A Sweeter Reunion

Pleasure

His c**k was stretched so tight it ached, yet the person who’d promised to help still stood there in a daze. She’d been brisk enough when negotiating terms; now, faced with carrying them out, she dawdled. Jiang Ping let out a cold smirk, seized her hand, and pressed it straight down against his lower belly.

Before Cheng You’an could steel herself, her palm was forced flush against that rigid shaft. The heat scalded her, and she instinctively tried to jerk back, but he pinned her hand ruthlessly in place.

It was a hot potato in the truest sense. Except it was far, far longer than any potato.

She looked up at him with faint panic flickering in her eyes. The most sensitive part of Jiang Ping’s entire body now lay in her hand. Her palm was small, soft, exquisitely comfortable—a sensation worlds away from his own grip. He half-lidded his eyes in pleasure and deliberately taunted, “There’s still time to back out.”

Only then did Cheng You’an force herself calm. The c**k suddenly twitched in her palm, and the blush that had just begun to fade bloomed across her cheeks again.

“I’m not backing out.”

Jiang Ping hummed, the sound dragging rough and husky from his throat. “Then move.”

“I… I don’t know how,” she whispered.

He arched an eyebrow, voice theatrical. “So there is something the little bookworm can’t do. Seems you aren’t quite as all-capable as they say.”

Cheng You’an pressed her lips together. How could this possibly be compared to studying?

Jiang Ping was in fine spirits. “This time I’ll do the teaching. Classmate Cheng, do pay close attention.”

She gave a soft “Oh.”

“Grip it tight.”

She obeyed and tightened her fingers. The sudden clamp around his c**k sent a shock of pleasure bolting straight to the glans. Jiang Ping choked out a muffled groan, sweat beading across his forehead. Startled, Cheng You’an trembled. “A-are you okay?”

He shot her a resentful glare. “I’m fine.” He’d nearly come right then and there from that single squeeze. No question—he’d gone without far too long.

Cheng You’an muttered inwardly: this was not the look of someone fine. His eyes were practically devouring her. She eased her grip a little, not daring to hold too tight. “Is this okay?”

Jiang Ping grunted and guided her hand in a slow, pumping rhythm. She couldn’t tell whether her hand was too small or his p***s too thick; her five fingers couldn’t fully encircle it, a gap still left. She cut off the thought. Why was she even thinking about this? Just pretend this hand wasn’t hers, let him use it as he pleased.

But even so, her thoughts kept being dragged along by raw sensation. Veins crawled along the shaft like raised, uneven ground, rubbing against her fingers with overwhelming presence, and even giving small pulses, as if answering her touch.

After a dozen or so strokes, Jiang Ping released her hand. “Now you do it.”

Panic gripped her instantly—she hadn’t learned it yet. With the guiding weight over her knuckles gone, she was like a novice driver suddenly bereft of the instructor, steering wildly. Her loosely curled fingers inadvertently caught a wiry curl of pubic hair at the base of the shaft and tugged it upward. Jiang Ping hissed. “Are you trying to kill me with pain?”

Cheng You’an hurriedly apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

The sting was brief, but stopping halfway left him hanging in unbearable frustration. He waved her on. “Hurry up, no dawdling.”

She drew a deep breath, recalled the motions he’d just shown, and began to mimic them. Stroke down slowly from the tip, then back up, each time letting her right index finger graze that spot just beneath the underside of the glans. She didn’t understand why he always lingered there, but earlier when she deliberately pressed, a heavy, breathy groan had escaped him. That was how she knew—this was the key point, the one that would be tested.

Jiang Ping had to admit, at times, that even if the little bookworm didn’t look especially clever, her learning ability was genuinely formidable. A few pumps from her, and already he felt an excruciating blend of pain and pleasure unlike anything before.

Bending over was too taxing. He lifted her off the desk, hooked the computer chair with his foot, and sank lazily down into it, legs spreading wide so she half-knelt to stroke him. Cheng You’an took hold of the p***s again. As her fingers brushed over the glans, she felt a trace of slickness. At the tip, a tiny hole fluttered and gaped as if breathing, and when the shaft quivered with excitement, it even leaked a milky white fluid. Did boys get wet, too? This was nowhere in her body of knowledge.

The p***s kept growing larger in her hand, its color deepening to a purplish red that was frightening. “Can we stop?” Her arm was sore.

Only now was Jiang Ping truly tasting the pleasure. He half-closed his eyes and hummed low, “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Cheng You’an puffed her cheeks and resignedly went on. From his vantage above, he watched her petite frame crouched between his legs, curled into an even tinier shape. At this angle, his c**k looked as if it were about to press right against her face. What would it feel like to shove his c**k into her mouth? The mere thought made his d**k stiffen with a sharp, aching throb.

She felt the p***s in her hand change, turning poker-straight and rigid, like a fire-hardened rod. A shadow fell over her head. When she looked up, aware something had shifted, his face was dark and intent. He reached down, covered her hand with his, and drove her fingers into a rapid, ruthless stroke unlike anything before.

She had never seen a man masturbate, never imagined being caught and forced to help someone else do it. The speed was so fierce she could only see a blurred afterimage of her own sliding fingers and the p***s swelling more and more, as if all his blood had surged into the glans, the color deepening obscenely. Her fingers were crushed in his grip, inescapable; beside her ear, his breathing turned ragged and rough. She saw the rapture written across his face, and her own ear tips burned hot. Somehow, the chirping of insects outside seemed to vanish, leaving only their breathing and heartbeats, magnifying louder and louder.

The itching inside her p***y swept back with full force. She unconsciously pressed her thighs together, and a trickle of slick arousal seeped out, soaking her already wet panties.

Suddenly, his fingers clamped down hard. He grunted, his p***s flexed rigid and straight in her palm, the slit gaped wide, and semen shot over her hand.

She stared somewhat stupidly at her palm as the sticky fluid dripped between her fingers. Her hand was numb, immovable, as if it no longer belonged to her. But right then, she wished with all her heart that this hand truly wasn’t hers.

Jiang Ping leaned back against the chair, eyes closed, chest heaving violently. So utterly, deeply good. He had never experienced such a thorough, cathartic release. After a few light pants, he opened his eyes and saw the little bookworm still foolishly half-crouching there. “What—want another round?”

Snapping back to her senses, Cheng You’an shot upright just as a pack of tissues was tossed into her arms. She darted a glance at him, then pulled out a tissue and meticulously wiped each finger, determined not to leave a single trace. Disgust was practically printed on her face.

Jiang Ping was in too fine a mood to mind. His eyelids lifted lazily. “Today’s performance was barely passable. I hope you’ll keep striving and do better next time.”

Cheng You’an’s doe eyes rounded. “In your dreams.”

He arched an eyebrow and watched her storm out, slamming the door, and let out a soft, scoffing laugh.

Ten minutes later, after a quick clean-up, he was about to go shower. He pulled the door open and hastily retracted his foot. A stack of papers lay on the floor. Ten full sheets of physics problems. A sticky note was attached, the handwriting as elegant and lovely as its owner.

[No blanks allowed. Finish every single one.]

The little bookworm had gotten smarter.

Jiang Ping felt a distinct toothache coming on.