A 48-year-old woman has come up with a new way to have fun.

This
48-year-old woman is a colleague of mine at work; she's in charge of inventory. Last night, I was working overtime, and around 8 PM, only this older woman and I were left in the office. Having finished my work, and feeling quite safe, I inexplicably started browsing some sexy photos on websites. I was engrossed in looking at them when suddenly I felt someone behind me. I whirled around, and there she was! This 48-year-old woman, with a daughter in university, was staring intently at my computer screen. I was momentarily flustered and awkwardly turned away, my face burning. "Is this pretty?" the older woman actually asked, her tone surprisingly calm. "Hehe, just looking around, it's alright." Hearing her tone, my nervousness actually eased slightly. "Do all young boys like watching this?" I thought she would politely walk away, but to my surprise, she continued asking, showing no intention of leaving. "Hehe, I guess so." I didn't know what she meant, nor how to immediately defuse this awkward situation, so I replied sheepishly. Then, guess what? She actually dragged over a chair and sat next to me, her eyes still fixed on the almost completely nude female photos on the screen. "Nice figure. I was about the same as her when I was young." I looked at her in astonishment. She said this without blushing or skipping a beat, as casually and easily as if discussing work. I was utterly shocked, and my respect for her was like a surging river, endless and boundless. "Oh." For the first time, I felt my own awkwardness, and for a moment, I didn't know how to continue the conversation. "Sigh! Now that I'm old, my figure is out of shape, and even the prettiest clothes don't look good on me anymore." "No way! No way! You still look very young." After saying this white lie, my face flushed again, and I almost dared not look her in the eye. "Do you think my outfit looks good today?" she asked me. I mustered my courage and quickly scanned her entire body with my eyes. Today, she was wearing a little red cotton-padded jacket on top and a pair of blue skinny jeans on the bottom. To be honest, for someone her age, dressing like that did require a certain amount of confidence and courage. "You look great! You look great!" Actually, I was thinking that if a young girl had asked me the same question, I might have blurted out, "Actually, you look even better without it." But at that moment, in front of this 48-year-old woman, I became unusually cautious, as if afraid of saying something wrong. "Hehe, really?" She laughed, seemingly quite happy. It seemed my lie was somewhat convincing; at least she believed it, or at least I thought she did. "My husband used to say that to me too, but he hasn't in recent years. Nobody cares about women when they get old." Seeing the sad expression on her face, my heart skipped a beat. I had an urge to reach out and put my arm around her shoulder, but I restrained myself because I still didn't understand one thing: what did she mean today? Time seemed to freeze at that moment. I did something else that thrilled me: she lowered her head slightly, seemingly looking at her toes, and there was an opening at the top of her little red cotton-padded jacket. Through it, I could see a beige, close-fitting cashmere sweater underneath, and I could also see the two bulges that seemed to be waving and smiling at me. For some reason, at that moment, I felt a strong rush of blood to my head. The age difference, the unusual circumstances, the uncertain attitude… it all happened so suddenly. I almost lost control and hugged her, this 48-year-old woman who still had some beauty, reaching into her little red cotton-padded jacket to grab and caress those bulges. I didn't move, and neither did she. The lewd thoughts that were lurking around her were quietly suppressed, but I wondered if she was also lewdly lurking around me in her thoughts. "Okay, stop looking at those kinds of pictures, they'll make you angry!" She finally looked up and said that. I nodded and shut down my computer. We walked out of the company together, into the elevator, and out of the building, without exchanging a single word. I sensed a hint of ambiguity.
This morning, I needed to ship a batch of goods to a client. I went to the warehouse with the older woman. The person in charge of receiving the goods was still on the way with the driver, so I was alone with the older woman again. My mind was in turmoil the whole way. I couldn't say I had much desire for this 48-year-old woman, but there seemed to be a sliver of curiosity in my heart. If something really happened between me and this older woman, would I get a different kind of abnormal thrill? But I was also worried about some unknown things. It seemed I could only take it one step at a time. We arrived at the warehouse and, without exchanging a word, began checking the goods according to the inventory list. Once the warehouse door was closed, it was incredibly quiet. I could almost hear my own heartbeat. A feeling of excitement, akin to the anticipation of a first kiss, washed over me. I stole a glance at the older woman; she was facing away from me, bent over, rummaging through a box. I could clearly see her shapely buttocks, tightly encased in jeans. Good heavens, that one glance actually aroused me. This couldn't be! How could this be! Every day I see so many young and beautiful women on the street, with even more perfect figures, yet none of them have made me feel this inexplicably excited. At this moment, I simply couldn't understand this impulse. "Don't miss the opportunity," a voice seemed to be reminding me. Yes, no matter what, her actions the other night must have been hinting at something. How could I be so oblivious, so lacking in romantic understanding? So, I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. "From my angle, you're in really good shape." Good heavens! I couldn't believe I'd said something like that to a 48-year-old woman in this situation. I stared blankly at her back, noticing she had stopped what she was doing but hadn't turned around or said anything. I started to feel nervous. I regretted what I had said. I wanted to say something more, to disguise my words as a joke or a compliment, as long as she didn't interpret it as flirting or testing her. I was about to speak when she said, "Hehe, it's been a long time since I've heard anyone praise me like that." She stood up, turned around, and looked at me with a mysterious smile. I suddenly felt uneasy. "Hehe, I'm telling the truth, it's really good. I wonder how you take care of yourself." Saying this made me feel a little more relaxed, because the ambiguity in her words was much less, and it could be considered a compliment. "Hey, I haven't really been taking care of myself much. I'm not young anymore, who am I trying to impress by looking so good? Haha." She seemed to completely believe I was telling the truth, and even started looking herself up and down, swaying slightly. "You used to dance, right?" I asked again, guessing, because I saw her slowly entering a narcissistic state. "Huh?! How did you know? I really did dance when I was young, for several years, but I stopped after I got married." "Haha, I was just guessing." "You have a good eye." This time, she seemed to laugh even more happily, her face beaming. "Your jeans fit you perfectly." As I said this, I realized my thoughts were jumping around, scattered and disjointed. "Oh, really? Hehe, it's alright, a bit tight. I bought it two years ago, and I've gained some weight since then." She surprisingly played along with my conversation, slightly bending one leg on her tiptoes as she examined herself. "Very stylish." That comment almost slipped out of my mouth; perhaps it was a habit of praising girls that way, but today I used it on her. "Oh? You like it?" She looked directly into my eyes, her question provocative. I swallowed hard again and nodded with difficulty. "Let's have dinner together sometime, chat." Usually, I'm the one who initiates these conversations, but today a woman brought it up first, and I suddenly hesitated a bit. However, I finally gave a positive answer. No time like the present, so we set the dinner time for 7:00 PM tonight.
Tonight, I had dinner with my older woman near the North Third Ring Road. Everything went according to plan. After dinner, I asked her if she was in a hurry to go home. She checked the time—8:10—and said she wasn't. So, I told her I lived nearby and asked if she'd like to come over. She said it was the weekend anyway, and she didn't have to go to work (ps: she had to work overtime tomorrow), so it wouldn't hurt to come over. So, we took a taxi to my rented apartment near Beitaipingzhuang. It's a one-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor. After the old woman entered the house, she looked around and asked, "Do you live here alone?" "Yes." "How much is it per month?" "1600." "Oh, the rent here isn't cheap." "Yes, that's the price for houses near the North Third Ring Road." The heating in my neighborhood had been turned on yesterday, so it was much warmer inside than outside. I took off my coat, and the old woman followed suit, taking off her red cotton-padded jacket. Underneath, she was still wearing the beige close-fitting cashmere sweater I had seen that night, and the same tight jeans. At this moment, my breathing became heavier again; I knew it was because I had some thoughts running through my mind. "Would you like some water?" "Yes." I took out two rather unique glass teacups, added the Lianfeng Cuiya tea I had just bought from Wu Yutai, brewed it with 80-degree water, and handed it to her. "A very pretty teacup." Obviously, her mentioning the teacup was exactly what I expected; it wasn't anything in particular, just a subtle way of showing off her taste. "Hehe, I found it at a teaware wholesale market, I really like it." "Hmm, really quite nice, you have good taste!" This seemed to be the second time she'd complimented my taste today. I smiled slightly, took a small sip of tea, and she also picked up her teacup and took a small sip. "Very mellow and fragrant." "It's new tea." By this time, I felt warm all over, and the atmosphere was gradually becoming more harmonious. I pondered my next move. "Do you use the internet at home?" I had a reason for asking this. "I don't use the internet at home, and I rarely use it. It's something young people like you like." "Hehe, I like to go online when I'm home and have nothing to do." I glanced at her casually and took another sip of tea. "Hehe, you don't watch those things at home, do you?" See? Now you understand what I meant by that question. She brought up what happened at work the night before last, and everything slowly fell into the pattern I needed. "Hehe, sometimes, I don't have a steady girlfriend, so I see who can solve some problems." I spoke vaguely yet clearly, believing she would easily understand given her experience. "Hehe, you naughty boy, doing that kind of thing too much is not good." I wasn't sure if she meant "masturbation" or "sexual intercourse" by "that kind of thing," but I could only guess it was "masturbation." "Hehe, that's how men are, there's nothing I can do about it." I smiled helplessly and shook my head, then picked up my glass and took a sip. "I really didn't realize you had such a strong libido. You seem quite quiet at work." I was stunned! The word "libido" had come out; it seemed we were getting close to the main topic. "Hehe! It's alright. Normal needs, normal needs." At that moment, I really wanted to blush, to make her think I was still innocent, so she could be bolder and more proactive, but I didn't blush. People are strange like that. "You sleep in such a big bed all by yourself tonight?" She noticed my big bed. "Yeah, I like sleeping in a big bed, it's more comfortable, and I can roll around as much as I want." Actually, I prepared the big bed for another purpose, but I should pretend to be innocent. She suddenly put the cup on the table, got up and walked to my bedside, sat on the edge of the bed, and rocked up and down a few times, as if feeling the elasticity of the Simmons mattress. What was I waiting for? I immediately got up and walked to her side, sitting down next to her. Actually, my actions were quite suggestive, and I believe she understood some of my thoughts. I looked into her eyes, and she looked back at me, only 10 centimeters apart. At that moment, I knew what I had to do; if I continued with any preamble, I'd truly be a greenhorn. I placed my right hand directly on her waist. She paused, glanced down at my hand, then looked back into my eyes. My lips slowly moved towards her neck, and without any hesitation, I kissed her. Following her neck, my lips moved upwards to her earlobe, then to her cheek, and finally landed on her lips. Our tongues intertwined, and I felt her passion. Her right hand then rested on my waist, and a creak came from the bed—the sound of uneven pressure on the Simmons mattress springs.
To be honest, kissing an older woman like this wasn't my initial intention; it was just a necessary step towards the climax of sex. I understood that, so I did it. The movement of my tongue didn't stimulate me. I just tried not to look at her face, that face covered with wrinkles. Although they weren't very obvious, and were concealed by light makeup, everything was still very clear at this close range. I knew how to achieve pleasure: quickly grab and squeeze those full breasts—the breasts of an older woman.
Note that I used the word "grab and pinch" here, not "caress." Do you know why I didn't use "touch"? Caressing is for delicate breasts. For what I imagined to be a soft, sagging, aged breast, it's best to just grab and pinch. This satisfies my lust while also truly giving this older woman pleasure. The pressure of caressing wouldn't be enough to stimulate her nerves. So, under the control of my brain, my right hand moved from her waist to her breast. Of course, it was still through that beige cashmere sweater, but that didn't dampen my excitement. You know what? I grabbed the left breast of a 48-year-old woman, a spot I'd peeked at the night before, now completely in my palm. I used the strength of my joints, directing my five fingers to begin their invasion. Suddenly, she threw herself on top of me, wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her chin on my left shoulder.
I heard her heavy breathing. I smiled slightly; without looking in a mirror, I knew my smile must be cunning. A strange sense of accomplishment and conquest quietly crept onto my face and into my heart. It seemed there wouldn't be any surprises today. My confidence suddenly swelled, and I increased the pressure on my hands.
At this moment, I could almost guess that the older woman's lower body was somewhat wet. Invading through clothes might seem boring, but in fact, it could satisfy a certain need. I knew I couldn't linger any longer; the older woman's breasts needed a more real experience. My right hand often took the lead, and today was no exception. Releasing the old woman's chest, I pressed my lips to the back of her neck, my breath brushing against her hair. My hand, however, had already slipped under her clothes around her waist. I felt her undershirt, tucked inside her belt. I gently pulled the hem of her shirt out from under the belt, and my hand touched the skin of her waist. It was warm, but a little fleshy, the skin somewhat loose. Never mind, my right hand wasn't going there anyway; it was going upwards, upwards, and upwards again. The feel wasn't great, but it was enough to satisfy my curiosity, after all, she was 48 years old. At that moment, do you know what I most wanted to do? I most wanted to see the old woman's expression, her expression when I held her breasts in my hands. So, I laid the old woman flat on the bed.
A 48-year-old woman lay on my large bed, eyes closed, appearing so docile—a stark contrast to her age. The reason was simple: sitting before her was me, a man far older than her, and this young man was about to assault this older woman—a legally permissible act of sexual assault, of course. I didn't act immediately. I just watched her, watched her heaving breasts, and began to imagine her at work. I wanted to portray her in a more discordant light, creating a greater contrast to arouse my sexual desire. That was enough. I leaned down and slipped both hands inside her blouse, making her breasts bulge even more. The old woman seemed to be in a little pain; her brow furrowed slightly, and she let out a soft "humph," but her eyes remained closed. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on my lips. Throughout the entire process, I didn't lift her blouse, meaning I didn't look at her. Sometimes I feel that what you don't see can evoke more imagination, like now, my hands freely kneading her soon-to-wither breasts while admiring the old woman's slightly pleasurable expression. Everything was within reach, yet I played hard to get. My groin began to throb. Okay, I've thoroughly felt everything with my hands. My focus shifted to her lower body. Even though all I could see was the shape outlined by her jeans, it sent a deep shiver through me. She had definitely gained weight, and the jeans were undeniably tight. Lying flat, her lower body was deeply embedded in the jeans, and I could almost clearly see the initial contours of her private parts. The center seam of the jeans was deeply digging into her crotch, a sight that was incredibly alluring. I was momentarily stunned. I slowly placed my left hand on the base of her right thigh, and used my thumb to slide up and down the center seam of the jeans in short, repeated motions. Looking at her expression, it was almost expressionless. I knew she was trying her best to restrain herself; perhaps she didn't want me to see her wanton side. Yet, her facial muscles twitched slightly. I smiled inwardly again. Suddenly, a nauseating thought crossed my mind—I actually wanted to smell her scent down there, of course, through her jeans; otherwise, I don't think I would have bothered. I shifted my buttocks back a little, so I could lean down and bring my nose close to her, pressing the tip of my nose against that visible slit, and gently sniff. It was a mixed scent, the smell of jeans fabric, a slightly damp smell, and even a hint of sourness. It didn't seem very pleasant. I quietly withdrew my nose and straightened up again. "Turn over," I told her, making her lie on her stomach so I could touch the buttocks I had secretly peeked at. She did as I said. The older woman's buttocks, encased in jeans and in a prone position, still looked quite shapely—after all, she was a woman, covered by fat. I examined her buttocks briefly, then ran my left hand up her thigh, pressing my thumb against her left buttock and sliding the other four fingers between her legs. A 48-year-old woman lay face down on the bed, letting a man freely caress her buttocks and between her legs. After another minute, I started to wonder what color and style of underwear the old woman was wearing today. I really wanted to see how it differed from that of a young girl. I turned her over again, and this time she opened her eyes and looked at me. I ignored her and started unbuckling her belt. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand, seemingly trying to stop me, but I still ignored her. I finally unbuckled the belt, unbuttoned it, unzipped it, and pulled down her jeans. Underneath, she was wearing flesh-colored thermal underwear. Without thinking twice, I pulled them down together, revealing her underwear. It was black!
At first glance, the black underwear immediately reminded me of the term "Black Widow," making me unconsciously associate this older woman with "high libido and strong controlling nature." Personally, I don't really like women wearing black underwear; I prefer white, preferably slightly sheer, and made of a slightly thicker material. I'm not very knowledgeable about fabrics, but cotton should feel better. A slightly sheer white panty subtly reveals the underlying black, just a tiny bit, yet it creates a hazy, dreamlike effect. That glimpse of black is enough to arouse a man's desire, which is why I dislike women with shaved genitals. (Young men tend to prefer perfection and a clean appearance; mature men tend to prefer women with various "imperfections," those with more depth.) However, at that moment, another sight stirred my heart—the older woman's panties revealing a few strands of... well, that perverse thought only lasted a moment. I didn't do it. The older woman kept staring into my eyes; I could feel it. Seeing me constantly looking at her crotch without making a move, she seemed puzzled, wondering what I would do next. So, for me, I'm currently having an internal struggle about whether or not to completely remove these panties and admire the real genitals of an older woman. Do you know what I'm worried about? I'm worried I'll see some unpleasant scenes, and those fantasies that arouse my sexual desire will instantly crumble. If that happens, what should I do? Some things are beyond my brain's control. After all, I'm past that immature period, that stage where I'd ejaculate at the sight of a woman's breasts. My second brother is becoming more and more individualistic; if it doesn't suit his taste, he definitely won't get an erection. The old woman, after all, was a woman of the world; her 48 long years hadn't been wasted. She noticed my hesitation, sat up, and pulled me into her embrace. "Come here, let me hug you." I pressed my left cheek against her chest, feeling her softness and warmth. A feeling different from lust quietly welled up, enveloping my entire being. Suddenly, I felt this feeling was wonderful, and I suddenly felt my soul had been elevated. I could actually suppress my lust with this feeling! My God! I could reach this level, I could achieve this state. I began to think that Liu Xiahui (a legendary figure known for his chastity) wasn't so remarkable after all. Remaining unmoved by a woman's advances doesn't necessarily equate to high moral character; there are many other reasons. “Let’s not rush this. Actually, I haven’t thought it through either. What we’re doing isn’t really right.” I didn’t know if this was the older woman’s true feeling, but I just hummed in agreement. “I have to go back now, it can’t be too late. I have to go to work tomorrow, there’s a shipment to ship.” The older woman checked the time. “I know.” I slowly pulled back, meeting her gaze again. “I…” I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know how to phrase it appropriately. After all, the older woman sitting in front of me was far more experienced, knowledgeable, and discerning than I was. Any lie I uttered could be seen through, potentially ruining this hard-won “special relationship.” “I’m leaving.” The older woman had already straightened her clothes and put on her coat. "I'll see you off." "No need, I know the way." I thought the older woman would give me some advice before leaving, like, "Don't tell anyone about this," "Be careful what you say at work," or "Don't let anything slip when you're having dinner with your colleagues," and so on. But the older woman didn't say anything more, and didn't even look back after she left. I only saw her straighten her collar again.
Lately, I've been pondering a question: is momentary gratification more important, or a rational life? I've come to an answer: a rational life sometimes needs the spark of impulse to fill the void. So, I made a decision that might have a profound impact on my future: to continue this relationship with this older woman. I knew the older woman was conflicted too. Her life, so routine and mundane for years, was becoming utterly monotonous; but what unforeseen consequences would follow a passionate, wild time? Was it worth the risk and the betrayal? That's why I went to her workplace on Saturday. I cornered her in the warehouse. After closing the door, I walked over and gave her a bear hug. She didn't struggle at all; instead, she relaxed and snuggled close to me. Half a minute later, my breathing quickened. I abruptly flipped the old woman over so she was facing away from me, her hands braced against the box behind her. I hugged her from behind again, pressing my genitals against her buttocks, and began to writhe and rub... The old woman clearly knew what I was doing, yet she remained compliant, seemingly unconcerned about being seen.
Defying reason and morality, going against the circumstances, all these inappropriate factors pushed my excitement to its peak. At this moment, I no longer felt cold, and the old woman seemed to have forgotten the chill as well. "I don't have any tissues." "I have some in my bag." The old woman pointed to her purse. I took out a pack of tissues, pulled one out, wiped myself briefly, and that was it. I took out another bill, squatted down, and placed my eyes only ten centimeters from the old woman's buttocks. I began to clean her. I was very careful and meticulous. During the process, the old woman seemed to continue to feel comfortable, and her posture did not change at all.
Once something begins, its outcome is predetermined. Lying alone in bed, I began to reflect on the right and wrong choices I had made. In the first half of my life, I often regretted some "wrong" decisions, frequently lamenting, "If only… I wouldn't be in this situation now." In truth, I know very well that any undeserved, extravagant happiness will be accompanied by many times more pain in the future. However, as a very ordinary and mundane person, I often only focus on immediate gains and losses. Tonight, I received a call from the older woman. She was taking a walk alone and called my cell phone. I don't want to record the specific content of the call, but the gist was that she thought of me, she missed me somewhat, and she missed me very much. During the phone call, I could sense that some emotion had been awakened in her; she craved a passion that could ignite it, and her enthusiasm far exceeded my expectations. However, for me, this was merely a seasoning in the long journey of life, without a future, nor would it ever have one. In truth, the older woman understood this perfectly well, but we both chose to "play dumb," both chose to "overdraw our happiness." Some might ask, how can two people who have developed this kind of relationship interact at work? Wouldn't it be awkward? Actually, that's unnecessary worry. While I might feel a little restrained, I genuinely didn't see the slightest hint of evasion or awkwardness in her. Her expressions and words conveyed the message that nothing had happened. And so, I remained at ease. Another point is the biggest difference between older and younger women. You don't have to worry about the aftermath, and neither do she. Everything seems so easy. Suddenly, another thought occurred to me. I knew things wouldn't end there. Despite my involvement, the instigator of this relationship was ultimately her—this 48-year-old woman. So, I started to worry. Who was more proactive? Who was secretly manipulating these events? Was my self-assured confidence being mercilessly mocked by her? Would I become a puppet manipulated by her without even realizing it? Then I laughed again, laughing at myself for overthinking. Why did I have to label something so simple and direct as "secret"? As long as I found the feeling, satisfied my immediate desires, and brought "sexual happiness" to someone, that was enough. Parting ways at the appropriate time—"Everyone has secrets," I comforted myself. As the call was ending, the older woman invited me to her house. I was a little surprised, but she said it was fine. The date was set for the next evening, dinner at her house. For a moment, I couldn't find any reason to refuse.
d8888d's reply: -------------------------------------------------------
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d8888d's reply: ------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for sharing~~~~~~

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A 48-year-old woman has come up with a new way to have fun.

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