
But when I got on the subway, a stranger pressed himself against my back, quietly lifted the hem of my skirt, and placed his hand on my buttocks. The shame, fear, excitement, and inexplicable anticipation all mixed together like an explosive, boom, going off in my chest.
Months of emptiness had left my body unbearably sensitive.
In less than half a minute, I was almost collapsing to the floor, gasping for air, my thighs shaking uncontrollably.
Blushing, I closed my eyes, clung tightly to the pole in the corner of the carriage, and pushed my hips back. I didn't dare to look at my husband, who stood a few meters away with a complicated expression on his face. In my mind, I murmured, ‘Honey, I'm sorry!'
This kind of direct physical contact, and the intense sensation it caused, was something I hadn't experienced in such a long time.
I don't know how long it lasted, but when the station announcement sounded, I finally came to my senses. I pulled my skirt down from where it had ridden up to my waist and desperately squeezed my way out of the subway car. Even though I was groped a few more times in the chaos, I didn't dare look back.
My husband was waiting for me not far away.
He pulled me out of the station and led me down a secluded path in a park on the outskirts of the city. Hugging me from behind, he gently bit my ear. "Honey, did that guy molest you just now?"
"Yes, not only did he touch me, but he reached under my skirt..."
"Can you tell me how it felt, baby?"
"I felt so ashamed, like I was turning into a whore, but... but I didn't resist..." Under my husband's coaxing, I gradually lost myself, as if hypnotized, and my body grew hotter and hotter.
"Do you want to do something even more exciting?"
I looked up at him in disbelief. Almost being assaulted by a stranger on the subway had been thrilling enough—could there be something even crazier than that?
"Come with me."
By this time, it was late at night. After wandering around for about twenty minutes, my husband finally found the spot he had in mind.


