Entrapped

Your hand grabs onto the handle, pushing it down as softly as you can. A soft click sounds as you inch the door open.

The muffled sounds instantly grow in volume, echoing into your ears as you both peek past the gap.

“Fuck… so tight. You feel that? That's all for me.”

The sounds hit like a wave.

Wet slaps echo off the concrete and stacked crates the instant the door opens. Low male grunts roll underneath, steady and possessive.

Then a woman’s voice that's high, breathy and needy cuts through sharply.

“Ah—yes—fuck—use me—”

You both freeze in the doorway, half-hidden behind the nearest tower of cartons. The single bulb overhead is bright but mostly blocked with only stray rays piercing the gaps, turning the action into a distorted shadow-puppet show against the far wall. Shadows that stretch and bend from the ground to the wall. Elongated. Warped.

A broad male silhouette stands facing away from you, the hips of his shadow rolling forward in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The kneeling shadow in front rocks in perfect time, head bobbing, ponytail swinging. Every forward bob swallows the shadow of a thick girth; every pull-back lets it reappear, followed by a small, wet gasp.

“Good girl,” the man growls. The voice is deep, nothing like anyone you can relate it to, but it's familiar, so familiar in a stomach-turning way you can't quite place. Jihoon? It can't be. You saw him leaving earlier for another sponsor meeting.

“Deeper. All the way. Choke on it like you mean it.”

The girthy length appears and disappears into her mouth with every thrust, and she moans around him muffled, eager to please. “Mmph—yes—give it to me—”

Each withdrawal leaves blurrish drool strands stretching between lips and cock and she plunges back in before they snap. A wet, choking gag punctuates on every fourth stroke.

“Fuck yes. You want that position, don’t you? Show me how bad you need it. Suck like your job depends on it.”

He's instantly rewarded with another louder and wetter gag. Sounds of spit bubbling mixes with the buzzing silence, and strings of shadowed saliva drips onto the ground below. Her hands rise to grip his thighs, holding on for a tight second before diving back in.

“Faster,” he grunts. “Use that throat. Make me cum down it and maybe I’ll let you bend over for the real reward.”

The shadow obeys instantly, head moving quicker. Sloppy glucking sounds fill the room and her moans vibrate across the crates every time she bottoms out.

Winter’s nails dig crescents into your forearm, a trigger that tears your gaze away from the shadow show. Her breathing is shallow and furious. You both edge one step closer, trying to get a better view, but the cartons still block most of it.

Although, the new angle reveals more now.

It's Director Oh. Shirt untucked, head tilted back as he groans in ecstasy. “That’s it… fuck—swallow around me. Good little slut. You’re gonna earn your wish, aren’t you?”

You rise onto your toes, peering over the carton wall, straining to see the woman’s face, but you can’t. You drop back down, gaze returning to the shadows where she pulls off to gasp, “Yes—please—give it to me—”

Director Oh shoves back in, hand fisted in her hair, fucking her face with short, brutal thrusts.

Winter makes a small, strangled sound beside you. “No,” Winter breathes. “We can’t just—”

You tighten your grip around her small wrists, mouthing for her to stop as you shake your head in disapproval.

“But what if it's someone we know?” Winter mouths back, eyes wide with panic. “What if it's Yujin? Sullyoon? Or even Gaeul?”

“But what if it's none of them?” you mouth in return. “We're gonna be in trouble too. Let's get closer first, just for a better view.”

Winter hesitates, then nods reluctantly.

You both creep forward again, holding your breath, taking one silent step after another, until the cartons no longer block the angle completely.

Now you can see.

Relief hits you first. It's not Gaeul. Why did you even consider that possibility? It's not Yujin or Sullyoon either. It's a crew member — mid-20s, the one you remember assisting with the light and prop adjustments during the shoot. Short brown hair, face flushed, lips stretched wide around him — Director Oh.

He stands with his back to the cartons, pants around his thighs, shirt untucked. Hands still fisted in her hair, he continues jamming himself in and out of her mouth.

She’s trying her best, bobbing fast, hollowing her cheeks, moaning like she means it. But her hands tremble where they grip on his thighs, knees red and shaking against the concrete.

Director Oh groans. “Fuck… just like that. You’re gonna earn it tonight.”

He pulls out with a wet pop, cock glistening, veins throbbing. He slaps his cock against her cheek twice. She flinches but opens wider immediately.

“Beg for it,” he said. “Tell me you want the position.”

“Please…” Her voice cracks. “Please give me the promotion. I’ll do anything.”

He smirks. “Anything?”

She nods frantically.

He bends down, grabbing her chin roughly. “Then bend over the table. Ass up. I’m fucking that pussy next.”

The crew girl hesitates for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons. Then she stands on her shaky legs, turning and bracing her palms on the metal table beside.

Director Oh steps up behind her, flipping her skirt up and yanking her panties to her knees. He doesn't wait. He lines himself up and pushes in one long, slow stroke.

She gasps with a sharp wince, “Not… not too deep—”

“Just shut up and take it,” he grunts. “You want the job, don’t you?”

He starts thrusting, rocking his steady hips, slapping his flesh against her ass. The table rocks with every movement. Her faux moans turn higher, more desperate. “Yes—yes—please—you can't cum—inside—”

Winter’s whole body goes rigid beside you.

You feel her shift and you feel the exact second her anger wells up, feeling the moment she decides to move.

You haven't even registered her intention when she just yanks her wrist off your grip, barging her way past the cartons, storming right into the scene.

Director Oh freezes mid-thrust. The crew girl yelps, trying to pull away at the sight of Winter. Her skirt falls and her panties are still tangled at her knees. She spins, sees you both, pulls up her underwear, and bolts half-dressed and sobbing through the back exit.

Director Oh’s pulls out with a wet pop, cock still hard and shining. He turns around and yells.

“What the fuck?!”