The Little Fish's Secret Story (3) — Rose Valley, a Gauze of White Gauze

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Beautiful roses, vibrant yet not gaudy. From Yunnan's fresh flower cakes to Sanya's essential oil bottles, to roses for proposals, each one is a delight for women. Yalong Bay's Rose Valley is a must-visit for every girl. It's a beautiful and expansive place, with affordable and economical goods.
If you're planning a wedding photoshoot, Rose Valley is definitely a must-see, after all, we spent so much money and even organized a photography team with their own ulterior motives—we couldn't miss it.
The next day, we continued our journey to Yalong Bay's Rose Valley for our photoshoot. Before we left, my female assistant asked what I wanted to wear, and I simply pointed to a short, strapless white wedding dress. The photographer, a typical straight man, said to wear something sexy, bring a couple more outfits, and as a thank you for bringing us on this trip, he'd add three outfits today for free. My husband was genuinely grateful.
Charge? Haha, I didn't charge him last night.
The group spent two hours taking photos at the Rose Valley plantation and scenic area. As noon approached, the weather gradually became hot and humid. The scenic area was vast, requiring us to transfer to tourist shuttle buses throughout. With our group of equipment and people, one car wasn't enough, and we had to wait for my husband and his friends at the second transfer point for ages each time. While queuing, the photographer went to the restroom for a smoke and mysteriously called me. I asked him what was up, and he told me to find an excuse to get my husband out of the way at the third shopping mall, then come find him, and then he hung up.
The tree may wish to be still, but the wind will not cease; man may wish to go mad, but his heart will not be at peace. Of course, I had no idea what he was up to; my heart was pounding. What was he planning? He was so bold. While struggling with my inner turmoil, we slowly arrived at the shuttle point in front of the third shopping mall. I was still trying to think of an excuse when the photographer's cousin directly asked my husband and me if we wanted to go to the shopping mall; he was planning to buy his wife some face masks and essential oils. Then he arranged for another photographer and a female assistant to go to the exit to pack up the photography equipment and organize the materials, and wait for the three of us there.
My husband looked at me, implying I needed anything. I glared at him, and he very sensibly handed me his wallet. What did this mean? Was he encouraging me to make a mistake? Or was he just too lazy to go shopping? I looked up at the sky; it was blue, not green.
Just as I was hesitating about whether to ask my husband to come with me to the shopping mall, his colleague called to discuss something, and the shuttle bus was about to leave again. I don't know where I got the courage, but I told my husband, "Just wait for me at the entrance. The photographer and I will buy things at the mall and then meet you at the exit. The mall is crowded; with him with me, nothing will happen."
"Why did you tell your husband the mall is crowded and that I'll be with you, and everything will be fine?" On the shuttle bus, the photographer looked at me with a lewd grin, his right hand on my buttock, pinching it. "I'm taking you to get fucked, bride. You're so slutty, aren't you afraid your husband will suspect something?"
Hearing his lewd words, my face flushed instantly. He handed me a handbag; inside were five boxes of face masks and two bottles of essence. This was all a setup; he said he wanted to hook up. I really admire him.
When the shuttle bus was still a short distance from the shopping center, the photographer suddenly had the driver stop, pulled me off, and led me into the scenic area. After a few minutes of winding turns, we reached a rest area. I asked him what we were doing there, and he said that the restrooms in this plantation were practically deserted. He then pulled me into the innermost stall of the women's restroom and politely asked if I wanted a condom. My face flushed again, and before I could speak, he kissed me, biting my tongue until I could barely breathe. I closed my eyes and responded to him. After a few minutes of kissing, I was handed a handbag.
"You're such a classic scumbag," he said. I looked at the handbag: a heart-shaped lace strapless dress, an adjustable waist, a playful calf-length skirt, and all-over lace patterns—a classic Taobao bestseller with hundreds of thousands of sales: a short strapless wedding dress.
He smoked, silently watching me change, and told me not to wear underwear. He hugged me from behind, his tongue licking my collarbone, one hand cupping my breast, and one finger penetrating my body. A warm current flowed from my heart down my abdomen, finally reaching his finger. He entered me again, thrusting from behind, a position that allowed for deep penetration. I kept my eyes closed, moaning, and I don't remember how many orgasms I had; it was a feeling I'd never experienced before. After about ten or twenty minutes, he said "fuck," and I said I couldn't ejaculate inside. He thrust forcefully a dozen times, pulled out, turned me around, and forcefully pushed me down, shoving it into my mouth. Then he ejaculated for about ten seconds, and I swallowed a lot of it because I was out of breath. I was just about to yell at him when he handed me tissues and underwear, saying we didn't have enough time, and if we went home late, my husband would suspect something.
"You slut!" I glared at him, wiped the liquid from my lips, and threw my wedding dress over his head.
That night, I don't know why I was in a bad mood. I even argued with my husband about his work during dinner. We were still giving each other the silent treatment when we got back to the hotel. Around 11 pm, the photographer sent me some photos and called me to ask how the editing was going and if I wanted to go see it. I was angry and said no, then hung up and went to bed. I vaguely heard them having sex next door again. It seemed the photographer, that womanizer, was using his female assistant to relieve himself since I couldn't go. Suddenly, I couldn't sleep. I listened to them and thought about what had happened in the past two or three days. I suddenly felt that this wasn't cheating, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was like the female assistant said, a friends-with-benefits relationship. Then, a stranger suddenly added me as a friend, sent me some photos, and asked me to turn off the sound, asking if my husband was asleep. Out of curiosity, I did as he said, and then a few short videos were sent to me—videos of the female assistant giving him oral sex and them having sex.
"How shameless!" I was utterly impressed by the womanizer's persistence. This trip was definitely worthwhile.
Finally, on a side note: when a man comes over carrying two bags, one containing a gift and the other sex toys, it's a classic trick used by millions of bad men. Ladies, be careful!

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The Little Fish's Secret Story (3) — Rose Valley, a Gauze of White Gauze

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