[Me and a mature woman 10 years older than me]

Me and a Woman 10 Years Older Than Me

I'm a student at a vocational school. Although it's a vocational school, the tuition is ridiculously expensive.

My homeroom teacher, surnamed Wang, is a woman in her thirties and still single—or, to put it nicely, a "single

aristocrat."

The truth is, nobody wants her.

She's not pretty, and she's overly tall, 179cm, but with a typical super S-shaped figure.

There are many reasons why she's still single. My classmates and I all guess it's because she's arrogant and difficult to get along with, and there's some truth to

that , because she doesn't get along well with the other teachers either.

One Tuesday afternoon, school ended three hours earlier than usual. My classmates and I were

playing basketball .

I'm terrible at it and don't like playing, so I only play because there aren't enough people.

This time was no different; before I even warmed up, someone else came to replace me.

After saying goodbye to my classmates, I went upstairs to pack my bag and head back to the dormitory. Suddenly, my stomach started hurting. I'd just entered

the restroom when a furious roar came from inside: "You didn't even wash properly before you left!"

Damn it, why did they have to clean now of all times? I really couldn't hold it in anymore, and

there was , though it was mostly empty, but I still didn't dare go. The nearest restroom was on

the third floor of the opposite teaching building. I was so angry! Who designed this old teaching building? Couldn't they have designed one on each floor?! Then

a brilliant idea struck me. There was a restroom upstairs, very secluded, and because so few people used it, it was

unisex only for the principal and a few teachers.

So, I rushed upstairs. The door was tiny, tucked away in a corner at the end of the hallway

, diagonally opposite the principal's office.

I peeked into the principal's office to make sure no one was inside, and this time I confidently entered the restroom.

Actually, by now you can probably tell I'm an honest kid, though some people say honest

kids are mischievous!

I felt great; pooping is truly one of life's greatest pleasures. Just then, an encounter in my life began…

Ms. Wang came in. She didn't see me at first, but from her movements, I could tell she was changing.

She had probably just showered; she was wearing a baggy t-shirt and underwear, her hair loose, and her feet still wet

. She took off her t-shirt, revealing breasts that were larger than I could have imagined, with erect,

black nipples. She was rubbing her breasts with lotion, vigorously, as if enjoying

the sensation; she even closed her eyes. My God, she took off her underwear, and her thick

pubic hair was completely exposed. Then, with a "poof," I farted.

That's it, all over. She noticed me, followed by a scream—not loud, but enough to scare me

half to death.

Our eyes met, speechless; time seemed to freeze. It felt like a long time; my legs were getting numb. She

said softly, "Dry yourself off and come to my office." I hummed in agreement.

When we arrived at her office, there was still silence, still eye contact.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally spoke: "Wait for me at the food stall near my apartment building tonight."

"Teacher… oh," I stammered.

Vocational school management is different from university; once you leave, no one will pay attention to you. So, we left the campus one after the other

without anyone noticing.

The April weather was unpredictable, the warm air mixed with a biting breeze. Thinking about what had just

happened , I felt a thrill of excitement.

I thought to myself that this matter could be big or small; since the teacher called me out instead of talking in the school, there must be

room for negotiation. Besides, this could only be called an "accident"; I couldn't be accused of deliberately peeping—she

came in on her own later, and so on. In short, I thought a lot.

I was actually only a few hundred meters behind her, but I walked quite a distance, until we reached her apartment building, when she turned around and glanced at

me, gesturing for me to wait there, before going upstairs alone.

I squatted on the steps by the door, pondering my next move. A short while later, she appeared before me, dressed in a new dress.

To be honest, she was dressed very old-fashionedly, but because of what had just happened, the moment I saw her, my mind went back to

that moment.

We sat at a roadside food stall; she ordered two bottles of beer and poured herself a drink, while I poured myself one,

and we remained silent.

Her dress was baggy, with a low neckline; although I couldn't see anything, it was enough to arouse my imagination.

We barely ate anything; I was only focused on staring at her breasts, while she just drank.

After a few rounds of drinks, she said, "I won't tell anyone about what happened this afternoon," as if she noticed my

lapse in composure .

I quickly looked away and replied, "I didn't mean to; I couldn't help myself and went there, I..." "

It's okay, don't mention it," she said casually.

She ordered two more bottles of beer and started drinking by herself.

After a while, she said, "Do you guys think I'm weird, hard to get along with?"

"No, I think you're a good teacher; you've always cared about us. I think they don't understand

you because they don't know you," I said.

"If everyone were like you, I wouldn't be in so much pain," she said.

"Life is a constant struggle between pain and weariness. If you could relax a bit, and stop being so demanding of yourself

and others, maybe things would be different," I said.

She was somewhat surprised; it was unexpected for a vocational school student to say something like that.

Actually, I'm a book-loving kid, but only extracurricular books. I'm not interested in textbooks at all.

I enjoy reading many world classics and philosophy books, especially Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. I chose vocational school simply to learn

a skill so I wouldn't have to work so hard in the future.

She started drinking again, and I poured myself a second glass. To be honest, I can't hold my liquor.

"They look down on me because I'm single and older, they talk badly about me, saying I have a physical

defect that makes me unable to get married," she said. She was clearly drunk, and her voice was trembling with sobs.

I thought today's events shouldn't be enough to upset her so much. There must be something else.

"I don't have any physical problems, you saw it, didn't you? I'm fine. I'm just afraid of being hurt and

abandoned, that's why I'm afraid to give my heart," she said.

"You're a good person, you deserve happiness..." I rambled on.

It was getting late; I glanced at my watch—it was already 10 pm. There were about a dozen empty bottles on the ground

; I'd drunk quite a bit. The surrounding crowd was noisy; no one would notice what was happening here. In

this corner of the city, it was unusually "quiet."

Perhaps it was fate that two lonely people would come together.

I helped her up. She was quite large to me. With her remaining consciousness, she answered me about her address.

Her apartment was on the second floor. I helped her to the door, rang the doorbell several times, but no one answered. I figured she probably

lived alone.

I supported her, feeling for her apartment key on her person. The hallway was dark and long. My hands roamed over her

body , not looking for the key, but because her full figure made me restless.

I opened the door. Her apartment was a two-bedroom, one-living room unit, about 40 or 50 square meters, a bit messy, as if the homeowner

hadn't bothered to clean. I helped her to bed, and she vomited as soon as she lay down. It seemed I wouldn't

be able to leave today. I locked the door and helped her to the bathroom; she kept vomiting. I cleaned up

what she'd thrown up—it was filthy; honestly, I'd never done this before. Her sheets were stained, so I put them in

the washing machine . Then I found a sheet that looked like a sheet and covered her with it. While I was helping her to the bathroom, she fell asleep

.

When I laid her back down on the bed, I was exhausted. I lay beside her, watching her heaving

chest, and I couldn't help but fantasize.

She turned over, facing me. She still smelled of alcohol, and her sparse hair was scattered in

front of her.

I'm just a young man full of vigor; I couldn't overcome my physical needs. I laid her flat again, pulled down

her tank top , and then pulled it down. The baggy dress obediently slid down, her white panties barely covering

her dark, thick, lush forest, and her bra seemed too small. With a gentle pull, one breast

sprang out, its nipple large and erect. I flicked it, and she cried out, "Ah!" Though the sound was soft,

it sent a chill down my spine.

I quickly gathered my thoughts and devised a plan. I searched her house for ages and finally found

what I was looking for—a video camera.

I took photos of her naked and a short video clip, then transferred them to my email using her computer

.

After everything was done, she was still lying obediently on the bed, completely naked. She

was breathing , utterly lacking any ladylike demeanor.

It was my first time, and I didn't know how to use a condom. I rubbed my engorged penis against her vagina

, then thrust it in forcefully. She cried out again, but before she could utter a sound, I covered

her mouth with my hand. I sucked and chewed on her nipples until I left teeth marks. She

was relatively large for me, so I could only climb on top of her. My first time was with this woman who was 10 years older than me. I lay on top of her and fell asleep

after ejaculating the last drop of semen.

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