Recalling the first crossing, the single man Xiao Cai from Yilan,
I mentioned it to Jia Hui more than once, and even showed Jia Hui the other person's photo, and let her listen to that man's voice.
"This is just a massage, you're not unfamiliar with it."
Every time I arrange for a single man to massage, I say it like this, in a casual tone, as if talking about booking a beauty course.
But she didn't respond, only using that familiar silence to tell me she was weighing it, not submitting.
In my heart, there was a trace of unease, and a bit of excitement. That contradictory pull was something I had anticipated long ago.
I wasn't unprepared for her possibly backing out at the last minute, but the more that was the case, the more it fascinated me—that 'uncertainty' itself was the reason I planned all this.
Lying in bed, she turned her side away from me, her breathing very shallow. I stared at the ceiling, but my mind was spinning like a fan.
I imagined her expression when she first met him tomorrow. Would it be awkward? Would she try to smile? Or not even lift her head?
I also wondered if, at that moment, she might suddenly say in a tone I've never heard, "I'm not doing it."
In that case, should I pretend to be surprised? Or stay silent and let her decide whether to withdraw?
My desire for control doesn't want to admit that everything is beyond grasp, but a part of me is waiting for this unknown.
She suddenly spoke, her voice low:
"He knows we're a couple, right?"
I turned to look at her, she still had her back to me.
"He knows, and he knows we'll both be there. He understands the boundaries."
She didn't answer. After a long time, I thought she was asleep, but I heard her say again:
"Then, do you know what I'll become?"
I was speechless for a moment. Her voice had no emotion, but every word was like a needle, slowly piercing into my heart.
I didn't respond, just quietly approached and gently held her wrist. She didn't pull away, but didn't grip back either.
That night, we just lay there statically, neither truly falling asleep.
After a while, she turned over and finally faced me.
In the room, only the dim bedside lamp in the corner, its light falling on her face, stripping her expression clean—no anger, no compromise.
"I have a few rules." Her voice wasn't loud, but her tone was clear, as if prepared in advance.
I didn't speak, just nodded slightly.
"First, he can't touch my chest." Her eyes didn't flicker, "Whether it's massage or anything else."
"Okay." I responded quickly, even a bit urgently, as if afraid her next words would be harsher.
She continued: "Second, you can't leave the room."
I thought to myself, this opportunity is rare, how could I possibly leave the room!
"Third," she paused, her gaze turning cold, "If I say stop, end it immediately. No discussion."
This time, I was silent for a few seconds before slowly nodding.
"I promise you." I said, staring into her eyes.
But she didn't turn away immediately, nor did she relax. She just looked at me, as if waiting for something. Maybe for me to ask: "What if you don't say stop?"
But I didn't ask.
I just slowly reached out to hold her fingertip. She let me, but her hand was cold, and we didn't speak again that night.
Those conditions were like needles stuck in my mind, pinned to the unknown boundaries of tomorrow. The rules were set, but neither of us knew which one would truly be touched.
After noon, after eating, we drove from National Freeway 2 towards Yilan, she leaned against the window, face turned to the mountain scenery outside, taking selfies on her own, not saying a word.
I glanced at her sideways, trying to start a conversation: "We're meeting Xiao Cai at 4 p.m. Not sure how long the Xue Tunnel will be congested. Hope we can arrive early to prepare."
She didn't turn back, just nodded lightly, as if treating that sentence like a weather report, listened to it, noted it, but didn't express an opinion.
I wasn't giving up, and added: "He looks a bit chubby, but he's quite polite. His speech doesn't make people uncomfortable."
Only then did she slowly turn her head and look at me.
"Speech doesn't make people uncomfortable, but I don't know if my body will be uncomfortable?"
I didn't expect her to ask that, and was momentarily speechless. Her tone wasn't heavy, but the question was like a knife cutting the surface, not deep, but precise.
"I just hope the whole process is something you can accept."
After hearing that, she smiled lightly.
"Accepting and being willing are two different things."
I wanted to explain something, but realized anything I said would sound like sophistry.
She didn't wait for me to speak, and turned back to the window, her tone calm almost to the point of indifference:
"You've always wanted to see me make a choice, but you've actually already chosen, right?"
I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. This stretch of road suddenly felt very long, and the navigation said it would take one hour and twenty-five minutes.
She suddenly added, as if speaking to herself:
"But I also want to see if I can really live by those rules."
Those words were like a stone thrown into the heart lake, not stirring waves, but the depths were already chaotic.
I didn't say anything more, just focused on driving.
We arrived at the hotel at 3:40 p.m., the weather was muggy, as soon as the car window was lowered, the humidity stuck to our faces.
Yilan's air is always like this, thick like unspoken words.
The room was at the very end, I swiped the card, the door beeped open, inside came the smell of dry air conditioning mixed with a bit of sandalwood scent.
"It's really beautiful." I tried to say it casually, putting down the luggage.
Jia Hui walked in, stood at the door for a moment before taking off her shoes, then went around the bed to the floor-to-ceiling window.
She didn't speak, just used her hand to part the curtains, and instantly light poured in, making her silhouette transparent.
I observed the room's layout—wooden floors, simple wooden furniture, a larger double bed and a mountain-facing bathtub.
In the corner, there was an aromatherapy machine, with a pot of hot water and two teacups; the whole scene was almost like a show room, perfect without any sense of life.
"Do you want to wash up first?" I said, in a flat tone.
"Should I take a shower?" She turned back, her tone emotionless, but I heard a hint of weariness.
"Do you remember the rules?"
She stared at me for a few seconds, nodded, as if reminding me: I remember, and don't you forget.
I watched her walk to the bathroom, before closing the door, she turned back and added:
"When he arrives, you open the door, don't smile too obviously."
That tone was like a slap, not heavy, but resounding.
I didn't respond, just stood there, listening to the water sound from the bathroom, my heartbeat a bit fast, not knowing if it was from nervousness or shame.
The phone in my hand vibrated, it was a message from the single man Xiao Cai:
"I've arrived, waiting for you in the lobby."
I looked at that line, didn't reply immediately.
Just sat on the edge of the bed, quietly listening to the water sound continuously splashing on the tiles, like some kind of countdown signal.
Truth be told, this wasn't a sudden impulse.
I had thought about this day long ago, and prepared for it countless times.
Forums, posts, those ambiguous and blush-inducing experience shares—I had seen too many.
Every comment from those men described something addictive: stimulation in the midst of losing control, yet still having a sense of control.
They said: "You think you'll be jealous, but at that moment, it's even more exciting."
I don't know if I'm the same. But I remember when I first read those stories, my heartbeat was faster than anything.
It's not about betrayal, but—curiosity, wanting to know where the limit is.
Currently following the rhythm I've arranged, this isn't for her good, I know.
It's for myself. A desire I can't tell friends about, or be honest with my wife—I want her to make a breakthrough.
Now sitting here, phone still in hand, the single man Xiao Cai has already said he's here. As long as I reply "You can come now", everything will start.
But I'm still waiting.
I don't want to admit that I'm more nervous than anyone.
I'm afraid he won't meet expectations, and afraid he'll be too perfect.
I'm afraid Jia Hui will be scared, and more afraid she won't be. Afraid she'll show even a hint of enjoyment, even for a second.
Those netizen stories, one by one, like scripts. But today, this isn't a story, it's my wife, in progress.
I even don't know if that thin string tying her ponytail is also for this preparation.
I want to see, and I'm afraid to see.
That's the state.
I lowered my head to look at the phone, my finger hovered on the keyboard for a while, then replied:
"You can come now."
The moment I pressed send, I knew,
Not just the door will open, something in my heart will never close again.
The bathroom door opened, steam rushed out, carrying a bit of her shampoo scent, clean but not sweet.
When she came out, she hadn't changed clothes, still wearing that original white knitted thin-strapped dress,
Just like what she usually wears at home—familiar enough to make me illusion that what's next is just an ordinary afternoon tea.
She stood in front of me, didn't sit down, didn't joke, her eyes straight at me, as if nailing something into my mind.
"Before he comes in, I want you to listen again."
I put down the phone and nodded.
She didn't hesitate, speaking slowly, one by one, like listing articles of law.
"First, he can only touch the places on the body that should be touched, other places, no. I'll make it clear. Don't try to decide for me."
"Second, throughout the process, you have to be present, and not interrupt, not lead, not ask about my feelings."
She stared at me, her gaze clear enough to make one panic.
"You're not the director, nor the audience. You're the person I allow to sit here."
I pursed my lips, wanted to say something, but she continued.
"Third—" Her voice softened a bit, "If I say stop, for any reason, you immediately ask him to leave, immediately."
"I will." I said softly.
She nodded, her gaze unwavering, yet clearly scrutinizing.
"I know you've seen many other people's stories, fantasized about many plots. But I want you to understand, this isn't a plot, nor an experiment."
She stepped forward, standing very close to me, her gaze suddenly calm and sharp:
"This is our wedding. If something happens today, it won't just stay tonight. You want me to take this step, then you have to bear the distance that follows."
I replied softly: "I can bear it."
"But you've never asked if I'll push you down."
That sentence was like suddenly hitting the brakes, the car didn't flip, but my mind was clear as if splashed with ice water.
She stepped back, sat on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath.
Soon, "ding dong, ding dong" the doorbell rang.
"Wife, you go open the door."
I don't know when, my hand was already holding the phone, lens aimed at the door.
I switched it to video mode, no sound, no close-up, just a corner, a door, a light.
The scene was quietly almost false, but I knew—it was a moment that would change something.
I didn't say "I'm recording", and she didn't ask. She just looked up at me, didn't refuse, didn't avoid.
Then, she stood up.
That movement was slow, as if letting herself get used to the weight of her body, and as if letting me remember this scene well.
She didn't change clothes, hair slightly wet, barefoot, step by step towards the door.
On the phone screen in front of me, it was vibrating—not a message, but the palpitation from my own heartbeat through my fingertips.
I was recording. Recording this 'first time' I carefully designed, yet like an outsider, only peeking through the screen.
When she reached the door, she paused. Not hesitation, but confirmation.
The door lock made a light click. That sound was much lighter than I imagined, yet like someone gently knocking on my heart.
I gripped the phone tightly, staring at her back.
She turned her head, glanced at me lightly, no blame, no weakness, just one sentence:
"You'd better know that what you're recording now is something you'll always remember."
My throat tightened, I didn't respond to her.
Because she was right. This isn't recording, it's branding.
The door opened. In the frame appeared a ray of light, and that man's figure. He stood outside, holding a small bag,
With that 'professional and friendly' expression on his face.
She didn't smile, didn't make small talk, just nodded, letting him in.
I didn't move, just continued recording, like a calm observer.
But I knew—I was no longer just an observer.
This scene was arranged by me, but from now on, it's no longer something I can control.
She went to open the door, I didn't move, just my fingers steadily holding the phone, the lens fixed on the door.
I originally thought I'd be agitated, trembling, like those netizens said 'nervous to death yet excited to the extreme'—
But no.
Now, I just feel like someone sitting in front of a monitor, recording while waiting for the image in front.
The door opened.
The single man Xiao Cai appeared, not tall, fair-skinned and slightly chubby, entered the room and nodded frequently in greeting, his smile at the corner of his mouth forced yet proper.
Wearing a simple blue POLO shirt and dark jeans, a small bag with essential oil slung over his shoulder. He said: "Brother Xiao Qi, Sister Jia Hui, hello, I'm Xiao Cai."
"Hello, please come in." Jia Hui responded, I could tell her voice was suppressed, as if pressed in her throat, not wanting the tone to float up.
But I could also tell, she wasn't trembling.
When he came in, he carefully glanced at me, as if confirming this was a 'couple arrangement' without mistake. I nodded, he politely smiled, didn't say more.
When Jia Hui turned around, from the lens I saw her fleeting expression—calm, with a bit of distance, yet not resistance.
She didn't look at me.
She walked to the center of the room, hands crossed in front of her abdomen, as if waiting for instructions,
"Do I need to prepare anything first?" That man asked her, not looking at me.
"Just follow your usual procedure." She said.
I held the phone and slowly moved, adjusting the angle to clearly capture both her and that man in the frame.
I continued to casually take photos and videos, and invited them to take a few commemorative photos in the room.
Looking at their photo together, my heart was already starting to get excited:
On one hand, hoping he would get closer quickly, letting the scene enter the 'plot'.
Jia Hui sat on the edge of the bed, a blanket draped over her shoulders, head down looking at her fingers, not speaking.
That man sat beside her, keeping his distance, not speaking, not urging.
I looked at her, didn't make a sound either. At that moment, everyone knew that saying too much would ruin the atmosphere.
After a few casual chats, I couldn't hold back the desire for NTR, I asked: Is it starting?
Jia Hui knowingly slowly lay sideways on the bed, then rolled into a prone position. Her back was to us, clothes still on, not taken off. But that pose itself was a kind of openness.
I sat, the lens still on my knee, but I already forgot whether I was taking photos or recording evidence of my own heartbeat.
That man got up, took a clean white towel from the side, gently covered her lower back, movements slow and careful.
His hand hovered over her back for two seconds before he spoke: "I'll start from here, is that okay?"
She nodded, her voice unclear, but he saw that small action and began.
His hand came down.
Light, like ash falling on a piece of paper.
At that instant, my breathing almost stopped. Not because of what he did, but because she didn't retreat.
He started from the middle of her back, pressing finger by finger, rhythm steady. Her shoulder blades slowly relaxed, her breathing became a bit heavier, not yet a moan, just the body's natural response.
I stared at her back, seeing her fingers gently grasp the bedsheet, as if reminding herself 'I'm still in control'.
The single man Xiao Cai continued downward, his hand falling at the junction of her waist and hip bone, still covered by the towel.
He didn't go too fast, just paused and said: "Is here okay?"
She hesitated for half a second, then said: "It's okay. Just go slower."
That sentence wasn't loud, but clear enough.
She said an 'it's okay'.
In my mind, I replayed the tone of those two words over and over: Was it submission? Release? Or—a test to know her own limit?
The scene of the single man giving Jia Hui a massage fast-forwards, for sex, the massage seems boring, no need for elaboration.
"Thank you for choosing me." His tone was polite, but his eyes seemed to seek the next step's atmosphere.
Jia Hui sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped on her legs. She looked up, nodded at him: "You've worked hard."
I still sat in place, didn't say much, just picked up the teapot and poured hot water for the three of us.
We three sat around the small round table, in that 'awkward chat' posture, no one deliberately led the topic.
He said: "Do you... have any other arrangements?"
Jia Hui didn't answer immediately, just glanced at me.
I didn't抢答.
I just pushed the cup forward a bit, as if saying: "You decide."
She blew a breath, her gaze not avoiding, tone still steady: "If there's a second half... are you prepared?"
That man was stunned for a moment, quickly reacted, tone gentle but measured: "If you think it's appropriate, I can continue. But it depends on your willingness."
When he said 'your', his eyes were looking at me.
As if hoping I'd help, lend my wife to him for release.
In that instant, I turned to look at Jia Hui—no expression, no flicker, not catering.
She was just like a woman making a choice in a meeting, the decision in her hands!
"I can." She said lightly.
When that sentence fell, time seemed to pause for a second.
Then, she added: "But... you still have to ask me first. Every step, you have to ask."
That man nodded, tone clear: "You say it's okay, then I'll move."
Jia Hui took a sip of water, her gaze turned to me, tone flat: "Will you continue recording?"
I didn't answer immediately, just slowly put down the cup and nodded.
She didn't say anything, just lowered her head and said: "Then remember to record every word I say."
Then, the single man Xiao Cai got up and walked to the foot of the bed.
He said he wanted to take a simple shower, and before entering the bathroom, he politely asked: "Do you mind?"
I smiled and said: "No, please."
The door closed.
The water sound started soon, strong and regular, like washing something, also like an ending signal.
I looked at Jia Hui—she had just finished the back massage, sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers still a bit oily.
She didn't look at me, didn't speak. Just picked up the tissue on the table and gently wiped her palm.
I picked up the phone, as if casually said: "Let me take a few, for memory."
She turned her head and looked at me, no smile, yet didn't refuse.
I raised the lens, she didn't pose specially, just sat up a bit straighter, her face very pale, like she had just washed her face without makeup.
I pressed the phone to take a photo.
Looking at her in the frame, her expression was clean, eyes on the lens, yet with no emotion.
Suddenly, I had an indescribable feeling—like photographing a woman who no longer belongs to me.
There was no dialogue between us. She didn't ask what the photos were for, I didn't ask what she was thinking.
But that silence was heavier than when I was recording earlier.
The water sound continued, like a isolating line, enclosing us in a shell with just the two of us.
"It has to be worn, right?"
Xiao Cai asked with a smile, bending down to take something out of his bag. His tone was light, like joking, yet probing.
Jia Hui didn't smile, not even glancing over: "Yes. Wearing it is for everyone's good."
Her tone wasn't heavy, but direct. No hesitation.
I lifted my head, looking from the sofa edge at her, she was tying up her hair, movements neat, expression cold and calm, as if stating an extremely obvious rule—like the safety instructions before a cabin takes off, she's said it a thousand times, no patience to explain why.
Xiao Cai was stunned for a moment, his mouth twitched: "I thought maybe it wouldn't be necessary..."
I saw the smile on his face gradually stiffen, and my body unconsciously leaned forward a bit, as if wanting to help, but not knowing what to say.
"You're not afraid of getting sick?"
Jia Hui's words, without raising her voice, but her tone clearly hardened. Like her boundary finally surfaced, like a white line drawn on the ground, anyone crossing it wouldn't be a misunderstanding.
Xiao Cai didn't say more, lowered his head and fiddled with the thing in his hand. I watched his hands finally start to skillfully open the aluminum foil packaging—he complied.
But my heart was in chaos.
My wife, she was calmer than I imagined, calm enough to make me feel cold.
Her words "wearing it is for everyone's good", was it really just for health? Or, to make the whole thing feel like a management? Like how she always controls every sudden situation, minimizing the risk.
I watched her composure, calm, without a trace of compromise. She protected herself well, even her expression seemed trained.
Suddenly, I didn't know if the truly panicking person tonight was actually me.
{Video screenshot 1}
He put it on.
The sound of the aluminum foil being crumpled was particularly clear in this quiet room,
Like a not-too-loud declaration—that from this moment, nothing could pretend it didn't happen.
I sat on the corner sofa, hands crossed, knuckles turning white.
My gaze didn't dare linger too long, just kept shifting between the painting on the wall, the seams in the floor, and that unfinished cup of water.
Jia Hui turned to look at Xiao Cai.
That gaze had no passion, no resistance, only a calm almost professional confirmation.
Like a doctor double-checking instruments before surgery.
She leaned towards him, no pause, no asking if he was ready.
I didn't know when she became so straightforward, straightforward as if she had no time to feel shame, struggle, or guilt.
She stopped in front of Xiao Cai.
Not desire, but a kind of active tacit understanding, a 'follow me' reminder.
I felt something pressing on my chest, stuffy. Not because of what they were about to do, but because—she seemed to no longer need my consent.
As she pulled him towards the bed, she turned back and glanced at me.
Just a glance, short, but I'll always remember that gaze.
It wasn't guilt, nor explanation.
It was a gaze trying to stabilize the situation, confirming I was 'still sitting there'. As if saying:
"Can you hold on?"
I didn't nod, and she didn't wait.
The room's light didn't change, but I felt as if the whole world had blurred.
My breathing grew more chaotic, I couldn't say how stimulating it was, I just knew the distance between Jia Hui and Xiao Cai was only that thin layer.
Xiao Cai stood, body slightly stiff, hands hanging at his sides. He didn't speak, didn't dare move. The whole room was unnaturally quiet.
Jia Hui bent her knees slightly, hand on his waist side, head slowly lowered, but her back straight,
That was a posture I was too familiar with—the flight attendant's demeanor.
Even now without a uniform, even not in a cabin at 30,000 feet, she was still like walking the aisle between cabins, step by step, neither fast nor slow.
Xiao Cai stood in place, a bit nervous, like a passenger on a business class for the first time,
Looked up at me, clearly panicked, then murmured lowly: "She... really knelt down."
I didn't answer, my throat felt stuck with sand.
And she, just glanced at him, gaze gentle yet unquestionable, like what she said to those business class passengers:
"Hello, I'm the cabin crew for this flight—Jia Hui!"
Jia Hui elegantly knelt on one knee, that wasn't a humiliating kneel, it was a trained, precise and steady squat,
Like how she carefully poured water for a dizzy passenger on the plane, controlling every drop's sway.
Her hand fell on both sides of his thighs, fingers naturally spread, fingertips aligned, standard as if there were company regulations checking behind her.
I stood not far away, suddenly feeling she wasn't kneeling for him, nor submitting.
She was like performing a pre-flight procedure on a long-haul route—not for anyone, but to let everything land stably.
As she lowered her head, her hair fell, covering her cheek.
That movement was too familiar—like her bending down to fasten a safety belt on the plane, whispering in a child's ear.
Only now, she was serving him.
When Jia Hui slowly leaned down, her lips touching his genitals, his whole body shuddered, as if experiencing this woman's temperature for the first time.
{Video screenshot 2}
Xiao Cai held his breath, and so did I.
At that moment, her oral movements were slow and precise, each one like responding to an in-flight broadcast instruction.
Not desire, but a sense of duty; not grievance, but execution.
Then she went deeper—her throat tightened, breathing shallow, that familiar vibrating sound, yet not made for me.
Xiao Cai panted, whispering: "Damn... that's too exaggerated... Does she do this to you too?"
I didn't respond, just watched her head press down bit by bit, almost swallowing the whole thing.
Xiao Cai rolled his eyes, his voice trembling like an electric shock: "She's really... too skilled... Brother Xiao Qi, how can you stand having her as your wife?"
She chose to complete a task with a silent mouth that never appeared in any flight manual.
In this moment, she was no longer that forever elegant and stable flight attendant,
She just wanted to be a woman, a woman who didn't need to bow and smile.
And this bow made me harder to bear than any turbulence.
Xiao Cai: "She's really too professional... like that service on the plane, super stable..."
At that moment, the air in front of me seemed to be sucked away.
No sound, no panting, only her hair sliding over his abdomen's curve, like a gentle yet irresistible line, binding something and strangling me.
I couldn't turn away. Not out of curiosity, but because I wanted to know where my limit was.
Her movements were so skilled, yet so strange.
As if this wasn't her first time submitting to someone's body, and I—had never truly 'seen' this side of her.
My throat was tight, unable to make a sound, my chest like pressed with ice. I even started to suspect if my breathing would disturb her rhythm.
That scene was as short as a dream, yet as long as a trial.
I saw Xiao Cai take a light breath, his shoulders trembling slightly. She didn't look up, didn't turn back to me, didn't hesitate.
That wasn't passion—it was a kind of determination, like she finally pushed herself into a place she had long wanted to step into.
Suddenly, I had an absurd thought:
Was this moment when she finally gained 'freedom'?
Her head pressed down bit by bit, like welcoming something, also like swallowing a decision.
Xiao Cai's throat moved, his gaze instantly blank. His hand unconsciously grasped her head, knuckles turning white, as if trying to support the whole world.
And I, watching Jia Hui's hair strand by strand slide down, finally, her forehead almost against his abdomen.
That was a depth I'd never given her,
I knew her limit, her breathing rhythm, where she would frown, where she would stop.
My own wife, I wouldn't thrust inward, but now, an outsider let me understand, she was lower, deeper, quieter than I remembered.
Xiao Cai's panting grew heavier, he softly called her name.
She didn't stop. No gesture, no gaze. She just let her whole body slide into some dark place, swallowing in one breath the space she never let me enter.
My hand trembled, supporting the chair edge, my soles already numb.
She wasn't catering, he wasn't leading, at this moment, the two had a tacit understanding to push deeper.
Like an airplane diving, without warning, no lights, directly through the clouds, into the airflow I couldn't see.
{Video screenshot 3}
I don't know when Jia Hui sat on him.
Like water over the shore, without disturbing any sound.
Xiao Cai half-leaned back, both hands hanging behind her, as if not knowing whether to support her or not dare to touch her.
He looked like he was trapped in a dream more real than imagined.
And she, hands propped on his chest, waist straight, back slender—that was a contour I was familiar with, yet at this moment, strangely terrifying.
I saw her slowly press down, movements precise, no extra sound.
She lowered her head, as if focusing on completing some fine operation, not hurried, stable almost coldly.
He let out a soft moan, like "Oh god", or just panting.
His hand finally fell on her waist, as if confirming this wasn't a dream.
I closed my eyes, then immediately opened them.
Not because I wanted to see, but because I couldn't escape.
I even clearly realized their breathing overlapped, the rhythm from chaos to synchronization, to a coordination that was hard to bear.
Her hair fell on his chest, her whole body slightly leaning forward, as if listening to his heartbeat.
But I knew, what she heard was never his voice. She only listened to her own—rational voice, calm voice, saying 'continue' voice.
He softly called her name: "Jia Hui..."
She didn't respond, instead moved even more steadily, deeper.
That wasn't passion, it was a declaration with each press down.
I wanted to stand up, wanted to call her name, wanted to tell her: "Stop first! I can't take it!"
But I couldn't speak.
She didn't glance at me, as if she knew I'd be sitting here, watching her hand over everything she once gave me to another person.
I heard the bed frame make a faint sound, that rhythm, like quietly hammering nails into my heart, one by one, no blood, but endless.
She was right there, less than three steps from me.
Yet already in a place I could never catch up to.
But in the instant of her one press down, Xiao Cai suddenly moved.
He wasn't just going along, but—tightened his arms, lifted his waist, actively matching her rhythm.
That movement wasn't big, yet like a wrench, suddenly twisting the atmosphere.
She paused, her body clearly shook.
I saw her gaze lower, as if a moment of uncertainty, but she didn't speak, didn't stop.
She just lightly bit her lip, hands propped more steadily, as if accepting this accident, even tacitly allowing his initiative.
He pressed his advantage.
Hands slid up her back, hugged her waist, his whole body began to match, counter, even—lead.
"You're too slow like this," he said lowly, his voice close to her ear.
I heard it clearly.
She didn't retort.
She just, at the moment his tone changed, lightly panted, her breathing chaotic, but didn't refuse.
At that moment, I suddenly realized—she wasn't losing, she was letting go.
She seemed to have completed the part she was responsible for, now, letting the other freely take over the power.
And Xiao Cai, from that initially clumsy and restrained single man, suddenly became... skilled.
Not just in movements, but in tone, gaze, attitude, he seemed to instantly grasp something, holding it tightly, unwilling to let go.
I couldn't believe the scene in front of me.
I wasn't unprepared to see them entangled—but I never expected to see her being tamed by a stranger, instead of her taming him.
"Do you like it this way?" He asked again, his tone with a bit of provocation.
She didn't answer, but her reaction was more explicit than any words.
My stomach churned, my chest numb, even my vision shook a bit.
This wasn't the her I knew.
This wasn't the us I knew.
And I—was just sitting here, watching them go from tug-of-war to fusion, from stranger to a kind of intimacy I'd never been part of.
{Video screenshot 4}
When the collision of the two bodies, the rhythm was no longer suppressed, but unrestrained.
Jia Hui's voice was no longer suppressed, she panted, trembled, responded, every sound like a needle piercing my eardrum.
I don't remember when I stood up.
Don't remember how I walked into the bathroom.
I just knew, I couldn't sit there anymore. Couldn't watch anymore. Couldn't hear the sounds she made for someone else.
The bathroom door closed, the world quieted.
I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself.
I looked nothing like a man.
More like an empty bottle, the alcohol drunk, leaving only the strong aftertaste.
I reached out and turned on the tap, letting the cold water wash my hands, but that ice couldn't wash away the tremble in my hands.
I hadn't even undone my pants, but my body was already hard.
Not from pleasure, but—from the palpitation of shame, something I couldn't deny.
I stared at myself, then slowly reached out, touching that part I wished I could chop off.
Her pants, his roars, and the slight shaking of the bed frame, all pushed me to a place,
One by one, the rhythm chaotic.
I wasn't masturbating. I was punishing.
Using the image she gave to others, making myself understand: you're nothing. Even now, what you're thinking is 'he's inside her'.
I opened my mouth to pant, like a fish dragged out of water, not to live, but to struggle.
Finally, I finished in my own palm, sticky like trash.
I squatted on the bathroom floor, gasping for air, mind blank.
My palm still had the warmth from just now, knuckles white, forehead against the cold tiles.
I thought I'd fallen into the deepest black hole, until—
"Ah... ah... ah..."
The sound seeped in from the door seam, real as if someone was breathing in my ear.
It wasn't her suppressed anymore.
Not that lip-biting, throat-suppressing, feigned calm moan.
But her truly unrestrained voice, like her body out of control, unable to maintain a calm tone, like she was opened, filled, stretched to the limit.
I closed my eyes, but that sound still drilled in.
"Faster... deeper..."
That wasn't something she would say.
I'd never heard her say that to me.
And he—Xiao Cai, inside her, liberated himself.
His voice gradually lost reason, from low panting, to heavy, to a certain instant's pause—
Then I heard that sound:
A man unable to control himself, after struggling, finally releasing that short... whimper.
He climaxed—fully sprayed out.
I knew it clearly.
I could even imagine his waist twitching, his throat's suppressed panting, the name he didn't call out.
Finally, the sound outside stopped.
That sudden quiet was sharper than any moan.
After just ejaculating, theoretically in a saint mode state,
But the voice in my heart grew louder:
"Are you just going to keep listening like this?"
"Don't you want to see her face?"
I finally propped myself against the wall and stood up, staggering towards the door.
When my hand grasped the doorknob, I was still trembling.
Open it?
What if he's still inside her?
What if she turns her head and sees me just then?
What if the scene I see is more painful than I imagined?
But I knew—if I don't open it, I'll be trapped behind this door forever.
I twisted hard, the door opened.
The air was peeled open, sound, light, body odor, all rushing at me.
The first thing I saw was Xiao Cai's back.
Xiao Cai was holding my wife Jia Hui's head, her wet hair stuck to the back of her neck, shoulders slightly trembling, like a quiet corpse left on the shore after being swallowed by waves.
She wasn't wearing clothes, her whole body exposed, pressed tightly against his crotch.
I stood in the doorway, not speaking, just looking.
I felt my heart like being yanked out, still beating, still warm, but no longer mine.
After the afterglow, Xiao Cai stepped back two steps, then I saw Jia Hui's face.
She didn't immediately cover herself, no panic, no shyness. She just naturally sat up, as if she knew I'd see all this.
But I couldn't ignore—the glossy trace on her face.
Her jaw and lips, glistening under the bedside light, like lightly splashed with water.
Not tears.
Not sweat.
That was another man's mark, the natural lubrication she hadn't had time to wipe off.
I knew what that was.
I knew it wasn't an accident.
And she knew I saw it.
We made eye contact, she didn't wipe it, not even tried to cover it.
At that moment, I felt something rising in my throat, like wanting to vomit, but forcibly swallowed.
Suddenly, I realized—this wasn't just a bodily betrayal, it was her making me clear:
"What he gave, I accepted."
And I, couldn't even say 'how could you'.
The room was extraordinarily quiet.
I stood still, like a passenger not yet notified to disembark, while the whole plane had already landed.
The air carried a turbid smell—sweat, saliva, moist breath, and a hint of indescribable fishiness. The air conditioning ran as usual, but the air felt solidified, hot and suffocating.
The bedsheet was wrinkled into a ball, like paper roughly crumpled. The pillow sank on one side, still bearing the trace of her long hair pressing down.
The towel was thrown on the floor, rolled into a ball, with some dry and some wet marks on it.
Xiao Cai sat on the edge of the bed, one hand supporting his forehead, still panting. His pants were pulled up, but the belt wasn't buckled, his whole person like an emptied sack, slumped.
And she, with her back to us sitting on the edge of the bed, a thin blanket covering her lower body, upper body bare.
She was slowly tying her hair, movements quiet, like touching up makeup, like returning to some work post.
No one spoke.
There was a little water stain on the floor, unsure if it dripped from her wiping or from someone's footprint earlier.
The glass on the bedside table was knocked over, a little water flowing down the edge, forming a small drop, hanging in the air, not falling.
The curtains half-drawn, outside was the night city, lights of thousands of homes, coldly reflecting on the room's walls, like another world silently watching our aftermath.
I felt my legs starting to go numb, only then realizing I'd stood too long.
And she, never turned back.
She only said one sentence, voice light as if floating from another world:
"Do you want to wash?"
I didn't respond.
Xiao Cai lowered his head, mumbled yes, like a child not yet crawled out of a gentle trap.
She got up and walked into the bathroom, the door not fully closed, the water sound rang again, this time, no longer the fuse of desire, but the prelude to the end.
I finally sat down, the sofa sank a bit, and I sank in.
The whole room, like a cabin after an emergency landing—oxygen depleted, words taken away, only heartbeat and the buzzing in the ears, reminding us we're not dead yet.