She was 22 when she met him, so charming and funny in class, and full of interesting ideas and new places to visit. Before him Mi-kyung had never been to a comedy club, a 1920s-themed speakeasy, or a sushi restaurant where the food was delivered on a rolling train that *chuff-chuff*ed around on a track and brought her all sorts of delicious treats at every go ’round. Camping in the mountains was relaxingly wonderful, parasailing on the ocean was exciting, and walking hand-in-hand along the water’s edge at the nude beach made her flush with quiet self-confidence as he told her how pretty she was, as he assured her how none of the other women on the beach could compare. Her first time was on that beach, lying in under the moonless stars on the sand, a single tear invisible in the night as he first pierced her painfully, then stroked her hair as he moved his hips between her legs, biting her lip in growing discomfort as he moved faster and faster before coming within her, hot and sticky as he withdrew, blood and semen drying on her thighs as they lay on the beach and watched the stars above. He told her how special she was, how wonderful she felt, and she felt safe in his arms in the deepening night. They laughed as he left his shirt behind, sticky with their love, stained red with her virginity, and in that night she loved him.
Day followed night, and they grew more comfortable with each other. Nights at his apartment began to replace evenings at the Improv, and sex with him became joyous, frantic as she used his body and he hers. It never again hurt like that first time, and she began to explore this new world; him on top, her on top, crouching over his searching tongue, her breath quick and sharp at the feeling of ecstasy of his mouth between her legs, between *his*, his penis in her mouth, tongue like quicksilver along the tip and shaft, his urgent yelps of pleasure encouragement in her ears. Sex on what became *their* apartment balcony, dark shadows public in the night, both thrilled and shamed her, and the mix of those emotions made her come all the harder, a cat-like cry in the night to make their neighbors jealous of their love, or so he said. And it felt good, *so* good when he was inside of her, his mouth hot on her breast, that feeling of fullness, closeness inside and out, and in those nights she loved him.
They married on a Saturday, in a quiet ceremony in the park. A small, private reception followed, and a trip to Vegas for their honeymoon to see the magic shows she so loved to watch. He carried her over the threshold of their hotel room and lay her on the bed, and she giggled as he treated her like a blushing virgin naked for the first time. He was gentle as his tongue explored her breasts, her belly, her slit, and when he poured wine on her body she pulled his head close while he lapped it from her skin, unsure when he pushed the bottle up in her and tipped wine to drink from her vagina, but his enthusiasm afterwards made up for any misgivings and the drunkenness from the alcohol absorption made her thighs – and points north – tingle. The yeast infection afterwards she handled discreetly; she didn’t want to ruin what was otherwise a perfect honeymoon. They married again at a drive-through shrine to Elvis and won and lost and won again at blackjack and in those nights she loved him.
After a year at home he began to ask her to greet him nude in the evening; she came home first so he liked to see her naked as he walked through the door. At first she told him she didn’t want to, but after a few weeks she found herself turning up the heat in the apartment, stripping naked, and doing minor cleaning until he came home. And the way his eyes lit up as he opened the door, his response to her body made it worthwhile, the way he gathered her in his arms, lifted her onto the kitchen counter, their table, or against the wall to take her, whispering in her ear how soft she felt, how warm, how wonderful, every thrust sliding along her in the right spots, hands on her breasts, thumbs across her nipples, her leg wrapped around his as she came, once twice, her teeth in his shoulder, his neck, hard enough to draw blood at times, her nails kniving across his back until *he* came, oftentimes lifting her bodily from where she sat in the heat of the moment, to withdraw, leaving her in a cooling puddle of come and her own fluids. She cleaned it up without complaint, and in those nights she loved him.
Their life fell into routine. Online games replaced dinners out, Netflix replaced nights at the theatre, wine at home instead of evenings at the sushi train. Sex became more common, more demanding, and she found more and more often that he’d want sex while they watched TV, him up in her from behind as she moved on his lap in silence, watching whatever series they were into at the time. Or under his desk, sucking at him while he whooped and cheered with his online friends as he played his game of the week. It was his suggestion – when she complained to him one night how sick the Pill made her feel – that she get her tubes tied permanently. At first the idea shocked her and she resisted the pressure, but after he pointed out – repeatedly – how little time they had for a family, how she had never shown any interest at *having* kids, just how much work children *were*, how much more time they would have for themselves, she relented. It was true, she told herself, she never *had* told him she had interest in children before, and she told herself it *would* be nice to be able to take out the IUD, stop taking the Pill. And so it was a Friday when she went in for day surgery, came out sterile. In the week they gave her to recover, her husband treated her like a queen, her every wish fulfilled. And for months afterwards, once she could walk without pain, be touched without pain, be *fucked* without pain, they went along to their old haunts, walked the same paths in the parks she loved beneath the stars, and as she wiped the come away from between her legs in the parks, the beaches, the dark alleys, in the dark of the night…in those nights she loved him.
Mark was a quiet man from her husband’s office group, and after meeting him at an office party her husband began to invite him over for dinner. He’d warn her before he invited Mark so she could be sure the apartment was clean and they could go shopping the night before for dinner. Those evenings were filled with laughter, and she began to look forward to every visit from the personable and charming friend.
But one night, as she hummed softly to herself while washing the breakfast dishes, nude as usual while she did, she was horrified when Mark walked in with him. Embarrassed, she ran to the bedroom to hide, and felt humiliated when – rather than leaving – they followed her there, her husband insisting everything was all right, shaking his head at the bathrobe she’d wrapped around her naked body. He took her hand and pulled her back out into the living room to sit beside Mark on the couch. Mark was soothing, apologized for frightening her, asked her not to cry, reassured her that she was beautiful, had nothing to be embarrassed about, nothing to hide. Told her jokes, riffed on how insensitive her husband was, offered to bring in takeout for the three of them in apology. She agreed, and they had a strained if pleasant dinner with Mark bidding them an early good night.
The next time her husband brought Mark home unexpectedly it upset her but didn’t scare her, not like the first time. The third, fourth, fifth time it happened it had become more annoyance than emergency, and by the sixth time, almost without realizing it, she found it almost normal to be eating dinner in only a housecoat. And it upset her far less than she thought it might when, as Mark prepared to leave that night, he casually pushed the fabric from her shoulders to see her as only her husband had seen her before. He did nothing but give her a kiss on the cheek and told her that she was, indeed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen before, and thanked her for her friendship. That night, while he writhed between her legs he raved over and over how wonderful a wife she was, how beautiful, how jealous a man like Mark must be of him with a wife as beautiful as she, and in that night, she loved him.
After that night, she thought she knew what was coming the next time Mark came to visit, and she was right. For dinner that night she was fully dressed but after the dishes were cleared they overrode her helpless protests and stripped her nude, sitting her on their bed before Mark stripped himself in turn. Still protesting, she was laid on the bed and her husband sat on a chair he’d brought it, motioning Mark at her. Afraid, she closed her legs tightly and shook her head, but he sat beside her, stroked her hair, told her funny stories until she relaxed, and when she did he placed one knee between her legs before she could stop him. Twisting her legs apart, he lay between then, stroking between her legs as she cried and pushed at him to go away while her husband angrily told her not to be a *bitch*, not to ruin the *mood*. Little by little, over her protests Mark worked his way in and when he was halfway in her she gave up and let him enter her fully.
He was…*different* than her husband; she didn’t feel as full with Mark as she did with her husband, but he was longer and she felt stretched a bit. He *felt* good, and that mattered, so she let him have her and took what pleasure she could take and when she felt him move more insistently, felt his breath start to come faster she heard her husband tell him to remember that he couldn’t come in her so at the last he pulled out, pulled her up, and came in her mouth, holding the back of her head firm until she swallowed. He tasted different, too, but no better; now that she’d tasted two men she felt that she’d never enjoy the taste of come. She *did*, however, enjoy the praise and approval she earned from the two of them, telling her how pretty she was, how beautiful inside and out, how good she felt, how wonderful she was. And when Mark went home that night her husband made love to her sweetly, so sweetly, and *he* could come inside of her and he did, and she snuggled against him while she slept and in that night, she loved him.
Night followed night and to her surprise she grew to look forward to Mark’s visits. He was sweet, and gentle, and made her laugh by whispering such funny things in her ear while he had her, and sometimes she would suck on Mark while her husband took her from behind and sometimes she’d suck on her *husband* while *Mark* had her, and her husband always told her afterwards how wonderful she was, how hot she made him feel, how he loved the sight of another man’s penis up in her while he made love to her after Mark went home, thrusting hard and forceful, sometimes painful by accident, always by accident, and she would tell him she felt the same. And although some nights she felt bad for enjoying another man while her husband watched it made him happy, and in those nights she loved him.
But one night, Mark didn’t come home with him. Jing-mei did.
Jing-mei was a very pretty Chinese woman who also worked with her husband. That first night, Mi-kyung felt that same flash of shame and embarrassment when Jing-mei walked in unexpectedly, her in her worn and stained housecoat, the other woman in a bright, achingly fashionable dress. She excused herself and changed quickly into the nicest clothes she owned – not *nearly* as nice as Jing-mei’s, no, but nice enough – and dinner that night was a pleasant dinner. Although she tried, she couldn’t help be but a *little* jealous of Jing-mei, who despite being younger seemed so much more worldly, so much funnier, prettier. So much better at English, Mi-kyung couldn’t help but notice, despite it *not mattering* in the slightest. It helped that Jing-mei tried hard to be friends with her, and after she had left for the evening her husband asked what she thought of Jing-mei. She was honest with him – she always was – and when she told him of her doubts, her jealousies he pulled her into their bedroom and made wild love to her, assuring her that *she* was prettier and smarter than Jing-mei ever could be, that *she* spoke better than Jing-mei did – of course she did! – and she called out in Korean as she came, urged him to take her ever harder in the Korean she had rarely spoken since they married and in that night, she loved him.
Like Mark before her, Jing-mei became a regular visitor for dinner, and one night, after she had thought the other woman had gone home, Mi-kyung came out of the shower to find her husband and Jing-mei stretched out on their bed, naked, talking. Shocked, she ran crying to the couch, and it was Jing-mei, not her husband, who came and hugged her, told her that she was only there as a friend, that she wasn’t there to do anything to upset her, talked to her quietly and eventually brought to back to the bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed and listened to her husband tell her the same things. Told her that Jing-mei liked her so very much, how it was Jing-mei, and not her husband, who insisted that she be allowed to stay,how she wanted to be with Mi-kyung longer and closer than just dinner would allow, and although Mi-kyung thought she saw Jing-mei roll her eyes at her husband’s words it was dark and she couldn’t be sure, and anyway she didn’t *say* anything against it and so that night, her husband made love to her under the watchful eyes of Jing-mei and afterwards, with Jing-mei’s arms around her they lay together in that bed and so reassured that her husband loved her *and* not Jing-mei, she fell asleep, and in that night she loved him.
Two nights later when it was just her and her husband, and it was just them while she lay under him as he moved between her legs, his hands in her hair, his voice in her ears that told her that she *was* prettier than Jing-mei, how much better she felt inside than the other woman, how she was softer, warmer, smoother, wetter, and with his words in her ears and him uinside of her she came and came again, her waist arching to meet him each time, in that night, she loved him.
And so reassured, that next night she lay beside them with the gasps and cries of Jing-mei urgent in the night, the wet sounds as her husband moved inside of *her*, the breathless urging of the other woman and Mi-kyung took her hand in friendship as she lay beside them in the dark, calm and peaceful in the knowledge that *she* was the better woman, that *she* was the one her husband liked the most, and as her husband came at last inside of a woman that was not her, she smiled. If he was happy, then so was she.
And in that night, as in all nights, she loved him.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/tupr6t/and_in_those_nights_she_loved_him_mfmf
Mmmm sooo hot
I really enjoyed this…