The Forty-Day Doll 3
“I was going to make you put it on right here.”
He was smiling as if this truly delighted him.
“I’ll let you off. Consider this a gift.”
The crotch of my underwear was a little damp, but I simply pulled my skirt back down and straightened my clothes. Then I drew a slow breath and forced the heat in my body to settle.
“…Thank you.”
I bowed my head and picked up the shopping bag.
“Aren’t you curious?”
Honestly, I was. But I didn’t want to look right now. He had clearly been waiting for the way my face would change the moment I saw what was inside. I refused to move exactly as he wanted.
“Open it.”
He gestured that it was fine either way, but I could check once I left. There was no reason to do it here.
“I’ll look later.”
He didn’t push any further. He only wore the expression of someone who didn’t care either way.
“Fine. Wear it starting tomorrow.”
From the way he said wear it and come, it had to be clothing. And from the situation, I had a strong feeling it was panties.
“And from now on, you go around in nothing but the garter belt.”
“….”
“Get out.”
I bowed once more.
“I’ll be going.”
As expected, what he had given me was underwear. Only it wasn’t just feminine—it was a T-back clearly designed around the concept of sexy. There was so much sheer fabric over the lower abdomen that I would have to tidy my pubic hair just to put it on.
I could finally guess the reaction he had been hoping for. He had assumed I would still have hair down there—pubic hair showing faintly through the translucent fabric—and he had wanted to watch my face change when I saw it.
“You bastard…”
But there was nothing I could do about it.
Compared to ordinary cotton panties, the T-back he had given me was hard to put into words. The fabric over the lower abdomen was extremely thin, so the familiar sense of thickness was almost gone, and over the rear there was no band of cloth cutting across the cheeks, which felt strange. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable—I just didn’t know how to describe the sensation.
What I did know for certain was that it was mortifying. If I were the only one seeing it, maybe it would have been different. But the moment I lifted my skirt, I looked like I was dressed for some private event for a boyfriend, and that alone was deeply embarrassing. The fact that the person who would be looking was that bastard only made me angrier.
“Like your gift?”
I refused to move the way he wanted. So I kept my face as blank as I could manage.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He didn’t care either way.
“Lift it.”
“….”
Only a few days ago I had shown him the garter belt in front of him and even taken my panties off. And yet now, simply having to show him my underwear felt shameful. I hated this situation. It felt like being forced to hand over a secret diary.
“Was that a lie?”
I kept my expression as calm as possible and moved my hands slowly. What he wanted was exactly this reaction. I ought to be bold about it instead. But my body refused to cooperate. I managed to hitch my skirt up to the top of the panties—and then I couldn’t raise it any higher.
“Guess I’ll have to do it myself.”
He stood with a deliberate scrape of his chair, loud enough that I was meant to hear it. Reluctantly, I lifted the skirt the rest of the way.
A black garter belt. Highly suggestive black panties. Through the thin fabric, the pale texture of my skin showed clearly. He looked at the sight and smiled. The moment he did, I dropped the skirt again.
“You could show me more.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Still smiling, he came closer, then perched his hips against the edge of the desk so he was facing me. That unhurried expression, the slight lift at the corner of his mouth—he looked thoroughly entertained.
“What should we do today?”
“….”
I didn’t answer. Saying anything wouldn’t have changed the outcome anyway.
“Nothing come to mind?”
“No.”
He undid the buttons of my jacket, then the buttons of my dress shirt one by one. After that he slowly lifted my camisole and folded it up over the upper curve of my chest. A gray bra came into view, and between clean skin a deep cleavage showed. He stuffed a single check down into that valley.
“Your bra was a K, right?”
“Yes.”
“Seventy-five?”
“…Seventy.”
He circled the desk once. While he did, I lowered my eyes to the check wedged between my breasts.
A check for five million won.
He had said that if he liked something, he would give a tip. Looking at the money, the hostility I felt toward him eased—just a little. Then, in a flash, the fact that money could even dull my contempt made me furious all over again.
Fuck…
He finished his circuit of the desk and sat in the chair. Around then I lifted my gaze again and met his eyes.
“What, the amount not enough for you?”
He was wearing that sly smile.
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and smoothed my expression.
“Actually. I like that look too.”
The face I had worked so hard to calm twisted again. He, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the whole thing; the corner of his mouth stayed lifted.
“Yeeun. What should we try today?”
“….”
It didn’t sound like a question that expected an answer. He tapped the desk lightly with his fingers, then turned only his head to look at me.
“Take the bra off.”
Then he tapped the desk again. Same as with the panties—put it here. Maybe because he had already touched me down there, the idea of removing my bra didn’t feel like much. But just like the panties, if he took it away and never gave it back, I would be in real trouble. Ordinary cup sizes you could buy the same day; rare cups took forever to find. And the larger the size, the more obvious it was when you weren’t wearing one.
“Are you planning to make me go without a bra again until then?”
“I am. Why?”
“…No reason.”
I slipped the check from between my breasts into my pocket and took off my jacket. I was just about to pull my dress shirt free of my skirt when—
“Wait. Stop.”
I froze exactly as I was and looked at him.
“This seems boring.”
If it had only been taking the bra off, I wouldn’t have minded much. I had even thought it wasn’t so bad—and the moment he stopped me as if he had read that thought, irritation surged through me. I glared at him with that feeling plain in my eyes. He met the look with a smile that said he had known I would react exactly like this.
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Don’t take it off. Just show me your chest.”
The buttons were already undone, and the camisole was still folded up over my upper chest. I worked my breasts free of the cups and showed him. He came toward me again and sat back against the edge of the desk.
“Wow. First time I’ve seen them pink.”
He cupped my breasts as if supporting them and brought his face close to my nipples. Showing him my chest had been one thing, but the way he studied them like some curious specimen made shame crawl up my spine.
“Your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”
As the humiliation heated, I turned my head away. But maybe because I was so aware of his gaze, my nipples gradually stiffened. He noticed.
“You going to keep looking away?”
“…Yes.”
His smile deepened.
“Fine.”
Then he gave one nipple a light bite.
“Ah—!”
My body flinched on reflex and I looked at him. He was smiling exactly as if he had known I would do that. I wanted to hit him.
“Come here.”
I wanted to refuse. I couldn’t. Slowly I uncurled from the flinch and turned my face back.
“Still not going to look?”
He pinched both nipples between his fingers. Pain bloomed with a strange, rising heat.
“I won’t look.”
He pulled.
“Really?”
He pulled harder. The pinch and the stretch grew sharper. A tingling pain ran through me, and the excitement climbed with it.
“How long are you going to refuse to look?”
Still smiling, he pulled farther. It was near the limit; holding out was getting difficult.
“….”
I turned my head and met his eyes. The instant I did, he suddenly let go of my nipples.
“Ahk…”
The pain vanished all at once. On pure reflex I covered them with my hands, then glared at him with a vicious look—but he didn’t react at all. He only lifted one corner of his mouth.
“I thought you weren’t going to look.”
“I looked because it hurt.”
“Is that so?”
He pushed my hands away and pinched my nipples again.
“Still not going to look?”
“….”
I didn’t answer. He gave a small laugh and took his hands away.
“I’m kidding. Kidding.”
As he said it, he stroked one nipple with a single hand. My nipples were already so sensitive that even that light touch sent a sharp jolt through me.
“Here. Copy me.”
He took my wrist, guided it, and set my hand on one breast. On the other breast he placed his own hand.
“Watch what I do, and you do the same.”
Slowly he tightened his grip. His fingers sank in, reshaping the flesh to the curve of his palm.
“Copy me.”
It was intensely humiliating.
“….”
“Do it.”
Reluctantly, I followed his hand and squeezed. His hand was gripping my left breast; my own hand was gripping the right. When he eased the pressure, I eased mine. Caught in a feeling I couldn’t name, I watched his hand and mirrored it. When he squeezed hard, I squeezed hard. When he circled the areola as if teasing it, I circled the same way. When he flicked a nipple with his nail, I bit back a sound and flicked mine the same way.
By then, excitement seemed to be outrunning shame. He looked at my face and stopped his hand.
“How is it?”
A tangle of emotions slammed through me. I couldn’t put them into words, and my body, which wanted more stimulation, only made the confusion worse. Resentment, shame, arousal—and the sheer fact that I had been reduced to this. All of it together left me with nothing I could say. Or rather—I refused to say it. I didn’t want him to see any of that.
“…It was nothing special.”
I managed my expression, covered my breasts with the bra again, and straightened my clothes. He pushed off the desk and went back to his chair. He didn’t say a word while I dressed; he only watched. When I had finished putting everything back on, he finally spoke.
“Lift your skirt.”
“I refuse!”
I didn’t need to look to know. My panties were already soaked through, and I was slick between my legs. He almost certainly knew it too. Which was probably why he looked so pleased.
“Tell me why, and I’ll let it go.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Lift it? Or say it?”
He was pushing me to choose speech.
“….”
“Or do you want me to lift it for you?”