2
“So our Jihun’s been worrying about that, huh? If we get this done right, I’ll make sure you get what you want—on my honor as CEO. You want to take a paycheck while getting fucked, don’t you?”
“…Y-yeah.”
Jihun’s conscience pricked him, and he avoided eye contact as he nodded. Hyeonjun, who had been silently listening to their conversation, flashed Jihun a grateful smile.
“Thanks, Jihun.”
“No, it’s nothing. I haven’t even done anything yet… You can thank me later. Hyeonjun… you’re serious?”
“Of course. I’m serious.”
The firmness of his answer left Jihun unable to hide his unease. What Hyeontae had told him was none other than Hyeonjun’s family history. Jihun already knew Hyeontae wasn’t Hyeonjun’s real father, but hearing the details of someone else’s family drama made him feel heavy-hearted. Hyeonjun had said with his own mouth that he hated his real father. Jihun could understand that, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t something they should be doing. Yet, as always, Jihun’s lust won out, and he had no choice but to accept Hyeontae’s proposal.
***
“You can hit him as hard as you want.”
“How can I just hit someone like that… I’ll just knock him out.”
As darkness fell, Jihun and Hyeonjun took their positions in the underground parking lot, waiting for someone. Cars came and went, and the two held their breath, quickly scanning license plates and models.
“That’s the one.”
A car familiar only to Hyeonjun slid into the parking lot—an older model he’d ridden in a few times. It parked in a corner, and the engine cut off. A middle-aged man with light brown hair, who bore a striking resemblance to Hyeonjun, stepped out. Jihun cautiously approached from behind and swiftly struck the back of the man’s neck. Since he’d only ever seen this in movies, he wasn’t sure if it would actually knock the man out—it didn’t. The man staggered but didn’t collapse. Seizing the moment, Hyeonjun rushed forward and pressed a cloth soaked in anesthetic against the man’s face. The man, restrained by Jihun, thrashed before finally losing consciousness and going limp.
“…He’s really out.”
“That was the plan, wasn’t it? Let’s go.”
Hyeonjun’s voice was unnervingly calm. Jihun didn’t dare say a word and hoisted the man over his shoulder, following Hyeonjun.
***
Sungho’s head throbbed, and his throat was parched. He tried to shake his head, feeling like his entire body was too heavy to move.
“He’s awake.”
The voice he heard belonged to a man. Confused and disoriented, he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.
Where am I? Who is this guy? Did I piss someone off recently?
His palms were slick with sweat. It wasn’t that his body was heavy—it was that he couldn’t move. He seemed to be tied to a chair. Sungho wriggled, trying to get a sense of his surroundings.
“What the—! Who the hell are you?! Why are you doing this to me!”
At least he could still speak. His body was restrained, and his eyes were covered, but his voice worked fine. The chair scraped loudly against the floor—it didn’t sound like hardwood, more like the flooring in a typical home.
“I don’t have any personal grudge against you…”
The voice sounded oddly youthful, yet somehow mature. Sungho, assuming the man was younger since he’d called him “ajusshi” (mister), raised his voice in frustration.
“I paid back all my debts!”
“Oh, this isn’t about that. My friend has something to say to you.”
“What…?”
Sungho strained every sense, trying to figure out who this was and where he was. Suddenly, he felt someone’s hands groping at his center and stiffened. The touch was surprisingly delicate.
Slender fingers unzipped his pants and skillfully pulled out his flaccid cock. Compared to what Hyeonjun was used to playing with, it was disappointingly small.
“Ugh, it’s so tiny.”
The offhand remark made Sungho’s blood boil. He thrashed harder.
“Hey! Who the hell are you?! What kind of bastard does this?!”
“Do you really want to know who I am?”
Hyeonjun asked in a smooth, practiced tone—something he’d learned from Hyeontae. The voice was even younger than the one he’d been talking to earlier, and Sungho froze.
“W-why are you doing this?”
“You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”
For some reason, the voice sounded familiar. Sungho tried to recall where he’d heard it before, but the hands on his cock made it impossible to concentrate.
If they’d been face-to-face, calm and talking, he would’ve recognized his own son, Hyeonjun, instantly. But Sungho was in a highly sensitive state right now. He was being touched in an unknown place, and he refused to believe his own son would ever do something like this. Hyeonjun, following what he’d been taught, slowly dragged his tongue along the cock. He couldn’t hide his disgust, but he figured if the cock had been bigger, he might’ve gotten a little excited. He took it into his mouth and began sucking. Sungho bit his lip hard, stifling a moan.
“A-are you crazy?! Who the hell are you people?!”
The obscenely loud slurping sounds filled the quiet room. Hyeonjun was eerily calm—more sober than ever. He moved his tongue mechanically, his feelings toward Sungho nothing but hatred.
Hyeonjun’s hatred for Sungho wasn’t something that had developed naturally—it was something Hyeontae had cultivated. Hyeontae had pulled Hyeonjun onto his lap and begun with, “Now that we’re family, you should know about your family’s past.” When Hyeonjun heard the story about Sungho, he’d stared at Hyeontae in disbelief. Hyeontae had smiled gently and said:
“Aren’t you lucky to have met a father like me now—someone who loves you, who can make your dreams come true, and who loves your body and soul? A real father.”
Hyeonjun had nodded, feeling like he might cry. The empty house, the silence when he came home alone—those were the things he was used to. The strong sense of alienation he’d felt on the first day he met Hyeontae must’ve been because he’d grown too accustomed to loneliness. As Hyeontae stroked Hyeonjun’s back, soothing him as he quietly sobbed in his arms, he wore a faint smile. Handling a wounded child wasn’t difficult.
This boy was strikingly similar to Sungho in his youth. It was like looking at a younger version of him. The only difference was that this one sucked cock well and knew how to grind his hips seductively. He emphasized calling him “Dad” at the end of every sentence because, without that reinforcement, Sungho’s actions were unforgivable. To Hyeontae, Hyeonjun was little more than a means to an end.
Hyeonjun pulled away, his expression cold. The cock was fully erect now. Straddling Sungho, he rubbed his ass against the shaft. Sungho couldn’t believe some unknown man was on top of him, doing this.
Am I dreaming?
Hyeonjun, light as he was, dropped down in one motion, swallowing the cock whole. His movements were mechanical. Not a single moan escaped his lips as he moved his body. His swollen belly and perky chest jiggled softly. Jihun silently filmed the scene. The only sounds in the otherwise silent room were Sungho’s ragged breathing and the wet slapping of flesh against flesh.
“Ngh… hah, ah… ugh…!”
Every time Hyeonjun clenched and released, Sungho made noise. Hyeonjun let out a scornful little laugh, as if he truly found him pathetic. He personally removed Sungho’s blindfold, flashing him a smirk that seemed flirtatious—but his words were razor-sharp.
“Still don’t know who I am?”
“W-what?”
Sungho’s face paled. At the same time, unable to resist the stimulation, he came inside Hyeonjun. Hyeonjun lifted his body as if to pull the cock out, but instead, he began moving even more violently up and down. Sungho struggled against the chair, rattling it.
“S-stop! What the hell… ugh! Nngh, hah… why…!”
“Still… haah, still… why can’t you say anything but… ugh…”
Hyeonjun gripped Sungho’s shoulders and ground his hips until he drew out a second load before finally pulling off. Standing naked in front of Sungho, cum dripped down his thighs. Hyeonjun smirked at his twisted expression, finding it utterly amusing.
“How was it? Did you like it?”
“…Why… why are you doing this, Hyeonjun…?”
Sungho’s voice was drained, his question laced with bewilderment. He still couldn’t believe his own son had just fucked him—and worse, that it had felt good. Hyeonjun, as if utterly exasperated, tossed out coldly:
“Well, you do like rape, don’t you, Dad?”
Sungho, who had been trembling, stopped. The expression on his face wasn’t shock or horror—it was doubt.
How do you know that?
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
