Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

She lay on her back now, legs parted, breath heavy. Her eyes were only half-open—dreamy, dazed, flickering like she was somewhere between a memory and a fantasy.

Joon-ho stood above her, naked from the waist up, hands slick with oil, his cock already hard again. Her pussy glistened, folds flushed and sensitive from being toyed with in her sleep.

He brushed his fingers along the inside of her thighs.

She twitched.

Then, slowly… she raised her hips.

Lifted her ass from the table.

And used both hands to spread her pussy wide open.

It was obscene.

Her lips were swollen, soaked, twitching around nothing.

"…Please…" she whispered. "Please…"

"For what, Mirae?" he asked, voice low, hot against her skin.

"F-Fuck me…" she moaned. "I can't… I can't take it anymore…"

"You want to be filled?"

She nodded, breath shaking.

"I want to be… f-fucked stupid… just once… I don't want to think…"

He stepped between her thighs, cock resting at her entrance, teasing the slit.

"I thought you were the national sweetheart," he murmured.

"I don't want to be anymore," she moaned. "I want to be yours. Just… use me. Don't be gentle…"

He slid the tip against her opening.

She gasped, hips lifting.

He pushed in—slowly.

Her pussy hugged him tight. Shockingly tight. Like a girl who hadn't been touched properly in years.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're tight like a virgin."

She cried out.

"I've never… never been fucked like this…"

He bottomed out inside her.

Her back arched hard. Her hands clawed at the sheets.

"God—yes—so full—!"

He leaned over her, breath hot against her cheek. "You love being stretched open, don't you?"

"Yes—!"

"You're not some perfect little doll anymore. You're just a dirty little fucktoy under me."

She moaned, louder now, no shame left.

"Yes—yes—I want to be ruined… make me forget who I am…"

He started to move.

Deep, full strokes. Each thrust made her cunt squelch, wet and desperate. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper.

"I think about this when I'm filming," she confessed, tears streaking from her eyes.

"About what?"

"About being bent over the set furniture… cameras rolling… but you're the only one who gets to see how dirty I really am."

He groaned.

"That's right. Only me."

He fucked her harder now—slapping against her, the wet noise of her soaked pussy echoing in the room. Her moans were wild, out of control.

"Say it," he growled. "Say who you belong to."

"You—Joon-ho—please—fuck—I belong to you—just keep fucking me—!"

He leaned down, kissed her hard, then grabbed her thighs and flipped her over without pulling out.

She yelped.

Bent forward now, ass in the air, face smashed into the pillow, she reached back and spread herself again.

"I want it in deep," she panted. "I want you to break me."

He drove in hard—his cock spearing her tight pussy with no resistance. She cried out, fists clenched, pussy fluttering around him.

"You're going to cum on my cock," he growled.

"Yes—yes—yes—!"

"You're going to cream all over me like the little fuckdoll you are."

She screamed, body convulsing as the orgasm tore through her—violent, wet, shaking.

Her legs collapsed. She nearly fell off the table.

But he wasn't done yet.