Joon-ho slipped out of the pounding lights and heat of the dance floor, weaving through a crush of bodies, the air sticky with sweat and perfume and spilled drinks. Laughter and bass faded behind him as he ducked through the thick velvet curtain to the quieter shadows of the VIP room. For a moment, he just stood there, exhaling—feeling the weight of the party, the thrill of being surrounded by beauty and chaos, but also the ache of needing to catch his breath.

He grabbed another drink from the low table, poured a splash of whiskey over ice, and let the glass rest heavy and cold in his palm. Leaning back on the leather banquette, he reached into his jacket, fished out a slim black pack, and lit a cigarette with the slow ritual of someone who smoked only for pleasure, not habit. The first drag burned sweet, the taste earthy, sharp; he watched the smoke curl toward the mirrored ceiling as he settled in, letting the thrum of music seep into his bones at a safer distance.

The curtain rippled again, and Mirae slipped inside, cheeks glowing, hair wild, a sheen of sweat making her collarbones gleam beneath the soft club lights. Her dress was half-twisted, riding up her thighs, and her eyes sparkled with mischief and something more. She slid into the booth beside him, close enough to feel her warmth. Without asking, she lifted his glass, sipped, and made a face at the whiskey's bite.

"God, that's strong." Her voice was low, still breathless from the dance floor. "You smoke now?"

Joon-ho let the cigarette rest between his fingers, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. "Only on nights like this. Helps me slow down."

She wrinkled her nose but didn't move away. "If you're trying to look cool, it's working." Then, as if noticing herself, she giggled, a little embarrassed, a little too tipsy to care. She took another, braver sip, and set the glass back down. "Tonight's insane. I still can't believe I'm actually here. I always thought clubs like this were just for other people. You know… people who get to have fun."

Joon-ho stubbed out the cigarette, already regretting the sharp edge it put in the air. "You get to have fun too, Mirae. Especially now."

She shifted closer, knees touching his thigh, eyes on his mouth. "Can I tell you something? I feel different tonight. Like I can breathe. Like maybe I could do anything."

"You can." He reached up, brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, let his palm linger on her cheek.

Mirae smiled, shy and bold at once. "I want to be a little bad tonight. Is that okay?"

He laughed softly. "I was hoping you would be."

She slid into his lap in a single, slow movement, her thighs astride his hips, arms looped around his neck. Their faces were so close now—her breath sweet, her eyes wide and hungry. She kissed him, lips soft at first, then hungrier as his hands found her waist, then her ass, pulling her tighter to him.

The world outside the booth shrank to nothing. She ground down against him, moaning softly as her panties rubbed the hard length in his pants. His hands slid up her sides, pushing her dress straps down over her shoulders, the fabric slipping and pooling at her elbows. He cupped her breasts, thumb brushing the lace of her bra, then slid under, finding the warm, taut skin beneath. Her nipples were already hard—he pinched one, making her gasp, then dipped his head and sucked it into his mouth.

Mirae's hands tangled in his hair as she arched her back, lost in sensation. "Fuck, Joon-ho—" she breathed, almost forgetting where they were.

His mouth moved from nipple to collarbone, his tongue leaving a trail of wet heat, his teeth grazing her skin. She rocked against him, shivering, so wet her panties were nearly translucent. His hand found her ass, kneading, guiding her hips as she rode his thigh, her breathing ragged.

They didn't notice, at first, that they were no longer alone.

Yumi slipped into the VIP room, drawn by the muffled sounds of pleasure and the missing faces at the booth. She hesitated in the doorway, eyes going wide as she took in the scene—Mirae astride Joon-ho, her dress undone, his mouth locked on her breast. For a split second, she considered leaving, but then she saw the flush on Mirae's face, the way Joon-ho's hands gripped her hips, and Yumi felt a hungry ache low in her belly.

She crossed to the far corner of the sofa, sitting as quietly as she could, not wanting to break the spell. Her hand slipped up under her skirt, the thrill of voyeurism making her wet. She pressed her legs together, feeling her clit throb, her other hand creeping to her chest. She slid her top down, exposing a delicate bra, fingertips pinching her own nipples, eyes glued to the couple.

Joon-ho glanced up, finally noticing her, but didn't stop. Instead, he kissed his way up Mirae's throat, whispering something that made her whimper and rock harder. He met Yumi's gaze, and the corner of his mouth curled in a wicked, inviting smile.

Mirae, flushed and reckless, lost any remaining grip on inhibition. She moved with a purpose that was half-drunken abandon, half raw hunger. Each roll of her hips ground her slick, needy pussy against the rigid heat in Joon-ho's pants, soaking the fabric, a wet, shameless stain blooming at the crotch. She hiked her dress higher, not caring who might walk in, craving not just touch but to be looked at, to be wanted by more than one set of eyes.

Her gaze locked on Yumi—who hadn't moved, whose cheeks were flushed pink and whose lips parted as her breath caught. In that moment, there was no embarrassment, only a wild, wordless dare. Mirae's thighs spread wider, the cool air kissing the mess at the juncture of her legs, and she rocked harder, riding the thick outline of Joon-ho's cock. Her panties were a soaked scrap, clinging to her folds.

Joon-ho's hand slid down, knuckles trailing the bare flesh of her inner thigh. He didn't rush. He let her squirm, soaking up the sight of Mirae—head thrown back, hair falling wild, nipples pebbled under the rumpled bra. With deliberate slowness, he hooked his finger under the damp lace, peeling it aside, exposing her glistening cunt to both his hand and Yumi's hungry gaze.

He slipped two fingers in, feeling her flutter and squeeze around him, his palm pressing up to grind his thumb against her clit. Mirae's whole body shuddered, a gasp catching in her throat before his mouth swallowed the sound. Her hips jerked, desperate for friction, for more. Each slow thrust of his fingers made her whimper into his mouth, their kiss wet and open, tongues tangling, breath hot and frantic.

Every movement was amplified—the squelch of fingers moving inside her, the hitch of Mirae's breath, the low, guttural encouragements Joon-ho murmured against her lips. She clung to his shoulders, rutting down onto his hand, chasing the edge, knowing Yumi was watching and loving every humiliating second.

On the far side of the booth, Yumi was trembling, unable to look away. Her skirt was rucked up, panties shoved aside as her fingers worked her clit in tight, desperate circles. She pinched one nipple with her free hand, tugging, rolling it hard until she gasped. Her thighs shook with tension, eyes glazed, hungry, jealous and envious and burning for her own turn.

The tiny room was thick with sex—sweat, perfume, alcohol, and the sweet-musk tang of Mirae's arousal. Yumi's breath became a soundtrack, rising and falling with Mirae's moans, echoing the urgency between Joon-ho's fingers and Mirae's grinding hips.

Mirae's head dropped back, breaking the kiss, lips slick and swollen. She glanced at Yumi again, meeting her stare, voice low and ragged: "Are you going to just watch?" Her tone was half-taunt, half-plea. "Or do you want to see me cum for him?"

Yumi swallowed, her voice a breathy whisper. "I want to see. I want to… help."

Joon-ho's eyes flickered between the two, his grin wicked, hands moving harder, faster, until Mirae's thighs trembled, the obscene slick sounds filling the room. "Let her watch. Let her see everything," he growled into Mirae's ear, then bit down, leaving a dark mark blooming along her jaw.

Mirae's answer was another shameless moan, her whole body quivering, lost between pain and pleasure and the thrill of an audience. The only thing that mattered now was the build—faster, harder, more—and the wild, hot promise that the best part of the night was only just beginning.

Joon-ho beckoned her with a crook of his finger. "Come here, Yumi."

She hesitated only a moment, then crawled over, cheeks flushed, breasts spilling from her top. Mirae, barely coherent, pulled Yumi close, kissing her with sudden, wild hunger. Their tongues tangled, the taste of whiskey, sweat, and arousal mixing between them.

Joon-ho's free hand found Yumi's thigh, caressing upward until his fingers pressed into her soaked panties. She gasped, shivering at his touch. Both girls writhed against him, bodies tangled and hungry, lost to everything but pleasure.

Joon-ho's hand moved from Mirae's quivering body to Yumi's parted thighs, fingers wet from Mirae's heat now slipping between Yumi's folds. She gasped, arching into his touch as he slid two fingers inside her, thumb pressing tight circles over her clit. Yumi's hips rocked against his palm, needy, clutching the back of the sofa for support as pleasure tore a trembling moan from her lips.

Mirae, emboldened and insatiable, shifted her attention. Her hand slid over the rigid outline of Joon-ho's cock straining against his pants, fingers unsteady with urgency and anticipation. She fumbled with the zipper, finally freeing him—his length flushed, veined, and glistening with pre-cum. She wrapped her fist around him, slow, languid pumps smearing that sticky fluid along his shaft, making him shudder and swell in her grip.

Yumi's eyes flickered down, hunger and curiosity blazing. She slid off the seat, knees hitting the plush carpet, hair falling wild across her bare shoulders. Mirae guided the thick head to Yumi's lips, watching as Yumi pressed a delicate kiss to the tip, tongue swirling, collecting the taste. Yumi's lips parted, breath ghosting over sensitive skin, then she took him in—slow, deliberate, her eyes never leaving his face.

Mirae stroked what Yumi's mouth couldn't reach, encouraging her, whispering filthy encouragements in her ear. Yumi moaned softly around him, the vibration making Joon-ho jerk, every nerve alight. After a few moments, Mirae leaned in, tongue lapping along the underside of his cock, then pressing a kiss to Yumi's lips—slick with spit and pre-cum—before taking him into her own mouth.

It became a feverish, filthy dance. Yumi sucked the tip, tongue tracing the slit, then bobbed lower, cheeks hollowing as she took him deeper, wet sounds filling the room. Mirae licked and kissed up the shaft, sometimes flicking her tongue against Yumi's, sometimes sucking Joon-ho's balls, sometimes kissing Yumi with a mouthful of his taste. Hands tangled everywhere—stroking each other's thighs, squeezing breasts, digging into Joon-ho's hips to hold him still as they devoured him.

Joon-ho's hand was buried in their hair, guiding, gripping, sometimes pulling just enough to make them gasp. Mirae took him as deep as she could, her nose pressed to his skin, choking and gagging around his cock but not letting up. Tears streaked her cheeks, spit and precum smeared across her lips and chin. She pulled back, gasping for breath, and Yumi kissed her, their tongues sharing the mess before Yumi dove back down, swallowing nearly the whole length.

They fell into rhythm—one mouth on his cock, the other licking, kissing, caressing wherever she could reach. Sometimes their tongues met, hot and wet over his shaft, sometimes their eyes locked, both moaning, desperate, lost in a storm of need.

Joon-ho's hips began to buck, his cock pulsing with warning. Mirae and Yumi felt it, felt his balls tighten, the way his breath turned ragged and his grip in their hair tightened to near-pain. They redoubled their efforts, sucking harder, messier, hands and mouths working in perfect, greedy tandem.

With a guttural groan, he erupted—spurts of hot cum flooding Yumi's mouth, then Mirae's as they passed him back and forth, swallowing every drop, moaning at the taste and the obscene joy of sharing it. They cleaned him together, tongues lapping up the last traces, eyes glazed with pleasure and triumph.

When he finally collapsed back, gasping, both girls crawled up to kiss each other—mouths salty and slick, smiles dirty and delirious. They shared the taste, tongues tangling, laughter bubbling as they snuggled against Joon-ho's chest, hair tangled, bodies spent, the world outside the VIP booth forgotten.

The three collapsed in a messy pile on the sofa, breathless, sweat-slick, clothes half-off. Mirae snuggled against his chest, her dress rumpled, hair wild. Yumi tucked herself against his side, giggling as she fixed her top, eyes sparkling with mischief.

They lay together in a haze of afterglow, the sounds of the club just beyond the curtain—a reminder that outside, life kept roaring on, but here, for a few precious moments, they were untouchable, electric, alive. Mirae traced circles on his stomach, Yumi's hand curled in his, and for a while, none of them spoke—just the soft rhythm of breathing, the steady thump of bass, the knowledge that this night, at least, belonged to them.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.