Chapter 1 — The Junior's Wife Who Holds My Face - Part 1 (1)

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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Sarah Shin. She was my junior at work—my subordinate—for about five years in the same department. Around 157cm tall, pretty without being striking, with a figure that wasn't thin or plump, just naturally balanced. She used to be full of charm, always playing little affectionate tricks on people. Her nickname was "The Fox," not because she was manipulative, but because she had this soft, cunning kindness about her.

She'd never hurt anyone. Instead, her fox-like behavior was considerate—like when she noticed I'd been drinking heavily for a few days straight. One morning, she'd come up to me and say, "Sir, how can you manage like this? You must be so tired," then hand me something to help my hangover.

It wasn't just me—she treated everyone in the department that way. How could anyone not fall for her? Especially with that face.

Later, she married one of my juniors from school—same company, different department.

Even after marriage, she kept working elsewhere as a professional. But she never forgot to call me now and then, just to check in.

Then, three or four years into the marriage, word came that my junior had gotten into some financial trouble, their family life fell apart, and they divorced. He left the country soon after.

After that, we met maybe once or twice a year—never alone. Usually with a few old coworkers, or if she dropped by my office, I'd treat everyone to drinks or dinner. Nothing more.

But six years ago, everything changed.

One day, she called me out of the blue, wanting advice about a job issue. We agreed to meet for dinner. Wanting somewhere quiet, I suggested the Western restaurant at the xxx Hotel—the one on the top floor.

Truth is, I started seeing her as a woman only after her divorce. Before, she'd always seemed young, almost childish. But suddenly, she looked… mature. Sensual.

Still, I held back. We'd worked together too long. And she was my junior's wife—had been. That history made me cautious. I buried my lust deep inside, even though every glance at her stirred something dark and hungry.

But that night, choosing that hotel, I'd already decided: I was going to have her.

Right after making plans, I called the hotel and booked a room.

I lived on the outskirts of Seoul back then. Whenever I drank too much or stayed late for work, I often crashed at this hotel.

I arrived early, checked in at the front desk, and took the key. The receptionist—a familiar face who always gave me special treatment—winked and said, "Regulars get junior suites at regular prices." Smug bastard.

We finished dinner, wrapped up her career talk. Then, for the first time, I steered the conversation toward her personal life—her life after divorce.

Her only child was in kindergarten, being cared for by her mother. No plans to remarry. All she wanted now was to raise her daughter well.

We'd already drained a bottle of wine. I'd poured generously. She wasn't drunk, but her eyes were soft, her movements slower—tipsy enough.

I was calculating my next move when she said she had to go home—her daughter, her routine.

We stood up. I felt furious—at myself. Pathetic. Here I was, scheming like a teenager, while she thought nothing of it. Pure. Oblivious.

We stepped out of the restaurant, waiting for the elevator.

"I'll stay here tonight," I said casually. "You take the elevator down. I can't drive you home."

"What?" she asked, tilting her head with that fox-like expression. "You're not even that drunk. Why stay?"

I had no answer. Humiliated, burning with shame and desire, I said nothing. When the elevator arrived, I stepped in and pressed two buttons—Lobby, and my floor.

We were alone inside. Silent. The elevator rose.

When it stopped at my floor, I hesitated—how to say goodbye?

Then, before I could stop myself: "Wanna come up and see the room?"

"Huh?"

Shit. What the hell did I just say? "See the room"? Like some cheap pickup line. Just say you want to fuck her, you coward.

Panicked, I stepped out fast. But she followed—almost instinctively.

The hallway was empty. She looked uneasy. "Sir… I think I'll just go."

The elevator doors closed behind us.

If I let her walk away now, I'd never get another chance.

So I did something I'd never done before. I grabbed her arm—firm, insistent.

"Just come in for a minute."

"No, really. I should go."

"If you make a scene here, people will stare. Just come in. For a second."

Then I turned and walked ahead. After a pause, she followed—hesitant, trapped.

Inside the room, I hung my jacket in the closet and gestured to the chair by the window. "Sit."

From the minibar, I pulled out a beer for me, a soda for her.

She perched stiffly on the edge of the chair, tense.

"Relax," I said. "You're acting like I'm some creep. Do you really think I'd do anything to Miss Shin?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "I'm fine, sir."

We sat in silence, sipping our drinks, looking out over the city lights. But she couldn't sit still. Soon, she pushed herself up.

"Sir… I should really go now."

"Oh? Already?"

I stood too. This was it. Last chance.

"Miss Shin."

I reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder as she picked up her purse.

"Hmm?"

She turned. Startled.

In that instant, I pulled her close and went for her lips.

She twisted her face away—just in time. My mouth grazed her cheek.

"Sir! What are you doing?! Ah! Stop!"

She fought hard, clawing at my arm around her neck. But I couldn't let go. Not now. If I backed down, I'd spend the rest of my life ashamed.

She tried to pull away, arching her hips back, stumbling backward. Step by step, until her legs hit the bed.

I shoved her down.

She fell onto the mattress, scrambling to rise. I pushed her shoulders back, forcing her flat, then grabbed both her ankles.

Lifting her legs high, I pulled them up toward her chest.

Her skirt flipped up—revealing silver silk panties, snug against her mound.

"Sir! Why are you doing this?! Ah! Stop it!"

She writhed, trying to sit up, gasping nonsense between breaths.

I gripped her thighs tighter, spreading them wider, lifting them higher. My face moved closer.

Now her chin pressed into her chest—choking her voice into gurgles.

I buried my face between her legs, pressing my mouth against the damp silk.

"Ahh—! Sir, don't! Please!"

Through the fabric, I pressed my lips to her slit and began rubbing—slow, firm circles with my jaw. Her flesh shifted under the pressure, squishing side to side.

"Aaah! Stop! Please!"

She strained upward, but could barely lift her head. I kept grinding—jaw moving, twisting, pressing.

She gasped, hands flailing—reaching for my head, grabbing air, letting go.

I lowered my face, pressing my lips directly against her pussy over the wet fabric. Then I sucked.

Slurp. Mmmph. Slurp. Suck. Suck.

After minutes of sucking, moisture seeped through—her juices mixing with my saliva, soaking the silk. The texture of her flesh grew clearer against my lips.

I licked and sucked across her folds. Then—something small, round, sensitive—caught against my lip.

I bit it gently with my lips.

"Hyaah!"

She shrieked, body locking up. Then, a shift—her resistance faltered. Her muscles tensed, but differently now—not pushing away, but reacting.

I focused on that nub—sucking, nibbling, circling with my tongue.

"Haa—ah! Hic! Uuuu—uh!"

Her eyes were shut. No more protest. Just clenched teeth, flushed cheeks, body trembling under pleasure she couldn't admit.

I pushed her further up the bed. Her legs went still. Quiet.

I released one hand, sliding it down to tug the crotch of her panties aside.

They were soaked—drenched in our combined wetness.

Her bare pussy glistened—pink, swollen, slick.

I dove in—mouth wide, tongue out—sucking her open.

"Haaa—ah! Momma!"

I speared her with my tongue, swirling deep.

"Hnnngh! Ah!… Haaaa—uuuunh!"

She screamed without pause. I lifted my face, watching her.

"Feels good, huh? Been a long time since someone sucked your pussy."

She covered her face with both hands. "I don't know… Sir… What am I supposed to do?"

Oh, you sweet thing. Don't worry—I'll take care of everything.

Now I knew—she wouldn't push me off.

I lowered her legs, climbed over her, and kissed her.

She turned her head twice—then let me in. Once our lips met, she sucked my tongue fiercely.

She wasn't naive. She knew men. How starved must she have been all these years?

I kissed her back, matching her hunger, while one hand slid down to rub her clit. Every touch made her buck her hips, cry out, twist beneath me.

I moved down again, peeled off her panties completely, and buried my face in her.

Juices poured—thick, warm, endless.

"Hah! Haaah! Ah—I'm going crazy! Sir, I'm losing it! Ah—!"

Her moans grew louder, needier. I stood, stripped her clothes off one by one.

She lay there—still, silent, eyes closed—letting me undress her like a doll.

I tossed her clothes aside and stripped myself.

She was small, delicate—but beautiful. Her breasts were fuller than I imagined—soft, ripe.

(To be continued)