Chapter 1 — Sex with My Husband's Friend~~

We occasionally attend couples' gatherings with my husband—maybe two or three times a year.

My husband is a heavy drinker. Once he starts drinking, he won't stop until dawn breaks and night falls again.

That day, we went to a gathering with his friends—all from the same profession.

It was year-end. Seven men and six women.

We weren't particularly close, but we knew each other well enough.

We had dinner for the first round, then moved on to a nightclub for the second.

By then, it must've been around 1 a.m.

The group finally spilled outside.

The men headed off to a restaurant run by one of their friends for the third round, while the women went their separate ways home.

One woman lived in the same direction as me, so we shared a taxi.

Maybe because we were both women, we hit it off easily in the car.

Since our husbands were gone, she ended up coming over to my place.

We talked about our husbands and gossiped about other couples, and before I knew it, it was already past 2:30 a.m.

She called her husband and asked him to pick her up by 3 a.m.

But 3 o'clock passed. Then 3:30. Her husband still hadn't arrived.

After waiting, she decided to head home alone.

I was left alone.

A strange loneliness crept in. I'd had a little to drink, and my mood turned restless, melancholy.

I even started resenting my husband.

I took a shower, didn't bother dressing, and lay on the bed in just a robe, turning on the TV.

That was when it happened.

The doorbell rang.

I checked the monitor—and saw the husband of the woman who'd just left.

I assumed he'd come with my husband.

I wasn't even wearing underwear—just a loosely gripped robe.

I opened the door and invited him in.

But he walked in alone, looking around.

"Huh? She came ahead," I said.

"Damn it! She said she'd wait here!"

"She waited… and left a little while ago."

"Oh… I see."

"And my husband?"

"He's… probably running late. They're still drinking and playing poker."

"I thought you came together…"

"Then I'll be going…"

As he turned to leave, he stared at me—really stared.

That's when I realized.

I was only wearing a robe.

I instinctively tightened my grip on the fabric.

But he turned back. "Uh… um…" His eyes locked onto me.

Drunk or not, his gaze felt lewd, sinister.

I averted my eyes, staring at the living room floor.

Then he said, "Can I use the bathroom?"

"Sure, right here."

He went in—but didn't come out for five minutes.

That's when it hit me.

My panties and bra, taken off after the shower…

Oh no. What do I do?

The sexy panties my husband bought me—those glowing, barely-there strings—were sitting right on the bathroom sink.

What if he sees them?

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed.

I grew anxious, pressing my ear against the bathroom door, trying to listen.

Then—suddenly—the door swung open.

He was stepping out.

I gasped.

"Oh! Oh my!"

I was so startled that I dropped the front of my robe.

And just like that—my bare body was exposed to him.

Ten seconds of silence passed.

Then he said, "You're truly beautiful."

I grabbed the robe again, clutching it shut.

"Please leave now."

"Just… one cup of coffee… then I'll go right away."

Still gripping the robe, I headed toward the kitchen—then stopped.

I should change clothes.

I turned and went into the bedroom.

I let go of the robe, reached for my panties—those scandalous ones my husband loves to buy me. (He buys them so often, almost all my underwear is like this.) I started pulling them on, then my pants—

The door suddenly opened.

He walked in.

It happened so fast.

Until that moment, I hadn't even considered anything inappropriate—no thought of cheating.

But there I was—naked except for those thin, revealing strings.

I covered my chest with my hands and sank to the floor.

I didn't know what to do. I was paralyzed.

But he closed the door behind him and walked toward me.

"You're incredible, ma'am," he murmured, gently stroking my shoulder.

"No!" I tried to stand, pushing him away.

But he was strong—didn't budge an inch.

He pulled me into his arms, laid me on the bed.

Then he lay beside me.

One large hand cupped my breast. The other wrapped around my neck, pinning my hand so I couldn't move.

With his foot, he spread my legs.

The hand on my breast slid down, caressing my thigh.

No matter how much I struggled, I was powerless against his raw strength.

He touched my breasts, my nipples, then moved between my legs.

Then his mouth—on my neck, trailing down to my chest. His tongue flicked over my nipple, then he sucked—softly at first, then harder.

Ah~~~

I couldn't hold back any longer.

I collapsed.

The more he touched me, the more I gave in—moaning despite myself.

When I get excited, I can't help but moan. My husband loves it.

He always says, "You're so damn hot when you moan."

Now both his hands roamed my body.

His tongue sucked my neck, then returned to my nipples. He kissed my ear, nibbled it, then took both breasts in his hands, gently rolling them.

My body was mine, yet I stopped resisting. I surrendered—indulging in his passionate touch.

When his mouth closed over my nipple, I nearly lost my mind.

His lips moved down, past my navel, tugging at the string of my panties.

One hand kept teasing my nipple. His mouth kissed over the fabric—then his teeth caught the string and pulled it aside.

Then he stripped off all his clothes.

His cock—engorged, veins bulging—stood erect like it might burst.

He pressed it against my lips, motioning for me to suck.

I turned my head away.

Inside, I wanted to—badly—but I couldn't bring myself to.

He kissed me again.

His tongue forced its way into my mouth.

I sucked on his tongue. He plunged deeper.

I was so aroused—I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him in, and thrust my own tongue into his mouth.

He sucked my tongue, then guided my hand to his cock.

I gripped it—stroked it up and down, twisting it just like I do with my husband.

Then he tried to push it into my mouth.

I closed my eyes… and opened my lips.

It slid in deep.

I held it with both hands, swirling my tongue around the head, then pushing the tip into the slit—just like I do with my husband.

He groaned—lost control.

Our moans filled the room.

Then his cock moved toward my entrance.

His fingers went in first—slowly, gently probing.

I was so wet.

He licked my slit, then wiped the wetness with his own underwear.

Then his cock entered me.

"Ahh… mm…"

The harder he thrust, the louder I moaned.

"Aaah~~ mm~~ ah… oh baby, I love you~~ uh~~ baby~~"

Half-conscious, I called him "baby."

"Baby… I love you…"

He moaned, "Yes… I'll be your baby… ah… mm…"

His groans poured out.

And then—he came.

I climaxed too.

Our bodies drenched in sweat.

He used his soiled underwear to wipe my pussy clean.

I checked the time—5:25 a.m.

He left my husband's underwear there, quickly dressed, and left.

I threw his underwear in the trash.

That was a year ago.

Even now, whenever there's a gathering, I hesitate.

When I'm alone, or at random moments, I remember that night.

I don't regret it. I don't blame him.

I'm ashamed. I don't want it to happen again.

But no matter how hard I try to forget—it just won't fade away.