Wife wearing stockings being violated

My wife is a woman who values the quality of her sex life, though I didn't notice it at first. She likes wearing stockings and high heels. Usually, she just wears pantyhose and regular high heels, but sometimes when she goes out, she'll change into sexy tank tops and stockings. I also like stockings, but I've never let my wife satisfy me because I was afraid she'd laugh at me. But it turns out I was wrong; I gave my best enjoyment to another man. My wife isn't a very promiscuous woman, but even the most honest woman can have an affair. My wife used to have the desire but not the courage. Whenever she dressed sexily and went out, people would approach her, but she never slept with anyone (at least that's what she told me). But later, she met a music producer. My wife has always wanted to be a singer, so she resolutely took time out of her job to practice singing and became very familiar with the music producer. I've met that man; he's quite handsome. At first, I would sometimes accompany her or pick her up from her lessons, but later, I got busy with company affairs and stopped paying attention. One day, my wife came home and told me that a music producer had found her a company where she could be a full-time singer. She was overjoyed and spent her days meticulously grooming herself. She also told me that the music producer was very kind to her, giving her a lot of advice on clothing (including stockings). My wife knew how important the sexy allure of stockings was to men she was attracted to, so I noticed she wasn't just wearing ordinary pantyhose anymore. I once saw her wearing long, sexy stockings with suspenders. Just then, bad luck struck. I had to go out of town to deal with a situation at a branch office. I was a little uneasy before I left, but there was nothing I could do. For two and a half months, I was away, frequently calling my wife. Sometimes she wouldn't answer, saying she was in the recording studio and couldn't hear me. The rest of the time, her singing career seemed to be going well. But she never mentioned the music producer again, which made me increasingly nervous; I felt something was wrong. Two and a half months later, I returned home without informing my wife. If she had kept her word, she should have arrived two days late. When I got home, the house was tidy, with some clothes scattered on the bed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; my wife must have been practicing singing or something, since she wasn't answering her phone. It was a Saturday, and my wife often used weekends to practice singing. She could only practice for a few hours during the week, but on weekends, with no other singers around, she could practice all day. So, with a relatively calm mindset, I went to the recording studio. When I was almost there, my wife texted me: "Honey, sorry, I was practicing and didn't hear you. I'm done practicing and about to go home. I'll call you when I get home." I thought she was already done, so I wouldn't go in, since I needed to register to enter. I waited at the entrance, but she didn't come out after a while. So, I registered and went in anyway. When I got to the top-floor recording studio, I saw that the iron gate was locked, meaning someone was there, but recording was in progress, and entry was prohibited. But I couldn't resist, because I felt increasingly uneasy. So I slowly removed the lock, entered the main door, and went to the recording studio. I slowly pushed open a soundproof door, went inside, walked through a short corridor, and pushed open a second soundproof door. Before me was the mixing console. I immediately saw a woman's bag on the sofa; I didn't know if it was my wife's. But then I saw inside the recording studio. Through the large glass, I was horrified to see a pair of flesh-colored women's stockings hanging on the microphone rack. From my position, I could only see half of the recording studio. So I moved forward, my heart filled with a frenzied excitement, ready to see what was inside. I still held onto a sliver of hope, but I was quickly disappointed. I saw a second pair of stockings—two long stockings scattered on the music stand. The sheer size of the stockings exuded a lewd aura, filling the originally serious recording studio with a lascivious atmosphere. I gritted my teeth, determined to see everything as quickly as possible, and in a flash, I stood directly in front of the large glass window. I was stunned. I saw a man's back on the edge of the grand piano, his trousers dragging on the ground. His body was thrusting forward repeatedly. In front of him, a woman was clearly sitting on the piano keys. The piano was closed, silent, and even through the soundproof glass, I couldn't hear anything. However, I could see the woman's legs shimmering with pearlescent light—the kind of stockings I liked. She wore black pointed-toe stiletto sandals, her long legs held high by the man's arms around her waist, her calves dangling down, swaying seductively with his thrusts. Her arms were wrapped around him, but her face was obscured by his body. Clinging to a last glimmer of hope, I looked left and right, but I still couldn't see her face. Meanwhile, the man was thrusting very quickly; the woman often had to frantically struggle to hold onto his shoulders. They were going at it wildly, and I was starting to feel aroused. Suddenly, the man seemed to reach his climax. He lifted the woman up, and she was immediately suspended in mid-air. Then, something happened that completely shattered my belief: the woman clung tightly to the man, her body undulating with his vigorous thrusts. Her long, slender legs, clad in flesh-colored stockings, were wrapped around his waist, her high heels encircling his waist. The woman rested her head on his shoulder, her mouth wide open, a lewd expression on her face as she spoke something. And that was indeed the face I both wanted to avoid but was also aroused by—my wife. My wife was licking the man's ear wantonly, while he continued to fuck her, simultaneously caressing her shapely legs. Those beautiful legs, which had never worn sexy stockings for me, were now being played with by someone else. My wife, who had always been well-behaved during sex and would thank me after each orgasm, was now endlessly enjoying being played with and willingly making wanton, provocative movements. She never wore stockings during sex with me, yet here in the recording studio were two pairs of stockings she had worn, or perhaps intended for a second penetration. The recording studio she had mentioned had now become their pleasure room. I wondered how many times they had committed adultery here, and whether my wife was being taken advantage of because she felt lonely while I was away on business, or whether she had already harbored lustful thoughts when I told her I was going away. I stared blankly at her as she continued to be fucked, her movements noticeably faster. She thrashed about the man with pleasure, moaning and screaming. I couldn't take it anymore, so I took a few steps forward and opened the soundproof door of the recording booth. Suddenly, lewd words rushed into my ears: "Ah, so good, fuck me!" "Harder, touch my stockings, I wore them for you!" "Ah
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Wife wearing stockings being violated

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