Department Store (3)
Around the time the two mothers and their daughters were beginning to take each other's measure in the fitting rooms, Hanbyul — who had come all the way to the department store — did not so much as glance at a single rack of clothes. He went straight to the restroom.
The reason being...
"Jiwoo~"
"What are you doing."
Not even a full day had passed, and his wife had already snapped right back to her usual self.
"I came to buy a swimsuit."
"..."
Something ominous came riding in on the silence.
"What...?"
"Ah... n-no, I mean..."
"Say it clearly. And don't you dare feed me some half-assed excuse."
"I-I came to buy a swimsuit... babe..."
"Ha. Fuck."
Through the phone came a violent CRASH — the sound of something being smashed to pieces.
"Hey. You're a married man, aren't you?"
"Y-yeah, I married you and we even had a kid, so... I am a married man, right...?"
"Fine. A summer trip? The beach...? Okay. I can be the bigger person and let that slide. But..."
"..."
A murderous edge crept into her voice, and a shiver prickled down the shell of his ear.
"A swimsuit, though? Are you fucking kidding me? So you can go seduce some other bitch? Heading out hunting tonight? What, you running an ad? Hi, I'm a whore, please fuck me? You take Jia along and then grind up against some other woman — oh, Jia's just gonna love that. You horny little shit."
The words came machine-gunning out of Jiwoo so fast he couldn't get a single syllable in.
"Hey. Am I wrong...?"
"N-no..."
"HEY!!!!"
He could picture it perfectly — the veins standing out on her neck as she bellowed into the phone.
"Not that? So then what I said is right?"
"N-no... that's not... I'm not buying it for that kind of reason..."
"Jeon Hanbyul. You are a real piece of work. A goddamn whore."
The way a person who's truly, viscerally furious sometimes runs clean out of words.
"Haa..."
Jiwoo let out a long breath and said nothing at all.
"..."
A few seconds of silence stretched out like an eternity. Then, at last—
"Hey. Jeon Hanbyul."
"Y-yeah... Jiwoo..."
"Film a video. Right now."
"Huh?"
"Are you talking back to me?"
"N-no..."
"Then fucking film it. I said film it, so film it."
"O-okay..."
He thought that would be the end of the call. It was not. Jiwoo had one more demand.
"Put the swimsuit on and film it. You horny married piece of shit."
Click.
She hung up without so much as a goodbye. She was well and truly furious.
She's actually pissed.
In all the time he had lived with Jiwoo, she had only ever blown up this badly twice. How he handled this particular disaster would decide whether that number stayed at two — or became three.
"The swimsuit first. Okay."
He scrambled. He grabbed the most obscene swimsuit he could find, paid with the card Jiwoo had given him, and fled into the restroom on that same floor as if something were chasing him.
Click.
Fortunately the restroom was empty, which made what came next a little easier than it might have been.
He slipped into the last stall, locked the door, propped his phone on the toilet-paper holder, and hurriedly hit record.
"Haa... hahh... J-Jiwoo, just wait a second..."
He stripped in a rush and pulled on the swimsuit he had just bought.
It was a garment made famous by shota settings — those tight gym shorts called bloomers, the buruma — redesigned just enough to pass as a swimsuit. In practice it was barely different from a crop top paired with a pair of drawer-briefs stretched skin-tight.
He was a married man. The concept for this video, however, was shota. It was a bit Jiwoo had asked him for now and then back in high school, when they were dating and falling into bed together.
He had never in his wildest dreams imagined he would be doing it again twenty years later.
Self-loathing hit him almost immediately — and then vanished just as fast. The simple fact that he was filming a masturbation video in a public restroom had shoved him straight into heat, and in the space of a breath the shame and the discomfort were gone, replaced by a raw, climbing excitement.
"J-Jiwoo noona..."
He didn't know how to start, so he called his wife's name. With one adjustment: he made her his noona.
"Noona, can you see okay...?"
He pretended to fuss innocently with the camera, then gathered the spit in his mouth and drew it out in a long, glistening thread. His soft palate came into view, and with it a flushed, crimson tongue moving with lazy, deliberate filth.
"Slurp... y-you can see really well, huh...♡"
He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Jiwoo noona... I have something to tell youuu..."
He glanced around the empty stall as if he were about to confess a secret, checking every corner, playing at being nervous.
"H-Hanbyul's cock feels so weiiiird...♡"
The line that had closed out his last video had become the opening of this one.
His breath came in little pants. He let his tongue loll out and gazed into the lens with a dazed, faraway look.
"I-I want noona to fix it for me. But noona isn't heeere..."
He tipped the camera down until his thighs were in frame, then pushed the bottoms down.
"Hanbyul's... cock... it's standing up all stiff..."
A cock far too thick and heavy for the boy he was pretending to be stood swollen and twitching, a thin thread of precum already drooling from the tip.
"I wanna go splurt, splurt in noona's mouth-pussy..."
He wrapped his hand around himself and stroked slowly, from the head all the way down to the root.
"Hnnn~♡ I didn't know it felt like thiiis..."
Maybe it was the public restroom. He was far more sensitive than he had been the last time. The pleasure of dragging his own hand along his own cock felt better, right now, than it had when Jiwoo had actually taken him in her mouth.
Slap. Slap-slap-slap. Slap-slap-slap.
He zoned out completely, lost in nothing but the act of getting himself off.
Ah... right. I have to film this.
He stopped what he was doing, leaned his back against the stall wall, and slouched just enough that both his flushed face and his swollen cock would fit in the shot.
His cheeks were burning as if he'd been drinking. His eyes had gone soft and unfocused, the look of someone under a spell.
A petty little sulk had started to bloom in him — at Jiwoo, for leaving him in this state — and without quite meaning to, he began to get bratty.
"I don't need noona's mouth-pussy anymooore... my hand feels so much betteeer... stroking it feels so much nicer..."
He said it, and his hand began to move on himself again, slow and deliberate.
"It feels better than getting squeezed between noona's tits..."
Somewhere along the way the story had shifted. He had started out aching for his noona. Now he didn't need her at all.
"Way better than those udders that slosh around like a fat sow's...♡"
He couldn't tell if he was talking about his wife, Jiwoo — or about Iseul's mother, Jiwoo noona. It was all getting mixed up. They only shared a name. They were completely different people. And yet inside his head they were bleeding into each other.
"N-noona... my cock's getting hotter little by little..."
He hadn't even done that much, and already the urge to come was swelling fast. It was probably leftover from the bus — from grinding himself against Jiwoo noona's pussy.
"If I put my cock in noona's fat pussy... would it feel better than thiiis...?"
He didn't know who he was picturing. He only knew the image: a wide, vulgar pelvis forced open, and himself pushing into the hole at the center of it.
"Kh-hhhhhnnn...!!!"
He came from the thought alone — the way a virgin cock might spill the instant it was put inside someone.
Spllurt. Splurt... splt...
The strength went out of his legs. He slid down the wall and sat down hard on the floor.
Of all the stalls in the restroom, his happened to be a squat toilet. He ended up perched on the rim while his twitching cock poured out cum in thick, shameless pulses — a thoroughly filthy picture, like some little kid who'd been dragged off by a passing noona, stripped of his virginity, and left writhing in pleasure on a public bathroom floor.
"N-noona..."
He waited until his cock had finished emptying itself, then pushed himself back up.
Even after coming, it was still standing stiff. The sight of it was obscenely lewd.
The orgasm had cleared his head a little. As the heat receded, his mind began to crawl back into place.
"Jiwoo noona, how was it? Did you like it? You're not secretly watching this and touching yourself right now, are you~♡"
He closed it out on a note of gentle teasing. Before he stopped the recording, though, he figured he ought to show her the swimsuit one more time, so he bent to pick up the bottoms he had discarded.
"Ugh... the smell of cum..."
Semen had splattered in every direction. His top was already yellowing with it, throwing off a thick, musky scent like chestnut blossoms in full bloom.
"Hup..."
The bottoms were so tight he could barely work himself back into them, but he managed it somehow. Whether it was that crushing squeeze, or the sudden, unbidden image of Jiwoo noona's lush, heavy body flashing through his mind in that single instant...
The cock trapped inside those near-vacuum-tight bottoms twitched and swelled even larger, and the pressure was more than he could take.
"Hhooooook!!!"
He came inside the swimsuit.
Spllurt... splurt... splllurrrt...
It was a tighter grip than anything he had ever felt. He didn't have room to think about Jiwoo, or Jiwoo noona, or anyone at all. His eyes rolled back. His mouth pursed into a tight little O. His hips shook in wild, helpless spasms.
There was so much cum the swimsuit couldn't hold it. A sticky, yellowish flood leaked out at his belly and down the insides of his thighs.
"Kh-hhhnn..."
His legs trembled like a newborn calf's. He barely kept himself upright long enough to reach out, grab the camera, and turn it on himself.
"Noona, look at thiiis...♡"
He let the lens drink in his body — filthy, dripping, glazed from the waist down. Then, as if to put a bow on it, he tilted the camera up until his face filled the frame.
"Jiwoo no... noona... I love youuu...♡"
He let the tail of I love you lift into a sweet little lilt, and showed her an ahegao.
Only when the chime told him the recording had ended did he come back to himself.
"Haa... i-it's oveeer..."
"Jiwoo's pissed, so I should send this fast..."
He typed Jiwoo into the messenger. Two contacts popped up. In his hurry, he tapped the one at the top and hit send.
"Ah, but how am I supposed to walk out of here...?"
He wiped himself down roughly with toilet paper, changed back into the clothes he had arrived in, and stuffed the bloomers — now thoroughly pickled in cum — into the shopping bag from the swimsuit counter. Then he stepped out.
And in that exact moment, a ringtone buzzed against his hip.
"Huh? She already watched the whole thing...?"
Puzzled, he picked up.
"Jeon Hanbyul. You gonna send it or not?"
"...?"
What the hell is she talking about?
Meanwhile, at that same moment, Jiwoo was just stepping out of the fitting room with her daughter when a chime went off on her phone. She tilted her head and checked the screen.
"Huh...? What's this? Spam...?"
She opened the message to see what Hanbyul had sent her.
"Hnnn!?"
The video hadn't even started playing. The thumbnail alone was enough. There was Hanbyul, wearing a swimsuit, doing something that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"W-what is this...?"
Something about it felt deeply, dangerously off. Muttering an excuse about needing the bathroom, Jiwoo abandoned Iseul where she stood and fled.
She swallowed hard.
Then she sat down on the toilet lid, and pressed play on the video Hanbyul had sent her.