Chapter 1 — A Married Woman and... Daytime Sex - Part 1 (1)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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By the time I reached my early thirties, plain sex had lost its appeal.

To be honest, I've always believed men aren't truly aroused by the act of penetration itself—but by the atmosphere leading up to it. The tension, the secrecy, the forbidden edge.

The more I searched for excitement, the more I was drawn to one particular fantasy: sex with a married woman.

Another man's wife. Doesn't that stir something deep inside? The thought of her returning home, still trembling from my touch, moaning under me one moment, then standing before her husband as if nothing happened—it's intoxicating.

I often wondered: when my hot semen spills deep inside her, what would she be thinking? Would she feel that same electric thrill men do? I was desperate to know.

My first experience with a married woman began because of a junior colleague. He was two years younger, but looked like a middle-aged manager—his face aged beyond his years.

He knew his shortcomings well, which is why he frequented adult entertainment bars—not the kind where people dance awkwardly, but places where married men and women gather in quiet pursuit of discreet affairs.

He raved about a hotel in Gangnam, claiming it had an excellent selection. I followed him a few times, but the atmosphere never clicked with me. The women were too aloof, too guarded. Three failed attempts left me frustrated.

Oddly, my youthful appearance—something I usually took pride in—worked against me. I looked too innocent, too harmless for this world.

Eventually, an older colleague suggested another spot, one with a much higher success rate. Skeptical but curious, I gave it a try.

The interior wasn't as polished, the women less glamorous—but the vibe was different. Looser. More desperate, maybe. And that made it promising.

I wasn't the type to flatter or beg for attention, so this place suited me better.

I went with my junior colleague, and we settled into a booth.

The hall buzzed with loud, mid-tempo music—neither disco nor rock, just a steady throb. Women danced in erratic, almost mechanical motions, as if performing some strange ritual.

A waiter approached to introduce potential companions. After two unsuccessful introductions, he brought over a woman who immediately caught my eye. There was something undeniably sultry about her.

"Hello," I said.

She smiled awkwardly."Uh... hi."

"Do you come here often?"

We exchanged the usual small talk. When the blues music started, I took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

Might as well get some physical contact, I thought. At least grind against her chest a little.

I placed my hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. As we swayed, I gently drew her toward me. Her soft breasts pressed against my chest—warm, yielding, perfect.

I smirked inwardly. Definitely a good sign.

Then I felt her flinch.

Hmm. Sensitive. She reacted to that slight touch...

I slid my right leg slightly between hers, brushing against her groin as we turned. Again, a subtle jerk—she felt it.

We danced a few more slow songs, then returned to our seats. After a beer, she mentioned she'd come with her older sister and asked if we'd like to join them.

My colleague agreed immediately.

Her "older sister" arrived—middle-aged, quite overweight, but not unattractive. What stood out was the hungry look in her eyes as she stared at my colleague.

What's so great about him? She looks like she hasn't eaten in days...

We sat together for about an hour. Then my woman said she had to go home. Before leaving, I made sure to get her phone number.

The next day, around 3 p.m., she called.

"Hello... is this David?"

"Yeah... who is this?"

"It's me... we met yesterday at the venue..."

"Oh... hohoho... you actually called?"

Our conversation was loud, chaotic. I soon realized she was in the middle of a piano lesson.

Ah... a piano teacher, huh.

She said she'd call me back later since she was teaching. About three hours passed before my phone rang again.

We agreed to meet the next day at a café in a hotel in Myeongdong.

I doubted we'd sleep together that soon—she was married, after all.

The next afternoon, I waited in the hotel café. Then I saw her walk in.

She was slightly shorter than I remembered, petite, dressed neatly—almost too formally. Maybe because we were in public, she smiled quietly, without speaking too loudly.

"You came early?" I asked.

"No, I just arrived."

Over coffee, I studied her carefully.

She looked about 38 to 40. Fine lines around her eyes, hair permed in a slightly provocative style. Meeting in broad daylight, at a hotel—what if someone we knew showed up? And she looked older than me. It felt awkward.

I suggested we take a drive.

As we drove along the Olympic Highway, she told me her husband was a businessman who often traveled abroad—gone for one or two months at a time.

I usually avoid interrogating women about their lives. If I ask, they'll ask me back. Telling the truth gets me nowhere, lying feels cheap.

So all I knew was this: she was married, her husband was away often, and she gave piano lessons part-time.

And honestly? That was enough.

We ended up near Misa-ri, where cafés lined one side of the road and a few restaurants faced them across the street—few establishments, quiet.

The sun had just set. It was dim. Inside the car, she seemed lively, laughing often.

Of course, I've always had a knack for making people laugh. It's not hard when you know how to spin a story.

(Alright… the tension's broken. Time to move things forward.)

I gently placed my hand on her leg. She didn't pull away.

Encouraged, I leaned in, staring into her face. She looked back, her expression shifting strangely.

"Hoho… why are you staring like that?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I moved closer, aiming for a kiss.

But she turned her head.

"Don't… we just met today."

I knew the game—women often resist even when they want it. No, no… yes, yes… until finally, Mmm… hurry…

I tried again. Again, she pulled back.

It was clear now—today wasn't the day.

"You're uncomfortable?" I asked.

"I may be outgoing, but I'm not some easy woman!"

Not easy? I thought. With that look, that hair, that vibe?

Fine. She was married. I'd wait.

We ended the drive there, agreeing to meet again.

Next time, I would have her. I was determined.