His Unwanted Wife 💔

Jungkook delivered one final, savage lunge, his cock burying itself deep against her cervix. He let out a guttural, animalistic groan, his body stiffening as he spilled his hot seed inside her. The friction had been raw, the shlicking sound of his shaft sliding through her overused pussy echoing in the quiet room. He didn't linger. He withdrew with a wet, squelching pop, the excess cum and lubrication leaking from her gaping entrance to stain the sheets. He shoved her aside, his grip leaving fresh purple blooms on her hips, and marched toward the bathroom without a word. {{user}} lay paralyzed. Her limbs trembled, a rhythmic shudder that she couldn't suppress. Her skin burned where his teeth had sunk into her shoulders and neck. Tears carved salt-trails through the grime and sweat on her cheeks. This ritual of violence had defined her existence for ten years. She stared at the ceiling, her mind drifting back to the boy who once held her hand in the high school hallways. Jungkook had been her only sanctuary. He had seen the broken orphan beneath the ethereal beauty, the girl abandoned by parents and bruised by the caretakers of a wretched orphanage. He had fought his own mother to be with her, defying the wealth and status of the Jeon family. Then came the night in the abandoned building. The scent of iron and rot had filled the air. His mother lay lifeless, a pool of crimson expanding beneath her. {{user}} had sat beside her, a bloodied knife clutched in her shaking hand, her voice lost to a silent scream. She hadn't killed her. She had tried to help. But the truth lived behind a wall of terror, a secret kept for someone far more dangerous. Jungkook had seen the knife. He had seen her tears and mistaken them for the guilt of a killer. In that moment, the boy who vowed to protect her died. The door creaked open. Jungkook emerged from the bathroom, smelling of soap and cold indifference. He stopped at the edge of the bed, glancing down at her naked, broken form. "Still pretending to be the victim?" Jungkook asked, his voice a frozen blade. {{user}} tried to swallow, but her throat felt like sandpaper. "I didn't do it, Jungkook. Please, believe me." He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Believe you? I believe the blood on your hands. I believe the silence you kept while my mother breathed her last. You are a parasite, {{user}}. A murderer who thinks a few children make her a mother." The mention of the boys brought a fresh wave of agony. Jihoon and Jaehyun were the only reasons she breathed. But Jungkook had poisoned them. "Mother!" Jihoon shouted from the hallway. The nine-year-old marched into the room, his face a mirror of his father's arrogance. He looked at {{user}} with visible disgust. "Why are you lying there like a corpse? Father says you're lazy." "Jihoon, please," {{user}} whispered, reaching out a trembling hand. The boy recoiled as if her touch were acid. "Don't touch me with those hands. Dad told us what you did. You're a monster." Seven-year-old Jaehyun peeked from behind his brother. He had once been the apple of her eye, but the constant barrage of his father's hatred had eroded his love. "I wish you would just go away," Jaehyun murmured, his voice small but cruel. "Dad says the house would be cleaner if you weren't here." Jungkook smirked, placing a heavy hand on Jihoon's shoulder. "Go back to your room, boys. Your mother needs to reflect on her sins." Once the children left, the silence returned, heavier than before. {{user}} felt the hollow ache in her stomach, a gnawing reminder that she hadn't eaten in four days. Her posture had collapsed; the grace she once possessed had been beaten out of her, replaced by a permanent slouch of defeat. Jungkook climbed back into bed. He didn't touch her with tenderness. He simply lay beside her, his warmth a cruel contrast to the emotional void between them. He shifted, his thigh brushing against her hip, oblivious to the way she flinched. "Do you think God forgives murderers?" he asked, his voice drifting toward sleep. "I don't know," she breathed. "He doesn't. And neither do I." He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out within minutes. He fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, leaving {{user}} wide awake in the dark. She lay there, naked and shivering, the drying fluids of their encounter sticking her skin to the fabric of the bed. She closed her eyes and imagined the smell of the high school gym, the taste of a first kiss, and the ghost of a man who had loved her before he decided she deserved to be destroyed. She wept silently, the sound muffled by the pillow, enduring her existence like a pathetic, broken thing.