An Invitation

“We’ve been expecting you.”

There’s a rhythm to the way she says it. Inviting, confident, practiced. Her mask, some kind of variation on a decorated venetian mask, hides her eyes but does nothing about the rest of her. A black dress that hugs her curves like it was painted on, chestnut hair tied up in a tidy and professional bun but with a cleavage so deep and tits pushed up and together so tight it would be rude to not at least peek.

She smiles at you like you haven’t been standing here ogling her but instead said something charming already without having opened your mouth.

“Welcome to Peaches & Apricots,” she continues, stepping out from behind the desk, stepping in close—so close her scent fills your nostrils, clean like freshly-pressed linen but with an unmistakably expensive jasmine touch.

“Expecting me?” You snap out of it momentarily, long enough to start asking questions. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she says, her smile transforming into a smirk, her finger on your chest, slowly dragging across you as she circles you, “that in the history of our establishment, not a single man has ended up here by accident.”

Alarm bells should be ringing. Fear of death, kidnapping, extortion or maybe just a classic organ theft are all reasonable fears to have right now. But the marble pillars catching amber light match her smile in decadence, pulling a lace veil over your instincts to run.

“Okay,” you sigh, not yet fully given in. “Who are you, then?”

“Tonight, I am your host.” She grabs your hand, and starts leading you down the secret palace. Gold veins run through the walls, culminating in the ceiling in a row of elegant chandeliers, illuminating the hall she’s guiding you through.

“What is this place?”

Her head turns towards you over her shoulder. “A place where you can have whatever you want.”

You stop walking, plant your feet in place, and she stops with you, turning towards you the moment she feels you come to a halt. She looks at you puzzled, like you’re going off-script. All of these experiences are far too new for you, this lifestyle too alien, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try to fit in.

“What if I want you?”

You can see the colors of her eyes mellow out, followed up by a little laugh. Before she answers, she sinks to her knees, on the floor in front of you, her legs sticking out from the slits in the sides of her dress, smooth and subservient.

“You can have me.”

Her face tilts up towards you, the mask not nearly enough to cover the playful sweetness she unleashes. Her perfectly glossed lips part slightly as she looks up, takes an exasperated breath, the push and pull of her ribcage pushing out her chest, her hands resting neatly on her thighs.

“Right here. However you want.”

There’s nobody else around. Just you and her, in a hallway meant for kings to feast. Your hands leave your sides, doubtfully finding her cheeks.

“But that would mean making your welcome package wait.”

You stop for just a fraction of a second, but she feels it. She pats her hands on her thighs twice, smoothing her dress as if she hadn’t just offered to suck your cock in the middle of a hallways, gets up without help (which is insane, considering the length of her heels), and asks: “Did that catch your attention?”

You nod, despite none of this making sense yet.

She grabs your hand again, takes approximately two more steps with you in tow and stops in front of a door marked with a strawberry. Turns around to you. Puts her hand flat on the door, gives you a final devious smirk, and speaks: “All we ask is that you shower and brush your teeth before the fun.” She pushes open the door, revealing a room that could rival the most expensive hotel rooms, soft rose gold and black mixing on the walls and in the furniture. “Oh, and do have fun.”

And in the center of it all, on a bed with black and white silk sheets, legs dangling off of the edge but not hitting the floor, is possibly the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

Plump lips. Petite. Cat-eyed. Midnight hair in twin tails. Wearing nothing at all but a bathrobe and white thigh-high socks, the lower end of a bow at the hem of each sock drawing your attention. Currently occupied with eating a strawberry from a bowl on the top of a bar cart parked conveniently next to her. She takes a look at you, lays the half eaten strawberry back in the bowl, and gets a dangerous look in her eyes.

“Hi~ You’re the mega lottery guy, right? I’m Chaeyoung, and I’ll be your canvas for tonight!”

She stays seated on the bed, swinging her legs one by one. Before Chaeyoung can say more, the masked woman next to you speaks: “I’ll let you two get acquainted. And if you still have energy left after you’re done with her, you can still have me.”

You step inside, and the door behind you gets closed, leaving you alone with the self-proclaimed toy.

You look at her. “How did you know I won the lottery? I thought I was keeping that secret hidden pretty decently,” you ask, trying to wrap your head around this whole thing.

She shrugs. “We know everything about our guests so we can give them the best service.” She picks up the strawberry again, and finishes it. “That’s why I’m wearing these socks! You like them, don’t you?”

All you can do is nod, sheepishly. Chaeyoung, in response, jumps off of the bed, and steps towards you, the difference in size growing even more noticeable.

“It’s okay to be a little shy for your first time in a house of pleasure. I’ll guide you, all you need to do is tell me what feels good and I’ll make sure I’ll do it even better.”

“I thought you people knew everything about me? Aren’t you supposed to already know what feels good for me then?” you scoff, brow furrowing.

“Well, if you already had a girl that gave you everything you wanted, you wouldn’t be standing here in front of me, getting hard—” she looks down at your crotch, “—trying to figure out if I’ll be able to lick your balls with your dick down my throat. Which, I can, by the way. You’re welcome to try after you’ve taken your shower. House rules and all that.”

“This is insane,” you mutter. There’s a small step up in a little alcove on the side of the room, a washing basin centrally attached to the wall with a mirror hanging on top of it, and you make your way over to it. On the left side of the basin is an opaque glass door.

You push it open, only to be met with marble walls, tiled floor, a massive rainfall showerhead and enough hygiene products to provide a beauty influencer with a year's worth of content.

So, first things first, you brush your teeth, all the while catching Chaeyoung’s reflection in the mirror goofing around, staring at you as if to say “hurry up!” Your shirt comes off first, she raises her eyebrow, and the rest of your clothes follow fast as you disappear into the shower.

It doesn’t take long for you to see her outline appear in the opaque door, leaning against the doorframe.

“So, do you want me to keep these socks on the entire night or should I be fully naked at some point?” she asks through the door.

“I’d prefer if you kept them on,” you shout back over the running water.

“Mmm, socks stay on. Got it.” You can see her silhouette shift, her back now against the glass as she slides down. “They’re the comfy kind anyway.”

There’s only a couple of seconds of silence before she speaks up again: “So what was that first week like? What’s the first thing you bought?”

You chuckle, knowing how dumb you’re about to sound. “A toothbrush.”

The same silence washes over the conversation, only this time you wish she’d break it.

“Not like, a new car or a fancy watch or anything?” she asks, finally.

“I needed a new toothbrush.”

“See,” she begins, turning towards the door, “that’s what makes me curious about you.”

“That I needed a new toothbrush?” you ask, you yourself turning towards the door as well as you let the shampoo run from your hair.

“No, that everything in your file and everything you’re saying suggests you’re the type of guy to take it slow.”

“And you don’t think I am?”

“Nah,” she laughs. “I think you're the type that thinks they need to hold back but can barely keep themselves from grabbing a girl like me by the hair and shoving your cock straight down her throat.”

You don’t answer, don’t bother to humor her with the truth. You can hear her shift again.

“And the fact that they chose me as your first girl,” she continues, another giggle, “must mean you really love getting your dick sucked.”

“That your specialty?” you ask, trying to not sound too flustered.

“You could say that. I don’t have a gag reflex and I do have an insatiable desire to get manhandled, so.”

It’s hard not to touch yourself with all the profanities she’s spouting, but you’re going to have to settle for a simple cleaning for now. Would be a waste otherwise.

“Besides,” she continues, “you have that pent-up ‘I want to fuck a pretty face’ energy. Like you’ve never dared dream of being with a girl like me before.”

“I’ve been with hot chicks before,” you grumble as you rinse off the last bit of soap.

“Okay hotshot,” she says. “Whatever you say.” Before you know it, her face is pressed against the opaque door, like she’s willing herself to see through it. “But seriously, how long do you intend to stay in there? Do you want me to come in with you?”

She taps on the glass, silhouette showing her clearly crossing her arms.

“I’m bored, and if I have to come in there to get some action going, these socks are coming off, and we both lose. I’m not walking around in wet socks all night because you want shower head, so just tell me what you want and I can start sucking your cock.”

You towel off, and considering the circumstances, don’t bother with the robe they hung on a hanger. Your cock is refusing to subside, anyways. The cold air that hits you as you open the door does nothing to hide any of it, doesn’t help you calm down, not when faced with Chaeyoung’s face snapping from glassy boredom to joyous hunger so all-consuming it feels like a threat.

There’s a thought, for the first time tonight: She must be like this with everyone. This is customer service, the talent of an escort dedicated to secrets and depravity. It elevates the nerves, doesn’t lessen them, actually.

“Wow, so this is that working class physique, huh?” she smirks, eyes sharp, tongue resting loosely at the edge of her incisors. She’s leaning back casually, too casual for someone who’s repeatedly insinuated you should fuck her throat, legs spread, but her feet together like she’s not already showing you her cunt dripping on her bathrobe.

You stop right in front of her, cock standing straight above her head. “You talk too much.” You expect her to recoil, to flinch or just have any kind of reaction, but she doesn’t. She just sits there, like she expects you to change the fact she, well, talks too much.

So, you grab her by the twin tails, both hands tight at the roots, and bend her head back with sharp jerk. She relents, folds her hands behind her back neatly, so obviously practiced as a way to let you know, yes, you can go right ahead, not resisting at all as your cock disappears all the way in her mouth.

She doesn’t gag. Doesn’t blink. No, instead, she moans, she smiles, presses her tongue flat against the bottom of your dick like a red carpet welcoming its entrance.

You hold her head right where you want it, and pump your cock in and out, slow at first, then faster, not caring if she’s ready for it, because that’s the service. That’s the VIP treatment. That’s Chaeyoungs specialty.

“Fuck,“ you groan into the air. “You actually like this, don’t you?”

She nods best she can, lips stretched across your shaft, spit dripping down between her legs mixing with her pussy’s slick, and you barely manage to make a mental note to force her out of that robe when your motor functions allow for anything but bucking your hips forward and backwards in rhythm with your hands.

The mirror by the sink is catching everything, and you glance at it, seeing the shape of you in her windpipe, a vision as obscene as it is enthralling. Her eyes haven’t left yours for a second, and when she catches you looking away, she follows, seeing you extending her in the reflection.

“You want—” she coughs, hoarse, as she pulls off with a wet gasp, hands now steadied against your thighs not bothering to wipe any of the bubbly saliva away, “You want to feel something you’ve never felt before?”

Her hand flies up towards yours, interlaces her fingers with your right hand and guides it towards her throat. The other hand makes sure your left hand is planted on the back of her head. She wraps your palm around her slender neck, gives your fingers a squeeze, then releases them, lines herself up and plunges your cock back down her gullet.

You can feel yourself through the wall of her neck, bulging her throat, and she holds you there with her nose pressed to your skin. She looks up at you like she’s expecting something, but you’re not sure what to give. Does she want you to pull her off? Did she misread some kind of signal that you might cum soon?

No, instead, she grabs your wrist, guiding your palm to stroke up and down forcefully against her skin as you stay buried in her mouth, letting you control her from the inside and outside.

She gurgles, the sounds might have meant something but all they are right now are vocal vibrations wreaking havoc on your mind.

Your hand massages the both of you, and you’re so close already, but you slow it down, savor the feeling, savor her gaze, savor the view off her. Maybe even command her to take off the robe.

Which she does. She shimmies one shoulder and the robe falls open with ease, exposing her tits; small and impossibly perky, perfect on her, pink and dusky nipples blushing at your intense stare. She pushes it off, and it pools beneath her, on the floor, a practical rag for catching any stray filth.

“Touch yourself,“ you command further, voice hoarse and rough.

She moans around you, like a sigh of relief, and obeys instantly. Her hands slide down, take a little detour to her tits, squeezing then further gliding down, making it all the way to in between her thighs. She spreads just a little wider, showing you how hairless and shining she really is, cups her cunt in her palm and presses to fingers to her slit, forfeiting a slow rhythm and just instantly falling into yours.

You’re already at the edge with the way she’s sucking your dick, but it’s when she proves she hasn’t lied a single time; her tongue slipping out, wiggling side by side, gaining ground on your shaft until she reaches your balls. With your cock buried in her throat.

There’s no other follow up but to groan her name, and unload pulse after pulse of cum straight into her stomach. It earns you her first gag, but nothing you could do could make her pull off of you. Not when she’s rolling your balls between her fingers and her tongue, convulsions of her throat constricting your cock until you’re dazed, dizzy and dried out.

To say she swallows it all would be redundant. There’s no need to swallow most of it, only the last couple of drops that spill out of you as you retreat from her mouth. The worst part is that she just looks at you as if nothing about this was exceptional, this is the standard she set.

“Any more commands?” she spurts out, voice ragged.

You can’t answer, not with your legs jelly, staggering back, barely finding the edge of the bed before crashing down hard. She, on the other hand, is still playing with herself, dutifully, like you commanded, fingers idly circling her clit, as if she’s keeping herself warm long enough for you to speak again.

She follows you to the bed. Her hand never leaves her clean-shaven pussy.

“I’ll take that as ‘just lie down with me for now‘.“ She tosses one leg over you, the other splayed beneath her, giving her plenty of space to keep herself entertained, her torso pressing into the side of your arm.

Your hand drops onto her thigh with a slap, amplified by gravity, connecting you to her like she connects to you. Her skin is soft, velvet, impossibly perfect to the touch; musculature trained from sitting on her knees and working her neck, everything taut with athleticism, nothing about it unhoned.

She fits alongside you like she belongs there.

There’s nothing clever to say, nothing you’d waste your breath trying to communicate, no sound escaping you except for a couple of exasperated expletives. She leans in, face flushed, way more reason than you to be exhausted, breaths fast and tiny but under control, lips pressed together for a quick peck on your cheek.

“Better than your last blowjob?” she whispers, grinning at the ceiling.

Your head is so fucking empty, every thought you had emptied into her mouth, all you can do is answer honestly. “I didn’t even know half of that shit was humanly possible.“ You try to stop the laugh from coming out, but once you catch her smirk in the corner of your vision, you can’t help but let it escape you.

Chaeyoung joins you, laughing with pride, glancing down at your now soft cock with an expression of professional satisfaction, a job well done. “It’s all about practice. We do drills.“ A giggle, this time. She’s still working her clit with mercenary fingers, perfectly aware of her own needs, just keeping herself ready. “You want to help?“

In about ten minutes there would be nothing more you’d want, but right now, your body is as limp as a cumrag and twice as useless. She must see it in your face because she laughs once more and rolls herself upward so her legs straddle your ribs. There’s basically no weight to her, her knees splayed wide on each side of you, socks still immaculate, soft on your skin where her thighs squeeze you.

This is, incidentally, also the moment her fingers no longer take refuge between her thighs, their job being replaced by soft rolls of her hips against your stomach, spreading slick all over you. Her eyes are trained on you, waiting for you to say something.

“Actually, I’d like something to eat, I’m feeling kind of low on energy,“ you groan up into her, turning your face away in a fluster.

She lights up at your request, rolling her hips one more time, then dismounting you. “I think we have just the thing,“ she chirps, landing with a sock-muffled bounce on the floor. From the bottom shelf of the little bar cart, she produces a quaint little glass jar with a grape motif on the label along with a tiny brush, like something you’d use for calligraphy. Pops open the jar with her teeth, dips the brush in it and paints a diagonal stripe across her wrist. “Grape sugar is supposed to be the best for recovery, right?“ she muses, stretching her arm out towards you.

You push yourself off the mattress a little, accept her invitation, and lick the stripe off of her. Artificial grape, but not offensively so; and the sweetness hits your bloodstream like a purple thunderbolt. She asks if you’re feeling any better, with a voice as syrupy and honeyed as the edible body paint.

You nod, licking traces your lips caught before your tongue could clean. “A bit.“

A grin overtakes her. “Good. We’ll dose you up, good as new.“ She reloads the brush, this time drawing two stripes across her collarbone. She leans in to give you easier access, her lips inches from your ear, and moans a little as you lick it off of her. You lap at her hungrily regardless, the last detonation still too fresh in your mind.

The next stripe turns into a lazy S down the stretch of skin between her small, perfect tits, beading along her sternum. As she’s painting and you’re cooling down, the opportunity seems to present itself to ask her some questions you should have asked the first second you set foot in this building.

“So, what is this whole stunt going to cost me?“

She winks at you, finishes her painting, and leans in, hands on either side of your head, presenting your next platter. “Free of charge.“

You stop halfway in between her tits. “And now a real answer.“ You look up at her from under her, and she looks down back at you, her gaze saccharine and amusingly pouty.

“That is the real answer. Next visit you’ll have to pay, but consider this an amuse-bouche to get you familiar with what we do.“ She presses her body against you now, forcing you to finish your meal. You can’t help but lap at her hungrily, the sugar and the promises reinvigorating you. Your cock is starting to feel it too, slowly returning back to life.

“This doesn’t feel real.“ It’s a little too honest to divulge, and not in a solely fucked-out-of-your-mind way.

“Recurring theme for you, mega lottery man?“ she asks with a chuckle, pushing herself back up, presenting your clean plate.

“Can you call me something other than mega lottery man?“

The edge of her lip twirls up, and her eyes focus on you. “Alright, daddy. Your turn.“

It does something to you that you didn’t know it could. It sounds so fucked up coming from her, and you’d sworn to every past girlfriend that came in your palm before that you hated it and it gave you the creeps and here you are, thinking of how great she’d look and sound, moaning daddy in your ears as you fucked your seed into her.

She places the concoction in your hands, brush accompanying it. She plops off of you, and lies down on her back next to you, presenting herself as a fresh canvas.

You paint your first stripe on the inside of one of her armpits. She gets a little giggly as it hits her, but manages to maintain composure as you lick it off of her, the taste mixing with her sweat, enhancing the sweet with saltiness, an alchemical love potion making you go for another lick, just for good measure. You move down her body, paint a circle around her belly button.

“You know,“ she speaks, unprompted, as you’re feasting. “You’re keeping your composure surprisingly well.“

“Yeah?“ you respond, kissing her belly button before removing your latest creation.

“Usually, new customers freak out and try to, like, wife me immediately or something.“ She tilts her head up slightly. Winks at you. “Should I be offended?“

“No, because asking you to marry me after a single blowjob would be insane. Your previous customers were insane.“

She doesn’t argue with that. You move further down, and paint multiple stripes on each of her thighs, connecting her hips to her socks, stopping just shy from making what little you’ll allow her to wear to turn sticky.

Sit up, admire your own work for a second, cock rapidly reinvigorating. “So, what happens now?“ you ask, a little surprised by the sound of your own voice. You dip your head down, licking her thighs clean while she gets the time to answer.

Chaeyoung stretches herself out, props herself up on her elbows. “That’s up to you, daddy. If you want to stay after dinner and want to go for dessert—“ she shrugs, “—I could probably make you cum again in, like, nine minutes? Or, if you’re one of those sentimental types, we can just talk. I do that too. I could also just wash you. There’s a jacuzzi behind one of these doors, if you like water. Or, you can leave. If you’ve had enough, you don’t have to stay.“

You sit upright on your knees. Cock standing straight up now, presenting itself to her, finally in her view, and you groan: “I’m not fucking leaving just yet.“

“Oh wow. See what a little sugar can do, daddy?“ She spreads her legs wider, as if she’s already decided for you how this goes.

You don’t let her.

You wrestle her onto her stomach, pin her wrists with one hand above her head and draw a thick, unbroken line from the dip above her ass to the nape of her neck, then toss the brush aside along with the jar and follow the same track with your tongue, savoring every vertebra, every little shiver she offers.

By the time you reach her neck, you’re lined up perfectly, ready, pressing against her slick folds. She raises her hips, inviting you in with a wiggle. You don’t even need to bother guiding yourself with a hand. She’s so slick, so open, so ready that you just slide right in. Guess her fingers did their job after all.

You disappear fully into her in one stroke, balls pressed flush to the split of her thighs, and she hisses through her teeth like she’s been waiting her whole life for this instead of however little time you’ve known each other. She turns her head sideways, half her face visible to you now, eyes looking back at you like she’s making sure you’re as much of a wreck as she seems to be.

Her pussy locks you in, velvet and curling and impossibly snug, and for a moment you swear you can’t move at all. You can’t be sure who breaks the stillness, but someone does, you grunt and groan and she moans and mewls and it all culminates in something unholy.

“Do I feel good, daddy?“ she murmurs, voice muffled by black silk pillows.

It deserves to be said that at this point, you’re way past one of embarrassment. It might be a script or her truth, it doesn’t matter, not with the way she throws her ass back into you, not with the way she drools every time your cock throbs in her like it’s ready to burst. All that matters is making her yours, for now.

So, you let her set the pace for now, admiring her muscles stretch and squash under her pale skin, the white socks braced against the sheets for traction as she pushes back, the barely perceptible twist and turns she makes at just the right moment to make your nerves jolt.

But you want to break her open and see what filth comes pouring out.

You lean over her, chest to her back, pinning her down fully and keeping her there. Your hips pick up the pace, brutally hard thrusts repeat themselves into her, the sound of your hips against her ass slap louder than any sound she could produce muffled by the bedding. It doesn’t matter that this is what she does for a living. She sounds so damn hungry right now it’s as if she’s never had cock before.

And with a whimper, it announces itself. The staccato clench of her cunt around your cock, the twitching and shaking of her thighs, the tensing of her calves kicking into your backside, the curling of her toes as if she’s being electrocuted from the inside. You fuck right through her release, as if this is just a detour from your pleasure; after all, you are the current, the cause, the storm cloud coming down on her.

You pin her down harder, pressing her ribs into the mattress, her ass comes up flush into your hips and you rut into her like you’re trying to break her.

She’s raw and wrung out, her voice gone hoarse, but she still spews filth like no other: “Mmm— you’re so much meaner than you look, daddy. I can—fuck—“ you shift the angle, hitting her deeper, higher. “—I can feel you in my stomach.“

Chaeyoung tries to crawl forward a little, grant herself a short break, a relief from the pressure, but you catch her at the waist and yank her back, pinning her down between her shoulder blades and not relenting. The noise she makes starts as a gasp, turns into a giggle and ends in a fucked-out and delighted moan, tongue lolling between her teeth.

It’s then you reach for one of her twin tails, winding it around your fist and making a makeshift leash, hauling her head up from the pillow.

The angle opens her up, your other hand on her chin tilting her so you can watch the smile go bliss-fuzzy, watch her pupils dilate as you show her just how little control you have.

“O-oh, fuck, yes, use me how you want,” she babbles, her words the spark you needed for your superheated flash of lightning to start crackling. “Break me in, daddy, show me what you need, I’ll take it, I’ll take it all—”

You might die if she stops speaking now, so you tell her to never stop. She doubles down, filthier, meaner, calling herself your toy, your cumrag, your slut, your canvas to paint and destroy.

Her hair slips from your wrist, both your hands needing to find the bed to have something to hold you upright, and you don’t last much longer after that, can't, not with the tightness of her pussy, the way she moans daddy between every breath, not with her hand flying back to claw your back (because she can’t reach your ass) to force you in as close to her womb as you could possibly get as you spill inside her.

You can feel your cum leak out around your cock as you collapse forward, resting your face in the crook of her neck.

She, on the other hand, is still giggling, still squirming, still twitching around your softening cock, pressing her ass up to keep you plugged in. “Wow,“ she sighs pleased, “I can see why they scheduled you for two hours.“

You snort, and feel the laugh reverberate in your bones. “That’s how long we have?”

She reaches back, pats your thigh with a sticky, small hand. “If you want more, I’ll always want more. But, for now—” She rolls off of you, dragging you by the arm so you’re face-to-face, side-by-side on the pillow. Turns around for a beat, finds the jar of body paint on the floor, dips her finger in it. “Open,“ she demands, and you do, letting her wipe a stripe of grape across your lips before kissing it away.

You half expect her to say something witty or seductive, but instead she just looks at you, unguarded, and you blink, dizzy with the intimacy. The novelty of it is almost as overwhelming as the sex had been. You’ve never felt so seen in your life.

It’s only the sticky line of grape sugar drying on your chin that breaks the spell. Chaeyoung wipes it off with her thumb, then licks her thumb clean, taking her sweet time. Under the table you suspect the House has taught her to prolong silences like this: let the guest rest, let the moment stretch, so the next escalation hits all the harder.

She stretches, her whole body flexing, begging for attention. “You want to shower again before we go for round three? Or do you want to keep my scent on you?”

Her tone is teasing, but you hear a different game at play in her question. You think of the way the masked woman had spoken, the way this whole place seems to anticipate you, to reify your unspoken wants before even you know them. A couple of hours ago, you found that creepy. Now you find it exhilarating. You want to be known like this, down to the most humiliating, sub-animal detail.

You answer: “I want to keep it on me.”

She smiles, more satisfied than you expected. “Good. I think it’s kind of hot when I can smell myself on a guy. Like I marked my territory as their favorite whore.” Then, without a pause, “Do you want to eat my ass, daddy?”

You don’t recall being asked a question so abruptly direct before. For a split second, you’re sixteen again, browsing porn you don’t understand with the volume off, afraid your parents will come in and see you looking at something degenerate. But you’re not sixteen, you’re a man who just came into a girl’s throat so hard you nearly blacked out, and you are in a palace of hedonism where every taboo is contained under glass, invited.

“Yeah, actually. I’d love to eat your ass.“

Chaeyoung spins onto her stomach, popping her ass up into the air and folding her arms under her head, eyes resting on you in the bed-side mirror. She wiggles, playfully, and says, “Take your time. It’s always better when you take your time.”

You didn’t expect this to be so intimate, so utterly nonchalant, but maybe that’s the point.

After, you share the bowl of strawberries, her laying across your chest, sticky and spent, head pillowed on your arm.

She gathers the details of your life, the brushstrokes of your past, the reasons you never thought you’d be rich, or here, or capable of pleasure on this scale. She catalogs your secrets with surgical precision, then files them away with a kiss.

It’s not love you’re feeling, far from it, but there’s a certain affection that you can feel already ensuring your return here.

Before you leave, she helps you dress. Socks first, then underwear, then every button fastened one by one. She kisses your jaw, then the softest spot behind your ear, leaving her scent as a calling card, as your favorite.

At the door, she pauses. “Don’t be a stranger, daddy.”

You nod.

The masked woman is waiting for you at the exit, arms folded, her gaze appraising.

“Did you enjoy your stay?” she asks, though you imagine she’s never gotten an unsatisfied response.

You hesitate, but confirm, with more word-vomit than you’d ever given even when just a simple yes would have sufficed.

She grins, and the lamp light catches the edge of her mask, gold and black all at once.

“Until next time.”