Chapter 2 — At the Mountain Temple with My Husband’s Friend (2) (2)

They call him Bulran the Monk. Even my husband, his friend, calls him that. But he is no monk. He simply shaves his head and wears robes resembling those of a Buddhist priest—enough to fool people. If anyone cared to look closely at his conduct, they would realize immediately that he could never be a true monk. Yet no one seems to care.

He drinks alcohol, smokes cigarettes, and claims to be a Buddhist monk while maintaining multiple female companions. A real monk would belong to an established sect—Jogye or Taego—but he has no such affiliation. He doesn’t even have a proper temple. His so-called monastery is nothing more than a crude shrine built deep in the mountains.

In truth, he’s a monk in name only. Yet I adore him. Because he is the man who has shown me the ecstasy of sex.

With a cock as thick as a child’s forearm, he pounds my pussy raw. His twisted, depraved acts send me into convulsions every time. And especially when he uses his glistening bald head to pleasure me—those perverted caresses drive me completely insane.

It’s been two years since I first took his cock into my cunt. Back then, I was suffering from a nervous and psychological disorder. One day, my husband said to me:

“You know Sangsik, my old friend?”

“The weird one from philosophy department?”

“Yeah, that guy. Well, he’s turned into a monk and came to see me. Calls himself Monk Bulran or something…”

Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind—his eyes. When we were in college, whenever he happened to hang out with us, he would stare at me with an intense, burning gaze. There was something lewd in his eyes, a dark lust that flickered hungrily over my body. My husband had noticed it too, and once interrupted sharply.

“Hey! What the hell are you staring at? Keep your eyes to yourself—she’s gonna get scared. Hahaha…”

But he didn’t look away.

And strangely, whenever I felt that gaze, the flesh deep inside my pussy would twitch. I’d never even seen his cock, yet I could vividly imagine it—hard, throbbing—plunging into me, filling me, driving me mad.

My husband continued.

“Anyway, he says he can cure your illness… claims three months and you’ll be completely healed.”

“What kind of treatment can a monk do?”

“He says he studied energy healing medicine somewhere in the Shaolin mountains of China. Energy healing, basically.”

That was when Monk Bulran first reached out to me with his seductive hand. And that was when my husband began to be deceived.

“He says he’s cured lots of people… especially cases like yours—nervous, psychological disorders. Says it’s a sure thing.”

“Where would I get this treatment?”

“At his temple, of course… What, wanna give it a try?”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say, Yes, I’ll go. But not because I believed in his healing. I wanted to go because I craved that lewd, burning gaze—the same one that had made my pussy twitch back in college. Still, I didn’t say it.

“No way. A hospital, maybe… but a temple? How can I let some male monk treat me?”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like you’ll be alone with him. There’ll be other monks, devotees coming and going…”

My husband believed Bulran’s temple was a proper, sizable monastery. I assumed the same.

“Fine. Might as well try. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

A few days later, I went to the monk’s temple. That’s when I realized my husband had been terribly mistaken. The temple had only one inhabitant—Bulran himself. And the place was so small it didn’t even deserve to be called a temple. At best, it was a hermit’s shack, the kind a fake monk might use to run a scam.

The main hall was plastered with garish paintings of ancient generals in colorful robes.

The monk had me lie down on the floor of the room. He sat cross-legged beside me, palms open. Slowly, he moved his hands up and down over my body, hovering about ten centimeters above my skin. He explained that he was channeling his energy through his palms, transferring energy into me.

His gaze burned over me just as it had before—intense, devouring. And just as before, my pussy flesh twitched uncontrollably beneath me.

Worse, my husband’s erectile dysfunction had worsened around that time, so my arousal was stronger than ever. Soon, I could feel wetness seeping from my slit. I tried desperately not to let the monk notice—holding my breath, clenching my stomach to hide the bulge of my arousal.

That first session lasted about an hour. When I stood up, the monk said:

“That’s enough for today. But you must take a forest bath.”

“A forest bath?”

“Yes. It’s essential for the energy treatment. Before you go back down the mountain, walk for one or two hours in these woods. The paths here are perfect for it.”

I followed his instructions, strolling along the narrow trails near the temple before returning home.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His burning eyes haunted me. They scraped over my stiff nipples, plunged into my gaping pussy. I had no choice—I had to touch myself.

Listening to my husband’s snoring, I slipped into the bathroom, propped one leg on the edge of the tub, and rubbed my slit with four fingers. Only then could I finally fall asleep.

The next day, when I entered the temple, the monk handed me a traditional Korean robe.

“Thick clothes block the absorption of energy. Change into this.”

I changed and received treatment. On the second day, I was made to lie face down on the floor—different from the first day. It was much more comfortable. I could hide my lust-glazed eyes and the bulge in my lower belly. Pressed against the floor, I let my mind wander into filthy fantasies.

After the session, I walked the forest path again and returned home. At midnight, just like the night before, I locked myself in the bathroom and masturbated.

But something strange began to happen. The traditional Korean robe he gave me to wear grew thinner each day. My pussy throbbed harder, but I also felt increasingly uneasy. Eventually, he handed me a traditional Korean robe made of sheer, gauzy fabric that fluttered like mist.

I never refused. Not once.

It was a few days after I started wearing that gauzy traditional Korean robe.

“Madam,” he said, “your undergarments are too thick. The thinner the barrier between my hands and your skin, the better the treatment. Ideally… there should be nothing at all.”

At that point, I wasn’t wearing anything besides panties and a bra. His words meant exactly what they sounded like—he wanted me to remove them.

If I obeyed, the only thing covering my body would be the translucent gauze. My dark pubic hair, my black nipples—everything would be visible to him. No sane woman would dare expose herself like that.

But I did.

The moment he finished speaking, I went into the adjacent room and stripped off my bra and panties. Then I lay back down in front of him.

His eyes, blazing with lust, flashed with sharp light. Heat surged from every part of my body—not just from my pussy and nostrils, not just from the five orifices of my body, but even from my pores, as if steam were rising from my skin.

That very day, after the usual treatment, I walked the forest path again. As I walked, I could only think of the monk’s slimy, hungry gaze fixed on my body. My pussy twitched wildly—so much that my walk became unsteady. I stepped off the path into the woods, sat down on a small boulder to rest.

That’s when I saw him.

He was walking up the trail I’d just come down—striding briskly, purposefully.

I wondered why he was coming. Maybe he wanted to say something. But he passed right by me, seemingly unaware of my presence in the woods.

Yet after a few steps, he stopped. Turned around. And began walking back toward me.

I held my breath, curious. Then I froze—he had stopped moving. He stood just five meters away, slightly off to the side of the boulder where I sat.

I quickly hid myself, watching through a crack in the rock to see what he would do.

He faced the trees, spread his legs wide, and fumbled with the front of his monk’s robe. Slowly, he pulled his pants down.

Something black emerged.

It was the monk’s dark, dangling cock—and his swinging balls.