Every time I recall that day, my body reacts before my reason does.
Those hands with warm palms and just the right amount of pressure, moving from the shoulders down to the abdomen, then sliding to more intimate places. That feeling was something I never experienced even after countless times with my husband—unfamiliar, dangerous, yet damnably pleasurable. It was like a fine needle, piercing into the calm of my married life, making me wake up countless times in the deep night, legs weak, heart pounding almost out of my throat.
It was the day after returning from the trip.
We booked an appointment at Meilaiya for a bath and massage. The lounge area was dimly lit, the air filled with the scent of essential oils and damp, steamy heat. I called over Xiao C, who I often requested. He was in his twenties, not very tall, but his hands were particularly strong. He had only ever massaged my shoulders, neck, and legs before, never crossing any boundaries. My husband had another young woman give him a foot massage, and we lay side by side.
Perhaps the journey had been too tiring, and after drinking a little wine, my husband quickly fell asleep and started snoring. I closed my eyes and let C's hand move slowly downward from my head.
Head, both arms, abdomen.
When he slightly lifted my clothes and placed his palm over my lower abdomen, I didn't find it strange. His technique was professional, applying pressure to points around the navel with steady force. But when he changed to pushing and pressing with his palm, his fingers gradually nearing 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.
The lower part instantly grew hot.
I opened my eyes. Little C's expression was blank, the hall was still dim, and my husband's snoring was steady and deep. I quickly closed my eyes again, scolding myself inwardly: worrying over nothing. He was just giving a massage; it was my own dirty thoughts.
But the body wouldn’t obey.
His hand moved to both sides of her thighs, his fingertips pressing downward along the roots of her thighs. I couldn't control a shudder. Xiao C's voice was low: “Seeing how tired you are, why not go to the room and get a cupping treatment?”
As if guided by ghosts or 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, making the posture for cupping. But Xiao C said, “The massage isn’t finished yet. We’ll cup you at the end.” So I turned over. This time, I actually felt a faint expectation.
He first pressed on her upper abdomen with his palm, and 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. I leaned slightly forward, silently praying in my heart that he’d go a little lower, be a little bolder.
He didn't.
It only wandered back and forth along the edge of the breasts. The nipples were already hard and aching. I gritted my teeth and said nothing.
“Oh right, I forgot to use the essential oil.” He said suddenly, taking out a bottle of essential oil as if by magic, and without hesitation lifted my top, dropping a few drops on each of my breasts. His warm large hands instantly came over them, kneading firmly.
"You’ve kept your figure very well," his voice was steady. "My massage will make it even 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 gently 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 down my shorts so that they barely covered the most private part. As he pressed back and forth on both sides of my thigh roots, he asked: “Comfortable?”
I didn't make a sound.
He shifted upward 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 up to meet him, and my shorts were instantly soaked, my whole lower body almost convulsing. At that moment I really wanted him to keep going, wanted to be entered, wanted to be filled.
But a thought flashed fiercely through my mind—my 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, and went out to get supplies. When he returned, he carefully wiped my front with a warm towel, being extra cautious around my breasts. When he reached my lower abdomen, his movements noticeably hesitated, lingering around the edge of my private area for a long time, ultimately doing nothing.
I turned over. He performed the usual massage on my shoulders and back, then applied a dense series of cupping glasses. Before leaving, he said, 'Sis, you always come with your husband. Come by yourself next time.'
I didn't speak.
Actually, at that moment I should have felt guilty, but heaven and earth know my conscience was clear, I didn't. I only felt my body still burning hot, with dampness between my legs.
After returning home, I was still immersed in that feeling.
I said to my husband: 'You slept all afternoon, that's not enough; keep me company and sleep a bit more.' Without further discussion, I pulled him into bed. Within minutes, he couldn't resist and pressed on top of me, kissing. I closed my eyes, for the first time imagining the person beside me as someone else—Little C. That night, I experienced an unprecedented orgasm but suffered insomnia afterward. The scenes from the day replayed repeatedly—no guilt, only reminiscence, and regret for not going all the way.
Touching with a hand, it's wet again.
On many nights that followed, I was torn between reason and desire. My body kept remembering those hands, remembering the teasing emptiness that had not been satisfied. I resolved countless times to go again, only to back out the next day. Until one day, desire finally overpowered everything.
I went to Meilaiya alone.
After a quick rinse, he went straight into the private room and asked for Xiao C by name. When he entered, he was visibly taken aback for a moment: 'Where is he?'
“Didn’t come.”
He walked silently to the bedside: “Sis, is it the same as last time?”
I let out an "Mmm," lying flat on my back with my limbs spread out.
This time, he did not hesitate. He directly lifted my top completely, dripped essential oil onto my breasts and navel, spread the oil in a circular motion with his hands, then gently yet firmly kneaded. I was so comfortable I almost cried out, but I held back desperately. 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 naked intoxicated me.
If he pulled down a little further, I wouldn't have stopped him. But he didn't. He just pressed seriously on the ovarian and uterine areas, his technique so professional it was almost cruel. He straddled my thighs, grabbed and kneaded my breasts clockwise with both hands, his fingertips applying force. My lower body heated up again, I knew I was soaked once more.
He suddenly got up and went out, brought back a hot towel, and carefully wiped me from the neck down, especially gentle over my breasts, but never crossing the boundary at the edge of the lower body. After wiping me clean, he told me to turn over, then pulled my shorts all the way down to my ankles. My entire back side was completely exposed.
Essential oil dripped evenly. He first kneaded the shoulders, then opened the back, his technique steady and strong. After massaging the waist, he began kneading the buttocks, hands moving in circles. He dripped oil into the butt crack, fingers slowly sliding down the middle, touching the back hole.
My body tensed up.
He asked: “Comfortable?”
“Mm…”
He gently circled around with his index finger without entering. Yet I had already begun to breathe in unsteady pants. At the right moment he used his left hand to reach around to hold my breast, while his right hand continued to roam across my back. It felt so good that I was a little dizzy, and my lower body tightened in waves.
He went out again to get a towel.
This time, he parted my legs from behind and meticulously wiped from my private parts all the way to my back hole. I knew he must have seen the mess. After wiping, he said, 'Turn over, let me rub your stomach again.'
I turned over.
The entire person was completely naked.
I closed my eyes, not pulling up my shorts or pulling down my shirt, just waiting like that. But he suddenly pulled up my shorts 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 also struggling on the edge.
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, covered my breast again with his right hand, gently pulled me up, lowered his head, and took one nipple into his mouth.
I finally couldn't hold back and tightly hugged his waist.
His tongue circled the areola, and his hand reached into the shorts to knead around the lower abdomen. I began to moan for real, my legs unconsciously spreading apart. His fingers finally touched that wet softness, and I actively lifted my private parts up toward him, biting his hand back with all my strength.
“Hurry... I can’t take it anymore.”
This was the first time I 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 pressed my legs down with his right leg, 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, I’m really happy that I can make you this ecstatic.”
I looked up and teased him: 'Look at you, not even sweating, just slacking off.'
He smiled shyly: “I don’t want to slack off... I want to do it with sis.”
This sentence was like the last match.
He laid me flat, carefully wiped away the sweat and love fluid with a towel, and took off my last clothes. I lay naked in front of him and took the initiative to spread my legs wider so he could see clearly. He just looked at me like that, and I felt desire again.
He suddenly held my hands down and leaned over to press his lips against my private part, his tongue gently parting it to focus on that one spot. I cried out again. He got up and turned on the TV to cover the sound, and after coming back he licked even more vigorously. I was twitching on the edge of orgasm, and my mouth had already begun to unconsciously beg him to enter.
He wanted to take off his clothes, but I pressed his head down and wouldn’t let him leave. In the wetness of his tongue and my trembling, for the first time I reached orgasm with that alone—clitoral orgasm, intense, unfamiliar, almost overwhelming.
I collapsed into a spread-eagle position. He climbed up 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, bulging against his underwear almost to the point of bursting. I reached out and touched it, startled in my heart.
“Are you wearing a condom?”
“I’m not doing this... no way.”
He had only done it with his girlfriend a few times. I was still hesitating when he had already pressed down in 69 position, once again attacking with his tongue. Faced with that straight-hard thing, I somehow put it into my mouth. It was too big; I could only hold the base to barely take it in and out. I stroked it with my hand, circled the tip with my tongue, and my other hand even slid toward his back hole. He was also using his tongue and fingers to probe my back hole at the same time, and I immediately stopped him—that place won’t do.
He immediately shifted targets, taking her front again and deepening his tongue inside. The stimulation made me cry out again, and my love juice almost filled his mouth. He was almost there too; I didn’t let go, and only after he shot did I barely swallow it down.
He panted, his gaze completely changed.
This time, he did not ask. He directly lifted my legs, positioning himself at the entrance. No condom. I looked at him and did not refuse again.
He pushed in little by little.
Too full. Fuller than any time before. I threw my head back, letting out a long, unrestrained moan. He began to move slowly, each thrust reaching the deepest point. I actively wrapped my arms around his waist, my heels pressing against his buttocks, urging him on silently.
The pace gradually quickened.
The sounds of flesh slapping, water, and my cries mingled together. He lowered his head to suck on my nipple, while his thrusts below grew fiercer. I felt myself being utterly opened up, 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 surged into the deepest part in waves.
We held each other tightly, neither of us moving immediately. Sweat, semen, and love fluids mixed together, the air thick with the scent of desire.
After a long time, he withdrew and used a warm towel to carefully clean me. Looking at his serious profile, I suddenly felt a bit dazed—was the person who had just completely given themselves over really me?
He helped me get dressed and said in a very low voice: "Sis... will you come again next time?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Only before leaving did she look back at the room where everything had just happened.
Reason tells me I shouldn't come again.
But the body had already memorized those hands, that thing, that feeling of being completely possessed.
I know I'm already on the path of corruption.
And what was even more terrifying—I didn'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 without asking much. Little C was already waiting in the private room. Once the door closed, the world contained only the two of us.
This time he didn't engage in any more foreplay-like teasing.
I had just taken off my coat when he hugged me from behind, one hand directly reaching into 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 very low: "When you touched yourself last night, who were you thinking of?"
I didn't answer, just pushed my body toward his hand.
Clothes soon littered the floor. He made me kneel on the massage table and entered from behind. This time was especially deep. Each thrust pushed me forward a bit, only to be pulled back by him. I buried my face in my arms, unable to suppress my cries. He reached around to fondle my breasts, the pressure just right—painful yet pleasurable. When I climaxed, my whole body shook, my insides clenching so tightly he let out a low growl. But he didn't ejaculate immediately, instead continuing to grind slowly, pushing me to a second wave.
After coming inside, he didn't pull out, but flipped me over in that position, 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 asked, panting, “have you ever thought about what would happen if this kept going?”
Looking into his eyes, I seriously considered this question for the first time.
What would happen?
Discovered? Divorce? Or just keep sinking secretly, time and time again, until one day there's 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 began to learn 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 time, 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 sense 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 it. He asked: 'Have you been particularly busy lately?'
My action of changing shoes paused for a moment, then I smiled: "The project is on a tight schedule, it's really tiring."
He nodded and didn’t ask further. But that night he took the initiative once, doing it longer than usual and with more force than usual. With my eyes closed, I had to imagine the person on top of me was Xiao C just to barely feel anything. After he came, he held me and said in a muffled voice: “Do you... have something you’re hiding from me?”
My heart skipped a beat.
“No.” I heard my own voice, unnervingly steady. “You’re overthinking it.”
He said nothing more, only held me 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.
On the contrary, it made the excitement of the next meeting even stronger.
Once Xiao C suddenly suggested if we could change locations.
“It’s been here all along, too stifling.” While helping 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 right away. But my body had already reacted first—my lower abdomen tightened, and my breathing hitched for a moment.
Three days later, I went to that apartment.
More private than the private 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 actively 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 cry out 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, for the first time not hurrying 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 this thing between us is?"
He was silent for a long time before saying, “It’s nothing. 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, the days were like a slow drowning.
I started staying overnight in 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 other end of the line, only saying 'come back early.'
After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking.
Little C hugged me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, saying nothing. I turned around and kissed him proactively, swallowing all my panic into that kiss. That night, we did it again, especially slowly and quietly. I cried when he entered me; he kissed away my tears but didn't ask why.
Since then, spending the night became an occasional norm.
I will tell my husband in advance, "Tonight I might not be coming back," using various excuses. Every time I lie on that bed that doesn't belong to marriage, being embraced by another man from behind as I fall asleep, I clearly know I'm crossing a much more dangerous line. But my body has become addicted, and the voice of reason is getting weaker and 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 at the door, but as soon as the elevator doors closed, I immediately sent a message to Xiao C. He replied quickly: Sending you the address.
I went.
Those two days felt stolen from reality. We hardly went out, just stayed in the apartment having sex, sleeping, and 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, pinning me against the tiles and entering; he would suddenly wake in the 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 returned, 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 naturally reached over, and I suddenly felt a strange sense of unfamiliarity.
That night I suffered from insomnia.
Staring at his sleeping face, for the first time I truly asked myself: If discovered, what should I do?
The answer is vague.
I don't know if I can ever return 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 turned into a canyon.
And I'm still going down.
One day, Xiao C suddenly said he might leave this city.
“Company transfer, to the neighboring province.” His voice was flat, but his fingers gently tightened on my back, “Two more months.”
I froze completely.
Two months.
And then what? Was that it? Like a dream that ends the moment it’s over?
I didn't speak, just buried my face in his chest. His heartbeat was steady, mine was chaotic and intense. That day we made love 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 long, long time.
“Sis,” he said softly, “if you want... I can try to stay.”
I shook my head.
It wasn’t because he wasn’t important, but because I knew clearly—this relationship had no future from the start. It was built on lies, desire, and stolen time, unable to withstand any real test. But even knowing that, I still couldn’t let go right away.
The last two months were like a countdown carnival.
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 spread out before us. When the wind blew, I shivered from the cold, but 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. My husband asked how it got so messy. I said, 'I wasn't careful while walking.' He looked 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 barely slept. We did it again and again until both of us were exhausted. When he helped clean 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 held my hand and placed it against his own chest, saying nothing.
The answer was already in his silence.
The next day, I didn't go to see him off.
I just sat in the car, looking at the flight information on my phone, until it showed “departed.” Then I started the car and drove toward home. When I stopped at the red light, I looked at myself in the mirror — exquisite makeup, a calm expression, like an ordinary wife preparing to go home for dinner.
But only I know that there is still something left in my body from what he left behind the last time.
Back home, my husband was cooking in the kitchen. Seeing me return, he looked up and smiled: 'Perfect timing, I made your favorite today.'
I walked over, hugged him from behind, and buried my face in his back.
His body was warm, familiar, yet could no longer fill those places in me that had already been opened.
We did it once in the evening.
I closed my eyes, using all my strength to respond. When I climaxed, I cried out loudly; he thought I had finally relaxed and happily kissed me afterward. I lay in the dark, listening to his breathing gradually steady, but I stayed awake until dawn.
The sky outside the window gradually brightens.
I know Little C has left.
That chapter which began at Meilaiya and grew wildly in the apartment officially came to a close. But my body still remembered. Whenever desire surged at night, my first instinct was still to reach for my phone—even though that number in the contacts was no longer reachable.
Sometimes I would drive past Meilaiya.
Looking at that familiar door, my foot no longer presses the brake. I just slowly drive past, like watching a dream that has already ended.
But was the dream really over?
I'm not sure.
Because on some nights, I still quietly get up after my husband falls asleep, walk to the living room, and sit in the dark. My legs are pressed together, but my hand uncontrollably slips into my pajama pants. Recalling those nights with wrists tied, being entered from behind on the balcony, the feeling of being ejaculated into the deepest part 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, I softly said to myself:
The fall has already begun.
And I, would continue to fall further.
Even if the place I'm falling toward no longer has him.
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