I glance at Hansen. He nods. Not my real husband, but "hubby" fits our arrangement. Sometimes "daddy" slips out—especially when fucking.
In elite circles, second wives aren't scandals but status symbols. Shenzhen boasts entire "mistress villages"—neighborhoods filled with women just like me.
Our relationship? Not officially recognized, yet undeniably genuine. Whenever Hansen's business brings him to Beijing, my home become his sanctuary.
And the perks? Luxurious. A spacious villa. Housekeepers. Financial freedom.
With his approval, I begin. My black dress fits like a second skin, with a neckline that plunges daringly, embracing every contour of my figure with intimate precision.
My freshly-dyed brunette hair cascades around high cheekbones and wide eyes. My full lips—which my friends teasingly refer to as "dick-sucking lips"—complete the portrait. My dancer's body—narrow waist, defined abs, endless legs—betrays my five years with the Air Force Art Troupe.
Ironically, it was my generous chest that ended my dancing career. Too voluptuous for the stage, impossible to contain, conspicuously provocative when I move.
Seated before me is Gang Yao—an imposing figure whose notorious reputation has spread throughout our discreet community of second wives.
His peculiar obsession? Taking wives while husbands watch—a perverse test of loyalty. When first wives don't catch his eye, he claims their replacements.
The younger man beside him is his son.
For a man of Yao's position, undressing means vulnerability. Leaving his belongings—particularly his phones—unattended would be unthinkable. He brings his son as a trusted guardian.
Three other men in the room. Hansen’s boss Guokai Wang and the trading executives of Guosen and CITIC. They are here to witness the initiation of Hansen, literally through me.
… …
I take a deep breath, a slow, shuddering inhale that lifts the swell of my breasts. In one fluid motion, I drape my leg across his thighs and settle into his lap, feeling him tense beneath me.
"Hubby," I breathe against his ear, my lips grazing his skin just enough to make him shiver. "Let me serve you." Each word falls like honey as my fingers dance across his shirt buttons, revealing him inch by tantalizing inch.
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The dance begins—a ritual I perfected for moments exactly like this. I move with predatory slowness, letting my body heat flow into him as I sway my hips to a hypnotic rhythm.
His eyes darken as I circle my hips, the friction between us electric, dangerous.
His breathing fractures. I feel his control slipping with each undulation of my body against his.
I arch backward, offering my breasts like a sacrifice. The dress—now more enemy than ally—strains against my curves. His gaze burns into my flesh, tracing the contours that threaten to spill from the fabric at any moment.
With a knowing smile, I pivot, presenting my back to him. I bend forward—a deliberate provocation—as my dress inches upward. The thin strip of my thong is the final barrier, the last pretense of modesty as I reveal the pink softness between my cheeks, an unspoken promise of what awaits.
… …
I feel the rising bulge in his pants. It only spurs me onward, knowing I have the desired effect at a good pace. His breathing grows ragged, while my quick, skillful twists send electric currents shooting up his groin.
With deliberate grace, I reach behind to unzip my dress. The fabric slides away like water as I reveal myself inch by inch. His hands find me instantly, impatient fingers clawing at my delicate lingerie.
Reading the hunger in his eyes, I unhook my bra with practiced ease. It falls away, my breasts finally free—full, perfectly round, unbearably soft. With calculated rebellion, I toss the lacy garment onto his son's lap, my eyes never leaving Yao's face.
In one fluid motion, I reposition myself—one leg draped over his broad shoulder, the other planted firmly between his thighs. Drawing myself against him, I pull our bodies together until my naked breasts press against his chest, my warm pussy against the skin of his prominent belly.
My hardened nipples graze his flesh as I move against him. I envelop his face between my breasts, performing the degrading act with feigned enthusiasm while maintaining eye contact—a perfect balance of submission and control.
His hands, like creatures with minds of their own, find their way between us to cup my soft flesh. Letting my leg down, I arch into his touch, suppressing my revulsion beneath a carefully crafted moan as I continue my rhythmic grinding.
His erection throbs against my thigh—my cue that he's fully entranced.
"Hubby," I whisper, my voice a silken weapon, "are you enjoying yourself?”
He merely grunts as I ride him, his hands full of my breasts. I know how turned on he is, and this is as good a time as any. I'm pretty sure I can get him to come with just a little push. Smoothly, I snake my hand down his body, unzipping his pants to reveal his straining erection tenting his boxers. I fish it out and quickly take hold of it. My hand holds it between our bodies as I continue to grind on his lap.
"Someone's certainly excited," I purr, my words dripping with manufactured desire.
I encircle him with my fingers, feeling him pulse within my grip. A groan escapes his lips as his hips instinctively thrust upward. I establish a teasing, torturous tempo.
"My, my, daddy," I coo, forcing warmth into my voice while my insides turn cold. "So impressive. Is all this just for me?"
Finish, you disgusting bastard, I silently command, desperate to conclude this charade.
I quicken my pace, whispering fabricated passion into his ear. His breathing becomes labored, his skin slick with sweat. Victory seems imminent when suddenly his hand clamps around mine, halting my movements.
“Enough of the foreplay, sweetheart,” he commands, his voice thick with dominance. “On your knees, wrap those pretty lips around my cock and show me what you can do.”
