Chapter 1 — The Confessions of a Demure Housewife

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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By the time he had fully unzipped my pants, my heart was pounding as if it might burst, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

More than embarrassment, it was fear that gripped me.

I had never been particularly fond of sex, and even with my husband, I'd always been passive.

I felt his hands tugging at my pants, trying to pull them down.

And I could feel his fingers trembling slightly.

When I didn't lift my hips to help, he stopped forcing it—his hands just lingered on the fabric, waiting, as if giving me time.

I thought it might be easier if he just stripped me forcefully.

It felt awkward to assist, yet I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

He gripped my pants again, applying pressure. Reluctantly, I lifted my hips slightly—and the pants slid down easily to my knees.

Carefully, he lifted each of my feet one by one, removing the pants completely from my body.

Then he folded them neatly and set them aside.

I kept my eyes closed, so I couldn't see, but I could feel his gaze fixed on my crotch.

Unconsciously, I tensed and pressed my thighs together.

But that didn't last long.

His fingers hooked the waistband of my panties and pulled them down.

Even without lifting my hips, the small garment slipped off easily.

(Good grief… I'm losing my mind… This frustration… Why does my mood shift the moment I try to speak directly? If I say "vulva," "genitals," "petals"—it all feels too weak, too distant. So I'll just go with how I feel. (^^) So embarrassing~~~)

Ashamed of exposing myself, I quickly brought one hand down to cover my pussy.

After all, this was the first time I'd ever undressed in front of another man besides my husband.

He slid the panties off my ankles and let them fall.

I tightened my legs, pressing them together harder.

Truthfully, I wasn't just embarrassed—I was terrified that the wetness from my pussy would be visible.

Ever since I'd first lain down on the bed, anticipating what was to come, my pussy had been getting wetter and wetter… ^^

I heard movement—like he was preparing something to apply to my body.

A moment later, I felt a brush touch just below my navel. Then, just like when he'd applied the liquid earlier, the brush moved across my skin, painting me everywhere.

As he reached the lower abdomen, I began to worry.

Surely next would be my pussy—what would he do?

But contrary to my expectation, the brush moved to my right leg.

He painted all the way down to my ankle.

Then he moved to the left leg, brushing methodically downward.

After both legs were coated, he spoke.

“I'll have to trouble you a bit,” he said,

gripping my ankles and spreading my legs to shoulder width.

I was mortified beyond words.

At this angle, he must have seen deep inside my pussy… ^^
And with the wetness seeping out, it would've looked even redder.

He picked up the brush again.

Starting from my ankles, he painted the inner thighs—areas untouched because my legs had been closed.

Thankfully, as time passed, my tension eased, and my embarrassment began to fade.

But as my anxiety lessened, a different sensation emerged—each brushstroke sent indescribable pleasure through my body.

Especially when the brush traced the insides of my thighs, my legs involuntarily spread wider.

An “Ah…” escaped my lips—a soft moan I couldn't suppress.

He seemed to enjoy that, lingering longer on my inner thighs than anywhere else.

I felt my body heating up, arousal pulling me deeper in.

Afraid of how excited I was becoming, I lied to him.

“It's… it tickles too much~,” I said.

But I regretted the lie instantly.

“Oh? Is that so?” he replied.

Without asking, he poured the liquid into his palm and began massaging it into my inner thighs with his hand—just like he would with a brush.

I was too stunned to protest, left motionless under his touch.

And whether intentional or not, his fingers occasionally brushed against the inner folds of my pussy.

Each time, my body twitched uncontrollably, independent of my will.

So the preliminary work ended…

Then, for the main session, he prepared various paints.

He squeezed different colors onto his palette.

He also laid out brushes of various sizes.

And then the real painting began.

The brush, thick with paint, started from my abdomen and moved upward.

The order was the same as when he'd applied the liquid.

The difference was that while the liquid had felt like water—light and cool—the paint felt like a tongue gliding over my skin.

By now, the front was nearly complete.

It was time to paint the inner parts.

This time, he asked me to spread my legs.

Like someone under a spell, I obeyed the moment he finished speaking.

And this time, I even opened my eyes—curious, watching him work.

The brush began at my ankles, moving slowly past my knees.

It was approaching the inner thighs.

Suddenly, a powerful urge to have sex surged through me, and I felt more wetness gathering in my pussy.

I was terrified he'd see it—ashamed, anxious.

But cruelly, he dipped a large brush fully into the paint and began tracing the insides of my thighs.

The brush came so close to my pussy—each stroke made it harder to resist.

That's when he spoke.

“There's too much moisture. The paint won't stick.”

Huh? He meant the wetness from my pussy was preventing the paint from adhering.

I was too ashamed to speak.

Then he picked up a handkerchief and began wiping the wetness from my pussy.

From that moment, I began to lose all sense of reason.

My moans grew louder, my breathing ragged—audible to him.

He pretended to be cleaning, but his fingers lingered, touching every part of my pussy.

And each time, more wetness flowed out.

Now I was afraid his hand would stop.

I closed my eyes, savoring his touch.

At some point, he had dropped the handkerchief.

Now he was touching me barehanded.

He placed the tip of his middle finger at the entrance of my pussy, pressing and circling the mound with his palm, driving me closer to the edge.

His fingertip only moved at the entrance, and I ached for him to push deeper—but he cruelly showed no sign of doing so.

I was lost in his touch, eyes closed, surrendering to sensation—when suddenly, he grabbed my hand and placed it on his cock.

I was startled, but I didn't pull away.

His hand covered mine, guiding it.

When he felt I wouldn't resist, he slowly removed his own hand.

I stayed still, my hand wrapped around his cock.

Encouraged, he began touching my pussy more boldly.

He found my clit and gently scratched it with his fingertip. Moments later, he slid a finger into my hole, moving it back and forth.

I began sinking deeper into pleasure.

And without realizing it, my hand had started moving—pumping his cock in a slow, piston-like rhythm.

A short while later, he moved his cock beside my face.

The bed I was lying on was designed for work, so it was much higher than a regular bed.

With just my head turned, his cock was right in front of my face.

I had been lying, staring at the ceiling, but he placed his cock against my cheek and gently turned my face toward him.

Suddenly, his cock filled my vision—similar in size to my husband's, but different.

If there was a difference, it was how hard and erect it looked—pointing straight up.

I understood his intention, but I couldn't bring myself to suck it immediately.

I hesitated for a moment.

Then he brought the tip of his cock to my lips and gently pushed forward.

I closed my eyes and took it into my mouth.

I stayed still, and he slowly began rocking his hips back and forth.

After a while, I started using my tongue—licking the head of his cock.

As I did, he groaned—sounding almost pained.

Soon, I felt something thick and sticky oozing from his cock.

As if repaying my efforts, he never stopped touching my pussy.

After several minutes, he pulled his cock from my mouth and moved down between my legs.

He grabbed my ankles and pulled me downward.

Then he spread my legs wide and began rubbing his cock against my pussy.

With one hand, he spread my labia; with the other, he held his cock and tapped it against my clit.

Each time he tapped—tap… tap—I moaned in rhythm.

“Ah… Ah…” It sent electric jolts through me.

Naturally, my pussy was leaking far more wetness than usual.

He must have decided I'd suffered enough.

He positioned his cock at my entrance—and slowly… pushed inside.

I wrapped both legs around him, pulling him closer, but he didn't give in easily.

He only moved slightly at the entrance, teasing me further.

I couldn't hold back anymore.

I began pleading.

“Daniel… Daniel, please… please… please put it in… Please… Please…”

Only then, perhaps feeling pity, did he slowly push deeper—his cock sinking fully into my pussy.

I was overwhelmed—so much so that tears welled up in my eyes.

The pleasure was unbearable.

I was so aroused that after only two or three thrusts, I reached orgasm—moaning loudly, gushing a flood of wetness.

But he ignored everything, continuing to thrust into my pussy.

After a short while, I came again.

This time, I cried out “Honey… honey…” clinging to him without realizing it.

I was almost out of my mind.

Yet he continued at the same steady pace.

A moment later, he lifted my legs and draped them over his shoulders, pulling me even closer.

This time, he thrust deeper than before.

He must have been nearing climax—his pace grew faster.

My body burned again, and the moment I felt his hot cum shoot deep inside me, I convulsed once more—orgasming in perfect sync with him.

And he stayed inside me, motionless for a long time—savoring the aftertaste, just as I did.