My Wife Was Sucking
My wife was sucking.
"The rapid test came back — thankfully it's not COVID. Looks like a common cold with body aches."
With the doctor's kind words, I stepped out of the examination room, and only then did my shoulders, wound tight as a bowstring, finally go slack.
The chills that had started the night before — I'd sensed the body aches weren't nothing.
When I woke up that morning I'd felt a little better, so I'd dragged myself into work, but a few coughs erupting in the office turned out to be the beginning of the end.
Worried about exposing my teammates, I'd taken a half-day leave and come straight to the hospital.
After getting a shot and handing my prescription to the pharmacist, I sat down in the waiting area. I glanced blankly at my phone and checked the top of the screen: 10:30 AM.
'Maybe I should just head back to the office.'
The work ethic drilled into my bones — the essence of a K-office worker — lifted my head out of pure instinct, but a moment later I shook it off.
I could picture the faces of my department members at the morning meeting, each tossing a word my way as they watched me hacking and sniffling.
"Sir, I'll sit in on the afternoon yield meeting, so please just get yourself to the hospital."
"He's right, sir. Don't worry about the vendor meeting this afternoon either — I've got your back."
Because my juniors had jumped in to cover my schedule as if it were their own, my afternoon was already completely cleared.
Right. The water was already spilled. I might as well go home.
As I stepped out of the pharmacy, a mental timeline of my family's day suddenly assembled itself in my head.
'By the time I get home, Jisu should be back from her morning workout. And Hayul's dismissal time... it was around two o'clock today, wasn't it?'
Until my third-grade daughter came home, roughly three hours sat empty.
In a life that usually poured past in a blur of office, home, and the child's education, this was a pocket of free time that had dropped out of the sky like magic.
'I should take Jisu out for a simple lunch date near the house. It's been ages.'
Whether it was the cold shot from the hospital or simply the relief of not having COVID, my body felt noticeably lighter.
And with my mood lifted, a flower shop I'd never once noticed on my usual street caught my eye.
How long had it been since my wife and I had the house to ourselves on a weekday afternoon?
An unfamiliar, ticklish excitement came over me.
"Who knows when a chance like this will come again."
As if bewitched, I pushed open the flower shop door and ordered a bright, cheerful bouquet — the kind my wife loved.
Breathing in the scent of the flowers cradled in my arms, I quickened my steps toward home, toward this rare little rebellion.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, bii-beep.
Along with the familiar door-lock chime, I pushed open the front door and stepped inside.
My lips were just starting to curl into a sly smile at the thought of surprising Jisu with a gift — when my gaze dropped to the floor of the shoe rack, and my feet stopped dead.
It was a sneaker I'd never seen before.
Rugged and oversized even at a glance, a foreign-brand sneaker that had to be at least a men's 280mm.
It was absolutely not mine — I was the only adult man in this house — and just as obviously not Jisu's.
'Huh? What is this...? Did someone come over?'
Just as I narrowed my eyes, wondering if I'd seen it wrong, an unfamiliar sound broke through the silence that should have filled the house, burrowing into my ears.
A grand R&B beat, the kind you'd only hear on an Instagram reel or in some trendy café.
That trendy hip-hop track, its bass booming low, was drifting out from deep inside the living room.
An inexplicable sense of wrongness closed over me in an instant.
In the middle of the day, in a house that should be empty — what were these huge men's sneakers doing here? And this music?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart began to pound with an unease I couldn't name.
Holding my breath, I opened the arched sliding inner door — just barely, so very slowly.
I scanned the living room through the gap, silent as it swung open, but no one was there.
'Huh? What the... Not in the living room...'
The source of the music was unmistakable.
The master bedroom.
The few steps it took to cross the living room past the inner door felt as heavy as wading through a swamp.
And the farther I crept, killing every footstep, the more I began to catch something threaded between those booming beats — a sound that was not music.
Shloop. Chk. Ob...
The sound of wet flesh pressed tightly together and torn apart again — obscenely, unshakably damp friction.
The moment that naked sound reached my ears,
my whole body went rigid.
My mind went white.
My heart surged so violently it felt like it would burst.
My mouth went bone-dry, and an indescribable chill crawled up from the pit of my stomach.
Instinctively, my brain was screaming a warning.
Don't open that door...
But the suspicion that had swallowed my reason whole was already dragging my feet to the master bedroom door.
The door stood open — just a sliver, the faintest gap.
Forgetting even how to breathe, I peered into that gap with trembling eyes.
The first thing to enter my vision was a stranger's broad back.
A powerfully built man, stark naked from the waist down, his underwear stripped off with the rest, standing tall and exposed.
And when my gaze slid down past his waist, my breath caught in my throat.
Crouched before the man was a woman.
Both hands clamped around the man's firm hips, head pumping furiously back and forth, utterly absorbed in what she was doing.
Every time she tossed her hair while gasping for breath, a sliver of her profile peeked through — and there was no mistaking that silhouette. It belonged to the person I knew best in the world.
Chk. Shlooop. Ob...
Wet, brazen sounds poured ceaselessly through the open gap in the door — sounds rough and explicit enough to drown out even the trendy music filling the room.
"Ahh... Hayul's mom. Wow... this is seriously so good."
The man's youthful moan slipped through the gap and stabbed sharply into my eardrums.
For a moment my head went numb, as if I'd been struck hard across the skull.
It was a low, thick voice — hard to trust my own ears — yet with a strangely youthful ring to it.
Even at a passing glance, it was the voice of a young man, maybe early-to-mid twenties.
As if answering that voice, my wife's head — hands gripping the man's hips — moved faster, more breathlessly.
Shloop, chk, shluuuuck...
That slick, obscene friction scraped relentlessly across my eardrums, loud enough to swallow the hip-hop beat filling the room.
Short of breath, my wife pulled away from him for a moment, gasping, and murmured:
"I told you to call me noona... hehe. Chk."
In her voice as she egged the man on was a coquettish, clinging nasal sweetness I could never have imagined from the way she spoke to me.
"Yes... hnngh, noona... ngh."
My mind didn't just go white — it felt wholly paralyzed.
Faced with so overwhelming a scene, I couldn't even summon anger.
My whole body simply went cold, and I couldn't tell whether the floor I stood on was reality at all.
Before the betrayal could even surface, what welled up first was an unbearable, absurd hollowness.
This was the wife who always claimed she was too tired, that her jaw hurt — who cut me off halfway no matter how desperately I begged her to suck me until my knees gave out.
And now I was watching that same woman crouched between another young man's legs, throwing herself at him with everything she had. It felt like my chest was being torn open.
Chk. Shlooop. Ob...
My wife dove back down and began sucking him in a frenzy.
Every time she sealed herself over him — swallowing him whole before pulling away — some mortifying sound rang through the bedroom.
"You like it that much? Something's pouring out of this cock, haha. Chk. Shloop."
Caught mid-glimpse of her looking up at him, she pulled off for a breath and giggled.
The man was already beyond reason, his hips quivering finely as he groaned.
"Yes... ah, you suck cock so well. Ah... I'm gonna come..."
"Heheh, chk. Then come. But in exchange you'll get it back up right away and fuck me again — like last time. Shloop."
With every word that fell from my wife's mouth, it felt like a bomb was detonating inside my chest.
The shocks kept coming, wave after wave.
'Come? In her mouth? Wow... that fucking bitch.'
A memory flashed before my eyes: the one time I'd accidentally finished in my wife's mouth, and how — complaining that the fishy taste wouldn't leave — she'd thrown a hysterical fit and refused oral sex for months.
And now that woman was saying she'd take this young punk's load without a word of complaint.
Worse — "like last time, get it back up."
Meaning this wasn't the first time.
How many times had they done this, deceiving me, in the bedroom of my own house? I couldn't even begin to guess, and the vertigo made my vision swim.
"I... I'm gonna come, noona. Ah, hngh! Ngh!"
The man's breathing grew ragged, teetering on the edge, and my wife — as if determined not to lose a drop — took him deep into her mouth in one swallow and sucked him hard.
Shluuuck, chk, chk!
"Ah... aaahhh... hnngh... hahh..."
At last the man vented a hot breath, his back arching rigid as he came, moaning in agony from the unbearable sensitivity that followed.
"Ah... noona, that's enough. Hoo, stop... hahh..."
But my wife, as if she refused to waste a single drop of what he'd spilled, kept herself sealed against him to the very end and began swallowing his semen down her throat.
Gulp. Gulp...
I heard it — the naked sound of something sliding down her throat.
And afterward, as she licked him mercilessly clean, gasping with satisfaction, all I could do was stand there trembling at the silhouettes of the two of them glimpsed through that open gap in the door.