In the sprawling penthouse overlooking the glittering skyline of Seoul, Mimi and Jungkook—affectionately Kook to her—lived a life that screamed opulence from every corner. Their home was a masterpiece of modern luxury: floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city like a living painting, marble floors polished to a mirror shine, and furniture that cost more than most people’s annual salaries. Kook, at 28, was the epitome of masculine perfection—tall, broad-shouldered, with a chiseled jawline that could cut glass and dark, piercing eyes that held a quiet intensity. His body was sculpted from hours in the private gym downstairs, his arms inked with intricate tattoos that peeked out from under his tailored shirts, adding an edge to his otherwise polished businessman vibe. He ran the family conglomerate with ruthless efficiency, turning millions into billions, but at home, he was Mimi’s devoted king, showering her with affection and gifts that made her feel like the center of his universe.

Mimi, his 20-year-old wife, was a vision of youthful beauty—soft, wavy hair cascading down her back, doe-like eyes framed by long lashes, and a petite figure that curved gently in all the right places. She wasn’t the bombshell type; her prettiness was sweet and approachable, like a delicate flower blooming in spring. Her skin glowed with that fresh, innocent radiance, and her smile could light up a room. She adored Kook with every fiber of her being, cooking his favorite meals in their state-of-the-art kitchen, planning romantic evenings, and dreaming of the day they’d fill their home with the laughter of children. They had been married for two years now, and their love was as passionate as ever—or at least, it tried to be.

But beneath the veneer of perfection, there was a shadow that haunted them both: the empty nursery down the hall. Despite their wealth, the endless doctor visits, the fertility tests, the hormone injections, and the whispered prayers in the dead of night, Mimi couldn’t get pregnant. It wasn’t her fault, the specialists said. No, the issue lay with Kook. Erectile dysfunction—a cruel twist for a man who looked like he could fuck a woman into oblivion just by glancing her way. In public, he was the alpha, commanding boardrooms and sealing deals with a handshake. But in the bedroom, with Mimi’s soft hands stroking him, her lips whispering encouragements, his massive cock—thick as a wrist, veined and long enough to make any woman weak—refused to rise fully. It would twitch, swell a little, but never reach that rock-hard state needed to plunge deep and deliver the seed they both craved.

Tonight was no different. They lay in their king-sized bed, sheets tangled around their bodies, the city lights casting a soft glow through the windows. Mimi, in a silky pink negligee that hugged her small breasts and flared over her hips, straddled Kook’s lap, her hands roaming his chest. “Please, baby,” she murmured, her voice sweet and pleading, grinding her wet pussy against his semi-soft length. “I need you inside me. We can try again.” Kook groaned, his hands gripping her thighs, his eyes dark with frustration and love. He was shirtless, his abs rippling under her touch, but down below, his cock lay heavy against his thigh, not fully cooperating. “I’m sorry, Mimi,” he whispered, pulling her down for a kiss. “I want this so bad. For us. For our family.” They made love anyway—or tried to—her riding what little hardness he could muster, but it ended in tears and hugs, the ache deepening. They were rich, beautiful, in love… but barren. And it was tearing them apart.

Across town, in a sleek high-rise clinic that catered to the elite, Tae reigned supreme. At 40, she was a goddess among mortals—beauty that defied age, with long, raven hair that fell in glossy waves, full lips painted a sinful red, and eyes that smoldered with secrets. Her body was a work of erotic art: massive, heavy tits that strained against every top she wore, spilling over like ripe fruit begging to be plucked; a thick, juicy ass that jiggled with every step in her sky-high heels; and between her thighs, a pink, fat pussy that was always slick, always ready, lips plump and inviting. She dressed like she was on a mission to seduce the world—today, a tight white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the lace of her black bra, her enormous boobs threatening to burst free; a pencil skirt that hugged her wide hips and barely covered her thighs, slit high enough to flash her garters; and no panties, of course, because Tae loved the thrill of feeling the air tease her bare cunt as she moved.

As the top fertility specialist in the country, Tae’s reputation was impeccable. Her clinic was a haven for desperate couples, her success rate legendary. She had degrees from the best universities, published papers that revolutionized treatments, and a waiting list that stretched months. But what no one knew—what she hid behind her professional smile—was her slutty side. Divorced five years ago from a boring husband who couldn’t keep up with her insatiable hunger, Tae had embraced her freedom like a drug. She was a cock-hungry whore at heart, using her body as her ultimate tool, fucking her way through patients, colleagues, and anyone who caught her eye. And in her line of work, it served a purpose: her “techniques” made limp dicks stand at attention, cured infertility with a mix of science and sin, all without anyone suspecting the filthy truth.

Flashback to three years ago, right after her divorce. Tae’s office was her playground—a plush room with a massive desk, a leather exam table disguised as a couch, and walls lined with medical charts that hid her collection of toys. She was fresh off a messy split, her pussy throbbing with need, when Dr. Lee, a handsome colleague in his 30s, came in for a “consult.” He was stressed, complaining about performance issues with his wife. Tae leaned over her desk, her huge tits nearly popping out of her low-cut top, nipples hard and visible through the fabric. “Let me examine you properly,” she purred, her voice like velvet. He hesitated, but she locked the door, pushed him onto the exam table, and hiked up her skirt, revealing her bare, dripping cunt. “Shh, this is part of the treatment.”

She straddled him, her fat pussy lips enveloping his soft cock, grinding slowly, her juices coating him. “Feel how wet I am for you? That’s the secret—relax and let me work.” Her techniques were masterful: she’d start with teasing touches, her manicured nails tracing veins, whispering dirty encouragements like, “Imagine this fat cock splitting my tight hole open.” No one knew it was fucking; they thought it was “manual stimulation therapy.” But Tae rode them hard—her big tits bouncing wildly as she slammed down, nipples peeking over her bra, ass cheeks clapping against their thighs. With Dr. Lee, she bounced like a p*rnstar, her pussy clenching around his growing shaft, milking him until he was throbbing, veiny, and ready to explode. “See? All better,” she’d say, letting him cum deep inside her, her walls pulsing as she orgasmed too. He left with a prescription and a hard-on that lasted days, never realizing she’d fucked the impotence right out of him.

It wasn’t just colleagues. Patients came in droves—frustrated husbands with wives waiting outside. Tae would dim the lights, slip on gloves for show, then ditch them to wrap her soft hands around their limp dicks. “Breathe,” she’d coo, but soon her mouth was involved, lips stretching around thick heads, tongue swirling as she deepthroated like a pro. One patient, a CEO in his 40s, had a cock that hung heavy but wouldn’t rise. Tae bent over her desk, skirt flipped up, ass high in the air, her pink pussy winking at him. “Touch me if it helps,” she invited, and he did—fingers sliding into her soaked folds, her moans encouraging him. She backed onto his hand, tits swaying, until he was hard enough to fuck her from behind. He pounded her relentlessly, her massive boobs slapping against the desk, her fat ass rippling with each thrust. “Fuck me harder, fill this slutty cunt,” she’d gasp, but to him, it was “therapy.” She came hard, squirting on his cock, and he erupted inside her, breeding her womb with ropes of hot cum. Weeks later, his wife was pregnant—thanks to Tae’s “miracle methods.”

Flash forward through countless encounters: the young intern she seduced in the supply closet, her tits smothering his face as she rode his face, then his cock, her pussy gushing as he sucked her clit. The married patient she fucked on the exam table, legs spread wide, heels digging into his back, her techniques involving edging him with her mouth until he begged to cum. “Edge and release builds stamina,” she’d explain, but really, she just loved the power, the feel of a thick dick stretching her fat pussy walls, her big tits heaving as she orgasmed again and again. No one knew her reputation; she was discreet, professional on the surface. But in private, Tae was a cum-slut extraordinaire, her body a weapon that cured what pills couldn’t. Divorced and free, she reveled in it—fucking day and night, her office reeking of sex, her techniques legendary in her mind.

Back in the present, Tae sat at her desk, reviewing charts, her nipples hard against her blouse, pussy throbbing under her skirt. Little did she know, her next appointment would change everything: her own daughter and son-in-law, desperate for the miracle only she could provide. But with Kook’s monster cock in her sights? Tae’s slutty instincts would awaken like never before.