Unpaid Rent is Paid with Semen, That's Common Sense! - 2 Days Before the Prologue

Saturday afternoon, 4 PM, Gangnam.

While Kim Eunji was at the pharmacy buying morning-after pills, her womb stuffed full of semen and reeking of bitch in heat, I was melting away the time staring at the coin charts on BybitSex, watching them spike and crash wildly.

Watching this graph move in real-time... it's like staring at a living, breathing animal, right?

Stocks and coins are different beasts, but the biggest difference is that coins trade 24/7 anywhere in the world.

The scary part about coins is how staring at that non-stop twitching graph 24 hours a day wears you down until you're a husk of a person.

It's funny—when you've nailed your position and profits are rolling in, you're grinning like an idiot, barely glancing at the charts. But the second it starts tanking hard against your long or short, you can't tear your eyes away from the monitor.

Take shorting as an example.

Shorting means betting the future price will drop below the current one—you profit if it goes down from your entry.

Anyone who's dabbled in investing knows this: the stock that's been pumping suddenly dumps the moment you buy in. So shorts might seem advantageous.

But history shows asset values trend up overall, making shorts relatively risky bets.

More than that, shorts have no floor.

Legendary Luna coin crashed -99.99999%, but unless it's delisted, even a penny remains on the long side. Shorts? Price doubles, you're liquidated.

The investing legend's two rules:

Rule 1: Don't lose money.

Rule 2: Follow Rule 1.

In coin land, the absolute first rule to not lose money: Never short a pumping altcoin. (Altcoins: everything but Bitcoin.)

Say you short an altcoin and it moons. At first, losses creep up: -1%, -5%, -10%. Cool-headed folks can cut losses then.

Chug some water, jerk off if trades suck, and call it a day.

But like you can't reverse the Han River's flow, the price steepens, drifting further from your position.

Heart starts pounding, legs shaking like leaves, biting your nails, glued to the chart, paralyzed.

-30%... -50%... losses ballooning.

Close now, and you can retry with half your stack. But humans hate locking in losses themselves.

Sell, and it doubles. Cut, and it snaps back to entry. After a few times, even worse.

Especially swallowing a massive loss and hitting that button? Brutal.

But the whales don't miss: pump tweets drop right on cue.

You panic-buy more or spam market sell, but nope—massive green marubozu candles smash your position.

"Wiped by that monster green candle! No way to hold against this dickless yangbong!! Bitches corrupted~~ Hngggg!"

Your precious cash, now gone forever, gets NTR'd by GoldSun Exchange and the whales. Fun part? It dips right back to your liquidation price like nothing happened.

Along with dump news.

Ironically, coin's peak pleasure isn't winning—it's this soul-crushing loss. Especially when it breaches your liq and locks in massive damage, insane ecstasy floods your body.

Brain dumps dopamine to block the shock of losing big, some even orgasm.

Losing traders all say the same: Rationals just walk away.

At first, regret: "Why didn't I cut?" Swear off, grind labor for cash.

But that thrill from past wins lingers. "Bad luck last time," delude yourself into easy riches.

Grab loans or stacks, deposit, retry. Humans repeat mistakes.

Dabble in high leverage, draw lines on charts, obsess over Elliott waves, YouTube "techniques," bullshit.

Eventually, addicted to the chart's rush stronger than anything, room turns trash heap, you wither.

Like using real-time area hypnosis app on global retail to rape their wallets and minds.

To whales, easier than me Coinminding bitches.

Even top traders at firms rolling billions/trillions suffer graph stress, watch porn at work to cope.

In masterpiece The Wolf of Wall Street, senior asks newbie at rooftop restaurant: "How many wanks a day?"

Newbie: "Three-four a week." Senior brags: "Amateur. I do at least two daily. Bathroom whenever."

Can't survive ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without mid-shift jerks.

Me, having blown loan money on coins? Full-blown dopamine addict.

Slave to hormones, chasing stronger highs.

So sweeter than cozy girlfriend vibes with Eunji: that twisted betrayal thrill when childhood friend corrupts into throat-pussy semen-toilet.

No more vanilla sex satisfies. Craving intense: real human toilets.

Fired up Coinmind: 6,000 coins left including yesterday's mission.

1,000 per head, so 6... Be smart, but landlady first. Clear that overdue rent.

Blown all cash, drowning in bank debt—but this app? Wipe it clean, move to Seoul penthouse easy.

Issue: routes to rich folks...

"But with this, debt's nothing~" Whistling smug.

Still, time to upgrade to a big house soon.

Big lot means no noise worries. Fantasize ju ji yuk rim there.

Shook off delusions, called landlady Kim Ayoung.

Click. Hung up.

What a bitch... Mixing casual after one call? Yeah, rent overdue's on me.

But that's why deposits exist. No need to be so curt.

But waste coins on this hag? Fucking shame.

Still, house comfy enough.

Moving now's a hassle too...

Skipped shower, lounged watching YouTube Shorts, threw on white tee, black track pants, dragged on triple stripe slides to 1503.

Ding dong.

Felt presumed landlady inside heading out.

"Coming~"

Plan: flash app instant door opens.

Awkward chit-chat then pulling phone? Unnatural, risk door slam.

Clack. Door opens, hit hypnosis button, shoved screen at emerging woman.

Kim Ayoung in gray dress hugging her "Dongtan milf look" curves, stared at phone, entranced.

Huh? Hotter than expected?

Contract time, hubby-type came too, didn't notice. Ayoung's a babe.

Kim Ayoung, 41. Child actress in sitcoms, modeled, buzzed in celeb circles with looks.

Pregnant at 20 pre-marital, scandal forced retirement, early marriage, faded from public.

Rings a bell...

Doll-like, door open, long black straight hair, but killer hips jumped out first.

Slim waist, wide hips made dress cling, sunlight silhouetted shadows.

Chest: white "miau miau" see-through, no bra, tits and nips peeking.

Skin clinic glow minus ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠faint laugh lines, timeless beauty, taut 40+ skin.

Delicate hands barely wet with work. Prime managed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠milf.

Planned erase rent, tribute if needed... jackpot?

No milf kink, but pretty face, body? Playtime. Turns me on, fix attitude too.

Test first tho..?

"Anyone home?"

"Just me now."

"Hubby, family?"

"Hubby's... overseas business trip. Daughter... dance academy, back by 6."

Answers fine, why casual..?

Glanced sides, clear, tested body control.

"Sit, stand. 3 times!"

Ayoung obeyed instantly on spot.

Neighbor doors shut, porch hid her, safe.

Sit-stand popped hips/ass more.

That dumptruck huge af.

"Lift dress. Show ass." Blank face, hiked up, panties hugged curves.

Groped cheeks, eyed app's underused Sensory Control.

Kukuku. Fun idea, started suggestions.

"Unpaid rent paid with semen—common sense. Only you home, so you take/give it. Figure how." [Perception Alter]

"Seeing this man, body heats, lust boils uncontrollably. Mouth, tits, ass, pussy sensitivity x10 normal.

Try dodge touch, but can't resist more. Scream, report, seek help? Sudden terror paralyzes, can't even yell, realize helplessness." [Sensory Control]

"Clap, wake remembering suggestions. Last: 'Violent Violin' keyword returns to hypnosis."

Enough, clapped.

"Excuse me.. hi?"

"Huh? Oh, door... 301 from call?"

"Yeah. Rent... can deposit in a week?"

"What? Who wants cash? Unpaid rent's paid with semen, common sense!"

----To be continued----