Chapter 3 — My Wife Is My Cruel Master - Part 1 (3)

Slurp… lick… suck…

A hushed, secretive sound crept into my ears—careful, as if guarding a forbidden truth.

That quiet, intimate noise soaking through the silence of the room was my wife sucking, licking, and devouring the massive white cock of James.

She held it in her mouth with secretive greed, refusing to let go, lost in her own depraved pleasure.

My nerves were stretched tight. Chills ran violently across my skin. And at the same time, my own cock rose stiff and hard—strangely, unnaturally erect.

I stared, wide-eyed and ears pricked, watching every single movement she made.

Things I didn’t want to see, sounds I didn’t want to hear—yet I couldn’t look away.

Not only could I not look away, I watched obsessively, afraid of missing even a single detail.

James rested one hand on her head, his eyes gently closed in bliss as he leisurely enjoyed the oral worship my wife offered so diligently.

Occasionally, he’d gently stroke her wavy hair upward, peering down to admire how earnestly she sucked his cock.

The smug, triumphant expression he wore was enough to crush me—her real husband—with despair.

After about twenty minutes of sucking, my wife finally pulled his cock from her mouth.

It glistened, wet and slick with her saliva.

She gazed at James’s white cock again, her eyes glazed with awe.

As soon as she released it, James sat up and gently pushed her down onto the bed.

As she lay back, she glanced at me—just for a second.

Her cheeks were flushed red from James’s touch, her eyes moist and shimmering.

And for a fleeting moment, she seemed to smile—just slightly—as if mocking me, scorning me.

But just as quickly, she turned her eyes back to James.

Now her gaze was that of a female craving a real male—hungry, submissive.

Of course, she had never once looked at me like that before.

Perhaps, for her, a true man had never been me—but only James… or men like him from other countries.

Gazing deeply, wetly at James, she reached out and buried herself in his arms. He pulled her close, embracing her.

Then suddenly, James thrust his hips down and drove his enormous white cock deep into my wife’s pussy.

She gasped—"Huuuuk~"—wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, lifting her hips to meet him.

But James wasn’t done.

He roughly grabbed her head, forcing her face to look at him, then crushed his lips against hers in a violent, almost forced kiss.

It was a savage, unrestrained assault.

And under that brutal attack, my wife—this proud, cold, confident woman who stood so tall before me—became soft, yielding, completely submissive.

Slurp, smack, smack.

James shoved his tongue deep into her mouth, ravaging her insides, dominating her completely. And she—she eagerly accepted his wild, aggressive tongue.

Still with his tongue buried in her mouth, James began to move his hips.

Her eyes widened. She broke the kiss and cried out—"Aaaaaaah!"—a childish, whining moan as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

The sight of her smooth, pale legs coiling around James’s hairy body stirred a strange, unsettling beauty deep in my chest.

They had grown curious about interracial sex while dating, but seeing it now—live, raw, real—it was overwhelming.

There was a peculiar pleasure, a unique beauty in it—something entirely different from sex between people of the same race, the same blood.

And perhaps it was that very beauty that made so many Eastern women fall helplessly for foreign men.

I widened my eyes again, focusing on where their bodies joined.

The distance wasn’t far, and since James had his back to me, I could clearly see how they were connected.

My wife’s pussy was flooded—drenched in arousal—so much so that the bedsheet beneath her was soaked through.

James pinned her down, using his full weight to thrust into her with fierce, powerful strokes. The bed shook violently with each slam.

And his cock—no matter how many times I looked—was impossibly large. How could something that huge fit entirely inside my wife’s pussy? From behind, it looked even bigger.

Just the thickness alone—surely it was thicker than most Korean men’s forearms.

After several thrusts, his cock was now slick with white fluid, glistening under the fluorescent light, shining obscenely.

How many thrusts had there been? Gradually, my wife’s moans turned into sharp, piercing cries. Her body trembled violently.

She must have reached climax—overwhelmed, broken by James’s brutal, merciless assault.

James hadn’t come yet, but seeing his wife climax first, he paused briefly, catching his breath, slowing his rhythm to gentle, steady piston strokes.

A moment later, she came to her senses, gazing up at James with a complex mix of expressions—shame, coyness, flirtation.

James looked down at her, the smug, triumphant grin of a male who had completely conquered his female. Then he slowly pulled out, guiding his cock into her mouth.

His shaft was filthy—drenched in her juices, glistening obscenely from the rough pounding.

But my wife took it without hesitation. No, as if it were natural, expected—she sucked, licked, and cleaned his massive cock thoroughly, purifying the white man’s cock with her own mouth.

As soon as she finished cleaning him, James flipped her over—placing her in doggy style.

And deliberately—he turned her face toward me.

Our eyes met again—briefly.

But I couldn’t read her expression. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Was there even a trace of me—her husband—in her heart? The question flickered, but I couldn’t hold onto it.

Because clearly, unmistakably—she was swaying her hips, silently begging James to fill her, to defile her again.

James gripped one hand around her full, pale, moon-like ass, then used the other to guide his cock slowly back into her pussy.