Bongsik's Night — Sex Technician, Superpower, Conquest, Observation
A rooftop bar in Gangnam. Friday night, the city's lights pouring down.
His name was Bongsik.
188 centimeters. A chiseled jawline. Deep, dark eyes. The moment he walked into any party, every woman's gaze drifted to him as if pulled by gravity.
He was perfection itself. With a single exception.
The snow-white hairnet perched on his head.
Bongsik had never once considered it a flaw. Without the hairnet, his focus unraveled — where her breath caught, the instant the temperature at his fingertips shifted by a tenth of a degree, the rhythm of the pulse reaching him between his knuckles. To Bongsik, his hands were instruments, and preparing the hairnet before a performance was simply what you did.
Everyone laughed when they saw it. He didn't mind. The one who laughed last was always Bongsik. Or, more precisely — the one left with the composure to laugh.
The moment he settled onto a barstool, the woman to his left caught his eye. A satin dress with bare shoulders, a long graceful neck.
"Give me your hand."
"Just like that?"
"Mm."
Bongsik's thumb pressed into the center of her palm. Slowly, layering in a little more weight at a time.
The woman in the satin dress held still at first. What is he doing? Is he into me?
And then — she was wet.
It happened in an instant. All he was doing was pressing her palm, yet something hot began gathering inside her panties. It didn't stop. She felt it spreading down her inner thighs, felt the fabric of her dress clinging to her skin.
Does that make any sense? Really — how is that possible? All he did was press my palm. What does that have to do with down there?
Bongsik studied her face. She was flustered — the face of a woman who couldn't explain why her own body was betraying her. And Bongsik knew. This was the type whose palm wired straight into everything below. He'd mapped it in the first second of taking her hand.
He moved to the inside of her wrist, where the pulse beat, and stroked it lightly with two fingers.
Her panties were soaked through. Heat began sliding down the inside of her thighs, warm and sticky. Beneath her dress, her two peaks rose stiff and aching, and every graze against the fabric cut her breath short.
Bongsik slowly worked his fingers between hers, all the way down to their roots.
"Haaah—"
The woman clapped a hand over her mouth. Too late — it had already escaped.
"Let me make it feel even better."
Once more he pressed deep between her fingers and drew back, and a low wet sound of clinging and parting hummed at his fingertips. The dress woman's thighs pressed against Bongsik's side entirely of their own accord.
"What am I supposed to do if your hands alone can do this to me."
She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She turned her head away, ears burning red.
Bongsik smiled.
A woman with a ponytail had been watching it all from one seat over.
At first she tried to simply look past it. What is wrong with her? He only held her hand. What even was that? But her feet refused to move.
The dress woman noticed and glanced her way. Their eyes met.
Neither of them said a word.
Bongsik lifted his head and patted the seat beside him.
"Come here. I can make everyone happy."
The ponytailed woman sat down.
Bongsik brought two fingers to the soft crease of her inner elbow and drew them in slow circles.
Inside the ponytailed woman's blouse, her peaks flinched first.
He hadn't even touched her there. It was her elbow. And still she felt them stiffening, standing hard — felt them against the fabric inside her bra, every breath in and every breath out turning to friction. There was no stopping it.
She crossed her arms. Hid them. But their shape was already pressing clear through the blouse, and under her skirt she was already soaked.
"That's not... mmmngh—"
"Your body is telling a different story."
The ponytailed woman grabbed Bongsik's arm.
"Keep going."
Bongsik smiled.
The dress woman watched it happen. Their eyes met for a beat — then both of them looked away at the same time.
It was ten minutes later that a woman in glasses appeared.
The dress woman and the ponytailed woman sat side by side, and their struggle to keep their faces composed was painfully obvious — the crossed-arm posture looked absurd, and the dress woman's ears were red too.
The glasses woman's gaze moved from one to the other, then landed on Bongsik.
"Why are you two—"
Bongsik patted the seat beside him.
"Why don't you sit down."
"What—"
"Sit and find out."
Bongsik met her eyes.
"You want to know what's going on here, don't you?"
"No."
"Then leave."
She hesitated — and sat down.
That was her answer.
This time, Bongsik didn't touch her hands.
Instead, with thumb and forefinger, he brushed the nape of her neck just behind her ear — featherlight, that downy-soft spot, so lightly he barely touched it at all.
A sound burst out of the glasses woman.
Behind my ear. He barely even touched me. The sound came first. She tried to smother it. It had already slipped free.
The dress woman and the ponytailed woman turned to look at her at the same time.
Bongsik traced slowly down the line of her throat, toward her collarbone.
"Hah— hnn—"
Another one escaped. She clapped both hands over her mouth.
His hand rose back to the spot behind her ear.
"Haaah—"
This time even two hands couldn't hold it in — the strangled sound only came through clearer. Her glasses slid down her nose. Inside her panties, she was soaked in an instant.
The dress woman and the ponytailed woman's eyes met again. This time, they held.
Still covering her mouth, the glasses woman gripped Bongsik's arm hard.
Bongsik straightened his hairnet a touch and let his gaze sweep across the three of them. The dress woman. The ponytailed woman. The glasses woman.
"Shall we get out of here?"
All three nodded at once.
The parking garage. Bongsik's SUV. The door clicked shut.
He pulled the dress woman toward him and pushed her dress up her hips.
The evidence of everything that had leaked down her over the past hour was written across her inner thighs, smeared clear past her knees.
Bongsik murmured low against her ear.
"You held out so well for a whole hour."
"Don't say things like that..."
His fingers nudged her underwear aside and slid inside. Hot, slick, clinging. Every movement drew a low, wet sound that filled the car.
He found, with pinpoint precision, the spot he'd mapped from that first press of her palm, and moved fast. The casanova didn't waste time on preliminaries — not for lack of patience, but because he already knew. Where to touch, how, and how much.
"Ah— ah— I'm already—"
Bongsik took the pace up another notch. Her back arched clean off the seat.
Her whole body went rigid, breath seizing. She clenched inside as the waves rippled outward, warmth spilling down over his fingers.
Without pulling his hand away, Bongsik looked at the ponytailed woman.
"Next."
The ponytailed woman moved over to him.
Bongsik spoke.
"You said you wouldn't. Back at the bar."
"And now?"
She hauled his hand under her skirt herself.
He slid in. Scalding hot and thoroughly drenched, just as expected. Bongsik caught a rhythm — fast, deep — and the air inside the car turned feverish with it. The hand gripping her waist drove the beat harder.
Her body rocked back and forth. She'd sworn she wouldn't be won over — and that was less than an hour ago. Already like this.
Her whole body pulled taut — and broke.
The glasses woman touched Bongsik's shoulder.
"Me too."
Bongsik pulled her in front of him.
He slid in. She was tight. Searching out the points that made her react, he began to move slowly, and every time he reached deep, a short cry slipped out of her.
"Hah— haaah—"
He matched her rhythm. Each time she cried out, she squeezed around him, and each time he pressed in deeper.
"Haaaahh—"
Her glasses slid down again.
Bongsik piled the three of them together.
The dress woman underneath. The ponytailed woman on top of her. The glasses woman leaning close at their side.
He took the dress woman first — even more sensitive now after her first climax. He moved slowly, driving deep, then tracing slow circles right on that spot.
"It's— it's coming again—"
Smiling, he drove into her hard a few times — then stopped.
"Why did you stop—"
He had already moved on to the ponytailed woman.
She'd been burning long before her turn came. The moment he slipped inside her, her moan pressed flat. He thrust deep, fast, riding a rhythm, the wet sounds of flesh meeting and giving way filling the cramped car.
Beside them, the dress woman listened and ached with want all on her own. Why did you stop with me and go to her?
Bongsik brought the ponytailed woman right to the edge — and stopped.
"Why—"
Then he moved to the glasses woman. Slid in. Her fingers clenched the seat.
"Haaah— not that fast—"
"You don't like it?"
"No—"
He pressed deeper still, and a sensation boomed from somewhere deep in her belly.
"Haaaahh—"
The dress woman seized Bongsik's arm.
"Put it back inside me."
"One moment."
"One moment is too long—"
The ponytailed woman laid a hand on his back.
"Me too."
The glasses woman tugged his shoulder toward her.
"Me too."
All three, at the same time.
Bongsik stopped and looked them over — adjusting the hairnet, ever so slightly.
"Then shall we all come together?"
Bongsik slid back into the dress woman. Deep. Slow.
His left hand took the ponytailed woman. His right hand, the glasses woman. All at once.
His body belonged to the dress woman — plunging deep and drawing back, striking with pinpoint accuracy the spot he'd mapped from that first press of her palm.
His left hand worked the ponytailed woman, deep inside, riding the rhythm of every shudder she gave him.
His right hand worked the glasses woman, fingers curled up inside her, timed to the exact instant her cries broke and she clenched down.
Three rhythms, all at once.
The dress woman's hips lifted.
"Now— I'm coming now—"
He drove deeper.
The ponytailed woman's fingers dug into his arm.
"Me too— me too, I'm—"
His left hand sped up.
The glasses woman pressed her forehead into his shoulder.
"Haaah— together— let's— together—"
Bongsik drove all three women up over the edge at the same time. Without slowing. In a single motion.
"Haaahhh—"
Three cries collided and detonated as one.
The dress woman's back bowed like a drawn bow, breath snatched away. She contracted in rippling waves inside, and heat spilled down over him.
The ponytailed woman's hips lifted, then gave out. She clamped around his left hand — tight, then loose.
With a low moan, the glasses woman shuddered through her whole body and crushed his hand in her grip, warmth running down her inner thighs.
All three came apart at the same moment.
The car went completely quiet.
The windows had fogged to a pale blur.
The dress woman burst out laughing first — weak, spent laughter — and the ponytailed woman followed.
A little later, the dress woman took out her phone. To ask for his number.
Bongsik's eyes were closed.
The ponytailed woman reached for hers too — then stopped, and looked at the dress woman. Their eyes met.
A look that said Did you ask for his number?, and a look that answered Not yet. But are you going to? passed between them.
The glasses woman found her glasses, put them on, and looked at Bongsik.
Without opening his eyes, Bongsik reached out and swept a hand through her hair, once.
That was all.
The dress woman slid her phone away. So did the ponytailed woman. So did the glasses woman.
None of the three — got his number.
And all three — would be back at this bar next Friday.
Bongsik straightened his hairnet a touch and opened his eyes.
Bongsik's night, tonight as ever — was legend.