#03_Somnophilia (2)
It felt as if a dreamy melody was drifting through the air—a sharp duet of viola and cello, majestic yet piercing, weighty yet sprightly. The cocaine inhaled through his nostrils had breached the blood-brain barrier, sharpening every sensory nerve to a razor's edge. Yuchan's cock, which should have been dulled far more by the alcohol, now savored every delicate fold inside Nayae as if licking them one by one.
"Haa... haa..."
Nayae's breaths grew ragged as she lay motionless like a love doll, accepting Yuchan's shaft. In the deep sleep forced by the drugs, a woman's body wouldn't react easily no matter what was done to it—but hers seemed exceptionally sensitive within. Her mouth half-open, she exhaled hot breaths with every thrust, as if in retaliation. With one side of her bra pushed aside, her milky breast jutted out, jiggling enticingly. Her hands lay scattered by the pillow, her legs splayed wide like a frog's twitching in its death throes. From above her waist, clad only haphazardly in her top, she looked utterly indecent—something no one else could ever see.
"Hoo..."
Nayae's insides convulsed without warning, as if her pleasure centers were malfunctioning, rippling intermittently into weak climaxes. Each time, her furrowed brow and flushed face, heated by intoxication, were irresistibly alluring. Her body lay defenseless and disheveled, a far cry from the prim demeanor she showed at the academy. Her dainty face—small-headed, always slipping out of her glasses—was thoroughly soiled by the saliva Yuchan had playfully spat a few times. Strangely, this gap from her usual self ignited his conquering lust.
Squelch! Squelch!
Convinced she would never wake, Yuchan intensified his hip movements. Like bayonet drills, he plunged into her tender pussy with precise rhythm. The bed—assembled by his own hands—creaked and shook. As expected, Nayae made an excellent masturbation toy. Each time his pubic bone slapped her quivering thighs, the perfect cushion of flesh and muscle aided his pistoning. The wet smacks of skin on skin rang out crisply. The stubble regrowing after her shave stung a bit where their groins met, but in terms of texture, she ranked at the top among the women he'd embraced. Still, her relaxed state meant weak vaginal pressure. He considered choking her neck but dismissed it—too tight in his excitement, and bruises might show. His rigorously trained male physique could snap a swimmer girl's neck like a twig.
Better to change position.
"Mmng..."
Pulling out, a mix of opaque fluids—stirred by his cock—trickled from her labial slit. The sight of her inner mucosa clinging slightly, drawn by her honeyed juices coating his shaft, was profoundly erotic. He lifted her legs, forcing them upward, then spread them into an M-shape, angling her thighs for easier entry. Unconscious bodies always bent so pliantly—it was something he always noticed. This position would compensate for the loose grip by letting her G-spot rub against his glans, making it far more pleasurable. Her little chrysanthemum twitched at the sudden chill of air seeping into her front hole. Not now, but someday I'll claim that too, he thought, thrusting back in.
"Haat..."
The response was slightly better than before, but still lacking. Without hearing a woman wail sweetly, the thrill fell flat. Resigned, Yuchan stopped recording and propped his smartphone against her protruding breast. It might wobble a bit, but those ample mounds made a fine stand. He adjusted the volume and played her porn tape—the work of her ex-boyfriend that had drawn him here.
In the video, Nayae took Kim Hyunwoo's cock doggy-style. Surprising that the model student played like that in bed. No jealousy stirred—Yuchan didn't cherish her enough for that. She was just a pretty student with a body worth devouring. Without earphones, her vivid moans filled the silent room. At first, her clinging to another man irked him, but now it was a blessing. A intact hymen would have ruined this delightful somnophilia; the initial rupture pain lingered for days, and she'd have noticed.
What if she woke now? Would she cry out louder and sweeter than in the video? It might make for entertaining diversion. Even if she did, Yuchan wasn't worried. He had plenty of blackmail material already—and worst case, he'd dispose of her. Pity to lose fresh meat, but no choice.
Using her swaying, exquisite body and the on-screen version as jerk-off fuel, he pounded for another thirty minutes. Finally, Nayae's body began responding.
"Ha... mm..."
He hammered her G-spot—the core of pleasure nerves—with perfect angle and pace. Even unconscious, thirty minutes of that would stir bliss unwittingly. Unable to resist or comprehend, her instincts made her legs flail as he gripped her thighs like a vice, pistoning relentlessly. What escaped were faint, sleep-mumbled moans. Glancing down, her clitoris—usually hooded—stood erect, half-exposed. Like saliva flowing from lemon-stimulated glands in sleep. With his wealth of experience, Yuchan knew she neared climax. He rubbed her clit slowly with one hand, mashing the plump, tender bud between thumb and finger.
Her hips bucked wildly—previously near-unresponsive even in weak orgasms. Overstimulated nerves under assault, her body writhed instinctively. Yuchan kept thrusting leisurely, activating the phone camera propped on her breast. This should make for fun footage.
"Haaat..."
Like a frog in an electric experiment, her body jolted as he pulled out. Feeling her climax mucosa with his cock was a shame to miss, but that could wait. Instead, he grated her near-climactic bud skin and all with his thumb.
"Haat... aaht... ❤️"
Nayae shuddered violently, her lewdly gaping mouth twitching. Her stretched pussy clenched inward, convulsing like a gluttonous alien craving semen. Yuchan rubbed his pre-ejaculate-slick shaft on her smooth abdomen, groping her breast—the warm, gel-filled balloon yielding under rough handling, distorting its pretty shape.
"Huu..."
With ecstatic release tingling to his tailbone, semen erupted onto her belly in waves. After final twitches emptied him, Yuchan admired his work: whiter globs tracing lines and dots over her pale skin, pooling in her navel like a reservoir. He wanted to stuff her mouth or seed her womb, but cleanup would be impossible. Facial shots risked hair tangles—semen stuck notoriously to follicles. Wiping his slick cock on her now-lubricated skin twice, he straightened up and flash-photographed the scene.
2. About an hour left. Much to do, so Yuchan hurried. He carefully wiped her pussy—labia minora included—of fluids and precum. Dampening a towel with lukewarm water, he soaped and cleaned her abdomen thoroughly. Semen, protein-rich and mildly alkaline, could leave stickiness if rinsed plainly. He readjusted her bra, pulled down her knit top, and raised the hood. Panties and leggings went on in one go. Playfully, just before finishing her bottoms, he flicked her clit like snapping a nose. She jerked with a "Hik!" hiccup. Amused, he snapped it a couple more times; she whined like a sick pup, honey leaking from her slit. No towel handy, he dabbed the sheets with wet wipes.
"You like your clit getting smacked, huh?"
Incongruous with her usual image. Fully dressed, Yuchan meticulously checked for stray hairs on bed or floor before unpacking his sports bag. This prep work was essential for future enjoyment. A tiny spy cam, easily bought online nowadays—smaller than a finger even with storage. Tech was marvelous; spy movie gadgets at your doorstep. He unplugged and disassembled the stand mood lamp he'd eyed: bulb, pole, shade. The hollow aluminum pole (wood-look) was perfect. He aligned the camera lens with an adjustment groove for outward view, taping the battery inside discreetly. Reassembled, even he couldn't spot it. Fully charged, it recorded 500 continuous minutes, app-controlled—good for days. Her proximity was fortunate; a 15-minute walk, early riser routine meant bedtime before midnight. Once asleep, he'd sneak in like a burglar and ravish her. A devoted mentor working overtime deserved such "hospitality." Chuckling inwardly at his joke, Yuchan packed up and stood.
"Oops, can't leave it like that."
Her oversized gold-rimmed glasses—big on her small face—caught his eye. To preserve her image while violating her, he'd left hair and glasses untouched. They were her trademark, always slipping like borrowed dad specs. In haste, he'd overlooked the saliva-soiled face and lenses. All that perfection nearly undone by a trifle. Even if she woke now, with her built-up reverence, she might just think, "Did I drool too much last night?" Yuchan cleaned her face and glasses, set them on the nightstand, and slipped quietly from Nayae's apartment.