The Masquerade Wedding
Grand Ballroom of Seoul's Finest Luxury Hotel. The chandelier lights dazzled blindingly bright, and the venue brimmed with the fragrance of thousands of lilies. Camera shutters clicked incessantly from every direction. Hundreds of reporters were documenting what was being called the most mysterious wedding in Korean history.
The emcee announced: "And now, the groom makes his entrance! Blessed by the entire nation, the genius composer who captured the heart of our era's muse, Miss Lee Seol, at first sight—the entrance of Na Kanghan!"
A majestic wedding march echoed through the hall. But the sight of the man standing on the virgin road sent an unavoidable murmur rippling through the guests.
My name is Na Kanghan. The tuxedo was top-of-the-line, but it somehow didn't suit me. Dark circles under my eyes, like I hadn't slept for days. My expression was darkly rigid, hardly fitting for Korea's greatest stroke of luck. I was a man who didn't belong in the nation's most glamorous wedding hall—like a puzzle piece jammed in the wrong spot.
Whispers rose from the crowd here and there.
"Oh my god, is that really him? Lee Seol must be crazy. He's a composer? Looks like an unemployed guy who just crammed for the bar exam."
"Right? No money, no family background... Why would Lee Seol marry a guy who isn't even in her league..."
I walked forward, facing the jeering stares head-on. My toes stiffened inside my shoes. In truth, my mind was blank. The overwhelming splendor felt like a dream.
People ask why it had to be me.
A worthless loser with no money, no background, not even honor left. Dragged into an unjust lawsuit, I blew through my father's retirement savings—a failure not even worthy of the title composer... How could someone like me marry Korea's most beloved singer and actress, Lee Seol?
I trudged mechanically, lost in thought, barely completing the groom's entrance. That's when the venue doors opened, and Lee Seol made her entrance. In her pure white silk dress, she shone like an angel descended from heaven. She stood beside me, gently linking her arm with mine. To the public, she appeared the picture of a woman deeply in love.
Lee Seol, soon to be my wife, leaned close to my ear and whispered softly, "Darling, smile. The whole nation is watching."
Her voice was meltingly sweet—the pure, innocent tone of the muse the public knew. But every time she spoke, it wasn't just her fragrant scent that brushed my nose. My brow twitched faintly. Mingled in her sweet breath was the thick, unmistakable fishy stench of semen she couldn't hide.
No one could dare imagine what had happened in the waiting room just moments ago. The remnants of countless men who had slid down her smooth throat. Even after swallowing again and again, the blatant traces lingered in her mouth, right before our sacred vows.
The world has no clue.
I glanced sideways at Lee Seol's slender waistline. Beneath the pure white dress, her pussy and ass were likely swollen to bursting with the semen poured into her by the Pantheon's "masters." Specially made plugs sealed her entrances, preventing leaks, but with every step, I could almost hear the squelching friction of fluids inside the dress.
Her slim fingers, linked with mine, trembled faintly. It wasn't tension. It was the convulsions of her conditioned body, forcibly aroused by the pressure of the deep-seated plugs and the teasing stimulation on her nerves.
I pulled her waist close in a tight embrace. Outwardly, the happiest groom in the world—but inwardly, I shuddered imagining the other men's seeds sloshing in her belly. The chastity device locked around me prevented any erection, so there was no worry. But my mind reeled.
I hadn't realized it. That seeing her like this aroused me... That I had such a cursed netorare masochist taste.
Forcing a smile in this absurd situation, I thought: People praise this farce as the romance of the century. But I know. Beneath the pure white dress, every hole in this angelically smiling woman is filled with others' desires. I'm not Lee Seol's husband. I'm just the "legal shield" set up by the powerful to let them ravage her freely. She's not the era's muse. She's... Pantheon's most expensive sex slave. And now, a thorough breeding sow destined for the pregnancy birth show.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. And I'm the cowardly voyeur who shook hands with the devil for my own success.
Awkward under the camera flashes, the ceremony proceeded. As I recited the soulless vows, I saw my parents beaming innocently, oblivious to it all. My chest tightened with emotion, and my mind flashed back to the desperate events of just days ago.
The only son of a modest family, I'd clawed my way up on sheer spite. Hundreds of demo tapes made while surviving on convenience store triangle kimbap. When I finally landed a junior composer spot at Korea's largest agency, Erebos Entertainment, my father bought whiskey for the first time instead of soju.
But inside the glittering glass walls of a major agency was a slaughterhouse.
"Kanghan, this track... We're using it as the title for the new idol debut. But the copyright will only list the senior producer's name. You know how it is for rookies. You'll get your shot later."
Exploitation delivered as if it were natural. I bit my lip and endured. But the more I endured, the crueler they got. The music industry, supposedly merit-based, was anything but.
My soul poured into masterpieces, credited to a rookie composer—who turned out to be the CEO's nephew. After three years of building rage, I exploded.
"This is my song. At least put my name on it!"
That tiny rebellion was my downfall. The agency sicced a massive law firm on me, painting me as a "serial plagiarist."
"Evidence? You stole from our servers and claimed it as yours, right?"
I wasn't naive about industry ways. But I couldn't bear my talent becoming someone else's medal anymore. The result was devastating. After three years of grueling lawsuits, I was left with hundreds of millions in damages and settlements. Never properly paid, I drowned in debt.
Talent became a crime for the powerless; effort turned to debt. In a dead-end alley, downing soju in my Sinchon basement amid the rain, lamenting the world—then my door burst open. Black-suited men, looking like gangsters, stormed in.
My memory blacked out.
When I came to, my eyes met an unfamiliar chandelier. My mouth tasted of bloody iron, my body ached like I'd been beaten. A lavish penthouse-like space, fragrant—but laced with a mysterious, lewd aroma from somewhere.
"Awake? Mr. Na Kanghan."
Her heavenly voice made me gasp. There sat Korea's most noble icon, Lee Seol—like a goddess stepped from a masterpiece, elegantly reclining on the sofa. Her white shoulder peeked from a sheer silk dress; her indifferent eyes fixed on me.
Is this heaven? Am I before the judgment seat...?
In my unknown composer days, I'd composed with her as my muse—a beacon of hope. Someday, I'd write for her, hear my soul's song from her divine lips. That dream sustained me through the exploitation and humiliation. Same agency singer and composer, but as a rookie nobody, I could only admire from afar.
"L-Lee Seol? Why are you here...?"
Answering was the Park Manager beside her. Bear-like build, menacing face, he boomed with presence: "Congrats, Na Kanghan. You hit the jackpot. Marry Korea's top beauty, Lee Seol. We've paved the way."
"Marry? Me and... Lee Seol? What kind of crazy talk is this?"
I let out a hollow laugh. I was a debt-ridden loser; she was an icon. Parallel lines with zero overlap.
The Park Manager exhaled cigar smoke, laughing heartily. It echoed through the penthouse like a noose tightening around me.
"Na Kanghan? Saw your lawsuit papers—pathetic. Can't let talent like yours rot unjustly."
His smile was grandfatherly, but his eyes gleamed like a predator's.
I swallowed dryly. His presence crushed the air. Not just strength or power—it was the primal fear of prey before a dominator. My shoulders hunched instinctively; my gaze dropped. Heart racing, chills down my neck.
"Simple terms. We'll clear all those lawsuits that ruined you. Your stolen songs go back under your name—your debut as composer. From now on, your tracks, your name, the singers you choose."
Stunned by the inexplicable offer, I couldn't speak. My mind blanked. Kidnap me, then offer help???
He grinned, reading my thoughts: "In exchange... marry Lee Seol here. Make it a national spectacle. You'll be her 'public husband.'"
"Public... husband? What does that—?"
"Literal. Time to breed this breeding sow, get her knocked up. The big shots say she's rolled too much, no fun left—time for her final impregnation breeding show. But no baby daddy? Problem. Need a shield like you."
"Breeding...? What the hell are you—"
I couldn't process it. Aghast at his rudeness, I looked to Lee Seol, expecting her to slap him. But her haughty gaze held no anger at the insult. Just a faint blush of humiliated shame.
Then the Park Manager smirked viciously, yanking her lush hair roughly.
"Ah...!"
Her head snapped back. Her proud eyes glazed instantly, swept in subtle heat. Rather than pain, she yielded to the familiar touch, shoulders quivering finely.
"Hey, greet him properly. Your future husband. Show him your state, you bitch."
Her face flushed crimson. She bit her lip in shame. But thoroughly conditioned body and soul, she didn't dream of defying her master. With dazed eyes blooming in masochistic ecstasy, she stared at me.
"Ah... Hello... Husband... sir..."
Her voice trembled with excited gasps—a beast craving mating, not the top star's elegance.
"Show him. He won't believe otherwise. Spread your legs."
Her shoulders visibly shrank. The primal shame of exposing herself to a stranger—this pathetic man—dyed her white cheeks bursting red. But not a word of refusal. As if the humiliation itself fueled her pleasure, her slender fingers shook as she slowly, so slowly, hiked up her dress hem.
"Ah... Aaaah!"
I screamed, stumbling back. As the dress rolled up, her dazzling white thighs spread wide—the sacred sanctum revealed an unbelievable sight.
Glop. From her gaping slit poured thick globs of unknown men's white semen. Their fishy, repulsive fluids trailed stickily down her tender folds.
But that wasn't all. From the extreme masochistic thrill of exposing her shame, her arousal mixed in—clear, viscous nectar blending with the semen. It dripped slowly, lewdly.
Men's cum and her juices mingled, splattering the priceless carpet. The air thickened with ripe, musky night-bloom scent.
She turned her head, squeezing her eyes shut in shame, but her thighs convulsed in ongoing micro-orgasms.