The Blooming of Lust (The Second Wife's Experience 3)

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I desperately wanted to find the right words to describe that night. Today, a phrase suddenly came to mind: the flower of lust. Yes, the flower of lust. The blooming of the flower of lust, an unparalleled experience.
Earlier, I wrote about beginning my third wave of invasion. Actually, after the previous two ejaculations, my genitals weren't as sensitive. Perhaps a woman, after several orgasms, would also have less desire. But it was my first time spending the night with a woman other than my wife, and the excitement was still intense. At that moment, I had one thought: tonight I will make love to her wildly, I will completely conquer her. Conquer her body, conquer her soul. Plus, we were naked and embracing, both young and full of passion, so the third wave of attack began.
I spread her thighs, my hard penis finding its entrance. A woman in her ovulation period is always wet and slippery down there, ready to mate at any moment. My glans parted her delicate labia, and with a gentle thrust, my entire penis was embedded inside her.
She was clearly prepared for this attack. She groaned softly, then reached out and grabbed my buttocks, pulling me closer to her genitals. Her thighs were spread wide, her vulva completely defenseless, enduring my assault. After thrusting for over ten minutes, I recalled some pornographic scenes. Those novels described women experiencing multiple orgasms after being penetrated two or three hundred times. I wanted to try it too. So, the most intense sexual assault began.
I slightly raised my upper body and began thrusting in and out with wide, sweeping strokes. Each time, I pulled out, leaving only the head of my penis inside her, then plunged back in with a powerful thrust, the head creating intense friction and pleasure within her vagina. The high-frequency thrusting was about twice per second. She was clearly infected by my passion. She released me, placing her hands on either side of her body in a surrender gesture. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open (yes, the expression of a female protagonist in an adult film). I thrust in and she moaned. Looking at her expression, so beautiful, I suddenly felt she resembled a girl I had a crush on in college. A surge of excitement welled up inside me, as if I were making love with that girl from college. Actually, I'd never even held her hand. I silently counted in my head: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten; two, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten; three, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten... When I reached twelve, thirteen, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, I extended one finger, remembering that was one hundred counts (of course, my counting was very subtle, she didn't notice, otherwise it would have been strange). When I finished counting on ten fingers, that was one thousand counts. Every two thousand counts, I would rest for a few dozen seconds, lie on top of her, and stroke her hair. Her hairline was low, and her hair was thick. She was my type. Then another two thousand counts. She screamed wildly. Her address to me changed from "brother" to "darling." She moaned, "Darling, how about I have a child for you? Do you want it? I want a child to share our bloodline. That way we can be together forever." I was young and naive then, but now I think about it—letting a man's seed be planted in her fertile womb—that's the greatest compliment a woman can give a man. Even now, thinking of her words fills me with emotion. And since then, no other woman has ever said the same thing to me. She moaned again, "Is it because I'm not your wife that you're fucking me so hard, without any tenderness?" "Darling, take me, possess me as you please, I'm yours, everything I have is yours." Those enchanting moans encouraged me, making me more and more vigorous. I
probably thrust in and out three or four times, two thousand times each, plus some a thousand or so times, totaling over ten thousand times. Her body didn't move; her head was against the headboard, her lower body constantly enduring my assault. After that thrusting session, I noticed a wet patch about half the size of my palm under her buttocks (she hadn't moved for an hour or two, and all the semen had flowed down her buttocks into one spot, making it noticeable). That one or two hours of thrusting was the most intense sex I've ever had. I was young then, and I swam every day, so I had the physical attributes. So, gentlemen, if you want to endlessly enjoy women, you must exercise more.
Later, she told me that it was that wave of reckless thrusting that completely captivated her (after experiencing such wonderful sex, she went back to her husband and was dissatisfied with him every day, arguing and refusing sex, almost divorcing him—something I feel very guilty about). Husbands, your wives, your cherished wives, the wives you're reluctant to have sex with, may have been recklessly and wildly thrust into by someone else. And perhaps it was precisely because of this frenzied possession that your wife fell in love with the man who desperately possessed her.
After it was over, it was already past four in the morning. We were both exhausted, and our two naked bodies embraced each other as we fell into a deep sleep.

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The Blooming of Lust (The Second Wife's Experience 3)

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