Capitalism is King: Promise with Su-jeong in Two Days
Time until my promise with Su-jeong: two days. And my bank account was loaded with a insane 1 billion won in cash. Leaving the musty air of the Yeonnam-dong underground studio behind, I stepped outside. The dazzling sunlight pouring down in the heart of Yeonnam-dong felt unfamiliar. My reflection in the shop window was still that of a 32-year-old washed-up unemployed photographer—wrinkled hoodie, sneakers with worn-out soles.
Su-jeong was a demure, sharp elite nurse at a university hospital. To shatter her world in one go, I had to upgrade this shabby shell of mine to the absolute top tier. The kind where the stench of money hit like outright violence.
First stop: a luxury import car dealership on Dosan-daero in Gangnam. I hopped in a taxi and pushed through the all-glass doors. Suit-clad dealers were polishing sleek sports cars in the center of the showroom. One of them scanned my outfit, narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, and approached.
"Uh... sir? Are you the valet? The office is around back."
"Here to look at cars. That black one with the pop-up headlights on display. What's the model?"
"Ah, yes... It's the Ratio Falls model. Fully optioned, around 240 million won out the door..."
The dealer's trailing voice dripped with obvious annoyance and disdain. Treating me like some neighborhood bum just window-shopping. Fucking assholes. They think working at a luxury dealership makes them luxury.
I didn't bother responding. Just pulled out my phone and opened the banking app.
"Can I drive that one out today?"
"Pardon? Well, it's a showroom car, so delivery's possible, but lease approval or loan limits..."
I shoved the screen right in his face—the bright blue balance screaming 1 billion won.
"Cash, full payment. Cut the bullshit, get the paperwork ready ASAP, and bring the keys. Otherwise, I'm walking to the next dealership."
His eyes nearly bugged out. He double- and triple-checked the screen, his attitude flipping dramatically, just like Lee Ji-hee's had when she saw the cash piles on my desk last night.
"Oh! My apologies, sir! I didn't recognize you! Right this way to the VIP room. We'll spec it exactly to your specs and have the papers in an hour!"
I ignored the dealer bowing at a 90-degree angle and sank into the VIP room's leather sofa, sipping an iced Americano. 1 billion won. In capitalist society, that much cash on hand was the perfect leash to train people's attitudes like dogs.
An hour later, I was behind the wheel of the black sports car, its smooth exhaust purring. Gripping the leather wheel, I glided out onto Gangnam Boulevard and turned on my phone. Next destination: the department store's luxury hall.
I thought about calling someone but pocketed the phone again. Ji-hee, whom I'd shoved 100 million at that morning, was probably passed out wiping cum from between her legs by now. Ji-hye was still at work.
I wandered the luxury hall solo, grabbing three black suits that hugged my frame perfectly. Swept up some clean casual luxury pieces from a casual shop, then capped it at the watch store with a 40-million-won gold-dial timepiece on my wrist.
Shoved the shopping bags into the trunk and back seat, checked the mirror. Gone was the musty basement bar manager fuckup. In his place sat a young chaebol overflowing with effortless wealth. A perfect shell radiating the violent stink of money.
As dusk fell, I fired off a text to my first target.
Twenty minutes later, Ji-hye appeared in a prim beige office outfit, glancing around. She'd just split from coworkers, looking every bit the proper bride-to-be.
I slid down the window and said flatly, "Get in."
Her eyes went wide. She alternated stares between me in my luxury suit—no more wrinkled hoodie—and the sleek black sports car, mouth agape.
"O-oppa...? What's with the car...? And the clothes..."
"Shut up and get in. Traffic's bad."
Once in the passenger seat, Ji-hye couldn't peel her eyes off the unfamiliar luxury leather scent or the gleaming watch on my wrist.
Cheongdam-dong's top-grade Hanwoo omakase. In the private room, face-to-face, Ji-hye ditched her usual demure act, too busy gauging me. Prime two-horn Hanwoo sizzled on the charcoal grill, but her eyes never hit the meat.
"N-no! It's just... you look so hot... seriously too hot..."
Her cheeks flushed red under the high-end vibe and overwhelming capital. I tilted my wine glass and stretched my foot under the table, tapping between her stockinged thighs.
"Ah... O-oppa... here...?"
"You kept saying your boyfriend's blowing up your phone missing you. But you ignored his texts, hopped in my car, and soaked your pussy."
She bit her lip hard at my crude words. But instead of resisting, she spread her legs a bit, welcoming my shoe tip deep inside.
Above the table, elegantly sipping wine. Below, grinding her cunt on my shoe toe. A hell of a sight.
"Yeah... I can't live without your cum now, oppa... Put his texts on mute earlier..."
After dinner, a quick one in her mouth in the car, then sent her home. 10 PM. A dim, quiet private bar in Apgujeong. I ordered a bottle of top-shelf single malt from the bartender and pulled out my phone again.
The bitch who'd taken 100 million that morning and stumbled out. Her stamina had to be shot, but fifteen minutes later, she showed up panting—full makeup, halter-neck dress plunging deep into her cleavage.
"O-oppa! You called?"
She plopped down beside me, and her pupils quivered hard at the car keys and watch on the bar table. She'd only seen my bank balance that morning; this head-to-toe money makeover was new.
"Leaking cum from your pussy this morning, and now you come crawling when I call."
"Of course I come when you call, oppa... But what's with the keys...? You bought a car...?"
"Yeah. Got bored this afternoon, went shopping. What, embarrassed your influencer rep's taking a hit slumming it here with me?"
"No way! What are you talking about, oppaaa... I missed you so much. The clothes fit you perfecttt..."
Ji-hee clamped my arm tight, mashing her D-cups roughly against me. The shame from last night's animalistic pounding? Forgotten. Pure tail-wag at the money scent.
The shell bought with today's earnings was working flawlessly. I tapped the watch on the table with my finger.
"Like it that much? Lick it."
Her eyes went round at the sudden command.
"Huh...? The, the watch?"
"Yeah. 40 million won gold dial. Stuff you couldn't buy cash even if you shook your ass on SNS your whole life. Lick it."
She glanced around briefly. Private room or not, faint sounds of the bartender cracking ice and shaking cocktails drifted in from outside.
But her hesitation lasted under three seconds. She leaned over the table, stuck out her long red tongue, and started lapping at the watch's cold gold dial. Slurp, lick. Saliva-smeared, it gleamed under the room's soft light.
"Haa... Oppa, it smells like money... I love you so much..."
"Not the watch you love?"
"Nooo... I love the oppa with the power."
Shallow bitch. Yesterday she was sneering at the bar manager loser, now licking the metal on my wrist like a dog in heat.
I smirked, downed a shot of harsh whiskey. The alcohol burn down my throat paled next to the scorching heat of this power dynamic forged by capital.
"How's the reaction on that SNS story you posted yesterday?"
She pulled back her tongue, whipped out her phone, and showed me the screen.
"Don't ask, oppa... DMs are exploding. Everyone asking what happened, if the hacker got caught. Hundreds of DMs from those normie fucks worried about me."
"You reply?"
"Duh. 'Thanks for worrying, all good now thanks to you♡' Sent that to all. While I was drooling your cum inside..."
She grinned, spitting the vulgarity from her own mouth. This bitch was fully hooked on the depravity and pleasure. Pure goddess on the surface, spreading for cash behind the scenes. That was influencer Lee Ji-hee's true nature.
I grabbed her chin and yanked her toward me.
"Yeah? Let's make 'em even more sorry for you. Get under."
My gaze dropped below the table; she gasped.
"H-here...? Oppa, they can hear from outside..."
"Don't want to? Fine. Got a girl to meet the day after tomorrow; was gonna drain a load today."
Mention of another girl flipped her eyes—whore's mix of possessiveness and panic. No words; she just stood, slipped under the narrow table.
Ziiiip. The pants zipper echoed in the private room.
"Slurp... lick... suck... Oppa, don't meet other bitches... I took 100 million... I can suck betterrr..."
Muffled voice from below, hot oral mucosa wrapping my thick glans stickily. Outside: clinking glasses, smooth jazz. Under the table: 50k-follower SNS goddess deepthroating my cock, gasping.
I stroked her perfumed head, leaned deep into the sofa backrest. Ji-hye and Ji-hee, perfectly leashed by money. With these two bitches in tow, tomorrow's Jeong Su-jeong—the demure, sharp 27-year-old elite university hospital nurse—looked even tastier. How to slam that pure white canvas into this vulgar mud pit reeking of cash and cum.