Filial Piety of the Wife (Part 7)

Chapter 7 Illusion
Our unwavering faith kept us from wavering. Whether the experience was tense, exciting, exhilarating, or agonizing, we would face it together.
On the way to pick up my wife, I bought a bunch of corn lilies at a florist. The florist said they symbolized unwavering love and courage. Although not as passionate as red roses, my wife's pure body and the sacrifices she was about to make required love and courage, making them particularly fitting for her.
And after she took that step, I felt I would also give her white lilies, symbolizing purity and nobility. When
my wife saw the lilies, I told her they were a symbol of love and courage. She smiled happily, without saying much; we understood each other perfectly.
Knowing what to do when we got home, we listened to relaxing music and whispered sweet nothings the whole way. Then the child came home, greeted his father naturally, as if nothing had happened the night before.
I handed the child to his father, who hadn't seen his grandson all day and missed him too. They played together in the living room while my wife and I went to the bedroom to change.
This time, my wife didn't ask me. She simply put on a purple camisole nightgown. She had several of these, different styles, but the basic design was similar: her breasts were partially exposed, just covering her buttocks.
I watched her make a resolute decision, so natural, yet her face was still slightly flushed. I knew that although her movements were quick, her body betrayed her nervousness. After all, this outfit meant that soon another man, her father-in-law, would see her breasts.
I went over, hugged my wife, offered her my warm embrace, and told her we were together. Then we left the bedroom together. My wife told me, "The baby just woke up. I'll cook first. You chat with Dad for a while."
I agreed. Although I also wanted to see my wife seen by my father as soon as possible, I couldn't be too abrupt. It had to be at the right time, at the right opportunity.
I took the newly bought computer to the living room and said to my father, "Dad, I bought you a laptop so you can surf the internet when you're bored. You also write in your diary, right? You can use this too."
Dad said, "Why buy this? It cost several thousand yuan. Don't we already have one?"
I said, "It's okay. You don't need one now. Besides, Lili and I have wanted to buy a laptop for a while. We used to fight over the same computer, which wasn't convenient. You can use this one first. We don't go online much these days."
Since I had already bought it, my father didn't say anything.
Then, I taught my father how to turn it on, how to connect to Wi-Fi, and how to access the internet. My father said he knew the basic operations.
Then he played with his grandson and said to him, "Baby, look how good your dad is! He even bought Grandpa a computer! You should learn from your dad."
I thought to myself, Dad, your son has even more filial things to do.
I asked him how he learned to write a diary and use a computer. He said that although he had lived in the countryside for a long time, he later moved to the city. After my job became stable, he retired and had nothing to do, so he learned to use a computer because the computer at home was just sitting there unused. He studied books, slowly learned, and watched videos online, and gradually mastered it.
Later, he practiced typing, starting with two fingers and eventually being able to type twenty words per minute.
I told my father that he was quite skilled.
Over there, my wife had already prepared dinner and called us to come and eat. I knew that not only was the food ready, but my wife had also prepared everything. I wondered how my father would react when he saw my wife's clothes. I was holding the baby, and my father followed behind. But when I faced my wife, I noticed that her face was very red, and she was still slightly lowering her head. She took the baby and then asked my father to sit down.
Just then, I noticed that my father's eyes flickered, as if he was staring at Li Li's chest, or perhaps at the side of Li Li.
Li Li's purple dress made the large expanse of bare skin on her chest appear exceptionally white, her large breasts highlighting a deep cleavage, half of them exposed. The small silk fabric covering them seemed as if a mere breeze could blow them away.
I stole glances at my father; his face seemed to flush for a moment.
Then came the meal. Everyone was quiet, the child babbling, and my father occasionally coughing softly. I didn't know what to say to break the awkward silence, so I resorted to my old trick: "Dad, have some more wine. You need to drink that medicinal wine regularly." Dad agreed.
Then, I poured my father a drink. As I stood up, I peered down my wife's tank top. I could clearly see her breasts, even the red nipples and pale areolas.
It seemed that from my father's perspective, at least one breast was more visible, but not the whole thing. Besides, he wouldn't stare; his eyes would only occasionally dart over it.
After a few drinks, my face flushed, and we chatted idly.
It was time for the baby to nurse again, and as usual, my wife would take the baby to the room.
But today, she did something surprising, though I knew she probably did it on purpose.
She pulled her tank top aside, tilted the baby's head up, and the baby latched onto her breast. The movement was quick, but I still saw the pink areola and large nipple. I wondered if my father saw it. When I went to check on him, I noticed he paused for a moment, but then continued eating.
Did my father see it? My wife's face was flushed, and her body seemed to be trembling. She was awkwardly adjusting her posture, as if trying to find a more comfortable way to nurse, but actually, she felt tense all over and didn't know what to do.
The baby was nursing from the nipple furthest from my father, so he could see that side of my wife's breast perfectly. If he hadn't deliberately avoided it, he definitely would have seen it.
Her breasts, full and swollen with milk, showed no signs of sagging, like a soccer ball nestled on her chest—so full and round.
The baby nursed for a while, then seemed to fall asleep, his little mouth no longer moving. My wife prepared to pull her nipple out of the baby's mouth; I knew what she was doing.
Suddenly, an idea struck me. Just as my wife pulled out her nipple, I said, "The baby's asleep?"
Hearing this, my father and I both looked at the baby's face, and right then, on the baby's face was my wife's bare breast and nipple.
That's how it happened. My wife's private parts, her breasts, were seen by another man, by my father.
What should have been a less than two-second action froze, as if time had stopped, because of my wife's thoughts, because of my own, and because my father had actually seen it.
Five seconds later, my wife reacted, quickly covering her breasts with her camisole nightgown, then took the baby to the room.
My father and I also came to our senses, but neither of us spoke, unsure what to say.
Although I wasn't restless, my mind was in turmoil. Just like that, my wife's hidden breasts were seen by my father. I didn't know whether to feel frustrated or excited. When I focused my attention on my lower body, I found that my penis was slowly becoming erect.
And my father, how long had it been since he'd seen real breasts, how long since he'd seen a woman's breasts this close? Was he enjoying it, or was he feeling annoyed? Was his wife still blushing, feeling uncomfortable?
The extent to which his wife was open this time truly surprised me; perhaps it was the resolute words from that afternoon that had prepared her for complete surrender.
After a while, his wife came out of the room, went to the dining table, and sat down to eat without a word, her face still flushed with shyness. After
dinner, she continued to tidy up, while my father sat in the living room, and my wife inevitably walked back and forth in front of him several times. This time, it wasn't just her trembling breasts, but also a sight to behold. Because my father was sitting, he was a bit shorter, and my wife's tank top was even shorter than a miniskirt, barely covering her buttocks. Looking up from below, the effect was that you could see her upper thighs, her lace panties, and a bit of her plump buttocks.
At that moment, my father was watching TV, so his eyes were fixed on the front. It was obvious that my wife, walking in front, saw everything.
I was in the kitchen, and my wife was pacing back and forth. I whispered to her, "Honey, not only did Dad see your breasts, but he also saw your ample buttocks. Walk a little more seductively later!"
My wife came over, twisted my arm without a word, and then left the kitchen. Passing through the living room, I thought her buttocks swayed more dramatically, but then again, maybe it was just my imagination.
After tidying up, my wife went back to her room. I said to my father, "Let me put some safflower oil on you and massage your feet."
My father said, "Tomorrow, you're all tired today. I want to watch some TV."
Since my father didn't want to, I didn't insist. His feet were almost healed anyway, so tomorrow would do.
I hadn't yet processed the stimulating scene from earlier, and I wanted to go find my wife immediately.
Because my father rests during the day and goes to bed late at night, he usually watches TV very late.
I hurried to the bedroom; my wife was preparing to take a shower. I hugged my wife, and she hugged me back. Before I could speak, she said, "Honey, Dad saw me. Are you satisfied now?"
I said, "Satisfied. You did a great job today, honey. Let me see if you're wet down there?" Then I reached out to touch her.
My wife stopped me, "Don't touch me, I'm wet."
My wife was very open today; she admitted it herself.
Just as I was about to speak, she said again, "If you touch me, I'll touch you, and then we'll have to make love again! Do you want to give Dad some more excitement tonight?"
I looked at my wife. Her change after her firm stance was so dramatic; I couldn't quite adjust to it yet, but my answer had to be firm and quick, "Yes!"
My wife said, "I'll take a shower in the bathroom in the living room later. Dad is watching TV in the living room with the lights off, so I'll shower in the bathroom with the lights on, and outside..."
I admire my wife so much; she's so much better than me. Women really do understand what men are thinking. I quickly said, "My wife is awesome! Thank you so much!"
My wife then said, "Two more questions: should I come out with a towel or in my pajamas after my shower? And should I leave my bra and underwear in the bathroom or bring them back?"
Oh, so that's what she was thinking! Was she trying to imitate a scene from a novel?
I said, "Then let's do it like in the novels. Wear a towel and put your underwear in the bathroom! Let's see how Dad reacts."
My wife's face turned red, and her voice tightened a little as she said, "Okay, I'm going now."
I kissed my wife's forehead and then escorted her to the bedroom door. Afraid my father would see me, I hid at the doorway and gave my wife a thumbs up.
My wife made a spitting gesture and then went to the bathroom in the living room.
The living room lights were off, only the flickering light from the TV was visible. After my wife went into the bathroom, she turned on the light and closed the door. From my angle, I could only see her from the side, while my father, sitting on the sofa in the living room, was directly opposite her.
Because the glass door of the bathroom was frosted, my wife's silhouette was very clear under the light.
I stared at my wife, then glanced towards the living room. I couldn't see what my father was doing, only watching my wife shower, imagining him watching too.
After she went in, she let her hair down, then pulled off her tank top, stretching her arms upwards—a gesture that perfectly showcased her figure.
She was 1.65 meters tall, with a prominent bust and a contrasting, full, rounded bottom.
Then, she lowered her hands to her waist and slowly pulled down her panties, her movements slow and gentle, almost like a striptease. In fact, she was performing. Normally, she might slightly bend her knees when undressing, but this time she didn't; her legs were straight, her bottom arched, as if she were removing stockings, slowly pulling down her panties.
Just that one movement was enough to get me hard. I didn't even need to think about my father watching; the movement itself excited me immensely. I wondered what my father felt? Did he feel like he was about to get a nosebleed?
After putting her clothes aside, my wife turned on the shower, the intermittent sound of water occasionally drifting in. Then my wife's hand moved gently from top to bottom, like a caress.
I fantasized that hand was mine—no, I should fantasize that it was my father's hand, and my father was probably fantasizing about himself.
The caresses continued, followed by the application of shampoo and shower gel. The movements were similar, but each time it became more stimulating. Each time my wife stroked her legs, she kept her knees straight, making her buttocks stick out very high.
When her hand passed her breasts, it felt like she was lifting them, then covering the center and pushing upwards. This is a move men often make when hugging women from behind.
When she passed her buttocks, she would tilt her head back, one hand caressing her rounded buttocks, moving back and forth, her shoulder almost touching her lips, as if she wanted to kiss her.
Where did my wife learn such beautiful movements? Perhaps she didn't learn them; perhaps she was born with them.
My wife's body was never directly facing the door. Perhaps she realized that having two eyes staring at her through the door would create a certain feeling—a sense of openness, of allowing herself to be admired by a man, of announcing that she was waiting for his arrival.
I never imagined my wife was so alluring; how come I hadn't noticed before she gave birth?
Thinking back, it wasn't that I hadn't noticed then, but rather that I was too quick to pounce on her with the slightest provocation, lacking the patience for such careful observation.
Now, I want to pounce on her too. Maybe if I went over there and made love to my wife right there, with my father watching, would that arouse him even more?
But I calmed myself down. If I did that, my father would immediately go back to the bedroom and would ask to come home the next day.
I could only restrain myself and watch my wife's performance with my father. But now I'm still a little worried. Will my father watch? I wish he could see what he's doing. Should I install a camera like in those novels? I need to discuss this with my wife.
Now I'm anxiously waiting, feeling helpless. My wife showered for half an hour, and her beautiful movements continued for half an hour.
My penis remained hard, and I waited anxiously, wanting my wife to come out quickly so I could pull her into the bedroom, immediately enter her body, and then make love to her fiercely.
But after the water stopped, my wife still didn't come out for a long time.
After ten minutes, my wife finally came out wrapped in a bath towel, turned off the light, and walked over. She didn't turn her face towards the living room; she must have been shy and didn't dare to look there.
Seeing that I was still watching her from the doorway, she knew I had been watching her the whole time. Then she lowered her head and slipped into the bedroom.
I pulled her in, closed the door, ripped off her bath towel, and pushed her onto the bed, ignoring the situation outside, ignoring my father's expression when he saw her underwear, ignoring everything.
What I needed to do now was enter my wife's body.
I parted her legs, guided my penis, and thrust it in all the way. My wife let out a soft "Ah!" Normally, she wouldn't be wet during a shower, but today, knowing her father might be watching her—though not necessarily the whole time, at least occasionally—she was very aroused, and her vagina became wet.
I didn't gradually increase the speed of my thrusts; instead, I went straight in and began pumping violently, holding her arms down and watching her breasts tremble. Her right breast was one her father had seen.
I pulled my penis out completely, then thrust it in again. After hundreds of thrusts, I remained rock hard, while my wife cried out repeatedly, having already orgasmed twice.
But I didn't stop, and my wife didn't try to stop me.
Soon we were both covered in sweat again, the sounds of our bodies slapping together, my wife's cries growing louder and louder.
They probably couldn't be heard in the living room, but if the door were open, they would. I was about to open the door, but my wife grabbed me, panting, and said, "That's enough for today. If we go any further, Dad won't be able to take it. What if he says he wants to leave?"
I thought she was right; my wife was surprisingly rational. So I increased the force of my thrusts, using all my strength. My wife, knowing the TV was on, was almost screaming. After my wife ejaculated for the third time, I felt a surge of desire. I thrust a few more times, then suddenly remembered her breasts that had been seen. I pulled out my penis and ejaculated onto my wife's breast. Although my wife was startled by my actions, she understood that I wanted to ejaculate on her, and she cooperated by thrusting her breast forward.
After the climax, we didn't shower. I heard Dad turn off the TV and go to the bathroom to wash up. I wanted to listen to the sounds, but I was too lazy to move, and I didn't think about the purpose of my wife's underwear. We just fell asleep in each other's arms.
I had a dream. In it, my wife, dressed in a white gown, was dancing gracefully. Many people watched from below in the darkness. She wasn't wearing a bra; her large breasts and pubic hair were clearly visible, even her bright red labia were discernible.
Her dance was beautiful; her body was so lovely. So many eyes followed her movements to the music.
A thin mist seemed to rise, as if there was a light.
It was like a dream.

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Filial Piety of the Wife (Part 7)

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