering just a bit longer than usual. The air seems charged with an electric current that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You find yourself the center of attention, the unwitting star of a play you never auditioned for. Girls you've known for years suddenly find reasons to brush against you in the hallways, their laughter a sweet symphony that echoes through your being.

Teachers who once scolded you for talking in class now smile warmly, their eyes holding yours for a beat too long. You catch your homeroom teacher, staring at you from across the room, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She's always had a soft spot for you, but today, it's as if she's seeing you with new eyes, a hint of something unspoken in her gaze. It's disconcerting, yet undeniably exhilarating.

The bell finally rings, releasing the school into a cacophony of voices and slammed lockers. You navigate through the sea of students, eager to escape the building that feels as if it's been holding its breath all day. Your heart beats a little faster with every step you take towards the exit, each beat a drumroll building up to the crescendo of tonight's birthday celebration. The thought of your mother, waiting for you at home, sends a rush of excitement through your veins.

When you open the door of your house, the world outside is cloaked in a thick velvet darkness. Rain has started to fall, painting the world in shades of black and gray. You step inside, the warm embrace of the hallway light washing over you like a beacon of safety. But as you close the door, something catches your eye. In the corner of the room, a figure stands with its back to you, shrouded in shadow. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a chill running down your spine. It's the same silhouette from your dreams, the one with the horns and the fiery eyes.

Your heart skips a beat, but before you can react, the figure turns around. It's not the creature from your nightmares, but your mother, Karina. She's holding a birthday cake, the candles flickering like stars in the night sky. "Happy birthday to you," she sings softly, her voice a gentle serenade that fills the room with warmth. The tension in your chest releases like a coiled spring, and you realize you've been holding your breath. "Happy birthday, dear Jonghyun," she continues, her smile as bright as the candles on the cake. "Happy birthday to you.”

You take a step forward, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. This is it, the night you've been waiting for, the night your mother promised to tell you the truth. The cake is a simple affair, a round sponge with chocolate icing, but to you, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. It's a symbol of your mother's love, of the bond you share, and the secrets that have shaped your life.

You lean in and blow out the candles in one swift breath, the flames dancing and then dying with a soft hiss. The room seems to hold its breath as the darkness reclaims the space, the only light coming from the warm glow of the room's lamp. Karina's face lights up, her smile a beacon of happiness that fills the room.

"Congratulations on your eighteenth birthday, baby," she says, her voice a sweet caress that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blush, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you gently pull away from her embrace. "Don't call me baby anymore, Mom," you murmur, trying to sound more assertive than you feel. "I'm an adult now."

Karina laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the room with a warmth that battles the cold rain outside. Her hands come up to cup your face, her thumbs gently pressing into your cheeks. "You'll always be my baby, Jonghyun," she says, her voice a sweet, motherly coo.

But before you can respond, she leans closer, her nose brushing against your neck. You stiffen, unsure of what's happening, and then you feel it. Her breath, hot and urgent, as she takes in a deep, deliberate sniff. Your heart skips a beat, and you pull back, your eyes wide with confusion. "Is there something wrong, Mom?"

Karina's smile widens, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Yes," she says, her voice a sweet purr that sends a thrill down your spine. "You stink a lot, baby. It's time for a bath."

Her playful shove sends you stumbling towards the bathroom, the tension in the air dissipating like mist in the sun. You laugh, feeling the warmth of her touch lingering on your skin. "Okay, okay," you reply, raising your hands in mock surrender. "I'll go shower.”

As the door clicks shut behind you, Karina leans against the wall, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. The scent of your growing manhood is a siren's call, an aphrodisiac that threatens to shatter the wall she's built over the years. Her heart hammers in her chest, a wild beast desperate to break free of its cage. She clutches at her chest, her nails digging into her skin as she tries to hold back the creature that yearns to claim what is rightfully hers.

With trembling hands, she sets the table with the birthday cake, the candles casting a warm, flickering light that does nothing to banish the shadows of her thoughts. Her eyes keep drifting to the knife she uses to cut the cake, the silver blade reflecting the fiery hunger that burns within her. She swallows hard, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She needs to keep you safe, to protect you from the truth she's kept hidden for so long.

The smack, a traditional rice cake, is sliced into perfect little squares, each one a tiny monument to your shared heritage. The smell of the sweet, sticky rice fills the air, mingling with the lingering scent of your aftershave. It's your favorite, a treat she reserves for special occasions, but today, it's the only thing she can bring herself to serve. Her mind races, trying to come up with a way to distract you from the scent that seems to grow stronger with every passing moment.

"Wow, Mom," you say, stepping out of the steamy bathroom, your hair damp and your skin glowing. "The food you made looks amazing.”

Karina's eyes light up, a smile playing on her lips. "Let's eat with Mommy, baby," she says, her voice a soothing balm that washes away any lingering awkwardness from the earlier encounter. You take a seat at the small, round table, the plates of food arranged neatly before you. The smack cake is a kaleidoscope of colors, the red bean paste a stark contrast to the snowy white of the rice. The smell of the warm, sugary treat fills the room, mingling with the scent of your freshly washed skin.

You dive into the cake with enthusiasm, the sweetness of the rice and the tartness of the filling a symphony of flavors that dance on your tongue. You feel your mother's gaze on you, a warmth that fills your heart.

"Eat slowly, dear," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Her words pull you out of your cake-induced bliss, and you look up at her. Her eyes, those warm pools of love, are watching you intently, a soft smile playing on her lips."The cake you cooked is too good, Mom," you say, your voice filled with genuine appreciation.

"Really?" she asks, her smile growing wider. You nod, your cheeks still sticky with the sweet residue of the rice cake.

Her fingers come up to gently wipe the crumbs from your cheeks, the softness of her touch sending a shiver down your spine. Karina's eyes never leave yours, a silent conversation passing between you that speaks of love and secrets. "Was there anything interesting today, baby?”

You tell her about the odd behavior of the females in your class, the way they've treated you like you're the only boy in the room. The way your teacher's eyes lingered on you, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You can't explain the feeling, but it's as if the air around you has changed, charged with a current that makes your skin tingle.

Karina's face remains unreadable, her eyes never leaving yours as you speak. "Did you drink your milk this morning?" she asks, her voice a serene pond in the midst of a storm.

Your heart skips a beat, the memory of the spilled milk rushing back to you. "I'm sorry, Mom," you reply, your voice tight. "The milk spilled before I could drink it.”

Karina's face pales, the blood draining from her cheeks like ink from a sponge. The room seems to tilt on its axis, the warmth and safety you felt only moments before evaporating into the cold embrace of fear. You jump to your feet, reaching out to grab her shoulder to steady her. "Is everything okay?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine concern.

Her eyes, those pools of love and warmth, now hold something darker, something primal. It's as if the creature from your dreams has leaped forth from the shadows and taken residence within her gaze. She recoils at your touch, the electric shock of your contact resonating through her body like a thunderclap. The creature inside her howls, desperate to be released from its cage, to claim what it believes is its right.

"Mom?" you ask, your voice trembling with fear. But Karina is no longer listening. She's retreated into her room, the door slamming shut behind her with a finality that echoes through the house. The lock clicks into place, a metallic whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "Don't follow me," she says, her voice muffled through the barrier of wood and plaster.

But you can't ignore the distress in her tone. You can't ignore the way she's changed, the way her eyes have shifted from loving to...hungry. You stand outside her bedroom door, the hallway light casting a yellow glow that seems to stretch on forever. Your hand hovers over the doorknob, your heart thundering in your chest like a wild beast demanding to be set free.

You swallow hard, steeling yourself for what's to come. "What's wrong, Mom? Tell me," you call out, your voice a mix of concern and fear. You rattle the knob, expecting resistance, but to your surprise, it turns easily in your hand. The door swings open, revealing Karina's room, a sanctuary that's been closed off to you for as long as you can remember.

The sight that greets you is not what you expect. Your mother is not lying in bed, weeping or pacing with worry. Instead, she's sitting on the floor by the window, her back to you. The curtains are drawn aside, allowing the moon's silvery glow to spill into the room. Raindrops tap-dance on the glass, a rhythmic lullaby that seems to soothe her. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders shaking slightly. She's wearing the same long black dress from this morning, but it looks as though it's been through a storm of its own, wrinkled and slightly damp.

"Mom?" you ask tentatively, taking a step into the room. The floorboards creak beneath your feet, and she tenses, her head snapping up like a startled deer. For a moment, you see the woman you know, the mother who has cradled you through fevers and heartaches. But as she turns to face you, the creature from your dreams is reflected in the windows, its fiery eyes meeting yours.

With a gasp, you watch as a bat-like wing, black and leathery, sprouts from her back, ripping the fabric of her dress to shreds. It unfurls, casting a shadow across the floor, a living embodiment of the secrets she's kept hidden. Your eyes travel down her body, taking in the sight of her black bra and panties, now exposed to the moonlit room. The underwear clings to her like a second skin, revealing the curves you've always known but never seen so...raw.

Her hair, once a waterfall of raven silk, now frames a pair of curving horns that pierce the air with a silent threat. They gleam in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the softness of her face, which has taken on a feral edge. And then, as if to complete the transformation, a tail emerges from the base of her spine, slithering around her waist like a serpent seeking warmth.

You stumble backward, tripping over a chair and landing on the floor with a thud. "Who are you?" You shout, your voice cracking with fear and disbelief. "Where is my mother?”

Karina, or the creature that now wears her form, chuckles, a sound that sends chills down your spine. She stands, the moonlight casting a spectral glow on her wings and horns. The seductive sway of her hips is mesmerizing, her tail lashing the air behind her like a whip. "This is who I really am, my son," she purrs, her voice a siren's call that seems to resonate in your very bones. She traces a finger along her chin, her eyes gleaming with an ancient wisdom. "Mmmph... You could say that I am a creature that has existed since time immemorial and is called in urban legends and mythology, they used to call me a succubus.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog that's enveloped your thoughts. "No," you repeat, your voice a desperate mantra. "My mother is a human, not a demon like you."

Karina, or the creature masquerading as your mother, steps closer, her movements liquid and graceful. "But, Jonghyun," she says with a mischievous and seductive tone, "since the oath has been broken, I will tell you that I am not your real mother.”

Your eyes widen with shock, and your voice shakes as you ask, "Where is she? Where's my mom?"

Karina's expression shifts to one of solemnity, her features softening as she steps closer to you. "There is another Oath," she says, her words enveloping you like a velvet cloak, "which forbids me to talk about who your mother is, where she is, and anything else related to her." Her horns cast an eerie shadow on the wall, a silent sentinel to the secrets she holds.

You push yourself up from the floor, your legs unsteady. "But you said earlier..." you start to protest, the words sticking in your throat like a mouthful of cotton.

Karina shakes her head, the motion sending her horns swaying gently. "The oath I broke," she corrects, her voice a soft whisper that seems to dance on the air, "was to be your mother's successor, to take care of you. But because of this form," she gestures to her horns and wings, "because of what you've seen tonight, that oath has been shattered.”

Your eyes widen as you feel a strange warmth, a compelling force, emanating from her tail as it tightens around your waist. You try to pull away, but it's like wrestling with a python that's grown too accustomed to your warmth. "What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice a tremble of fear and confusion.

Karina, or the succubus now claiming to be your mother, looks at you with a sultry smile, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that's both terrifying and...oddly alluring. "We are succubus," she purrs, her tongue flicking over her lips, "are creatures of desire, born from the darkest recesses of the male mind. We feed on lust and craving, on the very essence of what makes you human."

Her tail tightens around your waist, and before you can react, she yanks you towards the bed, your body flopping onto the soft mattress. You struggle against the unyielding grip, but it's like fighting a tide of pure, seductive power. "Let me go, demon!" you yell, your voice echoing through the room. But she merely chuckles, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

With a grace that belies the situation's horror, Karina sits on the edge of the bed, her tail loosening slightly. She reaches out with her hand, and you feel her cool, soft fingers trace a path down your cheek, across your chest, and down to the waistband of your pants. You tense, your body instinctively trying to retreat from the touch that is both foreign and eerily familiar. She leans closer, her breath a warm tickle on your neck. "Scream all you want, baby," she whispers, her voice a silken threat. "Soon, it will be a moan of pleasure.”

Her eyes, those fiery pools of need, bore into yours, and for a moment, you're lost in their depths. You see a world of desire, a realm where pleasure is king and pain is but a fleeting guest. You feel a strange pull, a magnetic attraction that is as terrifying as it is tantalizing. Her lips, now full and red as freshly spilled blood, hover above yours, and your heart races with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Karina's rosy lips, now a deep shade of crimson, descend upon yours with a hunger that's impossible to ignore. She kisses you with the fierce possessiveness of a creature staking its claim, her mouth moving over yours in a dance of dominance. Her teeth graze your bottom lip, a gentle bite that makes you gasp, and then she's devouring you, her tongue sliding in to taste every inch of you. You feel her need, the creature's hunger that's been building for years, and it's like nothing you've ever experienced before.

You want to push her away, to scream and fight against this violation of your very essence, but the scent of jasmine and the feel of her soft, delicate kisses are too much. They're a siren's song, lulling you into a trance that makes you want to submit. Her tail coils around you like a serpent, pressing into your skin, whispering sweet nothings of pleasure into your mind. You feel yourself losing the battle, your body succumbing to the seductive warmth of her embrace.

Without a fight, you accept Karina's aggressive kiss, letting it consume you like a wildfire. Your eyes flutter shut, and you feel her hand slide down your chest, past the waistband of your jeans, and into the warm, wet embrace of your underwear. A gasp escapes your lips as she wraps her delicate fingers around your hardened cock. The shock of the contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, a sensation that's both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Look who's been hard since," she murmurs, her voice a seductive whisper that fills your ears. You can't deny the truth of her words; the creature's allure has been working its magic on you, and your body has betrayed your mind. Her grip tightens, and she begins to stroke you with a rhythm that's as ancient as it is primal. Your hips buck involuntarily, the pleasure shooting through you like a bolt of lightning.

You moan into the kiss, your body a puppet to the succubus's will. Her tail snakes down further, slithering under your shirt and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her hand inside your pants moves with expert precision, her thumb brushing over your sensitive tip with each stroke. The dual sensations of her tail and hand are overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that threatens to shatter your last defenses.

The kiss deepens, her tongue invading your mouth with a hunger that's insatiable. Your own responds, twining with hers in a passionate dance that leaves you breathless. The wetness of her mouth, the heat of her breath, it's all so...right. Your mind reels with the impossibility of it all, but your body refuses to listen. It craves the warmth she offers, the promise of a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

But as suddenly as it began, Karina pulls away, leaving you gasping for air. The emptiness you feel is a void, a hollowness that makes you ache for more. You look up at her, your eyes glazed with a need you can't quite comprehend. And when you whimper, "Mommy," the word slips out of your mouth like a secret you hadn't even realized you were keeping.

Her smirk widens, the corners of her mouth curling up in a knowing grin that makes your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "Look who's thinking about her mother while she's doing the kissing," she teases, her voice a velvety purr that strokes your ego like a cat's tongue on your skin. The realization hits you like a sledgehammer, and you try to sit up, your body recoiling at the thought. But the creature inside her is relentless, her hand still wrapped around your cock, stroking with an expertise that belies her innocent facade.

"Is that a pent-up desire of yours, my baby?" she whispers, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The room seems to spin around you, the walls closing in as you try to process what's happening. You're not just being seduced by your mother; you're being consumed by a creature that feeds on lust, and she's found the most potent form of it within you.

Karina, or the succubus now in control, sees the raging storm of your thoughts, the dark desires you've kept hidden even from yourself. She knows every twisted fantasy, every fleeting thought that's ever crossed your mind. And she's going to use them all against you, to claim what she believes is rightfully hers.

With a sinuous grace, she shifts her form, the horns and wings retreating back into the shadows, leaving only the alluring beauty of your mother's human body. The tail coils around your leg, a gentle reminder of the creature beneath the surface, but now it's the softness of her skin, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips that demand your attention.

"I know what you want, baby," Karina says, her voice a symphony of sweet seduction. "You've always wanted me, haven't you?" She straddles you, her thighs pressing into your hips as she sits up. Her dress is torn away, revealing her nakedness, and you can't help but stare at the perfection before you. Her breasts are full and round, her nipples erect and pink, begging for your touch. The scent of jasmine is stronger now, a heady perfume that fills the the room and clouds your judgment.

When she stretches out her hand, you react instinctively, reaching up to hug her. "Mommy," you murmur, the word a prayer and a plea. She smiles, a knowing curve of her lips that makes your heart race. With surprising strength, she pulls you closer, pressing your face into the warm, soft cushions of her breasts. The sensation is overwhelming, a taboo comfort that you never knew you needed. You feel the heat of her body, the beat of her heart, the softness of her skin against your cheek.

For a moment, you're a child again, lost in the scent of her embrace. It's a feeling that's both terrifying and intoxicating. You breathe in deep, the smell of her perfume mingling with the sweetness of her skin. It's a heady mix that sends your senses reeling, your body responding with a fierce arousal that you can't ignore. The creature inside her has found a chink in your armor, and it's exploiting it ruthlessly.

"Calm down, baby," Karina whispers, her voice a seductive purr that seems to resonate in every cell of your body. "Let Mommy relax you."

She shifts her weight, pressing her nipple closer to your mouth. You stare at it, the pink areola and the pebbled tip, and without even realizing it, your mouth opens, your tongue reaching out to taste the forbidden fruit. The moment your lips touch her skin, it's as though a dam has broken within you.

Her flesh is warm, her nipple a tight bud that yields to the gentle pressure of your kiss. You swirl your tongue around it, feeling it harden further under the soft abrasion. Above you, Karina sighs, a sound that's half relief and half desire.

"That's it," she murmurs, her hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. "Take what you need, my baby."

Your hands move on their own, as if controlled by a will not your own. They glide over her body, exploring the curves and valleys that were once off-limits, now a playground for your fingers. You knead her breasts, feeling the soft mounds give way to your touch. Your mouth is wet with her essence, your saliva mixing with the sweetness of her skin to make her slick and slippery. The sensation is maddening, a heady mix of love and lust that's spinning out of control.

Her whispers are a spell, weaving around you like a cocoon of desire. Each word sends a shiver of pleasure through your body, each breath a caress against your skin. You can't think, you can't resist; you're lost in the storm of need she's conjured. Her hand moves to the bulge in your pants, her fingers dancing over the fabric, tracing the outline of your erection. You moan into her chest, the sound muffled by her flesh, your teeth grazing her sensitive nipple.

With a deft twist of her hips, she shifts her weight, her hands moving to the button of your jeans. The sound of the fabric parting is like a gunshot in the quiet of the room, a declaration of intent that echoes in your mind. Her cool fingers slide down the zipper, the metal teeth whispering open to reveal the taut flesh beneath. Your pants are pulled away, the material a prison that's been shed to reveal the raw, pulsing need of your cock. It springs free, a flag of surrender to the creature that now has you in its thrall.

Karina's eyes never leave yours as she takes you in her hand, her strokes gentle at first, almost tentative. "Look who's been hard for Mommy," she whispers, the smirk on her lips a dark promise of what's to come. Her grip tightens, and she starts to move her hand in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your hips jerk up to meet her. Each stroke sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, the tension in your body winding tighter with every pass of her hand.

Her strokes grow quicker, more urgent, the smoothness of her skin a blur as she works you over. You're lost in a sea of sensation, the world narrowing down to the heat of her body, the scent of jasmine, and the exquisite friction of her hand on your flesh. The pressure builds, a coil of tension that starts at the base of your spine and radiates outward, threatening to consume you. You bury your face deeper into the soft cushion of her breasts, trying to muffle the sounds that are escaping you, the moans that seem to belong to someone else, someone who's lost all control.

"Do you like it when Mommy plays with your dick like this?" Karina asks, her voice a velvety purr that sends shivers down your spine. The question seems to resonate in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once. Your mind is a fog of desire, the last vestiges of your common sense drowning in the tide of pleasure she's unleashed. You nod, unable to form coherent words, your eyes glazed with need.

Her grip tightens, her strokes growing more demanding. "Tell me, baby," she urges, her nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin of your shaft. "Tell Mommy how it feels."

With a shaky breath, you whisper, "It feels...so good, Mommy." The words are strange on your tongue, the truth of them a heavy weight in your stomach. You're not just admitting your desire; you're acknowledging the creature that feeds on it, the succubus that's been hiding behind your mother's eyes for years.

Karina chuckles, the sound low and seductive, and then she shifts again. Her wings unfurl, casting the room into darkness as the horns emerge once more from her forehead. Her eyes flicker with an inhuman light, and you see the creature beneath the mask of your mother. But the fear that should be there is overwhelmed by the lust, a need that's grown to a fever pitch.

With surprising strength, she pulls you closer, pressing your face into the soft mounds of her breasts. Her tail slithers up your back, the tip of it tracing a line along your spine that makes you arch into her touch. You're lost in the sensation of her warm, soft flesh, the sweetness of her scent, the power of her embrace. Her nipples are hard, the skin of her breasts tight with arousal, and you can't help but suck on them, your mouth moving from one to the other in a frantic search for relief.

Then, without warning, you feel the warm liquid flow from her nipples. It's thick and white, and you realize with a start that it's milk. You've heard of lactation during sex, but this is something else entirely. It's as if your mother's body is offering you sustenance, a symbol of the deep, primal bond that's being forged between you. The taste is sweet and rich, and you can't help but drink, your mouth moving hungrily against her flesh as she whispers soothing words into your ear. The milk is warm, and it fills you with a sense of comfort that's as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

The milk from the Milk Box. You remember the taste, the way it always comforted you, filled you with a sense of warmth and belonging. Now it's here, in the most intimate, taboo way possible. It's the same sweetness, but with an underlying richness that speaks of power and secrets. You swallow, the liquid sliding down your throat like molten gold, filling your stomach with a warmth that spreads through your veins.

Karina watches with a knowing smile, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. "This is the milk that mommy gave you through the Milk Box, baby," she whispers, her voice a gentle caress. "This is the essence of our bond.”

You swallow the last drops, feeling the warmth of it spread through your body, a warmth that's somehow both soothing and exciting. You're aware of your erection, painfully obvious in the silence, and you know she's watching it, the creature inside her eager to claim its prize. "You've tasted mommy's milk," she says, her grin growing wider, "now mommy wants to taste yours.”

Her hand moves from your cock to your cheek, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. She traces the line of your jaw, her thumb resting gently on your bottom lip. "But remember, baby," she warns, her voice a soft hiss that sends a shiver down your spine, "this isn't just pleasure. It's a pact, a bond that may risk your sanity, your life...but oh, the rewards will be worth it.”

The words hang in the air, a dark promise that you're not sure you understand, but the curiosity is stronger than fear. You nod, unable to speak, the need to know, to feel, to experience this strange, twisted love consuming you. The room seems to spin around you, the walls a blur of shadow and light, the only constant being the creature before you, the one you've known as your mother.

With a gentle nudge of her tail, Karina urges you to lie down, and you obey without question. The softness of the bed envelops you, the scent of jasmine now mixed with something muskier, something primal. You feel the mattress dip as she straddles you, the heat of her body a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Her tail coils around your neck, a gentle but firm grip that turns your head to the side. And then you feel the wetness of her, the warmth of her pussy pressing against your face.

Without a hint of distress, she sits on your head, her thighs enveloping your ears and blocking out the world. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, a heady blend of desire and power that fills your nostrils and makes you dizzy. Her juices coat your face, the slickness a silent command for you to serve. And serve you do, your tongue darting out to taste the sweetness that's been denied to you for so long. The musky flavor is unlike anything you've ever known, a siren's call that demands your attention, your worship.

You feel something soft and wet slide against your cock, and it takes a moment for your senses to register what's happening. It's her tongue, playing with your erection as if it's a toy she's discovered. The sensation is maddening, a symphony of pleasure that has your hips bucking involuntarily. She laughs, the sound muffled by her own body, and you feel her tail tighten around your neck in a gentle squeeze. "In accordance with my predictions," she says, her voice thick with amusement, "your dick is very delicious, baby."

Her tongue traces the veins of your cock, exploring every inch with a curious, hungry lick. The sound is obscene, a wet, muddy smack that fills the room, echoing in your ears. You can't help but moan, the sound muffled by her thick labia as she continues her sweet torture. You're trapped beneath her, a willing prisoner to the creature that's been living as your mother. The heat of her body is a brand, searing into your skin, marking you as hers.

The taste of her is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's a blend of salt and musk, a flavor that's uniquely hers, uniquely intoxicating. It's like the essence of honey, sweet and seductive, drawing you in deeper. You lick and suck, exploring the folds of her sex with the same curiosity she's shown for your cock. The walls of her pussy quiver around your tongue, her body responding to your touch in a way that's both thrilling and terrifying.

As you savor the taste of her, you feel your cock enveloped in something soft and wet. It's like a warm, velvety blanket has been drawn over you, and for a moment, you're lost in the sensation. Then you realize what's happening: Karina has taken you into her mouth, and she's sucking with a ferocity that's unlike anything you've ever felt before. It's as though she's trying to devour you, to claim you fully in a way that goes beyond mere physical intimacy.

The pressure is intense, the suction so strong it feels like a vacuum has been applied to your most sensitive spot. Your eyes roll back in your head, and you can't help but let out a strangled cry of pleasure. Her tongue swirls around the head of your cock, teasing the slit before diving back down to the base, taking you in so deep you feel the back of her throat. The sensation is indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that has your body writhing beneath her.

Karina's mouth is a miracle, a sacred vessel of pleasure that defies all logic. Her succubus nature has honed her skills to perfection, turning a simple act of fellatio into a religious experience. You groan, the word "mommy" torn from your lips as if in worship. It's a dirty blessing, one that fills you with a sense of taboo excitement that only adds to the overwhelming sensations. You've never felt anything like this before, never knew that your mother's mouth could be the source of such ecstasy.

Her tongue swirls around the head of your cock in a silent hymn of seduction, each twirl and flick sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core. It's as if she's tapped into every nerve ending, playing them like the strings of a fine instrument. Her cheeks hollow with the force of her suction, creating a tight seal that feels like heaven and hell wrapped into one. You can't help but thrust your hips upwards, eager for more, craving the sweet agony she offers.

When your dick twitches with the prelude to climax, Karina's grin widens, revealing sharp canines that gleam in the dim light. It's a reminder of the creature she truly is, but the terror is lost in the sea of pleasure. She knows you're on the edge, and she takes this moment to claim her victory. Without a hint of mercy, she deep-throats you, her mouth moving with a brutal speed and ferocity that steals your breath. The sensation is overwhelming, a blend of pain and pleasure that makes your toes curl and your eyes water.

Each time she slams her mouth down on your cock, you feel the wetness of her pussy smack against your face, her juices mixing with your saliva to form a slick mess that coats your cheeks. You're lost in the rhythm, the dance of your bodies melding into one as she feasts on you, her hunger insatiable. The moan that escapes your mouth is a declaration of surrender, a cry that's part pleasure and part despair. It's a sound that echoes through the room, a testament to the power she holds over you.

Her tail tightens around your neck, a silent reminder of the creature beneath the skin. The tip flutters against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you continue to lick and suck at her. Your nose is buried in her folds, the scent of her arousal a drug that's addling your senses, making it impossible to think of anything but her. The pressure builds, a crescendo that's reaching a fever pitch, and you know you can't hold on much longer.

With a final, desperate cry, you feel your orgasm crash over you, the word "Mommy" torn from your lips as you spill your seed into the abyss of her mouth. Her eyes never leave yours, her gaze a mix of triumph and hunger as she swallows, her throat working with a greed that's both terrifying and exhilarating. The pleasure is so intense it's almost painful, each spurt of cum a white-hot burst of sensation that has you arching off the bed.

Her mouth is a whirlpool of desire, her tongue flicking against your sensitive head with each pulse of your climax. You're lost in the storm of pleasure, your moans muffled by her pussy, the taste of her arousal mixing with your own release. The sound of your pleasure seems to spur her on, her tail tightening around your neck in a silent demand for more, the pressure building until you think you might pass out from sheer bliss.

As the last spurt of your orgasm fills her mouth, Karina pulls away, a satisfied smirk playing across her lips. She holds your gaze, chewing the remnants of your cum as if it's the most delicious morsel she's ever tasted. Her eyes gleam with a predatory hunger that sends a thrill of fear down your spine, even as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your body.

"Mmm," she purrs, swirling the semen around in her mouth before swallowing it with a dramatic flourish. "You taste so good, baby." Her voice is thick with satisfaction, a declaration of victory that echoes through the room. The creature that was once your mother has claimed you in the most intimate way possible, and there's no going back.

The sight of her swallowing, the way her throat works, the way her eyes gleam with dark delight – it's mesmerizing. You can't look away, your own eyes glued to the erotic spectacle unfolding above you. And all the while, your cock remains standing at full attention, as if it's forgotten that it's already given its all. It's a question that niggles at the back of your mind, a question you can't quite articulate: why is it still hard?

"You must be thinking why your dick is still hard even though it's cum right," Karina says, her voice a smoky purr that sends shivers down your spine. Her eyes gleam with an all-knowing smirk as she reads your thoughts, her mind a mirror to the confusion and arousal etched on your face. You nod, unable to form the words that seem to stick in your throat like a mouthful of cotton.

"This," she says, stroking your still-erect shaft with a gentle, almost loving touch, "is the power of a succubus. We give pleasure so intense, so all-consuming, that the body has no choice but to respond. It's a gift, really. An eternal hard-on for those we choose to bless with our attention." Her tail coils around your waist, the softness of it a stark contrast to the iron grip it has on your soul. "But," she continues, "with great power comes great responsibility."

Her smile widens, the sharpness of her teeth glinting in the dim light. "You see, baby, your life is now bound to mine. Every drop of pleasure I give you is a drop of life force you give me. And I," she licks her lips, her eyes never leaving yours, "have a very large thirst.”

The implications of her words sink in, and you gulp, trying to process the gravity of the situation. But before you can say a word, she shifts again, her body sliding up yours until her wet pussy is nestled at the base of your cock. The slickness of her arousal coats you, her heat searing into your skin. She's asking a question with her actions, a silent challenge that hangs in the air.

"After hearing that," she says, her voice a siren's whisper, "are you still continuing?" Her eyes search yours, looking for the answer she craves. There's something in them that's both hopeful and predatory, a creature eager for the chase but not yet certain of its prey.

Karina's smile widens, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and hunger. "I hope you won't regret it," she purrs, "because Mommy will drain you until there's nothing left at all." Her voice is a soft caress that sends shivers down your spine, the promise of something dark and all-consuming wrapped in the sweetness of a mother's love.

With a grace that defies belief, she lifts her hips, positioning herself above your still-throbbing cock. You feel the tip of it brush against her wetness, a gentle tease that has your stomach tightening with anticipation. And then, with a suddenness that takes your breath away, she lowers herself onto you, the walls of her pussy enveloping you in a warm, tight embrace.

With a grace that defies belief, she lifts her hips, positioning herself above your still-throbbing cock. You feel the tip of it brush against her wetness, a gentle tease that has your stomach tightening with anticipation. And then, with a suddenness that takes your breath away, she lowers herself onto you, the walls of her pussy enveloping you in a warm, tight embrace.

The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that's so intense it's almost spiritual. She's so tight, so wet, and it's as if she's made for this, made to take you deep within her. You feel your cock hit the back of her, the base of it pressing against her clit, and she lets out a moan that's equal parts pain and pleasure. The sound sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the creature you're dealing with.

Karina's smile widens, her teeth sharp and gleaming in the dim light of the room. She looks down at you with an expression that's both proud and predatory, watching as you wince and moan beneath her. "I know," she says, her voice a low purr that seems to vibrate through your bones, "I feel like a virgin, don't I?”

Her hips begin to move, a slow, sensual grind that feels like she's trying to melt into you. Each movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, the feeling so intense it's almost unbearable. "Yes, Mom," you murmur, your voice strained, "Your pussy is so tight...oh...it's...it's very tasty."

The words seem to trigger something in her, a wildness that's been coiled and waiting. Her movements become more frantic, her hips bucking and rolling like she's riding a rodeo on your cock. The sensation is overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that has you gripping the bedsheets and crying out. The sound of her wetness is a constant backdrop, a reminder of the intimacy you're sharing with the creature you once knew as your mother.

Karina's eyes glaze over, her pupils dilating until there's only a sliver of green left. She's lost to the moment, to the pleasure of your union, and it's like watching a demon come to life before your eyes. Her tail snaps and writhes, a living embodiment of the passion that's consuming her. You can feel her muscles tightening around you, the slickness of her pussy gripping you with a hunger that's insatiable.

Her hips grind down, her pussy swallowing you whole as she rides you like a wild animal in heat. You're nothing more than a vessel for her pleasure, a means to an end that you're all too willing to serve. And then, without warning, she shifts again, pushing your head down into the soft pillows of her breasts. The sensation is smothering, but you don't fight it, instead letting yourself be lost in the sweet embrace of her flesh.

Her tail wraps around the back of your head, guiding your mouth to her right nipple, the one that's already leaking a stream of creamy white milk. The taste is sweet, like the finest dessert you've ever had, and it fills your mouth, coating your tongue. You suckle greedily, the need to drink from her a primal instinct that's been awakened in you. The milk flows freely, a never-ending fountain that seems to have no bottom. You swallow it down, feeling the warmth spread through your chest, a warmth that's not just from the milk but from the bond that's forming between you.

As you drink, Karina's moans grow louder, the pleasure on her face unmistakable. She's riding you hard now, her pussy clenching and releasing in a rhythm that matches the beat of your heart. The sound of your flesh slapping against hers fills the room, a testament to the passion that's consuming you both. Her wings spread out, casting shadows across the ceiling, and you feel a gust of wind that wasn't there before, as if her very essence is being released into the air around you.

"Oh, Jonghyuk," she groans, her voice a low, guttural growl, "you're so much more than I ever could have hoped for." Her hips buck wildly, her movements erratic and desperate as she chases her own climax. Each time she says your name, it feels like a brand, searing into your soul and leaving you forever marked by this creature. The pleasure is intense, so intense it's almost painful, but you don't care. You're lost in the moment, lost in the feel of her, the taste of her milk, the sound of her moans.

Her pussy is like a vice around your cock, squeezing and releasing in a rhythm that's driving you insane. You can feel her inner walls contracting, trying to milk every drop of cum from you, and it's a sensation that's quickly becoming an obsession. The taste of her milk is like nothing you've ever had before, a sweetness that fills you with a warmth that seems to spread through every inch of your body. It's as if you're drinking from the fountain of life itself, and it's all you need to keep going, to keep thrusting up into her, to keep her writhing and crying out above you.

The pressure builds, a coil of need that's tightening in your gut, a crescendo that's been building since the moment she straddled your face. You feel your cock pulse and swell, the heat of your climax approaching like a freight train. "Mommy," you gasp, your voice muffled by the softness of her breasts, "I...I need to...cum." The words are a plea, a prayer to the creature above you, a declaration of your surrender.

And then she does it, her lips crushing down on yours with a passion that's equal parts love and possession. Her tongue invades your mouth, dancing with your own as if you're fighting a duel for dominance. It's a kiss that's wild and desperate, a kiss that speaks of a hunger that can never be fully sated. The taste of her milk mingles with the saltiness of your own sweat, creating a flavor that's uniquely, terrifyingly intoxicating.

Her hips grind down on you with a ferocity that steals your breath, her movements becoming erratic as she rides you like a creature possessed. The bed creaks beneath the weight of your combined passion, a symphony of pleasure and pain that seems to resonate through every fiber of your being. Her nails dig into your shoulders, leaving little half-moons of red that will surely bruise come morning, but you don't care. You're too lost in the moment, too lost in her.

As your climax approaches, you can feel her pussy clamping down around you, a vise-like grip that's both terrifying and exhilarating. Each stroke sends you hurtling closer to the edge, the pressure building until you think you might burst. And then it happens: you spurt your white semen into her welcoming depths, the warmth of it filling her, claiming her as yours. The feeling is indescribable, a mix of triumph and surrender that has you crying out into the suffocating embrace of her mouth.

Her walls pulse around your cock, eagerly drinking in your seed, her womb a hungry abyss that's greedily swallowing you whole. You can feel the warmth of your cum spreading through her, a declaration of your union that's as ancient as it is forbidden. Karina's moans vibrate through her chest, muffling yours as your bodies shudder together in the throes of your shared release.

As the last tremor passes, she slowly pulls herself off of you, the white liquid of your climax glistening on her thighs like molten wax. It's a sight that's both mesmerizing and terrifying, a reminder of the power she holds over you. Her eyes are closed, a look of bliss on her face as she savors the feeling of you inside her. When she opens them again, there's a mischievous glint in her gaze, a hint of the succubus that lies beneath the surface of your mother.

With a grace that belies the ferocity of your union, she rolls to the side, her tail uncoiling from around your waist. The bed creaks in protest as she rises, her wings folding back into her body with a soft sigh. She walks over to the edge of the bed, her legs still shaky from the intensity of her climax. You watch, transfixed, as she stands there, the liquid pooling between her legs.

With a knowing smile, Karina leans down and scoops up a glistening pearl of your cum with her delicate fingers. She brings it to her lips, licking it clean with a flick of her tongue that's so slow, so deliberate, it feels like a promise of more to come. Her eyes never leave yours as she does it, a silent declaration of her dominance. "Calm down, baby," she murmurs, her voice a siren's call that sends a shiver down your spine, "The night is still long.”

Her words are a command, and your body responds accordingly, your cock rising to the occasion even though it feels like it's been through a marathon. She straddles you once more, her sticky pussy sliding up and down your shaft in a teasing dance that has you groaning with need. "You want more?" she asks, her smile wicked and playful, and you nod, unable to find your voice.

The night stretches out before you, a canvas of unexplored desires and dark secrets. You take her from behind, her moans echoing through the room as she leans into the thrusts, her ass slapping against your pelvis with each deep plunge. The room is filled with the scent of sex, the air thick and heavy with lust. Her tail flicks and writhes behind her, brushing against your legs, a silent reminder of her true nature.

The smell of sex permeates the room, a heady mix of sweat and your cum. Her pussy is sticky with it, the warmth of it coating your shaft with every withdrawal, only to be swallowed up again with each deep plunge. The room feels like a sauna, the heat from your bodies mingling with the scent of your shared passion. You can feel it dripping down your balls, a sticky reminder of the seed you've already spilled into her welcoming embrace.

And when it's all over, you lie there, an empty shell of the person you once were. Your dick is still standing at attention, a silent sentinel that refuses to relent despite the depravity you've just indulged in. You stare at Karina with a mix of awe and horror, her eyes gleaming with a dark delight that seems to feast on the shattered remains of your innocence. Her body is flushed, her skin glistening with sweat and the remnants of your pleasure.

"It seems to be over," she says, her voice cold and emotionless. The words hit you like a slap across the face, a stark contrast to the warmth and passion of moments ago. The reality of what's just transpired crashes down on you like a wave of ice water, freezing your soul. "Living with a human being like you is a lot of fun," she muses, a sadistic twist to her smile, "but I have to go.”

"Where?" you ask in a low and weak tone, the question a whisper in the quiet aftermath of your union. Karina looks at you, her eyes cold and unfeeling, a hint of something darker swirling within them. "To my realm," she says simply, as if discussing the weather. "We demons can't exist in the human world without an oath. “

The gravity of her words hits you like a ton of bricks. You're in over your head, and the water's rising fast. But even as you struggle to comprehend the reality of your situation, your body responds to the proximity of hers. The demonic hunger in her eyes is intoxicating, the promise of more pleasure a siren's call that you can't resist. You nod, your voice barely above a breath. "Do it," you manage to croak out, "I'll swear an oath with you."

Karina's smile widens, a predator that's found its prey. "Ah," she says, her voice like velvet, "but there's always a price to be paid for an oath, baby. What will you give me?" She traces a finger down your chest, her nails leaving little trails of fire in their wake. You know what she wants, what she expects. But you're not ready to let her go, not yet.

You swallow hard, the weight of your decision heavy in your chest. "Everything," you murmur, "even my soul." The words feel like they're being torn from your very essence, but you say them all the same. "Stay and protect me, Mommy."

Karina's smile is like a crescent moon, beautiful and yet filled with a hint of darkness. "As a mother," she agrees, her voice a sweet caress that sends shivers down your spine. The room seems to pulse with energy, the air thickening with a sense of the uncanny. "I am in the name of the Devil of Dreams, taking your oath."

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, a red light bathed in blood illuminates the room, and everything goes hazy, the edges of your vision blurring like a watercolor painting in a storm. It's a surreal moment, a nightmare made tangible, and yet, amidst the horror, you feel a strange calm, as if your mind has been preparing for this all along.

But the terror is short-lived, dissipating like the last vapors of a nightmare at dawn. You blink, and when your eyes clear, you're staring up at the familiar ceiling of your room, the smell of your mother's cooking wafting in from the kitchen, sweet and comforting. You realize with a jolt that you're back in reality, the demonic embrace of the succubus replaced by the warmth of your own bed.

"Jonghyuk," Karina's voice, the mother from the kitchen, calls out to you, "the food is ready, baby." It's a jarring shift from the haunting whispers of moments ago, but the love in her tone grounds you firmly in reality. You let out a shaky breath, feeling your heart pound in your chest like a wild animal desperate to escape its cage.

You sit up, the sheets sticking to your damp skin, the vividness of the dream still clinging to your senses like a lover's embrace. "Okay, Mom," you reply, your voice hoarse, "I'll come."

But when you enter the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. There she is, just like the dream, but the apron is the only thing covering her. Karina stands at the stove, her naked body glistening with sweat, the aroma of frying meat and vegetables mixing with her intoxicating scent. She turns to you, a spatula in one hand, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You swallow hard, trying to reconcile the motherly figure you've always known with the seductive creature from your nightmare.

"Do you want to eat breakfast for Mommy," she says in a tone that sends a shiver down your spine, "or eat Mommy instead?" The words hang in the air, a challenge that echoes the twisted reality of your dream.

Shall I continue it.

[nsfwlguess]

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.

[nsfwlguess]

Young Mother

Starring: Male oc x Jiheon fromis9

Tags: fluff, breast feeding, teasing, Mommy kink, lot of kissing.

Length : 9600 words

Note: The next fanfic would to be the poll that just ended so don't be disappointed, maybe I'll finish it next week or couple weeks.

You had just managed to coax the little bundle of energy into a gentle doze. The baby's soft, rhythmic breathing filled the quiet room, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day you had just endured. The walls of the nursery were adorned with pastel-colored paintings and plush toys, creating a serene environment that seemed almost too perfect for the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. As the baby's eyelids finally closed, you let out a sigh of relief and turned to grab your textbook from the chair. The words on the page blurred together, your mind racing with the calculus problem sets you hadn't had the time to tackle.

Before you could even crack the spine, the door creaked open, and in she walked: Baek Jiheon, the mother of the sleeping child. At just 22, she was a marvel of resilience, her youthful beauty unmarred by the trials she had faced. Her figure was a testament to the strength of motherhood, her curves more pronounced, her breasts fuller, her ass more tempting than ever before. She greeted you with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she took in your exhausted state. Despite the fatigue etched into your features, she had the power to make your heart skip a beat.

"You're home, Noona," you called out, the words leaving your mouth in a gentle whisper so as not to disturb the baby. The term of endearment slipped out naturally, a sign of the bond that had grown between you as you watched over her daughter.

Jiheon's smile was like a crescent moon, gentle and comforting, as she stepped into the room. "Yes, I'm sorry, Dokja," she said, her voice carrying the same warmth as her smile. "I've been making you take care of Dayoung until late again." She looked at you with genuine concern, the weight of her own hardships evident in her eyes. Despite the exhaustion that lined her face, she remained ever the nurturer, worrying about others before herself.

You couldn't help but notice the way she moved, the way her hips swayed as she approached to check on her sleeping daughter. Her mini skirt hugged her curves, revealing just enough to make you swallow hard. You tried to focus on her words, but your gaze kept slipping, tracing the outline of her body. You knew you had to ask again, "Why did it take so long?" The question hung in the air, a mix of curiosity and something else you didn't dare name.

Jiheon's hand hovered over the baby's forehead, feeling for any signs of a fever. Only when she was satisfied did she turn to you, her eyes meeting yours. "Huh... As usual, we had a long discussion for our group assignments." The way she said 'as usual' hinted at a shared experience, a subtle acknowledgment of the many nights she had come home later than planned, leaving you to pick up the pieces of her life.

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. You averted your eyes, focusing instead on the textbook that lay open on your lap. The numbers and formulas swam before you, a stark contrast to the very real, very human beauty standing just a few feet away. You cleared your throat, hoping the sound would dislodge the tension that had settled in the air.

"Being a student at Hangkook University must be very tiring, isn't it, especially being a young mother?" The words slipped out, an attempt at small talk to ease the sudden awkwardness. Jiheon's smile grew as she stretched her slender arms over her head, her shirt riding up to reveal the smooth skin of her midriff.

"It's hard," she admitted, "but when I see Dayoung, all my burdens are reduced." Her eyes softened as they drifted back to the sleeping baby, and for a brief moment, the weight of her world lifted from her shoulders. She turned back to you, her smile never wavering. "Thank you for helping me take care of her, especially when I'm caught up with school and work.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, and you mumbled, "No need to thank me, Noona. It's just a small help." You hoped your voice didn't betray the depth of your feelings for her. You had been in love with Jiheon for what felt like an eternity, silently watching her from the sidelines as she faced the cruel twists of fate with unshakable courage.

Jiheon's eyes searched yours, a hint of understanding flickering in their depths. "But still," she said gently, "it's very helpful, especially for a 12th grader like you who should be focusing on studying." She took a seat on the edge of the bed, her legs crossing elegantly. The way she carried herself was both mature and youthful, a paradox that made her all the more captivating.

You felt your heart race as she spoke, the distance between you seeming to shrink with every word. "I... I just want to help," you managed to respond, your voice a whisper. "You've been through so much, and you're working so hard." The words came from a place of genuine admiration and affection, a confession wrapped in the guise of innocent concern.

Jiheon's smile grew a little wider, a knowing glint in her eye. "Well, if you're sure," she said, her voice a soft purr. "What if your Noona gave you a reward?" Your mind immediately went to the gutter, conjuring up images of the two of you entwined in a passionate embrace, her curves pressed against you. You quickly pushed the thought away, trying to maintain your composure.

"R-reward?" you stuttered, your voice betraying the hope that had blossomed in your chest. Jiheon chuckled, the sound like a melody that danced in the quiet room. She crossed the space between you and sat down next to you, her thigh brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you couldn't help but wonder if she had felt it too.

"Yeah," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "How about I cook you dinner tonight?"

You nodded, trying to play it cool, but your heart hammered in your chest. "Okay," you managed to croak out, and immediately cursed yourself for your lack of composure. Jiheon had always been beautiful, but seeing her in such a vulnerable, yet powerful state, caring for her child and herself with such grace, only made your feelings for her more intense.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, you took a deep breath, willing your racing thoughts to calm. The aroma of sizzling meat and steaming rice soon filled the apartment, a comforting scent that reminded you of the countless dinners she had prepared for her daughter. Despite the distraction, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander to the kitchen doorway, eager to catch a glimpse of her as she moved around the kitchen.

Jiheon emerged, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat, wearing a tight t-shirt that clung to her perky breasts and a pair of shorts that barely covered her shapely thighs. Your eyes were drawn to her navel button, exposed and inviting, and you had to mentally slap yourself to focus on anything else. "Dinner's ready," she announced, setting down plates of food on the low coffee table.

You joined her on the floor, your knees brushing against hers as you reached for the chopsticks. The meal was simple, but it was made with love, a testament to the care she put into every aspect of her life. You watched her gracefully pick up a piece of bulgogi, her mouth watering at the smell. The way she ate, with such ease and sensuality, only made you more infatuated. The soft sounds of her chewing and the occasional hum of satisfaction sent waves of heat through your body.

Her eyes flickered over to you, catching your gaze lingering on her, and she blushed. "What?" she asked, a playful smile on her lips. You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on your own plate. "It's just... you're really good at this," you said, hoping she didn't notice the tremor in your voice.

Jiheon chuckled, setting her chopsticks aside to wipe a smudge of sauce from the corner of her mouth. "Cooking is just something my mom taught me," she replied, her voice filled with fond memories. "It's nothing special."

You nodded, taking a bite of the savory bulgogi, the flavors exploding on your tongue. The way she talked about her mother made you realize how much she missed her family support. Despite her youthful allure, she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and yet she never let it show in front of her daughter.

As you finished your meal, you gathered the empty plates and took them to the kitchen sink. The warm water filled the room as you began to wash the dishes, the suds slipping through your fingers. You couldn't help but steal glances at Jiheon as she sat on the bed, stroking Dayoung's hair and whispering a lullaby. Her curves were even more pronounced in the dim light, her body moving in a way that made you ache to hold her.

The quiet was only broken by the clinking of cutlery and the faint sound of their breathing. You took your time, scrubbing each plate and bowl with meticulous care, listening to the sweet melody of their breaths. Eventually, the dishes were clean, and the kitchen was once again spotless, but the tension in the air remained. You turned off the faucet and dried your hands, your heart racing as you approached the bedroom.

Jiheon had fallen asleep sitting on the bed, her back leaning against the headboard with Dayoung nestled in her arms. The sight of them together was like a painting, a portrait of love and protection. She looked so peaceful, her features relaxed and her chest rising and falling in sync with the baby's. You felt a pang of something deep and profound, a yearning to be part of this intimate scene.

With quiet steps, you approached the bed, drawn to Jiheon like a moth to a flame. Her hair had fallen over her shoulder, and you had the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Instead, you reached for the blanket that had slipped to the floor, your hand hovering over her. The warmth of her body radiated through her thin shirt, and you could feel the heat from her skin even from a distance. You pulled the blanket up to her chin, making sure not to disturb her.

As your hand brushed against her cheek, you felt a jolt of electricity, and she stirred slightly. You froze, your breath caught in your throat. But she didn't wake up. The urge to press your lips to her forehead grew stronger, but you knew that crossing that line would change everything. With trembling hands, you tucked the blanket around her and Dayoung, creating a cocoon of warmth. Your eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, drinking in her peaceful expression, committing it to memory.

With a heavy heart, you backed away from the bed, your gaze lingering on the two of them. You knew that your feelings for Jiheon were a tapestry of love, admiration, and a fierce desire to protect her from the harshness of the world. But you also knew that she had been through so much already, and the last thing she needed was to deal with the complications of unrequited love from someone she saw as a trusted friend.

The following week, as you watched over Dayoung again, the little girl had turned two, and she had learned quite a few words. Her eyes, a mirror of her mother's, lit up when she saw you walk in. She was playing with her toys, her chubby hands grasping at a stuffed bear and a plastic phone. She held the phone to her ear and began babbling in a cute, high-pitched voice.

You couldn't resist the urge to tease her, hoping to get a reaction that would brighten your day. "Dayoung," you began, kneeling down to her level, "Can Oppa go on a date with your mother?" The baby looked at you with curiosity, her eyes widening as she took in your question. Her chuckles filled the room, and she held the phone out to you. You took it, playing along with her game, your heart pounding as you pretended to have a conversation with her.

The next day, you walked home from school, lost in thought, when you heard raised voices coming from the minimarket across the street. You looked up to see Jiheon, her eyes flashing with anger, standing in front of a man who looked vaguely familiar. She cradled Dayoung in her arms, trying to shield her from the argument. As you approached, you recognized the man as her ex-boyfriend, the one who had abandoned her during her pregnancy.

"What are you doing here, Hyunsoo?" she demanded, her voice sharp as a knife.

The man, Hyunsoo, had the audacity to smile, his eyes slithering over Jiheon's body. "Can't a father check up on his daughter?"

Jiheon's grip tightened around Dayoung. "You know she's not your daughter," she spat. "Now leave us alone."

Hyunsoo took a step closer, his smile slipping into a smug sneer. "But she's a part of me, isn't she?" His eyes traveled over Jiheon's body, lingering on the baby bump that was no longer there. "I can't just ignore my own flesh and blood."

Jiheon's eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger boiling beneath her calm exterior. "You have no right," she said, her voice like ice. "You gave that up the moment you decided to walk out on us." She adjusted Dayoung in her arms, her body a shield between the man and her daughter.

Hyunsoo's grin only grew as he reached out and grabbed Jiheon's arm, his grip viselike. She gasped, pain flashing across her face as she tried to pull away. "Hyunsoo," she said through gritted teeth, " It's hurt, let me go."

Without a moment's hesitation, you dropped your textbook and threw your bag at the man, watching as it collided with his chest and knocked him off balance. "Yah!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the small market. "Let go of your hands, you bastard!"

Hyunsoo stumbled backward, his grip loosening on Jiheon's arm. She took the opportunity to slip away, cradling Dayoung protectively against her. "What's the matter with you?" he snarled, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face you. You felt a surge of adrenaline as you stepped between him and Jiheon, your fists clenched at your sides.

"I'm Jiheon's boyfriend," you blurted out, the lie rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. "What do you want, bastard?"

Hyunsoo's grip loosened as he bellowed with laughter. "Jiheon-ah, now you're dating a high school kid?" He sneered, his eyes raking over you with contempt.

Jiheon's surprise mirrored yours as she quickly regained her composure. She took a step forward, her voice firm. "That's right," she said, the lie rolling off her tongue with surprising ease. "He's right, he's my boyfriend. You'd better leave now."

Hyunsoo's eyes narrowed, the laughter dying on his lips. He took a step closer to you, his hand reaching out for Jiheon's again. "Nonsense," he spat, the word thick with disbelief and anger. But before he could make contact, you stepped in front of him, your body tense and ready. "You're just a kid," he sneered, his grip tightening around Jiheon's wrist.

Without thinking, you pushed him back with all your strength. The shock on his face was palpable as he stumbled backward. For a moment, you thought you had won, that your bravado had been enough to scare him off. But then his hand shot out, his fist connecting with your cheek in a burst of pain. You felt yourself falling, the world spinning as you hit the ground.

As stars danced before your eyes, you heard the sound of a baby crying, the piercing wail of a child who had been startled by the sudden violence. You struggled to get up, your vision blurring as you saw Jiheon's horrified face and the retreating figure of Hyunsoo. But before he could take another step, the sound of sirens split the air.

Two police officers rushed into the minimarket, their eyes immediately landing on the scene before them. "What's going on here?" one of them barked, their hand resting on the butt of their gun.

Hyunsoo took one look at the uniforms and bolted, leaving you and Jiheon in a cloud of dust and confusion. The officers looked from you to Jiheon, and then to the retreating figure. "Are you okay?" one of them asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine, thank you, officer," you replied, your voice shakier than you'd like. The pain in your cheek was a constant reminder of the man's cruel touch.

Jiheon rushed to your side, her eyes wide with worry. "Are you sure?" she asked, her hand reaching out to gently touch your face. "You don't have to do this."

You nodded, wincing slightly at the pain. "I'm fine, really." You forced a smile, not wanting her to see how much Hyunsoo's words had stung. Jiheon's eyes searched yours, and you knew she didn't fully believe you, but she didn't press the issue.

"Thank you, officers," she said, her voice trembling slightly. The police took note of Hyunsoo's description and assured her they would keep an eye out for him. As they left, Jiheon turned back to you, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "Let's go," she said, her voice firm. "Come to my apartment. I'll take care of that."

The short walk to her place was a blur, your mind racing with a tornado of thoughts. You couldn't believe what you had just done, but the fear in Jiheon's eyes had propelled you into action. Inside the apartment, she led you to the bathroom, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. She gently cleaned the cut on your cheek with antiseptic, her touch surprisingly gentle for someone who had just faced down such anger.

"Don't do that again," she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of concern that was tinged with annoyance.

You couldn't help but smile through the pain as she applied the antiseptic to the cut on your cheek. "Why?" you teased, "It's not like I looked brave earlier."

Jiheon's eyes flashed with something that resembled amusement. "Stupid, maybe," she murmured, her voice devoid of any real malice. She placed a soft kiss on the unblemished side of your cheek, the gesture sending a jolt through your body. "But also incredibly brave." Her eyes searched yours for a moment, the silence speaking volumes.

"What are you doing, Noona?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart racing. You felt the warmth of her breath on your skin, and your cheeks grew hot with a mix of embarrassment and something else entirely.

Jiheon's eyes twinkled with mirth as she pulled away from you, her thumb brushing against the spot where her lips had just been. "Didn't you just say you were my boyfriend?" she teased, her voice light and playful despite the seriousness of the situation. The words hung in the air like a challenge, a reminder of the lie you had told to protect her.

"Yeah," you replied, your heart racing as you searched for the right words. "I did it so that the bastard doesn't bother you anymore." It was a feeble excuse, you knew, but it was the truth. You didn't want Hyunsoo to cause her any more pain.

Jiheon looked at you, her eyes searching yours. Then she said in a serious tone, "But what if I want it to be real, and not just a lie?"

Your heart stopped, your breath caught in your throat. You turned away, your cheeks burning. "What are you talking about, Noona?" you whispered, your voice shaking. "Don't joke like that."

But Jiheon wasn't smiling. Her hand was firm as it cupped your chin, guiding your face back to hers. "Look at me," she said, her eyes searching yours. "Is this just a joke to you?"

You met her gaze, the warmth of her palm against your skin making your heart race. Her eyes were pools of seriousness, the mirth from moments ago replaced with something much deeper. In the depths of those dark irises, you could see the raw honesty of her question. You swallowed hard, trying to find the words to explain the tumult of emotions that had been bubbling inside you for so long.

"Noona," you began, your voice hoarse, "It's not like that." But before you could elaborate, she spoke again, her voice laced with a sadness that seemed to echo through the room.

"I know it's a lot to ask," she said, her eyes dropping to the floor. "A girl like me, with a past like this... I shouldn't expect too much.”

You reached for her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin and the tremble of her fingers. "That's not how it is, Noona," you said, your voice steady despite the quake in your chest. "You're... amazing. Stronger than anyone I know."

Her eyes searched yours, hope flickering in the depths of her pupils. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the confession that had been buried within you for so long. "Actually, I... I have feelings for you too, Noona" you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like a declaration of war, a battle cry against the unspoken boundaries that had kept you apart.

Jiheon's eyes grew wide, her hand flying to her mouth. The room grew still, the only sound the distant wail of a siren, a stark contrast to the tumult of emotions that filled the space between you. Then, as if a dam had broken, her eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and she threw herself into your arms. "I thought I was crazy," she whispered into your chest, her voice muffled by your shirt. "But I love you, Dokja."

You wrapped your arms around her, feeling the tremble of her body against yours. The warmth of her embrace was like a balm to your soul, healing the ache that had been festering for so long. "I love you too, Noona," you murmured into her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. Her grip tightened, her nails digging slightly into your back as if she was afraid you would vanish if she didn't hold on tight enough.

As you held her, you couldn't help but feel the firmness of her breasts against your chest, the way her thighs pressed against yours, and the rapid beat of her heart. You had never been this close to her, never felt the heat of her skin or the softness of her body. Your own body responded, the blood rushing to places it had no business being, making you acutely aware of your physical attraction to her.

Jiheon pulled away slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she looked down at the bulge in your pants. "It seems like someone's already turn on" she murmured, a hint of playfulness in her voice. You felt your face flame red with embarrassment, trying to come up with a suitable response, but she just laughed and leaned back into your embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, "I feel it too.”

Her words were like a soothing balm, easing the tension in your chest. "Now that you're my boyfriend," she continued, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "you can do whatever you want, baby." The word "baby" slipped off her tongue so naturally, it made your heart skip a beat. You swallowed hard, feeling both thrilled and nervous at the prospect of what was to come.

"It's my first time," you admitted, your cheeks flaming redder than the sunset outside. "I don't know what to do." The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Jiheon's smile grew softer, and she placed a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't worry," she said, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "I'll show you."

Her smile was like a crescent moon, a gentle curve of understanding and encouragement that filled you with a strange calm. She leaned in, her breath tickling your lips, and you could feel the electricity building. When her lips finally met yours, it was a soft, tentative touch, a question rather than a demand. Your heart hammered in your chest as you responded, your mouth moving in sync with hers. The kiss grew deeper, and you felt the warmth of her tongue as it brushed against yours, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, but it felt more natural than breathing.

You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the curves of her body pressing against yours. Her hand moved from your shoulder to the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair as she deepened the kiss. The taste of her was intoxicating, a mix of the sweetness of her lips and the faint saltiness of her skin. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment, your hands roaming over the softness of her back, tracing the line of her spine.

The kiss grew more urgent, your tongues dancing together in a passionate waltz. Jiheon's grip tightened, her nails digging into your skin slightly, and you knew she felt the same intensity you did. The sound of your breathing filled the room, a symphony of desire that seemed to echo in the walls. Your heart hammered in your chest, the beat matching the rhythm of your kisses.

As if surfacing from a deep dive, you finally parted your lips, gasping for air. She chuckled, the sound low and throaty, her breathing as ragged as yours. "Not bad for a beginner," she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. You couldn't help but smile back, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

Finally, when your lungs demanded air, you broke away, panting. Jiheon's eyes searched yours, a playful spark dancing in her gaze. "Not bad for a beginner," she murmured, her voice a sweet caress that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn't help but smile, the tension in your shoulders easing at her words.

But the moment was fleeting as your gaze fell upon her chest, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her shirt. You felt the heat of your own cheeks as you realized where your eyes had wandered. Jiheon followed your gaze and chuckled softly before she leaned in again, her breath hot against your ear. "You can do it," she whispered, her voice a siren's call.

With trembling hands, you reached up to the first button, feeling the softness of her shirt beneath your fingertips. Each button you undid revealed more of her smooth, pale skin, and you couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of her. But as your hands reached the top button, the unmistakable sound of a baby's cry pierced the silence.

You jolted back, your heart racing as you realized what you had almost done. Jiheon's eyes crinkled with amusement as she pulled away, gently placing your hand on the last button you had unfastened. "Looks like someone's woken up," she whispered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The sound of Dayoung's cries grew louder, and the spell that had been weaving around you two shattered into a million pieces.

With a sigh, she stepped out of your embrace, her shirt open to reveal the lacy bra beneath. "Come tonight if you want us to continue," she said, her voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. Then she disappeared into the nursery, leaving you standing there, your hand still hovering over her bare skin, the fabric of her shirt still warm from her touch.

You tried to focus on your studies, but every word on the page looked like a curve of her body, every line like the path of her smile. You couldn't concentrate, your mind replaying the feel of her in your arms, the taste of her on your lips. The walls of your room seemed to close in, the silence only serving to amplify the echoes of your racing thoughts.

Then, like a beacon in the night, your phone buzzed. A message from Jiheon. "Come here, Dayoung has fallen asleep." The words were a lifeline, a promise of more moments like the one you had just shared. You leaped out of your chair, the books on the desk fluttering in the wake of your sudden movement. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest as you read the message again, confirming that it wasn't a figment of your overactive imagination.

With shaking hands, you grabbed your phone and your jacket, the anticipation building with every step you took towards Jiheon's apartment. The night was cool, but the warmth of the candlelit room you had just glimpsed through the window was enough to make you feel like you were walking into a sauna. As you approached the door, you paused, took a deep breath, and turned the knob. The door swung open, revealing a sight that was both surreal and incredibly real.

Jiheon was perched on the sofa, her back to you, her body bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candlelight. The room smelled faintly of vanilla and jasmine, a heady combination that made your senses swirl. She was wearing a camisole so thin it was almost translucent, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her curves were on full display, the shadowy light playing over her hips and the swell of her breasts, making your mouth go dry.

"Wow, you came so fast, you must be impatient, baby," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing smirk. Her words sent a shockwave straight to your groin, and you felt your dick thicken in your pants, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You didn't know what to say, your mind racing with a hundred thoughts and none of them coherent.

"Hey... Noona," you managed to reply awkwardly, your voice cracking like a prepubescent boy's. You cringed internally at the sound of your voice, so high-pitched and nervous. But Jiheon only chuckled, a sound that was both comforting and incredibly sexy. She turned to face you, the candlelight playing over her features like a lover's caress.

Her hand reached out to cup your cheek, her thumb tracing the bruise from earlier with surprising tenderness. "Don't be nervous," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to your jangled nerves. "Call me something else, baby," she suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "How about 'honey' or 'babe'.. .or Mommy?"

The word "Mommy" hit you like a sledgehammer, the taboo nature of it making your heart race even faster. But there was something about the way she said it, the gentle command in her tone, that made your knees feel weak. You nodded softly, the word slipping from your lips like a secret confession. "Okay, Mommy," you whispered.

Jiheon's smile grew wider, her eyes darkening with desire as she took your hand in hers. "Follow me, baby," she purred, leading you into her room. The candles cast flickering shadows on the walls, the room bathed in a warm, sensual light that made everything feel hazy and unreal. The smell of red roses filled the air, their petals scattered across the bed like a crimson sea waiting to swallow you whole.

With a gentle push, she sent you tumbling onto the mattress, the softness enveloping you like a warm embrace. The petals fluttered around you, tickling your skin as you watched her approach, a goddess in the candlelight. She straddled you, her thighs pressing against yours, the heat of her body searing through the fabric of your clothes.

"Tell me, baby," she murmured, her breath hot against your neck, "have you always imagined this?" Her question was a tease, her voice low and seductive. You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment heavy on your chest. "Yeah," you croaked out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Jiheon leaned back, her eyes searching yours in the flickering candlelight. "What else have you imagined?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't believe she was really here, really with you, really asking you this.

"Your lips," you replied, the words coming out in a rush. "I've always wanted to kiss your lips with love and passion." Your voice was barely above a whisper, the confession feeling like it was being pulled from the very core of your being.

Jiheon's eyes searched yours, a hint of surprise and something else, something that made your heart race even faster. "Just my lips?" she asked, her voice a soft challenge. You could see the desire in her eyes, the way they darkened as she leaned closer. "No," you managed to say, your voice shaking. "I've... I've wanted to kiss all of you, Mommy."

Her smile grew wider, the word "Mommy" sending a jolt of electricity through your body. She leaned down, her breath hot on your skin as she whispered, "Then show me." And with that, she closed the gap between you, her soft, plush lips meeting yours in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle ones you had shared earlier. This was a kiss that spoke of need, of hunger, of a passion that had been simmering just below the surface for far too long.

Her tongue slid against yours, a silent greeting that sent your senses reeling. You moaned into her mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt as you pulled her closer, desperate to feel more of her. She tasted like mint and a hint of something sweet, a flavor that was uniquely Jiheon, uniquely yours. As your kiss grew more frantic, your teeth grazed her bottom lip, eliciting a whimper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Leaning in, you traced the smooth line of her neck with your kisses, feeling the pulse of her life force beating against your lips. You could feel her tremble beneath your touch, her body responding to every caress. Your tongue danced along her skin, leaving a damp trail as it moved upwards, exploring the delicate curves of her neck. The taste of her was intoxicating, a mix of sweetness and the faint hint of the antiseptic from earlier, a reminder of the night's events.

As your hand hovered over the fabric of her camisole, Jiheon's own hand covered yours, guiding it downwards with a gentle pressure. You obeyed, your heart racing with anticipation, feeling the heat of her skin as the fabric slipped away. And there they were, her perky breasts, uncovered and bared to you in the candlelit room. The sight of them was more beautiful than any painting you had ever seen, more mesmerizing than any sculpture you had ever studied in art class. They were real, they were hers, and they were yours to touch.

"Is this what you wanted?" she whispered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You nodded, unable to find the words to express the avalanche of emotions crashing through you. "Yes, Mommy," you managed to say, the word feeling both strange and incredibly right on your tongue. She chuckled softly, the sound a symphony in your ears, and leaned back, arching her back slightly.

With trembling hands, you reached out and cupped her breasts, feeling their weight and warmth. The tips of your fingers grazed her erect nipples, and she gasped. You felt a thrill of power and desire surge through you as you watched her reaction. Your mouth watered as you leaned in, your breath hot against her skin. You licked the reddish-brown peak, savoring the taste of her before taking it into your mouth.

Jiheon's body arched, her hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as you began to suckle at her breast. You felt a strange sensation, something wet and warm filling your mouth. You realized with a mix of shock and fascination that it was her milk. You had never tasted anything like it before, a blend of sweetness and richness that was uniquely her. Her breath hitched as you swallowed, and she moaned, "Yes, just like that, drink Mommy's milk."

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, the taboo nature of it only adding to the intensity. You didn't know if you were doing it right, but the sounds of pleasure she was making were all the guidance you needed. You suckled harder, feeling the milk flow more freely into your mouth, your tongue swirling around her nipple, savoring the taste. Her hand found the back of your head, her nails lightly scratching your scalp as she guided you closer, urging you on.

Your other hand moved to her other breast, mimicking the rhythm of your mouth. The sensation of her milk on your tongue was foreign, but it was a taste you were quickly becoming addicted to. You felt a strange mix of emotions, a heady cocktail of love, lust, and the thrill of the forbidden. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps now, her chest rising and falling with each breath. You could feel her heart racing, her body trembling with each pull of your mouth.

The sight of her watching you, her eyes hooded with desire, was almost too much to handle. Her hand tangled in your hair, holding you to her, urging you to take more. You obeyed, your hands kneading her breasts as if you were milking a cow, the pressure increasing as you tried to coax more milk out. It was an intimate dance, a silent conversation of need and want. Each tug on her nipple was met with a whimper of pleasure, her body arching into your touch.

When you finally pulled away, a trail of milk was left behind on your chin, glistening in the candlelight. Jiheon's eyes followed the path, her gaze intense and hungry. She reached out with her thumb, tracing the line of milk from your chin to the corner of your mouth. "How does Mommy's milk taste?" she asked, her voice a mix of sweetness and lust.

You licked your lips, savoring the lingering taste. "Delicious," you murmured, the word a declaration of your satisfaction. "Mommy's milk is so good." The words slipped out before you could even think about how they sounded, but the way she beamed at you made it clear she was pleased by your response. Her hand moved from her hair to your face, her thumb brushing away the remaining milk.

"Now, it's Mommy's turn to taste you, baby," she said, her voice a seductive purr that sent a bolt of lightning straight to your groin. Your heart skipped a beat as she began to unbuckle your belt, her movements slow and deliberate. You could see the hunger in her eyes as she pulled down your zipper, the anticipation making you feel like you were about to explode.

Jiheon's hand slipped into your pants, her gentle touch making your entire body shiver. She wrapped her delicate fingers around your erection, her thumb stroking the sensitive head. You felt yourself grow harder at her touch, the pressure building with each stroke. Her eyes never left yours as she began to move her hand up and down, her grip firm but gentle, the perfect mix of love and lust.

"Please take care of me, Mommy," you whispered, the words coming out in an innocent boyish tone that was almost a whimper. You felt a mix of nervous and excitement, the reality of the moment washing over you in waves.

Her hand began to stroke you gently, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she was savoring the moment as much as you were. "Calm down, baby," she murmured, her voice a sweet caress that seemed to wrap around your soul. "You'll definitely like it." Her words were like a balm, soothing the last of your nerves as she leaned in closer, her breath hot on your skin.

With a feather-light touch, she kissed the tip of your cock, the sensation making you jump in surprise and pleasure. The warmth of her mouth was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. Her lips closed around the head, her tongue swirling around the tip in a way that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

"Mommy's mouth feels so good," you moaned, your voice thick with desire. Your hips began to buck, instinctively seeking more of her warm, wet embrace. Her hand continued to stroke your shaft, the sound of your pre-cum mixing with her saliva making a lewd, wet sound that filled the room.

"Does it?" she asked, pulling away with a grin that was both innocent and wicked. "Should I do it more?" Her eyes danced with mischief, and you nodded fervently, unable to form coherent words.

With a deep breath, Jiheon opened her mouth wide, and before you could process the sensation, she had buried your cock inside her, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you completely. You groaned, the sound echoing through the candlelit room as she began to bob her head, her cheeks hollowing with each movement. It was as if she had done this a thousand times before, her mouth moving with a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and incredibly arousing.

The way she looked up at you with those Crescent beautiful eyes, her lips stretched around your cock, was almost too much to handle. You could feel the tip of your dick brush against the back of her throat with every thrust, and each time she took you deep, you felt the muscles there constrict around you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You had never felt anything like it before, and the realization of what was happening was like a lightning bolt to your core.

"Mommy, something strange is happening," you panted, your voice strained with the effort of not coming right there. "I think something's going to come out of me."

Jiheon pulled her mouth away with a pop, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, a smear of your pre-cum glistening in the candlelight. "It's okay, baby,trust me" she cooed, her voice a warm embrace that made you feel both safe and incredibly turned on.

And then she was on you again, her mouth swallowing your cock with a hunger that took your breath away. You felt your hips buck as she took you deeper, her tongue dancing around the sensitive head. Her hand squeezed the base of your shaft in time with her mouth, the pressure building until you couldn't hold back anymore.

With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, you came, the warmth of your release filling her mouth. She took it all, her throat working as she swallowed, never breaking eye contact with you. It was as if she was claiming you, marking you as hers in the most primal way possible.

For a moment, you were lost in the haze of pleasure, your body trembling as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. Then, with a gentle smile, she pulled back, her mouth still wrapped around the tip of your cock, her tongue lapping up the last drops of your essence. Her eyes never left yours, the candlelight making them gleam with a fierce love and hunger that made you feel like you were falling into an endless abyss.

When she finally released you, you looked down to see a smear of your cum on her plump, kiss-swollen lips. "What just happened?" you whispered, the question hanging in the air like a confession.

You felt a flush creep up your neck as you nodded, a shy smile playing on your lips. "I know it's from a book," you said, your voice a little embarrassed. "But I never thought it would feel this... intense."

Jiheon's smile grew, the candlelight casting a warm glow on her face. She leaned in closer, her breath a sweet whisper against your skin. "Would you like to experience something even more fantastic?" she asked, her voice dropping to a seductive purr that sent a thrill down your spine. You could only nod, your body already responding to the promise in her tone.

With a graceful movement, she stood and turned away from you, her silhouette framed by the flickering candles. She reached behind her and with a swift motion, pulled the camisole over her head, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of silk. The sight of her bare back made your heart stutter, her skin unmarred by anything but the fading light. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she pushed them down her hips, revealing the soft curve of her ass. You watched, transfixed, as she stepped out of them, leaving them in a puddle at her feet. Then, with a seductive smile, she turned to face you, her body on full display. Her breasts bounced slightly as she walked towards the bed, the rosy tips of her nipples standing at attention.

Jiheon laid her body on the mattress with a sigh that seemed to echo through the room, the candles casting a warm glow across her skin. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back to emphasize the curve of her spine. Her legs fell open naturally, and you found yourself staring at the wetness glistening between her thighs. "Try this, baby," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that had your body responding before your mind could even process the words.

You approached her slowly, the desire in your eyes unmistakable. Your cock was already standing at attention, marked by your recent release, the head glistening slightly with the evidence of your desire. You didn't know what to do, your inexperience a stark contrast to the raw lust that consumed you. Jiheon chuckled, the sound a soft caress in the quiet room. Then she reached out, her hand wrapping around your hardness with surprising confidence.

Her grip was firm but gentle as she guided you closer, her legs parting to reveal the dampness between her thighs. The sight of her bare pussy, the pink folds glistening with arousal, was enough to make you moan. She positioned the tip of your cock at her entrance, the head nudging against her softness. You could feel the heat radiating from her, a warm embrace that was both terrifying and incredibly inviting.

Jiheon's eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a muffled moan as you began to move, her hips rising to meet your every thrust. Her hand slid down to her clit, her fingers working in a circular motion that had her panting and squirming beneath you. "Mpph, your cock is so big inside me, baby," she managed to say, her voice muffled by the pillow she had bitten into to stifle her cries.

Her words only spurred you on, your movements becoming more urgent as you felt her walls tighten around you. You leaned down, replacing the pillow with your mouth, capturing her moans and gasps as you kissed her with all the passion you had been holding back. Each kiss was a declaration of love, each touch a promise of more to come. Your hands slid under her thighs, lifting her legs up and apart, exposing her fully to you.

The sensation was indescribable, the way she felt wrapped around you like a glove that had been made just for you. Your kiss grew more demanding, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth as you claimed her. You could taste the salt of her skin, the sweetness of her breath, and it was like nothing you had ever known. Her nails dug into your back, a silent plea for more, and you were only too happy to oblige.

You felt like you could go on forever, your youthful stamina a testament to the passion that burned between you. Each thrust was met with a guttural groan from Jiheon, her body rising to meet yours as if you were two halves of a whole, joined in the most primal of dances. Her legs wrapped around your waist, her ankles locking together as she tried to get closer, to take all of you that she could.

Your cock slammed into her with the force of a battering ram, each stroke sending shockwaves through her body. Her moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet symphony of desire. Your own sounds were muffled by her mouth, your kisses deepening as you claimed her completely. The scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, a heady aroma that made your head spin and your cock throb even harder.

And then she said it, her voice a breathy whisper that seemed to echo through the room. "I love you so much, Dokja," she murmured against your mouth. "Be yours forever." The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every nerve in your body. You had never felt so wanted, so cherished before. It was a declaration that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality, a promise that resonated deep within your soul.

You pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. They were dark with passion, but there was a tenderness there that was almost too much to bear. "I love you too, Noona," you responded, the words tumbling out of your mouth like a confession. "I will always be with you." It was a vow that seemed to hang in the air, a pledge that felt as solid as the ground beneath you.

And then, with a sudden jolt, her body tightened around you, her pussy clenching down on your cock like a vise. "Ah, Dokja," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. You felt the warmth of her release, the slickness of her juices coating you as she came hard. It was as if she had been waiting for you, for this moment, for what felt like an eternity.

Her legs tightened around your waist, her body shaking with the aftershocks of her climax. You watched in awe as the pleasure painted her features, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed over. You had never seen someone look so beautiful in the throes of passion before. "What just happened to you, Noona?" you asked, your voice filled with wonder.

Jiheon's eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at you with a soft smile. "It's called a climax, baby," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress in the quiet room. "It's when your body reaches its peak of pleasure." Her words were like a revelation, a secret of the adult world that you had just been let in on.

You felt a strange sense of pride, as if you had just conquered a mountain. You had made this beautiful, incredible woman come, and the knowledge was intoxicating. Your cock, still hard and slick with her juices, throbbed with the need to claim her again. You watched as she shifted position, rolling over onto her stomach and pushing her ass up into the air.

"It looks like it's still ready for more," Jiheon said, looking over her shoulder at you with a mischievous smile. Your eyes were drawn to the way her ass cheeks parted slightly, the pinkness of her pussy peeking out like a shy little secret. She reached back and spread her cheeks with both hands, exposing herself to you fully. "You can go back in and deposit your semen inside me," she whispered, her voice a seductive invitation.

The sight was more than you could have ever dreamed of. Her ass was a perfect heart-shape, the skin so soft and smooth it looked like it had been carved from the purest marble. You could see the indent of her spine leading down to her plump, round cheeks, the crevice between them a tempting valley begging to be explored. The thought of filling her up again was almost too much to handle.

You reached out, your hand shaking slightly as you touched her skin. It was warm and soft, the curve of her buttock fitting perfectly in your palm. You squeezed gently, feeling the firmness beneath the surface, the way her flesh gave just a little before bouncing back. It was like holding a warm, ripe peach, ready to burst with sweetness at the slightest provocation.

With a gentle touch, you spread her pussy wide, the soft folds parting to reveal the pinkness within. She was still wet, her arousal glistening in the candlelight, and the sight was almost too much to handle. You felt your cock throb with the need to be back inside her, to feel that warm embrace again.

Guiding yourself back into her, you pushed through the initial resistance before sinking deep into her welcoming heat. She moaned into the pillow, the sound muffled but no less potent. You began to fuck her with a fervor that was fueled by love and lust, your hips snapping forward with a primal need that seemed to consume you both.

Your hands didn't stop their relentless exploration of her body, squeezing and massaging the soft mounds of her ass with every thrust. Her skin felt like velvet under your palms, each cheek jiggling slightly as you claimed her. Her pussy was soaking wet, the juices of her arousal coating your cock with each stroke, making it easier to slide in and out of her.

With each thrust, you felt yourself going deeper, the angle of her hips pushing you further into her core. You could feel her muscles clench around you, trying to pull you in even deeper, as if she couldn't get enough of you. The sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filled the room, a testament to the passion that was building between you.

Jiheon's moans grew louder, her body trembling with each impact. You could feel her getting closer and closer to the edge, her breathing becoming ragged, her body tightening around you. "Fuck me harder, baby," she begged, her voice muffled by the pillow she was biting into. "I want to feel all of you.”

And so you did, your hips moving faster, your cock slamming into her with a force that seemed to shake the very foundation of the world. You could feel the tension building, the pressure growing with every stroke. It was like a storm building, ready to break at any moment.

With a snarl, you grabbed Jiheon's neck, the gentle squeeze a silent declaration of your need. Your mouth found hers, your kiss a desperate plea for release. Her lips were soft and yielding, her tongue sliding against yours with a passion that was almost too much to handle. "Urgh, Mommy," you grunted, the words torn from your chest. "I need to cum."

Her response was muffled by the pillow, but the meaning was clear. "Mmph, me too,fill me with your cum" she managed to say, the vibrations of her voice sending tremors of pleasure through your body. She pushed back against you, her pussy tightening around your cock like a fist. It was as if she was urging you on, begging you to fill her up, to claim her completely.

You grabbed her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as you held her in place. The angle was perfect, your cock hitting all the right spots with each thrust. You could feel her body tightening around you, her orgasm building like a crescendo. "I'm cumming, baby," she gasped, her voice tight with passion. "Cum with me."

Her words were a catalyst, and you felt your own orgasm building, the pressure growing in your balls until it was almost unbearable. You slammed into her one last time, your cock buried to the hilt as the walls of her pussy spasmed around you, her body writhing with pleasure. "Urgh, Mommy," you grunted, feeling the warmth of your release flood her. She bucked against you, her muscles clenching down in a vice-like grip that milked every last drop from you.

Your vision blurred as your climax hit, the room spinning around you. The sound of your bodies slapping together was the only thing that seemed real, the only thing that grounded you as the world dissolved into a haze of pleasure. Jiheon's nails raked down your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You felt yourself empty into her, the sensation of her warmth surrounding you as you filled her with your essence.

With a final, desperate thrust, your body collapsed onto the side, your cock still buried within her. You felt the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, leaving you trembling and weak. She rolled onto her back, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she looked at you with a mix of love and desire. "I love you, Noona," you murmured, the words barely more than a whisper. "And I will never leave you."

Jiheon reached out, her hand cupping your cheek as she pulled you into a gentle kiss, her breathing still ragged. "I know, baby," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as she nestled closer to you. "I can feel it in every part of me." Her words were a balm to your soul, a promise that seemed to seal the bond between you forever.

The end

[nsfwlguess]

Asa and her family will help her move to her new apartment in Seoul, near her job as a member of the girl group BABYMONSTER. Since the car will be packed with her items, she will sit on her brother’s lap throughout the 2-hour trip.

With Asa In The Backseat

Asa X Male Reader | 3485 words

TW: Incest

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The vintage sedan that had seen better days was crammed like a tin of sardines. The backseat, meant for two, was now occupied by four: me, my younger sister Asa, and all her clothes and baggage. Our parents had insisted on bringing an oversized painting, leaving barely any legroom for us. Asa, perched on my lap, was the only one who seemed unbothered by the tight space.

Asa's head rested on my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck. She was small and petite, but her weight was solid on my thighs. I shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position, but the car's interior was as unyielding as our situation.

"I can't feel my feet," I muttered, wiggling my toes in my boots. Asa giggled, her breath warm on my ear.

"You're such a Daddy's Girl," she teased. "Can't even sit cramped for a few hours."

I squeezed her side, making her laugh louder. "And you're a little brat," I retorted. "Now, lift your butt so I can adjust."

Asa pouted but did as she was told, lifting herself just enough for me to readjust my legs. I stretched them out as much as the space allowed, feeling relieved. But as Asa settled back down, her weight landed differently this time, the crack of her butt pressing directly onto something unexpected.

I froze, my eyes widening. Asa, oblivious, started chatting with Mom again, her voice filling the car and the engine's hum. I tried to ignore the sudden throb, the heat building in my core. This was wrong. Asa was my little sister, off-limits in every sense of the word. But my body wasn't getting the memo. I tried to think of anything else, anything cold, anything that wasn't Asa's soft curves pressed against me.

But Asa shifted again, her head tilting slightly, her breath ghosting against my neck. I could feel her pulse, rapid and steady, against my chest. Her hair smelled like strawberries, a scent I hadn't noticed before. The car was suddenly stifling, the air thick with an unseen tension.

"Back off, Asa," I whispered, harsher than intended. She looked up at me, her eyes wide and innocent, but there was a flicker of something else, something that mirrored the heat I was feeling.

"Not until we get to the cabin," she whispered back, a small smile on her lips. She knew. She knew the effect she was having on me and wasn't stopping.

I leaned back, my eyes closed, trying to shut out the world. This was going to be a long drive.

I took out my phone, the screen casting a pale blue light in the dark car, and started scanning through my social media feeds—anything to distract myself from the warmth spreading through me, from Asa's weight on my lap. Asa, however, wasn't so eager to distract herself. She sat up slightly, her hands busy with her phone, but her body remained intentionally close.

"Hey, children." Dad's voice cut through my distraction. He might be looking in our direction even though the painting was blocking his view. “We're about to hit a bumpy road," he warned. “So, hold on to your seats."

I groaned internally. Hold on, like I wasn't already clinging to my sanity with Asa's butt on my throbbing erection. I tucked my phone away, bracing myself for the upcoming bumps. Asa looked at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief in the dim light. She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.

The car hit the first bump, jostling us all. Asa's weight shifted forward, her bottom pressing harder against my lap. I sucked in a breath, my hips lifting slightly on their own accord, seeking more friction. Asa gasped, her head tilting back, her chest pressing against my hands that were gripping her hips.

"Asa," I hissed, my voice low and federated, "Stop moving."

But she didn't stop. She wiggled her hips slightly, her body soft and pliant against mine. "I-I can't help it," she stammered, but her voice was breathy and distinctly turned on. The road is so bumpy."

I could feel the heat radiating from her, could feel her heart pounding against mine. Mom and Dad focused on the road, not paying us any mind. I took a chance, my hands sliding up Asa's sides, my thumbs brushing against the underside of her breasts. She moaned loudly, and I froze, my eyes darting to the front of the car.

"Asa, is everything alright back there?" Mom asked, concern etched in her voice.

I could see Asa's face flush red, her eyes wide with surprise. "Y-Yeah, Mom," she stuttered, "Just, uh, the road is bumpy. It's uncomfortable."

I looked down at her, my eyes meeting hers. She was turned on. Her pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted. She was enjoying this, the friction, the heat, the risk. I could feel my shaft hardening even more, pressing painfully against my jeans. This was going to be a long, bumpy ride.

The car corrected its path, and the road was smooth beneath its tires. But my body was still alive with the memories of the bumpy ride, my belly a whirlwind of coiled tension. Asa, still perched on my lap, seemed equally affected. Her breaths were short and shallow, her body pressed flush against mine. My hands, which had stilled during the conversation with Mom, resumed their exploration, my thumbs tracing circles on her midriff.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, my voice hoarse with arousal. Asa nodded, her head tilting to give me better access to her neck. I took the invitation, my lips pressing against her soft skin, my tongue tasting the saltiness of her. Asa moaned softly, her body arching slightly, pushing her bottom further against my throbbing erection.

"You're untouched, aren't you?" I said, my voice laced with desire. Asa chuckled, a sound that was more of a pant. "What makes you think that?" she challenged. I took her jaw and tilted her head to look at me. Her eyes were pools of desire, her cheeks flushed with heat. "Because you're reacting like you've never been touched before," I said, my thumb brushing against her bottom lip.

Asa's eyes fluttered closed, her mouth opening slightly, inviting me in. But the honk of a passing car brought us back to reality. I pulled back, my chest heaving. This was dangerous, too risky. We were in the car with our parents, for goodness' sake. I wanted Asa, yes, but not like this, not here.

I took out my phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers. I opened a messaging app and started typing.

*Are you a virgin, Asa?*

I felt her shift slightly, her eyes moving to the screen. She took her phone out, her fingers flying over the screen. My phone buzzed with her reply.

*Why does that matter?*

I could feel the smile tugging at my lips. This was a dance, a game of cat and mouse. And I was enjoying it. I typed again.

*If you are, what happened in the car was highly inappropriate.*

I watched her read the message, and I saw the corners of her mouth twitch. She was enjoying this, too.

*Well, then, I guess I'm not a virgin. A cucumber claimed that honor long ago.*

I stared at the message, my brain processing the image that flashed through my mind. I could feel the heat in my core intensify, my shaft hardening painfully against my jeans. This did not help the situation.

I looked at Asa, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She knew what she was doing to me and was enjoying it. I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear. "You're playing with fire, Asa," I warned. Her smile widened, her eyes sparkling with irrepressible joy.

"And you're just the man to put out the flames, aren't you?" she whispered back, her body moving slightly, her bottom rubbing against me. I groaned, my hands gripping her hips tightly, trying to keep her still. This would be a long drive, even with the smooth road. Because Asa had awoken something within me, something I wasn't sure I could put back to sleep.

I shifted beneath Asa, my body aching for release. I could feel her heat, her wetness seeping through my jeans, and it was driving me to the brink of insanity. I needed more, needed to touch her without the fabric barrier.

"Asa," I whispered, my hands moving to her thighs, "Lift your butt for a moment."

She looked at me, her eyes clouded with desire. She understood what I wanted, and she wanted it too. Slowly, she lifted her body, her hands gripping my shoulders for support. I moved quickly, unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down, taking my underwear with them. Asa mirrored my actions, her shorts and underwear joining mine in a heap on the floor of the car.

When she lowered herself, her heat met mine, her wetness coating my shaft. She gasped, her eyes widening as she felt me, fully naked and hard, pressing against her. I slid my hand between us, gripping my shaft and aligning it with her entrance. I looked at her, seeking her consent, and she nodded, her eyes so intense I felt like drowning in them.

I pushed forward, my hips lifting as I slid my length into her tight, wet cunt. Asa's mouth opened in a silent scream as I filled her, her nails digging into my shoulders. I paused, giving her time to adjust, feeling the walls of her cunt pulsing around me.

"Is this okay?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. She nodded, her eyes closed, her body trembling. "I-I think so," she whispered back. "You're so big, it's... it's a lot."

I began to move, slowly, my hips rolling in a rhythm as old as time. Her tightness was exquisite, her body accepting mine with an almost overwhelming receptivity. I felt my shaft bump against her cervix, and she moaned softly, her head tilting back, exposing the long line of her neck.

I leaned in, my lips capturing the pulse point, my tongue tasting her skin. I wanted to mark her, so I tried to claim her as mine. She gasped, her hips moving, meeting mine thrust for thrust. Our bodies moved in a dance as old as time, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating in sync.

We stayed like that, moving slowly and quietly, our bodies speaking a language that needed no words. I could feel the tension building in my core, the heat spreading through my limbs. I was close, so close. But I didn't want it to end, didn't want this moment to be over.

I slid my hand between us, my fingers finding her clit, circling it in slow, steady movements. Asa's breath hitched, her body stiffening. I could feel her, her cunt pulsing around me, her body teetering on the edge. I wanted her to fall, wanted to give her this pleasure.

"Come for me, Asa," I whispered, my voice harsh with desire. And she did, her body convulsing, her cunt squeezing me so tightly I saw stars. I followed her over the edge, my body jerking as I filled her, my shaft pulsing with my release.

We stayed like that, our bodies connected, our breaths slowly returning to normal. I could feel the car moving beneath us, and I could hear the engine's hum, but all I could focus on was Asa, her body pressed against mine, her soft snores filling the car.

When she stirred, her eyes slowly opening, I leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. "I love you, Asa," I whispered, my heart full. She smiled, her eyes soft, and whispered, "I love you too, Oppa."

And at that moment, everything was right in the world.

The car slowed down, Dad's voice cutting through the soft hum of the engine. "Alright, kids, we're approaching the tunnel. It's a bit of a mess due to some construction up ahead, so hold on. It might get loud and bumpy."

Asa's eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. The dim glow of the setting sun casting shadows on her face heightened her features, making her look like a temptress. A sly smile curved her lips, and she turned, spinning around to face me, her knees resting on the seat beside my hips.

"What are you doing, Asa?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

"Shh, Oppa," she whispered back, placing a finger on my lips. "Dad said it's going to be loud, right? No one will hear us."

Her words sent a thrill down my spine, and my body was already reacting to her proximity. The car jolted slightly, signaling our entry into the tunnel. Darkness enveloped us, the only light coming from the dim glow of the car's dashboard. Asa leaned in, her lips finding mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, hungry and demanding.

I groaned, my hands moving to her hips, pulling her closer as she began to move, riding me like there was no tomorrow. Her breath hitched, her nails digging into my shoulders as she consumed me, her body moving in a frantic rhythm that matched the pounding of our hearts.

The tunnel was a symphony of sounds - the engine's hum, the construction's tap-tap-tap, our ragged breaths, and the soft, wet sounds of our bodies moving against each other. Asa's hands moved to the hem of her tank top, lifting it off her body swiftly. Her breasts, round and full, spilled out, her nipples hard and ready for my mouth.

I leaned down, capturing one of them, my tongue swirling around the hardening peak. Asa moaned, her hips moving faster, her body desperate for release. I could feel her, hot and wet around me, her body clenching tighter with each thrust. I switched to the other breast, my teeth grazing her nipple, making her gasp.

The car jostled again, the tunnel's construction creating unexpected bumps. Asa's body jerked, her nipple slipping out of my mouth. In my haste to reclaim it, my hand landed on the thin fabric of her tank top, ripping it in the process. Asa laughed, a throaty, wanton sound that went straight to my groin.

"I think you like destroying my clothes, Oppa," she teased, her fingers playing with the torn fabric.

"I think you like giving me reasons to," I countered, my hands moving to her breasts, my thumbs brushing against her nipples.

Asa's breath hitched, her body moving faster, her hips gyrating against me. I could feel the heat building in my core, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust. I moved my hands to her thighs, spreading them wider, pushing into her deeper. Asa moaned, her head tilting back, her hair cascading down her back.

The car hit a huge bump, and Asa's body spasmed, her orgasm ripping through her. I followed her over the edge, my body jerking as I filled her, my shaft pulsing with my release. The car emerged from the tunnel, the bright sunlight stinging our eyes, but all I could see was Asa, her body trembling with satisfaction, her eyes soft and loving.

"That was... intense," I said, my voice hoarse.

Asa smiled, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "It is, Oppa," she replied, her voice soft and sweet. And I knew, in that moment, that no matter what, our life would always be intense moving forward.

The sudden burst of daylight from the tunnel exit temporarily blinded us, but our bodies were still alight with the passion we'd ignited. As the car settled back onto the smooth road, I looked at Asa, her chest heaving, her nipples still hard and glistening from my mouth. I wanted more, needed more. I wanted to feel her lips wrapped around my shaft, wanted to hear the sounds she made as she took me in.

"Turn around," I commanded, my voice low and filled with desire. Asa's eyes widened, but she complied, quickly turning so that her head rested on my lap, her back pressed against the seat. I could feel the heat radiating from her, could feel her breath ghosting against my still-hard shaft.

"What are you going to do to me, Oppa?" she asked, her voice laced with anticipation. I smiled, my hands moving to her midriff, my thumbs tracing the curve of her belly.

"I'm going to worship you, Asa," I said, my voice filled with reverence. "I'm going to taste every inch of you."

Asa shifted slightly, her body twitching with anticipation. I started at her navel, my tongue dipping into the indentation, tracing the lines of her abs. Asa gasped, her body tensing as I moved lower, my lips kissing the soft skin just above her pelvis. I could feel her watching me, her eyes filled with desire and trust. I wanted to make this good for her, tried to make it unforgettable.

I moved my hands to her hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh as I lifted her slightly, positioning her so that her mouth was now level with my throbbing shaft. Asa looked at me, her lips parting slightly, and I almost came undone. She looked like a goddess, a temptress offering herself to me.

"Take me, Asa," I whispered, my voice harsh with desire. She leaned in, her tongue flicking out, licking the bead of pre-cum at my tip. I groaned, my hips jerking forward, seeking more. Asa smiled, her lips wrapping around my shaft, taking me in.

I nearly lost it. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue swirling around me, tasting me. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back and make this last. I moved my hands to her breasts, pinching her nipples, making her moan around my shaft. The vibrations sent shockwaves through me, and I had to grip her hips to steady myself.

I moved my mouth lower, my tongue diving between her folds, tasting her. She was sweet, like honey, her body hot and wet and eager for me. I slid my tongue into her, feeling her body clench around me. Asa's movements on my shaft faltered, her body tensing as I pleasured her. I felt a thrill at being able to bring her to the edge of oblivion with just my mouth.

Suddenly, Asa's body jerked, her mouth slipping off my shaft as she gasped. I looked up, following her gaze, and saw a truck approaching. The driver had his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock as he took in the scene playing out in the backseat of our car. Asa and I froze, our eyes locked with the driver's as the truck passed.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, Asa burst into laughter, her body shaking with mirth. "Did you see his face?" she giggled, her body shaking against mine. I chuckled, my hands moving to her thighs, gripping them tightly.

"Looks like we put on quite the show," I said, my voice filled with amusement. Asa looked at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Let's give him an encore," she said, her mouth wrapping around my shaft again, her hands gripping the base tightly. I groaned, my hips lifting, thrusting my shaft deeper into her mouth.

I was close, my body tensing as I felt the heat building in my core. I wanted to come on her, mark her as mine. I moved my hands to her belly, my fingers splayed out as I felt her body clench around mine. She pulled my shaft out of her mouth, my hand wrapping around it, pumping it furiously. Asa watched me, her eyes wide and eager, her tongue sticking out, ready to catch my release.

I came with a groan, my body jerking as I spilled my seed onto her belly, coating her skin with my warmth. Asa's tongue darted out, licking the cum from her lips, her eyes never leaving mine. I smiled, my hand moving to her thigh, spreading the rest of my release onto her skin.

When the truck driver passed us again, this time going the other way, I turned, catching his eye. He quickly looked away, but not before I saw the smile tugging at his lips. I winked at him, then turned back to Asa, my hands moving to her face, cupping her cheeks.

"I can’t believe a KPOP idol is mine," I whispered, my lips capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. And I knew, as we pulled away from each other, our bodies satiated and our hearts content, that this was just the beginning.

As the car pulled into the cabin's driveway, Asa and I looked at each other, silently understanding. Our taboo relationship was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

[nsfwlguess]

Power (Le sserafim Kazuha)

23.2k words

—————

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: Wit as 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!)

[nsfwlguess]

Ultraviolette

LE SSERAFIM Chaewon x M Reader

Tags: Smut

9k words

People don't come to parties like this to be themselves.

Not to be anyone, really.

The point—or the lack of one—is to let loose. To give in to feelings they'd swear don’t exist. Get stupid drunk and high. Make out with strangers in random hallways. In short: act like they've never heard the word "decency.” And the next morning? Drop it off like a temporary persona, head to work, and pretend nothing ever happened.

Heejin's taken it to heart, evidently.

“That girl definitely likes it rough,” she says, clicking her tongue. “Y’know—on her knees, mouth fucked senseless, head against the wall. Till she can’t feel her throat. Or anything.” She takes a sip from her straw—you don’t even want to know what’s in the drink. “And finish with slick dripping all over her.”

You stare at the speakers, bass thumping through the floor. “God, I wish they’d turn up the music just a bit. So I could go deaf. Permanently.”

Apparently, she’s already deaf, because: “Probably likes being called fuckslut when you fuck her up. Fuckslut or cumslut? Can’t decide which fits better.”

(Oh, and about forgetting nights like this. By morning—you'll be praying for that kind of luck.)

“Does the first thing you say about a stranger always have to be how they’re in bed?”

“Don’t be mistaken—there’s no bed involved. Just her knees on cold tiles, bathroom floor. Wall behind her.” She drains her glass, swirling the straw around. “I've never been wrong. Go ask her if you want.”

“Gee, and here I was thinking I’d start with a ‘What’s your name?’ sorta thing.” The blue lights swing around, catching you right in the eye. You flinch and raise a hand, squinting.

“Bow and call her queen while you’re at it,” Heejin mutters and drifts off towards the drinks table.

You exhale, shoulders sagging. Your fault for pointing the girl out to her in the first place. Should’ve known better.

Lonely Friday nights drive a man to dark places. In your case: a shitty party, where the only person you know is Heejin? That’s about as dark as it gets.

You came here begrudgingly, Heejin doesn’t hear “no” when it comes from you. And you were right: you were enjoying yourself exactly as much as expected. Not at all.

Until you saw her.

The girl.

You weren’t trying to notice her; she just kept appearing in your line of sight. A constant. And you’ll admit she’s nice to look at. Like now, the way she leans against the wall—glass dangling loose between her fingers, head tipped just right for the light to trace the curve of her throat.

She lifts the glass. The light follows—up, towards her face. A jolt: her hand trembles, nearly drops the glass. A faint pop, a subtle crack in the air, but she recovers quickly. As the light shifts away, so does the tension. And you're back in your head again:

Those lips, parted beneath your teeth. Her body, pinned and pliant against the wall—

Fingers tap your shoulder. You turn, Heejin’s back, a fresh refill of her poison in hand.

Ugh.

Sober Heejin is unbearable. A few glasses in? There’s a reason no one but you ever sticks around.

“No one ever told you staring's rude?” She sips through a new straw that takes several unnecessary detours on the path to her mouth.

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh. And I’ve been drinking tea all night,” she bites. “You sure you don’t wanna drink tonight?”

“No. I’m driving us home.”

“One glass won’t kill you. Here—I’ll ask AI if you like.” She pulls up her phone, holding the power button. “Hey Google, how many glasses before you can’t—”

You snatch it, switch it off, and shove it back in her purse. “I’m good.” You couldn’t care less about Heejin, or the drive home, or anything else she’s whining about. Your focus is elsewhere entirely.

A look back confirms it: the girl’s still there.

“I think she’s alone,” Heejin says, peeking over your shoulder. “Name’s Chaewon, by the way. A little birdie told me. Come on, let’s go talk. Maybe she’ll—”

You cut in: “Forget her. Wanna go dance?”

Why you asked is anyone's guess.

Maybe because you don’t want to keep imagining things you shouldn’t; shut down the reel playing in your head.

Maybe because even if you did talk up the girl—Chaewon, it wouldn’t be with Ms. No-filter, 5 drinks deep, as your wing-woman. Or anywhere in the same zip code, for that matter.

And when’s she ever taken no for an answer.

Heejin snorts, raising a brow. “I didn’t come here to dance with you.”

“I know, but I don’t see anyone hitting you up. And me, well.” You shrug. Needs no explanation.

“Didn’t think you’d like flailing around in that sweaty mess. But sure, if it floats your boat.”

She heads toward the crowd, and you trail behind. Chaewon’s disappeared now, nowhere in sight.

First order of business: ditch Heejin in the crowd.

The crowd swells as you step in. Bodies press in, the bass rattling in your chest. You lose track of where Heejin is in the mess. She was ahead of you, but now you think she’s somewhere behind?

On track so far.

You scan the edges, trying to spot Chaewon—but no luck. Just a swirl of backs and raised arms. Party lights slice through the dark, leaving flickers of blue and white on damp skin.

“Your moves suck,” a voice cuts in behind you. Heejin, unmistakable even over the thrum of the speakers.

Can’t catch a break tonight.

“Never claimed to be a dancer.” You turn to spot her shaking her hips, lifting her glass high like a trophy.

“Everyone’s got one in them. Just need a little encouragement.”

Before you can react, she tilts your chin up—her fingers cool against your sweat-warm skin—and brings her glass to your lips. She pours what’s left of it into your mouth in one swift motion.

The drink hits fast and sharp. Sharp, burning, with a hint of sweet. You burst out coughing, nearly stumbling as someone brushes past you. But you’ve swallowed most of it. Your throat’s on fire.

She grins, patting your back. “The shit I threw in it should give you a spine now.” Among other things, you'd fucking think.

“Fuck you,” you spit.

Just when you think the night’s tapped out on ways to fuck with you, a bead of sweat rolls down your neck when you see who’s right behind her.

Chaewon. Dancing. Alone.

Just hope to god she disappears before Heejin spots her. You throw your arms in the air and move, swaying to the pounding music.

“There we go,” Heejin says, amused. “Alcohol finally gave you a dancing bone.”

You keep your eyes locked on her. Try your best to hold her attention. Keep her gaze from drifting where it’s not needed. She holds your stare without looking away—surprisingly long.

Strange.

Then it hits you: she isn’t looking at you. She’s looking just over your shoulder. Small, but crucial difference.

You glance back, heart skipping.

See, the thing about crowds at parties is they’re never still: bodies shift, swirl, rotate—and the flow has just turned, perfectly, to line you up with her. The light spins around to land on her, and there she is: Chaewon, now right behind you. The blue light slides across her face, casting her features sharply.

Fuck.

Something else’s off, too. Her eyes quiver—not a blink, more a microquake—under the light, with a look on her face you can't quite attribute to any emotion you've known. A glitch is the only way you can put it. But that thought quickly drops in priority because—

Amusement slips into Heejin’s eyes as she pushes past you, heading straight towards her. To utter something totally fucked, no doubt.

“Heyyyy, beautiful.” Drags the y out like it’s for show. “I was just telling him. Do you prefer fuckslu—”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” You don’t even remember deciding to push Heejin; your hands moved before you could think. The last thing you see before the crowd swallows her up is her body tilting, on a collision course with the floor.

Good thing the tiles are hard.

The press of bodies returns, but there’s an opening now.

Chaewon, standing there in an expensive dress, looking at you with an expression that says both curious and you’re-fucked-in-the-head. Which, okay. Fair.

The light hangs on her longer than it should.

“Why are you wearing a dress like that? You’re classing this shithole up.”

“I was expecting a…” She looks around, lips parted, searching for the right phrase. “Different kind of party.”

“One with less physical violence?”

“You could say that.” Her lips curl slightly. “Not that I’m particularly averse to it.”

She says it casually—like a throwaway line, an obvious extension, an aside of no particular importance.

You should walk away. You know how this night ends—with you passing out in the middle of nowhere. And you know what this girl is: nothing but trouble, wrapped tight in a 5’4” package.

But—seeing her now. All dolled up, perfect makeup, a pretty one-shoulder dress. Hair pulled back neat with a band. Sticks out in the middle of a dirty party like a flame flickering in smoke. The dress hangs criminally low off the other shoulder, showing off smooth collarbones—delicate, catch-the-light sharp. It ends right where it should, too, exposing pale thighs you can already imagine your fingers sinking into.

Goddamn if that isn’t an attractive fucking package.

“She was insane, by the way. Batshit crazy. Had it coming for a while.” You wave a hand vaguely in the direction of where you sent Heejin spiraling.

Her shoulders drop in a shrug. “I didn’t say a thing. Are you convincing me or yourself?”

“You gave me a look.”

“Maybe. But I wasn’t the only one giving looks.”

It feels like another unholy cocktail was just poured down your throat; something sour twists in your gut. Oh, she’s got you. In the palm of her hand. In under a minute.

She’s a killer, that one.

“Shouldn't we find a better place to talk than dead center of the dance floor?”

She tilts her head, leaning in close. “Talking, is that what we're calling this?”

Honest hand to god, you don't even know what else this is.

Okay, maybe you’ve got some idea. Promises don’t count at parties. Not when the girl in front of you looks like that. Or something.

“Whatever it is.” You catch her wrist, pull her close—a sharp elbow slices through where she just stood. “Not the place.”

See, humans have definitions: a set of principles, rules. Little lines in the sand that make each identity (or the illusion of one) unique. Without those, people blur into each other. Everyone becomes one.

These definitions change, evolve over time. You're not who you were a year ago, or even yesterday, before you walked into Heejin’s room without knocking. (That’s one you’ll remember alright: always knock.)

One such definition you've carved from experience: nights like this—shady party, girl you’ve never talked to before and probably never will again—are never a good idea. It's a drink; alcohol, a numbing of something deeper. And when the high fades, the weight inside just settles heavier.

So you swear it off. No more drinks. Not a drop.

But what if a glass of scotch worth more than you'll make in a year—the kind you'd ruin just by holding—shows up? Yours to do with as you wish.

Oh, ruin it, you will.

Scene cuts. Fast-forward a few minutes. A secluded, dark corner; somehow, there's still one left that doesn’t reek of sex layered over alcohol and sweat. You're on your way to fix that problem.

The reel plays again, bolder now: your hands in her hair, hers all over your body. Lips sealed, your mouth tugging at her bottom lip, tongue teasing, teeth hovering just close enough to threaten a bite.

Except it’s not in your head anymore.

The scent of alcohol is sharp on her breath, but it only adds to her charm; luxure, if you will. Besides, with whatever toxins Heejin force-fed you, you’re probably not doing much better. Not that Chaewon seems to care, not when her dainty fingers are skating across your crotch, feeling your hardening response in real time.

Which is why it’s so jarring when she pulls back to ask, soft and almost playful: “What was she going to tell me?”

You shake your head, clear the static. “What?”

“Your friend?” She raises a brow; you give a reluctant nod. “Was telling me something before you football-tackled her. Just curious what it was.”

“You don't wanna know,” is all you manage.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I'm asking because I do wanna know.”

“And I'm telling you that you don't.”

She grabs your hand and presses your palm to the inside of her thigh, her skin cold against your fingers. Then she slides it up her curve, squeezing tighter with each inch.

“Look, we don’t even know each other’s names,” she reasons. You can find a better time to tell her that’s not completely true. “Just thought I heard something I liked.”

She squeezes again, like that’s supposed to make you more likely to give in. Which, okay. Fair.

“She was narrating a porn script. About how you’d be in bed.”

Chaewon raises her fingers in a little camera-cut rectangle, framing her own face in the center.

“Huh, interesting.” Her lips quirk. “Give me the screenplay.”

You didn't think it was possible to meet someone more fucked in the head than Heejin, but clearly, you were wrong.

“Starts with you on your knees,” you begin.

“Classic,” she says.

And you go on: ”You’re looking up at me with those pretty doe eyes, in nothing but a black bra and panties. Drool at the corner of your mouth, begging for my cock.”

She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “Begging, how?”

“Well, you know… all desperate, maybe,” you offer.

“Please,” Chaewon murmurs in the filthiest tone she can manage, “stuff your thick cock in my mouth. I can’t live without it.” Her eyelashes flutter a faux pout. “Something like that?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, something like that.”

“Continue.”

“Faced with begging that persuasive, I’d have to give in, right?”

Her palm presses firm against your crotch. “Obviously. Suspension of disbelief can only go so far.”

“So I wrap my hand around the back of your head, clutching your hair. In the movie, you like it rough. I push your mouth onto my cock in one go, make you swallow all of it.”

She bites her lip. “In the movie?”

“Uh-huh.” You gulp, flicking through your mind for more. “In the movie.”

She helps: “What about the camerawork? A nice angle of the spit dripping down to my tits would add texture.”

“A visual of said tits would help first.” Your hands snake back to her dress's zipper. “Bathroom? Anyone could walk in on the shoot here.”

Chaewon shrugs, lazy and amused. “Wherever you want. I don't care.”

One more cut. This one runs longer. Finding a bathroom at a party without puke all over it is about as hard as you’d expect, but you manage.

“Like I was saying—visual.” You bring down the zipper in one smooth go, and her dress falls to a puddle at her feet. There’s something ironic about a classy dress crumpled on a grimy bathroom floor, but no one’s here for the symbolism. Not your department.

Her boobs present themselves, perky and tight. The soft, creamy bits spilling from her bra make you want to lean in, nibble already. Her nipples are taut, showing faintly through the red fabric. You slide a lazy finger over one, brushing the nub.

“Good enough?” She tilts your chin up to meet her eyes.

“That works. More than, actually.”

Let your palm wrap around her boob, a mere thin cloth preventing skin contact, and squeeze—a soft moan escapes her lips.

“So, what's next?” Her tongue slips out and runs over her lip.

“Where were we? Oh yeah, the angle of spit dripping down onto your red bra—”

“Wasn't it black?” she cuts in, impatiently tapping her fingers on her thigh.

“Was it?”

“Last you said, yeah. Can't have continuity errors.”

“Definitely not. Post-production’ll have to take care of that.”

A flick of movement draws your eyes downwards—her fingers already slipped under her panties, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. Soft, wet sounds rise as her fingers slide against her pussy.

“What? Couldn't wait for the scene where we fuck?”

“You're stuck on the blowjob intro for half a fucking hour,” Chaewon snaps. “God forbid a girl gets herself off.”

“I wasn't the one pointing out continuity errors in a porno.” You blink.

“Can't we skip to a part where you eat me out or something?”

“No can do. Script says blowjob, then fucking.”

She sighs. “Of course, made for a specific gaze.”

“Maybe. But the director's strict on the vision. No going off-script.”

“Sounds very pretentious. Nobody likes pretentious movies.”

“Only if they don’t pull it off. And, well, after a while—when you see the filth people clap for, it's hard to take their opinions seriously.”

She exhales, amused. “Then at least get a move on.” With a quick twist of her hair, she drops to the floor.

“It was very specific about having you against a wall.” You take her wrist and guide her to the sink, pressing her down to her knees.

Just her knees on cold tiles, bathroom floor. Wall behind her.

First, she gets your zip undone, and you help her slide your pants and underwear down.

She spends a couple of seconds just looking. Not stroking, licking, slurping—all that will come in due time. For a few moments, her eyes stay locked on your cock like it’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

Her fingers wrap around your base. She spits—a sharp, wet sound—then uses her palm to smear it over your length, slow, firm strokes from tip to base, then back again.

Not wanting to miss out, her other palm slides up your thigh, grazing your balls. It’s gentle; massaging softly as she continues stroking you up and down.

Chaewon—her dress crumpled beside, in underwear too expensive for a setting like this—is someone who shouldn’t be sucking you off in a dimly lit party restroom, blown speakers pounding stupid bass through the walls.

But that’s exactly what she does next: parts her glossy lips, swallowing your tip first, her tongue flicking out to lap along your length. You trail a finger down her cheek, down the delicate line of her throat.

She’s one of those modern artworks—the kind that actually looks like art—marked Do Not Touch. But you’ll touch anyway. You let your fingers rest right at the hollow of her throat, cradling it between your index and middle fingers.

You tug her upward slightly, and her pupils dart up at you as she slobbers around your tip. She’s agonizingly slow, dragging her tongue in lazy licks, lathering you up even more. She keeps her gaze locked on yours, mouth working leisurely, her plush, pillowy lips rubbing all over your head.

Agonizingly slow. You’ve waited long enough. Your hand tightens in her hair, and you push her mouth down onto your cock. She’s the one who wanted to get a move on—it’s alright.

Chaewon’s mouth is soft and warm. Wetter than you could ever imagine. Drool spills down the corners, streaking her chin, smudging her makeup. Her tongue flattens and swirls around you. Eager. Precise.

You grip the sides of her head and press her upright against the wall, angling just right to thrust into that warm, tight hole.

It’s hard to tell with how busy they are multitasking right now, but you swear you catch the faintest curl of a smile on those spit-slicked lips. Oh, she’s planned this alright. Planned to get that cute little mouth fucked senseless. And who are you to deny her?

Her eyes flutter shut the first time you push, your tip pressing into the back of her throat. A sharp gag—but she steadies herself with one hand on your thigh.

She tilts her head back slightly, sinking deeper and deeper into the feeling of having her mouth fucked. Her fingers slip back below, a trail of slick stretching all the way to where the dress lies on the floor. How’s that for recurring symbolism.

Oh, it’s distinctly pornographic how she rubs circles under her panties while her mouth is getting thoroughly used. Those eyes tightly shut as she gives you moans that only grow louder—vibrating all over your cock. You'll give her artistic credit for that one.

There's already slick dripping down from your cock to your balls, but she's not satisfied with it. Not when she uses a free hand to catch the spit spilling from her chin and uses it to rub your balls, all soft and fondling. Like it’s the most important thing right now that you're properly pleasured.

You’ll give her credit for all of that.

Her knees shuffle around on the cold floor, one hand bracing against the sink, adjusting her height so that it's convenient for your cock to keep thrusting into her mouth.

An interruption: the set lighting gets dodgy. The yellow bulb behind you dims further—then stutters. Chaewon’s eyes glaze, a thin film rolls over her pupils as her face freezes momentarily.

You pause, getting on the floor beside her to ask what’s wrong. She blinks twice, says she’s okay, and once the light steadies, she’s back to leaning against the wall like nothing happened. And asks you to fuck her again. That, you'll do.

You’re lucky the thrum of the speakers makes it impossible to hear anything, with the rising sounds of a number of things—moans from the pair of you, wet, filthy gargles of your cock in her mouth, and the slick noise of her fingers on cunt.

You find your rhythm—faster pumps—and Chaewon matches it.

“You wanted this all along, didn’t you?” You tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes on you again. “Wanted to get your—”

Another push deep inside, her nose brushing against your waist, before you pull back to thrust again. “—mouth fucked by me till my cum is all over you.”

All she can give in response is a moan tinged with indignation—it’s crystal clear what the accusation is: as if you didn’t.

Her fingers rub faster, leaving you with no option but to match her pace. By now, she's basically using her pussy as throttle; speed control for how fast she wants to be fucked, knowing you'll follow without hesitation.

And when she drives it up to 11, there's no way you're lasting much longer.

“Fuck—Chaewon, I'm going to cum,” you tell, and she nods with a vigor that can only mean that she’s right there with you.

A soft pop, and she pulls her mouth off, lips glistening. Her palm takes over, stroking you with the same relentless pace, the tip hovering just over her face. Driving you closer to your edge—“do it on me,” she says, breathless, and you're not about to argue.

Those soft thighs clench—a trembling mess—on the floor, lips curling into an ‘O’ as she moans, louder than you thought was humanly possible. It gets completely drenched, her panties leak and spill a visible wetness on the tiles. That's when you release too.

Thick streaks land all across her face—cheeks, lips, hair. Her mouth, open and waiting, catches a good few too.

She smiles, panting, as her tongue flicks out to taste more from her cheeks. You collapse next to her on the ground, leaning against the wall. Spent.

“Tell Heejin the script feels screen ready,” she breathes.

The dim yellow light spreads softly across her hair, casting long shadows on her face—hiding, blurring her features—as she leans back with you, dazed. Cock-drunk dazed.

You can mark “getting a room to smell like sex” as done.

Another cut: the cleanup is of little interest. You also dumped your thoughts about definitions on her while helping wash her hair off. It was kind of an accident; you don't really want to talk about it.

Once you're done and the tap’s turned off, the bathroom settles into an eerie quiet. Sure, the party music still thumps faintly in the background. But it’s just that: background. Second nature now. What matters are the layers above it. And those are gone—until her dress, crumpled in the corner, starts buzzing like her juices just brought it to life.

“Look,” you say, “I thought we had a symbolism thing going on with the dress, but this is taking it too far.”

She brings her dress over to where you're sitting—a couch make-shifted out of a bathroom tub: you on the corner, her on the floor. You weren't the one who suggested this particular seating arrangement, but you’ll surely accept it.

“Relax. There’s a phone in it. Thought it was dead already, though. Dress with pockets—greatest invention of the 21st century.”

“Think the 20th century already got there. Probably even earlier.”

“You’ll be fun at parties.” Her eyes flick through her screen.

“I’d actually be a little offended if you don’t think that after all this.”

She closes her phone and puts it back in, shaking her head. “It’s a news notification.”

“Why don’t you turn those off?”

“Never bothered learning how to. Staying away from the settings app is one of my definitions.” The last word she says in a cheeky tone you're not sure you're a fan of.

“You don't have to use that word,” you offer, sheepish.

“I like it. I want to say it.” There's a twinkle in her eyes—sarcasm dressed up as something nice, you’d guess. “What's the story behind it?”

“Don't know. Found it gives me some semblance of a structure,” is what you'll say, and she'll believe you.

“That's no fun.” Maybe not agree, but she'll believe you.

You nod to the phone. “What breaking news was so important it had to interrupt our post-sex-pre-aftercare session?”

“Guess. If you get it in 2 tries, you can have my dress.”

“Why in the hell would I want your dress?” Never mind the part where she’d have to walk home naked. That's her problem.

“You were practically worshipping it earlier.”

“Doesn't mean I wanna keep it.”

Chaewon sharply taps her wrist. “Time's ticking.”

“I dunno. Two politicians having a dick measuring contest? Planet’s still on fire?”

“Our grandchildren will be married to…” She pauses, hoping for some show of interest. When it’s clear she's not getting any, she continues: “AI, apparently.”

“Like bots with AI?”

“The whole shtick. Marriage licenses and all.”

You scoff. “Yours won’t have to, with those genes. Mine might.”

“Not if I have any say in it,” she blurts, then looks down immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing. Would you marry an AI?”

“I’m not clinically insane, so no.”

“Why not? Imagine your favorite food cooked fresh, anytime you want. Can do a lot of things girls can’t.” It’s kind of hilarious the first thing she wants from a partner is instant food. Or worse: that she thinks you would.

“And girls can do a lot of things AI can’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like being able to kiss me without tasting like silicon.”

“Depends on what she’s been drinking.”

“Or not collapsing when she runs out of compute.”

“Humans need sleep, too.” Her hands pick up the rubber ducky next to you. “For what it's worth, I'd marry a bot. AI-powered fucking would go so hard.”

“What—I wasn't good enough?”

“You were. But not AI-optimized.” She squeezes the ducky on your face—squeak. The image is ridiculous.

“You're like, disqualified to be a human being.” You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Do you even think before saying stuff?”

“All my decisions are well thought out.”

“Like wearing that dress to this shithole?”

“Probably made it so hot for you.”

“Fluke,” you wave it off.

“I stick to it,” she volleys back. “What if I’m a bot? You wouldn’t even know.”

Your hand brushes the line of her neck—soft, sharp. As your finger drifts lower, she reaches behind and unhooks her bra with a snap. It slips off and lands on the tub floor. She takes your hands and presses against herself, filling both palms with her boobs.

“Well?” she asks. “What’s the conclusion?”

“If you’re a bot, whoever made you deserves a hell of a raise.”

She laughs. “All me, darling. Self-replicating AI.”

“Some human would have had to start you.”

“After enough copies, does that matter? For all practical purposes, I'm the maker of myself,” she says, indignant. Like you're robbing her of credit she's earned fair and square.

“That's like saying the mom's the only parent because it's been nine months since the dad was involved.” You grab the ducky from her hand and squeeze it in her face. It makes a different sound for you. Deeper, a little ragged.

“No, it's like saying your great-great-grandfather doesn't count—because you probably don't even know his name.” She snatches the ducky back and presses it again; her old sound returns. Her head tilts, trying to make sense of it.

“So somewhere along the way, the start stops mattering.”

“Like somewhere along tonight, you stopped resisting and gave in. After that, didn't matter what you were before.” Her hands shift grip, closer to how you held it. Your version of the sound comes out.

“You didn't have to point that out.”

“I know.” Her lips curl into a smile, little puzzle solved. “I just wanted to, it's like a modern version of Ship of Theseus.”

“How so?”

“I mean, how far can you replace and reinvent until the original just doesn’t matter? Same dilemma, new packaging.” She tosses the ducky aside, irrelevant now.

You squint an eye. “I can kinda see it.”

“Maybe I’m reaching,” she adds, softer.

“This whole night's been reaching.” You throw your head back against the wall.

“Cheers to that.” She lifts an imaginary glass and clinks it gently against yours, just as invisible. “I could go for a drink.”

“Drink me.”

“Any more and I'll be less me and more you.” A flicker in her tone; something undiscernible.

“What's even you?”

Her voice tightens. “What do you mean?”

“We've been talking a while, and all you've done is play one role or the other. Porn muse. AI evangelist.”

“Isn't that what everyone does, play roles?” She forms a little circle with her thumb and index finger, spinning it through the air in slow motion.

“Maybe. But I think I know less of you now than before we met. And what gang signs are you throwing?”

“You've not been paying attention. I’m swirling my glass,” she says, mock-offended. “It’s almost empty—go fetch me a refill.”

“Enough pussyfooting. I want to know the real you.” You mime grabbing her glass and smashing it against the tub. “Surely you don’t talk in riddles 24/7.”

“Ouch.” She rubs her hand, as if something stung her. “Seriously, I’ve been real all night. I'm an open book, ask whatever you want.”

You pause for a second, thinking. “What do you… do for work?”

She snorts, like that question personally insulted her. “Come on. That’s like, the worst way to get to know someone.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You used a nice word earlier: definitions. You think the least interesting part of someone's day is one of those?”

“That's the part that keeps you alive.”

“But the rest is what you stay alive for.”

“Not everyone hates their job.”

“Not the point.” She crosses her legs, resting her hand on her knee. “It’s an obligation; would you do those eight hours if there wasn’t a paycheck waiting?”

“No,” you admit. “I have to meet metrics at my job.”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “These metrics, would anyone give a shit about them in a vacuum?”

“Maybe it’s not a definition, more of a side effect.”

“Yeah. And even if the passion’s there—buried under all that overhead—there's better ways to reach it than that question.”

“Try this on for size: you like parties?”

She smiles. “Do you?”

“You said I could ask anything.”

“You can—and I’ll answer. But you first.”

“Not really,” you tell. “People act like decency’s optional the second the lights go out.”

“That much was clear the moment I saw you.”

Unnecessary pretense, you think. “Then why ask?”

“Curious how you’d frame it. You chose to put the blame outside. And if I may, we're not being so decent ourselves.” Chaewon dramatically motions to the various states of undress you two are in.

“My bad for asking.”

“Not a dig. Just saying—this actually says something.”

“Point taken. So I asked, and I haven't gotten anything out of you yet.”

“Parties are okay.” She unhooks the handshower from the handle and points it at her wrist, thoughtful. “But I could do without the striking lights.”

“Really? You seemed fine out there.”

A soft breath. “Not paying attention isn’t new to you, is it?”

“That one’s a dig.”

“Not really. Not being hyper-aware isn't a character flaw. Most people aren't.”

“Yeah, not everyone’s wired like you, huh?” Your case is only helped by the way she's fixated with the shower head streaming water at her wrist.

“You can put it that way, but I'm not sure you're anyone’s poster child for normal either.” Her other hand lands on your thigh, as if to ground you from any delusions.

You’ll kick yourself in the shin every time you remember you told her about definitions.

She poses: “My turn. You like your friend?”

“What do you mean—like?” You raise a brow, suspicious.

“As in, like them as a person. Not in a funny way—just, you think they're cool. Sort of.”

“Heejin’s fucking intolerable. At times. Most of the time.”

“Why hang out with her then?”

“Dunno. She's my friend. You don't ditch your friends just because they're annoying.”

“You totally can, actually,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I have, plenty of times.”

“Yeah, who am I kidding—I probably have too.” You point the shower down, and water spills onto her legs, sliding past her ankles on the way out. Somewhat of a ritual. Just not a clean one. Chaewon’s probably the kind to think none of them are.

A ritual needs some truths too, and you'll supply them: “But it’s not all bad. She dragged me out to this party, and now I'm here. Would probably be holed up with a movie otherwise.”

“Doesn't sound too bad. That's my preferred way of spending Friday nights, too.”

“Why here, then?”

“Active effort to put myself out there—whatever that's supposed to mean.” She exhales sharply. “Thought I’d done enough of that in college.”

“If you did, you wouldn't have to now.”

“Well, enough for me. Couldn't be arsed to do more.”

“Fair,” you offer, soft. “Was expecting your question to be how I knew your name.”

“Saw Heejin talking to the only person I knew here earlier. Wasn't too hard to figure out.” She flips through the shower settings, going through her post-sex-pre-aftercare-waterplay-ritual in different flavors. “Besides, would've been a little hypocritical of me. After that whole rant on bad questions.”

“Don't like getting caught being two-faced?”

She shifts on the floor slightly. “Nobody does. I'd like to think I'm consistent.”

“Sure. Though you can never know that for a fact.”

“Says who?”

“God—”

Chaewon cuts in: “He isn't telling me anything.“

“Gödel.”

“Who? Actually—scratch that, don't wanna know.” She raises her palm at you, like a stop sign.

“That won’t make it any less applicable to you.”

“Uh-huh,” she says and squints her eyes at you, considering if your next words are worth the trouble. “Fine, I'll bite. Who is it?”

“A math—guy. Proved no system can show itself to be consistent (among other tragic facts about math; they hated him). If math can't know it’s consistent, what luck do you have?”

“Shoot for the stars, land on the moon. Yada yada.”

“Wasn't it the other way around?” You glance at the wall—squiggly green patterns ripple across a blue background. “Shoot for the moon, land on the stars.”

She shakes her head. “That doesn't even make sense—the moon’s closer.”

“A lot of sayings don't make sense.” You point the water towards your own feet. The soft flow on skin feels quite relaxing.

“Like what?”

“Like… rules were meant to be broken. I think that's the last thing the folks making the rules had in mind.”

Her lips curl into a half-smile. “You're breaking your own rules by being here.”

The water suddenly turns harsh. “Thanks for the second reminder.”

“Your turn—go.” She flicks the nozzle, switching it to a concentrated burst—no warning.

You flinch, fling the head away, and kill the tap. “You know what? I think we should get going.” You don't think that—not yet—but two can play the game of saying things just for the reaction.

“It was just starting to get fun.” Her lips pull into a fake pout.

“You'd say that.”

“You’re dying to ask something,” she clocks. “Go on.”

You grip the tub edge, moving around a bit. “Did you actually, uh, mean what you said earlier?” you mumble.

“Darling, I said a lot of things tonight.”

“About being into physical violence.”

“Oh god, no,” she says. “That was a little two-for-one special: say something clever and fuck with you a little. Couldn't pass it up.” That twinkle in her eye is back again; you hate it.

“You should be careful going around saying stuff like that,” you warn.

“I know who to say it to. The kind that’d flinch harder than myself.”

As if right on cue, the light behind you flickers again—hitting her right in the eye. She flinches—barely. A jerk you can miss if you blink. Her eyes quiver for a split second, teetering between shut and just open.

You raise a hand, shielding her eyes. She freezes. Only when the light settles do you lower it.

“Could barely tell it affected you, to be honest,” you admit.

“I've had practice. Only changed my reaction on the outside, though.”

“Let’s switch places.” You get up and offer her a hand. “It’s worse on your side, when it happens.”

“We don’t need to.”

“Just come here.” You grab her hand, palm and fingers smooth against yours—cold to the touch—and she stands up. After helping her to the tub's edge, you drop to the floor. “You could raise a hand, block it, y’know?”

“How would I have practice then?” Chaewon pauses for a second. “It’s not worth it.”

“Lights always do that to you?”

The tub floor is gross, you think about pointing it out—but she's been sitting on it for the better part of the night without any complaints. So you keep it to yourself.

“Ever since I remember.” Her gaze wanders up behind you. “Went to a doctor once. Got some tests done. Said it’s inherent and just something I should avoid,” she says without missing a beat. Like a script, rehearsed—an actress playing her part. Not too well, not too convincing; you can’t buy in totally yet. It’s a written line, meant to be heard, maybe even pitied. But to be believed, it needs more practice. Or less.

“None of that’s true, is it?”

“It's partly true. That’s the trick.”

“Which part?”

“I did go to a doctor. And they did say there’s nothing they can do about it.” A darkness pools in her eyes.

“So it wasn't always there.”

“No.”

“Since when?” you press.

For the first time all night, her replies aren’t so quickfire. “It’s not that interesting,” just doesn’t have the same wit; the cleverness you’ve gotten used to.

“You wanted good questions. This feels like a definition; the making of one.”

“It’s really not,” she insists.

You'll try a hail-mary: “You know another, timeless packaging of Ship of Theseus? Lying about yourself—so well, so long—you forget who you were to begin with.” You lean back, giving her space to think. “When do you reach that point?”

She stares at you blankly. A pause, a sigh, and then:

“You know you’re kind of an asshole, right? I used to like them, actually. The lights. My family thought I was nuts.” She laughs, dry—there’s no humor in it. “But they didn't mind it too much; it helped me sleep. At our old place, when I was young. I used to lie on my bed at night, watching the lights flickering from sirens through the window.

The sirens used to zoom past, lights entering one way—draping my room in a faint blue—and leaving from the other, as fast as they came. Used to have the best fun counting them, too. See, life was just that simple back then. But I could never get past 40 without falling asleep.”

“Of course,” she adds, quieter, “that was before that night. When the blue sirens just kept going. Crossed 40, and I got so excited. Clutched the pillow so hard it almost tore—I’d never made it that far. It kept going. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. My heart picked up with the numbers.”

A small, uneasy shock crawls up her legs—they start shaking.

“Then I realized they’d stopped at our house.”

A piercing banging on the door interrupts whatever she was going to say next.

“Occupied?” shouts a sharp, annoying voice. “Ugh. Just puke and fucking weirdos jacking off in here, I swear.”

“Is that—” Chaewon starts.

You finish: “Yeah. Heejin herself, in the flesh. Who else could it be?”

She presses her palm to her forehead. “My head's spinning. I’m getting dizzy.”

“You okay? Need some water?” The pupils in her eyes go grey, and slowly go deeper in the white. “Or meds?” you add, concerned.

“No, no, I’ll be fine.” Her voice says otherwise—faint, fraying. Like she’s losing control of herself. “I just thought—the headaches were quiet for a while.”

“You’ve had them before?”

She nods, slow. “Headaches—noises—visions. I need to leave.”

“I'll come with you,” you say, and her eyes dart up at you, an uneasy look surfacing. “Till you're okay, if you'd like.”

A soft breath escapes her lips. “Alright… thanks.”

“If I don’t hear a response, I’m kicking the door down,” Heejin barks from outside.

“Is she gonna be a problem?” Chaewon picks up her dress from the floor, trying to straighten it out.

You grip her shoulder, steadying. “Get dressed, okay? I’ll deal with her.”

Your fingers graze the doorknob. One last look behind.

Her hands are gripping her head tightly, knees drawn in. Curling inward, like she wants to disappear. Unfortunately for her, she’s still here…

Closing the door behind you, you step back into the filth of the party on its last few breaths. The bathroom, somehow, felt cleaner. Music’s back to head-pounding loud; you miss the softer hum inside.

Heejin’s eyes widen on seeing you. “Thank fuck. I was looking—”

“What do you want?” you ask, words rushing out.

“What were you doing in there?” She squints, suspicious.

You let out a long sigh. “I was with her.”

“So I was right all along—bathroom floor, knees, everything—”

“Whatever you want, make it quick.”.

“Someone fucking smashed my car’s rear view mirror. We need to leave.”

“Then go, take the car and go. What the hell are you calling me for?”

She takes a step back. “You’re a dick. I came with you. Figured I should be the one getting you back.”

“No. Tell the truth: you’re too fucking drunk to drive.”

Heejin presses her lips together, frowning. “What are you being such an dick for?”

“Because Chaewon’s—sick. In there.” You jab a finger over your shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“In where?” She leans in to look past you, brows furrowing.

“In…” You turn around to find—

The bathroom door hangs wide open, creaking. Your eyes sweep the room—tub, sink, toilet, floor—there’s nobody inside.

There’s nobody inside.

One last cut: It's something you’d rather forget. (You can't.) You roam the dance floor, hallways, drinks tables; they’re all dead—of what, you're not quite sure. Searching.

Music's replaced by a high, unbearable ringing. Lights burn brighter, sharper, piercing—you can feel them enter your eyes. Yes, they enter from your eyes, boring through the soft flesh of your brain, then drilling a hole through your skull on the way out. If you place a hand behind you, you swear you can catch it in your palm and stop the light—but you're wrong; it cuts through your hand, too. 

You can't stop it.

People look different, look like nobody. Faces—aren't. Faces aren't—anything. The lights turn every expression into the same; everyone looks like everybody. But none of them are the one you're searching for: hers.

The only one you wanna see. The only one missing.

This is the longest cut of them all. Time stretches, snaps, folds. You couldn’t put a number to it if you tried. All you know is: it’s long.

It ends out on the lawn, between wet, scrunching blades of grass.

Sit down and look up. There are no lights here; not for others, that is. But in your eyes, they're more striking than ever. Dancing in the front of your eyes when open, etching themselves in the back of your eyelids when closed—you have no escape, no solace. They’ve made themselves home, manifesting vivid shades of the feelings curled deep in the folds of your mind. If anything, the visions have to be them. If anything.

Someone did say the color of dread is blue.

They’ll be your stars tonight; they’ll be your muse—what you look at to feel things you can’t elsewhere. A cocktail of emotions—mostly dark, base being a stunning flavor of regret.

If you did a post-mortem, you’d trace it back to the first mistake: coming to this party. You'll need to do some re-defining—stop listening to Heejin’s suggestions. Fuck it, maybe push her out of your life once and for all. You knew this night was a bad idea.

Ask her and she'll say you're living life like a lunatic, chained to your concepts. (About that? She might be right.)

The second misstep: breaking your own rule. Maybe it was the drink forced on you; maybe she was so magnetic that man-made barriers stopped mattering. But something, something, made you lose control. Like Chaewon said. She was right: she said a lot of things. Deflections, quick wit, smoke and mirrors. Until the first time she said something strange.

She'll be less her and more you. What if the reverse was true, too?

The excuses can go on. So, when you wake up tomorrow, cut out the part that said it's okay to break your definitions, because that's what started this. Make that a definition.

But—if you were willing to break one definition… there's nothing stopping you from breaking another.

Then what? Make a new one? Swear it'll hold? Swear you will?

You can draw one more line in the sand. You'll end up watching yourself step over it.

If you can break one, you can break them all. The underlying assumption doesn't hold.

It's not consistent. Not anymore.

It has collapsed.

And whatever you’ll face is punishment for the same.

—

“Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect, he ceases to love.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

To be continued.

Part 1 of definitions - Ultraviolette

—

Heejin’s bloodshot eyes stay locked ahead, her palm clenched around the top of the steering wheel. A glance at the cracked rearview mirror—there’s a police car tailing, signaling her to pull over. She groans loud, annoyed, and steers to the side.

The cruiser stops behind her. A cop steps out, mutters something under his breath, and trudges up to her car.

“I swear I’m not drunk,” she protests as she rolls the window down. “I wasn’t even supposed to be driving. I had a partner—he just disappeared. And I spent a fucking fortune financing this car. I’m not leaving it at a party where it'll get trashed six ways to hell by tomorrow morning,” she finishes, flippant.

The officer reaches into his bag to pull out a breathalyzer. “Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to blow into this.”

It takes roughly three warnings. Each one a little sharper: “Last chance. Refusal to take the test will result in arrest and license suspension—I need you to breathe into this now.”

Only then does she sigh, roll her eyes, and finally blow into the device.

Nothing is said when the machine blinks with the result; he just flashes her the screen. She doesn't understand the numbers, but the implication’s obvious. So she sighs again, and steps out of the car.

A cold breeze stirs her hair. She turns—nearby, a woman hurries past, head low. Deliberately hidden, like she's trying not to be there. Which, of course, only draws Heejin’s attention more. The way she's dressed doesn't help.

A soft, elegant—though slightly crumpled—dress hangs off one shoulder, flowing down to her knees. It looks familiar. Heejin’s definitely seen it before. Where exactly? She’s too drunk to recall.

Tucked in the dark corner of the street, a phone booth sits waiting. Behind it, a shop. Or at least, what she thinks is a shop. A sign reads Sweet Decorations.

But there’s no cashier. No counter. In fact, there's only one shelf standing between the place being a shop—or just an empty room. All the walls are glass, the door too—like it’s saying: look at me, I’ve got nothing to hide.

The light inside is a dim, sterile white. It's not flickering; steady, actually—but it feels like it might go out any second and take the shop with it. It's been on too long. Far too long.

The shelf is clear, like everything else. Just big enough for two teddy bears. Still in plastic. Unused.

Her eyes dart back to the phone booth. It’s occupied now. The woman slips a coin into the receiver, dials a number, and presses the phone to her cheek—gripping it like she’d die if she let go.

One ring, two.

Two slim fingers lift from the receiver, brushing her hair back. For a moment, a sliver of her face is visible—before the strands fall forward again.

Heejin catches a glimpse—and lurches forward. She tries to run to her, but the cop’s hand clamps down hard on her shoulder, locking her in place.

“Hey—you,” she shouts into the wind.

Three, four.

The next motion unfolds in three acts, but feels like one, really:

Chaewon’s grip on the phone slowly loosens, till it slips from her grasp and is en route to a free fall to the floor. The cord is too long to matter.

Her eyelids flutter, and she collapses into a heap on the floor, cheek pressed flush against the cold concrete.

The phone hits the ground—a blunt thud. It rattles once, twice, then settles right beside her ear. She stares into the distance; eyes—lifeless.

Five, six.

An ambulance has been dispatched to your approximate location. Please look for the blue sirens.

—

[nsfwlguess]

not that it really matters, but what’s your take on Chaewon’s boobs authenticity?

because it looks fake, but also looks too small to be fake which leads me to believe that it could be just her natural boob.

this is just one of those great mysteries in the k-pop world that intrigues me so much because of how inconsistent it is.

verdict?

Okay, detective time:

I've always been on the side that they're not fake, even though its fun to meme about. Because like you said, if she got a boobjob, where are they?

Now, this is the picture that started all this—exhibit A if you will. I've cropped it for easier viewing, and if you zoom in you can see something that resembles a "scar".

But—it's in a strange location and it seems to only be on one side. And if we look at this fancam it doesn't even seem to be very visible there, nor it is it here in this other pic- granted not the best quality or angle.

Also, this was their debut showcase, so it's entirely possible that this was spread around as a kind of "gotcha, bitch" to shit on her/the group.

And that's the only time that has ever been visible—only that picture, only that outfit, only on that date as far as I know.

That's not to say she still hasn't had any work done, and it's entirely possible she opted for something more subtle if she did. But they also seem to have an alice in wonderland-esque growth change so who even knows at this point.

tldr; Chaewon titty nice. Thanks the fun ask <3

[nsfwlguess]

BETTER THAN HER

stepmom!Jihyo x Male Reader feat. Yunjin

Tags: cheating, titfucking, teasing, cum on tits, sloppy blowjob

AN: Sorry for the slow uploads! I've been continuously writing stories!

You thought it would be a normal weekend. Yunjin, your girlfriend of nearly a year, had finally decided it was time to introduce you to her mom. You were nervous—who wouldn’t be? She rarely talked about her, and when she did, there was this vague edge to her tone… like she didn’t want to get too deep.

But none of that prepared you for Jihyo.

The door opened, and she stood there in a silky wine-colored blouse that showed just enough cleavage to confuse you, her pencil skirt hugging wide hips that swayed with casual dominance. Her makeup was subtle but flawless, her eyes sharp and assessing.

“You must be him,” she said, smiling in a way that felt like she already knew too much.

You swallowed and bowed slightly, mumbling a polite greeting. Jihyo tilted her head, eyes raking up and down your body—slow, deliberate, and definitely not motherly.

The three of you sat in the living room, wine glasses in hand. Yunjin was curled into your side, chatting excitedly about university life. You tried to focus on her, on the familiar comfort of her voice and her hand on your thigh.

But Jihyo… her gaze never left you.

She sat across, legs crossed with a knowing smirk, watching you sip from your glass. Every few seconds, her foot shifted slightly, heel teasing at her ankle strap, as if she wanted you to look. And when your eyes accidentally met hers, she smirked—not kindly, not casually.

Predatory.

“Be right back, babe. I need the bathroom,” Yunjin said suddenly, pecking your cheek and standing.

The moment she turned the corner—

“I see why she likes you,” Jihyo said smoothly, setting her glass down with a faint clink. “Cute. Polite. Nervous.”

You froze.

“I-I’m sorry?” you said, heart starting to race.

Jihyo stood. Walked toward you slowly. She leaned down, so close her breath tickled your ear.

“Let me guess,” she purred. “Yunjin’s still figuring things out. Still shy in bed. Still asks if it hurts when you slide inside?”

You nearly choked.

“I—uh—I don’t think—”

Her hand traced the top of your shoulder. “Relax. I’m not judging. She’s sweet. But don’t lie to yourself, baby boy… her pussy’s not even close to mine.”

You jolted away from her touch, face burning, but before you could say a word—

“Back!” Yunjin called cheerily from the hall.

Jihyo stepped back like nothing had happened, fixing her blouse with perfect calm. You stared straight ahead, heart hammering in your ears as Yunjin snuggled back into your side, oblivious.

That night, you lay beside Yunjin on the guest bed, her breathing slow and gentle as she fell asleep curled around your arm.

But you couldn’t sleep.

Jihyo’s voice kept echoing in your head. That gaze. The confidence. The threat. And underneath all of that—your shame.

Your hard-on pressed uncomfortably against your boxers.

You sighed and slowly slipped out from under Yunjin’s arm, padding softly out of the room to go use the bathroom downstairs.

The hallway was dark, quiet. You turned the corner—

And froze.

Jihyo stood at the end of the hall in a loose robe that was barely tied. Her cleavage spilled out from the top, the hem high enough to flash creamy thighs with every step she took toward you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she whispered.

“I—I just need the bathroom,” you muttered.

She stepped in close, fingers curling around your wrist.

“No. You need something else.”

Before you could resist, she dragged you into her bedroom and kicked the door shut with a soft click. She shoved you against the wall and pressed her body to yours—warm, soft, and dangerously firm.

“I love Yunjin,” you blurted.

Jihyo’s eyes glinted.

“Good,” she whispered, lips brushing yours. “Then you’ll know just how wrong this is when I fuck you better than she ever could.”

“Stop—I can’t—”

“Shhh.”

Her hand slid into your boxers, gripping your painfully hard cock.

“She doesn’t even know how to stroke you, does she? She probably treats this thing like it’ll break.”

She started stroking you slowly, fingers teasing the head.

“But I know what a cock like this needs. I’ve raised one. You think I can’t break one too?”

You gasped as she knelt, parting her robe just enough to expose full, heavy tits.

“You’ll cum on these, baby. You’ll cum for me.”

Her tongue dragged across the tip of your cock, slow and dangerous, eyes never leaving yours.

Jihyo devoured you like a starving woman—insatiable, relentless, and so in control it made your head spin.

Her knees hit the floor with practiced grace, her silk robe falling open just enough to flash the swell of her bare breasts. She didn’t ask. She didn’t hesitate. She just looked up at you with those dark, hungry eyes and took your cock into her mouth.

Her tongue swirled around the head first—slow, deliberate—teasing the slit until you twitched. Then her lips sealed around you and she sank deep. Your body seized.

“F-Fuck—” you choked, grabbing the edge of the dresser behind you for support, legs trembling.

Jihyo moaned low in her throat—on purpose—the vibration shooting straight through your core as she swallowed you inch by inch. Her throat flexed around your length, tight and hot, and when her nose touched your pelvis, she stayed there, gagging softly, loving it.

You looked down and saw it—spit drooling from the corners of her mouth, strings clinging to her chin, her chest, your thighs. Her eyes fluttered up, smug even as her throat spasmed around your cock.

She pulled off with a slick pop, panting, lips red and swollen.

“You’re already shaking,” she purred, slowly stroking your spit-soaked cock with one hand. “So sensitive. Poor thing. She doesn’t take care of you, does she?”

Before you could answer, she spat again—thick, wet, and hot—right onto your shaft, letting it drip all the way down before wrapping her tits around it.

“Oh fuck—” you gasped, knees locking.

She smirked. “Mmm. There we go.”

Her breasts engulfed you—soft, tight, warm. She squeezed them together, your cock snug between them as she began to slide you through, slowly at first, then faster. The spit made it slick, nasty. Each stroke pushed the head of your cock out the top, and each time she leaned forward and kissed it—wet, warm, possessive.

“You like this, don’t you?” she whispered. “Tell me the truth. Has Yunjin ever even looked at your cock like this?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to speak, but she cut you off by leaning forward and sucking your tip back into her mouth mid-stroke.

“Ah—Jihyo, please—fuck—”

She pulled off again with a laugh. “No, huh? Of course not. That little girl doesn’t know how to worship a cock. But I do.”

She started bouncing her tits faster now, hands squeezing tighter, fucking your cock between them with obscene slaps of skin and spit.

“Look at you. Twitching. Gasping. Losing your mind from a titfuck. You’re hers? No, baby. You belong to me.”

You whimpered—helpless, eyes fluttering. She leaned forward again, whispering as her tits pounded against your thighs.

“Beg,” she hissed. “Beg to cum on mommy’s tits.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You will. Say it.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily.

“Please—please, Jihyo—let me cum on your tits—I’m gonna—”

Suddenly—

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Your heart stopped.

Jihyo froze for half a second, then slowly turned her head. She was still stroking you with her tits, her hands on either side of them, skin glistening with sweat and spit. Her hair was wild, her mouth still wet, her cheeks flushed. She looked like sin incarnate.

And standing in the doorway—was Yunjin.

Her face was pale with shock, twisting into something between betrayal and fury. Her hands shook at her sides. “What the hell are you doing to him?!”

“Baby, I—” you stammered, words tripping over the edge of your tongue, but it was already too late.

Your body, traitorous and unthinking, clenched and spasmed. You groaned as your orgasm ripped through you, hips twitching helplessly as thick ropes of cum shot up Jihyo’s chest, streaking her skin, her neck, even her cheek. A strand caught in her hair. Her smile only grew as she kept stroking you, slow and cruel, milking every drop with calculated precision.

“Oops,” she whispered, not even looking at Yunjin. “Too late.”

Yunjin’s eyes were wide, blinking rapidly, her chest rising and falling as if she couldn’t breathe. Her mouth opened like she wanted to scream, but no sound came.

“Get. Out.” Her voice cracked on the last word, low and shaking.

You reached for her, panic and guilt rising in your throat—but she backed away like you were poison, her eyes already shining with tears. The door slammed shut so hard the frame rattled.

Silence.

Jihyo exhaled through her nose, amused, then wiped a slow finger through the mess on her chest and brought it to her lips. She licked it clean—one long, obscene motion—her eyes never once leaving the door Yunjin had just fled through.

“Well,” she purred, rising to her feet, bare and glistening, “guess I’ll be the only one calling you baby now.”

You stood there frozen—sweat cooling on your skin, breath uneven, heart hammering. Your cock was softening, spent and glistening with her spit and your cum. The shame hit in waves, creeping up from your stomach, squeezing your ribs, clawing into your throat like it wanted to choke you from the inside out.

She baited you. She broke you. And you let her.

“I didn’t want this,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Jihyo’s laugh was low, amused, sharp as broken glass. “You begged for it.”

She stepped closer, bare feet on the hardwood floor, tits still glistening, a smudge of your release trailing down her sternum like a claim. She reached out, dragging her nails across your chest gently, like you were some prized possession she’d finally unwrapped.

“You loved it,” she added, quieter now. “Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”

You recoiled slightly. “I love Yunjin.”

Jihyo’s expression didn’t change. She looked at you like that confession was cute, like a child clinging to a broken toy.

“You loved Yunjin,” she corrected. “Past tense. But she’s not here anymore, is she? She ran. Like a girl. Because she couldn’t handle the truth.”

She slid a hand down your stomach, her fingers ghosting along your skin. You flinched when they brushed your soft cock.

“You can lie to her all you want,” Jihyo said, her tone coiling with hunger, “but don’t lie to me. Your body knows who owns it now.”

You clenched your jaw, throat dry. “You ruined everything.”

Her lips curled, almost proud. “No. I just revealed everything. You were already drifting. Already curious. I just… opened the door.”

She turned from you, walking slowly across the room, her hips swaying like she wanted to taunt the memory of your orgasm back to life. She picked up her robe, but made no effort to cover herself—just draped it loosely over her shoulders, her body still on display, as if your cum was part of her now.

“I’ve had men look at me like that before,” she said as she stared out the window. “Hungry. Desperate. Guilty.”

She glanced back at you, eyes dark and glinting with satisfaction.

“They always come back.”

You staggered a step backward. The dresser behind you creaked as you leaned into it for support, suddenly aware of how sore your legs were, how weak your knees had become. Your brain was racing, overloaded. The air felt thick with the smell of sex, sweat, perfume, and salt.

“Why?” you asked. “Why her? Why… do this to your daughter?”

Jihyo’s laugh this time was hollow, deeper.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly. “You think this was about Yunjin?”

She turned toward you again, walking slowly, deliberately, until she was just inches from your chest. She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.

“This was about you.”

You tried to breathe, but your lungs felt tight, your body still betraying you with the ghost of arousal curling in your gut, despite the disgust and regret gnawing at your ribs.

“She never knew how to handle a man like you. I do. I knew the moment I saw you. The way you watched me when you thought I wasn’t looking. The way you fidgeted. The way you got hard the second I said her pussy wasn’t enough.”

You turned your head away, shame crawling up your neck like heat.

“But now?” she whispered, her voice velvet and smoke. “Now you’re mine. And I’ll make sure you never forget how good it felt to be ruined.”

Her hand wrapped around your cock again—not to tease, not to arouse, but to remind. Her grip was gentle, almost affectionate, like she was holding something fragile she already knew how to break.

You pulled away finally, jerking out of her grasp with a gasp, like you’d come out of a trance.

“I—I have to go,” you muttered. “I need to find her.”

Jihyo didn’t stop you. She just smiled again, that same cruel, knowing smile.

“Go ahead. Run to her. Try to explain why you came on her mother’s tits.”

Her words were calm, but they hit like knives. You grabbed your pants and slipped them on clumsily, your hands trembling. Your shirt was across the room, half-crumpled, and stained with sweat. You ignored it. You just had to get out.

But as you fumbled for the door handle, she called after you, sing-song and cruel:

“Tell her I said thank you for sharing.”

You burst out into the hallway, the silence of the house oppressive. Yunjin was gone—her bedroom door wide open, the guest sheets thrown off, her shoes missing from the front step.

You were alone.

You were trapped.

And Jihyo… was still in the room behind you, humming softly to herself, wiping your cum from her chest like it was lotion, sealing the sin into her skin.

[nsfwlguess]

MY BALLERINA

ITZY Yeji x Le Sserafim Kazuha

(Third person POV)

tags: WLW, Lesbian sex, Submissive Kazuha, Dominant Futa Yeji

Yeji and Kazuha are inlove to each other. They're lesbians and Yeji isn't shy to show affection to Kazuha publicly.

As she left the restroom. The ballet class is already ended and saw Kazuha gets flirted by a man. That man is too into Kazuha when Kazuha tries her best to push him away.

That made Yeji angry. She approached the man and twisted his arm before pinning down to the floor. The crowd gasped as Yeji effortlessly subdued the pushy suitor, her face a mask of fierce protectiveness. Kazuha rushed over, mortified but also secretly thrilled by the display of devotion. "Yeji, stop! He's not worth it," she pleaded, though her eyes shone with pride.

Yeji released the man with a warning glare before turning to envelop Kazuha in a possessive embrace. "Mine," she growled softly against Kazuha's ear, earning a startled laugh from the ballerina. "Let's get out of here."

Hand in hand, they navigated through the dispersing crowd, ignoring the whispers and pointed stares. Once clear of prying eyes, Yeji spun Kazuha around and captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all her pent-up anger and jealousy into the passionate exchange.

Kazuha melted into Yeji's embrace, her body responding eagerly to the dominant touch. She moaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in Yeji's hair as she deepened the connection. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, cheeks flushed with arousal.

"I hate seeing you with those ugly ass men," Yeji murmured, nipping at Kazuha's jawline. "It makes me crazy thinking about them touching you." Her hands roamed over Kazuha's curves, squeezing possessively. "But I love watching you squirm when I take control like that."

Kazuha shivered, heat pooling low in her belly at Yeji's words. "You're so dominant as usual," she panted, pressing closer. "It's hot, but also scary. What if someone had gotten really hurt because of me?"

Yeji's grip tightened, nails digging into Kazuha's hips. "I don"t care, All I want is to make you safe," she vowed, voice low and intense. "No one else will ever lay a hand on you. You belong to me, and only me."

A possessive growl rumbled in her chest as she claimed Kazuha's mouth once more, this time with a hunger that bordered on feral. Kazuha whimpered, surrendering completely to Yeji's ravaging kisses.

When they finally parted, both women were trembling, chests heaving with ragged breaths. "Take us home," Kazuha whispered, eyes glazed with lust. "I need you to remind me who I belong to."

Yeji smirked, a predatory gleam in her eye. "Oh, I plan to."

Without another word, Yeji swept Kazuha up into her arms, carrying her towards their shared apartment. Kazuha wrapped her legs around Yeji's waist, clinging tightly as they navigated the hallway.

Once inside, Yeji kicked the door shut behind them and strode purposefully to the bedroom, never breaking eye contact with her lover. As soon as they reached the bed, Yeji tossed Kazuha onto the mattress, following close behind.

"Strip for me," Yeji commanded, voice husky with desire. "I want to see every inch of your skin."

Kazuha complied eagerly, peeling off her clothes until she was bare before Yeji's appreciative gaze. A flush spread across her cheeks as Yeji's eyes roamed hungrily over her exposed flesh.

Yeji's gaze lingered on Kazuha's pert nipples, already hardened from the cool air and her heated stare. With deliberate slowness, she began to undress herself, revealing toned muscles and smooth, olive skin inch by tantalizing inch.

"Beautiful," Yeji breathed, her own breasts spilling free as she shrugged off her shirt. She cupped Kazuha's perky breasts, thumbs circling the sensitive peaks until Kazuha arched into the touch. "You make me crazy, baby. Always have."

Kazuha reached for Yeji, pulling her down onto the bed. Their bodies tangled together, skin sliding against skin as they explored each other's curves and valleys with greedy hands and lips.

"I love you," Kazuha whispered, punctuating the declaration with a deep, soulful kiss. "More than anything."

Yeji's heart swelled at Kazuha's heartfelt admission. She captured Kazuha's mouth again, this time with a tender kisses.

"I love you too," Yeji murmured against Kazuha's lips. "Forever and always."

With a swift motion, she rolled them onto their sides, aligning their bodies perfectly. Kazuha gasped as Yeji's thigh slipped between hers, rubbing against her slick folds in a way that sent sparks dancing along her nerve endings.

"Feel how much I want you," Yeji purred, grinding her shaft deliberately against Kazuha's heat. "Only you can make me like this."

Kazuha moaned, hips bucking instinctively to meet Yeji's movements. "Please... Make love to me, Yeji. I need you inside me." she begged, desperation lacing her tone.

*Yeji's breath hitched at the raw plea, her own desire reaching a fever pitch. She reached between them, guiding her thick length to Kazuha's entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, she sank into her lover's welcoming warmth, groaning at the exquisite sensation.*

"So tight," Yeji rasped, fighting the urge to pound into Kazuha's willing body. "Like you were made just for me."

Kazuha wrapped her legs around Yeji's waist, drawing her deeper still. "Always have been," she whispered, nuzzling into Yeji's neck as they began to move in tandem, their lovemaking a sensual dance of give and take.

Their rhythm intensified, bodies syncing in a primal rhythm as old as time. Yeji's hips pistoned steadily, driving into Kazuha's clenching depths with increasing urgency. Kazuha met each thrust with equal fervor, meeting Yeji's gaze with hooded eyes darkened by lust.

"Look at us," Yeji panted, sweat beading on her brow as she picked up speed. "So perfect together... no one else could ever compare."

Kazuha's response was a throaty moan, her inner walls fluttering around Yeji's throbbing cock. "Never want anyone else," she managed, voice strained with pleasure. "Just you, always you."

The words seemed to spur Yeji on, her thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding.

She pounded into Kazuha with wild abandon, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. Kazuha cried out, back arching off the bed as ecstasy coiled tighter within her core.

"Come for me," Yeji commanded, her own climax building at the base of her spine. "Now, Kazuha!"

Kazuha shattered with a keening wail, her pussy spasming wildly around Yeji's driving length. The intense contractions pushed Yeji over the edge, her orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave.

"Fuck, yes!" she roared, burying herself to the hilt as her release pulsed through her veins. Hot seed flooded Kazuha's womb. Marking her in a primal way possible.

They collapsed together, panting and trembling in the aftermath of their shared bliss. Yeji cradled Kazuha close, savoring the feeling of their sweaty, entwined bodies.

"That was incredible," Kazuha mumbled, nuzzling into Yeji's neck. "You always know just how to make me feel so good."

Yeji chuckled, planting a soft kiss atop Kazuha's hair. "You're my muse," she said, meaning every word. "Everything I do, I do for you."

Kazuha's heart swelled at the declaration, love and gratitude welling up inside her. She turned her face to press a lingering kiss to Yeji's jaw. "And everything I am, I am because of you,"

Suddenly, Kazuha's eyes shows sparkle of mischief then swiftly moved atop of Yeji's sweaty form. "Just lay down and watch."

Yeji's eyes widened as Kazuha impaled herself on her rigid length, a low groan escaping her throat at the delicious stretch. She reveled in the sight of Kazuha's flawless sweaty armpits, so often hidden beneath clothing now bared for her hungry gaze.

"Fuck, you're stunning," Yeji breathed, palms roaming up Kazuha's sides to cup her breasts. "Love these breasts of yours. So soft and firm. I still can't get enough of this."

Yeji leaned forward to suckle Kazuha's breasts hungrily. Her tongue keeps flicking at Kazuha's hard nipples then gently bites it.

Kazuha bit her lip harder, eyes rolling back as Yeji feasting her breasts, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. She began to ride Yeji with increasing urgency, hips snapping in a steady rhythm.

"Gonna make you cum again," Yeji promised, voice rough with desire. "Wanna feel you squeeze my cock one more time."

Kazuha's pace quickened, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around Yeji's pulsing shaft. She wrapped her arms around Yeji's neck as she rode her lower half with wild abandon.

"Yes, right there," Kazuha panted, grinding down hard enough to make their skin slap together. "Fill me up again, please..."

Yeji's fingers dug into Kazuha's hips, guiding her movements. The friction was intense, bordering on painful, but neither of them cared – they were lost in the haze of lust, driven solely by the need to come together.

"Almost there," Yeji gasped, thighs tensing beneath Kazuha's ass. "Cum for me, baby... let go!"

Kazuha come undone once again. Sensing Yeji haven't reached her climax yet. She pulls back then guides Yeji's shaft to her untouched butthole. Kazuha is a bit nervous but determined enough. She wanted this as Yeji's shaft slowly penetrating Kazuha's tight untouched butthole.

Kazuha's breath caught as Yeji's thick tip pressed insistently against her virgin hole, the pressure both terrifying and exhilarating. She'd fantasized about this moment countless times, but nothing could've prepared her for the reality of being taken so intimately.

"Breathe," Yeji urged, her voice a soothing caress despite the tension thrumming through her body. "Relax for me, sweetheart. Let me in."

Kazuha nodded, taking a shaky inhale as she focused on releasing the muscle tension in her rear. Slowly, she felt Yeji's tip breach her sphincter, the burn of stretching pain mingling with the thrill of being conquered.

"Good girl," Yeji praised, her praise dripping with admiration and lust. "Such a perfect bottom... gonna fill you up so full."

With a gentle push, Yeji sank deeper into Kazuha's welcoming heat, her velvety length gliding past the initial resistance. Kazuha whimpered, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation of being penetrated so thoroughly, yet craving more.

"So fucking tight," Yeji groaned, pausing to allow Kazuha to adjust. "Love how you squeeze me... feels amazing."

Kazuha rocked her hips tentatively, experimenting with the new sensations coursing through her body. Each movement sent sparks racing up her spine, her clit throbbing in time with the rhythmic drag of Yeji's shaft against her ass.

"Move for me," Yeji coaxed, hands gripping Kazuha's hips firmly. "Ride my cock like you want to fill your ass up."

Kazuha obeyed, setting a steady pace that allowed Yeji to sink deeper with each stroke. The lewd sounds of their skin filled the room, Yeji's grunts of pleasure, and Kazuha's high-pitched whimpers.

"Fuck, look at you," Yeji panted, drinking in the erotic sight of Kazuha's ass riding her cock with abandon. "Such a sexy slut... taking my dick like it was made for you."

Kazuha's face flushed at the compliment, her body responded eagerly, hips churning faster as she anticipates Yeji's impending orgasm. Yeji's praise only fueled her desire.

"Yessss!!!" Yeji hissed, throwing her head back as her own release detonated. Thick ropes of cum painted Kazuha's insides, filling her to the brim as her butthole clenched rhythmically around Yeji's shaft, milking it for every drop of seed as she rode out the aftershocks.

They collapsed together, spent and panting, their bodies still joined in the most intimate of unions.

After several long moments, Yeji carefully withdrew from Kazuha's tender hole, a trail of their combined fluids leaking out to coat her thighs. Kazuha winced slightly at the emptiness, but a contented sigh escaped her as Yeji pulling her close, peppering her face with tender kisses.

"You were amazing," Yeji murmured, her voice husky with satisfaction. "Such a brave little slut, taking my cock without hesitation."

Kazuha blushed, but couldn't help preening under the praise. "Love being yours," she whispered, snuggling into Yeji's embrace. "Always want to please you."

Yeji smiled, tracing patterns on Kazuha's back with her fingertips. "You do, baby. More than you know."

-End-