Chapter Four #5
I’m still panting, still trying to get my bearings, when Hyunwoo slips off the bed and heads toward the bedroom door. I push up on one elbow, frowning after him.
“Where are you going?” I ask, raspy.
Hyunwoo doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around. He just says over his shoulder, already halfway out the door, “To find something longer.”
I stare at the closed bedroom door with a growing sense of dread as I try to imagine what “something longer” could possibly mean.
Several deeply alarming possibilities flash through my mind in rapid succession.
A cooking utensil. Some kind of medical instrument he’s ordered off the internet during one of his late-night research binges.
A turkey baster, which I’d already vetoed once but which Hyunwoo might have purchased anyway because he doesn’t listen to anyone about anything ever.
My imagination spirals further—a funnel, a length of tubing, some horrifying device he’s seen in a fertility forum that no sane person would use outside of a clinical setting.
Each option is worse than the last, and by the time I hear his footsteps padding back down the hallway, I’ve worked myself into a state of genuine anxiety, my fingers gripping the edges of the pillow beneath my hips.
The door opens. Hyunwoo steps back inside with the expression of a man on a mission, and I crane my neck around to see what he’s holding.
I gape.
“Is that a chopstick?” I sputter, pushing up onto my elbows so fast that the pillow shifts under my hips.
He settles back onto the bed behind me, holding up a single metal chopstick between his thumb and forefinger. It’s from the expensive set in his kitchen with a tapered body that narrows toward one end and a thicker, smoothly rounded tip at the other.
“Yes, it’s a chopstick,” he says, like this is completely reasonable.
“Don’t worry, I sterilized it. Ran it under boiling water from the kettle and wiped it down.
” He holds it up for my inspection, turning it so I can see the rounded end.
“It’s smooth metal, no edges, no seams. The rounded end is perfectly blunt. It’ll be fine.”
“It will not be fine!” I try to squirm away from him, pushing up on my elbows and attempting to drag my hips off the pillow, but Hyunwoo tuts at me—an actual tut, the kind you’d give a misbehaving child—and catches my ankle with his free hand before I can get far.
He grips both my ankles and spreads them apart, repositioning himself between my legs.
“Relax,” he says, his voice steady and unbothered by my obvious distress.
He sets the chopstick down on the mattress beside my hip and uses both hands to adjust my position, pulling my hips back onto the pillow and settling my legs on either side of his knees.
“Doesn’t this need to be done quickly? We need to try our hardest to make sure you get pregnant as fast as possible so we don’t have to keep doing this.
” He picks the chopstick back up and holds it between us, gesturing with it as he talks.
“The best way to ensure that is making sure all of my cum makes it past your cervix and into your womb, where the sperm can actually reach the egg. My fingers were too short to get past the opening. So we need something longer and thinner that can navigate the passage without hurting you.”
I stare at him over my shoulder, my mouth working soundlessly for a moment before I find my voice. “This is absolutely harebrained,” I say. “Even for you.”
Hyunwoo’s mouth twitches but he doesn’t take the bait, just raises his eyebrows at me and waits with the chopstick held loosely between his fingers, patient and expectant.
The thing is—and I hate myself for even thinking this—the logic makes a kind of sense.
Insane, unhinged, only-Hyunwoo-would-come-up-with-this sense, but sense nonetheless.
If the goal is to maximize the chances of conception, then getting the cum as deep as possible, past the cervix and directly into the womb, would theoretically improve the odds.
His fingers couldn’t reach. His cock reached deep but the cum still has to travel on its own from where it’s deposited to the cervical opening, and clearly that wasn’t enough last time since the test came back negative.
And I’m tired. I’m so tired. My body is wrung out from three orgasms, my muscles are trembling, my brain is foggy, and I just want this whole process to be over with as quickly as possible so I never have to lie on this bed with my ass in the air ever again.
So I let my head drop back down onto my folded arms and mutter, “Fine. Whatever. Just be careful.”
I feel Hyunwoo shift behind me, his weight settling between my spread thighs, and then his hand is on my hip, steadying me.
I bite my lip as I feel the cool metal of the chopstick probe my entrance—the rounded, thicker end pressing gently against my puffy, used hole.
The temperature difference makes me shiver, goosebumps racing across the backs of my thighs and up my spine, my rim flinching at the unfamiliar sensation of hard, smooth metal against the swollen, tender skin.
Then I breathe out slowly as the rounded end slips past my loosened rim and into my passage, the smooth metal gliding easily through the slick and cum still coating my insides.
There’s almost no resistance—my hole is too well-used and too slick to put up any kind of fight—and the chopstick slides in with a frictionless ease that makes a soft, wet sound I try very hard not to think about.
I feel Hyunwoo pushing it deeper. Slowly, carefully, the chopstick advancing further into me than his fingers reached, navigating the channel.
He angles it slightly as the passage curves, adjusting the trajectory with subtle shifts in pressure against my inner walls.
It’s a strange sensation—thinner than fingers or a cock, more focused, probing deeper into territory that I’ve never felt anything touch before tonight.
The metal warms to my body temperature as it goes, losing its initial chill, but the rigidity of it is different from flesh in a way that makes me hyper-aware of its presence.
Harder, more unyielding, a thin line of solid pressure threading through my insides with an exactness that fingers and cock can’t replicate.
Then Hyunwoo reaches the spot. The entrance to my womb.
I feel the rounded end of the chopstick nudge against the tight cervical opening, and my breath catches in my chest. The contact alone sends a deep pulse of sensation through my core—that same resonant, tuning-fork feeling from before, vibrating outward from the deepest part of me.
My fingers curl into the sheets, my toes flex against the mattress, and I open my mouth to tell Hyunwoo to wait, to give me a second, to let me brace myself—
But the rounded end pushes past the opening before I can get the words out, breaching the tight ring of my cervix and slipping through into my womb.
I cry out. The sensation is indescribable—a deep, visceral intensity that bypasses every normal nerve response and goes straight to my core, like something fundamental has been unlocked inside me that I didn’t know was there.
My cock spurts. I come abruptly, my orgasm crashing over me without any buildup at all, triggered purely by the feeling of my womb being entered for the first time.
My body convulses on the bed, my hole clenching around the thin metal shaft, my back arching off the mattress as sensation floods through me in a dizzying, cresting wave that wipes my thoughts clean.
My cock twitches and spurts weakly between my thighs—a third orgasm that has almost nothing left to give, just thin, watery fluid dribbling onto the already-ruined sheets—but the intensity of the feeling in my womb makes the physical output irrelevant.
It’s the deepest orgasm I’ve ever had, resonating from a place inside me I never knew existed, and it rolls through my body in long, shuddering pulses that make my teeth chatter.
Hyunwoo looks down at me with open interest, watching my cock twitch and my body shake, and says with a tone of genuine fascination, “Oh, that does it for you too, huh?” He holds the chopstick steady inside me, not moving it, just letting it sit there while my body spasms around it. “Your womb is sensitive. Good to know.”
I can’t respond. I’m quaking on the bed, making high, broken keening sounds, my womb clenching around the foreign object inside it.
The delicate muscles spasm and grip the rounded end of the chopstick with involuntary contractions, each clench sending another wave of that deep, resonant sensation radiating outward through my pelvis and up my spine.
My thighs tremble violently, my fingers claw at the sheets hard enough that I hear fabric strain, and tears leak from the corners of my squeezed-shut eyes from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all.