My wife and I have always had a very good relationship. We share almost 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 force exclusivity? The joy of sex and the joy of love are two different experiences and can coexist perfectly.
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, making you ecstatic and feel like you're in heaven. 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. She has delicate features, a well-proportioned figure, and smooth skin. Many people pursued her before marriage, but in the end, she chose me. Over the years of marriage, we have become all too familiar with each other's bodies. But familiarity can sometimes turn into monotony.
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 party was interested in her. If she went, it was very likely to lead to 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 view to her again: love can be exclusive, but sex can have more possibilities. Different people can bring different pleasures, which is a supplement to the existing relationship, not a replacement.
My wife was silent for a long time, and finally, we agreed: when at the other'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, they might be dining.
At 8 o'clock, maybe chatting.
At nine o'clock, he may already have gone to the other person's residence.
At ten o’clock, the phone rang.
My wife's voice carried obvious panting: 'Honey... I'm working overtime tonight, I won't be coming back.'
My heart 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 tea. But I couldn't help imagining: at this moment, 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 she only made when most aroused...
It was nearly noon the next day when my wife returned.
Her eyes were somewhat red, but her steps were light. I asked her how she felt.
She leaned over, directly into my arms, her voice filled with satisfaction: 'Better than I imagined.'
I carried her to the bed, kissing her while listening to her speak softly.
That man was somewhat restrained at first, just kissing her incessantly. Later, his hand slipped under her clothes, felt the place already soaked, and then he completely let go. He was very skilled with his tongue, first licking gently, 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, each time bringing her to climax.
Listening to her description, I was so hard it hurt. I pinned her to the bed and entered her directly. There was still wet slickness left inside her from last night, tight yet unusually soft. As I thrust in and out, I couldn’t help asking her, “When he did you, was he rougher than me?”
The wife moaned from being thrust, yet 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 softly said: "This is the happiest day of my life."
I also said: 'Me too. Because you are happy, I am happy.'
I made another request: next time, could you invite him home so I can watch from the side?
My wife thought for a moment and nodded.
Three days later, the wife called to invite him over to the house, using the excuse that I was on a business trip.
At ten o'clock in the evening, 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 coquettishly replied, her tone full of anticipation.
The man quickly untied her pajamas. My wife wasn't wearing anything underneath. He carried her to the bed and quickly stripped naked himself.
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 didn’t rush to go in, but first rubbed against her with his body. His hairy thigh brushed back and forth between her legs, occasionally grazing the sensitive spot, and his wife soon let out a faint, thin moan. Then he lowered his head, carefully licking with his tongue, almost licking away her arousal fluid, before turning to a more hidden place.
The wife couldn't take it anymore and actively reached out to grasp his penis, taking it into her mouth. The two formed a 69 position. The man's tongue wandered around her behind, while the wife attentively pleased him.
After a while, the man lifted her legs onto his shoulders, aimed, and entered her completely.
The wife let out a long sigh, her voice full of satisfaction. The man began thrusting, his movements starting slow and gradually speeding up, each time going in very deep. The wife's moans gradually grew more unrestrained, her waist actively meeting his movements.
I stood in the shadows, seeing everything clearly. Her expression, her voice, her body's reactions—all were vividly displayed before my eyes. I was painfully hard, but I forced myself to only watch and not act.
The man tried several positions. Side entry, from behind, having her kneel on all fours. Each change was smooth, the rhythm of thrusting almost uninterrupted. He would also slap her buttocks with his hand, or use his fingers to enter her back passage in coordination, the dual stimulation bringing my wife to climax again and again.
During climax, my wife would cry out things she would never normally say, calling him 'stud' or 'stallion', begging him to be rougher. The man remained silent, only thrusting more fiercely.
After that night, they did it three times. Each time they finished, the man's member remained inside her for a long time, the two of them just holding each other and panting like that.
After dawn, the man kissed his wife, picked up his ever-present leather suitcase, and left.
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 has kept up a once-a-week meeting with that man. Sometimes the location was at my place, sometimes at his. Each time, my wife would tell me in advance where to hide so I could see more clearly.
I gradually discovered 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 spice in our marriage.
Until one day, my wife deliberately mentioned that suitcase on the phone.
The man arrived as promised with the suitcase. When opened, it contained all sorts of adult toys—various sizes of devices, lubricant, rope, blindfolds, ice cubes, candles... everything you could imagine.
My wife looked at those things, her eyes lighting up.
The man said with a smile, 'All of these can make you feel more comfortable.'
The wife turned her head to look in the direction where I was hiding, a slight 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 grew hot. My wife's body glistened with sweat under the light, each orgasm making her whole body tense up then go completely limp. Finally, the man entered her, his movements deep and heavy, releasing everything he had pent up for so long inside her.
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... even more excessive than before."
I kissed her forehead: "Do you want to continue?"
She thought for a moment and 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, still remain 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 message me in advance with the time and location. Sometimes at home, sometimes at the other person's rented apartment. 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 my wife. His hands were steady, sliding from her back to her waist, then probing under her clothes. My wife would actively raise her arms to let him take off her top. She was no longer as shy as she had been at first; her movements when 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 look back at me, her eyes confirming, also inviting. I nodded, and only then did she truly relax.
The man was very good with his mouth.
He would start with her neck, going all the way down, lingering long on her collarbone and chest, lightly scraping her nipple with his teeth before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. His wife's hands would slip into his hair, her breathing gradually becoming irregular. By the time he truly buried himself between her legs, she was already soaked. His tongue was long and nimble, deliberately avoiding the most sensitive spots and circling only around them, 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 said.
The man didn't speak, just brought two fingers together and slowly pushed them in, while his tongue finally pressed against the already swollen little nub. Her 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 was hard to the point of pain, but I just held myself without actually doing anything. This feeling of being allowed to watch but temporarily not participate actually stretched the excitement even longer.
After my wife's first orgasm passed, the man would put on a condom and enter her while holding her hips. He was indeed a size larger than me, and each time he entered, my wife would make that sound of being both stretched and satisfied. He wasn't in a hurry to speed up; instead, he would slowly thrust in and out fully at first, letting her adjust, then gradually increase the force.
My 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 good she felt. I would nod, and only then would she cry out louder.
A complete round usually lasts more than an hour. The man will switch between two or three positions, and when taking her from behind he will deliberately make her face me so I can see more clearly. The wife is thrust forward with each impact, her breasts swaying, sweat running down her back. Her voice, at first restrained, gradually turns wanton, and in the end she will cry and beg him to cum inside.
When the man ejaculated, he would thrust in deep, pressing his whole body against her as he gasped for breath. My 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 the inside of her thigh and drip onto the sheets.
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 from being used, and between her legs was slippery and wet. I usually first cleaned those traces with my tongue before entering her. Inside, she was hot and soft, more sensitive than usual, and would climax again with just a few movements.
Once after we finished, 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 honestly, 'There's a little bit. But more than that, it's excitement. Seeing you so happy, then returning to me, feels like you're entrusting the most private part only to me to finish.'
My wife was silent for a while, then gently bit my collarbone: 'That's good. I was 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 made the rules much clearer.
At most twice a month.
Must use a condom.
After it ends, there must be private time for just the two of us.
If either side says stop, stop immediately, no negotiation.
The man seemed to sense the tacit understanding between us. He no longer came just to satisfy his desires; occasionally, he would stay a little longer and chat with my wife. Once, after he left, my wife told me that he was actually divorced, his child was already in college, and the reason he was willing to maintain this relationship was because he liked the feeling of being 'allowed, yet not possessed.'
After listening, I just nodded.
Some nights, we intentionally don't invite him.
Just the two of them, closing the door, dimming the lights, and using the rhythm and techniques he had learned from him to rediscover each other’s bodies. 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 such moments, she instead felt even more intimate — because all techniques ultimately only served the two of them.
One weekend afternoon, the sunlight was very good. We sat on the rattan chairs on the balcony, the child doing homework in the room. My wife suddenly leaned over, resting her head on my shoulder, her voice very soft:
“Next month……are we still meeting?”
I held her hand, my thumb slowly rubbing her knuckles.
“If you want to, then ask me out.”
She gave an 'Mm' and didn't speak again.
The wind from outside the balcony blew in, carrying the warmth of early summer. Faint sounds of a child flipping through books came from inside the room. We sat there, holding hands, quiet like countless ordinary afternoons.
It’s just that there is one more layer of secret known only to each other. That layer of secrecy didn’t push us apart; instead, it made getting close feel even clearer.
After early summer passed, the rhythm gradually settled into place.
Meeting twice a month became our tacit 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, keeping this matter in mind, but no longer lying awake all night like I did at the beginning. The excitement was still there, just mixed with a bit more composure.
When the man entered the house, he always exchanged an unhurried kiss with his wife first. 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 already skilled at telling him the intensity and rhythm she preferred.
I sat on the sofa in the corner, the lights dimmed low. My wife occasionally glanced back 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 thrusts pushed the wife forward, her hands braced against the headboard. She suddenly spoke, her voice broken and intermittent:
“Let him... come 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 tilted her head up and kissed me, her breath still carrying the panting from being filled by another man. The man didn't withdraw; he just slowed his movements. The distance between the three of us suddenly became very close.
That night we tried ways we had never thought of before.
The wife knelt on the bed, simultaneously taking me in her mouth while being entered from behind by the man. Her hands rested on my waist, her throat making 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 a moment longer before pulling out.
During the cleanup afterward, my wife leaned back in the bathtub with her eyes closed. I sat beside her and used hot water to wash away the traces between her legs. She suddenly grabbed my hand, her voice still hoarse:
“Just now... did you think something 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 time, smiled gently.
“Then that’s good.”
When summer ended, the man proposed leaving the city for a while. A work transfer, probably three or four months.
After hearing it, the wife just nodded and didn't try to make him stay. When seeing him off at the door, they exchanged a very ordinary hug. After the door closed, the room suddenly fell quiet.
I walked over and hugged her from behind.
"It's over?" I asked.
My wife leaned against my chest, thought for a moment, and said: 'Let's end it 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 any more appointments with anyone.
Weekend nights became time for just the two of us again. We would put the child to sleep, close the door, and slowly re-familiarize ourselves with each other. My wife would actively climb on top, controlling the depth herself, moving while looking into my eyes. She said during times like these, she actually felt more complete—all the techniques, all the sensitive spots, ultimately only served the two of us.
One night, after we finished, she lay on my chest and suddenly said:
"Before, I always thought that giving my body to someone else meant losing something. Only now did I realize that what is truly lost was never the body, but the desire I was too afraid 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?'
My wife looked up, gazing at me seriously.
"I want to. But not now. Let's decide together when we both feel ready."
I nodded.
The wind outside the window carried the chill of autumn. Inside the room, it was very quiet, leaving only the sound of each other's breathing.
We are still a married couple. We still argue about the kids' homework, still go to the supermarket together on Sundays, still cuddle on the sofa watching a boring TV drama.
It’s just that there is one more layer of a secret that we guarded together.
That layer of secrecy didn't make us strangers; instead, it made the way we got closer even clearer—what could be shared, what must be kept only for each other, we already understood in our hearts.
And the story was still moving forward.
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