A romantic encounter with the female boss of the client

My acquaintance with Ms. Y began with a business transaction between our companies.
While on a business trip to Ms. Y's company, I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of her skirt.
Not long after, we met again by chance in a nearby city, and fate intervened, leading to a romantic encounter.
I don't have a penchant for mature women, and perhaps she still harbored some girlish feelings deep down.
On my second day at Ms. Y's company, I wandered around the workshop twice, waiting until almost 10 a.m. before Ms. Y emerged from the conference room. She was tall, probably around 170cm, and warmly invited me to her office for tea.
I followed her into her private reception room. She enjoyed herbal teas, and the one she brewed for me was made with some unidentified leaves, likely containing mint. Steeped in warm water, it had a refreshing and invigorating taste. I explained my proposal to her, and after inquiring about the situation in the workshop, she felt there was room for negotiation and readily agreed to my proposal.
Then, like a meeting between leaders, we probed each other's intentions, "exchanging views amicably on issues of mutual concern, and expressing our good will and firm confidence in continuing to expand cooperation and enhance traditional friendship."
These official pleasantries were over in a few minutes.
Both sides probably found the conversation boring and ridiculous, so they lowered their heads to sip their tea.
What was ridiculous wasn't just the content of the conversation, but also the contrast in their appearances.
To appear more mature, I deliberately left my beard unkempt, sporting a light stubble.
I looked like a traveling traveler asking for water.
Mr. Y, on the other hand, naturally valued his image. He was tall and slender, with a dignified face. Although middle-aged, his skin was very well-maintained, especially his hands, which were like a young girl's, soft and radiant.
He wore simple, mature business attire, with a delicate jade necklace that complemented his fair skin, giving him an elegant air.
Both wore light makeup, but compared to the younger Ms. Jun, he possessed a different kind of charm. (Ah Jun is a female colleague
on this business trip; she's divorced, and we've already had a romantic relationship.) I didn't want the conversation to end there. I wanted to make a good impression, as it would be beneficial for our future work.
I thought that a woman in her forties must have had a tough journey and experienced many setbacks. To ease the tension, I offered some compliments, such as how charming and capable Ms. Y is, a role model for us young people to learn from and respect, and how much we can learn from her, how many profound truths she embodies, and so on.
She listened quietly, understanding my intention to ease the tension, smiled knowingly, and waved her hand, saying she was too kind. She
then inquired about my age, work, and family. Perhaps noticing a slight hesitation when I gave my age (adding two years to my traditional age), she didn't ask further and encouraged me, saying that young people have opportunities and a bright future.
I shook my head sheepishly, and as I turned my head to the right, I inadvertently caught a glimpse of a name written in small calligraphic characters on the base of a trophy. I thought, "Isn't that my boss's name? Could it be someone I know?" By sheer coincidence, I
took a closer look while refilling my tea. And indeed, it was.
Besides my boss's name, there were two other names; it was a trophy they won for a second-place award in a project at a certain university years ago.
My boss won an award, so how come the trophy is with Ms. Y? It must mean that one of the three is a relative of Ms. Y. Since none of the three people have the surname Y, then one of them must be her husband.
So, I deliberately said, "Our boss is very concerned about things here. He even called last night to inquire and asked me to cooperate with General Manager Y to successfully complete the task. So, please give us your guidance, General Manager Y."
She paused, looked at me, and said, "What's your relationship with your boss?" After saying that, she paused again, as if correcting her previous statement, "Did you join the company through HR recruitment or through a referral?"
I didn't understand why she asked this, so I had to answer truthfully, "It was a bit of a coincidence. Someone told me to keep an eye on this company, but I didn't pay much attention at first. Later, at the job fair, I happened to see their booth, and the remaining..." I was too lazy to take the resume back, so I just handed it over. However, the position they were recruiting for had absolutely nothing to do with my major. My title was added by the boss during the second interview; I didn't even have time to understand or consider it before being told to attend formal onboarding training the next day. Of course, my major isn't very relevant to this industry, so when I first joined, I felt inherently disadvantaged and always had a sense of crisis…”
She seemed to be listening very carefully, a little lost in thought, until I stopped to take a sip of tea. She nodded, smiled, and said, “How about this, there's a gathering tonight with your boss's boss and some other guests. Let's go out for dinner together.
” Seeing my awkwardness and the urge to decline, she raised her eyebrows, “Well, if you go, you don't have to drink, and you don't have to speak. You can also consider not going.” I was speechless; this was clearly an offer that couldn't be refused. So I asked weakly.
"Would you like to wear formal attire?"
"Something a little more formal." She pointed to my t-shirt and jeans, then to her own skirt. "Change into both." Her legs were beautiful, and she looked great in stockings—note, I just thought they looked good, not sexy.
I quickly said, "Mr. Y, you look elegant in anything." I added, "You have a very commanding presence." But I hadn't brought any formal wear and didn't know what constituted formal attire, so I forced myself to say, "Mr. Y, I'll get ready. I'll wait for your call tonight."
"Simple trousers and a shirt will do. Can you wear size 42 shoes?"
"Size 41."
"I'll take care of those. Since you're here on business, just make sure you get everything sorted out for me."
"This… thank you for your trouble. Here's my credit card…"
Just then, the phone rang. She waved her hand gently at me. "It's alright. I know your boss. If you mind, you can put the bill on his tab. Don't worry about it." Confused, I thanked her profusely and got up to leave.
After leaving the office building, I headed to the workshop to coordinate things.
Reaching the workshop, I suddenly remembered I'd left the file folder under the tea table, so I hurried back up to the office building.
Reaching Mr. Y's office on the third floor, I knocked, but there was no response. I turned the handle; the door wasn't locked, but to avoid suspicion, I didn't just barge in.
I went downstairs to the secretary's office to ask Secretary J to retrieve the files, but she was busy sending and receiving faxes. So I dialed Mr.
Y's cell phone. I told her in a requesting tone that I needed to speak with her, and she probably told me to come to her office, as Mr. Y was there.
I thought to myself, "How interesting." I hurried to Mr. Y's door, knocked lightly, and pushed it open. I walked all the way to the sofa but didn't see Mr. X. When I turned to get the file folder, an awkward situation arose.
The bathroom door was open, and Mr. Y's right leg was stretched out on the sink, seemingly adjusting her stockings. Her short skirt was pulled up to her thigh, revealing a glimpse of her high-quality, off-white underwear.
Between the stockings and underwear, a section of her fair thigh was visible. Her thigh was long and slender, without any excess fat, and incredibly sexy under the black stockings.
I stood there dumbfounded, not daring to utter a sound. Ms. Y was also startled to see me, clearly not expecting me to arrive so quickly!
She quickly pulled her leg down and casually tossed a pair of black stockings from the sink counter into the gold trash can. —So, she had just been changing her stockings.
Once outside the bathroom, her friendly demeanor returned.
A hint of barely perceptible fear still lingered in her eyes.
She didn't explain, so I quickly tried to smooth things over, "I... Ms. Y left the file here." I thought to myself, something's not right, I seem to have said it backwards. Ms. Y couldn't help but laugh.
"Hmm, did you find it?"
"I put it under the table, I forgot to take it when I left."
The bathroom was only a few steps away from where I was standing. As she spoke, she was already in front of me, turning to pull out tissues to dry her hands.
I walked around the sofa, bent down to get the bag, and saw an even more embarrassing scene: Y's short skirt was exposed!
The back of the short skirt was closed with an inner hidden zipper, like a regular open-front zipper, which you unzip by pulling it down from the top when you take it off. There was a section of the zipper that wasn't fully closed. The originally stiff and shapely material had been torn open because she was twisting her body. Her underwear, buttocks, the white thighs between her black stockings and panties, and the protruding private parts were all on full display! At this close range, I could even vaguely feel the dark pubic hair wrapped in the center of her panties!
Oh my god! My blood rushed to my head instantly!
Was it because I barged in so abruptly? In her haste, she pulled her leg off the counter, the movement so sudden that the zipper came undone.
She seemed to realize something was wrong, but clearly didn't realize she was exposed. My face flushed as I stood up, pointing at Mr. Y's lower body, stammering,
"Your zipper...it's not zipped up properly."
She was mortified. "Oh, it's nothing, you can go back to your work." She touched the zipper behind her, trying to zip it up.
In her haste, she failed several times.
"It's bulging in the middle, you have to take it off first, then..."
I realized my mistake, quickly shut my mouth, and turned to leave.
I rushed downstairs, the bright sun blinding me, and my mouth felt dry.
It was lunchtime. As I came out of the workshop, several young women walked past me in pairs, all wearing black stockings. Their sight stirred my heart, making it race.
Am I just naturally infatuated?
Work started at 2 PM, and my colleagues and I worked until almost 7 PM. Because I was worried about possibly drinking that evening, I ate some noodles at the factory canteen to empty my stomach, then drank a glass of warm milk, which made me feel much better.
I told my colleagues I was going out that night and asked them to work a little longer, promising to finish work promptly at 8 p.m.
I quickly took a shower, freshened up, and waited downstairs at the office building. Secretary J had already left work; only Y's office light was on, but her car wasn't there. What did that mean? Was the dinner canceled, or did I not have to go? Just
then, a few crisp honks sounded, and Y took a few boxes from the passenger seat and beckoned me to the changing room to change.
"Not bad, straight back, be more confident,"
I remarked. Y has a good eye; aside from being a little uncomfortable with the new clothes, they fit me well, especially the leather shoes, which must have been expensive.
I guess I owe her this favor now; I'll repay it slowly when I have the chance.
The hotel was one of the more upscale ones in the area, a go-to choice for local government meetings, investment promotion events, and celebratory events.
When I entered the lobby with Mr. Y, several familiar guests greeted him. I guessed they were probably suppliers for Mr. Y's company. Judging from their tone, this meal was an unplanned arrangement for the gathering; I understood, they were the ones paying tonight. So, Mr. Y is our client, and are we competitors with these other companies?
In the private room, at two tables, the four people already seated seemed to be of higher rank.
They merely nodded to Mr. Y without getting up. I maintained a smile, unsure where to sit, wondering which one might be my boss's boss. One of them seemed familiar, exuding official airs. Later, listening to their conversation, I remembered he was a powerful figure in charge of the economy, someone I'd seen in the local news.
It wasn't the beginning or end of the year; this meal seemed to have a deeper meaning. Oh well, I'm just a nobody.
Later, after a night of drinking, I gained two insights.
First, I learned some inside information that didn't really concern me, such as that Mayor J of a neighboring city would be taking over after next year's reshuffle; my boss's boss would be transitioning from business to politics; a certain company was going to list on a certain stock exchange, offering a certain number of internal shares; a deputy had voluntarily surrendered a multi-million dollar painting he'd been bribed with, but it was proven false, and there were rumors that an investigation was underway to see if he had deliberately switched the painting… Second, I learned that tequila shouldn't be drunk casually, and definitely shouldn't be mixed with other alcohol.
Anyway, I got drunk, completely drunk. From start to finish, it was no more than 40 minutes, a quick affair. Four out of the five people at our table got drunk; the only one who didn't was the driver.
Maybe he really could hold his liquor, or maybe he was just too good at showing off. At another table, there were also five people, each with only one glass of tequila. The glasses were very pretty, as if they were going to down it in one gulp right from the start. Then they pulled apart the screen between the two tables, isolating us.
I drank Y's glass. She didn't introduce me, just handed me a glass. I noticed all four glasses on the table were empty, and I understood. I
raised my glass in greeting and downed it in one gulp. The taste was very fragrant and rich, but also very spicy.
The bosses laughed at this. Boss
Y gently patted my back, and I leaned forward slightly. She leaned closer and whispered,
"How are you feeling? Are you alright?"
"Not bad. What kind of wine is this?"
"Later, don't push yourself too hard. The guy across from you who's balding has the lowest alcohol tolerance. When he toasts you, you can drink a little, but make sure you don't pass out. Not passing out is saving face for your boss and your boss's boss."
"Got it." Got it my foot!
Sure enough, the bald guy kept inviting me to drink. The others called me Manager X, but only the bald guy called me "brother," clearly trying to outdo me.
I'll play along! After clinking glasses with everyone else, I realized the bald guy was gone, but his jacket was still there.
I felt relieved. After
toasting the bosses one by one, it was time to clear the room. It seems my boss's boss doesn't stay at this hotel. I escorted him to the drop-off area at the entrance, where a driver was already waiting.
He asked how I was doing, and I waved my hand, saying I was fine and to have a safe trip.
I won't go into the details of the drinking, but I'll describe my drunken state afterward.
As I watched the car merge into the traffic, I started looking for Mr. Y.
Just then, a gust of wind blew by, and the image of Mr. Y and the woman in black stockings began to flash before my eyes. A metallic taste rose in my stomach, and I quickly grabbed a nearby plant for support… Seemingly not quite done vomiting, I tugged at my collar and pressed my stomach, trying to throw up some more, but nothing came out—actually, I hadn't eaten much; I'd been busy toasting and being toasted.
At that moment, I desperately wanted to find something, but I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for. A figure in a red uniform approached me, gently asking if I needed help. It seemed they couldn't support me, so another figure came closer. I wandered around in the middle of them, not knowing where to go. Then, I heard a "ripping" sound, as if something had been torn, followed by a scream. More figures came after me.
I was stunned. My instinctive reaction was, "What happened? Did I cause trouble?" Although my legs felt weak, I forced myself to stand firmly with my legs slightly apart, thinking, "I can't fall, I can't embarrass myself."
With one hand in my pocket and the other on someone's shoulder, I said, "Brother, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've had too much to drink." Please forgive me, this is my business card. You've come to find me... I'm just a small drink, but my feelings are deep. Let me offer you all another toast... Just then, another figure came over, firmly placing one hand on my shoulder, and said to the others, "The guest requested a designated driver. Xiao Li's welcoming uniform... the manager said not to claim compensation." He drove me to the parking lot in front of the door and helped me into the back seat of a car. A familiar fragrance wafted towards me; it seemed someone was already in the back seat.
Although it was difficult to open my eyelids, I perked up, straightened my back, and politely addressed the person in the back seat, "Thank you for your trouble. Is Baldy alright? He forgot his coat. I'm really grateful for today..." A bitter taste rushed to my nose, and tears immediately welled up. With a few gusts of sourness, "Ugh..." the bitter liquid gushed out of my mouth, spraying straight into the person's arms... Then I spent the whole way apologizing profusely, saying sorry, sorry, until I passed out.
When I opened my eyes again, my head was throbbing. Through the haze, I saw a glass of water on the bedside table, gulped down a couple of mouthfuls, choked on some, and lay back down. Just then, I heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and then a figure flashed out. Squinting, I could vaguely make out a white shirt and black skirt. Thinking
, "Ah Jun is here," I rubbed my forehead and mumbled, "I have a headache..." There seemed to be no response, so I said again forcefully, "I have a headache..." Then a pair of hands straightened my head, gently massaging it from my brow to my temples, over the top of my head, and down to the back of my forehead. The movements were soothing and very comfortable.
Thinking of Ah Jun, images of our lovemaking flashed before my eyes, like fast-forwarded scenes from a movie, accompanied by high-pitched moans... I suddenly grabbed the hands still kneading my ear, flipped her over, and straddled her.
I found myself completely naked; her hip bones were digging painfully into me. I sat on her soft buttocks in one swift motion, my left elbow pressing against her back.
"What are you doing!" I pressed a thick pillow against her back and neck, holding her down firmly with my left hand. A resistance came from beneath the pillow.
I couldn't help but feel aroused, and my penis immediately became erect. I ripped off her
outer skirt in two quick movements. "Black stockings are so alluring!" Her
legs, encased in black stockings, were incredibly sexy. I squeezed her buttocks a few times—the feel was wonderful!
She struggled violently, but I held her down tightly. In desperation, I pulled up her panties with my right hand, and my penis thrust straight into the dark shape between her thighs!
"Let go!" she cried out. The soft pillow seemed to muffle her voice, reducing its penetrating power. She twisted her neck, trying to break free.
As she struggled, she bent her thighs, her buttocks swaying from side to side, trying to push my penis out. My angry penis, eager for its paradise, thrust left and right. Seeing this, I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifting her buttocks, and twisted my wrist, forcing my swollen glans into her jade gate!
I rushed in, but a sharp, painful sensation stopped my penis halfway.
"Oh...so tight..."
Distracted, she pushed hard with both arms, her chin emerging from under the pillow. "Let go, what are you doing!"
This wasn't Ah Jun!
Looking at the snow-white mass before her, it was clearly a size larger, still soft but lacking tightness, and the waist was wider. Although her head was throbbing, the shock instantly snapped her back to reality. She thought, "I'm done for, rape is a crime that lands me in jail!"
Cold sweat broke out on her back, her mind a jumble. She jumped out of bed, leaned against the wall, and touched a row of switches. Instinctively, she wanted to turn off the room's spotlights, but accidentally turned on the bedside lamp first. After a flurry of fumbling, the main light turned off, but the hallway light came on. It turned out these were multi-control switches.
There was no escape!
"What are you doing!"
"Mr. Y!" I was so shocked my jaw dropped. How could it be Mr. Y?
It turned out Mr. Y kept several sets of clothes in his car to change into for different occasions. I only remembered she was wearing trousers that night, and I didn't recall vomiting all over her.
I stood there blankly against the wall, seemingly waiting for judgment and forgetting I was naked. Y's face was pale with terror, and she pulled the corner of the blanket over her lower body.
"Turn around."
I didn't move, puzzled. Seeing my vacant eyes, she got out of bed, picked up her skirt, put it on, and went into the bathroom to comb her messy hair.
I felt like I'd been thrown into a time vortex; the scene before me spun and blurred, and I even shivered.
Then, Y came out, calm again. Seeing my still-frightened state, she told me to wash up, saying she was going out for a late-night snack before leaving. I walked blankly to the bathroom, turning the water on full blast, starting with cold water, which made me shiver, before realizing I needed to adjust the temperature… The doorbell rang; it was Y. Y didn't come in, but handed me a paper bag containing my casual clothes. She changed into a bright orange pleated dress, a small handbag slung over her right shoulder, instantly looking 30 again.
It was a quarter to eleven when I left. That meant my behavior just now was still considered a drunken lapse. I hoped Mr. Y would be lenient; surely he wouldn't turn on me? Even if I did intervene, I didn't leave anything behind… I was anxious the whole way.
I took a taxi to a place that seemed to be a bar street. There were only a few pedestrians on the street, and beggars were still darting out, startling several fashionable women who fled in panic. Their agility despite wearing several-inch heels was astounding. I was amazed.
The aroma of cooked food wafted over, and Mr. Y appeared in a flash. I quickly followed. Wasn't this mala tang? Mr. Y clearly liked it. The
owner didn't call out, busy calling out orders. A little girl was collecting money at a counter by the porch, with colorful printed elementary school textbooks on it. The food was self-service; I grabbed a few items and followed Mr. Y. I checked my pockets; I only had a few coins. I couldn't very well return the food.
"Aunt Gui, you're here."
The girl refused to accept Y's money, so Y put a 20-yuan note in the money box and a 100-yuan note in his textbook, telling the girl, "Go with this brother."
We chose a table against the outer wall, and the little girl ran over to carefully wipe the table and chairs. After the little girl brought the spicy hot pot to the table, Y finally spoke.
"I don't remember anything about today. After we eat, let's go for a walk at the night market."
I was stunned for a moment, my anxious heart welcoming a ray of sunshine.
"Ah, what happened? Nothing, I'm very drunk."
I had never bought anything at a night market before. It was dark and gloomy; I wasn't afraid of expensive things, but I was afraid of being ripped off.
Y wanted to buy a stone that looked like a rabbit's face with a pattern. The smiling stall owner quoted 999 yuan, and I quietly asked her.
"Is it hand-painted? This stone is so expensive!"
"The stone isn't worth much, but these words are." Just as I was about to reach for my wallet, I noticed the words "Linglong Wangyue" (玲珑望月) carved underneath. The light was dim; it was hard to see clearly without getting close.
I stood in front of Mr. Y. "99 yuan, deal or forget it, boss, be quick." The stall owner looked hesitant, but before he could answer, I said, "Here, this smaller one, 99 yuan too. We'll also get a wooden box for the larger one, and we'll take them together." Seeing that I was determined, the stall owner sniffed and quickly wrapped the stones for us. "You two are destined to meet."
"Hehe, we've made a deal, of course we're destined to meet." The stall owner seemed to have something to say, but didn't speak.
Later, Mr. Y asked me to take the rabbit-shaped stone back and give it to my boss.
I gave the smaller one to Ah Jun.
Back at the factory, I didn't actively seek out General Manager Y anymore. I had my secretary relay any requests, and she never contacted me directly. Instead, she assigned a manager to work with me, providing daily updates.
A week later, before the task was completed, I was transferred to nearby city B for an emergency response, where I unexpectedly ran into General Manager Y again.
On the fourth day in city B, things were going relatively smoothly, so I felt a bit more relaxed. I hadn't rested for over a week on business, so while I didn't feel physically exhausted, I was mentally drained. City B is close to my hometown, so I took three days off, planning to take a bus back that afternoon to visit my parents.
Unexpectedly, the client's senior manager announced at noon that he was inviting a group of people out for a night out.
He had visited our company several times and had a good relationship with my boss, so he insisted I come along.
It was nothing more than eating, drinking, and karaoke, and maybe a few glasses of beer or spirits with ice. I don't like that, so I just sat there quietly.
Although I don't go to karaoke, I always say "ok" when someone invites me for drinks. I wonder if the Japanese invented karaoke as a way to get people to say "ok" while drinking.
I received a call from my hometown, but the private room and hallway were too noisy, so I went to the lobby to call back. My parents asked when I would arrive, saying they had prepared various things for me. Fueled by the alcohol, a wave of sadness washed over me, and I couldn't help but cry… "When you have nothing left and are in despair, don't forget that you still have family by your side."
Although I haven't reached that point, the heartfelt words on the other end of the phone still touched a nerve.
I found a corner and let it all out until I cried a lot.
Without any tissues, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and rushed to the restroom.
There I ran into Ms. Y, who asked in surprise what was wrong. I quickly covered it up by saying I watched a tearjerker and was deeply moved. —This building has restaurants on the first and second floors, a cinema on the third, karaoke rooms on the fourth to seventh floors, and guest rooms above that.
Perhaps my tearful sincerity touched her, because Ms. Y sighed, "If you need anything, be sure to call me."
I watched her graceful departure through my tearful eyes; she was still wearing black stockings and a short skirt, elegant and sexy—she must have been a goddess surrounded by admirers in her youth.
Her words echoed in my ears; it wasn't just polite formality, but rather a hidden affection.
"I was thinking of calling you, saying hello, and then what to say?"
Unexpectedly, she called me the next morning. At that time, I was still struggling to think of anything I needed that I could call her for.
Anyway, after venting my emotions, I felt a bit lost, and the customer service manager booked a guest room for me and another colleague who had arrived in B city earlier on the 10th floor.
Because I went to bed early, I woke up very early (by "very early" I mean before 8 a.m.), took a nice shower, said goodbye to my colleagues, and planned to have breakfast at the restaurant downstairs and then quickly buy my train ticket.
I had just finished my second bowl of porridge when I received a call from Ms. Y, or rather, she was asking for help.
"Where are you? Still in B City?"
"Yes, Ms. Y, I'm having breakfast. What can I do for you?"
I answered, noticing her speech was slower and weaker than usual. I was
mentally wondering what it was about, whether it was going to involve drinking again… "Take a taxi to the hotel where I met yesterday, and find me at room 1212. Try to be as quick as possible."
"Okay, sure." Then she hung up.
Strange, what happened? I touched my stomach; it was about 70% full. I put down my chopsticks and walked towards the elevator, thinking about how to "try to be as quick as possible." Ms.
Y clearly hadn't expected me to arrive so quickly; she didn't open the door for half a minute.
I saw that she was pale, barefoot, and without a coat or shirt. I thought, "Oh no, this can't be good."
She was leaning against the door, her hand covering her lower body, and there was blood on the back of her hand!
I was terrified. "Mr. Y, are you feeling unwell? Should we go to the hospital?"
"No need, just let me handle it."
I helped her put on her coat and shoes, and I was shocked to find something sticky on her ankle.
The blood was coming from her genitals.
Before leaving, I needed to urinate, so I went to the bathroom. There was also a pool of blood in the toilet.
She didn't say anything, and I didn't ask, but a sense of anger seemed to be rising from the bottom of my heart.
"The room, clean it when you come back." She handed me the room key, and I nodded.
"Don't take the elevator, help me up the stairs." It seemed she didn't want anyone to see us.
There was supposed to be a small direct elevator to the 12th-floor guest rooms, but it was password protected, and Mr. Y and I didn't know the password, so we had to walk downstairs.
Before we even reached the 11th floor, Mr. Y's shoe fell off, and her legs felt weak. "Ms. Y, let me carry you down a few flights of stairs first, then you can walk by yourself." I was panting heavily after making it to the third floor. I reached up and touched Ms. Y's buttocks, only to find a large pool of blood. I thought to myself, maybe carrying her is causing more bleeding because of the jolting. Without a word, I turned around and picked her up. Holding her flat, my left arm supporting her buttocks could feel the damp warmth seeping from her short skirt, and there were bloodstains on the left sleeve and left chest of her t-shirt.
"Should we go to the hospital?"
"No need, get the car from the garage to JY Villa, you drive." I later learned that she had a private doctor and didn't need to go to the hospital.
I carried Ms. Y and rushed to the underground parking lot, making several turns before finally finding the car.
"Take the XY Tunnel, there are road signs, be careful." I'm a novice driver, never driven an automatic before, and I stepped on the gas and went over 60 mph. After more than a dozen intersections and several sudden stops, I arrived at the address Ms. Y mentioned without any major incidents.
Ms. Y lay on the living room sofa, pale-faced and bloodless.
Lacking experience, and with the villa empty, I went to the kitchen and made a strong cup of brown sugar water. She weakly took a few sips, regained her strength, and then dialed a doctor's number.
"Someone will be here in two hours. You have other things to do, so go ahead and do them. Remember to clean the guest room."
"It's okay, I'm about to take a vacation, five days including the weekend."
"You, help me upstairs, I don't have the strength."
The bedroom was large and clean, but deserted; it seemed to have been uninhabited for a long time. But, with blood all over her lower body, she couldn't lie down.
"Help me, rinse yourself off in the bathroom first. I've seen everything, there's nothing to be embarrassed about." I thought to myself, she's no longer an innocent boy.
In the square double bathtub, I undressed first, went in, and adjusted the shower temperature. I helped her sit down, and after taking off her coat, I hesitated whether to take off her top or her skirt first. —From this, it seems my feelings for Ms. Y were first respect, then admiration.
Since I was going to be naked anyway, it didn't matter. I stripped down to my bra, and forgot about the "stocking temptation" on my lower body. I lifted it up from my thighs with one hand and ripped it off from my feet with the other. My panties were a little askew, and the inner lining was stained red. I gently removed them, revealing that my pubic hair was mostly red.
Finally, I took off my bra. I admit, women like Y, with their stockinged legs and impressive breasts, are the object of my fantasies.
I slowly unhooked the bra, almost in awe. It was probably a C-cup; I never knew breasts at 40 could be so beautiful! The shine, shape, and feel were comparable to Ah Jun's. There was no obvious shrinkage or sagging, probably due to proper care. I
first washed my vulva with a towel dampened with water; the menstrual bleeding had stopped. There wasn't much pubic hair; the clean hair lay neatly on either side of my vulva, which was full, like a large almond. Her labia majora resembled butterfly wings, slightly curled inwards at the edges, a dark red color with no obvious pigmentation. Her vulva glistened, very alluring.
This was the first time I'd ever washed a woman's genitals; it felt quite professional!
After rinsing her body, I helped her lie on the bed, placing four layers of towels under her buttocks. It's worth mentioning that her wardrobe contained many bras of various styles, demonstrating the owner's confidence and fondness for her breasts. Strangely, there were no men's clothes.
I went out and bought some hot porridge and snacks for Y-boo's breakfast.
Thinking that the responsibility of providing meals and nutrition would fall on my shoulders these next few days, I checked the refrigerator; it only contained a few cans of nearly expired drinks. I made several trips to the market to buy some seasonal vegetables, meat, eggs, and ribs, and picked up a half-finished hot pot, ready to learn how to cook it step-by-step according to a recipe. I tossed the pot a few times; it was incredibly heavy, realizing this was a Western-style kitchen. Oh well, I'll just ask the property management to order takeout.
The doctor arrived shortly after.
I didn't go into the room, but waited outside.
I asked the doctor, and he basically said that everything was fine, the bleeding had stopped, and that Ms. Y's blood sugar was a little low, so she shouldn't eat too much for lunch. Her assistant was here during the day and would be giving her an IV tonight, so I had to stay with her. The doctor said the prepared medication would be brought over at noon and taught me how to change the IV and remove the needle. He also specifically mentioned a foreign medication that Ms. Y was taking, and that she should stop taking it if she wasn't socializing and wait until she recovered.
After lunch, I called home and told my family I had something come up and wouldn't be coming back. My parents were very happy to hear the call.
On the way to the hotel, I suddenly realized my driver's license was in my suitcase.
The suitcase was at Ms. Y's factory.
When I got to the room, I checked the sheets and found that only the blanket was stained with blood. I then searched everywhere, using trash cans, tabletops, sticky notes, and even used newspapers and magazines to wrap the blood in the blanket. After cleaning the bathroom, I went to the hotel kitchen and, when no one was looking, took a large black garbage bag and threw the blanket in. After hesitating for a moment, I took out the stack of sticky notes and examined them carefully, but I couldn't see any writing.
However, both the S and D newspapers had deliberate markings, suggesting readers had a habit of underlining while reading. The key words marked all revolved around "listing."
Could it be that he was all talk and no action, but that didn't seem right. Perhaps subconsciously, he believed Y was the victim.
I informed the receptionist that we had gone camping the previous day and would be taking a set of blankets with us, which would be included in the room rate. A quick swipe of my credit card cost over 3,000 yuan, and a bottle of imported liquor cost over 2,000 yuan—extravagance indeed! To improve our meals, I found several hotels nearby, got their menus, and ordered a variety of dishes.
The next afternoon, Y seemed to have recovered and began demanding that the factory management report on orders and production.
On the third day, Y cooked a fish, and it was clear she was in a great mood. She declined a business dinner, and we went to a small local mountain to pick tea leaves. The dosage for that day was reduced by half, and the fourth day's dosage was cancelled.
On the fourth day, she received an IV drip in the morning, and the other bottle, which she had saved for the evening taxi ride, was moved to the afternoon because she was attending an event in the development zone that evening. She was leaving at 4 PM, and I happened to hitch a ride with her to pick up her luggage.
Next to Y's handbag was a small white plastic bottle covered in English; I glanced at it and realized it was probably some kind of foreign medication she was taking. My chemical vocabulary is limited, but from the description, it seemed to be related to human behavior and the nervous system.
I told Y I wanted to see what foreign medications looked like, and she replied that as long as they weren't taken indiscriminately.
I unscrewed the cap and poured out a small white round tablet, nothing special. After I finished looking at it, Y took the tablet from the cap, swallowed it, and started changing clothes and putting on makeup.
I waited in the living room for a while, but Y didn't come down. I thought to myself, men are so carefree; they don't have to worry about their clothes or spend time on makeup. Another half hour passed, and there was still no sound. I thought something might have happened, so
I hurried upstairs, pushed open the bedroom door, and saw Ms. Y slumped on the floor, her shirt open, revealing half of her right shoulder. Her long hair, which had been tied up, was now loose and disheveled over her left shoulder, and several buttons from her shirt were scattered on the floor.
I stepped forward and helped her up. "Ms. Y, what's wrong? Should we call a doctor?"
She grabbed my collar, unsteady on her feet. "What kind of pills did you give me?"
"In that little bottle!"
"I see, an aphrodisiac, an aphrodisiac, despicable!"
"Ms. Y, how could it be an aphrodisiac? I didn't... it really was in the bottle."
She leaned on my shoulder, shaking her head repeatedly. "Put me in the bathroom... turn on the cold water..."
What was this?! This only happened in movies. How could I actually encounter someone turning on the cold water? She struggled to lift her head, her face facing the steam, her hands constantly grabbing her hair.
In no time, she was soaked through.
She had just recovered, and I was worried she'd catch a cold, so I quickly pulled her out of the tub. Her arms were icy cold, so I grabbed a towel and wrapped her up. I turned on the hairdryer to dry her hair. She probably felt a chill from being wet all over, and instinctively snuggled closer to me, resting her head in the crook of my left arm, her arms wrapped around my waist.
When she was half-dry, I noticed she seemed to be drifting off, her eyes glazed over. "Does an aphrodisiac also have a hypnotic effect?" I wondered. I tried to take off her wet clothes, and just as I struggled to remove her shirt, she suddenly opened her eyes and looked at me.
"Let's go to bed!"
What did she mean? I didn't mean that at all.
“You think I’m too old?” She pressed her face against my chest, my heart pounding. Her right hand slipped inside my t-shirt, caressing my chest. “Do you want me?”
My young heart, though overwhelmed
, still tried to restrain itself. “Mr. Y, please hold on a little longer, your body has just recovered, don’t let a small thing ruin everything…”
“I’ve been holding back for a while before you came in!” she said, her hot lips pressing against my cheek, chin, and Adam’s apple, her breath sweet as orchids, roaming up and down my ear… Her right hand moved from my chest to my waist, then down my thighs, grabbing my manhood!
Her palm rubbed against my thigh, and I quickly became erect!
She became excited. “Take it off…”
Her left hand vigorously rubbed my back, twisting her waist in front of me, vigorously shaking her proud breasts.
“Take it off!”
I didn’t hesitate any longer, tearing off her sexy bra.
My two breasts broke free of their restraints, swaying freely, extremely provocative! I held her tightly, greedily kissing and biting her two snow-white mounds… “Ah… um…”
She unbuckled my belt, and my loose jeans fell down to my knees. I stretched my toes and flung the pants off.
My little brother grew harder under her caresses. She continued to explore, her warm palms gently caressing my testicles, while her other hand completely freed my penis from my underwear and began to slowly stroke it… I gently bit her nipples with my teeth.
“Mr. Y, you are my goddess, I want you, I want you…”
Her feet were on the backs of my feet, and we slowly moved to the edge of the bed, falling down together. She still held onto my penis tightly, refusing to let go.
We each enjoyed the other’s intoxication.
My hand wandered between her buttocks, discovering the moist, mysterious scent deep within the forest. I was about to enter paradise, but she was wearing tight cropped jeans, making it difficult to penetrate.
She understood my predicament, stopped, stripped herself naked, and then reached out to undress mine.
Finally, our two naked, passionate bodies were ignited. We kissed fiercely, rolling around... Our tongues intertwined, her long thighs wrapped tightly around my waist, her vulva rubbing back and forth between my hips and thighs... Her smooth breasts couldn't withstand the onslaught, covered with fine teeth marks and lip prints. Her breathing grew heavier, the flush on her cheeks spreading from below her ears to her breasts, her upper body burning red with desire.
My right middle finger circled around her anus, then explored her clitoris, which was already overflowing and unstoppable. Even so, I still wanted to test the waters, not daring to act rashly. First, my index finger, slowly penetrating, then my middle finger, and later my ring finger joined the exploration.
"Ah..." I quickened my thrusts, and for a moment, she gasped repeatedly, as if love fluid was gushing out... I withdrew my hand, to make sure that what flowed from her lower body was indeed fluid and not blood. That's right, it's love fluid. The faint fishy smell is mixed with the taste of soda water. This is the scent of ocean waves. Isn't the gushing love fluid just like wave after wave?
My suppressed penis is demanding complete liberation!
I laid her flat, legs apart, and my throbbing, red penis slowly slid into her vagina.
"Ah...that's it, that's it..."
I tried my best to control myself, moving in and out slowly, not fully penetrating. While we were having sex, I observed Y's reaction. A fine layer of sweat had appeared on her forehead, and her waist began to twist in rhythm with mine, which could increase the friction between my penis and vagina, creating a deeper level of pleasure.
I no longer held back and began to give it my all.
I pulled out completely and then thrust in deeply again, ah...each time I hit the bottom, her moans turning into high-pitched cries, "So deep...oh..." The glans parted her labia, and I could see the deep penetration. I thought I should let Y see it too, so I pulled her up with one hand, letting her watch my penis go in and out of her vagina...nine shallow thrusts followed by one deep one, sometimes gentle, sometimes pounding.
Ah, ah, ah… oh… She seemed stimulated by something, pressing me down beneath her, oh, woman on top… a passionate, unending struggle… until, from within our love nest, a series of increasingly intense tremors emanated, my glans felt as if it were being sucked in, a strange, tingling sensation spreading throughout my body like an electric shock, followed by a feeling of a thousand horses rushing towards my ejaculation point, unable to escape… And she had already bent down, hooking her arms around the back of my neck, her head resting on her right shoulder, pressing me tightly, her chest heaving violently. I knew she was about to climax, so I held her hips, thrusting my hips forward, pushing my penis as deep as possible into her flower!
Almost simultaneously, the tightness around my glans disappeared, and my ejaculation erupted instantly.
Ah—I've been too hasty, Mr. Y… I felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.
Mr. Y, however, seemed not yet satisfied, his tongue roaming under my ear, back and forth on both sides of my neck, his right hand first caressing, then teasing my nipple with his index finger. I held her two snow-white breasts with one hand, and used the other to tidy her disheveled hair.
She straddled my right thigh, rubbing back and forth. The semen and love juices overflowing from her honeypot sizzled like frying over a low flame as they rubbed together.
I understood what she meant, of course. My little brother temporarily lost its stubbornness; if we fought immediately, it would inevitably be half-hearted. I decided to still give it my all, so I laid her down, and she obediently spread her legs.
Her honeypot was right in front of me!
The entrance was slightly swollen and red, with a ring of fine foam around the outer lips—the joyful song of semen and love juices.
Dipped in the love juice at the entrance, my little brother slid in effortlessly. She arched her back, cooperating with me, and began to slowly twist, but my little brother slipped out. I tried again, and it was the same.
"Mr. Y, I can use my hand."
"I'll help you."
We got up and half-knelt. She covered my little brother with her right hand, wiping away the remaining semen on the glans. She first kissed it gently a few times, then swallowed it whole.
Holding it in her mouth, her tongue kept swirling around, then she vigorously swallowed and stroked it, changing the shape and pressure of her mouth. I began to react.
She quickened her pace, and my penis instantly swelled.
"Come fuck me, little W, fuck me!"
I never expected her to utter such lewd words.
These past few days, her charm had always enveloped me; in my heart, she was like a noble goddess.
"Mr. Y, I apologize for being so abrupt, I'm coming!"
Oh—her brow furrowed, her arms encircling my waist.
The warmth of her palms on my lower back felt incredibly comfortable.
I was honored; I would satisfy you, my goddess.
Entanglement, Moon Embrace, Rear Entry, Lotus Position… her whole body writhed, her moans shifting from high-pitched to hoarse, until she clenched her teeth.
After a shudder, she collapsed. To prolong the battle, and also considering Mr. Y's recent recovery, I controlled the rhythm and movements, avoiding vigorous actions, keeping them gentle yet prolonged. One position would last for a long time, especially the rear entry, until my legs went numb before I changed positions. My goal was clear: to exhaust her stamina with my own, and I succeeded.
From the slanting rays of the setting sun until the lamps were lit, she was drenched in sweat, the sheets soaked with her own fluids. I remained steadfast, not ejaculating.
As if exhausted, she let out a long sigh, nestled under my arm, and drifted off to sleep.
Some say that some children like to sleep under an adult's armpit because they lack a sense of security.
"Ms. Y, do you also lack a sense of security?" Although I felt exhausted, my mind was still rapidly piecing together information—whose house is this? Why are there no men's clothes in the wardrobe? Why is she sick and no family members are taking care of her? Is it because she's not in town?
I didn't see any family photos here, nor any photos of her children in her office. Why did she ask about my relationship with the boss? What does the aphrodisiac mean?
When the cigarette butts, newspapers, aphrodisiacs, and the image of Ms. Y's lower body pooling together in the hotel all came into view, I couldn't help but curse, "You beast!"
Ms. Y woke up with a start. "What's wrong?"
I shook my head. "Nothing."
She pulled up a corner of the summer blanket to cover her breasts, leaned her head back, and distanced herself from me.
"Sleep for a while."
After dinner.
We were silent for a moment.
I sat on the lawn in front of the door for a while before going upstairs. I thought Ms. Y should have finished her bath and probably gone to her room to sleep—she can't watch TV; it hurts her eyes if she watches for too long.
I went into the room.
She lay down on her side in my room—of course, the house was hers, and she could sleep in any room; she probably didn't go back to her original room because the sheets were wet.
I sat down beside her, and without a word, not even a glance, we naturally embraced.
I still wanted to unravel some of the confusion that had been lingering for the past few days. The experiences of these past few days on the business trip were like a novel, and my young heart had been quite shaken.
Not knowing how to start, I hesitated for a while before asking, "I don't think I've seen you wearing a ring." She said that the meaning of wearing a ring varies depending on the country and the occasion, and different people interpret it differently. It's better not to wear one to avoid gossip and to save yourself some trouble.
So that's the meaning behind
"rings." Originally, they were used by concubines in the palace as a symbol to avoid the emperor's "favor," but in modern eyes, they have acquired so many interpretations. Rings of all kinds have many suitors, many people who flaunt them, and some people who own rings worry about how to wear them and what to do with them.
I pondered this.
She climbed onto my shoulder. "Do you know when a man is most charming?"
"Hmm," I was about to say, perhaps feeling it wasn't respectful enough during sex, but I shook my head. "Women have the most say in this."
"When he's focused, he's most charming. You were very focused when you were deep in thought just now."
She continued, "From a woman's perspective, a man's devotion and focus are both qualities, and you possess one of them."
I thought to myself, I'm not exactly a womanizer
, am I? "Once a woman establishes a family, the family becomes the center of her life, and it shouldn't be easily shaken. The prerequisite for a happy family is that the woman must be happy."
I thought she was about to pour out her grievances and recount her unhappiness, so I comforted her first.
"Except for successful people like you, people face a lot of economic pressure these days. You have a career, a solid financial foundation, and great personal energy; you don't need to rely entirely on your family."
"Heh, you certainly know how to talk. I'm not talking about me; the point is with you."
I was utterly confused. "What about me?"
"Those colleagues you went on business trips with are all married, right?"
"Yes." What does that have to do with me? My colleagues? Does it specifically refer to Ah Jun?
"You... know something?"
"You've heard of 'walls have ears,' right?" It turned out she was in the room across the hall when we made love. I was speechless, taking it as an admission.
"She's divorced, single, not what you think."
"Oh—you guys are ruthless."
Ah Jun also used the word "ruthless" during sex, so it seems the word "ruthless" is universally applicable to describing sexual prowess, perfectly capturing the scene of their genitals "clashing."
Her right leg was bent, casually draped over my waist, her face pressed against my inner arm, her breath tickling my armpit. She seemed to enjoy this side-lying position.
I didn't know what to say. I tried to shift my shoulder; it was so itchy.
Our eyes met, her bright eyes conveying affection.
"Let's do it again."
I believed this wasn't drugs. This time, it was a natural union under the influence of hormones.
Ah—oh…letting go of reserve, skipping the tests, we seemed to return to the wilderness, traversing the ancient times of raw meat and blood, without any fancy techniques.
The bed, the floor, the window, the door, the round table, the rocking chair, the bathroom, the hallway—all were our hunting grounds… I ejaculated twice.
Tired, we both took a breath and rested. She gave me oral sex, and we resumed our passion… more ejaculation, more oral sex, more ejaculation, more battle… all to fully release that primal urge… until the world turned dark, until we were completely exhausted.
I couldn't suckle her breasts, and she couldn't support my penis… 1. Regarding the neurological medication used by Mr. Y. Several years ago, Mr. Y often felt depressed and had chest tightness. Initially, he mistook it for early menopause and didn't pay much attention. Over time, the depression turned into irritability and uncontrollable anger. Later, a friend overseas recommended this mood-stabilizing pill, which was very effective. Mr. Y often took one before going out or on business.
We picked out two pills from the remaining bottle; they were slightly wider and flatter, and slightly whiter in color.
I licked one; these two pills didn't taste bitter but rather a little sweet, confirming that someone had tampered with them. The original pills were supposed to take effect an hour and a half later, causing a slight warming sensation, but not enough to make you sweat. The tampered pills, however, caused intense heat all over the body within half an hour.
I felt guilty for having offended Ms. Y. If I hadn't touched that small bottle, hadn't been curious about what foreign pills looked like, I might not have accidentally taken the aphrodisiac, wouldn't have had a relationship with Ms. Y, wouldn't have been curious about people and things related to her, and wouldn't have been plagued by so many confusions.
Of course, she would have taken the tampered pills eventually, but then I wouldn't have felt guilty.
2. On the day of the incident, Ms. Y was scheduled to participate in an official inspection tour, departing in the afternoon for a week, but she didn't go because of that incident.
3. Ms. Y and my boss are about the same age; they might have been classmates. Many colleagues say that when I'm serious, my expression is exactly the same as my boss's, and our voices are very similar. I didn't think so.
4. Ms. Y's hometown is in City B, and that villa is in her name.
5. Secretary J is from the same hometown as Ms. Y; she's quiet and reserved.
I learned from J that Ms. Y's husband is a PhD from the US who went there ten years ago and rarely returns to China. I've only met him once and haven't seen him for several years. Her husband's name isn't among the three names on that trophy.
6. The owner of the spicy hot pot restaurant has been to prison and is disabled. J said Ms. Y had sponsored him with a house, but he refused it, and it's remained empty.
7. I once subtly asked J about some of my questions. Whenever I got to the crucial point, she would blink her big eyes and remain silent.
8. After that, I tried to avoid business trips to Ms. Y's company.
Seven months later, I resigned. Initially, we exchanged greetings during holidays, but later I sent more, and she replied less. Then, she stopped replying altogether. Whenever I have great joy to share, or to make a big decision, or even when I hear about an earthquake, flood, car accident, or even smog, I instinctively want to send her a text message to check on her, but I always hold back.
Tolerance is a way of life; being able to tolerate it means you're probably not doing too badly.

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A romantic encounter with the female boss of the client

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