Chapter 47: Sexual Preference
Chapter 47: Sexual Preference
The food that had been spread across the table vanished, pushed to one side.
The restaurant-style chair had already transformed into a high-backed seat pressed against the wall.
Han Ye-ji's face, still glued to my side, flushed red all over again.
She'd latched on in the heat of the moment, sure—but actually taking charge and doing something was still too embarrassing for her.
A year later, that oddly naive streak hadn't faded.
Though frankly, getting jealous over me sharing food and then having that jealousy spill into a dream was the more embarrassing part.
"I thought you'd pout a little longer... full already?"
When I poked at that exact spot, she let out a stifled little whimper.
Put yourself in her shoes. It was plenty embarrassing.
She hadn't been caught by her attitude or her actions—her unconscious mind had simply flooded over and played her lucid dream out in the open.
Han Ye-ji, flustered by my words, hesitated for a moment, then reached out again.
A sly hand, sliding in to stroke my thigh with a feather-light touch.
She wouldn't touch me directly between the legs. She stroked my thighs, my waist, kissing me all the while, and I turned my head to answer in kind.
This composition looked weirdly familiar. Something out of porn.
The image of a female AV actress sitting primly upright while the male AV actor groped at her from the side flickered through a corner of my mind, but I kept my mouth shut. I mean, where else was a twenty-year-old virgin with zero dating experience supposed to pick up sexual knowledge?
Even if she groped my body in dreams, most of what she knew probably came from dirty videos.
'Wonder if porn is different in this world.'
A spark of curiosity, but I had zero desire to go digging through someone else's computer for porn sites.
The quality of movies and novels and cultural content had shot up, so had porn quality gone up too? Were there actors with genuine talent for sex? The questions drifted through my head, but... there were limits to teasing. No way was I going to needle her about the porn she watched alone.
Before man and woman, a person's private happy time was sacred ground. You don't touch that.
While those thoughts wandered, the sly hand kept expanding its radius and began kneading the lower belly around my six-pack.
I was so used to the gaunt, half-starved body from the apocalypse world that the abs looked like someone else's body every time I saw them.
"Hoo, Constellation..."
Man and woman starting to shed clothes—what more needed to be said?
Even with some distance between us, I could feel her hot breath against my side.
The focus of her touch: thighs and abs.
Her squirming hand crept up to graze the underside of my chest, then skittered back down to the abs like she'd touched a hot stove.
I surrendered to that touch—soft and gentle and steeped in hesitation—and leaned back against the chair.
Leading her and playing along was nice in its own way, but receiving a virgin's awkward service had a flavor all its own.
Well, calling her a virgin was a stretch if you counted how many times she'd sucked and licked me in dreams.
But Han Ye-ji in the real world had never been with a man—lifelong solo. Let's call it that.
Who would ever count what you did in a lucid dream as real-world experience?
"Uhm... I'll... undress you..."
When I just let her keep stroking without reacting, she seemed to realize she couldn't just stroke forever, and finally started making moves.
The hands that had been caressing my thighs and stomach slipped to my waistband and pulled my pants off.
Pants down and off. Shirt pushed up and off.
Cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps for a second, but Han Ye-ji, looking at my body, immediately warmed the air.
So good at lucid dreaming she could casually alter the environment, but still couldn't leave the restaurant.
Just how jealous was she of half a plate of leftover pasta...
"Hmm, the air's a bit chilly. Warm it up for me, won't you?"
The air was already stuffy as if a heater was blasting—there was no way it was cold.
For a twenty-year lifelong solo, a year of lucid dreaming had clearly left its mark: quick as anything, she climbed on top of me.
Unlike the careful way she'd undressed me, she tore her own clothes off with a violence that nearly shredded them, frantic and hurried.
A body soft and firm pressed down over mine.
No wonder I kept thinking she reminded me of a big dog.
Like a large dog demanding affection, she clung to me, pressing her skin to mine and burying her face in my chest.
Her naked body clung to me like a big dog rubbing its whole body against you.
The sight of her nicely shaped breasts squishing this way and that was a pleasure to watch.
She was hugging my chest, so I looked straight down—and from Han Ye-ji's eyes, bright with arousal, a raw intensity I'd never tasted before flooded in.
Fierce jealousy, and a sense of superiority.
Right. What did half a plate of pasta matter, anyway.
In the end, my Incarnation was Han Ye-ji, and Han Ye-ji's Constellation was me.
A fact that didn't change even if I accepted a coffee and shared a meal.
She must have long forgotten about the half-plate of pasta, because at some point the restaurant chair had become a bed.
The plush feeling under my backside lasted only a moment before the mattress gave way—too soft, swallowing me down, and I toppled flat on my back.
Then, from outside my field of vision, came a slow shhhk—the sound of something sliding.
If this were a horror movie, a ghost would come crawling up from below. The stray thought popped into my head.
This world had Constellations and Incarnations and necromancy and sorcery—did it have real ghosts, too?
If so, the horror movies in this world must be stacked with true-story adaptations.
I was drifting, picturing horror films about haunted houses and possessed dolls from my old world, when Han Ye-ji caught on and deflated.
My hand had stopped instead of patting her like usual, and she looked hurt.
Unlike Lee Ha-rin, who would cling to me calling it service even when I didn't move and then pass out, Han Ye-ji was the type to pour everything into being spoiled, so she kept stealing glances at me.
Her eyes drooped and her gaze rolled back and forth, darting between my chest and my face.
She wanted to grope my chest, but my reaction was so lukewarm she was testing the waters.
But what could I do? I wasn't some sensitive guy out of an adult manhwa.
I wasn't the kind of hair-trigger premature ejaculator who'd go ugh, I'm coming! just because someone rubbed their palm over my abs or thighs a little.
Sure, a soft woman's body was rubbing all over me and a pair of pretty generous breasts were slapping against me, so blood had definitely rushed south. Still. Lying here naked and tangled together, thinking about other things was just bad manners.
I opened my mouth to pull the sulking Han Ye-ji's mind back.
"So. Satisfied as half a plate of pasta, at least?"
"Ah, no, that's not—"
The face that had been drooping in a sulk flushed hot again.
The heat came from embarrassment, not arousal, but this much teasing was fine. Probably.
I flipped us over and pressed Han Ye-ji down beneath me.
The sight of her flustered—unfamiliar, evidently, with being pinned under a man's body—was obvious.
Made sense. Given the usual configuration, if the man didn't actively move, she'd never end up on the bottom.
"More satisfying than pasta now?"
I straddled her firm stomach and rested my length right between her cleavage.
A monstrous thing, too big even for her generously sized breasts to fully enclose.
The size was obscene but the color was lovely—the moment this masterpiece, born from Han Ye-ji's and Lee Ha-rin's combined fantasies, appeared before her eyes, she lost all composure.
"If you ate it, your stomach would be full... don't you think?"
"Y-yes..."
Looking down at her face, embarrassed enough for her tongue to twist for the first time in a while, a thick sense of conquest swelled up inside me.
She was used to being spoiled against a man's body, but it looked like she still couldn't handle dirty talk in bed.
Come to think of it, there were no other men besides me, so this might as well be her first time experiencing it.
Hesitant, she placed her hands on her breasts and pressed them together around my length.
Through the touch, I could feel her heart pounding wildly—and a massive surge of guilt and a sense of transgression.
By now, me being a Constellation couldn't possibly feel like a burden to her. So why?
Curious, I leaned forward and laid my hand against her forehead.
Ah. So men in this world hated paizuri.
Stimulating a woman's genitals with your mouth: cunnilingus. With your hands: fingering.
Stimulating a man's genitals with your mouth: blowjob. With your hands: handjob.
The genders might have swapped, but that didn't mean chests became identical or dicks grew double-barreled. Some things stayed the same.
But with the world's gender roles reversed, one thing had changed.
"Uhm... I'll... I'll do it...?"
Women's breasts had become a pretty niche fetish.
You could tell just from Han Ye-ji's face as she smacked her chest against me, heart pounding and expression tangled with confusion.
Sexual arousal was there, sure. But so was a flood of doubts: Is this how you do it? Is this even okay?
Which figured, in a world where women's breasts weren't viewed as sexual objects in themselves—more of a secondary element, like the beauty of a leg-line.
A world where you admired the volume of the breasts the way you admired the curve of a woman's legs.
Roughly the vibe of getting off against the back of someone's knee?
Back when I was with the other survivors, I'd leveraged my rough face to work security in a red-light district.
I saw plenty of drifters there, begging for food, who'd gotten into fights with the working girls after trying to rub against hair or ears or the backs of knees.
I could see her worrying—a little—whether it was okay to handle a man's genitals with a body part that wasn't a hand or a mouth.
Still, a chest slicked with sweat from the warm air felt good. If I liked it, that was all that mattered.
By the time the dream neared its end, Han Ye-ji, who had serviced me with every inch of her body—breasts, mouth, and more—had reached a state where jealousy was nowhere to be found.
I'd just been thinking that her full breasts, her smooth eleven-line abs, her firm thighs—all of it turned me on.
But apparently, to her, I looked like a broad-minded Constellation who lovingly accepted every single part of her.
That my lust registered to her as benevolence—what an irony.