Martial Arts Masochist

“Show me your ass.”

That single command shattered Dang Soran’s faith in an instant.

How could she even begin to describe this shock.

A command so blatant and violent she’d never heard anything like it before—nor should she have.

Her lips trembled, but her throat was choked tight, not even a whimper escaping.

She knew she had to stop it, yet she couldn’t move a single fingertip.

Powerless, alienated, she could only stand in the corner as a helpless spectator.

Han Seojin’s expression was overbearing, laced with a subtle heat.

Like a sadistic instinct had been awakened, his face screamed the urge to crush and bite Cheongwol until he lost his mind.

And the end of that gaze? Still not on Dang Soran. Just moments ago, she’d believed this man liked her. Now, he stared at Cheongwol with those eyes.

Fortunately, even for Cheongwol, the order was too much. Her startled eyes rolled in disbelief.

“...W-what?”

“Our pretty Wol’s ass is blocked by that pesky clothing. Hurry and clear it away for me. My hands are busy groping you.”

Han Seojin brushed the back of his hand gently across Cheongwol’s cheek with a smile.

“Eek!” “Ugh!”

At that brazen touch, Cheongwol whipped her head away, and Dang Soran swallowed hard.

Both felt it.

Today, Han Seojin was excessively gentle—far more than usual.

That demeanor, so at odds with his normal self, was shaking everyone.

Cheongwol’s shy reaction only goaded Dang Soran further.

Don’t get the wrong idea.

He’s only being that sweet because I’m watching.

It’s got nothing to do with you...

On top of that, he was dressed to the nines today, doubling the impact.

Even though he hadn’t dolled up for Cheongwol, that nun was gobbling up the benefits.

“Why so shy today?”

His coaxing voice.

But his hands toying with her ass never stopped.

She endured when his broad palm swam over her cheeks, but every time a finger grazed between them, her hips twitched, dodging his touch.

She pitifully clutched his wrist as if to stop him, but she couldn’t hold him back.

Panting breathlessly, Cheongwol whispered.

“Cl-Clan Leader... wh-why are you... Ah! Just stop your hands for a sec...”

“What about me?”

“Hnng...! ...Y-you’re weird.”

“Weird how?”

“You’re... too sweet. Cl-Clan Leader...! Ah, not there, please...”

“Well, I’ve got a favor to ask today, don’t I?”

“B-but...”

“Should I rip the clothes off by force then?”

Dang Soran finally couldn’t hold back and shouted.

“Have you lost your mind!”

Her head throbbed.

She kept telling herself to ignore their game, but it wasn’t that easy.

If she didn’t speak up now, she wouldn’t even be able to breathe.

Rip her clothes?

It wasn’t her business, but watching Han Seojin, tangled in lust, tear another woman’s clothes off was unbearable.

Even seeing him eye Cheongwol like that was disgustingly repulsive.

Whether reacting to Dang Soran or just continuing as planned, Han Seojin spoke up.

“I’m kidding.”

Cheongwol bit her lip at that. As if it would’ve been easier if he’d really torn them.

Dang Soran could see the conflict in Cheongwol’s eyes.

A demand fit for a whore, yet this nun was agonizing over it.

She who must cultivate virtue, keep her body pure, distance herself from men, abstain from killing, from bearing children, remain chaste and elegant.

And not just that—she was the Emei Sect Leader’s disciple, a role model for all nuns... agonizing over baring her pale ass to a mere man.

As if Cheongwol had forgotten, Dang Soran said.

“Wo-Wol! Snap out of it...!”

“...!”

Cheongwol’s conflicted eyes turned to Dang Soran.

Han Seojin ignored her, but Cheongwol couldn’t go that far.

And Cheongwol, too, couldn’t fully overcome Dang Soran’s presence.

As if admitting the command was too much.

Like a guilty sinner, she bowed her head and whispered.

“...Cl-Clan Leader.”

“Yeah?”

His left hand stroking her hair.

His right hand caressing her ass.

Tenderness on one side, brutality on the other.

The clash of those differing touches on her body was obscenely lewd, even to Dang Soran’s eyes.

Cheongwol couldn’t collect herself amid that gap either.

She couldn’t get mad, couldn’t be happy, couldn’t permit it, couldn’t stop it.

At last, Cheongwol uttered the words she’d been hoping for.

“Hah...! Uh... I... I can’t do it.”

“...”

“Th-this is too... too much... This isn’t right.”

“...Can’t show me your ass?”

His hands froze.

Cheongwol squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

Han Seojin’s face hardened as he asked again.

“...Not even to me?”

Cheongwol nodded once more.

“Especially... not in front of Senior Dang...”

Even she seemed reluctant to submit that much before Dang Soran.

Han Seojin’s attitude chilled in an instant, leaving even Dang Soran’s mouth dry.

Everyone held their silence, awaiting his reaction.

Would he rage? Suddenly punish her? Persuade her more forcefully?

Swish. But Han Seojin’s response was none of those.

“...Huh?”

His hands lifted from Cheongwol.

He said.

“I always say it—I don’t force anyone. If you can’t, we stop here. Good job.”

Cheongwol’s eyes widened.

Her hands, which had tried to block him moments ago, now floundered directionless.

“Ov-over?”

“You said no, right? And...”

Han Seojin’s eyes turned to Dang Soran.

In that instant, a gust of liberating relief swept through Dang Soran’s heart.

The ignoring’s finally over.

Short, but nightmarish.

Never again—

“—W-wait!”

Cheongwol cried out loudly then.

Dang Soran’s heart plummeted too.

Looking at Cheongwol, her eyes brimmed with jealousy.

Even that fleeting glance stolen away irked her.

Like she was selfishly insisting Dang Soran not watch till the end.

That possessiveness stung.

How much greedier did she need to be to be satisfied?

But Han Seojin immediately obliged, tearing his gaze from Dang Soran.

The emotional disparity ground at Dang Soran’s heart.

Meanwhile, Cheongwol’s face flushed deeper.

A face brimming with emotions utterly different from before.

Lust and guilt, relief and anger.

...And shame too.

Reading that shift, Dang Soran grew frantic.

She knew getting angry wouldn’t help right now.

“Wol, what’s wrong?”

“...Haa... Haa...”

“No?”

Instead of words, shame flooded Cheongwol’s face.

Her mouth opened and closed before Dang Soran spoke.

“Have you gone mad? You’re Emei Sect. The Leader’s disciple! You, called the Thousand-Year Flower of the Central Plains, a bloom once every millennium... you want to show your ass to that... that pathetic man?”

“...Ugh!”

Cheongwol’s noble expression shattered utterly.

“The world will mock you, Wol! If word gets out that someone as pure as you couldn’t defy one command from that man and bared your own ass...!”

“...”

Dang Soran had never once, in her life, seen Cheongwol wear such a womanly face.

Had she always made that expression during their playtime?

Even if Han Seojin fell for it, it was so lasciviously captivating there’d be no retort.

She’d wondered if Cheongwol became a nun out of hatred for men—she’d never shown true emotion toward them before.

Yet before Han Seojin, she was all woman.

Dang Soran pressed.

“Even the basest whore in the red-light district wouldn’t do that! And whores get paid for it. But you? Why? No money, and you’d suffer that humiliation? Don’t you know this makes you worse than a whore, you nun?”

Cheongwol’s eyes quivered. Dang Soran wasn’t really trying to persuade her.

It wasn’t because she hated watching them together.

Just stating the obvious.

“Snap out of it. Don’t listen to him. Stop this.”

Han Seojin said it too.

“Wol. If you’re stopping, lift your head. I’ll uncollar you. It’s over—let’s go.”

“Ugh...!”

Cheongwol’s hands began to tremble.

Her chest heaved up and down.

“What’ll showing it get you! Just more teasing? Just more groping by a man? And the Young Master even said he’d spank you! What idiot volunteers for the rod!”

Yet that conflicted expression never changed.

Dang Soran finally shouted.

“Think of Sect Leader Muwol...!”

But Cheongwol whispered.

“...Don’t watch, Senior.”

Sloooowly... Cheongwol squeezed her eyes shut and gripped her uniform.

Dang Soran clutched her heart as if seized.

“Hic...!”

She couldn’t hold back the whimper.

Slowly, so very slowly.

Snow-white thin stockings.

Then long calves.

Firm, flawless thighs.

...And finally, her pale ass.

She lifted the uniform until the sheer undercloth showed.

No man of the Central Plains.

Not even a woman.

Had seen it.

The beautiful ass hidden by Emei Sect Leader’s disciple, Thousand-Year Flower Cheongwol.

Wide hips and slim waist amplified her femininity.

Long, elegant legs and ass. Her proportions were perfection... undeniable poise.

Like a magnificent mare.

Legs Han Seojin couldn’t possibly be unsatisfied with.

As if treasure from a deep cave had burst forth, no one in the room could breathe.

Only Cheongwol whimpered, unable to bear the shame.

“Eek...! Ugh!”

She trembled.

Showing this to Dang Soran fueled some depraved thrill.

But Dang Soran understood—depravity often bred pleasure.

In that moment, Dang Soran realized she was mere tool for Cheongwol’s pleasure.

And that realization made her feel utterly insignificant.

Their eyes met.

The stark difference in treatment.

Cheongwol’s superior air on her face.

“...”

Her heart sank into sticky mire.

Was I never the one Han Seojin cherished most?

Why must I watch their intimate exchange in my own room?

That was when Han Seojin’s hand settled back on Cheongwol’s hair.

A lascivious pleasure bloomed on Cheongwol’s face.

Followed by words stabbing rebel Dang Soran’s chest.

“...Our Wol obeys so well. Too pretty.”

****

She swallowed.

Nearly entranced.

Forgot Dang Soran, forgot my situation.

OTK (Over The Knee).

Over the knee.

The basic spanking position: woman draped over the lap, ass presented for punishment.

You only grasp its devastating power by seeing it firsthand—and its bliss by doing it.

I’d just realized both at once.

Cheongwol was Cheongwol, but also a woman.

Her weight pressing on me stirred something primal.

Above all, those long, beautiful legs and curvaceous ass hijacked my gaze.

Ten years in a world without smartphones or internet.

Hadn’t seen a woman’s ass the whole time.

And at the end of that decade of endurance? This perfection.

Pure instinct screamed it was good.