After walking out of that passage, we continued forward for a while.
I have to say, this dungeon—what the hell—isn’t even a proper monster-fighting dungeon.
What kind of crap is all this?
My wife arrived at a cliff.
Yes, you read that right—a cliff.
There was no road ahead, only a single track leading to the next peak.
On the track was something like a triangular wooden horse ride.
Were trial participants supposed to ride this wooden horse to get to the next stage?
But this wasn’t even a normal wooden horse either.
The horse’s back was clearly covered with those kind of knobbed protrusions.
Seeing this, my wife’s delicate brows furrowed even tighter.
Because if the initial mist had aphrodisiac properties, and the passage just now had her breasts thoroughly molested, then up until now—although her honeypot was still occasionally leaking crystalline fluids—at least she hadn’t been directly teased or violated there.
But this trial—she was already aroused, and her little hole would inevitably be continuously rubbed by those protruding knobs.
I watched as my wife, after mustering considerable resolve, slowly spread her legs.
Since the wooden horse was taller than her, she first stepped one foot onto a pedal, then swung her other leg over the horse’s back.
The hem of that Heavenly Silkworm Snow-Silk Divine Dress got hiked up to around mid-thigh.
The moment she mounted, I saw her body tremble.
Ha.
Sensitivity increased by 5 points instantly.
It seemed that after the previous two stages, my wife was already heavily in heat.
After mounting, my wife noticed the wooden horse wasn’t moving.
I watched her study it for a while, then she began to…
twist her waist—not particularly slender, but perfectly proportioned with her chest and hip lines.
As she twisted, the knobs on the horse’s back actually started to undulate too.
Then the wooden horse began to slowly move forward.
Can this even be called a dungeon?
Then I remembered—this was originally an R18 game.
So maybe having all this weird stuff is normal?
But my wife’s situation on that horse wasn’t so good.
Already in the throes of arousal, her two slightly parted butterfly labia and that soaking wet vaginal opening were now being repeatedly rubbed by those round, somewhat hard knobs. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Her seductive moans could no longer be held back.
“Ah… ah…” Because of the continuous back-and-forth friction, her cries were short and somewhat urgent—the kind of lewd sounds she only made when fucked into heat by me in bed.
Damn.
There was still a faint hope that my wife wouldn’t be so easily driven into heat by these “props,” but that hope was now thoroughly shattered.
But watching my wife on the screen only made my little brother more spirited…
“Mmm… ah… ha… mmm ah…”
Amidst my wife’s wanton cries, the wooden horse accelerated, and the rhythm of her waist-twisting quickened too.
With another “mm-hmm…” the wooden horse stopped.
My wife was gripping the horse’s head with both hands for dear life, her face buried in her arms, chest heaving, legs trembling slightly.
A glistening strand of liquid slowly slid down the horse’s body from between her thighs.
The dungeon didn’t indicate failure, so she hadn’t orgasmed—she’d only reached the edge and forcibly stopped herself.
Edging—I know a thing or two about that from watching plenty of Japanese adult videos.
As mentioned before, when you stop stimulating a woman right at the moment she’s about to climax, leaving her stuck in that in-between state, it builds up her need to release.
In my opinion, this already counts as a form of training.
Though in most cases, it’s the trainer who initiates it.
While some women do edge themselves voluntarily as part of tasks, they’re in the minority.
Someone like my wife—based on her mindset, even if I begged her, she’d never do something like that on her own.
But now, even though it’s in a game, it seems her boundaries have been unconsciously lowered by herself again.
And so, stage by stage—twisting her waist, moaning lewdly, resting, then twisting and moaning again…
The wooden horse finally reached the peak at the end.
My wife seemed to have gotten used to this solo dungeon by now; her lewd cries were barely distinguishable from when we had sex in bed.
Upon arrival, she practically slid off the horse’s back.
A patch of not-yet-dried water stains remained on the horse’s back, recording the traces my wife left there.
My mind was filled with the sounds of her wanton moaning the entire way.
Honestly, I barely looked at the hidden stats after that, because I already knew the final outcome—my wife successfully cleared the dungeon.
Which meant she hadn’t been forced to orgasm during the process.
That was the one thing that gave me some comfort.
Entering the fourth stage, it was a secret-room-like space. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
In the center was a circular formation…
Oh, I’d seen this before when sneaking a peek at her phone—so this was where she’d passed the fourth stage back then.
My wife walked to the center of the circular formation.
Hmm, she seemed a bit confused.
I zoomed in to look.
Son of a bitch—there was a cylindrical object standing upright in the center of the formation.
Ha, wasn’t that just a rubber dildo?
With something like that sticking out in this kind of place, I didn’t need to see the rest to know what the trial wanted her to do.
I could imagine exactly what happened next.
My heart was instantly filled with mixed emotions.
My usually conservative wife—who would resolutely refuse even when I suggested using toys to spice things up in bed—was now in a game, about to insert a pleasure toy she’d never touch in real life into her already-aching, aroused little hole.
Sure enough, in the replay, my wife stood in front of that thing for a long time.
She must have been wrestling with herself.
Finally, she moved.
She slowly squatted down, her champagne-colored silk dress outlining the curve of her round buttocks.
Looking closely, I could see a patch of fabric darker than the rest at her private area—must have been stained by the fluids leaked during the previous stages.
She reached out with trembling hands to touch the object.
Black, its surface covered in strange ridges, with an oversized glans deliberately sculpted at the top.
Yes, it was a modern dildo.
I consider myself reasonably well-endowed.
When I first got together with my wife, she’d need to mentally prepare every time we did it, because she was always stretched so full it hurt a little.
It only got better after she got used to being fucked by me.
But this dildo—just by looking, it was clearly more than a size bigger than me.
My wife stood directly above it, spread her legs, aligned herself, and slowly sat down.
After the previous stages, her flower cave must have been thoroughly soaked, and her entire being was in a state of extreme arousal that impaired her normal thinking.
*Plop*—something that big was actually swallowed whole by my wife’s little hole.