Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.3[b] Triangle Love & Revenge [Ending]

In the months following their high school graduation, Hayao and Minami found themselves tangled in a relationship that had evolved far beyond what either of them could have imagined. The stopwatch, a strange relic Hayao had stumbled upon, held a mysterious power that bent time and desire to his will.

They fucked like rabbits, a phrase that felt almost too tame for the raw, unrelenting energy that surged between them. The prickly girl, once all sharp wit and sarcasm, had softened under Hayao’s persistent touch. Her walls hadn’t crumbled entirely—her snark still flashed like a blade when she felt cornered—but there was a tenderness now, a quiet craving that pulled her back to him time and again. Their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle they hadn’t known they were solving, each night a fevered exploration of skin and sweat that left them breathless, sprawled across tangled sheets in a haze of satisfaction.

Hayao had grown into his desires with a confidence that bordered on reckless. The stopwatch had given him power, yes, but it was Minami who kept him tethered, her presence a grounding force even as she challenged him. But Minami had always been the fiercer of the two, her attitude a shield against a world she refused to let break her. 

But with Hayao, that shield had begun to crack, revealing a vulnerability she hadn’t known she possessed. Their university days stretched out before them, a canvas of possibility painted with late-night study sessions and stolen moments in dorm rooms. 

Yet it was their regular trips to Seoul that truly defined this chapter of their lives—a two-hour flight that whisked them away from the monotony of lectures and deadlines into a world of indulgence and escape.

Seoul was their playground, and Iseul, the idol trainee they’d met on their first reckless venture to the city, was its siren. Her flat, perched on the edge of the bustling Gangnam district, became their sanctuary. The moment they stepped through her door, the air thickened with anticipation, the hum of the city fading into a distant buzz. Iseul was a vision—lithe and graceful, her dark eyes glinting with a mischief that matched Minami’s own. Their visits followed a rhythm as steady as the stopwatch’s tick: bags dropped by the door, clothes shed in a careless trail, and then hours lost to the tangle of limbs and lips. 

Hayao moved between them with a stamina that seemed endless, his hands tracing the curves of Minami’s hips one moment, then Iseul’s the next. Minami and Iseul, meanwhile, explored each other with a curiosity that had blossomed into something deeper—fingers threading through hair, tongues teasing sensitive skin, their gasps a harmony that filled the room. The lines between them blurred, a fluid dance of pleasure that left them all trembling, sated, and yet somehow always hungry for more.

These trips were all about sex, the heartbeat of it. But there was also the ritual, a reaffirmation of the bond that tied the three of them together. The lights of the city bathed Iseul’s flat, casting shadows that danced across their skin as they lay together in the aftermath. Hayao would sprawl across the bed, one arm slung over Minami’s waist, the other brushing Iseul’s thigh, while Minami traced idle patterns on Iseul’s stomach, her usual snark softened to a playful murmur. Iseul, for her part, thrived in the chaos of their lust, her laughter a bright thread that wove through their darker desires. 

But back on campus, a shadow lingered over Minami’s newfound peace. Nanako, once her closest friend, had become a ghost in her life—a painful reminder of betrayal that refused to fade. It had been Nanako who’d first fallen under Hayao’s spell, the secret places of her body taken by him. To escape, she’d lured Minami into his orbit, promising her as a replacement to free herself from Hayao’s grip. The sting of that betrayal had festered, a wound Minami couldn’t ignore, even as she sank deeper into her life with Hayao. She understood now—Nanako’s desperation, her fear—but understanding didn’t erase the hurt. She needed closure, a chance to speak the words that had been clawing at her throat for months.

One crisp autumn afternoon, Minami found Nanako on campus, her figure framed against a backdrop of red and brown leaves. The air was sharp with the scent of decay, a fitting mirror to the tension that crackled between them. 

“Nanako,” Minami called, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “We need to talk.” Nanako turned, her expression guarded, her dark hair catching the sunlight in a way that made her look almost ethereal. 

“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, her tone flat, her eyes darting away. Minami stepped closer, undeterred. “I get it now. Why you did it. Why you pushed me toward Hayao. I just want to talk with you… to maybe go back to where we used to be.”

For a moment, something flickered in Nanako’s gaze—regret, maybe, or shame—but it vanished as quickly as it came. 

“It’s done,” she said, her voice cold. “You’re with him now. Leave me alone.” 

Minami’s hand shot out, grabbing Nanako’s wrist before she could turn away. “We were friends,” she pressed, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. “You owe me something—an explanation, an apology, anything.” 

Nanako yanked her arm free, her eyes blazing. “I don’t owe you shit,” she snapped. “It looks like you chose this. Live with it. Live with him.” And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd of students, leaving Minami standing alone, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

The rejection hit like a punch, igniting a fury that Minami hadn’t felt in months. If Nanako wouldn’t face her, wouldn’t acknowledge the pain she’d caused, then Minami would make her feel it. The idea took root, dark and twisted, fueled by a need for control that the stopwatch had only amplified. She turned to the male swim team—lean, muscled athletes who carried themselves with an easy arrogance. 

It didn’t take much to convince them. Nanako was beautiful, her delicate features and quiet demeanor a siren call to men who thrived on conquest. Minami spun a story of revenge, her words laced with just enough truth to make it believable, and the team was all too eager to play their part.

The gangbang was a brutal affair, orchestrated in a dimly lit izakaya off campus, its flickering lanterns casting shadows across the stained wooden walls. The air was heavy, thick with the sour tang of spilled alcohol and the smoky char of grilled skewers, a haze that seemed to cling to the low ceiling like a shroud. The place was a dive, tucked away in a forgotten alley, its narrow windows smudged with grime, muffling the distant hum of the city beyond. 

Nanako didn’t see it coming—lured there under the pretense of a party, she walked into a trap that snapped shut the moment the door locked behind her. She’d been expecting laughter, clinking glasses, and maybe a few familiar faces. Instead, the sharp click of the bolt sliding into place echoed in the stillness, a sound that sliced through her casual greeting and left her frozen, her breath catching in her throat.

The swimmers descended like wolves, their hands rough and unrelenting as they stripped her bare. There were six of them, their silhouettes looming in the dim light, bodies sculpted from endless laps in the pool—broad shoulders, thick arms, legs corded with muscle. Their skin glistened faintly, still damp from a recent swim, carrying the sharp bite of chlorine that mixed with the izakaya’s stale air. 

Nanako’s eyes darted between them, her mind scrambling to process the shift as they closed in, their movements predatory, synchronized. “What are you doing?” she stammered, her voice trembling as she took a step back, her sneakers scuffing against the worn tatami mats. 

But they didn’t answer—not with words. Takashi, the tallest, grabbed her first, his calloused fingers clamping around her wrist with a force that made her gasp, yanking her forward into the circle they’d formed.

She fought at first, her cries sharp and panicked, piercing the thick air as she twisted against their grip. Her free hand swung wildly, connecting with a solid chest—Kenji’s, she thought, his smirk flashing in the gloom—but it was like striking a wall. He laughed, a low, guttural sound that rumbled through her bones, and caught her arm, twisting it behind her back until her shoulder screamed in protest. 

“Stop it!” she shrieked, her voice raw, her legs kicking out in desperate arcs. Her heel caught someone’s shin, a fleeting victory that only earned her a snarl and a harder shove. 

They were too many, too strong, their bodies a relentless wall of muscle that pinned her down. Daichi dropped to his knees beside her, his hands tearing at her blouse, the fabric ripping with a sickening shrrrip as buttons flew, skittering across the floor. Her skirt followed, yanked down her thighs with a brutality that left red welts on her skin, her underwear shredded in seconds, leaving her bare and shivering in the cool, stagnant air.

They took turns, their cocks plunging into her mouth, her cunt, her ass, filling every hole with a savage rhythm that left her gasping, choking, breaking. Takashi took her first, kneeling between her legs as Kenji and Satoshi held her down, her arms stretched taut above her head, her wrists bruising under their grip. His cock was thick, unyielding, and he thrust into her cunt with a force that tore a scream from her lungs, the pain a white-hot burn that radiated through her core. Her body wasn’t ready, couldn’t adjust, and each brutal snap of his hips drove deeper, splitting her open, her muscles clenching in futile resistance. 

“Please, no—” she sobbed, but the words were cut off as Kenji seized her jaw, forcing it wide, his own cock shoving past her lips. The taste was bitter, overwhelming, his shaft thick and hot as it hit the back of her throat, making her gag, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe around him.

The room echoed with the wet slap of flesh, a relentless percussion that drowned out her pleas—the slick, obscene sound of Takashi pounding into her, the muffled glck-glck as Kenji fucked her mouth, the creak of the tatami beneath her as her body was rocked by their assault. Her pale skin flushed red, streaked with sweat that beaded on her forehead, trickling down her temples to mix with the tears spilling from her eyes. Her hair, once neatly tied back, became a tangled mess, strands sticking to her wet cheeks, yanked and twisted as they pulled her head into position. Daichi took her next, flipping her onto her stomach with a casual brutality, his hands spreading her ass cheeks as he forced himself inside. The intrusion was agony, a painful stretch that made her scream again, her voice hoarse and breaking as he thrust without mercy, his grunts harsh and animalistic above her.

One held her arms while another thrust into her from behind, his grunts mingling with her muffled sobs. Satoshi kept her pinned, his knees digging into her biceps, his weight crushing her into the floor as Daichi worked her ass, his pace unrelenting, his fingers leaving crescent-shaped marks on her hips. She tried to twist away, her body writhing beneath them, but they only laughed, their voices a cruel chorus that filled the space. 

“Look at her squirm,” one of them—Ryu, maybe—taunted, his hand slapping her thigh hard enough to leave a stinging red print. Another forced himself between her lips, his hands gripping her head as he fucked her throat raw. It was Taro this time, his cock longer, thinner, but no less brutal, slamming into her mouth until her jaw ached, her throat spasming as she choked around him. Drool spilled from her lips, mixing with the cum that dribbled down her chin when he pulled back, only to thrust in again, deeper, harder.

The assault stretched on, a relentless cycle of violation that blurred into hours. They rotated, trading places with a chilling efficiency, their cocks hard and insatiable as they claimed her over and over. When Takashi finished in her cunt, spilling hot and thick inside her, Ryu took his place, his thrusts slower but no less punishing, grinding into her until her thighs trembled, slick with sweat and their release. Kenji moved to her ass after Daichi, his hands spreading her wider, the pain flaring anew as he drove in, his groans loud and ragged. Taro stayed at her mouth, joined by Satoshi, who forced her to take them both, their cocks stretching her lips painfully wide, her tongue pinned as they alternated, a grotesque dance that left her gagging, her chest heaving for air.

Her body was a canvas of their cruelty—her skin marred with bruises blooming on her wrists, purple and angry where they’d held her down; hickeys dotting her neck and chest, dark and swollen; handprints etched into her thighs, red and raw. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, a wild, matted halo that framed her shattered expression. Her cries grew weaker, her voice splintering into whimpers as the fight drained from her, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. The room spun, the sounds warping—the wet slap-slap-slap, the low moans, the occasional clink of a sake bottle as one of them paused to drink, their casual indifference a dagger in her chest.

They didn’t stop, didn’t tire, their stamina honed by years of training turned against her in a twisted mockery. Her cunt throbbed, raw and swollen, each thrust a fresh torment that made her flinch, her nerves screaming. Her ass burned, the pain a constant pulse that radiated up her spine, her body trembling as they stretched her beyond endurance. Her throat was a ruin, scratched and sore, the taste of them lingering, a bitter film she couldn’t escape. The air grew hotter, thicker, the stench of sex and sweat overwhelming, pressing down on her until she felt like she was drowning in it.

As the hours dragged on, Nanako’s mind began to fracture, retreating into a numb haze where the pain dulled to a distant ache, her consciousness fraying at the edges. She stopped struggling, her body limp, a ragdoll in their hands as they pulled and pushed her between them, their laughter a faint buzz in her ears. The wet slap of flesh became a rhythm she couldn’t escape, a heartbeat of degradation that pulsed through the izakaya, the shadows swallowing her whole. They finished one by one, their cum painting her skin, filling her, leaking from her in thick, sticky trails that pooled beneath her on the tatami.

Minami stood in the corner, her phone steady in her hands, capturing every moment. The lens framed Nanako’s unraveling—her body bent and broken, her spirit crushed under the weight of their relentless assault. The swimmers didn’t stop until she was a mess, her limbs trembling, her holes gaping and slick with their cum. When they finally stepped back, laughing and high-fiving like it was a game, Nanako curled into herself on the floor, a fragile shell of the girl she’d been. Minami felt a surge of triumph, a twisted satisfaction that drowned out the faint whisper of guilt tugging at her conscience. She’d taken back the power Nanako had stolen, turned her betrayal into something tangible, something she could hold over her forever. The video was her trophy, a weapon she’d wield when the time was right.

Weeks later, in Iseul’s flat in Seoul, the air hung heavy, saturated with the primal scent of sex and the electric hum of unspoken desire. The room was a cocoon of shadows and light, the neon glow of the city seeping through the slatted blinds, casting jagged streaks of pink and blue across the sweat-slicked bodies sprawled across the bed. Hayao lay at the heart of it all, his lean, muscular frame dominating the space, his cock buried deep in Iseul’s tight, pulsing heat. His hips moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust a calculated invasion that drew soft, shuddering moans from her parted lips. His hands, clamped onto her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh with a possessive grip that guided her every movement, forcing her to meet his pace.

Iseul’s lithe, dancer’s body arched beneath him, her spine bowing in a graceful curve as she surrendered to the relentless pressure of his cock. Her dark hair fanned out across the sheets, damp with sweat, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her thighs trembled, muscles straining as she braced herself against the bed, her ass clenching around him with every deep, punishing thrust. Above her, Minami straddled her face, her angular frame taut with tension, her thighs quivering as Iseul’s tongue worked her clit with a precision that bordered on torture. The sensation was a live wire, sending jagged sparks of pleasure racing up Minami’s spine, her sharp features softening into a mask of raw, unfiltered need. Her bleached blonde hair hung in a wild tangle over her shoulders, catching the light in fractured glints of gold. Her breath hitched in sharp, needy gasps, her hips rocking against the Korean girl’s mouth with a desperate rhythm, chasing the edge of oblivion.

The room thrummed with a visceral energy, the neon glow painting their skin in surreal shades that made the scene feel both dreamlike and brutally real. Hayao’s flexed with each thrust, his cock slid in and out of Iseul’s pussy with a slick, obscene sound, the tightness of her gripping him like a velvet vise, each movement a battle between control and surrender. His dark eyes burned with a focused intensity, locked on the point where their bodies joined, watching the way her flesh yielded to him, the way she stretched to accommodate his size. His breath came in low, ragged bursts, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his pace steady, but the sight of Minami—her thighs shaking, her lips parted in a silent scream—threatened to snap the thin thread of restraint he clung to.

Minami’s hands roamed her own body, nails raking across her skin as she rode Iseul’s face with increasing ferocity. Her fingers found Iseul’s hair, twisting the dark strands in a tight grip, pulling hard enough to make Iseul whimper into her cunt. The vibrations of those muffled sounds sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through Minami, her clit throbbing under Iseul’s relentless tongue. 

“Harder,” the blonde hissed, her voice a jagged edge of command, her hips grinding down with a force that smeared her wetness across Iseul’s lips and chin. Iseul obeyed, her tongue flicking faster, swirling in tight, punishing circles that made Minami’s thighs clench and her breath catch in her throat. The taste of Minami—salty, musky, laced with the faint sweetness of her arousal—flooded Iseul’s senses, mingling with the ache of Hayao’s cock stretching her open, the dual assault driving her toward a precipice she couldn’t escape.

With a sly, predatory grin, Minami reached for her phone, her fingers brushing Hayao’s arm in a fleeting, electric touch that made his skin prickle. She swiped the screen to life, the grainy footage of Nanako’s gangbang flaring into view, its harsh light cutting through the dimness of the room. 

Hayao’s eyes flicked to it, his pupils blowing wide as he drank in the sight—Nanako, his childhood friend, reduced to a writhing, broken thing beneath the hands of multiple men. Her pale, fragile body arched under their grip, her cries a raw, animalistic counterpoint to the swimmers’ guttural grunts. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, matted with sweat and cum, her delicate features contorted in a mix of agony and reluctant ecstasy. Thick cocks plunged into her mouth, her cunt, her ass, filling every hole with a savage rhythm that left her trembling, her innocence shredded with every brutal thrust. The men took turns, their hands bruising her hips, her thighs, their movements a chaotic dance of domination that left her body streaked with their release.

The image seared into Hayao’s mind, a molten jolt of dark arousal that tightened his grip on Iseul’s hips until his knuckles whitened. His cock twitched inside her, the sight of Nanako’s degradation igniting a primal hunger that roared through his veins. 

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice a low, guttural rasp thick with lust.

He pulled out of Iseul’s pussy, placed his cock against her asshole, and penetrated her. The young man sodomized her, his thrusts surging harder, more insistent. Each stroke was a claim, a violent echo of the chaos on the screen, his hips slamming into Iseul with a force that made the bed frame groan in protest. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, a relentless percussion that drowned out the faint hum of the fan. Iseul’s moans grew louder, more desperate, her body rocking beneath him as she struggled to take the full brunt of his aggression. Her ass clenched tighter around him, the friction a delicious burn that drove him deeper into a haze of need.

Minami’s grin widened, her eyes glinting with wicked delight as she watched Hayao unravel. “Thought you’d like it,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction, her fingers tightening in Iseul’s hair until the strands bit into her scalp. 

She ground down harder, her cunt smothering Iseul’s face, her thighs trembling as she chased her own release with a ruthless intensity. The video looped on, an unyielding assault of Nanako’s ruin—her mouth stretched wide around a cock, drool and cum dripping down her chin; her ass pounded raw, the skin red and swollen; her body quaking as the men used her up, leaving her a trembling, hollow shell. Hayao couldn’t tear his eyes away, the sight fueling his thrusts, each one more brutal than the last, his cock driving into Iseul with a ferocity that bordered on feral.

“Fucking take it,” he snarled, impaling her deeper. 

She cried out something in Korean as her body jolted with each thrust, her dancer’s grace giving way to a raw, primal submission. The muffled cries vibrated against Minami’s clit, sending shockwaves through her, and Minami responded by grinding down even harder, her nails scraping Iseul’s scalp as she rode her face with abandon. Iseul’s tongue worked frantically now, licking and sucking with a desperation that matched the chaos around her, her own pleasure building in tight, coiling waves. The pain of Hayao’s cock stretching her, the ache of Minami’s grip, the taste and scent of their combined arousal—it all blurred into a single, overwhelming sensation that threatened to shatter her.

Hayao’s rhythm faltered, his control slipping as the video’s depravity pushed him closer to the edge. His thrusts grew erratic, his hips snapping forward with a force that shook Iseul’s entire frame. 

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice a rough whisper against the cacophony of sounds filling the room—his groans, Iseul’s whimpers, Minami’s gasps. 

His hands slid down to her thighs, spreading her wider, opening her up completely as he fucked her harder, deeper, the wet heat of her ass gripping him tighter with every stroke.

Minami’s breaths came in short, jagged bursts, her body trembling as she teetered on the brink. “Don’t stop,” she hissed, her voice a sharp command as she rocked against Iseul’s mouth, her clit pulsing under the relentless assault of Iseul’s tongue. Her thighs clamped around Iseul’s head, trapping her in place, her fingers twisting harder in her hair as she chased the climax that loomed just out of reach. Iseul’s hands gripped Minami’s thighs, nails digging into the flesh as she fought to keep up, her own body shuddering under Hayao’s brutal pace. The pressure inside her mounted, a tight, searing heat that spread from her core, her muscles clenching around Hayao’s cock as she hurtled toward release.

The room was a maelstrom of sound and sensation—Hayao’s low, guttural groans as he pounded into Iseul, the wet, rhythmic slap of their bodies colliding; Iseul’s muffled whimpers, her voice lost in Minami’s cunt; Minami’s sharp, piercing cries as she rode the edge of ecstasy. Hayao’s movements grew wild, his hips jerking as he lost himself in the brutal rhythm, the sight of Nanako’s gangbang searing his mind, driving him to claim Iseul with every ounce of strength he had.

With a final, savage thrust, Hayao buried himself deep inside the Korean, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her. His hips bucked with the force of it, a primal groan tearing from his throat, his fingers bruising her hips as he held her in place. The heat of his cum flooded her, a molten wave that pushed her over the edge, her own orgasm crashing through her in violent, shuddering waves. Her ass clenched around him, milking every last drop, her muffled cries vibrating against Minami’s clit as her body shook beneath them.

Minami’s climax hit her like a storm, her body seizing as she came undone. A sharp, keening cry ripped from her lips, her thighs clamping tight around Iseul’s head, her fingers yanking Iseul’s hair as she rode out the waves of pleasure. Her cunt pulsed against Iseul’s tongue, her wetness smearing across her face, her entire frame trembling with the intensity of it. Iseul’s own release echoed theirs, her body quaking as the dual sensations—Hayao’s cock, Minami’s weight—overwhelmed her, leaving her a trembling, gasping mess.

They collapsed together, a tangled heap of sweat-slicked bodies, their breaths ragged and uneven in the stillness that followed. Hayao’s chest heaved, his cock still buried inside Iseul, softening slowly as the haze of lust receded. Minami sprawled beside him, her legs splayed, her body still twitching with aftershocks, her eyes half-closed in a daze of satisfaction. Iseul lay pinned under him, her breath hitching as she struggled to regain herself, her skin flushed and glistening under the neon glow. The video played on, Nanako’s cries a faint, distant echo, a reminder of the dark thread that had woven them together in this moment.

The air settled around them, thick with the musk of sex and the weight of their shared chaos. The fan hummed on, its breeze brushing against their overheated skin, the neon light casting long, jagged shadows across the room. Their bodies remained entwined, a testament to the brutal intimacy that had consumed them, their breaths syncing in the quiet aftermath as the city pulsed beyond the walls.

The End

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