Fuck.
I don’t even know how many times I cursed in my head. I wanted to scream my lungs out, just let it all rip, but right now I couldn’t even afford to breathe too loud. I was hiding behind a wall like a sewer rat, doing nothing but watching what was happening outside.
Cold sweat streamed down my back. It was autumn, the wind was sharp, but my body, stiff with tension, couldn’t feel the cold at all. My palm braced against the wall was slick with sweat, and my lips and the inside of my mouth felt dry enough to crack and burn.
If I get caught, I’m fucked. And if I’m just fucked, that’s still the lucky outcome. Worst case, I get dragged off somewhere and buried alive. I could already see it in my head: me gripping a shovel, digging my own hole. Some faceless assholes laughing, saying this is your grave, and me, tied up with rope, getting shoved down into it.
I swallowed hard and cautiously leaned my head out. In the distance, some big guys were looking around, and then, like they’d sensed something, they turned their heads straight toward where I was. I yanked myself back behind the wall.
This place isn’t safe either.
But where the hell is safe? Should I just leave the country until things calm down? As if. Look at reality. I don’t even have a passport, let alone money for a ticket.
Why did things end up like this? I glared down at my own crotch in pure resentment. Yeah. That bastard was the root of it all. It’s attached to my body, but sometimes it grows a will of its own, standing up, swelling, dying whenever it feels like it. That useless chunk of flesh I can’t even cut off—that thing started all of this.
I was just an ordinary swallow. I sold drinks to women, sold them sweet talk, and if I was already doing that, I sold my body too. A common male prostitute. Slang: swallow. In foreign terms, they called us hosts.
I had no education, no assets—nothing but a swinging dick and a smooth face. For someone like me, this job was practically a calling. Smile innocently in front of women, grin sweetly, call them noona, flatter them a little—do that and they found you cute, doted on you, and paid you.
I got to take care of my sex drive as a bonus. And since I was the one getting paid, I always gave my all in bed. I licked until my tongue went numb, bit, sucked—customer satisfaction was priority number one. I had outstanding professional ethics.
Then one day, she appeared. Way too refined and elegant for a shabby place like that. She looked rich too. I was blessed by fate when she called my name, and I clung to her like a stray cat that had just found a new owner, pouring on every ounce of charm I had.
If she put a cigarette in her mouth, I’d stick right beside her and light it with my expensive secondhand Zippo. If she drank, I’d bring food to her lips. If she told me to sing, I sang. Dance, I danced. I did everything I possibly could. I just wanted her—Han Yeonghwa—to take a liking to me, get me a studio apartment, and shove money at me like feeding kibble.
And then the final test loomed right in front of me. The night that would decide whether I’d be kept by her side or tossed away.
I scrubbed my crotch until it was squeaky clean, my hairless skin pale and smooth, and worked my tongue nonstop. I loosened my finger joints, stretched thoroughly, made sure my waist, ass, thighs, and core muscles were all ready to perform. I hadn’t even jerked off for days, all for this night.
After checking my reflection and confirming I was damn near perfect, I headed to the hotel full of confidence. Han Yeonghwa was already there, sitting elegantly on the sofa, wearing nothing but a silk robe over her naked body, showing off the calm confidence of an older woman.
She held a cigarette in her mouth and just tilted her head. I’d lived my whole life reading the room, so even that tiny gesture told me exactly what she wanted. I happily unbuttoned my shirt one by one, giving her a strip show. I took everything off, right down to my underwear, crawled to her feet, and kissed the top of her foot.
We made it to the bed without incident. The mood heated up fast, and my dick, fueled by all ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) that abstinence, stood straight at attention. I steeled myself to pour every skill I’d learned in my life into tonight.
Ding-dong.
The bell rang. Not wanting to ruin the mood, I pretended I didn’t hear it. But she didn’t. Han Yeonghwa pushed my shoulder and sat up.
Ding-dong.
The bell rang again.
‘Should I get it?’
Her face had gone completely white. She looked like an actress right before a scream in a horror movie. She hurriedly threw on her robe and got out of bed.
I could tell things were going bad, so I quickly shoved my legs back into my underwear. They were black with a subtle shimmer—my most expensive pair.
‘Yeonghwa.’
A low voice came from outside. It wasn’t the Grim Reaper, but it was enough to send chills down my spine. I flinched, my shoulders jerking.
‘You gonna open it, or should I?’
He wasn’t yelling. But from experience, people who threaten you while staying that calm are the scariest, most dangerous kind. My face drained of color just like hers.
‘Hide. Now.’
Asking questions at this point would’ve been amateur hour. I didn’t have time for polite words as she shoved me away, and I desperately searched for somewhere to hide. But there was nothing. Even the bathroom walls were made of transparent glass.
I almost cursed the hotel for using glass without thinking about privacy, then realized too late that I could lower the blinds. Lock the door, drop the blinds, and maybe no one would know.
What if he breaks the glass?
I hopped in place, panicking, while the man outside started counting. He said three, but there was barely any pause before two, one. The speed was terrifying. In my rush, I grabbed my clothes, then like a total idiot tripped over a chair leg and went crashing down with a huge bang.
From far away it’d look like a comedy. Up close, it was still black comedy. Rubbing my scraped, burning-red knee, I limped back up.
At the same time, the door opened.
A man built like a doorframe stood there. He ducked his head out of habit as he stepped inside. He was so tall you had to tilt your head way back just to see his face.
He was handsome. Seriously handsome. If he worked at a host bar, the number one spot would’ve been his by default. If I’d seen him on the street, I would’ve looked back at least three times—no, five.
But I wasn’t dazzled. The situation was way too urgent for that. And I couldn’t miss the dangerous aura pouring off his entire body. I’d seen plenty of men like him back in high school, when loan sharks and gangsters beat the shit out of me over my father’s debts. Guys who smiled while beating people. Absolute psychos.
‘What a cheap little party.’
The man tapped his cheek with the card in his hand as he took a step forward. His gaze landed on me. He snorted when he looked at my pathetic body compared to his, but I couldn’t even get offended.
The two bulky guys behind him were terrifying too. My lower jaw started trembling. I couldn’t even make excuses. A naked woman under a robe and a man in nothing but underwear alone in a hotel room—what else would we be doing besides fucking?
I should’ve dropped to my knees right then, clasped my hands, and begged. This was a life-or-death crisis—whether I’d end up buried alive or lose just one ball. I didn’t want to lose my precious balls, and I didn’t want to die with dirt in my eyes.
Running was my only option. I felt bad for Han Yeonghwa, but my own survival came first. I rolled my eyes around desperately and spotted a small gap between the man’s legs and those of his goons. Big enough for me to slip through.
I launched myself toward it. The skills I’d learned as a kid, flying and crawling through back alleys to escape thugs, hadn’t gone anywhere. Behind me, I heard the goons shouting, “Grab that bastard!” as I bolted straight for the emergency stairs.
There was a chase. I ran with every last ounce of strength I had, and this alley was where I finally ended up. My bare feet were shredded and bloody from the asphalt, my breath clawing up my throat. Still, I didn’t make a sound. I didn’t want to get caught and end my already cheap life like a stray dog.
By some miracle, the goons split up into different alleys. I slid down the wall and collapsed. A couple of passersby who hadn’t been around earlier glanced into the alley. Seeing me in nothing but underwear, they giggled and walked off, probably thinking I was some pervert. Perfect timing. Absolute humiliation.
I couldn’t exactly hop on the subway or a bus like this. Taxi was the only option, but my wallet—with the little cash I had—was still at the hotel. Go back for clothes? If I had two lives, maybe. The goons were scattered through the alleys, sure, but the man who looked like their boss was probably still there. And somehow, the idea of running into him again scared me more than the others.
Working this job, how could I say I’d never touched someone else’s lover? One day a customer’s husband stormed into the bar, screaming about which bastard fucked his wife. Another day someone flipped tables demanding their money back. In those cases, lying low for a bit was enough. Most people flared up fast and cooled down just as fast.
But I didn’t think cheap tricks like that would work on this man. He gave off a more dangerous vibe than anyone I’d ever met. I could tell. A sixth sense born from a fucked-up life was screaming warnings—this man could snap your neck with one hand, like breaking a swallow’s.
And trusting instincts like that never hurt anyone. Picking a fight with a guy like him just because I had a dick would, at best, leave me injured—and at worst, dead. That much was painfully obvious.
