"How's everyone doing tonight?!" the young woman called out into her microphone.
Cheers and chants of affirmation responded to her in answer as a few thousand fans awaited their next round of entertainment. Music started and another burst of cheers echoed out as the crowd recognized a fan-favorite song beginning.
The young woman clapped her hands as she spun back to join her three other bandmates and begin their next choreography. As the music built into the first verse, she twirled and tapped her heels as her shoulders shimmied modestly. Each move was succinct and accurate from years of practice and refinement. Through every moment and every rehearsed vocal delivery, her face stayed locked in a cute, approachable smile.
Her name was Mun Soo-Yeon. She was a twenty-five year old idol and was the lead vocalist for a moderately successful group named BrightStar, based in Seoul. Her hair was dyed vibrant purple as part of a broader cutesy image designed to appeal to her fan base that was predominantly younger girls. Everything from her hair, choreography, lyrics, facial expressions, wardrobe, public appearances, interview statements, and public hobbies were all manufactured and strategic.
By all rights, she was a product as much as a person.
As she sang with her bandmates, she felt a sense of joy and elation that came from reaching her goal of becoming an idol after years of grueling, hyper-regimented training. Even though her fan base was younger and smaller than she'd imagined, and it seemed BrightStar would never reach international super status like many other KPop bands, she was happy. Performing and being with her bandmates were the happiest parts of her life. It was when the stage lights dimmed and she was alone that things changed.
In between all of her scheduled requirements of training, rehearsing, appearing on local variety shows, doing photo shoots and so much more, she often didn't have much time to herself. What time she did have was spent writing song ideas and lyric proposals that she would continuously present to her producers and agency. Every time, without fail, her ideas were shut down. Amid shouts and beratement, she was told again and again that she was just there to follow orders and be the cute product they had molded her to be. Her existence was to be manufactured, cultivated, and controlled so that the agency and label might best reap profit from her labor. That was all she was, and all they ever planned for her to be.
Because of this, Soo-Yeon was never truly happy. Those fleeting moments on stage were as close as she got. Cheers and chants gave her purpose and she in time had accepted that her career was to be defined as a stopgap of relatively memorable pop songs fitted between bigger, more important superstars. Acceptance became her mantra. She was mostly successful, but no matter how hard she tried, there was a part of her that she couldn't push completely into the shadows or banish to the past. There was a side of her that no one else knew, not even her bandmates.
It was something she felt ashamed of while also cherishing as one of her oldest companions. Within her mind and body were urges. Urges she had never been able to truly fulfill. Urges that stated locked away from the world and only came out whenever she knew she was truly alone and able to be herself. Those urges had been with her since she was a teenager, and after a decade of going unfulfilled, they were now raging within her every moment of every day. Just as waves masked the kaleidoscopic multitudes of life teeming just beneath their surface, her manufactured persona carefully hid away the side of her that wanted to consume and be consumed.
Thoughts would drift into her mind everyday that tantalized her imagination and threatened to send her into a frenzy.
Thoughts of gagging until her makeup was smeared down her face.
Thoughts of choking on a throbbing cock as it was shoved so far into her throat she flinched.
Thoughts of bending over and spreading her hips wide so that her partner could spit on her asshole as she came again and again.
Thoughts of a wet tongue focusing on her clit.
Thoughts of a patient lover spending an hour memorizing every curve, scent, and taste of her.
Thoughts of being watched while pleasure exploded across her body like millions of tiny landmines filled with euphoria.
Every moment of every day, those thoughts were with her but were never allowed to be fulfilled.
Years passed and the urges found themselves testing her restraints. Moments of structure, cuteness, and control fought against the desire to be spontaneous, untamed, and dirty. Even the smallest of stimulations would set her off. It could be the vibrations of floorboards from booming bass into her hips when she was resting on the floor between rehearsals. It could be the girth of a microphone in her hand as she held its tip to her lips. It was soft fabric in the wind as it caressed her breasts and stomach. All of these things helped build the prison of frustration that day by day insulated her further into her mind as the burdens of idol life continued to keep her on the path she'd so desperately fought for.
Feeling those pangs of lust and desire for freedom often sent Soo-Yeon spiraling internally as she wrestled with embarrassment, shame, and a sense of ungratefulness. Thousands tried every year to reach where she was and failed. Her bandmates and all of their families had given up much in pursuit of their musical careers. None of it was lost on Soo-Yeon, which was why she did everything in her power to keep those urges pushed far away, deep in the shadows of her mind. She never wanted to do anything that would jeopardize her group or her bandmates. More often than not, including this very day, she would find herself crying in frustration and confusion after cumming.
Masturbating was her release: a simple, effective way to at least somewhat relieve the pent up chaos within her. Whenever she had moments alone, the urges would gather strength like an infantry roaring before a charge. Arousal and anticipation would spring into action, making every inch of her body radiate with sensitivity. It didn't matter if she was standing, sitting, or laying down. Where she was had no impact. If she had even a single moment, her right hand was quickly finding its way to the familiar curves of her Venus mound. Feeling her pussy become wet within seconds always made her even more aroused, as her nipples begged for touch to which she would oblige.
As her familiar fingers moved in rhythmic motions that she had long ago realized were her preference, she would allow those thoughts to return.
That day, she was in bed naked, feeling the air caress her exposed body. Years of physically rigorous training meant she was in shape and toned, with a gently curving stomach that drifted into slightly defined yet industry-expectedly thin legs. Her skin was paler than it used to be, also per industry requirements, but her nipples we're still a light brown shade that she had always enjoyed. Admiration and appreciation for her figure's youthful perkiness caused her body to flutter.
Her legs parted and fingertips met soft ridges.
Lips parted.
Fingers moved methodically and patiently. Pressure was familiar and movement was femininely gentle. Soon she was imagining her fingertips were the soft pink head of a hard cock that was gently rubbing her clit. Soo-Yeon found herself eyeing the throw pillow beside her. Its material was pleasant and its firmness was appealing. Beside that was a practice microphone she had been testing. Within seconds, Soo-Yeon had padded the pillow into form and placed the microphone flat on the pillow center. As she imagined herself on top of a father from a fan meet and greet, she straddled the pillow so that it pressed the microphone shaft against her desirous labia.
Just like a choreographed rehearsal, Soo-Yeon began to grind against the pillow and microphone, feeling the soft pillow on her upper thighs as the cold metal slid against her dripping wet pussy. Sighs escaped her lips as she reveled in the new sensation. Her hips moved back and forth as she imagined parted lips of moaning men beneath her.
Maybe he had brought his daughter for an autograph and she had caught him stealing a glance of her cleavage. Maybe she then had locked eyes with him and pulled her shirt down ever so slightly to entice him even more.
Maybe he was secretly a fan of hers for different reasons and now she was fulfilling a fantasy of his that he would never speak of.
Maybe she had told the others to take his daughter on a backstage tour while she took him to a storage closet.
Each thought helped bring her closer and closer.
Each imaginary thrust and moan pulled her orgasm from the ether and into her stomach.
"Oh yes. Fuck yes. Fuck yes," Soo-Yeon moaned as she cupped her breasts in her hands and began to gyrate even faster on her makeshift mate.
"Make me cum. I want to cum!" she sighed as she tilted her head up to the ceiling.
The urges overtook her and she fell back on the bed without ceasing her pursuit. Without hesitation, she slid the bottom of the microphone into her pussy and began to rotate her hips up and down, feeling the strange, hard sensation penetrate her craven body.
Faster and faster she went.
Now he was on top of her, taking control, calling her a slut. Now she would have been feeling every slide in and out of his tip, as the curve and ridge of his head glided against the inner contours of her vaginal canal. Her clit would scream in elation as his firm hips and pubic hair pounded against her and grinder into her body.
Now she wanted his cum.
"Fuck me! Yes, fuck me!" she begged her imagination.
That was enough. It was almost there. Every pump and movement brought her closer to release. It started in her calves and stomach, making its way to the epicenter of her dripping, creaming pussy that was ready to devour anything between her legs.
"I'm gonna cum!" Soo-Yeon whispered as fireworks erupted across her skin and her back arched.
Release struck her and she let out the softest, faintest moan of joyous pleasure as strength left her body and she collapsed onto the bed. White residue clung to the black microphone as it silently slid out from inside her. Looking at the now ruined equipment triggered the rush of shame, and within moments her tears were flowing.
"What's wrong with me?…" Soo-Yeon whispered.
That was how most days went. Regimented idol life that she cherished, even with its staunch limitations and creative denial. Meticulously maintained personal identity of a squeaky clean cute girl next door. Unceasing hormonal and emotional desires of so many unfulfilled wants. Masturbation followed by crying. That was her life.
Standing at her apartment window the next morning, looking out at the afternoon rain in Seoul with Namsan Tower in the distance, Soo-Yeon was once again feeling unmoored.
"Is this my life?" she asked herself as she tried to focus on gratitude.
Still, her lack of fulfillment in so many aspects of life had made it harder to truly be completely grateful.
"I fear losing my career if anything ever happened, but I also fear never truly being my complete self," she sighed as she wiped her eyes.
Raindrops pattered on the tempered glass and slid down in carefree abandon. Streaks of remnant water cut through her melancholy reflection, dividing her visage into different sections, as though each one represented a portion of who she was. Seeing that division only reiterated her fear of never being able to have all of these disparate parts of her life connected.
Could she ever be a successful artist with actual creative autonomy that was able to be her real self and be sexually satisfied? Was life about choosing what to give up on and what to be content with?
"I wish there was someone who could understand," she whispered to herself as she watched the droplets sliding down the window pane.
"Someone who could be secretive. Take care of my urges. Understand why I'm struggling so much, but see me for more than a slut or whore who was never happy…"
As the rain intensified and the distant tower vanished into the gray haze, Soo-Yeon's gaze left her segmented reflection and returned to waking up for the day.
"I doubt that person exists…" she said solemnly.
…
Far, far away, it was night in Washington D.C. and most of the lights were dimmed in the Longworth Capitol Office Building. Nearby was the Capitol Building. On the upper floor of Longworth, there was one office which still had lights on, although they were dimmed. Inside the office, a tall, handsome young man with white hair was drinking a glass of whiskey as two beautiful aides in black lingerie were on their knees sucking his cock in unison.
Scars lined the man's face, chest, and right hand. His eyes were empty and unhealthy, with whispers of a once vibrant soul barely visible in the darkness and alcohol fueled haze. Amber liquid touched his lips as slurping sounds continued from the mouths of the gorgeous, vixen-like women who were now kissing across the head of his eight inch shaft.
"It's so girthy, it barely fits in my mouth," purred the smaller, curvier one of the women.
She was young, with pouty lips and pale skin.
"You look so good with it in your mouth though," whispered the muscular, caramel-skinned woman as she slid her partner's hair aside so that the man could watch them with an uninterrupted view.
The muscular woman looked up at the semi-present young man, whose brooding glare was far away and half intoxicated.
"Doesn't she, Representative Morneau?…"