Three Eight

The dark crimson shaft emerged by a few segments, only to be sucked back in again, repeating the cycle inside Hongju’s inner walls.

"If you can’t do it properly, at least stop resisting."

"Ugh, mmph—"

Mu-gyeong’s thrusts grew increasingly rough, tearing into him with reckless force. Just a few strokes in, the entrance that had seemed unbearably tight began to loosen slightly.

Annoyance flared in him. How used to selling his body must he be, that his insides were already adjusting on their own? No—of course. It made sense. He was the same idiot who kept paying off absurdly growing interest like a good little debtor.

"Nngh, ah..."

His pliant inner walls were stabbed deep, molded to the shape of Mu-gyeong’s cock. Every time it swelled larger and slammed into him, Hongju let out a short, stifled moan. His legs had lost strength by now, his entire body just hanging there, surrendered to Mu-gyeong’s hold. Mu-gyeong’s heated gaze roamed obsessively over Hongju’s pale, trembling skin.

"......"

Flushed cheeks and a red-streaked neck, flushed ears tingling with arousal despite his limp, useless dick. His hardened nipples and flat chest were speckled with sticky fluid. With each rocking motion up and down, semen pooled between Mu-gyeong’s thighs, trickling down with a slick, slow sound.

"You’re the only one enjoying this. How is this supposed to be a trade?"

"Ah, mm... Please, help me find him."

Even half out of his mind, Hongju kept begging Mu-gyeong to help him find his blood relative. Worried that the wet slapping noises of their hips might drown out his pleading, he forced his lips to move, again and again.