Jeon Sexy Korean Wife

"Y'all gonna wanna butter up some popcorn and watch this," Ray said with a sneaky grin as he stood buck naked over Jeon.

Ray's tall, Redwood like ass then proceeded to reposition the body of my South Korean wife of three years closer to the edge of the motel bed. He held both her ankles in the palms of his hands and glanced over towards Tank and I. He was enjoying having us both as his audience and wanted us to know it. With the devilish wink of an eye, he began to go about doing the business of his fuck work.

Tucking his arms under the back of her thighs and bracing his hands under her shoulders, he eased his 6'4" frame down, neatly folding her petite body under his own until they were face to face and almost kissing. He then did an effortless, Olympic worthy, weightlifting clean and jerk and in an instant had Jeon in the air and firmly skewered on his long black cock as if she were a piece of street bulgogi on a stick.

"I call this move 'The Ralph Macchio!'" he said proudly, as if expecting us both to jump up cheering and hollering and flashing large placards of the number 10 over our heads.

"The 'Macchio'? Is that the best you could come up with?" Tank laughed, "I, myself, would've called it something like the 'Dip Sum', or maybe 'Crazy Dicked Asian'. How about, even better, naming it, 'Guy Who Talks Too Much To Hide That He Can't Fuck Worth Shit?'"

Tank stroked his dick keeping it hard and elbowed me in the side of my ribs for some sort of validation for all his mocking jokes on his friend Ray.

"Well, as a matter of fact," I began, "That particular sexual position, although rarely used and quite difficult to pull off, does already have a specific Kama Sutra name and it's called..."

Ray and Tank both looked at me with their heads tilted to the sides with a puzzled look on their faces. I had read the room wrong. Now was not the time for old Hindu definitional accuracy on the multiple differing ways to fuck. I swallowed hard and awkwardly smiled as I thought on what to say next to not drain any more of the energy out of the room or come across as an out of touch fool.

"Wax on, wax off, her fuckin' ass!" I shouted.

"Damn straight!" smiled Tank, patting his huge bear paws approvingly on my back.

Okay. Let's stop. Let's stop before we go any further because I know everyone is wondering how in the hell did my sexy ass former wife and I end up in this cheap motel room on the seedy end of Atlanta with two imposing and horny black guys? Do you want the short version or the long? Does it even matter? There's only truth and that's what I'm going to be telling you!

Two hotdogs and a beer!

That's how it started and that's also how it all ended.

I was at an Atlanta Braves baseball game and after being in line at the concessions stand for close to 15 minutes, I ordered my food and reached into my jeans pocket and felt nothing. I wasn't too concerned because I had purposely not brought my wallet.

That's Dilly's Rule #1: Only bring what's needed.

Are you writing this down? Well, you should! It's important.

Only bring what's needed! And for a regular season baseball game, like this one, that would be your ticket, car keys, and a Benjamin. The less to keep up with the better.

You don't need your cell phone because you're at a baseball game, watching it, live, in person. Put that damn cell phone down. Plus, if you're on your phone at a baseball game, it's a clear signal you suck at life. You don't need your phone. Pickpockets, on the other hand, can see the outline of your wallet, but they can't see the outline of a paper bill and they love targeting someone not paying attention and chatting away on their cellphone. You don't need your wallet. These are all smart tips that I stand by and you are free to use in the future, despite me now standing and scratching my head without finding my hundred.

Look, even anticipating that this kind of pickpocketing could occur, I was partly in awe of the thief for wising up to cracking what I thought was full proof pre-planning. I backtracked in my head where the theft could've happened while looking sad and pathetic and holding up the line of hungry and impatient fans in need of alcohol.

"Just give me a second," I pleaded as I again searched my pockets, coming up rich and prosperous with a handful of lint.

"I ain't got all day. Move it along if you ain't got no money. Next!" barked the woman from behind the cash register.

And that's when from behind me, out of the sweaty human crowd, came reaching forward this dainty little set of manicured hands holding out a crisp 20 dollar bill. And attached to that bill was a hand that belonged to the prettiest woman I had ever seen anywhere, ever. A gorgeous Asian goddess wearing a Braves home white jersey that was cut just low enough for you to see a peak of the cleavage of her firm tits from behind a shiny, red push-up bra.

I waited off to the side of the line as she walked forward and placed her order. I licked my lips taking the whole rest of her sexiness in. Shoulder length, jet black hair? Check. Well groomed and manicured nails? Check. Perfect alabaster skin? Check. Pouty lips, button nose, mesmerizing dark eyes - check, check, and double check!

She couldn't have been over 5'2" in height, yet, her still well proportioned body was so slight that the shirt hung down to her knees like a short dress. You couldn't tell if she was wearing shorts or just panties under the jersey and the possibility of it being neither excited and emboldened me even that much more.

You should always kiss a gift horse in its mouth! That's Dilly's Rule #2!

Yeah, I know exactly how the saying goes, but you need to shut up and listen, ok? Don't hesitate or the opportunity may pass. Just kiss it!

After she ordered, I thanked her repeatedly for her kindness and begged her to allow me to take her out on a date just to show that I really had money and a paying job and wasn't just some broke ass, backwoods, Georgia bum who got goobered at his first baseball game.

I told her it was a win-win for her because she would at least get a free dinner from me. I know, I know, I'll admit that it was a cheesy, backhanded way of trying to see her again, but hell, it worked. She agreed to a single date with me and that simple little offer is how we started on the road to our courtship and eventual marriage.

Jeon and her family had moved from Busan to Atlanta in the mid 90's when she was just 6 years old. It was a culture shock, as would be expected, moving from South Korea to the States. Her father and family were wealthy, politically connected types in South Korea, but had to leave all that wealth and prestige behind when they migrated here. I can't imagine how tough that must've been for them to lose everything they had worked hard for to then have to start back again completely from scratch with nothing.

It was difficult trying to maintain their familiar Korean norms while also trying to fit in to the ATL. Being poor is hard enough, but being poor and not speaking much English in the redneck heart of Dixie is even worse. Georgia offered no forgiving learning curve and Jeon and her family struggled.

The great promise of America, though, is that everyone here is given a fair and equal chance to fall flat on their face in absolute failure.

Going to shop at the corner Piggly Wiggly, having an interaction with a bank teller, hell, navigating all the freakin Peach Tree named streets and entities here took quite a bit of time to adapt to, but Jeon's family didn't fail and, eventually, they were able to start a restaurant and carve out a modest American lifestyle success story for themselves. They became, practically like every other family in Georgia, working class folks who were just trying to get by.

Look? Do you really want to hear all of this? What you're interested in is what happened AFTER we got married.

Jeon, despite the structured upbringing her traditional Korean family sought, was a closeted sexual freak. This woman could suck a dick like no one's business and I'm not talking about some stereotypical "Sucky, sucky, 5 dolla, make you holla!" bullshit, either!

Wait, hold on... I'm getting way ahead of myself with telling this story. What you need to know now is that the only thing this woman really needed was someone to light her erotic fuse and bring that sexual freakiness to the fore. I, being born a natural Atlantan Dilly, was more than willing to be that burning match.

It didn't take all that much encouraging from me to convince Jeon to show off that sexy little body that she was blessed with. She quickly started wearing skimpier, more revealing, clothes and gaudier makeup depending on the situation we found ourselves in, or wanted to manipulate to turn ourselves on. When we now attended baseball games together, gone was the overflowing jersey, and in its place was a bikini top and skin tight shorts with open toed platform shoes.

The morning of our 1st anniversary, she woke me up from sleep fully made up and wearing her wedding gown! She jumped her hot pussy onto my hard dick and with her white dress flowing over to the side of our bed, and veil hanging down and covering both our faces, she bent down and whispered, planting the imagined warning in my ear, that I needed to be quiet so her parents wouldn't know she had snuck me in her room before taking our vows and was letting me fuck her virgin cunt in her pink canopied bed just above her parents bedroom.

I mean, Goddamn! Tell me that woman was not a quick, manipulative learner!

I had an ear to ear smile on my face the whole day and when I returned home from work, it got even better! She continued the cosplay role-playing by coming full circle in her wedding virgin to slut transformation by greeting me at the front door standing tall and wearing spiked, 5 inch heeled, red thigh high boots, plastic devil horns on her head, and nothing else save a wicked smile.

She became a true Dilly, not only in name, but in practice. I stopped leaving my stadium seat, staying to enjoy all 9 innings, and would send her instead to the concessions stand without a dime on her person and she always returned with food and beer. Always. The stories she would luridly then tell me on how she managed to get the things needed, all while standing in line, would turn into fuel for heavy fuck sessions when we got back to our home.

Have you ever been to a Walmart after midnight on a Thursday? They're restocking shelves at that time after the busy shopping hours, if you didn't know. Do you know how many Walmarts there are in the greater metropolitan Atlanta area? There's a ton and I know because we would go to them and act on our exhibitionist fantasies. It had kind of become our thing to regularly do in the 3rd year of our marriage.

Jeon would roll up on an unsuspecting employee busily opening boxes on his knees and, with me discreetly watching from the end of the aisle, she would play the poor damsel in distress in need of some out of reach item that always ended up allowing the lucky worker get a good look at her perky tits from an unbuttoned shirt or, if she found him attractive, an unobstructed view of her Grade A Korean slit as she bent over pantiless in a skirt and offered up a quick feel of her ass.

Let me tell ya - a shortage of Black folks is one thing Atlanta does not have. They're the real heart and soul of this city and Atlanta would never affectionately be known as The A, the 303 or 404, Hotlanta or any other cool name without them. Despite that, and me encouraging her to take a chance and go for it, Jeon always felt an uneasiness in going up to a brother. She always found every other guy to approach in a Walmart but a Black one. In a way, I'm amazed with how she managed to accomplish this because, like I said, there's no shortage here.

I know you think I'm rambling and getting away from the storyline, but everything I'm telling you is true and has a point whether you see it or not. Lemme be clear in stating this, if you haven't picked up on this yet: I really could give a rats ass if she approached anyone pink, red or black.

I! The Dilly-O! Me!

I was her husband and I was still always going to be the one taking her fine ass home to our bed. I'm still going to be the one fucking her above everyone else. I have no interest in justifying our kinks to you or anyone else. I'm here explaining a story to you. That's it.

If you are sitting at home on your couch in a clown suit, jerking off to Geico gecko commercials, cool! You're happy living your best life and not hurting anybody and I'm fine with that because so were we. You should've seen the broad smiles Jeon left in her wake to all of these overworked and underpaid laborers. Jesus of Nazareth, himself, would've been proud of how she reeled in and fished men into converts of Asian lust by simply doling out to them meager crumbs of her satisfying ppang loaf.

I didn't lose interest in going to Walmarts because of whoever she chose to arouse and thrill. See, whenever Jeon is out strutting her exotic ass, heads turn and she is the center of all attention. She's so damned good at it that no one ever notices me and my geeky pale face standing off to the side being both her protecting husband and biggest fanboy. I soured on going to Walmarts after walking by some workers and overhearing them say, "There she is! That's her! I told you she would make it by here! It was just a matter of time!"

Can you believe that? With all the SuperCenter stores here scattered throughout this big ass city, we had somehow still over-saturated the market and had become too well known. Yeah, on one hand, I was proud of her infamy, but it was a huge hit to my voyeuristic experience. Where's the sexual fun in losing the element of surprise and knowing you're expected?

So, I'm telling you all this to explain how we found ourselves at 3 in the afternoon one Saturday going into Club Trapeze, the notorious sex club here. It was an off hour time and I figured it would give us a chance to explore and get a feel for the vibe of the place without many attendees present.

It's not like we were ready or now trying to take the plunge into being swingers, not at all, that was never a conversation we had or route we thought on progressing to, but we had heard so much about Trapeze and the crazy fun that folks had experienced there that going, at least once, had become kind of a bucket list item for us.

Jeon was wearing a yellow sundress, nothing especially fancy, because we didn't plan on showing off her goods nor envisioned staying very long. We paid a modest fee to the attendant in the lobby and entered through a double doorway into a large room containing a bar and a dance floor.

There were only 3 people there, not including the bartender, that I could see as we entered. We had picked, as far as I could tell, the perfect time for exploring. There were 2 guys off together at a semi-lit corner table watching porn and touching themselves and an old man wearing a Semper Fi cap was sitting alone at the bar.

"Welcome to Trapeze. Y'all look like newbies, am I right?" the old guy asked.

I nodded and he politely offered up an empty stool to Jeon. He must've sensed my cautious apprehension as he then waved the bartender to get us each a shot of vodka for all of us to drink.

"Don't worry about Morty and his 26 year old twink boyfriend from North Carolina over there," he said pointing to the corner, "They're harmless and that's just what they do. You're a little early if you're looking for action. Most of the fun starts when the sun goes down."

I explained that we just just wanted to say that we had been in the place at least once and that we weren't staying long.

"You and your lovely Missus should have a look at the rooms upstairs while no one's around. When you're done and get back down, I highly recommend you go into that room next to the bathroom and check it out."

We downed the shots and I ordered another round as well to repay the old timer for the previous drink and for his advice. I kindly thanked him and Jeon and I set out on our way to explore, but the intrigue of the mentioned door next to the bathroom had piqued my interest and I grabbed her hand and led her right in there first.

It was a tiny space and you could barely call it a room. In the center, there was nothing but a small desk, a chair with straps for binding wrists, and an overhead lamp that swung back and forth if you slightly touched it with your hand. Three of the walls were made of just your basic gray cement blocks, but the last wall of the room was made up entirely of what appeared to be a reflective two way mirror.

"Jeon? Are you seeing this? This is incredible! Who's ever on the other side of this glass panel can see us but we can't see them!"

Ok, so, we are pretty close to the halfway point of this whole story and I think it's a good time to take a break. Let's have an intermission, ok? Because I need to talk to you about something that is not a Dilly Rule that you can follow, but more of a well concerned hope for all you horny and lonely folks who happen to stumble across this little tale.

When, in the course of searching for relationship happiness, you happen to find that special person who just knows what you're thinking and how you're feeling without words having to be even spoken - I hope that you keep them close and never let them go because practically nothing can break that bond. Got that? Nothing, I mean nothing, should break that bond. Ya wrote that down as well? Alright! Good! Now back to our story.

"Jeon, this is a police interrogation room!" I said all giddy practically doing the pee-pee dance with excitement at the imagined possibilities.

Without saying a word and with both of us knowing that virtually no one was in the club or even watching - she sat me in the chair, got down on her knees, and started to blow me.

When I was younger, I don't think I ever paid attention to how a woman sucked my dick. Shit, I was just happy to have a woman, ya know, like, sucking my dick! I think a good bit of women know this about men and, over time, just kinda become lazy about it and treat the act like some leafy garnish on the plate of a 32 ounce Porterhouse steak. Not so with my wife! Jeon made me, by her own sheer will and technique, pay attention, every time, to her dick sucking skills.

She rarely lost eye contact with me. My head would spin and my eyes would roll to the back of my head, but whenever I composed myself and looked back down she was always looking right back at me, eyes focused, cock in mouth, with her pretty face.

She always worked on my balls first. She would pick up the head of my dick with her manicured hands as if she were lifting a back room curtain to peek out by its side. With easier access to my balls, she would then stick her tongue out and lick from the crack of my ass, to up the seam of my nuts, to the base of my shaft and then down again.

She would then start stroking my dick to full erection while working her tongue in circles around both my nuts until she would wrap her mouth around one nutsack and fully suck it in.

She then would place her hands on my thighs and take my 7 inches fully into her mouth. No hands. Just hard cock, eager mouth, and her bobbing head.

Most men would be ready to blow their wad as soon as lips like Jeon's touched their head, and I'm no different - I ain't no porn star. I was ready to cum, too! But Jeon, I'm telling you, was a natural cock sucking artist and wouldn't allow me. That's right, you heard right! I said, "Allow me!" She would not allow my ass to cum!

I swear her mouth had a built in early warning cum detector system. Whenever I started getting anywhere close towards an early orgasm her hands would be free to pinch my ass, scratch circles around my navel, or dig her nails into my thighs. These minor annoyances and slight pains would always refocus my attention, delay me from cumming, and keep me harder for longer periods while having her enjoy herself sucking on my dick for marathon blow sessions. Goddamn, I felt like a fucking porn star!