Park XX's Confession 7
“Honey, are you okay? Take it slow.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m still fine.”
After about two hours of drinking, my wife began to get properly drunk. The way her tongue started to slur made it clear the alcohol was hitting her hard.
“Haha, I thought so last time too, but the Madam can really hold her liquor. Let me pour you another.”
Excited, Assistant Manager Oh kept pressing drinks on her. He was clearly hoping for a repeat of last time.
And with good reason—her posture had grown far looser than when we started. Early on, sensing his eyes on her, she had pulled a lap blanket over her skirt. Oh had smacked his lips in disappointment, but the letdown didn’t last long. As soon as the liquor brought a flush of heat to her body, she tossed the blanket aside. What’s more, she had been carefully smoothing the hem of her skirt every time she crossed her legs; once the drink took hold, she stopped bothering. The skirt kept riding higher and higher, leaving the explosive curves of her thighs—sheathed in black stockings—completely exposed. Seated right in front of her, Oh had a perfect, unobstructed view of those glossy, gleaming thighs. The positioning could not have been better.
As if she had decided to get him thoroughly worked up, her posture grew even more undone. Especially when she sank deep into the sofa, Oh’s eyes went into overdrive. She was practically reclining, back pressed into the cushions, legs crossed, which lifted her hips just enough that the inside of her skirt lay wide open. All he had to do was tip his head a little and he could freely peer at the panties hidden beneath those shiny stockings.
“Heeheehee, Assistant Manager Oh, you’re so funny.”
Every time he tossed out some empty joke, she clapped and laughed. It almost felt as if he had picked her out of a hostess bar and was entertaining her for the night. Truthfully, if you just swapped “Assistant Manager Oh” for “oppa,” everything she said could have come from any girl in a drinking room.
“Assistant Manager Oh (oppa), you’re really funny.”
“A guy like you (oppa) is handsome enough.”
“Oh my, Assistant Manager Oh (oppa), do you work out?”
“Someone like you (oppa) must have women lining up.”
She kept the praise flowing with little smiling eyes, her face flushed red from the alcohol. Oh used that ripe body of hers as his side dish and ran his mouth even harder; the drinking party rolled on without a break in the laughter.
Then, two hours later.
“Madam, you’ve fallen asleep again.”
“You know how it is, Oh—my wife’s a lightweight.”
“She was putting away quite a bit tonight, though.”
“Yeah, she must’ve been in a good mood because of you.”
“Haha! Nah, no way.”
“I’m serious. My wife’s surprisingly picky about people. When she’s with someone she doesn’t like, it shows all over her face right away.”
“Wow, I’m honored. Getting that kind of recognition from a beauty like the Madam.”
Oh shrugged and stole glances at my wife, who was dozing against the sofa. Her head was tilted slightly to one side; she was out cold. The lap blanket was back over her skirt—probably an instinctive move once she felt the liquor rising. Oh looked openly disappointed that he could no longer stare at those glossy stockinged legs. Once she was asleep the party’s energy drained fast, and he even yawned from boredom.
But at that moment he still had no idea what dreamlike things were about to happen to him.
“Oh, want me to show you something fun?”
“Huh? What?”
I grinned at him, stood up, and walked over to my sleeping wife.
“What are you doing, Manager?”
“Just watch.”
I took her wrist and gently lifted it. Her limp arm rose without resistance. Oh stared, looking somewhat bewildered. I made a show of moving her wrist this way and that; her arm flopped through the air like a puppet’s. He watched, mouth hanging open in fascination. Then I simply let go of the arm I had been swinging. He jerked in surprise.
“Wha—!”
Thud.
Her arm dropped lifelessly onto the sofa. Oh flinched as if he had just dropped a child he was holding. But my wife never even stirred; she slept on in perfect peace.
“Well? Fun, right?”
He answered in a daze.
“Huh? Yeah… she really is out cold.”
“That’s right. Whiskey is poison to this one.”
“But…”
“What?”
“Isn’t that a little dangerous? Passing out like that after drinking, in this day and age.”
“Nothing to worry about. She knows better—she only drinks whiskey when she’s with me.”
“Ah, that works then. But she really won’t wake up?”
“Didn’t you just see? Want me to show you more?”
“No, that’s not what I—”
Before he could stop me I gave the soft flesh of her cheek a light pinch. The flushed skin stretched a little; she kept breathing evenly, still deep under. Even when I poked her cheek with my finger it made no difference. She was sleeping as soundly as a fairy-tale princess.
“See? She absolutely will not wake up.”
“Whoa, you’re right.”
In that instant an unreadable smile flickered across Oh’s face. No doubt the memories of that previous day were flooding back—the day he had stared at my wife’s pussy lips and shot his load. From the moment he had raced to this hotel room he had already been hoping for the same situation again. Now it was time for me to fulfill that expectation.
“Hello?”
I pretended a call had come in, answered my phone, and stepped away. A moment later I returned, deliberately letting out a heavy sigh.
“Man, this is a problem.”
“What’s wrong, Manager?”
“They want me to move my car.”
“Huh? You drove here?”
“No, the apartment called. Shit… I parallel-parked and it was already making me a little nervous.”
“What are you going to do? You have to go, right?”
“Looks like I do.”
When I started gathering my coat and getting ready to leave, Oh made to follow. The disappointment on his face was plain.
“You leaving too, Oh?”
“Well, if you’re going, I should head home.”
“Come on, stay and have another drink. We’re not out of booze, are we?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Then don’t leave—have one more with me.”
“Should I? Then maybe I’ll just ride with you, get some air, and come back.”
“Why bother? Just stay here.”
“Stay here?”
“Yeah. I’ll grab a taxi—won’t take more than an hour.”
“…”
“What? Is there a problem?”
“Uh, well… the Madam’s here alone, so it feels a little weird for me to stay…”
“That’s exactly why you should stay. I don’t like leaving my wife alone in a hotel room either. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”
I left a dazed Oh behind and hurried out of the hotel room. Then I rode the elevator straight down to another room I had booked on a lower floor. The moment I stepped inside I pulled out the phone I had pocketed and stared at the screen with bloodshot eyes.
You may find this hard to believe, but the screen was live-streaming my sleeping wife left behind in the hotel room. In fact, on the table across from the sofa where we had been drinking, I had cleverly hidden my work phone. As soon as we arrived at the hotel I had slipped it onto the table without my wife noticing and carefully adjusted the camera angle so it covered the sofa perfectly. When I left the room I had already placed a video call from that hidden work phone to the one I was carrying. That was how I could watch my wife and Assistant Manager Oh in real time.
On the screen my wife was still slumped on the sofa, sleeping soundly. Seeing her through the video felt even stranger than I had expected—as if my own wife had become the star of some cheap porn clip. A moment later Oh came over and sat on the sofa. The second both of them were framed together my heart began to pound madly. He lifted his glass, took a slow sip, then turned and stared hard at her.
A hotel room with no one to interrupt. A completely defenseless married woman right in front of him. And the husband himself had kindly informed him that no matter what he did, she would never wake up. I swallowed dryly, anticipation rising as I wondered what Oh would do to her this time.
Yet the guy just sat there for a long while. Suddenly I remembered the blank look on his face when I left the room. Was he chickening out? The thought crossed my mind. People sometimes freeze up when an opportunity is almost too good. The idea made me suddenly anxious that he might simply sit there quietly and do nothing to her. Ten minutes had already passed and I was growing restless. I was debating whether to give up and just return to the room when Oh finally stood up as if he had made up his mind.
He crept toward her and looked down. Her plump lips, slightly parted, exhaled soft breaths; her two full breasts rose and fell in time with her breathing. Staring blankly at the sight, Oh smacked his lips once, then roughly gripped the erection that had already been tenting his sweatpants. In one motion he yanked away the lap blanket covering her skirt. Instantly the clear outline of her hips, molded by the tight skirt, seized his gaze. Her thighs, pressed into the sofa, strained against the fabric as if ready to split it open. Unable to hold back any longer, he shoved down his sweatpants and pulled out his fully hard cock. On the screen, beyond that thick, twitching shaft, my wife’s peacefully sleeping face was superimposed. My hand holding the phone began to tremble.