The Wife's Secret SNS Account – Part 03

Yeonju had both palms neatly cupped together beneath her chin, holding them out the way a child holds out her hands for a present. Her eyes shone, bright and eager, her chin tipped up just slightly as she gazed straight into the camera. The next photograph, though, showed a different girl entirely. Yeonju's eyes were squeezed shut, her face faintly crumpled — and a mess of sticky white semen was splattered across it in chaotic streaks.

Her bangs were plastered together in wet tangles. The overflow ran down over her lips and dripped into her waiting palms.

In the photograph after that, she was beaming — so openly, so brightly, that the sight of it could have made anyone happy just to look at her. Semen was smeared all over her face. It should have been humiliating. Instead she was grinning with her eyes curved into little crescents, white teeth flashing, as radiant as a girl on the best day of her life.

And then the next shot.

Yeonju's face was already a wreck of Minyong's clotted semen when the camera caught, with almost cruel precision, another rope of it launching from the side and arcing toward the top of her head. The white streak flying at her wide, delighted smile left no doubt whatsoever about what the next tenth of a second would look like.

Sure enough, the following frame showed that rope of cum draped in a long, sagging line across my wife's hair. Yeonju was twisting her head away a beat too late, the way a child flinches from a splash of water — but the picture after that caught another load being hosed across her anyway. In the one after that, she had tried to wipe the clotted mess out of her hair and only succeeded in dragging it everywhere: long sticky strings stretching from her scalp down over her hands and face until she was filthy with it from the crown of her head to her chin.

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a dirty, sloppy, ruined look. And through every single frame, the Yeonju in the photographs wore an expression of unbroken happiness.

I knew that face. That was not the face of a woman being forced. That was a face that could not have existed unless Yeonju herself was enjoying every second of it.

But the man who came on her — who the hell was he?

I already knew Minyong was seeing Yeonju and Suyeon at the same time. If both girls had turned up together in those threesome shots, I wouldn't have blinked. What I had never once pictured, even in the darkest corners of my imagination, was Yeonju taking two men's loads on her face at once.

I kept flipping through the rest of the album, but the second man's face never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠appeared. His identity stayed a blank. Minyong's cock showed up often enough — I had seen the bastard hard before, so I could tell his apart — but the other one remained a complete mystery, start to finish.

A few things I could say for certain. The man was hairy: thick hair on his legs, and a dense curl of it running all the way from his navel down to his pubic bone. He had a set of reasonably sharp six-pack abs, like someone who actually worked out. And then there was the cock itself — a glans of considerable size, and a pair of balls so stupidly huge they looked like two eggs mashed together, hanging so heavy they didn't tighten or shrink in the slightest even when he was standing at full, skyward attention.

He kept turning up in the pictures that remained. Yeonju gripping both his cock and Minyong's at the same time, sucking them off in turns like a Japanese AV actress. Minyong pounding her from behind while the other man fed his cock into her mouth. Yeonju with that same cock resting on top of her head, throwing up a V-sign with her fingers and grinning at the camera like she hadn't a care in the world. And then the ones of Yeonju face-down, legs stretched straight, ass hiked high in the air, with the stranger's cock buried to the hilt in her baek-boji. I still had no idea who he was. What I knew for certain was that Minyong and this man had been sharing my wife between them, splitting her like a pair of friends with a meal.

It was only then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that I noticed: in the last few photographs, Yeonju's pubic hair had been cleaned up completely. In the earlier shots a pretty little butterfly tattoo had been perched just above her thick thatch, sitting there as if it had settled on a bush. In the ones where she'd gone fully bare, that same butterfly had nowhere left to land — a single lost insect wandering the especially plump, hilly rise of Yeonju's mound.

After I had gone through every last picture in her album, I sat for a while and let it settle.

First, the shock of how much of Yeonju I still didn't know. Then the question of the man who had been fucking her alongside Minyong. And then something that bothered me in the opposite direction: Suyeon, who I had fully expected to find in here, did not appear in a single frame.

I closed the album and opened the folder where the videos were stored. The file explorer unspooled a long list of them, and every thumbnail showed naked men and women — I didn't need to guess what the footage contained. The folder had eaten nearly the entire storage of the phone. According to the file info, each video ran close to a gigabyte and lasted nearly an hour.

The quality was surprisingly decent for something shot on a phone. I was scrolling, trying to decide what to watch first, when I spotted a thumbnail with both Yeonju's face and Suyeon's in it. I moved the cursor over the file.

The phone rang.

Yeonju's phone, sitting right there. The caller ID belonged to a friend of hers I knew as well. I hesitated over whether to answer, then picked up anyway.

The line went dead with a dull beep. The moment she said she was coming home, I yanked her phone off the laptop, put it back exactly where I had found it, shut the computer down, and parked myself in the living room pretending to watch TV.

About ten minutes later, Yeonju walked through the door.

"Where's my phone?"

She was looking for it before she had even finished coming inside.

"Over there. On the shelf above the sink."

I said it as casually as I could manage. Yeonju hurried over, snatched up her phone, and started checking it over, tapping through one thing after another. My heart was hammering the way a kid's does after stealing money from his mother's wallet. Like a thief whose own feet give him away, I sat there wound tight, terrified she would somehow know I had been through it.

"Taemin! Long time no see. It's the weekend — what are you up to? No plans?"

Hyejeong, my wife's closest friend from college, had followed her in and was talking to me. Unlike Yeonju, Hyejeong was tall and slender. I had been trying so hard to look unbothered that I hadn't turned around — and when I glanced back at her without thinking, I almost jumped.

"Nah, I was just going to stay in. I've got studying to do anyway."

"See, that's what I like about you, Taemin. Unlike some people who flake and go out every damn day. Hehehe~"

Hyejeong slid a look at Yeonju as she said it, needling her.

"Shut up, you bitch. Stop eyeing someone else's husband and go find your own."

"What, you've never heard 'it ain't over till it's over'? Come on, Taemin. Ditch the hermit act and come out with us tonight."

Yeonju's face, still bent over her phone, flinched. It was just an invitation to hang out. Why would that startle her?

"I'm good. You two go have fun. And don't drink too much."

Fortunately, nothing I was afraid of happened. Yeonju checked her phone a little longer, dropped it into her bag, and headed back toward the front door with Hyejeong.

"Taemin, I'm probably going to be late, so don't wait up — eat dinner without me, okay? And don't forget to brush your teeth after. Don't sit on the computer for hours either. Oh — I made that gochujang bulgogi you like. It's in the fridge. Just throw it in a pan and fry it up. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

She rattled it all off while she slipped on her heels, one instruction after another. In that moment it felt as though Yeonju had already become my wife, and a warm feeling spread through me.

"Look at this devoted little wife. A girl without a husband is going to cry watching this, you know that?"

Hyejeong sniped, for no reason except that she felt like it. It was only then that I really took in what she was wearing. The outfit was aggressively provocative: a short velvet mini dress that pushed her small breasts together and let a hint of cleavage show, and leather boots that came up just below the knee. When she pulled the boots on, the hem rode high enough that her underwear almost flashed from right under her ass.

Where the hell was she going dressed like that? A club? Yeonju, though, was just in jeans and a T-shirt with a cute character on it, her makeup light and ordinary. Hyejeong was one thing. Yeonju was not dressed for a club, so I didn't think much more of it.

"I'll be back~"

Yeonju waved at me, pulled the front door shut, and was gone. I watched through the window until I had seen the two of them heading off toward downtown.

The second they were completely out of sight, I went to my room and opened the laptop again. I was buzzing at the thought of the videos I hadn't gotten to watch. I had played it cool earlier, but when Yeonju had called me her husband in front of Hyejeong, I had been so happy I had barely kept the grin from splitting my face.

The computer finished booting. My hand went straight to the folder where I had saved Yeonju's data. The video list unspooled down the explorer window again, and I was just about to click the thumbnail with Yeonju and Suyeon in it.

A notification chimed on my phone.

I thought, What now?, and ignored it — but it chimed again, and again, one after another.

"What the hell is going off like this?"

I had been a second away from hitting play, and the noise was irritating, but it wouldn't stop, so I picked up the phone.

"Ah…"

The alerts were coming from Yeonju's SNS — the copy I had made earlier. Specifically, from the app where someone had first sent her filthy messages and arranged a compensated date. I took my hand off the mouse and looked down at the screen. Maybe it was the good mood I was still in, but the thought of secretly reading through the messages put a mischievous little grin on my face before I could stop it.

The messages stopped there. My mind went white, as if a fog had rolled in, and a cold feeling settled over me. The compensated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠date was tonight.

Inside my head, the footage started playing on its own. Yeonju sandwiching a stranger's cock between her breasts and working them up and down like a pussy, pleasing him with her chest. The same man pumping between her tits and then coming across her face. His cock shoved deep down her throat. Both of his hands mauling her pretty peach of an ass while he power-pumped her from behind. And then his open palm cracking down hard across her wet breasts and her pussy, over and over.

My cock swelled up against my sweatpants and pitched a tent of its own accord, answering the images as they unspooled through my head without permission.

The videos on the laptop had already ceased to matter. Every nerve I had was locked on the sex that was about to happen — the scenes this man and Yeonju had already agreed to, about to play out in the flesh.

Right. Hyejeong went with her. So it's going to be a threesome.

If I just wait, will more messages come in? A photo, even? It was a stupid thought. But my fingers were already on the man's SNS profile, tapping Follow.