The Purple Spot's Power

There's a saying about the "water-dense peach"—a peach so perfectly ripe and packed with juice that one bite is all it takes. Symbolically, people say it refers to a woman's backside. What that tells you is that our standards of beauty haven't really changed much since the old days. A good ass has always been something worth measuring beauty by.

So Kim Seoa's complex made perfect sense.

After talking her down like a parent scolding a kid once she'd finished her phone session, I put her to sleep, then peeled off my underwear so my stiff cock could finally breathe. Whether it was because I'd gone at it so hard with Jin Ayoung or because the effect just wore off with time, my dick had shrunk back to its original size.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the spot Lee Yeondo had pushed earlier. The moment I gave it a gentle squeeze, a purple spot bloomed in that previously blank space.

Unlike the others, this one reacted when you pressed it—a unique little mark.

I stroked the purple spot and watched what happened. My cock, already rock-hard from watching Seoa masturbate just minutes ago, refused to settle down and kept twitching hungrily. One more dirty sight and I was pretty sure I'd start leaking precum.

Part of me wanted to tell Seoa to hop in a taxi, come over, and finish me off, but I'd already come a ton earlier and was exhausted. Plus there was something I absolutely wanted to settle right now, so I held back.

The purple spot began to fade, bit by bit. At the same time, thick veins rose along my cock, and I could see with my own eyes as both girth and length started to swell.

Whoa—

My mouth fell open in pure awe. So this was how it grew. The length was already impressive, but the thickness was no joke. I'd actually stuffed something this size into Jin Ayoung earlier? It must have hurt like hell, yet she'd taken it so well. Her words from that night came back to me—she'd said it felt bigger than before. Maybe that was why she'd come so hard. It was the first time I'd ever made a woman finish like that, and I'd been nervous as hell.

Once the effect had run its course, the purple spot vanished completely. I didn't feel any regret. It had already grown as much as it was going to.

Now I had two possibilities to consider. Was there a time limit? Or did the effect disappear after a few rounds of sex? Sleeping on it would give me the answer.

And one more thing.

I headed straight for the bathroom.

My complexes sure as hell weren't limited to just my cock.

Mom asked like she expected me to have landed somewhere whose name alone would impress people. I didn't want to disappoint her, but I figured she'd find out eventually anyway. Still, I didn't go into a long-winded explanation about working at Head to Toe Women-Only Aesthetic.

"I work at a massage shop."

The lukewarm reaction was exactly what I expected. After all the years I'd spent grinding my parents' backs into dust while "preparing for the civil service exam," it was only natural. Living proof of just how pathetic my life had been. Feeling guilty, I told her:

"Send me your account number. I can't give you a ton, but I never called or took care of you guys, so I want to make it up somehow."

"How much living expense do I even need stuck in this tiny place? Come on, take it while your son's offering. Send the account number. Otherwise I'm donating this money straight to society."

My eyes suddenly stung.

"Yeah. Take care, Mom. I'll hang up."

After hanging up, a strange mix of feelings settled over me. Guilt for not treating Mom better, regret that I hadn't landed a more respectable job—and at the same time, a little hurt. I could hear the disappointment in her voice that her son had become a masseur. And yet there was also gratitude mixed in. While those complicated emotions swirled, I transferred the money to the account number she'd just sent.

Mom texted back immediately.

That last part was genuine. Money really does talk. What did the job title even matter? Most guys my age were scraping by on two or three million a month, four at best. I'd pulled in five million after just five days on the job. So which career was really superior here?

Before heading to work I ordered a few outfits online for Saturday—even a couple of brands I normally never looked at.

Once the shopping was done and I had nothing better to do, I hopped onto the Head to Toe Women-Only Aesthetic café and browsed the board.

A fresh post from the middle of last night already had over twenty comments, so I clicked in—and nearly jumped when I realized it was about me.

In a single day the board had gone completely crazy. Lee Mikyeong had started with a simple ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠recommendation post; the response was so good she even attached before-and-after photos, and the arguments exploded from there—Photoshop or not, real results or fake, and so on. You really had to hand it to Korean women and their obsession with beauty.

There was also clear interest in the new male therapist. What did I look like? Handsome or ugly? Tall or short? The sudden flood of attention was pretty overwhelming, but it also felt secretly good. Even hate comments beat total indifference any day.

On the way to work I texted back and forth with the women stored in my phone like usual. All six of them answered the second I replied, like they'd been waiting. Today, though, the one who suddenly got me horny was Park Yuyoung. She'd already been messaging me first thing in the morning.

I got the distinct feeling she was using the whole situation as an excuse to text me. Picturing her small, cute eyes, I happily kept the conversation going.

I'd been curious about Park Yuyoung for a while. Why did someone with such a pretty face refuse to show skin? Maybe she had a complex of her own. And beyond that—once I'd mixed flesh with her, I wanted another taste.

I couldn't help smiling. I hadn't even noticed anyone next to me until the bus stopped and I bumped into someone hard enough that our bodies collided—I'd been that focused on the texts. From the soft, delicate frame, it was definitely a woman.

"I'm sorry."

"What the hell? What do you think you're doing?"

I lifted my head and locked eyes with the woman I'd just hit. She was so furious her face had gone red and blotchy.

I accepted it was my fault and bowed again, but she was still pissed and whipped her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head away.

The side profile she turned toward the window was so pretty it was hard to believe we'd just run into each other on a bus. Short bob, sharp nose bridge, big eyes blinking long lashes. Her lips—still twitching with leftover anger—were painted a soft pink. She wore a tight vertical-striped dress that hugged her figure, a small puffer jacket over it, and a luxury handbag that screamed she hadn't taken the bus in ages.

The guy who looked like her boyfriend kept glancing at me while trying to soothe her.

"Babe, why are you so mad? He already said he was sorry."

"Ugh, forget it. This is exactly why I said I hate taking the bus."

"The car got into an accident—what else were we supposed to do..."

"Did I or did I not say we should just rent one?"

She fired back every single word without missing a beat, making even the person involved feel awkward. What would it feel like to be that woman's boyfriend? Like standing guard duty every day under a bitchy senior?

I shuddered and shook my head.

But the guy turned out to be a crazy bastard with a temper of his own. The second he felt the blame swinging back onto him, he suddenly barked at me.

"S-saying sorry makes everything okay? Next time keep your damn eyes open!"

"..."

I was so stunned I lost my words. Even the people around us started frowning.

"He already apologized—what more do you want?"

"Those people are total assholes, right?"

Once public opinion turned against them, he ducked his head again. Still, he and his girlfriend were perfectly in sync; he grinned like an idiot after she praised him, and the sight was disgusting.

They got off at the next stop. The woman spun toward me and glared like she wanted me dead, while the guy actually threw a fist-punch gesture in my direction.

Wow. You really do meet every kind of crazy bitch and bastard if you live long enough.

Looking back, I hadn't even heard anything that bad, but that final gesture felt like a knife in the back.

That's why they say you should never let people look down on you. If I'd been bigger and covered in tattoos, would they have dared pull that shit?

My luck was already rotten first thing on the commute. I pulled out my phone and texted the pretty women to calm myself down.

Technically it was a gesture, but whatever.

I did have a license—the legendary "closet license." I'd gotten it and driven exactly once.

That aside, offering to buy me a whole car? Way too much for me. After hearing about the money tied to her father, any decent human being would refuse.

I honestly didn't know if I'd ever end up at her bar. Looking at the bunny-girl photo she'd sent earlier made my face burn hot. I really wanted to try it while she was still in that costume.

To cool down the heat flaring below, I texted Kim Seoa.

We'll finish what we couldn't last night later.