"I first found it while I was digging through the drawers in my mom's room," Daeho whispered, his voice low and thick with a strange sort of pride.
"Found what?" Jinwoo asked, his heart beginning to throb against his ribs.
"You know... the real deal. BDSM gear. Black blindfolds, heavy-duty handcuffs, and a deep red leather dog collar with a matching leash."
"Are you serious?" Jinwoo felt a chill. He wasn't entirely unfamiliar with that world, mostly because of the endless stream of 'research' Daeho had forced upon him over the years, but hearing it about a parent was different.
"It gets weirder," Daeho continued, leaning in closer. "Inside that red collar, there was an engraving on a small silver plate.
It said: 'Whore Slave Park Gyuri.' I found it about a month ago. At first, I tried to tell myself it was a joke, or something else. But after watching her... it's obvious. My mom is a total sub."
Jinwoo swallowed hard, unable to look away from his friend's intense gaze.
"A few days ago, my dad came home from a business trip, the first time he'd been back in weeks.
It was right before dinner, and I was just sitting in the living room watching TV. Suddenly, there was this loud, metallic bang from the kitchen."
Daeho paused, as if visualizing the scene again.
"I turned around. My dad was just standing there, grabbing a drink from the fridge like nothing happened. My mom was at the sink, still focused on the cooking. But when I looked closer... I saw it. She was wearing that red collar. Right there in the kitchen, with the engraving pressed against her skin."
"Her face was a shade of red I've never seen before. She was just standing there, tending to a pot, but she was trembling. She was getting off on the humiliation of being marked like a dog right in front of her own son, and she didn't think I noticed."
Jinwoo felt his own breath hitch. The image was vivid, disturbing, and undeniably arousing.
"After my dad headed back out to the provinces for work, it was just me and her again," Daeho said, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone. "I couldn't help it. I just went crazy and hit her. She was doing the dishes, and I just let out all that pent-up energy on her ass."
"The moment I did it, the sound of the slap echoing in the kitchen... I felt like my heart stopped. I regretted it instantly. I thought, 'What the hell did I just do?' I was certain she was going to turn around and destroy me. I felt like I was going to burst into tears of fear."
Daeho let out a short, breathy laugh.
"But she didn't. She just let out this long, heavy sigh and turned her head away, pretending like she hadn't felt a thing.
She looked completely resigned. I couldn't believe it, so a few minutes later, I did it again. Harder."
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"And?" Jinwoo prompted, his voice barely a whisper.
"Nothing. No scream, no lecture. My heart was racing so fast I thought I was going to die. I kept hitting her until she finished every last dish, and she never said a single word of protest."
"When she finally finished, her face was flushed a deep crimson. She just looked at the floor and said she was tired and going to bed early. Man, I went back to my room and masturbated five times that night. It was insane. Do you even believe me?"
Daeho's story was like a physical blow to Jinwoo's senses.
This was Auntie Gyuri, the woman who had helped raise him, the woman who was always the picture of grace and kindness.
"Do you want to try it?" Daeho asked suddenly, his eyes locking onto Jinwoo's. "Do you want to try hitting her too?"
The suggestion sent a violent jolt through Jinwoo's body. It was messed up. Asking your best friend to strike your own mother was beyond the pale, yet his body was betraying him, trembling with a dark, forbidden excitement.
The thought of his palm making contact with Gyuri's firm, yoga-toned rear was overwhelming. But the words wouldn't come.
His mind flashed to his own mother. He saw her face, filled with disappointment and anger.
He saw his sisters, Sohee and Minji, looking at him with disgust.
"Man... if my mom ever found out about something like that, she'd beat me to death," Jinwoo finally managed to choke out.
"Ah, you're such a scaredy-cat!" Daeho scoffed, leaning back. "It's fine. Didn't you see her earlier? She's practically asking for it. You're pathetic."
In the end, Jinwoo didn't take the offer.
He left the house shortly after, and as he walked out, Auntie Gyuri bid him goodbye with her usual, gentle smile, as if the scene in the bedroom had never happened.
That calm facade only made Jinwoo's blood boil more. All the way home, his mind was a whirlwind of images. He pictured himself in Daeho's place, his hand stinging from the impact against Gyuri's skin.
But as he walked, the face in his mind began to shift. The guilt and fear he felt for his own mother started to morph into something else.
The more he tried to push away the image of his mother's angry face, the more it transformed.
By the time he reached his front door, he wasn't thinking about Gyuri anymore.
He was thinking about 'Whore Slave Na Haemi.' He imagined her blushing, her eyes averted, her body reacting to his touch just as Gyuri had reacted to Daeho's.
He was shaking with an uncontrollable, terrifying level of excitement.
The moment Jinwoo stepped inside, the atmosphere of the house felt heavy. He couldn't bring himself to look at his mother as she greeted him.
The sound of Daeho's hand hitting Gyuri's ass was still ringing in his ears, a rhythmic, snapping echo that wouldn't stop. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the fleeting look of shock on Gyuri's face, and his brain effortlessly swapped her features for his mother's.
Upstairs in his room, he paced like a caged animal.
What would actually happen if I did it? he wondered. Would the world end? Would it be another day of mourning in this house?
But the logic didn't matter. The appeal of seeing his mother's composed, maternal mask shatter into a mess of red-faced embarrassment was too strong. He pictured her in that red collar, forced to lean over the kitchen sink while he stood behind her.
A dizzying, dark pleasure wrapped around his chest. His manhood was straining against his jeans, reaching a point of painful tension.
He lunged for the door, clicking the lock into place. He didn't even take off his clothes before he started. For the first time in his life, he let himself go, masturbating with the image of his mother as his slave.
In his mind, she was collared and leashed, her body draped over the sink. He was the conqueror. He imagined himself hitting her, listening to her muffled moans as she struggled to maintain her dignity while her body betrayed her.
He drove himself toward the edge, his mind filled with the fantasy of claiming her completely.
"Ah... Mom... Haemi..."
The climax was violent. He collapsed against his desk, the aftermath of his release splattered across his monitor and keyboard.
But as the pleasure ebbed away, the darkness rushed in. The feeling of domination was replaced by a crushing weight of self-loathing.
"Fuck... fuck," he whispered, his voice cracking.
He was hit by a tidal wave of regret so intense it made his stomach churn. How could he ever look at her again? How could he sit at the same table? He felt hot tears prickling his eyes. The desolation was absolute.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
He covered his face with his hands, sitting in the silence of his room, wishing he could undo the last ten minutes.
Dinner time arrived far too quickly.
Jinwoo did his best to scrub the evidence of his breakdown away, washing his face until his skin was raw.
He descended the stairs, his legs feeling like lead.
Sohee and Minji were already at the table. His mother was busy at the rice cooker, which sat on a low, sliding shelf.
Because of the height, she had to squat down to scoop the portions.
Jinwoo froze in the doorway.
His mother was wearing a light gray pleated skirt and a wine-colored T-shirt.
As she squatted, the fabric pulled tight, emphasizing her slender waist and the voluptuous curve of her rear.
The regret he had felt only an hour ago began to evaporate, replaced by a heat that moved through his veins like venom.
He stared blankly, his body reacting before his mind could stop it.
He stood there for several seconds until a sharp voice snapped him back to reality.
"What were you doing up there for so long? Come sit down. It's hard enough for Mom to do all this by herself without you disappearing," Sohee scolded, her eyes narrowed.
Jinwoo felt his face catch fire.
The memory of what he had actually been doing in his room felt like a neon sign above his head.
"Oh, leave him be," his mother said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "Our Sohee is quite the little lady today, aren't you? Did you actually finish cleaning that room of yours, or are you just deflecting?"
"Ugh! I'm getting to it, Mom!" Sohee complained. "I do plenty around here. It's Jinwoo who stays holed up in his room doing 'weird stuff' all the time. Why are you always on my case and not his?"
Jinwoo felt a jolt of electricity at the mention of "weird stuff." The irony of his mother defending him while he stood there harboring those thoughts made his head spin, and his erection return.
"What 'weird stuff'?" his mother asked with a chuckle. "Jinwoo helps with the dishes all the time. In fact, since you're so worried about fairness, Jinwoo will handle the cleanup tonight."
"Tonight's side dishes are sausages and egg rolls, Oppa," Minji added with a bright smile. "I helped Mom make them. I know they're your favorite."
Minji's face, usually a sanctuary of innocence, now felt like another trigger. Looking at her, Jinwoo remembered the morning, her jumping on his bed, the feel of her legs.
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Even his youngest sister wasn't a "safe" presence anymore.
He couldn't help himself. As his mother turned back to the stove to retrieve the stew, his gaze drifted downward.
He watched the way her skirt moved, imagining the sound of a slap echoing through the kitchen. He imagined her moaning, her knees buckling as he took control.
He was fully erect now, and there was no hiding it behind the table.
As his mother brought the pot to the table, his eyes followed her every move. But as he looked up, he realized he wasn't the only one watching.
Sohee was staring directly at him. Her eyes moved from his face, down to where he had been looking, his mother's rear, and then back to his eyes.
Her expression shifted from confusion to absolute shock. She let out a soft, sharp breath, a look of pure contempt and realization washing over her face.
Fuck... fuck... fuck...
Jinwoo looked away instantly, his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He had been caught.