[Me and the Mature Woman in Room 408 of the Electric Power Hotel on the Third Day of the Lunar New Year] [The End]

Foreword
Ordinary life contains passion. I want to answer a brother's question: I once published seven articles in the literature section, all of which were well-received; I'm not some amateur. Haha, just praising myself a little.
Everyone, what is the concept of a "young married woman"? Literally, it means "married woman." Actually, "young married woman" and "mature woman" are somewhat equivalent. They have experienced marriage and family life, tasted the passion of sex, and gradually become more peaceful. A mature body and a mature mindset make "mature woman" the most charming age for a woman. Perhaps they are not very beautiful, but mature women understand men, understand life, and know the meaning of emotions. Why do men, especially some boys with "mother complexes," like mature women? Because they bring a sense of security. If a man's sense of security is reflected in his "diamond-like" loyalty and strength, their sense of security is reflected in "inner comfort."
My title is—Me and the Mature Woman Sister—Room 408 of the Electric Power Hotel on the third day of the Lunar New Year. Why do I call her sister? Because I always call her Big Sister. What's her name? I can't reveal it. She's thirty-five years old, older than me. She was alright looking, a mature woman, not as beautiful as a young girl. The third day of the Lunar New Year refers to last year's Spring Festival. In that warm winter, she and I crossed the line from "dance buddies" to "lovers."
There was a large dance hall near the train station in our city. Everyone's been to dance halls, but young people usually go to discos. This kind of dance hall caters to middle-aged people; they spend their afternoons listening to music and drinking cheap tea. And this dance hall is filled with three types of people: those who genuinely come to dance, those who are lonely and bored and want to kill time, and those who are looking for excitement. From my observation, the latter are the majority. There's dark dancing, female dancers, and women who are equally bored and lonely.
As for which type I am, well... to be honest, I'm all of them. I started dancing in the 90s, and without being immodest, I'm a pretty good dancer. I've met some dance buddies, and I've even had a few secret relationships with some of them. The main point is that on
New
Year's Day 2006, I met her. At first, she always stood on the edge of the dance floor. I've seen her dance; she's alright. My principle for inviting people to dance is—as long as they dance reasonably well, no stepping on my feet or going too slow.
Because if I were to choose a partner with high standards, I wouldn't find one all afternoon. So I invited her.
She also liked my skillful dance steps, so we exchanged contact numbers.
At that time, I had a "two-day weekend" work schedule, and we usually went on Sunday afternoons, very regularly. We generally didn't go in the evenings, and if we did, it would only be once or twice (because she worked shifts, and sometimes she couldn't make it). So we went to the dance hall about three times a week.
Dancing is a form of entertainment like this: dancing/exchanging dance techniques, and chatting. She was a very enthusiastic woman, the kind with a very generous personality, and also a very talkative woman, talking about everything under the sun, family matters, celebrities, TV shows, and so on. She was always talking throughout a dance party. She liked to tell jokes, sometimes telling funny stories to make me laugh, and she had a lot of energy, dancing every dance without missing a beat, sweating profusely.
When we danced, she would always lean on me, as if she wanted to crawl into my body. I always felt there was a certain "energy" about her. What kind of "energy"? I figured it was the vitality unique to mature women of that age.
We sometimes texted each other at night. At first, it was just casual chatter, like, "Hey sis, what are you doing?" or "See you at the usual place tomorrow afternoon." As time went on, the texts started to change, carrying a certain meaning, like, "It's getting cold, take care of yourself," or "You danced so well today, you were amazing, I love dancing with you."
Looking at these texts, I figured out what she meant. Once, I tentatively texted, "Honey, see you at the usual place this afternoon," and she replied, "Okay, honey, I love it when you call me that."
Between people, some things don't need words to be expressed to be understood, especially since we were both mature men and women. I was starting to understand what she meant.
One Sunday afternoon, in the dance hall, the music started, the lights dimmed, and we moved to a pillar on the dance floor. I took her hand down and danced with her for the first time, and she danced with me, her arms around my soft breasts. I kissed her in the darkness… and that’s how we became lovers.
I asked about her family situation, and she always brushed it off in a few words, but I gradually learned more. She and her husband were separated—meaning their relationship had broken down, but they weren’t divorced, each living in their own place. Her situation was rather unique: she and her child slept in the bedroom, while her husband slept in the living room. “You know what? Every time I come home from dancing, he (her husband) asks me where I’ve been.” “What do you say?” “I can’t be bothered with him.”
“You usually just come out dancing, what about him?”
“He’s playing cards with some drinking buddies. He does his thing, I do mine.” “And what about your child?” “He stays at my mom’s. I pick him up on Sundays.” She told me: “I’ll just make do like this for the sake of the child. Sigh!” Many couples live a meaningless life together for the sake of their children; this is the helplessness and reality of marriage. In reality, how much attachment did she have to this marriage in name only? So, perhaps coming to the dance hall was a temporary escape for her.
Sometimes when we danced together in the dark, I would tease her, whispering in her ear,
"Aren't your breasts big?" "
Why are you asking that? Want to see?"
She took my hand and pressed it against her breast. "Big or not?" In the darkness, my hand on her full breasts felt like pressing against a soft cushion. She giggled and buried her face in my chest.
We've known each other for a while now, and I haven't touched her body yet. My strategy with "respectable women" is: don't touch women whose marriages and families are still happy; just get to know them—her situation is fine. Which woman isn't afraid of loneliness? Which mature woman doesn't have needs? Hehe.
The Spring Festival is almost here. In 2006, the Spring Festival was in January. On the afternoon of the 29th of the twelfth lunar month, after the dance party ended, she said: "I can't go out for three days—New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and the second day of the New Year—I have to visit relatives. Let's meet on the third day."
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As soon as the Spring Festival Gala bells rang, I received her New Year's greeting text message. She'd been cooped up at home for those three days.
I lay in bed thinking: I'll ask her out on the third day of the Lunar New Year...
I might as well go to a hotel. At noon on the third day, I texted her, "Honey, same place, see you at 2 pm." I went to the dance hall, having bought condoms on the way. I waited for her in the arcade on the first floor. Soon she arrived. Wow, she'd dressed up for the New Year, sporting a messy perm and new clothes—a red down jacket. She looked very festive.
When she saw me, she grabbed my hand and tried to take me upstairs. I pulled her to a nearby staircase (where no one was), and we kissed.
"Happy New Year!"
"Happy New Year, what are we doing here? Aren't we going up?
" "I don't want to dance today."
"Then what?"
"Let's go rest there, okay?" I didn't dare say "let's go to a hotel" because I felt that would be too direct, and besides, I thought she understood what "rest" meant. But my heart was still pounding. Although I'd done this before, I was just worried she'd hesitate or refuse.
She looked at me, a fleeting hesitation flashing in her eyes before disappearing just as quickly. A hint of shyness crossed her face as she whispered, "Where shall we rest?" My heart immediately lit up; since she asked, it meant she had agreed.
"Come with me," I said, holding her hand. She still hesitated. I pulled her out of the dance hall, but we separated at the door. I hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Power Hotel near the overpass (I'd stayed there before; 50 yuan for 3 hours was a cheap hourly rate, even for a standard room). When we arrived, we got out. She looked back; I didn't know what she was looking at, but it seemed like she was checking if anyone was following us. I knew: we were, after all, having an affair. A respectable woman is a respectable woman, not like the girls who play around in society.
We went into the lobby. She stood at the bottom of the stairs. I went to the front desk to get a receipt. Luckily, the occupancy rate wasn't high during the Spring Festival (this hotel advertised itself as a training guesthouse for the power system, sometimes full of power system employees coming for training). I paid the deposit, and with the red receipt, the front desk told the clerk to check us into room 408. We went up to the fourth floor hand in hand, but didn't see a clerk. I went back down to ask the front desk: "What's going on? There's no clerk." The front desk told me to call her myself; the clerk might be in the hot water room. I went upstairs again and loudly called for a waiter. A waiter pushed a hot water cart from the other end of the hallway, glanced at us, opened the room door, and turned on the air conditioning for us. I drew the curtains
.
The weather was nice for Chinese New Year, with sunlight streaming into the room. I sat on the sofa, took out a cigarette from my pocket, lit it, and tried to calm myself. She sat on the bed. She took off her red down jacket, threw it on the sofa, and turned on the TV. This air conditioner probably needs fixing; it's heating up too slowly. As she sat watching TV, my eyes were fixed on her chest. She was wearing a black sweater; she was a mature woman, her large breasts proudly displayed beneath the sweater.
After finishing my cigarette and the air conditioning had warmed the room, I took off my coat and pants. She glanced at me and chuckled. I asked her, "What are you laughing at?" She pointed at me and said, "Look there!" I looked down, and lo and behold, my little brother was hard, making my long underwear bulge.
I sat down and turned off the TV. I sat down beside her, made her stand up, and sat on my lap with her legs spread apart. Wow, she was heavy! I tilted my head back and kissed her. "Do you like me?" "Of course! If I didn't like you, why would I dance with you? Why would I be here with you?" She smiled and pouted my ear.
I have to say, a woman is a woman; in front of her lover, she becomes as alluring as a girl.
We kissed. My hands rested on her black sweater, touching her full breasts. She looked down at me.
"Want to take a look?" Wow, such a provocative question suddenly popped out of the quiet room—exciting!!
Although we were always intimate while dancing, I had never seen her breasts before. She took off her black sweater, which made a "snap" sound (static electricity), then took off her bra, revealing a silver-gray bra, and a deep cleavage appeared before me. She unhooked the bra from behind. The bra slipped off and slid onto the bed.
My eyes lit up—such ripe breasts! Perfectly ripe! Her round, high breasts were right in front of me, their bluish veins clearly visible, their brown areolas adorned with a few fine hairs! Her nipples, like those of a child's pencil eraser (hehe, to exaggerate, they were quite large), were even more prominent due to the temperature difference in the room and the fact that her clothes were off, giving them goosebumps. I saw her face flush; she shifted slightly, thrusting her chest forward, her breasts right in front of me.
"Touch them," she said, placing her hands on my shoulders. I thought: So lewd!!!
I covered them with my hands, cupping her breasts and heaving them. Her breasts jiggled like waves—a visual thrill!! Full and firm breasts! I brought my mouth to her nipple, licking and even biting it. She slapped my shoulder.
"Don't bite!"
I said, licking her nipple, saliva dripping from my mouth. My body began to heat up. Her breasts had a wonderfully fragrant and sensual scent; every woman has a unique body odor. She had the unique scent of a mature woman. How to describe it? Hehe.
I stuck out my tongue and licked her breasts up and down, left and right. She started to wriggle, leaning back, trying to push her chest up. She was breathing heavily, "Mmm... ah..." My mouth was still licking her breasts, my hands moved down, her plump belly, because she was sitting on my lap, squeezed out a "little mound of flesh," soft and
fleshy .
I left her breasts, she stood up, and took off her pants in front of me. Her pants/cotton trousers came off, revealing her thick, full thighs, her panties bulging on her large buttocks. Her buttocks weren't perky, they sagged a bit. I pulled her waist close, pressed my face against her belly, it was truly a "land of gentleness." Soft and fluffy, I kissed her belly.
I helped her take off her underwear. Ouch!! She had a scar on her lower abdomen, probably from a C-section. There were also noticeable stretch marks on both sides of her lower abdomen. "You had a C-section?" "Yes!" "Did it hurt?" "General anesthesia, so it didn't hurt. But the incision will hurt in a few days."
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We should go to bed now. The room temperature is about right, so I'm half-covered and half-naked. I'm on top of her, spreading her legs (M position). We kiss, I kiss her large breasts, my fingers teasing her genitals, my fingers moving up and down at the vaginal opening. By touch, I found the small point above her urethra—her clitoris. I pressed it little by little with my fingers, and she started to writhe, her face looking very ecstatic, moaning, "Sss...oh..." I continued kissing her breasts while teasing her clitoris; she became wet. I got up, spreading her legs again. She covered her vulva with her hands, "Don't look, it's ugly." Her face was flushed, perhaps from the high air conditioning temperature, perhaps from excitement, or perhaps she's just a woman with a strong sex drive.
I chuckled foolishly, pushed her hands away, and there it was—a full, plump vulva! A dark, swollen vulva. Pubic hair covered the "hill," all damp. The dark brown labia majora were open, the labia minora peeking out like tubular tubes, and there was fluid below the vaginal opening, a pale, egg-white-like fluid accumulating there. I parted her vagina; the deep red vaginal walls, like a small mouth, were beckoning desire, beckoning my entry. I initially wanted to kiss her vulva, but then I thought better of it.
I lay down, and she lay on top of me, her loose hair tickling my face. We hugged and kissed. "How long has it been since you and your husband had sex?" "I don't let him touch me; I always lock the door when I sleep." "Is your genitals itchy?" I pinched her buttocks, and she giggled. I pressed her head down, and she kissed my nipple. Men's nipples aren't as pointed as women's. She opened her mouth wide, licking and biting with her tongue. Her body writhed, her soft breasts pressing against my lower abdomen like meat patties. I spread my legs, pressing her head down. She stopped at my penis, tossing her hair to one side. I took it into my mouth.
Wow! That felt so good! No teeth colliding. Her lips and tongue rubbed and teased my penis; it felt so good, like my penis was soaking in a hot water bottle. It was incredibly pleasurable. She stuck out her tongue and licked the head of my penis in circles. It felt so good that I arched my back, arousing my excitement. After
a round of oral sex, I was afraid I'd ejaculate, so I pulled her up.
I laid her down, picked up my pants from the sofa, and took out a condom. Durex, a three-pack; it even had a scent.
Just as I was about to put on a condom, she said, "Why are you wearing this?"
"What, don't you need it?"
"No, silly, I have an IUD." She smiled at me, a smile that exuded the confidence and alluring sensuality of a mature woman in her sex life.

I placed a pillow under her big buttocks, spread her thighs wide (W position), pounced on her, and didn't rush to penetrate her, kissing her. She reached out and pulled my penis, slowly finding the entrance to her vagina. My unprotected penis felt like it was in water; she was so wet! 　　Ah
! It's in! I groaned softly! She groaned loudly! We chuckled to ourselves.
I thrust in with three shallow thrusts followed by one deep one. The three shallow thrusts were rubbing at the entrance, and the deep thrust was a forceful push, hitting the deepest part of her vagina. I started slowly, gradually increasing the speed, my buttocks arching, her legs dangling, her hands stroking my back. This movement was a bit like a piston; she started twisting her buttocks, her hips responding to my thrusts. She said, "Husband... ah... so good." Hearing her call me "husband" got me going. I thrust faster and faster, and I felt her vagina was so slippery, so wet!
Afraid of ejaculating too quickly, I changed positions. I had her lie face down and sit on me (like in a lotus position), her legs spread apart, head down, one hand parting her vulva, the other gripping my penis. This position was incredibly stimulating. Just like in porn, haha. She plopped down, "Ah…" she moaned. She placed her hands on my protruding belly, adjusted her position, and began to twist and thrust, her breasts swaying like hanging gourds. I reached out and played with them. Although her buttocks were large and full, and her lower abdomen had some fat, it didn't affect the range and force of her movements at all. The "slap slap" sound of her buttocks rising and falling, the "squeak" sound of her vagina and penis thrusting in and out while soaked in her vaginal fluids—just like in porn, but this was real life.
I inserted it once, and she lay on my chest, saying, "Honey, I'm so tired."
"So tired?"
I told her to get up, roll up the blanket, and lie face down on it with her buttocks raised high. From behind, her vaginal opening was wet. I held her buttocks, aimed carefully, and thrust in. This "anal" position was the most stimulating and enjoyable, giving me a sense of conquest. Watching my penis go in and out of her big buttocks, pushing against her slightly freckled buttocks, her breasts swayed like bells during the thrusting. The scene was incredibly stimulating and pleasurable; it was truly a beautiful sight.
She moaned, "Ah...ah...oh...honey...come on..." Hearing these words, I couldn't hold back any longer. I felt her vagina like a child's mouth, desperately sucking on my nipple, tightening and loosening around my penis. I knew this woman was about to climax. I thrust hard… She lay there, one hand free, and actually reached over to touch my testicles. Perhaps my position aroused her, because she even squeezed my testicles with a bit of force. My penis was inside her, and this woman was playing with my testicles—it was so stimulating!!! She groaned loudly, muffled by the pillow, “Ah…ah…oh…husband.” I thrust quickly, then stood up, half-squatting, half-standing, my hands touching her large, drooping breasts—they were sweaty!
I really wanted to squeeze her breasts until they burst, but I probably used too much force. She said in a voice that sounded like she was crying (actually, it was the woman's intense excitement that changed her voice), “Husband…it hurts…fuck me…”
When I thrust into her suddenly and quickly, I felt a force in my spine. A sudden thrust, and she groaned loudly, muffled by the pillow. I ejaculated.
My body went limp immediately, and I lay on the bed in an “X” shape. She got up and lay down beside me.
She took a small handkerchief and tucked it between her thighs. She lay in my arms, my chest heaving. I checked the time; there was still a little while. We spread out the blankets, lay down for a moment, and enjoyed the quiet after our climax.
"Was it good?" I played with her hair.
"Yes, it was great. You're amazing."
"Did you have an orgasm?"
"Yes, I'm so wet, it's been so long." Her cheeks were flushed; the pleasure of her orgasm made her look beautiful. We kissed, and I touched her breasts as we rested. It was 5 PM. We paid the bill, held hands, and went downstairs. We separated when we got to the first floor. I hailed a taxi, and she went home.
Watching the taxi disappear into the distance, I thought, "Mission accomplished." It was a passionate Chinese New Year afternoon. Walking home, I wondered: Was she and I crossing a swamp of desire? It might be passionate, but we might get trapped.
Whatever, the best was yet to come!
Three months later, we broke up. The reason was simple: we weren't lovers, just partners. A decent woman eventually returns to her family; I was just a passerby in her life.
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[Me and the Mature Woman in Room 408 of the Electric Power Hotel on the Third Day of the Lunar New Year] [The End]

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