The Widow in Black Mourning Attire ♡
One warm afternoon, the Yamashita Residence no longer resembled its former temple-like grandeur. Instead, it looked like the perfectly ordinary, cheerful home of a middle-class family. Family shoes lined up neatly at the entrance, and the living room walls were adorned with happy family photos chronicling Chiharu and Koharu's growth.
Yet amid this mundane scene lurked a discordant shadow of death. In the prime corner of the living room stood a small ebony butsudan altar. At its center sat a portrait photo of Tatsuhiro Yamashita, smiling benignly, while thin white incense smoke rose sadly from the censer before it. He had passed away a few months earlier in a sudden traffic accident.
In the quiet house, a woman sat before a mirror in a second-floor bedroom. Yamashita Aki. Her body was enveloped in a pitch-black mourning kimono that clung tightly, suppressing every curve. The flawless, highest-grade black silk seemed to swallow even light, deep and silent. Her long black hair was pinned up in a proper widow's bun, and her face was shadowed by grief over her lost husband and the heavy burden of raising two daughters alone. But beneath that sorrow, a different, deeper darkness swirled in her eyes—anxiety.
It was then.
Ding-dong—
The sharp chime of the doorbell shattered the house's silence.
Aki's shoulders twitched. No way... With trembling steps, she descended to the first floor and checked the intercom screen at the door. A young man in a black luxury suit stood there, unknown to her. But his face bore not the sorrow of a condolence visitor, but an arrogant, cruel smile that seemed to know everything.
...He's here.
Aki didn't open the door, desperately holding out. But she knew. This door would open eventually.
How much time passed? Resigned, she unlocked it with shaking hands.
The door swung open, and Jinwoo stepped inside. He strode to the living room as if it were his own home, sinking deep into the sofa and crossing his legs. His gaze fell on Tatsuhiro's portrait on the altar.
"A fine husband, wasn't he? Hardworking, loved his family... and had quite the business acumen too. If that new venture he'd clung to so desperately right up to his death had succeeded, you'd all be multimillionaires by now. Such a pity."
His voice was mockery disguised as consolation—cruel.
"You...!" Aki's voice trembled with rage. "How... how could you do this! We didn't trust you! It's not even been a year since my husband died!"
"Trust?" Jinwoo scoffed. "I never sold trust. I merely... made a deal."
He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the table. It was an investment contract bearing Tatsuhiro Yamashita's handwritten signature.
"Your husband borrowed a fortune in business capital from me. And as collateral... he put up this house, and... you and your two daughters."
He rose and approached her. "Now... I've come to collect the debt, Aki."
His hand roughly seized her plump ass over the black mourning kimono.
"No...!" Aki shoved his hand away and stumbled back. "If it weren't for my money," Jinwoo's voice turned icy cold, "this house would already be the bank's, and you and your two little sluts would be homeless beggars on the street right now. Is that... what you wanted?"
Aki had no reply.
"Now behave... and pay your debt, widow." He gripped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. "With that hot body still bearing your husband's traces."
The moment his lips devoured hers, Tatsuhiro's portrait on the altar seemed to tremble faintly—as if his lingering spirit were screaming, watching his wife taken by another male.
His kiss was violent. Mocking her resistance, he thrust his tongue in, ravaging her mouth. One hand fixed her nape; the other roamed over her mourning kimono. His touch wasn't comfort for a grieving widow. It was the cold inspection of a master appraising his property. He roughly untied the black obi binding her waist. With a soft shrrk of silk, the final restraint fell away. The obi hit the floor, and her voluptuous curves stood out even more starkly beneath the kimono. He parted the collar wide. Over her pristine white nagajuban, her heavy, full breasts were revealed. He buried his face in them, inhaling her flesh and the scent of sorrow like a starving beast.
"Nghh...♡" A stifled moan escaped Aki's lips. He tore off even her undergarments and brutally gripped her exposed, ample breasts.
"This... is the first offering your husband collateralized to me."
He latched onto her flushed nipple, sucking like milk before gnawing roughly. Her body quivered in humiliation and unwanted pleasure. He shoved her onto the living room sofa. The black kimono disheveled, exposing her pale thighs shamefully. Ruthlessly, he wedged his body between her legs.
"And this... is the second offering."
Jinwoo hiked up her kimono hem, preparing to impale her deepest, wettest place with his own. Tears streaming, she desperately turned her head. Her gaze met her husband's smiling portrait on the altar.
Dear... I'm sorry...
Jinwoo savored her desperate eyes. He seized her chin again, forcing her to face him, and devoured her tear-wet lips once more.
"Mmmph... slurp...♡"
His tongue stirred her mouth, sucking out every trace of sorrow and resignation.
Without breaking the kiss, he hiked her kimono higher and thrust his hot, rigid cock into her deepest, sopping pussy.
"Haaahhhhnngg!♡♡♡ No! Stop!"
A scream like a banshee's wail burst from her. Raw penetration, no prep, no foreplay. Her body resisted fiercely, but before his overwhelming strength, it was mere futile thrashing that only heightened his pleasure. Her tight walls, though unwilling, greedily sucked him in, flooding with slick nectar on instinct.
He began pistoning his hips madly.
"Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!"
The luxury leather sofa creaked in agony under their frenzy. Her body shook helplessly in rhythm.
"Hah! Ah! Ah! Ah!♡ No...♡ Don't...♡ This... this kind of...♡♡"
Her mouth denied it, but only panting pleas escaped, unable to contain the pleasure.
At last, his thrusts crested. He unleashed everything deep inside her—at her womb's entrance—pouring every thick, hot drop of semen.
"Haaaahhhh...♡♡♡♡♡"
Against her will, the sensation of her pussy filled to bursting triggered a bowstring-taut orgasm, her soul aflame.
But it wasn't over.
Jinwoo dragged her panting, pleasure-drunk form from the sofa. Like a beast on all fours, he hauled her before the butsudan.
He forced her ass high, facing her dead husband's portrait directly. Her plump cheeks and cum-slick pussy were obscenely exposed under his gaze.
"Behold, Tatsuhiro Yamashita."
Jinwoo taunted the portrait. "Watch your proud wife take another male's cock right before your altar. See it clearly."
From behind, he impaled her again without hesitation.
"Haaaahngg!♡♡♡ No...♡ Dear...♡ Don't look...♡ Please...!"
Aki wailed in shame and humiliation. But her body reacted even more violently to his brutal thrusts. Plap! Plap! Plap! The raw friction tore through the altar's solemn air.
"Your husband... is watching you now, Aki." Jinwoo whispered devilishly in her ear. "Wail for him. Prove with that slutty voice how much you crave me—not that dead fuck—pounding your pussy. Show it."
His cruel words snapped her last thread of reason. She denied him through sobs, but her body yearned.
"N-no...♡ I don't want you...♡ I... love my husband...♡ Haaaahngg!♡♡♡"
Before her dead husband's portrait, she denied her new master yet moaned in ecstasy on his cock. Hot tears of guilt and pleasure streamed endlessly.
Confirming her perfect contradiction, Jinwoo flooded her womb's depths once more. His hot seed splattered, defiling the dead husband's altar.
When it ended, Aki lay sprawled like a sacrificial offering before the butsudan. Her black mourning kimono was filthy with sweat, cum, and juices. And Tatsuhiro's portrait seemed to weep blood.
Jinwoo withdrew from her heaving body with a wet schlorp, his glistening, rigid cock emerging slick with his traces and her nectar.
He didn't leave her collapsed and sobbing. Grabbing her black hair roughly, he yanked her face to his crotch.
"Ngh...!"
A pungent mix of her humiliation and his arrogant musk assaulted her nose. She turned away, but his grip was iron. He smeared his cock over her tear-streaked cheek, along her smooth jawline, and across her tightly shut lips like a branding iron.
"Lick."
His voice was emotionless as a blade.
"No..." Aki's final whisper of resistance leaked out. Her body trembled like a leaf in terror and shame. "Your husband... is watching." Jinwoo nodded at the portrait. "Show him what a filthy, slutty bitch you are. Etch it in his eyes."
Those cruel words shook her to despair. Slowly, she closed her eyes. Trembling, she extended her tongue and tentatively lapped at his tip. The salty, fishy, humiliating taste of her juices mixed with his semen.
"Lick... lick..."
Seeing her surrender, he smirked, gripped her hair, and shoved himself between her lips. "Mmph!" Her teeth grazed his shaft; her tongue desperately licked him clean. Wet smack, slurp sounds filled the quiet living room obscenely.
"Not enough."
Unsatisfied with mere cleaning, he skullfucked her like a toy. Her mouth became a torture chamber enduring his violence. Each deep throat thrust brought tears.
"Glrk! Gagh! Mmph!"
Finally, with a low groan, he erupted thick semen deep in her mouth. Half-withdrawn, he commanded.
"Show."
Trembling in shame, she stuck out her tongue. White, sticky cum pooled on her red tongue like a badge of humiliation. Her dead husband's portrait gazed silently.
"Swallow."
Eyes shut, she gulped it down with her last shred of dignity.