Every time I think of that day, my body reacts before my reason does.
Those palms, warm and applying just the right pressure, moved from my shoulders all the way down to my lower abdomen, then slid towards more intimate places. That feeling—unfamiliar, dangerous, yet damnably pleasurable—was something I never experienced in countless times with my husband. It was like a fine needle piercing the calm of my married life, making me wake up in countless deep nights, legs weak, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from my throat.
That was the day after returning from the trip.
We booked Meilaiya for a bath and massage. The lounge was dimly lit, the air a mix of essential oils and damp, steamy heat. I called over Xiao C, my regular. He was in his twenties, not very tall, but his hands were exceptionally strong. He had only ever massaged my shoulders, neck, and legs before, never crossing any boundaries. My husband had another young woman do a foot massage for him. We lay side by side.
Perhaps because the journey was too tiring, and we had also drunk some alcohol, my husband soon started snoring. I closed my eyes and let Xiao C's hand begin at my head and slowly move downward.
Head, both arms, abdomen.
When he slightly lifted my clothes and his palm covered my lower abdomen, I didn't feel anything unusual. His technique was very professional, applying pressure to acupoints around the navel with steady force. But when he changed to using his palm to push and press, his fingers gradually approaching the very bottom of my lower abdomen, I distinctly felt—his fingertips had already touched that small patch of soft hair.
During the left-side massage, his palm almost completely covered my private parts.
Her lower body instantly grew hot.
I opened my eyes. Little C's face was expressionless, the hall was still dim, and my husband's snoring was regular and steady. I quickly closed my eyes, cursing myself in my heart: worrying over nothing. He was just getting a massage; it was my own mind that had become impure.
But her body would not listen.
His hand moved to both sides of her thighs, and his fingertips pressed downward along the inner thighs. I couldn’t control a shiver. Xiao C’s voice was low: “Seeing how tired you are, why not go to the room and get cupping?”
As if guided by ghosts and gods, I nodded.
After saying hello to my husband, I followed him into the private room.
As soon as I entered, I lay face down and made a cupping posture. But Xiao C said, “The massage isn’t finished yet, we’ll do the cupping at the end.” So I turned over. This time, I actually began to look forward to it faintly.
He first pressed on my upper abdomen with his palm; about three minutes later, he suddenly straddled me. His hands moved along my ribs all the way to my armpits. He didn't lift my clothes, just reached his hands inside. My lower body was instantly soaked through. I leaned forward slightly, silently praying in my heart that he'd go a little lower, a little bolder.
He didn't.
Only wandering back and forth around the edges of the breasts. The nipples were already hard and painful, and I bit my teeth and said nothing.
“Oh, right, I forgot the essential oil.” he said suddenly, as if by magic producing a bottle of essential oil, and without hesitation lifted my shirt, dripping a few drops on each of my breasts. A warm big hand instantly covered them, kneading firmly.
“You’ve kept your figure really well,” his voice was steady. “My massage will make it tighter.”
I didn't respond, just closed my eyes tighter. I told myself in my heart: it's just a massage. But my body honestly immersed itself in those hands—rotating, kneading, fingertips pressing lightly against my nipples. I almost reached out to hug his leg, but held back desperately.
He moved downward and sat at the base of my thighs. His hand slid from my breasts all the way to the very bottom of my abdomen, while at the same time pulling my shorts down, leaving them barely covering the most private area. As he pressed back and forth on both sides of my thigh roots, he asked, “Comfortable?”
I don't make a sound.
He sat up a little more. Through the fabric, I could clearly feel that he was already hard, pressing against my private parts. I couldn't help but lift myself slightly to meet him; my shorts were instantly soaked through, the whole lower half of my body almost convulsing. At that moment I really wanted him to keep going, wanted to be entered, wanted to be filled.
But one thought suddenly flashed through his mind—her husband could come over at any time.
My limbs instantly went soft. I murmured, “It's getting late, let's just do cupping.”
Little C immediately got off me, straightened my clothes, went out to get tools. After returning, he carefully wiped my front with a hot towel, being extra cautious around the breasts. When wiping my lower abdomen, his movements clearly hesitated, lingering around the edge of the private area for a long time, ultimately doing nothing.
I turned over. He performed the usual massage on my shoulders and back, placing a series of cupping glasses densely. Before leaving, he said, 'Sis, you always come with your husband; come alone next time.'
I didn't speak.
Actually, at that moment I should have felt guilty, but by heaven and earth, I didn’t. I only felt my body still burning hot, and between my legs there was a sticky mess.
After returning home, I was still immersed in that feeling.
I said to my husband, 'You slept all afternoon; that won't do. Keep me company and sleep a bit more.' Without waiting for his reply, I pulled him into bed. Within minutes, he couldn't resist and pressed on top of me, kissing. I closed my eyes and, for the first time, imagined the person beside me was someone else—Little C. That night, I experienced an unprecedented orgasm but suffered insomnia afterward. The scenes from the day replayed over and over—no guilt, only reminiscence and regret for not going all the way.
Touching with my hand, it was wet again.
On many nights afterward, I struggled between reason and desire. My body kept remembering those hands, remembering the emptiness of being teased but never satisfied. I made countless resolutions to go again, only to back out the next day. Until one day, desire finally overwhelmed everything.
I went to Meilaiya alone.
After a quick rinse, I went straight into the private room and specifically asked for Xiao C. When he came in, he clearly paused for a moment: 'Where is he?'
“He hasn’t come.”
He walked silently to the bedside: "Sis, same as last time?"
I let out an "Mm-hmm," stretched out my limbs, and lay flat.
This time, he didn't hesitate. He directly lifted my shirt completely, dripped essential oil onto my breasts and navel, spread the oil with rotating motions of his hands, and then kneaded gently yet firmly. I was so comfortable I almost cried out, but I held it back tightly. His hands moved from the edges of my breasts along my ribs to my abdomen, then pulled my shorts down until they only covered my private parts. Except for that bit of fabric, my upper body was completely exposed.
The feeling of being exposed intoxicated me.
If he had pulled down a little further, I wouldn't have stopped him. But he didn't. He just earnestly pressed on the ovarian and uterine areas, his technique so professional it was almost cruel. He was straddling my thighs, his hands kneading my breasts clockwise, his fingertips applying pressure. My lower body grew hot again; I knew I was soaked through.
He suddenly got up and went out, brought back a hot towel, and carefully wiped from my neck downward, especially gently over my breasts, but at the edge of my lower body he never crossed the line. After wiping me clean, he made me turn over and pulled my shorts all the way down to my ankles in one motion. My entire backside was completely exposed.
Essential oil dripped evenly. He started by kneading the shoulders, then opened up the back. His technique was steady and strong. After massaging the waist, he began rubbing the buttocks, his hands moving in circular motions. He dripped more oil into the crease, then his fingers slowly slid down the middle, touching the back hole.
My body tensed.
He asked: “Does it feel good?”
“Mm…”
He used his index finger to gently circle around the area without entering. Yet I had already begun to breathe lightly and uncontrollably. At the right moment, he used his left hand to reach around to hold my breast, while his right hand continued to roam over my back. It felt so comfortable that I was a bit dazed, and my lower body tightened in waves.
He went out again to get a towel.
This time, he spread my legs from behind, carefully wiping from my private parts all the way to my back passage. I knew he must have seen that mess. After wiping, he said, 'Turn over, let me massage your stomach again.'
I turned over.
Completely naked.
I closed my eyes. I didn't pull up my shorts or pull down my top, just waited like that. But he suddenly pulled my shorts up for me, his voice somewhat strained: 'Sis, I don't dare... I wouldn't be able to control myself.'
I opened my eyes and looked at him.
So he was struggling at the boundary too.
I looked straight at him for a while, saying nothing. He lowered his head, sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped his left arm around my head, placed his right hand on my breast again, gently lifted me up, lowered his head, and took one nipple into his mouth.
I finally couldn't hold back and tightly wrapped my arms around his waist.
His tongue circled the areola, and his hand slipped into his shorts, kneading around the lower abdomen. I began to moan for real, my legs unconsciously spreading apart. His fingers finally touched that moist softness, and I actively lifted my private part upward, biting his wrist with all my strength.
“Hurry... I can’t take it anymore.”
This is the first time I've openly and unabashedly encouraged him.
His fingers went in without hesitation.
Nearly two hours of buildup erupted completely at this moment. I cried out loudly, not caring about soundproofing, arching my body upward, letting his fingers thrust rapidly. He used his right leg to press down on my legs, but I still desperately pushed upward. After intense spasms, I was completely exhausted, covered in sweat, my lower body a mess. I buried my face in his chest, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed.
He whispered in my ear: “Sis, being able to make you this happy, I’m really glad.”
I looked up and teased him, "Look at you, not even sweating, just slacking off."
He smiled shyly. “I don’t want to be lazy... I want to do it with sis.”
This sentence was like the last matchstick.
He laid me flat, carefully wiping away the sweat and love juice with a towel, and took off my last piece of clothing. I lay naked in front of him,主动 spreading my legs wider so he could see clearly. He just looked at me like that, and I felt aroused again.
He suddenly held down my hands, bent over and pressed his lips to my private part, gently parting it with his tongue and focusing on that one point. I cried out again. He got up and turned on the TV to cover the sound, and when he came back he licked even more vigorously. I twitched at the edge of orgasm, already unconsciously begging him to enter with my mouth.
He wanted to take off his clothes, but I pressed his head and wouldn’t let him leave. In the moisture of his tongue and my trembling, I climaxed for the first time with only that part — clitoral orgasm, intense, unfamiliar, almost enough to make me collapse.
I collapsed into a spread-eagle position. He climbed on top and kissed me, his hand covering my breast, whispering, 'Sis, I want to enter.'
I nodded.
He quickly took off his pants. That thing was thick and hard, pressing against his underwear until it was almost about to burst through. I reached out and touched it once, shocked.
"Do you have a condom?"
"I'm not doing that... no way."
He had only slept with his girlfriend a few times. While I was still hesitating, he was already pressing down in 69, attacking again with his tongue. Faced with that straight, rigid thing, I somehow put it in my mouth. It was too big; I could only hold the base to barely manage to take it in and out. I stroked it with my hand, my tongue circling the tip, and my other hand even slid toward his back hole. He also used his tongue and fingers to probe my back hole at the same time, and I immediately stopped him — that place wouldn’t do.
He immediately shifted targets, took the front again into his mouth, and his tongue probed deeply inside. Stimulated, I cried out again, and my arousal almost filled his mouth. He was close too, and I didn’t let go until he came; I barely managed to swallow it down.
He panted, his gaze completely changed.
This time, he didn't ask. He directly lifted my legs and positioned himself at the entrance. No condom. I looked at him and didn't refuse again.
He pushed in little by little.
Too full. Fuller than any time before. I tilted my head back and let out a long, uncontrollable moan. He began thrusting slowly, going to the deepest point each time. I主动 wrapped my arms around his waist, my heels pressing against his buttocks, silently urging him on.
The speed gradually increased.
The sounds of flesh colliding, water, and my cries mixed together. He lowered his head to suck my nipple, while his lower body grew increasingly fierce. I felt myself being utterly opened, all reason, marriage, and guilt shattered by the impact. Only the most primal desire to be filled remained.
The climax came urgently and fiercely.
My entire body tensed up, contracting violently inside, still squeezing him within. He let out a low growl and ejaculated everything inside.
Scalding liquid gushed into the deepest part.
We held each other tightly, neither of us moving immediately. Sweat, semen, and her fluids mixed together, the air thick with the scent of desire.
After a long time, he withdrew and carefully cleaned me with a hot towel. Looking at his serious profile, I suddenly felt dazed—was the person who had completely surrendered herself just now really me?
He helped me get dressed and said in a low voice: “Sis... will you come again next time?”
I didn't answer immediately.
Only before going out did she look back at the room where everything had just happened.
Reason told me I shouldn't come again.
But her body had already remembered those hands, that thing, that feeling of being utterly possessed.
I know I'm already on the path of corruption.
And what's even more terrifying is—I don't want to stop.
Tomorrow arrived as promised.
I left the company two hours early, using feeling unwell as an excuse. By the time I drove near Meilaiya, my palms were already sweaty. I sat in the car for a long time before pushing the door open and going in. The girl at the front desk recognized me, just gave a slight nod, didn't ask more. Xiao C was already waiting in the private room. Once the door closed, the world contained only the two of us.
This time he made no further attempts at foreplay.
I had just taken off my coat when he hugged me from behind, one hand directly slipping under my skirt. I was already wet; his fingers slid in easily, accurately pressing that spot. I leaned against his chest, my legs so weak I could barely stand. He bit my earlobe, his voice low: 'Who were you thinking of when you touched yourself last night?'
I didn't answer, just moved my body toward his hand.
The clothes quickly fell to the floor. He made me kneel on the massage bed and entered from behind. This time was particularly deep; each thrust pushed me forward a bit, only for him to pull me back forcefully. I buried my face in the crook of my arm, unable to suppress my cries. He reached around to the front and kneaded my breasts, the pressure not too light nor too heavy, just enough to make me feel both pain and pleasure. When the climax came, my whole body trembled, and the internal clenching made him groan, but he didn't ejaculate immediately. Instead, he continued grinding slowly, sending me into a second wave.
After ejaculating inside, he didn't pull out; in that position, he turned me over, holding me face to face. Sweat glued us together, breaths intertwined. He lowered his head to kiss me, deeply, as if trying to pass something over.
“Sis,” he panted, “have you ever thought about what would happen if we kept going like this?”
I looked into his eyes and seriously thought about this question for the first time.
What will happen?
Get discovered? Get divorced? Or just keep sinking secretly, time after time, until one day there's absolutely no way back?
I didn't speak, just reached out and touched his face.
Since then, the frequency of our meetings completely spiraled out of control.
Sometimes three times a week, sometimes two days in a row. I started learning to lie more carefully—using different excuses, different time slots, even deliberately parking my car two blocks away from Meilaiya and walking over. After each session, I would sit in the car for a long time, waiting until my breathing steadied and my eyes returned to normal, before driving home.
The husband seemed to notice something.
Once I came home a bit late, and he was sitting in the living room waiting for me. The TV was on, but he wasn't watching. He asked: 'Have you been particularly busy lately?'
My motion of changing shoes paused for a moment, then I smiled: 'The project is on a tight deadline, it's really tiring.'
He nodded and didn’t ask any further. But that night he took the initiative once, and we did it longer than usual and with more force than usual. With my eyes closed, I could only barely feel anything by imagining the person on top of me was Xiao C. After he ejaculated, he held me and said in a muffled voice, "Do you... have something to hide from me?"
My heart skipped a beat.
“No.” I heard my own voice remain terrifyingly steady. “You’re overthinking it.”
He said nothing more, only held me even tighter. I stared at the ceiling in the darkness, and for the first time clearly felt that I was using a lie to bury this marriage little by little.
But strangely, fear did not make me stop.
Instead, it makes the excitement even stronger when we meet next time.
Once Xiao C suddenly suggested if we could change locations.
“It’s been here the whole time; it’s too stuffy.” As he helped me wipe my body, he said, “I rented a small apartment not far from here. If you’re willing...”
I looked at him and didn't agree immediately. But my body had already reacted first—my lower abdomen tightened, and my breath hitched for a moment.
Three days later, I went to that apartment.
More private than the rooms at Meilaiya, with heavy curtains and a large bed. As soon as the door closed, Xiao C pinned me against the wall and kissed me. This time he was especially fierce, almost tearing off my clothes, and carried me to the bed. I willingly spread my legs, watching him enter. No lubrication, only my own wetness; the feeling of being stretched was both full and painful, yet it made me moan even louder.
He asked me: “Do you like this?”
I nodded, my voice trembling: "Like it... deeper."
He really went deeper.
That day, we did it three times. The last time, he had me sit on top of him and move on my own. I held his shoulders, moving up and down, my long hair hanging down and blocking my view. He looked up at me with a focus I had never seen before. When I climaxed, my whole body went limp and collapsed onto his chest, but he kept thrusting upward, sending me into continuous spasms.
Afterward, I lay beside him, and for the first time I didn’t rush to get dressed and leave.
There was the sound of rain outside the window. Listening to the rain, I suddenly asked, 'Have you ever thought about what we are like this?'
He was silent for a long time before saying, "It doesn't count for much. It's just... if you want it, I want it too."
This sentence was like a needle, giving a gentle prick.
But I know that what I want is no longer just her body.
Later on, life was like a slow drowning.
I began staying overnight at the apartment.
The first time was because I was too tired after finishing and fell asleep directly. When I woke up, it was already 2 a.m., and there were missed calls from my husband on my phone. I panicked and called back, brushing it off with 'drank too much and slept at a classmate's place.' He was silent for a few seconds on the phone, only saying, 'Come back early.'
After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands trembling.
Little C hugged me from behind, chin resting on my shoulder, not saying a word. I turned around, kissed him proactively, swallowing all the panic into this kiss. That night we did it again, especially slow, especially quiet. When he entered, I cried; he kissed away my tears but didn't ask why.
Since then, staying the night became an occasional normality.
I would tell my husband in advance, 'I might not come back tonight,' using various excuses. Every time I lay on that bed不属于婚姻, falling asleep embraced from behind by another man, I knew I was crossing a more dangerous line. But my body was already addicted, the voice of reason growing weaker.
The most excessive time was on a weekend.
My husband said he was going on a business trip for two days. I calmly saw him off, but as soon as the elevator door closed, I immediately sent a message to Little C. He replied quickly: 'Address sent to you.'
I came.
Those two days felt stolen from reality. We hardly went out, just stayed in the apartment having sex, sleeping, then having sex again. He would hug me from behind while I cooked, his hands slipping under the apron; he would push open the door while I showered, pressing me against the tiles to enter; he would suddenly wake at night and take me again without a word.
For the first time, I fully experienced the feeling of being completely possessed by someone, both physically and in terms of time.
On the night we went back, my husband was already home.
He looked a little tired, but still gave me a hug. I stiffened for a second in his arms, then responded normally. When I was showering, I washed myself for a long time, until my skin turned red. When I lay beside him, his hand reached over quite naturally, yet I suddenly felt unfamiliar with it.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Staring at his sleeping face, I truly asked myself for the first time: What would I do if we were discovered?
The answer is ambiguous.
I don't know if I can ever go back to those peaceful days before Little C. My body has memorized another frequency, another depth of being filled. Whenever desire surges at night, my first instinct is no longer to turn and hug the person beside me, but to pick up the phone and dial that number.
The crack had already become a canyon.
And I am still going down.
One day, Xiao C suddenly said he might leave this city.
“The company reassigned me; I’m going to a neighboring province.” His voice was very calm, but his fingers gently tightened on my back. “Two months from now.”
My whole body froze.
Two months.
And then what? Was that it? Like a dream you wake up from after it’s over?
I didn't speak, just buried my face in his chest. His heartbeat was steady, mine was wildly erratic. That day we did it especially fiercely, as if trying to use up all the remaining time in advance. After he came inside, he didn't pull out, just held me in that position for a very, very long time.
“Sis,” he said softly, “if you want... I can try to stay.”
I shook my head.
Not because he wasn’t important, but because I knew clearly—this relationship had no future from the very beginning. It was built on lies, desire, and stolen time, and couldn’t withstand any real test. But even knowing that, I still couldn’t let go right away.
The last two months were like a countdown to a frenzy.
We met more frequently and became bolder. Once, even on the balcony of his apartment at night, he entered me from behind, the city lights spreading out before my eyes. When the wind blew, I shivered from the cold, yet I cried out louder than ever before. When I climaxed, I could barely stand, relying entirely on him holding my waist.
Another time, I deliberately wore the dress my husband bought to meet him. After we were done, the dress was crumpled beyond recognition, but I wore it home anyway. My husband asked how it got so messy, and I said, 'I wasn't careful while walking.' He glanced at me and didn't ask further.
I know he might already be suspicious.
But I still didn’t stop.
The night before leaving, we hardly slept. We did it again and again until both of us were exhausted. When he cleaned my body, his movements were very gentle, as if handling something fragile. I looked at his profile and suddenly reached out to touch his brow bone.
"Will you miss me?" I asked.
He took my hand and placed it over his own heart, saying nothing.
The answer was already in his silence.
The next day I didn't go to see him off.
Only sitting in the car, looking at the flight information on the phone, until it showed “departed.” Then I started the car and drove toward home. When I stopped at the traffic light, I looked at myself in the mirror—my makeup delicate, my expression calm, like an ordinary wife preparing to go home for dinner.
But only I know that there is still something left in my body from the last time he left it there.
Back home, my husband was cooking in the kitchen. When he saw me come back, he looked up and smiled: "Just in time. I made what you like today."
I walked over, hugged him from behind, and buried my face in his back.
His body was warm and familiar, yet it could no longer fill the places in me that had already been opened.
We did it once in the evening.
I closed my eyes, using all my strength to meet his movements. I cried out loudly during climax. He thought I had finally relaxed and happily kissed me afterwards. I lay in the dark, listening to his breathing gradually steady, but I stayed awake until dawn.
The sky outside the window grew a little brighter.
I know Little C has left.
That period which began at Meilaiya and grew wildly in the apartment officially came to an end. But my body still remembers. Whenever desire surges up at night, my first instinct is still to reach for my phone—even though that number in the contacts list can no longer be reached.
Sometimes I drive past Meilaiya.
Looking at that familiar door, my foot no longer steps on the brake. Just slowly drive past, like watching a dream that has already ended.
But is the dream really over?
I'm not sure.
Because on some nights, after my husband is sound asleep, I still quietly get up, walk to the living room, and sit in the dark. My legs are pressed together, but my hand uncontrollably reaches into my pajama pants. Recalling those nights when my wrists were bound, when I was entered from behind on the balcony, and when I was ejaculated into the deepest place again and again.
When the climax hit, I bit the back of my own hand to keep any sound from escaping.
Then, in the afterglow, softly said to myself:
The depravity has already begun.
And I, would continue to fall further.
Even if the place I fall toward no longer has him.
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