Chapter 1 — On a Rainy Autumn Night

A fine autumn drizzle fell heavily, urging the season forward. Late in the evening, the phone rang—shrill, insistent. Bip. Bip.

Turning down the TV, he glanced at the clock as he lifted the phone. Just past eleven.

Must be the wife again, he thought, pressing it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Hey, honey."

It wasn't his wife.

It was Sarah Kang, owner and madam of Café Okhwa.

"Huh? I thought you were my wife!"

"Honey… did I upset you by calling?"

"Upset? Yeah, a little. What's going on? It's late…"

"Can you come now?"

"Now?"

"Yes. Now!"

"No customers?"

"No. Not a single soul…"

"Hmm…"

"Hurry. I'll set out the drinks… I miss you…!"

"Jeez… miss me, huh?"

"Hurry up, honey… please…"

The line went dead.

He turned the TV volume back up.

His heart wavered.

"Why the hell did I answer that…"

Muttering, he put a cigarette to his lips. The sharp smoke stung his throat.

Exhaling a long, white stream, he stood.

Still in light sweatpants, he left as he was.
He switched on a small hall light, slipped on his slippers, and stepped outside.

The rain was heavier than expected.

He hesitated—should he grab an umbrella?—but a passing empty taxi caught his eye. He got in.

Outside the window, streetlights blurred through the wet glass.

He stepped out, damp, and right before him, red letters glowed in the dark.

Café Okhwa

He descended the dim basement stairs, pushed the door open.

The familiar scent of a basement filled the air.

Inside, the dim, dingy lighting made the place look almost pitiful.

"Honey!"

"Yeah… you alone?"

"Mm. I told the housekeeper to leave."

"You're not working tonight?"

"If I don't feel like it, I don't."

"Come here."

"…"

She brushed past him, heading deeper inside.

The ashtray was littered with butts—she'd been chain-smoking alone.

He sat, turned on the TV with the remote.

"Why turn on the TV?"

"Ah… just… habit."

She set a few beer bottles, a handful of peanuts, and two glasses on the table, then walked behind the counter.

A moment later, the speaker played “The Forgotten Season”—a melancholy tune drifting through the silence.

She turned off the TV and handed him a glass.

They poured beer into each other's glasses, clinked with a crisp sound, and drank deeply.

The coldness spread through his chest.

"Honey."

"…"

Instead of answering, he looked at her.

Her light makeup couldn't hide the faint lines—but somehow, they looked beautiful.

She'd just turned forty-five, but tonight, she looked younger.

"Honey."

"Huh? What?"

"Why are you staring like some dumbstruck fool?"

"Ah… you're just… so beautiful… heh…"

"Tch. Beautiful? I look like an old hag…"

"Don't say that. You're in your prime. Women at this age? Golden years."

"Golden years, my ass!"

"Just pour me another drink. To me, you're still in your twenties."

"Thanks. An old man like me getting called youthful."

She poured until his glass overflowed.

"But… what's the real reason you called?"

"You need a reason to want to see me?"

"Well… not exactly…"

"Just… I missed you. Wanted to drink with you…"

"…"

Their eyes met, silent.

He looked away, stood, and walked off.

Her backside was full—broad shoulders, wide hips, thick thighs.

She swayed her hips as she walked, and he couldn't help but smile.

Suddenly, the room went dark.

Only a red light flickered on above his seat.

She returned, carrying more beer bottles.

"Honey… when does your wife come home?"

"Wife? You mean my brother…"

"Brother? I don't even know his face…"

"Heh…"

"I don't know. Whenever she comes, she'll come…"

"Sarah… you really have no reason?"

"Ye—ah, yes. I just wanted to drink. And… stop calling me madam."

She pouted at the word.

"Haha, you're sulking…"

"I'm sulking because I care too much! On a rainy autumn night… with the one I love…"

"Ugh… such cheek… huff"

She laughed brightly and handed him a glass.

"Here. Drink up. On a rainy autumn night…"

He downed it in one gulp and handed it back.

"Fill mine too. This is a shared cup now!"

"Haha…"

"Come here. Sit beside me. Let's drink until we're drunk…"

Without a word, she pushed her glass toward him, returned, and slid her hips onto the seat to his left.

She lit two cigarettes at once, put one in his mouth, then exhaled a long, smooth stream of white smoke.

Sadness lingered on her face.

The alcohol warmed his face—he could feel it rising.

He slipped his left arm around the back of her neck and pulled her close.

She flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, downed her beer in one gulp.

"My drink snack…"

She wrapped both arms around his neck and sucked his lips with a smack.

Then, with practiced ease, her left hand slid down his stomach, slipped past his pants and underwear, and grasped his still-limp cock.

"Aw, honey… your little guy's still sleeping?"

Cold fingers kneaded him, and slowly, he stirred.

"Let's see… how many holes has it been shoved into today? Gotta check before use."

She pulled it out, lowered her head.

"Haven't washed yet…"

"Worries are for suckers."

She mumbled, then took it straight into her mouth.

Her warm tongue swirled around the tip, licked it clean.

It tingled, then burned.

He stroked her back with his left hand, reached under her shirt with his right, and found her chest.

Her thin shirt had a deep neckline—his fingers met soft, sagging breasts.

He slipped deeper—her large breasts half-covered by a flimsy bra.

At the edge of the lace, her nipples peeked out—dark, sensitive.

Her most erogenous zone.

He flicked them with his fingers—larger than cherries, like small plums.

Her shoulders twitched. A snort escaped from between her lips, still wrapped around his cock.

When he twisted them between two fingers, she pulled off with a pop and stood.

"Honey… let's go to the back room?"

"Room? Just get it out or strip—do something!"

He squeezed the breast he was holding and shook it.

"Let's go to the room."

"No. I don't want to go yet."

He twisted her nipples harder.

With a sudden motion, she ripped off her shirt.

Before he could pull his hand away, she turned, reached behind, unhooked her bra, and let it fall.

Her full breasts swayed heavily under the red light.

She left her wrinkled skirt on her knees.

She grabbed his face, pulled it to her chest, and like feeding a baby, one hand holding her breast, she shoved a dark plum into his open mouth.

She leaned her head back, looking down at him.

He sucked, flicked the slightly calloused nipple with his tongue—her legs trembled.

"Damn, that feels good…"

Her southern dialect slipped out, raw and unfiltered.

"Honey… go easy… it's too rough…"

"Mm… yeah… okay…"

"God, I'm gonna lose it… ugh… honey… let's go to the room. Please?"

"Suck… suck…"

"Ah, good… so good…"

He mashed her breasts with both hands, kneading them like dough, shoving them into his mouth as if to squeeze milk.

"Honey… I'm dripping down my thighs…"

"Hmph… huh… mm…"

If this weren't a sealed room, if the walls weren't soundproof, the neighbors would've been kept awake.

He lifted her skirt, touched her pussy over her panties—soaked. Thick, wet fluid oozed out.

He stroked her through the damp fabric.

Her legs spread wider, her posture lowering.

"Ugh… ugh…"

"Damn, I'm dying from how turned on I am…"

"Honey… honey… save me…"

She pressed his face into her breasts, so hard he couldn't breathe, couldn't suck.

He tugged the hem of her skirt—like she'd been waiting, she quickly pulled both skirt and panties down.

Finally, his head was freed. He gasped for air.

He pushed her nipple from his mouth and moved down.

Her double-layered belly jiggled.

Below it, his chin brushed against itchy pubic hair—then a sweet, musky scent filled his nostrils.

She must've washed carefully before he came, even sprayed her favorite perfume.

Thick, long pubic hair clung to his lips, his nose.

Sarah's pussy hair was both long and dense.

He parted it with his tongue, slipped between her folds—she shivered.

"Honey… there… yes, right there… ugh…"

"Ah… mm… yeah… ugh…"

She pressed down hard on his head with both hands.

Her clitoris—the bud—was as big as a man's nipple.

He sucked it into his mouth, bit it gently—smack, smack—and she nearly fainted.

"Ah… god… honey… ahh…"

"Mm… mm… hss…"

"Ah… ah… ugh… ugh…"

"Honey… lower… deeper…"

He slid two fingers into her dripping hole.

Her juices ran down his palm.

"Ha… ha… ha…"

"Honey… it's… so good…"

She bounced wildly, clutching his head.

Sarah's pussy was larger than most women's—big enough to fit a four-year-old's fist.

He added another finger, thrusting deeper, while still sucking her bud.

Finally, she crested her first peak.

"Ugh… ugh… ugh…"

"Honey… I… what… am I… doing…"

The man buried in her pussy—she didn't care if he suffocated. She pulled with all her strength, writhing, trembling.

Her hips rocked back and forth.

When her convulsions peaked, she stopped breathing.

Her murmurs, her groans—all silenced.

Then, warm fluid trickled slowly from her pussy, between his still-embedded fingers.

It stopped, flowed, stopped again.

Like the milky liquid sometimes seen in computer porn.

After a while, she gently pushed his fingers out with her own hand.

Then, she tore open a sealed wet wipe and carefully wiped his fingers.

With full devotion.

Under the red light, the sight of her flabby, naked body wasn't exactly pleasing.

She quickly wiped between her pussy lips with the wipe, then used another to dry it thoroughly.

She combed her pubic hair with her fingers, wiped it clean, then smiled warmly at his face.

"Honey… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry? For what?"

"It's been so long… I got too excited…"

"You didn't even do much…"

"No… my body feels like it's flying…"

"Phew… I'm thirsty…"

She filled a glass with beer and gulped it down.

"Honey, aren't you drinking?"

"Mm… yeah… I was tired too… I need a drink."

He downed the beer she poured.

"Honey… a snack?"

"?????"

She smiled and offered her left nipple.

He met her gaze, smiled back, and put a cigarette to his lips.

She snatched it quickly, threw it on the table, turned, and started undressing him.

He raised his arms, muttering:

"What? Like you're done with business already?"

"What are you talking about…? Honey…"

"……?"

She pulled off his shirt, tossed it aside, then tugged down his pants—underwear too.

Somehow, she'd already crouched—his hard cock slid into her mouth.

She gripped the base with one hand, moving back and forth, sucking with a wet, slurping sound.

When her teeth grazed the tip, electric shocks shot up from his feet.

His legs wobbled.

With her other hand, she gently massaged his limp, dangling balls.

When she squeezed tightly, pain turned to pleasure.

"Don't suck too long… I'll cum in your mouth!"

"If you want to cum, then cum. Anytime."

"Nah, can't do that. Why waste a good thing?"

"Hmph. Mouth or pussy—both are just holes anyway."

"Huh. So you're saying all holes are the same?"

The sour, tangy taste at the tip told him—if he stayed like this, he'd definitely cum in his mouth.

"Sarah!"

"…?"

"Stop sucking. Let's do it this way."

He pushed her face away and pulled her up.

He shoved her unsteady body aside, pushed the nearby chair away, separating it.

An old-style café chair—no armrests.

He pushed both side chairs aside, sat on the middle one, looked at Sarah, who was staring blankly, then opened his arms, gesturing for her to come.

She instantly understood.

Like mounting a horse, she straddled the chair, facing him, and sat.

As she lowered herself, she expertly grabbed his cock, parted her thick pubic hair, guided it into her slippery hole, and sank down.

Her wide pussy swallowed his cock effortlessly.

Still, the soft touch of her womb made his tip itch.

"Ugh… ugh…"

"Honey… you okay?"

"Yeah… good. But… it's too big…"

"A little, yeah?"

"So… what now?"

"What do you mean what? I'm fine…"

"Want to see your face? Suck your tits?"

He grabbed her hips, rocked back and forth, then puckered his lips.

She opened hers and pressed in.

Lips met.

Tongues tangled.

They sucked each other's saliva, crossed and twisted.

Their breaths clashed, hot and heavy.

She broke the kiss first.

"Honey… you like it?"

"Hah… yeah, of course…"

"Honey… go slow… I'm getting excited again…"

"Got… it…"

"Honey… lift up a bit!"

"…?"

She lifted her hips.

His cock slipped out, slick and glistening.

She quickly spun around, sat facing the opposite way.

Then, lifting her hips, she looked down, grabbed his cock, aligned it with her pussy, and sank down again.

Then, she pressed her hands on his feet, bent forward—her wide pussy tightened.

Each time she lifted and dropped her hips, it felt like she was sucking him deep.

It squeezed like a hand, chewed like teeth.

She knew this technique too?

Still, it was awkward.

The chair's angle prevented deep penetration—only shallow thrusts. It drove him crazy.

He lifted her hips once more—pop—his cock slipped out.

He guided her standing body with his hands, made her grab the chair and bend over.

Then, standing behind her, he looked at her plump ass.

Her pussy hair was so thick, even her asshole was covered in dark curls.

Bent over, gripping the chair, her ass raised high—

Under the red light, her pussy looked dark red, glistening with wetness that looked eerily like blood.

"Honey… what… are you… doing…"

"Huh? Yeah…"

He awkwardly answered, gripped his swollen, throbbing cock, stroked it up and down a few times, then plunged it deep into her wide, open pussy in one thrust.

Sarah's moans started again.

He rarely did this—but right now, it felt too intense.

In and out—no sensation at all.

Sarah, now highly skilled, grabbed her own ankles, curled her body tight, groaning.

Her sagging breasts swung wildly.

Her puckering asshole looked black.

He lightly touched it with his right index finger.

She shivered—sensitive.

He slowly pushed his spit-covered finger into her ass.

After a bit, he pulled it out, sniffed it.

No smell at all.

He dipped the finger into her soaked pussy, gathered fluid, then pressed it to her ass and pushed in all at once.

Sarah's back arched.

"Damn… honey… that hurts!"

"…"

Saying nothing, he lowered the buried finger, pressing it against his thrusting cock.

Her moans shifted from pain to pleasure—her voice changed tone.

Groaning, muttering, her ass jerked.

He slowly moved his finger back and forth.

He spat more saliva into her ass.

Then pulled out, stopped moving.

He pulled his cock out—dripping wet—and aimed it at her ass.

He wrapped both arms around her fat waist, pushed forward, and shoved his cock deep.

It felt tight—then slurp—it sank in.

Sarah, bent like a bow, shot up, hands flying back to her ass.

Her hands pushed at his stomach, but it was already deep inside.

He stayed pressed against her ass for a long time, moving slowly.

He released one arm from her waist, reached down, found her bud, and circled it with his fingertip.

She moaned strangely. One hand returned, feeling his cock sliding in and out of her ass, then left again.

Her fat ass slapped with a slap, slap sound.

The tight grip brought him back to his senses—his cockhead throbbed.

The sound of clapping came from Sarah's ass.

Finally, after holding back for so long, his cock erupted.

Spurt… spurt… It felt like his urethra was tearing—a massive load of cum flooded deep into Sarah's ass.

Before the last drop was spent,

Sarah spun around, sat on the chair, and pulled his head down, shoving his face into her pussy.

"Honey… I… damn… help me…"

She sat, back on the chair, legs spread, head on the floor.

Then she pressed his head into her pussy, thrashing.

Her back arched like a bow, leaping.

He shoved three fingers into her gaping pussy, grinding her bud between his teeth.

"Damn… I'm dying… god… ugh…"

She screamed as if the ceiling would collapse—Sarah hit her second climax.

Then, she pushed his face away—roughly, mercilessly.

She shoved his hand out of her pussy.

Only her arched body lay there, motionless, like dead.

After a long while, Sarah stood.

She grabbed his face—still crouched before her pussy—pulled him into a kiss, then crushed his body in a tight embrace.

Still gasping, she murmured:

"Honey… thank you…"

"What are you saying…"

"If we both feel this good, that's enough. No need to thank…"

"Still… huff… huff…"

She released her arms, pushed him up.

Sarah gently wiped his limp cock.

They picked up their scattered clothes, dressed, then sat side by side again.

They poured the last of the beer, drank, then left the basement café together.

They looked at each other, exchanged a quiet smile.

Then parted.

In the taxi ride home, he watched the autumn rain fall outside the window.