Chapter 1 — That Summer!

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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I remember the beautiful night in Cheongpyeong when the monsoon rain poured down like the sky had burst open.

I first met her on an online café of an internet community site called "The Rebellion of the Forties," where we exchanged many conversations and gradually grew close, sharing things we probably shouldn't have—openly, honestly, without restraint.

Before long, without either of us making the first move explicitly, we both wanted to meet in person. And so, naturally, I met her face-to-face.

At first—well, calling it "refined" feels awkward, but literally speaking, perhaps we shared something like pure love (?)—but looking back now, wasn't it just a ritual passage, a pretense two adulterers perform while cautiously probing each other, pretending to be innocent before finally surrendering?

Truthfully, my first impression of her was quite favorable. Still, the awkwardness of a new encounter was unavoidable. It took time to grow accustomed to each other, to feel familiar, to gradually build trust that she was, in many ways, a good person. That adjustment period was necessary.

But she was, without a doubt, a woman I wanted to see—whether time allowed it or I had to deliberately make time.

On some days, my mind was consumed entirely by thoughts of her, and without even realizing it, my groin would ache with unbearable tension.

Not that she was stunningly beautiful.

She wasn't a beauty in the conventional sense—though of course, a lovely face instinctively stirs a man's desire. But for me, it was something else: the unique aura she exuded, an external atmosphere that radiated a special sexual magnetism. That was what first drew me in, what acted as my primary sexual stimulant.

She was that kind of woman.

Like Janus, she appeared as a heavenly, virtuous wife from one angle, and from another, like a streetwalker with faded, tarnished sensuality.

When her face lit up with laughter, she seemed purely, utterly happy. But in silence, her expression carried the weight of all life's sorrows.

In short, she was unknowable.

Mysterious, even.

Perhaps I was overly cautious, but only after about three months did we finally break free from that tedious, drawn-out initiation ritual. You know how it is, don't you?

Whenever we met, we'd sneak into some secluded spot to kiss, grope each other's bodies—bridging emotional and physical love like the lovers of The Bridges of Madison County—and eventually, under the pretense of watching a movie together, we crossed the threshold in a private room, performing a dizzying, face-to-face sex act that marked our passage.

You know, don't you? Once you've tasted sex, nothing less or more is allowed.

From then on, attention and action are limited solely to sex—an already addictive force. Sex! That ecstatic act.

Because in that moment—at least for me, and maybe for you too—I forget everything.

I confirm my very existence only through the relentless, methodless rush toward the highest pleasure I can feel, driven by a man's raw, stubborn will.

While an explosive orgasm surges through the deep walls of her vagina, vibrating her clitoris and racing up her spine, my body simultaneously shatters into pieces.

That sensation tells me:

Yes, sex is more intoxicating than anything else in this world.

Looking back, it seems we spent three long months in that agonizing prelude, tormenting each other with anticipation.

The first time we had sex in some downtown motel, then the second…

Nothing particularly special.

The process and procedure—anyone who's experienced illicit sex can probably imagine it well enough: a somewhat unsatisfying, perfunctory act, the kind people go through before their bodies grow familiar with each other.

I remember it clearly—exactly the sixth night of sex!

That summer night, with the monsoon rain pouring down like the world was ending—I'll probably carry the memory of that sex for the rest of my life.

Room 708 of a motel that looked like a palace overlooking the north Han River area.

A waterbed. A love chair. Soft yet intense red lighting. A large mirror hanging from the ceiling. Thin walls letting in the piercing moans of a woman from the next room.

Raindrops fiercely tapping against the window. For a man with premature ejaculation, or the poor woman stuck with him, this would be nothing but a cruel joke. But for a couple who knows how to enjoy fantastic sex, the atmosphere of that motel room was more than enough—an aphrodisiac in itself.

The downpour still rages.

My car pulls into the motel parking lot, the windshield wipers scattering rainwater to both sides before clunking shut.

"Let's get out."

"Mm-hmm."

In an instant.

The motel bellboy rushes out and covers my car's license plate with a small tag.

She and I stand alone in the elevator. I pull her close and kiss her deeply, her lips moist and warm.

The cock tucked quietly in my underwear twitches, unable to endure even that brief moment.

It brushes against the center of her skirt, right along the rounded path leading down to her pussy, and my cock senses something far from ordinary pleasure.

Ding-dong! Seventh floor.

Room 8 at the end of the red-carpeted hallway. I slide the key card into the slot—the light turns on.

As before, we undress in silence.

She moves behind me, bending over slightly as if still shy, pulling down her panties. My gaze locks onto her round, firm, pale buttocks.

While she showers, I turn on the TV.

Channel 19. Unnaturally explicit.

A man on an apartment living room sofa thrusting on top of a woman. She makes perfunctory moaning sounds. It's stale, uninspiring.

I sip instant coffee from a paper cup, idly glancing at the A4 sheet laminated on the wall—instructions for using the love chair and various possible positions.

It's my own little trick.

I occasionally, or before sex, freeze my cock with cold water until the area below my balls feels numb and sensation dulls.

I crank the shower hose to maximum pressure and keep spraying.

Do you have your own unique cock-training method? If not, try concentrated cold-water friction.

You might be surprised by the results.

"I go crazy wanting sex whenever I think of you," she whispers, burying herself against my chest.

"Really?" I reply, rubbing my chest against her full breasts.

Her lips are always sweet. I taste them with the tip of my tongue, as if licking a piece of candy.

Soon, my tongue, burning hot, pushes deep into her mouth, coiling around hers, pulling it toward me.

Our tongues tangle.

Our bodily fluids pool thickly.

At the same time, my palm dances over her breasts, then down her stomach, wandering near her pussy.

I know.

That wandering is a blissful, thrilling torture for her. It must be.

Inside, she's screaming, Please, rub my pussy quickly! desperately begging.

But the more desperate she becomes, the greater her pleasure will be—we both know this well.

My hand finally ignores her plea, sliding back up her stomach to squeeze her breasts, gently twisting her nipples.

I slowly slide the head of my cock between her thighs, pressing my chest against her breasts.

I cradle the back of her head with both hands, breathe deeply into her mouth, press my lips thickly over hers, and firmly yet softly crush them, then push my entire tongue deep inside, sucking up her hot, wet fluids.

My chest presses against her full breasts, my cockhead teasing her thighs, our lips locked in a breathless, feverish exchange.

"Ah! Good… Your touch is always like this… so good," she stammers, whispering. "I forget everything… except sex… as if I was born only for sex, you know?"

"Mm-hmm…"

Her pussy is already soaked with hot liquid, like a thermal spring.

As I probe it with my palm, then fingers, the wetness steadily seeps out from her vaginal lips.

I dip my middle finger into the fluid, dragging it upward like combing hair, stopping at her hard, erect clitoris, rubbing it gently.

When it starts to dry, I repeat the motion, softly coaxing her clitoris open.

The distance is short.

From the entrance of her pussy, where thick, hot fluid gathers and flows, past the urethra to her clitoris—her entire vulva grows increasingly excited.

I feel the heat through my palm.

It's scorching.

Right then—the moment I love most—signals the perfect opportunity to begin oral sex.

I bury my head, extend my tongue, and now, with greater intensity, follow the same path I've just prepared with my fingers.

I coat my tongue with her juices, drag it powerfully upward, and suck her clitoris fiercely, gnawing it with my front teeth.

It should smell sharp, but instead, it tastes like well-aged wine, with a hint of chocolate—because the hazy excitement has already numbed my sense of taste, leaving only the trembling sensation of pure aphrodisiac.

It's sweet, like fresh orange juice, like fortified wine.

"Honey… Ah, yes! You're so good! How are you this good?"

Her voice can barely convey meaning now.

Do you know the power of a low whisper? It's stronger than any stimulant.

"Yes. Focus all your nerves on your pussy! Understand?"

"…Mm. I'm going crazy. I want to suck you too, honey!"

69!

I spread her buttocks wide with both palms, shove my head in, suck her labia into my mouth, chew them gently, and thrust my tongue in and out of her vagina.

My face is coated with her juices, and from below, the delicious sensation of her sucking my cock surges up my thighs, slowly fading along my spine—a continuous chain of excitement.

Intense pleasure erupts at the tip of my cock.

It tingles sharply, like carbonated soda—just bearable.

I lift her right leg with one hand and push my groin into that space.

My swollen, taut cockhead hovers at her vaginal entrance, as if begging to be let in.

This is the moment she goes wild.

I know how much she craves my cock.

Please, come in and fuck me!

I'm begging you! I feel it.

My cockhead, lingering at her entrance, is suffering too.

But I must endure.

That's my own hard-earned know-how, developed over six encounters with her.

Finally, my cockhead slowly pushes into the hole.

Only the very tip slips in.

Then I twist it, widening the path.

You know that feeling well.

Women, especially, will remember the aching longing of that moment.

She writhes, grabbing my hand, pulling it toward her.

A desperate hint: Go deeper.

Now.

I pull my hips back, then gradually accelerate, thrusting hard and deep.

"Aah! Honey! What am I supposed to do! I'm going crazy…"

"Now feel it! How does my cock taste?" I slam myself deep into her womb, hold still, and let her feel it.

"Ah!… Mmm… Honey! Honey! Your hips are too incredible… Look at the ceiling mirror!"

The large mirror hanging from the ceiling is a giant screen broadcasting our live sex show.

I tilt my head back and look into the mirror.

My round, raised buttocks, split on either side, are undulating like furious waves.

As I continue my piston motion, her lifted thighs dance rhythmically, moving to the beat of orgasm.

Have you heard of Gu Cheon Il Sim? Nine shallow, one deep—a sexual technique from ancient Chinese bedroom arts.

It's useful.

But I've developed my own upgraded method.

The uniform Gu Cheon Il Sim is now outdated. I start with it, but variation is key.

Next comes Pal Cheon I Sim—eight shallow, two deep.

Then Chil Cheon Sam Sim, Yuk Cheon Sa Sim…

Because letting a woman predict the next move can dull excitement.

If she thinks, Ah, five shallow, then five deep, I switch back to Pal Cheon I Sim.

The unpredictability will drive her even madder.

Finally, I ride her.

Chest pressed to her breasts, I spread her inner thighs as wide as possible, pressing my groin tightly against them.

Then, using my hips, I continue the back-and-forth motion. This time, it's different.

I add pressure and pause to the Gu Cheon Il Sim technique.

After dozens of thrusts, I suddenly plunge deep and freeze—using the strength of my hips to crush her pussy with intense pressure.

"Aah! Honey… You're killing me!"

She uses that moment to catch her breath, then bursts into moans.

I give her a chance to speak.

"Yes… I'll kill you."

"Honey… I'm about to come… but I'll hold it… Do more, please…"

"Yes… We'll come together… Hold on… Not yet…"

We're drenched in sweat.

She twists her body, straining with all her might, pulling me into every movement.

A strange sense of unity creates overwhelming fullness.

Words aren't needed.

Body movements and cries are the language of sex.

Hot liquid gushes from her vaginal walls, as if she's spraying urine.

When she tightens her vaginal muscles, the coagulated mass of her juices bursts outward.

It's slippery.

The sensation is utterly fantastic. My cock feels like it's melting, her vaginal walls trembling violently.

Now, all sexual techniques are discarded. Only powerful, sustained thrusting remains.

"Uuuh… Ah! Ah!… Aaah! I'm dying! I'll die from madness! Honey!"

"Yes… I'll cram my love deep into your pussy… Take it all!"

"Honey! I can't hold on anymore… I'm trying, but I can't… Come inside me! Now!"

Still tangled together, she mounts me like a cowgirl.

Our fingers interlock tightly, joint by joint, as her hips rise into the air and crash down.

I lift my head, watching my cock slide in and out.

Her thick, sticky juices coat my cock, making it slick as it parts her dense pubic hair, appearing rapidly before sliding back into her pussy and vanishing.

Her round, full breasts bounce wildly right in front of my face—her bouncing never stops.

The thrill of watching this vivid, live show reflected in the large ceiling mirror!

You know it well.

I don't want to pull my cock out—not now that it's drunk on her pussy.

Keeping it buried, I shift our position.

I need to adjust intensity again—soft, slow thrusts, changing the rhythm of penetration, guiding her orgasm to explode simultaneously around her vaginal walls, clitoris, perineum, and thighs.

"Ah! Honey! What am I supposed to do! I'm going crazy. Really… I can't take it anymore… I'll die… Honey!"

"Yes, don't hold back… Now! Let it burst!"

She drops her lifted thighs, completely sealing my cock inside her.

An overwhelming pressure surges from her wildly excited pussy.

Her vaginal walls crush me from front, back, left, and right.

My cock feels crushed.

Thick, hot liquid gushes from her G-spot, exploding again and again.