Return 3
I deliberately exposed the watch on my wrist. Sure enough, she noticed it and her eyes widened. A Rolex Daytona Platinum. She glanced at my face while eyeing the 875 million won timepiece on my wrist. Assuming I was a real rich guy, my looks were top-tier among the elite. I read the greed in her reflection in the wine glass. And when her eyes widened at my profile, I was certain.
Empty-headed gold digger.
She turned her head away where I couldn't see, pulled out a hand mirror, and touched up her foundation and lipstick. From her long hair at the back, I spotted a single long white hair. There's only one reason a woman keeps a white hair instead of plucking it.
She lives alone.
She wasn't a club girl either. Club managers check appearances ruthlessly, so no stray white hairs would slip through.
A lonely woman with no allies... no close friends or colleagues.
A long white hair in the back meant no one told her about it. Proof of her bitchy personality keeping people away. Even living alone, if she had a good vanity setup, she could check her own back... But she wasn't rich—that much was clear from the fake designer dress. She pursed her lips to check her makeup, then turned back to me with a fresh expression. She was idly stroking her wine glass with her finger, trying to draw my attention. But she wouldn't speak first. Inside, she was probably screaming, Please look at me, look at my pretty face! Her right foot was already pointed toward me. It's natural brain wiring for the body to angle toward someone you like—especially the toes pointing means unconsciously craving them intensely.
I was an attractive alpha male. Especially wearing a Rolex Daytona Platinum.
I savored the robust aroma of the whiskey and let my lips curl into a slight smile.
...Fuck, whether it was this shell-only world or the original, the easiest way to get sex was still money.
"You here alone?"
In the end, the antsy bitch spoke first.
I slowly turned my head toward her. Pretty face. Heavy makeup hid her age, but she looked mid-to-late twenties.
"Yeah... came alone. Why's someone as pretty as you by herself?"
She covered her mouth and beamed at my flirt. Eating it up.
"Came to listen to music."
Bullshit. Here to get fucked by a chubby whale. Fucking liar.
I grinned and called the bartender. "Two Cosmopolitans. One for the lady here."
"Oh! Thanks, I'll enjoy it."
"Name's Woojin."
"Minji. You come here often?"
"Sometimes. Here for a mood boost tonight."
Here to fuck. Wanna call me out?
I shifted my seated posture toward her. Had to consciously show interest. Then, the question.
"Why alone?"
"Broke up with my boyfriend."
She jumped right into the convo like she'd been waiting. Answering my question without a second's hesitation—she was desperate as hell.
Standard flirt. No clue if she had a boyfriend or was lying. But keep the talk going.
"Oh, really? Must be tough."
She shrugged. "It's fine. That's how it goes."
Drinks arrived. I handed her hers.
"Thanks."
She sipped. Red lips touched the glass, pulled away. Her throat moved smoothly. Since sex was the goal, bullshit chit-chat was a waste.
"Wanna... dance?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
We headed to the dance floor. Slipped into the crowd and started moving. Her body swayed softly to the music. Occasionally brushing against mine, then away. I spotted bruise marks on her arm. Drug-ravaged body. Not drunk on booze—high on drugs. Most girls writhing in clubs were fucked up on dope. Shit. When did Korea become a narco-state? Couples high as fuck rutting like dogs in corners, nearly tripping over them.
Distance closed. Naturally put my hand on her waist. No resistance. She pressed closer. Whispered in her ear. My turn to flirt.
"You're really pretty."
She smiled. "Thanks."
Music shifted. Slower beat. Her body molded tighter to mine. Her scent teased my nose—sweet, oddly stimulating. Whispered in her ear.
"Got a spot with a great view. Wanna go?"
Sex invite. She hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
Left the club, grabbed a cab. Held her hand in the back. Soft. She gripped back tight. She pulled a small paper from her handbag, placed it on her tongue. Probably liquid drug sticker. Those were trending now. Sticker with a cartoon in your bag? It's drugs. Fucking junkie bitch. Explains the pretty face with no cash—blowing it all on dope.
We went to a 5-star suite. Paid full cash. She gawked at the stack.
"First time in a suite."
"Me too."
"Hohoho. Good sense of humor~"
Door shut, I dropped my pants. No more prying eyes. Cold to her glazed eyes:
"Suck it."
"Huh?"
She tucked hair behind her ear, stared shocked.
"Suck it. You think I brought you here to write love letters?"
She smiled. Eyes sparkled with lust. Slipped off the dress, soft skin peeking through lingerie.
"Woojin, you're tough."
Kneeled naturally, started licking my cock. I reached down, stroked her tits softly. Nipples hardened against the bra.
"Nice rack. Suck good."
"Ah..."
Low moan. Unhooked the bra. Tits fully out—perfect size and shape. Pink nipples stiff.
"Suck harder, you fucking slut."
Grabbed her head, thrust my hips. Easy with worn-out junkies. They crave bad boys.
"Aah... Woo... glk glk."
Shoved deep into her throat. She writhed in pain, but I wasn't here for tender love. Kindly plucked that white hair while she wasn't looking.
"Guhk, guhk!"
Yanked her hair, rammed relentlessly. No fight. Soft tongue, throat squeeze teasing the head. Spurt spurt! Cum flooded nonstop; her face flashed mild shock. Held her head, unloaded mercilessly in her mouth.
"Haaah... so much..."
She puked it out like vomit. I hauled her up, tossed her on the bed.
"If your pussy's decent, I'll gift you a Chanel bag."
"Haaah~ I like bad boys~ Hng~"
Junkie trait. Hate nice guys despite themselves. Biggest reason their lives spiral. Dependent on men. So I went full bad boy.
Worked her tits plenty, then down. Slowly peeled off cute panties. Pussy exposed—already soaked. Fingered gently. Bigger moan.
"Euuuh..."
Teased clit softly; body trembled. Moans louder.
"Ah, more..."
Slid finger in. Hot, wet. Walls clenched tight. Prepped enough, mounted her. Settled between legs. Pressed tip to slick entrance.
"Spread, bitch."
"Haeut?"
Face flushed red, head down. Cumming already pre-fuck.
"Sl... slow."
"Slow my ass."
Thrust the hard weapon in. Inner flesh parted, welcoming the head.
"Aaaah!"
Loud moan. Warm gel feel, wriggling vein-like sensors. Hot, tight inside. Fully in, paused. Checked her face—half-lidded eyes, parted lips. Doped on drugs, sex, dopamine—lost to pleasure. Moans filled the room.
"Ah, ah, ah..."
Ramped speed. Tits jiggled. Nails raked my back. Thighs quivered, abs spasmed. Pupils dilated, tongue lolled.
"Harder, harder..."
Obliged. Flesh slapping echoed. Moans louder.
"Aaaah! There! Right there!"
Walls clenched harder. She neared climax.
"I'm cumming... aaaah!"
Body arched like a bow. Walls spasmed, milking me. She peaked. I hit limit.
"Cumming inside."
She grinned, nodded. Baby-crazy face. Spurt spurt spurt. Filled her with hot cum.
"Ah..."
Collapsed on her. Both panting. Tits heaved. Pulled out. Cum leaked from between her legs. Still heaving.
"Wow... that was amazing."
She smiled. Creampie count up one.
I checked above my head in the bedside mirror again. 21:15:19
What the fuck? Countdown didn't budge.
I was a bit rattled. Definite creampie, but no effect.
"Shit. Spread your ass."
"Oh... you like anal? Me too!"
Minji spread her cheeks wide with both hands. No hiding her desire to be my woman. Probably dreaming of becoming a chaebol wife in a 5-star suite. Desperate to get knocked up too.
Two hours flew. Minji tamed by sex. Fuckmeat was top-notch—like built for it. Three anal creampies, four pussy, three oral. But countdown unchanged.
Slipped out while she slept. Left ten 100k bills by the bed, note to buy a Chanel bag. Shell-world cash was endless.
"Fuck... gotta extend real lifespan another way..."
Dying suddenly felt weird. No reason to. Font and color changed too. Before, bloody red creepy font screamed imminent death. Now sleek blue.
...What if countdown doesn't mean death?
Colons for countdown, commas for sex scores. Logical if it's UI thinking.
Clock said 7 AM. Headed home. Footsteps behind as I reached the elevator. Familiar face in the reflection—8th-floor delinquent in Adidas tracksuit jacket. In shell-world, begged me to kill her. Body hijacked by Beelzebub then angel, left as husk... Choi Seo-ah. Her skin-shell probably still in my T-16 living room. Fun body. Brain recalled intense fucks. Stirring erection. Same girl or not, same tasty flesh.
Sudden curiosity. The Choi Seo-ah who confessed killing Kim Mina while dealing drugs—did the real one do the same? Was shell-world T-16 a copy of reality?
Had to test. Elevator reflection: Choi Seo-ah, blankly on her phone. But trembling fingers, dilated pupils—she'd sampled her own goods.