Fifteen and Beyond
My body felt freer with the dildo finally out of me. Even so, I couldn't feel the slightest flicker of joy — not with the ruined future already waiting for me.
The violent pleasure was gone. The dildo that had still been thrashing and twisting even after it slipped free of my body had, at some point, stopped working entirely and was growing cold.
I screamed. The rotors still stuck to me surged with fresh force, and what hit me was an enormous wave of pain mixed with only the barest thread of pleasure. And it hurt. It really, truly hurt — so much that I could barely stand it.
"Un-Unnie. Please, please hurry, please come home...!"
I cried out toward my senior, who might or might not have been listening. I was at my limit. The idea of enduring this through sheer willpower had vanished a long time ago. My body, its mental reserves completely spent, kept fainting and waking in endless cycles; every time I opened my eyes, the only thing that had changed was that more fluid had pooled across the floor. Roughly every other blackout lasted long enough that drool would be running down my chin by the time I came to.
My nipples were swollen bright red. From my clitoris, nothing remained but the pleasure and pain the vibration forced into me — every other sensation had gone dead, as if the nerves themselves had been numbed. When I rolled my ankles this way and that, they cracked with the same cool, satisfying pop you get from cracking your knuckles.
"Hngh...! Nngh...!"
I twisted my hips. Maybe I should just knock everything off. If I rubbed myself against the floor hard enough, it felt like the things would come free any second — at least the one stuck to my clitoris.
I looked at the pet camera. Its blank, emotionless lens stared back at me. For an instant my vision flipped completely black, then returned.
"Ugh... ah?"
And then my sight went black altogether. I wondered what had happened, fretted that I might have gone blind — and then the world in front of me started to reappear. The only thing that had changed was the lingering after-trace of climax still clinging to my body, so I could only guess: Ah. I came and blacked out.
Afraid that extra punishment would be piled on top of what I was already receiving, I forced a meow out of my mouth. My voice cracked.
"Pfft."
A voice came through the pet camera. My throat was dry.
"U-Unnieh..."
"Mm-hm, I'm on my way home right now~."
"H-Hurry...!"
I couldn't hide the joy in my voice at the news that my senior was coming back. The moment I thought she would be here soon, the pain somehow only felt sharper — and I finally understood what people meant when they said the hardest moment to hold in a desperate bathroom emergency was right at your own front door.
"Hmm, should I walk? Hm?"
"N-Nooo...! Hngh...!"
"Oh my, did you come?"
I could see my senior's expression on the otherwise blank pet camera. I lifted my trembling chin and managed to look into the lens as I answered.
"Yes. Yeees. Me-meooow..."
"Aha, good girl. Just wait a little longer. I'll be there soon."
"Y-Yes. Yes...!"
The moment I answered, the low static that had been humming continuously from the pet camera cut off with a sharp click. I didn't know whether it was still watching me, but even that alone made it feel as if my senior had vanished somewhere far away.
"Hngh, hnnngh...!"
I had no idea how many times I had come. I wondered how on earth my senior would be able to tell, then decided that if it was her, she would figure it out somehow, and I turned that thought over in a head pickled in natural narcotics.
The last number I clearly remembered was fifteen. After that, the knife-stabbing pain barely even qualified as climax anymore, and yet I still remembered meowing through it. Then I would black out, wake up, fail to last even five minutes, and black out again — so how many times had I actually gone?
"Ah, ugh, me...ow...!"
I thrashed my hips however they wanted. My feet pounded the floor in frantic little stamps. I hadn't meant to do it, and yet the floor took the beating anyway; my whole body was shaking that hard.
I would rather have fainted. I wanted to go to that dark, quiet place so badly that I squeezed my eyes shut. The vibration never stopped.
The second I opened the door, a scream hit me. The moment I stepped into the room, Heeyeon looked up at me with those pitiful eyes — but the expression she wore while doing it was so beautifully done that I didn't touch her at all. I just stood there and watched her for a long time. Was it really that hard, left with nothing but the rotors after the dildo was gone?
The screams turned back into moans, then into screams again. Not the kind of screams you hear in porn — real ones, torn out of a throat being shredded raw. And then, without warning, all the strength would drain from her body; her head would drop, and she would sob in little hitching gasps.
Was it really that rough? Thinking that I should try consecutive masturbation sessions myself sometime, I walked over to her. The moment I picked up the dildo that had been thrashing on the floor and was now dead and drained of battery, Heeyeon's screaming cut off mid-note.
"...? Ah. Ahaha, no. I'm not going to."
I said it lightly, set the dildo on the side table, and scooped Heeyeon up still bound exactly as she was — and the screaming started all over again.
"So you can hold the screams in, huh?"
It was pure curiosity, nothing more, and still her body jerked hard enough to see. Ah. Adorable.
I laid her on the bed and stroked her hair, and only then did the violent trembling begin to settle. At last I undid the restraints and peeled the rotors off.
The second the rotors came free, her eyes rolled back and her whole body shuddered — and I was genuinely sorry I hadn't filmed it. Thinking back, I remembered using tape with a pretty vicious adhesive. When I held a finger under her nose, hot air was still moving in and out, so I relaxed and ordered chicken. I had no idea what kind Heeyeon liked, so I went with the safest option: plain fried.
I was sure the receipts I'd seen in the trash had shown different flavors ordered at different times.
She would probably eat anything happily enough. I debated whether to add beer, then threw in a thousand cc of draft beer with the order.
Judging by the volume of trash bags that only appeared when she drank at least once every two days, she had to be craving a drink around now. And the thought that cutting her completely free all at once would help with the stress relief didn't hurt either.
Once the order was in, I put my phone away and switched off the pet camera. Back on the bed, I lay down beside Heeyeon and lightly patted the area around her chest with my palm — her breathing rising and falling a little more roughly than usual. Since she was resting anyway, I wanted her to rest even a little more comfortably.
I was spending the time healing in my own quiet way when my phone alarm went off. Checking it, I found the notification that delivery had started, so I tried to wake Heeyeon. Gentle shaking got me nowhere near consciousness, so I gave her cheek a firmer slap; she made a little kkiing sound like a puppy, and I snorted a laugh.
"Ahaha, you awake?"
Her unfocused eyes wobbled, then finally gathered on me, and she nodded as if answering. I pinched the cheek I'd just struck between thumb and forefinger and stretched it out. Tear tracks and drool marks still clung around both her eyes and her mouth, leaving her looking thoroughly messy. Cute, yes — but hygiene was a real concern, so I told her to wait a moment and left the room.
While I waited for the delivery that would arrive any second, I found wet wipes and brought the chicken in. This place checked for disposables, so they'd even included plastic cups. Nice.
In that short span I soothed the sniffling Heeyeon who'd pulled the blanket over herself, sat her up properly, unfolded the tray table attached to the bed, and set the chicken on top of it.
"I ordered fried. That okay?"
"Nngh, yes. I-It's good."
Her dazed eyes, her small nostrils twitching faintly, locked onto the chicken.
"Before that — let's clean your face first."
I tore open a fresh pack of wet wipes, pulled out a couple of sheets, and carefully wiped her face. Her cheeks and lips shifted under the cloth as it passed; they were soft and yielding in a way that barely seemed possible for the same species, the same person.
"U-Unnie...?"
"Hm? Ah, sorry. Heh. Give me your hands."
The frightened look she gave me as she spoke shoved all the many positions that had been crowding my head off to one side. I picked up one of the cuffs still scattered from how hastily I'd freed her earlier and clicked them neatly around her wrists in front of her. Binding her that way clearly made Heeyeon a little more comfortable, which was a relief.
"You had a hard day, so I'll cuff you in front. Heeyeon, want some beer?"
When I cracked the beer open, white cold vapor rolled down the mouth of the bottle. Heeyeon dipped her head for a moment, then lifted only her eyes to look at me and answered in a small voice — yes — so I carefully poured, feeling the weight of a full thousand cc as I filled her cup.
Her fidgeting hands gradually climbed onto the table, lifted a drumstick, and, watching my face for permission, took a tiny careful bite. She must have been hungrier than I thought.
I stayed still, half-expecting her to flinch at anything I did. Heeyeon chewed half-heartedly, watched me do absolutely nothing until she finally swallowed, and only then took a much bigger bite of the drumstick than before.
"Eat well, Heeyeon."
"Y-Yes..."
The way she lifted her head to answer with food still in her mouth was so cute that a smile rose on its own. So this was what people meant when they said you could feel full without eating. I grunted softly and poured beer into my own cup as well.
"Want to cheers?"
"Y-Yes. Th-That sounds good...!"
Heeyeon raised her cup. When the plastic rims clacked together, she made a face that looked strangely close to tears, and I wondered if I'd failed to manage my expression again — so I laughed, ahaha, and told her to just eat comfortably.
Heeyeon drank beer and ate chicken with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Every time she chewed, her jaw trembled in a way almost too small to see.
As she was lifting her third drumstick — I'd specifically ordered a chicken that was all drumsticks — something suddenly occurred to me. I took a long pull of beer, let out a satisfied kheu, and opened my mouth.
"Come to think of it, I never asked. How many times did you come today?"
"...Ugh. Ah, th-that, I—"
As expected, she didn't remember. Counting while you were in the middle of it was definitely a hassle, so I'd figured it wouldn't be easy — but someday I wanted to open the door and find Heeyeon greeting me with slick running down her thighs, announcing the number of times she'd climaxed, so I just kept my mouth shut and waited.
"Ah, uh."
Heeyeon dropped her piece of chicken with a soft tap. Come to think of it, the blanket would need washing too. Lying naked all day meant laundry more often than average, that much was obvious. The thought of hauling that blanket to the cleaners pulled a long sigh out of me.
"Hngh, kh— hngh... I-I'm, s-sorry... I, I r-remember up to f-fifteen... a-after that, hhk. After that—"
"Whoa, no. Don't cry! Why are you crying? It's okay."
Tears were already sliding down her cheeks again, making the face-wiping completely pointless. Startled, I got up, moved to her side, wrapped an arm around her as if matching shoulders, and gently patted whatever part of her I could reach without caring where my hand landed.
"H-Hhk...! Hwaaang...! Hwaaaang...! I-I'm sorry, I'm soorry...!"
Heeyeon scrubbed wildly at her cheeks with her cuffed hands.
"Mm, don't cry. There. Easy now."
Heeyeon cried easily enough, but she didn't usually have this many tears. I glanced at the beer bottle and found it already half empty — ah, so she'd been thirstier than I thought. Well, she had spent the whole day pouring out that filthy slick so obscenely... no. Pouring out her fluids.
It couldn't be helped. Media almost never bothered to worry about dehydration during sex. I added a line to the mental health checklist I kept for Heeyeon and made a quiet note of self-reproach.
She liked drinking, but that was separate from being able to hold her liquor; she was probably just tipsy enough for every feeling to spill straight out. So I kept patting, waiting until the shoulders shaking with tears finally quieted. A little grease clung to the corner of her small mouth. Her nipples were still swollen red.
"I know. I know. There, there. Unnie has to look after you when you're crying like this. I'll let the dildo falling out slide for today."
"H-Hngh. Kh."
Her shoulders still hitched now and then; every so often she made a little keung sound as she sniffed.
"And for not being able to count the number, I'll only give you a light punishment. Last time you got twelve on the ass, right? This time I'll only hit you five times. So finish your chicken. Okay?"
And only after I said that did the tears finally stop.
"Thank you. Thank you..."
Heeyeon said it small but clear. The relief on her face was so obvious I wondered if I was spoiling her, but I decided to let it go just this once. Because she was cute.
Why do fat dogs and badly behaved pets exist in the first place? Because their owners always end up giving in to the cute behavior.
I stroked her back once, returned to my seat, and asked, "Ah, by the way — you not eating the sauce? Or the pickled radish? We've got some." Heeyeon shook her head no, saying she was fine.
I said okay, then picked up a drumstick of my own and took a bite. Heeyeon picked up the piece she'd dropped and put it back in her mouth.