Chapter Nine #2
I stay on all fours on the bed, my arms trembling slightly, my cock still dripping the last of my orgasm onto the already-stained sheets, a thermometer sticking out of my ass, and I contemplate the series of life choices that brought me to this exact moment.
Machete, still curled at the foot of the bed, lets out a soft sigh through her nose that I choose to interpret as sympathy.
Hyunwoo leaves the room. I hear him walk down the hallway, hear the fridge open, hear the crack and fizz of him opening a can of something.
He’s getting a drink. He’s left me here, plugged with a thermometer, leaking cum onto the sheets, while he gets himself a beverage.
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose and count the seconds.
When he comes back after what feels like an eternity, the soft beep of the thermometer signaling it’s done, he pulls the probe out carefully—the withdrawal making me clench and shiver—and checks the digital readout, tilting the screen toward the lamp light. He nods, looking pleased.
“Thirty-seven point two,” he announces. “Perfectly normal. Healthy range, good womb environment.” He caps the thermometer and sets it on the nightstand like it belongs there. “See? Quick and painless, and now we know everything’s on track.”
I turn over and give him the most withering look I can muster while pulling my sweatpants back up.
I want to throw the pillow at his head but I’m too tired, so I just lie back and pull the covers over myself and tell him to get out of my room. He goes, whistling softly, and I hear him in the kitchen talking to the dogs in Belgian Dutch as he prepares their evening meal.
The temperature checks become a daily thing.
Hyunwoo deems them non-negotiable, built into the routine, as fixed a part of our day as morning workouts and evening runs.
He walks into whatever room I’m in at random times throughout the day, thermometer in hand, and announces “temp check” with the casual authority of a doctor making rounds.
The expectation is clear and doesn’t require discussion anymore: I bend over wherever I am—the kitchen counter, the arm of the couch, the edge of my bed—pull my waistband down, present, and hold position for several minutes with the thermometer inserted while Hyunwoo goes about whatever he was doing until the reading is complete.
I endure it with diminishing protest. My body, annoyingly, has become so thoroughly conditioned to respond to any stimulation of my womb that I come during almost every single one of these sessions—a quick, sharp orgasm that hits me the moment the probe tip touches my cervix, my cock spurting into whatever surface I’m bent over while Hyunwoo casually scrolls through his phone or talks to me about dinner plans or reads aloud from some article about fetal development milestones.
The contrast between his nonchalance and my gasping, trembling orgasm would be funny if it weren’t happening to me.
At home it’s one thing. Humiliating, but private. The walls of Hyunwoo’s apartment contain my embarrassment, and the dogs are the only witnesses, and they couldn’t care less.
But then one morning after our workout at the gym, we’re alone in the locker room getting changed—the early session crowd hasn’t arrived yet and the place is empty, just the two of us. I’m pulling on my work shirt when I hear the distinctive click of the thermometer case opening behind me.
I whip around. Hyunwoo is sitting on the bench across the aisle, his gym bag open beside him, the thermometer in his hand. He’s already changed into his street clothes—pressed slacks, a fitted henley with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, his gold watch around his wrist.
“Temp check,” he says.
“Absolutely not.” I keep my voice low even though we’re alone, glancing toward the locker room door. “We’re in a public locker room, Hyunwoo. Anyone could walk in.”
“We’re alone,” he replies calmly, uncapping the thermometer and checking the display. “The early morning rush doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, and I can see the door from here. I’ll keep watch.”
“No.”
“Yugyeom.” He gives me a look—patient, reasonable. “I can’t do another check until after your shift ends at seven. That’s a twelve-hour gap. The readings need to be consistent. If there’s a temperature fluctuation during the day, we need to catch it early.”
I stare at him, my jaw working, every rational part of my brain screaming that this is insane and every exhausted, beaten-down part of me recognizing that I’m going to lose this argument the same way I lose every argument with him.
He’s already sitting there with the thermometer ready, his expression calm and expectant, and I can feel the clock ticking on the window of privacy we have before other gym members start filtering in.
“If anyone walks in,” I say through my teeth, “I will kill you. I will actually murder you and they will never find the body.”
“Noted,” Hyunwoo says pleasantly.
I turn around, my face already burning, and bend over the locker room bench.
I reach back and tug my waistband down just far enough, my cheeks flaming, every muscle in my body tense with the awareness that I am in a semi-public space with my ass out.
Hyunwoo moves behind me, his footsteps quiet on the tile, and I feel his hand part my cheeks and the now-familiar cold press of the probe tip against my rim.
It slides in. I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to taste copper as the thermometer navigates my passage, the thin metal warming quickly to my body temperature, pushing deeper with Hyunwoo’s careful, steady hand guiding it.
When it reaches my cervix I come—because my body has been trained to orgasm on command the moment anything touches my womb.
My cock pulses in my underwear, a hot spurt of cum soaking into the fabric, and I clamp my teeth together so hard my jaw aches to keep from making a sound.
Hyunwoo pats my hip. “Hold.”
I hold. I stand there bent over a locker room bench with a thermometer sticking out of my ass and cum cooling in my underwear, my fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the wood, staring at the row of lockers in front of me and praying to every deity whose name I can remember that no one chooses this moment to walk through that door.
My heart is hammering so loud I can hear it in my ears, and every second that passes feels like a full minute, the lights buzzing overhead, the distant sound of music playing from the gym floor filtering through the walls.
Hyunwoo, sitting back down on the bench beside me, crosses one ankle over the other and checks his watch.
Then he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through what looks like a restaurant review.
“There’s a new Thai place that opened near Gangnam station,” he says conversationally, as if I’m not currently bent over with a medical instrument in my rectum in a semi-public locker room.
“The reviews say their pad see ew is exceptional. You want to try it tonight after your shift?”
“I want to die,” I whisper.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The thermometer beeps. Hyunwoo extracts it with a smooth pull that makes me shudder, checks the readout, and nods. “Thirty-seven point one. All clear.” He caps it and tucks it back into his gym bag. “See? Two minutes. Painless.”
I yank my waistband up, straighten my shirt, and turn to face him.
My face is so hot it feels sunburned. There’s a wet patch in my underwear that I’m going to have to deal with before my first client arrives in fifteen minutes.
Hyunwoo looks up at me from the bench, his expression pleasant and unbothered, and gives me a thumbs up.
“I’m going to need you to know,” I say, my voice very controlled, “that when this is all over and the baby is born and I have my money, I am going to use a portion of that money to hire someone to do something terrible to you. I haven’t decided what yet.
But it’s going to be proportional to what you’ve put me through. ”
Hyunwoo stands, slings his gym bag over his shoulder, and claps me on the back as he passes. “Looking forward to it, buddy. Have a good shift.”
He walks out of the locker room, and I stand there for a long moment, alone, and I wonder—not for the first time and certainly not for the last—how my life arrived at this particular destination.
This type of treatment, however, is just the beginning.
Hyunwoo is obsessed with researching omega pregnancy. I don’t mean casually interested or mildly curious—I mean the man has consumed every medical journal, health blog, forum thread, and peer-reviewed study he can get his hands on.
Hyunwoo hires me a personal cook who shows up on a random Wednesday.
A beta woman in her mid-thirties named Yunhee, with a neat ponytail and a calm, no-nonsense demeanor, who shows up at the apartment with two rolling cases of kitchen equipment and a binder containing a meal plan she and Hyunwoo apparently spent the better part of a week designing together.
She has experience in prenatal nutrition, Hyunwoo tells me proudly as he introduces us, and has worked with several high-profile omega clients through their pregnancies.
She’ll be here every day to prepare my meals according to a schedule that adjusts weekly based on where I am in the trimester and what nutrients are most critical at each developmental stage.
I stand in the kitchen doorway holding a mug of decaf tea—Hyunwoo switched me from coffee to decaf without asking two weeks ago, replacing every bag and pod in the apartment overnight like some kind of caffeine-eliminating ninja—and watch Yunhee unpack her equipment onto the counters.
She moves with quiet competence, arranging her knives and cutting boards and specialty ingredients with a practiced hand.
When she opens the fridge, she pauses, surveys the contents, and then turns to Hyunwoo with a polite but firm expression.