Dance Influencer Lee Ji-hee's Cash-Fueled Degradation

"Haa... yeah, oppa... fuck, I was going insane... baby, I can hear you, but oppa's cum just shoots straight down my throat..."

Seeing her grinning like an idiot with those glazed eyes, rubbing her face against my thigh, I couldn't help but snort. This bitch was no longer anyone's fiancée—she was just a heat-crazed slut fully tamed by my cock and cash. I grabbed my phone and hit the stream end button. The second the broadcast shut off, that 69 call scene auto-uploaded to the VOD list.

The second I hit sales registration, ten-million-won chunks started pouring in again.

"Hey. Go wash up and get dressed. Gotta soothe your boyfriend before that fucker loses his shit and tears up the whole company."

"Yeah... got it. But my legs are shaking so bad I can't even walk..."

I fired another fifty million won into Ji-hye's account as she whined.

"Swing by the department store, grab a bag, and pick up a gift to placate your man."

"Kyaa! Oppa, you're the best! I'll be your slave for life!"

The second she saw the notification for the fifty million, the bitch who couldn't walk jumped up and bolted to the bathroom. Capitalism's power is fucking magnificent.

While the sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, I sprawled on the plush hotel bed and lit a cigarette. First long-term pawn: perfectly set. Time to pick the next target.

I fired up my phone and opened the SNS app. Back in my izakaya manager days, there were a few other hot part-timers with plenty of spunk besides Ji-hye. I racked my brain and typed a name into the search bar.

[Ji-hee]

Her familiar face popped up in the feed right away. She'd been chasing idol dreams and dancing like crazy since her early twenties, and now she was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠some half-assed SNS influencer and dance instructor with about 50k followers. Her feed was nothing but body-check shots in skin-tight leggings or try-hard bikini pics from hotel pools.

'Inquiries for sponsorships: DM me.'

I scoffed at the bio line. She posted tons of luxury bag and high-end makeup pics, but with my photographer eye, the backgrounds, lighting, and compositions screamed broke as fuck. Classic poser desperate for sponsors to level up.

I opened ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the VVIP app and scanned a full-body pic of Ji-hee floating over her SNS screen. Wasn't sure if a photo alone would register, but the app screen beeped and flickered.

Higher base rate than Ji-hye. Guess the tight dancer body and the thrill of dragging a snooty SNS bitch to the gutter hit the VVIP pervs' sweet spot.

I shot Ji-hee a DM without hesitation.

I exhaled a long drag from my cigarette and typed. 2-hour shoot, 10 mil. Cash upfront. Interested? Come to my studio tomorrow afternoon.

The '1' next to the message vanished at light speed. But no reply for a while. Bitch was probably overthinking it hard. 10 mil for 2 hours—she knew damn well it wasn't some vanilla shoot. But to keep up the rich-girl facade on SNS, she needed cash like a junkie needs a fix.

Five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

"Fucking easy, goddamn."

I smirked and powered on the camera. My dick was already getting heavy thinking about ripping that tight leggings ass tomorrow. Ji-hee. Just those two syllables brought back slimy memories from the izakaya days.

Back then, she had all the male part-timers and regulars wrapped around her finger. Slim, toned body with hips that wouldn't quit—hell, even I tried every trick in the book at staff dinners to fuck her. Result? Total shutdown. She'd smile and wag her tail in front of me, but dodge like a slippery eel when I suggested drinks alone.

Worse after she quit. She'd ghost my annual birthday cake or chicken giftcon messages after snatching the 'claim gift' button like a demon, but never even read my check-in texts. She knew instinctively I was a broke, powerless pushover.

And now that same bitch was begging for the address at the lure of 10 mil for 2 hours. Tossing her fragile pride aside.

"Money's a hell of a drug. From giftcon scammer to spreading her own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠legs."

Next day, 2 PM. The Yeonnam-dong underground studio door creaked open and Lee Ji-hee walked in.

Pink skin-tight leggings? Fucking hot outfit. Makeup so on-point she looked like a celeb.

"Omg! Manager! Wait, can I call you oppa? It's been so long!"

Ji-hee came at me with exaggerated high-pitched squeals, flashing that same enchanting eye-smile from eight years ago, slyly trying to hook her arm in mine. Pathetic.

I yanked my arm away and jerked my chin toward the lighting setup in the studio center.

"You're here. Sit."

My dry tone made her flinch, and she scanned the cramped, musty underground space.

"But oppa... thought private shoot meant some fancy studio. This is kinda..."

"What, too shitty for a 10-mil gig?"

I snorted and tossed a dingy envelope onto the table. Fresh 50,000-won bills straight from the bank—two hundred crisp stacks.

As the envelope mouth gaped open, exposing the fat cash roll, Ji-hee's pupils quivered. I could hear her snooty influencer mask cracking under capitalism's boot.

"That's your pay for today. Cash upfront."

"Whoa... jackpot. This is really 10 mil?"

She gulped and reached for the envelope. I snatched it back.

"Don't touch the money first. Listen to the concept. You're a dance instructor, right? Bet you're flexible."

"Ah, yeah! I do yoga and Pilates too, so my body's super soft. But oppa, what's the concept today? I can't do anything too exposing... got my SNS image to think about."

Mouth says no, but her eyes are glued to the cash pile. I powered on the camera, mounted my phone on the tripod, and openly launched the VVIP streaming app.

The chat exploded the moment it activated, pervs spamming like maniacs.

Eyes to the viewfinder, I commanded coldly.

"Exposed too much? Then fuck off. Plenty of girls who'd take the 10 mil."

My blunt words drained the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠color from her face.

"N-no! Oppa, that's not what I meant... 10 mil? Of course I'll do whatever! What now? Strike a pose?"

She scrambled under the lights, arching her ass back in a slutty pose. The cheap kind she'd posted a million times on SNS to tease dicks.

"Hey. Ji-hee."

"Yes, oppa!"

"You used to ghost my texts all the time, right?"

Her face froze at my out-of-left-field line. Her posed body creaked awkwardly.

"Huh? Oh... oppa, I was just so busy back then..."

"Busy my ass. You'd snatch my birthday giftcon in a minute flat but never even say thanks. You saw me as a total loser chump, huh?"

Her eyes bugged out at my raw cursing.

"O-oppa... why get mad all sudden... I messed up. I was young and stupid..."

"No excuses. Today you're paying for every time you treated me like shit—with interest. Strip. Everything off."

"Pardon...? E-everything? Even underwear?"

"Yeah. All of it. You got one minute. Don't? Get the fuck out."

I aimed the lens dead at her face and started counting down. Would this pride-monster ditch her dignity for the cash?

She bit her lip, eyes darting between the cash pile and my lens.

The VVIP alert popped, and Ji-hee grabbed the hem of her crop top with trembling hands.

"I-I'll strip... just strip, right..."

She squeezed her eyes shut and yanked the crop top off over her head. Her sweat-glistened abs and cleavage spilled out under the white sports bra.

"Next. Leggings down."

Blushing with shame at my oppressive command, she obediently hooked her fingers in the pink waistband and slowly dragged them down past her thighs.

The discipline session had begun.