[Love's Dedication - Devotion]

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

A

woman's beauty is less important than her life.

I haven't lived beautifully, I've never been beautiful. Therefore, I am a very, very beautiful woman. Growing up surrounded by

admirers made me addicted, lose myself, and lose so much because of my beauty…

My wealthy family meant losing family members; the distant, estranged politeness seemed like the basic

etiquette of the rich, which I found disgusting, even nauseating.

The vanity and envy brought by my affluent background and beautiful appearance made me

forget reality for a long time, until I went to university…

If it weren't for my willfulness and my parents' indulgence, I wouldn't be studying at this university. Although it's

a top-tier university in the province, it was impossible for me to get in with my mediocre grades, but in this

realistic society where connections equal power, money can change many things. Although many say it can change everything, I don't

think , at least he won't be changed.

He's from another province, and not as handsome as any of my boyfriends, but the sunshine he exudes is

something none of my previous boyfriends possessed.

I love seeing his smile, a pure, simple joy. I've never seen such a happy smile in my memory.

His family doesn't seem wealthy; his cheap clothes, weekend part-time job, and the type of friends he keeps all

suggest he's just an ordinary, poor student.

Beauty always attracts admirers, but he's an outsider. He

rarely looks at me, except for the occasional glance. I don't know if it's disdain or a facade of insecurity. I like him,

perhaps simply because of his sunny smile. Liking someone might not need a reason, but I already have one,

so why not amplify it?

I confessed my feelings to him.

Stories and reality always differ, and this time, my confession only earned me his surprised look

and a curt "I'm not a toy, I don't want to be played with!" before he stormed off, leaving me with a bruised and battered face.

I didn't hit him, nor did I instigate anyone to. I was just thinking, why did he reject me?

Perhaps it was my long-standing habit of indifference, or perhaps my confession was too insincere. I

tried .

Often, doing the same thing a second time yields many different details and different results, perhaps

even worse than the first time.

Faced with my confession again, he wasn't surprised, nor was he forceful; he just seemed indifferent and

calmly agreed. Although I didn't like his attitude, that coldness devoid of even feigned joy, I

was still very happy. Facing him, who wasn't handsome to begin with, and whose face was bruised and swollen, I happily kissed him.

Lying in front of him, I skillfully tiptoed and licked his lips; his body stiffened noticeably, giving me

a surge of secret delight.

He took a small step back, making me feel a little uncomfortable, yet also expectant.

He turned his face to the side, his swollen face revealing the redness of churning blood.

"Why did you come to me?" His voice was soft; there was no one else around.

"I like you," my voice was sweeter than usual, feeling natural.

"Toy?" He used that word for the second time, and I frowned slightly.

"Are you insecure? Or are you afraid?" My provocative tone made him breathe heavily.

My understanding and control of men, honed over many years, makes me somewhat like a seasoned actress in the entertainment industry.

"You agreed because you thought I'd have someone beat you up? Afraid of getting beaten up?" For a man whose blood boils, provocation

is a good option.

He abruptly looked up, his gaze fixed only on my lips. "I'm not that stupid." A lie lurking in his eyes,

or perhaps the passion of a hot-blooded youth outweighing reason—whatever it was, I liked him. I believe love should be expressed with

a kiss , so I kissed him again, this time with the tip of his tongue. I felt my heart pounding, a natural

smile on my face. I loved this feeling, so I let it linger until he took a step back, breathing

heavily , and I smiled again.

For me, rumored to be the school beauty, but actually a rich businessman and a spoiled brat, dating an

unremarkable poor boy seemed like trampling on those who had long hesitated and plotted to possess me.

For their prey to be demoted, while the possessor was a pauper, seemed like a humiliation. I don't know

if that's what they were thinking, but this relationship only lasted a day before he was hospitalized.

I visited him in the hospital; he was covered in bandages and casts, and I didn't know if he was asleep or unconscious

. I preferred to believe he was soundly asleep.

I sat quietly by his bedside all afternoon, watching him sleep peacefully. Although his face was more swollen than before, a truly

pitiful sight, he looked sweet while sleeping, his lips pouting. I didn't know if it was from the swelling or if he naturally pouts when he

sleeps ; it was very cute.

Because I liked him, I wanted to express it with a kiss.

I kissed him, but he didn't wake up like in fairy tales. He remained asleep, and my kiss

lingered on his lips. I stubbornly wanted him to wake up, so I sealed his thick lips with my tongue. My kiss,

besides making the lines on the monitor jump faster, had no other effect.

I used money to buy the information I wanted, money to buy the ability to solve the problem, and money to get

the person responsible for the problem out of my sight.

On the surface, the problem seemed to be solved, but he was still in the hospital.

When I went to see him again, the emotion in his eyes broke my heart; I disliked

that feeling.

Without asking him anything, I moved him to a private room. He didn't struggle, didn't question me, didn't show anger, and didn't

even to have any emotion.

That night, I stayed in the room. We didn't speak; he just lay there quietly, letting me

kiss him.

He kept looking at me, but that gaze made me wish he truly didn't care about me.

Standing alone on the rooftop under the starry sky, gazing at the bright moon, bathed in its light, I smoked deeply

.

When I extinguished my fifth cigarette, I returned to the room and pulled down his loose hospital trousers.

The smell of smoke might be repulsive to a non-smoker's mouth, but it would provide a greater stimulation to his penis.

I said this; there's no scientific basis for it, nor is there any need for one. Science is just a piece of

paper in the face of reality.

The less people set foot in a place, the more sensitive it is; the fewer people who touch a forbidden area, the more mysterious it becomes. Perhaps this

is why men like virgins. He's very sensitive; I don't like virgins.

His sensitivity was beyond imagination. I even suspected he had never masturbated before. He

ejaculated into my mouth after I had only sucked on it less than ten times. It was even faster than the premature ejaculators I've encountered. The only

difference was that he was harder and ejaculated more. At least before him, no one had ever filled my mouth with semen and let it overflow.

I knew he was awake, but he didn't speak. I didn't know if it was because he was embarrassed or because he didn't want to face me;

he kept his eyes closed.

I swallowed semen for the first time, even using my fingers to flick away the overflowing drops and sucking them up completely with my tongue.

Slightly fishy, mildly salty, thankfully not smelly.

That's one of the advantages of virgins, at least they're clean and reassuring.

After cleaning his mouth, I used the tip of my tongue to clean his sticky penis. He visibly trembled, let out a

soft groan, and remained silent, his body stiff. I didn't want to speak either, and continued licking, as if it were my

favorite ice cream cone.

After I had mostly cleaned it, I was doing my last suck when I noticed he was erect again. Perhaps this was

another .

I gently climbed onto the bed, lifted my skirt, hooked my thong to the side with my fingers, and sat down between his

legs . He flinched. Damn it! This is the really bad thing about being a virgin.

"Afraid I have a disease?"

He didn't answer, but in the dim light of the night, his eyes gleamed faintly.

"Don't worry, I always use condoms with other people, just like with you."

I shifted my position, ready to sit down, and damn it, he flinched again! I really don't like

virgins !

"Virgin, do you really have to find a virgin?" Perhaps my way of talking to him was idiotic, but I

thought virgins were even more idiotic!

He still didn't speak. I really didn't understand why virgins were so annoying,

complicating .

"Should I get hymenoplasty surgery tomorrow and come back?" I sat on his lap, my buttocks feeling

the thick hair on his thighs. His penis was hiding from me, pressed against his own stomach. When I sat down, his

injured body reflexively made him groan. That was the second sound he made tonight, though only two

syllables, but that was enough!

I grabbed his penis with one hand and touched my own vagina with the other, and I sat down forcefully.

Although he struggled, I still sat down. For someone with both hands and one leg in casts,

whether man or woman, it's practically like being in a vegetative state.

His nasal groans kept coming from his nose; I knew it was him trying to struggle,

the pain , not pleasure.

I enjoyed his powerful struggles and movements. Even inside me, his penis stubbornly tried to

return to his belly. The force of his erection made me involuntarily lean towards his stomach. That irregular, directionless

, savage struggle excited me, and I loved this feeling. Because I loved it, I kissed him.

His mind was still that of a virgin, so he avoided me, turning his face away. I smiled, using

the tip of my tongue to twirl his earlobe, licking and scraping his neck back and forth. His heavy breathing warmed the back of my neck

. His penis inside me thrust upwards again, and I loved

the feeling . So, I kissed him forcefully.

He didn't respond to my kiss, just passively accepting everything I did. Perhaps he wanted me

to feel , to feel disgusted by sex like a corpse. But he didn't know that I loved him, whether he responded

or not. I don't know how long this feeling will last, but at least for now, I still love him, even if he doesn't

love me.

He closed his eyes, seemingly enjoying it, seemingly lost in thought, his body swaying

back and .

I stopped looking at him, closed my eyes, and felt the love I craved.

The tip of his penis seemed to scrape against the sensitive spots inside my vagina, each thrust sending

spasms through me. After the initial discomfort, I became addicted to the feeling, a kind of intoxicating, heart-pounding

sensation, the frequent thrusts, the almost endless heart palpitations. I think I was a little crazy; that high-speed frequency shouldn't

be done to a virgin, but I couldn't control myself. So, he ejaculated. The scalding liquid

burned my uterine wall like a welding torch, each spurt drawing me closer to him involuntarily,

until I was completely on top of him, the gushing continuing for two more waves before stopping.

My breathing wasn't synchronized with his, yet it connected perfectly, filling the room with that continuous breath

. I forgot about his injuries, and he seemed to have forgotten his pain too, letting me lie on his bandaged

chest.

"I'll take responsibility." Only an idiotic virgin would say something like that; I'm sure he won't say it again.

"You don't need to take responsibility." I nestled softly against him,

drawing small circles on his chest, which was showing through the gauze, with my fingertips.

I've heard that drawing circles on someone you like is a blessing; the more circles you draw, the more fulfilling your

life .

This was the first time I'd done this, and I enjoyed the feeling—it was warm, and

I couldn't help but smile.

"Why?" His voice was calm, but I could feel his heart beating fast.

"Because I didn't have hymenoplasty; I'm a prostitute." I

breathed .

"Why did you choose me?" His voice remained calm, but his heartbeat slowed.

"Because I like you." We looked into each other's eyes, and I whispered into his lips.

"But you don't love me!" He became agitated, his chest heaving rapidly. The sudden agitation after his initial calm

amplified his pain, and he groaned.

"We've already done love. If you need more love, we can continue." I stretched my

tired thighs and drew two small circles on the back of his foot with my toes.

The deep sky outside the window was studded with diamond-like stars, each one shimmering secretly.

I lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, letting the intoxicating smoke swirl through my body, feeling ethereal before

slowly releasing the smoke that yearned for freedom.

"Want a puff?" I held the cigarette between my fingers to his lips, but his slightly parted lips didn't take it, nor did

he react.

"A man who doesn't smoke is a little man!" I teased, taking a deep drag and kissing his lips,

letting the smoke fill his mouth until he coughed violently as he inhaled. I smiled and pulled away from his lips, quietly

looking at him.

I really love this little man!

Suddenly, a phrase came to mind, and I said to him, who had just stopped coughing, with a playful laugh, "Give me a smile!"

He coughed violently again, and my smile widened...

I think, maybe I love him...

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