INTERLUDE: Shower Thoughts

Yeji

The moment Yeji’s feet touched the floor, her legs betrayed her.

Nothing so dramatic as a collapse, but a tremor that started deep in her quads and rippled down through her calves, the kind of shake that came from an hour of being split open, fucked into, used as thoroughly as a body could be used. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, and she felt it: the warm, syrupy slide of Minho’s cum shifting low inside her, gravity pulling it toward her entrance.

Her pussy was still swollen, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose-pink, slow to close after taking him so deep for so long. She’d lost count of the positions - the latest being missionary with her legs over his shoulders, him drilling into her while she clawed at his back, her voice hoarse from screaming - but only the final round had ended inside her. That made this different. Sharper. More dangerous.

The creampie was unmistakable, a concentrated heat pooling just behind her opening, and when she took her first full step toward the bathroom, it shifted again. A thick ribbon of him slid lower, and her knees nearly buckled.

Her body answered before her mind could catch up: a tight, possessive clench, her inner walls contracting hard, trying to keep him inside. The micro-spasm was involuntary, primal, her pussy choosing him before her conscious brain had any say in the matter.

Fuck.

She paused mid-step, one hand bracing against the bedpost, feeling the throb between her legs - not pain, but a deep, satisfying ache, the kind that came from being thoroughly claimed. Her folds clung together with their shared slick, the mixture of his cum and her own wetness creating a glossy seal that made every movement obscenely audible.

Behind her, she heard Minho shift on the bed, saw him move to follow. And her subconscious was was eager, not resistant.

If he comes in the shower with me, I’ll let him fuck me again. I’ll take another one. I’ll let him - no, make him - bend me over the sink and fill me up until I can’t walk straight.

The thought flashed hot and bright, forbidden and thrilling: walking into her Pilates class still full of him, the thick load shifting with every stretch, risking a visible leak if she moved wrong. She could picture it - the tight off-white Lululemon leggings folded neatly on the bathroom counter, the way they’d cling to every curve, the overhead lights in the resort studio merciless and bright, the full-wall mirrors magnifying every flaw.

And there, in the middle of a plank or a downward dog, she’d feel it: a warm trickle sliding free, darkening the fabric between her thighs.

The image made her pussy clench again, harder this time, and she felt another micro-drip escape.

No.

The fantasy collapsed like a house of cards.

Leader Yeji couldn’t walk into a public studio with a creampie leaking down her thigh. Not because of shame - she’d fucked enough people in enough places to have burned through that years ago - but because of control. Professional discipline. The same discipline that kept her onstage when her body was screaming, that made her smile through exhaustion, that turned Hwang Yeji into a flawless, untouchable machine.

Tight leggings. Bright lights. Trainers watching her form. Resort staff milling around. Mirrors everywhere.

No one got to see her like this. Not staff. Not strangers. Not even a hint.

“I need to shower. Pilates class at the resort club in half an hour,” she chirped quickly, forcing brightness into her voice. “Can’t show up leaking you all over my leggings.”

She grabbed the bathroom door and made to close it, but Minho was already moving, his cock twitching back to life. She slammed it in his face - playfully, but with unmistakable finality - and twisted the lock.

Her hands were shaking.

She pressed them flat against the door, forcing them still, and steadied her voice into something bright and teasing. The one Leader Yeji used when everything was fine and casual and exactly as it should be. “Not a chance, Minho. You know what happens when we shower together - we’d be in there for another half hour and I’d miss my class.”

She heard him laugh softly on the other side, heard the creak of the bed as he stood, and her chest tightened.

She turned the water on hot, let the steam build, and let the sound of running water mask the trembling breath she couldn’t quite control. But before she could step in, before she could hide behind the spray and the solitude, her body moved without permission.

She cracked the door open.

He was standing right there, towel slung low on his hips, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with the remnants of their fuck. His eyes dropped immediately to her body, and she watched his pupils dilate.

She was still a mess. Ropes of his earlier loads painted her abs, streaks drying on her tits, a bead of cum suspended precariously on her left nipple. Her thighs were slick, and she could feel another slow drip starting its journey from her pussy toward her knee.

And his gaze was hungry, full of desire, and it made something in her chest flutter and clench.

He wants my body.

...which means he wants to have me.

...which means he wants me.

Her breath hitched, her core tightening around nothing.

And I -

A pause, a swallow.

- I want to give myself to him.

She stepped forward, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard - messy and open-mouthed, tasting like salt and him... and them, and she had to physically stop herself from pulling him inside, from saying fuck Pilates, just stay. Even still, her hand involuntarily dropped to his cock, giving it a teasing slap that made him hiss, her fingertips leaving a faint streak of drying cum along his shaft.

“Go cool off, stud,” she murmured against his lips, her voice lower than she intended. “I’ll find you later.”

Then she stepped back and shut the door properly, locking it with a decisive click.

The shower was already steaming when she stepped back inside, and the heat hit her like a wall. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the water cascade over her face, washing away the streaks of cum on her cheeks and the sweat matting her hair to her neck.

But she couldn’t avoid it forever.

She looked down.

Her pussy was a wreck - lips swollen and parted slightly, the pink inner folds glistening with a mixture of water and cum. As the spray hit her stomach, she watched the first thick ribbon of Minho’s load drip free, sliding from her entrance in a slow, inevitable descent.

Her breath caught.

She cupped her hand beneath her pussy, catching the drip in her palm before it could wash away, as if holding onto it for just one more second could somehow make this less final.

Why does this feel like losing something?

She brought her other hand down, using two fingers to press gently along her entrance, feeling the heat and slickness there. Another pocket of cum spilled over her fingertips, warmer than the water, and she paused - reverent, longing - before rinsing it away with a sharp flick of her wrist.

Focus. This is hygiene. This is practical. This is -

Another drip.

She tilted her hips forward, engaging her Pilates-trained core, and let the water flush her clean. The angle was deliberate, efficient, designed to empty her as quickly as possible.

But the sensation was brutal.