The finish line

It became routine after that, our daily exchange. I would wake up, aching with the memory of the video from the night before, and I would find myself **** for more. And every day, I would resist asking for a while, sometimes for hours, sometimes just for minutes, before finally succumbing to the need that consumed me. The videos were always the same; her, on his cock, crying out his name, and he, silent and stoic as she begged for more, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

The only change was the location—sometimes it was their bedroom, other times it was in a hot and steamy shower, or against the wall in the studio, or even in the kitchen. Each video was like a dagger twisting in my heart, yet I couldn't tear myself away. Every time I pressed play, I felt as if I were falling deeper and deeper into a pit of my own making, my resolve crumbling with each passing day.

I would watch her face, contorted in pleasure, and imagine that it was me who had put that expression there. I would imagine the way she would feel beneath me, the way her body would arch into mine, her soft moans and breathless sighs filling my ears. I would imagine the taste of her skin, the scent of her arousal, the feel of her hands on my body.

But it was never me. It was always him.

And so I watched, my eyes glued to the screen, my heart breaking with every second that passed. I watched as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, their love palpable in every touch, every whispered word of adoration. I watched as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy again and again, her body trembling with need, her voice raw with desire.

I watched, and I yearned, and I hated myself for it.

But even as I cursed myself for my weakness, I couldn't deny the way my body responded to the sight of them together. I couldn't deny the heat that pooled in my stomach, the ache that throbbed between my legs, the way my skin flushed with desire. I couldn't deny the need that burned within me, the hunger that consumed me whole.

So I watched, and I imagined, and I yearned.

As we approached the deadline, the promised land only days away, the number of videos I requested became more and more frequent. It began as once every night, but soon I was begging Jihoon for more throughout the day. I needed to watch him take her over and over again. I needed to hear her moans, see his body covered in a sheen of sweat, smell her arousal, and taste the sweet bitterness coating the back of my throat. The hunger within me had grown insatiable, an unquenchable fire that burned brighter and hotter with each passing moment.

As if they were doing it on demand, the videos arrived in my inbox with stunning speed. I would ask at breakfast for one, and by the time I reached school for morning class he had sent me evidence of Haeun sucking him off in a public restroom. It was like they were always fucking now, just so that I would always have something to watch.

She never addressed me in the videos, I realised, nor did Jihoon. They were always too lost in their pleasure, too wrapped up in their love to spare me a thought. It was as if I was a ghost to them, an invisible voyeur peering into their private world, a world I would never truly be a part of.

It was as though I was watching a woman that did not belong to me. This Haeun was a stranger to me, a creature of raw desire and unrestrained lust.

This Haeun was a being that existed only in the confines of these videos, a figment of my darkest desires made flesh. She was not the gentle, loving woman I knew, the one who whispered soft words of comfort and adoration. She was a goddess of pleasure, a creature that lived for the feel of cock inside her, every touch sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

And so I watched, my eyes glued to the screen, my heart pounding with desire and shame. I watched as he took her, their bodies moving together in a frenzy of passion and lust. I watched as he claimed her again and again, his cock driving deep into her willing body, his hands roaming over every inch of her skin.

I watched, and I yearned, and I hated myself for it.

But I could see the finishing line now. Only a few more videos, a few more days, and she would be back. We could make love in my own bed. She would belong to me once more. I could resist the urge, if only just barely.

I clung to this hope like a drowning man clutches at a life preserver, even as the ache inside me grew stronger and more insistent. It was a constant, throbbing presence, a hunger that gnawed at my very soul. Every time I saw them together on the screen, it was as if someone was twisting a knife into my heart, the pain sharp and raw, yet strangely intoxicating.

But I knew that this pain, this agony of desire and need, would pass. I knew that once the game was over, once I had endured the torment and emerged on the other side, the ache would ease. The videos would stop coming, and I would have Haeun all to myself, her body and soul mine to cherish and adore.

So I watched, and I yearned, and I told myself that I could hold out until then. I could survive the storm, the tempest of emotions raging within me. I could endure until she returned, and we could be together again, our love strong enough to withstand even the fiercest tests.

One more day now. One final test. By this time tomorrow, she would be mine once more. I have won. I have not submitted, stared down the abyss and escaped with my soul.

I had sent my final request at lunch time.

At ten minutes to midnight, I received a call.