The Sweet Girl App
Nine in the morning.
Just far enough off the rush-hour crush to breathe a little.
Same as always, I boarded the subway at the same time I always did.
I lived in Sillim. The company was in Yeoksam. On Subway Line 2, it was only about fifteen minutes — close enough that the commute barely registered as a commute.
I thought today would roll along just as smoothly. Then the incident happened.
The train, racing from Sadang toward Bangbae, slammed to a sudden halt. Bodies lurched forward in a single wave.
Thud—
"Oh my!"
"Whoa—"
People scrambled for the hand straps, desperate not to go down. I'd been staring at my phone without thinking and nearly pitched face-first myself. I caught a strap just in time and glanced around, praying nobody had seen me flailing like an idiot.
Trains stopping mid-route was nothing new. This time felt different. The overhead lights flickered like they were about to die. If the power cut out completely, we were in real trouble. Other passengers eyed the sputtering fixtures with the same tight, anxious look.
A train that had stopped cold. Lights that looked ready to go dark. It felt like a frame out of a disaster movie. What if something actually goes wrong? Rear-ended by the train behind us. Or a fire breaks out in the cars.
I was still turning over those ugly possibilities when something completely random popped up on my phone.
Would you like to run Sweet Girl?
It was a prompt to download an app.
I didn't want some random piece of junkware on my phone. Catch a virus and the whole day was shot. Still — curiosity got its claws in. More than that, I wanted out of this nightmare atmosphere. I needed something, anything, to lock onto. A game. Whatever.
I hesitated a beat, then hit YES. The app downloaded. A moment later, an icon with a pink heart bloomed on my home screen.
At first I figured Sweet Girl was some Tinder-style dating app. I planned to scroll through the women registered on it. It wasn't that. This thing was stranger.
You are currently inside a subway car.
A chill ran straight down my spine. How the hell did the app know I was on a train? Was it tapped into the station CCTV or something?
I snuck a look around. Nobody was watching me. Everyone just stared at their phones, bored, waiting for the stalled train to move again.
Another notification slid up.
There are a total of 42 women on this subway.
Another message that made no sense.
Forty-two women on the train? I haven't counted them one by one. No way to check if that's even right.
Then another prompt.
Would you like to view the women's profiles?
YES and NO buttons this time. Half skeptical, I tapped YES.
A woman's profile filled the entire screen. You could swipe through them with a fingertip.
"What the hell is this?"
I flicked through the profiles one after another.
Putting the earlier messages together: I was on a subway. There were forty-two women on it. And I could look at their profiles.
Whether the profiles actually belonged to the women sharing this car with me was still an open question. I kept swiping — and then one of them stopped me cold.
"Wait. No. This is—"
It was the woman I'd been eyeing a moment ago. Standing diagonally across from me. A tailored dress and blouse. Long brown waves. Tall, slender, beautiful. You could almost smell expensive shampoo coming off her hair.
The second I saw the profile on my phone, my heart nearly stopped. I checked her face against the screen again and again. Perfect match.
Just skimming the profile made my face burn. I cupped a hand over the screen so nobody else could see and read every filthy line with greedy care.
I'd figured mid-twenties. Twenty-four, then. Worked at a securities firm. Favorite position: doggy style…
The thought of taking her from behind while that shampoo scent filled my nose went straight to my cock. I felt the head start to swell.
The train still hadn't moved.
"Why aren't we going? Seriously."
"Ugh, I'm going to be late at this rate."
People who'd been waiting patiently at first started muttering. I was on track to be late myself — but that barely registered anymore.
The app had me completely. I'd always been a sucker for dopamine hits, and this thing had steamrolled me the second it appeared.
A new window opened on the screen.
Would you like to use the Time Stop function?
"Time Stop function? What is this?"
I didn't get it at first. How do you stop time? That was SF novel stuff. Movie stuff.
The options ran 10 minutes, 15 minutes, 20 minutes — all the way up to a max of 30.
I hesitated, then tapped 10 minutes.
A crackling sound ripped from the lights overhead — zzzt, zzzzt — like lightning.
And then everything stopped.
Everything except me.
"Is this even possible?"
I didn't believe it. Then I had no choice. The ajummas mid-conversation, the student hammering away at a noisy phone game — every one of them had frozen solid, bodies locked like stone.
And the important part: the woman with the shampoo scent had frozen too, still as a mannequin.
I needed to be sure they were really stopped. I pulled the glasses off a middle-aged guy and put them back on. I took a student's phone and set it back in his hand. Not a single blink. Instant freeze. Real.
I drifted toward the woman standing by the door. She held a vertical pole, eyes open, unblinking.
My gaze climbed her body from the ground up. Smooth calves above white heels. Thighs with just enough flesh on them. A big, round ass, and a waist so narrow it made the contrast almost unfair. Her chest strained the blouse like the buttons might pop any second. F-cup, maybe?
"Her name was Ju Yewon."
I pulled her profile up again. Golden proportions — 36-24-36. Earlobes as an erogenous zone. Loved doggy style.
I swallowed hard and stepped in close enough that our skin nearly touched. That shampoo scent hit me full in the face, and my cock swelled harder than before.
I reached for her — and my hand shook. Guilt, out of nowhere. She had no idea. Time was stopped; she couldn't think, couldn't feel. Like she'd been put under for a few minutes. Was I really going to put my hands on a woman who didn't even know it was happening?
But desire beats reason. Always.
In the end, I touched her. Conscience still needled me, so I couldn't go full animal from the start. My tense fingers climbed until they found her earlobe. Just a fingertip on that soft lobe, and a strange, dirty pleasure rolled through me.
I rolled it between thumb and forefinger. It felt like pinching a soft breast. The little cubic earring sat in a lobe thick enough to give real feedback under my fingers. After a little while of that, the shell of her ear began to flush pink.
"Wh-what? Is she actually feeling this?"
I'd assumed Time Stop locked the body completely — no reaction at all. Apparently not.
Watching her earlobe redden like she could still feel it sent a jolt through me. Emboldened, I brought my mouth to the curve of her ear. I flicked my tongue out and traced the cartilage, then couldn't hold back — I rolled the tip and pushed it into the small hollow of her ear canal. Working my tongue in there ratcheted the heat higher. For a second I pictured her pussy being that tight, that narrow.
My body was already pressed flush against her back. Inside my pants, my swollen cock kept grinding into the cleft of her ass through the skirt.
I moved both hands next, undoing a couple of blouse buttons, and slid my fingers inside.
Soft.
Marshmallow-soft, springy, overflowing breast filled my palm.