The Daughter Takes After Mom – She's So Damn Wet
Kim Il-woo dragged his weary body home at last. So much had happened in a single day that he wanted to chuck it all and just crash.
In this whole mess, the only salvage was Lee Seo-yoon's utterly despairing face?
The look on Lee Seo-yoon's face when she saw her daughter asleep in my arms—it was like the world had come crashing down, utterly wretched. The realization that she could no longer keep me away from her daughter had painted her friend's mom's features with pure despair. It was so fucking hot; if not for Park Jun-hyun, I'd have gone another round right there.
"Hoo..."
After a hot shower, he checked the communication device that let him talk to his future self—and there was a message waiting.
A message from future me with some bite to it.
Yeah, figures. The motel that should've been fucked is fine, and not only that—I teamed up with the motel clerk for a forced threesome with Lee Seo-yoon.
Was future me more possessive than expected? Our lust to train and defile Choi Ara and Lee Seo-yoon was the same...
Maybe knowing the future info has me in overdrive?
Kim Il-woo's boldness came from future knowledge. Getting tangled with people he shouldn't, pushing playstyles to extremes—it was all true.
Kim Il-woo kept it vague so his future wife wouldn't catch on.
"Future me's something else."
She seemed pleased with my antics. Widening the playstyle would thrill future me too—he was probably curious how he'd spin the cards I tossed him.
Putting personal chit-chat aside, Kim Il-woo summed up today's wild card as best he could.
"Figured as much."
Strictly speaking, Park Jun-hyun's extreme reaction stemmed from mental strain with Choi Ara, but that didn't fly in a relationship. No wonder future wife spoke so coldly about dumping him.
Kim Il-woo pondered the follow-up message from future me. Sure, no plans to shove him out—he wanted Choi Ara dating him to make claiming my childhood friend way more fun. Better if they kept going a bit longer.
"Help, huh..."
Play-related? But with wife peeking at the device, no straight talk. When he asked directly, the reply was shockingly blunt.
"That guy's the key to sending future wife back to the past...?"
Time machine or whatever—didn't seem like the type to invent a device sending people back. Why...?
A guy building a time machine to save his past girlfriend? "Fucking romantic badass."
Real hero shit, leagues above trash like me. He'd keep researching, and one slip could expose my crimes—yet future me kept him close?
"What the hell?" Lifespan trade for exhaustion death? No, accident? Illogical, contradictory.
"..."
Kim Il-woo drummed fingers on his desk, guessing why future me phrased it that way. A creeping dread rose.
"This is..."
He shoved the worst imaginings from his head, too wiped to continue—told future self they'd talk later and cut the chat short.
"Bedtime..."
Shower lightened his head, but it grew heavy again. Tossing in sheets, he finally dozed off.
The next day, Kim Il-woo visited his childhood friend's house. He was practically family now—more time here than home.
"..."
Kim Il-woo and Choi Ara sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the living room sofa in the empty house, silent.
Close.
Since she emerged from her room, they'd zoned out like this sometimes—but leaning like lovers? First time. Her sweet feminine scent wafted faintly, the plush give of her tits pressing through thin pajamas against his arm.
No bra?
Peeking down, her cleavage screamed braless.
Slide...
Snuggled close like she'd hug him—then her head tilted, landing on my lap.
What? Begging to fuck?
Unbelievable proximity for a woman terrified of men post-rape. Even couples needed cheesy vibes for lap pillows—this voluntary? Her intent unclear. Tension hummed between them.
This feels like dating.
Future wife or not, cozy romance wasn't bad—but his tastes ran stickier, more sadistic. Far from pure love. Future stuff, yesterday's curveball—stress piled up. To shake the lukewarm sweetness, he tossed a provocative bomb she'd hate.
"Wanna kiss?"
Past dating vibes were chaste, static; post-rape man-hater should bolt at this. Plus, dating Park Jun-hyun—no way she'd cheat. Bold miscalculation.
"..."
Her face twisted at the casual drop, knees hugged as she looked up. Unlike mom's sultry down-turned eyes, Ara's sharp, stubborn gaze narrowed, probing my intent. Meeting it steadily, she turned away to my stomach, averting.
Seriously tempting? Pull out my dick and stuff her mouth?
Could shove it in childhood friend's mouth anytime—frustration boiled. Grabbing her head—then she sat up, finally pulling away. Relief and regret hit as weight lifted from lap.
"..."
Or not. She stood, then straddled facing me on my lap.
"...What?"
"......Kiss."
"For real?"
"......Yeah."
Her serious-yet-shy face filled his view. Unkempt hair from no upkeep added decadent allure; half-lidded eyes, darker than before, held shadows seductively. Pale—her mom's genes or housebound?—peach-like lips breathed hot. Thin pajamas let body heat and ripe early-20s scent sink deep, devouring reason.
"No regrets."
She knew his sticky, base tastes—this warning meant business. Lips met.
"Mm... Mmph..."
"Mmph... Chup, churp..."
Sticky, lewd smooching echoed softly in empty house. Still scared of men? Or my endless lust? Ara trembled faintly in his arms.
She kept pulling back like fleeing—he gripped her nape, forcing her still. Savoring soft lips and heating breaths, he devoured like consumption.
"Mmph...?! Mmph...?!"
No pure pecks for him—tossed courtesy, shoved tongue in to rampage. Unfamiliar with sticky deep kisses, her tongue flailed in panic. He toyed her mouth, licked everywhere, coiled her quivering freshman tongue like tasting.
Not satisfied, hand slipped under thin pajama top, stroking smooth waist.
Twitch!
"Hngh...!!!"
Ara jolted like sprung at his lust-soaked touch on waist—but no escape, just fine tremors accepting it.
Old her would've slapped me.
Man-hating post-rape, yet turning slutty—what kink? Masochist?
Rebellion against dutiful life, or rape awakening new walls? Unfathomable otherwise.
Doesn't scare her... why...?
Ara startled at sticky hand on waist beyond kiss—but no fear. Yesterday's panic hyperventilation soothed by neither mom nor boyfriend calmed instantly with his kiss. First post-rape kiss? Or something else? Wariness rose at growing dependence on childhood friend, but emotions can't be reined. Couldn't stop budding affection.
Seeing no flight from waist fondling, Kim Il-woo pushed bolder. Hand slid back, creeping into pajama bottoms toward ass.
Flinch!
Ara shuddered, sensing path.
"Mm... Mmph..."
Hand settled on childhood friend's ass inside bottoms.
Squeeze.
"Heut?!"
20s firm-soft ass filled his grip. No kiss focus left—she broke off, head dropping fast. Waterfall hair hid face.
"No panties either? Say stop if you hate it."
He offered veto. Then free hand into pajama top, crawling up opposite to swollen tits. Fingers wiggled near underboob, signaling intent to grab if no protest.
"..."
Ara just hung head—no objection to tit signal or ass grope.
"......Okay."
With that, he softly gripped her known weak spot underboob from rape recon.
"Huuuk...?!"
Sweet, stifled moan leaked from bowed head. He buried face in her crown, whispering.
"You're a soaker, huh?"
Hot dampness, slick under ass-grip fingers. Pussy untouched, yet wetness seeped.
Like mother, like daughter.
Mother-daughter match in sensitivity and floods. Tickling underboob, ass hand slid lower to soaked secret garden.
Prod.
"Hah...?!"
Finger grazed plump mound—Ara's waist twisted, quaking. Finger slicked instant with juices.
My lap's wetting too.
Focused on hands, late notice: lap damp from her. Bottoms crotch soaked like pissed.
"Haauk...! Haak...! Haak...!"
Teasing mound taps and strokes—Ara heaved deep, trembling on verge.
Learn late, fear the thief.
Her moves screamed whore. Prude good-girl ditched morals, exuded decay, now panted slutty moans in non-boyfriend's arms.
Perfect match morphing for beast Kim Il-woo—reward time. No more tease, plunged finger deep.
Squelch!
"Hauk?!"
Ara slumped against him. Dizzying clamp bit finger; juices gushed, her arousal peak.
"Never knew my childhood friend was such a slut?"
"Huuuu...!!!"
Teased via words—did she grasp her state? On edge convulsions—no more delay, moved to let her shatter.
Underboob hand up to pinch nipple hard; pussy finger swirled, stirring insides.
"Haaaak?!"
Splash! Splash! Splash!
Overkill dual assault—climaxed as intended, squirting wildly. Palm pooled slick; he savored her helpless orgasmic slutshow.
Her hip-shaking spasms like bewitching—quite the sight.
"Haa...! Haa...! Haa...!"
Rough pants below his head. Fingertight clench, inner quivers—he sated base urge a bit.
Her body soaked quick, heat warping air lewd.
"Now then..."
Aperitif served—main course. Stood her from lap to strip bottoms.
"Haa...! Haa...! Haa...!"
Post-climax legs shook aspen; crotch drooled past soaked, drops falling. Head still bowed, hair-veiled face.
Panting filled ears as he reached for pants—she bolted to her room.
Bang!
"......Fucking bitch."
Door slam screamed rejection. Tried following—locked in seconds.
"You get off and bail?"
Wanted to bust in and fuck—but unexpected progress? Satisfaction here.
Lit daughter and ditched—mom'll pay.
Pissed at arousal tease-gone—vent on her mom.