Chapter 3 — A Trip with My Friend's Couple — Part 1 (3)

I entered the room first, waited for my friend's wife's to come in, then closed the door behind her.

Thankfully, my own wife's moans from the other room had softened considerably.

"At this volume, it's bearable."

"……?"

She stared at me, clearly not understanding what I meant.

But I felt no need to explain. I stepped toward her, wrapped my arms around her waist and back, and kissed her.

As if she'd been waiting for it, she immediately wound her arms around my neck.

For someone who should've been furious at the situation, she was surprisingly eager.

Her kiss was forceful—so much so that I'd never before felt a woman suck on my tongue and lips like that.
Whether it was because she truly desired me or simply reacting to the bizarre circumstances, I couldn't tell.
But it felt incredibly good.

"Let's go over there."

Breaking the kiss, I gestured toward the bed with my eyes.

I walked over, stripped off my clothes until only my underwear remained, and leaned back diagonally on the bed.

Meanwhile, she slipped into the attached bathroom. The sound of running water began.

It continued for quite some time.

After a long while, the bathroom door opened, and my friend's wife emerged, wrapped in a towel.

Her pale, long legs and arms were striking.

Without hesitation, she came straight to the bed and collapsed into my arms as if fainting.

Her body was cool—probably from a cold shower.

"Should I take a shower too?"

"No. Don't."

Not that I had any intention of doing so anyway.

I ran my hands along her waist, then down past her hips to her thighs.

She must've exercised—the texture of her skin felt firm and taut.

"You've got an amazing body."

I murmured this as my hand moved toward her center.

But strangely, where I expected to feel something, there was nothing.

Puzzled, I slid my hand lower—and immediately touched dampness.

"It's a lack of pubic hair."

As if reading my mind, she spoke softly.

"I see."

"Do you… dislike it?"

"Not at all. I actually prefer it."

I parted her petals with my fingers, slipped one between them, and gently massaged in slow circles.

Almost instantly, she let out a low moan and reached for my cock through my underwear.

"Mmm……"

"There was a time my wife once found it odd that Sarah avoided going to the bathhouse together. Now I think I know why."

"Yes."

"Don't be embarrassed. Some women shave on purpose—I've even tried convincing my wife a few times."

"Really? Did she do it?"

"No. As gentle as she seems, she's stubborn in her own way…"

"She does seem that way. Ahh…"

She reacted sharply the moment I brushed her clit.

"More wet than I expected."

"Is that so? Mmm…"

"I don't think I can go on without seeing you properly."

With that, I sat up, spread her legs wide, and positioned myself between them.

She covered her face with her hands, as if ashamed. But there was nothing shameful about her.

If anything, she should've been proud.

"So clean. I've never seen such a beautiful pussy."

I said it sincerely, awed.

"I hate hearing that."

"It's not flattery—it's the truth."

"Still… I don't want to hear it."

"Don't hide it. It's gorgeous. And anyway, only about one or two in a hundred women naturally lack pubic hair. No need to be embarrassed."

"You really know everything… Ugh~~!"

I barely sucked on her clit, and her whole body shivered violently.

Her sensitivity was beyond normal—it bordered on excessive.

Clearly, my friend had intensely focused on developing her clitoris.

Judging by this, I could guess at his sexual habits—he probably didn't care whether she experienced deep, fulfilling quality orgasms.
Instead, he likely cared only about quantity: how many times she came.
He must've relentlessly stimulated only her clitoris, the nerve center of female pleasure.

In short, he treated men and women as equals in sex—but valued quantity over quality.

The thought made me feel a pang of pity for my wife, still moaning desperately in the small room next door.

"Her pussy will be swollen stiff by tomorrow morning. Well… maybe she likes that."

"Haa~~ Haa~~ Mmm…"

Even when I sucked her most gently, my friend's wife struggled to endure it.

She kept grabbing my head, grinding her wetness against my face, desperate to reach climax immediately.

But I refused to let her come so easily.

Whenever she neared the edge, I'd pause my teasing just enough to keep her teetering on the brink.

"Please… please…"

When she begged, I pressed my cock against her lips.

And she sucked it fiercely.

Her mouth and tongue work surpassed my wife's.

Such skill suggested genuine affection for a man's cock.

"Does he really satisfy her that much?"

For a moment, I felt jealous of my friend.

I wondered if my wife would lovingly lavish attention on his cock too.

Or worse—maybe she was sucking him right now, her moans silenced.

While lost in these thoughts, my testicles slipped into her mouth.

"Huuu……"

A sensation I'd never felt before froze my entire body.

Then, when she rolled my balls gently with my tongue, my legs gave out and my breath caught in my throat.

Compared to my wife, who'd only ever sucked the tip and just below, this was incomparable.

"Could it be… my wife resents me?"

Strange thoughts flooded my mind.

A moment later, she released my testicles and looked up at me with pleading eyes.

"I want… your thing inside me. Please."

She gripped my cock tightly.

"I'll give it to you—don't worry."

"Please… stop torturing me. Put it in now."

Her voice trembled with desperation.

Yet her eyes burned with pent-up desire—like a wildfire waiting for a single spark to consume everything.

'Did I tease her too long? No… still not enough.'

Wanting to torment her one last time, I lightly kissed her lips, then gently stroked her pussy with my hand—
before suddenly sliding two fingers deep inside her, pressing my palm against her clit and slowly circling it.
At the same time, I sucked her nipple into my mouth.

"Ahh… hnnn……"

It was as if electricity surged through her. She shuddered violently, then began undulating her body in rhythm with my movements.

Squelch, squelch, squelch…

Her hole overflowed with wetness, and each movement of my fingers produced lewd, slippery sounds.

"Haa~~~~ Haa~~~~~ Haa~~~~"

She quickly exhaled thick, syrupy breaths—completely different from my wife's cries next door.
When my wife reached her peak with me, she always breathed like this.

Not that my wife's ecstatic screams in the other room were meaningless.
Both were valid—just a matter of personal taste.

'Is my wife more drawn to him? If so… did she get what she wanted tonight?'

Pointless thoughts left me oddly unsettled.

Regardless, my friend's wife grew more aroused.

"Haa~~~~ Haa~~~~ Haa~~~"

Her breathing grew hotter, her body swaying more wildly.

At that point, I pulled my fingers out of her.

"No… no… please. I beg you……"

Startled, she grabbed my wrist, but couldn't overpower me.

"Don't… please……"

She clung to me pitifully.

Denied the orgasm within reach, she melted into me, clinging with desperate longing.

But I feigned ignorance, ignoring her craving, slipping away like an eel.

Then, suddenly, I adjusted her position, spread her legs wide, and settled between them.

Grasping my rock-hard cock, I guided it to the slit between her delicate petals.

She tensed visibly.

'Is she tightening herself on purpose?' I wondered.
My wife used to do that—though I never understood why.

Anyway, I slowly lowered my hips.

Just as expected, a satisfying pressure enveloped the head of my cock.

Not bad.

After all, for a first penetration, it'd be disappointing if it felt loose.

"Mmm~~"

"Haa~~"

At the moment we became one, we moaned in unison, like a duet.

"Inside you… it's even more exquisite."

"Thank you."

"There's something I need to confess."

"……"

"Ever since I first saw Sarah, I've dreamed of this.

And today, that dream finally came true.

You might not believe me, but aside from my first love, she's the only woman who's ever made my heart race."

"Th-that……"

She stammered, unable to respond properly. Not that it mattered.

I hadn't confessed to hear her reply.

I lowered my upper body, pressing closer to her, and slowly began rotating my hips—
left to right, then right to left, finding a rhythm.

"Haa… haa… haa…"

She heated up again—this time like a blazing fire.

She was so hot it almost felt uncomfortable to hold her.

Unaware of my thoughts, she clung tighter, breathing scorching air onto my skin.

Somewhere along the way, the intense tightness I'd felt inside her vanished.

I felt a strange sense of loss.

Of course, a woman's vagina naturally expands and lengthens when aroused.
But still—we were having our first time together. That fact nagged at me.

"Ahh… response… hnn…"

Soon, a strange sound escaped her lips—half moan, half sob.
Without realizing it, my motions had shifted into full piston thrusts.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Our pubic bones slapped together with every stroke, making her body vibrate.

Her breasts jiggled. Her body rocked.

And the bed had long since started creaking—squeak, squeak—with our rhythm.

"Aah~~~ Ahh~~~ Aah~~~"

Her moans grew louder. Was my wife's voice still audible from the small room?

Could she hear us?

Hoping she could, I pounded into her harder, deeper.

"Ahh~~ Aaah~~~"

Before long, she was hurtling toward climax.

Her already-hot body burned even hotter. Her hip movements turned frantic.

Finally, she let out a choked:

"Hnn…"

Her entire body stiffened.

Her inner walls clenched my cock tightly, then pushed outward as if trying to expel me.

Then, she trembled violently all over.

Her mouth hung open, struggling to form words—but only weak, guttural croaks escaped.

That was when I reached my peak.

I came deep inside her—only then realizing I hadn't worn a condom.

But it was too late. The ship had sailed. The milk was spilled.

Dazed and breathless, I collapsed onto her body and fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke to a sharp knocking sound.

Opening my eyes, I found myself face-to-face with her, lying side by side.

We both jolted in shock, scrambling out of bed.

Too flustered to feel embarrassment, we frantically dressed, realizing only mid-motion that we were naked.

"Time for breakfast!"

My friend shouted from outside, sensing the commotion in the room.

"We're coming! Wait!"

I called back, hastily pulling on my clothes.

Once dressed, I hesitated—should I wait for her to come out of the bathroom?

But I decided to leave first.

My friend was already seated at the dining table, spoon in hand, tasting the food.

"You bastard, eating first?"

I tried to sound casual, but my voice was painfully awkward.

I couldn't meet the eyes of either my friend or my wife.

Actually, all three of us deliberately avoided looking at each other.

An uncomfortable silence stretched.

Eventually, my friend's wife—still silent—joined us, chopsticks in hand, picking at the side dishes.

"This is delicious."

I said it without tasting a thing.

But my wife's response was oddly amusing.

Normally, when I complimented her cooking, she'd either smile or briefly explain the dish.

Today, though, she stuttered:

"Th-thank… thank you…"

I found her adorable.

And strangely, the tension and discomfort that had gripped me melted away like snow in sunlight.

"It's me who should thank you. I'm enjoying such a delicious meal."

"Oh…"

"By the way, did you bring your own soybean paste?"

I asked, scooping some into my rice.

"Sarah's mom brought it."

"Ah, that explains it. It tastes a bit different from ours. Delicious."

"Right? I should ask for some. Last year's batch went bad, so…"

"No, don't. I prefer our home-made paste. Dining out is fine once in a while."

My wife didn't reply.

Probably because the word "dining out" reminded her of last night.

My friend across the table also flushed red—clearly thinking the same.

His usual confidence from the night before was completely gone.

"A drink to settle our stomachs wouldn't hurt."

"You've got some left? Want some?"

"No. I've got to drive."

"One drink won't kill you…"

"I'd like to, but if I start, I'll keep going."

Just then, my friend interrupted.

"You're taking too long. I'll go check. Start without me if I'm late."

Before I could react, he headed straight for their room.

Suddenly, I remembered—the bed still bore clear traces of last night.

But it was too late. He was already walking in.

All I could do was hope his wife had cleaned it up.

Thinking that, I smiled faintly at my wife.

Of course, once we were alone,

questions like "Did he treat you well?"
or "Was it good?"
rose to the tip of my tongue.

But, miraculously, I held them back.

Maybe that's why?

My wife seemed unusually relaxed, occasionally smiling at me.

But my friend and his wife—who came out of the room much later—maintained stiff, unreadable expressions until we all departed for home.

And so ends my story of that summer's first—and unforgettable—swapping encounter.

Toward another beginning…