My Good Family Experience

I wasn't a very diligent student in middle school, my grades were average. I had a very painful early romance, and later got into a mediocre university, majoring in management...

I had more relationships in university, but they all ended without a trace. My last girlfriend was a student at a local vocational high school. We met at a market; we were picking things out at the same stall, our eyes met, we smiled, and she was really beautiful. So I abandoned my classmates and pursued her, and after more than a month of scheming, I succeeded, and we even got pregnant. However, once we started dating, I realized that, perhaps because of the generation gap, we didn't have much in common. Her conversations with her friends about Meteor Garden and Jay Chou didn't interest me at all, and our discussions about Nirvana and Guns N' Roses didn't resonate with her either. Less than six months later, we broke up amicably. She had no shortage of suitors, and I gracefully withdrew.

Our class advisor, Qi (I'll omit her surname, sorry), has been with us since our junior year. She's responsible for two classes in the same grade. She's under 1.6 meters tall, with a healthy and well-proportioned figure, a slightly tanned complexion, an apple-shaped face, and big, expressive eyes. Her jet-black hair is always tied in a ponytail. She's bouncy and energetic, and although she's 25, she looks younger than us students, so we students always add "Xiao" before her surname when we call her. She's been working for three years since graduation, and we were her first class. She's been very attentive to us. Because of our major, the department is extremely female-dominated and lacks male cohesion, so the advisor emphasizes the role of the men. I have a background in drawing, enjoy fitness, and my freestyle sparring is above average for an amateur. I'm also quite popular and can take the lead, so Qi often asks me to participate in organizing things like drama competitions and team activities.

Qi is cute and petite, but because of her position, she always speaks in a bureaucratic tone, spouting grand principles. Every time I hear her lecturing us, I laugh, but I never interrupt. As we spent more time together, we became increasingly close. Whenever she needed help, I could always find a group of classmates to rush over and assist her. If it wasn't a subject I was good at, and she happened to be proctoring an exam, I would always stay until the very end to hand in my paper, because when only I and a few other boys were left in the exam room, the closed-book exam became an open-book exam. Later, when no one else was around, she would playfully pat my shoulder from behind, and I would occasionally put my hand on her shoulder and tease her with a laugh.

We were all teacher and student; I had my girlfriend, and she already had a fiancé, so no one ever thought about anything in that direction.

Qi's fiancé was in his thirties, an officer in the military; they reportedly met through a unit social event and planned to marry after he transferred to civilian life. That was all I knew about them.

University life was indeed quite boring, although in the near future you will endlessly miss this boredom, and those people and things that were just as boring as you. Our days passed by uneventfully, and before we knew it, we were seniors. Everyone was busy with internships and job hunting, classmates were going their separate ways, and campus couples were facing challenges. Because of family reasons, my future was already decided, and having already broken up with my girlfriend, my days felt even emptier; I spent my time sleeping, exercising, or playing Counter-Strike. Qi, seeing this, recommended a tutoring job to me—tutoring a friend's friend's child in English and art. Unable to refuse her kind offer, and thinking of passing the time and contributing to society, I went for the interview. I didn't even ask about the salary; I was hired immediately.

I tutored this fourth-grade child, a quiet but obedient boy, the kind who seemed wise beyond his years. After two lessons, all the patience I'd accumulated over 22 years was completely exhausted. I deeply realized that for this kind of reserved child, there was no shortcut but to teach him again and again like the Foolish Old Man Moving Mountains. Although I hated this traditional teaching method, it worked wonders on him. Fortunately, before the course started, her mother had a talk with me. She explained that after her divorce, her child had been living with his mother and was rather quiet and introverted. She hoped to find a male tutor to help him with English and drawing, and more importantly, to guide his personality towards independence and a more outgoing personality. This eased my guilt considerably, and I felt incredibly more dedicated to teaching, even taking him out to play from time to time. We agreed on three days a week for six hours, but I actually spent more than twice that amount of time at his house. Gradually, the child's pronunciation became more standard, and he no longer needed me to spell words in Chinese. His drawings of tables and chairs became less abstract, and he started talking to me more often, discussing video games and funny things that happened in class in his free time.

As for the child's mother, she was in her early thirties, worked for a real estate company, was tall and full-figured, with an average but very clean appearance, black hair, and fair skin—truly snow-white. She was the type who didn't wear makeup or foundation, but unfortunately, perhaps due to stress, she looked somewhat tired. While I tutored my child, she waited quietly outside. When we stopped to rest, she would prepare fruit or snacks for us. She didn't talk to me much, just polite greetings or chat about the child's studies. She was a nice woman, quiet and virtuous. Why she divorced her husband? She didn't say, and I didn't feel comfortable asking. After spending more time with her, seeing my dedication to my lessons and my lack of concern for income, she thought I was a good person and started chatting with me. Later, she told me some things about her and her ex-husband. The plot was cliché: her ex-husband had an affair with a colleague, leading to divorce proceedings. The wife resolutely refused, and the husband started beating and scolding his wife and children, creating chaos at home. Later, it escalated to him slapping and kicking the children, and the woman finally couldn't bear it anymore and reluctantly accepted it. When she talked about her sadness, her eyes were filled with despair. She gently rolled up her sleeve to show me the bruises on her arm. I didn't know what to say, and could only listen quietly. "Woman, your name is weakness."

A semester was almost over. Because the child had final exams, tutoring had been going on late into the night, and then it started to rain. The child, unable to resist sleepiness, washed up and went to bed. The woman kept me company, chatting about the mundane details of work and life. Later, she showed me a photo album. I didn't know how much she hated her ex-husband, but the album contained their photos together and family portraits, all perfectly preserved. From the photos, it was clear this was once a happy family. The woman's ex-husband worked for a construction company, a fair-skinned technician who was supposedly doing quite well, but unfortunately, he later became a heartless man. The woman told me some stories from the photos, especially anecdotes about the child. We were very close; I could feel the warmth of her breath. Glancing sideways, I would catch glimpses of her snow-white face. Her white fingers peeking out from under the sleeves of her wool coat were already endearing, and pointing them out in the album was even more captivating than the photos themselves. After looking at one album, she picked up another, subconsciously placing her hand on my leg to adjust her weight, but then didn't remove it. Although I was no longer an innocent boy, after six months without sex, I was unusually sensitive to intimate contact with a mature woman. The excitement surged from the point of contact between her hand and my thigh, sending a rush to my brain and then spreading to every pore of my body. My mind screamed: This is a signal! I tentatively pressed my face against hers, touching her cool cheek. To my surprise, her reaction wasn't the expected surprise; she simply tilted her head back and looked at me. I took the plunge, slowly slipping my hand inside her coat, around her waist, and pulling her into my arms. She was soft and yielding, offering no resistance. What followed was a kiss, a passionate French kiss. Amidst the rapid breathing, I noticed her eyes were closed, deeply absorbed in the kiss, and only then did my initial worries completely subside. I slipped my hand inside her sweater, wandering back and forth, but couldn't quite reach her skin. I changed direction and moved towards her belt. She resisted, reaching out to block me, but my little brother was already throbbing in the tent, unwilling to give up this impending victory. So I pressed her down on the sofa, immobilizing her hands, and sucked on her tongue even more forcefully, finally managing to undo her belt. The woman finally surrendered, saying, "Not outside." I helped her up, and to prevent her from changing her mind, I immediately pulled her into my arms, slowly moving her towards the bedroom. She still didn't resist, her tongue entwining with mine even more tightly. Once inside, I pushed the door shut. Because the belt was off, I could reach under her clothes and knead her breasts. With some difficulty, I lifted her sweater, loosened her bra, and finally, her entire breast was within my grasp. This was my first time experiencing a mature woman's breasts. They weren't the firm, youthful firmness of a girl's; they were soft yet elastic, and when I held one, they seemed to overflow, adding a touch of feminine warmth. My other hand slid down her full abdomen; her pubic hair was stiff and prickly. Her pants were too tight to go any further. The foreplay was more than enough, and I couldn't resist any longer. I pushed her to the chair by the desk, pinned her down from behind, pulled down her pants, and continued to fondle her breasts with one arm while rubbing her genitals with the other. After half a year, experiencing that feeling of "being thoroughly wet with lust" again left me speechless for a few seconds. The woman didn't seem to have completely let go of her inhibitions. She didn't cooperate with my movements and wouldn't let my fingers penetrate her. I didn't care anymore. I pushed her onto the bed and made her kneel down. After taking off my pants, I lifted the back of her wool coat, spread her snow-white buttocks, and with two fingers, I parted her labia. I aimed my glans at her entrance and half-push, half-drilled in. After a muffled groan from the woman, most of my penis was already inside her from behind.

Her vagina hadn't been used by anyone for a long time, and now it was like a crevice in a rock washed by tropical waves, hot and wet, gripping my penis with incredible pleasure. I lifted her upper body, and my hands went around to her chest, continuing to grope and knead her wantonly. My lower body began to move back and forth like pistons, showing no pity whatsoever for this divorced woman. And she seemed completely immersed, her moans growing louder and louder, sounding like she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Her wool coat was a bit of a hindrance between her chest and back, so I paused briefly before letting her take it off. Without that obstruction, I could feel the warmth of her body even more through her thin sweater, which fueled my desire, driving me to continue my relentless thrusting. I savored the thrill of conquest and the tingling sensation in my glans, while also paying attention to her reactions. She gripped her buttocks with both hands, her eyes closed, her face flushed, her lips slightly parted with each moan, her breasts heaving rhythmically with each thrust, and her vagina overflowing with fluids that dripped onto my testicles. Having been a virgin for so long, I ejaculated quickly and couldn't hold on much longer. Not wanting to disappoint this mature woman, I tried my best to hold back my ejaculation, gripping her waist and thrusting relentlessly, desperately trying to bring her to the peak of orgasm before I finished.

The woman's body trembled even more violently, her hands gripping my wrists like steel clamps. Her moans had turned into clear "ah-ah" sounds, like a battle cry. In less than five minutes, my entire body trembled with each thrust, my hands repeatedly pushing her buttocks violently out of my abdomen and pulling them back in, aiming for a sufficiently intense impact. Suddenly, my glans went numb, and the woman's "ah" abruptly stopped, the echo lingering...

My waist slowly went limp, and half a year's worth of pent-up energy was released in one go. Pressed against the woman, with each throbbing of my glans, semen continued to flow into her uterus. She was pinned beneath me, exhausted, and could only submit—after resting for a while, my penis slid out of her nest, the stragglers of my countless semen also withdrawing along with the love fluid. We kissed, another passionate French kiss...

After the passion, I felt incredibly cold, covered myself with the blanket, and rested for a while until my warmth returned, still wanting more. In the warm bed, I held her from behind, my hands kneading her full breasts, occasionally rubbing her areolas and nipples with my fingers. My waist was still slowly twisting due to inertia, my penis rubbing against her buttocks. After a short while, my heart began to stir again. I pulled her hand to my penis, enjoying her gentle stroking, and kept teasing her vulva with my fingers. This time, the woman was more proactive, sitting on a lotus position. I don't know if it was because I had already ejaculated once or because the position was uncomfortable, but the pleasure wasn't as intense as before. However, the pair of bouncing white breasts in front of me were extremely stimulating to my visual nerves. No matter how I grabbed them, I couldn't suppress them, driving me crazy. Later, I moved her to the bottom, lifted her legs, pressed my hands against her breasts, set up the support, adjusted my position, and began the ramming. Watching the snow-white body beneath me become somewhat distorted under my wanton thrusts, my desire to conquer reached its peak. My HP and SP instantly returned to full, and my waist started trembling again. It felt so good. I persisted for over ten minutes, and the woman climaxed twice. I knew when to stop, ejaculating forcefully against her cervix. It was the first time I'd seen her satisfied expression so close, her usual calm amidst the ecstasy. A wave of tenderness washed over me, and I held her, kissing her for a while before falling into a deep sleep.

I woke up after 1 a.m. To avoid disturbing the children, I couldn't stay overnight at her house. I got out of bed, and she watched me leave, only saying, "It seems to still be raining." I hummed in response, unsure what to say, just smiling awkwardly as I walked out. The light rain was still falling. After my nap, I came out shivering from the cold, climbing over the wall into the school, my movements clumsy. Lying on my bunk bed in the dormitory, recalling everything that had just happened, I couldn't believe it was real. But the emptiness in my lower abdomen and the scratches on my wrists confirmed that it had indeed occurred. Suddenly, I thought of Qi. Sigh, I feel so guilty; I've truly let you down…

(Word count: 8723)

[The End]

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