This is Nothing After What Your Mom Did
Ayoung looked up at me with a face full of disbelief. She leaned back, but her back hit the water tank, leaving her nowhere else to go. Without a word, I grabbed my cock and brought it right up to her face.
"Wha... what... what is..."
She tried to say something, but her mouth froze. Voices echoed from the sinks beyond the stall—men running the faucet, chatting away. Ayoung's eyes dropped to the gap under the door. Shadows of feet shifted on the tiles.
"Hurry up. You gonna be okay leaving your post during work hours?"
I mouthed the words silently, and her gaze snapped back up. She bit her lip. Her eyes darted frantically between my cock and the locked door. She knew we didn't have time.
Her hand rose, trembling fingers wrapping around the shaft, starting to stroke it tentatively. I caught her hand lightly and stopped her.
"With your mouth."
At my whisper, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her head dipped slightly, a shaky breath escaping between her furrowed brows. She stayed like that for a long moment, then let out a long exhale and lifted her head again. Resignation etched across her face.
She slid down from the toilet lid like melting ice. Her knees hit the tile floor in the cramped stall. Tilting her head up, she fixed her gaze on the tip of my cock and parted her lips.
Tslurp.
The moment her lips closed around the tip, they curled inward, covering her teeth. She was definitely getting used to it. She couldn't take it all in yet, but her tongue swept under the head with smooth precision—no wasted motion. Nothing like the first time in the bathroom when her teeth scraped me.
"You've got talent."
I grinned and stroked her hair. A flash of venom lit her upturned eyes, but it faded fast. She lowered her gaze in defeat and started moving her head again. Her lips worked the tip, sucking it in. Her hand gripped the base, stroking downward in sync. Mouth and hand alternating perfectly, riding the same rhythm—her body remembering.
I pushed deeper once, and she hollowed her cheeks. The pressure squeezing my shaft shifted intensely. Slurp, pop.
That's when the bathroom door creaked open. Footsteps slapped the tiles, heading inside. Ayoung froze mid-motion. Her big eyes looked up at me with my cock still in her mouth. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed nervously.
The sharp sounds cut through the thin partition: belt unbuckling at the urinal, zipper dropping. I kept my hand resting on her head and just smiled. No signal to move or stop.
Her eyes flicked to the gap under the door. The toilet flushed. Water ran at the sink. The door shut, footsteps fading.
Ayoung exhaled sharply through her nose. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. She blinked once, then resumed, more cautious now. Lips clamped tight to muffle any sound, tongue working only inside. But she pushed her head faster, refusing to slow down.
I stroked the back of her neck and let her rhythm take over. The wet heat in her mouth spread heat up my shaft to my gut. Her ears flushed bright red. Her shoulders trembled faintly with each bob. Sweat-soaked bangs clung to her eyes. Her nasal breaths grew ragged, rough huffs leaking from the corners of her stretched lips.
A heavy heat coiled deep in my lower belly. I grabbed her head with both hands. Her eyes shot up, sensing what was coming. I yanked her forward and thrust my hips.
"Glrk—"
My cock plunged deep, making her throat convulse. But no teeth. Lips tucked in, mouth wide to take it. Finish quick, I mouthed. She squeezed her eyes shut. I held her head and fucked her mouth back and forth. My cock pistoned in and out, cheeks bulging, slick sounds echoing in the stall with each withdrawal. Pop, slurp, pop.
She panted through her nose only. Blocked airway heaving her shoulders, drool spilling down her chin onto her mart vest. Her hands gripped my thighs—no pushback.
Climax surged. I pulled her head down, burying deep, and tensed. Splurt.
"Urgh... glk."
Her shoulders stiffened hard. Eyes widened at the cum flooding her mouth, then crumpled in despair. Throat spasming, fighting the swallow reflex.
I pulled out. She clamped her mouth shut and turned away, cheeks puffed, fumbling for the toilet paper holder on the wall. About to spit.
"Swallow."
Her hand froze mid-air. Horror filled her eyes as she turned back.
"Ah..."
Full mouth garbling her words. I crossed my arms and just watched. She shut her eyes. Brows knitting deeper, jaw working hard. Gulp.
Her throat moved visibly swallowing my load. A strand leaked from her lip, wiped hastily with her hand.
I zipped up and pointed to her pocket. She fished out her phone from the mart vest's inner pouch. I had her punch in my number and save it. Saved hers too when it pinged mine.
"Call me, and come out."
She sat slumped on the toilet, unable to reply. Head hanging low, sweat and tears mingling on her flushed face, dripping from her chin.
I unlocked the stall and stepped out. My reflection in the sink mirror. Washed my hands, fixed my hair, and left the bathroom. Empty hallway. Texted her from my phone.
Seconds later, the door cracked. She slipped out head down, glanced around, then dashed into the women's restroom across the hall.
I chuckled at her retreating figure. Cumming in her mouth felt damn good—relieving as hell. Her mouth was top-tier, like her pussy.
After she left, I grabbed my car from the lot and headed back to school. Climbing to the classrooms, the hall buzzed with commotion. Kids clustered, heading one way, chattering.
"Fight broke out."
My feet turned that way automatically. Tagging at the back of the crowd, we piled into one classroom packed with kids.
"Move."
I shoved past annoying heads. Breaking through, I heard thuds up close. A lanky string bean was pounding someone. Skinny as hell, all long limbs dangling.
"You fucking punk. Wanna die, you little shit?"
Kicks and slaps flying with curses. On the floor, curled up—Woochan.
Hah. I sighed.
Stepped behind the lanky fuck and kicked his back. His spine buckled, sprawling him over a desk.
"Hey, why're you just taking it?"
I looked down at Woochan huddled on the floor. Tears streamed down his upturned face. Pure grievance. Pathetic. Annoying. Damn, you idiot—if not for your mom, I'd beat your ass myself.
Swallowed it, turned. Lanky guy scrambling up gripping the desk.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Didn't recognize me. A guy at this school who doesn't know my face? Figured he had some pull—made me laugh instead.
"That itchy to fight? Try me."
One step closer, he flinched. A head taller and bulkier than him—his momentum cracked visibly.
"You know who I am?"
"Yeah, yeah. A fucking retard."
My sarcasm turned his face red-purple. He lunged—but teachers swarmed from the hall.
"Break it up!"
They hauled us three off, but nothing major happened. Sat us in an empty room for lectures, then dismissed Taewook first—the lanky guy's name.
He sneered at me leaving. "Retard," I shot back, flipping him off. My grin soured his mug; he vanished.
Just Woochan and me. I rocked my chair, staring at the ceiling. He asked,
"Uh... you know who that was?"
"Who?"
"Son of some assemblyman."
"Ass-man?"
"Assemblyman."
"Same diff. So?"
"You okay?"
"Fine. Don't worry. But why'd he hit you?"
"Ah... he wanted me to do his homework, I said no."
"Fucking moron. How old are you, still playing delinquent?"
Door opened; teacher poked his head.
"Jinho, go."
Standing, I glanced at Woochan. "Taking the kid too."
Teacher hesitated, made a quick call. Hung up, waved me off, backed away.
"C'mon."
"Th-that's it?"
"Yeah."
Said so, but that lanky bastard's face lingered. Gonna catch him alone and smash him later.
Leaving school, Woochan stuck close. Plaster on his cheek bobbed as he walked.
"Really okay?"
Worried tone lingered. I slung an arm over his shoulder.
"Fine. I'll handle it."
"But an assemblyman..."
"Don't worry."
"Not because of me..."
"I said fine."
Snapped irritably at his whining; he shut up. Still anxious, kept glancing back.
"Hey, chill."
Light arm-around-shoulder pat. He turned, looked up gratefully? Guiltily? Hard to tell. I smiled; he smiled awkwardly. Bruise under the plaster twitched his cheek.
Your mom's service was worth it—this is peanuts.
At Woochan's place, door open—knife chops from the kitchen.
"Woochan?"
Ayoung's voice first. Apron on, she stepped into the living room, smiled at Woochan. Then spotted me a beat later. Lips stiffened.
But first, her eyes hit his cheek.
"What happened to your face?"
Tone sharpened. Before shoes off, she rushed down, cupped his face with both hands. Tilted his head, inspecting the plaster.
"Fine, Mom."
"Fine my ass! Who'd you fight?"
"Just bumped it."
Woochan dodged her eyes; I spoke up.
"Some beef at school. I handled it."
Her hands paused. Head turned slowly to me. Worry for her son clashed with wariness of me. Gratitude tangled with who I was confusing her.
"He's a friend—gotta help."
I smiled. Her face twisted briefly. Swallowed anger, mindful of her son beside us—lips relaxed.
"...Thanks."
Whisper to me or the air? Hard to tell.
We three at the table. Miso stew, sides. Scooping rice for Woochan, her eyes flicked to me repeatedly. Face screamed uncomfortable.
Few bites in, she asked,
"Won't your parents be waiting?"
Polite way to say eat and leave. Woochan paused chopsticks, eyed me. Guess he never told her about my folks.
"Nah, parents are gone."
Her chopsticks halted. Bewilderment surfaced. Expressive face—fun to watch. Wariness, disgust, confusion—now bafflement.
"Died young. Live with Grandpa, just us."
"Th-then... meals?"
"He's busy with business. Eat alone."
Pity flashed in her eyes. Words to shoo me caught in her throat.
I'm not broke—why the pity? Beats me.
"...Yeah. Eat up."
Eyes anywhere but me, dropped to the stew. Meant don't come—backfired. Kicking out a lonely kid without parents looks weird to her son.
I smirked inwardly, shoveled rice.
Done eating, Woochan asked,
"Staying over?"
"Nah, gotta head home tonight."
Ayoung's shoulders eased visibly. Cute, failing to hide relief.
Woochan ducked into his room: "Wait, gotta grab something from my room."
Door clicked shut—Ayoung busied fake-clearing the table, ventured,
"Thanks for helping Woochan."
Gratitude for sorting his mess.
I grinned.
"Between you and me, auntie—this is the least."
Her face soured, sharp glare up. But no raised voice.
"St... still, not at the mart."
"You keep refusing, so I make you."
"..."
Eyes dropped. Lip bitten.
To that Ayoung, I smiled and whispered,
"And if you're grateful, show me now."
