My experience at a wedding photography studio with my wife

I just turned 30 this year and work as a programmer at a joint venture company. Because I often work overtime, it's difficult to fully satisfy my wife. Occasionally, I wonder if she might cheat on me, but three years of marriage have given me a basic level of trust in her. That trust completely crumbled when we were preparing to take a set of wedding photos at a photography studio. My wife is 28 years old and works in an office at a foreign company. Because she has a great figure, is beautiful, and has a good alcohol tolerance, her boss often takes her to meet clients. Sometimes I come home from overtime, already asleep in bed, when she staggers home, her breasts jiggling under her low-cut dress, as if beckoning me to get up and lick and rub them. But I have limited energy and no strength. She goes to the bathroom, takes a shower, and goes to bed without even the bedtime kisses we had during our courtship. One evening, she suddenly said to me, "I feel like my skin isn't as smooth as it used to be, and my breasts are starting to sag. Am I getting old?" I quickly held her still firm breasts and comforted her, "Honey, you're overthinking it. On my way to work, I've never seen a girl with breasts bigger than yours." My wife is of average height, 1.She's in her early sixties, but has a 34D bust, a slender waist, and perfectly proportioned legs. Even at forty, she'd still be charming. How could her skin be bad before she's even thirty? "Oh, so you were staring at other girls on your way to work?" Women's focus is truly bizarre. As she spoke, she reached out and grabbed my penis, skillfully kneading it. My wife had a rich sex life before we met. She said she'd dated two boyfriends. I didn't believe her, but I didn't care. As long as we had a good relationship, what did her past matter? "You're still so smooth, firm, soft, and bouncy." I quickly changed the subject, kneading and rubbing her breasts with both hands. "You get interested as soon as you mention pretty girls on the street." My wife stroked my hard penis, increasing the speed. When she was aroused, she had a soft, seductive voice that could make a man's penis hard. Because it had been so long since we'd had sex, I was a bit overwhelmed, feeling like I was about to ejaculate from her masturbation. I rolled over onto her, ripped off her panties, and thrust in with all my might. My wife's vagina, though loosened from being fucked by her ex-boyfriends, was still very wet and slippery. And when she was being proactive, she would nibble at my glans like a little mouth, which felt incredibly pleasurable. As I was fucking her hard, my wife suddenly cried out, "It's been so long since I've fucked you, husband, harder!" That "so long" immediately sparked a thought. Come to think of it, she hadn't accompanied her boss to business dinners for a while. Did she mean that her boss hadn't fucked her lately? My mind immediately conjured up an image of my wife drunk, dragged into a car by her boss, stripped her naked, slid his penis around her vulva a few times, and then thrust in with a "plop." The luxury SUV vibrated up and down, my wife's breasts heaving. Perhaps he didn't even drag her into the car, but instead kissed and groped her in the private room. He might have poured wine all over his wife, running it down her hair, watching the crimson liquid soak her clothes, revealing her close-fitting underwear and her full breasts beneath. Then, would he pull out his penis and shove it directly into her mouth, or into her vagina? When a wife is enjoying being fucked, she loses her mind; she might pin that man down on a chair, straddling his lap and wildly shaking her hips. That vagina, fucked by many, now belonging only to me, has already been penetrated by other penises on several nights of socializing? I felt both ashamed and depressed, these two emotions intertwined, making me even faster. The imagined frenzied fucking didn't happen; I quickly roared, ejaculating into her uterus, then rolled over on the bed saying, "I have to buy you birth control pills again." I was surprised that after two months without marital relations, she could still make me ejaculate within two minutes, just like in the beginning. To my shame, I've known her for so long, and fucked her quite a few times, but never for more than ten minutes. How long could her tall, burly boss fuck her? Half an hour? Or an hour? The thought, once it appeared, sprouted in my mind like weeds. I really wanted to fuck my wife hard again, but I couldn't get an erection. "I want to go to a wedding photography studio to take some photos," my wife suddenly hugged me. "What kind of photos?" "The kind that are really sexy, to preserve the beautiful memories of youth." "Do you have to wear revealing clothes?" "More than that. My colleague took a set, and a lot of the photos are of her and her husband having sex in various positions." I laughed and asked crudely, "Did you see her husband's penis too?" My wife nodded, "Yes, I saw it. It's this thick!" She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, indicating that the man's penis was really thick. Looking into her sparkling eyes, a pang of jealousy rose within me. "It's probably photoshopped. Photoshoots are always faked." "Then come with me, and let the studio make your penis look bigger," my wife pleaded. "Look at my breasts, they're sagging. If I don't take some sexy photos soon, I might never see them again." I felt sorry for her and reluctantly agreed. That weekend, my wife and I went to the photo studio. Actually, calling it a studio was an understatement; it was a small workshop hidden in an office building. It wasn't large, nor did it look luxurious. The fitting room was only separated by a curtain. My wife seemed to have made prior arrangements. After we met, she filled out a simple form, and they started doing our makeup and changing our clothes. When I saw the clothes, I realized they were going to dress us in sexy lingerie. I didn't care; I'd already promised my wife I'd come here. But what happened next made my jealousy even stronger. My wife found the lingerie difficult to put on, so she called the makeup artist in to help. Damn it, there were no women in this photo studio, only men. I don't know what my wife's sexy outfit looked like, but she definitely had a lot of parts seen. The fitting room was small, and after the makeup artist went in, the curtain started to sway, vaguely revealing two figures. I heard whispering inside, like the photographer instructing her on how to dress. My wife suddenly cried out, her voice so seductive it could drip water, followed by giggles. I desperately wanted to peek through the curtain to see what they were doing! Not long after, the makeup artist came out, and I deliberately glanced at his crotch, only to find he was covering himself with his clothes. But before he went into the bathroom, when he put the clothes down, I could still vaguely see a large bulge in his crotch. This idiot got hard while changing my wife's clothes! This was enough to prove that he saw my wife's sexy 34D breasts, her white buttocks, and even her hairy pubic hair. He went into the bathroom, probably to take care of himself. A cold laugh suddenly welled up inside me. I thought, "A loser is a loser. How could someone like you possibly have the right to fuck my wife?" "Honey, am I pretty?" My wife lifted the curtain and came out. My eyes widened immediately. She was wearing a white, sheer dress, nothing underneath. Her large, round breasts swayed as she walked, their curves hazy and indistinct. Had the makeup artist seen her from head to toe? "Pretty, of course pretty—" Before I could even speak, the photography director walked over to her, praising her while adjusting her pose. My wife cooperated perfectly, sometimes sticking her butt out, sometimes supporting her breasts with her hands. "Good! Not bad, honey, you can come over now! Let's take a picture together!" the photography director said. I'd much rather he called her "sir" and "madam"! I slowly walked over and stood behind my wife. The director began instructing my wife to press her butt against my crotch. He also told me to reach my hands to her breasts and grab them. "Click!" The flash went off, and the director said, "Great, excellent teamwork. Let's go to the shooting room!" There was a director of photography, three assistant photographers, my wife, and me. The six of us went to a room with a dim, yellowish hue, the walls covered with paintings of nude women and men. "Ancient Roman style! It suits you two perfectly," the director clapped his hands, grabbing the camera on his chest. "Wife, stick your butt out, like before. Yes, husband, thrust in. Oh, no, husband, you're not thrusting hard enough. Are you shy? You did a great job just now." I was sure this guy was picking a fight with me; I hadn't been this enthusiastic when we were doing the poses earlier. "How about I have my assistant go up and give you some pointers? Husband, do you mind? Wife, do you agree?" the director said. I thought to myself, "Agree? Forget it!" "Sure, husband, let them do it once. That way you'll learn faster, and we can finish shooting and go home quickly," my wife persuaded me. I thought about it, and she was right. It wasn't appropriate for my wife to be seen naked by the men like this. I nodded in agreement. At this moment, the director had an assistant step forward and press his crotch against my wife's buttocks. His posture was, well, quite aggressive; because of the force, his upper body was leaning back, and his knees were bent. The director said, "Good! Very good! Did you learn it, honey?" I hummed in agreement, stepped forward, and imitated the man's posture. The first photo passed smoothly. Then I glanced back and realized that the photography assistant was actually the makeup artist who had helped my wife get dressed. This small, unregulated photo studio really does have one person doing many jobs! "The next shot needs to create a hazy effect, giving the viewer room for imagination—!" The director then had the assistant bring an opaque cloth and cover us. "Come on, honey, do the same pose as before, but exaggerate it a bit more. Make your wife's expression lewd, like your husband is having sex with you. Don't be nervous, be natural, treat this like your own home." My wife bent over, sticking out her buttocks, and had to make an expression. This pose was quite tiring. I felt sorry for her and wanted to finish quickly, but the more anxious I became, the more nervous I got, and I almost pushed my wife away. She suddenly stood up and turned around, her unbound breasts swaying wildly under her clothes. "Honey, what are you doing? You're hurting me!" I quickly apologized. The photography director then said, "How about this, let our assistant guide him." My wife immediately agreed, "My back hurts so much! Hurry, hurry, my husband isn't quick to learn, you'll have to teach him step by step." I sighed helplessly, only able to see the makeup artist/assistant...The man walked behind his wife. The white sheet stood between them, exposing his wife's neck and above, and his upper body. The rest of her body was covered by the sheet; nothing could be seen. "Ready..." the director called out, but the assistant raised his hand, "Wait a minute, I'll adjust my position." I didn't know what he was doing, but I saw him rub against my wife from behind, say "Okay," and then thrust forcefully. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I heard a splashing sound. "Good, your wife's expression is perfect, just like that, lewd." The director's words drew my attention to my wife's face. Sure enough, her eyes were glazed, her face slightly flushed, her lips parted a crack, and she was breathing softly. My heart pounded. Was this the same expression she had when we were taking pictures earlier? "Okay, take a few more, honey. Get into the swing of things. As a woman, you have to be open and relaxed when taking these photos! Move around a little, but not too much, to make the photos more varied." The photography director had barely finished speaking when the makeup artist started swaying her body, and my wife's body trembled. She bit her lip, as if forcing herself not to make a sound. "Alright, honey, go for it. Try to get it in one take, don't make your wife suffer too long." The photography director smiled at me. I nodded to him, and when I turned back, I noticed the makeup artist hadn't come out yet, his hands fiddling with something underneath. When he finally came out, I noticed his crotch was wet. "Honey, do your best," my wife said sweetly in front of me, sounding incredibly alluring. I found my position and imitated the makeup artist's movements, thrusting forward. Suddenly, I realized why the spot I was thrusting into was so wet! Reaching down to touch it, I discovered that the fluid from my wife's vagina had soaked her skirt. I thought to myself, something's not right. My wife has a really perky butt, so her skirt should stick up. Even if she was aroused by someone, there's no way water could get on her skirt. Could it be that the man just now, through her skirt, thrust his penis into her vagina? And he even did it right in front of me, thrusting hard a few times!

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My experience at a wedding photography studio with my wife

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