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crybabycabin · 12 days ago

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pressure points | b.b.

✮ synopsis: bucky's gotten good at keeping his distance from his harmless, sunshine-y neighbor. but when you get taken because of him—because someone figured out you're his weak spot—he realizes how spectacularly that plan backfired. turns out the winter soldier's soft spot is a lot more dangerous than he thought.

✮ pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

✮ disclaimers: violence, kidnapping, blood and injury, torture (not graphic), angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, established feelings but complicated relationship, second person POV, fem!reader, miscommunication, intense yearning, emotionally constipated!bucky, past trauma, mild language, fighting sequences

✮ word count: 10.6k

✮ a/n: first fic on this blog and it's basically just 10k words of soft bucky yearning xoxo

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The first time Bucky Barnes sees you, you're trying to shove a couch through a doorway that's at least six inches too narrow, and losing spectacularly.

He's coming home from another pointless congressional hearing—the kind where everyone talks in circles about defense budgets while carefully not mentioning the alien invasion from three months ago—when he spots you in the hallway. You're wedged between the arm of what looks like a vintage velvet monstrosity and the doorframe of 4B, hair escaping from whatever you'd tried to contain it with, muttering a stream of increasingly creative profanity.

"Fucking—come on—you absolute bastard of a—"

The couch shifts. You yelp. Bucky's halfway down the hall before he realizes he's moving.

"Need a hand?"

You twist around, and something in his chest does this stupid, inconvenient flip. Your face is flushed, one cheek smudged with what might be dust or maybe yesterday's mascara, and you're looking at him like—well. Like he's not Bucky Barnes. Like he's just some guy in the hallway who might know how geometry works.

"Oh thank god," you breathe, and the relief in it makes his mouth twitch. "I've been battling this thing for twenty minutes. I think it's winning."

He assesses the situation with the same tactical precision he'd use for a Bulgarian arms deal, if arms deals came upholstered in emerald green and smelled faintly of vanilla perfume mixed with fresh sweat. The angle's all wrong. You've been trying to force it through horizontally when it needs to go vertical, then rotate.

"Here." He steps closer, and you shift to make room, your shoulder brushing his chest in a way that absolutely doesn't make his pulse stutter. "If we flip it—"

"Oh, you're strong," you say, like an observation about the weather, as he essentially deadlifts one end of your couch. The metal arm whirs faintly. You don't flinch. "That's convenient."

Convenient. Right. He maneuvers the couch through the doorway in three efficient moves, trying not to notice how you smell like coffee and something floral, how you hover just inside his peripheral vision like you're trying not to crowd him but can't quite stay away.

"There." He sets it down in what's clearly the only spot it could go in your tiny living room. The space is chaos—boxes everywhere, art leaning against walls, books stacked in precarious towers. "You just moving in?"

"Yeah, from—" You wave a hand vaguely eastward. "Nicer neighborhood. Turns out freelance graphic design doesn't pay for Manhattan rent. Who knew?" The self-deprecation comes with a grin that transforms your whole face, and Bucky has to look away, focus on the box labeled 'KITCHEN SHIT' in aggressive Sharpie. "I'm—well, you probably don't care what my name is."

He does, actually. Cares in a way that makes his teeth ache.

"Bucky," he offers, even though you clearly already know. "4C."

"The grumpy congressman." Your grin goes wider, teasing. "I've seen you on C-SPAN. You look like you're being held at gunpoint during those hearings."

"Feel like it too," he mutters, and the laugh you give him hits like a shot of whiskey—warm and slightly dizzying.

"Well, Congressman Barnes of apartment 4C, you've just saved my Saturday. Can I pay you in beer? I've got—" You dig through a box, emerge triumphant with two bottles. "Hipster IPA or hipster IPA?"

He should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember what happened the last time he let someone get close—the scar on his ribs from Belgrade still aches when it rains.

Instead, he finds himself accepting a bottle, listening to you chatter about the neighbor who warned you about the rats (definitely real) and the ghost (probably not real but who knows), watching how you gesture with your whole body when you talk, like you're too much for your own skin.

It's dangerous, how easy you are to be around. How you look at him like he's just Bucky, not the former Asset, not the killer, not the congressman who can't pass a single fucking bill. Just a guy who helped with your couch.

He stays too long. Drinks two beers. Helps you unpack exactly three boxes before some long-dormant self-preservation instinct kicks in and he makes excuses about constituent emails.

"Thanks again," you say at the door, and there's something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe. Interest. "For the couch. And the company."

"No problem."

He's halfway to his own door when you call out: "Hey, Barnes?"

He turns. You're leaning against your doorframe, backlit by the disaster zone of your apartment, smiling that smile that makes his chest tight.

"I make really good coffee. You know. If congressional hearings ever drive you to caffeine dependency."

It's an offer. An opening. Everything in him screams to close it, lock it down, maintain operational security. Instead, his traitorous mouth says, "I'll keep that in mind."

He's so fucked.

The thing is, Bucky's gotten good at keeping people at arm's length. Seventy years of being a weapon teaches him that distance equals safety—for them, not him.

When you're already dead, what's a little more damage?

So he shouldn't notice when you start leaving your apartment at 7:23 every morning, shouldering a bag that's always slipping off your shoulder. Shouldn't time his own exits to avoid those encounters, then feel like an asshole when he succeeds. Definitely shouldn't lie awake listening through the thin walls as you sing along to whatever pop music you play while cooking, off-key and enthusiastic.

But here's the other thing: you make it really fucking hard to maintain distance.

You leave cookies outside his door with notes that say things like "for emergency constituent-induced rage" and "survival fuel for C-SPAN." You knock when you know he's home, ask to borrow sugar or vodka or a screwdriver, then stay to chat like his apartment isn't just bare walls and a couch Sam made him buy. You touch—casual, constant. A hand on his arm when you laugh, fingers brushing when you hand him things, like physical contact isn't something that makes his brain static out.

"You're a really good listener," you tell him one evening, three weeks into whatever this is. You're sitting on his floor, back against his couch, because you'd knocked asking for wine and then somehow ended up staying. Your knee presses against his thigh. He's catastrophically aware of every point of contact. "Like, actually good. Not just waiting for your turn to talk."

"Not much of a talker," he says, which is true and also easier than explaining that he's memorizing everything—how you twist your rings when you're nervous, the way your voice drops when you're saying something real, how you look in his space like you belong there.

"Bullshit." You bump his shoulder. He doesn't flinch anymore, which is either progress or a sign he's completely fucked. "You're just selective. Quality over quantity."

You say things like that—observations that feel like being seen, really seen, not just looked at. It's terrifying. It's addictive. It's going to get you killed.

Because here's the thing Bucky knows down to his bones: everything he touches turns to ash. Everyone he cares about becomes a target. And you—with your sunshine laugh and your disaster apartment and your way of looking at him like he's worth something—you're exactly the kind of light that attracts the worst kind of dark.

He should stay away.

He doesn't.

"So," Sam says, watching Bucky check his phone for the third time during their coffee meeting. "Who is she?"

"What?" Bucky pockets the phone. You'd texted asking if he knew how to fix a leaky faucet. He knows seventeen ways to kill a man with a faucet. Fixing one can't be that different. "Nobody. Work thing."

"Uh-huh." Sam's doing that face, the one that means he's about to be insufferably perceptive. "That's why you just smiled at your phone. Over a work thing. You. Smiled."

"I smile."

"No, you do this thing with your mouth that's like a smile's evil twin. This was an actual smile. So. Who is she?"

Bucky takes a long drink of coffee, considering how much lying is worth the effort. "Neighbor."

"Neighbor." Sam leans back, grinning. "Cute neighbor?"

The memory of you last night, paint in your hair and gesturing wildly about your latest client, flashes unbidden. His silence is apparently answer enough.

"Buck. Man. This is good. You need—"

"I need to not get people killed," Bucky cuts him off. "I need to remember that anyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. I need—"

"You need a life," Sam interrupts right back. "You need to stop punishing yourself for shit that wasn't your fault. You need to let yourself have something good."

Bucky's jaw works. The phone buzzes again. He doesn't check it.

"She doesn't know what she's getting into," he says finally. "She's—" Bright. Warm. Good. "She's not part of this world."

"So keep her out of it." Sam makes it sound simple. Like there's a way to compartmentalize, to have you without putting you at risk. "Be her neighbor. Be normal. Be happy, for once in your goddamn life."

Normal. Right. Because nothing says normal like a centenarian ex-assassin with more kills than most armies and a metal arm that could crush a skull like an egg.

But then he thinks about your smile when he fixed your garbage disposal last week. How you'd said "my hero" in this teasing, fond way that made him want impossible things. How you treat him like he's just Bucky, not a weapon someone else aimed.

"I don't know how," he admits, quieter than he meant to.

Sam's expression softens. "Nobody does, man. You just try anyway."

The faucet thing turns into a whole production.

You answer the door in tiny pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that says "FEMINIST KILLJOY" in glitter letters, and Bucky's brain shorts out for a solid three seconds. Your hair's piled on top of your head in what might generously be called a bun, and there's toothpaste at the corner of your mouth, and he wants to—

"Oh good, you're here," you say, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. Your fingers are warm through his henley. "It's making this noise like a dying whale. I tried YouTube tutorials but I think I made it worse."

The kitchen is a disaster. Tools scattered everywhere, water pooling on the floor, YouTube still playing on your laptop ("—sure to turn off the water main first—"). You've clearly been at this for a while.

"Did you turn off the water?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the growing puddle.

"I turned off a valve," you say defensively. "Several valves. None of them seemed to be the right valve."

He finds himself fighting a smile as he locates the actual shut-off. You hover behind him as he works, close enough that he can feel your breath on his neck, keeping up a running commentary that's part apology, part stand-up routine.

"—and then the wrench slipped and I maybe screamed a little bit, and Mrs. Nguyen next door started banging on the wall, and I had to yell that I wasn't being murdered, just defeating by plumbing—"

"Hand me the—" He turns to ask for the wrench at the same moment you lean forward to see what he's doing. Your faces end up inches apart. Time does that thing where it forgets how to work properly.

Your eyes are very wide. There's a water droplet on your cheek. Bucky's hand twitches with the urge to wipe it away.

"Wrench," he manages, voice rougher than intended.

"Right. Wrench. That's a—" You scramble backward, nearly slip on the wet floor. He catches your elbow automatically, steadying you, and your skin is so warm under his fingers it feels like a brand. "Thanks. I'm not usually this much of a disaster. Actually, that's a lie. I'm exactly this much of a disaster, you've just caught me on a particularly disastrous day."

He fixes the faucet in under ten minutes. You insist on making coffee as payment, which turns into leftover pizza, which turns into three hours on your couch watching some reality show about people making elaborate cakes. You provide running commentary that's funnier than the show itself, and Bucky finds himself actually laughing—not the dry chuckle he's perfected for public appearances, but real laughter that comes from somewhere deep in his chest.

"See?" you say during a commercial break, grinning at him. "I told you this show was addictive. Next week they're making a life-size dragon cake that actually breathes fire."

"Next week?" The words slip out before he can stop them, too revealing.

Your grin softens into something else, something that makes his chest tight. "Well, yeah. You can't miss fire-breathing dragon cake. That's un-American."

It becomes a thing. Thursday nights, your couch, increasingly ridiculous cooking shows. You always have too much dinner ("I'm terrible at portions, shut up"), he always fixes something that's broken ("it's not broken, it's just temperamental"), and somewhere between cake disasters and your laughter, Bucky forgets to maintain distance.

"Your boyfriend's here," Mrs. Nguyen announces loudly when Bucky knocks on your door a month later, because apparently the entire floor has decided they're invested in whatever this is.

"He's not my—" Your voice cuts off as you open the door. You're wearing a dress, which is new. Red, which is newer. Lipstick, which is going to kill him. "Hi."

"Hi." His brain's stuck on the curve of your shoulder, the way the fabric clings. "Going out?"

"Wedding. Old college friend." You're fidgeting with your earring, a sure tell that you're nervous. "I hate weddings. All that optimism and overpriced chicken."

"So don't go."

"Can't. I already RSVP'd, and I'm a good friend even if I'm a wedding-hating gremlin." You pause, still fiddling with the earring. "Unless..."

He knows what's coming by the way you're biting your lip. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"You were going to ask me to go with you."

"...okay, so you did know." You lean against the doorframe, giving him a look that's probably supposed to be convincing but mostly just highlights how your eyes catch the hallway light. "Come on. You're a congressman. You must love overpriced chicken and small talk."

"I really don't."

"There's an open bar."

"Still no."

"I'll owe you one. One big favor. Anything."

That makes him pause, but not for the reason you think. The idea of you owing him anything makes his skin itch. You already give too much—your time, your laughter, your casual touches that rewire his brain. But the idea of watching you navigate a wedding alone, of other people getting to see you in that dress...

"Fine," he hears himself say. "But I'm not dancing."

The smile you give him could power Brooklyn for a week.

He's absolutely, catastrophically unprepared for how you look in candlelight.

The wedding venue is one of those rustic-chic places that thinks exposed beams equal personality. You're at table eight, which puts you safely in "college friends but not close enough for the wedding party" territory. You've been providing whispered commentary all through the ceremony ("five bucks says she wrote her vows the night before"), your shoulder pressed against his in a way that makes paying attention to anything else physically impossible.

"See that bridesmaid?" You nod toward a blonde who's definitely already three champagnes deep. "That's Amber. We were roommates sophomore year. She once tried to seduce our RA by leaving Post-it poetry on his door."

"Did it work?"

"Depends on your definition of 'work.' She did get his attention. Also a conduct violation." You're playing with the stem of your wine glass, fingers tracing patterns. "Thanks for this, by the way. I know wearing a suit and making small talk isn't exactly your idea of fun."

He could tell you that wearing a suit is nothing compared to tac gear, that small talk is easier than Senate hearings. Could mention that the way you keep unconsciously leaning into him makes any discomfort worth it. Instead: "It's fine."

"Such enthusiasm." But you're smiling, soft and maybe a little fond. "Dance with me?"

"I said no dancing."

"You said that before you had champagne. And before they played—" You tilt your head, listening. "Oh my god, is this Bon Jovi? We have to dance to Bon Jovi. It's the law."

"That's not a law."

"It's a law of wedding physics. Come on, Barnes. One dance. I promise not to step on your feet much."

The thing is, he can't say no to you. It's becoming a problem. You want him to fix your sink? Done. Need someone to hold your laptop while you Skype your mother? He's there. Want him to dance to "Livin' on a Prayer" at some stranger's wedding? Apparently, that's happening too.

You're a terrible dancer. Genuinely awful. You have no sense of rhythm, keep trying to lead, and you're laughing too hard to even pretend otherwise. It's perfect. He spins you out just to watch your dress flare, pulls you back too close, and for a moment—your hand in his, your face tilted up, surrounded by fairy lights and other people's happiness—he forgets why this is a bad idea.

"See?" you say, slightly breathless. "Dancing's not so bad."

His hand is on your waist. He can feel your pulse through the thin fabric. "No. Not so bad."

Someone bumps into you from behind, pushing you fully against his chest. Your hands come up to steady yourself, one landing over his heart, and he knows you can feel how it stumbles. Your smile falters, shifts into something else. Something that looks dangerously like realization.

"Bucky—"

"They're cutting the cake," he says, stepping back. The loss of contact feels like losing a limb. "Should probably watch. For your show."

You blink, then recover. "Right. Yeah. Cake."

But you're quiet for the rest of the reception, and he catches you looking at him with this expression he can't decode. Like you're working through a complex equation and not liking the answer.

He drives home. You spend the ride fiddling with your phone, uncharacteristically silent. When he pulls up to the building, you don't immediately get out.

"I'm sorry if I—" you start.

"Don't." It comes out harsher than intended. He tries again, softer: "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Feels like I did." You're still not looking at him. "I forget sometimes, that you're—that we're—"

"Friends," he supplies, even though the word tastes like ash. "We're friends."

"Right." You finally meet his eyes, and there's something careful in your expression now. Guarded. "Friends."

You're out of the car before he can figure out what to say to fix this. He watches you disappear into the building first, red dress like a wound in the grey evening, and knows he's fucked everything up without quite understanding how.

You pull back after that.

It's subtle—you still smile when you see him in the hall, still text him memes at inappropriate hours. But you stop knocking on his door for impromptu dinners. Stop touching him casually. When he offers to fix your eternally-dripping showerhead, you say you'll call the super instead.

"You're moping," Sam tells him two weeks later, during one of their mandatory "make sure Bucky's not spiraling" brunch dates.

"I don't mope."

"You're the Black Widow of moping. The Michael Jordan of emotional constipation." Sam pauses. "That neighbor you mentioned?"

Bucky's silence is damning.

"What'd you do?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because you always do something. You get close to someone, panic, and pull some self-sabotaging bullshit." Sam's voice gentles. "Talk to me, man."

Bucky stares at his coffee like it holds answers. "She wanted to dance."

"...okay?"

"At a wedding. And I—we danced. And it was..." He doesn't have words for what it was. How you felt in his arms, how the world narrowed down to just the two of you, how for a moment he forgot he was dangerous. "And then I shut it down."

"Why?"

"Because." He sets the mug down too hard, coffee sloshing. "Because she's sunshine, Sam. She's late-night cooking shows and glitter pens and leaving snacks for the delivery guy. She has no idea what I've done, what I'm capable of—"

"Did you ever think maybe she does know and doesn't care?"

"Then she's naïve."

"Or maybe she just sees you better than you see yourself." Sam leans forward. "Buck, you can't protect people by pushing them away. That's not how it works."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it? Because from where I'm sitting, you're miserable, she's probably confused as hell, and nobody's actually safer."

Bucky wants to argue, but then his phone buzzes. Your name pops up: my smoke alarm is having an existential crisis. is it supposed to beep in morse code?

He's already standing before he realizes it.

"Go," Sam says, shaking his head but smiling. "Fix her smoke alarm. Talk to her like a human being. Maybe try not to fuck it up this time."

Your door is already cracked when he gets there, smoke rolling out in lazy waves.

"I'm not on fire!" you call before he can knock. "Well, the oven mitt was, but I handled it."

He finds you on a chair, ineffectively fanning the smoke detector with a dish towel. You're wearing those little pajama shorts again and his brain still isn't prepared for the sight.

"How does an oven mitt catch fire?" He reaches up, disables the alarm with practiced ease.

"Well, when you forget it's on your hand and rest it on the stove burner..." You shrink a little at his look. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

You don't answer, just hop down from the chair. This close, he can see the flour in your hair, the way you're worrying your bottom lip. "Thanks. Sorry for texting, I know it's late—"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because—" You make a frustrated gesture. "Because I'm trying to give you space. Because you clearly regretted the wedding thing and I'm trying not to be that neighbor who develops inconvenient feelings—"

"Feelings?" His brain snags on the word like cloth on a nail.

You go very still. "Shit. I mean. Not feelings. Just. You know. Neighbor...ly concern. Very platonic. Super appropriate."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Yeah, well, you're terrible at—" You stop, visibly collecting yourself. When you speak again, your voice is carefully level: "I like you, okay? More than I should. And I know that's not what you want, and I'm trying really hard to be okay with that, but you standing in my kitchen looking all concerned while I'm having a feelings crisis is really not helping."

The words hit him like a physical blow. You like him. More than you should.

"You don't know me," he says, defaulting to the easiest argument.

"Bullshit." There's heat in your voice now. "I know you reorganize my bookshelf when you think I'm not looking because the chaos bothers you. I know you bring me coffee on Tuesdays because you noticed I have early meetings. I know you have nightmares—yeah, the walls are thin—and I know you pace afterwards like you're trying to walk off whatever you dreamed about."

Each observation feels like being flayed open.

"I know you're careful," you continue, softer now. "I know you think you're dangerous. And I know you've probably got reasons for that. But Bucky? I also know you'd never hurt me. Ever."

"You can't know that."

"Why? Because you're what, too damaged? Too dangerous?" You step closer and he should step back but he's frozen. "You carry my groceries. You fixed my faucet. You danced with me at a wedding even though you hate dancing. Really dangerous stuff there, Barnes."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me." Your chin juts out, stubborn. "Give me one good reason why we can't—"

He kisses you.

It's the wrong thing to do. Selfish. Stupid. But you're standing there in your flour-dusted pajamas, looking at him like he's worth fighting for, and his self-control just...snaps.

The sound you make—soft, surprised, maybe relieved—shorts out every rational thought in his head. Your hands come up to frame his face, fingertips cool against his burning skin, and then you're kissing him back like you've been waiting for this, like you've been drowning too.

You taste like smoke and whatever you were baking, sweet with an edge of burn, and he's dizzy with it. His hands find your waist, fingers spreading wide against the soft cotton of your shirt, and he pulls you in until there's no space between you, until he can feel your heartbeat hammering against his chest. You're so warm, so alive, radiating heat like a small sun, and he wants to map every degree of it with his mouth, his hands, his—

Reality crashes back like ice water.

He jerks away, but his hands won't let go of your waist, like his body's in revolt against his better judgment. You're both breathing like you've run miles—harsh, ragged pulls of air that fill the space between you. Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and he did that, he marked you, and the savage satisfaction of it wars with the knowledge that he's just made everything infinitely worse.

Your eyes are huge, pupils blown wide, and you're looking at him like he's just rearranged your entire understanding of the universe. One hand is still on his face, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth like you're trying to hold the kiss there, keep it from escaping.

"That's why," he says roughly. "Because I want—because you make me want things I can't have."

"Says who?" Your eyes are very bright. "Who decided what you can have?"

He doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't know how to explain the mathematics of survival, how everyone he's ever cared about becomes a liability, a target, a grave.

"I should go," he manages.

"Or," you say, "you could stay."

The offer hangs between you like a lit fuse. He can see the future unspool in both directions: leave now, go back to safe distances and polite nods in the hallway, watch you eventually move on with someone who doesn't come with a body count. Or stay, and risk you realizing what a mistake you're making. Stay, and selfishly take whatever you're willing to give for however long you're willing to give it.

You're still looking at him, patient and terrified and hopeful all at once.

He leaves.

The word echoes in his head all the way back to his apartment. Coward. Coward. Coward. But it's the right thing to do. The safe thing. You'll hurt for a while, maybe hate him a little, but you'll be alive to do it.

He doesn't sleep. Just sits on his couch, staring at the wall that separates your apartments, listening to the muffled sounds of you cleaning up. The shower runs at 2 AM. He knows you cry in the shower when you think no one can hear—learned that three weeks into being neighbors, when your freelance client stiffed you on a big project. He'd wanted to break the fucker's legs then.

Now he wants to break his own.

You're a better person than he'll ever be, which is why you still smile at him in the hallway.

It's careful now, contained. The kind of smile you'd give any neighbor, not the one that used to light up your whole face when you saw him. You don't knock anymore. Don't text about your smoke alarm or your leaky faucet or the rat you're convinced lives in the walls. You just...exist, parallel to him, in a way that makes his chest feel like it's full of broken glass.

"Fixed it myself," you say one morning when he catches you wrestling with a new deadbolt installation. Your drill slips, gouging the doorframe. "YouTube University, you know?"

He could fix it in under a minute. Could show you how to align the strike plate properly, how to test the throw. Instead: "Good for you."

Your smile flickers. "Yeah. Good for me."

Mrs. Nguyen gives him dirty looks now. The whole floor does, really. Like they know he's the reason you don't laugh as loud anymore, why your music's quieter, why you started getting grocery delivery instead of making three trips up the stairs, arms overloaded, dropping things and cursing cheerfully.

It's fine. It's working. You're safe.

He tells himself that every night when he hears you through the walls, moving around your apartment like a ghost of the person who used to dance while cooking.

Three weeks post-kiss, Valentina calls them in for a mission that's barely legal on a good day.

"Weapons shipment," she says, sliding photos across the conference table with her usual theatrical flair. "Enhanced tech, off-market, very much not supposed to exist. The kind of toys that make governments nervous."

"So we're stealing them," Walker states, not asks.

"Recovering," Val corrects with a smile sharp enough to cut. "For the safety of the American people, of course."

Yelena snorts. Alexei's already studying the compound layout like there'll be a test. Bob's doing that thing where he shrinks into himself, trying to become invisible. Bucky catalogs exits, counts guards in the surveillance photos, and tries not to think about how you looked last night, hauling groceries with your hair falling in your eyes.

The mission goes sideways in minute three.

"Intel was wrong," Ava's voice crackles through comms, too calm for the situation. "Triple the guards. And—"

The explosion cuts her off. Then another. The "barely defended warehouse" is a fucking fortress, crawling with military-grade security who definitely got the "shoot to kill" memo.

"Fall back," Bucky orders, but Alexei's already charged ahead, yelling something about Soviet glory. Walker's trying to flank, Bob's panicking, and somewhere in the chaos, Yelena starts laughing like this is the best thing that's happened all week.

It takes two hours to fight their way out. By the end, Bucky's left arm is sparking, his ears are ringing, and he's pretty sure at least three ribs are cracked. Yelena's favoring her right leg, Walker's bleeding from somewhere he won't admit, and Bob—Bob's dissociating so hard Bucky has to physically guide him to the extraction point.

"Well," Val says over comms, observing from her safe distance, "that was bracing."

Bucky doesn't trust himself to respond.

They limp back to New York in sullen silence. No debrief—Val's already spinning the disaster into something palatable for the brass. Bucky goes straight home, ignoring Sam's calls, ignoring everything except the need to get somewhere quiet before he starts breaking things.

His hands are still shaking when he reaches his floor. Adrenaline crash, probably. Or the delayed realization that they'd all nearly died for some bureaucrat's idea of asset recovery. Or—

Your door is open.

Not open-open. Cracked, like it didn't latch properly. Like someone left in a hurry. Or—

The deadbolt is broken.

The one you installed yourself three weeks ago. The one he'd watched you struggle with, pride keeping you from asking for help.

Bucky goes utterly still.

His body moves before his brain catches up. He's through your doorway, cataloging details with mechanical precision: lamp knocked over, books scattered, coffee table shoved sideways. Signs of a struggle. Signs of—

Blood.

Not much. Just droplets on the hardwood, leading toward the kitchen. But enough. Enough to make his vision tunnel, his chest compress until breathing becomes theoretical.

"Sweetheart?" The pet name slips out, raw. No answer. He clears each room like he's back in Hydra facilities, except his hands won't stop shaking because this is your space, your things, your—

Your phone is on the kitchen floor, screen cracked. There's a handprint on the wall—bloody, smeared. Too small to be anyone's but yours.

Something inside him breaks. Clean, sharp, like a bone snapping. The careful distance he's maintained, the walls he's built, the conviction that keeping you at arm's length would keep you safe—all of it crumbles in the face of your empty apartment and that small, bloody handprint.

He's already moving, phone out, calling in favors he's been hoarding. Because someone took you. Someone came into your home—the home he was supposed to be protecting by staying away—and took you. And they're going to learn exactly why the Winter Soldier's name still makes people flinch.

His phone rings. Unknown number.

"Barnes." He doesn't recognize his own voice.

"Ah, the infamous Winter Soldier." The voice is male, amused, completely at ease. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Where is she?"

"Safe. For now. Though that really depends on you, doesn't it?"

Ice spreads through his veins, familiar as an old friend. This is what he was trying to prevent. This exact scenario. You, hurt because of him. You, taken because someone figured out—

"What do you want?"

"You've been playing house, Barnes. Getting soft. Forgetting what you are." A pause, calculated. "I'm going to remind you. And your little neighbor? She's going to help."

The line goes dead.

Bucky stands in your ruined apartment, surrounded by the evidence of his failure, and feels something fundamental shift. Not break—he's been broken before. This is worse. This is the cold clarity that comes after, when there's nothing left to lose.

Someone made a mistake today. They touched you. They made you bleed.

He's going to paint the city red for it.

"Buck, slow down—"

"No." He's already moving, gathering gear with brutal efficiency. The weapons he's not supposed to have. The tech that's definitely illegal. Every favor, every resource, every skill Hydra beat into him over seventy years.

Sam's on speaker, trying to be the voice of reason. "You can't just go in guns blazing—"

"Watch me."

"This is exactly what they want. You, isolated, operating without backup—"

"They have her, Sam." The words come out raw, flayed. "They took her because of me. Because I was stupid enough to think distance would keep her safe."

Silence on the other end. Then: "What do you need?"

That's why Sam Wilson is Captain America. No more arguments, no more trying to talk him down. Just immediate, unwavering support.

"Intel. Cameras in my building, surrounding blocks. Last twelve hours." He straps a knife to his thigh, then another. "And get me backup."

"I can rally your team. Get Walker, Yelena—"

"No." The word comes out sharp. Another knife. Extra magazines. "The Thunderbolts are compromised. That clusterfuck of a mission proved it."

"Buck—"

"They're not ready for this. Half of them can barely work together without Val pulling the strings." He's checking his tactical vest, muscle memory taking over. "This isn't a government op. This is personal."

"So what, you're going in alone?"

Is he? Bucky stops, considers his options. The Thunderbolts are a mess on a good day—Walker's still trying to prove something, Bob's hanging on by a thread, and Alexei treats everything like a performance. They're not who he needs for this.

"They touched her," he says simply.

"I know, man. I know. But—"

"Get me what intel you can. I'll handle the rest."

"Buck, come on. At least let me—"

"They have her, Sam." His voice cracks, just slightly. "Every second we waste talking, they could be—"

"Okay. Okay. Intel coming your way. But Barnes? Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late for that."

Bucky stops in your doorway, looks back at your apartment. There's a photo on your bookshelf—you and him at the building's July 4th party. Mrs. Nguyen had insisted on taking it. You're laughing at something, leaning into him, and he's looking at you like—

Like you're everything he never thought he'd get to have.

"I'm coming for you," he tells the empty room. A promise. A threat. A prayer to whoever might be listening.

Then he disappears into the night, and the Winter Soldier goes hunting.

The trail goes cold in six hours.

Whoever took you, they're not amateurs playing at being dangerous. They're ghosts—professionals who know exactly how to disappear in a city of eight million people. Every camera angle's been scrubbed. Every witness suddenly develops amnesia. Even the blood in your apartment leads nowhere; cleaned of DNA markers by something that makes Bucky's teeth ache with familiarity.

"Talk to me, Buck." Sam's voice through the earpiece, carefully level. "Where are you?"

Bucky stands on a rooftop in Queens, staring at another dead end. Another empty warehouse that should have had something, anything. "Nowhere."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." His metal hand clenches, servos whining. Below, the city keeps moving, oblivious to the fact that you're somewhere in it, hurt, taken because of him. "They're good, Sam. Too good."

"We'll find her."

We. Like this isn't Bucky's fault. Like his past isn't bleeding into your present, staining everything he tried so hard to keep clean.

He drops from the rooftop, lands hard enough to crack pavement. A passing couple startles, hurries away. Good. He doesn't feel particularly human right now anyway.

Hour twelve. Yelena finds him in your apartment, sitting on your couch like a grieving statue.

"This is pathetic," she says, stepping over the crime scene tape he'd ignored. "Even for you."

"Get out."

"No." She perches on your coffee table, uncharacteristically serious. "You think sitting here feeling sorry for yourself will find her? You think guilt helps?"

"I said—"

"I know what guilt looks like, Barnes." Her voice cuts, precise as the knives she carries. "I know what it is, failing someone you—" She pauses, searching for the English word. "Care about. But this?" She gestures at him, at the apartment, at the bloody handprint he can't stop staring at. "This is just... как это... self-pity? No, worse. Useless."

The laugh that tears out of him is ugly. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Someone needs to knock sense into your thick skull." She leans forward. "Whoever has her, they want you like this. Emotional. Sloppy. Making mistakes."

"I know that."

"Then stop giving them what they want."

Easier said than done when every surface in this apartment carries your ghost. The mug on the counter with your lipstick stain. The book splayed open on the side table, marking your place. The sweater thrown over the chair—his sweater, actually, stolen three weeks ago when you'd claimed your apartment was freezing.

"Keep it," he'd said, trying not to notice how it made something primal in him satisfied, seeing you wrapped in his clothes.

"Just until I fix my radiator," you'd promised, but you'd worn it three more times that week, and he'd never asked for it back.

"Barnes." Yelena snaps her fingers in his face. "Сфокусируйся. Focus."

"I am focused."

"You're spiraling." She pulls out her phone, shows him surveillance footage he's already memorized. "Look again. Really look. Use your brain, not your bleeding heart."

He wants to tell her he's looked at nothing else for twelve hours. Instead, he watches you leave your apartment at 6:47 PM, mail in hand. Watches you come back at 6:53. The timestamp jumps—7:31 to 8:15, forty-four minutes missing. By 8:15, your door's ajar and you're gone.

"Professional crew doesn't need forty-four minutes for grab," Yelena says, her English getting rougher as she thinks. "So why take so long? What were they doing?"

Bucky's phone buzzes. Unknown number.

His blood turns to ice, then flame.

"You're going to want to watch this alone," the familiar voice says. "Though I'm sure your friend is lovely. Hi, Yelena."

She stiffens. Bucky's already moving, putting distance between them, some instinct screaming danger.

"Just me," he says. "Let her go."

"See, that's your problem, Barnes. Still trying to protect everyone. Still thinking you can control who gets hurt." A pause. "Check your messages."

The video file is already there. His hand shakes as he opens it.

You're in a concrete room—could be anywhere, everywhere, the kind of place that exists in every city's bones. Sitting in a metal chair, wrists zip-tied but not apparently hurt beyond the cut on your temple still sluggishly bleeding. You're still wearing his sweater.

"Say hello, sweetheart." The voice comes from behind the camera.

You look up, and the defiance in your eyes makes his chest seize. "Go fuck yourself."

The slap comes fast, snaps your head sideways. Bucky's phone creaks in his grip.

"Language." The camera shifts, focuses on your face. "Try again."

You spit blood, manage a smile that's all teeth. "Hi, Bucky. Nice weather we're having."

Another slap. Harder. Your lip splits.

"I told you he made you weak." The voice continues conversationally as you work your jaw, testing damage. "The Winter Soldier, reduced to playing house with some nobody. It's embarrassing, really."

"You talk a lot for someone hiding behind a camera," you mutter.

This time it's a fist. Your head rocks back, and when you look up again, your nose is bleeding. But you're still glaring, still unbroken, and Bucky loves you so fiercely in that moment it feels like drowning.

"Here's what's going to happen," the voice continues. "Every hour Barnes doesn't come alone to the address we'll send, things get worse for you. And before you get any ideas—" The camera pans to show three other men, armed, professional. "—we've planned for contingencies."

Back to you. Blood drips onto his sweater. You notice the camera returning, look directly into it. "Don't you fucking dare," you say, and despite everything—split lip, bloody nose, zip-tied to a chair—you mean it. "You hear me, Barnes? Don't you—"

The video cuts.

Bucky stands very still in your empty apartment, phone in pieces at his feet.

"That bad?" Yelena asks.

He can't speak. Can barely breathe around the rage threatening to tear him apart from the inside. Somewhere in the city, you're bleeding because of him. Hurt because he was selfish enough to let you close, stupid enough to think distance would be enough.

Another text. An address in Red Hook. Come alone or we start cutting.

"Is trap," Yelena says, dropping articles like she does when she's focused. "Obviously trap."

"I know."

"You can't just walk in there like idiot."

"I know."

"So what's plan?"

He looks at her, and whatever she sees in his face makes her step back. "I give them what they want."

"Barnes—"

"They want the Winter Soldier?" His voice sounds wrong, mechanical, like something dredged up from permafrost. "They've got him."

The address leads to a warehouse because of course it does. These people, whoever they are, lack imagination. Bucky counts heat signatures through thermal imaging—six outside, unknown inside. Doable, if he's what he used to be. If he's willing to be what he used to be.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Your voice echoes, but it's drowned out by older programming. By muscle memory that never quite faded, no matter how many therapy sessions or good days or shared dinners with someone who looked at him like he was worth saving.

"In position," Sam's voice, because fuck going alone. Fuck giving them what they want. "West entrance."

"Rooftop," from Yelena.

"Back door," Walker, surprisingly. "For the record, I think this is stupid."

"Noted," Bucky says, and walks through the front door.

The space is exactly what he expected. Concrete floors, exposed beams, the kind of place that swallows sound. They're waiting for him—five men in tactical gear, no identifying marks. Professional contractors, not ideologues. Which makes this personal.

"Dramatic entrance. I respect that." The voice from the phone materializes into a man in his forties, military bearing, forgettable face. He's standing next to a metal table laid out with tools that make Bucky's scars ache. "Though you were supposed to come alone."

"Yeah, well." Bucky spreads his hands, easy target. "I've never been good at following orders. Ask anyone."

"Funny." The man circles him, predator studying prey. "That's not what your files say. 'Perfect compliance.' That was the phrase, wasn't it?"

Old wounds, precisely targeted. These people have done their homework.

"Where is she?"

"Close. Alive. For now." The man stops in front of him. "You know, I studied you. The Winter Soldier. Hydra's perfect weapon. And then you just... stopped. Became this." He gestures dismissively. "James Barnes, failing congressman. Playing superhero. Pretending you're not what we made you."

"We?"

The man smiles. "Not Hydra, if that's what you're thinking. Hydra was sloppy. Cult-like. No vision beyond control." He pulls out a tablet, shows Bucky a logo—a chimera, three-headed. "Cerberus. We're more... refined. We deal in weapons, not world domination. And you, Barnes? You're a weapon pretending to be human."

"Cool speech." Bucky's cataloging angles, distances, how fast he'd have to move. "Must've practiced in the mirror."

The man's smile tightens. "Bring her out."

Two more men emerge from a side room, dragging you between them. You're conscious but barely, feet stumbling, head lolling. They drop you on the concrete, and you don't get up.

Everything in Bucky goes very, very quiet.

"So here's the deal," Cerberus continues. "You're going to work for us. Exclusive contract. Your particular skills in exchange for her life."

"No." Your voice, cracked but clear. You push yourself up on shaking arms, meet Bucky's eyes across the warehouse. "No deals. No trades."

"Sweetheart—"

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me." You manage to get to your knees, swaying. Blood's dried on your face, but your eyes are blazing. "You think I don't know what they're asking? You think I'd let you—" You have to stop, catch your breath. "I'd rather die than be the reason you become that again."

"How touching," Cerberus says. "But not your call." He nods to one of his men, who pulls out a knife. "Barnes? Your answer?"

The knife moves toward you.

The world explodes.

Flash-bangs through windows, smoke grenades, the distinctive whine of repulsor beams. Cerberus shouts orders, but it's too late—the Avengers don't do subtle when one of their own is threatened.

Bucky moves. Not the measured approach of a soldier, but the brutal efficiency of a weapon. The man with the knife goes down first, arm snapping under metal fingers. The second barely has time to scream. He's not thinking, just reacting, just removing threats between him and you.

Someone shoots him. Barely feels it. Someone else tries hand-to-hand, which is adorable. He puts them through a wall.

"Barnes!" Sam's voice, sharp. "Shield up!"

He spins, catches the thrown shield, uses it to deflect a spray of bullets meant for you. You're trying to crawl to cover, leaving bloody handprints on the concrete, and the sight shorts out whatever restraint he had left.

When the smoke clears, Cerberus is the only one left standing. Backed against the wall, gun trained on you because of course it is. These people are predictable to the last.

"Come any closer and—"

Yelena drops from the ceiling, lands on him like gravity given form. The gun goes flying. Cerberus goes down choking on his own blood, Yelena's knife finding the gap in his armor like it was designed for it.

"Predictable," she says, wiping the blade clean. "I told you they were predictable."

But Bucky's already moving, dropping to his knees beside you. You're conscious, breathing, alive. That's all that matters. Everything else—the mission, the cleanup, the questions—fades to white noise.

"Hey," he says, hands hovering over you, afraid to touch. Afraid to hurt. "I've got you."

"Took you long enough," you manage, then promptly pass out in his arms.

He catches you, holds you against his chest, and something in him breaks. Or maybe it finally, finally mends. Either way, he's done pretending distance keeps anyone safe. Done acting like he deserves to make choices about your safety without you.

"Med team's three minutes out," Sam says quietly.

Three minutes. He can hold you for three minutes. Can keep you safe for three minutes.

After that? After that, everything changes.

But for now, in the blood and smoke and aftermath, Bucky Barnes holds the person he was stupid enough to fall in love with and makes a promise:

Never again.

Never fucking again.

The medical bay at the Tower is too bright, too sterile, too full of people who keep looking at Bucky like he might snap. Maybe he will. He's been sitting in the same chair for four hours, watching machines monitor your breathing, and every beep feels like an accusation.

"You need to get that looked at," Sam says, nodding at the blood seeping through Bucky's shirt. Gunshot wound, probably. He honestly can't remember.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding on their fancy floors."

"I'm fine."

Sam exchanges a look with Yelena, who's been uncharacteristically quiet since they arrived. She's cleaned the blood off her hands but keeps flexing them, like she can still feel it.

"At least change your shirt," she says finally. "You look like extra from horror movie."

He doesn't move. Can't move. Because what if you wake up while he's gone? What if you open your eyes and he's not there, again, like he wasn't there when they took you?

"Barnes." Dr. Cho's voice cuts through his spiral. "She's stable. Three broken ribs, concussion, various contusions, but nothing life-threatening. She's lucky."

Lucky. The word tastes like copper in his mouth. Lucky is winning the lottery, not surviving a kidnapping because you had the misfortune of living next to him.

"When will she wake up?"

"Soon. The sedatives should wear off within the hour." She pauses, studying him with that look medical professionals get when they're about to say something pointed. "You, however, need treatment. You're actively bleeding on my floor."

"Sam already made that joke."

"It wasn't a joke." But she moves on, knowing a lost cause when she sees one. "I'll send a nurse with supplies. Try not to die before she wakes up. The paperwork would be tedious."

She leaves. Sam leaves. Even Yelena eventually wanders off, muttering something about vodka and terrible life choices. And then it's just Bucky and you and the steady beep of machines he'd tear apart if they stopped working.

Your hand is smaller than his. He knows this—has known it since the first time you grabbed his wrist to drag him to see some neighbor's new puppy—but it feels more pronounced now. More fragile. Your knuckles are split from fighting back, and there's still blood under your nails. His blood? Theirs? He doesn't know, and the not knowing makes him want to put his fist through the wall.

"You're spiraling again."

Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a gunshot for how hard it hits. His head snaps up to find you watching him, eyes half-open but alert.

"You're awake."

"Mmm. Kind of wish I wasn't." You try to sit up, wince, immediately abort that mission. "Fuck. Did anyone get the number of the truck that hit me?"

"Don't—" He's hovering, hands fluttering uselessly, afraid to touch you. "You shouldn't move. Dr. Cho said—"

"Dr. Cho can kiss my ass," you mutter, but you stop trying to sit up. Your eyes track over him, cataloging damage. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"It's literally dripping on the floor, Barnes."

"It's fine."

You stare at each other. Four hours of practiced speeches evaporate in the face of your actual consciousness, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your blood on concrete and the sound you made when they hit you.

"So," you say finally, voice carefully neutral. "Cerberus. That was fun."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Make jokes about my kidnapping? Process trauma through humor? Acknowledge that you're sitting there bleeding because you decided to Rambo your way through—"

"You could have died." It comes out louder than intended, raw. "You almost died because of me."

Something shifts in your expression. "Bucky—"

"No." He's standing now, needing distance, needing space between him and the way you're looking at him. "You don't get to—to act like this is fine. Like this is some funny story you'll tell at parties. They took you because of me. They hurt you because of me."

"They took me because they're assholes who thought they could use me as leverage." You're struggling to sit up again, ignoring whatever pain it causes. "That's on them, not you."

"You're only leverage because I was selfish enough to—" He stops, runs his hand through his hair. "I knew better. I knew what would happen if I let someone close, and I did it anyway."

"Let me get this straight." Your voice is gaining strength, and with it, heat. "You think you 'let' me get close? Like I didn't have any say in it? Like I didn't practically force-feed you cookies until you acknowledged my existence?"

"That's not—"

"And what, you think keeping me at arm's length would've magically made me safer? News flash, Barnes: I live in that building because it's what I can afford. That makes me a target for regular criminals on a good day. At least with you around, I had someone who actually gave a shit if I made it home."

"Don't." The word cracks. "Don't act like I was protecting you. I'm the reason you were bleeding. I'm the reason they—"

"You're the reason I'm alive!" You swing your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor with determination that makes his chest tight. "You think they took me because they wanted leverage? They took me because they were cleaning house. Because they knew you'd gotten soft, gotten close to someone, and that made you unpredictable."

You stand, sway, catch yourself on the bed rail. He moves forward instinctively, and you hold up a hand.

"No. You don't get to touch me right now. Not when you're about to do something stupid and noble and self-sacrificing." You take a step, then another, closing the distance between you despite your own warning. "They were going to kill me either way, Barnes. Whether you came for me or not. The only difference is that you did come, and now I'm alive to be really fucking pissed at you."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." You're close enough now that he can see the bruises forming on your throat, the way you're holding your ribs, the tears you're refusing to shed. "You think you're poison. You think everyone you touch gets hurt. You think the best thing you can do is be alone forever because that's what you deserve."

"Stop."

"No. Because here's the thing, James Buchanan Barnes—you don't get to make that choice for me." Your voice breaks, just a little. "You don't get to decide I'm better off without you. You don't get to kiss me in my kitchen and then run away like a coward. And you sure as hell don't get to sit there bleeding and act like it's some kind of penance."

The medical bay feels too small suddenly, like all the air's been sucked out. You're looking at him with eyes that see too much, that refuse to let him hide behind the careful walls he's rebuilt in the last three weeks.

"They hurt you," he says, quieter now. Lost.

"Yeah. They did." You reach up, slowly, telegraphing the movement. Your hand cups his face, thumb brushing over the bruise on his cheekbone. "And it wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?"

"Because blaming you for what they did is like blaming a bank for getting robbed." Your other hand comes up, framing his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You're not responsible for other people's evil, Bucky. You're only responsible for what you do about it."

"I should have protected you better."

"You literally threw yourself between me and automatic gunfire."

"I should have never let them take you in the first place."

"Oh, so you're psychic now? Can predict the future?" Your laugh is watery. "Add that to the resume. Congressman, ex-assassin, part-time fortune teller."

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny." But your smile fades, replaced by something fiercer. "You want to know what's not funny? Spending three weeks watching you shut me out. Sitting in that chair, knowing you were hurting, and not being able to do anything because you decided I was better off without you."

"You are—"

"Finish that sentence and I swear to god, Barnes, concussion or not, I will punch you in your stupid, self-loathing face."

He almost smiles. Almost. "You could barely stand five seconds ago."

"Adrenaline's a hell of a drug." But you're swaying again, and this time when he reaches for you, you don't stop him. His arms come around you carefully, mindful of injuries, and you lean into him like you've been waiting for permission. "I'm so fucking mad at you."

"I know."

"Like, incandescently furious."

"I know."

"You don't get to leave again." It comes out muffled against his chest, but he hears the steel underneath. "I don't care if the entire population of supervillains decides I'm their new favorite target. You don't get to leave."

His arms tighten fractionally. "Sweetheart—"

"No." You pull back enough to glare at him, and even bruised and exhausted, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "No 'sweetheart.' No soft voice and sad eyes. You're either in this with me or you're out, but you don't get to half-ass it anymore. You don't get to knock on my door at 2 AM because you had a nightmare and then pretend we're just neighbors. You don't get to dance with me at weddings and then act like it meant nothing. You don't get to—"

He kisses you.

There's no grace in it—just collision, pure physics as his mouth finds yours with the same brutal efficiency he'd use to take down a target. Except this isn't violence, it's something worse. It's capitulation. It's three weeks of want compressed into the space between one heartbeat and the next.

The noise that escapes you—half gasp, half sob—unlocks something feral in his chest. Then your teeth catch his lower lip, sharp and unforgiving, and his vision whites out entirely. You kiss like you fight: dirty, determined, taking no prisoners. Your tongue slides against his and his knees actually buckle, what the fuck, he's faced down alien armies without flinching but you're going to be what finally kills him.

His hands fly to your face, metal and flesh cradling your jaw like you're something precious even as he devours your mouth like you're anything but. You're pressed so tight against him he can feel every hitch in your breathing, every shudder that runs through you when he angles his head and deepens the kiss into something filthier, something that has you making these broken little sounds that he wants to bottle and keep.

The medical bed hits the back of your thighs—when did he walk you backward?—and you use the leverage to pull him down, down, until he's curved over you like a question mark, like gravity itself has reorganized around the heat of your mouth.

When you finally break apart, it's only because biology demands it. You're both wrecked—breathing like you've run marathons, lips swollen and spit-slick, staring at each other like you're not quite sure what just happened.

Your pupils are blown so wide he can barely see the color of your irises. There's a flush spreading down your throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown, and he has to physically stop himself from following it with his mouth. His hands are trembling where they frame your face, thumbs pressed to your cheekbones like he's checking you're real.

"That's not an answer," you manage, but your voice is thoroughly fucked, and your hands are still twisted in his vest like you'll shoot him if he tries to move away.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's really not. It's a deflection. A really nice deflection, but—"

"I'm in." The words feel like jumping off a cliff. Like defusing a bomb. Like coming home. "I'm in. Whatever that means, whatever that looks like. I'm in."

You study him for a long moment, and he tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. Finally: "You're going to therapy."

"I'm already in therapy."

"You're going to actually talk in therapy instead of just staring at the wall and hoping Dr. Raynor gets bored."

"...fine."

"And you're going to let me have a say in my own safety. No more unilateral decisions about what's 'best' for me."

"Okay."

"And you're going to teach me self-defense. Real self-defense, not just how to throw a punch."

"Deal."

"And—" You sway again, this time more dramatically. "Oh. Okay. Maybe sitting down now."

He guides you back to the bed, hands steady even if nothing else is. You let him fuss, let him adjust pillows and pull up blankets, and he tries not to think about how easily you fit into his hands. How right this feels, even with blood on his shirt and bruises on your skin.

"For the record," you say as he settles back into the chair beside your bed, "I'm still mad."

"I know."

"Like, really mad. There's going to be yelling. Possibly throwing things."

"I can take it."

"And groveling. Lots of groveling. I'm talking flowers, chocolates, the works."

"Noted."

You reach for his hand, lace your fingers through his. "And you're going to tell me you love me."

He freezes. You squeeze his hand.

"Because I know you do. I've known since you reorganized my bookshelf by genre and then pretended you didn't. And I love you too, you absolute disaster of a man, but I need to hear you say it. When I'm not concussed and you're not bleeding. When we're both safe and no one's trying to kill us and we can actually have a real conversation about what this means."

His throat feels tight. "I can do that."

"Good." You close your eyes, exhaustion finally winning. "Now get your gunshot wound treated before you bleed out on my watch. I'm not explaining that to Sam."

"It's not that bad."

"Bucky."

"Fine."

But he doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, he sits there holding your hand, memorizing the way your fingers fit between his, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the fact that you're alive and here and somehow, impossibly, still want him around.

The sun's coming up by the time a nurse finally corners him, threatening sedation if he doesn't let her treat the gunshot wound. You're properly asleep by then, fingers still tangled with his, and he lets the nurse work around your grip rather than let go.

"She's tough," the nurse comments, applying what are probably too many bandages.

"Yeah."

"And stubborn."

"Definitely."

"Good." She pats his shoulder, maternal despite being half his age. "You're going to need it."

He doesn't ask what she means. Doesn't need to. Because you're right—he's a disaster. A work in progress on his best days, a barely controlled catastrophe on his worst. But you looked at all that and decided he was worth fighting for anyway.

The least he can do is try to prove you right.

When you wake up again, he's there. When Dr. Cho kicks him out so you can rest, he goes to therapy and actually talks. When Sam asks if you're together now, he says yes without qualifying it.

And when you're finally released, when you're back in your apartment with its new locks and its carefully cleaned floors, when you knock on his door at midnight because the nightmares found you too—he opens it. No hesitation. No distance.

"Hey, neighbor," you say, and the smile you give him is worth every risk, every fear, every moment of doubt.

"Hey yourself."

You step inside, and he closes the door behind you, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Bucky Barnes stops running from the possibility of happiness.

It's terrifying.

It's everything.

It's enough.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

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jupiterpilgrim · 12 days ago

Text

Find. Watch. Change

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

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is you. In the videos. Fucking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes! Yes! Harder!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, oppa! Cum for us!” Yuqi yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, baby! Please, me!”

“Give it to me!”

“Don’t make us wait, you bastard!”

“So much, I want so much!”

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

The bedroom door creaks open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why… why d-didn’t you ever tell me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please…” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Watch, baby," you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I was scared,” Tzuyu whispers, and her admission is practically inaudible over Yuqi’s increasingly loud moans from the laptop. “I wanted to… god, even then, the thought of it… it made me feel… tingly. But then I thought about… about how big you are, your cock…” She shudders, not entirely from fear. “I just… I didn’t think I could take it. I thought it would hurt too much, that I’d tear or something. I was embarrassed to even admit I was curious.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, your fingers pausing their movement inside her. You shift slightly, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look her in the eyes. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen, her pupils blown wide. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And it’s natural to be a little scared of something new, especially something that seems… intense.” You lean in and kiss her deeply, a slow, tender kiss that’s meant to reassure. “But look at them,” you whisper against her lips, gesturing with your chin towards the laptop. “Look at Shuhua now. She was terrified, remember? And listen to her.”

On the screen, your video-self has Shuhua’s small waist in a vice grip, his thrusts deep and powerful. “Oh daddy! Yes! Right there! Fuck! Deeper! I’m… I’M SO FUCKING CLOSE! DON’T STOP!” With a few more brutal, perfectly aimed thrusts, her whole body locks up, her back arching impossibly high as a shattering orgasm rips through her, her screams echoing.

Tzuyu watches, mesmerized, her own body trembling in sympathy. “She… she really liked it,” she breathes, a sense of awe in her voice. “Even after being so scared.”

“Exactly,” you say softly, resuming your fingering, a slow, deliberate glide in and out of her slick heat. “And if you ever wanted to try… truly wanted to… we would go so slow. So much lube, so much preparation. I would never, ever hurt you, Tzuyu. It would be all about your pleasure, making you feel good. And honestly?” You lean in, “the thought of my cock sliding into your tight, virgin ass… it’s one of the hottest fucking things I can imagine. If you wanted it, baby, it would be an absolute pleasure to fuck that sweet ass of yours.”

A choked sob escapes Tzuyu’s lips, and she nods frantically, tears welling in her eyes; tears of arousal, of relief, of burgeoning excitement. “Yes… please… I… I think I really want to.”

“Good girl.”

On the laptop, Shuhua is a spent, quivering mess. Your video-self pulls out of her slowly, his cock glistening. Yuqi, who has been watching with rapt attention while rubbing her own clit, immediately scrambles closer. “Me next, daddy! Oh my god, that was incredible! Shuhua-unnie, you were so loud! Now make me scream like that! Please, fuck my ass until I can’t walk!” She’s practically bouncing with eagerness.

Your video-self needs no further encouragement.

He repositions behind Yuqi, who arches her back, presenting her ass with enthusiasm. He plunges into her with a single, powerful stroke, and Yuqi lets out a whoop of pure joy. “Yes! Oh fuck, daddy! It’s SO good! Just like that!” She’s already grinding back against him, her fingers working her clit with frantic speed. “Soyeon-unnie, are you getting this?!” she yells. “This is the best feeling in the world! Everyone should try anal with daddy’s giant cock!” The scene is a whirlwind of motion and sound, your video-self pounding into Yuqi’s ass, her body bucking and spasming as she rides her own fingers and your invading dick towards a spectacular climax. Within minutes, she’s screaming her release, her whole body drenched in sweat, her clit visibly throbbing as she comes hard.

Tzuyu is panting, her hips bucking against your hand. “They’re so… uninhibited,” she gasps. “Saying exactly what they want… doing what they want… God, it’s… liberating just to watch.”

The video shifts again. Soyeon’s voice, cool and authoritative, cuts through Yuqi’s fading moans. “Alright, my little sluts, you’ve had your fun. Miyeon, take the camera. My turn to play with our favorite toy.” Soyeon hands the camera to Miyeon, whose face is flushed with a knowing smirk. Shuhua and Yuqi, looking utterly wrecked but blissfully satisfied, scramble to make room on the bed. Then, Soyeon turns to your video-self. She doesn’t ask; she commands. With a surprisingly strong shove, she pushes your video-self backwards. He stumbles, then falls back onto the mattress, landing on his back. Soyeon stands over him, a queen surveying her conquest. She grabs the lube bottle. Your video-self’s cock is still impressively hard, glistening with the juices of Shuhua and Yuqi.

Soyeon slowly, deliberately, drizzles fresh, cool lube over the head and shaft. She then straddles his hips, her own perfect, tight asshole hovering just above his waiting dick. She reaches down, takes his thick, lubed cock in her hand, and with a slow, deliberate movement, positions the head right at her own entrance. Her eyes lock with his. “You ready to be mommy’s good boy again?” she purrs.

The image on the laptop screen is electrifying. Soyeon, perched atop your video-self, is a vision of absolute control. She moves with a practiced, fluid grace, her hips rolling and bucking, taking every inch of his cock deep into her ass with an expression of intense concentration mixed with undeniable pleasure. Her hands are braced on his shoulders, her knuckles white, not for balance, but for leverage, for dominance. Your video-self is flat on his back, his own expression a mixture of pained ecstasy and complete surrender as Soyeon rides him like she was born for it.

“Wow…” Tzuyu breathes. Your fingers are still deep inside her, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that keeps her simmering. “Soyeon… she’s… incredible. The way she moves, her confidence… she’s not just fucking you, she’s owning you.”

“She is, isn’t she? Soyeon’s a force of nature, baby. In every sense of the word. Truly amazing. She always knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it.” You slide your fingers a little deeper, brushing against her cervix, and Tzuyu gasps, her hips bucking slightly. “Does her being in charge like that… does it do something for you, Tzuyu?”

Before Tzuyu can answer, the girls in the video start chanting. “Fuck him, Soyeon-unnie! Fuck daddy good!” Yuqi yells, her face flushed with excitement. Shuhua is nodding eagerly beside her, her eyes wide. Minnie chimes in: “Yeah, Unnie! Make him beg! Show him who’s boss!”

Soyeon smirks, a predatory glint in her eyes, but she doesn’t break her rhythm. Then, she looks directly at your video-self. “You hear that, slave? They want me to fuck you senseless.” She leans down. “But first… I think my good boy needs a little treat. A taste of his adoring fans.” She glances over at Minnie. “Minnie-yah, you first. Come give daddy a proper offering.”

Minnie’s eyes light up. She scrambles closer, leans over your video-self’s face, puckers her lips, and a thick string of saliva arcs from her mouth directly into his open, waiting one. Your video-self swallows, a small groan escaping him. “Good girl,” Soyeon purrs. “Yuqi, you’re next. Make it juicy for him.” Yuqi, giggling, follows suit, her spit landing with a wet smack. Shuhua, looking a little shy but determined, leans in and adds her own offering. Finally, Soyeon looks at Miyeon, who’s still expertly handling the camera. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this, Miyeon-ah. Get over here and give daddy what he deserves. Make sure the camera catches it all.”

Miyeon, ever the professional, keeps the camera steady on your video-self’s face with one hand while she leans in, angles herself perfectly, and lets a generous stream of spit fall into his mouth.

Tzuyu is watching this, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. She looks… utterly enchanted. A strange, almost unreadable expression on her face. “They… they all spat in your mouth,” she whispers, as if trying to process the sheer audacity of it. “And you just… took it. You liked it.”

“I loved it.” You shift your fingers inside her, pressing them upwards, rubbing against the sensitive wall of her g-spot. “Being used like that, by all of them… it’s a rush. Does the thought of that… spitting… intrigue you, Tzuyu? The idea of someone having that kind of… intimate power over another?”

Her breath hitches. “I… I don’t know,” she stammers, but her eyes are still glued to the screen, where Soyeon, having ensured your video-self has been thoroughly ‘seasoned’, leans down and captures his mouth in a deep, wet, open-mouthed kiss. It’s a kiss that’s more about claiming than affection, Soyeon’s tongue plunging into his, tasting her own girls’ spit mingled with his. All the while, her hips continue their relentless, grinding assault on his cock, buried deep in her ass.

“It’s… intense,” Tzuyu finally manages. “The thought of… tasting someone like that… or being tasted… after…” She trails off, a dark blush staining her cheeks. “And her kissing him, with all of their… essences… it’s so… possessive. So dominant.”

“Is that what you find enchanting, baby?” you probe gently, your fingers now moving in a steady, circular motion inside her, stoking the flames. “Soyeon’s dominance? Or is it something about the… shared intimacy of it all? The fluids?”

Tzuyu moans softly, a confused, aroused sound. “Both, I think. The power she has… it’s undeniably hot. But then… the spitting, the kiss… it’s so… primal. So degrading, but in a way that seems to make you even more hers.” She shivers. “I… I’ve sometimes wondered… what it would be like… to be that… free. To do something so… forbidden. Or to have it done to me.”

Your video-self is clearly nearing his limit. His groans are louder now, his hips starting to buck up to meet Soyeon’s thrusts. Soyeon picks up the pace, her movements becoming faster, harder, her own breathing growing ragged. “He’s close!” Yuqi shrieks excitedly. “Unnie, he’s gonna cum! Make him shoot it all inside you!”

“Cum for mommy, slave!” Soyeon commands. “Give me every last drop of that hot load you’ve been saving for me!”

“Mommy!” your video-self roars. “Fuck, mommy, I’m cumming!”

Soyeon rides him with a final, furious burst of speed, her hips moving with an almost impossible skill, milking his cock, her own eyes squeezed shut, a mask of intense concentration. His body arches off the bed, a long, shuddering groan tearing from his throat as he floods her asshole with his hot seed. The sensation, the sight, the sheer intensity of his release clearly pushes Soyeon over the edge too. A split second later, she screams, a beautiful, melodic sound that’s pure, unadulterated bliss, her inner muscles clenching violently around his still-pulsing cock as she achieves her own powerful anal orgasm. She collapses onto his chest, a boneless, panting heap, her body trembling.

The other girls erupt in cheers and applause. “Yes, Unnie! You did it!” Minnie shouts. “You made daddy your cumdump!”

Tzuyu is practically vibrating against your hand, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “you called her mommy,” she whispers, her eyes glazed. “And she made you cum inside her… and she came too… oh god…” The combination of the dirty talk, the power dynamic, and the simultaneous orgasms has clearly hit a nerve. Your fingers are working her relentlessly now, pushing her closer and closer to her own edge.

After a moment, Miyeon’s voice, still a little breathless, comes from behind the camera. “Okay, okay, break it up, lovebirds! Let’s see the damage! Soyeon-unnie, show us what daddy gave you!”

Soyeon, with a tired but triumphant smile, slowly, almost theatrically, lifts herself off your video-self’s cock. As his thick, spent shaft slides out of her, a thick, creamy torrent of white cum begins to ooze from her stretched asshole, running down between her thighs. It’s a lot. Hot and viscous.

“Whoa!” Yuqi exclaims. “Look at all that! daddy really filled you up, Unnie!”

Shuhua, ever helpful, gently spreads Soyeon’s ass cheeks, revealing the glistening, cum-coated entrance. Without a word, Minnie and Yuqi are there, their heads bent, tongues darting out to lick up the leaking seed from Soyeon’s flesh, from the base of your video-self’s cock, catching every stray drop. Miyeon zooms in, capturing their eager, lapping tongues in graphic detail. “Mmm, tastes so good,” Minnie hums, her voice muffled. “daddy’s cum is the best.” Yuqi nods in agreement, her face a mess of semen and saliva. Then, they turn to each other, their lips meeting in a slow, sensual, cum-flavored kiss, their tongues tangling right in front of the camera.

Tzuyu lets out a strangled sound, something between shock and raw, undeniable arousal. “They’re… they’re licking it up… from her… and kissing…” Her hips are bucking wildly against your fingers now, her pussy clenching and unclenching. “That’s… so incredibly filthy… so fucking hot…” Her voice breaks on a sob. “I… I want to be that shameless… I want to taste you like that… from someone else… or… or have them taste you from me… Oh god, what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, baby,” you groan, your own cock stone hard in your pants, your control rapidly slipping. “You’re just finally admitting what you want. And it’s fucking beautiful.”

Her eyes, wild and dark, lock onto yours. Then, with a surge of newfound boldness, Tzuyu leans up and kisses you, a deep, searching kiss that tastes of her own slick arousal and the remnants of her shocked, breathless words. When she finally pulls back, a slow, genuine smile spreads across her flushed face.

“Okay,” she breathes after pulling back. “Okay. Another one. Please. And…” she bites her lip, a flicker of shyness returning, quickly overwhelmed by a wave of heat in her eyes, “can you… will you go back to…?” She gestures vaguely downwards, towards her own still-throbbing, exquisitely sensitive cunt. “Your mouth… it felt so good.”

“Anything for you, my curious little explorer,” you murmur. You reach for the laptop, your other hand already gently parting her thighs again. “And I think I have just the thing. This next one… it’s a little different. A change of pace. You might find it… enlightening.” You select a new file, hit play, and then, with a groan of pure pleasure that’s entirely your own, you bury your face between her legs, your tongue immediately finding her clit, flicking and laving with renewed devotion. Tzuyu gasps, her fingers instantly tangling in your hair, her hips starting to rock against your mouth.

On the screen, the new video flickers to life. The camera is static this time, positioned on a tripod, offering a wide, clear view of a luxurious hotel room. Your video-self is sitting on the edge of a large bed, looking surprisingly… docile. Soyeon and Minnie are on either side of him, their expressions mischievous and full of playful intent. In their hands are two pair of gleaming, metallic handcuffs. Miyeon, Shuhua and Yuqi are lounging on a nearby armchair, watching the proceedings with undisguised amusement, like spectators at a particularly interesting show.

“Right then, our favorite boy toy,” Soyeon announces as she dangles the handcuffs in front of your video-self’s face. “We’ve decided you’ve been a little too in control lately. Time for a change of management, wouldn’t you say, Minnie-yah?”

Minnie giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Definitely, Unnie! He needs to learn his place. And I think his place today is… thoroughly restrained.” She takes one of your video-self’s wrists and, with a flourish, snaps one cuff around it, and then she ties the other one to the headboard. Soyeon mirrors the action on the other side. Within moments, your video-self’s hands are cuffed to the bed.

Tzuyu lets out a soft, involuntary whimper. Her clit swells under your tongue. You can feel the shift in her arousal, a new, sharper intensity. Her hips are grinding against your face with more purpose now. Through the haze of her pleasure, she manages to gasp, “You… they handcuffed you… you’re… submissive.” There’s a strange, breathless quality to her voice, shock and burgeoning, undeniable horniness. “Did you like it?”

You pause your licking for a moment, just long enough to look up at her, your chin still resting on her damp thigh. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, fixed on the screen. “Did I like being handcuffed, baby?” you murmur. “Oh, I fucking loved it. Having them take control like that… knowing I was completely at their mercy… it was an incredible turn-on.” You dip your head again, sucking her clit deep into your mouth, and she cries out, a raw, needy sound.

On screen, Soyeon and Minnie are now maneuvering your video-self so his cuffed hands are secured to the ornate headboard of the bed, stretching his arms above his head, leaving him completely exposed and vulnerable. He’s not fighting it; in fact, there’s a small, almost eager smile playing on his lips.

“Perfect,” Soyeon declares with satisfaction, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “Now he looks like a proper offering.”

Shuhua, Yuqi and Miyeon, who had been watching with barely suppressed giggles, now approach the bed. Miyeon kneels down right in front of your video-self’s exposed, already hardening cock. Shuhua kneels beside her. “Well, look what we have here,” Miyeon purrs, her fingers ghosting over his shaft. “All tied up and ready for worship. You’ve been a very good boy, daddy, letting us do this to you.”

Shuhua, less talkative but equally enthusiastic, leans in and takes the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue immediately getting to work. Miyeon joins her a second later, her lips closing around the base, their heads bobbing in a delightful, slobbery rhythm. They suck and lick with a focused intensity, their cheeks hollowing, their eyes occasionally flicking up to meet his, a silent acknowledgment of his captive state. Yuqi is practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh my god, yes! Look at them go! He can’t even move his hands to touch them! This is amazing!”

Your tongue is working overtime on Tzuyu, slow, deep laps from her clit down to her perineum, then back up to suck and nibble with maddening precision. She’s moaning constantly now, soft, broken sounds that tell you she’s getting closer. But you’re holding her back, teasing her, letting the video build the tension.

“They’re… they’re so good to you… even when you're tied up,” Tzuyu pants. “You look… helpless… but you're clearly enjoying it so much.” A strange thought flickers through her mind, a fleeting image of you, the real you, tied up like that, her hands exploring your body, her mouth…

Just as your video-self looks like he’s about to lose it from the combined oral assault, Soyeon reappears in the frame. She’s holding something black and menacingly phallic: a large, realistic-looking strap-on dildo, already gleaming with lube. A wicked grin spreads across her face. “Alright, girls, playtime is evolving,” she announces. She adjusts the straps of the harness around her own hips. “Now, who wants to ride mommy, and who wants to keep daddy company?”

Minnie’s hand shoots up instantly. “Me! I want to ride mommy! Please, Unnie, let me feel that big cock of yours!” Her eyes are practically sparkling with depraved excitement.

Shuhua, her mouth still slick from your video-self’s cock, looks up with wide, pleading eyes. “Can I… can I ride daddy, Unnie? Please? He feels so good, and I want to feel him inside me while he’s tied up like this.”

Soyeon nods, her grin widening. “Excellent choices. Form an orderly queue, ladies.” She gestures to the bed. With a little shimmy, she lies down on her back next to your video-self, the strap-on cock jutting proudly upwards. Minnie scrambles onto the bed and eagerly positions herself over Soyeon’s artificial erection, her wet cunt already glistening. Shuhua, with a triumphant look, climbs onto your video-self’s lap, carefully guiding his still-throbbing, cuffed-and-helpless cock towards her own eager entrance.

Yuqi, meanwhile, have abandoned her armchair and are now curled up at the foot of the bed with Miyeon, their arms around each other, their free hands already disappearing between their own legs as they watch the impending dual-penetration scene. “Oh, this is going to be epic,” Yuqi breathes. Miyeon just nods, her lips already parted in a silent moan.

Tzuyu is practically levitating off the bed, your mouth still working its magic on her. “A… a strap-on…” she gasps. “Soyeon’s going to… fuck Minnie with that? While Shuhua rides… you?” The sheer audacity of the scene, the layers of kink (submission, voyeurism, group sex, strap-on play) are clearly overloading her senses in the best possible way. “It’s… it’s so much… so incredibly decadent…”

On screen, Minnie lets out a delighted squeal as she slowly lowers herself onto Soyeon’s strap-on, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Oh, fuck, Unnie! Yes! It feels so real! So big!” She starts to bounce, her small breasts jiggling. Simultaneously, Shuhua, with a sigh of pure bliss, sinks down onto your video-self’s cock, her tight cunt enveloping him. Your video-self groans, his head thrashing against the pillows, his helpless state only seeming to amplify his pleasure and hers. The video now shows a scene with multiple things happening simultaneously: Minnie riding Soyeon’s strap-on with wild abandon on one side, and Shuhua expertly grinding on your video-self’s captive cock on the other, while Miyeon and Yuqi provide a chorus of moans and encouraging dirty talk as they pleasure themselves.

Your tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure against Tzuyu’s clit, on screen, Minnie is riding Soyeon’s thick strap-on with a fierce, almost desperate energy, her face flushed, eyes half-closed in ecstasy while Soyeon squeezes her small breasts. Beside them, Shuhua is a revelation. Mounted on your cuffed, helpless video-self, she’s moving with a newfound confidence, her hips rolling and grinding, her earlier shyness completely obliterated by a raw, possessive hunger. Her hands are braced on your video-self’s chest, her knuckles white as she works his cock, her moans a steady, guttural counterpoint to Minnie’s higher-pitched cries.

Miyeon and Yuqi are a tangled, giggling heap at the foot of the bed, their hands busy on each other and themselves. “Oh my god, look at Shuhua go!” Yuqi gasps, her own fingers slick between her thighs. “She’s fucking him like she owns him! Who knew our little innocent maknae was such a secret slut?”

Miyeon groans, her head thrown back as Yuqi’s fingers find her clit. “She’s… amazing… And Minnie, fuck, she’s going to break Soyeon’s dick off if she keeps that up!” They’re both panting, their eyes glued to the dual performance, their own pleasure feeding off the intensity of the scene.

Your mouth is working Tzuyu with an almost religious fervor, your lips sucking, your tongue swirling, teasing the very edge of her orgasm. “They’re… both so… into it,” Tzuyu manages to pant as you momentarily lift your head, though your fingers take over, two of them sliding deep inside her, your thumb resuming its relentless circling of her clit. “Shuhua… she’s completely different. So… dominant with you.”

“She found her calling, didn’t she?” you murmur, your breath hot against her inner thigh before you dip your head again, taking her whole clit into your mouth, sucking hard. She screams, a muffled, ecstatic sound.

In the video, Soyeon watches Shuhua with a critical, appraising eye. “Alright, Shuhua-yah,” Soyeon calls out, voice sharp over Minnie’s increasingly frantic moans. “You’re doing well, but you’re still being too… polite. daddy here needs to be reminded who’s in charge. He’s been a very naughty boy, letting himself get tied up like this, hasn’t he?” She looks at your video-self. “He needs a little… punctuation. Slap his face. Hard.”

Shuhua visibly flinches, her rhythm faltering. Her eyes dart nervously between Soyeon and your video-self’s face. “Slap… slap him, Unnie?” she whispers, her newfound confidence wavering. “But… I don’t want to hurt him…”

Your video-self immediately chimes in. “Yes, please, Shuhua-yah! Do it! I deserve it! I’ve been so bad, letting myself be your helpless toy! Punish me! Make me feel it!” His eyes are wide, pleading, a masochistic eagerness burning within them.

Tzuyu gasps against your mouth, her body tensing. “You… you want her to?” she whispers. Your tongue gives her clit a particularly sharp flick in response.

Shuhua, emboldened by your video-self’s plea, takes a shaky breath. She raises a hesitant hand and delivers a light, almost apologetic tap to his cheek. It barely makes a sound.

Soyeon scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Pathetic! Is that the best you can do? Minnie!” she barks, her attention snapping to the girl currently bouncing enthusiastically on her strap-on. “Show this timid little kitten how a real bitch marks her property!”

Minnie, caught up in her own pleasure, misinterprets. With a wild grin, she reaches out and delivers a surprisingly sharp slap right across Soyeon’s cheek.

Soyeon freezes mid-thrust, her eyes wide with shock, then narrowing into a furious glare. “NOT ME, YOU DUMB BITCH!” she roars. “HIM!” She points a finger imperiously at your video-self.

The entire room erupts in laughter. Yuqi and Miyeon are practically hysterical, clutching their stomachs. Minnie’s face flames crimson, but she’s laughing too. “Oh my god, Unnie, I’m so sorry!” she gasps out between peals of laughter. “I just… got carried away!” She quickly turns her attention to your video-self and, with a renewed, almost vicious energy, cracks him across the face with a slap that echoes through the room. A bright red handprint blooms instantly on his cheek.

Your video-self groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. “Fuck, yes! Thank you, Minnie! That was perfect!” His eyes flick to Shuhua, burning with a new intensity. “Your turn again, Shuhua-yah! Don’t be afraid! Show me how much you want to own me!”

Tzuyu is squirming under your mouth, her pussy incredibly slick, her moans becoming more desperate. “The slap… you actually liked it…” she pants. “It’s… it’s so wrong, but… god, seeing that red mark on your face… knowing you're tied up and asking for it…”

“Does it make you wet, baby?” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at her. “The thought of me being humiliated like that? Of you being the one to do it?”

Shuhua, her face set with a new determination, takes a deep breath. She raises her hand and brings it down hard across your video-self’s other cheek. This time, the sound is sharp, authoritative. Your video-self lets out a choked gasp, his head snapping to the side. A look of fierce triumph flashes in Shuhua’s eyes.

“Yes!” Soyeon approves, a satisfied smirk on her face. “That’s more like it! Again!”

Shuhua doesn’t hesitate this time. Another slap, then another, each one harder than the last. She’s straddling your video-self, her hips still grinding against his cock, but her focus is now on his face, on the act of marking him, claiming him. A guttural sound rips from her throat. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, you pathetic little toy?” she snarls, almost unrecognizable. “You like being my bitch, don’t you? Taking my slaps while I ride your helpless cock?” She punctuates each insult with another stinging slap.

Your video-self is moaning, a litany of “Yes, Mistress Shuhua,” “Please, more,” “I’m your property.”

“Holy fuck,” Tzuyu breathes. “Shuhua… she’s… she’s incredible. So dominant… so cruel… And he’s… he’s loving it.” Her own hips are bucking against your mouth, her clit throbbing, desperate for release.

Soyeon, clearly pleased with Shuhua’s transformation, turns her attention back to Minnie. She reaches down and gives Minnie’s ass a hard, stinging slap of her own. “Alright, you little sex maniac, you’re not getting off that easy! Faster! Ride mommy’s cock like you mean it! I want to feel you cumming all over me!”

Minnie, jolted by the slap, lets out a yelp and then redoubles her efforts, her hips a frantic blur on Soyeon’s strap-on. “Yes, mommy! I’m so close! Fuck!” Her eyes are rolling back in her head. Just as she’s about to tip over the edge, Soyeon’s hand snakes up and closes around her throat, squeezing, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to restrict her breath, to intensify the sensation. Minnie lets out a strangled, ecstatic cry, her body convulsing violently as a powerful orgasm rips through her, her eyes rolling back completely white for a moment.

Simultaneously, Shuhua, fueled by her newfound dominance and the relentless friction, throws her head back and screams, her own orgasm tearing through her as she grinds down hard on your video-self’s cock, milking every last drop of pleasure from him and herself. She collapses onto his chest, panting, her body trembling, and then, with a surprising tenderness, she leans down and kisses him deeply, a possessive, claiming kiss.

Before anyone can even catch their breath, Yuqi and Miyeon are scrambling onto the bed. “Our turn!” Yuqi announces, playfully shoving a still-dazed Minnie off Soyeon’s lap. Miyeon does the same to Shuhua, who giggles weakly. “You two had your fun! Now it’s time for the real pros to show you how it’s done!” They quickly position themselves, Yuqi over Soyeon’s still-ready strap-on, and Miyeon over your video-self’s miraculously still-hard, captive cock.

With surprising agility, they both flip around, now facing away from their respective mounts, their asses presented in glorious, high-definition reverse cowgirl. Miyeon settles onto your video-self’s still-impressively-hard cock, her back to his chest, her hands gripping his thighs for leverage. Yuqi, with a delighted squeal, does the same on Soyeon’s strap-on, her perfectly round cheeks flexing as she impales herself. Their asses, tight and sculpted, sway in perfect, mesmerizing rhythm, a decadent visual feast for your video-self and Soyeon, and by extension, for you and a gasping Tzuyu.

By the way, your mouth is a furnace of pleasure against Tzuyu’s swollen clit. She’s bucking against you, her fingers tangled so tightly in your hair you’re surprised she hasn’t ripped clumps out. The sight of those two perfect, jiggling asses on the screen, combined with the feeling of your tongue working its magic, is clearly pushing her towards an precipice.

“Oh my god… look at them… their asses…” Tzuyu pants, each word punctuated by a desperate writhe of her hips. “They’re just… grinding on them… so shameless… Yuqi’s ass on that… that thing… and Miyeon… on you…” She lets out a shuddering gasp as you slide your tongue deep into her slick folds, then suck hard on her clit. “It’s too much… watching them… feeling you… knowing it’s your cock she’s taking…”

“Does it make you wet, baby?” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ultra-sensitive nub, tasting her copious arousal. “Knowing my dick is buried deep inside another woman’s tight cunt, even on a screen? Knowing she’s using my helpless, cuffed body for her pleasure?” You give her a particularly long, slow lick, and she whimpers, her whole body quivering.

On screen, Miyeon is a goddess of motion, her hips rolling and grinding with a practiced, sensual skill that speaks of complete confidence in her sexual prowess. She’s taking your video-self’s entire length, her back arched, her head thrown back, a cascade of dark hair tumbling down her spine. Each downward thrust makes her moan, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through the speakers. Your video-self is groaning beneath her, his own hips trying to buck upwards, but his cuffed hands strain uselessly against the headboard. “Fuck, Miyeon… you feel… incredible…” he pants. “So tight… so fucking good… riding me like you own me…”

“Oh, I do own you right now, daddy,” Miyeon purrs, not even bothering to look back at him, her focus entirely on her own pleasure and the sensation of his thick cock filling her. “Every inch of you. Especially this big, helpless dick. You’re just my fucktoy, tied up and waiting to be used.” She grinds down hard, a wicked smirk on her lips.

Beside them, Yuqi is a whirlwind of energetic, almost frantic motion on Soyeon’s strap-on. She’s bouncing and bucking, her hair flying, her giggles and squeals a stark contrast to Miyeon’s more sultry moans. “Oh, mommy Soyeon! Your cock is so amazing!” Yuqi yelps. “It feels so real! I’m gonna ride you all night long! Harder, mommy, fuck me harder with that big purple monster!”

Soyeon, lying back with an amused, almost regal expression, occasionally reaches out to slap Yuqi’s bouncing ass. “That’s it, my little slut. Take mommy’s dick. Show me how much you love it. You’re such a good little whore for my cock, aren’t you?”

Minnie and Shuhua, now somewhat recovered from their own recent exertions, are propped up on pillows at the foot of the bed, watching the dual performance with rapt attention, occasionally reaching out to touch each other, their fingers tracing patterns on sweat-slick skin. “Damn, look at Miyeon,” Minnie says. “She’s going to break him. He’s completely at her mercy.”

Shuhua nods, her eyes wide and still a little glazed. “And Yuqi… she’s like a little jackrabbit. Soyeon-unnie is going to wear her out.” She giggles, then leans over and whispers something in Minnie’s ear that makes Minnie burst out laughing and slap her playfully.

Your tongue continues its devoted worship of Tzuyu’s cunt. You can feel her coiling tighter and tighter, her inner muscles clenching around an imaginary cock, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “The way Miyeon’s talking to you… calling you her fucktoy…” Tzuyu pants. “And you… you just take it… you like it…”

“Being completely helpless while a beautiful woman uses my body for her pleasure?” you murmur against her clit, before giving it a sharp suck that makes her cry out. “What’s not to like, baby? The feeling of being utterly controlled, of surrendering completely… it’s a different kind of power. A different kind of ecstasy.”

“Fuck, baby… look at them…” Tzuyu pants as you momentarily lift your head, leaving a trail of her slickness on your chin. Your fingers immediately take over where your mouth left off, plunging deep into her soaking cunt. “The way they’re… using you… and Soyeon… Yuqi’s riding that… that purple cock like her life depends on it…”

“She’s always been an enthusiast, our little Yuqi,” you murmur. You can feel the tremors racking her body, the way her muscles clench around your invading fingers. “And Soyeon knows exactly how to push her buttons. Watch closely, Tzuyu. You might learn a thing or two about… buttons.” You dip your head again, your tongue darting out to lave her entire pussy before focusing once more on that pebble-hard nub, sucking it with a possessive force that makes her cry out.

On screen, Yuqi is indeed a blur of ecstatic motion, her small, tight ass bouncing furiously on Soyeon’s formidable strap-on. Sweat plasters her hair to her temples, and a continuous stream of high-pitched, breathless moans and giggles pours from her lips. “Oh, mommy Soyeon! Yes! YES! It’s so big! It fills me up so perfectly! You’re so much better than any real boy!” she shrieks, her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. “Fuck me harder, mommy! Make your little slut scream!”

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you? You think you can handle mommy’s full attention? You want me to make you scream, Yuqi-ah? Are you sure you’re ready for what that entails?”

“Yes, mommy! Please!” Yuqi begs, her rhythm becoming even more frantic. “I’m so close! I can feel it! Just a little more! Please, Unnie, make me cum! I’ll do anything!”

Soyeon’s eyes narrow, a cruel, knowing glint appearing in their dark depths. “Anything, you say?” she purrs. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her free hand, her fingers slick with Yuqi’s copious juices. She traces a line down Yuqi’s spine, making her shiver, then lower, over the swell of her ass cheeks. Yuqi lets out a confused, anticipatory whimper. Then, with a predatory smile, Soyeon slides her thumb directly into Yuqi’s tightly puckered, already clenching asshole.

Yuqi’s eyes fly wide open. A sound rips from her throat that’s unlike anything she’s uttered before; a raw, strangled shriek that’s part shock, part agony, and part the most intense pleasure imaginable. Her body goes completely rigid, her back arching like a bowstring, her ass grinding down onto the strap-on with a sudden, violent force as that unexpected, deeply invasive pressure on her backdoor catapults her into a different dimension of sensation. “Oh! My! Fuuuuuck! mommy! W-what are you doin—oh my fucking god, It's sooo good!”

“Just giving my good girl what she needs,” Soyeon murmurs, her thumb now working in slow, deliberate circles inside Yuqi’s ass, pressing against that sensitive, forbidden flesh. “You said you were close, didn’t you? mommy’s just… helping you find that special button.” She pushes her thumb a little deeper, and Yuqi’s screams dissolve into a series of shuddering, gasping sobs, her entire frame convulsing as an orgasm of seismic proportions tears through her. Her fluids gush down Soyeon’s thighs and the shaft of the strap-on, her body bucking and spasming uncontrollably for what feels like an eternity before she finally collapses, a boneless, whimpering heap, onto Soyeon’s chest.

Minnie and Shuhua, watching from the sidelines, are practically apoplectic with shared excitement. “Holy shit, did you see that?!” Minnie screeches, grabbing Shuhua’s arm. “Soyeon-unnie just fingered her ass while she was cumming! That’s… that’s genius! Evil genius!” Shuhua is speechless, her jaw slack, her eyes and a mischievous smile on her face.

Tzuyu, beneath you, is a trembling, overheated mess. Your tongue has been merciless, mirroring the intensity on screen, and the sight of Yuqi’s overwhelming, anally-stimulated orgasm has clearly resonated deep within her. “Her… her ass…” Tzuyu gasps. “Soyeon just… oh god… that looked so… intense. Yuqi’s face… I’ve never seen anyone come like that.” She twists her head, her eyes pleading, finding yours. “Does it… does it really feel that different? That… good?”

“It can, baby,” you murmur, your lips brushing her clit. “It’s a whole other set of nerves. A different kind of full. A different kind of… forbidden. Is that something you’re curious about now, Tzuyu? Feeling a finger… or more… sliding into your tight little backdoor while you come?” You don’t wait for an answer, just give her clit a possessive suck that makes her cry out, her hips bucking wildly.

Meanwhile, Miyeon has been methodically, relentlessly riding your video-self. Her pace is slower than Yuqi’s had been, more sensual, more controlled, but no less devastating. Each downward slide of her hips engulfs his cock completely, her inner muscles milking him. Your video-self is a wreck beneath her, his face contorted in a mask of helpless pleasure, his cuffed hands straining uselessly, his hips trying to meet her thrusts.

“Fuck, Miyeon… yes… don’t stop… you feel so fucking good…”

“Shhh, daddy,” Miyeon purrs as she grinds down on him, her eyes closed, lost in her own sensations. “Just lie there and take it. Let me use your helpless cock. Let me ride you until I’m satisfied. You’re all mine right now, aren’t you? My captive cock. My personal fuck machine.”

“Yes… fuck… yours…” he gasps, his control fraying rapidly. “Miyeon… please… I… I can’t hold back much longer… you’re too good… too tight…” His voice cracks, a note of genuine desperation creeping in. “If you keep this up… if you don’t slow down… I’m going to… I’m going to cum!” The warning is torn from him, a last-ditch effort to regain some semblance of control, but it’s clear he’s already lost.

Miyeon’s eyes snap open at his plea. But there is no concern in them, no hint of slowing down. Instead, a slow, wicked, utterly triumphant grin spreads across her beautiful, sweat-slicked face. She can feel his cock throbbing a desperate, frantic rhythm deep inside her, the unmistakable, tell-tale sign of his impending orgasm. She lets out a low, throaty laugh.

“Oh, are you now, my helpless little stud?” she purrs. “Perfect timing. Did I forget to mention? I’m ovulating. Right now. My eggs are just waiting, daddy. Begging for your hot seed.”

Before he can even process the terrifying implication, she deliberately, cruelly, increases her pace. Her hips become a furious, driving piston, her tight cunt clenching and unclenching around his straining shaft, milking him, torturing him. Each downward thrust is an explicit, possessive claiming of his body and his load.

“You think a warning is going to make me stop?” she grinds out, her own breath growing heavier. “Honey, that’s all the fucking encouragement I need! You’re not pulling out! You’re not going to waste a single drop!”

“Yes, unnie! Breed him!” Yuqi shrieks, practically bouncing with excitement. “Knock her up, daddy! Fill her womb with your baby batter!”

“Don’t you dare let him pull out, Miyeon!” Soyeon commands from her spot at the foot of the bed. “Ride that helpless cock until he blows his load! Make him give you every last drop! We want to see you leak his cum for days!”

Minnie claps her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "Put a baby in her, daddy! We can all be its aunties!"

“NO! Fuck! Miyeon! Please!” your video-self screams as he struggles uselessly against his cuffs, trying to pull away. But he is completely at her mercy. “I can’t… I’m gonna… FUCK!”

His desperate struggles only seem to fuel her. She rides him like a machine, her focus absolute, her body a perfect engine of pleasure. “That’s right, you fucking helpless stud!” she pants, her own pleasure building. “You’re going to shoot every last drop of your pathetic load deep inside me, right where I want it! You’re going to fill me up with your baby-making cum! You’re going to get me pregnant, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”

His hips buck violently, uncontrollably, his entire body going rigid as his orgasm finally rips through him, a helpless, explosive torrent of hot, thick semen flooding her deep, welcoming cunt. He roars, his essence pumping into her again and again in a seemingly endless flood.

The hot gush of his seed inside her is the final push Miyeon needs. She throws her head back and screams in pure triumph, her own body convulsing around his erupting cock as she meets his powerful release with her own shattering orgasm. She rides out his final, fading pulses, her inner muscles milking him dry, a look of supreme, almost divine satisfaction on her face as she feels him fill her completely.

“YES! That's it, daddy! fill me!” she shrieks. “Coat my fucking womb with your hot cum! Make me your baby mama!”

She collapses next to him, a panting, trembling, blissed-out mess, their sweat-slick bodies clinging together. For a long moment, the only sounds are their ragged gasps for air and the faint, celebratory giggles from the other girls. After she catches her breath, Miyeon slowly pushes herself up, propping herself on her elbows to look down at his face. Her hair is a mess, her makeup is smeared, and she’s never looked more beautiful. A soft, gentle, loving smile replaces her predatory grin.

She leans down and presses a tender kiss to his lips. “Just kidding, daddy,” she whispers sweetly, eyes twinkling with affection. “I’m on the pill.”

The sight of your video-self, cuffed and helpless, being forced to cum so completely inside Miyeon, the raw, explicit words, the sheer, unadulterated triumph on Miyeon’s face as she takes his entire load… it’s the final, devastating blow to Tzuyu’s already crumbling defenses. Her body is a taut, vibrating bowstring against your mouth. Her own orgasm is a roaring inferno, a supernova of sensation threatening to consume her. “Oh, god… you… you came inside her… she made you…” she gasps. “I’m… I’m going to…”

And with a final, lingering, possessive suck on that engorged, pleading nub, you lift your head, pulling your mouth away from her just as the first tremors of her release begin to shake her core.

“N-no… please…” Tzuyu whimpers, her eyes flying open, wide and wild and desperate, staring at you in sheer, uncomprehending disbelief. Her body is still spasming, her breath catching in ragged, frustrated sobs. Sweat slicks her entire frame, her hair plastered to her temples, her chest heaving. She looks utterly debauched, completely undone, and more beautiful than you’ve ever seen her.

You lean close to her, your lips brushing against her ear. “Not yet, my sweet, greedy girl,” you whisper, your fingers still teasing the entrance to her slick, swollen cunt. “Patience. We have so, so much more to explore. You can’t possibly cum yet”

“No… you can’t… I was right there,” she whimpers. “Please, I need to… I need to cum. I can’t take it anymore. The heat… it’s unbearable. Please, baby, just… just let me finish.” She’s practically begging, her hips making small, involuntary rocking motions against your hand, chasing that phantom pleasure that you so cruelly snatched away.

You lean down, your face just inches from hers. You look every bit the villain from a dark romance novel, and you know she’s both terrified and impossibly turned on by it. “I know, my sweet girl. I know you were right there,” you whisper. “I felt you trembling. I tasted you on the edge. It was exquisite.” You lean in and capture her mouth in a deep, punishing kiss, your tongue plundering hers, taking her desperate gasps for your own. When you pull back, a string of saliva connects your lips. “But you can wait,” you state, not as a request, but as a fact.

“You can wait just a little longer. Because there’s still something else. Another piece of the puzzle. Another lesson you need to learn before you can truly let go.” You slide your fingers out of her, ignoring her pitiful whimper of protest, and reach for the laptop. “You have to hold on, Tzuyu. Trust me. Build it up. Let it simmer. Think about how good it’s going to feel when I finally, finally let you fall apart completely.”

She stares at you, her chest heaving, her mind reeling. Every instinct is screaming at her to protest, to demand release. But looking into your eyes, seeing the dark promise there, seeing the absolute certainty… a different, deeper part of her responds. A part that is realizing, with a terrifying thrill, that it loves being denied, that it craves this exquisite torture, that it wants to surrender completely to your control. With a shuddering sigh that’s more submission than resignation, she nods.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay… for you. I… I can take it.” She swallows, her gaze flicking down to her own glistening, still-throbbing cunt, then back to you. “But you’re right… when I finally do… it’s going to be… overwhelming.”

“That’s the whole point, baby,” you grin, clicking on a new video file. “Welcome to the next lesson.” You resettle yourself between her open, trembling thighs, but you don’t touch her. Not yet. You just let her watch.

The new video opens on a scene that’s immediately more playful and relaxed than the last. The five members of I-DLE (all of them already naked, as usual), are all lounging on the bed with your video-self, who is sitting in the middle of them, looking a little overwhelmed but amused. They’re all laughing, their energy bright and conspiratorial. Minnie turns to the camera, which appears to be on a tripod again. “Okay! Get ready for a very, very special feature presentation!” she chirps. “This is going to be absolutely wonderful, I promise!”

Shuhua and Miyeon are zeroed in on your video-self’s ass. He’s wearing a pair of tight boxer briefs, and they’re making no secret of their admiration. Miyeon runs a perfectly manicured hand over the firm curve of his left cheek, giving it a firm squeeze. “Mmm, seriously, daddy’s got the best ass,” she declares to the camera. “It’s so big and muscular. Perfectly shaped.”

Shuhua nods in vigorous agreement, poking his other cheek. “So yummy! It’s like two perfect, hard peaches! I just want to bite it!” She giggles, then actually leans in and nips him playfully through the fabric, making him yelp and the other girls laugh.

Tzuyu lets out a small, involuntary giggle of her own, a brief respite from her overwhelming arousal. She’s always loved your ass. It’s one of her favorite things about your body, a fact she’s told you many times, usually accompanied by a possessive squeeze or a playful slap when she thought no one was looking. Seeing these world-famous idols fawning over it in the exact same way sends a strange, proprietary thrill through her. “They’re not wrong,” she whispers, almost to herself, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of your body on the screen.

Soyeon claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, alright, stop molesting the talent’s glutes,” she says, though a smirk plays on her lips. She turns to the camera, her expression turning theatrical. “Tonight, we’re going to prepare something really, really tasty. A brand-new recipe. You see, tonight… daddy is going to be our little girl.” The statement hangs in the air and, without giving anyone a moment to question it, she points a finger at your video-self. “On all fours. Now.”

Your video-self, with a look of resigned, almost eager submission, complies immediately, stripping off his boxer briefs and getting into position on the bed, his muscular, much-admired ass now perfectly, vulnerably presented to the camera.

Yuqi’s hand shoots up. “Ooh! Ooh! Can I prepare him, Unnie? Please? I’ll be so good at it!” she begs, practically bouncing on the mattress.

Soyeon grants her permission with a regal nod. As Yuqi scrambles into position behind your video-self, Miyeon moves to help, kneeling beside him and taking one of his ass cheeks in each of her hands, pulling them apart, spreading him wide open, exposing the tight, puckered little bud of his asshole to the camera.

Tzuyu goes completely still. Her breath catches in her throat. Her brain seems to short-circuit for a moment as it struggles to process what’s about to happen. She’s seen men’s asses in porn, of course, but it was always clinical, a detail on the screen, never the center of attention. This… this feels different. This is presentation. This is… worship. The sight of your asshole, so intimately, vulnerably exposed by Miyeon’s delicate hands, is something she never, ever conceived of seeing, let alone finding… arousing. But she can’t deny the sudden, sharp jolt of heat that shoots straight to her core.

Yuqi leans in, her face close to his exposed flesh, her own expression a mixture of intense curiosity and playful glee. She licks her lips, then, without any further hesitation, she presses her mouth against him and her tongue darts out, delivering a wet, exploratory lick right across his asshole.

Your video-self lets out a choked gasp, his entire body jolting from the unexpected, intensely intimate sensation. Yuqi giggles against his skin, then settles in, her tongue now working with a surprising expertise, lapping and swirling, dipping and tasting.

“That’s it, Yuqi-ah,” Soyeon purrs, watching with a satisfied, almost clinical interest. “Do a good job. Leave him nice and wet for me. mommy doesn’t like to work with dry ingredients.”

Tzuyu is utterly paralyzed. The sight is so far beyond anything she’s ever imagined, it’s like her brain has been wiped clean and rewritten with this one, singular, taboo image. You. Her boyfriend. The man she loves. On all fours, ass spread wide, being eaten out by a beautiful K-pop idol. It should be weird. It should be gross. But it’s not. It’s… undeniably, terrifyingly, incredibly fucking hot. The sheer power dynamic, the role reversal, the vulnerability of your position contrasted with the eager worship of Yuqi’s mouth… it’s captivating. It’s amazing.

As if sensing her mind being blown, you finally move, sliding your hand back between her thighs. You gently part her slick folds and slide two fingers inside her, beginning a slow, almost lazy rhythm, a stark contrast to the frantic energy of moments before. You’re not trying to push her over the edge now; you’re simply reminding her you’re there, grounding her in this new, bewildering sea of sensation.

In the video, your video-self is groaning, his head pressed into the mattress, his voice a strained, breathless thing. “Oh, fuck… Yuqi… holy shit…” he gasps. “Your tongue… it feels… oh my god, that feels so fucking good.”

Yuqi giggles again, her voice muffled against his skin. “Mmm, you taste good, daddy! Salty and so… manly! I love it!” She seems to be having the time of her life, her tongue becoming bolder, more insistent. She’s not just licking now; she’s sucking, her lips creating a gentle pressure around his asshole, her tongue darting inside with quick, shocking little probes that make him cry out. “I’m gonna make you so wet for mommy Soyeon! You’re gonna be my favorite lollipop!”

“Fuck, yes… lick me…” he moans. “Eat my ass, you good little slut…” His hips are starting to rock, an unconscious, helpless movement in time with her relentless tongue. The scene is one of pure, unadulterated, gender-bending taboo, and Tzuyu, despite her initial paralysis, is drinking in every single, filthy, mind-altering second.

“That’s it, Yuqi-ah, get right in there,” Miyeon encourages. “Don’t miss a single spot. We need him to be perfect for Soyeon-unnie.” She leans closer to your video-self’s ear, her hot breath ghosting against his skin. “You feel that, daddy? You feel her tongue all over your little hole? You like being mommy’s good little girl, don’t you? Getting your pussy eaten out for her?”

Your video-self can only manage a series of choked, guttural moans, his head buried in the plush duvet, his hips making small, involuntary circles, chasing the incredible sensation. “Fuck… yes… feels so… holy shit, Yuqi…” he gasps out with a pleasure so intense it’s borderline painful. “Your mouth… it’s… heaven… Don’t you ever stop, please…”

“Never, daddy!” Yuqi’s muffled voice promises from between his cheeks. She pulls back for a second, a mischievous grin on her face, a glistening sheen of saliva on her lips. “Your ass is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted! I could do this all day!” She dives back in with renewed vigor, her tongue now tracing the rim of his asshole with maddening precision before plunging as deep as it can go, eliciting a sharp, high-pitched cry of pure bliss from him.

Tzuyu watches, utterly transfixed, her body a strange mixture of rigid paralysis and trembling, uncontrolled arousal. Your fingers are still moving inside her, a slow, deep, almost lazy rhythm that does nothing to quell the raging fire inside her, but instead seems to stoke it, spreading it to every corner of her body. The sight on the screen is just so… alien. So taboo. Yet, the sounds of your video-self’s unrestrained pleasure are undeniable, and they’re resonating with something deep inside her, something she never knew existed.

While the main event continues, the camera’s wide shot captures a secondary scene unfolding. Soyeon is sitting up, now holding the formidable black strap-on dildo. Minnie and Shuhua are beside her, their roles now that of dutiful handmaidens preparing their queen for battle. “Okay, hold it steady,” Soyeon commands, and Minnie holds the base of the dildo while Shuhua helps Soyeon adjust the leather straps of the harness, pulling them tight around her lean hips.

“Wow, Unnie, it's even bigger than the old one!” Shuhua says as she runs a finger down the thick, veiny shaft of the dildo. “Are you really going to put all of that inside him?”

Minnie giggles, her eyes sparkling. “Of course she is! She’s going to make him scream! He won’t be able to walk straight for a week after mommy gets done with his little boy-pussy!”

Soyeon just smirks, a look of supreme confidence on her face as she cinches the final buckle. “He’ll take every inch,” she says. “And he’ll beg me for more. He always begs for more.”

Tzuyu gaze snaps from the screen to your face, then back again. Her own fingers come up to her lips, as if to stifle the words, but they tumble out anyway, a shocked, hesitant whisper.

“Wait…” she breathes. “You… the way Soyeon is talking… that thing she’s putting on… have you… have you already done this before? Has she… has she actually fucked your ass?”

You look into her eyes, seeing the genuine, almost fearful curiosity there. You give her a slow, knowing smile. “You’re a quick study, baby,” you murmur. You decide she’s earned more than a simple yes or no. She’s earned the story. “The very first time they decided I was going to be their ‘stress reliever’… this was part of the initiation. My final test, Soyeon called it.”

You resume your fingering, your pace matching the cadence of your story, each stroke a punctuation mark, each circular rub of your thumb on her clit a deep, thrumming underscore. “I was just as nervous as Shuhua was in that other video. Maybe more so. The idea of it… of being penetrated… it was completely alien. Terrifying, honestly.” Tzuyu’s eyes are locked on yours, her entire being focused on your words, her body unconsciously absorbing the narrative.

“They had me tied down, just like in that other video, but to a different bed, with silk scarves,” you continue. “Soyeon stood over me, wearing a strap-on similar to that one, only smaller, looking like some kind of dark goddess. She lubed me up herself, her fingers so slow, so deliberate. I was trembling, my heart was hammering against my ribs, I was so scared of the pain.” You can see Tzuyu’s own body tense in sympathy, her breath hitching. “And the beginning… it did hurt. A sharp, burning pressure, like I was going to split in two. I begged her to stop.”

“But she didn’t, did she?” Tzuyu whispers.

“No,” you say. “She didn’t. She held me down, whispered in my ear that I was her property, that my body was hers to use, and that I would learn to love it. And then… she pushed past the pain.” Your fingers inside Tzuyu mimic this, pushing just a little deeper, stretching her in a way that makes her gasp, a sound that’s half protest, half plea for more. “And once she was all the way inside me… god, Tzuyu… the pain just… melted away. It was replaced by this feeling of incredible… fullness. A pressure that wasn’t painful anymore, but deeply, profoundly pleasurable. It hit a spot deep inside me I never even knew existed. A man’s g-spot, I guess.”

You can feel Tzuyu’s pussy getting impossibly wetter, her juices flowing freely over your hand. Her hips are starting to move again, a slow, instinctive rocking. “Every time she thrusted, it was like a jolt of pure pleasure. It was overwhelming. I was completely at her mercy, completely filled by her, dominated in the most absolute way imaginable. And when I came… it wasn’t like a normal orgasm. It was deeper, coming from the very core of my body. It shattered me.” You lean in, your lips brushing hers. “I’ve never felt anything like it. And yes, baby… I fucking loved it.”

Tzuyu lets out a long, shuddering moan. “Oh my god,” she breathes, her eyes glazed over, a universe of newfound desire swirling in their depths. “To feel that… to be that full… that… helpless…” Her voice trails off, but her body says the rest, her cunt clenching desperately around your fingers, her hips bucking with a renewed, urgent need.

On the laptop, Yuqi is reaching the grand finale of her task. She’s been meticulous, her tongue laving every inch of your video-self’s flesh, her lips sucking and tasting, leaving him a moaning, quivering mess. The other girls are cheering her on, a chorus of lewd encouragement. “That’s it, Yuqi-ah! He’s sparkling!” Minnie yells. “I think he’s ready for the main course!” Miyeon adds, finally releasing his ass cheeks, which are now flushed a delicate pink.

Yuqi pulls back one last time. She turns to give a thumbs-up to a waiting, now fully-harnessed Soyeon. “All done, mommy!” she declares, voice ringing with pride. “I made him extra wet and ready for you! His little boy-pussy is practically begging for your big cock now!”

Your video-self is still on all fours, his ass glistening under the hotel room lights, his body trembling with the aftershocks of Yuqi’s talented tongue. On the bed beside him, Soyeon rises like a predator, the formidable black strap-on jutting from her hips, a clear and present threat. Her eyes are locked onto your video-self’s vulnerable, presented form.

Tzuyu, mesmerized, watches it all unfold, her breath caught somewhere in her chest. The story you just told her, of your own first time being pegged, is still echoing in her mind, layering a new, deeply personal context over the scene.

Soyeon stalks towards your video-self. She doesn’t rush. Every movement is deliberate, a testament to her absolute control. She picks up the bottle of lube from the bedside table and squirts a generous amount onto the head of her strap-on, rubbing it in with a slow, circular motion that is both practical and intensely provocative. Then, she kneels behind your video-self, her knees bracketing his thighs, claiming the space, owning him. She applies more lube directly to his ass, her fingers callously smearing the cold, slick gel over the sensitive, puckered flesh that Yuqi had so lovingly warmed up. Your video-self flinches, a choked gasp escaping him.

“Shhh,” Soyeon whispers. “mommy’s just making sure it’s nice and easy for you to take what you deserve.” She leans forward, pressing her body against his back, her firm breasts against his straining shoulder blades. “But don’t get me wrong. This won’t be easy. This is your purpose now. Your only purpose. To be a hole for my cock. Do you understand, my sweet little girl?”

“Yes… yes, mommy,” your video-self chokes out. “I understand… please… I’m ready for you…”

The other four girls have arranged themselves into a willing audience at the foot of the bed, a beautiful, tangled tableau of glistening limbs and hungry eyes. Minnie and Shuhua are curled up together, Minnie’s arm draped possessively over Shuhua’s waist, her fingers already starting to ghost over Shuhua’s breasts. Miyeon and Yuqi are sitting cross-legged, facing each other, so close their knees are touching, their hands already finding their own clits, their gazes locked on the impending penetration.

“Oh my god, she’s really going to do it,” Yuqi breathes. “She’s going to break him.”

Miyeon just nods, a slow, languid smile spreading across her face. “He’s going to love every second of it. And so are we.”

Soyeon positions the thick, intimidating head of the strap-on against his asshole. She pushes, just a little at first, stretching the entrance, making him gasp and clench. “Relax,” she commands. “Take a deep breath and open up for me. That’s a good girl.” Then, with a single, smooth, powerful thrust of her hips, she drives the dildo deep inside him.

Your video-self screams, a raw, piercing sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming, soul-shattering pleasure. His back arches violently, his entire body locked in a state of sensory overload. Soyeon holds him there for a moment, letting him feel the incredible fullness, the reality of her invasion, before slowly pulling out almost completely and then thrusting back in, this time even deeper.

Tzuyu lets out a sharp, choked cry, her own cunt clenching violently around your fingers. You feel the shift in her, the last vestiges of fear and hesitation being utterly annihilated by a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered lust. This is what she wanted to see. This is what she needed to feel. You increase the pace of your fingering, your movements becoming harder, faster, more demanding, matching the brutal, relentless rhythm Soyeon is establishing on screen.

“I… love this,” Tzuyu gasps, the confession torn from her, raw and honest. “Oh my god, baby… I love watching this. Hearing you… hearing you moan like that… so… so helpless under her…” Her hips are bucking against your hand now, a frantic, desperate rhythm. “It’s making me so fucking wet… please, don’t stop…”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you groan . Seeing her like this, so open, so shamelessly enthralled by your submission, is an incredible turn-on. “God, Tzuyu, I love seeing you discover this side of yourself. So honest. So fucking horny. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your fingers plunge deeper, faster, and she screams your name, her head thrashing on the pillows.

Soyeon is a machine. She’s fucking your video-self with a steady, punishing rhythm, her hips working with a tireless, athletic power. Her face is a mask of intense concentration, her body slick with a fine sheen of sweat. With every thrust, she whispers a fresh litany of humiliation into his ear. “That’s it, my little cunt… take mommy’s cock… every fucking inch… You were born for this, weren’t you? Just a hole for me to use… a pretty little thing for my girls to watch while I break you…”

“Yes, mommy! Thank you, mommy!” your video-self chants. “Please… fuck me harder… humiliate me… I’m nothing without your cock in my ass… nothing…”

The other girls are a chorus of moans and gasps. The sight of their powerful leader so thoroughly dominating their shared plaything has sent them into a frenzy of self-pleasure. Miyeon and Yuqi are now openly masturbating, their hands a blur against their pussies, their heads thrown back, their eyes glazed over. “Fuck, look at her go…” Miyeon pants. “She’s pounding him so hard… he’s taking it all…”

Minnie and Shuhua are no longer just touching. Minnie has Shuhua’s nipple in her mouth, sucking hard, while her other hand is rubbing Shuhua’s clit with a frantic energy. Shuhua is grinding against Minnie’s hand, her own fingers tangled in Minnie’s hair, her moans harmonizing with the rhythmic slap of Soyeon’s thighs against your video-self’s ass.

Soyeon changes the angle, pulling out slightly and then driving back in from the side, a move that hits a different spot, a deeper spot, and elicits a whole new level of screaming from your video-self. She starts slapping his ass in time with her thrusts, the sharp, stinging slaps leaving angry red welts on his already flushed skin. “You feel that?!” she grunts, her own breathing growing heavier. “That’s me marking you! You’re mine! My property! My fuck-slut! Now scream for me! Scream so all my pretty girls can hear how much you love being mommy’s little bitch!”

He obliges, his screams echoing through the room, a raw, uninhibited testament to his complete and utter surrender. The sight, the sounds, the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the scene is pushing Tzuyu to the absolute brink. Her entire body is coiled tight, a spring of pure, unadulterated sexual energy. Her moans are constant now, her pussy clenching and unclenching around your fingers with a desperate, frantic rhythm. She’s closer than she’s ever been, her world narrowing to the sight of your submission on the screen and the feeling of your relentless fingers inside her. She can feel the orgasm building, a massive, unstoppable wave cresting within her, promising a release so powerful it might just tear her apart.

Soyeon is fucking your video-self with a brutal, commanding rhythm, each thrust of her hips a clear statement of ownership, each slap of the thick strap-on against his ass a punctuation mark in her sermon of dominance.

The other girls are a beautiful, writhing chorus of encouragement. They’ve formed a sort of decadent daisy chain at the foot of the bed, a tangle of limbs and glistening skin. Miyeon is lying on her back, her legs spread wide, while Yuqi kneels between them, her mouth working skillfully on Miyeon’s clit. Minnie, in turn, is eating out Yuqi from behind, her tongue a blur of motion, while Shuhua, with a dreamy, blissed-out expression, is stroking both Minnie’s and her own cunt, her fingers slick with their combined juices. Their moans are a constant, rising tide of sound that washes over the room.

Tzuyu is lost. Your fingers are a relentless engine inside her, her own juices making your every movement slick and effortless. Her mind is reeling, trying to process the sheer, overwhelming depravity on the screen. She has never imagined sex could be like this; so layered, so performative, so utterly devoid of shame and so full of raw, intricate power dynamics. She’s watching you, the man she loves, being systematically broken down and remade into a pleasure object, and every fiber of her being is screaming with an arousal so profound it borders on spiritual.

Soyeon leans forward, her body flush against your video-self’s sweat-slick back. She grabs a handful of his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look over his shoulder, his eyes wide and pleading, locking with hers. She doesn’t break her rhythm, the thick shaft of the dildo continuing its merciless assault on his prostate.

“You feel that, you little bitch?” Soyeon snarls. “That’s my cock, buried deep in your ass. That’s my power filling you up, stretching you out, making you scream.” She thrusts deeper, a vicious, punishing movement that makes him cry out, a sharp, piercing sound. “You used to be the daddy, didn’t you? Strutting around, thinking your big dick made you the king. Well, look at you now.” She yanks his head back harder, forcing a choked sob from his lips. “You’re on all fours, taking my cock like the good little girl you are. Your dick is useless. You are no longer the daddy here.” She pauses, letting the words sink in, then delivers the final, devastating blow. “Now, I’m the daddy. And you’re just my pretty little fuck-slut. Say it.”

Your video-self is sobbing now, tears of humiliation and overwhelming ecstasy streaming down his face. “Yes…” he chokes out. “Yes… you’re the daddy… mommy Soyeon is my daddy now…”

Tzuyu's whole body convulses, a violent, full-body tremor that has nothing to do with an orgasm and everything to do with her mind being utterly, completely blown. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “She’s… she’s your daddy now… you’re… you’re her bitch…”

“Yes, mommy is your daddy!” Yuqi cheers, words muffled by Miyeon’s thigh. She pops her head up for a second, her face flushed, her lips glistening. “Fuck him, daddy Soyeon! Fuck our little bitch until he forgets his own name!”

Miyeon groans as Yuqi’s tongue finds her clit again, but she manages to add her own encouragement. “Look at him, unnie… taking your cock so perfectly… He was made for this… made to be your girl…”

Soyeon, fueled by their worship and your video-self’s complete submission, grins, a terrifyingly beautiful sight. “That’s right, my pretty whores. He was made for me.” She begins to fuck him with a renewed, almost demonic energy, her thrusts so deep and powerful it looks like she’s trying to split him in two. He’s screaming with every impact, a continuous, high-pitched wail of agonizing pleasure, his body completely at her mercy. “You love being daddy’s little girl, don’t you?!” she roars over his screams. “You love the way my cock feels, stretching out that tight little hole of yours! You’re going to beg me to cum, aren’t you? You’re going to beg daddy to fill you up with her love!”

“Please, daddy! Please, mommy!” he shrieks, his mind clearly too fractured to keep the honorifics straight. “Please fuck me! Don’t ever stop! I'll do anything! I'm yours!”

The sight is too much. The sounds are too much. Tzuyu is completely gone, lost in a world of pleasure and sensation so intense it’s rewriting her very DNA. She’s no longer just watching; she’s participating, her own mind casting her in the scene. She imagines it’s her with the strap-on, you on all fours beneath her, screaming her name, calling her daddy. The fantasy is so vivid, so powerful, that it makes her forget to breathe.

“I… I want to be your daddy too,” she whispers, the confession a hot, shocking secret against your ear. “Oh god, baby, I want to tie you up… I want to make you my bitch… I want to fuck your ass and make you scream my name…”

Your fingers start to go deeper inside her, your thumb rubbing her clit incessantly. You’re pushing her, driving her, determined to take her right to the very edge of that overwhelming release she so desperately craves. On the screen, Soyeon is reaching her own crescendo, her movements becoming faster, more frantic. Your video-self is clearly on the verge of a powerful, helpless orgasm, his whole body trembling on the brink of release. The entire room is a pressure cooker of sexual energy about to explode. Tzuyu is right there with them, her own explosion imminent, her body coiling for a release that promises to be nothing short of transcendent.

Soyeon is a beautiful, demonic engine of pleasure, her hips a relentless piston driving the strap-on deep into your video-self’s ass. Her face is flushed with exertion and sheer, unadulterated power, a triumphant smirk plastered on her lips. Your video-self is completely undone, a mess of sweat and tears and raw, uninhibited screams, his body arching with every brutal, punishing thrust.

Your own fingers are a blur inside a soaking, trembling Tzuyu. You’ve increased your speed to a frantic, almost punishing pace, your digits pistoning in and out of her slick, swollen cunt. The sounds are incredible: the wet, sloppy noises of your hand working her, her own ragged, desperate gasps, and the soundtrack of filth pouring from the laptop speakers. Her entire body is shaking, violent tremors that speak of a pleasure so intense it’s borderline unbearable. She’s so, so close, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around your fingers with a desperate, frantic rhythm.

On screen, Soyeon is leaning in, her lips right next to your video-self’s ear. “You feel that, my little girl? You feel my cock rearranging your insides? You’re so close to shooting your pathetic little load, aren’t you? I can feel you twitching around my dick, begging to be allowed to cum.” She pulls out almost completely, then slams back into him with a force that makes him shriek, a raw, high-pitched sound of pure sensory overload. “But you don’t get to cum until daddy says so. You’re going to beg for it first.”

“I’m… I’m close…” your video-self sobs.

“I’m close too!” Tzuyu cries out, her hips bucking wildly against your hand, her eyes squeezed shut. “Oh my god, baby, please, I can’t… I can’t hold on!”

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear, your hot breath contrasting to the cool sweat on her skin. Your fingers don’t slow, they maintain their maddening, relentless pace, holding her right on that razor’s edge. “Wait,” you whisper. “Just a little longer, Tzuyu. Hold on for me. I want you to feel this with me. I want you to come with your boyfriend. Wait for my signal.”

A frustrated, desperate sob escapes her lips, but she nods, her body coiling even tighter, a spring of pure sexual energy wound to its absolute breaking point. She’s trusting you, surrendering her own release to your control, and the knowledge of it makes your own cock strain painfully in your jeans.

The other girls in the video are reaching a fever pitch. Their collective masturbation has become a frantic, desperate race, their moans and cries a chaotic chorus of pure lust. “Fuck, Unnie, I’m gonna cum just watching you destroy him!” Miyeon shriek.

“He’s taking it so well!” Minnie adds, her face buried between Shuhua’s thighs. “Look at his ass, just eating up daddy Soyeon’s cock!”

Soyeon seems to draw power from their worship. She looks down at your video-self, a final, triumphant, almost benevolent smile on her face. “You hear that, my sweet little bitch? You’ve been so good for me. So obedient. You’ve taken my cock, you’ve taken my name, you’ve screamed so prettily for all my girls.” She gives him one last, deep, soul-shattering thrust. “Alright. I’m feeling generous. You can have it now. No more holding back. Let it all go for me. Cum for me now! Cum for your daddy!”

That’s the signal.

As your video-self on screen lets out a final, earth-shattering scream, his entire body locking up, his back arching off the bed in a violent, uncontrollable spasm as his prostate is mercilessly milked by Soyeon’s relentless fucking. His cock, untouched all this time, erupts, shooting a huge load that makes the girls around the bed gasp with delight and surprise.… you give Tzuyu one final, deep, powerful thrust with your fingers, hitting her G-spot with unerring accuracy, while your thumb grinds down hard on her clit.

“Now, Tzuyu!” you roar. “Cum for me!”

Her control shatters. It doesn’t just break; it fucking disintegrates. A sound rips from her throat that you have never heard before, a raw, primal scream that’s less human and more pure, elemental force. Her eyes roll back in her head, the whites completely showing, and her body bows upwards, rigid and vibrating.

And then, she squirts.

It’s not a trickle, not a small gush. It’s a fucking torrent. A hot, powerful jet of her clear, musky fluid erupts from her, soaking your hand, your wrist, the bedsheets beneath her, the floorboards, even spattering against the laptop screen. It's a shocking, explosive, utterly uninhibited release that seems to go on and on. Her body is wracked with violent, full-body convulsions, each one sending another powerful gush of liquid out of her, her heels digging into the mattress, her toes curling. She’s screaming your name, or maybe just screaming, her mind completely lost in the white-hot intensity of the most powerful orgasm of her entire life.

You don’t stop. You keep your fingers moving inside her, a steady presence amidst the storm, feeling the incredible, pulsing contractions of her inner walls milking your digits, feeling the hot spray of her release coating your entire hand. The sight is breathtaking, the sound is intoxicating, the feeling is sublime. “That’s it, baby!” you shout over her screams. “Let it all out! Look at you! Look at what you’re doing! You’re so fucking beautiful! Keep going! Give me all of it!”

Your encouragement seems to push her even further, her convulsions intensifying, another wave of fluid soaking the already drenched sheets. She’s completely gone, a vessel of pure, unadulterated pleasure, her body finally, finally getting the release it has been so desperately craving.

On the screen, your video-self collapses, a spent, shuddering mess, his own orgasm leaving him completely boneless, a satisfied, triumphant Soyeon still buried deep inside him. The other girls are similarly reaching their own peaks, their cries joining the chaotic symphony before they too collapse into a panting, glistening pile of limbs.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Tzuyu’s convulsions begin to subside, her screams tapering off into long, shuddering, breathless moans. Her body goes limp, slumping back against the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her eyes still fluttering behind her closed lids. You slowly, gently, withdraw your fingers from her, the sound a wet, sloppy squelch. Your hand is utterly drenched, dripping with her cum, the musky, sweet scent of her climax filling the air.

You look down at your hand, then back at her beautiful, flushed, utterly wrecked face. A slow, possessive grin spreads across your lips. Without a word, you lift your hand to your mouth. You look her right in the eyes as you slowly, deliberately, suck your first finger into your mouth, cleaning it of her essence with your tongue. You then move to the next, and the next, until your entire hand is clean.

“Mmm,” you hum. “Delicious. The best you’ve ever tasted, baby.” You lean down and give her a slow, deep kiss, letting her taste herself on your tongue. “My good, messy girl.”

Tzuyu is a beautiful ruin on the bed, her body limp and boneless, drenched in a sheen of sweat and the evidence of her own explosive release. She’s panting, shallow, ragged breaths that do little to slow the frantic, triumphant hammering of her heart against her ribs. Her head is spinning, the room tilting slightly, the only anchor in her sea of sensation being your continued presence, your scent, your warmth. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still rolling through her, little phantom pulses that make her muscles twitch and her cunt clench weakly. She has never, in her entire life, felt anything remotely close to that level of absolute, soul-shattering oblivion.

You lean over her, brushing a stray, sweat-soaked strand of hair from her flushed cheek. “Hey,” you murmur. “How are you doing, baby? You with me?”

It takes her a moment to form words, her brain still trying to reboot, to piece together the scattered fragments of her consciousness. A slow, languid, utterly boneless smile spreads across her face, her eyes fluttering open to look at you. They’re glazed over, her pupils huge and dark, swimming with a mixture of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated bliss. “Oh my god,” she breathes. She lets out a soft, airy giggle. “I feel… amazing. I don’t think… I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before. Ever.” She giggles again, the sound a little stronger this time. “Wow. I’ve never felt so good in my entire life.”

On the screen, Soyeon, with a tired but triumphant smile, finally dismounts. Her formidable strap-on glistens under the lights, slick with lube and the residue of her conquest. Your video-self is a collapsed, shuddering heap on the mattress. The other girls swarm the bed, a pack of beautiful, hungry wolves descending on the spoils.

“Oh my god, look at the mess daddy made!” Yuqi squeals, her eyes wide with greedy delight as she crawls onto the bed. “Soyeon-unnie, you really broke him! He shot his load everywhere!” Without a moment’s hesitation, she dives face-first into the puddle on the sheets, her tongue eagerly lapping at the thick, creamy seed. “Mmm! So yummy! Tastes the best right after you fuck his ass!”

Minnie is right beside her, giggling as she shoves Yuqi’s head playfully. “Don’t hog it all, you little!” She lowers her own head, her tongue darting out to lick a large glob of semen directly from the sheet. “Oh, wow. He’s so warm. And so thick today! You really did wring him out, Unnie!”

Miyeon joins the feast. She kneels elegantly on the bed, her long hair cascading around her as she delicately licks the edges of the puddle, savoring it. “He always makes the biggest loads for us after Soyeon-unnie reminds him of his place,” she purrs, a knowing look on her face. “It’s like she unlocks something deep inside him.” She looks over at your video-self’s still-trembling form. “You liked that, didn’t you, baby? Being mommy’s little girl and making a big mess for your sisters to clean up?”

Your video-self can only manage a choked, pathetic whimper in response, his face still buried in the pillows.

Meanwhile, Shuhua, with an expression of pure, undiluted worship, tends to the victorious Soyeon. She carefully unbuckles the leather straps of the harness, her fingers moving with a gentle reverence. As the strap-on comes free, Shuhua’s eyes fixate on its glistening shaft before she leans in and gives the tip a shy, exploratory lick, tasting the mixture of lube and his essence. Her eyes flutter shut in bliss.

Tzuyu’s gaze flicks from the screen back to you, she reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb gently stroking your skin. “Hey,” she says. “Thank you.”

“For what, baby?” you ask, leaning into her touch, covering her hand with your own. “For the orgasm?”

She shakes her head, a small, definite movement. “For all of it. For not running away when I found the videos. For calming me down and explaining everything to me. For not making me feel ashamed when you caught me. For… for showing me all of this. For helping me see that… it’s okay to like these things. To want these things. Thank you for not judging me… and for helping me explore.”

“Tzuyu, I’m the one who should be thanking you. I was terrified when I saw you with that flash drive. I thought… I thought you’d look at me like I was some kind of monster. So thank you for not judging my past. I’m just… so fucking glad you liked what you saw. So glad I get to share this with you.”

A determined fire ignites in her eyes. The shy, hesitant girl from an hour ago is gone, replaced by a woman who has stared into the abyss of her own desires and found it beautiful. “I meant it, you know,” she says. “When I said I wanted to explore these things with you. All of it. The spanking, the anal… the… the daddy thing…” A faint blush colors her cheeks at that last part, but she doesn’t look away. “I think it’s time to spice things up. I’m tired of vanilla sex, baby. I want the whole damn sundae, with all the weird, kinky toppings.”

Hearing her say that, so confidently, so eagerly, is like pouring gasoline on the fire of your own arousal. Your cock, which has been straining painfully against your jeans for what feels like an eternity, gives a hard, demanding throb. “I love hearing you say that more than you can possibly imagine,” you groan. You kiss her again. Then, you pull back. “So… what do you think about us starting this new chapter… right now?”

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips still tingling from your kiss. “Now?” she asks, a hint of her old uncertainty creeping in. “How?”

In response, you push yourself off the bed and stand up. You’re fully clothed, but the tent in your jeans is stark, aggressive, and impossible to ignore. From her vantage point, lying in the glorious, sticky mess of her own making on the bed, you look impossibly tall, powerful, and overwhelmingly desirable.

“Watching those videos with you… hearing you get so turned on… feeling your pussy get so wet for me… seeing you come apart like that…” You take a step closer to the bed, your hand gesturing towards your crotch. “It’s made me really, really fucking horny, Tzuyu. And that first video we watched… the one where they were all begging for my cum on their faces…” You let the sentence hang in the air, your eyes locked on hers. “I want it so bad right now, baby. I want to shoot my load all over your beautiful face. What do you think about getting a proper facial… as your first official act as a certified kinky girl?”

She stares at you, her mouth slightly agape, her mind processing the sudden, intense proposition. This is different. This isn’t watching. This isn’t even her receiving pleasure. This is her giving it, in a way that’s messy, and intense, and so far beyond the simple, clean sex they’ve had before. For a moment, you see a flicker of fear, of hesitation. And then… it’s gone.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I think that’s a very good idea.”

With a newfound grace that’s almost startling, she pushes herself up and slides off the bed, completely unbothered by her nudity or the slickness on her thighs. She walks towards you, her eyes never leaving yours, and slowly, deliberately, sinks to her knees in front of you. The sight of her, a beautiful, powerful goddess kneeling in submission, ready to worship you, almost makes your knees buckle.

Her hands, still slightly trembling but now full of purpose, reach for the button of your jeans. She unfastetches it, then slowly pulls down the zipper, her knuckles brushing against the rigid length of your cock through the fabric. She peels the denim down your thighs, then hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your boxer briefs, pulling them down too.

Your cock springs free, thick, heavy, and magnificent, veins standing out like cords of steel along the shaft, a glistening bead of precum already welling at the slit in the head. It pulses with a life of its own, a testament to the hours of intense arousal you’ve endured.

Tzuyu lets out a soft, appreciative gasp, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and hunger. She reaches out a tentative hand, her fingers barely grazing the tip, before leaning forward. Her hot breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, and then, with a reverence that makes your toes curl, she presses her soft lips to the head of your cock, kissing the bead of precum away, her tongue darting out to lick the spot clean. The taste, salty and uniquely you, makes her shiver.

Her hand, so delicate yet surprisingly strong, wraps around the base of your thick, pulsing cock. Her skin is soft, her grip firm yet tentative at first. She looks up at you, her dark eyes wide with concentration, and a raw, burgeoning hunger that makes your knees feel weak. A small, confident smile plays on her lips as she gives you a slow, experimental stroke, her thumb rubbing over the thick vein that runs along your shaft.

“Oh, wow,” she whispers.. “I think I've never seen it so... hard.. So alive.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” you groan, your head tilting back, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment to savor the feeling. “Your hand on my cock… it’s perfect.”

That little bit of praise is all the encouragement she needs. She finds her groove, her hand sliding up and down your shaft with an increasing, purposeful speed. The sound of her skin sliding over your own, lubricated by the steady bead of precum, fills the quiet room. She’s watching your face intently, her eyes tracking your every reaction, learning what you like, her own arousal building with every twitch of your thigh, every ragged gasp you let out.

“You’re so big,” she pants, her knuckles brushing against your balls with every downward stroke, sending shivers of delight through you. “I can barely fit my hand around you. I love it. I love feeling how hard I’m making you.”

She leans forward, her free hand coming to rest on your thigh for balance, her hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. She kisses the head of your cock again, her tongue darting out to swirl around the sensitive slit before taking you into her mouth for a deep, wet suck that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She pulls off with a wet sound, her lips glistening, and looks up at you through her lashes, a look of pure, unadulterated lust on her face.

“God, you taste so good,” she murmurs, before resuming her relentless, skillful stroking. “I can’t wait… I can’t wait to taste the rest of you. I want it so bad, baby. Please… I’ve been so good, haven’t I? I’ve waited. Now I want my reward.”

Her words, the sight of her kneeling before you, so beautiful, so willing, so utterly consumed by this shared, filthy desire, is pushing you closer to the edge. Her hand is a blur now, her wrist working with a surprising stamina, her grip impossibly perfect. You can feel the familiar, deep pull in your balls, the tell-tale sign that you’re getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, Tzuyu… that feels incredible,” you manage to groan, your hands coming down to rest on her head, your fingers tangling in her soft, dark hair. “You’re so fucking good at this. Stroking my big cock for me… telling me how much you want my cum…”

“I do!” she insists, her tone becoming more desperate, more needy. Her pace quickens even more, her strokes becoming shorter, faster, focused on your sensitive head. “I need it! After watching all of that… after coming so hard… all I can think about is tasting you, feeling you on my skin. Please, baby, don’t make me wait any longer! I want your facial! I want you to cover me! Drench me in your cum, please! I’ll be your good girl! Just give it to me!”

Her begging is the most potent aphrodisiac you’ve ever known. The sight of her, this perfect, beautiful woman who you love more than life itself, looking up at you with such raw, shameless need, pleading to be covered in your seed, shatters the last of your control. Your vision begins to tunnel, your breath coming in harsh, ragged pants.

“You want it all, baby?” you roar. “You want daddy’s hot load all over that pretty face? Are you ready?!”

“Yes! Please! Now!” she screams, her hand a frantic piston on your shaft.

“Look at me, Tzuyu!” you command.

Her eyes, wide and dark and full of absolute trust and adoration, lock with yours. Her lips part slightly in anticipation. And then, with a final, guttural roar that seems to be torn from the very depths of your soul, you erupt.

Your hips buck forward violently, your entire body going rigid as your orgasm rips through you. A thick, heavy, almost obscenely large torrent of your hot cum shoots from your cock, arcing through the air. The first rope hits her right on the forehead, and she gasps, a sharp intake of breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a second at the initial shock and heat. But she doesn’t flinch away. She stays right where she is, kneeling, accepting her reward. Another thick jet splatters across her cheek and nose. Then another coats her chin and lips, a final, powerful pulse even catching in her dark, silken hair.

You’re still panting, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your release, your cock still twitching in her hand, as you watch her. Her beautiful face is painted with thick, white ropes of your cum. She looks stunned, overwhelmed, and more breathtakingly beautiful than ever before.

For a moment, she just stays there, kneeling, her eyes fluttering open. She can feel the warmth of your seed on her skin, the slight stickiness as it begins to cool. She can smell its musky, masculine scent. She slowly lifts a hand, her fingers trembling slightly, and touches the thick glob on her cheek. She looks at her cum-coated fingertips, her expression one of wonder.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement that makes your heart stop, she brings her fingers to her mouth and licks them clean.

A slow, beatific smile spreads across her face, a smile of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. “Oh my god,” she whispers, then leans her head forward and licks the cum from her own lips, her tongue darting out to catch every last drop. Finding that isn’t enough, she uses her hands to scoop the cooling seed from her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and eats it with a greedy, almost reverent hunger.

When she’s cleaned most of it away, she looks up at you, her face still glistening, her eyes shining with a light you’ve never seen before; a dark, confident, knowing fire.

“I loved it,” she says. “Baby… I absolutely fucking loved it. It tasted… so good.”

You sink to your knees in front of her, your own body weak with relief and a love so profound it aches. You cup her face, your thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. Her skin is warm, slick, and glistening with your seed. A thick, pearly white glob remains on the curve of her cheekbone.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” you breathe. “Covered in my cum.”

“It was better than I imagined, baby. The taste, the feeling… I want to do it again.”

“I know you do.” Your gaze drops to the remaining cum on her cheek. “Looks like you missed a spot, though.”

Slowly, deliberately, you slide your index finger through the thick glob, scooping it up. You hold your cum-coated finger up to her lips, an offering. An invitation.

Her eyes never leave yours. There’s no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. This isn’t the shy girl from the beginning of the day; this is a woman who has discovered a deep, undeniable part of herself and is embracing it completely. Her lips part, and she leans forward, taking the tip of your finger into her mouth.

She sucks.

Her tongue swirls around your fingertip, cleaning it with a slow, deliberate, almost reverent thoroughness while her gaze holds you captive. The sensation is incredibly intimate, a final, definitive act of submission and acceptance that seals the promise of this new beginning. When she’s done, she pulls back slowly, her lips glistening.

You look at her, this incredible, beautiful woman, kneeling before you, having eagerly taken every filthy, wonderful thing you had to offer and asking for more. Your kinky girl.

A slow, wicked, unbelievably sexy smile spreads across her face.

“So,” Tzuyu purrs. “What’s for lesson two, daddy?”

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