Seducing Over KakaoTalk
Women are generally said to have less sexual desire than men. But that doesn't apply to a woman who's tasted real pleasure. Once she reaches the absolute peak of it, the afterglow lingers in her body far longer than it does in a man's—like being high on drugs, walking on clouds, everything in the world losing its grip on reality.
Miho was no different.
After our second round we did it once more in the shower, then again standing on the bed—two more sessions of sex. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd gone four rounds myself. Miho climaxed every single time, and by the fourth I was at my absolute limit, having to wring the cum out of myself like I was squeezing a rag dry.
Her allure as a woman was in full bloom. At twenty-two, in the freshest and most beautiful years of her life, she had finally learned the true taste of sex. It was the kind of ecstasy that came close to the joy of eating chocolate after months of sugar deprivation in army boot camp—and she had just discovered it.
Even in the shower she had been the one to lick my nipples first, stroking my cock with her hand, pushing her ass back and begging me to put it in. On the bed she never let go of my cock, caressing it constantly to keep me hard, then climbing on top of me herself and working her hips with everything she had. Her movements were clumsy, the rhythm all over the place, but I loved watching those big breasts bounce every time she rocked, so I just let her go. In the end I flipped her into missionary and poured another load deep into her pussy.
One load on her stomach, three inside her—four ejaculations total. When the frenzy finally burned out we collapsed onto the bed and were dead to the world.
In the morning we woke up, ate hangover soup for brunch at a place near the motel, and I drove her home. Even at the soup shop I could feel the middle-aged men at other tables stealing glances at the pale bare legs showing under her skirt. A model-slender beauty walking around dressed that sexily—anyone would look.
After dropping her off I went home and passed out myself. Taking that one day of annual leave had been a genuine blessing. Without it my body never would have held up.
That day, the next day, and the day after that I didn't contact Miho. It wasn't some push-and-pull game or an attempt to make her wait; work was simply crushing. The single day I'd been gone had dumped a mountain of new tasks and recurring ones onto my desk.
Only on the afternoon of the third day, when I finally caught a breath, did a KakaoTalk message arrive from her.
Her rapid-fire messages suddenly stopped. What did she mean by that? I was still wondering when the section chief from the next department called me over.
"Assistant Manager Park. A moment."
"Ah, yes."
I set the phone down and went. The talk was the usual progress update. I reported where things stood; he asked me to ping him on messenger with status checks along the way.
"Yes, understood."
Back at my desk I picked up the phone and found a video from Miho waiting.
What the hell?
Just in case, I glanced around before opening it. The coworker next to me was away from his seat; the section chief across the way was staring hard at his own monitor. Everyone beyond the partitions was glued to their screens, buried in work. I slipped one wireless earbud in and hit play.
Thud. Thump. Thud-thud.
She must have been holding the phone against her chest—the screen was black, only sound coming through.
The phone pulled farther away and Miho's face appeared. Her bangs were parted neatly, long hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail. She waved at the camera, then set it down somewhere. Just before the screen went dark again I caught a glimpse of a bathroom.
She picked the phone back up. She was wearing a flight-attendant uniform—not some cheap cosplay, but a real-looking one that seemed pieced together from several airlines. It looked like the practice uniform from her school that I'd seen on her Instagram before.
She angled the camera down her legs. Sitting on the toilet, apricot-colored stockings and panties were draped between her calves. Then she hiked up her skirt and brought the camera right between her thighs.
The screen filled with her pussy.
I nearly jumped out of my skin and killed the display, scanning the room. Thankfully everyone was still locked on their own work, paying me zero attention. I turned the screen back on and hunched over, shielding it as best I could.
Even through the phone her pussy looked soaked.
Her fingers touched it. When she pulled them away, sticky juices clung to her fingertips. She pressed her index and middle fingers together then spread them; thick strands of her wetness stretched between them.
The image shook again and swung up to the bathroom ceiling.
"Ever since I left you… my pussy's been like this the whole time."
Miho whispered so only the camera mic would catch it.
That was the end of the video.
That was the end of our chat. The section chief, muttering at his monitor, called me over again and work swallowed me once more. Her messages stopped too.
The long day finally ended at eight in the evening. I left the office and headed straight to the gym near my place, working out for about an hour and a half. If I was going to keep seeing Miho, stamina management felt essential. Whether it was early morning or after work, I needed to hit the gym at least every other day just to keep the kind of endurance that could satisfy her. Now that she'd tasted real pleasure, she was clearly going to chase nothing but that high for a while.
I'd been the same way, after all.
The first time I ever put Dong-min hyung's "womanology" lectures into practice—launching a full campaign to satisfy a woman—was with a Polish girl I met during language study abroad. She was short for an Eastern European, but like most of them she loved wearing heels. Wherever she went those heels put her legs and stilettos right on my fetish radar. We got closer little by little until, at a party for the language students, we finally clicked and ended up in my room.
I only knew the theory and was still clumsy, but just like Dong-min hyung had said, I poured everything into foreplay before putting my cock in. I was determined to coat her entire body in my spit, licking and sucking every inch while watching her reactions.
Luckily, being European she was expressive and vocal, which gave me confidence even with my awkward technique. And that night, watching her rock her hips so eagerly—unlike any girlfriend I'd had before—I tasted the absolute best pleasure of my life.
After that everything rolled smoothly. Dong-min hyung and I worked our way through the girls at the language institute; the cool Western girls happily enjoyed their time with us. The timing was perfect—just as rumors about us started circulating among the Asian students, the year of language study ended.
Even after returning home I stayed in touch with Dong-min hyung, and he introduced me to the world of nightlife. We hit full salons together, stripping down and going to war with the girls; some of them asked for my number so we could play privately outside the shop. Thanks to him I learned that "oppi" places—something I'd thought only existed in Seoul—were in our provincial city too. The more discreet ones that required an introduction from someone in the know, I got to enjoy those as well, sometimes with Dong-min hyung footing the bill, sometimes with money I'd earned tutoring or doing other side jobs.
On weekends we hit clubs, hunting bars, and mood pubs, reeling in regular girls. With Dong-min hyung's witty banter and confident attitude plus my decent looks and manners, eight or nine out of ten hunts ended successfully. A few of those girls kept in touch and became ongoing partners.
Every one of them was satisfied with my equipment and technique, and that let me start thinking of myself as a pro when it came to women.
Even while we were living it up like that there were stretches when I had a girlfriend, but I still snuck around with Dong-min hyung for nightlife and hunting, using "fishing trips with hyung" as the excuse to head to other cities and pick up girls.
That lifestyle had gone on pause because of getting a job and then COVID. I'd moved out and started living alone, thinking I'd finally be able to have even more sex—but the busy company schedule actually made meeting women harder. Weekends still meant bar- and club-hopping with Dong-min hyung, but weekdays were basically closed for business.
And then COVID.
It changed a lot of people's lives, and my nightlife was no exception. Dong-min hyung seemed to keep finding quiet ways to play, but I was terrified that if I got infected and contact-traced I'd disgrace the company and maybe even get fired, so I just gritted my teeth and held out.
Was meeting Miho the reward for all that waiting?
The thought made me smile on its own.
I was curious about the girls she'd mentioned—A-young and Ju-young. According to Miho they'd been partying since high school, still had fuck buddies now, and were the ones who'd told her she needed to learn what sex really tasted like. The ones who'd turned pure little Miho into the sexy woman she was today. Hanging around Miho might just let me sample those firm twenty-two-year-old bodies too—the quiet expectation bubbled up inside me.
KakaoTalk!
I got home, changed clothes, and sat down at the computer when another video message from Miho arrived.
The video was a chaos of flashy lights and pounding music, strobes spinning everything into a blur.
She was probably trying to make me jealous. But all I felt was amusement that she was now actively out hunting for sex. And I was quietly curious whether she'd be able to reach climax with some other guy too.