This happened many years ago. I had just graduated from school and was still a naive young man. This older sister was someone I met at work—the financial director of a partner company. Due to business relations, we worked closely together for a period.
When I first met her, I was really stunned. She exuded the aura of a mature woman and a wife. Her figure was well-proportioned; she wasn't very tall, but had long legs and sexy curves. She looked a bit like Tang Can, who sings mainstream songs. My first impression was that she was aloof and hard to approach. She just exchanged a few perfunctory words with me before taking her notebook to check the accounts.
I thought to myself at the time: If I could have her just once, it would be amazing; just those small feet alone were enough to be deadly. So, I shamelessly served tea and water, showing attentiveness. Gradually, she became less cold toward me.
When work ended, I asked for her phone number and QQ, and we chatted online. Later, she mentioned she had always wanted to go out for exercise, but her husband was the vice president of the head office and had no time to accompany her.
Such a good opportunity, of course, couldn't be missed. I persuaded her to get out more, saying it helps prevent aging. Finally, she agreed to go play badminton with me.
On Saturday afternoon, we went to a school's badminton hall. The place was sparsely populated, making it convenient to talk. She wore sweatpants; I had thought it would be a short skirt, so I was a bit disappointed. But it didn't matter. I deliberately increased the intensity, and before long, she was sweating on her forehead and panting heavily.
I said, 'Look, the girls over there are all wearing short skirts. On such a hot day, how can you exercise in long pants?'
She laughed: "How could I compare to those young girls?"
I then said: 'How can those unripe, inexperienced kids compare to you? I think your figure is much better than theirs. Is it that you're afraid I'll get a nosebleed, so you don't dare wear short skirts?'
She laughed, her body shaking with mirth, the alluring post-exercise demeanor fully revealed, making me almost drool.
Later nothing happened, and I sent her home. After that, for a while, we chatted casually online from sentence to sentence. I found that her husband often went on business trips abroad and was rarely at home. She was guarding a big house alone, with her parents and relatives all in other places, her social circle was very small, and she had almost no entertainment. So I urged her to come out and have more fun, relieve some pressure, and I could keep her company. I figured she could probably tell that I was interested in her.
Later we also played tennis together and went to the seaside. Although there was not much physical contact, the relationship still progressed quite a bit.
Until one day, things took a turn.
That day after work, I was playing games at home when I suddenly received a text message. It was from Xiao Lei—that older sister. She asked what I was doing. I said I was at home with nothing to do. She said, 'Then come out for a walk with me!'
I drove to her company to pick her up. Seeing her looking exhausted, I asked what was wrong. She said work wasn't going well; she had been criticized by her boss. As she spoke, her eyes turned red, really like a little girl.
The tougher a woman appears on the outside, the more fragile she often is inside. I quickly found a less crowded place to park the car and comforted her softly and gently. She couldn't hold back anymore and directly threw herself into my arms crying.
Holding such a beauty, of course, my lower body reacted. She kept snuggling closer into my arms. I was in a dilemma when she gradually stopped crying and said, 'Let's go to the seaside.'
On a July night, the beach had an inexplicable air of ambiguity. Many couples were being intimate. I accompanied her for several rounds, chatting aimlessly. She was especially strange today, as if hesitating about something. After walking around for a while, she took off her high heels and threw them to me, then ran onto the beach.
I had fantasized about those high heels for so long; I couldn't do much in front of her, so I just held them in my hands.
After wandering around a bit longer, it was almost completely dark. She suddenly ran over and asked: “What do you think of me?”
I said casually, "It's fine."
She asked again: “Do you still like those young, pretty girls more?”
I said, 'Of course not. Who would like those little girls? You have more of a woman's charm.'
She actually laughed and said, “You’re only good at lying. How could anyone like me looking like this?”
I threw caution to the wind: 'In my eyes, no woman can compare to you. If you weren't married, I would have pursued you long ago.'
She didn't say anything, just got back into the car herself. I quickly followed to explain, begging her not to be angry. She said nothing. I had no choice but to drive her back to her neighborhood.
When she got out of the car, she said to let me escort her back downstairs. My heart stirred.
The residential complex where she lived was one of the most upscale in the city, like a park, with many paths and quiet corners. She lived in the innermost row of buildings. I followed behind her along the wooded path. It was already fairly late, and there was basically no one around.
Just as we were about to reach downstairs, there was a very secluded corner. She suddenly turned around, pulled me into the corner, and threw herself into my arms.
Unlike earlier in the car, she was very restless, rubbing her leg against my crotch. I got hard immediately. She gave me a mischievous smile, said nothing, and pulled down my pants.
In summer, there was only one pair of underwear inside, bulging like a tent. She took my thing out in just a couple of moves, and while stroking me said, “You bad boy, you’ve been thinking about me for a long time, haven’t you?”
She slowly crouched down, sniffed with her nose, then licked it a few times with her tongue before taking it into her mouth.
Back then, I had just left school not long ago, and my experience with my girlfriend was only half-push, half-shove—where had I seen such a scene. My mind went blank. Later, over many years and many women, no blowjob made me remember it this clearly. My little brother was hard as if about to explode.
After performing oral sex for a while, she seemed to be tired of squatting, so she pulled me over to a row of chairs nearby. That day she wore a standard OL outfit: a low-cut white shirt, a dark suit skirt, and black high heels. Because we were outside, I did not dare undo the buttons of her clothes, so I had to reach behind her to try to unhook her bra; after fussing for a long time, I only managed to undo two.
She wore a coquettish smile and said I was hopelessly stupid, then easily undid it with her own hand. At last I touched that pair of snow-white breasts. I can grab a basketball with one hand, yet I still couldn’t get a full grip; they felt incredible. She liked to use a sweet-smelling perfume, very arousing.
One hand kept rubbing the beautiful breasts, while the other reached into her pussy and pulled her panties aside a little. She was already flooding, and her panties were soaked through. Later I found out she was the kind of woman who starts dripping with just a touch.
After casually touching a few times and fingering her for a while, she couldn't take it anymore. She turned her body around, bent over, and let me take her from behind.
I dipped a bit of her wetness at the entrance and almost slid right in. The vagina wasn't particularly tight, but certainly not loose either; the entire penis felt wrapped in warm water, extremely comfortable. There was a lot of fluid; each thrust brought out more. I didn't care about technique anymore, relying on stamina to start thrusting hard. All I could hear were her muffled grunts as she tried hard to suppress her cries.
In the residential area, doing it there—who knew when someone might come by. Half pleasure, half fear. We’d been fucking for more than ten minutes and still hadn’t cum. Afraid she wouldn’t be able to take it if she stayed bent over too long, I had no choice but to pull out for the moment and lift her up. I sat in the chair, she sat on me, and I kept penetrating her.
Now I could see her face. She liked to close her eyes during sex, full of allure. A wet kiss came over, and her fragrant tongue immediately probed into my mouth. While doing it, she kept writhing against me.
Because I was afraid to stay there long, I asked her, “How about going to your place?” She actually said that her husband was at home today, on the third floor right beside us.
I almost came right then.
I whispered dirty talk in her ear. She told me not to cum inside, it wasn't safe today, to pull out when I was about to cum. But how could I withstand such stimulation. After thrusting a while longer, feeling I was about to cum, I quickly pulled out. Just as I was about to spray on the floor, she grabbed it and put it in her mouth, her tongue continuously attacking the slit. I came so hard my head spun, she almost sucked my little brother dry.
After finishing the last drop, she licked a bit more until it was completely soft before spitting it out, along with the semen. I later found out she doesn't like swallowing.
After finishing, we cuddled for a while longer, surprisingly feeling no awkwardness at all, like lovers in the heat of passion. When she went upstairs, we kissed for a long time again before I let her go back.
After she went upstairs, I walked back alone on the small path, gazing at the starry sky, feeling like what just happened was almost a dream. I made it home in a daze, and not getting into a car accident on the way was truly a relief.
After returning home, I lay on the bed, my mind repeatedly replaying the scene just now—her crouching in front of me and taking it into her mouth, the coy look as she rode on me with her eyes closed and twisted her waist, and finally the action of swallowing the semen into her mouth and then spitting it back out. Hard then soft, soft then hard, I was tossing and turning until midnight before I barely managed to fall asleep.
The next day was Sunday. I deliberately waited until noon to text her: 'How did you sleep last night?'
She replied quickly: “Not bad. How about you?”
"I miss you."
After a few minutes, she replied: 'Don't talk nonsense. My husband is home today.'
My heart tightened, yet I couldn't help but feel excited. So I replied: 'Then I'll wait until you're free.'
She didn't reply again.
On Monday at work, I deliberately took a detour near their company and glanced from afar. She walked into the building in a suit skirt, her steps steady, with no trace at all of the way she had been pinned to a chair by me in a corner of the residential complex last night. A mature woman’s ability to put on an act is indeed impressive.
In the half-month that followed, we only chatted online occasionally. She would complain that her husband was going on a business trip again, send some selfies after working out (of course, only down to her collarbone), and ask me whether I had been seeing any other girls lately. I honestly said no, and she replied with a smiley face.
The real second time was after her husband went abroad again.
That night, she took the initiative to call me, her voice lazy: 'Want to go out for a drink? It's boring being home alone.'
Without another word, I drove to pick her up. She had changed into casual clothes: a white dress with a thin jacket over it, still wearing those black high heels. After getting in the car, she didn't speak, just leaned back in the seat with her eyes closed, resting. I drove to a very remote hotel in the suburbs and checked in.
The moment she entered, she pushed me against the wall and kissed me proactively. This kiss was more urgent than the last one. Her hand went straight into my pants, holding and stroking me as we kissed. I carried her to the bed, lifted her dress, and discovered she wasn't wearing any underwear underneath.
“On purpose?” I asked.
She nodded, blushing: "To save trouble."
I lowered my head and buried it between her legs. Her scent was stronger than last time, already a mess of wetness. As soon as my tongue touched her clitoris, she trembled slightly, her fingers threading into my hair. I licked earnestly, using the tip of my tongue to part her labia, occasionally sucking. Her moans gradually changed from suppressed to unrestrained, her legs clamping around my head.
“Come in……stop licking……” her voice trembled.
I'm not in a hurry to satisfy her. Instead, I continue using my fingers and tongue to bring her to a small climax. After her body goes soft, I take off my clothes, grip myself, and press against the entrance. She actively lifts her hips, letting me enter completely.
This time we lasted longer. She liked it when I entered from behind, raising her buttocks high and looking back at me. I also liked this position, as I could clearly see how I plunged into her body with each thrust and could reach around to caress her nipples. Later, she began to beg me to go faster, her voice soft and seductive: 'Come for me... it's safe today... come inside...'
I increased my speed, finally releasing everything deep inside her. She clenched tightly, squeezing out every last drop from me.
Afterward she lay on her side, letting me hold her from behind. Only the bedside lamp was on in the room, and her skin shimmered with a fine sheen of sweat under the light.
“Have you ever thought about what would happen if this went on?” she asked suddenly.
"I have thought about it." I answered honestly, "but I can't stop."
She was silent for a moment, then reached out and grasped my already half-soft member, gently stroking it: 'Then don't stop. Anyway, my husband is away for most of the year.'
Since then, we developed a certain tacit understanding.
As long as her husband is away on business, she will come looking for me. Sometimes it’s a hotel, sometimes it’s her home (with the curtains drawn tightly), sometimes even in the car. She’s become more and more uninhibited, actively asking for different positions, saying dirty things in my ear, and after climax, using her mouth to clean me up.
Once we did it at her home. Outside the living room's floor-to-ceiling window was the residential garden; although the curtains were drawn, we could vaguely see people walking outside. She rode on top of me, deliberately keeping her voice very low but making her movements large. Halfway through, she suddenly stopped, looked down at me, her eyes bright:
"What if someone pushes the door open right now... what do you think would happen?"
Her words instantly made me even harder. She felt it, smiled with satisfaction, and continued swaying her hips.
That night, we did it three times. The last time, she lay on the sofa, letting me enter deeply from behind. When I ejaculated, I deliberately stayed pressed deep inside, feeling myself pulsing out in waves. She softly cursed me, 'You bastard... you filled me up completely...'
While cleaning, she looked at the stains on the bedsheet and suddenly laughed: 'Let's use a condom next time. Always like this, I feel uneasy inside.'
I nodded.
Nearly a year passed like this.
She was still that proud finance director, and I was still that young man just starting out in the workplace. On the surface we were only ordinary coworkers, but in private we had explored each other’s bodies thoroughly. She taught me many things—how to make a woman wet faster, how to flirt with a look in public, how to satisfy both sides in a short time.
I gradually came to understand that, for her, I was probably just a safe outlet. No entanglement, no demand for status, no disruption to her existing life. And what I gained was the most scorching and real memory of my youth.
One day she suddenly said her husband was being transferred back to work locally long-term.
We took it very slowly that night at the hotel. She kept looking into my eyes, as if trying to remember something. After we finished, she leaned against my chest and didn't speak for a long time.
“From now on… it may not be so easy to meet anymore.” she finally said.
I nodded without pressing further.
As she got up and dressed, I lay in bed watching her. Her mature body remained enticing under the light, but her movements had already regained their usual composure. After putting on her shoes, she walked over and gently kissed my forehead.
“Take care of yourself.” she said.
Then opened the door and left.
I sat alone in the room for a long time. The city lights outside the window were bright, and that secret time with the married female director thus came to an end.
Later, we would occasionally run into each other at work. She would politely nod at me, and I would return a professional smile. No one knew that this woman, who looked so aloof and calm, had once, in the corner of the residential complex, on a hotel bed, in my arms, made such soft, so seductive sounds.
And I, too, finally understood one thing—
Some fires only need to burn once.
If it keeps burning, the whole person will be set on fire.
That said, people often fail to do so.
In the first two months after we split up, I lived fairly normally. I went to work during the day, played games when I got home at night, and occasionally went out drinking with colleagues. Xiaolei’s name gradually sank lower and lower in the chat history until one day, when I scrolled through my phone, I realized we had gone nearly a month without speaking.
I thought I had let go.
Until a certain Friday night.
At the company dinner, I drank a bit too much. On the way back to the rental room, as if possessed, I opened the chat window with her and sent a message: “Are you okay?”
The moment I sent it, I regretted it. But the read receipt appeared very quickly.
After three minutes, she replied: 'Not bad. You?'
"Kinda miss you."
This time she didn't reply immediately. I threw my phone aside, washed my face, and told myself not to be stupid again. But as soon as I lay down on the bed, my phone vibrated.
“Come out for a moment?”
I almost jumped up.
When I drove to the hotel she specified, it was almost eleven o'clock. She stood at the end of the corridor, wearing a loose sweatshirt and jeans, her hair tied up casually, looking much more relaxed than before. Seeing me, she just slightly raised her chin, then turned around, swiped her card, and entered the room.
As soon as the door closed, the two tangled together.
No unnecessary words. She pushed me onto the bed, straddled me, and took off her clothes in a few moves. Her mature body was still enticing under the light, her breasts rising and falling gently with her breath. She grasped me, aligned herself, and slowly sat down, letting out a satisfied sigh.
“Just once.” She looked down at me, her voice a little hoarse, “Let’s treat it as... ending it more completely.”
I nodded, but in my heart, I knew clearly that such words were never to be believed.
That night we did it for a long time. She was more proactive and more uninhibited than before. She would adjust the angle herself, whisper things in my ear she used to be too shy to say, and after climaxing, she would actively clean me with her mouth, then look up, eyes shining, and ask, 'Can you still get hard?'
Of course it gets hard.
The second time, she asked me to enter from behind. She supported herself with both hands on the headboard, lowering her waist very deeply. I held her hip bones, thrusting in stroke by stroke, listening to her suppressed yet uncontrollable moans. Later on, she started begging me to cum inside her, her voice so soft it didn't sound like that高傲 (proud) finance director.
I did as she said.
After ejaculating, neither of us moved. She lay on the bed, I lay on her back, feeling myself still buried deep inside her. After a long time, she softly said: 'Don't contact me again next time.'
“Good.”
But at noon the next day, she sent another message: “Are you free tonight?”
I replied with 'Yes.'
And so there was a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time.
We both knew perfectly well that the so-called 'last time' was just self-comfort. Although her husband had been transferred back locally, his social engagements were still many, often not coming home until midnight. She found the time gap, and I willingly cooperated.
Sometimes it's a hotel, sometimes in the car, and once even in the parking lot under her office building. That time was especially thrilling. She was wearing a professional suit, pressed against the back seat by me, her skirt pulled up to her waist, biting her lip to keep any sound from escaping. After finishing, she straightened her clothes, looked at herself in the rearview mirror, and suddenly laughed:
“Does this count as being very cheap of me now?”
I hugged her from behind, my chin resting on her shoulder: 'It counts. But only be shameless for me to see.'
She didn't argue, just reached out and patted my face.
Another half a year passed like this.
The relationship, from its initial novelty, gradually became a habit. She would send me her location when working overtime late into the night, and I would show up on time. After climax, she would lean in my arms and daydream, and I would hold her in silence. Occasionally, she would mention her husband, saying he had been under a lot of pressure lately, or that the house needed renovation. Each time she mentioned these things, the air would fall silent for a few seconds, and then we would interrupt the topic with our bodies.
One night, after finishing, she suddenly looked at me very seriously:
“Have you ever thought about finding a normal girlfriend someday?”
"I've thought about it."
“Then go and find them. Don’t waste time on someone like me.”
I didn't speak, just held her a little tighter. She struggled briefly but ultimately didn't push me away.
What truly brought this relationship to an end was an accident.
That night, she changed the location at the last minute, asking me to go to her house. She said her husband had gone out of town for a meeting and wouldn't be back for two days. When I arrived, she had already opened red wine and dimmed the lights. We did it once on the sofa and once more in the bedroom. After it ended, she went to shower, and I lay on the bed playing with my phone.
The sound of water in the bathroom was still running when suddenly, the sound of a key turning came from outside the door.
My whole body froze.
The door opened. Footsteps approached from afar. It was a male voice, tinged with fatigue: 'Xiao Lei? I came back early; the meeting was canceled...'
The sound of water in the bathroom abruptly stopped.
I practically rolled off the bed, grabbed my clothes, and fled to the balcony. Luckily, she lived on a high floor, and the balcony had a very small storage space. When I hid inside, I could still hear faint conversation from within. Her voice sounded very calm, as if nothing had happened.
I stayed in the dark for nearly two hours. Only after confirming it was completely quiet outside did I cautiously leave. My legs were weak going downstairs.
The next day she sent me a message, just one sentence:
“It’s over. Don’t contact me again.”
I replied with 'Good.'
Then deleted all the chat records.
Later on, we would still occasionally run into each other at work. She was still that calm, professional CFO, nodding at me, speaking in meetings, laughing and joking with others. No one knew that this woman had once cried beneath me, begging me to cum inside her, and had also once cleaned me thoroughly with her tongue after orgasm.
And I, too, finally pressed those days deep into the furthest recesses of my memory.
Some fires only need to burn once.
If it keeps burning, the whole person will be set on fire.
But sometimes, even knowing it will burn you, a person still reaches out a hand.
Only this time, we both learned to let go in time.
Another year passed.
I've already changed jobs and moved to another city. Occasionally, I still think of her. I think of that chair in the corner of the neighborhood, her closed eyes in the hotel, and the tone in which she said 'just once.'
One night, while on a business trip in a hotel, I was scrolling through my phone and suddenly saw her WeChat Moments. It hadn't been updated for a long time; this time, she only posted a blurry photo of the seaside with a caption of just four words: 'All is well.'
I stared at that photo for a long time, ultimately didn't like it, and didn't comment either.
Putting down my phone, I walked to the window. The city lights spread out below like a silent sea.
Some people are destined to be only an interlude in each other's lives.
Some fires are destined to burn only briefly in the darkness.
And I, finally learned to seal that fire deep within my memory.
Don't touch it again.
And no longer think about it.
Only occasionally, late at night, when the wind blows through the crack in the window, could that sweet perfume scent still be faintly smelled.
Then, let out a soft sigh.
The story truly ends here.
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