A real sexual encounter with the vice president

A Real Sexual Encounter with the Vice President

(3670 words)

If it weren't for this incident, I would never have known that I also craved sex.

In everyone's eyes, I was composed, generous, approachable, and elegant, with a good job and an honest husband—it was impossible for me to have an affair. However, it was that one time, after that one time, that made me realize that I had never truly experienced sexual pleasure.

After graduating from university, I started a nine-to-five white-collar life. I was young then, had a good figure, and coupled with my quiet and reserved nature, I quickly became the focus of attention at work.

Gradually, my boss would always take me along on outings, saying, "It's to help me get familiar with the partner companies as soon as possible."

Actually, I think it was because I didn't like to talk and wouldn't reveal his embezzlement, and his wife trusted me.

Once, I went with him to a well-known company, supposedly a Fortune 500 company, but the leaders were actually of very low character. On the surface, they appeared respectable, but in reality, they were all scoundrels and scoundrels, capable of any shameless act.
That day, after a meal and drinks, my boss disappeared. I assumed he was discussing personal matters with company leaders or had gone to another room, so I kept quiet with the others at the table, waiting for him to return. This had happened before; sometimes, when he was drunk, he would mention gifts or projects.

But after a while, he still hadn't returned. The others at the table noticed my confusion, and a vice president told me, "He's not coming back."

I replied, "No, he'll tell me if he's leaving."

I didn't pay much attention at the time.

The vice president said, "Look, who's missing?"

Only then did I notice that two particularly beautiful women were missing from the table, and they were blushing.

Later, someone told me, "My embarrassed appearance was particularly attractive to these seasoned veterans of the pleasure quarters."
They arranged for a driver to take me back to my hotel.

The vice president also arranged for someone to buy fruit, saying, "It'll be delivered to my room later."

I declined, saying, "I've already eaten, I don't want any more fruit tonight, I want to rest."

Back in my room, I figured the boss wouldn't assign anything else, and he might not be back tonight. Who knew when work would start tomorrow? I could sleep in, so I relaxed, took a shower, and watched TV in bed.

Then my phone rang. It turned out the vice president had again arranged for fruit, saying it was being delivered and was right outside the door. He told me to pay special attention to the greeting card in the fruit basket.

I quickly opened the door, took the fruit, and found a small heart-shaped card with a note inside that read: "Your shyly lowered head stirred up youthful memories deep within my heart. Will we be able to relive that youthful passion tonight?"

I angrily threw it on the floor.

To be honest, the vice president was handsome and spoke fluent English, which I had initially admired, but this note infuriated me. What did he take me for?

I wanted to call my husband, but as soon as the call connected, I couldn't say anything. We just exchanged greetings on the phone; we had only been married a short time then, so we talked about the sweet things that couples do.

Then I turned off my phone, not wanting to answer any more calls.

I dreamt of scenes with my husband, and when I woke up, I found my underwear was a little wet—so embarrassing.

For the next few days, the vice president acted as if nothing had happened, only occasionally showing extra care and arranging for someone to deliver fruit every day.

After about a week, I started to wonder if I had made a mistake. After all, he was a returned overseas student, handsome and dignified, and I didn't feel annoyed.

After work, we had a two-day trip to a hot spring resort in the suburbs. We stayed at the resort that night, each person had their own private courtyard—very romantic.

Everyone drank and sang until very late. I didn't like the ambiguous behavior in the private room, so I went to the swimming pool instead.

Because I wasn't prepared, I didn't bring a swimsuit. When I got there, I saw that all the swimsuits at the resort were three-piece swimsuits, which made me hesitate. The staff said that almost no one who comes here swims, and besides, it was late, so no one else would come. So I picked a relatively conservative pink three-piece swimsuit and changed into it.

Only after getting into the water did I realize I made a mistake. The pink turned into a bright magenta in the water, and with the surrounding mist and my snow-white skin, I had a strange impulse. Luckily, I was the only one there, but I didn't dare to move around too much.
I'm sorry to mention that I was wearing a D-cup bra at the time, but honestly, I've only ever been with my husband, and he's not the kind of man who would touch my breasts. In college, I was often too ashamed to stand up straight because of my large breasts.

Anyone who's bought a three-piece swimsuit knows that there are no large cup sizes, not even a C-cup, let alone a D-cup. So when I wore it, my breasts were squeezed together tightly, making my cleavage look very deep. The edges of the bright red swimsuit cups made my breasts look even fuller and whiter, barely covering the nipples, with the rest completely exposed.
So I dared not move my arms, and could only hug myself and immerse myself in the water.

Perhaps it was just a habit, but after a while, my body warmed up in the hot spring. There was no one around, so I relaxed, closed my eyes, rested my head on the edge of the pool, and lightly soaked in the water. After soaking for a while, I felt my pores open up and I felt warm, so I got out, changed my clothes, and went back to my private courtyard to rest. As
soon as I entered, I saw a bottle of red wine on the table, along with an elegant hotel card that said it was best to drink some red wine after a hot spring, as it would help my skin become radiant and rosy.

What woman doesn't want to be more beautiful? So I changed into my pajamas, poured myself a glass, and sipped it lightly. As my body warmed up, I poured another glass, kicked off my shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed with one leg crossed. I gazed hazily at my fair toes; under the soft light, my calves were smooth and rounded, and my toes were delicate and exquisite. I felt like a woman waiting for love.

So I called my husband and even struck some poses. He was incredibly aroused and urged me to come home quickly, saying he'd satisfy me properly.

Whether it was from excitement or the alcohol, my head felt heavy, and I drifted off to sleep without a blanket.

In my dream, I felt a warm sensation in my body and a dampness between my legs. I thought I was dreaming about my husband again, so I didn't open my eyes—perhaps I didn't want to wake up.

But after a while, I felt something was wrong. My lower body felt incredibly full and swollen, and worst of all, my breasts were bursting. I'm usually terrified of my husband playing with my breasts; they're so sensitive. Even a few sucks from him make me very wet. So, still half-asleep, I tried to rub my swollen breasts to soften them and fall back asleep.

Oh my god! My hand touched another hand—a man's large hand!

I was startled and tried to get up, but I couldn't. My body was being heavily pressed down, my breasts were being rubbed by two large hands, and a real penis was indeed inserted into my lower body!

I saw a fairly handsome man's face. His expression showed surprise and apology, but it quickly softened. He touched my face, gently blowing on my ear and saying, "Baby, I'm sorry! But I really like you, I didn't mean to offend you."

He had never spoken so softly before; he was usually very firm in giving orders.

Before I could react, he moved his thick penis inside me, whispering in my ear, "I didn't expect you to be so innocent and quiet. Just a few rubs of your beautiful breasts and you're so wet."

He then pinched my pink nipple with his other hand.

I knew I couldn't resist; my vagina gripped his still-inserted penis, my body betraying me.

"I've never seen such alluring breasts before, and they're so sensitive. Don't be angry, baby. I played with them again, and you even had an orgasm in your dream."

As he spoke, he turned my face, his sexy lips covering my tightly pursed lips, which I was still shyly holding together. His tongue was like a little snake, making my whole body itch. My body, which was inexperienced in sex, betrayed me again. I felt my body under him writhing slightly, getting hot, trying to control itself, and trembling...

Perhaps it was because my strong restraint stimulated him that I could clearly feel his swollen penis growing larger inside my vagina, the glans like a nimble little mouth exploring.

"Ah... um..."

I couldn't control myself; I made a sound, a sound of lovemaking, a sound of being satisfied by a man's thrusts, a sound that encouraged the man to advance. I wanted to cover my mouth and nose, but my arms were too heavy to lift, and instead slid down to the man's thighs, where my skin was pressed tightly against his

. There, hairy, firm, sexy flesh, a sense of male power conquering me made me crave, made me feel uncomfortable. My body was heaving, my thoughts were in chaos, my breathing was rapid... "Ah!..." A cry made me stop immediately. His mouth was on my nipple, and his other hand was playing with the nipple that was engorged and hard that morning. His tongue was really good at sucking milk; my two full breasts swelled up, and I couldn't control my body. My back arched upwards, as if telling the man on top of me, "Enjoy it, I want the man to soften my hard breasts."

He also sensed my change and became even more blatant.

This bad man drove me crazy. My husband, although he loved me very much, had never given me this kind of pleasure in bed.

I kept thinking to myself, "This can't be, this isn't right," but my body shamelessly yielded to him, wanting to be possessed by a man whose penis was twice as thick as my husband's.

What was wrong with me?

Maybe my reaction was too intense, my vaginal muscles gripping him too tightly. I felt his body leap up like a leopard, his hands quickly lifting my legs, his engorged penis thrusting violently into me, each stroke so powerful, a intensity my husband had never experienced. Even the two testicles on his scrotum were so domineering, making my labia tremble.
I completely surrendered, craving to be penetrated by a man.

Because every thrust was so powerful, and his two enormous breasts were shaking so violently, he was pounding into me, shouting, "Ah...oh...oh...big tits...little sister, this...this won't do, um...your breasts are making me do wrong, little baby!"

"I...uh...um...I...it wasn't me!"

"Hurry, hurry, little baby, stop letting your big tits shake, I can't hold back anymore!"

I could feel the thickness of his penis, but women know that at this moment, women want it, they want the man to thrust into the deepest part.

My body was completely out of my control. Usually when I make love with my husband, I don't move like this. My husband always says I'm too conservative, but now, my waist and hips are twisting, like a beautiful snake seducing a man. The sheets under me are already a mess. I want to control my buttocks, I want it to stop, but my body can't. I feel my buttocks twitching, actively welcoming its thrusts. How embarrassing! I pulled the pillowcase over my face.

"Shy, little darling!"

he said, lifting the pillowcase and leaning down to kiss me. His hands, which had been holding my buttocks, slid down to my breasts, and with a sudden movement, pulled them together, taking them into his mouth.

"No!...Ah...Don't..."

My breasts are incredibly sensitive; my husband had never done this before. I couldn't take it. A gush of vaginal fluid erupted, and my buttocks arched high, allowing his penis to penetrate even deeper.

His penis, soaked in my vaginal fluid, was then slammed into me a few times before he ejaculated a thick stream of semen inside me.

(The End)

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A real sexual encounter with the vice president

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