Min-jun tilted his head, the sliver of a smile curling his mouth. “Does this fit your fantasy better?” he murmured, plucking the black mask from the desk with lazy fingers. He held it up, then slipped it over his face, the fabric contouring to his cheekbones, concealing the top half of his face in shadow.
The mask had always been part of the act. Chosen precisely because it revealed enough—his mouth, the twitch of his jaw when he came, the way his brows knit in pleasure. It gave his viewers something to feed on, but not enough to trace him back to red carpets or glossy interviews. His voice changed when he was Beau. His posture. But even so—any real fan, anyone who truly looked—might still know.
Min-jun never worried though. No one would dare believe the dick they saw online belonged to the country’s rising prince of romantic dramas.
He took a step forward. “Is that why you took this job?” His voice sweetened with venom. “A pervert trying to get close? Hoping to watch me jack off in person?”
Taesan flinched—subtle, but enough. He stepped back, hands instinctively lifted, palms half-turned in surrender. Min-jun stalked forward, watching him falter, watching control slide off his shoulder.
The back of Taesan’s calves hit the edge of the bed. He sat down hard, more commanded by Min-jun’s proximity than his own will.
So much for the stoic bodyguard. All that careful composure flattened by panic. Min-jun’s lips curved, laughter quiet inside his chest. He savored the sight of Taesan unraveling.
“Mr. Hwang,” Taesan said, tone clipped, too measured, like a man trying to read a hostage script while the gun was still pressed to his temple. “That is not what this is.”
But his eyes—those traitorous eyes—kept slipping downward.
The towel dropped with a whisper. Min-jun let it fall—not with shame, not with hesitation, but with the slow, deliberate elegance of a man who knew the power of being looked at. His cock hung heavy and flushed, already hard, the tip slick with anticipation.
Taesan’s eyes snapped down before he could stop himself.
There was hunger there. Min-jun saw it plain as day—the moment restraint cracked and want bled through. His cheeks flared a deeper red, his jaw tight, but his eyes didn’t move away. Couldn’t.
“You want to touch it,” Min-jun murmured, voice low, syrup-slow. He stepped forward, close enough for the air between them to vibrate with heat. “So touch it.”
Taesan hesitated, his hand hovering uncertain in the space between them—then, finally, it moved. Tentative fingers brushed the shaft, featherlight at first. When Min-jun didn’t pull away, he gripped more firmly, wrapping his hand around it like he couldn’t believe he was allowed.
A soft hiss escaped Min-jun’s lips. “Mmm, just like that.”
The strokes began shallow—testing, careful—but grew bolder as Taesan’s body relaxed. Min-jun’s breath hitched, then deepened, his hand threading into Taesan’s hair as he guided him closer with coaxing fingers.
“Open that pretty mouth for me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just pressed the tip against Taesan’s lips, smearing precum along them in a slow drag before sliding between.
Taesan’s lips parted instinctively, then widened as Min-jun pushed deeper, hips rolling forward. The sound that left Taesan’s throat was half-gag, half-moan, and Min-jun’s breath caught at the sensation.
“God, you’re good at this,” he breathed, hips rocking slowly as he fucked Taesan’s mouth. “This isn’t your first time, huh?”
Taesan’s hands gripped his thighs now, not to push him away—but to steady himself. His eyes fluttered up to meet Min-jun’s, glassy and dark, his mouth stuffed full. Drool trickled down his chin, glistening strings clinging to his lips and Min-jun’s cock as he moved with growing ease—his tongue working beneath, cheeks hollowing on the upstroke.
Min-jun groaned, fingers tightening in his hair. Fuck, he looks good like this. A composed professional brought to please—blushing, obedient.
“Tae,” he gasped, the name ragged on his tongue. “You didn’t do a thorough sweep of this place, did you?” He pulled out suddenly, his cock wet and twitching, slipping free with a pop of suction. Taesan looked dazed, lips glossy and red, breath coming in shallow bursts.
“What?” he asked, confused.
Min-jun tipped his chin to the ceiling, tilting Taesan’s head with him. “Camera. There.”
Taesan’s eyes widened. The red light blinked—quiet, watchful, recording everything.
“My personal security. I keep it for safety,” Min-jun murmured, voice rough as he continued to stroke himself. “In case someone got in.”
Then he came. A hot, sticky pulse of cum painting Taesan’s cheek, splashing across his mouth and shirt. Then another, and another. It dripped thick down his chin.
Taesan flinched, breath caught. “Delete it,” he demanded, voice tight.
“No,” Min-jun replied, already reaching for his face. He smeared a finger through the mess on Taesan’s skin and pushed it past his lips. “Insurance.”
Taesan’s tongue twitched against his thumb before pushing his hand away. “I’m not going to tell. I signed an NDA.”
“True.” Min-jun smirked, withdrawing with a slow step. “I have to stream first,” he said breezily. “Then I’ll consider it.” He turned toward the desk and plucked another mask from the drawer. Sleek, matte black, matching his own. “Today’s a special stream.” He tossed the mask at Taesan, who caught it on reflex. “I have a guest.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” Min-jun smiled, wicked and beautiful, as he adjusted the camera.
The red light flared to life.
Live.
He turned to Taesan, a smirk tugging at his lips as he brought a finger to them, silencing him. “Remember… no names.”
Taesan didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His throat was tight, and his pulse pounded too close behind his ears. He glanced to the side. The monitor blinked—numbers climbing, a rising tide of digital eyes.
Taesan reached up slowly, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Your schedule,” he muttered. It was all he managed.
Min-jun stepped closer. The shift in energy was quiet but unmistakable—like static before a storm. His hands came to rest on either side of Taesan, bracketing him in with careless confidence. “I’m preoccupied,” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “I’ll have to reschedule.”
And then—his tongue. A slow drag across Taesan’s cheek. Possessive. Unhurried. A touch so obscene it made his spine snap taut. “You missed a spot.” The words brushed past his ear, featherlight and lethal. Min-jun’s lips followed, ghosting down to his neck.
Taesan didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He didn’t breathe until Min-jun whispered again, lips barely a breath apart from skin. “Just relax. Smile… you’re on camera.”
The buckle of his belt began to slip free. Min-jun’s fingers moved deftly, one-handed, and practiced.
Taesan spoke, sharp and sudden, like a reflex. “I’ve never had actual sex with a man.”
Min-jun stilled. It lasted only a beat. But the silence that followed felt exposed. Delicate. Then his voice dropped. Softer now, lower than performance. Close enough to sound honest. Or at least… intimate. “Here’s an acting tip,” he whispered. “With a good partner, you can make any scene believable. Trust me. Rely on me.” His hand slid further down, past the opened now waistband. “I’ll make this debut gentle,” he said, words thick with promise, “fun… and I promise you’ll cum.”
Taesan’s head tipped back the moment Min-jun’s fingers closed around him—firm, unflinching, knowing. The way he touched wasn’t hesitant. It was almost clinical, but not cold. It was careful. It was control.
And then Min-jun kissed him. There was nothing coy about it. It wasn’t the brush of curiosity. It was full contact—mouths meeting with pressure, rhythm, force. Taesan opened under it, chest rising, breath catching, his body responding before his thoughts could.
Somehow, the words made him soften—unguarded in a way that surprised even himself. They weren’t tender, not fully vulgar either, but they slipped under his skin all the same. Or maybe it was that fact that Beau’s hand was wrapped around his cock… or maybe it was the taste of him on his tongue.
He worked at his shirt—tie pulled loose, buttons undone one by one, movements jerky with adrenaline and arousal. The fabric peeled away. His chest rose and fell.
Min-jun pulled back, and Taesan lifted his hips in one breath, pants and briefs yanked down in one motion. He was bare now. Not just naked—bare.
He didn’t dare look at the monitor. Didn’t want to see the chat or the red light or whatever performance was being devoured by strangers on the other side of the screen.
He only looked at him.
Min-jun, already moving across the room, silhouette half-shadowed, graceful and unapologetically composed. He moved to a dresser and opened it with one hand.
A bottle of lube came out first. Then, a pause. Fingers rifled deeper. Another object emerged, gleaming under the soft light—dark red, modest-sized, undeniably phallic.
Taesan’s mouth went dry. His heart beat against the inside of his ribs like something caged.
Min-jun stepped toward him, lube in one hand, the dildo in the other. There was something disarming in the way he smiled, like none of this was unusual. “I’m sure you’ve played with yourself before,” he said, voice velvet-smooth, cruel in its cheer. “So you’re going to open yourself up for us.”
Us.
Taesan’s eyes flicked instinctively to the camera mounted on the monitor.
Min-jun’s gaze followed, then dipped as he brought the toy down beside his own cock—already hard again. The contrast was laughable. The dildo was a mockery next to him, but it still looked intimidating in Taesan’s eyes.
“Smallest I could find, alright?” He chuckled, casual, as if they were discussing props on set.
Taesan stared at the items tossed onto the bed beside him. His mouth was dry. His cock, inexplicably, was hard. He really expects me to do this. To spread my legs, take that toy, and fuck myself on camera—for an audience. For him. And yet… there was a thrill at the base of his spine. Dark. Shaming. Electric.
Min-jun climbed onto the bed, settling between Taesan’s legs, his touch confident as he slid his palms up taut thighs. They parted naturally under his hands.
The mattress shifted under Min-jun’s weight, and for a second Taesan thought he would reach for the toy. But instead, Min-jun leaned down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh. The contact was hot and wet. His teeth grazed him with a teasing nip.
Taesan exhaled sharply through his nose. His eyes darted to the side, to the monitor, to the camera—and away again, as if he could undo the moment with denial. But it was happening. It was all happening.
Then heat.
A breath. A slick drag of tongue over his hole. His hips jerked subtly, the contact sudden and unbearably intimate.
Taesan made a sound—quiet, involuntary, wounded by pleasure. A helpless little whimper that betrayed more than he wanted it to. His face burned.
Min-jun’s hands steadied him, thumbs pressed into the meat of his thighs. And then he spit—loud, wet, vulgar. The slickness landed right where his tongue had been. And a moment later, he was there again.
The sensation was maddening. Soft and wet and slow. Min-jun’s tongue traced circles over his asshole, then pressed in, deliberate and skilled. The feeling was foreign, but devastatingly good. It wasn’t just stimulation—it was submission. It was being opened, melted, slowly undone from the inside out.
Taesan’s breath grew shaky. His thighs trembled. He didn’t realize he was clenching the sheets until the sound of slick, steady licking filled the room, humiliated him, aroused him.
He glanced at the camera again. The blinking red light hadn’t stopped. He was being watched. And somehow, that only made it worse. And better.
“Ready?” Min-jun’s voice was low, indulgent.
Taesan barely registered his own nod, just the shaky breath that slipped from him as Min-jun reached for his hand and guided it to the toy.
A cold splash followed—slick lube dripped onto his ass, sliding along the cleft of him.
Min-jun straightened, gaze unwavering. Watching. Waiting.
So Taesan did what was expected.
His fingers tightened around the base of the dildo, the silicone and he lowered it with care, swirling the tip in the mess of lube, coating it thoroughly. Then he brought it to himself, hesitated only a moment, then pressed the tip inward.
His breath hitched. The stretch was immediate.
He’d fingered himself before, but this was different. This was thicker, deeper. His body resisted, then yielded. Slowly. Slickly. Inch by inch. His eyes shut. A low moan escaped his lips, embarrassment and pleasure folding into one.
“Good boy,” Min-jun murmured from above, voice warm with praise and intent. “Your hole’s just swallowing it up for us.”
Taesan’s spine arched involuntarily at that, shame prickling along his skin even as arousal surged hotter in his blood. He didn’t even hear Min-jun move until the click of the camera mount sounded across the room.
When he opened his eyes, Min-jun was back at the bedside, holding the detached camera.
“Don’t stop…” he said, breathier now, stroking himself with one hand. “I want to show everyone the beautiful hole I’ll be fucking soon.”
The words hit Taesan like a jolt.
He should have recoiled. But instead, his cock twitched—precum beading at the tip and dribbling onto his stomach. One hand dug into the sheets beside him, white-knuckled. The other moved with growing rhythm, the dildo sliding in and out of him, each drag slick and obscene.
He didn’t dare look at the camera. He just let himself feel—vulnerable, flushed, and stretched.
Min-jun set the camera on the bed, before moving in. He straddled one of Taesan’s legs with a fluid motion and leaned down, eyes never leaving him. And then—his mouth found Taesan’s cock.
He choked on a moan, his hand stuttering on the toy as Min-jun’s lips closed around him. The warmth of his mouth was almost unbearable, made sharper by the cool air on the lube between his thighs. Every suck, every swirl of Min-jun’s tongue, made the dildo inside him feel deeper. As if every nerve in his body had been rewired to converge at those two points—cock and hole, mouth and toy.
His body writhed, torn between thrusting up and pressing down. His balls felt heavy. The camera sat inches from his skin, facing at the ceiling but it didn’t matter. Min-jun was too preoccupied with him.
The pressure built fast. Too fast.
“Ah—fuck—Beau—” He came with a sharp cry, thighs trembling, back arching off the bed. Min-jun didn’t flinch. He stayed there, taking his load, lips wrapped tight until the last pulse subsided.
Taesan collapsed back into the sheets, chest heaving.
The toy still inside him.
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