It Wasn't the Kneeling
"Again. I can see the stray hairs."
Two days later, the third-floor studio of Raon Agency. A spring dress campaign shoot. Yura wasn't even looking at the mirror, and the hair stylist froze mid-pin, hand trembling. It was the second time that morning.
It had been like this since the night two days ago. The moment a gap opened in her attention, that taste came back to life under her tongue. The coarse nap of room 2104's carpet. Tae-kyung's cock, coated in cum and Lara's slick. Every time it surfaced, Yura's words came out a syllable shorter.
'That cock had been sucked by livestock. A tagged piece of livestock.'
"Unnie, why are you so on edge today~"
Seo-ah, her two two-shots wrapped, swung her legs off the waiting chair and dragged out the ends of her words.
"If your cuts are done, go. This is my shoot."
Seo-ah went "Sooo scary~" and giggled. A few staff members dropped their gaze. Today, more than ever, she needed people keeping their heads down around her.
In the corner of the studio, on the bare floor, Lara knelt in a gray slip. The one who had gazed up at a man's cock from down at that height, tongue outstretched — that had been Yura herself, two days ago. Beneath the hem of her shoot dress her pussy flinched, and Yura snapped her head away.
To that call from Tae-kyung — the one demanding she send only the livestock — Yura still hadn't given an answer.
"Wire going up!"
Lara came out changed into the same sky-blue shirtdress Yura wore. The stylist fitted a flesh-toned cover over her left earlobe and let her hair down to hide where the tag sat — a cover worn only while the shutter rolled, stripped off the instant the cut ended.
Two safety staff buckled her harness, and Lara's body was drawn up twelve meters. In the air she arched her back. The hem of the dress flipped over, baring her inner thighs and the line of her breasts under the lights.
Minhyuk's shutter rattled without pause. The same shutter that had photographed Lara's ass, cum trickling down it, last Thursday night. Yura had listened to that sound through a phone receiver.
On the monitor appeared her own face, smiling upside down in midair. The face that two days ago had ridden Tae-kyung's cock in a mirror, taking his cum, was smiling under studio lights now. It was better than any cut Yura herself had ever been shot in.
"That angle isn't me. The chin's too lifted. Go again."
The wire director lowered his walkie-talkie.
"Ma'am, that's the sixth take already."
"Which is why — make it the seventh."
While the wire rose again, Serin came around behind the monitor with her tablet.
"Maison Bellor Paris is confirmed. We fly out the first week of next month. They want the wire cuts reshot in front of their headquarters."
"Then take her along."
"The overseas export permit for livestock takes sixty days. Even filed today, it wouldn't come through until three weeks after we're back from Paris. Lara can't go."
"...We'll discuss it later."
Serin swiped to the next page of the tablet.
"One more thing. The lifting you've booked before departure — I'll reconfirm the date with the hospital. They say the swelling takes about ten days to settle."
"Handle it."
Yura dropped her phone onto the chair in front of the monitor and walked to the set. Looking up at twelve meters, the nape of her neck went cold.
She came back while the lights were being reset — and found Lara, cover removed, kneeling on the floor beside that chair.
"Master. A text came from the Chairman."
She picked up the phone. No notification on the screen. When she opened the thread, Tae-kyung's message sat there, already marked as read.
"...Don't touch my phone."
"Yes, Master."
She had never taught her the passcode.
The shoot wrapped at one. Serin led Lara down to the basement livestock room. As Yura, changed back into her own clothes, was leaving, Minhyuk — packing up equipment — leaned in close as he passed and murmured:
"Makeup room. Come for a minute."
The moment the door shut, Minhyuk pulled her against him and kissed her. A mirror lined with a row of bulbs, a long counter strewn with cosmetics. His hand closed over her breast through the white blouse; his rigid cock pressed into her lower belly through his slacks.
"You were so beautiful today. It was hell holding back."
Any other day she'd have cut it dead — what, here? Instead, Yura pushed his shoulders and switched places with him. Minhyuk perched his ass on the edge of the counter.
'That kind of thing is for livestock to do.' She'd said that to this man once, ages ago. That livestock had sucked his cock every Thursday since. And two days ago, she herself — tagged — had sucked the old man's.
She wanted to know whether she could do it without the tag. And there was the excuse, too — that the owner couldn't possibly fail at what her livestock could do.
Yura knelt. The tile was cold through her slacks. Right in front of her eyes, Minhyuk's cock tented the front of his trousers.
"...Yura?"
"What. You don't want it?"
"No. No, not at all."
He smiled, startled — then picked a towel off the counter, folded it in half, and tucked it under her knees.
"Your knees will hurt. Here, put this down."
Tender hands. The moment her knees sank into the soft towel, the pussy that had just begun to dampen in her slacks cooled right back down.
She undid his belt herself. She dragged the zipper down, pulled his underwear out of the way, and his cock sprang free, bobbing an inch from her nose. Thick. Two years of taking it through a condom, and she had never once seen it this close.
Yura spread her tongue wide, the way she'd learned two days ago, and ran it up him from root to glans in one slow stroke.
"Haah..."
The cock jerked erect against her tongue. Veins rose on the back of Minhyuk's hand where it braced against the counter.
She licked each side of the shaft in turn, scraped the hollow beneath the glans with her tongue-tip, sucked away the clear bead gathered at his slit, then sealed her lips over the head. Her body knew the order before she did.
"Ha — I'm losing my mind..."
He reached to tuck her hair behind her ear. The instant his fingertips grazed her ear, her head turned away on its own. It always did. Minhyuk withdrew the hand and cupped her cheek instead.
Glans in her mouth, she raised her eyes — and there, beside Minhyuk's hip, in the bulb-lit mirror, was her own face. Eyes still in full shoot makeup, bangs not a strand out of place. The face of Raon's CEO, mouth stuffed with a man's cock, cheeks hollowed around it.
It was absurd. Embarrassment rose faster than arousal did. To please him she tried moaning — "Mmh... mmhm..." — but in a mouth crammed full of cock the sound came out awkward. The same moans she faked in bed.
Yura took her hand off the shaft and laid both palms on her own knees. Exactly as she'd been ordered in room 2104 — mouth only, no hands.
'If I do it like this... like back then.'
She took him deeper. When the back of her throat balked at the halfway point, she stopped there and swirled her tongue instead. Drool leaked through her lips and wet her chin. Minhyuk's hand at the back of her head stroked her hair rather than pushing.
"You can use your hands. Just like that is more than enough. Don't strain yourself."
The old man hadn't said things like that.
"Wipe it."
"Not even close."
And then he'd shoved his cum-smeared cock right up to her nose.
"Bug."
Her knees on the towel didn't hurt at all. The pussy in her slacks was barely damp — nothing like the way it had dripped onto that carpet two days ago.
'Why. I'm kneeling the same way. Sucking cock the same way.'
Spite flared in her. Yura bowed her head lower and set her tongue to his balls, taking each wrinkled side between her lips and releasing it, rolling them upward with her tongue as her hand stroked the shaft.
"Ha, Yura... that..."
His thighs shook. His pleasure was written all over him. Beneath the balls of a man moaning her own name, Yura found herself growing calmer. It felt like redlining contract clauses.
"Wait — Yura. Keep that up and I'll cum in your mouth."
He laughed and tipped her chin up. A thin thread of drool stretched from her lower lip to the tip of his glans; he wiped it away with his thumb.
"I want to do it with you. Yeah?"
From the wallet in his back pocket he took out the condom he always carried, one at a time. While he rolled it down over his drool-slick length, Yura undid three buttons of her blouse and pushed her slacks and panties down one leg, freeing a foot.
Minhyuk took her by the waist to turn her around — a touch that said face the mirror, brace on the counter. The condomed tip touched the cleft of her ass.
"Not from behind."
"Okay."
He didn't press. He lifted her by the ass and seated her on the counter. Brushes and powder jars tumbled to the floor. Her legs fell open, baring her pussy, and the heat of the bulbs reached her shoulder blades from the mirror at her back.
He stepped between her thighs and rubbed his glans against her entrance. It didn't glide. He wet her with spit on his fingers and fed his cock in a little at a time.
It was a dull, stretching ache. The thick cock, condom and all, pried her under-lubricated insides apart and wedged itself deep. Yura gripped his shoulders.
"Does it hurt?"
"...I'm fine. Keep going."
He moved slowly. Withdrawing until he nearly slipped free, driving in to the hilt, out again. The lipsticks on the counter rattled with every thrust. He slipped a hand into her loosened blouse, squeezed her breast, rolled her nipple under his thumb.
Then he hooked her right leg over his arm and lifted. The angle changed, and he sank deeper. His lips drifted down toward her nape, hesitated, and only grazed — light enough to leave nothing. In two years, this man had never once broken her one rule: no marks on her neck.
"Yura. God, you feel good."
Yura wound her arms around his neck and squeezed her pussy around him the way she always did. The trick for getting it over with quickly. His breathing roughened; his cock thickened inside her.
'This again. Two whole years of this.'
She closed her eyes — to keep from seeing his face — and into the darkness another voice surfaced, unbidden.
'Livestock kneels.'
Her pussy clamped down hard.
Nothing like the squeezes she did on purpose. A spasm that folded in on itself from somewhere deep seized Minhyuk's cock through the condom and quivered around it.
"...Huh?"
He sucked in a breath. The tight, dry grip of her turned slick in an instant. Juices ran down the condom and wet the counter's edge.
'What. What is this...'
Minhyuk picked up the pace. Every time his cock bored to the root into her soaked pussy, a wet squelch filled the makeup room. A sound that hadn't existed in this room minutes ago.
Instead of opening her eyes, she let it all surface. Thick fingers. The smell of whiskey. That unhurried voice that looked down on livestock.
'Where should your eyes be, you bug bitch.'
"Hah—nngh...!"
A moan burst out of her. Not an act. Her pussy sucked Minhyuk's cock deeper as it clenched, her thighs locking around his waist of their own accord. Her clit ground against his pubic bone, numbing-bright.
"Yura... haah, Yura..."
He was calling her name — calling it out of pleasure. And the moment it touched her ears, the thing that had been climbing sank away like a lie. The pussy gripping his cock went slack.
'What... just now — because of that voice?'
Clinging to his neck, Yura caught her breath.
She didn't want to believe it. So she had to test it once more. If she opened her eyes and looked at Minhyuk's face, it would end right there.
She squeezed her eyes tighter and dredged up one more line from that room. The old man's laugh as he looked down at her — at her, mouth still around his cum-smeared cock, thighs squeezing, about to walk out.
'Leaving before the cock's wiped clean.'
Her hips lifted off the counter. She pushed her own pussy onto Minhyuk's cock. When his glans dragged across the upper wall inside, her back bowed with a shiver, and juices ran beneath her ass, soaking the counter.
"Schlick... schlick..."
The wet sounds swelled with the rhythm. Every time her inner flesh swallowed him it clenched and released on its own. Behind her closed lids, Yura was on the carpet — tagged, hands on her knees, someone else's cum in her mouth.
"Ah — ah... there, nngh..."
"Haah, Yura... so good..."
He cupped her ass in both hands and slammed up into her. The counter knocked against the wall — thud, thud. Her nipples dragged across his shirt, and the toes of her right foot began to curl.
'A little more. Just curse me a little more...'
She didn't know who she was begging. Her pussy clenched twice. Her breath caught once.
"Yura, look at me."
Her eyes opened at that voice.
Minhyuk was smiling. Under his sweat-beaded forehead, those ever-gentle eyes were looking at her.
The curling toes slowly uncurled. The climax that had been inches away drained away like water through her fingers.
"I'm cumming, Yura...!"
He went rigid with his hips crushed flush against hers. Through the condom his cock pulsed and pulsed. Yura held onto his back and counted the throbs jumping inside her own pussy. Five. Hers never once clenched along.
Panting, Minhyuk kissed her forehead.
"That was good. Really. And you?"
"...Yeah."
The answer she always gave. Let a little moan trail off the end, and he never asked twice. With him still inside her, her insides twitched, hollow.
Minhyuk only smiled. He swept his sweat-damp bangs back and pressed a light kiss to the tip of her nose.
He drew out. A heavy pool of white cum hung in the condom's tip. He tied it off, wrapped it in tissue, dropped it in the bin — then did up her blouse buttons one by one.
"I'll call you tonight."
The door closed.
Yura couldn't get down off the counter for a long time.
Between her spread thighs was hot and slick. What had made her this way was a few lines in an old man's voice.
She drew a finger along her lips, and juice followed in a string. Her clit was still swollen. The pussy that hadn't come clenched at empty air, fluttering.
'It wasn't the kneeling. It wasn't sucking cock, either.'
She turned to the mirror. Smudged lipstick, mussed bangs, buttons Minhyuk had closed all the way to her throat.
'...It was being called livestock. A bug. That's what she'd liked.'
The instant she thought it, her pussy flinched again. Yura scrubbed the inside of her thighs roughly with tissue.
On the counter, the phone chimed once, short. A text from Minhyuk.
Below it, untouched, sat Tae-kyung's message — the one Lara had read ahead of her that morning. One line, asking whether she'd decided about the livestock. She couldn't pull her eyes off those two syllables — livestock — and from her wiped-clean pussy the juice seeped out all over again.
Without opening a reply, Yura turned the screen face-down.
Slacks back on. Lipstick wiped off and reapplied. Collar straightened, bangs smoothed with her fingertips. In the mirror, Raon's CEO stood again. Chin lifted, one corner of her mouth curled.
She opened the door.
Seo-ah was leaning against the corridor wall. She looked up from her phone and gave Yura a slow once-over, top to bottom.
"Unnie~ Minhyuk oppa just walked out of there, didn't he? He looked like he was in such a good mood."
"Move."
Seo-ah didn't budge. It was the look she always got when Paris came up. The same look from the Saturday studio, when she'd planted her heel on Lara's back.
"Unnie, can't you lend me that livestock just once?"
