Tae sauntered into the penthouse like she owned the damn place, because let’s face it, she pretty much did. At 25, she was a walking wet dream—long, wavy black hair that cascaded down her back like silk, full lips painted a slutty red that screamed “fuck my mouth,” and eyes that could make a man drop to his knees with one sultry glance. But god, her body? That was the real killer. Big, heavy tits that strained against whatever skimpy top she threw on, nipples always poking through like they were begging for attention. Her ass was fat and juicy, the kind that jiggled just right when she walked in those sky-high heels, and don’t even get started on her pussy—pink, fat, and always dripping, shaved smooth except for a little landing strip that said “come and get it.”

Today, she was dressed like the total whore she loved being: a tiny black crop top that barely covered her underboobs, letting them spill out like ripe fruit, no bra of course because why hide the goods? Paired with a micro skirt that rode up her thick thighs every time she moved, flashing her lacy thong that did nothing to hide how wet she always was. She kicked off her heels at the door, padding barefoot across the marble floor of Namjoon’s sprawling penthouse, the city lights twinkling below like they were her personal audience.

“Fuck, baby, where are you?” she called out, her voice all husky and needy, already rubbing her thighs together because just thinking about him got her going. She knew he was home—his sleek black Mercedes was in the garage, and the smell of his expensive cologne lingered in the air like a promise of rough sex.

Namjoon was in his home office, the king of his empire. At 55, he was still a beast—tall as fuck, over 6’3, with broad shoulders and muscles that came from hours in the gym, not just boardroom bullshit. Silver streaked his dark hair, giving him that daddy vibe that made women like Tae cream themselves. He was the CEO of one of the biggest tech conglomerates, worth billions, living in luxury that most people only dreamed about. Penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows, private jet, yachts — the works. But his life? It was all work and play, no in-between. He’d never married, just fucked his way through models, secretaries, and anyone hot enough to catch his eye. His son, Jungkook? Yeah, that kid was a footnote. Namjoon had knocked up some fling back in his 20s, raised the boy as a “heir” more than a son, strict rules, high expectations, but zero real love. Jungkook bolted at 23, and Namjoon hadn’t bothered to track him down. Good riddance, he thought—more time for chasing pussy.

And then there was Tae. God, how they met still made his cock twitch.

It was two years ago at Eclipse, one of those exclusive clubs in the city where the rich got filthy without consequences. Namjoon was there closing a deal, nursing a whiskey, when she hit the dance floor. Tae, 23 then, grinding like a p*rnstar in a red dress that hugged every curve, tits bouncing, ass shaking against anyone who dared get close. She was drunk on attention, flirting with every guy, letting hands roam a little too freely, her laughter cutting through the bass like a siren’s call.

Namjoon couldn’t look away. “Who the fuck is that?” he muttered to his assistant, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He strode over, towering over the crowd, and pulled her away from some douchebag mid-grind.

“Hey, handsome,” she purred, pressing her body against his without missing a beat. “You look like you could buy this whole club. Wanna buy me instead?”

He smirked, his hand sliding down to grab her ass right there on the floor. “Slutty little thing, aren’t you? Dancing like you’re begging for dick.”

She giggled, arching into his touch, her nipples hard against his chest. “Maybe I am. What’s your name, daddy?”

“Namjoon. And yours?”

“Tae. Just Tae. Now, are you gonna fuck me or just stare?”

They didn’t even make it out of the club. He dragged her to a VIP booth, shoved her dress up, and buried his face in her pink, fat pussy, licking her like a starving man. “God, you’re soaked,” he growled, fingers pumping into her while she moaned like a whore. “This cunt’s made for cock, isn’t it? Fat and greedy.”

“Fuck yes, daddy! Eat me out—oh shit, right there!” She bucked against his mouth, coming hard all over his tongue within minutes, her juices dripping down his chin.

He flipped her over the table, yanked down his pants, and slammed into her from behind, his thick dick stretching her wide. “Take it, you little slut. This is what you wanted, huh? A real man’s cock splitting you open.”

“Yes, yes, pound my pussy! Harder, daddy—make me your bitch!”

They fucked like animals that night, him coming deep inside her, marking her as his. By morning, he had her in his penthouse, offering her the sugar baby deal: unlimited credit cards, designer clothes, trips around the world, in exchange for her body whenever he wanted. And Tae? She jumped at it. Why work some dead-end job when she could spread her legs for a billionaire’s dick and wallet?

Their life together was pure filth and luxury. Mornings started with her waking him up by sucking his cock under the sheets, slurping noisily while he groaned and fisted her hair. “Good morning, slut. Swallow every drop like a good girl.”

She’d gulp him down, then ride him reverse cowgirl so he could watch her fat ass bounce. “Your dick’s so big, daddy—fills me up so good. I’m your cumdump, aren’t I?”

Afternoons were shopping sprees where she’d try on slutty outfits in the dressing room, bending over to show him her thong-clad pussy. “You like this, baby? Wanna fuck me right here?”

He’d pin her against the mirror, fingers in her cunt while the salesgirl pretended not to hear her moans. “Quiet, whore, or I’ll make you scream louder.”

Nights? Parties, clubs, or just him bending her over the balcony railing, fucking her with the city below. “Look at them down there, Tae. They wish they had a tight hole like yours. But you’re mine—my personal fucktoy.”

And she loved it. “Yes, daddy! Use me—breed this pussy if you want. I’m all yours for that fat wallet and fatter cock.”

Two years of that bliss, and Namjoon realized he didn’t want to share. Other men eyed her at events, and it pissed him off. So last week, during a lavish dinner on his yacht, he got down on one knee—sort of. Actually, he had her on her knees first, sucking him off under the table while the waiter poured wine.

“Marry me, Tae,” he grunted, pulling her up mid-blowjob, the ring box in his hand—a massive diamond that screamed “I own you.”

She wiped her mouth, eyes wide, but that slutty grin spread fast. “For real, daddy? You’ll keep spoiling me rotten?”

“Every day, baby. And I’ll fuck you senseless every night.”

“Yes! Fuck yes!” She jumped him right there, the ring forgotten as she impaled herself on his dick, riding him like a champ. “I’m gonna be your wife—your rich, slutty wife. Pound me, hubby-to-be!”

He knew why he was doing it: her body was addiction—those big tits he loved slapping, that fat ass he spanked red, her pink pussy that clenched around him like a vice. And her holes? God, she let him use every one, no limits. Mouth, cunt, ass— all his.

Tae knew too: his money meant freedom, luxury, no more scraping by. And his dick? Thick, veiny, always hard for her—better than any toy. The son thing? He’d mentioned once, “I have a boy, but he’s gone. Don’t worry about it.” She shrugged—why care? She wasn’t marrying for family drama.

Meanwhile, across town in a different kind of glow, Jeon Jungkook—Kook—oiled up his ripped body backstage at Velvet Underground, the elite strip club for the city’s wealthiest. At 28, he was a god: tall like his old man, handsome with sharp jawline, piercings in his lip and eyebrow, tattoos snaking over his muscled chest, arms, and down to his abs—dragons, roses, skulls that made women fantasize about tracing them with their tongues.

His past? Shitty. Born to Namjoon and some forgotten fling, raised in luxury but under iron rules. “You’ll take over the company, boy. No excuses.” Namjoon was always buried in work or women, parading Kook at events like a prize pony. “Look at my heir—perfect, right?” But no hugs, no real talks—just criticism. “Toughen up, Jungkook. Life’s not a game.”

At 23, Kook snapped. “Fuck your business, Dad. I want a real life.” He walked out with nothing but a backpack, cut ties, and never looked back. Namjoon didn’t chase him—too proud, or maybe just didn’t care.

Now? Kook stripped for cash, and he was damn good at it. The club catered to high-rollers: CEOs, celebs, bored housewives with daddy’s money. He flirted shamelessly, making them feel like the center of his world.

On stage tonight, under pulsing lights, Kook grinded to the beat in nothing but a trunk that contained his thick cock. Women screamed, tossing bills. “Shake it, baby!” one yelled.

He smirked, flexing his tats, dropping low to grind the air. “You like that, ladies? Imagine this body all over you.”

Off stage, private dances were where the real money flowed. A curvy client in a VIP room tonight, 40-something with diamonds everywhere.

“God, you’re hot,” she breathed, hands on his chest as he straddled her lap, rolling his hips.

He leaned in, breath hot on her ear. “Tell me what you want, gorgeous. Want me to grind this hard cock against your thigh? Feel how big it is for you?”

“Yes—fuck, yes. You’re such a tease.”

He chuckled, pressing closer, his bulge rubbing her dress. “Tease? Nah, I’m a giver. But you gotta tip big for the full show, baby.”

She slipped hundreds into his trunk, fingers brushing his shaft. “Worth every penny. Bet you fuck like a god.”

“Only in your dreams, sweetheart.” He winked, but kept it professional—no extras, just the flirt. He was saving every won for his dream: a quiet cafe in the countryside, away from the city noise, the family bullshit. Peace, finally.

Little did he know, his estranged dad’s new fiancée was about to turn everything upside down. But for now, the night was young, and the money was flowing.

Tae, back in the penthouse, found Namjoon at his desk. She crawled under it, unzipping him without a word.

“Missed me, slut?” he groaned, leaning back.

“Always, daddy. Now shut up and let me suck that dick.”

And just like that, another filthy night began.