Chapter 3: Public Claim
The week passed in a gray, muffled blur. Nelissa went to school. She wore the same loose, baggy jeans and the same Blackpink hoodie—the official merchandise she’d bought in a fit of secret devotion years ago, now washed thin and shapeless. Her hair was a long, blonde curtain. Her glasses were a shield. The same old Nelissa. The freak.
But inside, her heart was a riot.
She moved through lectures on human anatomy and organic chemistry like a ghost, the professor’s voice a distant drone. All she could hear was the memory of another voice, sleep-rough and wicked. Tell me about this hot body you’ve been hiding. All she could feel was not the plastic lecture hall seat, but the grip of hands on her hips, the scorching wet heat of a mouth taking all of her. You’re perfect. You’re breathtaking. She’d close her eyes and see, in perfect, shameful clarity, Lisa’s face looking up at her through the steam of the shower, eyes dark with a pleasure Nelissa had given her. Your dick was the first dick to ever give me real pleasure.
The proposition. The brutal, clinical text. A week had gone by with no follow-up. The silence was a torture more exquisite than any touch. It confirmed every fear. It had been a mistake. A moment of insane, hedonistic curiosity for a global star. She’d been a novelty. A one-night experiment. The Ferrari parked in her driveway felt like a bomb, and she hadn’t touched it since, having arranged for a discreet driver to return it the next day.
She was a discarded toy. The thought was a cold stone in her gut, even as the memory of Lisa’s smile, genuine and awe-struck, burned like a brand behind her ribs.
It was lunch. The hallways of the science building were a churning river of backpacks, shouted plans, and hormonal energy. The air was thick with the smell of old grease from the cafeteria, cheap perfume, and the sharp, electric scent of rain waiting to fall outside. Nelissa kept her head down, making herself small, a pebble in the stream.
It didn’t work. A sudden surge from a laughing group of basketball players jostled her. Her shoulder slammed into a locker with a metallic bang. Her notebook slipped from her hands, papers fanning across the grimy linoleum.
“Watch it, freak,” someone snorted, not even breaking stride.
Heat flooded her face. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the pages, her hair falling completely over her face like a tent. Her glasses, knocked askew, finally lost their fight and slipped off her nose, skittering a few feet away. A wave of laughter crested around her—not malicious, just casual, the effortless cruelty of the unbothered towards the invisible.
The hallway seemed to constrict, the laughter echoing off the flickering fluorescent lights. She crouched there, blind and exposed, patting the cold floor for her glasses.
Suddenly, the noise didn’t just fade. It died.
A blanket of silence fell, so complete it was audible. The footsteps stopped. The chatter cut off. Nelissa froze, one hand still sweeping the floor. Through the thick fringe of her hair, she saw a pair of boots stop in front of her. Not sneakers. Black, sleek, expensive leather boots.
A hand, adorned with familiar silver rings, picked up her glasses.
Nelissa’s breath stuck in her throat. She looked up, pushing her hair back with a trembling hand.
Lisa stood there. She was dressed down—black jeans, a simple gray tee, a leather jacket slung over one arm—but she shone like a blade in the dull corridor. She held Nelissa’s glasses by one stem, examining them as if they were a fascinating artifact.
She looked from the glasses down to Nelissa, still kneeling on the floor. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips.
“Crawling for me, I see?” Lisa said, her voice cool and clear, carving through the silence. She didn’t whisper. She didn’t have to.
She bent down, bringing her face level with Nelissa’s. Up close, Nelissa could see the faint traces of glitter from a morning photoshoot still caught in her eyelashes. Lisa gently slid the glasses back onto Nelissa’s nose, her fingers brushing her temples. The world snapped back into sharp, horrifying focus. Lisa’s face, beautiful and implacable. And behind her, a sea of stunned, gaping faces.
Lisa’s hand moved from the glasses to cup Nelissa’s jaw, her thumb stroking the line of her cheekbone. The touch was possessive, electric. It was a claim staked in front of an audience.
“One week without my messages,” Lisa murmured, just loud enough for the closest students to catch the vibration, the intimate cadence, “and you already forgot who owns this perfect body?” She leaned closer, her breath warm against Nelissa’s ear, a dramatic whisper that was meant to carry. “Let me remind you. We need to talk. My car. Now.”
She stood, her movement fluid and final. She offered Nelissa her hand.
Nelissa, her mind white noise, took it. Lisa’s grip was firm, warm, real. She pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Without a glance at the paralyzed crowd, Lisa turned and walked, leading Nelissa down the hallway. The sea of students parted silently, a collective shock etched on every face. The Freak was holding hands with Lalisa Manoban. The Freak, whose glasses Lisa Manoban had just put on her face. The Freak, who was being led away by a world-famous idol whispering about owning her body.
Not a single phone was raised. The audacity of it, the sheer surreal power of Lisa’s presence, seemed to have temporarily short-circuited every social media instinct.
The Spider Roma was parked boldly in a loading zone, a splash of violent elegance against the drab brick. Lisa opened the passenger door, and Nelissa slid in, the familiar scent of leather and Lisa’s perfume wrapping around her. The engine roared to life, a sound of pure exit.
They didn’t speak for several blocks. The city blurred past.
“Hungry?” Lisa finally asked, her eyes on the road.
“I… I have class.”
“Skip it.” Lisa said it not as a suggestion, but as a simple rearrangement of reality. “I know a place.”
The restaurant was small, intimate, hidden behind an unmarked door. The staff recognized Lisa but gave nothing away beyond a respectful nod, leading them to a quiet corner booth. The air smelled of roasting garlic and fresh bread. It was violently normal.
A basket of bread appeared. Water was poured. The silence stretched, but it was different now. Charged, but not with panic. With a terrible, clarifying tension.
“You never answered my text,” Lisa said, breaking a breadstick in half with a crisp snap.
“You never sent another one,” Nelissa replied, her voice small.
“I was waiting for you to process.” Lisa looked at her directly. “And I was on a plane to Tokyo for two days. Then Paris. The schedule’s insane.” She said it matter-of-factly, not as an apology, just as data. “So. Processed?”
Nelissa focused on spreading an impossibly small amount of butter on a piece of bread. “Why me?”
“I told you why.”
“For sex.”
“For that sex,” Lisa corrected, taking a sip of water. “Look, Nelissa. My life is… calibrated. Every friendship, every dinner, every relationship is a potential headline, a negotiation, a part of the brand. It’s exhausting. What we did wasn’t. It was simple. It was spectacularly uncomplicated. And you looked at me like I’d hung the moon, not like I was a business opportunity.” She paused. “Also, you have a glorious dick. Let’s not pretend that’s not a factor.”
Nelissa choked on her water. The crude, casual praise in the soft-lit restaurant was disorienting.
“What are you studying?” Lisa asked, changing tack with dizzying speed.
“Pre-med. I want to be a doctor.”
Lisa’s eyebrows lifted, a flicker of genuine interest. “Seriously? That’s hardcore.”
“It’s just biology. Systems. It makes sense.”
“Unlike people.”
“Exactly.”
A smile played on Lisa’s lips. “I like that.” Their food arrived—simple pasta for Nelissa, a salad for Lisa. They ate for a few minutes in a companionship that felt both alien and comfortable.
Lisa put her fork down. “Be my fuck buddy.”
The words, spoken so plainly over lunch, felt more shocking than they had in a text. Nelissa put her own fork down, her appetite gone. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re you. And I’m… me.” The old, hated word rose in her throat. “I’m a freak, Lisa. You saw them. You heard them. I don’t fit in your world. I don’t fit in any world. What you want… it’s a fantasy. A temporary one.”
Lisa leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her intensity a physical force. “You think I fit? In that hallway? On that stage? I perform fitting in. It’s my job. You’re the most real thing I’ve touched in years.” Her voice dropped, not to a whisper, but to a low, urgent truth. “You think it’s a coincidence I found you crawling on a floor? I know what it feels like to be the spectacle. The difference is, I chose it. You’ve just been taking it.” She reached across the table, not touching, just offering her hand, palm up. “Choose something else. Choose this. No strings. No lies. Just you and me, and a mutual appreciation for your frankly magnificent biology.”
Nelissa stared at that hand. It represented a lifeline thrown into the deep water of her loneliness. It was also a contract for her own objectification. But was it objectification if the object was celebrated? If the secret part of her, the part that caused her so much shame, was the very thing being valued?
Lisa’s words from the penthouse echoed. I’ll show you what it’s like to be seen.
This was the offer. To be seen, but only in a specific, hidden way. It wasn’t everything. But it was more than she’d ever had.
Her heart hammered a frantic, hopeful, terrified rhythm against her ribs. She looked from Lisa’s open hand to her eyes, which held no pity, only a fierce, honest want.
Slowly, Nelissa placed her hand in Lisa’s.
“Yes,” she said, the word barely a breath.
Lisa’s fingers closed around hers, warm and sure. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face, the same smile Nelissa had seen in the shower, the one she couldn’t forget.
“Good,” Lisa said, giving her hand a final squeeze before releasing it and picking up her fork again, as if they’d just settled a minor business detail. “Now finish your pasta. You’ll need your energy.”
The pasta suddenly felt like lead in her stomach. Energy for what? The unspoken promise in Lisa’s tone sent a fresh, sharp tremor through her. Lisa paid the bill with a black card, leaving cash on the table for a tip that was more than the meal cost, and guided her back out to the car.
“Where are we going?” Nelissa asked as the cityscape began to shift, the commercial zones giving way to renovated industrial buildings with sleek, tinted windows.
“My studio,” Lisa said, downshifting as they turned into a secured underground garage. “I have some tracks to review. You can be a test audience.” She glanced over, a smirk playing on her lips. “Think of it as a… signing bonus.”
The studio was on the top floor, a vast, minimalist space of concrete floors, exposed ductwork, and one entire wall of glass overlooking the river. Expensive-looking audio equipment hummed softly under banks of softly glowing LED lights. It smelled like clean air, ozone, and the faint, familiar trace of Lisa’s jasmine perfume.
“Make yourself at home,” Lisa said, tossing her jacket onto a sleek mixing console. She walked over to a plush, deep charcoal sofa and gave Nelissa a gentle, deliberate push. Nelissa fell back into its cushions, the soft fabric enveloping her.
Lisa moved to a laptop, her fingers tapping a few keys. A moment later, the room was filled with sound.
It wasn’t like anything Blackpink released. This was stripped bare—a deep, resonant bass line that thrummed in Nelissa’s chest, a sparse, clicking beat, and a smooth, soulful keyboard melody that wrapped around the room like smoke. It was slow. It was sensual. It felt like a secret.
“This is something Jennie and I have been playing with,” Lisa said, her voice quiet, almost part of the music. She turned from the laptop, her eyes finding Nelissa’s in the dim light.
Then, she began to move.
With the slow, unhurried grace of the rhythm, Lisa’s hands went to the hem of her simple gray tee. She pulled it up over her head in one fluid motion, the muscles of her stomach tightening, and tossed it. It landed softly on Nelissa’s lap, the fabric still warm from Lisa’s skin. The casual confidence of the act stole the air from Nelissa’s lungs.
Lisa didn’t stop. Her hands went to the button of her jeans, popping it open, the sound loud in the space between beats. She shimmied them down her hips, stepping out of them, and sent them sailing to join the shirt. Now she was just in black lace, the delicate fabric a stark contrast against the tan lines and firm muscle of her body, backlit by the city glow.
The music pulsed. Lisa’s hands went behind her back, and the bra clasp came undone. She let it fall forward, catching it on one finger before dropping it to the floor. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slid them down, kicking them aside.
She stood there, completely naked, bathed in the blue and gold light from the window. She began to move with the song, a slow, rolling dance that was all hips and subtle shoulder dips, her eyes never leaving Nelissa’s face. It wasn’t a performance for cameras. It was something more primal, a direct transmission of intent.
Nelissa watched, her mouth dry, her hands gripping the soft fabric of Lisa’s shirt in her lap. Every shred of academic detachment, every insecure thought, was incinerated in the heat of that look. A week of silence, of doubt, of cold fear, combusted into a single, white-hot point of need.
She couldn’t take it.
In a movement that felt both frantic and inevitable, Nelissa surged up from the couch. She crossed the space between them, her own borrowed clothes feeling like a ridiculous costume. She didn’t speak. She simply reached for Lisa, her hands finding the smooth, warm skin of her waist, and pulled her back down onto the couch, tumbling with her until Lisa was straddling her lap.
Somehow, Nelissa had a lot of confidence. It wasn’t the borrowed bravado of the club or the shocked compliance of the penthouse. This was a new voltage in her veins, fueled by a week of craving and the raw, approving look in Lisa’s eyes.
Her hands slid down, palms cupping the full, bubbly curve of Lisa’s ass—the same ass she’d watched for years in music videos, the one she’d shamefully fantasized about in the dark of her dorm. She squeezed, feeling the perfect, resilient flesh give under her fingers. A low groan escaped Lisa, her head tipping back.
Nelissa’s hands moved up, over the dip of Lisa’s waist, tracing the ribs, until her thumbs brushed the undersides of Lisa’s breasts. They were slightly larger than her own, round and perky, the nipples a tight, rosy brown in the cool air of the studio. She circled them, watching them pebble further under her touch.
She’d been wanting this. Without hesitation, she lowered her head and took one tight peak into her mouth.
She sucked, her tongue flicking and laving, and Lisa’s whole body arched against her, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. The sound was music, better than the track still playing, a symphony of surrender. Nelissa moved to the other breast, giving it the same worship, her teeth grazing lightly, her hands still kneading the glorious flesh of Lisa’s ass.
“Fuck, you’re quite rough this time,” Lisa gasped, her voice ragged, her fingers twisting in Nelissa’s hair.
Nelissa didn’t care. She kissed a wet, hot trail down Lisa’s stomach, her nails scraping lightly over her hips. She sucked a mark into the tender skin of her inner thigh, then leaned back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap to the curve of her ass. The sound cracked through the music.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” Nelissa breathed, her own voice sounding foreign and husky with desire. “For years. I’ve wanted all of this.”
For the first time, with a confidence that felt like it was burning her up from the inside, she looked directly into Lisa’s eyes. The playful idol was gone. This was just Lisa, pupils blown wide, lips parted, breathing heavily in her lap.
“Ride me,” Nelissa said. It wasn’t a question. It was a request, firm and clear.
A slow, dazzling smile broke across Lisa’s face. “Yeah?”
“Please.”
Lisa shifted, reaching between them to guide Nelissa’s cock inside her. She sank down with a luxurious, controlled slowness that made them both gasp. Then she began to move, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that was pure, undiluted pleasure. She was putting on a show, her body undulating, her hands roaming over her own breasts and stomach, her eyes locked on Nelissa’s.
Nelissa’s hands didn’t stay in one place. They were everywhere—gripping Lisa’s hips, sliding up her sweat-slicked back, tangling in her dark hair. She was mapping a body she’d only ever seen from a distance, committing every sigh and tremble to memory.
The sight of Lisa above her, lost in the feeling she was giving her, was a potent, dizzying drug. A new, bold thought formed, and she voiced it.
“Suck my tits while you ride me,” Nelissa murmured, her own hands coming up to cup her small breasts through the fabric of her hoodie. “Please, Lalisa.”
Lisa’s rhythm hitched for a second, a fresh wave of arousal darkening her eyes at the use of her full name, at the specific request. With a groan of approval, she leaned forward, bracing her hands on the couch behind Nelissa’s shoulders. She took one of Nelissa’s nipples into her mouth, biting gently through the soft cotton, her hips never ceasing their perfect, punishing pace.
The dual sensation—the hot, wet pull of Lisa’s mouth and the tight, wet clutch of her body—coiled a tension in Nelissa’s gut that was nearing its breaking point. The music, the city lights, the entire world shrunk down to the point where their bodies met. Lisa’s moans vibrated against her chest, a constant, erotic feedback loop.
Nelissa’s hips began to piston upward, meeting Lisa’s downward strokes thrust for thrust. Her hands clamped back onto Lisa’s ass, urging her faster, harder. The careful control Lisa had exhibited shattered. Her movements became frantic, her cries louder, less formed.
“Nelissa… I’m…” Lisa choked out, her body beginning to quake.
That was all it took. The sound of her name, raw and broken from Lisa’s lips, snapped the last thread. Nelissa came with a sound like a sob, pulsing deep inside her, her vision splintering into bursts of light. The intensity triggered Lisa’s own climax a second later; she screamed, her body seizing, her inner muscles clamping down in rhythmic waves that drew out every last shuddering pulse from Nelissa.
They collapsed together into the soft couch, a tangled, sweating, breathless heap. The sensual track looped quietly in the background, now a fitting score for their aftermath. Lisa’s head rested on Nelissa’s chest, her hair sticking to both their skin.
For a long time, the only sounds were their slowing breaths and the distant city hum. The studio, with its professional chill, now held the intimate, animal heat of their bodies.
Lisa finally stirred, pushing herself up on one elbow. She looked down at Nelissa, her expression soft, sated, and deeply curious. She traced a finger over the lenses of Nelissa’s glasses, which had somehow stayed on through everything.
“Where did that come from?” Lisa asked, her voice raspy.
Nelissa thought about the hallway floor, the scattered papers, the laughter. She thought about the text that had haunted her for a week. She thought about the offer she’d just accepted, and the way her body had just roared to life under its own terms.
“You gave me a key,” Nelissa said quietly, meeting her gaze. “I decided to use it.”