Part 2 of "Catching Adulterers in the Act"

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

This incident is a continuation of last year's accidental infidelity incident involving a friend. As someone who supposedly has a moral compass, I genuinely feel sorry for my brother being cheated on. Logically speaking, even if a couple isn't expected to be perfectly harmonious, there should at least be basic respect and trust. This solid evidence has made me question my own marriage.
Of course, for someone with an uncertain moral compass, witnessing this is a way to relieve tension.

Last year, I shared the story of catching my friend cheating at home, mainly to express what I saw and my feelings at the time. Honestly, it did make me fantasize for days. Some friends in the forum were skeptical of their marriage, but I didn't think so. My brother took steps to get his marriage back on track, so we, as bystanders, certainly offer our blessings. Although I wanted to offer some advice, I refrained from saying it. First, I didn't want to rub salt into the wound; second, I didn't want to interfere in their relationship. Some people did offer subtle hints, but it was best not to say anything. Several male friends, overflowing with maternal instincts, urged them to have a child, saying that having a child would create a bond. Little did they know, there was a reason they hadn't—my brother's sperm motility was low. Despite long-term tests and treatments, it had never exceeded 2 (this was something only a few of us knew).
After the Spring Festival this year, my brother privately talked to me twice. First, he expressed concern about his health, specifically his persistently low sperm motility (I thought to myself, what's the point of telling me this? I don't have the philanthropic spirit of helping others, especially my brother, even if your wife is much prettier than mine, right...). Second, he mentioned some unusual behavior from his wife, especially after the Lantern Festival (like suddenly becoming more outgoing, something she usually disliked). Sperm problems can only be treated; trust science. But this unusual behavior, as a well-known strategist in our circle of friends, I still felt it needed to be taken seriously. A cautious approach, a long-term strategy, to reel in bigger results. Therefore, on April 1st, under my brother's organization, we secretly formed an "Anti-Secondary Cuckolding Action Group" (actually, it was just a lot of people working together, with informants everywhere). During this time, my occasionally absent-minded brother actually took pictures of his wife's stockings and underwear that she hadn't yet cleaned and sent them to us core members (both men and women) (are you a cuckold?!), saying that according to what I read online, you can tell from the clothes. I didn't see any clues. I just felt that the black stockings, the lace-trimmed underwear, and that underwear that looked like a thong (larger than a thong, I don't know what it is) were particularly alluring. And two of the pictures clearly had stains, I don't care if it was vaginal discharge or semen, let me masturbate first. To be honest, looking at the photos and thinking about last year's barely concealed underwear and protruding breasts, masturbating really felt good. After masturbating, I still participated in the analysis as a gentleman, and casually asked, "What if she really cheats?"
"Divorce!" My brother was very firm this time.
The weather in the southwest is getting hotter and hotter. By May and June, it's unbearable to be outdoors! I actually love summers here, they're so damn beautiful. Several times I've seen my buddies with their wives, and they're either wearing shorts or thin black dresses. Especially after the World Cup started, some weirdo organized a drinking party where everyone had to wear their team's jersey. My buddy's wife, like me, wore a 2006 German home jersey... a white top, black shorts, showing off her curves... and while drinking, I could vaguely see her flesh-colored underwear. I instinctively turned my head away. A few seconds later, my buddy obediently looked up—"You know, my wife in a football jersey looks like an American wearing that thing in Japan!"
Until early July, I thought maybe we were just being paranoid. Nothing had happened yet, and after seeing those photos a couple more times, I'd be in the hospital for the World Cup. Then, my buddy called to say that, based on a tip, they saw his wife with two other men at a certain place.
His wife works in the south, so why did she come to the area I was assigned to during work hours? I said, "Are you doing errands with your colleagues?"
"I'm not sure, but they shouldn't be doing errands over there."
"Did you set a rule for them that they can't do errands here? Besides, they're all together, what are you worried about!" Some things are hard to say. Although I had a fleeting thought that way, reason told me, how could that be possible!
"It's in the square near you, go and take a look."
"Bullshit! What do I need to see? Someone saw her. Besides, I don't know their colleagues, how can I be sure?"
...
A little over a week later, I received a call from a woman (who supposedly used to work in Dongguan; how she got into our circle can be a separate topic later). She said she saw my brother's wife with a man, going up an elevator; there were restaurants, foot massage parlors, and hotels upstairs.
"Why did you call me?"
"Tell your brother I don't think it's a good idea."
"I still think it's a bad idea. Just tell him directly."
"You two grew up together, you're not the same."
...
We're different...
I checked the time, it was a little past 3 pm, the sun was shining brightly. Logically speaking, this was the best time to commit the crime. I called my friend, explained the situation, and specifically instructed him to bring the friend who works at the police station if we were to go (actually, I had checked the hotel records before, and apart from one business trip to a district, there were no abnormalities). Bringing a police officer is better than dealing with ordinary people like us. Although I felt like I was breaking up someone's family, if it was true, I couldn't let my brother continue to have a cuckolded husband.
Almost an hour later, we all gathered at the place my sister had mentioned. Others accompanied the police officer friend directly to the hotel to inquire. After waiting for a while, the feedback was that the hotel registration didn't show this person. We quickly reassured him that he was probably overthinking it, it must be a hotel booking. We figured they were either eating or had already left... We comforted them while waiting for them to come down. Ten minutes passed, and they still hadn't come down. Just as we were about to call, my friend got a call telling us to go up to the third floor. Seven or eight of us squeezed into the elevator. Seeing a sign that said "XX Foot Bath," I couldn't contain my imagination... a foot massage parlor, sending the others away, getting down to business in an unfamiliar environment. Thinking about it, I pictured white buttocks swaying in my mind. I quickly took a breath, thinking, "Damn, this is something out of an adult film! How could this be?" But then I calmed down and realized there must be something going on up there, otherwise they wouldn't have gone this far. Afterwards, I asked my policeman friend why they didn't just come down when no one was at the hotel. The answer was: they said no one was there, and everyone dispersed after a false alarm. But then the receptionist said a couple came in, checked the room, and didn't check in; they took the elevator to the third floor. Based on his policeman instincts, he went to the third floor to check the situation...
The elevator arrived, and we rushed out, startling the people inside. Someone was about to ask what we were doing when my police friend gestured for everyone to be quiet. He pulled my brother aside and said a few words. A clueless young woman even came up and asked if we were all cops catching bad guys… I thought to myself, pretty much the same thing. Looking around, it was just the typical setup of a foot massage parlor (maybe there's some meat involved, you know). Then, my brother tiptoed inside, and we all quietly followed. I don't know their purpose; from a righteous perspective, it was like catching someone cheating; from an unrighteous perspective, we just wanted to see what was going on. Foot massage parlors are all those winding, labyrinthine layouts; the floors don't seem very big, but you just can't seem to reach the end (if there's nothing fishy going on, I'll run naked around my neighborhood ten times). After turning several corners, the people in front stopped, and everyone stopped, holding their breath. The decor was already a bit oppressive, dim and uncomfortable (actually, it was because the lights weren't on). Everyone tried to be as quiet as possible, but there was a faint, indistinct sound, like moaning but not quite, and I thought it was just a hallucination... My friend slowly approached and stood there for a few seconds. Suddenly, he turned around and kicked the door open. Before anyone could react, a woman's piercing scream came from inside. I thought, "This is going to be interesting!" I rushed inside, and only after we passed the entryway did someone turn on the lights. When I got there, I realized how naive I was... A man was standing stiffly on the bed, completely naked, his penis erect and covered by a condom, with several strings hanging from the base. I guessed it was his wife's thong (Damn, do you city folks dare to do things differently?! Ah! Judging from what I just saw, I know what they were doing; just imagining it makes it impossible not to get hard). He was just sitting there, turned to the side, looking towards the doorway. The girl standing next to me turned her back. A woman was frantically searching for something to cover herself. Judging from the voice, it was probably my brother's wife. I was still watching a woman, her breasts exposed, facing me, grabbing the sheets on the bed. My brother, in a flash (damn, how come I never noticed how fast she was before!), leaped onto the bed and punched the man across the face. Only after being hit did the man seem to realize what was happening and scramble to hide in the corner. How could you hide in such a small space? Even with teleportation, you couldn't fly out, especially since you were naked and had no equipment.
This time, it was even more blatant than the last time. Several friends rushed over and restrained the man, while my brother cursed and slapped him repeatedly, with some people occasionally using their hands and feet to get a kick. The man kept trying to shrink into the corner, and my brother missed, almost hitting me. I was furious and slapped him back. Ouch! That really hurt! The man kept shouting, "Don't hit me! Don't hit me!" Damn it, if I don't hit you, who will I hit? You dare do it but don't want to pay the price! The manager of the foot massage parlor heard the commotion and ran over to ask what was going on and whether they should call the police. A police officer even stood at the door, saying, "I'm a cop! We're catching someone cheating here; someone has to die!" The man yelled a few times, but knowing he couldn't escape, he stopped.
My brother was about to grab the ashtray when someone grabbed it from him. Even though it hurts a bit, it's better not to kill anyone. My brother's wife used her usual tactic, crying and yelling, "Don't hit me!" This time, she used the wrong technique in the wrong place. My brother turned around and was in front of his wife, ripping off the sheet. That's when I saw his wife; her bra was hanging below her chest, probably a C-cup, facing me at an angle, her lower body completely naked. Sister, I was wearing dress pants, and my penis was really uncomfortable being stretched out inside. "You yelled 'Don't hit him!' and you're still holding back?!" My brother roared, "What are you doing blocking my way? What kind of face do you have?!" With each shout, his wife trembled, her breasts bobbing up and down with her body. We men were quite embarrassed. Looking wasn't an option, and ignoring it wasn't an option either (frankly, if there were no outsiders, given her current state, I would have gone over and taken her right there. It's already hot, and with those big breasts jiggling like that, I couldn't stand it!). Every time my brother's wife's breasts trembled, my heart pounded. I said the same old thing: "Seriously, seriously, we're catching someone cheating!
" "Don't hit her, I'm sorry."
"You know you're sorry now! You were wrong last time." My brother raised his hand and slapped her. His wife trembled, tears streaming down her face. Under normal circumstances, I would have rushed over to be a hero. Or maybe I felt it was wrong to hit a woman, and besides, it wasn't good for us men to be watching. The woman in our group quickly went over and pulled my brother away, trying to persuade him. She also quickly grabbed something to cover her. With nowhere to vent his anger, the brother could only continue to beat the adulterer while holding him. I didn't hold back either, and continued hitting him. While hitting him, I muttered to myself: "Why isn't it with me? Why isn't it with me..."
Something seemed off. After half an hour of this commotion, the manager of the foot massage parlor came over and spoke to my police friend. Then the police friend said, "We'll handle this at home. Let's not waste time here; there's nothing wrong here." The adulterer was easy to deal with—take him home. But what about the adulterer? The police friend said, "Let him go. Anyway, it's broad daylight; his face is bruised and battered. People will know what happened."

It's almost the end of the month, and the brother said they're going through legal proceedings. It means the woman will leave with nothing, but she's still playing the emotional card, refusing to divorce (the brother has a fully paid-off car and house, no debt, who wouldn't want that?). At this point, is there still any emotion left?

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Part 2 of "Catching Adulterers in the Act"

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