Chapter 1 — A Married Woman's Infidelity

I graduated college and got a job at a small professional office.

By my mid-twenties, that office was operating as a large shared workspace with many employees. I started going to my assigned desk, and that's when I first met her.

Her name was Emma. Same age as me.

Both of us were unmarried, but Emma had started working earlier, secured her position, and was practically treated like a manager at the office—her income was substantial too.

My first impression of her was cold, aloof, distant—the kind of career woman who seemed hard to approach.

She was always careful about everything, spoke calmly, and her words were precise, deliberate. Yet she had a subtle way of smiling with her eyes—something that hinted she might be open to men, just a little.

Emma oversaw nearly all the office operations, while I was completely subordinate—just a lackey.

It wasn't really an office; it was a nightmare of running errands, overtime, endless paperwork. And all for a pittance.

I often questioned whether I should even keep working there.

Of course, Emma had already established herself, moving down a completely different path than mine. At the time, she treated me like a kid, even though we were the same age.

About a month after I started, the office threw a welcome party for me. That evening, over drinks, we grew slightly more familiar.

But still, an invisible wall remained between us.

Then, maybe six months later, a few of us around the same age gathered for drinks after work—
two male seniors, both two years older than me; Emma; Thomas, who handled joint clerical duties; and me. Five of us total.

We drank heavily at a sushi restaurant for the first round, and then Emma insisted on treating us to a second round.

Back then, she was earning substantial bonuses on top of her salary—her income alone exceeded the combined monthly pay of the other four of us.

For the second round, we went to a karaoke room—back then, karaoke was the norm. The mood was great.

Someone suggested we stop being so formal and start a regular gathering just for us young ones. So we formed a group we called "The Five."

From then on, we met once a month, every third Friday.

The five of us would drink until our noses twisted sideways.

We quickly grew close, but never gave it meaning beyond friendship, beyond just being members of the group.

Still, since Emma and I worked in the same office, we shared a certain bond.

Then, two years later, I was working late one night when a man suddenly walked into the office.

He was Emma's boyfriend—her current husband.

Emma introduced him to me. After that, I'd see him occasionally—at his business opening, at their first child's first birthday party.

Emma's husband knew about our "Five" group. Even after marriage, he never objected to her staying out late with us.

At their second child's first birthday party, I brought my wife along, and we formally introduced each other.

He seemed like a nice guy.

Soon after, Emma got married. The following year, I quit that office and moved to a better-paying job.

Of course, the group continued, and the five of us remained tightly bonded.

The next year, I got married, had a child. Emma had a child too. The gatherings went on.

Years passed. By 2002, we were both past our early thirties.

And at some point, I started noticing something different in Emma's eyes when she looked at me—something secretive.

Once, during a group outing to a nightclub, the others joked that when the guys went to nightclubs, they'd ask me to dance the blues.

Why don't you ask her? I said.

"Would you understand if a woman cheated? It's thrilling, isn't it?"

She said it casually, and the others just laughed it off—but I didn't find it so simple.

Honestly, I wasn't handsome, but I'd had my share of romantic attention as a bachelor. Still, Emma had never struck me as a woman I'd desire.

I'll admit—I thought, if she ever gave in, I'd take her. But nothing more.

One night, we went to Auto, a private karaoke bar we often visited after gatherings. One of the male members left early due to work.

That left two men, two women—just us four.

We started dancing the blues in pairs.

Emma and I ended up dancing together—and she clung so tightly to me.

I finally gathered my courage and lightly touched her hip. She stared straight into my eyes, but didn't pull away—she let my hand stay.

I braced myself for a slap, but it never came. I was stunned.

When the blues music ended, one person went to make a call, another went to the bathroom. Emma and I were left alone in the room.

She sat beside me, slightly tipsy, her head gently lowered.

My heart pounding, I brought my lips to hers—and she accepted them.

We kissed deeply.

In that moment, Emma had already given me 50% permission.

After that, whenever we met at gatherings, I'd secretly hold her hand—and she'd quietly let me.

Inside me, Emma had transformed. She was no longer just a friend. She had become the woman I needed to conquer.

Spring 2001. I was working at the office, stepped outside briefly, and called Emma on her mobile.

She answered warmly.

We'd kissed, held hands—but never gone further. We were still restrained, still holding back.

I asked her to meet. Suggested we grab a drink.

And she said, "Will you buy me something delicious?"

So we met.

We watched My Sassy Girl, which was popular then, drank, and before I knew it, we'd become lovers.

One Saturday—back then, we worked until 1 p.m. on Saturdays—we met in Nampho-dong.

Emma showed up in jeans, dressed casually.

Without a care, we held hands and walked through the streets of Nampho-dong.

We felt just like real lovers.

Once, we went to a singing room. Drunk, I pulled her into my arms, and she kissed me wildly, without restraint.

I touched her breasts, then slid my hand into her pants, touching her there.

I felt the soft hair of her pubic mound.

Her hand, too, had found its way to my manhood.

When the passion ended, she turned her head away, looking exhausted. Maybe she was thinking of her family.

That was it. We didn't go further. We held back, finished our drinks, and parted.

If Emma had been a bar girl, or someone I'd met at a nightclub, I'd have pushed to take it all the way.

But she wasn't like that.

We'd known each other for so long—as friends, as colleagues. I didn't want to just take what I wanted. I wanted to respect her will.

I didn't call her again. Only met her at gatherings.

But I could tell—she was struggling.

A woman doesn't act like that unless she's given her heart.

So, in September 2001, after our group gathering ended, I quietly said to her, "Meet me in front of Daegongwon Park."

She nodded.

When I arrived, she was waiting.

I told her I was too drunk to drink more, begged her, "Let's go somewhere quiet and talk."

Ignoring her half-hearted resistance, I led her into a motel near the park.

There was nothing left to hold us back.

No words, no hesitation. We fell onto the bed, kissing fiercely, hands roaming over each other's bodies.

When I tried to undress her, she resisted—just a little. But I removed even her last piece of clothing, stripping her completely bare.

I was naked too.

I had stripped the woman I'd once seen as untouchable, completely naked.

This body, which had belonged only to her husband until now, was about to be conquered by me.

Her skin was soft. Her breasts filled my hands perfectly, her nipples small.

She had two children, and her pubic hair was slightly thick. Her vulva was a bit darker in color.

Below her navel, a cesarean scar marked her belly.

Her figure was traditionally curvy, slightly plump—classically glamorous.

I lay down and pulled her on top of me.

She started at my neck, then moved to my nipples, my navel, my thighs, my testicles—

and finally, my cock. Her oral skill was incredible.

I was nearly delirious, on the verge of passing out.

I never imagined the composed, dignified Emma could be so skilled.

She must have learned from her husband.

She whispered into my ear,

"Baby… I'm going crazy."

Then she slowly lowered her vulva onto my cock, sliding me inside.

Her body sucked me in. A pleasure I'd never felt in any other sex surged through me.

In the woman-on-top position, we fucked wildly.

Then suddenly, her phone rang.

It was her husband.

She stopped moaning, answered the call while still impaled on me, telling him she'd be home soon.

I felt strange.

I lay there, motionless. Emma sat on me, my cock buried deep inside her, talking to her husband. It was a surreal scene.

After hanging up, we resumed—fucking like mad.

I could tell she reached orgasm.

I laid her down, mounted her, and took her in missionary position.

She stared at me with wide-open eyes as I emptied my cum deep into her.

Emma had been conquered.

After sex, she didn't want to get dressed. She kept clinging to me.

I held her tightly and whispered, "I love you."

She asked me to touch her body a little longer, so I lay there, caressing her breasts and vulva for ten more minutes.

And so we ended our first night together.

As we left the motel, I pulled her into my arms one last time at the door.

"Let's meet again," I said. "And let me have you like this again."

She agreed.

Someone once said, "Building a highway is hard—but once it's built, driving is easy." After that, everything between us changed.

We became like a married couple.

Emma bought me clothes, little gifts. Once, after sex, she hugged me and handed me a wrapped present.

Inside was a Coach wallet. In it, a single brand-new bill of each denomination: ten thousand, five thousand, one thousand won.

I still keep it.

Emma once told me,

"I want to love only you. To adore only you. I want you to be my everything."

We met secretly whenever the group gathered. Even after a Sunday hiking trip, we'd sneak off to be together.

In summer, we'd fuck until we drenched the sheets in sweat. Emma hated putting her clothes back on after sex—I had to hold her, let her bask in the afterglow for a long time.

After one round, she'd beg for another. The woman who never showed weakness at drinking parties—
the composed, dignified Emma—once conquered, was just a woman after all.

One of our group members, Miss Thomas—still unmarried—once gave me a suspicious look and asked, "Are you dating Emma?"

We kept this up for just over a year—about fifty times.

Then, one day, we silently agreed: it was time to return to our families.

In December 2002, after our year-end party, we met one last time at a motel near Daegongwon Park. That was the end.

We still meet occasionally—just skinship, nothing more.

I've held back. We still gather once a month, just like before.

But the tension between us—strange.

When our eyes meet, we just smile softly.

Sometimes I remember what she once said:

"When I was a virgin, I felt like such a child. But one day, a man stepped into my world.

If my feelings then had been like they are now… I might have thrown myself at him.

We might catch fire again."

Our story is still unfolding.