I tacitly approved of my wife and mother-in-law sharing a husband.

Perhaps I should have told this story long ago, not because I was afraid to, but because I didn't know where to begin. Tonight, the first snow has fallen outside, the light outside the window is dim, and the floodgates of memory have opened wide. It's a secret belonging to several people, intertwined in a chaotic way.
Where to begin? Let me start with my family background. My wife, Wen, is four years younger than me; she married me at twenty-six. At the time, I had just graduated with my doctorate and, with the help of my advisor, stayed on to work at a research institute affiliated with the university. My future mother-in-law was a high-ranking leader in my workplace, and her only daughter, Wen, who is now my wife, was a civil servant in a provincial government agency.
Wen and I went from meeting to dating to marriage in less than a year. This major life event was settled quickly. I was very fond of Wen; I felt as if I had been blessed by God. Wen, a lady from a well-to-do family, wasn't strikingly beautiful, but she was very pleasing to the eye. Her speech and manners exuded good upbringing. To describe her more vividly, she resembled an early Yu Feihong—not in appearance, but in her radiance and temperament.
Wen's family was considered well-off in the area. Our wedding home was a duplex with a yard, located in one of the city's most expensive residential areas, and the rent was mostly paid for by Wen's family. My hometown, a small town in the far southwest, wasn't poor, but it was incomparable to Wen's.
Why would such an outstanding woman marry a poor guy like me? Although I'm 1.82 meters tall and have a refined appearance, I'm definitely not good enough to rely on my looks. At the time, I thought the reason was simple: they were probably after the power and influence behind me. My supervisor was promoted to executive vice president of the university before I graduated, becoming the third most important figure in this prestigious 985 university with tens of thousands of students, and also in charge of the research institute where my mother-in-law worked.
A few years ago, when I was pursuing my doctorate, I worked on an international project with my supervisor. With my abilities and a stroke of luck, I helped my supervisor overcome a very important hurdle: the technology was published in one of the world's top scientific journals (those who don't know, please Google it), bringing the university tremendous industry and social prestige. Of course, the biggest beneficiary was my supervisor, who also rose rapidly through the ranks, joining the university's leadership team. And I was ultimately just one of his few students involved. Although my fellow students knew the truth, who cared about a truth unrelated to their own interests?
My advisor was quite the gentleman; he had been a visiting scholar at a prestigious university in the western United States for many years, possessed extraordinary energy, and maintained a fit physique even past fifty. This charming scholar supervised six doctoral students—four men and two women. Who would have thought that two of the female students would end up in his bed, one of whom, Rongrong, even became pregnant? I knew all this because when Rongrong had her abortion, my advisor, unable to appear in person, instructed me to take her to the hospital. He told me, "You are my most trusted student," a double entendre, simultaneously warning me to keep my mouth shut. My advisor probably chose me because of my ordinary background, my obedient nature, and my relative ease of control.
Actually, such things are not uncommon in universities. Like Rongrong, female doctoral students are generally quite open-minded about sex. They wanted to participate in their mentor's projects, gaining valuable overseas work experience and qualifications while also receiving substantial compensation. To this end, the mentor's bed, to some extent, became a green channel for Rongrong and others to rise to power. A few years later, by chance, Rongrong also ended up under me. When she talked about her mentor again, she was filled with resentment, grinding her teeth in hatred—but that's another story.
When my wife Wen and I confirmed our relationship, my mentor strongly supported our marriage. He even condescended to speak with me, subtly advising me to settle down and start a family soon, saying he would pave the way for me. It warmed my heart. At the height of my youthful vigor, I was planning my career. At that time, I had no idea that behind this lay a conspiracy that would change my life forever.
Wen and I didn't know each other well enough; we married after knowing each other for only three months. We only had our first sexual encounter on our wedding night; she wasn't a virgin. Actually, I was prepared. A girl as beautiful as Wen probably already had many suitors. In her early twenties, full of youthful vigor, it's inevitable that she'd sleep with one or two people she liked. I myself had two previous relationships and had sex with both. As long as Wen was truly sincere to me in the future, what did her past experiences and that hymen have to do with our life together for the next few decades?
After marriage, Wen was well-mannered and treated me with respect. Looking back now, those were truly sweet days. I exercised regularly and was a key player on the school badminton team, so I was in excellent physical condition. During the day, I was full of energy, immersing myself in my work at the research institute. When I returned home at night, with my beautiful wife by the lamp, and our lovemaking in bed, I could finally kiss my goddess without restraint, caress every inch of Wen's skin. Even when she was preparing dinner in the kitchen, I could take off her pants, squat down, and passionately lick and tease her moist vulva. Then, I raised my penis and, from behind her, penetrated through the fuzzy black grass, thrusting it into her opening, creating the most erotic friction with her pink, dewy petals. "Oh, stop it, you're spilling water," Wen would often shyly try to avoid me, but I had already entered the softest part of her body, annihilating her last resistance.
"Do you like my… cock? Do you like… fucking you like this?" Facing my beautiful new wife, uttering these crude words for the first time, my heart raced, and my face flushed. The desecration of this beauty was like urinating in a luxurious palace, a strange, inexplicable pleasure coursing through me.
Wen finally couldn't continue cooking. She turned off the stove, leaned against the wide, smooth stone countertop, and bent her body at an angle that made thrusting easier for me. My movements went from slow to fast, from weak to strong, calmly creating slapping sounds on my lower abdomen and Wen's pert buttocks. Wen didn't like talking during sex, but her moans grew increasingly intense. Several times, when I deliberately withdrew my penis from her body, she would deliberately arch her back higher, assuming a welcoming posture. For a fleeting moment, a strange image flashed through my mind: a man behind the naked Wen, forcefully pressing against her waist, his swollen, hard penis thrusting back and forth into Wen's wanton genitals… Had Wen been penetrated like this before? My inner logic immediately gave a definitive answer: it must have been. Wen had other men before me. In the time we spent together, whether long or short, that man, whose identity I didn't know, must have been unwilling to easily let go of this beautiful body, must have penetrated deeply, must have indulged in ravaging and playing with every alluring part of Wen's body… I dared not think any further, afraid that the surging emotions would burn my body. I thrust recklessly, quickly ejaculating into Wen's already soaking wet vagina, but my withdrawn penis showed no sign of softening.
I didn't penetrate Wen's body again. Instead, I placed one of her legs on the stone platform, then squatted down and bit her exposed labia, immediately tasting a sour and astringent flavor. Just as I was about to push my tongue into her vagina, the semen I had just ejaculated flowed out along the edge of her labia. The surge of excitement and curiosity compelled me to take the mixture of semen and Wen's bodily fluids into my mouth. The worse the taste, the more unbearable the experience, the more it fueled my lust. The image of that man reappeared in my mind, as if this white fluid was what he had just ejaculated into me.
Wen thought I was compensating her for not having orgasmed yet because I had ejaculated too early, and looked at me with some emotion. But I held the fluid that had just flowed from her vagina in my mouth and kissed her lips, exchanging the fluid in my mouth with hers. Wen hesitated for a moment, but then obediently accepted. I guided her to rub and intertwine her tongue, which was covered in her vaginal fluid. I then sat her on the wooden operating table next to me, her vagina facing me at the perfect height for easy penetration. The stimulation from before intensified the pleasure.
"Do you like my cock like this, baby? How's it compared to the ones you've had before? Longer or thicker?" I was a little breathless. Wen silenced my mouth with a kiss, and we unconsciously swallowed the fluid from before. Wen sucked on my tongue desperately, and I could hardly breathe. I knew she was close to orgasm. With the last bit of strength in my body, I brought her to her peak and ejaculated again.
Only then did I realize that our shirts, which Wen and I hadn't had time to take off, were already soaked with sweat. The stuffiness in the house rose, and the food on the stove was still soaking in the soup pot. It was drizzling outside, and the little flowers we planted in the yard before our wedding renovations had already formed buds, trembling slightly under the raindrops.
Wen leaned against my chest and said softly, "Honey, I don't like you like that."

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