My Undercover Lover’s Secret Seed - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading My Undercover Lover’s Secret Seed, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of My Undercover Lover’s Secret Seed.
A decade of marriage, and I'd never known true pleasure—until I rescued that brawny, simple-minded man...
When my husband first came to propose, he arrived with six bottles of Moutai and two packs of Liqun Spring Villa.
Too bad my father was already gone, and my mother couldn't tell top-shelf from trash. She chased him out with a broom.
The second time? He slapped a million dollars in cash on our table. My mother's eyes lit up at this man old enough to be her elder, instantly cooing, "Son-in-law!" Just like that, I accepted my fate.
Our marriage was comfortable—except for the dismal bedroom performances.
I lived in luxury, mingling at Ladies Who Lunch events with the city's elite. This was a life I'd never dared imagine before.
And my husband? Still oddly fixated on my body. Every time he stumbled home, he'd insist on multiple rounds.
At eighteen, I had zero interest in sex. But my mother drilled it into me: Seduce him. Keep him from straying. She even made me learn a few… tricks.
I nodded along, but what was the point? He never lasted more than a few minutes. And when I tried those moves? He finished even faster. So I gave up.
His enthusiastic "plowing" left me cold.
No skill, just brute force—zero finesse. A decade of marriage, and I'd never felt a damn thing.
Now, at fifty-six, he was down to mere minutes. Age only made it worse—sometimes he couldn't even manage that.
But as they say: Thirty, hungry like a tiger; forty, thirsty like a wolf. Back then, his pathetic stamina didn't bother me. Now? I was the one begging. And the hunger only grew.
Every night, an aching emptiness gnawed at me.
Frustrated, I'd push him for round after round. But he'd leave me hanging, collapsing into snoring oblivion while I lay there, seething.
Tonight was no different. I shook him awake, demanding more.
"Honey, one more time," I pleaded, gripping his waist.
He managed two weak thrusts before giving up.
"Can't… can't do it, sweetheart."
"You've been so needy lately. I'm spent." His beer belly heaved as he gasped, already snoring seconds later.
Even in his dreams, he whimpered, "Wife… too tired… let me sleep…"
Damn it.
Staring at his flabby body, I wanted to scream.
In the end, I took matters into my own hands.
After the vibrator did its job, I rinsed it off and tucked it back into the nightstand.
Then I googled: Can men his age still father children? Does medication affect fertility?
When my husband first came to propose, he arrived with six bottles of Moutai and two packs of Liqun Spring Villa.
Too bad my father was already gone, and my mother couldn't tell top-shelf from trash. She chased him out with a broom.
The second time? He slapped a million dollars in cash on our table. My mother's eyes lit up at this man old enough to be her elder, instantly cooing, "Son-in-law!" Just like that, I accepted my fate.
Our marriage was comfortable—except for the dismal bedroom performances.
I lived in luxury, mingling at Ladies Who Lunch events with the city's elite. This was a life I'd never dared imagine before.
And my husband? Still oddly fixated on my body. Every time he stumbled home, he'd insist on multiple rounds.
At eighteen, I had zero interest in sex. But my mother drilled it into me: Seduce him. Keep him from straying. She even made me learn a few… tricks.
I nodded along, but what was the point? He never lasted more than a few minutes. And when I tried those moves? He finished even faster. So I gave up.
His enthusiastic "plowing" left me cold.
No skill, just brute force—zero finesse. A decade of marriage, and I'd never felt a damn thing.
Now, at fifty-six, he was down to mere minutes. Age only made it worse—sometimes he couldn't even manage that.
But as they say: Thirty, hungry like a tiger; forty, thirsty like a wolf. Back then, his pathetic stamina didn't bother me. Now? I was the one begging. And the hunger only grew.
Every night, an aching emptiness gnawed at me.
Frustrated, I'd push him for round after round. But he'd leave me hanging, collapsing into snoring oblivion while I lay there, seething.
Tonight was no different. I shook him awake, demanding more.
"Honey, one more time," I pleaded, gripping his waist.
He managed two weak thrusts before giving up.
"Can't… can't do it, sweetheart."
"You've been so needy lately. I'm spent." His beer belly heaved as he gasped, already snoring seconds later.
Even in his dreams, he whimpered, "Wife… too tired… let me sleep…"
Damn it.
Staring at his flabby body, I wanted to scream.
In the end, I took matters into my own hands.
After the vibrator did its job, I rinsed it off and tucked it back into the nightstand.
Then I googled: Can men his age still father children? Does medication affect fertility?
End of My Undercover Lover’s Secret Seed Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to My Undercover Lover’s Secret Seed book page.