#Red velvet irene

[studiogyu]

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[kpop-locks]

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ seulrene ; simple ”♡ᵎ ꒱

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[jupiterpilgrim]

Right to Use

Wonyoung x Seulgi x Irene x Ningning x Male Reader

word count: 11K

commissioned fic

The airport is chaos. Fans scream, flashbulbs pop, bodies press against barriers, and you’re the immovable force that keeps Wonyoung and the rest of IVE untouchable. Your black suit stretches over your frame, custom-tailored to accommodate your towering height and sheer size. Even your presence alone is enough to make people think twice about stepping out of line. But today, none of that really matters because Wonyoung, fresh off a tour, is the epicenter of it all, and you're not even sure she realizes how effortlessly she commands attention.

She’s dressed in a deceptively casual outfit that still looks like it was made to drive people insane. A cropped hoodie, pale pink, with the hem cut just above her slim waist, showing off the flawless skin of her toned stomach. High-waisted, ripped skinny jeans hug her legs, emphasizing the length and subtle curve of her thighs. On her feet, white sneakers—clean, of course. Wonyoung doesn’t do anything halfway, not even casualwear. Her long, dark hair cascades over her shoulders, catching the airport lights like silk. Sunglasses cover most of her face, but not the smirk playing on her lips, subtle enough for everyone but you to miss.

The other members follow close behind, but the crowd noise isn’t quite the same for them. Wonyoung, as usual, owns the moment. She’s radiant, untouchable. But then, of course, her attention cuts through the chaos and lands on you. She doesn’t even need to say a word. A flick of her wrist, a sly grin—you know she’s up to something.

The group splits into vehicles after the airport chaos. The plan, as always, is to keep things orderly. Most of the group piles into a sleek black van, a fortress of tinted glass and soundproof insulation. Wonyoung is supposed to ride in her private car, a glossy white Benz with plush leather interiors, a driver at the ready. You’re assigned to the main group, of course, although your priority is actually Wonyoung, you have to pretend in front of the cameras that your work is dedicated to the whole group. But as you move toward your designated car, her voice—clear, sweet, unmistakably commanding—cuts through the air.

“Oppa. Come here.”

She’s leaning against the door of her Benz, her sunglasses lowered just enough to reveal her big, doll-like eyes. They flicker with mischief.

You hesitate. Rules are rules, and being in the same vehicle with her is pushing boundaries that you’re not supposed to cross, even for someone like her. “Ms. Jang,” you start, but she cuts you off with a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

The way she says it isn’t loud, but it’s got that edge, that bratty little tone that says she knows exactly how much control she has over you—and she enjoys it.

Reluctantly, you move toward her car, sliding into the front passenger seat as the door shuts behind you. The air inside the vehicle feels different the moment you’re in it, charged, almost electric. The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say anything; he knows better.

Wonyoung sits in the backseat, legs crossed, her phone in her lap. She doesn’t say much at first, just glances at you every so often, her lips curled into the smallest of smiles. You can feel her eyes on you, even when you’re not looking. It’s unnerving, the way she toys with you without even saying a word.

The city blurs by outside, neon signs and skyscrapers flashing through the tinted windows. She stretches her legs out lazily, her sneakers brushing against the back of your seat. “You’re quiet,” she says finally, her voice soft but teasing. “Something on your mind?”

“No,” you reply quickly, but you don’t look back at her. You can feel her smirking again.

“You’re a bad liar, oppa.”

The rest of the ride is tense, her presence looming behind you like a shadow. You’ve worked for her long enough to know when she’s scheming something, and tonight she’s practically radiating trouble. By the time you arrive at her apartment building, you’re desperate to put some distance between the two of you.

The car rolls to a stop in the underground garage, and you open the door, stepping out quickly. “Goodnight, Ms. Jang,” you say, keeping your tone professional.

But before you can turn to leave, you feel her hand on your arm. Her grip is surprisingly firm for someone so delicate-looking.

“Come inside,” she says, her voice low but insistent.

You glance around, paranoid that someone might see the two of you together. “Ms. Jang, I don’t think that’s—”

“I wasn’t asking,” she interrupts, her eyes locking onto yours. There’s no room for argument in her tone.

“Someone might see us,” you hiss, still trying to keep some semblance of professionalism.

“And? Let them,” she says with a shrug. Her fingers curl around your wrist, and she tugs you toward the elevator. Her strength isn’t enough to move you, not really, but the way she looks at you—like she’s daring you to disobey—makes your resolve falter.

The elevator ride is silent, the tension between you growing thicker with every floor you ascend. She stands close to you, closer than she needs to, her arm brushing against yours. You can smell her perfume, something floral and expensive, and it only adds to the strange energy buzzing in the air.

When the elevator doors slide open, she steps out first, her sneakers making soft thuds against the polished floor. She doesn’t look back to see if you’re following—she knows you are.

Inside the penthouse, the apartment is exactly what you’d expect: sleek, modern, and outrageously expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city, the lights twinkling like a sea of stars. She kicks off her sneakers near the door and pads barefoot across the marble floor, leaving you standing awkwardly near the entrance.

“You can relax, you know,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at you. “It’s just us.”

“That’s kind of the problem,” you mutter under your breath, but she hears you.

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that somehow makes you even more uneasy. “You’re funny, oppa.”

She moves to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. As she drinks, her eyes stay on you, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile. You can tell she’s enjoying this—making you squirm, testing your limits.

“Go take a shower,” she says.

You hesitate, standing there like an idiot, unsure if you’re supposed to argue or just do as you’re told. Before you can decide, she sets the water bottle down with a soft clink and starts walking toward you. Her bare feet make no sound on the polished floor.

She stops just inches away, close enough that you can see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.

“Why are you so tense?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. Her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing lightly against your chest, the touch so light it’s almost maddening.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “I’m not—”

“Liar,” she interrupts, her lips curling into that bratty smirk you know too well. Her hand lingers, her fingertips tracing a slow, deliberate line down your sternum. “Relax, oppa. It’s just us.”

Just us.

Like that makes it any less overwhelming.

—

The steaming water cascades over your shoulders, washing away the tension from the chaotic day. You’d followed Wonyoung’s orders begrudgingly—obedience had become second nature—but something about her tone earlier, that little twist of mischief in her voice, left you uneasy.

The faint sound of a door opening makes you freeze mid-rinse. You tilt your head, water streaming down your face, straining to hear. Voices. Feminine, light laughter filtering through the penthouse. It’s not just Wonyoung’s voice.

You turn off the shower, tension coiling in your gut. "Just us." Yeah, you should have known she was lying. Your eyes dart to the bathroom corner, where your clothes are neatly laid out—your suit jacket, shirt, tie, underwear and pants. You grab the white button-down shirt first, the fabric still slightly damp from the steam, and quickly pull it on, leaving it unbuttoned at the top. The underwear comes next, and then finally the pants. You step into them hastily, not bothering with the belt as you fasten the button and zipper.

You adjust the shirt, the damp fabric clinging to your skin, then you take a deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom. The tension in your chest doesn’t ease, but you push it down, bracing yourself for whatever—or whoever—is waiting for you outside.

The moment you round the corner into the living room, you stop dead in your tracks.

Sitting on Wonyoung’s couch, perched like queens on a throne, are three women you’d recognize anywhere. Ning Yizhuo, Irene Bae, and Kang Seulgi.

You’ve seen them before, of course—on stages, on magazine covers, in advertisements plastered across half of Seoul.

They’re not dressed like idols here. Ning wears a skin-tight black crop top that shows off her toned stomach, paired with the shortest pair of denim shorts you’ve ever seen. Irene is in a silky red slip dress that hugs her curves and ends scandalously high on her thighs, the thin straps showing off her delicate shoulders. Seulgi leans back lazily in a sleek leather skirt and a sheer white blouse, the lacy black bra underneath making no effort to hide itself.

And they’re all staring at you.

For a moment, no one speaks. Ning is the first to break the silence, her dark eyes raking over you before she whistles low. “Wow. You weren’t kidding, Wonyoung. He’s massive.”

Irene tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into a small, intrigued smile. “He looks even taller in person.”

Seulgi arches an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over you appraisingly. “And broader.”

Wonyoung, sitting cross-legged in an oversized chair to the side, looks thoroughly pleased with herself. She’s still in her airport outfit, but now her hoodie is off, leaving her in just the cropped tank top beneath. Her bare midriff gleams under the soft light, and her legs are folded neatly beneath her, the picture of bratty satisfaction.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says, her tone dripping with pride. “Oppa’s huge. Almost 6 feet 7 inches tall. Taller than anyone else on staff. Stronger, too.”

The way she says it, casual and deliberate, makes your stomach tighten. The girls aren’t just looking at you—they’re devouring you with their eyes. Hungry doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “What’s going on here?” you ask, your voice firm but cautious.

Wonyoung smiles innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about the way her fingers drum against the arm of her chair. “I told the girls about you,” she says simply.

“Told them what?”

“That my parents hired you as my personal bodyguard and that you must fulfill every one of my wishes. In other words, I've told them that you're mine.” she replies, her tone playful but undeniably possessive. “But I don’t mind sharing. Sometimes.”

Irene’s smile widens slightly, and she leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “You’re hers, huh?” she says, her voice smooth and teasing. “That explains a lot.”

“Like what?” you snap.

“Like why she kept talking about how we had to meet you,” Ning chimes in. She crosses her legs, one foot swinging idly in the air as her eyes trace the line of your shoulders down to your chest. “I thought she was exaggerating. But now I get it.”

Seulgi smirks, leaning back into the couch with a casual grace. “So, what’s the plan, Wonyoung? I'm quite excited.”

Wonyoung’s grin turns wicked. She leans back in her chair, her head tilting to one side as she regards you with a glint in her eye. “Tonight,” she says, “we’re going to have fun. We'll use and abuse my hot beefcake."

Your instincts scream at you to leave, to shut this down before it spirals into something you can’t control. But Wonyoung is watching you, her expression daring you to refuse her. She’s always been good at getting what she wants, and tonight, it’s clear she’s not taking no for an answer.

Wonyoung doesn’t waste a second. “Alright, let’s go,” she says with a casual authority, waving the others toward the bedroom. She strides past you, but not before delivering a sharp slap to your ass.

“Keep up, oppa,” she teases, her tone dripping with mockery.

Behind her, the other girls burst into laughter, their voices mingling in a chorus of amusement and anticipation. Ning hides her smile behind her hand, Irene smirks knowingly, and Seulgi outright grins.

You trail behind them, heart hammering in your chest as the tension in the air thickens with every step. They lead you to Wonyoung’s bedroom—a sprawling, luxurious space dominated by an enormous bed with plush white linens. Soft, golden light spills from a modern chandelier above, casting everything in a warm glow.

Wonyoung sits you down on the edge of the bed, her hands firm on your shoulders as she climbs into your lap. Her weight is featherlight, but the way she looks at you—her lips curling into a bratty smile, her dark eyes glittering with mischief—feels impossibly heavy.

“Alright, girls,” she says, turning her head slightly to address the others. “You can get started.”

There’s no hesitation. Irene is the first to move, her hands reaching for the thin straps of her dress. The silky fabric slides down her shoulders and pools at her feet, revealing delicate lace lingerie that clings to her petite frame. She moves with practiced grace, her confidence radiating from every step she takes closer to you.

Seulgi is next, unbuttoning her sheer blouse with quick, eager fingers. Her bra—simple but black and striking—contrasts beautifully with her smooth skin. Her leather skirt follows, dropping to reveal toned legs and a curve to her hips that makes your mouth dry.

Ning hesitates, her fingers toying nervously with the hem of her crop top. She glances at Wonyoung, who gives her a reassuring smile, before finally pulling it off. Her shorts follow shortly after, leaving her in pastel underwear that’s almost as shy as her expression. But there’s a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, a quiet hunger that draws her closer, step by step.

You sit frozen at first, unsure of how to react, but your body betrays you. As the girls strip, you feel your cock stir to life, growing harder with each layer of clothing that hits the floor.

Wonyoung notices immediately. Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and she shifts slightly on your lap, her hips brushing against the bulge straining in your pants. “Enjoying the show, oppa?” she asks, her tone teasing but unmistakably smug.

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat, but finally, you nod. “…Yeah.”

She laughs softly, leaning in until her lips are inches from yours. “Good. Because tonight, we’re going to use you until we’re satisfied.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, her mouth captures yours in a kiss. Her lips are soft but demanding, and she tastes faintly of sweet lip balm and something darker, more intoxicating.

As Wonyoung deepens the kiss, you feel hands on your shoulders, your chest, your arms. The other girls are closing in, their fingers exploring your muscles, tracing the lines of your skin like they can’t believe you’re real.

Irene’s touch is the most deliberate, her fingers trailing over your chest with an almost clinical precision, like she’s cataloging every ridge and dip. Seulgi’s hands are bolder, sliding over your biceps and squeezing as she lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit,” she murmurs. “How are you this big?”

Ning is more hesitant, her fingers brushing lightly over your forearm before retreating, only to return moments later, bolder each time. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her eyes dart over you betrays her curiosity.

Wonyoung shifts on your lap again, grinding against you just enough to make you groan softly into her mouth. She pulls back, her lips glossy and swollen, and looks down between the two of you, where your cock is straining painfully against your pants.

Her grin widens. “Looks like oppa’s ready for the real fun to start.”

She stands, slipping off your lap with a grace that leaves you breathless, and gestures for the other girls to gather around. They drop to their knees without a word, their eyes fixed on you with a mix of hunger and anticipation.

Wonyoung steps between them, her hands deftly moving to the button of your pants. She looks up at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something far darker. “Let’s see what you’re working with.”

Wonyoung doesn’t hesitate, her fingers deftly working at the waistband of your pants, she tugs the fabric down over your hips with an unhurried precision, the smooth motion somehow making the moment feel even more intense.

When the material pools around your ankles, you’re left standing there in nothing but your underwear. The girls’ eyes drop immediately, zeroing in on the absurd bulge pressing against the thin, strained fabric.

“Holy shit,” Seulgi breathes out first, her voice almost a whisper. Her dark eyes are wide, and she leans forward slightly, like she’s trying to get a better angle.

“That’s insane,” Ning mutters, her jaw practically hanging open. She bites her bottom lip, eyes darting from Wonyoung to your crotch as though needing confirmation that this isn’t some kind of elaborate joke.

Irene, ever composed, lifts an eyebrow and tilts her head, her gaze locked on the outline of your cock. A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she murmurs, “Wonyoung, you didn’t tell us it was this impressive.”

Wonyoung doesn’t bother hiding her pride. Her lips curl into a smug, bratty grin as she looks up at you from her kneeling position. “Oh, I told you,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “You just didn’t believe me.”

Her fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, her touch light but deliberate. She pauses for a split second, letting the anticipation build before pulling them down slowly, like she’s unwrapping the world’s most tempting gift.

And then, it’s out.

The room goes utterly silent, save for the faint rustling of fabric as Wonyoung tosses your underwear aside along with your pants. The girls are frozen, their eyes glued to your cock as it springs free, standing tall and impossibly hard. Thick veins trace its length, accentuating the sheer size of it, and the head is already glistening faintly with precum.

“Jesus Christ,” Ning finally manages to choke out, her voice full of awe and disbelief.

Seulgi doesn’t even try to hide her reaction, letting out a low whistle as her gaze sweeps over you. “No wonder she’s been keeping you all to herself. That’s… I don’t even have words.”

“A little above 12 inches,” Wonyoung says smugly, standing and brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Told you it’s the biggest you’ve ever seen.”

“Biggest doesn’t even cover it,” Irene murmurs, her voice soft but tinged with something darker. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s an undeniable hunger in her gaze. “It’s perfect.”

Ning reaches out first, her fingers hovering hesitantly over your cock before finally brushing against it. The light, experimental touch sends a shiver up your spine, and you can’t help but let out a soft grunt.

“It’s so warm,” she says, more to herself than anyone else, her hand slowly wrapping around the base.

Irene moves in next, her movements slower but no less curious. She places her hand just above Ning’s, her touch more confident as she gently squeezes the shaft. “How do you even handle this, Wonyoung?” she asks, her tone equal parts amazed and envious.

Wonyoung just laughs, stepping back and folding her arms across her chest as she watches them. “It’s not easy, but I manage. I think practice makes perfect.”

Seulgi joins in, her fingers sliding up to the head. She swirls her thumb over the slick tip, collecting a bead of precum, and smirks as she examines it. “Practice makes perfect, huh? You’re damn lucky is what you are.”

“Damn right I am,” Wonyoung replies, her voice full of pride.

The girls take their time exploring you, their hands moving up and down your cock in slow, deliberate motions as they share it between them. Ning’s grip is firm but hesitant, her strokes experimental as though she’s still trying to wrap her head around the sheer size of you. Irene’s touch is more measured, her fingers tracing the veins with almost clinical precision. Seulgi, meanwhile, is bold and playful, her grip tightening slightly as she strokes you with a confidence that leaves your knees feeling weak.

Wonyoung watches it all with a satisfied smirk, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “See what I mean?” she says, her tone smug. “I told you he’s perfect.”

“You weren’t kidding,” Ning says, her voice breathless as she gives you another experimental stroke. “This is… I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“None of us have,” Irene murmurs, her voice low as she tightens her grip slightly. Her gaze flicks up to yours, and for a moment, it feels like she’s staring straight into your soul. “Wonyoung, you weren’t lying. You’re incredibly lucky.”

“I know,” Wonyoung replies, her smirk widening.

Seulgi leans in closer, her breath warm against your skin as she runs her tongue along the length of your shaft. The sudden contact makes you groan, and she grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And now you’re sharing him with us?” she asks Wonyoung, her tone teasing.

“Just for tonight,” Wonyoung says with a shrug, though the playful glint in her eye suggests she’s enjoying this far more than she’s letting on.

Seulgi chuckles, her lips brushing against your cock as she speaks. “Generous of you.”

The three of them work together in perfect, almost synchronized harmony. Ning focuses on the base, her small hands struggling to wrap around you as she strokes you slowly. Irene takes the middle, her movements deliberate and teasing, while Seulgi lavishes attention on the head, her tongue flicking over the sensitive tip before taking you into her mouth.

Wonyoung finally steps forward, brushing past the others to claim her spot. “Alright, girls, don’t forget who he belongs to,” she says.

The moment Wonyoung takes your cock in her mouth, the entire mood of the room shifts. Her lips wrap around you with a confidence that borders on arrogance, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks hard on the head, the warmth of her tongue swirling around it. She doesn’t even flinch at the sheer girth—if anything, she looks pleased, her doll-like eyes flicking up to meet yours with that same bratty.

But it’s not just her anymore. The other girls are right there, hands and mouths eager as they scramble to share whatever they can.

“Damn,” Seulgi mutters under her breath as she wraps a hand around your shaft, just beneath where Wonyoung’s lips are working. “Even with all of us, there’s still so much left.” Her tone is laced with awe, and she strokes the exposed length slowly, her fingers barely meeting as they encircle you.

“You’re telling me,” Ning chimes in, her voice muffled as she leans in to kiss and lick along the base of your cock. She presses her lips against the thick veins, her tongue darting out to trace them experimentally. “I can’t believe this thing’s real.”

Wonyoung pulls back briefly, a trail of saliva connecting her lips to your cock as she catches her breath. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking up at you before glancing over at the others. “You should see him when he’s cumming,” she says, her voice dripping with pride. “It’s insane. He’s like a fucking fountain. You’ll see for yourselves soon enough.”

Her words make Irene pause, her elegant features flushed with heat as she runs her hand slowly along the shaft. “A lot, huh?” she murmurs, almost to herself. Her thumb brushes over the tip, smearing the slick precum that’s already leaking from you. “I can’t even imagine.”

“You won’t have to,” Wonyoung replies, her smirk widening as she moves lower, her lips brushing against your heavy, swollen balls.

The shift in her attention catches you off guard. She cradles your balls in her hands, her thumbs kneading the sensitive skin as she presses gentle kisses against them. Her lips are soft, almost reverent, but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes betrays her true intentions. “God, oppa,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. “You’re so full. I bet you’ve been saving it all for me, haven’t you?”

Before you can respond, she opens her mouth wider, taking one of your balls into her mouth. The warmth and wetness make your knees buckle slightly, and you let out a deep groan as she sucks on it gently, her tongue swirling around it.

“Fuck,” Seulgi breathes out, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. “She’s not kidding. They’re huge.”

“They’re heavy, too,” Wonyoung says after releasing you with a wet pop, her voice smug as she cradles them in her hand. “You wouldn’t believe how much he can shoot.”

Ning lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, her eyes darting between your cock and Wonyoung’s hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this jealous of anyone in my life,” she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and arousal.

“Then stop talking and help,” Wonyoung says, her tone playful but commanding as she gives your balls one last lick before moving back to your shaft.

The girls obey without hesitation. Ning leans in first, her lips wrapping around the head as she tries to take you deeper. She chokes almost immediately, her throat constricting around the sheer size of you, but she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she presses forward, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she forces herself to swallow more.

“Easy,” Irene murmurs, placing a steadying hand on Ning’s shoulder. She’s kneeling beside her, her lips pressing against the exposed length just beneath where Ning’s mouth is working. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Ning gasps, pulling back just enough to catch her breath before diving back in. “I want it all.”

Her determination is clear, but even with her best efforts, she barely manages to take half of you before gagging again. The sound is lewd and wet, and drool begins to drip from the corners of her mouth, pooling at the base of your cock.

“Damn,” Seulgi says again, her voice tinged with admiration as she watches Ning struggle. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

“Of course she is,” Wonyoung says with a smirk. She reaches out, grabbing the base of your cock and guiding it away from Ning’s mouth. “But let’s not hog him, okay?”

She directs your cock toward Seulgi, who wastes no time. Her lips part, and she takes you into her mouth with surprising ease. But even she can’t handle your full length. She gets about halfway down before her throat tightens, and she has to pull back, coughing slightly.

“Shit,” she mutters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing is heavy as she looks up at you. “That’s… That’s insane. How do you even fit this thing in anyone?”

Wonyoung laughs, her tone dripping with smugness. “It’s not easy,” she says, her hand stroking your cock lazily. “But once you get used to it… God, it’s worth it.”

The girls take turns, each of them eager to test their limits. Irene is the most graceful, her movements deliberate and controlled as she takes you into her mouth. But even she can’t swallow more than half before pulling back, her lips red and swollen as she gasps for air. Ning and Seulgi are less composed, their eyes watering and spit dripping down their chins as they choke and gag around your cock.

Through it all, Wonyoung keeps her focus on your balls. Her hands massage them gently, her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles against the sensitive skin. Occasionally, she leans in to press soft kisses against them, her tongue darting out to lick along the seam.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you, oppa?” she says, her voice low and teasing as she looks up at you. “Having all of us drooling over your cock?”

You can’t help but let out a low, guttural groan in response.

Wonyoung’s lips curl into a sly grin as she looks around the room, her voice soft but commanding. “Alright, girls,” she says, running her fingers through her long, dark hair as she starts peeling off her tank top. “I think it’s about time we head to bed.”

She tosses the cropped fabric aside, revealing the full curve of her breasts beneath a lacy black bra. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she unfastens her jeans and lets them slide down her impossibly long legs. She steps out of them with practiced grace, standing there in nothing but her matching bra and panties, the delicate material clinging to her hips like it was custom-made for her.

The other girls watch with barely contained excitement, their eyes flicking between Wonyoung and you, anticipation thick in the air. Wonyoung meets your gaze, her hands reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. The straps slide down her shoulders, and the bra falls away, revealing her flawless, perky breasts. She’s all confidence and control, completely in her element as she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushes them down, leaving her bare before you.

“So,” she says, her tone playful as she turns to the other girls. “Who wants to go first?”

“I do,” Ning blurts out immediately, her cheeks flushing as she realizes how eager she sounds.

“No way,” Seulgi interjects with a grin, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, but the way she shifts in place, her thighs pressing together, makes it clear that she’s just as ready as the others.

Wonyoung laughs softly, her bratty smile lighting up her face as she turns to you. “Well, oppa,” she says, stepping closer to you and running her fingers lightly down your chest. “Looks like you’re going to have to decide.”

You glance between the three of them, your heart pounding as they all look at you expectantly. Finally, your gaze lands on Irene. She’s sitting there, quiet but clearly eager, her delicate hands resting on her knees as she looks up at you with those piercing, almond-shaped eyes.

“Irene,” you say, your voice firm but gentle.

Her lips part slightly, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks as she nods and stands. The other girls groan in disappointment, but they don’t argue, instead settling on either side of the bed to watch. Ning takes a spot on Irene’s left, while Seulgi perches on her right, both of them leaning forward eagerly.

Irene steps closer to you, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches behind her to unhook her bra. The straps fall away, revealing her small, perfectly shaped breasts, the pale skin almost glowing under the soft light of the room. Her nipples are pink and already hard, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

You guide her onto the bed, her body soft and warm beneath your hands as she lies back against the pillows. She’s still wearing her panties, a delicate lace pair that clings to her hips, but the outline of her arousal is already visible through the thin fabric.

You finally take off your shirt before kneeling between her legs, your hands sliding up her thighs as you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties. Irene lifts her hips slightly, allowing you to pull them down and toss them aside. The sight of her pussy makes your breath hitch—soft pink lips glistening with arousal, a neat triangle of pubic hair above them, perfectly groomed but natural.

“Beautiful,” you murmur.

Irene’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and she bites her bottom lip, her hands clutching the sheets beneath her. “Please,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “Just… go slow, okay?”

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her thigh.

Wonyoung is suddenly beside you, her hands roaming over your muscular back before sliding down to your ass. She gives it a firm squeeze, her nails digging lightly into your skin. “You better not keep me waiting too long, oppa,” she whispers, her breath warm against your ear.

You position yourself at Irene’s entrance, the head of your cock brushing against her folds and gathering the slick wetness there. Her body tenses slightly beneath you, and she lets out a soft gasp as you push forward, just the tip slipping inside her.

“Ahh…” Irene’s voice is breathless, her hands gripping the sheets tighter as her body adjusts to your size.

Her pussy is tight, impossibly so, and you take your time, pushing in slowly inch by inch. Each movement draws a new sound from her—a gasp, a moan, a sharp intake of breath—as her walls stretch to accommodate you.

“Fuck,” Seulgi murmurs from the side, her eyes glued to where your cock is disappearing into Irene. “Look at her… She’s taking it so well.”

Ning nods in agreement, her hand drifting up to cup one of Irene’s small breasts. She squeezes it gently, her thumb brushing over the hardened nipple as she leans in to kiss the soft skin there.

Irene arches her back slightly at the attention, a soft whimper escaping her lips as you sink deeper inside her. “It’s… so big,” she gasps, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and disbelief.

“I know,” Wonyoung says smugly, her hands still exploring your body. “That’s why he’s mine.”

You pause for a moment, letting Irene adjust to the feeling of being stretched so completely. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breaths shallow as her body relaxes around you. Slowly, you begin to move again, pulling back slightly before pushing in deeper, each inch making her gasp louder.

“God,” Irene moans, her head falling back against the pillows as her legs wrap loosely around your hips. “You’re… you’re so deep…”

Ning and Seulgi continue to tease her, their hands roaming over her body as they kiss and lick at her sensitive skin. Ning focuses on her breasts, her lips wrapping around one nipple while her fingers pinch the other. Seulgi trails kisses down Irene’s neck, her teeth grazing lightly against the pale skin.

“Keep going,” Wonyoung whispers, her voice full of anticipation as she watches you. Her fingers dig into your ass again, urging you forward. “She can take it.”

You press forward until you’re half inside her, the tight heat of her pussy gripping you like a vice. Irene lets out a choked cry, her nails digging into your shoulders as her body trembles beneath you.

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper, “You’re so beautiful, Irene.”

Her only response is a broken moan, her eyes fluttering shut as you begin to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust drawing another gasp or moan from her lips. The girls on either side of her watch intently, their hands and mouths never leaving her body as the room fills with the sound of your movements and Irene’s pleasured cries.

And through it all, Wonyoung stays close, her touch constant as she whispers encouragement into your ear, her voice low and teasing. “That’s it, oppa,” she murmurs. “Show her what you can do.”

You thrust slowly, deliberately, only using a little more than half your cock, but even that feels like too much for Irene. Each time you push into her, her walls stretch around you like they’re made for it, molding to your size with a tightness that feels almost unbearable.

Her pussy clenches instinctively with every movement, struggling to take you as her slick heat coats your shaft, making the glide smooth yet impossibly intense. Irene's soft cries fill the room, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her as her body trembles beneath you.

“God,” she gasps, her voice breathless and high-pitched as she turns her head to the side, her dark hair spilling over the pillows. “You’re… you’re splitting me open…”

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, oppa?” Wonyoung’s voice cuts through Irene’s moans, playful and commanding. She’s watching everything, her lips curled into that signature bratty smirk. Without warning, she reaches out and slaps your ass—hard. The sting of it sends a jolt through you, and you grunt in response, your hips pushing forward just a little harder than before.

Irene lets out a sharp moan at the deeper thrust, her body jolting beneath you. “Ahh, fuck…!”

“That’s it,” Wonyoung teases, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Keep going. She can take it.”

Wonyoung moves across the bed with catlike grace, her long legs carrying her to Irene’s side. She climbs onto the bed and straddles Irene’s face, her knees pressing into the pillows as she settles herself over her.

“Open up,” Wonyoung says, her voice soft but commanding as she leans forward, her hands braced on the headboard. Her pussy hovers just above Irene’s lips, glistening and flushed with arousal. “I want to feel that tongue.”

Irene hesitates for only a moment, her eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and eagerness. Then, her lips part, and her tongue darts out tentatively, flicking over Wonyoung’s folds.

“Good girl,” Wonyoung purrs, rocking her hips slightly to press herself against Irene’s mouth. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

Irene’s moans become muffled as she does her best to obey, her tongue moving more confidently now as she laps at Wonyoung’s pussy. Her hands move to Wonyoung’s thighs, gripping them tightly as she pulls her closer, her head tilting back slightly to get better access.

You watch the scene unfold, the sight of Wonyoung riding Irene’s face only fueling the heat coursing through your body. You can feel Irene tightening around you even more as she tries to focus on both sensations—the fullness of your cock stretching her and the taste of Wonyoung on her tongue.

“Fuck, oppa,” Wonyoung groans, her voice trembling slightly as she rolls her hips against Irene’s mouth. “She’s so eager. I think she likes it.”

“She does,” you murmur, your voice rough with arousal as you thrust into Irene slowly, each movement drawing a soft whimper from her lips that vibrates against Wonyoung’s pussy.

Ning leans over Irene’s side, her hands roaming over her chest as she kneads and squeezes her small breasts. She leans down, her lips wrapping around one of Irene’s nipples as she sucks gently, her tongue flicking over the hardened peak.

Seulgi takes the other side, her fingers tracing patterns along Irene’s stomach before dipping lower, brushing lightly over where your cock is buried inside her. She doesn’t touch you directly, but her fingers graze the spot where Irene’s pussy stretches around you, her touch teasing and exploratory.

“You’re so tight,” Seulgi murmurs, her voice full of admiration as she watches your cock slide in and out of Irene. “Look at how she’s taking you. It’s… fuck, it’s beautiful.”

Ning lifts her head from Irene’s chest, her lips glistening as she turns to Seulgi. “She’s perfect,” she agrees, her voice soft and breathless. Their eyes meet for a moment, a spark of shared excitement passing between them before Ning leans in and presses her lips to Seulgi’s.

Their kiss is slow and sensual, their tongues moving together as their hands continue to roam over Irene’s trembling body. It’s like they’re lost in their own world, their soft moans mingling with the wet sounds of your cock moving inside Irene and the muffled noises coming from Wonyoung’s pussy.

Irene’s moans grow louder, more frantic, her body arching beneath you as she struggles to keep up with everything happening to her. Her pussy clenches tightly around you, and her hips start to move instinctively, meeting your slow thrusts as if begging for more.

“She’s losing it,” Wonyoung says with a satisfied laugh, her hips grinding down harder against Irene’s mouth. “Keep going, oppa. Make her cum for me.”

You lean down, your hands gripping Irene’s hips firmly as you push into her just a little deeper, making her gasp and cry out beneath you. “You’re doing so well,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing. “Just let go, Irene. I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes flutter open briefly, then, they squeeze shut again as another moan escapes her, muffled by Wonyoung’s pussy pressing harder against her face.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Wonyoung groans, her head falling back as she rocks her hips against Irene’s mouth. “Her tongue feels amazing.”

The room is a haze of heat and moans and wet, lewd sounds. Ning and Seulgi’s hands never stop moving, their fingers teasing and caressing Irene’s body as they kiss each other with an intensity that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

You keep your pace steady, your cock sliding in and out of Irene’s tight, dripping pussy, each thrust stretching her in ways she’s never experienced before. Her body shudders beneath you, her moans growing louder and more desperate as she gets closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, oppa,” Wonyoung urges, her voice breathy and teasing as she looks over her shoulder at you. “Make her cum.”

You grip Irene’s hips tighter, your thrusts becoming just a little faster, a little deeper, as you push her closer to the brink. Her body trembles violently beneath you, and her muffled cries reach a fever pitch as her orgasm crashes over her.

Her pussy clenches around you like a vice, her entire body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure ripple through her. Wonyoung moans loudly as well, her movements becoming erratic as Irene’s moans vibrate against her clit, pushing her closer to her own release.

“Fuck, yes,” Wonyoung cries out, her head falling back as she grinds against Irene’s face.

Ning and Seulgi pull away from each other, their eyes fixed on Irene’s writhing form as they continue to stroke and caress her, their hands moving in perfect sync.

You slow your movements, letting Irene ride out her orgasm as her body relaxes beneath you, her chest heaving with each labored breath.

Wonyoung finally lifts herself off Irene’s face, her legs trembling slightly as she moves to sit beside you. “Not bad,” she says with a smirk, her fingers trailing over your arm.

The bed shifts as everyone moves, bodies brushing against each other in a haze of arousal and need. Seulgi wastes no time, standing and sliding her lingerie down her toned body in one smooth motion. Her black bra and matching thong hit the floor, revealing a figure carved by years of dance. Her athletic curves are taut, her thighs strong, her ass round and firm, framed perfectly as she kneels on the bed.

“It’s my turn now,” she says, her voice low and dripping with anticipation. She gets on all fours without hesitation, her back arching to present herself, ass high in the air and legs spread just enough to show her glistening pussy already wet and waiting.

“Damn,” Ning mutters, her eyes glued to Seulgi’s perfect form. She doesn't waste any time and also takes off her own lingerie, sitting directly in front of Seulgi, already spreading her legs to reveal her own slick folds. “Come here,” she adds with a smirk, her voice playful but commanding.

Seulgi doesn’t need to be told twice. She crawls forward on all fours, her face inches from Ning’s pussy. Her lips part as she leans in, her tongue darting out to tease along Ning’s folds before sucking lightly on her clit.

“Fuck,” Ning gasps, her fingers tangling in Seulgi’s hair as she pulls her closer. “That’s good. Just like that.”

Behind them, Wonyoung steps up, her eyes narrowing as she watches Seulgi’s ass sway with each movement. “Look at you,” she says. She reaches out and delivers a sharp slap to Seulgi’s ass, the sound echoing through the room. “You look like such a slut in this position.”

Seulgi moans against Ning’s pussy, the sound muffled but unmistakable. “Maybe I am,” she mumbles, her voice thick with arousal before diving back in, her tongue moving faster as Ning lets out a breathless laugh.

Wonyoung turns to you, her bratty smirk lighting up her face as she gestures toward Seulgi. “Go on, oppa,” she says. “She’s ready for you.”

But before you move, Irene is suddenly beside you, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed, and there’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

You lean down, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s a sweetness to it, but underneath that, you can taste the familiar tang of Wonyoung’s pussy, still fresh on Irene’s tongue.

“You okay?” you murmur against her lips, your voice low and filled with concern.

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “More than okay,” she whispers. “A cock never made me cum so fast before.”

The sincerity in her voice makes your chest tighten slightly, but before you can say anything else, she presses another kiss to your lips before stepping back to let you focus on Seulgi.

Your attention shifts to her, the sight of Seulgi’s ass still high in the air, her pussy glistening and inviting. You kneel behind her, one hand gripping her hip as the other guides your cock to her entrance. Her wetness coats the head as you tease her, rubbing up and down her slit, your movements deliberate and slow.

Seulgi whimpers, her hips pressing back against you as she tries to take you inside. “Stop teasing,” she gasps, her voice desperate. “Just put it in already.”

You smirk, leaning over her slightly as you position yourself. “You sure?” you ask, your tone teasing. “I don’t want to break you.”

“Do it,” she snaps, her voice breathy and demanding.

You push forward slowly, the head of your cock slipping inside her tight, wet heat. Seulgi lets out a sharp gasp, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her as her body tenses.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “You’re so fucking big…”

Behind you, Wonyoung watches with gleeful satisfaction. She moves closer to Irene, their bodies aligning as she presses a soft kiss to Irene’s lips. The size difference between them is striking—Wonyoung’s long, slender frame towering over Irene’s petite figure, their contrast somehow making the moment even hotter.

Seulgi moans again as you push deeper, each inch of your cock stretching her further. Her pussy grips you tightly, the slick walls trembling around you as she struggles to take more. You pause halfway, letting her adjust as her breaths come in short, shallow gasps.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, your hands sliding up her sides to steady her.

She nods, her hair falling in messy waves around her face. “Keep going,” she whispers. “I can take it.”

You push forward again, the slow, deliberate movements drawing a mix of moans and gasps from Seulgi as your cock stretches her inch by inch. The pleasure is etched across her face, her lips parted and her brows furrowed as she rocks her hips back against you, desperate for more.

“Fuck,” Ning moans, watching from her position in front of Seulgi. Her legs are still spread, her pussy glistening as Seulgi continues to lick and suck at her clit. “She’s so good with her mouth. I don’t know how she’s even concentrating.”

“Because she’s a slut,” Wonyoung teases, her voice light and mocking as she pulls Irene closer, their lips meeting in another heated kiss. Her hands roam over Irene’s small frame, her fingers trailing down her sides and cupping her breasts as their tongues intertwine.

The sight only spurs you on, your hips pressing forward until you’re buried fully inside Seulgi. She cries out, her entire body trembling as she clutches the sheets beneath her. “Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re… you’re fucking huge. It’s too much…”

“You’re taking it so well,” you murmur, your hands gripping her hips tightly as you begin to move, slow and steady.

Each thrust draws a moan from her lips, the mixture of pain and pleasure etched across her face as her body rocks beneath you. Ning tangles her fingers in Seulgi’s hair, pulling her closer as she grinds against her mouth, her own moans growing louder with each flick of Seulgi’s tongue.

Behind you, Wonyoung and Irene are lost in their own world, their kisses deep and passionate as Wonyoung’s hands explore every inch of Irene’s body. Wonyoung’s long fingers tracing delicate patterns over Irene’s pale skin as their breaths mingle.

The room is filled with the sounds of pleasure—moans, gasps, the wet slap of your cock sliding into Seulgi’s tight pussy. Her body trembles with every thrust, her voice breaking into desperate cries as she tries to meet your movements.

“You love this, don’t you?” you whisper, your voice low and teasing as you lean over her.

“Yes,” she gasps, her nails digging into the sheets. “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”

And so you don’t, your pace slow but steady, each movement deliberate as you drive her closer to the edge. Wonyoung’s laughter rings out from beside you, her voice full of satisfaction as she watches Seulgi fall apart beneath you.

“You look so good like this,” Wonyoung murmurs, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Keep going, oppa. Slap that slut. Make her scream.”

You do as she says, the sharp crack of your palm against Seulgi’s ass reverberates through the room, the flushed imprint of your hand blooming across her skin. She arches her back with a guttural moan, her hips stuttering backward to meet your next thrust—deeper, harder, the pace unrelenting now. Her pussy clenches like a vice around your cock, slick walls trembling as she struggles to adjust to the brutal rhythm.

“F-fuck!” she chokes out, her voice breaking as you bottom out inside her, the thick base of your shaft stretching her to the limit. Drool drips from her lips onto the sheets below, her face still buried between Ning’s thighs, though her tongue falters, too overwhelmed to keep pace.

Ning giggles breathlessly, her fingers tightening in Seulgi’s hair. “Getting distracted, unnie?” she teases, grinding her hips forward to force Seulgi’s mouth back against her clit. But Seulgi’s response is a muffled whimper, her body jerking as you slap her ass again, the sound sharp and possessive.

“Louder,” Wonyoung demands from across the bed, her voice honeyed and cruel. She’s sprawled beside Irene, their limbs tangled as Irene’s slender fingers work between Wonyoung’s thighs, stroking her pussy with practiced precision. Wonyoung’s head tilts back, her lips parted in a moan, but her eyes stay locked on you—dark, commanding, hungry. “Make her scream. Ruin her.”

You obey, your hips pistoning faster, each thrust punching a ragged cry from Seulgi’s throat. Her knuckles bleach white where she grips the sheets, her ass reddening under the force of your strikes.

“Y-you’re—ah!—splitting me open—” Seulgi gasps, her words dissolving into a shattered moan as you angle your cock upward, grinding against her g-spot with deliberate cruelty. Her thighs quiver, her body taut as a bowstring, but you slow just enough to deny her release, drawing a frustrated sob from her lips.

Irene watches, her breath hitching as Wonyoung arches beneath her touch. “Look at her,” Irene murmurs, her voice husky with arousal. “She’s unraveling.”

Wonyoung’s laugh is low, wicked. “And she’s still not even close.” She grabs Irene’s wrist, guiding her fingers deeper, harder. “Keep going. I want to watch her break first.”

Ning, meanwhile, rocks her hips faster against Seulgi’s mouth, her moans pitching higher. “Come on, unnie,” she taunts, her voice trembling. “You can take it, right?” But Seulgi’s only response is a broken whine, her eyes squeezed shut as you dominate her, her body reduced to a quivering, sweating mess beneath you.

The air reeks of sex and salt, the heat suffocating. You lean over Seulgi’s back, your breath hot against her ear. “You wanted this,” you growl, punctuating the words with another slap, another brutal thrust. “Begging for it like a slut.”

“Yes—” she sobs, her voice raw. “Y-yes, please—!”

Ning cums first, her back arching as she grinds down on Seulgi’s tongue, her cries sharp and sweet. Seulgi tries to focus, her mouth working desperately, but another deep thrust from you shatters her concentration, leaving her gasping, drooling, ruined.

Wonyoung’s smirk is triumphant. “Good girl,” she purrs, though it’s unclear who she’s praising—Seulgi or Ning. Her own hips roll against Irene’s hand, her breath catching. “Now… harder.”

You give Seulgi exactly that.

Seulgi’s entire body locks up like a live wire, back arched so hard it looks like it might snap. “Oppa—I’m—I’m gonna—!” Her scream cracks into a shrill, broken wail as her pussy vises around your cock, clenching in ragged pulses that feel like she’s trying to milk you dry. Tears streak her flushed cheeks, her ass still jolting red from your slaps as she grinds back against you, desperate. “Fuck—fuck—fuck—!”

You drill into her faster, harder, the wet slap of your hips against her ass drowning out her cries. Her thighs tremble, her knees buckling until she’s collapsed onto the bed, face mashed into the sheets. But you don’t stop—not until her screams dissolve into choked, hiccupping sobs, her nails clawing at the mattress. “There it is,” you grunt, feeling her walls flutter wildly, sucking you deeper like she’s trying to claim you. “C’mon, ruin the sheets, princess.”

She cums like a fucking avalanche—back bowing, toes curling, her pussy drowning you in slick as she thrashes. “Ngh—ah! AH!” Her voice shreds raw, every muscle in her body seizing before she goes limp, gasping like she’s been punched.

You rip your cock out just as the first thick ropes of cum surge from your balls, splattering hot across her lower back. It’s not an orgasm—just a relentless leak, your swollen sac emptying itself in messy, pearly streaks that drip down her ass. “Shit,” Seulgi whimpers, twitching as the warmth coats her skin. “S’so… much…”

Wonyoung’s already there, fingers dragging through the mess on Seulgi’s back. She licks her fingertips slowly, eyes locked on yours, that bratty smirk plastered on her face. “So good,” she purrs, before shoving her cum-smeared hand against Irene’s mouth. “Try it.” Irene hesitates, then laps at it obediently, her tongue swirling around Wonyoung’s fingers with a soft, approving hum. “Addicting,” she murmurs, lips glistening.

Ning slowly gets out of bed, biting her lip hard enough to bruise. You catch her eye, patting the chair beside the bed. “C’mere,” you say, voice softer now. “You’re up.”

She freezes, then nods, shaky as a fawn. She climbs into your lap, her thighs bracketing yours. “Slow,” you remind her, hands gripping her hips as she lines herself up. Her pussy glistens, already dripping, but her breath hitches when the head of your cock brushes her entrance. “I-I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Wonyoung snaps from across the room. “Stop being a baby.”

You shoot her a glare, but Ning’s already sinking down, inch by torturous inch. Her face screws up, tears welling as she bottoms out—halfway, her tight little cunt stretching obscenely around your shaft. “Fuck,” she whimpers, nails digging into your shoulders. “It’s—too much—”

“Breathe,” you murmur, thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re doing good.”

She nods, shaky, her hips trembling as she grinds in tiny circles, trying to adjust. The stretch is written all over her face—pain, fear, but underneath it, want. Her pussy flutters, sucking you deeper like it’s begging for more.

Wonyoung rolls her eyes. “Boring. Just shove her dow—”

“Shut up,” you growl, cutting her off. Ning’s eyes widen, but there’s a flicker of gratitude there before she buries her face in your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“I… I wanna try,” she whispers, voice trembling.

You nod, hands steady on her hips. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She lifts herself slightly—just an inch—before sinking back down with a sharp gasp. “Ah!” Her thighs shake, her cunt clenching like a fist. “I-I can’t… more—”

“You’re fine,” you reassure her, but she’s already grinding harder, chasing the friction, her moans pitching higher.

Ning’s hips stutter as she grinds down, her tiny cunt swallowing another inch of your cock with a wet squelch. Tears cling to her lashes, her breath hitching in sharp, broken gasps. “H-hurts,” she whines, her fingers digging into your shoulders like she’s clinging to a cliff edge. But her hips don’t stop—small, desperate circles that drag her clit against the base of your shaft, her pussy fluttering like a heartbeat around you.

“You’re doing it,” Seulgi rasps from the bed, sprawled on her back with her legs spread. Wonyoung already has a vibrator in her hands, buzzing against Seulgi's clit, making her jerk and curse. “Fuck—fuck—look at her go, Ning! Take that dick like a good girl—”

Irene moans softly beside her, back arched as Wonyoung takes the vibrator to her pussy in torturous circles over her slit. “So… tight,” Irene murmurs, her usually composed voice fraying. Her eyes stay locked on Ning, watching the way her petite body strains to accommodate you. “You can… ah… handle more, can’t you?”

Wonyoung smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in her gaze as she watches Ning struggle. “Ease up, Ning,” she says, her tone less biting than usual. The vibrator dips lower, pressing against Irene’s asshole, drawing a sharp gasp. “You don’t wanna rip, do you?”

Ning shakes her head frantically, her dark hair sticking to her sweaty neck. “N-no—I’m t-trying—” She sinks down another fraction, her cunt stretching obscenely around your girth. A high-pitched whine escapes her lips, her thighs trembling violently. “O-oppa—it’s too big—”

“You’re lying,” Seulgi growls, her hips bucking against the vibrator. “Your pussy’s dripping, you little liar—fuck!” Wonyoung shoves the toy harder against her, silencing her with a choked cry.

You grip Ning’s waist, thumbs brushing the jut of her hipbones. “Breathe,” you murmur, voice rough but steady. “You’re in control. Go slow.”

She nods, sucking in a shaky breath before lifting herself—just an inch—and sinking back down. This time, she takes more, her tight walls squeezing like a fist as she chokes out a sob. “Ah! Ah—!” Her clit grinds against you, the friction wringing a sudden, startled moan from her throat. “F-fuck—!”

“There it is,” Wonyoung mutters, her smirk gentler now. She drags the vibrator back to Irene’s clit, watching Ning’s face crumple with a mix of pain and dawning pleasure. “See? Not so bad, right?”

Ning doesn’t answer, too focused on the brutal stretch, her hips rolling in jerky, unsteady motions. Drool drips from her parted lips as she bottoms out—three-quarters of your cock buried inside her—and freezes, her entire body trembling. “C-can’t,” she whimpers, voice cracking. “I’ll—break—”

“You won’t,” you assure her, hands steadying her hips. “Look at you. Taking it.”

Seulgi laughs breathlessly, her own thighs quivering as the vibrator pushes her closer to the edge again. “C’mon, Ning-ah—beg for it! Tell him you need it—”

“Shut up,” Ning snaps, her brattiness flaring through the tears. But the defiance doesn’t last—your cock shifts inside her, brushing a spot that makes her jolt. “Ah! F-fuck—there—!”

Irene’s breath hitches, her fingers tangling in the sheets. “She’s… close,” she murmurs. Wonyoung’s free hand slides up Irene’s thigh, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her yelp.

“Focus,” Wonyoung chides, but her eyes stay on Ning, watching the way her small body writhes, her cunt glistening around your shaft. “You’re doing good, Ning. Little more.”

Ning sobs, her hips finally finding a rhythm—shallow, frantic bounces that drag her clit against you with every thrust. “O-oppa—please—!” Her voice cracks, her walls fluttering wildly as pleasure starts to overtake the pain. “I—I need—!”

“Need what?” you growl, gripping her hips tighter.

“Y-you—” she chokes out, her face burning crimson. “All of you—please—!”

The room holds its breath as you guide her down—deeper—until her ass meets your thighs, your cock fully sheathed inside her. Ning’s scream is raw, shattered, her nails scratching as she claws at your shoulders. “FULL—!”

Seulgi cackles, half-hysterical, as the vibrator wrings another broken moan from her. “Holy shit—she did it—!”

Wonyoung’s smirk returns, but there’s pride there too. “Told you,” she says, her voice oddly tender. “Now… move.”

Ning does—slow, grinding rolls of her hips that make her whimper with every shift. “S’too much,” she slurs, her voice wrecked. “B-but… good… s’good…”

Irene watches, transfixed, her own hips rolling against the vibrator. “Beautiful,” she breathes, her usual poise crumbling.

Wonyoung leans in, her lips brushing Irene’s ear. “Patience,” she murmurs. “This is just… the start.”

Then, she shoves the vibrator deep into Irene’s pussy with a sharp thrust, making Irene’s back arch off the bed as she lets out a strangled cry. “Fuck—!” Irene’s hands fly to Wonyoung’s wrist, her nails digging in as the toy buzzes relentlessly inside her. Wonyoung’s other hand is already working Seulgi, two fingers plunging into her soaked pussy while her thumb grinds hard against her clit. Seulgi’s head falls back, her moans guttural and raw, her hips bucking wildly against Wonyoung’s hand.

“Fuck her harder,” Wonyoung growls, her eyes locked on you and Ning. “Don’t let her breathe.”

Ning’s still grinding on your lap, her tiny body trembling as she tries to keep up with the rhythm. Her pace is slow, torturous, her cunt clenching around your cock like she’s trying to milk you dry. Her face is flushed, tears streaking her cheeks as she whimpers, “O-oppa—it’s so big—I can’t—”

“You can,” you growl, your hands gripping her hips tighter. “Look at you. Taking it like a fucking slut.”

Ning’s eyes widen, her lips parting in a shocked gasp, but the words seem to ignite something in her. Her hips roll faster, her cunt squeezing around you as she moans, “Y-you feel so good—ah!—I-I can’t—stop—”

But it’s still not enough. The slow, teasing pace is driving you insane, and you can’t take it anymore. Without warning, you stand up, lifting Ning off the chair like she weighs nothing. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms clinging to your shoulders as she lets out a startled scream. “O-oppa—!”

The girls freeze for a split second, their eyes widening as they take in the sight. You’re towering over them, your massive frame dwarfing Ning’s petite body. The difference is brutal—you’re almost two meters tall, and Ning barely reaches your chest. Her tiny legs dangle helplessly, her cunt stretched obscenely around your cock as you hold her in the air.

“Holy shit,” Seulgi breathes, her voice trembling with awe. “Look at her—fuck—”

Wonyoung’s smirk is back, her fingers still working Seulgi’s pussy as she watches you with dark, hungry eyes. “Finally,” she purrs, her voice dripping with approval. “Ruin her.”

Your hips snap forward, driving your cock deeper into Ning’s tight, trembling cunt. She lets out a shattered scream, her nails digging into your shoulders as her body jerks violently. “AH! O-OPPA—!”

“That’s it,” Wonyoung hisses, her voice rising with excitement. “Fuck her—make her scream!”

Irene’s moans join the chorus, her hips grinding against the vibrator as she watches you dominate Ning. “God—she’s so small—” she gasps, her voice breaking. “Ruin her—please—”

Seulgi’s not far behind, her thighs quivering as Wonyoung’s fingers work her over. “Fuck—look at her—fuck her harder—!”

Ning’s screams are your fuel, her tiny body bouncing helplessly in your grip as you pound into her. Her cunt is dripping, her walls fluttering wildly as she clings to you, her voice cracking with every thrust. “AH! AH! AH!”

“You like that?” you growl, your voice rough and demanding. “Being used like a fucking toy?”

Ning nods frantically, her face buried in your neck as she sobs, “Y-yes—yes—please—more—!”

Her legs shake violently, her cunt clenching like a vice as she gets closer and closer to the edge. “I’m—I’m gonna cum—!” she screams, her voice raw and broken.

“Do it,” Wonyoung commands, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Cum on his cock—show us—”

Ning's orgasm makes her scream echo throughout the entire room. Her back arches, her entire body locking up as she squirts, her cunt gushing around your cock. The sound is obscene—wet, messy, relentless—as her juices drip down your thighs. “AHHH!” she wails, her voice shattering as her walls milk you, her tiny body convulsing in your grip.

The girls watch in stunned silence, their own moans forgotten as they take in the sight. Even Wonyoung looks momentarily speechless, her fingers stilling inside Seulgi as she stares at Ning’s trembling form.

You can’t hold back anymore. The pressure in your balls is too much, and with a low growl, you release another leak. Thick ropes of cum surge into Ning’s tight, fluttering cunt, filling her to the brim as she whimpers, “O-oppa—s’so hot—ah!”

Ning’s legs give out, her body going limp as you lower her to the ground. She collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving as she stares up at you with dazed, glassy eyes. “T-thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Wonyoung’s smirk returns, her fingers slowly leaving Seulgi's pussy, her other hand turning off the vibrator “Good girl,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now it's finally my turn.”

Ning’s trembling legs shift slightly as she scoots higher on the bed, her body still quivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her thighs part instinctively, her glistening pussy on full display, your cum still leaking out of her. Seulgi doesn’t waste a second. She crawls over, her eyes locked on Ning’s messy cunt, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“Let me clean you up, Ning,” Seulgi purrs, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. She doesn’t wait for permission, her tongue darting out to lick a long, slow stripe up Ning’s slit. Ning gasps, her back arching off the bed as Seulgi’s tongue swirls around her sensitive clit, lapping up your cum with a lewd suck.

“Ah! S-Seulgi—!” Ning whimpers, her hands flying to Seulgi’s hair, tangling in the dark strands as Seulgi buries her face deeper. “F-fuck—that’s—too much—”

Seulgi pulls back just enough to smirk up at her, her lips glistening. “Too much?” she teases, her breath hot against Ning’s pussy. “You were just screaming for more a second ago.” She dives back in, her tongue plunging into Ning’s tight hole, licking up every drop of cum as Ning writhes beneath her.

The sight is obscene—Ning’s tiny body trembling, her legs spread wide as Seulgi devours her, your cum smeared across her lips. Your cock twitches, still hard and aching, as you watch Seulgi work her over.

Wonyoung clears her throat, her bratty smirk firmly in place as she sprawls out on the bed, her long legs spread invitingly. “Finally,” she drawls, her voice dripping with impatience. “My turn. And don’t hold back, oppa. You know I can take it.”

Irene and Seulgi exchange a glance before moving to either side of Wonyoung, their hands already roaming over her flawless body. Irene leans down, capturing Wonyoung’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss, while Seulgi’s mouth latches onto one of Wonyoung’s perky breasts, her tongue swirling around the hardened nipple.

“Fuck,” Wonyoung moans, her head falling back against the pillows as Irene’s hand slips between her thighs, teasing her already wet pussy. “Finally some attention.”

You position yourself between Wonyoung’s legs, your cock throbbing as you line up with her entrance. She’s dripping, her pussy glistening with arousal as she looks up at you with those dark, commanding eyes. “Go on,” she taunts, her voice low and teasing. “Ruin me. I'm not fragile like Ning, the crybaby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hips snap forward, driving your cock into her in one brutal thrust. Wonyoung’s back arches, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips as she takes every inch of you. “Fuck—yes—” she moans, her nails digging into the sheets.

You set a rough, relentless pace, your hips slamming into hers with enough force to make the bed shake. Wonyoung’s moans are loud, unrestrained, her bratty facade crumbling as you fuck her senseless. “Harder,” she demands, her voice trembling. “Fucking—harder—”

Irene’s lips trail down Wonyoung’s neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin as her fingers pinch and twist Wonyoung’s other nipple. Seulgi's hands slide down her tummy, placing soft kisses.

“God—you’re so tight,” you growl, your hands gripping Wonyoung’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Fucking—take it—”

Wonyoung’s head thrashes against the pillows, her moans climbing higher as you pound into her. “Yes—yes—fuck—!”

Ning, still trembling from her own orgasm, watches Wonyoung with wide, mischievous eyes. Her hand reaches for the forgotten vibrator, her fingers curling around it as she flicks it on with a soft buzz. The sound is low but unmistakable, and Wonyoung’s head snaps toward her, her dark eyes narrowing.

“Ning,” Wonyoung growls, her voice sharp and warning. “Don’t you dare—”

But Ning’s already crawling closer, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she presses the vibrator against Wonyoung’s clit. The sudden buzz makes Wonyoung jolt violently, her back arching off the bed as a sharp, guttural scream tears from her throat.

“FUCK!” Wonyoung screams, her body thrashing as the vibrator sends shockwaves of pleasure through her. “Ning—! STOP!”

Irene and Seulgi are quick to react, their hands pinning Wonyoung’s wrists to the bed as she squirms beneath them. Irene’s grip is firm, her nails digging into Wonyoung’s delicate skin as she leans down, her lips brushing against Wonyoung’s ear.

“Hold still,” Irene murmurs, her voice low and commanding. “Take it.”

Seulgi grins, her teeth grazing Wonyoung’s nipple as she adds, “You wanted it rough. Don’t complain now.”

Wonyoung’s screams pitch higher, raw and ragged, as you jackhammer into her, your cock splitting her oversensitive pussy wide. Her thighs quiver, her hips jerking wildly, but Irene and Seulgi’s grip is ironclad—nails digging into her wrists. “S-stop—fuck—I said STOP—!” she shrieks, her bratty bravado crumbling into desperate, tear-soaked pleas.

Ning doesn’t flinch. Her fingers press the buzzing vibrator harder against Wonyoung’s swollen clit, her other hand slapping Wonyoung’s inner thigh. “Make me,” she sneers. “You love this, Wonyoung. Look at your fucking pussy—dripping like a slut.”

Wonyoung’s head thrashes, her back arching off the bed as you slam into her cervix, the slap of your hips against her ass echoing through the room. “N-no—ah! AH!” Her protests dissolve into garbled moans, her cunt clenching around you in violent spasms. “T-too much—plea—SE—”

“Shut up,” you growl. “You begged for this. Take it.”

Irene’s laugh is low, dangerous, as she twists Wonyoung’s nipple sharply. “Crying already? You’re pathetic.”

Seulgi joins in, her teeth sinking into Wonyoung’s shoulder as she purrs, “Scream louder. Let the whole building hear how much of a whore you are.”

Wonyoung’s orgasm detonates without warning. Her body snaps taut, a guttural wail tearing from her throat as her pussy gushes, squirting across the sheets in a filthy, soaking wave. “F-FUCK—I’M CUMMING—STOP—!”

Ning slaps her clit with the vibrator, the buzz cranked to max. “Cum again,” she demands, her voice icy. “Now.”

Wonyoung sobs, her hips bucking uncontrollably as a second orgasm rips through her, her cunt milking your cock in frantic pulses. “AHHH! P-PLEASE—MERCY—!”

“Mercy?” you mock, slamming into her harder, your balls slapping her ass. “You don’t deserve mercy.” You yank your cock out suddenly, leaving her gaping, and drive it back in—upward—the head grinding brutally against her clit.

Wonyoung screeches, her body bowing off the bed, her nails clawing at Irene and Seulgi’s arms. “NO—NO—AH! AH!”

Ning leans in, her lips curling into a vicious smile. “Slut,” she whispers, before spitting in Wonyoung’s face.

The insult tips her over. Wonyoung’s third orgasm is violent—her pussy squirting again, her screams dissolving into choked, hiccupping wails as her body convulses, utterly wrecked. You fuck her through it, your thrusts relentless, until her eyes roll back and she goes limp, her chest heaving, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Irene releases Wonyoung’s wrist to trail a finger through the mess on the sheets. “Look at this,” she murmurs, licking her finger clean with a smirk. “You’re ruined, Wonyoung.”

Seulgi laughs, finally releasing her grip. “Look at her—can’t even speak.”

You pull out with a wet pop, your cock glistening with her cum. Wonyoung’s pussy twitches, still pulsing weakly, as she stares blankly at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths.

Ning drops the vibrator onto Wonyoung’s stomach, her voice sweetly mocking. “Aw, did we break you?”

Wonyoung’s lips part, but all that comes out is a broken whimper. She lies sprawled on the bed, her chest heaving, her body still trembling from the relentless pounding you gave her. Her legs are splayed wide, her pussy glistening and swollen, a mess of cum and slick dripping down her thighs. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted as she tries to catch her breath. You stand over her, your cock still rock-hard, throbbing with need. Your hand strokes it slowly, the pre-cum leaking from the tip smearing over your fingers as you let out a low groan.

“Close,” you mutter, your voice rough and strained. “Fuck—I’m so close.”

The words are like a trigger. Irene, Seulgi, and Ning immediately drop to their knees around you, their eyes locked on your cock with a mix of hunger and desperation. Their lips are swollen, their skin flushed and glistening with sweat, their hair messy and sticking to their faces. They look ruined—completely wrecked by your cock—And it's fucking beautiful.

Ning glances over at Wonyoung, who’s still lying limp on the bed, and smirks. “Wonyoungie,” she calls, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Aren’t you joining us? Or are you too tired?”

Wonyoung groans, her head lolling to the side as she glares at Ning through half-lidded eyes. “Shut up,” she mutters, her voice hoarse. “I’m coming. Just… give me a second.”

The girls don’t wait for her. Seulgi is the first to lean in, her lips wrapping around the head of your cock as she sucks hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. “Fuck,” you groan, your hand tangling in her hair as she takes you deeper, her throat constricting around your girth.

Irene’s hands join in, her fingers stroking the base of your shaft as she leans in to kiss and lick along the length. “So thick,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with awe.

Ning doesn’t say anything, her small hands gripping your thighs as she presses her lips to the side of your cock, kissing and sucking at the thick veins that run along the shaft. Her tongue flicks out, teasing the sensitive skin as she moans softly, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

The sight of them—idol royalty, kneeling at your feet, their faces flushed and their bodies trembling—is almost too much to handle. Your cock twitches in Seulgi’s mouth, your balls tightening as you fight to hold back.

Wonyoung finally drags herself off the bed, her legs shaky as she stumbles over to join the others. She drops to her knees beside Ning, her hands reaching out to stroke your thighs. “Move over,” she mutters, her voice still weak but laced with that familiar bratty edge.

Ning smirks but scoots aside, making room for Wonyoung. Without hesitation, Wonyoung leans in, her lips wrapping around the base of your cock as she sucks hard, her tongue lapping at the sensitive skin. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, that familiar glint of mischief shining through despite her exhaustion.

The girls work together in perfect harmony, their mouths and hands exploring every inch of your cock. Seulgi focuses on the head, her lips stretching around the thick tip as she sucks and swirls her tongue. Irene takes the middle, her fingers stroking and teasing as she kisses along the shaft. Ning and Wonyoung work the base, their tongues flicking and licking at the sensitive veins, their hands gripping your thighs for support.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hand tightening in Seulgi’s hair as your hips jerk forward, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “So good—all of you—”

Wonyoung pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, her lips glistening with spit. “We know,” she purrs. “Now cum for us, oppa. We’ve earned it.”

The girls are relentless, their mouths and hands working in perfect sync as they worship your cock. Seulgi’s lips stretch around the head, her throat constricting as she tries to take you deeper, but she can’t swallow more than halfway. Her eyes water, drool dripping down her chin as she gags and pulls back, gasping for air.

“Fuck—you’re so big—” she chokes out, her voice trembling as she strokes the base of your shaft with both hands.

Irene takes over, her lips wrapping around the middle as she sucks hard, her tongue swirling along the thick veins. “So much,” she murmurs, her voice muffled as she tries to take more, her elegant facade crumbling under the sheer size of you.

Ning and Wonyoung work the base, their tongues flicking and licking at your heavy balls, their hands gripping your thighs for support. Wonyoung’s lips press against your sac, her tongue darting out to tease the sensitive skin as she looks up at you with those dark, bratty eyes.

“Cum for us,” she purrs, her voice low and commanding. “Empty those balls—all over us.”

The girls’ desperation is palpable, their voices rising in a chorus of pleas as they beg for your cum.

“Please—baby—I need it—” Seulgi whimpers, her hands stroking faster.

“Cover me,” Irene moans, her lips still wrapped around your cock.

“I want it—in my mouth—” Ning gasps, her tongue flicking against your balls.

You can’t hold back any longer. Your cock throbs, your balls tightening as the pressure builds to a breaking point. “Fuck—I’m cumming—” you growl, your voice rough and strained.

The girls don’t stop, their mouths and hands working even harder as they push you over the edge. You pull your cock out of Irene’s mouth just in time, your hand stroking the shaft as the first thick rope of cum explodes from the tip.

The first shot hits Irene square in the face, painting her delicate features with a thick, white streak. Her eyes widen in shock, but she doesn’t pull away, her tongue darting out to catch the next spurt as it lands on her lips.

Seulgi is next, her mouth open as a hot, sticky load splashes across her cheeks and chin. She moans, her fingers digging into your thighs as she leans in, trying to catch more.

Ning’s turn. The cum lands on her nose and forehead, dripping down onto her lips. She giggles, her tongue flicking out to taste it as she looks up at you with wide, playful eyes.

Finally, Wonyoung. The last shot hits her right between the eyes, the thick, white fluid dripping down her nose and onto her lips. She smirks, her tongue darting out to lick it off as she looks up at you with that familiar, bratty glint.

“I told you, girls,” she purrs. “He cums like a fucking fountain.”

But it’s not over. Your cock twitches again, another thick rope of cum shooting out and splattering across the girls’ faces. Ning opens her mouth this time, catching the load on her tongue as the others laugh and smear the cum across their skin.

“Fuck—so much—” Seulgi gasps, her fingers trailing through the mess on her face.

Irene giggles, her usual elegance replaced by a playful, almost giddy energy as she wipes the cum from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers. “I love your taste,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with arousal.

Wonyoung leans in, her lips brushing against your cock as she licks up the last few drops. “Good boy,” she purrs, her voice low and teasing.

The room is a mess of sweat, cum, and laughter as the girls start playing with the thick, sticky load you’ve painted across their faces.

Wonyoung is the first to move, her fingers trailing through the mess on her cheeks before bringing them to her lips. She sucks them clean with a slow, deliberate motion, her dark eyes locked on yours as she smirks. “Mmm,” she hums, her voice low and sultry. “Tastes even better than I remember.”

Irene giggles as she wipes the cum from her nose and chin. She licks her fingers clean, her tongue swirling around each digit with a soft, approving hum. “I've never seen anyone cum so much. It's incredible,” she murmurs.

Seulgi isn’t as delicate. She scoops a glob of cum off her cheek with two fingers and shoves it into her mouth, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she swallows. “Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough and raw. “It's really a lot—how do you even produce this much?”

Ning is the most playful, her small hands smearing the cum across her face like war paint. She sticks her tongue out, showing off the thick, white fluid pooled there before swallowing it with a satisfied grin. “Yum,” she teases, her voice light and playful. “Oppa’s cum is the best.”

The girls laugh, their voices mingling in a chorus of amusement and arousal as they continue to play with the mess on their faces. Wonyoung leans over to Irene, her cum-stained lips pressing against Irene’s in a slow, messy kiss. Their tongues swirl together, the taste of your cum mingling with their own arousal as they moan softly into each other’s mouths.

Seulgi and Ning aren’t far behind. Seulgi grabs Ning’s face, her fingers digging into her cheeks as she pulls her into a deep, hungry kiss. Ning giggles against her lips, her hands tangling in Seulgi’s hair as they share the taste of your cum, their moans muffled but unmistakable.

The sight is surreal—four of the most beautiful women in the world, their faces streaked with your cum, kissing and licking it off each other with a hunger that’s almost feral. Your cock twitches weakly, still sensitive from the intense orgasm, as you watch them with a mix of awe and satisfaction.

Wonyoung finally pulls away from Irene, her lips glistening as she turns to you. She crawls over, her long legs carrying her to your side as she leans in, her lips brushing against your softened cock. “Thank you, oppa,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. “That was… the best night ever.”

She presses one last kiss to the tip of your cock, her tongue flicking out to taste the last few drops of cum before she leans back, her bratty smirk firmly in place. “Now,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief, “who’s up for round two?”

“I’m in,” Seulgi says.

“Me to,” Irene adds.

Ning giggles. “Obviously,” she teases, her voice light and playful. “I’m not done yet.”

Wonyoung’s smirk widens, her dark eyes locking on yours. “Looks like it’s unanimous,” she purrs. “Round two it is.”

[y-unrei]

ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ

ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉ

[faebled-stories]

A Night Beyond the Stage

Kinkvember Day 25: Deflowering/Mommy

Red Velvet Irene (Bae Joohyun) x Male reader

TW: Age gap, reader is 19

14k words

AN: The timing of this fic aligning with Irene’s solo comeback is such a funny coincidence. I’ve tailored the story to fit with the excitement of her big moment—hope you enjoy it 💖

The crowd is a living sea of excitement, the lights dimming to signal the start of a moment fans have dreamed of for years. The air hums with anticipation, every breath charged with electricity. Brightly colored banners, lovingly adorned with Irene’s name, heartfelt messages, and slogans, ripple like waves in the soft breeze created by thousands of hands waving light sticks in unison. The synchronized glow bathes the venue in hues of soft red and shimmering white, a radiant tribute to her. You instinctively wave your light stick, matching the crowd’s rhythm as though tethered to the shared devotion filling the air.

You’re one of those fans—a devoted 19-year-old boy, standing near the front of the crowd. For years, you’ve admired Irene’s artistry, her poise, and the quiet yet commanding presence that sets her apart. She’s been your bias since the moment you discovered Red Velvet, captivating you with every performance, every glance, every smile. But tonight is different. This is her night. Her solo comeback. The energy is unlike anything you’ve felt before, and the significance of this moment echoes in the rapid thrum of your heart.

The stage glows with a soft light, and the room erupts as Irene steps into view. She’s radiant, a vision so perfect it feels almost otherworldly. Her outfit sparkles under the spotlights—a sleek, fitted ensemble in deep, jewel-like tones that catch the light with every graceful step she takes. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, glossy and flawless, framing her face in a way that feels too perfect to be real. Her smile is soft yet confident, the kind that somehow feels personal, like it’s meant just for you, even in a crowd of thousands.

Clutching a freshly purchased album close to your chest, your fingers tremble as you grip it tightly. The ReVeluv T-shirt you carefully chose this morning feels almost too bright under the glow of the stage lights, but you wear it proudly, a small token of your devotion. Around you, fans scream and cheer, their voices weaving together into a deafening symphony of love and support. Yet, for you, the sound fades into the background as Irene’s first note cuts through the air. Clear, emotive, and powerful, it sends a shiver down your spine, rooting you in place.

Her performance is mesmerizing. Every move she makes is fluid, every note she sings filled with a kind of vulnerability that feels intimate despite the size of the venue. The air vibrates with her presence, her voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The scent of faint perfume and the electric tang of stage smoke mix in the air, creating a sensory backdrop that makes the moment feel surreal. You’re rooted to the spot, utterly captivated, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as the realization hits: you’re witnessing something extraordinary.

When the final note fades and the crowd erupts in a deafening roar, Irene stands still for a moment, soaking in the adoration. Her gaze sweeps across the sea of light sticks and banners, scanning the crowd as if she’s trying to meet every eye. For a brief moment, her eyes seem to land on yours, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s fleeting, and you know it’s probably not meant for you—just a random glance in your direction—but the slight smile that pulls at her lips feels like it’s tied directly to your racing heart. You take what you can get, holding tightly to the illusion of connection in the vastness of the crowd.

As she raises a hand to wave, the gesture is simple but impossibly magnetic, radiating warmth and gratitude. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re the only one she’s looking at, even though you know better. You wave your light stick fervently in response, your heart pounding as though it’s trying to reach her across the distance.

When she finally bows, the crowd’s cheers swell to a fever pitch, the sound thunderous and all-encompassing. She steps back into the shadows of the stage, her figure slowly disappearing as the lights dim. You can barely remember how you managed to stay on your feet, the wave of emotion washing over you threatening to knock you down.

Clutching the album tighter to your chest, you stand frozen for a moment, determined to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. The memory of her voice, her smile, and the undeniable presence she commands stays with you, a bright, glowing ember burning in your chest. You know this moment—this fleeting connection, imagined or not—will stay with you forever, a reminder of the night she shone brighter than ever.

The crowd gradually settles, but the buzz of excitement remains, rippling through the room like an unspoken connection. The event transitions to the fan interaction segment, and you feel the air shift as Irene takes her seat on the stage. Fans file into neat lines, each holding gifts, albums, and handwritten notes, their nervous energy palpable. Your heartbeat quickens as the line in front of you inches forward, each step bringing you closer to the moment you’ve dreamed of.

You grip your album tightly, the edges pressing into your palms, grounding you as your nerves threaten to take over. Around you, there’s a cacophony of sounds—the chatter of fans in line, the occasional burst of laughter, and the soft hum of background music. Yet, all of it seems distant, muffled by the pounding of your heart. You’ve rehearsed what you want to say countless times, but now your mind feels like a blank slate, wiped clean by the overwhelming reality of being so close to her.

As the fans ahead of you step forward, Irene greets each with her characteristic grace, her warm smiles and soft chuckles filling the space like a gentle melody. Watching her interact, you can’t help but notice how genuine she seems—her gaze attentive, her demeanor effortlessly charming. She accepts every letter, every memento, with a delicate touch, her hands brushing against those of the fans who hand them over. Each small moment feels precious, and your chest tightens with the realization that soon, it will be your turn.

When the fan directly in front of you steps aside, the world slows to a crawl. Irene’s eyes lift, locking onto yours, and the breath catches in your throat. The stage lights frame her like a halo, her features soft yet dazzlingly vivid—every detail etched into your memory. Her expression shifts to one of gentle curiosity as you approach, her lips curving into a small, encouraging smile that makes your legs feel like jelly.

You step forward, gripping the album so tightly now that your knuckles are white. Her presence is magnetic, pulling you in with a force you can’t resist. She’s even more breathtaking up close, her skin glowing as if lit from within. The subtle scent of her perfume, fresh and floral, reaches you, blending seamlessly with the charged air around her. Her hair, perfectly styled yet natural, catches the light in soft waves, framing her face in a way that seems impossibly elegant. Everything about her radiates a quiet confidence, a strength wrapped in warmth.

Your lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. The pounding in your chest drowns out everything else, your thoughts a tangled mess. Then, somehow, you find your voice, shaky but audible. “Hi… uh… Irene-noona,” you manage, the words tumbling out awkwardly. Your voice cracks slightly, and you feel your cheeks flush with heat, but her reaction erases any embarrassment. Her smile deepens, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that feels impossibly reassuring.

“Hello,” she says softly, her voice smooth and melodic, each syllable grounding and disarming all at once. “Are you having a good time?”

You nod so quickly it’s a miracle your head doesn’t fall off. “Y-yeah! It’s been amazing,” you stammer, clutching the album tighter before awkwardly holding it out for her. “I—I’ve been a fan of yours for… a really long time.”

Her delicate fingers brush against yours as she takes the album, and the gentle contact sends an electric jolt up your arm. You’re sure she notices the way your breath hitches, but if she does, her expression remains serene. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes lifting briefly to meet yours before they focus on the album. Her pen moves fluidly across the glossy surface as she adds her signature. “It means a lot to me that you came.”

You blurt out the first thing that pops into your head, your voice louder than you intended. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” Your face flushes immediately, and you scramble to backtrack. “I mean, not just this… I mean, anything you do is worth it. Like, you’re just really… uh, incredible.”

Her lips curl into a small, amused smile, and she tilts her head slightly, as if trying to figure you out. The soft light catches in her eyes, making them sparkle. “You’re sweet,” she says, her tone light and teasing. “Is this your first fan meet?”

You nod vigorously, then clear your throat, trying to compose yourself. “Yes. First time seeing you… like, in person.” Your words come out disjointed, and you wince internally. “I mean, obviously in person. Because otherwise, it’s just… online. Or videos. But now it’s real. Not that the other times weren’t real—”

Her soft laugh interrupts your rambling, and you freeze, realizing just how much you’ve been talking. “I get it,” she says, her tone warm and full of amusement. “You don’t need to explain.”

You bite your lip, nodding sheepishly as your fingers twitch nervously around the album. “Right. Sorry. I just… it’s surreal, you know?”

Her smile softens, and something in her gaze shifts, growing warmer. “Well, I’m glad I get to be part of your first experience,” she replies gently. Her voice feels so personal, so inviting, it’s almost as though she’s speaking directly into your thoughts. “Are you nervous?”

You laugh awkwardly, a dry, choked sound that you instantly regret. “A little,” you admit, your hand moving to the back of your neck in a clumsy attempt to play it cool. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

Her soft laugh feels like a reward, and you swear you see a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Don’t be,” she says, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. “It’s just me.”

“That’s kind of the problem,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I mean—not a problem! It’s just you’re, you know, you. And I’m… me.”

Her laugh is more open this time, a genuine sound that makes your heart flip. “And what’s wrong with being you?” she asks, her teasing tone laced with sincerity.

You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure how to respond. “Nothing, I guess,” you mumble, your voice so soft you’re not sure she even hears it.

Her expression softens further, and the simplicity of her next words catches you off guard. “It’s nice meeting you,” she says, and somehow, it feels like the most genuine thing you’ve ever heard.

As she finishes signing, she holds the album out to you, her fingers lingering just slightly against yours as you take it. The sensation is fleeting but searing, and your grip tightens around the album as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. Your music, your… everything.”

Her head tilts again, a habit you’re quickly finding endearing. Her eyes meet yours in a way that feels unguarded, and for a moment, it’s as though the chaos of the room has dissolved into silence. “Take care,” she says softly, her smile lingering like an imprint in the air as you step back.

You clutch the signed album to your chest as you move away, every sensation from the past few moments replaying in your mind like a loop. The warmth of her fingers, the sound of her voice, the way her gaze made you feel seen. Each memory burns vividly, etching itself into your heart as one of the most precious experiences of your life.

After your encounter with Irene, you leave the signing area, your heart still hammering from the interaction. The world outside the small bubble of that moment feels oddly distant, like you’re walking through a dream. Clutching your signed album tightly, you wander aimlessly, letting the energy of the lingering fans wash over you. Everywhere you look, posters of Irene smile back at you, her image larger than life and yet somehow still not quite as radiant as she was up close.

You pause by one of the posters and instinctively pull out your phone. The absurdity of the moment hits you as you angle the camera for a selfie, trying to capture yourself next to her glossy image. “As if this could compare to the real thing,” you mutter under your breath, but you laugh softly at your own awkwardness and snap a few pictures anyway.

Other fans, catching sight of your antics, approach with wide smiles, eager to strike up conversations. Their excitement is infectious, and before you know it, you’re swapping stories about your favorite songs, performances, and how incredible Irene looked tonight. For a while, the warmth of shared admiration eases the nervous flutter still lingering in your chest. You even manage to laugh along as one fan reenacts their over-the-top reaction to Irene’s smile during their brief meeting.

But just as you’re starting to feel like yourself again, the easy atmosphere is interrupted by the arrival of a staff member. Her polished, professional demeanor contrasts sharply with the casual energy of the fans around you, and her gaze is sharp as it lands on you.

“Excuse me,” she says, her tone polite but firm, her eyes scanning you as though assessing every detail.

You blink, startled. “Uh… me?” you ask, your voice coming out higher than you intended.

“Yes, you,” she replies, nodding briskly. “Please follow me.”

Your stomach twists into a knot, and a flicker of anxiety sparks in your chest. “Did I… do something wrong?” you ask hesitantly, clutching your album tighter.

“No,” she says, her tone still impassive. “We just need you to come with us. This way, please.”

Her vague response only fuels your confusion, but curiosity outweighs your hesitation. You nod mutely, trailing after her as she leads you toward a side entrance. The farther you move from the bustling crowd, the more the energy of the venue fades, replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere.

The staff member guides you through a discreet door, and you step into a backstage area. The contrast is jarring. The distant hum of fans is replaced by the low murmur of crew members and the soft clatter of equipment being packed away. The air feels cooler here, tinged with the faint scent of stage makeup and metal. Overhead lights flicker dimly, casting long, uncertain shadows along the corridors.

Your pulse quickens with each step, your mind racing to understand what’s happening. Was this a mistake? A misunderstanding? Why would someone like you be brought backstage? The question loops in your head, unanswered, as you follow the staff member down another hallway.

Finally, she stops in front of a small door, slightly ajar, light spilling softly into the hallway. “Please go inside,” she says simply, stepping aside.

You hesitate, glancing at the door with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. “Wait, what’s—”

But before you can finish, the staff member gives a small, polite smile and walks away, leaving you alone. You swallow hard, your palms clammy as you reach for the door and push it open.

The room inside is unexpectedly intimate. The warm glow of ambient lighting reflects off vintage mirrors, casting a golden hue over the elegant draperies and minimalist furniture. The faint scent of her perfume drifts through the air, calming but somehow charged with an undercurrent of mystery.

Your breath catches as your gaze lands on a familiar figure. Irene is standing by one of the mirrors, her back to you, adjusting a few strands of her hair. The sight of her in this quiet, private space feels almost unreal—like stumbling into a dream you hadn’t realized you were having.

She turns slowly, her movements so fluid and deliberate they seem almost choreographed, and when her eyes meet yours, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. A physical jolt courses through you, your body instinctively tensing under the weight of her gaze. Her expression is calm, but the glint of mischief in her eyes makes your pulse race. She exudes confidence, yet there’s an undercurrent of something playful—something that sets your nerves on edge in a way you can’t quite describe.

“Hi again,” she says softly, her tone light but with an intimacy that seems to wrap itself around you. The space between you feels charged, the kind of tension that makes the smallest movements seem monumental.

She takes a step closer, her presence magnetic and overwhelming. “I’m glad you didn’t leave right away,” she murmurs, her voice warm but carrying an edge that sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

You swallow hard, managing a shaky nod as you clutch the signed album against your chest like a shield. “I—I didn’t know this was going to happen,” you admit, your voice trembling under the intensity of her gaze.

Her lips curve into a deeper smile, the kind that feels dangerous yet alluring. “Did you hope for it to happen?” she asks, her tone teasing but laced with a gravity that makes your heart stutter.

“I… I don’t know,” you stammer, the words spilling out clumsily. “I mean, I didn’t expect—”

Her laugh is soft and melodic, wrapping around you like a silken thread. “You’re nervous again,” she observes, tilting her head slightly, her sharp eyes studying your face as if she’s savoring your reaction. “You were like this earlier too.”

“I’m not… that nervous,” you blurt out, but your voice betrays you, trembling just enough to make her raise an amused brow.

“Not that nervous?” she echoes, taking another deliberate step closer. The warmth of her proximity washes over you, her presence filling every inch of the space between you. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

Your gaze darts down instinctively, and your stomach twists when you see she’s right. Your fingers tremble as they clutch the album, and you quickly adjust your grip, trying in vain to steady them. “I’m just… overwhelmed, I guess,” you admit, your face burning as you glance back up. “This whole thing is just… so unexpected.”

Irene chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Unexpected, hmm?” she muses, tilting her head as though savoring the moment. “Did you not hope for a moment like this? Even a little?”

The weight of her words presses down on you, and your mind scrambles for an answer. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches, her gaze unrelenting, and the way she looks at you feels like she’s peeling back every layer, leaving you exposed.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she says, breaking the quiet, her voice playful yet carrying an edge that sends heat coursing through you. She lets the words hang for a moment, the corners of her lips curving up just slightly. Then she steps closer, so close now you can feel her warmth like a physical touch. “Tell me something,” she continues, her tone dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “Have you thought about me before?”

The question spins in your mind, sending your thoughts spiraling. “I—I mean, yes,” you manage to stammer, each word a struggle. “I’m a fan, so of course—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice steady but with a sharper edge that makes your breath hitch. Her eyes narrow slightly, the teasing glint giving way to something more focused. “Not like that. I mean… have you ever thought about me in a way that’s… more personal?”

The meaning of her words crashes into you, and you feel your face flush hot. “I—uh, I don’t… I didn’t—” The words tangle together, and your voice dies in your throat, leaving you stammering helplessly.

Her smile widens, the satisfaction in her eyes unmistakable. “Relax,” she says, her tone softening, though the teasing lilt remains. 

She lets the silence stretch again, her presence consuming every corner of the room as her gaze lingers on yours. Then, with a tilt of her head and a shift in her expression, her voice drops to a softer, almost vulnerable tone. “Do you think I’m sexy?”

The question lands like a thunderbolt, the weight of it knocking the breath out of your lungs. “W-what?” you stammer, your voice cracking slightly under the pressure. “I—I mean…”

Her eyes remain steady, unwavering, as though she’s daring you to answer. “You heard me,” she says simply, her lips curving into a faint smile that feels both inviting and dangerous.

Your mouth goes dry, and the air between you feels impossibly heavy. After a long pause, you finally manage to croak out, “Yes. I—I think you’re… you’re very sexy.”

Her smile deepens, a flicker of excitement lighting her eyes. She steps even closer, the warmth of her body brushing against your arm. Her fingers trail lightly across your skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “Good,” she purrs, her voice low and melodic, dripping with satisfaction.

She pauses, letting the tension between you build before her gaze sharpens again. “You know,” she begins softly, her voice intimate and steady, “it’s okay to be honest with me.”

You blink, struggling to steady your breath. “Honest about… what?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile turns coy, but the intensity in her eyes only grows. “You’ve thought about me before, haven’t you?” she asks, her voice slow and deliberate, every word rolling off her tongue like honey. “Not just as a fan, but… in other ways.”

Your heart slams against your ribs as you scramble for a response. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer, though the heat rising to your face makes it clear that you do.

Her soft laugh is low and indulgent, sending a shiver down your spine. “Don’t be shy,” she says, her tone dropping to something more sultry. She leans in slightly, her presence dominating the space between you. “You’ve thought about me while touching yourself, haven’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, your body going rigid as your mind scrambles to process the question. “I… uh… I…” The words tumble out incoherently, your face burning so hot it feels like it might catch fire.

Her smile widens, her satisfaction evident. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmurs, her tone rich with amusement and a hint of something deeper. The flicker of excitement in her expression grows, her eyes bright with the thrill of the moment. “It’s okay,” she adds softly, her voice softening slightly but still charged. “I was just curious.”

The tension in the air is palpable, the intimacy of the moment sinking deeper into your skin as her gaze holds yours unflinchingly. Irene’s lips curl into a faint smile, the kind that sends your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking down for the briefest moment before meeting yours again, her expression softening just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of unease and fascination.

“And have you… done this before?” she asks, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Your throat tightens as her question lingers in the space between you, its meaning unmistakable. “Done what?” you ask, though your voice betrays that you already suspect where this is heading.

“This,” she replies, her hand gesturing vaguely between the two of you. Her movements are fluid, deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that feels impossible to look away from. “Have you been with someone? Touched someone? Kissed someone?”

Your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears, the blood rushing to your face as the words settle over you. The room seems to shrink, her presence consuming every corner of it, making it impossible to focus on anything but her. “No,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t.”

Her expression shifts subtly, a flicker of intrigue passing through her eyes before something deeper—something almost predatory—takes its place. “A virgin,” she says softly, as if testing the word on her tongue, savoring its weight. “That explains so much.”

You feel your breath hitch, your chest tightening as you struggle to respond. The silence between you stretches, thick and charged, every second heavy with anticipation. She takes a step closer, her movements unhurried but purposeful, and her hand lifts, her fingers grazing your cheek with a featherlight touch.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispers, her voice like velvet, each word wrapping around you and sinking into your skin. Her thumb brushes gently against your cheekbone, the touch so tender it sends a shiver down your spine. “In fact, I think it’s… beautiful.”

She pauses for a moment, her gaze holding yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. Her lips curve into a soft, almost wistful smile, and there’s a flicker of something unspoken in her expression. “This world,” she murmurs, her tone shifting, almost reflective, “it’s changed so much. People rush through things, chasing fleeting moments without ever stopping to truly feel.”

Her fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, her touch grounding yet electrifying. “But you,” she continues, her voice dropping lower, as if she’s sharing a secret meant only for you, “you’re so… pure. So untouched. It’s refreshing, really.

Her gaze darkens, her expression unreadable yet deeply captivating, as though she’s peeling back every layer of your thoughts. “Do you trust me?” she asks softly, her voice barely more than a breath.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, but there’s a vulnerability in her question that steadies you. “Of course!...I mean… I think so,” you reply honestly, your voice shaky but sincere.

Her lips curve into a faint smile, one that feels equal parts reassuring and dangerous. “Good,” she murmurs, her voice dipping into something even softer, almost a purr. “Because I’m going to show you things you’ve only dreamed about.”

Before you can process her words, she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like it might vanish if you move too quickly. The warmth of her breath mingles with yours, her scent enveloping you, subtle but intoxicatingly her. Her hand moves to the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair as she deepens the kiss, her movements unhurried but deliberate, as though savoring every moment.

Your body freezes at first, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, but her other hand comes to rest lightly on your waist, her touch grounding you. Slowly, you find yourself melting under her, her warmth and presence consuming you entirely. The sound of your uneven breaths mingles with the faint rustle of fabric as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours with a natural ease that leaves you breathless.

Every sensation feels heightened—the softness of her lips, the faint tickle of her hair brushing against your cheek, the way her fingers grip you just tightly enough to send a thrill down your spine. Time seems to slow, the outside world dissolving until there’s nothing but the two of you, wrapped in a moment that feels both impossibly real and utterly surreal.

When she finally pulls back, her lips linger close to yours, her breath warm against your skin. Her eyes search yours, her expression a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something unreadable. “You’re trembling,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with amusement as her fingers trail down your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nod wordlessly, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, the rhythm of your pounding heart almost deafening in the silence. Every nerve in your body feels heightened, attuned to her every movement. Irene’s gaze remains locked onto yours, her eyes lingering with an intensity that leaves you rooted to the spot. She seems to savor the moment, the weight of it stretching as her soft smile transforms into a knowing smirk.

Her hands move with deliberate grace, reaching for the hem of her blouse. The gentle shift of fabric brushing against her skin fills the air, and her voice, low and commanding, cuts through the silence. “Let’s take this off,” she murmurs.

Your breath catches as she slowly lifts her blouse, the smooth motion revealing more of her flawless skin. The dim light of the room casts a warm glow across her body, accentuating the curve of her waist, the soft slope of her stomach, and the graceful line of her shoulders. The air feels charged, every subtle sound—her blouse slipping away, the soft rustle as it lands on a nearby chair—heightened to a point of almost unbearable clarity.

Your eyes widen as she reaches behind her back, fingers deftly unclasping her bra. The delicate garment slides effortlessly from her shoulders, falling away like water, leaving her bare before you. Her skin is smooth, luminous in the golden light, every line and contour of her body exuding confidence and an undeniable allure. The gentle swell of her breasts, the softness of her curves, the way she holds herself with such effortless poise—it all leaves you completely spellbound.

Your chest tightens as you struggle to process the sight before you, your mind stumbling over itself in disbelief. She’s breathtaking, like a vision plucked straight from your wildest dreams, and the sheer reality of the moment sends a shiver racing down your spine. This is happening. She’s here, with you.

Irene’s eyes flick to your face, catching the way your gaze lingers on her, and her smirk deepens, a playful glint lighting up her expression. “You’re a lucky boy, aren’t you?” she teases, her voice rich with amusement and dripping with confidence.

You nod again, dumbly, your throat too dry to form a response. Her words hang in the air, teasing but undeniably true, and the way she steps closer, closing the space between you, only magnifies the sense of intimacy crackling in the room.

Her hands reach for your shirt, her fingers moving with purpose as they work their way down the buttons. Each flick of her fingers sends a jolt of electricity through you, her touch light yet deliberate, igniting your skin with every graze. “Let’s see what you’re working with,” she murmurs, her tone equal parts playful and commanding.

The fabric slides off your shoulders, falling to the floor in a whisper. Her touch lingers for a moment, her fingertips brushing against your collarbone, tracing the line of your chest, before she steps back, her gaze sweeping over you with an approving glint.

Her eyes move slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail of your bare form as though memorizing it. The weight of her attention leaves you feeling exposed but not uncomfortable—there’s something almost reverent in the way she looks at you, her expression softening just slightly as a small smile tugs at her lips.

“Not bad at all,” she murmurs, her voice low and rich with satisfaction. The words are simple, but the way she says them sends a rush of heat through you, her approval a balm to your nerves. Her gaze flicks back to yours, her smirk returning as she leans in closer, her presence overwhelming in the best possible way.

The heat between you was palpable, every breath shared and every touch igniting the tension that had been simmering between you. Irene leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as she guided you down onto the plush couch, her movements unhurried yet deliberate. The soft cushions pressed against your back, and her warm, bare skin against yours was a sensation so overwhelming it made your thoughts scatter. Her breasts, soft and inviting, molded against your chest as she pressed closer, her body moving with a fluid confidence that left you breathless.

Her presence was intoxicating. Every shift of her weight, every brush of her smooth skin against yours, sent jolts of electricity racing through you. You felt your arousal surge uncontrollably, your body betraying you as you leaked against her thigh. The heat pooling between you was undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Irene noticed immediately, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she shifted, her thigh pressing more firmly against you. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting yours again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looks like someone’s eager,” she teased, her voice low and sultry, the sound wrapping around you like silk.

Her teasing didn’t stop there. She adjusted her hips slightly, her movement deliberate as she ground against you just enough to make you gasp. The sensation was maddening, her warmth and wetness brushing against you, heightening your sensitivity to every tiny shift and touch. You tried to steady your breath, but the way she looked at you made it impossible.

“I like seeing you like this,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. The touch was featherlight, her nails grazing your skin as she studied your face with a mix of amusement and desire. “So vulnerable. So… willing.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but it was her next move that truly unraveled you. Irene’s lips curled into a smirk as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Before we go any further,” she began, her tone dropping to a low, commanding purr, “there’s something I want to hear from you.”

Her fingers tilted your chin slightly, her gaze locking onto yours with a playful intensity that made your heart race. “I want you to call me Mommy,” she said, her voice steady, laced with a confidence that left no room for hesitation.

The words hung in the air, heavy and electrifying. Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you tried to process her request. “M-Mommy?” you stammered, the word foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you struggled to say it.

“That’s right,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she whispered, “Call me Mommy. I want to hear it.”

Her tone was firm but coaxing, and the raw need behind her words sent shivers cascading through you. You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing against you as you finally whispered, “Mommy,” barely audible.

Her reaction was immediate. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips, her hands tightening slightly on your shoulders as her body trembled with excitement. “Again,” she demanded softly, her voice trembling with arousal, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“Mommy,” you repeated, louder this time, the word rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. It felt strange at first, but the way she responded—her thighs trembling, her lips parting slightly, the subtle arch of her back—made it feel right. Natural, even. The connection deepened, the tension between you amplifying in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“Good boy,” Irene purred, her voice thick with satisfaction and desire. Her hips moved against you again, her wetness brushing against your length, and the sensation made you twitch with need. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel,” she continued, her tone laced with unrestrained pleasure.

Her excitement was palpable, her arousal feeding off your submission to her request. The way she ground her hips against you, her movements becoming more deliberate, made your pulse race, and the soft, breathy moans escaping her lips spurred you on.

As you shifted, positioning yourself over her, a sudden thought struck you. You hesitated, your hands trembling slightly against her hips. “I… I don’t have a condom,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the moment made your confession feel like an interruption.

Irene’s eyes softened, her expression shifting instantly to one of reassurance. She cupped your cheek, her touch warm and firm as she pulled you down, letting your foreheads touch. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet steady. “Let’s just feel each other. This will be a proper first time.”

Her words washed over you, dissolving the last of your hesitation. The unwavering confidence in her voice and the tenderness in her gaze filled you with a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as she spread her legs wider, welcoming you in with an openness that left you breathless.

You align yourself with her entrance, your body trembling with anticipation. The moment felt impossibly real, every nerve alive with the electric charge of what was about to happen. But as you moved to press inside, you missed—the head of your length slipping against her slick folds instead. A flush of embarrassment washed over you, and you stammered, “S-sorry,” your voice shaky as you avoided her gaze.

Irene let out a soft, melodic laugh, her hand reaching for yours with a gentleness that steadied you. “It’s okay, baby,” she said softly, her voice full of patience and understanding. Guiding you with practiced ease, she adjusted your angle, her touch deliberate and sure. “Here… just like this.”

With her guidance, you slid inside her, and the sensation overwhelmed you instantly, like a tidal wave crashing over your senses. The heat was all-encompassing, a searing warmth that seemed to pull you deeper, while the wet, silken texture of her body wrapped around you, cradling you in a way that felt impossibly perfect. It was as though she had been made for you, every movement drawing you further into a connection you’d only dreamed of. Your chest tightened, and your breath caught, the sheer intensity of the moment rendering you motionless for a heartbeat.

Your mind reeled as the reality of it sank in: you were inside Irene—the woman you had admired from afar for years. The one who had occupied your thoughts, your dreams, your quiet moments of longing. And now, her warmth surrounded you, her body fitting against yours like the last piece of a puzzle you never thought you’d complete. The intimacy was overwhelming, both physically and emotionally, and it took everything in you to steady yourself, to remember to breathe.

Your eyes darted to hers, seeking reassurance, and what you found made your heart swell. Irene’s gaze met yours, her eyes soft and full of tenderness, yet smoldering with desire that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips curved into a gentle smile, one that held no judgment, only encouragement. She raised her hands to your shoulders, her fingertips brushing lightly against your skin, grounding you in the moment as she whispered, “You’re doing well, baby.”

Her words melted into you, a quiet melody that soothed your nerves and spurred your confidence. Slowly, she shifted, her legs wrapping around your waist in an embrace that drew you closer. The slight arch of her back, the way her body trembled faintly against yours, made the connection feel deeper, richer. Her warmth seemed endless, her body adjusting to yours with a fluidity that felt almost magical.

Each subtle movement of hers—her hips pressing gently into yours, her arms tightening around your back—spoke a language you didn’t need words to understand. The sensation of her, of being completely joined with her, was unlike anything you’d ever imagined. Her skin was hot and smooth under your palms, her breathing soft yet uneven as it matched your own.

“Look at me,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. One of her hands cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I want you to see how good you’re making me feel.”

You obeyed, your gaze locking onto hers. Her expression was raw, unguarded—desire mingling with affection, her lips parting slightly as a soft moan escaped. Her cheeks glowed in the dim light, her skin luminous with warmth as her breaths came quicker, matching your own. Every moment, every movement, felt like it was drawing the two of you closer, deepening the connection in a way that left you both utterly consumed.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured, her voice like honey, rich and soothing. Her fingers traced the curve of your jaw, her touch soft yet firm, grounding you as your body trembled with anticipation. “Just take it slow. Feel me.”

You began to move, your hips shifting tentatively at first, each thrust deliberate and cautious. Your body quaked with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness, every movement guided by the quiet encouragement in her voice. Irene’s soft moans spilled into the air like a melody, her sounds coaxing you, pulling you deeper into the moment. The way she responded to you—the arch of her back, the way her nails lightly grazed your skin—sent waves of heat through you, spurring you on.

Her eyes caught yours, and a smile tugged at her lips, equal parts reassuring and hungry. She reached up, cupping your face in her hands, and pulled you down into a deep kiss. Her lips moved against yours with a fervent intensity, her hunger unmistakable. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a connection, a melding of desire and trust that left you spiraling.

The sensations were overwhelming—the warmth of her body beneath you, the way her breath hitched each time you moved, the intoxicating taste of her kiss. Every inch of your skin seemed alive, buzzing with electricity as her soft moans blended with the sound of your labored breaths. Your hips faltered, your rhythm breaking as the buildup reached an unbearable crescendo. The heat coiling in your core surged forward, unstoppable, and with one final thrust, you erupted inside her.

The intensity of your release hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as a raw, primal energy coursed through you. It was nothing like you’d ever felt before—every nerve alight, your mind completely blank save for the sensation of her warmth enveloping you. Your legs buckled beneath you as the strength drained from your body, and you slipped slightly, unintentionally pushing deeper into her. A sharp, unsteady gasp escaped your lips as your entire body shuddered, unable to hold itself up under the sheer force of the moment.

Irene let out a soft, breathy moan as your weight pressed into her, her hands moving to steady you, her touch gentle yet firm. Her fingers trailed along your back, grounding you as your chest heaved against hers, your breaths coming in uneven bursts. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of your vision blurring as the aftershocks rippled through you, leaving you weak and trembling.

“Mommy, I–I’m sorry,” you stammered after a moment, your voice shaky with embarrassment and panic. The realization of what had just happened hit you all at once, and you struggled to lift yourself off her, though your arms felt like jelly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Irene interrupted gently, her fingers brushing against your lips to quiet you. Her touch was warm, reassuring, and her smile, soft and knowing, made your panic ebb slightly. Her expression glowed with a mix of affection and satisfaction, her eyes sparkling as she held your gaze. There was no judgment, only warmth and a hint of playfulness that sent a flicker of heat through your chest. “It’s okay, baby. That was bound to happen.”

Her hand moved to the back of your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she pulled you down to rest against her chest. The rise and fall of her breathing was steady, soothing, a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “It just means you couldn’t help yourself,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. Her words were gentle, but there was a glimmer of something deeper in her tone—pride, even delight.

“And honestly…” Her voice dipped lower, almost a purr as her fingers lightly trailed down your spine, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake. “It makes me feel sexy knowing how much I excite you.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with an electric tension that made your heart race all over again. The confidence in her tone, the way her lips curved into a knowing smile, only magnified the pull she had on you. She shifted slightly beneath you, her body still warm and soft against yours, her every movement exuding an effortless sensuality that left you utterly captivated.

“Feeling this way,” she murmured, her nails lightly grazing your scalp as she held you close, “it’s like you’re showing me exactly how irresistible I am to you. And that… makes me want you even more.”

She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her fingers threading gently through your hair. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, her voice a calming balm. “We have plenty of time to work on your stamina.”

Despite her reassurance, your face burned with embarrassment as you slowly pulled out of her. The sensation left you trembling, your heart racing as your eyes fell to the sight of your release seeping from her entrance. The visual was hypnotic—raw and intimate—and it sent an unbidden twitch through your already overly sensitive length. A mix of awe and arousal coursed through you, leaving your thoughts scrambled.

Irene sat up on the couch, her movements unhurried and graceful despite the intimacy you had just shared. Her bare skin glistened faintly in the soft light, her chest rising and falling with her steady breaths. When her eyes met yours, there was no judgment—only a playful glint dancing within them. She leaned back slightly, spreading her legs just enough to hold your gaze captive.

“Don’t look so embarrassed,” she teased, her tone soft but laced with amusement. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.” Her voice carried an air of authority that both comforted and electrified you as she motioned for you to kneel. “Now, come here. Let me teach you how to pleasure a woman.”

The mix of her confidence and warmth quelled some of your lingering nerves, though your hands still trembled slightly as you lowered yourself to your knees. The position felt both humbling and thrilling, your gaze flickering between her face and her glistening folds, still dripping with the evidence of your earlier climax. The scent of her arousal hung in the air, musky and intoxicating, sending another pulse of heat through your body.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the back of your head before gently cupping it, guiding you closer with practiced ease. Her touch was tender yet firm, leaving no doubt about her control of the moment. “Don’t overthink it,” she murmured, her lips curling into a reassuring smile that sent a spark of courage through you. “Just follow my lead.”

The moment your lips met her warm, slick folds, your senses were flooded. The taste was intense and impossible to describe—earthy, musky, and utterly intoxicating. It was primal, a flavor that ignited something deep within you, rendering the nervous chatter in your mind silent. All that remained was the overwhelming need to please her, to feel her body respond to your touch.

“Good,” Irene breathed, her voice soft and laced with pleasure. “Now, use your tongue to tease me. Start with light strokes… right there.”

You followed her instructions carefully, your tongue moving tentatively at first, flicking gently against her entrance. The wet heat of her arousal coated your tongue as you explored her, drawing soft sighs of approval from her lips. Her hand remained steady on the back of your head, her fingers threading lightly through your hair as she guided your movements.

“Press a little harder,” she murmured, her hips shifting slightly against your mouth. Her voice was patient but tinged with desire, every word spurring you on. “Yes, just like that. Now move up… here.”

She pointed to her clit with one hand, her fingers brushing it lightly to show you exactly where to focus. You obeyed, your lips wrapping around the sensitive nub as your tongue began to flick against it in slow, deliberate movements. The effect was immediate—her thighs trembled slightly, and a low moan escaped her lips, rich and unrestrained.

“That’s it,” she gasped, her voice catching as her head tilted back. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

The weight of her praise lit a fire inside you, driving your movements to become bolder and more confident. Your tongue traced circles around her clit, alternating with quick flicks that matched the rhythm of her shallow, rapid breaths. Her body responded in ways that left you in awe—her hips shifting, her thighs trembling, her breathing growing heavier with each moment.

“Use more pressure here,” she urged, her voice breaking slightly with urgency. “Yes… just like that. Now flick… mmm, perfect.”

Her moans grew louder, her hands gripping your hair—not to guide you, but to anchor herself as the sensations overwhelmed her. The tremble in her thighs intensified, her body tightening as your tongue worked her closer to the edge. Her nails pressed lightly into your scalp, her hips rocking in time with your movements as she lost herself in the rising pleasure.

The rhythm of her moans and the way her body reacted filled you with a sense of accomplishment, a primal pride that pushed you to keep going. You adjusted, moving with her as your tongue worked in unison with her rising need, tracing every sensitive spot she pointed out. Her thighs quaked against your cheeks, her voice becoming a mix of gasps and cries as you brought her closer, her pleasure radiating through every part of you.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice breathless and tinged with desperation. Her hips began to move instinctively, grinding against your mouth, her rhythm purposeful and commanding. The slick warmth of her folds pressed firmly against your lips, her arousal coating your tongue as the taste and scent of her overwhelmed your senses. Every soft cry, every tremble of her thighs, spurred you on, pushing you to match her urgency.

Her moans grew sharper, raw and unrestrained, her control slipping as her body chased its breaking point. Her hips bucked harder, grinding against you, her movements becoming erratic as you pressed your tongue harder against her clit. You flicked and sucked with everything you had, fueled not just by the pleasure radiating from her but by the sheer pride swelling in your chest. This was Irene—the idol you had adored for years—and you were the one unraveling her, the one reducing her to this trembling, vulnerable state.

Her thighs clenched around your head, her hands tangling in your hair as her moans became cries, each sound sharper and more desperate than the last. You felt the tension building in her body, every shift of her hips, every quiver of her muscles driving her closer and closer to the edge. The knowledge that you—someone so inexperienced—were capable of drawing this level of pleasure from her only deepened your determination.

“I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her back arched off the couch. Her tone was raw, almost pleading, as she clung to the final threads of control. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”

Her words hit you like a command, and you obeyed without hesitation, moving with a purpose that mirrored her rising need. Her body tensed beneath you, her thighs trembling violently against your face as the tension inside her finally snapped. With one final, desperate grind, Irene cried out—a raw, guttural sound that filled the room. Her body arched as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her muscles pulsing and quivering against your mouth as her orgasm consumed her.

The moment was mesmerizing, intimate, and deeply humbling. As she came apart in your hands, you felt an immense swell of pride, the realization hitting you with staggering force: you had done this. You had brought her to this peak. The woman you’d admired for so long, this untouchable vision of perfection, was utterly undone because of you.

Her grip on your hair tightened briefly, her fingers threading through it as though to steady herself, before her hands fell away, her body collapsing back onto the couch in a state of complete surrender. You pulled back slightly, your lips and chin glistening, your own breath ragged as you took her in. Irene was a vision—her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. She was beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly yours in that moment.

As her breathing steadied, her eyes fluttered open, her gaze softening as it met yours. A satisfied smile spread across her lips, a mix of pride, affection, and something deeper flickering in her expression. She reached out, her fingers brushing tenderly against your cheek, her touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry, each word dripping with satisfaction. Her praise sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body, your heart pounding with both pride and awe. The fact that she—your idol—was praising you, calling you her “good boy,” only deepened the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re a fast learner,” she added, her tone laced with both amusement and pride. But as her smile widened, there was something else in her gaze—possessiveness, a quiet but unmistakable sense of ownership. She loved knowing that she was your first and only, the one who had drawn this effort, this passion, from you.

“You know,” she murmured, her fingers tracing your jawline as she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping lower. “I love how no one else has ever seen you like this, felt you like this.” Her lips curved into a smirk as her fingers trailed down to your chest, lingering there as she added, “And no one else will.”

Her possessiveness was subtle but undeniable, a claim spoken through her touch, her gaze, and the way her words wrapped around you. The thought of being hers, of belonging to her in this way, sent a thrill through you that mingled with the lingering pride of having brought her so much pleasure.

As her eyes drifted downward, her smirk deepened. She noticed your arousal, now fully hardened again, throbbing with renewed energy despite the intensity of what you’d just shared. Her confidence radiated as she leaned back slightly, her movements unhurried, her body still glowing in the aftermath.

“Well,” she said, her voice teasing but filled with promise, her fingers trailing down your chest, “it seems like you’re ready for round two.” Her tone carried the same mix of pride and playful dominance that left you completely captivated, her gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race all over again.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but the sight of Irene—her body still glowing, her skin flushed, her lips curled into a satisfied yet teasing smile—only drove your need higher. Her eyes, half-lidded but sharp, seemed to drink you in, a mixture of pride and hunger swirling within them. It was a look that sent a jolt through every part of you.

You knelt before her, determination and longing fueling your every move. “Mommy, let me try again,” you said, your voice low but trembling with nervous excitement. The smirk that spread across her lips deepened, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle, as if she was already savoring what came next.

“Redemption, huh?” Irene teased, her sultry tone wrapping around you like velvet. She leaned back slightly, her hands trailing up your arms, encouraging and expectant. “Alright, baby. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Her legs parted gracefully, welcoming you in, and the heat radiating from her folds drew you closer, your arousal throbbing at the sight of her. You positioned yourself carefully, hovering above her, your hands steady on her hips as her fingers traced idle patterns along your arms. Every touch, every look she gave you felt like both a challenge and an invitation.

This time, you were resolute. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid inside her, her tight, slick warmth enveloping you completely. A shuddering gasp escaped your lips at the sensation, the overwhelming pleasure igniting every nerve in your body. Irene’s head fell back against the cushions, her eyes fluttering shut as a soft moan slipped from her lips. Her hands gripped your shoulders, grounding herself as her body adjusted to your presence.

You began to move, your hips rolling in slow, steady thrusts, savoring every inch of her. Each motion elicited a quiet sound of approval from her, her breath hitching slightly as you set a confident rhythm. The connection between you grew with every movement, the sound of her quiet moans filling the space, spurring you on.

Then, an idea struck you—a bold impulse born of your longing to see her completely undone. Lowering your head, you brushed your lips against the curve of her breast. Irene’s eyes opened briefly, her breath catching in surprise, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, the slight arch of her back told you to keep going. Your tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it with light strokes before pulling it gently into your mouth.

“Ah—” The sound she made was sharper than before, a soft cry that sent a thrill coursing through you. Her nails dug lightly into your shoulders, her body responding instantly to the new sensation. “Oh… good boy,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure as your tongue circled her sensitive bud.

The pride in her voice ignited something deeper within you, driving your lips and tongue to lavish her other breast with equal attention. You alternated between gentle nibbles and slow, deliberate flicks of your tongue, watching as her chest rose and fell more erratically. Her reactions spurred you on, her soft gasps and low moans growing louder with every touch, every kiss.

“You’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice rich with approval but laced with a faint edge of possession. The way you explored her body, your eagerness and growing confidence, made her heart race. The thought that she alone had awakened this side of you, that no one else would ever know this version of you, filled her with a fierce pride that only deepened her desire.

After a few more languid thrusts, you felt yourself nearing the edge again, the tight heat of her body pulling you dangerously close. But this time, you pulled out, your resolve firm. Lowering yourself between her legs, you replaced your length with your tongue, eagerly lapping at her folds to keep her pleasure building. The slickness of her arousal coated your lips, the intoxicating taste spurring you to push past your own limits.

“Fuck…. Such a good boy,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair as you worked her clit with focused precision. The way her hips bucked against your mouth, her breath catching with each flick of your tongue, filled you with a pride that matched her own. You wanted her to feel everything, to give her every ounce of yourself.

Her moans grew louder, her voice tinged with desperation as she clung to the edge. “Yes… just like that,” she panted, her body trembling as you brought her closer again. “Don’t stop, baby.”

When you felt ready once more, you rose above her, positioning yourself carefully. Irene’s legs wrapped around your waist, drawing you in as you slid back inside her. Her moan this time was deeper, her nails dragging lightly down your back as you set a steady rhythm. The wet, slick friction was overwhelming, but you were determined to match her pace, to give her everything she deserved.

As your thrusts quickened, you dipped your head again, your mouth capturing her nipple once more. The unexpected move made her gasp sharply, her back arching into you as her hips met yours in perfect rhythm. “Oh—yes,” she cried, her voice raw and unrestrained. The mix of sensations—your tongue on her breasts and your length driving into her—pushed her closer, the sounds of her pleasure creating a symphony that left you both breathless.

Her body tightened around you, her warmth and the sheer intensity of the connection sending you spiraling toward your own release. The way she moaned your name, the way her hands gripped your arms as if she couldn’t let you go, made you feel both powerful and completely hers. Every motion, every sound, every shared breath between you deepened the bond, leaving you utterly captivated by her and the moment you had created together.

“Mommy,” you murmured instinctively, the word slipping from your lips as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality. Her name carried the weight of your longing, your admiration, and the raw intensity of the moment. The sound of it filled the air between you, intimate and charged.

The effect on her was immediate. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a look of wild hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips parted slightly, a soft gasp escaping as her body responded to the sound of her name. “Say it again,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need, thick with desire.

“Mommy,” you repeated, your voice rough and fervent, the syllables tumbling out with an urgency that mirrored the heat building between you. “You feel so good.”

Her reaction was electric. Her back arched off the couch, her nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to leave faint crescents in your skin. The way her body clenched around you, pulling you deeper with every thrust, made your pulse pound in your ears. Her moans became louder, more urgent, the sound of her pleasure igniting something primal in you.

The way she responded to you—her gasps, the tremor in her thighs, the flush spreading down her chest—filled you with an overwhelming sense of pride. You could see it in her face, the way she lost herself in you, and it made your heart race with the knowledge that you were the one drawing this from her. You moved faster, the rhythm of your hips frantic now, your control slipping as the tension coiled tighter inside you both.

“Mommy, I’m close” you groaned again, the title spilling from your lips like a prayer. Each time you said it, her reaction grew more visceral, her body tightening around you, her cries reaching new heights.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her hands cupping your face as she pulled you down into a kiss that left you breathless. Her lips moved against yours with desperate hunger, the connection between you electric. Her taste, her scent, the warmth of her skin—all of it consumed you entirely, blurring the edges of the world around you.

“I’m so close,” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling with vulnerability and urgency. Her body trembled beneath you, her hips meeting yours with unrestrained fervor.

“Me too,” you panted, your forehead pressing against hers as your thrusts grew erratic, the tension in your core threatening to snap. The sound of her voice, the way her body clung to yours—it was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Her release came first, a sharp cry of ecstasy tearing from her lips as her body convulsed around you. The sound was raw, unrestrained, and it echoed in your ears, sending a jolt of electricity straight through you. The way her inner walls clenched and pulsed rhythmically around your length was unlike anything you had ever experienced—an intoxicating mix of heat and pressure that made it impossible to hold back. Her thighs trembled violently, tightening around your waist as though she were anchoring herself to you in the overwhelming storm of her pleasure.

Her back arched sharply, her chest pressing against yours as wave after wave of ecstasy wracked her body. You could feel every shudder, every tremble, her body’s response drawing you deeper into the moment. Her hands gripped at your shoulders, her nails biting into your skin as though she couldn’t contain the sheer force of it. Each convulsion, each flutter of her body around you, only intensified the sensations coursing through you, pulling you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper as she let her body sink deeper into the couch. “Fill mommy up. You’ve been so good for me.”

The sight of her—her head tilted back, her lips parted as breathless moans spilled from her, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light—was enough to send you spiraling. You felt your own release building, coiling tighter and tighter until there was no holding back.

Your release surged through you, your body shaking as you spilled into her, the waves of pleasure crashing over you both in perfect unison. The shared intensity was overwhelming, each of you amplifying the other’s climax in a way that made it feel infinite, boundless. Your hips moved instinctively, prolonging the moment, the friction and heat drawing out every last shudder of ecstasy.

Her arms wrapped around you as you collapsed against her, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling in the aftermath. The soft rise and fall of her chest beneath you, the gentle rhythm of her breathing mingling with yours, created a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. Irene’s fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns across your back, grounding you as your heart began to slow. The scent of your combined musk lingered in the air, adding to the intimacy of the moment.

“Pretty good for your first time,” she murmured softly, her voice tinged with satisfaction and a lingering huskiness. There was pride in her tone, but also something deeper—an affection that made your chest tighten. Her hands slid into your hair, cradling your head against her as she pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with serene contentment, her expression relaxed but teasing as her fingers brushed through your damp hair. “So,” she murmured, her voice warm and playful, “how does it feel to finally cross that line?”

Your cheeks flushed, but the words came easily, carried by the warmth of the moment. “It’s… indescribable,” you admitted, your voice soft but earnest. “Because it was with you. Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

Unable to resist, you leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, your lips savoring the softness of her skin. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a protective shield, the glow of your shared connection filling the room with a warmth you never wanted to fade. Her hand found its way to the back of your neck, her fingers lightly stroking your skin as she held you close.

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, you collapsed fully against her, your chest pressing against hers as her arms wrapped protectively around you. Her fingertips brushed tenderly through your hair, each motion laced with affection. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of praise. “You made mommy feel so good… I’m proud of you.”

Her words sent a fresh wave of warmth through you, the sincerity in her tone soothing any lingering nerves. You remained pressed against her, your bodies entwined in the afterglow of your shared release. Her soft breaths ghosted against your ear, each exhale a tender reminder of the closeness you had just shared. Slowly, her hands began to move again, tracing gentle, soothing strokes along your back. Her touch was light but steady, radiating a quiet affection that anchored you to the moment.

The high of your climax still lingered in the air as your breathing slowed and synced with hers. Irene’s arms remained securely wrapped around you, her fingers drawing delicate patterns along your spine. The warmth of her skin against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the faint hum of satisfaction in her chest created a cocoon of intimacy that made the rest of the world feel far away.

After a long pause, her voice broke the silence, quiet but firm. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” she said suddenly, her fingers stilling as she lifted your face to meet her gaze. Her expression was calm but serious, her eyes searching yours as though seeking a promise. “I mean it. I’m not letting you go after tonight.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, and your chest tightened as you processed the weight of what she was saying. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay with you.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes shimmering with a mix of relief and affection. “Good boy,” she murmured, her tone gentle but laced with pride. “Let’s go to my place, then. I want you there. With me.”

Her words sent a surge of excitement through you, a mix of nerves and disbelief swirling in your chest. Irene’s house—her personal space, her sanctuary—it was something you’d only ever dreamed of seeing. But the warmth in her eyes and the soft, grounding pressure of her hand on yours erased any hesitation.

She helped you dress, her movements unhurried and deliberate, her quiet confidence calming your racing thoughts. Once ready, the two of you stepped out into the cool night air. The hum of lingering fans still filled the space outside, their energy a sharp contrast to the quiet intimacy you’d just shared. Irene tugged a cap low over her face and adjusted her mask to obscure her features, her elegant jawline and sharp eyes barely visible beneath her disguise. But even with her face half-hidden, her presence was unmistakable to you.

The crowd wasn’t massive, but it was enough to make your chest tighten with worry. What if someone spotted her? The thought made your pulse quicken, and you instinctively glanced over at her. She caught your gaze, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand lightly. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice calm but encouraging. “Just stay close to me.”

You nodded, but the nervousness lingered, your mind racing with the thought of her being recognized. Then, without really thinking, you tightened your grip on her hand, an idea sparking in your chest. “This way!” you whispered, breaking into a grin as you gently pulled her along a quieter path.

She blinked, momentarily surprised, before a soft laugh escaped her lips. Irene allowed herself to be led, her steps quickening to match your pace. You darted through the dimly lit side alleys, ducking past clusters of fans and steering her confidently through the maze of the venue’s surroundings. Every so often, you glanced back at her to make sure she was keeping up, your boyish energy bubbling over in a way you couldn’t suppress.

She didn’t say much, but the amused twinkle in her eyes was impossible to miss. The spontaneity of your actions, the way you move with purpose yet couldn’t hide your youthful excitement—it caught her off guard in the best way. She hadn’t expected this side of you, and it made her chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she let you take charge, the simple joy radiating from you pulling her in further.

“You’re really into this, huh?” she finally said, her tone light but carrying a teasing affection.

You glanced back, your grin sheepish but bright. “Just trying to keep you out of the spotlight,” you replied earnestly, your voice slightly breathless from the adrenaline of it all.

Irene shook her head, her smile deepening. “You’re cute,” she murmured, her voice almost to herself. The way you darted through the shadows, focused yet visibly buzzing with excitement, made her want to laugh—but not in mockery. There was something so genuine about your energy, so pure, that she found herself falling for it without even realizing.

When the two of you finally reached her car, you opened the door for her with an almost comical nervousness, as though you were escorting royalty. She chuckled softly as she slid into the driver’s seat, watching you fumble slightly with your seatbelt before settling in beside her. The sleek interior of her car was exactly what you’d imagined—elegant, understated, and carrying the faint scent of her perfume. You tried to stay composed, but the reality of being in Irene’s car hit you all at once.

“This is amazing,” you muttered, your voice half in awe. “I mean… your car. I can’t believe I’m here.”

Her eyes flicked to you, amusement tugging at her lips. “It’s just a car, baby,” she teased, though there was a warmth in her tone that made your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, but it’s your car,” you replied, barely able to contain yourself. You glanced out the window as the city lights blurred into streaks of color, your thoughts spinning as you tried to process everything. “I never thought I’d—this is just… insane.”

Irene smiled quietly, shaking her head as she returned her focus to the road. “Relax,” she said, her voice gentle but teasing. “We’re almost home.”

The journey passed in a surreal haze for you, but for Irene, it was something else entirely. She kept stealing glances at you out of the corner of her eye, watching the way your awe slowly slipped out in small, unguarded bursts. The way you ran your fingers lightly over the seat belt strap as if to confirm it was real, the way you gazed out the window with wide eyes, taking in every detail like you were living a dream—it all tugged at something deep inside her. She didn’t say much, but her heart softened with every moment, the quiet joy you radiated making her smile more than she realized.

When the car finally pulled into her driveway, your breath hitched. Her house was grand yet understated, its sleek lines illuminated by the soft glow of the outdoor lights. The manicured garden added a touch of warmth, the entire scene exuding Irene’s elegance. You barely managed to follow her inside, your steps faltering as you took in your surroundings.

Inside, the awe only deepened. Photos of Irene adorned the walls, each one more striking than the last. You paused in front of one—a candid shot of her backstage, her face lit up with laughter—and your chest tightened. Her house felt so unmistakably her, a blend of sophistication and comfort that made every corner feel like an extension of her personality.

“This is…” you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words.

“Overwhelming?” she teased, her tone light as she watched your reaction.

You nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah. It’s just so… you.”

Her smile softened, and she stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against yours. “You’re so cute,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of pride. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment before she tilted her head toward the hallway. “Come on, baby. Let’s get comfortable.”

She led you to her bedroom, and your breath caught as the door opened. The space was stunning, every detail carefully curated to reflect Irene’s elegance and warmth. The soft glow of ambient lighting bathed the room in a golden hue, highlighting the muted tones of the walls and the understated luxury of her furniture. Her bed, draped in soft, inviting fabrics that looked as though they’d been handpicked for comfort and sophistication, seemed impossibly large and welcoming. The faint scent of citrus lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Each step closer made the nervous excitement bubbling inside you intensify.

Irene guided you gently toward the bed, her touch firm yet tender as her fingers brushed against yours. There was something unspoken in her movements—a quiet confidence that reassured you as she tugged you closer. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady, laced with an affection that sent warmth flooding through your chest.

She perched on the edge of the bed, her movements fluid and deliberate, and pulled you down beside her. Her arms wrapped around you easily, holding you close. Her hand found its way to your hair, her fingers threading through it as she began stroking gently, the repetitive motion grounding you. “Relax, baby,” she whispered, her voice low and soothing. “You’re home now.”

You leaned into her touch, the weight of her arm around your shoulders anchoring you. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it all felt so calming, so intimate. Then she shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“You trust me, don’t you?” she asked softly, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded, the sincerity in her tone and the softness of her expression easing the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Good.” Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stood, her movements graceful and unhurried. She reached for the hem of her blouse and, without breaking eye contact, pulled it over her head in one fluid motion. The sight of her bare skin left you breathless. Even though you’d just shared the most intimate of moments with her, the sheer beauty of her still made your pulse race.

Irene’s fingers moved deftly, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her chest was fully exposed now, her skin glowing softly in the warm light of the room. Your eyes couldn’t help but linger, drinking in every detail as though it were the first time. She noticed your gaze and let out a soft, amused laugh, her lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Still staring?” she teased gently, her voice carrying a note of affection that sent warmth rushing through you. “You’ve already seen everything, baby.”

“I… I can’t help it,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You’re just…”

“Perfect?” she finished for you, her smile widening slightly as she stepped closer. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Her tone was playful but tinged with a quiet pride.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “Your turn,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “Strip for me”

Your hands trembled slightly as you obeyed, pulling off your shirt and kicking off your shoes before working on your pants. The nervous excitement from earlier had returned in full force, your heart pounding as you stood before her in nothing but your boxers. She watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle, her gaze unrelenting yet warm.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice low and satisfied as she took your hand and guided you closer. “Now, come to bed.”

The invitation in her voice made your chest tighten, and you followed her lead, climbing onto the plush mattress as she settled beside you. The softness of the bed cradled you, and Irene’s warmth as she pulled you into her embrace was both soothing and electrifying. Her hands found their way to your hair again, her touch gentle but deliberate as she stroked slowly.

“Let mommy take care of you,” she murmured, tilting your face toward her chest. Her fingers brushed your jaw, her touch tender but insistent. “Suckle.”

The word hung in the air, intimate and commanding, and your heart thudded in your chest as her gaze met yours. There was no hesitation in her eyes, only a quiet reassurance that melted away your nerves. Slowly, you pressed your lips against her, your mouth opening as your tongue brushed against the softness of her skin. The warmth of her breast was overwhelming, its tenderness enveloping you completely as you latched instinctively.

“That’s it,” she cooed, her voice soft and melodic, a lullaby just for you. Her hand returned to your hair, her fingers stroking through it in a gentle rhythm that matched her breathing. “Good boy. Just relax now.”

As you began to suckle, a wave of calm washed over you. Each slow, deliberate pull of your mouth deepened the connection between you, the act soothing you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft against your lips, the faint mixture of her musk and the lingering traces of her perfume filling your senses with every breath. The world outside dissolved, replaced by the steady rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat thrumming softly in your ear, and the gentle hum of satisfaction vibrating in her throat.

Irene’s fingers continued their rhythmic strokes through your hair, her touch grounding you in the moment. Each sweep of her fingertips sent a tingling warmth through your scalp, a sensation that soothed the last vestiges of nervous energy. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh, your body sinking further into her embrace. Your limbs grew heavy with relaxation, your breathing naturally syncing with hers as you nestled closer.

For Irene, the moment was nothing short of exquisite. Every gentle pull of your mouth sent a ripple of warmth through her chest, a soft but insistent tug at something deeper within her. The sight of you, vulnerable and utterly trusting in her arms, filled her with a heady mix of pride and satisfaction. Your quiet dependence, the way your head rested against her so naturally, ignited an indescribable sense of fulfillment.

Her breath hitched slightly, the intimacy of the act stirring an unfamiliar but welcome heat in her core. Her nipples, already sensitive, responded to the gentle pressure of your mouth, the warm pull sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. She tilted her head back slightly, her lips parting as a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her. The mixture of the physical sensations and the emotional connection was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice low and possessive, the words brushing against the top of your head like a promise. Her lips pressed a lingering kiss to your hair, the act both tender and claiming. “No one else will ever have this.”

The conviction in her voice wrapped around you, comforting and commanding all at once. Your movements slowed, the gentle rhythm of your suckling growing lazier as the soothing comfort of her embrace lulled you further into a haze of peace and safety. Her hand, still stroking your hair, pressed with just enough firmness to make you feel securely tethered to her.

Irene closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sensations wash over her. The warmth of your body against hers, the subtle vibrations of your breathing, and the soft sounds you made created a cocoon of intimacy she didn’t want to end. Her fingers moved from your hair to trace the curve of your cheek, her touch light and lingering, as if she couldn’t resist savoring the moment.

“Sleep, baby,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, thick with affection. “You’re safe here… with me.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, and with them came an overwhelming sense of peace. The glow of the room, the steady hum of her voice, and the enveloping warmth of her body surrounded you completely. Each pull of your mouth became slower, more relaxed, as the last remnants of tension melted away.

For Irene, the sight of you—so content, so utterly hers—stirred something deep within her. The possessiveness she felt was matched by an aching tenderness, the realization that you had given her something so precious and irreplaceable. She cradled you closer, her hand resting protectively on your back as her lips brushed another gentle kiss to your forehead.

As your breathing evened out and sleep claimed you, Irene watched you with quiet reverence. The weight of your trust, your vulnerability, filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t known she needed. Together, wrapped in the glow of the moment, she knew this wasn’t fleeting. It was the start of something profound, something she would hold onto with everything she had.

[authorhjk1]

I know its just wishful thinking but I hope you can release something short for Irene’s special day on March 29.

March 29, 2025

(Irene X Julie X Male Reader) word count: 2550

Julie breaks your kiss and leans back against the wall behind her.

"I want to open my birthday present now"

She bites her lip and pulls you closer by your collar.

Unfortunately for her, her group has some kind of performance on a music show today. Right now the two of you are in some hallway, away from Kiss of life's busy changing room and basically anyone else.

"What makes you think you're getting a present this year?"

You rest your hands on her naked waist.

"Because I've been a good girl."

Julie laughs as she wraps her arms around your neck.

The two of you engage in another passion filled kiss. Your tongue dances with hers. Her lips are pressed against yours. You feel her slowly reaching down for your belt. Without thinking you start to take off her top. Your hands then wander over her tits, squeezing them while Julie moans into your mouth. Her own hands work on your pants.

"I need you right here, baby."

Julie mumbles into the kiss as she lets your pants slide down along your legs. You feel one of her hands stroking your cock as you let go of her lips and attack her exposed neck. A deep appreciative moan leaves her lips, but you know you probably don't have much time for foreplay. Despite being in a distant corner of the building, there could always be someone walking in your direction.

You quickly undo the button on Julie's dark jeans and open the zipper. Instead of taking her pants off her properly, you just pull them down far enough to expose her pussy. Her lack of underwear tells you that the gift she got this morning didn't satisfy her enough.

"Take me."

She whispers, her voice rises a pitch higher in anticipation.

Your hands are on her waist once more and you pull Julie up so her pussy is on the same hight as your cock. She quickly spits into her hand and then gives your cock a few strokes, coating it with a thin layer of her saliva. She's now standing on her tip toes as she looks up at you with big eyes. You look back down at her, your eyes darting to her lips. You find hers when you lean down and as your lips lock with hers, your cock penetrates Julie's pussy.

The two of you moan in union as your bodies melt into each other. Your girlfriend's tight snatch feels warm and wet around your cock as her hand lock behind your neck once more. She pulls you further against her, which makes her tits press against your lower chest. You feel her hard nipples even though your shirt. Her efforts makes your cock sink even deeper into her.

Soon the hallway is filled with moan after moan as you fuck Julie out in the open. There's no room to hide in. No shelf or something to hide behind. Nothing. Just the two of you in the middle of the hallway. Julie pinned against the wall, one of her legs wrapped around you, while you hold her up by her waist.

"I can't get enough of your present."

Julie chuckles, before kissing you again. You continue to fuck her against the wall, while her pussy seems to suck you in.

As time goes on, you forget everything around you. The only things you can feel and see are Julie's pussy around your cock and her big eyes, which are looking up at you. She feels the same with you. Your cock feels amazing inside her pussy and she can't help but admire how you seemingly effortlessly pin her against the wall. She can feel how the pleasure inside her systems starts to grow with every moment and her hands hold onto your shoulders even tighter.

"You feel so good, baby."

It's the only thing Julie can say while you fuck her in the middle of the hallway. You don't plan on stopping, until you completely take away her ability to speak. You want to make her cum. Not just as a birthday gift, but also because you love how she looks while she orgasms.

A disappointed whine leaves her lips when you slow down.

"Turn around."

You growl into her ear, your ability to speak properly slowly starting to fade away as well.

Julie complies and a second later, you fuck your girlfriend from behind. You press her against the wall, which is now in front of her.

"Oh god..."

Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she feels her left cheek being pushed against the cold brick wall with every thrust.

Julie bent over slightly on instinct, but you need her flat against the wall. You push into her further and take a step forward.

"Oh, shit..."

Another whine leaves her lips as you fully bottom out inside of her. Her entire body is now pressed up against the wall. Julie feels her nipples slightly rubbing against the rough surface of the painted bricks. She bites her lip, trying to suppress a scream of joy. The fact that the surface isn't just rough, but also cold intensifies her pleasure even further.

"It's too much."

She mewls when she feels your fingers sneaking around her waist on their way towards her clit. Once you find it, you start rub it, making Julie lose her mind. You're stimulating her pussy and her clit, while the feeling of the wall against her nipples drives her crazy.

"Good girl, Julie."

You whisper into her mouth, before kissing her naked shoulder. Your words send her on her way towards her orgasm with no option of turning back. You feel her body slightly heating up as her moans grow in volume. Your thrusts keep pinning her against the wall, while your fingers continue to work on her clit.

"Oh my god."

A deep moan signals your girlfriend's incoming orgasm. You feel her slightly backing her ass up into you, trying to get you even deeper inside of her.

"I-I'm..."

Her ability to speak abandons her, before Julie can complete her sentence. A moment later, you feel her pussy contracting around your cock. It makes your own head spin, but you do your best to hold on. Julie seems to lose control over her body as another moan leaves her wide open mouth. You come to a hold as she reaches her high, wanting to have her really enjoy her orgasm. Still inside of her, you feel her pussy trying to make you cum as well as her juices continue to coat your shaft. A small trickle escaped her stuffed pussy and is now running down her thigh.

"Oh wow."

She finally says, still against the wall as she catches her breath.

"Happy birthday."

You lean in and give her cheek which isn't pressed against the wall a loving kiss.

Now that you've made her cum, you're not sure what to do. Clearly Julie has had enough. Her thighs still feel like pudding and you have to hold her up. When she slightly pushes herself off the wall, you get the hint and take a step back. Her breath hitches when your cock leaves her pussy.

"Thank you so much, baby."

She turns around, but instead of looking at you, she focuses on something on your right. Her eyes grow wide in shock. You mentally slap yourself as you quickly turn around, expecting a staff member. If it was one of her members, Julie would look surprised, embarrassed, not afraid. You should've know better. After all, Julie has an image to uphold. What if people find out about this? What would her fans say if someone talks about her getting fucked in some hallway?

All those thoughts and worries race through your head as you turn around. It's not a staff member, but you're not sure if that's a relief. In front of you is standing Irene. Red Velvet's Irene.

Despite accompanying Julie to the occasion award show here and there, you've never seen Irene from such a small distance. She's barely standing three steps away from. And despite Julie being your girlfriend, you can't deny that Irene is unbelievably beautiful.

Her cold expression slightly darkens the light of her beauty as she casually leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. She clicks her tongue in a dismissive manner, before shaking her head. By now you have completely forgotten that your still naked. You're too afraid of what might happen next.

"You shouldn't be doing this kind of stuff out in the open like this, Julie."

"Y-Yes, sunbaenim."

Julie bows apologeticly and you feel bad for her. She must be even more embarrassed than you are.

"And you too. Shouldn't you know better."

"Sorry."

You murmur, although you're not quite sure why you're apologizing. What is Irene gonna do anyway? Tell on you?

"Well, at least it looks like you got your birthday present, Julie. Congratulations."

"T-Thank you, sunbaenim. Today is your birthday as well, right? Happy birthday."

Julie's shy words make you look at Irene again. You didn't know the two of them are sharing a birthday.

"Thank you."

Irene now looks at you.

"Since we're already on the topic of birthday presents..."

She lets her unfinished sentence linger in the air. You and Julie both watch how Irene's eyes slowly travel down your body, until she reaches your cock.

"It seems like you haven't finished yet. Why don't we help each other out?"

You're surprised by Irene's words. A moment ago she was scolding you and Julie about having sex in the hallway. And now she wants it too?

"What?"

"I still haven't gotten a proper birthday present yet and you are still hard. I want to suck you off."

Your dumb question makes her crack a smile.

Her words linger in the air once more while you and Julie try to process them.

"Come on, big boy."

Irene takes a step closer and reaches for your cock.

"Don't you want noona to take care of your cock? It's all hard and stiff."

You let out an involuntary sigh as her fingers graze your shaft.

"What do you say?"

Irene's words are directed at Julie.

"Huh?"

You see your own excitement, worries and uncertainty reflected in your girlfriend's wide open eyes.

"I'm just gonna give him head, so it's not cheating. Plus, you're watching anyway. So what's the harm?"

You don't say anything and wait for Julie. She only needs to say one word and you would step away. But it seems like she isn't completely against the idea of watching another woman sucking her boyfriend's cock.

"It's fine by me. I-I guess."

"Perfect."

Irene purrs and focuses on you next.

"Get on these stairs over there. I'm not gonna kneel on this floor."

You do as she says. Once you reach the stairs, you take two steps and turn around. Irene is standing now right in front of you again, with Julie leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. You're now at the perfect hight, so Irene barely has to lean down. You hear your breath hitch as you feel her warm breath on your cock. A moment later her lips touch your head. Irene makes a point of not opening her mouth fully, so she's kinda forcing your cock past her lips. It feels better than you thought it would.

You glance at Julie, who's eyes are glued to your dick as Irene takes more and more of it. You're fully aware that your cock must still be covered in Julie's slick, but Irene doesn't seem to care. Once she's taken most of your length into her mouth, she starts to suck you off properly. Her lips glide along your shaft, while her tongue is either pressed against the underside of your length, or is swirling around the tip. Her right hand is lazily stroking your base, while her left one is holding onto your thigh for support.

Within moments, you lose yourself in Irene's blowjob. Julie isn't bad at giving them, but it feels like Irene is on another level. Probably more experience. She has you legs shaking after just a short time. You hesitate, but your overwhelming pleasure is forcing you to hold onto her shoulder.

You glance at Julie again, who's hand has disappeared inside her opened jeans. She's touching herself while watching her senior give her boyfriend head. It feels weird to you. Not necessarily bad, but weird. And it's obviously not just the fact that it's the first time your receiving a blowjob while the other person is standing as well. But because you're getting sucked off by someone who's not your girlfriend. While said girlfriend is watching.

But it seems to only add to your arousal. Because when Irene begins to really enjoy herself and starts to make some noise, you know you won't last much longer. Her slurping sounds echo through the otherwise silent hallway. She gets a little messier by adding more spit to your cock in form of spitting on it.

You can't see it, but you can feel how when she's taking most of your cock, Irene is sticking out her tongue underneath your cock to just get half an inch further down your length. It makes your situation worse and you feel a familiar knot building in your abdomen. You know that if Irene decides to deepthroat you, you'll cum immediately.

Apart from Irene's sucking sounds, you now hear the faint sound of Julie playing with herself as well. She must be knuckles deep inside her own pussy as she watches the two of you. Her eyes are aide open in arousal as she bites her lip.

"Irene..."

You groan her name, trying to warn her. You're now only seconds away from falling over the edge. But instead of stopping, Irene just continues to move her lips along your length. If anything, she becomes a little faster, which makes you stumble a little faster towards the edge as well. You try to hold on, but it's no use.

"Oh, god..."

You groan louder as your orgasm finally overwhelms you. You feel Irene trying to take more of your cock as you unload inside her mouth. Your legs buckle and you have to hold onto her head to not fall over. Once you're all empty, Irene continues to lick up the last drop of your cum, before she finally lifts her head off your cock.

You can't believe what just happened, what you just experienced. But it's not over yet. With her mouth full, her cheeks bulging a little, Irene turns towards Julie and reaches her after two small steps. She pulls her in for a kiss and you watch how Irene and your girlfriend share your cum right in front of you. It almost amkes you hard again as it drags out longer and longer. Eventually, it seems like the two of them swallowed all of it in the process. They now both turn towards you.

"Our birthdays aren't over yet."

Irene states and after Julie glances at her, your girlfriend gives you a knowing smile.

"Would you like to continue this after our schedule, baby?"

---------------------

Hi everyone!

This might come out a little late for some of you, because I only got the request barely a day ago myself, so I didn't have much time to write it. I hope you enjoyed it and happy Julie day and happy Irene day! I didn't know that the two of them share a birthday up until yesterday.

Stay healthy!

[jjjjisun]

My Playmate, My Sister (Part 3)

Hanni X Irene X Male Reader | 14429 words

TW: Incest

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Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

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Hanni was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen; more than that, she was smoking hot. Her adorable facial features, soft blonde hair, fantastic personality, and many other attributes made her beautiful. Her breath-taking body, her breasts, that sexy way she walked, the way she teased me, that's what made her hot.

Hanni had returned from "school" only a few weeks before, and before she did, she had been, first and foremost, my sister. Now, that hadn't changed; we still shared that same love for each other, and I felt I needed to protect her as I always had. However, after the last two nights, we shared, sharing each other, and things deepened between us, and we agreed it was for the better. Hanni had always been a great sister, and we had always been very open with each other; talking about our romantic interests and often touching lightly upon the involved sexual activity was rarely out of the question. But this was a new type of openness; she was my sister and a fantastic lover.

I had seen Hanni on the cover of Playboy, her first shoot with them happening to catch my glance as I walked through a local convenience store. I had seen her in gallery upon gallery of subsequent photo shoots for the magazine, completely naked and sprawled out for me to see. I knew it wasn't just for me, and so did Playboy because they were planning on making her Playmate of the Year for all the success her nakedness had brought them. But when Hanni got home, what I saw was just for me; her sexiness and the perfection she'd brought to the pages of the world-famous magazine was within my grasp. Something clicked between the two of us, and whether it was the way I could not take my eyes off of her or the security and comfort she found in being in her brother's arms, I do not know. However, I know one thing now: I am the luckiest brother in the world.

It isn't all so romantic; having the cute little playmate around me and constantly recalling the feeling of being inside her and the desire to do so again is far from that. But can I be blamed? I mean, it's like everything she does plays right into my desire for her. From how she squeezes my leg as she lifts herself out of the car to the bouncy strut she pulls off as she crosses the causeway onto the boat... like I said, I couldn't take my eyes off her. As we made our way to the sailboat we'd agreed to take a trip on when our parents interrupted what was going to be a sex-filled week for the both of us, even the traveling outfit she wore had me at half-mast all day long. As I watched her checking out the boat from top to bottom, squealing at its more luxurious features, I took her in greedily.

That first day, she wore jean shorts that could have been painted on. Her cute butt taunted me as she leaned over the side rail and looked down at the cool blue water. If our parents and their friends hadn't been right there, I would have come up behind her and let us both feel my hips against hers as I pinned her against the rail. Above the shorts was a cropped, loose, and transparent top that hung over one shoulder at an angle, displaying the soft skin of her shoulder and neck and, of course, the sexy, muscular midsection that I couldn't get enough of. Under the top was a pink bikini, or maybe it was a bra... either way, it pushed her breasts up just so and even though I'd held them naked and complete in my hands, I felt like I'd never seen them before hidden underneath layers of clothing I just wanted to tear off.

She knew it too. Hanni smiled at me with every chance she got, and even wiggled her butt at me when she knew the others weren't looking. A few times, she'd catch my eye and then reach down to adjust her top, shaking her beautiful tits in place and pushing them up further; I had to sit down and catch my breath when she did that. She spent the few hours we took preparing the boat as an opportunity to drive me crazy over her. By the time we finally cast off and were leaving the harbor it was all I could do not to grab her tiny frame in my arm and drag her downstairs to fuck her silly for all the trouble she'd put me through.

But we finally cast off and got out to sea, and things calmed down a bit. We sat on soft, colorful cushions in the stern of the boat with the sail billowing above us and a cool breeze brushing back the wisps of hair that had fallen from behind Hanni's ear. Hanni draped my arm over her innocently, and we chatted about everything under the sun with the adults. When it came to Hanni's college life, I had to play it extremely cool, knowing that she hadn't told anyone from home about her work with Playboy. But we made it through and chatted as the luxurious sailboat cut through the ocean waves and out further and further until land was only a dot on the horizon.

Hanni was hands-down the hottest female under the Pacific sun that day if you asked me, but that wasn't really a fair contest, and another woman aboard was giving her some competition. The man my parents had been invited aboard was an old work friend of my dad's and his new wife. My dad and his friend Jinwoo were successful partners at a law firm and had done very well for themselves, including the women they had married. My parents were getting older, though still in great shape. Jinwoo was much the same: a good-looking guy with a kind disposition and salt-and-pepper gray hair that, combined with the apparent wealth, had brought him Irene. Irene seemed to be a great wife for him, loving and trustworthy, but obviously, that wasn't the only reason he'd chosen her for the long haul.

Irene was young, probably only in her early thirties, and didn't even look that. She had long, wavy black hair. Jinwoo was proud of marrying her, and I'd heard him boasting about his sex life with the gorgeous brunette to my dad on more than one occasion - sure, he was a generous guy, but as money often does to people, he was also kind of a tool. Still, I thought 'good for him' as I saw him not-so-innocently holding his wife against him in their place across from me. I might have even found myself desiring her if I didn't have the soft skin of my sister pressed against my shirtless torso, reminding me that there was nothing more desirable than her. When Jinwoo playfully grabbed at Irene's thigh, I glanced over at Hanni, and when our eyes met, I knew their antics were turning her on.

Irene stood up at one point (I couldn't help but notice that she had a great body as I saw her stretch in front of us) and invited Hanni to help her get drinks:

"Hey girlfriend, want to help me throw some margaritas together for everybody?"

In her usually bubbly tone, Hanni responded, "Sure, Irene, lead the way."

As they headed below deck I watched both of their bikini covered asses swish back and forth on their way to the hatch and then disappear. When they returned, I was blessed with the view of their front. Irene was not as alluring to me as Hanni, but she was just right in her sexy way. Hanni must have caught me checking out Irene because she gave me a squinty, knowing look as she sat down and handed me the slushy drink. We chatted some more, and Hanni kept up her antics. She scooted closer into me and licked her lips when I looked at her; she was unbearable.

By the time Irene suggested that we drop anchor and go for a swim as the sun set, I was completely stiff and struggling to position my penis so that it didn't bare itself for anyone to see. Hanni knew of course, and even wrapped as much of her hand around it as she could when we were the last ones on deck before she hopped in the water. I was going to teach her a lesson that night for sure.

We waded in the water, with more back-and-forth chatter and a floating tray of drinks between us. Everyone stayed pretty warm in the cool water, with all the alcohol being passed around. Hardly anyone noticed when Hanni challenged me to a race and took off before I could say yes, heading for the front of the boat. I caught up to her and grabbed her ankle, pulling her tiny frame back and feeling it brush along as I passed her.

She screamed, "Cheater!" as I swam to the front of the boat and made contact with it before she could. I looked at her with boastful pride as she paddled the rest of the distance to me, defeated. I grabbed her hand and helped her float next to me; she was tired from the swim.

"That's not fair," Hanni complained.

"I'll tell you what's not fair..."

Now, we were concealed from the view of our parents, Irene and Jinwoo, at the front of the boat. I could still hear them laughing and bantering as I lifted Hanni's hands over her head to a bar in the railing. She held them there, lifted ever so slightly out of the water.

"What's not fair is all the teasing you've been doing all day and the fact that I could do nothing about it. That's not fair."

She was stretched out in front of me, and her legs wrapped around me, helping me to float there and pulling me closer to her. So much skin...so much of her flawless body was on display for me, and her beautiful stomach, the subtle protrusion of her ribcage from her lifted arms...I was in heaven.

"What will you do about it, bro?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

I took both hands and planted them firmly on either side of her waist, sending them upwards and hearing her breathe out sexily in appreciation. It was answer enough for her and she approved further when I pushed the tip of my cock against her mound. Even covered in hers and my bathing suits, it was apparent that her head was indenting lightly into her, and if it wasn't, then her involuntary gasp proved it.

"Oh God... this is so naughty with them right over there....just like when you..." I thrust again "Ooohh Oppa..... just like when you fucked me in the car last night."

"Just like I'm going to tonight..." I told her, holding my hands over her breasts and massaging them.

"Mmmm, how about right now?" she tested.

I looked into her eyes, searching to see whether she was serious. I mean, our little secret fuck in the car was risky in itself, but only 30 feet away in broad daylight were four people that could catch us and make for a very awkward sailing trip. She looked serious.

"I don't know about that..." I said.

I knew we were taking too many risks; there was so much to lose, and I didn't think I could stand having Hanni any way other than she was to me now. Hanni knew too, but she seemed too entranced in our foreplay to give it much thought. It may have been risky, but her body just felt terrific in my greedy hands, and Hanni was more than loving the attention. I kept repeating the pressure between her pussy lips and Hanni cooed a few times at the stimulation of her thin bottoms grinding against her clit. My resolve was chipping away by the second...

I heard one of the adults laugh loudly at a joke on the other side of the boat, and it caught Hanni's attention. As she looked in their direction, I promptly took advantage of her distraction and swiped simultaneously at the strings behind her neck and torso. Hanni scoffed and tried to reach for her sui,t but I was too fast. I locked one hand around the fingers of her left hand, holding it immutably against the rail above. The other pulled her top away so fast she couldn't even come close to grabbing it back with her right hand.

"You are ridiculous," she said, looking at me sideways, but I was hardly paying attention.

With her hand over her head her tits hung spectacularly, glistening from the water and high on her chest. I could see her muscles stretching to hold her up, from her flat tummy that disappeared into the water below up to her neck. Dear God, I'll never see a more beautiful sight than that in my entire life.

"Like what you see? Mmmm..." she sighed when I took her hanging breast into my hand and caressed it gently with the tips of my fingers. My fingernails grazed the skin, and then I just held her breast in my hand, feeling her goose bumps against my palm with my fingers on her perky pink nipple. I'd never felt anything so amazing before I swore to myself, and this wasn't the first time I'd had my hands wrapped around her perfect chest. Hanni just kept getting better and better, and I wanted to make love to her right there with our parents and their friends so dangerously close.

"Jesus Hanni, I swear you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."

"Awww... you're so sweet ...mmmhh... And just think, I'm all yours..." she whispered, positively glowing from my compliment. She probably knew how I felt before I'd said it; my cock had grown even more enormous and complicated as I continued to prod at her covered slit with it gently. Hanni maneuvered her free hand so that her palm lay against my strong abs, and then she pushed it downward and painfully slowly. Under the waistband of my shorts, it went down further...until only her thumb and forefinger were touching the base of my stiff shaft.

I cringed; the feeling of her tiny hand on my steel-hard rod was phenomenal. I brought my head down to her chest, holding one of her soft breasts up and taking her nipple into my lips.

"Oooh, be careful! I'm really sensitive there," she shrieked. I backed off only slightly, trailing my tongue around the tiny areola before circling the erect little nub. Hanni was breathing harder, and it made me happy for her to enjoy my worship of her chest. As I finally took the whole nipple into my mouth and then sucked at it gently, Hanni wrapped around as much of my cock as she could get her hand on in one swift motion.

"I'm sensitive there too, ahhhh," I mocked. As I said it, Hanni firmly stroked up and down on my shaft, wrapping her palm around my head before she returned her encircling fingers to my base once again. We were like teenagers; neither of us could get enough of each other fast enough as we'd been able to display painfully little affection all day. I kept sucking at erect nipple, and more aggressively now. Eventually, I began pinching it between my front teeth just enough to get her calling my name between deep breaths:

"... oh, Oppa..... If you keep doing that... ugh... I think I might..."

I was still grinding the tip of my cock into the depression in her bottoms that my efforts were making. My tip was now just entering her, impeded by our clothing but pleasing due to the cool water around us. She ensured I was lined up just right as she slid her hand up and down my prodding staff. She was loving it and as her panting picked up and I was stimulating both her nipples and clit I knew that I'd send her into climax soon. Hell, a few minutes more, and I would probably release a gallon of sperm into the water between us.

"gotta be.... OOohhhhH..... quiet," she was tryin tog talk herself into keeping silent but wasn't succeeding all that well. Her attention to my cock faltered but I couldn't have cared less; the gorgeous little playmate's orgasm was all I was focused on and I felt I owed it to her to...

"Y/N....... Hanni!" he sounded concerned. My dad was calling out our names from the other side of the boat. I hadn't even considered that they would worry about us after we had swum off and not returned.

"Yeah, Dad?" I answered, my head settled just an inch or less inside my sister; she was still heaving and didn't stop her attempts to keep my cock massaging her pussy.

"Where's Hanni?" He was yelling over the boat.

"I'm here, Daddy!" I was honestly surprised to hear her pull it together enough to respond.

"What are you guys doing? I don't want you drowning on my watch.

"We were just...mmmh," she was still so aroused and had only slightly come down. "Playing daddy... jeez we're not kids anymore." She squeezed my shaft as she said it.

"Alright, well, come on back over. We've got margaritas waiting for you!" He had no idea.

Hanni slumped into my arms, and I held us up with a hand still gripping the boat. She managed a few more frustrated thrusts against me before she gave in and looked into my eyes. They were so beautiful, even with disappointment for being held back and having been so close. A deep and mesmerizing combination of cool grey and lively green, they peered into me, and I was lost in her. Hanni's naked chest felt terrific against my chest and shoulders, bringing me out of my haze. We cuddled for a few too-short moments while Hanni accepted that I couldn't give her what she wanted unless we wanted to be found out.

She turned around, and I helped her wrap the tiny bikini top back around her, happily pausing to make sure the cups were supporting her breasts in the right way. My hands took their last chance to hold on to the pliable flesh before tying her strings and taking her back to the water. She shot me a glance that told me she knew exactly what I was after and then headed toward our parents. Even how she swam back, cutting through the water like a true athlete, added to her complete and utter prowess and perfection.

We returned to the circle and couldn't risk looking too longingly at each other, though we desperately wanted to—and a lot more than that. Nobody was the wiser, I comfortably assured myself. We chatted until the sun was only a glowing memory beneath the horizon and then climbed back on the deck. Hanni grabbed my arm and pulled me back from the group.

"Did you see Irene?" Her eyes were wide.

I thought I had been caught checking out the 30-something-year-old hottie, so I tried to deny it: "What... who... Oh her, yeah, she seems nice."

"No, silly," Hanni rolled her eyes. I know she's hot; I wouldn't blame you if you thought so. I mean, did you see the way she was looking at us?"

"No, I have no idea what you're talking about," I told her, concerned.

"She was staring at me pretty strangely. I think she knows what's up."

"No way, how could she? We were quiet, and it's not like we gave ourselves away before then..."

Just then, like clockwork, Irene popped her head around the corner. We were leaned over the edge of the boat inconspicuously, so it didn't make me nervous that she was seeing us together.

"Hey guys, so you want a burger or a brat?" she asked.

We both told her what we wanted and then relaxed a bit, she was being pretty normal for someone Hanni had just suspected of knowing I'd had my cock rubbing against my sister's pussy.

"Oh, and by the way, honey," she said quieter now, her grin speaking volumes as she said, "I think your top is inside out."

Hanni and I looked down simultaneously, and Irene disappeared around the corner. It wouldn't jump out at you if you weren't looking for it, but it was obvious. Hanni's suit was inside out, and Irene had noticed it after we returned from our little disappearance, hence the weird looks to Hanni.

"Oh god, do you think mom and dad noticed?" Hanni asked with fear in her eyes.

"No way. We got out of the water last, and they would have definitely said something. Irene must have seen it when we were swimming back. Mom and Dad were turned away from us then." I tried to comfort her, but it wasn't really working.

"Do you think she'll tell?" Hanni was only slightly less worried.

"No, she seems too cool to go making accusations like that." I retorted

"That's true, and I swear she was trying to coax something out of me when she told me she thought you were hot earlier."

I smiled widely, and my heart jumped when she said that. It felt pretty good that a beautiful woman like Irene thought I was handsome or 'hot,' as Hanni had said.

"Oh, you're unbelievable," Hanni slapped my arm. "I guess you can have her for the rest of this trip the," she said as she turned away from me.

"Oh, come on, Hanni!" I pulled at her sid,e but she didn't lean into me like she usually did. "She's got nothing on you. I can't walk around this boat without a huge bulge in my shorts with you in that bikini. It's torture not being able to show you and tell you every second how attracted to you I am!"

She looked over her shoulder at me, pouting but clearly affected by my compliment. I slipped my hand around her waist and felt the band of her bikini tickle my fingertips as they brushed over her hipbones. My hand rested on her tummy, only briefly with the knowledge of our shipmates only feet away. Hanni rotated in my grasp, my fingers trailing around her as she turned face to face with me and pushed in close. She glanced toward the direction of our parents, scanning to see if we were in sight of them. When she was satisfied nobody was watching, she stood up on her toes, the soles of her feet stretching and her back arching to bring her to the right height she planted a soft kiss on my lips. She lingered for only a second or two with her eyes looking right at the lips she'd just kissed, and then I watched my sister walk off around the corner and sit down like nothing had happened.

I followed a moment later (after the bulge in my trunks had settled to a manageable level) and sat down across from her. The last rays of sun skimmed over her long legs, crossed sexily and hanging down toward the wooden deck. I can hardly remember what we talked about now for the hour or so we sat around eating and chatting, Hanni's kiss and the many events of the day had me swimming in my own thoughts and fantasies. I imagined that nobody was there, and I crossed the gap between me and my little playmate sister, pinning her against the plush white cushions and ripping off her clothes.

The only thing to distract me was the delicious food...that and the way Irene had handed it off to me. I had been keeping an eye on her as she fidgeted around in front of the hot grill, scratching her leg with a raised foot here and tossing her hair around. She may have been married but she had not lost a hint of her youth and verve. Her swaying about while preparing our dinner already had me at alert, so when I saw her reach down and obviously fluff her tits in her striped bikini I was finding myself growing stiff already. Then she approached me with a plate of food and came closer than I expected; I was frozen to her. She leaned in, handing me the plate and lingering, bent over at the waist and setting it down on the table beside me. Her breasts were hanging magnificently, the flesh struggling against her top. Just before she stood up she caught my gaze and I knew that she'd seen what I was looking at. I'd have been mortified at being caught red-handed if the look in her eyes and upon her lips wasn't one of subtle mischief.

When the sun had gone all the way down, Jinwoo showed us the beautiful television screen that ascended from a hidden panel in the stern of the boat behind the mini-bar. The seats on the deck were also perfectly set up for viewing the movie he was about to put on: some romantic comedy to please the ladies on their first night aboard. Jinwoo opened up one of the cabinets and pulled out some thick, woven blankets, tossing one each to the couples and apologizing to Hanni and I that he didn't have one for each of us.

"They can share honey," Irene interjected quickly, "right guys?"

"Yeah it's no problem, sir, thanks!" Hanni said happily and tossed the blanket over both of us.

"Please Hanni, call me Jinwoo, Mr. makes me feel like my dad," Jinwoo joked while Hanni settled down and spread the blanket out over us.

The sun was all the way down now, and a light breeze ruffled Hanni's hair gently with her head laid upon my shoulder. She giggled when a few strands caught in my mouth and I spit them back out; I nudged her head to get her back. There was only the sound of the movie and the ocean breeze gently clanging a jib or a hook somewhere on deck. It was a beautiful night to be cozied up with my secret playmate, both the most gorgeous girl I'd ever made love to and my very own sister.

I was still half-mast myself from all of Irene's antics and the desire for my sister I'd been unable to act out all day. As I worked my hand to the inside of Hanni's thigh she wasted no time in finding my hardness through the outside of my shorts.

"Hmmmm....." she whispered in my ear, "you really like this movie huh...?"

"Oh Hanni...." I whispered back as Hanni ran her hand over the outline of my shaft and head.

She then began untying my strings, and the anticipation nearly killed me as I felt her working the laces through the holes to allow her easier access. When she'd finally got it she stopped once more to hold my cock through the fabric. All the while her efforts were concealed by the blanket over us. I looked around, nervous. 'God this is dangerous,' I thought, but I was in no state to object. By the time Hanni finally decided to free me from my fabric confines, I was so hard I thought I was going to rip my suit.

She traced her fingers from the bottom of my pole to the top in one, long stroke; her fingers were barely making contact. When she reached the top she equally slowly encircled me with her whole hand and then pushed it downward in one smooth stroke. It was unbelievable, something told me I couldn't even hope to do better myself. Hanni's nimble fingers, cooler than my red-hot member, felt glorious holding me like they were. I looked down to Hanni who's head was still nestled against me. She turned and planted a little kiss on my shoulder before looking back to the television to keep up our pretended innocence.

The pleasure was building and Hanni began to stroke me more hastily. I struggled to keep a straight face in case my parents were to turn around and look our way. They were dozing off together; my worries about them abated. I then turned my gaze toward Irene and Jinwoo. Jinwoo looked to be distracted with his phone and...............Irene was staring right at us.

Hanni was pumping me quickly now, and a close observer would see the blanket shivering atop us. Irene was a close observer; she didn't take her eyes off us as I neared orgasm. I knew I should tell Hanni that we were being watched....I knew....oh God, her hand was just stroking me so amazingly. Hanni had no idea that Irene could see her jerking her brother's cock under the blanket, and I was too consumed with her touch to risking jeopardizing it. I couldn't....I couldn't let this end before Hanni finished me off. Hanni was grinning as she looked directly toward the screen; she loved how she could feel my body flexing and relaxing and my cock pulsing in her hand. She wasn't the only one smiling though; Irene across the deck was watching the two of us, grinning naughtily and ignoring both her husband and the movie.

She made eye contact with me and raised her eyebrows, I knew we were had, but I could tell that Irene was far from giving us up. She licked her lips and stared at the two of us, brother and sister, nuzzled beneath the blanket her husband had given us and doing something very taboo.

I was close now. My hand was rubbing at Hanni's inner thigh more strongly, grasping at her tight skin and brushing back and forth across her covered mound. Hanni stroked faster, faster...up and down went her tiny hand. My balls ached for release and Hanni pumped above them to bring it. She grasped tighter, stimulating my sensitive head when she reached it each time and then jerking it down with the skin clasped in her tender palms. I could feel it coming, seconds away now. I looked from Hanni to Irene, and Irene could see my state as well as Hanni could feel it; her mouth was nearly opened and her eyes searched mine to see me climax.

A few more strokes...just a few more...Hanni was did not stop for a second, stroking me for all I was worth. I began to cum, my body first flexed in that first second or two. Then I felt the semen rising from within me, jetting across me onto Hanni's side. I was only vaguely aware of Irene's eyes upon me as I shot a second time onto my sister's abdomen and thigh. She was directing my cock toward her beneath the blanket, still coaxing more of my sperm out between us. A pump of it caught her thigh and some of mine; still I kept coming. The jizz was spewing onto her hand now, and my sister jerked me a few more times before I had to grab her hand to stop her.

We were both sticky and covered in my load beneath the blanket, but Hanni kept her hand wrapped around my cock, holding me firmly and not letting go. I looked back in Irene's direction; she smiled at me brightly and then scooted closer to her husband, taking her eyes off of us and back to the movie. I couldn't believe how turned on I was that Irene had just watched my sister jerk me off under a blanket like high-school lovers. I would have dwelled on it further, but I was spent. It was then that I felt Hanni wiping us off beneath the blanket with a towel of some sort. She cleaned off our skin, and then my partially softened penis, which was an unbearable feeling in itself. When she finished, she folded up the cloth and wrapped her arm around mine: a rather unassuming gesture if you forget that she'd just caused me to cum all over her. She took my hand in hers and passed me the cloth. I brought it from beneath the blanket and realized it wasn't a towel at all, it was her bottoms.

The thought of her tiny, naked butt and warm, wet pussy beneath the blanket had my cock swelling again. I edged my hand closer again to her inner thigh, nearing her center when she pushed my hand away and whispered.

"Uh uh uh, just hold me and watch the movie..." I pouted when she said that and she caught the look. "We'll pick up where we left off later, I promise."

That took the edge off a little, besides, having her in my arms was promise enough that good things were to come. She scooted close to me under the concealing blanket. She wrapped her spindly legs around me like a monkey and brought my hand around to hold her. She was warm, so warm and yielding to my touch.

"I love you so damn much Hanni." I told her and waited for her to look me in the eyes,

"I know baby bro, I love you too......." she was so quiet and whispering right into my ear now, "....and I want you to fuck me....sooo hard... when we're finally alone."

I grinned from ear to ear. I couldn't wait to do just that. I held Hanni's lithe, slender frame against me for the remainder of the movie, unworried about our parents as they slumbered away. Irene looked over at us occasionally and I saw her smile knowingly at Hanni more than once.

At some point Hanni pulled on my shirt and whispered to me..."She knows..."

We both knew it now, and we were also much more at ease with the way she was handling it. She gently grasped Hanni's knee on her way below deck with her husband, wishing us goodnight. Jinwoo instructed that we shut the TV off before we went below to the bedroom we'd be sharing. Our parents followed them down, leaving Hanni and I alone up top, excitement building in our hearts.

When we were certain they were gone for sure, we locked eyes and just stared. Hanni began edging closer to me and bringing her puffy, lip-gloss frosted lips near mine. She lingered amount before pushing in; we shared a long, tender kiss and our tongues flitted out to teas each other. She was so gentle and her lips felt feather-light and warm against mine. I ran a hand up her slender body, massaging her as it went. We eventually broke the kiss and Hanni settled her head into my lap.

We talked for over an hour. Hanni shared with me her thoughts and feelings on what posing with Playboy would bring in the coming years and I listened attentively. We talked about frivolous things like friends and food, all the while my hands played over her smooth belly and caressed her lovingly. The tone changed when we started talking about us.

"I really love being with you Hanni..." she caught my gaze and smiled lovingly. Her smile was endearing and lovely.

"Are you sure it's not these you love?" she asked, bringing my hand in one motion up to her breast and sliding it immediately under the fabric of her bikini.

As always I was thrilled to be holding her ample breasts in my hand. They were warm, and her skin so incredibly soft. Despite the feeling, however, I gazed at her deeply to let her know how serious I was about how happy she made me.

"I know, I'm only kidding; you make me feel so happy, and so sexy. I hope you won't mind coming out to California with me because I'm not doing it without you."

I was taken aback by the statement. She breathed slowly then, in and out, awaiting my reaction to what she knew had been a serious proposition. My first thought was to protest; I couldn't just up and leave my home, let alone to be with my Playboy playmate sister. Within seconds however I was coming to my senses; the beautiful creature in my arms was all I wanted. I'd have no trouble finding a good job anywhere I went.

"Do you really mean that?" I asked.

A long pause ensued in which Hanni turned her head upward from its relaxed position in my lap and cast her eyes upon mine...

"Definitely." Her tone was one of complete certainty. It made my heart throb for her, and the thought of endless time and the implied wonderful sex life we'd share had my manhood throbbing too.

Hanni stood up and glanced back over her shoulder toward me, biting her fingernail as she did. When she reached the entrance to the lower deck she turned and leaned provocatively against the frame, casting her hip outward in a way that accentuated her lean form all the more enticingly. She aimed a finger at me and beckoned me toward her the seated position from which I'd been watching her eagerly.

"Come inside with me, I think I need help turning on that big shower down there," she suggested mischievously.

I ambled up after her and held her hand from behind as we headed down the stairs. The inside of the boat was larger than I'd guessed it was, and I was excited for what Hanni and I's room would be like. I was even more excited as I watched Hanni pull her camisole up over her shoulders and then toss it through the doorway to our bedroom, remembering now that she'd never put on her cum-soaked bottoms. I only got to peer through the opening a second before Hanni tugged my hand and pulled me close to her.

I took hold of her in my hands, large and strong in contrast to her tiny, graceful body. She arched her back into me, pressing our hips together and we kissed there in the hallway. We kissed deeply, making up for all the lost time. My hands roamed, her hands roamed, and our need was more apparent with each twirl of tongue against tongue. Once again, my sister was in my arms, clothed only in that alluring little bikini and dying for me to take it off her.

There in the hallway we kissed and touched and pressed against each other, mimicking what we truly wanted. Hanni had just asked me to come with her across the country and be with her, as much more than just brother and sister. I couldn't think of a place I'd rather be. Yet, just then I was getting exactly what I desired as well: every bit of Hanni I could get my hands on.

We continued our foreplay and rolled shoulder over shoulder toward the bathroom door. Hanni would push me off of her and pin me against the wall and then I'd do the same. All the while we stayed locked at then lips and hips, save the short gasps that escaped Hanni's mouth when I connected with a particularly sensitive patch of skin or the whispered

"mmmmh, I love you"s and "oh goddd"s when I touched her just right.

We were so caught up in each other we barely noticed door to Irene and Jinwoo's bedroom slightly ajar. So, when both of us heard a moan from the room nearby that clearly hadn't come from Hanni, we stood frozen there together with Hanni's warm breath brushing my cheek.

Slowly we turned our heads toward the door; phew, it wasn't coming from our parents' room. We inched closer to the opened door, close enough that with my arms wrapped around her I could see over her head the source of the sound we'd heard. I had not been wrong when I'd imagined Irene would be a knockout naked.

Hanni must have agreed too because she gripped tightly at my arms as we watched the scene unfolding before us. Irene's husband lay back on the bed with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, bent at the knees. Irene held fast to them and was turned around toward us, her breasts swaying as she lifted the sweet behind of hers and dropped it down sharply into Jinwoo's lap. She was tanned and toned, though not quite what I was used to with my sister. She was a bit... fuller, in places but it definitely worked to her advantage.

All the comparing reminded me who I held in my arms and I looked down at her, fidgeting in my arms.

"Like what you see?" I whispered, a line she'd used on me so many times before. She directed one of my hands downward and I knew what she wanted.

"Mmm hmm," she agreed, not even speaking as my hand landed over her uncovered slit, emanating the warmth of her arousal.

I began to pressure her tiny clit and she sank her gorgeous behind into me. We stayed like that, me rubbing her and her absolutely loving it as Irene continued to fuck her husband just beyond the door. We were both watching intently when Irene lifted her head towards us, the few of hair strands that had escaped hanging down over her face as her eyes rose up and landed on the door.

She saw us, she definitely saw us, and Hanni and I held tightly to each other neither moving or breathing. Her eyes met both of ours and she took in what was obviously a completely compromising position. She may have suspected correctly before that my sister and I had been lovers, but with my hand over the place no brother is supposed to go and my other cradling one of Hanni's awesome tits, there was no getting around it now. We were both frozen in anticipation of how she'd react.

Her downward thrusts slowed as she took us in and then........ a smile. Not just any smile, a huge mischievous grin that accompanied with her renewed efforts to take her husband's cock deeper and harder only meant one thing. She approved.

Hanni looked back at me with nearly the same grin Irene had, and she gave my crotch some serious attention with a quick up-down of that peach-like butt of hers over my shaft. I thought I was hard before that, but with Irene being railed a few feet away and the world's hottest playmate/my amazingly fuckable sister in my arms I think I suddenly grew another inch.

Irene watched us for a little while, as if both of her and my sister and I were transfixed and unable to look away. She showed us a few tricks, at some point rotating her hips around in a way that rippled her core and must have felt unbelievably good to her husband. She let out a few coos of pleasure but something told me they were more about seeing and being seen than Jinwoo's remarkably average penis. I guess money can't buy everything.

When we heard Jinwoo start to grunt foolishly Hanni took me by the hand and led me into the bathroom. She turned on the water and immediately grabbed my neck with one of her dainty hands, pulling me in for a needy kiss. She was turned on so obviously I could barely stifle a laugh. She pulled me under the water, my shirt still on. I wrapped an arm around her and her hands pawed haphazardly at me; she was so aroused she barely knew what to do with herself.

I took care of that; I lifted her and pushed her against the shower wall aggressively. She scratched at my back and then pried my shirt up over my head. Her hands pried at my stomach,

"Ugh, I love your abs," she was running her fingers over my muscles while arching her back to push me back a bit and see between us, "you are really fucking strong."

I rolled my eyes, 'women always say things like that,' I thought. I was flattered but compared to her, like a brilliant marble sculpture, I felt like I was made of play-doh.

She read my mind, "I'm not just humoring you, mmmhh, I'm soo attracted to you," she was rubbing that naked mound against my cock now. "No guy has ever made me so hot like you do."

I had to admit, she was flattering my immensely. I hoped that she felt the same way when I told her how gorgeous she was. I was encouraged enough to push her back flat against the wall and thrust along her lips, or what I could feel of them. I was kissing her neck furiously and she and I were clamoring to hump each other below. Somehow we got the water running and it warmed quickly, dousing us and our remaining clothing. My soaked trunks were plastered over my stiff shaft and it made the contact between us all the more purposeful. Still, I wanted more; and Hanni did too. She was fumbling around my shorts and the drawstring holding them tight to me. I was lost in her the long smooth skin beneath her cute chin.

"Oh god," she was moaning and twisting from attention to her sensitive neck, "take them off please!"

She was still lifted off the ground, her beautiful legs wrapping me. I reached for my waistband and she helped me to push the shorts down. She hastily pulled off the last scrap of clothing, her cute little bikini top, and cast it away; her tits jiggled unbearably and my cock jumped with excitement.

I forced her against the wall with an audible thud. My cock made its first contact with my sister's bare pussy in what felt like forever (it had only been about 24 hrs.) my rod split her lips and I felt how incredibly wet she was. She gyrated against me, and with my body sandwiching her between the wall and I could feel every muscle she used to do so. We were so connected in that moment.

"Umhhhh, it's been...too long," she cooed to me as her hips rotated rhythmically, "I've wanted you to put that big cock......mmmmgghh... in me all fucking day."

I loved hearing her talk like that, and I loved the way she looked and felt as much now as ever. Water cascaded over our shoulders, wetting her hair and dancing randomly down her slick body. Her tits were smashed against my chest, forced upward and outward while gliding against me with her constant grinding and flexing.

My shaft slipped again and again between her lips, I could feel my tip catch every now and again at her clit and threatening to sink deep inside her. At that moment we were content to thrust desperately against each other. I sucked hungrily at her neck and she showered my cheeks, ear and neck with kisses as best she could between her labored inhaling and exhaling. I even loved the grazing of her warm breath over my neck, the thought of making my sister so full of lust and sensation made me all the warmer inside.

"Uhhhhnn unnnnhhh, you like that?" she slowed and lengthened the path of her slippery lips on their straddling path over my cock "do you want to be inside me, wanna fuck your little slutty sister? I can't take this much longer...."

"Oh god, you have no idea," I answered her. I knew she was grinning.

Then suddenly from somewhere through the steam...."Then do it already, Jesus," it was Irene's voice 'I don't think I can take it any longer either!" We were frozen once again, held captive by the fear of being revealed.

Irene came into view, but I could barely see her in my peripheral while supporting my sister against the cool tiles on the wall of the shower. She looked to be wearing a nightgown of some sort, small and silky by the looks of it. She approached me slowly from behind; Hanni and I held our breath.

Irene was just outside the shower door we had failed to close in our haste. I still couldn't see her face and I thought that this may have finally been too much for her to see and accept. I felt a hand cover Hanni's on my shoulder. It slid in between Hanni's little fingers and caressed me as it did. Irene was touching me from behind and I could feel her presence heavy on my backside. I began to exhale, not sure yet if I should be relieved or not.

"Oh relax, you two! If I was going to rat you out I could have done it any of the half dozen times you were up to something before." There was an air of confidence and satisfaction in her voice, she was enjoying our little secret it seemed to me.

Hanni fidgeted, reminding me that I was only an inch or so from impaling her against the shower wall, I hadn't softened a bit and Hanni's warm pussy was still pulsing around my invading member. She felt it too, bringing her back to the desperation and arousal that Irene's interruption had only temporarily quashed.

I moved this time: a long, slow stroke that made her arch her back in response. Irene whispered something like "that's it, go on..." and stepped a bit closer. Hanni was fully back in sex-mode now and surprised me when she released her hand from its interlocking position with Irene's and she reached out beyond me. Her hand found Irene's shoulder and nightgown. She pulled, and Irene quickly stepped into the shower. The wide coverage of the showerhead found her nightie; it was a pale yellow number hung loosely over her shoulders with precariously thin straps. It was cinched under her breasts, which were causing mounds to form through the soft fabric, topped with pretty peaks that implied her obviously erect nipples.

Hanni and I were returning, slowly but surely, to the desperate and rhythmic contact we'd been seeking before Irene walked in. Hanni's adorable panting returned and she once again was splitting her engorged lips over the shaft I so eagerly wanted to plunge inside her with.

Irene's entwined fingers tightened their grip on my shoulder, and it seemed to jar Hanni into some new reality. She reached out swiftly and caught Irene's shoulder strap, sliding it off and pulling her under the water and closer to our side. The wide spray of the luxurious shower began to douse Irene with water. It was a subtle, pleasant yellow that darkened as the water turned it from opaque to transparent in a matter of seconds.

First her gorgeous butt showed through, sweet cleft and all as the material began to paste itself to her skin. I was staring intently and hardly noticed as Hanni slipped to the floor and turned to face the brunette vixen and her transforming gown. Hanni's fingers curled around my cock as she took another step toward Irene and came face to face with her.

It was like some kind of stand-off of who was hotter (it was admittedly close) or who was more daring, or god knows what those two women were thinking. My mind raced, and my member throbbed with Hanni's hand stroking me gently and pressing me against one soft cushion of her behind. The scene playing out before me was nearly too much to bear; the unfathomably beautiful Hanni, an unmatched playboy playmate vs. a sultry, illusive brunette trophy wife that had an obvious understanding of her own sex appeal and how to use it just right. I could hardly keep my eyes straight as Hanni jacked me, the pleasure and the build-up was indescribable.

Just when I couldn't take it anymore, Hanni closed the gap. Closing her eyes she leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Irene's lips. It lingered... and just when Hanni seemed to pull back Irene returned the favor. She was soaked through and through in her place under the shower, every inch of the lingerie clinging to her body and revealing its splendor beneath. Irene wrapped a hand behind my sister's neck, her fingernails teasing just at her hairline where I knew her to be sensitive, and she brought them firmly together.

First they just held there sampling the other's lips; then Hanni opened her mouth ever so slightly. Irene swiftly flitted her tongue against the sliver Hanni had opened for her and then Hanni did the same. They playfully darted their tongues together and wrestled them more vigorously with each passing second. I hadn't thought my sister to have enjoyed the company of a woman as she now was, but with the increased pressure and stroking of my cock I could tell that Hanni was enjoying it thoroughly.

Once they had shared a few moments of feverish making out and both Hanni and Irene had begun touching each other gently and tentatively with their unoccupied hands, they slowed to a stop and drew back an inch or two. Simultaneously, both of them smiled at each other as if shocked and pleased by their newest taboo behavior. That was when they also turned in tandem to look at me, casually standing behind Hanni with an arm around her side as she stroked me and I watched them.

I wasn't sure what was in store for me but from the look in their eyes and the way they both glanced down at my cock, looking enormous in Hanni's dainty grasp, I knew it was something good.

"Mmmh," Irene let out and slumped toward Hanni a bit, "it looks to me like you were about to take a bit of a thrashing from not-so-little brother here... don't let me stop you."

Hanni bit her lip sexily and nodded in agreement, giving me an awesome little squeeze. She still seemed a little overwhelmed with pleasure from her first experience with another girl, so when she didn't act fast enough, Irene jumped in. She followed Hanni's arm with a light touch until it came close to where my cock was encased firmly in her grasp.

"Can I?" she looked straight at Hanni as if asking for permission.

When Hanni gave her an exasperated sigh of agreement, she slipped her hand over and Hanni let hers fall toward the floor. Irene set her eyes on me, waiting for me to protest. When I didn't, she wrapped her hand around my shaft completely and closed the gap between us. With one hand wrapped around my sister's taut belly, teasing toward her sweet spot, my other hand was left free. I quickly occupied it, placing it tenderly on Irene's hip.

My touch encouraged her and Irene leaned forward; it was my turn to taste the brunette's tongue against mine. Irene showed little hesitation with me as she had with Hanni. She simply slid into me in one quick motion and we locked together. First we tested only each other's lips, playing and sensing and loving the sensation. Then, when we felt bolder, we found the tips of each other's tongues. She was stroking me more intensely as we embraced and my hands on both Hanni and Irene worked harder in response.

When Irene heard Hanni moan from the pressure of my fingers on her button, she remembered her original intent. She ended her hand's attention to my staff and guided it closer to Hanni's cute behind. She was leaning against the tile and the combination of my stimulation of her clit, the down-pouring shower, and her first experience with another woman had her floating in her own paradise just inches away from mine.

Whether Irene realized it or not, as she hungrily lined up my tip with the entrance to my sister's tight tunnel, Hanni was yet unaware. Lost in her own thoughts and pressed up against that cool, smooth shower wall, she didn't recognize the feeling of my head making contact with her taut outer lips. Nor did she hear it when Irene planted another quick kiss on my lips and said,

"Go ahead honey,"

I split Hanni's lips apart with my first motion, and then began to slide the length of my engorged member into the little playmate's pussy inch by inch. That certainly brought her to, and she craned her neck to look back at who was causing the sudden, intense sensation she was experiencing. As I pressed deeper inside of her I could feel Irene's hand still guiding me and her fingers adding to the unbelievable pleasure I felt as I buried my shaft into my sister.

"Oooohhhh fuckkkk......"she howled with the naughty mouth of hers.

Irene moved around to where Hanni was locked against the wall, her breasts spreading outward from the pressure. Hanni turned to face her as much she could with my invading cock holding her in place. Immediately Irene found Hanni's lips with her own and began to kiss her intensely. While the two probed each other's mouths I finally reached the termination of my path and savored the sensation of being completely engulfed in my sister's tight pussy.

Irene's hand, which had been wrapped in a ring around my rod, lowered to allow me that final inch push into Hanni. She moved it directly to my full balls and tenderly cupped them in her hand. Her other hand had made its way to Hanni's opening, now pried open with her brother's cock.

"Does that feel good Hanni?" Irene asked her cutely.

"Yesss, ohhhh .....it feels sooooo good." she mewed back.

Once her fingers found their way to Hanni's sensitive little clit, I had had bottomed out in my sister entirely. Every bit of my shaft was immersed by Hanni's slick, hot channel and it felt as if I could sense her breaths in and out and the undulations of her beautiful core. My own little playmate cooed at the sensation of my cock seeming to expand inside of her. She was so tight, so unbelievably tight standing there with my cock lodged inside her, able only to cope with the feeling and do little else.

Irene planted a trail of soft kisses and pecks down Hanni's body, stopping for a moment at her delicious breast to caress them in a way only another woman could. As she made her way down, she placed a palm on my lower abs and gently encouraged me to pull out of my sister until only the helmet remained inside of her. Her soft pink lips held tight to my retreating member and pulled outward with it, desperate to keep me within. Just as my head was about to pop from Hanni's opening, she took hold of the exposed cylinder and prevented me exiting.

Her mouth found the connection between my sister and I and she covered it with the expanse of her tongue. That's when her hand, wrapped around me, tugged at me to press into my big sister once more. Her tongue stimulated us both and Hanni cried out as I sank into her more swiftly this time. In seconds I was once more deep within Hanni for the second time, ready to begin taking her fully.

"oh fuck.....Y/N.....it's so....... I can't.....mmmmmmm." She was short for breath and couldn't find the words to describe how I was making her feel.

Irene's tongue was beginning to lap and twirl around our incestuous junction, causing both of us to gasp from the added stimulation. When Irene's hand guided me back once again I was prepared, sliding out of Hanni and stopping just before I was literally out of her tunnel entirely before parting her lips once more and plunging deep inside.

Hanni was beginning to come to, despite the extreme pleasure from the increasing tempo of my thrusts. When I slid backward for the fourth or fifth time I could feel my sister's cute butt coming back to meet me. I kissed her neck from behind and she shivered from the tender contact. I opened my mouth and could taste the freshness of the water, still gliding down her body, combined with that deliciousness of her skin I'd grown addicted to.

As I continued to slide in and out of my sister, spurred on by her return thrusts, I reached down and found Irene's head with her soft locks of hair and I took the back of her head in my hand. I massaged lightly at it as Irene continued lapping at my sister and I from below. I gently tugged at her ponytail and encouraged her to stand up next to us so I could look her in the eye as I fucked my sister before her.

She did as I asked and came up to meet my gaze. Her eyes flitted down to my cock, plunging repeatedly into Hanni as I had her partially pressed against the wall for balance. I pulled Irene close and pressed my lips to hers, kissing her deeply while Hanni did more of the work. As I battled tongues with Irene and reached a hand toward her lovely cunt, my sister gyrated her taut cheeks into me faster and the sensation of her warm folds engulfing me independent of my efforts was near too much to bear. I prayed I wouldn't come too soon.

As my cock experienced the sensation Hanni was causing it my fingers found Irene's opening and teased her wet lips. I thumbed at her clit and she looked into me fiercely due to my daring behavior. I thought she might even push me away when she reached down to my hand, but instead she pressed my fingers inside of her.

"Uhhhhhghh," she moaned, "I needed this."

"Ughhh," I gasped back with another pound into Hanni, "Jinwoo not.....mmmmph.... Getting it done?"

She looked down at my invading cock once more, and Hanni and she made eye contact when Hanni turned to hear her answer. Her hand cupped the entrance to Hanni's pussy and she answered.

"Certainly not like this...." Something about having Irene approve of my rigorous fucking of my sister had my adrenaline pumping. With one hand in Irene's pussy I pressed two digits into her and began finger-fucking her to the tempo of my thrusts into Hanni. My other hand cupped Hanni's breast firmly to brace myself as I fucked her about as hard as I ever had.

"Fuccckkk...." Hanni squealed, "be careful.....mghhhh....I'm fragile."

I hardly listened, careful only not to slam her too hard against the shower wall, which might have woken someone. I continued to jam my cock into Hanni's squeezing sheath, bottoming out over and over and hearing her moan and gasp for breath. My fingers kept pace and Irene was leaning against my sister with one of their breasts mashing against each other.

"God, I might.....ohh.....ooh....cum already." Hanni said almost worried.

"Mmmmnhhh, you're telling me......fuck," Irene added in a breathy phrase.

Irene bucked against my fingers and the dropped to her knees as if to escape the pleasure for a moment, I was sure she hadn't come just yet but she started to minister to Hanni anyway. First her fingers wiggled over Hanni's clit and she trailed kissed to Hanni's tits once more.

I took both Hanni's hips in my hands and pressed her ass cheeks hard against my pistoning shaft. She held fast to my wrist and put a second hand against the wall. Over and over I drove into her, feeling her ass slam back toward me and clapping into my lap, apparently she wasn't THAT fragile.

"Ooohh.....ohhhhh.......so hard.......I think I'm gonna...."

I wrapped an arm across her abdomen and breasts, my other hand fell across her thin neck. She stood upright and I continued to impale her. I could sense her near orgasm as her body began to shake and weaken in my arms and I took more of her weight. That was just fine because my cock had her held up like a coat on a hanger. Irene's mouth found a nipple and she nibbled at it while her hand flew over Hanni's extremely sensitive clit.

It was the most erotic experience of my life, fucking my naked playboy-vixen sis with reckless abandon while she was being worked over by the beautiful adulterous brunette as both her husband and our parents slumbered on the other side of the wall. My fingers pawed at handfuls of Hanni's breasts and ass and I rocked in and out of her until I knew she was at the end.

"Ohhh ohhh, I'm gonna.....mmmmh-uhhhh..... Fuck, I'm gonna come." she was hardly being quiet, considering the proximity of our dozing families - I kept plunging into her nonetheless "It's so biggg.....mmmmph....I love you so.....uhhhh....much."

God she was so sexy right then, I couldn't get enough of her sweet dirty-talk or the flawless body I was currently burying my cock inside of. Just a few more thrusts and she was there. I could feel her pussy grip down on me like a vice and her body convulse against both Irene and I. Irene kept fingering Hanni's pulsing clit and I could feel her pussy wetting with her arousal.

She was bucking against the two of us and spastically taking my rod in and out of her as her pussy both begged for it to be buried inside her and for the unbearable sensitivity to stop. She moaned, she cooed; for nearly a minute she came, riding out her orgasm - my little champ. She was so sexy that I could have filled her right then with my own cum, but something about the naughty look that Irene we giving me... eyes peering at me, one covered in a wisp of black hair, while she stayed latched to my sisters nipple... I knew there was a little more left in store for me.

My little playmate finally stopped her involuntary shivers and kissed the hand I'd laid upon her shoulder. It was a light kiss, a thank you kiss, and I thanked her back by wrapping an arm around her tight tummy and pulling her close. I was still sheathed snugly inside of her and began to withdraw; she hummed a complaint. I gave her one final thrust when I'd pulled halfway out and when my hips made contact for the last time she melted in my arms. I finally removed my cock from her entirely and she turned around to face me, placing her back against the cold tiles and jumping at the sensation of them against her back. She took my chin in one hand and pulled me close; we kissed deeply and sensually; my God she always tasted so good.

Meanwhile, Irene had fallen to her knees again and as Hanni and I finished with each other, our tongues darting out for the last time, I felt Irene take my shaft in her practiced hand. Looking down at her I saw her beautiful body once more: breasts full and high upon her chest, pink nipples standing at attention and her firm abdomen. She kissed my tip and must have intended to suck me into her warm, waiting mouth. As good as that would have felt, Irene had done enough work already and I knew it was time to give her the attention she deserved. With Hanni recovering, eyes closed and face toward the ceiling, I gently took Irene's chin in my hand and coaxed her upward with a gentle pull.

She came up to meet me, eyes full of wonder and lust. She didn't know why I'd stopped her, but soon realized that intended to tend to her and not the other way around. I urged her toward the high bench at one end of the shower, where the water still reached her legs. Hanni followed her there and sat beside her, still zoned out and inattentive. As I sat Irene down carefully on the edge of the seat and positioned my mouth between her taut thighs, I took time to admire the beautiful shape that she'd managed to stay in. I figured her for no more than 34, but for the impeccable skin and luscious curves she carried, she and Hanni could have been roommates.

I massaged at the skin just beside her equally firm cheeks, a spot Hanni always seemed to love when I touched. Sure enough, Irene's dainty toes stretched and her hands reached out to bring me closer to her immaculate and beautiful slit. Her inner lips just peaked out from within her mound and I could tell just by looking at it that her pussy was going to be a snug fit.

I wasted little time; we were both so fired up, me from my intense sex with my sister and Irene from watching and waiting. I looked up at her, waiting for permission to enter a new level of intimacy. Her eyes looked desperate and sensitive:

"Mmm hmm," she hummed to me.

I planted the tip of my tongue at the very bottom of her entrance and wiggled it just inside a quarter of an inch. I then dragged it up within her pussy and to her clit, painstakingly slow. She moaned for the entire ten seconds it must have taken me to reach her button and then let out an exasperated breath. I then worked around her clit, flicking it with my tongue while pressing my hands into every bit of flesh they could reach from my kneeled position between her legs.

Hanni had taken to kissing slowly and sensually at Irene's neck as she grazed her hands over Irene's breasts and midsection. By the time that Hanni had even opened her eyes I was working a finger and my tongue into Irene's pussy, it was getting wetter with each passing second. She was so tight, I couldn't even imagine that she'd had much sex despite how attractive I, and probably any man, found her; obviously Jinwoo hadn't won her over with his size.

When I detected that Irene was building toward an orgasm, I increased my efforts and Hanni, who had perceptively noticed before me had already begun sucking all over Irene's chest and nipples.

Irene reached a hand down and grabbed my hair in between her fingers, running them through my short haircut and caressing my scalp. Then, for some reason, she stopped me. I followed her leading hand back up to eye level again and with her pair of pretty, large eyes, she looked deep into mine.

"It's so good....hmmm," she breathed out what she'd been holding in as her orgasm first suggested itself, "If we keep going, I'm not sure I could stop."

There was sincerity in her voice, and though I thought she may have really put an end to our tryst, the lips that puckered ever so slightly and accepted my kiss so readily suggested otherwise.

Hanni was being mischievous again, and she quickly grabbed my cock in her hand as it hung stiff between Irene and I.

"Why would you want to?" she said seductively as she pressed my tip against Irene's mound and ran it slowly from bottom to top as I had with my tongue.

Irene resolve weakened visibly, the tenseness she'd been displaying since the first thought of being penetrated was melting away in front of me. As my head made contact with her puffy folds, she shivered and her hands shot out to my abs and her pussy. She ran her fingers over the place where my cock had touched, but didn't push me away.

"I shouldn't....Jinwoo," she whispered barely loud enough for us to hear. I leaned into her and kissed her again while Hanni's hand stroked my engorged shaft; it was still slick from her own pussy. I was in heaven - Irene's tongue, despite her protests, was playing with mine enthusiastically, and I could feel her body involuntarily gyrating and pressing her mound harder against me. Hanni was, herself, pushing me deeper and I could just barely feel my cockhead beginning to spread Irene's lips.

"I don't think I can take that....hmmm...... Jinwoo is nothing like it."

Hanni smiled, sensing in the beautiful brunette a weakening resistance. I thought, if only briefly, that I might be offending my sister with my desires for another woman, and my eyes sought hers. Irene hadn't yet given permission, but when Hanni's eyes found mine she knew immediately what they wanted to ask her.

Rather than answer, she took my face in her hand and leaned in between Irene and I. Her perfect tits rested deliciously on my arm as I was massaging Irene's wonderful midsection. She kissed me, quickly and deeply, and I immediately knew what her answer would be.

Hanni was even more impatient than I; she practically tugged on my cock and urged me to slide forward. I still wanted to respect Irene's wishes despite the fact I knew almost certainly she would crack, but Hanni caught me off guard. As we broke our kiss she urged me with a firm tug forward enough for my helmet to slip just beyond Irene's entrance.

Irene gasped. I quickly pulled back and removed myself from her the tight embrace of Irene's entrance. My head shined with the wetness of Irene's pussy and it looked ripe for another plunge deep into the beautiful brunette.

"Hanni....!" I scolded.

Hanni only lifted her eyebrows and motioned for me to look at Irene to see her reaction. I didn't know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised to find Irene's eyes closed and a look of undeniable satisfaction on her face. When she felt me pull back out after Hanni's bold actions, she interjected,

"Oh God... maybe just a little..." she cooed, "Hanni, do you mind if I ask your lover here for a little more."

Hanni grinned naughtily and leaned in to plant her answer tenderly on Irene's lips. I felt a bit left out for a moment, as if I were just being passed between the two beauties, but then I remembered that my cock was at the entrance to the young brunette and I couldn't possibly feel anything but content. I prodded Irene further, and she opened her eyes with Hanni breaking from her kiss. I began to slide in, inch after inch. Hanni watched intently, and she held my arm so she could still be a part of the action. I held her myself, grasping her little butt firmly in my hand so she could still tell how much I loved her. Even Hanni was growing impatient though, and seeing me draw out my plunge into Irene's pussy, she interjected,

"She just got through making love in the bedroom, I think you ought to give her what she really wants bro,"

I was still reeling from Hanni's newfound spunk, this naughty threesome in the shower of a crowded boat had her talking like a sex-fiend and I liked it. I could have turned back and fucked her again for how much she was turning me on. Instead, I looked back at Irene and saw that Hanni had been right:

"You're sister has a point Y/N, ughhhh," she said as I withdrew to start obliging her, she was almost giggling at Hanni's bluntness "think you can.... mmmmmnghh... make me come with that..... fuckkkk.... big cock?"

But I had already started to try, and with my gorgeous little playmate nuzzled into one side of my body and with my member now buried in the beautiful woman in front of me, there was no turning back. I started to plunge into Irene with little of the gentleness I often afforded my sister. I picked up the pace, and all three of us watched as my cock slipped inside her, causing Irene to gasp, and then slipped out covered in her lubricating fluids -- that part caused Hanni to gasp.

My little sister eventually propped herself up on the same seat as Irene to get a better spot for the action. Without her at my side to grasp onto and savor her perfect body, I opted for the luscious one of Irene instead. I grasped firmly and a bit more roughly than Irene had expected, not that she didn't like it. My fingers pressed into her hips, fuller and softer than Hanni's with Irene's slightly fuller build. I loved the change-up, however, and I was soon pounding into Irene without restraint. It felt glorious, her ass clapping against my thrusting hips and my shaft being squeezed by her slippery insides. Her tits weren't as large as Hanni's, and I looked over at Hanni to see that Irene was palming her breasts and fingering my sister in the most sensuous of ways. Indeed, Hanni's breasts were the best I'd ever seen and I couldn't wait to get my hands back on them, but Irene's... they were bouncing around at my rough pounding in a way that had me ready to spray inside her.

I wondered if Irene would have it however, and looking at both women I would have been equally happy to fill either one. But it was coming quickly, Irene's taut sheath was assuring that, and so was the unbelievably sexual girl-on-girl action unfolding before me. I might have been only and afterthought to Irene had I not been fucking her so hard.

"Ohhhh.......my...... Godddd...." She cried out, breaking a kiss with Hanni. I could see my sister smiling; she must have known what Irene was feeling.

"Irene, I'm getting close," I warned her, wondering what she would say.

At first she didn't respond, savoring my impaling cock further and leaning her head back adorably. But then she looked back at my sister, once again reminding me of the kind of attention a superstar like Hanni demanded and deserved. I slowed my pace a bit but kept ramming her with fervor, I hadn't fucked a girl like that, well....ever. Collecting herself, she asked Hanni:

"Do you want him to.... Ughhhh...." she seemed near orgasm as she spoke, "you know.... Mmmmnhhh... finish with you?"

But Hanni had never been a selfish girl, and she wanted Irene to have just as much fun as she did, plus she probably figured she had me as much as she wanted. "No way Irene, but just let me warn you, he's like a fire hose," Hanni said giggling. Irene's eyes widened, but she didn't stop me. Hanni backed away a bit but took my hand in hers, she just wanted to watch this part. I hadn't stopped fucking Irene the whole time, and she finally refocused her attention on me, not that I hadn't been caught up enough in my onslaught of her gorgeous body. I did catch Hanni's warning and it made me smile, I was looking forward to cumming in Irene if she'd have me. With Hanni's hand in mine I placed it back on Irene's hips and held on tight. Irene had been heading for orgasm long before me, so when I started to feel it, Irene was already howling. Hanni put a hand over her mouth with a worried hush; Irene understood and tried to keep quiet. "Ohhhh fuckkkk..... how can you stand it Hanni..... so fucking big!" she whispered as quietly as possible. Nobody awoke however, and as I thrust again and again into Irene's warm center I knew I'd be over the edge at any minute. Her slick channel gripped me, she began to climax, and hard. Her inner muscles were inordinately strong, more so than Hanni's, and whatever restraint I had left in me was broken when I tried to push passed them without cumming. I was cooked, and I blasted into Irene with reckless abandon. I kept thrusting, rope after rope of semen coating her insides and pumping deep into her womb. I wondered if she'd been trying to get pregnant with Jinwoo, and the risk that she might accidentally do so with me turned me on even more. It seemed to keep me spurting seed into her; it must have been ten times or more.

Maybe it was the fact that I'd just fucked my own little sister against the shower wall, or the fact that she was literally a Playboy Playmate, or maybe it was the fact that I was holding her hand as I came inside our host's beautiful albeit unsatisfied wife. Either way I was in heaven, and Hanni leaned into me once more as I began to slow and Irene rode out her orgasm. She reached down to Irene's clit to keep her going and she spasmed at Hanni's touch. I wished I knew how to stimulate the two women as well as they did, but I was content to watch the two beauties anyway.

Irene was still orgasming, mewing and gasping for air much like I'd seen Hanni do every time I'd been with her since the first time a few days ago. She was beautiful, and I felt nearly jealous that Jinwoo could be with her any time she let him, but then again... I had Hanni. I looked at my little sister and I smiled at her, looking deep into her eyes to make sure she knew how much I couldn't wait to be with her again. She knew though, and her cute grin and kiss she planted on my lips reassured me.

Irene started to come around, "Jesus," she breathed out. She bucked her hips involuntarily when I moved a bit. "I haven't been fucked like that since college," she sang. We all laughed a bit and it lightened the mood.

"So killer, do you think you can take that thing out of me or is it stuck?"

I decided to have a little fun with her and pressed in the inch or two I'd withdrawn; we both nearly fell over we were so sensitive. "I think it's stuck," I joked. I couldn't deny that it still felt incredible to be lodged inside of her.

"It better not be!" cried out my sister.

We all knew why she said that, and it made Irene smile. I finally slid out of her, and some of the mixture we'd created inside came out with me. "Well," Irene commented, "that might not have been my best decision ever." I kind of shrugged my shoulders as she stood up. She looked down between us at my semi-erect cock. It was touching her lightly at the waist and she wrapped a hand gently around it. "On second thought, it might have been."

Irene looked up to me and brought my lips to hers, she planted a sensuous kiss on my lips that tasted like berries; she really was a provocative beauty. The kiss we shared might have been good, but the one she next shared with my sister was better. Theirs lingered longer, and their hands briefly touched each other's bodies. When they broke it was Irene who spoke, "I'm going to leave you two alone," we watched in awe as she took a step away from us and turned back, "if you guys need another playmate this week, you know where to find me."

It was an odd choice of words, and both Hanni and I looked at each other with a bit of shock, she couldn't have known could she? She kept right on walking out the door, grabbing a towel and heading back for her bedroom. I wondered if her husband would notice that someone else had been inside his wife that night, and left something behind.

My attentions were broken by Hanni back at my side, she kissed me, and I kissed her back hard. Our hands roamed everywhere, both incredibly turned on by what had just happened, and inexpressibly glad to be back upon each other. We made out in the shower like that for God knows how long. It was a good thing Jinwoo had invested in some expensive water recirculating contraption because we took our time under the warm downpour kissing and touching like star-crossed lovers.

When our legs began to tire, we finally gave in, and I lovingly washed Hanni's body. I spent extra time on all of the features I love most, and I could hear her start to breathe more heavily when my hands washed over her tiny pussy. She did the same for me, not being too shy when she jerked her hand over my erect member to "clean" it. But she eventually finished the task, and after some more minutes of gentle kisses and an embrace that I could have kept going forever under the shower's streaming heat, we finally turned it off. I wrapped a towel around my sister, sorry to see the playmate's awesome body hidden for even a moment, and took one for myself.

I followed her down the hall and watched her cute butt sway, I think she was doing it on purpose but I could never tell. Before going back into our room I took a final glance at Irene's door, wondering what the rest of the week would be like with the beautiful brunette whom we'd both just made love to. Hanni tugged at my hand and I didn't really care, as long as my sister was there with me I would be in paradise.

We made love once before we fell asleep that night, and another time when Hanni awoke, feelingly naughty, on top of me. In the dim light I held and watched her move about with her own brother inside of her. The boat hitched gently back and forth as we had sex for what could have been hours; we were both insatiable. Neither of us knew what the future would bring but, lying there making love to the only person we'd ever wanted so badly, we finally drifted off into an unconcerned slumber.

[kole-cooler]

Armistice

Irene x m!reader

16k words

It's another wonderful day at work.

You're elbows deep in debugging some absolute spaghetti code left behind by whichever poor soul had this project before you landed here and basically started speedrunning corporate success. Honestly, it's kinda fun, like untangling a really stubborn knot, and you're making headway faster than anyone expected. Again. Which is probably why the person sitting directly opposite you looks like she's plotting your slow, painful demise via a thousand papercuts.

Bae Joohyun. Irene. Whatever. The talented Senior Analyst is glaring holes into her monitor, fingers typing methodically for minutes on end. You've learned to mostly tune out the low-level hum of animosity radiating from her cubicle. Ever since you arrived, the office has become a silent battlefield defined by your special talent for poking her buttons and her exquisite ways of retaliating - it's a private war, just you and her, and if you're honest, which you usually are, (internally at least), you kinda dig having her undivided, furious attention focused right on you. But it's a completely harmless dynamic, of course, mostly fought with weaponized sighs and strategically 'misplaced' documents, so there are no actual injuries... for now.

The scent of mediocre office coffee hits your nose before she even rounds the corner of your sad little grey cubicle wall. You look up, genuinely surprised for a second. Irene is standing there, holding two steaming paper cups like some kind of caffeine-bearing angel of death. She almost never initiates contact unless it's work-related and unavoidable, and even then, it's usually clipped and bordering on hostile.

She thrusts one of the cups towards you, avoiding direct eye contact. Her expression is... carefully neutral.

Red flag number one.

"Here."

Just one word. Wow. Must have taken Herculean effort. Still, coffee is coffee, and you were just thinking about getting some. Maybe she's trying to bury the hatchet? Unlikely, but hey, stranger things have happened. Like you getting promoted twice in six months while she’s been diligently treading water in the same spot for five years.

Okay, maybe not that strange.

"Whoa, thanks, Joohyun," you say, making a point of using her actual name because you know it bugs her when people she doesn't like do it. You take the cup, your fingers brushing hers for a millisecond. Static electricity? Or just wishful thinking? Her hand snatches back like you burned her. Definitely wishful thinking. "Didn't know you cared."

She finally looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in those dark eyes before it's gone, replaced by practiced indifference.

"Just grabbed an extra."

She turns away before you can reply, retreating back to the relative safety of her own desk. Okay. Weird, but free coffee. You shrug and take a generous gulp, ready for that sweet, sweet caffeine hit to power you through the rest of this coding nightmare...

Motherfucker.

The liquid hitting your tongue is less ‘morning pick-me-up’ and more ‘battery acid mixed with Satan’s ass sweat’. It's unbelievably bitter, acrid, like someone brewed coffee using dirt and pure spite. You choke, sputtering, barely managing not to spray it all over your keyboard. Your eyes water instantly.

Did someone actually try to poison you?

Across the way, a small sound escapes Irene. A choked-off giggle. You whip your head up, eyes narrowed, just in time to see her shoulders shaking slightly. Her head is bowed, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching violently. Oh, you know that look.

She lifts her head, biting her lip, but the laughter spills out anyway – a bright, surprisingly melodic sound that’s completely at odds with the usual storm cloud hovering over her.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, I am so sorry!"

She’s failing miserably at sounding sincere, gasping for air between laughs.

"That must be mine! I got black, no sugar, extra shot–" she waves her own cup, "–this must be yours. Sorry!"

She pushes her chair back and practically skips over, grabbing the toxic sludge from your hand and replacing it with the cup she was holding. She’s still grinning, a wide, mischievous smile that completely transforms her face. It makes her look pretty, almost playful. And yeah, still really fucking cute. Annoyingly cute.

You take the new cup warily, sniffing it first. Smells like actual coffee this time. Maybe some kind of latte? You take a tentative sip. Ah, bliss. Sweet, creamy, actually palatable. You look back at her, raising an eyebrow.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Her eyes go wide in mock innocence, but the smile doesn't fade. If anything, it gets wider.

"What? No! Why would I do that? It was an honest mistake."

She leans against the flimsy wall of your cubicle, crossing her arms. The pose pushes her chest out slightly against the simple blouse she’s wearing. You pointedly drag your eyes away from that area and back to her face. Liar.

"Because you're an evil, coffee-sabotaging psychopath, Bae Joohyun. That's why."

The use of her full name again makes her smile flicker for a split second, but she recovers quickly.

"I am not a psychopath," she insists, though the laughter dancing in her eyes totally undermines the statement. "It was an accident. Clumsy me."

"Uh-huh. Clumsy you who just happened to give me the cup that tastes like burnt charcoal?"

"Maybe you just have unrefined taste?" she shoots back, tilting her head. "Mine is an acquired taste. Sophisticated."

"Sophisticated?" you scoff, taking another, much more satisfying sip of the latte she apparently bought for you. Wait. Did she actually buy this for you? Or was this also part of the 'accident'? "Sophisticated like licking a nine-volt battery?"

She laughs again, properly this time. It’s weird hearing it directed at you without malice. Mostly.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she winks, then pushes off the wall. "Enjoy your correct coffee. Try not to spill it, newbie."

She saunters back to her desk, leaving you slightly bewildered and weirdly charmed. Okay, so she's a menace. A petty, coffee-tampering menace. But the smile? The laugh? That was... something. You can't help the small smile that tugs at your own lips as you watch her settle back down, immediately plastering her 'focused professional' face back on, though you think you see her hide another small smile behind her hand.

The next few hours pass in a state of low-grade trench warfare, which is pretty much standard operating procedure for you two. You ‘accidentally’ CC her on an email chain praising your team’s recent (mostly your) accomplishments. She ‘helpfully’ points out a typo in a report you finished ages ago, sending it back with track changes highlighting the single incorrect comma. You change her desktop background to an aggressively cheerful cartoon sloth. She retaliates by ‘accidentally’ dropping a heavy binder near your foot that makes you jump.

It’s childish. It’s ridiculous. It’s also, somehow, the most entertaining part of your workday. You find yourself glancing over at her more than strictly necessary, catching her doing the same. There’s a weird energy crackling in the air between your cubicles today, different from the usual simmering resentment. It’s lighter, almost... fun. She meets your eyes once, a challenge glinting in hers, and you just grin back, provocative.

The fragile détente is broken by the intercom buzzing to life. It’s Mr. Choi, the division head. Your boss. Her boss. The big boss.

"Ms. Bae, could you come to my office, please?"

The shift is instantaneous. Irene straightens up, the playful irritation wiped clean from her features, replaced by cool, efficient professionalism. She smooths down her skirt – a perfectly tailored pencil skirt today, you note distractedly – and stands, grabbing a notepad and pen. She gives you one quick, unreadable glance as she walks past your cubicle, heading towards the corner offices.

Right, so Irene vanishes into the mahogany-lined sanctum of Mr. Choi, leaving you to your devices and the lingering taste of non-poisonous latte. You try to focus back on the code, but your ears are practically straining towards the boss’s closed door. What’s going on in there? Is she getting chewed out? Promoted? Fired and replaced by a more efficient coffee machine? The possibilities are endless, and infinitely more interesting than Javascript errors.

A few minutes crawl by, each one stretching like taffy. Wendy from Accounting sighs loud enough to register on the Richter scale. Someone microwaves fish again – seriously, who does that? You’re just about to give up hope and dive back into the digital trenches when the intercom crackles again, this time, calling your name.

Okay, now things are officially Interesting with a capital I. You quickly save your work, smooth down your clothes (whatever suitably cool-but-casual thing you threw on this morning), and head towards the corner office, a little bounce in your step. Maybe you’re getting praised again. Maybe they’re announcing your joint promotion and Irene will have an aneurysm right there on the expensive carpet. Win-win, really.

You rap lightly on the heavy doorframe.

"Come in!" Choi’s voice booms.

You push the door open and step inside. Yep, there she is. Irene’s standing rigidly beside one of the guest chairs, posture ramrod straight, hands clasped tightly behind her back. Her face is a carefully constructed mask of neutrality, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the slight flare of her nostrils. She refuses to look at you, her gaze fixed somewhere over Choi’s left shoulder. Mr. Choi himself is beaming behind his ridiculously oversized desk, radiating the kind of forced corporate bonhomie that usually means someone’s about to get screwed over.

"Ah, here you are, thanks for joining us! Close the door, have a seat."

You flash a quick, confident smile, closing the door and taking the plush leather chair opposite Irene’s stiff form. She still doesn’t acknowledge you.

Choi leans forward, steepling his fingers. "So, I’ve just been discussing an exciting opportunity with Ms. Bae, and I wanted to loop you in."

He launches into it. Apparently, there's this potentially lucrative partnership with an older, established company – Ishikawa Tech or something equally generic-sounding. They're big on tradition, nostalgia, all that crap. Means they want to sign the final contracts in person, shake hands, maybe sacrifice a goat, who knows. The meeting point? Some coastal city known for its seafood and slightly depressing beaches. Not exactly Paris, but hey, it’s not here.

"It's a significant deal," Choi continues, his eyes flicking between you and Irene. "Requires a delicate touch. Which is why I want our best on it." He nods towards Irene. "Ms. Bae has meticulously handled the groundwork, knows the Ishikawa team inside out. Naturally, she’ll be taking the lead on finalizing everything."

Irene gives a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. You can practically feel the 'but' coming.

"However," Choi adds, turning his beaming smile onto you, "this company is also very interested in our recent innovations.”

Oh boy, here it comes.

"You've shown exceptional drive and talent since joining us," Choi continues, laying it on thick. "But client-facing negotiation, especially with... traditionalists like Ishikawa, is a different beast. So, you'll be accompanying Ms. Bae."

He gestures towards Irene, who visibly flinches.

"She'll show you the ropes, guide you through the process. Think of it as a mentorship field trip."

Mentorship field trip. Brilliant. You fight the urge to laugh out loud. This is golden. Annoying Irene and getting a paid trip out of town? Sign you the fuck up.

"That sounds fantastic, Mr. Choi!" you say, injecting maximum enthusiasm into your voice. You turn to Irene, putting on your most earnest 'eager student' face. "Wow, Irene, thanks for taking me under your wing. I'm really looking forward to learning from your experience."

You see her knuckles whiten where her hands are clasped behind her back. Her mask cracks just enough for you to see the fury simmering beneath.

"Mr. Choi," Irene begins, her voice dangerously low and tight, yet somehow still retaining that soft, almost breathy quality she can’t seem to shake, even when she’s furious. It's a bizarre contrast. "With all due respect, I appreciate the confidence, but I really don't think that's necessary."

"Oh?" Choi raises an eyebrow, his smile tightening fractionally.

"This negotiation is at a critical stage," Irene presses on, finally looking at Choi directly, though she still pointedly ignores you. "It requires focus and familiarity with the nuances of the Ishikawa account, which I possess. Bringing someone... new... into the dynamic at this point could potentially jeopardise the deal. It seems inefficient."

Translation: She doesn't want you anywhere near her important project, and definitely not cramping her style on a trip.

"Efficiency is important, Ms. Bae, but so is growth," Choi counters smoothly. "And teamwork." He leans back, his expression turning serious. "Look, let's be frank. We have several key leadership positions opening up next quarter. I'm looking for individuals who not only excel in their roles but can also collaborate, mentor, and lead effectively."

He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air. Oh, he’s good.

"This trip," he continues, his gaze sweeping over both of you, "is more than just signing a contract. It's a test. Can our seasoned veterans work constructively with our rising stars? Can you two," he gestures between you, "function as a team to achieve a critical objective?"

Irene's lips thin into a white line. She knows exactly where this is going.

"Because frankly," Choi adds, his voice dropping slightly, becoming steelier, "if showcasing teamwork is going to be an issue... if you're opposed to this collaborative approach, Ms. Bae... then perhaps I need to reconsider who takes the lead on this trip altogether. Maybe someone else is better suited to represent the company's future direction."

Checkmate. The threat hangs there, unspoken but crystal clear: Play ball with the newbie, or kiss your chance at climbing out of middle-management purgatory goodbye. You watch Irene wrestle with it. Her pride is practically screaming, but the ambition, the years of grinding away hoping for a break just like this? That’s a powerful motivator too. You see the exact moment her ambition wins. Her shoulders slump, just fractionally.

"...No, sir," she says, the words sounding like they're physically painful to utter. "That won't be an issue. I understand the importance of teamwork. We'll make it work."

Choi beams again, all trace of steeliness gone. "Excellent! That's what I like to hear. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?" He chuckles at his own terrible joke. Irene does not. "Okay then! The trip is scheduled for next week. Flights, hotel, itinerary – my assistant will email you all the details by end of day tomorrow. Good work, both of you. Dismissed."

You stand up, practically buzzing. Irene pushes herself away from the wall like she's moving underwater. You walk out together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you in the corridor. You can't resist:

"Well," you say cheerfully, bumping her shoulder lightly. "This should be fun, huh? Team building!"

Irene stops dead, whirling around to face you. If looks could kill, you’d be a pile of ash on the industrial carpet. Her dark eyes are blazing, her pale cheeks are flushed with anger, and her perfectly shaped lips are pressed so tightly together they’ve almost disappeared. She looks like she wants to rip your throat out. And yet… that voice. When she finally speaks, it's incredibly smooth, but vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage.

"Fun," Irene grits out. She prepares to say something else, but gives up halfway. "Just… stay out of my way."

And with that, she turns on her heel and practically stomps back towards her cubicle, leaving you standing there in the hallway, a wide grin spreading across your face. Oh yeah. This trip was going to be anything but boring.

—

Right, so the week before the trip happens is basically a masterclass in passive aggression, mostly radiating from one Bae Joohyun. She communicates primarily through curt emails that somehow manage to sound personally offended by your existence. She avoids eye contact like you’ve got Medusa hair. If you happen to pass her in the hallway, she develops a sudden, intense interest in the ceiling tiles or her own shoes. It’s kind of impressive, really, the sheer effort she puts into pretending you’re invisible.

Naturally, you respond with escalating levels of cheerful provocation. You leave a bright pink sticky note on her monitor that just says "Smile! :)" which earns you a glare so lethal you’re surprised your hair doesn’t catch fire. You hum loudly (slightly off-key) whenever she’s trying to concentrate. You ‘accidentally’ start using the ridiculously oversized novelty mug someone left in the kitchen, the one you know she secretly coveted, for your disgusting instant coffee. Petty? Absolutely. Fun? Definitely. By the time Friday rolls around, the air between your cubicles is thick enough with tension to require a machete.

Travel day arrives, grey and early. You drag your suitcase (packed efficiently, because unlike some people, you don’t need five years to prepare for a three-day trip) towards the designated airline check-in area. The airport buzzes with that unique blend of frantic energy and soul-crushing boredom. You scan the crowds, looking for a small, probably scowling figure radiating waves of displeasure.

Bingo. There she is, standing near the gate information screen, looking ridiculously out of place. She’s wearing tailored black trousers, heels (seriously, heels for a flight?), and a crisp white blouse under a sharp blazer. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek, severe ponytail. Even her small carry-on suitcase looks expensive and judgmental. You, meanwhile, are rocking comfortable jeans, sneakers, and a well-worn band t-shirt under your open jacket. You both have coats slung over your arms – the destination city is apparently known for being chilly, especially at night. You approach her, dragging your offensively non-designer suitcase.

"Morning, sunshine!" you chirp, offering your most annoying grin. "Ready for our big adventure?"

Irene jumps slightly, clearly not having heard you approach over the airport din. She turns, and her expression tightens when she sees you. So much for burying the hatchet.

"Don't call me sunshine," she says flatly. "Do you have your boarding pass? We need to get through security."

"Relax, Joohyun-ah," you drawl, enjoying the way her eye twitches at the informal suffix. "Got everything right here. Plenty of time. Flight doesn't board for another hour."

She just gives you a withering look, checks her watch pointedly, and turns towards the security line without another word. You sigh dramatically and follow her, maneuvering your bag around a slow-moving family. The flight itself is… uneventful. Mostly because Irene immediately puts on noise-cancelling headphones and pretends to sleep, effectively building a wall between you thicker than any cubicle divider. Fine by you. You watch a terrible action movie on the tiny screen and try not to think about how close her knee is to yours in the cramped economy seats.

Hours later, you land. It's dark outside, the runway lights glittering against the blackness. Stepping off the plane, the air feels different – cooler, maybe cleaner than back home. The airport is quieter than the one you left, smaller, with that slightly liminal feel of arrival halls late at night. You grab your bags from the carousel (yours appears instantly; hers takes ages, much to her visible, though silent, frustration) and head towards the exit signs.

Your stomach rumbles. Plane food was predictably awful.

"Hey, wanna grab something to eat before we hit the road?" you suggest, nodding towards a generic-looking cafe tucked away near the rental car area. "My treat. Well, Choi's treat." You dangle the shiny corporate credit card enticingly.

Irene hesitates. You can see the internal conflict. On one hand: dealing with you longer than absolutely necessary. On the other hand: free food and a valid excuse to delay the multi-hour drive she’s clearly dreading. Pragmatism (and maybe hunger) wins.

"Fine," she concedes, sighing like it’s a huge imposition. "But make it quick. We need to get the car and make up some time."

You find a booth in the brightly lit, mostly empty cafe. It smells faintly of stale coffee and disinfectant. Cheerful. You order burgers and fries – comfort food – while Irene opts for a sad-looking salad and black coffee. Because of course she does. While you wait, she pulls out a sleek tablet and immediately switches into work mode.

"Okay," she starts, tapping the screen and pulling up documents filled with charts and bullet points. "Ishikawa's main point person is Kenji Tanaka. He's old school, values formality and long-term relationships over quick wins. We need to emphasize stability, reliability..."

She launches into a detailed breakdown of the negotiation strategy, potential pitfalls, key phrases to use and avoid. You have to admit, she knows her shit. She’s thorough, prepared, and clearly passionate about nailing this deal. It’s almost attractive, seeing her in her element, laser-focused and competent. Almost.

You lean back, popping a stray fry into your mouth while she talks. You nod occasionally, but your eyes keep drifting to the scrolling news ticker on the muted TV above the counter, then to the tired-looking barista wiping down the espresso machine. Irene pauses, noticing your wandering attention.

"Are you even listening?" she asks, irritation sharpening her soft voice.

"Hm? Yeah, totally," you say, turning back to her. "Tanaka, old school, hates fun, got it. So, basically, just be my opposite?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. "This isn't a joke. This is important. Mr. Choi put me in charge of this, but your performance reflects on the team effort. Can you please try and take this seriously?"

"I am taking it seriously," you protest mildly, stealing another fry. "I'm seriously hungry. And seriously impressed by your color-coded flowchart, by the way. Very… thorough."

"It's not a flowchart, it's a risk assessment matrix," she snaps, her cheeks flushing slightly. God, she gets riled up so easily. It's ridiculously endearing.

"Matrix, flowchart, whatever. Point is, you got this covered, right? I'm just here for... mentorship," you say, waggling your eyebrows. "And the company card."

Irene makes a strangled noise, halfway between a sigh and a growl. "Just… try not to embarrass me in front of the client, okay? Stick to the plan. Let me do the talking unless Tanaka specifically addresses you."

"Affirmative, commander," you salute lazily with your fork.

She glares at you, takes a vicious bite of lettuce, and pointedly returns her attention to her tablet, effectively ending the conversation. You finish your burger in comfortable (for you, anyway) silence, watching the way the harsh fluorescent light catches the curve of her cheekbone.

Dinner done, card swiped, it's time to face the next hurdle: the rental car. You follow Irene towards the rental counters, her heels clicking purposefully on the linoleum floor. You handle the paperwork at the counter – the agent seems slightly charmed by your easygoing manner, much to Irene's apparent annoyance as she stands off to the side tapping her foot impatiently. Keys secured, you head out into the multi-level parking garage. The air here is colder, smelling of exhaust fumes and damp concrete.

You locate the assigned bay. It’s exactly what you expected: a bland, silver sedan. Practical, boring, utterly devoid of personality. Just like corporate wanted. Before you can even reach for the driver's side door, Irene sweeps past you.

"I'll drive," she states, not a request.

She unlocks the car with a decisive click and slides into the driver's seat, tossing her expensive-looking handbag onto the passenger seat beside her as if claiming territory. She immediately starts adjusting the seat, the mirrors, her hands moving with brisk efficiency.

You shrug, tossing your coat and duffel bag onto the back seat before sliding into the passenger side, pushing her bag onto the floor to make room for your legs. The door closes with a solid thunk, sealing you both inside the small space. Outside, the parking garage is dimly lit and cavernous. Ahead lies the exit, the highway, and hours of driving through the night with Bae Joohyun beside you, radiating tightly controlled hostility. She puts the key in the ignition, the engine humming quietly to life. The dashboard lights illuminate her face, casting sharp shadows under her cheekbones. She grips the steering wheel, knuckles white.

Yeah, this is going to be a long night.

—

The silver sedan eats up the miles, but time seems to stretch and warp inside the car. Outside, it’s pitch black, the kind of dark you only get away from city lights. Rain lashes against the windshield. The wipers swish back and forth, a monotonous metronome counting out the seconds of crushing boredom. Your phone dropped signal about thirty miles back, rendering it a useless brick. Irene is hyper-focused on the road, her small hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two like she’s piloting a space shuttle through an asteroid field, not driving a boring rental on a mostly straight highway.

The silence isn’t comfortable. It’s thick, charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. You fidget, stare out the rain-streaked side window at nothing, try to nap, fail. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. Time to poke the bear.

"So," you begin, turning slightly in your seat to face her profile, illuminated starkly by the dashboard lights. "Ms. Bae Joohyun. When you're not busy being a corporate assassin and terrorizing innocent newbies like myself, what exactly do you do for fun? Collect rare stamps? Practice your death glare in the mirror?"

She doesn't even glance at you. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

"I'm focusing on driving."

Her voice is clipped, dismissing you utterly. Okay. Round one to Irene. But you're bored, and honestly, a little curious. What makes the office ice queen tick?

"Right, right, safety first," you concede easily. "But come on, there's gotta be something. Music? Movies? Tap dancing?" You try another angle. "What are you listening to in those fancy headphones when you're pretending to sleep on planes?"

A tiny sigh escapes her, barely audible over the rain and engine hum. Progress!

"Sometimes I listen to music," she admits, her eyes still fixed on the wet ribbon of road ahead.

"Oh yeah? What kind?" you press, leaning forward slightly. "Death metal? K-Pop? Whale songs?"

Another sigh, this one heavier. "Classical. Sometimes R&B. Does it matter?"

"Just making conversation," you shrug. "Long drive. What else? Read? Watch TV? Binge-watch documentaries about serial killers?"

"I read," she says curtly. "Fiction, mostly."

Okay, you're getting somewhere. It's like pulling teeth, but they're coming out one by one. You decide to switch gears, get a little more personal, maybe touch a nerve.

"Alright, forget hobbies. Let's talk shop, but like, real talk. What's your actual endgame at Choi Industries? What's the master plan, Joohyun? You aiming for Choi's corner office? Planning a hostile takeover via impeccably organized spreadsheets?"

That gets a reaction. Her head snaps towards you for a split second, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Why do you want to know?" she asks. "Trying to figure out the competition? Get some inside info for your own climb?"

Bingo. Hit a nerve. You put on your most innocent expression.

"Whoa, defensive much? Just curious," you deflect smoothly. "We're stuck in a car together for hours, might as well talk about something other than the weather. Isn't that what team building is all about? Sharing our hopes and dreams?"

She scoffs, a short, bitter sound. "Right. My hopes and dreams." She turns her attention back to the road, but her grip on the wheel seems even tighter. "I want to advance my career. Build something lasting. Move up. Same as anyone else. It's nothing special."

"Hmm," you hum thoughtfully, leaning your head back against the headrest. "You know, Irene," you say, using her preferred name deliberately this time, softening your tone just a fraction, "you're genuinely really good at the actual work. Like, seriously sharp. Your planning for this Ishikawa thing? Top-notch."

You let the compliment hang there for a second. You see her shoulders relax, just slightly. Hook, line...

"...But," you continue, casual again, "you're also kind of terrifying. You know that, right? You walk around like you expect someone to shank you over the last good stapler. All business, zero chill. It keeps people at arm's length." You pause. "That stuff matters, you know. The connections, the schmoozing, whatever you want to call it. Choi didn't put us on this trip just to sign a paper. He practically spelled out 'networking test'."

Her head whips back around, glare fully engaged. The brief moment of détente is shattered.

"I don't need your advice on how to do my job or manage my career," she spits out, her tone low and tight, that soft quality making the anger sound even more intense. "I've been at this company for five years. Almost ten years years of experience in the field. I know how things work."

"Yeah?" you counter, unable to resist pushing back. The dynamic is just too tempting. "You've been there five years. I've been there, what, six months? And yet, here we are. Same car, same crappy business trip, same potential promotion hanging in the balance if we don't screw this up." You let that sink in. "Seems like I'm learning how things work a little faster."

That does it. Her composure finally cracks. Her face flushes a dark red, visible even in the dim light.

"Oh, that is such bullshit!" she practically yells, hitting the steering wheel lightly with the palm of her hand. Her voice trembles slightly with fury. "It is so easy for you! You just waltz in, young, charming guy, probably went to the right schools, Choi loves you instantly! You think it's the same for me? You think I haven't worked twice as hard just to get half the recognition? You being a man in that office gives you a fucking ladder while I'm stuck trying to claw my way up a sheer cliff!"

Wow. Okay. That was... more raw than you expected. You lean back, genuinely taken aback for a second. She has a point, probably. You don't doubt she's faced sexist crap or had to fight harder.

"Okay, fair enough," you concede, holding up a hand slightly. "Maybe it's not a level playing field. Probably isn't. I get that." You pause, letting the admission settle. "But you can't pin everything on that. You gotta admit, you make things harder for yourself sometimes. You're so damn rigid, so determined to be seen as tough and serious, you shut down any chance for... other things, other opportunities. You push people away before they even get close."

"Oh, other things?" she echoes, and doesn't even try to hide the sarcasm implicit in her tone. "What 'other things'? What 'opportunities' am I supposedly missing out on by trying to do my job professionally?"

You just smile, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips. You meet her eyes in the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second. You don't answer, letting the question hang there, heavy and suggestive, in the charged silence of the car.

Irene lets out a frustrated groan, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ugh, I hate smug people," she mutters, mostly to herself, but loud enough for you to hear. "People who think they know everything..."

She stares straight ahead, focusing intently on the rain-slicked highway. The silence descends again, but this time it feels different. Not just boring, but thick with unspoken arguments, accusations, and that tantalizing, unanswered question. You drove maybe another five, ten kilometers like that, just the sound of the engine, the rain, the wipers, and Irene radiating pure, unadulterated annoyance.

Then, the engine sputters.

It's subtle at first, a slight hesitation, a cough. Irene frowns, glancing down at the dashboard. It sputters again, louder this time, the car visibly losing speed.

"What the–?" Irene mutters, pressing the accelerator. The engine whines in protest but doesn't pick up speed. Instead, it coughs again, more violently. Warning lights you don't recognize flicker to life on the dashboard.

"Shit," Irene breathes, real panic coloring her voice now. "No, no, no, not now."

The car lurches, engine sputtering weakly, power draining rapidly. She wrestle with the wheel, expertly maneuvering the dying vehicle onto the narrow, muddy shoulder of the road as the engine gives one last pathetic cough and cuts out entirely.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence, broken only by the drumming of rain on the roof and Irene's suddenly audible, slightly panicked breathing. You're plunged into near total darkness as the headlights die too, leaving only the faint, eerie glow of the hazard lights she frantically switches on.

"Oh my god," she whispers, staring straight ahead, hands still clamped onto the useless steering wheel. "No. This cannot be happening."

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Okay. Deep breaths, commander. Let's see what we're dealing with."

You push open your door, the sound of the steady downpour instantly filling the car. Cold, damp air washes over you as you step out onto the soggy gravel shoulder. You squint into the darkness, the rental car looking pitifully small and dead under the vast, black, weeping sky. You're well and truly stranded.

You fumble with your phone, switching on the flashlight app. The beam cuts a weak cone through the driving rain, illuminating the front of the dead sedan. Great. You try to find the hood release lever inside, cursing softly as your fingers brush against unknown sticky spots under the dash. Finally, you hear a clunk from the front. You push your already soaked self further out into the downpour, wrestling with the heavy, wet hood.

Suddenly, a small circle of relative dryness appears above you. You look up, startled. Irene is standing there, holding a surprisingly sturdy-looking black umbrella she must have magically conjured from that Mary Poppins bag of hers. She stands on her tiptoes, struggling to keep the umbrella on top of your head. Rain streams off the edges, but the patch directly over the engine bay – and you – is mostly clear. Her face is pale in the erratic glow of your phone light, eyes wide, looking genuinely worried. She holds the umbrella steady, shielding you from the worst of the deluge.

"Do you… do you know anything about cars?" she asks.

"Define 'anything'," you grunt, finally managing to prop the heavy hood open. You shine the light inside at the bewildering maze of pipes, wires, and greasy metal components. "I know they generally need gas, and that smoke coming out of the wrong place is usually bad news. That's about the extent of my mechanical genius."

You lean closer, phone held precariously in one hand, trying to look like you have a clue what you're seeing. Everything looks… like an engine. Wet, mostly.

"Oh god, we're going to die out here," Irene mutters, sounding genuinely distressed. "Or get murdered by truckers."

"Relax," you say, trying to project confidence you absolutely do not feel. "Let's check the basics." You shine the light on the big square thing with the knobs on top. The battery. "Sometimes these connections just get loose or corroded." You reach towards one of the terminals, the one with the red cap mostly covering it. It looks... wiggly.

"Be careful!" Irene yelps, flinching back slightly as you touch it.

"It's fine," you assure her, though you're mostly assuring yourself. You grab the connector and wiggle it. It’s definitely loose. You try to tighten it by hand, grimacing as your fingers scrape against rough metal and accumulated grime. You push it down firmly onto the post, twisting it slightly. There's a tiny, almost invisible spark, making Irene gasp. "See? Just needs a little push." You hope. "Okay, let's try that."

You slam the hood shut, making her jump again. "Moment of truth."

You both slide back into the car, dripping water onto the upholstery. The relative quiet inside feels strange after the noise of the rain. You take a deep breath, stick the key back in the ignition, and turn.

The engine turns over once, twice... then roars – okay, maybe hums – back to life. The headlights cut through the darkness again. The dashboard lights up, then settles back to normal. Sweet internal combustion.

Irene lets out a massive sigh, the tension visibly draining from her body. She slumps back against the seat, closing her eyes for a second. "Oh, thank god," she breathes.

You put the car in drive, check the mirrors (just blackness and rain), and carefully pull the sedan back onto the highway, the tires sloshing through puddles. You drive in silence for a few miles, the only sounds the engine, the rain, and the rhythmic thump of the wipers. The atmosphere has shifted, though. The earlier hostility is replaced by a weird, shared sense of relief and… awkwardness.

Finally, Irene stirs beside you. She clears her throat quietly.

"Hey," she starts. She’s staring straight ahead, but you can feel her looking at you peripherally. "Um... thanks. Back there. For... fixing it."

"No big deal," you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant, even though you're secretly preening over your unexpected mechanical success. "Thing was practically falling off. Anyone would've noticed."

"No, really," she insists, actually turning her head slightly to look at you now. Her expression is strangely earnest in the dim glow from the dashboard. "Thank you. I... I panicked." She pauses, then takes another breath, like she’s forcing the words out. "And... look, I'm sorry. Okay? For... you know." She gestures vaguely. "How I am. Sometimes. I know I can be..." She trails off, apparently unable to find the right word.

'Abrasive'? 'Hostile'? 'Terrifying'?

You glance over at her, surprised by the sudden apology. This is new territory. Instead of piling on, something else comes out.

"Difficult?" you supply gently, then shake your head. "Nah. You're not difficult." You lean back, thinking for a second. "You're intense. Focused. Driven. Honestly?" You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Sometimes I wish I had more of that. Wish I was less... this," you gesture vaguely at your own relaxed posture, "and more, you know, serious. Like you."

You expect a scoff, or maybe suspicion. Instead, she stares at you for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then, a small smile touches her lips, and a genuine laugh escapes her – not the mocking giggle from the coffee incident, but a real, warm sound. It lights up her face in the dim light.

"You?" she says, still chuckling softly. "Serious? You couldn't be serious for five minutes if your life depended on it."

"Hey!" you protest, though you're smiling too. "Okay, maybe not. You're right. Impossible." You grin. "That's why I don't even try. Why fight nature, right?"

Her laughter fades into a soft smile. She turns back to the road, but the stiffness is gone from her shoulders. "I guess not," she murmurs. After another moment of silence, she adds, quieter still, "Things were definitely… less monotonous after you joined the company, though."

Less monotonous. Her version of 'you're loud and annoying, but occasionally amusing'? You'll take it. An image flashes into your mind – bright lights, bad music, the clink of glasses.

"Less monotonous, huh?" you say, a teasing note creeping back into your voice. "Speaking of shaking things up... remember that company Christmas party? The first one after I started?"

You see her stiffen instantly, a dark blush creeping up her neck. Oh yeah. She remembers.

"Don't," she warns.

"What?" you feign innocence. "It was memorable! You were... surprisingly un-serious." You recall the scene vividly – Irene, usually so composed, tie slightly askew (did she even wear a tie? Maybe just metaphorical), laughing loudly at someone's bad joke, swaying slightly on her feet. Definitely holding a champagne flute like it owed her money. "You were actually... fun. Relaxed. Pretty sure you tried to teach someone how to floss dance."

"I did not," she insists, though the blush deepens. "I had... too much champagne. It was embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?" you counter, leaning towards her slightly. "I thought it was great. Honestly? For a second there, I thought that was the real Bae Joohyun. All that fire, but loose, you know? Not so tightly wound." You pause, letting the implication land. "Been kind of hoping Party Irene would make a comeback ever since."

She refuses to look at you, staring fixedly at the road, her lips pressed into a thin line again. Maybe you pushed too far. You decide to dial it back, just a notch.

"But hey," you say, your tone softening slightly, becoming more sincere. "Kidding aside. Party Irene, Work Irene... whatever. I actually do respect you. You bust your ass, you're damn smart, and you clearly care about doing things right." You shrug. "Even if you are scary as hell sometimes."

You offer the truce, the small olive branch. She glances at you, her expression flickering – surprise? Suspicion? Then, the walls slam back into place. Her eyes narrow, the familiar competitive glint returning.

"Oh, don't even try that," she scoffs. "Appealing to my emotions, pretending to be nice... It won't work. You're not getting that promotion by trying to soften me up."

You stare at her for a second, then burst out laughing. Of course. Back to business. The brief ceasefire is officially over.

"Soften you up?" you chuckle, shaking your head. "Please. I'm just trying to be a decent human being before your poor little heart gets crushed next month when Choi inevitably gives the job to me." You wink. "Gotta manage expectations, right?"

She makes an exasperated sound but doesn't retort immediately, a tiny smile playing on her lips despite herself.

The adrenaline from the breakdown and fix fades, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. Your eyes feel gritty, and the endless stretch of rain-slicked highway seems to go on forever. Just as you’re seriously considering if nodding off and dying in a fiery wreck might be preferable to another hour of this, a flickering neon sign pierces the gloom ahead. ‘EAT’ it buzzes, next to the familiar logo of a gas station chain. Salvation, or at least, caffeine and questionable roller grill hot dogs.

“Pit stop?” you suggest, already slowing down and flicking your turn signal.

Irene just nods, eyes half-closed. “Good idea. And get gas. The hotel should be close according to the GPS, but better safe than sorry.”

You pull up to the pumps under the bright fluorescent canopy. The rain has eased slightly to a persistent drizzle. While the tank fills, you run into the attached convenience store slash diner. It smells of stale coffee, frying onions, and damp travelers. You grab two coffees, a couple of bottles of water, and some bags of chips – gourmet dining. Irene stays in the car, scrolling through something on her phone with fierce concentration, probably work emails. Figures.

Back in the car, coffee distributed, you navigate back onto the highway. You hold up the keys before putting them in the ignition.

“You wanna take over for the last leg? GPS says maybe twenty minutes to the hotel.”

Irene shakes her head, taking a cautious sip of her coffee. “No, it’s okay. You can keep driving. You’re… doing fine.”

Huh. A compliment? Or just too tired to argue? Either way, you’ll take it. You start the car, the familiar hum filling the space. The slightly thawed atmosphere from the post-breakdown conversation seems to linger.

“So,” you begin casually, glancing over at her. She seems marginally less hostile, maybe just worn down. “We established you don’t have any secret hobbies involving taxidermy or competitive interpretive dance. What about the other big time-sink? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Long-suffering husband hidden away somewhere?”

She stiffens slightly, taking another sip of coffee. “No.” Just the one word, flat and final.

“No?” you echo, keeping your tone light. “Come on. Someone as… uh… driven as you? Gotta have someone to share the spoils of corporate warfare with.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she repeats, a hint of irritation creeping back into her voice. “I don’t have time for that.”

Interesting. Very interesting. You file that little nugget away. Before you can probe further, she surprises you by turning the question around.

“What about you?” she asks, maybe a little too quickly. “You never mentioned a girlfriend. Someone waiting up, wondering where her charming, rogueish man is tonight?” There’s a faint trace of sarcasm in her tone.

“Me? Nah,” you answer easily, shrugging. “Single. Utterly unattached. Free as a bird who enjoys microwave meals and questionable life choices.”

She actually looks surprised, tilting her head. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh.” She frowns slightly. “I just assumed… you know. Guys like you. Funny, outgoing… you usually have someone.”

“‘Guys like me’?” you raise an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Neither,” she says quickly, maybe flushing slightly, though it's hard to tell in the dark. “Just… an observation.” She clears her throat. “What about Park Sooyoung, then?”

Joy. Of course. Joy, the human sunbeam from Marketing, who laughs at all your jokes (even the bad ones), brings you snacks, and finds increasingly flimsy excuses to swing by your desk. Her crush isn't exactly subtle.

“Joy?” you chuckle. “Yeah, what about her?”

“Well,” Irene says, picking at a loose thread on her fancy trousers. “She seems to… like you. A lot.”

“Joy’s awesome,” you agree readily. “She’s fun, smart, super sweet.” You pause. “But she’s not really my type.”

“Oh.” Irene sounds… thoughtful? Maybe surprised again? “Why not?”

You just shrug, keeping your eyes on the road as a sign for ‘The Whispering Pines Hotel – 1 Mile’ looms out of the darkness. “Just not. Doesn't click like that, you know?” You leave it there, letting the ambiguity hang.

You follow the signs, turning off the main highway onto a smaller, darker road winding through dense trees. Finally, a collection of low buildings emerges, vaguely rustic, with a welcoming (or maybe just lonely) light glowing above the entrance labeled ‘OFFICE’. You pull into the gravel parking lot, engine finally switched off. Sweet silence, broken only by the patter of drizzle on the roof.

“We made it,” you announce unnecessarily, stretching your arms as much as the seat allows.

God, you’re tired.

You both grab your coats and bags, heading towards the office. The lobby is… something. Wood-paneled walls, threadbare carpet, a faint smell of woodsmoke and dust. A bored-looking guy who looks barely out of his teens sits behind a worn counter, scrolling on his phone.

You handle the check-in, pulling out the company card again. “Reservation for Choi Industries,” you say.

The receptionist types lethargically on an ancient-looking computer. He squints at the screen. “Uh… yeah, got it here. Choi Industries.” He slides a registration card and a single old-fashioned key across the counter. “Just need you to sign here. Room 12.”

You stop, looking at the single key. Irene steps forward. “Sorry, there must be a mistake,” she says, her professional tone kicking in despite her obvious exhaustion. “The reservation was for two rooms.”

The kid scrolls back on his screen, frowning. “Nope. Says right here…” He turns the monitor slightly. The information is there: Irene's name and yours, one room, queen bed, non-smoking. Confirmed booking for two guests.

“That can’t be right,” Irene insists, leaning closer to peer at the screen. “Our corporate travel booked it last week. Can you double-check?”

He sighs, clicks a few more times. “Nah, that’s it. One room. Maybe your travel agent messed up?”

Irene pulls out her phone, already dialing. “This is ridiculous. I’ll call the emergency line.” She puts the phone to her ear, listens for a moment, then pulls it away with a frustrated sigh. “Voicemail. Of course.” She glares back at the receptionist. “Fine. Do you have another room available? We’ll pay for it separately.”

The kid shakes his head, looking almost apologetic now. “Sorry, ma’am. Totally booked solid tonight. There’s a big fishing tournament down at the lake, apparently. Everyone’s here for that.”

You quickly pull out your phone, checking Google Maps. “He’s not kidding,” you report grimly, showing Irene the screen. “Looks like the nearest town with another hotel is… yeah. At least an hour back the way we came. Maybe longer.”

You both stand there for a moment, the reality sinking in. Stranded. Exhausted. And apparently, booked into a single motel room with one bed.

This trip just keeps getting better and better.

Irene looks pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looks from you to the receptionist, then back to the single key lying on the counter. “Well… what do we do?” she asks, sounding genuinely lost.

“Let’s at least see the room,” you suggest pragmatically. You pick up the key before she can protest further.

“I am not sleeping in the same bed as you,” she says firmly, following you as the receptionist points you down a dimly lit hallway.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” you reply smoothly.

Room 12 is… a room. Beige walls, slightly musty floral bedspread on a queen-sized bed, a small desk, a tiny bathroom. It’s clean enough, but basic. And dominated by the single bed. There’s a small patch of carpet between the foot of the bed and the wall with the TV bolted to it. Not exactly luxurious floor space, but doable.

Irene stands in the doorway, looking utterly horrified. Before she can launch into a fresh round of panic or objections, you take charge.

“Okay,” you say calmly, tossing your bag onto the aforementioned patch of floor. “Look. It’s late, we’re exhausted, there are no other options. Don’t worry about it.” You point decisively at the bed. “You take the bed. I’ll crash here on the floor. Problem solved. We just need to sleep.”

She stares at you, wide-eyed. Like she’s never encountered basic chivalry before. “The… the floor?”

“Yep. Got my coat, can probably snag an extra blanket from the closet if there is one. I’ve slept in worse places.”

She hesitates, clearly warring with herself. Practicality versus the sheer awkwardness of the situation. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She frowns, looking genuinely perplexed now. “But… why? Why would you do that?”

You sigh, running a hand through your damp hair. “Because we’re colleagues on a business trip, we’re stuck, and it’s the simplest way to solve the problem without resorting to murder or sleeping in the car,” you explain patiently. “It’s just sleep, Irene. We’ll survive one night.”

She looks from you to the bed, then to the patch of floor, then back to you. She bites her lip, considering. Finally, she gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

“Okay,” she says softly, avoiding your eyes. “Okay. That… might work.” She pauses, then adds, even quieter, “Thanks.”

You just nod, trying to ignore the sudden, intense awareness of being alone in this small room with her. This was definitely not in the job description.

Irene clutches her overnight bag like a shield.

"I'm going to... uh... use the bathroom first," she announces stiffly, already moving towards the small, closed door. "Change. Brush my teeth."

"Sounds good," you reply, trying to sound casual as you busy yourself unpacking the few things you actually need from your bag – phone charger, toothbrush. You hear the click of the bathroom lock, then the sound of running water. You sit on the edge of the questionable armchair in the corner, scrolling pointlessly through your signal-less phone. It’s weirdly intimate, just sitting here waiting while she’s in there. You can picture her routine – efficient, precise, even in pajamas.

The lock clicks again, and the door opens. Irene emerges, looking… different. She’s wearing simple, dark grey pajama bottoms and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved t-shirt. No makeup, her dark hair pulled back loosely from her face, still slightly damp. She looks younger, softer, less like the corporate warrior and more like just… a tired person. She avoids your eyes, scurrying over to the side of the bed furthest from the door and immediately burrowing under the covers, facing away from you. Okay then.

"All yours," she mutters into the pillow.

Your turn. You grab your change of clothes (just sweats and a t-shirt) and your toothbrush, heading into the small, steamy bathroom. You do your thing quickly, splashing cold water on your face, trying to erase the grime and exhaustion of the day. Looking in the mirror, you definitely look like you wrestled a loose battery cable in the rain and lost. Charming. You emerge back into the room. Irene is a still lump under the blankets.

You find the light switch by the door and flick it off, plunging the room into near-total darkness, save for the faint ambient light filtering through the gap under the door and the thin curtains.

"Night," you say to the lump, trying to sound cheerful.

You hear a muffled "'Night" in response.

You arrange your coat as a pathetic excuse for padding on the patch of carpet, using your balled-up jacket as a pillow. You lie down. It’s immediately obvious this is going to suck. The floor is hard, unforgivingly so. There's a definite draft coming from somewhere near the window, chilling you through your thin sweats. And the carpet smells vaguely of old cigarettes. You sigh quietly, shifting, trying to find a position that doesn't immediately make your hip bone scream in protest. This is going to be a long, cold night. You can hear the gentle sound of Irene breathing from the bed, the occasional creak of the mattress as she settles. Lucky her.

Minutes pass in silence, marked only by the drumming drizzle outside and your own increasingly uncomfortable shifting. Just as you’re contemplating whether pneumonia might be preferable to this, you hear Irene move again, more deliberately this time. The mattress creaks loudly.

"Hey," her voice comes softly out of the darkness, startling you slightly. "Are you... are you asleep yet?"

You exhale, giving up the pretense. "Nope. Wide awake. Currently contemplating the existential dread of cheap motel carpet."

Silence for a beat. Then, she sighs, a sound laced with frustration and maybe embarrassment. "This is stupid."

"What's stupid?" you ask, genuinely confused. "My carpet contemplation? Probably, yeah."

"No," she says quickly. "This." A vague gesture you can't see but can infer towards the general situation. "Me being in this huge bed, and you sleeping on the floor like... like some kind of Victorian orphan. It's ridiculous."

You try to keep your voice light. "Hey, Victorian orphans built character. Besides, chivalry isn't dead, it's just really uncomfortable."

"Don't be an idiot," she snaps, though there's no real heat behind it. More tired exasperation. "The bed is massive. There's plenty of room. Just... get in."

Whoa. Okay. Didn't see that coming. Especially not after the firm 'not sharing a bed' declaration earlier.

"Uh," you stall, genuinely surprised. "No, really, Irene. It's fine. I'll survive.

"I insist," she says, her voice taking on a firmer tone, the one she uses when she's about to win an argument about budget allocation. Actually, it sounds less like insistence and more like a direct order. "Seriously. Get up off the floor. It's cold, you'll be useless tomorrow if you don't sleep, and I feel stupid lying here while you're down there."

You hesitate. The floor is cold. And hard. And the bed sounds incredibly warm and inviting.

"Are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure?" you ask, needing verbal confirmation. This feels like a trap.

"Yes," she replies instantly, decisively. "Now hurry up before I change my mind."

Well, can't argue with a direct order from the temporary commander, right? And damn it, you are cold. You push yourself up stiffly from the floor, joints protesting.

"Okay, okay, fine," you concede. "But under strict conditions, right? Like, there's a demilitarized zone down the middle, maybe we build a pillow wall?"

You hear her sigh again in the darkness. "Just... stay on your side. Way over there." A pause. "And don't... you know. Touch me. Or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you assure her sincerely. "Don't worry, you're so tiny you barely take up any space anyway. Pretty sure I could parallel park between us."

"Just get in," she grumbles, sounding slightly flustered.

You peel back the covers on the side closest to you and slide in. Oh. My. God. The mattress is soft, the sheets are cool but not cold, and the residual warmth radiating from where Irene is lying, even a foot or two away, feels like heaven compared to the floor. You pull the covers up, letting out an involuntary sigh of contentment.

"Okay, you win," you murmur into the darkness. "This is significantly better. Thanks."

"Don't thank me," she says quickly. "It's just... practical." There's a rustle of sheets as she presumably turns fully away from you again. "I'm definitely reporting this booking disaster tomorrow. It's completely unacceptable."

"Damn right," you agree drowsily, already feeling the pull of sleep in the newfound comfort. Work talk. Safe territory for her.

More time drifts by. You’re hovering on the edge of sleep, the warmth seeping into your bones, when you hear her shift again, restlessly.

"You okay over there?" you ask quietly.

A pause. "...Yes," she says, but her voice is small. "Just... I have trouble sleeping in strange places sometimes."

"Ah." You hesitate, then decide to push gently. "Or maybe nervous about the big meeting tomorrow?"

Another pause, longer this time. Then, a quiet admission. "...Maybe a little."

"Hey," you say softly, keeping your voice low and reassuring. "You've got this. Seriously. You're ridiculously prepared. Tanaka-san won't know what hit him. You'll charm the pants off him with your risk assessment matrix."

You hear a tiny huff of air that might be a suppressed laugh. "It's not..." she starts, then seems to give up. "Thanks."

"No problem," you murmur. "Seriously though. When – not if, when – you nail this tomorrow, we should celebrate. Proper drinks, maybe find some non-terrible food? I'll pay, of course."

"...I'll think about it," she says, noncommittal as ever.

You smile in the dark. "You know," you say, letting the teasing note return, "heads would absolutely explode back at the office if anyone knew about this. You, me, one bed... The gossip mill would go into overdrive. They'd be planning our wedding by Monday."

Her reaction is immediate and sharp. "Don't you dare," she hisses, rolling over slightly to face your general direction, you can feel the shift in the mattress. "Nobody finds out about this, understand? Nobody. I will report the booking error to HR and Choi, citing 'unforeseen logistical challenges', and that is it. This conversation, this room... it never happened."

"Whoa, okay!" you say quickly, holding up your hands in mock surrender, even though she can't see. "Kidding! Totally kidding. Jeez. Relax. Your secret's safe with me." You pause, letting the intensity fade slightly. "Guess this is our first official secret though, huh?" you add thoughtfully. "Keeping this under wraps... Doesn't that, like, technically make us friends now?"

"Friends?" she scoffs, the sound sharp even in a whisper. "It makes us unlucky coworkers forced into an awkward situation by corporate incompetence."

"Hey," you counter softly, maybe pushing your luck. "Speak for yourself on the 'unlucky' part."

Silence.

You can practically hear her processing that.

"...What's that supposed to mean?" she asks finally, her voice dangerously quiet, curious.

Shit. Opened your mouth too wide. You backtrack quickly, trying to sound casual.

"Nothing... Hmm... Just..." You scramble for a plausible recovery. "Just that, you know. Despite the car dying, the rain, this hotel mess... the trip hasn't been a complete disaster. Getting out of the office..." You hesitate, then add honestly, "Traveling with you... it's not so bad, Irene."

There's a long pause. You wonder if you've finally pushed her too far, if she's going to order you back to the floor or maybe just smother you with a pillow. Then, she lets out a long, slow breath.

"Okay, smooth-talker," she murmurs, her tone laced with exhaustion but maybe, just maybe, a hint of something else. Amusement? "Shut up now. Seriously. Go to sleep."

You let out a genuine yawn this time, the comfort and the late hour finally catching up. "Alright, commander," you mumble, already drifting off.

You close your eyes, acutely aware of her presence just inches away in the shared darkness, the warmth of the bed a stark contrast to the cold floor you escaped. The rain patters softly outside. Sleep, when it finally comes, feels like diving into deep, uncertain water.

—

You drift awake slowly, reluctantly. First awareness: unfamiliar ceiling tiles, definitely not your apartment. Second awareness: a surprising, encompassing warmth pressed against your front. Third awareness, as your brain finally boots up: holy shit.

You blink, trying to make sense of the situation without moving a muscle. Memory floods back – rain, car trouble, motel, one bed, floor offer, Irene's insistence... Right. You're in the hotel bed. But the warmth... the weight... it's her. Irene Bae is currently draped across your chest like a ridiculously high-maintenance scarf, fast asleep. Her head is tucked under your chin, dark hair fanned out across your t-shirt. One of her arms is slung across your waist, hand resting loosely on your side. Her breathing is soft, even, punctuated by the faintest, almost inaudible snore. And yeah, there's definitely a small, damp patch on your shirt right near her slightly parted lips. Charming.

Your first instinct is pure, unadulterated panic. Abort! Abort! How the hell did this happen? Did you roll over? Did she? Did the tiny demilitarized zone collapse under the cover of darkness? You try the absolute minimum possible movement – a slight tensing of your muscles, an attempt to slide maybe half an inch away. Bad idea. She stirs instantly, murmuring something incoherent against your collarbone, and her arm tightens around you possessively. Her other hand comes up to fist lightly in your shirt. Okay. You are officially trapped by a sleeping, possibly drooling, corporate ice queen.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

You lie there, rigid, hyper-aware of every point of contact, the softness of her hair tickling your chin, the surprisingly solid weight of her against you. It’s… not entirely unpleasant, if you ignore the sheer terror of her waking up like this. It’s comfortable. Warm. Weirdly intimate. You stare up at the ceiling, counting the water stains, wondering how long you can sustain this statuesque pose before something gives.

Mercifully, salvation arrives in the form of technology. A jarring, insistent beeping cuts through the pre-dawn quiet – her phone alarm, presumably set for maximum pre-meeting prep time. Irene groans softly, burrowing her face deeper into your chest for a second before the noise penetrates her sleep-addled brain.

Her eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains. She lifts her head slightly, looking around with sleepy confusion. Where is she? Then, her gaze drops. She sees your face. She sees her hand clutching your shirt. She registers that her head is resting squarely on your sternum.

The transformation is instantaneous and spectacular. Confusion gives way to wide-eyed horror. Her face drains of color, then floods with crimson. With a strangled gasp, she recoils as if electrocuted, scrambling backwards so violently she completely misjudges the edge of the bed and tumbles onto the floor with a muffled thump and a yelp.

You push yourself up on your elbows, trying desperately to suppress a laugh, though a small smirk probably escapes. "Morning," you offer mildly to the tangle of limbs and pajamas on the floor.

She untangles herself, pushing her wildly messy hair out of her face, eyes blazing with mortification and panic. She points a trembling finger at you.

"What–? How–? I didn't–!" she sputters, scrambling to her feet, clutching the front of her t-shirt. "I don't know how that happened! I swear! I must have rolled over! I don't usually– I mean, I move a lot sometimes, when I sleep! And sometimes I hug my pillow, you know? Habit! It was an accident!" The words tumble out in a rush, a torrent of panicked justification.

"Hey, hey," you say calmly, holding up your hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. It's okay." You sit up fully, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "Seriously. No harm done. Maybe you just recognized superior pillow material," you add, gesturing to your chest with a grin.

That seems to snap her out of her panic slightly, replaced by fury. She glares at you, cheeks still flaming red. "Don't you joke about this! And if you ever," she takes a step closer, lowering her voice to a menacing whisper, "tell anyone – anyone at all – about this… about me…" she gestures vaguely at the bed and your chest, "...I will personally find a way to ruin your career and possibly your life. Slowly. Painfully. Do you understand?"

You meet her glare, keeping your expression neutral, maybe nodding slightly. "Crystal clear. Pillow-hugging is a sacred, confidential trust. My lips are sealed."

She stares at you for another long moment, searching your face for any hint of mockery. Apparently satisfied, or maybe just too flustered to continue the confrontation, she lets out a shaky breath, grabs her neatly folded work clothes from the chair, and practically bolts into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

You exhale slowly once she's gone. Well, that was eventful. You stretch, feeling the slight stiffness in your neck from having acted as an involuntary human pillow. You get up, gather your own clothes. The bathroom door remains firmly shut, the sound of the shower running providing a buffer. Eventually, she emerges, fully transformed back into Irene Bae, Corporate Warrior. Sharp black suit, pristine white blouse, hair pulled back into an immaculate knot, makeup perfectly applied. The professional mask is firmly welded back in place. She completely avoids looking at you, busying herself with packing her overnight bag with brisk, efficient movements.

Your turn. You shower quickly, get dressed in your own meeting-appropriate attire. When you come out, she’s standing by the window, back to you, checking something on her phone. You walk over, stopping beside her.

"You clean up nice, Bae," you say genuinely, appreciating the transformation. Ready for battle. "Look beautiful, actually. Tanaka-san doesn't stand a chance."

She finally turns, meeting your gaze. There's a flicker of surprise in her eyes at the direct compliment, quickly masked by her usual cool confidence.

"I know," she replies simply. Classic.

Checking out is quick and silent. You grab coffee and some cellophane-wrapped pastries from a gas station down the road – breakfast of champions. Back in the car (you slide into the driver's seat again without discussion; she doesn't object), Irene immediately gets on her phone, confirming meeting times, checking traffic, voice crisp and professional. She briefly runs through the key talking points with you one last time, her tone all business.

You drive, the landscape outside gradually changing as you get closer to whatever moderately sized town hosts Ishikawa Tech. Irene is staring out the window, probably mentally rehearsing her opening lines. You glance over at her profile, silhouetted against the morning light. And you see it again.

"Hey, totally random question," you interject, breaking into her concentration. She turns, slightly annoyed. "That little scar on your chin. What's the story there?"

Her brow furrows, and her fingers instinctively touch the point of her chin. "Scar?" she repeats blankly. "I don't have a scar."

"Yeah, you do," you insist gently. "Tiny one. Right... there." You vaguely gesture. "Like a little crescent moon. Barely noticeable."

She continues to feel her chin, frowning in concentration. Then, her eyes widen slightly in recognition. "Oh! That thing! Wow, I completely forget that's even there. Fell off my bike when I was like, seven. Face-planted right onto the sidewalk trying to impress the older kids by riding with no hands." She shakes her head slightly. "It's ancient history. And it's practically invisible."

"Yeah, it's tiny," you agree. "Honestly, probably wouldn't have even registered it if your face wasn't..." You pause, choosing your words carefully, "...you know, kinda up close and personal this morning while you were using my chest as a Tempur-Pedic."

Her eyes widen again, and that familiar flush creeps back into her cheeks. She looks away quickly. "Nobody's ever mentioned that before," she mutters, sounding flustered.

"Guess I'm just observant," you shrug, letting your gaze linger on her profile for a beat longer than necessary.

She recovers quickly this time, though. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she turns back to you, leaning slightly closer across the center console. "Oh really?" she asks. "Observant? Or do you just spend an excessive amount of time staring at my face?"

Damn. She got you. You can feel your own face heating up now. You stammer slightly, caught completely off guard. "Wha–? No! I mean..." You regroup, trying for nonchalant. "Okay, maybe sometimes. It's a nice face! Kinda hard not to look, isn't it? Probably... probably everyone looks!"

Her eyebrow arches, skepticism radiating off her. That small smirk is back, wider this time. "Everyone?" she repeats, savoring your discomfort. "Is that what you tell Park Sooyoung? That she has such a nice face you just can't help but stare?"

The question hangs there, sharp, direct. And yeah, maybe, tinged with something that sounds suspiciously like jealousy. Interesting.

You meet her gaze directly now. "Nope," you say calmly, letting the word hang there for a beat. "Haven't told Joy that." You pause, leaning in just a fraction closer, lowering your voice slightly. "Just you."

You let that sink in, watching the surprise flicker in her dark eyes before she quickly schools her features back into neutrality. You turn your attention back to the road, pulling into the visitor parking lot of a modern, sterile-looking office building. Ishikawa Tech. Showtime.

You kill the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the low thrum of nerves in your veins. You glance over at Irene. She’s taking slow, deep breaths, eyes closed for a fraction of a second, seemingly centering herself. Then, her eyes snap open, sharp and focused. Game face: activated.

“Ready?” you ask softly, reaching for your door handle.

She gives a curt, confident nod, already smoothing down her immaculate suit jacket. “Born ready. Let’s go nail this.”

You get out, grabbing your respective briefcases/laptop bags from the back seat. The Ishikawa Tech building looms before you – all sleek glass and brushed steel, understated but undeniably expensive. You walk side-by-side towards the entrance, your footsteps echoing slightly on the polished pavement. The awkward intimacy of the car, the motel room, the shared secrets – it all seems to recede, replaced by a shared sense of purpose. You’re a team now, whether you fully like it or not.

The lobby is vast, minimalist, and eerily quiet. A single receptionist sits behind a massive marble desk, looking up expectantly as you approach. Irene handles the check-in with cool efficiency, her voice steady and professional. Passports or IDs are scanned, visitor badges printed. A moment later, a young woman in a similar grey suit appears to escort you.

The elevator ride is silent. You catch Irene’s eye for a split second; she gives you a barely perceptible nod, a silent acknowledgement. We got this. The escort leads you down a hushed corridor to a conference room with a heavy frosted glass door. She slides it open.

"Mr. Tanaka will be with you shortly," she murmurs, gesturing you inside before retreating silently.

The room is predictable – long polished table, expensive ergonomic chairs, a massive screen on one wall, water bottles and glasses neatly arranged. You choose seats opposite the door, setting down your things.

A few minutes later, the door slides open again, and Kenji Tanaka enters. He’s exactly as you pictured – maybe late fifties or early sixties, immaculate dark suit, silver hair impeccably styled, sharp eyes that seem to take in everything at once. He radiates an aura of quiet authority and old-world formality.

Irene is on her feet instantly, bowing slightly. You follow suit.

"Tanaka-san, thank you for meeting with us," Irene says, her voice perfectly modulated – respectful but confident. She introduces herself by saying her name and yours.

Tanaka returns the slight bow, his expression unreadable. "Welcome. Please." He gestures towards the chairs.

The meeting begins. Irene takes the lead, just as planned. She’s incredible. All the nervous energy, the flustered embarrassment from the morning, is gone. She lays out the proposal clearly, referencing data points from memory, presenting charts on the screen with smooth transitions. She anticipates Tanaka’s initial, cautious questions, answering them thoroughly, respectfully, demonstrating her deep understanding of Ishikawa’s needs and history. She’s built a fortress of facts and logic.

Your role is different. While Irene builds the structure, you provide the… ambiance? When Tanaka leans back, looking slightly skeptical about a technical detail, you jump in smoothly.

"And Tanaka-san," you interject with a relaxed smile, leaning forward slightly, "beyond the technical specs, which Irene has covered brilliantly, what this partnership really offers is future-proofing. It’s about ensuring Ishikawa isn't just stable today, but positioned to lead tomorrow. Like tending a prized bonsai," – okay, maybe that one was cheesy, you mentally cringe, but Tanaka’s eyes light up slightly in recognition – "it requires care, precision, but also a vision for growth."

Irene picks up the cue without missing a beat, transitioning back to the long-term benefits outlined in her slides, reinforcing your point with concrete projections. You see Tanaka nod slowly, making a note.

You handle the small talk during a brief coffee break Tanaka insists upon, asking about his recent trip to Kyoto you vaguely remembered Irene mentioning in her prep notes, drawing out a rare smile from him as he talks about temples. It gives Irene a chance to quickly check her notes and mentally reset for the next phase. When Tanaka asks a challenging question about potential disruptions during integration, Irene provides the detailed mitigation plan, while you add a reassuring layer about dedicated support teams and open communication channels, emphasizing the 'partnership' aspect you know he values.

It’s a dance. She leads with precision and data; you follow with charm, intuition, and strategic reinforcement. You find yourselves catching each other's eye occasionally, a silent communication passing between you – 'He’s hesitant here,' or 'Good point, run with that.' It’s surprisingly… fluid. Effective.

Finally, after nearly two hours, Tanaka leans back in his chair, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his face. "Your company is fortunate to have such… complementary talents representing them." He looks directly at Irene. "Your preparation is impeccable, Ms. Bae." Then his gaze shifts to you. "And your understanding of… the bigger picture… is also valuable." He nods decisively. "I believe we have an agreement."

A collective, almost inaudible sigh of relief seems to fill the room. The tension breaks. The actual contracts are brought in by an assistant. There’s the formal ritual of signing, multiple copies, the passing of expensive-looking pens, the brief but firm handshakes. Professional smiles are exchanged. Success.

The walk back out of the building feels surreal. The modern lobby seems less intimidating now. The receptionist offers a polite smile as you hand back your visitor badges. You push through the glass doors and out into the surprisingly bright afternoon. The rain has stopped; patches of blue sky are visible.

You reach the rental car, parked innocuously among the much fancier vehicles. Irene stops beside the passenger door, leans her head back against the cool metal for a second, and lets out a whoosh of breath, her shoulders slumping dramatically.

You break the silence, leaning against the car beside her, unable to keep the admiration out of your voice. "Okay, seriously, Bae. That was bloody brilliant back there." You shake your head slightly in genuine appreciation. "When he threw that curveball about the supply chain redundancy? The way you pulled out that specific data point from the appendix? Flawless. You absolutely nailed it."

She turns her head, looking at you. A small, genuine smile touches her lips.

"Thanks," she says softly. Then, her smile widens slightly, becoming almost teasing. "You weren't... completely useless yourself, newbie.

"Gee, thanks," you laugh. "Highest praise."

"No, really," she continues, pushing herself off the car, her tone becoming more sincere. "That… that bonsai tree analogy was the cheesiest thing I've ever heard in a business meeting," she admits, "but Tanaka actually seemed to… connect with it. And you handled his tangents well. Kept him engaged." She meets your eyes directly. "It actually… it worked. Us. Together."

"Teamwork makes the dream work?" you offer, echoing Choi’s terrible line, but this time it feels earned.

She groans, but she’s still smiling. "Don't push it." She unlocks the car doors. "But yeah. Okay. Good teamwork."

You lean against the rental car, the afternoon sun feeling warm on your face after the artificially cool office building. You catch Irene’s eye as she stows her briefcase in the back seat.

"So," you begin, pushing off the car and taking a step closer, lowering your voice slightly with a playful grin. "About that celebratory drink... the one a certain highly successful negotiator promised she'd 'think about'?"

Irene pauses, her hand on the car door. She glances at her watch, then seems to mentally calculate flight times and driving distances.

"Okay," she concedes, the word carrying a lightness that surprises you. "Okay, fine. We earned it. Flight's not till tomorrow afternoon anyway. Plenty of time."

"Excellent." You beam. "Your chariot awaits. Or, you know, this incredibly boring silver sedan."

You slide back into the driver's seat. As you navigate out of the Ishikawa Tech corporate park and back towards the main part of town, Irene pulls out her phone.

"Just need to make a quick call," she murmurs, already dialing. You hear the slightly tinny voice on the other end – presumably Mr. Choi.

"Mr. Choi, good afternoon," Irene says, her voice instantly slipping back into smooth, professional mode. "Just wanted to inform you that the meeting with Ishikawa Tech concluded successfully... Yes, Tanaka-san seemed very pleased... Contracts are signed... Absolutely... Yes, him was very helpful... Okay... Thank you, sir. We'll debrief fully upon our return."

She ends the call, letting out another long breath. "Done. He's ecstatic, obviously."

"As he should be. We were awesome," you declare, already tapping away on your phone's map app. "Right, celebratory awesome juice. Looking for somewhere... classy but not stuffy? Divey but not tetanus-inducing? What's the vibe?"

"Just... somewhere quiet?" she suggests, sounding tired again. "And maybe with decent beer."

"A woman of taste. Okay, GPS says there's a good place a few blocks away. Reviews mention 'good selection' and 'surprisingly clean restrooms'. Sold?"

"Sold," she agrees with a small chuckle.

The place turns out to be exactly as advertised – a cozy, dimly lit neighborhood bar with dark wood booths, a long bar counter, and the low hum of conversation mixed with some classic rock playing softly. It smells reassuringly of beer and slightly greasy, delicious fried things. You snag a booth tucked away in a corner, offering a bit of privacy.

You both slide onto the vinyl benches opposite each other. A waitress appears promptly. You order a local IPA, while Irene surprises you by ordering a whiskey, neat.

"Whoa, playing hardball even after the deal's done?" you tease as the waitress leaves.

"Long day," she murmurs, shrugging off her suit jacket and draping it over the back of the booth. She takes a deep breath, then reaches up and deliberately unbuttons the top button of her crisp white blouse, revealing a hint of her collarbone. The small gesture feels significant, a conscious decision to shift gears.

The drinks arrive quickly. Irene picks up her whiskey glass, swirls the amber liquid, and takes a slow, deliberate sip, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring the burn. You take a long pull of your beer. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable this time.

"You know," you say thoughtfully, setting your glass down. "Thinking about that delightful Whispering Pines Hotel... and the distinct possibility of floor-sleeping again..." You lean forward slightly. "What if, instead of driving all the way back there tonight, we just grabbed a place here? In civilization? Somewhere reputable enough to understand the concept of 'two rooms for two people'?"

"I... I don't know," she hedges. "The company booked the hotel..."

"The company also booked us one room," you counter gently. "I think we're allowed to call an audible for the sake of sanity and spinal health. We can square it with expenses later. Come on, live a little."

She hesitates for another second, then gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay," she agrees. "Okay. That... that probably makes sense."

"Good." You smile, taking another sip of beer. "So, shifting gears slightly... the promotion Choi was dangling. How do you think he actually decides something like that? Does he read tea leaves? Consult a psychic?"

Irene manages a small smile. "Probably not." She swirls her whiskey again. "Honestly? I think Tanaka's feedback will weigh heavily. What he tells Choi about how the meeting went, how we performed... both individually and as a team."

"Think we passed the test?"

"We got the contract signed," she points out logically. "And Tanaka didn't seem overtly displeased. Especially after your… bonsai analogy." She gives you a sideways glance, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Hey, it worked!" you protest laughingly. "Never underestimate the power of cheesy metaphors with the older generation." You lean back against the booth, feeling relaxed, the beer and the success working their magic. You study Irene across the table. The professional veneer is definitely cracking around the edges. The unbuttoned collar, the whiskey, the slight flush on her cheeks. But something's still not quite right. The hair. Still severely contained.

"You know what else you need to do to complete the 'deal is done, time to chill' transformation?" you ask, gesturing towards her head with your beer bottle.

She looks at you warily. "What?"

"The hair," you say simply. "It's still yelling 'I might audit your expense report at any moment'. Let it down. Literally. Live dangerously."

She touches her hair self-consciously, her fingers brushing against the tight knot at the nape of her neck. "I... I don't know. It's messy."

"Who cares?" you shrug. "We're off duty. Besides," you lower your voice conspiratorially, "I've seen you with your hair down. It's better this way."

She hesitates for a long moment, glancing around the dim bar as if checking for hidden cameras or HR representatives. Then, with a small sigh that sounds like surrender, she reaches up. Slowly, deliberately, she pulls out the pins or elastic band holding the severe style in place. Her dark, silky hair cascades down, tumbling around her shoulders, framing her face. The change is immediate, striking. It softens her features, makes her look friendly, less intimidating, and undeniably more… beautiful.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed. "Yeah. See? Told you. Definitely better." You meet her eyes, holding her gaze. "Looks really pretty like that, Irene."

She ducks her head quickly, a definite blush rising on her cheeks this time. She tucks a loose strand behind her ear, avoiding your eyes, but you see the small, pleased smile she's trying (and failing) to hide.

"It's just hair," she mumbles, taking another sip of her whiskey, perhaps a larger one than before.

"Maybe," you concede, still looking at her. "But it's good hair… Anyway: Ms. Bae Joohyun, now that you've successfully negotiated a major international deal and liberated your hair... what other secrets are you hiding?"

Irene meets your question about secrets with a raised eyebrow, a slow sip of her whiskey momentarily stalling her response. A faint blush still colors her cheeks, maybe from the compliment, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the question itself.

"Secrets?" she echoes. She leans back slightly against the worn vinyl booth, studying you over the rim of her glass. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Observant?"

"Okay, maybe I would," you admit easily, leaning forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table, closing the distance between you just a fraction. "Come on. Indulge my curiosity. Let's start easy. What did you really think when I first swaggered into Choi Industries, all bright-eyed and probably tripping over my own feet?" You grin. "Initial impression. Uncensored version."

She laughs softly, a genuine sound that makes you smile. She tucks a strand of newly liberated hair behind her ear, a gesture that feels strangely intimate. "Uncensored?" She takes another sip of whiskey, considering. "Okay. Honestly?" She leans forward conspiratorially. "I thought, 'Oh great. Another overconfident frat boy type who probably got hired because his uncle plays golf with Choi, going to charm his way up while the rest of us actually work'."

"Ouch," you wince dramatically, clutching your chest. "Frat boy? Harsh, Bae. Really harsh."

"Well?" she challenges, a smirk playing on her lips. "Was I wrong?"

"About the charming part? Absolutely not," you say with a wink. "About the uncle and the lack of work ethic? Dead wrong. I work my ass off. And my uncle plays Bingo, not golf."

"Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little quick to judge on the work ethic part. You picked things up... alarmingly fast." She pauses, swirling her drink. "Which was, frankly, even more annoying."

"Ah, so the core emotion was annoyance. Got it," you nod sagely. "Which brings me to my next question." You lean in a bit more, lowering your voice further. "All the stuff at the office... the banter, the pranks, the constant low-key warfare... You hate that, right? Secretly wish I'd just leave you alone in your meticulously organized corner?"

You watch her face closely. Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. She doesn't answer immediately. She looks down at her glass, then back up at you, her gaze direct, surprisingly serious for a moment.

"Hate it?" she repeats softly. "...No. Not exactly." She hesitates, seeming to choose her words carefully. "It's... distracting. Sometimes infuriating." A small smile flickers back onto her face. "But..." She shrugs slightly, a blush creeping back onto her cheeks. "It's definitely... less monotonous than before you showed up. "Like I said before.”

"Less monotonous," you echo, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the IPA. So she doesn't hate it. Maybe even... likes it? "So, what you're saying is, my particular brand of charming annoyance actually brightens up your otherwise grey corporate existence?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she retorts quickly. She takes another drink, avoiding your gaze for a second. When she looks back, the playful challenge is back, stronger this time. "Okay, Mr. Observant. My turn."

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows. "Shoot."

She leans forward now, mirroring your earlier posture, the dim light catching the curve of her collarbone where her shirt is unbuttoned. Her proximity feels electric. "All this 'teasing'," she says, maybe even making subtle air quotes near the table. "This 'banter'. This... whatever it is you do." Her eyes lock onto yours. "Why me?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely curious where this is going.

"I mean," she says, her voice dropping lower, becoming almost intimate despite the setting, "you don't pull this crap with anyone else. You're friendly with Seulgi, you joke around with Wendy sometimes, but you don't ‘accidentally switch their computer language to Latin’. You don't leave annoying sticky notes on their monitors. You don't engage in... competitive sighing across the cubicle aisle." She tilts her head, her gaze searching yours. "It's always me. Only me. Why is that, newbie?"

You're momentarily thrown. Why is it just her? Because she's the most fun to provoke? Because she actually fights back? Because looking at her, even when she's glaring daggers at you, does something weird to your insides?

You stall, taking a slow sip of your beer, buying time. How honest do you want to be right now, in this cozy, whiskey-soaked booth?

"Well," you begin slowly, trying to sound casual, "isn't it obvious?"

"Humor me," she says, her eyes narrowed slightly, not letting you off the hook.

"Because," you say, deciding to lean into the flirtation, "you're the most fun to tease." You meet her gaze directly. "You actually rise to the bait. Everyone else just ignores me or laughs it off. You? You get that adorable little vein pulsing in your temple." You gesture vaguely towards her forehead. "You plot elaborate revenge schemes involving binders and typos. It's..." You search for the right word, letting a slow smile spread across your face. "...Engaging."

Her breath hitches, almost imperceptibly. She doesn't look away, but the blush deepens again. "So you enjoy making me miserable?" she asks, her voice slightly husky.

"Miserable?" you counter softly. "Is that what I do?" You shake your head. "Nah. I think... I think we're just figuring out our own weird little language." You reach out, letting your fingers brush against hers as you gesture towards her whiskey glass. "And maybe... maybe I just like getting your attention."

The background noise of the bar seems to fade away. Her gaze drops to where your fingers almost touched hers, then flicks back up to your eyes. She bites her lower lip, a gesture that sends a jolt straight through you.

"And what," she asks, quietly so only you can hear, "do you plan on doing with my attention, now that you supposedly have it?"

Instead of answering directly, your gaze drifts downwards, just for a second, to her lips. They look soft, covered in a red lipstick that is doing terrible things to your sanity, slightly swollen too, maybe from her biting them earlier, glistening faintly from the whiskey. Then you meet her eyes again, hold her gaze.

"You know," you begin, "the very first thing I thought? When I saw you on my first day?"

She shakes her head slightly, eyes wide, waiting. "No. What?"

You lean closer across the table, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from her, to catch the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with whiskey. "My first thought," you say slowly, deliberately, "was, 'Okay, wow. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in this entire damn office.' And then I thought, 'Well, maybe this job won't completely suck after all.'"

You watch her reaction. Her breath catches audibly. Her eyes widen further, searching yours for sincerity. A slow, deep blush blooms across her cheekbones, far more intense than before. She seems momentarily speechless.

"...And?" she finally manages, slightly shaky. "Do you... do you still think that?"

You let out a soft breath, maybe a quiet chuckle. "Let's just say... it's evolved." You reach across the table, your fingers brushing against the cool condensation on her whiskey glass before deliberately, gently, closing around her hand. Her skin is cool, her bones delicate, but her grip, when her fingers instinctively curl around yours, is surprisingly strong. "It got... more complicated. More interesting." You squeeze her hand gently. "But yeah, Irene. The 'beautiful' part? That hasn't changed."

Her eyes flutter closed for a fraction of a second, then open again, looking directly into yours.

"Should we..." you murmur, still holding her hand, still holding her gaze, "get out of here? Go somewhere else?"

She doesn't hesitate this time. A simple, breathy "Yes" escapes her lips. It’s all the confirmation you need.

You reluctantly release her hand, signal the waitress, and settle the bill quickly, the mundane actions feeling surreal amidst the electric tension humming between you. You gather your jackets, her briefcase, your bag. Standing up, moving out of the cozy intimacy of the booth and into the slightly brighter main area of the bar feels jarring. You walk towards the exit, hyper-aware of her beside you. Your arms brush as you navigate past other tables. You hold the door for her, your eyes meeting again in a silent, loaded exchange.

Then you're outside, it's already night now, time has passed incredibly quickly and you didn't even notice. The parking lot is mostly empty now, bathed in the yellowish glow of a single flickering streetlamp. The relative quiet feels intense after the bar's low hum. You head towards the rental car, parked a short distance away in the shadows.

You're fumbling for the keys in your pocket when she makes a noise – a soft, frustrated sound, almost a growl. Before you can react, she closes the distance between you in two quick steps. Her small hands come up, grabbing the front of your jacket, fisting in the fabric, pulling you down towards her with surprising strength.

And then her mouth is on yours.

It's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a collision. Hard, demanding, desperate. There's none of the soft exploration you might have fantasized about; this is pure, pent-up frustration unleashed. Her lips are surprisingly firm, pushing against yours, her teeth scraping slightly against yours in her haste, the slight shock of it sending a jolt straight down your spine. It’s messy, urgent, possessive. She tastes of whiskey, faintly of the cherry notes from her lipstick, and overwhelmingly of her.

Your arms come around her instinctively, pulling her small, solid body flush against yours. Just like you imagined, only more real, more intense. She feels surprisingly strong, wiry, pressing herself against you with a need that matches the force of her kiss.

You kiss her back with equal fervor, matching her intensity, letting the surprise give way to your own pent-up desire. This is Irene Bae? The controlled, cool, professional ice queen? This raw, hungry woman currently trying to devour your face? Apparently so. You deepen the kiss, angling your head, your tongue seeking hers, finding it, tangling in a hot, wet, desperate frenzy.

You break away for a ragged breath, resting your forehead against hers. Her breathing is just as harsh, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Her eyes are closed, her face flushed, and her bright red lipstick is completely wrecked – smeared around her mouth, a smudge on her chin, and probably, you realize dimly, all over your own face as well.

"Waited..." she gasps, “so long... for this..."

"Me too," you manage, before pulling her back in, burying your face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. She smells incredible – that faint perfume, the scent of her skin, clean soap, a hint of the whiskey on her breath. It's intoxicating. You press kisses against the soft skin there, feeling her shiver violently in your arms, her fingers tightening in your hair.

You pull back again slightly, needing to see her face, needing to process this whirlwind. And that's when you see it. The glint of moisture under the flickering parking lot light. Tears are welling in her dark eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Hey," you murmur, concern cutting through the haze of lust. You reach up, brushing a thumb gently near the corner of her eye. "What's wrong? Why the tears?"

She lets out a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. She shakes her head, looking away for a second before meeting your eyes again, her gaze raw, vulnerable, utterly exposed.

"Nothing's wrong," she says. "Nothing. I'm just so..." She bites her lip, hard, then the words rush out in a torrent of frustrated honesty. "I'm just so fucking horny it hurts, okay? It's been driving me crazy, wanting this, wanting you, and trying so hard not to. And now..." She gestures vaguely between you, tears finally escaping, tracing paths through the smudged lipstick on her cheeks. "...It's just… a lot."

Her raw admission hits you harder than the kiss. The depth of her frustration, her desire, laid bare under a single flickering streetlight. You pull her closer again, holding her tight, stroking her hair, the silky strands cool against your fingers.

"Okay," you whisper against her hair. "Okay, Irene. I get it. Me too." You hold her for another moment, letting her trembling subside slightly. Then, you gently pull back, holding her shoulders, forcing her to look at you. "Okay. Deep breaths. We can't... we can't do this here. Not in a parking lot." Your voice is firm but gentle. "But we are going to find somewhere. Right now."

You keep one arm around her, leading her the last few steps towards the car. You unlock it, open the passenger door for her, making sure she gets in okay, her movements still slightly shaky. You get in the driver's side, the interior of the car suddenly feeling incredibly small and charged. You start the engine, the quiet hum filling the loaded silence. You glance over at her – she’s staring straight ahead, wiping furiously at her eyes and the smeared lipstick with the back of her hand.

You put the car in reverse, pulling out of the parking spot, heading out into the night, destination unknown but purpose crystal clear: find a room, find privacy, and finally unleash the storm that's been brewing between you since day one.

The drive is thick with a silence that screams louder than any argument you two ever had across the cubicle farm. It’s pure, uncut anticipation. You focus on the road, using your phone’s GPS to locate the nearest motel that doesn’t look like it rents rooms by the hour – or maybe one that does, you’re not feeling particularly picky right now. Beside you, Irene is a coiled spring of barely contained energy. She catches you glancing over a couple of times, her dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that mirrors the frantic heat still simmering from the parking lot. You see her pull down the visor, flipping open the mirror, dabbing furiously at the smudged disaster zone her lipstick became, trying to restore some semblance of order to her kiss-swollen lips with shaky fingers. It’s a futile effort, really. The evidence of her desperation, of your mutual desperation, is written all over both of you.

“There,” you say, nodding towards a neon sign ahead that glows a welcoming, anonymous 'MOTEL' with a flickering vacancy light. It looks clean enough, blessedly unremarkable.

You pull into the lot, park haphazardly near the office, and kill the engine. Neither of you speaks. The plan for two rooms feels like a distant, ludicrous memory from another lifetime. Right now, the only plan is proximity, privacy, and picking up exactly where you left off. You get out, grab your bags again and head towards the office. Check-in is a blur. You flash the company card, sign where needed, take the keycard handed over by a profoundly uninterested night clerk. Room 207. Second floor. Doesn't matter.

Finding the room, fumbling with the keycard, pushing the door open – it all happens in a haze of urgent autopilot. The room itself barely registers. Standard motel fare: two queen beds (ironically), beige walls, questionable art, the lingering scent of air freshener failing to completely mask years of transient lives. None of it matters.

The door clicks shut behind you, the deadbolt slides home with a satisfying thud, sealing you inside. Privacy. Finally.

You drop your bags by the door without looking. Kick off your shoes. When you turn, Irene is doing the same, her movements quick, almost frantic. Her jacket is already discarded on the floor. Her gaze meets yours across the small space, and the raw hunger from the parking lot is back, blazing in her eyes.

This time, you close the distance. No hesitation. Your hands find her waist, pulling her flush against you. Her arms snake around your neck instantly, pulling your head down. The kiss is immediate, but different now. The frantic, desperate edge is still there, but it’s tempered with a deliberate slowness, a need to explore, to taste, to finally savor what you’ve both apparently been craving.

Her lips are softer now, yielding against yours. You deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding against hers, a slow, wet exploration that sends shivers down your spine. It tastes like whiskey, lipstick, and pure, undiluted Irene. You groan softly into her mouth, pulling her impossibly closer, feeling the surprisingly firm lines of her body pressed against you. Her hands tangle in your hair again, holding you captive, her fingers digging slightly into your scalp in a way that’s more pleasure than pain. Your own hands roam her back, feeling the smooth fabric of her blouse, the delicate shape of her spine beneath.

After a long moment, she pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

"Better?" you murmur.

"Just getting started," she whispers back, and then her fingers, surprisingly nimble despite their slight tremble, are at the buttons of your dress shirt. She fumbles with the first one, her knuckles brushing against your rapidly heating skin. You cover her hand with yours for a second, a silent encouragement, then let her continue. One by one, the buttons come undone, her gaze fixed intently on the task, a faint blush rising on her cheeks again.

When the last button is free, you shrug the shirt off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor behind you. You stand there, bare-chested in the dim motel room light. Irene’s gaze drops, slowly taking you in. Her eyes trace the lines of your shoulders, your chest, linger for a moment on your stomach. You see her swallow, her throat working. A soft gasp escapes her lips.

Tentatively, almost reverently, she reaches out a hand. Her cool fingers ghost over your collarbone, then slide lower, pressing slightly against the muscle of your chest. Her touch is light, exploratory, yet it sets your skin on fire. She spreads her hand flat against your abdomen, her thumb brushing against your hipbone.

"You're..." she starts, then seems unable to finish the thought. She just continues her exploration, her touch becoming slightly bolder, less hesitant. It’s driving you crazy.

Your turn. Your hands go to her blouse, still tucked into her trousers. You undo the remaining buttons much faster than she did, your own fingers eager. You push the fabric aside, revealing her bra – delicate black lace, the contrast against her pale, smooth skin is stunning. You hear her sharp intake of breath as your fingers brush the swell of her breast above the cup.

You slide the blouse off her shoulders, letting it join yours on the floor. She stands before you, clad only in her bra and trousers, looking both vulnerable and incredibly sexy. Her arms are crossed loosely over her chest now, a hint of self-consciousness returning, but her eyes hold a defiant heat.

You reach around her, your fingers finding the clasp of her bra. It takes you a second – damn these things – but then it clicks open. You slide the straps down her arms, letting the garment fall away.

Her breasts are just as you imagined from her petite frame – small, perfectly formed, pale mounds topped with tight, rosy-pink nipples that pebble instantly under your gaze in the cool air of the room. She doesn’t try to cover herself now. She stands there, letting you look, her breathing shallow, her lips slightly parted.

You groan, a low sound deep in your chest. You lean down, capturing one taut peak gently between your lips. Her reaction is instantaneous. A choked gasp escapes her, her head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, fingers digging into your biceps. You suck gently at first, laving the sensitive nub with your tongue, feeling it harden even further against your palate. She makes a soft whimpering sound, arching her back slightly, pressing herself against your mouth.

Emboldened, you increase the pressure, sucking harder, nipping lightly with your teeth, eliciting another sharp gasp and a trembling sigh. You switch to the other breast, giving it equal attention, loving the way she melts under your touch, the way her controlled facade shatters into pure sensation. Her hands fist in your hair now, not pulling, just holding on as waves of pleasure seem to wash over her. The taste of her skin, the salty-sweetness, is addictive. You could do this for hours.

But the urgency is clawing back, the need for more. You reluctantly lift your head, leaving her breasts glistening, nipples taut and dark. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, her breath coming in short pants.

"Clothes," you manage. "Off. Now."

It dissolves into a tangle of limbs and frantic hands. Belts are unbuckled, zippers yanked down with more force than necessary. You struggle with her trousers, she fumbles with yours, bumping heads, maybe letting out frustrated laughs that quickly turn back into groans as skin meets skin. Shoes were already off, but now pants are kicked away impatiently, leaving you both standing in your underwear, chests bare.

Then, before you can pull her back into another kiss, Irene takes control again. Her eyes meet yours, blazing with a fierce determination you recognize from the boardroom, but now directed entirely towards you. She sinks gracefully to her knees before you on the slightly scratchy motel carpet.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her. Her dark hair curtains her face slightly as she reaches out, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your boxers. Slowly, deliberately, she slides them down your legs, revealing you fully. Your cock springs free, already painfully hard, throbbing in the cool air.

She doesn't touch you immediately. She just stays there, kneeling before you, her gaze fixed on your cock. Her eyes are wide, maybe a little awestruck, maybe just hungry. She licks her lips slowly, a gesture that feels both instinctive and incredibly provocative. You see her pupils dilate further. She reaches out a hand, her fingers cool and slightly trembling as they brush against the head of your cock. A jolt goes through you at the contact.

Her touch becomes bolder. She wraps her fingers around your shaft, testing your length, your thickness. Her other hand cups your balls gently, weighing them in her palm. A low groan rumbles in your chest. You watch her, mesmerized by the sight of Irene Bae, the picture of corporate perfection, kneeling before you, utterly focused on your cock.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of torturous anticipation, she leans forward. Her hair brushes against your thighs. She takes the head of your cock into her mouth, her lips soft, wet, incredibly hot. You hiss, your fingers automatically going to her head, tangling in the silky strands of her hair, not forcing, just holding her there, anchoring yourself.

The initial sensation is overwhelming – the wet heat, the gentle suction. She moves tentatively at first, maybe unsure, her tongue flicking against your sensitive frenulum, drawing another groan from you. Then, she seems to find her rhythm, or maybe just gives in to her own desire. She takes you deeper, her throat muscles working, sucking strongly, her tongue working magic along your shaft. She varies the pressure, the speed, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes faster, focusing on the head, driving you absolutely insane.

Your hips start to move involuntarily, a slight bucking motion, pushing yourself deeper into her mouth, chasing the incredible friction. You let out a string of low groans, maybe cursing softly under your breath. Her name might be a prayer or a demand on your lips. She hums softly around you, a sound of concentration, of pleasure, vibrating against your skin. This is beyond anything you could have imagined – her focus, her intensity, the sheer, raw hunger in her touch, in her mouth. The memory of the hard floor, the awkward silences, the professional distance – it all evaporates in the searing heat of this moment, replaced by the undeniable reality of Irene Bae's mouth working expertly on your cock.

Irene's initial tentative exploration gives way to something far more assured, more knowing, as she takes you deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. Her technique is devastatingly effective. One hand stays wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, creating a tight seal, while her mouth works miracles further up. She slides down smoothly, coating you in saliva, the suction strong and steady, before slowly drawing back up, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, eliciting a choked groan that rips through your chest.

"Fuck, Irene..." you gasp out, your eyes rolling back slightly, head thudding against the cheap motel headboard you didn't even realize you were leaning against. Your hands fist in her dark, silky hair, not pulling, just anchoring yourself as waves of pure pleasure crash through you. "Where the hell... did you learn to do that?"

She pauses for only a fraction of a second, lifting her head just enough to look up at you through her lashes. Her eyes are dark pools of undisguised lust, her lips wet, kiss-swollen, slightly red from the friction. A tiny smirk plays on her mouth.

"Pays to do your research… I've always thought about doing this,” she murmurs, before dipping her head again, taking you fully back into her mouth with a renewed enthusiasm that steals your breath. Research? Research on what? On you? The thought sends another jolt of pure electricity straight to your groin.

She changes rhythm, sometimes long, slow, deep strokes that feel like she’s trying to swallow you whole, her throat muscles working skillfully. Other times, she speeds up, her head bobbing faster, tongue flicking and teasing, driving you absolutely wild. Her free hand comes up, fingers gently tracing patterns on your inner thigh, occasionally dipping lower to cup your balls, the gentle pressure adding another layer to the exquisite torture. You hear the wet, slick sounds of her mouth working on you, mingling with your own ragged groans and the soft patter of rain that might have started up again outside – you can barely tell, lost in the sensations she’s creating.

"Jesus..." you pant, hips bucking off the bed involuntarily now, chasing the friction. "Thinking about this... you said... you thought about this?" You struggle to form coherent words through the haze of pleasure. "When? While you were... sending me passive-aggressive emails?"

She pulls back again slightly, dragging her lips slowly up your shaft, leaving a wet trail. Her eyes lock with yours. There's a vulnerability there now, mixed with the heat.

"All the time," she admits. "From the beginning. You drove me insane." She shakes her head slightly, hair brushing against your stomach. "Showing up, being so... effortlessly charming, so good at everything without seeming to even try... while I was working myself to the bone."

She leans forward again, pressing a soft kiss to the head of your cock before taking you back into her mouth, sucking gently this time, almost thoughtfully.

"I hated how easy it seemed for you," she continues, her words slightly muffled around you. "Hated how... how you made me feel." She pulls back again, looking up, her expression earnest, almost pained. "God, you have no idea... How hard I tried not to feel this."

"Tried?" you echo, reaching down, gently tilting her chin up so she has to keep looking at you. "What do you mean, 'tried'?"

“The job," she says. "My career. Everything I worked for. I couldn't afford distractions. Especially not... you. The boss's obvious favorite. The competition." Her gaze drops for a second. "I told myself you were just annoying. That the little flips my stomach did when you smirked at me were indigestion. That the only reason I watched you walk across the office was to make sure you weren't slacking off." She lets out a shaky laugh, devoid of humor. "I had to hate you. Or at least, pretend to. Act like you didn't exist, like you didn't..." She trails off, licking her lips again. "...affect me."

Hearing her confess this, seeing the raw honesty, the years of suppressed desire laid bare in her eyes while she’s kneeling between your legs – it’s fucking overwhelming. You feel a surge of something more than just lust – tenderness, understanding, a fierce connection forged in shared frustration.

"You..." you start. You gently cup her face, thumbs stroking her damp cheeks. "You felt that too? All this time? That... pull?" You shake your head, needing her to understand. "Fuck, Irene, I thought I was losing my mind. Your glares could freeze hell over, but then... the coffee thing, the party... little moments where I thought I saw something else." You let out a harsh breath. "I figured I was just projecting because... because goddammit, I wanted you too. So fucking badly. Probably since that first day I saw you chewing out the intern and thought, 'Wow, she's terrifyingly hot'."

"Terrifyingly hot?" she repeats. "Is that how you saw me?"

"Among other things," you admit, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Driven. Brilliant. Prickly as a cactus. And utterly captivating."

That seems to break the dam. She surges forward, her mouth reclaiming yours in a deep, soul-searing kiss, her earlier desperation replaced by a profound sense of release, of acceptance. Her hands cup your face as she kisses you, pouring all that pent-up emotion, all that suppressed longing, into the connection. You kiss her back just as deeply.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, her eyes are clear, blazing with intent. The vulnerability is still there, but now it's overlaid with pure, unadulterated hunger. She looks down at your cock, still hard and slick in her hand, then back up at you.

She dives back down, taking you into her mouth with a ferocity that makes you gasp aloud. There's no hesitation now, no tentative exploration. It’s pure worship, pure need. She sucks hard, her throat muscles working expertly, taking you as deep as she possibly can, her hand working your shaft in perfect rhythm. She knows exactly what she’s doing, what you need, reading your body with an intimacy that belies the fact this is the first time she’s ever done this. The sounds she makes are louder now – wet sucking noises, occasional choked gasps as she takes you deeper, throaty hums of pleasure.

Your own control is rapidly disintegrating. Your hips are bucking wildly off the bed now, completely involuntary, chasing the incredible sensations. Your hands are tangled tightly in her hair, knuckles white, not pulling, just holding on for dear life. Groans rip from your throat, unfiltered, animalistic. The pressure builds relentlessly, coiling tight and low in your gut. Every nerve ending is screaming.

"Irene... Fuck... Irene!" you gasp out, your vision starting to blur at the edges. "I can't... I'm gonna..."

She makes a low, guttural sound around you, her pace somehow increasing, becoming frantic, pushing you right over the precipice. You feel that tell-tale tightening deep inside, the point of no return hurtling towards you. You're about to lose it, right here, right now, in the incredible heat of Irene Bae's mouth.

Irene seems to sense you're close, impossibly close. Her ministrations become laser-focused, utterly relentless. She tightens her grip at your base, trapping blood, making your already throbbing cock feel impossibly hard, almost painfully full. Her mouth works faster, suction strong, but it's her tongue that sends you over the edge. She finds that hypersensitive ridge beneath the head, the frenulum, and concentrates her attack right there, flicking, licking, swirling with an agonizing precision that bypasses thought entirely.

"Ah... fuck! Irene! Right there!" you choke out, unable to stop the raw sounds ripping from your throat. Your back arches off the mattress, every muscle in your body clenched tight as a fist. The pressure builds, an unbearable, exquisite agony coiling deep in your balls, climbing higher, demanding release.

With one final, expert flick of her tongue against that spot, combined with a deep, powerful suck, the dam breaks. A guttural roar tears from your lungs as your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. Your vision whites out for a second. Your hips slam upwards uncontrollably as your cock pulses violently, spasming in her mouth, releasing thick, heavy ropes of cum.

You feel it pulsing out, hot and thick. Through the haze, you dimly register that Irene doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. If anything, she seems to press closer, her tongue still working, deliberately licking at the head, catching the first hot spurts, chasing the sensation even as you come undone.

Your cum wells up, thick and white, accumulating at the tip before starting to run down the shaft, coating the inside of her cheeks. And then, with a decisive, almost greedy movement, she slides her mouth all the way down your shaft again, taking every last pulsing drop deep into her throat, swallowing strongly, her throat muscles contracting visibly. She keeps sucking for a moment even after the pulsing stops, ensuring she gets every last bit, cleaning you with an efficiency that's both shocking and incredibly fucking hot.

Finally, she releases you, pulling back slowly. Your cock slaps wetly against your stomach, slick with her saliva and remnants of your release. You collapse back against the headboard, utterly spent, chest heaving, limbs trembling. You stare at her, kneeling there between your legs, her dark hair slightly mussed, lips plump and glistening, a faint white sheen at the corners of her mouth despite her thorough swallowing.

"Holy... shit, Irene," you manage to rasp out. You shake your head slightly, trying to clear it. "That was... fuck. Best. Ever."

A slow, incredibly sexy smirk spreads across her face. She reaches up, slowly licking a stray droplet from her lower lip, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is pure, unadulterated confidence, a world away from the flustered woman in the parking lot.

You reach for her then, needing her closer. You grab her hands, pulling her up from her knees. She comes willingly, rising gracefully. You pull her onto the bed, maneuvering her beneath you so she’s lying on her back, looking up at you with that same dark, hungry gaze. You capture her mouth in another deep kiss, tasting yourself on her, the salty tang mingling with the whiskey and her own unique flavor. It's intoxicating.

You break the kiss, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her jawline, onto the pale, smooth skin of her neck. You linger there, where you desperately wanted to bite her in the parking lot, sucking gently, nipping lightly with your teeth, rewarded by her sharp intake of breath and the way her fingers fist in the motel sheets beside her hips. You continue your descent, kissing the hollow of her collarbone, your tongue tracing the delicate bones.

Your mouth finds her breasts again. They look even more perfect now, flushed slightly, nipples still tight, pebbled peaks begging for attention. You oblige, latching onto one, sucking strongly, rolling the nipple between your tongue and palate while your free hand gently teases the other, thumbing the peak, squeezing the soft mound.

"Ah... ah, yes... please..." she gasps out, her head thrashing slightly against the pillow, hips starting to lift off the bed in involuntary arches. She sounds wrecked already, her usual control completely dissolved into raw need.

You give her breasts lingering attention, loving the soft whimpers and gasps you draw from her, before continuing your downward path. You kiss the soft skin of her stomach, lingering for a moment at her navel, flicking your tongue into the small indentation, making her giggle breathlessly despite her arousal. Her hands flutter, unsure where to land – sometimes gripping your hair, sometimes clutching the sheets, sometimes hovering just above your shoulders.

Finally, you reach the waistband of her remaining underwear. You hook your thumbs into the waistband, pausing for a moment, looking up at her flushed, beautiful face, her eyes hazy with lust. Then, you slowly slide them down her legs, revealing her completely.

You pause again, taking her in. Her mound is neat, shaved smooth. it's perfect against her pale skin. Her outer lips are plump, slightly parted already, glistening with the clear, slick wetness of her arousal. The air fills with her scent – musky, sweet, utterly female, driving you wild. You inhale deeply, savoring it.

"So beautiful," you murmur before lowering your head between her thighs.

You don’t say anything else. You just slide your hands under her thighs and drag her closer, lifting her hips slightly, angling her open.

Then you kiss her pussy.

She jolts like she’s been shocked, hands gripping the sheets tight as you drag your tongue slowly from the bottom of her slit up to her clit, licking through all that wetness. She tastes incredible - salty, musky, a little sweet. Fucking addictive.

“Ahnn—!” she gasps, biting her knuckle to keep quiet, thighs twitching.

You flick your tongue against her clit, fast little strokes that make her hips jerk. Then you flatten your tongue and lick her deep again, pressing your mouth to her like you’re kissing her lips. Your tongue plunges between them, fucking into her slowly, over and over again. She moans - soft, breathy, helpless. Her hips grind against your mouth now, chasing the rhythm.

You slide one hand up, thumb stroking her thigh, and the other hand slips under her ass to keep her tilted right where you want her.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” you mumble between licks. “I could eat this pussy for hours.”

Her voice cracks. “Sh-shut the fuck up and—ahhhn—don’t stop—”

You don’t. Your tongue works faster now, focused on her clit, flicking it mercilessly while your mouth stays sealed to her. She's dripping so much you can literally hear the wet noises every time your tongue dives back in. Her legs are shaking, stomach tensing, and she keeps whispering something you can’t quite make out between gasps and moans.

“Right there—fuck, right there—don’t you fucking dare stop—ahhh—”

Her hands find your hair, pulling tight, riding your mouth like she’s forgotten anything else exists. You slide a finger up, press it gently to her entrance - and she clamps down, tight, velvet-slick and hot as hell.

You glance up. She’s watching you now, pupils blown, face red, lips parted.

“Please,” she whispers. “I—fuck, I’m close—”

You push your finger in. She screams.

And you don’t stop.

Your finger’s barely two knuckles in before she clenches down on it hard, walls fluttering like she’s already teetering on the edge - and you haven’t even started properly fucking her with your mouth yet. Just teased her, tasted her, dragged your tongue up and down that needy little slit while she squirmed and begged and moaned into the sheets like she couldn’t help it.

But now?

Now it’s game over.

You curl your finger inside her just enough to stroke along her front wall, then dive back down with your mouth, tongue flattening against her clit before flicking in fast, tight circles. Left-right-left again. Her whole body jolts.

“Ahnnnn—fuck, fuck—!” Her thighs clamp in around your head, squeezing hard, and she’s half-pulling, half-pushing at your hair, like she doesn’t know if she wants to run or grind you deeper.

You smile against her, lips dragging over that sensitive nub as you suck it into your mouth. Just a little pressure at first, just enough for her to feel it, then you suck harder, sealing your mouth around her clit and letting your tongue flick-flick-flick until her hips start rolling on their own.

“Fuck, yes—right there, right fucking there,” she gasps, voice cracking beautifully. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare—!”

You moan into her, on purpose this time, letting the vibration hit her right in the sweet spot.

“You have no idea,” you say against her skin, the words muffled by her soaked pussy, “how long I’ve wanted this. Dreamed about this. You, like this. Dripping for me.”

She lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob, legs trembling. “I used to get horny thinking about what you’d taste like,” you continue, tongue flicking again. “How your pussy would feel against my mouth. And now?”

You pull back just long enough to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss right against her slit. “Now I finally fucking get to taste you.”

“Holy shit,” she breathes, voice shaking. “Y-you’re disgusting.”

“Yup,” you grin, dragging your tongue up again, this time slower, letting her feel every inch. “And you love it.”

“God—yes—fuck—” Her fingers tighten in your hair again, her body arching off the bed as her thighs start to tremble harder. “You’re so—fucking good at this—Jesus—”

You slip a second finger in, and she clenches even tighter around both, slick and hot and wet as fuck. You pump your fingers slowly at first, then faster, syncing them with your tongue, which is working her clit with ruthless, practiced intensity now—fast circles, hard flicks, messy wet sucks. Her whole body’s thrashing now. She’s right there. You feel it.

“Irene,” you mutter. “Come for me. Come on my fucking tongue.”

She shudders. Her heels dig into the bed, hands fisting the sheets tight enough to tear them, and then she breaks.

“FUCK—!” she cries out, thighs snapping tight around your head. “Oh my god—I’m—I’m—ahhh—ahhnnnn—!”

Her pussy clamps down around your fingers like a vice, pulsing hard and fast, and you don’t let up. You keep your mouth latched to her clit, sucking through it, licking and drinking every drop like she’s your last goddamn meal.

You feel the gush before you taste it. Her cum hits your tongue in a hot, slick rush, and you groan into her, licking deeper, fucking her through every wave. She’s trembling like a leaf, legs twitching, breath coming in short, ragged little whimpers. One hand’s still tangled in your hair, the other pressed over her mouth like she’s trying not to scream the whole hotel awake.

You finally ease off, slowing your tongue, kissing her thighs gently, licking up the mess you made. She’s panting hard, chest heaving, skin flushed from her cheeks all the way down to her collarbones.

You crawl up the bed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, leaning over her like you just conquered a fucking mountain. Irene’s eyes crack open. She looks wrecked, hair stuck to her forehead, lips parted, eyes dazed. You’ve never seen her like this.

“Well?” you ask. “Better than you imagined?”

She lets out a weak laugh, breathless and hoarse.

“Are you kidding?” she murmurs. “I—I thought about it, yeah. Once or twice. But that… fuck.”

You grin, dipping your head to kiss her throat, tasting her skin, her sweat. “I’m not done,” you whisper against her pulse. “Not even close.”

You keep moving up, lips brushing over the curve of her breast, catching her nipple between your lips one more time, sucking slow just to hear her gasp again. She does, hands coming up to grip your shoulders this time, nails biting into your skin like she needs something to hold onto.

By the time you reach her mouth again, her legs are already curling around your waist, like her body’s decided it knows exactly what’s happening next even if her brain hasn’t caught up. You kiss her softly at first - languid, slow, lips parting against hers - and then harder, deeper, tasting her whimper, the desperation in it.

You feel her hips rocking up against you.

“Fuck,” she whispers into your mouth. “I need it. I need you inside me.”

You pull back just enough to look down at her. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lashes wet, cheeks flushed beautifully. She's still wrecked, still riding that afterglow high - but the hunger behind it is real, raw, needier than anything you’ve ever seen on her face.

Your cock is already hard again, thick and aching and pressed up against her soaked slit. It’s almost unbearable, the heat of her skin, the way her slick folds are already parting around your tip, begging for more.

“Condom,” you manage to say, brain barely functioning.

She shakes her head instantly, biting her lip. “No. Don’t care. I just… I need to feel it.”

You blink. “Joohyun…”

“I mean it,” she breathes. “I don’t care. Just fuck me. I need your cock now.”

Fuck. You grab your cock at the base and slide it slowly along her slit, letting her feel the weight of it, the heat, the size. She shivers. She’s so wet you glide right through it, your tip bumping against her clit and making her gasp, thighs twitching on either side of you.

You watch her as you line yourself up, dragging your cock down until it catches against her entrance. Her pussy’s still twitching, visibly soaked, the lips glistening with a fresh sheen of slick. She’s tiny - tight - and you know this is going to stretch her like hell.

“You sure?” you ask one last time.

“Do it,” she says, voice cracking. “I need to feel you stretch me out. Just—fuck, just do it.”

So you do.

You push in slow - just the tip - and the heat is blinding. She gasps sharply, hands flying up to clutch your arms.

“Shit—” she chokes, legs tensing around you. “You’re… oh my god—you’re huge—”

She’s gripping you like a goddamn fist. Her pussy clenches around your head so tightly it’s hard to move, and you groan low in your throat, already struggling not to lose it.

“Relax,” you whisper, rubbing her thigh. “Breathe. Let me in.”

She tries. You see her eyes flutter shut, mouth open, chest heaving as she focuses. You slide in another inch and her body tightens again, sucking you in like her pussy’s never taken anything this big before.

“Holy fuck, Joohyun,” you grit out, watching yourself sink into her. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I-it’s a lot,” she pants, legs trembling. “I can feel… everything.”

You look down. And there - fuck. You can see it. A bulge under her lower stomach, small but unmistakable, pressing up under her skin when you push in just deep enough. She follows your gaze, then sees it too.

Her breath catches. “Is that… you?

“Yeah,” you breathe, mesmerized. “That’s my cock, baby. Stretching your tiny little pussy open.”

She lets out a ragged whimper, biting her lip hard. “Keep going,” she begs. “I want it all.” You inch in slowly, savoring every second. Her cunt is pulsing around you with every heartbeat, so hot, so wet, tighter than anything you’ve ever felt. It’s like she was made for this, like her body was shaped to take you and only you, and even then, it’s barely handling it. You finally bottom out, fully sheathed, hips pressed tight against hers, and she lets out a long, broken moan.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “It’s so deep—I feel so full—I can’t—fuck—”

You don’t move at first, letting her adjust, letting her feel just how completely you’ve filled her. Her pussy keeps fluttering around your cock like she’s trying to milk it, desperate to hold you inside.

You lean down, mouth right next to her ear.

“You feel that?” you whisper. “That’s me. All of me. Deep in your fucking guts.”

“Uh-huh—” she gasps, nodding fast, nails scraping down your back. “I feel it—I feel everything—please, please move—”

You start slow, pulling out just a couple inches and sliding back in. The friction is unbelievable. Her cunt clings to you like velvet vice, slick and hot and perfect. She cries out again, hips rocking up to meet yours.

“Fuck me,” she pleads. “Harder. I want it—I need to feel it—”

You give it to her. And the way her pussy grips your cock every time you start to pull out? It’s unreal. She’s so fucking tight, slick walls pulsing around you like she doesn’t want to let you go, like her body’s clinging to you on instinct. You’re buried to the hilt, hips flush against hers, and she’s shaking beneath you, gasping into your mouth like she’s already losing her mind from just this slow rhythm.

Every thrust starts controlled, deliberate - your hips rolling against her, cock dragging out of her inch by inch, gliding slick and wet until just the head’s inside, then pushing all the way back in, slow and deep. Her whole body arches, her tits pressing to your chest as she moans into the kiss, voice soft and breathless.

“Oh my god—fuck, fuck—you feel so good—” she gasps against your lips, hands scrabbling at your back. “It’s so much—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you growl, breaking the kiss to mouth along her jaw, your tongue sliding hot over her skin. “You’re taking it so fucking well, Joohyun. Look at you. Taking every inch of my cock in that tiny fucking pussy.”

She whimpers, head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed. You take the opening and kiss her neck, slow at first, then rougher, letting your teeth scrape lightly before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Hhnnn—ahhh—!” she cries out, body bucking under you.

“Mine,” you murmur against her throat, the taste of her skin salty and addictive. “This body’s fucking mine.”

She chokes on a moan, clenching around you like she’s about to come from just the words.

“Y-yours,” she gasps. “Fuck, yes—I want it—I want it so bad—!”

Your thrusts pick up, pace increasing, hips slamming against hers with wet, obscene sounds. The slick slap of skin fills the motel room, your cock pounding into her over and over, every stroke pushing a new cry from her lips. She’s so small beneath you, tiny frame writhing under each thrust, trying to take it all and somehow still needing more.

You kiss her again, this time messy, teeth knocking, tongues tangled, just trying to devour each other between gasps. Her moans are constant now, desperate, broken little sounds between every slam of your hips.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” you pant into her mouth. “Wanted to feel you wrapped around me, wanted to fuck you till you scream my name—”

“I thought about it,” she blurts out, breath hitching. “In the office—I thought about you—fucking me over the desk—your hands in my hair—ahhhnn—!”

That does something to you. You lose it a little.

You sit up on your knees, dragging her hips up with you, and start fucking her harder - deep, brutal thrusts that make the bed slam against the wall. Her body jolts with every one, her tits bouncing, hair splayed out on the pillow as she cries out over and over, no longer trying to stay quiet.

“Right there—right fucking there!” she screams, eyes wide open now, staring at you like she’s burning alive from the inside out. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop, I’m—”

You grab her thighs, angle her hips up just slightly more, and slam into her so hard she screams, nails raking down your chest.

“I’m cumming—I’m gonna—ahhhhhh—!”

Her pussy clenches around your cock like a vice, spasming hard as she crashes into her orgasm, back arching, mouth falling open in a soundless moan as wave after wave rolls through her. You feel everything - every twitch, every squeeze, her whole body trembling under yours as she soaks your cock, juices dripping down to your balls. You don’t stop. Not yet.

Her body doesn't even stop trembling before you're moving again, hands gripping her hips, thrusting deep into that spasming, soaking heat. She gasps - high-pitched, raw - as you bottom out again, her walls fluttering madly around your cock. She's still cumming, or maybe her body just hasn’t figured out how to stop. Her thighs are shaking, heels sliding uselessly against the sheets as your rhythm holds, slower but deep, like you're trying to reach her soul with every stroke.

"Ahhh—f-fuck—it's still—!" Her voice shatters into a broken moan as you thrust in hard again, burying yourself to the base. She rolls her eyes back, jaw slack, expression completely unguarded - beautiful and messy and real.

You grind your hips at the end of the thrust and suddenly—

"Fuck—fuck, I—I’m—ahhhhhnnn—!"

She jerks under you violently, like she’s been shocked. Her pussy explodes, a gush of warm wetness flooding over your cock, drenching your balls, soaking the sheets. You watch it happen, stunned for a heartbeat as she squirts, shaking and convulsing, her fingers digging into your arms like she’s trying to keep from flying apart.

"Shit, Joohyun—" you groan, staring down at her in awe. “That’s it. That’s it, baby, let it all out.”

She’s still crying out, head tossed back, body trembling as her pussy keeps clenching, fluttering, leaking all over you. You don’t stop, fucking her through it, shallow thrusts that keep the pressure exactly where it needs to be while her body loses its goddamn mind.

The sight of Irene like this: fucked out, twitching, squirting, burns into your brain like the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen. Bae Joohyun, the office’s ice queen, a picture of control and composure, is now writhing under you with her legs spread wide and cum running down her thighs. Her moans are broken, stuttered, barely coherent, and her eyes are glassy with bliss. Finally, the tremors start to fade. Her body goes limp, legs falling open, and she lets out a long, shaking breath. Her arms come up, slow and trembling, wrapping tight around your shoulders.

You collapse onto her chest, still inside, pressed against her like you need her to stay grounded. Your heart’s pounding. She’s breathing hard beneath you, soft little hiccups in her chest like she doesn’t even know how to recover.

“You—” she starts, voice hoarse. “You are… fucking insane.”

You chuckle, kissing her sweat-slicked shoulder. “You came so hard you fucking squirted, Joohyun. I think you broke me.”

She laughs, breathless, hands sliding up into your hair. “I’ve never come like that. Never. That was—oh my god, that was fucking incredible.”

You lift your head to look at her. Her face is flushed, glowing. There’s something in her eyes now - not just dazed pleasure, but something deeper.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she murmurs, fingertips tracing your jaw, slow and delicate like she’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You and me. Here. Like this.”

You tilt your head, studying her. “You sorry it happened?”

She freezes, lips parting slightly. Your eyes lock - and for a second, the silence stretches between you, heavy with whatever the hell this is turning into. “No,” she says finally, and there’s no hesitation in it. “No, I’m not sorry. I don’t think I could be, even if I tried.”

You nod slowly, kissing her again, this time with something gentler behind it. Her hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You feel the shift in her hips even before she speaks again.

“Are you close?” she whispers, lips brushing your cheek.

You groan, grinding your hips into hers. “Yeah. I’ve been holding back, but… fuck, Joohyun, you feel too good.”

She bites her lip, still panting softly. “Then I want to make you cum.”

Her voice is hoarse, but there’s something determined behind it. “Even if I’m sensitive. Even if it fucking hurts.”

“Babe, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” she says, smiling through the flush. “Let me ride you.” She shifts beneath you, pushing at your shoulders until you fall back onto the mattress. She climbs on top slowly, wincing just a little as she straddles your hips. Her legs are trembling, pussy still twitching, but her eyes never leave yours.

She reaches down, guiding your still-hard cock to her entrance. And fuck - she’s still soaking, but sensitive as hell. The moment the head slides in, her whole body tenses.

“F-fuck—” she breathes, gripping your chest. “So full. Again.”

“You okay?” you ask, voice tight.

She nods quickly, face strained. “I’m okay. I can take it. I want it.”

And then she starts to move. Slowly - agonizingly slow - she sinks down on your cock, her pussy stretching around you all over again. She whines low in her throat, legs shaking with the effort.

Her voice trembles. “You feel so fucking deep.”

You grip her hips, watching her ride you, barely able to believe how beautiful she looks like this. Hair a mess, sweat glistening down her chest, legs struggling to keep the rhythm - but she won’t stop. Every bounce makes her gasp, every grind has her whining into the dark motel room air, and you feel it building in you, tightening fast.

The way she moves - rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles - makes your breath catch hard in your throat. She's still so tight, even after everything, and every single motion feels like you're being pulled deeper into something you might not come back from. Her hands are braced on your chest, her thighs trembling slightly with exertion, but her expression? That’s what gets you. Eyes heavy-lidded, flushed cheeks, lips parted in a mix of concentration and something way too raw to be just pleasure. She’s watching your face as she rides you, like she’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart beneath her.

The pace starts slow. Her movements are languid, almost lazy, like she’s savoring it, dragging her slick, aching pussy along the length of your cock with a deliberate grind that makes your stomach flex. Her warmth swallows you, over and over, her body squeezing tight every time she sinks back down.

“You like watching me like this?” she whispers, a little breathless, but with that same venomous sweetness behind her voice. She leans forward, hands pressed flat against your chest now, breasts hanging just above your face as she bounces a little faster, a little harder. The slap of skin against skin returns - softer now, wet and obscene, her cunt audibly swallowing your cock.

“You’re unreal,” you manage. “I can’t believe this is fucking real.”

“Believe it,” she grins, hips slapping down again, making you twitch inside her. “I want you to remember this every time you look at me across the office. Every time you think about me in meetings. That you had me like this.”

“Fuck, Irene—”

Your hands reach up and catch hers, fingers threading together, grounding you both. The shift in angle makes her whimper, head tilting back as her thighs flex, ass slapping against you harder now.

She rides you harder, faster, eyes locked on yours, her moans mixing with yours in a haze of breath and sweat and desperation.

“Gonna cum soon,” you gasp, hands tightening on hers. “Fuck—Joohyun—I’m close.”

Her thighs are trembling, muscles burning, but Irene doesn’t stop - doesn’t even slow down. She’s bouncing on your cock like she’s trying to ruin you, riding hard, frantic, every slap of her soaked pussy against your lap loud, wet, obscene. She’s a fucking mess - hair a disaster, face red and dewy with sweat, tits jiggling wildly with every brutal grind - but she doesn’t care. She’s into it. She’s owning it. She leans forward and spits pure filth, her lips parted in a breathless grin, eyes blazing like she’s high on how deep she’s taking you.

“Come on,” she pants, riding you hard, slamming down over and over, your cock buried so deep it punches the air right out of your lungs. “Fucking cum, baby. I can feel that cock twitching inside me.”

You groan, one hand gripping her hip tight, the other sliding up to her tits, squeezing, watching the soft flesh spill through your fingers.

“Irene—fuck—gonna make me—”

“Yeah?” she cuts you off, her nails raking across your chest as she grinds down hard, clenching around you on purpose. “You gonna cum for me again, huh? Gonna cum all over my body like a good boy?”

You growl, hands snapping to her ass, holding her in place so you can fuck up into her now, hips pistoning into her soaked cunt while she squeals and moans like the dirtiest little thing you’ve ever seen. Her eyes are rolling, mouth slack, and she’s loving it - riding you like a cock-drunk slut with something to prove.

“God—yes—fuck, yes, fuck me—fuck me—harder—!” she cries out, nails biting into your shoulders as she throws her hips down to meet every brutal thrust. “I want your cum—I want to feel it—I want to feel it all over my body; warm, thick, sticking to my skin.”

You snarl something wordless, thrusting harder, faster, deeper, your balls slapping against her ass with every frantic collision.

“You like that?” she gasps, barely coherent now. “You like this pussy? Tight little fucking cunt squeezing your cock like it was made to milk it dry?”

“Fuck—Joohyun—gonna—fuck—I’m—”

The moment she slips off your cock, the heat leaves you with a wet noise and you're left pulsing in the open air, soaked in her wetness, veins standing out along your shaft like it’s straining to explode. Irene falls back onto the bed, limbs sprawled, chest rising and falling with uneven, post-orgasm gasps. Her skin glows with sweat, her thighs slick, trembling, still twitching from how violently she came - and then she looks at you.

And fuck, that look.

Lust-drunk, completely wrecked, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly open like she’s still dazed - but there’s something sharp underneath, something needy, greedy, filthy. She spreads her legs wider, completely unashamed. Her hands slide up her torso, fingers lightly skimming her stomach, then over her tits, which she squeezes softly, pinching a nipple like she’s toying with herself just to keep your eyes locked on her.

“Come on,” she murmurs. “Show me. I want to see it.”

You wrap your fist around your cock - slick, hot, twitching - and start stroking, fast and rough, the veins bulging, your tip swollen and twitching with every heartbeat. You’re kneeling over her like it’s ritual, like this is the fucking altar and she’s laid out in front of you, hair a mess over the pillow, chest heaving, legs spread wide, skin glowing with sweat and sex. And she’s just looking up at you like she’s starving.

“Come on,” she breathes, her hands sliding up her own stomach, cupping her tits, squeezing them together. Her thumbs flick her nipples, her eyes locked on your cock. “Cum for me, baby. I want it all over me. Cover me with it—paint me.”

You groan, deep and guttural, biting your lip so hard it stings. It’s surreal—Irene, the same ice-cold, composed, impossible-to-please Irene from across your cubicle, now spread out like a fucking porn star, looking at you with cum-hungry eyes and begging like a slut for your load.

She smirks as she sees the look on your face, teasing you with just her voice. “You like this, huh?” she says, dragging one hand slowly down her stomach. “Watching your coworker get messy? Filthy? Begging to get covered in your cum?”

“Fuck, Joohyun—don’t stop,” you groan, jerking faster now, chasing the tightness building in your gut.

“I want to feel it,” she whispers, her voice shifting, getting rougher, needier. “I want everything you’ve got. Drench me. Make a fucking mess of me.”

She licks her lips as she says it. Her thighs spread wider. One hand cups her breast again, the other trailing lower, fingertips barely grazing her oversensitive clit. And she’s smiling - smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Your cock throbs hard in your grip.

“You gonna give it to me?” she says, breath hitching. “You gonna jerk off like a good boy and give your dirty little coworker what she needs?”

“Fuck—yes, yes—I’m so fucking close—” you pant, jerking harder, faster, your balls tightening.

Her voice drops into a whisper, thick with lust and taunting affection. “Then cum for me. Cum for your little cumslut. I’m ready for it. I need it.”

Your vision tunnels. Your whole body seizes up. And then you’re there. With a broken groan, your cock explodes, the first thick rope of cum shooting out hard and painting her chest, streaking from collarbone to nipple. She gasps, eyes wide, biting her lip, watching it hit her.

“Yes—fuck yes—” she moans, arching her back, offering more skin. “More—give me more—”

Another jet lands across her stomach, thick and white, dripping down between her ribs. Then another hits higher, splashing across her throat and chin, and she laughs through it, twisted and breathless and completely unrecognizable from the Irene you’ve known at work. You’re still cumming, stroke after stroke, your cock throbbing violently in your hand as you spurt again and again - her tits, her belly, the soft curve of her hip, streaks of white everywhere. She writhes in it, moaning, hands smearing it into her skin like it’s lotion.

“Oh my god—look at how much you fucking came—fuck, it’s so hot—”

You stroke the last few drops out, your tip now so sensitive it burns, but she’s not done.

“Come here,” she pants. “One more.”

You blink down at her, chest heaving. “One more?”

“On my face,” she growls, licking her lips again. “Mark me.”

You swear you almost cum again on command. You kneel higher over her, aiming your cock right at her flushed, expectant face. She tilts her chin up, mouth parted, tongue out slightly, eyes fluttering shut like she’s about to get baptized.

You stroke hard - just a few fast pumps - and you feel it hit again, the pressure spiking. A hot, sticky burst lands across her cheek, then her nose, then her lips. She moans, mouth catching a string of it, and another shot hits her right between the eyes, dripping down her forehead.

“Mmmnnhhh,” she moans, lips curling around her tongue as she catches the taste. “Fuck… yes.”

Her hands come up, fingers dragging through it, smearing your cum across her own cheeks, her mouth. You’re trembling, panting, absolutely destroyed, and she still looks hungry.

“Look at me,” she whispers, eyes fluttering open, cum dripping from her chin. “You fucking ruined me.”

You’re about to collapse when she pushes herself up slightly, sitting up with effort. Her eyes drop back to your cock - still twitching, slick and flushed - and she leans in. Without hesitation, she wraps her lips around the tip and sucks.

You almost scream.

Your hands fly to her hair, hips jerking, as she takes the head into her mouth and sucks gently, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip like she’s savoring every drop you’ve got left. Her mouth’s warm and wet and slow, and it’s too much - you twitch, thighs tensing, muscles locking up.

“Holy fuck, Irene—!”

She moans, low and satisfied, as she pulls off with a slow, wet noise, licking her lips one more time, eyes dazed and shining. And then she grins, breathless.

“Perfect,” she whispers.

You collapse on the bed, utterly spent, breathing hard, just watching her. Irene Bae. Your rival, your coworker, the person you spend hours just pranking and annoying. Currently kneeling beside you on a motel bed, naked, flushed, her dark hair tangled, her skin glistening with sweat and drying trails of your cum. Her lips are swollen from kissing and from cleaning you, a faint red smear still visible at one corner. And somehow, despite the absolute messy reality of the last hour, she looks breathtakingly beautiful. More beautiful than you’ve ever seen her. The raw vulnerability, the satisfied exhaustion, the sheer woman beneath the corporate armor – it’s devastating.

You reach out slowly, your hand still trembling slightly from the force of your orgasm. You gently cup her cheek, your thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair plastered there by sweat or... your cum. She leans into your touch instantly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, completely trusting. Then, she turns her head slightly and presses a soft, lingering kiss against the palm of your hand. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels profoundly intimate.

A small, breathless chuckle escapes you. "Okay... wow," you murmur, shaking your head slightly in disbelief at the whole situation. "Right. Uh..." You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of normal thought. "I think... I think maybe we should attempt some... decontamination? Before we permanently bond with this questionable bedspread." You gesture vaguely at the state of her, and likely yourself. "A shower might be a good idea."

She nods, her eyes drifting open again, soft and hazy. "Yeah," she agrees. "Good idea."

Moving feels like a monumental effort, but you manage it, helping each other untangle limbs and push upright. Standing beside the bed, unsteady on your feet, you get a full view of the beautiful disaster you’ve made of her. You offer her a hand, pulling her gently towards the tiny bathroom.

Stepping into the small shower stall together feels strangely normal after everything else. You turn on the water, adjusting the temperature until it’s comfortably warm, not too hot. The spray washes over both of you, rinsing away the sweat, the slickness, the drying evidence of your climax from her skin. You find a small bar of generic motel soap. Without asking, you start gently soaping her back, your hands moving slowly, tracing the delicate lines of her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine. She leans back against you slightly, letting out a soft sigh of contentment, resting her head back on your shoulder.

She takes the soap from you after a moment, turning to return the favor, her small hands surprisingly strong as she works up a lather on your chest, her touch feather-light but sending shivers down your spine nonetheless. There’s a quiet intimacy in the shared task, the shared nudity feeling different now – less charged with frantic need, more comfortable, vulnerable. You stand under the steaming water. You share another long, slow kiss under the water, tongues tangling gently, a reaffirmation rather than a prelude. Mostly, though, it’s just about getting clean, about the quiet care after the storm.

Finally, clean and slightly less shaky, you turn off the water. You grab the two thin, threadbare towels provided by the motel. You wrap one around her, taking a moment to gently towel dry her hair, her dark strands clinging to your fingers. She does the same for you, her movements efficient but gentle.

Back in the main room, wrapped in towels, the exhaustion hits hard. You both sink down onto the edge of the bed you haven't yet defiled – the one further from the door. You feel clean, wrung out, and suddenly ravenous.

"Hungry?" you ask, glancing over at her. She’s staring blankly at the wall, looking utterly drained but peaceful.

She nods slowly. "Starving, actually."

"Okay." You stand up, resolve firming. Duty calls. Or at least, takeout calls. I volunteer as tribute. What culinary delight can I procure for the lady?" You pause, unable to resist a small jab. "And please, for the love of god, tell me you're not going to ask for a kale salad with lemon vinaigrette right now."

A genuine laugh bubbles up from her, startlingly bright in the quiet room. She shakes her head, meeting your eyes with amusement. "Definitely not salad," she confirms. "Not tonight." She thinks for a moment, biting her lip. "Could you… maybe find a burger? Like, a proper greasy one? And fries? Lots of fries?"

Relief floods you. "An excellent, perfectly reasonable request!" you declare dramatically. "A greasy burger and copious fries it is. I shall return victorious!" You quickly pull on your jeans and random t-shirt, grab your wallet and the room keycard. "Don't go anywhere," you add with a wink, before slipping out the door.

The hunt for late-night, non-salad food takes you to a slightly sketchy but blessedly open 24-hour diner a few blocks away. You return twenty minutes later, triumphant, bearing two large paper bags smelling gloriously of fried onions, grease, and potential cardiac arrest.

You find Irene exactly where you left her, still wrapped in a towel, though she’s now curled up on top of the clean bedspread. You spread out your feast on the small, round table in the corner – burgers, mountains of fries, onion rings, a couple of sodas. You ditch your own shirt again, deciding comfort trumps propriety at this point, and join her, sitting cross-legged on the bed opposite the food table.

You eat mostly in a comfortable silence, punctuated by satisfied sighs and occasional comments about the food ("This is disgustingly good," she declares after her first bite of burger). You catch each other's eye occasionally, sharing small, knowing smiles. The remnants of smeared lipstick are gone, the tear tracks washed away, the drying cum replaced by the faint scent of cheap motel soap and greasy food. It feels… normal. Almost domestic, in a weird, post-apocalyptic-motel-tryst kind of way.

Finally, bellies full, wrappers and cartons shoved back into the paper bags, teeth already brushed, the inevitable question of sleep arises. You look pointedly at the two queen beds occupying the small room. One currently holds the remains of your feast. The other… well, the other holds memories you won't soon forget. Your gaze flicks between the beds, then to Irene, unsure of the next move. Should you offer to take the other bed? Reiterate the floor offer?

Before you can formulate a potentially clumsy question, Irene speaks, her voice soft. She pats the space beside her on the bed they didn't just have incredibly messy sex on.

"Hey," she says quietly, meeting your eyes directly. Her expression is open, vulnerable. "Sleep here. With me." She offers a small, tentative smile. "It's… it's okay. Really."

Relief washes over you. "Yeah?" you confirm, maybe needing to hear it again. "Okay. Good." You start to move towards the bed, ready to slide under the covers.

"Wait," she says quickly, holding up a hand, stopping you. A faint blush creeps up her neck again. "One more thing first." She hesitates, seeming to gather her courage. "Those pajamas I was wearing last night?" You nod, remembering the grey ensemble. "I… uh… I almost never wear them." She looks down at her hands, then back up at you, her gaze steady despite the blush. "At home. Normally. I sleep… naked."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Okay. Didn't see that coming.

"It just… feels better," she continues quickly, maybe rushing the words out now. "Less restrictive. More comfortable." She gestures vaguely between you two, acknowledging the current state of undress beneath the towels. "And… well. Since we've already… you know. Seen pretty much everything there is to see… I just… I was going to anyway. Unless…" She trails off, looking suddenly uncertain. "Unless that makes you uncomfortable? If it bothers you, I won't."

You stare at her for a beat, processing this new piece of information, this unexpected vulnerability mixed with practicality. Does Irene Bae sleeping naked beside you bother you? Is she kidding?

A wide, slow grin spreads across your face. "Bother me?" you repeat, maybe letting out a soft chuckle. "Irene, seriously? Absolutely fucking not." Your grin widens. "Please. By all means. Be comfortable." You can't resist adding, "Though, fair warning… my self-control already took a serious beating tonight. No guarantees it won't snap entirely if faced with naked Irene Bae snuggled up next to me."

Relief floods her face, followed by a genuine laugh this time. She playfully swats your arm. "Shut up," she mutters, but she's smiling. "Okay. Good." Then she tilts her head, looking you up and down, still just in your jeans. "Well?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, a challenge in her tone now. "Same rules apply, right? You too."

Your grin widens further, if possible. "Wouldn't dream of overdressing for the occasion, commander."

The decision is made. Wordlessly, you both stand up. You shed your jeans quickly, tossing them onto the chair. Irene unwraps her towel, letting it fall to the floor, completely unselfconscious now. You do the same. You stand there for a moment, naked together in the dim motel light, the shared vulnerability feeling less charged now, more like a simple, honest truth between you.

You slide into the clean bed, the sheets cool against your bare skin. Irene slides in beside you, pulling the covers up. She hesitates for only a second before rolling onto her side, facing you, even scooting a little closer than strictly necessary. The warmth radiating from her bare skin is immediate, intoxicating. The lingering scents of soap, food, sex, and just her mingle in the air. Exhaustion pulls at you, heavy and insistent, but lying here, naked, beside Irene, feels like the only place in the world you want to be.

—

You wake slowly, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by the unwelcome intrusion of pale morning light filtering through the cheap motel curtains. Your body feels heavy, pleasantly sore in ways you haven’t experienced before, muscles aching with a satisfying thrum. The first conscious thought is fuzzy, disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling, the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke overlaid with something muskier, sweeter... sex.

Then it hits you. All of it. Like a tidal wave crashing over your sleep-fogged brain. Irene. The bar. The confessions. The parking lot kiss that felt like spontaneous combustion. This room. Her mouth on your cock, your mouth between her legs. Her screams, your cum painting her skin. The raw, unbridled need that finally exploded between you after months of simmering tension and office warfare. Holy. Shit.

A slow smile spreads across your face as the memories solidify. You roll over instinctively, reaching out, expecting to find her warm, soft body curled against yours, maybe still tangled together from however you finally collapsed into sleep.

But the space beside you is empty. Cold.

You push yourself up on one elbow, blinking, fully awake now. You’re naked under the thin motel sheet, the faint, sticky residue on your skin a testament to the night's activities. But Irene is gone from the bed. Your eyes scan the small, unremarkable room. And there she is.

Standing by the window, already fully dressed in the crisp, professional attire she wore yesterday – tailored trousers, sensible blouse buttoned all the way up, sharp blazer. Her dark hair is pulled back into that severe, immaculate knot again, not a strand out of place. She’s staring out the window, back mostly to you, posture ramrod straight. The transformation is jarring, almost comical if it didn’t make something unpleasant twist in your gut. The passionate, vulnerable, gloriously debauched woman from last night seems to have vanished, replaced entirely by Bae Joohyun, Senior Analyst.

"Morning," you offer.

She startles slightly, turning from the window. Her eyes meet yours for only a fraction of a second before flicking away, fixing somewhere on the wall above your head. Her face is carefully blank, the professional mask firmly in place, though you notice a faint pinkness high on her cheekbones and maybe, just maybe, the slightest puffiness around her eyes. The dark marks you left on her neck are skillfully concealed by her collar.

"Morning," she replies curtly, her voice cool, clipped. "We should get going soon if we want to make the flight. I checked traffic; it looks okay, but better safe than sorry." All business.

Right. The flight. Reality intrudes with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. You swing your legs out of bed, the sheet pooling around your waist, suddenly very aware of your own nakedness under her studiously averted gaze. You grab your clothes from the floor where they were discarded in a heap last night, along with hers.

The process of getting ready is excruciatingly awkward. You head into the bathroom, showering quickly, the hot water doing little to ease the sudden tension coiling inside you. You brush your teeth, staring at your own reflection – you look tired, maybe slightly dazed, but undeniably satisfied. Is that a smear of lipstick still near your ear? You scrub at it vigorously. When you emerge, towel wrapped around your waist, Irene is meticulously packing her overnight bag, movements precise, efficient, avoiding looking at you entirely. You get dressed quickly, pulling on yesterday's clothes, feeling rumpled and profoundly out of sync with her pristine appearance.

The silence is broken only by the click of her suitcase clasps, the rustle of clothing. No reminiscing sighs, no shared smiles, no acknowledgement whatsoever of the earth-shattering intimacy you shared just hours ago. It’s like hitting a brick wall.

"Ready?" she asks, her voice still coolly professional, turning towards the door, bag in hand.

"Yeah," you grunt, grabbing your own bag.

Check-out is as impersonal as check-in. Breakfast is a quick, sterile affair at a generic coffee chain near the motel. Irene pulls out her work phone immediately, scrolling through emails, making a comment about a report that needs finalizing. You try to make small talk – about the terrible coffee, about the flight – but her answers are short, clipped, deflecting anything remotely personal. It’s like talking to a polite, efficient stranger. The Irene who screamed your name, who swallowed your cum, who confessed her hidden desires, might as well have been a fever dream.

Back in the rental car, the awkwardness becomes suffocating. The confined space magnifies the unspoken tension, the elephant – no, the entire goddamn zoo – sitting between you. You drive towards the airport, the silence stretching, punctuated only by the GPS voice occasionally telling you where to turn. You can’t take it anymore. You stop the car on the highway shoulder.

"Okay, Irene," you say finally, your tone tight with frustration, maybe a little hurt. You glance over at her stony profile. "Can we just stop?"

She turns her head slightly, feigning ignorance, though her fingers fidget nervously in her lap. "Stop what?"

"This," you say, gesturing vaguely between you. "This... pretending. Acting like last night was just... another item on the agenda we checked off. Like it didn't happen."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says stiffly, refusing to meet your eyes. "We finalized the Ishikawa deal, and now we're heading home. That's what happened."

Her denial, so blatant, so deliberate, snaps something inside you. Before you can retort, however, she moves. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she leans across the center console, grabs your face with both hands – her touch surprisingly firm – and presses her lips to yours. It’s a hard, fast kiss, desperate almost, a confusing echo of the parking lot passion but tinged with something else – panic? Regret? Then, just as quickly, she pulls back, retreating to her side of the car, leaving you stunned, tasting her faint lipstick again.

She takes a shaky breath, finally looking at you, her eyes wide, conflicted. "I'm not ignoring it," she says, her voice low, trembling slightly. "Okay? I'm not. I just... I'm trying to process it."

She gestures helplessly. "This is... this is insane, don't you see that?" Her voice rises slightly, laced with panic now. "We work together. We sit five feet apart every single day. People notice things, people talk. What we did... it's..." She struggles for the word. "...Complicated." She takes another deep breath. "And then there's the promotion. Choi is watching both of us. We're supposed to be competitors, rivals! Not... not this."

The fear rolling off her is palpable. You feel a pang of sympathy, but also a sharp sting of rejection. "So," you ask quietly, the question heavy, "what was last night then, Irene? Just... a mistake? A one-time lapse in judgment? Blowing off steam after a stressful negotiation?"

She looks away, unable to meet your gaze now. "I don't know," she whispers, sounding lost. "Honestly? I don't know what it was. It was... incredible. And terrifying." She finally looks back at you, her eyes pleading. "Can we just... not? Not right now? Can we just get on the plane, go back home, pretend to be normal coworkers for a little while?" Her voice drops further. "Maybe... maybe we just try and forget it happened? Just until... until we figure things out?"

“Forget it happened?” The words hit you like a physical blow. After everything? After the confessions, the raw honesty, the sheer intensity of the connection?

"Forget it?" you echo, your voice dangerously quiet now, laced with hurt you can't quite hide. "You really think we can just forget last night? Pretend none of it was real?" You shake your head slowly, a bitter taste in your mouth. "Wow." You take a deep breath, needing her to understand. "Listen to me, Irene. Things have changed. Between us. Everything has changed." You meet her eyes, holding her gaze firmly. "Whether you want them to or not, whether you're ready to deal with it or not. They've changed."

She holds your gaze for a long moment, the conflict, the fear, the lingering desire warring visibly in her expression. Then, she looks away, staring out the windshield, nodding almost imperceptibly.

"I know," she whispers. "Believe me, I know." She closes her eyes briefly, letting out a long, slow breath. "And that," she adds, turning her head slightly back towards you, her eyes filled with a deep, unsettling fear, "is exactly what scares the hell out of me."

"Scared?" you ask. "Scared of what, exactly? That maybe... just maybe... it wasn't a mistake?" You lean slightly towards her, forcing her to feel your presence even if she won't look directly at you. "Scared that it actually felt... right? That maybe the 'annoying office clown' isn't so bad when he's got his tongue buried between your..." You cut yourself off with a sharp breath, shaking your head. Too much. But the point hangs there. "Scared that you might actually want this, Irene? That maybe you've wanted it for just as long as I have?"

She flinches at your words, turning her head sharply away to stare resolutely out her side window, presenting you with the rigid line of her shoulder. Her voice, when she speaks, is tight, controlled, desperately trying to rebuild the professional wall you both just obliterated.

"Want what, newbie?" she retorts, the words clipped. "A completely inappropriate, career-destroying entanglement? An HR nightmare waiting to happen?" She takes a shaky breath, trying to marshal her arguments. "We work together. Directly. We are competing for the same promotion, remember? Last night..." Her voice falters for a split second before hardening again. "...Last night was insane. It shouldn't have happened. It was a lapse, brought on by stress, exhaustion, proximity... maybe too much whiskey at that bar." She throws out the excuses like shields.

A short, sharp, humorless laugh escapes you. "Right. Blame the whiskey. Blame the motel booking from hell. Blame the fucking rain." Your tone hardens, losing its earlier softness. "Blame anything and everything except the fact that you kissed me first in that parking lot like you were starving. Blame anything but the fact that you practically ordered me into that bed. Blame anything but the fact that you looked me dead in the fucking eye afterwards and told me you weren't sorry." You pause, letting the words sink in. "Don't you dare try and minimize this, Irene. Don't try and shove it into a box labeled 'drunken mistake'. I thought you were better than this, Irene, now I look at you and see a liar."

She wipes angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing makeup she hastily reapplied earlier, just wiping away fresh tears. "It has to be a mistake!" she insists. "What else could it possibly be? This isn't... us! This isn't how we work! We snipe at each other, we compete, we drive each other crazy! We live in a war. We don't... we don't do..." She gestures vaguely, frustratedly, between the two front seats, unable or unwilling to name the intimacy, the intensity, the raw sex you two shared. "...that! We can't."

You fall silent then, just watching the rigid line of her jaw, the way her fingers are clenched tightly in her lap. The fight seems to drain out of you, replaced by a heavy weariness, a profound sense of disappointment. "But we did, Irene," you say finally, your tone quiet again, flat, devoid of inflection. "We did all of it." You turn your gaze forward, focusing on the road ahead. "And pretending it didn't happen, trying to rationalize it away... it's not going to work. Not for me." You take a deep breath, the silence stretching thick and suffocating between you. "So yeah. Go ahead. Be scared. Maybe you're right to be." Your tone drops even lower, laced with a bitterness you can't quite contain. "But don't you ever try and tell me it wasn't real. Or that it didn't mean something."

Irene makes no reply. She just continues to stare out the window, utterly still, perhaps watching the vehicles go by, perhaps seeing nothing at all. You start the car and get back on the road, the miles ticking by in loaded silence, the unspoken chasm that just opened up between you feeling wider and more insurmountable than any distance you could cover on the highway.

All that raw intensity back there, the confessions whispered against damp skin, her body shattering beneath you, the way she looked at you, held you… you actually thought that meant the stupid office cold war was over. You thought you'd finally signed some kind of truce – hell, maybe even a full-blown peace treaty – right there on those cheap motel sheets, written in sweat and come and desperate need. But listening to her now, watching her meticulously rebuild those professional ice walls brick by painful brick?

Nope. You were kidding yourself. This wasn't peace. It was just an armistice. A really, really good armistice, granted, the kind that leaves you aching and raw and wanting more, but just a temporary ceasefire before the battle lines get drawn all over again, probably colder and sharper than ever before.

Back to square one. Fuck.

[astro-apple]

🪬ﾟ･｡♡｡･ﾟﾟ･ම ✢ ֺ ♡̩̥.･ﾟﾟ･｡♡｡･ﾟ🪬

[unstable-samurai]

Instructions

Irene x Male Reader

word count: 3.2K

—

You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?

You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.

She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.

"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.

"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.

"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.

"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."

She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.

"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.

"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.

"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.

You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.

"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.

She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"

You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."

"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.

You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.

You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."

She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.

"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.

After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."

She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"

"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."

She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"

You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.

"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"

"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."

"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"

You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.

"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"

"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.

"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."

She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.

"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"

You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"

You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."

"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"

"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."

"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.

"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.

The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.

You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."

"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"

"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.

"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"

"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”

She takes another step forward.

“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”

“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”

You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.

“I-I… This isn’t right.”

She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.

“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.

“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.

“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.

“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.

“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.

“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.

Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.

“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?

“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”

Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.

You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.

You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”

She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.

She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.

The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.

You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.

Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.

Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.

“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”

With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.

“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”

That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”

But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.

After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.

She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.

“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.

You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.

“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.

Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”

Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.

“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.

You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."

You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."

When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.

Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.

"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"

You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.

You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.

As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.

And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.

Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.

You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.

"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"

The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.

“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."

With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.

You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”

You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”

“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.

She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.

Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.

“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.

When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.

Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.

Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.

“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.

You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”

Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”

You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”

“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”

With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.

You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.

When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.

“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.

You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.

“Sure, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

[capslocked]

PRAXIS

male reader x irene

23k words

"A girl could walk in and mistake this for an affair," you remark, and Irene smiles up at that.

The sound of city traffic underneath your open window makes for an uncertain backdrop - though the browns of her eyes glimmer caramel in the dying light. Something sweet, the beginnings of an addiction if you’ll let her.

"A girl could walk in," Irene says, "but, she never does."

It was not a good idea, of course, to keep doing this where the whole world could see, where your shadows and silhouettes make lurid shapes against the blinds, but your office is small and the lighting is soft and Irene keeps pushing up onto her tiptoes, pressing you flat against your desk, trying to kiss you, and you won't be able to stop her - or want to, not when she's already leaning into you with her arms loose around your hips, her eyelashes heavy, her mouth a pink line of want against her smile.

It’s inevitable, maybe.

Here's what they might catch in the exact moment, in a not-so-distant memory:

Your heartbeat, quiet and slow and distant, like there's too much blood for it in your veins, your skin electric-pulsing underneath Irene's, the feel of her leg hitched up your waist, your hand wound tightly in her ponytail. The tiny sigh of a smile at the corner of Irene's lips, like you're tickling her somehow - you'll stop if she really wants you to, but - she doesn't. She never does.

Why wouldn't we want to be mistaken for something? is what you’re supposed to hear; she's too haughty, too proud. Someone could catch you. She’ll never come out and admit, just what would anyone do, if they did?

So yeah. It’s complicated.

You give a little, Irene pulls back. You do your damndest not to push. You hate how goddamn easy it is to convince yourself of anything, everything - whatever the lie. Irene isn’t ignoring you. She doesn't ignore the texts you send her. You don’t need to make plans more than two hours in advance. Mixed signals are such a misunderstood phenomenon: she can just be shy, sometimes. Maybe she doesn’t want to intrude. She was nervous, but she felt really fucking good on top of you - maybe next time, the guilt will be a bit less for both of you.

It’s just sex, she says once to you after; there’s no strings attached. How could it get ever more perfect than that?

-

(And she’s right. You know she’s right, or at least you very well should.

See, you’ve been talking for hours about how you shouldn’t be talking for hours on end. Kissing her after a conversation you’d had around the fact you’d both be better off as friends.

So how's that gonna sound, anyway? Here, go on, try saying it:

Bae Irene? Yeah, met her on the subway - that's the story, the reason you know her; you got on a train one day and she was the prettiest person there. You were both headed to the same place. You’re just not sure when that's gonna change.

And well, the way you see it: you’d feel so much lighter, like a feather, with her off your mind.)

-

To be candid, you can't really pin down how any of this started. The logistical details, sure. However the suggestion, the sex, the seclusion - these things, not so much.

Somedays, if you squint, it plays out rather predictably. You’ll be going about your business, a particularly average day everything considered, or - well, mostly. Today, there are just the two minor caveats:

First off, your key grinds in the lock when you jam it in. That part is pretty normal, but to your surprise, the door is already very much open.

So, that's odd, you think. That's very odd. You slide inside, cautious, and as you call out an even more cautious "hello?" you realize all the lights are on - so either you've been robbed or are currently in the state of being robbed by someone with suboptimal visual acuity. A disability-washed-burglar. Not to minimize crime, of course, but that'd be interesting, you think, or representative perhaps? Maybe.

Alternatively,

Irene's let herself into your apartment again. It’s quite plausible.

She's not great at the whole 'asking permission' thing, though she swears every time it'll never happen again. You peek around your foyer: there’s her coat, her heels, her shirt, a handbag - all strewn about the hall like she’d been raptured and left a delicate trail of destruction, which does sound a lot like the Bae Irene you've known forever.

(Okay, six, seven months isn’t forever - but you get the gist; the general principle still applies.)

Now another, horrifying option is that both theories are true, simultaneously. A home invader has in fact gotten to Irene. In the middle of robbing the place. How terrible, how awful, how genuinely macabre, what a genuinely-

"Yeah, hey," you hear, followed by a heavy, sloshing thunk. "Welcome home or something."

Sure enough, as you enter the kitchen you spy your truly awful vision being confirmed. One of them, anyway. There is your incredibly hot (this is in reference to Irene), extremely fashionable (same boat as before, honestly), dangerously intelligent (yes) and notorious rulebreaker of an (it really bears emphasis on how hot and fashionable and stylish said rulebreaking often is) acquaintance as per her standard. Irene. A roguish and impossibly captivating conglomerate of trouble with a mild attitude and perfect posture; as a collection, she's a collection you want, a package you intend to keep, an accessory you'd die for. That, and a kettle on the stove apparently, so she can make you tea while you languish on the floor, and you could live like that forever, or so the dream goes.

Also right, the second caveat: there's the robbery. She's stolen a button-up out of your closet.

And look - she's actually so much prettier than she has any business being. Hair up in a messy bun, lips painted light. Nail polish starting to fade. She's still in her nylons and a tight little pencil skirt and you can't really complain. You'd need to be legally dead.

"Hi," Irene says, and the burner sputters to life. "Where'd you go?"

"The bank. And then I had to return books," you say, shucking off your jacket. "You know, I wasn't aware anyone else was living here."

"Excuse you," Irene replies. She turns, leans her forearms on the counter; the shirt buttons are misaligned, but she makes it look like a stylistic consideration - how the sleeves are pushed past her elbows and the neckline has already slipped down one of her dainty shoulders.

She has your clothes. She has an irritatingly winsome half-smirk. The clock above the stove says it’s barely even 9 PM.

"Do you get your mail forwarded here, too?" You shuck off your jacket. "To further clarify, why not call first? Maybe text? Hell, smoke signals could do."

"Because it's a hell of a lot easier to ask you for forgiveness," Irene tells you, knowing, "asking for permission gets me nowhere," and then grabs a mug from the cupboards. She seems to know where everything is already. "I don't know why you get so bothered about it, honestly, what should I do? Call you and say, wow, babe, I am planning on letting myself into your apartment, sorry, yeah, I was thinking we could - ah fuck - you know what, I am irreparably, incomprehensibly horny."

"Nice vocab."

"Thanks," Irene says, beaming, and even tips up her chin to show it.

You notice that you actually match right now, since it is, technically, your shirt. Sure, your collar’s a little stiff - and she’s barely able to keep the fabric from folding and spilling over her lithe frame, but that hardly matters. It's so ungodly hot. She could wear anything - or, probably, nothing, if you're being honest.

And you are, mostly.

So you pad into the space right behind her to tell her some truths, the things you think - but she spins on her heel before you get the chance to grab her, which is a pity; you'd love to do that, maybe just push her flat to the wall. You know, if she'd let you. She would. Probably. You'd ask, definitely, but you’re thinking you wouldn't even have to.

Irene crosses her arms. The collar keeps slipping. You see her collarbone, smooth. She is flawless, no fucking wonder. You are almost terrified of her at times.

"How do you know I’d have said no?" you ask, and it sounds a little sweet - then there’s you noticing an old bruise along her throat, where her shoulder dips down; that was probably your doing, probably from this week, last Saturday maybe? Her skin seems softer somehow, looks like her makeup was fresh at the beginning of the day and the end of the night, that kind of evening smudging. She's smiling with her nose crinkling up. 

She doesn’t react when you press in closer. 

"Really." You’re waiting for her. Probably waiting for her to kiss you, to reach up on her toes and latch her wrists behind your neck, to reach her mouth to yours - though, she doesn't. Her breathing picks up, so it's almost like she doesn't have to, she's smiling at you so sharply. It’s a rare win for restraint as far as your apartment is concerned.

"So then where lies the issue?" she asks, and then she simply waits on this smoldering sort of glance.

You can’t help the laugh that follows. "I mean it's the principle of the thing."

Irene hums at that. She glances to the side. Toward the windows, back to you, and then all over your face.

"Then, allow me a principle," she finally says, staring straight at your mouth, real subtle-like. "Yes, I'm going to keep coming here. Probably a lot. I mean, unless you have an actual issue you'd be hardly one to talk: Mr. Keeps Do Not Disturb Active At All Fucking Times. I bet you're the last person to go through their voicemails, too."

"Guilty, but look - I hit critical mass, like, a thousand unheard messages ago. It’s untenable and unreasonable. You should be offering me pity."

"You are ungovernable." Irene sinks back a bit against the countertop, slow, smooth and sinuous. "You're basically a hermit." She smiles at her own assessment, the grin growing with its truth. Her eyes sparkle in the low-light and her teeth bite at the bottom of her lip. The tea kettle starts to rattle.

"I think we’re supposed to be discussing the breaking and entering here," you correct, dryly, and step a bit closer, "also just for the record, hermits are implied loners. And yet."

"And yet," Irene echoes, letting her voice trail away.

There's an uptick in the corner of her mouth, and she glances at you, quick, momentarily mirthless. You wait for the punchline, the verbal parry, the expertly timed jab-

"What?" asks Irene, and her face instead is all soft edges, light pink lips, and clear, uncomplicated eyes. She grabs for the end of her sleeve and folds it one more time down the slender length of her forearm. The watch on her wrist catches the light. "It's a decent theory."

This almost feels normal, you think, like a routine, something domestic - Irene leaving her things all over your apartment, Irene occupying your bathroom cabinets and the space on your shower rack that used to belong to a singular bar of soap. This is a tale of a typical hookup arrangement gone absolutely off the rails: sex for a night here, a dinner together there, a break from the monotony. You shouldn’t even know Irene that well, you think, or nowhere near as well as you do - and somehow that didn't stop you from giving her a spare key to your apartment - or it didn't stop her from wanting the damn thing.

You try not to read too far into that last one, since you're probably the only idiot that hasn't noticed how smitten Irene has been from day fucking one. It’s your fault, it’s hers; there’s a case to be made for either.

"You can see how a girl might walk in and jump to the wrong conclusions," you remark.

Irene laughs at that, "Oh yeah?" and her eyebrows raise, her lips pursing in an immediate half-smile - this hot little line that’ll get kissed right off her mouth if she’s not careful. She doesn’t even pretend to react otherwise: that same brand of pleased, almost flirtatious - a bit unyielding. Pragmatic, maybe. Not fully on board, still keeping a distance, just an inch outside of what it could be. She never stops fucking with you. She's never anything but beautiful.

It's very unfair, if anyone’s keeping track.

"You mean like an affair?" She laughs out loud. The mark at her temple dots the expression like an exclamation point. "Like me, as your mistress. That’s fucking crazy." 

"Satisfy my ego. Pretend that wasn't, in any conceivable world, the worst possible phrasing, but yeah. More or less," you say, "one which would, mind you, seem very poorly planned on both our parts, all things considered."

There's a pause where she scrutinizes your face; you stare evenly back. It's kind of a bluff. You are sort of a self-centered prick, on occasion, but you are not lying to this woman; you have no reason to. Maybe it's a gamble: to hope she understands you better than she ought to, or to wish she'd accept you in spite of that. To want her, in your home, at your leisure, a friend or something more. 

Trying to materialize words for the immaterial is largely the dilemma.

"An affair, huh" Irene repeats slowly, tasting the word carefully, like she's trying it on for size - and she cants her hips towards yours. Her fingers had wrapped around the bottom of your tie at some point. "My goodness, that’s like, so, so romantic of us."

"Also jesus, please, ‘mistress’ is horribly gauche," you say, and Irene tugs a little too hard and you step forward. The smug look on her face suggests, not entirely unpretentiously: how else, then, shall we call it?

"But look at me. I am in your kitchen, I’m wearing your clothes," she reminds you, with another tiny pull, which draws you so much nearer. You can feel your neck prickle. "That makes us quite close, wouldn't you agree, darling?"

"Dial it back," you tell her, because Irene's the only person in the world that can put so much stress on a single fucking word and get away with it. 

But she's watching you, watching you still, intently. She looks good, smells somehow even better, You inhale her. There's this cloud of shampoo, fragrance, whatever she's decided to wear - citrus today, light. God, she's so fucking gorgeous.

"I'm still trying to scold you," you end up adding, because it won’t go without saying.

"And I'm waiting for you to." 

It's not the right answer, though your annoyance dissipates almost as quickly as it rises: Irene could probably charm her way out of anything if she really tried, maybe, and still make the entire world like her even better - so instead of responding, you just sigh, and sink further into her. She wraps your tie once around her knuckles, and tugs again, harder and pointedly, but it's not so hard that it hurts; you know she could manage that if she wanted. Irene just grins up at you, rosy in the face and pretty: no pain, just fun.

"Are you mad?" She tilts her head in and places her exhale right over yours. You could count her lashes if they’d stop fluttering. "Are you going to tell me you'll send me packing now? Just order me right the hell out of here and change the locks, do you mean it?"

"I would, definitely," you say, without so much as a beat missed. "If I weren't so busy being inconvenienced by the fact you're so goddamn pretty."

"Mhmm." Irene fits her lips to yours, murmuring, "exactly."

Her body presses and pushes up against you, and you're thinking again about Door A, Door B. Thinking about your future, her future: it doesn't mean anything. Who needs to dream, when Bae Irene's already such a walking daydream? Hypothetically - a wicked little fantasy if nothing else. She still can't fucking resist pulling away after just a second, just a touch too soon, and laughing right against your lips - even though, when you open your eyes again, her eyes are softly closed and she’s leaning in for more.

The reality is: the two of you, inextricably, are bound in each other's pull. A binary star of (1) extremely talented, (2) equally charming colleagues that only accidentally get lost inside the same room: (3) office, (4) storage closet, (5) bedroom, (6) living room, (7) kitchen, (8) the little-used laundry nook. Your list keeps growing. It is exhausting, but maybe not the worst: not, actually, so bad-

Your hands flatten against the cool material of her skirt.

"I could," you mutter, trying so hard, "you know, stop this. Maybe."

"I actually happen to believe you," Irene's saying. Her teeth graze your chin. "But maybe you can try," she offers, not so helpfully, "just this once?"

The hem of her shirt slips up the long stretch of her leg. It doesn’t move far before the bend of her knee has her pinned, skirt pressed flat to her thighs. You aren’t exactly a gentleman, so you pull it to her waist as you press even closer. The nylon feels wonderful against her legs.

So you let it boil down to the instinctual, the obvious. To physicality: her hip against your own, her soft sigh as the kiss grows in strength. You wrap an arm around her middle; her hands cradle the sides of your jaw - the tip of her tongue brushing yours - then her fingers find their home on the nape of your neck. When you touch the inside of her thigh, across the smooth fabric, ghosting over the center - where the tension is tightest - her lips part a little. She shivers. You try not to smile about it.

"Slow?" you ask her, and the amusement feels unfair to her, even if it is your best attempt to appear thoughtful. She sinks her nails into your skin and her eyelids open slightly. They gleam. "Told me to try," you point out.

You touch her, feel the heat as she says, a little strained, "I did." She swallows. "I'm allowed to change my mind later, though."

"Fine," you relent, "then so am I."

She considers this briefly. Her lashes lower and raise. She nods.

And the teasing has to go somewhere. "Well," you murmur, and kiss the hinge of her jaw. "Mistress it is. Guess there isn't much left to work with, huh." And in any other context, these are the things that earn you another patented-glare, a toss of a pillow over the bedspread, a hard swat on the chest, an indignant 'well fuck you, I can't believe we're having sex!', an abject departure, a million things all at once - at its most dramatic and emotional: a maelstrom of verbal riposte.

Here, though-

She hikes her leg even higher around your hip. Her fingernails clench even sharper. Your tie falls down a button, to the crook between her neck and shoulder, and her hair comes free of its messy ponytail. The line of it skims over her breast, just so.

Irene sighs louder, and does that thing, a deepening in the middle of the noise that lets you know exactly how badly she wants you - this, you're getting familiar with, or the start of it at least, that fine-tuned way Irene wants someone when she doesn't even hesitate to show it. It was odd, and at first almost embarrassing to see. That might've even been part of the charm, you think: Irene could want to devour you. You were you - slightly interesting, and in her eyes, probably the most intriguing fuck - but whatever her reasons, it all clicked for Irene. She had a system to evaluate and adjust and execute. There wasn't room for wasted effort.

"Hey," she hums, low in her throat.

"Yeah," you say, lifting her right up onto the counter. 

And see - there are these gestures, reminders, not always in good faith, where you make her feel small: Irene's wrists are suddenly so narrow, one right at the surface of the counter, fingertips cool at your collar, and her nail polish chipping a little at the edges. Your palm is larger, enveloping the high, broad arch of her hip, the sharp line of bone to muscle to sinew. She feels fragile, is what it is, a fine-boned little bird, a thin silhouette under her loose, borrowed shirt - it's almost poetic, a regular old fuckbuddy - a physical habit, and you know her, know how many inches, and you can find your favorite parts of her in the dark, but-

"Want your mouth," Irene's saying now. Her lips glistening, eyes liquid; you want to tell her that that's an indisputable victory, just objectively, even before the clothes fall.

"Tell me where to put it," you offer back, and watch the corner of her lips twitch up.

She runs her hand through the back of your hair, mussing it, the lazy drag of her nails, her heel right to your lower back. The light from the stove is doing her wonders, gold catching off the paleness of her skin. "Make yourself useful, I think, like on your knees."

You raise an eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look" - and Irene shrugs her shoulders back - the shirt falling more, the flat plane of her stomach - this jut of bone, the pretty contour of her ribcage, the stark outline of her body just under a few too many buttons.

"It just comes off a bit greedy," you say, letting the words twist, playing with the hem of her skirt between your fingers.

"Maybe because you reward that kind of behavior," Irene retorts immediately.

"You’re spoiled," you laugh. "That’s all. Just spoiled. Life must be great for you, do nothing and let someone else do everything."

It's another one of those, 'you fucking like it', and Irene smirks like the shape of her mouth here is foreplay enough alone. She might be onto something. Like the easy back-and-forth - how she's sharp as razor wire underneath you - a double-edged sword if the weapon knew the sheath.

You lean in. She places her palm flush to your heart, like she can measure exactly how long you’re drawing this out with its steady thud. You know she’ll repay it in turn: she thinks it's hot to jerk around with your emotions before she fucks you, like playing roulette with her orgasm, yours - a slow crawl, a nice burn. Her fingers curl.

"And here you said I was ungovernable."

Irene huffs, slightly. "You are still fucking talking."

"If I shut up, will you scream for me, sweetheart?"

You run a hand up her waist. There's this whiny intake of air. Then Irene says, soft and slow: "earn it."

(Maybe you shouldn’t keep enabling her. Therein lies the problem. Okay, so maybe you like this particular problem.)

But she's tugging your tie out of the way before the words leave her lips. The distance you have between is scant, which seems to be fine, with the way she leans in as the last syllable drops off her tongue, kissing the corner of your mouth, impatient.

It takes approximately zero convincing to drop to your knees; that much has not changed. You glance up at her. Your hands curve to her waist, sliding up. It's funny - how your fingertips just brush under the billowy fabric, how the taut skin over her ribcage fills the length of your palms, and then a touch further. Perfect proportions, as Irene usually is; you're on your knees and that's by design.

Your thumb rolls over the outline of her nipple and it peaks, draws into a quick, rosy point beneath the flimsy cotton, like an open invitation.

Irene smiles lazily, gorgeous - and sinks back again against the countertop. Her feet land on your shoulders. The nylon in the bend of her ankle slides soft at your throat, gentle. "Waiting." She sighs a little. "Still, waiting."

You press a kiss over the nylon, the fabric underneath, teeth barred and tongue pushing. "You said slow," and the rest of you might as well catch on fire, just for borrowing a moment’s composure. You can see yourself bringing her down to the floor, the kitchen tiles, spreading her legs and fucking her into the linoleum, scratching them up, making her cum as many times as she asked. But there's this heavy drag down your back, the nerves blooming. "So let me. I won't get distracted," you murmur - or don't, really - into the softness between her hip and waist, along her navel, the tight planes of her tummy. "I promise, I'll get there, baby."

She hesitates. The breath she holds back is a telltale pause.

And the first thing that really sinks into Irene's skin, besides yourself, is this: every last shred of hesitation she was waiting on, the self-control? Now gone. You've done nothing but serve its loss. She seems to sense her power; and in one blink, the act is apex. In a beat her nerves are recovered, and the nerves are fuel. A natural killer, an organic toxin, that same smile curving her lips, a pointed glint to her eyes.

"Baby, your mouth," Irene insists, her knees falling to the sides, "open. And yes," and a pause, or maybe an addendum, a double meaning in the downtime, "to be perfectly frank: free for me to use. To come and go as I please."

"Haven't left my fucking mind for a minute, sweetheart," you offer up right back, not bothering with restraint.

Irene clicks her tongue. "But yet, you don't ever do exactly as you're told-"

She hiccups, or something close to it - because you grab her ass, bring her hips closer, until you can sink your nails into the firm give of flesh.

Irene looks down at you, eyes just wide, and - ah.

She sighs. Sighs because she knows - you can find god in everything; that’s the goal, that’s the creed - and maybe Irene wasn’t your original way, maybe you were always meant for a different sort of holy figure, but the words you choose are doctrine in the end; that first prayer you got down on your knees and said to her was no less truthful for its betrayal. There are rules to it: this is faith, the religion. This is her. You belong to Irene, and she belongs to you.

"Um. Did you just tear my stockings?" she asks, like a sudden realization, her mouth still dropping.

You nod, because, well, yeah, and pull her panties to the side. "Permission, forgiveness, et cetera."

In lieu of a reprimand or a rebuke, she lets a shockingly pretty little moan when her pussy gets stretched by a finger, two - and they're wet, slippery, easier than the lace had ever expected, and she's already so plush, red and rosy. Irene has always gotten wet quickly, with your fingers, your cock, your mouth on her - and her head falls back in one languorous stretch. The tightness around your finger is dizzying. You'll never grow tired of watching her: a sudden shift, the spine so pretty when arched, the pulse of blood under her thighs, the fluttering of her cunt as it comes to the very precipice of letting you in.

"Do you understand me, baby?" she's asking you, and her breath seems to pick up and the muscle flutters again.

You waggle your eyebrows and lean in, and whisper against her skin, "better than anything."

Your mouth attaches to her clit and never lets go. You fuck her, all sweet, on two fingers. Down to the last knuckle. You curl your fingertips, and she's gasping. The scent of her drives you fucking crazy; this is what paradise has always tasted like, and heaven's the press of her thighs - your name spilling from Irene's mouth. She gets wetter, and wetter - you lap as it floods out of her, down her thighs. You lick it, taste the salt and her bitterness and her arousal, how her pussy grows slick in an instant, swollen under your touch, wanting, aching. Her heels press over your shoulders and dig in, tight.

When you look up over the tight spasms in her diaphragm, you realize she's got the shirt unbuttoned, finally. Fabric spilling down to the granite, skin and bra and sheen; you wrap your arms around the perfect curves of her thighs, the nylon shifting soft on your hands and bringing her closer, hitching up to your shoulders. This is only part one of what you owe Irene - the easy part, actually: you can see her clench in the same breath that she's straining - the need and want to fill her up a sin, the wet smack as her folds are pried apart by the flick of your tongue, the sounds of your hands, the desperation. She'll want, and you'll get, until she can barely handle it. Until the tremors overwhelm her, until it is too much and it never will be, ever enough - until she's left so gorgeous like that, shivering.

The kettle's got the pitch to its scream now, and the volume. The sound makes you grind your teeth. Lick harder, suck longer, kiss a bit deeper - her clit, the pink tip of your tongue pushing in past the folds, between the ring, deep and heavy. Fingers moving slow, almost absent-minded, flitting across her breasts, pinching a nipple - Irene groans. The metal rattles louder, louder.

The shirt's rumpled, tangled, bunched up between Irene's elbows. You lean your teeth to the crease of her hips. You lick, the smell filling your nostrils, her fingers threaded in your hair - holding you where she wants you to be:

"And fuck, ah, do you, oh god- fucking do you- have an," she sighs, trembling as the movement of your jaw sends her shuddering, as your mouth runs and your hands open her legs. She pants. "Oh, darling. Have an honest-" she laughs and the sound pitches too, "-idea, I mean-"

Irene has started grinding against you. Your heart is thundering.

"-of what I'm-"

A moan finally breaks from her lips, so disarmingly beautiful. Irene grabs for the edge of the granite counter; she can hardly seem to make out what she wants. Her orgasm is cresting higher, each flick of your tongue and soft sound of you bringing her there, near. You like that she needs you, like that the word 'insatiable' becomes an insufficient assessment. You push, you move - her hands tug you. You taste her: a warmth, the depth, the pulsing.

"-what you're" - a gulp, a gulping swallow - the fridge keeps beeping, the front door sticks, and it'd be so perfectly quiet if not for the fucking tea kettle. It keeps boiling and boiling and you are drinking your fill, drowning. Her skin smells fucking delicious. You can feel her heat pooling. "Fucking, o-oh, fuck- fucking doing-"

You smile into it. Against her messy, quivering cunt. You are: unashamedly smug.

And fuck. She's gone, swept away, carried off, the pressure of your lips sending her crashing back down with a moan - the kitchen still buzzing and the steam a bit of a haze, and you haven't even finished bringing her through the dying breaths of her orgasm before she's gasping, pulling you back up on your feet:

"I need you, I- right now. Up here-"

Irene tries to grab for your neck again. She doesn't seem to mind her own lack of strength, though. In any other circumstance you'd think she'd look a bit pathetic: her shoulders curved, chin resting in a hand, a absent, pleasantly confused grin, legs and hair a complete unmitigated mess - and here: her lipstick wiped, mostly smudged, her wet, glistening thighs-

"Tell me," you say, and a thousand possibilities are imagined. To get inside of her, feel her nails dragging across your chest, her teeth at your throat, her moan as you slide into the very heat of her - fuck, you cannot stop. She's got you spinning and you’ll gladly lose this particular battle; a typical Bae Irene ending. "Please, tell me."

The water boiling over has begun to crack; and the first tendrils of steam begin curling into the air.

"God," says Irene, shaking with her body so desperate, her hand still grasping you back. The look in her eyes seems so beautifully wrecked, but in no hurry to show it. She smiles, because she wants that over anything. "Don't you fucking listen?"

She grins.

"Ah." Irene shakes her head, pulls your head back, staring, but does not rise to a sit, just slides herself out. One leg kicks, one, then two, from the corner of your eyes: her nylons shredding down their long seams. You're on your feet; you're not really standing, but then you have no real bearings to start with. Your cock is throbbing.

She just scoots on out, and shuts off the stove, and sets the kettle a step back.

"Maybe," you say, pressing your thumb to the seam of your pants. You could probably die of lust right now and have no regrets. "Maybe not. I think I need more convincing."

It would probably also help if your thoughts could stop racing.

"Huh."

She turns - though not with the skirt. The hem has fallen to the floor. A puddle at her ankles. She's only slightly out of breath; the wet between her legs gleams. The slick, smooth fabric of her lingerie sticks to the swollen outline of her pussy. Her fingers dip down, playfully, so she's leaning over the counter. She tugs, and it presses and plays and sticks at her center. You're obsessed, half-crazy from it. Her expression twists; it's fucking bliss. She smiles, one breath, then two - the house settles. You cannot stop staring; you can't. Your mouth feels hot and dry and sticky, wet from her cum, and your pants, you can't quite breathe and the view's only getting better: Irene naked, against the counter, the jostle of her breasts as she strums herself, as her breathing catches and rises, and those nails digging deep into her clit as her eyes drift shut-

She's biting her lower lip - but she looks at you and - stops, her toes pressed to the linoleum.

The moment is suspended, and suddenly the words do not fit anywhere in your throat.

"Want it?"

"Fuck," you exhale, and maybe she isn't just asking that out loud, she's the embodiment of the fucking question: the need between her legs so vivid. She laughs again, licks the taste of herself off her fingertip, sucks at the curve of her nails - she touches the tip of her tongue to the very edge of her upper lip. Her smile, in its sharpness and precision, remains unswayed.

"Bend me over?"

And then, very quietly, and without so much as a scoff in disappointment-

"Fucking christ," you mutter, and nearly fall in a heap towards her.

-

It's borderline unhealthy, that this happens as often as it does: sex that leaves you breathless, sex that shivers across every inch of your fucking skin, sex that aches afterward, that drives your lungs to strain, a moan trapped forever just behind her teeth. Her hips were either made for your rough palms, or you’ve worn them down to your grip. Softened all the edges. Her thighs open to you like you own her. The ridge down the center of her back, your mouth trailing down every vertebrae - her pussy. The inside, the depth - and everything she doesn't mean to let out: all these little notes she's learning with each thrust of your cock into her, and you think you should just say yes, give in.

Let it go, and just trust.

Sex as routine? A repetition of desire. What is routine is that, with Irene:

There's always a new discovery. She has you when she's bent over and you're pounding her knees into the cabinets. She has you on the floor with her. She has you when she's bent over and you're eating her out again, then on top, and on your couch, and with her legs kicked high on the shower wall, and - you fuck her, you find room for her on the bathroom sink. You cum all over her stomach and she just smiles dreamily. You fuck her until she’s almost sobbing, and then you're saying her name like she has your life and your attention, for everything and nothing at all. And after an hour of letting her have your patience, and your dick, your face pressed against her throat, and her nails deep in your back - you tell her she needs to stay. 

It’s a hell of an admission, apropos of nothing.

"Oh? Say that one more time for me," and she's half-covered, the comforter pulled up over her the gentle slope of her breasts, the bedsheet tucked around her waist. "Again," and you have no real use left, you're certain. The most recent orgasms have nearly shattered you both in half: Irene can barely focus on your mouth, where your hips had slammed hers into the bed and - you are pretty certain - definitely did crack her skull right off the headboard.

"Yeah," you mutter face down into the duvet, "you should stay."

"Then it's decided," Irene says out loud, rather victorious, and drops a hand down the span of your back. She's there still, fingering her own cum from inside her pussy. The look in her eyes, sly. The message in them could not be any clearer: what an excellent suggestion, since you both know she'll have no shortage of reasons to keep coming back, anyway.

-

It all feels rather satisfying, pretending not to like the girl. It feels good not caring where she is at night.

As she had said, like an affirmation, a real statement: "this thing, between us, is so uncomplicated. It's so easy."

And she’s right: 

She fucks, and you cum. She looks pretty. That's what she wants to show off, she does and does it well, and as long as you don't pay attention and pretend like it doesn't matter to you, it's an absolute fucking win-win. That's it: that's exactly why, when she calls, when she comes around and asks about dinner, you ask how far you're expected to go for her. What'll earn you her gratitude? Her pleasure's a quick hit, and it's free - if she asks nicely, if you're up for it, if it isn't the same bullshit, same scene - and the night's never a big deal to waste. That's her script; there's your line:

"What's your endgame here," is a thing you're always asking.

She tips her head, her hair falling off her shoulder, that old cliché, those large brown eyes, batting and fluttering. Just curious, but also to draw attention; what a killer pair she has, they're gorgeous. Your eyebrows raise, and your mouth falls open as her fingers dance over your chest, playing with the collar of the button-up that you aren't entirely convinced doesn't belong to her.

"Who says I have to have my mind made up right this second?" is Irene's usual comeback - a favorite - followed by another favor, then an expectation. Then, as your hands fall to the small of her back: "for you, the point is probably the chase," she reminds you, a low little murmur.

Your heart thrums with the little spike of anger. Then again, your cock's feeling the yearn ahead of everything else already; it’s a bad habit, and not getting anything you need. Or, there's a tumble, a mutual surrender in this somewhere. 

"Sure, says you." 

You kiss her so easily. Run your fingers through her hair and drink down her sighs, pull away and pretend. Pretend to dislike how pretty she looks when you do things like this. Pretend like you haven't missed her, that there is no desire, not to run your touches down the back of her knees, or sink your hands into her perfect little ass.

"Didn't need me to," she points out, the lick into your mouth. And her finger curls right under your chin, nails a pretty, perfect oval shape, manicured and soft at your throat, that way she loves - the angle intimate. "And yet. Not stopping me, are you?"

Which you're not. Neither of you is fool enough. You don't hate yourself, she doesn't hate the truth. So, whatever, sometimes you give in to it - if you could call this a 'means to an end', you suppose that might just about cover the ground, because her plans, her reasons don't matter to you, and vice-fucking versa: just to find an answer, or to find a few dozen, and that's enough.

You're no good at love; she says she's not looking for it either, no heartfelt romantic shit to get a tear out of you, she'd tell you at the start:

"Let's just play it by ear, how about that? I could surprise you. You could surprise yourself."

-

(But fuck: Irene's surprisingly full of surprises.

Take when she texts a few days later.

Hey, a blip on the screen, an innocuous string of numbers you refuse to mark a contact. There's too much power, and leverage. She isn't asking. 

It's been too long.

A winky emoji.

I think you’re able to do me a big favor.

A period. It is imperative. She would tell you, with an authority she certainly isn't trying to front or to prove: she likes her punctuation.

I could really, really do with that same favor that you gave me back when we went to that housewarming party, you remember. It'd really be the best thing you've done with your evening if you could help me out. Call it the nice thing to do.

Is your vibrator out of batteries? you text back.

You are a genius.

Thanks.

Let’s go somewhere.

Just this once. But dinner's on you.

A selfie. Slippery fingers, glued to her pussy, running through the glisten-

Oh. Actually, it'll probably be twice.)

-

So. ‘Surprise yourself’ was, naturally, the key. 

It's difficult to have a notion as to how exactly you might surprise yourself - but here you are a little later; she's dressed and in heels, and that's a relief, or rather a delight: this woman looks devastating with her hair down. But still, like this: the hem to her slacks that draws her thighs down to an elegant peak, the nice blouse she's got her buttons done to the top, and one less: this cleavage isn't wholly visible but the shadow is still a tease, her thin jacket only pinning in how her waist is cut into such a deep arc. Irene had asked if this looked too formal, and the second response in your brain was to ask why: her normal wardrobe's worse - less clothing, more fucking exposed. Then again, you might not mind watching Irene work so hard if it meant your hands get full quicker-

"That is absolutely no way to put it," she admonishes.

"Come again, Mistress?"

"Ass," she mutters. It's not even a reprimand so much as an agreement, you can see where the smile is trying not to crack open. "No," she corrects, and smiles anyway. She pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, "I just mean- fuck you and your terrible metaphors. Anyway, we should go. You drive, my car is a total mess."

-

You take her out. There's dinner. There's drinks. It's something like a date, because that's what she wants. The hostess smiles politely. The waiter raises a suggestive eyebrow at your fingertips grazing Irene's leg underneath the table, and you both ignore the interest. You pass him her credit card without comment when you go to settle up. When you stroll about, the sun is going down and the dying light paints her skin orange, yellow, and red. She tells a story about work. You manage to get a few of your own. Your fingers loop through hers and the action makes her do this lovely smile.

So the gist of it is: you have a fling, her name is Irene, there’s some vague cohabitation occurring, and - oh, she's an absolutely fantastic lay.

It's the sort of thing that on the surface level sounds like a total and complete win, even for all its contradictions, flaws, and pitfalls. She fucks, and you're willing. She looks pretty. You keep her content. That's enough, as a friend-with-benefits; more of the benefits than anything else, she always reminds you. And every now and then, when Irene starts making demands of your time, of your availability - making plans, making reservations, making the expectation known that the two of you have a standing obligation, ‘benefits’ penciled into your schedules every Tuesday and every weekend (and Thursday, too, if neither of you is booked) - she suddenly becomes more complicated than she should have any rights or reason being. There's a kind of security you take away from it.

Irene's holding her clutch in the parking lot, posture perfect. The sky's on fire and the setting sun is burning down the horizon all around her.

"Can we do it in your car?" she's asking, totally nonchalant. 

"What?" "Sex," Irene repeats, like you didn’t understand the question. Her expression is bright, seamless. She holds her wrist behind her back, and twists a little on one heel. "I want to get you off."

This is a case study; you’re walking, breathing empirical data. You’ve gone from wondering to knowing about what they say in regards to women of a certain age. The appetite. The inexplicable desperation. It used to be a joke. Maybe it's because men in their 30s are unusually relaxed with their dating life, or all of their friends are talking about wedding rings, kids, a white picket fence - with life a non-event to handle with finesse and a delicate grip. Or: maybe Irene simply isn't complicated in the ways people seem to expect her to be. She’s needier for sex than usual, for starters. "Are you expecting some urgent business meeting, or an important call - any sort of personal news, maybe - like, in the next half hour?"

"Are you serious," you manage. Fuck her, actually.

"I don't know why, I just feel like you might appreciate the cramped quarters. We can make out while you cum and stuff."

You almost snort, but - her hips have that sway. The door’s unlocked. You stare. The purse settles on the passenger's seat. This girl is so stupidly pretty.

"You, uh, wanna get on top?" you ask, voice already slightly drying at the sound.

Irene reaches over and traces your jaw. Her thumb feels lovely pressed to the seam of your lips, rubbing over them slowly. Her mouth is this gorgeous color and you just can’t stop staring. "So cute. What’s your best guess, sherlock?" She pats the roof of the car, gently. "Get the fuck in."

-

Irene is, at her most shameless, a list of demands: give me your fingers, touch my clit, do it now; take my wrists, fuck me faster; don't you dare fucking cum - there's no rush here, so put in the effort. You have a basic idea of where you're both headed, and the situation demands you to, um, obey. The sound of her wet cunt fills the tight confines of the car.

"Fuck, Irene."

At her most elegant, she's pretty much the same, but she fucks like a total dream: 

"Slow, yes," she'll coo into your ear, in the early stages, before her head starts falling back and her chest rises, and all the sweet notes from the back of her tongue get driven to the fore, and there are moans instead of directions, groans and cries. "Feel me. Deeper. Fuck, babe, just like that."

Her nails drag deep, and that's not usually the plan - the start is fast and easy; her pussy drips like she's soaking a cloth, a fresh layer every second, and a clench that swallows every thrust; and somehow the friction's good enough that if you stick around and keep your focus, you get Irene begging for mercy by the end of it, just to savor and relish the sensation, the motion of your body into hers.

"There," and her eyes flutter, "yes. You are so fucking hard for me." She leans in, kisses the shell of your ear: "you’re fucking stretching out this little pussy, baby, you know that?"

"Jesus. Fuck, please-"

"Should we? Should I let you?" She clenches down, "fill me up, babe? You think you're worth the privilege?"

"If you'd let me - Irene, the things I could do," you don't breathe, "jesus fucking christ."

And she looks at you with wide, honey-smudged eyes. Pretty even when fucked; especially so. Her fingers get wrapped in your collar and she’s nodding her head in rhythm with her quick little bounce. The snapping of her hips. Up and down, and up and down like she’d be insulted if you didn’t drain your balls into her perfect little womb right then and there. She says don’t do this, don’t do that - and then she fucks you like you’re supposed to.

"Yeah, that’s right, be a good boy for me," her mouth whispers, even though there is no one else in her car, you're pretty sure. Her voice is like a vice, just you, with her hips, her hot little hands pushing you down so she's riding the top of your head. You can hear her dripping down into the space, a new leak.

"How're you gonna deal with it when I'm filling your tight cunt?" You thumb at her ass, squeeze. "This pretty, round ass? Want me to cum inside you every which way, huh? Marking up my territory?"

You hear her stutter on a reply, as her pussy gives a particularly strong flex, another contraction.

"All those wet loads, dripping out your cunt, down your thighs... on your lips... you gonna taste every last one, princess?"

She has a face like she wants to hurt you for that one, the moniker - you have a sneaking suspicion there's nobility in her blood, laid deep somewhere in her veins, another lifetime lived far from this one: she'll have a predilection for thrones, diamonds, queendoms to rule. And if that were true - well, you'd be downright lucky if she consented to an audience, even less entitled to her hand. She's out of your league regardless. Or maybe, she's the furthest thing from royalty and she just knows the script better than anybody. Kneel, she'll say, and you find yourself obliging; give me your mouth, your fingers, she'll ask, and you're compelled. It's all ingrained.

"What was that?" she asks, incredulous, riding your cock so hard the seat shakes instead.

"I said: this cunt, christ-"

You bring her closer to your face, have to feel that clasp of heat with every stroke - and when it is so fucking deep, her hips lock up, clamped, thighs quivering - you just hold her in place, give her a few breaths, let the satisfaction really sink in, even if she's already moaning.

"Well, I guess you got me there, huh." Her mouth gives her away, the lopsided-grin. "Yeah. So cum, give it." And then it twists. Her face looks so beautiful in distress, and you're certain you've had that thought many times since: if the situation demands it - maybe it would be just fine to push a little bit more? It's a neediness that doesn't go understated, even when Irene's more whining for it: like, the fuck are you waiting for, her tits out, panting, sweating, cursing and moaning at the slow drag through her slippery muscle, a grip like satin, like velvet.

You’re a total mess: 

"Breathtaking, the faces you make for me" - "you look so good, like that, so handsome" - "has anyone ever fucked you this good?"

It’s official. She'll have to scrape you off the leather.

And as if to add insult to injury, Irene’s hands come up to her hair, holding it up into a messy bundle above her head. There’s a tilt of her chin, a bite into her lip. She’s bouncing fast, taking your cock deeper on each twist, and it’s all very performative. Fucking Irene is as visual an experience as it is visceral, because chiseled into her figure, the lithe frame, are these model-esque proportions - like she’s not actually five foot nothing in her socks. 

(A beautiful little paradox. She’s showing off here. She’s showing off, simply because she can.)

"And you’re the one always calling me greedy," she breathes, like the punchline, as she takes the next inch, the wet slapping of skin. There's heat. So much fucking heat - she's got a pulse that pulls you forward and won't let go, your balls hitting her ass and thighs soaked, so red and plush and beautiful, a softness that takes a second and an elbow's reach and, fuck. Her thighs on the dashboard. "You've been-"

Your palms fit into the curve of her ass. How a small, fragile, dainty thing like her can have so much to grab onto remains a mystery and a fucking miracle.

"-a bit of a prick, honestly, for a minute-"

But she's so responsive - and you want to wring it out of her, really, a desire to destroy and savor, even when that sounds a little wrong and too close to sacrilege - you really ought to just call her the ultimate fantasy: she has the cutest tits, soft creamy thighs, tightly wound curves and a sexy-as-sin attitude; and when she sits heavy on your cock, wiggling her hips in a circle, you lose the plot and a little bit of your mind.

"-have to say, it's been getting to me."

"Here's hoping it doesn't give," you grumble as your arms tense and your back aches, your shoulders strain. Irene seems unconvinced, and she usually is, but the drive is relentless.

"Then you'll have to hurry up," the rake of her fingernails across your neck, "won't you?" and she is too slick and so eager, "because you’re gonna cum for me, sweetheart, just let it all out, baby." Her cunt and her heels in the upholstery and the stinging welts draw you deeper- 

Your hand braces around the center console. 

She has her lips on your temple, your hairline: "I’m imagining how my pussy will look, all creamy and used and pretty - all because you fucked it nice and hard and raw - no matter how many times I fuck myself with my fingers, I'll keep feeling the ghost of this fucking perfect cock."

The noise that leaves your lips is a full, throaty, ragged groan, your muscles shaking and skin burning. "Irene, god," you sputter out; it's not super attractive, you think.

Irene kisses the juncture of your shoulder and neck like it’s music to her ears, her jaw against your jaw:

"You've got to stop edging me, love, my little pussy was made to get stretched by your cock, show me-"

You thrust in deep. 

"Fuck."

"Oh," she whispers, eyes hooded and lashes sweeping low, an awe so thick to her voice. "Such a good boy for me - now. Make me cum, yes - make me cum all over you - mhm-"

You jerk your hips again - your pants hanging around your thighs, her blouse pushed up around her waist. You've twisted and knotted the fabric over and over into something you can pull or hold onto - it's not clear to you yet which idea's more pressing.

Because there's no breathing room. You need to twist your hips just to fuck into her - her lips are parted with this insatiable moaning, and it's sweet and pretty and filthy. She wraps one knee higher. There's the lock to your ankle, but she's grabbing the lever and trying to pull your seat down, the rest of it; you absolutely let her. All this in heels that would be impressive without a tight wet pussy pressing down on the length of your cock, begging for what seems like an endless number of thrusts into that delicious heat, the perfect clutch. She rides you rough: the leather beneath your knees shifting with the constant scuffle. Her elbows bent, a thumb grazing her tits, pushing up the silk and the lace.

Her soft, pale skin is spilling all over you, her limbs finding purchase as her mouth slides against yours on a new rhythm of need and want: "that's the thing, right? You're such a delight when you put your mind to it." She's pressing a kiss against your temple - her tone, this intimacy, a hotness between her thighs that leaves you breathless, dumb - it's the only sort of inescapable validation that might suit.

You had the perfect view as she shrugged the jacket, unbuttoned the blouse, sat the bra over it, just undid her slacks: this perfection, laid bare, exposed in your passenger seat with her tits squeezed in both palms. Then it was her hand tugging at the zipper to your pants.

So - you're fucking her harder than you have any business doing. Her nails are digging trenches in the skin of your forearms and you have the slightest sense of everything she has, wants, demands; you've had her under you, bent her in half, folded at the corner of your bed. You’ve fucked her with your cock so far into the slick-dripping hole of her cunt until she can't stop cumming - or begging - or the Irene-equivalent.

"There you go," she says into your throat, like it's nothing, and sags a little further into your chest. "There we go," she repeats. Her brow is glistening with sweat, and you kiss it: hot, and a little bitter. You can't help it. 

You're fucking her harder than she can handle. You're filling her. She's stuffed to the fucking brim with your cock, bulging at the folds of her insides.

And, christ, her fucking waist. She is so small, so fragile-looking. You wrap both hands around her middle, and as her hips grind forward, meeting the roll, she grabs your wrists, holds your hands up her ribs and gets, and gets - oh, just where you fucking left her. Your knuckles are left digging to the silky skin, bruises dotting purple across her back, her neck, her tummy and her thighs, every surface - you're grasping and claiming what she has to give you, just a hint. There's a million and one ways to love, to give back, to please a partner - but you have one goal: you're not an artist, you're not a philosopher, or a poet - so you’ll leave physical marks, reminders, of everything you've done and will do. You’ll make her cum. Just hold her still and make her cum again and again and again. The weight, the lift. If she asked, you would. Fuck. You would. She rides your cock and rocks you into the upholstery of the passenger-side chair. She sinks down and presses her mouth to the edge of yours, just shy, her own teeth pulling at her bottom lip-

"Your cock feels," and here Irene takes the moment for a heavy, contented sigh. "-ah, fucking unbelievable. Your fucking cock, jesus."

Her voice is… it's really so dreamy. The praise does strange things: you reach down and pull her thighs so they tighten at your waist. There are no illusions here, she's found something worth chasing. The bare-boned desperation drives her insides wild, you can feel it. The clench, the pulse, the absolute slutty-slick dripping, a real, honest, aching cunt, warm and clamped at the hilt of your cock - it's obscene, and your patience is stretching paper-thin. You aren't asking any questions; she's not taking them.

It’s just you and this petite, absolutely stunning, heartbreakingly gorgeous girl sitting in your lap and working herself on you like a doll, and- oh. She really does look great. It's impossible to look away.

The windows are fogged, and her cunt feels divine as she runs you further into your car seat. Her hips snap up, back down - the soft drag and then the cinching flutter. The inside of her, a total fucking delicacy. One of your hands slides across her back, counting the rise-and-falls of her spine. One, two, three, and so on. Her lips are flush at your throat. You feel her whimper.

It’s the most perfect noise you've ever heard.

"Baby," she mouths at your collarbone, her movements becoming more spastic, more erratic. "I can feel you throbbing."

The encroaching dark keeps threatening the corner of your vision, so much tighter each time.

"You're going to make me," you're gritting through your teeth - this feels a little insane, a little irrational. "Irene you- you’re going to make me fucking cum."

"Oh?" Irene’s reply is immediate. She slams herself down on your cock, hard. "Then cum."

Your patience is truly nothing at this point. There is not a single breath left inside her either: the heavy swell of her chest is proof enough, those eyes fluttering shut, the angle shifting as her ass meets your thighs. "Seriously, I'm going to fucking fill you, and it is gonna slip all down the back of your legs - Irene - sweetheart, I’m going-"

Her fingers curl behind your head. "Cum," and she groans, "I know- I'm here. Take it. Use this perfect little pussy, I want to feel you cum." and you pull the pace up into a frantic tempo. The metal beneath your back creaks with the strain; the bounce of her ass against your groin. The moan, it pitches: a need, a lust, and she is rolling, rutting her body in circles on top of you, a wild gasp and then a beautiful cry, almost in pure unbridled ecstasy.

The angle shifts and - fuck. You’re able to fuck up into her so easily. Her cunt is hot and soft in all the right places, wrapped around your cock, tight and snug like she was made for you. Every drag of slicked skin and clenched muscle sends you both reeling.

"Irene," you barely say, and you're cumming, you’re fucking filling her up with cum - the only possible endgame. You can’t stop fucking into her even though she's just been fucked senseless, stuffed with your cock: little helpless noises, squeals and yelps like they're being tugged out of her. She goes limp on you, and then she collapses, shivering and whimpering with every deep-bore pulse: you're going to mark every inch of her body, claim every part of her soul.

"Oh my god." A groan. Another. It's coming off her like a wave - like a river, really, you're drowning. "It is so, so fucking hot. Your cum, in my pussy..." She trails off.

Her tight cunt twitches: pulsing with every motion. She squeezes down - hard. It takes a great effort for you not to let out a loud, embarrassing whimper. Your fingers dig into her ass, her hips, steadying her grind.

But you're looking right into her eyes when she falls apart, too, that long, tensing shudder, the gasping groan - fuck - because she feels exactly like everything that you've done, you know: Irene's tight cunt has kept your cock perfectly in place. She was just waiting for the spill of it before the final, hardest crest. The smell's in the air and the haze is all through her expression and, god, you want her, you could just sink a million words into that, every possible adoration and every bit of yourself and you still wouldn't be getting the entire story; just fuck - you can never not be fucking her, never not want to have her riding your lap, moaning out and falling and dragging every part of your body deeper-

"Mmmmm," Irene lets out, soft and satisfied, a tiny whimper in the way that she goes all soft around your cock and comes down and presses a wet, tired kiss at the base of your throat.

"Mmmm-m?"

"Thanks, I think." Her blouse is falling off one shoulder, the material crumpled. There are creases all across it. She's biting on her lip, flushed. "Thanks for that."

-

It has to be said, here - because you know, because the sun is setting on your open window and your arm is snug at Irene’s waist and neither of you even have to mutter a word to acknowledge the fact that it will inevitably rise across your living room carpet again. 

Irene is everything you might have been running from, everything you’ve ever chased - and you’d never ever stand a chance.

-

Greedy, however, just isn't the right word for it. Not really. 

It's the way she leans in when you kiss. The way she fidgets. The way her tongue brushes across her bottom lip. So no - greedy isn't quite the right way to say it. It's more: instinctual.

She's this not-so-subtle tincture of want and desire, in its most basic form - and that makes this all so dangerous, isn't that right, miss? Because want isn't something to toy with; want is, by design, something measured in its inability to be indulged.

(And for the record, your car hasn’t even moved from the lot. You were supposed to get frozen yogurt but that's looking less likely, judging by the way Irene's fingers are tapping lightly across your shoulder, your own clamping down on her chin.)

It’s just so indulgent. Irene hasn’t left your lap, blithely warming your cock for you. Stealing kisses while the day’s last light bleeds low over the buildings. Soft sighs. Whimpers, mewls, muffled little keens of, "oh, oh, please." You trace the edges of her, where your body becomes hers, and her movements are fluid - supple and knowing and just this side of eager.

The car feels now even more cramped and narrow than advertised, the sweat in your skin starting to bloom. The musk of sex, a creeping heat: "go ahead," you rasp out. 

She nods, a helpless dip, and that comes with a sigh, "yes, fuck, right there," her cunt squeezing, a hot, slick little velvety clench; there's something about being buried inside her and seeing her fall apart. This slow rock and build-up. All the hard edges worn to a perfect point. Her dark eyes are glowing, her clever little tongue darting to her lip.

You hold her, slumping together in the front seat. The leather squeaks with the gentle shifts, the slides. The color rising in her cheeks. She likes when your breath catches; her smile goes sharp, a hint of teeth: it's very obvious that she is very very drunk - on control, on cock, it doesn't seem to matter.

A beat passes before the architecture returns to her muscles. She's sitting up, and with your hand firmly cupping her ass, and your teeth pressed to the flat of her breasts. "You," she gasps, the most unironic and unexpected reply. The corner of her eyes is still glistening, still dazed, still blissful. "Don't play dumb. Fuck - no, don't stop."

"Sorry, say that one more time for me, miss."

"You- ah." She grins, and her hip shoves your cock out with a filthy wet sound in accompaniment.

The air of the car is sticky, and her slick is still covering your waist, so the discomfort makes the little groan extra appreciative, anyway.

"Fucking god-" she grumbles, and the whine that escapes is an order for attention.

You take her jaw with both hands. Pull her, and look her right in her eyes and kiss her. Not slow. Not gentle. Thoroughly, so the tip of her tongue reaches the very roof of her mouth. She ends up with her back shoved roughly into the dash, and your fingers tangled through her hair and tugging. And her laugh turns to a whimper, her eyes a half-closed - you fingerfuck her cunt open. Thumb pressed tight to the clit. Two, and the palm of your hand smacks between her thighs, resonating all throughout the car. It's your own hot cum coating your knuckles and drip-dropping off your wrist, so she's melting and needy. The evening's passing, her hands go to her bra, so she's twisting and slipping, the orgasms strung together like the pearls on her bracelet.

Her fingers squeeze yours, then let go.

She licks into your mouth. "Jesus, you're way too good at that," is what Irene murmurs, when you're both just left breathless, half-shivering, merely recycling the same torrid air.

"Let’s get you home, princess," you kiss into her skin, joking. "Before curfew."

She sits up. "Shut the fuck up."

"Sorry," you lie, smug - not sorry at all. "Can't help it. You're too pretty when you get like that."

"What, when I'm cumming for you? When your cock is inside me? When you're fucking my brain to mush?"

Her heels clack to the ground.

"You’re gross," she adds, and shoves your arm.

"You like it," you say to her, "don't lie."

"Because I’m just this sweet innocent thing, right? I can't be held accountable for anything. Look at you, fucking me like this - corrupting me." A flutter of eyelash, and she leans forward to meet your eyes. She's adjusting the straps of her bra. She's a picture-perfect pinup girl. "Is that really what gets you off?"

"It's not bad." You let yourself soak in it, for a second, just staring at her. "The whole naive, helpless schoolgirl act. It's a classic for a reason."

Irene snickers. It's sweet-bitter, and that's fitting. You like how her blush is red and stubborn.

"Goodness," she says, like you can't see the dust of a smile, of a smirk, take shape on her swollen mouth. "Okay sure, let’s get into that; say my dad is sitting up with worry." Her head cocks, playful. "My family probably sent a search party out for me," and her laugh's lighter than air, warm, a few shades shy of ridiculous - if you thought that the sound could make you as much of a fool as she does - then yeah, that’s pretty accurate.

"What - like in a rocking chair, with his shotgun and everything?"

"Yeah, you’re so fucking dead. He's so going to shoot you on sight when he sees the absolute state you're returning me in. His precious little girl, " Irene picks at her bra, tucks herself back in, adjusts her hair. The last of her hairpins drops, falls to the dash. It rolls back, between your legs. "Pull the trigger and turn you into swiss cheese. Last rites, eulogy, the full nine yards." Her makeup's smudged - red lipstick, the tip of her nose - and you just don't feel like pointing it out yet.

"Cremation, most likely?"

"Eh, who knows," she smiles, and now, more than ever, there's not a sign of hesitation in her face, her voice, the light and effortless way she drapes across the interior, stretches. "You’re so cute though. Maybe he'll give you a chance and let you run."

-

It hadn't really occurred to you until you arrived onto the front steps of Irene’s apartment and watched her sink back against the door, exhaling softly in the fluorescent light, her eyes heavy, but you have a sneaking suspicion that you're doing everything completely out of order. 

You aren't in some trope-addled tv drama, and Irene isn't your childhood-friend or your slowburn-material, someone with a sentimental backstory.

Maybe in a parallel universe, some twisted alternate ending, where she's in this long, silky wedding gown, both sides of the aisle are watching you commit sins the way people can't resist doing in those fuck-it stories, all heat and sex and dopamine without remorse - but not now, not yet.

(Probably - probably not ever, and if that's a cop-out you can't help it. Because isn’t it silly, the things the people will do. Pretending to not be in love, all for the sake of the chase - getting themselves hung up in this world of digital advances and missed connections.)

You'll regret it later, you think. That's an unforeseen variable you should've predicted, though, isn't it?

Because you've both loved before, both been hurt, the excuses are all in the chamber: all the mixed signals and stereotypes. How she looks at you - or doesn't, some days. Your past, hers, the differences. You've never known exactly how this should go, if there even is a best version of this love to pursue, the idyllic happily-ever-after, that perfect white dress. Fuck, that is not the daydream you're supposed to be having.

The story instead, is like this: you drive her home. She sings along to the music on the radio. She kisses you over the console at a red light. Someone honks. You walk her to the door, because you're old-fashioned when you think it’s useful. You're a charmer, she's yours. You grab her by the chin and probably end up making out for far too long.

Just imagine if it had all been by the book:

A first date, then text messages. A second, where you're supposed to invite her to dinner, drinks. You’re supposed to call her, on the phone, with your voice and everything - low, a little assertive - not bossy or controlling, no: that's what the third date's for. There's a checklist for what to do, what to say; how you're supposed to kiss her, and why she's supposed to act all shy, the picture of demure - like she's innocent, though she'll be anything but. At the end of it, you're supposed to pay. She won’t let you. You're supposed to walk her home. She's supposed to linger, put the keys in the door and ask you what you're doing next - she's supposed to look over her shoulder as she walks inside and say goodnight, be coy, let it dangle on the edge. And that's supposed to be that. All of it: quintessential.

Nowhere in that manual does it say anything about pinning her up against the door and slipping your hand into her slacks either - underneath the soft, dark lace of her panties and placing your other palm over her mouth so the neighbors don't hear what a little slut she can be when she wants to.

Just this side of coquettish. A total delight.

Irene practically sobs into the side of your hand. Her mouth drops open, and you haven't even really touched her; she's wet already, soaked - well. She's always wet for you.

"I'll catch you later," you breathe into her neck, letting your fingertips skirt the puffy lips of her cunt on the drag back up because you’re actually not old-fashioned, like at all.

She tosses her hair, lets a sigh run through her smile, the blush, the creased eyes - and disappears through the door. It's the simplest way you two will ever say good night.

-

Ignoring all the rules of engagement, you and Irene never actually tiptoe around each other.

There's never even been a third date because the lines between hanging out and fucking and hanging-out-fucking blur with astounding ease. It's no real shocker: it's the little details in the way you find her sitting next to you at work, hips shifting minutely from side to side on the stool as she sifts through sheet music, sipping her latte, just barely making a sound.

It's the little details in the way she shows up, dresses to all the events, hands brushing yours to call attention to the ends of her fingertips; it's how every camera in the room seems to favor her.

If any of the 14th-century courtship philosophers could ever weigh in, now would probably be ideal. You’d be grateful, sure - because Irene is the epitome of entanglement. And that's your excuse. If anything's going to kill you, let it be her.

-

The texts do dry up for whatever reason. 

Three hours between replies just to conceal a bit of earnest emotion or whatever. You wonder what that's called, wonder when it gets so boring - why all these steps had to be so dull, and why you can't do without them. The modern era has, after all, rendered the ancient rituals pretty fucking pointless - you could both use a time machine to the medieval ages, then you could get the fireworks. The gallant. Some declaration or betrothal - maybe a show of sword, a fistful of your bride's maidenhead. Or whatever the fuck they were calling it in those days, it all sounds a bit crude-

When it really comes down to it, this is less about the charm, the proposal, or the lack thereof. Less about the dear Irene, will you be mine, and more about the want. Want that's palpable, messy: about shedding decorum together and feeling filthy and rough, taking, receiving, biting into the sweet skin of her inner thighs and spanking her so hard she can't walk the next day.

That's all it is, you're pretty sure.

And look - she still attends a majority of your work functions even though, strictly speaking, she has no reason to. Everything is relatively normal, or maybe you don't know how normal is supposed to look, and that's alright because you're trying - and all you really care about is Irene smiling at you with that one knowing tilt of her mouth - and - and she does. 

Hey, you're not entirely hopeless.

-

(The toxicity, the slammed doors, ignored voicemails and belted taillights zooming off into the night - look, not everyone is built for all the drama, not everyone feels the thrill at the tip of their fingers when they cut their losses and move on to the next. Floating through the memories thinking, wow, what a waste of time.

That's not you, you're aware. And Irene’s seen it before, probably, had a story just like it in her own life, maybe been there, maybe not, but isn't it fascinating how all of it always sounds the same no matter how the story gets told.

So, keep it simple stupid. It's easy that way. Don't confuse her, or yourself, don’t fuck it up by demanding more. 

Afterall, it feels good, pretending not to care where she is at night.)

-

So - take some credit, you do something right for once. You call her.

It’s a Saturday and she’s working late because she’s a singer. She's between hair, makeup and costume. Bored. Or, pretending she is, and if you were a lesser person, the type to lie to yourself, you'd let the pretension sit as-is. It's not even difficult: no effort required to sit back, close your eyes, and listen.

"The way he was just staring at me was so embarrassing," Irene is going on about this production assistant, and her voice is always light, playful - it doesn't matter who, it doesn't even matter what, it's the cadence to her speech that lulls. "Like I could read his mind."

"Can't you?" you ask, indulgently.

"Okay, don't try being cheeky, mister," Irene scolds into the phone, but it's hardly stern; her tone's the softest kind of sultry, like caramel, dripping. "He wanted to bend me over the table. Get some nice little marks in."

Hey, who could blame him? She exhales, almost sounds annoyed - the pout on her face is practically audible.

You are not a good person by the longest stretch of the imagination. "Then what stopped him, princess?" you question, not a hint of chivalry left in you. "Fooled me - isn't that your kink? Fucking men you've barely just met."

She laughs - once, breathless and abruptly; something sharp. You're not actually joking and she can't pretend otherwise. "Fuck." The word is a sigh, the suggestion is all over the air. You aren't blind. "You would, wouldn't you? Probably love to see me bent over, too - and split in half on some stranger's cock. Worshiping it like you've taught me, or whatever the fuck."

You hum in amusement, putting the pieces together from what she hasn't said. "Aw," you coo. "Missing me already I see."

"Don’t flatter yourself," she shoots back, all quippy, fast: quick reflexes, the stuff of her brand. "What am I meant to be doing while I'm waiting for the crew, huh?"

And well, that’s the thing - you end up on the phone for far too long, far too late: she leaves you to wait a minute when someone knocks on the door, and you'll have her later, probably, but what's wrong with dreaming of fucking her in one of those dressing rooms, pulling that corset down her curves and kissing her silent in case someone walks by - leaving teeth and nail marks across the tops of her breasts. You expect her to bring the conversation to something a little more in the moment, but her voice carries back into the room and she's asking you, casually, what's for dinner, how was your day. You laugh, tell her a funny story that happens, talk about everything that's mundane, everything she should know and would know about you if you actually spoke all the words in your head.

"Hey," she says, at some point, quiet and suddenly gentle, and you're already wrapped around her finger and you've yet to tell her. "I like talking to you. Keep calling."

This isn’t like you, really. Or it hasn’t been - not in a while.

"As if that's up to you," you shoot back, your voice so dry you know she can see straight through it, but maybe you're doing alright, making leeway - because at least, it's a placeholder. Irene seems to understand what you can't explain.

"Ha." Another laugh, airy this time: easy-breezy. A vocal shrug. "My hair is way too cute right now to deal with your smart mouth, anyways - they're waiting for me." She hesitates, but the gap isn't uncomfortable, a space to breathe. "Let's just say you'll get tired of me before I get sick of you."

"Do you want me to see?"

"Later," says Irene, almost hurriedly, like an excuse, but in a pretty way, and the click on her end of the line is still warm.

(You hang up, stare at the wall and take deep, shaking breaths: in, out, hold - when you don't, you can taste her. But still, you wait for the feeling to subside.)

-

At first, she had seemed entirely untouchable. It’s funny. At first, you were convinced she'd look right past you.

-

She sends you a video, no commentary: the pretty, delicate sweep of her mouth brushing her shoulder. Her arm casts a shadow down the rise of her hips and your eyes trail that shadow south, across the soft planes of her stomach.

There are no questions after it, no words or emojis. Just her. In lingerie and no fucking context. The sound of her inhales.

(She says things with her face like that - or rather she says nothing at all. There isn't a hand-written translation key, though she leaves clues. She's playing it up, knows how you like her when she gets mouthy, lips glossy, knows how you like her panting. It wouldn't take much if she put her hand between her legs for you: you'd suck on her fingers, clean them off. You'd do anything.

The sound she does make eventually is low, frustrated. It's filthy - just thinking about her, all alone and barely touching herself: waiting for your reply.)

-

And yeah, it'd feel good not having to think about the bullshit anymore - you’d do your best to convince everyone that it's casual: the looks, the touches, all of it - the two of you together. It'd be a total lie, and you'd know it: everyone would know it, but that doesn't really matter. Because keeping things careless works. Never had it been about the feelings, and it's a cop-out, sure, that old cliché, but look - there's a really good chance you'll muck this up if you're given the power to put a name to the way her pupils dilate a half second before she grabs at you. Or the way you always fall a little more for her.

You think about that, about the worst of it: that she could ask you the most invasive question on her mind and instead, you'd answer, honestly and willingly, just like that: "hey, do you want to stay the night?" 

-

But here’s the thing: she's a singer and she's got all these friends. Colleagues and acquaintances from work who are, in her words, also 'friends' (code for: people I am required to tolerate by contract.)

Hey, you're no marriage counselor - you won't try to figure out the etiquette. And her labelmates aren't a total disaster.

It's only fair to make an appearance, meet all these alleged Bae Joohyuns. And - she likes it, in that way Irene likes a lot of things you do to her. She’s texting you a new address every few minutes, texting nonstop by the time you've matched a tie to a shirt and are actually considering heading out. It's this afterparty, or wait, sorry, we're actually at a bar now - no, scratch that, it's a friend of a friend's place, you'll love it, I think? - and you can't really picture her stumbling through the city at midnight like she is, but there's a blurry photo of her and Seulgi and Wendy crowded around a mess of champagne flutes on a counter. An outdoor patio, a rooftop garden somewhere downtown. Her dress is breathtakingly gorgeous. There's an arm snaked around her waist and that's - hmm.

Wendy wants u here lol, the next text reads, and okay, you can't actually be bothered to give her shit for that right now. She can't be helped.

Someone's having fun, you type out instead.

Maybe I'm bored, comes the reply, just as fast, and then a few seconds later: i don't think anyone knows me here.

You roll your eyes. You'd love her despite, or maybe because of, a personality like that. "Never took you for anything like a celebrity."

Fine. I'll have to think of something to do, then, Irene responds, almost lazily, the following text-delete cycle appearing under your thumb like some new and innovative high-speed braille. Maybe.

But you could also come over and get me off, you think she should add. That could be fun, too.

No dice.

Meet me soon, she texts, and maybe a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, but she doesn’t even know what it does to your stomach when she follows it with, I miss you.

You wonder, a little, how you got here. You wonder if things like that ever just become normal.

-

Kang Seulgi is standing out front when you spill out of an uber and onto the sidewalk, all stooped over under the yellow haze of the streetlight on the corner, smoke coming up off a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

The chill night wind picks up and the edge of a leather jacket flaps behind her. It's almost eerie in how mundane the sight should be - and you think it's funny: Seulgi can make herself at home, anywhere.

"Hey," the brunette calls, stepping up. She's tall in her heels, the crescents under her eyes deep. The stars in the sky are shining against all the bright signs and street lamps, and it's hard to spot them. "Haven’t I seen you before?"

"Around the office, probably-"

Seulgi's eyes light up - she's not as drunk as the photo suggested, you think - and she gives a bright smile. Her eyebrows jump in recognition: a blur, the glimmering pulse of neon over glossed eyes and a lip caught by a canine. "You're Irene's-"

"-work friend," you answer quickly, before she has the chance to finish. It makes her laugh, which you weren't really counting on, and pocket her hands. You have enough bad ideas; you don't need hers as well.

"Oh. So you’ve got an arrangement," she suggests.

"It's an occupation," is as much as you'll tell her. "We all have one."

"Mhmm," she agrees, the wince on her face passing as a thoughtful hum. She shrugs.

"Did you-?" You clear your throat, don't know why it's hard to get out. "Is, uh, Irene in there?"

She takes a slow pull, long eyelashes sweeping over her cheekbones. Smoke spills out over her top lip. "Of course," says the girl, with all the attitude. "Just, not so alone."

"So," you start, cautious. "Do I even want to..."

Seulgi waves her hand, drops ash off the cigarette. "Nothing to worry your little heart over, friend," she mumbles, shrugging. Her fingers are delicate as she blows smoke between parted lips, eyes angling up at the city lights. "She said she was meeting someone cute. And I’m left wondering, if that someone could be you."

"Um," you respond. "Could be."

"Hm." The word is loaded, considering, and when she takes another step forward there's a smirk painted to her mouth, the deep red cut in the center of her lips almost reflective. She tosses her cigarette aside: a clean arc into a storm drain. "Interesting."

Seulgi's fingertips brush your collar as she ducks into the door in front of you.

"Later, pal," she tosses over her shoulder, and doesn't look back to see what happens next.

-

(You’d feel so much lighter, like a feather, with her off your mind.)

-

A crowd's scattered around the rooftop, now spread a bit thin - most of the people you recognize from tv screens and billboard ads, and everyone else seems a mix of other media. They're talking to each other in hushed tones about some shoot-down, this piece of gossip. They're comparing agent fees, checking the pockets of their jackets, flicking gold-plated pens in their designer hands. The whine of a power drill going a mile a second comes from over the railing: a few shots left to take. A skeleton crew works behind a camera, behind the glass, but no one seems to mind the business of film in the midst of celebration. They really are a different breed, aren't they?

You pick her out of the crowd instantly - in a white silk cocktail dress that costs more than a college tuition and no sense to act the part, Irene is seated among all of them like she fits. It's never a surprise, her at the center of things.

The seam at her hip rides up when she turns to reach for her drink, her leg extended long: overstretched, one toe pointed elegantly as if she could place her full weight onto a thin little stiletto heel and not snap both ankles. Her bottom lip is coated with bright gloss, pink smearing as it pulls at the straw.

There's a pause where everything slows down: she licks the crease of her mouth, sucks something golden and sparkling down, swallows, blinks - slow, pretty, perfect. Her hair is dark, cute, spilling onto her shoulders, and it brushes a collarbone, slips a little into the slit between her breasts. She's looking for someone, gaze traveling across the patio, swimming through the party - searching - and then, suddenly, those deep-water brown eyes catch yours.

They shine just a little bit brighter.

And then, the only logical thing: Irene smiles, before her feet carry you right in your direction.

-

Inside, things aren’t so loud. The night had gotten its worst out of the way early, the only source of music low and reverberating through the walls, the ceilings - all dark and liminal spaces; you and Irene find one to spare and fall into each other there, slow and searching and full of everything. It would be enough to get lost in her completely, this sweetness. You, and the kiss, and nothing else.

It's almost private enough to call it quiet; you're both out of sight and hidden, but there's voices, drowned noise all around. The bass can be felt through the floorboards, underfoot, but you can only focus on the rhythm that thrums from inside of her chest.

There's a disarm, here, too:

"I kissed someone tonight," Irene confesses, and then there's this break, a fragment where neither of you knows who you are to the other, what any of this means - if she'll bite down, be that sore reminder of a few unspoken words.

"Did you."

"Yeah," she says, exhale tickling your jaw. Her lips drag on skin, trace bone - and maybe it should bother you, but either way you can't help it: a thought finds purchase. Irene in someone else's grip, just enough a squeeze. Someone she'd like, or someone she could put herself back in a relationship with, or whatever they're calling this - and all at once, she's trembling.

The revelation is a bit like getting shot through the heart. A simple, awful: fuck. You think you might be bleeding.

Irene pulls the strap of her dress back up her shoulder and explains how it happened, out in that patio garden: a closed-mouth thing, some fleeting nothing, really, a bold dare on his behalf and her lack of inhibition. No, she assures you - he tasted like vodka and it was boring. She kept his hands off her ass, just in case you wanted to know. But still, the blood pumps harder in your veins knowing what she has and hasn't done - and what's wrong is how you only hear her confession in the middle of feeling something envious, a sudden, strong, profound desire to mark your claim: you'd leave this bruise, something ugly at the hollow of her throat. It makes you a possessive, possessive kind of person, and the sentiment, you figure, can only end in trouble.

"Sorry," she sighs, tipping her face forward to brush her forehead against yours, her eyes scrunching as she apologizes. "I don't think you wanted to know, but-"

You're trying to distract yourself; she's pressed between you and the wall, arms circling your neck as her spine bows under a bit of pressure.

"Yeah?" you question though. You can't not. There's this telltale roughness, the need to breathe: you'll hold on too long, take her mouth the way she deserves, keep her quiet, and let your tongue flick across hers until her lips are numb. "What then - should I care? Am I meant to?"

She swallows. It's all reflex.

"He kissed me," is all she says, and then her palm is stroking against the shell of your ear, soft, quiet. "Then he kissed me again." 

She shivers, eyes wide, wet and round and wanting: you could say you understand how he could only dream of being the one to turn her head and bring out her charm, the easy way she smiles, but-

"All I could think of was you."

There was never a chance to compete; this star whose shine eclipses. Your binary system was never quite fair, was it?

Your hands are on her wrists then, trapping them at her sides; her eyes smoky and dark and looking straight up at you. She can't breathe like that, mouth agape as your nose brushes hers, your words blowing straight against the heat of her lips:

"Are you still thinking of me now?"

It's only that - though you can hear a sound building up from her lungs. You kiss the line of her jaw and whisper things into her skin: you have me, you can have me, you've always had me. The truth.

And her eyes are slipping shut: mouth curling into the kind of smile that drives you crazy; half the reason why you're all over her in the first place. You don't care where she's been so long as this is where she ends up, your face brushing hers, the kiss held just out of reach - you press into her forehead, her nose, her cheeks; she tilts her chin towards you, begging you to just - but your mouth is on her, feather-light, not near enough: she chases the pressure, gasps your name as your lips find hers, tongue sliding right past, and oh-

It's fast. It's heavy: you take, you push; her whole body shifts and shudders when she finds a grip, one hand braced on your shoulder as the other swung upwards, pulling you closer by the jaw. Your hand runs up her thigh and you hear her inhale, deep.

Irene kisses you like she was made to. She makes sounds with her tongue against yours, ones that twist in you, wind, undo. Like this, it'd be so easy to just let it go - take, take, take. There's not an inch to hide as your hand climbs her bare skin, feeling a shiver rise as her breath rushes hot against your cheek, over and over and-

"Breathe, baby," you mutter, and Irene huffs like it's a game, one of her soft shuddering hiccups, like there's something you should've known - the gasp when you kiss her mouth open, how it was getting easier to drown. She's not drunk, but she's getting there - and she doesn't ask to take it back when you both tip and crash into the wall beside. The reverberation of her back hitting the surface is nothing like the rest.

You take her arm, press her further against the space.

"Bedroom," she barely manages to request. Breathes, the sound shaking and short, almost - almost a plea, or a prayer. A beg. "Somewhere quiet, please. Anywhere. Please."

There's nothing Irene doesn't do without grace - but how she needs you: her limbs give, and she sags, falls against the line of your torso. There's this full, bordering helpless sound as you find her waist, holding her up, pulling her closer. You're kissing in this empty corridor, knocking on doors, jiggling locked door knobs and wasting time, barely, maybe, forever until you can step back into some stranger's guest room: some hallway hideaway; the unoccupied kind of paradise.

"I want you," she mutters when your hand traces the slope of her neck, and then her face is burying against the space below your ear, her open mouth skirting across the sensitive skin there. "So bad, so much. Out of these clothes."

Her neck tilts and you lick. You find a place beneath her ear, kiss - hard. Irene says please. You leave a mark. You know you’ll leave more. 

An unlocked door, and she shoves you into a bathroom instead, fucks you in there with her underwear tugged to the side and her skirt rucked up her thighs: the mirror reflecting back every whine, the squeal you draw out of her when your teeth dig too deeply, the shock, the undiluted want in her eyes when she leans up against it. You have her half on the sink, your arms a cage around her lithe waist, your grip white-knuckled in the silk outline of her dress; she cums around your fingers, cunt slick and slippery, gasping your name so loudly that you have to shush her; and even after that, when her gaze locks into yours, the pretty round of her cheeks all red and her lashes stuck with her tears: when she tugs your zipper down, fits you between her legs and pleads for you to fill her with your cock until the tightness around it is unbearable, fucking her just as you're pulling apart her clothes, the clasp of her bra snapped so hard she curses - even that doesn't stop. She doesn't ask you to stop - she's incorrigible, needy, practically begging.

"Please." Again. Again, as she touches her cheek, fingertips on the skin that's already turning a deep crimson, all shades and blooms; and then she touches the lipstick-smudged prints at the top of her breast, and all the ones on her jaw. Your teeth, where it was light, and your tongue where it was hard. You took, and you marked, and the way she is, her thighs quivering like an aftershock; her body pliable, barely-breathing: that was almost all of what she asked for.

Your hips snap, and the impact jolts through her: ripples sent into the curves of her body from the pleasure, the pain. You try not to listen, not to look - not the obscenities leaving her mouth in a steady stream as you press her down against the counter: every hiss and moan, your name, jesus fuck-

Irene cums a second time with a wail, like someone's hurt her, like she's been set free, like she'll never again breathe so well as she does when your lips catch the scream and hold down the sobs, fingerprints at the faint, fragile curve of her nape.

"God," she whimpers into your mouth; and the sound, that voice, as she moans it to you: "your cock - is gonna kill me, baby."

Her cunt is tighter around your cock than it's ever been, this total vice grip, her hips lean and arched upwards where she lies, slick-dripping onto the bathroom counter; the edge of her heel catches on the marble-topped basin, and her ankle knocks over the handsoap - the whole of it hitting the floor and shattering. 

She doesn't care. She can’t. She's a fucked-out mess: her black hair in knots, sticking to her hairline, her face flushed with need.

"Darling," the sweetest, her soft voice cracking with a laugh, the tipsy tilt of a joke; she's begging with it, some lazy, pretty curl of a request, some pretty plea that turns around into a bite, the heat, the feral - you kiss her harder. Take her harder. Leave a few more marks: just so you know she'll still feel it later, bruised and sore and sorry, and it might be too much, but oh, the way Irene grabs and pulls and fights and tries to cling when it crosses the line; she'll be feeling this tomorrow, a sharp tugging at the inside of her chest as she rubs circles into the scrapes and imprints on her hip bones. This reminder; of what's right there, if only-

Mine, you bite against her skin, and the voice in her head might scream with it.

You can see the fantasy in her eyes: her standing here in the mirror after you've filled her pussy, fucked your cum back into her cunt and had your fingers inside her for so, so long that she'd been soaking, dripping with it - your palm pressing firmly on her swollen, desperate clit, two fingers hooking deep, right on the spot that makes her twitch, tremble. Her jaw goes slack, eyes fluttering and back arching as you watch her drip with the mess you've made of her.

"It was always, I think-" and she hiccups, a small pained sound, "it was always gonna be you." She says it like an apology, voice quieter, more uncertain, a little shaky. "I just can't get you out of my head."

Your hips are reckless, a little mean - but your mouth moves slowly across hers. It's tender. It’s everything. 

"Baby," you plead back: and it's something soft and small when you sigh it into her mouth. Your fingers tracing her ribs and feeling how she breathes with your every motion; how you're filling her so deep she almost can't. Choking, with a whimper, like it's hard - and then her jaw goes slack, eyes snapping shut - her knees bend - like she'll give up on the control. Her body slackens and gives under you; her legs widen to fit your hips, all her weight sinking backwards on the marble-top-

She keens when you bottom out, a high, delicate noise. Whimpers at how full she is of you; she must've felt your rhythm slipping and letting it run too rough-

And even then. She asks, totally breathless, panting: "Right there," and fuck, god, please. "I love this," she whispers, the sweetest, the most gorgeous, lips moving as slow as a prayer - "and you fuck so good. And-"

Irene swallows; her chest expanding and then halting, shallow and deliberate. Her chin turns; her mouth opening in some expression of yearning before the word comes; a gasp, and she can't - she can't quite-

"Keep- baby, please." Her throat makes a noise and all the words taper. "Please, right fucking there."

She makes another sound, strung out and desperate - and she keeps gasping the faster you thrust your hips. Each drag through her hot, wet cunt has you both clambering closer.

"This," Irene's panting, this terrible, wonderful realization in her mouth. "This feels like-"

A stutter. A strangled sound: you don't even catch a full breath before she's trying again.

"-like us."

Oh, Irene, her heart murmuring. Like something soft, like something hard - this burn, this hurt; Irene, in her prettiest, highest pitch - the way she speaks, the way she breathes, her voice dropping a decibel like some clandestine secret. Like sin, a honey-coated whisper in the space between you two.

"Irene," you say, and she melts like you’re inscribing it into her skin. DNA-deep, carved into her bones. She takes it like a baptism, something in it an invitation, a promise to hold her dear - and all at once, that smile grows, blooms. 

It's intimate. It's affectionate. Fuck, it's true.

You break open her world with her own name, spoken like a sigh and sounding like sin.

There's this hollow, raspy sound she makes. Beneath the shallow of her clavicle. When your fingers push down, her nipples pressing back into your palm - there, as her breath hitches, as she quivers - right there; her cunt trembles around you, eyes wide-open, and you're just watching each other lose yourselves until Irene has to beg for another kiss, and the next, her fingers grasping at the collar of your shirt as she slips her tongue into the corner of your mouth. You wonder why she bothers with perfume; when all she is is vanilla and cinnamon, a saccharine so sweet with a touch of spice; she murmurs the words into your ear: I want your cum. Fill me up. Use me.

You think:

God, her body; god, the feeling. The sound.

Think, still:

Look, your hand. At her waist. At her pussy. Right here. The place where you're connected. Flesh, bone, a stretch of skin - the raw, obscene mess you make; when all it takes is a rock of your hips, a thrust upwards and in to dismantle everything that is her, everything that is Irene, until her entire world is centered around you-

It could be a chorus, a refrain:

Let go. Let me see. Drown me out. Kill the lights. You’ll take three hours over three weeks where you pretend she doesn’t exist. It's simple. It’s, it’s-

It’s this: the press of her to your skin. The nails to your scalp, down your neck. The splay of her legs across your thighs. The sweat - hers, yours - all of it together; your mouths meeting and meeting and meeting. Again and again.

God. It’s the entirety of you which you were hoping to avoid. You love this woman. You fucking worship her, all of her, every piece and the whole - that she's making that noise in the back of her throat, soft; that her breathing is rising, ragged; that you do this to her, just this.

It happens in a blink. You tell her to turn. Tell her to bend. 

She ends up over the counter, gripping the sink, and you lift the fabric up to bare her ass and keep fucking her, deep, deeper. This sound is all you need, this whine that Irene makes, like you're reaching even her furthest, hottest spots - and then the push through her sopping cunt, how she spills around you and the slickness smears at the insides of her thighs; she clings and squeezes and fucks back against you so wildly, she doesn't even recognize her own name. It's the moment when she loses all sight: that's when you bury inside her, pull back her hair, wrap your hand around her throat, and she's under you, on you, body angling upwards like a flower to the sun. She cums so easily, shuddering into the pull of the climax; her pussy tight around the throbbing swell of your cock - the deep and penetrating pain of that desperate pleasure, like a flash-flood, an earthquake, oh, the grip, the warmth-

The moment stretches, just like that. 

Her heels kicked off and toes arching to scuff at the cool, tiled floors; she's sensitive; she wants to play dirty. Your grip loosens, that same tender thing when her throat bobs, a little movement, swallowing for you. She knows exactly what she's asking for, exactly what this all means - Irene begs so prettily: "put it inside me."

There's a few seconds in which you feel nothing but the heat and the way she flinches, like a reaction that's programmed straight into all her nerve endings; the raw instinct; the shudder from deep within her core when your hot cum finally starts to spill thick and heavy inside her - it's been too long since your last proper fuck, and her moaning in the mirror is, how do you say: an incredible inspiration.

"Your pussy," you can hear yourself say, throat gravel-dry. "Is so fucking tight, baby, shit-"

And she's nodding, voice ripped to ribbons. All the words liturgical, a prayer. She's begging with them; yes, please, fuck, god yes, give me-

Her thighs press together, but her eyelids have begun to fall.

"Use me," she mutters. Her breathing begins to even out - the very real sign she's spent, near unconscious. "Want this, want you - so fucking bad."

And the evidence is there. Irene is falling apart beneath you, hands fisting and legs spreading even further as she's braced against the sink, bent, and presented. All of it makes a beautiful sight: the spread of her toned, ivory thighs; her ass pale and her folds so pink; how she's bent, waiting. Everything about her is an artistic consideration, designed, purposeful.

"Christ," is all you manage. The strain is evident in how your tone rasps.

Because your hips are still pumping Irene’s cunt with cum. Fingers wrapped around her tiny waist and pulling her ass flush against your hips for good measure. Again and again and again; no room for doubt: you've missed the warmth, the fullness. Soaked to the hilt as your length curves within her; she coos, and she loves it. She says it’s ruinous. She says it feels incredible. She says it around the shape of your name and with no hint that you should ever stop fucking her apart.

"Feels so fucking amazing." She's panting and she can't say another word for a while; it's a fact and the other is simple. "It's - so good."

She can't stop moaning. 

You’re both breathless, watching her reflection in the glass, a study in motion: the soft bounce of her breasts in the mirror, the cords of muscle tensing in her abdomen, the small, pinkish mark blooming below her left ear. There's her lower lip, pinched between her teeth, her eyes flickering shut as her hair drapes across her naked shoulder and her skirt rolls higher on her waist. She doesn't try and muffle herself: you could hold her down, or even give her your fingers to bite down on - let her go a little wild as she wrestles against the instinct to stay silent, keep quiet. You plant an open-mouthed kiss against the side of her neck and look up, see her watching the movements, her dark eyes lidded, dazed, fucked-out-of-her-mind content as she smiles - lidded and lovely and impossibly knowing and rocking her hips into the moment.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" you're murmuring, your palm on her shoulder. Pushing her flat. "Absolutely breathtaking."

You rub a thumb against her cunt, pull at the outer, exposed, sensitive parts as Irene's smile falters. You just keep pushing.

"Oh, baby," she whines, pleading for more. For one more press, another, anything: she begs you. "Your cum feels" - she swallows hard - "so fucking warm inside of me."

A shush, the palm soothingly pressing between her legs, and she bites her lips hard. Still trying.

So - you push it all deep into her cunt. 

There’s this beat, this moment, this quiet - where her eyes pinch tight, voiceless, speechless.

And right after, Irene is whimpering: her body seizing and shaking and arching away from the viscous slickness that just keeps building with each and every drag; the cum left on your cock when you pull it out, leaving Irene on the verge of sobbing, collapsing on her stomach, trembling. Your fingers are covered in her cum. And this is how she likes it, stretched and sloppy. The shudder through her body is proof: all over her nerves, electrified. Irene’s shoulders go limp when she feels the push - then your knuckles, curling. The gentle touch, the pressure, the fingers spreading her slit.

She asks what else, anything, please, and hints at wanting more; so much more.

“Irene,” you say, smiling into the ends of her hair. Maybe, you consider. Maybe later, maybe when you're fucking her flat on your bed; your cock up her tight ass or your palm coming down heavy on the supple roundness. You let her fantasize a minute, imagining it's the roughness she wants to receive; maybe the hot, slow grind of you still inside her or the whisper at her neck and her toes digging into the sheets. The offer has her breath stuttering in the mirror.

Irene tells you it's unfair.

"Sorry," you say, and don't mean a word.

Another breath in, the lungs expanding against your palm, ribs slipping. In and out, a reminder.

"Don't be," Irene manages, exhaling a laugh.

She offers you her lips, you know she doesn't mind - and she kisses you. You sink down to the bathroom floor and she sits so easily in your lap, your mouths meeting over and over again. She strokes your spent cock. Your hands squeeze her thighs and you take her chest in your mouth. Wiping your own smear of wetness off her tummy, bringing them to her face, letting her nose knock into your palm and lick at the tips. 

"Can you taste how sweet your cunt is? Baby," and your mouth is on hers, kissing all traces off her tongue-

There's so many things you could do, it's enough to keep you sated for ages. Her back is pressed against your chest, and you gently draw another spill of cum leaking out from her pussy; she shoves your digits into her mouth, sucks until her jaw clenches, your thumb rolling around the roof, tongue pressed right between.

"If someone sees us," she whispers, licks her lips, your fingers, moans, tilts her hips and grinds down a bit. "We'd be so screwed."

"Don't worry, I'd say," and you can't help the tease in it; your voice low and all grit, the heat and your heart rushing through every vein. "It'd all be my fault."

It's filthy: her sitting in the puddle of your cum, making it soak the thin material of her dress; your heavy spill leaking from her cunt and soaking your slacks as the mess seeps further and further down your pants and her ass-

"We are such a disaster." She says it wistfully. "You and me, like this. A total fucking disaster."

(With your clothes torn open, hair a disaster, the imprints of your lips and fingertips all over her, she means. If it was anybody but the two of you: oh, how ridiculous it would seem. But the sheer audacity of the possibility has her looking at the cum glistening on her thighs. Then looking back to you, her dark-brown eyes, brighter than stars, searching the depth of the hold in yours, your arms wrapped around her.

Maybe she just wants to have this. For as long as you're giving it to her.)

-

You can feel yourself falling so deeply into her, the pull. The draw. It feels a lot like being lost. Like, there's something about loving her. The night's long and she's pressed so closely, fitting like something just perfect, and the way her hands find your ribs is the nicest, fondest ache. You only break out of the haze once the footfalls of her heels begin to echo behind you. The bass fades as you both make a run for the exit. It gets harder not to laugh - your giggling voices slipping between you. You have her nose pressed to the dip of your collarbone, kisses dropping in her hair, her lips curved into a smile every time your thumb does another circle - that place right below her hip, or right there behind her ear.

"Take me somewhere," she sighs. Her body pressed against yours, her cheek snuggling against you.

"Any suggestions?"

She shrugs, and the elevator chimes. "I wanna sit with you."

When she leans forward, just the faintest movement, her mouth upturning in the smallest smile. Her eyes flit away, and her brow wrinkles and lifts, like this: here. You could swear, to god, or the devil: there isn’t an ounce of light inside you that doesn't live at her mercy.

The clock is ticking down into the small hours. The night at its calmest, darkest, most wicked stillness.  You ask her again, this time, just for clarity, a bit of guidance. "Somewhere we can go? If you have nowhere in mind, we could head back if-"

"No." Irene shakes her head. "Take me anywhere but home."

-

You're drunk. Irene's a little worse off. Her heel snaps. The usual grace, the poise, her ease, that’s all but vanished. It's just her: Irene. Hair windswept and the edge of her nose nipped by the chill, the moonlight.

She’s so fucking beautiful.

The night can hear her laughter in the air; you have her hands clasped around your middle, legs hoisted over your elbows. You’re carrying all fifty kilos of her across the pavement; the streets are quiet and the city's yours. Her dress bunches, and her voice is in your ear, a kiss peppered to the back of your hair. The both of you collapse and - ow, it's the crash onto concrete, a scrape and a bruise and a story to piece together tomorrow. Is this from the tumble? the sex? I don't know, Irene will say, sealing a band-aid over the red, the swell. Maybe this, maybe that. It all happened. The physical marks, the chemical thrill - the proof of life, a permanence, tethered.

"Let me, Irene," you're insisting, half-joking, pulling at the broken heel and tossing it a mile behind you. And like it's instinct, you just can't - can't help yourself. "Your legs are gorgeous, but, y'know. I’d hate to see you get hurt."

You run your palm down her calf and steal the other shoe. It gets tossed in the same direction, over her whine. "Babe."

Irene pouts, still too lovely, still too fucking sweet. 

She doesn't laugh, or blush, or try to argue. Instead, she sweeps your hair back, curls her fist at the nape of your neck, and suddenly you're staring, eyes locked and wanting. Irene leans in, her weight settling against your forearms, and gives you a look; just long enough and tender and dreamy and calm enough to have the ache of your heart match its rhythm with her own.

"What the fuck," and her smile cracks open as the words struggle in her chest; her hand goes down your arm and strokes a featherlight finger to the edge of your jaw. "Please don't throw away a woman's shoes without permission."

She hiccups. Sways.

You kiss her. And kiss her, and kiss her. Irene smiles right against your mouth.

"Stay right here," she says. "Go get my fucking shoes, but stay right here with me."

-

Look, it feels so good, not worrying where she is at night.

-

"I thought," she's whispering as you cross into a twenty four-hour minimart, Irene on one arm and both her heels in the other - a pack of wet wipes in your hand - and then her pausing, stopping; this brief flutter of something - she says, "I used to think about how this would all eventually fall apart."

Irene leans forward and gives her weight onto you, hand playing around with the sleeves at your elbow.

"I used to wonder which one of us it would be," and the cashier is ringing up your purchases: a bottle of water, a cold compress, baby wipes and neosporin. The ice cream Irene's insisted you treat her for. She runs a hand up the back of your hair and smiles when you meet her eyes again, "which of us would drop the other, you know, first."

"The thought still come up?" you say, sliding a bill onto the counter and offering a quiet "keep the change."

"Yeah, sometimes. Or I mean I'd be watching you, sometimes, I guess." She smiles at your reaction, bumping your shoulder. "That’s the look."

You're walking out to the parking lot and you're pressing a soft kiss against her brow, waiting, patiently; because you always do, waiting. "Do I need to ask?"

Her grin, close-mouthed and gentle, a tinge of fondness, of humor: "you're going to ask either way."

"Hm," you say, popping the lid off the ice cream, breaking off the flimsy paper seal of the container. She's in the pocket of your blazer, Irene's fingers weaving in between yours, her hand reaching for a bite and grinning all the while.

It's four-thirty AM and the early hours will catch up to you, but. It's this: the yellow-orange streetlight above the two of you and her bare feet dangling off a concrete half-wall. In a white cocktail dress and sitting, you and her, atop a parking barrier. You're here, together, watching the skies lighten in the east - there, where the road will split to lead towards her place. Towards your own.

"There's no way," she says, wiping the corner of her lips with her pinky and then making a face. "For us to be together and not mess this up, eventually, somehow." She steals the carton and balances it between her knees. "There's no way to save this."

"Probably not."

Her mouth curls. There, and gone; there again.

"Doesn't that scare you?"

Your stomach is a riot of twists and nerves and the base of your throat is tight, like a swelling.

"It does." You lick your lips, can't think. "A bit, sometimes." You look at her - her profile, her silhouette, the messy, knotted ponytail, the wisping hairs beneath her temple. The press of her lips, how the gloss rubs off onto her knuckles, staining. "But then I see you - and I can't imagine how I'd even pull a 'it's not you, it's me,' convincingly."

Her throat clicks, and she leans her head against yours, and you're forgetting everything else.

You both stop. Sharing a bite. Sharing the silence.

There, and gone.

"Hey," she breathes out - and you can't explain her expression, how her brows knit together; she squeezes your hand, a tremor, and the corner of her lips pulls upwards, almost apologetic; sad, or thoughtful.  "This ice cream is so fucking freezer-burnt."

"It’s not great."

You watch her nose twitch like she's holding back a sneeze, or a sniffle. She laughs instead and leans against the warmth of you; the smell of her, your bodies touching.

"I love it," you hear her say, and she doesn't give the container back.

-

Irene falls asleep in the backseat of a cab as the sun rises, your blazer draped over her chest; she murmurs your name and pulls closer, seeking warmth. The traffic thins as the roads lead to where she'll disappear, and you find yourself dreading it already.

In a day, maybe two. It’s funny. You could end up hating each other. You might have to force a pause, or take a break, or even step back from her entirely. That’s how it goes. It's the hardship, it’s living - it’s the knowing that she has a lease on life that will end, will expire, a loan where all her days are slowly counting down; a timer you recognize the injustice that it might someday read zero.

Not to get too far ahead of yourself, or to project some awful ending where one isn’t likely: but when Irene and you are like this, soft, sleepy, curled into each other; her hand at the small of your back, resting; this close, and closer. Your heart aches with an ambiguous type of feeling, indescribable-

Irene shivers a breath and presses her face into your shirt; and like a revelation: you fall further.

"Where do I take her, sir," the cab driver asks, and your eyes turn, watching her chest rise and fall, steady, easy; as her grip grows looser and her cheek presses onto the leather seats.

She's too gorgeous, too pretty in slumber, in sleep, the innocence the most dangerous thing; you fix these wispy tendrils of hair back behind her ear and press a hand to her temple, stroke the line of her jaw, the bow of her lip. How soft, she's always the sweetest sight - with her head resting, her mouth falling slack, eyelashes fanned out over the fullness of her cheeks, and all of her like this, all her darkness tucked away: you think about all those times you've traced her from across a room, across a city; if there was anyone else you'd rather wake up beside, in your bed and beside the pillow; someone who doesn't pick your fights and your silences and loves them in spite of, despite everything. Who lets the fights burn white hot until it leaves you both splayed raw and exhausted, in her, on you-

Someone who fits so, so perfectly with the grooves and the curves, who completes you.

"Just drive," you murmur, looking away, blinking away. "I'm not gonna remember."

You're thinking about a book you'd once read, an idea. The world of difference, the fact in its finer detail; all the myriad iterations of 'loving' and 'missing' and 'want': the imperceptible shifts between being the absence of something and feeling it, tasting it, taking it, drowning it and holding it in your palms, seeing it every time you turn, breathing, living: wanting to never let her go-

"You alright back there, bud?" the driver asks. The tone: the slow and steady understanding, his age, how he watches you, the soft shake in your voice, the gentleness with which you hold your gaze - he knows. A blind man could read what your heart’s written on your sleeve. "Late nights are a killer," he says, a chuckle, before shaking his head, muttering, "but mornings even more."

There are a few more hours left. Maybe more, maybe less, of not worrying, and not caring. The thing about loving Irene is this: her touch, the press and the tugging and pulling; her body and her heart; she can be anyone, the best friend, the boss, the mistress, the princess. The pet. And you would be remiss, she says, not to remember: you, too, can be just anybody. So long as it’s you, I always come running.

-

It's the last time you kiss her, and that's an okay thing; you pull off the side of the street to brush your hand up to her temple, and when Irene opens her eyes to you, her lashes fluttering against the swell of your cheeks; her hair in soft strands over her forehead and framing her face like this. This vision of her is for you, all yours, all the little things.

"I’ll see you soon," Irene says, sleepily, and you know that you will.

-

The nook she occupies in your head by now, is so well-established.

You can't remember when it began. Not like there was a sign, a hint, or a clue. Just, her. And her lips and her tongue and her touch, all this reckless abandon - like everything else, there had to be a leap.

Even with all the lights burning out and the moon hidden in clouds and the nights and days unraveling around you - in those early days, the press of her shoulders or the palms of her hands would always send the worst kind of butterflies through you, like everything else - just her, the sway and the tipsy, the turn and the look she'd have before she would touch the pad of her thumb to your cheek and drag her nail down the curve of your smile.

(It had felt - and you're no longer in it - but it had felt so frighteningly fast.

Weeks, she had told you once. I fell for you in weeks. Months? Years? Fuck, no time at all.)

-

"Hey," Irene says in the not-so-distant present. She's sitting across the kitchenette - knees under her, bare feet pointed to the window, and the steam rises from her tea.

"Mornin'," you mutter sleepily. Stretching, craning your neck and arching your shoulders and ignoring the pop in your lower back, the strain at your ankles. Irene tilts her chin up and blows through the steam. There's an air of self-sufficiency, a state of mind she seems to always have, as if, the ability to ignore her vulnerability is a muscle she could constantly flex, expand, train herself to avoid - and all you're noticing is how that small movement has her shifting and curling over the cup, trying to keep warm. Her hair is pulled high in a knot and held up by an elastic, her baggy sweats loose and rolled twice over, the camisole low, a thin strap sliding off her shoulder.

"When'd you-"

"Had to wake up earlier today." She blinks, her legs slipping open, bending.

"Any chance-"

"No." And Irene snorts. The teasing pull of her lips has your stomach twisting a little more: "you know me."

That you do; the lazy Sunday, the slight pull in the center of her lower lip as she purses it. Irene, with her hair messy-perfect and that stupid fucking smile, so careless, and the joke-flirt she's doing; she knows just what she's doing and, yeah, god. You still have a weak-spot for her and it's so big; the twist in the base of your throat. Your morning wood rising. You’re familiar with this: the deep ache.

"You know," you say instead, blinking through the heaviness of your lashes and scratching a thumb against the line of your jaw. "A girl could walk in and mistake this for an affair."

"Girls love me." She turns the cup around in her grip and grins again, makes sure that the image stays locked. "Or," and Irene holds up the fingers, counts on two. "I've had two affairs in my life. One is basically a distant memory-"

"The other?"

Her teeth press down on her lip again. "How am I doing so far?"

"Honesty and self-disclosure in the kitchen, at eight in the morning? Irene, you're really outdoing yourself."

She lifts a brow, then brings the mug to her mouth - like a second-rate cigarette and a scalding-hot burn. "If you did bring a girl here," she says after a while. And, smiling: "she'd see me sitting here, incriminatingly pretty. I mean, she'd probably cry. Screaming fits, a fist fight. Then the waterworks - oh, he was my first! I loved him! He took my flower - ow, don't touch me, I think I might faint-"

"I doubt it."

"Ooo," Irene sing-songs, turning and crossing the space to sit on the armrest beside you. The sway of her body's so obvious. You've got enough room to pull her onto your lap, but you keep your hands to yourself. She runs the tips of her nails over your shirt, just above the buttons and across the sleeves. "Hun, I bet she'd kill you. It'd be very bloody, but romantic. Sad, but inspiring in a mundane sort of way - something you've only heard in mystery novels. Riveting, sordid stuff. Could fill your entire inbox. I mean, as they say in Chicago: he had it coming."

"Nah," you decide, after a yawn. "Too dramatic."

"Not at all," she scoffs, peering at you over the tops of her glasses. "The man she loved was a heartless betrayer."

"Can I ask why my imaginary girlfriend always comes across like some cliché young ingénue? You seem to have a lot of opinions about this girl."

"What, the girl next door, a little smart, but neglects her intuition?" She flips the bun at the back of her hair. "All wide-eyes, a ribbon in her hair, a flower-child who's seen too many Wes Anderson movies." She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Never once stops thinking about the bad boy."

"If you want to get technical, all my girlfriends have been older than me."

"Whoops," she says flatly, hand falling to her collarbone, "spoke too soon. Got you wrong. No need to panic. I'm sure you, a man, are not drawn to some young thing, easily swept up in a passion. Simply, if nothing else, for the sweet naivete. Those hushed little moans and then, the screams. She would tell you it hurts - and on the same note, she’d be begging you for more - the little slut. God, she'd still be so, so nice and soft and quiet. Ready to be anything for-"

"And if you're the girl?" You stand up and grab her wrist. "What then?"

She pauses, considering this new development.

"You do not treat me very well." Irene pushes the bridge of her glasses back up the curve of her nose. "No candle-lit dinners or grand, public gestures." She twists a curl of black hair around her finger. "Definitely not a confession on bended knee - oh, no, never, never - you'll not have to stoop to that. Because you are, in fact, quite terrible at it. I don't think I'd have a single opportunity to pine pathetically, waiting. And maybe you're a bad kisser, actually," she concludes.

You tsk, scandalized. "You are really not cut out to be the ingénue at all."

Irene laughs, softly, reaching out to tug gently at a tuft of your hair. She smiles up at you - and it's so easy for her, somehow. So graceful. "Shall I fix that for you?"

"Do not fall for me, sweetheart."

"I will try to resist the urge." She tilts her chin and presses a finger to her lips. "Kiss, first."

You lean forward, let your nose bump her temple, her hairline. "Glasses, first."

"Whiner," she murmurs. She yanks, gently. Tugs and pulls, and presses the pad of her finger at the sharp cut of your jaw - her gaze half-lidded and slow as she holds yours. Like she's reminding herself, something she can't forget - what it feels like, exactly. A reminder. You can only keep your eyes on the slide of her jaw. "Gonna keep you like this forever."

"Love," you find yourself whispering. Sometimes you wait just so you can relive that first kiss. Irene swallows. "What a beautiful temptation."

-

You imagine, again, if it had all really been by the book:

Three dates and a letter of recommendation. Making her pay for half, instead of making her feel guilty about paying at all, which for the life of you, you can't fucking figure out: how to treat a woman. Chivalry in modern times: a fucking travesty, truly. She'd lure you to her apartment, or you'd do the same to her - just after the first, you know, the obligatory. The getting to know her, except you'd end up skipping the post-dinner steps of being a gentleman, which would leave the night open-ended, and you wouldn't give it much thought until the kiss against her door is so fucking filthy it makes you reconsider everything and everyone, you know, the morality of fucking someone more than once in a day.

You'd have hit all the milestones, she'd have to lead you to bed, and you'd play all her favorite movies as she lays across your chest and shows you what she likes to do best: finger herself, or something. And you'd talk about it, afterward, you'd acknowledge it - because this should be what dating is, right? This should’ve been the next few months of your life. Running that same exact pattern, knowing each other so well you can tell what sex will be like before it even happens, anticipating exactly what kind of text you'll get the next day - the call the following night, the feel of her hands on you in all the right places. The lazy moans, her lipstick imprints on your skin, the smile at the corner of her mouth. Nothing like putting your own fucking hand in her pants and rubbing a few hasty circles until her slick gathers around her knees and she can't walk for a whole day.

Things fall into place, they fill gaps, the idea must be mutual at some point - mutual attraction, mutual enjoyment-

How it is Irene got to spending five, six nights a week at your place is beyond you. Not because you're worried about what people will say. You're not. It's just - weird, to not know what you've done to make this last so long.

Are there rules to loving someone? Is there a checklist, a script - what praxis will keep things in place: comfortable. Last you checked, you have no fucking idea how to treat someone like she deserves. To treasure and cherish, hold her tight but never cage - what qualifies, huh?

"Irene," you say, one day - as you're both brushing your teeth. Because really, what does.

She looks at you like she's bored.

"Forget it," you reply, laughing to yourself and leaning down to rinse your mouth. "Idiot."

"Wait, no," she says, stopping mid-brush, her toothbrush bouncing obscenely in her mouth. "What?"

"I said forget it," you tease, and of course, the glint in her eyes is a warning if you ever saw one - but who would you be, then, if you didn't lean in close and tell her, ever so gentle. The three words could be: not a clue, or, you're so petty, or, simply, I adore you and she’d let that one lay to rest.

You choose them a little differently, and Irene's face lights up like she hasn't known all this time. 

A foamy spill of toothpaste leaks down her chin. "Th'a m'eh?" She's a mess, wide eyed and dripping and already reaching to swat you on the shoulder, disbelieving. "You can't just-" and her face scrunches, this exaggerated - ugh! - before she hides it in her hands.

Oh, you love her, and it feels so good, not pretending.

"Again. Say it again. I didn’t even hear you." She knocks her knee against yours, grinning behind her palms, wide and genuinely - happy. "Like, have some decorum."

Laughing - so hard you can't breathe - you shake your head and curl your fingers tenderly around her wrists, pull her hands from her face. "You are so greedy," you attempt between breaths, letting yourself press against the softness of her palms, her wrists, the pads of her fingertips - wanting to be a poet, she is a masterpiece - and tell her properly.

-

a/n: thanks for reading, it's always unbelievable to me anyone ever finishes these fics. This one's a very belated 'thank you' present for @yieldtotemptation. I'm like way late, but thanks for everything.

[venompinks]

IRENE 𓆸 LIKE A FLOWER IMAGE TEASER #2

[jupiterpilgrim]

Between the Lines

Irene x Seulgi x male reader

word count: 15k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Hey, stranger.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you two whispering about over here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

It’s a message from Irene.

Hey, are you still up?

You type back, your thumbs feeling thick and clumsy.

Barely. About to crash. What’s up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ok ok. On my way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is where the real party happens.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” they say in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We love you,” Irene echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Irene.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes locking with yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m cumming!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On three, you both push forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” she screams.

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

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

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

“I’m cumming!” you roar. “It’s now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A surprise,” Irene clarifies.

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

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

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

“Not a cat,” Irene confirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy. Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alfaire]

𓇼 ⋆ . ˚ 🌊 🪷 🐚 ⋆ . ˚⠀𓇢 Sea, Swallow Me

[dolleno]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀pretty ⠀girl⠀ ⬤̵ᰯ̵ ̵ུ▒᳜᳝᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝⃛

⠀⠀⠀⠀ദ്ദി( ¯꒳¯ ) ⠀with⠀ glasses

[choimeong]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(𓏼 ❛ ⑅ ❛ )⠀⠀𓂂⠀๑☕⠀⠀아이린⠀⁺⠀⠀｡✿𓏲

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(𓏼 ❛ ⑅ ❛ )⠀⠀𓂂⠀๑☕⠀⠀아이린⠀⁺⠀⠀｡✿𓏲