The Cuckold's Release
My wife had aroused me. My hand began to move on its own beneath the blanket. Sujung’s low, steady breathing sounded exactly like the moans she had been holding back last night while listening to my brother-in-law’s jokes. The fact that my wife—whose deepest places I had never once properly opened—had been drenched by another man’s filthy words right in front of her own husband sent a merciless pressure through my prostate.
Right now she wears the face of a demure wife in her sleep… but last night your body took in every single one of those vulgar sounds without missing a single one.
I slowly turned my head and looked at Sujung’s back. The curve of her waist peeking above the blanket looked especially lewd. Imagining the way my brother-in-law must have stared at that line, how many more explicit bedroom secrets he had whispered into her ear while using my own snoring as cover, made my cock throb painfully hard.
It was no ordinary erection. It was a grotesque, poisonous mushroom of an erection—my long-suppressed male instincts blooming under the most humiliating fertilizer imaginable.
“Nngh… hah…”
I bit my lip and swallowed the moan. Jealousy was no longer pain. It had become the perfect material for voyeuristic pleasure, a way to savor my wife’s hidden lewdness. Sujung was still deeply asleep. Yet I knew that even if she woke tomorrow morning and returned to being the proper wife, the depraved heat that had been carved into her body last night would never fade. And the fact that the spark had come from my brother-in-law’s lips, not mine, kept pushing me deeper into a dark, sticky pit of pleasure.
Matching the rhythm of her breathing, I recalled the sticky evidence that had clung to my fingertips last night and roughly comforted myself. Under the relentless rush of arousal, my hand grew rougher. Every time the coarse texture of the blanket brushed my skin, the stimulation felt alien yet devastating.
Honestly, I could hardly believe it myself. For years I had used her frigidity as an excuse to avoid marital relations. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried. In the early days of our marriage I had bought expensive lubricants, booked nice hotels, and attempted long, patient foreplay, desperate to awaken whatever instinct lay hidden beneath her demure shell. I had caressed her until my fingers went numb, ready to do anything if it would make her feel something.
But the only response I ever received was her cold, detached voice.
“Oppa, are you still not done? It hurts a little…”
That stony reaction. The dry, duty-bound eyes staring at the ceiling. A body that claimed to love me yet never produced a single drop of dew beneath my touch. Every failed attempt eventually turned into self-loathing, until the bed became nothing more than a piece of furniture for sleeping. Repeated rejection and indifference had castrated the man inside me; eventually I reached the point where I rejected the very idea of desiring my wife’s body.
It had been nearly two years since I last trembled with such explicit sexual thoughts in our marital bed. Yet now I was harder than I had ever been, aroused by the memory of my wife’s “abnormal wetness” reacting to another man’s filthy words. The same lower body that had remained motionless under years of my devoted caresses had poured out thick arousal from nothing more than a few vulgar remarks from my brother-in-law.
That humiliating, thrilling reversal twisted my desire to conquer into something grotesque.
In the end… it wasn’t that my efforts were lacking. What you wanted was this kind of filth, wasn’t it? Your body responded more honestly to another man’s vulgar gaze than to my respectful foreplay.
The fact that a woman who had been so dry with me had melted so wetly inside the lewd fantasies whispered by another man while her husband looked away awakened a sadistic streak I never knew I possessed. The presence of a third party—my brother-in-law—had instantly demolished a territory my pure affection for her could never reach. The bitter, hot liquid that had seeped between my fingers was both a betrayal and the only key that could conquer the unknown territory called “wife.”
“Hah… hah… ah…”
Roughly driving myself beneath the blanket, I glared at my peacefully sleeping wife’s silhouette. The sexual desire that had lain dead inside me for two years had bared its fangs the moment I witnessed her depraved awakening. This ominous yet ecstatic energy could no longer be satisfied by simple ejaculation. It was the desire to conquer—to tear apart my wife’s demure facade and forcibly drag out the ugly instincts hidden beneath.
Imagining once more the texture of the arousal that had clung stickily to my fingerprints last night, I sank completely into an abyss where crushing emptiness and overwhelming pleasure intertwined. The fact that another man’s shadow now lay thickly over the place where my wife’s “stone-like” nature had finally cracked was driving me insane.
“Sujung-ah…”
The name I had murmured in the pitch-black tent at dawn while my drunk wife lay beneath me. The forbidden address that should have come from my brother-in-law’s lips, not mine. The image of her twisting her entire body and reaching climax in response flashed through my mind like shattered glass. The fact that a single word hinting at corruption had made her body collapse so destructively—when years of devoted caresses had met only silence—pushed my reason to its final limit.
“Nngh… hah…!”
The urge to climax crashed over me like a tidal wave. I quickly rolled away from her back, facing the edge of the bed, and violently threw off the blanket.
“Spurt, spurt… spurt…”
In the silent master bedroom, the sound of hot liquid splattering onto the floor beside the bed rang out with strange clarity. The volume was overwhelming, as though two years of pent-up desire had erupted all at once—something I could never have imagined during our usual marital relations. Staring at the white streaks scattered across the dark floor, I felt my heart pounding as if it might burst.
Whoa… what is this feeling…?
The sharp sensation that had been shooting through my prostate still lingered vividly at the tip. Every past encounter in this bed had felt like a chore. I had been forced to finish quickly while being chased by her pained, urging voice—“Oppa, are you still not done?” “It hurts, can’t you finish faster?”—those miserable ejaculations that felt like nothing more than excretion.
But this release was different. It was an uncontrollable, massive ejaculation that surged hotly from the base of my balls without my even realizing it. The fantasy of my wife’s demure shell crumbling, of her lower body growing damp in response to my brother-in-law’s crude jokes—that depraved afterimage had violently shaken awake instincts I had forgotten I possessed.
“Hah… hah… hah…”
Leaving my trembling hands to their own devices in the aftermath, I turned my head to look at my sleeping wife. She still breathed quietly, wearing her usual demure expression, completely unaware. Yet the bitter traces that had just poured from my body were blatant proof of how insane her hidden lewd potential had driven me.
The contrast between her pristine outer appearance and the filthy fluid splattered at my feet. The pleasure granted by that grotesque harmony was intensely, dizzyingly sweet. The fact that what had so desperately awakened my desire after two years of dormancy was not her purity but her “corruption” seeped all the way into my bones. These traces I had spilled were both anger at her betrayal and an offering that welcomed her perverted awakening.
I stared at the marks on the floor and caught my breath. My ragged breathing gradually calmed, yet the pounding of my heart showed no sign of stopping. If anything, in the sudden silence of the room, the sound of my heartbeat grew even louder and clearer in my ears. The intense pleasure that had just torn through my prostate still lingered thickly at the edges of my nerves.
I had never imagined that sensations left dry and dead for two long years could be so violently resurrected by nothing more than the forbidden fantasy of my wife’s “corruption.” This was only the beginning. If I could fully draw out the sticky instincts sleeping inside her body, I was more than willing to walk even deeper into this dark, hellish inferno.
I want to feel it again…
Where post-climax emptiness should have settled, a fierce thirst to taste that overwhelming stimulation once more began to rise. The instincts that had hidden behind the duty of forced ejaculation now raised their heads sharply, as if they had finally found their true master. I continued to gaze at Sujung’s peacefully sleeping back.
Tomorrow morning she would face me again with the face of a demure wife. But now I knew. I knew exactly what it took to make the body hidden beneath that clean blanket respond—and how much deeper that knowledge could drag me into pleasure. My wife’s corruption was my salvation. Once more, my heart began to pound like mad…