I'll Have My Fill
While hanging out with Woochan here and there, I moved on my own in the gaps. Finding out his mother's name was Kim Ayoung was a piece of cake. With a little pull, I could easily access the guardian info in the school's admin system. This is why power is so damn good.
Ayoung worked the register at a large mart just two bus stops from home. A few days ago, I even stood in her line myself, wearing a cap pulled low and carrying a shopping basket. She scanned barcodes, bagged items, and greeted the next customer in mechanical repetition. What caught my eye was the smile she flashed when handing back change. It was so clear and pure, hard to believe it bloomed from a face etched with deep fatigue. With looks like that, no way the guys around her left her alone. Bet she dealt with sleazy advances nonstop, at work and in the neighborhood. Yet she gave off this vibe of steadfastly guarding her nest for her one bloodline all these years.
How to pry open that solid crack and topple her? After crunching the numbers in my head for days, it boiled down to one conclusion. Charging straight at a woman who's built an iron wall against men is just stupid. It'll only spike her defenses and slam the door shut. The key is her son. No way in without going through Woochan to her inner sanctum.
I hired a PI right after. In a world where money buys anything, a file hit my messenger in just two days. Lounging diagonally on my bed, I scrolled through the text on my screen, and a low whistle slipped from my lips.
"……Wow."
High school pregnancy and birth. The guy? Shockingly, a married teacher. When their sleazy affair with his student blew up, he bolted under the guise of a transfer, leaving seventeen-year-old Ayoung alone with her swollen belly. She'd been a single mom ever since, raising the kid solo.
"……Impressive."
I tossed my phone aside, killed the screen, and stared at the ceiling. A sly grin twisted my lips. Stormy life—that's the word for this. Any normal person would've crumbled under that past, but she'd clawed her way here, leaning on her one child. It meant her inner strength matched those harsh years, but it also spotlighted her glaring weakness.
I got up, pocketed my phone. I'd already confirmed today was her day off from the mart.
Standing at the entrance to their rental apartment building, I rang the doorbell. A moment later, her voice flowed through the intercom.
"Who is it?"
Slightly raspy like she'd just woken up, but still that smooth tone.
"It's Jinho, Woochan's friend."
"Oh…… What brings you here?"
A click, and the door swung open. Ayoung appeared makeup-free. Dark shadows under her eyes from the day off, hair loosely piled up with strands spilling over her shoulders. Faded cotton tee and baggy pants—comfy home wear. But the elegant line down her neckline refused to hide under the thin fabric. Even her fatigued face oozed a strange allure. Not that she had a clue.
I scanned her defenseless form, then switched my expression in a flash. Pulled my lips straight, loaded my eyes with urgent worry.
"I came because I need to tell you something urgent."
"What is it?"
Her brows furrowed faintly—not outright suspicion, just instinctive wariness at the sudden visit. I took her once-over gaze head-on and lowered my voice cautiously.
"It's about Woochan."
"……Woochan?"
Her face changed in an instant. The rigid guard melted away, replaced by thick anxiety. Just those two words—her son—and her fortress walls shook helplessly. I dropped my eyes a bit, mumbling.
"It's…… kinda hard to say outside."
She hesitated, then swung the door wider. Thanks to those days tailing Woochan and dropping by during my digging. To her, I wasn't some shady intruder—I was her son's good friend, Jinho.
I nodded lightly and stepped inside. Her back filled my view as she headed to the living room—white nape peeking through swaying hair, the pronounced curve of waist and round hips over her pants. Trailing that unguarded rear, I licked my dry lips silently where no one could see.
The empty living room, minus Woochan, hung in heavy silence. Seated across the table, Ayoung slid a glass of water my way, hands neatly clasped on her lap, eyes fixed on me. Anxiety rippled clear in her gaze. One opener about her son, and her core was already rattled.
No need to drag it out.
"Well……"
I started, and her eyes locked on my lips. Brows pinched, lips parted slightly—bracing anxiously for more.
"It's about Woochan's father."
"……What?"
Her pretty face twisted. Lips quivered, pupils flickered blankly.
"You know the rumors that Woochan's a bastard child."
Color drained from her cheeks. Pale lips worked silently, no sound escaping. I savored her crumbling look, cheering inwardly.
"N-no, that's……"
Her pitiful fluster before the ghost of her past. I pulled out my phone, flicked it on, and slid it across the table to her.
The screen showed a photo of that deadbeat married teacher from twenty years back.
The moment her eyes hit it, the last warmth fled her face. This shock dwarfed the earlier one.
"What if this photo and story spread through the school?"
I whispered calmly, like asking about the weather.
Her eyes widened to tear, ragged breaths crossing the table.
"J-Jinho."
First time calling my name—like someone dangling off a cliff.
"Our Woochan…… he's done nothing wrong."
Her slender hand shot out, frantically covering the screen. Desperation dripped from her trembling fingertips. I slowly slid the phone from under her hand, driving the wedge home.
"You're right. Not Woochan's fault. But sins of the parents passing to kids? Happens all the time."
"No…… please, no."
Half-risen from her chair, she looked up with devastated eyes. The iron will that endured over a decade snapped pathetically before her son's safety. I pocketed the phone, soothing her endlessly soft.
"I'll keep it secret."
Her tense shoulders finally slumped, head drooping.
"Th-thank you……"
Before her relieved, rueful thanks finished, I continued evenly.
"But I have one condition."
Her lowered head jerked up slowly.
"……Condition?"
I met her terrified eyes dead-on and declared.
"Spread your legs whenever I want."
All surrounding noise vacuumed away into silence. No reply leaked from her gaping lips. She'd grasped it rationally, but emotionally, she couldn't swallow it—her face choked with denial. I savored her pale visage across the table, offering the world's gentlest smile.
"You'd do anything for your son, right?"
Tears welled in her reddened sockets. She couldn't shake her head or bolt—frozen solid. Enough to crack the first wall.
I lounged diagonally on her bed in my underwear. The cramped master held just a worn single bed and tiny vanity. Only mart-brand lotion and hand cream on it. No room for primping in her past life—traces everywhere in the room.
A moment ago, she'd looked ready to scream. Lips trembling in rage and humiliation, but she'd yielded to my demand. No way to endure sober the terror of her whole life unraveling.
……I'll go wash up.
She'd muttered that floor-crushed voice, avoiding my eyes as she fled the room.
I'd already ditched afternoon classes. Plenty of time for a round.
Long after the shower shut off, the door creaked open cautiously. Ayoung stood there, wet hair dripping, wrapped in one big towel. Trembling fists clutched the hem, flashing collarbone, shoulder, smooth calf—pale skin blatantly exposed.
"What are you doing now?"
"Wh-what……"
"No point hiding now."
She bit her lower lip hard. Fingers whitened knuckles-deep on the towel, then slowly released. It slipped off her smooth shoulder, grazed her chest, slid past her waist, and hit the floor limply.
A chuckle burst from me at the sight. Mismatched old undies—top faded beige, bottom drab gray. No matching sets; no money or mind for it. But the goods inside mocked her thirty-seven years with ripe allure. Heavy breasts crushed in the bra cups, waist cinched tight flaring to full hips. Raw curves hidden under baggy clothes seized my gaze. Unadorned rawness made it more tantalizing.
"Take it all off."
She squeezed her eyes shut, then reached back and unhooked. Straps slid down; trapped breasts spilled free—not sagging, ripe with weight, jiggling firm. Last, shivering hands stripped her panties, revealing the thick curve from waist to ass in full glory. Near-virgin flesh, barely marked from years alone.
Now stark naked, Ayoung crossed arms over chest and crotch, eyes averted.
"Come closer."
Her feet rooted like trees, no budge.
"Keep stalling till Woochan gets back, and we're in trouble."
That threat paled her steps forward. Legs quaking, she reached me—I snatched her slim wrist, yanked her down. Her bare ass thudded heavy on my thigh. Hot skin from the shower radiated through.
I pressed lips to her ear. Cheap mart shampoo wafted from wet hair.
"You've been off it a while, so I'll teach you from the start."
"Wh-what are you……"
No answer—instead, my hand dove straight for her round breast, squeezing the soft heft rough.
"Eek……!"
Her torso arched bowstring-tight. I clamped her kicking legs with mine, then teased the hardening nipple relentlessly—circles first, then pinch-twist-pull with thumb and finger.
"W-wait… ah, it hurts……"
I ignored the plea, nipping her earlobe, speeding my fingers. Her breaths heated fast. Red flush bloomed from white nape to upper chest; nipple stood rigid between my fingers.
"Already this excited? How'd you hold out with a body like this?"
Her gaze dropped to her breast in shock. Face screaming disbelief at her body's honest betrayal.
I slipped my free hand between her thighs. Through thick bush, sticky clear fluid coated my fingers. I raised the dripping tips, waving them before her eyes.
"Just kneading your tits got you this wet? Gonna be tough ahead."
"N-no, that's……"
She whipped her head away in shame, but couldn't hide the slick trail down her inner thighs. Her age-defying sensitivity drew a delighted laugh. No hesitation—I rubbed index and middle around the slick entrance.
Her hands gripped my thighs hard, blunt nails digging skin. Flushed face leaked helpless moans.
"Hngh… haaah……."
Her body was fully primed now. I plunged my middle finger into the slippery slit. Warm, tight mucosa wrapped snug, welcoming. Perfect velvety grip—no slack. Jackpot.
Hooked it like a claw, stirring inner walls sloppily.
"Aghk……!"
Her hips bucked; short, sharp scream ripped out. Shocked at her own lewd cry, she bit her lip, turning away. Ashamed of her arousal. That desperate reaction fueled my sadism.
Inside was flooded; clear juices ran down my hand. I scooped her panting form onto the narrow bed. Wet hair splayed messy on the old pillow. Fevered cheeks, unfocused eyes, ragged breaths. Beneath the stubborn-mom mask, the raw woman's face emerged.
I stripped off my own underwear. Her wandering eyes hit my crotch and froze.
"Hik."
Deflating gasp; head snapped sideways. Ears beet-red.
I spread her legs, knelt between, pressing my rounded tip to her soaked entrance. Inner flesh sucked like a magnet. Squish, squish—embarrassing wet friction echoed.
"Well then, thanks for the meal—I'll dig in."
Her lips, stained with shame and rage, quivered open.
"Please…… don't say that……."
Thrust.
Before words finished. Fierce pressure as my cock pierced her tight, hot walls in one go.
"Aaah!"
Her white back arched bowstring-taut.
