My sexy wife, my love

My wife came to work in the city where we live now three years ago. She genuinely wanted to start over, before I joined that company. However, her former boss kept contacting her, and even after their divorce, my wife refused, making it clear she wanted a fresh start and begging him for another chance. Her boss finally realized it was impossible. Perhaps because he loved her too deeply and couldn't have her, he started acting inappropriately when drunk. Every time he was drunk, he would gossip about how he had messed with my wife back then, saying she was promiscuous and could sleep with five or six men in one bed.

Since we were in the same system, these rumors quickly spread to my wife's new workplace, and she soon faced sexual harassment from many people, including superiors and male colleagues. She ended up without any friends and was constantly being gossiped about. Someone even went so far as to steal her underwear from the laundry room and throw it on the basketball hoop; most people could immediately guess whose underwear it was. My wife had a boyfriend who seemed promising, but the relationship quickly ended. As time went on, my wife felt hopeless and started acting promiscuous again, constantly changing boyfriends and sleeping with each one.

It was around this time that I came to this company and was assigned to my wife's department to pursue my PhD (finally, I appeared!). When I first arrived, people at work joked with me, saying, "Go sleep with XX (referring to my wife), she likes tall, handsome guys like you." I didn't take it seriously and just laughed it off. Later, when I first saw my wife, I was genuinely attracted by her beauty and fell in love at first sight.

At the time, I felt my wife was really quite promiscuous. She would often come to our PhD students' room to chat, often with her legs crossed, casually tossing her slippers around. This made all of us PhD students stare at her feet. She would also frequently complain about the heat and, right in front of us guys, take off her socks and throw them on her high heels. She would also often invite a bunch of guys to her room at night to play cards, or go dancing with a group of men. On weekends, a car would pick her up, and she wouldn't return until Monday morning. And I kept hearing people talk about her past, as if the whole world knew. But every time I looked into her eyes, I felt they were sincere, not the frivolous, vain kind. And every time she looked at me, she seemed so gentle, unlike how she looked at others. I told myself then and there that I was just deluding myself.

My past was pretty awful too. After being mocked by the first girl I pursued, I slept with a few girls from the streets, frequently visited prostitutes, and had a foot fetish. Whenever I had free time, I'd go to prostitutes for foot fetishes, so I was very pragmatic. I knew in my heart that we couldn't be together. I was still struggling, my job wasn't settled, and although I wasn't poor, my family wasn't in this city, and I didn't have the money to buy a decent house. But I admit, from the first moment I saw her, I really fell in love with her. During that time, I was in agony every day. During the day, I pretended everything was fine, joking and talking to her, trying not to look at her legs and feet. At night, as soon as I got into bed, I thought that I probably wouldn't be able to love anyone else, and then I fantasized about masturbating while she was there. After a while, I became a bit of a monster.

Then something happened that really upset me. A PhD student a year younger than me didn't come home all night and only returned in the morning. He secretly told me in his dorm that I had slept in XX's (referring to my wife) dorm the night before. I didn't believe him, so he took out his phone and showed me photos. In those photos, I could clearly see her naked in bed, in various poses and angles. The PhD student proudly said that we should go together the next day; she had asked me to take you to her dorm to play cards. I was in agony that day, desperately wanting to go, but I had to tell myself I couldn't. I wanted to have her, but this wasn't the way I wanted it. I wanted her body, but I wanted her soul even more. If I went, our relationship would forever remain purely physical. Later, I convinced myself that we were never meant to be together anyway, and she had offered herself up, so why not take advantage of it? Maybe after having her body, I wouldn't think about it anymore, and I would be free.

That night, the two of us went to her dorm to play cards, and my friend even brought a lot of beer. We arrived at her door at the agreed time and knocked. Hearing someone say "Coming!", the door opened quickly. She was wearing a tank top and athletic shorts, her delicate feet in high-heeled sandals. It was hot, her face was flushed, and her chest rose and fell with her breath. Seeing this, I kept silently saying "I love you, I love you" in my heart, and my face flushed too. She was very generous; seeing the beer, she said, "You two bad guys, come in."

My brother smiled at me and pulled me inside. We didn't play cards, just watched TV and chatted. She kept walking around, getting us food, opening beer bottles, and occasionally asking me questions, like where I was from, who my advisor was, and what year I was born.

Finally, we concluded that my wife was the oldest, a year older than me. After it got a little dark, my brother started getting mischievous, making lewd jokes. He said, "Sis, your breasts are so beautiful, you must have been touched by a lot of people." "Sis, it's hot, can we take our clothes off?" "Sis, I've noticed you have the prettiest feet in our workplace, let me massage your feet." She actually agreed, saying, "Okay, give me a massage." She kicked off her slippers and placed her feet on my brother's lap. My brother grabbed one of her feet and greedily licked the sole and toes, then licked his way up her thigh. I just stared blankly, unsure what to do, feeling excited and stimulating, yet afraid to move.

She seemed to enjoy my brother's tongue and the massage, leaning back and easily pulling her bra off her tank top. She turned to me and said, "Come kiss me."

I trembled as I lifted her upper body; her fragrance immediately filled my nostrils—not perfume. I used to think that women who engaged in promiscuous sex would have some kind of unpleasant odor, but she smelled so good, a truly natural scent, familiar and warm. Before I even kissed her, I was already hard. I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. I held her tightly in my arms, and we naturally began to kiss. My heart was pounding; I'd never felt this way before. I knew I was truly in love with her, hopelessly in love. Our tongues intertwined, we held each other tightly, kissing for a long time.

After a long while, we stopped kissing. I ran one hand through her long hair, using the other to smooth the strands I'd messed up. I looked into her eyes, and she looked into mine, as if we were a long-time married couple, without the slightest awkwardness. Then a voice came from behind, "Well, you're quite the player. Why don't you go first?"

The voice pulled me back to reality. I remembered we were in a threesome. She couldn't possibly love me; I was just one of the men she'd slept with. Then I noticed her eyes suddenly dimmed; all the feeling from before was gone.

My friend said again, "You go first." I was back to my icy state, seeing her barely perceptible chuckle. She was laughing at me; she'd seen through my thoughts. She was mocking me.

I was extremely ashamed and angry, and said, "You go first, let's see how you guys play."

My brother didn't waste any words, pulled her up from the chair, dragged her between us, and told her to stand still. My wife obediently stood facing me, but no longer looked at me. My brother pulled down my wife's athletic shorts from behind. I saw that my wife was wearing black, see-through silk panties, which looked very high-end. My brother reached inside her tank top from behind and squeezed her breasts forcefully for a while, then pulled off her tank top and tied her hands behind her back.

This was the first time I saw my wife's actual upper body; a pair of perfect breasts, not too big or too small, but with large, dark, and hard nipples, as if inviting someone to bite them.

After tying my wife up, my brother forced her to kneel on the floor facing him, then quickly stripped off his own clothes and shoved his already erect penis into my wife's mouth, thrusting it deep into her throat with each stroke, forcing her to give him deep throat oral sex. My wife cooperated well, even making sounds of enjoyment. A moment later, my brother said he was going to cum, he was going to cum. At that moment, my wife forcefully pulled her head back, clearly not wanting to be ejaculated into her mouth. But in the end, she still got ejaculated all over her face, and my wife, half-angrily, ordered me to wipe it clean. My brother chuckled and said he would wipe my wife's face clean, then said, "You do it, I'll watch."

Without him saying anything, I was ready. I picked up my wife, ignoring the pain in her arms, and tossed her face up onto the bed. In a few quick movements, I pulled down her expensive panties, revealing her soaking wet genitals. I put on a condom, practically jumped on top of her, and without a second thought, penetrated her, achieving our first sexual experience. My wife let out a soft moan upon penetration, then closed her eyes, letting me do as I pleased. My penis felt incredibly good inside her vagina, so tight, I could feel the layers of folds in the vaginal walls.

Pulling my penis out felt like it was being sucked in, as if it wouldn't leave; pushing it in seemed to draw it even deeper. Waves of heat, like waves of love, surged through my body. My shame and anger vanished. I stared into her closed eyes, thinking, "I love you, I love you, please look at me, I want to see your eyes, please."

My wife seemed to sense my call and opened her eyes. Looking into her eyes, I continued thrusting. At that moment, completely defenseless, I blurted out my true feelings, "XX, I love you, let's go." I didn't even know what I was saying. A few seconds later, I saw her chuckle almost imperceptibly. My whole body went cold, and my penis quickly shrank back, slipping out of her vagina. I don't even know how I got dressed. I stumbled out of her dorm, only hearing her calling my name behind me. I don't know how I got downstairs. When I reached the stairwell, I slapped my face repeatedly, not heading back to my dorm, but running towards the main gate. I

ran until I was utterly exhausted, unable to run any further, before realizing I had reached the subway entrance. I sat helplessly on the subway steps. The night wind and sweat quickly cooled me, and I calmed down. Only then did I experience despair for the first time in my life. A crushing pain, like my chest was collapsing, I wanted to cry but couldn't. I just wanted to leave this city; I didn't want to continue my doctoral studies. But this was just a thought; I knew in my heart that no matter what, everything would have to go on as usual tomorrow. That night, I returned to my dormitory at work, dejected, only to find my brother already back and, quite sensibly, asleep. I suppressed my pain, lay quietly in bed, and waited with my eyes open for tomorrow.

The next day, I pretended nothing had happened to my brother. He was a good person and didn't say a word about it. He even let me look at the photos of his girlfriend on his phone, which was actually a way of indirectly telling me that he had deleted all the photos of my wife. I could only feel grateful. I still didn't know how to face her. I carefully avoided her all day, but I couldn't help but steal a few glances when I passed by her office or dormitory building.

In the evening, I went to the lab to work overtime as usual. There were already a few people in the lab; some were chatting, some were watching movies on their computers, and some were studying diligently. I, however, held a book but couldn't concentrate on anything. Just then, the familiar sound of high heels echoed in the hallway. The lab door opened, and she walked in, greeting me with "Dr. X, here to work overtime?" I was surprised and excited, but forced myself not to show it. I nodded to her, then pretended to continue reading without looking up. The other guys, seeing their wives arrive, swarmed around her as if on command, forming a circle and starting to chat noisily. I thought to myself: "Don't you think I'm suffering enough?

What are you doing here? You really don't take me seriously." I stood up to leave, because I couldn't bear this torment—the torment of being so close yet so far from her. I wanted to escape, to find a place where she wasn't there. I quickly left the room, but heard her calling my name behind me, saying something like "wait." I pretended not to hear, quickly reached the elevator, got on, and pressed the close button. As soon as the door closed, I regretted it. I desperately wanted to know what she wanted to say, but it was too late to turn back.

That night, I didn't sleep a wink again, imagining all the possible things she might say. I concluded it would be nothing serious, at most just wanting to maintain a normal friendship. I even criticized myself, thinking that I should be more mature and magnanimous than a clueless young man in his first love when faced with a real problem. I decided to face her normally starting tomorrow, no more hiding, even if it hurts, I'll bury it deep inside—after all, I'm a man. With this thought, I felt I could still go on. It was the only, and best, way to resolve the situation; I'd leave the rest to time. They say that when people suffer a major blow, they go through three important stages: resistance and disbelief, resigned acceptance, and forgetting it. I believed I could reach the second stage—accepting the facts—in just one day, and face her normally tomorrow. After another sleepless night

, I roused myself and went to the lab. The morning passed quickly.

At noon, a few young people decided not to eat in the cafeteria, but instead went to a Sichuan restaurant across the street. She was, of course, among them. I didn't want to go, but then I realized I was already in the second stage, so I went with everyone else. At the table, I deliberately chose a seat that wasn't next to her (I couldn't squeeze in anyway) or opposite her, and ordered eggplant with rice.

Soon everyone's food was served, and I ate in silence with my head down. "

Dr. X, let me try your eggplant." My wife actually spoke to me again, and without saying a word, she stood up and picked a piece of eggplant from my plate. After eating it, she said it was delicious and offered to swap with me. Again, without giving me a chance, she started swapping dishes between our plates. I only remember that she took all my eggplant and put a bunch of other dishes on my plate that I can't even remember now. Everyone was watching us (I guess all the men there hated me). My vanity excited me, but at the same time, I didn't know what she was trying to do or why she was doing this. Then she slowly ate my eggplant while happily continuing to chat with the others. I mechanically ate her food without saying a word, unable to taste anything, only remembering that it was very sweet.

Coincidentally, that evening, the director invited everyone to dinner with the government officials—a political task everyone had to attend. We doctoral students, being of low status in the unit, consciously sat at a table on the side. As soon as I sat down, my wife came over, muttering to herself, "I'm sitting here today, they're going to drink over there," and insisted on moving a chair to sit next to me. Other female colleagues (young and old) followed suit, jokingly saying this table was good, all young men, and no drinking. Soon, there were only a few people left at the director's table. The director noticed all this and said to my wife, "Hey, call all the women over here, it's too crowded over there, there are seats here." My wife didn't even turn around and said no. I spoke first, a very decisive six words. Well, that was it, the whole room fell silent, everyone watching to see what the director would say next. I was secretly worried for her.

But the director, being the director, smiled and said that all the unmarried ones had girlfriends, so why didn't he go first?! Everyone burst into laughter, and a few savvy individuals quickly filled the leaders' table.

I looked back at my wife, her face flushed, her head down, frantically scribbling on the table with her chopsticks, muttering something under her breath. I lost control again; she was so adorable. I grabbed her chopsticks and said in a comforting tone, "Serves you right, Director. You dared to talk back to me. Weren't you going to ignore me?" She rolled her eyes at me and slapped my hand away. In that instant, all the steps—one, two, three—were useless. The feelings I had just buried deep inside were violently pulled out again. My hand froze in mid-air, my eyes staring blankly at her, stammering, "I...I..." She grabbed my sleeve, pulling my hand down from its daze, and said, "If you don't want to talk, then don't." I didn't taste anything in the meal, only sweetness, very sweetness.

Back in my dorm that night, I lay in bed, replaying everything that had happened in the past two days in my mind. Based on my experience and my wife's behavior these past two days, I've concluded that she's confessing her feelings to me, and for a girl, she's made it quite obvious. Realizing this filled me with joy, and I thought about getting up and knocking on her dorm room door. But my impulse was once again restrained by my reason.

She's probably the most pragmatic girl in the world. There's no way she'd be with me. She has the assets—a great figure, great looks—finding a good husband wouldn't be difficult for her. In today's society, people laugh at poverty but not prostitution (sorry, wife). Although she has a shameful past, she has many suitors. A girl like her will never belong to someone like me, especially since she's already mocked me twice. Her advances towards me are just a ploy to make me another boyfriend. I don't want to be her boyfriend. I'd rather be nothing to her, at least then I'd have some special status, retain a ridiculous glimmer of hope. This is my third sleepless night.

For the next few days, I continued to maintain our distance. No matter how close she got, I tried my best to control my feelings and desires. She changed a lot. She stopped hanging out with other guys at night, and she came to the lab every day to work overtime (mostly chatting and watching movies). She no longer had a car picking her up on weekends. Several times I also heard her rejecting dates with other guys.

But it was like I knew Tai Chi; whatever move she made, I could silently parry it, leaving her defenses completely ineffective. I kept thinking to myself, "Just a few more days and she'll give up and go find her new boyfriend, then I'll have won." But what would I actually win? Unexpectedly, this situation lasted for over two months. Everyone started noticing her change, and rumors began to circulate that we were seeing each other in private. Some people would make jokes, some good, some bad, like, "You two are a perfect match in our company," or "Xiao X, stay after graduation," or "Your girlfriend is good at this kind of thing." Others would steal my phone to call or text her. I just laughed off everything I saw and heard, with one goal: to make sure she didn't see any reaction from me.

One day, during a video conference, our entire department was sitting in a long conference room, and she was sitting next to me. On my other side was another female colleague, also quite young and pretty. During the meeting, this female colleague kept intentionally or unintentionally touching my leg. I felt it, but I didn't move away. I thought she definitely wasn't doing it on purpose, and if I moved away then, it would make her feel embarrassed and lose face. My wife saw all of this. That night, I received a call from my wife, asking me to come to her dorm. I thought she was finally going to confront me; this was our final battle, and if I won, it would all be over. I went to her dorm as agreed. After I entered, she closed the door behind me. I turned around, and she, with a sudden burst of strength, grabbed my tie and pulled me in front of her. Tears streamed from her eyes. I thought, "This is your last move, let's see what you say." But I couldn't bear her tearful eyes, so I turned my face away from her. "

Say you love me!" she said.

"I love you!" I said.

I'm so useless, I lost on the first move. She laughed through her tears, and in my memory, she laughed so hard that snot bubbles sprayed onto my face (of course, my wife now vehemently denies this). She triumphantly pulled on my tie, dragging me to her bedside, and ordered me to undress. I had lost; I had no choice but to surrender completely. That night, we made love passionately. During sex, I kept telling her how much I loved her, how I couldn't live without her, and begging her not to abandon me. After the passion subsided, my wife sat up in bed, smiling at me again. I knew it was true; she would take her revenge tonight and abandon me, and I would lose her forever. I could do nothing but look at her with pleading eyes.

But to my surprise, she got out of bed, unlocked the cabinet, and took out a metal biscuit tin. She threw the tin at me, saying triumphantly, "See for yourself." I opened the tin; it was full of letters, all dated. I glanced at them; the earliest was over two months ago (the day we first became intimate), and the last was today. There were nearly 100 letters.

I opened the first one:

"Husband, from the day I came." From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were my future, even though for a long time I didn't believe I would have one. Since you entered my life, I've had hope. You came to save me, to protect me; I desperately need someone to protect me.

Today you said you love me, twice—first with your eyes, then with your penis and lips. I could feel you were truly sincere. I love you too. I love your scent, your lips, your eyes (even though they're not big), your kisses, your hugs, your tenderness—I love everything about you. Everything about you feels so familiar and safe. I know you won't hurt me, you'll protect me. It feels like we've been family for a long time, this must be destiny... I knew you loved me all along. Your eyes are different from everyone else's. When I see your eyes shining at me, I can see your desire for me, a real desire, a desire that transcends everything. I have no ability to resist such a gaze... I'm so glad I mustered up the courage to ask XX to call you yesterday. You're such a bad guy, why didn't you come yourself? You always need me to tell you what to do... This feeling is wonderful, beyond physical pleasure... The only regret is that you ran away before finishing your work. You have to make it up to me later... You're so cute even when you run. I'm so happy, as the Bull Demon King's wife said... Second letter:

Why didn't you talk to me all day? Why did you run away? How long can you run away? ... Keep running away, the more you run away, the more you care about me... Third letter:

...You finally talked to me today. I knew you were this kind of guy, you gave up before two whole days were even over. You're doomed, it'll be so easy to get back at you... Because everyone laughs at you, you just stare at me with those little eyes (I hope it doesn't affect our child later). I'll hold you accountable for this, I'll deal with you later... Fourth letter:

What's wrong with you? Why are you being so cold to me again? I guess I underestimated you, you rascal! ... Another letter:

Did someone say something to you, or do you look down on my past? I've tried so hard to change, but I know it's useless... No, you're not that kind of person... Please stop torturing me, you're here to protect me... Your eyes can't lie to me... Last letter:

...You don't care about my feelings at all, you're touching other women right in front of me... I'm giving you one last chance, if you don't seize this opportunity, I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life... You don't want me, what's the point of me living? I have no future... Give yourself a chance, and give me a chance too... I love you, I won't hate you no matter what you do... While I was reading these letters, my wife was curled up in my arms, staying with me the whole time. Some letters were filled with cute little animals and flowers, while others were crumpled and stained with tears. Reading these letters, I relived our passionate love affair that lasted less than three months. Her letters were filled with laughter, and I laughed too; her letters were filled with tears, and I cried too. That was the only time I cried since I turned 15. Reading the last letter, I broke out in a cold sweat, realizing that if I hadn't been honest with myself back then, I would have lost my beloved, and my heart would have died with her.

Fate seemed to be on our side. A few weeks later, one evening, I was walking my wife back to her dorm when some unlucky guy had prepared a carload of flowers and placed it downstairs, intending to confess his love to her, attracting the attention of the entire dorm. My wife, terrified, hid behind me, pushing me forward. The unlucky guy understood everything when he saw this. That very night, I publicly kissed my wife in front of the whole dorm.

Some cheered, some applauded, some exclaimed in amazement, and some cursed, but in our eyes, it was all a blessing for our future as a couple.

[The End]

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My sexy wife, my love

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