Another Hole
I roughly straightened the living-room table and sank against the wall. The fatigue I had been holding at bay surged in like a tidal wave. Every muscle in my body screamed; my eyelids weighed a ton. Yet the moment the tension eased, the alcohol that had been simmering inside me rushed, absurdly, straight to my groin. Head tipped back against the wall, breathing hard, my gaze drifted of its own accord through the open doorway into Nayeon’s bedroom.
There she lay, utterly defenseless in sleep. The blanket had been kicked down to her ankles; the thin T-shirt had ridden up past her waist, baring the smooth, vulnerable skin of her midriff. The sight dragged up, vivid as a hallucination, the memory of the first time I had taken her.
That night, too, she had been deeply asleep. Terrified she might wake, I had stroked that secret place with cautious fingers, feeling it grow wet under my touch, and rubbed myself against the slickness until I came. The terror of being discovered had only sharpened the sadistic pleasure. In the end she had woken with a startled gasp when I slipped inside her, trembling breath against my neck, her slender fingers curling around my throat even as she tried to push me away. The searing friction I had felt earlier tonight while fingering her open came flooding back, setting my body alight. Exhaustion was nothing next to the thirst.
As if spellbound, I rose and crossed to her side. The sheets still carried the sharp, metallic scent of our earlier violence like a brand. I pulled the kicked-off blanket completely away and carefully, yet firmly, parted her slender legs.
Perhaps it was the alcohol; my vision swam red. I buried my face between her spread thighs. The place that had been soaked under my fingers was still warm, still radiating heat.
I set my tongue to her secret entrance. Her hips gave a faint, involuntary twitch—or so I imagined—yet she remained lost in the deep well of sleep. Breathing in the salty-sweet scent of her, I fed like a man possessed. One hand worked my cock roughly while I sucked and licked her clit and the soft folds of her petals; the soft, drunken smacking sounds that escaped her parted lips reached me as dazed, dreamy moans.
Sucking, rubbing, tongue-fucking her hot interior, my arousal climbed to a peak. And yet something strange happened. The more I focused on Nayeon, the more stubbornly the afterimage of Jieun—whom I had washed in the bathroom earlier—clung to the edge of my mind.
The modest breasts made translucent under the shower stream, the narrow waist, the small, pristine place I had seen for the first time. Her face was more mature than Nayeon’s, yet her body held a different texture—firmness and incompleteness existing side by side. Jieun’s figure kept overlaying itself on Nayeon’s skin. Even as my hands moved over Nayeon’s flesh, my head was replaying Jieun’s helpless nakedness.
Ordinarily I would never have done this. I had always been careful, a connoisseur who preferred the pretense of consent, the carefully engineered surrender. I built the board perfectly so that the other person either came to me of her own will or found herself without a plausible reason to refuse. I had never once begun with raw force.
But in this small house only I was awake. Both women had left their most private places open to me without defense, and the arrogant knowledge that I alone possessed their secrets and vulnerabilities excited me beyond reason. The meticulous planner was gone; a raw hunger to seize and control the taboo right in front of me swallowed every rational thought.
I checked one last time that Nayeon’s breathing remained deep and even. Then, cock painfully hard and swollen, I slipped out of the room and moved toward Jieun’s. My fingertips trembled on the doorknob, but it was not fear—only extreme excitement.
The room was silent. Only the faint glow of a streetlamp outside traced the outline of her body. Wearing the expression of a concerned guardian come to check on her, I approached the bed and whispered low.
“Jieun, are you all right?”
I gave her shoulder a gentle shake. She was completely out. Only the steady rhythm of her breathing answered me. Swallowing hard, I began to peel the loosely draped blanket away. Freshly washed, her pale skin still carried a soft soap scent. Beneath it, Jieun’s private form slowly revealed itself to my eyes.
I redesigned the board. If Jieun woke, or if Nayeon somehow witnessed the scene, I would simply play the devoted caretaker. I could not leave her collapsed in vomit-soaked clothes in the bathroom; I had washed her, tried to dress her in clean clothes—a tearful, selfless effort. A plausible story. The same gentle-uncle face I had shown Nayeon would be enough to wrap even this precarious moment in the language of tender concern.
I bent and opened the drawer of the nightstand. Inside, neatly folded, were the clothes and underwear of a twenty-year-old—fresh, clean, stylish. I lifted several pairs of panties and bras to my nose in turn, inhaling the faint body scent that lingered beneath the fabric softener. Then I selected a simple sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of panties and laid them on the bed beside her.
With careful hands I lifted her head slightly and eased the sleeveless shirt over her neck. Pretending to help her arms into the sleeves, I brought my face close to the small, rounded mounds of her breasts and drew a deep breath. Beneath the soap, Jieun’s own scent rose—far greener, more unfinished than Nayeon’s. I lingered there, lips almost but not quite touching the still-unripe curves.
I reached out and cupped one breast. The modest volume filled my palm completely. Slowly, very slowly, I applied pressure and watched her face. Perfect isolation; she would not wake. Certainty settled in, and my touch grew bolder. The soft, resilient flesh pressing between my fingers sent a sharp thrill through me.
They were small enough that one might call them flat. Yet they were beautiful. Full breasts have their appeal, but small, pretty ones deliver a different kind of excitement rather than disappointment. The sensation was not unfamiliar. It overlapped perfectly with the memory of the first girlfriend’s breasts I had touched as a freshman in university—green, unripe.
After class, just the two of us in a karaoke room, some song neither of us intended to sing blasting uselessly. Under the flickering lights I had pushed her into the corner. The speakers roaring at full volume had become our perfect soundproof wall. The tension of unbuttoning her blouse one button at a time with trembling fingers. The strange, destructive softness felt through the white cotton bra. When my sweat-damp palm closed around that small breast she had buried her face in my shoulder and let out a tiny moan.
“Not yet…” she had whispered, yet she never quite managed to push my gentle hands away. That day had been the primal lesson in how to invade another person’s territory and claim emotional dominion. The memory of her startled surrender under my clumsy hands washed over me like nostalgia.
As if handling something precious, I pressed my cheek against Jieun’s breast and nuzzled. The slight swell that still seemed unfinished yet held a quiet vitality carried me back onto that karaoke-room sofa at twenty. I took the nipple gently between my lips. The hard little bud transmitted through the thin cotton T-shirt teased the tip of my tongue. Slowly, very slowly, I sucked while my mouth wandered the rest of her body as though mapping new territory.
From the nape of her neck to the shoulder, then down along the narrow waist beneath her breasts. When I exhaled against the skin near her navel her abdominal muscles gave a faint contraction. Every tiny response felt like a vast marker of conquest. My gaze traveled lower.
Unlike Nayeon’s carefully smoothed mound, Jieun’s remained unfinished. In the streetlamp light the soft thatch of pubic hair was still present, calling up with almost brutal clarity the raw, unprocessed narrative of that first university bed. Looking at the ungroomed secret line, I felt my throat burn again.
The alcohol had finally anesthetized every last scrap of reason. I positioned myself at the perfect angle of a man simply trying to put panties on a sleeping girl, took hold of her slender ankle, and began to slide the clean underwear up her legs. While my eyes claimed every unprotected detail of her open body, I felt once more the absolute certainty that I was the complete master of this house.
Nayeon’s deliberately cultivated flesh and Jieun’s still-raw, unfinished body—both now fully under my control—were nothing more than toys in the palm of my hand. I finished dressing Jieun in the new panties, took one last look at her helpless thighs, and slipped soundlessly from the room.
