The feeling of my wife being fucked by many people

(I)
When I met my wife, she was just 21 years old. We started groping around three days after we met. Four weeks later, we slept together. I remember the first time was unsuccessful; she kept twisting and turning, and I could barely insert it before it was either squeezed out or fell out on its own, which made me incredibly impatient. She was covered in her vaginal fluid from my ministrations, and after a long time, I was so tired I couldn't even get an erection. In the end, I had to masturbate. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but she had a pair of large, firm breasts with light pink nipples, and a slender waist. Her mouth was well-defined and quite alluring. After the first time, it got much better. When I inserted my penis, I always felt like I was putting an ice cream into a Coke bottle—it was both pleasurable and tingling. She was also quite wild; often when I ejaculated, she would tilt her head back, thrust her chest forward, and her vagina and anus would contract, making gurgling sounds in her throat. She was very quiet and usually very obedient to me. When we make love, we always touch and lick, and we like to tell each other what we've heard and seen. We're often so aroused, we can't help ourselves.
We've been married for many years, and we do it almost every day. But I don't know if it's because of age or something else, but later she rarely reached climax through penetration. However, we have a good method. Every time I've made her feel weak and tingly, she likes to lie on the bed, and I'll penetrate her from behind, one hand around her breasts, the other cupping her face, and my mouth close to her ear telling her stories. She'll gently massage her clitoris, and in the atmosphere of my various erotic stories, she'll quickly tense up, spasming until she's covered in sweat. Then she'll obediently turn over, letting me hold her now supple waist, and we'll charge in until she ejaculates.
I love having sex with her. To be honest, although I've seen many women, I'm always sexually aroused in bed. I think my wife is very sexy, she always has a kind of charm that makes me want to sleep with her. Occasionally, she would introduce me to her colleagues, superiors, and classmates, and she always acted with gentle elegance. She was very busy with work, but rarely came home late. Her friends were also very polite and helpful when they met me. I thought my married life would continue in this uneventful way for the rest of my life.
When my wife and I made love, she would ask me to tell her stories. This habit was probably an extension of the sweet nothings we exchanged when we first met. At first, I told her erotic scenes I had read in various novels and movies.
Later, when people started watching porn, I would watch it with her. After watching so many, those mechanical movements became less stimulating. We both liked Japanese films. Although we often couldn't see genitals, the stimulation we felt just from the facial expressions and the plot was enough to send chills down our spines. Then we would hold each other tightly, my hand gently caressing my wife's clitoris, her hand gripping my penis. We were immersed in the atmosphere we had just seen, and it felt wonderful. Sometimes, in a daze, she would moan and mutter, "Tell me about you, tell me about yourself."
I would weave myself into some erotic story, saying I raped a little girl somewhere, or that I had slept with her cousin in a hotel, the seventeen or eighteen-year-old waitress crying while giving me oral sex. My wife would suddenly let out a low moan and faint, her vagina tightly gripping me and convulsing. Over time, sometimes I really would tell her about my past affairs, and when she knew how pathetic the women she knew were during sex, she would feel triumphant.
When it was my turn to hold her and thrust into her, I would also demand an explanation from her. Once, nestled in my arms, panting as she received my thrusts, she said, "I...I'll tell you a true story, are you angry?"
My excitement surged, and I continued my assault, shouting, "Tell me! Tell me!"
"Do you remember that time I came home really late? You kept calling me, begging me to come back, but...I was...taken advantage of by them..."
"Was she undressed?"
"Yes, he raped me. When your phone rang, he was right next to my pillow. He was on top of me, fucking me." I remember my wife's face flushed, a strand of hair damp with sweat clinging to her forehead. I held her slender waist tightly with one hand, kneading her breasts with the other. She raised her legs high, welcoming my thrusts. "He fucked
me that day, three times, and wouldn't let me come home," my wife said pitifully, her face flushed with shyness.
"Who, who took off her clothes? Oh, oh, ouch!" I couldn't hold back any longer and let out a long howl, as if the whole world had turned into a hot, thick liquid and poured into my wife's valley.
I had heard of the man she was talking about. My wife had some business dealings with him. Although my wife said she made it up, I knew it was true.
Because my wife hadn't been home late many times over the years, I still remembered that incident. That day, they were entertaining clients together, and when they got home, the man, under the influence of alcohol, took my wife to his widowed mother's house in his car. In another room of his mother's house, he took off my wife's clothes and had sex with her three times. Just thinking about that man holding my naked wife in his arms, clumsily inserting his dirty penis into her vagina, begging and babbling incoherently, made me unable to control myself.
"The first time, he inserted it; the next two times, I put it in. He wouldn't let me leave," my wife later told me. "Your phone kept ringing, and he wouldn't let me answer it, and he even fucked me."
For some reason, I also fucked my wife three times that day, each time incredibly wild, feeling both jealous and excited. My wife said that when they first entered the room, the man's mother tried to interfere, but the man yelled that she didn't need to interfere, pushed his mother into the inner room, and then tore off my wife's clothes and pinned her to the bed.
"It was uncomfortable, and... a little exciting, and scary."
I knew from books that women do indeed have a deep-seated desire for the pleasure of being raped, especially when it doesn't cause them any other harm. From then on, whenever I thought of my wife naked, pinned to the bed, with a slippery, hard object inserted between her legs, enduring the act of intercourse, while an elderly widow next door eavesdropped, an uncontrollable animalistic urge rose within me.
I believed this wouldn't be my wife's only sexual adventure.
(II)
From then on, I often felt a strange sense of estrangement towards my wife. It was as if she was no longer simply my wife, but also someone else's wife. When I had sex with her, it felt like I was possessing someone else's woman, spying on someone else's wife's secrets, and deriving pleasure from the sexual arousal and frenzy of someone else's wife, a stranger.
Therefore, our daily sex life took on an unexpected flavor, like seasoning. Every night after going to bed, she would silently nestle in my arms, her left hand gently slipping into my underwear, softly beginning to caress my soft penis. Her sweet tongue was intoxicating. My right hand would also involuntarily begin to rub her nipples, grasp and squeeze her breasts, and then move down her smooth, soft abdomen to her vulva, probing her clitoris.
Soon, she was wet. I smeared her vaginal fluid on her labia and clitoris; it was slippery and alluring. With my constant encouragement, her nipples resembled a pair of translucent red cherries, luscious and tempting. She buried her burning cheeks in my chest, her fingertips lightly touching the tip of my penis, sending waves of tingling sensations to my heart and throat.
I withdrew my wet right hand, which had been hidden between her legs, turned her over, and inserted my already throbbing penis into her vagina, following the cleft of her buttocks. Her vagina was warm and dripping, and her vaginal fluid often soaked her perineum, anus, and entire buttock cleft. She was already completely disheveled.
So I crawled on her smooth back, one hand around her breasts, the other gently cupping her cheek. My wife gripped my thumb tightly with one hand, while her other hand secretly pressed against her genitals, stroking them. Sometimes she would even involuntarily suck on my thumb with her tongue, letting out soft moans. Her eyes were tightly closed, her brows slightly furrowed, her back soaked with sweat, and she kept twisting her waist, pleading with me,
"Tell me, tell me how you... with other people..."
I would tell her how I brought the girl home, how my wife and I played with her, how the girl was tortured to the point of ecstasy, and how she pouted and cried. At that moment, my wife could no longer bear it, letting out a low howl, arching her back, her vagina convulsing violently. I
took the opportunity to thrust my penis all the way in. It seemed like a long time passed before my wife collapsed onto the bed like a limp, dead snake. I turned her over; her slightly open eyes shone with a longing light. I inserted my penis into her vagina again. Her mons pubis, her pubic hair, and her lower abdomen were all soaked with thick, sticky vaginal fluid. My thick, powerful penis, like an iron pillar, penetrated deep into my wife's abdomen. She was like a weak, frail sack, helplessly held aloft by my penis in the wind.
I kept thinking that she must have looked just as pitiful when she was being raped by other men, a despicable man ravaging a young, beautiful woman. Her pride, reserve, and purity must have been smeared beyond recognition by filth, grime, and sticky semen and vaginal fluid. And I could rape this woman as I pleased!
I was overcome with lust and thrust violently. My wife spread her legs wide, her arms tightly wrapped around my neck. "They, they just did this to me, they forced me to help them penetrate me," she murmured during my relentless assault, fueling my anger.
Almost every day after this, we were too exhausted to care about personal hygiene and would fall into a deep sleep. So our sheets were often stained and difficult to wash.
I seemed to derive an extra reward from our sexual experiences. There was no resentment or dissatisfaction. Would it have been the same if the same story had happened to someone else? I don't know.
I only know that men often want to get this kind of stimulation from other men's wives or prostitutes. Although some people like to play wife-swapping or threesomes, most people are just those who have the desire but not the courage. My wife and I didn't hurt anyone. We entertained ourselves and our women in a way that people usually don't want to talk about but often secretly hope for. Isn't that good? Why not use our own spouses and instead sneak around with strangers? Of course, strangers are important, they're new.
(III)
One day, I really took a risk and almost turned my imagination into reality.
It was a summer day. A gentle breeze caressed the willow branches. I saw a girl by the river, disheveled and dirty. She was wandering around aimlessly. I immediately guessed what she was doing.
Sure enough, my guess was right. She hesitated for a moment and nodded in agreement to my invitation.
I quickly found a phone booth and called my wife, telling her to come back quickly. My wife immediately understood what I meant from my trembling voice.
The girl was chubby, and although her looks were average, her skin shone with a youthful glow and healthy radiance. When my wife came in, she had just showered and was sitting nervously on the sofa, as if awaiting someone's judgment. I was even more restless, wondering what the outcome of my dream would be.
Their eyes met briefly, then they quickly looked away. But they actually smiled and greeted each other amicably. My wife then excused herself to go into the bathroom. I quickly led the girl into the bedroom and pushed her down onto the bed.
I reached inside the girl's shirt and grasped her breasts—undeveloped, teenage breasts. Conical, trembling, they held their own even lying on their backs. I hurriedly tore open the hem of her shirt, exposing her full breasts. Her nipples were a pale pink, swollen, and I couldn't even see the nipples yet! As I caressed her, I greedily sucked on the girl's tongue and saliva, feeling the fine beads of sweat on her chest dampen my palms.
Sometime later, my wife entered the bedroom. She reached behind me and slipped her hand inside my pants, gently grasping my penis. A warm current surged from the tip to my lower abdomen, making me tremble slightly. I then began to suckle the girl's breasts. My wife took the girl's chubby little hand and guided it to my crotch, letting her rub my penis. She went to the bedside and removed the girl's underwear. I sat on the bed, picked up the girl, and placed her on my lap, one hand exploring her vulva. Her plump legs were tightly pressed together, making it difficult for me to find a place to start.
My wife then leaned down and kissed the girl's breasts, while her other hand snatched my penis and began to caress it.
The girl shyly closed her eyes, allowing us, my husband and I, to do as we pleased.
The girl's vulva was plump and high, covered with sparse, soft pubic hair. I noticed her labia were pink, like a vibrant peony. I gripped her tightly with my palm, my fingertips tentatively searching for that sensitive, delicate clitoris. It was moist and warm, untouched, incredibly tender. She moaned softly, pleading for my patience and gentleness.
But I didn't do it that day. Only that night, my wife and I experienced an unprecedented frenzy, and from then on, we had a different kind of experience. Women are truly the flowers of nature; not only men cannot resist their allure, but women are equally captivated by them. That night, from my wife's frenzied ramblings, I learned not only that my wife was not satisfied with simple sexual fantasies, but also that she was bisexual, and even before her first sexual experience with me, she had a penchant for intimate contact with female friends.
Oh, this woman! My wife who drives me crazy!
(IV)
I am no different from any other ordinary man. Deep down, I was fascinated by every possible sexual partner, constantly seeking opportunities to satisfy my sexual desires. This was, in fact, the sole driving force behind my self-motivated efforts since childhood. My sole purpose was to earn the respect and affection of others, especially women. My wife's understanding of women made me feel justified in my primal, intense desires. I was addicted to browsing pornographic websites, frequently visiting brothels, and relentlessly seeking any sexual stimulation I could find. Of course, my primary source of satisfaction was still my wife, and I believed I was satisfying her as well.
I simply didn't want to steal any opportunities from others, nor did I want to cause any harm to anyone. Apart from that, I had no other taboos. Together, we opened up an unprecedented new world of happiness and pleasure for ourselves, finding an inexhaustible source of enjoyment through openness and honesty. My wife and I never experienced boredom or dullness in our sex life; it was always fresh and vibrant.
Once, we happened to have the opportunity to travel together to a small city in Shandong on business. After an overnight sea voyage, we arrived at six in the morning. It was still dark. The streets were quiet, shrouded in a light morning mist. We checked into the best hotel in town, and before we could even wash up, the phone rang. A sweet, youthful voice came on. I politely declined her self-promotion from my bed.
My wife came out of the bathroom, a towel over her head, and asked who was calling while drying her hair. Before I could answer, the phone rang again beside my pillow. This time, the ringing came from behind the bedside table. A man with a Shandong accent answered. His voice was so clear, it was as if he were hiding behind the bed. My wife and I were startled.
We discovered a small hole, about the size of a 32mo book, behind the bedside table; the wires, the light, and the clear, distinct sound were all coming from there. My wife quickly covered her mouth and quietly lay down beside me.
Soon after, the doorbell rang. It was the girl's voice on the phone again. They started joking. The man with the Shandong accent rambled on, asking about everything from hometown to population, age to hobbies. The girl laughed heartily.
Gradually, the man's voice lowered, the girl fell silent, then came the rustling sounds of clothes being undressed and the soft smacking of kisses.
The headboard began banging against the wall, and the mattress creaked and groaned laboriously. What I'll never forget is the girl's piercing scream. It was a scream I'd never heard before, unimaginable, a heart-wrenching scream.
My wife clung tightly to me, her face filled with terror. Her hand gripped my penis, but I didn't react; we were terrified.
Gradually, the screaming subsided. Then came the sound of the bathroom flushing.
They started talking again. The man from Shandong asked the girl why she did this. The girl said her father was sick and couldn't do much work at home, so she needed to earn money for his treatment.
"Even if I earn five hundred a month, after food and clothing, I'm left with two hundred, only a little over two thousand a year. My dad's medicine costs three or four hundred a dose. I also have a younger brother in school." The man mumbled something I couldn't hear, and the girl giggled.
"He gave me eight thousand," the girl said. "Three days? Not bad, of course it hurts."
The girl seemed to be avoiding something, giggling.
The headboard started hitting the wall again, the mattress creaking and groaning, mixed with the man's panting.
The girl began to moan softly, then howled, her voice shrill and mournful, like a wail! The thumping sounds grew heavier and more rapid, continuing incessantly, the man also groaning, the girl's cries becoming even more piercing and pitiful. The thumping sounds continued, each one like a blow to my heart!
Thump, thump, thump! The torment and devastation under the impact cruelly ravaged my tender body and mind, and it wasn't until more than ten minutes later that the screams gradually subsided. My
wife remained motionless, pressed tightly against me, breathing rapidly, her body stiff, her hand clutching my limp penis.
We can't stay here! I thought.
(V)
That day, I was in a hurry to do some business, and around eight o'clock, my wife and I left the room together. When I left, the room next door was still quiet. I complained at the front desk, and the very quiet, fair-skinned lady must have understood my complaint; a barely perceptible blush and embarrassment appeared on her face.
"Your room definitely isn't secure; I have to hear everything they do next door!" My wife stood behind me and gave my lower back a hard pinch.
Around noon, my wife called to say that the room had been changed and she had already gone back. She also said that if possible, she hoped I would come back soon. A friend of hers had heard that I was also there and wanted to meet me.
Around 1 p.m., I rushed back to the hotel without even having lunch. My wife and her friend were waiting for me in the lobby bar downstairs.
He was a man in his sixties. Short, with a thick, stocky build, and a pair of bright, small eyes beneath long, thick eyebrows. He talked to me boastfully and unrestrainedly. In this kind of small town, you often see government officials and wealthy people like him.
"It's my treat tonight. It's not easy for you two to come all this way."
"Let's go to a seafood restaurant. Last time, I treated xxx to seafood there!"
My wife still seemed shaken from the morning's fright; her face was rosy and radiant. Only I could read a hint of confusion and unease in her eyes. She smiled slightly, her hands elegantly interlaced on her knees, occasionally whispering to smooth over my conversation with that man.
My wife's elegance and pride were a man's dream, and her gentleness and thoughtfulness were a man's happiness.
She was my wife, and she made me proud. Seeing her slender fingers, I felt a surge of desire. After
seeing the guest off, we returned to our newly furnished room. This room was larger and brighter than the one in the morning, with a direct view of the vast sea from the window.
My wife was probably also a little impulsive; as soon as she got upstairs, she rushed into the bathroom to shower. I wanted to take a shower too, since she had just come out. The bathroom was filled with steam and a faint scent of perfume. On the sink lay my wife's freshly changed white underwear, which she hadn't yet put away. We had spent the night on the ship, and this morning had been filled with unexpected stimulation. I couldn't help but take her lace-trimmed underwear in my hands and kiss it; it had a familiar, slightly pungent smell—the smell of semen.
In the wastebasket was only a discarded sanitary pad, damp and reeking of semen.
I left the bathroom, and my wife went in immediately. When I returned, she was hurriedly washing her underwear. I leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching my wife's back. In the mirror opposite, I saw her lowered eyelids and her thin yet vibrant face. She always possessed an endearing beauty. I quietly walked over and embraced her from behind.
Oh, my wife, my woman
(VI)
That night, we barely slept.
My wife had long been having and maintaining sexual relationships with her boss and clients. But she resolutely refused to admit that the smell on her underwear came from that lewd man.
That night, she lay supine on the bed, without orgasm, the sheets beneath her soaked with sweat and bodily fluids. I mounted her again and again, squeezing her breasts with both hands, penetrating her vagina, ejaculating on her chest, cheeks, and abdomen, enjoying and exercising my deprived rights, forcing her to confess all her sexual experiences and feelings. I made her recount her secrets with others while receiving my sexual advances.
I was furious that day; I felt betrayed. I said my actions had entertained both of us, without concealment or plunder. Her actions, however, only entertained herself and the men she had sex with, leaving me out and allowing those men who had used my wife to sit before me, mocking my foolishness and pathetic state.
I was a man who had been stolen from yet was smugly pleased with myself.
But in the end, I forgave her.
Sex is nature's most exquisite gift to all living beings, the highest reward for all the suffering of life.
A person can go hungry and poorly clothed, yet find happiness and joy in the satisfaction of the opposite sex.
Even those lives devoted solely to sexual intercourse are worthy of admiration and envy.
No one is immune to the allure and comfort of sex. No one can resist the temptation and satisfaction of sexual happiness. It's just that we sometimes disguise sex as love.
No one is without sexual fantasies and imaginations. No one can give up the pleasure and excitement of sex. It's just that we often act out of hypocrisy and cowardice.
In an era where power and wealth are determined by the outcome of sexual activity, in an era where humanity has no control over the consequences of sexual behavior, taboos and restrictions may have been necessary. But today, perhaps the only difference lies in the choice between hope and action, openness and secrecy, honesty and deception.
My wife is my proof.
I only ask that my wife never use her naturally endowed, pleasure-seeking organs to exchange for other benefits, a process that cannot bring sexual pleasure. I only hope that my wife will stop pretending to be a virtuous lady! Because my wife has never been like that. Although she is elegant and proud. And what about your wives? And your husbands? To this day, we remain the best partners in bed. We spend almost every day reviewing and discussing our most exciting lessons. Thinking about this, I feel so happy with my life, so why am I in a bad mood?

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