#irene smut

[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.

[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]

PASCAL

male reader x karina & irene

part 1 of two roses, by every other name

28k words

It goes without saying that Karina’s reputation is flawless. 

Irene’s is remarkably not.

You're not even staunchly a romantic or anything. You just can’t be assed to manage the distinction between desire and distance. So when the dust settles, the best case scenario is the three of you going around telling people, "all of this is actually a true story by the way."

-

You don't need the extra helping of moody and foreboding, but the wind picks up enough to chill you to the spot.

It blows some of the longer, darker strands of Irene's hair into her eyes and she shivers, too, against the cold as she tucks it behind her ears. You’ve got both hands balled into your coat pockets, watching her pretend like she isn't about to say something you absolutely do not want to hear. Then, a sigh - the length of which is probably unwarranted. You can feel the frost on the air burning through your teeth as you face back out toward the taxi stand. 

It’s gotten late and you're still waiting on an empty cab - you’re realizing there was never a conversation to be had in the first place.

“For what it’s worth,” Irene says, and there’s an indecent proposal just in the way she glances at you. “I had my eyes on her first.”

It’s all on account of some sort of moral quandary, or whatever nonsense Irene pretends to believe every time it comes up. A gross power imbalance; an issue of innocence and entitlement; a threat of abuse. Something, another thing, patriarchal expectations, blah, blah - she fudges around the details, but never ever cares who gets hurt. Not really.

And it’s doubtful Irene believes what she says, not to mention she’s skeptical anyone is even capable of zipping their way down Karina’s denim, working a pair of hands up the contour of her long legs, and making her pant and gasp hard enough that she forgets to breathe.

Well, supposedly - that is anyone, save the two of you. Nevermind the fact she’s always, always been off-limits.

The bottom line is she's a whole decade younger than either of you. This just for starters - only legal for alcohol by some narrow margin. Because between you and your fiancée there are all these rules: no coworkers, no labelmates, no close mutual friends, no personal assistants, no jealous ex-lovers, and absolutely none of her juniors. It’s in poor taste, among other things.

Also, just as straightforward: crossing any number of those lines has its own kind of appeal.

"Okay,” you say, “then maybe you should be the one to tell her we’re taking her home."

Irene's arching her eyebrows at you like a silent rebuttal. She smiles after a laugh, quick and easy, because it's what she's good at. It's what she knows. “Like you weren’t hoping she’d be here, too."

The ash Irene taps off the end of her cigarette falls to the ground like snow. Hitting the pavement as if it might punctuate the thought. That's a rare first mistake from someone like you, and then a second one from her: she thinks she’ll need to defend herself with an explanation, like she’d ever need to justify anything to you.

“Besides, she’s not waiting for me to ask.” There’s a curl to her mouth - and then, she adds, for your benefit, "she'd follow you anywhere."

The twisted irony is that the two of you could pick up any woman, anyone at all.

"I think it’s a discussion for another day," you tell her, serious. She laughs out loud.

"Which one? Who Karina wants, or that you're aching every bit as much as I am to spread her out on our bed and fuck her? Because I'm pretty sure we can both agree that at this point-"

Your palm curls around the nape of her neck with a touch of on-your-feet-thinking: one of these moments that lets Irene sit with the knowledge of how small she really is against you, her head against the collar of your coat, chin angled just so to look up at your face. And there's only a beat that passes between your fingers in her hair, tugging gently as her hand releases to your waist, her teeth clipping against the press of your lips, before a cab pulls up right next to you. You kiss her hard. It probably looks cinematic.

If for nothing other than to give Karina one less thing to overhear when she comes back outside to join you.

"Really not the time," you whisper right into the subtle twist of her grin. Her cigarette's gone out in the snowy mess, but Irene smirks deeper in response before throwing it onto the wet concrete. She grinds it beneath her boot like a reminder, her hand still firm on your hip.

"What, you don't think it’d make her day? Don’t think she'd want to hear all those kinds of thoughts running together through our heads?"

You pull Irene in closer. “She’s not you.”

-

For context - only so you’re aware how it all starts - it wasn’t actually New Year’s Eve, even though everyone had been drinking like it were.

Also for context, it’s not something you were strictly invited to either. Irene’s company holds this holiday party at the end of every year where all of their employees show up (read: idols; Irene likes to argue about work sometimes - to which you have never contested the value of her labor - but your brain tends to fuzz out in the middle, and instead you mostly just watch her pretty mouth in motion). All of the high-up executives and department heads bring their uptight wives and girlfriends to some restaurant ballroom for a cocktail reception that only really functions for name dropping, or influencing the media, or placing side bets on who is sleeping with the CFO - or whose mistress might show up unexpectedly and meet someone's wife face-to-face for the very first time.

It happens to someone Irene knows, once. You pray every year it will happen again.

Be that as it may, there are a plethora of other terrible ways to spend an evening and a half, but it’s all laid bare in Irene's contract - attendance being mandatory; enjoyment excessively optional.

And sure, it’s taken time, but you have gotten used to it: the industry, all of its excess, the inevitable display, the million and one things required of Irene that you, on the other hand, will simply never be able to relate to.

The machine’s so fine-tuned and tightly wound, like clockwork.

"Yeah, whatever," she had said, leaning her hip against your bathroom sink earlier in the day. Her dress laid out neatly across your bed, already pressed, set with her heels and jewelry, everything set on schedule to the point of absurdity.

And so it goes.

You can hear her brushing her teeth through the open door - and see her profile through the hand-swiped-fog on the mirror. She drags the toothbrush to the corner of her mouth: "And before you even ask, yes, you have to come. That's the deal. That's always been the deal - bored, or busy, or trapped talking to some social climbing board member who’s realized the liquor flows fast and free - I don’t wanna hear about it. You’ll be there."

"Uh-huh," you say, eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror.

"Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she adds, spits, and lets the faucet run, “but this one’s shaping up to be a really long night.” 

You watch the meticulous effort to pull her dark hair back into a low, neat bun as she turns and comes back into the bedroom, tossing her hair clip onto the bed to reclaim later. 

“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”

"Ever the salesman, Irene," you say, facetious.

"Um, saleswoman, thank you." Her words are slightly muffled by a silk tank top pulled on over her head, then down the flat length of her body until it hits the tops of her thighs. 

It’s not a matter of opinion that she'll look gorgeous in the stilettos, the dress - those earrings that catch light wherever it dares touch her. She'll smile her practiced grin. It'll probably taste sour after the hundredth person asks how long it's been and she tells them she can't remember. But then look - Irene here, still perfectly disheveled: her damp-darkened hair sticking to the porcelain skin of her neck, skin washed free of makeup. She’s beautiful. In a plain and simple way, simple-but-good. Even with the tight little scowl she shoots your direction. It’s a look she has to know could launch a thousand ships; could start a real, actual war; though you're far too charming to know how to fight - you’ve never seen the appeal.

Irene's teeth tug at the corner of her lip like she knows you'd probably end up dying in it. She puts forward this unassuming, nonchalant, “hey.”

She muses it right into a laugh. Covers her genuine smile with her fingers.

"Hey," is how you answer, always.

You’re noticing, now, the strap of her top has fallen just down the petite slope of her shoulder. You want to get your fingers beneath it. Maybe get her back in the shower. You’re never too picky.

And here: an unspoken demand, the thing that always gets you about her - while Irene stands in front of you, her finger looped between the top buttons of your shirt to draw you close. The bow of her lip perked ever-so-slightly, this soft pucker - all pretty in pink. "Before I slip into this dress, you’re going to push me against something sturdy and kiss me until I'm dizzy," she instructs, calm and methodical.

"A lot," you continue for her. You nod seriously, for a moment. "Dizzying."

She closes her eyes and leans in, and you lean into her, too. "Yeah, exactly," she ends up murmuring under a hot breath. "So, get to it.”

And so it goes, and so it goes.

-

"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.

As a matter of fact, they all do: four shots together - or one old-fashioned, or two vodka seltzers, or three of these mystery concoctions that come in a tall-stemmed glass you didn’t actually catch the name of, and jesus, it fucking reeks of prosecco. You pace yourself, within reason. You really do.

Irene gets elusive under the surface, which is to say, she doesn't change at all - not even at the edges.

And though everyone is here to be seen, only a few actually do any of the talking. Irene has it covered - you do your time.

Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.

-

She tastes like everything sweet, strong on her heels and sharper on her tongue - and sometimes, it’s not the best mix, given all you can manage is the touch and scent of Irene without actually getting at the insides of her thighs or that tempting stretch of skin under her ear, her neck, down to her chest.

This much, and she has no complaint - hardly seems surprised or inconvenienced - to you stepping her into the wall like it's a matter of instinct.

She just sighs, a short huff. "Don't miss these kinds of parties," she then confesses, right into your mouth, her warm exhale filling you whole. The sounds of people laughing and champagne glasses clicking nearby, a new song starting up, it's all an unnecessary backdrop, and Irene isn't distracted by a single bit of it.

Character, setting, scene; it’s all rather textbook, no? 

You know what the sounds mean, the soft hums, the lingering touches, the firm press of your palm into the dip of her waist or the slender line of her back. She knows where all the cameras are because she knows everything that anyone could possibly ever want to know, such as the fact that this empty stairwell is a perfect place to start, that there isn't a real plan as to where this might go - or when it should end.

And you should know where not to press - or bite or grab or leave a mark - not in some liminal space, nor some vacant practice-room, not beneath a desk, not behind a curtain. No, not here, cloaked in shadow and secrecy, another scandal in the making. Not that the knowledge stops you from testing out the lines, from drawing little patterns up Irene's waist, slipping one hand along the barest skin where her dress has hitched up along her thigh. To a boundary, the low pitch of her voice, some suggestion like, "not here, are you serious?" mumbled across your lips like it really doesn't matter what gets said or does not.

She’s pinned so properly, so precisely, that the discord between her gentle coaxing, and your hard, bruising edge - that sheer incongruity between what you should do and what you should not - can make the adrenaline spike.

She kisses you harder - and harder, and harder. She catches the small sigh you let out. She kisses you breathless.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re wasting an opportunity, given that you’re both dressed to the nines and are usually more homebody than anything else. Isn’t that the irony of fame? You sign up for an escape, and spend your life running away.

Irene eventually sinks back into the soles of her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, and she smiles so easy. She tugs at the cuffs of your jacket, sets your collar flat and proper.

"I'm thinking," you hear her say, taking stock for herself, the flush high in her cheeks, the tousled sort-of-curls now bared, "in half an hour, if you feel like leaving early, we could, oh, I don't know - escape?"

Escape to a bed with a door that locks, you assume she means. Irene wants; you deliver - however she'd like.

“Sounds tempting,” you tell her. She laughs against your shoulder. "Are you waiting on someone else to sweep you off your feet, maybe? Another offer?"

"Uh, always," she scoffs. It's the little things, confidence, and certainty, the honest-in-practice; how her palms sit soft and secure, cupping the angle of your jaw, one hand, now, toying with the knot of your tie like she's contemplating just how it might fall off of you later. Irene shrugs, leaning her weight back against the wall.

She taps a finger to her lips. Ends up saying, very solemn: "Thirty minutes."

As if you had any intention of absconding without her.

-

Irene holds true to her word - she catches you on the second to last pass around the banquet room. Some executive with a slack mouth is just launching into what sounds to be a spiel about a merger - it's unimportant, not well-versed, so Irene sidles up to you, and immediately steals your attention. It doesn't bother you in the least. She curls her finger into the cuff of your jacket sleeve, and without really being prompted or asked - and only, probably, due to the clear discomfort she has being there with anyone else - she begins dragging you out of the room; you, her ticket out of hell.

"I'm so sorry," Irene dons the industry smile and is probably charming. It's difficult for you to tell. You follow her blindly. "So sorry," she tells someone else as you exit, just before you both disappear entirely, "We're leaving. But, we'll see you next year, promise!"

A real celebrity.

The two of you suddenly a duo - and for everyone’s safety, the way it should probably always ought to be - here’s how it’s all supposed to go:

You, standing almost amidst a bank of snow gathered at the curb, your coat fanned out around Irene, shivers racking up her slight frame. All hidden just enough that if anyone were to notice where your hand ends up arriving at the narrow of her waist, they might think: 'it's not really any of my business,' and look away.

Her, curled beneath your touch - even the single press of your fingers over the small of her back as a stranger pulls a car up to the curb; or, the pull of you that ensures the driver can't actually see what you're both up to, what you're hiding; the little reach she makes into your pocket for a lighter, smiling appreciatively as she presses her cold face to the crook of your arm, your jaw, the juncture of your neck; a safe space.

“So.” Irene will look up at you, pale moonlight gathered in her lashes. She’ll make another face: this thousand kilowatt grin or her brow raising - sharp, quick, there-then-gone. She'll turn the lighter over in her hand once, twice, and say, “how long has it been since we’ve done anything social?”

You’ll know it’s not what she means, but you’ll offer her the out anyway: "could go downtown - there's a place you've probably never been to. Might even play your style of music, if you're really lucky."

Irene will arch her eyebrow as she raises the cigarette to her mouth, lit up before you know it.

"Is that right?" she'll say, dismissive, a smoky tendril curling up over city neon and catching starlight.

You're no stranger to what’s actually being suggested - an unspoken sort of arrangement. All because Irene sees herself as being above, hiding her intentions in euphemism, tact; in long, slow drags; in lilting lashes - while she's fully and shamelessly aware there's nothing virtuous about it.

Who the hell else could make it sound dignified, pretty even: ménage à trois.

Then, you’ll do your part. You’ll help interpret: another girl, gorgeous and probably unclothed, another bad decision, or two, the three of you finding yourselves back in your apartment where Irene will not hesitate to run her tongue up the side of a sweat-glistened neck, to tilt her head and whisper out a mantra of, honey, sweetie, anybody ever tell you how good you look between a woman’s legs? Or, fuck, let’s get you out of those jeans, let me take you all in, how the fuck have we not gotten our hands on you before?

Which means the question you really ought to be asking sounds more like, “maybe we can invite someone over?”

You’ll meet her eyes as they flick up - a lazy expression, easy to read. "Bingo," she’ll say, blowing smoke and even more caution to the wind.

Almost to a fault, everything she does draws attention. Every fool with a blog and a camera posted outside of an event will have her labeled on-sight. You can already see the headline - because the only thing worse than everyone thinking you're the antagonist is looking the part. The imagery, red carpet, sexy evening dress, sultry, regal. The caption, Bae Joohyun - they use her government name like they really know her - sulking in smoke, or thirty flirty and thriving? below a thumbnail of her holding the cigarette, with your suit jacket draped over her shoulders. She's a total tabloid darling. Irene the temptress, or Irene, ice in her veins, or Irene - "How does she look so fucking gorgeous without makeup?!" or "Do I wanna hate her, or wanna be her? @RedFlavor_ROYAL," or "In every shot I feel like Irene has me staring into her soul."

Add that to the fact the girl’s utterly shrouded in myth.

Everyone running amuck with speculation; she's the girl-next-door, she’s the fantasy-in-real-life, she's someone everyone could see themselves fucking - she’s the heroine they say, the villain, the perfect wife, the one-that-got-away. They never do decide.

Though there’s only one opinion she’ll concern herself with, and only on occasion: yours.

Her fingers will come in the dark to trail feather-light from your collarbone, between the rise and fall of your shirt buttons, before pressing open palmed to your chest to still right there, and she's such a pretty thing in the plain black dress, all yours and very much in the mood - which you'll already have reason to know, in part from having felt your way around her no more than a hour prior, but also just the way Irene's been looking at you from beneath her dark lashes all evening, that subtle predatory gleam in her eyes.

You’ll hold her close. Irene will have the audacity to comment, “love you,” in this delicate little whisper, quiet like it could go either way - affection or gratitude. Maybe a touch of both.

A car will shortly arrive, pulling up to the curb with snow melting under its tires, headlights in your eyes, and then finally, in no particular order, your heart hammering: the click of the lighter, the falling ash, the sweet easy laugh, the crunch of ice under foot as she steps down beside you, the soft sweep of your arm.

You have no complaints about the proposal. A lack of argument or dispute is basically the same thing as consent, isn't it? For all intents and purposes, as a whole, it's really kind of a win-win:

Irene needs variety, which you're well aware of. It's only natural for someone who can have anything they want. And, sure, you happen to be a willing participant when it comes to satisfying the occasional whim.

So - the conversation will follow you right into the backseat of the cab, simply to iron out the details. 

“Tall. Beautiful. Soft, soft, soft - like cashmere, a luxury brand," Irene will have one heel off and her knee braced up into the back seat while the other leg extends across your thighs, fingers running along your coat collar to make idle circles against the exposed skin there. "Or, at the very least, someone with a little more bend to their character - you know how those prim and proper types always get a bit lost in you.”

"And wouldn’t you know."

It’ll sound smooth, probably. Irene will roll her eyes.

“So, okay,” you'll return to her, right after instructing the cabbie how to get to Irene's place. None of the implications here are lost on you. “You have anyone particular in mind?”

"Hm, I’m thinking."

You can picture it, roughly: Irene's whole body sunk into the dark corner of the seat - one leg idling over the other. Her foot bouncing at your thigh. She has her heels in one hand, earrings in the other.

She’ll look wistfully out the window; the intermittent flashes of city lights casting her face in different hues. The curve of her jaw; the stately line of her nose; her thick black lashes - composition and subject. It's this kind of attention to detail that the cameras scramble to pick up. It’d be better if they got it for the right reasons.

You’ll pull out your phone. Start the usual scroll from the top of your contacts. The girls you know, the girls you don't, the ones who might be awake or who definitely are, regardless of time of day or night.

Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.

Someone cute, she might say, only because she'd rather not admit, someone like me. There's limits to her vanity insofar as her taste - in all sorts of things.

But she does like the idea of it. Someone young and pretty and impressionable; someone naive, or tiny and helpless; it's never difficult to find the girl who will fawn over her - all wide-eyed and doe-faced the instant Irene floats her fingers across her collarbone, smirking - when she starts at the zipper at the back of her neckline and says, "we’re going to see how wet I can get you," without missing a beat. Someone who will eventually say please when Irene gets a little stern and tells her, "ask me what I'm gonna do to you," in a rasp so smoky that it would make the cigarette seem blasé.

But that, you suppose, is the nature of Irene. A touch domineering. A little more than just a pretty face.

She always takes, but she takes gently - a push here, a pull there, she knows people will give her anything.

It will be more obvious when there's a small voice trembling between the two of you, twisted up in your sheets and simpering with the gentle sort of affection that Irene deals so expertly: two fingers sliding up, pressing down. Curling, beckoning. Slow and tender, without giving up that she's looking for any soft spot; a weak point. Some vulnerability to exploit.

It'll be right after whichever plaything of the hour pulls her lips off yours, off the length of your fingers - or when she unfastens her mouth from the hard shape of your cock with an obnoxiously loud pop: "do you guys do this kind of thing often?"

And Irene, without even an ounce of hesitation, will rip right into the sheer of her stockings, letting out an aggressively casual laugh. She’ll plant a kiss somewhere deep. Say, "oh, honey," as she nuzzles into the crease of her thigh. "We're pretty new to this too."

Everyone, just - believes her. For the same reason you suppose they believe she's perfect. She’s good, really good at all this.

In the taxi, Irene's foot will continue to tap against your leg, until you're stopping her by covering her knee with your hand. As for now, the evening will remain all but written in stone. You'll run a hand through your hair, you’ll lean an elbow against the window - the whole while, ignoring the sudden itch between your shoulder blades at the thought of something else. At the thought of all the other girls who'll take an instant liking to her. Who wouldn't. 

The light will change. The intersection will empty. The radio will turn to static.

You'll eventually offer up a name like, "Jennie Kim," among others. Moving alphabetically down your contacts list. Taking you a long while to make it through the 'K's.

"Hm." Irene's soft hum of disapproval, non-committal. "Are you asking, or telling?"

The difference won't matter. "I'm suggesting," you'll say.

You’ll watch how Irene turns the name over in her mouth a few times before smiling - how she knows, there's the smallest part of you that has her held in a certain light. "Maybe," she'll say, tapping her phone against her cheek in the contemplation of whether or not this is a tentative no or a provisional yes - when really what she'll avoid an answer with is, "aren’t we a little tired of Jen?"

Tough to say.

Good, sweet, and just naive enough to get twisted up between you, in her case. Oh, Jennie’s the type of girl - you'll stuff your cock in her pretty little cunt while leaning into her, taking her arms and pinning them to the base of her spine, so she can't reach and can't claw and can't make an utter fucking wreck of herself. The two of you have known Jennie for too long, is what will strike you then. And a moment later, the idea of sinking into her ass from behind with your palm flat and warm against her hip and your voice husky and deep in the way she likes, and saying, god, fuck, Jen, you’d let me do anything wouldn’t you, you’d let me cum in here too.

And - she would, really.

She wouldn't even complain. Her face would be pressed so firmly against Irene's thighs, and she would whimper, not beg. Even though you know it’s what Irene might prefer; how it makes her look real cute - cheeks stained crimson as the syllables roll around her tongue before being forced out into the open.

"I think she's great," you might say out loud, lowkey.

And in a voice that is louder than strictly necessary, Irene will cut in: "she lets you finish in her ass, and then not even three minutes later she'll say it was the best lay of her life, of course you do."

It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.

"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"

Irene will frown, thoughtful, but not conceding anything - perhaps she means hold onto that thought for now. If nothing else sounds particularly enticing, we'll call it a maybe. "I’m saying: Jennie is. I don't know."

You can hear the end of her sentence: not quite good enough. Not this time around, but someday, sure, someday soon.

"And for the record," Irene will follow, casual, with a dismissive hand wave. "Just because you got to her first doesn't mean she's ever liked you more."

The few that fall afterwards will never make the cut. Irene will turn them all down. Jisoo - no, sorry, look, she's so, so pretty, Irene will be trying to explain, gesturing in a way that's hard to interpret. "But a little too stuck up for my tastes."

You've been speaking in code for years. She means: way, way, way too straight.

"The blonde though," Irene will try right after that. “Daisy, or Lily, oh god something or another, what was her name-”

"Um, do you mean Rosé?”

“Yeah.” Irene will sink back into the leather, sipping down a memory or two and shifting her skirt up the top of her thighs.

You'll consider the angle. Your options: Rosé on her knees right inside the foyer of your apartment, Irene's hands wrapped tightly in her hair, controlling the rhythm. The way she gets her fingers spread under Irene's knees and draws her forward, pushing up with her eager, prying mouth - licks and licks, nosing against the heat of Irene's pussy until she’s gasping and locking her hands around the younger girl's head to steady the jerk of her hips.

Then, you'll laugh out loud. Because you know, Rosie isn’t anywhere close to straight enough. 

And the back-and-forth of what-ifs and could-bes will follow. An endless string, a laundry list. Where Irene makes a face for every name, every suggestion: too messy, or too innocent, or too sweet, or too boring, or not nearly shy or gullible enough, or whatever other bizarre caveat she finds to slot between all of her impassioned criticisms. The cabbie will be shaking his head at some point too, because the question hangs over the taxi at large: 

What exact criteria could possibly be good enough for the distinguished tastes and sensibilities of Bae Irene?

-

(The truth is: it doesn’t go like that at all.)

-

Enter then, Yu Jimin.

The run-in starts there, downstairs, out standing in a pool of warm, yellow light. The snow flurrying about in the glow of a street lamp - melting into where her smoothed curtain of jet-black hair spills over her shoulder and trickles down her sleeve. She looks a little cold, but not noticeably shivering. There's a red flush to the exposed length of her legs, between a pair of knee-high boots and the short hem of the coat itself. The stockings underneath offer little in the way of wintery protection - nor do the little bows that rest at the the bands of elastic around her soft, pale thighs - though it's obvious to anyone who's looking why she'd choose to wear them.

An assay into form over function. She's never cared for pragmatism.

But the lines around her are pristine, a clean-cut of shadow and substance; you take a step onto the curb, feeling yourself fall right into the foreground.

Look: you know Karina. You both do. Enough to recognize where it’s calmest before a storm.

Irene eventually calls out her name into the silence, and there is a split-second where her fingers reflexively wrap around the crook of your elbow. Almost possessive.

A car rushes by. Karina turns with her ungloved hand holding her cellphone to her ear and she's fucking gorgeous as can be, always pinning you with these big, unapologetic eyes - strikingly and somewhat deceptively innocent beneath her sharp brows. A breathy huff in response; she's otherwise unaffected.

Her shoulders shrug in easy dismissal; a quirk of the corners of her mouth. She slips her phone back in the pocket of her pea-coat. "Oh, how we all doing?"

Not for long, the question lingers.

"Fine," Irene finally replies, though her voice doesn't rise above a disinterested murmur.

"Easier, right? To fight for breath down here than it is up there," she says, pointing her gaze up high into the rafters of the building, and in a lot of ways, you realize, she's just like Irene - sweet, charming, this uncanny ability to make you think she's close, when she isn't actually looking to share anything. When she hasn't exactly decided that she likes you or anything at all.

You squint slightly. Take in where her silhouette appears darker against the backdrop of city lights, blending with the velvety black, bleeding into the ink-smudged night sky.

"There's certainly something to be said for flying under the radar at these things," she continues, taking one step closer towards you as if for comfort. Or privacy - to guard against anyone who might walk by.

"You've still got it easy," Irene says, "that, and everyone thinks you're too pretty to go after. No one even seems to consider the idea, it’s insufferable."

"Jealous?" Her tone is playful. There’s a smirk she’s suppressing - until she can’t hold it in: an unexpected, stunning smile, dimple and all. This incongruously kind face.

Oh, and listen, no one gets it better than Irene.

"No," Irene exhales, hot. “Not at all.” You can see where the thin plume of her breath hangs over her like a cloud for a moment, thinking, before dissipating against the harshness of a frigid December breeze.

"Really." She smiles at you again. Makes a sound that could be a laugh, you don’t know, the wind takes it, far away.

"Are you out here waiting for someone?" you have to ask. 

"Loaded question." Karina purses her lips for a moment. Her long eyelashes blink once, twice. "Because, I dunno, aren't we all?"

"Some of us more than others." Irene speaks quietly, moreso to herself than anyone else - but somehow her voice carries.

"Cheeky," Karina says, and this time she does laugh. "No. I'm waiting for a cab. I've had one hell of a night, and no interest in spending the rest of it in some rising socialite's bed, doubters excluded, because - look, I'm happy for you guys, I guess? You're gonna get married," she claps slowly, slow and mocking, slow enough that Irene rolls her eyes, "-or, the two of you will make a statement saying that you are - either way it sounds fucking exhausting - congratulations to you both. But seriously, congrats."

This is sorta how you've always known her. 

Faintly-hinted secrets, flirty half-truths. Her love life is an utter wreck, but that’s not something you’re supposed to know. So that's all she gives, which is more or less how everyone knows her. It's the only way to survive, probably, in a world of glitter and glamour, when everyone's vying to look, to feel, to take, and take, and take. Irene knows how suffocating it can be - she doesn’t lie about it, not to you, which is the only reason you're so well-versed.

Point being, no one wants to admit to any cracks in the fantasy; the gold too shiny, the surface too slick, the mirror too smooth for that illusion to slip.

"So go grab a guy with a half-decent smile and get him to buy you a drink about it," Irene suggests, derisive, "arch your back, push your tits out, get creative. I doubt it'll be much trouble at all."

Karina looks down, back up - with a slight chew of her lip, saying, "you just have me beat in all the important ways, I suppose. You got it in the bag, no real competition."

Irene is smiling, but her expression is unimpressed; it doesn’t mean much, really, to be her friend, her colleague, or worse, her opponent. Irene is calm like an evening in July, a low, cool, languid feeling. "I don't mean to be a prick, but, aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"

"Gosh," Karina’s grin doesn’t change, but does turn a touch wicked, like she's biting back. "I'd hate to be around when you do mean to be a prick, but maybe we'll find out - you know, down the line, someday.”

Irene tuts softly. It sounds patronizing. "Please, you'll have to forgive me - for mistaking you for someone more aware of how the rest of us work."

“You're one to talk, Irene."

“Careful,” Irene warns.

"What, you gonna set me straight?"

"Right." The way the word rolls off Irene's tongue, slow, thick, bitter, like molasses; like the coffee she has when she's tired, like the cigarette she swears left and right she’s cutting out and the vodka she needs you to reach for in the upper cabinets, like the person she is after midnight when you've let her keep drinking to find the limits to her inhibition. You understand Irene too well. And no matter what anyone says, you will not have the facts wrong.

There's no kindness to the way she laughs. None.

She tilts her head to you, grinning: an honest grin, her favorite thing - inimitable, unique, and hers alone; her version of cruelty is what will always have them doubting. You hold her gaze as she adds, "of all things, right now - wouldn’t you just love to set her straight?"

-

Depending on who you ask, you’ll get different results.

Irene insists you kissed Karina first, probably out there in the snow - god knows how cliche would that be.

She also insists that it was you who suggested that “there’s a lot more sense in splitting a cab,” and then minutes later, “please, it'd be no trouble, just let us pay. Our place is five blocks that way," and Irene - being Irene - mentioning it's actually quite a bit further, but hey, it isn’t worth splitting hairs over. And it's not worth explaining - she shuts you up with another kiss, pressing her weight hard up against you, the arm she slings around your neck.

Then in a sort of mythologized version of the timeline, it's you who makes the proposition - invites Karina upstairs, with the charm that Irene knows is usually reserved for her benefit alone: that slight tick of the brow, the delicate slant of your mouth, the confidence you seem to have in thinking no one will ever say no, no matter how brusque the invitation-

"You two are unbelievable. Is this really your standard procedure?" Karina asks, once you're through the door, or maybe during a bout of smalltalk in the kitchen. Something flirtatious; and suggestive, and maybe a little offhand. A pointed glance downwards, back up. All it really will take. "You get some girl into your home and they're just so overwhelmed and dazzled and in love, they can't even make eye contact for longer than a second? Because that's quite a line," a soft huff, the exhale that seems to carry the faintest note of a sigh. You could call it wistful. Just this side of romantic; very attractive.

“That’s more or less the gist of it,” you offer.

“You’d be surprised.” Irene is lingering on it, back against the counter beside you, laughing. "Some people are more than happy to be swept off their feet."

"Imagine that. If that's how this is meant to go, then tell me," and Karina lifts her chin, a breath drawn slow and deliberate, "what exactly do prince and princess charming do next?"

Consider that Karina’s interpretation of events is closer to reality: no pretense. She is not drunk, and in this story, she never will be.

But it's the slow-burn thing, the rivals-to-lovers thing, the sexual-tension-through-conflict thing, the white-hot-blistering-rage matter gone awry. Not a series of happy accidents, but a result of intentional circumstance - this slow arc of descent. She knows exactly how Irene is tightly wound, and which thread to pull to make everything start to unravel. She'd flirt with you right under her nose - say things in this obnoxiously girlish tone, pout a lot, lean into so much innuendo it becomes impossible to miss the meaning, or the sincerity behind it.

If you had to guess - Karina’s been pining since forever, since Irene accidentally etched her DNA into the girl upon saying, carelessly, that she’d always seen some part of herself in Karina. Probably around the time Irene wrapped a palm over an expanse of bare thigh, just beneath the hem of her skirt, telling her, you're getting way too pretty for your own good.

Doesn’t matter who you are, that’ll fuck you up for real.

And it's not just how she looks at Irene when she thinks no one is watching either; swings and roundabouts, Karina probably can’t keep the thought of you sprawled out over Irene’s petite little frame, or Irene kissing you hard while wrapped around you tight. Your hand, her hand, intertwined and picturesque, sliding down Irene's stomach. Together - and so very without her - fingertips stroking lightly over Irene’s clit, gently dipping inside her.

Irene is not stupid. She picks up on everything, and there's a lot to unpack:

"Can you believe it? Minjeong just asked me if I've ever kissed a girl before," Karina had said to you once, ages ago, between a workout or dance practice, something or another - she was wearing a loose-fit tank top and very intent on showing off. She seemed then to be taking mental note of the face Irene put on, the look of someone trying to hold in an aneurysm.

“Well,” you played along, because you’re not really without blame here either. "Have you?"

"Oh my god." Karina knew what she awas doing, the playful slap to the chest, the lingering touches she’d have on you every chance she could get - total fucking coquette - anything to get a rise out of you, your fiancée. She hushed her voice down to this strategic whisper that Irene could just overhear: "of course not."

You better believe Irene broke her composure not soon afterwards, after Karina made her exit. 

"Do not fuck her," she demanded, firm, "I don't care how good you think she might be in bed, or what she would probably let you get away with."

You remember the knit of her brow.

“Do not.”

You’re sighing, profoundly. The memory - not to mention its shocking clarity - has put a smug sort of satisfaction into your bones, indulging. The nip to Karina's jaw, a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. A hand tracing down the curve of her hips, under the guise of helping her settle between the cushions of the couch. You feel like you catch the color flooding her cheeks. Then, Irene, her pretty little shadow: the steady presence over her other shoulder.

"What." Karina sounds defensive when Irene pulls her lips away, but the hand she has buried in Irene's hair doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. "Are we going to pretend for a minute I don't see the way you're both looking at me right now?"

"Don't be stupid, darling, of course not." Irene leans up close again. Kisses up her neck, behind her ear, and coos, "the two of us, you just seemed like you were needing someone, that's all," and then whispers the words, barely audible: "I mean look, who wouldn't want the three of us right now?"

Karina hums. "Ah, so - you think I deserve to have a little fun."

"Maybe," she draws it out a little longer.

Your hands dip below her knees, running over the silk-slick surface, tugging at the frills lining her thighs - feeling up over the outline of where her body curves under her dress. Over the dark pattern printed across the front.

Karina swallows visibly, her head dropping back against the armrest, the couch cushion; by the way she shudders slightly and starts breathing, you realize that it's probably been a while since she's had much experience being in a position this helpless. You draw your fingers lightly across the bareness of her skin, right as Irene finds that sensitive spot just where her neck slopes to her collarbone. You trace along the fabric until you have her squirming beneath you both.

She sucks in a breath as Irene drags a touch right over the obvious seam, across the expanse of her hip, and despite your fiancée being a tad forward -

"Both of you should know I'm not that type of girl. Who puts out so easily-"

"Likewise," Irene practically sneers, not missing a beat and threading her fingers beneath her jaw, feeling her pulse against the pad of her thumb.

"Yeah, well. If this isn't a setup, then, what-"

“A setup.” Irene breathes the word out, contemptuous, which is almost as if she says yes, you figured it out, and she starts to lean in closer - the distance between the two of them now negligible as her mouth tightens with her derision. "That is awfully conceited of you."

"Ha."

You choose right there to run your palm between her thighs and cup at the front of her pussy through the skirt of her dress, squeezing tightly. There has to be an element of good cop, bad cop to this whole routine, and you'd be remiss not to participate in the former. Irene's glare is starting to become pretty intimidating.

"The way I see it," you begin, and it's so gentle. Easy to slip through, but easy enough to grip - no threat, or indication that she should stop rocking forward to the motion of your fingers, toying idly. "There's no catch. Only: Irene calls the shots. If you end up with a crush, or worse, think you're in love," a light squeeze to illustrate the point, the dig of nails, not too rough, but definitely drawing attention. "You've gotta walk it off.”

Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.

“No strings attached, no special treatment. Or anything."

"Oh." Karina is looking straight at you, dazed - as your fingers work harder, picking up where her hips started rolling a second before. She licks her lips. "You're telling me that I'm going to get fucked so thoroughly here, that it's gonna be a problem."

"Actually," you pull away, pushing her dress up so you can touch up ever higher this time. Rooting between her soft thighs. "I can't make any guarantees. You'll need to convince us first."

There's a laugh, from a spot inside her diaphragm - and yeah, there's no denying the reality here. She's nervous; or excited; or nervous-excited. Karina just lets it pass, an exaggerated sound in her throat, before gasping on an exhale of breath: "convince you to fuck me?"

"Between us, we've kissed our fair share of pretty girls in the heat of the moment," Irene supplies.

Karina laughs. Starts saying, "in that case, can I start by confessing that this whole exchange has left me pretty fucking wet-" 

You slip one finger down the rise of her panties, this lacy little number she probably picked out with sordid fantasy in mind. 

"Oh god," she says, voice drowned in her throat, husky, and sultry - it’s really hard not to appreciate the girl, like this - and then she closes her eyes, saying it again, "oh, yeah, like - like that. Okay, thank you."

Irene puts a hot kiss into her lips, and a subjugating silence stills over the living room, softening around her small voice, her breathing. Everything comes together so seamlessly, so effortlessly: 

The click of Irene’s heels against hardwood, these soft sounds of wet tongues twisting and bodies grinding, Karina's face, buried somewhere under Irene's chin, letting out the cutest moan. Irene's helping the rest of the dress up over Karina's ass, then up past her waist, pulling down the scalloped elastic of her stockings. She grabs hold of her hips, feeling the draw of her curves there - you watch how your other half does the thing she does best, the thing where she strips a girl down to nothing like she's doing them a favor.

"Pretty," Irene appraises her naked body - not her face, not her mind, not her ambition or the strength of her determination, or god forbid, something banal like her personality, but, "fuck, look at you, look at this figure," her palm skates along the plane of her stomach, "so pretty."

It could be the insinuation: Irene is ready to reduce the girl down to a heap of jumbled nerves; to tears, probably - given half the chance. Like she's telling her a body as flawless and well-manicured and sweetly receptive to being toyed with as hers needs to get absolutely wrecked, among other things.

(Fucked so deeply, and to the point of utter exhaustion - the point is that she forgets her own name.) 

Irene knows just by looking, her eyes tracing down each and every one of Karina’s curves like they’re taking inventory. It could be as simple as a handprint seared into her ass, a stinging red stain etched into her soft, creamy white skin, marking the insides of her thighs, her beautiful fucking tits - oh, the things the two of you could do.

"How do you want it, exactly?" Irene's eyes are dancing around her face, in her stare, darting down, then back up. "How, baby."

Karina smiles against Irene’s lips like she knows the answer, the perfect one. She must already have the script prepared. It's no stretch of the imagination: "anything, as long as it means you both keep looking at me."

Because maybe it's down to the pure physicality of it all. Something Karina's been waiting to feel, desperate to have, for some time - as you set into action, dismantling any pretense that you weren’t about to devour the heat of her aching cunt, from running touches all over her slick pussy. It’s a strong theory, you figure, from the visceral response you get when you get start to fuck her, when you slide a finger inside: tight and snug, and so unbelievably wet. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, and it sounds sated and needy all at once.

You make sure to glance at her face before pressing another into her. All the way past the knuckles. She looks lost to the feeling, the pleasure; her expression gone hazy-eyed as you start fucking into her with a few steady pumps of your wrist - slow and then faster, then faster again - fucking into her with increasing urgency.

Just to keep her gasping, panting.

Like a woman starved for it.

"God," Irene kisses softly into her mouth. Her hand tangled in Karina's hair, twisting strands between her fingers and tugging just shy of something painful, "you're really sensitive, aren't you?"

Karina nods, slightly. It’s all she can manage.

You have a soft spot for girls who will spread themselves open like they can't wait, but still end up flustered over how your lips ghost across aching flesh. Who can't even form the words - asking for this, and that, and a million little things; and look at Karina - blushing, her eyes fluttering closed, and digging her nails into the couch the moment you finally put your hot mouth on her. Her entire body is drawn taut like a live wire.

"Relax," you coax, speaking more to the muscle - her legs tensed, and knees pulled tightly together. You know just where to place your lips to make her go to pieces, but it's worth suspending pleasure - your own, and Irene's, who won't admit that this sorta turns her on too - so Karina's face might open up, so the tilt of her brow can slack, and the twist of her expression can soften. Like it's the only chance she'll ever get.

When you place your palm across Karina's stomach to steady her and look up, Irene has started peeling off her own clothes, down to nothing but the little panties underneath. That garter-belt thing that makes her ass look like she was sculpted straight out of clay - a reminder she's always worth your time, no matter what mood she's in, or whether or not she'll eventually let you take the lead. She's lifting herself on the couch to throw off the little slip of a dress, the high heels. “Baby," she purrs, teasing, maybe to distract from how she’s gone from dragging circles with her fingernails across Karina’s collarbones to kneading roughly at her tits. And she might even insert something she's never actually had a chance to confess out loud, or even consider much, like: she's been dying to know what Karina's face will scrunch up into, or what her eyes will look like, tears stained across her lashes while you fuck her within an inch of her life. The image you’ll find when you find all those spots that drive a girl wild.

Your mouth drags over the slick, her lips, her clit, and down again - as if to illustrate the point.

"That feels - so," she starts, and bites off the rest of the words.

Irene grabs hold of Karina's hands. Presses their mouths back together, and bites Karina's bottom lip. Kissing the words out of her, the sentences that start in half measures and stifled gasps:

"- so, good, oh. Do - ah, fuck. Oh, god-"

-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.

"-oh, do that again. Oh my god. There. Just - lick- please, keep fucking, exactly that-"

And pay close attention, because here now is how she slips: from the image she maintains for the cameras, the audiences, her admirers, her competition, her detractors, the ones who mean it, the ones who don't mean a damn thing; the girl who shies away from anything overtly sexual, or sensual, or remotely hedonistic; and doesn't act as though she too, just as much as anyone else, needs someone to fuck her stupid - as if it's an eventuality of her own humanity, instead of a concept she's learned to scorn.

Irene picks up on the distinction, all too familiar with the look filling out across Karina’s angelic features.

She ghosts her thumbnail across Karina’s nipple. Tries out: "why don't you make her cum, baby, right here, on the couch.” A look at you, a quick tilt of the chin. Then, her tongue peeking from behind her teeth, and her voice dropping, "just so you can tell Minjeong, or whoever ends up asking - 'you have no idea how good they fuck.'"

And just like that - with Karina’s body laid out beneath Irene’s hands, your mouth - you simply fucking ruin her. 

You both do. 

Until it's only a mess of whines and shuddering limbs and that lovely look: pure agony. So helpless. So utterly exposed.

Karina hiccups something incoherent - you’re doubling down. You’re working your touches through the torrid mess between her legs. Her pussy is shimmering wet and hot and every bit as pretty as she is. Then, the motion of your tongue, the slow, heavy flick back and forth, relentless and constant - dragging back and forth, keeping her right up, riding the wave. Back and forth, back and forth. 

"Oh my fucking god." Karina can only gasp, jaw-slacked open. 

Overwhelmed and blissed-out and suddenly awash in this searing and wondrous sensation that the only real way she's able to make sense of is by twisting her hands in your hair and pulling you flush against her cunt while she cums on your lips.

"Ah - you're fucking kidding me. Please, don't stop, please don't-" Karina has her head turned. Voice pitched right into Irene's shoulder. You fuck her on two fingers until she’s got the heel of her palm pressed firm into her forehead, and she’s starting to jerk her hips into your face. Stutter her breathing, her words: “I, I, I- fucking - what the fuck, you’re making me - jesus fucking christ."

Like some delicate and intricate piece of her had just been irreparably snapped. Broken. You hear her expletive-laden screams - and think, better her, than either of you.

And all the way through every last part of it, cresting, waning, quivering, the tremble of her thighs snapped shut against your ears, the grind of her teeth, and each little choked out gasp-

“I'm… fucking cumming.”

Karina spends the entirety of her first orgasm between the two of you, heaving.

The look on her face alone, just from what parts you can see, has your lower gut clenched - it goes from anguished pleasure, mouth pulled wide and brows wound high and tight, all the way to calm and cathartic, the pretty bow of her lips settling into something manic. Eyes softening with a luster, half-closed. A mask, the afterglow: blissed-out and smiling dreamily.

How anyone could say no to a picture like this, you're unsure. Though not particularly willing to test the theory, naturally.

"That was mean," Karina finally huffs, letting a moment pass to even out her breaths. "Both of you, so mean."

"You said to," is all Irene says, amused. 

Karina looks down; lifts her head just slightly - as you bring your own mouth off her, catching her glance. Not even your palm and your fingers covered with the evidence - it's her lips that give her away, the swollen, pouting, bright pink lips of her pussy, still radiant with her climax.

She breathes, "god. Irene."

It sounds an awful lot like she's begging for mercy.

Irene hums softly. Leans in for a kiss, with her slender hands cupping Karina's face. Manages to say: "you just look so fucking hot when you're struggling. Can’t fault us for that." She reaches down, and digs her fingernail into the line of Karina's cheek - near the center, just short of the outer curve where her dimple naturally settles. She works her lips to a very soft, "ow."

"Listen," Irene says, "is there anywhere else you've been considering going? Because in the event you're looking to stay for the night-"

Karina replies, "only everywhere I still haven't gone."

Her smile looks honest. Her cunt seeping and slick - there's abundant honesty there, too. And you manage to catch the wicked glint in Irene's eye, like she's a bit obsessed with all that glisten, and what it means - that Karina hasn't felt a real, good dicking in ages. Maybe, probably, never. That she's slept with everyone and filled her quota of playing pretend: of someone just going through the motions, dragging their mouth or tongue or cunt along the most obvious, conventional routes.

It’s written all over her face: the girl between you needs to be touched everywhere, and by someone who knows how. Needs it deeper, more. Has to feel the pressure everywhere all over.

Irene asks her, plainly, “how might we get you moaning like that again, hm? We're both dying to know."

She puts her hand under Karina’s chin, tilts her face towards hers, and kisses her long and deep. Until the both of them are having trouble catching any breath. Until they have to break, only so one can take another in: inhale, exhale, and back in her mouth.

"Maybe." Karina lets go of Irene's lower lip. She sounds almost bashful, "you'll need to let me get my hands on that cock of his. Let me get it inside, want it real fucking deep inside. Tell you if I'm just, you know. Really fucking horny. Or maybe I have some hangups about sex I've never told anyone - and we have to work past that," she takes Irene's mouth into her own again.

It's the short consideration of sure, mm, why not? until the next suggestion is: "he should be on his knees, in bed, those hands around my waist, behind the small of my back and pulling me into every stroke."

“Oh,” Irene agrees, “I love that. Should I play with myself while I watch him fuck you senseless? So hard and rough - you'll start seeing stars. I wanna see him completely railing into your dripping pussy from behind, fucking you so goddamn well until you're screaming so loud it’ll wake the neighbors."

Karina sighs. “Well I’d hate to get all the way here and half-ass it.”

You barely catch it, but there's a lovely note in Karina's voice. It’s saying, and don't you dare treat me like glass, like I’m fragile.

All in all, a filthy, filthy way for a girl with virtually no ill-reputation or ill-gotten gains - no record whatsoever - to describe how she wants you to fuck her, until she’s biting down on the consonants in your name, moaning loud and unmistakably clear, and-

“-sorry, whose cock?” Irene has no intention of letting her off easy.

You draw away from the meat of her thigh, licking your lips clean, and insert mid-conversation with a husky-voiced, "hmm?"

Karina just shoots you a sharp-eyed look. "You heard."

"Only," you play dumb. You run a hand between her legs, using your palm as you go, so you can pull more sound out of her throat; the pleased sighs, a hum. Another. "The part where you want it 'real fucking deep inside,' I think I heard."

"I mean, wouldn't you?" Karina looks satisfied with that. Lets out an easy laugh and turns to Irene. "Besides, I need to know if it’s more than just pretty eyes and a handsome smile that you’ve gotten yourself so hung up on."

The tilt of your fiancée’s brow above her is noticeable and apparent. Not a twinge of surprise; more like recognition. It's Irene looking haughty - beyond the usual - wrapped up in the afterglow. It's the confidence, and not at all humbled by the reality that she is no stranger to fucking a girl this downright gorgeous, knowing the danger inherent in allowing that kind of damage, but if Irene has you figured - she's figured Karina even better: someone willing to push through the burn. Someone, she’s betting, with the capacity to handle pain like it's an artform.

“Karina,” Irene says, and she's really leaning into it, "you really ought to be more careful with that smart-mouth of yours.”

It's the absolute worst way to proposition someone; maybe second only to what Irene whispers straight into her ear:

"If I had to guess, it’s your sweet, pretty face that has everyone bending over backward just to let you fuck them, hmm?” 

You’d anticipated this much. You watch how your beautiful wife-to-be eases forward and leaves a slow kiss into Karina's throat, before adding the worst, most awful thing she can manage, “they're eating up this adorable, innocent facade of yours just as soon as you let it slip - letting you straddle their waist, and slide right on, and chase some clout out of oh, she must have this tight little cunt, or how good it would fucking feel to ruin a load just slamming these perfect tits, or. The best of the best, when it comes to pretty things with brains and mouths on 'em: 'fuck, I bet Karina has a face like an angel, she's the kind of girl who probably really, really loves taking it raw - filled and fucked as deep as she can manage'."

“She’s insinuating you’re a slut,” you offer on the next beat, down from between Karina’s knees. “Or something.”

"I put that much together." Karina has that teasingly pragmatic tone in her voice, matching Irene's level. "Your point?"

The joke is that even Irene - after she has the chance to drag her thumb across Karina's lips - looks mildly impressed.

"Sweetheart," the corner of Irene's mouth quips, as if the reason is so, so very obvious, "let’s say you’re just like me, total hypothetical. You're going to have to let us know which part feels better: the praise, or the degradation. I know it’s what makes you tick: all the attention. I know you need it. The same way I know that I could eat this perfect pussy out for hours just to get it slick, and wet, and wanting, and the thing I’m still not sure you’d be ready to learn," she tells her, a light in her stare that flicks upwards, eyes going from Karina's cunt and back to her eyes, her own mouth, and then hers, "the really good sex? Isn’t always pretty."

There isn't room for misunderstanding, let alone any mercy in it. Irene's face is dark; dangerous. Like, seriously. Karina knows better. Everyone does. You know exactly what she's doing. You know what comes next, but this time, you can't shake the feeling like-

Like Karina wants you to look.

She has her fingers on her cunt, spread, presenting - and a small shrug; her response is so fucking coy: "I guess I can't really help it. Besides, it’s common knowledge, isn’t it? The brattiest girls always turn out to be the best fucks. Honest, I get so wet sometimes, you know and then god, I can't think straight.” 

She laughs at the premise. 

“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"

You can feel the room starting to tighten up, just barely: Karina’s breath still heavy, her chest heaving, the way Irene holds her still, how her arm curls across her stomach, palm flat under her tits; that pose in particular, the power to entice.

And maybe it's the fact Irene is still making eyes at you from Karina's shoulder, the cruel bite to her upper-lip, showing how she's working at the soft skin of her neck - a smirk, before pressing into another kiss there. Your insides are running hot, a shudder racing up your spine. There’s no mistaking what she's getting off on, not just some pretty-as-paint newcomer. There’s your Irene, your fiancée - and her beautiful, adorable, awful little shadow.

-

So what if, by some pure hypothetical, this all spirals out of control?

You don't know the consequences of taking home what amounts to a coworker and screwing her with a certain reckless abandon. There’s power harassment, a toxic workplace environment, boundary issues, sexual-fraternization. So on, so forth. It's all relative, but watching Irene and Karina make their way up the stairs and admiring the things that only a woman's hips can do, swaying this way, and that - and, following the path from one tight little ass, the other, all the way up their spines - there are no such qualms to contend with, because there's absolutely zero chance that’s the thing that’ll be keeping you up all night.

Irene laments and hopes in the same breath. 

She has two pairs of panties in one hand, Karina’s fingers laced into the other, explaining with a quick squeeze, "don't tell me, baby, I already know," a wink, a laugh. She’s such a sweetheart when she means to be; charming, wooing, the coy girl Karina seems to have gotten so drunk off the idea of getting mixed up with. And yeah, when she drops them on the floor, and pushes Karina gently against the wall. Traces her finger up her jaw, then her cheek, and leans into the crook of her neck, into that same spot from earlier; yes, Karina can count herself lucky, or whatever.

"So, don't stop now, baby-" Karina's huffing - the line of her throat so taut and exposed. "You should really fucking try harder if you want me to beg."

"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.

There will come a point in their intimacy, in all things considered, where this act no longer plays itself: Irene, the seductress, and Karina, a deft and innocent prey; of course you, the hammer to a nail, pushed and pulled in one direction, the next. The moments in which her lips leave the crescent of Karina's mouth - hot, hazy, and half-wet with their own spit, their tongues twisting, the muted click, and the telltale wet drag of a body pushing and straining up against her own-

Maybe in her bones, she is begging for it. Maybe, Irene hopes, she'll have to: eyes turned up, watering, tears coming hot, streaming down her flushed cheeks as she cries it from her lungs.

"I wouldn't have you beg for anything."

It's true that Irene is ninety-nine percent grace, one percent child-like wonder; she's easy to read when the mood hits her. The lines of their bodies tousling, twisting and tangling in moon-lit-darkness. There's some irony to it, only a few steps away from the bedroom. At the base of the staircase. In front of the tall windows covered with frost that serve, now, primarily to remind Karina that she's in a part of town she could never afford, in an ostentatious apartment she could only dream of; but most importantly, that the woman in front of her - with her fingers dipping down between her thighs and up again, tracing over her navel and the rise of her hip and her cleavage - can have anyone she likes, without limitation.

Karina can't deny it's everything she wants.

"Karina, I'm curious." You're easing into that spot, where the two of them have coiled themselves up - you’ve got your cock in your hand and you’re stepping out of your pants - in the hallway, the frame of the door, a heavy, long shadow cast: Karina has Irene pinned now, a wrist over her head, against the other side of the wall where the white paintwork is starting to run thin. "Didn't you say something before about how hard you wanted it? Raw, deep, I believe was how you put it."

Irene smirks. It's just the slightest sneer, until she has her hands reaching over the curves of Karina's hips and pulling her fingers into her soft ass. Spreading her cheeks. Touching up, then down, back in the same groove, this slow rhythm that builds - like they were both expecting this exact sequence of events.

You watch Irene whisper something into the girl's ear, and - fuck - the light catches her expression at just the right moment, head lolled to the side.

"Hey," Karina drawls. She lets it come out breathy - on the note, the middle and upper registers of her voice, hitting something near a perfect alto. "How about instead of having some heart-to-heart, and making me out to be some naive-ass kid, you stop asking questions and get to fucking the life out of my little pussy."

She ends it so charming.

“Oh,” you tell her, feeling how fucking drenched she is right at the end of your cock - sliding her slick up and down the length of her cunt, and knowing the feeling will likely stick to your skin and drip to the floor, all of it - "well. If that's all."

Your hand arrives on the lithe stretch of muscle between her waist, right along the ridge of her hip bone, your cock pressing onto the heat of her cunt. Karina turns her head over her shoulder so you can see it all in profile: that pout. That look. That everything.

"There you have it." Irene squeezes the flesh she's got cupped in her palms, drawing circles. "If only everyone else got to hear that sweet, sharp edge you've got underneath, hm?"

Karina opens her mouth with some clear quip to needle, but stops herself, a catch in the center of her throat, her brows shooting up. The pull of her voice is somewhere out and over.

“God, fuck-” she can just manage to sputter. “You’re- ah, ah - your fucking cock-”

Oh, it has you cursing too. You're pushing so far into her tight little cunt - the soft airy moan, that pretty sound, riding back on every last stroke until you've filled her right to the hilt.

“I know, I know - that feels so good, right?” Irene coos.

You just pull her all the way back onto your cock, thrusting deep. Base to tip. So goddamn fucking deep.

Karina probably doesn’t even mean to whimper, but the press of your hips, slowly snapping in and in, has her lungs constricted, as the pressure slides through every hot, slippery inch inside of her - this glide of agonizing intensity.

“I bet you want to just cream all over that cock,” Irene says, fine eyebrows knitting into something like contentment. “All filled up and feeling full, and just fucking letting it go - he’ll take such good care of you. He’ll fuck you so good you won’t ever get that warm, hazy, blissed-out feeling out of your veins ever, ever again, if he has his way-”

All while the head of your cock works over every fucking sensitive part of her, dragging out to thrust all the way into her soft cunt, the round of her ass bouncing back to meet each stroke. Again, and again, until you've worked through that wet stretch of muscle. And the motion isn't exactly elegant. Karina's mouth hangs wide open, catching short breaths that curl inwards when you reach the line of her waist.

“It’s so fucking good,” Karina’s sighing out. She’s all fluster, no bite.

There’s no lack for juxtaposition in the way Irene dotes on her either - these small beguiling bits of praise like, baby, you’re doing so good, these tits of yours are just, you are - just gorgeous. Mouth quirked into a tight grin as her fingers pull and twist around her nipple. The sharp yelp that comes after. The fact that she's kissing the words into her mouth on the very next whimper: “a girl like you needs the time, and patience, and opportunity to have her insides completely, totally, catastrophically ruined.”

Irene had it exactly right on the first read. She’ll say, “I told you so,” when Karina’s washing the cum off her chest or out of her eyelashes in the shower. It’s the praise; it’s the degradation; it’s you leaning down, your hands finding her hair, curling in, and getting her right up against your lips to say it quiet, low, intimate - like a lover, like she hasn't already heard it before, “such a good little slut for me.”

And the girl absolutely fucking keens.

You grip onto her hips. You pull her hair tight. Her throat bobs under your thumb and you can feel the anxiety start to throb, her pulse hot and heavy in her cunt. How it soaks the base of your cock. Jesus, you’ll fuck a load right into her. So easily. Her pussy is so snug, so unbelievably wet. Perfect enough to know if you fuck into her any faster, any harder - it’ll be just that: you'll paint right up to her cervix; you'll fill her to the fucking brim.

"Fuck, Karina, this pussy is such a fucking dream," is what you're making sure she knows, and at that, Karina just finds that bend. Arches more of herself to you, until her ass is slotted into the plane of your stomach, the head of your cock prodding, testing the limit where her cunt is hottest and wettest. "God, this has to feel incredible. Your ass bouncing on my cock" - Karina goes slack on the force, leaning forward - "as I rail your tight little cunt."

If anything, Irene is there to catch Karina's tearful, thankful gaze when she finally starts fucking crying, a litany of yes, fuck yes, yes-yes-right-there, please fuck, and a wet, dazed little "you're goddamn - you're ruining, fucking - fucking, ruining me," every other syllable broken by her shuddering breaths.

"Aw, you're going to cum again, huh? Baby-" Irene's got her head at an angle - their gazes locked, watching - and maybe Irene really gets it: how much of a big, bad crush this gorgeous fucking woman's had on the pair of you all this whole time, with all that faux-romance, and lust, and envy wrapped up inside her - but if she wasn't so obsessed with the shape of Irene's mouth, the contour of her jaw, the lean and sleek lines of her frame and the soft, round swell of her ass - she’d still be left with the shape of your cock, where it’s pounding her apart. Fucking her and fucking her up.

It's more than worth the breath to remind Karina what she came here for. Irene's fingertips brush the line of her lips, part them just so. 

“All over him, baby, let him make a mess of you. Just a total fucking mess. We'll fill you up, and fill you up, until your poor, aching pussy is full of cum," and it's probably as well: Karina does what comes most natural to her - with you three, the whole number. Her eyes flutter and go dreamy. There's not even a moment of hesitation:

"-until it's leaking down these fucking thighs-"

"You're doing so good, babe," is your supporting role in all this, murmuring encouragement straight into her ear as you fuck her to pieces. Your breath fans out against her cheek. And then, your hands make a grip under her thighs, holding her steady, making her mouth fall open - this keen, wobbly, vulnerable thing that exposes the naked girl she is, behind all the makeup, and the heels, and her seductive and all-consuming appeal, everything.

“Just so you know: it’s the best fucking part, Karina. I mean, the look on his face.” Irene laughs with her whole body, until the rich, raspy sound of it fills the hall. “The way he bites his lip when he's close, his eyes clenched - and god, I fucking love when he finally cums. It's so good, watching him. Letting him have his way. Feeling his cock throb and spill into you - hot, and still, and just pumping inside you - just so, so good.”

"Fuck, ah-" the little gasp is like she's starting to hyperventilate. 

"Because baby,” is the final nail in the coffin, hammering home, “he’s fucking you just like he’d fuck me.”

"Fucking, please, god-."

Irene's hands have her breasts in their grasp and are playing at where she’s sensitive, then pushing into the soft, delicate space beneath, thumbing the indents. "He's so fucking good, isn't he? Are you going to cream and cream all over his hard fucking cock?"

Then - and because it comes so instinctually to her. Because, actually, your Irene has a slight propensity for evil:

She slaps Karina, right across her tits. "Fucking cum on it."

One.

Tugs hard on a nipple. "I swear, every single bit of you is so goddamn beautiful-"

Two.

"That body is built, perfect. So easy to ruin. And god - what a perfect little pussy you've got-"

Three.

Karina struggles to breathe. Her voice is torn, frayed. She barely manages to utter out a very shaky, very desperate, "harder, fuck- you’re fucking making me so- you can, harder-"

Four.

The cruel contact of Irene’s palm pulls this deliciously hedonistic sound in Karina's throat, a loud moan; like she just hit the sweet spot inside that's all her nerves coming alight. Irene plants a quick peck in Karina's hair. Her temples, the ridge of her brows. Slides her thumb across her eyelashes, brushing them clean from whatever tears had sprung free. You don't even want to try, not at that moment, to try and endure the quiver of slippery muscle all over your cock as she shudders into her orgasm. It's simply too fucking much. She's too fucking tight.

"Aw, shh shh, shh," and then Irene's soft hushes are coming down from the other side of her head. Irene kisses her full, straight on her mouth. Karina is shaking, convulsing and caught and fucked from head to toe - and what she needed was someone like the two of you - to watch her cunt swallow your cock like some magnificent and unbelievable sight, taking the whole damn thing. Irene is telling her, "it's okay. You can let it go."

The silhouettes alone. From the end of the hall, and where the afterimage lingers: the smoke-frosted windows, the dim lights, their bare, beautiful forms - this picture that will stick in the center of your head, will probably haunt you-

"God, I can’t, just- ah.”

“Breathe,” Irene says.

"I'll cum again, it's too- I'm so-" Karina can only plead and sigh.

Irene shushes her one more time. "It's a lot. It's alright, baby. He's going to keep fucking you until he's ready to pull out, until he has a whole mess just painted onto your ass, and thighs, and I'm going to make sure that little pussy gets so wrecked, fucked, stretched on every last inch- until the thought of sex hurts, and then we're going to make you cum again, and again- over, and over-"

You're leaning over her, nose buried into the waves of Irene's hair, the curve of Karina's back, and the flush of skin in contrast. That's when you feel the coil in your chest come loose - unspooling, and bursting - when Karina's lids roll into the back of her head and her lips fall open with a pleasured gasp and a stammer, "y-you're, ah, both, you're so, both- oh god."

You're about to just pull her down and absolutely cream her, stuff her full - a mess.

And she wants you to-

"That feels so fucking good," she lets slip out on the cusp of a shiver, just as her inner muscles are spasming, milking your cock with the pressure from one pulse through the next, squeezing.

She’s right. It does. Her, coming undone. You, at wit’s end. 

Another breath, and Karina is managing out between these small hiccups - not as much out of breath, just dumbstruck - simply muttering, "I’m cumming, I- oh my god." 

You barely manage it; you unbury your cock from her cunt; you’re cumming all over her ass. 

A shot of white that streaks right down to her bare-slicked skin, before it gets painted down into the crease of her pussy, all swollen - wrecked and raw.

Just the way it feels on her skin is enough to earn another hushed moan from her, this sweet little whimper as she can hardly stand up straight. She lets her knees buckle, but Irene is right there, to catch. Her eyes are closed, eyelids clenching, as Irene tilts Karina's face her way, to lay one, two, three soft, adoring kisses on her mouth, the angle all wrong. 

“Mmm.” The smack of her lips. The pull of whatever breath she still has to give - right out of her heaving chest. "Sore, that, ahhh- um, thank you."

You fiancée wraps a slender hand right around Karina's wrist, and starts whispering to her, unbridled, "just had to. Had to see how you look-"

It’s wicked, for one thing. More than that, it's seamless:

While Irene still has the girl's voice caught in her throat, she reaches around the curve of Karina's hips and drags two fingertips through the puddle of warm cum that sits right at the base of her spine, glistening all over her ass cheeks and inner thighs, slipping and rolling off her cunt, down the center, running in rivulets. Your cum between her fingers is so filthy, so obscene - dripping hot - right off her reddened skin, and Irene can't possibly help it; not after a display as indulgent as that. The trembling that remains in Karina’s thighs does nothing to hide how her legs now jitter and shake under Irene's touch.

“That’s my good girl,” she whispers as her fingertips hover across the apex of her puffy lips. Over and over again, with more force, and more, until you're almost positive it's Karina that leans in a moment later, kissing the rest of her soft assurances right off her tongue.

Listen to her: this incoherent string of words pouring from her mouth, like they can't move fast enough, tripping over each consonant, "are you, oh, oh - oh, fuck."

No one else could make that kind of overstimulation feel so heavenly, you figure, the way she just properly melts. You take a step back, just to let Irene work. Just to watch. To appreciate the craft.

You absolutely get it. 

How to touch, how to tease. Firsthand experience has you know she'll ride your cock until you're throbbing and spilling cum and she'll just shh-shh, let you have it - it's okay, sweetie, just let go - until she's rolling her hips just right, or reaching a hand back to massage your balls, or stroking your inner thigh in that exact kind of spot; some method that keeps her all the way on the end of your cock, but not quite off the edge, and your cum leaking down your shaft, spent.

She’ll bite into her smirk. She’ll tie up her hair. She’ll get that serious look on her face because she knows: you’re all hers for the taking.

So she'll sink onto it, again and again, until she's fucking you with the slippery friction only your own spill might provide. "Just a little more," she'll tell you, which is absolutely a lie, "come on, just a bit harder, I'm so close." Irene does this thing - she's had years to refine and perfect - and her voice gets a husky edge to it as her teeth graze the shell of your ear; she makes a small, pained groan into the curl of your hair and breathily hums it: 'I'm almost there.'

Who stands any chance to resist?

And she's always asking you - the same way she's coaxing and promising Karina the world with just the movement of her fingers, this delectable in and out, in and out, pushing that filth up into the red-soaked lips of her pussy - "now, what did I ever do to deserve someone like you?"

Karina blinks, once - a sleepy-lidded draw that leaves her lashes, lush and long, and fanning her flushed cheeks. 

The sound between her legs is wet, squelching with your cum, with hers, the barest hint of slapping her tender skin. The beat of Irene's wrist against her thighs - like that's where she needs it most - a deep, primal rhythm, like the last thing she wants is to take a breath. It's fucking hot; her head is tilted, her jaw clenched, and Irene has the tips of her fingers twisted between Karina's legs, swirling your cum right back around in her slick cunt - those plump pussy lips that you've watched stretch out on the first press, the first and the second and the third, as Karina finds what gets her there fast, fast-fast-fastest-

"You can cum for me too, baby."

It’s not a suggestion. There’s nothing but expectation in Irene’s voice. 

“Just cum.”

You watch it knock the architecture right out of Karina's legs.

-

Indulgent, just isn’t quite the right word for it. Careless, reckless, clumsy even-

Look - the tumultuous tangle you three make is all over the fucking place.

One moment, you're at an angle, moreover twisted-limbed with Irene bent over her dresser, then propped up on top of yours the next, your forehead landing against hers, feeling the soft cradle of her shoulders, her legs around you. She has her hands wrapped in Karina's, in that muddled in between: it's a collision of sorts.

There's the chair in the corner of your bedroom that really has only ever known one purpose, a plush rug, all these surfaces, horizontal and vertical for you to take the two most breathtakingly beautiful people in the world on and let your bodies settle into the shape they've needed to ever since your fingertips met Irene's in the cab, ever since she blinked her heavy lashes at you with Karina in-tow, just shy of smiling.

And boy, do you learn that Karina likes to watch herself get fucked in front a mirror. Specifically, the tall one beside Irene’s closet. It's hard to blame her. When you hold her hips tight, and really, truly fuck her, you can’t keep your eyes off how her face twists with the pleasure; or, when you drill the length of your cock into her sopping wet cunt: the wide, glossy rim of her pretty lips pulling back into a wince - and your eyes dropping past the reflection of her shoulders, her collarbones, down to her perfect tits.

The back and forth, the up and down, the way they fucking wobble in their beautifully buxom blur.

Though the eventuality remains unchanged, spread out across your bed. Karina takes a moment, hand pressed to the mattress experimentally like it's all running through her head - this is where Irene gets all that fairy-tale-inspired romance from, really - a quick pause where your future-bride is up on her elbows and staring, watching - your finger sinks in slowly, between where she's soft and warm and wet. She's thinking, you can just read it off her face, 'oh. So that's what you'd do, huh?'

Just for demonstration’s sake, you fingerfuck her in all kinds of ways - show-off and performance and dirty and mind-blowing. Because even better than the whiny, gut-wrenching moan it gets out of Irene, Karina can't get enough of how it’s all presented.

"Ugh," she slides up next to you at the foot of the bed, helping you turn Irene on her side, "why does she have to be so pretty, it's annoying, she's- she's like, made it so fucking far by playing the girl everyone wants to wife, huh?" She's talking directly to you, even while Irene rolls her neck to press her head against the pillow. "Inspirational."

You're drawing circles into her clit. Thumbing the dip, circling in the opposite direction. Karina has her nails biting right into the crease where your knees touch. In tandem, you’ll help your fiancée reach the top of that first wave. 

Karina presses, all cheek - a very dry, "cute."

It’s so simple: you eat Irene’s cunt. You hold her down. And Karina slides her tongue lazily against the tight pucker of her ass.

The three of you know she deserves nothing less.

“Oh, christ, you have no idea,” Irene is murmuring into the pillowcase, head tilted at an awkward angle, looking at the wall, almost distant; but her legs are split wide and her hands are reaching forward to rub a circle into your cheek, "you know how sensitive-? Yeah. Like, really, super. Super, super fucking sensitive, okay? So - if you'd keep doing, uh, oh- oh…”

Simultaneous, then slow, and easy - kisses landing right onto Irene's clit. So much so, you can't help but turn a little, smiling right up at your girl as she digs her toes into the duvet and threads a hand into Karina's hair.

The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.

Karina gets to measure that fact up close - where the details of Irene's composure are not only sharp, but also readily and openly and emphatically pound to dust by the time the last loose curl of Irene’s hair falls over her collarbone; she ends up on all fours, spread out over Karina - pressed along the length of her stomach, spread over your duvet and fitted sheets, your hand at the base of Irene's waist and tightening into the divots. She’s so small beneath you that when you bury your dick inside her- 

“Fuck.” Her cunt is so wet. Her breath uneven - and her words are starting to slur. There’s the gooseflesh on her back that lets you know it’s all already over for her. “Okay,” she tries to steady the ache in her stomach, “okay, okay, just- right there.” 

The drag through her pussy is fucking extraordinary. It knocks the wind out of both of you; so soft to the touch, like velvet - she’s unbelievably tight. You pull her hips into you and it opens her right up. Then when you end up balls deep inside your girl a second, third, fourth time:

She simply shudders apart.

Even though you fuck her so slow, so easy - her cunt clenches and squeezes on you like Irene detests the very idea of letting you go. You don’t even need to rail her lithe body to complete and utter ruin just to feel the familiar pent-up tremor starting to build in her muscles, how she rolls her hips back just so-so. How your hands fit that round and pert little ass of hers so well, and when your fingers finally sink in, you’re pulling it all apart to get a good look where your cock shimmers with her slick before disappearing right into her tiny cunt.

Karina mutters something in her ear. It pulls on some thread, somewhere - you feel her wind like a spring, further, and further; your cock edging her so close. The smirk Karina saves for you over your fiancée’s shoulder makes you think she’s figured her out- 

“Irene, look-” 

Well, at least she’s tuning in on all the right frequencies.

"Aren’t we all about being thorough?" Karina raises a perfectly trimmed brow. She drapes her arm across Irene's neck, their lips sliding together again, and that kiss is drawn-out and languid, albeit needy. "So, say," it gets muffled against the seam of their lips, and comes up, and comes out like a slurry, "are we gonna use everything else too? Your mouth, your perfectly tight ass?"

Irene can hardly muster out, "fuck- fuck- yes, fucking, god," as she takes it, so deep. There’s enough there to make both of you cum, you’re sure.

“Who could’ve guessed - like there’s ever been a more perfect cocktease than bae-fucking-Irene," Karina coos, all lips. She plants a row of kisses along Irene's exposed throat. The tilt of her hips, as she pushes closer - as you press the head of your cock as deep as it can go. "Go on. Cum, baby. Be a good girl, a good hole to fuck, just do it. All over his big fucking cock. Let him fucking have you."

Which is probably about the same time you realize that you, Irene and Karina are all well enroute - becoming this one mind, a single unit. This plurality you know there’s no coming back from.

You look down, with a little more focus, and Irene is being pulled apart in every which way - your cock stretching her out, over and over - Karina’s fingers right under her clit, every circle making her whimper. She’s all sharp edges and delicate angles, but manages to be soft for you in just the right places.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” you tell her, shifting your hips; pulling her ass flush and filling her completely. Your grip tightens on her waist and she doesn’t flinch a bit. "It's so goddamn easy to cum in this needy little pussy of yours. All wet and slick, and, hah- just pulsing-"

Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.

“Oh, right there, huh?” Karina asks. It’s not quite mean, but it’s getting there, fast. “Is that how he’s going to make you cum?”

You thrust on the same angle again, the same depth - you’re hitting all her nerve endings, all her sensitive spots. There isn't even room, now, for some imaginary head-to-head, some verbal volley, the banter; what comes forward is her tiny, broken moan.

How many times had Irene done the exact same, after all. Fucked you without holding back? Fucked you over? The flood of sweet-nothings as you started to approach: honey, you're so perfect, we can go slow, you just have to ask, and if you feel uncomfortable at any point, if you want me to stop-

“Just say please, doll,” Karina tells her.

If Irene told you a quarter of what made it out of the side of Karina’s mouth, you’d have never believed it. "I can't wait to feel what that arrogant mouth of yours will do when he cums inside this cute ass-"

You watch Karina spank her. Hard. There’s a red stain in the round of Irene’s cheek, and her skin is so pale that the imprint of all five fingertips looks stark, glaring.

"Just," Karina presses the rest of herself against Irene's skin and steals a quick glance at you - this half-coy smile pulling on one corner of her lips, "thought I'd do that in the name of-"

"Mmph," Irene’s groan is long, loud, "yes. Fuck, yes- please-"

Karina immediately looks away. An effort to hide the smug satisfaction. She fiddles with the auburn locks behind Irene's shoulder.

You’ll finish the sentiment: "-being thorough," and drive your cock to the hilt. Irene collapses forward onto Karina’s lap.

The sound she makes you swear is a sob. See - for Irene, it’s only about getting control in so far as it is about getting off; she’ll take whatever comes her way so long as it’s directly to her benefit - the theatrics of being pinned, the willingness for surrender, for subjugation, for the sake of telling you, yes, push my knees, spread me apart, hold me there; look at the things you do to me - it's the Irene everyone imagines, when they see the dresses, the gltiz, the glamour, just the brief flash of her grin, or the way she holds her fingernail between her teeth. Everyone wants to put her on her heel and feel a bit powerful. To have you watch the supple arc of her neckline bend, to hear the humility slip off her lips: the notion goes beyond simple kink-

It steps out into pure necessity.

She really, really needs it, and it's written into every muscle and tendon - it's on her breath as it shudders through her whole body. The beautiful, harrowing sound. "I love the way you two fuck me," she murmurs, head buried into the crook of Karina's neck. It's the sort of line, coming from someone like her, you know could raise a few blushes - if either of you was still in the business of such things.

"Honey," her voice wavers. Then, it falters: "please."

The desperation is thick, husky, almost. Karina seems like she's breathing her in, nose tucked against Irene's forehead.

You watch how she runs her nails up Irene's sides, a hot whisper sliding over her skin. You feel it, and so does Irene, this white hot pleasure singing up from the tip of her clit and spreading throughout the soft curves, the sensual lines of her body, this tangible current, a hum, a whine. You see her strain the lean stretch of muscle connecting her neck to her shoulder.

Until her face is tucked under Karina’s jaw, with a hand reaching back and hooked around your wrist and keeping you fucking, filling her, your hips drawn tight against hers, like a second home.

In and in and in.

Fucked-out and outright to the extent she goes completely silent. Almost completely still. The moment she cums all over your waist. Mouth hung open, like she’s in pure disbelief.

It doesn’t really matter, how often or how precisely Karina has imagined the whole thing. It's still a fucking revelation the first time she gets to watch Irene cum.

“No way,” she’s almost laughing, holding Irene’s jaw with both hands. “No fucking way. All the times you- what? No. Nuh-uh. You better fucking explain why this face, you- it’s not fair, the perfect face- I swear, even mid-fucking-orgasm, you are such a fucking doll-"

There's the sheer intimacy - Karina holding Irene's lips open, dragging her thumb down along the center. Quiet and sordid curses slipping from her mouth. And the obvious, her free hand already running down the curve of Irene's spine, her ass: all this sensitive-touching, admiring, appreciating-

"Hey," Karina says, voice raspy and drunk on the sex, the premise, "do me a favor, and tell me this feels as amazing as it looks. Or maybe, for once - just for the sake of fucking argument, is it actually better for the both of us, hm?

Her eyes are half-lidded, heavy, sultry. She's arching up into Irene's warmth - until her palms are spread out against her chest, thumb sliding right over everything sensitive, and she leans right to pull the other breast to her lips, and start all over again. It's clear what she means, spreading her legs as far as she can, pinned beneath the orgasm you're still fucking into Irene. As much as her petite frame will allow.

And in case you missed the point:

"So. What are we waiting for," is what she says a breath later, matter-of-fact, not at all expecting denial. “Or am I not as fuckable as our princess here?"

There's so much wet spill around the base of your cock, and the sound Irene's pussy makes when you finally draw free - all her creamy slick mixed into your mess just fucking leaking around your shaft. Karina holds herself open for you like that, spread wide. All your attention to her pink, raw cunt; you slip right inside. 

Karina lets her arms go slack on the mattress, her chest shivering, lips locked around Irene’s panting breath.

And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

-

(To anyone taking notes - chemistry, by definition, is the sum total of a certain process; where and when energy becomes matter becomes another.

More relevantly perhaps, it is that race and rise you feel inside your chest. 

Nothing about the sensation, it seems, is too exclusive either - Irene, and now Karina, the pair of them equally devastating, all over and again. It has you in communication with a different kind of contentment: to fall apart inside their embrace in particular, and kiss them with enough breath and time to waste until the morning.)

-

“Jesus,” Karina laughs out loud, “you really believe that? You corrupting me?" she makes another scoff, both hands buried somewhere in the pockets of the sweatshirt you've lent her. "At least do me a favor and cut it out with the solemn tone."

You're leaning over your apartment’s balcony, watching an emergency plow make the slowest grind of progress up the road. It's late. And cold. Or actually - it’s early. The sky is the kind of dark midnight navy you see after all the snow and stars have run through the horizon. Time ticks on, and Irene’s inside sound asleep. A woman that small has no right to snore like heavy machinery.

So,

You and Karina happen to be two things at once: very tired, and very awake.

"What I mean is: I'm sure your manager, or your parents - fuck, someone - would fly off the handle," you say, pulling a cigarette from the pack and offer it begrudgingly. She takes the end and slips it between her lips, a little unsure. You then draw a lighter and offer it, too, and Karina puffs with all her strength. She's no expert, but it looks like the end catches and turns bright. 

A bit of color.

"My parents?" Karina flouts, sucking at it, pulling deeply from her chest - smoke pours from her nose.

She finishes with a cough. And says again:

"Um. Your girlfriend had her fingers in my ass - your cock down my throat - and we're worrying what my parents might think?"

Well. She's got you on that count.

"Not to mention: who the fuck thinks they're so virtuous-" a small chuckle as she passes it back. The cigarette is lit, bright. You take a drag. Watch her tap her feet on the snow. "That they need to do that to begin with. It's more trouble, telling me what to think and feel, as if that hasn't just the opposite effect."

“Irene’s protective, albeit in her own sorta peculiar way. So, you know, by extension, she worries-" you pull, and exhale, the smoke blowing past Karina. It gets caught in her fringe, in the wisps. You offer it back when you see her shiver. "That some shit happens, after."

"Your concern is heartwarming, truly - if you want to let me think on it, I might go and write a nice little diary entry tonight. It'll have sparkles and glitter - if you're that worried." 

Karina reaches in. Lets her fingers graze yours. Her skin is cool. 

“Besides, I don’t need a lesson in image from Irene of all people. She’s her; I’m me.”

She holds onto the cigarette between two long acrylic fingernails, tapping the end so the ash flits out onto the ice. You're caught staring, probably - the dark hair framing her face, all messy and soft, falling about her cheekbones. How that pretty pink blush in her skin seems to never go away.

Your eyes drop to where her mouth is red, a bit swollen - well-kissed; it is snowing again, after all. And it’s easy to be kind of transfixed.

"You're not, I dunno, say embarrassed?" you ask, after a beat.

"Nope." Karina swallows. Brings the cigarette to the pucker of her lips again. You watch how she holds the inhale, holds her wrist up and slacked, head tilted back a little. This exaggerated fashion-model exhale follows, all smooth.

“Because I'm not the type.”

The heavy stream of smoke then blown right into your face.

"Really, I think - sorry, I have always wanted to do that. It felt like a movie. Look," she coughs on the next breath. "I get your dilemma. But also, um-"

There are some quiet moments too, here and there: the heat between your thighs, her pressed up close. She smells like Irene's shampoo and bodywash and that just confuses your head some.

"Who’s to say I’m not just looking out for you," you offer. Every good lie is rooted somewhere in the truth.

"Don't bother," her words hit you square on. "It's about getting off right? You invite me to your bed; I’m so starstruck and enchanted by the very concept of it - Irene and her charming, intoxicating husband. Fuck, I dunno - the way the two of you kiss, look, feel: the experience that you will let me be a part of," she stops and makes another face of amusement, so fucking confident, "you let me play, too, just once, and we're all just a little happier. My version."

“We’re not married,” you correct.

“That’s the part you’re hung up on?” Karina leans over, her upper half across the balcony, staring right up at the sky. “Same difference.”

The moon finds her smile bright like nothing else. It's something infectious. Immediately, it reminds you: of Irene.

"Trust me," she goes on to say. The cigarette slips back into the space where you are connected - the lines of her fingers, her knuckles. "I had a wonderful time, but the sun will rise here, and I'm not gonna stick around to blow you while Irene burns three omelets and finds a spot for me in her fucked up game of house or whatever."

She makes you laugh, free and easy, like a gust of cold air. Something genuine and natural. And as the laugh shakes, Karina makes it impossible not to crumble farther. Not to fucking simper there like an idiot.

“I really thought she was going to make me call her mommy or something, I swear-”

"Hey, I'm sure if you had asked." A spark catches you. The flash of her canine, and those eyelashes. “She’d have done you the favor.”

"Oh, shush." The touch of Karina's fingertip against your hand is delicate, careful - unassuming. But, god, everything with her is just the right amount of heat - it melts you; and when it stops, her touch: that feeling is so cold that you just chase her out of impulse.

"What about New Year's?" you ask. There are still boundaries you really shouldn't be crossing, but here you are, straddling yet one more.

Karina's grin cracks like an old fault line. "You're not allowed to ask me out like that," she insists, batting you away - trying her hardest not to lead with the obvious. You look out on the view, watching a guy in a parka trudge over to a garbage can, a handful of newspaper bundles, then a glance back-

The slightest flush has bloomed up Karina’s face, right underneath where the makeup's been rubbed bare. It's utterly irresistible. "Go wake up your fiancée and ask what her New Year's Eve looks like. Doubt it involves me and my dumb friends."

She’s probably right.

"Karina," you start, watching her push open the balcony door with her foot and walk slowly, lazily, back into the apartment. The window rattles, and she looks back over her shoulder. The bob of her ponytail, the sweeping lashes, that perfect slow-burn smile. That’s how you end up with a title as ridiculous and reductive as ‘original visual’ or ‘the human cg’.

"You’re really going to let them in on what we all got up to?"

"Oh," she makes this low, delighted hum - it sounds so dreamy, how her voice gets the richest sort of rasp, "every last detail."

-

On Monday: the holidays are officially over.

There's a bunch of stuff on the to-do pile. A lot of loose ends you have to clean up, a ton to catch up on. Irene is judiciously ignoring all of it. She's wearing her glasses - the ones with the big round frames that should look entirely obnoxious - which means she's already decided she's not leaving the apartment; Karina's still wrapping the world at large around her finger and has everyone convinced that she's all femme, no fatale; and you - well, you're back to thinking about how to climb the ladder and maybe how to stay there.

You head downtown with a cup of coffee in one hand and a musing mood in the other.

On your phone, some more choice text messages arrive in the late AM: had a great time by the way, stay out of trouble, this sweatshirt is actually just mine now, duh. 

The selfie alongside it is pretty suggestive, but just vague enough to flirt with indecency.

She sends one more at lunch where she's gotten out of the shower, or a hot pool, or maybe a long workout - her breasts squeezed between a towel and an arm - she has the camera all zoomed in and framed tight, almost full body. If her intention is to mess with you, that's what she gets. The texts: ah, fuck off and did you have a nice date with your left hand then, thanks for reminding me, the hotel wifi is shit lmao.

The messages just keep on coming and there's really no better descriptor.

And Irene, later, in a way that's neither diplomatic nor nuanced: jesus, don't let her catch you by yourself. For simplicity’s sake. She interprets being alone with a handsome boy as carte blanche to do absolutely whatever she wants and she's vapid that way.

There’s a chance it fizzles out into nothing. An even greater chance it all goes sideways. You'll have to see what becomes of you three.

-

Okay, right - new year, new you. The resolution for the past couple remains unchanged, and unfulfilled - less takeaways and eating out; more meal prep, less calories, healthier decisions.

Irene has this cute little apron over her sweater that is fixed extra tight, the belt trailing down the tops of her jeans to accentuate her nice round hips and slim waist. She knows the nature of her charm, her sex appeal. How it occurs, almost, as if by accident.

You say something that will get right under her skin like, “looking real domestic, Joohyun,” as she slides a chopped onion from a cutting board to a bowl.

She presses her hips out just a smidge, just enough. Turns a bit as she opens up the fridge, and the smirk she has for you, that sidelong glance-

“Don’t you Joohyun me,” is her lightest rebuke. 

She twists her way onto her tiptoes to fetch at the highest shelf. The crochet corner of her sweater rides up a couple of inches, flashing a hint of the fair, bare curve of her lower back. "You can help me by grating the parmesan, hm? Into that," she gestures back at the table, pointing with the bottle of olive oil.

And so you're ten, fifteen minutes into helping with dishes, with the grunt work - with the realization that Irene is going to chop her fucking fingers off if you leave her to it unchecked.

"Actually, here," you say, "can I?"

She tilts her head, skeptical - still, a quick nod of permission - and her slender fingers surrender the knife and wooden chopping board to you. She's tapping away at her phone, finding the playlist you're both always secretly listening to.

"Wow," Irene says, low, as you start dicing mushrooms, a stalk of celery. "So brave. There’s no way I could do that. Is it safe? Are we, like, in nuptial bliss now, do you think? I fancy you, I fancy you-"

It's always this sorta-delicate dance with her: how much should you step up; how much should you put out of hand; how much she accepts versus how she pushes you aside and gets through you all the same. You're too proud, really - both of you - but fuck. She's adorable; the apron adds insult to injury; and it makes the switch in your head simple.

“I always forget how much I love this song,” she’s saying; the rolling pin she’s grabbed is a reasonable surrogate for a mic. When she’s through singing a verse, she shoves it in your face. You don’t know any of the lyrics. 

She doesn’t really care.

You have to laugh at everyone who's ever wasted the effort to theorycraft who she is behind the smoky lashes, the lowered chin, the downturned glance. All the characters and archetypes she'll wear and cast off as she needs.

"Here." She sidles up and tucks her hair behind her ear, the side of her hip grinding into your thigh until she’s pressed firm into the line of your leg. Because she needs to tell you that's way too much garlic, and she's not going to kiss you if your breath is trying to kill her first. She uses the word "pungent" a number of times, just for good measure. Go on - she’s murmuring - taste; right off her finger. If anyone caught this you’d be embarrassed for weeks

“I think, definitely, should open a bottle of wine-”

That’s how you earn all the responsibility for getting the both of you fed; she gets distracted looking through the recipe book.

But there's the way she looks up at you from the opposite of the kitchen island, face held up between her hands, fingers folded underneath her chin. "What?" she asks. 

She’s totally caught you staring.

The truth is: Irene only looks this gorgeous when it's just her. When she forgets that she's supposed to stick to a script.

You tell her as much when you end up fucking her right there on the counter.

It's so slow, atleast at the onset. Her panties pushed aside, jeans spilling off an ankle - the fucking apron managed to make it to the floor but her sweater got kinda stuck on the way up. So you're reaching through some overpriced fabric blend to pull down the wire of her bra and get your palm where she most prefers it.

"Say it again," Irene sighs into your neck, clutching to the back of your shirt - white-knuckled at the seam. "Come on, you can be so charming when you want something."

"I wouldn’t push your luck," is all you choose to tell her. 

You're hitting all the spots she wants you to hit anyway: her pretty pink cunt, slick, all wet for you already. Everything clenching as she arches her back, until she's hanging off the edge of the marble. You find it’s just enough leverage to fill her completely with your cock - stretching her out and open until her thighs bracket around your waist at the perfect angle.

"Or what?" Irene is out of breath, but hardly at a loss for words. "I know. You'll have to remind me how much smaller I am than you, right? So easy to keep pinned."

Well, if you really wanted: "Hah, ah - right." You get right next to her ear, muttering the words as deep as your chest can go - then take hold of her waist to put her in a spot she can't escape. And, by Irene's usual logic, once that happens, that's as much a victory for her as it is for you. You're being compliant, aren't you? The in and out: fucking her, filling her up, pulling your messy cock out of her pussy and slapping her clit just so she can hear how fucking soaked you make her, merely as a reminder-

"I wonder if she was even half as desperate," she moans against your jaw. "Her heart probably stopped the second you, ah - told her, what? About all of this?"

You stop fucking her, halfway.

"I’m sure you wouldn't be referring to Karina, right?" is where you glance at her. “I remember us both agreeing to chalk that up as a total absolute mistake. That was that.”

Irene just swallows, looks off somewhere over your shoulder. No one wears a blush better than her.

But she won't say it. Her honesty is such a privilege. The prodigy-type. Or at least, that's the word Irene chose. Then again, there’s you and your uncanny ability to turn a blind eye. 

To the vice, the virtue, and everything in-between.

"So, can I ask," you press your lips together, finding the point of her chin with a gentle tap - you have her looking you straight back at you. The moment could let you drive back inside and fuck her brains right out, right there, like that - right through, instead: you watch her try not to squirm. 

The tension in her upper chest, the rising heat that settles between her thighs, her weight struggling where you spread her knees, as far open as her body can allow. “How long exactly," you choose your words, careful and pointed, "are we going to pretend that she isn't texting both of us?"

You bury the question deep where she’s practically molten - hot and wet and so incredibly needy.

You do, again, and again. You pull her against you, watching that pretty brow scrunch and un-scrunch as your cock bathes in that soak. And hell, Karina had sent her a selfie today, is what she's explaining when you slow down enough - a bit of red, on her cheeks and her lips, and a lot of black, all the rest - the part about a midnight flight that's on hold until tomorrow morning. And then another, an hour later. To you both: her tits, the lace lingerie - so heavy, and soft, and easy to see yourself getting lost in-

Irene gasps at how fast you find all her favorite spots, then repeats - twice and again - hey, Karina said you're "such a cutie," and she sees her as the perfect mistress-material, don't you think? Wouldn’t it be ideal? The perfect fantasy? The perfect toy-

Obviously, that is morally bankrupt, even for the two of you. And you’re making sure she hears about it.

You ask her, point-blank: "are you really so selfish? So callous." It's ground out, slowly, against her hip, into her cunt. You've got Irene dripping wet, she's running everywhere, and you're telling her, "and this is your roundabout way of asking me to validate your twisted little ego?"

Don’t get it too confused: Irene lives for this shit; that sharp, hard-hitting tone - it drives her up the fucking wall. 

"Duh. Tell me - just a guess," she presses her hands further back, arching into each push. The slim curves of her chest are bouncing, just under her sweater. "You like to feel so guilty and morose but I bet-" she chokes off mid-sentence, you know exactly how, the exact motion that has her wanting. She gets a leg over your shoulder with no effort at all, and your fingers find their place, digging into her hips as she locks into your thrusts. 

Like fucking her is the only thing the two of you ever do.

Your whole body buzzes, it hums in resonance with where her gasps conflagrate to moans - you're pulling her slender frame down into every sloppy thrust and she takes you so fucking well.

"I bet it all sounds like, ah, the prettiest fucking music - in your head-"

“Fucking god, Irene-”

“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.

Because the things she wants to hear never actually leave your lips - your girl, fucking relentless.

Because the line between you fucking her and her fucking you becomes less distinct every time she rocks back and takes you deeper. Or when her mouth catches your next kiss a bit lazily. She takes over to swivel and slide her cunt up and around your length. So good that you have to keep her there. Hand locked onto her throat, digging a bruise or two in her collarbones, fucking her senseless against the countertop-

"Irene, fuck.” Your voice comes out thick, like gravel, and practically as an aside, “you’re going to make me-.”

Irene cuts you off, nodding, shh-shh’ing you into silence. “I know, baby. I know.” This total sigh of agreement - a hushed yes, or maybe uttering something she knows will sink right into your core, two words that sound a lot like “good boy.”

What, is that tacit approval? Probably. It’s hard to think straight.

So you bury yourself inside her, instinctually. Irene tips her chin up when she feels you paint her fucking womb. Every throb - with a fistful of her ass and your face pressed against her chest, sucking and biting and marking her anywhere, everywhere - right through her sweater. Fucking her so full that your mess is dribbling out all over the fucking floor, drip, drip, drip, and-

"Hey, I want you to know that I" - she sounds so amused as she cards through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead - "really couldn’t ever ask anyone except you."

(All is fair in love and war, is an adage Irene takes to its logical extreme, tangled in your sheets or with a dress puddled at her ankles. A silk stocking rolling down her leg, the crochet thrown into some dark corner.

You never say yes. You never really have to.)

This all before setting her down, off the edge, back onto her feet and taking another half-step forward and having the awareness not to completely flatten her under the full weight of your body, so she can run a hand down between the two of you and her fingertips can start gathering up all the cum you've pumped inside her. Irene tells you in her sweetest lilt to pay attention as she leans back up against the counter and gathers as much into her mouth as it will allow-

The sight alone.

When her head tips back, tongue passing over her knuckles, and she swallows-

"You are so," you sigh into her temple. Her cheek. You've settled the rest to the space in between. “Absolutely unbelievable."

She reaches out and trails the tips of her fingers lightly along the rise of your cock - her softness up against your hard lines. Her eyes flash when you twitch on the fucking spot. It's so tender all coming from her.

And there, a moment or two more. You can see it in the way she has her lips tilting, dreamy. You've always known what you were signing up for - how she's thumbing the nape of your neck - what her ideal outcome was, is. There's nothing and no one in front of either of you to bar the way.

You’ll make your vows like any other.

"Well, hey," she finally says, slow and husky and curling toward you with a smug self-satisfaction.

You push her hair behind her ears, the dark brown locks. Some part of you understands, unequivocally, that she is the absolute limit of how far you would go for any other person on the planet. No questions. In a heartbeat, without hesitation.

The kiss to the corner of your jaw is unironically chaste - before she’s telling you, "shouldn’t we get a move on it, chef? There’s food to eat, recipes to ignore; aren’t you fucking famished?"

-

The bolognese reduces down to a scorch in the cast iron. Too much heat, or too long, you got too preoccupied, who knows - there's a moral lesson to ignore here if you're so inclined. So it ends up being over a tray of sushi delivery that Irene explains to you her working theory like it's high-stakes political intrigue.

"Listen," she's got her chopsticks pointed at you, "for one, Karina, to her core, is a total seductress; and she's told me already, more or less to my face - she gets off on the chase, and hates the other shit. To be involved, or invested."

“Okay then why all the go-around; the wait-and-see; what’s her endgame?”

“What’s anyone’s endgame?” Irene shrugs. “Validation." She slips a tuna roll into her mouth.

"I think you might be projecting."

"Or, I'm simply an extremely empathetic person," her sarcasm hits harder through chewing - she almost gets you, and finishes swallowing to say, "look, she's like us if we were pretending to care, okay? Just more, like - explicit about her lack of intention. So. Doesn’t matter if it's to piss her manager off. Or it's like a revenge-slash-extortion-thing against someone she either had or is having an affair with."

"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.

"It's not like it’s an unheard-of workplace hazard, come on," and then the final confirmation: "she’s just into it because it sounds dirty and sexy, okay, like everything else-"

"And you figure we should be the ones to dole it out."

"What I figure," Irene says, doing that same mental calculus she did the first time: how, where, why - it's clear. A dozen different kinds of naked are an old, tired song by now. "I want us to fuck her. However she likes, whenever she likes, for however long she likes. Let her think she’s won something, or think she has you totally fucking hooked - I don't really care. Because it would be so much more satisfying to hear you tell me about it - because the idea of you two being like that for me. It's," her words pitch up a touch. 

"That's the fantasy."

And Irene dives into the details. She explains what it could look like, all the more raunchy and ridiculous. This very specific arrangement. It makes no real sense, the conversation alone, and that, you decide - what can't be rationalized - is how she'll take it: by fucking both of you. That's the objective fact. That's the demand.

You listen until it feels less and less like the decisions have already been made.

“Okay, babe,” she’s presenting her case. “Hear me out.”

And she keeps going until you both can see it materialize: "if Karina thinks she can handle both of us, then both of us it'll be." It’s how her fingers end up buried in your boxers and around the throb of your cock. You hear the gentlest laugh Irene has as you start fucking softly into her grip, and she runs her thumb over your weeping slit until she finds you that much more malleable to the suggestion. Effortless almost, she lures the primal part of you from its confines and teases and prods at its wants and desires. Which is also how some charged vocabulary gets thrown in for good measure. Because no, no, no - she's murmuring into your mouth, tipped back, plush lips right above yours - it's not a cuckquean situation, or an open relationship, or anything like freeuse or whatever else might justify the concern. It's not even cheating, Irene’s explaining, strictly speaking, because who said you and I wouldn’t be doing it together?

(Lying by omission is the story you both live - and the difference: she's pathological. You’re just now getting the hang of it.)

"Fuck," is what you exhale out as she opens her fingers, offering. Her thumb glides across the expanse of your head, a trail of pre-cum drawn underneath a nail. And you know all the things her nails can do - can rip your heartstrings. "I mean. God damn. There has to be, like, terms."

There's still sushi sitting on the coffee table, and Irene is placing these kisses into the slope of your shoulder, your sternum, making a show of the movement, how she's traveling down, downward - to her knees. Where she finds the seat between your thighs and tugs your shorts, the fabric gathered down your leg-

"Let me handle it," she tells you, and there goes the cut of your t-shirt, shoved up to your chest. Her grip runs flat, down from the rise of your hip, fingers wrapping around, touching - the flat of her tongue laving across the tip of your cock until she decides to lower her jaw.

"Just think right now. How I want to fuck her and how I'd want you to fuck her, too-" 

Right in her warm, wet little mouth.

Jesus, her tongue too-

She has it gliding up, around and against the swell of the underside. Rolling to where you need it, the places she knows you’ve died before. Lapping up the mess she's already gotten out of you-

Like this, Irene's looking at the way that the idea strikes: you and you and you; the only person in the whole goddamn world that can handle her; you fucking know it too - it's the most perfect, hopeless kind of thing. Like the feeling that catches at the apex of your lungs. It burns in your stomach and grips in your gut. She's gone and cut out the nerves - there's the crown of your cock caught in a velvet grip between those pretty pink lips and her fingers twisting at the bottom. 

She breathes deep. Sinks her lips so slowly to the base. Anything, everything you want: to put your hands to the side of her head, to weave your fingers through her hair, and coax her, fuck her mouth like it belongs to you, all slow and hard and measured.

To hear all those wet sounds she makes as she chokes on the end of it. The gags as you force your cock into the back of her throat, holding her head tight, her hair pulled up into a fist, to have that mouth hanging around the length of you, tongue stuck to the bottom of her chin as you move her, your fiancée, your toy. To be looking her in the eye and watching her look the fuck back while she revels in every filthy second of it, not a single damn drop of hesitation or doubt.

"Really think," Irene urges, and she's all innocent when she tips her head to kiss her way up your cock.

She’s trying for some grace or finesse, or both - trying, you think, to make a point; instead, you end up watching her gulp and spit into her palm, just to obscure the sensual curl of her tongue with the sloppy-hard rhythmic stroke of her fist. "How hot it would be if you watched us both choke on your cum. Her face fucked stupid - the perfect little fuckdoll, is that not an image for the ages-"

You get a glimmer of that catlike grin - the one you would kill for a picture of. Something for the wallpaper, or the wallet; you've never met a boundary she hasn't challenged. The most depraved ideas in her head are just, as she is, a masterpiece. And so the answer has never changed - there has never been anything she's not been allowed-

"Trust me baby," she presses her cheek against your shaft. You feel her turn and run that mouth all over. The tip of her nose. Her eyelashes. The wet heat of her breath as she nuzzles the length. "Karina's all ours to share."

Her pout, right there, waiting.

You can't stop yourself from grabbing her face, the crook of her jaw, her neck and the tips of her shoulders. Until it all comes with a good, hard pull. The sound of her mouth on your cock, the blowjob she's been perfecting for years. It's starting to fill up the room, her lips wrapping your shaft - the sound of her being so obedient, the most receptive, sweet, pretty thing: letting you guide her pace until she has a steady motion going. Taking the thick base in her hands and working it over between her fingers. There's only enough room for that before you’re all the way inside her, in and out, again: the tip of your cock brushing over the softest curve of her throat.

When you take her at face value, it's fucking wild: your fiancée kneeling before you. Her chin and neck wet with her effort, lips wrapped so pretty, stuffed, used-

There are no questions. This is simply Irene, doing what she loves.

She pushes a hand between her legs and holds herself together as your hips tilt forward, meeting her halfway-

Just letting you get yourself off in her mouth like it's no big deal. It's her throat - it's her goddamn cunt and ass, and whatever else - because you fucking asked, right? Because you gave her the permission, the choice, the agency.

"Hey, where should I?" you’re muttering as you push the hair out of her face, already half-drunk on her slick lips and realistically only a few seconds away from doing some real damage.

There isn't a need; but you want her to tell you, to use her words. In her mouth, on her face, in her palm, you’ll go without thinking. You’ll cum straight onto your own stomach if it’s what Irene says. Even if she’s acting like you already have.

"Make sure you give her,” is what she garbles out around the hard line of your cock, and it’d be impossible to understand if you didn’t know every nuance to her, if you didn’t - you know - fucking love her. To have and to hold - to hold on tight and for better or worse, and this is pretty much as bad as it gets. 

The syllables come in-between hollow breaths, all wet and sticky. When Irene wrenches the fuck out of it, the base of your cock- “hm, that same sort of courtesy when, agh, I'm not around-"

Because the image alone is what matters. There, getting your cock sucked like you've earned the privilege - it doesn't have to be real, it just has to look like it's a new truth to believe in. The little motions in her wrist are just - hah, fucking unreal - and the way she sinks down lower on her knees for each stroke, from base to tip - lips pressing over the knuckles she has wet, and squelching, and twisting up and down and up-

She places a hand under your balls, the gentlest cradle, and something of your restraint finally breaks - it snaps - her insistence is ruthless.

"Yeah, god, okay- I’m just gonna go ahead-" 

There are these images in your head, of Irene: the upturned brows, the hollowed cheeks, and that slutty-as-shit smirk - and then of Karina: doing the exact same thing. Fuck, your cock is heavy, absolutely leaking cum: you can feel yourself leaking into the press of her mouth. It fills up her cheeks as she blushes into the fuck. Her lips become flush and go soft against the ridge of your shaft - her jaw slack in anticipation. 

"Your fucking mouth, Irene" you breathe out, “I'm going to cum-” 

Just at half the sentence, you're there, sunk into your fiancée's throat. Fingers across her ears and into her hair and watching her own hands pulling you, guiding you-

It’s all flexed in your back. Every muscle. Every fiber.

Irene hums onto a simple, satiated note. She always does, when she tastes it. When you dump a hot load of cum all over her tongue and straight into her throat.

(And yes, some might claim this is the death knell for all kinds of reasoning, but you’ll go ahead and admit it’s so, so worth it.)

"How thoughtful," she says, low and slow, once she's through swallowing the entire fucking thing.

The corner of her mouth tilts up. Because you're finished: two steps left in the brain from falling out of consciousness, a mess on the couch. You get to watch as she pulls you into sorts and slots each piece back to where it's meant to sit. The underwear, your pants. It's with such careful attention. Your soft cock gets cleaned with a tissue and wiped dry. A tiny parting kiss for the tip, her mouth full-on puckered, like she's kissing out anything you have left.

Though it's a pleasant daze. She prefers you soft like this, really.

All you have left to say is: "fuck me, baby." It sounds sloppy and open-ended as hell. "I guess I'll leave everything to you."

If that's a cue or sign for the evening, the only right thing: it isn't exactly misinterpreted.

-

The actual logistics don’t arrive for a handful more weeks. You find it surprising they ever happen at all.

// Karina 10:41 pm > i'm bored.

// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?

// 10:49 pm > have you tried looking into an incognito tab?

// Karina 10:58 pm > lol, and what is it i'm supposed to be finding?

// Karina 10:58 pm > help a girl out here.

"Send her a picture of your cock," Irene says, like it isn’t a joke. She looks up from the smutty-dash-of-romance-porn novel she's got herself wrapped in, with her best faux-serious expression. The pair of readers that usually are in her top desk drawer have made a new home perched low on her nose. "God knows she hasn't stopped leering since she found out what I'm marrying into."

"Please," you tell her, because she's full of shit. "I'm not sending her a dick pic."

Your laptop is warm on your thighs as you huddle on your side of the bed. That's the point of balance where it feels like Irene isn't trying to look. Though she clearly is. You flick up through a couple tabs just to drive the point home.

// 11:01 pm > sorry. i'm not in the business of just handing out freebies

// Karina 11:07 pm > really

// Karina 11:07 pm > thought we were making progress here

// 11:11 pm > you're funny

"Ask her if anyone's home with her." Irene dogears the page she’s reading and sets her book down. "Or ask if she's, like, tied up or something. Something edgy."

"Something edgy," you deadpan.

"Do you want me to put the readers away," Irene offers. She's wearing the sort-of smirk you always need to be wary of.

"No," you say. “God, no.”

"Ask her where she keeps her lingerie. Tell her she should be thinking about what it'd look like: all naked except a thong. With the straps digging into her. Tied up all nice and pretty-like."

// 11:13 pm > u alone right now?

"What the fuck?" Irene slugs a pillow at you. "That is the creepiest way you could've sent-"

// Karina 11:13 pm > yeah. i am :/

You and Irene are both struck a little dumb by that. 

“Sheesh, she must have had her finger hovering over the reply button.”

"Yeah," you say, eloquent. “Who could blame her, though.”

"Uh-huh." Irene exhales, staring a bit pointedly.

// 11:16 pm > cool if I come over?

// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?

Irene nudges you with her heel, a questioning glance: the window has just been left there wide open and hanging. She whispers like Karina can somehow hear her through the phone, "you are terrible at sexting."

“Can you fucking leave it-”

Irene rolls her eyes.

// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas

// Karina 11:19 pm > got a couple. i wouldn't be against hearing something that lets my imagination fill in the gaps though

"Text her that you're into her throat and want her to show you her tits," and Irene actually cracks a laugh as she has the audacity to make the request. She's in good form this evening; in nothing but her favorite silk camisole - the navy blue one, which pairs great with all 5’2” of the rest of her. Like the soft curves she wears and everything else isn't bad for your heart. "Seriously, I want you to-"

"How am I supposed to end it?" You ask. The tone is purely sardonic. "Babe. Baby. My future wife. Tell me. You do realize you're basically asking me to bait her, right?"

Someone will eventually put their cards on the table, and Karina, Irene, and ostensibly you will realize you’re all currently having a mental break from reality. Or something along those lines. "I mean. Could that really be a negative," she wonders with an eyebrow quirked and another gesture of her arm like she wants to showcase the night sky beyond the bedroom windows.

"How, what - babe."

"You could promise to let her sit on it."

"Is the cockslut routine an act? Like," you lower your volume, "do you really have a playbook, here?"

"So mean." Irene reaches a hand over. She has her head propped on an elbow, the rest of her sprawled and comfortably positioned on the bed. And you wonder why the fuck you feel compelled to argue a point that so obviously has already been lost. "Just go fuck her already, god damn, I dunno."

Right. So. This was the part that was kind of inevitable - and Irene's impatience aside, you probably were about to win a lottery when you showed up at her door - that golden little interaction: "hey it's me, your rival at work's future ex-husband, I guess - I'm so horny and I think you're so beautiful and wouldn't it be so crazy if we, like, boned, haha, what?"

"Just- have sex. Tell me about it after."

The novel beckons Irene back toward it. She makes herself the picture of someone perfectly comfortable with you walking right into the next most uncomfortable predicament.

The sigh. That long, heavy thing. A leadup you do so often.

The simple idea of sending Karina that sort of message sends heat, low - just under the band of your sweatpants, and right where you've got yourself in the palm of your hand and you're already wondering how this is the result, why your cock is coming to a rise already - god damn - why every thought of Karina's face, and Karina's ass, and Karina's everything, every moment her lip is caught in between those teeth is becoming impossible not to touch. "Okay," you huff, "fine. I'm getting up, I'm going now- I mean it, right now, just give me a minute, I am putting my clothes on."

"Wait," and she's saying, "wait. Wait."

And when you turn around, Irene has this cat-that-ate-the-canary grin all stretched on the canvas of her face. She takes off her readers - her elbows thrown into her lap as she goes to the very edge of the mattress, pulling your shoulders for balance. "Babe-"

"Mm."

Irene likes to get you at a low simmer. The way she runs her thumb pad along your bottom lip. And all those questions - a look into her eyes - it's hard not to fold or break - when she's holding onto that sort of expression, unwavering; no matter how her mouth seems to get soft and curious.

Her lips move onto yours, asking - a push. And your eyes - a brush against a shoulder and you've already gone a whole mile from anywhere decent. There's the touch of her tongue between your parted mouths.

"You'll be good right?"

"I mean, sure," is what you manage, watching her lips close.

"You'll fucking wreck her, and do it exactly how she needs it done." And her brow, knit. She can tell your brain is busy jumping ahead to a hundred different scenarios. "Stop worrying."

There's a brief nod of reassurance. Her fingertips dust down your chest and the rest of the way. You hear Irene tell you to-

"And give her an extra hello from me."

"Okay, I love you, but also you're insane, like certifiable."

"Shush, I know you," and Irene gives your hair a little tousle before pushing you out the door.

-

You're standing there at the front door of Karina's apartment a little after midnight, bathed in dim, orange wicked fluorescence. Like it knows your sins - past, present and future. There's no obvious answer when you go knocking, and for a half-moment, you're thinking, okay, it's alright, this is how I let someone down easy-

Until she answers and leans out, pulling open the door. It takes you by surprise-

"Well, I'd normally let you in," you hear Karina say, and a smug smile starts to cross her face, "but..."

It's about the degree to which she looks hot and a little off kilter in this tight t-shirt - a snug pair of panties around the sway of her hips - that almost sends you spinning. There's not an ounce of self-consciousness; it's like a punch to the gut.

"Aeri's date went south and she's drunk. She's passed out on her bed, like, right now, I don't think-"

There's no bra. It's hard not to get fixated on every detail. Like her nipples, practically standing out. You have an irrational desire for her to take a step back, further into the room, further out of your vision's reach-

"Uhh," you croak. And you do have the mental faculties for, uh. For telling her. "Maybe, you know, later, could be better, yeah, maybe call me."

Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.

"No, no." Karina has her hands searching up and underneath your sweater. Her fingers dance flat up, right over your stomach - teasing as she hikes you back inside. Right past the threshold. Your mouth is half-caught and stupid under her, the gentle hum and pressure on her lips. "It means we need to be quiet."

She drags you another step forward, with just the hot flash of her gaze. 

"Shut the door behind you?"

"Locking it too," you tell her.

The laugh she makes into it, this one little scoff - it's an acknowledgment: an agreement. It's one of the worst fucking sounds, and the whole damn thing gets to you. Like her ass wasn't the perfect fit for the palm of your hands- like you don't want to trace your fingers under the elastic of her panties.

As if it wasn't fucking clear enough. It's the tongue in your mouth and the hands in her hair. She's kissing you soft, she's kissing you deep; her weight rests and pulls back with each swell of your ribs, pushing her fingertips down until they're skating, slow, low into the grooves of your spine. Like she's getting familiar with you again.

"Okay," you breathe. She laughs on your lips and presses forward - pulls you back, farther- "uhh. Okay."

She must see the confliction you're in-

"Hey." Karina keeps going until you've got her backed against a wall, until your thigh has pressed into the crux of hers and your hand is in her shirt. You don't miss how she lets her head tilt back when her eyes shut. It's her. There's no disputing the reality. "Whatever you want to do to me. That is all I've been thinking about. Do it."

"I- don't really-"

She makes a decent show of crossing her wrists and tugging her shirt right over her head. Tosses it someplace safe enough. "So are you just gonna leave me in suspense, or do you need my explicit, enthusiastic permission?"

Your lips draw themselves a blank on anything useful, while your heart rate accelerates.

"Here try this: you’re going to fuck me until I beg you to stop. Then you’re going to fuck me some more. Or whatever- then we can go somewhere, I don't care," she offers with a half-whisper. In all her goddamned glory - barefoot, almost bare chested - it's not like it could be any other thing.

-

You’re not exactly supposed to end up on your knees for this.

This isn't quite how you pictured-

Okay, fuck, Karina's making the prettiest noises where her spine is curling up against the wall; those sounds you couldn't even make up. How it feels like the easiest damn thing, because there isn't a question to why. Every inch of you is pressed to every inch of her. You know what you'll taste on your tongue, which of these breasts belongs in your palm and the fingerprints in the dips of her waist - her lips on the curve of your jaw - every mark and bruise on her skin, every hint of it is real; it's fucking you up because you're kissing the woman that Irene picked, the woman you met - it's how you pull yourself away-

Karina, for the longest few seconds, is shocked into stillness.

Because you could, of course, decide to give this one last shot, your head between her thighs and eat her out until she was so fucking wet your cock wouldn’t even enter the equation. This is not actually a new idea; the possibility has run through her mind enough times already.

"Yeah. That would work."

Like it's no big deal-

"Do you need instructions? I can get a bit graphic."

"Actually, you know what?" you choke a little, and - "trust me."

You stand straight up for a moment, a second, an extra fraction. You slip your cock inside her hot cunt, and, yeah. She collapses right into you. You’re holding up her just enough to fuck into - she's starting to breathe deeper, harder; you've got her pinned like that - a hand on her neck, fingers sinking into everywhere she's softest: her tits, her ass, her waist, her throat, and there is nothing that isn't some version of fucking glorious about Karina's weight grinding, heavy onto the tip and onto the ridge and down the thickest length of you-

And her face, jesus christ, her fine brows upturned, the tears heavy in her dark lashes, the little gasping-sobbing sounds that spill across her wobbling lips - this is the both the easiest and the hardest part: seeing her get absolutely fucking ruined-

(You know, god help you.)

-

Irene doesn't even have to ask. There are hickies and bruises shadowing in on your neck, your chest - these marks you never remember Karina giving you, and a ton of scratches all up your back.

"You know I was going to offer to make you breakfast," Irene says, smug, "but I'm wondering if Karina got to you first."

"What the hell do you think?" you say, dumb.

There are eggs burning on a skillet that are never going to be salvageable, no matter what Irene says. She has no respect for the process. And her voice is full of that infuriating smile: "was it everything you hoped?"

"God," you mutter, trying to mask the embarrassed laughter in your words. You can hardly move an inch on her behalf.

"At least tell me something fun, you insufferable tease," she presses her nose into your hair and tickles the spot on your side, just to be a pest.

You lay it all out for her. Everything she wants to hear.

-

Surprisingly, there’s still plenty to learn about each other; days to weeks to months. The first real thaw of the year comes, and you’re quick to fall into this odd rhythm.

Karina won't actually join Irene on set or production very often - too much heat. It shouldn’t have taken so long to figure out the two don’t belong in the same room together, and if they’d asked you, they’d know - but no one ever really does ask you. However she does spend more and more time around the apartment. In and out of your personal spaces. And maybe a bit in between, or a little underneath too: how she seems to slot herself right into every possible fold whenever Irene’s away.

Always traveling for this reason or that.

And god, the perfect powder keg Karina is - ticking, short-fused, all ready to explode. It’s ironic, you think, she’s drawn to scandal the way Irene will do anything to avoid it, and here, she's found her ultimate indulgence.

The quick lay, the time and place you know you can be patient in pulling her apart, the everything in between. 

In fact, you’ve taken to calling her "babe" just so she doesn’t think twice when she gets your cum pooling deep in her cunt, all hot and sopping. Looking like the picture-perfect centerfold. The fucked-dumb face - all twisted in your grip, flushed-red; and the musky scent of sex; the noises and her presence alone. You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her, rubbing a thumb across where the mascara runs thick.

To be the gorgeous girl, cock-drunk and fucked-out in your lap - so simple - so natural: Karina finds her way over more often than not.

After your shower, after your nap; your work, the bar - Karina’s never more than a text away. And you'll keep a hand around her waist as she stands around in the kitchen, stealing Irene’s leftovers out of the fridge. Karina ends up straddling your thigh right there at the breakfast table, holding onto the wood for support as she cums all over you.

The long and short of it is: 

She's fucking you. She's fucking your fiancée. She sees no problem in having her cake and eating it too. The only caveat is: Karina thinks neither of you know what's actually going on.

“You gonna say hi to Irene for me?" she's teasing one day, snapping her bra back into place. The t-shirt pulled over all that glossy-dark hair, the shimmy of her hips just to get back into the world's tightest jeans. She presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's such a stark, clinical goodbye - ending with a flick of a thumb across a screen. "And oh, let her know if she ever wants me to teach her a trick or two. Anytime."

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”

Karina does the most insipid thing. She fucking winks. “I’m sure she would.”

-

"Uh, are you kidding me?" you ask Irene. 

It's late one night, and Irene is standing in the kitchen in her pajamas with a welt the shape of Karina’s lips kissed right into her jaw. A couple drinks in your system have given you both a false sense of clarity, and also an ill-timed desire to solve all your goddamn problems. You lower your voice. "In her ass?"

Irene has that all-triumphant and dopey grin that makes your heart ache for her. There's a soft curl of her hair loose, thrown across a shoulder. "I’m serious, pull her hair right, hold her wrists until her back has to be arched. Pin her to the bed," she continues to illustrate, "it's all in the finer points of how much. Tell her to count, even. I'm not joking-"

She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.

"-she'll let you do anything, promise."

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.” Irene wags the spoon at you. “It’s great.”

-

It's not only the hypothetical-homewrecking that gets Karina so torridly wet for the whole affair; when she's pinned beneath you with her legs spread and her toes pointed skyward, or perhaps later - the same day even - riding Irene's face in a locked dressing room and crying out - "ah, hah, jesus, please-"

In her head, she has you both at her beck and call. Forget semantics - Karina is a fool to her own illusion. Because in her head, not only has she managed to go toe to toe with the industry's reigning monarch, she’s managed to win.

-

You don’t exactly know how Karina ever intends to keep it casual. Because things are damn near constant:

It’s a weeknight, and the moon is high above the windows, casting a crisp rectangle onto the hardwood; it doesn’t actually matter, as far as Karina is concerned.

Irene’s on television again, the sequin in her dress clinging tight, and she’s found the gaze that never breaks for the cameras. Found the flash of her most practiced smile - that little chime of laughter she has that sounds like striking pure gold.

Then Karina: sitting cross-legged at the very end of the sofa. One leg thrown over your thigh, she’s got these nylons on her feet and she’s poking a toe into your ribs. "Isn't she stunning," you hear her muttering, "honestly. Doesn't it, like, turn you the fuck on?"

Her foot grazes your lap, all casual at first; the impossibly soft-curved heel of her sole. There are so many ways she'd prefer to pass the time and they almost all involve getting under your skin, if not just outright getting into your pants.

“Elaborate.”

"I mean listen, in your case, just knowing your fiancée is up there looking like a total angel and at the same time, thinking about you; how she’s got to be considering every which way she’ll unwind just after the showcase - at least, that’s what I’d be doing." She licks her lips, teeth. "Hell, I’m only imagining how pretty her eyes are when she can barely keep them open, and that’s enough to ruin my panties."

"Are you really."

She shifts her weight. Puts that ankle to good use. Rubbing it into the crease between your legs. "Tell me," her lips curl. She’s looking at you dead-on. "How does she usually prefer it, hm?”

Like a wildcat, you suppose, your Irene - a pretty, little predator. You could tell Karina everything, but you don’t. Instead you let her wander into the lair of her own making. Her eyes: light and curious; it’s written in the lines of her face how she's picturing it all so plainly.

“I’d guess she lets you go slow. Or hard. Or maybe a little rough and then you make her cum, and then maybe, just maybe, after the teasing; after the edging, I guess, that's when she comes in hot. I would hope."

Karina twists her foot around, swings her weight onto your lap, and sucks in a sharp breath when you reach out and grip the lean lines of her hips. It’s as easy to hold her still as it'd be to drag her across the couch and under the rest of your body, fuck the goddamn tension until there was no longer any room left for the pretty smirk in her lips. And her gasp would probably sound a hell of a lot better - than all the needling quips - a much louder and much less-pretend whine when you could throw those thighs open and really pound her wet, aching little cunt-

“Easy,” she chides when you end up taking two handfuls of her chest. "Shouldn’t you be more supportive? For god’s sake, it’s your fiancée’s moment in the spotlight, you know-"

There’s nothing stopping you from popping off the buttons of her dress, one by one by one - and kiss right there, into the swell. Your voice feels all the rougher when you respond, "and what a moment."

Her fingertips skim over the places she's been kissing you, where she's been marking and claiming and trying to, at least, to stamp you like her personal property - when the look is that serious. All cold-burn. Right through to the bone.

“So.”

You can feel her touching into your pants. The heat in her soft, silky thighs; she sits above you, keeping a leg on each side. A part of you feels trapped; another is confused why you aren't turning the tables right now - flip her and ride out her cunt on the couch. Some passing thought, or just a fraction, the only one that matters in that particular instant, wonders what Irene would do, will do - has done - in your situation. How her hips would roll. How Karina’s moan might sound when she dug a nail right into a sweet spot.

You push Karina's skirt a little farther up her body and try to gauge the moment she's finally decided she doesn't mind.

“How about you keep your eyes on her, and I'll suck your cock while you do," ends up being the short and not-so-sweet of it all. “-or maybe you can get off between my tits.”

She wraps those fingers around your base and pulls gently. It's not a decision, but merely a continuation, a culmination: a gesture made entirely to pull the response: the hitch to the throat. Her nails skim that ridgeline as her eyes track across the cut of your features. It makes you groan into her next kiss, to say, "if you wanted it so bad, babe, you could’ve just said. Would save us a lot time-"

"Are you complaining?" she husks, pulling your pants down your thighs. Your cock is in her hands and she smiles like a cat - licks her teeth when it twitches at just the slightest touch. "Yeah, I didn't think so," is how the breathless laugh leaves her lips.

You catch the quirk of her brows, her tone: straight-up, like nothing. You’re almost buying into that until she's got your shirt on the floor, those lips of hers in the divot of your collarbone, and her tits wrapped around the base of your cock, and, well, fuck-

She actually wastes no time - none at all. A couple feet away, Irene covers her laugh with one hand. There's a brass award in her other. And the television casts this soft, pale glow.

Karina tips her head, and a curtain of her dark, silken hair spills across the ridge of her breast. She runs those big eyes over you, all wide and round and vaguely-deviant. There's the perfect amount of motion, of squeeze, just a light-bit of pressure, and she's got a face smug-arrogant in an instant, knowing. Fuck, her hands on either side start pushing into the line of her cleavage as she bounces and rocks and draws every inch of your cock up through her soft tits and back down again.

"Fuck," is the harshest exhale she's ever dragged out from you.

She hums a low sound, all self-satisfied when it's her own namesake: your body wants her, like you know the full weight of her needs, your touch, how badly she's fucking craving to get off and still not admitting to anyone it might be more than sex. Like it's really as easy as her next breath, the flutter of her lashes: Karina wants your eyes, the weight of your attention and she's not going to beg for a fucking thing. The feeling, you think, is mutual.

"Irene," she says, her smile as open as it could ever get. "She's just so gorgeous, right?"

On one hand, she’s speaking between the lines. A perfect tincture of deceit - the bawdiness-by-nature: watch me, look at me - is what she might as well say - look what I can fucking do, the whole lewd display. And, god, how she knows every way to make a guy want it, like she wants you to remember it.

Because on the other, the movement is so, so direct. 

Karina twists herself in an upward tilt, just an easy, practiced thing; she lets her tits spill around your cock and through her fingers, full and soft - and her lips part, mouth slacking alongside yours, matching the sounds out your chest with her own. Like she knows exactly which slide of slippery friction will make you moan, or which pull and drag will send your teeth straight into your lip.

"Isn't it crazy," she lolls her head a little, letting her own saliva drip down the center, onto your weeping slit. "How much I want your cum filling my cunt, even knowing she's the one you'd rather put the ring on," the drag and drag and drag - her tits are fucking incredible, and she knows it. She pushes up with her fingers and gives you a long draw right through the press, right where the nerve endings run electric, right where she keeps moving, up and down, and up and down- 

“-it must be hard, I mean, jesus christ. Here I am, needy and hot. Begging you to wreck me and my only sin, hm - the sin of being second best, right-"

"Holy fuck, you're-"

"Obsessed," she says, and drops her tits against your waist again. "I know, I know. How could I not be?"

You're left muttering into the titfuck alone, watching her rub your precum up between their soft shape, feeling the slight give, how her skin goes warm. The act itself: such a simple-thing-bordering-on-the-absurd that you notice how you coil and flex beneath her curves, how she feels so soft and warm. The slight pucker of her lips every time your cock escapes her cleavage does little to help. It's probably the fault of the brain-fuck but the wet of her mouth is practically everywhere you look. You could eat her alive right here, spread her legs on the coffee table and finish with a bit of screaming, groaning and tearing, and no one would ever stop you.

But instead,

"-it's a good color on her, really; but then every color is a good color on her, isn't it so unfair?" She's taking your cock into her tits, deeper on every rock forward and back, holding them close - a gentle lock of those long manicured fingers keeping it all together. "Even wearing no color at all; you must just love how all the freckles are so easy to see," she murmurs, squeezing tight. The sound is wet, messy. A filthy chorus between her dirty words and the dirtier action, and just that glimpse of friction when she strokes down again is maddening. You're all slippery. So sticky-slick, so tight.

Of course there's not a fucking inch of a reaction out of her; you want to get off so bad-

"You could close your eyes," she tells you. "She would still be there. The sound of her laughter. The image. In that dress or not," and her mouth furls into a half-smile before she pauses. Reaches down, pulls her tits around you impossibly tight. "Just so damn pretty-"

You cum just like that: 

"Babe," is what you let her have. The soft, undercurrent hiss. "Fuck."

You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.

Well, mostly up - along the expanse of her neck and throat, coating where her breasts sit so pretty against the lines of your thighs. Across her sternum and the hollow of her neck - her body's covered in your shared mess: slick-filthy-hot, all strewn across her perfect tits.

"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"

"Completely covered in you." She's still smiling. That deep-cut and perfectly symmetrical curl of her lips. The gorgeous fucking shade, and her chin, how her cheeks flush, just a little - they've always turned pink in the most specific places when she gets fucking cum-soaked. “I know, just look.”

And her hands slide across her chest, trailing a path through the thick of your release, spreading the glaze all down her front. Making it messy, making the exact look a guy sees once and is driven to the ends of his sanity - just to spill his load out onto her. To get her all used, and trussed up: just how she likes.

(Sanity is being generous, considering.)

You can't do anything other than what's expected: take her up in a kiss, breathe into the mess you've made on her skin. The gasp is full, surprised - just enough, maybe, to count as genuine.

Such a mess - she murmurs - um, come on then, you can do a girl a favor. Bath bomb, bath towel, bath robe - and really it doesn't have to be a suggestion.

You’ll pin her down and fuck her right over the lip of the tub if that’s what she really wants. Just being in her company is indulgent and excessive and begging you to make a terrible habit of it. Have some self–restraint, she has this tone in her voice sounding more and more like a dare. There's just enough there in her hands: one reaching for you and the other reaching into the porcelain, swirling up the lather - and that look on her face, as if to say, can't believe you have me waiting, like some desperate, depraved pervert - only it’s more explicit than that. Only it feels worse - and her mouth is moving again, speaking into the air that already feels stifling hot, words cutting through the steam: you're not very nice, I mean really, it should come as no surprise how she turns out, having this jerk for a fucking boyfriend- 

Nevermind. Not a dare, it's a challenge. She was right the first day you undressed her, the brattiest girls always have the worst kinds of fantasies, the darkest little tendrils of self-destruction. How she's laying there, asking and telling, pushing and pulling; and how she thinks she's so clever too.

Though that is no reason, she laughs, for you to think she won't love having her pretty cunt cockwarmed and spoiled for an evening or more. - And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

-

(Really, to Irene’s credit, she had Karina pegged right from the jump. A character study in, well, herself.

She's seen as an ingénue by the press, and an outright savant to the executives. They know her as the obvious successor. They give her the runway, they watch the leggy-girl-turn, the model-posture, chin held high and aloof, looking down at the gathered throngs of photographers.

The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:  

But her favorite game - that bit of innocence served on a platter, ingenuous when it comes to spinning a flaw to gold, and the deception too - Karina loves and loathes every second she spends upstage from Irene's own, hectic, international production. Because if anyone asks her, that girl would claim it's never been a competition in the first place. 

So you see, if you and yours have both decided to ruin her-

It is a disaster-in-the-making, isn’t it.)

[authorhjk1]

Idol Competition II

(Seulgi X IU X Irene X Jennie X Somi X Male Reader)

Almost exactly one year ago IU and Seulgi finished their competition. The question was, who is the biggest slut? Seulgi won that day. But soon after, the two of them realized that they aren't the only idols who like to fuck around. Now, four idols are competing for the title of biggest slut. IU, Seulgi, Jennie and Somi. And because it takes too long for one person to do one mission, the four of them agreed on having several missions going on at the same time, while keeping track of who completed the most.

Jennie reaches over to take Somi's hand, getting off on the fact that she isn't the only one getting fucked like some cheap whore. The two of them didn't plan on doing this together, but it's turning out to be perfect.

"Fuck, yes!"

Somi moans, staring at herself in the mirror in front of her.

"Pound that pussy like you own it."

The man behind her is holding onto her waist with both his hands. He is a waiter at the restaurant they're currently in. Or rather, the restaurant restroom.

"Yes, make me take your cock."

Jennie sighs, feeling another stranger's hand in her hair. He is pulling at it, while his other hand presses down on the flat of her back, making her lean on the sink.

"Kiss me."

Somi slightly pulls at Jennie's hand. The two bent over women turn their heads towards each other. Their moans get louder as they now see each other's expressions.

"Fuck. This is so hot."

Jennie is able to whisper, before Somi attaches her lips to Jennie's. The two of them make out, moaning into each other's mouths while getting fucked from behind. Jennie can taste the wine they had earlier on Somi's lips.

"Oh fuck yes."

Somi mumbles into the other girl's mouth as the guy behind her reaches into her dress. She feels his hand knead and play with her tits, which were already spilling out of her dress anyway. He gives both of them equal attention while occasionally pinching her nipples, which makes her bite Jennie's lip.

The later eventually breaks the kiss when the man behind her starts to slap her ass. The hem of her dress is bunched up around her waist for a while now and he couldn't resist her full cheeks anymore.

"Your ass is amazing."

He groans, giving her another spank.

"Fuck, I'm such a bad girl. Hit me harder."

Jennie begs and feels his hand meet her ass again just a second later.

Somi watches her friend and competitor getting spanked again and again, which makes her even hornier. Her own dress is bunched up at her waist as well. She's about to ask the waiter to hit her too, but he pulls out of Somi and turns her around. Lifting her up, he places her on the sink. The two of them stare into each other's eyes as he pushes his cock back into her pussy. Somi moans in response, one hand diving down to rub her own clit. The two of them make out while he fucks her, his arms tightly wrapped around her waist.

Jennie's ass turns red due to the constant spanking. Her cheeks sting. The man's cock hits just the right spot again and again, pushing her against the edge of the sink over and over. Jennie can feel how her own orgasm is building up. She loves how slutty she is right now. Just bent over in a restaurant's bathroom, a stranger spanking her while using her pussy for his own please.

"Oh, you're so deep!"

Somi cries out as the waiter leans down to suck on her exposed neck. His hands have moved to her ass and whenever he pushes inside of her, he pulls her lower body towards him. His cock is now even deeper inside of her, making Somi's head roll back against the mirror behind her.

"Jennie - fuck, you're tight - I'm gonna cum."

She can feel his irregular rhythm already, telling her that he won't be lasting much longer.

"I want it all over my face."

Jennie moans as he pulls out. With shaky thighs, she gets down.

Just moments later, the waiter is about to cum too.

"Paint my face. I want it all."

Somi gets off the sink with a little more elegance than Jennie. The two girls squat in the middle of the bathroom, back to back. The back of their heads rest against each other as the two of them open their mouths. Jennie closes her eyes, while Somi looks straight up at the waiter. She gives him one last wink, while letting her tongue glide along her lips. Her hands cup her own tits through the thin fabric of her black dress

"Fuck."

He groans and a second later, he shoots his load all over Somi's face. Most of it hits her mouth and her cleavage. Some even makes it to the bridge of her nose. Her lips and her tits are painted white.

The man who is standing in front of Jennie cums soon after. His cum mostly lands on Jennie's eyes and inside her mouth, with only one long string of cum that decorates her nose.

"Wow, that was amazing."

Somi has to hold herself back from licking the cum off her lips.

"Thank you guys."

"You're my number one fan."

Jennie smiles up at the man who just came on her face, only managing to open one eye.

As soon as they're gone, Jennie and Somi stand in front of the mirrors behind the sinks and take out their phones, ready to send the proof of their completed missions into the group chat.

Jennie has pulled down the hem of her dress again. The eye she can't open, due to the cum on it, is hidden behind the phone, while the rest of the man's load covers her face.

"Accomplished mission: Make a Blink cum on your face."

Moments later, Somi sends her own selfie into the chat as well. The cum on her tits is clearly visible. She moves her head to show off the waiter's hickey on her neck, which he left there before, and licks some of his jizz off her lips.

"Let a random waiter fuck you in the restaurant he works at."

Jieun takes a slow breath and then rings the doorbell.

After Jennie and Somi sent in their mirror selfies, they were supposed to give her and Seulgi their respective missions. But before it came to that, IU got a text from a CEO, who's company sponsors her from time to time. Somi was disappointed when she heard that another rich guy asked IU for a sexual favor. Jieun herself doesn't really mind. She doesn't care if it's the CEO's favor or Somi's mission as long as she gets some form of sex out of it.

She looks down on herself one last time, when she hears footsteps inside. Jieun is just wearing a basic school uniform with a white shirt and white pullover over it, a red chequered skirt and simple sneakers. This isn't a "some old guy is into school girls" situation. The CEO's son hasn't had sex before and his father is afraid he is too shy to ever make it happen. That's why IU is here. To be his first time and hopefully build him up for future possibilities.

When the door finally opens, Jieun smiles at the young man standing in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Jieun. Your father asked me to tutor you."

"Y-Yes, hello."

She can tell that he is very shy and awkward while he guides her towards his room.

The two of them sit on two chairs next to each other at his desk, while IU watches him doing his homework. She knows he will eventually realize she isn't a student, since she hasn't done any school stuff in so long. So she needs to act, before he becomes suspicious.

Jieun catches him flinching when she slowly crosses her legs, making sure her skirt rides up a little higher. One hand grazes along her smooth skin as if she's tempting him to touch her.

"I have to admit, I'm happy your father asked me to tutor you."

"Oh...really?"

"Yes, I saw you a couple of times in school but..."

She tugs her hair behind her ear, playing coy.

"But I didn't know how to talk to you."

Jieun watches him, clearly satisfied with his reaction.

"Well...I...I...Here I am."

His stuttering almost makes her chuckle, but she can't show too much confidence and experience. She has to pretend to be a girl his age.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

He hesitates but then nods his head.

"I searched for other boys before but no one..."

She trails off, almost leaving him hanging. His homework is already forgotten as he stares at her, waiting for her to continue.

"No one at school can satisfy me."

"Do...Do you mean..."

Jieun smiles at his wide open eyes.

"I'm hoping I finally found the one who can help me out."

She reaches for his hand and slowly guides it to her legs. IU hears his breath hitch as his hand lies on top of her leg. She watches his face as she slowly pushes his hand across her thigh.

This is almost way too easy. But she doesn't mind at all. She doesn't expect him to last long anyway. It's gonna be an easy mission.

"Please touch me here."

She says with her sweet voice as his hand meets her skirt.

"I...I don't if I-"

IU silences him by kissing his lips. She can tell he's never had a girlfriend. Slowly moving his hand further, she makes it disappear inside her skirt.

He feels his fingers brush against her panties, excitement rising in him. Following her movements, he starts to rub Jieun through the thin fabric.

"Yes, that's it."

She pulls back with a smile, leaving him breathless.

"You're doing great."

Jieun can feel her own arousal rising as his hand keeps stimulating her clothed clit.

"Do it a little harder."

She encourages him, hoping he'll get more confident. A moan leaves her lips as he does what she told him. She knows best what gets her going and helps him learn it too.

"Just like that."

She sighs, slowly melting into the chair.

The young student feels her panties getting damp as he keeps rubbing her through the fabric.

"You want to feel it?"

Jieun's question catches him off guard. But eventually he nods.

"You want to feel my pussy?"

"Y-Yes."

Her lewd words make him stutter. Or maybe it's the excitement. He stops his movements for a moment. IU pulls her panties to the side. Biting her lip, she silently tells him to keep going.

One of his fingers slowly penetrates her lower lips, making her gasp.

"That's right. You feel how tight I am for you?"

He nods again, unable to speak much. He's too much in awe about what's going on. The tutoring turned into something sexual within seconds.

"Just move in and out. Slowly."

He follows her guidance, making IU's head roll back. His finger moves back and forth inside of her, making her lower lips glisten with arousal.

"Put your thumb on my clit."

She sighs as she's starting to feel better and better. The boy tries to find it, but his thumb doesn't hit the right place. Jieun reaches down again, placing it right above her pussy on her clit.

"Now do circles on it."

She soon feels heavenly as his finger slides in and out of her snatch, while his thumb circles around her clit. Her breathing becomes a little quicker, the longer he pleasures her.

Jieun catches the outlines of his cock in his pants as he gets hard. She moans, excited to see if he feels as big as he looks.

"Yes, more pressure."

She sighs, helping him making her feel good. He is getting a little rougher now. And quicker. Which makes her let out another moan.

"Just like that."

It doesn't take much longer until IU experiences a small orgasm. Her walls hug his finger, which is already coated in her slick. Her thighs shake and a drawn out moan leaves her lips.

"Good boy."

She sighs, before remembering she is supposed to pretend she's his age.

Jieun feels his hand still on her pussy as she reaches out to cup his crotch.

"Let's get these off of you."

She tugs at his pants, which makes him jump into action. A second ago, he was just watching her riding out her small orgasm, now his hand leaves her pussy so he can get rid off his clothing as quick as possible.

When he pulls off his underwear too, a satisfied smile plays around Jieun's lips. She reaches out, wrapping her hand around his hard cock. His head immediately rolls back and he bucks up into her hand.

IU loves his reaction. This inexperience and desperation makes her want to get on top of him immediately.

"You definitely have a nice cock."

He groans in response as she strokes him.

"I bet your cock and my pussy would be a perfect fit."

Even just the idea of him inside of her has his blood rush even quicker through his dick. Jieun can feel it, which makes her stroke him a little faster.

She eventually leans over his lap and lets some of her build up saliva fall onto his tip. He sighs as she uses her fingers to spread it all over his cock, making her hand around his cock feel even better. He starts to thrust upwards into her hand as she keeps going.

"You're so hard. I bet it's gonna feel amazing inside me."

She whispers into his ear and kisses his cheek afterwards. His breath quickens and suddenly Jieun can feel his cock pulsating in her hand. For a moment she thinks about stopping, but she can't help herself. She wants to see what he looks like while he cums.

"Are you gonna cum for me?"

He gives her a shy nod, too embarrassed to admit he's already reaching the edge. His hands are holding onto the edges of his chair, while IU's hand keeps going up and down his cock.

"I want all of it."

She whispers again, her lips meeting his ear.

"Give it to me."

With a loud groan, the young boy climaxes. His cum leaves his cock, covering IU's entire hand with sticky semen.

She gasps, but keeps stroking him, making him squirm a couple of seconds, before slowly letting go.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't want-"

"It's fine, sweetie."

Jieun winks, amused by his genuine disappointment.

She raises her hand and to his surprise starts to lick his cum off her skin.

"Delicious."

She says between licks.

The student can feel his cock stirring again at the sight. Some girl sucking his cum off her fingers has been one of his fantasies and he can't believe it's actually happening.

Once she cleaned up everything, Jieun slides off the chair. His eyes wide when she drops to her knees under the table.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Don't be so surprised."

She smiles up at him, her wet hand wrapping around his cock again.

"We need to make you hard again. How else are you going to fuck me?"

Red embarrassment covers his cheek as he watches her taking his cock into her mouth. Jieun's head just barely misses the wooden desk above her as her head begins to bob up and down. At first he still feels a little uncomfortable due to the over stimulation, but within moments he closes his eyes, unable to bare the pleasure that IU's mouth sends through his system. He never got a blowjob before and he doesn't know how to react. His body urges him on to push his hips forward. He wants her mouth to swallow all of his cock. He needs to feel that tongue circling around every last bit of his dick.

It doesn't take long until he is fully hard again. Jieun knows she's walking a fine line between getting him hard and making him unload inside her mouth. But she manages to pull his cock out of her mouth when she feels him bucking more and more towards her mouth.

He holds his breath in anticipation as he watches Jieun get up from underneath his desk. She straddles him afterwards, his wet cock resting against her skirt.

"Do you want to feel my pussy, sweetie?"

It seems like his shyness has vanished. For the most part. He vigorously nods at her question, excited for his first time with someone as beautiful as she is.

Jieun lifts her skirt, giving him a peek of her flawless folds, before she lifts herself off his lap and hovers above his hard cock. Only a moment later, his tip grazes her wet lower lips and Jieun sinks herself down onto his cock. Very slowly, she makes her way down his length. She holds her breath while she takes it all.

The young boy grabs her waist with both hands, needing something to hold onto. He always dreamed about having sex and how good it must feel. But this is way better than he had ever imagined. Jieun's tight, silk like walls hug his shaft. Her lips seem to suck him in, while her juices begin to coat his dick. He didn't expect her to be this smooth on the inside. But it makes it easier for the both of them.

Soon, IU has taken all of his cock, her hips meeting his. She sits on his lap for a couple of moments, letting out a heavy breath.

"Not bad at all."

She leans in and captures his lips. The two of them make out for a while and she slowly starts to grind her hips in circles. It makes him groan into her mouth, his grip on her waist tightens.

"You want to bounce me on your cock? Make me take it all again and again?"

Jieun can feel his reaction to her dirty talk as soon as the words leave her lips. He grows harder inside of her, his eyes begging her for permission.

"Do it. Use me like a fleshlight."

He can easily lift her up, raising her almost high enough to let his tip slip out of her pussy. But he pulls her back into his lap soon enough, making her take all of it in one go.

"Oh, just like that."

Jieun's heavy breath makes him do it again. He can't get enough of the look of pure lust on her face whenever he impales her on his cock. She lets him have control over the pace, just enjoying the way he uses her pussy to basically jerk himself off. She barely weighs anything in his hands and so he naturally begins to pick up the pace. Jieun's breaths leave her lips in shorter intervals. Her hands lightly rested on his shoulders at first, but are now digging into his skin as his dick fills her up again and again.

"God, you're huge."

IU can't help but moan again. She didn't expect him to have such a nice cock and he is filling her up really well.

When he realizes that he might not hold out much longer, he leans forward and buries his face inside her neck. A sigh escapes her lips as his own latch onto her skin. He is now trying to get the most out of this, before all of it is over. Her hands find his hair, slightly tugging at it as she feels him pulsating inside of her.

"Yes, sweetie. Cream pie your tutor, yes."

She moans, her head rolling back. Jieun knows he is only moments away. Instead of pulling her down, he is now straight up letting her fall into his lap and onto his cock. His length part her walls again and again, until finally he stops lifting her up.

IU yelps in pain and surprise when she feels him biting her neck. His orgasm overwhelms him, making him shoot rope after rope of cum into her tight pussy.

After the initial shock, Jieun realizes how hot it is. His teeth digging into her skin, his cum warming her insides and his hips jerking upwards, trying to get every single drop into her pussy.

She smiles as the front door closes behind her. Jieun can still feel the young boy's cum inside her pussy, while some is now dripping into her panties. After he came in her and they got dressed again, it got a little awkward, but she eventually said that she enjoyed herself, but has to leave.

She reaches for her phone, about the declare to the other three girls that she accomplished her mission, when she sees a car park in the driveway. The boy's father steps out of it and walks towards her. Seems like he just got home.

The two of them bow to each other and there's a moment of awkward silence, before he speaks up.

"Did he enjoy himself?"

IU nods, this time being the one who's slightly shy.

"Great. Thanks for your help."

His tone makes it clear that he is asking her to get on her way.

"Have a nice day."

She gives him another quick bow and walks past him. A couple of steps later, she hears him calling her back.

"Wait."

She turns around.

"Since you're here already..."

She sees him looking her up and down.

"Might as well have a go myself."

He grabs her hand and twirls her around, making Jieun land in his arms and against his chest. Before she can speak up, he turns the two of them around and pins her face first against the wall of his house, right next to the front door.

Without another word, he undoes his belt and opens his pants. She doesn't fight it as she feels his hand slightly lifting up the hem of her skirt. Actually, she's excited. It was fun having sex with his son, but there's was something missing. She likes to get used and dominated and this guy doesn't seem to care about anything but her pussy at all. Perfect.

He pulls her panties to the side and a moment later his tip penetrates IU's freshly fucked pussy. His cock is about the same size as his son's, which makes her moan against the wall.

"Fuck, you're still so tight."

He groans into her ear, while fucking her outside in broad daylight. Anyone could walk past and even his son could get out of the house. But he doesn't seem to care. He just uses her pussy from behind, her soft cheeks clapping against his hips whenever he pushes into her.

"You like getting fucked by two different guys in a row, don't you, slut?"

"Yes, I love it."

IU moans, not sure if the warmth she's feeling is shame, arousal or his son's cum.

"I'm sure you do. You're taking it like such a good girl."

He keeps calling her names while fucking her from behind. One of her cheeks is pressed against the wall and she can feel it's profile slowly getting imprinted into her skin.

After a while, she finally feels him messing up his rhythm. He keeps going, but she can tell he won't last much longer.

"Fuck, your little pussy is begging for my cum, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

IU responds, feeling her pussy tightly holding onto his cock.

"Cream pie me. I need it so bad."

She feels him push into her one last time, groaning into her ear as he unloads his cum deep into her pussy. His weight keeps pressing her against the wall, until he finally takes a step back after he recovers. Once he pulled out, he puts his pants back on. He slaps Jieun's ass, making her jump, before walking inside his house without another word.

IU's legs suddenly shake and she has to hold onto the wall for support. A dumb smile plays around her lips, her body still weak after the pounding she just took. Taking out her phone, she lifts up her skirt, pulls her panties to the side and takes a picture of her cum filled pussy. She sends the picture into the group chat.

"The guy and his son both cream pied my cunt."

Seulgi nervously bites her lip as she knocks on the dressing room door of her crush. Her task is easy, but difficult at the same time. To put into Jennie's words:

"Fuck someone that one of your members has a crush on."

She hears his voice on the other side of the door as he walks over, telling her to wait for just a moment.

Seulgi thought about Joy's boyfriend as a possible candidate for just a second. She doesn't remember Yeri or Wendy having a crush she found sexy, so she considered him. But she didn't want to ruin his and Joy's relationship. And then she remembered last week. Where Irene told her that she has a crush on the same guy as Seulgi. That one guy in the same company as her younger brother. You introduced her to him once, when they met coincidentally backstage. Both her and Irene seem to have found him attractive.

Irene doesn't have to know about this though.

When the door opens, Seulgi makes a bold move. She knows how sexy she looks with her short hair and her outfit makes her confident enough to just go for it.

Her lips meet the male idol's mouth, before he can even smile at her. She doesn't know if he recognized her, but she doesn't care. Her tongue invades his mouth a second later as she invites herself into his room. He can barely close the door as Seulgi overwhelms him. Not sure if it's properly closed, he tries to get Seulgi off of him, but she clings to him and makes him stumble backwards, further into the room.

When his legs hit the chair he was sitting on, he finally gives in. He barely recognized her, but he doesn't mind at all. He only had eyes for her during Red Velvet's performance and is now glad she is suddenly sitting in his lap.

As they continue to make out, Seulgi eventually starts to grind her hips on him. His hands move to her waist. When they do have to break away for air, Seulgi lets out a gasp, feeling his hard dick underneath her. Moments later, he buries his face in her neck, too turned on to question her.

Seulgi sighs and moans as he licks her skin. Not just her neck, but also her shoulders and collarbone. He even lets his tongue dance along the top of her breasts. She's still sweaty from the performance and he can taste the saltiness on her skin. The longer he licks her, the wetter Seulgi becomes. His dick keeps rubbing against her whenever she moves.

"Can you -oh god- please...My-My pits."

She asks, a shameful blush on her cheeks. But he doesn't seem to mind at all. Moments later, his tongue moves upwards, diving underneath one of Seulgi's armpits. She keeps her arm raised, her head rolls back as she takes in the feeling of her crush worshipping her body. He eventually switches to the other side, making her moan out again.

Once he cleaned her whole upper body, Seulgi can't hold back anymore. His cock rubbing against her through both their pants and his tongue all over her skin have left her a hot mess. She slides off his lap and onto the floor, her hands on his belt a second later.

"Damn, Seulgi. I didn't expect you to be this forward."

He groans as she takes his pants off.

Seulgi gives him a shy smile, but is too distracted by his cock to answer. She quickly leans down and takes it into her mouth. Her lips wrap around his length and she soon begins to bob her head up and down. He reaches down to take a fistful of Seulgi's short hair, fighting the urge to just use her mouth like a cheap toy. Seulgi seems to have that affect on him. He just wants to ruin her.

He watches as she keeps sucking him off, her hands slowly leaving his cock and wandering to her top, ready to take it off. His eyes are glued to her, ready to take in every inch of her skin. Seulgi reveals her breasts, her mouth still around his cock, and bunches her top down around her waist.

"How are you this sexy?"

He lets out a sigh as he takes in the view of a half naked Seulgi sucking his cock. She gives him a proud smile, unable to not feel flattered. Doubling her efforts, she keeps taking all of his cock into her mouth, even when it hits the back of her mouth. She doesn't seem to care, her whole focus being on how tasty his cock is.

He reaches down, playing with her breasts as she lets her lips go up and down on his cock. The more he touches them, the quicker she moves her head. Soon, his whole cock is coated in her spit, while Seulgi's thighs shake due to his hands on her tits.

"Get back up here."

He half lifts, half guides her back onto his lap. The two of them quickly get rid off her pants too, leaving Seulgi completely naked. A moment later, she lowers herself onto his cock. She lets out a sigh, needing to get accustomed to his length inside her.

"You look even sexier than before."

He praises her, before leaning in to feast on her skin once more. His lips trail down her neck, past her collarbone and eventually find her tits. Seulgi moans loudly when he starts to suck on them, while she starts riding him. She bounces up and down with her nipples now in his mouth, one after another.

By now, she's already forgotten about her mission. She doesn't care that Irene likes him too. She just wants his cock to be even deeper inside of her. As deep as it can go. Her hand on the back of his head keeps pushing his face into her tits.

"I need it deeper."

She moans, desperate for all of his cock inside of her. He moves his hands from her waist to Seulgi's ass and begins to dictate the pace. His movements make her own harder and rougher as he bounces her on his cock again and again. Her head rolls back and her eyes close as he makes her take his cock without a break. Her nails start to scratch his back through his shirt as even louder moans escape her mouth.

"Oh my god. It feels so good."

She can't keep quiet with him inside of her tight pussy.

Irene looks around the dressing room one last time before closing the door behind her. Seulgi excused herself about 15 minutes ago and hasn't come back since. She takes a walk past several different rooms, looking for her friend. They still have to get back to the company and they can't do that when one person is missing.

"Have you seen Seulgi?"

She asks one of the staff members, who hopefully points her in the right direction.

Irene rounds the next corner, checking out the last possible dressing rooms. When she reaches the next one, she realizes the door is slightly ajar. She wonders if Seulgi is inside, but then hears weird sounds. Heavy breathing, moans, as if someone is clapping...

Irene's eyes widen when she realizes someone is having sex in that room.

"Oh, yes. Deeper!"

She is shocked when she recognizes Seulgi's voice. Is she having sex? Here?

Irene carefully opens the door a little more. She freezes when she sees Seulgi half lying half kneeling on the floor. Her ass is up in the air, her head resting on her arms, which are lying on the floor. Irene sees whom she's having sex with. The man is kneeling behind her, fucking her from behind, while Seulgi moans and moans.

Irene can only watch for a moment, before closing the door and leaning against the wall next to it. How could Seulgi do this? Only a week ago Irene finally admitted to having a crush on him. She couldn't keep her eyes off him for a month, before she finally had to tell someone. And now, one week later, Seulgi is on his dressing room floor, getting plowed by him?

Fuming, Irene walks away. She doesn't see straight as she walks without destination. It's not just the fact that Seulgi is having sex with Irene's crush. It's about her broken trust. She told her that intimate piece of information, because she trusted her. And now Seulgi still decided to fuck him?

How could she do this?

It’s not just about the physical act she witnessed, though the image is seared into her mind. It’s the betrayal. Seulgi had known how much Irene liked him, how vulnerable she felt sharing that secret, and yet she still chose to sleep with him.

Irene stops walking, leaning against the cool metal railing of an empty stairwell. Her chest heaves with anger, her hands gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She had no right.

"You're so damn tight."

Seulgi smiles into her arm as he groans his praise. But his relentless pounding makes her thighs weaker and weaker. Eventually, her knees slide away from underneath her and she lies flat on the floor. That doesn't stop him though. He leans over her to get the right angle and keeps fucking Seulgi into the hard surface beneath her.

"Yes! Ruin me!"

She cries out, her whole body keeps heating up as the man on top of her buries his cock as deep inside of her as it would go.

Another position change has Seulgi sitting in his lap. Her back is facing him, which he licks and bites while she rides him. His hands play with her ass, giving it an occasional slap here and there.

"Your ass looks amazing, Seulgi. I couldn't keep my eyes off it while you were dancing."

The compliment makes Seulgi bite her lip. Her pussy tingles in excitement.

"Do you really like it?"

"Yes, it's the best."

He groans when he feels her tighten around his cock. His complements make Seulgi feel sexier. She acts more freely. She moves her ass a little more while she rides him. She circles her hips a little to show off a slight jiggle.

"Fuck, I'd love to put my cock in your ass."

His moaned confession eventually makes Seulgi let out a sigh of pleasure as a small orgasm washes through her. Her wet pussy clamping down around his cock brings him to the edge as well.

"That felt amazing."

She moans, already noticing how is cock is starting to pulsate inside of her.

"Are you gonna paint my ass?"

She feels bolder now, encouraged by his earlier compliments.

"Would love to."

He groans, already starting to have trouble holding on. Seulgi leans forward, shifting her weight onto her arms, which gives her ass an additional bounce. The sight mixed with her tight cunt around his cock finally makes him climax. He pulls out just in time. His load hits Seulgi's ass, painting her cheeks.

Irene's phone vibrates in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. She fishes it out and sees Seulgi’s name flashing on the screen. The sight only fuels her anger, and she declines the call, shoving the phone back into her pocket.

What now?

The question rings in her mind, sharp and persistent. She could confront Seulgi, demand an explanation, but what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t undo what she saw. It wouldn’t erase the feeling of betrayal clawing at her chest.

No, she needed to do something else. Something that would make Seulgi understand exactly how it felt to be betrayed by someone she trusted.

But how?

Irene’s thoughts race as she takes the stairs up to the rooftop, the cold evening air hitting her like a slap when she steps outside. She paces along the edge, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

If Seulgi could take something Irene wanted, then maybe Irene should take something Seulgi cares about.

That’s when the idea strikes her.

Her brother.

The thought feels reckless and absurd at first, but the more Irene considers it, the more it makes sense. Seulgi’s younger brother isn't just some random person. You're an idol, a rising star in the industry, and someone Seulgi deeply cares about.

Irene bites her lip, leaning against the railing as she thinks it through. She knows you well enough. The two off you have crossed paths at events, exchanged polite smiles and small talk. You're charming in that shy, boyish way, but also confident when you're performing.

But would you even be interested in her?

The thought lingers, and for the first time since leaving the dressing room, Irene feels a flicker of uncertainty. You're younger. By a lot. What if you think of her as nothing more than Seulgi’s older friend?

She shakes her head, dismissing the doubt. She’s seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching, the way your smile lingers a little too long when you talk. There’s something there, even if you don’t realize it yet.

Later that evening, Irene receives a text from Seulgi. She left earlier, before Seulgi came back to their dressing room. At first she thinks about ignoring her, but maybe it's something important.

"My brother is heading to your area for a late-night shoot. He might need a place to crash if things run late. Mind helping him out?"

It’s almost too perfect. Irene’s heart pounds as she types her reply, keeping her tone casual

"Of course. Let me know if he needs anything."

Hours later, there’s a knock at her door. Irene smooths her hair one last time before opening it, her expression warm and welcoming.

You're standing there, looking slightly nervous but grateful, a duffle bag slung over your shoulder.

“Thanks for letting me crash, noona."

You say, your voice polite.

“The shoot went later than expected, and I didn’t want to bother Seulgi.”

“No bother at all."

Irene replies, stepping aside to let you in.

“You’re always welcome here.”

The two of you sit in the living room for a while, making small talk as Irene pours you a cup of tea. She watches you carefully, noting the way your shoulders relax as you talk about your group’s recent comeback and the chaos of your schedules.

“You must be exhausted."

Irene says, her tone soft.

“You’ve been working so hard lately.”

You shrug, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s all part of the job.”

Irene leans forward slightly, her eyes meeting yours.

“You shouldn’t push yourself too hard. You deserve to take a break every now and then.”

Her words hang in the air, and she sees the faint flicker of hesitation in your expression.

“Thanks. I guess I’ve just been so focused lately, I don’t think about it much.”

Your voice is quieter now.

Irene shifts closer, her fingers lightly brushing against your arm as she places her empty teacup on the table. The touch is subtle, but deliberate, and she feels you stiffen slightly under her hand.

“You know, it’s nice having you here. It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to talk like this.”

You glance at her, your expression a mix of surprise and something else.

“Yeah."

Your voice barely above a whisper.

Irene smiles, leaning back slightly but keeping her gaze fixed on yours.

“I always thought you were different from your sister. More... grounded.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but genuine.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“And maybe a little shy."

Irene adds, her tone teasing but gentle.

You looks down, your cheeks faintly pink.

“Maybe a little.”

The conversation drifts to lighter topics, but the tension lingers, an unspoken undercurrent that neither of you address. Irene knows she’s planted the seed, and now she just has to wait.

When you excuse yourself to get ready for bed, she watches you go, her mind racing with the possibilities.

This is just the beginning, she thinks, her lips curving into a faint smile.

The clock ticks softly in the quiet apartment. The dim glow of a streetlamp filters through the blinds, casting faint shadows across the living room. You stir on the sofa, your dreams fleeting and restless. Despite your exhaustion, your mind can't stop circling back to Irene. Her presence earlier in the evening, her words, the way she moved. It clings to you, refusing to fade.

Sleep finally escapes you altogether. Frustrated, you sit up, running a hand through your disheveled hair. The soft hum of the refrigerator in the adjacent kitchen beckons, and you decide a glass of water might help calm your restless mind.

You flick on the light, the brightness temporarily blinding you. Blinking rapidly, you turn toward the counter. And freeze.

She’s there. Irene. Standing just a few feet away, leaning against the counter with a glass of wine in her hand. Her dark outfit clings perfectly to her figure, the lace tights catching the light just enough to accentuate her long legs. Her expression is calm but unreadable, her eyes watching you intently.

“I couldn’t sleep."

She says simply, her voice low and smooth. The way she speaks makes it sound as though her inability to sleep had been expected, as if her presence here in the middle of the night were entirely natural.

You stare at her, your heart beating faster, though you can’t quite say why.

“Noona, what... what are you doing here?”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, the kind that holds more secrets than answers. She takes a slow step toward you, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. The sound reverberates in the stillness, each step measured and deliberate.

“I was thinking."

She replies, setting the glass down on the counter.

“You’re an interesting guy, you know that?”

You blink, taken aback.

“Me? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act so modest.”

Her gaze flicks to you, sharp and unwavering. “You’ve grown up a lot. It’s hard not to notice.”

Her words hang in the air, and you feel a sudden weight on your chest. Irene rarely talks like this. So direct, so... focused. You struggle to find something to say, but the words stick in your throat.

She takes another step closer, closing the distance between you until she’s standing just a few feet away. Her presence feels overwhelming, like she’s taken up all the oxygen in the room. She tilts her head slightly, her long hair falling over her shoulder as she studies you.

“You’re a good looking guy."

She says softly, her tone almost teasing.

"You must know that.”

You feel heat rising to your face, unsure how to respond.

“I... I guess.”

Her smile widens slightly, though it still doesn’t reach her eyes. She reaches out slowly, her movements unhurried, and places a hand lightly on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but you feel rooted to the spot, unable to move.

“You had this coming."

She says, her voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper.

Before you can ask what she means, Irene steps back slightly, raising her leg in one smooth, controlled motion. Her heel presses lightly against your shoulder, keeping you pinned against the backrest of the sofa. Your breath catches, your eyes widening as you look up at her.

“I hope you’re paying attention."

She says, her tone cool and commanding.

“Because I don’t like to repeat myself.”

"What-"

You feel her heel dig into your shoulder. You do your best to look at her face, but her long, lace covered legs draw your attention.

She must've caught your glance, an evil smile playing around her lip.

"Do you like how I look?"

You recognize the outfit. It's from one of her performance videos. The all black one. "Like" is an understatement.

"I-I guess..."

"No guessing, sweetie."

Irene's voice is low and cold, her shoe keeps you pinned against the backrest.

"Repeat after me."

She lets a finger dance along your cheek, her nail slightly digging into your skin.

"I love..."

"I-I love..."

You don't know where this is going. But you have a feeling. She's either gonna kill you, or sleep with you. You know which one of the choices you prefer. You thought about Irene like that before. But she never looked that dominant in your dreams.

"Irene noona."

"I-Irene noona."

You can't stop your voice from shaking a little. Which seems to amuse her.

"I want..."

"I want..."

"To make her happy."

"To make-To make her happy."

"Wasn't that hard, was it?"

She smiles, but it's not a warm smile. You feel her hand holding a fistful of your hair, keeping you in place.

"Now, you're going to sit here and watch me."

She reaches for the remote control on the coffee table and presses a button. The faint sound of music begins to fill the room. Her recent solo song.

"If you aren't rock hard at the end of the song, I'll punish you."

She finally puts her foot back to the floor, while you still feel the pressure against your shoulder.

"Badly."

Irene whispers into your ear, before stepping back. She holds eye contact as she begins to dance to the music. You feel your mouth slightly open as you watch her body move. The dance is overly sexual, showing off her flexibility and her body. Her long legs, her full thighs, her ass. You're sure you'll be more than hard enough once she's done.

She dances in front of you and eventually begins to use the things around her. First the coffee table. She sits on it, spreading her legs, while raising her arms. Your eyes are glued to her center. You never expected to see so much of her.

She gets off the table by turning around, showing off her ass as she pushes herself off the table with her hands. You could reach out and touch it, but you're too afraid that she could punish you.

After even more teasing, Irene finally settles down on your lap. You feel her core pressing against your crotch as she begins to grind on you.

"Touch me."

Her low voice makes you shiver, but you do as she says. You rest your hands on her lace covered legs. You're already as hard as possible, but she keeps going. Her hands hold onto you, her hips grind against yours, while your hands explore her body. You touch her thighs, her waist, even her tits through the black fabric.

"You like my body, don't you?"

Her cold stare quickly makes you nod.

"You want me to give myself to you, right? You want to have control over my body? Make me yours?"

You hesitate, not knowing what to say. Somehow her words are in contrast with her tone and her actions. Of course you'd love to use Irene like a a sex toy. But right now it feels more like you are her toy.

"Don't be shy. I want to hear you scream tonight."

An hour later, you feel blood on your lip. Irene knowingly chuckles into your mouth, before pulling back.

You should've known that she'd punish you. You were definitely as hard as possible once she was done dancing for you, but she decided that that wasn't good enough.

"I promise I'll let you cum this time."

Her evil smirk tells you that she won't be keeping her promise. She's been torturing you for the last hour. You're completely naked by now, while Irene is still wearing her tights and her heels. She ripped a hole into the lace right above her pussy.

But instead of guiding your cock inside of her again, she sits down next to you, lying her legs over your lap. She sandwiches your dick between her thighs, their fullness and the soft fabric make your hips buck upwards.

"Pathetic little boy."

She whispers into your ear, before biting your earlobe. It's not a light bite. It hurts. Just like your lip.

Irene started slow at first, after her dance. But her punishment exponentially increased. At some point, you were wondering if you were getting punished for something else. But you can't think of anything. You surely didn't do anything to upset her, right?

You groan when you feel her move her legs along your cock, her soft thighs making your breath hitch. Her lips dance along your skin, giving you small bites here and there. You wonder if you'll be covered in hickies tomorrow. You feel like she's bruising and marking your whole body.

"Do you like my thighs around your cock?"

You nod, not able to lie. They feel amazing. Of course not as good as her pussy, but their softness coupled with the lace makes your head starting to spin. She keeps moving, keeping you on the edge.

"Would you want to cum on them?"

All of Irene's questions sound like she's just waiting for you to get the answer wrong. There are definitely other places on her body you'd love to cum on more. But you nod your head again.

"I feel like you didn't mean that."

Before you can react, Irene sinks her teeth into your cheek. You hiss in pain and close your eyes. A couple of seconds later, she moves back again.

"Now tell me again. Would you want to cum on my thighs?"

"Y-Yes, noona."

"I'm still not sure if you're speaking the truth."

She whispers as she leans closer again.

"I-I'd love to cum on your thighs, noona. Please let me do it."

You quickly say, hoping she doesn't bite you again. Catching her smirk, you feel her reaching for your hand. She guides it towards her pussy.

"Make me cum and maybe I'll let you cum too."

You feel two of your fingers gliding inside of her wet cunt. Curling them upwards, you hit the small rough spot inside of you, which she showed you earlier.

"Right there."

She moans into your ear, her thighs still moving around your cock.

"You promised to make me happy."

She guild trips you into doing your best. You place your thumb on her clit, while you fingers move in and out of her pussy.

"Just like that."

Irene is getting dangerously close to your ear once again. You'd like to push her back a little, but you know the consequences would be even worse. So you just close your eyes when you feel her teeth on your earlobe again. You bite your lip while you continue to pleasure her. Her teeth and her thighs almost seem to cancel each other out. It doesn't hurt too much, but you also know you won't be able to cum from this. And she probably know it too.

"Be a good boy."

Irene whispers into your ear and you try to focus on fingering her. Her lips attach themselves to your neck and you can feel her sucking on your skin. That's definitely gonna leave a mark.

You unconsciously keep thrusting into the gap between her thighs, hoping for the release she's been denying you.

"Don't get greedy."

She kisses your naked shoulder, but also parts her legs a little more. You almost sigh in frustration as that amazing friction from her lace tights leaves your cock.

"You promised."

You catch yourself whining, which only results in Irene biting into your shoulder. You jerk away, your fingers almost leaving her pussy.

"Doesn't matter. You have no rights, baby."

She pushes your fingers back into her snatch. You resume your earlier efforts, while she starts licking and kissing your skin again. Maybe if you make her cum, she will let you cum too.

When Irene finally does climax, the only reward you get is her teeth in your shoulder again. For a moment, you're afraid she might actually bite a chunk of flesh out of your shoulder. But eventually she calms down, her thighs shaking. It feels amazing, because your cock is still trapped between them.

"At least you're good for something."

Her voice has that predatory tone to it.

Your shoulder still hurts when Irene moves around again. Excitement rushes through your veins when you watch her straddling your lap. Just the sight of her beautiful wet pussy, framed by the black lace, makes all your blood rush to your cock. She teases you by coming to a hold with her lower lips right above your tip.

"I can see how desperate you are for this pussy of mine."

You nod, your eyes glued to her center.

Irene lets her folds brush against your tip again and again, a little bit of her slick now clings to your cock.

"What are you willing to do for being inside of me for just one more minute?"

Her intense stare is focused on your eyes. You do your best to tear yours away from her pussy.

"Anything."

Your answer makes Irene smirk.

"Anything? Is my pussy that good?"

Her voice tells you that she knows the answer herself.

"It is."

"Oh, honey."

Irene leans down and captures your lips with hers. Her wet folds still brush against your tip whenever she moves her hips a little. She keeps the kiss short and lets her lips travel along your skin, until they reach your ear.

"Are you going to give it all up for my pussy?"

You have to hold back from just thrusting up into her cunt.

"Give what up?"

Your voice is shaking a little.

Irene bites your earlobe once more, which means she wants you to answer. Not question her.

"Yes. Yes I would."

You say through your teeth and Irene moves back again.

"Good."

You feel her lowering herself onto your cock. Your tip slowly parts her folds.

"I knew you'd give up your career for my pussy."

"Wait! What? I-"

Irene sinks herself onto your cock fully, making your eyes roll back. Her snatch seems to suck you in.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't you love my pussy?"

"I..."

You don't know what to say. Does Irene actually expect you to retire from being an idol? Or is this just some weird type of dirty talk? Her cunt is making your head spin as her walls drag along your cock. You can't think straight.

"Don't you love my pussy so much you want to cum in it?"

"I...I do but-"

"No buts."

Irene silences you by grabbing your chin.

"If you want to have my pussy again and again, you only need to do one thing."

By now, Irene has started to ride you, her walls hugging your length.

"Put a load in me."

She leans down, aiming for your lips. But instead of kissing you, she bites your lower lip, making you flinch.

"You're gonna cum in me. Breed me. Make me pregnant."

You want to say something, but you can't. Her hand on your chin and her pussy on your cock don't give you an opportunity to speak.

"Show everyone that my pussy is so good, you couldn't pull out. If anyone asks you if you and I are in love, say no. Just say how much you love my pussy."

Your hips thrust upward a little, almost making you groan. Her constant edging throughout the last hour is finally paying off. Your incoming orgasm is hard and unstoppable. You don't know if her words have anything to do with that, but you still try to fight it.

"I can feel it, baby. Your cock wants to cum in me too. Paint my tight pussy white. As soon as I know you got me pregnant, I'm gonna tell everyone who the father is."

You close your eyes, begging your body to stop itself. But deep inside, you know it's already too late. Up until now, you were still hoping that she was just playing around. But as her tight walls squeeze your cock, you realize that the two of you aren't using any protection. If you're unlucky...

"Yes, baby. Ruin my pussy with your huge load of cum."

Seulgi feels unease bubbling up inside of her. Her and IU are sitting at a table in a comfortable, small coffee place, waiting for the two girls. But Seulgi can't get the incident from earlier this morning out of her head.

She never thought Irene was the overly sexual type. She always expected her to be a little stuck up when it comes to sex. That's why she was so surprised when Irene sent a picture of herself into Red Velvet's group chat. It was a picture of the older woman taking a mirror selfie of herself. But she was naked and she had cum all over her face.

"Hope we can do this again", was the caption.

Before one of the other girls could say anything, Irene already deleted her message with a quick apology. But that wasn't the end for Seulgi. She might've ignored it, maybe would've found it a little odd at most. If it weren't for the fact that Seulgi's younger brother stayed over at Irene's place last night.

A cold shudder runs down her back as she just thinks about it. Irene would never. Right? You're Seulgi's brother after all. And she never thought of Irene being into younger guys. Maybe it was someone else?

Seulgi can't shake off this uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty, even when Somi and Jennie finally enter the coffee place.

"You're cutting it close, Somi."

IU speaks up, without properly greeting the two of them as they sit down across from Seulgi and her.

"Five minutes until your time is up."

Somi puts her back down with a mischievous smile on her face.

"I'm ready to go. Just want to make this a little more interesting."

The three girls watch how she puts her blonde hair into a ponytail.

"You're gonna do it here?"

Jennie asks, holding in her laugh.

"Yeah. I still have five minutes left, don't I?"

IU chuckles in disbelief.

"Good luck."

Somi winks at her and stands back up.

The three of them watch her walk towards another table. Two men are sitting there, drinking their coffees. Their table is too far away for the girls to hear what Somi is saying to them. But a moment later, Somi looks around the cafe and then drops to her knees and gets under their table.

"What a whore."

IU remarks with an amused smile on her face.

"Don't act innocent."

Jennie shoots back, her grin pulls Seulgi out of her thoughts about you and Irene. Before she saw her leader's picture in Red Velvet's group chat, Jennie sent a short video into their group chat too. A video of her lying on her bed with Jisoo, completely naked, riding her face. Therefore, Jennie completed her mission. Which means it's time for Seulgi's and IU's.

"Me and Somi know what the two of you did last year. And we think a second round sounds amazing."

"Second round?"

IU raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. We want a video of the two of you getting gangbanged."

Seulgi looks around, making sure no one heard Jennie. Her eyes land on Somi for a couple of moments, who looks like she's sucking off both guys under the table.

"Okay, I guess."

IU shrugs her shoulders.

"Do you think you can handle it?"

Her question is directed at Seulgi.

"We did it once, why not do it again? If I remember correctly, I was the winner."

IU rolls her eyes while Jennie shakes her head.

"Not exactly the same."

Seulgi glances at Somi again, who's stroking one guy's cock, while the other is pulling her head into his lap, before she looks back at Jennie.

"What do you mean?"

"This time, me and Somi came up with a number you have to invite."

"A number?"

"Yeah. One hundred."

IU scoffs.

"You want the two of us to get fucked by 100 strangers?"

"Yes."

A satisfied smile plays around Jennie's lips as Somi suddenly sits down next to her again.

"My mission is complete. On time."

Seulgi points at her own lips.

"You've got something here."

"Here you go. You're number 75."

IU hands the man in front of her a shirt with the number 75 on it.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Seulgi asks, while handing out the shirt with the 76 on it.

"We don't really have a choice, Seulgi. And no one will be here on a Sunday."

"Let's hope so. I don't want a student of the school or the janitor walking in on us while we get fucked by a 100 guys."

"Don't worry about it."

IU hands another man his shirt. The man with the number 80 reaches over the table, that the t-shirts are lying on, and places his hands on IU's clothed chest. A smirk plays around his lips.

"Not yet. We start once everyone is here."

Jieun waits for a couple seconds longer and then number 80 slowly removes his hand from her tits.

"Definitely gonna cum on those later."

She feels a rush of excitement and embarrassment in her body. IU looks after him, until the next guy stands in front of her.

"Hello everyone!"

Seulgi can barely contain the nervousness in her voice. She's used to speaking to much larger crowds than this one. But then again, those crowds usually aren't going to fuck her in a couple of minutes.

"We just want to lay down some rules before we start...."

IU adds.

But 10 minutes later, some of these rules are already broken. The two girls planned on going slow at first, but now IU already has two cocks in her hands and one in her mouth, while two guys try to fit both their cocks into Seulgi's mouth.

The two of them are still wearing most of their clothes with Seulgi's top bunched up above her tits and IU's top completely missing. The man with the number 2 on his shirt takes IU's head into his hands and starts to use her mouth. He fucks her face, while she does her best to keep stroking the guys on her left and right. She feels someone playing with her naked tits. Another man reaches under her skirt. He pushes her panties to the side without any teasing or foreplay whatsoever and carelessly puts his fingers into her pussy. IU moans around number 2's cock while he keeps fucking her face. She can barely see past the circle of men that is standing directly around her, but she knows there are dozens of men just waiting their turns.

Seulgi chokes and gags as the two men keep using her mouth. Her warm and wet cavern makes both of them groan and become even rougher with her. She feels all four of their hands in her hair, pulling at it while they fuck her face. Despite the two girls wanting to go slow, Seulgi can already tell someone is kneeling behind her. She feels his cock graze her ass cheeks underneath her skirt. She can't say anything, because of the two cocks inside her mouth. When she tries to reach behind her, someone grabs one of her hands and guides it towards his own cock. The guy behind her takes Seulgi's other hand, before she can hold onto him. His other hand pushes her panties to the side. Seulgi's eyes grow wide when she feels his cock push into her. Since she couldn't look back, she didn't even have an idea of how his cock looks like. But now she feels its length and girth inside of her, stretching her walls apart.

It only takes a couple of minutes longer until the men turn each of their bodies into a mess. By now, both of them are being fucked while kneeling on the ground of the high school's gym. The two men who were fucking Seulgi's face have had enough and are now lining up for her pussy. The man with the number 10 has taken their places. But instead of taking control, he's letting Seulgi worship his cock. His hand is in her hair, but only for support. He feels her tongue glide along the underside of his cock, while her lips are tightly wrapped around its length. Seulgi does her best to suck him off while getting fucked from behind. The man inside her pussy keeps holding onto her waist, making room for another man to grope her exposed tits. She flinches whenever he pinches her niples and can't help but moan when he massages her soft mounds.

While Seulgi still looks slightly decent, IU has already been ruined. The man who used her mouth didn't last long. He pulled out of her mouth while he came and shot half his load into her mouth and the other on her lips and chin. Before Jieun could wipe his cum off her skin, another man already reached for her face to thrust his cock into her mouth. Her ponytail has become messy already and her hairband is hanging on for dear life. The man fucking her pussy and the man fucking her face both have a hand in her hair each. They pull her head back and forth, just like the rest of her body.

Jieun moans louder when she suddenly feels a pair of lips wrap themselves around one of her nipples. She can feel the man's beard tickle her skin around it. Is that number 80? The guy who touched her tits earlier? She can't see his face or the number on his shirt. But 80 had a beard and she can feel him greedily sucking on her tits as the skin around it feels like it's being grazed by a brush.

"Can you let me through? I'm gonna cum."

Seulgi tries to look around after hearing the man's breathless confession. She sees him in the third row, trying to get to her. He is only wearing his shirt with the number 30 on it. He keeps stroking his cock. Seulgi can tell that he is quite young and she's happy to help him out. She slowly removes her mouth off 10's cock and motions for the men around her to give 30 a little space. When he finally reaches her, Seulgi expects him to shove his cock into her mouth too. But he surprises her by cuming as soon as he is only inches away. He shoots his load all over Seulgi's face, leaving the stunned woman's mouth hanging wide open. Nothing got into her eyes, but Seulgi can feel his thick, warm cum all over her cheeks, nose and chin.

"Oh my god."

She mumbles, about to reach for her face to wipe off some of his cum. But 10 takes a fistful of her hair again and treats her way rougher than before. Before Seulgi can say another word, he pulls her mouth onto his cock. He bites his lip as she looks up at him with wide open eyes, face covered in cum. Her luscious lips glide along his length once more, her tongue automatically dances around his cock.

"What a slut."

He groans while he keeps thrusting into her mouth. The man behind Seulgi keeps fucking her pussy and the two men rock her body back and forth, while Seulgi can see several men, stroking themselves while looking at her, through the corners of her eyes.

Jieun feels her hairband fall out of her hair as she gets fucked on both ends, just like Seulgi. She feels it hitting her naked back, before it falls to the ground. So far she's been on the floor on all fours, but now someone pulls her arms back. It makes IU's upper body lift higher. The man who's using her mouth groans in frustration as he pulls out. But once the man behind her has stopped changing her position, he pushes his cock back into her, parting her lips. Someone behind her uses the hairband to tie her wrists together. She sees someone else stepping forward and reaching for her hair. IU expects him to ask for s blowjob too, but instead he wraps her silk like hair around his hard shaft. Once most of his cock is covered, he uses her hair to jerk himself off.

Jieun never had anyone try this before. She doesn't really feel pleasure from it itself, but she gets off on knowing that her own body has so many parts that can pleasure a man. Her thoughts get interrupted by the man inside her pussy, who lets out a warning groan, before unloading into her pussy. She feels the warmth taking over her insides. Her thighs shake a little as she can only imagine how many more cream pies she'll receive today.

Seulgi feels the man's cock behind her pulsating inside her pussy as well. But before he can paint her cunt someone else stops him.

"Don't cum in her yet."

His deep voice makes Seulgi shudder. She remembers it from when her and IU were distributing the t-shirts. That's number 75.

"Fine."

The other man groans in disappointment but pulls out a couple seconds later and decides to paint Seulgi's lower back. She feels his semen stick to her skin. Even when her back is arched, most of it stays in place.

She feels 75's slightly larger hands on her ass now. Excitement and worry let her clit tingle. She can't look behind herself, because of 10's unstoppable thrusts into her mouth. Although she can feel him slowly getting there as well. Seulgi moans around his cock when she feels 75 pushing two fingers inside of her. Her pussy is already dripping wet and a moment later his fingers are covered in her slick. After a while he adds a third finger. Seulgi feels him finger fucking her faster, while the man inside her mouth finally comes to a hold. He groans and Seulgi feels his cock pulsating. She closes her eyes, preparing herself to swallow all of it. But just when he cums she gets surprised by 75's fourth finger. She feels her pussy getting stretched wider than before as 10 unloads down her throat. Seulgi chokes on his cum, too distracted by the four fingers inside her cunt.

Jieun would love to turn her head to see why Seulgi is choking, but the man fucking her face keeps her head in place. Someone else is fucking her cream pied pussy already and the man using her hair to jerk off seems to be close to an orgasm. She didn't expect someone to be able to cum from this, but she feels kinda proud.

"Oh, god! Not your whole fist!"

Seulgi's surprised and horrified shout makes IU moan around the cock in her mouth. She can only imagine what's going on and it only makes her even wetter. The man who's pushing the other guy's cum deeper and deeper into her pussy picks up the pace while holding onto her wrists.

Seulgi gasps and tries to calm her breath, which proves difficult with someone's cock inside her mouth. She tries to relax while feeling 75 pushing his whole fist into her pussy. Seulgi has never felt this stretched out before. She can't even find words on how to describe this feeling. He keeps pushing his fist further inside of her, while squeezing one of her ass cheeks with his free hand. The guy who has taken 10's place groans as he feels Seulgi's throat tighten around his cock as she tries to cry out. She's not really sure if it's pain or pleasure she is feeling.

"Get me that bottle over there."

She hears 75's low voice again. Only through a curtain of pleasure, Seulgi slowly realizes that he must be using a ton of lube. She feels him coming to a hold for now, her pussy gaping around his fist like never before. Seulgi can't even breathe properly with someone's dick in her mouth.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

The man who's using IU's hair groans and a few strokes later unloads all over her hair. His white cum makes the perfect contrast to her dark hair, its stickiness must be bad for her hair, but Jieun doesn't care. She's curious, wondering if anyone else would want use her hair to get off too.

Before she can spend another thought on that, the man inside her pussy orgasms as well.

"Oh, god."

Jieun sighs, her thighs quiver. She can't believe she's getting cream pied for the second time within minutes. Just like during her last mission with the CEO and his son. The memories make a mixture of her slick and the man's cum slowly run down her legs.

IU jumps when another man spanks her ass from behind without any warning. The slap was way too hard, leaving her breathless. Befor she can recover, the man, who has his cock in her mouth, orgasms as well. Another slap on her ass makes her choke on his cum as well, just like Seulgi earlier. Her cheeks burn after only two slaps, while she tries to catch her breath. The man who hit her spanks her two more times before he pushes his cock into her pussy.

"Damn, you really are nothing but a cum dumpster."

He groans, feeling two other men's loads mix with IU's juices. She moans in response, knowing how right he is. Three men just came because of her body, all in different places.

Someone grabs Jieun's chin, making her look up. She recognizes his face and catches the number 80 on his shirt. He guides her mouth towards his cock and parts her lips with his tip.

"Suck it, little cum dumpster."

Seulgi hears 75 squeezing the bottle of lube empty, all over his fist, which is almost completely inside of her, and most of his forearm. When he pushes further into her, she jolts forward, choking on the cock that is now deep down her throat. She never felt this violated and helpless. But that seems to be turning her on even more. He pushes his fist and now his forearm further into her pussy, widening her walls. 75 stretches her out to the limit and beyond.

"Fuck, that's so hot."

The man with his cock down Seulgi's throat can't hold back a second longer. He shoots his load into her body, making her taste the slightly salty bitterness. Her throat feels sticky, but once he pulls out, she can breath a little better. But his words keep ringing in her ears. She was so focused on the man's fist in her pussy that she completely forgot how many men are watching her right now. Shame, excitement, lust, pain, pleasure. They all wash through her. Not one after another, but all together. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and as 75 pushes another inch of his forearm past her wet lips, Seulgi orgasms hard. She squirts like a fountain, drenching 75's hand and arm in squirt. Her whole body shakes and squirms. A not so small puddle quickly appears underneath her on the gym floor.

Seulgi gasps after she finally comes back to her senses. She can't believe what just happened. It felt like she just lost half her body weight, so much did she squirt. She tries to catch her breath, but 75 is already moving again. Seulgi feels amazing yet weird. It's like she has no control of her body. As if 75 is using her like a glove, or rather like a puppet. His fist seems to make her move and moan and sigh without her being able to do anything against that. Her body is now his and she feels like he is silently telling her to climax again. It only takes her a couple of seconds after her first orgasm. Seulgi lets out a yelp and a moan and she cums again, drenching his fist and arm in her squirt once more.

IU does her best to make 80 proud, his words ringing in her ears. Her lips glide along his length again and again and her tongue is pressed to the underside of his cock. She makes him slip into her throat whenever she meets the base of his dick, making him groan. She remembers his promise from earlier and now IU really wants him to cum all over her tits. She can feel someone else playing with them idly, making her moan around 80's cock.

The man fucking her pussy keeps spanking Jieun after almost every thrust. She feels like her senses are being over stimulated. She wants to moan louder, but her mouth and throat are stuffed. She can't see it, but she can tell her cheeks are red by now. Every slap makes her ass sting and the man behind her doesn't seem to plan on stopping anytime soon. She can't hear how Seulgi orgasms and squirts all over the floor, despite her being only a few meters away. IU's own moans and the man's palm meeting her cheeks again and again are louder than Seulgi's cries.

The younger girl eventually comes down from her second high, her body still slightly shaking. Now 75 slowly starts to pull his forearm and his fist out of Seulgi's pussy. Her moans and her cries makes everyone who's watching stroke their cocks. No one dares to use her mouth while she lets out these beautiful moans. Which become higher and higher the longer 75 takes to pull his hand out of her pussy. She feels his knuckles drag along her velvet walls and eventually it's over.

Seulgi's body shakes as she almost experiences her third orgasm. She can feel everyone's eyes on her. Specifically her pussy. It's gaping. Anyone could put their whole fist into her now. For a second, Seulgi is afraid that it will never go back to normal. That he stretched out her pussy way too much. That it's completely ruined now. But it only takes three seconds, before her lips close again. Seulgi lets out a quiet sigh of relief. She feels 75 pull her pussy lips apart again. She can't help but let out a small moan. She still feels so full, despite being empty. All of the men behind her can see the whole insides of Seulgi's gaping pussy. Just the thought of that has her dripping wet.

She excepts 75 to now put his cock into her pussy, that's why she's suddenly surprised when she feels his tongue on her ass hole. Seulgi lets out a yelp. The sensation itself isn't new to her. But his tongue, coupled with the feeling of her gaping pussy makes it way better for some reason.

IU feels her body becoming weaker as she takes one pounding after another. 80 came down her throat instead of painting her tits like he promised at the beginning. But he told her he'd be back for a second time. The man who's hands are imprinted on her ass cheeks came inside of her as well, before making room for the next guy. IU's vision starts to become a little blurry as more and more guys use every part of her body like they own it. She is able to see how a man is sliding his cock in and out of Seulgi's ass, before a new guy shoves his cock between IU's lips. Jieun greedily starts to suck on it, still aware of the camera that is recording everything from one corner of the room. This might not be a proper competition, but IU remembers the loss she took last year. She set a personal goal for herself this time.

But three cream pies and two facials later, Jieun is completely drained. She can't do much else than take their cocks and let out weak moans. She wonders how Seulgi is doing, until she suddenly feels someone helping her to her feet. Her legs buckle and she can only stand by leaning against the man with the number 90. He seems to be guiding her towards Seulgi, who looks like she's in a similar state to IU.

The younger girl is still on all fours while sucking someone off as another man fucks her ass. After 75 gaped her pussy, he ate out her ass and fucked her afterwards. The next three guys all fucked and came inside her ass. Now 5 is the one who is thrusting in and out of her puckered hole. Seulgi is glad 75 didn't decide to gape her ass as well. It still feels like her pussy hasn't gone back to it's normal size, but she can't be sure. Her juices seem to leak out more freely than usual, but maybe that's the aftermath of squirting twice within a minute.

Seulgi does her best to satisfy the man who is stuffing his cock into her mouth, when she suddenly feels a new weight on top of her. Her arms and knees shake and she's afraid she'll hit the ground, but 5 stops fucking her ass, so she can concentrate on baring the new weight.

"They look amazing."

Someone behind her groans and only now does Seulgi realize that the dead weight on top of her is IU. Someone put her over Seulgi's back. Her head is hanging down on Seulgi's right, while her feet graze the floor to Seulgi's left. She's surprised she's able to stay in position. Not because of IU's weight, but Seulgi's state of mind and body. She feels like the cocks in her mouths and ass kinda hold her up, trapping her in this weird position, now that Jieun is lying on top of her. Did they tie her hands together?

Seulgi's train of thought is promptly interrupted when 5 begins to thrust into her ass again. She moans out, the tight ring of her muscles stretching around his cock just wide enough.

IU is in a worse state than Seulgi. She feels like her ability to take one pounding after another has decreased since last year. Through her blurry vision, she sees someone's feet in front of her. Without even thinking, she slowly opens her mouth, ready to take another face fucking. She's surprised when she suddenly feels wet cloth brush against her lips and tongue. It takes her a moment to realize that those are her panties. Simple pink cotton. No decorations. They now fill her mouth, making it a little bit harder to breathe. She feels someone's hand on her ass, making her moan out in response. Her moan gets suffocated by the panties inside of her mouth and a sound barely leaves her lips.

"Put Seulgi's into her pussy."

Jieun barely registers their laughter, before she feels something being stuffed into her pussy. She yelps in surprise. The unfamiliar feeling of having her mouth and pussy stuffed with panties rushes through her body, making her even wetter than before. Two men position their cocks right in front of her mouth and her pussy and a moment later, IU is completely filled once more. She can feel how they fuck her on both ends, pushing her and Seulgi's panties deeper and deeper into her body.

Seulgi on the other hand does her best to keep herself and Jieun off the ground. Which is difficult while being fucked. She can't even concentrate on sucking off the guy who's cock is in her mouth. She gladly just lets him use her mouth like a fleshlight. The man in her ass becomes a little rougher with her, signaling that he'll be cuming soon. His hands squeeze her ass cheeks, making Seulgi moan.

She also feels IU's hard nipples brush against her back again and again. With every thrust of the men that use the older girl's body, her nipples drag along Seulgi's skin. The mental image of that alone is enough to make Seulgi's own nipples completely hard as well.

But eventually, her body is too weak to hold the two of them up. Seulgi's arms and legs shake and buckle and suddenly she's lying flat on the floor. IU lies on top of her still. Instead of helping the two girls, or lifting IU off Seulgi, the four men who were using their holes just kneel on the floor and resume what they where doing before. Now Seulgi's own nipples drag along the gym's floor with every thrust delivered into her ass and mouth.

IU feels like she's been lying on top of Seulgi for hours. She can't tell if three or four men came in her pussy since they stuffed Seulgi's panties in there. Her mind is too far gone for that. The only thing IU can do is let out weak moans from time to time. The panties in her mouth still muffle most of those though. They're already covered in cum as well, but she can't swallow the loads the men put in her mouth properly. Both panties are soaked with either spit or her own juices and cum. They feel heavy inside of her.

Another man pulls out of her mouth, groans and paints her face with his cum. Jieun barely even reacts anymore. She just blinks a couple of times, trying to keep his cum out of her eyes. Most of it landed on her forehead and nose. She can feel how her neck is beginning to hurt, but it's only a dull feeling. Her head has been raised for too long, so the muscles in her neck are starting to get tense. The fact that the next man is now using her throat like a cheap sex toy probably doesn't do much to better the situation either.

The man inside her pussy cums shortly after, leaving another creamy mess inside her cunt. IU barely acknowledges getting cream pied yet again with another weak moan. But then she feels another guy pushing his tip past her pussy lips. Her breath hitches when she realizes how think his cock is. It's bigger than most of the guys she had so far today. The man in front of her face groans as her throat massages his cock, but in reality IU's breath just quickened as she takes more and more of the other guy's cock. She can't tell how much more he is going to push inside of her, when he suddenly stops. She can feel it, before he even has to say it.

"Her pussy is too small with those damn panties inside of her."

He pulls out of Jieun again, the veins on his cock slowly dragging along her walls. Once her pussy is empty again, he penetrates her with two fingers, searching for Seulgi's panties. Once he found it, he pulls it out of her. She feels odd as he does so, the mixture of lace, cum and her own slick rubbing and gliding along her walls. Only a moment after the piece of clothing leaves her pussy, she can feel his cock push past her lips yet again.

"Oh my god."

She manages to sigh, her mouth still stuffed by the other man's dick.

Seulgi doesn't realize what's going around her. She's too occupied by the two men who are trying to fit both their cocks into her mouth at the same time. They make her gag and choke as both aim for her tight throat. Even more spit and saliva run down her chin when the man inside her ass paints her insides white. With a loud groan he cums inside her ass, while leaning over her a little. Seulgi feels her ass hole clamping down on his cock as he tries to pull out. She shudders at this amazing feeling of slowly being empty after feeling completely stuffed. But she's surprised when it's not a cock that meets her entrance afterwards. It feels like a heavy wet rag and it takes her a moment you realize that those are her own panties. The black lace that used to match her top and her tights. She can't tell where her top is and her tights are showering several holes here and there. At the beginning, she asked everyone not to ruin her clothes, but she couldn't do anything about it when they started to tear the holes into the thin fabric. She can even feel someone's cum through them, somewhere above her right ankle.

After someone pushed her panties halfway into her ass hole, she feels that person's cock on her ass as well. Seulgi would've loved to let out a moan, but the two cocks inside her throat just make that completely impossible. She feels the dick sliding into her ass pushing her own panties further and further inside of her. Seulgi's thighs shake a little at the new found feeling. Her ass was never this full before. Of course it doesn't compare to her still slightly gaping pussy, but she hasn't take more than one cock into her ass before. That's why she's now crying out when she feels another cock head pushing into her ass. Her shout is muffled by the two dicks in her mouth, but still audible for everyone around her.

Seulgi huffs and puffs as the second man works his cock slowly past the ring of muscles. She never thought they'd stretch out either of her holes this much. But here she is now, her ass hole filled with two cocks and her own panties, with are drenched in several guy's cum and IU's slick. Seulgi's eyes roll to the back of her head as she realizes that she's taking four cocks at once right now. She can feel herself being at the verge of passing out, although she can't tell if that's because of the lack of air, due to the two dicks down her throat, or the pleasure she's receiving from having her ass stuffed to the brim.

IU feels like the world is spinning for a couple of seconds, until she realizes someone is turning her around. Instead of lying on her stomach, she is now lying on her back on top of Seulgi. Her head is hanging down again, but now she sees everything upside down. She didn't even register the fact that the guy inside her pussy pulled out for a moment when the flipped her over and is now pushing back into her.

"Hi there. Promised to be back."

IU manages to open her eyes. She barely recognizes 80, who's kneeling in front of her. She opens her mouth, not even sure herself if she is trying to say something, or just waiting for him to use her mouth. He reaches forward and slowly pulls her own wet panties out of her mouth.

"You have something on your face."

His mocking tone enables IU to brace herself for what's coming next. He uses her cum and spit drenched panties to wipe off the cum on her face. Of course that's doesn't help at all. In fact, the pink cotton makes it even worse than it was before.

"Like I said, I'll be cuming on your tits now. Or rather in a couple of minutes."

To her own surprise, IU realizes she kept her mouth open this entire time. 80 pushes his cock past her lips and begins to thrust in and out of her mouth. She feels him gliding easier into her throat, due to her head's upside down position. Even her gag reflex seems to be too tired to react. She is able to take his whole length again and again, without even a sign of discomfort.

Meanwhile, Seulgi can feel her brain melting in real time. She can't tell how they're pulling this off and actually, she doesn't even really care. The two men inside her mouth keep thrusting into her in tandem with the men who are fucking her asshole. Her panties are probably so deep inside of her already, she'll never be able to get these out again. But her brain shuts off completely when she feels another man slowly pulling her pussy lips apart. She can't tell if it's one of the guys in her ass, but for some reason those fingers feel familiar. Is that 75? Seulgi can feel how easy it is for him to slip several fingers inside of her, without any warmup. She must still be gaping, even worse than she thought. It doesn't seem like he's able to fit his whole hand in immediately again, but four fingers are enough for her already.

Seulgi can only feel one thing anymore. And that's pleasure. Nothing else. She feels like she is flying on clouds. She can't feel the floor underneath her. She can't even properly feel the four cocks that wrecking her holes, or the fingers inside of her pussy. It all melts together into one single feeling. She can't comprehend that there are other people with her. It seems like she's completely alone, only pleasure keeping her company.

IU is in a slightly different state. A little less pleasure and a lot more humiliation. But then again, that seems to enhance her pleasure as well. She feels the man inside her pussy cream pie her, while someone else paints her tight midriff white. Almost the whole load escapes her pussy since it's completely filled with cum. She feels 80 slowly approaching his own limit as well. He wipes across her messy face with her panties once more, just for fun, until he finally pulls out.

He scoots forward a little, making sure he is going to cum on her tits. Jieun feels his balls rest on her cum and spit covered face. A moment later she can feels his warm semen paint her small tits. Her nipples are quickly covered by a thick layer of cum.

After the men using Seulgi's holes cum inside of her as well, everyone takes a step back. The two women lie on the floor with Jieun lying on top of Seulgi. They look like they've both passed out.

Seulgi's pussy and ass are gaping. Her pussy lips are all red and look stretched out, while her ass hole opens and closes like a fish on land, trying to breathe. A small trickle of cum leaves her ring of muscles. A small part of her black lace panties peeks out as well. Her hair and every other part of her body that isn't covered by IU has a mixture of cum, saliva, sweat and both girl's juices on it. Her face is resting on the floor on her right cheek. Her mouth is slightly open, a small load of cum weighing down her tongue.

Jieun doesn't look any better. And endless stream of cum leaks out of her well fucked pussy. Her midriff and her tits are covered in cum. She looks like she's even showing it off, because her back is slightly arched, due to Seulgi lying underneath her. Her once smooth, silk like hair is a filthy mess of cum, saliva and juices, just like the rest of her body. The top of her head is resting on the floor, with her face still being upside down. The cum on her lips and nose slowly starts to run down into her eyes. Which everyone would be able to see, if it weren't for her pink cotton candies, which are covering her face.

Every single one of the 100 men came at least once in or on one or their bodies, some even twice. Which means each of them got at at least around 50 loads of cum. Now some of the guys who only came once, but are still jerking off to sight of the two passed out women, step forward. They all cum on the two of them two at a time. Some of Seulgi's face or IU's panties. Others on Seulgi's ass or IU's tits.

When all hundred men leave the high school's gym, the morning sun just breaks through the clouds. It's not Sunday anymore. It's early Monday morning. Which also means, one of the classes, which are currently preparing for their college entry exams, will have their sports lesson in two hours. Let's hope Seulgi and Jieun wake up, before they enter the gym.

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

Hi, everyone!

I apologize for the very late publishing of this fic, but I hope you all enjoy reading this. I tried out some new stuff along the way, but I don't know if I'll be doing the gaping again. It looked sexier in my head than it did in the two videos I watched to get a better feel of the situation.

I enjoyed writing this, despite being sick during most of it. As promised, I'll try to finish the next SNSD village chapter, before taking a break from larger fics, until around the middle of March. I'll post some colour chapters and small asks here and there, but. I can't promise anything.

Stay healthy everyone!

[sparklingblu]

A Christmas Carol

Ft. Sakura, Yunjin and Kazuha (and a slither of Irene)

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

This is my christmas fic. Not really jolly but well..

The first snow of December fell lazily, like the sky itself had decided to procrastinate. Arbor's edge, a town that always felt too small and too big at the same time, was cloaked in a thin blanket of white. The streetlamps casted ghastly glows on the street jostling with cheerful people but to you, it felt more like a reminder that the holiday season was here, whether you wanted it or not.

You sat in the corner booth of a diner you were too lazy to memorize the name, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone lukewarm. The spoon scraped the bottom of the cup as you stir it mindlessly, having nothing better to do with your hands. Christmas music droned softly through the speakers - some old crooner crooning about snow and mistletoes. You hated mistletoes. Maybe you hated the way it made you remember her.

"Pie?" the waitress asked, her voice chipier in a way that made your teeth ache. Her name tag read Heather, and there was a spring of plastic holly pinned to her apron. Her smile was the kind that stretched too wide, like she's worried her friendliness wouldn't show.

You shook your head. "Just the coffee"

She hestiated for a second then jingled off back to the counter, her fake earrings chiming faintly. The lines on your face seemed to be etched deeper in the black surface of the coffee, swirling like a vortex from your stirs.

Outside, the street was alive with people bundled in scarves and parkas, carrying their holiday groceries and laughing at things you couldn't hear. The light strung along the buildings blinked in unison, a rhythm you found unnervingly cheerful. You sighed and turned your attention back to the window where frost patterns crept across the glass like a map to nowhere.

The coffee had gone cold, but you kept sipping it, more out of habit than need. It's a silent rebellion against the idea that you should leave and go home, where an old friend called emptiness awaited. You knew the routine too well: the dead silence of the apartment, the hum of the fridges compensating for the lack of conversation.

Somewhere behind the counter, Heather laughed like a blissful hyena at someone's joke. Mixed with the clinks of dishes, it's enough to make you feel more like a ghost than a person.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:14 PM. Too early to call it a night but too late to do anything useful. The snow outside was starting to pick up, accumulating in thick layers that turns sidewalks into slick ribbons of slush. People were retreating into their homes, the streets emptying except for the occasional cars that passed by, their headlights cutting through the dark.

The bell above the diner's door jingled but you barely glanced up. Another customer. Someone you probably didn't know. Someone passing through. But the change their presence brought is unmistakable. You felt a shift in the air, like the pressure had dropped. The way it does before a storm.

"Pretty cold, huh?" Heather's voice rang out, too bright for her own good. You caught a glimpse of the new arrival from the corner of your eyes: a woman in a red velvet dress with white fur trim along the neckline and the hem. Like someone who just returns from a Christmas themed costume party. It's a wonder how she's able to withstand the cold in such a short dress.

You didn't mean to stare but something about her caught you. Maybe it was the way she strides without a hint of jolly christmas spirit - unlike most people this time of the year. Or it's the primal instinct of a male to indulge in the presence of a female. Either way, your eyes were fixed.

She slid into the booth and sat perfectly still, like she belonged here. She must know you had been staring because she returns your gaze with an intensity no less than yours. And you were breathtaken.

There could be two reasons for this. Actually, three.

The other party is monstrously ugly.

The other party is otherworldly beautiful.

You have gotten so drunk that you have started hallucinating.

Considering coffee was the only thing you had had the whole day, the second option is valid for this matter. Her face is angelic in a way angels could never be. From her dark irises to the curve of her chin, everything screams God's favorite. Maybe someone upstairs have decided to brought a blessing to your miserable holiday.

"Ethan Collaway" she said, voice soft but unyielding.

Your heart dropped. You had never met her. You were sure of it.

"Do I know you?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

The woman tilts her head slightly, as if she's amused by your question. "Not yet"

You blinked, trying to make sense of her words. She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms like she's disappointed by your confusion.

"Not yet?" you repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means" she smiled faintly. "that we are about to get very well acquainted. But there's no need to rush. Finish your coffee first"

You glanced down at the cup, now completely cold. "I think I'm done"

She raised an eyebrow, her expression hovering between pity and amusement. "Suit yourself. But you will regret wasting the small comforts later. You always do"

You shifted uneasily at her words. "Okay" you said. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I know more than your name, Ethan" she leans forward now, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment everything seemed to fade away - the hum of conversation, the clink of dishes, even Heather's festive laughter faded away, leaving only you and her in isolation.

"I know the weigh you carry" she continued, voice impossibly steady. "I know you sit in that apartment of yours, staring at walls that have nothing to say. Trying to fill the void in your heart with alcohol when you know there's only one person who can do the job. And I know you yearn for a second chance. An opportunity to set things right again" she pauses, breathe in. "But it's too late, isn't it? People regrets only when things are broken and can't be repaired. And when you hear laughter, like the kind outside this window" - she gestured towards the frost covered glass - "you tell yourself it's just noise. But deep down, you wonder what it feels like to laugh like that again. To feel loved.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "Listen. I don't know what game you're trying to play but-"

"No games" she interrupted. "Just the truth. And here's another: tonight is the first step. A choice, really. Stay as you are - alone and bitter - or take a chance on something different"

Your laugh came out shriller than you intended, the kind of defensiveness that only comes when someone hits a nerve. "Different? You speak like you're the Ghost of Christmas Past or something"

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Close. But I prefer Irene"

Before you can respond, the bell above the diner chimed again. You turned instinctively, expecting to see a customer. Instead, the room seemed to shift again, the air growing colder despite the warmth of the heater. When you looked back at the woman, she weren't there anymore.

She was standing beside you now, so close that her voice seemed to pierce right into your ears.

"Pay attention, Ethan" she warned, voice commanding. "The clock is ticking"

And just like that, the lights flickered, and everything went dark.

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The diner completely dissolved into blackness so complete it felt like falling into a void. For a moment, the only sound you could hear is the faint hum of your own pulse, racing so fast as if to catch up with reality.

Then a light appeared - small at first but quickly growing into a warm glow that engulfed everything. You blinked, trying to shield your eyes. But the action is not needed. Because this light didn't sting. It was different - soft and familiar.

When your vision cleared, you found yourself in an apartment. The smell of stale air filled your nose, mixed with the faint, phantom trace of something like jasmine. Or lavender. Something entirely hers.

This was your apartment, unmistakably. But it's a stark contrast to the mess it was now. The walls were bright with fresh paint. Not a trace of cobwebs or dust. The stacks of books were stacked neatly on a table. Everything was so neat. So in order. So her.

"It's funny" the woman, now known as Irene, mused behind you. "How this place had looked habitable. Like an actual home"

Reluctantly, you moved to a familiar spot by the couch - that spot you'd always leave your shoes no matter how much she grumbled about it. You looked up and there it was: The past you and Sakura.

She was standing at the kitchen counter, her hair falling in loose strands around her shoulders, a soft grin on her lips. She wore one of your oversized sweaters, sleeves too long for her hands but she didn't seem to mind it. She was holding a mug of something - probably tea - and she was laughing. At you.

"No, no, Ethan" she was saying in the familiar voice you had missed so much it hit you square in the chest when you heard it again. "You don't just pour the milk first. That's sacrilege. It's tea making 101"

You were standing across from her, arms crossed in mock defiant. "It tastes the same either way. You are just being picky"

She gasped, feigning outrage. "Picky? That's rich coming from a guy who needs his peanut butter spread to the edge on every sandwich"

You grinned then, leaning against the counter. "Details matter"

"And yet, you still don't understand tea", she teased, sipping from her mug. The light in her eyes shone brighter when she smiles - its warmth never failing to pull you in, no matter how bad your day was.

"See how she spoke so softly" Irene said behind the present you. "Even your stubbornness seemed smaller when she spoke"

The scene shifted like a film cutting to the next reel. Now, it was the couch - your couch, where the cushions were sunken just slightly on her sides. She was curled up against you, a book opened in her lap - probably Edgar Allan Poe - that neither of you were reading. Her fingers traced invisible patterns on your forearm, and your head rested lightly against hers.

"I think this is my favorite spot" she muttered, her fingers pausing their journey across your skin.

"Here?" you asked, shifting slightly to look at her.

"Here. There. Anywhere. With you" she answered, her eyes meeting yours like a silent dare for you to argue.

You didn't. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your forehead lightly against hers. A small gesture, but it mattered the world to you.

"Do you ever think about the future" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your hand brushing her cheek. "The future as in....?"

"As in us" she said, pulling back just enough to search your face. "Where we'll go. What we'll be"

"I think" you answered carefully, slowly. "that whenever we end up, I'll be fine as long as it's with you"

A laugh bubbled out of her, her cheeks tinted rosy with a blush. "That's too smooth. Did you practice that in the mirror?"

"No" you said, smiling despite yourself. "Now I'm glad I didn't screw it up"

She kissed you then - not hurried or desperate, but softly, like she was trying to memorize the shape of your lips against her. It's the kind of kiss that lingered forever long after it ceased.

The memory faded then, just as quickly as it had come. But your mind continued to play out the scene.

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Fragment 1

"Mhmm, babe. Ugh, don't stop" Sakura's slender frame writhed beneath you as your cock entered and re-entered her wet slit in a steady rhythm. The old couch sunk and creak with each thrust you made, adding to the symphony of her beautiful moans. Unlike the soft, tender girl she mostly was, Sakura was vocal at sex - never failing to express her gratitude when your huge cock stretched her out. The neighbors next doors must be accustomed to the sound by now. You doubt these walls are thick enough to silence her pleas not to stop. You couldn't care less. Not now.

"Fuck. You are stretching me out so good. Don't stop babe. Oh My God" Sakura cried out as you gave her a particularly hard thrust, your tip kissing her cunt. And more curses and moans followed as you continued to hammer her cunt relentlessly. "Fuck. Fuck. Don't stop" she begs, her nails digging into your back. "Fuck me harder babe. Stretch my tight pussy with your huge cock"

See. This is what you loved about her. She's an angel, really but when you two got up close and personal, that angel is banished, fallen from grace. Instead, a demon possessed her. The kind that can't get enough of your huge cock stirring up her insides over and over. Always begging for more. Never satisfied. No matter how much you breed her.

Her walls clenched around you, milking your shaft as you took her over and over. You were as desperate as her for this. Because the feeling of her warm wet hole twitching around you was like nothing else. And she would say the same way about how good you filled her up. She already did, actually.

"You are so fucking tight, Sakura" you grunted as Sakura's pussy continued to squeeze you like a vice. "I'm going to ruin this little cunt. You are gonna be so full when I'm done with you"

"Yes, yea. Fuck me harder" Sakura screamed, her perky tits bouncing in your face. Unable to resist the sight, you lean down, putting one of her stiff nipples into your mouth. A jolt resonated through her body as you bite down gently, kneading the soft flesh between your teeth. "Make me your dirty little slut"

Who would think the girl who said nothing but sweet words to you would be begging to be your slut? But it's no longer a surprise, rrally. You have learned enough about Sakura's versatility. Forever your angel. Occasionally your slut.

"Fuck. You are going to make me cum" Sakura cried between each breath you took away with your brutal thrusts. Sweat had accumulated on her skin from the relentless pounding she took, dripping in clear streaks. Her eyes, dilated and hazy, did a better job than her words to speak about the onslaught of pleasure she's under.

Sakura's pussy is no easy hole to stretch but your hips kept bucking, as though driven by a supernatural force. You didn't care about how sore you must be the next morning nor how she wouldn't be able to walk for days after you were done. All you care about was this: the collision between your pelvises each time you make contact . The action itself more romantic to you than any tender gesture. This is connection- you two becoming one.

"i'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cummingggg" Sakura repeated the words like a mantra as she creamed on your cock, her back curving gracefully as her legs trembled. The way her walls pulsated around you as her juice gushed out was enough to send you over the edge. Soon, you were following her in the flight of bliss, pumping spurt after spurt of your warm load into her welcoming cunt.

It took a few more slow thrusts before you finally extracted your shaft out of Sakura's now spent hole. Your cum dripped out of her in a white streak as soon as the stuffing is removed. It stained the couch. Just like countless other times.

You studied Sakura's face, which now wore a peaceful, dormant mask. Her chest rised and fell steadily with her breath and her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Still, she doesn't fail to give you that warm smile that looked out of place in her current state. "You came a lot" she panted, then "I love you"

You didn't know if it's possible to replace lust with love right after sex but in that moment, you seemed to. "I love you too, Sakura. Always"

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You blinked, coming back to your senses and turned to Irene, your throat tight. "Why are you showing me this?"

Irene's expression was unreadable. "Because she gave you something too good for you. Something you don't know how to hold. And you have been letting it slip through your fingers ever since"

You clenched your fists, the pain in your chest unbearble. "What do you want me to do? Go back? Fix it? It's too late. She's gone"

"Gone" she agreed, her voice soft. "But not forgotten. Maybe that's the problem"

Once again, the world blurred away into a swirl of white and green. When it settled again, you are standing on a path, flanked on both sides by tall, snow-dusted pines. The air was crisp, just the right amount of cold to be cozy. Snow fell steadily, softening the edges around everything - the lmapposts, the branches, the footprints trailing along the path.

And then you saw them.

You and Sakura.

She was walking slightly ahead, bundled in a red scarf and a cream coat that rebelled against the snowflakes. Her breath misted in the air as she turned to you - her younger self - her cheeks pink from the cold.

"Ethan, you are walking like a tortoise" she called, wearing that same warm smile. "It's not that slippery"

"Maybe I just don't want to catch up" younger you replied, voice light though his hands were fidgeting in the coat pockets.

Sakura rolled her eyes but she slowed down just enough to fall into steps beside you. The way she glanced at you then - curious expectant - was so small a gesture but it carried a familiarity that you could feel even now, watching from the sidelines.

"You've been so quiet all night" she nudged him with her elbow. "Something's wrong?"

The younger you hesitated, breath hitching. He stopped walking, snow crunching under his boots as he turned to face her.

"Okay" he answered, exhaling a cloud of white. "I have something to tell you. And it's probably the stupidest thing ever. But please bear with me for a moment....alright?"

Sakura blinked, surprised but her smile didn't falter. "Okay....?" she answered, drawing out each syllable carefully.

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a small, crumpled spring of mistletoe. He held it awkwardly in his hands, trying to keep them from trembling as he offered the mistletoe to Sakura.

"This" he began, swallowing hard. "is how I planned to say this. But I'm gonna do it anyway" You exhaled, meeting her gaze. "I love you, Sakura"

Everything was still for a moment. The world silent except for the steady rhythm of falling snowflakes. Then Sakura's eyes widened, breath hitching.

"Look. I know this is stupid. I totally get it if you don't-"

"No" Skaura interrupted. Then she smiled. She smiled? "You are an idiot"

"What?" the younger you blinked, puzzled.

"You are an idiot" she repeated, her smile growing wider. "You do realize you are supposed to hold that mistletoe above my head, right?"

"So...does it mean-"

He was unable to finish his question because he was instantly silenced by Sakura's lips that muffled his next words. The kiss was gentle at first but it quickly deepened into something fervorous - like their whole lives had been leading up to this moment and they were finally claiming what's rightfully theirs.

Your heart felt like it's being pierced through and through but you didn't tear your gaze away. You can still feel the cold bite of the air, the softness of her lips, the phantom warmth that lingered long after.

"Can't you see what you were destined for?" Irene asked but you can't formulate an answer, your throat tight with emotions. "You gave your heart to her that night. And she returned it with hers. For a while, at least"

You turned away from the scene, your voice thick. "And then I fucked everything up"

Irene didn't reply, only watching as the younger you and Sakura pulled apart, bursting out in laughter.

"You made a promise to her that night" Irene finally said. "One you let yourself forget"

The words lingered in the frozen air as the memory began to blur, snow swirling around you in a sudden, dizzying storm. Soon, everything is enveloped by a torrent of white.

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When your eyes came back into focus, you found yourself back in your apartment. Your breath caught in your throar. It was the old spit again - the couch - but this time, it was alive with a different kind of atmosphere. The heater hummed faintly, filling the silence and the warm light of a bedside lamp illuminated the small, familiar place. It's nothing unfamiliar.

Except that it wasn't Sakura's voice or presence that filled the room.

On the couch, sprawled out with heavy limbs is none other than yourself. The past you. Your shirt was half undone, and a woman who wasn't Sakura lied beside you, her sleek black dress painting an image of a vixen in the dim light. She leaned into you, her lips brushing against your jaw as you tilted your head back, your smile faint but unmistakable.

The present you stepped closer, stomach twisting in horror at the piece of memory you had tried to bury for so long. No. Not this.

"Please..." you begged, already knowing what's about to unfold. "Take me somewhere else"

But Irene stood firm behind you, her gaze unyielding. "This is what you must see"

The woman reached for a glass of wine on the table, tilting it ever so slightly as she swirled it with practiced ease. The way the liquid slosh around was almost hypnotic. "You are so tense" she commented as she runs her palm across your bare chest. "Sakura doesn't take care of you like this, does she?"

The past you flinched, sheathing your smile but you didn't pull away. "It's complicated" you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

"Is it?" the woman replied, her tone sharp. "Or are you too scared to admit I'm better than her?"

She leaned in, so close that her breath tickled your neck. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?" She blew a puff of hot air into your ears, the sensation unexpected but not unwelcomed. "You are never satisfied...."

You glanced at her, putting on a smile to hide your internal conflict. "It's not that simple"

"Isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head so that her hair fell over your shoulder in a pool of midnight silk. "You deserve someone better, Ethan. Someone who knows exactly what you need..."

Your gaze dropped to your laps. "That wouldn't be fair. She's....she's good to me"

The woman's lips curved into sly smile as she set down the glass back on the table. "Good isn't always enough, is it?" her voice dropped to a whisper, words brushing against your ear. "Don't you want more, Ethan? Don't you want me?"

"Don't..." you swallowed hard, resolve wavering as she shifted closer, her legs brushing against yours.

"Tell me" A kiss on your neck, leaving a crimson mark of her lipstick. "Who's better at this?" Another to your jaw. "Riding you. Blowing you. Being your good little....slut?" The last one was a soft brush to your ears that left you drunk in blissful sensations. More. You needed more.

"I can't..." the past you began, voice barely audible.

"Shhh, it's okay" she brought a finger to your lips, silencing you. "It's ok, Ethan. She doesn't have to know"

The present you clenched your fist, gritting your teeth. "Stop this. I fucked up, alright? I don't need to see it again"

"You traded your morals for momentary pleasure. And in doing so, you killed what you had with her"

You looked away, no longer able to comprehend the rewind of your mistakes. You have seen enough. Enough to make you feel like putting a bullet right through your head. But the human's mind worked in mysterious ways. Because it always fails to erase the memories people want to forget the most.

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Fragment 2

Her name was Yunjin. You remembered now. No, that's a lie. You have always remembered. She was a new hire in your company and things started off innocently enough. But to argue, most affairs usually do.

If confidence have a living embodiment, it would be Yunjin. She was sharp angles and quick wit, wearing ambition like a second skin. It's all evident in the way her heels clicked with purpose as she moved through the office.

It all began with a project, one where you and her were on the same team. Despite the endless nights of meetings and paperwork, Yunjin never seemed to falter, always keeping her cool. You admired that about her. And it should have stopped there. Pure innocent admiration.

Her communication skills were no less remarkable. She was easy to talk to, quick to joke, know exactly how to lighten the mood when the pressure becomes too much. Maybe that's what made you finally crumble.

On that fateful evening, you found yourself alone in the conference room after most of the office had emptied out. You were nursing a cup of tea, papers and stationary strewn across the table.

As if on cue, Yunjin entered the moment you lifted the hem of the cup to your lips like she wanted to ensure you couldn't interrupt her greetings.

"You look like you are about to collapse" she commented, leaning back in a chair close to yours with a smirk. She was in her usual office attire - white top and black overcoat paired with a pencil skirt of the same color so that when she crossed her thighs, her pale skin inevitably stood out.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence" you replied, setting the cup back down on the table.

She laughed, a low throaty sound. "Ethan. You are the reason this project just didn't crush and burn, you know?"

You let out an awkward chuckle, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. "It was a team effort"

"Sure" she said, leaning in - her top hanging just loosely enough to reveal a hint of clevage and you swalllow at the sight. It was wrong. But you are only human afterall. "But not everyone could've done what you did"

She inched even more closer and you told yourself that the hand she had come to place on your arm was nothing more than a gesture of companionship. But you couldn't deny the way it made something inside you stir. It's not love. Far from it. But it's equally intoxicating.

You cleared your throat, trying to find your footing. "You are giving me too much credit. It's a team effort"

"Humble, too. I like that" You shivered at the feel of her other hand that had come to rest on your leg. She's doing nothing more than simply placing her smooth palms on the fabric of your trousers. Yet, you can already felt your mamba growing rigid - her touch electric. A few more minutes of this and your boxers wouldn't be able to hide your erection.

You tried to focus on anything else - the clock on the wall, the stack of papers on your desk - but it was impossible to ignore the way she leaned forward, the curve of her collarbone catching the light.

"You know" she said, her tone playful. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You take care of everyone else but who take care of you?"

Sakura. That's who. But at that moment, you are at a lost for words. You tried to say her name out loud but the deep vortex of Yunjin's irises had pulled you in and every rational thought you had had been thrown out of the window.

You didn't know how it happened. When it happened. Everything passed by in a whirlwind of need and lust. The moment you came back to your senses, Yunjin was sprawled out on the long wooden table of the conference room. Everything on it has been shoved down to the floor. By you or her, you couldn't remember. You were looming right above her and you could only wish the table is strong enough to support both of your weights.

Your whole body was bare save for the unbuttoned shirt that hanged loosely on your frame. Yunjin's no different. Her overcoat had been casted away and her top was gone, revealing her perky tits. Your eyes wondered from the bent of her throat, down the planes of of her bare chest, all the way to her toned midriff, finally coming to rest on the nirvana between her legs, barred only by flimsy panties.

You felt your cock throbbing already - a sign of desperateness. All that occupied your mind was how Yunjin would feel around you when you finally penetrated her. She wouldn't fit around you like a glove instantly like Sakura does. But you didn't doubt you can mold this new hole to the shape of your cock. You have all the required qualities.

"Are you just gonna watch?" Yunjin reminded, shifting her body just a tad bit slightly to get comfortable on the hard surface. She didn't need to told you twice, your body is already aching enough for hers.

She let out the faintest of moans when you spread open her thighs, your eyes glinting with a predatory hunger - the kind only Yunjin can satisfy.

"You're mine now" The words of a mad man, fueled by lust. "And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight"

Yunjin moaned, arching her back as you ground your cock against her clothed pussy. You could already feel the moistness of her juice seeping through the fabric and the dark spot on her panties grew even bigger when you gave your tip a couple of rub on it.

"Words mean nothing" Yunjin replied, crossing her arms behind your neck as you leaned in even closer. "Prove it. Show me how well you can stretch out my tight little pussy"

There, it would have been easy to blame it all on Yunjin, that she was the one who initiated the act and made you think of nothing but about pounding her to oblivion. But that wouldn't be fair because there was still a silver of semblance left in you even then. It's microscopic and easily clouded by lust. But right at that moment you were about to cross the boundary of no return, a tiny voice remined you of her - of Sakura. It told you how much she put her trust in you. How she expected you to do the same thing. That you were betraying her trust by doing what you were going to do next. You should have stopped then. You could have.

But you couldn't.

With a grunt, you tore Yunjin's panties away, baring her dripping cunt to your hungry gaze. There was no time for foreplay. Foreplay is for slow romantic sex, which this isn't.

You slammed your cock into her tight heat with one brutal thrust and her walls opened up willingly. There's no doubt this bitch had taken poundings before. Not a chance she's a virgin with a hole this used. But still, somehow someway, it retained its tightness - so tight it almost seemed natural.

"Fuck you are so tight" you groaned, pulling back and slamming back in, earning a jolt through her body. "I'm going to fuck your brains out. Until your hole become so loose it needs a cock to stuff it shut"

Yunjin screamed, her nails digging into your back as you pounded into her over and over. The table creaked beneath you, threatening to give way under the force of your thrusts.

"Yes, yes! Fuck me harder" she cried, wrapping her legs around your waist. "Ruin me with your big fat cock. Make me forget my own name"

You obliged, slamming into her pussy with wild abandon. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin and the wet squelch of her cunt as you fucked her hard and fast. But it's not all about the way she's milking your shaft with her walls. It's also the vision - the sight before you. Yunjin can and will get anything she want. There's no doubt. The way she hold herself - so calm and composed is enough to make others drip with envy. But right now, under the onslaught of your beastly thrust that rapidly violated her hole, moaning and groaning words of submission, she is no longer the confident woman. Instead, it's a desperate whore that craved your cock whose pussy is being claimed.

"Fuck. You are probably the biggest cock I have ever take" Yunjin praised, though it's hard to say with her rolled-up eyes. "You are gonna have to exclude me from the meeting tomorrow. I don't think I can -"

Yunjin was instantly silenced as all ten fingers of yours closed around her throat, depriving her of oxygen. But she deserved it. With the way she acted like your cock's the best thing in the world.

"What were you saying?" you asked. Yunjin could only make incoherent sounds as her mouth stayed agape like a fish on land. This wouldn't be painful to her. You know that much. Actually, it will turn on this slut even more.

Sakura could never. You thought. Despite her taste for rough sex, Sakura couldn't go this extreme. One time, you slapped her face in the heat of the moment and that girl actually got all teary.

No. Why were you comparing? Why were you even thinking about her?

"Tell me bitch" You asked again. No answer. Just more ragged breaths. As if to compensate for her silence, Yunjin's walls clenched around you even more, trying to answer with their tightness that she, indeed, was enjoying this. Yunjin stayed true to her words: "Words mean nothing". She's trying to prove herself through action.

Just when you thought Yunjin was going to pass out from the lack of air, her body tensed up as she creamed herself on your cock. The climax was unexpected as she wasn't given any chance to warn you. But you welcomed it gladly with more bucks of your hips as you prolong her bliss as long as possible.

Finally, Yunjin came down from her high and you released your hold on her neck, leaving a faint red mark that told the story of your dominance.

"I'm not done yet. You know that, right?" Your reminder wasn't needed. Yunjin had recovered in seconds, now getting on all fours as she leveled her face with your cock.

"Let me clean you up" she said before diving down on your cock. Soon, you found out her pussy isn't the only hole she can utilize to full potential. The warmth that enveloped your length brought you a different kind of pleasure. You tilt your head back, exhaling as you relish in the feeling of her tongue tracing every inch. How many heads had she given? You have no idea. But anyone could guess the number's easily a double digit if they were in your shoes.

She slurped on the cock like it's the tastiest thing in the world. Maybe it's the taste of her own juice on your shaft. Or maybe, she's just a cock depraved whore. Either way, you got the same treatment.

She didn't take you all the way - keeping half of you in her mouth while her hands stroked what her mouth couldn't reach. And there was no combination more lethal as each pair of stroke and lick send a shockwave through your core that have your toes curling.

"Mhmm" Yunjin licked her lips as she released you from her mouth. She looked up at you with dazed eyes as her hand keeps pumping your cock, spreading her drool from base to shaft. "Look how much you are twitching. You're gonna cum?"

She's wasting her words on a question you both knew the answer to. But you couldn't deny it was extremely hot. Who doesn't like a pretty girl worshipping their cocks?

Your simple nod was enough to let her proceed, as she took you back into the heat of her mouth. This time, she didn't make use of her hands. Instead, she impaled herself on your cock - taking it all the way down her throat. A loud gag escaped as it breached her gag reflex until her nose was pressed against your pelvis.

"Fuck" you cursed. She was bent down all the way in this position, her back curved and ass raised. And you didn't miss the chance to grab a feel of her buttocks, earning a moan that resonated through your mamba. A string of glag glag glag bounced around the room as Yunjin continued to fuck her throat on your cock over and over. A puddle of her drool has formed on the table. You made a mental note to clean it up. There's not much reasonable excuses for a pool of drool.

Sakura could never. There's the thought again. Don't be mistaken. Sakura blows your cock very well. To be honest, she loves it as much as you do. Especially, when you filled her mouth with your cum. But her throat wasn't meant for brutal use like Yunjin's was.

Does it matter? No. Stop thinking about Sakura.

The familiar knot unraveled in your stomach. You could no longer hold back as you pumped spurts after spurts of your thick load down Yunjin's throat. And she took it very welll, keeping your cock stuffed down her throat as she held it there like a good girl.

She finally released your cock with a loud pop, strings of saliva still connecting it to her mouth. "Thanks for the big load" Yunjin said while she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You really needed that, huh?"

Do you? Now no longer clouded by the mist of lust, doubts started to fill the gaps where the past passion had been. Wrong. This is all wrong. What have you done? How are you gonna face Sakura again?

This is a one time thing. Yes. A mistake made by unmonitored desires. It can't be undone. But it can be stopped. No one have to know. Sakura doesn't have to know. You will forget it over a couple shots. You wouldl be better next time.

But you weren't.

And in the end, you only had yourself to blame.

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You grounded yourself back to reality. No use crying over spilled milk. You have lived with regret your whole life. What use is it to worsen the pain?

You were still in the apartment, though now it was empty, the furniture gone, the walls stripped bare.

Irene stood a few feet away, silent as ever, watching you with that same unflinching gaze.

You staggered back, running a hand through your hair. "You didn't need to show me that" you said. "I know what I did"

Irene tilted her head slightly, a gesture bordering on pity. "Knowing is not the same as understanding" she said, her voice a distant echo.

You shook your head, clenching your fists to the side. "There's nothing to understand. I regret it, ok? Isn't that enough?"

"Is it?" Irene asked, stepping closer. "Or do you regret being caught more than the act itself? Do you regret the pain you caused her or do you regret the pain it left in you?"

Her words hit too close to home and you turned away, staring at the faded imprint of a picture frame that once hung on the wall - a reminder of what this place had once been. You could still hear the echo of Sakura's laughter that had resonated in this room.

"This is what you traded for a moment of weakness" Irene's voice appeared once more. "An emptiness that echoes in your heart, in your life. And you know very well it's your own fault. Yet, you let it spiral"

You swallowed hard, trying to find your next words. With difficulty, you managed to speak through your tight vocal cords. "It doesn't matter" you said, voice trembling. "I can't change it. I can't undo what I did"

"No" Irene agreed. "But you can confront it. You can stop running from the truth, no matter how ugly it is"

You turned back to her, searching for something in her otherworldly features - absolution, maybe, an answer to all of this. But all you found was her cold, unyielding gaze.

"What now?" you asked quietly.

Irene extended a hand, and the apartment faded around you, replaced by the faint flicker of something new.

"Now" she said. "we see the consequences of your actions"

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The world crumbled and rebuilt around you in the form of a late autumn evening. The air was crisp but heavy, carrying the scent of leaves and the distant promise of winter. A stark contrast to the snow-draped beauty of the Christmas night when you first confessed to Sakura.

Now, autumn loomed like an unwelcome guest. The trees lining the path were skeleteal, their branches gnarled and reaching out to the gray sky like twisted hands. The ground was a mess of fallen golden leaves.

Sakura stood across the past you, her arms crossed against the chill, though it was obvious it wasn't the cold that's making her shiver. Her scarf - a pastel pink you had bought her for Christmas long ago - coiled around her neck elegantly.

"Say it" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Say it Ethan"

"Kkura, I-"

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped, her sharp voice cutting through the still autumn evening. The brittle leaves crunched as she shifted her weight. "Just...don't. Please"

She looked at you for a fleeting moment, and for a heartbeat, she resembled the Sakura from that snowy christmas - the one whom you had poured your heart out to, the one who had said 'yes'. But now, the light in her eyes was a gone, replaced by a storm of pain and anger.

"Let me hear it from you" she whispered, her voice on the edge of breaking. "Don't make me piece it together from hints and whispers. Please"

You dropped your gaze, deeming yourself no longer worthy to hold hers. The autumn wind picks up and the leaves swirl as if to mock your silence.

"It was a mistake" you muttered, voice barely audible.

"A mistake?" she repeated, her laugh bitter and wounded. "You don't acidentally cheat on someone Ethan. You don't just trip and fall into someone's bed"

You were once again remined of the pine-lined path, her standing there with snowflakes in her hair, her laughter so carefree like she's the happiest person on earth. Now, that warmth was nothing but lost, extinguished by you.

"It didn't mean anything" you pleaded, voice desperate. "I swear it didn't mean anything ,Kkura"

She shook her head, the motion quick, like she was trying to expel you from her memory. "Do you even understand what you have done? What you have taken from me?"

"I-"

"No. Let me tell you" she interrupted, her tone gaining strength as her eyes glistened. "You have taken every moment I trusted you, every second I thought was safe with you, and you have crushed them Ethan. What did I do wrong? What part of me wasn't enough?"

"Stop" you whispered, voice trembling. "Just stop"

"No" she said firmly, leaves crunching beneath her boots as she steps closer. "You don't get to ask me for anything after this. Not now. Not ever"

You looked at her then, really looked. And the pain in her face tore through your heart like a thousand daggers.

"Sakura, please" you begged, scrambling for scraps. "I regret all of it, ok? I regret everything. Please, I-"

She let out a hollow laugh, one that seemed to make the dying branches overhead shattered. "Funny how regret comes too late"

Sakura took a step back, her shoulders stiff, her hands trembling as she wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck. She hesitated for a moment, before looking at you straight in the eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Ethan" she said coldly, the words laced with brutal finality. "I hope it was worth it"

And then she walked away, her form growing smaller in the dying twilight until she had been reduced to nothing but a distant dream. The rustle of the wind reflected the hollow of your own regret.

The present you watched, unable to cry, unable to make a sound. Because you knew it was your very own actions which have lead to this. Do criminals cry over the unspeakable deeds they have commited?

"There" Irene's voice appeared once more. "Winter held promise. Autumn held loss. And you let it all fall away"

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You didn't even notice the shift in scenery this time - your mind too exhausted with emotions. What Irene wanted to show you, you didn't care anymore. You had seen enough. Seeing more will bring nothing but pain.

But you stared at the new scene before you like a lifeless ghost.

It was your apartment, again. You wanted to burn the place down at this point. Maybe the pain will crumbled to ashes that way. Anything to escape the ever nagging regret.

It was Christmas time - the fist Christmas without Sakura. The scent of her baked cookies and the hum of hers to Last Christmas was nowhere to be found, though the song played on lazily from an unattended television nearby. The sound of traffic beyond the windows seem more melodic.

The you of that very moment? On the bed, tangled in sheets but there's nothign cozy about that. You looked like a corpse, still and unmoving - lost in thought. Your bare body does nothing to aid cancel out the vision.

But you weren't alone. No. Though you actually were, deep down, your physical self weren't. The woman lying next to you is unfamiliar in ways that only someone you're totally ignorant of would be. Her name escaped you, though it had been exchanged over shots at the bar you didn't even like. She was asleep, her bare shoulder peaking out the tangle of sheets.

You searched her face for a few moments, trying to find something firm in those beautiful features but only finding emptiness. You sat up, swinging your numb legs last night had taken a toll on and ran your fingers through your nest of hair. The room smelled faintly of her perfume - too strong for your taste. Nothing like the clean, subtle one Sakura always wore.

Sakura.

You pressed your palms to your face, trying to ground yourself - make peace with reality and escaped the past - but the pain has d rooted deep inside, growing deeper each day. And your worst enemy had become yourself.

"Does it feel better?" Irene asked, studying the confusion flashing across your eyes. "To indulge in the pleasure of the flesh - a momentary escape from reality. But it never fills the void, does it? It only digs it deeper"

You didn't answer. Not because you have no words but because you are too tired. Too tired with yourself.

"Look, Ethan. This is your present. A hollow bed. A hollow life"

Just then, the girl in your bed stirred and shifted and you caught a clear view of her face, though curtained by her silky locks. It's not Yunjin, no. You had parted ways long ago. This one will soon follow the same fate. Your head pounded and so did your heart. There, you are reminded again.

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Fragment 3

The thing about one-night stands is they are supposed to last for a night and then forgotten. But that title wouldn't suit Kazuha because this was the third night you found yourself with this beauty. Maybe, this is a new addiction apart from the countless shots you had downed in the bar. Or maybe, it's the way she sucked your cock so well on your very own bed.

"Mmph...does it...feel...good...." Kazuha asked through slurps and licks as she feasts on your cock - tongue swirling around your slit before poking your tip to the inner wall of her cheeks, making it bulge. Her face there - ruined so perfectly with mascara running down her eyes and drool spilling from her lips only served to earns a grunt from you. Not to mention her bare body, ass raised to show off her thick cheeks.

"Mhmm...I think I'm doing good" Kazuha deciphered the answer herself as she released your cock from her warm hole. "Look at all this precum. You like my pretty mouth on your cock that bad, huh?"

The answer was unnecessary and Kazuha proceed to plant kisses along your throbbing shaft before coming back up to collect the precum from your leaking slit, all the while maintaning eye contact.

"Can't wait to taste your thick load" she muttered dreamily as she swallowed you again. The pleasure that flooded your brain was phenomenal and you had to try not to buck your hips. Kazuha had already demanded to be the one in charge. And you didn't want to left cockblocked.

Kazuha seemed to sense your desperateness because she took more than half of your shaft into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked the life out of you.

"Kazuha...fuck. Don't stop" you mumbled, your body in absolute bliss. And she didn't plan to. Because she liked choking on your cock as much as you loved fucking her pretty little mouth.

She went deep, lodging your meat into her throat. She held it there, eyes unblinking as she watched your distorted face of a victim of lust. The tightness and the warmth was like nothing, squeezing your shaft in all the right ways. Kazuha was born to be a cocksucker. No doubt.

She finally drew back, gliding her lips up across your meat until it came off with a pop, a string of drool still clinging to your slit.

"Now are you gonna fuck my face or what?" she asked, and that instantly became your favorite question in this hollow life.

"Gladly" you answered as you held her hair in a makeshift pony tail, lowering it gently until your tip has disappeaered into her moist lips. Her eyes gleamed, a silent challenge. And you are not the one to back down from challenege.

You immediately starts dunking her head on your cock again and again and again, obscene gags escaping her throat as your tip speared into her oral hole. A couple strands of her raven locks ame undone, falling and sticking with drool to her face.

"You like it, hmm? You like me using your throat like a fleshlight, you cocksucking bitch" you asked as Kazuha can only respond in more gags and chokes. Her eyes water, the tears mixed with the mascara flowing in tiny rivers across her cheeks - an absolute vision of a slut. Did she wear it on purpose so that it paint her when you fuck her face?

Her throat is brusied by now, no matter how strong of a throat of steel she possesed, no girl came out of this kind of pounding unscathed. But she didn't seem to care because she took it like a champ as you use her mouth like your very own sextoy. Afterall, this is what she asked for.

You let her go for a moment, pulling her face off your cock in one swift pull. She gasped, drool spilling in waterfalls as she huffed like a bitch in heat.

"You really didn't hold back, huh." she asked, voice raw from the brutal thrusts. "I bet you are addicted to my throat. Wouldn't be surprised if you can no longer cum from your hands alone"

"You talked too much for a cock drunk whore" you complimented her as you tighten the grip on her hair, making her scalp burn. "Now, suck me off until I feed you that load you so desperately crave"

"Mhmm, with pleasure" No more words were needed after that as Kazuha dived back down on your cock, devouring it like the cock hungry beast she is. It's messy and sloppy. She no longer choked on your cock but the way she's slobbering all over the upper half of your length was more than enough to make you levitate.

Her hands cockscrewed what her mouth couldn't reach while she bobbed her head up and down as she fucked her face on your cock. If her face was messy then, it was even messier now - a filthy canvas of drool and tears and mascara. The picture of a pretty woman so degraded finally made you break.

Kazuha moaned around your cock as you erupted in her mouth, sending shots after shots of your hot thick load down her throat. And she didn't let up, sucking you through your bliss with undiminishing fervour.

After what felt like an endless ride of bliss, she finally pulled you out of her mouth but not before giving your spent rod a couple licks.

"Didn't I do good, daddy?" she asked, the name sending a shiver down your spine.

But as soon as the bliss is over, the regret came. Sakura. You never knew how much power she held over you. How badly you needed her. Kazuha's blowjob was mind numbing but not enough to numb the ever-growing pain in your heart. But if sex could make you forget it for just a moment, you will gladly took it.

Kazuha wriggled her ass in a suggestive rhythm, oblivious to your inner thoughts. "Daddy, can you fuck my ass next?"

Anything to block out the pain.

Really, anything would be ok.

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You blinked, and suddenly, you were back to the present - the diner. It was still the same place, same scent of coffee and grease lingering in the air but the weight in your heart felt heavier, like it might crush you entirely.

Irene was back in her initia position across you in her booth, studying you with those cold eyes tht betray no feelings.

"You've seen it" she said, shifting in her seat and her christmas-themed dress didn't look so awkward to you anymore. "What you've lost. What you've become"

You tighten your fists on the table. "I know okay? I fucked up really bad. And I'm suffering the consequences. Happy?"

She raised any eyebrow. "Do you? Because knowing is not the same as doing"

You looked away, your gaze landing on the window. The streets were deprived of life now and the snow fell as relentlessly as ever, enveloping the world in white. You wished you could see the beauty in it once more.

"What am I supposed to do?" you asked, your voice low. "I can't just undo everything"

"No" Irene agreed, leaning forward. "But you can decide what you will do next"

Your jaw tightened. "And what am I supposed to do? She's gone. She hates me. There'a no coming back from that"

Irene'a gaze softened just slighty. "Sakura's wounds might not be yours to heal, Ethan. Some damage can't be undone. But your life - your choices - they are all yours. You can keep running from them, hiding youself in regret and pain or you can face them"

Somewhere distant, Heather's hyena laugh erupted again though this time, you envied her. When was the last time you can laugh like that?

"And what does that even look like?" you asked, throat tightened.

Irene gestured to the diner around her. "That's not for me to tell you. But you have already knew the answer, don't you? You always have"

You stared at her, a realization sinking deep into your heart. "You are saying I should go for her"

Irene tilted her head. "I'm saying you need to stop running from yourself. Whether that means going to Sakura or not....it's up to you. But if you don't, you will stay here" She gestured vaguely, encompassing more than just the diner. "A hollowed out version of yourself. Is this what you want?"

You studied your reflection in the murky surface of the cold cup of coffee. You had seemed to age in minutes. Was it the weight of revisiting the memories you had locked up for so long?

"No" you whispered. "This ia not what I want"

Irene leaned back, gaze unwavering. "Then decide, Ethan. You can't rewrite the past, but you can write the next chapter"

For a long moment, you were silent, staring out of the window at the dark, snowy Christmas night.

When you looked up, the ghost was gone.

The diner had grown quiet, save for the ocassional clinking of utensils. The clock indicated 11 sharp. Time had flown in a blink.

Just as you decided to leave, the bell on the dier doll rang again, welcoming a new arrival. You didn't want to look up. Enough hocus pocus for one night. But you did anyway. And you are not sure if you should be glad or regret that you did.

"Sakura?"

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Happy Holdiays Everyone.

[anonymousicecream]

Yes Mommy (Irene x M Reader)

Day 22: Mommy Kink

"On the bed, NOW." You get on the bed, following the orders of Mommy Irene. "HANDS, NOW." You offered her your hands, before she harshly pushed it onto the bed post, handcuffing you immediately. "Who said that you could go out at night, until 3 in the morning?" Joohyun asked as she hovered over your body, slowly unbuttoning her jeans.

"Y-Y" Before you could finish the word, she slapped your face. "Answer me." "N-No one, No one mommy." "Exactly, so why did you go out?" Joohyun asked, this time more gently. However, since you're out of words, to explain your night out, she slapped you again, on both cheeks this time. "Talk." "J-Jaehyun invited me out. He said he wants to party with me, Sehun, Seulgi and Sooyoung." She then slapped you again before walking away, leaving you rattling your hands against the handcuffs, trying to breakfree.

It didn't take much longer before she returned. However, the sight in front of you shocked you, as you watch her in black bra with a skirt and no panties, with cherry red lipstick on her lips.

Joohyun then got onto you, removing your boxers and tearing your shirt apart, before she aligns herself with your cock. After a few rounds of teasing your tip on her entrance, she lowers herself on your cock. "Hmmmmhhhh fuck you're so big." She says as she wraps her arms around your neck. It would be a crime to say that it didn't work you up because all you could feel was her tightness and wetness, dripping down your cock.

"You know, if you actually came home last night, I was willing to let you have your way on bed." Joohyun's words peaked your attention, making you huff in regret. "I would've let you pound my mouth, before going down into my pussy, and then into my ass. I'll let you fill it up." She then starts to ride you slowly, letting you feel her juices and her tightness. "F-Fuck, you're so tight."

You were shocked at the sudden slap she gave you. "You're so tight mommy, and I love it." Joohyun smirks before she starts riding you faster. It took her no time before she treats you as your personal cockslave, riding your mercilessly, not giving care on your pleasure whatsoever. "F-Fuck yes mommy, faster please." Joohyun instead slowed down her pace, before she starts grinding your cock with your cock deep inside her pussy. It took her a few moments before she fully stops grinding you and got off your cock.

"Why?" She didn't reply besides getting onto your face, resting her pussy on your lips. You immediately leaned up to lick her pussy, gliding your tongue up her entrance. It took you a few moments before you start sucking her entrance, earning a moan from her. You continue your actions for a few moments before opting to enter your tongue into her pussy. This generated the same reaction from her as her moans got louder.

After a few minutes of you sucking her, you started feeling more of her juices leaking. "Fuck I'm close." "Cum. Just cum mommy." She replied by headlocking you with her thighs, choking you slightly but instead making you suck her faster. This produced an insane wave of orgasm as she came, squirting her juices hard onto your face. 'Holy fuck." Joohyun turned breathless after her orgasm, before she got off you and redressed herself into a black kimono.

"Bad boys don't get to cum."

[thewritingrowlet]

The Tireless Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, deepthroat—you know what, just read the whole thing, hm?

length: 8k+

author's note: I speedran this fic so please forgive me if it's too messy; I just wanted to make use of this free time.

p.s. this fic takes place before and after The Determined Wife.

-

Irene walks in the bedroom as you’re gathering your consciousness after a very good, post-sex sleep. “Ah, good morning, my love.” She high steps towards the bed to join you, taking her rightful place in your arms. “Love, on a scale of 1 to 10, how awake are you?” “Seven, probably.” You rub your eyes to see if maybe you can improve that score. “Okay, maybe eight and a half,” you revise.

Irene thinks that it’s not good enough; she wants you to be 100% in the right mind this morning, which is odd. She sits on your lap and starts kissing you passionately, seemingly in high spirits; she’s likely very satisfied with the fact that you’ve granted her wish to be bred.

“Tell me again.” “Nine and a half,” you tease. Your wife rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t play hard to get.” You chuckle. “Aww, come on, love; I just want more kisses.” She puts on the beautiful smile that’s unique to her and only her. “Ah, fine, you win.”

She comes in for one more deep kiss, going as far as invading the space of your mouth with her tongue—it’s unfortunate that she breaks it soon after, though. “If that didn’t make it 10, I’m going to suck you off,” she says. “Sounds tempting,” you tease, “well, maybe later—let’s get to your point first.”

With a smile, Irene fishes something out of her shorts pocket and hands it to you with a closed palm. It is only when she lets go that you can see what it is: a pregnancy test device with two lines on it. “I’m a mother, love,” Irene starts breaking into tears, “I’m a mother, and there’s no question that you’re the father.”

Tears, endless of them, start flowing freely out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “Y-you’re pregnant, my love?” Your grip on the little test kit weakens as your hand starts trembling—oh, look: a tear lands on the device, right where the little screen is. “I am,” Irene joins you in crying, “thank you for granting my wish.”

You put the small device to the side because you want to use your hands to hug your wife. “No, no, no,” you say, “thank you for giving me such a huge blessing.” Irene starts crying more freely, and you can’t help but do the same. “We’re going to become parents, love—isn’t that crazy?” “It is,” you agree with her, “thank you for making it possible for us, love.”

Irene pulls away from the hug, placing her hands on your shoulders instead. “You need to get ready for work, don’t you, love—let me start your shower.” You shake your head. “Screw work,” you say, “I want to spend this wonderful day with you and only you.” Your words draw a wide smile on her face. “Sounds great, love.”

She turns around before leaning against your chest, placing your hand right on her stomach that’s now occupied by the little one—your little one (the fetus hasn’t formed yet, yes, but the point still stands). Irene giggles as you rub her belly gently. “You’ll need to come up with some names, love.” “You first,” you say, “do you have ideas?” She taps her chin as she thinks of a candidate. “Jihoon-ie if it’s a boy, and Hyewon-ie if it’s a girl.”

You’re a little startled; Jihoon was the name of your little brother who passed away just before he turned 9 years old (you were 13 at the time) due to cardiac arrest. Your parents, specifically your mom, took his passing heavily, falling into what you learned years later as depression, which explained why they weren’t at home a lot—they were busy seeking help from professionals, both at home and abroad.

Irene knows about this story, obviously; you’ve taken her to his resting place a few times. “His memories can live on with our child, love,” she explains the reason behind the idea. “I’m glad that you have that idea, but personally, I think I’d let him rest,” you say, and Irene dares not argue.

“What about your ideas, love?” You take a few deep breaths as you try to come up with some names. “I don’t have any boy names in my head, but Yeseo if it’s a girl,” you say. Irene likes your idea; she thinks that it’s such a pretty and cute name for a girl. “Well, we’ll need to wait until they can tell if we’re having a son or a daughter.”

-

Mr. Hwang, the cook, has made some fettuccine for breakfast, since Irene said that she’s been craving pasta—a pregnant woman shall have what she wants. So, here you are: sitting at the table in the dining room with Irene, ready to fill your stomach with this tasty-looking dish.

Seeing the tall glass of water reminds you of something important that you want to address with Irene. “My love,” you place a hand over hers, “now that we’re going to become parents, let’s stop drinking alcohol, hm?” She nods enthusiastically. “I was about to suggest that idea to you, hon.” You smile. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” “About that, though,” she backtracks, “what about our collection? We have some nice wine and champagne.”

You ring the kitchen bell, and Mr. Hwang appears after a few seconds. “Yes, sir?” “Do you drink, Mr. Hwang?” “I do, sir, occasionally,” he admits. “Nice,” you put on a thumbs-up, “would you like to keep our liquor collection? We want to stop drinking now that we’re expecting.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would be honored, sir, but as far as I know, they’re expensive.” You smile kindly while placing a hand on the side of his arm. “The only thing I care about, Mr. Hwang, is my wife and my child’s health—I don’t care about those bottles.” “If you say so—oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy, sir.”

After convincing Mr. Hwang to keep your collection of liquor for himself, you return to your wife. “Mr. Hwang will take care of those bottles, love; we won’t have to throw them out,” you inform her. “Erm, actually,” says Irene, “can we give the Masseto to my parents, love?” You agree with her request, thus officially marking the start of the transition to a clear-headed life without alcohol.

-

You invite Irene to join you on the sofa because you think that you have some things to discuss with her. “What do you want to talk about, love?” “Which hospital do you want, and how do you want to deliver the baby?” After thinking about it for a while, Irene says she wants to try delivering without surgery but is open to it as the last option. As for the hospital, she chooses the Sacred Heart Hospital, which is a very good hospital that’s also not too far from your house.

“Next up, our stuff,” you say, making Irene confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, we’re going to need a new car; I don’t think transporting the 3 of us in that 911 or your Genesis is a good idea.” “Do you want to sell the 911?” No, you don’t want to; Irene bought that silver speedster as a birthday present for you. “I was thinking that we should just buy a new one—something that can accommodate us and our child comfortably.” She pulls out her phone to search for options, but you stop her. “That doesn’t have to happen today, love,” you say, “we can think about that later on; I was just trying to get it out there, you know.”

Irene moves to sit on your lap. “I have some things to ask from you, love,” she starts on a new subject, “tell me what you think about them, okay?” You nod to get her to continue. “First, whenever possible, please come home early and don’t spend too much time working.” You say yes without hesitation, which satisfies her. Work will always be there, but your child’s growth and other important moments only happen once—wouldn’t want to miss your child’s first word or first step, would you?

“Second,” she puts up two fingers in front of your eyes, “please have mercy on me when we have sex.” You ask her to elaborate further. “I know that we can get rough sometimes, so let’s turn it down a bit to make sure the child isn’t in danger or anything.” “What about the frequency?” You take your turn to ask. “Just the usual, please; I’ll tell you when I want it, and you can tell me when you want it.” Again, without hesitation, you agree to her terms, which apparently serves as a segue for her next point.

“Can I have you, love?” You grin as you feel your cock getting hard. “You certainly can, love—can I have you as well?” Irene giggles cutely. “That goes hand-in-hand, doesn’t it?” “Just wanted to make sure, baby.”

Because of the time and day, there are other people in the house (i.e. the cook and the cleaning staff), so the only place you can have sex in is the bedroom. On your way to the bedroom with Irene in your arms, she taps your chin to get your attention. “Love, Miss Jo wants to take a leave to visit her parents,” she says. “We’ll go out later and get her some stuff to take home.”

You set Irene gently onto the bed in compliance with her request to take things easier during sex. “Ah, my gentle giant,” she comments. She hasn’t used that nickname in quite some time, now that you think about it. That name was given to you by your fellow student council members (including Irene) back in university when you refused to beat up a toilet peeper and would rather have him formally punished by the university and charged by the victims. “I thought you’ve forgotten that name.” She lets out a giggle. “How can I forget, love?”

You come in for a kiss to indicate that you’ve had enough chatter, and Irene welcomes you warmly as usual. “Please, love,” she gulps, “please start already.” You reach for her pajama top and undo the first button. “Patience, baby; I still need to undress you.” She cooperates by undoing her top starting from the bottom button and meeting you halfway. “There, I helped,” she says, making you laugh a little. She then proceeds to pull down her shorts just as you’re about to ask her.

Your gaze lands on her firm belly where your child is being safely kept. “I hope you won’t hate me when my stomach gets bigger.” You shake your head rapidly. “There’s no way I’d hate you for that—you’re my wife and that’s our child in your belly,” you say, and you see that Irene’s eyes are threatening to burst.

You join her in bed after undressing yourself and after she has taken off her underwear. You then pull her into a hug and peck her head everywhere, making her let out that lovely laugh that’s special to her. Once you stop, she places her hands on each side of your face. “I swear on everything I have that I’m so glad that I ended up with you and not with that Kim Junghwan guy.” “He never deserved you,” you say, demeaning. “That is true,” she agrees with you, “you and only you, love.”

You take the bottom position today, letting Irene have her way with you. “I have a feeling that I’d not be able to ride you as well with a big belly,” she comments as she moves to sit on your lap. You’re starting to get ticked off, but at the same time, she’s coming from a good place, so for now, you simply let out a sigh. “Love, please don’t worry about the sex; we’ll adapt as the pregnancy continues. Just focus on your health and stress levels, please.” Irene places her hands on her chest. “That’s touching, love—thank you.”

With your cock in hand, she aims it at her entrance. “Here I go,” she notifies you, as if you couldn’t see what she’s doing. Irene slowly goes down on your shaft, hugging it with her tight and warm walls. You breathe deeply as she starts moving up and down. “Fuck, that’s good,” you praise her to rile her up. “Yeah, daddy?” There it is: the kink that you love the most—Irene has always been quick to use it.

Irene bends backwards slightly and fixes her grip on your knees. After making sure that she’s steady, she starts moving faster on your cock, and you desperately want to hold those bouncing plump tits of hers. “Daddy, daddy,” she chants, “oh, you’re so deep in me, daddy.” “Keep it up, baby—fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Irene might not be the best at working out, but damn is she good at managing her stamina during sex; it feels like she has this extra battery pack that’s specifically used for sex, and as long as praises and words of affirmation keep flowing out of your lips, that battery will never die.

“Oh, no, daddy,” she slows down a little, “I think I’m about to cum.” “I don’t see the problem with that.” You slap her butt a few times to get her to speed up again. “Go on, baby; be good and cum for me.” Irene nods and picks up the pace again, trying to adhere to your command to “be good.”

Irene’s thighs shake violently when her first orgasm hits while her walls are gripping your shaft very tightly, making it very hard to you to not just bust right here. You pull her towards you and hug her. “Good job, love—very good job.” “You—oh, you always bring the best out of me, daddy,” she replies despite the heavy pants. “I can say the same about you, love,” you whisper back.

Without retreating from her pussy, you roll over until you’re the one on top. “You’re so sweaty, love,” you comment while wiping her forehead, “that must’ve been exhausting for you.” Irene shakes her head feebly. “A-anything to make you happy, daddy.” The way she always puts your pleasure as the top priority is touching. “Alright, let’s take a breather first, okay?”

“Take a breather,” you say, but you’re still slowly moving back and forth in her pussy, making her let out soft moans despite the exhaustion. “Ha-have mercy—please, daddy,” she utters faintly, almost too quiet to reach your ears. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m being gentle.”

As you keep fucking her like this, you can feel your orgasm inching closer, so you pause for now. “Okay, I’m going to stop here—I don’t want to cum without your full attention.” “B-but you have my attention, daddy.” You chuckle. “Your eyes are barely open, love.” When you see her opening her mouth to make an argument, you quickly lean in for a kiss to interrupt her. “Relax, love, we have all day.”

You’ve spent the last few minutes kissing (while still being inside her), and Irene is the first to break it. “When are you going to give me your cum, daddy?” You assess that she has recovered enough for you to finish this, so to answer her, “Right now.” You straighten your back and prepare to start. “Where do you want it, love?” Irene scoffs. “Where else?” “But what about your career?” The callback to the career vs. child argument makes her laugh. “I’m literally pregnant right now, in case you forgot—fill me however much you want, daddy.”

You place her legs together on one side of your shoulder and start fucking her. Irene promptly places her hands on her tits, doing whatever she can to add more stimulation on top of that you’re giving her. “Daddy, you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it, you know.” You let out a hum to answer her. “Give it to me whenever, daddy.”

You fasten your grip on her legs as you turn up the pace to the maximum of your ability. Your wife has now been reduced to moans and screams; she no longer has the headspace to play with her tits and instead just puts her hands on each side of her head.

“Love, I—” Before you can finish your sentence, semen escapes your shaft and enters her body, making her let out a long, sensual moan because of the warmth. “Oh, daddy,” she gasps, “oh, God, you’ve filled me again.” You let go of her legs and fall limply onto her body. “I love you, baby,” you say right into her ear. “I love you more, daddy.”

-

As you roll closer towards your house, you see your wife patiently waiting for you in the front garden among the flowers. She turns her head and puts on a smile for you, and you swear to God that exhaustion and stress from work has been taken away, and along with it, your breath.

You quickly jump out of your car, stumbling on your own leg in the process. “Welcome home, love,” she greets you with open arms. You take your rightful spot in her arms, and you can feel her belly bump against yours. “Tired, love?” “I was but not anymore,” you say. “It’s like magic, isn’t it—the moment you see your significant other, everything else just disappears.” “Absolutely,” you agree with her.

Irene invites you to sit on the garden bench with her, but you opt to take a knee in front of her instead. You rub her belly gently to greet your little one, and Irene looks at you with a smile of approval. “I want to say that I’m tired, but it doesn’t feel right.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Why not?” “I mean, it’s you who went to work, not me.” “That’s absurd; you might be at home, but I imagine being pregnant is tiring.” You can tell that she wants to make another argument, but the way you’re looking at her right in the eyes makes her bury that intention.

“Have you eaten, by the way?” Irene nods. “I asked Mr. Hwang to make me lentil soup for lunch.” Lentil soup sounds nice and healthy, which is important for a pregnant woman. “It was so delicious, by the way.” You laugh. “He’d be in deep trouble if it wasn’t.”

You think that this is enough catching up for now and that it’s time to get into the house, so you carry her inside safely. Irene says she wants to watch TV because she’s “tired of being in the bedroom,” so you put her down on the sofa and hand her the remote. You then tell her that you’ll join her after taking a quick shower.

When you get back to the living room to join her, you see that Irene is watching this little documentary on Giethoorn, this beautiful hamlet in the Netherlands where rivers run everywhere. She keeps letting out wows as shots of the area are shown on screen, deeply immersed in the show. “Do you think we can move there one day, love?” “Oh, man, I hope so; that looks like a really nice place to live in.” Irene turns your head towards you. “Maybe if we can’t live in the Netherlands, we can live in some quieter place instead—Damyang or Jinhae, perhaps?” You smile at her. “We’ll see what we can do, alright?” Not satisfied with just words, she makes you make a pinky promise that you’ll seriously consider it.

-

You didn’t know that you fell asleep, only waking up because you feel soft pokes on your thigh.

“Hngh?”

“Love, you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Please, that doesn’t look like a little.”

“A little lot, perhaps,” you change your answer.

“I was going to invite you to sleep, but you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s fine, love.”

“No, it’s not fine—do you want to have food delivered here?”

“Eh, sure,” you accept her offer, “order something light for me, please.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, presumably busy scrolling through the food delivery app to find something for you. “Light, light, light—what’s something that’s light?” “A lamp—haha, get it?” Irene slaps your thigh for your joke. “Daddy is really funny, isn’t he, Hyewon-ah?” Hearing your wife say that name startles you a tad. “Hyewon-ah? Really?” “I don’t know,” Irene shrugs, “I just like that name.” “Oh, I thought we’ve found out if we’re having a daughter.”

Irene focuses on ordering food again, and something finally catches her fancy. “What about some toast, love?” “What toast?” She shows you the available options, from peanut butter toast to kimchi and cheese toast. “Get me one peanut butter toast, please.” She says that it’s a better deal to order at least 3 toasts, so she adds some other toast to the order. “It’ll be here in around 45 minutes, love.” You thank her for the help and then invite her to rest her head on your lap.

“Love me, please,” she says in this aegyo-esque voice. You bend down and peck her on the forehead. “Anything specific, love?” Irene opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly trying to judge if she should speak her mind. “You’re so tired, though,” she utters, and you can already tell what she’s getting at. “You want me between your legs, don’t you?” Your wife covers her red face. “W-well, if you put it like that…” “We’ll wait until I have some food in my stomach and see how we can proceed—do we have a deal?” “Yes, deal!” The way her voice cracks makes you laugh. “My, my, aren’t you a cutie?”

-

The toasts are here: you’ve grabbed the bag from the delivery man and put it on the living room table.

You pick up the box with the text “PB” written on it. Irene says that she has bought some toast from this place before and hopes that you’ll like it like she does. You nod in satisfaction after taking the first bite. “I think I know what brand of peanut butter this is,” you comment. She scratches her head in cluelessness. “I don’t know, love; they all taste the same to me.”

You notice that Irene has two hands on top of each other on her stomach and keeps licking her lips while watching you eat. “Want to have a bite, lovely?” She nods timidly. “It looks so good,” she admits, “b-but I don’t know if I should eat.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?” “Erm, I think that’s ultra-processed food—that’s one. Two, I don’t want to gain too much weight.” Weight can be quite a sensitive subject, especially considering that your wife has always been paying close attention to it.

You keep chewing as you think of a reasonable answer—well, here it goes: “I’m sure that you have good intentions, but I’m almost certain that one toast won’t hurt you or Hyewon-ie.” You can tell that she’s starting to get swayed, as proven by how she has a box with “CHOCO” written on it in her hands. “Forgive me, Hyewon-ah, but I really want this toast.”

You panic a little when Irene sheds a tear after taking a bite. “Oh my, are you okay, love?” She nods again. “T-this is so good, but I feel so guilty for eating this—oh, I’m so sorry, Hyewon-ah.” You put down your and her toast on the table so that you can hold her hands. “Love, love,” you try to get her to focus on you, “it’s okay, no one is yelling at you for eating one toast—not me, not Doctor Shin, and certainly not Hyewon-ie.” “A-are you sure?” “Yes,” you say in a resolute tone. “We’ll be just fine, trust me.”

Feeling decently comforted and assured by your words, Irene asks if she can have her toast again, so you give it back to her. You make sure you don’t forget to wipe that random tear off her cheek while you’re at it. “Thank you,” she utters softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” you say equally softly.

-

After finishing those tasty and quite filling toast, Irene asks if she can have you between her legs, so you stand up from your seat and stretch your body to warm up. “I apologize in advance if I finish too fast; I’m kind of tired.” Your wife shakes her head. “As long as your load is mine, I don’t really see the problem with finishing fast—I’ll probably finish before you, anyway.”

There’s only you and your wife in this house right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that sex should only happen in the bedroom for the next 6 to 7 months; it’s more comfortable for her and safer for your child.

After getting undressed, Irene asks to be helped sit on the stool that she prepared earlier today. “It seems like you have an idea,” you comment. “Yes,” she says, “I want you back there.” “What happened to turning it down?” “This isn’t our first time, is it—just remember to be gentle.”

You open the bedside drawer to find the lube and see that it’s not there. “We don’t have lube?” Irene looks away to hide her red cheeks. “Erm, I might or might not have used it earlier.” You furrow your eyebrows. “You used it? For what?” She shyly admits that she fucked herself in the rear with a dildo this afternoon. “I-I wanted to prepare for you, because I know you like it when I think ahead.”

It’s not strange or new to you that your wife is lustful; you’ve known that for years at this point. That said, you’d think that being pregnant would turn that lustfulness down, but it doesn’t seem like it so far—in fact, it feels like she’s more lustful than ever.

You stand in front of her and hold her chin. “Oh, love, what would you do without me—who could satisfy you if not me?” “I don’t know, daddy; it’s always been you since day one.” You reward her with a kiss for answering correctly. “May I, then?” Irene giggles slightly. “Certainly.”

You walk around and look for your target. “I’m pulling this plug out, alright?” After getting a nod of approval from your wife, you gently tug on the plug. “Ngh!” Irene clenches her fists when she feels her rear being stretched by the wide part of the plug. “Relax, love—it’s almost out.” With a pop, the plug is finally out of her tight ass, and you quickly put your mouth on it for the first time ever in this marriage, making your wife gasp in shock. “Daddy, no, I’m dirty there.”

You ignore her and keep running your tongue on her puckered hole; quite fun, you must admit. Occasionally, you try parting her cheeks apart so that you can put the tip of your tongue in her rear.

Feeling weak, Irene starts tumbling forwards, but you catch her just in time to save her from going face first onto the floor. “God, you’re so crazy, daddy.” “Your new task, baby, is to keep it clean all the time—is that clear?” Irene nods in obedience. “Y-yes, sir; I will try my best.” You squeeze her butt cheek lightly. “Good girl,” you praise her.

You get on your feet and hug the panting woman from behind. “Are you alright?” “Y-yes—fuck, you’re fucking crazy.” You pinch a nipple, more surprising than painful. “That’s not how you speak to me, woman.” “S-sorry, sir, b-but you are indeed crazy.” You kiss her on the back of the head. “I hope you didn’t mind, by the way.” Your wife shakes her head. “Not—oh, not at all.”

“Sir, daddy,” Irene can’t choose between the two, “would you fuck my ass, please?” “Thought you’d never ask, baby.” You stroke your shaft to make sure that it’s properly hard and ready while your wife spreads her butt cheeks to give you access. You place the tip right on the entrance of her forbidden hole. “Are you ready, baby?” “Yes—oh, God, fuck, yes.”

You waste little time and go deep right away into her warmed-up hole. “Fuck, you’re always so tight right here.” “Hngh! Ngh!” Irene can only let out grunts as she’s getting overwhelmed by the stimulation you’re giving her. “No one can touch you like I do, hm?” She shakes her head weakly as a response, still unable to say anything back.

You hook her arms backwards as you get ready to fuck her to make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool. “I’m yours, daddy—fuck me however you want,” she says, as if it was ever a question. “Bet.”

With this steady posture, you start fucking her ass roughly, forcing Irene to scream with each thrust delivered. “My husband is fucking amazing—Hyewon-ah, daddy is fucking amazing,” Irene thinks as the sounds of your hips crashing against her butt enter her ears.

As time goes on, everything starts to get blurry for Irene, and it doesn’t help that from this position, she has no control over how fast you’re fucking her. “P-please stop,” she says weakly, hoping that it’ll still reach your ears amongst the clapping sounds. It doesn’t seem like you heard her, though; you’re still fucking her ass recklessly, which leaves her no other choice but to just yell out loud. “DADDY, STOP—PLEASE!” Hearing her scream makes you stop abruptly with more than half your shaft still lodged in her ass. “Daddy, please, let me breathe,” Irene begs.

Still panting, you gently retreat from her gaped ass. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you just realize how rough you’ve been. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, love,” you repeat to show sincerity. You pull her into your arms and take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the sight of your wife crying (from getting fucked in the ass, nonetheless) twists your heart like nothing else. You keep repeating apologies while rubbing her stomach gently, hoping that doing so could also tell Hyewon that you’re regretful of your actions.

Irene feebly reaches for your face. “I-it’s okay; it was good until it became overwhelming, daddy.” You lie her down on her side and inspect the result of your recklessness—it seems like she didn’t get injured by your shaft. “I think you’re fine, baby.” “Great,” she replies, “so what are you waiting for?” You blink rapidly in confusion. “I thought you were in pain?” “I never said that,” she shrugs. Seeing that you’re silent, Irene piles on. “C’mon, look at yourself, daddy: you’re still hard and ready to fuck me—let me finish the job, please.” “Fine,” you give up, “I’m not getting in your ass again, though.”

Irene says that you have a deal and asks you to lie down so that she can take control, which is fine by you; you’ve had enough “fun” being dominant tonight. You keep an eye on your wife as she aims your shaft towards her entrance from the cowgirl position. You grit your teeth when Irene slowly sits down on your cock—you’re in her ass again. “Oh, fuck, welcome back, daddy.” “I thought we had a deal.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene deflects, “anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, hihihi.”

Irene rests her subtly bulged belly on your body while her hips are busy bouncing up and down along your length. She keeps chanting “you’re in my ass” as if you can’t tell that you are indeed in her ass. You reach around and slap her butt. “Go faster.” Having planted her hands on your chest, Irene tries to bounce faster on your cock. “Oh, oh, yes—how’s this, daddy?” It’s you who can’t respond this time; just like earlier, the way her muscles are squeezing you prevents you from thinking straight and coming up with words to say.

You rest your head on the pillow while your wife is busy fucking herself on your cock (while moaning so freaking freely), and for some reason, your eyelids feel like they weighed 100 kilograms—what the hell are they so heavy for? “You must be close, daddy,” Irene makes a keen observation. “Uh-huh,” are all that escape your lips. Hearing that you’re close serves as fuel for Irene to keep up the tempo and make you bust with her ass; this tireless woman can be very crazy in bed, pregnant or not.

“Love, I’m about to—oh, fuck, I’m about to bust,” you warn her. “Yeah?” Her voice is barely heard thanks to the endless clapping noises. You grip the pillow your head is resting on as your cock starts twitching wildly in her rear. “Baby, please,” you let your desperation to cum be known to her.

Irene slams herself down onto your body, and you instantly erupt, surprising the both of you at the same time. She throws her head back as your warm semen floods her ass. “Oh, oh, yes, daddy.” It was her who did all the work, but it’s you who’s panting heavily.

“Love, thank you so much.” Irene removes you from her ass and lies down next to you. “Even when tired, you’re still so strong,” she praises while her hand runs along your length. “What’s your secret, daddy?” “You’re my secret; if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be like this.” You let out a low moan when your wife manages to squeeze the last bit of semen out of you. “You’re so cute, you know that?” You chuckle. “No, I don’t.”

-

It feels odd to not have Irene welcome you at the driveway, especially since she’s been doing that consistently for the past few weeks, too. Her Genesis is parked neatly in the usual spot, so she must be at home, but where is she?

“I’m home.” You close the door behind you and scan your surroundings—still no sign of your wife, making you wonder if perhaps she’s asleep. You make your way towards the bedroom, and your jaw drops immediately when you see her kneeling on the floor while being almost entirely naked. Irene buckles a little, presumably because she feels a fetus kick. “Even Hyewon-ie doesn’t approve,” you comment.

You rub the side of her face gently. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do, love?” The ball gag in her mouth prevents her from answering, but she has this little spanker in her hands that she’s trying to hand over to you. “Love, please, what are you doing?” Irene just looks at your feet while her hands are on her thighs. “This isn’t how a woman in her second trimester is supposed to behave, is it?” You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get yourself together. “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

Your wife steals some glances as you undress in front of her, and when you’re finished, you take the time to take off her bra, exposing her tits that you swear have grown bigger recently. You then lift her onto her feet to remove her panties, and Irene instantly drops back down onto the floor after you’re done. “Oh, you’re that serious, aren’t you?”

You pick up the slim paddle from the floor and prepare to swing. “Wait, where do I hit her?” You look for places to hit her on, but the more you think about it, the more that you don’t want to do it. That said, you imagine that it’d disappoint her if you chicken out, so you decide to play along until she taps out.

You hit her on the right shoulder once. “Ngh!” Irene lets out a yelp of surprise when the paddle lands. “That’s one.” You move the paddle to your other hand and hit her on the left shoulder. “I’ll count until 29, okay?” Irene nods in response, and that’s when you look for other targets.

You ask her to show you her palms and hit them successively. “Any ideas?” Your wife taps her thighs, indicating that she wants to be hit there, so you hit those two spots, harder than you’d like to admit, making her grunt in pain. “Sorry.” That sounds less sincere than you’d like, but it’s okay, you’ll make it up to her later.

Before you continue, you join her on the floor and unlatch the gag. “This doesn’t look comfortable, so I’m taking it off,” you say. Irene relaxes her mouth now that she’s free. “Thank you, master.” You sigh. “Master? Really?” Irene nods enthusiastically. “Yes, master.”

You stand back up and swing at her tender breasts out of nowhere. “Fucking naughty, aren’t you?” As Irene opens her mouth to say something, you hit her breasts again. “You’re pregnant, and this is how you fucking act? Explain yourself.” You tell her to explain herself, but you don’t give her the chance to do so, interrupting her with a hit on the forearm. “M-master, please.” “Please what?” You subconsciously raise your tone. “Please punish me; I-I’ve been naughty.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck it, we’re going back to zero.”

You hit her on different places in rapid succession, and Irene screams after each one. “How many?” “S-six, master.” “Good,” you praise her emptily, “count to 18, slut.” You initially chose 29, which is the date she was born, but changed it to 18, which is the date you were born. As much as you’re putting on a cold charade for her, you don’t have the heart to hit her 29 fucking times.

You tell her to get on her hands and knees to expose other parts of her body. You smack her on the back a few times before moving on to her butt and hitting it a few more times. “How many?” Irene chokes up momentarily before she manages to get her answer out. “T-twelve, sir.”

To end the show, you give her some hard hits on the back of her thighs. “E-eighteen, master.” “On your knees,” you command, and Irene obeys right away. “Explain yourself, or else.” “I-I was just trying new stuff,” she says. “Is that it?” Irene just nods, and you can’t help but sigh, feeling somewhat frustrated by her simple answer.

“Love, be honest with me: why are you acting like this?” After taking a deep breath, Irene proceeds to explain the whole thing, from how she tore the left rear tire of her car against an elevated curb while trying to pull into a gas station this afternoon, to the fact that she touched herself thrice while thinking about you. “L-like I said, I’ve been very naughty.” You exhale deeply. “Those few things don’t require punishment—especially not of this sort.” Your wife shakes her head. “But I want to be punished,” she insists.

“Have you had enough, or what?” Irene slowly shifts her gaze to meet yours, and you know that she knows that you’re aroused, as shown by your erect cock. “Do whatever you please, master,” she says, hiding her excitement behind the façade of obedience.

Still kneeling in front of you, Irene eases you into her mouth. You place a hand on the back of her head and pull her towards you, forcing your cock deeper. She’s taken you deep plenty of times, so this is neither new nor difficult for her. “Hold it there and count to 10.” After finishing her count, Irene retreats until only your tip is in her mouth. “Very good—now do it 9 more times.”

Irene does as you command, doing each repetition passionately, much to your satisfaction. “That’s very good, love,” you make sure you don’t forget to praise her. You retreat from her wet mouth to let her breathe, and she promptly inhales sharply. “I-I hope I did well, sir.” You smile kindly. “Of course; you always do everything so well.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while you wait for Irene to get herself together. “Anything else, master?” A lit bulb appears over your head. “Is it just me, love, or have your breasts gotten bigger?” She takes a quick look at herself. “I-I think they have indeed grown, master.” “They look so soft, don’t you think?” She nods to your question. “Would you like to touch them, sir?” “I have a better idea,” you say, “put them around my cock.”

Irene crawls towards you and places your cock right between her extra plump tits. “Like this, sir?” You moan in a low voice as your shaft grinds against her tits. “You—oh, fuck, you’re so good at every-fucking-thing.” Your wife blushes. “I aim to please, master.” “Oh, trust me, I’m very pleased right now, love.”

Much to your pleasure, Irene presses her chin against her chest and catches your tip with her mouth every time it pokes through her tits. You pet her head gently. “Good fucking job, baby—fuck, I’m about to bust.” “Please, give me your cum, master.” Irene moves her tits faster, eager to have your first load of the day.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as semen spurts out of the tip of your cock, landing all over her face and chest. “Oh my, very thick,” she comments. “I love how you taste, master; your diet works well for me too, you know.” You chuckle. “Good to know, baby.”

You invite Irene to lie down in bed with you. “You haven’t cum yet.” “Yes, I have; I told you I touched myself a lot today.” You get your tie from the messy pile of clothes. “Hands above your head, please.” She puts her hands together above her head, and you tie them together. “Are we ready?” Irene looks at you nervously. “Please have mercy, master; I’ve had a lot of orgasm today.” “That wasn’t my doing, was it?”

Irene gasps in shock when she feels your hand on her little nub. “Sensitive much?” “Please, master.” “Please what, baby?” “I need to cum again, master—make me cum with your hands, please.” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You use one hand to stimulate her nub and use the other to play with her tits, going fast and fervent right from the gate.

In the moment of high stimulation, Irene accidentally kicks you in the head—how did that even happen? “That’s not nice.” “I-I—fuck, I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t mean it.” “That’s strike one, Miss Bae,” you warn. To punish her behavior, you increase the intensity of stimulation on her pussy, making her jolt around more. It’s fine if she were to kick you again; you have some more ideas in your head to get her back.

Your wife keeps moaning loudly and freely as her fourth orgasm looms ahead. “Master, master,” Irene begs for your attention, “I won’t last too long, master.” “Oh, is that so?” You plunge two fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her, and Irene can’t help but moan, possibly until her voice disappears.

Your hand starts getting tired, but as timing has it, she’s also very, very close to orgasm. With an ear-piercing scream, Irene explodes: her legs are shaking violently, and her juice is coming out torrentially. “Very, very good, my love—you’re such a big bomb, aren’t you?” You free her hands and move to barrage her sweaty head with pecks. “We’ll wait until you’re relaxed before doing anything else, alright?”

Amid all this, you notice that you’re getting rock hard again. You start stroking your cock with the sight of your naked wife in front of you. Irene, in her exhausted state, looks at you. “Don’t waste your cum,” she says vaguely. “What do you mean?” “Put it somewhere in me, master,” she clarifies. You stop for a moment. “You’re very exhausted, love. I don’t want to burden you with more sex.” Your wife shakes her head. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

You take a position in between her legs, aiming your cock at her pussy in the process. You announce that you’re going in, and Irene moans weakly at the first contact. She tells you that you need to do all the work this, citing her exhaustion. “Never thought I’d hear such words from you; you’ve been tireless recently,” you say, earning a little chuckle from her.

You kiss her while your shaft goes in and out of her, dropping whatever charade you’ve been using these past few hours. “I love you, baby—I love you so fucking much.” “I-I love you more, hon—you’re the best for me.” Her warm words make you smile. “I’ll stay by your side until death do us part, my love.” “You have a deal.” You hug her tightly when your second load of the day enters her body.

“We’ll rest a bit, if that’s okay with you.” “Sure,” Irene says, “I can’t even stand up right now.”

-

You feel rapid taps on your chest, making you wake up crassly in surprise. When your eyes are open enough to provide vision, you see that your wife is seated in bed with Yeseo in her arms. “Yes, love?” Irene doesn’t answer your question and instead, starts breaking down in tears. “C-can you take care of her a little? I-I want to rest.”

You slap yourself as hard as you can for leaving your wife to sleep and, in turn, forcing her to tend to your child alone. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, love.” You open your hands to receive your daughter who is wrapped snug with a little blanket, and Irene immediately falls flat onto the bed—she’s still crying, though. “Go to sleep if you can, love; I’ll keep her safe.” “I’m such a bad mom,” she insults herself unnecessarily, “I can’t even stay up for my daughter.” “No, you’re not a bad mom—trust me, you’re not.” To offer her some peace, you tell her that you’ll be in the living room with Yeseo until morning. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give her a peck as a parting gift.

“Yeseo-yah,” you whisper softly, “while mommy catches her breath, we’ll hang out in the living room, okay?” Having been born just a few weeks ago, Yeseo can’t respond much aside from a small head movement, which you’ll gladly accept as an answer. “We’re going to get along very well, aren’t we, sweetie?”

You turn on the TV to watch something in an attempt make sure you don’t fall asleep, and that’s when you see the time: 02:09 a.m. “We’re staying up late, sweetie—I hope you won’t make this a habit when you’re grown up,” you comment.

You make sure that the TV is muted so that it doesn’t startle your daughter when this video starts. “Oh my, look at that place, Yeseo-yah.” A shot of beautiful countryside scenery in Jeju steals your attention, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation to move there with your family. “What do you say we move there, sweetie?” Yeseo lets out a small squeal, and you guess that she’s interested in living there. “Aha, great minds think alike, hey?”

You remember your wife asking if the family can move to somewhere quieter to raise Yeseo in, and now that she’s actually here, you’re really contemplating the opportunity. In your head, you try to think about what work would be like if you lived in a place like Jeju, which is even farther from the big capital. Your brain suggests stepping down from your post and earning from dividends, which sounds like a sound idea. Irene had stepped down from her position of director of risk management two months before Yeseo was born, so it’s not the craziest idea to follow suit.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and mommy, Yeseo-yah.” You want to say that you’re willing to die for them, but Irene’s words enter your mind: why die for family, if you can be healthy and stay by their side instead? You laugh a little as you recall that exchange. “Mommy is an amazing person, sweetie. Sometimes I can’t believe I ended up with her.”

-

Irene wakes up around 6 hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed after a decent night’s sleep. The first thing she does is obviously to check up on her husband and daughter.

“Look at you: sleeping with Yeseo in your hands.” Irene unlocks her phone and takes a picture of you sleeping with your mouth wide open while Yeseo is chilling in your arms. She gets teary eyes looking at this scene in the living room.

She never had the idea of being childfree and has taken a more neutral stance about it, but at the same time, having Yeseo is quite the surprise turn of her life.

Irene quietly joins you on the sofa to not disturb your peace. “Love, love,” she whispers, trying to get you to wake up, “wake up, please; it’s time for work.” “Screw work,” she hears you say, “I’m stepping down.” She knows that you’re referring to your job. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you reply again, “we’re moving to Jeju.”

Before getting too excited, Irene makes sure you’re awake. “Love, seriously, wake up.” The way you’re suddenly looking at her with eyes wide open makes her jump. “Yes?” “Were you serious about moving to Jeju?” You nod. “I’ve talked with Yeseo about it, and she agreed.” Irene bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Sure, she did.” “Just ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She plays along with your joke and asks Yeseo about her opinion on moving out of the big city, to which she replies by crying out loud, taking the two of you by surprise. “What, what, what,” you panic, “is she hungry? She’s probably hungry, right?” Irene unbuttons her pajama to expose a nipple Yeseo can latch on, so you hand your daughter over to her to be breastfed.

“Sorry, love, but these tits aren’t solely yours anymore,” Irene quips. You start laughing out loud, finding it difficult to stop. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you say it like that?” Your wife joins you in laughing. “I don’t know—it just felt right to say it.” You shake your head, highly amused by your wife’s odd statement. “It’s fine; I’m totally content with sharing them with Yeseo,” you clarify.

-

You take one last look at your house that is now empty. “We spent a fortune on this house, didn’t we, love?” You nod in agreement. “It’s crazy how much we bought this place for,” you reply. “I hope you won’t regret moving out,” Irene expresses her concern. You look at her right in the eyes while your hands are on either side of her waist. “We’re doing this for Yeseo—this is bigger than just the two of us, love.”

You walk with her outside towards the driveway, where Yeseo’s stroller is parked. “Isn’t she so cute?” “She is,” you say, “I swear I will do and give everything for you and her.” Irene puts on a big smile.

“We’ll give her a good life and a bright future, love.”

“We absolutely will.”

[sumirhatos]

Exposed addictions

Red Velvet - Irene x Male reader

7.6k words

TW: foot fetish, feet worshiping, squirting, fingering, facial, slight humiliation.

This is chapter 1.

Chapter 2. With Joy you can find here https://www.tumblr.com/sumirhatos/743226946594504704/photoshoot

It was a simple "Idol Room" filming day as always, or at least you thought so until you finished the day.

"Good job everyone; I'll see you all next time", you said to the whole filming team and to the Red Velvet girls.

Everyone started to gather their belongings and equipment, and the Red Velvet girls were leaving. But not her.

"PD-nim, can you give me a minute in my dressing room? I need to have a word with you", Joohyun said, looking at you with a cold face. Then she turned around and left for her dressing room.

"Sure, I'll be there in a minute", you answered, finishing the discussion with one of the filming crew members.

"Joohyun, may I come in?", you asked, knocking on the door and pressing the handle.

"Yes", she replied with the cold voice that she's famous for.

You enter the room and see her sitting on a couch, dangling her heels, presumably waiting for you. She still has that judging but cute face, or more like a concerned-uncomfortable face; that's how you would describe it.

"Joohyun, you did a great job today; it was a pleasure to work with you as always," you said with a respectful smile.

"Actually, I don't know if I can say likewise, to be honest. I'm not sure if you know, but I've noticed some weird tendencies today", she stopped for a second and then continued.

"Your crew was taking so many close-up shots of our asses, thighs, and boobs today when me and the girls were trying really hard to do those Pilates poses. I don't know about you, but it made me really uncomfortable", she added.

You were speechless... You are exposed. This never happened; nobody gave a shit how or what you and your crew filmed; the only thing that mattered was their whole image and screen time. You tried your best to break the silence with something, but it didn't matter.

"Umm, I'll talk to the crew", you replied to her, a noticeable nervousness replacing your smile. "I'm pretty sure it's just some misunderstanding."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no», she interrupts you mid-phrase, "talk to the crew? Misunderstanding?", "Are you shitting me?" she exclaims.

"This is YOUR crew, and YOU are the director", she continues, raising her voice even more.

" YOU are to blame here; either you don't have any fucking authority over your own people, so they do whatever they want, or you are just a sick fucking pervert who films the idols and their body parts for perverted use, both of which are fucking disgusting and pathetic."

You have nothing to say in your defense here because you know that you are guilty. She is correct. You are a pervert and a disgusting human...

"I can get you fucking fired for shit like this and make sure to end your fucking career; I can make your little life miserable," she said aggressively.

Realization hits you like a fucking train; you can lose everything. Everything you have worked for for years will vanish like thin air.

Panic starts to get all over you. "Please, P-please, J-Joohyun, I'll do anything in the world, I-I'll give you all my money", you started to stutter, "Please, Joohyun, what do you want me to do? I can have a word with other producers to-"

"Silence!", she interrupts you; she's definitely angry.

"On your knees!", ordered Joohyun. "And don't you fucking dare to speak until I allow you to", she added.

You obey her order, kneel on your knees in front of her, and go silent.

"Such a pathetic loser. How dare you talk to me like that? I hate it when people get too comfortable with me; who said you can use my name?" she said.

"M-my apologies, Miss Bae-", a very hard slap on your left cheek interrupts you. "Ah, what the fuck?", you exclaimed. There comes another slap on the same left cheek, but no words leave your mouth this time.

You have never seen her like that, even when she was off stage or filming for TV shows. What is this? Is this the real Bae Joohyun? Was all of the bully Irene's rumor true? Is she really rude in person? And that cute, loving mother image is just an act to get more fans? She was scary.

"Who allowed you to talk? Was I not clear enough?", she asks with an evil grin. "Be quiet, and I might not slap you again, but if you fail to obey, I will throw you out and report to the police that you tried to rape me. Have I made myself clear this time?", devil smiles at you from above.

You don't say a word; your response is just a nod. You learned the lesson and are ready to comply.

"Good", she smiles. "So, where were we? Oh right! You said you were going to do anything in the world to save your ass, right? I was thinking about a personal toy-dog for my own use. Sounds interesting, right?", she giggles, that evil woman...

You nod again.

"Awesome, first of all, let's see how well you can follow your owner's commands, dog", she says with a smirk on her face. "Get on all four", she adds.

You obey by getting on both your palms and knees, like an obedient dog...

"Bring me my bag; it's on the table there", she says, pointing at the table near the mirror.

You crawl to the other side of the room, get that expensive Miu Miu bag in your teeth, and crawl back to the couch.

"Wow, very good. Plus points for the effort", she says, appreciating your actions and opening her bag, starting to look for something inside.

"Oh, here it is", she says, getting some bottle out of her bag and throwing it to you. "There, I think you know what this is for. It was an exhausting day today, and I feel stiff", she says, smiling with that evil smirk again.

Confused, you start reading into what kind of bottle she threw at you. Soft moisturizer, foot cream, wait what? Foot cream??? You are shocked and stunned at the same time by the task you were assigned. A few minutes ago, she scolded you and threatened to ruin your life, but now she wants you to apply foot cream to her feet? What the fuck is wrong with her?

Still shocked by her command and trying to realize it, you began to sweat profusely. It takes you a minute to get out of the stupor she's gotten you into.

Joohyun noticed that you were surprised by her order and thrown off by her command, so she took initiative into her own hands. To shake you up, she took her left shoe off her foot and brought the shoe an inch to your face.

"Sniff it, dog, ha-ha", an evil laugh escapes her pretty puffed lips.

Little does she know that you're going to enjoy this. So, without hesitation, you put the shoe in your face and took a whiff without her noticing that you were actually enjoying it and prolonging this.

You don't get a chance to distinguish much of the scent; it's just a smell of new fabric, sweat, and some sweet smell.

"Very good, take another sniff, deeper this time, like a good boy you are", she playfully smirks with excitement on her face. I bet she enjoys the show.

Following the order, you take a deeper sniff this time. The combination of scents that pierce your nose gives you enjoyment: the smell of shoe fabric, a sweet rose scent, supposedly from her shower gel or something, and a little bit of the scent of her sweat, indicating that she was wearing these shoes for a while today.

You just realized that you are smelling the shoes of one of the prettiest and most desired idols out there. This is unreal. Your dick is ready to rip your pants apart already...

You give it another big whiff, and it completely brings you back into reality. Yeah, it's not a dream.

"That's enough", she commands you, taking her shoe from you and removing another one from her right foot, placing her heels near the couch. Even though she's ordering you around right now, it's an absolute heaven to have the feet of the goddess presented to you on a golden plate.

She's wiggling her toes in front of your face with that dark polish on her nails, sort of saying "get to work", but you wait for her to allow you to proceed because you don't want to get punched or slapped again, even though you don't mind if it's Bae Joohyun slapping you.

"What are you waiting for, dog? For an invitation? Your master needs a good fucking massage", she says. "Get to work, now!", she exclaims with a slightly higher pitch. Is she losing patience?

Not wanting to keep her waiting, you open a bottle of foot cream and are about to pour some of it out, but she immediately stops you.

"Nah nah nah, doggie, you know that before applying cream, the skin should be cleaned?", she says, smiling at you with that freaking devilish smile that makes your cock twitch in your pants. "Oh no, I don't have any wet wipes left. What do we do? I think we will need you to improvise", she teases you, almost bursting into an evil laugh.

Not only did Bae Joohyun let you sniff her shoes, but now she wants you to clean her petite feet with your mouth? Is it really a punishment?

Wasting no time, you put the bottle of cream aside and got to the main course. You gently take her right foot by the ankle and bring it to your face. Even though Joohyun ordered this, she reflectively tried to jerk her foot away from you, but you pulled it a little bit harder and placed her sole on your mouth with her toes right on your nostrils.

Joohyun had been surprised by your assertiveness; you could see that in her eyes, but she lets it slide.

Her saying nothing is the green light for you, Starting with the kisses on her arch under the ball of her foot, a few kisses on the right and a few kisses on the left side of the foot, at the same time you give her toes huge sniffs, taking in the scent that you could remember from the shoes. Again, rose scent, her body odor, sweat, but right from the source, a slight shoe fabric smell — such a sweet mix. Simultaneously, you massaged the bottom of her sole, right above the heel. This moment will be imprinted in your memory forever.

"Mmmm, yeah, that's nice; yeah, right there, that's the sore spot", she says. "But I think I said cleaning, not kissing", she says, staring at you with that cute face of hers.

"You asked for it, Miss Joohyun", you think to yourself as you insert her toes into your mouth. Once again, she's absolutely shocked and tries to get her foot away from you, but yet again, your grasp is stronger than hers, and you keep her feet in place.

Concentrating on licking, sucking, and slurping on her delicious toes, you tried to gather as much flavor as possible, moving your tongue over her toenails and between the toes. The taste of her toes drives you crazy; you have to be blind to not notice the bulge underneath your pants, but you don't care about it. It's Joohyun's fault you are that horny.

After bathing her toes for a few more seconds, you take them out of your mouth and begin to lick the ball of the foot, going down to the sole, arch, swinging your tongue left and right to not miss any spots.

"Ugh, ah! It tickles!", she says, not stopping your worshiping.

Getting down to the heel of the foot, you give it a few licks on the left and right sides, and then you give a lick to the whole sole from bottom to top, finishing the act with a kiss to her cute little toes.

"Good job, my dog, that was actually interesting and amusing to watch; you've done much better than I expected, maybe too well", she says with a smile on her gorgeous face.

"I think she's satisfied with my work", you think to yourself. "Is she not angry anymore?"

"Well, Mr. foot fetishist, I think we both know this is merely a punishment for you", she smiles and taps you on your chest with her foot.

"I think we need to do something about it, don't you think?", she asks with that evil smirk again...

"What's on her mind this time?", you think to yourself, but you nod in agreement.

"Undress, pervert", she smiles and wiggles her toes in anticipation.

Surprised by her order, you hesitate for a few seconds but obey. There goes your hoodie, your jeans, your socks, and your t-shirt; the only piece of clothing that can't hide your massive bulge is your boxers. She checks you out and nods in approval.

"Oh no!", she giggles. "What's that?", she asks, pointing with her foot to a wet spot on your underwear.

"Take it off; I want to see my pet fully", she commands. But you don't want to do that. "I said, take, it, off", she says in a little bit higher pitch and continues, "Right, fucking now. Or do you want me to call the police and report you to them?"

Fuck... You have no choice... There goes nothing; you yanked the underwear aside, trying to cover yourself...

All of a sudden, she snaps a few photos of you, laughing at you.

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!?", you ask angrily, trying to cover your face and your erect dick.

"Oh yeah, this will do; I bet she's going to like it", she says, completely ignoring your question. "And, send", the "click" sound comes out of her phone, and a laugh of evil Joohyun escapes her mouth.

You are getting even more angry at her. "What the hell? Who the fuck are you sending those to?!"

"Your girlfriend, or should I say ex-girlfriend?", she says, laughing at you.

"YOU SENT IT TO WHO AGAIN?", you raise your voice. "Are you fucking crazy? Who do you think you are?", you ask her.

" No, who the fuck do you think YOU are, to raise your voice at me?", she replies. "You are a fucking nobody, just a small director of a filming crew for a big ass entertainment company; you have no authority or power; nobody knows you; you are a fucking noname", she says with a huge smile and pride in her voice.

Even though you think she's evil and has no right to abuse you here, you know that she is correct. You are a nobody; you have no power. She, on the other hand, does have the power, and she's loved by the media, so nobody will believe you that you've been bullied or offended by her... There is no way you can win this...

"You are evil", you say...

"Yeah, I know that", she says with a calm voice. We are done here."

She puts her shoes on, gathers her things, and walks to the door.

"Don't be sad about your girlfriend's dog; you have a master now; wait for my call", she says with a smile on her face and leaves the room...

"How did she even know my girlfriend's phone number? Did she plan all of this shit?", you ask an empty room, but obviously there is no answer.

"This fucking bitch", you say, punching the desk with all your anger.

You put on the clothes that Joohyun made you take off and leave the room. The filming set was empty.

"I guess everyone left. Well, at least there was nobody to witness your defeat", you think to yourself.

You check your watch, and it's 11:38 p.m.

You go to the elevator, downstairs into the hall, through the security gates, and leave the building.

You catch the taxi and go home. By the time of your arrival, you have played all of the scenarios in your head about how to explain to your girlfriend what the fuck she just received on her phone.

You arrive at your apartment building in 15 minutes, then go to the 11th floor, fishing for the keys while on the elevator. All of your good memories with your girlfriend are flashing before your eyes; those good times are gone...

You get into your apartment, expecting the worst scenario to play out.

"Hey honey, you are late today. How was work?", she asks you with a smile on her face.

"H-hi", you reply, confused. Why is she not mad at me? "If I were her, I'd have scolded myself or killed myself."

"Fortunately, Miss Bae messaged me that you were going to be late, so I prepared a late dinner for you; she's so nice! I'm so glad that the rumors on the internet that she's a bad person are all false!", she exclaims happily. "Food is on the table; I'm going to bed", she continues, yawning at you.

"O-okay, thank you. G-good night.", you reply to her, seeing her off to the bedroom.

"What the actual fuck is going on?", you ask yourself in bewilderment. "Did Bae Joohyun trick you? What a fucking psycho!"

In the blink of an eye, you munch on all of the food your girlfriend prepared for you and go to the bathroom to take a cold shower and clear your mind.

"What a tricky little bitch this woman is..." Bae Joohyun, the woman who makes you angry and horny at the same time Thoughts about her made you rewind all of the things that happened this evening: her scent, the taste of her feet, her hot, evil face... In a second, you find yourself rocking hard again... Thinking about her, you furiously jerk off, moaning her name a few times.

Getting down from your orgasm, you wash yourself and get out of the shower.

After wiping yourself with a towel, you dress in your pajamas, go to the bedroom, and lay down next to your girlfriend. That night you didn't get much sleep, thinking about Bae Joohyun, thinking about what happened and what you had done... "I'm a cheater", you think to yourself...

For two days straight, you were not able to get her out of your mind for a second — her smell, her voice, the look on her face when you were worshiping her feet...

Another two work days fly by with boring shootings with some boring idols. All your thoughts are about that day; this was the most memorable thing that ever happened to you, even though your career and your relationships were at stake.

"Shit, I think she really could've reported me to the police, and I might've ended up in jail or something", you exclaim.

Even in bed with your girlfriend, you have imagined Joohyun. "Am I obsessed with the person that actually almost ruined my life? Why is this happening? I need to visit a psychologist", you think to yourself. "I might be crazy..."

It is 10:30 p.m., and you are back home from work having a meal with your girlfriend.

**BZZ BZZ**, your phone buzzing all of a sudden. A message notification from some unknown number appears on your screen. Without stopping to munch on your meal, you open the message.

"Missed me, doggie? ;)", the message said. Surprised by this message, you goggle your eyes so much that they almost pop out.

"Missed you? Of course I fucking did, you've been on my mind for almost a week, and I can't stop fucking thinking about you, your scent, your smile, how you talked to me, your teasing-", you stopped typing your response and erased your message.

"No, if I send her something like this, it will only mean that she won and that she really got to you..."

**BZZ BZZ**, another notification: "Hotel apartments in 30 minutes", the message says.

"What am I supposed to tell my girlfriend? It's almost 11:00 p.m.!

**BZZ BZZ**, and another notification; it's a video this time.

The message contains the video; you open it up and... You almost choked on your food and started to cough.

It's you, worshiping her foot... Sniffing her toes, sucking on them, and licking every part of her sole.

You rewinded everything that happened that day in details, and you immediately have a boner because of it, "How the hell did she even film this, that sneaky bitch..."

**BZZ BZZ** "I'm pretty sure you don't want to know what is going to happen if you don't show up, right? (^_^)", another message says.

"Yes...", you send your reply to her.

"Good, Four Seasons Hotel, room 317, and don't be late :)"

**Sigh** You put down your phone and go get into your clothes, you get the keys and put on your shoes.

"Hey, are you going somewhere?", your girlfriend asks you with a sleepy voice as she gets out of your bedroom.

"Y-yeah our editing crew hasn't completed the episode of a show we are supposed to air tomorrow, so they need all the extra hands we can get", you lie to her. "I'm not sure if we're going to complete this fast or not, so don't wait for me; go back to sleep, honey."

"Oaaaah-kay", she says, yawning. "Don't overwork yourself, please", she says, reaching for your face for a kiss. You give her a fast peck on the cheek.

"I'll try not to", you reply to her with a smile, and then leave.

"What the fuck am I doing with my life?", is the only thought that crosses your mind.

The time is 11:04 in the Four Seasons Hotel hall at the reception desk.

"Hello, sir, how may I help you?", a cute receptionist girl asks you.

"Umm... Room 317, please", you say nervously.

"Here is your key, please", she says, handing you the keys. "Please have a wonderful night, sir", she continues, giving you a bright smile.

"Yeah, if only that was possible", you mumbled under your nose.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't catch that", she says, confused.

"N-nothing, what floor was it again?", you reply to her.

"Top floor, sir", she said with a smile again.

Then you head to the elevators; getting to the 29th floor was quite easy, and then you go to the doors of room 317.

You get the keys out of your pocket and are about to open the door. "What the fuck am I doing with my life?!?! It's not too late to go to my girlfriend, tell her everything, and beg for her forgiveness; maybe it's still possible to salvage our relationship?", you say.

"I should leave...", you continued, "It is absolutely wrong!", you turn around and are ready to leave when the door opens and you see her...

"Mmm, my servant has arrived", she says with a seductive voice and a smile on her gorgeous face. "Well, come in then", she says, turning around and getting back inside. Your mind goes blank on the spot, and you just obey...

She's wearing a tight black dress with an open back; it also barely covers her thighs. On her feet, she has some black shoes with a strap going over the top of her feet.

"Wine?", she asks, pointing at the half-empty bottle resting on the expensive table near the massive couch.

You reply with a nod, sitting down. She picks up the bottle and pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, putting one on one side of the table for you and taking one for herself.

She then sits on the left side of you, defiantly putting both of her feastworthy legs on the couch.

You try to distract yourself by looking around and checking out the whole apartment. "This must be a fortune to get this room at least for one night", you say.

"Yeah, that's one of the perks of being a top idol at our agency; I can stay here whenever I want thanks to the connections our top managers have", she comments, sipping some wine, and then continues.

"So, how are things with your girlfriend? Was she mad at you when she saw the pictures of you licking my foot?", she asks with a devilish smile, the same smile that got you going a few days before.

"You tricked me; you haven't sent her anything; you just wanted to torture me; you wanted me to feel terrible, to feel like a cheater and a total dick!", you exclaim, taking a big sip of wine from your glass.

"Ironic, but you are dick", she says with an indifferent voice. "If you were not a cheater, then you would not have come here", she continues, taking another sip of wine.

She is correct, though... Why DID you come here? If you were not a cheater, you would have been at home with your girlfriend... Fuck... Idiot...

Getting mad at yourself, you downed a whole glass of wine...

"Wow... That's not how you drink expensive wine, you peasant", she says with a disappointed face.

Weird silence comes to the room; only the sound of the air conditioner can be heard. Joohyun is drinking wine, and you are just staring at her like an idiot.

She puts her glass down on the table, stretches her arms and legs, then gets comfortable resting her elbows on the back of the couch.

"Why am I here, Miss Bae?", you spill the obnoxious question.

"Give it a guess", she replies with a cute smile.

"I don't know? Torture me again? Make me do things that will ruin my life?", you ask her with some anger and impatience in your voice.

"You know exactly why you are here, you want to continue what we started last time", she said.

"N-no, I'm here to save my life and career; in order to do that, I have to comply and do whatever your fucked-up mind comes up with", you answer her, thinking how annoying she is.

"Is that so?", she asks, pouting, putting her legs on your thighs. Her feet are very close to your dick.

This gets you off guard. Just her legs in your crotch start to give you an erection.

"Y-you blackmailed me, so did I even have a choice?", you ask her nervously.

"I think you already know the answer", she replies, reaching for her shoes and slipping them off, revealing her cute little feet to you once again and wiggling her toes.

She has bright pink polish on this time, and you notice that her feet are quite veiny, not too veiny though, a slight indication of her feet bones adding some texture to it, just perfect.

When she lifts her feet on her heels, her tendons become more prominent, which looks even sexier.

Worried that she might notice your forming boner, you started to sweat a little trying to shift on the couch, and kind of spaced out.

She shoves her foot right into your face, slightly kicking your cheek with her toes and ball of the foot.

"Hello, anybody home?", she says, still kicking you with her little foot.

Immediately, you regain your strength and gently grab her cute little feet. You massage her soles, between her toes, heels, and balls of the feet.

"Ooooh yeah, just like that, oh yeah, it feels so good; how are you so good at this?", she asks, appreciating your skills.

"I've taken masseur courses and had—", she didn't let you finish your sentence.

She puts her toes on your lips, "No talking, Mr.", she says with a smile.

You got the hint by enveloping those toes in your mouth, sucking on them one by one, licking between them, and sucking again.

"Oooh, Mmmm", she gasps. "Yes, yes, my sweet boy, worship my feet; do you love them that much?", she asks you with a sweet yet seductive voice of hers.

You don't say anything, switching to another foot performing the same act with her toes licking and sucking it.

She starts to moan a little, so you switch to her smooth soles.

First, you put both of them on your face, embracing their softness and elegance.

Her feet have the same rose scent as the last time, but it is much more distinctive this time, with almost no sweat scent, as if she just took a shower before your arrival.

Then, after sniffing her soles for a minute or so, you start to swing your tongue left and right, up and down, licking every spot.

But why does it feel different? There is something wrong with her behavior. She is not trying to take her feet away from you; she lets you worship them as much as you want.

Sweet moans distracted you and made you look at what she was doing. While you were concentrated on sucking on one of her toes, Joohyun slipped her fingers in her underwear and started to play with her pussy, stimulating her clitoris, which was already wet because of you. The view of Joohyun masturbating in front of you made you stop completely.

"Uhh... Fuck", she whines, "wh-why did you stop?", without stopping the motion with her **burried** hand, she moans.

With the grace of a cheetah, you shifted your position to face her, gently grabbed both of her butt cheeks, and dragged her ass closer towards you, slipping off her underwear. All of this happened so fast, leaving her no window to react to it.

"W-what are you doing?!", she exclaims, trying to hide her dripping wet pussy crossing her legs, but you don't let her do that, grabbing them and putting them both on your shoulders. You take both of her petite hands off her entrance; she does not really put up any fight, letting you look at her lower bottom in all its glory.

Pinkish-red color of her lips, clean shaven or even lasered, slim, and dripping with woman juices.

Her face has changed in anticipation of your next move. And who are you to make your queen wait?

You start off by just rubbing her pussy with the palm of your hand up and down, but it was enough for her to produce a sweet moan. Then you do a circling motion on her clitoris with your fingers, forcing her to squeal a little.

"N-no p-please I'm too sensitive,", escapes her mouth. She does not resist though; it's a sign that you shall proceed. You insert your middle and ring fingers into her, making her moan loudly. You start the in and out motion, which makes her moan even louder with each motion, the best music to your ears.

It has been nearly half a minute, but she's already dripping profusely all over your hand. "What a dirty slut", you think to yourself.

With your free hand, you did something she would never expect you to do: you rubbed it on her rear entrance, teasing the areola with your middle finger, and then you inserted it inside, which almost made her scream.

"W-What the f-fuuuuhhhhck", she couldn't contain herself. "Aaah f-fuck, not my butt, i-it's not right", she can't stop moaning and screaming; attempts to muffle her own screams and moans with her hands are unsuccessful.

This doesn't last long, though, and you completely stopped the motion by withdrawing your fingers from her.

"Hey! I was almost done!", she exclaims with a lewd pout on her sweaty but gorgeous face.

"I know", you replied with a grin, leaning forward. Diving in between her milky thighs, you start to lick her pussy while inserting your middle finger inside of her asshole once again.

"FUCK! OH MY GOD!", she screams in protest, but you already know she enjoys it.

You nimble her clitoris with your tongue, making circle movements around it with each motion. With each motion, you anticipate what is about to come. A little bit more stimulation was more than enough.

"Oh my god, I'm going to... fuuuuuck", she groans and squeals. You speed up your pace, licking and sucking her whole entrance while fingering her butthole. "I'M CUMMING!", she screams, crossing the line of no return.

A gush of excitement escapes her core, and she clasps her thighs tightly on your head, almost crushing it. You don't waste any time embracing all that she has to offer; those female secretions are going all over your face, in your mouth, and under her, staining the couch.

After what felt like eternity, she eases her thigh grip on your skull, coming down from her high.

Wow, that was unexpected; I didn't know you would be such a squirter, Miss Bae", you say, getting up.

"I-I didn't expect it to be so good either", she replies to you with an exhausted, stuttering voice. "I think I've never had an orgasm like that".

She picks up her phone from the table, browses through it for a second, and shows you the screen. "Your due is paid. Look, I've deleted all of the videos and pictures I took of you that day..."

"I don't know if I should believe you; you tricked me the last time", you answer to her.

"That is why I will let you have some pictures of me instead, to prove to you that I'm not mad at you anymore", she says, giving you the phone. "Go ahead, make some shots".

You take the phone and start to snap pictures of her naked pussy that you just feasted on, some shots of her feet that you just worshiped, and some of her ass that you just fingered.

When you are finished, you hand the phone back to her, and she sends all of the photos that you just took.

"No way, is she for real right now?", you think to yourself. "She actually sent me those pictures.

"Are you going to blackmail me or report me to the police for the possession of these photos?", you ask her.

"No? Why would I do that? It doesn't really make sense to me to report you now and lose the best worshiper I ever had?", she says with a huge smile on her face.

"I guess?", you give her a cold response, "Now that I've **repaid** you, I should go home".

"No, we are not finished", she says, getting up, grabbing you by the arm, and throwing you back on the couch. She's fully recovered.

She's getting on top of you, grinding her wet pussy on your bulge.

Staring right into your eyes, she is everything right now, the most beautiful woman in the world and she is yours now.

After a few more seconds, she dismounts. You let her lead, waiting for her next move. She gets on her knees, positioning herself between your legs.

She drags her palm up and down on your bulge, feeling the rock-hard erection; this makes you shiver. She does not tease you for long, though; she unbuckles your belt and throws it away, unbuttons, and unzips your pants.

Grabbing both your pants and underwear, she yanks them past your knees, releasing your erection to the world.

"Wow", she says, admiring the length and hardiness of your shaft, "are you so hard just because of me? That's not good; how can I let you go home with a boner like this?", she continues, "I think we should do something about this", she smirks at you.

She grabs your cock with one hand and your balls with another. Starting slowly with moving her small, delicate hand up and down your shaft, in the meantime, massaging your balls pent up with a few days of unreleased semen.

"Do you like it?", she says with a smile. "I can be a very good girl, you know?", she smirks and speeds up the pace, making you throw your head back and enjoy what she's doing.

"Fuck, of course I do", you groan a little. "I wonder how you learned these techniques".

You're gonna like this then, she says, and she starts to lick your balls, adding another layer to the act. She jerks you off even faster with one hand, rubbing your head with another.

Louder groans escape your mouth, indicating that she's doing everything right.

Then comes a complete stop... "What- why-", you were about to start to protest missing the friction on your cock, that's when she replaces her hands with her mouth sealing her puffed lips around your head and almost with the same pace she starts to bob her head up and down your shaft.

Slurping your precum, she swirls her tongue all over your cock, giving you probably the best head of your life.

"FUCK, J-Joohyun, I'm gonna fucking cum if you don't slow down!", you exclaim, but you started to move on your own helping her with the pace she chose to blow you with, chasing the orgasm that you were looking for.

She slows down the motion, keeping only the head of your cock in her mouth for a few more seconds, swirling her tongue around the tip. Then she removes her mouth from your cock. "No, no, no, we can't let that happen right now", she says, gasping and almost running out of air.

She gets up and yanks your sweaty hoodie and shirt off you and then mounts you again, "I need your cock in me so bad!"

You grab her gently by her ass cheeks to help her aim, positioning your cock head on her front entrance. She couldn't wait much longer, so she took the initiative and sank on your rock-hard rod, making both parties produce groans caused by the friction.

"Holy fuck, you are so fucking tight!", you manage to say.

"Fuck, yes, you are so big in my pussy", she compliments you back.

Impatience-impatience, you do not let her decide what to do next, so you take the matter in your own hands, literally.

Grabbing her by the hips, you impale her on your dick with all your might, reaching the depths of her core.

"Fuck, so deep inside of me", she moans, picking up the pace. "Yes, fucking destroy my pussy, ravage me, big boy".

In the act of euphoria, her hands are wandering all over your chest and stomach, scratching you here and there and leaving marks.

"Fuck, Joohyun, your pussy is so fucking good, the tightest one I've had in my life!", you exclaim, grabbing her voluptuous thighs even stronger.

Both of hers and your moans and sounds of sex can probably be heard from miles away... But who the fuck cares? People should expect something like that to happen in hotels.

All of a sudden she kisses you, the first ever kiss between you two. Her tongue is getting into your mouth... You don't resist her at all; instead, you join her with your tongue, taking the ""fight"".

Seconds become hours; you don't want this to stop, ever... Grasping for some air, she's breaking the kiss.

"Fuck, I'm cuming again; this cock is too much for my little pussy, FUCK!" - she screams, releasing a small portion of her female juices: "Ah fuck, p-please slow down; you are gonna break me", she continues with another moan-squeal.

But you have other plans; you don't even think to slow down the motion; instead, you increase the pace, hugging her tighter and pistoning your dick in her with a high speed.

"F-f-f-fuuuuuck! Ah! Stop!", she gasps and cries out loud. "I'm cumming", she moans.

Yes, Joohyun, cum for me, cum on this cock", you demand, squeezing her.

Right that instant, she surrenders to the pleasure. For the second time of the night, she's releasing her woman fluids. Her liquids are gushing on your cock, adding more lubrication, and her pussy contracts, squeezing your dick much harder, bringing even more resistance to the motion.

"Fuck, Joohyun, you are too tight on my dick; I'm not gonna last long", you say to her, getting ready to deposit your cum into her womb.

"N-no", she gasps, trying to catch some air. "D-don't you fucking dare", she tries to make a mad face, still high from her own orgasm.

"B-but-" - you were about to start to protest.

That's the moment when you hear the suite bedroom door opening, taking you by surprise. You stop completely.

An extremely gorgeous girl gets out of the room and heads towards you.

"S-Sooyoung? What the fuck are you doing here?", you ask her, pulling out of Joohyun and sitting down and covering yourself with one of the pillows.

"Hello oppa", she replies with a big yawn, sitting down on the couch next to you two as if nothing is happening.

"Jesus, Did you hear everything happening in here?", you asked her.

"Well, not everything; I was asleep until unnie started to scream", she said, smirking at Joohyun.

"And yeah, nobody is allowed to cum inside her, not even a cutie like you; she hates it", Sooyoung decrees. Me, on the other hand, I let my man blast my pussy with all they got", she adds, lifting her lingerie and trailing her panties with a few fingers, giving you a lustful wink.

Then she gets up and comes closer to you, running her hand on your arm, going to your chest, your abs, and then trailing down to your dick that was inside Joohyun just a few moments ago. Joohyun has been silent for now, still panting from the orgasm she just had.

"Here, let me help you", she says, giving you a kiss on your chest and starting to pump your cock.

Her hand is so soft, but her grip is very firm. She starts her handjob slowly, but in a few seconds she goes full throttle, bringing you close to the edge.

"F-fuck, so good. I won't last long, Sooyoung...", you moan.

"It's okay, where do you want to finish?", she asks with a huge smile on her face.

So many options: feet, tits, abs, thighs, face... "Face, y-yes I want on your face", you produce half a moan, almost going beyound the edge.

She gets beside Joohyun on the couch, bringing her left cheek to Joohyun's right cheek. Joohyun still remains silent.

You take your dick in your hand, furiously jerking to the sight of two women laying down on the couch in front of you.

"Give it to us, cum sweet boy; blow that fucking load on our gorgeous faces", she says, looking right into your eyes.

"Fuck, Sooyoung! Joohyun!", you scream their names...

The first streak of white goo lands on the bridge of Sooyoung's nose, and with a few splashes on her left eye, she shuts her eyes. The next one you aim at Joohyun, trying to mirror the same thing that you did to her friend, but on the right side of the face. The third streak lands on Sooyoung again, this time a little bit higher on her forehead and with a few drops on her bangs. The fourth streak is less powerful than the other three, so you aim it at Joohyun's ripe lips.

Fifth and sixth are landing between Sooyoung's right cheek and Joohyun's left cheek, adding to the mess that you already made.

After finishing all of this, you were going to peck your dick on their lips, but Sooyoung is already on it, taking your cock in her hand and putting the head in her mouth, sucking out the remaining cum from your shaft. This brings pleasing shivers to your whole body. Feeling the lack of strength in your legs, you collapse on the couch beside Sooyoung.

Tired but satisfied, you look at two gorgeous women covered in your cum.

Sooyoung scoops your load from her own face, immediately putting all of it in her mouth.

"Mmm, you are tasty, oppa", she says, licking her lips and giving you a cute, sexy wink.

After that, she does not waste time; she pounces at her unnie and starts to gather your cum from her face, licking her cheeks, lips, and nose bridge.

Eww, Sooyoung...", Joohyun finally says after being quiet for a while. "What the fuck? Stop that", she adds with a note of disgust in her voice.

Sooyoung ignores her unnie, finishing everything in a few seconds, and when she's done, she engages with Joohyun in a hot, passionate kiss, swapping all of the gathered cum into Joohyun's mouth.

To your surprise, she did not spit it out immediately; instead, she gulped it down, giving you a cute smile. "Fuck, that's hot", thought crosses your mind.

"Well, that was nice, oppa, but you better invite me to the party in the future", she said with a cute pout. "Next time, you better put that load inside of me", she adds once again, trailing her pussycat with her hand.

All of a sudden, the other girl jumps up from the couch. "you should leave", she says, catching you off guard.

Joohyun, but-", you were about to complain to her that it's late and that you are tired.

"NOW!" She interrupts you, raising her voice. She gathers your clothes from the floor and throws them at you, leading you to the door.

"I'll call you when I need you", she says, kicking you out of the room and slamming the door behind your back.

...

"What the fuck was that?", you say out loud. "Well, that was weird..."

You put your shirt and hoodie on and, with a sigh, head to the elevator...

**BZZ BZZ** new message notification on your phone. It's from Joohyun.

The message contained just a simple "thank you" and a cute picture of her and Sooyoung.

You smile, feeling relieved that she's not mad at you or something, and head home.

[xshadowdelta]

Witch

Irene x Male Reader (3.6K Length)

"Hey rookie, it’s time to work."

You stood up and left that small service room, in whose sign was written 'Authorized Service Only'.

It was your first week in this new summer job as a bellboy at the most famous 5-star hotel, right in the middle of the city with a huge amount of guests every day. You got here thanks to a friend’s recommendation, not your dream job, but you really needed the money, and the pay was juicy. You arrived at the reception hall where your manager was standing next to a mountain of suitcases, feeling as if your soul wanted to leave your body seeing all those bags.

"Miss Bae Joohyun’s luggage, room 362, as soon as possible, she is waiting for it."

It took you a while to place every one of the suitcases in the luggage birdcage, using every skill you had in the Tetris game to not drop them. Then you took the elevator to the third floor, and once there, you drove until you reached the indicated room by your senior.

You knocked on the door and fixed the wrinkles in your jacket, since your first day, the manager had been very insistent on looking perfect in front of the clients. You heard the sound of the door opening and forced one of your best smiles,

"Good morning, Miss Bae, here is your luggage."

The woman in front of you didn’t say a single word as she scanned you up and down, just a slight head move to give you permission to get inside the room, meanwhile, she continues with the phone call in which she was involved.

Oh yeah, another rich middle-aged woman with a major superiority complex. You frowned and let out a whisper that only you could hear.

"Witch…"

But you have a job to do, so you entered the suite along with the luggage and began to unstack all the suitcases.

You looked back at the woman who was now standing, looking at the beautiful views offered by the windows of that room. She was speaking in a foreign language, maybe korean.

Yet you managed to understand the word "stylist" and it gave you the feeling that the person on the other side of the line was getting a good scold.

You could only see the profile of her face, enough to detect a serious and cold expression that you didn't like at all, but still you had to admit that she was a very beautiful woman.

The work was finished at the same time she ended the call. Your eyes met for a moment, and you felt a shiver run through your body. You gave her a small bow before saying goodbye.

"Have a good stay with us, Miss Bae, we are at your disposal." You were already close to the door when her voice stopped you.

"Wait a moment, please."

Another smile was forced in your face before turning on your feet to come face to face with her.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Here is your tip."

She got some bills out of her wallet and offered them to you. You hesitated at first, but you ended up taking them, and for the first time, your smile was a genuine one. You save them in the pocket of your uniform, ready to finally leave that room.

"By the way, just from one look, have you been able to deduce that I am a witch?" Suddenly, your breathing stopped, and your skin tone turned pale white. You were sure you had said it quietly enough for her not to hear that.

"Being a woman as important as me. I must be alert to everything that happens around me, don’t you think?”

Cool, now she can read minds, definitely a witch.

"I apologize, Miss Bae, it was never my intention to hurt your feelings." Your voice trembled, knowing you could be fired because of this.

"Feelings? I put them aside many years ago."

The confusion on your face was notorious, your eyes followed her to see how she took a seat, watching you with a scary look. Another shiver ran down your spine. Running away from there was not a good idea, first because it wouldn't solve anything and would make you look like a coward, but the truth is that you wanted to disappear from the world at that moment.

On the other hand, you could just cry like a baby begging for her forgiveness, that would certainly be ridiculous, but it would save your ass from a guaranteed dismissal.

"Miss Bae…"

"Don’t tell me. Do you want us to forget this incident, right?"

Her face was cold, and her words sounded like ice, sinking deeper and deeper into your chest. But you couldn't articulate a single word, just nodded your head.

For a small period of time, you thought that a halo of kindness would take over her, and she would give in to your request to forgive you, but kindness wasn't in the dictionary of Bae Joohyun.

"Get naked"

It took you a few seconds to understand the request she had just made. She didn't take long to repeat. "What are you waiting for? Get naked"

"WHAT?"

That scream only made her angrier, hitting the ground with her foot, impatient. Her look did not change at any time, she continued staring at you, challenging you.

"I see, you don’t care about this job, so…"

"Wait…"

Your hands started to move, and your uniform jacket fell to the floor. You continued unbuttoning your shirt, making your naked torso visible.

Next was taking off your shoes so you could get rid of your pants that would accompany the rest of the clothes on the floor, leaving you in underwear under the watchful eye of Mrs. Joohyun, who now had a slight mischievous smile while looking at you.

"I think we have a different concept about nudity."

You looked down at your nether area, and then your eyes returned to her. She was really trying to humiliate you in every way. "Everything?"

The coldness of her gaze was enough of an answer for you, making you slide your hands over your boxers, leaving you now completely naked. "Now I want you to stay there, don’t move and pay attention."

You felt like you were about to faint right there when you saw that woman spread her legs on the couch, raising her dress to reveal her panties, which she pushed aside.

She was showing you her naked pussy before she started caressing it with her hand. You couldn't believe your eyes, a minute ago you were fired, and now you had an incredibly hot woman masturbating herself right in front of you. Joohyun licked his own hand as she stroked herself fast, starting to moan with no shame. Despite finding yourself in this complicated situation, watching this show made your body react, and your penis was already completely erect. You tried to move one of your hands towards your penis, but Joohyun's voice stopped you. "Told you to, don't move!" "Remember that your job is at risk."

Then she inserted two of her fingers inside her pussy to stimulate herself more. Hear her loud moans, and the watery sound due to the humidity of her vagina was driving you crazy.

Joohyun continued like this for a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, Meanwhile, you were praying that this torture would come to an end, and miraculously she would decide to forgive you and run away out of there, straight to the employee bathroom to masturbate yourself, thinking about what you were experiencing at this moment.

"Come here" She demanded in an authoritarian tone, and you approached until you were right in front of her, which didn't stop her from continuing to pleasure herself.

"On your knees."

Now, your face was practically a few centimeters from her pussy, but you didn't expect Joohyun to let out one last pleasure scream, squirting directly on you.

You closed your eyes at time, however, now your face was covered by Joohyun fluids, who was now breathing tiredly but still looking at you, with a serious expression on her face.

“Wow”

Was the only thing you could say, you were in shock after what had just happened. You ran your hand over your face, trying to clean up the mess, licking a couple of your fingers in the process.

"Delicious"

"What have you said?" She was stunned, and her voice tone sounded even more enraged.

"You are delicious, Mrs. Bae."

That answer made her get up from the couch in a bad mood. She walked to the pile of your clothes on the floor and grabbed the tie that minutes ago had surrounded your neck, but now was being used to tie your hands at your back.

"What are you doing?" You asked, standing up.

She stood next to you and, without warning, grabbed your still erect penis with one of her hands, making you gasp.

"You keep saying vulgarities, you need a real punishment."

She whispered in your ear, starting to masturbate your penis slowly, making you moan a little bit. She was increasing the pace, stroking you with both hands at the same time.

"You were supposed to feel humiliation, and instead you had the courage to taste my fluids and the nerve to say 'delicious.'  I have never met someone like you, you are quite a challenge."

Your brain was unable to say anything as it was busy moaning in pleasure at Jonghyun's touch.

"Mrs. Bae, I'm about to…"

"Don't you even dare, now it's my turn to taste you."

She stopped touching you and crouched on her knees in front of you. She looked up, straight into your eyes, you saw that look again, that no longer seemed so cold, but immediately closed your eyes because of the immense pleasure you felt when her mouth devoured your cock.

Your body staggered, and you cursed for having your hands tied at that moment. You opened your eyes again only to see how she sucked your cock over and over again at an accelerated but constant pace, damn, you were in heaven.

She grabbed your balls, and at the same time she was sucking you, pressing on them, making you feel a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck, you have a good dick here."

She spit on your cock, going back to masturbate you, making wet your entire length, so that now when she sucked you, she also slurped some saliva.

“Mrs. Bae…”

She stopped for a second and looked into your eyes again.

"Irene…call me Irene."

The beat of your heart increased because of that, a feeling that was quickly replaced by another wave of pleasure when you noticed how she reintroduced your penis into her mouth, now even reaching his throat, causing her to choke on your cock.

You looked at the ceiling, trying to hold on as long as possible, wishing this moment would never end, then you felt a pinch of pain in your thighs, so you looked down again.

Your eyes found the view of Irene grabbing your thighs with her nails and the entirety of your cock inside her mouth, with some tears welling up in her eyes. She closed her eyes and started moving her head back and forth. You could say she was using you to fuck her own throat.

She stopped to take a breath, but immediately lifted your cock with one of his hands and began licking your balls desperately. "Keep looking at me or this will end here."

It was the first instruction that you would gladly follow.

She ran her tongue along the entire length, licking every inch before giving your tip a special treatment and taking it back into her mouth, this time masturbating you with her hands at the same time as she sucked you off. That made you about to explode.

"Irene…" You managed to say between several moans.

Then she let it off from her mouth again and masturbated you fiercely with both hands, looking at you with lust. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, sticking her tongue out. You knew what she wanted.

There was no need to say anything else. A few more seconds, and you let out a huge load of semen that fell directly into his mouth and face, squeezing until the last drop fell.

Irene's face was now a real mess. She had managed to swallow part of your cum, but other threads of semen fell near her eyes and part of her hair. She didn't mind at all, she was busy cleaning your cock now.

She got up a little later, walking until she stood behind you again, untying the knot that was imprisoning your hands. She took one of your hands and dragged you to another room in the suite, the bedroom with a huge bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she caught your attention again.

"Do you want to keep this job?"

Once again, you nodded your head.

"If you can make me have an orgasm, I'll pretend none of this ever happened, you understand?”

"Loud and clear."

You tried to hide your nervousness as best you could and mentally preparing yourself to give her the greatest effort of your life, your future depended on what happened in the next few minutes.

You took a few steps towards the direction where she was, she was imposing, she was scary, yes, but at the same time, you had a sensation running through your body that you had never experienced before, and you wanted to go until the end.

You bent your head straight to kiss his neck. She let out a sigh, a good sign, you deduced. You trailed kisses along his neck at the same time that your hands roamed her body.

"Not bad, but this is nothing out of this world."

You shouldn't rush, she was provoking you, you knew it. Make a mistake, and it will be over. However, you also knew how to play that game.

"Excuse my clumsiness, Mrs. Bae, my job consists of transporting suitcases, not to sexually satisfy clients, even so you seemed to have enjoyed my cock."

Your lips now kissed the part of her naked chest that was not covered by her dress.

"Even now you are still behaving like a reckless, shut the fuck up and take me off this damn dress…now."

She raised her arms, so the dress came out more comfortably, her black lace bra was still annoying, but with a deft movement it quickly disappeared as well, leaving you with the view of her naked tits.

Your mouth quickly acted as shelter for her boobs, drawing loud moans from Irene. Her hands traveled to the back of your head, pressing you closer against them.

"Just like that, fuck, work on these fucking little tits."

You sucked her boobs and licked her nipples, which at this point were really hard by the moves of your tongue. With every second that passed, Irene became more moldable under your touch.

At that moment, you took advantage of to move one of your hands to her lower zone, totally wet after the first session, you touched her pussy over her panties using circular movements.

"So fucking wet, Miss Bae." You said it with a superior tone.

"Told you to shut up." She was getting angry again.

"As you wish."

You replied and suddenly kissed her lips. Irene opened her eyes in surprise, but it didn't take long for her to respond to the kiss with even more energy, until both of you got separated to take a breath.

"It's funny, men are usually afraid of me, and I love to create that feeling in them, but it also makes them never dare to kiss me. I almost forgot how kisses felt." She said with a half-smile on her face, touching her swollen lips.

"In that case, let me help you remember."

You said, emboldened, kissing her again with passion, making her respond with the same lust and starting a battle of tongues inside your mouths. You lost your balance due to the fury of the kisses, and you fell on top of her when her back hit the bed.

When you separated from her again, you could see how her messy hair had fallen on her sweaty forehead and her cheeks were completely red, but you were surprised by her smile, this time it was a full formed and sincere smile.

"Show me what else can do that mouth of yours."

You kissed her lips again, a quick kiss this time, which was followed by another path of kisses all over her body until you reached her panties, you managed to take them off to finally see her naked pussy.

You kissed her thighs previously before sinking your face against her area, making her moan louder than ever. Your tongue moved fiercely against her pussy folds as Irene's screams filled the room.

"Don't stop, don't even dare to stop."

You were giving your best to make her feel good. Her moans, screams, and bad words only motivated you to continue doing this with more intensity. Having your tongue a rest, you quickly replaced it with your fingers, masturbating her with all your strength.

"Holy fuuuuuck, I’m cuming!" She screamed, curving her back and, once again, squirting a lot from her pussy, messing part of the edge of the bed and the bedroom floor.

She had now difficulty breathing correctly, and her chest was up and down again, trying to calm herself. Your fingers once again caressed her pussy, this time doing it so slowly. You approached to kiss her once again.

"Irene"

You called, so both of you noticed your penis fully recovered, ready for more rounds. She smiled at you, turning around, remaining face down, then you stared at her trained ass.

"Come on, what are you waiting for? Fuck me".

Your penis got excited hearing those words. You stood up immediately to stand behind her. Grabbing her hips and aligning yourself with her pussy, inserting your entire length at once into Irene's pussy.

"God, you're so tight." You moaned, starting to thrust into her.

"Yes, fuck, stretch my fucking pussy with your big cock."

"Holy shit, Mrs. Bae."

You increased your thrusts, making everything more and more primitive, to the point that your balls were colliding with her hips every time you buried your length inside her.

Irene couldn't stop moaning and screaming, grabbing the bedsheets with her hands while moving her hips to give more depth to your moves.

You didn't hesitate to grab one of her ass cheeks tightly with one of your hands and then give her a slap that echoed through the room and made the woman scream. You repeated it a few more times, having the same result.

"This is what you wanted, right? A witch like you just wanted to be fucked this hard."

One more spank to her already red ass, drove Irene crazy.

"Yes! Fuck yes, fuck me please! Don't stop now! Use my witch pussy however you want."

You kissed her neck from behind and ran your tongue down her back as your hips moved at a constant pace for a longer period of time.

"Wait." she said between moans. "I want to see you."

You took out your cock off her, allowing her to turn around, giving her another passionate kiss, you took her hips and brought her closer to the edge of the bed, sitting there, she opened her legs for you.

You entered inside her again, resuming your task of fucking her hard, Irene wrapped her arms around your head, moving a little on the bed, allowing you to fuck her deeper.

"So fucking deep." She sighs, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, she met your eyes, making her blush a bit. You didn't ignore it and brought your lips closer to hers, touching them but not kissing her.

"Mrs. Bae, I'm about to cum." She took your face in her hands, smiling.

"Inside me, until the last drop… I need it."

That was the last thing you needed, Irene hugged you and in a last effort you fucked her harder than ever until you shot all your cum inside her pussy, making both of you reach an orgasm. Both of you really had made a mess.

Irene laid on the bed, still shaking, with one of her arms covering her face. You laid to next to her, looking directly at her.

"Don't worry, today is a safe day."

"That’s fine of course but wasn't my real concern."

Irene lowered her arm and stared at you for a few moments, her eyes widening as if she had forgotten the reason of this. He pretended to cough in an attempt to hide her mistake by sitting back on the bed.

"Yes, about that… You did your part, so I'll do mine, and I promise I won't say anything about what happened here."

Feeling a big relief at that moment, you didn't say anything more than "thank you" to get out of bed in search of your work clothes. You had a schedule to complete.

"I will stay here for a few days because of work."

You left your shirt half buttoned to watch as Irene leaned against the door frame, now wearing a bathrobe from the bathroom.

"Maybe you can offer me this special service again." Her mischievous smile made your face get one, too. "I am at your total disposal, Mrs. Bae."

[kesujo]

Chapter 14: Miss Not-So-Innocent - Part 1

Previous chapter here. 8.4k words

“Hey, by the way, how’s it going with Tiffany?”

“Hm?”

Jessica showed up an hour or so after Parker had finished dinner. Seeing that she arrived in her pajamas, Parker was about to turn her away when she said she just wanted to hang out and was feeling a little lonely. He knew Hunter had to leave the state for an emergency for one of the hotels he was responsible for—a safety threat of some kind—leaving Jessica by herself for a few days now, so he shrugged and let her in. Fortunately, Jessica stayed true to her word, joining him in watching a volleyball match in the living room and doing nothing more.

In fact, with how much Parker’s been interacting with Jessica recently due to work, casual conversations in the office in which the subject of sex didn’t come up even in subtle, teasing jest were becoming more and more frequent. It was nice, even if Jessica had called him into her office the other day to coat his penis with some weird stuff while she kept it erect for a few minutes and refused to elaborate further afterwards. Otherwise, however, their conversations were … exceedingly normal. It’s only been a week, but having normal interactions with Jessica was a nice breath of fresh air. When she wasn’t dragging him to film pornos or dragging him into her office to be railed with her tits hanging out the windows, Jessica was a very charming, very likeable person. So, Parker’s guard slowly but surely dropped, to the point that he had pretty much forgotten that Jessica was sitting next to him on the couch until she posed the question.

“Pretty…” Parker racked his brain for any possible way he might’ve wronged Tiffany that would thus elicit the question from Jessica. Was it that kiss? But she didn’t seem to mind that much … was there anything else? Did he find some other way to mess up? “…good?”

Seeing Parker’s hesitation, Jessica laughed. “Relax, I’ve heard from Tiffany but want to hear from you too.”

Hearing that, Parker let out a sigh. “Yeah. Pretty good. I took her mini-golfing and then had seafood for dinner. It was a ton of fun, at least for me, but…”

“Hm?”

With how socially aware Jessica was, Parker was really hoping he wouldn’t have to spell it out for her. “Well … you know, how—what’d you hear about it from her?”

When Jessica stayed silent for a few seconds, Parker’s heart plummeted. Was it that bad?

“Do you want to know how Tiffany reacted to watching that porno we shot?”

Parker didn’t know what he thought Jessica said at first. He had to do a triple-take to fully understand it, and when he did, “Ti—” actually, was he hearing correctly? “—Tiffany?!”

“Hm?”

“You showed that to her?!”

Jessica met Parker’s bewilderment with a nonchalant smile. “Yeah. Don’t worry though, she loved it. You should’ve seen how red her face was.” In the back of Parker’s mind, he had to admit that the sight would’ve been really endearing. “But, I mean, it’s not like she doesn’t know we fuck on a regular basis.”

Parker groaned. Was that a good sign? What did Jessica’s answer even mean? “But … ah, but that’s … and she knows it was us?”

“Mhm.”

Parker’s mind was beginning to short circuit. The fact that Jessica was so jovial about this was a good thing, right? “And she knew it was us when she asked to see it?”

“Mmhm.”

“And … she really watched it, all the way through?”

“Yep.”

“And she … she liked it?”

Jessica laughed. “Yeah! Why are you asking me so many questions?”

“I mean … are you sure it was ok to show Tiffany something like that?”

“Well yeah, considering she was the one who insisted on watching it.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. “She—” if it wasn’t Jessica who was telling him this, he never in a million years would’ve believed it. Heck, even though it was Jessica, Parker was still unsure if he believed that. “—she wanted to watch it?”

“Yep. I know, I was surprised too.”

The adorable, wide-eyed Tiffany, who could barely say the words ‘sex’ or ‘fuck’ without turning beet red, who was hesitant to even ask for a goodbye kiss after their last date … that Tiffany asked to see a porno her best friend and said date featured in?

“I can see that you don’t believe me.”

“I mean, you can understand why, though.”

“Yeah. I teased Tiff about it for days.” There was laughter in Jessica’s voice, and a little bit within Parker himself, he couldn’t help but feel bad for her. “You know, you two are so darn cute together!” Unable to contain the excited schoolgirl inside her any longer, she let out a squeal so loud that Parker jumped. “I knew you’d be perfect for each other! You should’ve heard her squealing to me about how perfect you are after every single one of your dates!”

Hearing that put Parker a bit more at ease. “Well, glad to hear it. Just, go easy on her, alright?”

“Aw, worried about your girl?”

“She’s not—” Parker stopped, realizing Jessica wasn’t going to listen no matter how firmly he denied it.

“I mean, she pretty much is, right?”

“What?”

Jessica’s grin grew wider. “Come on, you don’t think Tiff didn’t fill me in on all the deets about your dates? How you got a discount at that restaurant for being a ‘really cute couple’, how you kissed her goodnight in front of her parents after that one date, and how that turned into an impromptu first meeting with them, and how they ended up adoring you?” Parker groaned. He could feel the tips of his ears turning redder by the second: he just wanted to smash his head into the couch’s armrest, but the rally going on in the volleyball match was too intense to turn his eyes away from.

“Jess—”

“Oh, and of course, on your most recent date, where you gave her a pad when she forgot to put extras in her purse?!” Parker was now convinced: the reason why Jessica was so giddy about Tiffany getting together with him was so that she could tease both of them relentlessly. Never mind what he thought before, about Jessica being incredibly likeable: she was the Devil herself. “I’ve heard from Tiff’s parents about male friends of hers they disapprove of. But to think you managed to charm them after kissing their daughter goodnight?! That’s almost unheard of! No, scratch that, that is absolutely unheard of!”

“Can you please stop?”

Jessica let out a giggle. “You and Tiff both, the way your voices get so quiet and your ears turn so red, are just too adorable.”

After a brief pause, Parker spoke back up. “So, you know how I only asked you twenty-two questions about Tiffany?” Jessica nodded. “I’m going to use one of them now.” Sensing the seriousness in his voice, the smile faded from her face. “Are you one-hundred-percent sure Tiffany is willing to have an open relationship?” This was the one hangup that was preventing Parker from asking Tiffany to be his girlfriend. Going out with Tiffany while fucking her best friend just felt wrong. Spending time with Tiffany, talking to her, just being around her made Parker feel like he was on cloud nine, but that thought lingering in the back of his mind prevented him from fully enjoying it. He wouldn’t put it past Tiffany to simply be too nice to acquiesce with an open relationship when she, in reality, wasn’t. Or maybe she even gaslit herself into believing that she was. “I mean, maybe you’re not the right person to ask, but…”

“Yeah … I know, right? A sweet, innocent, traditionalist girl like Tiffany? Especially after what she went through?” Parker didn’t respond, continuing to watch the match. Parker figured Jessica was talking about the troublesome experience Tiffany had with an ex, but seeing as how she kept her wording vague, he didn’t pry. “I’ve talked to her a lot about it, reassuring her I’d be willing to give up on my competition with Hunter in a heartbeat for her, but every time, she said that she’s sure about it.”

“I … I see.”

It set Parker’s mind at ease somewhat, but still didn’t fully clear up the muddiness in his mind about the topic. He would just have to talk to Tiffany about it.

“Have you two fucked since the first time?”

Parker snorted. “What—what are you asking all of the sudden?!”

Jessica just smiled. “So, that’s a no?”

“No! For your information, it’s already not normal to have had sex with someone before starting to date them.”

“That’s such a waste though, with how hot Tiff is and how much of a blast you two were having last time.” Parker’s face flushed a little at that memory. It was true that having sex with Tiffany was great, and he would be lying if he said that he never thought about it, but Parker prioritized taking the proper steps in their relationship first. He was thankful for Jessica for introducing them, but he didn’t need her to influence it with her salacious tendencies.

“It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That might be sooner than you think. I’m pretty sure Tiffany is—” the notification sound of a phone interrupted her, and when Jessica whipped hers out to check it, she got up. “—sorry, my friend just got here, she’s in the lobby. We were supposed to hang out, but do you mind if she comes here?”

No. No, no no no. He wasn’t going to get roped into this again. He didn’t care how unlikely it seemed that this friend of Jessica’s would want to have sex with him, he had gotten caught off guard too many times with thoughts like surely not or but this is too far-fetched or Jessica isn’t this insane to disregard that possibility.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“But she came to hang out with you, right?”

“I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

What was Jessica doing here? Did this friend know about him for some reason? Sure, if Parker was visiting a friend, he wouldn’t mind meeting a friend of his friend’s, but saying he’d love to was stretching it a bit. Maybe this friend just liked meeting new people … otherwise, Parker couldn’t shake off the paranoid feeling that this was going where he feared it might be going. “I’m nothing special.”

“I beg to differ, you’re my husband’s best friend. Such a man is not ‘nothing special’.”

Parker sighed. He knew where this was going: they would go back and forth until Jessica made him feel guilty for refusing to accommodate this friend of hers. In fact, they didn’t even need to go back-and-forth much more, he was already starting to feel that guilt, but trying to disregard it to fend off his paranoia felt a moot task. “If she really wants to come over, then yeah, she can.”

“Great! I’ll be right back!”

In the few minutes Jessica took to retrieve her friend, Parker weighed the possibility that he would be roped into more shenanigans. If she was even able to rope Tiffany in, then what about her friends who were more like her? Parker didn’t really know many of Jessica’s friends, but from what little he heard about them from Tiffany, she was more so the odd-one-out than the normal one. Given, in that context, it seemed like Tiffany was joking, so all Parker could hope was that Tiffany was exaggerating a bit for comedic effect.

When a knock came at the door, Parker jumped out of his seat. “Coming!” Opening the door, he was greeted with the smiling visage of Jessica and one other, slightly shorter but truly breathtakingly beautiful woman. If Parker was tasked with the objective to sculpt the most aesthetically pleasing face he could imagine, this woman would’ve easily beaten the product of his imagination. Parker didn’t know what it was with Jessica and having the most attractive friends, but she was an almost mystical, ethereal beauty that he almost couldn’t believe existed in the real world. Her skin was fair, unblemished, and porcelain white; her hair jet black, silky smooth, stopping at her chest; the only thing that could be said about her was that her slim figure didn’t make way for many curves, but even that seemed to suit her pure, innocent visuals well. Above all else, though, was how well her facial features fit on her face: her eyes were large, her eyelashes long, her eyebrows perfectly trimmed, her nose slim and long, her lips full, her cheekbones protruding and her perfectly aligned teeth shining white against his apartment’s lights.

“Parker, this is Irene, a childhood f—…”

Jessica abruptly cut herself off, looking over at the other woman, who gave her an encouraging nod, emphatically interjecting, “Friend!”

“—friend of mine.”

“Hi!” The luminescent woman stepped in and embraced the significantly taller man in a hug, a gesture which momentarily caught him off guard. “Oh wow, you’re pretty tall.”

“Uh—” He had never met Irene before, so being introduced with such a friendly gesture stunned him for a brief second. “—yeah, sorry.”

“Oh, no need to apologize! It would probably be easy to tackle you, I would just have to duck a little and your arms would go right over my head!”

Parker let out an utterly bewildered chuckle. “Wh-What?”

“See?” Irene demonstrated by doing exactly what she said, ducking a little and wrapping her arms around his torso, planting her face against the bottom of his sternum. “It goes right over,” she said, tilting her head upwards to see Parker’s arms swiping at open air.

“Yeah … I guess it does…” Parker looked over at Jessica who was just looking at the two with a bemused smile. He shot her a confused glance, to which she replied with a shrug.

Irene released Parker, squatting down to pick up a package she had dropped to hug him. It was only then that Parker noticed it. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s just something Jessica asked me to pick up for her.”

“…Right, gotcha.” The vague answer reminded Parker of the hesitation with this entire ordeal, something that Irene’s effervescent introduction had caused him to forget. Did he really want to know what that package contained? Did he even care? Why didn’t they drop it off at Jessica’s place, which was right next door, first? None of these were questions he was going to get answers to anyway, so Parker just kept them to himself.

“Were you watching volleyball?”

“Yeah. Do you watch?”

“Nope!”

The answer, again, caught Parker off guard. With the amount of enthusiasm Irene asked the question, Parker figured she recognized the teams or at least had some degree of interest in the sport. “Oh.” Usually, Parker was able to carry a conversation better and more naturally. With Irene, he couldn’t even formulate a proper response in his mind.

“Oh—oh my gosh, they’re hitting that ball so fast! I can’t imagine intentionally letting that hit my own arms.”

Well, that was something to work with at least. “Yeah, those spikes can get up to sixty miles-per-hour.”

“Don’t you need to be tall to play volleyball?” Irene turned to face Parker. “You’re pretty tall, right? Have you ever played it?”

“Me? No, I just like to watch. I’m probably on the shorter side for volleyball players, honestly.”

Hearing that made Irene’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. “Really?! Wow … I probably wouldn’t even have to duck to tackle them.”

Another chuckle escaped Parker’s lips. “Why would you want to tackle them?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t it fun to tackle people sometimes?”

“I don’t…” Parker trailed off, completely unable to formulate a response. “…Jessica, how do you keep up with her?”

Jessica smiled. “I don’t. I just let her say whatever she wants.”

“Hm…”

Irene didn’t seem to mind, plopping down on the sofa and setting the package down next to her. “Oh wait, number nine is pretty hot, isn’t he?”

“Hm?” Jessica turned towards the TV screen, finding the player with the corresponding jersey. “Yeah, he is.”

“How tall is he? Do you know?”

Irene turned towards Parker, who could only shrug. “My guess is somewhere between six-two and six-five.”

“Holy … that’s a bit too tall, isn’t it? I mean, if someone’s that tall, would I even have to kneel to give him a blowjob?”

Parker let out a hacking cough. “Wha-What?”

“I mean, you’d probably have to bend down a little. Like, for Parker, I can still kneel and be level with his dick, but I need to pull it down a little while straining my neck up a little to compensate.”

“Oh, I see. But what if their penis isn’t as big? Then wouldn’t it be slightly harder to pull it down to the level of your face while kneeling?”

“Oh, that may be true…” What the hell kind of a conversation were they having? And why were they speaking about it so casually? And especially in front of someone else? “So I guess you’d have to squat or something.”

“Hmm … wouldn’t it be pretty hot to be riding one of their dicks while another one of them stuffed your mouth from above?” Jessica pondered it, not seeming to be very convinced of the idea. Parker, on the other hand, was still recovering from the whiplash from the stream of vulgar words coming out of the mouth of the woman with contrastingly angelic, pure visuals. “Or maybe they could spitroast you with your feet off the ground, or maybe even suspend you in midair while fucking you in both your pussy and your ass.”

“Hm … I’m pretty sure Hunter’s a little shorter than Parker, but the suspended spitroast idea sounds so hot…” Parker, no longer feeling comfortable with the conversation, slowly got up and off the couch, but before he could escape, Jessica grabbed ahold of his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Uh … bathroom?”

“Right there,” Jessica motioned towards Irene, who simply shot Parker a smile.

“What?”

“There’s your urinal,” she repeated, Irene opening her mouth in tandem.

Parker scoffed. “Wha-What are you even saying?”

“What she’s saying is that you’re free to use me like a toilet.”

Oh god, now there were two of them. He knew it—he knew it was a bad idea to let Jessica invite her friend into his apartment. Why was he so soft on her? “I’m not—” hearing Parker sigh caused the two to burst into a fit of giggles. “—you tw—what’s wrong with you, Jessica?”

“Huh? Were you about to ask Irene what’s wrong with her?”

“What?” Irene’s face took on an exaggerated look of offense. “How could you? All I did was offer my mouth as your urinal.”

“Like—” Even when there was one Jessica, Parker often found himself overwhelmed with how sexually and kinkily she spoke. “—I, like, I mean, you realize why that’s a really—” But now that there was a second one just as sexual and kinky, if not more so … how was he supposed to react? “—that’s, like, you know, not … normal … not a normal thing to say?”

Irene shrugged. “Normal’s boring.”

Oh. Was this where Jessica got that idea from?

“Right…”

“Well?”

“Hm?”

“You need to go to the bathroom, right?”

“No, and even if I did, I wouldn’t use Irene’s mouth. I mean, I just met her, you know.”

“Oh, but she knows all about you.”

That couldn’t be good. How could he escape? But this was his apartment. Where could he even run to?

“I really don’t want to know—”

“She watched our porno.”

“God damn it, is there anyone you didn’t show that to?”

Jessica giggled. “Just like one or two more friends, don’t worry.” That was not the answer Parker was hoping Jessica would give him, but he figured he should be thankful it was only one or two more of her friends.

“Can I see it?” Irene couldn’t be talking about what he thought she might be talking about. There was no way. A woman he met just minutes ago for the first time … surely, she wasn’t asking to see his—“I want to see your dick for myself.”

Parker could only laugh. Ordinarily, having such a beautiful woman request such a thing would’ve been at least somewhat humbling, but given the situation, Parker couldn’t feel anything less than absolutely and utterly bewildered. Not only was it difficult to keep up with another Jessica, but the implication that something about the porno made Irene want to see his penis in person made Parker’s mind spin. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why that was, but now he had to grapple with that fact with the eager-eyed woman sitting on the other side of the couch from him. “Jessica, what…?”

“Oh, I forgot, you probably didn’t watch. There were some shots that made your penis look amazing, so I’d say Irene’s reaction is understandable.”

That wasn’t what Parker was trying to ask Jessica in the slightest, nor did he really understand Jessica’s explanation of Irene’s reaction, so he ended up just saying, “No, I—I’m, I’m not—I mean, I literally just met you, why would you want to go there already?”

Irene furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Do I need to know someone for a while to see their dick?” Was she being serious? Either Irene was the best actress in the world, or she actually didn’t see an issue with her proposal. “I mean, people have one-night stands all the time, don’t they?”

“I mean—” Parker had to admit Irene had a point. But still … his brain was starting to hurt. It really was too much, trying to keep up with two Jessicas at the same time. “—no, I guess, but…”

“…But what? Did you want to see my tits first? I mean, they aren’t anything too impressive, especially compared to Jessica, but—” Parker stopped Irene as she moved to throw her short off.

“No! That wasn’t what I was trying to say. It’s just … I thought you came here to hang out with Jessica?”

“Um … I thought she invited me over to introduce me to you.” It was only then that Parker remembered Jessica mentioning introducing a childhood friend to him a week ago.

“Ah, right…” Thinking back on it, Jessica’s description of her at the time matched Irene pretty well: her figure wasn’t the best, but she was insanely beautiful. Parker just wished Jessica had given him a better heads up as to what kind of a person she was. Then again, she was Jessica’s friend. “…but that wasn’t the impression I got from Jessica.”

“…whoops, forgot to tell you?”

Parker rolled his eyes and sighed. “Well, now that you’ve introduced us…”

A brief silence followed in which the two ladies exchanged glances. Whatever telepathy that transpired between the two, the result was Irene saying, “I guess Jessica didn’t tell you much about me.”

Parker shook his head. “Sorry, not really.”

“Well, basically, all you need to know is that I have a breeding kink.” Again, Parker was caught off guard, letting out a hacking cough. “I came here because I want you to pump me so full of cum, my womb will have no choice but to give me a baby.”

That was a hell of a proposal, but what was Parker even supposed to do with it? Sure, Irene was definitely attractive enough to elicit a positive desire to acquiesce with that demand, but first off, why him, specifically? Was it because of that porno? The way she worded it … ‘my womb will have no choice but to give me a baby’ … Parker didn’t want to pry, but it almost sounded like Irene had tried multiple times before and had failed just as many times. But why would he have any better of a shot than all the other presumed guys she’s had in the past?

He felt like Irene was burdening him with a task, and the expectant way she was looking at him reinforced that.

“Ordinarily, I would want proof that you were tested recently for STIs, but since Jessica vouched for you, that’s not necessary. I have my own STI test report from last week in case you wanted to see it for yourself.” Irene handed him a bundle of papers that Parker briefly looked at—not that he was that interested in them, more so because he was so perplexed that looking at the bundle of papers placed in his hand was a reflexive action to being handed them. “Also, if you do manage to impregnate me, I promise to not burden you with child support. I can sign a contract if you’d like. I have one here,” she said, procuring another bundle of papers from her purse.

“Um…” Parker was overwhelmed, and this time, it wasn’t because of her eccentricity. It was almost like a business transaction, except it was one of those too-good-to-be-true proposals that had to be a scam. But if it was, where was the detriment to himself? This was Jessica’s friend, after all: would she try to scam a friend of her friend?

All this preparation reinforced his theory that Irene had done this with multiple other men, but aside from that, Parker didn’t know what else to think. Irene certainly seemed determined, even if she had said everything with the same jovial expression on her face. Thinking about the amount of times Irene must’ve tried and failed to become impregnated made him feel bad for her, even if he didn’t know why it was that Irene so badly wanted a child. But the question remained: why did he have to be the next one to try to knock her up?

“Come on, Parker—Irene’s giving you a free pass to fuck her until you’ve emptied your balls inside her. When’s the next opportunity to fuck someone like Irene without worrying about any consequences going to come up?”

Parker didn’t want to admit that Jessica had a point, but first… “Just to make sure—you aren’t in a relationship, right?” Irene shook her head. There was one concern gone, but with that, another arose. “Then … I’m sorry if this is insensitive, but do you mind telling me why you want a baby so badly?”

“Well, they’re so cute, aren’t they? Ever since I was little, I’ve loved kids, but guys don’t really like me, so I decided I’ll just raise one myself.” Parker didn’t believe Irene in the slightest when she said that guys didn’t like her, but there had to be a basis for that. What that was wasn’t Parker’s business to determine. In the corner of his eyes, he could also see Jessica shift uncomfortably a little, but he didn’t want to try to read into things. “Having sex with a bunch of different kinds of people is just a bonus. I don’t think I’ve ever had sex with someone as huge as you, though.”

Parker almost felt like he had to accept Irene’s proposal, which was weird because no man in his right mind would reject a chance to have sex with her. If they had met at a bar and Irene proposed to go back to his place, they might’ve had a one-night stand even if he didn’t know her ultimate goal with the sex. But… “So … you brought Irene over to have sex with me?”

“…Yeah?”

Sometimes, Parker wished he could dive into Jessica’s head to figure out why she didn’t find it weird that she did this. If Parker had a nickel every time Jessica brought over a friend with the explicit purpose of getting the two of them to have sex, Parker would have two nickels, which wasn’t that many nickels but it was weird it happened twice. Or maybe it wasn’t weird, considering this was Jessica. Did this mean he could anticipate Jessica doing this more in the future? If he and Tiffany became a couple, what would that say about him as a boyfriend, even if Tiffany stated she was fine with being in an open relationship? At least right now, he and Tiffany weren’t an item, but if they ever did, could he, in good conscience, do this?

“You gotta stop pimping me out.”

“Well, think about it like this: you get to fuck a bunch of hot women, and my friends get to experience your cock. It’s a win-win!”

“So, is that a no then?”

At the point they were in, needing to talk about being exclusive to each other was implied, but with what Jessica said … of all people, Jessica, the best friend of the woman he was seeing, who so woefully begged Parker to take care of Tiffany well, telling him Tiffany said that it was fine for him to have sex with other women … and to top it all off, as much as Parker tried to stave off the feeling, he could feel himself getting turned on ever so slightly. Was he bad for feeling this way? It felt wrong in so many ways, but when such an amazingly attractive woman was pushing herself onto him like this, wasn’t feeling turned on natural? No, a man with principles would be able to turn her away. But, then again, a man of principles might also claim that it was a man’s duty to acquiesce to the demands of a woman in need, and Irene was presenting herself to him as exactly that. “Well, first of all, let’s move.”

Just as he moved to stand up, Irene pushed him back down onto the couch. “Nope. I’m way too horny now. Do you mind?” Irene asked, her fingers looping around his pants.

“Wha—um—” Not that he wasn’t used to very forward women, but the eagerness with which Irene situated herself between his legs stunned him for a second. “—n-no, I guess?”

Off came his pants and boxers, and out came his mostly-limp dick. “Ooh, wow…” Irene’s dainty fingers brushed against his member. Parker felt his lower half tense up, his dick twitching at the soft sensations of her fingers wrapping around his shaft. “You’re not even hard yet, huh?”

Shit. Parker wasn’t mentally prepared yet, so, scrambling to answer, he stammered out a, “not really.”

“Hmm…” Irene’s fingers wrapped more tightly around him. With each firm tug and jerk, the soft reproductive organ grew more and more erect. “It’s so beautiful, too…”

Parker blinked, then let out a chuckle. “What?”

“Isn’t it?”

Irene turned to Jessica, who nodded in response. “It is!”

“What…” the question died in his throat. Not that he’s seen many other penises, but Parker figured his was pretty average, appearance-wise. What about it was aesthetically pleasing? He knew he probably wasn’t going to get a very good answer though, so he let the question die in his throat.

“Wow, and it’s still getting bigger.”

Figuring it was pointless to continue ponder about the morality of the situation, Parker shifted his mind towards Irene. The slightly deeper breaths Parker was taking gradually turned into gasps and hisses, his erection hardening and growing with every stroke. “Mmm…”

The fact that Jessica was very avidly watching didn’t help at all. Parker shot her a glare, but she just responded with a confused expression, her drawn-together eyebrows asking him ‘what?’. He didn’t have high hopes that would drive Jessica away, but Irene didn’t even seem to mind. She continued stroking him, egging it on further by planting chaste kisses along its hardening length.

“You said it was … seven inches?”

“Yea—”

“Seven point five,” Jessica interjected.

Parker had felt it irrelevant to correct such a minute difference, but of course Jessica would know the precise measurement, and of course she would be the one to correct Irene.

“Oh, god … so this is what seven-point-five looks like, huh?” Irene said in marvel, staring at his now fully-erect penis.

“Yeah. How do you feel, finally seeing it in person now?”

Parker tried not to think about the implications of Jessica’s use of the word ‘finally’. He, for a brief moment, wondered if women talked about the porn they watched and if they used it, but knowing it was Jessica and a slightly smaller and less curvy Jessica, he realized it was pointless to even wonder about it. “It’s … amazing. I thought they must’ve spent some serious budget to make his cock look so mouth-wateringly appealing, but now I realize the camera didn’t do it justice.”

“This is so weird.”

“Hm? What is?”

Parker could only gape at the clueless Irene. “Wha-What? What isn’t?”

“Oh, I guess you would want me to at least do this shirtless, huh?”

“That’s not—” Parker’s interjection fell upon deaf ears, Irene proceeding to throw off her shirt and revealing her breasts. The loose top she wore hid how well-developed they actually were, but they still probably couldn’t fill Parker’s palm. That didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate them, though: with its even paler, milky white color tightly stretching across her chest, each mound decorated with a golf-ball sized, light-brown areola with two equally squeezable-looking nubs sitting in the center, they were as pleasant a sight to look at as the rest of her. “—what I meant in the slightest, but ok.”

“Hm? What did you mean, then?”

“I mean, Jessica’s right there.”

“So?”

Parker shook his head. He should know better than to try to appeal to common sense with a Jessica. “Never mind.”

Irene gave him a smile, giving his shaft a few more firm pumps before saying, “You’re funny,” then swallowing his tip whole in one swift motion.

“Agh—” Irene didn’t stop until she was halfway down his length, and by then, he could feel her throat tightening around his cock. “—ah, Irene—”

Irene, on the other hand, had placed hands on either side of his inner thigh to stabilize herself, unable to respond except with a few gagging noises. Tears started welling up in her eyes the further she went down, suppressing her gag reflex when it reached deep enough. It felt like it would never stop, not that Irene wanted it to; she felt like she had completely unhinged her jaw, her nose almost pressing against his shaft. Being that she could only breathe from her nostrils, with every intake of air she took in, accompanying it was the musky smell of Parker’s cock, and that invigorated Irene even more. With how much space Parker was occupying her mouth, her tongue had no choice but to be firmly pressed against the underside of his dick, haplessly drooling all over it. She tried to pay as much attention to his balls while doing so, but the truth was, at some point, both Irene’s mind and her throat had become completely occupied with Parker’s penis.

“Ah, shit.”

“Wow, look at her go…”

Irene barley registered the fighting words of her friend, taking a few moments to steel herself before beginning to bob her head against his length. Another swear flew out Parker’s mouth at the feeling of her velvety tongue expertly gliding and coiling along his length, her throat flexing and tightening against his member like it was made to house him. However, if that was indeed the case, then the housing was grossly undersized: Irene still had a third left to go before she could claim to have taken in his entire dick with her mouth.

Part of Irene began to wonder how he’d fit inside her pussy. How far would he reach, how would it feel to have him cum that deep inside her? Irene’s pussy ached, translated in the increased vigor of her deepthroating of Parker.

“Irene, holy shit—”

Parker was doing everything in his power to keep her hands off her hair. While Irene’s impressive blowjob-turned-deepthroating felt amazing, and while she sank a bit deeper with each bobbing motion, having the little bit unattended left something to be desired. Even if she talked and acted like Jessica, it didn’t mean she wanted to be treated like her, nor did it mean he even felt comfortable doing so. The fact that, in watching her and experiencing what Irene was doing to him, he felt inclined to shove her face until her nose touched his crotch made him wonder if Jessica had become too much of a negative influence on him.

Like clockwork, as soon as Parker felt sufficiently warmed up to want to reciprocate, Irene came up for air.

“Wow, you almost got all of it by the end there.”

“Really?” Irene wiped the drool coming out of the corner of her mouth, but even as she did so, she looked insanely beautiful. It wasn’t the same pure-innocent beauty as from before: this time, it was more so a femme fatale kind of beauty, one that made you realize she was dangerous but in all the ways you didn’t care about.

“Yeah, you had like an inch to go, it looked like.”

“Hm…” Irene looked up at Parker with a grin. “Maybe next time, I’ll go for all of it.”

“…Right.”

Irene giggled at Parker’s confounded reaction. “How was my throat?”

“It felt…” Was it normal to ask the question so giddily? “…uh, it was good…?”

“Why do you never tell me that?”

“Well,” Irene said, ignoring her friend and climbing onto Parker’s lap, shooting a dazzling, seductive smile at him, “wait until you feel my pussy.” It should’ve hardly been a surprise that Irene talked this way, but it still caught Parker a bit by surprise. By the time he had processed it fully, Irene was already aligning his cock with her entrance. “Ready?”

“This is … shouldn’t it normally be me who’s asking you?”

“Oh, you won’t have to ask me if I’m ready.”

The next sound to come out of Parker’s mouth was a surprised moan, the feeling of Irene’s blazing hot sex wrapping around his cock overriding his ability to speak.

“Mmm…”

Irene had her eyes closed, a mixture of a bliss and lust on her face as she lowered herself onto him at an astonishingly quick pace—quicker than Jessica their first few times, if he remembered correctly. “Ah, Irene—”

“Wow, fuck you’re big…”

More than halfway down, Irene started to slow down, electing to rotate her hips and slowly grind her way down his shaft. It felt incredible, alright: the intense tightness with which her pussy squeezed his cock, the wetness that counteracted any resistance the tightness offered, the warmth, the way her pussy walls seemed to be massaging his shaft … but the fact that Jessica was right there, and he was inside a woman he didn’t even know an hour before lingered in the back of his mind. Irene didn’t seem affected at all, but it stuck in Parker’s mind: was this normal? It couldn’t be, right?

Who was he kidding, of course it wasn’t normal. Even one-night stands, picking up chicks from bars or meeting from Tinder or the like involved getting to know someone at least somewhat before getting to the sex. For Parker, he had been made aware of Irene’s existence for only a few minutes before his cock was already two-thirds of the way inside her. How much his sense of what’s normal dulled since he started spending time around Jessica … Parker didn’t even want to think about it.

“Wa-Wait, Irene…”

He could tell Irene was going considerably slower, and if she was in pain, she was doing an immaculate job of hiding it. The intensity her pussy was squeezing his cock, however, was teetering on the line of pleasure and pain. However, perhaps it was due to some kind of pride, or maybe it didn’t feel painful to her, or maybe it even was Irene wanting to brag about being able to take his entire length in one go to Jessica, but she didn’t stop.

“Hmm … mmm…”

The low rumble of Irene’s husky voice was a nice distraction to the burgeoning pain on his cock, but Parker still had to grit his teeth to endure it.

“Irene, please…”

Parker had hardly ever begged for anything in his life. Maybe there were some times when he was a kid, begging his parents to let him finish the gym battle in the Pokémon game he was playing or begging his parents for ice cream on a hot summer day, but his parents otherwise treated him well. His first couple of sexual encounters with Jessica was what broke his streak of not needing to beg for anything, but ever since she told him about her competition with Hunter, the need to do that vanished.

At this moment, that need reemerged.

“Too … it’s too tight…”

The plea seemed to translate into a compliment to Irene’s ears, though. “Yeah? You like how tight my pussy is?”

It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good at all, but a combination of things distracted Parker from the pleasure aside from the pain—namely, self-consciousness from the knowledge that Jessica was watching them and the fact that he and Irene were essentially strangers. Asking Jessica to leave wasn’t going to actually make her leave, and addressing the fact that he met Irene only minutes before didn’t seem like it’d affect Irene, so the only thing he could point out was the thing she was bragging to him about.

“N—Irene, slower, please…”

“Hm?" Parker’s hands cupped her cheeks and pushed upwards. “Oh!” Jessica let out a giggle as Parker lifted her up enough that the pain mostly subsided.

“You’re too eager, Rene.”

“Sorry…”

Irene shared a sheepish smile with Parker, who just shook his head at it. “Just, more slowly, ok?”

Irene nodded, and it was only after that when Parker realized what he had said: or rather, how casually he said it.

Being around Jessica really was messing with his capability to withstand a level of bullshit a normal person shouldn’t. Then again, a normal person would probably be willing to withstand more bullshit for the chance to have sex with Irene.

“Righty-do.” Parker blinked a few times, a bemused smile starting to play at his lips. “But you have to control the pacing this time, ok? Because I can’t promise I won’t do the same thing if you don’t.”

“Uh, right.”

When they resumed, Irene’s eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted again, something Parker couldn’t help but look at: of all the beautiful features perfectly placed on her face, her lips had to be the most alluring. Even when slightly parted, or perhaps even more so when they were slightly parted, they seemed to naturally form a pout.

He wasn’t dating Tiffany yet. Plus, according to her best friend, she was even fine with an open relationship. And said best friend, who seemed to be invested in the relationship between the two, introduced Irene to Parker for this exact purpose. This wasn’t cheating. He shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to lean forward and capture Irene’s perfect, kissable lips.

“Shit.”

“Ooh yeah, fuck…”

Irene, perhaps interpreting Parker’s frustrated groan as one of pleasure, responded in kind, gently biting the corner of her lower lip and throwing her head back.

Having sex with Jessica was one thing, but having sex with another woman, even if she was Jessica in another body … Parker couldn’t rid himself of the thought that he was betraying Tiffany, somehow.

“Deeper, babe…”

“…Shit.”

Tiffany didn’t seem the least bit phased when Jessica was riding him; in fact, she seemed intrigued more than anything. But then again, that was before they started seeing each other. Maybe now it would be different.

Was he thinking about this too deeply?

“Parker…?” Irene turned around, her eyes landing on the conflicted, downcast gaze of the man whose cock was inside her.

“Damn it. Jessica, are you really sure about Tiffany?”

“Oh, wait, Parker’s the guy Fany’s been seeing recently, right?” Jessica nodded. “In that case, we should probably send her some pic—” she abruptly cut herself off upon seeing Jessica hastily motioning for her to stop.

What? Was this some kind of extreme teasing? Did Irene hate Tiffany or something? Why would she propose such a thing? But, most of all, why wasn’t Jessica reprimanding Irene for suggesting them to do such a thing for what seemed to be their mutual friend?

“I was going to let Tiff tell him!”

“Oh! Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“Ok—” Parker lifted Irene off his lap and set her down next to him. It was definitely strange, preparing to dive into a serious topic with his erection out for all to see, but this seemed too important to pass up. “—what? What kinds of pictures were you going to send her?”

“Um, sorry Parker, I need to ask her something first.”

“Just to be clear, were you talking about pictures of … of … this?” Parker didn’t intend to raise his voice, but he felt as though he had been deceived into playing some kind of cruel prank on Tiffany. Irene seemed so nice, so likeable, and so genuine, too.

“I can tell you what Irene meant by that, but first I need Tiff’s—” Jessica’s voice trailed off a little, her eyes darting back to her phone notifying her of a text message. “—um, Tiff’s permission.”

After finally blowing up on Jessica about what they had been doing behind Hunter’s back after nearly being caught by him on his balcony, Parker figured Jessica needn’t hide much else from him. Jessica, too, seemed glad to be cleared of that misunderstanding … but where did Tiffany play a part in this?

“Give me a little…”

Irene sat idly next to Parker, a clearly guilty expression on her face. That wasn’t the face of someone who wanted to do something mean to Tiffany. Or did she just look that way because she had been caught?

“…ok, I got her permission. You know how I told you Tiffany was fine with an open relationship, but didn’t elaborate?” Parker hesitantly nodded. He didn’t want to antagonize Jessica, nor Irene, too quickly, so he made sure to reign in any kind of animosity that was starting to form within himself. “Well, I figured Tiffany wanted to be the one to tell you, but now the cat’s out of the bag, and now that I got her permission, I’ll let you know. I actually do know why Tiffany’s fine with an open relationship: it’s because she’s … how should I put this, a voyeur?” Parker didn’t even know how to interpret that. “Hm … no…” but what did that have to do with anything? “…well, the bottom line is, she finds the idea of another woman fucking her man hot.”

Parker’s first reaction was to scoff at that. “What?”

“I know! It’s always the purest, most innocent ones that are the freakiest, huh?” In Parker’s eyes, Jessica had no grounds to say such a thing, but … looking into her eyes, there didn’t seem to be a hint of deceit. Not that he knew her well enough to be able to detect it. “Why do you think she asked me to watch that porno we shot?”

Shit … well, that did explain that one thing, given it was true.

“But…”

“I can show you what I just texted her if you want proof.” It felt like a violation of privacy of the woman he was seeing, but his curiosity got the better of him. He nodded, leaning forward, Jessica turning her phone’s screen toward him. Sure enough, the text exchange was with Tiffany, and Jessica was explicitly asking permission to tell him about that aspect about herself. What probably took Jessica a bit to inform him was the little bit of hesitation Tiffany showed, but when Jessica promised some pictures and videos of him fucking Irene, Tiffany buckled.

“Do … you have a single normal friend?!”

Jessica burst into laughter. “That’s rude! Aren’t you pretty much dating her?”

Parker groaned. On the side, he could hear the faint chuckles of Irene. “I mean…” he didn’t mean it like that. It was just a guttural reaction he couldn’t contain … but wasn’t it pretty normal? Actually, he shouldn’t justify that outburst like that. Admittedly, it was pretty awful of him to say such a thing about a woman he was seeing, but … well, at the very least, this was something he did not see coming. And he wondered why Tiffany was friends with Jessica; turns out, they maybe had more in common than he initially thought. “…yeah, but … wait, are you actually gonna send pictures to her?”

“Well, I promised, so … unless you’re unwilling?”

Parker almost laughed at that. Leave it to Jessica to just assume he was on board with such a ridiculous proposal. If it was something the woman he was seeing wanted … should he deny her? It wasn’t even like the idea that Tiffany was a cuck of sorts turned him off from her; maybe it was Jessica’s influence on him, but he saw it as nothing more than a quirk, albeit a pretty extreme one.

“Irene…?”

“Um…” Irene’s downtrodden gaze alerted Parker that she still felt bad despite things having been cleared up.

“It’s—” it was only then Parker remembered his dick was out, which he began to move to cover but stopped halfway. “—uh, it’s fine.”

“So … then, are you also ok with the pictures?”

Parker sighed. When did his life become so weird? “Yeah, I guess.”

At that, Irene’s eyes lit up. “Great!” Actually, maybe Parker was the weird one. Maybe his preference for missionary, and at most, doggy, made him the odd-man-out. “Then…” Irene sprung off the couch and repositioned herself in his lap, her hands resting on his knees while her ass hovered inches over his softening erection. Parker tentatively put his hands on her plump cheeks, spreading them out to see her still-glistening pink folds, drooling at the prospect of being torn open again by his cock. “…go ahead. Make me scream with that dick.”

Next part here.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

Personal Assistants

Smut (Defloration, girl on girl, virgin sex, deep penetration, rough sex, masturbating, creampie, double facial, slight humiliation )

Chapter 1

2,800 Words 

(IU and Irene become your personal assistants for your new entertainment company. You can’t help but take them out for a spin before putting them to work. )

“How is the birthday boy doing?”

“I’m doing great. Happy that you gave me this opportunity to create my own company.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’ve been a great son and have put a lot of work into learning about the company. I just want to give you the chance to build your own.”

“Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it. I won’t disappoint you. I’ll make sure that I make this new division of our legacy a great one.”

“That’s my boy.” Your dad looks at the closed door and says, “I have a present for you.” 

“You shouldn’t have.” 

“It’s going to help you in your endeavors, plus they will be a good distraction for you if you ever feel stressed.” Your dad opens the door, and in comes two beautiful women. “This is Lee Ji-Eun, stage name IU, and Bae Joo-hyun doesn’t have a stage name yet. They are going to be your personal assistants and be there for whatever you need. I have personally picked them for you.” 

The two women bow and introduce themselves to you. “Annyeonghaseyo, I’m Lee-Ji-eun, and I’m Bae Joo-hyun. We will be serving you from now on, so please treat us well.”

You can’t help but admire their beauty and silently thank your dad for giving you two beautiful assistants. IU then gives you a letter, “Your father told me to give you this letter once we get acquainted,” and hands you the letter. 

“Wish you the best. These two are part of your birthday gift. Their parents have some issues, and they volunteered to be your assistants if I help them a bit. They are instructed to follow every one of your commands. Ask them anything, and they will do it, like telling them to cook or massage you. Hell, you can even fuck them if you want to, and they won’t say no. Have fun, son, and enjoy.

P.S. Also, these two beautiful ladies are also virgins, so enjoy it even more.

From your father,

XXX”””

You look back at them, and you’re in disbelief but wonder if what your father said is true. You know there is only one way to find out, and that’s by testing it. 

With a commanding voice, you say, “Both of you strip.” 

They are both surprised by the sudden command and hesitate but remember the contract they signed. 

Both of them look at each other and slowly undo their buttoned-up blouses and then their skirt until they are both in underwear.

You can’t help but admire their pale white skin that blends with their white bra and panties. “I don’t think you heard me right, I said strip. Strip completely!”

They tremble from your voice and quickly undo their bra, then underwear. They use their hands to cover their small breast and private area. “We stripped as you ordered, sir.” 

They avoid your gaze and look down at the floor. “Both of you have beautiful bodies and cream-white skin.” You walk towards them and slowly caress their skin. IU, looking like the more submissive one, gets your attention first. You place your hand on her small button, her waist, and remove her hands from her breast to make it easier to cup. Just like you predicted, she doesn’t resist and allows you to move her body as you wish. 

On the other hand, Bae Joo-hyun shivers at the slightest touch of your hand on her body. IU pulls you to the side and whispers to you, “Sir, hmm… Bae Joo-hyun hates men. Don’t think she likes being near them. Your father told me to tell you this: “Make Bae Joo-hyun submit to you.” Personally, I won’t resist since you are our new master, but you might need to be a bit forceful with her. Obviously, we know our role here, and of course, we wouldn’t dare to go against you, but you can always give us a command, and we’ll follow it to the letter.” 

You look back at Bae Joo-hyun and at IU, thinking about the complete personalities they both have. You debate if you should ask her to remove her hands from her breast and private area or command her to do it.

After thinking it over, you say, “Calling you by your given name seems too much. I’m going to give you a stage name. Is that okay?”

Bae Joo-hyun finally looks up at you and says, “Yes sir, that’s okay.” 

“You’re going to be Irene from now on.”

“Thank you for the name, sir.” 

“Also, remove your hands; I want to see all of you.”

She looks both angry and afraid and slowly removes her hand from her breast. IU looks at Irene’s unwillingness to remove her hand from her lower area, moves close to her, and grabs her hand, interlocking it with hers for support.

With both women completely exposed, you can’t help but sit on the single couch and admire their bodies. 

“I want you both to kiss each other on the bed over there.”

IU grabs Irene’s hand and walks her to your bedroom. She sits on the bed, slowly grabs her face, and kisses her. Irene closed her eyes and reciprocated, enjoying the kissing session. 

Minutes pass, and you can’t help but enjoy the show. Wanting to see more, you say, “Since you two are enjoying kissing so much, masturbate together.”

Irene is shocked by the sudden request by IU; on the other hand, she wants to please her new master and get on his good side. 

“Yes, as you wish.” 

She pushes Irene down and starts to suck on her tits while playing with Irene’s leaking cunt. She uses her fingers to rub Irene’s soaked folds, causing Irene to moan loudly. It’s her first time having her cunt touched by someone else, and IU’s soft and thin fingers turn her on. 

You watch as the two of them have a good time as they moan in sync. You pull out your cock and begin to stroke it. As Irene drowns in pleasure as IU moves down to eat out Irene. You can’t help but get a bit jealous and decide to do something crazy.

You stand and walk towards the bed at full length and see IU with her ass sticking up. “Fuck you have a really nice pussy” as you trace IU’s folds. IU’s pussy twitches from your touch but doesn’t react and just continues to eat out Irene.

“It’s so nice and small. Let’s see if it’s true,” as you use both of your fingers to split open IU’s cunt. Immediately, you see IU’s juices ooze out and stain the bedsheets. “Damn, you’re this wet already? And look here, it’s true,” as you see her hymen intact. Captivated by the thin layer of flesh, you insert your finger and caress it. IU yelps from your cold touch, making her move her hips. 

Based on her reaction, you see this as a green light, “Fuck it, he said your mine to use, so let’s put you to work.”

Irene opens her eyes and sees you behind IU and panics, “Ji-eun, behind you!” She sees your smirk and watches as you lick your lips. “Please don’t!”

You grab your cock and align to IU’s small entrance. Your cock presses the head of your cock against her thin folds and slowly inserts yourself. IU cries from the sense of her lips being split wide open. Her body crashed onto Irene as she was overwhelmed by the new sensation. 

Little by little, you insert more of your cock until you reach the thin barrier that’s separating you from reaching her womanhood. “Here I go. Take all of my cock” as you press on forward. The both of you can feel the exact moment you take IU’s virginity. She grunts out in pain and digs her nails deep into Irene’s arms. 

Irene feels the weight of both you and IU on her body. Many things rush through her mind, like why is he fucking IU, and is she going to be next? She was originally okay with being his personal assistant and knew that sex was going to happen eventually but not this fast. 

“Fuck, you have a really tight pussy. I don’t think I can wait!” You give her little to no adjustment and thrust the rest of your cock. 

“Ahh… it hurts!! You’re too big! Pull it out! IU’s small body frame doesn’t seem to be able to handle the size of your massive cock, but to you, that doesn’t matter. All that matters in your mind is enjoying her body and nothing else. 

You start off with small thrusts and increase the pace little by little. Your balls slap against her small frame. “I’m going to make sure I have fun with you both. So don’t worry, Irene, you’ll also enjoy some of this.”

After some time, IU’s walls clench on your cock, signaling her orgasm. You pull most of your length, only leaving the tip of your cock, and immediately shove it with such force that makes IU cough. “Fuck!! I’m going to cum!! You feel her orgasm as your cock is coated in her juices.

Instead of letting her relax through her orgasm you increase the thrust of your cock. IU, at this point, is a mess from her orgasm a few seconds ago. “I can’t believe your pussy is this tight. I’m going to make sure we enjoy this,” as you look at Irene. 

“Wai…wait…don’t go so fast, you’re rearranging my insides!”

“Don’t worry about that. Worry about pleasuring my cock instead.”

As you continue your thrusting, IU begins to lose consciousness. Her mouth oozes drool while her eyes are rolled back. Irene can only watch as she sees IU getting destroyed by your cock. The only thing going through her mind is if you’re going to be satisfied with just IU or if you’re going for her next. 

“Fuck…I’m going to cum!” You give her one last thrust and release a large wave of cum. Her cunts immediately milks your cock, filling her womb. You feel your core completely hot as you finish your own orgasm. 

“Fuck… that felt really good. I think I can go another round,” as you pull out your cock from IU’s freshly deflowered cunt. The only sound you hear is a loud pop, followed by a mixture of cum and IU’s nectar staining the bedroom sheets. 

You walk to the bathroom to get yourself clean, and when you return, you see Irene trying to wake up IU. “Wake up, please,” as she taps her cheeks. Wanting to tease Irene, you say, “Alright, ready for round two?” 

Those were the words she didn’t want to hear; she knew after seeing IU getting fucked by your massive cock she might end up the same way. You walk towards the bed, move IU’s unconscious body to the side, and grab Irene’s hand. “Come over here, and let's have some fun.” She knows she can’t reject any of your commands without facing the consequences. So without a complaint, she follows you towards your couch and sits on the empty seat. 

“Sorry for what you just saw, but I really couldn’t help it; her cunt looked so inviting that I couldn’t resist. But don’t worry, I’m not going to force myself on you. You’re going to be the one to decide when you give your first to me, but don’t take too long because I’m not too fond of people who make me wait. Do you understand?” 

Irene nods her head, “Yes, I understand, sir.”

“Okay, sounds good. Now that we have an understanding, how about we have some fun.”

Confused, Irene asks, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want you to suck my cock” whipping your flaccid cock in hand. 

“You want me to su…suck it?”

“Yeah, you think I’m going to leave you without a taste? I’m not that mean, I treat everyone fairly. IU got a little extra, but that’s on me. I want us to get to know each other better, so I’m only going to say this once, suck my cock.” 

With a smile on your face, she looks at your cock and reaches for it. You can see her hands slightly trembling as she holds it in her hand. “Don’t be shy; it's not going to bite. Just hold it nicely, give it a few strokes, and put it in your mouth.”

With her right hand, she gives you a slow pump, waking up your member once more. Little by little it slowly wakes up, “Focus on the head, pull the skin down.” Irene does as she’s told and pulls your foreskin back, revealing your mushroom tip. “Come on, lick it.” She slowly moves her head, sticks her tongue out, and likes the tip of your cock. It twitches, which catches her off guard. 

Irene tilts her head up, looks at you, and looks back down. She knows there is no way out and accepts her fate as our personal plaything. She hesitantly opens her mouth and slowly takes in the tip of your cock. 

“Good girl, take it nice and slow. There is no rush.” 

She takes your cock a small amount at a time until it's a fourth way inside. You place your hand on the back of her head and say, “Alright, just relax your mouth and don’t close it, okay?” She nods, and you bob her head slowly. With her head going up and down, she can feel it getting bigger, enough for it to reach her throat. This causes her to gag and place her hands on your legs to push you away. 

“You’ve never sucked at cock, huh.” Irene looks at you and nods her head from side to side. “I guess it can’t be helped. Just lick it instead” and pull your cock back out. 

So for the next few minutes, all she does is lick your cock from top to bottom as well as your balls. You can't help but feel disappointed, but instead of focusing on the bad side, you think to yourself, “I can train her to my preference.”

Suddenly, from the side of your eye, you see IU lift herself back up and turn her head next to you. Her face is a complete mess, her mascara is ruined, and her hair is undone. She makes her way down the bed and tries to walk but stumbles. Her legs are completely numb, and the more she walks, the more cum runs down her thighs. But like the good little girl she is, she makes her way to the couch, gets on her knees, and gives you a look of lust. 

“Seems like someone knows her place. You’re going to be responsible for teaching Irene a thing or two, okay.” IU nods her head and sticks her tongue out. You stand up and stroke your cock in front of IU at a medium pace. She patiently waits for her treat and focuses on your cock. 

“Fuck, I’m about to come soon.”

Irene looks at IU on her knees, her tongue out, and does the same. She gets on her knees next to IU and sticks her tongue out as well.

“Ohh… you’re getting the hang of it, that’s good.”

You feel the cum in your balls making its way up to your cock, and you spray both their faces white. Irene closes her eyes, but IU, on the other hand, stays still and enjoys her treat. 

“You both look good in white; now, how about you kiss and swap that cum you both caught in that pretty mouth.” 

Like good girls, they don’t wait and have a kissing session as you video record it on your phone to enjoy.

——————- 

A year since that day, and both of them have been a great help in setting up your company. They look through a list of possible candidates for the company and circle the ones they think have potential as trainees.

“What do you think about these five girls right here, Irene?” 

“They look good; one is a really good dancer, and the other one can sing.”

“What about our list?”

“It’s going well. I can’t help but want all of them to join, but the boss wants talent. So for sure, I want these right here,” as IU shows Irene her picks. 

[ourdadai]

୨୧ irene ( red velvet ) lockscreens.

[aespabangedbang]

🏡 FREE FAMILY BITCHES🖕

Here's my perfectly competitive harem of family bitches. I have written it as a quicky smut cause the ask is really good but my hands still full with other draft. But this still don't lack any quality.

Step Mom IRENE :

With her commanding personality, strict work ethics and a face that will make monk start fapping right away; Irene become my step mom, kicking my own incompetent mom out of my father's picture. I was angry at first, but Irene is made out of different material. She soon turned me into her sex slave, exploiting my manhood ever since then. The body and holes that can bewitch papa can also bewitch the son, easy peasy!

All it took was her sitting on my face, choking me breathless pressing her hot and wet mommy pussy on my face. Once my tongue was in her, I forgot my useless mom and embraced Irene as mine. Now you will find my cock getting caressed in her holes until I cum, my face buried in her milky boobies and slurping her clean in a daily basis. I am getting the proper motherly nursing every son crave for. Irene too give herself to me smiling like the sweet step mommy she is.

Step Sister GISELLE :

The illegal child of my previously single mom Irene's Japan borne daughter Giselle is my step sis. She is a fiesty one. Despite her mom's total intimate relationship with me, she doesn't accept me as her brother. Everytime her attitude becomes too much, I force my cock in her holes and punish her like a caring oppa should be. She fights back until squirting few times, then it's all sweet oppa sound coming from that spacious mouth.

My first time I fucked her badmouthing mouth pussy till my cum painted her inside like cream cake. Irene found me humping my cock in her daughter's mouth and joined me so I can fuck her better. Mom grabbed Giselle's leg wide from behind so that I can easily gap the pink haired bitch's hole on the sofa. I finished my teaching session in her big, firm and muscled bubble butt. Giselle's face was full of ecstasy and was still badmouthing, yapping nonsense like the hentai breed she is!

Auntie JENNIE :

My real auntie form my real mom's side. A world ranked professional pornstar with over 250 video filmed so far. She was one of the reason my useless timid mom got kicked out. My papa would often fuck Jennie and show my mom how her sister is, by all means, a proper fuck. Once my mom was gone and dad busy with her new plaything Irene, Jennie shifted her focus on me.

The first time I fucked her was in a private party or my friend. She was hired for the night to fuck all of us. I was so angry seeing her there that I fucked and tortured her until sunrise. Fucking her again and again in double penetration until even this pro slut threw up. But still we didn't stop and she was carried on a stretcher directly to a hospital after that. Even now sometimes she comes to fuck me as I love to bootycall my auntie's skinny body to taste some pro meat.

Cousin NINGNING :

Another connection of my own trashy mom. Among that side of relative, this particular hoe stands up most. Ningning who was the first person to take my virginity. She is a pure tease and nympho. She will tease you to the point that the only thing you can do is undress and fuck her right there right then. She can take cocks like a overused cheap slut, smiling and gasping for air as her holes getting stretched to it's limit.

Whenever she comes to stay with us, she just do it to get fucked by me. She literally keep dirty talking and dry humping her crotch on me until I decides to plug her mouth with my meat. She wants my cock ball deep in her tight, little cunt squeezing every drop of cum from my ball. Once I start pounding her tight ass she goes banana, shaking, crying and begging me to kill her through her ass. She loves a good gangbang, so taking her to parties and enjoying her delicacy whole night with my friends is the best thing about her.

Girlfriend KARINA :

She is Aphrodite's daughter, that's what everyone call her. A perfect curvy figure, big saggy tits hanging on her petite body making them looks huge, a pussy that'll make you droll and a face that's asking to get raped every single moment. That's Karina my wild, busty and caring girlfriend. She had few steamy romantic relationship that everyone knew but broke up eventually because they couldn't satisfy her on bed.

Being a seasoned fucker, I was overqualified to satisfy my womans. One night of sex and Karina got addicted to my cock. After that she would just look for chances to get fucked anywhere, anytime. Be it in car, in shopping mall, movie theater, campus, public toilet, alleyway heck even during classes; Nothing stoping her from claiming the cock that rightfully belongs to her. Burying my face between her huge boobies, sucking her nipples and sniffing her intoxicating scent while thrusting up up up in her pussy riding my needy cock is why I am crazy about her.

MILF neighbor EUNBI :

With a pair of pumpkin sized boobs that rival my gf's melon sized udders is the busty next door neighbor Eunbi. She doesn't shy away from showing her massive milkers, always flaunting her canyon deep cleavage that who knows gave titjob to how many people. I wonder cause the first time we did, she seduced me messaging my cock between her milky canyon. Her head was blowing me and poor me ended up cumming just a min later.

Since then anytime I crave some serious boobs besides my gf I go to her house, bend her over something and fuck the hell out of her in doggystyle. From the way she moan and dirty talk I can tell she enjoys getting violeted randomly out of nowhere. An habitual bitch you can say. Of course that's a good thing for me. A new bitch to your harem is never enough!

Friends with benefits WINTER :

Karina's best friend and as result also my friend Winter is also one of my bitches. Timid in real life but nasty on bed; It makes sense she is bestie with my nympho gf Karina. Though she wasn't always mine to fuck. Winter was dumped by some rich boy who grown out her gold digger personality. A heartbroken Winter asked Karina for comfort, so my gf brought her bestie over and made me fuck her sadness out of her system as juices kept flowing out her pussy.

Karina was busy making over with bestie Winter. Her hand busy rubbing her clit while mouth locked tasting each other. Meanwhile my cock is going blur into Winter's hole, making the slim bitch shake with each and every thrust. Once I press on her bulging abdomen putting pressure on my cock, she started to convulse and cum like a broken hose. Since then I have fucked Winter a lot, before or after Karina. My gf don't mind me using her friend, she is happy as long as her friend and bf is happy too!

[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.

[authorhjk1]

A queen's night

(IU X Irene X Karina X Yujin X Yeji)

He could lose his job for this. But there's no turning back now. Not after getting paid in advance. And it's not like he can return the payment.

Jieun's manager takes a deep breath, before finally taking the next turn. He is leaving the route he usually takes to drive her home. His knuckles turn white, sweat starts to run down his neck. Glancing at the rear view mirror, he sees Jieun scrolling on her phone. Looks like she didn't notice anything yet.

"Please turn left."

Taken by surprise, the man in the driver's seat almost shouts. He is so on edge, so afraid of Jieun finding out, that he forgot to mute the GPS. What if she hears it and realizes he isn't driving her home?

After finally shutting it off, he focuses back on the road. Another turn. The longer he drives, the more he is afraid of getting caught. Another turn. What if he gets fired for this? Isn't this basically kidnapping? Another turn. Sweat starts to build on his forehead. Maybe he should turn around? Another turn.

After a minute or two, the screen of the GPS finally shows their destination. He slows down, looking for the right building.

"Oppa."

A cold shudder runs down his spine.

"Where are we?"

"Huh?.... Well,.... We're taking a shortcut."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Jieun looks out the window. She's never been here before. And this doesn't really look like a shortcut. Haven't they always chosen the quickest route so far?

"Maybe you took the wrong turn?"

He decides to ignore the question.

"Oppa?"

A relived sigh leaves his body, when he finally spots the bright neon sign.

"We are here."

Jieun looks around.

"What does 'here' mean?"

The street, almost an alley, is pretty dark. Except for a couple of street lights and a neon sign, everyone and everything seems to be sleeping.

"I'm supposed to give you this."

Jieun accepts the envelope, while glancing at the rear view mirror. Her manager usually doesn't sound this scarred or afraid. It's not like she's gonna kill him, because they got lost.

She opens the envelope carefully and then takes out the card inside it.

"Third floor, second room on the left."

"What is this supposed to be?"

Her brows furrow, her question is directed at her manager.

"I don't know, Jieun. The... The CEO gave it to me this morning. He... He said to drive to this address and give you the envelope."

"This address?"

Jieun looks out of they window again.

"Yes. The Queen's Motel."

The woman in the backseat stares at the neon light. This looks more like motel for one night stands than a proper meeting place.

"Fine."

Jieun sighs and steps out of the van with a heavy heart.

"Don't worry. I'll pick you up later."

"Sure."

Jieun's manager sees her hesitate one more time, before she finally walks towards the entrance. His eyes follow her when she opens the door and steps inside. He finally groans in agony, all the tension leaving his body. Was it really worth it? Were they all worth it? We're they all worth her reputation?

He reaches into his pocket for his phone. Quickly heading to his gallery, he scrolls through the pictures he took while Jieun was on stage earlier.

He almost had a heart attack when someone suddenly opened the door to her dressing room, while he was watching her performance.

"Hello, manager-nim."

The young girl's sweet voice and smile made him stand up and bow.

"Hello, Yeji-ssi."

"I'm a big fan of IU and I was hoping you could give her this."

Yeji was holding an envelope in her hand. It was red and sealed.

"For Jieun"

"Sure. Of course I can do that."

He was surprised that Yeji came to him and not directly to Jieun.

"I'll give it to her right when she comes back."

He couldn't help but glance at Yeji's midriff. Her top was not covering much of her upper body, showing off a lot of skin. He thought he'd never get a chance with her at all. She's an idol. A celebrity. And he's significantly older than her. No way a young woman like Yeji would even look at him twice. But he had seen her dancing on stage, right before it was Jieun's turn. He still remembered the way her hips swayed to the music.

"Could you maybe wait for a while, until you give it to her?"

"S...Sure. I'll give it to her, when she's at home."

To his surprise, Yeji shook her head.

"Would it be possible for you to drive her to this address tonight?"

She took a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him as well. After glancing at the address, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Yeji-ssi. I can't just drop her off somewhere in the city."

"Manager-nim..."

His eyes grew wide when Yeji pouted at him, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"This is really important to me. Can't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Yeji-ssi. But I can't just drop off a celebrity at a random address."

Yeji smiled at him and he felt his resistance crumbling.

"Oppa..."

The word made him feel warm as it left her pretty lips.

"I really need you to do this for me."

He was aware that Yeji had just closed the door behind her. He took a deep breath, hoping this was just a dream. Or maybe was he hoping for it to be real?

"I'll reward you, of course."

"Reward me?"

A victorious smile played around her lips.

"Take out your phone, oppa."

He felt his blood rush into his cock, whenever she called him that. Just the idea of a chance with her...

"You're welcome to take as many pictures as you like."

"Pictures?"

"Do you want me to pose for you?"

Her warm smile made him eagerly nod his head.

He quickly took a picture of her, afraid she would change her mind.

"What do you think of this?"

Yeji closed on eye as if she was winking, while biting one of her nails.

The manager felt his cock harden as he quickly shoot two more pictures.

"And this?"

She bit down on her lower lip, while hooking her thumb under her belt as if she was gonna take off her pants.

His mouth was opened wide as more and more pictures filled his phone. By now he almost took pictures by the second as Yeji made a show out of pulling the transparent plastic straps of her top off her shoulders.

"Do you like it when I strip in front of you?"

He was too busy watching her and capturing the moment with his camera to respond. With a knowing smile, Yeji turned to the side, her hand followed the curves of her body.

"Do you like how slim my waist is? I'm sure you'd love to get your hands on that."

When her hand finally reached her chest, she used her other hand to playfully wag her finger.

"No peeking, oppa."

She turned around completely, so he could get a great couple of shots of her back. He held his breath when he watched her slowly slide down her top. Her upper back was now fully exposed.

"You have to promise to drive her to that address, oppa."

It took him a moment to realize she expected a response.

"Of course. I...I'll get her there."

"Do you really promise it?"

"Yes. Yes, I promise."

"Thank you so much, oppa."

Yeji sent him one last smile over her shoulder, before slowly turning around.

Jieun's heart is pounding in her chest as she raises her hand to knock on the door. Third floor, second room on the left. Who's gonna be in that room? No one is gonna make her do weird things, right? She got some inappropriate requests before. But if her CEO told her to go here, it can't be something bad. He'd want her best after all, right?

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. She doesn't hear any noises inside the room. After waiting for a good 20 seconds, she knocks again. Still nothing. Jieun places her ear on the wooden door. No one is talking. Or moving. It seems like the room is empty. So maybe she just needs to get inside? Is she supposed to meet someone? If they aren't here yet, when are they coming?

Jieun sighs in frustration and reaches for the doorknob. The fact that she's totally clueless and unprepared makes her feel unsafe and awkward. But eventually, she slowly opens the door.

The room is bigger than Jieun imagined. It's pretty large actually. A huge bed, a couch, a coffee table and... Her breath hitches as she takes a closer look at the left side of the room, behind the couch. Is that a....a sex swing that is hanging from the ceiling? She slowly steps into the room as she notices two cardboard boxes next to the bed. This can't be a sex room or something, right? Her CEO would never do this. Or is it him she's now waiting for?

Jieun's throat feels awfully dry as she bends down to open one of the boxes. She's hoping for something that would explain all of this. Maybe it's just a prank? Or an escape room? Her imagination starts to run wild.

Opening the box, her eyes widen at the first two things she sees. Both black. But both have entirely different purposes. One of them is silicon dildo, it's length making Jieun already sick. Does anyone expect her to take this? With shaking fingers, she reaches for the other item. A whip. A leather whip. She was never a fan of any hardcore stuff. And this is definitely too much. She feels something uncomfortable bubble up inside of her. As if she's getting sick. Her eyes land on a door on the right side of the bed. A bathroom? The lights are on. Maybe just in case...

She suddenly hears something that makes her blood run cold. The door she stepped through earlier has just been closed. Jieun's grip around the whip tightens. She takes a deep breath and then turns around.

"Unnie?"

Irene is standing between Jieun and the door.

For a moment, she is relived. A familiar face. A friend even. But Irene's cold expression soon takes away the feeling of hope.

"What...What are you doing here?"

Without a word, Irene walks towards the couch. Jieun catches her letting a key fall into the pocket of her red jacket. The key for the door?

"Why don't you take a seat?"

An evil smile plays around Irene's lips as she says that.

Jieun hesitates. She thought she could trust Irene. But she's the one who just locked the two of them inside this room.

"Are...Are you the one who gave my manager the envelope?"

Irene lets out an annoyed sigh instead or an answer.

"Just do what I tell you to do."

"Excuse me?"

Jieun is slowly starting to get irritated, even angry. Why the hell is she here? In this place? She could be home by now. Lying on her bed. Recovering from today's busy schedule.

"You heard me. I already took a picture of you at the front door outside. The reporters would love to know why you're in a place like this. Don't you agree?"

"I...What do you want?"

Irene opens her mouth slightly as if she just thought of something. She looks Jieun up and down.

"Why don't you..."

A sly smile plays around her lips.

"Why don't you get on your knees?"

"What? Do you want me to beg or something? This is ridiculous."

She can hear her voice becoming louder. But Irene just slowly shakes her head.

"You heard me."

Now she's pointing at the floor.

Jieun swallows hard. If Irene really took a picture, it could be come really dangerous. She realized by now that this is a love motel. Not some ordinary hotel. And it'd be of no use to explain that someone told her to come here, if Irene would really leak the photo.

Slowly, trying her best to give Irene her best death stare, Jieun sinks to her knees on the black carpet.

"Come here."

Irene slowly crosses one leg over the other, her eyes set on Jieun.

The young woman hesitates, but she realizes that there's no way out of this. If doing what Irene says will make this be over quicker, so be it.

An amused chuckle leaves Irene's lips as she watches Jieun carefully crawl towards her. She avoids eye contact until she is kneeling right in front of her.

"Good girl."

Irene's degrading tone makes Jieun roll her eyes, her face partially hidden by her hair.

"Clean them."

"What?"

Her head shoots upwards.

For a moment, she thought Irene was joking. But she's just moving her right foot a little closer to her face.

"Clean them. Or your career will be over by tomorrow."

Jieun grimaces as she takes a look at Irene's feet. They're clad in elegant black high-heeled sandals, which feature an open toe design and a slim ankle strap tied with a delicate bow in the front. Her toenails are painted in plain white. It's not like Irene has ugly feet, it's the opposite really, but the humiliation is almost too much for Jieun. The two of them might be the only ones in the room. But she could never ever face her, once she started.

After taking a deep breath, Jieun closes her eyes and sticks her tongue out. She licks her instep from the bottom to the top, until she reaches the bow. She quickly does the motion a second time, hoping that Irene had enough. But the older woman, slightly tilts her foot signaling Jieun to keep going. She sighs and starts to lick both sides of Irene's foot, until her tongue has covered every inch.

"Take it off."

Jieun quickly fumbles for the bow, hoping she's now halfway done. To her dismay, Irene just wiggles her toes after her shoe hits the floor. Jieun grits her teeth, but then takes Irene's toes into her mouth, one after the other. She sucks on them, lets her tongue clean them thoroughly. Once Irene had enough, she lifts her foot higher. With a crooked eyebrow, she silently tells Jieun to lick the bottom of her foot as well.

"Good girl."

Her praise almost makes Jieun shake her head in disgust. But when Irene finally lowers her foot to the floor, she sighs in relief.

"I hope for your sake you do a better job with the second one."

Jieun nods, resigning herself to her fate. She sticks out her tongue as Irene holds up her left foot. Once more, she licks Irene's instep with closed eyes. Afraid that Irene might become unsatisfied, Jieun does her best this time. She thoroughly cleans Irene's foot in every way she can. Just while she's sucking on two of her toes, she hears someone else's voice.

"I think she's starting to like it."

Jieun jumps. She looks to her left and stares with wide open eyes into the camera of someone's phone.

"Smile, unnie."

The girl's sweet, seemingly happy voice, confuses Jieun. What the hell is going on?

Looking past the phone, she quickly recognizes the culprit.

"Y-Yujin?"

"I hope you don't mind us. Just keep going."

"Us?"

Jieun looks around and realizes she has been too focused on satisfying Irene. Yujin is standing on her left and another girl on her right.

"Yeji?"

"Hi, unnie. Seems like your manager really liked my photos."

"What?"

Jieun feels even more confused and surprised than when she first stepped into this room. What is going on? Why are they all here?

Suddenly, someone else strokes her hair from behind.

"I always wanted to get a chance like this, unnie. I bet you're tight."

Jieun can't believe that someone would say these things about her. And she immediately recognizes the voice

"Karina?"

In the back of her head, Jieun is still wondering where the three girls came from. But she's focused back on Irene, who leans down a little.

"You really thought you'd get away with this, huh?"

"A...Away with what?"

Jieun can hear her own voice trembling.

Yeji rolls her eyes.

"Your popularity has increased throughout the year."

She looks her up and down with a dissatisfied look on her face

"For some reason."

Irene takes Jieun's chin into her hand.

"And I'm sure you can understand why we're annoyed by that, huh?"

"Well, I-"

"I still don't get it."

Yujin interrupts her.

"You have literally nothing to offer. No cool dancing, no real popular songs, nothing."

Jieun's initial shame gets partially replaced by anger. She didn't work this hard for years to just get bullied by these four girls.

"Leave me alone already. Maybe you should work harder."

Yeji scoffs in disbelief. Jieun feels Karina's hand in her hair again, but this time it isn't as gentle as before.

"Work harder? Oh please."

She pulls her hair a little, making Jieun look up at her.

"I'm sure the only work you ever did was sleeping around with rich men, so they buy your albums."

"That's right. How else would you be able to sell so many copies."

Yujin chimes in.

"I didn't sleep around with anyone! I-"

"Silence."

Irene's cold voice would've been enough to make Jieun stop talking. But the older woman even covered Jieun's mouth with her naked foot.

"I don't want to hear excuses. From now on, I expect you to tone it down. Got it? Maybe take a break from releasing music or something."

Her voice sounds threatening and Jieun is still very aware that Irene has those photos of her. Actually, Yeji seems to now have photos of her, worshipping Irene's feet. That's even worse. Maybe Jieun should just take this lecture and leave.

"Now, I'm sure you get what I'm saying."

Irene lowers her foot and leans back.

"But, to make sure you really understand, we should teach you a lesson."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why don't we start by getting that little dress off?"

Yujin whispers into her ear, a finger already hooked under one of the brown straps.

"Wait! You can't do this!"

Jieun looks to her left, when Yeji pulls the other strap off her shoulder as well.

"Trust me, unnie. We can."

Karina reaches down from behind her and opens the big belt that covers Jieun's chest. As the dress slides down, Jieun instinctively moves her hand to cover her chest. She isn't wearing a bra.

"Don't get all shy now, unnie. You looked like you really enjoyed it earlier."

Jieun shakes her head at Yujin's words.

"What is there to cover anyways?"

Karina grabs the older woman's wrists and pushes them down. Jieun struggles against her, but she doesn't stand a chance. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she's now kneeling topless on the floor, the four girls around her.

"What is this supposed to be?"

Karina runs a hand over Jieun's tits, after Yujin and Yeji both took one of Jieun's hands.

"You're older than me, unnie."

Yujin perfectly mimicks that concerned tone.

"But you have nothing to show off."

Jieun would hang her head in shame, if it wasn't for Karina's hand in her hair. She was always a little insecure about her size. Most of the other idols and actresses have at least something. But she always felt like she wouldn't even need to wear a bra.

"I really don't have a clue to why you're so popular."

Karina's voice in her ear makes Jieun shiver.

"You don't even have tits."

"Her fans are probably all girls."

Yeji's comment makes Karina nod her head in understanding.

"I guess so."

She pulls at Jieun's hair again, making her look up at her.

"Look at this."

With her other hand, Karina grabs the hem of her black top and pulls it upwards. She isn't wearing a bra either. Her tits basically spring free, after the restricting top is gone.

"Jealous?"

A wicked smile plays around her lips.

Before Jieun can answer, Karina leans down, covering her face with her chest.

"Why don't you be as kind to me as you were to Irene, unnie?"

A tug at her hair makes Jieun understand that it wasn't a question. Karina isn't waiting for an answer.

Jieun closes her eyes once more and carefully sticks out her tongue. She can't believe she already had her mouth on Irene's feet. And now she has to do it with Karina's tits too?

She feels someone pulling her dress off even further, but she can't resist. She diligently licks every spot on Karina's tits that she can find, hoping for a quick end. When Karina pulls away a little, she guides Jieun towards her nipples. The older woman takes one of them into her mouth, sucking on it for a while, before focusing on the other one.

"Damn, have you done this before?"

Karina sighs, visibly satisfied.

Still occupied with the younger girl's tits, Jieun doesn't respond. But she almost yelps in surprise, when she feels someone's hand slip inside her dress. Her panties get pushed to the side. Jieun suddenly feels a little hotter than before. A weird sense of anticipation rushes through her for a moment. She feels a finger brush against her folds.

"Here you go, unnie."

Jieun hears Yujin's voice. But it seems like the words weren't directed at her. The finger quickly gets replaced by something else. Something harder and slightly colder. Jieun feels it pushing against her folds, slowly penetrating her pussy. It's size makes her moan into Karina's tits as her walls stretch around the mysterious object.

It takes a her a moment to figure out what it could be.

"Oh god."

She sighs, her voice muffled by Karina, who makes her suck on her nipples once more. While she's coating them in her spit, she feels the dildo push further into her. Is that the huge black one from one of the boxes? She can't tell, but it certainly feels like it. Just when she's about beg for them to not push it all the way inside of her, she hears Irene's voice.

"Jieun, look at me."

Karina lets go off her and moves back a little. Jieun opens her eyes. She's about to glance down at herself, when she sees Irene. The oldest is still sitting seemingly relaxed on the couch. But something has changed. Jieun recognizes the whip she is holding. The one she found earlier. But that's not the only thing that changed. Her eyes grow wide when she takes a closer look at Irene's lap.

"W...What is that?"

"I'm sure you know what it is."

Irene moves her free hand down. She looks at Jieun, while teasingly stroking the strap on she is wearing.

"Why don't you get your pretty lips over here and give it a lick?"

"I...I thought you'd let me go after-"

"Let you go?"

Irene has trouble holding back her laughter.

"We haven't finished your lesson yet. And the way you're behaving right now tells me we might be here all night."

"All night? No, I can't. I have to go home and-"

"You look so pretty here, unnie."

Yeji interrupts her and shows Jieun her phone screen. She recognizes herself. On her knees. Her lips wrapped around Irene's toes.

For a moment, Jieun feels like her heart stopped beating. For a moment, she wonders if she should just leave now. Let them publish the photos. She could go to a remote place where no one would find her. The humiliation would be huge. But it would be better than this. Right?

Jieun glances at herself in the picture once more. She takes a deep breath and leans forward. Sticking her tongue out, she places it on the silicon tip of Irene's blue strap on.

"Good girl."

Irene purrs, making Jieun close her eyes. She slowly drags her tongue along the length of the dildo, until it reaches the base. She's still very aware of the other plastic object, which is still inside of her. But no one has moved it for a while now. So maybe it won't be too bad?

Jieun keeps her tongue glued to the silicon and soon wraps her lips around it as well. It takes her a couple of moments, but eventually she is able to imagine herself with a really handsome man. Of course it doesn't feel the same. But it might make it easier. She pretends to really like him. He is very attractive. His cock tastes amazing as her lips glide up and down his shaft. He showers her with praises. How beautiful she is. How good her lips feel. How skillful she is with her tongue. When Irene takes a hold of the back of Jieun's neck, she pretends she is the man she's sucking off. The older woman pushes her head further down, making her take more of the dildo.

As Jieun gets more and more into it, the three keep watching her for a while. But eventually, Karina and Yeji walk over the two boxes next to the bed. Yujin can't help herself though. One hand gives her breasts small squeezes through her own top, while her other hand has slipped past the waistband of her pants.

"Come on, you can do better."

Irene's voice seems sweet as she pushes Jieun's hair out of the way.

"Make it all wet. For your sake."

Jieun barely registers her words, already too deep into her own fantasy. But the further Irene pushes her head down, the sloppier her blowjob becomes. Soon, Jieun is taking the whole dildo. It barely grazes the back of her mouth everytime her lips kiss its base. Yujin has now taken her leather pants off, her panties are lying next to her. She can't look away as she watches Jieun sucking cock. Two of her fingers are buried inside of her.

Meanwhile, both Karina and Yeji have each put on a strap on as well. Karina's is larger than Yeji's and Irene's with Yeji's being the smallest of the three. In addition to that, Karina took out a pair of nipple clamps from one of the boxes, while Yeji is holding a red rope.

"You know what? Why don't you help your dongsaeng out? Looks like she needs a little help."

Jieun's fantasy vanishes as Irene pulls her off her strap on. The younger woman glances at Yujin, who is leaning against the backrest of the couch, cute moans leaving her lips. Jieun had never had sex with another woman before. She's never tasted someone else's pussy. For a moment, she thinks about declining. But the threat of the pictures don't give her much of a choice.

"Do it. Eat her out like it's your last meal."

Irene's words finally make Jieun move. When she does, she remembers the dildo inside of her. She lets out an involuntary moan. She's been stretched out for a couple of minutes now. Her pussy already got used to it. But now that she's moving, it seems to reposition itself inside of her.

Yujin moves her hand away when Jieun leans in. Her breath hitches as the older woman places her lips on her pussy. Jieun tries to mimick the motions from when she herself got eaten out in the past. She takes it slow at first. Licking Yujin's folds, inserting her tongue into her cunt, sucking at her clit. She keeps alternating between all these options, slowly turning Yujin into a moaning mess. Maybe if she made her cum, she'd have a chance to leave? Jieun is doubtful, but all she can do is hope.

She focuses on pleasuring Yujin, truly trying to make her orgasm. The younger girl starts to push Jieun's head further into her core, trying to get even more of her tongue inside of her. Meanwhile, Yeji has handed the rope to Irene, who is now kneeling behind Jieun. Before she can react, Yeji takes a hold of her wrists once more. Jieun instinctively struggles against her grip. But Yeji is too strong for her. And Yujin pushing her further into her pussy doesn't help at all. She can feel how Irene starts to tie her hands together with the rope. At the same time, Karina has moved to Jieun's left. She reaches underneath her head.

Jieun almost screams at the unexpected pang of pain. Karina has put one end of the metallic nipple clamps onto her left nipple. Jieun almost sees stars, but tries to concentrate on Yujin. If she endures all of that without complaint, they might let her go sooner. Karina now attaches the other end, which is connected with the left one by a small metal chain, to Jieun's right nipple. This time, she's prepared for it. It still hurts, but she can keep it under control.

"Unnie."

Yujin whines. The scene in front of her and Jieun's work brings her closer to her orgasm. She bucks her hips forward, her grip on Jieun's head tightening.

"Oh, damn!"

She cries out as Jieun makes her climax. Her juices spill out of her, partially staining Jieun's face. The older girl is about to wipe it off, when she remembers that her hands are tied behind her back.

"I hope you can take this well."

Irene's cold voice suddenly rings in her ear. Jieun feels how something pokes her rear entrance.

"Wait! I never-"

Too late. Irene is already pushing forward, the strap on slowly disappearing into Jieun's puckered hole. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. The nipple clamps, the dildo inside her pussy and the dildo inside her ass overstimulate her. She's never felt like this before. So full. So...So turned on. She can't really explain it. Mere minutes ago, she never thought she'd ever eat another woman out. She was disgusted by the thought of having to worship Irene's feet. But here she is now. The first time someone takes her ass and Jieun can't do anything but moan out. It's almost like her body is betraying her. Her mind is still fighting this. She's ashamed. But at the same time, her body is starting to welcome all of this. It welcomes every thrust of Irene's dildo.

Surprisingly, it doesn't take her that long to get accustomed to it. Just when Irene is about to fuck her properly, Yeji turns Jieun's head towards her. Her mouth lands on her strap on and Jieun instinctively lets it part her lips. Moments later, her mouth, her pussy and her ass are all filled with dildos. She has never felt like this before. She never even dreamed of this. But for some reason, her punishment is turning into something special. Something good. Unconsciously, Jieun begins to ride the dildo inside of her. The friction which is caused by that and Irene's strap on makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. She does her best to keep sucking off Yeji, her tongue swirling around the plastic tip, whenever the dildo threatens to slip out of her mouth. Now she doesn't mind being tied up. Jieun starts to enjoy the attention. It's almost like all the pleasure and degradation has changed her mind. She isn't bothered by Karina occasionally tugging at the chain between the nipple clamps, making her nipples hurt even more.

"You think, if I keep doing that, you might have a chance of going up a bra size?"

She isn't bothered by Karina's words. And she still isn't bothered when Karina starts pulling harder, actually stretching her tits a little.

"Maybe then it's worth it for you to wear a bra. The smallest size of course."

She isn't bothered by Karina's degrading tone. And Jieun definitely isn't bothered by Irene slowly picking up the pace.

The longer her holes are filled, the more she falls in love with the feeling. At some point, Yeji and Karina change position. Now, Jieun is sucking on Karina's strap on. But instead of just tugging at the nipple clamps, Yeji stole the whip from Irene. She first tries out the new toy on Jieun's ass cheeks. It doesn't hurt her much. The pleasure is almost too much for her to feel any pain at all. But soon her cheeks are covered with red marks. Once she's satisfied, Yeji moves onto Jieun's tits. She uses the whip on them as well. This time, it definitely hurts more. Jieun occasionally lets out a yelp around Karina's dildo, whenever Yeji hits her a little harder.

"I want to ruin her too, unnie."

Yujin's whine makes Irene come to a hold. Jieun sighs in disappointment as some of the pleasure leaves her body. When Irene pulls out, her ass feels so empty. The unsatisfying feeling almost starts to drive her wild. By now, Jieun has started to get used to being filled completely.

"Please..."

She tries to talk with Karina's dildo in her mouth.

"Please use my ass."

Irene smirks at her words. She knew that Jieun wouldn't last much longer. She once heard her moan inside her dressing room at an award show maybe one or two years ago. Since that moment, she knew that Jieun had the potential to be a slut. She knew that this would be the best way for everyone. Perfect to pressure Jieun into taking a backseat, while the other girl's popularity could skyrocket. And also just over all beautiful to see Jieun slowly break down. Slowly succumbing to this guilty pleasure.

"Let's move her to the bed."

Moments later, Jieun is straddling Karina's lap, her strap on angled at the older woman's cunt. When she sinks down on it, a relieved sigh leaves Jieun's lips. Another one soon follows, when she feels Yujin slowly push her new dildo into her ass. She already feels full again. The two fake cocks inside of her make her head spin. When she starts to moan, Jieun quickly gets silenced by not one, but two dildos filling her mouth. She does her best to give them both equal attention. Her tongue aims for every part of their dildos it can reach. Her lips glide along both shafts.

Jieun can feel the chain between the nipple clamps hit her stomach as Yujin increases the pace. In return, Jieun rides Karina's dildo even faster. She really needs to feel that friction between the two strap ons. It just feels amazing. It's almost impossible for her to describe this feeling.

"What a good slut you are."

Irene caresses Jieun's bulging cheek.

At the beginning, Jieun would've felt disgust after hearing those words. But now she's silently begging Irene for another compliment. She leans her head into her hand as much as possible.

"You're liking it now, do you?"

Jieun is unable to nod her head, but her eyes say everything.

She's already forgotten all about the pictures, when the four of them move her to the sex swing. She is barely moving by now. They've successfully turned her into a pleasure addicted toy. Once they're all in position, Irene pushes her dildo into her ass once more. It's still wet with Jieun's saliva. It feels perfect inside of her. Every one of Irene's thrust makes the swing move. Karina is now standing in front of her. Whenever Irene bottoms out inside her ass, Jieun gets pushed onto Karina's dildo. She does her best to suck on it, before Irene moves back again. It only takes a couple of thrust from Irene, until the three of them have found the perfect rhythm.

Both Yujin and Yeji have taken a break from punishing Jieun. They're both lying on the couch, Yeji on top of Yujin. They're enjoying each other, while eating each other out. Their moans sync with Jieun's as she gets basically spit roasted by Irene and Karina.

There really seems to be no end in sight for Jieun. She doesn't know what time it is. Curtains are covering the windows, not letting any light inside the room. Is it morning already? It doesn't matter. Her body is completely worn out, completely used. But the four women don't stop using her. She's now lying back on the bed again. Her hands are still tied behind her back, but a couple of minutes ago, Karina tied her feet together as well. So now Jieun can't move at all. She feels like she isn't even inside her own body anymore. It's like she is watching a movie. But only small parts of it.

"Please let me cum."

She whines as Irene drives her towards the edge, just so she can deny her her orgasm again. And because her limbs are tied, Jieun can't do anything about it. She can only lie on her stomach, her hands on her back, waiting for Irene to start moving again. But Irene has other plans.

"You still have one more foot to go."

Jieun looks at Yujin's right foot. The younger girl is sitting at the head of the bed. The left one has already been cleaned by Jieun. And now, she has to clean the right one too, before Irene starts to fuck her again.

Jieun starts by taking one of Yujin's toes into her mouth. She slowly sucks on it, still not really accustomed to the feeling. But when she suddenly feels the leather pieces of the whip sliding teasingly over her ass cheeks, she quickens her pace.

It's too late though. Irene wasn't satisfied. The whip cracks and a second later, Jieun's right cheek starts to burn.

"Unnie."

She whines, unable to hide her pain. But she quickly moves onto the next toe. Another hit from the whip and both her cheeks hurt. Irene is just starting to enjoy herself. No matter how quick or thorough Jieun is, she feels the whip hit her ass every couple of seconds. She knows Irene won't stop, until she completely cleaned Yujin's feet.

A couple of minutes later, or maybe even an hour later, Jieun has completely lost her sense for time, she finds herself being carried by Yeji and Karina. Yeji is standing behind her, lifting her up and down, her cock sliding in and out of Jieun's ass. Which also means, Jieun is forced to take Karina's strap on as well. Her pussy and her ass are getting stretched out at the same time. She's eye to eye level with Karina, who keeps degrading her.

"Have you ever thought of just getting implants?"

"I...No. I-Oh, god! I haven't."

"Trust me you should. Your fans would appreciate it."

Karina gives her a wicked smirk, knowing full well that that would never happen. Even if Jieun would want to do that, the company would say no.

"Of course everyone would know your tits are fake. But who cares, right? At least you'd look less pathetic."

"Maybe work on your ass little more too."

Yeji speaks up from behind, her dildo still stretching out Jieun's puckered hole.

"You could put on the tightest dress and no one would see a single curve on your body."

Jieun sighs and whines in protest in their arms, trying to defend herself. She's completely fine with being used. She's fine with all four of them ruining all her holes. But the degradation still gets to her.

"I...I thought you wanted me to get less popular."

"Oh, you think because of fake tits you're gonna be more popular?"

Karina laughs at her face, while Jieun can only bite her lip, trying to hold back an orgasm. She was so desperate for one earlier. But now she doesn't dare to climax, while Karina and Yeji are basically body shaming her.

"No way. You'd lose all your real fans and only horny guys would jerk off to you."

"I'd love to see that."

Yeji groans into Jieun's ear. The older woman is small and light, but eventually even she becomes too heavy.

"The only thing you have going for you are your tight holes."

"Maybe that's what you should start selling, instead of music. What do you think?"

Karina's mocking smile makes Jieun turn her head away. But it's already too late. With an embarrassed whine leaving her lips, she orgasms hard. Her pussy clenches onto Karina's dildo, her walls tightening further and further. Her body shakes in their arms.

"Pathetic."

After all four of them put their dildos inside of her for the first time, she started to lose control. Parts of her memories don't really connect together. She remembers being bent over the sink inside the bathroom, someone using her pussy like a fleshlight. A minute later, she's sitting on the sex swing with both Yeji and Yujin trusting their strap ons into Jieun's used pussy. All memories of the night mix together into one blur. To Jieun nothing makes sense anymore. The four of them seem to have endless stamina.

In the end, Jieun finally wakes up from a deep sleep. She gets scared when she realizes she can't move. She's lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling. Her arms are tied together, but not behind her back. They're placed above her stomach. Her ankles are tied together as well. But with enough room for easy access to her pussy.

Jieun hears the same noise that seems to have woken her up. She slightly lifts her head and immediately lets it fall back onto the mattress. Shame colours her cheeks, just like the night before.

"Jieun-ssi."

Her manager calls her name softly. The four girls must've left while she was passed out. She is alone in the room, her manager standing in the doorframe. When she lifts her head again, Jieun notices his phone in his hand. He definitely took pictures of her. But now, his eyes are glued to the wide open hole between her legs. Her body is still experiencing the aftermath of her punishment.

"I hope you don't mind if I just..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he lowers his phone and starts to unbuckle his belt. Jieun wants to say something, but quickly notices that someone stuffed her mouth with her own panties.

When her manager lets his pants drop to the floor, Jieun finally understands the message. Her lesson isn't over yet. And it never will be.

---------

Hi, everyone!

I hope you enjoyed the story. It was a little harder to write, because I've never written something like this before.

I got feedback on the other two fics before this one, specifically mentioning that some parts feel rushed and aren't connected perfectly. I'd love to use my lack of sleep as an excuse, but that wouldn't be fair to you guys. In this fic, I've tried my best to correct my mistakes from before, but I also feel like slightly rushed scenes and abruptly cut off scenes actually fit IU's experience here.

I'll try to get on top of the current problem as best as I can. But from now on, I'll prioritize quality over the schedule, which means, I might push the release dates of the other two stories a couple of days back. I hope that's okay with you guys. I'm sure you'd rather read a top tier fic a day or two later, instead of reading a sloppily written story on time. I'll let you know on Saturday, if I'm unable to post the next story on Sunday. It shouldn't take me longer than one or two extra days anyway.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

Have a great day and stay healthy!

[fillinforlater]

On her back

Male Reader x Bae Joohyun

Length: 2958 words

Tags: Daddy kink, Master kink, breeding kink, literal breeding, like impregnation, rough sex, mating press (for literal, REAL mating), from loving to degradation, emotional manipulation, teasing, overstimulation, multiple creampies, spitting, toxic relationships

TW: rough impregnation, emotional manipulation, the usual "On her" stuff

Inspiration/Credit: not possible without @sooyadelicacies, my great co-writer and inspirator

(A/N: Reminder that OC is an asshole and that this is fiction. Anyways, rough daddy kink breeding sex, yay. Enjoy a subby!Irene lol. Btw, it's been more than a year since Part 1 came out!)

“I’m here if you need a break from all these youngsters xoxo”

You are alone in the backseat of a Mercedes-Benz, quietly sipping on a cool, refreshing beverage with your airpods in. You need to destress and know just the person to see. You put your drink down and begin to close your eyes, settling in for a quick nap before you arrive at your destination. 

Maybe it was only a few minutes, maybe it was much longer than that, but you feel the car stop and you begin to wake. 

"We have arrived, sir."

Looking out, you find a beautiful secluded home surrounded by lush greenery. One of your many getaways. 

"Thank you, as always," you say politely as the door opens up for you and you're handed your luggage. You stroll up to the door and put in the passcode as well as the biometric scan of your fingerprint. But before you turn the knob, the door already opens and you are greeted by a stunning beauty. 

"Irene," you say simply. 

"Hello, my love."

"It's been a while," you add, a sigh on your lips, but you keep it down.

"It really has," the small woman responds, hands fidgeting on her sides as she just stands there, her boundless beauty that will persist for decades to come filling the air like the strong, vibrant smell of ripe fruits.

"God, you're so fucking pretty." 

This time, the sigh is at least palpable in the aftermath of your words when your arms reach out to her. Joohyun tenses up for a seconds before your embrace reaches her, caresses her back and finds rest on her butt. With ease, you pick the petite idol up and Joohyun's legs instinctively wrap around you.

You kiss her gently, lovingly. "Still tensing up? I thought I trained it out of you?" you tease. 

She blushes. "It's been a long time, Ma—" 

"Shh, not yet. There will be time for that. I need my lover right now, not my toy."

A soft smile on her face. One in a million, quite literally: days and weeks and months go by where she can never feel like this around someone else. They all make her put on the cold, reserved, distant smile, but with you finally by her side, she melts.

At least the temperature of her palms cupping your face is able to melt ice in seconds. Joohyun leans close to you and presses her lips on yours, her passion coming over you in a quiet explosion. A tad bit quicker, a little more tongue when she parts your lips, now you pull her in closer.

"God, I've missed this," she coos and you brush away her astray hair. 

"I have been busy... the young ones are quite—"

"Difficult? Always have been. Think of me back then."

You can't help but smile at the memories, though they also make your cock twitch against its cotton prison. Joohyun giggles. She must feel it poking her exposed midriff. 

"Those were fun times, but you know I'm still as tight as ever, only with more experience now. I promise I'll take away all of your stress today." 

"I know you will. That's why you know of this place. It's a short list, Irene." 

She smiles happily and melts her lips into yours once more.

With her secured around you, you wander off, straight to the bedroom, careful not to bump into anything on your way. There are easily a hundred idols you'd just violently throw onto a bed like this and then destroy their tight pussies, but with Joohyun you remain careful for now. Lay her down on it, never disconnecting your lips.

Joohyun starts to undress immediately and instead of following suit, you decide to watch her. Many months ago was the last time you've seen her bare body—at least in real life, up close. There are dozens of videos you've filmed with her and she even sent nudes last month, a rarity for the outwardly timid idol.

"You're skin," you groan and reach for her bare tummy, then breasts. "Still porcelain, still smooth and perfect."

"Th-thank you. I made sure it's perfect, just for you."

"Not for the fans, not for the members? Not for your own self-gratification?"

"Only for you, my Master."

There she goes. 

"Music to my ears. Hearing such obedience. It's rare to find that nowadays, I wonder if my methods are getting stale?" 

You muse, but she knew it was your way of asking for her opinion, her advice. Bae Joohyun was an intelligent woman and admirable leader after all, and she knew all the tricks in the outside idol world and in your bedroom.

"Are you concerned about the outcome, even with all your leverage? Or is it getting too boring for you?" Before Joohyun can continue, you rub in between her legs, over her modest panties to find a little bit of wetness there. Joohyun opens her mouth; no moan, no breath, she just sinks into the sheets. "I-I just don't see the problem."

"They are just so damn cocky and continue to be. Disobedience, arrogance, self-centeredness, it's all running rampant nowadays."

"We weren't any better back then."

Press a finger onto her pussy lips, the fabric disappearing a bit into the increasingly aroused hole.

"Oh, you think so?"

"Ye-yes, Master. Suzy, IU, Jennie, even I—we were all a lot of trouble for you. I remember the reeducation training with Jessica and Nana. Maybe some things never change—ah, fuck."

Joohyun moans when your tongue trails along the side of her body, up to her collarbone where you place kisses. She is now trapped underneath you and with all your experience and ease, you join her in her (almost) nude state. 

Instead of your finger you place a knee on Joohyun's covered heat and she instinctively grinds on it and loses herself in needy, desperate, good girl whines. She starts to pout and you rake your fingers through her hair like—

"Like in good old times." Your deep groan fills Joohyun with love.

"Yes, Master."

"You know how to grind on this knee. You know how to make yourself look submissive. You know how to combust into nothing but bliss when I just command you too.

"Don't you, Irene?"

"Y-yes, Master! You're so good to me."

Joohyun hesitates and whimpers for a moment, looking at you. 

"Master… call me Joohyun please. Irene is for everybody else, but I am Joohyun and I am yours, my Master. Your whore, your slave." 

The shortlist came with perks. She could make such requests of you. 

"Jennie was one of the worst, but she is one of my biggest sluts, so I guess it only makes sense." You think out loud. 

"Joohyun, is it true Red Velvet will have their last comeback soon?" 

She can only nod and hum. 

"I'll have to fuck you after then too… to breed you." 

Her eyes widen and you feel a great dampness in her folds. 

"Master, it will finally be my turn?" 

"We've discussed this before." 

"I-I know… but I said you could breed me before then. You know I would give up my career for you, Master. I only wish to be your cumdump."

There she goes, melting into a shape you have foreseen years ago. Of course she has been ready for it, but the time is right right now.

"Good girl."

You pull aside her panties and give her pussy lips tiny smacks. Joohyun starts to mewl and whimper in this perfect pitch, the pitch only your hand can make her reach.

"M-Master, hng!"

"This hole is ready to be bred." Indeed, you find it to be exceptional compared to even to your best youngsters, perfect, especially the wetness is extraordinary. "Now spread your legs and tell me how much you need it."

"Master, I've needed it since I underwent your training. I didn't allow any man to touch me but you, Master. I am pure. I-I stopped any form of contraceptive. I've been waiting. I'm ready to walk away from being an idol because all I want is you, Master. I see comments online, I know people call me Mommy because of my age and looks, but the only Mommy I want to be is for your child, Master. Breed me please. I am your good girl. I always have been. This whore, this slut, needs her Master to complete my training, to make me your breeding bitch."

You deem these words to be enough, excessive even. There was no need for all of them to be said out loud, you could clearly see it in her eyes, the wanton desire for your cock creaming inside her.  Some people might call it cruel to her, but the last person to call it cruel is Joohyun herself.

You penetrate her gracefully, something she has not experienced ever. There was always a need to destroy her pussy; after all, Joohyun was once a defiant bitch. Nothing of this is left as she ecstatically welcomes you inside, dopamine flushing her brain, passion in the way she moans, laughs when you bottom out.

"Daddy!"

"Squeeze tight, Joohyun. I need you to make me cum as often as you can and keep it all down, so you better be the tightest girl ever tonight."

"I'm Daddy's tight girl, just breed me and I'll not lose any of your seed."

"Stick your tongue out."

Joohyun does as told and you let some of your saliva spill out onto your tongue before it oozes down to her. You always found her cock drunk expression thrilling, this one probably being its greatest form when you start to thrust into her as she still tries to catch your gift.

She pouts, as your saliva misses her just a bit and drips on her body. 

"If they saw you now—Irene, everyone's ice queen—reduced to nothing but my personal whore, a Daddy and Master kink too? Some people think you're a bitch in how you behave and treat others. They are right in a way, aren't they darling? 

“You are my bitch.”

"Ma-Master, you are right," Joohyun moans, her response interrupted by ragged breaths. "I-I'm your bitch, a bitch in heat. Do-do you like the hot pussy of this ice slave?"

Has she always been this humorous? A circle around her clit, just a rub, and her eyes are wide open. Joohyun looks so different in bed, a different kind of gorgeous from her stage presence during songs with the velvet-concept. You appreciate both, but this is clearly your favorite.

"Good that it's still tight," you groan and pound her harder. "I bottomed out a thousand times and still your grip is... fuck."

"Yes, Master, please praise my pussy more!"

"Isn't this enough praise, bitch?" you say in rhythm to slower but significantly harder thrust, the type to make inexperienced girls limp and screaming. Not Joohyun, she takes it well, though her voice still breaks at the rough pleasure forced upon her needy sex.

Joohyun stretches her arms out, holds onto the frame of the bed while you force her feet further apart and higher in the air. She looks stupid, an embarrassing position for an idol of her class to be in. 

"Yes, Master!" she suddenly howls when your finger presses into the flesh of her thighs. "I don't want to dance anymore, make me unable to dance!"

"When I'm fucking done with you, don't even think about getting out of bed." You lean down to her sweaty, burning face and nibble at her jaw. "Don't move on your own before I've filled your entire womb!"

"Yes, Master.” Joohyun struggles to catch her breath, her words somewhere up in the air along with your face deliberately drooling down on her. “It's time isn't it? Please make me pregnant. I've been waiting for so long, Master, I've been patient and good—" 

"In due time, Joohyun, but you will take it all the way in your womb until you're dripping and spilling seed everywhere. One day.” Your promise is sincere, partially because Joohyun’s rippling pussy has your voice a bit strained. Rejecting her would be pointless, really, her pussy could just will you in and if she’s really not taking contraceptives— 

“I've heard your contracts are up in the air. Are you really going to throw it all away for your Master?"

Joohyun puckers her lips for you to kiss, barely able to squeeze out words through them and her forced out moans.

"Yes, M-Master! I don't care about the contracts, I only want your child."

"Then show me that cute little face," you say, teasingly leaning down to her lips searching for yours but not getting them. "The one you make when you cum on my cock like the good slut I trained you to be."

Joohyun is almost at that point of peak devotion, where she can almost will herself to an orgasm just from your command, but it's still too many almosts. You still have to lay a hand on her clit, the other on her waist and move both your hips and hands in quick, stimulating fashion until Joohyun squeaks like it's her first time in your bedroom. 

The night you tamed her, many, many moons ago, was a great achievement, because you know she would still be drop dead gorgeous when you decide to do this to her. Without giving Joohyun any signs of your imminent orgasm, you cream her the moment the pleasure over takes her. 

Her cute expression of bliss and submission to your superior frame is flooded with ecstasy and pride when you flood her cavern and womb with a thick load that is meant to stick inside her and eventually form a baby. Joohyun frantically holds onto your arms stabilizing her ever twitching body, her glassy eyes looking at you in reverence and servility. 

"Th-thank you, Master," she whispers, her face and chest flushed with happiness, both a bit puffed from pride and soreness as her walls still milk you. "It feels so warm."

"I know what you're feeling," you coo into her ear and feel her burn up even more. "Finally, no condom, no contraceptive, nothing blocking my seed from blooming in your tight tummy. Every orgasm before this pales in comparison, because this one was real.

"So I'm giving you more."

"Ma-Master, I don't deserv—ahh!"

You put every vampire to shame when you furiously bite down on a pale sweet spot between Joohyun's neck and shoulder. Unlike vampires however, the faint taste of blood pulls you back to reality, that it's better to just fuck Joohyun's cum-filled cunt deeper than getting your teeth into her deeper. Nonetheless, the euphoric girl has both arms around you and tightly clings to you.

"Ma-Master," she cries out. "I ca-can't take it any-anymore."

"Don't care," you growl, empathy foreign to you. "I don't care if your pretty feet or legs or hips go numb. You'll take my cock until I want to stop."

You glare at her, eyelids hiding sniveling, tears begging for mercy as once again, overstimulation breaks her. What a weakness to still have. It’s part of Joohyun, sure, but you thought she would’ve grown past it, especially for this moment.

"You wanted this Joohyun. You wanted Master to breed you. You begged for it, don't you fucking bitch to me now. Did I make a mistake in choosing you? Are you really ready to give up your idol career if you can't handle me like this?" 

Every word sliced into her. It's been ages since you broke her down like this, not just physically and sexually, but verbally. It was like she was your trainee all over again, a dominant, crushing hand on her throat, an unrelenting pelvis crashing down on hers.

"I will fuck you for however long I want..." 

You pause for a moment and choke her even harder. 

"Suzy can take it. Why can't you?"

"I can, Daddy!” Joohyun screams, finally fighting for herself against herself. “Make me a baby mommy, don't listen to my stupid mouth. You, you own this pussy!"

Feel Joohyun's pussy struggle to take all the cock and cum when you fold her to a painful degree and watch her face become just a canvas for tears. It's also red, like her bleeding shoulder or her round butt which you spank over and over again, red like her sore pussy lips or her insides. 

"Good thing that you're still tight," you scold Joohyun and spit at her face. "At least your pussy is trying to make your real dream come true."

"Master, I'm cumming."

"Shut up. I don’t care. Put your own fingers around your throat. Spread your pussy lips. Look at me, while I destroy you.

"While I end your career, Irene."

A second load, pumped and mixed into the first and ultimately overflowing from Joohyun's gaping hole. The moment you pull out, she knows that this will be it. She is going to be pregnant, no way around it.

You gently cup her face, look at an expression of bewilderment, hurt, happiness, sadness, pain, confusion. Not the first time that you've destroyed a young woman like this while making her pregnant. A kiss to ease the pain a bit, she thinks, but it's just a set up for a reality check.

"I'm a bit disappointed," you tell her. "I needed your full devotion, but it seems you have forgotten how to take a second load.

"That said, I don't regret it. You're beautiful and ready. I think your group deserves one more comeback, then you can tell them what happened."

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

"You can stop choking yourself, by the way."

"Yes, Daddy. I-I love you."