Si, C’est Moi: Rythme

Sure, you’ve expected some strange clients, but definitely not as early as the first gig.

Yeeun’s throat vibrates under your hand, her skin soft to your touch. Melody spills out of her mouth, carried through the small packets of air into the microphone. Headphones are covering her ears. Her eyes are closed as she sings out her part with her deep, alluring voice. She’s lost in the melody as you’re utterly dumbfounded by the act. You’re doing your best to not let your breathing affect the sound quality, but it’s so difficult when she’s so beautiful, so authoritative in her suit like this.

And her part ends; there’s a minute-long interval before her other line. You aren’t behind the console to fast forward the song to there, after all. She opens her eyes, seeing you all trembling beside her, lips quivering in anxiety, hand shaking on her throat. You’re flooded with fear and desire, and she just shoots you a smirk—so assured.

“We have a minute before the bridge,” Yeeun huffs, before snatching your wrist away from her neck. “Make me moan. You’re going to have the recording, anyway. Might be able to do something with it.”

Your eyes widen. Your arms tremble in her confines. Your heart races, unsure whether to act on her wish. There’s something boiling inside you, but you’re not so sure whether to act on it.

“Really?”

Yeeun groans, looking at you as if she’s disappointed. And without a warning, she pulls your hand onto the first button of her shirt. “Strip me.” A command—sleek, direct, compact.

“Uh–”

Fifty seconds left.

“Fuck this,” and she uses her other hand to unbutton herself. Her flushed chest comes into view as you struggle to keep up with the heating situation. She parts her collar from the middle, revealing her sizable, milky bosom. Her nipples are already erect, begging, pleading for your touch.

“Touch them.”

Forty seconds left.

You push hesitantly into her, until your fingers press onto her left breast. It’s soft to your touch—so malleable, so supple. Yeeun whimpers softly—loud enough for you to hear, but not loud enough for the recording. You figure you should sink deeper into her flesh, so you push harder. Yeeun’s moans grow louder, and you’re quite sure that the microphone is going to catch that.

Thirty seconds left.

Her skin flushes against your hand, nipples all erect—aroused, stirred, aflame. You apply more pressure on her, feeling how her curves fit in your palm. Her whines are even stronger, so full of unbridled lust. She closes her eyes, head falling back slightly. She lets go of your wrist as you finally find the rhythm on her chest—touch, press, squeeze. She’s fading into you.

Twenty seconds left.

The tempo settles. You squeeze her breast softly, trying not to make it painful. Yeeun’s moans become a siren song that lures you closer towards her body. You reach out for another breast, pressing into it delicately. She cries out in overstimulation from the depths of her lungs. Her body shudders over and over again. She’s loving it.

Ten seconds left.

With newfound bravery, you lean in closer to her breasts, giving her aroused buds licks and sucks. Yeeun moans, pressing your head into her, effectively gluing your mouth to her tits. There’s a faint trace of sweat on her body, combined with her perfume that reminds you how she’s the one in charge, and you’re merely her plaything.

And here comes her part.

The music plays on.

Professionalism be damned.

Caution thrown out of the window.

And fuck your job.

Yeeun backs your tangled limbs onto the wall, letting you suck on her nipples hungrily. Your hands work on her leather belt. Your face remains stuck to her tits. Her hands let go of your head to work on your pants, fingers grazing your bulge and sending current through your body in the scuffle. Your clothes hit the floor. Cold air lingers your bare legs. You become vulnerable to each other’s touch. Yeeun smiles, her exposed chest heaves with her breaths.

“This is your part. Fuck me.”