Chapter 1 — Stone Buddha & Widow's Rock

My wife was grilling two squid in the kitchen, saying she was going to visit a friend from the neighboring building.

One squid she placed on a small plate, legs and body separated and curled, ready for the dinner table—me and the kids.

"Honey... I'm off~"

She always says things like that in such a cute way. And every time, it makes her seem so adorable, so lovable.

Dressed in her usual home clothes, her face freshly made up—she looked so beautiful.

I watched her from behind as she stepped out, one squid still in hand. Sitting with the kids, peeling squid while watching TV, I suddenly felt pathetic.

It was already past 11 p.m.

Her footsteps carried her out of Beorak Apartment Building 108, past the playground in front of Building 107, then toward the main road.

Was she going to take the bus?

A moment later, her phone lit up. Almost immediately, a blue sedan turned across the center line from the opposite direction and pulled up beside her.

She got in right away—and within seconds, the car had already driven off, more than twenty meters away.

Carefully, I followed, keeping about twenty meters between us.

The blue car slipped out along the edge of the apartment complex, heading toward the embankment beside the large stream.

I spotted a narrow path below the embankment.

When I saw the car descend onto it, I cautiously parked nearby and got out.

My wife and the man stepped out of the car and moved down from the embankment toward the water's edge.

Between the dim, shadowed trees, they settled on flat stones tilted at an angle.

The streetlight across the way didn't quite reach them—just enough to outline their silhouettes.

In the half-darkness, they collapsed into each other. My wife's body was completely hidden beneath the man's.

I crept closer, within ten meters. The headlights of passing cars flickered across the scene.

There, I saw my wife with her head buried deep in the man's crotch.

His persistent fingers slipped under her skirt, sliding into her panties, groping through the thick, dark hair of her pussy. Her wetness soaked his hand, glistening as it seeped out.

Two fingers plunged deep inside her. The man groaned, breath ragged with excitement.

My wife didn't lift her head. She surrendered her sex entirely to his touch, trembling, waiting for her climax.

After a while, she finally raised her head. The man stood, and she followed.

They seemed to be heading back to the car.

Inside the car, they acted like strangers just beginning.

My wife was dazed.

She pulled her T-shirt up, unhooked her bra, and let her bare breasts sway freely. Then she lifted her long skirt and pulled down her pink panties.

The man held the damp, soiled panties in his hands, stroking them briefly, inhaling their scent.

Her pussy was spread wide, revealing the deep pink inner flesh, slick with thick, glistening arousal.

He positioned her between the passenger and driver's seats, then buried his face between her spread buttocks, sucking greedily.

He was giving her the oral pleasure I'd never given her.

And this man—he's married too. Does his wife do this for him?

Fucking bastard.

A married man screwing a married woman.

But… I couldn't blame him.

She was the one who started it.

My wife thrust her hips forward, flooding his mouth with the juices pouring from her core.

When his tongue slipped between the folds of her pussy and flicked her clitoris…

She nearly collapsed, legs trembling, body swaying helplessly.

"Ahh... Ahh... Huh... Haa... Ah~ Ah~ Ah."

Moans poured from her lips—deep, uncontrolled gasps of ecstasy, lost in the man's mouth.

When the man paused, supporting her hips, my wife reached for his belt, unfastened it, and pulled his pants down.

His cock sprang out, thick and flushed, the tip dark and swollen.

My wife gasped in excitement.

"Fuck me. Now."

His cock split open the deep, wet folds of her pussy and plunged straight in.

Sex in the car was filthy, wet.

At first, she was passive.

But soon she took control, grinding her hips in a sensual dance.

He thrust upward from below.

She answered by riding him hard—up and down, side to side, slamming her soaked pussy onto his cock.

Then, suddenly, she froze.

He gripped her hips tightly and came—hard—pumping his load deep inside her without restraint.

She stayed motionless, impaled on his cock, waiting for her own climax.

He must have come first.

Of course.

My wife usually climaxes later. This was too soon.

What an idiot.

My wife only feels satisfied when she reaches orgasm first.

Exactly.

A long silence followed, filled only by her soft, disappointed sighs. The man seemed apologetic.

As I walked back to my car, my own cock throbbed painfully.

Was it because it was fully erect, trapped in tight underwear?

I drove off first. I had to get home before her.

Back at the apartment, I took a shower, ate the leftover squid, and was about to turn on a late-night broadcast when she walked in.

"Honey! Why is the living room light off? You're watching TV in the dark? Do you know how expensive electricity is!"

Of course. My wife was bold as ever—scolding me, acting righteous, as if her own betrayal meant nothing.