Gael returns home to find his wife Valeria in a compromising situation with Damián, the town's powerful patron. The betrayal and humiliation leave him in a state of confusion and grief, while Valeria seems to accept her fate.
Cold sweat still plastered the shirt to Gael's back when his eyelids flew open, as if someone had plucked them off with invisible fingers. The room spun slightly, the dark wooden ceiling of his sister's guest room still holding the shadows of the nightmare that had haunted him. He sat up with a gasp, running his fingers over his face as if he could erase the memory of what he'd dreamed—or what he'd thought he'd dreamed. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat when he remembered Minho's hands on Eunji, his sister's stifled moan, the way the system had ripped away control of his own decisions. But as he touched the sheet beside him, cold and empty, and heard the silence of dawn filtering through the half-open window, a sticky relief flooded him. It wasn't real . None of that had happened. Or at least, not here . Not now .
He dressed with mechanical movements, his fingers fumbling as he buttoned his shirt. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread guided him to the kitchen, where Eunji, wrapped in a pale pink cotton robe that barely concealed the curves of her hips, was slicing strawberries with a serrated knife. The morning sun cast a golden halo over her black hair, which was pulled back in a messy bun. Hearing his footsteps, she looked up and smiled at him, that smile that had always been just for him, before the world became complicated.
"Are you leaving already?" he asked, drying his hands on a rag. "I thought you'd have breakfast with me."
Gael approached, the weight of the previous night still anchored in his chest. On the rustic wooden table lay a fruitcake, its crust golden and shiny beneath a layer of clear icing. He had bought it the previous evening in the village, before fatigue and wine dragged him into that disturbing sleep.
"I had to get home," she lied, running her fingers along the edge of her plate. "But this is for you. And..." she swallowed, "if you need anything, you know where I am."
Eunji frowned, as if sensing there was more to his words. But she just nodded, accepting the cake with a grateful smile.
"Thanks, oppa . And..." he lowered his voice, as if afraid the walls had ears, "take care of her, okay? Sometimes I feel like she's drowning in that town."
Gael didn't answer. He couldn't. Because the image of her —of his wife, of Valeria —had already begun to blur in his mind, replaced by the memory of his own hand trembling as he opened the door to his house the last time. The creaking of the wood beneath his feet as he entered. The silence that greeted him, broken only by the moist, rhythmic sound of a mouth working diligently.
The walk home was a blur of dust and heat. The town dozed in the midday sun, the streets empty except for the occasional stray dog sniffing at the trash near the plaza. Gael's house was at the end of the adobe alley, its white facade peeling with age, the front yard a chaos of tall grass and wildflowers that Valeria insisted on letting grow "because they add color ." But today it wasn't the flowers that caught his attention.
It was her .
Kneeling among the sunflowers, her summer dress—the one he'd given her for their last anniversary—rolled up to her hips, revealing the black lace of her panties and the roundness of her buttocks, which swayed slightly with every movement of her head. Valeria, his wife of 34 years, with her hands tangled in the blond thigh hair of a man who wasn't him. A young man with a broad back and defined muscles beneath the white shirt that clung to his sweaty skin. A man whose name Gael knew all too well: Damián , the sponsor, the mayor's son, the guy who'd arrived in town six months ago with promises of "investment" and "protection ," and who now had his fingers buried in Valeria's brown hair while she sucked him with a devotion that burned Gael's insides.
The sound that escaped his throat was something between a growl and a sob. He didn't move. He couldn't. Because Valeria, her lips stretched around that thick, veiny cock that jutted out between Damián's fingers like a weapon, hadn't seen him. Or maybe she had. Maybe she wanted him to see her. His cheeks were hollow, his lips glistening with saliva, and every time he pulled back, a silver thread stretched from his mouth to the swollen tip of his member, before breaking off. The young blond man moaned, his fingers squeezing Valeria's scalp as if he wanted to merge with her.
"Fuck, my love !" Damian panted, his voice raspy. "That's how I like you, bitch . Deepthroating like the good bitch you are."
Valeria didn't respond. She couldn't, her mouth full. But her eyes, those green eyes that Gael had kissed a thousand times, narrowed in something that wasn't submission, but negotiation . Her hands, one at the base of Damián's member and the other resting on her own chest, where her fingers played with the neckline of her dress, moved with purpose.
"I need more time," he managed between sips, his voice hoarse. "The bank won't wait, Damián. If we don't pay this week, they'll take the house."
The blond laughed, a guttural sound that made Gael's shoulders tense.
"Of course, my queen ," he murmured, stroking the contour of her cheek with his thumb. "I always give you what you need. But you have to behave, right? Like now. Look how good you look, on your knees for me, with that little mouth full of my cock."
Valeria moaned, a sound that vibrated around his member, and Damián cursed, thrusting his hips forward. Gael could see his wife's throat tighten, her fingers digging into his thighs for balance. My beautiful, older wife had my back , he thought, but the taste of the words was sour, like poison. Because it wasn't him she was supporting now. It was this guy . This 25-year-old kid with a body sculpted by hours at the gym and a pocket full of bills that smelled of corruption.
"See, honey ?" Damian looked down at Valeria, his blue eyes shining with something that wasn't just lust, but something more dangerous: affection . "I take care of my own. No one's going to touch you. Not even that faggot of a husband of yours."
Valeria didn't correct him. Instead, she licked the tip of his member as if it were ice cream, letting her tongue play with the precum oozing from the glans. Gael felt his own member harden, betraying him, while disgust and excitement tangled in his stomach.
"Promise me," she whispered, looking up, her lips red and swollen. "That they won't kick us out. That he won't find out."
Damian laughed again, this time softer, almost tender. With a swift movement, he took her by the arms and lifted her up, sitting her on his thighs while his cock, wet and glistening, was pressed between their bodies. Valeria gasped, her legs spread, her dress hiked up to her waist, revealing the dark, curly hair of her sex, already wet, already ready .
"I promise you, my love ," Damián said, running his hands over her back, down to the roundness of her buttocks, which he squeezed tightly. "But you have to be only mine , Valeria. No hiding. No being ashamed. Do you understand?"
She nodded, biting her lower lip. And then, as if she felt Gael's gaze burning into the back of her neck, she turned her head.
Their eyes met.
Valeria didn't flinch. She didn't scream. She just looked at him, with a mixture of defiance and something that seemed like pity , while Damián continued caressing her bottom, oblivious to everything but his own desire.
"Gael," she whispered, as if his name were a curse.
Damian, hearing the tone of her voice, followed her gaze. When he saw Gael, motionless as a statue at the edge of the garden, he just smiled. A slow, triumphant smile.
"Ah, the husband ," he said, not letting go of Valeria, but pressing her closer to his crotch. "Look how well we've waited for you. Do you want to join us? Although I don't know if you'd stand to see your wife cum on my cock again . "
Gael didn't answer. He couldn't. Because at that moment, with the sun burning his skin and the smell of sex floating in the air, he no longer knew what was real. If this was another dream of the system, another test, another lie . Or if, after all, the true dream had been to believe that Valeria had once been only his.
The young blond man laughed, lowering his mouth to Valeria's neck, biting her possessively.
—Come on, go to the living room for now, I'll take care of your beautiful wife, and don't worry about the house, I'll cover it, but you have to be a good cuckold, be obedient and only touch your wife when I want you to, —he whispered against her skin. —The adults are busy. Stay alone and masturbate watching my hot girl, or go.