The Only Woman in a Zombie Apocalypse Vol. 3 Chapter 75 - A Complicated Heart Loses Its Way

Dayoung stood in the center of the table, did one slow, deliberate spin, pink silk fluttering like a teasing promise, then flashed the sweetest, most innocent smile.

 

One second, she looked like a giggling schoolgirl—the next, the gaping neckline barely hiding her stiff nipples turned her into a walking wet dream.

 

“Noona’s here, so let’s start with a toast! Today the honor goes to our queen—Dayoung noona!”

 

She lifted her glass, cheeks already glowing.

 

“Thank you for everything. For taking care of me when I was sick, for always having my back. I feel like I only ever receive, and I’m sorry for that… but I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Until the next party, stay safe, stay whole, stay mine. Cheers!”

 

“Cheers!”

 

“Bottoms up!”

 

Fourteen glasses shot sky-high.

 

The sound of desperate gulping filled the room—fourteen parched throats finally getting a taste.

 

Dayoung threw her head back and drained hers in one go, the burn sliding down her throat straight to her core.

 

They settled into the ritual: stealing glances, eyes raking over every inch of exposed skin while pretending to sip.

 

Cheongsam, bunny girl, nurse—didn’t matter. Traditional outfits turned her into a goddess.

 

She knew it. Loved it. Every stare was gasoline on the fire between her legs.

 

One glass, two, three—she matched them shot for shot, heat blooming across her chest, her cheeks, her cunt.

 

By the time her fourth glass was half-empty, her face was flushed cherry-red and her eyes glassy with want.

 

Dohun caught it instantly—he knew that shade of pink meant she was one teasing breath away from begging. He stood, voice smooth as sin.

 

“Looks like I’m your host again—Kim Dohun at your service. Clap for your boy!”

 

“Woohoo!”

 

Deafening cheers, whistles, stomping feet. He raised a hand, and the room fell silent like magic.

 

“Been a while, huh? Everyone’s practically vibrating. And our noona’s already drunk on more than just alcohol.”

 

Fourteen pairs of eyes flicked to her parted lips, her hardened nipples straining against silk.

 

“Time for the sacred ritual. Winner takes the prize. Hands on the table—rock, paper, scissors!”

 

Fourteen fists slammed down. Round after round—ten ties in a row.

 

The group had grown too big—pure chance was taking forever.

 

Dohun smirked, already prepared. He dragged a small black box from the back table.

 

“Knew this would happen. Too many horny bastards now. So—lottery time. Exact number of slips as people. One circle. Whoever unfolds the circle wins the night with noona. Line up, gentlemen.”

 

They surged forward like pilgrims to an altar, hands shaking as they reached into the box.

 

Fourteen slips of paper, identical folds, impossible to cheat.

 

One by one, they pulled their fate, hearts in their throats, and slowly—agonizingly—unfolded.

 

Fourteen pairs of eyes scanned the creased white.

 

Fourteen breaths held.

 

One circle.

 

One winner.

 

One night to worship their queen.

 

Since it was a result left entirely to luck, Minho—who was usually good at rock-paper-scissors and often won—was eliminated. 

 

Today’s draw brought fortune to those who were bad at rock-paper-scissors.

 

“Is this for real? There’s really a circle written here? I’m not just imagining it???”

 

As the group unfolded their papers, joy and sorrow split the room, and groans of disappointment echoed everywhere. The winners holding papers marked with a circle hesitantly approached Dohun. 

 

To draw Jenga pieces. 

 

Today’s winners were Sion, Joohan, Woomin, Geonyul, and Theo.

 

“No but last time Hayun hyung said the same thing. New people keep getting picked like it’s just a teaser.”

 

“Right? It’s weird.”

 

Those who drew an X folded their papers again, put them back in the box, and sat down. 

 

Even if they weren’t chosen, thrilling scenes—moments that would spark excitement—were waiting for them, so they leisurely waited while enjoying snacks and drinks.

 

“Our newest maknae(youngest) Theo, your face is bright red. Alright, everyone please draw one Jenga piece each and put it in the pouch.”

 

Dohun held out a black pouch to them. 

 

The group reached in with utmost seriousness, picked a Jenga piece, and immediately dropped it into the pouch. What could be written on them? 

 

The mildest one was “touching the precious part over clothes,” but since Dayoung mostly wore thongs, touching over clothes was practically the same as the next level. 

 

Of course, because of the thong, touching the butt was included too.

 

“We’ll decide the order with rock-paper-scissors. Rock-paper-scissors! Oh my god. Today’s winner is Theo! The baby Theo!!”

 

Theo, who accidentally ended up going last. 

 

Theo swallowed hard from nerves. With a height as tall as Ian’s, yellow hair, and blue eyes, thanks to the mature look typical of Westerners, he didn’t look like a maknae no matter where you looked—but his expression was truly that of the youngest.

 

“We’ll go Geonyul, Joohan, Woomin hyung, Sion, Theo. First batter Geonyul! Go to Dayoung noona and pull out your Jenga piece!”

 

Dayoung stood up from her seat, turned her back to the table, and Geonyul carefully stood in front of her. He fumbled to take out the Jenga piece, checked the writing, and spoke in a trembling voice.

 

“For 3 minutes… touching the precious part.”

 

“3-minute precious-part touching jackpot! Ah, before that, starting next party we’ll change the contents. Since noona dresses pretty revealingly, touching over clothes is basically unnecessary. Everyone keep that in mind. Starting the stopwatch!”

 

Dohun locked the stopwatch at three minutes and tapped start; the seconds began to drip like honey. 

 

Dayoung parted her thighs just enough for the cool air to kiss her soaked folds, her breath hitching as she waited for Geonyul’s trembling fingers. 

 

He slid his hand beneath the hem of her scandalously short skirt, knuckles brushing satin skin. 

 

Dayoung caught his shaking wrist and dragged it lower, pressing his palm flush against her molten core. 

 

The instant his fingertips met her slick, swollen lips and the creamy nectar already weeping from her, Geonyul’s throat bobbed with a thick swallow.

 

He started slow, tracing lazy, filthy circles around her dripping entrance, painting her arousal over every sensitive ridge.

 

“Mmmh—”

 

A broken, syrupy moan spilled from Dayoung’s throat. 

 

Every eye in the room locked on them, pupils blown wide, afraid to blink. Her knees weakened; the edge of the table caught her plush ass as she sagged, palms slapping the wood to keep herself upright.

 

“Ah… ahh…”

 

Geonyul teased her throbbing clit, then dipped back to the clenching mouth of her pussy, over and over, until the three minutes bled out like a fever dream. 

 

The alarm chirped. He pulled away with a wet sound that made the whole room throb, retreating to his seat with glistening fingers and a tortured groan caught behind his teeth.

 

Joohan drew the next card—“Five minutes: fingers inside her panties, stroking her precious little cunt.”

 

All that focused attention on her pulsing center nearly shattered her. Dayoung’s hips rolled helplessly, chasing friction.

 

“Hnnng—fuck—”

 

Her spine arched like a bow drawn for war. She needed more than surface teasing; she needed to be filled. 

 

Without thinking, she slapped her own hand over Joohan’s, grinding against his knuckles. He froze, letting her take control. 

 

Dayoung aligned their fingers and shoved his middle digit past her fluttering entrance, sinking it into velvet heat up to the second knuckle.

 

“Ahhh! Joo…han, yes—”

 

The room collectively choked on air. 

 

Joohan’s eyes rolled back at the tight, molten grip sucking him in. Then he started to move—slow, cruel curls that scraped every ridged wall inside her.

 

“Ah—ah—right there—harder—”

 

Her cries climbed, raw and desperate. 

 

The circle of onlookers crept closer, close enough to smell her arousal thick in the air, close enough to hear the obscene squelch of his finger fucking her toward the edge. 

 

When the timer screamed, Joohan withdrew with a wet pop, leaving her clenching around nothing, thighs trembling, chest heaving like she’d been running for her life.

 

Woomin stepped up next. He already knew exactly how her pussy fluttered when he speared her deep; the memory alone had her inner muscles fluttering in anticipation.

 

He drew his card and grinned like a devil: “Five minutes: lick every inch around her breasts.”

 

Dayoung whined—half disappointment, half molten relief—but arched her back sharply, offering her tits like forbidden fruit. 

 

Woomin didn’t bother with gentleness. 

 

He dragged the soaked kimono open with his teeth, exposing one flushed, pebble-hard nipple to the hungry room. Then he sealed his mouth over it, sucking hard enough to pull a guttural scream from her throat. 

 

His tongue lashed the stiff peak, swirling, flicking, painting it with spit until it gleamed obscene and swollen.

 

He moved to the other breast, biting down just hard enough to leave a crescent of teeth marks, then soothing the sting with slow, filthy licks that made her hips buck against empty air. 

 

Every swipe of his tongue sent lightning straight to her untouched clit; she could feel fresh slick gushing between her thighs, dripping down to soak the table beneath her.

 

Five minutes of pure, breast-devouring worship—and when the timer finally buzzed, Dayoung was a wreck: lips bitten raw, nipples dark and ruinously sensitive, pussy clenching so hard she nearly came just from the cool air kissing her wet folds.

 

The teasing tongue kept dancing just out of reach, so Dayoung looped her arms around Woomin’s neck, yanked him closer, and shoved her aching nipple straight between his lips.

 

“Just suck it. Ahh—”

 

Woo-min obeyed instantly, loud, wet slurp-slurp sounds filling the room as he latched on and devoured her stiff peak. 

 

Dayoung’s head fell back, throat bared, a filthy, syrupy moan ripping out of her.

 

“Ahh—aaah—fuck!”

 

Right now, her brain was gloriously empty. 

 

No overthinking, no shame—just raw, animal need. She loved it.

 

“Yes—harder—ahh!”

 

Five minutes ended far too soon. 

 

Woomin peeled himself off with a wet pop, leaving her nipple glistening and swollen. Dayoung panted, hot breath fogging the air, her half-lidded eyes sliding to the next boy. 

 

Sion’s bulge was already straining against his zipper, obscene and obvious.

 

“Three minutes—fondle her breasts.”

 

The card said “over the clothes,” but Dayoung’s kimono was already a wrecked mess—one flushed nipple fully exposed, begging. 

 

The stopwatch clicked. While Sion hesitated, Dayoung snatched his wrist and slapped his palm over her bare tit. Soft, fever-hot flesh spilled between his fingers.

 

The second he made contact, fireworks exploded behind her eyes. 

 

She grabbed his other hand and shoved it inside the gaping collar. 

 

Now both palms were full of her heavy, aching breasts—kneading, squeezing, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger until they throbbed dark red.

 

“Nngh—more—pinch them harder—”

 

Sion’s grip turned rough, just the way she craved.

 

Every brutal twist sent a fresh gush of slick flooding her pussy; her entrance fluttered desperately, clenching around nothing.

 

The cruel three minutes ended. 

 

Theo shuffled forward, cheeks flaming. 

 

Barely twenty, yet his mixed-blood features already stripped away any boyish softness—he looked like pure, nervous… well, pure virgin.

 

He twisted his fingers, voice a shy whisper that somehow carried through the dead-silent bar.

 

“Um… before we start… I told Minho-hyung I wasn’t a virgin, but… I’ve never even kissed anyone. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna suck at this…”

 

He’d meant it for Dayoung only, but every single person was laser-focused on them. 

 

The confession boomed. Laughter exploded around the table.

 

Dayoung went very still, eyes darkening with something deliciously wicked as a slow, predatory smile curved her lips.