Three in Ten

"It's ten minutes to stage; WHERE'S MY STAR?" Yena's manager booms somewhere in the Music Show building.
"She's still getting dressed, ma'am," her assistant supplies.
"Well, tell 'er to get a move on; she can't keep cutting this shit so close."

"So – fucking – close," you heave out, legs on either side of Yena's head. It's a regular occurrence; the makeup team doesn't even complain when they are asked to leave now.

She smiles at you, tongue-deep in your heat, pretty lips hiden from your sight, but you recognise the way her eyelids curl, the little breath you feel on your slick, and your grip on her hand tightens at just the sight.

"I know, baby, I know," she coos between flat drags of her tongue. "I want it too, but we can't mess up the hair now, can we?" You shake your head; it's all full of Yena in there and wanting to make her happy. Besides, you picked the bow just for that – to stare at how her hair falls around it as she makes you lightheaded with her mouth.

"That's my good girl. Always so respectful." She pushes her tongue in this time, lets it curl against your walls and moans at the taste. Your thighs clamp again, and your vision is blurring around the edges, the room drowning out and leaving Yena as if in the spotlight. Her thumb strokes yours, an encouraging nod of her head, and she doesn't even need to say it – can't, given the circumstances – but you obey anyway.

You come for her, fingers interwoven, staring at her eyes and biting your finger to not moan too loudly. She rides it out with you, soft eyes, little kisses against your lips as she drinks everything you give her. She's a real beauty like this, all dolled up, makeup and hair done, and all she needs to do is slip into the little dress you have prepared for her before setting off to fulfil her idol-ly duties. But for now she is yours and you are hers, and that’s all that matters.

She gets up once your thighs loosen a bit and you start to feel the familiar weightlessness she leaves you with right before performances. Her body comes into view – pasties and safety shorts and nothing else barring your eyes access to her curves and smooth skin. She's reflecting the lights behind you, the ones on the makeup mirror, and appears to be shining, glowing like the perfect angel that she is. She giggles at how your eyes look up at her in your half-conscious, half-jellied state and begins a slow trail of kisses from your wrist all the way up to your neck, where she rests for a second.

"Think you can give me one more?" she asks, and with how close she is, you wonder how any of this is real. Her eyes are huge and locked on yours, as if you're the only thing that matters at all, her perfect cheekbones, the little smile on her shining lips – your pleasure, gloss comes after – and a river of slick down her neck. She's insatiable when it comes to you, like she's the one getting off on all of it. You nod a little, dazed; translation goes: whatever you say, Yena, I'm yours.

"God," she whispers, so close you can smell yourself on her breath, "you're so pretty when you beg but can't even talk." She takes your other hand out from between your teeth and gives you a peck on the lips "You'll be quiet enough without this, right?" You nod again. What else can you do when there's no air in your lungs?

"Good." She begins her trail of kisses down your front. "My good girl-" a kiss to your collarbone- "the best-" another on your breast- "my favourite little princess-" she's on your abdomen now and her eyes haven't left yours for a second- "always giving me what I want-" last one on your pubis and her breath hovers over where you need her most. She decides to have a little fun with it; bobs her head, expectant of you to beg at least a little.

"Yena, please," you whine-whisper out, desperate and also afraid to be heard by the outside world.

"Please what?"

"I- I need it."

"Need what?" She smiles, brushes your clit with her lips and you spasm at the tease.

"Your mouth, please."

"My mouth, please, what?" Her voice is all playful and teasing before she kisses your folds.

"Right there, please." You're squeezing her hands, holding on for dear life.

"There where?" A torrent of air hits you as even she can't take it seriously anymore.

You are ready to drop it all – your pride that is – and beg. Whine and cry and call her whatever she wants you to so long as you get her mouth on your drenched sex. But that isn't necessary, thank Yena.

You clench your teeth and supress the moans that are knocking on your chest when she dives back in; and the teasing, coupled with the fact that you're building up to your fifth orgasm of the session, is sending you spiralling down the sensation of Yena's kitten licks. It isn't enough to get you there, but it's wholly delightful for now.

Her tongue rakes over your folds, collects slick for her to hum at the taste of, and she closes her lips around the top, presses the little nub with the point of her tongue and giggles at your gasps again.

"You're so tasty, you know? I can do this all day." She smells you, actually brings her nose almost to the point of touching your swollen entrance and takes a deep breath. Her head rolls on your thigh at the sensation and her eyes, those gorgeous eyes, look up at you in a haze of their own.

"I could keep my face here for twenty-four hours. Just eat you out again and again and again until you can't think straight." The giggle at the pun is too strong for her to stop.

"The– there is no need," you manage to whisper. That's something you never understood: why would she do this to herself? Yena is perfect, a Goddess come to earth, and she does this every time, without fail, only for her to go perform in drenched panties after bringing you pleasure for as long as she can.

"Oh, but there is. If you're going to keep squirming and whining and bucking like this, I need to feel it, baby." She gives you another kiss; backwards, this whole thing is, why is she worshipping you?

"Can you imagine–"

The knock turns her next words to a smirk, completely unbothered, while you jump – as best as you can given the circumstances. You'd say it's her favourite part, but truth be told she loves it all.

"Ten to stage, where's Yena?" comes out in a rush; you've never cut it quite so close before.

"I'm here, just getting dressed," the minx in question echoes from between your thighs, almost completely naked.

"We need you out here; you can't keep doing this."

"I'll come out soon." A nod to her head, like ha! get it? cus like, and a giggle meant only for you to hear. "Zipper's giving me trouble."

"Are you alone?” The assistant asks, and her eyebrows shoot up at that, gaze fixed on you, and aw fuck, she wants you to answer.

"U-uhm, no, sir, I'm here too. I'm - uh, yeah, the zipper's real stuck, haha." Yena's right hand untangles from yours and slips between your thighs. You scream at her with your eyes, but there is no winning this; "Let me hear you squelch, baby," she pleads quietly, and you've never folded faster in your life.

"Do you need more help in there?" You barely register the assistant's words as Yena's fingers brush your folds.

"Uhm, no, we – aah – have it all under control." Yena's beaming between your legs with how she's barely touched you and your voice has gone all shaky.

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Oh, but it is!" she speaks up, all singy-songy like – innocent voice spilling from devious lips. "This is our best stylist, oppa, she's a doll to work with." Two fingers poke at your entrance, and she has this mischievous look on her face. Like will-she-won't-she, and you're not even sure which one you're rooting for. "Always so gentle and sweet."

"Nine minutes, Yena," said sternly.

"Be out in five," loud enough for the sound to go through the door, then to you and quietly: "You can do five, right, baby?"

You shake your head, have the protest on the tip of your tongue until she pushes in and instantly curls her fingers inside you, turning that planned good-girl-esque we shouldn't be doing this to another quiet whimper, all for Yena to enjoy.

"With the way you are looking, I think I can get you two in five," she coos, eyes soft and a little pout, impossible to deny. "Would you like that? Or maybe I can build it up, all slow and sensual so you can come stronger for me?" she presses there, right fucking there and you buck on the chair.

"Tell me, baby, what's it gonna be?" Yena drawls. You don't know; can't know anything past her name and how good she makes you feel. "Come on, where is my pretty girl's pretty voice? I want to hear you."

You respond with a soft moan, a roll to your head as you search for literally anything in there. You don't find it, decide to confess through pathetic whines how needy and wrecked she has you:

"Just... whatever you want. Anything, please." You'd add an and thank you at the end, but you really can't manage it anymore. She hums at your plea, makes her choice in an instant with how her efforts redouble – sopping and precise jabs of her finger in your needy little pussy, as she eloquently puts it, and you nod in confirmation.

"Good girl. Now what if I asked you to come for me?" And you do. Immediate and powerful, all at her whim. You feel her fingers prodding and clawing inside you, how your walls suck them in as if trying to merge with her. Your whole body shudders and spasms all without you making a single sound besides a choked-out gasp, pathetic and quiet enough to reach only Yena's ears. It would be so very selfish of you to not indulge her in at least that.

"Perfect. So beautiful for me." You open your eyes again to see her in the epicentre of your blurry vision. A hallucination, a mirage, impossible for her to be as amazing as you feel her and to also be real.

"And if I asked you for another?"

"Yena," you whimper out.

"It's three minutes till five are up." You swallow and shake your head.