Chapter 1 — Karaoke Room

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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It had been a long time since my husband's close-knit group of friends got together.

I've always felt uneasy around them—they're much older than me, and their camaraderie feels suffocating at times.

My husband meets up with them fairly often, but gatherings like this one—where all four reunite for a full night of drinking and reminiscing—are rare, happening maybe twice a year, if that.

Whenever alcohol flows, they endlessly rehash stories from elementary school, proudly calling themselves the "Four Musketeers" as if no time had passed at all.

And because my husband runs a karaoke bar near Haeundae in Busan, these rare occasions always unfold here.

On days like this, he closes the shop early, books the largest room, and we drink ourselves senseless until dawn.

Whether it was because of me or simply because none of them were interested in bringing women, we never invited any other girls.

One by one, the friends began arriving at our place. We shut the doors at six.

Andrew Kim came for the first time in ages—and brought his wife.

With me and my husband included, we were six in total. As usual, Thomas Lee, the self-appointed master of ceremonies, grabbed the mic and spoke with exaggerated formality.

"Well then… shall we drink hard tonight~~?"

"Hah! Stop acting drunk already—just pour us a round and let's get this party started."

Thomas Lee mimicked Paul Jung's voice, instantly lifting the mood.

Truthfully, I've always been confident about my body.

I've done yoga consistently for years, and at nearly forty, I believed my figure could rival any woman in her twenties.

At events like this, I secretly enjoyed how the men's eyes would darken when I danced suggestively—though I'd never admit it aloud.

That night, I wore a flowing silk skirt and a stretchy blouse—deliberately chosen. Even I could see how sharply my curves stood out.

My husband never said anything when I dressed like this. He'd just grunt, "Yeah, whatever looks fine," in his typical blunt way.

Still, I asked anyway, feigning shyness: "I tried to dress nicely since your friends are coming… is it okay?"

"Yeah. Doesn't matter."

By seven, the men were already deep into beer and soju. By ten, their eyes were glazed, their legs tangled.

Andrew Kim's wife, who didn't drink much, passed out after just two shots and was carried to an empty side room.

I was barely holding on myself—my head spinning from the sudden surge of excitement and too many drinks.

When an upbeat song came on, I grabbed my husband's hand and swayed my hips side to side, dancing playfully.

Then someone—probably Thomas Lee—called out teasingly:

"Whoa now, Sarah Park, why don't you come hold our lonely bachelors' hands too?!"

What started as a joke turned into a rotation—each man taking a turn dancing with me.

But that night, Thomas Lee and Eric Choi kept pressuring my husband to drink more and more.

Around eleven, my husband collapsed onto the floor, legs giving out completely.

Thomas Lee helped carry him to the side room, then returned with a smirk.

"Man, he really can't handle his liquor… But you'll stay and keep us company a little longer, right, Sarah Park? Haha."

"That's right. Three guys hanging out alone isn't exactly new—but with you here? Priceless."

By then, I was thoroughly drunk. Minutes earlier, I'd checked myself in the restroom—my face flushed crimson, sweat glistening on my neck, clinging strands of hair stuck to my damp skin.

My silk skirt was wrinkled, twisted from dancing.

Yet the thought of being surrounded by three men while my husband slept stirred something inside me—an unexpected thrill.

Honestly, I even considered dancing a little more provocatively.

Under the flashing lights, we danced for over an hour straight.

As the turns continued, the men began dancing closer—too close.

I pretended not to notice, but I felt hands brushing lightly over my hips.

I should've stopped it then. Walked away.

But after downing one final soju-beer cocktail, my mind went hazy, my body numb.

Looking back, I still wonder—why did I do it?

But in that moment, I think part of me wanted to see what would happen. What if neither my husband nor I remembered? So what?

Another part of me was curious—what would these men do if they thought I was truly drunk?

"Heyyy… honey…"

I wrapped my arms around Thomas Lee and called him "honey."

"Wha—haha… Sarah Park, you're really wasted, huh?"

"No kidding—she's calling you 'honey'? Give her a kiss, man! Haha!"

As our bodies pressed together, I felt his groin stiffen against my ass.

"Honey…"

His hardness grew unmistakable, pressing firmly into me.

"Ahem… Should I play husband for a bit, Sarah Park?"

"Mmm… honey… whaaat?"

I dragged out my words, pretending to be deeply intoxicated.

I was drunk, yes—but part of it was performance. Curiosity fueled me.

Yet the alcohol was so strong, the act became unnecessary. My body moved on its own.

"Alright then, Sarah Park—give us a sexy dance! Hahaha!"

"Ohhh~ Can't wait!"

The others cheered.

Just then, a fast-paced beat pulsed through the speakers.

I don't even remember the song's title, but I began moving to the rhythm.

I rolled my hips, grabbed my ass, then ran my hands over my breasts as I danced.

When Thomas Lee pressed behind me, grinding against me, I responded eagerly—rocking my hips up and down, rubbing his hard cock through his pants, exciting him further.

"Oooh~~! Yeah~~!"

Eric Choi egged us on from the side, clapping and shouting, which only made me feel more exhilarated.

Suddenly, I dropped to the floor—deliberately collapsing like a drunk woman losing consciousness.

"Uh… uh, are you okay?"

"Aaah… honey… I wanna sleep… let's go to bed…"

I slid my hand slowly up Thomas Lee's thigh, whispering "honey" again and again, tugging him toward the side room.

I don't remember clearly, but I think Thomas Lee carried me.

When we first entered the room, I assumed my husband and Andrew Kim's wife were still there.

But the room was empty.

Only my own moans echoed in the darkness—awkward, yet impossible to stop.

I lay frozen, eyes tightly shut, letting his hands guide me onto the couch.

"Damn… she's really out of it, huh?"

"Yeah… try waking her."

At first, I thought only Thomas Lee had followed.

Then I heard Eric Choi's voice—and flinched involuntarily.

"Sarah Park? Sarah Park?"

I almost sat up, pretended to wake up.

But curiosity held me back.

And the alcohol—thick in my veins—made resistance pointless.

"Mmm… honey…"

"She's out. She's out."

"Better keep this between us… Daniel doesn't need to know… hehe."

"You say a word, and I'll tell your wife everything."

Then—I felt hands lifting my skirt.

A hot palm swept over my ass. I twitched, unable to suppress the jolt.

"Mmm… honey…?"

In that strange haze, I could only play along—pretending it was my husband touching me.

In seconds, my panties were yanked down, my blouse unbuttoned, my bra roughly pushed aside.

"Honey…"

Thomas Lee's thick voice whispered beside my ear.

All I remember is that his cockhead felt coarser, larger than my husband's.

On that couch, they took turns—Thomas Lee and Eric Choi—fucking me relentlessly for over an hour.

Despite being fully conscious, I played the role—moaning, "Aaah… honey! Honey!"—and climaxed harder than I had in years.

When they came, they shoved their cocks into my face.

I swallowed every drop—warm, thick cum spurting into my mouth like syrup. A full cup's worth, maybe more.

I drank it all—greedily, hungrily.

They flipped me over, switched positions, used me from every angle.

When they were done, they hastily fixed my clothes and left.

The next day, I acted as if nothing had happened.

I went to a nearby hangover soup restaurant and sat across from them.

I pretended I didn't remember.

But I'll never forget the way they looked at me—eyes dark, hungry, knowing.

And part of me… liked it.