When she called, he answered.
This time she was telling him of their upcoming world tour, and how she wanted him there as a toy. Within an hour after they spoke he was already on the phone with his manager, who set up a meeting between him and the higher ups at his company.
He was a celebrity himself, of course, with his own fans and his own commitments - but he had done well enough for himself and his company to have some leverage over his schedules. And so he was able to get a couple of months away from any activities, despite the protestations of his bosses.
The next couple of weeks passed by in a blur, with the leg of the tour in the States seeming a bit like a sex and alcohol induced fever dream. But he enjoyed every minute of it. The constant, mind-blowing sex was great, of course, but above all, it meant he could spend time with her.
Their relationship had essentially been a public one, despite their best efforts to maintain some modicum of privacy. The paparazzi were relentless, but they still managed enough time to themselves to truly build something resembling a relationship, as well as two celebrities at the peak of their popularity could do so.
He fell in love with her.
He knew exactly when it happened, too - when she stayed over at his place one quiet morning in the fall. She had tired him out the night before - she seemed to possess a boundless supply of energy when it came to the carnal - and so he was late to wake up, being awoken only by the clinking of glass against glass and a muffled curse that followed it.
As luck would have it his open bedroom door gave him a perfect line of sight to the kitchen. And there she was, clothed in one of his large t-shirts and golden sunlight, cleaning up the mess of takeout containers and soju bottles that they had left in his kitchen. She was humming quietly to herself, the tune of his latest single. He would never forget the soft, beautiful smile on her lips - that image seared itself onto the surface of his heart, a tattoo, a mark on his very soul.
He knew then and there that he had fallen madly, hopelessly in love with her.
And it made their breakup all the more painful - the fact that it happened in the public eye, complete with company announcements as though it were the release of some new upcoming single, made it sting more than perhaps it should have. What should have been a very private matter was, instead, a very public one.
They both moved on, ostensibly, at least. He adopted the same talkative, outgoing persona he’d always used on TV and with his fans, brushing her off, making her and others think she was nothing more than an ex-girlfriend, a part of his past.
But he always came when she called. To her, he was just a plaything now, a toy, something to sate her physical urges whenever they came up, made different from the other toys only by their shared history. To him, she, well…
He’s lying in bed in his Seoul apartment, the overseas leg of her group’s tour having wrapped up. Being on tour with the girls was wonderful, of course, for obvious reasons - but nothing beat being back home, sleeping in your own bed. He closes his eyes and begins to doze off.
His phone vibrates. He picks it up, more than a little annoyed at being pulled back from the cusp of sleep.
It’s her, and she wants him.
A simple message, no more than a few words, a far cry from the cutesy, flowering texts she used to send him. But he knew what it meant. He knew that the long flight home had made her antsy, made her needy. Long flights always did that to her. She could never just pass out on the plane like some people could. Whenever she got off them all she wanted was a beer and a fuck.
And so within the hour he was at her apartment, six-pack cradled in the crook of one arm.
It was an apartment he knew well, one he’d spent many a long evening and lazy afternoon in. He’d made many memories with her there, many carnal and lustful, but just as many loving and warm.
He was her first - and at his insistence he wanted their first time to be at her apartment, where she could feel safe and comfortable. It had taken some time as they both waited for the chance to have the apartment to themselves - she lived and still lived with roommates, of course. Their first time was awkward and short, as many first times are, but he could still remember, would always remember how beautiful she was, how soft and warm her cheek felt against his own, how passionate her lips were on his.
This night was far different, if no less pleasurable. Over their time together she’d grown more and more confident in herself and her body. He thought himself the luckiest man on earth to be the one she’d chosen to share that part of her life with. Their relationship had ended, of course, but she’d kept the skills and experience from it.
She was on him like a predator that had finally cornered its prey - he had to fight to make sure he’d dropped the now irrelevant six-pack onto the kitchen counter lest he drop it onto the floor and shattered the bottles. She was already stripping him, ripping off the jacket and mask and large bucket hat that had concealed his identity from any prying eyes. He did his best to do the same. By the time they had landed on her bed they were both already naked.
She was gorgeous when they were dating - now she was a goddess. Perfection in female form, all curves and valleys and tight muscle. She was long legs and tight abs and the most beautiful pair of breasts he’d ever seen in his entire life - round and full and tipped with the most delectable looking nipples. He was well familiar with those gifts of hers, had spent many a long evening suckling from them until they were sore or fucking them or glazing them with his seed. They were what drew many men to her, for obvious reasons.
But it was her face that drew him, and more specifically, those eyes. Her eyes, those round, large, chestnut brown pools - they could see into him, through him, knew everything about him.
When she looked at him he was defenseless. Utterly, completely defenseless, laid bare.
Tonight her eyes are hungry - half-lidded, still locked on his own as her lips trace a path down his body. She crawls down the length of him until she is curled up into a ball between his legs and face to face with his aching shaft.
When she takes him into her mouth all the air rushes out from his lungs, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.
He remembers the first time she did it, when she was awkward and shy and wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. She is a far cry from that now - their many nights together had given her the knowledge and experience she needed to make him utterly helpless, unable to do more than simply submit to her. She knew which buttons to press - or more specifically, what to do with that lascivious tongue of hers - in order to incite such pleasure in his body, the kind that made his fingers and toes curl involuntarily. The kind that made his mind blank out, the kind that made his body unable to do more than simply submit to her.
She takes him in and out, in and out, in and out of that wet, hot mouth of hers. His fingers dig into the bedsheets, searching in vain for some way to ground himself amidst the pleasure lest his soul drift off his mortal form. Every entry, every exit from between her lips is heaven. Was this really that shy, awkward girl from their first time together? Where did she learn all this?
From her nights with him, of course, but also her nights with the other toys and other men she’d been with since their breakup. It bugged him, sometimes, that she had other men too, not that it was any of his business. He was jealous of them, he supposed. He was upset at himself, mostly, that he was unable to keep her.
Her hands join her mouth at his cock, and it chases all thought of jealousy and other men away from his mind. Everything she did was masterful. She knew exactly what to do to him, as though he were an open recipe book, and she were just following the instructions.
His hands reach for her, for the side of her bobbing head. She knew what that meant. And as wonderful as the taste of his semen on her tongue and sliding down her throat would have been, she wanted more. She didn’t call him over for a five minute blowjob. No, she wanted the whole package.
She lifts her head from him, soliciting a sad moan from him in the process. She smiles wickedly as she wipes the saliva and pre-cum from her lips and chin with the back of one hand. Her smile, usually so bright, possessed a darker sharpness to it now. He knew what it meant.
She crawls up the bed on all fours. Her breasts dangle deliciously like hanging fruits, begging to be tasted, begging to be suckled upon - but he is still drawn to her eyes. There is a hunger there that she needed to sate.
She reaches the top of the bed, placing her knees on either side of his head, trapping him between her thighs. With one last flash of that wicked smile, she lowers herself onto his waiting mouth.
He was just as hungry as she - just as eager to satiate the lustful need that had been building up inside him since the last time he had her. And so he has no trouble finding the motivation to devour her - completely and utterly, devoting every ounce of his energy and skill and experience with this most intimate part of her body to pleasuring her.
His tongue gives her long, slow licks from the bottom of her slit to the top, the way he knew she liked. Slowly at first, the tip of his tongue just barely parting her wet, slick, dripping lips. He relishes the taste of her on his palette - a taste he could never tire of, like one’s favorite drink. Every drop of her juices on his tongue drives him, spurs him, makes him want more.
His tongue goes a little deeper now, penetrating her slick pussy with his tongue. She writhes and quivers atop him, eyes shut, head cast back, the soft sighs that leave her mouth slowly and gradually turning into full moans. She grinds herself against his mouth, grips his head with both her hands, nails digging into his scalp. He grips her hips and ass with tight fingers, holding her in place. Letting him do his work.
Satisfied that she is ready for the main event, he captures the top of her slit with his lips, closing his mouth around it. The tip of his tongue searches for and quickly finds the quivering bud that is the centre of her pleasure. He swirls his tip around it, slowly, with a minimum of pressure but with constant speed, just the way he knew she liked.
She so often played the dominant one when they were together these days, both alone or with the other toys or other girls. But it was his turn now, his turn to show her what he could do. His turn, however fleeting, to exert some control over her.
She writhes and quivers and squirms atop him as he eats her. He relishes in the taste of her. His fingers dig into her hips and ass, wanting to fix her, wanting to keep her there forever, as though her body were a vessel he was drinking from, a glass he never wanted to empty, full as it was with the most delicious drink known to man.
The minutes pass by like seconds. He could have laid there the entirety of the evening if she’d wished, eating her and tasting her and making her cum over and over again, drinking from her body, the feel of her warm, soft thighs on his cheeks and the slick, hot flesh on his tongue more than enough to content him.
But when her body presses more urgently against his mouth, when the moans turn more insistent, less controlled, he knew she was reaching her peak. He maintains the speed and pressure of his tongue swirling around her clit, but his right hand snakes its way between her ass cheeks until it finds her pursed opening - and with his middle finger he begins to tease it before slowly making its way inside her body.
And that’s it, that’s what undoes her. She’d always had a thing for anal. She preferred it in her pussy, of course, but even she wanted to try something new sometimes, and together they’d spent many a sweaty, sticky night experimenting with her rear entrance. Even on those nights when he didn’t take her ass she still loved having it teased - especially as he ate her.
And so she orgasms atop him, flooding his mouth with her slick juices even as she momentarily loses control of her body, her limbs quivering violently as her voice cuts out and the moan that was leaving her lips becomes a strangled cry that abruptly halts. He drinks her all in, slurps it all up even as some of her juices drip down his chin and neck, her body an overflowing waterfall, a cup overfilled with too much.
He cared little for the mess he was making on his face. He cared only for her, and for her pleasure, and for how wonderful he was making her feel.
It takes her long minutes to recover - not that he minded in the least. They were minutes he spent lapping slowly at her spent opening, at the juices flowing from it, or from her soft, flushed thighs, stained as they were with evidence of her orgasm. Slowly her voice returns, and she says the first full words she’d said to him that night.
“I want your cock in me,” she hisses.
Some of the most alluring, lustful, lewd words a woman could tell a man, to be sure, but a far cry from the loving, tender words she’d used in their past, when they were a young man and woman in love. In the past she’d asked him to make love to her, told him she wanted to feel him inside her. He would never tire of hearing her tell him she wanted his cock in her, of course, but a small, nostalgic part of him longed for the days of softer, more loving words.
She didn’t care for his sentimentality. For her there was only a need to be satiated, and the best way to do it was with the hard length between his legs.
She crawls back down his body, wasting no time, spreading her legs atop him and reaching between them to point his tip at her dripping lips.
He wants to savor it, wants to relish every inch of him that enters her the way they did when they made quiet, soft love - but she doesn’t care, doesn’t even acknowledge what he wanted. She takes him inside of her, and the feel of her body makes him forget.
She rides him - taking only a few strokes of his cock to adjust herself before she settles into a quick and steady rhythm. They know each others’ bodies so well that it takes little time for them to remember what it’s like to fill and to be filled. It was like stepping into a warm, well-worn jacket, or like taking that first step on a bicycle that launches you forward. They both knew what to do, what to expect, had done it all a million times before.
But experience made it no less pleasurable.
She is tight and hot and wet and he is big and thick and stiff - and neither of them would have it any other way. She takes him in and out, in and out, her body knowing just what to do, what muscles to move and how fast. He knows that she loved having her tits fondled as they fucked with her on top, loved having her nipples twisted and pinched.
After a few moments of squeezing and fondling the large mounds he draws his right arm back and delivers a firm slap to her left breast - and she almost squeals in pleasure.
It was a relatively new addition to their sex life, the slapping of her breasts. He wasn’t sure if he should try it, but he did, and the surprised reaction on her face combined with the delicious spike of pleasure that coursed up her spine told them both that they had just discovered something wonderful, something that would feature in their sessions from then on.
And so many a session would end with her breasts sore and flushed - but it was a price paid willingly. Every slap of his palm on her breasts sent a little pulse of pleasure straight to her crotch, each one accompanied by a yelp of pleasure torn from strained lungs. She loved it. He loved doing it to her.
He loved watching her, too, watching her ride him with that goddess-tier body. It was a sight to behold. She was perfect in every way, whether he was atop her or behind her or taking her in whatever sexual position she had wanted, but he always thought she was most beautiful when she was on top, when she was in control. It was when she was most intense, most pure - when nothing else existed in her life other than the pursuit of pleasure.
The slaps to her breasts and the thick length of cock inside her bring her to the edge, quickly, quicker than she was anticipating. She cums quickly - tightening and loosening and pulsating and quivering around him with a ferocity that surprises him. She didn’t often cum so quickly. She must have really been needy.
Her thighs quiver around his hips as her orgasm courses through her body. Her tight abs flex and work and her breasts heave as her lungs struggle to feed themselves with oxygen. She is perfection, in that moment. Any straight man on the face of the planet would have agreed.
But to him, she was also perfection when she was cleaning up takeout containers and soju bottles in his kitchen, humming his song.
When energy returns to her body she bends at the waist to bring her mouth to his ear, where she speaks again.
“I want your cum in me.”
Another demand, another order given to a subordinate. It was one he willingly followed.
For a moment he considers letting her ride him until he fills her. He considers taking her from behind. But something inside him tells him that there was only one way he wanted her, one way that felt right.
He grips her hips and, keeping himself inside her, he spins them around on the bed until he is on top.
She is momentarily surprised by him - she’d expected to be the one to dictate their positions, as she so often had in recent times - but she is nonetheless happy to let him have his way. She would never admit it to herself, but she loved it when he was atop her. She loved the way he felt, loved his weight on her body, loved how deeply he could fill her.
He presses himself between her spread legs, burying himself inside her to the hilt, relishing the soft moan of contentment that leaves her lips and fills his ears as he does so. He takes a moment there, buried inside her, filling her the way she wanted, letting her feel every inch of him.
Then he slowly withdraws himself. He wanted her to feel it all. He wanted her to feel him just as much as he felt her.
He fucks her slowly, carefully, almost tenderly. She is impatient, grinding her hips against him and closing her ankles around his butt, seeking some way to spur him into a faster pace. But he resists. He fucks her slow. Fucks her deep.
Soon she relents, gives in to the slow, intense fucking he is giving her. She slowly becomes a slave to the thick hardness pumping painfully slowly in and out of her body, parting her lips, filling her again and again, stretching her out around it. His pace quickens, but only slightly. He is grinding into her, a relentless, steady pace, like a heavy machine, a pumping drill.
It takes him every ounce of self control he has not to pump away at her needy little pussy like a rabbit. But he wanted this. He needed it.
Because it reminded him of the way they were when they were together, when sex was an intimate act between lovers and not what it was now. What it was now was a transaction - almost a job. There was no doubt that it was pleasurable - he had no qualms about that. But he still longed for those days when it meant something.
When he was more than just a toy.
His right arm closes around her head as though she is the most precious thing in the world. He buries himself in the crook of her neck as he grinds away at her. Her sighs and moans fill his ears. He is in bliss.
He wants to die there. Inside her, surrounded by her wet slick flesh and her warm arms and legs. He wants nothing more. Would never want anything more.
But his body betrays him - tells him that the pleasure of orgasm is worth separating himself from the heaven he had found in her neck.
He raises his upper body from her, propping himself up with straight arms above her shoulders so he can watch her clearly. His pace quickens slightly, his own body becoming impatient, sensing the promise of pleasure just beyond the horizon.
She is a perfect sight, with her flat, toned abs and those perfect, round breasts bouncing up and down and back and forth with each entry into her body.
But her eyes - her eyes are what capture him. They captured him the day he met her, and his was a lifelong sentence.
“Inside me, inside me, please,” she says, and when he hears those words for a moment he believes he has gone back in time.
For a moment her eyes are tender, and they fixate him with a look that disarms him with their softness. For a moment he looks into the eyes of his girlfriend.
He sighs - in pleasure or in sad nostalgia for days gone by, he couldn’t tell - before finally his bodily needs overtake his control. He buries himself inside her. He spills into her, fills her with hot, wet semen. She moans and sighs with each rope that fills her, eyes shutting closed, her body relishing each spurt of warmth between her spread legs even as she is filled with so much that it begins to leak out around his cock, down her butt and onto the bed below them.
His arms give out, unable hold him up much longer. His world goes black, but just before he lets the dreamless bliss of sleep overtake him, he feels her warm arms and legs wrap themselves around his body.
He goes to sleep with a smile on his lips.
---
When he awakens it’s to the sound of her dressing.
“I’m going out for a drink with the girls,” she says, nonchalantly, as though she were speaking to a roommate and not her ex-boyfriend fuck buddy. “You can let yourself out.”
And just like that she leaves, not even bothering to give him a further glance or wave goodbye, leaving him there in her bed like the spent toy that he was.
He thinks, for a moment, that he is asleep and that her departure is just a dream. He wanted so badly for it to be so. But reality is cruel, and he was not so lucky.
---
He sighs as he leaves the apartment, heart heavy. He checks his phone, the only notifications being from the group chat he’d started with the other toys the girls had chosen from the overseas leg of the tour.
The other two are talking about mundane things, like who was on shift tomorrow for the girls’ photo shoot and when and where they should be.
He stands there, steps from the entrance to her apartment. His eyes look out into the upper-class neighborhood of Seoul, watching but not really seeing anything, his mind still a haze of emotion and satiated lust and other feelings he wasn’t quite sure what to make of.
He types a message into the chat.
“Boys, let’s go for a drink.”
---
There was something odd about being at the bar with the other two toys. He was a celebrity, for one thing, and the other two guys were just normal dudes - the luckiest two dudes on the face of the planet, to be sure, but still normal guys nonetheless.
And yet he’d shared some of the most intense, intimate moments with the both of them. He barely knew them aside from the odd conversation they’d shared here or there. They both seemed like good, normal guys that had found themselves in the most unreal of situations. He wasn’t sure how much he had in common with them.
He’d also triple penetrated the centre of the nation’s girl group with the both of them, so there was that.
But alcohol had a way of making friends out of acquaintances, and he supposed that it was easier with guys in particular to bond over a few beers. Before long they were talking freely about their experiences, about how insane it was that they were where they were, and were doing what they were doing.
He found himself getting along well with them. He had other friends, of course, but they were celebrities also, and they most often wanted to talk about the celebrity life and the things that came along with it. It was refreshing to talk about normal things - as normal as being the on-call toys of nine beautiful, insatiable young women was. But the conversation still inevitably led to sports, and to video games, and to the myriad of other things young men talk about over beers. He welcomed it.
But eventually it led back to the girls, because it always did. They were the reason three young men that otherwise would not have known each other were instead bound to each other by shared experience. One of the guys, the one called Pikachu - they’d mutually decided only to refer to each other by “code name”, as it were - was the one to ask the question they’d all been waiting for.
“So, you and Jihyo,” he says, hesitantly. “What happened there?”
He hesitates for a moment, surprised by his new friend’s boldness in asking the question. He wasn’t offended by it or anything - they were talking about the girls after all, and it wasn’t hard to miss the awkwardness in his interactions with her.
He looks at their faces, these new people he had found himself sharing these insane, unbelievable experiences with - and he knew then and there that he was looking into the faces of friends.
He shared it all - how they met, their relationship, their breakup. He shared how he felt, without holding anything back. It felt good, getting it all out, as though he were lightening the burden he carried around on his back with each sentence, each detail he described.
And he told them, at the end, that he was still in love with her. Madly, hopelessly.
Across town, over similar beers and with her own friends, she was doing the same.
But he didn’t know that, didn’t know that she still loved him just as much as he still loved her, was agonizing over the state of their relationship just as much as he was. He had no idea. At the moment, all he knew was the dull ache in his heart and the blur of drunkenness beginning to seep into the corners of his eyes.
At his admission of his feelings one of his new friends, the one they called Woody, drapes his arm around his shoulders, giving him the kind of brotherly hug one gives a close buddy. The smile on his lips is warm and comforting, that of a friend.
Pikachu calls for a waitress and orders another round of beers - along with shots of tequila. He could recognize a fresh wound when he saw one, and he knew that wounds were to be treated with alcohol - whether internal or external.
The next day they would return to their “jobs” as on-call toys and faux managers.
But tonight they were simply three young men enjoying a night out, dulling pain with alcohol, building the kind of friendship that is found at the bottom of an empty glass.