Our trainee days — Karina

The year was 2018. Seoul was still wrapped in the gray chill of late autumn, the kind that seeped through the thin walls of the SM Entertainment trainee dorms and made every muscle ache twice as hard. Yoo Ji-min—already known inside the building as “Karina” to the few who whispered about the tall, sharp-featured girl with legs that seemed to go on forever—was nineteen and deep into her fourth year as a trainee.

Karina was a succubus, born into the skin of a human girl and bound by the same rules as the three others who would one day stand beside her as aespa. She fed on pressure—the thick, pulsing cocktail of lust, exhaustion, and raw life force that humans leaked when they came undone. In the daylight she was the quiet perfectionist everyone admired: polite, hardworking, the natural leader who stayed behind to run the routine one more time. At night the hunger clawed at her ribs like a second heartbeat. She had learned early that the brutal trainee schedule—sixteen-hour days, calorie-counted meals, sleep measured in minutes—was survivable only because she could slip away and drain the very people who pushed her.

The dorm room she shared with three other girls was dark except for the faint blue glow of her phone screen at 5:47 a.m. Karina lay on the bottom bunk, black hair fanned across the pillow, silk sleep shorts riding high on her endless thighs. She stretched first, the way she always did: long arms reaching overhead until her spine arched and her perky tits pressed against the thin fabric of her cropped tank. The motion pulled the hem of her shorts higher, exposing the smooth underside of her ass cheeks. She held the stretch, feeling the familiar low thrum of hunger stir between her legs. Not yet. Not in the dorm where the others might wake.

She rolled out of bed with the same fluid grace she showed on stage years later. Bare feet silent on the cold floor, she padded to the tiny bathroom, closed the door, and stripped. The mirror showed what the gooners of 2026 would one day obsess over: porcelain skin still dewy from sleep, long dancer’s legs that looked carved from marble, the subtle V-line of her hips leading down to a neatly trimmed patch above her pussy. She brushed her teeth slowly, watching her reflection, letting the toothbrush drag across her full lower lip the way a tongue might. The small act sent a spark through her core. Hunger noted. She would feed tonight.

Practice Room 3 was already alive by 7:30 a.m. Mirrors lined every wall, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights and the sweat-slick bodies of twenty trainees. Karina stood at the front, black leggings clinging to her sculpted thighs and ass like a second skin, a loose gray crop top cropped just under her breasts. The instructor barked counts. She moved first—sharp, precise, every hip roll and leg extension executed with the commanding presence that would one day define aespa’s leader. When she dropped into a low squat, thighs spreading, the fabric pulled taut across her pussy and the firm curve of her ass. A male trainer in the corner—mid-twenties, married, trying not to stare—shifted his weight. Karina caught the spike in his pulse through the air like perfume. Good. She filed it away.

Lunch was 300 calories of chicken breast and broccoli in the cafeteria. She ate slowly, fork sliding between her lips, tongue curling around the tines just enough to make the boy across the table swallow hard. Her doe-eyed roommate whispered something about the new evaluation. Karina smiled the polite, slightly distant smile she gave everyone. Inside, the hunger coiled tighter. She had not fed in four days. The pressure inside her was becoming a roar.

The afternoon dragged through vocal lessons and choreography cleanup. By 11 p.m. the building was mostly empty. Karina stayed behind in the small auxiliary studio on the basement level—the one with the broken lock and the couch pushed against the far wall. She knew the night security guard’s schedule. She knew he always took his break at 11:15.

She locked the door behind her, killed the overhead lights, and left only the mirror lights glowing low and amber. Then she waited.

At 11:18 the guard—broad-shouldered, mid-thirties, the one whose wife had just had their second baby—slipped inside. He had done this twice before. He never spoke much. Karina liked that.

She turned, robe already open. The black silk slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her completely naked. Long legs planted shoulder-width, one hand resting on the curve of her hip, the other lazily tracing the underside of her left breast. Her nipple tightened instantly under her own fingers.

“Lock it properly this time,” she said, voice low and velvet-rough, exactly the same tone she would use years later when commanding a stage of ten thousand.

He obeyed. The click echoed.

Karina crossed the room in three strides. Her bare feet made no sound. She stopped a breath away from him, close enough that the heat of her skin brushed his uniform shirt. “On your knees.”

He dropped.

She lifted one long leg and hooked it over his shoulder, the sole of her foot pressing against his back. The motion spread her thighs wide, exposing the slick, flushed lips of her pussy inches from his face. She was already wet; the hunger made her drip. A single clear strand of arousal stretched down her inner thigh like liquid glass.

“Taste,” she ordered.

His mouth latched on without hesitation. Hot tongue dragged up her slit, parting her folds, flicking over her swollen clit. Karina’s head fell back, long black hair cascading down her spine. A low, satisfied hum vibrated in her throat—the same sound she would later make on mic during sensual bridge sections. She rolled her hips forward, grinding her pussy against his face in slow, deliberate circles. Her firm ass flexed with every thrust; the mirror behind her reflected the perfect heart shape of it clenching and releasing.

He sucked her clit between his lips and she rewarded him with a soft gasp, the first crack in her perfect composure. One hand tangled in his hair, nails scraping his scalp the way she would later scratch at bedsheets in 2026 hotel suites. Her free hand cupped her own breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to send sparks straight to her core. The pressure inside her—the demonic hunger—began to uncoil.

She felt his lust spike like a drug. Every desperate lap of his tongue fed her. She could taste the exhaustion of his double shifts, the guilt about his wife, the raw, aching want he had buried for months. She drank it all.

“Deeper,” she breathed.

He pushed two thick fingers inside her without warning. Her walls clenched around them instantly, hot and silky. Karina’s long thigh trembled against his ear. She rode his face and fingers in perfect rhythm, the same precise timing she used in choreography. Her perky tits bounced lightly with every roll of her hips; sweat began to gleam between them. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth filled the small studio—slick, filthy, rhythmic.

When the first orgasm hit her, it was quiet and devastating. Her pussy fluttered hard around his fingers, gushing a fresh rush of slick down his chin. The pressure he gave her flooded her veins like liquid fire. Her succubus nature drank greedily, eyes glowing faint pink for a single heartbeat before she forced them back to normal.

She didn’t let him stop. “Again.”

He obeyed until her legs shook and her second climax ripped through her. Only then did she push him back onto the couch, straddling his lap in one fluid motion. His cock was already out, thick and leaking. She wrapped one elegant hand around it—long fingers, perfect manicure—and stroked once, twice, feeling it throb.

“Watch me,” she whispered.

She sank down slowly, taking every inch until her tight ass rested against his thighs. The stretch made her moan low in her chest. Her inner walls rippled around him, milking him before she had even moved. Then she began to ride.

Long legs braced on the couch cushions, she lifted and dropped in deep, powerful strokes. Each time her ass met his lap the flesh rippled faintly—tight, athletic, not yet the fully matured curves of 2026 but already devastating. Her perky breasts bounced in time with her rhythm; she leaned forward so they brushed his face, letting him suck one nipple into his mouth while she fucked him harder.

Karina’s hands braced on his shoulders. Nails dug crescents into his skin. She rode him like she danced—sharp, controlled, utterly commanding. Every roll of her hips ground her clit against his pelvis. Sweat slicked the valley between her breasts and down the elegant line of her spine. She could feel his life force pouring into her now, thick and hot, filling the hollow ache the trainee life had carved inside her.

When he came, hips stuttering up into her, she clamped down and drained him completely—every last drop of pressure, every ounce of exhaustion and guilt and lust. His eyes rolled back. A broken groan tore from his throat. Karina’s own orgasm crashed through her at the same moment, pussy pulsing wildly around his cock as pink light flared behind her eyelids.

She stayed seated on him for a long minute afterward, chest heaving, long legs still trembling. His cum leaked out around his softening cock and dripped down her thighs in slow, creamy rivulets. She savored the fullness inside her, the way her body hummed with fresh power. The hunger was quiet now. Sated.

Finally she rose. Cum slid down the inside of her left thigh in a glistening trail all the way to her ankle. She didn’t wipe it away. She liked the reminder.

“Same time next week,” she told him, voice steady again, the perfect idol mask sliding back into place. “And bring the protein bars I like.”

He could only nod, dazed.

Karina dressed in silence, silk robe once more covering the body that would one day break the internet. She left the studio without looking back, long legs carrying her down the empty corridor like a queen returning from conquest.

The next three days passed in the usual blur of trainee life.

She woke at 5:45 a.m. again, stretched the same way, felt the first faint stirrings of hunger return. She danced until her thighs burned and her ass ached from endless squats. She ate the same measured meals, smiled the same polite smiles, corrected younger trainees with the gentle authority that made everyone call her “unnie” even though she was still a trainee herself. At night she studied lyrics and choreography videos on her phone, earbuds in, one hand absently stroking the soft skin just above her knee.

But the hunger always came back.

On the fourth night she chose a different target—Lee Ji-eun, a fellow female trainee two years younger, shy and pretty, the kind of girl who blushed when Karina complimented her high notes. They had stayed late in the main practice room together, perfecting the bridge of a new girl-group track.

The lights were off except for the emergency strips along the floor. Mirrors reflected their bodies in fragments of shadow and silver.

Karina moved behind Ji-eun, close enough that her breasts brushed the younger girl’s back. “Your posture is still dropping on the second eight-count,” she murmured, voice soft but commanding. Her hands settled on Ji-eun’s narrow hips, guiding her into the correct angle. The touch lingered.

Ji-eun shivered.

Karina smiled against her ear. “You’re tense. Let me help.”

She turned the girl slowly until they faced each other. Then she kissed her—slow, deep, the same way she would kiss lovers in 2026 hotel suites. Ji-eun melted instantly, hands fluttering up to clutch Karina’s crop top. Karina walked them backward until the younger trainee’s back met the mirrored wall. The cold glass made Ji-eun gasp into her mouth.

Karina dropped to her knees with the same grace she showed on stage. She peeled Ji-eun’s leggings and panties down in one smooth motion, exposing smooth, trembling thighs and a pretty, already-wet pussy. Karina looked up—sharp feline eyes glowing faintly in the low light—and licked a long, slow stripe up the girl’s slit.

Ji-eun’s legs buckled. Karina caught her, hooking those long, powerful arms under the younger trainee’s thighs and lifting her slightly so her back pressed harder against the mirror. Then she devoured.

Her tongue was relentless—flat, broad strokes over the clit, then pointed and teasing inside. She sucked the swollen nub between her lips and hummed, the vibration pulling a broken whimper from Ji-eun. Karina’s own thighs were spread wide where she knelt, her ass flexing as she rocked her hips against nothing, seeking friction. She could feel her own slick soaking through her leggings.

When Ji-eun came the first time, it was with a soft, shocked cry, thighs clamping around Karina’s head. Karina drank every pulse of pleasure, every flutter of the girl’s pussy against her tongue. She didn’t stop. Two fingers slid inside, curling, stroking that perfect spot while her mouth stayed glued to the clit. Ji-eun sobbed through a second orgasm, then a third, until her legs shook so hard Karina had to hold her upright.

Only then did Karina stand, lips shiny with the younger girl’s release. She kissed Ji-eun again, letting her taste herself. Their tongues slid together, slow and filthy.

“Touch me,” Karina whispered against her mouth.

Ji-eun’s hand slipped under Karina’s waistband, fingers finding the soaked heat of her pussy. Karina’s long legs trembled as the girl rubbed clumsy, eager circles over her clit. She guided her—showed her the exact pressure, the exact rhythm—until her own orgasm rolled through her like thunder. She came quietly, forehead pressed to Ji-eun’s, long thighs quivering, a fresh gush of slick coating the younger girl’s fingers.