Our trainee days — Giselle

The year was 2019. Tokyo had just started to feel like a distant memory when Uchinaga Aeri—already answering to “Giselle” inside the SM Entertainment walls—stepped off the plane and into the humid Seoul summer. At nineteen, she was the newest Japanese trainee in a sea of sharp-eyed Koreans, and the company clocked her immediately: 163 cm of dangerous curves that didn’t quite match the usual idol blueprint. Her thighs were already thick and powerful from years of casual dance training back in Japan, her ass round and juicy in a way that made practice pants strain at the seams, and her chest full and heavy, bouncing just enough under loose hoodies to turn heads in the hallways. Her face was sharp and exotic—full lips, dark eyes that could switch from playful to predatory in a heartbeat, and a smirk that promised trouble. To the trainers she was the bilingual rap prodigy with ‘foreign swag.’ In truth, she was a succubus wearing perfect human skin.

Giselle’s hunger was different from the others. Where Karina’s was commanding and precise, Giselle’s was playful, teasing, and greedy. She fed on pressure the same way she rapped—smooth, rhythmic, and impossible to ignore. The trainee life was brutal: sixteen-hour days, ramen at 2 a.m., evaluations that could end careers before they began. But for a succubus, it was a buffet. Every exhausted body leaking lust in the practice rooms, every stolen glance in the dorm showers, every frustrated groan in the vocal booths became fuel. She learned fast how to hide the pink glow in her eyes and the way her curves seemed to glow hotter after a good drain.

Her first dorm room was shared with three other girls, all quieter than her. Giselle claimed the top bunk, tossing her suitcase onto it with a dramatic sigh. “Yah, this place smells like instant noodles and broken dreams,” she joked in accented Korean, voice bright and teasing like every variety-show clip fans would later love. She stripped down to a tiny tank top and boyshorts right there, not caring who saw. Her thick thighs jiggled slightly as she climbed the ladder, the round cheeks of her ass flexing under the thin fabric. One of the girls blushed. Giselle caught it and winked. “Relax, I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

Morning practice started at 7 a.m. in Room 4B. Giselle stood in the back row at first, black leggings painted on her lower body like they were poured on. The material hugged every curve—thick thighs that rubbed together when she walked, that heart-shaped ass that popped when she dropped into a squat, and the subtle bounce of her full breasts under a cropped SM hoodie. The choreographer called out counts. She moved with natural rhythm, hips rolling deep and slow during the sexy sections. Sweat already beaded between her breasts, making the valley glisten. A male assistant trainer—early twenties, nervous around the new Japanese girl—kept glancing. Giselle felt the spike in his pulse like candy on her tongue. She smirked mid-routine, locking eyes with him for half a second longer than necessary. Hunger noted.

Lunch was 350 calories of rice and grilled fish. Giselle sat with the other trainees, chopsticks twirling playfully. “This is supposed to make me dance better? Feels like it’s making me horny instead,” she muttered under her breath in English, loud enough for the girl beside her to choke on her water. Giselle laughed, the sound light and candid. “Kidding… mostly.” Inside, the hunger was already stirring. Four days without a proper feed and her body felt tight, skin humming, curves aching to be touched and used.

Afternoon vocal lessons dragged. She nailed every rap line with that signature swag, voice husky and confident. “Yo, I got it—don’t worry,” she told the coach when he tried to correct her flow. The female vocal trainer smiled despite herself; Giselle had that effect. By 10 p.m. the building was emptying. Giselle stayed behind in the small basement lounge—the one with the broken vending machine and the old couch no one used anymore. She knew the night guard’s route. She knew he liked to linger near the Japanese trainees.

She waited on the couch, legs spread wide, one thick thigh draped over the armrest. Her hoodie was unzipped, full breasts barely contained by a black sports bra. The leggings were peeled down to her ankles. Her pussy was already wet, lips puffy and glistening under the dim emergency light. She scrolled through her phone casually, one hand idly circling her clit with two fingers, slow and teasing, the way she would later tease fancams in 2026.

The door clicked at 10:47 p.m. The guard—broad-shouldered Korean man in his late twenties, married but clearly bored—stepped in and froze.

Giselle looked up, lips curving into that lazy, knowing smirk. “Took you long enough, oppa. I’ve been waiting like a good girl.” Her voice was husky, playful, the same tone she’d use years later when hyping crowds. She spread her legs wider, thick thighs parting with a soft jiggle. “See something you like? Or do I need to spell it out?”

He swallowed hard. “Giselle… we shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?” She stood up slowly, leggings kicking off completely. Naked from the waist down, her round ass swayed as she crossed the room. She stopped right in front of him, full breasts brushing his chest through the bra. “Lock the door, baby. I’m not here to talk about trainee evaluations.”

He obeyed, hands shaking. The second the lock clicked, Giselle shoved him back against the wall. “Good boy.” She dropped to her knees with rapper confidence, thick thighs spreading wide on the tile floor. His pants were open in seconds. His cock sprang free—thick, already leaking. Giselle licked her full lips. “Mmm, look at this. Already so hard for me? Cute.”

She took him into her mouth in one smooth glide, throat relaxing like it was nothing. Wet, filthy sounds filled the lounge—gluck, gluck, gluck—as she bobbed her head, full tits bouncing inside the bra with every motion. Her tongue swirled around the head on every upstroke, tasting salt and desperation. “Fuck, you taste good,” she mumbled around his cock, words muffled but clear. One hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently while the other stroked what her mouth couldn’t swallow. Her own pussy dripped onto the floor in slow, clear strands.

He groaned, hips twitching. “Shit… Giselle…”

She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his throbbing tip. “That’s right. Say my name while I drain you.” She stood, turned around, and bent over the couch armrest. Her thick ass pushed back, cheeks spreading to show her soaked pussy and tight little hole. “You want this crazy ass? Come get it.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He gripped her wide hips and thrust in hard. Giselle moaned loud and throaty—“Ahh, fuck yes—fill me up, oppa!” The stretch made her walls clench around him instantly. She rocked back to meet every thrust, ass rippling hypnotically with each slap of skin on skin. Her full breasts swung heavy and free now, nipples hard and dragging against the couch fabric. Sweat made her skin glow. “Harder—shit, right there! Pound this fat ass like you mean it!”

He fucked her deep and rough, the couch creaking under them. Giselle’s thick thighs trembled, pussy gushing around his cock with every stroke. She reached back, spreading her cheeks wider so he could watch himself disappear inside her. “Look at how wet I am for you… you’re leaking down my thighs already, huh?” Her voice was breathy, teasing, laced with that signature swag even while getting railed. The succubus hunger uncoiled like smoke. She felt his lust pouring into her—stress from night shifts, guilt about his wife, raw animal need. She drank it greedily, eyes flashing pink for a heartbeat.

When he started to lose rhythm, she took over. Pushing him onto the couch, she straddled him reverse-cowgirl, sinking down onto his cock with a long, satisfied moan. “Mmmph—god, you’re so deep like this.” Her juicy ass bounced heavily, cheeks clapping loud and rhythmic against his lap. She rode him like she danced—controlled, powerful, hips rolling in filthy circles that made her ass ripple and her tits jiggle wildly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—yes, just like that! Grip my ass harder, baby!”

Her hand slipped between her own thighs, rubbing her swollen clit in fast circles. The pressure built fast. “I’m gonna cum—shit, I’m cumming on your cock!” Her walls pulsed hard around him, gushing fresh slick down his balls as the orgasm ripped through her. She drained him completely in that moment—every drop of exhaustion, every hidden fantasy, every ounce of pressure flooding into her veins like liquid heat. Her body hummed, curves glowing faintly under the dim lights.

He came seconds later, groaning her name as he spilled deep inside her. Giselle milked him through it, ass still grinding slow circles until he was empty. When she finally lifted off, thick ropes of his cum leaked out of her pussy and dripped down her thick thighs in creamy white streaks all the way to her knees. She turned, smirked, and wiped a finger through the mess before sucking it clean. “Tastes like you needed that. Same time next week?”

He could only nod, wrecked.

Giselle pulled her leggings back on, cum still leaking into the fabric, and left the lounge with a satisfied sway in her hips. The hunger was quiet. For now.

The next two weeks blurred in the usual trainee hell. Giselle nailed every rap evaluation, her flow sharper than anyone expected from a new Japanese girl. “I told you I got this,” she’d say with a cocky grin after acing a line, wiping sweat from her cleavage with the hem of her hoodie. She teased the other trainees mercilessly but kindly—helping the shy ones with pronunciation, sharing contraband snacks from Japan, making everyone laugh even when their legs were jelly from practice. “Yah, stop looking so dead. We’re gonna debut and make them all thirsty, trust me.”

But the hunger always crept back.

One rainy Thursday night, after a brutal group evaluation that left half the room in tears, Giselle found herself in the girls’ shower room long after curfew. The water was still running hot. She stood under the spray, naked, thick thighs glistening, full breasts heavy with water cascading between them. Her round ass pressed back against the cool tile as she soaped herself slowly, fingers lingering between her legs.

The door creaked. Park Soo-ah—another female trainee, nineteen, quiet and pretty with a dancer’s lean body—stepped in, towel wrapped tight. She froze when she saw Giselle.

Giselle didn’t cover up. She just smiled, water dripping from her lashes. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh? Come here. The water’s perfect.”

Soo-ah hesitated, cheeks flushed. “Unnie… I shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what? Relax?” Giselle turned off her own shower and stepped closer, water still streaming down her curves. She reached out, gentle but confident, and tugged the towel loose. It pooled at Soo-ah’s feet. “You’ve been staring at my ass in practice for weeks. I notice these things.”

Soo-ah’s breath hitched. Giselle pulled her under the spray, bodies pressing together—soft, wet skin sliding. “Relax, baby. I’ll make it feel good.” She kissed her slow and deep, tongue teasing, the same playful way she’d later kiss in music videos. Soo-ah melted, hands shyly cupping Giselle’s heavy breasts. Giselle moaned into her mouth—“Mmm, yeah… squeeze them harder. They like it rough.”

She spun Soo-ah around, pressing the younger girl’s front to the tile. Giselle dropped to her knees again, thick thighs spreading on the wet floor. Her hands gripped Soo-ah’s ass, spreading the cheeks. “Such a pretty little pussy,” she murmured, then dragged her tongue up the entire slit in one long, filthy lick. Soo-ah gasped, legs shaking. “Ahh—unnie!”

Giselle devoured her like she was starving. Tongue fucking deep, lips sucking the clit, two fingers curling inside while her free hand reached up to pinch a nipple. Water cascaded over both of them, making everything slicker, louder. “Taste so fucking sweet,” Giselle groaned between licks, voice muffled. “Cum for me, baby—let me drink it all.”

Soo-ah came hard, thighs clamping around Giselle’s head, a broken “Fuck—Giselle-unnie—!” echoing off the tiles. Giselle drank every flutter, every gush, her succubus nature pulling the pressure straight from the girl’s core—nerves frayed from evaluations, secret crushes, the weight of trainee life. She didn’t stop until Soo-ah was sobbing through a second orgasm, legs giving out.

Only then did Giselle stand, turn the girl around, and kiss her again, letting her taste herself. “Good girl.” She guided Soo-ah’s hand between her own thick thighs. “Now you. Feel how wet I am? That’s all for you.”

Soo-ah’s fingers were clumsy but eager, rubbing Giselle’s swollen clit while Giselle rocked her hips, ass flexing, breasts bouncing. “Yes—right there, fuck, just like that—don’t stop!” Giselle’s moan was throaty and raw. She came with a shudder, pussy gushing over the younger girl’s fingers, draining the last threads of pressure until Soo-ah looked dazed and glowing.

They rinsed off together, giggling softly now. “Same secret?” Giselle whispered, pressing a final kiss to Soo-ah’s shoulder.

“Same secret,” the girl breathed.

Giselle walked back to the dorm with soaked panties and a fresh surge of power humming under her skin. The hunger purred.

By late 2019 the evaluations grew fiercer. Giselle’s name climbed the internal lists—her rap, her visuals, her curves all marking her as debut material. She kept the mask perfect: the witty, candid Japanese girl who charmed everyone by day. At night she fed wherever the pressure was thickest.

One final memory stood out, two weeks before the lineup for the new girl group was whispered about in the halls. It was past midnight on the rooftop garden—the same one Karina would later use. Seoul glittered below like scattered jewels. Giselle stood at the railing in nothing but an open oversized hoodie, cold wind licking up her bare thick thighs and making her full breasts tighten. Her round ass pressed back against the metal, pussy already dripping from hours of pent-up hunger after a 18-hour practice day.

The senior male choreographer—thirties, the one who always pushed her hardest on hip rolls—stepped out for air. He saw her and stopped dead.

Giselle turned, hoodie flapping open, curves on full display. “Cold night, huh? Or maybe you’re just happy to see me.” She smirked, voice teasing. “Come here. I need you to fix my posture… the sexy way.”

He crossed the distance like he was in a trance. Giselle spun, bent over the railing, thick ass pushed high. “Fuck me like you choreograph me—deep and nasty.” He thrust in hard. “Ahh, shit—yes! Stretch this fat pussy!” Her moans carried on the wind—loud, unashamed, full of that rapper confidence. Her ass clapped back against him, cheeks rippling, thighs quivering. “Harder—pound it! Make me feel it tomorrow in practice!”

He gripped her hips, slamming deep. Giselle’s heavy tits swung wildly, nipples grazing the cold railing. She rubbed her clit furiously, moaning curses in a mix of Korean, English, and Japanese—“Kimochi ii—fuck, right there—don’t you dare stop!” When she came, it was explosive, pussy squirting down her thighs, walls milking him as she drained every last drop of his stress, his secret fantasies about the trainees, his raw lust. He spilled inside her with a broken groan, flooding her until cum leaked out in thick rivers.

Giselle straightened, cum dripping down her legs, and kissed him once—playful, almost sweet. “Thanks for the lesson, oppa. See you in the studio.”

She walked back inside barefoot, thick thighs glistening, the city lights painting her curves in neon. The hunger was sated. The mask was back.