Chapter 4 — The Neighbor Housewife Who Ejaculated — 1 (4)

Right now, I'm alone with Claire in the cramped bathroom of her studio apartment—half bathroom, half kitchen, all intimacy.

Just a few hours ago, we were nothing but neighbors who barely knew each other's names. Now here we are, naked, skin against skin, trapped in this tiny space like fate had been plotting this all along.

People say you can't predict human connections. They're right.

I gently lowered Claire onto the closed toilet lid, placing a towel beneath her so she wouldn't feel the cold.

I wanted to wash her. I wanted to care for her. She looked so tender, so achingly beautiful.

As I turned the shower knob, adjusting the water temperature, she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, hugging my lower back.

“Thank you… David…”

Tears streamed down her cheeks again.

It was like her tear ducts had short-circuited.

I turned off the water, spun around, and leaned in, licking the tears from her trembling eyes—like a devoted dog might comfort its owner, or maybe just because I couldn't bear to see her cry.

I felt sorrow—not just because her husband had abandoned her, leaving her to raise the kids alone,

but because this warm, vibrant woman had lived without love, without touch, without anyone to appreciate the heat of her body.

If only for tonight, I'd decided, I'd love her—fully, completely, at least with my body.

I leaned in and kissed her deeply, sweetly, my lips claiming hers.

“Don't say anything in here. Just stay still… let me take care of you.”

“…Okay.”

And with that, I turned the water back on and began washing her, slowly, thoroughly.

I tied her hair up with a long towel hanging in the bathroom, then poured water over her shoulders, rubbing her skin gently with my bare hands.

Her skin wasn't just soft—it was sacred. Not because it was flawless, but because it belonged to her. Because I was the one touching it now.

I handed her the showerhead and lathered my palms with body wash, then ran my hands over her body, massaging as I went.

When I reached her breasts, the sensation was indescribable—soft, electric, alive.

As my fingers brushed over her nipples, she closed her eyes and let out a quiet moan, trembling slightly.

I asked her to lean forward, then gently cleaned the insides of her thighs, then her pussy, with my bare hands.

She looked up at me, eyes heavy with longing, pleading silently for something only I could give.

I kissed her lightly on the lips, then moved down—her calves, her feet—rubbing every inch, then rinsed her off with my hands guiding the water.

My cock had been hard the entire time, gripped loosely in her hand, but I didn't want to do anything awkward in this tight space.

After drying her with a towel, I sent her ahead into the bedroom.

In the bathroom mirror, I caught my own reflection—my lips curled into a quiet, satisfied smile.

A sense of conquest. A thrill. Secrecy. Wonder. Hope for happiness ahead—all swirling in my head.

When I entered the room, Claire was already tidying up—pulling back the soaked bedsheets, wiping damp spots, picking up scattered tissues.

The bed was already a third soaked through, unusable. I sat on the single-person sofa while she finished.

Once everything was neat, she came to me, knelt in front of me, and began stroking my cock as she spoke.

“David… this is the first time a man's been inside me in a year.”

“…What?”

“For a whole year, my husband never came near me. We even slept in separate rooms.”

(My place was a studio apartment, but Claire's was a two-bedroom unit.)

“How? How is that possible? With a pussy this amazing—how could he stay away for a year? I can't believe it.”

“Not because he couldn't. Because he hated it.”

“Hated what? That you feel pleasure? That your body responds?”

I asked sharply, unable to hide my disbelief.

“No… my body wasn't always like this.”

“You mean… it wasn't always like this before?”

“No. Not until two or three years ago.”

“Suddenly?”

“No… there was a reason.”

As she spoke, I noticed how awkwardly she knelt. I spread my legs a little wider, inviting her to sit between them.

“Tell me.”

“After our daughter Yu-jeong's first birthday, her father took me to a couple's massage place.”

“Don't call him her father. Just say 'that man.' A man who abandoned his kids isn't a father.”

(Why did I feel jealous saying that? He was her father.)

“There were female and male masseurs. He chose a woman. I got a man.”

I felt a strange mix of discomfort and arousal at the thought of a stranger touching her.

“At first, I felt uneasy—nervous even. But my husband was right there, so I relaxed. It hurt a little at first, being my first time, but as time passed… I started feeling warm. My heart raced. My face flushed. And down there… it started burning.”

As she spoke, I felt heat rising in my own cock.

Noticing it, she smirked, then gripped my shaft fully in her left hand and continued.

“I whispered to my husband, 'Let's stop. Let's go.' But he just turned his head away, said we had to finish the full session.”

“I don't remember much after that. I was flushed, my heart pounding, my mind hazy.”

“In the car on the way home, he asked if I liked it. I said I didn't know. That it felt good, refreshing.”

“But I did like it. I'd never had another man touch me since marriage. I was so nervous… so excited.”

“He asked to go again. I didn't answer. It felt too good—but I was scared.”

I was gently caressing her breasts now, completely drawn into her story.

“A week later, he called me at work. Said, 'Let's go together. Come out.'”

“I hung up, and my heart started racing. I didn't hate the feeling. Honestly? I was happy.”

“I took a careful shower, sprayed a little perfume, even paid extra attention to my clothes.”

“And down here? It's trembling too, huh? laughs”

I teased, sliding a finger into her pussy. It was already soaked.

She playfully pinched me, pouting in mock annoyance.

“That day, we didn't get massaged together. We were separated. He requested it that way.”

“The room was smaller than last time, with candles lit—very intimate.”

“I changed into the massage robe and lay on the cot. I don't know why, but I was shaking. Like I was sneaking out on an affair—nervous, anxious, but secretly excited.”

“At the head of the bed, there was a little basket. Inside, a sleep mask. Probably for people like me—awkward, embarrassed. I put it on and waited.”

“Soon, the door opened. A deep, pleasant voice said, 'Hello?'”

“I greeted back, but my voice was trembling so badly. I was so embarrassed.”

“The masseur spoke softly, said it was normal to be nervous at first, told me to relax. But honestly? Could I really? No… laughs”

“I started the massage blindfolded. Then, when he lightly brushed my arm, I felt something surge from deep inside.”

“I could feel my panties getting wet. I was so embarrassed—I kept my eyes shut even under the mask.”

“Then I thought, Screw it. I'll just enjoy this.”

“I got annoyed at my own body for overreacting—just a massage, nothing more. But the more I relaxed, the better it felt.”

“And maybe… I was also angry. My husband was probably getting touched by another woman. That made me want to surrender even more.”

I was completely absorbed in her story, hanging on every word.

“Turns out, professionals really are different. A man's hands—but so gentle. Everywhere he touched, it was like lighting a fuse on my nerves.”

“I didn't even know my own body could feel like this.”

“My husband never really touched me—just got on top, fucked, came. I never knew how good a woman's body could feel when touched properly.”

“Then, during the thigh massage… he started focusing too long on the inner thighs. And then… he subtly touched it.”

“I could tell it was intentional. But in that moment… I didn't mind. I pretended not to notice.”

“There?”

I teased, playing dumb. laughs

“Ugh… you know…”

“Where? I don't know. Is there a there on a woman's body? laughs”

“The most important part.”

“And where's that?”

“This… here…”

She shyly pointed to her pussy with her fingers.

I was so entranced by her story, I hadn't even noticed how soaked she'd become.

Her juices were dripping down my thigh, pooling on the sofa—and I still didn't stop listening.

Then, suddenly, I couldn't hold back.

I pulled her up, turned her around, pressed her against the sofa, and thrust into her from behind.

She was already aroused from reliving the memory. My cock, swollen from the story, slid in effortlessly.

Her back, pale and delicate, curved into perfect hips behind her. From this angle, she was breathtaking.

With every thrust, her pink flesh quivered slightly, clinging to my shaft. Her anus, dark and deep, pulsed beside it.

I coated my thumb with her wetness and gently pushed it into her anus. It slipped in easily—she was so wet.

“Ahh… Oh… David… not there… uhnn…”

Her moans grew loud, desperate—loud enough to be heard outside.

I'm not usually quick, but inside her, the pleasure was overwhelming.

I pulled my thumb out, gripped her waist tightly, and pounded into her faster.

“…uh……”

I felt my climax approaching, clutched her tighter.

“Ah… David… just a little more… please… just a little… David… David… Husband…”

She was begging, on the verge of coming.

I clenched every muscle to hold back.

Then—she pulled me out slightly, and suddenly, a powerful stream burst from her pussy.

Stronger than a piss stream, weaker than a waterfall.

She flooded the floor, soaking the rug beneath us.

At the same moment, I plunged back in and came hard—so hard I crushed her hips against me, squeezing every last drop deep inside.

I pulled her onto the sofa, and we kissed fiercely. The wet floor, the soaked cushions—none of it mattered.

I dropped to my knees and began sucking her pussy—this time, her fluids tasted even better.

The mix of her juices and my cum was so thick, I could hear the slurp with every lick.

I swallowed some, cleaned her carefully with my tongue—when suddenly, she grabbed my head, pushing me deeper.

I thought, She's coming again?

And just as I thought it—another powerful jet burst from her pussy, straight into my open mouth.

I didn't hesitate. I drank it all—no disgust, no hesitation. It felt sacred. I gulped it down, groaning from deep in my throat.

(You might not believe me. But if you've ever been with a woman who ejaculates, you'd understand.

It's not imagination. It's real. And the amount? Far beyond what you'd ever expect.)

After we both calmed down, Claire turned to me, her voice soft.

“David… thank you. My husband… he said it was dirty. Whenever I started to come, he'd pull out and go wash himself. But you…”

Her eyes welled up again.

“When you washed me earlier… I was so moved. You're the first person who's ever washed my body.”

(Sorry, but you're not my first. I've washed almost every woman I've been with. laughs)

“You don't have to be moved by something so small… I'd do anything you want…”

I didn't mean to say “you” so intimately—but it slipped out. I quickly masked it with a neutral expression, playing it natural.

We cleaned up the mess together—wiped the floor, the sofa—then laid a thin blanket on the floor. I pulled out one pillow, offered my arm, and we lay side by side.

“Darling… tell me more. Continue from where you left off.”

“Where was I?”

“Hmm… your pussy was trembling. laughs”

“No, it was my heart trembling.”

She squeezed my cock gently—just enough to hurt a little.

“Ah, right. That man… he was massaging my thighs… and then he clearly touched it.”

I swallowed hard, pulled back into the story, breathless once more.