I've Come Prepared Today
A few days later. After classes ended, Woochan and I walked side by side down the familiar path home. As he chattered on about the trivial events of the day in the classroom, I nodded along just enough to keep up, strolling leisurely at his pace.
Before long, we reached the entrance to the rundown rental apartment complex. Woochan punched in the door lock code and swung the door open with a beep-beep-boop and a click.
"I'm home."
"Oh, Woochan's ba—"
Ayoung's cheerful voice cut off abruptly. The hurried footsteps rushing toward the entryway halted mid-stride in the air—I could feel it. Then her gaze, now frozen solid, locked straight onto my face. The bright smile she'd worn to greet her son twisted into something ugly in an instant. A flush—embarrassment or shame, I couldn't tell—crept up her pale neck, but she quickly dropped her eyes to the floor.
"...Jinho's here too, huh."
Her voice strained to sound normal, desperately so. She was terrified any tremor might slip out, that Woochan might notice. The pathetic effort to force out a casual, everyday greeting while standing behind her oblivious son hit me full force.
"Hi, Mrs. Ayoung."
I plastered on the face of the world's most polite and eager son-of-a-friend and flashed a bright smile. Woochan kicked off his sneakers first and headed into the living room. I took my time slipping off mine, following him while letting my eyes slither over Ayoung's rigid form past his shoulder. As I brushed by her side, I tilted my head just enough to whisper directly into her ear—inaudible to anyone else.
"I've got condoms ready today."
That silent bombshell crumpled her face like paper. Her bloodless lips quivered as she whipped her head around to glare at me. Rage and raw terror swirled in her eyes, but she couldn't spit out a single curse. Not with her clueless son just a step ahead.
I swallowed a mocking laugh that threatened to burst out and sauntered into Woochan's room like nothing had happened.
Once inside, I lounged back on the bed. My gaze drifted to the photo frame on his desk.
"You know," I started off casually, feigning innocence, "there's not a single photo of your dad in this house."
Woochan, who was setting down his bag, froze. His delayed reply came out in a low crawl.
"Yeah... there isn't."
His mouth clamped shut, and a heavy silence settled as his hand paused on the bag zipper. No surprise there—I'd already dug up all the dirt in my background check. I just nodded lightly, keeping my face blank. If anything, my nonchalance caught him off guard; as he pulled out his desk chair and sat, he glanced up at me. The corner of his mouth twisted into a bitterly self-mocking smile.
"You're not gonna ask more?"
"Eh, I kinda figured as much."
"Haha."
Woochan let out a deflated laugh. Not a hint of mirth reached his eyes.
"Yeah. It's not just 'cause I'm good at studying that I got the scholarship. No dad..."
I shifted to lounge crookedly on the bed and snorted a laugh.
"I don't have parents either."
Woochan's eyes widened in shock, then sank. His lips parted like he wanted to offer comfort, but he swallowed it back fast.
"...Sorry."
"What for?"
"I just... didn't know..."
"They both died in an accident when I was little. Don't even remember their faces."
I said it as flatly as if I were reciting the lunch menu. No sadness there—their deaths were just blank spots in my memory anyway. Grandpa Moneybags raised me without a want in the world. Sure, the old man's nagging control pissed me off, but my life's been way cushier than most.
Woochan mumbled awkwardly before finally clamming up. Head bowed, he fiddled with the corner of a thick textbook—quite the sight.
I chuckled out loud and smacked his shoulder.
"Don't sweat it. Seriously, I don't care."
Only then did Woochan manage an awkward smile back. This little chat was all it took. A shallow bond over shared "loss"—totally different flavors, but enough emotional overlap to peel back another layer of the wall this nerd had up around me. The more he saw me as special, the easier it'd be to burrow deep into his mom.
"Gonna hit the bathroom."
I stood, scanning the room. Woochan had already crawled onto the bed, nose-deep in the handheld game console I'd tossed him. I'd wrapped up one of my spare new models like no big deal. The guy's pride would've made him reject an outright gift as "charity," so I framed it as an indefinite loan. People are like that—easier to let your guard down when you think you can pay it back someday.
I shut the door and stepped into the living room. Padding silently down the dim hallway toward the lit kitchen, I heard the irregular chop-chop of a knife on a cutting board. Sloppy cuts, barely any force behind them. Her hands moved mechanically, but her mind was clearly elsewhere—lost in anxiety. A precarious silhouette.
I crept up behind her without a sound and slowly slid my hand up her round ass, savoring the heavy curve overflowing my palm even through her thin pants.
"Long time no see, auntie."
"Hnnngh...!"
Ayoung jolted like she'd been electrocuted, a ragged gasp bursting from her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth in panic, eyes flashing to Woochan's door. Only after confirming it was shut tight did she whirl on me, face drained pale.
"What... what the hell are you doing...?"
Her crushed voice trembled with suppressed fury. Her eyes, rimmed red, stared up at me in utter despair.
"What? You startled?"
I shot back shamelessly, cool as ever. She slapped my hand away roughly and spun to snatch the kitchen knife from the board, gripping the handle white-knuckled. The blade twitched wildly in the air.
"Whoa, whoa."
I raised both hands in mock surrender, shrugging back a step. One corner of my mouth curled slyly.
"That knife looks pretty dangerous."
She glared like she wanted to shred me. Her knuckles were bloodless on the hilt. Her eyes screamed she wanted to plunge it into my heart—but we both knew she wouldn't.
I kept my leisurely smile and whispered low.
"Haven't you noticed? Woochan's been looking way brighter lately."
Her murderous glare wavered instantly. I could see the strength drain from her grip on the knife, plain as day.
"Whose credit is his easier school life? Know what he told me the other day?"
I paused cruelly, then stabbed her heart.
"He said he's studying his ass off so you can live easy."
Thud. The knife slipped from her hand and clattered limply onto the board, echoing hollowly in the cramped kitchen.
I closed in behind her frozen form, wrapping my arms softly around her slim shoulders from the back. Her body went rigid as a log in my hold. I couldn't tell if the shaking was from rage or wretched resignation. I pressed my lips to her ear; the cheap shampoo scent wafted from her still-damp hair ends.
"You can't just shatter that precious boy's expectations, now can you, mom?"
No reply. Her stiff neck slowly drooped toward the floor, shoulders slumping. Her pale lips parted and closed soundlessly—no scream escaped.
I withdrew my hands without regret and stepped back. Leaving her statue-still back, I turned casually toward Woochan's room.
That evening at dinner, Ayoung kept her eyes glued to the table edge, mechanically shoveling food. "Eat more rice," "Have some more side dishes"—all her words aimed solely at Woochan. Not a single glance my way.
Clueless Woochan babbled on about school trivia between bites, oblivious to the ice-cold tension. Ayoung forced a smile—lips twitching into a curve, but her empty eyes wandered dead in the air.
I savored the hellish dinner scene with a spoonful of steaming stew, thoroughly amused.
After dinner, Woochan and I sat at the desk, textbooks spread wide in a show of studying. Unlike me, this idiot was genuinely fired up.
"This problem—you plug in the formula like this, and it solves right away."
Woochan scribbled on scrap paper, explaining enthusiastically. I nodded vaguely at the equations I didn't get, letting it flow in one ear and out the other.
"Oh, yeah? Didn't know that trick."
Studying was just an excuse anyway. I planned to crash here tonight.
Ten p.m. Four empty beer cans already rolled under the bed. Woochan had passed out cold on top of the covers, curled up with his mouth slack, dead to the world. He couldn't handle booze to begin with. Two cans in, his eyes glazed over; the second his back hit the mattress, he was gone.
I'd matched him drink for drink to knock him out—and he'd just bloated his gut with beer instead.
I looked down at him slumped on the floor. No stirring, no snoring—just deep, blackout sleep. The living room was dead silent, not even an ant crawling. Ayoung must've retreated to her room ages ago.
I hauled Woochan onto the bed and headed to the living room. Only the kitchen light spilled faint glow onto the floor. At the dark master bedroom door, I pressed the handle. Locked tight with a click.
A sneer slipped out in the shadows. Expecting me, huh? Cute.
I went to the kitchen, rummaged a metal chopstick from a drawer, and returned. I wedged the tip into the narrow slot under the handle and twisted carefully.
Click. The lock gave with a crisp snap.
I eased inside. Pitch black, save for the faint outline of a huddled woman on the bed. Without hesitation, I flicked the wall switch.
Fluorescent light blazed on. Ayoung sprang up like a coiled spring. She hadn't been asleep—just wide-eyed under thick covers in her day clothes, pulling an all-nighter.
Her gaze sharpened on me like a stray cat spotting an intruder. I leisurely pulled a condom packet from my pocket, pinching it between index and middle finger, dangling it tauntingly.
"Been waiting with bated breath?"
"...What the hell are you doing in someone else's room?"
Her voice scraped low like gravel. Her fists clenched the blanket, trembling with rage.
"What do you think? We made a solid promise that night."
"Are you insane? Woochan's sleeping right next door!"
"That's why I got him drunk and tucked in tight."
Her gritted teeth parted slack. Beneath the fury, a flicker of cheap relief—I never miss those cowardly cracks.
I strode over, plopped on the bed's edge, and yanked her quivering shoulders into my arms. Her bony frame jerked desperately against my palms.
"I've set the stage perfect for you. Time to relax and enjoy it, auntie."
No answer. Her head drooped. I gripped her slim shoulders, twisting her to face me squarely—firm but slick, no brute force needed.
"Come on, loosen up."
"...Jinho, please."
Her head lifted heavily. Red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears; her ashen lips shook as she squeezed out a plea.
"Can't we... do something else?"
Pitiful begging. I pierced those desperate eyes. Not just shame—unyielding terror. Dread of the vulgar pleasure that had pierced her body last night, the fear of surrendering again and never reclaiming her prim mom self. A beast trembling on the edge of ruin.
I smirked openly, lips brushing her ear.
"What can a frumpy auntie like you offer me? Fat stacks of cash? High-class status?"
"..."
"Jack shit."
"Ha... but still, this is..."
No patience for her lame excuses. I snatched the hem of her worn T-shirt and yanked it up roughly over her head, hurling it to the floor. Her frantic hands flailed to slap my wrists away—too late.
"All I want from you is this sloppy body."
"Hnnngh...!"
A strangled moan erupted from her throat. Tears clinging to her lashes spilled down her white cheeks. I thumbed them away; her long, wet lashes tickled my knuckle.
Braless pale tits spilled bare. She crossed her arms in horror to clutch them, but her skinny limbs couldn't hide the overflowing curves.
I pried her arms apart, forcing them wide, then shoved her shoulders down onto the mattress. Burying my face in the jiggling mounds, I gnawed and sucked greedily.
"Ahk...! Haa...!"
Her lips clamped to swallow screams, eyes averted in shame. But the nipple I'd grazed hardened. My hot tongue lapped the bud relentlessly; her back arched off the mattress like a bowstring.
She fought to hide it, but her body betrayed her mind utterly. Every cell remembered the brutal ecstasy my cock had given her days ago.
"Hnnngh... n-no... there... ah, no... hng!"
The vile pleasure she denied bubbled under her skin, transmitted raw through her shuddering thighs.
