Colored Hentai Story 1

Chapter 1: The Marital Kink

I’m Kenta Takahashi, 30, a mid-level IT manager in Tokyo, 175 cm, average build, bespectacled, mild-mannered, dubbed a “meek coder” by colleagues. My wife, Misaki, 28, has F-cup breasts, round hips, fair skin, long black hair, a gentle yet seductive beauty, the star of company parties. Married three years, our bedroom passion was as stale as convenience store bento. One night, binge-watching an NTR porn video—seeing a wife fucked by strangers—got me rock-hard. At breakfast, I stammered my kink to Misaki. She choked on her milk, laughed, and said, “Kenta, what’s this weird fetish? But… if it makes you happy, let’s try.” I was floored—my wife’s too open-minded.

We found an NTR club online, in a seedy Shinjuku basement KTV, vibe like a low-budget gangster flick. Our first event, Misaki wore a tight red dress, cleavage deep enough to trap a phone, pubic hair peeking from lace panties, sexy enough to weaken my knees. Three guys approached: Sato, 40, a gym coach with fake-looking muscles; Tanaka, 50, a bald businessman, belly jiggling like jelly; Yamamoto, 35, a tattoo artist, a walking graffiti wall. Swallowing hard, I said, “Please… enjoy my wife.” Misaki blushed like a tomato, stripped, and lay on a worn leather table. Sato licked her nipples, Tanaka fucked her mouth, Yamamoto took her ass. She moaned, “Kenta… this is weird… but so good…” Watching her gangbanged, my cock throbbed; I fumbled, masturbating, cumming on the floor, nearly slipping, sparking laughter. Misaki climaxed thrice, juices spraying like a broken faucet, cum coating her. On the way home, she mumbled, “Kenta, I’ll wash the sheets.” I laughed till my stomach hurt, but unease crept in.

Chapter 2: The Absurd NTR Routine

NTR became our marriage’s “spice.” Every weekend, we hit the club, Misaki fucked by random guys, me jerking off like a creepy director. Sato always brought protein shakes, claiming “stamina,” but whined about back pain mid-fuck; Tanaka bragged about his playboy days, cumming in three minutes; Yamamoto brought a carved wooden dildo for “artistic flair,” which got stuck in Misaki’s ass, landing us in the ER, mortified. Misaki teased, “Kenta, these guys are less reliable than you.” I cracked up, but watching her cum endlessly left me sour yet thrilled, like drinking expired yogurt.

We started hosting NTR parties at home, inviting club regulars. Once, Tanaka brought a 60-year-old retired cabbie, Kobayashi, wrinkled but claiming to be a “stamina king.” He fucked Misaki while I filmed, accidentally flashing the camera, startling him soft. He yelled, “Kid, shooting a porn flick?” The room roared; Misaki covered her face, “Kenta, can you not screw this up?” I wanted to disappear, but seeing her gangbanged by five guys, breasts deformed, juices streaming, I got hard, cumming on the couch, grossing myself out.

Then I ran into college friend Rena Kobayashi, 29, C-cup breasts, short hair, single, kind like a big sister. She saw us at the club, frowning, “Kenta, what are you and Misaki playing at? This is happiness?” I mumbled, “Just… spicing things up.” She shook her head, looking at me like a lost kid. I felt guilty, but NTR was a drug I couldn’t quit.

Chapter 3: Inner Struggles

Rena’s words stung; I questioned if NTR truly made us happy. Misaki got into it, stripping eagerly at parties, saying, “Kenta, seeing you excited makes me happy.” One party, ten guys fucked her all night, whipping her ass, clamping her nipples, shocking her clit, cum plastering her face and chest, juices flooding. She screamed, “Kenta… I love this…” I jerked off till my hand ached, but felt hollow. Afterward, Misaki slept a day, waking to ask, “Kenta, you really like this?” I nodded, but felt like a pervert.

I tried stopping the parties, but a week without NTR left me antsy like a smoker quitting cold turkey, dreaming of Misaki’s gangbangs. She admitted, “Kenta, I’m kinda used to being… you know, shared.” Her honesty hurt, yet aroused me. I wondered if NTR was ruining our marriage. Rena found me, “Kenta, you’re avoiding something. Real love doesn’t need this.” I cried, telling her I loved Misaki, but NTR’s thrill addicted me. She hugged me, “Kenta, you can find yourself.” Her warmth shook me, but Misaki’s moans haunted me.

One party, a drunk guy spilled beer on Misaki; she laughed, “Free shower?” Everyone cracked up, but I couldn’t. I knew we were spiraling.

Chapter 4: Reality’s Absurdity

I suggested pausing NTR for normalcy. We tried dating—movies, ramen, like regular couples. Our first night’s sex, I pictured her gangbanged, cumming in two minutes. Misaki laughed, “Kenta, got ‘NTR syndrome’?” I wanted to die of shame, but her giggle warmed me. We used humor, trying “light SM” with fuzzy cuffs, only to get stuck, laughing as we ran to a hardware store for bolt cutters.

NTR’s pull lingered. Sato called about an “ultimate party” with fifty guys. I refused, but Misaki signed up, “Kenta, just once, for you.” At the party, she was bound on a stage, fifty men fucking her, using plugs, clamps, vibrators, cum and juices flooding. She screamed, “Kenta… for you…” Thrilled yet heartbroken, I ran out, vomiting. Rena found me, “Kenta, save Misaki and yourself.” I stormed back, carried Misaki out, her crying, “Kenta, am I broken?” I held her, “No, we’ll fix this together.”

Chapter 5: Breaking Free

We moved to Chiba, escaping Tokyo’s NTR scene. I quit my job, opened a café; Misaki became a freelance illustrator. Our sex was gentle, funny—I used a feather wand, her laughing, “Kenta, your kink’s worse than those old men!” Our climaxes, cum and juices mingling, were love, not gangbangs. But NTR’s shadow lingered; I dreamed of her being fucked, waking hard, ashamed.

Sato showed up with a “NTR memory album” of Misaki’s gangbangs, saying, “Kenta, you can’t escape your ‘happiness.’” I tore it up, warning him off. Misaki cried, “Kenta, I’m scared I want to go back.” I held her, “We’ll face it together.” We saw a therapist, confessing NTR; she laughed, “Your marriage is wilder than a soap opera.” We chuckled, confronting our struggles.

Rena, our rock, helped at the café, saying, “Kenta, Misaki, your love’s stronger than NTR.” Her support helped us heal.

Chapter 6: Reality’s Blend

We vowed to quit NTR, burning club contacts. Sato appeared with an “NTR memorial cake,” smirking, “One bite, relive the joy?” I smashed it in his face; he fled, us laughing hysterically. We started anew.

We couldn’t quit NTR but found balance. We joined small parties, Misaki fucked by just Sato, Tanaka, Yamamoto, always with mishaps—Tanaka cumming too fast, Sato forgetting his protein shake. At home, we used silly props like inflatable bananas for “light NTR,” Misaki laughing, “Kenta, this is funnier than straight sex!” Rena joined our café, watching our “shows,” saying, “Your marriage is weirdly cute.” Our love found quirky happiness in absurdity and warmth.