My Wife's Surprise Outing - Part 2
A few days later, the opening I had been waiting for finally arrived. The company was still so small that my wife and I shared an office, and as luck would have it, she left on a business trip taking only her work phone, leaving her personal smartphone sitting right there on her desk.
I came back from lunch and was settling into the afternoon's work when a persistent vibration from her side of the room pulled my attention. There it was — her phone, exactly where she had left it.
This was a chance heaven itself had dropped in my lap. I grabbed the phone at once and started trying to root it, and after hours of grinding I finally broke through.
The first thing I checked was her messaging app. I combed through every recent conversation and found nothing that looked off. Her photo album was just as clean — not a single thing that raised a flag.
"What the hell…? Was I just being paranoid?"
I told myself that, then decided to rummage through her folders one last time. That was when the notification LED started blinking yellow. No ringtone. No vibration. Nothing in the status bar. But the little light kept flashing.
The thought that she might have a messenger stashed somewhere made me scroll through her installed apps, and that was how I found one written entirely in Japanese — the same app that had supposedly been exploding in Japan lately. I had skipped right over it because the folder and the icon name were in a language I didn't read. That app was the culprit.
I opened it immediately.
There was exactly one person on the friend list, and exactly one chat room. That room was piled high with unread messages. Some of that was because she had left her phone behind, sure — but nobody traded this many messages this often with someone they barely knew.
This week… The meaning of those two words was unmistakable. My wife Yeonju and this guy who called her noona were not having a one-off fling. They had been meeting, steadily, on purpose.
Every instinct I had wanted to dive into that room and read every line right then. Instead I made myself be careful. I installed the same messenger on my own phone, copied the system files off hers, overwrote the ones on mine until I was logged into her account, and synced the two devices.
Then I hacked the system files on my copy and flipped the settings so I could enter administrator mode. From that moment on I could watch her secret messenger from my own phone whenever I wanted, without her ever knowing — the same way I used to watch that secret social account of hers.
Rooting finished, I was about to put her phone back on her desk when it happened.
Bzzzzzzzz——
"Whoa—!"
A sudden, violent vibration shot through her phone and I jumped so hard I dropped it. The screen showed a call coming in from her work phone. I pressed a hand to my startled chest, then picked it up again.
"Hello?"
"Hello? Honey?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"Phew~ thank god. I thought I'd lost my phone."
"You're such a scatterbrain. Try to keep it together for once, you old lady. Hahaha."
"I only did it once! This is the first time, you old man! And I'm eating dinner out tonight, so bring my phone home for me, okay?"
"Got it. Running late again?"
"Aww~ does my husband miss me that much? Is my pretty face floating in front of your eyes, driving you crazy?"
"…Want me to hit you?"
"Tsk. I'm just eating dinner out and coming straight home."
"Heh. Yeah. See you at home."
I hung up, slipped her phone into my bag, went back to my desk, and opened her messenger on my own phone.
Administrator mode did exactly what I needed it to. I could enter the chat room and nothing marked the messages as read. My heart started hammering — that old, familiar thrill of slipping into my wife's private life without her knowing.
I scrolled all the way to the top. The first recorded exchange sat a little over a month back.
About a month ago… I turned it over in my head, and the date lined up almost exactly with the night she had come home wearing that heavy perfume. The conversation confirmed it. My guess had been dead on.
I still didn't know who she was talking to. But she had thanked the guy who called her noona, telling him she liked the perfume, and he had answered that it was his favorite — that he had always planned to give it as a gift once he had a girlfriend.
A girlfriend?
So my wife had been seeing a younger man behind my back. I kept reading anyway.
Same industry? Don't tell me…
This bastard… he was casually calling my wife a fucking slut. And by this point I was starting to get a pretty clear idea of who he was.
Heh. Obviously. There's no man alive who can cook Yeonju the way I can, you little shit.
This crazy bastard… listen to him run his mouth.
The photo he sent was a raw, unapologetic shot of his own erection. It was bigger than I had expected — a missile-shaped cock with a thick base, and looking at it I got the same impression I used to get from Minyong's.
My wife seemed to be thinking the same thing I was. Then again, she had once been Minyong's cum dump, so maybe that was only natural.
She seemed to think it over. A few minutes passed before she answered.
That was the last of it for a while. They had probably switched to a voice call to settle on a place. The conversation picked up again the next day, and by then it was obvious they had enjoyed themselves — the messages grew stickier, more lingering. He sent her pictures of his erection often, including a full-body shot taken in the shower.
She sent him pictures too, though nothing fully exposed at first. Mostly she posed in sexy outfits that showed off the lines of her body. Even so, there were shots that pushed it — her chest shoved into the frame, her legs parted just enough under a skirt. Seeing my wife through a photograph was a different kind of jolt than seeing her in person. It reached me in a way the real thing didn't.
At some point I stopped really reading and just scrolled for the pictures. Further down, I finally found the first photo that showed her face. She hadn't sent it. He had. The two of them were pressed cheek to cheek, grinning at the camera, throwing up V-signs.
That was all I needed. The man I had been piecing together was exactly who I thought he was — the host who had dropped my wife off that night, the one who had been with Minhee.
After that smiling photo the chat turned even more explicit, and further down still, my wife finally sent him a nude.
She had stripped completely in the bathroom and used one arm to push up under her breasts, making those already large D-cups look even fuller, even more obscene. She had bent forward slightly and shot from above, looking down the length of her own body. Her face stayed out of the frame, but the gathered weight of those heavy breasts, and the dark, triangular thicket of pubic hair just visible beneath them, made her look more sexual than I had ever seen her.