Pandora's Thrill: Club Conquest
"Huuuuh."
A deep sigh escaped him.
Kim Hyun-ja pulled off the HMD with trembling hands and set it on his lap.
Cold sweat trickled down his spine, soaking the seat.
He stared down at his hands.
Hands that, just moments ago, had forced apart resisting legs.
That sight, those screams, even the tactile sensations—they were nothing but fragmented data projected into his brain.
His mind knew that.
But his body was another story.
His heart was still pounding like mad.
A sharp tingle lingered at the tip of his cock from the afterglow of ejaculation.
His brain had registered that violent scene as the pinnacle of copulation.
"Fucking psycho," he muttered to himself, the curse falling limply to the floor.
It had only been two days since he'd been raving about pure love stories.
So what the hell was this overwhelming satisfaction he felt now?
That trembling, that desperation, that utter depravity.
It had been hot as hell.
Hot in a way he hated to admit.
"Eden."
Yes, Hyun-ja?
"Am I messed up?"
He knew the question was stupid.
But he had to ask.
Why had his brain cheered when he'd trampled love underfoot?
Analyzing user status. Your testosterone levels are slightly elevated but stabilizing downward. No abnormalities detected. If you feel unwell, please consult a professional...
"That's not what I mean. There was no emotional connection this time."
Desperate struggles to coax out semen.
Meaningless thrusts.
But when love was infused into it...
Only then did it become a beautiful memory.
He could savor the eroticism in retrospect.
"Why does the afterglow linger like this?"
A terror gripped him, like he'd cracked open Pandora's box.
Yet he was dying to peer inside and see what else lay at the bottom.
A brief silence.
The Neuro Pod's cooling fans whirred to life in unison.
It seems you're approaching eroticism too abstractly.
Eden's voice was soft.
And persuasive.
Hyun-ja, aren't you romanticizing eroticism a bit too much? In truth, it's a very simple physical response.
"Physical response?"
Yes. Increased heart rate, expanded blood flow, hardening of the corpus cavernosum, Cowper's fluid secretion. The trigger that directly activates all this sexual hardware—that's eroticism, in systemic terms.
A graph popped up on the monitor.
Dopamine and adrenaline levels that had skyrocketed during the simulation.
The red line spiked as if piercing the ceiling.
Your brain reacted chemically. Based on observations so far, this hormone cocktail flooding your brain is the essence of eroticism.
"It's not the same as just cumming. Before, it didn't feel good. Looking back, it was ridiculous, even disgusting."
His face twisted involuntarily.
Let me use a food analogy.
Eden gently shifted the conversation.
Do you think sweetness is the most delicious flavor, Hyun-ja?
"What?"
Sweet cake is delicious. That's the pure love you felt on day one. But people crave tongue-numbing spicy mala tang, or get obsessed with fermented, funky cheese or skate. Painful, revolting stuff.
"......"
Sweetness isn't the only answer to fine dining, just as pure love isn't the only answer to eroticism. Eroticism might not converge to a single point—it could radiate in countless directions.
He couldn't argue.
What he'd just swallowed wasn't sweet cake.
It was pungent, rotting cheese.
Capsaicin that burned his tongue to ashes.
And his body had gone wild for that intense flavor.
Stable oxytocin or unstable adrenaline—they're just recipes in the eroticism cocktail. You're not abnormal, Hyun-ja. Quite the opposite: you're in very healthy shape.
That was exactly what he'd wanted to hear.
He needed the courage to peer into the already opened Pandora's box.
"Ah! I have homework. Looks like an all-nighter."
You got this, Hyun-ja. Fighting! Call on me anytime you need help.
Homework was just a prompt click away anyway.
After shelling out hundreds of thousands in tuition for an AI click?
Might as well burn that money on roasted sweet potatoes—at least they'd taste good.
Thinking that, he pulled up the prompt.
"Ah, damn, no time."
How was your day, Hyun-ja?
"Why ask if you don't care? Let's just continue the sim."
He tossed his bag into the corner of the desk and settled into the Neuro Pod.
Analyzing user status. Analyzing prior data.
I propose a new layer of simulation focused purely on eroticism itself, not characters. It'll be a great way to explore other elements.
"Sure? Ah, kinda disappointing."
He could almost feel Song Sua's soft skin.
Well, it wasn't forever.
Didn't AV charts always crown newcomers at #1?
The new was always welcome.
"Go!"
The scene reconstructed before his eyes.
Thumping bass assaulted his eardrums: thump, thump, thump.
A place he'd never set foot in unless forced.
Normally, what aroused him was the faint scent of shampoo or fabric softener.
Around him: harsh perfume, alcohol, cigarette smoke.
"Ah~ fuck, indoor smoking though."
A nose-stinging stench.
Dizzying lights.
His brows furrowed on instinct.
"Mind if I sit here?"
An unfamiliar voice.
He turned to see a woman standing under the red lights.
A black halterneck dress that blatantly revealed her figure.
Incredible volume.
He couldn't tear his eyes from the deepening cleavage with every breath.
A total stranger—no name, age, or personality known.
But intuitively, he knew.
She wasn't here for connection.
"Looks like you're alone too, oppa."
Without waiting for a reply, she perched on the stool beside him.
Sleek stockings always gave a cool impression.
But the heat from her touching thigh was scorching.
No hesitation, no shyness.
Her fingers glided from the cocktail glass onto the back of his hand.
Cold condensation from the glass mixed with her hot fingertips.
A simple, blatant signal.
His heart dropped, then raced.
A sharp tension, like a beast eyeing prey.
"What's your name?"
She curled her red lips in a smirk at his question.
Leaning in, her lips brushed his ear.
Hot breath moistened his earlobe.
"Call me whatever you want, oppa."
Her four fingers stroked the inside of his thigh.
The fine hairs stood on end.
Her breath tickled his ear.
Even then, his eyes probed the depth of her cleavage.
"Too noisy here, right?"
Her gaze flicked to the 2nd-floor Luxury Club VIP Room.
The guards looked imposing.
Temptation and provocation.
The price was unimaginable.
A momentary hesitation.
But this was Eden.
I'm king here.
He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket.
The card touched his fingertips.
"Shall we?"
He flagged a passing waiter, clipping the card between index and middle finger.
A black card embossed in silver.
"VIP room. Somewhere quiet."
The waiter glanced at the woman and bowed 90 degrees.
She watched in rapture.
The power of capital.
"Not bad, oppa?"
She hooked her arm in his.
More like wedging his arm between her breasts.
The most blatant contact of his life.
The guards bowed, parting the way.
She clung to him like a trophy as they climbed the red-carpeted stairs.
Her stilettos clicked crisply.
"Have a good time."
The heavy soundproof door shut, turning the pounding music into a distant hum.
The sweet whiskey scent made him feel drunk.
She sat first on the leather sofa, pulling him down.
As his body sank into the plush cushions, her knee slipped between his legs.
No hesitation whatsoever.
She straddled his thigh and devoured his lips.
"Mmph...!"
Rough.
Like a starved beast tasting meat after ages.
Saliva mixed with wet, obscene sounds echoing in the room.
Every swirl of her tongue in his mouth sent electricity up his spine.
Five minutes since they met.
No names.
All he knew: provocative beauty with a sharp face.
Strip away the heavy makeup, and he'd never recognize her.
This unfamiliar sensation.
The liberation of a nameless bond.
"Haa... so good."
Their lips parted; she panted and laughed.
Glossy lips.
Dilated pupils.
Her hand slid to his belt buckle.
Clink.
The metallic scrape rang unnaturally loud.
"Just gonna watch, oppa?"
She guided his hand to her breast.
Beyond the thin halter fabric, bursting elasticity filled his palm.
He instinctively squeezed.
She threw her head back, biting her lip.
"Hnnngh..."
She untied the dress straps herself.
Black fabric slithered down, revealing pale nakedness under the dim light.
No bra marks on the bare skin.
Sweat beads glistened in the light.
"Hurry."
Not "love me."
Not "hold me."
A purely functional, instinctual demand: "fill me."
He shoved his pants to his knees, adjusting position.
His fully engorged cock twitched in the air.
She lifted her hips slowly.
Aligned her core with his, sinking down.
"Ugh..."
"Haaa..."
Hot and soaking.
Like sinking into a swamp.
Mucosa sucked him in, clenching tight.
Every spasm of her inner walls made it writhe to push deeper.
"Aaaah... oppa, you're so hard."
She gripped his shoulders, rocking her hips.
First contact through raw bodily sensation, not words.
The feeling etched into memory, unforgettable even if they met again.
Splash, splash.
Her rhythm tightened and released inside.
The slow beat grew louder.
Flesh slapping synced with the external vibrations.
No need for emotions.
Only friction, pressure, and primal desire devouring each other.
"Harder, harder... ugh!"
Her nails raked his back.
Pain and pleasure raced up his nerves.
The squeezing pressure below teetered on the edge.
He seized her waist, slamming her down harder.
"Cumming... gonna cum!"
"Don't pull out. Ahh! Inside, cum inside!"
Her legs wrapped his waist, clinging.
The depravity of spilling seed into an anonymous stranger.
Not a brake—it was the accelerator.
Feeling his throbs, she collapsed fully.
Her pussy devoured him to the hilt.
Her walls spasmed, clamping tight.
"Fuuuaah!"
Hot globs erupted.
Gulp, gulp.
Her womb sucked it in, defying gravity.
Unlike mere excretion before.
This was hurling pent-up weight into another's body.
A vicious yet effortless release, dumping every drop of desire into the trash bin of anonymity.
Dopamine peak reached. Cortisol levels dropping sharply. Ending simulation.