Chapter Four #6
Hyunwoo hums thoughtfully behind me, the sound vibrating in his chest, and I feel the chopstick withdraw slightly—pulling back just past the cervical opening, the rounded end slipping out of my womb and back into the passage.
The relief is fleeting, because a second later he pushes back in, and this time I feel what he’s doing.
He’s swirling the metal instrument gently inside my passage as he withdraws, collecting the cum pooled in my channel, gathering it against the rounded end, and then pushing it ahead of the tip as he directs it deep inside toward and through the opening of my womb again.
Each time the chopstick breaches my cervix, I buck and moan, my body jerking involuntarily on the pillow, my cock twitching feebly between my legs despite having absolutely nothing left to give.
The sensation doesn’t diminish with repetition—if anything it intensifies, my womb growing more sensitive with each entry, the delicate muscles inside clenching harder around the rounded end each time it pushes through.
Hyunwoo works patiently, pulling out to gather more cum and then pushing back in, depositing it as deep as he can, swirling and stirring inside my clenching womb with small, careful rotations of the chopstick that make me see white behind my eyelids.
I whimper and writhe with each insertion, my mouth hanging open, sounds falling from my lips.
Breathy moans that crack in the middle, sharp cries that break off into gasps, desperate little whines that sound nothing like me.
My whole body is a live wire of sensation, my womb pulsing and clenching each time the chopstick pushes through the cervical opening, my omega body responding to the deep stimulation with an intensity that terrifies me because I didn’t know I could feel like this and I don’t know how to make it stop.
Finally, Hyunwoo stops. He holds the chopstick still inside me, the rounded end settled just past the entrance to my womb, and I feel him lean back slightly, apparently satisfied that he’s pushed as much cum as possible into the deepest part of me.
He lets my hips down gently onto the pillow, adjusting the angle so my pelvis stays elevated, and I can still feel the metal inside of me—the thin shaft resting in my passage, the rounded end sitting just inside the entrance to my womb like a stopper in a bottle.
“We should just leave it in there for a few minutes,” Hyunwoo says, his tone as practical as if he’s explaining a recipe. “It’ll act as a plug, keep the womb sealed so nothing leaks back out. Give the sperm maximum time to do their job.”
I pant and heave, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my body twitching with aftershocks that my muscles jump.
I can feel the other end of the chopstick—the tapered, thinner end—sticking out of my hole, the cool metal resting against my taint.
Inside me, the rounded end sits just past the entrance to my womb, a presence in a part of my body I had never felt in any capacity before tonight.
I didn’t even know I could feel things there.
My limbs twitch against the sheets, my cock is still inexplicably half-hard beneath me despite three orgasms, and my belly is sticky with my own cum in overlapping layers from each round.
I’m destroyed in every possible sense of the word—physically, mentally, emotionally, and in terms of basic human dignity.
Hyunwoo pats my back. Firm and approving and completely devoid of sexual energy, as if the last hour of increasingly depraved activity just didn’t happen.
“That wasn’t so bad this time, was it?” he says, I can hear the smile in his voice. “Much better than round one.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, I can tell he’s smirking without seeing his face, “It even seems like you might’ve enjoyed yourself a bit. How many times did you come, anyway?”
I lie there, face down in the pillow, my body trembling, a metal chopstick sticking out of my ass and my womb full of cum, and I mutter with every ounce of venom I can muster into the Egyptian cotton, “I hate you so much.”
Hyunwoo laughs. Bright and genuine and completely unbothered, and it makes me want to suffocate him with this very pillow.
“Don’t be dramatic,” he says, and I hear him shift on the mattress, the bed creaking as he stands.
“Let’s just cross our fingers and hope this time works so we can retire from this particular hobby.
” A beat, and then his voice takes on a cheerful, conversational quality that is wildly inappropriate given the circumstances.
“Do you want a snack? I’m thinking of ordering that fried chicken from the place down the street.
The one with the honey garlic glaze you like. ”
I grunt something unintelligible into the pillow.
I’m too wrung out to move, too exhausted to even lift my head, too thoroughly destroyed in body and spirit to form a coherent opinion about fried chicken.
My body feels like it’s been taken apart piece by piece and reassembled, every nerve ending still singing with residual sensation, my eyelids so heavy they might as well be made of lead.
I’m asleep within seconds of hearing the bedroom door click softly shut behind him. Dead to the world, face down, hips propped up on a pillow, a chopstick still sticking out of my ass and Hyunwoo’s cum sealed inside my womb.