Chapter 3 — Ripe Flesh (Part 1) (3)

The sound of a woman’s moan.

Julia had fallen for Eric, president of Youngbo Corporation, even while her husband was still alive.

The two had met in secret about once a month, sharing their bodies.

But after her husband’s death, things changed—she began avoiding those clandestine meetings.

Her husband and Eric had been friends.

Which meant she had been committing adultery with her husband’s friend.

“If I take you now, after my friend’s death… it feels like I’d be betraying him. Like he’d resent me from beyond the grave.”

That was Eric’s excuse for keeping his distance.

Still, as an adopted son, he’d always been cautious about affairs outside his marriage. He had too much to lose.

One evening, Julia stayed late at the office—her part-time shift at the jewelry shop had run long, and she’d stayed to help close up. As a twenty-eight-year-old widow who lived alone in her small flat, she had no one waiting for her, so the extra hours didn’t matter.

By the time she boarded the bus, she was already struggling to hold back her urge to urinate.

She got off near her home, but still had over ten minutes of walking ahead.

Her bladder throbbed, swollen to the point of bursting. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to endure.

A chill crept over her, sharp and sudden, as if her body rebelled against the strain.

Just then, she saw the park ahead.

She remembered—there was a restroom near the center of the open field. She’d walked through here once with her husband, long ago.

She knew the park swarmed with young couples in summer, but she’d never entered after dark.

Now, desperate, she quickened her pace toward the restroom.

Spotting the small building beside an old tree, she rushed inside.

She locked the stall behind her, pulled up her skirt, and crouched down.

Her beautiful face twisted in disgust as she began to pee—relieved, yet repulsed by the foul stench.

The stream burst out with force, pent up for too long.

When the last drop fell, a deep sigh escaped her lips.

Beneath her, the dark hair-covered mound tingled strangely, awakened by the sudden release. A warm, creeping sensation spread through her sex.

Perhaps it was the approaching menstruation. Or perhaps it was something deeper.

Her ripe, mature body glistened faintly with residual drops, the heat between her thighs rising like a hidden valley steaming in the night.

She felt an urge to touch herself, to stroke the pulsing warmth with her fingers.

But this wasn’t the place. Not here.

She wiped herself with toilet paper, stood, and left the restroom.

Outside, the park was swallowed by darkness.

She walked slowly toward the entrance, the silence pressing against her ears.

Then—suddenly—a woman’s moan pierced the night.

A desperate, aching sound.

Julia froze.

Without thinking, she stopped and peered into the trees.

And for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

Under the dim glow of a mercury lamp, a man and woman were tangled together in the shadowed grove.

They were locked in a feverish embrace on the grass, the woman lying on her back, the man on top.

They looked like office workers from the same company.

The man, in his early thirties, had stripped off his shirt and lowered his pants and underwear to his hips, exposing his buttocks.

He straddled a younger woman—about five years younger than Julia.

Her blouse lay discarded, her large white breasts spilling out of her bra.

Her legs were flung wide, one on each side of the man’s hips.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck from below.

They moved together, grinding, their mouths crashing together in wild, desperate kisses.

From the woman came a sound—half moan, half gasp—raw and aching.

The man’s slightly tanned back rippled as he thrust into her, his hips driving against the curve of her narrow waist.

Julia had never seen real sex before. Only on videos. But this—this was real. Flesh, sweat, sound, motion.

Their breathing grew ragged, frantic.

Then the man lifted himself, pulling the woman’s legs up and draping them over his shoulders.

Her body bent sharply in half, exposed and open.

Now he drove into her with fierce, brutal force—completely different from before.

The woman screamed—a cry so sharp it felt like Julia’s own spine was snapping.

The man growled something. The woman nodded eagerly.

“Yes… yes… more… just a little more…”

She cried out again, a sound like an animal in heat.

And in that instant, the woman sobbed, trembling in climax.

Julia felt her own blood rush to her face. Her mind clouded over, filled with a thick, red haze.

Before her eyes, the world flickered with crimson light.

A deep, aching warmth surged from within—love’s spring welling up, soaking the core of her body.

She turned and fled, running home as if chased.

Ashamed. Ashamed of having spied on another’s passion.

That night…

After a warm shower, she slipped into bed.

And suddenly, her resentment toward President Eric boiled over.

If only he’d held me… If only he didn’t care about my dead husband…

No!

She whispered the word aloud, twisting beneath the sheets.

Her hand slipped beneath the hem of her thin silk negligee, then into her panties.

The image of the couple in the park—burned into her mind—ignited her.

She pulled off her panties, pushed the negligee up, and began to touch herself.

First, she stroked the outer lips of her vulva.

Then, she focused on her clitoris—the most sensitive spot.

Normally hidden beneath her skin, it now swelled with arousal, rising like a tiny bud.

Hard. Erect. Like a bird’s beak.

She rubbed it with her fingertip, circling slowly, then faster.

Electric pleasure shot through her spine. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps.

She wanted to scream—but held back, ashamed.

Yet the urge grew.

Aaang… uhnn… ah, yes… yes!

She spread her thighs wide, boldly rocking her hips.

She bit down on the pillow, her other hand sliding deep into her wetness.

Her fingers pressed into the soft flesh, twisting gently.

Pleasure surged to the tips of her toes.

Aaang… aaah!

Her body arched. She threw her upper body back, pressing her hands between her legs, clamping her thighs around them with force.

Ah… aang!

From deep in her throat, a moan tore free.

She had reached the peak.

After that night, she began returning to the park every dusk, as if addicted.

Usually after work. Sometimes she’d sit on a bench near the entrance, rest briefly, then leave.

But if she walked away too soon, she felt empty—like she’d missed something vital.

So she’d linger.

And step, once again, into the dim, shadowed park.