Beautiful Little Teacher

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

We arrived at a bamboo grove where there was a bench, specially prepared for lovers. I pressed her down to sit and began to lift her skirt, wanting to strike while the iron was hot.

She struggled, but I wasn't about to give in. She finally relented: "Don't... I'll show you..."

I pulled back, and she lifted her skirt, then put it down again, saying no. I continued to beg, my heart softening, and after back and forth, she finally agreed to lift her panties so I could see.

I finally saw her panties, finally saw her vulva.

Before I could see clearly, she quickly loosened her pants, covering her vulva.

"If you can't see clearly... if you can see, then let me see clearly." I continued to coax her.

She finally couldn't resist my persistence, and this time she simply lifted her legs, letting me pull down her panties. She shyly covered her face again.

Her plump, white vulva was once again displayed before my eyes. Although I had seen it before, this time was different. This time, she willingly let me see it. This time, I could not only see her vulva, but also her whole body and her face. Seeing her blushing face was incredibly exciting. Earlier in the bathroom, I had seen a very realistic white vulva, but now I had the opportunity to see it up close, and I could even see the faint pores. I couldn't resist touching her vulva. She resisted slightly but then let me. I thought this was probably the first time she had been touched by a man other than her husband. I looked and touched at the same time, thoroughly playing with her clitoris and labia. People are people, even women, or rather, especially women. When I touched her vulva, I found that her slit was very wet.

She kept urging, "Okay... okay... alright, others will see."

I ignored her and continued playing with myself. It was her shy expression that encouraged me, and it was her wet vulva that drove me. Finally, I inserted my fingers into her vulva. The moment I penetrated her, I clearly felt her whole body tremble, accompanied by a short, sharp "ha," a breathless "ha," and it was an inhale, not an exhale. I'm describing and defining this "ha" so meticulously because that "ha" left such a deep and stimulating impression on me. After playing with her vagina

, I wanted to go further and penetrate her cunt, but this time, she refused, resolutely. I have a principle: it must be consensual. Seeing her firm refusal, I gave up, but I still took a step back and gently caressed her breasts under her clothes.

Afterwards, I took out money again, but she refused again, only asking to see my penis again. Of course, I should grant that request. This time, I took off my pants so she could see it clearly, pulling her hand over to touch my already highly erect penis. I asked her to perform oral sex, and she refused. It's clear she didn't like my penis, but rather wanted to compare it to her husband's. Ah, the heart of a woman.

We had a friendly conversation and parted amicably. I found her there again later, and we chatted again, but nothing more. However, I still watched and touched her vulva. Once, she even brought up that her pubic hair had grown back, and at my request, she demonstrated shaving it in front of me.

The above passage might seem lewd, and you might think I made it up for added excitement. But I want to assure you that it's all true—the details, atmosphere, and content are all real. Only a few parts have been slightly embellished for writing purposes. Actually, this wasn't the first woman I'd talked to so openly. There had been others before, though the content differed. After
the teachers from our school finished using the restroom, they left in small groups. Then some unfamiliar women came to use the restroom, mostly getting off their cars in groups. This excellent opportunity to observe them made me reluctant to leave, so much so that I missed the ferry. My colleagues called my cell phone after they got on the ferry, and that's when I realized what had happened. I had to make up a lie, saying I was hungry and eating snacks at a small shop, and that I didn't want to miss the boat. I told them I'd meet them again at Shenjiamen in Zhoushan.

Since I'd already missed the boat, I figured I might as well stay hidden and watch a little longer. I continued to hide there, intermittently observing the vulvas of dozens of women. Actually, women's vulvas are all pretty much the same; describing the differences in words is even more difficult, so I won't go into detail here.

You might say, since women's vulvas are all pretty much the same, you've only seen a few, why are you still so enthusiastic? There's a subtle point here: although vulvas are similar, they are on different women. Looking at vulvas is looking at women, and looking at women involves looking at vulvas; they are intertwined.

I won't go into the general situation here, but I'll briefly describe the situation when I saw a group of foreign women.

Missing the ferry actually calmed me down, and I focused entirely on observing the women. I lost count of how many women went in and out. Occasionally, I'd stand up and peek out the window at the parking lot. Once, I saw a group of foreigners heading towards the restrooms. Most were white, but there were a few blacks mixed in; they must be tourists from some Western country. Foreigners are people too, they need to use the restroom, so they came too. For me, this was a golden opportunity! Before, I'd only ever caught glimpses of a few foreign women's private parts in restrooms at tourist attractions, but today, there were at least a dozen foreign women in their group. They were mostly older, but there were still some young women inside. Aha, who would have thought that missing the ferry would lead to such a pleasant surprise?

Foreign women use the restroom in a similar way to Chinese women, the difference being the way they pose. They were all generally plump and fair-skinned, with large buttocks and prominent vulvas. When I looked out the window earlier, most of them appeared to be middle-aged women. Now, squatting down, I saw vulvas that were all so alluring and seductive, with very few that were dry and shriveled. The labia majora were so thick, and the labia minora so long, mostly a light, tender pink. Black women's labia are also black, but the inner part, when turned inside out, is a tender pink like eyelids, creating a striking contrast.

Black women have a lot of pubic hair, often extending all the way to the anus, while white women's pubic hair is not as abundant or dense as one might imagine, just a few sparse strands on the mons pubis, perhaps fewer than Chinese women's. The hair color varies, some golden, some brown, and some grayish-white. In my opinion, Western women's vulvas are fuller and more sensual than those of Chinese women, but their pubic hair is not as alluring as the dark, glossy pubic hair of Chinese women.

During this time, I observed several foreign women menstruating, all of whom used tampons. Their movements as they inserted the tampons into their vaginas were effortless and practiced, demonstrating that tampons are a common menstrual product there. They also seemed less concerned about hygiene than Chinese women; they never wrapped the tampons in toilet paper after removing them, simply throwing them into the drain, regardless of whether anyone saw them.

Another point I noticed was that Western women generally had more vaginal discharge when using the toilet, which would hang quite long and often drip into the drain. Furthermore, the discharge was often milky white, unlike the more colorless and transparent discharge of Chinese women. In comparison, the discharge from foreign women resembled semen that had overflowed from their vaginas after intercourse. When using toilet paper, they often had a specific action to wipe away the discharge—a gesture that's difficult to describe in words, but it involved sticking the discharge onto the toilet paper, which differed from regular wiping.

Here I want to describe a very peculiar situation, the only one I've ever witnessed in all these years of spying. A foreign woman squatted down, and I noticed a transparent plastic bag wrapped around her vulva, dangling between her legs. Inside was a pale yellow liquid, apparently urine. Was this woman ill, hence the urine bag? As you know, some women need to wear bags after surgery. Just as I was wondering, she pulled out a stopper from the plastic bag. Air entered, and the deflated bag expanded, detaching itself from her vulva. The woman removed the bag, and I saw that her vulva was slightly damp and appeared more reddish, but otherwise, nothing seemed unusual. Then, a stream of urine flowed from between her labia, just like any other woman. It turns out this woman was using a travel urine bag. These bags use a vacuum principle to adhere to the vulva. When it's inconvenient to use the restroom while traveling, she can urinate directly into the bag. To remove the bag, simply let air into it; the vacuum disappears, and the bag separates from the vulva. It's truly an ingenious invention! The shape of the bag's opening roughly resembles the shape of the vulva, with a relatively flexible edge, like the edge of a penile sheath, but much thicker. The vulva is relatively flat and doesn't adhere easily, and urine has a certain weight, so the urine bag needs to have a relatively strong suction.
Next, I watched the woman use the travel urine bag throughout the entire process. She removed the urine bag, revealing a faint, slightly reddish ring around her groin area outside her labia majora. After urinating, she took out a new urine bag and attached a cigarette box-sized device to a tube. With one hand, she positioned the bag according to the shape of her vulva, and with the other, she pressed a button on the device. After a slight click, the air in the urine bag was sucked out, and the two layers of plastic adhered tightly to the woman's vulva. The woman's vulva protruded slightly due to the suction, making it appear even larger. She unplugged the connector from the urine bag tube, and the bag did not fall down. Perhaps for safety, the urine bag also had a suspension device: a thin strap tied around her waist, with two thin straps hooked to the two small holes at the front and back of the urine bag. This way, if the vacuum suction failed, the urine bag could still hang around her waist and not fall down. But I think that might cause the urine to overflow. The women hung up their urine bags in two steps: the vacuum suction was done squatting, and the straps were hung standing up. Watching them stand there tying the thin straps reminded me of women wearing menstrual belts—it's quite similar.

It seems carrying travel urine bags is commonplace for them. I saw seven or eight women in this group carrying urine bags; some had urine in them, some didn't, but the bags were still tightly attached to their vulvas. Unused bags could be reattached after using the toilet. One woman, having already urinated, emptied the bag and still put it back on, just as neatly. This woman seemed quite frugal, or perhaps she had run out of bags.

I spent over an hour in that restroom, looking at countless women—I don't even bother to remember how many. Sometimes I'd squat down to peer into the drain and see their vulvas, other times I'd stand up and look through the window. Since you had to pass through the men's restroom to get to the women's, I saw both the faces and vulvas of many women. From their clothing, accents, and appearance, it was easy to match their faces with their vulvas.

I saw another ferry slowly docking. Looking at the time, it was getting late. Thinking that if I didn't cross soon, I might have to spend the night on the mainland, I reluctantly left the restroom.

I found a bus that had already passed the passenger check, and spoke to the tour guide standing at the door. I explained my situation and secretly slipped him a pack of cigarettes. The guide readily agreed to give me a ride to Shenjiamen. I got on their bus, saving on bus and ferry fares.

Once the car reached the ship, I got off and wandered around alone. My colleagues had already left, and I didn't know anyone on board. But looking around, I spotted several familiar faces—the women whose vulvas I had peeked at earlier. Now that I was on the ship, I was seeing them again. Looking at their faces and recalling their vulvas, I felt quite pleased with myself.

It was a summer evening, and the sea breeze was pleasant, but the cabins were rather stuffy, so most of the passengers were on deck. Only a few people remained in the cabins, scattered sparsely in various corners. As I came down from the deck, I inadvertently noticed two women whose vulvas I had peeked at earlier sitting in a corner. The thought of embarrassing them resurfaced.

I had experience with this kind of thing; I knew how to do it naturally, how to hook them, and how to dispel their doubts. I sat not far from them, glancing at them every now and then, which gradually caught their attention. They also glanced at me and whispered among themselves. I knew my chance had come, so I moved over to greet them and told them that I had something on my mind that I wanted to talk to them about after much consideration. They didn't seem to mind and asked me with smiles what I wanted to say. I pretended to stammer and told them that someone had spied on their private parts while they were using the toilet at the ferry dock. Like most people, they didn't quite believe me. I originally wanted to stop there and see how they blushed, since we were on a boat at sea, and there was nowhere to hide if something happened. But I could tell they also wanted to know the truth and didn't seem disgusted by me, so I became bolder. On a whim, I took out paper and pen and drew them a diagram of a flush toilet for peeping. I had the diagram memorized, so drawing it was easy for me, but I still pretended to be thinking and drawing as I memorized it, otherwise they might become suspicious. As I drew, I explained to them, clearly marking specific areas like the eyes and genitals. I also indicated the line of sight and blind spots for both men and women, drawing the woman's postures when squatting and standing, making it hard for them not to believe me. I asked them for small makeup mirrors and used the nearby tables and chairs as props. I placed the mirrors under the tables in appropriate positions, discovering that they could see their underwear under their skirts. Then I had them look at me from under the tables in the mirrors, letting them know how clearly men could see their genitals. Of course, I didn't say it directly, but used it as a way to convince them. However, I achieved my desired goal. When they put the mirrors under the tables, I clearly saw their faces turn bright red. Under the tables, they saw my calves, but what they felt was the scene of their genitals being watched by men, and a feeling of shame welled up inside them.

To make them even more convinced, I told them that I saw the people peeping at them board the boat, and if they were interested, I could lead them to find and catch them. There was a certain risk in saying this; if they actually went looking for me, it would be troublesome. But I had a plan. At worst, I'd pretend to lead them around, and if they couldn't find me, that was unavoidable, and they wouldn't blame me. I was 90% sure they wouldn't look for the man who was peeping. Women in this situation are too busy minimizing the impact to worry about someone wanting to amplify it—this was one of my years of experience as a spy. Sure enough, the two women just blushed and said, "Never mind, never mind." The woman in the second stall was congratulating herself on her luck while comforting the woman in the first stall.

I casually remarked, "You can see from behind too."

They were puzzled again: "How could that be?"

I held my breath and remained silent for a moment, as if making a decision, then gently told them, "I saw it."

As soon as I said that, they were shocked: "You…." They instinctively suspected I was the man who had been peeping at them. This was exactly what I wanted—to make them suspicious, then dispel their suspicions, thus completing a new round of shame for them.

I knew they would react this way, so I confidently and slowly recited the prepared, memorized cliché. I've described this cliché in other articles; it's the same old thing, always effective and never faltering. To maintain the flow of this article, let me repeat it again.

"Just before boarding the ship, I went to urinate in the outer stall of the men's restroom. I happened to notice three men crammed into the last stall in the inner stall. I thought they had dropped something into the ditch and kindly went over to help. One of them turned around, saw me, and patted my shoulder, telling me to squat down. I saw one of them crawling under the ditch, holding a large reflective mirror. Another man next to him was also looking into the mirror. I thought their things had probably been washed into the women's restroom next door, so I squatted down and looked into the mirror too. What I saw shocked me to death. At first, I didn't react." I was confused because I was with my wife. When I came to my senses, I realized what was going on. ...It was so clear! Thinking about it now, I've never seen my own wife that clearly. ...Please don't mind, I'm just saying whatever comes to mind. ...Think about it, when you comb your hair in the morning, how clear are your eyes and nose in the mirror? Even reflected from a ditch, it's only this close. And your...I'll be frank...your vulva is bigger than your mouth! You tell me how clear it is. ...Really, even each individual pubic hair is crystal clear. ...You think you can't see it in the second stall? Huh? ...You can see that too...The partition between the two squatting stalls doesn't go all the way down; there's a large gap between them and the ground, probably for easier cleaning...If you don't believe me, go check it out when you get home...If you take off your pants and squat down, your lower body is already below the partition...Come on, let me draw it for you (I drew a diagram as I spoke), I've drawn it, now you believe me, right?...What, you still don't believe me? Let me ask you, were you wearing pink underwear today, the really high-end kind (actually, I meant the very sexy kind)?...I didn't want to be so explicit, but you don't believe me... I had no choice but to tell you. ...Think about it, I wouldn't know what kind of underwear you were wearing, but now I've revealed it...When did you see it? Only in the toilet. ...When you squatted down, your underwear was at your ankles. Looking through the ditch, it should have been underwear on top and the other end on the bottom. Think about it, if we saw your underwear, didn't we also see your...thing? (Here I deliberately used "we," partly to emphasize that others were watching and I was passively and unintentionally, and partly to imply that I was indeed included in "we." Also, I tried to avoid using explicit terms like "vagina," the meaning was conveyed.)

[The End]

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/170645.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=170645&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : Seductive mature woman's little lover

Next Page : Rekindling the First Love