[Being a husband is difficult] (04) [Author: derksen]

Author: derksen
Word count: 4061

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It's hard to be a husband! (4)

The salary of the new job can barely cover expenses, but there is no spare money at all - even if I want to go to a coffee shop after work and sit there
for a night pretending that I am still a responsible supervisor working overtime until late at night, I feel
that the price of a cup of coffee that I used to not care about at all makes me feel embarrassed. After receiving the offer of the new job, I hesitated several times, thinking about whether I should just
honestly admit it to my wife and go home early every day to pick up my son from kindergarten. In the end,
I gave up - I don't know why, I just can't bring myself to say it. On the contrary, one night when I got home
, my wife was still awake. I was about to tell her the truth, but she spoke first and said
that my son had been having nightmares these days and was afraid to sleep alone, so she wanted my wife to sleep with him. After my wife took her own pillow into
my son's room and closed the door, I remembered that I was going to say something to my wife, so I gave up
. From that night on, my wife slept with our son. The
house , was left with only me in the master bedroom. My daily contact with my wife was
limited to sniffing her panties and stockings with their lewd scent while I masturbated and ejaculated on them after showering at night
.

After seeing my wife leave in a car after her job interview, I gradually began to doubt whether I had misunderstood
something —perhaps my wife wasn't a prostitute, but it was certain she had sexual relations with other men. For
the two weeks I waited to start work, I followed my wife every day. It seemed that every time she went to that building, she
left in a Buick. I never saw her enter the red-light district dressed so provocatively again. Perhaps I had mistaken
her for someone else that day, just a woman who looked like my wife. However, the stains on her panties were becoming increasingly noticeable. In the past,
only once was the stain so large that it also stained her stockings, but lately it's been happening almost every day, and
the stains are getting bigger and bigger. A week before I started working, my wife went to that building two days in a row
. Both times, when she came home, I noticed a stain on her short, tight-fitting skirt. She seemed
oblivious , hanging it on the coat rack in the master bedroom as usual. As soon as I entered the room, I smelled that
familiar scent. When I went to hang up my coat, I saw a small
, dark stain on the buttocks of her black tight-fitting skirt; it felt wet and sticky to the touch. I quietly used a wet wipe from the bathroom to
clean the stain off her skirt. Then I opened my son's bedroom door and saw my wife holding him as they slept, both
smiling as they drifted off to sleep. My wife looked like the perfect mother in my son's eyes. I quietly closed the door and went back to the master
bedroom. Regardless, my wife is already a woman in her late twenties; her needs in that area can't be weak.
I bear much more responsibility for this situation. It's really not worth
ruining . From that day on, I stopped following my wife to work.

On my first day at the new company, I immediately inquired about the chemical company with my colleagues. To make my questions
seem more natural, I pretended to ask about the other companies in the building.
Several colleagues agreed that, perhaps due to the company's engineering focus,
almost the entire staff was male. They hadn't seen many female employees; aside from the receptionist at the entrance,
a woman in her early forties, no one seemed to recall seeing any other female staff. Of course, it's
possible they just didn't see them because their work hours were different. Another thing was that the company had several
vans that appeared to be delivery vans, parked in a rather inconspicuous corner of the building's basement. Apparently, someone had heard strange noises coming from
these vans and then saw several company employees
standing around the back doors, seemingly looking at something—it didn't seem like they were unloading or loading goods. Aside from that, there's nothing noteworthy
. The other companies in the building are equally unremarkable. The only interesting thing is that
a health food company that claimed to have miraculous cancer-curing effects once operated in this old building, but was
later raided by the court for fraud. Also, for some reason, from
my first day at work, I noticed that the security guard no longer looked at me with the strange expression I had on my interview day. Instead, he just
stared at me with a perfunctory face, like an impatient guard, not really paying attention. Perhaps it's because I'm no longer dressed like a
white-collar elite.

Since the new company doesn't require overtime, I plan to leave work promptly before five o'clock. Or rather, in
an industry where performance hasn't changed much in over a decade, just keeping the senior employees who are waiting to retire from being idle
takes some effort. Because someone as junior as me can easily finish the work in one go, but
I have to deliberately cut some tasks for the older employees, not to mention the endless work
. Perhaps because of this, I was bored out of my mind all day, and somehow I kept thinking about
the day of , about what happened in the restroom of that chemical company—that
lewd woman wearing a ring similar to my wife's, having sex with someone in the men's room. So that day,
when I was leaving the underground parking lot after work, I deliberately went to the corner of the chemical company's designated parking area to take a look. Just as my colleague had said,
that corner was particularly dark and far from the elevator; no one other than someone from that company would go
there. I walked a little closer to the light in that corner and, sure enough, there
were several people standing behind one of the vans. The back door of the van, used for loading and unloading, seemed to be open, and the lights on the van
were particularly conspicuous in such a dark corner, almost as if beckoning passersby to come and take a look. I didn't dare walk over casually.
After all, these chemical manufacturing companies could be involved in all sorts of shady
activities, like drug production. But I was incredibly curious, so I deliberately slowed my pace, using the cars parked in the parking lot as
cover. After circling around for a while, I finally arrived at the vans. A ventilation
fan , and there was a pungent chemical smell.

The men standing behind the vans were all quite tall, but they were all impeccably dressed in suits and looked respectable;
they didn't seem like thugs. From a distance of less than ten meters, I noticed the vans
were swaying slightly. Just as I was about to get closer to see what was going on inside, a woman was half-submerged in the van...
A naked man carried her down; she was completely naked except for a mask covering her face, revealing only
her bright red lipstick-covered lips. It was the same
woman who had been fucked like a bitch in the men's restroom during her job interview. Although her face was obscured and she had no distinguishing features, she possessed a pair of full breasts
that seemed about to burst from her collar,
each nipple adorned with a unique accessory that perfectly held the areola and was secured with a tassel. She was also wearing the same bright red
stiletto , but this time with black fishnet stockings. Strangely, from this
distance, one could vaguely see that her pubic hair was unusually thick, almost reaching below her navel
. After getting out of the car, the woman leaned forward, legs slightly apart, deliberately arching her back in a cat-
yoga pose, waiting for the men behind her to approach. One of
the men in a suit took off his jacket and handed it to the man who had just carried the woman out of the car. He then
pulled out his erect penis, which seemed to have been waiting for a long time, and walked up behind the woman,
wrapping her waist before thrusting into her all the way in one go. Faint moans could be heard from
the woman as the thick penis penetrated her genitals. The other men in suits and high-spirited noses watched silently. With each forceful thrust, the woman 's ample breasts swayed, and the two red tassels at the tips of her breasts bounced back and forth. I swallowed hard, tiptoeing closer to the back of the car in front of me, wanting to get a better look . I walked closer, shrinking my body, until I was behind the van on the left. I was now only separated from the group of people by the rear of the van. I could clearly see the man laboriously thrusting his hips, plunging his penis deep into the woman's vagina, slowly withdrawing, and then forcefully thrusting it in again. He repeated this same motion on the woman in her peep-toe stilettos, without changing his movements or kneading her breasts, as if he were demonstrating some kind gymnastic exercise, mechanically pumping in and out. After a while, less than ten minutes, the man's thrusting speed increased, and soon he thrust forward, bringing their lower bodies tightly together. A minute later, the man withdrew his limp but still quite large penis from behind the woman, and a thick stream of fluid flowed from her genitals, dripping to the ground. The woman shook her full but not particularly plump buttocks, spurting out a few more streams of semen onto the ground before turning around and sitting on the rear bumper . As she turned, I realized that the dark shadows on her lower abdomen weren't pubic hair; her mons pubis was completely shaved, with what appeared to be some words written on it in black ink. Above next to each tally mark was a horizontal stroke. As the woman sat on the bumper with her legs spread, one of the men in a sharp suit took a pen from his inner pocket and added a vertical stroke below the horizontal stroke on the woman's lower abdomen, forming a "ㄒ". I think the meaning of those tally marks couldn't be clearer: the woman's naked body was covered in sweat, indicating that her sexual activity with the man hadn't just happened once in less than ten minutes. After a mark was drawn on her lower abdomen, the woman sat on the back bumper for only a short rest before another rather tall man approached. This time, the woman was picked up and fucked in what was supposedly a "train bento" position. I hid behind the back of the van on the left, watching the woman's legs bounce and sway with the rhythm of the fucking . The black soles of her red stiletto open-toe peep-toe shoes were facing me, swaying back and forth until the shoes gradually came loose, and her right foot fell to the ground, making a loud thud on the empty, vast underground parking lot's concrete floor . But the man having sex with her didn't hesitate at all; instead, his speed increased, and the woman's legs swayed more rapidly. Her left shoe came loose and was about to fall to the ground when the man thrust again, ejaculating deep into her vagina without holding back. After being put down, the woman's legs seemed a little weak. She staggered a couple of steps, reaching forward and groping, finally touching the shoulder of one of the men in a suit, where she leaned against it to rest. She took a couple of steps closer to me, and I could vaguely make out some words written on her mons pubis, but the light was too dim; I couldn't see clearly without getting closer. I could only make out what appeared to be English letters. Just as the woman was resting for a bit, and another man was about to carry her back to the car, I instinctively tried to see the words on her mons pubis more clearly. My body swayed forward towards the van, and I accidentally caused the car used as a shield to sway as well—at this moment, all the men in suits suddenly became alert and looked towards the car in front of me. I knew something was terribly wrong. I didn't care what was written on the woman's mons pubis anymore , and immediately took off running towards the stairwell leading from the underground parking lot to the lobby— even if they wanted to harm me, they wouldn't do it so openly in front of everyone! But when I reached the stairwell, panting, I looked back and saw that the men in suits weren't chasing me. I went up the stairs back to the lobby, took the elevator back to the company, waited for a while, and then returned to the underground parking lot. By then, the van seemed to have already left. I mustered my courage and boldly walked to the parking space, only to see a few puddles of bodily fluids on the ground. I frowned, blaming myself for not paying attention and missing the writing on the woman's lower abdomen , and walked to my car, ready to drive away. After starting the car and leaving the underground parking lot, I suddenly remembered that the ring on the woman's right hand was indeed the same style as the one my wife had given me on our first wedding anniversary .

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[Being a husband is difficult] (04) [Author: derksen]

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