That night, we fucked for six times. Our passion was boundless as we couldn't get enough of each other.
The first time had been urgent and desperate, a raw release of tension that had been building since the moment she had first leaned close to me in her kitchen. The second time was slower, more deliberate, as though we were both trying to memorize the shape and texture of each other's bodies. By the third time, the boundaries between pleasure and exhaustion had begun to blur, and I found myself moving on instinct alone, driven by a hunger that seemed to have no bottom.
Each time I felt like I could not go on, Yan Lin found a way to arouse me again. She would whisper sweet, filthy words into my ear, her breath hot against my skin, describing in vivid detail what she wanted me to do to her next. She would stretch her body across the tangled sheets, displaying herself like a feast, drawing my gaze to the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the dark triangle between her legs that glistened with the evidence of our activities. She would rub herself against me, the heat of her skin searing mine, the soft pressure of her flesh against my thigh or my chest or my side reigniting the spark that I thought had been extinguished.
And when those methods failed to produce the desired effect, she would talk about Bingqing. She would describe, in that low, conspiratorial whisper of hers, what my wife might be doing at that very moment with Sun Junfeng. She would paint pictures with her words—images of Bingqing on her knees, of Bingqing bent over our bed, of Bingqing's mouth stretched around another man's cock. And each time, my body would respond against my will, my cock hardening in her hand as a dark, twisted arousal would flood through me.
She would make my penis answer her call every single time she wanted it. No exceptions. She was a witch, a sorceress of the flesh, and I was completely under her spell. My body had become her instrument, and she played me with skill and precision, drawing forth notes of pleasure and pain that I never knew I could produce.
I fucked her doggy style, the memory etched into my mind with crystalline clarity. The sight of her naked plump buttocks swaying with each of my thrusts was intoxicating, hypnotic. I watched as my cock slid in and out of her pussy, disappearing into her wet heat and reappearing glistening, the lips of her sex clinging to my shaft with each withdrawal. Her asshole was visible between the cheeks of her buttocks, tight and pink, winking at me with each impact of our bodies. The sight was so arousing that I had to look away, afraid that I would finish too soon if I continued to watch.
She looked back at me over her shoulder, her face flushed with pleasure, her eyes dark with desire.
"You like that, don't you?" she panted. "You like looking at my ass while you fuck me."
I could only nod, my breath catching in my throat as she tightened her muscles around me, her pussy squeezing my cock in a rhythmic pulse that sent jolts of electricity through my entire body.
"Tell me," she demanded, her voice husky. "Tell me you like it."
"I like it," I managed to gasp. "I love it."
"Good," she said, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Now fuck me harder. Show me how much you love it."
So I did. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, and I drove into her with a ferocity that surprised even myself. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies slapping together, with her moans and my grunts, with the wet, sucking noise of her pussy as it greedily swallowed my cock.
She rode me cowgirl style at another point, her body rising and falling above me like a wave, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Her head was thrown back, her throat exposed, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She controlled the rhythm completely, setting a pace that was perfectly calibrated to drive us both toward the edge, then pulling back at the last moment to prolong the pleasure. She placed her hands on my chest, her fingers splayed wide, her nails digging into my skin. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against my face, her nipples hard and sensitive. I took one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tight bud, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her skin. She arched her back, pressing herself more firmly against me, a moan escaping her lips.
I reached up and cupped her other breast, my thumb brushing against her nipple, feeling it tighten and pebble under my touch. She gasped, her body trembling, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. I could feel her approaching her peak, the muscles in her thighs tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. I met her thrusts with my own, driving up into her with a powerful rhythm, my cock hitting that spot deep inside her that made her cry out with pleasure.
She came with a scream, her body convulsing around me, her pussy clenching and unclenching in a series of spasms that milked my own orgasm from me. I spilled myself into her, a hot flood of release that seemed to go on forever, draining me of every last drop of energy and emotion.
She rode me reverse cowgirl as well, her back to me, giving me a view of the curve of her spine, the dip of her lower back, the full globes of her buttocks as they rose and fell. I reached up and gripped her hips, feeling the muscles flex beneath my palms as she moved. Her stamina was that of a mare—never ending, never slowing, never missing a beat in the rhythm she had established. She moved with a precision that seemed almost mechanical, yet the sounds she made were utterly human, raw and animalistic.
Her moans, her gasps, her cries of pleasure filled the room, mingling with the creak of the bed and the slap of our bodies, creating a symphony of sex that was both beautiful and brutal.
And when it was over, when I finally collapsed beside her, my body trembling with exhaustion and my mind buzzing with a pleasant haze.
If there was a special training course on sex, she would be the commander, the master instructor. She knew exactly how to position her body, exactly how to angle her hips, exactly how to contract her inner muscles to maximize pleasure for both of us. She could control her breathing, her movements, her responses with a discipline that was both impressive and a little intimidating. And she demanded the same level of control from me, pushing me to my limits, testing my endurance, challenging me to match her intensity, to meet her passion with my own.
Her pussy was like the mouth of a succubus, feeding on male seed, always hungry for more. It never dried, not for a single second throughout the entire night. Every time I entered her, she was wet and ready, her body welcoming me with the same enthusiasm as the first time.
And it had an insatiable thirst for my semen.
After each round, she would hold me inside her for as long as possible, her inner muscles working like a milking mechanism, drawing out every last drop of my essence.
In between each round, Yan Lin would lay her head on my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my stomach, her breath warm against my skin. She would talk about Bingqing, her voice soft, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the demanding, dominant tone she adopted during our moments of passion. She would ask me about my wife—what she was like, what she enjoyed, what our life was like together. And I, in my post-coital haze, would answer her questions honestly, my defenses down, my usual guard completely gone. She seemed to be building a mental map of my wife, a detailed portrait that she was piecing together, fragment by fragment, with each passing minute.
Near dawn, I finally went to sleep. I was utterly spent, totally drained, my body aching in ways I had never experienced before. My legs were weak, my arms were heavy, and my mind was clouded with the fog of exhaustion and satisfaction. I was pleased to the very core of my soul, content in a way that I had not felt in years.
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I woke up the next day only to discover that I was late again. The clock on the nightstand read 11:47 AM, while golden sunlight streamed through the curtains, bright enough to tell me the morning was already well advanced.
I was supposed to move into my new apartment today, yet here I was, sprawled across the bed like a corpse dragged back from the grave.
I was famished. My legs shook as I swung them over the edge of the bed. My entire body ached, every muscle protesting the movement. My balls felt hollow, emptied completely of their contents. The devil had sucked out all my vitality, leaving me a hollow shell of a man.
I managed to clean myself up, the hot water of the shower reviving me somewhat. I put on the clothes I had brought with me in my suitcase, the fabric feeling strange against my skin after the night of nudity. When I walked into the living room, Yan Lin was already there, waiting for me.
The table had already been set with food. She must have heard me moving around and known I was awake.The dishes were still warm, steam rising from bowls of congee and plates of eggs and meats. I noticed that all the dishes were traditional foods meant to nourish male vitality—oysters, ginger, goji berries, eggs cooked in sesame oil. She had prepared everything deliberately, knowing exactly what I would need after the night we had shared.
Well, At least she was considerate.
I shrugged and sat down, feeling no shame as I devoured the food. Another man might have found it embarrassing to have his exhaustion displayed so openly, might have felt his pride wounded by the implication that he needed to replenish his strength.
But I knew what I had been through the night before, knew the woman I had spent the night with playing sex .
If I did not replenish my yang energy, it would be my own loss. And she did not say a word about it, did not tease me or mock me for my hunger. She simply sat across from me and watched me eat, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of her lips.
When I finished, I gathered my things and prepared to leave for my new apartment. Yan Lin didn't come with me. She said there was work waiting for her at the bar, things that needed her attention.
I understood. She had already done enough for me, helped me more than I could expect for.
She had a business to run, after all.
And besides, after last night, we no longer needed those small gestures of reassurance. Whatever existed between us now had been built on something solid, something that did not require constant proof.
Though I would never be foolish enough to trust anyone completely again.
That lesson had already been carved deep into my bones.
Of course, before I left, she had to make a few moves of her own. If she didn't, then she wouldn't have been Yan Lin.
She hugged me, pressing her body against mine, her arms wrapping around my neck. She kissed me wildly, her tongue exploring my mouth with a familiarity that felt both new and natural. Her hand slid down my body, found my cock through the fabric of my pants, and squeezed. She rubbed me through the material.
Then she pulled back, that familiar evil glint shining in her eyes. She leaned close, her lips brushing against my ear, her breath hot against my skin.
"Why don't you stay here with me tonight?" she purred. "I still have some moves left that I wanted to show you."
My entire body shuddered. The thought of another night like the one we had just shared was simultaneously terrifying and intoxicating. I knew that if I stayed, I would not survive. She would drain me completely, and leave me a withered husk.
So I did the only sensible thing.
I ran like a startled rabbit.
Her laughter followed me all the way out the door, warm and melodic, echoing behind me as I made my escape.
---
Moving into my new apartment was making me feel happy.
I had expected to feel pain, reluctance, a sense of loss as I stepped away from my old life. I had expected to look around my new, smaller space and feel the weight of everything I had given up. But as I stood in the middle of my new living room, looking at the bare walls and the empty shelves, all I felt was excitement and anticipation for the future.
The apartment was small—but it was mine.
It did not carry the memory of Bingqing's laughter, the scent of her perfume, the weight of her presence in every corner.
It was clean and neutral and full of possibility, and I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
For the first time since discovering the truth, I was no longer hurting because of Bingqing. There was no dull ache in my chest, no lingering grief, no hollow emptiness where my love for her had once lived.
I felt content.
I felt free.
I did not have many things with me. The two suitcases I had packed from the old house contained everything I owned that mattered. One afternoon was enough to organize the entire place—to hang my clothes in the closet, arrange my few books on the shelf, and set up my laptop on the small desk by the window.
By the time the sun began sinking toward the horizon, the apartment was as settled as it was ever going to be.
I sat down on the couch, suddenly hungry, and stared at my phone, trying to decide what to order for dinner. The options blurred together on the screen, none of them particularly appealing.
Then my doorbell rang.
My heart leaped in my chest. Even before I stood up, even before I crossed the room to the door, I knew who it was. There was only one person in the world who knew my new address.
A smile spread across my face as I reached for the handle. It looked like the first night in my new apartment would not be a lonely one, but a night full of passion and sex.
I opened the door, and there she was.
Yan Lin. My sex goddess.
Only last night, she had drained me completely, leaving me a hollow shell of a man. It hadn't even been twelve hours since I had last seen her, since I had fled from her apartment like a frightened rabbit.
And Yet as I looked at her now, at her divine, beautiful face—I felt something stir inside me once again.
I realized that I had missed her in my subconscious heart . I had missed her smile, her teasing, her borderline evil sense of humor. I had missed the warmth of her body in my arms, the sound of her laughter, I missed the way she looked at me.
My dick twitched in my pants as her smile bloomed across her face. I realized that even after the extreme physical exhaustion of the night before, I was once again ready for her. My body remembered what she felt like, craved the feeling of her skin against mine, and it was responding with an enthusiasm that defied all logic.
She stepped into my arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she had always belonged there. Her body pressed against mine, warm and familiar, and I felt something settle in my chest that I had not known was restless.
"Did you miss me?" she purred, her lips finding mine.
We stood there in the doorway, exchanging kisses for who knows how long . Her mouth moved against mine with a tenderness that surprised me, a gentleness that contrasted with the wildness of the night before. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were soft, her smile genuine.
She held up the bags she was carrying, presenting them like trophies. "I brought all the ingredients. Let us have a romantic dinner."
"Then I shall cook," I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face.
She shook her head, that familiar evil glint returning to her eyes.
"No, let me do it." She leaned close, her lips brushing against my ear. "You will be doing hard work all night anyway."
I laughed, anticipation building inside me. It looked like tonight would be another crazy night.
Only if I knew how crazy that night would actually be.