The sun spilled across the cream curtains, warming Jungkook’s bare legs as she stretched on the edge of the bed. Her tiny satin nightdress rode high, the lace barely covering her thick ass and heavy tits that strained against the thin straps.

On the other side of the bed, her husband Jiwon was already awake, glasses perched on his nose, sketching out a new building design on his laptop. His legs lay stiff under the blanket, the metal brace on one knee peeking out, a constant reminder of the accident that had changed everything.

“Morning, baby,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

He smiled tiredly, eyes soft. “Morning, Koo.”

She brushed her lips over his jaw, deliberately letting her cleavage press against his arm. For a moment, his hand twitched like he wanted to touch her — but then he went back to typing.

Koo sighed and padded to the bathroom, her tits bouncing under the satin. She leaned against the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. White skin flawless, lips swollen and pink, nipples poking through the thin fabric. She was every man’s wet dream — except her husband’s these days.

She slipped a hand between her thighs, stroking the damp silk. “Fuck…” she whispered, clenching her legs. She wasn’t starved for attention — she got stares everywhere she went, from grocery clerks to delivery boys. But in her bed? Silence. Her husband’s body was failing him, and so was their sex life.

They had tried, of course. The slow, pity-fucks. Him panting from the effort, soft before she even came close. She would moan sweetly for him, pretend to be satisfied, then cry silently into her pillow after he fell asleep.

Now, her own hand had become her secret lover. But even that wasn’t enough. No toy, no fingers could fill her the way she craved. Her pussy wanted cock — hard, deep, relentless cock.

She slipped two fingers inside herself now, moaning against her palm, but frustration coiled in her belly. She needed more. She needed someone to bend her over and fuck her until she screamed.

But when she came, shuddering against the counter, the release felt empty. A pathetic drizzle instead of the flood she craved.

She cleaned up quickly and dressed for the day in her usual outfit: a cropped tank clinging to her tits, denim shorts that barely covered her ass cheeks. Jiwon never said anything about her clothes anymore. He knew she liked feeling sexy, even if he couldn’t give her what she needed.

“Want me to bring you lunch while you work?” she asked sweetly as she leaned in, her breasts brushing his face.

He smiled faintly. “That’d be nice, Koo.”

And so she played her role — the good wife, the caretaker, the woman who smiled and made meals and held his arm when he tried to stand. But behind that smile, her pussy throbbed constantly, hungry for a cock that never came.

At night, when Jiwon finally dozed off, she lay awake, legs spread under the blanket, pressing a pillow between her thighs and rocking against it. Her moans were silent, her body shaking with frustration.

Being a good wife was killing her.