Stream With It Inside You
The lavish lighting of the dressing room laid Yoo Jimin's naked misery bare. Every inch of her body ached. Her nipples and clitoris, still raw from the steel toothbrush, burned as if they'd been seared with a brand. She didn't need a mirror. Just imagining how hideously those places must have swollen made her skin crawl.
Fuck... a dance stream...
She cursed her past self for locking in this particular content today of all days. But what choice did she have? A stream was a promise. Canceling a viewer-voted segment on the day of? The court of public opinion would bury her before she could even invent an excuse. Subscriber count, donations — all of it could evaporate in an instant. And Lee Dongwoo... that bastard wouldn't just sit back and watch. Leak the video? Or something even worse — another session of "atonement"? Either way, she couldn't take it.
"Hah... I should at least... get ready..."
The words came out as more of a groan. Yoo Jimin forced her body into motion, her trembling hands beginning to sort through the outfits hanging on the rack. In her head she ran through the idol choreography she'd have to perform today — sharp, aggressive moves, a fit that would put every curve on display.
This one's... way too tight...
She hesitated in front of a deeply cut top. Even if it wouldn't show from the outside, the thought that a hard enough move might outline her swollen nipples made her stomach drop. She picked up another option — a crop top that would bare her navel, paired with tiny hot pants. That one had a different problem. The shorts could ride up mid-dance, and in her current state even the slightest friction would make her scream.
In the end she pulled out a few pieces that looked relatively safe: a slightly loose sporty top and a pair of training pants with decent range of motion. It was a combination she would never have worn for a dance cover stream. It might even look lazy. But it was the best she could do. No — it was the only option she had.
She draped the chosen clothes over her arm, limp, and felt a sudden urge to just sink to the floor right there. Time, however, was not going to wait. She still had makeup to do, hair to style. Above all else, she had to hide this wreck of a body as thoroughly as she could. She drew one deep breath and dragged her heavy feet toward the vanity. It was almost time to put on the mask she wore for the camera.
Unlike the dressing room blazing with lights, her private makeup space was calm and comfortable. Right now, though, it felt like another torture chamber. Sitting in front of the mirror, she could barely stand to look at her own face. Especially the left cheek. The mark Lee Dongwoo's fist had left was still vivid — a bruise gone from red to a dark, ugly blue, the flesh swollen and puffy around it.
"Hah..."
The sigh came out on its own. How was she supposed to cover this? Her usual stream makeup put a lot of work into skin, but she'd never had to do this kind of coverage before. Her trembling hands pulled out foundation and concealer — the highest-coverage products she owned. Normally she used just a touch to keep her skin looking flawless. Today was different. She scooped out a generous amount and carefully blended it over the bruise.
Tap, tap, tap. She dabbed with the sponge, layered, dabbed again. After enough repetitions the color of the bruise seemed somewhat hidden — but the real problem remained. The swelling. No amount of product could disguise a face that had gone lopsided from the puffiness. The thick layers of makeup only made it look more unnatural.
"Shit..."
She muttered the curse at her reflection. She couldn't sit in front of a camera like this. Her viewers weren't idiots. They'd clock it instantly. Uni, what happened to your face? Did someone hit you? The chat would explode. And then what was she supposed to say? That she fell? Or...
It wasn't that a brilliant idea suddenly struck her. It was just the only solution that looked like it might work. A mask. These days, wearing one wasn't strange at all. She could claim she had a cold, or a bad skin flare-up. Sure, a mask on a dance stream would look awkward — but it was a hundred times better than putting that bruised face on camera.
Decision made, she pulled a jet-black fashion mask from the drawer and put it on. With more than half her face covered, she felt a sliver of relief. That left the eyes. The one part a mask couldn't hide. The one part that could still give every feeling away.
"At least... I have to get the eyes right."
She picked up her eyeliner and drew the line far darker and longer than usual, pulling the outer corners into a sharp wing, trying to look even a little more fierce, more intense. She layered a deep brown shadow over and over to carve dimension into her lids, then clamped her lashes with a curler and piled on mascara until they were doll-thick and dangerously full. She filled in her brows darker than usual, too.
When she was done, she looked in the mirror again. The eyes above the mask were so vivid, so dazzling, it was hard to believe they belonged to someone who had been drowning in despair minutes ago. A haughty, self-assured gaze, as if sorrow and fear didn't exist. It was another mask. One last desperate attempt to hide the pain inside.
In the glass, streamer Uni — armed with a mask and heavy eye makeup — stared back at her, cold. Soon she would have to wear this face onto a stage in hell.
The mask was complete. Black fabric and heavy eyes. Now she had to prepare the body that would hide behind it. A dance stream. If her clothes slipped in the middle of a hard move, or her underwear showed through? Today's broadcast already felt like walking on thin ice. She couldn't afford that kind of controversy on top of everything else.
Yoo Jimin opened the drawer with practiced ease and pulled out a high-support sports bra and compression shorts — the ones she always used for dance streams, the kind that locked her chest and lower belly in place even through the most aggressive choreography. She also grabbed double-sided tape and safety pins, anything that would keep fabric glued to skin if things went wrong.
The moment she lifted her arms to put on the sports bra—
"Hhk...!"
A sharp, electric pain slammed through both nipples. The taut inner fabric of the bra dragged across the swollen buds the steel toothbrush had scraped raw. It felt like salt being ground into flayed skin. She froze, breath caught, shoulders hunched. The horrific sensation from earlier came roaring back as if it were happening all over again.
But she couldn't stop. She took a breath and forced the bra on. The tight compression around her chest came with a constant, grinding scrape of fabric against her swollen nipples. Next were the shorts. The moment she carefully lifted a leg and pulled them up, a scream nearly tore out of her — this time from her clitoris.
"Nngh...!"
An inner seam dragged right across that swollen, hypersensitive spot. The damage the steel toothbrush had left was deeper and crueler than she'd realized. Even the slightest friction set off a fire. She bit down on her lower lip and swallowed the moan.
Underwear finally on, she picked up the sporty top and training pants she'd chosen — the least clingy options she had. Even the simple act of pulling clothes over her body felt like torture. Loose as they were, every movement still made the fabric graze her wounded places. Pinning and taping everything down so nothing would ride up was even worse. Every time she tugged the cloth taut to stick the tape, the sensitive skin underneath came with it and screamed.
When she was fully dressed, Yoo Jimin stood in front of the mirror. On the surface she looked ordinary — like someone heading out for a casual dance practice. Half her face was hidden behind the mask. Above it, the lavish eye makeup flashed. No one would ever guess what kind of pain she was hiding under those clothes.
But she knew. The sharp sting that came with every brush of fabric. And beneath that pain, something deeper — the humiliation and shame coiled in her chest. It felt like she was wearing a suit of thorns. And soon she would have to smile and dance in it.
The dressing room door opened, and streamer Uni walked out. Sporty top, training pants, a black mask covering more than half her face, and above it, eye makeup that burned. She might have looked a little tired, but no one would have imagined this was someone who, minutes ago, had been naked and subjected to unspeakable torture. The precise posture, the proud expression she was fighting to hold — those were the proof of how desperately she was trying to hide her condition. The raw wounds under the fabric, the humiliation soaked into her bones — those were secrets only she knew.
Lee Dongwoo, waiting on the living room sofa, took one look at her and let out a short, amused laugh. He looked ready to give her a round of applause.
"Well, well. A pro's a pro, huh."
The mockery in his voice was thick.
"Who'd ever guess you were rolling around on the floor like a dog just a minute ago? Flawless. Absolutely flawless."
Yoo Jimin bit her lip at the praise that wasn't praise. She said nothing. She had nothing to say, and no strength left to say it with.
"Alright. You can handle the stream now, yeah?"
Lee Dongwoo stood and walked over to her. He rummaged through one of the shopping bags from earlier — the one from the adult store. A moment later, a smooth, curved object appeared in his hand. A pale pink wireless vibrator, remote-controlled. Small, but it looked powerful. He thrust it in front of Yoo Jimin's face as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"...What?"
Yoo Jimin's eyes went wide again, disbelieving. A vibrator? He wanted her to keep this inside her the entire stream? She hadn't seen this coming. Or maybe she should have. Of course he wasn't going to let her off that easy. When he'd said he'd touch the parts no one could see, he hadn't been finished.
The pain from the steel toothbrush hadn't even faded, and now she was supposed to put that thing inside herself and dance — hard. The remote would be in that devil's hand. Whenever he felt like it, he could toy with her, break her, right in the middle of a live broadcast.
No... this is... this is actually...
Her body started trembling again. She wanted to refuse. But she already knew. Her refusal meant nothing. It would only make things worse. Lee Dongwoo didn't wait for an answer. He held the vibrator out, ready to press it into her palm. An order she couldn't refuse.