Sister Ying at the hair salon

Her name was Ying. At that time, she ran a small hair salon, the kind with only one or two people, located in a residential area. She happened to rent a small storefront in front of my house. My mother was still alive then, and since she lived alone, she rented out the small half of the shop facing the street. This way, she had some income, and since older people are often lonely, having someone there would bring her some joy. The rent wasn't really important. I, on the other hand, worked away from home most of the time and initially didn't want to rent it out, but seeing how well Ying got along with my mother, I thought it was a good idea and didn't object anymore.
About half a year later, my mother fell ill and was hospitalized—a serious illness—so I had to take leave and return home to help care for her. My sister and I took turns going to the hospital to look after her at night, and during the day, we would usually prepare food and drinks and bring them to my mother. This is how I came to know Ying. Sometimes, when I was tired and she didn't have any customers, I would ask her to wash my hair and massage my shoulders. Gradually, we became familiar with each other and I learned a lot about her.
Ying was a girl from the countryside who married into the city. She was not yet 30 at the time, and while her looks were average, her skin was exceptionally fair. From her neck, one could see her smooth, delicate, and jade-like skin, and her arms, white as lotus roots, which stirred the imagination. But further down, it was difficult to see anything. She always wore a low-cut T-shirt and rarely wore skirts, mostly just jeans. So, my lustful eyes could never see what was underneath, and as is often the case, the less you can see, the more you want to see… With this in mind, I often stared blankly at her fair arms.
I ended up chatting with her about everyday things, and it was then that I learned she was actually a very honest and down-to-earth woman. Her parents chose her for marriage, hoping she would have a better life in the city. However, her husband turned out to be a complete spoiled brat. Earlier in his life, relying on his family's wealth (his father was a company executive, now laid off), he had never seriously done anything. Now that the family's finances are increasingly strained, he no longer considers working; he's incapable of doing anything significant and unwilling to do anything trivial. So, Ying runs this small shop, supplementing the family income and occasionally giving her husband pocket money. To make matters worse, her husband feels ashamed that Ying runs this small shop and even comes over every few days to argue with her. She seems very lost about the future, seeing no hope. She just wants to raise her son and hopes for a peaceful life. This is the image of many lower-class women in China, living a life of hardship and helplessness. I felt very sympathetic and offered some words of comfort.
When we talked about my family, I discovered she knew a great deal about my situation, from elementary school to university, from work to family—she knew a lot about everything. It turns out that my elderly mother liked to chat with her about everyday things when she had free time. Like all mothers, she praised her son to the skies, so Ying had a very good impression of her. However, this time when my mother was sick and I came back to take care of her, she seemed quite moved, repeatedly saying, "You're so good to the family. If my husband were half as good, I'd be happy too!"... Actually, I've really been filial to my mother; I think it's a son's duty, so I didn't feel anything special. But her repeated praise made me feel a little embarrassed. However, after a few days, I felt that her feelings for me might genuinely come from the heart.
That afternoon, I asked her to help me wash my hair again. Since we were more familiar now, we chatted more casually. I said to her, "Your skin is so beautiful. If you hadn't said anything, no one would have thought you came from the countryside. If you wore a skirt, many women wouldn't need to go out." She said, "Really? When I was little, people said I was a snowman. Many people didn't believe I came from **town (a rural area). But I didn't wear skirts when I was little; it wasn't convenient to wear them in the countryside." I said, "You can wear them now. Your husband doesn't know how lucky he is. He should cherish such a good wife." She said, "That's your opinion. He wouldn't think that way!"
After saying that, she seemed a little sad. I didn't say anything more, but I had a vague feeling that something was going to happen between us.
That day, it was my turn to go to the hospital to stay with her late at night. After dinner, I could rest early. Around 8 o'clock, Ying was also getting ready to finish work. I said, "You're finishing early today?" She replied, "There wasn't much business, so I might as well rest early." After she finished tidying up, I said... "Since it's still early, why don't you sit here and chat?" At this point, I already had some ulterior motives. She didn't object, so after pulling down the roller shutter outside, she came back to my temporary room with me.
Once inside, I made her a cup of tea, and we talked about my mother's illness and her family matters. Under the room's fluorescent light, her skin appeared even more striking, and her face gradually flushed as we talked. When I looked at her, she seemed a little flustered, and I sensed she was hinting at something… The atmosphere in the room slowly became somewhat ambiguous!
At that moment, I decided to abandon my previous gradual approach to dating. Whether it would succeed or not, I wasn't sure, but it was just between the two of us, and even if it didn't work out, there was no shame.
So I suddenly said to her, "You know, I've never seen a woman with such beautiful skin.
I really want to see what your legs look like!" "After saying that, my heart pounded. I didn't know how she would react. If she refused, or even cursed at me, I would definitely blush.
She was sitting on the edge of my bed. Hearing my words, she seemed to drop the teacup she was holding. She picked up the cup with both hands, took a small sip of tea, and then lowered her head, remaining silent. After a few seconds, as if she had made up her mind, she said, 'Do you really want to see?' After my repeated affirmative answers, she put down the cup, slowly turned over, lay on my blanket, her legs still dangling over the edge of the bed, lowered her hands, then raised them again, covering her eyes with her fingers.
Even the most clueless man would know what to do next. But I didn't want to be too rough with the process.
So I went over, gently took off her shoes, picked up her feet, placed them on the bed, and then sat down beside her. I lowered my head and kissed her fingers and arms twice. There was no need to do much else, because I felt this was a time for enjoyment. Then I turned back and gently unbuttoned my jeans." The buttons were fastened; the pants were tight, but not too difficult to remove. Once unbuttoned, she lifted her buttocks, and I easily pulled the jeans down.
A long, slender, white leg was revealed. Under the light, it appeared even whiter. These were the best legs I had ever seen; almost flawless, the flesh wasn't very firm, but warm and comfortable. A pair of low-quality, pale red panties protected her private area, which stood out even more against her white thighs. I gently stroked her silky skin, then lightly pressed my hand against the mons pubis area of the panties, feeling the warmth inside. I pulled down her panties, revealing a thin, slightly dark slit, hidden by sparse pubic hair, winding between her legs. I lowered my head, sniffing upwards along her calves and thighs, catching a tangy, slightly acidic scent of vaginal fluid. This didn't worry me; what woman who's worked all day wouldn't have a slight odor down there? To avoid ruining the moment, I didn't even suggest washing up first; in fact, the smell only heightened my arousal. I first gently rubbed my beard against her pubic hair a few times, then carefully combed through her few curly hairs, offering her some tenderness and care. I didn't do any more foreplay, because I felt... I sensed she was already aroused. A warm, moist sensation rose from between her legs, subtly swirling around my hands and mouth. Her vaginal opening became wet and smooth; a little vaginal fluid, after being spread, made her labia majora and mons pubis slippery and shiny, arousing me even more. Ying, after lying down, never let go of my hands, her legs allowing me to manipulate them. If I didn't spread them, she would clamp her legs together, but as soon as I did, she would let me do as I pleased. I could hear her breathing gradually becoming more rapid, and her vaginal opening slightly parted due to my constant caresses.
I stood up, removed my lower garments, and spread her legs slightly, standing upright on the bed. Holding my penis, I thrust in, and with each powerful entry, she let out a soft "Oh," and then there was no further reaction. But I knew she was enjoying it; her vagina was ready. With each insertion, it overflowed with vaginal fluid, making squelching sounds with each thrust. Ying then released her hands, no longer covering her eyes, and turned her head to the side, panting with each thrust. Suddenly, Ying stretched her legs forward, tensing them tightly. I knew she was aroused, so I thrust even harder, preventing her legs from closing, allowing my penis to penetrate even deeper. After a few more thrusts, I felt a contraction inside. Unable to close her legs, Ying turned her upper body to the side, covering her face again with an expression of discomfort. I placed my penis inside, feeling the heat and contractions within. A while later, I knew she had reached her climax.
I then laid her down again and continued to enjoy myself. This time, she didn't have another orgasm, just silently cooperated, allowing me to ejaculate.
Afterwards, I removed her top piece by piece, because I felt that seeing her fair and delicate skin was also a pleasure. Ying had a good figure, fair and delicate, with small breasts and slightly loose nipples, but surprisingly, she had no moles on her body, like a newborn baby, only without the rosy glow of an infant. But for a mature woman, this was extremely rare. After the passion subsided, all that remained was appreciation. Ying was still somewhat shy, letting me caress her without making a sound. I didn't touch her again, just quietly held her for a while, put on her top, and she left.
The next day, she came back to open the shop, and when we met, neither of us mentioned it again. I knew she did that because she was in a bad mood, and also because she had a fairly good impression of me, but I couldn't offer her anything in return. There was no business relationship between us.
Actually, I had a bad prejudice: I always thought that girls who ran hair salons would inevitably run brothels, probably because I'd seen too many of those salons in Guangdong. But Ying wasn't like that, and I realized I shouldn't have had that prejudice. After that incident, we only became closer emotionally, but never discussed money. In reality, many women don't cheat for money; it's more often for other reasons.
After that night, we became good friends and spent some time together until my mother recovered and I left home for the south. Then, her hair salon closed down after a while, and I lost contact with her. Back then, we used a PHS phone; now we've changed. I thought this was our only chance to meet.
Three years later, I returned to my hometown for some reason.
Suddenly one day, I received a call from a woman. After talking, I realized it was Ying calling. It turned out that after changing her number, she had kept mine but hadn't called me. When she came back this time, I had changed my phone number. She found out from my mother and got the number to call me.
Of course, our reunion inevitably involved a meal. While I was eating, I learned that she no longer ran a hairdresser but worked as a janitor at a health center. Several years had passed, and she looked paler and more haggard than before, but she hadn't lost her optimism. Her husband was also doing better than before; although not exactly happy, they were making do. She said she had always thought I was a good person and had received a lot of encouragement from me (heaven knows, I never intentionally said anything, but that's how people feel about each other, that's how it is when there's a good impression). She hadn't called while I was away, but now that she heard I was back, she wanted to talk to me.
I said, "I didn't expect you to remember me after all this time; it makes me really happy. Since we're friends, there's no need for formalities; we can just keep in touch. It's rare that we're together now; let's just be happy together!"
Then, I asked about that night, asking why she had been so kind to me. She said, "I don't know why, but that time I was with you made me feel really good." I said, "Actually, I've never forgotten the romance of that night. After you left, I felt like I'd never find you again, and I was very disappointed. Now that we've met again, I hope we can rekindle our romance!" Ying didn't say anything, just smiled again. So I booked a room in a small hotel, we took a shower together, and lay naked in bed together.
Three years ago, Ying said I was her second man, and I thought that was true. Now, so much time has passed, and I feel like she's matured a lot in the outside world. I can guess that she didn't gain these experiences from having sex with her husband, but I don't mind. To be honest, being with a woman who likes and admires you is better than anything else. As for whether she has other men, that's not really a crucial issue. So, we were in bed together. She was much more relaxed than before, no longer letting herself be manipulated, but actively playing with me...
She lay in the blankets, playing with my penis in her hands, constantly kissing my nipples, her body curled up in my arms like a lamb. Her long, delicate thighs had loosened slightly, but still felt like jade to touch. I inserted a finger into her vagina and made a new discovery: there were firm protrusions inside, those folds definitely giving men pleasure and happiness. No wonder I felt so good when she gripped my penis last time; she's a rare find. This time, we had plenty of time and were both very engaged in foreplay.
Since she liked it, I turned over and we played 69. She enjoyed it, I could tell, and was very involved. When I lightly touched her clitoris with the tip of my tongue, her legs tensed again, trembling uncontrollably. So I diligently used my tongue and saliva, licking her warm vulva back and forth. Each time she tightened, I inserted my fingers into her vagina. I could feel she enjoyed this play; each time I licked her clitoris, she forcefully took my penis into her mouth, as if she wanted to swallow it whole. With each deeper penetration, her body writhed, and moans rose and fell. I inserted my fingers deeply, then used them to press and tease the folds of her vagina… Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. With a long howl, Ying rolled over, threw back the covers, spread her legs wide, and thrust her buttocks forward, saying, "I can't take it anymore, come on top!"
So I mounted her, placed a pillow under her buttocks, spread her snow-white legs, and pressed my body into her already open hole. Ying writhed beneath me, her legs opening and closing, thrusting her buttocks forward to meet my entry. When my penis entered, I realized how rushed things had been last time; I'd almost missed the point of being unaware of the deliciousness. The vagina was incredibly warm and wet, each clitoris hard and rounded. When my penis rubbed against them, it felt like a constant friction and scraping, but the constant flow of vaginal fluid provided excellent lubrication, making each thrust feel incredibly smooth and satisfying. Even the most experienced
penis can't withstand such grinding. Soon, I felt a tingling, numb sensation, as if each thrust was about to pull my penis away from my body. But then came deeper penetration. I knew I'd encountered the kind of exquisite vagina described in books—the kind that makes men surrender automatically. But I didn't mind; it was a rare and precious encounter.
Ying was thoroughly enjoying herself. With each thrust, she would let out a moan, arching her hips high before slamming them down. Each time my penis tried to withdraw, she would clench tightly, as if afraid it would slip away. As it penetrated deeper, she would contract her vagina again, letting out a moan, as if savoring each act of pleasure. It felt less like adultery and more like a wild disco dance, twisting her body to a powerful rhythm!
Finally, she gritted her teeth and cried out, "Oh... Oh!" A long howl ended our struggle.
My relationship with Ying was a story devoid of love and money. I felt it was a story of both of us seeking different kinds of enjoyment in life. I didn't love her, and she didn't love me. But we both had feelings for each other and harbored expectations. It's hard to say who was playing whom; anyway, life is like a phone call: if you don't hang up first, I will!

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Sister Ying at the hair salon

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