Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s taken so long to get into Minjeong’s bed, she’s not going to fuck it up now. She’s going to do everything right, make her come at least six times, maybe sneak a kiss to the dip of her collarbones but otherwise keep her damn feelings to herself. They’d only gross her out, she already knows, and, worse, might irritate her. Like, ew, ugh, you’re in love with me? Can you stop that? Cheers. I really don’t see you that way. But Jimin’s a walking lesbian joke, so of course she’s in love with her, her incredible best friend. Minjeong’s mean (often) and sexy (always), and (sometimes) even unbearably adorable. When she got that perm last year, Jimin cried herself to sleep three nights in a row. Then she told herself to get her shit together, and she almost sort of nearly managed.

You may laugh. Minjeong probably would.

Anyway. Here they are. Having sex. With no strings attached, obviously. Jimin knows there will never be strings, not even really gauzy ones matching the bracelet Minjeong wears everywhere, not even a hint of strings. Because Minjeong doesn’t do feelings, full stop, and she probably especially doesn’t do feelings for Jimin.

Which—is fine. Obviously. She doesn’t want to lose their friendship, doesn’t want to live without her.

She grinds the strap into Minjeong’s perfect pussy and exhales a soft, desperate moan. It doesn’t matter that she can’t actually feel how she tightens up around her, her brain still whites out with frenzied, cavewomanly lust. It still feels so good, to be this close, to see her like this, to make her feel good. That’s the greatest pleasure. To be of service.

(She could make her feel this good every day. Twice a day, thrice, if she wanted, if she’d let her, if she’d—

Oh well.)

Minjeong’s baby hairs frizz around her temples. Her cheeks are pink, her mouth open, her eyes so dark and intense as they cut into Jimin, see right through to the pistol-whipped mess of her heart. ‘There,’ she grits out, ‘right there, just like that. Good girl.’

A sick rush of desire bubbles through her. She snaps her hips forward. Again, again, she doesn’t speed up or slow down, just fucks Minjeong until she goes rigid, until she pulses so beautifully and her hand clutches Jimin’s arm tight. The moans that spill out of her are like polished crystals, sparkly and stunning and wonderful. She sounds expensive. She sounds like all of Jimin’s worst, best dreams.

Despite herself, she leans down so their chests touch and presses a kiss to the corner of Minjeong’s open moth. ‘You’re so hot,’ she whispers, and means it more than she probably should. It’s true all the same; Minjeong’s always pretty, even on early mornings with her ridiculous bedhead and pillow-creased cheek, even hungover in a ratty, takeaway-stained tee, but rarely as pretty as right now. Blissed-out from orgasm, glowy, perfect.

Jimin’s hopelessly gone for her. It’s pathetic, honestly, how bad it is, and she should get it under control or Minjeong might realise, might notice one of her stolen glances, might catch her pupils transforming into stupid little hearts when she looks at her, and that’d be—bad. That would not only be humiliating but likely ruin everything.

But—but it doesn’t matter right now. All that matters right now is fucking Minjeong better than anyone else ever has. Low stakes. No pressure. Totally.

This is definitely the best sex Jimin’s ever had, and yeah that might have something to do with the fact that she has feelings for Minjeong, and they’re not exactly platonic, but it really isn’t important. What’s important is that this is also the best sex Minjeong’s ever had.

She sits back to get a better angle and grinds into her, fills her deep, and watches how her body continues to shiver gently. She runs her thumb over her clit. She must look a mess, sweaty and panting, but Minjeong’s still beautiful. ‘Another?’ she asks, a whisper that cracks into a hopeless whine when Minjeong reaches up and tweaks her nipple. ‘Ah—’ Her own cunt clenches; she could probably come from this, untouched, just from the honour of fucking Minjeong Kim, of watching her fall apart beneath her.

‘Yes.’ She curves her leg around Jimin so her heel digs into the back of her thigh. ‘Another.’

Yes, Ma’am, she doesn’t say, because that would be fucking weird, but she’s kind of tempted. Almost. In a way. She wonders absentmindedly if Minjeong’s past partners have called her anything special in bed, and then she promptly puts the thought out of her head. She doesn’t want to think about Minjeong sleeping with anyone else. She doesn’t want Minjeong to think about sleeping with anyone else either—right now, she should just be thinking about Jimin. About how good Jimin’s making her feel, how sweetly obedient and eager and devoted she is. Like a dog. Or something worse. She shifts her hips again and rocks into a steady rhythm, keeps one hand on her waist and the other between her legs, thumbing over her clit and watching in awe as pleasure crests through her body.

‘That’s good,’ she says, ‘yeah, that’s—that’s good, sweetheart, don’t stop, fuck, don’t you dare stop—’

She’d never. She feels so lost, drunk and unsteady and desperate, she just keeps dragging her cock into Minjeong, keeps imagining how she stretches around her and takes her so well, takes everything so well and still demands more, and keeps whining like the hopeless thing she is. When Minjeong comes again, Jimin buries her face in her neck and ruts into her, fucks her through it, mouths at the base of her neck and dreams about digging in her teeth.

Minjeong tightens her legs around her waist and rocks up against the next thrust. ‘Good girl,’ she says, hazy but still the perfect anchor. ‘One more, honey. Give me another.’

Chapter Text

She’s got her glitter on, her eyelashes spidery and long, her perfect mouth stained with a candy apple red that Chris wants to see smudged. She wants to see the mascara bleed down her cheeks too, the shimmery highlighter smeared into a right mess, her beautiful doll defaced and teary. The lovely sounds she’d make. The high pitch of her whimpers, the sweet little moans when it’s bordering on too much. She’s never quiet, rarely shy—only sometimes, a glitzy rendition of innocence to rile Chris up.

Hyunjin smiles, and it stops Chris’ heart in her chest. She sinks to her knees and the neckline of her dress dips, gives a dizzying view of the heave of her breasts. ‘You paid for everything,’ she says, husky, looking up at her demurely through her lashes. The warm light reflects off her cheekbones. ‘Let me make it up to you.’

‘Hyunjin,’ she says hopelessly, fingers itching to drag through Hyunjin’s long hair. Tighten, tug. Pull her around. Of course she paid. Hyunjin’s too beautiful to pay for her own dinner, and Chris prides herself on her chivalry. When they go out, it’s always her treat. Always should be. ‘You don’t—’

‘I want to show you I’m grateful,’ she says, fingers teasing up Chris’ inner thighs. Her cunt aches already, but this won’t be about that. Not yet. ‘Oppa, let me show you.’

She groans. If she weren’t so pathetically desperate to keep looking at the star between her legs, her head would’ve tilted back. Her eyes would’ve closed. But she looks and looks, awestruck like always, can’t get enough. She bridges her hips so Hyunjin can tug down her loose jeans, belt buckle clattering against the floor, and loses her breath when she wraps a hand around the base of her strap-on. She doesn’t feel it but she feels it. It zips through her nervous system.

Hyunjin was born to be in the spotlight. Chris has this thought all the time—when she prances around in one of Chris’ own, oversized shirts, when she curls up in front of the bedroom vanity to put on make-up, when she spritzes herself in floral perfumes and twirls around and winks at her, beckons her closer, demands to be pushed against a wall and kissed stupid. Chris, of course, always obliges. Any whim, any desire. Her girl’s so fucking pretty, it doesn’t even make sense, of course she gives her everything. She should be spoiled. Chris should be spoiling her. She loves her dolled-up and she loves her broken-down and she loves her when she’s like this, flashing her faux sweet smile, opening her throat to show her gratitude. Chris would pay for everything forever and expect nothing in return, but it’s not like she’s going to complain about a front row ticket to this show. She’s not crazy.

‘Oppa,’ she moans, wet with her own spit, and Chris’ vision always goes fuzzy at the edges when she says that. Hyunjin knows, definitely, and uses it to her advantage. Little minx. Last week, they went window shopping, which unsurprisingly turned into real shopping the moment Hyunjin found a satin slip she just couldn’t live without. Can I have this? she asked, politeness itself, batting her lashes and leaning close to whisper, please, oppa. Chris had to close her eyes for a moment to not pass out. She’s lightheaded again right now. ‘Oppa, you’re so big,’ she whines, a trashy porn line and objectively ridiculous because Chris’ dick is made of silicone. She can open the drawer and pick whatever size and colour she wants. It whizzes through her all the same though, because she is a stupid cliché and she gets off to stupid cliché things. Hyunjin tongues at the head messily and Chris’ pussy throbs, raw desire unspooling inside her.

‘But you’re taking it well,’ she says, and threads her fingers through her hair. Doesn’t pull, not yet. ‘Like you were made for this.’

She hums quietly and wraps her lips around the toy again, slides it loudly along her tongue. Hollows her cheeks. So pretty and ruinable when she blinks up at Chris, bobs her head, puts on a show. The wet noises of her throat shock through Chris’ body and cluster in her core, burning hot, and her hips edge forward.

‘What’s it mean,’ she grits out, clutching Hyunjin’s hair tighter, ‘I buy you a new dress and you get on your knees for me. What does that make you, baby?’

She moans, lashes fluttering, and pliantly lets Chris fuck deeper into her throat.

With a tight grip in her hair, she tugs her off her cock to let her catch her breath. ‘Don’t be shy now,’ she says, closing her fist to send a zip of pain through Hyunjin’s scalp. ‘Tell me, sweetheart.’

Her eyes glaze over beautifully. A hoarse whimper escapes her, and she grabs at the strap, slides her fist over it messily. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispers.

‘No?’ she asks.  

‘Nuh uh.’ She shakes her head. Touches the tip of her tongue to the strap. ‘You wanna fuck me?’ she asks, disorientingly raspy. She fits Chris’ cock down her throat again, gasps out a little choking noise, and pulls off again. Strings of spit still connect them when she heaves in a breath. ‘You’re so hard for me. I bet you do.’

‘I’d love to,’ Chris says, as steadily as she can. ‘What’s the rate for that?’

Hyunjin shudders. It looks stunning on her. ‘There’s not…’

‘But you were just telling me,’ she says, ‘what a whore you are. You sure I paid enough to fuck you, darling?’

Her eyes roll back. She must be dripping all over the floor, ruining her new panties. That’s okay. Chris will get her a new pair.  

Chapter Text

How cute she is, like this, her little hands fisting the bedsheet, her breasts jiggling with each sharp intake of breath. Her eyes are so wide. Her heart must be beating so fast, poor thing, stumbling over her own desperate sounds. She can’t squirm away—Minhee made sure of that, neat Burlington Bowlines at her wrists and ankles affixed to the bedposts, trapping her pretty girl right here. At her mercy. Nowhere to go.

Their eyes meet. There’s the prettiest glaze of fear in Jisu’s.

Minhee’s cunt aches. She lets her smile bloom as she touches the tip of the knife against Jisu’s trembling tummy and slowly drags it across to her hip.

She gasps. Chokes on a little ah-ah-ah. Her breath stagnates in her throat and doesn’t come back out. Her muscles engage, clenched-up, tight—fearful. Perfect.

‘Shh.’ Minhee’s not hurting her, not really, she’s not even split the skin. It’s a tickling sensation if anything, but there’s the threat—the potential, the promise—of more. Of a deeper pain, and a glossy red spill that Minhee will want to lick away. Dig in her teeth around the cut and suck a bruise right over it, force a scream from her pretty throat.

Later, maybe.

Right now, she just wants to scare her. Jisu likes that so much, her own helplessness, the way intricate layers of fear settle over her heart and soften her brain like a peach. She likes it when Minhee hurts her, yes, but she likes it even more when she threatens to. That thrilling prelude to pain. When she can sink, so fully, into her own hyperarousal, whine and plead and cry, oh, she’s so especially darling when she cries. Minhee likes her terribly.

‘If you don’t stop twitching,’ she says, ‘you might hurt yourself.’

The noise Jisu makes is indescribable. Raw and wet and so impossibly hot, saturated with nervousness and the sweetest submission, offering herself like the most perfect lamb. ‘No, no,’ she murmurs, so gone already. Minhee’s impressed she even understood what she just said to her. Give it another ten minutes and she might be dropped too deep. ‘No, don’t—I’m not. Not gonna.’

Her endearing babbling tugs on Minhee’s heart. The heave of her chest makes her pussy drip. She tightens her grip on her knife and touches the blade to her inner thigh. ‘Maybe I want to hurt you,’ she says, nearly lightheaded just at the thought. She likes the prelude; she likes the orchestral climax, too. ‘And you can’t do anything, can you? Do you think you can get away, darling?’

Jisu tugs on the ropes—instinct, her perfect little prey response. They don’t budge. She’s trapped here. The knowledge must make her drip. ‘Please,’ she whispers, a wet tone sneaking into her voice. Minhee scrapes the tip of the blade towards her pussy and her body jumps. Another wrecked moan spills out of her. ‘No, no, I’m scared, I’m scared.’

Arousal rushes through her. It’s thick and sticky, rich, cloying, she feels sick and drunk and overpowered. She withdraws the knife. Scrapes her nails up her other thigh instead, pink lines left behind. ‘Why are you scared?’ she asks. ‘If you just stay still like a good girl, nothing’s going to happen.’

‘Nnnnghg.’ Her eyes close. Her mouth hangs open, her soft, pink tongue another temptation. ‘I-I—I don’t…’ When she opens her eyes, they’re wet with tears. They glimmer for a long moment before spilling down her round cheeks. ‘But what if you…’

‘What if I what?’ she prompts when Jisu’s hesitation extends. She wants to lean down and close her teeth over her nipple, draw another squeal from her. Bruise all that pliant skin.

‘Hurt me,’ she manages below her breath. It’s barely audible. It’s so sweet.

‘Do you think Mommy would hurt you?’

Her pulse jumps again. Her body jerks. ‘You—you might.’

She holds the knife to her inner thigh again. She keeps her eyes on Jisu’s, a steady hand on her waist. ‘Do you want that, sweetheart?’ she asks. ‘Should I hurt you?’

‘No,’ she says, and shakes her head. Breathes around another sniffle. ‘No, don’t, I don’t, I’m scared. I’m scared.’ She keeps repeating that, almost as if she wants to intoxicate Minhee. Wants to bait her into increasing her fear until she’s drenched in it, shivering and breathless and coming apart.

She can do that. There’s nothing she likes better. She shifts her weight and cages Jisu against the bed, mouths up her throat. ‘You’re trembling, baby,’ she murmurs, scraping her teeth over her tender skin. She sneaks two fingers under her panties, teases at the soft slit of her pussy. Jisu makes an embarrassed noise and squirms pointlessly to close her legs; Minhee understands why. She clicks her tongue. ‘I thought you were scared.’

‘I am,’ she insists, whiny, whiny, whiny, so perfect, Minhee wants to sink in her teeth. Wants to soak up every shriek and sob. ‘I’m scared.’

‘Hmm.’ She withdraws her fingers, tucks the panties back in place. Sits back. Picks up her knife. ‘Why don’t you show me just how scared you are, honey.’

Chapter Text

She’s not slow, doesn’t give Jisu time to adjust to it, just thrusts forward and fills her up so completely that Jisu squeals. Her leg gives a little kick. ‘Ohmygod,’ she gasps, fingernails digging into Chris’ muscled arms. She’s been angling for this all day, teasing her fingertips up Chris’ thighs while they cuddled on the sofa, whispering things in her ear just to rile her up, but she still struggles to take it now that Chris is giving it to her. Her pussy feels hot, stretched around the strap-on, the blunt tip of it nudged against a spot inside her that makes her brain white out. ‘Ohmygod, it’s so—’

Chris grabs her hips tight. She pulls back, just enough, and fucks back into her with a humiliating squelch. So loud, she squeezed so much lube over her dick and into Jisu, then mocked her for being so wet. No wonder she’s been acting like a slut all day, leaking like that.

‘Daddy,’ Jisu chokes out, thighs splaying open wider. She’s been saying that all day, too. Coupled with docile eyes, a dirty confession, a single word to ensnare her girlfriend. Greedy, that’s what she is. She wants everything and she’ll make sure she gets it. ‘Daddy, you’re being too rough.’

It doesn’t make her slow down. If anything, the next slap of their bodies connecting resounds even louder than the last. ‘You can take it,’ she says. ‘You like it like this.’

Jisu makes a protesting noise. Of course they both know she’s lying, but sometimes Chris likes that. Jisu acting like she can’t take it, like it’s too much, like she doesn’t want it. And Jisu—Jisu likes that too, when it’s not in her hands anymore, when she has to take whatever Chris decides to give her. ‘Too deep,’ she whispers, floating in the sickly sweet thrill of losing her choice.

Chris slides one hand from her hip to her lower belly. She presses down, right where Jisu already feels so full, and coos. ‘But it fits so perfectly,’ she says, drenched in that resin-thick condescension that makes Jisu blush everywhere. Makes her want to hide. ‘I can even see it here, sweetheart.’

Her leg kicks out again. Even if it’s not true, even if there isn’t really a bulge—just the thought of it scorches her. A forest fire in her chest. ‘Daddy,’ she says weakly. Sometimes it’s nice, too, when she doesn’t have to say anything other than that.

She shifts her hips again. She holds Jisu down and works her over, fucks her past one orgasm and right into the next, all those hours in the gym paying off in the best way. She doesn’t need a break, so Jisu doesn’t get one. She’s forced to just lie here, take it, choke and squeal and moan hopelessly, spasm as she comes, drift out of her body and into heaven.

‘There’s a good girl,’ Chris says. She’s got Jisu caged against the bed. Her hips have slowed from the rough thrusts to a deep, disorienting grind. Jisu feels so full—so full she might break. She should tell Chris that. If she can find the words. ‘Aren’t you sweet, taking everything Daddy gives you.’

The whines that spill out of her are humiliating. She barely sounds human. She doesn’t feel it either, not anymore, she feels like an animal in heat, a prey thing, a fleshlight for her Daddy to use. ‘I’m—’ It’s so hard to talk by now. Chris has made her brain melt into sticky glitter glue. ‘Daddy, I’m—feels like…oh, Daddy, so deep. ‘s gonna break me.’

Chris curses below her breath, and her fingertips bruise Jisu’s waist. Bingo. ‘What’s that, honey?’ she asks. ‘Is your little pussy too tight to take Daddy’s cock?’

Jisu tightens up again. Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t know if she actually makes a sound—she might be quiet as she comes again, trembling as the pleasure keeps rolling through her.

Meanly, Chris drags her thumb over Jisu’s clit.

Her body jumps. Her brain glitches, sensitive, overstimulated. ‘Nnnggn-no, no—’

‘I’m wondering,’ she says, and her voice is shockingly even for someone who’s just fucked Jisu this stupid. ‘How many times can you come before you piss yourself?’

Someone makes this pathetic, trapped animal noise. It takes a moment for Jisu to realise it came out of her own mouth, her heart beating fast, the humiliating potential turning her on even more. At least Chris had the foresight to put down a towel before. But that probably also means she really won’t stop until Jisu has debased herself like that. She’ll fuck her till she loses control of her body.  

‘Daddy,’ is all she says, breathless and whiny and raw. Pleasantly sore already.

Chris presses a kiss to her jawline. ‘Will you keep count?’ she asks. ‘Or do you need me to do that for you, too?’

Chapter Text

The fingers inside her reach so deep, it shouldn’t be possible. Her hands looked so small when they closed around Jisu’s wrist, when she passed her a rhubarb fizz. None of this should be possible, anyway—in the bar, it was a man that approached her, and Jisu is not so blind she couldn’t recognise he was attractive. Broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, barely taller than her in her heels. Before he introduced himself, his expression shifted into a knowing smile and suddenly it was a woman, not a man, standing in front of her. The same dark eyes. But a softer figure, a low-cut burgundy dress, a waterfall of nearly black hair.

Jisu’s heart did something so embarrassing. The whiplash of attraction, and the shock of that transformation rendered her speechless.

‘I think,’ the woman—person? Thing? Eldritch wet dream nightmare?—said, ‘this is much more your thing. Is that right?’ Her voice, so light, contrasted the stark intensity of her features, all those sharp lines.

‘What.’ She tried not to stare at her cleavage. Tried not to stare at her mouth either and imagine it between her legs. Tried to understand what the hell was happening. ‘What… was that?’

‘Can I get you a drink?’ she sidestepped the question, and flagged down the bartender before Jisu could reply. And then everything sort of just fell into place, light touches and conversation and Jisu, suddenly, folded in on herself in the backseat of a Bentley Flying Spur, a car so outrageously removed from Jisu’s own world that she wondered if Minhee might have used those shapeshifting powers to get her hands on it illegally. Because what honest woman can afford something like this? Jisu thinks of it as a splurge when she shells out for Pink Lady apples instead of Fujis.

Her breathing has turned shallow. She nearly chokes on a wet gasp when Minhee eases in a third finger, stretching her so wide, and reaching so deep, it’s like—it’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, it shouldn’t be possible, how are her fingers practically prodding at her cervix and making her whole body jump from electric pleasure-pain? ‘Nngff-fuck,’ she slurs, embarrassed to feel spit slide down her chin, ‘ohmygod. Ohmygod.’

‘Cute,’ Minhee says softly, her lips on Jisu’s throat, her other hand on her chest. She pinches a nipple. She grazes her teeth where Jisu’s pulse jumps. ‘You always this whiny, darling?’

Like—yeah. Probably. ‘N-nobody’s ever complained,’ she whines, as the embarrassment makes her clench tighter around Minhee’s fingers.

‘This is not me complaining,’ she says. ‘Just wondering how often you get fucked, since you’re so tight for me.’

She throws her arm over her face. Breathes into the crook of her elbow. So it’s been a while, whatever, but it’s not like—even if someone else had fucked her yesterday, she’d probably still be whiny right now. And her pussy would probably still feel tight around Minhee’s supernaturally long, thick fingers. She wonders if she can fit her whole fist inside her. If Jisu could take that, her cunt clenched tight at her wrist, squirting all over herself. Or maybe she could—oh god, if it’s too tight of a fit, which it probably will be, she can make her hand smaller. Small enough to nestle snugly inside Jisu. And then shapeshift it bigger, let it swell, stretch her out till she squeals and her cervix pulses and everything is too hot and too wet and too much.

Her orgasm slams into her like a brick through a windowpane. It goes on for a long time, it feels like, the glitter never receding, Minhee’s fingers rubbing over and inside her, her gentle voice lulling her with praise.

‘Holy shit,’ Jisu says, out of breath. She wrests open her eyes. Did Minhee’s teeth always look like that, sharply pointed? Did her eyes already have that golden ring around the pupil when they first met? ‘God. If you make me piss myself, I’ll cry.’

‘Is that a promise?’ she asks with an endearing smile.

She blushes. She thinks she blushes anyway, but she’s probably already so sex-flushed everywhere that it doesn’t look much different. Small mercies. ‘No,’ she says, ‘no, I’m not—what were we talking about? Nice weather. We’re having.’

‘Uh huh,’ she says. ‘I’m going to eat you out now, darling.’

Jisu blinks. Blinks again. Why didn’t she think—oh no, she might really end up crying. If Minhee’s fingers were this magical, what’s her tongue going to be like? She shudders weakly. Her gaze skitters around the car and a dull panic expands in her chest. They should’ve put down a towel, or five. It’s going to get messy. And these seats are fucking Nappa leather.  

Well.

Minhee can always steal a new car. Transform into an heiress, saunter in and put it on Daddy’s American Express. Speed away on the wings of success.

If she needs a sidekick or sex toy, Jisu’s available. Anytime.

Chapter Text

Her tummy’s all knotted with pain, overfull and so aching she can barely keep her eyes open. She keeps squirming but never gets comfortable, sweat at the backs of her knees, skin too sensitive, everything hot and itchy and overwhelming. Hyunjin, comparatively, looks breezy. Barbie-perfect and flawless, even though she’s had as much to drink as Jisu. Even though her insides must be aching, too. Even though—even though she should be the one to lose control of herself first and not get to come for the next week.

Jisu really doesn’t want to lose. She likes to come so much.

(Hyunjin likes to come so much, too, she knows, that’s why it’s the perfect punishment. Neither of them will want it. Chris is like that. Ingenious. Creative.)

‘It’s cute that you’re wearing white panties,’ Hyunjin says. Her voice is all airy, and Jisu doesn’t understand how she manages. If she tried to say anything right now, it’d come out in a breathless huff, steeped in futile desperation. ‘It’ll be sooo much more obvious when you piss yourself.’

Jisu’s focus wavers. Her eyes squeeze shut, then peel open. She looks at Hyunjin’s shiny red bra and matching thong. Her smooth legs and long fingers and no part of her trembling. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she’s not aching too. But she does. Know better. ‘I bet you wish you were under me right now,’ she says, and sucks in another breath. God, she has to pee so bad. Everything hurts. ‘Since you want everyone to piss on you and treat you like a dirty whore.’

‘Language,’ Chris says, just as Hyunjin bites out, ‘I wouldn’t let you do that.’

Chris sighs. ‘Next one to say something mean,’ she says, ‘gets another glass of water.’

‘Then Jisu better keep her mouth shut ‘cause she won’t be able to handle more. Just look at her,’ she says, and her gaze is so hot and dark that Jisu’s entire body flushes, ‘she looks like she’s about to cry. Poor thing.’

Without another word, Chris holds a full glass of water to Hyunjin’s mouth. ‘What did I just say,’ she says gently, and guides her to drink up with a tightened fist in her hair.

Hyunjin gulps, but swallows obediently. Chris doesn’t give her much of a choice. Some of the water trickles down her chin; her chest heaves magnetically. When she meets Jisu’s eyes, she still looks aloof, so haughty. Unbothered. But the pain must be sharp inside her.

‘I’d suggest you both quit it,’ Chris says, and sets down the empty glass. ‘I can think of so many ways to make this worse.’

Jisu’s brain whites out. Her cunt clenches, and panic surges through her. No. No, no—

‘And how’s that?’ Hyunjin asks, because she can’t leave well enough alone.

‘When Jisu pees herself, I’ll make you lick it off the floor,’ she says. Sweet. Stickily condescending. ‘Every drop.’

Hyunjin looks woozy. Her lips part, but nothing snarky comes out—just a wounded little noise. Birdlike. It trickles through Jisu and settles in her core.

‘That’s not a punishment,’ Jisu says. Her eyes close again. Can Hyunjin please hurry up and lose control because Jisu doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it. Not very long. She’s so full, too full, her pussy feels like it’s on fire. Her panties are already so wet. ‘She’d love that.’  

‘What’s that?’ Chris asks, and Jisu knows she made a mistake.

She shudders when she inhales. She keeps her eyes on the floor. ‘I said,’ she whispers, ‘that she’d love that.’

‘Did you, now.’ A moment later, her hand closes over Jisu’s scalp. The grip on her hair smarts. Her mouth falls open to let out a little gasp, and Chris takes advantage of it to press the rim of a glass between her lips. ‘That wasn’t a very nice thing to say,’ she says, ‘which means you get another glass.’

Jisu’s throat opens. Everything inside her screams. If she drinks anything more, it won’t fit inside her. There’s just no way. She’s going to burst, she’s going to humiliate herself, she’s going to cry and probably come from the intensity and relief and Hyunjin’s going to laugh at her, she’s going to call her a slut and she’s going to be right, and Jisu will have to sit in the sticky mess of her own cooling pee, which is even more humiliating. Her panties will be soiled. It’ll be so obvious. And she won’t get to come the entire next week. And Hyunjin will, it’s so unfair—she’ll get to come all she wants, she’ll get to pick whatever strap she wants Chris to wear and Jisu will just have to sit back and watch as she gets fucked with it, as Chris in turn degrades and praises her, calls her a dirty girl, calls her the prettiest little thing, makes her come until Hyunjin blacks out from it. And all because Jisu couldn’t just hold it. Just a little bit longer. If she could just—if she can just—

But the water is sliding down her throat and Hyunjin’s right there, taunting, ‘you’re lucky unnie likes it messy because you’re about to lose,’ and her clit throbs and everything is too much and she can’t—

Her body seizes up. It’s trying so hard. Hold it, hold it, hold it—

‘It’s okay if you need to go,’ Chris says, a murmur right below Jisu’s ear. Inviting, kind. Something dark thrumming under the surface. ‘I never expected you to be able to hold it anyway.’

She breaks. She comes, hard, and everything is wet and everything is pure relief and humiliation at the same time and she sobs, shudders, blissed-out and sick with shame.

‘Aw,’ Chris says, or maybe it’s Hyunjin, she isn’t sure and she doesn’t want to open her eyes to find out.