Chapter 2 — A Trip with My Friend's Couple — Part 1 (2)

After our game partners shifted to each other's spouses, the goal quietly morphed into who could make the other jealous while keeping a straight face.

Who can stir up more envy in their friend?

Looking back now, it all seems absurd—like some ridiculous farce. But at the time, I couldn't think clearly. We were drunk on atmosphere, intoxicated by alcohol.

And yes, I can't deny that I also used it as an excuse to fulfill secret desires I'd secretly fantasized about for years.

If not, how could we have ended up exchanging tongues in a real, full-on kiss?

"You're taking this penalty way too seriously, aren't you?"

I said it after seeing Daniel Park casually brush his hand against Jenny Kim's breast—after they'd already been kissing deeply, tongues entwined. That was when I thought: That's it. This has gone too far.

It was both my protest against the escalating tension and a warning to him.

But his reply only made things worse.

"Too serious? Nah. The punishment's just too weak—if it were stronger, I wouldn't even need to try."

It was a thinly veiled challenge—an invitation to go all the way.

"So you've got guts, is that it?"

"What a way to put it… Why not say I've got style? Hahaha~~"

He laughed, pretending to be carefree. Meanwhile, I watched my wife wipe her lips with a handkerchief. She avoided my eyes.

What should I do?

For a brief moment, I agonized. Should I back down, surrender to his momentum and cut my losses?

Or should I push back, match his aggression, and see just how far this could go?

I truly couldn't decide. Then, suddenly, Sarah Park reached under the table and took my hand.

"......!!"

Warmth spread through my fingers.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt encouragement in her touch—almost as if she were silently saying: Even if things go too far, I'll step in. I'll handle it.

"Had your fun yet?"

I spoke once his laughter finally died down.

"Why don't you give me another reason to laugh?"

"Well… I wonder if we'll keep laughing like this later. Even the boldest attitude has its limits, right?"

"You really think my limits are any of your concern?"

"Do they? You've got quite the confidence. Just how bold do you think you are…?"

I smiled as I said it—and that smile seemed to ignite something in him.

His expression hardened. Without a word, he downed several shots of soju, glaring at me the whole time.

Then, abruptly, he grinned.

"You're acting pretty tough. But do you actually mean it?"

"You want me to answer a question with no beginning or end?"

"Fair enough. Hahaha~~ Fine. Let's get to the point. It's past midnight, we've had enough to drink—why don't we call it a night? And sleep with tonight's partner."

His eyes sparkled as he said it—sharp, gleaming, like a predator who'd just cornered its prey.

Instantly, my face froze. So did both women's.

Even though this might have been where we were headed from the start.

The feeling… how can I describe it? Like learning your death, fifty years away, had suddenly been moved up to five days from now.

I looked at my wife. Again, she avoided my gaze.

I turned to Sarah Park—hoping to feel that same warmth, that silent support I'd sensed moments ago.

But that hope was delusion. She kept her head down, motionless.

A disaster. My head throbbed.

Is this really going to go all the way—this stupid emotional battle?

But that's all it was—a thought. In reality, it wasn't silly emotion. It was pride. A serious, high-stakes fight.

Even now, I can't say exactly what pride was at stake—but it felt real then.

In the end, I made a reckless, all-or-nothing decision.

I tossed aside any hope that my wife or his wife might intervene.

I placed everything on fate.

"Fine. Whatever. But do you even have a reason for wanting this?"

I forced a relaxed smile.

He just laughed, as if even my attempt at coolness amused him.

"Of course I have a reason. The partners switched, but the teams didn't."

"And?"

"You don't get it? For tomorrow morning—breakfast prep, cleaning—it'd be more efficient if we stick with our current teams."

An obviously ridiculous excuse. No sane person would use efficiency as a reason to sleep with their best friend's wife.

Yet here I was, unable to call his nonsense what it was. My wife stayed silent. His wife said nothing too. All of us, complicit in the absurdity.

"Why? You don't like it?"

After a long silence, he smirked and asked.

A surge of anger burned inside me.

"I don't mind at all. It's perfectly fine."

"Oh? Then why so quiet?"

"It's obvious. The ladies are quiet too, aren't they?"

I glanced at both women, seeking agreement.

No—honestly, I was begging for mediation.

He must've expected the same, because his eyes lit up.

But we were both wrong.

They kept their heads down, faces flushed, saying nothing.

Could they… want this?

Their silence unsettled me.

Even though I'd already committed to this reckless path, their passivity made my chest tighten.

He seemed thrown off too—his confidence wavering slightly.

We emptied our glasses in silence.

Each waiting for the other to surrender.

One shot. Two. Three. Four.

Then he poured soju into my wife's beer glass, half-emptied it into another cup, then filled both to the brim.

A "bomb drink"—a double shot cocktail.

He handed one to my wife and downed his in one gulp.

She picked up the glass and drank too.

She paused twice, but still finished it completely.

Watching them, I pictured a bride and groom sharing ceremonial wine at a wedding.

My stomach twisted. Rage bubbled.

Not because I hated my wife or my friend—but because I should've been the one to do it first.

"Well then, if there's nothing more to say… shall we head to bed?"

As my wife set her glass down, he stood.

She rose too, following him.

Her flushed cheeks annoyed me.

Was she really that clueless?

Never before had I felt such resentment toward my own wife.

Anyway, the situation was hurtling toward disaster—with no mediator, no brake.

"We'll go in first. We're tired."

Then he wrapped one arm around my wife's waist and walked toward the bedroom.

Fury exploded inside me.

Regret crushed me—I should've stood first. I should've taken control.

I drowned the rage in soju, watching her walk away.

Her silhouette swayed gently.

Beautiful.

Had my wife always had such a beautiful back?

I remembered a man who once followed her home.

"Phew~~"

A laugh slipped out before I realized.

"Thud!"

The sound of their bedroom door closing echoed like thunder.

For a split second, I wanted to leap up and charge in.

But then—oddly—I thought of the cartoon Candy.

I don't know why that came to mind, but like Candy enduring heartbreak, I held myself back. Again and again.

While I clenched my teeth in silence, the small room's door clicked open.

"......!"

I stopped breathing.

My wife stepped out—holding a bag.

Was she coming to the main room?

My body tensed instinctively.

But she walked past us—into the bathroom.

With the soft click of the bathroom door, my strength drained.

I knew what she was doing in there.

She always showered before sex with me.

Cool water ran behind the door.

Where is she washing right now?

It was the first time I'd ever imagined my own wife like this.

She'll be scrubbing her pussy thoroughly—after all, it's about to be sucked by him.

I didn't want to think it—but the image flashed anyway.

An old fortune teller's words surfaced in my mind:

“The spirit isn't always clear.

Sometimes it's bright. Sometimes cloudy.

When it's cloudy, fortunes won't come.

But that's not hard—I just don't take clients.

The hardest times are when it's crystal clear.

Because then you see things you don't want to see.

You're afraid to go outside.

Afraid to take clients.

Unless they're joking, pure-hearted guests never come.

Seeing evil spirits clearly…

That's the hardest.

Even though I chose this life—I'm still human.”

That was me, exactly.

I didn't want to imagine it—but my wife in that bathroom haunted me.

I tried to focus on Sarah Park beside me, but failed.

A few minutes later, my wife emerged—wrapped in a robe.

Obviously, she wore nothing underneath.

She always did this before sex.

And it was a habit I'd trained her into.

Come in wearing only the robe. Don't wear anything underneath.

That's what I'd told her every time during our early marriage, whenever she insisted on showering first.

But my wife, with her Joseon-era modesty, always came to bed in underwear.

To change her,

I used a trick: Take off your underwear and come in with just the robe. Otherwise, no shower.

She begged me tearfully, clinging to me—but I ignored her completely, enforcing my rule.

From that day on, I began dismantling my wife's walls—one by one.

Nothing huge, really. Just little rebellions against her conservative nature.

But listed out: sex with the lights on, trying rear-entry, experimenting with positions, watching porn together, sucking her pussy, making her suck my cock, car sex…

In short, she was my creation.

But never meant to be shared.

Meant only for me.

Exclusively mine.

I stared at her.

But the woman who stepped out of the bathroom didn't hesitate—not even a glance at me—and walked straight to the small room where he waited.

Then—thud—the door closed.

At that moment, something inside my chest hollowed out completely.

Was she feeling the same?

Beside me, Sarah Park whispered softly.

"It's really over now."

I turned to her. Her head was down, trembling slightly.

Like a defeated loser.

Would it have been different if we'd gone in first?

I refilled my glass and gulped it down.

Images flooded my mind—of my wife entering that small room.

*He's waiting naked on the bed, right?

She'll lie down, blushing shyly.

Since it's their first time, they'll start with a kiss.

While kissing, he'll untie her robe.

Then he'll see her bare body—white as snow.*

Just thinking that far made me furious—rage boiling until I felt like screaming.

If I kept imagining, I'd lose my mind—or rush in and start a fight.

Needing something else, I turned to Sarah Park.

"You okay?"

"How did it come to this?"

Her voice carried anger.

"You don't want this?"

"Then is sleeping with my husband fine with you?"

A fair retort—but her tone grated on me.

I stared at her.

Feeling my gaze, she lifted her head. Her eyes were damp.

Was she angry enough to cry?

If you hated it this much, why didn't you stop it earlier?

She seemed almost laughable. My long-held fantasy of her crumbled.

But I couldn't say that aloud. I quietly refilled my glass.

Then—"Ahnnn……"—a moan slipped from the small room.

Electricity shot through my body. Goosebumps rose.

Reflexively, I coughed sharply and emptied my glass—soju tasting like plain water.

"How's it feel?" she mocked.

"Strange."

"That's all?"

"Should there be more?"

"That's your wife moaning. Not a video. Real."

She said it like she was reminding me.

"You're more nosy than you look."

"What?"

"Right now, aren't you worried about your wife moaning for him—not me worrying about my husband?"

"What's the difference?"

"Man and woman. Different."

"I'm not in the mood for word games."

"If it sounded that way, I'm sorry. I mean… simply put,

we should make sounds similar to what we're hearing now.

So don't overthink it.

If you're planning to do this with me…"

"......"

Given the mood, I expected her to say she didn't want to sleep with me. But she didn't. She just stayed silent.

She must be as conflicted as I am.

I barely held back a bitter laugh.

"Aahn... Ahng..."

The moans from the small room grew louder with each passing minute. Part of me worried about my wife.

What the hell is he doing to her to make her sound like that?

Yet another part wondered—had she always had this side?

“My wife seems pretty excited tonight.”

"......"

"Shall we head in too?"

I stood and walked toward the bedroom first.