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existslikepristin · 16 days

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Holy shit, look what I actually finished

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Dreamcatcher/Minx, Loona/Artms, CLC/Kep1er, Gfriend/Viviz, I love the fact that I can technically do a / for each of those group tags, Jiu, Heejin, Yujin, futa!Eunha, Karina’s colossal cock makes a cameo, you make a cameo, BUNNIES, reluctant but totally consenting, humiliation, a variety of unhealthy habits regarding weight gain/loss, anal, p-in-v sex, rimming, cunnilingus, deepthroat, Yujin is one thirsty ass lesbian, premature ejaculation, cum sweat and tears, Jiu is just a little dumb, Heejin is just a little shy, Eunha is just little, a bit of unintentional exhibitionism, strapons, references, this whole story is a big pain in the dick

Springy

“Oh gosh, these ears are adorable on you!”

“Uh… Thanks, Jiu,” Heejin said with a deep blush and a tiny smile, folding her forearms over her stomach. Her biceps pushed her leotard partially open, revealing a lot more cleavage than she normally managed.

“Hey, don’t be so shy!” Yujin giggled and dragged a finger across Heejin’s chest. “You’re super hot.”

Jiu pushed Yujin’s hand away from Heejin, but smiled sweetly. “Don’t you be taking advantage of this girl now.”

Heejin’s blush intensified. “It’s okay… I, uh…”

Eunha wasn’t listening to any of the conversation. She was much too focused on the job at hand: Squeezing into her bunny leotard. It was already a tight fit when they first picked out the costumes, but in the following weeks, Eunha had gained some size in the thighs (and butt). Even if she was able to get the outfit all the way on, her ass would eat the thing in the back and make it look like a slightly oversized thong. Eunha’s tits had grown a bit too, so if she ever managed to get the thing on, she’d probably still be flashing her nips with every slightly bouncy step. And just to add potential injury to the insult, the severe tightness of the leotard was absolutely going to crush Eunha’s poor dick. That might help hide the bulge when they went out on stage, but dancing in such a condition would just make the whole event a literal pain. At least the bunny ear headband still fit!

Jiu, Heejin, and Yujin easily got into their bunny outfits just as quickly as the first time they tried them on. Theirs were exactly the same as Eunha’s. Copied and pasted black pump heels, black bow tie chokers, and skimpy, open-backed, black leotards which barely covered half of their asses and unreasonably low necklines. They came with little white fluffy tails on the back.

The other three each made the same outfit look good in their own way, and each had a themed lipstick color. Heejin’s lipstick was baby blue, and her fully exposed arms and legs had a slightly oily sheen, emphasizing her muscular physique. Yujin was wearing pale green lipstick and was the thinnest of the bunch, but her perky tits and ass jiggled deliciously as she hopped around the room. Jiu’s legs, already the longest, looked a mile long now that they were exposed all the way up past her hips. She got the most normal lipstick: light pink.

Eunha wasn’t unhappy with her short frame, thick assets, and pastel yellow lipstick, but at that moment she regretted the last month of cheeseburgers, beer, and sedentary behavior. A diet was out of the question, obviously, as she would have been very hungry and wouldn’t stand for that, but she probably could have done with a bit of exercise.

“You okay over here?” Yujin asked.

Eunha flinched and looked up. As could always be expected from the thirstiest of lesbians, Yujin’s eyes were locked on her bare boobs.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Eunha trailed off, “Okay, I’m not kidding anybody. I need some help getting this on.”

“Oh ho ho!” Yujin fake-laughed. “Does this mean I was right when I suggested we should get one of these outfits one size up?”

“You could have done with a size down! Just…” Eunha grumbled, “help me put it on.”

Yujin giggled for real, somewhere between cute and lecherous. “Sure, babe, I gotcha.” She twirled behind Eunha and dropped to her knees. “Let’s get these beautiful pillows cased, eh? A little help, Heejin?”

“Huh?” Heejin made her way over, and was followed by Jiu. Being the room’s center of attention was worse when Eunha also felt like the room’s center of gravity.

After a brief (and traumatizing) discussion on the logistics of the task ahead of them, the other two dressed bunny girls took their positions as Yujin directed, gripped a portion of Eunha’s leotard, and pulled up in tandem. They all succeeded in lifting Eunha off the floor, but the material did not budge any further. Eunha kicked back and forth rapidly until the others set her back down.

“Where exactly is it getting stuck?” Jiu asked with a puff. Eunha appreciated that Jiu used a more concerned tone, as opposed to Yujin’s mockery.

“It’s just stuck at the waist,” Yujin said, “All we gotta do is get that past her ass and we’re good. Let me just try a little lube…”

A disgusted shiver went all the way up and down Eunha’s back as she felt Yujin spit twice down the back of the leotard.

“Okay, three, two, one!” Yujin shouted, and heaved upward. Jiu and Heejin did the same.

The slip of material over Eunha’s ass was almost satisfying, but then came a sudden shock of pain; the result of fabric being stretched to its absolute limit by her expansive ass. As expected, it left no room whatsoever for her dick. Eunha could only squeak, go cross eyed, and collapse to the floor as the others released their grips.

“Oh… shit,” Heejin mumbled.

“Uh oh.” Jiu put a hand over her mouth.

“I think we need to get it off now,” Yujin said. Eunha felt herself surprisingly grateful for Yujin in that moment, considering she couldn’t catch a breath with which to say “Fuck! Take it off!”

Thankfully, the shape of Eunha’s curves made removing the thing much easier than putting it on, though it still took some effort. Jiu tossed the leotard to the side and Yujin gasped, suddenly transfixed. Eunha was left groaning on the floor, fully nude besides her askew bunny ears and bow tie. She rolled onto her back, went limp, and summarized her feelings: “O~ow~w…”

Jiu sighed heavily. “Well now what are we going to do? We can’t go out there without Eunha. She’s like, the bunniest bunny.”

Eunha barely registered the compliment.

“She could try losing some water weight,” Heejin said.

“Water weight?” Jiu asked with a raised eyebrow, “Like pissing it all out? That sounds fake.”

“Uh… No, I mean spitting in a cup… or working up a big sweat by exercising super hard.”

Jiu squinted. “That still sounds fake. And also unhealthy.”

“It works for me and Jinsoul if we need to shave an inch off.”

“An inch?!” Jiu shouted, “Wow, you fourth genners are intense. Do I need to talk to your manage—Okay, we’ll come back to that in a bit. Eunha? Yujin? Have you two ever done that?”

Eunha was still catching her breath and couldn’t answer, but was very opposed to the idea. She could barely do normal exercise, so working up enough of a sweat to lose physical size was definitely a pipe dream. There were a few long moments of silence.

“Yujin!” Jiu tapped Yujin’s shoulder, snapping her out of her trance. She’d been staring between Eunha’s legs.

“S-sorry. But look, Seunghee was right!” She pointed at Eunha’s dick. “It’s so cute!”

Just when Eunha thought her embarrassment had reached its peak, the summit stretched out by another mile. Her accidents in The Lounge would follow her forever, it seemed.

Heejin blushed again and looked away. Jiu, however, remained stoic and said, “Yeah, sure, but we need a plan, Yujin.”

More silence. Eunha eventually caught her breath and started to let the others know that the show should probably go on without her, “I—”

Yujin interrupted, “Actually, I think Heejin’s got it!”

“What?” Eunha croaked.

“What’s a little dehydration if we’re only performing four songs in a medley?” Yujin chimed, “Let’s just, you know, shrivel her up a bit, do the performance, and then come back and make her guzzle a gallon of water to plump back up! She’s real close to fitting in the thing already, so it won’t take much.”

Jiu cocked an eyebrow. “You really think something like that will work?”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

Eunha raised a hand to try to object, but Heejin spoke first. “I mean, we could also… I mean, it would be easy to cut some slits in her leotard to expand it and use some black electric tape to cover up the—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Yujin interrupted again, “Let’s only worry about plan B if the sweaty plan fails. Okay! So! Check this out. As we all know, sex makes for a fantastic workout. If we all fuck Eunha, she’ll sweat like crazy. And this plan comes with three more benefits! One: Draining her balls will make them fit without getting skronched again. Two: If her pussy gushes, that’s more water weight gone. And three: She burns calories for real, healthy weight loss. All the while, she’s spitting into a cup like Heejin suggested for maximum effect. Oh, but where do we get a cup?”

Heejin looked around. “I didn’t bring one… We can just grab one from—”

“What a shame!” Yujin interrupted again again, “I guess she can spit in my mouth instead.”

Jiu glared. “Well now you’re just being too obvious, Yujin. Also I’m pretty sure her balls won’t actually get smaller.”

“Damn. Yeah, those balls are already super tiny… But the sex plan is a-go-go, right?”

Heejin shrugged. “Seems kinda legit.”

Jiu sighed again and planted her hands on her bare hips, hanging her head for a moment. “I have to admit, it sounds like the best option we have. And we are bunnies, after all, so getting things done by fucking kind of makes sense.”

“What…” Eunha choked, “Don’t I get a say in this? I think Heejin was right. Cutting a little around the waist was a good ide—”

“Ruining the outfits is our last resort!” Yujin shouted. She already peeled down the top of her leotard, freeing her small chest from its confines, and straddled Eunha’s head.

Jiu and Heejin gave each other a “why not” kind of look.

Eunha groaned one last time as Yujin pulled her outfit’s crotch to the side. Eunha got an eyeful of ass and a mouthful of pussy. She resigned herself to her apparently unstoppable fate and stuck out her tongue. It was unsettling how genuinely similar to strawberries Yujin tasted.

“Oooh!” Yujin cooed, “See? Good plan.” She leaned down to grope Eunha’s tits. “Don’t forget, Eunha. You need to participate for maximum benefit.”

However reluctant she may have been, Eunha’s body certainly participated. Her dick—which was still very sore—stood straight up in no time as Jiu softly caressed and kissed it. A moment later, Jiu clambered on top, slowly grinding herself in small circles to keep Eunha’s dick inside her.

“How’s it feel?” Yujin asked with a bit of a dreamy quality to her voice.

Nobody answered for a few seconds.

“Oh, me?” Jiu clarified. “It’s alright.”

“Just alright? She’s doing great with her tongue. Really getting me wet down there.”

“Yeah. It’s like, just alright. Hey wait, wet?”

Yujin squinted. “Duh. She’s licking my vag. Of course I’m getting wet.”

“Isn’t the goal for Eunha to dehydrate a little bit from this?” Heejin asked.

“I don’t think you can actually hydrate by drinking pussy juice, but oh well. You’re right. Oops. My bad.” Yujin shifted herself a bit forward, smashing her asshole against Eunha’s mouth instead.

“Aow! Ffey!” Eunha exclaimed and slapped Yujin’s thigh.

Yujin flinched a little, but cooed again. “Oooh, yes, this is just as good. Keep at it and you’ll drop a size in no time!”

“Hey, uh…” Heejin looked back and forth between Yujin and Jiu. “What should I do?”

Yujin hummed. “Weeell, let’s see. Seunghee told me that Eunha really likes anal.”

“Sheesh… another one?” Heejin murmured for some indiscernible reason, probably involving a church.

Eunha felt like she should protest, but it was a point she couldn’t effectively argue. She didn’t exactly want to argue, especially when Heejin’s finger pressed into her ass and curled up, pushing all of Eunha’s love buttons.

Reluctance aside, Eunha started giving in to the pleasure. She managed to lift her legs enough for Heejin’s finger to get almost all the way inside her. Jolts of energy zipped through her at each twirl of Jiu’s hips. Her hands instinctively spread Yujin’s ass further to be better devoured. Bunny eared stars swam in front of her eyes and she squealed.

Jiu suddenly stopped moving. “Oh. I think she just came.”

“Is that what that was?” Yujin asked, “We’ve only been at this for like fifteen seconds.”

Eunha’s core twitched and her toes curled. She’d be much more flustered if she weren’t losing her mind to one of the most intense orgasms she’d ever had.

“She hasn’t even… started to sweat though? Oh…” Heejin said, pointing between Jiu’s legs, “Yeah, that’s cum.”

Jiu swung a leg up and back, leaving behind a couple drops of Eunha’s jizz before her leotard snapped back into place and caught the rest.

“Welp…” Yujin popped her lips a few times. “Adorable little cock means adorable little cock problems, I guess.”

“If she doesn’t, you know, have the stamina to keep going long enough to start sweating, don’t you think we should try something else?”

“No!” Yujin smacked Eunha’s tits, yanking her out of her orgasmic bliss. “It’s far too soon to give up! Surely those teeny tiny little balls have more to give!”

Eunha tried to cradle her stinging boobs, but Yujin slapped her hands away.

Jiu dabbed at her crotch with a tissue near one of the makeup stations. “You know, Yujin,” she said, “As our token ‘real’ lesbian, I would have expected that you would suggest we keep going with Eunha’s pussy.”

“Jiu, you beautiful bunny, you’re a genius!” Yujin’s smile beamed.

“I’m really kinda not though.”

Keeping her head pinned, Yujin grabbed Eunha by the thighs and lifted, folding the poor girl nearly in half. “Let’s send this pussy to Kingdom Cum!”

Eunha whined, still partially muffled by Yujin’s ass, “Guyf, can’ we take a bweak?”

“Sorry,” Jiu said, “I don’t think we have time for a break. We need to be on stage in twenty minutes.”

“Also, a break would defeat the purpose!” Yujin chimed, “Hey Heejin, let’s try something. She’s not actually getting all that soft yet. Here, get between her legs.”

Pump heels clacked on the tile floor around Eunha as bodies (including her own, as she was involuntarily puppeted around) were rearranged. Yujin stayed in place, simply leaning to one side to make room for Heejin to be pulled down onto her hands and knees. Heejin briefly waved at Eunha now that they were sort of face to face, but then did her best to avoid eye contact, bunny ears wiggling as she tried to get into the position Yujin was directing her into.

Jiu pushed Eunha’s legs even further up to kneel behind them, putting her within tongue’s reach of all of Eunha’s most vulnerable bits. This left Yujin free to release Eunha’s thighs while still leaving them trapped in the air.

It was much like yoga, but without a choice. Eunha felt suffocated not only by Yujin’s butt, but also by the way she was being curled into a pretzel for the other bunny girls’ enjoyment (or maybe just Yujin’s). Her scrunched up torso—and the return of one of Yujin’s insistently groping, pushy hands—was really taking her breath away, physically speaking. Memories of being pinned to the closet floor by jeans-covered, thick thighs came rushing back, and her dick got rock hard again. Eunha was at least thankful that the others couldn’t read those thoughts.

“I’m ready whenever she’s hard again,” Heejin said with yet another blush.

“Of course she is, cutie!” Yujin shifted Heejin’s leotard to the side and guided Eunha’s dick into Heejin’s pussy. “If I had a dick, I don’t think I’d ever go soft looking at you, Heejie.”

If Eunha could have thrown her head back in pleasure, she would have. Heejin’s pussy was perhaps the tightest she had ever felt (not that she’d felt that many). “Mmmf!” she hummed up Yujin’s butt. A trickle of Yujin’s juices ran down her chin and neck.

“She’s starting to sweat too,” Jiu said before driving her tongue into Eunha’s asshole and pressing three fingers into Eunha’s pussy. She put in the most effort of anybody in the room, rocking Eunha’s lower body back and forth a bit, fucking her dick into Heejin.

“Good!” Yujin chirped, “She’s totally feeling it! Won’t be long before we’re swimming in her pussy ju—I mean her sweat!”

Everybody grimaced at Yujin’s weird, gay thirst, but she continued, “How about it? How’s that dick feel for you?”

After a moment, Heejin looked up and asked, “Uh… you mean me?”

“Yeah you, hot stuff!”

“I mean, I’m… ready whenever Eunha is.”

There was a long, very awkward pause.

Jiu coughed lightly. “She’s, um, already…”

There was a sudden panic in Heejin’s eyes. “Fuck! I thought you were fingering me!”

Another silence, then Heejin panicked harder. “Wait… no! I mean, fisting me! Eunha, I… I thought Jiu was fisting me! Because your cock is big…”

Eunha sighed heavily into Yujin’s ass crack. She could already sense Heejin’s words creeping into her subconscious to haunt her dreams for the rest of her life, constantly reminding her of her inadequate penis size and how it was basically one of her most defining features.

“S-sorry, Eunha… I really meant—”

Yujin patted Heejin’s head. “Hey, shush, cutie. Apologizing probably just makes it wors—I mean, she probably hears that from everyone all the tim—I mean, I’ve got a dildo you can borrow later if you need something of a reasonable siz—I mean, hey, let’s fuck that lovely cock, right? Here we go, that’s it. Beautiful.”

Hands on Heejin’s hips, Yujin pushed her back and forth (cautiously and over a very short distance).

Despite the developing medium-size traumatic stress disorder, Eunha couldn’t help but succumb to pleasure. It all just felt so good. The fingers, the tongues, the pussies and assholes. Everything squeezed her, groped her, penetrated her, humiliated h—no wait, not that one. It was so much sensation. Her toes curled of their own accord. So much… So much!

Jiu and Yujin teased their fingers over Eunha’s balls and clit respectively, clearly reminding the reader of the severe lack of anatomical realism going on up in this bitch, but that’s okay because it made Eunha—

“I think she just came again,” Jiu said, “Her balls and her holes just tensed up all at once. I think she even squirted a little bit. Pretty sure that’s not just pee?”

Eunha fought to hold back her tears. The sexual satisfaction, physical discomfort, and emotional shame were all mixing together in the most horrible way and she really didn’t want to like it as much as she was. Thanks to the angle she was being held in, her juices, both what squeezed out of her pussy and Heejin’s, dripped down her stomach and between her tits. Yujin immediately smeared it around like a gay pervert (because she’s a gay pervert).

“Oh fuck… please don’t let it be pee,” Heejin said in a tone denoting past personal experience in a church.

“It probably isn’t!” Yujin shouted, “ Keep going! If she’s squirting, it’s working!”

Eunha managed to push Yujin’s butt off her face with her feeble arms. “Oh my gosh… please… let me have—”

Before she could finish begging for a break, Yujin lifted Eunha’s head with her heels, shoving her much harder into the crevasse of her ass and blocking off her nose. Eunha weakly tried to pry Yujin’s legs away but failed, and groped around as one does when struggling and not knowing what to do with their hands. She knew she should have seen this coming, and hoped she’d get some air before she passed out. At least she had a surprisingly tasty ass to eat while her humiliation and exhaustion continued.

Yujin grabbed one of Eunha’s limply hanging legs and brought it down, where she popped a couple of toes into her mouth. Eunha didn’t have a foot fetish, but she did like it when Yerin sucked—and/or made SinB suck—her toes.

Heejin’s face was barely visible past Yujin’s ass. Eunha couldn’t help but think about how pretty she was, especially in the full bunny girl outfit. Eunha briefly wondered if she could get Heejin’s number, and then immediately pushed the thought out of her mind. The concept of facing Heejin (or Yujin or Jiu for that matter) any time in the future was mortifying.

Jiu was exceptionally good at everything she was doing. If anything was making Eunha sweat, besides the forced yoga, it was the skill Jiu was exhibiting. Eunha’s pussy and ass were absolutely on fire, and actually in a good way. Specifically in the approaching orgasm way.

“Oookay, she just came again,” Jiu groaned.

A general sense of deflation and disappointment in the room made it quite clear that Eunha was the only one enjoying these very quick orgasms. Yujin let go of her head and tits, Jiu sighed a heavy breath against her backside, and Heejin rolled away, letting Eunha's spasming cock hit Yujin with the last spurt of cum.

"What?" Yujin asked, scooping the jizz out of her belly button, "What's wrong with that? We can still keep fucking her."

Heejin was clearly trying to hold back a scowl. "I know. It's just… kinda weird, I guess."

Yujin backed off, finally letting Eunha get a full breath of fresh air until she shoved her cum-covered fingers into Eunha's mouth. "Heejin, I totally agree. It's weird and gross that she can't even hold it in for one whole minute, but the point is to make her work up a sweat so we can all perform together, and that's working! Right?!"

Eunha gave an exhausted groan and limply slapped at Yujin’s arm. It’s not like she hadn't eaten plenty of her own cum before, but there was something uniquely demeaning about it being casually forced into her mouth while her poor sexual performance was discussed above her.

"Maybe it's just worth trying Heejin's other idea?" Jiu let Eunha's bottom half down to the floor again. "Cut the outfit a bit?"

"Hang on! We've got plenty of time for this method, right?" Yujin pointed at the clock on the wall. They still had eighteen minutes left.

Eunha rolled over into the fetal position.

“Well, yeah. But I’m seriously not sure this is working, and I think we should be pretty concerned that Loona’s managers insist on making them do anything like this. Really, Heejin, do you need me to talk to them?”

“Woah woah woah, little miss white-knight-with-sexy-legs-in-a-bunny-costume,” Yujin butted in, “There’s plenty of time to punch Loona’s draconian managers in their stupid faces later, so hear me out. Eunha is clearly not doing so great on the penis side of things. I know it’s hard to tell because she’s already so small, but her little cock is getting soft as we speak. However! This is about physical exertion, not pleasure, even if that gorgeous mouth of hers is really fucking good at the pleasure thing… So let’s just do something that doesn’t require waiting for her refractory periods!”

Jiu scratched her head. “Her refractory periods have only been like ten seconds a piece.”

“And that’s ten! Seconds! Wasted!” Yujin clapped to punctuate her words, “every time she cums prematurely! That’s cutting into our productivity! But I have good news. I brought something with me that can help us out. Check my bag.”

Doing as Yujin asked, Jiu procured a clear-jeweled butt plug. She looked at the gem carefully. “Why the hell is there a picture of my face inside a butt plug?”

“Forget about that! I was talking about the other stuff in my bag!”

“Oh. Holy crap, this is enormous.” Jiu procured another item, much larger than the butt plug. It was a dildo, already attached to a strap on, and nearly the size of her forearm. “You want to fuck Eunha with this? It’s bigger than she is.”

Yujin beamed a proud smile across the room. “Hehe, yeah. It is big, huh? It’s molded off of Karina. Got it from Giselle. And yes. Eunha may be small but according to Jihyo that ass of hers can take a truly absurd portion of dick.”

Heejin grimaced for church-related reasons. “What is it with tiny girls being size queens…”

More flashbacks played across Eunha’s memory. She hoped she would get fresh baked cookies when everything was over again. Of course, she’d given up protesting. She could get up, get dressed (in normal clothes that still fit her), and walk away, but then the story wouldn’t happen and she really did want the sex to continue, whether or not she ended up such a leg-shaky, gaping, dripping, braindead mess that she wouldn’t actually be able to go out on stage. In fact, if that were the case, she could probably use that as an excuse to drop out of the performance.

Eunha didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation, considering she knew they were just going to end up wrecking her ass (and perhaps more than her ass) shortly. Instead, she indulged herself a little, stroking her cock with her middle and ring fingers. It may have been getting soft, but damn if it didn’t feel great after three consecutive creampies. She wondered what it would feel like if someone else were to cum while riding her. If she could keep herself from cumming for like thirty or forty more second—

Then, Eunha was rolled onto her stomach. She reflexively tried to say “wait,” but it turned into a long squeal as her ass was rudely and far too quickly filled with what must have been half the entire planet’s supply of silicone. Reports of the size of Karina’s dick were not exaggerated.

“Wooow!” Yujin sang, “Now that was easy! Check it out, Jiu! She took the whole thing in one go!”

Attempting to catch her breath turned out not to be an option for Eunha, and Yujin’s sudden, emphatic fucking made the situation so much worse. The bottom pounding made it feel like Eunha’s lungs were being pounded from the bottom. She didn’t have the time to question that poorly worded circular logic though, as her head was lifted and another dildo (of significantly smaller size) was pushed into her gasping mouth.

The second dildo was attached to a second strap on, which was in turn attached to Jiu’s hips. Eunha looked up into her eyes, giving her a pleading, sort of “why me?” kind of expression. Jiu shrugged and proceeded to fuck Eunha’s throat.

“Look at us,” Yujin marveled out loud, “Just you an me, Jiu, spitroasting a little shawty between us like a couple of professionals.”

Jiu squinted, “What?”

“You know what I’m saying? Just us, some hotties with killer bods, going all the way downtown to Paris to meet at the top like the Eiffel Tower.”

“I’m not going to kiss you right now, Yujin.”

All the while, Eunha being shoved back and forth between them, scrubbing the floor with her tits, catching breaths of air in the short moments she could get them around the tip of Jiu’s strap on. The struggle for mere survival did not diminish the pleasure though. Yujin’s creepcore comments diminished it a little, but Eunha could block those out. She surrendered herself to the rough treatment, merely moaning in ecstatic agony as everything inside her rearranged itself around the preposterously large fake cock pistoning in and out of her asshole, totally out of sync with the rhythm of Jiu’s facefucking.

“Aw, well, I guess that means we’ll kiss later, right?”

“Yeah,” Jiu sighed, “Maybe.”

Yujin paused her fucking briefly. “Woah, holy shit, really?”

“We can talk about it later, when we’re not busy.”

“Oh, y-yeah, tot-tally,” Yujin stumbled over her words and went back to slamming Eunha’s ass. She cleared her throat. “Hey Heejin, you gonna help us out? What are you doing over there?”

Eunha did her best to look to the side, Jiu’s dildo puffing out her cheek. She saw Heejin putting down a pair of scissors and walking behind Eunha once again.

“Huh? Nothing… What should I do? We’re out of dildos.”

Though Eunha was happy to hear she’d live to see another day, she was slightly disappointed to hear that.

“Well,” Yujin mused, “I think it’s not helping much for Eunha to just lie here on the floor. Here, get behind me and help me lift.”

“Always with the small girl lifting…” Heejin muttered more about her mysterious, sacrilegious past.

Moments later, Eunha found herself hanging in the air. Two pairs of hands held up her thighs, one pair of hands held up her shoulders, and the fake dicks in her ass and mouth kept her locked in place. The irony about how Eunha was the one who was supposed to be exercising in that moment was very much lost on her, as her mind was being consumed by ecstasy. She did register that for every thrust into her butt, though, there were two evenly spaced smacking sounds.

“Gosh, Heejin,” Yujin giggled, “I wish we did have another dildo. You could be totally wrecking my puss right now if you wanted. And damn, look at these arms. I’d ask if you work out, but I think it’s pretty obvious.”

Jiu hissed, “Yujin! We are locked in on this plan right now, and we only have fourteen minutes left! Save the flirting for later!”

Nobody paid attention to Eunha as she rammed head/asslong into yet another orgasm.

In fact, Eunha came several more times. She was not in the right state of mind to keep track of the actual number, but as the other three bunny girls got a major work out by maneuvering her around into several different air-suspended positions, Eunha sprayed an unreasonable quantity of cum onto the floor, Yujin, and herself.

Her body spasmed nearly constantly, melding orgasms and aftershocks into one seemingly endless climax, like a modern big budget movie. Her balls couldn’t keep up and her cock couldn’t stay up, eventually flopping limp with occasional small drops finding their way out. Her pussy drooled, creating a froth that clung to the dildo still splitting her in two. Her whole body, head to toe, was slick with sweat. Miraculously, however, her bunny ear headband stayed on the entire time, albeit slightly askew.

“Phew!” Yujin puffed, “Okay, should we try getting her in the costume now?”

Eunha glanced up at the clock through hazy eyes. Two minutes until they were expected to be on stage. The others released her onto a chair, emptying Eunha's mouth and ass, simultaneously giving her relief and causing great disappointment. She couldn't tell whether her ass was gaped wide open or if it managed to close back up. It was almost entirely numb.

While Heejin got the costume, Yujin grabbed Eunha’s balls, rolling them painfully between her fingers. “Well, they're not shriveled up per se, but she's totally not getting hard again any time soon.”

Eunha squirmed, coughed, and groaned. “Staaahp!” she whined weakly.

Jiu looked down suspiciously. “I'm starting to think this wasn't a good idea from the beginning,” she said with a rub of her chin.

“Why's that?” Yujin asked, helping Heejin lift Eunha's legs to slide the leotard on.

“Just look at her, Yujin. She's in no condition to dance—oh damn, she fits.”

Somehow, there was no difficulty whatsoever in putting Eunha's leotard on. It was absolutely still tight once it was all the way on (as expected, the bottom was stretched to the point of looking like floss between her ass cheeks, it all but flattened her dick and balls, and her tits still threatened to pop out of the top), but she was in it!

Heejin clasped the bow tie choker around Eunha's neck and dropped the pump heels under her feet. “Yeah, it fits… We should hurry out there.”

Eunha moaned as loudly as she could, obviously quite hoarse from the throat fucking, and did not stand up. She wanted to pass out, not perform.

Lifting her limp arm and letting it fall back down, Jiu hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, nope. Definitely a bad idea. She can't even mov—”

“Come on, girl!” Yujin shouted, “You're an idol! You've performed in way worse conditions!” She smacked the tops of Eunha's thighs, hard.

The sting brought Eunha back, mostly, to her senses, sending her up straight in her seat. “Ooow!”

Jiu and Heejin both glared at Yujin, but she grabbed Eunha by the arms and yanked her off the chair. The two nearly collapsed back to the floor, but Eunha caught herself and managed to stay standing on very wobbly legs.

“How do I,” Eunha took a shaky breath, “How do I look?”

The others hmm'ed and haw'ed for a moment.

“You look very cute. Extra bunnyish,” said Jiu.

“You look so fucking sexy,” said Yujin.

“You look… like you lost a fight,” said Heejin.

Eunha turned to face one of the mirrors and gasped (which turned into a cough). Her makeup was ruined, yellow lipstick smeared across her left cheek and eyeshadow streaked down. There was nothing left of her stylist's effort on her hair. None of it was going to be able to get fixed in the minute and a half that remained.

She groaned, “Oh no… Do I have to go out there?”

***

Miraculously, the performance went quite well!

CLC’s “To the sky”, Gfriend’s “Smile”, Loona’s “Ding Ding Dong”, and Dreamcatcher’s “Over the Sky” flowed somehow seamlessly back and forth for five minutes, including a dance break that mostly consisted of the four bunny girls jumping around the stage and playing with the crowd.

Despite Eunha’s disheveled (to say the absolute least) appearance, the audience consisting entirely of fellow Kpop idols cheered and bounced along to the cheerful, vaguely spring equinox-themed medley.

“Come closer quickly! Ding ding ding! The bell is ringing!”

“Step on the pedal and run to the sky! Even when you run out of breath!”

“Though my heart can’t catch you right now, and it’s shaking!”

“Don’t spare me! Look at me! I can feel all your love!”

In the end, when Eunha, Yujin, Jiu, and Heejin hopped into an ending fairy formation, Eunha felt a rush of relief. She made it! She survived and didn’t even screw up the dance! Sweat poured off of her like a fountain, and her leotard started to feel a little loose, but she was glad to be done! Already, thoughts of her soft bed, softer blankets, and a week’s worth of naps filled her mind.

“Give it up for the Spring Bunnies! What a show!” You shouted into the mic. How lovely of The Lounge to invite you to MC their seasonal events.

As Eunha huffed and puffed, both hands in the air flashing V’s, she gave one particularly heavy sigh. Suddenly, she felt a cool breeze across her stomach… and the subtle scrape of her leotard falling down her legs. The crowd went silent as she froze in place, smile turning very slowly into a cringe.

Jiu and Yujin looked down at the pieces of the leotard, no longer held together by strips of electrical tape, and then looked at Heejin.

Heejin put up her hands, looking guilty. “I… guess the tape got wet,” she whispered.

Somewhere in the middle of the audience, Yerin screamed at the top of her lungs, “WOO HOO! YEAH! THAT’S MY TINY DICK BUNNY GIRL! GO EUNHA!”

The crowd hesitantly started clapping again. Eunha tried not to think about it, just in case it might get her hard again before she could run backstage and hide forever.

#dreamcatcher #gfriend #viviz #loona #artms #clc #kep1er

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existslikepristin · 24 days

Text

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Okay, well, I guess I bestow upon thee the The Lounge Easy Achievement Diary Cape - 1, a reminder of your accomplishments in the area, and a nice little stat boost.

This allows you to purchase any coffee-based drink for only 3 gold, unlocks the secret passage on the other side of the hallway, and increases experience gains in the Sex skill by 1.5% while in the cleaning supply closet.

We look forward to your efforts to reach the Medium, Hard, and Elite Achievement Diaries. Don't forget to renew your subscription, as these diaries are only available for members, and they are exponentially more difficult.

Vexatious

futa!Reader x futa!Karina, Kim Minjeong (Winter), Choi Sua (Pixy), Ryu Sujeong (Lovelyz), Kang Soeun (Rina - WekiMeki), futa!Eunha, Kim Sowon, Choi Yuna (Yuju), Jung Yerin, Song Hayoung, Lee Nagyung, futa!Handong, Lee Yubin (Dami), Lee Siyeon, Na Goeun (Purple Kiss), Kim Hyunbin (TRI.BE) (17some)

Length: 6969 words (or a bit more)

Tags: this would be the perfect time to add all of my tags I like to use but you know what: no. No tags.

TW: I give you a hint: everything happening her is legal. Otherwise, just assume that all trigger warnings apply (there is no scat, dw)

Inspiration/Credit: @existslikepristin for coming up with The Lounge idea and allowing me to absolutely ruin it. He also came up for some idols involved in this fuckery. Also, check the release date ;)

(A/N: This was a blast to write, at least half of it. If you find enjoyment in this, good for you, I'm seriously glad. If you don't, I don't care but I also can't blame you lol)

“This girl is unbelievable!”

Sujeong puts her hands at her hips, grips them in fury, real fury, you have no idea how angry she is. Well, more importantly she is horny, desperate for a phallic shape—or any other round shape with no edges (she really isn’t picky anymore)—to stimulate the walls of her drenched pussy. Luckily, she just saw your cock swinging freely when you came running out of the restroom.

“Girl? Your first thought was: ‘oh, a girl’ when you saw that beautiful thing flopping around?”

Rina looks at Sujeong in disbelief and grabs her fellow nugu’s wrist before she can follow you across the seemingly endless hallway of what is the upper floor of The Lounge. Yeah, it needs no further introduction. The Lounge, the place where a naked girl with a cock, sprinting from the furthest restroom across the easily accessible, wide open hallway to the last backroom is not a noteworthy occurrence.

“You two, stay down! I think this is her.”

Sujeong and Rina both look at Sua in confusion, and the girl does not help them understand her words any better because she starts to move her arms in rapid waves and forms odd shapes with them. Instead of a mysterious, creepy, threatening vibe it gives even more confusion amongst the trio. It surely does help that their minds are still somewhat connected.

“We should follow her, quietly but swiftly!”

And so the three carefully sneak around the corner and take a good look at you as you try to unlock one of the many doors. You don’t notice them, in fact, you don’t notice any of the loud, partially echoing sounds coming from the other rooms. The animalistic things happening in them are probably beyond anyone’s imagination, but you have to focus.

“Fuck, why does it have to be math?” you groan and look at the massive lock in your hand. Someone had the idea to make some of these rooms idiots-proof by putting sci-fi-esque locks with a screen on them. On the screen is a calculation problem, which varies in difficulty depending on how secure the room is supposed to be.

You either know the solution also known as the code for the door or you have to calculate in your head, something you’ve never been good at. 42 divided by 17 to the power of 4.761 times 0 plus the square root of 4761—yeah, can’t really fault you for not solving that on the fly.

Suddenly, the loud bawling of two very drunk, very well-known girls echoes through the hallway. Next to three totally unsuspicious girls chatting a few meters behind you, Karina and Winter stumble up the staircase and almost meet the floorboard if it wasn’t for your quick reaction.

“Watch out!” you shout, a bit delayed and try to untangle the mess of hands and legs the two not-nugu idols have wrapped around each other, while the group of very normal behaving nugu idols just stand there and watch. “Don’t just stand there and watch, help me!”

“Uhm, we are busy,” Rina says and tries to look away, the same goes for her two friends—okay, Sua does a bad job at that, because her eyes are suddenly fixated on your cock.

“I might not know you, but you don’t look busy.”

“Okay, rude,” Sujeong says. This is all going nowhere, no chivalry, no compassion for the giggling mess of WinRina in your arms. Why do you have to help? You’re the one still stuck on what 42 divided by 17 is…

“D-don’t worry,” Karina says and starts to crawl to the next best door, while Winter hugs her waist painfully tightly. “Our room is right here.”

“Ka-ri-na,” Winter babbles, her voice sing-sang for the first two syllables, until it cracks and the two have another laughing fit. At this point you’ve had it with this mess and decide to get it over with.

You reach for the lock and read the problem. It’s infuriatingly easy, 70 minus 2 plus 1. Seems like they knew that the solution had to be nice and straightforward to get back into their room. You open the door and without much care for their comfort, drag the two girls towards the next best piece of furniture: a black leather couch.

“Ka-ri-na,” Winter sings again and crawls onto the cushions. “You, hihi, you said we would have sex tonight.

“Remember, Karina, because I do!”

“Calm down, Minjeong,” Karina responds, her voice all groggy as she tries to roll onto the couch but fails and hits her head. Guess you’ll have to stay until they fall asleep or else this could get ugly. There is also no way they will have sex in this condition—

“Oh my God, it’s so big and hot!” Winter shouts when she removes her Unnie’s shorts while the same struggles to not flail and fall off the couch again. “Put it inside me, put it inside me, Ka-ri-n—”

“Don’t say that name, call me Jimin!”

Suddenly, to your surprise, the absolutely drunk Karina gets herself up and pins Winter below her, the tip of her now hardening cock right on the younger’s navel. In the dim light you can see it grow and Winter looks very happy with it.

“Can we have sex now, Jimin?” she whispers and starts to get rid of her dress.

“Only if you give me a kiss—”

Winter fulfills this wish in the blink of an eye, then puts her hand on Karina’s tip and rubs it gently. You gulp as the massive thing continues to grow while Karina groans into the kiss. She is so much bigger than you and does not give a fuck that you are watching as she sloppily kisses Winter and spreads her legs. Winter helps her drunk friend, who couldn’t balance a table on the ground, that’s how drunk she is, aligning the gigantic phallus with the entrance to her cunt. It takes a while, egregiously long for someone who is blatantly watching, for them to get it right, but finally, Karina is able to push into Winter and bulge her.

“Oh my God, Jimin, fuck! Your massive horse cock—”

“Is it that ugly?”

“No, fuck, it’s, it’s beautiful. Fuck, break my pussy, come one!”

“Min-Minjeong, I think someone is… watching.”

“I don’t care, just fuck me!”

This is your cue to go, especially because you became extremely hard at the sight and in your nude state, it’s hard not to jerk off to the lewd display of Winter begging to be destroyed while you are concerned for her flat stomach stretching, bulging and once again flattening as Karina thrusts lazily.

The second you leave their room, you are cornered by the three girls from before. Two of them quickly get a hold of your arms while the third tries to unlock the door opposite to you. At first you gasp and expect a quick obduction, but as the seconds pass awkwardly, you realize that their math skills might be even worse than yours.

“Fuck, Sujeong, unlock the door already,” the kidnapper to your left complains. “It can’t be that hard.”

“Look, there are like a bazillion numbers here, okay?”

“But you had like two minutes to calculate,” the kidnapper to your right argues and frantically looks up and down the hall and then up and down your body. “I need that thing right now.”

“Sua, if you can’t control your horniness, we’re all going to get—”

“I’m in, I’m in,” Sujeong suddenly shouts. “Oho, that’s a nice solution. C’mon, get her in here.”

“What are you guys even trying to do?” you ask and they all look at you, bewildered, lustful, desperate—oh.

“We are trying to fuck you, or get you to fuck us,” Sua says and licks her lips as she pulls you onto the first piece of furniture she can find: a table with three and a half legs that sways dangerously.

“I think that was obvious.” Rina rolls her eyes and tries to climb the table. “Oh shit, I think this thing won’t last long.”

“Wait, what are you doing, Rina?” Sujeong shouts, offended at her friend straddling your lap while your mind is still too clouded by WinRina to say a definitive ‘no’ to such a violation (though being violated by this Rina does not sound too bad (but why would she do it without consent? Maybe she is a bad person (but you like bad girls, if you’re honest))). “You think you can just go first without asking?”

“Actually, I—”

“Hey, can you all just shut the fuck up?”

That came out of nowhere or rather, out of the corner of the vast room. Behind a couch, which is weirdly facing an uninteresting wall, three naked women surround someone just like you, an aroused girl with a cock. There are a few key differences though: these four you definitely know. Eunha is the girl with the small cock, who tries her best to look hot and menacing, while Sowon, Yerin and Yuju just belittle the smaller girl and pin her to the wall.

“Yerin, I’m so going to fuck you after this,” Eunha announces while she sticks out her bare ass as to not get her (wo)manhood crushed against the wall. “That pussy will be all mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Yerin yawns and backs off to the couch. “I bet you won’t be able to repeat that after Sowon is done with your ass.”

“You got such a cute little bubble butt,” Sowon whispers in a soft, sing-sang voice while she spreads Eunha’s cheeks wide and spits at the puckered hole. Eunha flinches, Sowon giggles in delight. “It’s the tastiest butt of them all, you know that.”

“Just get it over with, m-m-m-m…” Eunha presses her lips together, Sowon smiles sweetly.

“Say it, say it loud~”

“Mo-Mommy.”

“Louder~” Sowon presses her tongue against Eunha’s left butt cheek while the other is in her firm grasp, turning slightly red as the seconds tick down. All is quiet in this filled room, everyone staring at Eunha as Sowon’s tongue inches closer to that cute butthole.

“Mommy, please!”

As those words are still up in the air, barely spoken, Sowon’s demeanor changes. She goes straight in, her tongue slick and hard, steadily opening Eunha’s puckered ring and fucking it frantically. You have to suppress a gulp that would have alarmed your kidnappers, who all stare and gasp every time Sowon moans and twirls her wet muscles inside the (of course) clean and (probably) delicious hole.

“I’ve never seen our dear Mommy so greedy,” Yuju coos and pats both girls’ hair while her slender feet quietly wrap around Eunha’s massive thigh. The three form what could be considered a grotesque sculpture, a close entanglement of legs around legs, arms around chests and tummies, of a tongue moving in and out faster than you have ever seen.

“Mom-my not there,” Eunha whines and her cock stands at attention, centimeters away from the wall, while Yerin in the back just laughs.

“And you want to fuck us? Looks like that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Shut, shut the fuck up, Yerin, I can still—oh, yes Mommy, right there.”

Eunha shudders and softly hums as Sowon explores her snug little ass with long swipes of her tongue and continuous coos that kinda make you wish you were in Eunha’s shoes. That suddenly changes (not really) when Sowon moves away and Yuju takes her place. Instead of a tongue however, she puts two fingers inside Eunha and curls them. Her dick meets the wall.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Yu-ju!” Eunha is alone with her moans; there are a few girls that gasp and giggle though, especially Sowon and Sua seem very enchanted by the sight of a nice, narrow hole being spread. At first it’s slow and quiet, but the moment Yuju picks up the pace, lewd sounds fill the room and an embarrassed Eunha presses her ass back against Yuju’s lips.

“Is she really just going to kiss her ass like that?” Sujeong whispers to Rina who shrugs both hands right at her crotch, definitely not contemplating if she should just—go for it.

“Are you really just going to kiss her ass like that?” Yerin loudly asks Yuju while searching a nearby closet full of sex toys and other mature appliances. As if to say ‘Watch this’, Yuju buries her face strongly into Eunha’s cheek to the point the older girl is forced back against the wall, her cock painfully-pleasurefully trapped in between her abs and the smooth white.

“Yuju, this, this is too much~” Eunha whines before realizing. “Shit, no. I-I’m going to fuck you after this. My cock is so ready for your ass, your face, your pussy.”

“God, are you still thinking about that?” Yuju’s complaint is accompanied by a rough spank on Eunha’s not-face-covered butt cheek and all of a sudden, Yuju is completely gone. Her fingers are no longer pleasuring Eunha’s rectum, her face is no longer kissing her butt, there is just nothing. Everyone watches at the small, gaping ring in a beautiful array of colors before it is mercilessly destroyed by Yerin pressing her lube-covered, absolutely drenched and slipperified fist against it.

“Oh. My. Fuck!”

Eunha’s scream breaks the sound barrier and breaks her will as she limply glides down the wall. Yerin’s fist has made it past her barrier and is fully stuffed inside her abused butthole. There is only minimal movement but it’s all made worse by Yerin’s viciously victorious chant.

“Who are you going to fuck tonight? You and your useless dick? Huh? Tell me, Eunha!”

“No, I’m going to, f-fuck, I’m going to cum.”

“Yes, cum. Cum with a fist in your stupidly pretty ass and tell me: Who are you going to fuck tonight?”

“No one, no one!” And Eunha cums all over the floor, rapid spurts from her hard cock. You take that as a sign to get the fuck out of this. Luckily, your three abductors have moved away from the table and are engaged in watching the rough and crazy ass-fuckery in front of them. You quietly sneak away and dart down the hallway before you hear Sujeong shut in agony.

“Fuck, she escaped! Sua, you were supposed to watch—get your fingers out of there!”

“Huh?! Why was it my job to watch her! And Rina is also masturbating!”

“Yeah, but when I do it, it’s hot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse you both, let’s go and search for her, for fucks sake!”

You clearly don’t have enough time to get to your destination and solve the equation before the triad of horniness has caught you, so you quickly search for a room with an easier equation, maybe even one that’s already unlocked. A lot of the locks however have square roots and other overly complicated symbols that you can’t be bothered to check them any longer. Take a look over your shoulder, the three are already approaching, especially Rina looks absolutely thrilled to do unspeakable things to you. If Yerin’s performance was any inspiration to them, you can kiss your sweet ass goodbye.

Miraculously however, you find a door that has the kind of math problem you would’ve loved to see in an exam: “If Chaewon, Yeseo and Eunha all can dom 0 men each, how many men does Saerom have to dom for the total to be 69?” The person that invented questions that have the answer written inside the question deserves an award and the best oral the world has to offer. You type down the number and quickly disappear in the room before Rina can grab you.

“Dammit, come back here… please?”

Now it’s time to act quickly. This equation of course won’t be enough to stop the three nugus, so you throw all manners and caution into the wind by pushing a nearby shelf in front of the door. Books, figurines and dildos all come tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling do-wn and almost hit your bare feet but at least the door should not open any time soon.

“Uhm, what was that?” you hear someone ask from behind a corner (seriously, these rooms have the weirdest of layouts, it’s sooooo hard to describe them).

“Don’t know, but wanna take another selfies?” another person says, their mood switching mid-sentence from concerned to extremely cheerful. The obnoxious sound of a phone camera taking pictures can be heard a couple of times. It would be best to tell them what happened, so you grab a book and cover yourself before carefully sneaking around said corner.

“Excuse my rude entrance,” you shyly say before your jaw drops at the sight of two gorgeous girls taking pictures of themselves with literal cream smeared on their faces. “I’m so, so sorry, I’ll be going—”

“No, no wait!” Hayoung shouts before you can disappear from their line of sight. “Tell us what happened.”

“Yeah, tell us,” Nagyung adds and quickly jumps up from the bed. After this much nudity it’s refreshing and kind of hot to see attractive people wearing attractive clothes, especially when one of them steps closer to you, her hips in a deadly sway and her hand suddenly uncovering your length. “And then help us with this thing of yours.” It is only now you realize that the book you used to cover yourself was way too small. Big dick problems, people might relate.

“Okay, so, I know it sounds crazy, but,“ you start off with your absolutely batshit-insane-dumb-stupid-crazy reason why you are here, making a mess and interrupting some (valid but) weird food play. “I’m being chased by three girls who probably want to do some unspeakable things to me and I’m super scared. They cannot be reasoned with and I simply want to hide here until they give up, so I kinda, uhm, threw a shelf in front of the door to keep them out.”

“Oh, that was the loud noise,” Hayoung says and taps her head. “Then there should be quite the mess outside.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up later.”

“Hm.” Nagyung casually wraps her fingers around your base and gives you a long stroke while inspecting your entire length both with her eyes and hands. “You can make it up to us if you help us with something.”

“S-sure, anything.”

“You see, we kinda wanted to do a photoshoot, but we did not have a dick to pose with, so we tried using some dildo’s but that looked weird. Also, they can’t cum unfortunately, so you—” she cups your cockhead and looks at you with the most unbelievable ‘fuck me’ eyes ever conceived. “—can be our cock model for a bit. Does that sound fair?”

“Uhm, sure.” You scratch the back of your head as Nagyung guides you to the edge of the bed where Hayoung sits. “What do I have to do?”

“Just stand there while we take cute pictures.” Hayoung’s playful attitude puts a smile on your face until she roughly grabs your cock and bends it into four directions. “Look, Nakko, a joystick! Quick, get your phone out.”

Thus begins your new profession. It’s all simple in theory, just stand there and let them play with your length and sometimes crown jewels while they come up with the most creative and strangest poses. For Hayoung, it’s always playful, as she imagines your cock to be something different and then you have to bend to her will. Sometimes it’s painful, most of the time, it feels good.

For Nagyung, it’s always serious. She wants to reenact thumbnails of her favorite porn videos, sometimes invents new concepts and is always careful to admire and praise your cock. There is even a moment where she goes all in to deepthroat you and in the tears bursting forth you see how fucking much she loves this.

The entire ordeal becomes more heated with time. At first you were an airplane for Hayoung, which flies past her, now you are a submarine that dives deeper past her lips. At first Nagyung was cross-eyeing your semi-hard cock, now she puts you over her eyes as a blindfold while putting her tongue out and even moans. Gradually both of them start to give you a sensual blowjob, the camera always capturing it of course, and you feel an orgasm approaching. They clearly want it, maybe snap a picture right as you erupt and then many more with real cum on their faces (the cream has been removed right before the shoot), but you cannot give it to them.

“I think, I think they are gone,” you whisper and pull out from the pair of lips that now form pouts. “Thank you very much, but I have to go now.”

“Don’t you want to give this a proper ending?” Nagyung asks and leans towards you. “Cum on our faces, watch us snowball it—”

“Blow bubbles with it!” Hayoung adds, equally desperate now.

“Sorry, but my load is for someone else. I have been trying to reach her this entire time.”

“Oh, bummer.”

“That is… unfair.”

Both of them kneel in front of you, hands crossed in front of their chests. Yeah, they would definitely look heavenly with your spunk blasted on their features, and yes, there would be something missing from the gallery without it, but you cannot break your promise—so you have to give a new one.

“Okay, I promise you, I’ll be back here tomorrow with as many loads as you need, for as long as you need me, okay?”

“Sounds like a fair deal,” Hayoung says and expectantly looks at Nagyung who reluctantly agrees. Thank God, these two know boundaries, because at this point, you are trapped in here and they might just suck it out of you with their luscious lips and greedy throats. “Where is this girl you so desperately want to cum inside?”

“Oh, she is just down this hallway. The last room on the right.”

“Then how about you take a shortcut.” Nagyung stands up and leaves you utterly baffled when she pushes aside a chair and a lamp post in the corner of the room to reveal a large red button. When she presses it, the ceiling shifts in mysterious ways and opens a round opening and a ladder that not-so-gracefully crashes down on the floor. You shriek and jump into Hayoung’s arms.

“Don’t worry, I was surprised too when I saw this for the first time.” Hayoung giggles. “If you climb up this ladder and walk down to the end of The Secret Passage of The Lounge™, you’ll reach the room opposite of your destination.”

“That’s cool and all, but won’t I bother the person that is currently in that room?”

“Oh no, you won’t,” Nagyung laughs. “She is totally unbothered. She also likes being watched, so you can stay there as long as you need to.” At this point, nothing should surprise you. Before you can ascend the wooden ladder, Hayoung grabs your face a final time.

“It’s dangerous to go alone, take this.” She places a big wet kiss on your cheek and swiftly hides underneath a blanket with a giggle. With a somewhat prominent red hue on your face, you make your way up the ladder and realize that this journey won’t be dangerous at all.

The Secret Passage of The Lounge™ turns out to be a narrow hallway with colorful lights illuminating the ceiling and elevator music coming from some speaker somewhere. As you make your way across the cheap plastic floor, you pass multiple rooms to your right which all have intriguing names alluding to idols, kinks or even a number of participants. Unlike in the level below, there are no locks on these doors. You could just burst in and check if there is really 25 people fucking themselves silly in ‘Taeyeon’s-Taeyong’s Bukake-Gangbang room’.

Curiosity does not get the better of you and so you reach a trapdoor perfectly fit in the ground, the fresh smell of cocktails and other fluids (probably bodily) permeating through holes someone must have drilled in them. You get on your knees to take a look through set holes and find them wide enough to inspect the impressive interior below (seriously, this trapdoor should get fixed if they want guaranteed privacy (they want privacy, right?)).

There is an entire bar in one corner of the room, a huge TV set with all kinds of movies and game consoles in the opposite corner, but what attracts your attention is the three women chatting, laughing, then making their way away from the bar to the large sofa in the middle of the room. It has these incredibly soft looking, velvet cushions, red and orange pillows on it, and kind of looks like an oversized throne, watching over this room—or a stage, which everyone can see.

The first of the three women sits down and starts to undress. At this point it’s too late for you to interrupt them and just pass through without causing a scene, if that is even possible in your completely naked state, but you decide differently. Screw it, can’t get any crazier than it already has.

“Excuse me,” you shout from above, the trapdoor easily pushed open with one hand while you use the other to steady yourself and look down. A faint gasp comes from somewhere. “Can I trespass for a second? I just need to get somewhere quickly.”

“Fine, I’ll allow it,” the woman on the couch responds and throws away her black dress to reveal a very infamous resident of The Lounge: Handong, with her massive Dong. This time, the gasp from somewhere isn’t as faint, almost a moan. “But only if you watch until the finale.”

“S-sure, Handong, as you wish,” you respond. Think twice before leaping down, two meters, butt naked. “Can you help me get down though? I’m also naked if that’s a—”

“Problem? Not at all.” Handong jumps on the couch enthusiastically. She claps her hands and the two other women you now notice are her bandmates Dami and Siyeon offer their assistance with stretched out hands. Both have these crimson corset-like dresses and skimpy panties, all to accentuate their modest curves. It has a great effect on you. “Don’t worry, those two are strong, they’ll catch you.”

This fall will be hard regardless of impact—at least you will be.

You close your eyes and take the leap of faith into the soft, slender arms of these angels. Oh, they might be angels in the way they look and feel, but before you have even gotten the chance to realize that everything went smoothly, both Siyeon and Dami start to fondle your body. Their naughty hands roam over your thighs, your arms, your abs, your tits, your cock, which stands at attention.

The gasp is right behind you this time. And it is quite adorable.

“Now, now, ladies,” Handong firmly says and claps again. Dami and Siyeon oblige instantly and rush to jump on the couch, each of them taking their place next to Handong. “I know that she is hot, but she is our guest as well. Why don’t we start the show, hm?”

Handong puts her feet down, then spreads her legs to reveal her massive cock, a hard pole that is pointing straight to the sky, throbbing with veins all over it. Siyeon and Dami approach it carefully, tongues wrapped around its tip, then dancing downwards, while you are uncareful and trip over someone’s legs, your own twisted, almost falling down on the floor.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry,” a girl whispers and checks if you’re okay with a stretched out hand that just so happens to absolutely accidentally, unintentionally touch your hard on. A couple fingers are warm and wet. You both shriek. “I-I didn’t mean to!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” You laugh it off and look down at the familiar girl seated on a chair, her legs wrapped in a gray blanket, her upper body wrapped in a tight green top. She still looks very embarrassed about touching you (accidentally, probably), about your state of undress, about the entire ordeal of Dami and Siyeon pumping Handong’s Dong while loudly sucking her balls. Try your best to ease the tension. “You’re Goeun, right? Love your music.”

“Really?” Goeun’s eyes sparkle at the recognition. At the same time however, she tries to sneak her hands into the top of the blanket where they most likely came from, where their wetness came from. Goeun might be the one who gasps in shock at whatever lewd and crazy stuff happens, but while watching, she can’t help herself. “So glad you… recognized me.”

“Are you talkin’ to me or my cock?” You grab yourself a chair and sit down next to the absolutely baffled Purple Kiss member who indeed either stares at your or Handong’s member, enchanted for a second before being pulled back to this unanswered question.

“I-I just think… you’re very hot.” Now she is shy again or semi-shy, one hand covering her flushed face, the other playing dirty games underneath the gray cover. “Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You’re quite something.” The way you shake your head is playful, the way you lean back and spread your legs to reveal your length and hardness mimics Handong, who is lost in pleasure and moans as Siyeon and Dami both suck at her nipples, fingers playing with the slit of her cock. “A very lewd girl who can’t admit it to herself.”

Goeun gasps once more: “I’m not—”

“You’re looking at my tits now,” you fire back.

Goeun got caught again, though this time she cannot cover up. You grab her wrist and lean towards her face. Her breath hitches, her eyes are slammed shut, she gently trembles, she is still playing with her cunt. You move even closer to the point you can feel the air leave her nose and the heat her cheeks radiate.

“Open your eyes, Goeun~ Enjoy the show and don’t be shy.”

It’s a simple spell, but quite effective. Goeun’s attention is back to her favorite movie, play and porn—it’s familiar yet always different. Dami’s deep hums never have the same strength, Siyeon’s firm butt isn’t always in her view and Handong’s hips only sometimes jerk upwards into those balled fists. They do now and Goeun is once again the one who gasps. She is going insane, her mind getting fried by these three women; four if she counts you.

You are right beside her. And this time, it’s definitely not an accident when she touches your shaft, grabs it even and pumps it up and down. Goeun’s eyes are dreamy, blank and she is mindless, stroking you with both her wet, girl juice covered hands. She probably imagines herself in Siyeon’s position, jerking Handong’s Dong off, gently caressing her balls before licking around her tits.

Well, that is exactly what she does. It is kind of endearing and not really the first time someone touches you unasked today. You could snap her out of it at any moment, but you opt to pat her head and watch what happens next. Dami takes center stage. She places her mouth on the top of Handong’s cockhead and gradually takes the many, many inches in her mouth. Deep in her throat, she gags a bit and Handong groans in satisfaction.

“I never did this before,” Goeun mumbles for a second. The next second, her lips are faster than her reservations and she tries to take you whole which is destined to fail. This poor thing maybe never had something in her mouth before and your width and size are not for beginners. Goeun chokes and quickly pushes herself off of your lap. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Uhm, Goeun, why did you do this?”

“Do what? S-suck your cock?”

“Yeah,” you whisper and drag a finger over her cheek. “You can’t just do that without getting consent first. What would you think if I just started to touch you?”

“I think that would not be good…”

“See?”

“...but then I-I would probably like it.”

“Okay… that is fucked up.”

Nonetheless, you become the fucked up hypocrite you tried to portray as bad and place the palm of your hand on Goeun’s midriff. A gasp and it tenses. Her chest heaves, her nipples now poking through the fabric, just like Siyeon who is first to sit down on Handong’s cock. The moans become louder, the show enters a new, more intense phase, and so does your exploration of Goeun. You slip under the blanket and find drenched panties with the outline of her pussy right on your finger tips.

“Come, touch my cock.”

Suddenly, your lips and Goeun’s connect and things spiral out of control. Siyeon picks up the pace riding Handong, while Dami yelps triumphantly every time Handong smacks her ass or digs her nails into it. You pull at the blanket and Goeun lifts her butt so it can fall to the ground and reveal her bare legs, a beautiful shape, especially her thighs, which trap your hand in between them. Your make out session is sloppy but that is because of her. She is not experienced, but that makes her carefree and willing to explore.

Goeun starts to kneel on the chair so she can lean into you better. Instead of just falling back to the rest of your chair and enjoying her eager tongue and her pumping hands, you reach for her pussy once more and this time pull away her panties. Goeun is so wet, big droplets leak down on your fingers before you have even touched her uncovered lips. Perfect, actually. Entrance into her is easy, every rub along her is almost frictionless, though not at all, because she audibly gets off on the friction and can barely hold onto your dick.

“I-I think I’m close,” Goeun moans and you take a quick glance at the show. Dami is getting absolutely railed by Handong, face down, ass up, ass gaped at this point, while Siyeon kneels on the floor, tongue stuck out. This might be the final act, the grand final. If you time this perfectly—

“Sit on my thigh, quick.” Goeun changes the position quickly, her cute little ass placed right next to your cock which she lazily cups while you get your hands all over her body. Damn, if only you had like eight arms, you would fondle everywhere, poke her cheeks, massage her shoulder—smack her ass, rub her nipples, play with her clit. Yeah, you play with her clit, you push two fingers into her. You do everything in your power to set her off while focusing on Handong’s finale.

The Dreamcatcher member shoves the silly fucked Dami off the couch, which does not deter or confuse her. Dami gets in position next to Siyeon and does the same, silly pose where she sticks out her tongue and awaits for what Handong will give her. With both hands in her sweaty hair, Handong releases a groan from the deepest depths and unleashes a stream of clear piss from her massive cock onto Siyeon’s and Dami’s faces. The two drink and lap up all they can get while Handong whips her cock across their faces and creates an ungodly mess that you wouldn’t want to clean up.

Though shocked by the finale, you finish the job. You flick Goeun’s clit a bit and stretch her pussy wide and she jerks and shudders on your lap, quiet at first, then loud when a bit of squirt stains your leg. It’s like all her remaining shyness is squeezed out from her pussy which snugly tries to hold onto your fingers as you pull them out. Goeun drops her head backwards on your shoulder, breath still heavy as she smiles at you.

“That was amazing, beautiful stranger.”

“Glad you liked it,” you coo. “But could you please let go of my cock now. I’ve been on edge this whole time and I need to keep my load a bit longer.”

“So you don’t want to finish on me, in me, all over me?” Where did that come from? Suddenly Goeun is all wild and excited, her nude body seemingly getting ready for the real deal which you cannot give to her right now.

“I’d love to, but not today. I have somewhere to be.” You press a kiss on her forehead before walking towards the door, just to be interrupted by Handong who sips on a drink with lots of ice and lime. The fresh taste seems to quickly get her up to her usual talking speed.

“How did you like our show? Was it great, fantastic or bombastic? I know some people have their reservations about the ending, but those two really wanted to try it again. They just can’t get enough of my—”

“It was fantastic, Handong,” you quickly interrupt her. “In fact, I might visit again, especially if that cutie over there is also here.”

“Oh, shy little Goeun. Well, you turned her into a real mess, I expect her to be here twice as often now~ I’m glad that you enjoyed it, anything I can help you with?”

“Actually,” you pause for a second, gaze subtly shifting down to Handong’s soft dongie which still looks ridiculously large as it just hangs there between her legs. “I need someone who is good at math.”

Handong raises an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“It’s because of the locks outside, I just can’t solve them, and I need to get into that one room—”

“Hold up, you don’t need to solve the equations!” Handong starts to laugh hysterically and spills half her drink on the floor below. The confusion on your face must speak volumes as Handong catches herself and carefully looks at you. “You didn’t really, like, calculate stuff to get into other doors, right?”

“I—why is that so funny? Did I not get a memo or something?”

“Sweetie, the default code is always 69. Just tap in these two numbers and you will get in. If not, then the person behind the door really wants privacy and that is very rare, like, everyone here are such sluts that get off on the potential of someone walking in on them… they should just embrace it, I say.”

��Ha, so 69. Just 69.” You give yourself a light facepalm and sigh. “I should’ve guessed, in this place, everything is just crazy, a sexual frenzy that never seems to end.”

“Hey, we are girls with dicks and I just pissed on two of my bandmates while you were fingering that Violet or Pink or whatever-color Kiss member—this should not be new to you.” Handong downs her drink in one go, then smiles at you, genuine, silly, perfectly befitting this entire situation. “I say you should just go to that room and have fun. It seems very important to you.”

“Yeah, it is.” You should get going; that young woman has been waiting for a while now and you are still on the edge, hard as a rock and ready to blow before going painfully limp. “I’ll head out, see you later, Handong.”

“See you around, girl!” A slap on your butt and you are out the door. Down the hallway, you catch a glimpse of Sujeong and Sua carrying a fucking metal ram to break open the already bruised door to Hayoung and Nagyung’s room, while Rina is counting on her fingers.

“Why is this equation so hard, what if Chaewon can dom like two men?”

“Rina, get out of the way!”

“What the fuck, no! That’s not what I meant by ‘something strong’ to open it.”

“But it is strong. One hit and we are in.”

“Sua, chill, okay? You could have just gotten the housekeeper or something.”

“But he doesn’t trust us. Remember the time we thought Jimin was in—oh my God, there she is!”

Sujeong’s scream startles you for a second, but in the next you are already at the gate of destiny, typing those two simple digits in, praying that Handong was correct and then sighing in relief when you can slam the door shut. Find something to push in front of it, a small drawer, then dart towards a beautiful bed with an even prettier woman on top of it.

“There you are!” she shouts in excitement and jumps up from her cozy position in the sheets. “I waited so long for… this.” She grabs your cock and strokes it a couple of times. You hiss and push a couple of astray strands behind her ear.

“I’m so sorry, Hyunbin, there was just so much crazy shit going on. I’ll explain it later.” The three nugus are now banging on the door, well, only two, because Rina has given up and tries to appease them to the point they finally give up. Finally, no more crazy girls that try to engage in non-consensual activities with you. Only this gorgeous woman who you want to fuck and who wants to get fucked by you.

“Please just put it in, from behind.” Hyunbin gets on all fours and peels her tight pants off of her shapely ass. You quickly tear apart her black panties which earns a giggle, a short lived giggle, because Hyunbin falls apart in loud, satisfied moans when you push your throbbing cock into her. “Yes, finally! Fuck me with your nice cock.”

There is not much fucking. You rode the edge for too long and Hyunbin’s pussy is just too great. All it takes is a few thrusts and her tightness dries you, gets all your spunk out of your aching balls and you don’t even warm her, just flood her with an endless stream of cum as you pathetically slam your hips against her butt. “F-fuck, I-I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my God, what the—you’re still c-cumming?!” Hyunbin stares back at you in disbelief, her knees trembling as the white cream squeezes past your massive rod and flows down her legs. You both fall into the sheets and in this awkward moment, you want to disappear in a Grand Canyon sized hole.

This is not how you envisioned this. Hyunbin has finally gotten the contraceptives that every grown-up female idol gets at some point. Before, you two had to carefully fuck with condoms or use toys, but you promised her to fuck her hard and fill her up good when the time is right. Today, the time was right and you fucking screwed it up, literally blew it (early).

“That was fast,” Hyunbin says, at least a little disappointment in her eyes.

“Yeah, that was not my best performance. Who am I kidding, that was dreadful, I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Well, you came a lot.” Hyunbin lifts her leg and you both look down at that smooth pussy which still oozes your sperm past the shaft. “Felt good to finally feel it. And your dick raw, it’s amazing.”

You carefully thrust into her, past the point where you care about your sensitivity. This has to be about her and an experience that you need to salvage. Hyunbin mewls, looks at you with her narrow, sexy eyes and her breath starts to pick up in pace when your lips move closer to her. The nasty, wet sounds from below turn to a chant that gives you a second wind and all of a sudden, you’re really fucking Hyunbin, her raised leg in your hand, her neck in your other, her lips sucking on yours.

“Your cat eyes are so fucking hot,” you groan into her and she purrs, her cunt contracting around you as you hit all the spots. She has a texture like no other, and though her greediness might not show, she will soon be riding your cock eagerly. Now, Hyunbin takes your cock as it presses into her further and with a key rubs on her aroused nipples, she is in heaven soon.

“So good, you’re so good,” Hyunbin praises and you suck on her ear, watch her melt so quickly when you give her your cock harder, press your tits into her back watch her lose all control and then cry out a blissful orgasm that sends out more of your predeposited cum. “I-I love you, ah, I love you so much!”

“So affectioned?” you tease and pull her up so she can sit on you and you can look at her, that flushed face and glass eyes. “You like this cock that much.”

“It’s so deep in me~ but no, I really like you.”

“Oh, then how about you blow a little, blow a little kiss next time I’m in the crowd, hm?.” You smirk and Hyunbin pouts.

“You tease.”

(A/N2: Happy April Fools ;D)

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existslikepristin · 1 month

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So here I am, writing smut, when the lead admin of the kink group I'm in says they can't teach/find anyone to teach an upcoming class about negotiation and consent. I offer to teach it, and find a location for it, and prepare it all myself, and do this in less than two weeks

I am very smart, and good at managing my time

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existslikepristin · 2 months

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Pretty close to finishing a new fic

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existslikepristin · 2 months

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Been reading @mechaknight-98's MtG series (linking it so you go read it) and it's making me realize I want to update all my kpop proxies. I found another way to make them at a much higher resolution, and I found another place that should actually allow me to get them all printed this time. A few good new cards have come out that are relevant too, so I'm going to need to decide things like... what idol will become my Vein Ripper proxy, for example

Maybe Jinsoul? Does she give big "Vein Ripper" energy?

Idk. It's a thought in progress

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existslikepristin · 2 months

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Gentle waves roll in behind Soodam, as if they're nudging her toward you.

“You bring your camera?” she calls, perhaps a little louder than she needs to considering the relatively short distance and the calmness of the sea.

“To a beach trip? No!”

“Oh… We should go back to your place then!”

“We just got here though!”

She jogs up to you, oversized clothes bouncing around her like a very heavy set jellyfish. She lowers her voice to a much more appropriate decibel level for a public setting, “I forgot a swimsuit.”

With perfect timing, you shiver, “So? It's not like we were going to swim today. It's way too cold.”

“I forgot to wear anything under this dress.”

You glance down. Soodam uses her lack of underwear-wearing as a seduction tool literally all the time. Like, it's the only one she uses (besides brazenly groping your ass in front of a bus full of now-traumatized tourists). It's not particularly effective when she's got half a dozen layers of bulky denimy, cottony, perhaps wooly blends on. And yet, you know she's trying her best, so you capitulate.

“Fuck, babe. You're gonna get me in some type of mood.”

“Really? What type?”

You try hard not to facepalm. “The… horny type?”

Soodam sighs with genuine relief, “Good! I thought you might have been angry. So we can have sex?”

“Angry? Why would I… yeah, let's go.”

She gives her patented one-dimple smile and rushes past you.

At least it's a short trip home.

#soodam #secret number

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existslikepristin · 3 months

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And you're going to STAY there until you learn how to BEHAVE!

Seriously, this bullshit (predictive text and autocorrect specifically) has been ridiculous lately.

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existslikepristin · 3 months

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I watched one movie, modern, artistic, and basically a horror film. Now I'm being recommended almost exclusively shitty old C movies that were clearly only made because boobs exist.

Don't get me wrong: Boobs.

But these are not good movies by any standard. These aren't even background noise movies.

Somebody please suggest some good movies.

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existslikepristin · 3 months

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Okay, so I've done a couple of rewrites now, and I don't think I'm going to ever be fully happy with this, so let's just fuckin post this bad bitch

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Sounds, Dreamcatcher, Itzy, Gahyeon, Yuna, first times, but let’s be real virginity is a social construct that means nothing about someone’s physical state of being, #LearnHowTheHymenWorks, cunnilingin' n' fingrin', nervousness, not even the normal kind of brattiness, Yuna’s just an insufferable idiot, no anal in this one wtf am i thinking?

Off to a Slow Start

~~~~~

Gahyeon rubbed the stress out of her eyes. Or at least she tried to. The skinny, shivering girl draped over her lap was turning out to be a pain in Gahyeon’s ass (instead of the other way around, as it should have been).

“How about we do something else?” Gahyeon asked with a tone somewhere between hopeful and commanding.

“W-what? Why? I’m f-fine. This is s-so hot,” Yuna peeped. Sort of. It was more like she sobbed it like an emotionally damaged puppy might.

It was quite the shocking change in attitude after only two warm up spanks. Yuna’s butt wasn’t even pink.

Downstairs, when she first stomped up to Gahyeon, Yuna had been acting like she was hot shit. She put her hand on Gahyeon’s thigh, played footsie under the table, talked out of her throat like some kind of pornstar wannabe. It came as no surprise, then, when Yuna suggested that Gahyeon accompany her upstairs and "teach [her] a lesson." The part that was actually a surprise was when Gahyeon realized: when Yuna said “teach [her] a lesson,” she might have meant that very literally, because it was pretty obvious she didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

Gahyeon caught Yuna’s glistening eye in a decorative mirror on the wall and raised her hand as if to strike again. Never before had Gahyeon seen someone flinch away so hard from a simple slap on the ass, or grimace like they were expecting an executioner to flip the switch on an electric chair. She lowered her hand and very, very gently patted Yuna’s thigh. "You know what would be fun? Let's make out!”

Yuna pushed herself up on her elbows. Her bare stomach peeled away from Gahyeon’s thighs. Probably because she’d been sweating so darn much from her nerves. She gave Gahyeon a poor excuse for a defiant glare and sniffed away the lump in her throat. “Make… make out? But I’m here for… I thought you were supposed to be a good dominatrix.”

Gahyeon looked up at the dimmed light fixture and exhaled quietly. “Hey, I know you said something kind of like this earlier, but can you remind me what your safe word is, Yuna?” The question sounded a little more condescending than Gahyeon had meant it to.

“I don’t need woa-aaah!”

Crooking her elbow under Yuna’s waist, Gahyeon picked her up, suplexed her onto the bed, climbed on top of her, and got face-to-face. “First of all, ‘dominatrix’ is improper terminology for this situation. Second, if we don’t negotiate a safe word, I’m out of here.”

"Ummm. I, uh. Um."

"Tell me the first word that comes to mind."

“M-mistress?”

Gahyeon rolled her eyes. “Okay, bye.”

“Huh? Wait!”

Gahyeon was already halfway to the door by the time Yuna scrambled off the bed, but turned back to give her an uncaring glare. On her feet, Yuna was a hell of a sight. Tall, skinny, but curvaceous, like the kind of doll that would be sold to make young girls self-conscious about their bodies. Long, dark red hair and black pools for eyes, and she'd put on far more makeup than reasonable for an average coffee run. Gahyeon didn’t want to leave, but Yuna wasn’t making staying the easy decision.

"Wait for what?" Gahyeon asked.

"For… to… so you can make me…"

"I can't make you finish a sentence."

Yuna's supermodel bearing was taken down a peg by her disappointed slouch and concerned grimace. "You know what I mean… like, dominate me."

"Why?"

"Aren’t you horny?"

Gahyeon glanced at Yuna's tits. "No more than usual."

"What? But I…"

"You sure did."

"I-I was going to say—"

"I know."

"N-no you don't!"

Gahyeon groaned, "Maybe I don't care then. No big deal. Take your pick. I don’t like brats. I only tolerate them during Kinktober."

Yuna blushed and looked down, wiggling her knees in discomfort. Gahyeon wasn't going to deny that Yuna was fantastically fuckable, but she was also responsible enough to know when someone was in over their head. "Well, Yuna? What are you trying to do?"

Yuna muttered "I want to get laid" under her breath. With no other noise in the room to mask it, Gahyeon heard it, and yet a vague muttering wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"What's that? I couldn't hear you."

"I wanna get laid,” Yuna whined, fully out loud, “Okay?"

Gahyeon leaned back against the doorframe. "You a virgin?"

Yuna's blush extended down to her shoulders.

"Well that's a yes."

"B-but! I'm—No, I'm not!"

"And you would say that even if I said calling someone a virgin is just a bad social construct and that being a so-called ‘virgin’ is no better or worse than the alternative?"

"Uh…" Yuna scrunched her nose as she used all of her brain power to process the question. "Yes? Or, wait, no?"

"Nevermind.” Gahyeon waved it off. “Just tell me the truth. Have you had sex before or not? Anything with hands or mouths counts."

There was a pause while Yuna weighed her options. "No…”

Gahyeon was actually a little bit shocked. Yuna was among the hottest of idols, so even this level of awkwardness didn’t seem like it should be too much of a hindrance. Gahyeon had fucked or at least fucked around with a dozen idols with subpar social skills in the prior couple of months.

“But I've been trying!” Yuna shouted after the briefest silence, “Nobody will fuck me though! Not even men!”

“The fuck do you mean, ‘Not even men?’”

“Boys are supposed to be horny all the time. But even if I show them my pussy, they keep rejecting me.”

Gahyeon sighed, “Is that proceeding or preceding a conversation?”

“Of course I say ‘Hi.’ I try asking them if they work out too.”

“Is that it? Because idols have to work out. It’s in the job description.”

Yuna groaned and plopped onto the bed, curving her back like a clothes mannequin, apparently subconsciously. “I've tried all the stuff boys are supposed to like! I touch them, I guide their hands to my boobs, I tell them they smell sexy. All that stuff! And don't get me started on girls. I see them going around and getting laid all the time! And it's like, they'll be sluts for anybody except for me, and—”

“Let me stop you there before you make more of a fool of yourself,” Gahyeon snapped. Yuna froze. “A few things. One: We only use words like ‘slut’ in an endearing manner around here. Two: Some people might just not want to fuck you, ever. Can’t control it. And three: Are you just expecting sex from people? Like me?”

Yuna shifted uncomfortably. “No… I'm doing what I'm supposed to do first.”

“And what is that?”

“You know.” Yuna waved her hands around, pantomiming nothing in particular. “I ask politely. I let them know I'm available. I make myself up for them.”

“And…” Gahyeon mimicked Yuna’s pointless pantomimes. “They should obviously be throwing themselves at you, yet somehow nobody is approaching you?”

“I’ve been approached, I guess, but not from anyone in my league.”

“Pretty sure you’re still in the little leagues, my dude.”

Yuna whined, “Why should I be?! Every fan and their mom wants me.”

“Gross power dynamic, but okay. So I should have just known what you wanted when you walked up to me? And I should have wanted to fuck you? No conversation required?”

“Well… No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that if I do all that stuff—and more, by the way—and they're horny, why shouldn’t they want to fuck me? I'm not even demanding anything from them. I'm offering! Like, blowjobs. I'd be doing all the work!”

Gahyeon stepped away from the door frame and paced the room. “Here's the thing, Yuna. It sounds like people might be picking up on an attitude problem.”

“Attitu—but, no! I'm literally offering a good time, and usually I offer just to make them feel good! I'm not asking for anything in return! What's the big deal?”

“Nothing you've said yet strikes you as ‘bad attitude?’ Because it sounds to me like you're not affording people the courtesy of assuming they have a full breadth of human emotion and think they're good for nothing but sex.”

Yuna blinked. “I-I am, though!”

“Not, or aren't?”

“Ugh!” Yuna grabbed a handful of her hair. “No, I'm saying… You know what? Forget it! I'll just never—”

Looking her up and down for a moment (and not really listening), Gahyeon wondered if her behavior was ever anything like Yuna's. Probably not. She was practically domming her members ever since they met, and it turned sexual almost as soon as Gahyeon was old enough. Relating to Yuna was clearly out of the question.

Even so, Gahyeon felt a sympathetic pulse in her veins. Yuna's troubles, self-imposed or not and ultimately, definitely not anything close to a big deal, were still troubles to Yuna, and they were eating her up, it seemed.

Gahyeon weighed her options. Doing as Yuna demanded would enforce negative opinions. Refusing would make things more awkward for the next person Yuna tried to seduce. But Gahyeon did still like the idea of Yuna… She cracked her knuckles.

“—so I guess I'll just die alone,” Yuna continued to bitch on, “stuffing myself with bigger and bigger—”

Gahyeon cut Yuna off with a hand over her mouth. “Yuna? One word answer. Do you still want to get laid right now?”

Yuna’s eyes, glistening with tears at the edges, widened in something between fear and awe. And yet, she didn’t answer.

Half expecting her to come up with some kind of painfully awkward excuse for saying no, Gahyeon kicked things up a notch. She pulled up her shirt with one hand, catching her bra along the way, and flashed Yuna, full-boobed. She took her hand off Yuna's mouth to gesture at her bare chest, and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Yuna said almost as if she was in a trance.

“Then turn around.”

Yuna scrambled to her feet without standing up fully, spun a hundred and eighty degrees, and fell forward, catching herself on her elbows. Her knees followed her up and with that her ass was presented.

“Good,” Gahyeon said as she took her shirt and bra off entirely, “Now what exactly would you like me to do?”

“Uuuh…”

“Finger you? Tease you?” Gahyeon dropped her pants, climbing out of them and onto the bed behind Yuna. “I can let you take charge. Maybe I shouldn't have told you to turn around?”

Yuna shook her head. “N-no, nope, it would be better with you in charge.”

“Just give me a little bit of guidance then. I could have sworn you were asking for this.”

Gahyeon slid her hands up Yuna’s back, nails first, leaving white lines that quickly faded back into the approximation of porcelain that this new canvas was made of. Over and over again, Gahyeon reminded herself that Yuna was very pretty, and tried to use that to make herself forget the annoying parts. The fact that she was still thinking about them as she gripped Yuna’s tits didn’t bode well, but many three-plus-somes with Sua and Yoohyeon taught her the virtue of perseverance through annoying sex partners. Yuna was a very pretty canvas that needed to learn some manners.

In-depth lessons would come later though, after Gahyeon showed Yuna what her reward had the potential to be. “Well?”

Yuna's breaths got heavy as Gahyeon’s hands continued to wander, shifting between teasing touches and firm pressure. “I… I, um.”

"You want this?"

Yuna shook all over. She bit her lip and nodded.

Gahyeon breathed across Yuna’s ear, sending a deep shiver down her spine. “Tell me, then.”

“I d-don’t know what to say,” Yuna whined, groping blindly behind herself for Gahyeon’s arms.

Gahyeon pressed her chest against Yuna’s back and grabbed her hands, twirling their fingers together in a cruel, teasing dance. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, for starters.”

“It’s… hard to say.” Yuna arched her back, pushing her ass into Gahyeon’s hips. Her breath spiked over and over.

Gahyeon let her arms go mostly slack. “Then guide me there.”

With no small amount of hesitation, Yuna pulled Gahyeon’s hands tighter around herself and onto her ribs, moving them in a slow, jerking way down until they were between her legs. “Here.”

“I see. So you want me to touch your pussy? Your clit?”

Yuna whined even harder. She pushed insistently on Gahyeon’s limp fingers. “Both.”

“Both? That’s not how I phrased the question. It’s your pussy.” Gahyeon pressed one finger against Yuna’s entrance, earning a gasp. “Or your clit.” She pressed Yuna’s button with another finger, which all but made Yuna double over. Only then did Gahyeon wonder if she was technically providing incorrect information by distinguishing the body parts as separate.

“Oooh my g—My clit! Touch my clit…”

In a flash, Gahyeon took her hand back, licked her middle finger, and put it back, steadily swirling around Yuna’s clitoris. Yuna had to reach back and hang on to Gahyeon’s thighs to keep herself from falling. Her twitches, jerks, and shaky breathing were fun, and exactly what Gahyeon needed to get over her annoyance, at least for a while.

“I’m going to do the same thing with my tongue now, okay?”

Yuna shot up onto her hands. “Your t-tongue?”

Gahyeon circled Yuna’s clit with her finger, making her moan and tense up. She lowered her face so her mouth would be obscured, and the air from her every word would brush across Yuna’s pussy. “I might accidentally touch you with my lips too, if you’re okay with that. I promise I’ll be soft and gentle.”

“O-okay?”

Figuring that Yuna wouldn’t be giving her any more confident a response than that, Gahyeon leaned in further, gathering up extra spit as she went. She pressed the end of her tongue to Yuna’s clit, not hard, but somewhat firmly.

“O-oh," Yuna cooed and took a deep breath, "that’s pretty much just like your finge—”

Gahyeon swirled her tongue around Yuna’s hood, and the girl squirmed back and up out of range with a comically loud gasp. Gahyeon smiled internally. She knew what that was about. The shock of a good time could occasionally make one run away.

"Oh no," she said sarcastically, "You didn't like it. I'm sorry."

Yuna scrambled to get back in place, nearly kicking Gahyeon in the face. "No! I-I liked… please do it again?" There was desperation oozing out of her puppy dog eyes.

"Fine. Just be sure to tell me how you’re feeling, yeah?" She really wanted to hear Yuna try to describe being eaten out with her limited sexual vocabulary.

"I'll try…"

"Yes, just be as descriptive as you can, okay? I’ll adjust as needed."

Yuna nodded quickly. It was pretty clear that she just wanted Gahyeon to start again, so Gahyeon did, very, very, very slowly. She wet her tongue and barely touched it to Yuna's clit.

Again, Yuna flinched. This time Gahyeon was sure it was in anticipation. She looked up through the mild cleavage to give Yuna a reminder.

"Uh! Good! It felt good!"

Gahyeon touched again, but snaked her arms around Yuna’s legs to keep her in place. Another twitch, but smaller. Yuna was trying to contain herself. Gahyeon dragged her tongue slowly left and right. Trying to hold back wasn’t easy.

"It's… good."

Yuna's body language said much more than "good" though. She wanted more. Her eyes were fixed on Gahyeon. Her toes curled and uncurled against Gahyeon’s hips. Her knuckles were white, gripping the blanket. Her lungs shuddered with each brand new sensation that popped its way through her nerves. Goosebumps rose and fell and rose and rose and fell and rose. She had to be putting immense effort into holding still.

"Good."

Upping the ante, Gahyeon swirled again, catching the underside of Yuna's hood. Yuna twitched hard, and for a brief moment her eyes rolled up. Her breath was stuck, but it came unstuck with a second swirl, and exited Yuna's mouth in the form of a pained whimper. That was what Gahyeon was looking for.

"You like?"

"Good! It was so good! Please do it again!" Yuna’s inhibition was faltering.

"Tell me more." Gahyeon didn't pretend to hesitate again. She pressed her tongue under Yuna's hood and down against her clit, wiggling back and forth while keeping herself planted.

"Mmm! I… I don't know what to—OH! AUGH!”

Yuna’s last exclamation was a bit of a surprise, both to Gahyeon and Yuna herself, it seemed, as she quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide.

“Was that a good sound?” Gahyeon asked, already knowing the answer.

Yuna nodded.

“Uncover your mouth, then, and keep it up.”

There was some hesitation in how Yuna followed the instructions as Gahyeon got back to playing with her clit, but she did a little better than simply following. She grasped Gahyeon’s hands, alternated between hitched breaths and primal moans, and tucked her chin toward her chest.

Every word Yuna tried to say morphed into one of those noises until she came. One long, vulgar scream faded into mewling whimpers.

Gahyeon crawled up Yuna’s body, pecking her along the way and giving her a much longer, wetter kiss on the mouth. Yuna giggled through it all, a little cum-drunk. “So,” Gahyeon said, “that’s one of the basics.”

“The b-basics?”

“Yeah.” Gahyeon twirled onto her back, slipping an arm beneath Yuna to pull her in close.

“Wow…” Yuna muttered.

The two basked in each other’s warmth for a while without a word. Gahyeon shifted a couple of times to try to optimize her comfort, but still mentally bemoaned Yuna’s lack of experience. She would not have minded a bit of reciprocation. A plan to pick up one or two of her usual subs on the way home began to formulate in her head. Jane would certainly be up for a bit of fun.

“Um, Gahyeon?”

Gahyeon stroked Yuna’s hair, around her ear, down her jaw, and to her chin. Yuna smiled and purred a little. Gahyeon returned that smile. “Hm?”

“Thank you for, um… not making fun of me.”

“Don’t thank me for that.” Gahyeon traced half of Yuna’s lower lip. “I made fun of you a little bit when we started. And quite a bit more later, I believe.”

Yuna cautiously placed a hand on Gahyeon’s breast, but got a little bolder and lightly squeezed when Gahyeon smiled. “I just mean most of the time.”

“I guess. I’ll keep in mind that you appreciate that.” Gahyeon giggled as Yuna nuzzled her stomach with her cheek. “Just be clear with people about what you do and don’t like, and you’ll have a… great time.”

Gahyeon’s last words were drawn out over the sound of a buzzing phone. Yuna’s, to be precise. She stretched to get it from the nightstand and saw “RAW” was calling.

“Raw?” Gahyeon asked.

Yuna reluctantly removed her hand from Gahyeon’s boob to take the phone. “That’s Ryujin… sorry. One sec.”

Though it was quiet, the lack of ambient noise made it easy for Gahyeon to hear Ryujin’s loud voice. “Where the hell are you, Yuna? We checked the bathroom.”

“I’m… upstairs.”

“Upstairs? The fuck are you doing upstairs for a whole hour?”

Yuna’s eyes traveled up and down Gahyeon’s body. “Cuddling?”

“Cuddling? For an hour? Yeah right.”

Huge puppy dog eyes met Gahyeon’s, trying to ask for permission. Gahyeon shrugged.

“Wel—”

“I’m cuddling with Gahyeon because we just had sex,” Yuna said, and then immediately snapped her mouth shut and stared into space.

“What?! No you didn’t, you fuckin baby child! You couldn’t handle her!”

Gahyeon watched for a few seconds as Yuna’s shoulders shrunk into her neck while Ryujin berated her.

“... and you’d come running back down the stairs crying—”

“Actually, Ryujin,” Gahyeon spoke loudly, “she’s not bad. You should let her practice on you sometime.”

Gahyeon swore she heard the sound of a pair of spit takes through the phone before it suddenly beeped twice and went silent. She decided not to wait too long for Yuna’s embarrassment to take over, and laid a hand on Yuna’s back. “Care to learn anything else today? If you want to prove what you can do to Ryujin and Yeji, you may need to do to them what I just did to you.”

Thankfully, Yuna’s blush didn’t get too far. “I-I don’t know if I can do any more right now.”

Gahyeon smiled. “As in it’s time to head out or you just want more snuggles?”

Yuna pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and crawled forward, kissing Gahyeon’s lips a few times in rapid succession. “If I say I have to go, can I have your number?”

Gahyeon ran her fingers through Yuna’s hair. “Sure… but the first thing you're going to text me is a safeword for next time.”

#gahyeon #yuna #itzy yuna #dreamcatcher gahyeon #dreamcatcher #itzy #kpop #fanfic

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existslikepristin · 4 months

Text

Hey @worldsover. Happy birthday.

Tags: NSFW, smut, Dreamcatcher, teacher!Jiu, student!Gahyeon, male reader, threesome, big ol’ noncon warning here, or is it dubcon?... no don’t fool yourself this is noncon, mysteeerious circumstances ooOOooOOh *finger wiggles*, no beta read and no editing I had to go fast cuz this is for a birthday and it’s already late by two days, blowjob, deepthroat, a little fluff, a little romance, a really poorly thought out B plot, absurdity, hypocritical “protagonists”, Jiu is stronk and rips clothes, the relationship is toxic but not the usual way, also butt stuff babyyy

B-Side: [title] ft. Gahyeon, Jiu

~~~~~

“Honestly,” Jiu says, slapping a bead of sweat off her forehead, “She's heavier than she looks. Must be a lot of muscle under there.”

You stare at Jiu, then at the other girl on your bed. What’s her name again? Gabriella? No, there’s no way that’s it. That’s a stupid guess.

“Gahyeon,” Jiu reminds you, as if reading your mind, “Do you remember what I told you about her? Well she did it again. She came into class drunk!”

Still in a certain amount of disbelief, you can only hope that Jiu’s telling you the truth, and that it’s the whole truth. If not, there will be no small amount of trouble stemming from this night. Jiu knows things. Specifically, she knows things because you’ve demonstrated them for her. You’ve regretted that for a while now, because Jiu is also impetuous, to put it mildly. If she managed to replicate—

“Turns out it’s really easy to do what you taught me on someone who’s already in a receptive and reduced state of mind like drunkenness.”

Fuck.

“Jiu, you can’t just…” you struggle for the words.

To describe how what she’s done is wrong? No.

To describe the harm Jiu may have inflicted? No.

To describe how absolutely fucked you may be here? Yeah, that’s probably the one.

“Can’t?” Jiu asks, “But it worked, didn’t it? I mean, I think it worked. Here…” Before you can stop her, she slaps Gahyeon’s thigh. “‘Ey! Get up and show us your tits, slut!”

You choke on your spit and flinch backward. This is bad. It’s not too late to run and remove yourself from any direct implication. Gahyeon’s starting to sit up, so you pivot around and take a stride toward the door.

“Damn,” Jiu half whispers, “Those are nice.”

No way.

Surely, your ears and eyes deceive you. When you turn back around, you’re assaulted with the view of what will most likely be considered assault. Gahyeon is upright, her sweater bunched up around her collarbone. Jiu is palming her bare chest, bouncing a boob as if she’s estimating its weight. To say that you’re mesmerized would not quite be accurate for a couple of reasons. For one, you’re terrified. Gahyeon’s half-lidded—but open—eyes take in your countenance, probably forming a permanent mental image that can and will be used against you in court. And for another, it’s Gahyeon that’s mesmerized in a sense. You can’t just claim to be in a state that someone else in the room is actively in. That would be asinine.

“Jiu…” you start, trying somehow to save face, “Jiu, stop, oh my go—”

“She always comes into class without a bra, and… well, this sweater isn’t the norm. Usually, it’s cleavage all the way down, or nips stabbing through a sheer tank top. So fucking distracting,” Jiu definitely doesn’t stop at your insistence. She ignores you entirely, groping, squeezing, pinching, every little motion sparking a twitch in your face. “Not that a pair of tits is inherently distracting, obviously. I’m no prude. Free the nipple, right? But she flaunts these! Pushing them together in my face when she hands in papers. Calls attention to them every chance she gets. Just the other day, she asked me to borrow a pencil, put it down her shirt in front of me, and then went back to her table and used a fucking G2! We’re working with volatile chemicals! She doesn’t have to be courteous, she just needs to think about some damn safety!”

You blink, suddenly realizing that you waited for an entire rant to finish while doing nothing but stare at the mammary glands in your girlfriend’s hands. Maybe you’re mesmerized after all. Mesmer was a hack, so any word coming from his name is likely an accurate description for a half-assed (or full-boobed, in this case) party trick.

“Alright Jiu, you’ve had your fun,” you blurt out in the brief moment of clarity you can find, “Don’t you think the nice girl should be on her way?”

“Gahyeon? Nice girl? This slut? I’ve told you all the shit she pulls in class.”

“Including in the last thirty or so seconds, yes.”

“And you think she should just get to go?”

“I mean, morally speaking, we haven’t heard her say a word of consent here, so yeah, perhaps it would be best to—”

Jiu cuts you off with a cock-browed stink eye that reeks of the sentence: Are you fucking kidding me?

“Are we gonna have a problem here?” Jiu asks, out loud this time.

“Whaaat?” you creak, “Nooo, no. I’m just saying, what if she…” You pause, trying to indicate nonverbally some deeper implication to your words with a series of bonkers facial expressions. Jiu hasn’t always been the most reliable at catching on to double entendres though. “What if she’s not into it?”

Jiu squints. “What? Are you saying all those other people have been into it? I sure didn’t hear them consenting.”

Fucking holy shit fuck, you’re fucked. Jiu’s fucked. You’re both so fucking fucked.

“NO.” You try to contain your volume, but it still comes out a bit loud, even through your gritted teeth. “I’m saying… what if… someone were to think… that perhaps… they might discuss this… with an official?”

There is a cursed moment of silence while Jiu simultaneously judges you and mulls over your words. Finally, she clicks her tongue, “You think I didn’t do it right, don’t you?”

You put your hands up, unsure of how to respond without giving everything away to the potentially fully aware Gahyeon.

“You really think I fucked it up, huh? Hey Gahyeon, what are you gonna remember later?”

The silence is palpable.

“See? Nothing. You always say they can’t talk back like this, right?��

“Because…” You pause to develop a new double entend—Who are you kidding? You’re already fucking fucked, as previously stated. “Because I tell them not to talk back! It’s not an inherent factor! Did you tell her not to talk back?!”

“Oh…” Jiu says.

“OH?!”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure I built that in.”

“Pretty sure?!”

“Look, like it or not, I’m gonna keep on keeping on with these titties. If you don’t think I did it right, you can run away. Otherwise, you can get your cock out of your pants.”

“And the memory?!”

“Same diff. Built that in.”

“How?!”

Jiu sighs and climbs further onto the bed, behind Gahyeon. She snakes her hands around and continues groping away. Something that she whispers into Gahyeon’s ear gets Gahyeon to finish removing her sweater, and she merely sits, politely, silently, while continuing to be assaulted before your very eyes.

Suddenly, Gahyeon’s head is thrown back. It's not her doing it, it's Jiu with fingers entwined in her hair.

“Look at her,” Jiu hisses at you, “I don't even care if she does remember. She's a stupid hot slut who teases me every day, and has no respect for my cooking class. If anyone needs to get their pretty little throat fucked, it's her.”

Hang on, what?

“I'm going to get my strap and I'm going to fuck her so raw that she won't even be able to come into class for a week. Maybe then the other students can actually get something done for once—”

“Don't you teach chemistry?” you ask.

Jiu pauses her gripping of Gahyeon’s body. “Yeah…”

“I could have sworn you just said cooking.”

“What? That would sure be a silly class to teach!”

“I mean, not really. That would actually be pretty cool if you taught cooking. You're really good at it.”

Jiu’s head fully pokes out from behind Gahyeon. her eyes are glistening with tears. “Oh my gosh, you really think that?”

“Of course. Babe,” you pause, and move to stroke her cheek, “you've always been passionate about your cooking, and I just want you to pursue your career the way you want to. Cooking, chemistry, it's all the same to me as long as you're happy.”

She sniffs hard, clearing out her nose. “Aw, honey… You'd support me if all I taught was cooking? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

She gives you a pouty-lipped stare for a few seconds, clearly holding back the waterworks. “O-oooh, get over here!” She shoves Gahyeon over and holds out her arms.

With a smile, you take Jiu up on the embrace, squeezing her tightly and basking in her warmth.

Sniffling even harder directly into your ear, Jiu babbles little nothings for a moment, and then says, “You sweety, you… can I suck your cock?”

“Sure, babe,” you say, pulling her back a little so you can give her a brief kiss.

Jiu gets your pants off fast. She's always quick at that. Lots of practice. Your dick hangs free until she gets it in her hand, working you up to full mast while she kisses your neck. It only takes a quick pull from her on the hem of your shirt to remind you to take it off for her. As soon as you do, her kisses go lower, and lower, and lower. Your eyes naturally flutter closed and your hand alights on her head, not so much guiding her as petting her.

Then, you’re inside her. Her lips, so incredibly tender, wrap the head of your cock, and her tongue pulls you in deeper. It’s sensual, slow, relaxing even. All of your worries fade away. You stroke her hair, and look down at your lover to take in her beaut—fucking dammit, the girl’s still here! How the fuck did you forget?! She’s literally lying down, half naked, between you and Jiu, and this is very concerning, obviously!

“Jiu! Jiu, wait! We’ve got to do something with her!”

She pulls back, still rolling your cockhead over her tongue. “Oh. Yeah. Let’s fuck her! Sit up, slut!”

Gahyeon does as she’s instructed, slowly sitting straight back up and slotting herself between you and Jiu. Her tits end up smushed against your pelvis, hugging your dick. It’s not quite as good as a blowjob, but her boobs are big enough to fully engulf you, and that’s pretty great… but you can’t think about that right now.

“No, babe, we need her to—”

You just can’t get a word in today, can you? Jiu’s mouth covers yours. Her tongue dives in, stealing away whatever you were going to say and the throat on your dick turns any thoughts into pleasured moans. But that is a problem in and of itself, the throat on your dick. Because it’s not Jiu’s.

Sneaking a glance down, you see that it is in fact Gahyeon whose head has been shoved and is now deepthroating you with no resistance. Her hair is bunched up in Jiu’s hand, and she’s bent over at one hell of a severe angle. Her ass looks real good in those tiny, tight shorts from up here.

“Please, wait for just a second, Jiu.”

She backs off, but only barely. Her eyes capture yours, lock them in place, and throw away the keys. “Yes, honey?” Jiu has never been good at hiding her smiles.

“Okay, let’s fuck her.”

“Yeah!” Jiu jumps with joy, and would have continued the alliteration if allotted adequate hours, but instead she kisses you again, on the nose, cheek, and lips before falling onto her back to undress.

Ignoring the storm of projectiles that Jiu’s clothes become, you actually take a good look at Gahyeon. Her eyes are still half closed, just like before. In fact, her whole face is slack, fully relaxed, not something you often see when your cock (or anyone’s) is fully stuffed down their esophagus. A light bidirectional breeze tickles your stomach at a steady rate though, so if there’s a lesson to be taken away here, it seems the real secret to comfortable deepthroat is to be entirely unresponsive to the dick you’re sucking. Both arms are resting to her right side, where they landed after she was told to sit up.

Once Jiu is naked though, things change up rapidly. She grabs Gahyeon by the hips and yanks backward. Being the ragdoll that she currently is, Gahyeon limply falls forward and end up with one cheek shoved up against your hip. Miraculously, your dick being so far down her throat is what prevents her from face planting at the foot of the bed. Jiu pays this awkward positioning no mind as she, bare-handed, rips apart the sides of Gahyeon’s shorts and the underwear beneath, as if you needed the reminder that she’s both the beauty and the beast in your relationship. If it turns out she pulled everything off correctly today, she might be the brains too… Nah, she’ll always be your favorite dumbass. How on Earth did she convince you that she taught university level chemistry?

You politely readjust Gahyeon so she’s flush with your pelvis again, and you start to thrust. “Gabriella…” you start.

“Gahyeon,” Jiu corrects you as she yanks Gahyeon’s legs back again, diving between them and hungrily pressing her face into Gahyeon’s ass crack.

“Right. Gahyeon, hold yourself up and suck.”

Oddly, she doesn’t do as she’s told. That’s not how this normally goes. You continue thrusting down her throat, kind of monotonously. “Gahyeon?”

Jiu comes up from Gahyeon’s ass for a breath and to let you know, “Oh. Yeah, sorry. I forgot to mention, you need to say the trigger word.”

“You gave her a trigger word?” you ask, actually somewhat impressed, “Nice! What is it?”

Jiu beams a cheesy smile. “It’s ‘titties!’”

FUCK.

“TITTIES?!” you can’t contain the shout. Gahyeon twitches, but otherwise remains unresponsive.

“Hehehe, yup!” Jiu looks so pleased with herself.

“It’s supposed to be something that she’s not likely to hear!”

Jiu cocks that eyebrow again and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, no decent person says ‘titties’ in public.”

You palm your face with both hands. One isn’t enough. Gahyeon slides off your cock and face plants at the foot of the bed. So much for avoiding that. “Dammit, everybody says ‘titties’ in public these days! More and more people every day!”

“But…” Jiu takes a quick breath. “If more people are saying it every day, that means not everyone is saying it in public yet.”

Claw down your cheeks, leaving red streaks. “That’s not the fucking point, Jiu! Lots and lots of people say it these days, especially on college campuses!”

Jiu screws up her face the way she does when she tries really hard to find the answer to a tough question. “Okay, how do we get rid of it?”

“Just tell her, but it doesn’t go away immediately. Every time she hears it, it lasts a little longer.”

“Oh. Easy. Ey, Gahyeon! Forget about ‘titties’ okay? It’s not your trigger word anymore.”

You glare at Jiu, but she ignores it, happily going back to devouring whichever hole she was working on before.

“Okay,” you whisper, “okay okay okay. Gahyeon, get up on your elbows.”

This time, Gahyeon does as she’s told, propping herself up. Excellent. You lift her head by the chin. You’ve always had a thing for a good pair of lips—it’s no wonder that you’re dating Jiu (for that, among her many other qualities)—so you find yourself rather taken with Gahyeon’s. They’re very slightly thinner than Jiu’s, but they’re curvy, like the rest of the girl. You run your thumb over her lower lip, simply taking the time to admire her. Jiu has good taste. And if what Jiu’s told you about the attempted seductions is accurate, so does Gahyeon.

“Tell me if you can talk now,” you mumble.

“I can,” Gahyeon mumbles back. Her voice is kind of… creaky.

“Are you any good at sucking cock?”

“Yes.”

“And do you enjoy sucking cock?”

“Sometimes.”

You roll your eyes at the lukewarm answer and straighten up so that your dick is directly in front of Gahyeon’s lips again. “Tonight, you love sucking cock. So take it deep.”

It’s still a requirement to place your dick to Gahyeon’s lips before she starts. In the state she’s in, she can only really react to physical touch and sounds consistently. She should be able to see, but what she sees may not be exactly the same as what she perceives. You’d be very curious to know what she is currently perceiving, but her ability to describe it is most likely inadequate, or even entirely inaccurate.

Regardless, she does as she was told. Just like before, she gets all the way down, but now it’s intentional (technically). And she is loving it (technically). There’s not a gag to be heard as she takes your cock as far down her throat as it will go, backs away until the tip is at her lips, and the process repeats. The corners of her lips curl up into the tiniest smile (at least, more than usual).

“Honey? Mind if I use this slut’s mouth?” Jiu asks you after a bit.

You’re tempted to say no and follow through with this face fuck until completion, but you know what they say: Always let your girlfriend do whatever she wants with the sluts that she brings into the house under mysterious circumstances. It’s common courtesy.

“Sure thing, babe. Gahyeon, get on your back so you can service Jiu.”

Gahyeon’s movement is suspiciously sluggish, as she slowly extracts your cock from her throat. She blinks a few times before pushing herself onto her hands and knees.

“What’s taking you so long?” you ask.

“I don’t understand,” Gahyeon responds, stopping her movement altogether.

“What part?”

“I don’t know a Jiu.”

You’re briefly puzzled, but you figure out the problem in the moment immediately before Jiu clears the air.

“My students call me Ms. Kim.”

You scowl. “Not even ‘Professor’ Kim, huh?”

Jiu shakes her head and shrugs.

Annoyed, you grab Gahyeon by the arm. She has no mechanism to resist. “Don’t you respect your professors, Gahyeon?”

“No,” she says simply.

Annoyance justified, you continue, “Why not?”

“They claim authority that they don’t generally deserve.”

“What if they work really hard?”

“It doesn’t matter if their ability to teach is hampered by the school.”

“Then why go to school?!”

“Taking down an establishment is impossible without knowing it intimately.”

You and Jiu both blink in surprise.

“Well, okay… What about your cooking professor?”

“I love Ms. Kim.”

Jiu puts her hand to her mouth and squeaks out, “You do?”

“Yes.”

Well now you’re getting somewhere. You lay Gahyeon down on her back and release her arm. The handprint fades slowly. “Why do you love Ms. Kim?”

“She teaches a valuable, practical skill without being pretentious and doesn’t shill fascist propaganda to her students. She is also extremely attractive.”

You smirk at Jiu, but continue addressing Gahyeon, “Have you tried to seduce Ms. Kim?”

“Yes, with minimal effort to avoid disrupting her work.”

“How would you feel if you did disrupt her?”

“I would feel the need to apologize.”

Jiu’s lower lip quivers and her eyes glisten with tears yet again. Crying is not an incredibly uncommon occurrence for her.

“Would you consider being her slutty little sex slave?”

“No.”

What a fucking downer! All that build up only for her to reject the proposal! You and Jiu gawk at each other incredulously.

“What?!” you demand, “Why not?! You just said you tried seducing her and find her extremely attractive, both of which are totally valid!”

“Unbalanced power dynamics in sexual relationships are morally reprehensible.”

Jiu and you share a look down at Gahyeon’s supine form and back, and then you both burst into laughter. Forget her being a downer, this girl’s hilarious!

You give Gahyeon’s bare thigh a couple of hearty slaps. “Sure, sure! That’s a good one, Gahyeon. You want to be a slut for Jiu!”

Then you remember that Gahyeon doesn’t know Jiu as “Jiu,” so you open you mouth to course correct, but Jiu goes first.

“Yeah, you little slut! You are going to get weak in the knees for Ms. Kim from now on. Hearing her voice will make you uncontrollably horny. Her spit will be a delicacy to you.”

You smile broadly. Jiu really has learned a lot. She’s incepting Gahyeon correctly, using the second person future tense without contractions! What a fantastic, sinister girlfriend you found yourself!

“Your ‘morals’ will always be worth compromising when it comes to Ms. Kim,” Jiu keeps going, voice curiously peppy for something so dark, “Ms. Kim will own your holes, and your desire to please her in every way will rival your desire to undo the societal imbalances caused by authoritarian capitalists. You will do anything for Ms. Kim.”

Clap for that devious performance. Applaud, even. Jiu grins from ear to ear. “How was that, honey?”

“Excellent, babe! And for a first attempt, too? Incredible.”

Jiu blushes, “Well, I did try it once before on another student.”

You nod approvingly. “Did that one go just as well?”

“He hasn’t left his work station without first cleaning it in the last two weeks, so it seems to have been good!”

“Oh, that guy? I was wondering where all the complaints about him had gone.”

Jiu slips her hands beneath Gahyeon’s shoulders and yanks her to the side, finding a good position to straddle her head. “I can fill you in on the details later, but for now I think you should hurry up. Don’t want to let my new slut’s ass dry out.”

You hoist Gahyeon’s legs out of the way, dipping down to investigate. Indeed, her tiny rosebud is gleaming with saliva. So it was her asshole that Jiu was eating out! No sense in allowing such a lovely, courteous thing go to waste! Before you get back up and line up your cock, you give it a quick lick. You can’t help yourself. Jiu’s spit is delectable. Fitting, for such a good cook.

Speaking of fitting, your cock and Gahyeon’s ass? Fantastic fit. The preparation provided by Jiu is what really seals the deal though. The entry is a dream, metaphorically for you and something close to literally for Gahyeon. You expect you’ll have an absolute blast once you start fucking in earnest, but you want to wait for Jiu to get settled in first.

And Jiu does just that. She faces you and settles in on Gahyeon’s face, as expected, humming cheerfully. It’s hard to believe just how enamored you are with the way she wiggles side to side, getting a feel for the facial contours most suited to being seating.

“Get a taste of Ms. Kim’s pussy, Gahyeon, and tell her what you think of it,” you suggest, already knowing that Gahyeon is in for a treat.

Gahyeon sticks out her tongue, and immediately recoils with a gasp. “You taste so much better than I imagined!”

She knocked it out of the park with that one. It’s uncommon for anybody to show much of any enthusiasm in this state of mind unless they’re specifically told to.

“Awww!” Jiu coos, “You little sweetheart! Eat me out, deeply.”

Gahyeon seemed quite unbothered about sucking your cock, but she seems downright pumped about this. Her arms even leap up, blindly falling over Jiu’s thighs. Jiu squeals with delight as Gahyeon’s tongue flies over her clit, through her petals, and straight inside her. You can see the sparks in Jiu’s eyes before they shut tight, the instability in her legs before she presses her palms into Gahyeon’s breasts, and the crack of a smile before she groans in blissful passion.

Oh, Jiu. Such a good woman, doing such bad things.

Suddenly, you remember you’re balls deep inside this girl’s ass. Right. You can admire Jiu and still get yourself off.

Pull back a stroke and slam back in. It doesn’t matter one bit to Gahyeon how rough you are, but you don’t want to do anything that would ruin Jiu’s enjoyment, so you push down on Gahyeon’s hips, pinning her mostly in place (it’s not perfectly effective) while you fuck her.

That puts you and Jiu face to face. Heavy breaths hit each other over and over. You kiss. You lean into each other, nipping lips and necks, giggling darkly. Sharing a little sex toy like this is perfect for affirming your affection for each other. Jiu stares into your eyes, trying desperately not to blink as she reaches climax.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, caressing her trembling jawline.

When she manages to get a lungful of air, Jiu whimpers back, “I love you, honey.”

“Love you too,” you return. You punctuate with a new kiss, firmly gripping the back of Jiu’s head to ensure you can stay attached while you both pound and grind away. You even give her hair a tight little tug, which seems to give her a miniature, aftershock sort of orgasm.

Surely, you imagine, she must be all but drowning Gahyeon, but that’s no reason to stop. Not when the girl’s neurons are registering the fulfillment of her fantasies (whether they be brand new fantasies or older ones), and her body reacts accordingly, her pussy grooling all over your cock and making your ass-smashing even smoother. You even detect moment or two of slight tightening. All these orgasms urge you to join in, and you have no reason not to.

Except, perhaps, one.

You take Jiu’s hand and give her knuckles a quick kiss. “Jiu…”

She already knows. With a completely unnecessary seductive lip bite, she slips off of Gahyeon’s face and down until she’s fully on top of the girl, back to Gahyeon’s stomach, legs spread to fold around you.

Pull out of Gahyeon. The toy doesn’t matter anymore, not when you have Jiu below you. Your cum is for her. Without looking, you find her pussy easily, naturally, even. It’s unclear to you whether you were this close to cumming already or if it’s just Jiu’s body that speeds you along that path, but it begins as soon as you reach her furthest depths. Now this is a perfect fit. You drop on top of her, desperate for her mouth on yours again as you fill her with pump after pump after pump of your crème de la penis. She moans your name repeatedly between hitched breaths, and you repeat hers as well, voices indicative of a need that falls on every level of the hierarchy. Only once you’ve been thoroughly depleted do you notice the little sharp pains of Jiu’s nails digging into your shoulder and back.

Neither of you move, if you don’t include your heaving chests, focusing on each other’s eyes and bathing in each other’s auras. This time, you say it first, “I love you, Jiu.”

“I love you,” she tells you back.

The three words practically turn into a chant, until each of you is smiling uncontrollably and rubbing your noses together as if you can’t come up with something more interesting to do.

Eventually, as all things must end, you break apart with a last giggle. You’ve gone soft, but you don’t know when exactly your spent dick fell out of Jiu. Taking a quick look, she’s leaking an incredible amount of cum directly onto her student’s pussy.

Sighing wistfully, Jiu reaches back over her shoulder to stroke Gahyeon’s hair. “Well, how long do you think it will be before she’s begging me to use her?”

“Well, normally it takes a few months for someone to mull it over, but every time she goes under it’ll speed things up. If someone were to give her a super common trigger that she’ll hear accidentally multiple times a day… maybe two, three weeks?”

Jiu whines incoherently and rolls off of Gahyeon’s body, casually grabbing a boob and rolling it about. “Oh, I’m sorry for having faith in humanity, that people would have the decency not to say ‘titties’ in public. Anyway… I guess I’ll just have to keep her close while I wait.”

You nod approvingly and massage the back of Jiu’s leg.

“Hey, since you said she wants to be my slut tonight, what do you think would happen if I woke her up right now?” Jiu asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Gahyeon, wak—”

Your anxiety spikes.

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existslikepristin · 5 months

Text

Eunha pushed harder, and stared at the last bead in the mirror. She wondered if she finally overdid it. Whether the last bead was too wide or all the other beads were packing her ass so tightly there wasn’t any more room for it, Eunha couldn’t help but think she actually reached her limit. But still, it felt—and looked—so good, so she kept pushing.

Over and over again, little shoves pushed glass beads against each other, grinding them smoothly around inside of her, their clacking muffled by the muscle and fat of her thick butt cheeks. The roiling sensation almost made her scream, but she covered her mouth with her elbow and bit her own arm to keep quiet. Eunha’s hands shook violently, buzzing as her orgasm built.

The last push wasn’t even intentional, but suddenly it worked. She marveled at the supreme grasp of her ass as the widest point of the ball slipped into her hole and the rest practically fell in automatically. Eunha shrieked into her elbow, her climax overriding her sense of dignity. She couldn’t even think, let alone worry about who might catch her in the middle of her anal orgasm.

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existslikepristin · 5 months

Text

Currently writing something new that's pretty light on the smut. Just kinda felt like it.

Also, the next part of Joy, but Genie will be coming soon. I wrote about half of it and then went out to hang out with my family for the holiday. Feels awkward finishing that one up here, lol

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existslikepristin · 5 months

Text

Reblogging not because I have read this yet, but so I can find it to read more easily tonight. I already know it's going to be good based on... the writer, the writer's past work, the tags, basically everything.

DOWNRIGHT ICONIC (aespa karina)

(smut, male reader, screenwriter you, stranger karina, public sex, rough sex [choking/slapping/biting/spanking/hair-pulling etc], oral, anal, facefucking, titfucking, facial, bondage, degradation, name-calling, other weird stuff, 26k words, it's been 1 million years..., BUT WE'RE SO BACK BABY <3)

Hey, turns out the critics really are onto something:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this.

You aren’t surprised when the nominations are announced. It’s all anyone’s been talking about. You’re this up-and-coming screenwriter, this newly-minted visionary, and - cue the applause - you’ve just made the movie of the year. Clips go viral everywhere; the reviews are calling it extraordinary. They all want to know how you - a relative nobody - managed to pull it off. What’s your secret? What’s your inspiration? Where’d you get this billion-dollar box office idea?

And here’s one version of the truth:

“Well,” you’re quoted saying in every single interview: “honestly, it’s about a girl.”

Everyone eats this up, of course. It’s so fucking romantic.

You’ll tell an abridged version of this story for the rest of your life. A blip in time in early January - a certified slow-motion movie moment. You’ll say things like she was the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. You’ll say things like, I know it sounds lame, but that’s how it went. She took my breath away. She fascinated me. I saw her and I don’t think my life has ever been the same.

You’ll never once say her name.

“It’s weird, actually,” you’ll say in an interview after the news of the nominations drops. “Making this movie about her. She’ll last forever there, you know? She’ll always exist in this film, in this one moment in time. She’s in all of it, basically - every scene, every line. It’s all her.”

“You make it sound like she’s dead,” the interviewer will say, all open-mouthed melodrama.

You’ll laugh. “Oh, God, no,” you’ll say. “She’s alive and well.” As if it hasn’t been years since you last saw her face, watching you from down the corridor, looking lost and torn apart and very, very small. “She’s okay. I mean - I think - yeah, she’s okay.”

As if you’d know.

Because here’s another version of the truth:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this. You’re going to stand up on that stage and thank your family and your friends. You’re going to stare at all those faces until they swim together into one golden, glittering blur, and then all you’ll see is her - her dark eyes, her glossy hair, her wrist in your grip, her throat between your fingers - her in your sheets, her smiling in your doorway, her shivering in your shower, her sobbing into her hands, her bleeding in your bed, her walking away. Her, her, her. Immortalized forever in this perfect thing you made, winning awards off the reconstruction of a memory. Art imitating life; reality warped into something magnificent, and beautiful, and better.

And the only thing you’ll feel like doing is throwing up.

Sure, you’ll bask for decades in the thrill of it: the fame, the fortune, the glory; the adoration, the worship, the attention; the eternal, endless love. You’ll be able to look back on your life when you’re decrepit on your deathbed and know that you - brilliant you, utterly superior you - were divinely blessed with earth-shattering success, and no one will ever be able to take that away from you. You made your mark. You meant something. You were the best, for fuck’s sake, and you have the accolades to prove it - you really, really were.

So here’s the full truth - the final bottom line:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this. You’ll live the kind of life people beg God for. You’ll get everything you ever wanted.

It won’t be worth it at all.

First, though, there’s this.

Disturbingly enough, you’re in the romance section of a bookstore when everything starts.

This is really not your genre - that’s the funniest part. Historically, you’re bored to death by the cartoonish pastel covers; you don’t get your kicks from seeing the same delightfully quirky heroines fall for brooding bad boys, or whatever the fuck goes on in those books. You have your standards. You prefer your art a little gritty, a little fucked up, a little more interesting - the kind of thing that can leave you shellshocked in a movie theater, overcome with the sort of full-body, lightning-struck epiphany only truly good work can manage. It’s not a judgment call - you’re not trying to be pretentious. It’s just that you prefer something with some fucking bite.

The second funniest part is this:

You’re pressed against the shelves, surrounded by the cutest, chastest love stories ever told-

“Are you serious?”

-and Karina’s on her knees, about to take your cock down her throat.

Maybe this is what your contemporaries call cinematic irony.

That’s gotta be the only phrase for it, really. The scene itself dripping with classless, crude, erotic filth - the way she ducks her chin to spit on her hand, the slow pump of her fist around you, the rough hum in her mouth at how achingly hard you are - nasty and irredeemable, too fast and too loud. The gross lack of subtlety in her sex appeal: all pale thighs and porn-star tits, the wet pink flash of tongue. Seductive in a way that screams at you. It’d be so easy to write this off as some deliberately controversial opening scene, gory shock value, horror-film suspense - starring you and the slut you’re about to ravage and ruin and potentially leave for dead.

“Baby - are you sure?”

It’d be so easy, if Karina didn’t look like an angel incarnate.

“I mean, you-” You’re stammering. You’ve got both hands in her hair, fingers sliding through the glossy black in petting, soothing motions - your clumsy attempt at reassurance. “You don’t have to, if you don’t - we’re in public - I’m not expecting you to - I don’t need it-”

Karina’s fine, sculpted eyebrows twitch upwards. Her lips are a twist of scarlet, distinct and amused. She doesn’t quite smirk, doesn’t give a voice to the sarcasm, but the sentiment is the same - yeah, right.

And then she lowers her mouth to lick.

“Jesus fucking Christ-”

Scratch that, then. This is the funniest part. The most inhumanly beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, debasing herself in public like some sort of desperate common whore - come on, bring in the laugh track.

Not that anyone’s laughing now.

You’re no poet - they’re a few sections over, Plath and Yeats and Dickinson - but Karina’s the kind of thing that makes you understand the motivation completely: only capable of being captured in metaphor, without context, painstakingly interpreted hundreds of years from now by people who will never get this right. All carved-out cheekbones, fluttering lashes; tight fuckable body clad in a little low-cut dress, feet tucked neatly behind her like she’s simulating worship. Dirty and religiously devoted in how she stretches her full glossed lips around your cock and lets your grip tangle in her hair and-

“Karina,” you get out, but her only response is to blink sweetly up at you and suck.

Well, who gives a shit about the poets, anyway? You doubt any of them ever got to fuck a mouth like this.

There’s an unfamiliar caution to the rut of your hips, a wincing fascination every time she gags - and she gags loud, choking and heaving, saliva dripping slick around you and down her chin - that seems to both entertain and confuse Karina. A skeptical crease in her forehead, saying everything she can’t: you don’t wanna fuck me up? Ruin me? Cloudy spit falling in strands to her tits, seeping into the crimson fabric of her dress; she’s wearing a worn black sweatshirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, exposing the clean line of her collarbone. The hollow of her cheeks, the obscene painful sound of your cock clogging her throat - it’s subtext, explicit suggestion. A preternatural understanding. I know what this is. I know what you want from me.

Which - she couldn’t possibly.

“Baby.” You sound so wretched that it’s humiliating. Karina’s sharply lined eyes seem to flash with humor, smug and lazily self-satisfied. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum.”

The thick, sloppy, choked noise she makes is the closest she’s gonna get to a laugh.

Oh, sure, whatever, it’s not like you’re not thinking about it: digging your fingertips into her scalp and really fucking her face, relishing in the way those eyes would go wide and glassy with unshed tears; refusing to let her have control, to let her lick and lap and breathe. You’re scripting it in your head already. You’d strip her bare and make her sob. You’d wreck her throat and cum all over her face and force her to walk out like that: coated in the sticky, filthy evidence of everything you’ve made her - look at this, you’d say, look at what I have. Look at what I did - all this, all me.

“God.” Your thumb braces against Karina’s temple, like the gentle stroke of a brush, like you’re painting her right into existence. “You’re just-” A harsh gag; a fall of dirty, drooling spit. “You’re really enjoying this, huh? Getting on your knees in public for a fucking stranger?”

That’s why the fantasy of fucking her into brutal submission is actually so understandable. You don’t know her. You don’t owe her shit. You could destroy her and it’s not like she could do anything to fight back - not when she’s already below you, looking up. When she asked for this.

Except-

“Karina.” You can’t stop saying her name. “You’re - fucking perfect.”

And it’s true.

So you cum.

Karina swallows it all with the same amount of sultry grace she seems to do everything - how she laughs and walks and talks and takes your cock like a fucking professional - languishing in the practiced bob of her throat, the preening flicker of her eyelids, her face shiny and pale. It tugs the same feeling out of you as a flawless shot in a film, a well-timed bit of dialogue: watching an expert at work, pulling out all their stops. One hand through her hair. Her nails the same rich color as her mouth and her dress. Nasty, slutty, impressive attention to detail - Christ, get this girl in front of a camera, get the moon to be her limelight - you’re breathless, you’re enthralled, you’re so fucking far gone.

Then: the sticky retreating glide of her pouty mouth, lipstick smeared badly down her chin, stark and arresting as blood.

“In my experience,” Karina says, finally, ��being perfect’s never gotten me anywhere good.”

She pulls the sleeve of her sweatshirt up and wipes her face with her wrist.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, dizzy.

“Thank you,” Karina says, sweet like she means it, and sits back on her heels.

You can’t help yourself; you’re petting back her hair again, cupping her face softly in your hand, caught on the dark glint of her irises. Angel was an understatement. She looks more than that - looks like something holy and all-powerful, something omniscient and blindingly beautiful, something who knows exactly what you need and knows exactly how to follow through. Something worthy of mythology. Something like a god.

And any sort of rough, ruthless, fucked-up fantasy - it’s never going to happen.

You just can’t ruin a girl like her.

“So?” Karina’s voice is a smoky bombshell lilt, like she’s just stepped out of some film noir from the 1950s. Hands folded primly in her lap, fingers interlocked like a lady. She could be a pop culture icon, an eternal sex symbol - a Marilyn, a Bond girl, a timeless universal beauty. “What now?”

You think your brain actually short-circuits. “Sorry?”

Head tilted, lids dropped low. Smirk still sharp and scarlet. “Are you gonna take me home?”

You open your mouth to respond, but then a customer walks by the aisle.

You’re a panicked flurry of motion - zipping up your pants, turning away, frantically patting down your clothes - but Karina just stays kneeling on the floor, little chin on an incline, utterly incriminating. It doesn’t matter. The customer passes you by. The world returns to the way it should be: just the two of you.

“Karina,” you say, flabbergasted by her composure.

Karina’s lips quirk. “What?”

You shake your head and offer your hand to help her up, but Karina laughs instead - actually laughs. It’s peculiar, beautiful: raspy like a chronic chainsmoker, as though there’s something foreign she’s trying to dislodge. The raw, gravelly aftermath of a skinned knee, a grisly scrape over skin.

“Wow,” she says, and stands all on her own, tugs the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her fingers. “That’s a yes to taking me home, then?”

“What are you doing?” You’re laughing too - you can’t help it - reaching for Karina’s tiny waist to pull her in. “What are you - what do you want?”

When Karina smiles, it seems to set her eyes aflame. Bright and dancing, lashes like a shroud of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“You just met me.” It sounds feeble, somehow: a thin, useless excuse. Nothing against the way her body slots between your hands, a smooth effortless fit; nothing compared to how she kisses you between sentences, so quick and easy it already feels like a habit. “You don’t - you don’t know me.”

Karina’s mouth puckers, coy. “No?”

“No,” you shoot back, grinning, but it doesn’t sound convincing at all. “Come on, baby, seriously. What do you want?”

There’s gotta be some motive, you’re thinking. There’s gotta be a reason. Karina is so still, so soft and pliant under your hands, all the carved porcelain perfection of a marble sculpture but with none of the cold stiffness. Spine curving under your fingertips, jaw tilting into your touch.

A complete stranger, maybe - but every part of her body is begging to be known.

“Don’t you get it?” Karina says. “I want whatever you want.”

It’s so simple and earnest it takes your breath away.

“I - Jesus.” You’re biting on the inside of your cheek, drinking her in. “What if I told you I don’t know what I want?”

Another rasp of a laugh, sound like the serrated edge of a blade. “I’d say fine, okay.” Karina’s voice is low, conspiratorial. “But I’d think you’re lying.”

And here’s the thing you know for sure:

The very second you saw Karina you swear you saw the next hundred pages of a manuscript unfurling in front of you, lines and themes and gorgeous dark-eyed heroines, tragically beautiful endings and stunning cinematography - infinite narratives in the glossy sweep of her hair, in the seductive stretch of her legs, in the way she looked at you in a crowded room and smiled a lovely, secret smile and told you she’d follow you anywhere. She’s worth making art about. She’s worth devoting lifetimes to. The most honest thing you could say to her right now is baby, I’m writing a movie about this one day, and I think you’re really gonna like it.

Karina couldn’t possibly know any of this, but it still feels like she does - impractical knowledge in how she loops one arm around your neck and kisses you again, no hesitation. Like she actually knows you.

“I want to fuck you,” you murmur against her mouth, because it’s the next most honest thing. “Is that enough for you?”

You’re a screenwriter. You know your horror movies. A small part of you recognizes that this is precisely how they start: fanged vampires, wicked succubi, femme fatales out for blood. Karina’s so gorgeous she can’t be human - teeth so sharp there’s no way her intentions are pure.

“Sure,” Karina says, smirk glimmering like starlight. “Then I want that, too.”

It’s a murder plot waiting to happen.

You take her home anyway.

(Oh, and about your Oscar-winning script-

In theory, this is how it begins.

It’s classic. There’s a stranger and there’s a beautiful girl and they’re both sitting at a bar, talking for the very first time. The girl has a rose tucked behind her ear; it matches the crimson color of her lipstick perfectly. The stranger had asked her what the deal with it was, but she’d said something vague and nonsensical about it being a gift, so now they’re talking about normal, average things. Jobs, names, flirtatious pickup lines. It’s obvious because it’s meant to be, like a set-up to some predictable porn - everyone watching knows they’re going to fuck.

She keeps getting closer to him. At one point he thinks she’s going in for a kiss.

Instead, all she does is pluck the rose from behind her ear, and hand it to him.

It’s okay, she says. No thorns.

He stares at the rich furled petals and the whittled-down stem.

Thanks, he says, amused, charmed. He thinks there’s something odd about her. He likes it, though; if she were as beautiful as she is - which is very beautiful, exquisitely fucking beautiful - and she behaved like most people do, he’d find her terribly boring.

He takes it from her. Turns over the rose in his hands absentmindedly as she keeps talking. She’s got all this hair: wild and glossy black, pouring over her thin shoulders, her ribs, her tiny waist. After a moment he feels the sharp prick of a thorn against his fingertip and releases the rose in surprise.

You said there weren’t thorns, he tells her, laughing. Ow.

Whoops, she says. Then: Did it get me too?

She turns her head, pulls her hair out of the way. There’s a scarlet bead of blood trickling down the side of her perfect pale neck. He can’t quite tell where the point of entry was, where the thorn had dug in and broken skin. It’s bleeding a bit too heavily. Covering its tracks.

She swivels, slightly. She sees the look on his face. Is it bad? she asks.

No, he says, though he can’t really tell. But - couldn’t you feel it, though? The thorn?

The girl presses her hand to the side of her throat. It comes back bloodstained, a neat smear of red along the lifeline of her palm.

No, she echoes, though this can’t possibly be true. Hey, you wanna get out of here or something?

Alright, he says, smiling. They both stand. They leave the rose where it is. Let’s go.

He cups her cheek instead of her neck when he kisses her for the first time, so he doesn’t have her blood on his hands.

It starts simple like that.)

Karina’s so out of place in your apartment that it’s almost laughable - or it would be, if you were capable of thinking about anything but her mouth and her hands and her tits crushed up against your chest as you pin her to the doorframe. She keeps making these little sounds into your mouth: low and throaty, almost agonized. You swallow all her moans off her lips - oh, baby, you’re okay - and you only kiss her harder. She doesn’t belong, among your carpet worn-down from pacing and your laptop still open and idling and the mess of incoherent colorful post-it notes pasted to your fridge. She doesn’t fit here. Here kissing your mouth, here in your arms, here on fucking earth with the rest of you heathens-

“You wanna fuck me so bad,” murmurs Karina, chin on an incline, staring up at you, “then do it already.”

She doesn’t squirm or fidget; she doesn’t get needy or start begging. She stays pinned down by your body, lips parted, and stands completely still.

It’s like she’s telling you to make your move. Waiting for something inevitable.

“What happened to patience?” you say, anyway.

Karina’s mouth curls. She palms your cock through your pants. “What the fuck is that?”

You try to laugh, breathless and turned on, but all she does is kiss you again.

You’re a creative - you’re ready to attribute meaning to every movement - but there’s nothing so profound about it when you get Karina on your bed, all that thick black hair fanned out on your sheets, her hands grasping to get your shirt off - off, she murmurs, off. Even that comes out measured. She never shakes. She’s so sure. You kiss her everywhere you can reach, her face and her neck and her collarbone and her tits, drunk on the soft, humming sounds she makes when you do. You’re so fucking gorgeous, you can’t stop saying, and Karina keeps laughing that same raspy laugh, like it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard.

“You told me you already know that, right?” You’ve got her face cupped in one of your hands and your other one at the neckline of her scarlet dress. “So what’s so funny?”

“Everything.” Her teeth glint the way fangs would, a deliberate trick of the light. She’d be villainous if she weren’t so content to be trapped underneath you. “All of it.” She presses her palm to the side of your neck. “You’re too nice.”

“Fuck.” Your thumb accidentally digs too hard into her cheek. She doesn’t wince, but you feel it - the stomach-turning thrill, the possibility of leaving a bruise. Your hand drops low - lower, down her throat and her tits and her flat midriff - and slips between her thighs, up her dress. It feels safer, somehow. “How do you manage to make the word nice sound like an insult?”

“It’s not,” she says, simply, and spreads her legs.

And it must not be - because Karina’s so wet.

She makes another low velvety sound when you first touch her, seems to melt into the stretch of your finger in her cunt - just one finger, and her back arches faintly, prettily, hips lifting to take more. “Jesus,” you mutter, but Karina’s not looking at you: her eyes are shut tight, lashes fluttering black, tits heaving in her dress with each draw of breath. You’ve fucked girls who’ve seemed unsure of themselves - embarrassed by their own wantonness, how wet they are, how bad they want it - but all Karina does is wrap her hand around your wrist and tug, once: a clear soundless plea for more.

For a second you’re actually, positively certain that you’ve lost it.

It’s abject fantasy. It can’t be real. You in your apartment with the dream girl - the personal Aphrodite - the muse; God, if anyone was ever made to be a fucking muse, it’s her - underneath you with her ridiculous tits and her tight little pussy, face like a Hollywood dream. Ludicrous. Impossible. Bucking as she tries to fuck herself deeper on your fingers, all the way to the knuckle - slowing down only to say you wanna fuck my cunt open with your big fat cock or what?

“I,” you try to say, strangled - her mouth’s so fucking filthy. “I was - I mean - we could take it slow-”

“How romantic,” says Karina - and this, too, sounds like a heinous insult coming from her - but she drags your wrist to her lips and sucks her own slick off your hand anyway.

You choke on your next breath. “Karina-”

She looks up at you, unflinching, tits half out of her dress and cunt dripping down her thighs. Lipstick worn-down, kissed-off. All over your mouth, or your throat, or your shirt. Mouth chapped from the cold and stained marvelously pink. There’s something in the way her smile forms slight and crooked every time you say her name, as if there’s some private joke you’re not in on.

“You’re such a gentleman,” Karina purrs, all syrupy-sweet condescension. Then: “You really don’t have to be.”

She licks the pad of your finger. She’s so completely shameless. You feel monstrous on top of her, in this sick, superior way, like she’s just too small to be so sopping wet and slutty and fuckable - too beautiful to be anything but treated just right.

“If you want me to fuck you like a whore, baby,” you tell her, half-joking, “then just say that.”

It’s a mistake the moment it leaves your mouth - a line crossed. Because all Karina does is cock her head, your wrist gripped delicately in her hand, her legs parted underneath you, and stares. Almost droll, bemused. Like you’re so goddamn predictable.

“Didn’t you hear me?” That perfect face sears right through you. You’d nearly fucked that face. Not quite. Not yet. “I want whatever you want.”

She’s even tinier than you originally thought she was. You only realize this now, tracing her stomach under your fingertips, feeling the sharp relief of each rib straining beneath her skin. You don’t know it until you touch her, but you can span the width of her thigh under one hand. It sends a strange shiver through you: mapping every jut of bone, every startling edge. She’s tiny. Breakable, practically. Men meaner than you have probably thrown her around, fucked her up against walls, used her like a toy.

“So,” says Karina. “What do you want?”

Your fist clenches tight in her grasp, right in front of her face, knuckles going horrifically white.

Like you - like you’re going to-

An accident. A primal sort of gesture, like you’re less than human, turned under her touch into some feral hot-blooded animal who can’t control itself: carnivorous, predatory. You stare at your own hand and then the sharp scythelike curve of her mouth and feel revolted embarrassment crawl straight up your spine.

It’s abhorrent.

It also doesn’t even seem to matter.

Karina doesn’t go wide-eyed and nervous; she doesn’t look at your wound fist like she’s scared of what it could do to her. She clicks her tongue, once. Like this, too, is something she already saw coming.

“I thought so,” she says, anyway. Maybe this is it, what does it for her; looking the devil full in the face and begging to be burned. “Then do it.”

“I can’t do that to you,” you mutter, but you tug her dress up, and you fuck her anyway.

She’s a stranger. This is the point of fucking strangers. To do things to them that you’d never do to anyone else - to take out your worst impulses and tell your best lies and know that none of it matters, in the end. Because they’re nobody, and because you’ll never see them again.

But you just can’t.

She’s too indulgent and stunning and soft, with her low moans and the addicting drenched heat of her cunt, hand gentle and careful on the nape of your neck so she can keep pulling you into a kiss. She’s made up of curves, delicate edges - those hips and those tits you can’t keep your hands off of and her lips in a dreamy smile - and you find yourself stroking her hair back from her face so you can drink it all in: the blush in her cheeks, the almost serene way she lets her eyes slip shut and her mouth drop open, slack and enticingly wet. So good, baby, you keep telling her, because she is, her entire body warm and wanting and so easily fucked open, little pussy swallowing your cock right up. She doesn’t fidget or plead. She’s so sweet, such a perfect fit, humming into your mouth as your cock eases her open; so wet you can hear it, the sloppy squelch of her cunt when you bottom out. Your voice comes out coaxing. You like that? That feel good? Taking my cock so nicely, huh?

“Mmm,” Karina breathes, in an exhilarating moan, right into your mouth, against your tongue. “Mm, mm-”

She never quite manages full sentences. Never finds it in herself to make any more obscene demands. Just gets all small and soaking underneath you, licks messily at your bottom lip, and lets you do all the talking - lets you draw a careful hand through her hair and drop your other one between her thighs, clenches tight around your cock when you rub at her clit, keens low in her throat and listens. To the good girl, to the I got you, baby, to the that’s it, there you go, this is what you wanted - I know, honey, I know, you just needed to get this cunt fucked right, you just needed to cum real bad. I know what this is. I know what you need.

“Fuck.” She’s flushed pink to her chest, delightfully ineloquent. “Yes-”

Well - good thing you’re decent with your words, when it counts. Let Karina blush and drool and slick up your cock with every stroke. That’ll work just fine with you.

It’s the kind of juxtaposition you’d really lean into - the kind of thing you’d write just to get so self-indulgent with, a personalized note to the director, a wink and a nudge to every audience member. Look at that. Look at her eyes like something straight out of poetry. Look at her body like a pornographic fantasy. Look at how she gets so tamed and docile and compliant when she gets her tiny pussy stuffed full, creaming all over that cock, huge tits bouncing - look, that’s art, isn’t it? What else would you call it? What else could it be?

“You gonna cum, baby?” She’s so fragile underneath you. Color staining her cheeks apple-red; lips swollen and begging to be kissed. Fictive little fairy tale. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah.” It’s breathy and barely-there. Her chin trembles, jerks in a weak nod. “I’m - I - fuck-”

See: you just can’t rough her up. It’d be blasphemous. Sacrilege. Taking one single look at the stained-glass windows of a church and tearing it all to the ground.

Still, you’re mesmerized by how utterly vulnerable she looks: the glossy shine to her irises; the way she inhales all slow and shaky, body slipping from some sort of precipice. Not just like she’s near-tears, but like she’s stunned - struck dumb from a violent blow, mouth wide open in the aftermath. And it’s just sex - and, fuck, you’ve said it, you see things the way every obsessive artist does; sex is never just sex. Every one thing means something more. A metaphor. An allegory. You get nasty and debauched and dirty because you know exactly what you can spin it into. Put the entire scene in a silent film and everyone can swoon about the things you might be saying to her, this impossibly captivating stranger in your bed with her graceful name, her dizzying moans, her shuddering frame in her orgasm. Don’t you get it? you could be telling her, hand brushing gently over her sweat-damp hairline. Don’t you feel that? You’re a stranger to me, baby, but you don’t have to be. There’s a reason we met. There’s a meant-to-be here, somewhere. I’m not a believer, sweetheart, but you could make one out of me - I swear you could, I promise-

But that’s the reason why these things are best left to the imagination, anyway.

A million scripted sweet nothings - and none of them manage to make it out of your mouth.

“Karina.” Your hips jerk hard. You sound half-possessed. “So pretty, cumming all over my cock like that. Such a perfect little cunt, baby - so fucking good-”

Her eyes suddenly shut tight; her body arcs into your touch, lips parted in a silent gasp. And for a second it seems like such a snapshot of innocence, like she’s brand-new to getting fucked quick and rough and dirty - though you know this can’t possibly be the truth, not with the way she flirts and whines and drips for more like she’s made for it - but she’s trembling under your fingertips, and you can dream. She’s your beautiful stranger, your pristine muse; you can pretend she’s whatever the fuck you want.

“God,” Karina murmurs, so soft and weak it makes your head spin.

Before you know what you’re doing - before you can even think twice about it - you’re pulling out, and cumming all over her stomach.

You can’t help it. You shouldn’t have had that thought about innocence. Jesus. This is what you mean, about you and your own painful humanity; you’ve got all the same vile desires. When you see a pure thing - all that porcelain skin, all that thick glossy black hair, all those gleaming white teeth in her open mouth - your very first instinct is to fuck it up bad.

You’d do worse, if you were worse - you’d make a real fucking disaster out of her.

“Baby,” you say, breathlessly. “Are you…”

And Karina, then, does something truly evil:

Sighs luxuriously, stretches her arms above her head, eases those gorgeous eyes open, and smiles.

As if she’s reveling in it. The scent of sex - the defiled tautness of her tummy - the way you’re not sure where her little red dress or her shoes or her panties are, how her cunt’s dripping wet onto your sheets, her hair a glorious mess. Grinning in the face of utter filth.

“You,” you exhale, running your palm down her side. “You’re so…”

Karina’s mouth pulls up at a corner, like she’s daring you to finish the sentence, but you never do.

You can’t stop staring at the stretch of cum-covered skin before you. Coating her belly, pooling into her navel. You realize with a start that there’s a new bruise blooming on her chest, a vicious sort of bite mark. You can’t remember when you did that. You’d been kissing her - of course you kissed her - her mouth and her neck and her tits, but you’d been so gentle, sucking light and soothing her skin with your tongue after-

“You didn’t want to cum inside me?” Karina asks, hoarsely.

You blink so hard your vision blurs. “What?”

“Right.” Her eyeshadow’s smudged dark underneath her eyes, making her look deliciously used up. “You did want to cum inside me.”

“Karina,” you warn - or, at least, you mean to make it sound like a warning - but her name comes out too faint. It’s horrific. Your hand traces her hipbone so reverently. You’re no match for her.

Karina arches a brow in unhurried challenge, ghosts her hand across her tummy. Takes two fingers and drags them through the cum you spilled, pulls back with it clinging thickly to her skin. Drifts down, down, down.

“Karina,” you try to say again, even more pathetic than last time. “Jesus-”

But you saying her name holds no weight here; she’s made that more than obvious. Nothing to stop her as she smears her cum-slick fingers across her glistening pussy, gaze locked amusedly on your face, tracking your reaction. She’s still so fucking wet - she rubs your cum in circles across her clit - tossing her head back a little, chest heaving and falling, fingertips just barely dipping inside her cunt-

“I can’t.” Karina lifts her hand to pop her fingers in her mouth, sucks them clean. Pointedly flashes her too-sharp nails at you like she’s unsheathing claws. “If you want it, you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

“You,” you say, though your hand’s already pressing hard into her ribs, “are fucking cruel, baby.”

“And you,” replies Karina, head tilting, “just want to see my cunt all filled up and leaking your cum.”

Oh, she hasn’t been wrong about you all night. She certainly won’t start now.

“What?” A sly, languid smirk tugs at her lips. “Afraid you’re gonna knock me up or something?”

Your breath halts right in your lungs.

You’d been right about her too, it seems. Succubus. Vampire. She must be; she’s bloodthirsty. Tits gleaming with sweat, the scarlet stain of that bite mark you can’t remember leaving, cunt all dripping wet and desperately empty - body like a fatal fucking blow.

Karina’s eyes glint. I want what you want, she’d said.

With the way she spreads her legs, she’s gotta be ready to prove it.

So you never stood a chance. You give in and scoop up cum with one finger and sink it deep inside her aching cunt, feeling as she clenches down, as she takes it so well; like a good girl, you tell her, letting me do whatever I want with this needy little cunt; that’s my good girl. Karina lifts her hips - goes so still and so obedient - and lets you repeat it over and over again, fucking into her with your fingers until the plane of her stomach is bare and sticky and her cunt’s dribbling your cum onto your sheets. It’s completely nasty. It’s hot. It’s Karina craning her neck back and shutting her eyes as you bury three fingers inside of her and fill her with your cum, every part of her in utter surrender, entirely at your mercy, breathing out hard through her nose until your thumb rubs at her clit and she’s cumming again, all over your hand. She gets this look on her face, afterwards - exhausted, every line of her face gentle and lax - staring up at you like you’re the only person still left on this planet. Adoring, almost. As if you’re something out of another world.

It’s an expression too sweet for a scene like this - and it’s exactly what men like you make art about.

“There,” you say, soft and mesmerized, wiping your hand across her chest. “Satisfied?”

Karina laughs her strange, gravelly, gorgeous laugh.

“No,” she says, shamelessly. “But that’s not your fault.”

Your fingers curl around the curve of her jaw. “No?”

She barely looks like she belongs in your bed - she must be something divine, lit from within, god-blessedly gorgeous. She’s a fucking fever dream: stunning eyes and the bob of her throat and her tits and her curves and all that hair. Stay, you think of telling her. Let me see what I can make of you. I don’t know you yet but I could, baby, I really could.

“Nope.” Karina smiles, and somewhere, soliloquies are writing themselves. “I always want more.”

“Okay,” you say, mouth hovering over hers. “Then stay.”

So she stays.

(An update on your script:

The stranger and the girl are back at his place. They’re sitting on his couch. Nobody has cleaned off her neck. He’s been too busy pawing at her: at her face, between her legs, at her tits in her tight dress. I need you, he’s been murmuring to her, and it feels like he really means it: like he’ll die if he doesn’t get her desperate and whining underneath him, his cock stretching her tight little cunt wide open. He doesn’t feel too bad about it. She’s a dirty slut. She’s said as much. She’s got her own needs, too.

What happened to your window? she asks, suddenly.

He pulls back from her chest, his spit clinging shiny to her skin.

She isn’t looking at him. He has the sudden, unnerving feeling that she hasn’t been looking at him the whole time. Not like she’s had her eyes closed in blinding, overwhelming pleasure - but like she’s deliberately been trying to look at anything else.

But his hand falls between her thighs, and he realizes she’s already wet.

A bird flew into it, probably, he says. That happens, sometimes.

They’re talking about the stain on the once-clean glass of his window. The backdrop of the night sky behind means it’s barely visible, but the suggestion of it is enough. Implicit gore. Tiny little black feathers, caked in blood from the impact, dark and dried. It’ll be scrubbed off soon enough, he knows. It’ll be all gone eventually.

Oh, she says. She doesn’t apologize for potentially killing the mood. She hasn’t, anyway, not really. She’s still wet and small underneath him, begging for it. Poor thing.

Yeah, he says.

She turns back to him. Her hair’s everywhere, all over the arm of his couch, wayward strands beneath his fingers. She’s clearly expecting something - to be kissed, to be fucked hard, to be called baby and angel and good girl. It doesn’t really matter either way. Those are the only things he can give her.

He stares at the blood on her neck.

Let me clean that off for you, actually, he says, and goes to the kitchen to get a washcloth.)

Much, much later:

“I admire you,” Karina says, all tucked up in your bed, underneath your sheets, half-buried into your side. Moonlight bleeds into the room. Her eyes gleam like galaxies. “For showing some self-control.”

“What?”

Karina’s hair pours over your pillowcase. She takes your hand and brings it close to her face, working your fingers into a tight fist.

“Fucking bitch,” you mutter, and then regret it immediately. It lands too harshly, too strange and serious. “Sorry. I didn’t - that came out weird. I don’t think you’re a bitch.”

Karina’s lips brush your knuckles. “Not the meanest thing I’ve been called.” Her voice twists with humor. She shouldn’t be so comfortable curled up with a man she doesn’t know in the middle of the night. You think of kissing her hard, of scraping her neck with your teeth, of warning her about self-preservation - sweetheart, you could tell her, this is how people end up dead. “Not the meanest thing I’ll be called, either.”

You shift. Your fist, unconsciously, goes tense in her hand. “What’s your deal?”

Her mouth tilts. “What’s yours?”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re unbearable,” you say softly, which feels much kinder than calling her a bitch. “What are you - what do you mean?”

I’m not hard to figure out, you want to tell her. I’ll let you in if you ask me to. But you - you, you imagine saying, cupping Karina’s face in your hands and saying her name like you’re praying to her, drafting scenes in your head with each whispered syllable - you. Look at you. I’d fill a thousand pages trying to find a way to understand you.

“If you want to hurt me,” Karina says, “then hurt me.”

Your throat dries up. Your fist falls open. “What?”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. You see her tongue dart over her bottom lip, the slick glimmer of spit. “If that’s what you wanted.”

You stare at her, hard.

It’s not difficult to make out her silhouette in the dark; she’s illuminated so distinctly by the moon, like it’s her own on-set spotlight, professionally arranged - she’s got the cosmos calling her shots. You think about how careful you’d been with her: doing what she wanted and making her cum and kissing her like you have history and maybe fucking her like you love her, just a little.

You think about that bruise you left on her chest, her skin between your teeth, the feeling of biting down.

“It’s not,” you say, and the lie tastes acrid in your mouth. “It’s - it’s not, Karina.”

“You fucked my face in public within like an hour of meeting me. And fucked me and came on my stomach. And fingered your cum inside of me.” It’s far past midnight. She sounds more alert than she should. “You’re gonna start being polite now?”

It sends an odd knot to your gut, the way she puts it. Equating all of that to hurting her. Laughing in the face of your clenched fist - not because she thinks you won’t do it, but because she knows how bad you want it.

Hurt me. She says it like it’s so easy. Fuck me. Let me stay the night. Hurt me; you’ve earned it.

“I’m not polite.” The truth doesn’t taste much better. “I just have, you know, common fucking decency.”

“Hm,” Karina says, a nonchalant little noise, and nothing else.

You brush her hair off her neck and your fingertips graze the hollow of her throat. You feel her swallow under your touch. You open your mouth, though you’re not sure what you’re about to say - Karina, like a chant, like she’s consumed you in a matter of moments, Karina - but she shuts her eyes delicately, and curls close to you, and just like that the moment is over.

I have common decency, you’d said. I won’t hurt you. I promise. I can control myself.

So maybe you weren’t right about everything. You’re not the devil. That’d be a delusion of grandeur - the idea that you’d ever have that kind of power over a girl like her.

Not for long, she’d replied, in the knowing tilt of her smile. Not if I can help it.

In the morning, it’s a picture of crime-scene proportions. It takes a little work to piece it all together.

Karina’s not in bed when you wake up, but there are traces of her everywhere - telltale, incriminating bits of evidence. Strands of her hair on the pillow. Blood-red lipstick stains on the fabric. Her crimson dress crumpled on your bedroom floor, sporting a tiny tear in the hem that you don’t remember leaving; you can still smell her perfume all over your sheets, like a calling card. If this was a TV drama - a clichéd police procedural - she’d probably be dead in your living room right now, blank-eyed and beyond saving, rigor mortis deforming her perfect body into something grotesque.

This is also probably not a thought you should ever relay to Karina, but you do anyway.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she replies. She’s perched on your kitchen counter, dressed in one of your t-shirts, bare legs swinging. “I’m very much alive.”

“I was being dramatic,” you try to say, gesturing with your hands to set the scene - the lighting, the fake blood and the special effects, the potential pallor of her face. “I’m - I’m a screenwriter. It’s in my nature. I didn’t mean I wanted to find your fucking corpse out here-”

“It’s okay if you did.”

You choke. “What?”

“I’m right with you, babe.” Karina leans forward conspiratorially. There’s a sharpness to the dark glint in her eyes that kind of makes you think she really does understand: that she has the same tendency to jump to the worst possible conclusions. A kindred, morbid spirit. “I get it. I’m pretty devastated that I’m still breathing, too.”

She says this all in a scratchy, sultry voice, hoarse as though she’s been sleeping for years instead of hours. Lashes fluttering like she’s just told you something very adorable and sweet.

“God,” you say, desperately charmed, and laugh until you feel light-headed. “You’re sick.”

Karina’s mouth curls. “Right.”

“I’m serious.” It’s surreal: her wearing your clothes and sitting on your counter like this is an everyday occurrence, indulging every fucked-up thing you say to her. Maybe you’re still caught somewhere in a dream, just waiting to wake up. “You’re, like - not normal.”

“Hey.” A light, careless shrug; her palm rests over the back of her neck. “No arguments here.”

You rub a hand over your eyes, smiling like an idiot, and take a breath.

It’s late January, and cool sunlight drips into the room, over your furniture and your floors and the angel right in the middle of your kitchen. It should wash her out, blur her at the edges; it doesn’t even come close. Turns her to a freeze frame instead, carefully color-graded, every hue just a bit too intense: skin ghost-pale, lips pouty and pink, hair jet-black and tangled to her waist. Your shirt hangs off of her slender frame like it aims to swallow her up. You thought you’d been stunned by Karina before, lulled by the late night, the electric rush of touching her - you’d assumed you could blame it on the alcohol, the slutty dress and the sultry makeup and the long-held habit of artistic romanticization-

But it’s nothing compared to seeing her now.

Karina crosses one leg over the other, and waits as though expecting a rating: to be starred out of five like a film.

Face scrubbed clean. Bone structure a study of faultless symmetry, delicate in a way that feels both inhuman and invulnerable. She’s so classically breathtaking - a miraculous second coming of a tragic, iconic movie star, a phenomenon back from the grave; jaw and nose and mouth all clean lines, aesthetically precise art - but God, those eyes. Enormous without the thick liner, suggestive only of impossible innocence. Like some darling baby animal, some long-lashed lamb to the slaughter - something pristine and completely untouched.

The morning after, the direct light, the exposed behind-the-scenes - she’s still beyond beautiful.

And somehow she’s still here with you.

“That’s insane, by the way,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “That you stayed.”

There’s a loud cracking sound.

You squint, disoriented. “What-”

Karina blinks at you, wide-eyed; her jaw shifts. The sound echoes again, startling and sudden. “What?”

“Are-” You step closer. “Are you chewing on fucking glass or something?”

“Or something,” Karina replies, smile’s tiny and closed-off. She gestures to the cup next to her. “It’s just ice.”

She’s so calm watching you approach her. You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the freakout, for the breakdown - or, at the very least, the scrambling excuses before the walk of shame. Here’s the truth: she doesn’t know you. Here’s an even worse truth: judging by her hickey that looks like you might’ve tried to rip her throat out earlier, she’d have every right to take one look at you and run.

Karina doesn’t do any of it. Just raises her cup to her lips and tips it back, the arc of her neck so inviting.

“That’s so fucking bad for your enamel.” You’re laughing again. You’re in front of her now, settled between her legs. “You’re gonna break a tooth.”

Karina sets her glass down. Wipes the corner of her mouth with her wrist, eyes locked amusedly on yours - heavy-lidded enough to seem lazy, but pupils blown enough to be a siren call, a deliberate suggestion.

“Oh, no,” she says, all smoky sarcasm. “Who’d ever want me then?”

She parts her thighs the second you touch them; her body’s so obedient under your fingertips, like a doll’s, something to be dressed up and posed and played with. Daring you to do everything you’re already thinking about doing.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, and give in completely.

So:

Look, you know exactly how the movies would frame this. Pandering to the wide-eyed teenagers and hopeless romantics; adding the swell of strings every time your eyes or hands or lips meet, each motion accompanied with unsubtle cues - there’s the meet-cute, there’s the moment, there’s the love-at-first-sight. It’s ridiculous to drag any of that into your real life, of course. It’d be like believing in God. Giving up logic to put your faith in something silly and mythic and implausible - to follow true love like a religion, expecting it to save your soul; to pray to the one like a healing property, a benevolent higher power.

You can’t believe in that. You can’t.

But-

Karina pulls back the barest amount, eyelids fluttering open like a new day dawning, and smiles when she sees the look on your face. So sweet and gorgeous; so struck and adoring. So comfortable wrapped up in your arms.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

And - as though it’s some bone-deep instinct, saturating your bloodstream - you just have to kiss her again.

Don’t you feel that? you think of telling her again, your hand slipping to cup her cheek - the sentiment always seems to come back around. You swear you can see scenes flashing behind your eyelids, the beginnings of a creative epiphany; it must be seeping through your fingers, staining her skin with ink, every possible action depicted neatly between brackets. A laugh, a look, a touch. A version of Karina projected across the silver screen to a wild, wanting audience. Don’t you see what you could do for me? What you’re capable of becoming?

You can’t believe in any of this, but it’s gotta be something close.

The feeling doesn’t end when the kiss does: only intensifies, made tangible somehow. Sculpted into the spit-slick curve of her lips, the flinty gleam in her eye. Like she feels it too. Like she knows.

“And it’s not insane that I stayed,” Karina says, belatedly. “You asked me to.”

For a moment you just stare at her, seconds from her mouth and speechless.

It’s the truth without difficulty. It’s a confession with no strings attached. It’s the fucking dangerous way she says it - as if whatever you want extends to a lot more than sex.

“And you don’t-” Your throat closes over a swallow; you find your eyes darting between hers, searching for anything but honesty. “You don’t think that’s insane? Doing whatever a stranger tells you to?”

Karina only laughs her strange laugh, gritty the way good music is, demanding to be heard.

“Nope,” she says, like this is all so simple. “That’s just what I do.”

It’s unbearably filthy in its implication - and it’s exactly what you need.

The room seems to fill with potential, fantasies pouring in from the ceiling, enough to bloat any manuscript to its breaking point. You let out a breathless laugh, loud and unabashed. You think of pushing for even more, pressing your nails in and digging deeper - why me, why this, why now - but Karina leans in close before you can and slots her mouth to yours, and you’re no fool: there’s no line of questioning worth giving that up.

Seems like you’ll have to come up with this character motivation all on your own.

“Look at us,” she murmurs against your lips - meaning this very minute, the chemistry, how every glittering star must’ve conspired to get you here. “Kinda feels like this was meant to be, huh?”

She’s clearly kidding, because it’s too soon and too fucking crazy, but-

Well, the way you kiss her then is absolutely your version of a yes.

Here’s something people should probably know about artists like you:

You’re rather enamored with the idea of a magnum opus.

It’s a natural thing to reach for, to visualize - the concept of your one great masterpiece. Something you can pour years and years into, water into roaring reckless oceans; time transforming the things you make into something worth remembering forever. Everyone you know - your sculptors, your songwriters - has their own version of this, somewhere. When I finally create this one perfect thing I’ll be - go on, fill in the blank. Fulfilled. Gratified. Happy. When I finally do this, I’ll feel whole.

It’s strangely fantastical. A lifelong dream a kid would have - a childlike, storybook aspiration.

Yours - as far as you’ve figured out - looks a little like this:

“It’s not as romantic as it should be,” you admit, now. “I’m not really into that as a theme. True love, I mean. Or optimism. Or hope. I want something more…” Something rougher, you mean. Something with pain. Something with blood and bruises. “Nuanced, you know? Complicated, messy.”

“I get it,” replies Karina. She has her hands twisted in her lap, watching you very closely. You’re obsessed with the way she looks at you - like she’s drinking every word in with those smoldering dark eyes, greedy for more. For you. “All the best art is about pain, huh?”

You snap your fingers, pleased to be understood. “Exactly.”

Karina smiles, small and knowing, and gestures you on.

In your vision, your magnum opus is always about a girl. Like you said, it’s the way it goes with all the best films ever made: not about love, but the futility of it lasting. Think of all the famed examples - think of the filmmakers and their obsessions, sneaking the great loves of their lives between each line: there’s something she said, there’s a dress she wore, there’s a conversation they had in the middle of the night, tangled up in sheets and whispering against skin. Your future muse will be just like that. A reincarnation of the infamous women who haunt all the greatest artists - an amalgamation of their bodies contorted into narratives and replicated in loving, graphic detail. Someone with skin like marble, a statue you could take a sledgehammer to. Someone who looks unfathomably pretty when she cries.

Someone like-

“Uh-huh,” says Karina. She must’ve just gotten out of the shower before you found her, because her hair’s damp enough to have left wet patches on your t-shirt. She licks her bottom lip, once. “Sure.”

Someone to be what you’ve always wanted: a flawless girl to fall from the sky into your lap. To fulfill your promise to yourself: when I meet her, I’ll know. I’ll be able to make this movie. When I meet her, everything will slip exactly into place.

Karina cracks another ice cube between her teeth.

“So,” she says, low with insinuation. “When you told me last night that you found me inspiring…”

She doesn’t need to finish the question. She knows exactly what you want.

“You’re…” You shake your head. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I saw you and I just - I felt like I knew. I knew. I wanted you.” You shrug helplessly, smiling. “Do you think I’m nuts?”

She should, probably. You’re a total stranger, a practical lunatic, an artist talking of your visions like you’re possessed. You don’t know her - that’s the reality of the situation. You don’t know her.

But then there’s everything else.

The unbelievable sex, the staying the night; the way she lets you touch her, blinking slow and subservient, like you already have a claim to her body. You think muse and you think in abstract concepts, glittering stars, guiding lights; you think of skin cut up and sewn together, of creators and their finest monsters, of the implicit poetry in the undoing. You think muse and you think of the way Karina smiles at you now, full lips and frail bones, a painter’s portrait reference. Unmoving, unafraid. Too otherworldly for your day-to-day but just right when she’s in your arms, like a trial-run demonstration: this is what we’re capable of. You could make it happen. You could make me fit.

You swear you’ve been dreaming of someone like her your whole fucking life.

You think muse, and now you can only think of her.

It’s a sign. It must be. And this, the next one:

“No,” Karina says, easily. “I think you’re just like everyone else.” But she raises an eyebrow, so you know it’s a joke. “I think you’re all the same.”

You laugh, delighted; Karina’s smile widens, shows her teeth. “Shut up.”

Karina acquiesces immediately - claps a hand over her mouth like it’ll keep any other words from escaping. It’s so adorable that you can’t keep yourself from pouncing, suddenly all over her like an animal: wrenching her thin wrist down, fingers threading through her hair, tugging her lips to yours as if you’ve been starved and she’s something to devour. She’s so cold, ice still melting on her tongue; even her body feels glacial, more porcelain than real. It drives you wild - the stunning impossibility of her. The desire to see it all reworked, unwound, shattered.

“So,” you breathe over her mouth. “I can write about you?”

“Babe.” Karina’s dark eyes sparkle, frozen-over streets in the mid-winter sun. “You can do anything you want with me.”

That’s the whole point of having a muse, after all. Everything they are becomes yours.

“But,” you can’t help saying right after: “you don’t have to be, like - concerned. About what I said. About art and pain. I mean…” You falter. You’re standing in between her spread legs now, thumbing the sharp curve of her jaw. “It’s fiction. I’m not that kind of guy in real life - I’m not going to hurt you.”

Karina just stares at you, sentiment clear and unspoken.

“Not like - not seriously.” You roll your eyes, laughing it off. “Not like that.”

“Not like that,” Karina echoes. The hickey on her neck seems to flush redder every time you look at it - a photograph in a darkroom, developing. “But in other ways.”

Your mouth opens, but whatever defense you might’ve had gets traitorously stuck in your throat.

Karina laughs hoarsely, lets you trace her bottom lip with a finger. She seems to get the picture - that you’d love to see it bitten and bloody, but only ever in the name of art. There’s a kind of sick, sadistic beauty in destruction, battles waged and lost. She leans into your touch like she’s seen all the war films and knows precisely why they’re so well-loved.

“For the record,” she tells you, arms looped loosely around your neck: “I look very pretty when I cry.”

“Jesus Christ.” You’re smiling. She couldn’t be more perfect if you’d dreamt her up yourself. “Then I guess I’ll have to make it happen.��

It’s like fate, probably.

(Up next in your script:

The girl is standing in the stranger’s bathroom. She’s turning a little glass perfume bottle over in her hands when he stops in the doorway. He’s perfectly content to watch her; she’s the kind of beautiful that deserves to be observed, like some exotic wild animal caged between four walls in an elaborate exhibit, mildly unaware of all the attention. Her hair is messy; her head is tilted down. Unseeing.

Oh, he says. That was my-

Except he doesn’t even get the rest of the sentence out before the girl whirls around, and the bottle slips from her hand and shatters on the floor.

Jesus. The stranger jolts back. Jumpy. He’s not too concerned about the broken bottle; it’s not his, anyway. Why the fuck did you do that?

Sorry, the girl says. She’s leaning rather casually against the counter, observing the glass covering the ground, the sickly-sweet smell of the perfume sticking to the tile. Honeysuckle and the sharp note of alcohol, rendered unrecognizable. You scared me.

He looks down. A crystalline stretch of tiny little shards - if she tried to move she’d slice her foot open.

No worries, he says. Hold on.

He ducks into the kitchen to get a broom and when he comes back he stops in his tracks. There’s something slightly off about the picture in front of him. She’s small against the background counter, frozen, barely blinking. Everything about her looks suddenly frail, fair skin ghostly underneath shitty bathroom lighting, cheekbones gaunt and sunken-in, hair pouring ink-black in endless waves. A vengeful spirit. An incorporeal haunting.

Did you…? he starts to say, thrown.

She blinks, finally. Did I what?

He pauses, reassesses. She’s gorgeous. She’s art. She’s vibrantly alive.

Never mind, he says.

It seems kind of like she’d moved, but he can’t tell. He forgets about it. She’s still beautiful and she seems okay and so he steps forward and clears the worst of the glass out of the way.

It’s silly, she says, watching him. I used to know someone who wore that perfume.

It was my ex-girlfriend’s, he says. She left it here a while back. I think it’s a common brand or whatever. Hey, let me help you.

He’s very chivalrous about it, sweeping her off her feet, cradling her bridal-style across the possible remnants of glass. She laughs all the while, playing into it - a princess out of a fairy tale, being carried to safety by some gallant knight. But then he sets her down and cups her ass and says, You gonna pay me back for the property damage or what? and she laughs harder, because there’s nothing funnier than that: sweet moments turned filthy, a startling hairpin turn in intention.

Or - conversely - a revelation of the absolute truth. Because what else could he ever want from her?

So she says, Yeah, sure, take everything, and leans in to kiss him.

It’s a normal kiss, mostly. It’s just that it begins pointedly erotic but seems to turn strange after a second, like he might be gripping her hair too hard, like she might be corpse-limp in his arms, like at any moment he could unhinge his jaw and sprout fangs and swallow her whole, cannibalistic, viperous. There’s too much spit and sound. There’s too much teeth and selfishness. It stretches on too long and lingers where it shouldn’t and overstays its welcome terribly - the score seems to fall off-beat, the lighting seems to shift dark and discolored-

But then the kiss breaks, and it’s over.

When he pulls off of her she looks like the perfect picture of flushed contentment. Eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering, her pouty lips swollen and rosy. Smiling like she wants more, like she wants it so, so bad.

It didn’t get you? he asks finally, looking at her neck, thinking of thorns and pinprick pain and the rivulet of crimson that’d decorated her throat. The glass?

No, she says. Don’t you wanna fuck me now?

Oh, God, he says, grinning, and every other thought melts away into nothing. He likes how she doesn’t play coy. He likes how she’s smaller and has to tilt her chin up to look at him. He wants to fuck her, so he does.

It’s excellent sex. The blood on the tile doesn’t really matter.)

Before you really start writing, there’s just one singular problem: you don’t know anything about her.

“That’s not true,” Karina replies, right away.

You open your mouth, then close it, because - okay, she’s not completely wrong.

For about an hour now you just haven’t been able to stop talking to her. About anything, everything: your start into screenwriting, your favorite novels, your greatest inspirations, your neverending passion for eerie, erotic art. You can’t seem to shut up. And it would be bad - would be making you feel self-conscious right now, if it were anyone else - but it’s just not. Because it’s, well-

It’s you, you told her, thoughtfully, watching as the sun climbed higher into the sky, golden light grazing each scalpel-sharp edge of Karina’s body. You’re easy to talk to. Has anyone ever told you that?

Karina blinked at you. Tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear and looked away, considering it.

She has this way about her: this serene openness to her big eyes, her body language. Leaning back on her hands, humming and nodding and saying I get it, I feel that way too, I understand with such sweet sincerity that you can’t help but believe her. Like a Catholic confessional, a pristinely blank page - something you could pour hours and hours of words into that would never, ever complain.

Yeah, Karina said, finally. She pulled one leg up to her chest; you could see the lacy black of her panties. I get that all the time.

Just one of those people, huh? Her character was taking shape already. A vault for everyone else’s thoughts and ideas, cradling them between her fingers like something infinitely precious. A listener. Such a lovely trait; a perfect protagonist characteristic. An observer.

Yeah. Her cheek rested gently against a knobby knee. Exactly.

It’s something of an art study. You’ve been filing away these details about Karina since the moment you met her, unraveling her bit by bit.

She always seems to think deeply before she speaks, a sort of charming self-scripting, like she wants to make sure she gets every sentence just right. She makes silence seem like the most natural thing in the world. She doesn’t laugh nervously or blush or get embarrassed, ever. She’d mentioned offhand during one of your tangents about your most beloved movies that she tends to like films about gorgeous, dangerous, scarily self-possessed girls: Thirteen and Black Swan and Girl, Interrupted. She seems both intensely present and consistently lost in thought, there one moment and gone the next, her long-lashed gaze falling in and out of focus like a camera lens. A contradiction, you think to yourself. An enigma, even. Profoundly complicated. Not just a girl but something more.

Art in and of itself, displayed deliberately on your kitchen counter, waiting to be understood.

“No, you’re right.” Your fingers have strayed to your open laptop; you’re seconds from typing Karina’s name like a title, something you’ve created all on your own. “I know…”

You’re trying to think of something nonchalant to say and failing. I know you - the first instinct, somehow. I know you’re something brilliant and remarkable and new. I know I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. I know there’s something here, I know what I feel, I know what I want - you, you, you.

Karina stares at the ice melting in her glass.

Then she says, mouth tripping up at a corner: “You know I’m a world-class fuck.”

“Jesus.” You laugh out loud, surprised. “Okay, yeah. That.” A pause. “And, obviously-”

“Obviously,” Karina echoes, like she knows where this is going.

“I know that you’re, like - outrageously fucking beautiful.”

Karina hums once, letting the compliment wash over her, and turns to look out the window.

You bite down on your lip - bite back all the other too-soon things you could say about her, threatening to claw their way out of your mouth - and go in on your script instead.

It’s shockingly easy to write with her in the room. The details seem to stitch themselves together on-page, the restorative aftermath of an autopsy: sealing the slit chest cavity back up, prepping a corpse for an open casket, making something disconnected whole and beautiful again. You’d pulled these specifics from her like pulsing, throbbing organs - her tits, her tone, her tiny waist - and now all you’re doing is repurposing them. You know her body now. You turn stretches of pale, bruised-pink skin into prose, the curl of her little fingers around her thigh into dialogue. You imagine taking that perfect frame and picking it apart again, bit by bit; not just undressing her but peeling back layers of flesh, familiarizing yourself with the stark scarlet of her bloodstream. Until there’s nothing to hide and you can finally say it - I know you - and it’ll feel earned, and real, and honest.

All very melodramatic, of course. It’s just the process: the natural consequence of being a writer.

Your eyes trace the jutting protrusion of muscle in Karina’s throat, and you think about fucking her again.

“Also,” you say, as though your earlier conversation isn’t long over. “I want to know-”

Karina makes a huffy, half-impatient noise.

You grin, gaze flicking back to her face. “What?”

“You want to know more?” Her brows furrow in exaggerated confusion; her smile is absurdly self-deprecating. As if there’s anything she could possibly be insecure about. “You already got the two most interesting things about me, babe.”

“Stop.” Your mouth twitches. “No way.”

Karina’s smile stills in place, expectant. “No?”

“Come on.” Your hand slips from the keyboard to trace her knee. “I’m sure there’s all kinds of interesting things about you I haven’t learned yet.”

The laugh she lets out is quiet and nearly secretive, legs parting to let you touch her. You’re already half in some faraway daydream, wondering if you can bottle the color of her eyes and turn it loose on the page.

“Okay,” Karina says, easily. She nudges your laptop away, scoots closer to you, her sharp chin pointed down at you. “Come and learn them, then.”

“God.” As if that’s what you’re doing. Memorizing her body as some private education; taking her apart in a classroom dissection. “Can I - I’m trying to write, Karina. I’m being productive. I…” You’re shaking your head as though you’re not already giving in, fingers slipping up her thighs - she’s smirking at you like she knows it. “You’re fucking insatiable, you know that?”

“Then satiate me.” Karina’s head tilts, lids heavy. “Fuck me. Use me.” She leans down like she’s telling you a filthy, sordid secret. “Cum in me like I know you want to.”

There’s something surreal about how certain she is: never tripping over her words or waffling over intentions, the most practiced actress you’ve ever seen. Every move - her tongue wetting her bottom lip, her hand sliding gracefully through her hair, her mouth forming a sweet little pout - all clean, choreographed precision.

I know you, she says - like it’s earned, real, honest. Inexplicable, but there anyway. I know you want to.

“Karina.” Her name comes out embarrassingly strangled. You’re pulling her thighs further apart, toying with the edge of her underwear. “You’re such a fucking - you’re so needy.”

Her smirk sharpens even as you tug her panties roughly to the side. “I’m what?”

“Needy.”

“No.” She’s so wet - she’s probably seconds from dissolving into a whimpering breathless thing, begging to be underneath you, begging for more. That damn smirk is probably seconds from shattering completely. “What were you going to call me?”

“Nothing.” You drag a finger down the slick drenched heat of her cunt.

“A slut.” Her voice is a purr, gravelly and sensual. “You think I’m just this fucking slut who needs your cock all the time, huh?”

But it’s the kind of question that you already both know the answer to. Karina takes your finger-fucking so well, hips raised and rutting, hair cutting across her cheekbones - seems to give herself over to desire so fucking easily, with her whole body, back arching and neck craned and hot little cunt a sloppy mess. Never puts up a fight, never demures or acts shy; never says wait or don’t or stop. Only spreads her legs, and drips down your hand, and waits to be fucked good and hard.

And - hey, there’s one dirty word for a girl like that.

“Well.” You raise your eyebrows at her: a challenge. “Are you?”

It’s dangerous. This is all dangerous. Stumbling down a treacherous path, asking a stranger something like this. Are you what I think you are? Do I know you? Do I really?

Karina makes a low, luxurious noise at the stretch of your fingers in her cunt, buried to the knuckle.

“Sure,” she says - and the gleam in her eye tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting herself into. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

So, it’s possible this is really the most interesting thing about her: she’s the kind of girl who never says no.

That scene goes down how all scenes should:

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Karina’s choking out curses like she can’t recall any other words, head lolling back to expose the pretty bob of her throat. You thrust deep right then and she lets out a sound like an aching gasp, like you’ve doubled down with a fist to her gut, like you’re knocking the the air right out of her; you might as well be - oh, she moans, like she could be in shock or awe or pain - with the way you’ve got one of her thighs pulled up so you can fuck deep into her tight dripping cunt. It’s not nice, not really. Her back keeps hitting your counter. You keep staring at her neck and her hair and her face: the faint flush of her cheeks, the flawless construction of her bones underneath - there’s so much unmarked skin - God, she’s so clean, it’s like she’s never been fucking touched-

“You gonna cum for me?” you murmur, voice coming out thick and half-animalistic.

She has one hand curled around the back of your neck. She’s got those ridiculous clawed nails on her but she never presses down. Her pussy can’t stop clenching around your cock but she takes it so well, lets you make room inside her little cunt, shuts her eyes and trips over her own breath as you force her spine hard against your counter over and over again.

“Karina.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, raspy and strained, as your cock stretches her out. “Fuck, yeah-”

“Cum for me, honey. Cum all over my cock - oh, there you go, good girl-”

It’s hypnotic. The tiny bitten-off sounds spilling from her ice-cold mouth - that small pristine face and all that hair tangled to her waist, just available to be knotted and tugged and fucked all the way up - Karina clings to you when she cums, and you feel so much bigger than her when she does, like you’ve got her sloppy and open around your cock and you could do anything to her, that’s what she told you, and even if she hadn’t, it’s not like she could stop you - she’s gorgeous but she doesn’t have it in her - she’s just too fucking delicate-

It happens too fast to process.

One minute you’re buried inside her pussy and the next Karina’s on her knees, on the ground, and you’re jerking your cock until you’re cumming all over her.

It’s obscene. It’s fucking inevitable. Thick ropes of creamy cum coating her forehead, her cheekbone, her nose and mouth and getting all in that hair-

Her hair. You don’t realize how hard you’re gripping her hair with one hand - balled in a brutal fist at the back of her head - until you disentangle your fingers from it and Karina sinks to the floor like she’s just been cut loose from marionette strings, breathing fast and hard. She doesn’t even say anything: doesn’t comment on the fact that you’d just shoved her straight to the ground or complain when the head of your cock smears cum across her jaw. Doesn’t even flinch when your cock slaps heavy across her cheek, at the indecent sound of the impact.

You’re staring at her, open-mouthed. At her gorgeous, breathtaking, defiled face.

Karina’s not looking at you. Instead, she’s preening in the most lewd, pornographic way possible: swiping her thumb through the cum streaking across her forehead, popping it into her mouth to suck. Halfway through she seems to remember you’re still in the room - seems to recall the value of a performance - and she redirects her gaze up at you, lids heavy, and smirks.

“Did I…” you start, without knowing how the sentence will end. “Did I - was I-”

Karina lifts a cum-covered eyebrow. Her mouth’s an arresting pink, puckering around her thumb like it puckered around the cubes of ice, how her lips formed a ring around your cock back in the bookstore yesterday. She lets it slip free, shiny with spit.

“No,” she says. “You’re good.”

You can’t stop looking at the cum caught in her hairline. She’d been so fucking clean.

You glance down and realize there are strands of black hair broken off in your clenched fist.

Karina’s looking at her hair in your hand too, now, but with a sort of amused detachment. She stands shakily, using the counter for support. There’s cum all over her. Her knees are red from how hard she’d been pushed down.

“You’re so cute,” she tells you, grazing the side of your neck with her fingertips. “There’s no shame in being rough with me, babe.”

“Right.” There’s an unnamed pressure coiling in your chest. “But - but you-”

“Hey.” The word comes out in a rasp, and then Karina laughs, pushing the low hoarse lilt of her voice to its limits. She steps closer, angles her little cum-stained chin up at you. “Are you really gonna tell me you don’t like seeing me covered in your cum?” She’s tonguing the corner of her mouth. “Turning me into a-” her smirk pulls wicked; your next breath hitches so badly- “messy fucking whore for your cock?”

“God,” you get out, because she’s winding an arm around your neck, and her pretty face is still sticky with your cum. “I-”

“It’s what you wanted.” Karina blinks, in a show of such doe-eyed naïveté that saliva begins pooling hot in your mouth - like you’re feral, like you’re rabid. “Isn’t it?”

You’re looking down again. Her knees are going to bruise. Black and blue, as if someone’s bullied her in the schoolyard, pulled her pigtails and knocked her to the asphalt. An echo of something teachers could’ve told her years ago: oh, look, he’s mean to you because he’s got a crush. It’s okay, really - he only hurts you because he likes you.

“You like me like this,” Karina murmurs, dangerously low. “All sloppy and slutty for you.” Her gaze is trained on your mouth. “Marking me up.” Her hair slips from your hand. “Owning me.”

Her name clogs your throat, cloying and candy-sweet. “Karina-”

Karina’s head tilts. “Yes or no?”

She’s too close to you. She’s so filthily beautiful she seems somewhat alien, some kind of foreign invention. Her jaw is smeared with your cum and her flawless teeth shine like jewels and she’s like every creative vision you’ve ever had cut in clips and playing back in a movie theater, made to be scrutinized.

“Yes,” you tell her, winded. “You’re fucking - you’re unreal, you know that?”

You’re smiling like it’s flattery, like it’s an exaggeration. Like she’s not living, breathing, visionary art.

She smiles back, like she knows just how much you really mean it.

“So I’ve been told,” Karina says, and taps your neck, lightly. “Go make breakfast.” She shakes her hair out; some of it gets stuck to the cum on her cheekbone. “I’m taking another shower.”

“Right.” You bite into your bottom lip, hand skimming down her side. “Go get clean.”

“Clean?” She steps back and flashes a disbelieving grin, gestures pointedly at herself - her creamy thighs, her porn star tits in your t-shirt, her body like sex itself. Dirty by design. “Never happening.”

Some cynical part of you keeps waiting for a slip-up, some mistake in a masterfully crafted script - no one can be that gorgeous and still be here with you. But Karina moves and your eyes are hopelessly drawn to the disheveled curtain of her hair spiraling down her back, the sharp distinct lines of her calves, the flex of muscle in her thighs. Her hands, balled into little fists. She’s alluring as if manufactured that way: engineered to be perfectly bruisable, ruinable. It defies logic. It’s movie magic.

“Well.” You snort with laughter, swat at Karina’s ass as she turns to go. “At least you can try.”

You don’t even think she can help it - that’s the thing. It’s just what she was made for.

“What would you have done if I said no, though?” you ask after a moment, as she wavers in the doorway. “Like - what if I told you I didn’t like you like this?”

Karina shrugs.

“I would’ve been something else,” she says, and closes the bathroom door behind her.

(Next:

The stranger and the girl fuck and afterwards he promises her breakfast and then he realizes his cabinets are bare, his fridge painfully unstocked. Sorry, he says, as she pokes around his kitchen. I don’t know how that happened. I usually have something to eat here, I swear.

I don’t mind, she says. Her fingertips sweep his shelves. She seems fascinated by the emptiness, admiring the vacancy. Oh, wait, look.

She finds a half-eaten jar of honey that she ends up scooping up crudely with her fingers, dripping sticky amber down her hand. He’d tell her that’s disgusting but she makes it - as she seems to make everything - into a pointed seduction, her tongue pink and wetly visible, her skin gleaming as she licks it off. It’s funny. He’d never thought it possible to turn eating into some sort of sexual performance but she manages it anyway: meets his eyes, sucks loud and lewd, smacks her lips and wipes her mouth with her thumb, ill-mannered and stunning.

I can’t imagine that’s very filling, he says, delighted by her commitment.

Yeah, well, she says. It’s a good thing I hate feeling full.

But it seems like a moment of hilarious irony when ten minutes later he’s got her bent over his kitchen counter, tits pressed punishingly to the flat surface, honey stuck to her neck and collarbone as she’s fucked hard again and again, stuffed with his cock, his fingers everywhere, like her own body barely even belongs to her - all mine, he keeps saying, and means it; you’re all mine. All filled up. Overfed. Bursting.

Sex is a manner of consuming, it seems. He might as well be eating her alive.)

“Do you do this a lot?”

Eventually, it turns into one of those lazy Saturdays. An afternoon of sitcom plot points.

It’s just so easy to fill the time, the space, the page - you tell Karina some inane story from your college years and she reacts in all the right places like your own built-in studio audience; she says something off-handed and enticingly vague and suddenly you have a new thread of dialogue to explore. You’re both sprawled out over your couch, Karina’s got her thighs tucked over your legs, wearing another one of your t-shirts, a fresh hickey bruising over her throat. There’s something delightfully domestic about it - like you’ve been doing it for a lot longer than you have, or like you could do it eternally if given the chance, holding all the silken comfort of an old routine. When you’d mentioned it - I kind of feel like I could do this forever - she’d laughed her scratchy laugh and said forever’s nowhere near as long as you think it is, babe. A perfectly cinematic line. You stared at her, leaned over, and added it immediately to your draft.

“This whole…” You’re trying to elaborate now, staring at the blinking cursor on your laptop screen. Your knuckles skim her bare, bony knees. “You know.”

“Eloquent.”

“Shut up.”

“I thought you were a writer.”

“Karina.” You’re charmed by the drawl of her voice, the raspy roll of sarcasm. “I’m just wondering.”

Karina shifts in your lap. You’ve got one hand sneaking up the hem of her shirt - your shirt - skating up her tummy, her ribs. You’re probably about five minutes from snapping your laptop shut and pulling her on top of you and saying something crass about her tits and passing it off as a character study.

“What do you mean?” She’s as close to clean as she can be. You made sure of it - licked the hollow of her collarbone earlier after she got out of the shower, tasted nothing but soap and skin. “Do I have a lot of sex with strangers? Or do I stay the night a lot after I have sex with strangers?”

“Both.” You think of taking her hair down, sifting your hand through it, wrapping the strands around your fingers. “All of the above.”

Karina shoots you a look, fluttered lashes, suggestive understanding. You hear it without her having to say it. You want me to tell you that you’re special.

“I’ve kind of been going through a phase,” she says instead, nonchalantly.

Your eyebrows fly up. “A phase?”

“I’ve been, you know.” She gives an airy sigh. “Trying to find myself in the big city. Running wild. Terrified of monogamy but being very brave and quirky about it. Sordid past with love and romance and general human connection. Doing the whole manic pixie dream girl thing.” Her eyes flick to your open laptop, abruptly too wide and innocent. “That sound about right?”

“Fuck off.” It’s a complete non-answer. You run a hand past her stomach, laughing. “You’re fucking with me.”

“What?” Karina inches closer. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Your textbook rom-com love interest?”

You make a rather disparaging sound in the back of your throat. “Ugh.”

“Oh, my bad.” Her mouth curls, contradictory. There’s nothing apologetic about her. “I forgot. You don’t believe in art about love. You wanna see broken people and broken people only.”

“See?” You’re obsessed with her tone; all flirtation, some distorted version of come-hither charm. Talking of suffering like it’s a seduction tactic. “You get it.”

Karina rakes a hand through her hair; her fingers fall to the back of her neck and linger there. She pulls herself out of your lap and turns, hooks one bare long leg over you until she’s straddling you. Your hands find her hips. You’re disarmed by her strange weightlessness, like she’s seconds from either shattering or taking flight.

Then she asks, “Is that what you’re doing with me?”

It’s gotta be a very roundabout request to fuck her stupid, because she follows it up torturously: ducks her chin, parts her lips, rocks her hips down until you groan. You watch her throat, the way muscle works over bone, picturing unspeakable things: taking her by that pretty neck and pinning her to the wall, ripping your shirt right off of her with your fingertips leaving bruises - bending her over to fuck her fast and cruel until her cunt’s raw and aching and leaking your cum - until she’s begging pathetically, saying please, God, please - and you’re triumphant, victorious. Telling her you asked for this, didn’t you? You said anything. You said anything I want.

“Depends,” you reply, when you can breathe again. “Are you a broken person?”

Karina stops, moments from your mouth.

“Depends,” she echoes. “Is that what you want from me?”

It actually takes a beat for the question to sink in. Then two, then-

“No,” you say, loudly. “Obviously not, Karina, Jesus. Why would I…”

You falter.

Karina only looks back at you, patient, tolerant. Like if right now you said that’s exactly it: I want you broken, I want you ruined, I want you decaying and dead and buried, she’d smile and say do your worst. Flashing those white, white teeth, perfect like pearls, ready to be knocked right out and strung together.

You blink the bloody vision away. “Why would I ever want that?”

Karina studies you for a second longer, expression indecipherable.

“Okay,” she agrees, breezily. “Then I’m not broken. I’m just going through a phase, like I said. I don’t like being tied down.” Her shirt rides tantalizingly high up her thighs; her hand slips down to palm your cock. There’s a twist to her lips, a dirty sort of smirk. “You understand that, right?”

You stare at her.

“Right?” Karina prods, again, low and sultry.

“Right,” you say, unable to fight your sudden smile.

The pout of her mouth’s an inevitability; her little body in your lap’s a seductive form of foreshadowing. You dig your fingers into her protruding ribs, playful, and you don’t quite get the squeal of laughter you were expecting - all Karina does is curl closer, expecting more, expecting harder. She knows what you’re capable of. You’re both just biding your time until you cross the same line you’ve been crossing and you fall back into bed again.

“A phase,” you add, considering. It intrigues you, anyway - the casualness, the connotation. “So - I’m not special, then. That’s the moral of this story.”

Karina’s fingers sift gently through your hair. “You wanna be special?”

“I mean, yeah.” Your palm falls to her neck, presses down. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Her eyebrows rise in vague, unconvinced amusement. It makes sense: she’s the most special of all, a cosmic glitch, an angelic fluke. Someone like Karina wouldn’t understand the aching, clawing, consuming desire to be extraordinary. She’s already there.

Your hand on her throat looks even bigger now, tendons straining from underneath skin.

“I think we all want to feel important,” you mumble, thumb grazing gently across her jaw. “Don’t you?”

You’re pretty sure the wry, glittering smile that sits at Karina’s mouth is an answer in itself.

Alright, forget your television metaphors - you’re not sure there’s any sitcom out there that goes quite like this.

“By the way,” you say, grinning against her hair as you pull her to the bedroom. “Did you say you don’t like being tied down?”

Karina turns in your arms and doesn’t even flinch when you force her too hard against the doorframe and its edge smacks into her shoulder blade, digging in hard. You should apologize but you don’t; the possibility of her in pain seems laughable, a distant fantasy. This is how it goes, fucking a girl who looks like a god - your brain is convinced she’s wholly immune to hurt. The universe wouldn’t actually let someone so pretty bleed.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, voice raspy with insinuation. “Let me rephrase.”

“Karina,” you say, not really like a warning - more like you’ve got something to prove. This is real. You’re really here. You’re really this perfect, gorgeous, greedy thing. You’re really made for me.

Karina only lets her lips tilt in a smirk, devilish and knowing.

“I meant that I don’t like commitment,” she says. “I love being tied down.”

She’s still smiling when you shove her through the doorway, across the threshold - across that same old fucking line.

Not that it makes a difference now, but one of the reasons you and your most recent ex-girlfriend broke up was because of what you’d both referred to as sexual incompatibility. Actually, there were about fourteen other things, too - she was a trainwreck and a textbook attention whore; you spent all your time writing and she took offense to the fact that you found your scripts more interesting than her - but the crux of the sex problem between the two of you was that she thought you wanted too much power over her. She seemed to assume that was the point of potentially tying her up and shit like that: to exert power. To put you and only you in control. To make her into this helpless little toy - and I hate that, she’d said, working herself into a fit, I hate feeling helpless.

You hadn’t pushed her. You’d also tried to justify it in a number of ways. It isn’t about that. It’s not about control. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. But it hadn’t made a difference and she hadn’t believed you and you’d come to the reluctant, inevitable conclusion that that particular dream would never actually get fulfilled.

Until-

“Look at you, baby.”

Until now, when you’ve got Karina stripped bare and tied to your bed, thighs parted as you kneel over her, pretty little cunt glistening wet and tits heaving with every breath as she waits, and waits, and waits.

Eyes half-lidded. Utterly fuckable. A curated collection of every salacious desire you’ve ever had.

“You’ve been looking at me forever,” murmurs Karina, her tone still humorous, like the reason her voice is run so ragged is because she’s holding back a fit of giggles. “You gonna fuck me anytime soon?”

To Karina’s credit, the idea of tying her up didn’t seem to bother her one bit. She’d let you knot her wrists to your bedframe and only grinned sharply when you asked her if it was too much. She didn’t seem to care about feeling helpless or feeling bad. Actually - judging from the wetness that collects on your fingers as you rub two of them over her cunt - it all seemed to turn her on either way.

“You’re so fucking mouthy.” You lift your hand only to ghost it over her stomach, leaving a lewd shiny streak across her skin. “It’s like you want to be punished.”

“Well, you put in all this work.” Karina yanks at the ropes tethering her wrists to the bedframe until they bite so severely into her skin that it turns white. “I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

“Not a waste.”

“No?” She’s got that seductive little smirk on, legs spread shamelessly, head back and throat bared.

“Nope.” Your eyes rove down her body. “It’s a great view, actually.”

You’re shocked by the sound Karina makes, then: harsh and derisive, scratchy and painful, like she’s choking badly around some injury in her throat. You’re half-expecting her to turn her face and spit blood onto your sheets - all murder-scene evidence, horrifically vibrant gore. Coughing up her own vocal chords.

It’s so awful it actually takes you a minute to realize that she’s laughing.

“Karina?” you say, perturbed.

“Oh, please.” Karina hacks out one more horrid laugh. “Cut the shit.”

You draw your hand back uncertainly. “What are you-”

“Come on, man.” There’s a glint to Karina’s gaze as she looks up at you: bored, mocking, infuriating. Irises flashing like the darkest corners of haunted houses, set-ups for a summoning; lashes like cobwebs, self-spun and delicate. “Fuck me or leave me alone.”

For a second you just stare at her, unmoving, something caustic and furious threading up your spine.

And then-

Look, none of this next part is on you. You can’t blame yourself. It’s her - her tiny hands in tight clenched fists, tummy so flat it seems caved-in, hollowed-out; her own glimmer of slick smeared on her belly, physical proof of how desperately slutty she really is. The bruise on her chest; the one on her throat. Her goddamn eyes. Her lazy, lilting drawl, the exact matter-of-fact casualness she’d had last night when she’d told you to hurt her - fuck me or leave me alone.

It’s so obvious what she’s trying to do - provoke a reaction out of you. It’s gotta be the only reason she’s talking to you like that. Like, what else are we here for? Like, what else could I possibly want from you?

So - no, God, it’s not your fault.

But-

It’s over before you can even think about it. Before you’ve even rationalized doing it, before you recognize the sound ricocheting through the room as the perfect violent land of a blow, the hot whiplash of skin on skin, your palm connecting with its target. Before you blink, and recalibrate, and you take in the rapid reddening of her cheek, and her angled jaw, and her hair falling starkly past her chin - it’s too late. It’s already done.

Because you’ve just slapped Karina clean across the face - hard.

“Oh.” You’re babbling as if on autopilot, all your nerves on shutdown. “Oh. Oh, God. Karina-”

Karina licks the corner of her lip, like she can taste the impact.

“Jesus Christ,” you’re saying, panicking; you can’t shut up. You don’t know what to do with your hands; you find yourself kneeling carefully in front of her, cupping her face, stroking her temples with your thumbs like it’ll soothe the sting. You can’t believe you hit her. All the things you could do to a girl like that, and you - “I’m sorry. I didn’t - fuck, baby. I’m sorry.”

Karina blinks up at you, expression placid and blank, porcelain-doll cool.

“For what?” she asks.

You freeze, her face still between your palms. “For-”

But the serene tilt of her mouth makes the words die in your throat.

“Seriously.” Karina’s voice is softer now, a kind twist of mirth. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do with me this whole time?”

Her features seem to fall out of alignment, occurring to you in cut, edited fragments - the baby-animal eyes, the bone-white glint of teeth, the pretty blooming flush of her cheek, blood rising underneath skin but never breaking through. No evidence of a limit breached; she doesn’t wince or wail or cry. She wears the hit so well. She’s smiling. A you-don’t-need-to-be-sorry smile, a you’re-forgiven smile: I’m strong, I’m good, I can take it. Whatever you need. Whatever you have to give.

You blink and Karina reassembles, stitched up at the seams, beautiful and uninjured and intact.

“You want this,” you exhale, a wondrous revelation.

“Of course.” Karina’s shoulders rise as much as they can with her arms so tightly tied back. “You do, don’t you?”

The panic recedes, and something else - something electric and brutal, visceral, intoxicating - takes its place instead.

It’s the way she says it: rhetorical, all-knowing. As if she’s seen exactly what’s in your mind - what repulsive daydreams have settled right behind your ribcage, clawing to be set free - and she’s offering her own body in sacrifice. Saying here, put them here.

So you do.

She doesn’t even look surprised when you slap her again.

“See?” Karina’s chin tips upwards in delicious, submissive invitation: eyes darkly pleased, pale skin a burning wildfire, curled mouth a beckoning. Like it’s been what she’s waiting for, all along. “There you are.”

And when you’re finally able to catch your breath:

Oh, you think, in some exhilarating epiphany. Here I am.

Every single reservation falls out the window. Karina’s smirk slants viciously and then you’ve got your hands all over her, on her shoulders and her tits and her hips and her throat and her face, thumb digging hard into her cheekbone. Any sort of gentle caution is gone when you’re getting on top of her and burying your cock deep inside the suffocating vice of her aching little cunt, half-drunk on the high mewling moans you’re forcing out of her, head swimming at the drenched audible sound of her pussy every time you fuck into her - at how tight she clenches down around your cock. Fuck it all, then, it’s not like it means anything - hurt me, she’d said, running through your head on loop; I want it so bad, I need it, hurt me - and so you do, wrapping a hand around her delicate neck and pressing down, slapping hard against her heaving tits, salivating over the marks that you leave. She doesn’t even struggle. Takes it like a good girl, an obedient girl: something meant to be hit and torn up and pulled apart. A hands-on art piece. A disassembling, made purely for audience consumption; a sign hung around her neck that says leave your mark, that’s the point. You’d been so naïve, thinking of being careful with her - like she’d ever even fucking want that-

“You like it like this.” Your voice sounds raw, almost unrecognizable; your fingers press into the base of her throat. “This is all you needed, huh? You just needed to be roughed up real hard.” Your hand trails up to grip a fistful of her hair, merciless. Karina shuts her eyes. “Like you’re just a slutty fucktoy-”

Karina chokes out a small, wet gasp.

“Oh, baby.” You yank harder at her hair. “It’s okay to admit it.”

But in a way, she already is. Doesn’t fight against the restraints tying her wrists, doesn’t flinch at how rough you’re fucking her, doesn’t whine or blink back tears at the harsh graze of your thumbnail against her nipple. Like she’s a plaything, here in your bed for your pleasure alone. Like-

“Like you were just fucking made for this, yeah?” She comes undone so easily: cunt a wet sticky mess when you reach down to rub her clit, teeth pearly-white where they’re caught on her bottom lip - though nothing can hold back the anguished noise Karina lets out at your pace, the thick stretch of your cock, your palm smacking at her tits over and over. “Look at you. That face, these tits, this little fucking cunt-”

Like it’s her one and only purpose - to have all her fair skin turned searing red and bruised under someone else’s hands. Her cunt just begging to be split open and stuffed full, railed so hard she could break. It’s gotta be what she was created for. She’s more than mortal, so above the concept of imperfection; a nasty little fuckdoll of a girl, meant to be used hard and licked clean. She looks too irresistible all fucked-out and ruined. It has to be in her nature. Made for this, you keep telling her: to be fucked until she can’t walk. To be treated forever how you’re treating her now.

Your ex-girlfriend couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s not about power or control at all.

“You’d really just let me do anything to you, huh?” you murmur, awed, but you’re holding her throat too hard for her to reply.

You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her. Rub at her clit until she clamps down and cums around you, until you can really get on top of her, force her to hold those huge tits together so you can fuck them. You can’t handle how tiny she is underneath you, her face and her mouth slack with lust, eyes glazed over entirely. She squeezes her tits around your cock. She’s hardly even human. It’s the best thing about her.

“That’s how I know you’re a fucking whore.” Your grin feels wide and manic on your face. You’re gonna cum all over her - again. “None of this even matters.”

And it’s only after - after you’ve painted her collarbone and chest creamy white and let up on her throat so she can fight for air; after you’ve groped her tits and grabbed her face after just to see your cum glistening all over her perfect slap-marred cheeks; after you’ve rolled off of her and you finally leave her alone - that Karina gives you a response.

“No,” she says, hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling. “It really, really doesn’t.”

Power just isn’t the right word for it. It’s something much more beautiful than that.

Desire. You’re dozing off, halfway in a sleepy fantasy. You imagine rolling the word around in your mouth, using it in speeches, citing it as an obvious central theme. It’s about desire, you’d say, in interviews, at film festivals, patiently explaining your motivations to the masses. That irrational animal instinct. That innate human greediness. You’ll maybe even throw in some fun anecdote about how people in past relationships never agreed with you. It’s never been about power, though, you’d explain: how foolish, how crude. It’s about the ache of truly wanting something. Isn’t that so much more romantic?

So you’ll make a movie about this one day. So you tied Karina to the bed and slapped her hard and fucked her senseless. Actually, you picture yourself explaining, foggy and on verge of falling asleep: actually, it’s about hunger. Irrepressible, all-consuming hunger. That’s why I did this. That’s why I’ll keep doing it. You’re all like me; you get it. That makes sense, doesn’t it?

And it will, to raucous, riotous applause.

Good. You’ll laugh so hard. You’re dreaming, now; you can’t tell if you’re talking about the sex or the hypothetical future movie. I’m glad you understand. Anyone would’ve done what I did.

Because - honestly - what’s the point of starving yourself of something that’s right in front of you?

(Let’s pull back from your script for a second. Here’s a real story:

A few months back you were visiting a museum with one of your friends when you got into this conversation about performance art. He’d told you about a woman back in the seventies who walked into a gallery and laid out various objects and let the audience do whatever they wanted to her for six whole hours. Her as the artist, in title only; herself as the art. A free, untethered canvas.

And what happened? you asked, morbidly curious.

Your friend grimaced. What do you think happened?

It was a rhetorical question. The performance had been a test of what the general public was capable of - a reflection of their moral compass, of what they’d do if left unchecked. The setup spoke for itself. You didn’t have to get all the gory details in order to understand.

Seriously, though, your friend said, about the artist: I don’t know what’d compel someone to do something like that to themselves. He’d shaken his head, baffled. Like - I think it takes a deeply fucked up person to just give up their body like that. Like it doesn’t even matter to them.

It’s strange. It’s an almost universally accepted fact that, at least on some level, artists are inclined to put pieces of themselves into the things they create. A memory; a feeling. Condensing twenty different emotions into a single acrylic painting, or a lyrical reenactment of heartbreak into a song - something personal and unique and lovely. Often inspired, sure, but yours.

I think that’s what’s funny about it, you told your friend, before you realized that funny was a fucked up word to use here. There’s nothing personal about that. It’s so detached. It’s about the rest of the world, whatever they might make of her - it’s not about her at all.

You were both quiet, thinking. Visualizing what it might’ve been like. To be there, one of many in the audience, watching this woman who had thrown herself to the wolves and asked to be ripped apart.

She’s just - material for them to use, I guess, you said, after a moment. A blank page.

Removing her own identity; becoming nothing, no one. A ghost. An empty vessel. A slab of clay, taking on the impression of everyone who’s ever touched her: the ridges of fingerprints, the half-moon cuts of nails, molding her into something new. Even if it took some force. Even if it hurt.

Still, it’s what she’d asked for.

You can’t imagine she’d ever expected anything else.)

There’s this fascinating complaint people have about films these days, you’ve found. It’s actually quite the phenomenon. You talk to your colleagues and scroll through social media and read comments on movie trailers trying to get a grasp on it all: market research. This isn’t realistic, people gripe. It’d never sound like that. She’d never look like that. This would never, ever happen - God, are you kidding? Who are they trying to fool? As if they’ve somehow missed the point of fiction - of a sweet, escapist fantasy. As if they’ve convinced themselves that the real world is better.

Which is moronic, obviously.

“So what’s the solution?” Karina asks.

Well, you’re no expert; it’s been a while since you’d finished your last movie.

“But you have an idea,” Karina interpets. She’s perched on the edge of your coffee table, nursing a new glass of ice. She’s watching you with her head at an angle, eyes shrewd. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me this.”

As with most of her guesses about you, she’s right.

“It’s all about the details,” you say, after a moment. “It humanizes a person. Having little bits and pieces about who they are - it makes them alive. Their likes, their dislikes. Embarrassing stories. Things that make them laugh. Diary entries, favorite foods - first loves, first heartbreaks. So on and so forth.” You’ve got one of Karina’s ankles between your hands; your thumb brushes against the bulbous protrusion of bone. “It’s what makes people real.”

Karina’s mouth twists, sharp and strange; it takes a second for you to realize that she’s grinning.

“Oh, right,” she says. “You want me to spill my guts to you.” She pushes her ankle further into your grip. Her legs are just like the rest of her: thin and pale, waifish. Like a nineties catwalk model. “That’s how you’re gonna make me real. In your movie.”

You pull a face, letting her ankle slip from your hands. Spill her guts; what an ugly figure of speech. As if you’re doing something much more invasive and violent than just writing about her.

“Basically,” you agree, anyway. “I mean, it helps that you’re already, you know - a real, whole, living person.”

“Ugh,” says Karina, dry and amused. “Barely.”

You wonder if she’s also thinking about this morning; you, stunned and staring at her cum-streaked hair, calling her unreal.

She’s got a point, in a way. There’s something slightly uncanny about her sitting in front of you, as if she’s been taken straight out of some wildly different scene - some spotlit stage, some movie set, some glossy high-budget existence - and haphazardly edited into your life. You reach out and press two fingers to the side of her neck, like they do on television if they think someone’s bleeding out.

Karina tips her head to allow you access. Her pulse throbs hotly under your touch.

“I don’t know,” you say, smiling at the swanlike line of her throat. “You seem pretty alive to me.”

“Sure.” Her hair tickles your wrist. “But you want more.”

She says it like it’s this given - as if she’s always faced with people wanting more from her. You wouldn’t doubt it, little tease she is. You can picture her in motion so easily. Always running. Letting people pine and plead for more.

“Yeah,” you say. It seems pointless to lie to her. “I want more.”

Karina leans in closer. She reaches up and touches one of your knuckles with the pad of her thumb. Without makeup, you can see the shadows of dark circles underneath her eyes, but even those look painted-on, pre-planned; a study on the aesthetic allure of bruises. She lets her gaze drop to your mouth, then bites down on her bottom lip. Impish.

“Karina,” you say, grinning wider now.

It’s one of those unspoken things: the translation of body language, the transcription of the tilt of her mouth. Then have me, she’s saying, almost certainly - like a swooning melodramatic heroine, throwing herself into your lap, wanting to be saved. You want more? You want me? I’m right here. I’m yours.

“Fine,” Karina purrs, and kisses you again, like sealing a contract. “Take it all.”

You don’t fuck her again - not at first. There’s more than one way to take someone apart.

Karina says she’s got a story for you and then she pulls out her phone.

“This was back in high school,” she explains, scrolling back through her photo gallery. There don’t seem to be a lot of recent additions to it; you’d expected selfies, pictures of her with friends. There are more photos of food than anything: plates of pasta and donuts and burgers and pastries piled with whipped cream. It’s cute. It makes you laugh. “When I won prom queen.”

You splutter. “When you what?”

“What?” Karina gives you a bemused, sideways look. “Does that surprise you?”

It floors you, actually. At first you can’t quite put your finger on why, but then you look at Karina again - at her intense dark eyes and pouty fuckdoll lips and the exaggerated pinup proportions of her body - and you realize you’re making that mistake writers often do: buying into archetypes. It just makes sense that she’d be some kind of brooding bad girl. Mysterious, promiscuous; in your creative vision she’s probably cutting classes and chainsmoking in the girls’ bathroom. A favorite of the rumor mill. A pretty little delinquent.

“Wow.” Karina makes a funny noise in the back of her throat when you tell her this. “No. I was - I did fine in school. Perfect attendance, almost. And I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes.” But she doesn’t look offended, either; you imagine people make these assumptions about her all the time. “The prom queen thing - it wasn’t my idea, though. My best friend did all the campaigning for me.”

“That’s sweet.” You watch as she reaches the year she’s looking for. Flashes of her in a sparkly dress with her arms thrown around another girl - a tiny doe-eyed brunette - slide by. In one of them, Karina’s got her head tipped back, clearly mid-laugh; in another, she and the girl have their heads bent close together as if they’re trading secrets, unaware that they’re being photographed. “Well - I think it’s sweet.”

Karina’s fingers stall. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m just saying-” You shrug. “It’s a nice gesture if it’s something you wanted, I guess. Seems like a lot of attention, otherwise.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Yeah. It was - I didn’t get to go to junior prom, so it was kind of - this was - senior year. Senior prom.” Another pause. “Yeah. She did it to make me happy.”

“And did it?” She passes by pictures that fill up with more people: friends with big grins who stick close to her side, wrapping her up in an embrace. “Make you happy?”

“Of course.” Karina’s thumb pauses on a video, the preview dark and unfocused. She says it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “She was my best friend. She always knew what I wanted. Hey, look at this.”

The video’s of her in the back of someone’s car, prom queen tiara askew on her head, satiny sash falling off one shoulder. She’s yelling, laughing; the sound isn’t on, but her mouth’s wide open and her dark eyes are crinkled to half-moons, creased underneath heavy false lashes and glittery makeup that’s begun to smudge and fade. It makes her whole face look very soft. Young, too - cheeks full and flushed pink with excitement, hair blown-out and everywhere, glossed black. As if she’s having the time of her life.

“How old were you here?” you ask, in awe.

“Eighteen. Just turned, I think.”

“You look-” Like a baby, you almost want to say. It’s true, though. Big brown eyes, scrunched little nose - grinning like the rest of the world hasn’t quite dug its claws into her yet. Skin unmarred and infant-smooth. “You look pretty.”

Karina doesn’t look at you, but you can see the slight, entertained upturn of her lips. All the nasty things you’ve called her - all the irredeemable ways you’ve touched her - and now, inexplicably, you’re going for pretty.

“Thanks,” she says, and clicks the volume up.

“Shut the fuck up,” baby Karina is saying, delightedly. Her voice sounds high, childish and carefree. “You’re so dumb. It wasn’t - it wasn’t even like that, I swear!” She flaps one hand in the air, her nails all short and painted the same rich deep maroon as her dress. “No - you’re just saying that because you’re jealous, you idiot, I know you - you just-”

The person behind the camera says something that you can’t quite make out.

Baby Karina presses one hand to her sternum, pearl-clutching, and gasps.

“I would never,” she admonishes - over-the-top like an actress from a movie - before she throws her head back and laughs.

It’s a startling, wonderful laugh. A little-kid laugh. A mess of wild, unabashed giggles, hiccupy and sweet, so loud and infectious you can hear the other people in the car start cracking up with her; out of frame, someone reaches out to interlace their fingers with Karina’s, waving their joined hands until they smack against the car window and Karina only laughs harder. With her whole body, shoulders shaking and all. Streetlights flashing across her face, making her look sort of blurry and surreal, like something out of a painting.

“Your laugh,” you find yourself saying, stunned.

Karina’s touching the back of her neck, completely engrossed in the video. “My what?”

You don’t laugh like that anymore. That’s what you mean to say. That scratchy, almost painful laugh that she’s been gracing you with since the moment you met her - there’s no trace of that in how baby Karina wriggles with laughter in the backseat of the car until her happy, breathless blush spreads to her neck and her chest. Head tipping back against the seat, like she’s all tuckered out.

“Um,” you say, voice caught in your throat.

On the screen, her eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering so delicately.

You can’t do anything but stare. Brilliant, past-life, prom-queen Karina - grinning at nothing, and sleepy from a perfect night, and laughing as if she’ll exist as this version of herself forever. As if she just doesn’t know any better, yet.

“You,” you start to say, again-

Karina shuts her phone off, and turns.

And you’re about to say something - something about the gnawing, uncertain feeling you get when you watch this former self of hers. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You don’t laugh like that. Something happened to you. For a moment the whole image just seems off - like the way people make posthumous holograms of pop stars, superimpose faces of long-dead actors on stunt doubles. A kind of intense wrongness. A murmured, uncomfortable: that’s not really you, is it? It can’t be. I barely recognize her.

“What?” Karina asks. Her smile reveals her teeth. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Then reality hits you, all at once.

“Sorry.” Your hand finds her thigh. You laugh because you’re being ridiculous - how would you know who she really is, anyway? “I was just thinking - I don’t know. Never mind.”

She seems to take that at face value. You like that about her. How she seems to trust so easily - going home with you, winding up in your bed, staying when you ask her to stay. Giving you whatever you want: her body, her story.

“So,” you say, eventually. “I can put in my movie that you totally peaked in high school, huh?”

Karina snorts. “Yeah,” she says, playing along, and taps her dark phone screen with a clawed nail. “Say it was the last time I was happy.” She pulls a face, like the thought of it is just unspeakably pathetic. “That’s a tragedy if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Shakespearean,” you agree, and let her clamber into your lap. “It’s perfect.”

But you know she’s kidding. You’d like to think that you understand girls like her. They live in a different world than the rest of you - the kind of world where every person on earth looks at them and falls to their feet, falls madly in love. You’ll write about it one day; you’ll feel out the narrative for her, a curious exploration. That rose-tinted life she must flourish in, closed-off and flawless like a snow globe, her spinning and protected in the glass.

“Perfect,” echoes Karina, and kisses you - like she’s proving she really means it.

That’s the reality, here. That’s it. This is all there is.

Well, almost.

Karina lets you scroll through the rest of her photo gallery, front to back. You take the opportunity, because you’re greedy for as much as you can get.

There’s a lot of photos that are just her, funnily enough - selfies posed in front of the same full-length mirror, over and over again, clad in unholy outfits. Swimsuits, sports bras and little running shorts, lingerie: shit that makes your mouth water, eyes lingering, groaning out loud as she laughs at you. But it’s also her in faded old t-shirts, holding the hem up to expose her stomach. Body angled to the side in girlish sundresses. Hair pulled up, showing off her neck, her gorgeously sharp collarbone - in makeup or out of it, stare intensely focused and sultry.

“That’s hot,” you comment. “Self-obsessed as fuck, but hot.”

Karina smiles - her tiny private-joke smile - and doesn’t say anything at all.

There’s one video in particular that catches your eye. It’s recent, relatively - the date reads late December, last year. Less than a month ago. Christmastime. You click on it, curious.

Karina’s immediately recognizable in it, black hair winding past her shoulders, drowning in a large black sweatshirt. She’s smiling, but it looks sort of tense and tired - bags under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept in a while. She’s got both hands balled up into fists, held close and protective to her chest; her sharp chin rests on her pale knuckles. There’s a tiny smear of red across her mouth, lower lip bitten bloody.

“You just got here,” she says. She’s looking at something behind the camera. “The first thing you wanna do is hear me sing?” She laughs once, scratchy and hoarse. “Why are you even filming this?”

The answering strum of guitar strings, a pretty, perfect chord. An invitation, or a demand.

“You’re kidding.” Karina’s voice is flat.

Another chord - evidently not.

“Wow,” says Karina. Her smile, out of nowhere, goes very soft at the edges. “You just do this because you know I can’t say no to you.”

“What?” you ask Karina now, laughing. “Is this - what is this? Do you - are you really going to sing?”

And then - crazily enough - she does.

“Oh,” you say out loud, adoring, and Karina turns her face into your shoulder.

Her voice in the video is breathy, sweet. Shyly unpracticed, raspy from disuse, completely and utterly gorgeous; lids slipping shut and open again, laugh leaking into her melody line in lyrics about black eyes and kisses and wanting someone who’s just so, so bad for you. But what surprises you more than anything is the look that dawns on her blurry on-screen face - irises sparkling and smile bashful, hiding her mouth behind the sleeve of her sweatshirt, curled up with her knees to her chest. You see now that she’s wearing pajama pants, fuzzy and patterned with snowflakes.

She looks radiantly pretty. She looks vulnerable. And not even in a sweaty, satiated, filthy post-fuck kind of way - actually, genuinely vulnerable. Soft and wide-eyed and tender.

Suddenly, you just can’t tear your gaze away.

“Stop.”

The song’s over. On-screen Karina’s fully grinning now. Porcelain-fragile, but undeniably happy, too.

“I hate you,” she says. “Baby, I really do.”

“You love me,” says the person behind the camera. “You’ll love me for the rest of your life and you know it.”

And in the video - in vivid, fluid motion - Karina laughs.

Whole-hearted, lovely. Familiar. For a moment, you swear she’s still that girl sitting in the backseat of a car with her prom queen tiara on, giggling free and uninhibited, unhurt, untouched. A month ago - less than that, even - looking like she’s coming back to life.

That’s where the clip ends.

It doesn’t change anything, if you actually think about it. It’s just another version of reality. A Karina from a whole other universe, laughing like a child, and so, so far away from whoever she is now.

(Back between the lines of your script-

The stranger and the girl drink to get drunk and that’s about it. She reads the label of his wine; he makes fun of her for being a snob. She doesn’t really drink, she says at first, but he laughs like this is a challenge, and pours her a glass anyway. She flushes pink and fidgets around. She seems to shed hair like a cat and he thinks this is the most hilarious thing he’s ever seen, picking up thin black strands off of the arm of his couch, teasing her about girls and how they really like to leave their mark, huh?

Leave their mark, she repeats. There’s some trick of the lens here, some sort of strategic camera work - he’s in the forefront and she’s in the background, and she looks so much smaller than him. Why do you say that?

He still had his ex-girlfriend’s perfume in his cabinet. He probably still has some of her clothes in his closet. Not out of any particular emotional attachment, but sometimes this is just the way things are: when you spend years intertwining your whole existence with someone else’s, it’s hard to rid yourself of that connection. You’ve grown into each other’s spaces, tangling limbs and heart lines, putting down roots. It’s gonna take a little force to get them out.

They’re just so much, he says, gesticulating with his hands. And they affect everything in your life, like a fucking infection. And then it doesn’t work out, and you - he makes a wide, sweeping motion here, attempting to encompass the wreckage. You have to fix everything they broke. Purge them from your system and all that. It’s so fucked up.

It’s like this, he means to say - you love someone and then they leave you behind and you’re left staring at the blown-up decimated crater that used to be your life together. You love someone and they don’t love you back and all you have now is the debris.

They’re both drunk. There should be music here and there isn’t. It’s only eerie, too-still silence, suffocating the both of them with every passing second.

Well, she says, laughing, and takes another sip. You and I can agree on that, at least.)

It happens like this:

There’s a monologue you want to write.

You tell Karina this after you’re finally fucking her again, when she’s balanced on the edge of your glass coffee table with her legs spread and your mouth slick with her cum. Well - not after, technically. She’s between orgasms and you have your thumb on her clit, tracking the expression on her face, the split-second moment where she comes apart. It’s then when you realize so badly that you want to write some great speech for your heroine - something about the sweat beading on Karina’s midriff and her tits that you can’t stop touching and the jerky movements of her hips, trying to get your tongue back on her clit, panting and delightfully desperate. Something about desire.

“Desire,” repeats Karina, voice halfway into a raspy, worked-up moan.

“Yeah.” You’ve replaced your mouth with your fingers, fucking up into the obscene tight heat of her cunt. She’s trembling, dripping everywhere; she’s the very picture of what it means to want, probably. “But I just can’t figure it out.”

Karina laughs roughly, and then she cums.

“Is that funny?” you ask her, after, when you’re wiping your wet mouth with your wrist and she’s sucking on your glistening fingers, licking the taste of her own cunt off your skin. Her eyes big, lips all full and pink - slutty angel on her pedestal, perched above you. “Me writing about desire?”

Karina lets your fingers free with a loud pop. She’s still clutching your hand close to her mouth, thumb dragging through the sticky gleam of her spit. “No,” she says, eyes distant. “It just reminded me of something. There’s this Anne Carson quote, about men and desire…” She shakes her head. Presses her lips once to your fingertips in a small, startlingly sweet kiss. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me more.”

There isn’t much to tell, truthfully. Except that you’ve got this love for movie lines that are just so utterly quotable - things that make their way into the pop culture consciousness. That’s the kind of work you want to be doing: creating something that has an impact, something that’ll exist long after you’re gone. Everlasting. If you had to pull for an example, you’d say-

“You ever seen Closer?”

“Yeah.” Karina drops your elbow into her lap. “Oh, I get it. He tastes like you but sweeter. Lying’s the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off - et cetera.” She hums the melody line. “So you want an early 2000s pop-punk band to make a song about your movie? Ambitious.”

“More or less,” you say as she shimmies her shirt back down, hem falling back over her midriff. “But like I said, I’m kind of stuck.”

Karina rolls her neck. Her hair is everywhere, sweet-smelling; snapped-off strands decorate your table, looking like cracks in the glass.

“Any suggestions?” you ask, thumb skimming along the pale bruised inside of her thigh.

She smiles, mischievous. “Maybe.”

That’s how you both end up curled on your couch together with your laptop in front of you, Karina’s eyes glued to the movie playing on the screen, watching as the four main characters fuck and flirt and cheat on each other and scream at the top of their lungs. Melodramatic dialogue. How do you feel about him using your life? You’re lying; I’ve been you. This will hurt, which Karina laughs at - as if announcing the pain will make it better, playacting at exoneration.

It’s also - predictably - how you end up fucking again. You barely make it an hour in, and then-

“Hey.” Karina’s breath tickles your ear. She’s already seconds from climbing in your lap already; her thigh is hooked over yours, bare and inviting. “Are you inspired?”

You’re swallowing back a grin. “Sure.”

“Oh. Great.” She’s no actress herself, clearly. She couldn’t be subtle if she tried. “Do you wanna be more inspired?”

And - whatever. It’s a movie about sex. If anything, at least you’re sticking to the theme.

The dialogue plays in the background as Karina rocks her hips down on your lap - you can feel how wet she is again, like she never stops wanting to be fucked. You’re telling her something about how she’s the most insatiable girl you’ve ever met; the sound of the film saturates the room, setting the tone like it knows its purpose. How? How does it work? How do you do this to someone? This big, infidelity-ridden confrontation. Did you phone her? Beg her to come back? Asking him why he falls for another girl, getting this ridiculous answer - it’s because she doesn’t need me.

“Huh.” You smile into the curve of Karina’s neck, already palming her ass. “That one’s funny.”

“Is it funny?” Karina’s sharp jaw brushes against your cheekbone. Her eyes are so dark, shadowed by her long lashes. “I think it’s pretty realistic. People don’t like needy girls. It’s a burden to be loved so hard.” Her tongue darts across her teeth; her smile’s somewhat caustic. “Too much to handle, I guess.”

“What are you talking about?” This strikes you as fairly fucking ridiculous, too. “What men have you met who don’t like needy girls?”

Karina just laughs and leans in for another kiss.

It’s easy to let the rest of the film float away in the background, the lines coming disjointed, unconnected. A spoken-word soundtrack, tone perfuming the air: the angst and pain and eroticism seeping into your clothing. Once in a while you’ll pull back from kissing Karina’s neck or tits or mouth and see a thoughtful little quirk to her mouth. Like she’s genuinely listening, even as you’re taking off her shirt, slipping a hand back between her legs. Where will you go? Disappear. I can’t still see you - if I see you, I’ll never leave you. I amuse you, but I bore you.

“I bet you’ve never felt that,” you say, half into the silk of her hair.

Karina pauses. Her shirt’s on the floor; she’s gloriously naked on top of you. “Felt what?”

“I amuse you, but I bore you,” you recite. You already sound sort of fuck-drunk, far gone. “You’re the farthest thing from boring.”

Back in the movie, the female lead sobs into her fists. Karina studies you, fingertips grazing the nape of your neck. You try to imagine it - her as one of those heartsick heroines, crying herself to pieces, begging a man not to leave her - but you draw an utter blank. Some people just aren’t breakable in that way.

“You’d be surprised,” Karina says, after a moment. “People get bored of me all the time.”

“Oh, please.” Even when she’s the one top of you, you can’t help feeling so completely in control. It’s gotta be the look in her eyes, dying to be obedient. “I bet you have lots of ways of keeping guys interested in you.” You smack her ass hard just to make a mark. “I bet you let them fuck you however they want.”

“Exactly,” Karina agrees, without missing a beat. She moves in close until your noses bump together. Lets her voice go all smoky and suggestive. “Wherever they want, too.”

You open your mouth - probably about to say something very rude about what a dirty whore she is and how you should’ve realized it the second you saw her; I knew it, I know you - but then your hands slip lower and Karina presses her lips to yours and licks into your mouth, over your teeth, making you swallow your words. Filling you up until there’s nothing but her and the movie, playing on.

I think I’ll be happier with her.

You won’t. You’ll miss me. No one will ever love you as much as I do. Why isn’t love enough?

“Romantic, right?” murmurs Karina, sweet against your tongue.

“Shut up,” you say, and grab her by the hair, tugging her off your lap as you stand. “Bedroom. Now.”

Later, you’ll take the time to consider the different ways filmmakers illustrate a power dynamic - it’s playing on your laptop screen right now. The heroine’s sitting on the arm of the couch, clutching desperately at the hero’s jacket. Gorgeously emotional and pleading for another chance, her tiny chin tilted up, eyes so large and watery. Made fragile and fearful by everyone: the protagonist, the narrative, the director, the audience beyond. By herself, even. It’s a stylistic choice - she wants to look that pathetic.

And you-

Well, you’ve got Karina’s long hair wrapped up in your fist, tits bouncing as she stumbles to her feet, ankle knocking hard and horribly loud against the leg of your table. Cute little ass all red from your hand. Thighs shimmering from how drenched she is, cunt dripping from how you’ve treated her. She hasn’t managed to work her mouth into a trademark smirk fast enough: when she looks at you over her shoulder, her eyes are abyss-dark and bottomless, crease between her brows, lips parted in pained surprise.

The definition of pathetic, too - but that’s exactly the point. She’s just so much more fuckable like that.

“Ouch,” you say, touching her hurt ankle with the side of your foot.

“It’s fine.” Karina’s skin feels clammy and cold. Her smirk’s intact now, camera-ready. “I’ve been through worse.”

Her ankle throbs under the pressure of your touch; you still haven’t let up on her hair. You’ll go through worse, too, you think of telling her: a sly comment about how rough you’re about to fuck her, what vicious marks you’re about to leave. How you’re gonna hurt her exactly like she asked you to.

You don’t say a thing.

She must already know all of that, anyway.

So, Karina’s not breakable like the helpless, weepy, soft-hearted girls in the movies - but that’s alright. She’s breakable in much more enticing ways.

Case in point:

“Oh, get real, baby. Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Well, breaking someone down doesn’t really get better than this.

It’s all a scene of your own making, a perfect pre-arrangement. You on your bed, Karina limp and bent belly-down over your lap - you in control and Karina as the most impressive toy you’ve ever gotten your hands on, creamy ass and needy cunt and skin that turns bruises to artwork. You’re goading her and failing - trying to get her to just admit to what she is, what a filthy slut, what a nasty eager fuckdoll - but it’s hard to get a response when even breathing seems to be a chore for her right now. Every noise out of her mouth is nothing but a gasping, choked-out whimper. Her face is buried in her forearm, hidden. And through the shine of lube dribbling down your hand and her ass and into the sticky wetness of her cunt, you’ve got two fingers stretching out her little asshole - and you’re just getting started.

“I know you fucking need this.” Your other hand slides up her back, slips to tangle in her hair. “You’re just too good at it.” You pull hard, wrenching her head from the crook of her elbow. “Too good at being an obedient fucking whore for me, huh?”

Karina’s whole body stiffens when you fuck your fingers deeper, as if tugged taut on a string: the flex of her feet in the air, shoulder blades straining, neck craned back almost painfully. You pull harder. It’s a buzz at the base of your skull, live-wire thrilling: the knowledge that you can yank her into whatever position you want - fuck her anywhere, work her ass open with your cock, fill her up with cum - and she’s just going to have to take it. Like she’s this pliant, powerless thing. Like she’s yours.

Your self-satisfaction seeps right into your voice. “Answer me.”

You hear Karina gulp down a breath. “I,” Karina mumbles, but she can’t do anything but babble. “I - fuck-” All teeth-clenching nonsense; she shoots a baleful glance over her shoulder, desperation clawing its way into every word. “Please-”

Your fingers pause. “You want more?”

Her cheeks are splotchy and pink; you swear there are tears wobbling in those big dark eyes. The heavy arousal in your stomach turns to violent hunger, as though your mouth could start watering at any second. You can’t help it. The thought of seeing her cry is fucking exhilirating. “You - oh-”

“Answer me. You want my cock?” You’re waiting for the breaking point. “You want me to really fuck your ass?”

“Fuck-”

But that’s not a proper reply and Karina knows it, so she doesn’t protest when you pull your glistening fingers out of her and smack your palm hard across her ass. Once, then twice, and then you just don’t stop. She yelps like a hurt animal - trembles uncontrollably, her thighs and her shoulders and her quivering bottom lip - and makes a sound in the back of her throat that might be a sob, but she still lets you hit her: gives into the harsh crack of skin on skin, over and over again. Listens as you tell her that she deserves this, that she wanted this, that you’re making her into a good girl and this is what good girls get when they’re too cock-hungry to follow orders or answer a fucking question, you know that - you know I’m this rough for a reason. It should hurt. It’s so much more fun that way.

“I’ve been too fucking nice to you,” you mutter, teeth gritted in an effort to hide your grin - as if you even need to. It’s obvious how much you enjoy this. It’s the point. “That’s the problem with girls like you - you never learned your fucking place, huh? Never really been punished for anything?”

Karina mumbles out something unintelligible, slurring from her drooling mouth to the sheets.

“Yeah.” Your hand comes down again - she flinches just before her body goes slack. “That’s what I thought.”

And after you’ve spanked her so hard that her fair skin is ravaged and raised with goosebumps along the slope of her back - her whole body in revolt - you finally, finally stop.

Karina doesn’t budge except to breathe, and even that releases shallow, unsteady. You read it all in the shaky lift and fall of her thin shoulders, her hands in white-knuckled fists, her face pressed to your sheets and hidden - her hair coats everything, all ink, all words written but left unsaid. She shivers beneath your fingers. Her cunt’s dripping all over your lap. She’s a masterpiece. She’s a wreck.

You’re filled up with thick, swollen pride. “Karina.”

Karina. Your own personal creation, transformed under your touch. Might as well have your name carved into her, too. A brand right across her back, slicing through tissue, scarring to seal her fate - this is who you fucking belong to.

“Poor baby.” You follow the sharp ridges of her spine, tracking notches, keeping a tally: counting how many times you’ll hit her, how many days she’ll stay in your bed. How many movies she’ll let you make out of her, being your brilliant muse for decades. “It’s painful when you don’t listen to me, huh?”

But then - inexplicably - you think of her bruising ankle. Her twist of a smirk, detached and humorless. I’ve been through worse.

You’re abruptly glad you can’t see the look on her face.

“Come on, sweet girl.” You dig the heel of your palm into her lower back, half a warning. “Pull it together.”

Between the strands of glossy hair tumbling over Karina’s skin and your sheets, you spot a reddish mark on the back of her neck. Like the impression of a thumbprint, small and round. Blurry enough in the dim light that your brain starts conjuring up strange theories; an old wound, maybe. A birthmark or a burn, a childhood injury.

You graze her shoulder blades with your fingertips, exploratory. She feels so small draped over you like this, a tiny wet wisp of a girl. A doll.

She still hasn’t moved.

“Karina.”

Nothing.

“Karina,” you say again, suddenly uneasy. Your hand stops. “Are you-”

For a few terrible seconds, you can’t even hear her breathing.

But then Karina shifts. Slow, sensual, deliberate. Pushing herself up off your lap, arching her back, the slick pucker of her asshole obscene from where you fucked it open with your fingers. Her bruised knees dig into your mattress as she straightens up, and her gorgeous pale face seems to glow in the midday light - heavy dark eyes, bitten-pink mouth, black hair curtaining her cheeks like a frame to a portrait.

“You,” you start to say, feeling suddenly like you’re looking at her for the first time.

“I’m really sorry,” Karina murmurs.

She doesn’t look close to tears at all. She’s so unfazed, as if having her ass spanked punishingly raw is something that happens to a girl like her on the daily. A run-of-the-mill occurrence - a consequence of having a body like that, made to be brutalized. She’s already reaching towards the nightstand for the lube.

“I just wanted it so bad I couldn’t think straight,” Karina tells you, with erotic-film certainty - reciting all the lines that’ll make her seem the most insatiably slutty. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her lips form a pout; she leans down to press them to the tip of your cock, all sweet and demure, like she thinks she needs to convince you. Eyes flicking up at you through her thick lashes, molten-hot. “I should’ve listened.” It’s only a breath, warm and torturous. “I deserved that, I know.”

Your hand winds tight in her hair. You want to force your cock down her pretty throat, make her gag and choke over her simpering apologies, spitting up your cum until it trickles down her chin, her tits, her tummy. Both a game and a power play: prove how sorry you are.

Karina pulls back before you can, and holds up the lube.

“Babe,” she says, the term of endearment almost a singsong - a lilting reminder. “I thought you wanted to really fuck me now.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tits heave as she moves, crawling closer, offering herself up. “And I always get what I want, right?”

You feel drunk with power. You forget that this isn’t supposed to be about power. You watch as Karina coats her palm with lube and pumps your cock, her fingers slick and hot, her veins starkly blue at her delicate wrists. Expression delighted at how hard you are, pink little tongue poking out between her teeth - seduction down to an art form, meticulously calculated.

“With me?” Her smile burns. “Obviously.”

You pull her in by the neck to kiss the smirk off her mouth.

It’s interesting. There’s this other thing regular critics and moviegoers have been saying about films these days: sex scenes need to have a purpose. Some sort of coherent motivation. Strip your lead actress down to nothing and get her keening and moaning and you’ve got to explain it away somehow. It forwards the plot, you could insist, pitching it to producers and directors. It does something for the character dynamics. It’ll draw in just the right audience, the ones dying to see their favorite celebrity debauched and getting dirty on-screen - they’ll see it over and over just to get a taste. Isn’t that enough? To satisfy the masses? Isn’t that why we’re all here?

Because otherwise all people are staring at is a play at pornography: useless half-convincing make-believe. The heroine can writhe and whine and arch her back all she wants. Everyone knows she doesn’t feel anything.

“Tell me the truth.”

Oh, if you two were a movie - you don’t know how anyone could justify a sex scene quite like this.

It doesn’t matter what artsy angle you take. It all comes down to the same unforgivable details: Karina face-down ass-up on your bed, the perfect bowed curve of her spine, the depraved wide stretch of her asshole around your cock - the sweat shining along her shoulder blades, the hard smack of your palm against the red raw skin of her ass, your other hand at the crown of her skull with your fingers wrapped entirely in her tangled hair - her cunt fucking ruining your sheets, wet all the way down her thighs, each brutal shift of your hips sending her little body into full-blown shudders-

“Tell me that you fucking love it.” Your hand slips lower until you’ve got her pinned down by the back of the neck, fingers pushing down: a grip she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. “Whoring out your slutty little ass like this for a stranger. Getting on your hands and knees for me just because you’re so fucking needy for cock, baby - don’t even try to deny it, you’re so wet, nasty fucking girl-”

You just can’t stop yourself. It’s so easy. She really is so fucking pathetic. Too fragile to get free - too easily manipulated and manhandled. Trembling and drenched and giving way as you make room inside her, forcing space. She’s just so tight - it’s godless, how you make your cock fit in her lube-slicked asshole, how she moans like a bona fide bitch in heat over it: needing faster, needing harder, needing more. Cheek pink and pressed hard to your mattress, sharp nails digging into the sheets rough enough to tear through the fabric. Giving herself up to be fucked cruelly and stupid and senseless.

Like she’s a real-

“Natural fucking cockslut, huh?”

Look, seriously - you can’t be held accountable for the things you say to her here.

Because when you say shit like you’d just let me do anything - like you’d let me fucking tie you up and keep you here forever, be an eager fucking cumdump for me whenever I want you, I know it, I know you - that’s just the moment talking. The circumstances. The pretty arch of her back and the drooling wetness of her cunt and the indecent tightness of her ass, conspiring to make you lose your mind mid-fuck - that’s the whole reason you even tell her any of it. You think you’re good for anything else? Right at her ear, your body covering hers, your cock buried deep. You’re not. Just made to get this slutty ass fucked open, and your mouth, and your cunt - this is all anyone’s ever gonna want from you and you know it - better get used to it now, baby. This is all you got. This is all you are.

It’s Karina’s fault, really. She just takes it - all of it. She doesn’t even try to fight it.

“But that’s okay,” you murmur, as she gasps and squirms and cries out like you’re killing her. “I’m still gonna make you cum.”

And with your cock filling her ass and your hand between her legs, slapping hard at her sopping cunt until she can’t do anything but collapse - shaking, shattered - her whimpers fucked-out and drool-soaked and bleeding into one big nonsensical mess, everything about her used and ruined-

“You’re mine,” you tell her, laughing as she falls apart. “You get that? You’re mine.”

-then, you do.

When it’s all over, Karina rolls over to face the wall, breathing hard. She’s slick everywhere, sweat and saliva and lube, your creamy cum dripping out of her well-fucked asshole and trickling down her thigh. You trace her lower back and grin at the way her skin seems to give into you, turning pink with a press of your fingertips. You’ve come to realize you adore her like this, the fugue state after you fuck her: utterly dead to the world.

Like she could become a permanent fixture in your bed. Too tired to move. Too tired to ever leave.

“Mine,” you say again, softer.

Karina doesn’t argue.

It’s basically all the confirmation you need.

So, really, if you two were a movie-

It goes like this: life can imitate art, too. It happens all the time. The line between fiction and reality blurs together until it’s indistinguishable - until you can’t tell where the fantasy ends, or if it ever did at all.

(It goes like this: the heroine smiles sleepily and tells the hero he’s the best she’s ever had. You’ve seen this film before. The movie stars with their fake on-screen fucks might not feel a damn thing, but at least it’s still fun to pretend.)

Also, the mark you saw on the back of her neck isn’t actually what you thought it was.

“It’s a tattoo,” you realize out loud, drowsily awed, brushing her hair away so you can get a better look. You’re both tuckered out, an inevitability when you fuck like you do; you’re seconds from dozing off. Karina’s looking away from you, on her side to escape the soreness of her ass, sheets loose across her chest. She lets you touch her wherever. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.”

“You don’t know me,” mumbles Karina, half into your pillow. “It’s not your job to notice anything about me.”

The tattoo’s crimson-red, all delicate linework. It really does look like it hurts: like someone painstakingly cut the shape into her skin. It’s of a heart, rendered in anatomical detail - valves and ventricles and arteries. It’s beautiful, you realize belatedly. Bright instead of faded, and obviously cared for. Lovely.

The only permanent stain on her perfect body. You press your thumb against the ink, fascinated.

“What does it mean?” you ask, but Karina’s already fallen asleep.

(In your script, the girl and the stranger watch some gory crime show, except they don’t pay very close attention and he tugs her into his lap and makes her ride his thigh. The episode they’ve got on is about a serial killer who murders so-called sinners - liars, adulterers, the like. Slaughters them like sacrifices, cutting their throats with vicious efficiency. Fake blood drenches the screen with every crime scene: a form of fucked-up baptism, a psuedo-religious cleansing.

The girl’s putting on an equally decent show on top of the stranger: head thrown back, eyelids fluttering, high-pitched little moans. He sinks his teeth into her shoulder and keeps watching the TV.

Hey, he says, a murmur against her skin, a close-up on his mouth. You’re a sinner, right?

She’s got her hands on his shoulders, hips rolling. Sure am.

How do you think this guy would kill you?

He thinks this’ll shock her, but she doesn’t even pause. Like he kills all the rest, she says. Like an animal.

I think he’d be more careful with you, the stranger muses. You’re too gorgeous. He’d have to use, like - a scalpel, or something. Something cleaner. Something that’d keep you intact.

It’s no use. Nothing he says seems to scare her. Her eyes are far-off, almost glazed in recollection. Like she’s thought about it too - her own untimely end. Her own vivisection, skin flayed and organs visible, viscera and bone. There, hold the shot: now the audience can consider it with her, ponder all the ways she could be torn apart, all the repulsive things they could do with her desiccated body. All the ways flesh can warp under a human touch: the blue-black yellow-green purpling of bruises, a whole palette on one tiny girl. There’s value in that, isn’t there? There’s something intimately, incomparably beautiful in suffering. There’s art.

Isn’t that why everyone’s watching?

I get it, the girl says, still soaking his thigh, smiling as if it’s an inside joke between them. You want me dead. That’s been obvious since the moment you met me.

I don’t want you dead, he says, and grabs her by the jaw. I just want to fuck you.

Okay, she says, uncaring, like there’s barely a difference. Fine. Whatever you want.

They don’t turn the TV off. They let the characters scream and bleed out in the background; he fucks her like she’s got a death wish. It’s funny - he expects her to get louder the harder he fucks her, ruthlessly working over the tight clench of her cunt - but she keeps getting less and less responsive, as if he’s pushing her little body into some sort of trance: expression vacant and blank, body limp and lifeless, mouth open and speechless. It makes him angry. Give me something, he’s saying, frustrated, clawing at her hair: baby, it’s not fair, it’s no fun like this. The on-screen shrieks aren’t enough - he wants it from her. Actually, he keeps saying he needs it - as if fulfilling desire is on the same level as food or air, as if he’ll drop dead in seconds if he doesn’t get her sobbing. He gets his overlarge hands on her face and starts contorting it, pushing her mouth open, her eyes wider, his fingers down her throat until she spits and gags and chokes. Oh, the audience will love this one: it’s reminiscent of those filthy exploitation films with their cult followings, so cleverly referential. Look at her pathetic and pinned down. Look at her helpless and struggling. Think of your favorite on-screen murder scenes, and then think of this.

Anything I want, the stranger reminds her, yanking back her hair as she drools down his wrist. You asked for this, didn’t you? You said anything I want.

Except now the girl can’t say anything at all.

This moment will start rumors, invite horrified scandal the same way some purposefully marketed horror movies are passed off as snuff films - that really went down, they really died like that. This scene’ll get a similar response. Did he actually fuck her? Did he actually hurt her? Did everyone - the writer, the director, the crew, the captive audience - actually just stand by and let that happen?

Sure. Or she might just be a really, really good actress.

There. The stranger’s murmuring to her now, watching her manufactured expression, watching the tears fill her eyes. There you go. There’s my girl. And she is his, she really is - transformed into something all beautiful and new under his clumsy fingertips, molded right into art. The camera will zoom in close on her gorgeous, cadaverous face, a perverse little gift for the audience: here, have this, take a look. She’s all yours now.

There’s something to be said here about the manmade link between sex and violence - inescapable, brutal, primeval; bodies in all shades of red - but he forgets it the second he touches her, and she’s being fucked too hard to remember.

Maybe they’ll get to it next time.)

AND WE'RE BACK!!!!!!!!!!! <33333

all my luv ever to @capslocked @worldsover @passingnotions @braaan for beta reading my dumbass shenanigans and also for being the best ever I LOVE U!!!!!! AND ANYONE WHO IS READING THIS I LOVE YALL TOO.................. PART 2 COMING SOON!!!!!!!!!!!

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existslikepristin · 6 months

Text

Well, it's a bit later still than I had hoped, but you know what? I'm not unhappy with the result. Enjoy

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Sounds, a late Kinktober fic, Dreamcatcher, Twice, Gahyeon, Jihyo, Mina, Jeongyeon, Momo, Sana, Nayeon, Tzuyu, Dahyun, Chaeyoung, yes all of them dammit, that's a tensome right there, not simultaneously per se but close enough whatever, okay there are a lot of kinks in here ranging from tame role play all the way up to things getting shoved inside a futa dick, I won't list them all right here because part of the fun is going to be figuring out who wants what but just be wary of the plethora of kinks there be in these waters matey

(My Masterlist)

Technically Too Late to be Kinktober 2023

The door only opened a crack at first. Gahyeon didn’t say anything. She just looked over at the eye peeking out at her. That was enough, apparently. Sana flung the door wide open with a smile to match. She was wearing nothing but a set of cherry red lingerie.

“Hey! Come on in!” she said in a loud sort of whisper, “Glad you could make it!”

Gahyeon smiled back and stepped inside, kicking off her shoes. “Of course.”

The entryway led to a short hallway with a corner into the living room. Gahyeon could see Momo, dressed casually, but everyone else was blocked from view. There were quite a few people speaking at once, too many simultaneous conversations to pick out any one in particular. Turning around, Gahyeon caught Sana staring at her butt, but she chose to ignore it. “So, where’s Tzuyu?”

Gahyeon was dressed in black business-like attire, though the tank top she was wearing under the suit jacket likely wouldn’t get her any points in a truly professional interview. Not that she planned on any of what she was wearing remaining on her body for very much longer.

Sana’s smile grew even larger, and she practically shouted, “Right over here, hot stuff! In the living room!”

The conversation further inside suddenly died down except for one meek, anxious voice. “Wh-what?! Guys, I… Don’t let anyone in!”

Gahyeon smirked and raised an eyebrow. That would be Tzuyu.

Walking around the corner, Gahyeon was greeted with the full gamut of Twice. Momo in sweats, Jihyo in tight jeans and a t-shirt, Dahyun in a blouse with a lacy cardigan, Chaeyoung in an immensely baggy sweater, Jeongyeon in a hoodie and shorts, Nayeon in a beige bathrobe, Mina in cotton pajamas, and Tzuyu. She was on the floor in front of one of the room’s couches, entirely naked for all intents and purposes, with a blindfold over her eyes and her arms cuffed behind her back. Her ankles were being held by Nayeon and Jihyo, keeping her legs wide open despite her squirming. Her long, partially wet, skinny cock stuck straight out.

Jihyo beamed a grin at Gahyeon. “Welcome to our humble abode!” she sang over the sound of Tzuyu nervously squealing, “Sana was just getting her ready for you.”

“G-g-guys, n-no pranks!” Tzuyu squeaked, “It’s just M-Momo! Right?”

Nayeon giggled, “Yeah, sure… Hey Momo,” she dragged the name out sarcastically, “come bounce that juicy ass on Tzuyu’s dick?”

Gahyeon rolled her eyes and dropped her pants. She didn’t have time for too much teasing, considering the gauntlet she was about to put herself through. The discovery that Twice then made about Gahyeon’s decision to arrive without underwear earned her a variety of appreciative reactions and one quiet and confused “It’s not that w-weird, guys!” from Tzuyu. Thanks to Gahyeon’s last appointment (technically, her last appointment was the ride from her dorm to Twice’s, during which she sat on Hyejeong’s face in the back of a car), she didn’t need any prep time either.

Stepping over Tzuyu’s legs and dropping down, Gahyeon sank all the way down with no warning onto the poor, suspecting, and anxious girl.

Tzuyu didn’t exactly complain. She whined out her pleasure and followed it up with a sharp breath and a tiny smile. The room was full of hums, giggles, and even a quiet cheer.

Gahyeon pressed herself against Tzuyu, watching her relieved smile suddenly shift into a horrified expression.

“Mom-mo? Er, a-ah… Jihyo?”

Gahyeon smirked up at Jihyo, then leaned in, gave Tzuyu a few seconds worth of a steaming kiss, and whispered, “Guess again.”

The color entirely drained from Tzuyu’s otherwise slightly tanned face, and she clamped her mouth shut. Her dick stayed fully hard though, so Gahyeon ground up and down. She kissed Tzuyu more, favoring her tightened jawline and shoulders. Tzuyu’s moans strained through her tense throat.

“Can’t figure it out?” Gahyeon asked, getting nothing but a terrified squeal as a response. The rest of the Twice members laughed. Gahyeon chuckled with them. “Don’t worry. Just enjoy the ride.”

It took some time, but Tzuyu slowly loosened up. Whether that was because she was into it or because her muscles were giving out from the constant tension, Gahyeon couldn’t tell. A bit more obvious was the impending orgasm. Tzuyu’s cock throbbed inside Gahyeon. Finally, her mouth opened, but her voice was only a tiny whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m cumming.”

Gahyeon slammed down one last time, and a moment later Tzuyu tensed up again. Gahyeon planted a final kiss on Tzuyu’s lips as pump after pump of cum was let loose inside her.

When Gahyeon felt her going soft, she stood up, letting a fair bit of cum drip back down onto Tzuyu, slowly streaming down between her tits. With no time to lose, though, Gahyeon turned to face her next target.

Jeongyeon looked a little surprised, pointing at herself. “Oh, me?”

Gahyeon nodded. “If you’re ready for it.”

“Wh-who?” Tzuyu stammered.

Nobody answered, and Sana was on top of Tzuyu almost immediately, licking up the trails of cum.

Gahyeon shrugged and stepped over, sitting next to Jeongyeon on a loveseat, not too concerned about staining it with Tzuyu jizz. “If you need a minute to prep, I can take care of someone else next.”

This being the first time Gahyeon had the chance to be so close to Jeongyeon, it amazed her how small she felt. She almost wished that Jeongyeon had requested some sort of size kink play, and resolved to ask her about it some other time.

“Well, it might take a minute to get going,” Jeongyeon said with an adorable, mild blush, “but I’m ready.”

“May I help you with this top of yours then?” Gahyeon asked, running a finger along the sleeve of Jeongyeon’s hoodie.

“I would like that.”

“No r-really! Who is that?” Tzuyu continued to nervously ask, squirming under Sana’s tongue.

Finally, Nayeon responded, “Calm down, girl. It’s just Sana.”

“Oh! Oh… oh, okay,” Tzuyu sighed with relief, “W-wow, Sana, that really didn’t sound like you for a bit there.”

“Huh?” Chaeyoung chimed in, “No, Sana’s cleaning you up. The one that fucked you was Gahyeon.”

“WHO?!” Tzuyu screamed.

Gahyeon sighed, but smiled up at Jeongyeon and gently lifted the hem of her hoodie. Beneath, she found a white shirt with blue sleeves and large black lettering forming the words “MEGA MILK.” If she’d been drinking any sort of beverage, she’d have spit it out to laugh.

“How appropriate,” she chuckled, “I love it.”

Jeongyeon grinned back. “I’m glad… I don’t exactly do this kind of thing normally.”

“How do you mean?” Gahyeon asked, ignoring the sounds of Tzuyu struggling to get free behind her and everyone else laughing.

“You know.” Jeongyeon shrugged. “Make weird requests of people I don’t know very well.”

Gahyeon wrapped her arms around Jeongyeon’s waist and leaned into a light hug, “Nothing weird about it. In fact, I’m pumped.”

It was Jeongyeon’s turn to laugh. Gahyeon couldn’t help but glance down at the jiggling MEGA MILK and lick her lips, but looked back up into Jeongyeon’s eyes and continued, “If you want to get to know each other a little better though, I’ll be free next Friday.”

Jeongyeon blushed again, smirked out of the side of her mouth, and returned the hug. “I would like that… but I don’t want to, uh… get left out tonight.”

Gahyeon took the obvious hint, and reached up to give Jeongyeon a kiss on the cheek. At the same time, her hands made some less wholesome moves, eagerly but carefully sliding Jeongyeon’s shirt up. She could barely contain her excitement when she felt the skin of Jeongyeon’s boobs, braless.

Nuzzling and groping, kneading and caressing, Gahyeon loved every second she got under Jeongyeon’s shirt. “I can only imagine how tired you must be of the compliments on these, hm?”

Jeongyeon stroked Gahyeon’s back. “It’s not uncommon, but… I am in a group with Momo and Jihyo.”

Gahyeon shook her head. “Uncultured swine, then. Those two are fine, but it’s your boobs that will be stuck in my mind after tonight, I’m sure.”

Hand still on Gahyeon’s back to pull her along, Jeongyeon leaned back against the arm of the loveseat. The pivot point was perfect for putting Gahyeon’s face directly up against her chest. “I think…” Jeongyeon whispered, “I’d like to encourage that, actually.”

Gahyeon finished lifting Jeongyeon’s shirt and immediately attached her lips to a dark, luscious nipple and watched as Jeongyeon sighed quietly, throwing her head back and brushing her hair off her forehead.

Just as promised, it took a little while for anything to happen (excluding Gahyeon’s intense enjoyment of the act). Eventually though, a fine, mildly sweet liquid coated Gahyeon’s tongue. It wasn’t enough for a mouthful, but it was unmistakable. Jeongyeon’s milk.

Gahyeon took a moment to savor it, pressing her whole face into Jeongyeon’s boob, and finally pulled back enough to say in a tone just as sweet as the milk, "Delicious."

Quite unexpectedly then, Gahyeon was yanked away from Jeongyeon’s body and she fell back against the opposite arm of the loveseat. Sana jumped on top of her, smiling and giggling incessantly, notably without opening her mouth.

Sana held Gahyeon’s face in both hands, diving a bit too eagerly into a kiss. Gahyeon relented, upset about not continuing with Jeongyeon, but she figured Jeongyeon had already agreed to a future date, so there would be time.

The kiss was basically just a smash of lips on lips. Sana roughly jerked and yanked on Gahyeon’s suit jacket.

Jeongyeon groaned. “You couldn’t have waited just a few more minutes, Sana?”

Predictably, Sana had no response. She simply opened her mouth.

Gahyeon knew exactly what to expect when Sana parted her lips, so she did the same. The stream of Tzuyu cum was a bit of a flavor profile disappointment when compared to Jeongyeon’s milk, but it was by no means bad.

Once all of the jizz had been dropped into Gahyeon’s mouth, Sana backed off and removed her lacey bra, replacing it with her own squeezing fingers. She still had nothing to say, and just stared at Gahyeon expectantly, wide, excited eyes. Gahyeon had some things to say, mostly rude, as she didn't particularly appreciate having been interrupted, but with a mouth full of milk and cum and a goal that involved not spitting or swallowing, she couldn’t verbalize her annoyance.

With a powerful shove, Gahyeon sent Sana to the floor. She didn't seem to mind, scrambling onto her knees and lolling her tongue out of her open mouth, ready. Gahyeon didn’t make her wait long.

The slurry of mixed liquids spilled from Gahyeon’s lips to Sana’s tongue. A couple of drops missed, instead rolling down Sana’s chin and neck, but she scooped those up for further trade and consumption. For good measure, Gahyeon built up a bit of saliva and drooled that out as well. Sana giggled, accepting the additional ingredient to her drink, and groped Gahyeon’s thighs insistently.

"O-OH MY GOD!" Tzuyu screamed as someone removed her blindfold.

"Calm down! That's Gahyeon," said Jihyo, "You know? Dreamcatcher?"

Instantly, Tzuyu gasped deeply. "Oooh… Oh, that's the group Handong is in!"

Gahyeon chuckled, but otherwise stayed focused. She got down on her knees, wrapped her arms around Sana’s back, and created a mostly airtight seal between their lips. Sana certainly knew what was up, and got straight (or not-so-straight) into the action, swirling her tongue over Gahyeon’s, blending the objectively gross mixture into a much more consistent consistency.

"Wait, so that's my cum?!"

"Sure is," Nayeon confirmed.

Satisfied with the end result, Gahyeon tilted Sana’s head up and broke the kiss. "Good girl," she muttered.

Sana swallowed heavily, giggled some more, and opened her mouth wide to show Gahyeon it was empty.

"Does that mean it's my turn?!" Jihyo asked loudly, looming over Gahyeon from behind.

Gahyeon stood and turned around, finding herself immediately tit-to-tit with Jihyo. "I guess it does. Get naked."

Jihyo blushed, but followed the order right away. "So, what do you have planned for me?" she asked as she removed her shirt.

"It's a surprise."

"Jeongie!" Sana peeped, "I think I tasted your milk!"

"Oh…" Jeongyeon sighed, "sorry about—"

"It was so tasty! Can I have some more?!"

Jihyo dropped her bra to the floor and got started on the arduous task of wriggling out of her skin tight jeans. "You gonna whip some rope out of your jacket pocket? Seems a bit small for that. Twine? Floss?"

Gahyeon picked Jihyo’s shirt and bra up off the floor. "Something like that. Hey, this shirt's nice and stretchy. Any chance I can borrow it sometime?"

"Oh, you can have it," Jihyo said with a grunt as she finally got her pants past her ass, "It came in a pack of three!"

Gahyeon lightly slapped Jihyo’s fully revealed, commando-gone butt. "Thanks. Now come over here."

All of Jihyo’s clothes in hand, Gahyeon led her across the room to a dining chair and directed her to sit and close her eyes.

"Oh, I'm so excited!" Jihyo smiled. "Like I said, we never do quite this much at home. What's that?"

"You are, in fact, in your home. That was the first tie," Gahyeon said, "Keep your eyes closed."

Jihyo continued to follow instructions, even as her old shirt was stretched around her and tied together, holding her to the chair just under her bust and trapping one arm. "Hey, nice! I guess you had some kind of rope after all. Is that spandex? It's soft."

"Honestly, I'm not sure. I didn't check the blend."

Gahyeon pulled Jihyo’s free arm back and secured it to the back of the chair by wrapping her bra around it a couple of times and clasping it.

"That feels like a different material…" Jihyo toned, "Can I look yet?"

Gahyeon sighed, shrugged, grabbed Jihyo’s leg, lifted it over Jihyo’s head, and began tying it to her most recently restrained arm, using the legs of Jihyo’s jeans. "Yeah sure. Why not?"

Jihyo laughed as soon as her eyes were open. "Oooh! Ha! Duh. I should have guessed. Hey, that's pretty clever, but I think I might be able to escape a little easily."

"Can you?" Gahyeon asked as she finished tying a knot in the pants.

The bondage wasn't pretty, but it was effective enough. As Jihyo tried to loosen it up, Gahyeon smirked and paid more attention to her huge, jiggling tits than the integrity of the knots. She was stuck in quite the vulnerable position, arms jutting out behind her, one leg free and the other bent at the knee up near her head.

"Ah, yeah, I think if I just twist this waAAAY!"

Gahyeon lunged forward to catch the chair as it perilously tipped to the side. "Nope. Maybe you shouldn't be trying so hard."

"But if this was a real situation where I was being held hostage—"

"Then I would probably not be doing this." Gahyeon finished Jihyo’s sentence for her, pulling a bullet vibrator and a butt plug from her jacket pocket.

Jihyo gulped. "I mean, if you wanted to have your way with me—"

"That is what I'm doing, yes."

"Ha, okay, but if—"

Gahyeon put the butt plug in Jihyo’s mouth. "Hang on, please, and get that wet for me."

Subsequently, Jihyo’s moans in response to Gahyeon attaching the bullet to her clit and harshly fingering her were awkwardly muffled. They were allowed to continue, unmuffled, once Gahyeon spread Jihyo’s wetness down to her asshole, took the butt plug from her mouth, and put it where it was a bit more appropriate.

"Now, do me a favor and don't try to get out," Gahyeon said, "You'll only hurt yourself from the fall."

"Okay, sure, but… hey, where, uuungh… are you going?!"

"It's Dahyun's turn."

"But the vibrator, oh fuck… is still on!"

Gahyeon ignored Jihyo’s plea and walked back to the center of the room, tossing off her jacket on the way. She made note that Sana was sucking on Jeongyeon’s boob, and Tzuyu was shyly masturbating to the sight of it, but her next target was waiting.

Dahyun blinked, nervously looking away from where Jihyo was trapped and groaning and to Gahyeon. "So, um, my turn, huh?"

"If you still want it to be, yes." Gahyeon stood with a hand on her hip, dressed only in her tank top at this point.

The way Dahyun fidgeted with her cardigan, Gahyeon wasn't so sure the answer would be yes, so she added to her response, "It doesn't have to be though. You can wait for someone else to go first if you'd like."

"Gahyeooon!" Jihyo shouted across the room.

"Your turn's done, babe," Momo answered before going back to watching the upcoming action.

Gahyeon sat next to Dahyun, putting a hand softly on her arm. "Everything okay?"

Dahyun leaned in close and spoke quietly enough for only Gahyeon to hear over the moan-filled living room. "I don't know if I can do this. I just looked up a list of kinks and said I wanted dacryphilia but I was too afraid to look up what it meant.”

“It’s a crying kink.”

“Oh…” Dahyun recoiled back. “Yeah, I don’t think I like that.”

“That’s fine. Do you have any other kinks you would like to explore, or did everyone else force you into this?”

Dahyun sank into her seat a bit. “Yeah, it was kinda just to be included. I thought about spanking for a while and my butt started hurting out of nowhere.”

“Don’t worry about it then. Being vanilla isn’t a problem. If you still want to be included, you can… I don’t know, bring us some drinks?”

“Oh, I could do that. I can put on a maid outfit and bring it out on a platter and everything.”

Gahyeon raised an eyebrow. “You have a maid outfit?”

“Totally,” Dahyun bobbed her head, “It’s super sexy.”

“Like in a kinky way? Because that’s a kink. Very common one, actually.”

“Wait, sexy maids, kinky?” Dahyun paused and put her hand over her eyes. “Oh my god, of course it’s a kink.”

Gahyeon chuckled. “If you don’t want it to be a kink…”

“No, no.” Dahyun got off the couch. “Nope, that actually explains a lot. I’m going to go change. Anything you want? Beer, water, soju, normal milk, oat milk, grape juice?”

“I’ll just take a beer. Whatever kind you happen to have.”

Dahyun gave Gahyeon an “OK” sign and exited the room.

Looking to the side, the longest couch is where Momo, Mina, and Chaeyoung all sat. Gahyeon approached them, picking up her suit’s pants along the way, and gesturing to an excited-looking Momo who she was coming to see. Momo stood up graciously, and Gahyeon sat down in her place, right next to Chaeyoung.

“Hello, Chaeyoung,” Gahyeon said simply.

“Sup?” Chaeyoung responded quietly.

“Still want what you asked for?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Gahyeon reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a very small bottle of lube and a thin, steel rod, just a few inches long. She discarded the pants once again.

Chaeyoung leaned back against Mina, and lifted her legs, hugging them to her chest. She spread them just enough for her dick to fall down between them, then closed them again to trap it. As it turned out, she was wearing literally nothing but the large sweater.

“Nice cock,” Gahyeon said, entirely seriously. Chaeyoung’s dick was exceptionally large, at least in comparison to the rest of her small frame. It wasn’t fully hard, but Gahyeon estimated it would be about as long as her hand, wrist to fingertips. And besides its size, it just had a certain je ne sais quoi to it. “Have you done this before?”

“Technically, yes.”

Unsure of how to pose any further questions to that, Gahyeon shrugged and leaned down to lick Chaeyoung’s tip. A few more of those and she was rock hard. It seemed Gahyeon had overestimated the size a bit, but wasn’t too far off.

Gahyeon popped the lube bottle open and dipped the steel rod inside of it, swirling it around. It was a new formula from the Second Ring company, designed for extra slip, the ability to maintain external body temperature at all times, and barely had any viscosity to it. Despite this, it stuck to the rod just fine.

Chaeyoung only winced the slightest bit when Gahyeon touched the rod to the tip of her penis. Gahyeon wondered if she should wait and comfort her before going any further, but Mina casually reached over Chaeyoung’s shoulder and held her hand. Though Gahyeon hadn’t noticed any tension before, Chaeyoung seemed to release some at that moment.

The rod went inside easily, barely spreading Chaeyoung’s dick slit around it. Chaeyoung closed her eyes and took deep breaths, apparently meditating, entirely at peace with an object being pushed into her cock.

With the inside being stuffed, Gahyeon gently stroked the outside of Chaeyoung’s dick too. “Everything alright so far?” she asked.

Chaeyoung nodded serenely. "I think I could take bigger."

"Longer or wider?"

"Bit of both."

Gahyeon smirked. "Another time then?"

"Mhm."

"But right now…" Gahyeon held the rod by its end, a small ball meant to prevent the rod from disappearing completely. She wiggled it back and forth, twisted it, and pumped it in and out of Chaeyoung's cock, all very softly.

Through it all, Chaeyoung barely reacted, only taking somewhat sharper breaths any time Gahyeon pressed in on the outside of her cock.

"Would it be alright with you if I left this in you for a while?" Gahyeon asked.

"I'd love that…" Chaeyoung whispered, dropping her head back onto Mina's arm.

"Very good. I'll be sure to take care of it when I'm done here, then."

"H-hey! Me first thou—oooh shit!" Jihyo screamed the last part as a gush of liquid from her pussy soaked the chair she was tied to. The orgasm's aftershocks kept her quiet.

Gahyeon shook her head. Little did Jihyo know, she'd be spending quite a bit longer tied up that night, and would likely cum several more times, according to Gahyeon’s plans.

But of course, Gahyeon's plans for the other members were not yet finished.

"Mina?"

Mina sighed, "Present."

Gahyeon smirked. "I can tell. I'm looking right at you."

"Yup. Let's get this over with," Mina grumbled as she carefully moved out from beneath Chaeyoung.

Nayeon scolded Mina, "Hey! Don't be rude!"

"Not trying to be. I'm very excited," Mina said, contradicting herself with her bored tone. She pulled off her pajamas, dropped them on the floor, and turned around, getting onto her knees on the couch, resting her elbows on the back. Her ass jutted out, round, beautiful, inviting. Even so, Gahyeon didn’t go straight for it.

"You sure?" Gahyeon asked, "I mean, same thing I told Dahyun: You don't have to participate if you don't want to."

"Ah. Cool." Mina shrugged and sat back down. "Who's next then? Momo? Nayeon?"

Momo groaned loudly, "Fun suckerrr."

Gahyeon took Mina's hand and pulled her up, back into the entryway of the apartment. Somehow it was only then when she noticed the dick hanging between Mina's legs.

"Wait, don't leave! Aaah, fucking god! I'm getting really sensitive here!" Jihyo screamed as she saw the two going toward the door.

"Okay, we don't have to get into the whole story here, but why are they so insistent that you join in?" Gahyeon asked Mina in a hushed tone.

Mina rolled her eyes. "I don't want to be a part of this stuff pretty much ever. We had a single orgy one fucking time and now they want to see me getting my ass eaten or my thighs fucked all the time. I just want to go back to my room and chill with Chaeyoung."

"Does Chaeyoung want to leave too? I can go take the stuff out of her cock."

"No. She's been talking about this for weeks. It's been cute and scary."

"Scary?"

"Yeah, because she wanted shit shoved inside her dick."

"Valid. Well, what do you want to do about it? If you'd rather not do anything kinky or have sex with me, I definitely don't want to push you into it."

Mina crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. "It's not like that. You're cute. I'm just sick of… all this, you know? I don't know. I'm cool with sticking to the plan and having you eat my ass… I might just fake an early orgasm or something."

"Well, if we're going to do anything, is there at least anything else you'd rather do? Something that might make you cum for real, or just something you'd enjoy that you've never tried? That's the whole reason I'm here."

Mina just shrugged.

Gahyeon gave it a moment of thought. "You ever thigh fucked someone else? Or have you always been on the receiving end?"

"People really like fucking my thighs."

"Do you want to fuck mine? Or maybe try hotdogging?"

"What's that?"

"Same idea as thigh fucking, but between my ass cheeks."

Mina's eyes traveled down slowly, so Gahyeon turned around, rubbing her hands down her back and over her butt. "Totally up to you. Or we can just say we did it and move on."

"Uh… we can… yeah, try that."

Gahyeon looked over her shoulder. Mina's cock had sprung fully to life. With a smirk, she backed up, just until the tip was nestled in the cleft of her ass. Mina took a sharp breath.

"In here with the shoes?" Gahyeon asked, "Or in the living room so Chaeyoung can see what you'd like to try with her later?"

That was the right nerve to hit. Mina snatched Gahyeon’s hand and dragged her back to the living room and practically threw her onto the couch where Chaeyoung had settled back against the corner.

Gahyeon flipped onto her stomach and swayed her ass from side to side, successfully enticing Mina to jump between her legs and quickly find a position that let her rest her entire cock between her ass cheeks. Gahyeon grabbed the lube bottle from in front of Chaeyoung and held it back for Mina to take. "Go wild, Mina."

As her butt was coated in lube, Gahyeon looked around the room. Sana was still working desperately to get more milk out of Jeongyeon, who was cooing and encouraging her without looking particularly encouraged herself. Tzuyu seemed to have had enough of masturbating and was enjoying a blowjob from Nayeon. Momo was kneeling in front of Jihyo, teasing her for her inability to escape from what seemed to be another impending orgasm. Chaeyoung was stroking her steel-stuffed cock extremely slowly. And finally, Dahyun walked back in from the hallway, dressed in a frilly and extremely skimpy French maid outfit, complete with black heels and a silver tray, on which she carried several drinks.

Mina gripped both of Gahyeon’s butt cheeks, squeezing them together against her cock. The grinding began a moment later.

Dahyun sauntered up to Gahyeon, clearly using her idol trained skills to swish her mini skirt around herself as she did. "Your beer, Mistress," she said, already fully in character. Gahyeon only cringed a little at the title.

"Thank you, Dahyun. I'll be a minute here, but would you be so kind as to help me prepare for an upcoming activity?" The proper tone Gahyeon struck was quite out of place with her physical positioning, as Mina was desperately grinding up and down her ass crack. "I'd like a strap on."

Dahyun bit her lip and blushed. "For me, Mistress?"

Gahyeon smiled. "Perhaps afterward, dear, but for the time being, it's meant for someone else. I'll be needing the largest dildo available."

Dahyun briefly looked disappointed, but then clearly got to thinking. "Ah, I think I know which that would be. I'll get that for you right away, Mistress!" And with that, she set down the platter of drinks on a coffee table in the center of the room, placed Gahyeon’s beer on the floor where she could reach it, and walked back down the hallway. Gahyeon recovered from her cringe in time to watch Dahyun's bare ass bounce under the skirt as she left.

But on the note of asses, Gahyeon turned over her shoulder a bit, and found Mina staring at Chaeyoung.

Rather than question it, Gahyeon saw an opportunity. She tapped Chaeyoung’s knee and motioned for her to come close, where they could whisper into each other's ears.

"Want to swap?"

Chaeyoung blinked. "Yes."

And, to Mina's brief dismay, Gahyeon slipped out from underneath Mina. Chaeyoung maneuvered into her place however, and Mina pushed her cock between Chaeyoung's butt cheeks.

As Gahyeon stood, admiring the scene with a smile, a fist connected with her face, knocking her to the floor.

Everyone still in the room stared in shock as Momo stood over Gahyeon, fists clenched and a devious smile on her face. "Looks like it's my turn!"

Gahyeon scowled, rubbing at her cheek, wondering if the punch was going to result in a black eye. "Fuck… Well I guess I misunderstood your request. I thought you were just looking for some hate sex role play."

Momo's expression softened. "Oh! Oh shit, no, I'm sorry, I meant I literally wanted to figh—"

She didn't have the opportunity to finish her sentence, as she found herself falling backwards, shoulder impacting with the floor as Gahyeon swept her legs out from under her.

"Yeah,” Gahyeon said with a smirk before jumping back up to her feet, “I caught on pretty quick when you punched me in the face,"

Momo smiled back, climbed back up, and clenched her fists again. "Cool."

Directing Momo to the emptiest part of the room wasn’t easy, but Gahyeon lured her roughly in the direction of the hallway after slapping a punch away and jumping away from a kick. There, she slipped forward, taking a glancing blow to her shoulder, but slamming her fist into Momo’s stomach for the trouble. It was a straight shot to the diaphragm, but it seemed Momo had enough adrenaline pumping through her to ignore a missed breath or two. She lunged with a knee out, smashing into Gahyeon’s hip.

“What the fuck?!” Dahyun screamed as she came out of the hall and quickly ducked back in.

Gahyeon mistakenly turned around to tell her, “Momo’s request,” and paid for her distraction by taking a punch to the boob. “Ow! Dammit! The lack of chill in here!”

Momo almost escaped from Gahyeon’s kick, but still got caught in the thigh, partially tripping her as she slid backward. She grinned wildly. “Better not take your eyes off me!” she shouted as she charged.

Gahyeon dodged the bum rush and shoved in the same direction as Momo’s momentum, sending her tumbling into Jihyo. As one might expect she would, Jihyo screamed in a panic as the chair she was tied to tilted to the side and ultimately fell on top of Momo's back.

"Dahyun?" Gahyeon asked, holding her hand out.

"Oh, yeah, here." Dahyun flopped a massive, shockingly heavy, black dildo into Gahyeon’s hand, already attached to a set of straps.

Gahyeon was skeptical about whether or not the fabric and buckles would be strong enough to withstand the dildo's weight. "Where the hell did you get this?"

"It's Jihyo's. The one she used to fuck Eunha a while back. I dunno where she got it, but it's definitely the biggest one we've got around here."

"That's perfect. Thank you, dear… Wait, the dildo she fucked Eunha with? With the movie script from dubu's_gap?"

"The very same, Mistress, yes. It's been in a trophy case with the script… pretty much ever since it came out of Eunha’s ass. Slight exaggeration. It got washed."

Gahyeon blinked at the sacred relic she now held, then looked back over at Momo. "That will definitely work."

Dropping to her knees, Gahyeon yanked Momo's sweatpants and panties off. Momo groaned and struggled to push Jihyo off of her back, but was interrupted by the enormous slab of black silicone whacking her arm away.

"Fuckin OUCH!" Momo yelled.

"FuGgIn oUcHiE," Gahyeon mocked back and she shoved one of Momo’s legs high up and to the side, pretzeling her around Jihyo, and touching the tip of the dildo (if something so large could even be classified as a "tip") to Momo's asshole and pushed.

"W-woah, hey! There's no way!" Momo shouted, "I haven't trained for that!"

Gahyeon sighed. The dildo was so big—and Momo's ass so tight—that it was like trying to penetrate a brick wall with a butter knife. While she would normally be inclined to train anybody's ass until they could take whatever she threw at it, the process would be longer than what Gahyeon was planning on.

Instead, she decided to fuck Momo's pussy.

The grunt and breath that exited Momo's lungs sounded so forced, it was as if the giant dildo had slammed into the bottom of her lungs. A burst of liquid shot out from where the dildo stretched her lips around it, as if there just wasn't enough room for it.

"I've trained…"

Gahyeon looked over her shoulder to find Nayeon standing behind her, bathrobe wide open.

"What?" Gahyeon squinted.

"You know," Nayeon said, turning around and swishing her robe to the side to fully expose her ass, "My butt."

Gahyeon crawled around Jihyo, leaned down, and whispered into Momo’s ear, "Make Jihyo eat you out until you can’t feel those bruises anymore. I win." She not-so-playfully punched Momo in the arm one last time.

Momo groaned but smiled briefly. "Thanks, bitch."

"So…" Gahyeon said as she stood up, "Nayeon. You're last for the night. Where do you want to do this? Bathroom?"

As she spoke, Gahyeon pulled off her tank top, finally freeing her breasts. She wondered if she should have done so a little sooner. The fight made her a bit sweaty. But considering Nayeon requested watersports, she figured she would be showering in a few minutes.

"Actually, I had a new idea," Nayeon said, stepping around Momo and Jihyo to lightly caress Gahyeon’s chest, "Not to ruin your plans like a couple of my members here… I would definitely still love to play with your piss sometime, but a rare opportunity has presented itself."

"And that is?"

"I want you to fuck my ass with that." Nayeon pointed down at the dildo, still as deep as it could be (therefore about half way) in Momo's pussy.

Gahyeon shrugged. She leaned over and grabbed one of the straps connected to it and pulled, just as forcefully as she'd pushed it in. Momo grunted again as her cunt was violently emptied and left gaping.

"I'll take that as a yes?" Nayeon bit the tip of her finger.

"You will take it, yes. Naked, please."

Nayeon didn't hesitate to drop her robe. She looked like she was getting giddy. "On the couch?" Without waiting for an answer, she ran to the couch where Mina was still working her dick between Chaeyoung's ass cheeks and jumped onto all fours, holding herself aloft over Chaeyoung.

Gahyeon followed, buckling the straps around herself with one hand, trying not to let the dildo's full weight drop and break anything. She got on her knees behind Nayeon, noting the glisten of lube already present where it was sorely needed. She laid the dildo down on Nayeon's butt, giving herself a rough idea of just how far inside she was about to reach.

"Look, Mina," Nayeon giggled, "She's hotdogging me like you're—HURK!"

"Don't annoy them, Nayeon," Gahyeon said as she rammed the head of the dildo into Nayeon's ass. Its size made the head act like an oversized butt plug, Nayeon's hole trying desperately to close around it. "I need you to focus, after all, on keeping your cute little ass spread open."

Whimpering pathetically, Nayeon propped herself against the back of the couch with one arm, and reached back with the other to palm her butt cheek. Spreading her ass did nothing, frankly, but Gahyeon liked to watch her partners being complicit in their own destruction.

Gahyeon pushed ahead, admiring how smoothly the dildo slid in. Nayeon certainly hadn't lied about training. She could teach a thing or two to the rest of her members for the next time Gahyeon showed up. Even so, the silicone monster reached a point where it could go no further. A good ninety percent of its length was lodged in Nayeon's asshole. Another couple of harsh shoves resulted only in pitiful cries of pleasured pain from Nayeon, but no more distance.

"I'd heard that Jihyo was able to get this entire beast inside Eunha," Gahyeon put on her most disappointed tone, "Weird, since you're a little taller."

"It's not… all the way in?" Nayeon asked, confused and perhaps slightly delirious.

"Definitely not, but it's close enough to fuck you."

As stated, Gahyeon fucked Nayeon. The pull practically dragged Nayeon's hole back with it, and the pushes brutally shoved Nayeon against the couch. She held on to the cushions for dear life as Gahyeon threatened to ragdoll her around with an instrument of impalement.

"And just checking," Gahyeon asked even as she continued crushing Nayeon upward into the wall, "This is what you were hoping for?"

By this point, Nayeon was blubbering incoherently, slapping and rubbing her clit, so Gahyeon didn’t expect more of a response than she got, which was a half-whined, half-shouted, "YYUuuuhhh."

It was close enough, as Nayeon added to her enthusiasm with an orgasm matching the size of the dildo up her ass.

Looking around the room, Gahyeon was rather satisfied with the outcome.

Mina's cum was all over Chaeyoung’s back, and she was still going between her ass cheeks. Chaeyoung was enjoying the very specific massage, and was carefully sliding her hand up and down her steel-stuffed shaft.

Momo had a few bruises beginning to show, and had turned Jihyo right side up (which was to say, roughly on her back) and was grinding her pussy against her face. Jihyo was of course still stuck with her limbs pointing in odd directions, and the now-sideways seat of the chair was dripping with a ridiculous amount of her juices.

Dahyun was sitting behind Jeongyeon, and the two of them were the only ones still wearing any amount of clothing. Dahyun in her maid getup and Jeongyeon still wearing her shorts. The two of them were gently kissing each other anywhere they could reach, and Dahyun was caressing Jeongyeon’s tits, from which a small amount of milk continued to leak.

Sana was sitting half on top of Tzuyu, pounding Tzuyu’s dick raw with her hand, and licking Tzuyu’s face. She was both begging and commanding Tzuyu to cum again, but it looked like that likely wasn't going to be a possibility. Tzuyu was barely retaining consciousness. A white liquid drooled from the corner of her mouth, presumably because Sana sucked out her cum and deposited it between her lips.

It was all a bit late for Kinktober, but an early November kink party was about as good as Gahyeon could get between world tours.

#kpop smut #fanfic #dreamcatcher smut #gahyeon #twice smut #nayeon #jihyo #momo #sana #chaeyoung #dahyun #tzuyu #mina #jeongyeon #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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