【Ten Years of Studying Abroad: Me and My Teacher】(1)

(I)
After more than ten years of studying abroad, there are still some things and some people that are hard to forget.
I remember when I first entered primary school at the age of six, our primary school was a five-year system, which was only changed to a six-year system in recent years.
At that time, we were all little kids, with no awareness of the difference between boys and girls, just
drifting along aimlessly. But I just instinctively liked to look at women and wanted to be with them. In second grade, I always liked to talk to a few troublemakers in class
, so the old math teacher would deliberately make things difficult for me by making me stand on the blackboard. I didn't know how to do it, so I was embarrassed and made to stand for a whole class period as punishment
.
I didn't like studying anymore. In the second semester of second grade, I failed two subjects and was held back a grade
. I felt very embarrassed, and my parents became stricter with me. Gradually, my studies started to improve.
When I was in second grade again, my math teacher was a young woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old. To be honest
, by today's standards, she wasn't very pretty, but she was very kind to me and spoke softly. I still
remember her vividly. I also enjoyed it when she talked to me.
My math grades were already pretty good at that time, and I was also a class leader. So we had more contact. I
liked to peek at her collar. She had very fair skin and liked to wear shirts. Sometimes I could see a glimpse of her breasts and bra between the buttons
. At that time, I really didn't know what those were and was curious about them for a while. They were fair and tender, similar to
what I peeked at my aunt's. Of course, I didn't have any ulterior motives; it was just an instinctive liking to look. Sometimes, touching her body would
excite me for a long time.
My current liking for women in uniforms is probably influenced by her. But our contact was limited to
that. After I entered the third grade, we had less and less contact. When we met, we would just nod and say hello, exchange a few words, and then she
transferred to another school, and I never saw her again.
In the third grade, I met a woman who had a great influence on my life. She was my homeroom teacher. Her
name was Ye Mei. She had just transferred to our elementary school, and she became our homeroom teacher right after I entered the third grade. The first
time I saw her, she was also wearing a shirt and suit pants. At the time, she was truly a breath of fresh air.
There were very few young female teachers at our school then, and even fewer who were beautiful. She had short, ear-length hair and a very capable air.
She was in her thirties then, and I heard her son was in middle school. She had a very mature and elegant figure.
It was during the new semester's big cleaning, and she suddenly appeared in the classroom, saying she was our homeroom teacher. Seeing
such a beautiful teacher, I was naturally very happy, and I was so busy being happy that I didn't clean very diligently. A little
while later, she shoved my handbag over my head, telling me to hurry up and not slack off. To be honest, I wasn't angry at the time; I was secretly
a little proud and honored that she had noticed me. It seemed like getting her attention was a wonderful thing. Haha,
I really don't know what I was thinking back then.
She became my homeroom teacher for three years. She taught Chinese and was very strict with my studies, so my Chinese
grades were always the best in the class, and I maintained that position all the way into high school. Her handwriting was beautiful; my current handwriting is
influenced by her.
Halfway through the first semester of third grade, I consistently ranked first in Chinese and did well in math on several tests. She
then made me class monitor. I was quite surprised, and whether out of nervousness or feigned modesty, I said I still wanted to be the academic
representative. She agreed. So, I became the academic representative, which caused the previous one to be demoted to a group leader collecting homework
. She held a grudge against me and barely spoke to me.
She dressed elegantly and appropriately for work, never wearing skirts, mostly long sleeves and trousers, exuding
the air of a teacher. She was serious but very kind to her students. I also liked to secretly watch her, especially
when she wore a shirt; her chest seemed full, making me want to peek. She had a lake-green shirt, and whenever
she wore it, I felt particularly energetic in class.
Starting in third grade, she encouraged me to sign up for the Olympiad competitions, which involved taking exams at other elementary schools. In fourth
grade, after the exam, it was late, and she invited me to stay at her house. I was too scared to go home alone at night, so I went with her
.
She said her husband was away on business and her son was at boarding school, so she was all alone. This eased my embarrassment considerably.
She told me to take a shower first. While I was showering, she said she was getting some clothes from her son from a few years ago. I
don't know why, but I suddenly opened the door completely, standing there naked. She stood there for a moment, stunned,
and didn't say anything, just handed me the clothes and left. I was incredibly embarrassed, hiding in the bathroom for a long time
, too embarrassed to come out. She had to call me out because she was going to shower.
She came out in her pajamas after showering, and we chatted while watching TV. But I was a little distracted, constantly stealing
glances at her. Her hair wasn't completely dry, still damp, and her face was rosy, possessing a captivating charm I hadn't seen in school
. The pajamas weren't very thin, but they still revealed the outline of her body. But honestly, back then, I didn't
see women with the same eyes as I do now; I just instinctively thought she was beautiful, without any other thoughts. When
she occasionally bent down to get something, I caught a glimpse of her chest; her breasts were large, white, and the
cleavage was deep. This was something I'd never seen before when I'd spied on her, and it thrilled me so much my face turned bright red. She even asked
if I was sick, putting her hand on my forehead to take my temperature. I made an excuse that it was too hot. I didn't dare look around anymore and
sat there properly. She laughed at me, saying I wasn't in class and was being silly.
Later, we were both tired, and she let me sleep in her son's bedroom. We didn't talk much that night, and early the next morning she
took me to school on her bicycle.
By fifth grade, we were very close, and our relationship had deepened. After all, back then,
it was rare for someone to teach a class for three years straight; most teachers taught one class and then moved on. She was very caring towards me, often asking me questions
and sometimes even patting my face with a smile. If she saw my clothes were disheveled, she would straighten them for me. It was very intimate, and she didn't shy away from showing
it to other students, which made many of the boys jealous.
What's a bit ironic is that we were both stubborn. My personality started to change around that time. Maybe it was because I
was a bit arrogant, taking advantage of my good grades and being liked by the teachers. We would sometimes get angry with each other, but basically, while I was still annoyed with
her, she would act like nothing had happened and talk to me in a friendly manner. Heaven knows we were staring at each other like
that just yesterday. Looking back now, of course I was being childish. How could she, a grown woman, act so foolishly with me?
I won first place in the Olympic competition that year, my best result ever. She was very happy,
saying I was the best student she had ever taught. She invited me to her house for dinner that night, saying she would cook something delicious for me,
and I was happy to accept. Her husband was still not home, saying he was very busy with business and only
home for about half a month a month. Her son was in high school and boarded at school, only coming home on Sundays. She cooked several
dishes I liked. My family isn't wealthy, and it's rare for us to eat like this, so I didn't hold back. We were both very happy, and she
drank quite a bit of alcohol, but wouldn't let me drink, saying I was too young to drink. I don't drink much either, so I let it go. She
got drunk, half-lying on the table, saying she was happy today, and that I was very proud of her, among other things. I didn't know what
to do, so I made her some strong tea, like my mother does.
She continued to talk nonsense, saying that her husband cared less and less about her, and that her son was going through a rebellious phase and rarely
spoke to her, and when he did, it was cold and distant.
She was right. I don't know why, but two years later, I started talking very little to my parents, just like her son. I
would often give them the silent treatment, ignoring them for days, and often acting irrationally.
At the time, I didn't understand what she was talking about, so I half-helped her to her bedroom.
I held her left arm, my elbow pressed against her chest—soft and comfortable.
I laid her down on the bed, took off her sandals. Her feet were beautiful, with lovely curves, ten small,
delicate, and translucent toes, arranged in a pleasing pattern, with a slight sweaty smell. I couldn't resist stroking them a few times; they felt soft and boneless to the touch.
She had stopped rambling, but her face was flushed and hot, and she exhaled a lot of alcohol, which smelled somewhat pleasant.
She lay there quietly, her clothes slightly wrinkled, revealing the body of a mature and alluring woman. Her breasts,
because she was lying down, weren't as full as usual, but they were still captivating.
My heart was pounding, but I only admired her beauty, knowing nothing of matters between men and women, and
dared not touch her. I only dared to peek at her breasts through the gaps in her clothes; at that time, I only knew how to look at the front of
a woman's chest, not the rest of her body. Her breasts were truly full and large, bigger than my aunt's and my mother's. She usually
wore shirts that stretched the fabric tightly across her chest. I couldn't resist, and with trembling hands, I unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt
. I dared not unbutton any more. She was still fast asleep, making soft snores. She was wearing a pink bra that only
covered half of her breasts, white and tender. I really wanted to kiss them, but I didn't dare. I just touched them a few times
; they were warm and smooth, and I couldn't bear to put them down. Hearing her moans, I dared not move anymore. After watching her for a while, I covered her
with a thin blanket and went to sleep. Lying in bed, I was still incredibly excited, tossing and turning for a long time before finally
falling asleep.
The next day, she was already making breakfast. She seemed a little embarrassed, saying she'd had too much to drink the night before, as
she usually didn't drink. She asked me to help her to bed and then asked if she was heavy enough to carry. I
sheepishly replied that I could, that she was light, and that I was strong enough to handle even heavy loads. She laughed at my boasting.
Our relationship grew closer, and she often invited me to her office to talk, asking me to help her grade
homework and tests. She said her work was tiring, and I was happy to help her. I also took the opportunity to steal glances at her.
I had a very happy time with her in my last three years of elementary school, and then it was time to go to junior high. I was very reluctant to leave, and so was she. She sadly
held my hand and asked me to visit her often, which I agreed to. But I didn't keep my promise. It wasn't that I didn't miss
her; I still thought about her. Perhaps my personality started to become a little eccentric then, as if I were ashamed to see an old friend, wanting to go but
afraid to. I think I only saw her three times, and the next time I saw her was almost three years later.
A lot happened in junior high. The first two years were relatively peaceful, but life started to change in the third year.
Because of my aunt and another teacher, I had already learned about relationships between boys and girls—but that's another story
.
When I saw Teacher Ye again, I was no longer the child I used to be. My aunt and
Teacher Chen had made me mature, a bit older than I was. My feelings towards her were completely different now. I was sixteen that year.
Although I was close to entering high school, I wasn't nervous. With my usual grades, I was confident I could get into a top
high school.
That afternoon was self-study, and the teacher didn't come. A few classmates and I felt bored in the classroom, so we slipped out to wander around
. While talking, some of them suggested going to my elementary school. I thought it was too far and time-consuming, so
I took them there. We lied to the administrator, saying we were picking up a younger sibling. The old man didn't think we were
troublemakers, and since the rules weren't so strict back then, he let us in.
The elementary school campus felt quite nice back then, but now it feels small and lacks excitement, so
I sat down by the fountain.
Soon after, class ended, and groups of children buzzed and chattered out of the classrooms,
breaking the tranquility of the schoolyard. We got annoyed and prepared to leave. Suddenly, I saw a female teacher
walking slowly down the corridor, carrying lesson plans in her arms. She stood gracefully, her back view quite familiar. My heart skipped a beat—it was Teacher Ye.
It had been almost three years since I'd seen her, and I wondered how she was doing. She had asked me to visit her often, but I
hadn't, and I felt quite ashamed. I decided to take this opportunity to see her, so I told some classmates I was going to see a teacher and let
them go first. They teased me, saying, "Don't tell me you're going to see a beautiful teacher." Hey, they guessed right!
I followed Teacher Ye at a distance; she had already moved offices, no longer in the old one.
I hesitated at the door for a moment before entering her office. She was washing her hands. I gently called out, "
Teacher Ye."
She responded with a soft "Yes," turned around, looked at me, and frowned slightly.
I called out again, "Teacher Ye, it's me." Her eyes slowly reddened, and her eyes trembled slightly. Her voice was
choked with emotion, trembling as she said, "XXX, is that you? Why are you here? Did you come to see me?"
I stepped forward and said sincerely, "Teacher Ye, it's me, I'm XXX. I've come to see you. I'm sorry
I'm only getting here now."
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she choked out, "It's alright, it's alright. As long as you still remember your teacher, that's enough. I'm
so happy you're here."
My eyes also welled up. It had been almost three years since I'd last seen her. Teacher Ye was now 40 years old, and there were some wrinkles around her eyes.
She still had a few fine lines around her eyes, her hair was still short and ear-length, and she was still as charming and captivating as ever.
I said, "Teacher Ye, you're getting more and more beautiful."
She smiled through her tears and said, "Still as glib as ever, you haven't changed at all." Then, she touched my
face, looked at me gently, and said, "You've grown up, you're even taller than your teacher now." I
held her hand and said, "Teacher Ye, how have you been these past few years? Don't work so hard."
She smiled slightly and said, "I'm fine, I've gotten used to the work. I've taught two more classes. But you
're still the best student I've ever taught. I've missed you all these years. You're going to high school soon, how are your studies?"
Teacher Ye and I chatted about our time together, and before we knew it, evening had passed, and it was completely dark. Teacher Ye looked
really happy, holding my hand tightly, and invited me to her house for dinner. I couldn't refuse, so I agreed.
She had moved, and the house was much more spacious and beautiful than her old one. It seemed her husband's business was doing quite well.
Her husband was home, but their son was away at university, rarely home during winter and summer vacations. Her husband was a bit overweight, dressed
very well, and a little taller than me. She introduced me, and I greeted him as "Uncle," to which he nodded slightly and responded
, inviting me to sit down and chat.
Ms. Ye then went to the kitchen to cook, busily preparing the meal alone. Feeling a little sorry for her, I insisted on helping, which
she readily agreed to. She cooked quickly, finishing several dishes in about twenty minutes. During the meal, she kept putting food on
my plate and talking to me, barely speaking to her husband.
After dinner, seeing that we, teacher and student, were talking so much, her husband didn't want to disturb us and excused himself to leave, saying, "Your
teacher, Ms. Ye, hasn't been this happy in a long time. Spend more time talking to her."
Ms. Ye didn't seem to mind and continued chatting and laughing with me. I, however, felt a little awkward, as if
I had overstepped my bounds. It wasn't until 10 pm that she reluctantly let me leave, inviting me to visit her often.
After that, I frequently went to see her, either at her home or in her office, two or three times a week. She
was happy to see me, her smile widening, and she remained very caring. But I sensed she wasn't happy;
she seemed somewhat lonely. I remembered what she'd said when she was drunk, and guessed her husband might not be home often,
and her son was often at boarding school, missing out on family time. I tried to visit her, help with chores, and sometimes
go shopping with her. Seeing her happy made me happy too.
This continued until the middle school entrance exam.
She asked how I did, and I said I was confident I'd get into a top high school and was just waiting for the results.
She smiled and patted my neck, saying that was good.
During summer vacation, I often visited Ms. Ye's house. She was usually alone; her husband was busy with work, and she
didn't like shopping or visiting friends, so it was rather quiet at home. She really hoped I could visit her more often. At that time
, I was obsessed with soccer, often playing in the midday sun until evening. One day, she invited me to
her house for dinner, and I went after playing soccer. She was busy in the kitchen. Knowing I was there, she scolded me for
playing soccer in the blazing sun, asking if I wasn't afraid of heatstroke, and told me to rest first and then take a shower.
Watching her busy figure from the living room, I suddenly felt restless, a stirring of desire rising within me. This
was similar to the feeling I had with my aunt and Teacher Chen, yet different. I knew I had never forgotten her; those
years had only deepened the burial of my longing. Looking at her now, I felt a pang of pity. She was dressed
casually at home, her clothes a little loose, but still beautifully revealing her curves. She was well-maintained
; her skin was still as fair as it had been three years ago, her hips rounded, and occasionally, bending over, she appeared even more voluptuous. I felt a little
dizzy, even more restless, and quickly went to take a shower, but a flutter still lingered in my heart.
After dinner, she took a shower and sat with me watching TV, but I was uneasy. She
possessed the stunning beauty of a woman emerging from a bath, making me afraid to look directly at her. She chatted and laughed, completely oblivious, constantly telling me
about how that student was doing and how I was back then, with the air of a kind teacher.
Suddenly, I changed the subject, asking her, "Have you been unhappy these past few years? Why do
you always seem a little melancholy?"
She paused, smiled slightly, and said, "What does a child know about happiness or unhappiness? Life is like this
. I'm just a little lonely. It would be good if you came to see your teacher more often. I'm just afraid you wouldn't want to come."
I boldly and steadily looked into her eyes and said, "Of course I would, and I'm happy to be with you
. I feel very comfortable with you; I don't want to think about anything."
She seemed to sense something, avoiding my gaze, and said, "That would be wonderful."
I was silent for a moment, then said, "Teacher Ye, may I hug you?"
She hesitated for a moment, but still nodded slightly in agreement.
I was a little excited, reaching out to embrace her, my cheek against her ear, smelling the fragrance of her hair. I felt
a softness against my chest—her breasts. Her body stiffened slightly, trembling a little. Her hands nervously gripped her legs, her knuckles
turning white.
I whispered in her ear, "I want to kiss you."
She remained silent. I brushed the hair behind her ear and kissed her earlobe, licking it a few times with my tongue. Her body
suddenly trembled, and she pushed me away from her chest with her hands, but not forcefully. I kissed her cheek; her skin was still
delicate and soft, warm and smooth to the touch.
My heart overflowed with love. I held her tightly, pressing my chest against her chest, and looked into her eyes, saying, "
Teacher Ye, I love you."
Her eyes were a little misty, but she slowly shook her head, saying, "You call me teacher, but there's no way we can be together
. I know you like me, love me, and I like you too, but it's different—it's just
the affection between an elder and a junior. Besides, I'm so much older than you, and I have a husband. My son is even older than you; you're still young."
I said, "But I know your husband doesn't care about you much. You're unhappy, always a little
melancholy. I want to cheer you up; it breaks my heart to see you unhappy."
She still shook her head, "I'm used to being happy or unhappy; I don't feel anything is wrong with it."
I didn't speak, just quietly looked at her. After a while, her eyes darted away, her face slightly flushed, but still
so gentle.
I kissed her thin lips. Her lips weren't lipstick-covered, just naturally rosy, warm and soft. She didn't flinch.
She avoided me, yet didn't reciprocate, her teeth clenched, preventing me from entering. I stroked her back and shoulders, combing
her beautiful hair, as if telling her of my longing for her over the years. After what seemed like an eternity, her teeth gradually loosened
, my tongue pressed against hers, her tongue dodged mine, and I kissed her deeply. Our tongues
intertwined, her breathing quickened, her chest heaving. I kissed her neck again, her head
tilting back slightly, her hands wrapped around my neck, rubbing against it gently, emitting soft moans.
I slowly kissed my way down her long neck to her chest, unbuttoning a few buttons on her top, revealing her breasts
, white and full, with a deep cleavage. She wore a black bra, which made her skin appear even whiter and more delicate
. I kissed her bare breasts, soft and fragrant. Her moans intensified, her chest heaving violently, her breasts
appearing even fuller.
Her eyes were glazed, and she gasped, "XXX, please stop, let's just leave it at that, let's not go any further
."
I stopped kissing her and murmured dreamily, "I just want to see, I want to see." My voice was pleading,
yet firm.
Her face was flushed, breathtakingly beautiful. She looked at me with loving and deep affection, sighed, reached behind her back,
moved slightly, then rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.
I unbuttoned the remaining buttons of her clothes, opening her garment. Her bra, without support,
sagged slightly under her weight, half-concealed, even more alluring.
I gently removed her bra, and she trembled, closing her eyes even tighter, reaching out to hug my neck
. Her pair of snow-white breasts stood there, full and large, slightly drooping, the nipples erect,
dark red in color, shaped like grapes.
I leaned down and kissed her nipple. She trembled and hugged me even tighter. I kneaded one
breast with one hand and kissed her other nipple, completely intoxicated.
I kissed and caressed her until she was panting heavily, her chest heaving. I wanted to take off her
trousers, but she wouldn't let me. I didn't want to force her, so I just stroked her round, soft buttocks through her trousers, so full
and soft, I couldn't bear to let go.
We lay on the bed, I held her in my arms, letting her lean against me, and I caressed
her breasts in her arms, telling her all the little things about how I had secretly loved her.
When I mentioned that she had tapped me on the head the moment we met, she giggled and said, "Serves you right, if I had known you
were a troublemaker who bullied the teacher, I should have hit you a few more times."
When I mentioned that I had peeked at her, she pinched my waist and called me a little pervert, saying that I hadn't learned anything good since I was little, and that
I wasn't afraid of getting a sty for peeping at women.
After their playful fight, she was silent for a while before saying, "XX, is this how it is for us? This is the only way we can go. This is
already too much; I'm sorry to my husband and children. Don't make an even bigger mistake. Your teacher likes you too, but this is all we
can do. This is my maximum limit."
I don't like forcing women, so I agreed verbally, but in my heart, I thought that my aunt and I, Teacher Chen and I, had already made much bigger
mistakes. This is nothing compared to what you've done; there's plenty of time.
She was very happy to hear me agree and kissed me several times.
That night, I insisted she stay at her house to sleep, and she had no choice but to let me. I held her as we slept, filled with tenderness
.
She liked it too, wrapping her arms around my neck and nestled against my chest, sleeping soundly.
We spent some time like this, in an ambiguous relationship, but each time it was limited to kissing and caressing her breasts; she
never let me see her body below the waist. Although she wasn't very firm, I felt it was wrong to force her. Luckily, my aunt and
Teacher Chen were there; otherwise, I'm afraid I would have been consumed by lust.
Ms. Ye became even more dependent on me, sometimes even suddenly hugging and kissing me. Sometimes she would ask me sweetly why
I liked her, and I would list her good qualities on my fingers, one by one, and she would laugh and scold me for being pretentious
and glib. Her smiles became more and more frequent. Sometimes, if I didn't come to her house, she wouldn't sleep well at night,
but if I came, she couldn't sleep at all. She would smile wryly and say that she owed me something in her past life, and it wasn't enough yet.
Life went on like this, with some anticipation and some boredom. Until one morning in mid-August, I received
the notification that I had been accepted into a top-tier high school. Although it was within my expectations, I was still very happy. My parents were also very
happy for me, and at lunch, they even let me drink alcohol for the first time. I don't drink much, so I only had a small sip. Still thinking about
Ms. Ye, I wanted to tell her, so I hurriedly went to her house.
I knocked on the door, and after a while, she opened it. I noticed her eyes were red and swollen, as if she had been crying,
so I asked her what was wrong. At first, she didn't want to answer, but when I pressed her, she finally said she had argued with her husband, who
had just left for another city.
I didn't know what to say, so I just held her in my arms, wanting only to cherish her.
She nestled quietly in my arms for a while, then looked up at me intently and asked, "XX, do you really
like your teacher?"
I looked back at her and said, "It's not just liking, it's love."
She smiled sweetly and asked if she thought I was a bad woman because we were so close.
I said that in my eyes, she was the best teacher in the world, and also the best woman in the world.
She sighed, buried her face in my chest, and said, "XX, you're so right."
She looked up at me again, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me. We kissed deeply, our tongues entwined
, until we were both breathless.
I suddenly felt a surge of passion, something I hadn't felt since I got together with my aunt, Teacher Chen. I breathed
heavily, my eyes blazing as I stared at her. She seemed equally excited, as if she could read my mind, and nestled
into my arms.
I carried her to the bedroom, and we lay down on the bed, embracing. I removed her top and bra,
kissing her firm breasts. She gasped heavily, pulling my head close and stroking my
hair, letting out soft moans.
She was, after all, forty years old, with a bit of belly fat and a full figure, but I loved it even more. I caressed her
body, soft and supple, yet still elastic.
I tentatively pulled down her pants; she didn't struggle, slightly lifting her buttocks to allow me to easily remove them. She was wearing…
She wore purple lace panties, her full, round buttocks stretched taut over the fabric,
revealing glimpses of pubic hair. Her snow-white legs were straight, long, and full, flawless, like two pieces of jade. I
caressed her genitals through her panties; they were full, moist, and supple. I kneaded her nipples with one hand and
her genitals with the other.
She shifted restlessly, her moans growing louder, her rapid breathing causing her breasts to arch
high.
I kissed her breasts, sucking on her nipples, sucking hard as if they contained milk,
wanting to drain them dry, wanting to meld her into my body, never to be separated from her.
After kissing for a long time, I gently pulled down her panties. She seemed extremely shy, pressing her legs tightly together.
I slowly parted her legs. Her pubic hair wasn't sparse, but it was dark and glossy, lying there smoothly, making me
want to caress it. Her labia were quite thick, like a steamed bun, dark red in color, with her vulva half-open and slightly
moist. Gently parting the labia revealed a bright red little hole—her vagina. I couldn't resist giving it a light
kiss.
She trembled a few times, pushed me away a few times, and moaned, "No, no."
I ignored her and continued kissing her vulva, sucking on her clitoris, my tongue probing her little hole.
She let out a soft moan, no longer able to push me away, her body trembling and twisting. It seemed she had never been
kissed like this before, her reaction was very strong.
I kissed and sucked her vulva forcefully, and I heard her let out a muffled cry, her buttocks arching. A warm, slippery fluid flowed into my mouth
; she had actually reached orgasm. I hadn't expected her to be so sensitive.
She lay there panting, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed as she looked at me. After a while, she said coquettishly
, "You little rascal, where did you learn that? You think it's dirty? Is that a place to kiss? You're not allowed to kiss my
lips later."
I chuckled and licked the remaining saliva from my lips. She glared at me.
I took off my clothes. She looked at my erect genitals and became extremely shy, turning her head away, not daring to look at
me.
I gently lay on top of her, pressing my body against hers, and said, "Teacher Ye, I love you."
She hummed softly, reached out and hugged my body, and kissed me.
I kissed her breasts for a while, then couldn't hold back any longer and whispered, "Teacher Ye, I'm going to go in
."
She hummed, her face flushed red.
I pressed my penis against her vulva, rubbing the head up and down against her vulva. She was a little nervous, her
eyes half-open, but looking at me. I thrust forward forcefully, and the head went in. She cried out. I
thrust again, my penis halfway in. Her vagina was tight, gripping my penis tightly. With a final push, I
pushed it all the way in. She let out another "ah," looking at me affectionately and saying, "XX, your teacher is yours now, are you happy
?"
I said tenderly, "Teacher, I love you." I began to slowly thrust in and out, my hips moving rhythmically.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, her brows slightly furrowed, moaning softly, as if enduring pain, yet also
enjoying immense pleasure.
A few minutes later, I increased the intensity and speed of my thrusts. Her vagina became even wetter,
the friction of my penis against her vagina making a wet, sizzling sound. Our flesh slapped against each other, making a "slap slap slap" sound. She moaned softly
, her hips moving up and down with each thrust.
I suddenly felt I was about to ejaculate. It was the same with my aunt and Teacher Chen; it only lasted about ten minutes
. I really wanted to ejaculate, but if I could just hold it in, I could last twenty minutes, or even longer. So
I held back, afraid to move.
Teacher Ye was writhing restlessly below, arching her back, trying to find that lost, blissful feeling. She
muttered, "Move, move, XX, move, Teacher feels so uncomfortable."
I took a few deep breaths, rested for ten or twenty seconds, and feeling no more urge to ejaculate, I started thrusting again, faster and
faster. I kissed her long neck, sucked on her nipples, and thrust
even faster. Teacher Ye groaned loudly, then let out soft moans.
After another five or six minutes of thrusting, Teacher Ye hugged me tightly, let out a long cry, her body stiffened, and
a gush of fluid sprayed onto my glans. Her vagina tightly sucked on my penis; I knew she had orgasmed. I stopped moving
. Her chest heaved, her breathing was heavy, her face was flushed, and her eyes were half-open as she looked at me, her gaze seductive and
alluring.
After catching her breath, she asked, "You...you haven't ejaculated yet?"
I was also tired, and I laughed, a little breathless, "Yeah, you're satisfied, but you don't care about me anymore. I'm still hard
."
She felt the thing inside her still hard and was somewhat surprised. She slapped my back, "Who's satisfied
? You're the one who bullied me. Did I stop you from moving?" Then, somewhat shyly, she said, "You're quite something
, it doesn't seem like your first time. Have you been with other women before?" She then angrily pinched me
. Of
course, I didn't dare tell her about my aunt and Teacher Chen, only saying that I had a girlfriend a year ago, and the two of them had secretly
slept together, but they had broken up. She sighed, saying there was nothing she could do about teenagers these days, dating so young.
She also scolded me for ruining a girl. She pinched me a few more times, threatening me not to bother other girls.
I was afraid she'd keep bringing up the topic, that talking too much would cause trouble, and that I'd say something that would lead to disaster. So she started thrusting her hips, my penis pumping in
and out of her wet vagina, another series of wet sounds. Before she could finish speaking, she started moaning and groaning again,
clinging tightly to me. That night, as soon as we regained our strength, we made love, resting when we were tired. We lingered until 2 a.m. before finally falling asleep,
exhausted, embracing each other. She exclaimed that she'd never been so wild, feeling like she'd been gang-raped. I teased
her, asking if she'd ever been gang-raped, and she angrily tried to tear my mouth apart.

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