He slept with his subordinate's mother

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

Chinese daughters are full of ambition, loving both military uniforms and red dresses. Having just celebrated my 31st birthday, I'm pondering the subtleties of love. I think the straightforward, predictable formula is utterly uninteresting; it's the unexpected twists and turns, the long-awaited breakthroughs and moments of triumph that truly captivate. Like reaching for the stars, you might not succeed, but you won't get your hands dirty, yet gazing at the stars always brings light to the night. People crave excitement and novelty, like spicy food, strong liquor, and the allure of sex. Looking back on my romantic history, many are over thirty, but the most unforgettable and deeply cherished relationships are simply driven by excitement: there were pure and innocent female classmates, the unrestrained and promiscuous wife of a boss, a high-ranking female executive, and a gentle and virtuous female professor.

Today, I want to share a story about a subordinate's mother. Four years ago, I was leaving my workplace when I bumped into my younger brother at the entrance. He was with an elderly woman, a woman, and a man. In a fleeting glance, I saw that the woman was around forty, elegantly dressed, with a refined and graceful air. Despite it being winter, her tight-fitting jeans and black knee-high boots exuded a professional competence, while her short hair and red lips added a touch of restrained sexiness. She glanced at me and nodded. That night, I couldn't sleep, secretly determined to have something happen between us. A few days later, the company was compiling family information. In my brother's family profile, I saw his mother's phone number and that his parents were divorced. Who was the man I met that day? So I typed her mother's phone number into WeChat, pondered for a long time, trying to find a suitable excuse, and finally added her. The invitation message was something like "your son's boss." I was worried about the frustration of being rejected and the embarrassment of being ignored. Yes, who would randomly add a stranger they'd only met once? And someone as exceptional as her—if a man added her, wouldn't she be aware of his ulterior motives? After sending the message, I regretted it immediately. Embarrassment, frustration, shame—a whole range of emotions. Yes, she hadn't accepted the message all day; she must have received it and been rejected. The next morning, I asked my younger brother about work, and in the spare time, I casually asked about his family. It turned out that the man from that day was his "uncle"—her mother's boyfriend. Perhaps her mother found out about my unintentional concern for my younger brother, or perhaps she herself felt a little flutter of attraction; the next afternoon, she finally accepted. At first, it was just simple polite greetings like "please take care of me," and I didn't elaborate. After that, there was no interaction for a long time. About two or three weeks later, she posted something on her WeChat Moments, and I commented below. I don't remember how I flirted, but I ended up typing "I love you." She didn't reply after that. I think I went too far; I overdid it. Yes, if she really was interested, was she testing me?

The next day, I couldn't resist and sent her a private WeChat message. This time, we chatted for a long time, starting with her son's job, gradually moving forward. Perhaps it was my eloquence and humor, or perhaps she already had a ripple of longing in her heart, but we had a very pleasant conversation. I attacked, she defended, and the conversation always hovered on the edge of romance, many times wanting to say something but stopping short, many times just touching on the surface. Finally, one day, she sent me a picture of underwear hanging to dry—a delicate little black lace garment. Even through the phone, I could almost smell its wanton, seductive scent, that yearning for my caresses, that restless, unfulfilled desire. Immediately, I bought a high-speed train ticket from Nanjing to Hangzhou and checked into the Xinxin Hotel by West Lake. But she still refused to come. Opening the curtains, gazing at West Lake day and night, my turbulent emotions slowly calmed into still water: Why send me such explicit messages and photos, yet refuse to come? I was utterly exasperated. I resolved to return to Nanjing the next day. That night, the room phone rang. This was the third takeout order of the day; without her, even the beautiful scenery and delicious food of West Lake tasted bland. I opened the door, and there she was, impeccably made up, standing alone, nearly 1.7 meters tall, in pointed high heels, a red pencil skirt, and grey stockings. She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at me, a smile I couldn't resist. I took her hand, and the moment I closed the door, before she could speak, I launched my attack. I pinned her against the door, biting her earlobe, as if telling her of my longing, as if accusing her of my impatience. She gripped my waist, her head slightly raised, her eyes half-closed. My right hand grasped her ample breasts, my left hand caressed every square centimeter of her waist, my lips kissed from her earlobe to her neck to her chest, my left hand lifted her right leg, my hard lower body pressed against her private parts, and she began to moan, her breathing heavy. I unhooked her bra, buried my head in her ample breasts, and took her right nipple into my mouth. She gasped, her hands gripping my back. We kissed as we went to the bathroom. I lifted her onto the sink and kissed her thighs and calves through her stockings. She urged me to say she'd already showered. I pulled her pencil skirt up to her waist and licked her vulva through her stockings and panties. She grabbed my hair haphazardly, panting and asking if I wanted her. We kissed like this for two or three minutes. Then I put her down, pressed her shoulders and back, and pulled down my underwear. My penis was already throbbing, just waiting for the signal. But I wasn't in a hurry. I spread her legs and rubbed her vulva repeatedly, but didn't penetrate her. Her juices accumulated, sticky and hot. She leaned down, grabbed my penis, and inserted it into her vagina. I instantly felt that longed-for wetness. I started thrusting, holding her shoulders. During this time, she turned to look at me, and I gazed at her face in the mirror. Sometimes she frowned, sometimes she closed her eyes, sometimes she bit her lip. Such a dignified woman, yet so wanton. She kept saying things like "It feels so good," "Hurry up," "I love your cock," and "Fuck me like this," which gave me immense satisfaction and made me feel incredibly aroused—this was the feeling of a man conquering a woman. The rapid thrusting made us both a little tired, so we moved to the sofa. I sat on the sofa, and she knelt in front of me, giving me oral sex. Sometimes she would lower her head to suckle carefully, sometimes she would look up at me with a seductive and meaningful gaze. Seeing her buttocks sticking out and her knees on the floor, I played with her hair and asked her, "Why are you so horny?" She replied with something like, "Don't you like me being horny?" Finally, I lay on the bed, and she sat on top of me with her back to me, her hands on the bed, vigorously twisting her big buttocks, watching my cock going in and out, listening to her moans and groans. I finally ejaculated.
Time flies, and later, she came to Nanjing to see me several times, often sending me photos of herself wearing a thong and masturbating. We even had video sex a few times. Unfortunately, I later decided to marry my girlfriend, so I gradually distanced myself from her. She also got married to that other boyfriend. Although we still kept in touch, things could never go back to the way they were before.

[The End]

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He slept with his subordinate's mother

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