Chapter 1 — The Scene of the Affair

Who said it—that a woman’s body is a fine instrument, but its true value lies in the skill of the one who plays it? Every time I make love with Grace Kang, I marvel at how perfectly her body was made for pleasure.

The moment she sees me, her eyes grow moist. She says she finds it strange how instantly her pussy gets wet, but to me, the way her eyes glisten as she looks at me makes her seem like the innocent heroine from a pure romance comic.

I cup her cheeks with both hands, drawing her close until I can’t help but hold her. Then her unusually small lips part, ready to welcome my tongue. The other mouth below also opens softly, preparing to take my cock.

She has no pubic hair. What people call a “bare pussy.” This fact had been a lifelong source of shame for her, and her husband used it as an excuse to belittle and abuse her, calling it bad luck.

Strangely enough, I’d slept with her dozens of times, sucked her countless times, and never even noticed she was hairless. When I found out, I wasn’t shocked—on the contrary, I found it easier to lick and suck, and her smooth, childlike slit looked so cute I couldn’t resist.

Her pussy was perfectly matched to my cock in size and sensation. The moment my glans touched her opening, her cunt gently sucked me in, as if a vacuum pulled me forward. Once inside, it felt like another hand deep within her was gripping me in a firm handshake.

And her body—how could I describe it? From her toes to the tips of her hair, every curve automatically adjusted to mine, wrapping around me like octopus tentacles, leaving no gap.

As she approached climax, her moans were nothing short of those of a master vocalist. No wonder her name, Grace Kang, means “bell-like jade chime.” Her cries of passion and the way her body clung to me lifted me into orgasmic bliss, floating weightlessly through a paradise of pleasure.

I first received Grace Kang’s call seven months ago. I was buried in work at the office when the phone rang. Her voice was soft, yet urgent, filled with a determined resolve. She said she needed to consult me about something concerning my wife.

We met in a corner booth at the Ramada Hotel coffee shop. She looked more ordinary than I’d expected—tall, slightly thin, with a nervous energy about her.

“I know it’s rude to say this to someone I’ve just met, but… have you noticed anything strange about your wife lately?”

“Well… I’ve been so busy, I can’t say I’ve paid much attention.”

“I see. Your wife and my husband have been having a serious affair.”

“What?!”

“It’s been going on for nearly two years now. They meet once or twice a week, sometimes three or four times, rotating through love motels around Seoul.”

“No… how could I not know?”

“I’d sensed something was off for a while. I followed her, then later hired a private investigator. These are the photos they took. I also have over a dozen audio recordings.”

“Good God… I never once suspected. I’ve always felt guilty for being too busy…”

She handed me a photo envelope, and I pulled out more than a hundred pictures. I was speechless. Photos of them meeting at cafes, driving together, making out in hotels, and having sex—every stage of their affair laid bare.

Even as I looked through them, I couldn’t help but admire how well they were taken. As I stared at the sex photos, my cock stirred beneath my pants, twitching with inappropriate arousal.

“You’re quite something,” I said. “But why are you showing me all this?”

“Well… as fellow victims, I thought we should act together. I’m considering pressing adultery charges. Either way, it’ll affect you too, won’t it?”

“So you’re saying you want a divorce?”

“Yes. There’s no saving our marriage. I just want to get as much compensation as possible.”

“What does your husband do?”

“He runs an architectural design firm. I’m not sure exactly, but I’ve heard it’s one of the biggest in the country. What about you? What will you do?”

“I don’t know… This came out of nowhere. I can’t even think straight…”

We parted that day after exchanging contact information, agreeing to stay in touch, share information, and plan our next steps together.

That evening, my wife seemed completely unchanged. No matter how closely I studied her, I couldn’t see any trace of a woman who’d been sneaking off with another man to love motels during the day. And for two whole years?

Now that I thought about it, ever since I’d been promoted to executive, we’d barely had sex—three years, almost none. And she never once complained. Was that why?

She used to say she couldn’t sleep when I snored, so she’d take a pillow and move to another room. Now I realized—of course she did. But why an architect? How did they even meet?

Three days after our first meeting, Grace Kang called again. My wife and her husband were meeting for lunch in Toegyewon, she said, and asked if I wanted to tail them together. I had a lunch appointment with a client, but I canceled, claiming an emergency, and followed her.

I got into her car at the Seocho Station parking lot. She’d borrowed a small car from a friend.

“How did you know they were going to Toegyewon?” I asked.

She explained that one of her husband’s three secretaries—the eldest, married—and one of the two drivers, an older man named Hwang who often handled private trips, were on her side. They reported to her whenever her husband made plans to meet my wife.

She even knew the motel they usually stayed at—the very same one where the most explicit photos I’d seen were taken just days earlier. As we drove, my heart pounded. I felt a strange, indescribable mix of emotions.

I was ashamed, yet excited, as if I were the one committing adultery. Grace Kang looked equally flushed.

“That man,” she muttered, “comes home and talks about how tired he is, says he’s so focused on work he doesn’t think about women, then rants about how some woman keeps throwing herself at him. He doesn’t even bother hiding it. At his age, having sex two or three times a week—no wonder he’s tired. Your wife must be really good. Does she perform like that at home?”

Looking at her profile as she spoke, I found her far more attractive than when we first met. Her white blouse and black skirt suited her perfectly. When I didn’t answer, she turned to me.

“Does your wife perform well at home?”

“Huh? My wife? Honestly… I can’t even picture it. But tell me—how can a man with a woman like you choose some middle-aged, balding, pot-bellied hag?”

“That’s exactly what I’d say. And how can your wife, with a man like you, go after some old, bald, fat fool?”

“Grass is always greener, I suppose.”

After leaving the city, we spotted their car ahead. The feeling was surreal. I felt like a detective, yet also filled with a grim determination to catch them in the act and humiliate them.

Just as she’d said, their car slipped into a motel with a sign that read “Alps Mountain Lodge.”

We waited five minutes before entering. She parked in a corner, got out from the driver’s side, and sat down. Soon, her husband’s driver approached quietly and handed her a note—the room number.

At the front desk, the landlady handed us a key. “Absolutely no loud noises, please. I’m trusting you,” she warned.

Grace Kang nodded and handed her a 100,000-won check on top of the room fee.

I’d been in hotels and inns with other women before, once or twice, but this time felt different. I hung my jacket inside the closet and pressed my ear against the wall beside the adjacent room. At first, nothing.

Grace Kang called me over, pointing at the bathroom wall.

I moved closer and heard the shower running, mixed with the sounds of two people touching each other, moaning with excitement.

Grace Kang and I pressed ourselves against the narrow bathroom wall, nearly touching, straining to catch every sound. Then the water stopped, replaced by a sharp slapping noise.

We stared at each other, eyes wide.

“Harder, hit me harder! Yes, yes, just like that!”

Harder? What? Then I realized—it was the sound of a hand slapping bare buttocks. The man had her bent over, spanking her relentlessly.

“Look, baby, your pussy’s dripping. You’re that turned on?”

“Of course—it’s your hand. Now fuck me with that cock.”

“God, your cock’s especially hard today… That’s it, that’s the feeling.”

“They’re at it again,” Grace Kang whispered. I glanced at her—her right hand was pressed against her crotch.

I felt an odd, uncontrollable arousal. The scene of my wife’s infidelity, the shocking discovery of her enjoying spanking, and the fact that I was right there with the wife of the man currently fucking her—it all overwhelmed me. I gripped my tented cock through my pants.

From next door, the sounds of fucking, slapping, and their mingled cries poured into our ears. Impulsively, I pulled Grace Kang close with my right arm, drawing her into me, and guided her hand to my swollen cock.

Surprisingly, she didn’t resist. Emboldened, I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out, placing it in her hand. She gripped it tightly, without hesitation. I slid my hand under her skirt, pushed aside her panties, and grabbed her ass.

I pulled her hips toward me, reaching down into the valley between her cheeks, tracing her slit. To my shock, she was drenched—already gushing. She looked up at me. I pulled her close and kissed her.

We kissed, hands gripping each other’s sex, and began tearing off our clothes. Moments later, we stood naked in the cramped bathroom, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing fiercely—all while the sounds from the next room poured in.

Next door, my wife’s moans mixed with the rhythmic pounding of cock into pussy, raw and unfiltered.

I turned Grace Kang toward the bathtub, bent her over, and thrust my cock into her waiting, eager pussy. Matching the pounding from next door, we began our own relentless thrusting.

We had come to catch our spouses in the act of betrayal—only to begin making love ourselves, fueled by their cries. Was what they were doing adultery… and what we were doing love?

Our first time together, born of rage and circumstance, ended in unexpected, overwhelming satisfaction. There’s a saying—sometimes anger turns to passion. Fueled by fury and the need to reclaim what was lost, we devoured each other. Revenge and reparation intertwined, doubling our pleasure.

After we both climaxed, we exchanged slightly awkward glances and turned our attention back to the next room. But now, silence. They must have moved or finished—we’d been too absorbed in our own passion to notice.

I took her hand and led her to the bed. Without a word, we fell into each other’s arms, kissing hungrily. Not a single sentence had passed between us.

It was as if we were actors in a silent play, following an unspoken script, moving naturally into each other’s bodies.

We hadn’t planned it, yet we ended up having sex three times in a row—defying age, defying the absurdity of the situation.

From the very beginning, Grace Kang was a masterpiece to me. Her husband had mocked her for being hairless, calling her unlucky, saying she lacked skill and taste. But to me, she was a perfectly tuned string instrument, a wind instrument with a golden voice, a percussion instrument that sang beautifully the moment I touched it.

Our meetings continued naturally after that. With our spouses occupied, we had freedom to see each other. And just as we’d started, we indulged in sex—wherever we met, we touched, licked, sucked, and fucked.

She said she opened up and overflowed the moment she saw me. I felt the same—just seeing her made me hard instantly.

I even shaved my pubic hair for her—matching her smoothness. The act itself became an intimate, arousing game.

We never formally agreed to a swap. My wife and her husband still don’t know about us. But every time they meet, we’ve followed them, eavesdropped on their trysts, and used their passion to fuel our own.

The photos and tapes from the investigator—the records of their past encounters—became powerful aphrodisiacs in our own sex games.

Now, we feel no betrayal, no jealousy. If not for their affair, we would never have met. We even joke about it. “Thank them,” we say. “Let them keep playing.”

That’s how we truly feel now.

By the way, I later found out—Grace Kang’s husband and my wife met on an internet chat site.