Awesome! Staying at the teacher's house.

My father was a lawyer, very busy with work, and my mother was in poor health and hospitalized. So basically, no one had time to take care of me. I often had to eat alone at small restaurants, gradually losing my appetite, becoming anorexic, and growing thinner and thinner. Once, when I visited my mother in the hospital, she saw me and cried, and my father's eyes also reddened.

My teacher at the time was the homeroom teacher of the class next door; if it weren't for that, she probably wouldn't have known about such an insignificant child as me. Tutoring was very popular in those days, and teachers often had dozens of students, divided into small groups. Their monthly income was very high. The teacher was in her thirties, had a five-year-old daughter, and her husband was also a lawyer, very busy like my father, often not home. Because of my high income, my house was large and well-decorated. I even hired a housekeeper to help with cooking and laundry. Every morning, I went to work with my teacher, and after work, we would have tutoring in the evenings. There was a small round table, and my teacher always sat next to me. Actually, I couldn't stand it because I was allergic to her perfume. But because I could often see her cleavage, I endured it. Sometimes I had fantasies, but she was, after all, a teacher.

Until one day, I remember it was around 1 or 2 a.m., I woke up to go to the bathroom. As I passed my teacher's room, I heard unusual sounds—a woman moaning softly. The door was ajar, and my intense curiosity drove me to peek inside. Through the dim light, I saw the teacher's legs spread apart, her hands moving incessantly between them, while she emitted low moans. I didn't know what was happening; I just stood there, staring blankly. It was autumn, and a bit chilly, and I was only wearing underwear. Perhaps because I caught a chill, I sneezed.

The sound stopped abruptly, followed by a "Who's there?" I was terrified, but too afraid to run, so I answered. She turned on the bedside lamp and told me to come in. Like a child who had done something wrong, I lowered my head, not daring to look at her, because for some reason, my little brother was stubbornly erect. She looked at me for a while, then suddenly, in a very gentle voice, told me to come to her bed. I was at a loss, but I did as she said, dimming the lamp and telling me to lie down. Looking into her eyes, I felt my heart pounding. Suddenly, she kissed me. I closed my eyes, letting our tongues intertwine. It felt so good, lasting for about a minute. As our lips parted, I heard her heavy breathing, a breath I hadn't felt in a long time. (Incestuous film)

She started kissing me, my cheeks, my body. I felt like my body was on fire, a feeling I'd never experienced before. I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what. Instinctively, I reached out to caress her body, to kiss her—her smooth skin, her rounded breasts. We caressed and kissed each other like that. I don't know how much time passed, but then she spread her legs and straddled me. Her underwear seemed to have been pulled down long ago. She held my penis and rubbed it against the flowers a few times; it felt so wet, so incredibly comfortable.

Suddenly, she sat down, and almost instantly, I felt warmth spread throughout my body from that point, a melting sensation. She began to move up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster, waves of pleasure washing over me. I felt like I was about to die. Gradually, just when I could barely breathe, I felt an indescribable pleasure. It was like a volcanic eruption, intense, a fleeting moment of ecstasy. After that instant release, she lay on top of me, our breaths a beautiful symphony, the world seemed so wonderful.

I closed my eyes, feeling the contractions emanating from deep within her vagina, and instantly, my body regained its vitality. I wanted to move, but she seemed to want to sleep. I bent my legs and began my first thrust… Perhaps it was because of that time that I've always been fascinated by the woman-on-top position, enjoying seeing that dazed expression, that flushed face, feeling that it best embodies a woman's beauty, especially that forward-leaning body.

I almost couldn't control myself; it felt as if the world would collapse if I didn't engage in that simple piston-like movement. I'd never felt anything like this before, so intense it could almost destroy one's mind. Madness—that's the only word to describe it.

The room echoed with the moans of two people. There were no words, only the sounds of panting and joy. And so, again and again, we repeated this simple exercise. I don't know how many times we did it; I only know that by dawn, I was too exhausted to move. We lay there facing each other, she looking at me, stroking my cheek with her hand, making soft sighs. Her eyes were always that gentle gaze—a gaze I will remember for the rest of my life, gentle yet tinged with sadness, her expression full of love. I think I will remember it for the rest of my life. Exhaustion made it hard to keep my eyes open, and I quickly fell asleep. When I woke up, it was already afternoon. I was a little scared; it was the first time I'd overslept and missed class. The note I found on the table reassured me; she had asked for leave for me.

She came back very early that day. She smiled at me as soon as she entered, a bright and cheerful smile. She was carrying many things and had also brought her daughter home. It was rare to see her so happy. She had cooked a lot of dishes that day, and although her husband hadn't come home as usual, everyone seemed cheerful. Around 8 PM, I went to bed on time. In bed, I tossed and turned, and every time I closed my eyes, the scene from the previous night kept replaying in my mind, making it difficult to fall asleep. A voice inside urged me to go to her room. I felt lost, unsure if I was doing the right thing. But I couldn't control myself; I couldn't stop myself from going to her room. She wasn't asleep; she was leaning against the headboard reading a book.

I didn't dare go in; I just stood outside the door, staring at her. She noticed me, looked at me, and smiled—a gentle, innocent smile.

She asked me to lock the door and dim the lamp. I quickly slipped into her bed, very quickly. Once again, we faced each other, looking at each other. She was wearing a pink silk nightgown, and suddenly I had an impulse. I reached out and touched her breasts; through the nightgown, I could feel their softness and elasticity. She closed her eyes, enjoying it, letting me caress her. I could almost hear my heart pounding, each beat feeling like it was about to burst. I tried to kiss her lips, her cheeks, her chin, just as she had done.

After about a minute or two, she slowly released me. I felt so wet down there; after those few minutes, I could feel she was almost completely soaked. With just a gentle touch, my penis slid in. It felt so warm, and I couldn't help but start thrusting. We sat facing each other, slowly thrusting. Her eyes narrowed with pleasure, and she moaned softly with each of my movements. I lifted her legs—long, smooth thighs. She looked so beautiful. It was hard to believe I could make love to my teacher like this. I was going crazy, completely out of control, using all my strength to thrust and pump relentlessly. After a dizzying wave of pleasure, I lay weakly on the bed, countless sperm ejaculating into my teacher's body. I lay there, exhausted. She looked at me, still with that same expression—gentle and affectionate. She stroked my face, murmuring, "He looks so much like him, so much like him..." I just lay there quietly, a little sleepy and tired. She told me a lot, a lot about her university days. I listened half-asleep and soon fell asleep.

More than ten years had passed, and she still loved him deeply. Even when she first saw me, she was so excited she almost cried. She inquired about my father, holding onto a sliver of hope. But hope often brings disappointment.

In the years that followed, we kept in touch. Sometimes, after class, I would go to her house for dinner and conversation. Sex wasn't the main topic between us; she treated me like her child, her lover, cherishing me and guiding me. I would always go home around 9 pm, because I couldn't arouse my parents' suspicion; she had a normal family.

My father is a lawyer, and he's very busy with work. My mother is also in poor health and hospitalized. So basically, no one has time to take care of me. I often have to eat alone at small restaurants, and gradually I've lost my appetite, developed anorexia, and become increasingly thin and weak. Once, when I visited my mother in the hospital, she saw how I looked and cried. My father's eyes also reddened.

My teacher at the time was the homeroom teacher of the class next door. If it weren't for that, she probably wouldn't have known about me, such an insignificant little person. Tutoring was very popular in those days, and teachers often had dozens of students, divided into small groups. Their monthly income was very high. My teacher was in her thirties, had a five-year-old daughter, and her husband was also a lawyer. Like my father, he was very busy and often not home. Because of their high income, they had a large house, well-decorated, and even hired a housekeeper to help with cooking and laundry. Every morning, I went to work with my teacher, and after get off work, we would have tutoring in the evening. There was a small round table, and my teacher always sat next to me. Actually, I couldn't stand it because I was somewhat allergic to the perfume she wore. But because I could often see her cleavage, I endured it. Sometimes I would have fantasies, but a teacher is, after all, a teacher.

Until one day, around 1 or 2 a.m., I woke up to go to the bathroom. As I passed my teacher's room, I heard unusual sounds—a woman's low moans. The door was ajar, and my intense curiosity compelled me to peek inside. Through the dim light, I saw my teacher's legs spread, her hands moving between them, and she was emitting low moans. I didn't know what was happening; I just stood there, staring blankly. It was autumn, and a bit chilly, and I was only wearing underwear. Perhaps because I was cold, I sneezed.

The sounds stopped abruptly, followed by a "Who's there?" I was terrified, but too scared to run, so I answered. She turned on the bedside lamp and called me in. Like a child who had done something wrong, I lowered my head, afraid to look at her, because for some reason, my little brother was stubbornly erect. She looked at me for a while, then suddenly called me to her bed in a very gentle voice. I was at a loss, but I did as she said, dimming the bedside lamp and telling me to lie down. Looking into her eyes, I felt my heart was about to jump out of my chest. Suddenly she kissed me. I closed my eyes, letting our tongues intertwine. It felt so good, for about a minute. As our lips parted, I heard her heavy breathing, a breath I hadn't felt in a long time. (Incestuous film)

She started kissing me, kissing my cheeks, kissing my body. I suddenly felt like my body was burning, a feeling I had never experienced before. I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what I wanted to do. Instinctively, I reached out to caress her body, to kiss her. Her smooth skin, her rounded breasts—we caressed and kissed each other like that. After what seemed like an eternity, she parted her legs and straddled me, her underwear seemingly already removed. She grasped my penis and rubbed it against her vulva a few times; it felt so wet, so incredibly pleasurable.

Suddenly, she sat down, and almost instantly, I felt a warmth spreading throughout my body from that spot, a melting sensation. She began to move up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster, waves of pleasure washing over me. I felt like I was about to die. Gradually, just when I could barely breathe, I felt an indescribable pleasure. It felt like a volcanic eruption, violent, a fleeting moment of pleasure. After that instant release, she lay on top of me, our breaths mingling like a beautiful symphony, the world seemed so wonderful.

I closed my eyes, feeling the contractions deep within her vagina, and instantly, my body regained its vitality. I wanted to move, but she seemed to want to sleep. I bent my legs and began my first thrust… Perhaps it was because of that experience that I've always been fascinated by the woman-on-top position, enjoying seeing that dazed expression, that flushed face, feeling that it best embodies a woman's beauty, especially that forward-leaning body.

I could barely control myself; it felt like the world would collapse if I didn't engage in that simple piston-like motion. I had never felt anything like this before, so intense it could almost destroy a person's mind. Madness—that's the only word to describe it.

The room echoed with the groans of two people. There were no words, only the sounds of panting and pleasure. And so, again and again, they repeated this simple exercise. I don't know how many times it happened, I only know that by dawn, I was too exhausted to move. We lay there facing each other, she looked at me, her hand stroking my cheek, making soft sighs. As always, that gentle gaze—a gaze I will remember for the rest of my life, gentle yet tinged with sadness, an expression full of love. I think I will remember it for the rest of my life. Exhaustion made it impossible for me to open my eyes, and soon I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was already afternoon. I was a little scared; it was the first time I'd overslept and missed class. The note I found on the table reassured me; she had asked for leave for me.

She came home early that day. She smiled at me as soon as she entered, a bright, radiant smile. She was carrying many things and had also brought her daughter. It was rare to see her so happy. She cooked a lot of dishes that day. Although her husband wasn't home, as usual, everyone seemed cheerful. Around 8 pm, I went to bed on time. In bed, I tossed and turned, and every time I closed my eyes, the scene from the previous night flashed before my eyes, making it hard to fall asleep. A voice inside urged me to go to her room. I was at a loss, unsure if I was doing the right thing. But I couldn't control myself; I couldn't stop myself from going to her room. She wasn't asleep; she was leaning against the headboard reading a book.

I didn't dare go in, I just stood outside the door, staring blankly at her. She noticed me, looked at me, and smiled, a gentle, innocent smile.

She asked me to lock the door and dim the lamp. I quickly slipped into her bed, very quickly. Once again, we faced each other, looking at each other. She was wearing a pink silk nightgown, and suddenly I had an impulse. I reached out and touched her breasts; through the nightgown, I could feel their softness and elasticity. She closed her eyes, enjoying it, letting me caress her. I could almost hear my heart pounding, as if it were about to burst out of my chest. I tried to kiss her lips, her cheeks, her chin, just as she had done.

After about a minute or two, she slowly released me. I felt so wet down there; after those few minutes, I could feel she was almost a vast ocean. With just a gentle touch, my penis slid in. It felt so warm, and I couldn't help but start thrusting. And so, face to face, we slowly thrust in and out. Because of the pleasure, her eyes narrowed, and she moaned softly with each of my movements. I lifted her legs—long, smooth thighs. She looked so beautiful. It was hard to believe I could make love to my teacher like this. I was going crazy, completely out of control, and began to thrust and pump with all my might. After a dizzying wave of pleasure, I lay weakly on the bed, countless sperm having entered my teacher's body. I lay there, powerless. She looked at me, with that same expression, gentle and affectionate. She stroked my face, murmuring, "He looks so much like him, so much like him..." I just lay there quietly, a little sleepy, very tired. She told me a lot, many things, many things about her university days. I listened drowsily, and soon fell asleep.

More than ten years had passed, and she still loved him deeply. Even when she first saw me, she was so excited she almost cried. She inquired about my father, holding onto a sliver of hope. But hope often brings disappointment.

In the years that followed, we kept in touch often. Sometimes, after class, I would go to her house for dinner and a chat. Sex wasn't the main topic between us; she treated me like her child and her lover, cherishing and guiding me. I would always go home around 9 PM because I didn't want to arouse my parents' suspicions; she had a normal family.

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Awesome! Staying at the teacher's house.

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