The Peach Blossom Face—The Story of the Bride's Best Friend

Friendly reminder: This article is 4800 words long and will take about ten minutes to read.
Now, let's welcome the third female protagonist. Yes, she is the bride's best friend from City C, whom I will refer to as H.
She is about 165 cm tall. Girls there are mostly thin, and the aesthetic is somewhat biased towards thinness. She agrees, saying that it makes clothes look better. I still don't understand, what's so attractive about being so thin that you can't tell your chest from your back? She has big, bright eyes, and she likes to glance at people sideways, with a certain allure. Her lips are full, slightly upturned, and the curve of her lips is perfect. She is the bride's best friend, about three years older than her, and married.
On the wedding day at noon, we sat at the same table. I was the only outsider; the young men and women at the table chatted and laughed. She would occasionally chat with me, afraid of neglecting me as a guest. There was an interlude during the meal; they were passing around a short video, letting out shy and surprised laughter. I was curious about what it was about, and she said it was a friend showing off her skills. Showing off skills? Showing off skills is... "Let me show you," she said, taking the phone and handing it to me with a sly smile. I opened it; the picture showed a meticulously made-up girl holding a banana in one delicate hand. One end of the banana was already peeled, and it was quite large, probably nearly twenty centimeters long. She winked at the camera twice, stuck out her pink tongue, licked the banana end twice, then sucked on it slightly, the entire banana disappearing into her mouth. She gazed at the camera with a dazed look, held it for a few seconds, and slowly spat out the banana. Wow! I sighed softly; my little brother was shamelessly hard. Because we weren't close, and afraid of revealing my true nature, I pretended to be calm and said, "That's quite an impressive oral sex technique." H said it was one of our girlfriends, who always showed off her skills to us. Showing off skills means flaunting one's abilities. I got it; these girls are really bold and impressive.
We added each other on WeChat during the meal, but it was too noisy around us, so we didn't talk much. After lunch, they were going to do location shooting in the afternoon, so I took a taxi directly to the airport. Before takeoff, I texted her to say goodbye, and she said not to forget the pretty girls here! My heart skipped a beat—was she referring to the bride, or to her?
We started chatting afterwards. She was a freelancer from a well-off family, a pampered housewife. She hadn't had children and spent most of her time shopping, eating out, and going to bars with her girlfriends. Life in City C was slow-paced, leisurely, and laid-back, and the girls there had a free-spirited air about them. Years had passed, and I couldn't remember exactly who started the conversation; it was natural, without any deliberate guidance, and we honestly exchanged our views on life and marriage. Perhaps distance fosters trust and beauty; not being together made us feel safer, less likely to cause trouble, and less worried. During our conversation, she asked me if it was you, since she'd heard from her best friend's sister that she'd been in a relationship with a guy in Beijing and they were still in contact. I hesitated for a moment and denied it, and she didn't press the matter.
About six months later, she texted me saying she was coming to Beijing to check out a project and would be staying for five days. Alone, for five days, I started to have all sorts of thoughts. I booked a hotel for her in Wangfujing and waited. Her friend insisted on picking her up from the airport for dinner, so I just ate something simple and waited at the hotel. The process seemed a bit long. Then, a crisp doorbell rang, and I got up to open the door for her. She stood there in a long dress, holding a suitcase, her eyes sparkling, a smile on her face. I took the suitcase and let her in. She hung up her coat, changed into slippers, and sat on the chair behind the desk by the window. I sat down on the sofa diagonally opposite her, chatting about the ozone layer. Even though we chatted passionately on WeChat, I was still a little reserved sitting in front of her, like a dog with a hedgehog, not knowing where to start. She broke the ice, saying, "I'm exhausted after a long day out, my shoulders are so sore." "An opportunity!" I said. "Let me massage them for you, professional-level massage." Before she could reply, I stood up, walked behind her, and put my hand on her shoulder. We couldn't see each other's expressions, but I could clearly feel her breathing quickening and her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Her blouse was silk, very smooth, and the shoulders and neck it covered were soft and boneless. I gradually increased my pressure, and she let out soft moans. "Ouch, that hurts!" she cried out, glancing back at me with a look of helplessness and expectation. I cupped her cheeks along her neck and kissed her. She reached out and hooked her arms around me, our tongues intertwining.
My hands slid down her collar, cupping her breasts and gently kneading them. Her breasts weren't large, but they were full and had a youthful vitality. She was very sensitive; after a few kneads, she leaned weakly against the back of the chair, letting me do as I pleased. I picked her up and placed her on the bed, removing her clothes. A white light filled my vision; her skin was white and delicate, and under the pale yellow light of the bedside lamp, her cleavage was clearly visible. She turned her face to the side, eyes slightly closed, long hair scattered on the pillow, one arm bent across her chest to protect her breasts, the other hand covering her crotch, legs together, face flushed. Playing hard to get, I liked it. I parted her legs, knelt between them, hands on her knees as she tried to close them, watching her with a mischievous grin. She turned her face away, laughing and scolding, "Why are you so naughty? You're making me nervous." Stop teasing her, leaned down and kissed her, my penis immediately reaching the entrance to her wetland, lush and inviting, sliding in without needing any help. She curled her legs around my back, welcoming the thrusts, her arms around my neck like a sloth, her face dazed. The first battle ended quickly, she nestled in my arms, gently rubbing my beard, playfully complaining that I'd been pricked to death. "Oh? Really? Did you prick me from above or below? Was it good?" I teased her. We made love twice more that night, then fell asleep in each other's arms. For the next few days, I took her out for walks, eating, and enjoying the night view every evening, then we'd go back
to the hotel for another round of lovemaking, seemingly tireless. She was a little worried and said, "Let's rest a bit, don't drain me dry." "How can I? I've come all this way, I have to satisfy you, let's go again." Once, after we finished, she leaned against my chest and said, "Let's play a game." I asked, "What's the game? My little brother's exhausted." "Don't worry, this time it'll only use our brains, not our bodies," she said. "Let's play Truth or Dare." This is so convoluted, isn't this just Truth or Dare? I got a little nervous. "Let me ask you something," she said. "My best friend said she used to have a crush on a guy in Beijing, and they've been in contact ever since. Is that you?" My previously relaxed nerves tensed instantly. Should I confess? What if she gets angry if I admit it? If I don't confess, and she goes back to her best friend and tells her she's coming to Beijing to see me, how am I supposed to explain? Like Pigsy looking in a mirror... I guess I'll just confess. I took a breath. "Yes, it was me." "Hmph, I suspected it was you from the start, but you wouldn't admit it. Look how fast your heart was beating just now. You really can't do anything wrong; this lie detector test is too easy to spot. You're still not skilled enough." I explained my concerns, worried about affecting the relationship between the two sisters. She pouted for a while, puffed up her cheeks, then suddenly reached down, grabbed my brother, and said with a lewd grin, "Tell me, who's better in bed, me or her? If you don't confess, I'll pull it off!" "Ouch, easy, easy, it hurts, I beg for mercy." However, my brother was secretly comparing the two sisters and actually got an erection again. He's so pathetic! A surge of heat rose within me. I rolled over and pinned her beneath me, saying, "Let my brother tell you who's more wanton." She looked at me seductively, gently stroking my brother, guiding him to the doorway, letting him do as he pleased.
Five days passed in the blink of an eye, and we parted with reluctance. "I'll come see you." "Okay, I'll wait for you."
Two months later, I took a vacation and flew to City C. She was waiting for me. I went without telling my married best friend, and I didn't either, afraid it would be awkward to meet her. She had arranged everything meticulously, booking a hotel in a district a little further from her home, and sharing a car with another friend to avoid running into acquaintances on the road. The hotel was a suite, and when she led me upstairs, the familiar scent of her perfume already ignited my desire. She leaned on my arm, like a long-lost couple. After putting our things down, we embraced and kissed, her eyes glazed with ecstasy. I hastily tore off our clothes and pinned us down on the living room sofa, taking my place right there. After resting and freshening up, we prepared to go out for dinner. "The three of us," she said. "Huh? Who else?" She laughed, "Why are you so nervous? It's my sister. Who did you think it was?" "Well... that's not really appropriate..." "It's okay, my sister won't say anything." She has a younger sister who just graduated from university, supposedly very beautiful. Luckily, I came prepared, bringing each of the sisters a silk scarf. She chose her favorite pattern, and said, "The other one is for your sister-in-law. I'll wear this one tonight." She gestured in front of the mirror as she spoke.
For dinner, we chose a local specialty restaurant, serving various kinds of fish. "What cat can't resist fish?" she explained, justifying our choice. "Yes, yes, you made the right choice," I said, suppressing a laugh. We arrived first. Outside, large red lanterns hung high, creating a magnificent sea of red that illuminated half the sky. While we were ordering, her younger sister arrived. She was a sight to behold—1.72 meters tall, with tight light blue jeans perfectly outlining the curves of her legs and hips, and a white T-shirt with colorful patterns tied in a knot at the bottom. Her hair was just past her shoulders, and her features were delicate; she was indeed a beautiful girl, radiating youthful energy. I didn't dare stare, so I stood up and shook her hand as a greeting. H handed her sister a silk scarf, saying it was for her. "Thank you, brother-in-law!" she said, sticking out her tongue. I felt a little embarrassed laughing, thinking to myself, "This brat, so unrestrained!" The two sisters chattered away, gossiping and showing off their beauty, with me occasionally chiming in. For a while, I thought, what could be more joyful if the two sisters could be together...? "Hey, what are you thinking?" my sister tapped my plate with her chopsticks. I smiled, "Dreaming too much."
After a satisfying meal, we were going to karaoke, and a guy was coming too. "Is he my sister's boyfriend?" I asked sourly. "No, he's our gay best friend, he's a bottom." "Okay, aren't you afraid he'll steal me away? I'm really good with bottoms," I teased her. "Impossible, he has a boyfriend, he's very loyal." "That's good, I feel relieved." My sister sings very well, and young people have great stamina. She and the guy sang non-stop, occasionally coming over for a few drinks. H linked arms with me, drinking and chatting. I have a low alcohol tolerance, and I was slightly tipsy before long. She was also a little dazed, leaning in to kiss me. I instinctively pulled back, meaning there were two other people there. She insisted, saying it was okay, she wouldn't tell anyone, they were all mine. I gave in, and we kissed. I was still a little uneasy, glancing at the other two out of the corner of my eye every now and then. Seeing them choosing songs behind our backs, I gradually grew bolder. I rubbed them a few times through their clothes, then slipped my hand inside to knead their soft breasts. "Sister~ Can you guys hold back? There are other people here!" I quickly withdrew my hand, not daring to look up at my sister, who was still leaning on my shoulder. Her sister brought me a glass of wine. "Brother-in-law, I've ruined your fun. I'm sorry, I'll punish myself with a drink." She downed it in one gulp. I gave a wry smile and joined in. I also thought I'd gone too far, been a bit too crazy.
Afterwards, they took me to the hotel, and then I went home with my sister. My husband was still there; we couldn't stay out overnight. The next day, she took me to a historical site in the suburbs. The scenery was beautiful, with birds singing and flowers blooming, unique peaks and trees, music playing, and a beautiful woman by my side—it truly felt like a paradise. We drove nearly a hundred kilometers to a building dating back to the late Ming and early Qing dynasties. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, nestled amidst mountains, this place is secluded and tranquil, lined with grand European-style buildings constructed from massive stone blocks—the sheer scale of the construction must have been a monumental undertaking just to transport the building materials into the mountains. Since it wasn't the weekend, there were few tourists, and apart from birdsong, there was no other sound—truly a haven for relaxation and rejuvenation. We strolled hand-in-hand for an afternoon, completely at ease. When we grew tired, we sat down on a shady bench to rest. I sat at one end, and she lay back, her head resting on my lap, her face radiant. Seeing that my penis was aroused, she seemed to sense it too, deliberately swaying her head from side to side, pressing against it. "You little slut, come and have a taste. You must be hungry after walking for so long," I said wickedly, eyeing her. She got up, checked that no one was around, lay down on her side facing me, unzipped her pants, and released my penis, taking it into her mouth. Her oral skills were above average. Even though the position was a bit strenuous, she still gave my brother immense satisfaction, waves of stimulation continuously spreading from the tip of his tongue throughout his body. I would glance around frequently, sometimes trying to scare him, "Don't move, someone's coming!" I would grab her head and press it against myself, giving my brother a deep throat. She was also very nervous, afraid to move or make a sound. After a few times, she realized she had been tricked and would gently bite him as punishment. In less than ten minutes, I couldn't hold back any longer and ejaculated into her mouth. She kept my brother in her mouth, her tongue swirling around him, until he went limp. She turned her head back to look at me, slightly opened her mouth, and gently extended her tongue, letting me see the semen in her mouth and on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed it all. She was a deadly woman. That erotic scene is still unforgettable.
On the way back, I drove, and she was tired and fell into a deep sleep leaning against the seat. When we got to the hotel, I woke her up, and after a quick shower, she was wide awake again. It was like charging for five minutes and having two hours of battery life! "Your youthful body is wonderful; I didn't feel tired at all. I pressed her onto the sofa and we started again. We changed positions a few times, and just as I was entering her from behind, her phone rang. At first, she ignored it, saying she wouldn't answer. After a while, it rang again. I said I should check it, just in case it was urgent, so I took out my phone and handed it to her. 'Honey, what's up? I'm getting a massage with my girlfriends; my neck and shoulders have been hurting lately…' Instantly, countless scenes from adult films flashed through my mind—my dream had come true! I helped her kneel down, and she sensed what I was about to do, struggling slightly. I persisted, and she obediently lay down. I guided my penis and slowly slid it into her wetness. She seemed impatient, hoping her husband would finish talking and hang up. She didn't seem to be in a hurry, chattering on and on. I used a gentle, shallow thrusting motion, and she bit her lip, trying to stay silent. She scratched me, which only fueled my desire." Finally, she couldn't hold back and let out a moan. I guess her husband asked her what was wrong, and she said the masseuse's technique was too rough... I didn't dare use any more force, afraid of causing trouble, so I just gently touched her. Finally, the phone call ended. She was bursting with pent-up desire and turned around, saying, "Fuck me." I went all out, thrusting all the way in as if in revenge, both to vent my frustration and to leave my mark on this territory. After a burst of thrusting, I finally ejaculated, and we squeezed together on the sofa and fell asleep, too exhausted.
I didn't see her sister again for the next few days. I occasionally fantasized about her, but I didn't dare bring it up, so I stopped. One day after returning to Beijing, she texted me, saying she was preparing to divorce her husband for complicated reasons. She emphasized that it had nothing to do with me, and told me not to feel burdened, that she had been contemplating this for a long time and was finally making the decision. Her attitude had changed; she wanted to cut off all contact with me to prevent herself from being unable to resist having everything about me and affecting my life. I was very touched, but even more so, I felt reluctant to let go. When I sent her WeChat messages again, she didn't reply to a single one, as if we had never met, like a stone sinking into the sea. It was time to say goodbye.
At the beginning of this year, she suddenly updated her WeChat Moments, posting a photo of herself. Still in profile, with her signature reddish-brown curly hair, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, and her beautiful eyes glancing sideways at the camera—she looked exactly the same, unchanged. I stared at it, mesmerized, and couldn't help but recall the poem: "Last year on this day, in this very doorway, her face and the peach blossoms reflected each other's rosy hue. But where has that face gone? The peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze."

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The Peach Blossom Face—The Story of the Bride's Best Friend

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