Part 3: The Perverted Old Friend’s Secret Hair Fetish

The early sunlight spilled into the room, tracing every curve hidden beneath the blanket, slowly creeping up to Selia’s high bun — the very spot soaked in Marco’s c*m from earlier that morning.

Marco sat there, eyes locked.

The blanket had slipped just enough to reveal her pale, bare back. Her long black hair cascaded like a sensual curtain, brushing lightly against his arm, his stomach, and his thigh. Every strand seemed to pulse with electricity, reigniting his body even after two rounds of intense f*cking.

Selia sat up, pulling her hair forward, gathering the thick, heavy bun into her hands to readjust it. That scent — Marco could smell it clearly: a hint of shampoo, her skin’s natural musk, and… traces of himself still clinging to her hair.

She didn’t say a word. Just glanced at him with a mischievous look before standing up, stark naked, walking unbothered toward the vanity near the window. Her long hair grazed her thighs, her ass, her calves with each step — every sway of her hips made Marco lose his mind with desire.

He swallowed hard. His c*ck stirred again, rising like it was under a spell cast by her hair alone — that luscious, arrogant mane she wore like a crown.

Selia picked up a brush and started combing her hair before showering.

Each stroke — from crown to waist — felt to Marco like she was stroking herself… and then stroking him. Her hair was too long, too thick, too damn silky. And part of him was still tangled in it.

She wrapped a towel around her body and walked toward the bathroom. Marco lay frozen in bed, watching her every movement like a starving beast eyeing the last sacred meal of its life.

Her hair had already been styled into that familiar high bun — the one Marco was obsessed with. A thick, glossy coil sat perfectly centered on the top of her head, made from her dark, voluminous strands twisted and pinned flawlessly.

But because of that bun, her neck was fully exposed — the soft curve, the milky nape, her delicate shoulders glowing under the morning light.

She cracked the bathroom door open — didn’t close it all the way. A narrow slit gave Marco a glimpse of her silhouette reflected in the mirror — blurry, glowing, unreal… enough to make his chest ache with bottled-up lust.

The bathroom was small — simple but tidy. Razor, cleanser, trimmer, scissors, and a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo.

Marco’s subtle, masculine scent still lingered in the air.

Selia lifted her bun, smoothing out a few stray strands. “Can’t let this get wet…” she thought, chuckling to herself.

She knew she had to keep that hair pristine — at least until the end of the day.

The shower turned on.

She adjusted the water temperature, then stepped into the warm stream. Droplets slid from her shoulders down the ridge of her back, tracing her soft curves, flowing around her waist, over her ass, and down her thighs.

Her bun stayed dry, untouched — which only made her exposed neck, smooth nape, and bare shoulders stand out even more.

Marco swallowed again. He was completely entranced.

Through the crack in the door, he watched his girl — naked, dripping wet, foam sliding off her sculpted body like she was carved from marble.

She bent down to grab more body wash, and that simple motion made her breasts spill out from the layer of foam — full, round, flushed pink, shimmering under the bathroom lights.

Every time she turned, the dark bun swayed gently—perfectly contrasting with her snow-white skin.

That contrast, that softness of hair against skin—that was exactly why Marco had become a hair fetishist.

Not just because of the length…

But because of the way silky strands draped over bare flesh—feminine, sensual, maddening.

He didn’t dare breathe too hard.

She glided her hands across her body, slowly.

And with every stroke, Marco felt as if he was the one touching her.

And inside him… something started to rise again.

The warm water caressed Selia’s skin, washing away the traces of last night and this wild morning.

But it couldn’t wash away the images replaying in her mind.

That kiss.

That gaze.

That breath.

And the way his big, hot c*ck filled her like a crashing wave.

Selia stood under the shower, eyes half closed.

Her hair still tightly coiled into a bun—exposing her nape, her shoulders, and the flawless curve of her back.

Water rolled down her spine like a live current.

She brought a hand up to her breast, lightly pinching a nipple, feeling the sore tightness still lingering from the night before.

A spark of pleasure shot straight to her brain.

She exhaled—softly. Her lips parted.

Her other hand held the shower head. She adjusted the water to a stronger stream…

Then brought it down between her legs.

The hot water pulsed against her cl*t—rhythmic, deliberate…

And another shock shot up her spine.

“Marco…”

His name slipped through her lips in a whisper—then vanished beneath the rush of water.

She didn’t understand what was happening.

How could one night with this man completely unhinge her?

She had loved before. She had f*cked before. She had relationships before.

But never like this.

No one had ever claimed both her body and mind like Marco just did.

Her hand kept pressing the strong spray into her p*ssy.

Her thighs twitched, back arching, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Aaah…”

Marco held his breath.

The crack in the door barely gave him a glimpse of Selia’s body in the mirror reflection—

But that was all it took to drive him f*cking insane.

She was touching herself… pleasuring herself…

And it was him she was thinking about.

The light glowed softly on the exposed nape beneath her bun, making her look like a f*cking goddess drenched in steam.

Soap foam slid down her chest, dripping onto her nipples like it knew exactly what it was doing.

Marco’s dck twitched hard again—just from that light, that skin, that fcking bun.

He stepped back slightly, afraid he might do something reckless.

But his heart clenched.

He didn’t know if Selia loved him.

Did she trust him?

Or was this all just a high… a one-night blur?

—

Selia stepped out of the bathroom, steam following her like a silk veil.

Her hair was still tied up in that perfect, plump bun, a few loose strands falling across her flushed cheeks—

Sweet… but f*cking irresistible.

Marco watched her walk toward the vanity.

She wore nothing but a towel.

Her smooth skin glowed, her gaze still dazed from the shower.

She dried her neck with soft, slow motions—catching her reflection in the mirror.

He chuckled gently. “You didn’t wash your hair?”

Selia turned, lips curled into a wicked smirk.

“Nope. I plan to keep your ‘mark’ on me all day.”

Marco nearly choked.

His eyes widened as he stared at her, frozen.

This f*cking girl… he muttered to himself.

She sat down, picked up her comb, and began brushing out her hair.

Strands of inky black fell over her shoulders and back, smooth like liquid silk.

She started parting and braiding it quickly, twisting it up into that signature high bun again—

Every move so skilled, so precise, it was almost a tease in itself.

While twisting the bun, she spoke softly:

“Honestly… I was gonna wash it. But someone wouldn’t stop f*cking me all morning.”

Her voice—part pout, part tease—sent a jolt through Marco’s chest.

He laughed. “What? I barely did anything. Just made you wobble a little.”

Selia giggled, shooting him a playful glare through the mirror.

Then she continued, “I’ve got a class reunion today. Not that excited, but I guess it’ll be fun once I get there. Just old high school friends.”

“Anyone there who used to have a crush on you?” Marco tilted his head, half-joking, half-probing.

She smiled. “Yeah… a few. But I never liked them back. Not my type.”

Marco paused—then casually asked, “So what is your type?”

Selia looked up from her bun, a little flustered.

She bit her lip, cheeks turning pink.

“Uhm… taller than me, masculine… sporty maybe. Deep, warm voice… something like that.”

Then she looked at Marco through the mirror, a mischievous spark in her eyes:

“Sorta like you, huh?”

Marco’s heart did a goddamn backflip.

In his head, one thought rang loud:

“I’m her f*cking type.”

He stepped closer, watching her tie the final ribbon on her bun.

“It’s beautiful,” he blurted.

Selia smiled, stood up, picked out her clothes.

Marco stared—utterly enchanted.

His voice dropped, tone a bit serious now:

“From now on, don’t skip breakfast. Let me take care of it, okay?”

Selia froze, looking at him, surprised.

“Marco… you’re so sweet. But… everything between us happened so fast. I need some time to think.

I’m not easy, you know… But last night… and this morning…

I just couldn’t stop.”

She took a soft breath, then added:

“You’re the first one who’s ever made me feel like this.

I don’t hate it… I just… need a little space.”

She looked down, avoiding his gaze, whispering:

“I’ll text you later.

And I will eat breakfast, I promise.”

She turned away, walking toward her bag.

Marco rushed up, gently touching her hand.

“Selia… are you mad at me?”

She looked back, shook her head.

“No. I’m not mad.

You didn’t do anything wrong… I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

Then she leaned in, kissed him softly—

Warm. Gentle. Lingering.

Marco stood frozen, heart pounding.

As she stepped toward the door, he called out,

“Selia…”

She turned to him.

“I really… really like you.”

Selia looked at him and smiled.

She said nothing more—just gave a soft nod before turning to leave.

Marco stood there, alone in the room still scented with her hair and the lingering heat of the girl who had just stepped out of his life—

…for now.

—

Back at home, Selia entered her familiar master bedroom—the main room of the shared house where she lived with a few friends.

She tossed her sinful little backpack onto the floor—the one stuffed with the lingerie that had kicked off last night’s fiery f*ckfest.

Moving leisurely, she opened her closet, letting her fingers wander over a few options before settling on the look:

A long-sleeved white off-shoulder top.

A deep wine-red corset to cinch her waist and give her breasts a subtle, perfect lift.

A matching red skirt—tight, flattering, not too short, but short enough.

Black 6-inch heels—simple, but sexy as hell.

And finally… a thick, velvet-black choker—

To hide the two angry red hickeys still blooming on her neck.

Selia smirked as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“No one knows what happened last night…

except me and him.”

—

She stepped outside just as a car horn blared at the front gate.

Thomas leaned over and opened the door for the two girls.

Jessica immediately gave Selia a sly once-over, from head to toe:

“Girl… are you going to a class reunion or planning to set all your old classmates on fire?”

Selia giggled, tugging at her corset strap.

“What? Don’t be dramatic… this is modest, okay?”

The red car pulled up in front of a luxurious Chinese restaurant. The class rep had reserved a VIP room for their reunion. Selia and Jessica stepped inside, greeted by laughter, hugs, and a few stunned glances—about ten old classmates had already arrived.

“Selia? Oh my God, it’s been forever!”

“You look freaking gorgeous!”

“Are you still doing hair modeling?”

Selia smiled politely, nodding.

“Yeah, I’m still modeling. Also working on some creative content for social media.”

While she was chatting with the group, a gaze from the far end of the table made her pause. A man in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slicked back, sat quietly at the corner—watching her. It was Dave.

It took her a second to recognize him.

“Dave? Is that you?”

He smiled softly and gave a small nod.

“Hi, Selia. Been a while.”

His voice was low, calm—like he’d rehearsed this moment for years. The group erupted when they realized who he was: the shy, nerdy guy with thick glasses from the back row had turned into a sharp-dressed, confident man.

“Damn Dave! You were so quiet back then—and now, look at you!”

“He’s a tech company director now, isn’t he?”

Dave smiled lightly, but his eyes never left Selia. Not for a second.

She smiled back politely, a bit unnerved by how long he was staring.

“You’ve changed a lot…” she said, trying to keep things friendly.

He simply replied,

“So have you. Your hair… still beautiful as ever.”

No one in the group could’ve imagined this transformation. The guy who used to bury himself in his laptop, barely spoke to anyone, now sat in front of them like a silent storm.

He didn’t talk much. Just nodded, smiled at the right times, stayed composed. A few girls across the table glanced his way with curiosity. But Dave wasn’t interested. His eyes stayed locked on one person—Selia.

Every move she made—her shy smile, the bounce of her high bun as she turned her head, the delicate white skin peeking beneath her thick black choker—was driving him mad.

“So… where are you living now?” Dave asked, voice low and casual.

“I’m in District X. Not too far,” Selia replied.

“Still doing hair modeling?”

“Mm-hmm, same as before. I’m lucky—people still really love my hair.” She smiled and absentmindedly ran her fingers through the long strands framing her face.

Dave swallowed. Hard. His heart was pounding harder than it should.

All he could see was the thick black bun on top of her head. The curve of her chest under that tight red corset. Those long legs peeking from under the wine-red dress.

God… she’s even more perfect than the pics I saved from Patreon…

What Selia didn’t know—Dave had been stalking her every move for years. He was her highest-paying Patron. He knew exactly what content she’d posted, what videos she’d released. He wasn’t just a fan. He was obsessed.

A real hair fetishist. Fully aware of his condition. And yes—he’d j*rk off to her hair, her photos, her brushing videos—3 to 5 times a day.

He sipped his water—but his hunger wasn’t in his stomach.

Selia giggled and leaned over to whisper something to Jessica. That one tilt of her head made the thick black bun sway slightly to the side, and a few strands of loose hair slid down to touch her pale bare shoulder.

Dave’s pupils dilated.

Fck. Her hair’s even thicker than it used to be…*

The golden light from the chandelier poured down, making each strand of Selia’s hair gleam like liquid silk — as if every fiber was made to f**k with your senses.

Dave’s mind flashed back to the old days — high school Selia, with floor-length braids, always tidy, always glowing. The sun piercing through that hair used to feel like a wet dream in broad daylight.

But now… that dream had evolved. She wasn’t just the long-haired girl anymore.

She was the f**king embodiment of temptation — a long-haired goddess who knew just how deadly she was.

He glanced down.

Her wine-red dress had slid a little off-center as she crossed her legs, just enough to tease him with a flash of creamy thigh. But it wasn’t the legs that drove him insane. It was still — always — the hair

“That hair’s falling over her shoulders… over her tits… sliding down the damn corset…”

He imagined undoing that fat, f**kable bun. Watching every thick strand collapse, rolling over her skin, spilling down her back and chest, wrapping around those juicy t*ts, flowing down her hips like black satin.

In his sick head, every strand was like a phantom finger — stroking, grabbing, jerking him off until he exploded into madness.

She had no idea.

Right across the table, beneath the white cloth, behind his tailored pants, Dave’s d*ck was hard as stone — twitching like it had a mind of its own.

He exhaled through his nose, trying not to pant, gripping his thigh while his hand subtly pressed on his c*ck just to calm it down. He couldn’t let this f**king table see his shame.

Everyone else was still laughing and talking.

Selia was giggling softly, her high bun sitting proudly at the back of her head — so thick, so damn round and smooth, it looked sculpted.

A few loose strands fell down her cheeks, brushing against her flushed skin.

Dave couldn’t stop staring.

Not at the curves, not the tight corset.

No. It was the bun.

“That fker’s huge… thick as hell… must weigh half a fking kilo…”

Under the restaurant lights, that fking bun gleamed like velvet — so smooth he swore he could see every silky strand.

He imagined just sliding out a few pins, and boom — a black waterfall would come crashing down.

Over her neck.

Over her tits.

Down her stomach.

Blanketing those flawless white thighs like a goddamn hair curtain made for fking.

“Her hair used to reach the damn floor… and now it’s still thick enough to be the size of her f**king head when wrapped up.”

That nerdy kid from the back of the class? He was long gone.

Now, he sat here in a crisp white shirt, hiding a filthy f**king secret in plain sight.

His right hand was clenched under the table, pressing hard against his d*ck — so painfully hard it felt like it might burst.

He knew this was wrong.

But he couldn’t stop.

He hadn’t j*rked off in two fking weeks just to save it for this day — this moment — just to see her in person and take some goddamn creepshots when he could, then go home and beat off to them like a fking animal.

He’d even gone anonymous once, just to buy a pair of her panties — sniffing them every time he fked a hooker, pretending he was fking her instead.

Since Selia blew up online, he’d probably j*rked off to her hundreds of times.

Long hair pics.

Those silky-ass hair-flipping videos.

He knew every goddamn one.

Every bun style.

Every f**king angle.

He’d even used one of her hair pics as his phone wallpaper for two straight years — j*zzing on it like it was her goddamn face.

And every time he came, he wished it wasn’t just a screen.

And now…

She was right there.

Just one tablecloth.

One goddamn strip of fabric away from his madness.

He had to grit his teeth, biting down on his lip just to stay sane.

But he knew… the second Selia stood up, he’d f**king lose it.

Dave couldn’t even hear the conversation anymore.

All he saw was her lips moving, her soft laugh, the way she nodded — and every time she did, that massive bun bounced slightly…

Like a black orb of sin, teasing him with every goddamn movement.

He swallowed hard.

“Fk… that bun is a fking monument…”

Selia shifted slightly, adjusting her posture, completely unaware of what she was doing to him.

As she moved, the tight off-shoulder top slid just enough to make her tits — already glossed with highlighter — bounce ever so slightly.

Under the warm lighting, her skin glowed with that slick, honeyed sheen — like someone had rubbed f**king nectar over her chest.

“Every move… every little shoulder roll… is a f**king striptease for my soul.”

Dave glanced under the table again.

His pants were fighting for their f**king life.

And then — the girls at the table started talking about her hair.

“Hey girl, how the hell did you do your bun that big? I’ve been dying to learn that style!”

“Right? Looks insane — you’re such the f**king long hair queen!”

They reached out playfully — touching, squeezing that big-ass bun like it was some glossy fruit.

Selia laughed, a little embarrassed, but didn’t stop them.

Then Jessica cackled and said:

“Let me see how firm this bun is…”

And out of f**king nowhere — grabbed Selia’s tits from behind, both hands.

Selia let out a startled gasp.

“Jess!!! What the hell?!”

“Haha! Just testing your corset, girl!”

Jessica threw up her hands like she was innocent.

Selia blushed, swatting her playfully — but that one moment… that f**king bounce…

Her tits jiggled, just enough to make Dave clench his jaw so hard it hurt.

“Those dumb b*tches… they get to touch the things I only f**king dream of…”

If it were him —

He wouldn’t just grab.

He’d stroke.

Squeeze.

Lick.

He’d bury his goddamn face in that fking bun the size of a cake — inhale the oil, the scent, that insane softness —

and drown in the madness of her feminine fking power.

Selia let out a soft laugh at some joke, then gently pushed her chair back to stand.

Dave could only catch a glimpse — that shimmering black river of hair swaying with every subtle movement.

The red wine-colored dress clung tight to her hips, cut just short enough to make every step feel like a goddamn runway show.

And the moment she stood —

Her tits bounced.

Like her breath alone had made them lift.

One perfect, slow-motion jiggle.

“F**k…” Dave froze.

The light caught the swell of her chest just right —

and in his mind, it was like someone had poured high-gloss oil all over her body.

So shiny, he swore he could see his reflection on her skin.

She turned, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to step away from the table —

and right there… right in that exact f**king moment —

he caught a glimpse.

A sliver of pale, perfect ass peeking out between the corset and dress.

And nestled between those flawless cheeks —

a tiny wine-red lace thong.

Tight.

Thin.

Barely-there.

Hugging her curves like it had been painted on.

Dave choked on his breath.

Eyes wide.

Harder than ever.

The bun on her head bounced gently as she walked — a dark, perfect globe that screamed touch me with every step.

For a hair fetishist who’d been starving in silence — this was torture. Divine torture.

She walked away from the table.

And Dave snapped.

“I can’t… I f**king can’t— I need to get to the restroom. Now.”

He shoved his hand under the table, pressing down hard against his c*ck —

burning, aching, throbbing —

but there was no way in hell he could stand up yet.

The tablecloth was the only thing hiding the madness.

His brain spiraled.

“You’re gonna give me that hairjb, Selia…

One way or another.”

Just then, Selia also left the room to head to the restroom.

She was just about to walk back to the VIP suite when suddenly, a familiar voice called from behind:

“Selia!”

She flinched, turned around.

It was Marco.

He stood there, eyes lighting up like he’d just stumbled upon the one thing he’d been hoping for all day.

The warm hallway lights cast a glow over his face, making his already-striking features look almost too good to be real.

“… you look incredible,” Marco breathed out, eyes shamelessly drinking in her deep red outfit — the off-shoulder blouse, the tight corset hugging her waist and pushing her tits up, and that short curve-hugging skirt.

Selia blushed, trying to play it cool.

“Marco? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re stalking me!” — she joked, half-serious.

“Haha, no! I’ve got a meeting with a producer here, remember? I told you this morning. But… guess the universe really likes me today.”

His eyes were locked on her — no blinking, no shame.

“You here with your old classmates?”

“Yeah, it’s our reunion.”

“Let me take you home later? I’ll be done soon. I can wait — go enjoy your night.”

Selia was about to say yes when —

A female voice came from behind Marco.

“Marco? Where’d you go? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

A woman approached — Emily.

Hair down to her waist, light elegant makeup, and she reached for Marco’s arm like it was hers.

Selia froze.

“Oh… hi. And you are…?” Emily asked sweetly, but her eyes scanned Selia up and down like she was a threat.

“Hi. I’m Marco’s friend,” Selia said politely.

Marco quickly jumped in:

“Ah, Emily — this is Selia. Selia — Emily. She’s working on a few projects with me.”

Emily smiled. Her hand stayed right where it was on Marco’s arm — a quiet little f**k off, he’s mine.

“You still owe me that drink, remember? Maybe after the meeting tonight?”

It sounded casual — but Selia could hear the unspoken subtext loud and clear.

A subtle flex. A claim.

Selia smiled back, cold.

“I’ll head back to my friends now. You two have a nice night.”

She turned before either of them could say anything else —

and missed the flicker of guilt in Marco’s eyes.

He reached out and gently caught her wrist.

“Selia… wait—”

She pulled back softly.

“It’s okay, Marco. I’m not thinking anything.”

She nodded at them both, turned, walked.

“Not thinking anything.”

Bullsh*t.

Lie.

She walked faster.

Didn’t want anyone to see her eyes start to well up.

She didn’t know if it was jealousy… or pain… or just plain disappointment.

Marco…

He had whispered such sweet, filthy things into her ear just this morning.

Had moaned her name, come all over her f**king bun.

And now — here he was, standing next to some other perfect girl.

Her hair was long. Silky. F**king flawless.

Probably more his “type” than Selia ever was.

She’s rich, classy, works in the same industry.

And me?

A girl who models for things most people call “weird” —

hair fetish sh*t.

Who’d ever take someone like me seriously?

From a distance, Dave stood behind a pillar nearby.

His eyes were locked onto Selia — every move, every smile, every subtle nod.

He had been there for a while, quietly watching her step out of the banquet room… and then meet a man. Marco.

Who the hell was he?

Why was he the one making Selia smile like that?

Why did his hand get to touch her body — while Dave could only dream of it?

Then came Emily, walking up and placing her hand on Marco’s arm.

She was tall, long-haired, elegant — but not Selia. Definitely not Selia.

Dave narrowed his eyes.

“Selia won’t be taken that easily. She’s mine. She doesn’t belong to some Marco guy.”

Without a sound, he raised his phone and snapped a photo.

The frame: Selia in a wine-red dress, sparkling eyes, her thick hair in a perfect high bun — standing across from a handsome man and another long-haired woman.

“This image… I’ll remember it. One day, she’ll know who truly sees her. Who truly loves her.”

A surge of jealousy rose in his chest.

He swallowed hard, his fists tightening at his sides.

He made up his mind — he would follow her. To the end.

And when the time came… he would act.

Selia returned to the table with a soft smile, subtly adjusting her dress before sitting down.

Just as she took her seat, the waiter arrived with the next dish.

The group burst into applause as the aroma of stir-fried seafood noodles filled the room.

“Wow, that smells amazing!” someone exclaimed.

“We really picked the perfect place to eat!” Jessica chimed in, her eyes bright with excitement.

Selia smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had authentic Chinese food like this.”

Everyone reached for their chopsticks.

Selia was offered the first bite — she picked up her chopsticks politely, leaned forward, and puckered her lips to suck up a long strand of steaming noodles.

Her glossy red lips, sparkling eyes, and that iconic high bun made Dave hold his breath.

Goddamn… does she have to look that seductive doing everything?

The lights in the room bounced off her pale skin, making even the tiniest movement mesmerizing.

As she slurped the noodle, a drop of hot sauce suddenly splattered right on her chest —

right on the soft skin exposed above the white off-shoulder top.

The golden-orange sauce slid down slowly, trickling into the line of her cleavage,

skimming across the edge of her crimson corset…

and Dave nearly lost it.

What the fck is happening…?*

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The way the sauce glided over her skin — so thin, so glossy —

to him, it looked no different from an erotic slow tease in the middle of a dinner party.

Selia didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did — and chose to ignore it.

She picked up a napkin and gently wiped the sauce, offering a small, shy smile as a few of her friends looked her way.

“Oh no, you got hit! Are you okay?” one of them asked.

“It’s fine… just a bit hot. Probably because I was eating too fast,” Selia laughed softly, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

Dave forced a strained smile as the chatter around the table continued. He tried to blend in with some polite small talk, but his mind was hijacked—looping the image of that orange sauce slowly gliding down Selia’s chest. His eyes were glued to her cleavage like a man dying of thirst in a desert.

He couldn’t stop picturing it—his tongue tracing that drop of sauce, slow and filthy, before yanking her neckline down, unleashing those big, pale, sinful tts.

He’d suck on them like a starving beast, licking, biting, fcking them with his mouth until Selia was moaning, squirming, begging him to f*cking stop.

Every few seconds, he’d glance at his glass of water—then squeeze it tight, knuckles white—anything to keep from losing his goddamn mind.

Selia had no idea about the intensity of that gaze. She kept eating gently, smiling, nodding along with friends. Every time she leaned forward to reach for food, the high bun on top of her head bounced slightly—tight, round, velvety like a black silk pompom. Under the ceiling light, her shiny strands glowed almost ethereally.

“That bun is amazing, girl…” one of her friends giggled, clearly fascinated by the sheer volume and shine of it.

Selia chuckled, “It’s my hair—how could I not love it?”

“It feels so good to squeeze too! When you get a boyfriend someday, he’ll get to squeeze not just your big juicy b*obs but this giant sexy bun too!” the friend said, half-teasing, half-provocative, unknowingly throwing fuel onto the growing fire inside Dave.

“Hey, nooo!” Selia laughed, but still tilted her head, letting her friend give the bun a playful squish.

The girls giggled and played around Selia. One lightly squeezed her bun, another pretended to kiss the top of her head. Dave sat still, silently envious. He wished those hands were his — that he could run his fingers through that thick, fragrant bun, press his face into the silky strands, and let her hair consume him like a dark waterfall.

In his mind, Selia was straddling him, her long hair cascading down, wrapping around his body like a curtain of desire.

Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder.

“Dave, you should eat something before it gets cold!” a friend said, smiling.

“Oh— yeah, thanks,” he replied awkwardly, grabbing a few vegetables with his chopsticks just to look normal.

But food was the last thing on his mind.

He glanced back at Selia — just in time to see her tilt her head back for a sip of water. Her collarbones rose gracefully, her chest followed the motion, and that thick velvet choker… Dave knew too well what it was hiding. A mark. A man’s mark.

A wave of jealousy flared in his chest.

Who? Who had touched her like that? Who had run their hands through her hair… kissed that soft nape… whispered things in the dark?

His grip on the chopsticks tightened.

The room was still filled with laughter and chatter, but Dave’s mind had wandered far. Selia’s giggle — sweet and carefree — was, to him, maddeningly seductive. Every time she flicked her hair back or adjusted her bun, it felt like a private invitation.

He remembered her hair back in high school — floor-length, flowing like silk with every step.

Back then, he had secretly taken pictures of her from afar, documenting every hairstyle she ever wore.

And now, she was right there. Real. Radiant. Unbelievably close.

But not yet.

Not now.

He took a deep breath, swallowing the hunger rising in his throat.

The dinner went on. More dishes were brought out — citrus beef salad, salt-roasted tiger prawns, sweet and sour ribs, and steaming hot Hong Kong-style stir-fried noodles. Everyone was laughing, reminiscing about old high school memories: sneaking out for dessert, getting detention for unfinished homework.

Selia remained elegant and poised, though her eyes occasionally drifted off, as if lost in her own thoughts. She sat at the center of the table, the chandelier casting a golden glow on her flawless skin. Her high bun held its perfect shape — voluminous and smooth, like velvet. Every time she nodded or turned her head, it bounced ever so slightly — impossible not to notice.

Dave certainly didn’t miss a thing.

Then Selia picked up a piece of dim sum, her lips pursing slightly as she bit into it. And to Dave — that was the final blow.

Her mouth, her softness, her unintentional tease — it hit him like a storm. His vision dimmed for a second. His throat was dry. All he could think about… Selia using her glossy lips to suck his dick.

And then—just like fate wasn’t done teasing—a drop of dark soy sauce slipped off the dumpling and landed right between Selia’s breasts, gliding slowly down her flawless skin like melted honey under the warm lights. She blinked in surprise, glanced down, and casually wiped it away with a napkin. It meant nothing to her.

But to Dave… it was everything.

That single drop burned into his brain like a slow-motion close-up from his dirtiest fantasies.

“Don’t tell me someone filmed that—I’ll block you all!” Selia laughed, teasing.

“Oh babe, if they did, that clip would hit a million views easy,” someone joked.

Jessica chimed in, “Especially that soy sauce cleavage shot—legendary moment, girl!”

Selia flushed, letting out a soft, embarrassed laugh as she looked down, hiding her smile.

Dave clenched his jaw, staring down at his plate. He stabbed a piece of fried rice like it had wronged him.

If he looked up, they’d see it—the hunger in his eyes, the chaos in his body.

Selia didn’t notice. She was too busy laughing. Too sweet. Too beautiful. Every tilt of her head, every flick of her fingers brushing her choker, every bounce of that thick, glossy hair bun on her head—each one hit Dave like a punch to the gut.

He wasn’t hearing a word anymore. He was watching. Obsessing. Replaying everything.

She used to wear her hair to the floor. He remembered it all—every style, every braid, every secret photo he’d taken from afar in high school… But now, she was even more dangerous. Even more untouchable. Even more f*ckable.

“Well, I guess it’s about time, huh?” someone spoke up.

“Yeah, it’s getting late. Anyone with work early tomorrow should head out.”

“Tonight was so fun though — it’s been years since we were all together like this!”

“Let’s take a photo!” Jessica raised her phone.

The whole group gathered close. Selia sat in the center, her high bun standing out like a crown. She smiled brightly for the camera, even though inside, there was a quiet emptiness she couldn’t quite explain.

After a while, people started saying their goodbyes, leaving in small groups. Dave got up too, keeping his distance. He didn’t say a word. Just one last glance — at that glorious bun — as if trying to burn it into memory.

Selia turned to Jessica, “Think I’ll take a little walk. Just to clear my head. You and Thomas go ahead.”

Jessica looked at her, slightly concerned. “You sure? Want me to come with?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I just… wanna walk a bit.”

Selia stepped out of the restaurant. Her crimson dress hugged her curves just right, and her heels tapped softly against the pavement. Her bun still sat tall and flawless after the whole evening. She tilted her chin upward, staring at the sky…

And just then — a car pulled up.

The window rolled down.

“Selia!”

She turned.

It was Marco.

(To be continued…)