Touching the Third Sister on the Car

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Having dated many women, I can generally tell how promiscuous a woman is based on her appearance, photos, and chat style. Intuitively, I knew that Third Sister was the type who was sexually frustrated. Chatting, going out for meals, watching movies—the same routine, the same order. The more we met, the more familiar we became. I knew Third Sister had accepted me, and I gradually became bolder. I put her thighs on mine, touched her, kissed her cheeks, hugged her waist—the more intimate the actions became. According to Third Sister's own words, she had previously had bad relationships. But how many men she had actually met, I don't know, and I don't want to ask. After all, my third sister is a middle school teacher, her social circle isn't messy, and as long as she's healthy, I don't care about her past. Once, after dinner, I drove her home. After getting out of the car, I hugged her, and then immediately put my tongue in her mouth. At that moment, she went limp, completely stunned, and started kissing me back with her own tongue. A few seconds later, I pulled away, and she stood there, bewildered and dazed. That's when I knew my third sister was definitely a slut, because repressed sluts especially love kissing. Clearly, a few seconds of kissing had aroused her. I suggested we get in the car for a bit, and she nodded demurely. So I put her luggage back in the trunk. At her front door, under the streetlights, amidst the bustling crowd, we, blinded by lust, got into the back seat together. I embraced her and began a passionate French kiss, until she begged for mercy, saying, "Are you going to devour me?" But since it was our first time, she was still quite reserved. Aside from kissing, she wouldn't let me touch her breasts. Her breasts were quite large; she was voluptuous, and they felt wonderful to hold, their fleshy texture perfectly suited to my taste. I didn't force her, only kissing her lips and neck. Our first intimate encounter ended just like that. Afterwards, I remained as indifferent as before, and things cooled down. Looking back now, I think I should have continued longer; after all, she's my type, and I could have enjoyed it more. [The End]

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