The Little Sister's Hole That Yearns for Her Oppa
The fifth night. Jiwoo lay in bed.
The lights were off. Through a gap in the curtains, the fluorescent glow from the hallway slipped through the crack under the door and drew a thin line across the floor.
Jiwoo stared at that line and counted her breaths. One. Two. Three.
Three days of willpower. A fourth day of endurance.
The fifth night. No more.
She closed her eyes, and the memory of her first time came flooding back.
Not a bed — the dining table. The hard wooden surface pressing into her chest. Milk soaking into the tablecloth and leaving stains. The grip of Minjun's hands on her waist. The heat of semen filling her belly.
And last night — her own fingers moving in her own bed, listening all the way to the sound of a drawer from Minjun's room across the hall.
She opened her eyes. The fluorescent strip on the ceiling seemed to sway.
No — it was her pupils that were trembling. Her pussy was burning.
The lotion-sensitized walls of her vagina clenched and released around emptiness, over and over, as if waiting for something.
No. For someone.
Her door was not locked. At some point she had stopped turning the knob to lock it.
At first it had been laziness. Now it was something else.
If it wasn't locked, she could leave. If it wasn't locked, someone could come in.
Jiwoo kicked off the covers. Her body moved first.
She sat up and perched on the edge of the bed. Bare feet touched the wooden floor. Cold.
At night the chill rose from the boards more sharply than usual — but that coldness only cleared her head.
She knew exactly what she was about to do, and still her feet would not leave the floor.
She stood. She was wearing nothing but a T-shirt.
She hadn't put on a bra to begin with. On nights she went to Minjun, going without one had become, at some point, a matter of course.
She was wearing panties. But her pussy lips were already wet, and the dampness was spreading through the fabric.
She turned the doorknob. Metal against her palm.
Slowly, without a sound. The door opened.
The hallway was dark.
The hallway. By day it was an ordinary corridor the five of them walked through — Suyeon from the master bedroom to the kitchen, Yujin from the study to the bathroom, Seoyeon from her room to the living room. Ordinary routes.
But at night the hallway became something else entirely. With five bedroom doors shut and only the dim glow of the unlit fluorescent tubes, the corridor was a border.
A boundary no one was supposed to cross, each of them holding their own desire behind their own door.
Jiwoo was crossing that border — a border built on the agreement to go back to being a normal family — like a smuggler. Barefoot, she took the wooden floor one step at a time.
Creak. On the third step the floorboards groaned.
Jiwoo held her breath and listened. From the master bedroom, Suyeon's even breathing. From the study, the sound of Yujin turning a page. Her aunt was still awake.
From Seoyeon's room, nothing. Jiwoo lifted her foot again.
In front of Minjun's door. Crossing five meters had taken a full minute.
Her palms were sweating. Her heart was pounding inside her ears.
Could someone in the master bedroom hear sounds from the hallway? What if Suyeon opened her door?
She hadn't prepared an excuse. On her way to the bathroom?
At two in the morning?
Even so, her hand was already moving. She didn't knock.
A knock would travel down the hallway and reach the master bedroom for certain. She simply turned the knob.
It wasn't locked. Minjun hadn't locked his door either.
That alone made Jiwoo's heart leap again. Was Oppa waiting for her too?
Or had he just forgotten to lock it, the way she had?
The door opened.
Minjun was sitting at his desk. The drawer was half open, and in his hand was a pink gelatinous mass.
An onahole. He had been about to use it.
The instant he tried to cover it with his T-shirt, the door opened.
Minjun shoved the onahole into the drawer by reflex and closed it with his knee. A soft thud. A small sound, but luckily no one else heard it.
Even in the dark he could make out the silhouette of a T-shirt front soaked with milk. He knew her by her build.
He knew her by her breathing alone. It was Jiwoo.
"Jiwoo, what are you doing here in the middle of the night—"
The voice, pitched low so as not to wake the household, sat in a man's deeper register. Minjun neither scolded her nor welcomed her. He was simply confirming that the person who had entered this room was Jiwoo.
Jiwoo didn't answer. Quietly she pushed the door shut behind her.
Click. The latch caught.
Now the room was cut off from the hallway. She didn't turn on a light.
No fluorescent, no desk lamp — complete darkness. Inside it the two of them looked at nothing but each other's silhouettes.
Jiwoo came to the side of the bed. The mattress sank slightly under her weight.
Her hand found Minjun's knee where he sat at the desk. Minjun didn't move.
Her hand climbed slowly. Thigh.
And when it reached the front of his pants, the fabric was already stretched tight.
"We shouldn't…"
Jiwoo's lips parted. That was all.
She knew they shouldn't. Four days ago at the table her mother had said so, and everyone had agreed.
Go back to being a family. Stop nursing on the milk. Keep your distance. Breaking that agreement.
But the more she thought of it, the more her hand was already tracing the shape of his cock through his pants.
"I know."
Minjun caught her wrist. Her hand stopped.
He pressed his fingers against the inside of her wrist. Her pulse was racing wildly.
So was his own.
He should push her away. He should keep the agreement.
But the moment her pulse reached his fingertips, his body answered first. His cock was hard enough to tear through the fabric.
It wanted real flesh, not an onahole. It remembered a female's body heat.
It remembered the look in Jiwoo's eyes as she gazed up at him even in the dark.
Minjun knew sex was not merely a matter of shaking a cock.
He let go of her wrist. Instead he caught the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up.
Jiwoo raised her arms. The T-shirt, soaked through with her milk, came off.
Her wet nipples gleamed even in the dark. Milk kept welling from the small tips of a sexually aroused female's breasts.
The milk stains that had spread down to her navel carried a faint, fishy scent even in the darkness.
Jiwoo's hands pulled down Minjun's pants — underwear and all.
His cock sprang free like a coil. Jiwoo paused and wrapped both hands around it.
Having never touched a man's cock before, her technique was as clumsy as a virgin's. She didn't know what to do.
She traced the head with her fingers, pressed lightly around the piss-slit. But what was different from the first time was this: she was no longer afraid of Oppa's cock.
"Oppa…"
Jiwoo took Minjun's hand and guided it to the inside of her thigh. She pushed down her cotton shorts and panties.
Around her pussy hole she was already soaked. The moment Minjun's finger touched her, the entrance of her vaginal walls clenched reflexively.
Whether it was the lotion or four days without contact, that small contraction alone wrapped his finger in warmth. Jiwoo pressed his finger against her hole and pushed her hips forward, just a little.
The tip of his finger slipped past the entrance. Jiwoo's breath broke short.
This was not a request. One finger was never going to be enough.
Her body already remembered something larger.
"Lie down."
Minjun stood and laid Jiwoo on his bed. The way a male does, he climbed over the female.
His cockhead nosed like a dog, searching for the wet female hole it would enter. In the dark, by the sensation at the tip alone, he found the entrance of her pussy.
A familiar path he had already opened once.
He pushed in slowly. Her vaginal walls remembered.
Hotter than the first time, deeper, they wrapped around Minjun. A long breath slipped from Jiwoo's mouth.
Minjun moved his hips and found a rhythm. On the way in her walls sucked his cock down; on the way out her outer lips turned with the head, baring pink membrane.
When he cupped her breast, milk ran between his fingers. Minjun bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth.
Jiwoo's back arched. Her hand pulled his head deeper against her.
With her free hand she smothered the moans that would not become words.
Sensitized by the long stretch without sex, her vaginal walls stroked the ridge of his cockhead with their folds as if caressing him. Jiwoo clamped a hand over her mouth, but the moans leaked between her fingers. Her hips bucked on their own, swallowing Minjun's cock deeper.
Minjun gripped her waist and drove in one last time, deep. The tip of his cockhead met the firm ring at the deepest point of her vagina.
The mouth of her womb. Living flesh coaxed his cockhead as if begging for semen.
Minjun held himself there, pressed flush against her cervix, and stopped. Jiwoo's walls convulsed and squeezed the full length of his cock.
Under that pressure he couldn't hold on — he shot his semen straight at her cervix. The first spurt hit it dead-on.
A second. A third. Inside her vagina the semen pooled with nowhere to run.
Her cervix held the load and would not let go of Minjun's cockhead. Jiwoo's waist bent like a bow.
Feeling the heat spread deep into her belly, she swallowed a short breath.
Minjun slowly pulled out. When his cockhead left her cervix there was a small sound.
Semen flowed back along her vaginal walls. Jiwoo's pussy hole was still open.
As if trying to fill the place his cock had just occupied, the entrance contracted, slowly.
Minjun lay down beside her. Both of them caught their breath and said nothing.
Jiwoo's fingers drifted over his chest. Cloth sticky with milk and sweat clung to the skin.
How many minutes passed like that? Jiwoo sat up.
She picked up the T-shirt and put it on. It was still damp.
In the dark she felt for Minjun's face. When he caught her hand, she lowered her head toward his mouth.
A soft peck. For the first time in their lives the two of them exchanged a light kiss the way birds do.
The way back was the same. She turned the doorknob slowly.
The hallway. She walked on her toes, avoiding the creaking boards.
She closed her own door. She sat on the edge of the bed.
Between her legs, a dull throb. Her pussy hole still hadn't closed.
Semen was slowly leaking out. Jiwoo didn't wipe it away.
She simply lay down in the panties still steeped in it. The second time.
It hurt less than the first. It was more shameful than the first.
The hole Minjun's cock had gone in and out of twitched in small pulses, as if missing him. Tonight's coupling burned itself into her soul like a brand.
The morning of the sixth day. The dining table.
Suyeon brought out the soup. Yujin wiped the table and set chopsticks beside her notebook.
Seoyeon came out late, yawning. There were faint shadows under her eyes.
A face that hadn't slept properly. Jiwoo sat down a little later than usual.
The ends of her hair were damp — she must have washed it. No one looked closely at her face.
Minjun picked up his spoon the way he always did.
But under the table a different conversation was underway.
Jiwoo's foot brushed Minjun's ankle. It was not an accident.
Minjun lifted his head, but Jiwoo was eating her soup. Expressionless.
As if nothing had happened. Her foot brushed his ankle again.
Longer this time. Her big toe traced slowly along his anklebone.
Minjun froze with his spoon in hand. Above the table Suyeon was talking to Yujin about food supplies, and Seoyeon was fighting a yawn.
No one knew. That under the table the two of them's feet were tangled together.
Minjun's cock stirred inside his pants. Jiwoo's foot rose a little and skimmed his shin.
Minjun jerked his leg back. Her foot kicked empty air.
Jiwoo glanced at him. The corner of her mouth lifted for a tenth of a second and fell again.
A smile only Minjun could catch.