The Side of My Wife I Never Knew (2)
Beneath the dim glow of the park lights, I could see Sangjun's silhouette pacing restlessly by a bench in the far corner, just as we'd arranged.
Even in the sticky night air, the boy fidgeted endlessly, glancing down at his phone over and over.
As I shuffled closer and closed the distance, he caught the sound of my footsteps and jerked his head up. The moment he recognized me, his face drained white under the streetlamp.
His whole body trembling, he bent his back into a rigid ninety degrees and bowed.
"Ah... Father..."
I walked right up to him. Sangjun couldn't even meet my eyes; he stared at the ground, breath coming in ragged gulps.
The instant I came face to face with that boyish, guilt-crushed expression, the shameless things I'd overheard in the bathroom and the marks seared into my own bed exploded back to life in my skull. An unbearable wave of humiliation and fury swallowed my reason whole.
Crack—!
The sound of flesh splitting rang out sharp and violent through the quiet corner of the park.
Sangjun's head snapped sideways; the shock of the blow knocked him off balance, and he landed hard on his rear against the edge of the bench. With a dazed look on his face, he clutched his rapidly swelling cheek and looked up at me through trembling eyes.
I glared down at him and spat out a single crushing line.
"Fucking felt good, did it?"
"......"
Unable to answer, Sangjun just quivered at the lips and buried his head again. Faced with the flawless, undeniable evidence of his own ruin, the boy had simply turned to stone.
Still breathing hard, I took another step toward him. Then, without a moment's hesitation, I reached out and seized him by the crotch — grabbing his cock right through his pants.
"Hhk...!"
Startled, he instinctively thrust out a hand to push my wrist away. But the instant his fingertips brushed my arm, I murmured, low and even.
"Want me to spread it around your whole school?"
The moment that cutting threat struck his ears, the hand frozen mid-air shook violently. All the blood had drained from his face; he stopped moving entirely.
Still gripping him, I gave the order with eyes gone cold.
"Hands. Behind your back. Now."
When Sangjun hesitated, glancing around desperately, I tightened my grip on his balls and drove it home.
"Ah — if I have to tell you one more time to get your hands off, we're done. Behind your back."
My ice-cold ultimatum frightened him so badly that he yelped and hastily whipped both hands around, clasping them behind his back. He looked like a slave stripped of every last ounce of will to resist.
With his hands bound, I palmed his defenseless cock hard through the fabric of his pants, kneading it. And then — the sheer weight that traveled up through my palm stopped my breath for a beat.
...Huh. So that's the one thing about this little bastard that isn't pathetic. God... he's... big...
His unexpected size hit me like a hammer from the inside. I could suddenly see, right in front of me, exactly why my wife had thrown herself at this unremarkable young thing so shamelessly, begging and simpering the way she had — and along with a strange, bitter inferiority complex, an uncontrollable irritation surged up in my chest.
Anger boiled over the top of my skull, and in a flash of temper I squeezed down on the thing in my hand as if to crush it.
"Aaghk...! Hhk...!"
A tearing, pain-racked moan burst from Sangjun's mouth. It must have hurt beyond bearing — the hands behind his back jerked forward involuntarily before he caught himself. When I glared at him with wide, furious eyes, he swallowed the sound and froze solid.
Then I yanked my grip roughly downward and let go.
"Aghk...!"
Unable even to clutch himself, his face twisted in agony, Sangjun crumpled limply to the ground. The sight of him kneeling in the dirt, groaning and writhing, was almost too pathetic to watch.
I looked down at him with frigid eyes, then turned away.
"Enough with the theatrics, you little shit. Get up and follow me."
Hands stuffed in my pockets, I set off at an unhurried pace along the park path. Behind me came the scrape of movement — Sangjun, who had been crouched and moaning, managed to haul his hunched body upright. Whether from the pain or the fear, he couldn't walk straight; he came creeping after my back like something crawling, unsteady on his feet.
The place I led this halting, groan-suppressing boy to was the most ordinary kind of private-room bar in the busy nightlife alley near the park — the sort of cheap, working-class room pub you see all over the college districts these days, walled off on all sides with sliding doors, perfect for a quiet conversation no one could overhear.
Perhaps because it was a late weeknight rather than a weekend, the place was nearly empty. Under the low lighting, rows of sliding doors lined the narrow corridor, packed flush against one another. A guide led us to a tucked-away room, and as I slid the door shut, the noise of the outside world cut off, replaced by the damp, claustrophobic silence peculiar to sealed rooms. It wrapped around the two of us like a second skin.
The moment Sangjun stepped into the room, he couldn't bring himself to sit. He stood rigid beside the door like a condemned prisoner, watching my face for any flicker of intent. His cheek was still bloated and red, and his legs trembled faintly — no doubt from the throbbing between them.
I shrugged off my coat, tossed it on the seat beside me, and slid deep into the far side of the booth. Without even opening the menu, I tapped through the tablet mounted on the table, ordering two bottles of soju and whatever side dishes came up first. The cheerful little chime of the completed order rang through the room and made the tension between us stretch even tighter.
I jerked my chin toward the seat across from me and spoke in a low voice.
"Sit."
Swallowing a strangled groan, Sangjun lowered himself onto the chair with his legs braced awkwardly apart. Even as he sat, he kept shifting his weight minutely — the ache in his groin clearly hadn't faded. I watched him squirm in silence for a moment, forearms resting on the table, then asked flatly.
"Age."
"Twenty-one... sir..."
The voice came out crawling on its belly.
...Twenty-one?
A hollow laugh rose in my throat. With his height and that worn, mature face, I'd assumed he was a returning student fresh out of his military service — but he was nothing more than a twenty-one-year-old pup. The fact that this kid hadn't even served yet, that he barely knew how the world worked, made my blood boil. For an instant, heat rushed to my head and my hand lurched up out of nowhere.
"You greasy-faced little—!"
"Hhk...!"
Sangjun flinched like he was having a seizure, throwing both hands up to shield his face. The terror of the slap in the park had clearly been branded into his bones. Through the gaps between his thinly trembling fingers, I could see his frightened eyes flickering.
"Haah..."
I exhaled hard and slowly lowered my hand, forcing down the rising fury with clenched fists.
"Do you know how old Jisu is?"
"Yes... sir."
"She's eighteen years older than you, fuck. You like doing that with a woman old enough to be your mother, hm? Your aunt's age? Huh?"
Under that furious barrage, Sangjun became a man with a mouthful of honey — utterly mute. He bowed his head all the way down to his chest and simply gasped for breath, like a criminal awaiting sentencing.
Heavy silence settled over the room again. As I stared quietly at the crown of his head, the vivid sensation of gripping his heavy cock in my hand back in the park flashed across my mind. As a fellow man, it filled me with a queasy, skin-crawling revulsion — and yet at the same time, a monstrous curiosity welled up inside me that wouldn't stop.
I was dying to know what kind of pleasure that obscenely huge thing had given my wife. This was the same Jisu who, in bed with me, treated sex like a chore — grinding through it with all the enthusiasm of a woman running an errand, hurrying me along until it was over. That same wife, in front of this green kid, had spread her legs, begged hoarsely for him to fuck her harder, and even swallowed his seed with a look of sweet satisfaction.
In the depths of that misery — rage and jealousy slicing my pride as a husband to ribbons — the perverse, degenerate situation, paradoxically, sent my blood boiling with a shameless sexual charge. I swallowed hard and asked, in the lowest, most conspiratorial voice I could manage.
"Did she like it...?"
Startled by the sudden question, Sangjun's head shot up. When his eyes met mine — slick and glistening with something vile — bewilderment spread across his face.
"I'm... sorry? What do you...?"
"Did Jisu like it. That's what I'm asking, fuck."
At my snarled insistence, Sangjun's lips simply flapped, flustered beyond thought. Testifying to his own wife's pleasure — in front of her husband — had apparently short-circuited the boy's brain entirely. I propped my chin on my hand and said, coldly:
"Ha. You really want to make me say it a third time?"
As that low, frigid threat reverberated through the room, Sangjun's shoulders flinched visibly. The fear that the video on my phone could be splattered across his school's forums at any moment had him by the throat, shaking him like a rag doll. He swallowed frantically and blurted it out.
"Y-yes sir! She... she really, really liked it...! Nuna — I mean, Hayul's mother... she loved it...!"