Passionate young man

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

I woke up early this morning and carefully dressed myself in front of the mirror. Although I spend almost half an hour on makeup every morning, I've never felt so dissatisfied with my appearance as I have today. Looking at myself in the mirror, I seemed to see the shyness and excitement of a young girl experiencing her first love years ago.

I'm 34 years old now, no longer that girl, yet today I'm exhibiting this surprising behavior.

Am I doing the right thing today? A sense of unease lingered in my heart, but even more so, a relentless determination.

Six months ago, by chance, I entered an online community filled with sweet, loving people. Yes, online marriage—that term once seemed utterly boring to me. I have a real-life marriage, a husband who loves me. But to be honest, he's becoming less and less like the man I once loved.

Before marriage, my husband was the only son in his family. Perhaps his parents, after having two daughters, finally had a son and felt they had achieved their goal of "raising a son to provide for old age," so they spoiled him rotten from a young age. To the point that I still feel he's a child. He's two years younger than me, but most of the time, I feel like he's just a spoiled brat who loves playing computer games, coasting through work, and expecting to be waited on hand and foot at home.

Luckily, we live with his parents; if we lived independently, I don't know if I'd look older than I am now.

Am I getting old? Looking at myself in the mirror, I feel insecure. There are so many young women on the street these days that make me realize I'm not young anymore. I can't leave him with a bad impression! So I took off my ever-present business suit and put on a skirt; I took off my shirt and put on the tank top my mother-in-law once considered too revealing. Suddenly, I looked like a modern woman, transforming from an office manager into a stylish woman.

My life is like a calendar; aside from the changing dates, there's little difference—life is monotonous, yesterday and today, today and tomorrow won't change much, it's always endless meetings and work, the flattery of subordinates and the disdain of superiors. Online marriage seems to be made for people like me; I never imagined that registering, which I initially thought was just for fun, would bring about so many changes.

The person I'm meeting today is my online husband, haha. It sounds ridiculous, but online we not only exchange sweet words and frequent flowers, we even have our own family, and so much more.

Finally, today, we've arranged to meet, and it was me who initiated it. The excitement he gives me makes me feel like I can't let go of my longing without seeing him. Last night, my in-laws and husband had to go back to their hometown for some business, so I finally had some freedom and took the initiative to ask him out. At first, he adhered to the rules of our online marriage, agreeing not to meet in person. But I said if we didn't meet, we'd "divorce." Although online divorce is nothing, I believe we both value the genuine affection we share.

When I arrived at the meeting place, I searched for the man who described himself as old-fashioned and wore gold-rimmed glasses from afar.

As I looked around, someone stood beside me: "Is that you, Ling'er?"

I turned around, and there stood a sunny, handsome young man, holding a rose as agreed. He wasn't old-fashioned at all—he was younger than me. He wasn't wearing glasses, and although his single-eyelid eyes weren't large, they were very bright. I asked in surprise, "You are...Ah Jian?" He nodded with a smile.

Oh my god, I must look like an old woman in front of him. My face actually turned red.

"You said you were an ugly old woman, skinny as a rake. I didn't expect you to be not only beautiful, but also very voluptuous.

And so elegant." His eyes were fixed on me, and they kept glancing uncomfortably at my chest.

I really regretted wearing this tank top; it felt too small and thin under his gaze. From a woman's vanity perspective, I felt very proud to have him standing next to me.

As agreed, we ate together and watched a movie together. In the movie theater, he started to get restless, like many men.

We were in a dark corner, and his hand began to rest on my shoulder, then he gently played with my tank top.

His mouth was also close to my ear, blowing hot breath: "Wife, what perfume are you wearing? It smells so good. It makes my heart flutter."

"Still calling me wife? I'm seven years older than you, you should call me sister." I said softly, brushing his hand away.

"Why is there only one strap on your shoulder? Aren't you wearing a bra?"

Luckily, the movie theater was dimly lit, otherwise he would have seen the blush on my face. "Don't be naughty, who isn't wearing one?"

"Well, I'll have to feel it then." As he spoke, his other hand slipped under the hem of the bra. Although I tried to resist gently, I couldn't stop him. "Oh, it's so fucking soft, so plump and smooth." His words began to be provocative.

I didn't know what to say, but his kneading made me feel a heat I hadn't felt in a long time. His hand was teasing my nipples, while his arm pulled me close to his body, and his lips pressed against mine. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, and his tongue plunged in, intertwining with mine.

“You know, I like women your age, they have a certain charm,” he murmured, his movements becoming bolder as he reached under my skirt. “Your panties are so small, are they lace? Oh, are they very sheer?

Let me guess what color they are.”

I was panting, also wondering what kind of panties I was wearing. Oh, yes, it was that orange seamless thong, just as he said, the very thin and very sheer kind. My husband had said that seeing me wear panties like that was very exciting for him.

“White? Black? Red? Purple?” He guessed again and again, and I shook my head each time.

Finally, I whispered in his ear: Orange.

“I’ve never seen orange before. You’re only wearing stockings, why aren’t you wearing pantyhose?”

How could I answer that question? So I could only close my eyes and enjoy his kisses.

“Tell me, what color is inside your underwear?”

I lightly punched him in the chest. “Little brat, talking nonsense again.”

“I’m not a little brat. Didn’t you tell me you liked the passion I gave you?”

“That was online, and I didn’t know you were so much younger than me.”

“Do you still have passion with your husband?”

I didn’t want to answer questions about my husband, so I didn’t answer, but just covered his mouth with mine.

“Come to my place.” His last sentence made everything clear. What else could I do at his place? For him, who was unmarried, it might mean nothing, but for me, it meant cheating. But I nodded and didn’t refuse.

His place was just a small room, but it was very messy. Drink bottles, dirty clothes, and smelly socks were everywhere, and even the blankets on the bed weren’t made. I helped him tidy up. To be honest, I couldn’t stand seeing the room so messy. He looked at me, then took the dirty clothes I was picking up and tossed them aside. His hands moved down my back, slipping under my skirt and pressing against my buttocks. "Never mind that," he said, "these are my roommates. Oh, your butt is so soft. Does your husband always touch it like that?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. "We haven't caressed each other in so long."

"How often do you two do it?" he asked.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters. I need to see how passionate you are today."

"It was a week ago with him." Although he had asked me these questions online, and I had answered them, saying them now felt unnatural. But I don't know why, I had let go of my usual reserve in front of him.

“If I were by your side, I’d do you at least once a day.” His movements became more vigorous, and he started to undress me. I closed my eyes, not daring to look at his greedy gaze, just breathing softly, accepting his gentle bites and savage kneading.

He pushed me down onto the bed, my tank top had already slipped to one side, and my bra had been pulled open. He held my hands firmly to the bed, his head buried in my full breasts, his tongue sucking on the ruby nipple, or wandering back and forth between my two mounds.

"Your husband must always be rubbing your breasts, otherwise they wouldn't be so big. Tell me, does your husband rub them often?"

"Occasionally during sex..."

"Occasionally? Then you must have had other men rub them, right?"

I didn't answer, but he pressed on: "Tell me, how many men have you slept with?"

"Don't ask."

"Tell me!"

"Three, but all before marriage."

"So I'm the first man besides your husband after you got married?"

I felt like I was being bullied by him, and a sense of betrayal flashed through my mind. My head cleared up a bit, and I realized that what I was doing wasn't what a proper woman should be doing. So I tried to push him away: "No, I think we're going too far."

"Don't overthink it. You told me your husband is a chubby guy. Today I'll show you what a real man is like." As he spoke, he took off his shirt, revealing strong muscles and dark chest hair, curly and spreading from his chest to his lower abdomen, hiding even more thickly under his jeans. He unbuckled his belt, pulled down his pants, and also pulled down his underwear. Good heavens, amidst the dense, dark hair, a massive rod stood erect, its mushroom-like tip exuding an overwhelming masculine aura.

He pulled my hand over, and I naturally grasped it. He probably sensed my surprise:

"How is it, beauty?"

"So big..." I blurted out my most immediate feeling almost unconsciously.

"Bigger than your husband's?" His question was clearly meant to prove that he was superior to my husband. Actually, there was no doubt about it; I had told him before that my husband's was only average, fair and tender, a bit short, but very hard. However, what he had erected was not only thick and large, but it also felt even harder and gave me a more full feeling.

He pressed me down again, forcefully holding my hands down and spreading my legs apart with his thighs. He rubbed my lower body with one hand: "Tell me, is your pussy wet?" Actually, he didn't need an answer, because his hand had already slipped into the crevice of my lower body. From his smile, he already knew the answer. "You little slut, do you only get wet when a man is on top of you? Damn, you're so wet. Looks like your husband is lucky, so much water, it must be great to fuck you. Has your husband ever told you you're wet? Heh.

Hey, what's your husband's last name?"

"Feng...please, stop rubbing." My mind was clearly under his control. I've always felt that I'm only suited to mature men, so in my few relationships, almost all of them were with men much older than me. I never thought I would have a passionate entanglement with a man much younger than me—or rather, a boy—but at this moment, I found that he had conquered me. Everything about him seemed unfamiliar. With my husband, I've always followed his methods, to the point that for years, we haven't even changed positions, and I can even guess eight or nine out of ten of his steps. And now, with this man on top of me, I had no idea what he wanted to do, which made it all the more novel and exciting.

"Mrs. Feng, may I call you that? Your pubic hair has been trimmed, hasn't it?"

I nodded, finding it natural, like a man shaving. I, too, often trimmed my genitals; I felt it was not only about hygiene but also a matter of politeness. Politeness? How could I even think of such a word? Did I ever consider letting another man admire my genitals besides my husband?

He suddenly ripped off my underwear. Yes, ripped it off. I heard a tearing sound and felt the underwear being roughly pulled away. He ruined my husband's favorite pair of underwear. Of course, next, he would also ruin my fidelity, which I had maintained for many years after marriage.

If it were my husband on top of me right now, he would definitely say, "Wife, I'm in." Then he would ask a few times, "Is it good, wife?" Then he would just keep thrusting, making muffled sounds in his throat, ending his efforts.

But the man on top of me now was doing something completely different.

He played with my lower body, watching and listening to my moans, then wiped the fluids I had produced onto his penis. He then lifted my legs, hoisted them onto his shoulders, and knelt down to reach the right distance. He then whispered, "Mrs. Feng, Sister Ling, I think you can compare. See how different I am from your husband."

With that, he thrust into me forcefully. I gasped. To be honest, my husband had never given me such a full feeling; my lower body felt like it was being stretched open. I tried to see my lower body and discovered that he hadn't fully penetrated me yet. Normally, my husband wouldn't use this much force or go this deep before he was fully inside. His was indeed huge.

"Your husband's penis must be small, otherwise your vagina wouldn't be so tight," he said, pulling out and thrusting back in. With each thrust, I moaned wantonly. At home, my husband always told me not to make a sound because he was afraid my in-laws would hear. Today, there was no such constraint. I tightened my lower abdomen, my hips involuntarily wiggled, and I let out sounds that even I found embarrassing.

"Mrs. Feng, you're quite the moaner. Tell me, do you moan like that under your husband?"

I shook my head, trying to wrap my arms around his neck. He took my legs off his shoulders and pressed them against me. Like a drowning person finding a lifebuoy, I clung to him, sucking my tongue into his mouth, unable to stop moaning comfortably: "Harder, husband." Yes, my husband usually doesn't use much force, just gentle, even very small thrusts. What I need is the strength of a masculine man!

"Don't call me husband. I don't want to become a useless man like your husband, calling me 'little brother.' And my little brother is called 'cock,' you know, ha." With each sentence he spoke, I nodded, and with each approval he received, he delivered a thrust that made me scream.

He clearly wanted to give me more pleasure. He rolled me over, making me stick my butt out. I knew this position, but my husband and I only did it when we first got married, and he always slipped out. The man before me clearly wasn't going to slip out. As he withdrew from my body, I saw his imposing lower body again, probably one and a half times the length of my husband's, and very thick.

"Has your husband ever fucked you like this?"

"No, very rarely, ah, very rarely."

He was excited, thrusting wildly while saying repeatedly, "I like women like you, big boobs, a small waist, a fleshy ass, a plump little slut, it's so exciting to fuck you. You know?... Why don't you answer me, tell me, was it good?" I nodded vigorously, only to realize that half of my neatly styled hair had come loose.

He stopped, and I thought he had come, but he didn't seem to be in a state of near-death like my husband. "Did you come out?" I asked.

He chuckled, "Not so fast, I haven't had enough yet." He said, lying down on the bed, "Come on, sit on me." When I straddled him, I suddenly felt like Mulan, and when his penis entered my body, I truly felt his strength, making me hesitant to sit down completely. But I still tried, slowly lowering my buttocks, and oh my god, it went all the way in! But I couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds before I had to lift it up. I'd never experienced that kind of excruciating comfort before; it was more like a fear of overindulging.

He lit a cigarette and, while smoking, encouraged me, "Get moving, Mrs. Feng. You're only sexy when you move." I sat down and started rubbing back and forth, my facial expression probably looking terrible, so I let my hair down to cover my face. He reached out and brushed it away, saying, "I love seeing you like this."

"So ugly." I tried to push his hand away, but he glared at me, "Listen to me!" I had no choice but to give up.

"Who said you're ugly? You're quite pretty. Especially when you're being fucked, I bet your husband is used to seeing that expression. Damn, he's really lucky."

"I thought you'd think I was too old..."

"Ha, who said you're too old? I just said, your age is exactly what makes men's hearts flutter. Look at your skin, so smooth. You know, you're fuller than those young girls, but it's just right. When fucking a married woman like you, it's all about that irresistible look."

Women are probably always happiest when they receive compliments from men. Encouraged by him, I abandoned my usual reserve, and the earlier conflict seemed to fade away, replaced by a slower, more enjoyable rubbing of our most sensitive areas. My heartfelt moans even turned into soft cries, which I myself felt were a sign of satisfaction.

He exhaled smoke rings and began to moan with pleasure. When he was about to finish his cigarette, he threw away the butt, shoved me away abruptly, and brutally spread my legs: "You little cunt, I'll make you feel this good." He thrust violently, without any restraint as before; his penis went in and out without resistance, each impact making my whole body tremble. I tried to reach out to stop his fierce assault, but he spread my arms, rendering me immobile. I tried to slow him down by wrapping my legs around his buttocks, but my legs did nothing to stop him; instead, they became a source of stimulation for him: "It's moving, Mrs. Feng. Wrap your legs around me. Tell me, does it feel good!"

What could I say? With each groan and a reply, I felt all my muscles contracting. Finally, I desperately resisted his pressure, clinging to him tightly and forcing him to stop. My lower body was contracting, my buttocks were twisting uncontrollably, and it felt as if a force was pushing his enormous penis away. He pulled out abruptly, and a gush of fluid from my lower body soaked his thick, dark pubic hair.

In that instant, I felt a hazy, blissful peace in my head, while my lower body arched uncontrollably, releasing its passion. He chuckled and said, "My turn." Ignoring my protests, he thrust in hard again. My moans, his shouts, and his savage, frenzied movements filled the entire small room. As he pulled out, I saw spurts of semen spray between his fingers, splashing onto my lower abdomen.

"Isn't this uncomfortable?" After a long while, I said to him, who was lying on top of me, "My husband often says it's uncomfortable when he ejaculates after pulling out."

"I didn't have a condom, I was afraid you'd get pregnant."

His words made me feel sweet. To be honest, my husband didn't want children, and we always used condoms, but it felt like having sex with rubber, not a man.

We cuddled together like a married couple, or rather, we were glued together, and fell asleep quietly. The sweetness in my dream continued.

I don't know how much time passed, but it was already dark outside, and the ringing of my phone woke us up. He habitually lit a cigarette and said it was my call. I got up; it was my husband. He had called three times, and we hadn't heard it.

"Why didn't you answer the phone?"

"Oh, I was shopping, I didn't hear it." I lied and gestured for the man beside me to be quiet.

"Oh, we arrived safely, don't worry, we'll be back in a few days."

Hanging up the phone, I hugged him again. "Jian, don't you think I'm old and ugly?"

"Look at you." He stubbed out his cigarette, rolled over on top of me again, and I could clearly feel his lower body was aroused again. I sweetly hugged him and whispered in his ear, "Little brother, are you being naughty again?"

"Is your 'little brother' referring to me, or my penis?" he teased.

"You're so annoying." I laughed, spreading my legs. "If you want it, take it." Saying this, I reached for his lower body under the covers.

"No!" He got up, his lower body still erect, but he put on his clothes. "Let's go eat."

A chill ran through me. Was he the kind of man I hesitated to see, who would just get a woman's body and then wave goodbye?!

"Do you want me to leave?" I said dejectedly as I dressed, my underwear torn, holding it blankly.

"My dear sister, what are you thinking about? I'm hungry, let's go eat first." His behavior didn't seem like that kind of person.

But after we finished eating, he suggested coming over to my house. I thought no one was home, so I said, "Let's sit for a while, but not too late, in case the neighbors see us." He smiled.

[The End]

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