Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
ch.3[b] Seoul with Minami (II) Forced anal. Forced Deepthroat.

Minami shifted uncomfortably, Iseul’s warm weight pressing against her side. The girl’s long, dark hair tickled her neck, and her steady breathing was a soft rhythm against the night’s stillness. The young girl’s buzz from the beer hummed faintly in her veins, but it wasn’t enough to dull the unease creeping up her spine. 

“We can’t just leave her here,” she muttered, her tone more resigned than concerned, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Hayao nodded, his gaze shifting from Iseul to Minami. “Exactly. It’s not safe.” 

He stood, brushing off his jeans, and bent down to gently shake Iseul’s shoulder. She mumbled something incoherent, her head lolling to the side, but didn’t wake. “We’ll take her back to the hotel with us.”

Minami’s eyes widened, a flash of incredulity cutting through her usual guarded demeanor. “What? Are you serious?” She stood abruptly, dislodging Iseul slightly, who slid further down the bench with a soft groan. “I know we don’t even know where she lives, sure, but dragging her to our room? That’s insane.”

Hayao straightened, his expression firm but calm. “What’s the alternative? Leave her passed out in a park? She’s drunk, Minami. We can’t abandon her.” His voice carried a quiet authority, the kind that usually silenced her protests, but not this time.

Minami snorted, her lips curling into a smirk as she crossed her arms tightly. “Oh, please. Don’t act all noble. You probably just want to fuck her.” The words slipped out sharp and accusatory, her eyes narrowing as she watched his reaction.

Hayao’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Before she could say more, he stepped closer, closing the distance between them in a single stride. His hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her into a hard, silencing kiss. His lips pressed against hers with a force that stole her breath, his tongue briefly teasing hers before he pulled back, leaving her momentarily stunned. 

His dark eyes locked onto hers. “I’m doing this because it’s the right thing.”

Minami blinked, her cheeks flushing despite herself, her snarky retort dying on her tongue. She huffed, turning away to hide the heat creeping up her face. “Fine,” she muttered, her tone begrudging. “But this is still ridiculous.”

Together, they maneuvered Iseul off the bench, each taking an arm to support her limp form. She was heavier than she looked, her long legs dangling awkwardly as they half-carried, half-dragged her toward the park’s exit. Hayao flagged down a taxi with a wave of his hand, the yellow cab pulling up to the curb with a squeak of brakes. The driver, a middle-aged man with a bored expression, barely glanced at them as Hayao opened the back door.

Getting Iseul into the taxi was a clumsy affair. Minami climbed in first, scooting across the worn leather seat to make room, while Hayao guided Iseul’s slumped form inside. Her head flopped against Minami’s shoulder again, a soft snore escaping her lips as Hayao squeezed in beside her, pulling the door shut. “The Grand Seoul Hotel,” he told the driver, his voice steady despite the faint amusement tugging at his lips.

The cab lurched forward, the city lights flashing by in streaks of neon and gold. Iseul’s weight pressed against Minami, her hair spilling across her chest like a dark waterfall. Minami stared out the window, her mind a chaotic swirl of irritation and reluctant curiosity. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea, but Hayao’s resolve—and that damn kiss—had left her with little room to argue. 

She shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in her shoulder, and muttered under her breath, “This better not turn into some weird porno plot.”

Hayao caught her eye, a smirk playing on his lips. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, turning back to the window, her cheeks burning anew.

The ride was mercifully short, the taxi pulling up to the hotel’s sleek entrance within fifteen minutes. Hayao paid the driver with a handful of won, then slid out, reaching back to help Minami extract Iseul from the backseat. She stirred slightly, mumbling something about “dance practice” as they hauled her out, her legs wobbling like a newborn foal’s. Hayao wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her, while Minami trailed behind, her expression a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

The lobby was quiet at this hour, the polished marble floors reflecting the soft glow of recessed lights. The night clerk, a young woman with a tight bun and a polite smile, glanced up from her desk as they shuffled past, Iseul’s unsteady form drawing a raised eyebrow but no comment. In the elevator, Minami jabbed the button for the 20th floor, her movements sharp with pent-up frustration.

“This is so stupid,” she said, her voice cutting through the hum of the ascending lift. “What if she wakes up and freaks out? Or steals our stuff?”

Hayao adjusted his grip on Iseul, who was now leaning heavily against his chest. “She’s not gonna freak out. And what’s she gonna steal? Your half-eaten snacks from earlier?” He flashed her a grin, the kind that always infuriated her because it was so damn charming.

Minami rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious. Really.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing the plush carpeted hallway of their floor. They made their way to their room, Hayao fishing the keycard from his pocket with one hand while supporting Iseul with the other. The door clicked open, and they stepped into the dimly lit space—a modern haven of glass and steel, the city skyline twinkling beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.

Hayao guided Iseul to the king-sized bed, its crisp white sheets still neatly tucked from the morning’s housekeeping. He eased her down, her body sinking into the mattress with a soft thud. Minami hovered nearby, watching as he slipped off Iseul’s sneakers—simple white kicks scuffed from wear—and set them by the bedside. He pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it around her shoulders as she curled into a fetal position, her breathing deep and even.

“There,” he said, stepping back with a satisfied nod. “She’ll be fine ‘til morning.”

Minami stood by the bed, her arms crossed, her gaze flickering between Iseul’s peaceful form and Hayao’s calm demeanor. “What now?” she asked, her voice softer than before, tinged with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Hayao turned to her, his expression shifting—something darker, more intense flickering in his eyes. He stepped closer, his hands finding her shoulders, his touch firm. 

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur, “I’m tired of your constant backtalk.”

Before she could react, he pushed her down, guiding her to her knees with a strength that caught her off guard. Minami’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively gripping his thighs as she looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Hayao, what the hell?” she hissed, her voice low but sharp. “She’s right there!”

He glanced at Iseul, still motionless on the bed, her face half-buried in the pillow. “She’s flat out of it,” he countered, his tone dismissive, his hand sliding to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. “She won’t notice.”

Minami’s eyes darted to Iseul, then back to Hayao, a storm of emotions swirling in her chest—resistance, indignation, and something hotter, more primal. 

“You’re insane,” she muttered, but her hands moved almost of their own accord, reaching for his belt. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle, her breath quickening as she undid his jeans, pulling them down just enough to free him.

Hayao was already hard, his arousal evident as she wrapped her hand around him, her touch hesitant at first. She looked up at him, her eyes blazing with a rebellious spark, but her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted slightly. 

“Be quick and get it over with,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and desire, before taking him into her mouth.

Her movements were slow at first, her tongue swirling around the tip as she adjusted to the feel of him. Hayao groaned softly, his hand tightening in her hair, guiding her with a gentle but insistent pressure. Minami’s pace quickened, her head bobbing as she sucked, her eyes locked on his, challenging him even as she complied. The room was silent save for the faint hum of the AC and the soft, wet sounds of her efforts, a stark contrast to the tension building between them.

Her body betrayed her—her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her face flushed with heat, her thighs pressing together as arousal coiled tight in her core. She hated how much she wanted this, hated the thrill of doing it with Iseul just feet away, oblivious to their reckless intimacy. Hayao’s hips rocked slightly, his control slipping as he neared the edge, his groans growing deeper, more urgent.

But just as Minami braced herself for him to finish, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a soft pop. She sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, her chest heaving as she glared up at him. “What the fuck, Hayao?” she demanded, her voice thick with frustration and unspent need.

He looked down at her, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark with a predatory glint. “Not yet,” he said, his voice strained but deliberate. “I have other plans.”

The blonde girl’s brow furrowed, confusion mingling with the heat still pulsing through her. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone sharp, but he only smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of his lips that promised more than she was ready for.

Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet his, a storm of defiance and reluctant arousal swirling in their depths. On the bed, the Korean girl slept soundly on the king-sized bed, her delicate features serene, her breathing a soft, rhythmic whisper in the otherwise charged silence.

“Strip,” Hayao said, his voice a low growl, cutting through the hum of the city outside. It wasn’t a request—it was a command, laced with the authority he wielded so effortlessly over her.

Minami froze for a heartbeat, her hands hovering near her thighs as she processed the order. She exhaled sharply, a resigned sigh slipping past her lips. She was used to this by now—his relentless demands, the way he pushed her boundaries until they bent or broke. Still, the familiarity didn’t make it any easier. She rose slowly to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her, the carpet cushioning her movements. Her fingers hesitated at the hem of her loose-fitting tank top, her gaze darting briefly to Iseul’s sleeping form.

“Hayao…” she began, her tone laced with a mix of exhaustion and protest, but he silenced her with a single, piercing look. 

His eyes were unyielding, daring her to defy him. She didn’t. With another sigh, heavier this time, she tugged the tank top over her head, the fabric rustling softly as it fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Her bra followed, unhooked with practiced ease, revealing the smooth expanse of her torso. She kicked off her leggings and underwear in one fluid motion, leaving her bare under his scrutiny.

Hayao’s posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but. He took her in, his eyes roaming over her body with a slow, deliberate appreciation. The tan lines from her swimming stood out starkly—pale stripes cutting across her shoulders and hips where her swimsuit had shielded her skin from the sun. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Those tan lines,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky timbre. “They’re damn sexy.” His fingers reached out, brushing lightly along the edge of one line, tracing it from her shoulder down to the swell of her breast. His touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver racing down her spine, her skin prickling under the weight of his attention.

Minami’s lips pressed into a thin line, her arms twitching as if to cross over her chest, but she held them at her sides. She was exposed, vulnerable, and he reveled in it. 

“Are we going to at least do it in the bathroom?” she asked, her voice quieter now, a faint edge of hope that he’d opt for some semblance of privacy. The bathroom, at least, would put a door between them and the sleeping Iseul.

Hayao’s smirk widened into a full, predatory smile. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he began to undress, his movements unhurried, almost theatrical. He unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slide off his shoulders. His jeans followed, pooling at his ankles before he stepped out of them, leaving him as bare as she was. His arousal was evident.

“Hayao, what—” she started, but he closed the distance between them in two swift strides, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive firmness. The blonde’s eyes widened as realization dawned. He guided her backward, steering her toward the bed where Iseul lay oblivious, her dark hair fanning across the pillow like ink spilled on white canvas.

“No!” Minami yelped, her voice spiking with panic as her bare thighs brushed against the edge of the mattress. She twisted in his grip, her hands pushing against his chest. “Iseul’s right there! Are you insane? You’re a fucking madman!”

Hayao’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin just enough to still her struggles. “She’s out,” he said dismissively, his tone calm despite the wild glint in his eyes. “She won’t hear a thing.” He pushed her down onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and Minami landed with a soft thud, her body inches from Iseul’s sleeping form.

She scrambled to sit up, her heart hammering against her ribcage, but Hayao was already kneeling between her legs, his hands prying her thighs apart with a strength she couldn’t resist. 

“Hayao, stop it!” she cried out, her voice a desperate hiss, her hands flailing to shove him away. But he caught her wrists, pinning them briefly before releasing them to focus on his goal.

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath hot against her inner thigh as he lowered his head. “Just relax.” His tongue flicked out, tasting her, and Minami’s protests dissolved into a sharp gasp. He didn’t tease—he dove in, his mouth working her with a relentless intensity that short-circuited her thoughts. His lips closed over her clit, sucking gently, then harder, his tongue swirling in tight, deliberate circles.

Minami’s hands flew to the sheets, clutching them as her back arched involuntarily. “Oh, fuck,” she breathed, her voice trembling, caught between a moan and a sob. 

Her resistance unraveled, thread by thread, as pleasure surged through her, drowning out the panic, the fear, the awareness of Iseul’s presence. Hayao’s hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he devoured her, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin, adding a rough edge to the overwhelming sensation.

Her legs trembled, her breath coming in ragged bursts, and she bit her lip hard to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. The room spun, the neon lights blurring into streaks of color, the soft hum of the air conditioner fading into the background. There was only Hayao—his mouth, his hands, the heat of him consuming her. Her resolve crumbled completely, her body surrendering to the tide he’d unleashed.

He pulled back abruptly, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with a primal satisfaction. Before she could catch her breath, he climbed over her, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. “Now,” he growled, his voice thick with need as he positioned himself at her entrance, “this is what I want.”

“Hayao—” Minami’s plea was cut off as he thrust into her, hard and deep, filling her in one brutal motion. She cried out, the sound sharp and unrestrained, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The bed rocked beneath them, the frame creaking faintly with each powerful thrust. Hayao set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping forward, driving into her with a force that bordered on reckless.

Iseul remained still, her breathing unchanged, her presence a silent specter beside them. Minami’s mind reeled, torn between the raw pleasure coursing through her and the constant, nagging fear that Iseul might stir. The risk fueled Hayao; she could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes burned as he watched her unravel beneath him. For her, it was a chaotic blend of sensations—his cock stretching her, his hands bruising her hips, the softness of the sheets against her back, and the ever-present threat of discovery.

“Fuck, Minami,” he rasped, his voice low and strained, his pace unrelenting. “You feel so good.” His hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. 

The dual assault tipped her over the edge, her body tightening, her breath hitching as she came undone. Her orgasm hit like a freight train, a wave of heat and electricity that left her trembling, her walls clenching around him. She muffled her scream against his shoulder, her teeth grazing his skin, her body shuddering beneath his weight. Hayao groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, his cock pulsing inside her as he followed her over the brink.

They collapsed in a heap, sweat-slicked and breathless, the bed a tangle of sheets and limbs. 

Iseul’s eyes slowly fluttered open, her vision a blur of color and shadow. There was a kaleidoscope of hues that made her head throb in time with her heartbeat. The ache of too much alcohol clung to her temples, a dull, insistent pain that anchored her to the present. She shifted, her body heavy and sluggish, and felt the press of another’s warmth beside her. The bed was vast, a king-sized expanse of crisp white sheets now tangled and creased. Blinking slowly, she turned her head, her long, ink-black hair spilling across the pillow like a dark waterfall. Her gaze met Hayato’s—dark, unyielding, and far too close. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin.

The stopwatch in their luggage pulsed, sending a wave of lust through all in the room.

Before she could form a coherent thought, Hayato closed the distance. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was forceful, insistent, his tongue pushing past her lips with a hunger that jolted her fully awake. Iseul’s breath caught in her throat, her hands flying to his chest in reflex. “What the hell?!” she gasped, her voice a sharp burst of Korean, muffled against his mouth. Her nails dug into his skin, pushing back with a surge of panic, but his grip tightened, pinning her beneath him.

For a moment, she fought—her body tense, her mind racing with confusion and alarm. The taste of him was foreign, a mix of beer and something darker, more primal. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the city’s hum. But then, something shifted. The heat of his kiss, the press of his body, ignited a spark deep within her. It started as a flicker—a tremor in her core—but quickly flared into a surge of lust, raw and overwhelming. 

Her resistance melted, her hands, once pushing, now clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer as she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her tongue met his, a dance of desire that sent shivers racing down her spine.

She broke away, gasping for air, her chest heaving as she stared up at him. Her dark eyes, wide and glassy, flicked to the side and landed on Minami. The sight of her—naked, her skin flushed and marked with the faint impressions of Hayato’s earlier attention—sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through Iseul. Her breath hitched, her body responding with a visceral intensity she couldn’t suppress. Minami lay sprawled beside them, her bleached blonde hair a messy halo around her head, her sharp eyes glinting with a mix of exhaustion and wry amusement.

Minami, ever observant, caught the shift in Iseul’s gaze. She propped herself up on one elbow, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I knew this was going to happen,” she drawled in Japanese, her voice laced with sarcasm, a shield against the vulnerability creeping into her chest. “He can’t keep his hands off anything that moves.”

Hayato pulled back from Iseul, his breath hot against her lips as he turned to Minami. A wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes glinting with mischief and something darker. “Let’s have some fun with this Korean bitch. We can do whatever we want,” he said in Japanese, his voice low and rough, the words dripping with crude intent.

Minami’s smirk faltered, her brows knitting together as she processed his words. Her gaze darted to Iseul, who lay between them, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, her skin flushed under the neon light. Uncertainty flickered in Minami’s chest—a twinge of doubt, a whisper of conscience—but it was drowned out by the heat pooling in her core. She bit her lip, her fingers twitching against the sheets as arousal warred with hesitation. The air crackled with unspoken intent, thick with the promise of something forbidden.

The Korean girl, oblivious to their exchange, watched them with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. She didn’t understand Japanese, but the tone of Hayato’s voice, the way his eyes raked over her, sent a shiver through her. Her body still hummed from the kiss, her lips tingling, her skin prickling with anticipation. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but there was a thrill in that vulnerability—a dangerous allure she couldn’t resist.

Hayato’s hand slid to Minami’s wrist, tugging her closer with a gentle but insistent pull. “Kiss her,” he murmured, his voice a husky command that brooked no argument. His eyes locked onto Minami’s, daring her to refuse.

Minami hesitated, her breath catching as she met Iseul’s gaze. Iseul’s eyes were wide, her lips parted slightly, a silent question hanging between them. Then, with a slow exhale, Minami leaned in. Their lips met—tentative at first, a soft brush of skin that sent a jolt through both of them. The kiss was electric, a spark that ignited the air around them. Iseul’s eyes fluttered closed, her body relaxing into the contact as the kiss deepened. Minami’s tongue traced the seam of Iseul’s lips, coaxing them apart, and Iseul responded with a quiet moan, her hands sliding to Minami’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

The kiss grew hungrier, more desperate, their tongues tangling in a rhythm that mirrored the pounding of their hearts. The taste of beer lingered on Iseul’s lips. It was intoxicating, a heady rush that drowned out the world beyond the bed. Minami’s hands roamed, tracing the curve of Iseul’s neck, the slope of her shoulder, the softness of her skin. Iseul arched into the touch, her breath hitching as Minami’s fingers brushed the edge of her breast.

Hayato watched, his arousal evident as his cock twitched, hardening at the sight before him. The two girls, lost in each other, were a vision—Minami’s sharp edges softened by desire, Iseul’s delicate frame trembling with need. The lights of the room painted their bodies in surreal hues, highlighting the contrast between Minami’s tanned skin and Iseul’s pale glow. He shifted closer, his hand sliding to the back of Minami’s neck, then Iseul’s, guiding them toward him with a firm but gentle pressure.

“Suck it,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust as he pressed their heads downward, his intent clear.

Minami and Iseul broke their kiss, their lips swollen and glistening in the dim light. They exchanged a glance—a fleeting moment of connection, of shared understanding—before turning their attention to Hayato. Minami moved first, her tongue flicking out to trace the tip of his cock, her touch light and teasing. The Korean girl followed, her lips brushing along the shaft, her breath warm against his skin. They worked in tandem, their movements fluid and synchronized, as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

Minami took him into her mouth, her head bobbing as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. Iseul licked and kissed along the length, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside, her hands steadying herself on his thighs. They alternated, sharing him between them, their lips occasionally meeting in a messy, heated kiss—saliva and precum slicking their mouths, their breaths mingling in the charged air.

Hayato groaned, his hands tangling in their hair, guiding their pace with a firm grip. The wet sounds of their mouths, the soft gasps and moans, filled the room, blending with the distant hum of the city. His control frayed with every stroke, the sight of them together pushing him closer to the edge. But he wasn’t ready to finish—not yet. With a ragged breath, he pulled back, his chest heaving as he met their gazes, his eyes dark with unrestrained desire.

“I’m going to fuck her now,” he declared, his voice a low growl, his eyes locking onto Iseul with predatory intent.

Minami’s lips curved into a smirk, her hand sliding down to touch herself, her fingers already slick with her own arousal. “Fuck her hard,” she said, her voice husky, her breath coming in short bursts as she circled her clit, her body humming with anticipation.

Together, they turned to Iseul, their hands roaming over her body with purpose. Hayato tugged at the hem of her cropped jacket, peeling it off her shoulders with deliberate slowness, savoring the way her skin prickled under his touch. Minami unbuttoned Iseul’s tight shorts, sliding them down her legs, her fingers grazing the soft skin of her thighs. Iseul’s breath hitched, her body trembling as they stripped her bare—her lacy bra, her matching panties, all discarded in a heap on the floor, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

She lay naked between them, her skin smooth and warm, her body a canvas of curves and shadows under the neon light. The glow highlighted the rise of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the flush creeping up her neck. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, a stark contrast to the white sheets beneath her. Minami reached for Iseul’s hand, their fingers intertwining in a quiet gesture of connection, of reassurance.

Hayato positioned himself between Iseul’s legs, his cock pressing against her entrance, teasing her with the tip. He could feel her heat, her wetness, and it took every ounce of control not to plunge in immediately. Then, with a powerful thrust, he entered her, burying himself deep in one swift motion.

Iseul arched her back, a loud moan tearing from her throat. “Ah, it feels so good!” she cried, her voice a melodic stream of Korean that echoed in the room. Her free hand gripped the sheets, her nails digging into the fabric as Hayato began to move, setting a relentless pace. His hips snapped forward with force, each thrust driving deeper, claiming her with a ferocity that left her breathless.

“Harder! Please!” she begged, her words a desperate plea lost on her partners, but the raw need in her voice was unmistakable. Her body rocked with his rhythm, her breasts bouncing with each impact, her moans growing louder, more frantic.

Minami watched, her own arousal building as she masturbated with her free hand. Her fingers moved in time with Hayato’s thrusts, slick with her own wetness, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She squeezed Iseul’s hand, grounding her as Hayato claimed her body, their connection a lifeline in the storm of sensation.

The room was a symphony of sound—Hayato’s grunts, Iseul’s cries, the wet slap of skin against skin. The neon light flickered, casting shadows that danced across their entwined forms, turning their movements into something almost surreal. Sweat beaded on Hayato’s brow, dripping onto Iseul’s stomach as he pushed harder, faster, his control slipping with every thrust.

Iseul’s voice rose in pitch, her body trembling as she neared her peak. “I’m going to cum!” she gasped, her words tumbling out in her native language. Her muscles tightened around Hayato, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his own release building like a coiled spring.

Minami’s breath quickened, her fingers working faster as she watched them, her own climax approaching. “How does she feel?” she asked, her voice a whisper, her eyes locked on Hayato’s face, searching for the answer in his expression.

“So good,” he managed, his voice strained, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. “She’s so tight.” The words were a guttural admission, raw and unfiltered.

The confession sent Minami over the edge. Her body shuddered, a low moan escaping her lips as she climaxed, her hand gripping Iseul’s tightly, her nails digging into her skin.

Iseul’s orgasm hit her like a wave, her back arching off the bed, her voice breaking into a high, keening wail. “ Ah, yes!” she sobbed, her body shaking as pleasure coursed through her, leaving her trembling and spent.

But even as the Korean girl felt the clouds and the rain, Hayato pressed the tip of his cock against her ass, the slick heat of it nudging insistently at the tight virgin ring of muscle. With a single, merciless thrust, he forced his way inside, breaching her in a motion so abrupt it stole the air from her lungs. The intrusion was immediate, unyielding, a searing violation that ripped through the fading haze of her earlier climax like a jagged blade.

“No, don’t!” Iseul screamed, her voice sharp with panic, cutting through the thick air of the hotel room. Her hands flailed, fingers clawing at the sheets, seeking purchase as the pain erupted inside her—a white-hot agony that radiated outward, consuming her senses. “It hurts! Stop!” Her pleas spilled out in Korean, frantic and raw, her voice breaking under the weight of her desperation. She thrashed beneath him, her body instinctively recoiling, but Hayato’s grip on her hips was iron, his fingers sinking into her flesh with bruising force, anchoring her in place. Each thrust was a ruthless invasion, a relentless rhythm that left her gasping, sobbing, her tears soaking into the pillow as her cries echoed off the walls.

The distant hum of Seoul’s nightlife buzzed faintly beyond the window, a cruel counterpoint to the chaos within, the city’s indifference amplifying the isolation of the moment. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and musk, a sensory overload that pressed down on all of them, inescapable and suffocating.

Minami lay beside them, her heart slamming against her ribs with such force she thought it might shatter. Her breath caught in her throat, ragged and uneven, as she watched Iseul writhe beneath Hayato’s unrelenting assault. A part of her—a small, insistent voice—screamed to intervene, to grab his shoulders and yank him off, to end this spiraling descent into brutality. 

But another part, darker and hungrier, kept her rooted to the spot, her body betraying her with a heat that pooled between her thighs, her skin prickling with every one of Iseul’s anguished cries. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms, her mind a battlefield of conflicting urges. The pull of the forbidden was magnetic, intoxicating, and she hated herself for it even as she leaned into it.

Hayato’s pace was unrelenting, his hips snapping forward with a force that shook the bed frame, the creak of the springs a harsh underscore to Iseul’s sobs. The tightness of her ass gripped him like a vise, each thrust driving him deeper into a haze of lust that clouded his senses. His breath came in sharp, guttural bursts, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow to land in glistening beads on Iseul’s back. The way she clenched around him—part resistance, part surrender—only fueled his hunger, a twisted satisfaction blooming in his chest as he claimed her with every brutal stroke. Her screams had softened now, dissolving into choked moans, her body beginning to adapt despite the pain. A thread of something else—something raw and unwilling—wove through her torment, her hips twitching involuntarily as pleasure clawed its way to the surface.

The poor girl’s hands stopped clawing at the sheets, her fingers curling instead into the fabric, gripping it as though it were her last tether to sanity. Her body rocked back against him, a subtle shift that betrayed her, caught in a storm of conflicting sensations—pain and pleasure twisting together in a chaotic dance. Her breath hitched, her moans growing softer, more ragged, as her mind struggled to process the overload, the boundaries between agony and ecstasy blurring into something unrecognizable.

“Goddamn, she’s tight,” Hayato growled, his voice rough with exertion, a primal edge to it that sent a shiver down Minami’s spine. 

His dark eyes flicked to her, glinting with a dare, an invitation to join the chaos he’d unleashed. Minami’s breath shallowed, her resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. She hesitated, her chest tight, then gave in, the pull too strong to resist. Crawling closer, she slid a trembling hand up Iseul’s back, her fingers tracing the sweat-slick curve of her spine. The contact was electric, grounding her in the madness, and she leaned in, her lips brushing Iseul’s ear. 

“You’re taking it so well,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry, a soothing balm laced with her own desperation. The words were a lifeline, more for herself than Iseul, a way to justify the heat coiling in her core, the way her body hummed with a need she couldn’t name.

The Korean girl’s response was a broken whimper, her body shuddering under the dual assault of Hayato’s thrusts and Minami’s touch. The young man’s movements grew erratic, his control fraying at the edges as he chased his peak. His hands tightened on Iseul’s hips, his fingers leaving red marks that would linger long after the night faded, and with a final, brutal shove, he buried himself deep. His cock pulsed, a hot rush spilling into her, searing through her raw nerves with an intensity that made her cry out—a strangled, keening sound that split the air. Her body jerked, the sensation shoving her over the edge again, pain and pleasure crashing together in a chaotic wave that left her trembling, undone.

But Hayato wasn’t finished. He pulled out with a slick, wet sound, his cock still hard, glistening with a mix of cum and sweat, and shifted his position with a predatory swiftness that made Minami’s breath catch. He straddled Iseul’s chest, his knees pinning her arms to the bed, trapping her beneath his weight. His cock hovered inches from her tear-streaked face, the tip brushing her lips, and he gripped her jaw with one hand, forcing her mouth wide. “Open,” he commanded, his voice a low growl, thick with dominance and expectation.

Iseul’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear cutting through the dazed exhaustion that clouded her gaze. “No…” she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible over the pounding of Minami’s pulse. 

But Hayato didn’t care. He thrust into her mouth, pushing past her lips and deep into her throat, choking her with his length. She gagged, her eyes watering, her hands twitching helplessly beneath his knees as he rocked his hips with brutal insistence. The taste of him overwhelmed her—salt and bitterness flooding her senses, her throat constricting as she struggled to breathe. Her muffled cries vibrated against him, a desperate sound that only seemed to spur him on.

Minami watched, her breath hitching, her body thrumming with a volatile mix of arousal and a sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy. She moved closer, drawn in despite herself, her hand sliding up Hayato’s back, her nails raking his skin in a possessive arc. She leaned in, and their lips crashed together in a fierce, desperate kiss—tongues tangling, teeth grazing, a raw hunger driving them both. Hayato’s hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as he continued to fuck Iseul’s throat, his rhythm unbroken. The heat of his mouth, the taste of him, sent a jolt through Minami, her mind spinning as she surrendered to the chaos.

Iseul’s hands, now free as Hayato shifted his weight, clawed at his thighs, leaving red welts that stood out starkly against his skin. Her muffled cries grew weaker, her throat tightening around him as she fought for air, her body trembling with the effort. Hayato was lost in it—the tightness, the heat, the power—his hips moving with a relentless drive that drowned out everything else. Minami broke the kiss, her chest heaving, her eyes dark with lust and a flicker of something unreadable—guilt, perhaps, or longing. 

“Finish her,” she whispered, her voice a command laced with need, her breath hot against his ear.

Hayato grinned, a wicked flash of teeth that promised no mercy, and thrust harder, burying himself deep in Iseul’s throat. His cock pulsed again, hot and thick, spilling down her throat in relentless spurts that made her convulse beneath him. Her eyes rolled back, her body wracked with a final, choking shudder as she struggled to swallow, her hands falling limp at her sides. He pulled out, leaving her gasping, her face a mess of tears, saliva, and smeared makeup, her breath ragged but steadying as she fought to reclaim herself.

Minami slid off the bed, her legs shaky beneath her, and stumbled to the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp towel clutched in her hands. She knelt beside Iseul, her movements slow and deliberate, wiping her face with a gentleness that felt out of place after the night’s ferocity. 

“You good?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she brushed a strand of dark hair from Iseul’s eyes, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that surprised even herself. Iseul nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the exhaustion etched into every line of her face. 

“Yes… I’m okay,” she rasped, her voice raw but steady, a quiet resilience shining through.

The three lay together, Minami curled against Iseul’s side, her hand clasped in hers, their fingers intertwined. Hayato collapsed beside them, his body spent, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as his mind swam in a haze of satisfaction.

To be continued…