My wife and I have always had a very good relationship. We almost share everything with each other.
While being intimate, we discussed the pleasure sex brought us. Once, my wife suddenly asked me: Should a man only have sex with one woman in his lifetime? Should a woman only have sex with one man?
We talked for a long time and finally reached an almost unanimous conclusion—love is selfless, and love and sex can be viewed separately. As long as we deeply love each other, why insist on exclusivity? The joy of sex and the joy of love are fundamentally two different experiences; they can perfectly coexist.
That night, I said seriously to my wife, 'I want you to have a lover. Someone who can make you completely let go in bed, make you feel ecstatic and over the moon. Your happiness will make me happy too.'
My wife was stunned at first, then pouted and smiled: 'You're really willing? Aren't you afraid of getting jealous?'
I held her hand: "You should believe me. The happiness of the person I love is my greatest happiness."
My wife is a beauty. Her features are delicate, her figure well-proportioned, and her skin smooth. Many people pursued her before marriage, but in the end, she still chose me. Over these years of marriage, we have become all too familiar with each other's bodies. But familiarity can sometimes turn into blandness.
On the weekend three days later, my wife came back and told me that a client had invited her to dinner. With a woman's intuition, she knew the other man was interested in her. If she went, things would very likely progress to the bed.
I asked her directly: 'Do you hate that person?'
She shook her head: "In his early forties, well-maintained, seems very capable. Not dislikeable, just... afraid of letting you down."
I explained my viewpoint to her again: love can be exclusive, but sex can have more possibilities. Different people can bring different pleasures; it's a supplement to the existing relationship, not a replacement.
The wife was silent for a long time, and finally made an agreement with me: when at the other person's home, if she called me and said 'I'm working overtime tonight,' it meant things had started.
After she left, I stayed home alone, brewed a pot of tea, and sat quietly.
At seven o’clock, they may be dining.
At eight, maybe chatting.
At nine o’clock, he may already have gone to the other party’s residence.
At ten o’clock, the phone rang.
The wife's voice carried obvious panting: 'Honey... I'm working overtime tonight, I won't be coming back.'
My heart suddenly skipped a beat, but I deliberately kept my tone light: 'Do a good job, don't let anyone down.'
After hanging up the phone, I continued sipping my tea. But I couldn't help imagining: right now, her panties were probably soaked through, the other person's fingers or tongue roaming over her body. She was letting out those fragmented moans I knew so well, the ones that only came at the peak of passion...
The next day, nearly noon, my wife finally returned.
Her eyes were a bit red, but her steps were light and brisk. I asked her how she felt.
She leaned over, directly leaning into my arms, her voice filled with satisfaction: 'Better than imagined.'
I carried her to the bed, kissing her while listening to her detailed account.
That man was somewhat restrained at first, just kissing her incessantly. Later, his hand slipped under her clothes, touching where she was already soaked, and then he completely let go. He was very skilled with his tongue, starting with gentle licks, then going deeper, bringing her to her first small climax. Only then did he truly enter.
The wife said his size is bigger than mine, and his stamina is stronger. They did it several times throughout the night, and each time brought her to climax.
Listening to her description, I was so hard it hurt. I pressed her onto the bed and went in directly. There was still moisture from last night left inside her; tight yet exceptionally soft. As I thrust, I couldn’t help asking her: “When he fucks you, is he rougher than me?”
The wife groaned from the thrusts but still answered honestly: "He's very skilled... finds the right spot, and the force is just right."
Her honesty stimulated me even more, and I did it three times in a row, finally releasing all the pent-up desire from the night.
Afterward, she lay on my chest and whispered softly, “This is the happiest day of my life.”
I also said: 'Me too. Because you're happy, I'm happy.'
I made another request: next time, could you invite him home so I can watch from the side?
The wife thought for a moment and nodded.
Three days later, his wife called him and asked him to come to the house, using the excuse that I was on a business trip.
At 10 p.m., the doorbell rang.
I hid in advance in the shadows outside the bedroom. After the man entered, he first gave his wife a long kiss, then asked if she missed him. The wife answered coquettishly, her tone full of anticipation.
The man quickly untied her nightgown. The wife wore nothing underneath. He carried her to the bed and swiftly stripped himself naked.
Under the light, his tall frame was evident, with dense chest and leg hair, and a thick, lengthy member that was indeed more impressive than mine.
He did not rush to enter, but instead first rubbed against her with his body. His hairy thighs repeatedly brushed between her legs, occasionally grazing sensitive spots, and his wife soon let out a thin moan. Then he lowered his head, licking carefully with his tongue, nearly licking away all her love juice, before turning to a more hidden place.
My wife couldn't take it anymore, actively reached out to grasp his genitals, taking them into her mouth. The two formed a 69 position. The man's tongue wandered behind her, while my wife attentively pleased him.
After a while, the man lifted her legs onto his shoulders, aimed, and entered fully.
My wife let out a long sigh, her voice full of satisfaction. The man began thrusting, his movements from slow to fast, each time going very deep. My wife's moans gradually放开, her waist actively迎合.
I stood in the shadows, seeing everything clearly. Her expression, her voice, her body's reactions—all were vividly presented before my eyes. I was painfully hard, but forced myself to only watch, not act.
The man changed several positions. Side entry, rear entry, having her kneel on all fours. Each transition was smooth, with hardly any interruption in the thrusting rhythm. He would also slap her buttocks with his hand or use his fingers to penetrate her anus in coordination, the dual stimulation bringing the wife to climax again and again.
When reaching climax, the wife would cry out things she would never normally say, calling him 'stud' or 'stallion', begging him to use more force. The man didn't speak either, just thrust more fiercely.
That night, they did it three times. After each time, the man's member remained inside her for a long while, and they just held each other, panting.
After dawn, the man kissed his wife and left with his ever-present briefcase.
I walked into the room, placed my already somewhat softened self into my wife's hand, hugged her from behind, and soon fell asleep as well.
Since then, my wife kept meeting that man once a week. The place was sometimes my home, sometimes his. Every time, my wife would tell me in advance where to hide, so I could see more clearly.
I gradually realized that my desire for her didn't diminish but instead increased. Watching her lose control with another man, then return to my arms afterward—that complex yet intense excitement became a new seasoning in our marriage.
Until one day, my wife deliberately brought up that suitcase on the phone.
The man arrived as promised with a suitcase. When opened, it contained a variety of adult toys—different sizes of devices, lubricant, ropes, blindfolds, ice cubes, candles... everything you could imagine.
Looking at those things, the wife's eyes lit up.
The man said with a smile, 'All of these can make you more comfortable.'
The wife turned her head to look in the direction where I was hiding, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, and softly said to the man:
“Then... let’s try everything.”
That night, toys and real bodies were used alternately. The wife was blindfolded, her hands gently restrained, filled from both front and back simultaneously. She would tremble when ice cubes slid over her skin, and let out soft cries when warm candle wax dripped. The man used devices to bring her to climax again and again, but he himself delayed entering until she begged him, crying.
Watching from the shadows, my eyes burned. My wife's body glistened with sweat under the light, each climax making her whole body tense up then go completely limp. Finally, the man entered her, his movements deep and heavy, shooting all the pent-up stuff inside.
After it ended, the wife lay on the bed, her chest heaving violently. The man packed up the toys, kissed her, and left carrying the suitcase.
I walked over and pulled her into my arms. She opened her eyes, her voice still hoarse:
“Today... more excessive than before.”
I kissed her forehead: 'Do you want to continue?'
She thought for a moment, then nodded: "I do. But only if we decide together."
I tightened my arms.
After ten years of marriage, we haven't been consumed by monotony; instead, we've found another way to draw closer to each other. Love still has only one object, but desire is allowed a broader outlet.
And we are still the person each other trusts the most.
After the night the suitcase was opened, things began to take on a clearer rhythm.
Every Wednesday or Thursday, my wife would send me a message in advance, telling me the time and place. Sometimes it was at home, sometimes at the apartment the other person rented. I no longer needed to hide behind curtains or under the bed; I was allowed to sit in a single armchair in the corner of the room, with the lights dimmed, leaving only a warm yellow bedside wall lamp.
When the man came, he would first exchange a long kiss with his wife. His hands were steady, sliding from her back to her waist, then probing inside her clothes. His wife would actively raise her arms, letting him take off her top. She was no longer as shy as she had been at first; the act of undressing even carried a hint of composure.
I sat there, watching his fingers undo her bra clasp, watching that familiar pair of breasts fall into another man's palm. My wife would glance back at me, her eyes holding confirmation and also an invitation. I nodded, and only then did she truly relax.
The man was very skilled with his mouth.
He would start from her neck, all the way downward, lingering long at her collarbones and chest, lightly scraping his teeth over her nipples before taking them into his mouth and sucking hard. His wife's hands would slip into his hair, her breathing gradually growing ragged. By the time he truly buried himself between her legs, his wife was already soaked through. His tongue was long and nimble; he would deliberately avoid the most sensitive spot, circling around it instead, forcing her to actively arch her waist to meet him.
“Don’t……don’t just lick the outside……” she finally couldn’t hold back and spoke.
The man didn't speak, just brought two fingers together and slowly pushed them in, while his tongue finally pressed against that already swollen little nub. The wife's legs instantly clamped tight, only to be parted again by his hand. The sound of wetness was particularly clear in the quiet room.
I'm hard to the point of pain, but I just hold myself without actually doing anything. This feeling of being allowed to watch but temporarily unable to participate actually stretches the excitement longer.
After his wife's first orgasm passed, the man would put on a condom and enter her, supporting her hips. His size was indeed a bit larger than mine. Each time he buried himself inside, his wife would make that sound of being both stretched and satisfied. He wasn't in a hurry to speed up; instead, he started with slow, full-length strokes to let her adjust, then gradually increased the force.
The wife's hands would grip the bedsheet or wrap around his neck. Sometimes she would turn her head to look at me, her eyes moist, lips slightly parted, as if silently telling me how comfortable she was. I would nod, and then she would cry out louder.
A complete session usually lasted more than an hour. The man would change to two or three positions, and when entering from behind, he would deliberately make her face me so I could see more clearly. My wife was thrust so hard she kept rocking forward, her breasts swaying, sweat streaming down her back. Her voice, at first suppressed, gradually became wanton, and in the end she would cry and beg him to cum inside.
When the man ejaculated, he would thrust deep, pressing his entire body against her as he panted. The wife's legs were still wrapped around his waist, her insides contracting in waves. When the condom was removed, thick white fluid would trickle down her inner thigh, dripping onto the bedsheet.
After the man packed up and left, only the two of us remained in the room.
I would walk over and pick her up. Her body still retained the warmth of being used,湿滑一片 between her legs. I would usually first use my tongue to clean up those traces, then enter her. She was又热又软 inside, more sensitive than usual,随便动几下就会再次高潮.
Once after finishing, she lay on my chest and suddenly asked:
“Are you really not jealous at all?”
I stroked her hair, thought for a moment, and answered truthfully, "A little bit. But more than that, it's excitement. Seeing you so happy and then returning to me feels like entrusting the most private part only to me to finish."
The wife was silent for a while, then gently bit my collarbone: 'That's good. I'm afraid you might suddenly regret it one day.'
I turned her over and looked seriously into her eyes: "If I regret it, I'll tell you directly. Not now."
Since then, we set the rules more clearly.
At most twice a month.
Must use a condom.
There must be alone time for just the two of us after it's over.
If either side says stop, stop immediately, no discussion.
The man seemed to sense the tacit understanding between us. He no longer came just to satisfy his desires; occasionally, he would stay a bit longer and chat idly with my wife. Once, after he left, my wife told me that he was actually divorced, his child already in college, and the reason he was willing to maintain this relationship was because he liked the feeling of being 'permitted but not possessed.'
After hearing it, I just nodded.
Some nights, we deliberately don't invite him.
Just the two of them closing the door, dimming the lights, and using the rhythm and技巧 he learned from him to explore each other’s bodies anew. The wife would take the initiative to sit on top, controlling the depth and speed herself, moving while looking into my eyes. She said that in moments like that, she instead felt closer — because all the techniques ultimately served only the two of us.
One weekend afternoon, the sunlight was very good. We sat on the rattan chairs on the balcony, the child was doing homework in the room. My wife suddenly leaned over, rested her head on my shoulder, and said in a very soft voice:
“Next month... are we still meeting?”
I held her hand, my thumb slowly rubbing over her knuckles.
"If you want to, ask me out.",
She said "mm" and didn't say anything else.
The wind from outside the balcony blew in, carrying the warmth of early summer. Faint sounds of a child turning pages came from inside the room. We sat there, holding hands, quiet like countless ordinary afternoons.
It was just another layer of secret known only to the two of us. That layer of secrecy did not push us apart; instead, it made the closeness even clearer.
After early summer, the pace gradually settled into a fixed rhythm.
Meeting twice a month became our unspoken agreement. The time was usually chosen on weekends when the child stayed overnight at the grandmother's house. My wife would tell me a day in advance, her tone calm, as if notifying me of an ordinary household matter.
“This Saturday, he’s still coming to the house.”
I nodded and kept this matter in mind, but I no longer stayed awake all night like I did at the beginning. The excitement was still there, just with a bit more composure.
When the man entered, he always first exchanged an unhurried kiss with his wife. He would place his briefcase in the corner, but didn't necessarily open it every time. Some nights, they only used their bodies; other nights, they used toys. His wife was now skilled at telling him what intensity and rhythm she liked.
I sat on the sofa in the corner, the lights dimmed very low. My wife occasionally turned to glance at me, confirming I was still there. That glance held no guilt, only a kind of openness, as if laying her most private part bare to me.
Once, the man entered her from behind. His wife was thrust forward, her hands bracing against the headboard. Suddenly, she spoke, her voice intermittent:
“Bring him... over too.”
The man paused and looked at me.
I walked over.
My wife reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me in front of her. She looked up and kissed me while still panting from being filled by another man. The man didn't withdraw, just slowed down his movements. The distance between the three suddenly became very close.
That night we tried a way we had never thought of before.
The wife knelt on the bed, taking me into her mouth while being penetrated from behind by the man. Her hands rested on my waist, and her throat emitted muffled sounds. The man's movements were steady, each thrust going deep, yet he always controlled the force so she could still pay some attention to me.
When the climax hit, my wife trembled violently all over. She let go of her mouth, buried her face in my lower abdomen, and cried out my name. The man stayed inside her for a moment longer before pulling out.
During the cleanup afterward, my wife leaned in the bathtub with her eyes closed. I sat beside her, using hot water to wash away the traces between her legs. She suddenly grabbed my hand, her voice still hoarse:
“Just now... did you feel like anything was strange?”
I shook my head: 'No. I just think you're very honest.'
She opened her eyes, looked at me, and after a long while, gave a faint smile.
“Then that’s good.”
When summer ended, the man proposed leaving this city for a while. A job transfer, about three or four months.
After listening, the wife just nodded and didn't try to keep him. When seeing him off at the door, they exchanged a very ordinary hug. After the door closed, the room suddenly fell silent.
I walked over and hugged her from behind.
“It’s over?” I asked.
The wife leaned against my chest, thought for a moment, and said: "Let's stop for now. I want to be with just you again for a while."
I tightened my arms.
In the months after that, we did not make appointments with anyone else again.
The weekend night became two people’s time again. After putting the children to sleep, we would close the door and, at a very slow pace, get to know each other all over again. My wife would take the initiative to straddle me, controlling the depth herself, moving while looking into my eyes. She said that like this, she instead felt more whole—all the technique, all the sensitive spots, in the end served only the two of us.
One night, after finishing, she lay on my chest and suddenly said:
“I always thought that giving my body to someone else would mean losing something. Only now have I realized that what is truly lost is never the body, but the desire you don’t dare to say out loud.”
I stroked her hair and didn't answer immediately.
After a while, I finally said, 'What about now? Do you still want to continue?'
The wife raised her head and looked at me seriously.
"Do you want it? But not now. When both of us feel ready, we'll decide together.",
I nodded.
The wind outside the window carried the chill of autumn. The room was very quiet, leaving only the sound of each other's breathing.
We are still husband and wife. We still argue about the kids' homework, still go to the supermarket together on Sundays, still lean on the couch watching a boring TV series.
It was just another layer of a secret protected together.
That layer of secrecy didn't make us strangers; instead, it clarified the ways we could be close—what could be shared and what must be reserved solely for each other, we already understood in our hearts.
And the story continues to move forward.
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