The Designated Driver's Lingering Stare

"Huh… the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠substitute driver’s almost here?"

My wife and I read the text and made our way to the public parking lot. We waited roughly three minutes before spotting a man who looked like the driver approaching from the far end of the lot.

"Good evening, sir. You called for a designated driver, correct?"

"Yes. Here are the keys."

I handed them over while giving him a quick once-over. He appeared to be in his mid-to-late thirties, tall and well-built, yet something about his face felt faintly sinister.

I really shouldn’t be judging a stranger on first sight…

After entrusting him with the car, I climbed into the back seat beside my wife.

"Oppa, I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open… I’m going to nap for a bit."

"Go ahead. I’ll wake you when we get home, so sleep comfortably."

It was already late, and Yu-jin had been drinking. The moment her body sank into the soft leather, drowsiness claimed her. She leaned her weight against me, closed her eyes, and within moments her breathing grew slow and even. Soft little sighs escaped her lips as she slept.

I let her rest on my shoulder and turned my gaze to the scenery rushing past the window, lost in thought. So many things had happened lately. Ironically, none of them had anything to do with work; every incident had revolved around Yu-jin and me.

There was the afternoon she’d been sorting recyclables in the separation center, unaware that a young man from our apartment complex was openly devouring the sight of her defenseless rear. And then tonight at the barbecue restaurant, where a group of virile young men had used my wife as the main course for their filthy jokes and leering comments.

And then there were the words that had spilled from the one called Seok-ho.

He had bragged to his friends as if he were some kind of hero recounting an epic tale. My wife. My own wife, who rarely wore revealing clothes even at home, who always chose pants over skirts when going out, who tried so hard to remain modest. Despite all her efforts, her beauty and body were a living nuclear bomb that radiated sexual allure, drawing every male eye like iron filings to a magnet.

Even to me, her husband, Yu-jin was breathtakingly beautiful. She seemed unaware of the magnetic power her appearance held over men, but their eyes were brutally accurate. In their minds they groped the breasts and ass that only I was allowed to touch, grading her, fantasizing about using her body for their own pleasure. To them she was nothing more than a woman with tits begging to be squeezed and an ass so perfectly lifted it was made for rough doggystyle.

I replayed Seok-ho’s words in my head, simulating the scene as if I had been there. He must have been on his way to the bathroom when he saw my drunk, staggering wife. He probably paused to admire the view from behind. No man could resist: the elegant line of her shoulders flowing into a narrow waist and then flaring out into that outrageously perky ass. Anyone would stare, slack-jawed, instincts overriding decency.

When she noticed him, she had smiled and graciously let him go first. That was just like Yu-jin. Her family upbringing had shaped her, but she had always been kind-hearted and quick to yield. It was one of the reasons I had fallen in love with her. Yet that man had taken her sweet smile and gentle consideration and twisted them into something obscene.

Then, in the narrow passage, she had turned sideways and pressed her chest to the wall so their bodies wouldn’t touch. But the innocent movement had produced the opposite effect. As I’ve said many times, Yu-jin has a perfect C-cup, neither too small nor too large, just right to fill a man’s hands. Her true weapon, however, has always been her ass. The first time I saw it I wondered if she had Western blood; it was naturally, almost aggressively plump, round and firm without any special exercise. The kind of ass that made tight clothes look obscene.

And that night she had been wearing back pants. Those fantasy-inducing white pants that barely contained her overflowing curves. When her ass brushed against his cock, the visual and tactile stimulation must have been overwhelming. Any man not a eunuch would have gotten painfully hard.

What if I hadn’t been there that day? What if she had gone out alone, or with friends?

The thought dragged up an older memory. The college reunion where a male classmate had deliberately plied her with drink after drink, getting her so drunk she could barely stand. Then, pretending to be a helpful friend, he had supported her while his fingers secretly groped her waist, steering her toward a motel. If she hadn’t managed to call me before she was completely gone, if I hadn’t rushed to find her, there was no doubt she would have been violated.

So what would have happened tonight if I hadn’t been there, or if I had failed to notice? What would that man Seok-ho have done to my wife?

By the time my imagination reached that point, I realized my own cock had swollen painfully hard inside my pants.

Hah… Am I insane? What kind of husband gets off on imagining his wife being used like that?

I despised myself for the thought, yet at the same time I felt a dark, creeping excitement at the possibility that such a fantasy might one day become real.

"Hmm?"

While I was lost in thought the car stopped at a red light. I unconsciously turned my head from the window and caught the rear-view mirror in my line of sight. The driver’s eyes were visible in it, staring intently.

Checking behind us? There aren’t any cars back there.

I assumed he was simply being cautious since it wasn’t his own vehicle, but there were no cars behind us at this late hour, and his gaze lingered far too long. I followed the direction ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of his eyes.

This bastard…

His stare was fixed on Yu-jin. More precisely, on her lower body. I glanced down and saw that her legs had fallen slightly open in sleep, strength gone from her thighs. The white skinny jeans she wore clung to her like a second skin, shamelessly outlining the wide curve of her hips, the firm thickness of her thighs, and the suggestive Y-zone nestled between them.

From my angle beside her the view was partially blocked, but in the mirror the driver would be drinking in every explicit detail.

What the hell is this? Is he actually peeping between my sleeping wife’s spread legs?

The realization should have sobered me, yet instead I felt the situation growing strangely, dangerously interesting. I silently took back my earlier judgment that the driver looked shady. Even now, during the brief pause at the light, he was openly devouring the sight of her in the mirror.

His behavior repeated every time we stopped at a light. Even while driving, whenever the road ahead was clear, his eyes would flick back to steal another look at her. The longer it went on, the more aroused I became. I chose to say nothing. Instead I pretended ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be oblivious, turning my head only slightly so I could continue observing him without being noticed.

If he paid even a little attention he might have caught me watching, but right now he was utterly fixated on my wife. He seemed completely captivated by her defenseless lower half.

Does seeing her like this turn you on? Looks like you’ve done this more than a few times, driver.

Watching his bold, shameless gaze, I felt a strange admiration for his audacity. Heat spread through my entire body. Perhaps, deep down, this was exactly the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kind of situation I had been secretly craving.

Hmm… opportunities like this don’t come often. Should I have a little fun with it?