Duan Duan's University Days 1

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

I entered my freshman year of college. Because of my beauty, I gained some fame at school. I received countless love letters, and some even confessed their love to me in person. I felt like a proud princess, looking down at the group of boys chasing after me.
Then, in my sophomore year, Shenyang TV was recruiting hosts. My mother encouraged me to see what competition in society was like, and so, relying solely on my "brave heart," I applied. Perhaps my enthusiasm, simplicity, and unpretentiousness moved the judges; despite having no on-screen experience, I became the youngest program host at the station at the time—I was 19 years old. From one competition to another, at 24, my birth year in the Chinese zodiac, I joined CCTV. At that time, I wrote an article titled "My Birth Year, I'm Back to the Starting Point." My requirement for myself was to do something that could be called a "qualitative leap" every year. Up to this year, I have achieved that.
Then, amidst my fame and a group of suitors, at some point, a special person joined the ranks. He was a teacher, a PhD who had returned from studying in Japan. Despite his less-than-ideal looks, the aura of his Japanese PhD always set him apart from others.
"Wang Duanduan, your paper is quite good. Revise it a bit more. Please come to my place after class this afternoon." That's how I remember him expressing his admiration for me.
After the second period that afternoon, I went to his house. Faculty housing was very scarce. Because he was a PhD graduate from Japan, the school gave him special treatment, allocating him a two-bedroom apartment. Although it was small—the small living room was only a little over 5 square meters, and the large bedroom was only 10 square meters—for young teachers of his age, it was like heaven and earth. He handed me a glass of iced cola and patted my hand. "It's so hot today, drink something cold to cool down. Look, your clothes are all wet."
Like other female students, I was wearing a tank top, a popular choice on campus. The black, tight-fitting, slightly transparent silk fabric clung to my slender figure, perfectly outlining the curves of my chest. Her 1.8-foot waist was alluring. She wore loose shorts, revealing my proudly beautiful, snow-white thighs.
He then enthusiastically brought me a towel, handing it to me with one hand while his other hand gently stroked my shoulder. "Quick, wipe your sweat,"
he said, not minding his repeated intimate gestures. Boys often pretended not to mind touching or groping our bare arms and shoulders. Girls were also proud that their bodies attracted boys and happily pretended not to notice. Seeing that I didn't object, he boldly sat down next to me. One hand seemingly unintentionally landed on my thigh. My heart skipped a beat; I had a strange feeling. But I couldn't be impolite to a teacher. I could only pretend to wipe my face and arms with the damp towel, then handed it back to him: "Thank you, teacher." I then moved my thigh away. "Did you receive the letter I gave you?" he asked. "Letter? What letter?" I was completely bewildered. "You must receive letters a lot, right? I bet you don't even open some of them.
" He's right. Lots of boys write me love letters. Many are from upperclassmen or graduate students, people I don't even know. So I haven't even opened many of them. Could it be—? But he's not a student, he's a teacher. "Are you sweating now? I'll turn on the air conditioner then. You were all sweaty just now, I was afraid the air would make you feel cold." "He said with concern.
I nodded. I felt really embarrassed and uneasy.
He picked up my assignment, which he called a paper, but it was really just an assignment, and sat down next to me. His shoulder rested on the back of mine, as if I were leaning against him. He placed the assignment in front of me and slowly began to explain. His shoulder kept rubbing against mine. His arm, exposed outside his short-sleeved shirt, occasionally brushed against my bare arm. His hand kept patting my hand.
I started to feel strange. Sweat started flowing again without me realizing it. My breasts were slightly swollen, and I felt like my nipples were erect. My face felt hot; I knew it must be blushing. Fortunately, the sweat and heat covered up the blush. What was worse, my lower body also felt damp.
" At the dance, the boys often took the opportunity to hug us tightly, rubbing their chests against our breasts. Their hands, around our waists, were also restless, often groping our backs. Sometimes they even touched our underwear waistbands and patted our buttocks. I felt that same fluttering heart and blushing feeling then too. But that was during an activity!
Even with the air conditioning on, I was still sweating profusely. Honestly, I didn't hear a word they said. I realized in my heart that talking about homework was just an excuse. Boys often used that excuse. He wanted to be with me. I wondered if he had written me a letter? What would it say? I wondered if he had finished. Anyway, he stood up. "Oh dear, it's so late. The cafeteria might be out of food." He looked at his watch and said in surprise.
"How about we go out to eat? My treat." I stood up too, not knowing what to say. My nipples were erect, making my tank top look like two little buds. He gave my chest a meaningful look, his eyes lingering on those two little buds.
"Let's go." "I don't know why I found myself following him in a daze. We left the school gate and came to a quiet restaurant. We sat down in a couples' booth.
My heart was pounding. He stroked my long hair and told me about his experiences abroad. 'I've been to many countries. In Amsterdam, Netherlands, there's a street with famous window girls.'
I looked at him, confused. His hand was still stroking my hair, occasionally landing on my shoulder, gently caressing it. 'Window girls are girls who stand in shop windows, letting people choose.' He explained, seeing my confused look. 'For example, if you like a girl, you can knock and go in. When she draws the curtains, the red light in the window goes out. The red-light district gets its name from the red light in their windows.'
" I don't know when, but his hands stopped on my hair and started stroking my shoulders and back. I didn't dare move. Every time his hands touched my bare shoulders and arms, I felt a tingling, itchy sensation. The food arrived, but he ate very little. He talked about the red-light districts of the Netherlands, Germany, France, England, Singapore, and Hong Kong... His hands not only stroked my shoulders and arms but later moved to my thighs. I ate very little too. I listened without saying a word. My breasts were throbbing with a dull ache. My nipples were desperately trying to stand erect. My legs felt wet, and I felt a downward pull in my lower body. My lower back ached. My muscles were tense in waves.
I don't know how I finished the meal. But he showed no sign of leaving. He brought out coffee and a fruit platter. The lights dimmed. He was very gentle. He continued talking about his experiences abroad. His hand, which had been wandering over my back and bare shoulders, somehow slipped inside my tank top, caressing my smooth back. His other hand kept stroking my thighs, repeatedly slipping inside my shorts. At one point, it even touched the edge of my underwear. I instinctively flinched away, and he stopped going deeper. Under his caresses, my back and shoulders felt numb and itchy. My thighs involuntarily tensed, especially the groin, the muscles were extremely tense. My breasts were swollen and painful, as if they were swelling. My nipples stood high against my clothes. My underwear was even wetter, clinging tightly to my vulva. I knew I should refuse, but I didn't want him to stop. This conflicting feeling made me make no move.
Seeing how gentle I was, he couldn't help but increase the intensity of his movements. He pulled me into his arms. "I love you." As those three words were uttered, his kisses rained down on my hair, neck, and shoulders. His hands, which had been on my thighs, began to knead my lower abdomen vigorously. I struggled symbolically for a moment, but under his storm of caresses, I felt so powerless and helpless.
I trembled uncontrollably, a warm current surging through my lower abdomen under his vigorous kneading. It rushed to my chest. Under the impact of this heat, I involuntarily thrust my chest forward, raising my arms upward, making my already swollen breasts stand erect, the nipples clearly defined, particularly alluring. My movements seemed to give him some kind of signal. His hand suddenly slipped under the hem of my tank top, directly kneading my smooth lower abdomen extensively. A passionate kiss landed on my face, silencing me with a kiss that made it hard to breathe. His hand on my lower abdomen grew larger, constantly sweeping across my breasts. Even through my bra, it stirred up waves of trembling shivers. His hand continued to move downwards, slipping inside my waistband, vigorously kneading below my navel, causing that heat to surge between my thighs. Under the impact of this heat, I involuntarily arched my back and thrust my legs forward.
My mouth was blocked by his kiss, making it hard to breathe. I felt an electric shock all over my body. His hands squeezed and kneaded my swollen breasts, waves of pain shooting through me, almost unbearable, yet the pain also brought a strangely pleasurable sensation. The more unbearable the swelling and pain, the stronger this pleasurable sensation became. My lower abdomen felt like it was on fire, burning all the way to my inner thighs. The feeling of heaviness in my stomach turned into a dull ache, pulling and tugging at my waist. There was also a feeling of menstrual cramps. Under the burning heat, the pain in my lower body seemed to be sublimating, bringing waves of pleasure. I was panting heavily, the waves of heat coursing through my body making me dizzy; burning my nerves. I couldn't even perceive what his hands were doing.
My unconscious movements clearly aroused his desire even more intensely. He pressed one leg onto my legs, his whole body pressing down on me. I was under him, in complete darkness. I felt like I was being crushed by him. He pressed down on me, making my joints feel like they were dislocated. I desperately turned my head away, just to catch my breath under his pressure. There was something hard between his legs, pressing against my lower abdomen and thighs, making me ache.
His hand slipped inside my underwear. A sharp pain jolted me awake. His hand was frantically pulling at my pubic hair. His other hand was exploring inside my bra. I shivered involuntarily. All the pleasant sensations vanished instantly. My whole body ached unbearably. Every joint felt twisted and throbbing. My breasts felt like they were about to burst. My waist felt like it was being pulled by a thousand-pound weight, the pain shooting up and down my spine. The burning sensation in my stomach turned into an icy chill that seared into my genitals, causing intense menstrual cramps. The unbearable pain brought tears to my eyes.
I struggled desperately beneath him. Only then did I understand what it meant to be a weak woman. Under the weight of his body, my struggles were so helpless. I desperately tried to protect my most private parts. One hand desperately resisted his hand's assault on my breasts, while the other desperately blocked his hand's assault on my vagina. I twisted my body with all my might, trying to prevent his hands from reaching where he wanted to. I kept pleading, "No, no, don't."
Despite my desperate resistance, he seemed oblivious to my struggles. His lower body pounded violently against me again and again. His hard penis thrust repeatedly into my lower abdomen, thighs, and perineum, causing his entire body to heave wildly on top of me. I felt as if my bones were being broken and crushed. With each heavy thrust, a surge of cold air shot up my chest, assaulting my throat. I involuntarily opened my mouth slightly, letting out these gasps, and unconsciously groaned, "Ah, ah—." With a few more violent thuds of his erect penis, he finally stopped his violent writhing, his hands ceasing their kneading and squeezing. He slumped down, pinning me firmly beneath him, panting heavily. My whole body felt as if all strength had suddenly left me, finally finding peace after the storm. I lay powerless beneath him, also panting. His erect penis slowly softened.
He finally slowly climbed off me. My body felt like it had fallen apart, sore and unable to move. I remained slumped in the booth. Tears streamed silently down my tightly closed eyes. My clothes were disheveled. One shoulder strap had slipped down; the hem was bunched up high, the bottom edge of my bra barely visible. My shorts were pulled down, revealing the waistband of my underwear. My entire abdomen was exposed to the soft light. My navel rose and fell with my sobs. The pant legs were rolled up, revealing my two white thighs. Bruise marks from his pinching were left on my thighs and stomach. My neck and shoulders burned with pain, and clear purplish-red teeth marks were imprinted on my snow-white shoulders and slender neck. My neck was difficult to move, as if I had a stiff neck.
He gently helped me up, his voice hoarse, repeatedly apologizing, but I didn't hear a word. I just wanted to cry my heart out. But even though we were in a booth, people were still coming and going outside, and I dared not cry out loud. I could only sob softly.
He straightened my clothes, gently stroking every inch of my skin, and gently caressing my breasts through my clothes, and my inner thighs and perineum through my pants. I ignored him, still holding my face and crying. Anyway, he had touched my whole body. It didn't matter whether he touched me or not. Luckily, he didn't directly touch my most private parts. At least my breasts and lower body were safe; his hands couldn't directly touch my private areas. With his caresses, especially his caresses of my breasts and perineum, a warm current spread, and my tense nerves slowly relaxed.
He handed me a cold coffee. I was incredibly thirsty, so I drank it down in one gulp. My mood gradually calmed down. Still sobbing, I said, "Give me some cold cola."
He drank his cold coffee in one go. Then he got more coffee and cola. Under his gentle caresses and comforting words, I finally stopped crying. He drank several cups of hot drinks before his voice was no longer hoarse. "It's late. Why don't you stay at my place?" he said.
I firmly shook my head and sat back, making it impossible for his hands to reach me. He had no choice but to stop caressing me. "Take me back to my dorm," I said in an unquestionable tone. He nodded, not daring to say anything more.
I didn't get back to my dorm until late at night. I quickly washed myself and changed my wet underwear.
Lying in bed, I kept thinking about the stories he told me and what happened that night, constantly rubbing my breasts and lower abdomen. I wanted to relax my aching breasts and sagging belly.
And so, I don't know when, I finally drifted off to sleep.

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