Mom, I'm so happy to have you.

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

I was born into an ordinary family, an only child, and both my parents worked in government offices.

As a child, like most children, I was very attached to my mother, and she loved me dearly, even spoiling me. Our mother-son relationship was so close that my father was "jealous" of me. Although my mother wasn't a great beauty, she was still quite attractive, a beautiful and virtuous wife and mother. I often thought that when I grew up, I would find a wife as good as my mother.

After starting junior high school, for some reason, I gradually distanced myself from my mother, no longer snuggling up to her, no longer playing with her, and even reluctant to talk to her much. My mother, however, remained the same, caring for me in every way, big or small, which made me increasingly impatient and resentful of her. I don't remember when it started, but I began to speak harshly to my mother and would occasionally scold her. Even so, my mother never lost her temper with me for it and never held my rudeness against me.

Entering puberty, I began to have sexual problems. I learned to solve the problem with my hands without being taught, but I was relatively restrained, only doing it about three or four times a month.

I have a problem: I like women's feet. I don't know when I started liking them; it seems like I was born with it. Many times, when masturbating, I can reach orgasm just by imagining playing with women's feet.

When I was about to graduate from junior high school, one Sunday was my grandmother's birthday. After finishing my self-study in the afternoon, I went to my grandmother's house. The front door of my grandmother's house faced the door of a guest room, and from the front door, I could see the foot of the bed inside. That day, when I entered the room, I was surprised to see a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed—due to the limited view, I could only see the bare calves and feet—I couldn't help but feel excited, "Whose feet are these?" But then I realized, "These are my mother's feet!"

Alas, what a disappointment! It turned out that my mother had been working hard at my grandmother's house and was sleeping on that bed wearing a skirt and a dress.

In my disappointment, my mind started racing: "If only it weren't Mom, I could have looked at her a little longer. How come I never noticed her feet before..." I stopped abruptly, overwhelmed with guilt.

For the rest of the day, I tried my best not to look at Mom's feet, but I felt uneasy, as if I had done something wrong.

That night, after going to bed, I imagined masturbating while playing with a celebrity's feet. Just as I was about to climax, Mom's feet appeared in my mind. At that moment, I completely lost control and reached orgasm in a state of extreme excitement. After the orgasm, I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and wanted to slap myself.

In the days that followed, perhaps due to the pressure of studying and my own efforts to control myself, I no longer felt the urge to kick my mother's feet. My attitude towards her also changed significantly. Although I still didn't talk to her much, I no longer resented her concern for me, nor did I speak harshly to her.

My mother quickly noticed my change and was overjoyed, becoming even more attentive to me. The more she did this, the more uneasy I felt.

The night before the high school entrance exam, my mother brought a bowl of sweet soup into my room. I was busy doing my homework, so I asked her to put it down first. She put down the sweet soup but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat down on my bedside, lovingly watching me do my homework.

My attention unconsciously shifted to my mother. Before, I didn't have a concept of mature female beauty; I'd always been attracted to youthful, radiant, and slender girls. My mother was no longer young; her beautiful face, though not showing signs of age, had lost its youthful glow, and her figure had become slightly plump. Logically, she shouldn't have caught my attention. Originally, I'd only been attracted to my mother's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered a beauty about her that I couldn't describe—a beauty different from my pretty female classmates or young actresses. I suddenly realized that this beauty was even more captivating, more alluring.

Suddenly, the terrifying word "incest" flashed into my mind. I dared not think any further, quickly gulping down the sugar water before handing the bowl to my mother and asking her to leave. My mother took the bowl, looking at me with a hint of reluctance before leaving. After she left, it took me a while to calm down and continue working on my problems.

For several days, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam. After the exam, I was completely exhausted. However, to my relief, I felt I had done quite well.

That night, I decided to relax properly with my hands; I hadn't released my pent-up energy for days. But lying in bed that night, the several female celebrities and classmates I thought of couldn't arouse me. Then, my mother seemed to naturally appear in my mind, and I immediately became extremely excited. After some hesitation, I comforted myself, saying, "I'll just indulge myself tonight, and I won't do it again." Afterwards, I felt immense satisfaction, but also utterly disgusted.

My summer vacation after junior high was relaxed but boring. I didn't have many friends or hobbies, so I spent all my time at home, passing the time with novels. Back then, there weren't many erotic novels, and the sexual descriptions were only superficial, but they already excited me immensely. My "sexual interest" grew stronger and stronger, and I masturbated more and more frequently. At first, it was only once or twice a week, but later it developed into almost daily masturbation, sometimes even two or three times a day.

My mother, with whom I spent every day, gradually became the primary object of my sexual fantasies. My sense of guilt lessened without me realizing it, and I became uncontrollably and passionately infatuated with her. Every smile, every gesture, every step she took was captivating in my eyes; her attire was always impeccable. I was completely smitten.

This wasn't due to any bad influence; at that time, I hadn't heard of or read about incestuous relationships between mothers and sons. Looking back now, it was probably because my mother was the only woman in my life, and she was beautiful.

Although I harbored illicit thoughts about her, I dared not act recklessly in real life. I would secretly take my mother's underwear, shoes, and socks when no one was home to satisfy myself, but the more I did this, the more I longed for my mother. I was tormented by my desire for her.

The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. I could no longer devote myself to my studies as wholeheartedly as before. Fortunately, the first year of high school wasn't too stressful, and my grades were still barely above average.

One evening in mid-October of that year, I felt thirsty while studying in my room, so I went to the living room to get a drink of water. When I got to the living room, I saw my mother wearing a short-sleeved pajama set, half-lying on the sofa, watching TV and massaging her feet. Her long, strong calves and fair, rosy feet made my heart flutter. I quickly poured myself a glass of water and stood behind my mother, pretending to watch TV, while greedily stealing glances at her feet. I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be if I could play with my mother's feet to my heart's content.

Suddenly, an idea struck me: I would pretend to massage my mother's feet to satisfy my urge!

After making up my mind, I said to my mother, "Mom, did you go down to inspect work again today?" "

Yes."

"That must be tiring. Let me massage your feet."

My mother happily agreed.

So I sat down next to her, put her feet on my lap, and gently began to massage them. I find it strange that I never noticed my mother's alluring feet when I was little. Perhaps it was because my mother was an untouchable goddess in my heart back then. When I was little, I often played and frolicked with my mother, and it was so easy to touch her feet.

Stroking those long-desired beautiful feet made me increasingly excited; I really wanted to hug and kiss her feet to my heart's content.

At first, my mother just watched me lovingly massage her feet, but then, perhaps sensing something, her expression became a little unnatural.

"Okay. Much better now, no need to massage anymore,"

my mother said, withdrawing her feet. I had no choice but to give up and reluctantly went back to my room.

Back in my room, I immediately closed the door, sniffed and licked my hands—which didn't actually smell—and then excitedly took care of the problem with my hands.

After that incident, I knew my mother had become aware of my infidelity, so I never offered to massage her feet again.

Days passed, but my desire for my mother didn't diminish in the slightest. I often dreamed of her, and sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night, when my father wasn't home, and I felt an urge to rape her.

Besides my mother, nothing else in my life could hold my attention anymore. My grades gradually declined. In the first semester of my first year of high school, I barely passed the midterm exams, but I only ranked in the thirties on the final exams—my worst performance ever. My father gave me a severe scolding for it. While my father scolded me, my mother watched me silently, her eyes filled with the same loving kindness as before, but also with worry and a faint sadness that seemed to know everything. I couldn't help but suspect that my mother already knew about my illicit thoughts. And indeed, it seemed so; no mother is unaware of her child's feelings.

During the winter break, my mother tried several times to talk to me alone—she had tried before—but because I felt guilty, I never gave her the chance, and I didn't even want to be alone with her. Each time, my mother left disappointed.

I was afraid that one day I would lose control and do something irreparable, and that day finally came.

In April of that year, I had a recurring high fever for several days and couldn't go to school. My mother also took leave from work to take care of me at home. That morning, after getting an injection at the hospital and returning home, I slept until the afternoon.

In my dream, I saw my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her legs.

My mother noticed I was awake and immediately came into the room, touched my forehead, and then happily said, "The fever's gone! A little more medicine and you should be fine. Oh, and I need to change your blanket."

Saying this, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and reached for the blanket from the top shelf of the cabinet next to my bed. Because she wanted to take more, her right foot landed on my pillow.

At that moment, I was overcome with lust and couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing her foot. My mother turned her head and looked at me, but didn't say anything and continued to get the blanket. I stroked her feet a few times, then bent down and started kissing them randomly.

Only then did Mom tense up. She dropped the blanket, jumped off the bed, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving.

I thought I'd really messed up. Just as I was wondering what to do, Mom came in with a bowl of medicine, her face calm. She sat down beside my bed, fed me the medicine, and then changed my blanket—this time she didn't put her feet on my bed—telling me to sleep a little longer before leaving again. She acted as if nothing had happened.

I was incredibly excited because I had finally kissed Mom's feet! At the same time, I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by my recklessness.

In the following days, I felt awkward whenever I was with my mother, but she didn't bring it up again and treated me as before.

Her attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I secretly resolved to kiss my mother's feet again. I knew the best opportunity was when she was sleeping alone.

About a month later, the opportunity arrived. That noon, my father didn't come home, and my mother was taking a nap alone in her room.

I hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered the courage to go into my mother's room.

When I reached my mother's bedside, she was still asleep. She was sleeping face down, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from under the covers.

Looking at her bare, alluring feet, my breathing quickened. I had originally thought she would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to seize the opportunity to kiss her feet. But now I changed my mind.

I leaned down, bringing my nose close to her feet to smell their fragrance. She had worn leather shoes all morning, but her feet only had a faint, intoxicating scent, not at all smelly. I sniffed her feet repeatedly for a while before finally kissing them. I kissed the soles and heels of her feet. Just as I was sucking on her toes, her foot twitched, and she immediately woke up.

When Mom turned over and found it was me, she didn't look much surprised, just a little unhappy. At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed. I stood up, left the room without saying a word, grabbed my schoolbag, and went to school.

Last time, I had only given Mom a few quick kisses on the feet; this time, I truly enjoyed them. I was extremely satisfied.

When I got home from school in the evening, Mom and Dad were already home. As usual, Mom was busy in the kitchen, and Dad was reading the newspaper in the living room. When Mom brought out the dishes, she gave me a reproachful look. Although I didn't really care, I was too embarrassed to meet her gaze.

After that, just as I expected, Mom didn't pursue the matter and treated me as well as usual, only intentionally or unintentionally avoiding spending time alone with me.

This semester, my studies still didn't improve, my grades hovering between 30th and 40th place. Dad has scolded me several times, and I really want to concentrate on my studies, but my heart has been completely captured by Mom. Especially after that night when I "ambushed" Mom, all I could think about was how to get satisfaction again.

My dad usually goes on business trips for a few days every month or two, but he didn't go for almost three months. I later found out it was because he was busy with a special project. I was so worried!

Finally, in mid-July, my dad was going on a three-day business trip. I was as happy as a child celebrating the New Year.

On the day my dad left, I was at home in the morning, absentmindedly reading a novel, anxiously waiting for my mom to come home from work. Time passed so slowly; I finally made it to lunchtime when my mom came home.

At lunchtime, I had no appetite, but I tried my best to control my emotions, not wanting my mom to notice anything. Only when my mom was clearing the dishes did I secretly stare at her bare feet in slippers, thinking that those feet would be mine again soon.

After washing the dishes, Mom didn't go for her usual afternoon nap; instead, she started cleaning. I patiently waited, thinking she'd probably go to sleep after she finished. But Mom didn't finish until almost 2 PM, and then she went to work.

I was extremely disappointed and could only console myself that I'd wait until Mom went to sleep that night.

That evening, amidst my anxiety, it was finally bedtime. Mom turned off the TV and went into her room. I almost jumped for joy. But to my surprise, Mom immediately closed the door and slammed the lock shut.

I was stunned; I felt like I'd fallen into an icebox.

That night I didn't sleep well. My heart was filled with a mixture of love and hate for my mother; it felt like a breakup.

The next day at noon, I still held onto a sliver of hope. But after my mother went into her room, she slammed the lock shut again. I was completely devastated.

That night, I went to bed early, seething with anger and resentment. Around ten o'clock, my mother turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, then turned away, ignoring her. My mother stood silently by my bed for a while, seemed to sigh softly, and then left.

She sat silently in the living room for quite some time, finally returning to her room around 11 o'clock. I heard her close the door, but I didn't hear that hateful "slam." And then a long time passed without any further sound.

Had I missed hearing the lock, or had Mom forgotten to lock it? My heart pounded.

I was determined to find out. I got out of bed, put on my shorts, and went out.

I stood in front of Mom's bedroom door and tried turning the lock; it was indeed unlocked.

Mom had been asleep for almost half an hour, so I figured she should be asleep by now. I pushed the door open and went in.

The bedside lamp was dimly lit—Mom always kept it on when she slept alone—and in its light I could see her lying face down, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, jet-black hair, full and graceful figure, snow-white and slender legs, and warm and charming feet made my blood boil.

I carefully walked to my mother's bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized she wasn't asleep; she was awake. I stood there for a while, carefully observing her, and became even more certain that she was awake.

"Why isn't Mom paying attention to me? She's awake!" I was truly puzzled.

Finally, I decided to see what would make her stop pretending to be asleep.

I lifted the mosquito net, bent down, and gently took my mother's foot in my right hand. When I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away from my hand. I was secretly pleased and began to gently massage her soft foot. My mother let me do as I pleased, ignoring me.

At that moment, I couldn't resist any longer, so I lowered my head and kissed her feet. When Mom noticed me kissing her feet, she immediately tried to pull them away. But how could I let go? I grabbed Mom's feet tightly and started kissing and licking them indiscriminately.

Mom struggled a few times but couldn't break free, so she loosened her grip and let me do as I pleased.

I kissed Mom's feet frantically, I don't know how long I kissed them, until the skin on Mom's feet was all wrinkled, before I finally let go.

My mother's indulgence emboldened me like never before. After releasing her legs, I threw myself at her without thinking, hugging her tightly.

But after embracing her, I felt a little lost, just staring blankly at her face.

My mother looked at me gently, calmly, her eyes filled with love.

After a moment of awkward silence, my mother reached out and hugged me, gently stroking my back and head, and slowly pressing my head down so that my forehead touched hers, rubbing it lightly, occasionally kissing my cheek.

Suddenly, I seemed to understand what to do. I eagerly kissed my mother's face, nose, earlobes, pink neck, and her sweet, soft lips. The feeling of kissing was so wonderful that I ignored my mother's struggles and greedily kissed her again and again.

Suddenly, my mother pushed me away, then sat up and slowly took off her clothes. Seeing this, I immediately got up and took off my clothes as well.

Facing my mother's naked body, I was once again at a loss.

My mother was a little shy when she took off her clothes, but seeing my behavior, she seemed to relax completely. She smiled slightly and lay down calmly.

"Come on up," my mother whispered.

I obediently climbed onto my mother. My mother embraced my head, burying it between her full, soft breasts. I immediately snapped back to reality, becoming aroused again, kneading and kissing her breasts incessantly. My actions aroused my mother as well, her breathing gradually becoming heavier, her cheeks flushed.

I kissed my way down my mother's breasts, and just as I was about to kiss her genitals, my mother suddenly clamped her legs together.

"Not there!" my mother said firmly in a low voice.

But how could I agree? After some effort, I finally managed to pry my mother's legs apart. I carefully examined my mother's private parts. "So, the honey hole is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy scent, then licked it with my tongue.

My mother moaned softly as I licked her, and her body swayed slightly. At this moment, although I didn't know that this was a sign of my mother's excitement, I vaguely felt that it wasn't a bad thing, so I licked even more enthusiastically, and finally even probed my tongue into my mother's vagina. After

I had kissed my mother's honey hole enough, I continued to kiss my mother's legs and feet. By this time, I was extremely excited.

After I climbed back onto my mother, she kissed my face, closed her eyes, and grasped my penis with her hand, thrusting her hips forward.

At that moment, I realized what was about to happen, and I focused intently on feeling it:

the foreskin on my penis slowly peeled back, and my penis slowly entered a warm, lubricated passage.

The feeling was so wonderful! As soon as my mother released her hand, I immediately began to thrust forcefully. Each thrust was harder than the last, and my mother's vagina became increasingly wet. Sex was truly so ecstatic; I enjoyed it ecstatically, quickly reaching orgasm, embracing my mother and ejaculating all my semen.

Afterwards, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. Mom opened her eyes, reached for some toilet paper on the bedside table, then shifted her lower body to remove my penis from her, pushed me away, sat up, quickly cleaned herself up, and went to take a shower.

I lay alone for a while before getting up and putting on my clothes. Mom returned from the shower, already changed into clean pajamas.

We were both a little embarrassed, and I felt somewhat lost. Mom seemed much calmer; as she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed."

I listened and hesitantly left Mom's room.

That night, my mind was a complete mess. I couldn't believe it—I had Mom! I felt a mixture of excitement at having achieved my goal and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in thought, I don't know when I finally fell asleep.

When I woke up the next day, it was almost noon. At lunch, my mother didn't mention the previous night at all, and instead made small talk, her face relaxed.

Seeing this, I felt a little relieved too. That evening, my father came home, and I couldn't help feeling a little guilty in his presence. But my mother remained calm, her face showing no sign of anything amiss.

In the days that followed, my mother treated me the same as before, and I gradually relaxed and stopped dwelling on it.

A few days into the new school term, my father didn't come home for lunch one day. My sexual desire returned. After lunch, while Mom was washing the dishes, I hugged her waist from behind. Mom understood my intentions and softly said, "No, what if your father comes back?"

I begged repeatedly, but Mom just wouldn't agree, so I finally gave up. However, I still played with Mom's legs that noon, which was some consolation.

Two weeks later, Dad went on a business trip, and that evening Mom finally agreed to be with me again. We did it two nights in a row that time.

From then on, Mom almost always agreed to be with me only when Dad didn't come home at night. Mom had her reasons; only when they were sleeping at night could they lock the door from the inside, so even if Dad suddenly came home, he wouldn't be able to open the door and wouldn't suspect anything.

My mother loves me very much, but that love is simply a mother's love for her son. Although she never complains and even experiences orgasm during sex with me, I know it's only for me; she's willing to do it with me because she loves me so much.

One shouldn't be too selfish. After I went to university, I started dating girls and gradually stopped making demands of my mother.

Now I have my own little family, and my relationship with my mother is still very good. We've never intended to forget the past—how could we possibly forget it? I love my mother deeply, and if she's willing, I still want to have sex with her. Because my love for my mother goes beyond a son's love for his mother; it's also a husband's love for his wife. My mother is my first wife in reality.

Mom, I love you!

I was born into an ordinary family, an only child, and both my parents worked in government agencies.

As a child, like most children, I was very attached to my mother, and she loved me dearly, even spoiling me. Our mother-son relationship was so close that my father was "jealous" of me. Although my mother wasn't a great beauty, she was still quite attractive, a beautiful and virtuous wife and mother. I often thought that when I grew up, I would find a wife as good as my mother.

After starting junior high school, for some reason, I gradually distanced myself from my mother. I stopped snuggling up to her, stopped playing with her, and even stopped talking to her. But my mother remained the same, caring for me and looking after me in every way, big or small. This made me increasingly impatient and resentful of her. I don't remember when it started, but I began to speak harshly to my mother and would occasionally yell at her. Even so, my mother never got angry with me for it and never held my rudeness against me.

Entering puberty, I began to experience sexual problems. I learned to relieve myself with my hands, but I was relatively restrained, only doing it about three or four times a month.

I have a peculiar fascination with women's feet. I don't know when it started; it feels like I was born with it. Often, when I masturbate, just imagining playing with women's feet is enough to bring me to orgasm.

Near the end of junior high, one Sunday was my grandmother's birthday. After finishing self-study in the afternoon, I went to her house. The front door of her house faced the door of a guest room, and from the front door, I could see the foot of the bed inside. That day, as I entered, I saw a pair of very white and beautiful feet on the bed—due to the limited view, I could only see the bare calves and feet—and I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement, "Whose feet are these?" But then I realized, "These are my mother's feet!"

Sigh, what a disappointment! It turned out that Mom had been working hard at Grandma's house and was sleeping on the bed in her dress and clothes.

Disappointed, my mind started racing: "If only that weren't Mom, I could have looked at her a little longer. How come I never noticed her feet before..." I stopped thinking, overwhelmed with guilt.

For the rest of the day, I tried my best not to look at Mom's feet, but I felt uneasy, as if I had done something wrong.

That night, after going to bed, I imagined playing with a celebrity's feet and masturbated. Just as I was about to climax, Mom's feet appeared in my mind. At that moment, I completely lost control and reached orgasm in a state of extreme excitement. After the climax, I was filled with guilt, feeling like a beast, and wanted to slap myself.

In the days that followed, perhaps due to the pressure of studying and my own efforts to control myself, I no longer felt the urge to touch my mother's feet. My attitude towards her also changed significantly. Although I still didn't talk to her much, I no longer resented her concern for me, nor did I speak harshly to her.

My mother quickly noticed the change in me and was overjoyed, becoming even more attentive to me. The more she did this, the more uneasy I felt.

The night before the high school entrance exam, my mother brought a bowl of sweet soup into my room. I was busy doing my homework, so I asked her to put it down first. She put down the sugar water but didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat down beside my bed, watching me lovingly as I did my homework.

My attention unconsciously shifted to my mother. Before, I didn't have a concept of mature female beauty; I had always been attracted to youthful, beautiful, and slender girls. My mother was no longer young; her beautiful face, though not showing signs of age, had lost its youthful glow, and her figure had become slightly plump. Logically, she shouldn't have attracted my attention. Originally, I had only been attracted to my mother's feet, but that night, I inadvertently discovered a kind of beauty about her that I couldn't describe—a beauty different from that of my pretty female classmates or young actresses. I suddenly realized that this beauty was even more moving, more attractive.

Suddenly, the terrifying word "incest" flashed into my mind. I dared not think any further, quickly gulping down the sugar water before handing the bowl to my mother and asking her to leave. My mother took the bowl, looking at me with a hint of reluctance before leaving. After she left, it took me a while to calm down and continue working on my problems.

For several days, I devoted myself entirely to the high school entrance exam. After the exam, I was completely exhausted. However, to my relief, I felt I had done quite well.

That night, I decided to relax properly with my hands; I hadn't released my pent-up energy for days. But lying in bed that night, the several female celebrities and classmates I thought of couldn't arouse me. Then, my mother seemed to naturally appear in my mind, and I immediately became extremely excited. After some hesitation, I comforted myself, saying, "I'll just indulge myself tonight, and I won't do it again." Afterwards, I felt immense satisfaction, but also utterly disgusted.

My summer vacation after junior high was relaxed but boring. I didn't have many friends or hobbies, so I spent all my time at home, passing the time with novels. Back then, there weren't many erotic novels, and the sexual descriptions were only superficial, but they already excited me immensely. My "sexual interest" grew stronger and stronger, and I masturbated more and more frequently. At first, it was only once or twice a week, but later it developed into almost daily masturbation, sometimes even two or three times a day.

My mother, with whom I spent every day, gradually became the primary object of my sexual fantasies. My sense of guilt lessened without me realizing it, and I became uncontrollably and passionately infatuated with her. Every smile, every gesture, every step she took was captivating in my eyes; her attire was always impeccable. I was completely smitten.

This wasn't due to any bad influence; at that time, I hadn't heard of or read about incestuous relationships between mothers and sons. Looking back now, it was probably because my mother was the only woman in my life, and she was beautiful.

Although I harbored illicit thoughts about her, I dared not act recklessly in real life. I would secretly take my mother's underwear, shoes, and socks when no one was home to satisfy myself, but the more I did this, the more I longed for my mother. I was tormented by my desire for her.

The long summer vacation finally ended, and I started high school. I could no longer devote myself to my studies as wholeheartedly as before. Fortunately, the first year of high school wasn't too stressful, and my grades were still barely above average.

One evening in mid-October of that year, I felt thirsty while studying in my room, so I went to the living room to get a drink of water. When I got to the living room, I saw my mother wearing a short-sleeved pajama set, half-lying on the sofa, watching TV and massaging her feet. Her long, strong calves and fair, rosy feet made my heart flutter. I quickly poured myself a glass of water and stood behind my mother, pretending to watch TV, while greedily stealing glances at her feet. I thought to myself, how wonderful it would be if I could play with my mother's feet to my heart's content.

Suddenly, an idea struck me: I would pretend to massage my mother's feet to satisfy my urge!

After making up my mind, I said to my mother, "Mom, did you go down to inspect work again today?" "

Yes."

"That must be tiring. Let me massage your feet."

My mother happily agreed.

So I sat down next to her, put her feet on my lap, and gently began to massage them. I find it strange that I never noticed my mother's alluring feet when I was little. Perhaps it was because my mother was an untouchable goddess in my heart back then. When I was little, I often played and frolicked with my mother, and it was so easy to touch her feet.

Stroking those long-desired beautiful feet made me increasingly excited; I really wanted to hug and kiss her feet to my heart's content.

At first, my mother just watched me lovingly massage her feet, but then, perhaps sensing something, her expression became a little unnatural.

"Okay. Much better now, no need to massage anymore,"

my mother said, withdrawing her feet. I had no choice but to give up and reluctantly went back to my room.

Back in my room, I immediately closed the door and sniffed and licked my hands—though they didn't actually smell very good—before excitedly relieving myself with them.

After that, I knew my mother had become aware of my infidelity, so I never offered to massage her feet again.

Days passed, but my desire for my mother didn't diminish in the slightest. I often dreamed of her, and sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night, when my father wasn't home, and I felt an overwhelming urge to rape her.

Besides my mother, there was nothing else in my life that I cared about. My grades gradually declined. In the first semester of my first year of high school, I barely passed the midterm exams, but I only ranked in the thirties on the final exams—my worst performance ever. My father gave me a severe scolding. While he was scolding me, my mother watched me silently, her eyes filled with the same loving kindness as before, but also with worry and a faint sadness that seemed to know everything. I couldn't help but suspect that my mother already knew about my illicit thoughts. And the facts proved her right; no mother is unaware of her child's thoughts.

During winter break, my mother tried several times to have a heart-to-heart talk with me alone—she had tried before—but because I felt guilty, I never gave her the chance, and I even refused to spend time alone with her. Each time, my mother left disappointed.

I was afraid that one day I would lose control of myself and do something irreparable, and that day finally came.

In April of that year, I had a recurring high fever for several days and couldn't go to school. My mother also took leave from work to take care of me at home. That morning, after returning home from the hospital with an injection, I slept until the afternoon.

In my dream, I dreamed of my mother again, and I woke up just as I was hugging her legs.

My mother noticed I was awake and immediately came into the room, touching my forehead. She then happily said, "The fever's gone! A little more medicine and you should be fine. Oh, and I need to change your blanket."

Saying this, she moved a stool, stood barefoot on it, and reached for the blanket from the top shelf of the bedside table. Because she wanted to take more, her right foot landed on my pillow.

At that moment, I was overcome with desire and couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing her foot. My mother turned her head to look at me, but didn't say anything and continued getting the blanket. I stroked it a few times, then lowered my head and began kissing my mother's toes indiscriminately.

Only then did Mom panic. She didn't even bother to grab the blanket, jumped off the bed, and muttered, "Nonsense!" before leaving.

I thought I'd really messed up. Just as I was wondering what to do, Mom came in with a bowl of medicine, her face calm. She sat down beside my bed, fed me the medicine, and then changed my blanket—this time she didn't put her feet on my bed—telling me to sleep a little longer before leaving again. She acted as if nothing had happened.

I was incredibly excited because I finally kissed Mom's feet! At the same time, I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by my recklessness.

In the following days, I felt somewhat uncomfortable whenever I was with my mother, but she didn't bring it up again and treated me as before.

Her attitude surprised me, but it also emboldened me. I secretly resolved to forcefully kiss my mother's feet again. I knew the best opportunity was when she was sleeping alone.

About a month later, the opportunity arrived. That noon, my father didn't come home, and my mother was taking a nap in her room.

I hesitated for a long time, but finally mustered the courage to go into her room.

When I reached her bedside, she was still asleep. My mother was sleeping face down, a thin blanket draped around her waist, her legs slightly bent and sticking out from under the covers.

Looking at her bare, alluring feet, my breathing quickened. I had originally thought she would wake up as soon as I entered the room, and I planned to take advantage of her inattention to forcefully kiss her feet. But now I changed my mind.

I leaned down, bringing my nose close to my mother's feet to smell their fragrance. My mother had worn leather shoes all morning, but her feet only had a faint, intoxicating scent, not odor at all. After sniffing her feet for a while, I finally began to kiss them. I kissed the soles and heels of her feet. Just as I was sucking on her toes, her foot twitched, and she immediately woke up.

When Mom turned over and found it was me, she didn't look much surprised, just a little unhappy. At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed. I stood up, left the room without saying a word, grabbed my schoolbag, and went to school.

Last time, I had only given Mom a few quick kisses on the feet; this time, I truly enjoyed them. I was extremely satisfied.

When I got home from school in the evening, Mom and Dad were already home. As usual, Mom was busy in the kitchen, and Dad was reading the newspaper in the living room. When Mom brought out the dishes, she gave me a reproachful look. Although I didn't really care, I was too embarrassed to meet her gaze.

After that, just as I expected, Mom didn't pursue the matter and treated me as well as usual, only intentionally or unintentionally avoiding spending time alone with me.

This semester, my studies still didn't improve, my grades hovering between 30th and 40th place. Dad has scolded me several times, and I really want to concentrate on my studies, but my heart has been completely captured by Mom. Especially after that night when I "ambushed" Mom, all I could think about was how to get satisfaction again.

My dad usually goes on business trips for a few days every month or two, but he didn't go for almost three months. I later found out it was because he was busy with a special project. I was so worried!

Finally, in mid-July, my dad was going on a three-day business trip. I was as happy as a child celebrating the New Year.

On the day my dad left, I was at home in the morning, absentmindedly reading a novel, anxiously waiting for my mom to come home from work. Time passed so slowly; I finally made it to lunchtime when my mom came home.

At lunchtime, I had no appetite, but I tried my best to control my emotions, not wanting my mom to notice anything. Only when my mom was clearing the dishes did I secretly stare at her bare feet in slippers, thinking that those feet would be mine again soon.

After washing the dishes, Mom didn't go for her usual afternoon nap; instead, she started cleaning. I patiently waited, thinking she'd probably go to sleep after she finished. But Mom didn't finish until almost 2 PM, and then she went to work.

I was extremely disappointed and could only console myself that I'd wait until Mom went to sleep that night.

That evening, amidst my anxiety, it was finally bedtime. Mom turned off the TV and went into her room. I almost jumped for joy. But to my surprise, Mom immediately closed the door and slammed the lock shut.

I was stunned; I felt like I'd fallen into an icebox.

That night I didn't sleep well. My heart was filled with a mixture of love and hate for my mother; it felt like a breakup.

The next day at noon, I still held onto a sliver of hope. But after my mother went into her room, she slammed the lock shut again. I was completely devastated.

That night, I went to bed early, seething with anger and resentment. Around ten o'clock, my mother turned off the TV and came into my room. I glanced at her, then turned away, ignoring her. My mother stood silently by my bed for a while, seemed to sigh softly, and then left.

She sat silently in the living room for quite some time, finally returning to her room around 11 o'clock. I heard her close the door, but I didn't hear that hateful "slam." And then a long time passed without any further sound.

Had I missed hearing the lock, or had Mom forgotten to lock it? My heart pounded.

I was determined to find out. I got out of bed, put on my shorts, and went out.

I stood in front of Mom's bedroom door and tried turning the lock; it was indeed unlocked.

Mom had been asleep for almost half an hour, so I figured she should be asleep by now. I pushed the door open and went in.

The bedside lamp was dimly lit—Mom always kept it on when she slept alone—and in its light I could see her lying face down, wearing only a blouse and underwear. Her long, jet-black hair, full and graceful figure, long, slender, snow-white legs, and warm, alluring feet made my blood boil.

I carefully walked to my mother's bedside and stopped. Suddenly, I realized that my mother wasn't asleep; she was awake. I stood there for a while, carefully observing her, and became even more certain that she was awake.

"Why isn't Mom paying attention to me? She's awake!" I was truly puzzled.

Finally, I decided to see what would make Mom stop pretending to be asleep.

I lifted the mosquito net, bent down, and gently took one of Mom's feet in my right hand. When I held her foot, it twitched slightly, but didn't pull away. I was secretly delighted and began to gently knead her soft foot. Mom let me do as I pleased, ignoring me.

At that moment, I couldn't resist any longer and lowered my head to kiss her foot. When Mom noticed me kissing her foot, she immediately tried to pull it away. But how could I let go? I held onto Mom's feet tightly and began kissing and licking them indiscriminately.

My mother struggled a few times but couldn't break free, so she loosened her grip and let me do as I pleased.

I kissed her feet frantically, for what seemed like an eternity, until the skin on her feet was wrinkled before finally letting go.

My mother's indulgence emboldened me like never before. After releasing her feet, I threw myself at her without thinking, hugging her tightly.

But after embracing her, I felt a little lost, just staring blankly at her face.

My mother looked at me gently, calmly, her eyes filled with love.

After a moment of awkward silence, Mom reached out and hugged me, gently stroking my back and head, then slowly pressing my head down so my forehead touched hers, rubbing it lightly, and occasionally kissing my cheek.

Suddenly, I seemed to understand what to do. I eagerly kissed Mom's face, nose, earlobes, pink neck, and her sweet, soft lips. The feeling of kissing was so wonderful; ignoring Mom's struggles, I greedily kissed her again and again.

Suddenly, Mom pushed me away, then sat up and slowly took off her clothes. Seeing this, I immediately got up and took off my clothes as well.

Facing Mom's naked body, I was once again at a loss.

My mother was initially a little shy as she took off her clothes, but seeing my reaction, she seemed to relax completely. She smiled slightly and lay down calmly.

"Come on up," she whispered.

I obediently climbed onto her. She embraced my head, burying it between her full, soft breasts. I immediately snapped out of my daze and became aroused again, kneading and kissing her breasts incessantly. My actions aroused her as well, her breathing gradually becoming heavier, her cheeks flushed.

I kissed my way down her breasts, and just as I was about to kiss her genitals, she suddenly squeezed her legs together.

"No, not there!" Mom said firmly in a low voice.

But how could I agree? After some effort, I finally managed to pry open Mom's legs. I carefully examined Mom's private parts. "So, the honey hole is just a dark red slit of flesh." I first smelled the faint fishy smell, and then licked it with my tongue.

Mom moaned softly as I licked her, and her body twisted slightly. At this moment, although I didn't know that this was a sign of Mom's excitement, I vaguely felt that this wasn't a bad thing, so I licked even more enthusiastically, and finally even probed my tongue into Mom's vagina.

I kissed my mother's vulva until I was satisfied, then continued kissing her legs and feet. By this time, I was incredibly excited.

After I climbed back onto my mother, she kissed my face, closed her eyes, and grasped my penis, thrusting her hips forward.

I realized what was about to happen, and I focused intently on feeling it:

the foreskin on my penis was slowly peeled back, and my penis slowly entered a warm, lubricated passage.

The feeling was so wonderful! As soon as my mother released her hand, I immediately began to thrust forcefully. Each thrust was harder than the last, and my mother's vagina became increasingly wet. Sex was truly intoxicating; I reveled in it, quickly reaching climax, and ejaculated all my semen into my mother's arms.

Afterwards, I felt completely drained, collapsing weakly onto my mother. She opened her eyes, reached for some toilet paper on the bedside table, then shifted her lower body to remove my penis from her, pushed me away, sat up, quickly cleaned herself, and went to the shower.

I lay alone for a while before getting up and putting on my clothes. My mother returned from the shower, now changed into clean pajamas.

We were both a little embarrassed, and I felt somewhat lost. My mother seemed much calmer. As she tidied her things, she softly told me, "Go wash up and go to bed."

I listened and hesitantly left her room.

That night, my mind was a complete mess. I couldn't believe it—I had my mother! I felt both the excitement of finally getting what I wanted and a deep sense of guilt. Lost in my thoughts, I don't know when I finally fell asleep.

When I woke up the next day, it was almost noon. At lunch, my mother didn't mention the previous night at all, and instead made small talk with me, her face relaxed. Seeing this, I felt a little relieved too.

When my father came home that evening, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty in his presence. But Mom remained calm, showing no sign of anything amiss on her face.

In the days that followed, Mom treated me the same as before, and I gradually relaxed and stopped worrying about it.

A few days into the new school term, Dad didn't come home for lunch. My sexual desire returned. After lunch, while Mom was washing the dishes, I hugged her waist from behind. Mom understood my intentions and softly said, "No, what if your father comes back?"

I begged repeatedly, but Mom wouldn't agree, so I finally gave up. However, that noon I still caressed Mom's legs, which offered some consolation.

Two weeks later, Dad went on a business trip, and that night Mom finally agreed to be with me again. We did it two nights in a row that time.

From then on, Mom almost always agreed to be with me only when Dad wasn't home at night. Mom had her reasons; only when we were sleeping could we lock the door from the inside, so even if Dad suddenly came home, he wouldn't be able to open the door and wouldn't suspect anything.

Mom loved me very much, but that love was just a mother's love for her son. Although Mom never complained and even experienced orgasm during sex with me, I knew it was only for me; she was willing to be with me because she loved me so much.

One shouldn't be too selfish. After I went to university, I started dating girls, and gradually I stopped making demands of my mother.

Now I have my own little family, and my relationship with my mother is still very good. We've never intended to forget the past; how could we possibly forget it? I love my mother deeply, and if she's willing, I still want to make love to her. Because my love for my mother goes beyond that of a son for his mother; it's also the love of a husband for his wife. My mother is, in effect, my first wife.

Mom, I love you!

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