Uncle's female dog

I'd barely turned thirty when I was hit with a string of bad luck: being fired seven times in two years and my boyfriend of seven years finding someone new .
With my master's degree in hand, I finally joined the ranks of those working the night shift at a convenience store. My work efficiency was
mediocre ; I knew a little bit of everything but wasn't an expert in anything. My best skill was office software,
a basic skill for every new graduate. My looks were average; the only advantage I had in job interviews was maintaining a neat appearance.
One night before I was laid off, I was still working overtime at the company. The vice president, an
old man who disliked newcomers but often found excuses to rub my shoulder, would tell dirty jokes or make suggestive remarks about my chest whenever we were alone. After I sternly condemned his
harassment , he retorted, "You only got in here because of your breasts, right? You're here to pick men, aren't
you?" In a fit of anger, I slapped him. Only afterward did I realize that some men were indeed interested in my breasts.
The next day, the vice president wanted me to be his mistress. The consequence of refusing was being called to the HR department that evening to be laid
off .
I've had a 38D bust since my second year of junior high, and it got even bigger in high school, reaching an E-cup. The pretty girls in my
class would secretly call me a "cow" (a derogatory term for a woman), and many boys would peek at me during PE class. Even the first-year PE teacher
gave me special "attention" because of this. I don't know if it was just my imagination, but I believe that one day he specifically asked me to move
things in the gym equipment room because he had ulterior motives; he only refrained from doing anything because a boy was with me.
Indeed, I'm not exactly a pretty girl, and I wear black-rimmed glasses,
making
me look a bit plain. Yet, I was constantly subjected to lewd jokes. I endured this until my senior year of high school, when I started wrapping my breasts with towels or strips of cloth to try and make them look smaller and stop them from jiggling. But the girls in my class called me a "slut." One particularly annoying boy would
agree with them, initially calling me "big-breasted girl," then later "slutty-breasted girl." No matter what I did, those people always had something to say.
Sexual harassment didn't just happen in the workplace and at school; some actions by relatives also bothered me. This year
, my grandfather, who suffers from Alzheimer's, mistook me for my deceased grandmother. Every time he sees me, he insists that I stay with him.
My great-uncle, who takes care of him back in our hometown, said, "Just cooperate; Grandpa doesn't have much time left." I agreed to
take care of him specifically whenever we go back home, considering this.
Grandpa often thinks he's still young and orders me to serve him like my grandmother, who was born to be a workaholic—massaging him,
washing his feet , everything—it's really exhausting. Sometimes he stares intently at my chest, muttering, "Miss, your breasts are so big
, I really want a daughter-in-law like you..." and then he gets an erection, especially in front of the family. My great-uncle
quickly takes Grandpa back to his room to avoid embarrassing him in front of the relatives, and I'm called in too. My great-uncle
apologizes to me on Grandpa's behalf, but his gaze is clearly also lingering on my chest.
After that embarrassing incident, every week when we go back home, Grandpa treats me like a stranger,
staring at me lecherously until he gets an erection. When the situation gets too awkward, my great-uncle intervenes; sometimes he also has
a bulge , which I, like him, pretend not to notice. It's strange. I should feel disrespected, right? But the thought
of family makes it hard to stay angry, so I just turn a blind eye.
When I was tossing and turning, missing my ex-boyfriend, I actually felt a secret smug satisfaction at my grandfather and
great-uncle's . Hmm… even though I'm not very pretty, not very capable, and even though I'm of marriageable age
and my boyfriend left me, there are still people weaker than me who crave me… And this twisted
relationship, hidden by the three parties involved, finally stirred up trouble on a seemingly ordinary day.
The temperature that day was the highest since the start of summer; it was so stuffy that I had to wear a deep V-neck top and
denim shorts . The last time I dressed like this was around the same time last year; I hadn't looked at myself in the mirror like this for a whole year.
I always felt my breasts were too big and unsightly. An E-cup was already exaggerated, but after college, they grew to a G…
Plus, my boyfriend once said my breasts and areolas were too big, making sex feel disgusting, which led me to consider
surgery , but I always gave up because of the cost.
Now that I'm older, my breasts don't look firm at all; they're loose and heavy. If I weren't
wearing a bra, it's obvious they've started to sag…sigh! Perhaps it was because I showed some cleavage that Grandpa
blurted out his request for me to let him touch my breasts!
If it was just wishful thinking, I could accept it, but even if he seriously begged me, I wouldn't
agree to that nonsense about just a quick touch. To prevent Grandpa from suddenly touching me, I deliberately kept my distance. Unexpectedly,
Grandpa burst into tears like a child, as if I had bullied him, crying and shouting, "I
begged , why won't you let me touch you…"
My great-uncle rushed over and asked what happened. I told him
everything been staring at my chest. Grandpa kept crying and fussing, and nothing I did could soothe him. I, who insisted on not letting him touch my body,
felt like the bad guy. My great-uncle actually advised me to let Grandpa touch me once and that would be the end of it. I was
so angry I wanted to leave, but Grandpa was crying so hard, it reminded me of him when Grandma passed away. In the end… I softened.
My great-uncle said he would try to soothe him again, but it was still ineffective, so he gave me a pleading look. I knew that
if I let Grandpa continue like this, he would soon run out of energy, but I still couldn't help but go over. As soon as I said I could only touch him once,
Grandpa pressed his whole face against my chest, burying his face in my cleavage and slowly stopped crying.
My great-uncle and I exchanged awkward glances. My great-uncle stroked Grandpa's back and tried to comfort him, but I felt he was just
looking for an excuse to stay. Grandpa showed no sign of letting go, and if I pretended to leave, he
would start crying again, endlessly. My great-uncle whispered to me, "Just coax Grandpa to sleep like this!" I wanted to believe
he was genuinely suggesting it, but his deliberate act of hiding his genitals betrayed him.
After being held by Grandpa for about ten to fifteen minutes, my great-uncle started asking me about my personal affairs, pretending to be casual.
Aside from the questions he used to start the conversation, what he really wanted to say was things like, "I don't understand why your boyfriend left you," or "You're
so great, yet you can't find a good man..." Even though I knew it was flattery, I wasn't angry because I'd never heard
such things before. Instead, I wanted to hear him praise me a few more times.
Even though we both knew my grandfather was asleep and snoring in my arms, my great-uncle continued to stroke his back, and
I let him breathe in my cleavage. Men are truly incredible; they can lie endlessly to please a woman . Women are also incredible; they can pretend to be deceived by false lies. My great-uncle gradually stopped hiding his erection, perhaps because I wasn't as wary of him. I had absolutely no intention of letting him take advantage of me, not even a little bit; I was simply enjoying the old man's efforts to please me.

Suddenly, I desperately wanted to make a deeper, more lasting impression on him, something so unforgettable that he
would crave me when he relieved his lust. The thought of a man fantasizing about me
brought back . Besides, wasn't the way a man suppressed his excitement a little endearing?
When the conversation stalled and silence fell, I said it was almost time to go back and
carefully on the bed. While covering him with the blanket, I pretended to talk to my great-uncle, bending over
to look at him, though of course, we didn't make eye contact.
My great-uncle was completely captivated by my breasts, which drooped as I bent over, his crotch bulging noticeably
and jiggling energetically! I chuckled inwardly, but knew that staying any longer might be dangerous
, so I said goodbye to him and left my hometown in high spirits.
A week later, my great-uncle called, saying he wanted to chat with me like last time, this time using the excuse that he
hadn't had a proper conversation with anyone in years since his divorce. I pretended not to know his intentions, made a few excuses, and finally agreed to
go back to my hometown for him another day. Letting him gradually gain the upper hand in our verbal battles was as pleasurable and
alluring ; I could almost smell the stench emanating from his fantasies about my body. This feeling was unprecedented,
and I derived an immense sense of superiority from it.
Perhaps coincidentally, after my great-uncle and grandfather's desires for me surfaced, my luck with men began
to change. First, there was the convenience store manager, who used to only talk to me when giving instructions, but now, whenever we were in the same
place, he would bring it up every now and then.
A classmate I wasn't very close to in college, but had a crush on, also moved to my neighborhood around that time. We
recognized each other instantly at the checkout—I remembered his face, but whether he remembered my body or my face was
unknown . This guy worked at a nearby computer company with decent pay, and he asked me to dinner,
seemingly interested in me. I temporarily agreed to my college classmate's invitation, but before having dinner with him, I had to deal with my great-
uncle back home.
I dreamt I was having sex with my ex-boyfriend. His body was still so fair and full, his face still so young, but
his penis was so thick and long that it made it hard for me to breathe as soon as he entered. I was squeezing his testicles, which hadn't been washed for three days, the sweat clinging to
them and forming a sticky, smelly grime. I scraped off a layer of bluish-black grime with my fingernails, intending to scold him, but
I couldn't help but smell the odor. Although many people smell their own earwax or boogers, I actually
preferred the smell of his body.
In the dream, he suddenly straddled my face, his sticky, smelly testicles pressed against my nostrils. I heard him tell me to
smell it properly, and he rubbed my belly, saying, "This is the smell of your man, don't forget..." When I woke up,
I confirmed that those were indeed the words he had said during one of our sexual encounters. I hugged my cold arms tightly, turned to lie on my side, and tried
to return to the dream. I wanted to go back to the memory of that man taming me, but I couldn't fall asleep.
The day I met my great-uncle, I wore a thin wool coat I hadn't worn for a whole year, over a simple short-sleeved t-shirt,
but it was a bit small, and since I wasn't wearing a bra, it made my breasts look excessively prominent, full of unwarranted sexual
innuendo. I hadn't originally planned to dress like this, but thinking about my great-uncle's desire for me and my ex-boyfriend's fantasies, this was
the result .
I was wet; beneath my thick, dark pubic hair, my vagina was more visibly wet than it had been since my breakup with my ex-boyfriend,
like it had been thoroughly ravaged during sex. The only drawback was that my figure wasn't very slender,
somewhere between medium and full-figured, so wearing small clothes not only accentuated my breasts but also
squeezed . My ex-boyfriend loved my slightly chubby belly; would my great-uncle like that?
As soon as I got back to my hometown, I took off my coat, instantly shattering my great-uncle's carefully constructed composure. I heard that
my grandfather had joined a pilgrimage group organized by the neighborhood committee, making the house unusually quiet, but this was definitely something my great-uncle had deliberately arranged! We had the TV on in
the living room , chatting insincerely. He seemed very happy, popping betel nuts one after another, his lips
a frightening red.
Whenever our conversation reached a climax, I'd throw out a few irrelevant remarks to transition to the next
topic . My great-uncle was completely led by the nose; I controlled the direction, the depth, and the superficiality of the conversation. I
also had to carefully entice him to ask slightly provocative questions, lest he be overwhelmed by his erection
before .
My great-uncle's gaze was almost never on my face. Seeing my overjoyed expression when he praised me, he
began showering me with compliments. Even if it was all an act, as I listened, I genuinely began to enjoy those idealized
sweet words, even though the man speaking them always had his eyes fixed on my large breasts.
I was increasingly enjoying the compliments and the verbal battles where I deliberately lost to him. I knew my face was flushed, and my posture had become
quite suggestive. Most noticeably, the shape of my protruding areolas was
clearly visible through my short t-shirt… all caught by my uncle's lustful eyes.
Then my uncle asked, "Why do you look like you're not wearing a bra today?" I pretended to be shy and said, "
I'm washing all my bras, and my breasts have gotten bigger lately, so many of them don't fit anymore." Of course, this was all a lie, but my uncle
believed me without question. I told him that because of my large breasts, my shoulders always felt sore when I walked. My uncle seized the opportunity
to offer to massage me. I smiled and exchanged a few words with him, pretending I couldn't win the argument, so I had no choice but to let him massage
my shoulders!
My uncle, without any shame, stood behind me with his erect penis under his suit pants. His smelly crotch gently touched
my hair, and he placed his hands on my shoulders and began to knead them. Having rarely been massaged like this, I felt incredibly
comfortable and couldn't help but let out a soft moan.
My great-uncle was surprisingly well-behaved, massaging my shoulders, only using a small paper cup when spitting out betel nut juice; otherwise, he didn't even dare to secretly slide
his fingers down. What was he worried about? Was he afraid I'd dislike too much physical contact?
That was certainly possible. But… just the thought of my great-uncle being able to legitimately stare at my breasts gave me
a sense of accomplishment.
I deliberately breathed louder and moaned more ecstatically, and my great-uncle moved his legs more restlessly, chewing the betel nut more
forcefully , and his massage pressure fluctuating. He was almost losing his mind, and so was I. Knowing it was
wrong, my throat made lewd sounds like courtship, inadvertently revealing my feelings. "Great-uncle,
I feel so good," I said, pushing him away, but he hesitated for a while before deciding to gamble on my reaction.
My great-uncle's right hand slid down my right shoulder, directly to my warm right breast. I pressed his hand down, taking…
My great-uncle paused, his hand pausing as he gently pressed against my breast. His left hand then reached for my left breast, and I pressed it back, letting him
feel the soft texture of my breast.
"Great-uncle, I want more…" I murmured, my moans faltering, but he easily took the bait,
his hands squeezing my large breasts, which hadn't been touched in so long. The instant my breasts were grasped, my surging desire
erupted . I don't know… what expression I made on my face at that moment. I only remember being
kissed by a man more than thirty years my senior. The smell of betel nut and his bad breath reminded me of testicles that used to be pressed against my nose. I
opened my mouth, gladly accepting the contamination.
The stench filled my mouth—the bad breath of my great-uncle with his blood-red, yellow teeth.
Why was I so sensitive to the scent of men? I didn't know, and I didn't want to think about it. The simple
, pleasant pleasure was overwhelming.
My great-uncle grabbed my breasts and roughly sucked on my tongue, which I extended towards him. His foul-smelling
saliva flowed into my mouth, gradually replacing the saliva he sucked away. Whenever the stench became unbearable,
I would let out a painful moan, but this only stimulated him. He seemed to want to suck all my saliva out,
constantly drawing it from between his deformed lips.
My body, centered on my chest and mouth, felt light and hot. I wanted him to touch me…
not just hold it still, but knead… caress me like my ex-boyfriend did. My great-uncle was amazing; he knew I
wanted him to touch me, boldly kneading my breasts in front of my grandmother's memorial tablet. I was going crazy. This inappropriate
stimulation was overwhelmingly exciting; every movement made me as sensitive as if it were my first time. This feeling persisted
until my great-uncle finished sucking.
I stared at him as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. His body odor intensified, undoubtedly because of his
penis, covered by his filthy briefs! "Thump, thump, thump..." My heart was pounding; I couldn't help but
anticipate what would happen next. My great-uncle was down to just a dirty yellow pair of briefs, his penis bulging out thickly
. He swung that penis around halfway around the living room and came to me. The air was filled with a certain stench, not
betel nut juice or my great-uncle's genitals, but the stench of our mingled, consensual fluids.
I reached out my hand to my erect great-uncle, but before he could bend down to hug me, the phone on the table rang with a loud
preset ringtone. My great-uncle hesitated for a moment, then, ignoring my outstretched hand, turned to answer the phone.
"Ah Cheng, you son of a bitch, what a mess—" My great-uncle launched into an impatient barrage of questions. It
seemed like the first time I'd ever seen my great-uncle so childish. Yes, this was definitely the first time. It was so sudden that
I couldn't help but cover my mouth and laugh. My great-uncle isn't usually this impatient with others, but I
made him lose his composure. It was so silly and cute!
My great-uncle, at a loss for words, sat back down, glancing elsewhere and then at me, who was smiling
at him, as he casually made his phone call. He was about to chew betel nuts again, and my sudden mischievousness made me lose
my composure too—I snatched the betel nut box with the picture of a swimsuit-clad woman from his hand and shook my head at him. My great-uncle picked up a cigarette and
deliberately turned around to light it. We flirted with each other using childish behavior, and I think I was even more
excited .
Unfortunately, my great-uncle's phone call was serious. He hung up and said seriously that he had to go out; an old friend
was in trouble because of a car accident dispute and needed his help as a witness. My great-uncle stubbed out his cigarette, which he'd quickly finished smoking, and
came up to me. He patted my head and said, "I really want to keep taking care of you, but I have to go out now
. The car is already waiting on the street." I said sweetly, "Don't worry, great-uncle. When you come back, Yuqi will
'chat' with you again." My great-uncle was overjoyed. He bent down and kissed my lips, then touched my warm breasts. I was
a little overwhelmed by the smell of cigarette smoke, but I still stuck out my tongue and intertwined with my great-uncle's.
We kissed for more than a minute before we had to stop because of a knock at the door. While I was enjoying the
afterglow of our kiss, my great-uncle took the betel nut, repeatedly told me to wait for him to come back, and hurriedly put on his pants and left. For some reason,
I got up and chased after him to the front door. In front of my great-uncle's friend, blushing and with my breasts showing their prominent areolas, I begged
my great-uncle to go home early. My great-uncle said in surprise that he would, and left quickly as I watched him go. His friend, however,
kept looking back at me with a lecherous look, making me unsure whether to smile at him or not.
My great-uncle went out, and I sat alone on the sofa, still warm from his body and tinged with a sensual aura, my body still
burning . Ugh, what a spoilsport. I'd mustered all the courage to go this far, and then this unexpected obstacle appeared. If nothing
unexpected happened… I'd already been violated by my great-uncle… that must have been an incredibly, incredibly wonderful experience.
I longed to be held by a man, unable to contain my burning desire, I curled up on the sofa, moaning repeatedly,
the lingering stench in my mouth a reminder that my great-uncle wanted me too. My flailing hand "smacked" against something—
it was the paper cup my great-uncle had spat out betel nut juice and stuffed with cigarette butts. I held the cup in both hands and took a deep breath through my burning nostrils
—it was my great-uncle's scent, more precisely, the scent of him kissing me with betel nut in his mouth.
To relive the past more purely, I removed all the lingering cigarette butts, slipped one hand under my skirt,
and held the paper cup in front of my nose with the other… It was, incredibly intoxicatingly fragrant.
If my ex-boyfriend conquered me with his filthy genitals, then my uncle conquered me with his betel nut-scented breath.
These smells, which are usually anything but pleasant, vividly reminded me of the joy of gradually losing control of my heart.
If relaxed my guard just the right amount, men who were interested in me would willingly move to where I wanted them… After
the examples of my ex-boyfriend and uncle, I finally understood that I still had some advantages.
My fingers gently held my clitoris, my hand moving inside my hot underwear. My uncle's
saliva, mixed with deep orange betel nut juice, was so strong and pungent it assaulted my sense of smell. I moaned softly, unsure if it was from masturbation
or the contradiction of disliking the smell yet being unwilling to let go.
My mind was filled with images of my ex-boyfriend pinning me down on the bed and having sex with me, while my uncle stood before me, his back arched,
slapping my face with his filthy penis, "slap slap," "slap slap," repeatedly, until finally forcing me
to put his thing in my mouth. Ah… how could I have thought of this? I've never even sucked
a penis before… My ex-boyfriend begged me to try it multiple times, but I always refused. Why am I fantasizing about my great-uncle pressing my head down?
What would those dirty, smelly penises taste like? It
's getting more and more pleasurable, and my desire is deepening. Just smelling them from afar isn't enough; I need more.
Contact. I held the cup to my nostrils and tilted it slightly upwards, my heart pounding as the foul-smelling red liquid drew ever
closer . When the betel nut juice my great-uncle spat out touched my nostrils, I couldn't help but groan. Was it disgust or pleasure?
My lips trembled as I opened them, my tongue timidly sticking out. The paper cup moved from my nostrils to my lips, a
cool sensation spreading quickly to the back of my tongue. Betel nut residue and saliva, carrying a foul and bitter taste, dripped into my mouth.
This was the smell of my great-uncle, the smell of my great-uncle who wanted to hug me, the great-uncle who had groped my breasts and wanted to do more lewd
things .
I suppressed my disgust for the filth, struggling until tears welled in my eyes, still enduring until nearly a seventh of the red liquid in
the paper cup had been poured into my mouth. Finally, with a slight shake of my left hand, the two betel nut seeds stuck to the bottom of the paper cup
rolled off with a gurgling sound. So bitter, such a strange taste. Saliva kept flowing.
I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and licked the filth in my mouth, my fingers rubbing faster and faster. My body was so hot, my mind was
almost blank. The clitoral pleasure surged as usual, but then it changed completely halfway through.
My mind with fantasies of having sex with a man, whether it was my ex-boyfriend or my uncle inside me didn't matter.
I wanted a man to grip my waist tightly, to shove his penis into my wet vagina to conquer me… I wanted to be
like a bitch, crawling on top of him, barking as he spanked my ass… I wanted to be his slave in bed,
his slave to his penis. I mumbled words I didn't quite understand, continuing like a dream for a while before I realized they were all those
disgusting words: "penis," "penis," "penis." Ah… yes, I was saying:
"Give me your penis, put your penis in…" I was saying: "I want a man's penis right now…
I want it!"
The man in my fantasy was shouting that he was about to ejaculate, and I, cowering on the sofa, was about to come too. My mouth
opened wide like an idiot, and the betel nut residue mixed with saliva became so plentiful
that it dripped from the corners of my mouth as my clitoris felt so good that I moaned softly. My shirt was soaked and smelled so bad and cool. I looked at those big breasts that my uncle couldn't
forget , and the corners of my bright red mouth turned up slightly.
My clitoris finally couldn't resist the stimulation and I came. Waves of tingling sensation spread through me, and my fingers could no longer maintain
their original position. My fingers touched whatever they could find and rubbed randomly... My vagina was flowing with a lot of filthy fluid,
and my fingers made a "gurgling" sound as they moved on it. The sound blended cleverly with my happy panting, becoming more and more beautiful
the more I listened.
About two or three minutes after the orgasm, my body was still sensitive and hot, and my erotic fantasies showed no signs of stopping
. But my hand became too hot and I had to pull it out. I sucked on the betel nut my great-uncle had finished sucking, stroking my damp
chest , my tongue occasionally darting around, passing the time enough to wear down my lust.
When the fire of desire subsided, my mouth, still bitter, finally obeyed my reason and spat out everything,
grabbing several tissues to wipe my damp, cold shirt. I rinsed my mouth a dozen times, but the slightly salty, bitter taste
lingered , truly annoying. Luckily, there was a bottle of mouthwash in the bathroom that looked usable; after a couple of minutes of fussing, I finally
cleaned my mouth thoroughly.
My underwear was a mess of wetness, a little uncomfortable, but I didn't intend to deal with it. The same went for
my shirt, stained with betel nut juice. Why I did this after regaining my senses, I wasn't really sure; I just wanted to
prolong the traces of passion—plus other factors I didn't understand!
The phone rang while I was cleaning the soiled sofa. It was my great-uncle calling. The situation there seemed
more complicated than it appeared; he'd probably be back late, and he told me not to wait for him. Should I respond rationally, or feign coquettishness?
Listening to my great-uncle's usual stern voice, my inner spoiled brat, like a naughty child seizing an opportunity, urged me to put on
a sweet, coquettish tone, "Don't you want to hurry up and hug Yuqi, Grandpa...?" I
said, sucking my fingers and speaking indistinctly. And my great-uncle's reply made me even wetter.

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