RITUAL

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there’ll be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Everything.

And yet, you’re here—crammed in a bathroom stall, one hand palming her ass, hers diving down your jeans—and you can’t shake the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck. Tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s arrogance, the unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility this comes with being this absurdly hot. You can’t blame her one bit.

What Yujin wants, she gets.

You’ve seen it firsthand—it’s one of the many, many things you’ve learned about her since this whole thing started.

Well, one of the few that don’t concern how spectacular her cunt feels when she’s riding you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name and you make her cum so hard it becomes a problem.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.” Yujin’s seen your cock before—tasted it, taken it, had it ruin her in every way she could. But she still stares at it like it’s the first time, can’t stop her eyes lighting up the second she sees it springing free, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

She scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Besides, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the harshness of the fluorescent lights overhead are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, fingers dancing around your shaft, mapping the contours of your cock, and she’s forcing you to concede: “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you—wide and fearless. That grin that’s been plastered on a million posters, graced every magazine cover and screen, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

She seals it with a firm squeeze, stroking you in that achingly familiar rhythm—quick, precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was built for this. Made to tease your cock.

As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It’s the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual.

A gap in her schedule and a quiet spot, a secluded room—she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she’s never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, breath catching as the cheap plastic gives under your weight. Outside you can hear it, the venue coming to life—staff rushing, equipment clanging, fans roaring in the distance. But in here, none of it matters. It’s all swallowed by the slick sound of her palm gliding along your shaft, wet with spit, and it fills the small space, echoing off the cold tiles.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. Let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin’s dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there’s a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth graze the soft skin of her bottom lip. It’s hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she’s the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there’s something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. “Am I, now?”

You nod, voice cracking, failing you as she keeps pumping your cock, grip steady and relentless, like she’s milking you, milking every desperate sound right from your lips.

And it should be more concerning, you still haven’t pinned down what it is about you that unwinds her. That makes her chase you so hard.

Maybe it’s because you’re slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it’s because you said ’no’ the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream ‘yes’ every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but ’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She draws your eyes upwards—over that smooth, creamy stretch of her stomach, the flimsy, little excuse of a top. It clings to her, dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together so nicely and pushed up by her bra. And it’s so thin, wrapped so tight around her, showing the stiff peaks of her nipples pressing through, stiff and begging for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?’“

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You reach for the hem of her top—you need to see those tits, feel their warm weight in your palm, fuck, you have to have her stripped and laid bare.

But Yujin’s faster—slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall.

But you know she’s right.

You’re the adult here, right? Besides, there’ll be time for that later.

You go for her lips instead, tilting her chin up with your thumb. Yujin pulls back at the last second, leaving you chasing nothing but empty space.

“Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

It’s fucking frustrating, has you grunting, doing your best to keep your hands at your side. Letting her have her fun. Her sweet torture. It’s maddening—just standing there. Panting, rock hard, at the mercy of her slow, teasing strokes.

“And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever?

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices.”

“Ouch,” you feign offense, “I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your tight, little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, Daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘Daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue in the heat of an intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, Daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge—can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do?

You swallow down the groan building in your throat, teeth grinding, fighting for control. Yujin catches it. Shakes her head, lips pursed in that perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, Daddy,” Yujin’s chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And of course you fucking do.

You tell her, throat strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you’re sure that not a single drop will go towaste.

“You’re too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, Daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, Daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

Spinning her around so fast she yelps. Chest to her back, cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts come down easy—a hard yank does it—denim catching on her hips before sliding to her ankles.

Yujin gasps as cool air hits her skin. She braces against the stall wall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and deliriously sweet scents, curvy and thick where it counts, built like every filthy thought anyone with eyes has ever had about her.

She’s so distracted, you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You can't help it can you? Such a needy cocksleeve,” your hands magnetised to her bare ass—squeezing, marking her in places only you’ll ever know. “All for me.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her. Never could. Not with time running out and this much of her begging to be ruined. Your cock dips, tip nudging against her pussy, slick heat already kissing the head. One strong thrust and you bury yourself to the hilt.

Yujin cries—you grunt. The noises of the two of you blends and echoes and bounces off the tiles.

Someone’s definitely going to hear—someone’s going to walk in and catch you balls-deep in the star of the show and that’ll be it for you.

But really, right now? Fuck all of that.

You couldn’t give less of a shit.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, whatever nightmare might follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her Daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There’s no slow start, no easing her into it like you know you probably should. You fuck her hard, just like she begged. Hips slapping against her ass, skin-on-skin cracking loud through the stall, drowning out everything outside—again and again. In. Out. Over and over.

And it’s Yujin so of course she’s so easily soaked, always fucking ready. She’d told you as much on one of those late nights that bled into the morning: "I can take it, take anything, as long as it’s coming from you.”

Her walls clamp down tight, already pulsing, cunt greedily wringing you dry. You’re gliding in and out, using her, letting her stretch hot and perfect around every inch, her juices coating your cock, every thrust wetter, filthier than the last.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, all high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Every stroke, every deep drive that stretches her open—each one feels like it could be the last. The one that makes you lose it, explode inside her. The one that wipes the venue, the concert, the whole fucking world out of your head until there’s nothing but this needy little brat taking your cock.

She clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she was made for it. Like she’s never been fucked this good before. Like she never will be again.

(You both know it’s a lie. You both know you will.)

It feels so brand new every single time. Like you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back another layer of the untouchable idol and finding something raw and filthy underneath all that perfect shine.

Something that makes you want to ruin her, drag her down into the dirt and filth with you.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting through it, teary-eyed, sobbing, taking everything you give her like she fucking needs it. Like she deserves every rough inch.

Tapping into that deep, dark desire that you dug out of her. The one that gets off on being punished, that loves having a Daddy. That needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess held together by a string of aching orgasms.

You slip a hand under her top. You’re not ruining the outfit, but you’re sure as hell stealing a taste. Fingers push under her bra, testing the stretch, finding soft, warm flesh. Cupping her breast, squeezing, filling your hand with it, rolling her nipple between thumb and finger until it’s a hard little nub.

Her moan is all the permission you need.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She’s feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, Daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You keep slurring these words—low, filthy, desperate shit that makes her shiver and tremble, press back into you harder. Yeah, she loves it when you talk like this. Like she’s the only one who can break you. Maybe she is.

So, you don’t stop. You tell her how good her cunt feels, how badly you need her body, how much cum you’ve got saved up just for her.

Every word hits her like a slap. Her body answers back each time, with another tight squeeze, another forced tremble.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re all mine.” The pressure’s building fast now with every loud smack of your hips against her ass. “This tight ass, this tiny cunt—no one elses.”

Outside, the band’s tuning up. Guitar, bass, keys—all of it faint through the walls. The only thing missing is the drums. The only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning through it, knowing that it’s her fault—it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, making the entire show wait.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling, and with the pigtails it makes her look like a fucking schoolgirl, “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker—not enough to strangle, just enough to keep her right there—panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

She’s winding tight too. Your words, the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on after. Her whole body pulls taut like a bow string, ready to snap.

And you’re the one who gets to cut it.

You slide a hand down her stomach, over her bellybutton, until your fingers reach her drenched cunt. There’s her clit, swollen, ripe for your fingers.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, Daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she’s found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, Daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill—”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, another layer of taboo on this already fucked up tangle. And it’s fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill—and yet.

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her—lips on her throat, her jaw, hands full of her tits and her dripping cunt. Devouring her, all of her, every inch from those slutty pigtails all the way down to her painted toes.

And then she stops teasing and demands it outright.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, Daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

She’s let you in, you’re not going to stop—you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails and kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it’s in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, Daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me Daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of choked breaths, sighs, and whispers of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—Daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—Daddy!”

It’s the praise that finally unravels her. Her mouth falls open around your name like it’s the only word she still knows, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when you fuck her, always desperate to make sure you know how good it feels, how good you are. But when she actually cums—when she loses herself on your cock—she just goes quiet.

Loses the ability to articulate, to make any sound at all. Just whines and shaky gasps.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, your vision swimming. Yujin’s still reeling, eyes glassy, snapped back into the land of the living when another hard thrust brings her back into her body.

She leans in, forehead pressed to yours, finally able to make proper words again, and whispers something low and sweet and needy you barely catch.

“I’m all yours, Daddy.”

That does it. The last thread of control snaps.

The trigger she’s been waiting to pull—you’ve been holding it back for what feels like forever, trying to keep your shit together.

But there’s no fighting it now. The moment she says it—you let go.

You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuckdoll—your fuckdoll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, Daddy—Daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It all crashes together—the fucking bliss stacked on top of each other. Her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning against your mouth while you grimace through it, flooding her with ropes of you, giving her every single drop you have. Pounding your cum into her tight little cunt until you’re both boneless, reduced to sweaty, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down—slumping heavy against your chest, drooling a little on your shirt. Her legs go slack around you, finally loosening around your waist, still twitching through the aftershocks. There’s cum leaking from the corners of her pussy, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee and down to her ankles.

She tilts your chin with one finger and kisses you. Soft this time. One of those, quiet, intimate kisses you’ll be replaying all night, trying to figure out what it actually means.

For now, it just tastes like salt and lip gloss.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Yujin murmurs, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it twists something sharp in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, Daddy.”

She pulls her digits out slowly, holds them up so you can see your cum glistening on them. And then she’s bringing them to her lips, tongue flicking out to catch the drop dribbling down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little hum of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it’s the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

Then—just like that—the switch flips. She starts putting herself back together.

It’s almost unfair how graceful she looks doing it, at complete odds with this cramped, filthy stall. Floors you with the way she moves. Liquid movements, like she barely touches anything. Like she’s floating just above the mess you made of her.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door. You step aside, steadying her as you lead her to the mirror. Giving her a chance to assess the damage. It’s all so obvious—smudged lipstick, fresh kiss bruises on her neck, hair stuck to her skin. All your fingerprints.

She catches your eye in the reflection and smiles anyway. Like she’s still in complete control. Like you haven’t ruined her at all, not really.

Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

She pulls out her compact from the tiny bag she keeps stashed specifically for these occasions. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, fixing her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her wrist before she can slip away, pull her in close, and wipe the last streak of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that grin.

That million-dollar smile that’s going to make thousands of fans fall for her all over again.

That’s going to make you fall in love with her if you’re not careful.

“Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, Daddy.”