My mother is a Thai bath girl.

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

Foreword

This text contains incest, group sex, and erotic content. If you are not comfortable with this, please leave immediately. Minors are not permitted to read this.

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Introduction

I. A Alluring Body II. A Mother at Work III. A Perverted Japanese Guest IV. My Mother's Suitor V. Someone Else's Bride VI. Indulgence VII. Resolution VIII. Confession IX. The Pinnacle of Desire X. Love Nest

Prologue, Introduction

Sitting in the spacious office, my heart has flown far away. Even now, I am still unsure of my choice. My mind is still preoccupied with that young man, with everything about him.

But one thing, I will never regret, now or in the future: as an Interpol agent, I made that choice, that action befitting the character of a police officer.

Two months ago, after six months of arduous training, I became an enviable member of Interpol. When I received the letter of appointment from my team leader, only God knows how I felt. I vowed to dedicate my life to fighting evil for world peace and stability, and never let criminals slip through my fingers. But

life is unpredictable. I never imagined my first case would lead me to…

Let's rewind to July 20th. That day, I was having a major shootout with my colleagues in the office. Perhaps you don't know, but life as an Interpol officer is pretty much like this: few missions a year, most of the time spent training and relaxing.

When we saw our team leader walk in with his briefcase, he was still engrossed in his game. Although he was thirty-five, he was a game addict. I quickly waved for him to sit down. This guy, though mild-mannered, was a ruthless killer when it came to games.

That day, the team leader was sweating profusely. He threw his briefcase on the table but didn't sit down. Instead, he abruptly switched off the power and solemnly announced: "From this day forward, everyone is canceling vacations and cutting off all contact with the outside world."

What? Damn it, it's my girlfriend's birthday today!

The team leader looked like a mob boss, giving us a menacing look as he led us to the playground.

Two dark-skinned Thai police officers, led by our chief—and this is our chief, no less—waved his chubby hands and shouted in a gruff voice, "This is Officer Chen, this is Officer Li, they're here this time..."

According to intelligence from headquarters in Paris, six drug traffickers from Thailand had infiltrated our country, intending to use the transit route to Japan for business. Headquarters ordered us to capture them at all costs; the operation's code name was "Fire."

Damn it, sifting through a sea of people in this sweltering heat—it's going to be a nightmare.

The order was ruthless; our entire team was mobilized. Perhaps it was divine intervention, allowing me, the newcomer, to make a name for myself! On August 5th, I discovered a crucial clue.

The photo showed a handsome young man, probably around my age. This guy seemed to have a knack for resisting my pursuit; every time I tried to corner him, he would slip away first.

The chase continued like this until the 12th, when I finally caught him in Japan.

It seems people have a certain desire; the more desperately you run, the more determined I became. With the help of my Japanese colleagues, I finally cornered him in his hotel on the morning of the 15th of this month.

Several skinny Japanese men wanted to take him to the police station to handle his affairs, but I flatly refused. Not just for the sake of empty fame, but mainly because I wanted to talk to this guy.

Now, I must say, I felt a certain liking, or rather, a certain respect, for him the moment I saw him. His eyes shone with honesty and confidence, and he acted as if we were friends, even though he was an Interpol agent of the same age.

I booked a hotel room in Tokyo, partly to wait for my return flight, and partly to wait for my colleague, because according to custom, at least two people must be escorting a prisoner.

For the next two days, I bought him whatever he wanted. Finally, he made one more request: he wanted to see his mother and wife.

I knew he wouldn't live long after returning home; he would certainly face the death penalty. As a person with a sense of justice, I agreed to his request and even let him make the phone call in front of me. I can't believe that at the time, I didn't suspect that he would call his accomplices to help him escape.

A day later, his family arrived from Thailand. Only a woman in her thirties appeared at the hotel. Judging by her age, she wasn't his mother, but she was a few years older than his wife. Seeing them embracing and crying, I closed the door and went outside…

That night, I slept by the doorway.

I could hear the panting and shouting from inside, but I was secretly happy for them, and felt comforted that I could help him in such a small way.

The next day, the woman thanked me profusely, then said goodbye to him with great strength.

In the instant they parted, I clearly heard him call out:

"Mom!"

This word completely baffled me. I grabbed his collar and dragged him inside, demanding an explanation. His answer shocked me even more: "That's my mother, and also my wife now."

This liar infuriated me. After a flurry of punches and kicks, he tilted his head and yelled at me, "You can hit me again, but I'll still say it: I love my mother, and she's pregnant with our child now, hahaha..."

His expression instantly became infatuated, his eyes fixed on the window, murmuring, "Mom, I'm going now. You must raise our child..."

Hearing his plaintive whispers, my heart sank. Perhaps my understanding of the world is still too shallow, or perhaps there truly is too much true love and affection in the world. I brought him a cup of coffee and placed it on the table.

At that moment, he looked me in the eye with suspicion and began to tell me about himself and his mother. As he listened, I forgot our identities and circumstances, letting him cry loudly in my arms.

August 20th, 2000.

When my short, stout colleague called me from the airport, I suddenly made a decision, even though I knew it might cost me my job as a detective, but I was so determined to do it.

When my colleague arrived at my hotel, only half a handcuff remained in the room; the young man had probably escaped while I was buying cigarettes. What

I'm about to tell you is the story of this young man from Thailand. Whether what he says is true or false, I'd rather believe him than let him die, and I don't want his mother and wife to live alone.

Now I only hope he's back by my mother's side, and I only hope he'll never get into trouble again.

I. A Charming Body

From birth, I had no father.

Half of my survival is due to fate.

When my mother was 18, she secretly ran away with a man. This was unacceptable to my grandparents at the time. After searching several times, they made a decision: if my mother returned, they would kill her; if she didn't return, they would pretend the child was never born.

After living with that man for two years, he abandoned her because he had the opportunity to be with an ugly, rich girl. According to my mother, he actually married that ugly and promiscuous woman.

When my mother broke up with that guy, she was already pregnant with me.

She already knew about my grandparents' statement; she couldn't go home. Perhaps due to the overwhelming shock, she became very strong. However, she was determined to abort me.

She secretly tried to find someone to perform an abortion, but she couldn't afford it, and no one was willing to do something that would break the law.

She even contemplated suicide. Before taking her own life, she took a pair of scissors—the only weapon she could think of and was comfortable using.

My mother waited at the intersection where that man was bound to pass. As soon as he and his ugly bride got out of the car, she rushed towards them. Unfortunately, the wealthy businessman had bodyguards who snatched her weapon and then began punching and kicking her.

They laughed as they watched my mother lie by the roadside.

For ease of movement, my mother was wearing tight-fitting velvet pants. Under their kicks, blood stained her pants. Knowing she was about to miscarry, she didn't seek medical help but instead jumped around in her room, trying to expel me quickly.

Even now, my mother often tells me about it, calling me a beast and asking why he couldn't get rid of me.

Later, seeing how strong I was, my mother finally decided to give birth to me.

When the man left, my mother only had one month's worth of food left in the rented room. To survive, my mother chose the most common and effective profession in our area—

prostitution.

At that time, I was already four months pregnant with her. To hide her slightly protruding belly, my mother always wore tight-fitting underwear with a semi-transparent veil over it when she went out to find customers.

I had seen photos of my mother when she was young. She looked so innocent, like a child who had never experienced the world. She had a pair of expressive eyes, so even though the customers didn't blame her after discovering her secret, my mother would stroke me through her belly with her hand while twisting her thighs to welcome the man's penis.

There was once a man named Ruva who became even more infatuated with my mother after discovering she was pregnant. Every month, he would slip large sums of money into her underwear.

My mother had a natural talent for seduction; whenever she made love with Ruva, she would deliberately pat her lower abdomen, soothing me inside, while urging him to speed up his thrusts, constantly calling him "good boy" and "son."

From that moment on, our destiny was sealed.

Time flew by, and I grew up amidst my mother's banter with her guests.

Around the age of fifteen, I had my first nocturnal emission. Holding my underwear, which I had taken off, I pointed to the discharge and asked my mother, "Mom, what is this? Please get me a doctor."

As I said this, I stared at my mother's lower body. For convenience, my mother wore thin, see-through clothes at home. Through her thin nightgown, I could clearly see a few fine black hairs along the edge of her small panties.

At that moment, I understood why I had an erection.

With a "smack," my mother hit me for the first time, then warned me, "If you look at me like that again, you won't get any food."

From then on, whenever guests came, my mother would lock me in her small room and change into her pretty clothes.

But I could never forget my mother's private parts. I would dream about them, and sometimes even think about them in school. At night, listening to my mother's soft breathing in her room, listening to her moaning "Big cock, big cock," my hand would involuntarily rub against her penis.

Perhaps I was too stupid; I was already seventeen when I learned to masturbate.

My grades were always bad. Although my mother would beat me every few days, my mind was never on my studies. By chance, I bought an adult magazine. This treasure became my only secret. Every night, I would secretly take it out and practice by the moonlight.

I became obsessed with these magazines. Soon, my little cabinet was full of them. To avoid my mother finding out, I secretly dug a hole in the ground, hid them inside, and covered it with floor tiles.

I can still remember what happened that night. My mother made me kneel in front of her, the floor littered with magazines and photos. She grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall, yelling at me, "If you keep doing this, I'll abandon you! You'll never come back!"

I promised her then that it would never happen again. Looking at my bruised head, my mother held me in her arms, tears welling in her eyes, and said, "I want you to be strong. I'll need you to support me when I grow up!"

I have to admit I'm an evil person, hopelessly evil. Two days after Mom put away my magazines, I'd almost forgotten the promise, but I really didn't dare buy any more. After several sleepless nights, I found something and drilled two holes in the house.

One under the bathroom door, so if I lay on the floor, I could see what was happening inside.

The other was near the outside window of Mom's bedroom; if I used a stick to pry open the curtains from the outside, everything inside wouldn't be a secret to me.

After doing all this, I started looking forward to guests coming over and to Mom taking long showers.

Every night, I'd turn off the lights early. Mom praised me for being sensible, but how could I possibly sleep? Listening to my mother and the man's flirtatious banter outside, and the exhilarating sounds of their lovemaking, my hand never left my penis.

After much anticipation, the opportunity finally arrived.

That day, the guests didn't stay overnight. After seeing them off, my mother opened my bedroom door. I was tossing and turning in bed, talking in my sleep. My mother quietly tucked me in before leaving, relieved.

Five minutes later, I secretly got up and gently opened the door. Just as I expected, the bathroom light was on; my mother was taking a shower!

I slowly approached the bathroom along the wall, then lay down on the floor, poked open the camouflage paper, and peered through the hole.

For work convenience, our bathtub was installed underneath the tub, with only the rim protruding from the floor. From my angle, I could clearly see my mother's every move.

She lay on her back in the tub, eyes closed, enjoying the flowing water. With each rise and fall of the waves, her two nipples, hidden underwater, would peek out. Although she was in her thirties, her breasts showed no signs of sagging. Her full breasts swayed with the water's impact, her bright red nipples bouncing playfully.

Oh…Mom, so this is what you're like. You're just as good as those women in magazines. Thinking this to myself, my hand groped inside my underwear. My penis, stimulated by my mother's body, was already throbbing.

My mother raised her leg, placing her ankle on the edge of the bathtub. Between her parted thighs, I could clearly see my mother's genitals. It turned out that, like those women in the magazines, she had shaved her pubic hair bald at some point.

It seems my mother also likes to expose herself. I rubbed my penis, staring intently at my mother's vulva. My mother splashed water, her fingers sliding along the cleft. She parted her thick labia, cleaning inside with her fingers. If her fingers were replaced by my penis, it would be what the books call "vaginal penetration."

The thought almost made me ejaculate.

What if...? I mean, what would it feel like to put my penis inside my mother? Would it really feel that good? Although I didn't dare to actually do it, this lewd idea excited me immensely. Letting my thing fully unleash itself would make it look far more terrifying than before.

My mother washed her vagina and then sprayed some disinfectant into it. I knew it was antiseptic. At that time, there was a sexually transmitted disease outbreak in our area, and I was trying to find ways to remind my mother about this. It seems my mother is quite adept at this.

After disinfecting her vagina, Mom turned over and lay face down in the bathtub, her buttocks raised high. I swear, it was the best buttocks I had ever seen in my life. Not only were they perfectly round, but more importantly, her deep cleft was the deepest I had ever seen in any photos or magazines!

Mom's hand reached out from between her thighs to clean her anus. I began to regret my mistake when I was drilling, because from this angle, I couldn't see her anus. While thinking about the renovation plan for the next day, I also hoped that Mom would change her position soon.

My mother didn't do what I wanted, but something else she picked up made my penis swell even more. It was an anal probe covered in protrusions. This kind of sex toy came from Japan, and according to the books, it could bring women to an ecstatic orgasm. Was my mother going to masturbate?

At that time, all my sex knowledge came from books. Just seeing the words "anal sex" would make my penis erect. Seeing my mother masturbating anally was like a dream to me.

My mother poured disinfectant on it and slowly inserted it into her anus. So she wanted to disinfect it. It seemed that the customer tonight was definitely going to have anal sex with my mother!

Watching my mother slowly push that thing, slowly pushing it all the way in, and then slowly pulling it out, her beautiful buttocks swaying gently with each pull,

my thoughts grew increasingly wicked: my mother's anus must be incredibly tight. If… I was thinking, if it could grip my penis and then sway like that in front of me, even just once would make my life worthwhile.

My mother applied disinfectant several times, finally cleaning the inside. She stood in the bathtub, rinsing her entire body with water. Although her long, slender legs were so important to me, I dared not peek anymore. When I returned to bed, I heard the door open.

Thank goodness! If my mother had found out then, she might have killed me.

Ever since that peeping incident, I've never forgotten my mother's body. To discover more of her secrets, I decided to enlarge the hole in her room the next day. I

've never been to Thailand, so the Thai baths I experienced might not be authentic. Fortunately, that's not the main focus of this story, just as AV actresses aren't primarily about making films.

The story between mother and son is the real focus.

Foreword:

This article contains incest, group sex, and erotic content. If you dislike this, please exit immediately. Minors should not read.

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Introduction

I. A Alluring Body II. A Mother at Work III. A Perverted Japanese Guest IV. Mother's Suitor V. Someone Else's Bride VI. Indulgence VII. Resolution VIII. Confession IX. The Pinnacle of Desire X. Love Nest

Prologue, Introduction

Sitting in the spacious office, my heart flew far away. Even now

, I'm still unsure of my choice. My mind is still preoccupied with that young man, with everything about him. But one thing, I will never regret: as an Interpol agent, I made that choice, that action befitting a police officer.

Two months ago, after six months of arduous training, I became an enviable member of Interpol. When I received the letter of appointment from my team leader, only God knows how I felt. I vowed to dedicate my life to fighting evil for world peace and stability, and never let criminals slip through my fingers. But

life is unpredictable. I never imagined my first case would lead me to…

Let's rewind to July 20th. That day, I was having a major shootout with my colleagues in the office. Perhaps you don't know, but life as an Interpol officer is pretty much like this: few missions a year, most of the time spent training and relaxing.

When we saw our team leader walk in with his briefcase, he was still engrossed in his game. Although he was thirty-five, he was a game addict. I quickly waved for him to sit down. This guy, though mild-mannered, was a ruthless killer when it came to games.

That day, the team leader was sweating profusely. He threw his briefcase on the table but didn't sit down. Instead, he abruptly switched off the power and solemnly announced: "From this day forward, everyone is canceling vacations and cutting off all contact with the outside world."

What? Damn it, it's my girlfriend's birthday today!

The team leader looked like a mob boss, giving us a menacing look as he led us to the playground.

Two dark-skinned Thai police officers, led by our chief—and this is our chief, no less—waved his chubby hands and shouted in a gruff voice, "This is Officer Chen, this is Officer Li, they're here this time..."

According to intelligence from headquarters in Paris, six drug traffickers from Thailand had infiltrated our country, intending to use the transit route to Japan for business. Headquarters ordered us to capture them at all costs; the operation's code name was "Fire."

Damn it, sifting through a sea of people in this sweltering heat—it's going to be a nightmare.

The order was ruthless; our entire team was mobilized. Perhaps it was divine intervention, allowing me, the newcomer, to make a name for myself! On August 5th, I discovered a crucial clue.

The photo showed a handsome young man, probably around my age. This guy seemed to have a knack for resisting my pursuit; every time I tried to corner him, he would slip away first.

The chase continued like this until the 12th, when I finally caught him in Japan.

It seems people have a certain desire; the more desperately you run, the more determined I became. With the help of my Japanese colleagues, I finally cornered him in his hotel on the morning of the 15th of this month.

Several skinny Japanese men wanted to take him to the police station to handle his affairs, but I flatly refused. Not just for the sake of empty fame, but mainly because I wanted to talk to this guy.

Now, I must say, I felt a certain liking, or rather, a certain respect, for him the moment I saw him. His eyes shone with honesty and confidence, and he acted as if we were friends, even though he was an Interpol agent of the same age.

I booked a hotel room in Tokyo, partly to wait for my return flight, and partly to wait for my colleague, because according to custom, at least two people must be escorting a prisoner.

For the next two days, I bought him whatever he wanted. Finally, he made one more request: he wanted to see his mother and wife.

I knew he wouldn't live long after returning home; he would certainly face the death penalty. As a person with a sense of justice, I agreed to his request and even let him make the phone call in front of me. I can't believe that at the time, I didn't suspect that he would call his accomplices to help him escape.

A day later, his family arrived from Thailand. Only a woman in her thirties appeared at the hotel. Judging by her age, she wasn't his mother, but she was a few years older than his wife. Seeing them embracing and crying, I closed the door and went outside…

That night, I slept by the doorway.

I could hear the panting and shouting from inside, but I was secretly happy for them, and felt comforted that I could help him in such a small way.

The next day, the woman thanked me profusely, then said goodbye to him with great strength.

In the instant they parted, I clearly heard him call out:

"Mom!"

This word completely baffled me. I grabbed his collar and dragged him inside, demanding an explanation. His answer shocked me even more: "That's my mother, and also my wife now."

This liar infuriated me. After a flurry of punches and kicks, he tilted his head and yelled at me, "You can hit me again, but I'll still say it: I love my mother, and she's pregnant with our child now, hahaha..."

His expression instantly became infatuated, his eyes fixed on the window, murmuring, "Mom, I'm going now. You must raise our child..."

Hearing his plaintive whispers, my heart sank. Perhaps my understanding of the world is still too shallow, or perhaps there truly is too much true love and affection in the world. I brought him a cup of coffee and placed it on the table.

At that moment, he looked me in the eye with suspicion and began to tell me about himself and his mother. As he listened, I forgot our identities and circumstances, and let him cry loudly in my arms.

August 20, 2000.

When my short, stout colleague called me from the airport, I suddenly made a decision, even though I knew it might cost me my job as a detective, but I was so determined to do it.

When my colleague arrived at my hotel, only half a handcuff remained in the room; the young man had probably escaped while I was buying cigarettes. What

I'm about to tell you is the story of this young Thai man. Whether what he says is true or false, I'd rather believe it than let him die, or leave his mother and wife to live alone.

Now I only hope he's back with his mother, and I only hope he never gets into trouble again.

I. A Charming Body

From birth, I have no father.

And half of my survival is due to fate.

My mother ran away with a man when she was 18. This was unacceptable to my grandparents at the time. After searching several times, they made a decision: if she came back, they would kill her; if she didn't, they would pretend the child was never born.

After living with that man for two years, he dumped her because he had the opportunity to be with an ugly, rich girl. According to my mother, he actually married that ugly and promiscuous woman.

When she broke up with that guy, my mother was already pregnant with me.

She already knew about my grandparents' statement; she couldn't go home. Perhaps due to the overwhelming shock, my mother became very strong. However, she was determined to abort me.

The mother secretly began trying to find someone to perform an abortion, but she couldn't afford it, and no one was willing to do something that would break the law.

She even contemplated suicide. Before taking her own life, she took a pair of scissors, the only weapon she could think of and was comfortable using.

She waited at the intersection where the man was sure to pass, and rushed at him and his ugly bride as soon as they got out of the car. Unfortunately, the wealthy businessman had bodyguards who snatched her weapon and then proceeded to beat her mercilessly.

The men watched as the mother lay on the roadside, laughing as they walked away.

For ease of movement, my mother was wearing tight-fitting velvet pants. Their kicking and hitting stained the pants with blood. Knowing she was about to miscarry, she didn't seek medical help but instead jumped around in the room, trying to expel me quickly.

Even now, my mother often tells me about it, calling me a beast and asking why I couldn't be aborted.

Later, seeing my resilience, she finally decided to give birth to me.

When the man left, my mother only had one month's worth of food left in her rented room. To survive, she chose the most common and effective profession in our area—

prostitution.

At that time, I was already four months pregnant with her. To conceal her slightly protruding belly, my mother always chose tight-fitting underwear, covered with a semi-transparent veil, when she went out to find customers.

I had seen photos of my mother when she was young; she looked so innocent, like a naive child. She had a pair of expressive eyes, so even though the customers didn't blame her after discovering her secret, my mother would stroke me through her belly while twisting her thighs to welcome the men's penises.

There was even a man named Ruva who became even more infatuated after discovering my mother was pregnant, and every month he would put large sums of money into my mother's underwear.

My mother had a natural talent for seduction. Whenever she made love with Ruva, she would deliberately pat her lower abdomen to soothe me inside, while urging him to speed up his thrusts, constantly calling me "good boy" and "son."

From that moment on, our destiny was sealed.

Time flew by, and I grew up amidst my mother's banter with the guests.

Around the age of fifteen, I had my first nocturnal emission. Holding my underwear, which I had taken off, I pointed to the discharge and asked my mother, "Mom, what is this? Please get me a doctor."

As I said this, I stared at my mother's lower body. For convenience, my mother wore thin, see-through clothes at home. Through her thin nightgown, I could clearly see a few fine black hairs along the edge of her small panties.

At that moment, I understood why I had an erection.

With a "smack," my mother hit me for the first time, then warned me, "If you look at me like that again, you won't get any food."

From then on, whenever guests came, my mother would lock me in her small room and change into her pretty clothes.

But I could never forget my mother's private parts. I would dream about them, and sometimes even think about them in school. At night, listening to my mother's soft breathing in her room, listening to her moaning "Big cock, big cock," my hand would involuntarily rub against her penis.

Perhaps I was too stupid; I was already seventeen when I learned to masturbate.

My grades were always bad. Although my mother would beat me every few days, my mind was never on my studies. By chance, I bought an adult magazine. This treasure became my only secret. Every night, I would secretly take it out and practice by the moonlight.

I became obsessed with these magazines. Soon, my little cabinet was full of them. To avoid my mother finding out, I secretly dug a hole in the ground, hid them inside, and covered it with floor tiles.

I can still remember what happened that night. My mother made me kneel in front of her, the floor littered with magazines and photos. She grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall, yelling at me, "If you keep doing this, I'll abandon you! You'll never come back!"

I promised her then that it would never happen again. Looking at my bruised head, my mother held me in her arms, tears welling in her eyes, and said, "I want you to be strong. I'll need you to support me when I grow up!"

I have to admit I'm an evil person, hopelessly evil. Two days after Mom put away my magazines, I'd almost forgotten the promise, but I really didn't dare buy any more. After several sleepless nights, I found something and drilled two holes in the house.

One under the bathroom door, so if I lay on the floor, I could see what was happening inside.

The other was near the outside window of Mom's bedroom; if I used a stick to pry open the curtains from the outside, everything inside wouldn't be a secret to me.

After doing all this, I started looking forward to guests coming over and to Mom taking long showers.

Every night, I'd turn off the lights early. Mom praised me for being sensible, but how could I possibly sleep? Listening to my mother and the man's flirtatious banter outside, and the exhilarating sounds of their lovemaking, my hand never left my penis.

After much anticipation, the opportunity finally arrived.

That day, the guests didn't stay overnight. After seeing them off, my mother opened my bedroom door. I was tossing and turning in bed, talking in my sleep. My mother quietly tucked me in before leaving, relieved.

Five minutes later, I secretly got up and gently opened the door. Just as I expected, the bathroom light was on; my mother was taking a shower!

I slowly approached the bathroom along the wall, then lay down on the floor, poked open the camouflage paper, and peered through the hole.

For the convenience of my work, the bathtub in my house was installed underneath, with only the edge of the tub sticking out of the floor. From my angle, I could see my mother's every move so clearly.

My mother lay on her back in the bathtub, eyes closed, enjoying the flowing water. With each rise and fall of the waves, her two nipples, hidden beneath the water, peeked out. Although she was in her thirties, her breasts showed no signs of sagging. Her full breasts swayed with the impact of the water, the bright red nipples bouncing playfully.

Oh… Mom, so this is what you're like. You're no less beautiful than those women in magazines. Thinking this to myself, my hand groped inside my underwear, my penis already throbbing with desire from the stimulation of my mother's body.

My mother raised her legs, placing her ankles on the edge of the bathtub. Between her parted thighs, I could clearly see her genitals. Like the women in magazines, she had shaved her pubic hair sometime during that time.

It seemed my mother enjoyed exhibitionism. I rubbed my penis, staring intently at my mother's vulva. She splashed water, her fingers sliding along the opening. She parted her thick labia, cleaning inside with her fingers. If I replaced her fingers with my penis, it would be what they called "vaginal penetration" in books.

Just thinking about it almost made me ejaculate.

What if…? I mean, what would it feel like to put my penis inside my mother? Would it really feel that good? Although I dared not put it into practice, this lewd thought excited me immensely. Letting that thing be completely unleashed, it looked far more terrifying than before.

Mom washed her vulva and then sprayed some disinfectant into it. I knew it was antiseptic. At that time, there was a sexually transmitted disease outbreak in our area, and I was trying to find ways to remind Mom to be careful. It seemed Mom was quite adept at this.

After disinfecting her vulva, Mom turned over and lay face down in the bathtub, her buttocks raised high. I swear, it was the best buttocks I had ever seen in my life—not only were they perfectly round, but more importantly, her deep cleft was the deepest I had ever seen in any photos or magazines!

My mother's hand reached out from between her thighs to clean her anus. I began to regret my mistake when I was drilling, because from this angle I couldn't see her anus. I was thinking about my reformation plan for the next day while hoping that my mother would change positions soon.

My mother didn't do what I wanted, but another thing she picked up made my penis swell even more. It was an anal detector, covered with protrusions. This kind of sex toy came from Japan. According to the books, it could bring women to an orgasm. Was my mother going to masturbate?

At that time, all my sexual knowledge came from books. Whenever I saw the words "anal sex," my penis would get erect. Being able to see my mother masturbating was like a dream to me.

Mom poured disinfectant on it and slowly inserted it into her buttocks. So she wanted to disinfect it; it seemed the guest tonight was definitely going to have anal sex with her!

Watching Mom slowly push that thing in, slowly to the end, and then slowly pull it out, her beautiful buttocks swayed gently with each thrust.

My thoughts grew increasingly wicked: Mom's anus must be incredibly tight; if… I was thinking, if it could grip my penis and then sway like that in front of me, even just once would make my life worthwhile.

My mother applied disinfectant several times and finally finished washing inside. She stood in the bathtub, rinsing her entire body with water. Even though her long, shapely legs were so important to me, I dared not peek anymore. When I returned to bed, I heard the door open.

Thank goodness! If my mother had discovered me then, she might have killed me.

Ever since that peeping incident, I've never forgotten my mother's body. To discover more of her secrets, I decided to enlarge the hole in her room the next day. ( Note:

The following is a separate, unrelated anecdote about a Thai bath.) I've never been to Thailand, so my experience of a Thai bath might not be entirely authentic. Fortunately, that's not the main focus of this story, just as AV actresses aren't primarily about making films.

The story between mother and son is the real focus.

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