Either Way

I never truly understood despair until it finally looked me in the face. Every part of my body revolted, screaming for me to tear my gaze away from the screen, but my eyes had betrayed them. Betrayed me.

He slid into her from behind. It wasn’t visible to the camera, but I didn’t need to see it to feel my heart shattering into pieces. The way her spine bowed in that instinctive curve and the subtle jolt that rippled through her frame was all the confirmation I needed. Everything she’d ever withheld from me was somehow handed to him in a matter of seconds—a stranger who barely seemed interested. Someone who saw her as an offering, not a blessing—like what even a second with her would’ve been for me.

I didn’t know what to feel, and I wished that would’ve resulted in nothing, but it was the opposite. I wanted the numbness that people always promised whenever something hurt too much. But instead, I felt everything. Either way, I’d already lost.

There was no audio, but I heard it all. Her gasps turning into moans as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her back onto his cock with lazy, indifferent strokes that still made her body quiver regardless. The silent rhythmic slap of her ass bouncing against his pelvis as he fisted her long, perfectly done hair, yanking her head back. I didn’t need to hear it.

In fact, I didn’t even need to see it to know that she was tasting herself when she got down on her knees. It didn’t matter that his body blocked her from the camera. Her long legs were spread apart behind his silhouette, peeking out from behind him as her upper body bobbed back and forth, just long enough before he lifted her upwards onto the desk.

She held herself up, hands flat against the wood, legs parted wide, her heels scraping against his white shirt as she wrapped them around his waist. The red bra hung loose over her shoulders, hooks undone but not discarded, still allowing her breasts to sway freely with each impact.

It continued for what felt like eternity, even though I skipped ahead in futile attempts to escape. One moment he was on his knees with his face between her thighs, the next she was straddled on the chair, bouncing up and down his body.

A few more clicks and she was on her knees again, one hand frantically rubbing herself as he sprayed his ownership all over her chest. She cleaned him up with her mouth as his cum dripped down her breasts, her body trembling harder with every passing second—just before the video finally cut to black.

I didn’t need to see more. Nobody did.

But I wanted to. I deserved to. After all that she put me through, all that she denied me of, surely I deserved to at least know what she was doing behind my back.

parking_lot.mp4

The video was taken vertically on a phone somewhere in an unfamiliar parking garage. Distant echoes of car doors slamming and tires rolling sneaked through the speakers, but other than that, the audio was mostly hushed.

My stomach twisted as the camera zoomed out toward the far end of the lot, focusing on a tall figure anxiously power walking, her heels clicking sharply against the ground, hips swaying with that effortless elegance I knew so well. It was Wonyoung—still in her concert outfit, a white blouse covering her sweat-dampened skin, paired with a black skirt and thigh high socks. The same outfit she wore after coming back from her ‘interviews’ in LA.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breathy and apologetic as she approached the camera, close enough now that you could see the flush creeping up her neck. “I tried to get here as fast as I could, but—”

“He’s waiting,” the man behind the phone cut her off. His tone was flat and robotic, like he was just a cog in this machine of her secret life.

She bowed and stepped forward, and the camera panned over to a single black Rolls Royce with dark tinted windows, one of them rolling down slowly. There were two other men standing by the doors, dressed in all black suits. Surely bodyguards. Their faces were stoic and unchanging, unlike Wonyoung’s, which was filled with urgency.

“I’m sorry,” Wonyoung said again, her voice lowering as the car door shut behind her.

“Are you usually late to your interviews?”

The footage suddenly plunged into darkness, the phone clearly shoved into a pocket, muffling everything to a haze. But the audio persisted, filling in pictures my eyes couldn’t see.

“I’m so sorry, master,” she pleaded, her words spilling out in a rush. “The concert ended la—”

“I don’t need excuses. Come here.”

“Yes, master.”

“Don’t look so scared, Wonnie,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “I won’t bite you.”

“Y-you’re not mad at me?”

“Shh…how can I be mad at this pretty face? Come sit on my lap.”

“I missed you so much,” she said, a hint of relief in her voice. “I couldn’t wait for the show to be over with so I could be with you again. It’s been too long without you…”

“You smell so good,” he said, inhaling. “Did you follow my instructions?”

“Yes, master…I didn’t shower yesterday or today—ahh!” Her gasp cut through the darkness, sharp and involuntary.

“God, you smell fucking incredible,” he groaned, inhaling even louder. “Oh? You’re not wearing any panties? With a skirt like this?”

“Is that okay? I wanted to make it easier for you…”

“Such a naughty girl…turn around for me…”

“Ahh—don’t breathe so hard—p-please—I’m embarrassed—so dirty—no! Not there—ah!” she cried, but her protests easily melted into whimpers.

“You smell like a woman.” His voice was low and muffled. “My woman.”

“It feels so good—but I’m so disgusting—I’m so sorry—”

“You’re perfect like this,” he said, still slurping. “My delicious, dirty little princess.”

“I’ll always be your dirty girl if that’s what you want, master…” she whispered back.

“You’re such a good girl…I want you to show me how much you’ve missed me now.”

The audio shifted then—car doors clicking shut, the low rumble of the engine coming to life beneath her soft, escalating moans. The bodyguards must have climbed in up front.

“Yes, just like that…”

The slurping sounds grew louder, wet and rhythmic, as if her mouth was working him with desperation. I could picture it all too vividly—Wonyoung on her knees in the back seat, her concert skirt pulled up around her waist, lips stretched around his cock, saliva dripping down her chin as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, chasing his approval.

“Where are we going, master?” she asked in between breaths.

“Somewhere I can properly punish you for ignoring me.” A firm smack filled the car, followed by a loud yelp. “Did you think masturbating to me in a public toilet was good enough?”

“No, master. I know I deserve mor—umph—ack—”

I closed the laptop shut, and yet somehow, the voices continued playing in my head.

“Wonbin?” Yujin’s voice cut through the hallway as she cracked open her apartment door, eyes widening at the sight of me.

It was barely 6 a.m. The sky, bruised with gray, looked cold even from the inside. I’d been up all night, pacing in the library like a starving caged animal, the videos’ echoes robbing me of my sanity. My face felt hollow, eyes bloodshot, and my clothes looked like I’d slept in them for days on a bus that never stopped.

“What happened? Why do you look like an escaped patient from a mental asylum?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand found my arm and pulled me inside before I could collapse in the hallway.

The door clicked shut and the apartment wrapped around us—the air filled with the clean scent of laundry sheets. She steered me to the couch like she was holding glass and didn’t trust the floor.

“Yujin,” I said, my chest heaving like I’d sprinted for hours nowhere. “I need your help.”

“Are you okay? Breathe for a moment.”