Id, Ego & Superego

Marrying Chaerin was the best choice you made. 

Here was the toughest, richest woman in Korea—pale skin, iron fist, eyes that could turn you to stone if you looked into them too long—and she chose you. She’s leaning comfortably against your shoulder as she nurses a glass of tequila. The big stone on her finger tells the world you’re hers as much as she is yours. You belong to each other, a match made in business classes back in your early twenties. When Chaerin walked into that classroom, specs sitting on her nose and brown hair done into a ponytail, you knew you were done for. 

No one could ever get this comfortable and close with the CL, businesswoman and former big time rapper of girl group 2NE1. Every controversy just makes her more untouchable. You’re the only one who could call her Chaerin, the only one who could joke around with her. When people learned you married her, they congratulated you with a bit of fear in their eyes. The woman was a beast. What did she see in you that matched her?

You’ve no idea either. But she’s beautiful, and you won’t go anywhere. 

This is where it gets difficult: your worst choice is going to this club, for Chaerin spots something across the bar that she really, really hates. And, since with a face like that, no one’s ever cowered in her presence, she expects the same.

Her cloak slips off her shoulders, revealing her milky skin and that dangerous neckline that scoops her breasts. You know better than to tell Chaerin what she should and shouldn’t wear on your seventh anniversary. You’d come out with less stitches from a car accident. It benefits you anyway—your eyes only go there and she chides you.

“Pervert,” she says. Her voice always runs smoothly, like a song recording filtered of dead air. Whether it’s devastating news or saying it’s dinnertime, Chaerin rarely deviates from her clear tone unless it’s to yell.

“Am I not allowed to look at you?” You place an arm around her. “Like you’re sizing up that poor girl over there?”

Well… you wouldn’t say poor. A girl like that, with salon-smooth hair and a closet of Chanel, surely isn’t any more lower class than Chaerin is. You can tell from the way she carries herself that she’s from old money. Father probably taught her to fold her hands like that, and her mother taught by example to keep her shoulders back. 

But yeah, sure, you say poor as in, well, pitiable—no one’s particularly okay after Chaerin gets through to them.

“No and no. I’m not sizing her up.” Yet she tilts her head to the side to keep observing the lone girl. “I’m trying to kill her.”

An aggressive hyperbole is not new from Chaerin. But you still have to ask: “Why?’’

Chaerin rubs at your knuckles, her thumb sliding over the gaps. “Jennie Kim. Old money, pretty face, horrible personality. Somehow old Yang decided she was the top moneymaker and threw me away.”

You thought you were tripping. So that was Jennie Kim. Anyone would recognize her. She’s from one of the biggest girl groups on the planet and billboards in every street. A Chanel princess. The camera’s sweetheart. Young, rich, and ridiculously attractive.

But to your wife, she’s someone who ought to be six feet under with the shovel still stuck in the dirt. 

The company did her own group dirty. There are a lot of issues—publicized, exaggerated, and smeared once the media decided they’ll believe what they want to believe—which you know Chaerin would rather not bring up. But you see each one flash through her eyes right now, narrowing in slits as she curses her former colleague. It doesn’t matter if the woman’s half a decade younger or a junior in the horrid workplace that is the K-pop industry. Jennie Kim meant shit to her.

You chuckle. Chaerin is unpredictable. Here you thought a high end club with suited individuals and million-dollar menus could keep her in check. How dumb of you. 

“So you’re planning to beat up a Blackpink member whom you met when she was fourteen,” you say. “Got it.”

But you can’t deny that the girl’s beautiful. Sharp eyes, even sharper collarbone, and a pretty little mouth glossed with blood red. She has the kind of face people wish they’d have in their next life—natural, soft Hera features that the best plastic surgeon can’t replicate. 

“Don’t make it sound so odd.” Chaerin  crosses one gorgeous leg over the other. “It isn’t my fault I got my way into the game early and she’s still playing wannabe model.”

“Right.”

“And she’s been a bitch forever.”

‘It’s all in the past now, sweetheart.”

“So?” Chaerin’s getting worked up now, thinking of all the strings Jennie was able to pull and the connections she stole. “The point still stands. I built a name of my own early on, and she wouldn’t be here without me.”

Chaerin’s eyes sparkle suddenly (how the hell does she do that on command) as she turns her head to you. You’re already afraid of what she plans to do. That woman will stop at nothing and controls herself for nobody.

“Aw, darling,” she says, “will you lie to the judge for me if the little princess goes missing?”

“I’d do anything for you, Chaerin, but please, it’s our anniversary. Save yourself the trouble.”

“I’ll do whatever I want. She didn’t save herself the trouble when she fucking lied to my face about—”

“Point taken,” you say, raising your hands in surrender. Save Chaerin’s filthy words from cracking the soft jazz playing. You’re hopelessly in love with Chaerin; of course you let her win every fight. “I just need you to settle down, honey. You’ve got better things to do with your time.”

She seems to like the way you put that. You’re right. She’s got better things to do than give any second of her time to Jennie. Chaerin could drink another glass, order another slice, or, better yet, do whatever she liked to you. She was good at that. Dangerously good.

You and Chaerin reminisce together for the next thirty minutes. Your anniversary had just passed, and this was the only major celebration that you could fit in your schedules. Tomorrow, she has a meeting with Dara, and yesterday, you met up with the Jung family to discuss their daughter’s contracts. Today is the perfect time to recall how you met. 

2000 and something. Business class. You’re on a scholarship and of course Chaerin’s got backing. Everyone swoons the minute she sits in her chair. She’s popular, she’s rich, and she’s so fucking cool it’s enviable. She colored her hair even when the dress code was against it. She wore the tiniest fucking clothes even when your professor chastised her for it. That wooden chair sort of becomes her throne. In a stupid attempt to get close to her, you ask her for help on the formula and things happen. Soon, she’s laughing as you recount stumbling over your words to ask her out. And Chaerin laughs loudly—her cackle bounces off the walls like a cultish mantra. You describe it as just that and it amplifies. 

All the while, Jennie Kim sits alone at the end of the bar. She’s drinking only a little, but you can tell she’s a heavyweight anyway. She went to the most elite university in New Zealand, was a global superstar—you expected her days were filled with enough liquor to practice. Parties in the Bronx, reunions with her members, a hookup with someone who’s got just as much at stake as she does. 

Chaerin confirms this, taking out her rarely used phone and bringing you to Jennie’s Instagram. User jennierubyjane dons shades as she dances in a neon party. She’s not afraid to let skin show either. A tube top shows off those ninety degree shoulders and the tiniest waist you’ve seen. In the next picture on the carousel, she’s in a bikini, in the lap of a woman—probably her best friend—and laughing. 

“So that’s what she does instead of fucking resigning,” says Chaerin, pissed. “Kissing girls and living off hangovers. Jesus, it’s like she never graduated high school.” 

“What, you’ve never kissed a girl before?” 

“When I get bored of you, I might,” she tells you. You laugh and Chaerin caresses your cheek to inform you it’s jest. “The girl’s a textbook bisexual. She gives it to whoever so much puts their hands on her waist.”

“How do you know?”

Chaerin purses her lips. You’ll see. She was always right. 

But, as Chaerin later tells you, she’s at least got some sense in that pretty little head. She’d only met her once during predebut—back when the old man still cared about our band. But afterwards, she’d watched Jennie on the big stage, even chatted with her. It was all just advice on how to handle fame, where to hide secret boyfriends, what food to eat that fit the ridiculous diets.

Then Jennie released a solo song and all that was out of the window.

Chaerin argues the song was supposed to be hers. She had a demo and everything. It was originally supposed to be rap-heavy, with a feature from a Western artist. But they had reworked it to suit Jennie and she went with it, even if Chaerin had been such a good senior to her, the little bitch. If she'd resigned with Yang, she could dominate Korea. Might even do it better than he ever will, Chaerin is willing to admit to herself. She’d managed to sneak into the file room when the security guard was too smitten to forbid her anything. She knew what she was talking about. All her information is straight from the source. 

You and Chaerin toast to the future and to Jennie Kim’s karma. It gets her slightly tipsy, and tipsy Chaerin is even more unpredictable. Right now, she’s getting on her feet with a clear destination.

“What exactly is your plan here?” you ask, heart pounding. The bill is paid already. You can go back to the suite from the elevator and break the place in. It’s your anniversary after all. 

Turns out Chaerin’s got the same idea. She winks at you (trust me) as she goes over to Jennie. You, the ever faithful man who promised to be with her in sobriety and without, follow suit. Start to think about what lies to tell to the judge. Measure just how much Jennie’s hospital bill was going to be and remind yourself to set aside money.

God, the girl’s even more gorgeous up close. A body toned from Pilates, she’s fucking tiny, from that flawless face to the waist under the mesh Chanel. A look of recognition passes over her when she sees Chaerin’s figure shadow over her like a New York building.

“Oh, sunbaenim!” Jennie’s clearly surprised. She hasn’t heard from Chaerin in years. It’s hard to when your wife’s blocked her on Instagram. She bows politely, offering you her hand first. It’s smooth as a kitten’s paw. “How are you?”

Her English is noticeably twisted with an accent cultivated from some high-end subdivision. Somewhere with Greek statues for an entrance and horses on its hills. Something like that. She has a pretty smile.

“No need for the formalities,” Chaerin says. She sits on the stool beside Jennie while you take your place behind your wife. “We’re here to have fun, not for business.”

“If you insist.” Jennie flips her hair to the side of her shoulder. “I hope you’re having a splendid anniversary.”

“Thank you,” you say pleasantly, and Chaerin shoots you a glare. But it’s hard not to be nice to Jennie despite the clear tension. She looks… sweet. Talks sweet, too Her face softens right where Chaerin’s sharpens into strong lines. But you do see the similarity, understand why YG shaped her to be the new supreme—her eyes are as daunting as Chaerin’s. Rarely do they lose the intimidating shape. It’s the sort that promises no mercy if you ever rub her the wrong way.

Chaerin twists her finger along the rim of her glass. Her silver earring reflects in it. “What about you, Jennie? Got any bad boys we can congratulate?” 

Jennie giggles. “Oh god, no. They’re a waste of my time. The less men in my life, the better.”

“Really. It seems you’ve got plenty.”

Your heart races. Jennie raises a dark brow and turns her face to look Chaerin in the eye, something no one has ever dared to do before. Her palm carries the soft dent of her chin.

“What exactly are you getting at here?” Jennie asks.

Anyone would have backed down the moment Jennie’s words get poisonous, the moment her Dracula fangs come out to play. You place a hand around Chaerin’s waist. But how did you forget that Chaerin won’t let herself be spoken to like that? Especially not from someone like Jennie Kim?”

“I don’t know, kid,” says Chaerin monotonously, “what do you think I’m getting at here?”

“Hit dogs holler” is what Chaerin likes to say. She brushes off any ill comment made by an intrusive journalist and hate messages DMed by some anonymous account. She’s no reason to be offended if she isn’t whatever they say she is. For all she knows, she isn’t a slut.

She wonders what that says about Jennie.

Chaerin could be such a diplomat if she wanted to. This is how she walks runways and keeps adoring fans on a leash. She talks her way into them with her visuals to go along with it. But it seems that with Jennie, the words just don’t feel right in her mouth. She can’t think of anything nice to say about her junior. Your olive branch of a smile doesn't seem to get to her either.

“Would you girls like a drink?” you ask meekly. 

Jennie still doesn’t stop glaring at Chaerin. Doesn’t even look at you. “Thank you,” she deadpans. “You’re too kind.”

You ask the bartender for a nice, tall bottle of gin. Your wife pops the cork off and takes a swig straight from its mouth. Jennie’s brows are still raised when she hands the bottle back to her. She pours herself a glass, and offers you one, too. You accept it. Keep the bottle at arm’s length just in case Chaerin lets the liquor escalate things. 

But Jesus, they’re both a sight for sore eyes. If the place were any dimmer, you’d think two vampires were having a conversation. Chaerin’s older than Jennie, but you wouldn’t have guessed much difference. There’s not a blemish on either of their gorgeous visages. They must have drank from the fountain of youth and made it a pact to keep the location secret.

“That is such a nice ring, sunbae.” Jennie’s drawn herself closer to take a proper look. The shimmer on the large rock is admirable. 

At least someone’s trying to be civil. Sarcasm still drips from her words, but it’s the attempt that matters. You can’t fight fire with fire. Any more of that and the bar would be in flames. They’ll both be arrested for arson and you’d be in the cell with them as an accomplice.

Chaerin looks mildly surprised, but she studies the rock on her finger, too. “It is. And we’re quite a happy couple, thank you very much.”

“Really now.” Jennie smirks. “Can’t imagine anyone’s happy to be around you. Word goes around fast. They say you’re quite angry at Yang for dismissing you.”

“Excuse me—” you raise your voice, but the women ignore it. You’ve no place in the conversation. 

Chaerin tilts her head. “Aren’t you a little young to speak to me like that?”

“Young enough to see when someone’s spent the last of their time in the spotlight.”

Chaerin’s explained they were mostly civil around each other. They attend one another’s concerts for posterity, but photos together are a no. They’re too similar yet too different. Chaerin’s old-school, preferring to stay at the height she worked to be at. She’s not greedy. Jennie, meanwhile, is too ambitious for her liking, head in the clouds and feet nowhere near the ground. To Jennie Kim, a billion won allowance from mommy dearest wasn’t enough to be big. She believes she needs to make the money on her own—collaborations, brand deals, solo tours… you name it. She thinks she has it all figured out. You snort, because if there’s anything you should know about rich parents, they can only provide a little lesson about financial independence with that amount of money. 

Chaerin agreed. Always, they had a fall-back—a business for the offspring to take over, connections to get them into any type of job, and an inheritance of your dreams. For fuck’s sake, the girl drove a Porsche to the trainee dorm. 

“The industry isn’t kind to pretty girls. Trust me, I’d know. You’ll get your time soon.” Chaerin lets her eyes pass over Jennie, from that tiny top to the even tinier skirt that shows each bit of those thighs. 

You perk up. It’s Chaerin—Chaerin being nice. Who wouldn’t be happy with CL saying that?

Jennie’s different. She’s been told that a million times by guys trying to get in her pants. She isn’t easily flattered.

But to your surprise, a proud smile stretches on those glossed lips. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

Chaerin blinks, disarmed only for a moment. She returns the sarcastic smile as she takes interest in the glass in your hand. 

Jennie doesn’t let it go. She follows Chaerin’s gaze and her smile only grows wider. There’s nothing Jennie Kim loves more than the upper hand. 

“The rumors were right about you being full of yourself.”

“Doesn’t stop you from thinking I’m pretty,” Jennie chirps.

“Beauty fades with time after all,” the older woman says, a challenge raised to the table. “One day you’ll wake up with wrinkles in your face and weight around your hips. Then you tell me what’s beneath all that designer clothes.”

This wasn’t the usual small talk Chaerin and Jennie made in business parties. They faked a fairly good rapport. While Jennie finishes up a speech to her seniors (Big Bang if they’re around) and juniors (Babymonster; they’ll be around because they haven’t realized this place fucking sucks), Chaerin will make an off-color joke about how Jennie’s speeches are as true to heart as her face. Jennie will choose not to read between the lines.

Jennie bites her lip, staining her teeth with Chanel red. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You’re having a hard time deciding if you should stop them or let them handle this themselves. You will choose to ignore what you’ve read between the lines.

To your relief, Chaerin drops her shoulders from their haughty, upright position. Armor down. That’s odd; Chaerin’d rather die than lose control. You wonder what she’ll do next.

“You know, kid, I think we got off the wrong foot.” She lifts her shoulders. “I actually see a lot of myself in you.”

Jennie smiles. “In me,” she repeats, and something about the way she says it makes it sound more obscene than it really is. 

“Yeah. It’s not often I meet someone who breaks the rules. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Someone who goes their own way and isn’t dedicated to being arm candy.”

“Being arm candy is a wageless job,” agrees Jennie. When Chaerin nods, she gestures to you. “I’m assuming that wasn’t a debate for you two?”

Encouraged by the eased atmosphere, you say, “Not at all.” Then: “I quite like being her arm candy.”

Jennie bursts out laughing. You take that as a good sign. Chaerin’s eyes melt into crescents. It’s all in good banter, good faith. A means to an end.

“I don’t like the idea of anybody running a tight ship on me,” Chaerin continues.

“Me neither. Maybe that’s why you don’t like me that much.” 

Because okay, Jennie Kim might not like being arm candy, but she belongs right in someone’s lap. A pretty pet to be adored and pawed at but allowed to still stand up on her own. 

Chaerin  hums sympathetically. Her hand slithers down Jennie’s thigh. Jennie looks up at her with faint surprise in those coffee brown eyes. 

“You’re right,” says Chaerin in a low voice. “I don’t like you at all. You’re selfish, out of touch, and dumb.”

The side of Jennie’s mouth quirks into a half-smile. “Why don’t we get straight to the point. You hate me because I remind you of what you could’ve been.”

“Why would I want to be a thieving little whore?”

“If I were in your shoes right now,” quips Jennie sweetly, “I’d pray I was.”

Chaerin’s hand seems to have gone higher up on her thigh. Jennie knows the consequences for this immediately. Her breath hitches in surprise when she leans in. It’s wrong, she knows it is—Lee Chaerin is her senior who wouldn’t flinch if a bullet went through her chest. But there’s also the fact that she called her pretty, and that Chaerin sees herself in her, that makes her consider it.

She needs to stop gaslighting herself. She knows what’s going to happen.

Jennie’s skin is warm under your wife’s fingertips. “Does your husband know you swing both ways?”

It’s a bit surprising to hear you mentioned when they’ve been talking and touching like you aren’t here. But Chaerin knows how you work. She knows the role you play here.

“He wants whatever I want. When you find out what he’s packing, you’ll be glad he doesn’t talk much. Does your sugar daddy know you’re opening your legs for me?”

“I’m not… I fucking hate you.” Jennie’s voice seems to reach new heights. Each word is laced with enunciated disgust. “Hate how you’re so goddamn miserable. Hate how you say shit about me to the press and play the victim when you get backlash. Hate you for acting like you wouldn’t do the same if you were me.”

Hate is a strong word. But it’s true nonetheless. There’s no other word in the English or Korean dictionary that would adequately describe the loathing they’ve got for each other.

“Well,” says Chaerin, “it’s a good thing I hate you too, kid.”

It’s the last thing she says before flicking a lock of Jennie’s brown hair away and slipping her tongue inside her mouth.

-

They don’t bother wasting time in the elevator. It’s wet and quick. Jennie whimpers when the kiss goes as fast as it comes, but then you realize why her nails are digging lines into the bar.

“Mmm, please—”

“Yeah?”

Jennie seems to be a pretty tough girl, taking Chaerin’s fervent thrusts while holding the conversation. But it takes a lot for her to be stable, rocking against the elevator mirror and hiding the bliss on her face with the sheen of her long, dark hair. 

She can’t believe this is happening. She wonders if Chaerin’s planned this out and if she told you about it with how calmly you’re standing by. She has no chance against the two of you.

“Let me guess,’’ she says, giving you an arrogant look anyway, one that fades with each firm stroke into her pussy. “Your sex life is shit and you think you can solve it by letting your husband hatefuck another girl. Champagne problems. Save me.”

“Our sex life is shit?” Chaerin laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Please. My husband’s cock is more than enough for me. I just like to spice things up.”

Chaerin leans in, speaks right next to Jennie’s quivering bottom lip.

“And you seem to forget, pretty girl,” she murmurs, “I’m the one with my fingers in your cunt. So I’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

Jennie trembles. She leans into your chest even more, your hardening cock pressing against her ass. Chaerin can pay the witnesses off later and put a hit on the heads of whoever dares slander her name with the truth: the two of you are fucking Jennie Kim’s brains out in the classiest hotel in Seoul.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Chaerin  says calmly, making a snarl sound like a lullaby. When Jennie still keeps her head down, Chaerin  curls her fingers. The girl chokes out a pained sob. “I thought I told you to look at me.”

Jennie lifts her head, eyes connecting with your wife’s. God, this girl looks so good fucked out of her mind. The flushed milky skin, tousled hair, and teary eyes—yeah, maybe some good came out of that conversation. Each quiver of her body pushes her tight little ass against your erection.

“I may be a bitch but I’m not cruel.” Her gaze is firm, almost a glare, piercing right through Jennie. “I promise I don’t want to be. It’s a horrible stereotype. So I’m asking you now: Do you want me to leave you out to dry?” 

Jennie’s soft panting is getting to you. For a woman so strongheaded, with a set of principles that definitely do not involve getting fingered by her mortal enemy, she seems to let her guard down for Chaerin so easily. Maybe it’s the deep voice. You can’t quite see the shifting movements what with the light, but the obscene sounds of her wetness tell you her answer with no words needed.

Jennie’s lips are still parted when she shakes her head.

“I thought so.” Chaerin’s smile is downright deadly. “You know, it’s getting awfully late. The night scene here is horrific, all wolves waiting to get a bite. Your manager would kill me if she knew I let you out there.”

“She’d also kill you if she knew you’re fucking me,” says Jennie with a smirk. It breaks when Chaerin mounts pressure on her swollen clit. 

Chaerin’s voice is low and dark.“We’re just trying to look out for you, sweetheart.”

“How… thoughtful.”

“Of course. Would you like to go up to our suite for the night? It’s safer up there.” Chaerin smirks at your obvious hard-on. It pushes her to put on more of a show. “My husband will take good care of you. He’ll even give you a kiss good night if you’re a good girl.”

More than a kiss.

Jennie bites her lip. She almost draws blood. You see the thoughts work in spinning cogs inside her head. “God. Okay.”

“Then it’s settled. Look daddy in the eyes when you let go.”

Jennie’s just made for the part, isn’t she? She knows exactly what Chaerin means, knows exactly where to tilt her head. You almost cum with her just staring down those sharp kittenlike eyes. 

She pouts when she climaxes, breaking the intimidating aura she carries with pathetic whimpers. It was ruined a long time ago. Her legs cross over Chaerin’s hand and keeps it trapped inside her. 

Chaerin’s smile is of a woman satisfied. She offers you her fingers to lick up Jennie’s mess. 

“See?” she says. “All in the past. Your turn, babe. I want you to fuck the brat out of her. Don’t even let her breathe.”

The elevator dings open as if Chaerin’s words is its cue. Shit. You forgot CCTVs existed. This is a scandal waiting to happen. Tomorrow, headlines will multiply and you three will be under fire again. You hope a few millions will keep the operator’s mouth shut.

And you can’t refuse once you realize how good Jennie tastes.

She fixes her skirt as she exits the elevator. Chaerin presses her card into the knob and once it opens, you wait no longer. You lift Jennie in your arms and slam her onto the mattress. Chaerin’s given you her permission. Jennie gives hers as well when she lifts her head up for a kiss. Her lips are soft, locking around yours as her whole body electrifies at your touch.

“I didn’t say you could kiss him,” scolds Chaerin, undoing her own dress. 

Jennie laughs. By then, you’ve moved your mouth to her shoulder. “Are you possessive of me or him? Did you want to be the only one I’ve kissed tonight?”

“You flatter yourself.”

“Ha.” Jennie’s skin is tender. Your teeth sink into her shoulder and she whimpers. “Ohh god, oh—”

“Loud, aren’t we?” you ask. She’s so sensitive. Goosebumps flare even if you only run your fingers along her sides. When you take that skirt off, you find the tiniest pair of panties in existence. It hangs at either slope of her small hips.

Chaerin helps you remove them. One look between her thighs and you can see how soaked she is. Her swollen clit just begs for your attention. Jennie’s nothing against the two pairs of eyes glinting with lust at her naked form.

“Don’t act shy now.” Chaerin gives the bundle of nerves a few quick rubs, then a harsh slap that makes her cry out. Another for good measure, then a last one just to hear the helpless moan Jennie lets out. “Show me you’re the tough girl you say you are. Taking dick isn’t new to you anyway.”

“Bitch,” Jennie murmurs. 

Chaerin takes that as a sign that the girl really, really needs to shut the fuck up. She takes the ruined pair of panties and shoves it in her mouth. The protest is muffled by the fabric. 

“I’ve had enough of her. Fuck her till she can’t even make a sound.”

That you’ll do. You turn the pliant girl on her stomach. The dimples of her lower back greet you, right before her tight ass does. You slot your thumbs in them for leverage as your cock meets her overwhelming wetness.

Allow yourself a moment to feel Jennie’s pussy lips. You grind your tip between them, hitting her sensitive clit. Her needy moans echo in your eardrums. It's a few seconds of heaven. 

When you enter her, you’ve locked the gate and thrown Peter’s key away.

You open her up, spreading her tight cunt and burying yourself inside her inch after inch. She only seems to grow tighter the further you get inside. She’s so needy, so desperate. Her sobs of gratification fill your ears like a mantra.

“S’big, you’re so thick inside me…” Jennie’s words are garbled with fabric. Her thighs are trembling, her face planted into the sheets.

“I don’t wanna hear any of that.” Chaerin tugs on her hair, the pain jolting into Jennie’s scalp. ”Take it like a good girl. Come on. You’re so wet, baby, if you could only see how good you look getting fucked from behind.”

Jennie mewls. Her pretty face screws up as you start really destroying her cunt. You were only following orders. The fast rhythm of your hips slapping against her core becomes familiar, as if you’ve always known how to do it. As if you’ve fucked her plenty of times before yet somehow need another feel of how tight she clenches.

Chaerin starts to touch herself, rubbing circles on her naked core as she watches Jennie get ruined. Her fingers grip the sheets for purchase. She can’t even breathe with the makeshift gag in her mouth, but that’s exactly how Chaerin likes it. Weak link. Even she didn’t whine and cry like this when you first had sex. 

You watch your wife toy with her nipples and slip her fingers inside herself. The attention is gone from Jennie’s arching, toned back. Your eyes fix on the sight of Chaerin masturbating while your hips move like a machine into Jennie’s core. You go even faster. 

“Aren’t you glad I beat a dead horse tonight?” Chaerin asks, breaths ragged and heavy. “Now you’ve got a fresh face to fuck. She’s never taken anything that big inside her.”

“Seems like it. She’s so fucking tight.”

“Really?” She pauses her rapid fingerfucking to slip her digits, slick with her own arousal, right under your cock and into Jennie’s slippery pussy. Jennie’s scream is deafening. “You’re right. You’ve got a grip on you, don’t you? Maybe you’re not as slutty as you come across.”

Jennie swears at her again. It’s unclear, but it definitely sounds something equally misogynistic, maybe even worse. This time, Chaerin’s unbothered, slipping her fingers out and back in her cunt.

You punish her for speaking out of line with thrusts that drive her face into the bed. Her mascara smudges the linen. Messy drool drips next to it. The only thing keeping her from collapsing down the edge of the bedframe is the strokes hoisting her up, pinning her to the mattress every time your tip meets her womb. 

Jennie’s gasps start to sound more urgent. In the same way, she squeezes around you like you’re going to stop. She can’t take much more, but she doesn’t want you to quit. You’re filling her up to the brim so well. Each muscle inside her fights to keep you there.

Jennie’s pouting again when she cums. Tears spring from her eyes. Her walls convulse around you and keep your length soaked from base to tip. She’s clawing, screaming, and begging you to cum inside her.

You honest to god almost do. She’s already impossibly tight as is, but the squeeze of her slit becomes almost deadly when she orgasms. Luckily, you pull out just in time. A few spurts land on her back, painting her pale skin with even whiter cum. But you manage to swiftly enter your wife. 

She gasps in surprise, moaning as you furiously stroke into her. Lower yourself to capture one of her large, bouncing tits in your mouth. Tease the sensitive nipple with your teeth.

The orgasms of both women coat your girth. You pant into Chaerin’s shoulder. Sweat rolls down your chest.

Jennie’s gasping for air, still unable to move. Chaerin makes the unwise but sympathetic decision to remove the panties from her mouth. Jennie’s pants are loud as she finds the breath she’s lost. Her head throbs.

“Y-You’re funny.” She rests her cheek on the bed. Her hair is a mess, and so is the rest of her body, red in the places you’ve groped and slapped her. “You claim to hate me so much yet you came watching me get fucked. By your husband, of all people, I might add.”

“Just when I was starting to have a neutral opinion on you.”

Jennie laughs. “Why don’t you just admit you’re in love with me? Would make it a whole lot easier on all of us.”

The ego of this girl, you swear. All raw confidence, an annoying staunch belief that everyone would move mountains for her. It’s even more annoying when you take note of the fact she has the face and power to back it up. 

You don’t even need Chaerin to tell you what to do. You thrust inside your wife, a few preparatory strokes to prevent you from going soft, until you’re flaccid once more. You have to take advantage of the adrenaline while it’s still there. 

You quickly reacquaint yourself with Jennie’s hole. She gasps in surprise. The needy little noise is something you memorize now. Her little whines start off soft, almost fragile. But as she realizes how sensitive she is, how the orgasm from before still hasn’t left her, she starts crying out.

“Daddy, w-wait, I’m so…” Jennie whines plaintively. She doesn’t need to tell you what she feels. Your palm maps and marks each place she’s most sensitive. No longer being a rookie idol hasn’t taught her how to keep herself afloat when the climaxes are still apeak. “Daddy—”

You don’t stop. You want to watch that irritatingly attractive smirk on her face disappear. You want to make her cum so hard she’ll forget how to sneer. You come harder. Harden your abs so more strength goes into your strokes. 

Maybe you’d entertain the idea of Chaerin picking fights more if her enemies were as hot as Jennie. Your semen still glistens in thick ropes on her back, and she sports and fits it as one would a tattoo. No matter how hard she cries and tries to convince herself that she can’t take it anymore, she continues to receive your rapid strokes. Her lips still open to welcome you inside her messy pussy.

It’s sweet, sweet revenge. 

Chaerin’s laugh is full of vindication. “I did say you were going to get the brat fucked out of you. Should’ve listened for once. It’ll do you good.”

And she’s right. Jennie remembers her honorifics. Hell, she even makes those fawn eyes, long lashes fluttering. 

“Sunbae, please,” she sobs. She sounds and looks utterly broken, lying there with no fight as you fuck into her silken walls. “He’s stretching me out so much.”

Chaerin laughs. “Never gets old, huh?” She cards through Jennie’s hair, kissing the place beneath her ear and nibbling on that jawline. “Look at you taking it so well. Like this tight little pussy is made for him.”

Jennie can do nothing but whimper. She’s clawing at Chaerin for composure, for some stability but Chaerin isn’t really one to give all that. She gets Jennie’s hands off her and behind you, lending her wrists to you. Jennie falls over even more and you’re forced to yank her by the handcuff you’ve made with your fists around those fragile, fragile wrists.

You feel sadistic for liking how small she feels against you, how it feels so good to mark her up. Jennie is so easy to pull apart. 

“Come on, princess,” and oh, she likes that, doesn’t she? She really, really likes that. “You can stop pretending, it’s okay. You think we don’t know already? You’re so fucking wet. Perfect little slut for daddy’s cock.”

Chaerin slaps her lightly across the face, directing her gaze back to her. Her thumb traces the seam of Jennie’s lips. Her grin is as wicked as it gets. 

“You can be a good girl after all,” she says. “Always believed you could. You just need a little direction.”

Jennie has no idea whether to take her words as an insult or a compliment. Every interaction with Chaerin, from polite greetings to getting fucked past every limit, is a puzzle she can’t put together. She can’t do it any better now. Her mind is foggy. Her eyes are blank and glassy. Her lips are parted yet no words come out. 

“Wouldn’t even fight it, would you? I can tie you up here, breed this fuckin’ pussy, and leave you for some lucky guy to deal with. And you’d just lie there and take it.”

She keeps proving you right. Jennie is liquid matter in your arms. Her wetness makes the claps of your flesh sound more obscene. She wails when the familiar tremors start to rock her aching muscles. 

“Aw, sweetheart, she’s cumming again. She’s shaking all over.”

Indeed she is. The sensitivity from her previous orgasms combine with this new one. Jennie hangs her head and lets the tears drop onto the blanket. She can’t stop the pleasure that rushes in hot streaks through her body. She gives into the climax with no difficulty this time.

You’re a merciful guy. Probably not totally merciful, but compared to Chaerin, you definitely are. You pull out to allow Jennie a breather. She collapses on her back. Once your cock slips out from her center, her squirt gushes forth. It sprays everywhere. It goes off like a fire hose. It wets your stomach and the rug on the floor. You should’ve remembered to place a towel underneath you, but you didn’t think Jennie would cum this much.

She didn’t expect it either. Her heart beats faster than ever. She mumbles out incoherent sentences, oversensitive to the point of weakness. “Fuck, it’s so… I can’t, I’m cumming so hard, I really—”

“Shhh. You’re alright.” At first, Chaerin kisses her wet cheek, licking one salty tear away. The lewdness of the act mixes with the fake consolation. “Can you give me one more? Just one more. Need to get that lesson in your head.”

Jennie whimpers, crying out for god or perhaps she’s mixing it with your wife’s name. It isn’t that distinct. And either way, she needs a little mercy. Chaerin’s cupping her cunt, rolling her clit between her fingers. 

She tiredly grinds against the consistent roughness of Chaerin’s hand. The friction of it seems to be something that could start fires. The heat burns through her body yet she seeks more of that pleasurable pain. 

“Holy shit, you’re insatiable,” murmurs Chaerin. She rubs a little faster. It’s fascinating to see how weak Jennie gets, how far she’s willing to go for a mindnumbing climax. Each boundary of her was tested and crossed tonight.

Her final orgasm is quick. An end credits scene, a weary conclusion. Jennie‘s squeals grow thin as she gives Chaerin what she wants. Girl cum dribbles out of her used pussy.

“Stop, no more…” Jennie doesn’t realize it already has, that it’s her own fingers frantically abusing her clit. It’s almost as if she’d been hypnotized. She’s completely spellbound by lust. You grab her wrist for her.

Jennie struggles to stay afloat. The fatigue is getting to her. Every single breath is something she’s been deprived of and only now can take. “That was…”

“Intense?” you complete the sentence. No shit. “Rough?”

“Good payback?” Chaerin offers with a playful smirk.

Jennie rolls her eyes. That would get her in trouble if she did it in front of a camera or to a journalist. It’s blatant disrespect.

Here in this suite, it’s only a sign of surrender to the rivalry. She gave into a few drinks and a good fuck. She let Chaerin’s low voice fool her like it does to her fans. That’s on her for losing track of her goal. 

But she isn’t admitting defeat. She still got something out of it. “Don’t get arrogant. I’m gonna get you next time for sure.”

“Maybe you will.”