Loki's Reborn Mother (Part 2)

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

Author: zt985103
Word Count: 7951
Published: 2016-09-03 Published on sis001 Forum
First Published: Yes
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You guys… that’s right! Pure angst! Pure NTR!! Exploring philosophy and human nature~~ But not
pure green!! Got it?! Pure love students, quickly leave!!! Why does it feel like the people on sis001
have such heavy tastes, completely different from other places?! Are you all warm-hearted old friends who frequent Bilibili? …
…I'm used to writing novellas and novellas, so this short story is indeed a 　　bit 　　condensed 　　. 　　Please 　　be 　　gentle 　　with 　　your 　　criticism 　　.
——
... 　　What puzzled me was the presence of several clearly men's short-sleeved shirts and underwear scattered around. Could it be that 　　I'd been gone too long and misremembered the location, mistaking it for someone else's balcony? 　　I shook my head, enduring the suspicious gaze of the new security guard, and decided to go upstairs first. I 　　quietly opened the door, and the sounds of a man and woman laughing and playfully teasing each other confirmed my unease. 　　I put down my luggage and watermelon, standing quietly at the doorway, listening intently to the laughter coming from the bedroom. The woman 　　seemed to be giggling from being tickled or something, and there were also slight slapping and scolding sounds . 　　I recognized my mother's voice, but the obvious allure and sensuality in it 　　was something I'd never heard before. 　　After a few muffled laughs from the man, both fell silent, except for the faint sound of saliva. 　　Shocked, I immediately knocked on the shoe cabinet next to me, cleared my throat, and called out, 　　"I'm home." 　　A few hurried movements came from inside, followed by the familiar clatter of slippers. 　　At that moment, I desperately wished the people who came weren't my mother, but even a pair of thieves breaking into the house. 　　But when I reached the entryway, the woman who hurriedly tidied her disheveled hair, wearing revealing shorts and a crop top, looking embarrassed and 　　blushing, said to me, "Oh, why didn't you tell me beforehand?"—it was indeed my mother. 　　Her unusually beautiful face was now adorned with heavy eyeshadow, and her hair was a 　　soft, wavy, wheat-colored frizz. Her legs were crossed shyly like a young girl's, leaning against the wall, staring at me without a word. 　　I stared blankly at her smooth, flat stomach, where a rhinestone-studded belly button pierced the navel, gleaming with a metallic 　　sheen. 　　In a daze, I recalled a joke I used to discuss with my mother while watching TV. 　　I remembered asking her when I was in high school what I would do if I had the figure of a model on TV 　　, and she laughed and said she would try high-waisted jeans and a crop top, and preferably get a piercing. 　　It started as a joke we made while watching a fashion show on TV, and I didn't take it seriously. I never imagined that, 　　given the circumstances, my mother would actually get a belly button piercing. 　　I snapped out of my reverie and said, "It was just a coincidence, I came back to visit. Look, I bought you a watermelon." 　　My mother chuckled and said "Oh," but I could tell her expression wasn't as cheerful as usual. 　　I walked inside without a word. My mother looked at me flustered, opening her mouth as if to say something. 　　I ignored her, turned into the small living room, and through the open bedroom door, I saw a half-naked young man lying on my mother's bed. He 　　looked about my age, silently staring at his phone, not even glancing 　　in my direction, and seemed vaguely annoyed at being disturbed. 　　The sheets on my mother's bed were a mess, and dirty clothes were scattered haphazardly in the corners of the bedroom and on the sofa in the living room. 　　There were also some leftover snacks and beer cans on the coffee table. It was hard to imagine that our usually tidy home 　　had become like this, as if it had been ransacked by robbers. 　　I glanced back at my mother, who looked somewhat embarrassed, and softly asked, "Who was this person?" 　　My mother stammered, "A...a junior colleague from work, who just happened to come over to visit today... 　　" 　　I said "Oh," and walked expressionlessly towards my bedroom. My mother's expression darkened even more. 　　As soon as I reached the door, I noticed that someone had slept in my bed, and a suitcase and some 　　charging plugs and other odds and ends were scattered around. 　　I stared at my mother, but she avoided my gaze, muttering under her breath as if explaining, 　　"That kid had nowhere to stay yesterday, so he slept here...Wait here! I'll clean up right away!" 　　With that, my mother was about to leave, but I repeatedly said no, no, and quickly grabbed some 　　small, precious items from inside, putting them into my suitcase. 　　I stared absently at the belly button piercing on my mother's stomach. Although it looked incredibly 　　sexy against that perfectly sculpted belly, I still felt a bitter ache. 　　I went to the door and said, "Okay, I'll head back to the company now. Remember to eat the watermelon, I'm leaving." 　　My mother instinctively asked, "Aren't you going to eat dinner?" 　　...Heh, so she really didn't want me to stay the night... 　　"No, no, I'm leaving..." 　　Even if I stayed, I wouldn't want to sleep in this bed 　　.

Although I left home in anger last time, I was still filled with worry for my mother, especially
seeing the mess in the house. I was very worried that her normal life would be disrupted by outsiders.
I couldn't blame my mother; no one is a saint when faced with temptation, and besides,
I was the one who turned her into this. Creating a spotlight naturally attracts a lot of mosquitoes at night.
The impact of the Loki incident on my mother and me seems far from over. Lately, every time I look up,
I feel that old man in the dark green clothes staring intently at me.
Two more months passed. When I called my mother to inquire about her, I discovered that her job seemed
to have changed very frequently recently. A job that hadn't changed in over twenty years had suddenly seen a qualitative leap in just six months.
It seems that for women, the workplace truly is a world where appearance matters.
Then, on an auspicious day, an auntie who had been a colleague of my mother's since childhood in the Water Conservancy Bureau compound
was getting married. Since the daughter was my childhood playmate, we both had a reason to attend.
Because of work, I didn't go home first and saw my mother directly at the wedding banquet. This time, she had
dyed her hair a smooth chestnut color and cut it shorter. She wore a dark blue long dress, looking
exceptionally elegant yet exuding a mature woman's allure.
The uncles and aunts I knew all said that my mother was getting younger and younger, and she just kept smiling.
I didn't see that "junior" blond young man, and my mother wasn't sitting with me. Instead, she was sitting
next to a newly appointed leader, and the two of them were chatting and laughing as if there was no awkwardness between them.
Because of the lively atmosphere of the wedding, I didn't notice anything unusual until the emcee was joking with the newlyweds
. I glanced over and noticed that my mother's expression was indeed a little abnormal, and the man next to her also looked very
serious.
After my mother visibly trembled, I excused myself to get something, wanting to go over
and see if my mother was feeling unwell.
As I walked to a seat at the back, I saw my mother's pale thigh exposed,
veins bulging, being wantonly caressed by the large hand of a somewhat obese middle-aged man next to her.
Just as the man's hand was about to slide into the groin of my mother's thigh, she instinctively grabbed his hand,
but didn't stop him from going any further.
The guests nearby were completely absorbed in the emcee and the newlyweds on stage, utterly oblivious to the
live sex show unfolding beside them.
I was so shocked I couldn't speak. Without disturbing anyone else, I turned and went to the restroom, washing my face with water,
my mind a jumble of emotions.
I didn't return to the guest area; instead, I stood near the restroom entrance smoking, my mind a mess,
absentmindedly responding to acquaintances passing by.
After some time, I noticed my mother beside me. She was surprised to see me there, and while washing
her hands, she asked me reproachfully, "When did you learn to smoke, you little rascal?"
I turned and smiled to the side, thinking, "No wonder you got promoted so quickly."
I was suddenly annoyed by my mother's beauty, but still smiling, I didn't answer her question and
reached out to lift her skirt.
My mother was startled and quickly slapped my hand away, muttering, "What are you doing! Are you crazy?!" But I
continued, still grinning.
"N-nothing... I just wanted to see if you brought any nails today..." Before I could finish,
my hand, which was lifting my mother's skirt, froze. I had only intended to pull the skirt down to her navel to embarrass her, but when I lifted
it, I discovered that her lower body was completely bare!
I could vaguely see a shaved mound and a five-pointed star tattoo next to it.
I stared in disbelief, then my mother slapped me awake. I watched her
leave the bathroom, her face burning with shame and anger, my mind a jumble of thoughts. Luckily, no one was passing by at that moment.
I can't remember how I left the wedding venue, completely disoriented. Flashes of what I witnessed today clearly
show that my mother's change was entirely unexpected and was spiraling out of control.
Somehow, I found myself back home. Looking at the familiar stairwell, I felt like I was back in my childhood. Back then,
when I came home from school, a hot meal would be waiting for me, and my mother's kind, gentle smile would
greet me with questions about my day.
I took out my key and tried to turn it, but something strange happened—it wouldn't turn…
At first, I thought the key or the lock was broken, but after a while, I realized what was going on.
Knowing the truth, I cried out in anguish and pounded on the old security door.
My mother had changed the lock?!
Before attracting too much attention from the neighbors, I silently walked back to the street, tears streaming down my face,
my fists clenched so tightly they were almost bleeding.
If this had happened more than ten years ago, such betrayal would have filled me with immense sadness and despair as a child.
But as an adult, the relationships between family members have subtly changed, and I seem to have lost
the right to influence my parents' personal lives.
Now, my mother's side doesn't seem to have much of a moral high ground. What I feel now is more
anger and a wounded sense of self-esteem. If my mother needs to live on her own and wants me to move out, that would be understandable, but I 　　simply cannot accept
this approach … 　　For the next two months, I didn't contact my mother or go home once. Perhaps 　　because of the humiliation I suffered last time, my mother didn't speak to me. I could only learn about her recent 　　activities from her social media. 　　My mother never posts about her personal life, only beautiful photos of herself and scenery from her travels. From 　　some recent pictures, I learned that she seemed to have gone to Singapore, but I don't know if she joined a tour group or went with others. 　　But traveling abroad is something my mother wouldn't normally do. 　　A week or two passed like this. One weekend, as usual, I was deleting junk emails on my work computer 　　when I found a file package sent to me by an unknown account. The package was labeled "Hainanese Chicken Rice".

Four words.
Out of curiosity, I downloaded it. After scanning for viruses, I found none, so I opened it to take a
look. To my surprise, what greeted me was a whole bunch of flesh-colored nude pictures!
I quickly closed the window, thinking, "What rubbish!" After everyone left work, I made an excuse to stay
, intending to spend a few minutes looking at them before leaving.
But upon closer inspection, I recognized my mother's familiar face in the very first picture, along with
the lion fountain from the Weibo post a couple of days ago.
Filled with intense unease, I looked at each picture one by one, and indeed, they were pornographic nude
photos of my mother!
The first image only showed two people in a hotel room, one of whom was
the man who had molested my mother at the wedding banquet that day.
In the later pictures, my mother maintained a faint smile throughout. No matter how the somewhat bald man
violated her breasts and nipples, how he posed her in various shameful positions, how
he pointed her thighs at the camera flash, and then licked her genitals with his tongue,
my mother always maintained a calm expression and a subtle smile.
Soon, the images below began to focus on specific areas, including close-ups, suggesting the photographer
was also involved.
Shocked, I quickly scrolled down. From the increasingly intense expression of pleasure on my mother's face and her ecstatic eye-rolling,
I vaguely sensed that the sins I had committed were now coming true.
The photographer never showed his face, and the later photos no longer detailed the events of the first half. Most
were pictures of my mother with a smirk on a hotel rooftop or by the pool, including one where she nonchalantly pulled out
her nipple with a wicked grin, or knelt with her back to the camera, spreading her buttocks.
There were also a few photos that were simply taken after the fact: my mother lying on the bed or balcony, her hair disheveled, her body
covered in semen, the photographer zooming in for close-ups. One photo, in particular, showed my mother completely naked in the bathtub, her face covered in
semen, her mouth agape in a wide-open, seemingly dissatisfied smile—it was utterly shocking.
After looking through the entire folder, it was already past nine o'clock, and the cleaning staff at the company
were already coming upstairs to urge me. I hurriedly grabbed a USB drive to copy everything down, and left the company with a flushed face
.
To my surprise, my first thought upon leaving the house was to find a place to quickly masturbate. I slapped myself
and tried to calmly analyze the situation.
Who sent the photos? If the photographer hadn't shown his face, could it be him? No, no, no, if it were a close
acquaintance threatening me with such a scandalous affair, the risk would be too great.
So it must be my mother or that official's political enemy? But what could someone in such a low position possibly
have to threaten? And why send them to me?
Right now, more than being shocked by the facts presented in these photos, I felt a deep worry for my mother
. If these things were exposed, the impact would be almost devastating. No matter what, she is still
the family member I want to protect.
So I started investigating the sender of the email, but I got a result that surprised me. This
person was a complete naiveté.
The personal information he left online because of an email address was so extensive it was almost like he was running naked
.
With the help of my friend, I finally found out this person's real identity. Upon seeing the photo, holy crap,
isn't that the "junior" young man lying on my mother's bed that day?
I was instantly enraged. In an almost murderous tone, without any hesitation, I gathered a group of friends, skipped work
, and returned to our small town. We searched his usual haunts, finally catching him in an internet cafe
.
We roughly dragged him to a nearby underground parking lot and, without saying a word, started beating him up.
My group, probably infected by my bloodshot eyes, beat him mercilessly. At first, he looked disdainful,
but later, perhaps unable to bear the beating any longer, he relented, shouting, "Stop hitting me! I'm a victim too!"
I laughed in anger, stopping to ask him how he was a victim.
His face bruised and trembling, he said he didn't take the photo; he found it by accident at someone else's place and,
in a fit of anger, sent it to me and other relevant people. However, it seems the internal network intercepted the
files shortly afterward, preventing its spread.
After hearing this, I felt like a deflated balloon, standing there motionless, thinking, "Damn it, what kind of
mess is this..."
I stood there stunned for two minutes, then grabbed a wooden stick and swung it at him, cursing, "You still
have the nerve to call yourself a Casanova?! You think you're being wronged???!!"
Friends who didn't know the situation probably thought it was some kind of heartbreak from a love triangle, and seeing
how hard I was hitting him, they all came over to persuade me to stop.
I stopped, throwing down a sentence, "Kid, don't think that just because you're high up there, you're not a big shot. You're surrounded by powerful people.
If you run into them, you'll be dead faster than I am..."
Without caring whether he heard me or not, the group turned around and left.
He didn't call the police afterward, but I guess my fuss about going back to confront them was too much, because my mother found out I had hit him
, and two days later she came to my company to find me.
I was slumped on a chair in the corridor, lost in thought, when I heard the rapid clatter of high heels in the distance.
I turned around and saw my mother walking towards me angrily.
The boy was clearly not telling his mother the truth either.
I stood up without surprise, taking the full force of my mother's slap.
Touching my burning cheek, I thought about how my mother had never hit me before. Looking at this strange woman
in a red office suit and black stockings, her meticulously made-up face, her eyes red and teary,
constantly berating me for being immature and unreasonable, expressing her utter disappointment in me, I truly didn't
know how to react. Yet, the voice and tone she spoke were unmistakably my mother's.
I felt wronged and angry, wanting to simply throw the USB drive from my pocket at her and let her face what had happened.
What happened? But the thought of a woman losing face in front of her child and hurting her mother like this
made me feel utterly powerless.
I don't know how much time passed, but my mother was long gone. I touched my burning cheeks and silently
returned to my office.
The incredibly beautiful young woman's furious expression towards me was probably just a troublesome relationship problem to my colleagues
.
I looked up at the overcast sky outside the window, gritting my teeth. This is the real hell, isn't it? ...
——————————————————————————————————————————
Not long after, I discovered that although I hadn't been blocked, my mother had
blocked me on social media.
My life seemed to have been completely cut off from hers.
More than twenty years of family affection had unknowingly changed completely. Now, my mother felt more like
a bird eager to break free of its cage, or a goldfish unable to tolerate the sewage in the pond.
From other sources, I learned that my mother had recently started working at the county government. Without asking
me, she sold the old house and moved into a new one, the location of which I have no idea. I simply cannot 　　offer the same blessings
as I would for a modern woman breaking free from her shackles and embarking on a new life . 　　I feel the woman I knew is dying, and my mother's face is becoming 　　increasingly blurry in my mind. 　　I can hardly remember what kind of person the mother I knew for over twenty years was. 　　Compared to the woman I know now, the mother in my memory seems more like a false mask reflected by the times. 　　—————————————————————————————————————— 　　Half a year passed in a flash. During a cooperation meeting between my company and local business representatives, I 　　encountered my mother again. 　　I was carrying documents and files downstairs when I suddenly saw a black Mercedes pull up 　　and stop. 　　As soon as the back door opened, a pair of long, beautiful legs in black stockings appeared, drawing my attention 　　in that direction. 　　Immediately afterward, a beautiful woman in an elegant dark green dress stepped out of the car. Seeing her face, 　　I was utterly astonished to realize it was my mother. 　　I quickly and casually slipped into a corner of the crowd, cautiously observing what was happening. 　　Due to the angle, I couldn't immediately see who the man who had gotten out of the car with her was, but judging from my mother's expression, she was probably waiting for 　　him. My mother's appearance had changed noticeably. 　　Unlike the 　　cheap, worldly sexiness she had at the beginning of her transformation , or the later glamorous mature woman, my mother now resembled a cultured woman, exuding 　　intelligence and refined elegance. 　　Her glossy black hair, her perfectly applied light makeup, and the understated leather handbag she carried all 　　highlighted her unique elegance. My mother's face was indifferent and serious, 　　completely unrecognizable 　　from the kind and gentle housewife I remembered . 　　I stared blankly at my mother, wondering what she had come for. Just then, the department head came over 　　, called me over, handed over the documents, and gave me some instructions. Afterwards, when I looked back, my mother was nowhere to be 　　seen. 　　I returned to the building, stunned. While waiting, the heavy door I could n't enter 　　created a sense of class divide between my mother and me for the first time. 　　After the meeting, due to finishing work, I didn't have a chance to see my mother again. Later, I tried 　　calling her, but there was no answer. 　　My heart was as cold as ice water; I felt that my mother's life and mine would never intersect again. 　　Watching my dearest person run away without a care, as if breaking the rules, was an unbearable 　　feeling of abandonment. 　　Several months passed. While eating in the company cafeteria, I saw a local 　　political scandal on my phone. It was about an official from a neighboring city and his mistress being found naked and dead in their car. 　　I read the report and comments with interest, marveling at the tragic turn of events and the parties' lack of common sense. The news 　　report didn't have pictures or names yet. I finished my meal and casually closed the webpage, not thinking much of it. 　　That afternoon, I was summoned by the police. Outside in the corridor, the police, looking flustered, told me 　　the exact same story as the news from noon. My glazed eyes began to bloodshot, and my vision gradually blurred into 　　a white haze… 　　When I came to my senses, I was already in the morgue with the police. They showed me my mother 　　's face under the white sheet. 　　My mother's expression was peaceful, more like a deep sleep than suffocation, as if she had finally returned to 　　the way I used to know her. 　　When the white sheet was lifted, what was revealed was the almost perfect, pale body I had fabricated. 　　The fashionable black lace panties glimpsed below the waist added to the absurdity and ridiculousness of the scene… 　　—————————————————————————————————————— 　　A week later, at my mother's funeral, a light drizzle fell from the sky. I was the only one present 　　. I used the huge sum of money from my mother's estate to buy her a nice burial plot near her hometown. There was no 　　one she knew around, so it was a way of giving her peace. 　　"Young man, do you hate me?" Loki, wearing his familiar dark green leather jacket, sunglasses, and carrying a 　　shortened cane, slowly walked out from behind a tree. 　　Looking at my mother's tombstone, I simply replied, "Why, why should I hate you?" 　　A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes, and he deliberately lowered his voice, saying to me, "Isn't it because of me that your 　　lives have been turned upside down, deviating from the norm?" 　　I moved my umbrella aside, gazing at the gray clouds, letting the raindrops fall on my face. 　　"You only gave us the opportunity to choose; it was we ourselves who led our lives to destruction..." I looked...

Looking at Loki, I gave a pale smile. "To put it bluntly, people, well, hehehe..."
Loki took a deep breath, and after a long while, with barely suppressed curiosity, he said to me, "You... do you want to...
join me?"
"Huh?..." I turned my head, looking at the Celestial who was staring blankly at me with suspicion.
A familiar, eerie smile appeared on his lips...
——————————————————————————————————————
I pulled myself out of the vortex of memories and found Loki walking out of the black teleportation rift beside me,
yawning incessantly.
He had gotten a buzz cut at some point, his hair still a vibrant green, and he deliberately made himself look younger than me.
"Mentor," I greeted him.
"How was it?" he asked as he walked over.
"Not bad, the mental fixation effect is more stable than I expected, but don't keep giving me these weirdos...
" I couldn't help but complain.
He walked over, turned on the screen, looked at the "girl," and muttered, "Hmm...looks like she doesn't have many days left
to live." With a twist of his right hand, the Earth in front of him began to spin rapidly, jumping two weeks into the future.
The "girl" was found dead in her small house.
"Hey! Stop messing around..."
"Hmm...whatever, forget about this observation report. Hurry up and get ready, come with me to see something interesting
."
"Who is it?... " I looked up, a little wary.
"Hmm...a young man wants to turn his body into rubber, saying he wants to be a pirate, so I promised
him that after he adapts to the body for half a month, uh, which is now, I'll throw him into Somalia."
"..."
"What? What are you daydreaming about? Get ready, this might be a long time in the mortal realm."
"...You...finally planning something big?"
"Any objections?" He raised an eyebrow.
"No." I grinned, a wicked smile spreading across my face, I was overjoyed...
(The End)

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