Chapter 1 — The CEO Who Seduces the Housewife Designer

At 29, she was practically an old maid—yet dressed in a suit, she looked untouched, almost virginal. But she wasn’t. She was a wife, which made her all the more tempting. After all, wasn’t it said that in Japan, nude photos showing pubic hair were wildly popular? Not just nude photos, but ones where you could see that hair, especially on ordinary housewives—that was the real draw.

And who wouldn’t get excited seeing another man’s wife like that? Especially when it was someone else’s property…

From my position, hiring a housewife was even more effective. If I could seduce one—just one—it would be the ultimate win-win: pleasure and profit combined.

Virgins were difficult—naive, inexperienced, hard to excite. But married women? They knew sex. They’d grown tired of their husbands’ predictable routines. One little push and they’d explode, their ripe bodies ready to be devoured.

The woman I’d hired was Sarah Lee—gorgeous, curvy, irresistible. I immediately promoted her to sales supervisor and always took her along on business trips, using work as an excuse. We grew close, exchanging flirtatious banter. Unlike a virgin, she understood the game. She even laughed when I asked if her husband satisfied her at night. If you want, I can show you how it’s really done, I teased. She smiled and refused—but not too firmly.

Maybe deep down she thought: If only he weren’t my boss… I might actually say yes.

I enjoyed it. And she didn’t resist much. I sometimes wondered—would her husband still let her work if he knew what I was doing? Or if my own wife were in her place, how would I feel? But then again, my wife had no job, and I was the one doing the seducing, so I’d just smirk bitterly at my own hypocrisy.

It wasn’t my problem to worry about. Hers and her husband’s. I just wanted to taste her.

At first, I stole glances, imagining her naked beneath her clothes. But as we got closer, I stopped hiding. When she looked at me, I stared back—lewdly—fixing my gaze on her full breasts, the curve of her legs beneath her skirt.

She’d laugh and say, “Why are you looking like that? What are you staring at?” Then she’d cover herself playfully.

“You’re just too tempting,” I’d reply. “If you weren’t someone else’s wife, I’d propose right now. You’re driving me crazy… Heh.”

She never seemed to mind. Maybe even liked it.

Then one night around 11 PM, I drove her to a quiet spot. She wore a skirt and blouse, sitting beside me, legs crossed casually. Earlier at work, I’d noticed her bra strap through her thin top—her pale skin bare underneath. Sunlight had shone through her skirt, teasing glimpses of what lay beneath.

Every time she got into the car, her skirt would ride up, revealing deep views of her thighs. Sometimes, even her panties. Red ones—not garish, but pretty, with delicate patterns. It drove me wild.

I pulled over.

We were near Seocho-dong in Gangnam, off the highway entrance ramp. I turned off the engine. She smiled.

“Why did we stop here?”

“Let’s rest a bit. Traffic might be bad.”

“Oh? Should I go buy drinks from that stand back there?”

“No, it’s fine. But… can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“What color are your panties?”

“Huh? Hahaha… You’re so weird, President…”

“Red, right?”

“Y-yes…? Haha, when did you see them?”

“Every time you get in the car.”

I said it deliberately—to make things easier. Then I added, “But earlier… something was stained there…”

“Wha—? Don’t look! Please…”

She shifted, pulling her skirt down, trying to hide. But lifting her skirt right next to me while telling me not to look? That wasn’t modesty—that was temptation. Teasing.

I leaned over, peeking past her shoulder. Her pale thighs glistened in the dim light—the same ones I’d seen in the sun. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I reached across and grabbed her breast.

She gasped, jerking her body, trying to pull my hand away.

“Stop it! Quickly! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Stay still… I’ve wanted you for so long… I love you.”

We both knew it was a lie. But people are weak—especially women—in the moment. A sweet lie could break her down. That’s what I believed.

“I really love you… Do you have any idea how hard it’s been?”

I kissed her neck fiercely.

“Mmm… please… President… ugh…”

Her resistance wasn’t strong. I was confident. Our affair had already begun the day she walked into my office. The day I made her sales supervisor. Every dirty joke, every suggestive comment—we’d been having mental sex for weeks. All it needed was a spark.

Until now, I’d lacked the courage. But tonight, desire gave me strength.

When I hired her, I already imagined this—another man’s wife, mine for the taking. I didn’t care about her skills. I chose her for her beauty, her body, her soft personality—the kind that would melt under a man’s touch.

And she was soft. When I groped her breast, she barely protested.

“President… please… you can’t do this… I have a husband… children…”

That was all. No real fight. My confidence surged. Cars passed by, their headlights sweeping across us, but she made no move to scream, no attempt to escape. She just wanted this moment to end—without consequences.

I kept kissing her neck, squeezing her breast. Then I moved my right hand from her right breast to her left, wrapping my arms around her. With my left hand, I slid it under her skirt. It was already above her knees. I slipped my hand beneath—she clamped her legs shut instantly.

“No… no, President… stop now…”

“I love you… I’ve loved you for so long… Do you hate me, Sarah?”

To free my hand, I grabbed her skirt with my right, yanking it up completely while still groping her breast. Then I rubbed the top of her mound, right where the hair began. I could feel the fabric of her panties, the soft curls beneath. I tried to slide deeper, to spread her legs, but she resisted. My left hand was stuck between her thighs, unable to advance.

“Sarah… I just want to touch your beautiful body… once.”

Her legs couldn’t stay tense forever. Slowly, they began to loosen. I reclined her seat backward. Her body fell flat, lying down. I pulled her shoulders forward slightly so she was fully on the seat, but her legs stayed tightly closed.

She crossed her arms over her chest, protecting her breasts. In adjusting the seat, I’d let go for a second—and she seized the chance to defend herself.

So I attacked her face.

“It’s okay to touch your face, right?”

I pressed my lips everywhere—her cheeks, her jaw, her neck—sucking, biting. My hands worked to pry hers away, leaving her face exposed. I knew ears were sensitive. I sucked her earlobe, then plunged my tongue inside, swirling it deep.

“Mmm… hah… no…!” She instinctively covered her ear.

That split second was all I needed. I grabbed her breast again. Now I was attacking two points at once—mouth and hands. She couldn’t block both.

My fingers squeezed her nipple through the bra.

“Mmm… hah… ah… ha…”

Even lightly touched, her body responded. Years of marriage had sharpened her sensitivity. I took her left breast into my mouth.

Slurp… suck… lick… nibble… suck… squeeze… squeeze…

I sucked her left nipple while fondling the right. Then, in a flash, I reached down again. Her legs snapped shut—but not before I felt it. Her panties were damp. Wet with arousal. My fingers came away slick with her juices.

To heighten the moment, I whispered, “I want to drink your clean, intoxicating wetness… Sarah… slurp… suck…“

“Ahh… ugh… no… I’m going crazy… Ah…”

Her legs went slack. She stopped resisting. I slid my hand between her thighs, placing my fingers directly on her mound, rubbing firmly through the fabric.

“Hmm… ahh… ah… haa… hah… haa…”

Even through her panties, she was feeling it. Her sex was a well-developed instrument. At 29, married young, her body had been trained by years of sex. But now, instead of her dull, routine-bound husband, it was another man’s touch igniting her. A new tool, stoking a fire her old one could no longer satisfy.

The seat was now fully reclined. She lay flat. I pushed her further back until her upper body nearly spilled into the backseat. Only her lower half remained on the front seat. I stared at her exposed thighs, swallowed hard, and lifted her skirt until her red panties came into full view—soaked, clinging to her folds.

“You’re feeling it too, aren’t you? This…”

I placed my finger right below her groin and rubbed.

“Haa… hmm… hah… mm…”

Her flesh was soft, responsive. I focused on that spot. I had to satisfy her. This wasn’t a one-time thing. I wanted her coming back. Not out of guilt or regret—but need. I wanted her addicted.

I had to stimulate every erogenous zone. While fingering her, I shifted my body toward her seat, leaned in, and blew warm air over her crotch through the panties.

“Haa… ugh… hot…”

She shivered. I pressed my lips against her panties, sucking, tugging at her mound like I was devouring her. Then I licked—up and down, side to side—with my tongue through the fabric.

“Ahh… hah… I’m going crazy… Ahh… mmm…”

I gripped the edge of her panties and slowly pulled them down.

“No… no… please… ahh…”

She protested, but weakly. I kept licking as I dragged them lower. They slid past her thighs. I grabbed them, pulled them off her feet, and tossed them aside.

There it was—her hidden patch of hair, drenched, glistening with wetness. Fluid dripped onto the seat.

“It’s… flowing… ahh… ugh…”

She trembled, re-aroused by my mouth. I dove in—no barrier now—licking, sucking her directly.

“You’re so beautiful… To think another man claimed you first… You’re perfect… Ah… lap… suck… suck… suck… gulp…”

“No… ah… hah… no…”

“I love you, Sarah.”

Her flesh was softer than the cotton of her panties—so tender I wanted to bite, to chew. I drank every drop of her essence.

Slurp… suck… gulp… gulp… suck…

Her body slipped sideways on the seat, tilted from the way I was kneeling beneath her legs to reach her. My hand never left her breast, squeezing, twisting her nipple.

Anyone passing by could see her naked body. Maybe someone already had. We were lost in our frenzy—unaware, uncaring. And why should I care? She wasn’t my wife. In fact, I wanted others to see. I wanted her husband to know—his wife, moaning, screaming, climaxing as another man’s mouth devoured her.

The thought thrilled me.

“I want to scream… I want to… ahh… hah… hah… ahh…”

“Scream. It’s okay. Let it out.”

“I love you… Aaah! Aaah! It feels so good… Aaah… ugh… hah…”

I slid my fingers into her hole, thrusting deep, then mounted her body with mine.

Thrust… thrust… thrust… thrust… thrust…

Her wet heat clung to my fingers, making slick, sticky sounds. Her pussy was already loose—well-used. No wonder. This was the joy of fucking a married woman. Damn, she’s tight in all the right ways. Three fingers fit easily, moving freely.

I unzipped my pants, pulled out my cock. It was hard, throbbing. Undressing fully was awkward in the cramped space, but I managed—just enough to free myself, leaving my underwear low. I positioned myself over her, leaned in, and kissed her face.

“I love you… Sarah…”

A whisper. The final preparation. The seat was narrow, but I squeezed in beside her. I stared into her half-lidded eyes, licked her ear, her cheek, kneaded her breast. It was easier to pleasure her like this. But penetration? Impossible in this position.

So I moved back to the driver’s seat. Reclined it fully. Slid my left leg under her left thigh, then swung my right leg over her other side.

But there was no room. So I opened the window and stuck my leg outside.

Suddenly, it was comfortable. Better than before. Our bodies formed a perfect X—legs intertwined at 90 degrees. She lay helpless, still moaning as I continued to grope her breast.

“Mmm… haa… hah… ahh… mm… ahh…”

I bent her knees upward, exposing her completely. Stared at her glistening slit. Then guided my cock to her entrance and pushed my hips forward.

“Uuugh… ahh… aaah! I… I’m losing it… ugh… ahh…”

I was inside.

The moment my cock entered, I started thrusting—hard, fast, tearing into her. Her pussy welcomed me as easily as it had my fingers. Her husband must have kept her well-stretched.

“Ahh… ugh… ahh… ahh… ugh… mm… grrr…”

“I love you, Sarah… thrust… thrust… thrust… thrust… thrust…“

Just days ago, her husband had fucked this same pussy. Maybe tonight, when she got home, he’d do it again. Heh.

“I love you, Sarah… I love you… Sarah…”

“Y-yes… y-yes… President… it feels… I’m going crazy… ahh… ugh…”

“Can you hear me, Sarah? Thrust… thrust… thrust… Is it better than your husband?”

“Y-yes… y-yes… better than him… ugh… haa… ugh…”

“Better than anyone?”

Thrust… thrust… thrust… “B-better… than… my husband… ahhh… haa…”

Now our sweat and fluids mixed, creating a slick, squelching sound. Ah… ahh… haa…

I was close. But the position wasn’t ideal for release. I pulled out, sat up, then pulled her legs together and lifted them high against her chest. I climbed on top of her, aligning my hips with her ass.

Her pussy was right beneath me. I guided my cock in and pushed down.

“Ahh… aaaah!”

She screamed again. This was the position I wanted.

Thrust… thrust… thrust… thrust…

Her thighs slapped against my stomach. The sight was electrifying—her legs raised, pressed to her chest, her sex wide open for me, not her husband, but another man. A married woman, moaning, her face twisted in ecstasy, receiving pleasure from a stranger.

Just thinking about it sent waves of pleasure through me.

I wanted to come. Inside her. Inside a married woman. Fill her with my seed.

I leaned down, wanting to kiss her—her face contorted, whether in pain or pleasure, I couldn’t tell.

And in that moment—

“Uuugh… I’m… coming…”

“N-no… not yet… ahh… please…”

She felt it. Felt my cum. Her pussy clenched around my cock, gripping it tightly as I emptied myself inside her.