Whose Pussy Is This?
Chop, chop, chop. Sticky sounds echoed through the stairwell. Every time our flesh slapped together, slick juices splashed between my thighs.
"What's this? Why are you so excited?"
"Hngh... Th-that... that's..."
Chop, chop. Her pussy clenched in response instead of words. Each thrust pushed out more of her arousal, soaking me to the root. When I pulled back, frothy nectar clung to my shaft and dripped to the floor.
"Don't tell me you're turned on by doing it out here?"
"N-no... that's... haah...!"
I timed it perfectly as Ayoung opened her mouth. The moment she tried to answer, I twisted my hips, grinding the tip against her upper wall inside. Her words cut off, her back arching sharply.
"Hngh...! Ha, ngh..."
Chop.
"Auntie, I never knew you were this kind of woman."
"N-no... that's not it."
She shook her head, but her pussy gripped my cock, refusing to let go.
"It's... y-your... your fault."
Ayoung held her breath and practically shouted it out.
"Y-you... you made me... like this..."
"I made you? Auntie, you wanted it."
"N-no, I..."
Plunge. I cut her off by slamming deep, choking the air from her throat.
"Then what?"
"...Only... only with you... not with anyone else..."
Her voice bounced off the dark stairwell. That answer made my cock throb harder. This woman always exceeded my expectations.
"So Auntie's mine now, huh."
"Haah... ngh... Y-yes."
"Good. Then..."
I stopped my hips. Stayed buried inside without moving.
"Whose pussy is this?"
"..."
Instead of answering, her pussy pulsed around me like a heartbeat, squeezing tight.
"Answer me."
Ayoung twisted her head over her shoulder. Through sweat-matted bangs, her dazed eyes looked up at me. Her lips parted hesitantly.
"J-Jinho's..."
Plunge. Praise with cock is plenty. Her body buckled forward like it was crumbling. Her arms buckled against the windowsill, forehead pressing to the glass. I grabbed her waist and yanked her back.
Chop chop chop. I pounded relentlessly. The slapping grew faster, juices streaming down our groins.
"Haaah...!"
Plunge! I buried deep one last time and unleashed. Spurt, spurt. The condom ballooned hot inside her.
"Ah... ahngh..."
Ayoung's back shuddered. Her fingers whitened gripping the sill. Her knees buckled inward, pussy clamping my root, refusing to release.
I waited for her breathing to settle, then slowly withdrew. Slurp. The walls sucked at me greedily, not letting go easily. Forcing it out stretched a thick strand of nectar that snapped and splattered her inner thigh.
I pulled out the filled condom and tossed it aside. Grabbing her shoulders, I turned her; she dropped to her knees on her own. Her hand wrapped the base, mouth opening to engulf the head.
Slurp. Warmth enveloped me. Ayoung slid her lips down slowly, taking me deep until the tip hit the back of her throat.
Slurp, slurp. Her tongue coiled around the shaft, lapping up remnants. At the top, her lips clamped the head a couple times. Her tongue tip pressed the slit, sucking out the last drop.
Slurp. Smack.
Ayoung wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at me.
"Good girl."
Ayoung smiled faintly and stood. She straightened her clothes and tied back her loose hair in under a minute. The woman who'd been panting with my cock buried inside was back to the ordinary mom heading home. I watched, buckling my belt.
Ayoung gave her outfit one last check and turned to me.
"Um... this weekend."
"Weekend?"
"The flower viewing... you said we'd go."
"Oh, right."
"I... cleared my schedule."
Her cheeks flushed red. Eyes glancing up shyly from a lowered head.
"We'll go."
"...Thanks."
Her face lit up with shy joy at my answer. I grabbed her arm as she turned to leave.
"I-I'm all messy right now."
Even as she said it, she closed her eyes in anticipation. As I leaned in, her hand lightly clutched my shirt front. I pushed my tongue in; hers wrapped around it first.
Slurp.
When I pulled back, she opened her eyes. It took a moment for the lust-glazed stare to refocus.
"Get home safe."
Ayoung bowed her head deeply and hurried down the stairs in short steps. I leaned against the railing, watching her silhouette shrink under the hallway lights until it vanished.
Come to think of it, didn't she say she was going out to buy something for Woochan? Guess it's fine empty-handed. Whatever.
Jinhee stood at the blackboard, chalk in hand, scribbling equations. With each flick of her wrist, her blouse sleeve rode up her forearm. I propped my chin, eyes not on the board but below it. Her skirt hugged the curve of her ass, jiggling faintly with every stroke.
Hmm. Damn, it's huge.
Woochan hunched over his notes, scribbling away. Beside him, Yejin moved her pencil across her paper too.
Jinhee underlined the final equation and turned. Her sweeping gaze met mine. I smirked.
Her face soured instantly.
"Jinho."
"Yes?"
"Can you explain how this result comes about?"
Figured she'd pull this. She looked ready to kick me out on the spot if I couldn't. I grinned and stood.
I walked her through the solution step by step. Her expression hardened layer by layer. No room to nitpick—it was flawless.
"...Correct."
She turned away curtly, acknowledging it. As I sat, Woochan whispered.
"Dude... you knew this?"
"Roughly."
"You're good at studying..."
Yejin muttered beside him.
"You thought I sucked?"
"Eep!"
Yejin buried her face in her notes. Her ear tips burned red. Woochan snickered at the sight.
Pathetic nerds. I ignored them and looked forward again.
Jinhee wrote a new problem. Even from here, she looked pissed. My answer must've gotten under her skin.
Some people here see me as the nepotism kid. I could've gone to better schools. Grandpa dragged me here. Something about building connections.
More curious was Jinhee. Why'd she come to this school? Quick check: she was in an integrated master's-PhD program, graduated master's, then suddenly applied here. Ditch PhD for private school teacher? Young, pretty, promising professor track... Doesn't add up. There's a reason.
Stuff I dug up a few days ago should be ripe. Time to look into it.
That evening, in my room, I reviewed the file on Jinhee.
Kim Jinhee. 29. Hankyung University math bachelor's, same grad school master's. Family: parents deceased. One younger sister, Kim Sujin. Died 3 years ago. Suicide.
At first glance, sister's suicide made her question her path. But digging into the sister's school revealed it. School violence hearing records. Disciplinary action. Victim on record? No—perpetrator.
Hold up. Perpetrator suicides? The bully offs herself? Someone aggressive enough for discipline? Those types don't kill themselves. Usually, it's the victim.
I reread the file. Hearing records, discipline history, death date.
I pondered. Maybe a clue. Oddly, only one perpetrator? Bullies are usually groups. Biggest chance: Sujin got pinned as the perp. Real ones walked, dumping it on her.
Jinhee and Sujin had no power. Easy scapegoat. Jinhee probably suspects this. Quit PhD, got teaching cert, came here. Means someone tied to the violence is enrolled.
One snag: drugs... Why drug records? Not just framed... Maybe bad blood between them? Need to think how to use this.
----------
Her temples throbbed. Jinhee sat at her desk in the staff room, flipping through gosi class files. Dense text blurred under the fluorescents. She marked names with her pen, checking each page, but the pain pulsed relentlessly.
"Jinhee, drinks tonight?"
She looked up. A male teacher loomed over her papers, suit jacket unbuttoned for flair, grinning.
"Sorry. Gosi class has me swamped."
"Too bad. Next time then."
She smiled politely and dropped her eyes back to the files. She didn't lift her head until his footsteps faded.
"Ugh, that guy's always hitting on you at quitting time."
The female teacher next to her tsked. Her hands busied sorting papers, mouth running nonstop.
"Nah. He's just being nice since it's my first time."
"Still, he ignores the hints. You know the rumors? Hair plugs."
Her smile didn't match the dissecting gaze raking Jinhee. Hidden teeth ready to bite at any weakness, playing friendly.
No teacher here just taught. It was about lines to chaebol heirs—that was the real value. Especially Jinhee: young, pretty, capable. Prime rival in other women's eyes. One slip, and rumors bury you.
Jinhee feigned ignorance, nodding thanks with lowered head. Footsteps trickled out. Last lights off, only her desk lamp remained. Finally, she relaxed her shoulders.
In the quiet room, she reopened the files. Scanning student profiles, her finger paused on one name.
Lee Jinho. She shoved the page aside.
Chairman’s grandson. No way he'd study seriously. Smart enough, sure—nailed today's problem. But not study eyes.
She knew she was pretty, felt men's gazes. Jinho's on her body? Obvious when he stared from the front.
She closed the last page. Night blackened the windows. Glanced around. Empty.
Powered up the computer, logged into school records. Pulled student list, typed search: origin school, grad year, transfers. It's here.
Cursor scrolled. Paused on a name, kept going, paused again.
Found them. Another one. Names linked to her sister's death, right here.
The gang that hounded Sujin. Problem: how to handle. Evidence buried, Sujin recorded as perp, dead.
Why'd she kill herself? Sujin's only family, Jinhee's treasure. No reason. This bullying drove her to it. And these kids? Likely to repeat. Target the poor, powerless, break them.
That's why gosi class. Scholarship kids clustered there. Prime targets.
Back to gosi files. Finger hovered over a photo. Thick glasses. Freckles over nose. Timid vibe.
Yejin. She'd be first exposed. Shy, noticeable, defenseless.
Sorry, kid. You'll be the bait.
Jinhee moved Yejin's page to the front.
