The afternoon sun hung heavy over the quiet suburban street, baking the pavement and making the air thick with the promise of something forbidden. YN stood at her kitchen window, a glass of cold water sweating in her hand, her eyes locked on the house across the way. The one that had been empty for months until three days ago, when the moving trucks rolled in and unloaded the kind of bodies that made her cunt clench just from memory.

Jimin. Jungkook. Taehyung.

Three of them. Broad-shouldered, thick-armed, thighs like fucking tree trunks under those thin summer shirts they wore while hauling boxes. She’d watched from behind the curtains like a starved animal, her fingers already slipping under the waistband of her yoga pants before the last box was inside. Jay was at work—always at work, mid-thirties and already soft around the middle, his cock a polite little thing that barely stretched her, that came after three minutes of half-hearted thrusting and left her aching and empty. She’d learned to fake it years ago. Moan on cue. Clench on cue. Whisper that he was so good, so big, so perfect. All while her mind wandered to the kind of cocks that could ruin her.

These three… fuck. Just looking at them made her a bitch.

She’d seen Jungkook first—tall, dark hair falling into his eyes, arms corded with muscle as he lifted a couch like it weighed nothing. Then Taehyung, laughing at something, that deep voice carrying across the lawn, his shoulders stretching the fabric of his black t-shirt until she could see the outline of his pecs. And Jimin, smaller but denser, moving with a dancer’s grace that still screamed power, his ass in those jeans making her mouth water. She’d touched herself that first night while Jay snored beside her, two fingers shoved deep into her dripping cunt, thumb circling her clit as she imagined all three of them. One in her mouth, one in her pussy, one stretching her ass until she screamed. She’d come so hard the bed shook, biting her pillow to keep quiet, whispering their names into the dark like a prayer.

Cockslut. That’s what she was. A greedy, dripping cockslut who needed more than one average dick could ever give. She needed them thick. Long. Veined. She needed to be filled until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember her own name. Three cocks. Three loads. One after another, or all at once—she didn’t care. She’d take them in every hole, on her knees, on her back, bent over the couch, pressed against the wall. She’d suck them clean after they used her. She’d beg for more.