Chapter 3 — The Wife of a Netizen Husband - 1 (3)

A casual drink with the moms—women I've known since our kids were in kindergarten, friends for years now. One of the older sisters is eight years older than me, the other just one year.

We're close—so close that one of them once secretly dated someone and told us about it without hesitation. That's the kind of bond we share.

But I couldn't bring myself to tell them that I've been in contact with a man over ten years younger than me. They'd probably have been thrilled, but still—I stayed silent.

Among the three of us, I'm the only one still working, so I often owe them favors. I was truly grateful they always adjusted their schedules to match mine.

We hadn't gone out in a while, so we headed to the nearby downtown area for drinks. We chatted endlessly, laughing and enjoying ourselves.

When I briefly stepped away to the restroom, I came back to find men sitting at our table. While I was gone, the guys from the next table had asked to join us for a drink, and my friends had said yes. They were dressed neatly in suits, said they worked nearby and were just unwinding after work.

One of them wasn't bad-looking. They were all in their forties—well, one looked even older. Still, the six of us ended up having a good time, drinking and talking. And drinking. A lot.

We decided to go to a karaoke room for round two. My phone buzzed—Daniel calling—but I ignored it. He already knew I was out with the girls, so no need to answer.

At the karaoke room, we kept drinking and having fun. The older sister, the one just a year above me, was already tipsy, leaning into one of the men. The other sister, eight years older, was getting cozy with another guy too.

By then, everyone was drunk. Me included.

The best-looking guy—the one who'd caught my eye earlier—sat beside me, singing. Without warning, he casually placed his hand on my shoulder. I didn't move. Just let it stay there.

He kept singing. I got up to use the restroom again—a unisex bathroom this time.

After finishing, I stepped out, and there he was, waiting by the door. The moment he saw me, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I didn't resist. I was drunk, already half-gone, and just let it happen.

We stood there, locked in each other's arms, kissing inside the bathroom, until we heard someone trying to open the door. Startled, we broke apart.

I stepped out first, heading back to the room, but he stopped me. He wanted to leave together.

I didn't say a word. Just stared at him. My body was already buzzing, excited. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I wanted him—badly.

Without speaking, he went back into the room, grabbed my bag and his jacket.

We left the karaoke place and walked into a nearby motel. The second the door closed behind us, he pulled me in and kissed me again—hard, urgent, like he couldn't wait another second.

I barely managed to push him back and whispered, "Let's… wash up first."

He didn't hesitate. Right in front of me, he stripped off all his clothes and walked into the bathroom.

This was the first time—since getting married—that I'd come to a motel with another man. Even during my relationship with Daniel, we hadn't used motels often.

I looked around the room slowly, taking it in. He came out of the bathroom quickly—had he even washed?

I went in next, quickly rinsing off. When I stepped out, he was waiting. He pulled me into his arms, laid me down on the bed.

It started with kisses. He sucked on my breasts like a baby nursing. Then moved down—my neck, shoulders, chest, stomach—licking and kissing every inch of me.

His face slid lower. He spread my legs with his hands and started licking me. I was already wet, already burning. I tried to hold back, but moans slipped out anyway. He used his mouth, his hands—driving me wild.

Then it was my turn. I pushed him onto the bed. His cock was already hard. I grabbed it, put it in my mouth, sucked. I kissed his chest, his stomach, every part of him.

On top of him, I took his cock into my mouth while he lay beneath me, licking me in return. We drove each other higher, hungrier.

Then I climbed on top, guiding his cock into me. Is this why people cheat? Sex with someone who isn't your husband—it felt electric, thrilling in a way I hadn't expected.

It wasn't that his cock was huge. Or that he was some expert lover. I can't even put it into words—there's no right way to describe it.

We switched positions, taking our time, feeling each other. It had been so long. I moaned freely, loudly, filling the room with sound.

The air was thick with our heat, our breath, our sweat. We devoured each other until my entire body was slick, trembling.

He flipped me onto my stomach and took me from behind. I felt him tense, then finally come inside me. And just like that, the intense sex came to an end.

I got up first to shower. He followed me in. We washed together. He dried my body first. I dried his.

My soapy hands brushed against his cock. I saw it twitch, then slowly grow hard again.

He rinsed it under the water, then gently pushed me down by the shoulders. What else could it mean?

I took him into my mouth, sucked, teased. He grew harder, thicker.

He pulled me up, sucked lightly on my breasts, then lifted one of my legs high. Before I could react, he pushed himself into me. The bathroom floor was slippery—I nearly fell.

He grabbed my wrists, pulled me back to the bed, laid me down. I spread my legs wide. He climbed on top.

I wrapped my arms around him. He grabbed my ankles, pulled them wider apart. It made him go deeper—deeper than before.

Then he bent me backward until my legs touched my chest, like folding a flip phone. We did it sideways too. The second round began.

After two rounds of sex, we lay side by side. He gently stroked my breasts—and fell asleep almost instantly.

I'm a married woman. I couldn't stay the night with a man I'd just met. I checked my phone—almost midnight.

Afraid he might wake, I quietly gathered my clothes and slipped out of the motel.

Should I tell Daniel?

I thought about it for a second. But I knew—I couldn't say a word.

This was my first real affair. Done in a haze of alcohol, but real all the same.