My Milf System

Chapter 393 - 393: 393. Fragile beings in existence

# {Mio's POV}Most women look at a marriage and see love, trust, or a future. What a boring, vanilla waste of a lifetime.

A marriage only achieves its true, artistic value when you thoroughly stain it. It's a canvas that remains completely blank until you splatter it with another man's cum and the husband's tears.

In this world, men are the most fragile beings in existence. But what truly makes them interesting? A lot of people have always pondered that question, but only a few have actually arrived at the exact same answer as me.

Is it the symmetry of his face? The depth of his pockets? His societal status or the arrogance in his stride?

No. To me, none of that superficial garbage matters. The world is full of men who build glass castles out of their petty pride, walking around as if they are untouchable. It's utterly boring and old-fashioned.

What truly makes a man interesting—the only part of a man that possesses any genuine, artistic value—is the exact face he makes at the absolute moment he is broken.

That's right. The sheer look of despair when a man is forced to witness his wife being thoroughly used and violently fucked in all her holes by another man is the pinnacle of perfection—especially when the interloper possesses physical assets that completely dwarf the husband's own baseline capabilities.

To see the agonizing sight of his woman wearing a completely satisfied expression of pure ecstasy, her eyes rolled back into her head, thick saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth while she squirts uncontrollably, shaking and convulsing under another man's touch. A look of total, depraved submission that she had never, not even once, granted to her own husband.

That raw cocktail of betrayal, emasculation, and explosive, helpless anger twisting their features... that is the only thing in this miserable world that gives me true joy.

I shifted under my blankets, feeling the wet heat spreading between my thighs as I glanced at the screen of my laptop, its blue light illuminating my face in the dark. On it played an intense, completely uncensored Netorare animation in high-definition, the exaggerated wet sounds of taboo infidelity echoing softly through my headphones.

On screen, the young wife was screaming in pure pleasure, getting her holes brutally stretched and fucked by a fat, ugly bastard with a monstrously huge dick. Meanwhile, her handsome young husband was tied securely to a chair right next to them, forced to witness the beautiful sight of his wife getting thoroughly pleasured by a man she didn't even love. She did it for the sheer fact of embracing her perverse, hidden side just to get more extreme pleasure out of life. It was a masterpiece of true art.

My breath hitched, a feverish shiver rippling violently down my spine. I clutched my own burning cheeks, my fingers sinking into my hair as my pupils dilated to the absolute edge of my irises. Oh, how I crave it. I need it. I have to physically see that look of total psychological ruin on a man's face in real life, or I will absolutely lose my mind.

That's right. I am completely, unapologetically obsessed with Netorare. I am a monster driven by a beautiful, twisted fetish. That is the exact reason I allowed myself to get married to an ordinary, mundane man who works a standard corporate desk job. I willingly became a hot, obedient housewife. All of it was a calculated setup so that I can, one day, find another man—a man I don't possess a single shred of love for—and allow him to ruthlessly fuck me in the exact bed I shared with my partner on our wedding night. I want my husband to come home exhausted from work, only to be welcomed by this beautiful, soul-shattering sight.

However, even up to now, I haven't found a man who meets my exact standards.

Then came that one afternoon. I was in the middle of watching one of my NTR hentais, so incredibly horny that I dragged myself out of bed, my pussy dripping with slick juices. My plan was simply to fetch my secret dildo from its hiding place to deal with my throbbing cravings, but the moment my feet hit the floor, I heard soft, heavy moans leaking through the wall from the room next door.

I frowned, pausing. Was Loona masturbating next door? It was the middle of the day; all the men in the apartment building were supposed to be at work. There was absolutely no way she was having sex with her husband right now.

I tried to ignore it and focus on my own sexual release, but then the deep, guttural groan of a man echoed through the drywall.

My heart skipped a beat, hammering hard against my ribs. What was going on here? Josh was at work, that much was a certainty.

My immediate instinct was to head toward our shared balcony glass windows to peek inside, as it appeared the moans were coming from her living room rather than her bedroom, but I realized she might catch a glimpse of my shadow. Instead, I quietly slipped out of my apartment, crept down the dim hallway to her front door, and pressed my eye tightly against the keyhole.

What I saw inside made the blood rush straight to my head, my eyes widening in pure shock as a massive, manic smile stretched across my lips.

Loona was pinned down, getting fucked absolutely senselessly on her couch by the new apartment security guard and caretaker.

And more importantly, the boy was packing an absolute monster. His dick was a huge, veins-swollen beast, easily two times bigger and thicker than my own husband's.

'This girl... she's living my actual dream!' Those were the exact words that thundered through my brain, jealousy beginning to grow in my heart.

Oh, how I wished I was the one pinned under him in that exact moment. However, the security guard was far too handsome for my specific liking; if I was going to start painting the blank canvas of my marriage, I needed a truly ugly bastard to maximize the beauty of the art.

Still, it was an incredible rush to watch an actual Netorare scenario play out in real life.

But as the days passed, I couldn't help but feel like a major, crucial element of their encounter was missing. Where is the fun in NTR if you're just going to do it in secret? What is the point of infidelity if you don't get to see the look of absolute despair twisting the husband's face?

Ever since that afternoon, I've been waiting impatiently, completely consumed by the thought of the two of them fucking around again. It was rapidly becoming my sole obsession.

When I finally had a brief conversation with the guard in the hallway, I realized he wasn't just some ordinary street-level loser. There was something deeply unsettling about him—he carried a heavy, dominant aura that made him look like a true alpha. If only he were fat and ugly, he would have been the perfect tool for my own bed.

He had tried calling my phone more than once after that, likely trying to sniff out what I knew, but I had absolutely nothing to talk to him about yet. All I wanted from him was to keep breaking Loona open, while I formulated a plan to make their NTR truly complete by introducing the one thing it lacked: an audience.

Right at that exact second, as if the universe was answering my unspoken prayers, l heard Loona's voice telling someone to take off their clothes, probably the security guard. It was a good thing this cheap apartment building had such unforgivingly thin walls.

A manic, wild expression locked onto my face, my heart pounding into my throat with vicious anticipation.

'It has finally begun...' I thought, my fingers trembling with excitement as I reached beneath my mattress. 'Let me grab my dildo....oh, and my phone.'

To be continued....