The penthouse smelled of home—freshly brewed coffee, jasmine from Taehyung’s favorite diffuser, the faint citrus of the cleaning service that had come while they were away. But beneath it all lingered the unmistakable musk of sex that no amount of open windows could fully erase. The marble kitchen island still bore faint streaks from the arrival flood; the bedroom sheets had been changed twice already.
It was only 7 p.m. when the intercom buzzed.
Jungkook glanced at the security feed, lips curving into that slow, dangerous smile Taehyung had learned to fear and crave in equal measure.
“Family dinner,” he said casually, pressing the button to unlock the private elevator. “They insisted on welcoming us back properly.”
Taehyung froze in the middle of the living room—still wearing nothing but one of Jungkook’s oversized black T-shirts, hem skimming mid-thigh, no panties. Her thighs were still sticky from the drive home and the quick fuck against the foyer wall when they first arrived. Her clit throbbed dully, perpetually swollen; her pussy felt raw, tender, and yet already leaking fresh slick at the words “family dinner.”
The elevator doors slid open.
Jungkook’s entire immediate family stepped out—Halabeoji first, silver hair gleaming under the hallway lights, cane tapping once like a judge’s gavel; Junghyun (father) beside him, suit jacket slung over one shoulder; JK (brother) grinning like he’d won something; Uncle Minho last, still in the same grease-stained coveralls he’d worn at the shop, sleeves rolled up, forearms corded and strong.
They carried nothing—no food, no wine. Just hunger in their eyes.
Jungkook closed the door behind them with a soft click.
“Welcome,” he said. “Dinner’s ready.”
Taehyung tried to step back; her bare feet slipped on the marble. Jungkook caught her wrist—firm, possessive—and pulled her forward into the open-plan living-dining area.
The long glass dining table was already set—six places, candles lit, plates empty. No food. Because she was the meal.
Halabeoji sat at the head of the table without a word. The others took their seats—Junghyun to his right, Minho to his left, JK and Jungkook flanking the empty chair at the opposite end.
Jungkook guided Taehyung to the center of the table—lifted her effortlessly onto the cool glass surface. The T-shirt rode up immediately, baring her ass and pussy to the candlelight. She tried to tug the hem down; four hands stopped her—Jungkook and JK pinning her wrists to the table, Minho and Junghyun spreading her thighs wide until her knees rested on the edge, feet dangling.
Halabeoji leaned forward, cane resting across his lap.
“Welcome home, granddaughter-in-law,” he said, voice low and final. “We missed our nightly visits.”
Taehyung’s breath hitched. Her clit pulsed visibly under the candle glow—red, swollen, begging despite her exhaustion.
Jungkook spoke first, voice calm and dark. “She flooded the car. Flooded Rohan’s cab. Flooded the garage. Flooded the kitchen island when we got back. She’s still leaking.”
He reached between her legs—two fingers sliding easily into her soaked pussy, curling against her g-spot. Taehyung’s hips jerked; a small squirt escaped immediately—hot, clear fluid splashing onto the glass, running toward Halabeoji in a thin stream.
The old man’s eyes darkened.
“Show us,” he commanded.
Jungkook added a third finger—thrusting hard, fast, battering her g-spot while his thumb rubbed vicious circles on her clit. Taehyung’s back arched off the table—breasts heaving under the shirt, nipples hard points against the fabric.
The first real squirt erupted—powerful jet arcing upward, splashing against the crystal chandelier overhead and raining back down on her stomach, breasts, and the table in warm droplets. Wave after wave—continuous gushing—hot torrents soaking the glass, running toward the edges, dripping onto the laps of the men seated closest.
They didn’t let her stop.
JK moved to her head—unzipping, cock slapping her cheek. “Open.” Taehyung’s lips parted; he thrust deep—fucking her throat roughly, gagging her until drool poured down her chin and mixed with the squirt on her chest.
Minho and Junghyun took her breasts—pinching, twisting, slapping the soft flesh red—while Halabeoji reached forward, adding two thick fingers to her pussy alongside Jungkook’s three—five digits now stretching her wide, battering her g-spot mercilessly.
The pressure detonated again.
Taehyung’s body seized—pussy spasming violently. A massive squirt blasted outward—high-pressure jet hitting the chandelier again, fluid raining down like warm rain on the entire table, soaking plates, candles, the men’s shirts and laps. Wave after wave—endless, uncontrollable gushing—hot streams running across the glass, pooling beneath her ass, dripping onto the dining chairs and floor in steady streams.
Rohan’s absence was felt only for a moment—Jungkook had already texted him an open invitation for “future repairs.”
Halabeoji stood—cane tapping once—then unzipped. His thick, veined cock sprang free. He moved between her legs—replacing Jungkook’s fingers with his own cock—slamming in deep. The stretch was brutal; Taehyung screamed around JK’s length. Halabeoji fucked her hard—deep, punishing—while Minho took her ass—double penetration on the family dining table.
Jungkook and JK worked her clit and nipples—slapping, pinching, twisting—while Junghyun took her mouth—thick cock choking her.
Another orgasm crashed—violent gush shooting outward in powerful arcs, hitting the far wall, dripping from the modern art piece hanging there, soaking every man at the table. The glass surface was now a shallow lake; fluid ran off the edges in sheets, pooling on the hardwood floor beneath.
All five men came in a chain—flooding her holes, painting her body, the table, the candles (flames hissing as drops hit them)—until she was completely glazed, dripping from every angle.
They finally stepped back.
Taehyung lay sprawled across the flooded dining table—body trembling, every inch glistening, pussy and ass gaping and leaking thick rivers of cum and squirt, clit still throbbing weakly. The table was drenched; fluid ran toward the center in slow rivers; the floor beneath was slick and reflective.
Halabeoji leaned down—kissed her forehead almost tenderly.
“Dinner is served,” he said.
Jungkook lifted her off the table—carrying her toward the bedroom—her body dripping onto the floor the entire way.
“Rest now,” he whispered against her ear. “Tomorrow we host breakfast.”
Taehyung whimpered—exhausted, ruined, clit pulsing—but her pussy clenched weakly at the promise.
The candles flickered behind them—reflected in the wet glass.
The family dinner had only just begun.
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