Park XX's Confession 6
"Honey, the pasta is so springy and chewy. This place really is every bit the restaurant everyone raves about."
"Glad you like it. Eat as much as you want."
"Okay. Thank you for treating me to something this delicious."
"Don't mention it. This is exactly why I work so hard."
The food at the Italian restaurant we'd arrived at clearly agreed with my wife; she kept letting out little sounds of delight as she ate. By now she seemed to have completely forgotten the shameless things that had happened on the subway.
I glanced under the table. My wife had her legs crossed and was gently swinging one high-heeled foot back and forth.
Before we reached the restaurant she had dashed into a convenience store and bought a fresh pair of stockings to replace the ones that had been ruined.
"Hmph, this was all they had."
She pouted cutely, complaining that they didn't have the nude-tone stockings she usually wore. What she held in her hand was a pair of black stockings instead.
"Wait just a second. I'm going to the restroom to put them on."
A moment later she emerged from the restroom looking a little shy.
"Well? Do they look okay on me?"
I had thought they were just ordinary black stockings, but the moment she put them on they looked completely different. Because they were cheap and thin, her fair skin showed right through the fabric, and the slick, glossy material made her smooth calves gleam as if they had been oiled.
"Are they too sexy?"
"No, they look good."
"Really? That's a relief."
The shiny texture of the stockings seemed to make her a little self-conscious. Every time I stole glances at her legs she twisted them together, embarrassed.
"Why do you keep staring? You're making me blush."
Only minutes earlier this same wife had been begging a stranger to hurry up and cum while his cock was pressed between her thighs; now she was flushing like a schoolgirl just because she was wearing a pair of sexy stockings. At that point I truly began to wonder which version of her was the real one.
"Honey, are you peeking at my legs again?"
When she caught me glancing under the table throughout the meal, she teased me playfully.
"Honey, is this your kind of thing?"
"No, I was just looking because they look pretty."
"Oh my, is your face turning red? Guess I'll have to wear them more often from now on."
She stuck her tongue out at me, clearly enjoying herself. I smiled contentedly, alternating between the memory of her lovely face now and the flushed, feverish face I had seen on the subway.
After the meal we headed to a nearby luxury hotel. Spending a hot night in a high-end hotel instead of our familiar home after a date was our little couple's routine.
"Honey, do you want to shower first?"
"Hmm? No, don't wash up yet either. Wait a bit. Someone's coming over."
"Huh? Who's coming here?"
The truth was that, without my wife's knowledge, I had been texting Assistant Manager Oh ever since we were at the restaurant.
Assistant Manager Oh accepted my invitation without a moment's hesitation, just as I expected. I didn't know for sure, but he had almost certainly been waiting for another chance to see my wife. And now I was the one handing him that opportunity; he must have been cheering inside.
When I told my wife that Assistant Manager Oh was coming, her expression turned complicated.
"Assistant Manager Oh is coming here? Right now?"
"Yeah. The kid's still young and he just sits at home all the time. It's kind of pitiful to watch."
"Still..."
"What? Want me to tell him not to come? If you're uncomfortable I'll call him right now."
"No, it's not that... It's just that the place is a hotel, so it feels a little weird."
"So what? These days people rent hotel rooms for parties all the time."
"Is that so? But honey, why do you keep smiling at me like that?"
"Heh heh, no reason. You're just cute. What's the big deal about a hotel? You planning to do something with Assistant Manager Oh?"
"Oh my! The things that come out of your mouth!"
"I'm kidding, kidding."
My wife shot me a prim glare while I grinned lecherously. To her, the idea of doing something with Assistant Manager Oh must have sounded like a joke. In reality it was no joke at all. That night I fully intended to gift my wife to him.
Just thinking about what he might do to her this time—after jacking off twice looking at her last time—made my heart start pounding.
The moment she heard about his sudden visit, my wife hurried to the mirror and touched up her makeup. Whether that was simply good manners or because she wanted to look pretty for him, I couldn't tell. Watching her cross her stockinged legs and carefully reapply bright red lipstick sent a rush of blood straight to my cock.
A short while later Assistant Manager Oh arrived at the hotel room. I checked the time; less than an hour had passed since I texted him. Seeing him in sweatpants, a rumpled T-shirt, and a cap, I could tell how frantically he had rushed over. Of course he had. The thought of seeing my wife again must have made him tear out of the house.
Just as I expected, the second he laid eyes on her his mouth stretched ear to ear and he launched into a barrage of compliments.
"Hahaha, Madam, you're as beautiful as ever today."
"Oh stop. Assistant Manager Oh, you still say things you don't mean."
"Not at all. You're a hundred times more beautiful today than the last time I saw you."
"Hoho, even if it's empty flattery, hearing it still feels nice. Thank you."
"But I'm not interrupting your date, am I? The Manager said it was fine so I came, but maybe I should've read the room better?"
"Not at all, you're very welcome. I'm actually really happy to see you again too."
"Really? Your kindness is overwhelming, Madam!"
My wife didn't seem to mind his cheerful, clingy banter at all. We immediately settled onto the sofa set up on one side of the hotel room and started drinking.
"Whoa! Thirty-year-old Ballantine's! Manager, I love you!"
When I pulled out the whiskey I had prepared in advance, Assistant Manager Oh's eyes went wide with shock. The guy had always been a complete pushover for alcohol, and whiskey in particular. But I hadn't bought the expensive bottle for him. The reason I had prepared a whiskey that cost hundreds of thousands of won was solely because of my wife.
When I set the bottle on the table she gave me a brief, surprised look. There was a very good reason for that reaction. As I've already told you, Father, my wife is a lightweight. She gets drunk easily no matter the type of alcohol, but whiskey hits her especially hard. That was exactly why I had chosen it tonight.
She tended to get drunk faster on whiskey than anything else, and what mattered most was what happened afterward. Because she was such a lightweight she never became a mean or noisy drunk; once she passed her limit she simply fell asleep. Of course, passing out drunk is a common enough sight. Most people can be shaken awake and will come around. My wife was the same with beer or soju—shake her a little and she would open her eyes and get up.
Whiskey was different. Once she fell asleep after drinking whiskey, it was nearly impossible to wake her. Shaking her body did nothing. She sank into a sleep so deep that, as the saying goes, someone could carry her off on their back and she would never know. We had even fought about it a few times before we got married.
Back when we were dating she had gone to a club with friends, drunk whiskey, and completely blacked out. When I got the call and rushed over, the sight of her left me speechless. She was wearing a miniskirt, one high heel already kicked off, completely unconscious. No matter how hard I shook her she wouldn't wake up. Even a light slap on the cheek did nothing. She didn't come to until noon the next day. I was furious, and through her tears she made me a promise: she would never drink whiskey again. And if she ever absolutely had to, she would only drink it when I was right there with her.
From that day on she kept her word; whenever whiskey appeared she only drank it with me. And tonight, for the first time in a very long while, she was about to drink it again. With me beside her she would feel safe enough to drink without worry. Once she drank the whiskey she would get drunk quickly and fall into that deep, unbreakable sleep. That would be the first button of my plan fastened perfectly into place.
"Madam, allow me to pour you a glass."
My wife kept glancing at me hesitantly. I gave her a quick wink to let her know it was all right, and only then did she relax and lift the glass. Assistant Manager Oh, clearly thrilled, filled it to the brim and shouted,
"Alright then—to the Manager and Madam's happiness! Cheers!"
Three glasses full of whiskey clinked in the air, and we began drinking in earnest. We laughed and chattered while the glasses never stopped circulating, and the whole time Assistant Manager Oh could not tear his eyes away from my wife.
In front of the sofa sat a low, knee-high table. Because it was so low, anyone sitting across from her could take in her entire body without the slightest effort. Whether he had done it on purpose or not, Assistant Manager Oh had planted himself squarely opposite her. My wife happened to have her legs crossed, so the inner thighs beneath her skirt were on full display. The moment those sleek legs sheathed in shiny black stockings filled his vision, he looked completely unable to think straight.
Apparently oblivious to his burning stare, she periodically uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Each time she did, Assistant Manager Oh stole greedy glances at the glimpse of skirt interior between her knees and swallowed hard. And my wife, still completely unaware, simply wiggled her stockinged toes and laughed and chatted with innocent cheer.