My Wife Was Sucking
“The rapid antigen test came back negative, thankfully. You’re not COVID-positive. It looks like nothing more than a common cold with body aches.”
I stepped out of the examination room under the doctor’s kindly guidance, and only then did the rigid tension in my shoulders finally drop away.
The shivery ache had been building since last night, something far from ordinary. When I woke this morning I felt marginally better, so I forced myself into the office anyway. A few coughs that exploded at my desk had sealed my fate. Afraid of infecting the team, I took half a day of leave and headed straight for the hospital.
After the injection I handed the prescription to the pharmacist and sank into a waiting-room chair. I thumbed my phone screen open out of habit and checked the time: 10:30 a.m.
Ah… maybe I should just go back to the office.
The deeply ingrained K-Worker instinct rose like a reflex, but I shook my head at once. The faces of my team members that morning flashed through my mind—the way they had looked at my hacking, coughing wreck of a self during the meeting.
“Lead, I’ll cover the afternoon yield meeting for you. Just get to the hospital already.”
“Yeah, Lead. Don’t worry about the vendor meeting either. I’ve got your back.”
The juniors had stepped up as if it were their own work and shoved me out the door; every afternoon appointment was already perfectly covered. Water under the bridge. Better just go home.
As I left the pharmacy, the family’s schedule for the day sketched itself automatically across my mind.
By the time I reach the house, Jisu should be back from her morning workout. And Ha-yul’s school finishes around… two o’clock today, right?
Roughly three free hours before our third-grade daughter came home. In a life usually crushed between office, house, and the child’s education, a magical pocket of free time had simply dropped into my lap.
I should take Jisu out for a simple lunch date near home. It’s been ages.
Whether it was the cold shot or the pure relief of not having COVID, my body felt lighter. With the weight off my chest I noticed a flower shop on the roadside that I normally would have walked past without seeing. How long had it been since I last spent a weekday afternoon alone with my wife in an empty house? A strange, ticklish excitement fluttered through me.
“When am I going to get another chance like this?”
As if under a spell I pushed open the flower-shop door and ordered a bright, cheerful bouquet of the flowers she loved. Cradling the fragrance against my chest, I quickened my steps toward home and the little rebellion waiting there.
Beep, beep, beep, beep—confirmation tone.
The familiar door-lock chime sounded and I eased the front door open. A small smile was already tugging at my lips at the thought of surprising Jisu with the flowers—until my gaze fell on the floor of the shoe cabinet and my feet froze solid.
An unfamiliar pair of sneakers.
Even at a glance they were bulky, oversized foreign-brand kicks that looked easily size 280. They were not mine—the only adult male living in this house—and they certainly were not Jisu’s.
Huh? What the…? Did someone come over?
I narrowed my eyes, half-convinced I had mis-seen them, when a sound that had no business existing in a supposedly empty house cut through the silence and stabbed into my ears.
A massive R&B beat, the kind that only ever played in trendy Instagram Reels or hip cafés. The deep bass was thumping out from deeper inside the living room.
An unnameable unease slammed into me. In the middle of a weekday afternoon, in a house that should have been empty, what the hell were these oversized men’s sneakers and this music doing here?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart began to pound with a foreboding I could not explain. Holding my breath, I slowly opened the arched inner door that led from the entryway.
Through the soundless crack I scanned the living room. Empty. No one there.
Huh? What? Nobody in the living room…
The source of the music was unmistakable: the master bedroom.
The few steps across the living room after I slipped past the inner door felt like wading through a swamp. The quieter I tried to make my footsteps, the more clearly another sound began to mix with the booming bass—something that was not music at all.
Slurp… schlup… mmph…
The wet, obscene friction of something slick and soft sealing tightly around an object and then pulling free. The moment that raw, filthy noise reached me, my entire body locked as if flash-frozen. My mind went blank. My heart hammered so hard I thought it would burst. My mouth turned desert-dry and an unknown chill crawled up from the pit of my stomach.
Instinct screamed a warning inside my skull.
Do not open that door…
But the suspicion that had already swallowed my reason dragged my feet all the way to the bedroom threshold. The door stood ajar by the thinnest of cracks. Forgetting even to breathe, I peered through the slit with trembling eyes.
The first thing that filled my vision was a stranger’s broad back.
A solidly built man standing fully upright, pants and underwear shoved all the way down, bare skin completely exposed. And when my gaze dropped below his waist, the air simply stopped in my throat.
A woman was squatting in front of him.
Both hands clamped hard around his firm hips, her head bobbing furiously back and forth as she worked at something with total concentration. Every time she gasped and her hair swung, the side of her face flashed into view—the silhouette I knew better than anyone else in the world.
Schlup… sluuurp… mmph…
The wet, vulgar sounds pouring through the open crack were loud enough to drown out even the trendy music filling the room.
“Haa… Ha-yul’s mom. Fuck… that feels so good.”
The young, almost boyish moan that slipped through the door stabbed straight into my eardrums. For a second it felt as if someone had clubbed me across the skull. The voice was low and thick, yet still carried a faintly adolescent edge—clearly a man in his early-to-mid twenties.
As if answering him, my wife’s head, still gripping his pelvis, began to move even faster.
Slurp… schlup… sluuuuck…
The thick, pornographic wetness scraped across my eardrums so hard it almost drowned the R&B beat itself. After a moment she pulled her lips free, panting, and murmured in a voice thick with breath.
“I told you to call me Nuna… hehe, schlup.”
The coaxing tone she used on him was coated in a sticky, nasal coquettishness I had never once heard when she spoke to me.
“Yes… hnn, Nuna… ah.”
My mind did not merely go blank—it felt completely paralyzed. Faced with something this overwhelming, even anger refused to rise. My whole body simply grew cold, and I could no longer tell whether the place where I stood was real.
What surged up first was not betrayal but a dizzying sense of absurdity. This was the same woman who always claimed she was tired, that her jaw hurt, who would half-heartedly finish me off whenever I begged her to suck me until my lips were swollen. Watching her now crouched between another young man’s legs, putting every ounce of her strength into the act, felt like my chest was being ripped open.
Schlup… sluuurp… mmph…
She buried her face again and began to suck him in a frenzy. Every time she sealed her mouth around him as if she meant to swallow him whole and then pulled free, the lewd sounds echoed through the bedroom.
“You like it that much? Look how much is coming out of this cock, hehe. Schlup, slurp.”
In the middle of sucking she lifted her head just enough to look up at him and laugh. The man had already lost his mind; his hips twitched in tiny spasms as he moaned.
“Yes… ah, you suck so fucking well. Ah… I think I’m gonna come…”
“Hehe, schlup. If you want to come, come. But just like last time, you have to get hard again right away and put it in me, okay? Slurp.”
Every word that left her mouth detonated another bomb inside my chest. The shocks kept coming without pause.
Come? In her mouth? Holy shit… that bitch…
I remembered the time I had accidentally finished in her mouth; she had complained for days about the bitter taste that would not go away, thrown every kind of hysteria, and refused oral sex for months afterward. That same woman was now calmly offering to swallow everything this green kid pumped out.
And “just like last time”…
This was not the first time. The thought that I could not even begin to guess how many times she had done this behind my back, right here in our marital bed, made the world tilt.
“I… I’m really gonna come, Nuna. Ah, hnnn! Ugh!”
His breathing turned ragged, signaling he was at the edge. My wife refused to let a single drop escape; she took him even deeper and sucked harder, rough and relentless.
Sluuuuck, schlup, schlup!
“Ah… ahhh… hnn… haah…”
At last the man exhaled a scorching breath and arched his back as he came. The post-orgasm sensitivity made him whimper in something close to pain.
“Ah… Nuna, that’s enough now. Hn, stop… haah.”
But she kept her mouth sealed around him as though she refused to waste even one drop of what he had poured out, and began to swallow every bit of his semen down her throat.
Gulp… gllk…
The naked sound of something thick sliding down her throat was perfectly clear. Even afterward she licked him clean with merciless thoroughness, her silhouette heaving with satisfied breaths. All I could do was stand frozen in the open crack of the door, staring at the two of them and trembling.