Doraemon's Memory Bread

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

Doraemon's Memory Bread

Author: Flying Pig
Word Count: 15576

"Nobita, wake up! Nobita, wake up!" Accompanying this slightly irritated female voice was
a series of urgent knocks on the door.

Although I knew that the blankets would be mercilessly yanked off in no time, and I might even get a few slaps for "
getting up and getting a beating," I still insisted on burying my head in the blankets, adhering to the ostrich
tactic of "ignoring what I see and hear. "

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the paper door was pulled open rapidly, and the vibrations from the tatami mats
came ; then, the warm blankets were suddenly gone, and the cool air of early spring took the opportunity to invade. I tried to turn
to avoid the imagined slap, but my buttocks were unexpectedly hit by a hard

, stick-like object. "Ouch! Ouch!" My sleepiness vanished instantly, and waves of burning sensation kept assaulting my brain.
I opened my eyes and saw a dignified young woman holding a feather duster, looking at me with a mixture of anger and amusement.

"Get up, get up! Mom, how can you be so cruel! Am I not your real son?" I muttered unwillingly,
but dared not raise my voice, afraid of incurring more unnecessary physical punishment.

"Stop playing the victim. Get up! You're such a grown man, and you still make your mother worry about you being late all the time,
aren't you ashamed?"

I didn't dare to argue further, and reluctantly got dressed, washed up, and ate. Before long, I was walking through
the alleys of Tokyo, heading towards school.

I am Nobita Nobi, male, fifteen years old, an ordinary third-year junior high school student, living in
Tsukimidai, Nerima Ward, Tokyo, Japan. I can say that I am average-looking, have poor grades, and am bad at sports. My only special skill is rope skipping
(but if sleeping counts as a special skill, then sleeping is my forte). My hobbies are reading all kinds of comic books (
including hentai) and daydreaming.

If I had to say what makes me different, it would be that I have a non-human best friend—Doraemon.
No matter how many years pass, I will never forget the day Doraemon appeared.

—It happened when I was in fourth grade. It was nearly dusk, and I was idly
flipping through old comics in my room when suddenly the drawer began to shake violently, strange noises and lights emanating from it, as if
something about to burst out. Normally timid and fearful, I felt no fear whatsoever, thinking only of
the various adventures mentioned in the comics, imagining alien pets or goddesses descending to earth. But
when the drawer opened automatically, what appeared was utterly disappointing.

The visitor before me was neither terrifying nor beautiful; perhaps a girl could be called cute, but it was definitely not within my
aesthetic sphere. It was humanoid, with a sapphire blue, chubby body and a large, almost identical,
round head. It was about 1.2 meters tall, with short arms and legs, no forked toes, and its hands and feet were like pancakes, resembling
a large penguin. However, judging from its facial features and the six symmetrical, long, thin whiskers, it did resemble
a cat's face.

While I was still immersed in disappointment, it suddenly spoke, "Hello, you must be Nobita. My name is
Doraemon, from the future. Nice to meet you."

Later, after its self-introduction, I learned that Doraemon was a robotic cat from the future. It
was common assistant to humans in the future, specializing in handling daily chores. Although small in size,
it carried countless tools and machines from the future; while not possessing extraordinary abilities, it
had power comparable to magic in the present world.

Doraemon's coming to me wasn't due to any ancestral blessing, but rather the filial piety of my descendants. My great-grandson,
for some reason, learned that his ancestor—me—had experienced hardship in his youth, often feeling depressed and
melancholic. So he sent his good friend, the robotic cat Doraemon, back to my time in a time machine to
help and encourage me.

As a boy of only fifteen, receiving such filial piety from a younger generation, I didn't know how
to feel. However, I gladly accepted this generous gift, and countless grand ideas immediately surged through my mind—
grand ambitions like conquering the continent and unifying the planet, just like in the comics.

However, these unrealistic thoughts were quickly dampened by Doraemon. It turned out that although it was
a magical technology from the future, it was a defective product, barely manufactured and sold at a discounted price, with various functions already
compromised . Secondly, Doraemon was programmed at the factory to prevent him from using his abilities to harm humans, and
to prevent him from interfering with the course of human history during time travel. Therefore, my so-called dreams remained nothing
more than illusions .

Even so, Doraemon's endless stream of gadgets added a lot of
fun to my mundane and boring life. Although many of his gadgets were faulty, overall, they were still magical gadgets ahead of their time.

Lost in thought, I arrived at school. My school, even in Tokyo, was an excellent
middle school with over a hundred years of history. The school buildings weren't large, but they were lush with vegetation, and various teaching
and physical education facilities were built within them, widely praised by parents. But for me, classes were monotonous and boring every day,
and I wasn't good at any after-school activities. I also had very few friends. Among my classmates, only three lived relatively close to me: Kaori, Gouda, and I. Of those, only Kaori and Gouda were "bad friends" who enjoyed bullying me. Kaori was not only my friend but also the school's recognized beauty. Not only was she beautiful and charming

, but she was also graceful and well-mannered, and her grades were among the
best . What was even more commendable was that she was very kind and friendly, and never
neglected or discriminated against other students because of her popularity. So, on one hand, I
was smug , but on the other hand, I was heartbroken because she treated everyone else the same way.

However, I do have a secret I can be proud of among all the boys in school, but if I told them, I
'd probably be beaten to a pulp by their angry fists. That is, I once used Doraemon's girlfriend badge to
make Shizuka my personal girlfriend, and we reached home base on the very first day, and I even made Shizuka my
sex slave for a day! Although, due to a design flaw in the gadget, Shizuka left me not long after. But...
Thinking of the alluring taste of her breasts and vagina, my little brother still immediately gets an erection.

Another boring day at school passed quickly. Aside from sharing lunch with Shizuka, chatting for about half an hour under
the school 's shade, and failing to steal glances at her thighs and
the color of her underwear when she wasn't looking, I gained nothing. However, another unfortunate incident was enough to offset
the joy Shizuka brought me during the day…

“Doraemon, you have to save me! The history exam is next week, and I haven't listened to a single
history …” The bloated body I was hugging like a koala was Doraemon. I remember
when he first came to my side, Doraemon was almost inseparable from me. However, recently he seems to have become madly infatuated
with a certain female robot cat from the future, constantly accompanying her on her travels around the world. Unless we use the Anywhere Door,
Doraemon and I rarely see each other. Seeing him at home this time, I certainly couldn't let this
opportunity to seek his help pass.

Doraemon's chubby face couldn't display a wide range of expressions, but its round, bright eyes
undoubtedly conveyed its helpless attitude.

"It's your own fault for never studying! You're going to have to suffer!" Doraemon's voice was high-pitched
and childlike, especially when scolding me.

However, knowing it well, I didn't dare laugh at it. Instead, I shamelessly hugged it, "History class is
the first period after lunch. I'll be sleepy after eating, and I'm already trying my best not to fall asleep. Doraemon, you have
to help me. If I pass, I'll definitely treat you to dorayaki!"

Hehe, speaking of Doraemon, although it has an honest and kind program, it has a fatal weakness—
dorayaki . Although it's a robot cat, it still has a taste bud similar to a natural cat, allowing it to taste and swallow food
. Even more peculiar is that its greatest craving is dorayaki, a food that has already disappeared in the future. Therefore, whenever I
make an inappropriate request of it, I'll unleash this magic weapon.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I could almost hear Doraemon swallowing hard.

"Okay, just this once. I won't help you with the next exam. Also, I'm going to eat
at least five dorayaki today," Doraemon said, trying to sound serious.

After receiving my affirmative answer, it rummaged through its dimensional pouch for a while before finally pulling out
a bag of bread-shaped items. No, it was bread, the kind of sliced golden bread.

"What's this?" The item looked ordinary, but I had no doubt about Doraemon's bizarre abilities.

"This is called Memory Bread. It can quickly implant things you don't know into your brain."

I unwrapped the paper, and a tempting aroma of wheat wafted out. I took out a slice of Memory Bread. It felt
no different from regular bread, with a fine texture and a golden-brown color, looking very sweet and delicious. It seems that people in the future
also value enjoyment. Their gadgets not only have miraculous effects, but their appearance, feel, and even smell are also very particular.
I guess the taste must be pretty good too.

"So how do I use it?" I couldn't help but ask curiously.

"There are instructions, you can figure it out yourself. I want to buy dorayaki!" Doraemon
replied somewhat impatiently, stretching out his chubby hand as if asking for payment (I've always been curious how Doraemon,
without five fingers, grasps objects). His mind was probably already on the food stall across the alley.

I readily placed several hundred yen in Doraemon's palm, letting him enjoy his treat; then I
began intently study the memory bread.

According to the instructions, the memory bread had more than one use. If you just wanted to increase your knowledge, the method was very
simple: just press the cut side of the bread against the paper with the information written on it, and after about 30 seconds, the information written on the paper
would appear on the cut side of the bread.

Then immediately eat the bread, and after complete digestion, the information would be transmitted to your brain. Yay,
simple and easy, perfect for a lazy student like me!

I couldn't wait to start experimenting, randomly flipping through my history book and finding a page on the exam syllabus.
The historical information on the page seemed like gibberish to me; what did a certain date or event have to do with me?
Just looking at gave me a headache.

I quickly pressed the bread in my hand tightly against the pages, my heart pounding with nervous excitement, my palms sweating profusely
. To be on the safe side, I waited almost a minute before flipping the bread over to verify the effect. There, on the previously smooth
surface of the bread slice, appeared numerous tiny characters—all exactly what was recorded on the page,
perfectly and clearly legible.

Without hesitation, I swallowed the bread. Although I didn't have time to savor the taste, the texture was soft, sweet,
and slightly chewy, easily rivaling any high-end pastry, perhaps even surpassing it. A short while later,
something suddenly flashed through my mind, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I checked the textbook, and on this page it said, "1603 (8th year of Keicho) to 1867
(3rd year of Keio)." Before I even read the next sentence, it immediately came to mind: this period is known as the Edo period, and the
Edo Shogunate was established in Edo. Looking at the next sentence, it was indeed exactly the same.

I was overjoyed. I checked it again, word by word, but found that I couldn't remember every word and phrase
perfectly . Rather, I gradually acquired the relevant memories over time. It seemed that my memory speed
was directly proportional to my digestion speed.

Feeling much more at ease, I started daydreaming again, imagining the teacher's praise after the exam, Shizuka's admiration,
Suneo's jealousy, and my mother's reward.

Before I knew it, it was dinnertime, and my mother's voice called out again, "Da Xiong, time to eat!
I made your favorite seaweed and pork rib soup and curry rice today."

Looking at the bag full of bread, I hesitated and replied, "Mom, I'm not hungry. Can I eat later?"

My mother's voice suddenly rose an octave. "No! You have to eat on time. Besides, Dad's away on a business trip
. How can you let Mom eat alone? Come down here!"

My mother, Nobi Tamako, is the queen of our family. At fourteen, while still in middle school, she
met and fell in love with my father, who was already working. She married him at sixteen and gave birth to me at eighteen. After that, she never went out
to work , but stayed home to be a wife and mother. Because my mother hadn't experienced the hardships of life, although she never deliberately used
expensive cosmetics, her skin and appearance remained remarkably good, like a charming young woman in her mid-twenties.
Because she spends most of her time at home, she's slightly plump, but still shapely and not at all overweight.

My father, Nobisuke, is easygoing and easygoing, and doesn't like to argue. He works as a sales manager at a small medical
equipment company, usually working nine-to-five, and often needs to travel for work. On one hand, he feels sorry
for my mother working so hard on the household chores, and often takes good care of her; on the other hand, because of the age gap between him and his wife, he
listens to her implicitly. Therefore, my mother handles everything at home, and her word is law.

My mother is usually very good—gentle, virtuous, and capable—but she becomes particularly irritable
and easily angered . I don't know if this is another side of her nature, or if it's triggered by my long-term laziness.

However, based on my understanding of my mother, if I still don't obey after being called downstairs
, I'm sure I'll get a beating. Reluctantly, I went downstairs to the dining room on the first floor. The aroma of food
wafted through the air; my mother's cooking is always so excellent. Despite wanting to save room for the memory bread,
I reluctantly ate until I was about 90% full under my mother's strict supervision and the temptation of delicious food.

My mother doesn't eat much and finished her lunch in a few bites. Since my father wasn't home, she focused all her attention
on the food, making a lot of noise. I was both impatient and curious; how could my elegant and handsome father have
found young, beautiful, and picky mother? It was truly baffling.

After finishing my meal, I went upstairs to my room and looked at the bag full of bread, feeling troubled. The pastries, which were still sweet, no longer looked or
smelled appealing. Well, I'll eat them as a midnight snack later, that's settled. With this thought in mind, I
comfortably lay down on the bed, flipping through the latest comic book, leisurely enjoying the lazy time after dinner.

Before I knew it, it was almost eleven o'clock. Oh no, I'm still not hungry; my stomach is bloated.
Never mind that, the exam is the priority!

I opened my history book, turning the pages one by one, repeating the instructions, absorbing
the information along with slices of bread.

The problem is, the problem is, there's so much material for the exam! After nearly a dozen slices of bread, I
felt like there was food churning in my throat. Looking at the remaining five or six pages to memorize, I gritted my teeth, gulped down a large glass of
cold water, and ate a slice of bread with a sip of water, forcing down those five or six slices of memory bread.

After finishing, I let out a long burp and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. I tossed and turned for half the night, finally managing to
temporarily forget my uncomfortable, bloated stomach and drifting off to sleep.

However, close to midnight, I was awakened by a sudden, sharp pain in my abdomen. Ouch, my stomach
hurt so ! This was followed by a relentless urge to defecate. I guessed I hadn't just eaten too much last night, but also drunk cold water
, which had upset my stomach.

I rushed to the toilet, and after several forceful urinations, the pain finally subsided. Just
as I was secretly relieved that the diarrhea hadn't returned, I suddenly noticed some pale
white bread residue among the floating excrement in the toilet bowl, with what appeared to be small writing on it.

My heart sank. Could it be? I wondered how much of yesterday's bread had been digested. There was no
way to stop it now; I had to go to the exam.

I ate breakfast nervously and entered the exam hall. After receiving the exam paper, I anxiously began to work on the questions, but
my worst fears came true. Although I had some fragmented memory of each question, it was all
scattered , incoherent, and vague—a complete mess. I forced myself to finish the test,
and spent that miserable day in a daze.

Three days later, "20 points!" The test papers were finally handed back. The final score was
better than my usual zeros, but it didn't ease my gloom.

Sigh, I couldn't escape my mother's beating. Fate, fate, I comforted myself as always.

Dejected, I returned home, not even trying to hide the test paper. I was tired of that trick. I had to give the test paper to my mother for signature
each time , and then give the signed paper to the teacher for verification. This was
the consensus reached by my mother and teacher after I hid the test papers multiple times, leaving my bad grades nowhere to hide.

Sitting in my room, I was thinking about how to explain to my mother when I suddenly noticed the remaining memory
bread . A wave of annoyance washed over me. Future technology, utterly useless. Without thinking, I
picked up the bread bag, intending to sweep it into the trash can, but unexpectedly discovered
the second : "Memory Modification."

What was that? I was puzzled. A few days ago, in my haste to experiment, I hadn't finished reading the entire
instruction ; I only tested the first function, "Knowledge Storage." Out of curiosity, I began to read it carefully.

It turns out the Memory Bread is a tool from future technology used for educating and guiding children, possessing several basic functions
. First, it's used to teach children various kinds of knowledge, reducing learning and memorization time—this is the "
Knowledge Storage
" function I used. Second, it's used to instill various lifestyles, etiquette, and principles in children, establishing good habits and eliminating bad ones—this is the second function, "Memory Modification."

In short, the first function only increases knowledge reserves, and children can discern and analyze the input knowledge
. The second function is mandatory; once input, it doesn't become part of the child's knowledge reserves but rather
adds to or replaces them as new memories and behavioral patterns. The child will then naturally and
uncritically accept the information without question and act according to the instilled guidance.

The instruction manual specifically emphasizes that this function is generally used for early childhood education, should be used with caution by adults, and should only
be used under the guidance of school teachers.

This function sounded amazing, but what use would it be to me? As I was lost in thought, the paper
door suddenly opened.

"Nobita, I heard the history results are out. How did you do?" My mother launched a surprise attack before I could even think of
an excuse , clearly having heard something.

Caught off guard, I could only obediently hand over my test paper. Upon seeing it, my mother's murderous aura
intensified. "Nobita, you failed again! Get down on your bed and behave yourself!"

Seeing Mom's attitude, my heart sank. Dad was away on a business trip today, and no one could stop Mom
. Besides, Mom was more responsive to gentle persuasion than harshness; perhaps a few words of pleading would offer some hope.

I quickly forced out a few tears, "Mom, I know I was wrong. I'll study hard from now on,
listen attentively in class , and finish my homework. Waaah."

But Mom was in a particularly irritable mood today, and her anger only intensified upon hearing this. "
What are you crying for, you boy? Stop crying! You're so spineless. Your father's not home, so you have to act like the man of the house!"

Mom yelled, grabbing a wooden ruler from the table and lashing it across my back and bottom without warning.
This time, my fake tears turned into real tears. I wailed uncontrollably, only to be
punished even more severely by Mom.

Even after scolding me, Mom's anger hadn't subsided. "No more allowance this month. Come back and ask me for it when you pass your
history test."

I sat blankly on the bed. It was truly a double whammy; not only had I been beaten, but my allowance for the month
had also vanished. I was just planning to buy the manga that's coming out this week, and now I had to borrow from that
stingy …

Right, memory bread! If I could use this bread to change Mom's memory, making her think I got a perfect score,
then … well

, I'd give it a try, even if it seemed hopeless. So, following the instructions, I found a small tube resembling toothpaste at the bottom of the bread bag. This
was memory-modifying sauce specifically for writing down memories. I tried squeezing out a little, and it
smelled like sweet strawberry jam—it must taste delicious.

Too lazy to experiment, I simply wrote on a piece of bread: "Nobita got a hundred on his history test today
." Then, I carefully took the bread downstairs.

Mom was still there, fuming with anger. I went up to her with a smile, "Mom, I know I was wrong.
I'll study hard from now on and won't make you angry."

"Knowing you were wrong isn't enough. You always make me worry about your studies. Your dad and I are
both good students, so why are you like this..."

I quickly interrupted her long-winded speech, "Mom, don't worry. I really will change this time. Look
, this is bread I just bought at the bakery on the street on my way home today. It's a new kind, and it's especially
delicious . Mom, try some, don't be angry anymore."

Mom looked at me with some surprise, "Why are you suddenly so sensible? But no matter what,
you have to , otherwise you still won't get any pocket money."

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Mom, you try some first." I cautiously handed her the bread, speaking in a coquettish tone
. Because the writing on the bread was so messy, it was practically indistinguishable from strawberry jam. Mom took it
without hesitation and ate it bite by bite.

"It tastes really good. Is it the one around the corner? You can buy more next time." Mom seemed touched by my
sudden filial piety and didn't scold me much about the exam, continuing to prepare dinner.

About half an hour later, I figured the bread was almost completely digested, so I tried to bring up
the exam with Mom, "Mom, this history exam..."

But Mom's previous worried expression vanished, replaced by a bright smile. "Yes, yes, I know.
What reward do you want?"

"Huh?"

"Mom didn't expect you to improve so much, you even got a perfect score!"

"Ah." I didn't expect things to go so smoothly; Mom so readily believed the memories I'd fabricated for her.
I didn't know how to answer for a moment.

"Sigh, it's all my fault for thinking you were stupid before. Every time I saw you fail a test,
I couldn't help but want to hit you. I felt you weren't like my child at all. I should encourage you more from now on.
Our Da Xiong is actually quite smart. Besides, what kind of stupid child can only fail tests every time?"

The more my mother praised me, the more it felt like her sarcasm, and my face burned. My long-dormant
self-esteem suddenly rose again, only to be pierced by my mother's satisfied expression and praising words.

I couldn't help but think bitterly, what kind of mother is she? Good grades mean a good child, bad grades mean I'm not like your
son . Am I, Da Xiong, really that useless? Then I started blaming my mother. If you hadn't forced me to eat so
much dinner, how could I have had indigestion and diarrhea, leading to failing the test...

Thinking about it, a thought lingered in my mind: if I were a father, I definitely wouldn't treat my children like this; I
would let them be free. Hmm, that's right, actually, I could try that too.

I remembered the memory bread. Ignoring my mother's praise, I said, "Mom, I'm going upstairs for a bit."

I went upstairs, picked up a piece of memory bread, pondered for a moment, and wrote a line: "Nobita's daughter, Tamako, is Nobita
's five-year-old daughter."

After writing that, I quickly went downstairs and presented the magical bread to my mother. "Mom, I don't want
any reward. You work so hard all the time, it's only right that I study hard. I still have some of the bread you said was delicious
, Mom, try some more."

"Nobita..." My mother was a little stunned by my many "good performances" today. She opened her mouth to say something, but didn't
know how to praise me. Her eyes seemed a little red.

I was filled with anger. Mom, I actually love you very much. But why do you only pay attention to grades and
bread, these superficial things? Can't you see my heart? I still
pleaded , "Mom, just eat it. I'll buy more next time."

"Okay, okay." My mother swallowed the bread in a few bites, I don't know what she tasted.

After we finished eating, Mom busied herself in the kitchen while chatting idly with me.

I silently observed her. For ten minutes, Mom's behavior didn't change much; she continued doing things skillfully and
methodically . After ten minutes, Mom started to seem lost, picking up the spatula and then putting it down, holding
a dishcloth but unsure where to wipe, muttering something that was hard to understand.

Suddenly, Mom stopped her aimless work, looked around, and then stared at me intently,
calling out in a clear, childlike voice, "Daddy!" Then she skipped and hopped towards me, throwing herself into my arms.

"Daddy, Daddy, Tamako is hungry, I want to eat!"

Although I was already in the second year of junior high school, I wasn't fully grown yet, and my height was barely the same as Mom's.
My mother, like a child holding an adult, opened her arms and hugged me tightly, her body pressed against me, her head resting on my shoulder
, her whole body wriggling restlessly, "Daddy, I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I want to eat, I want to eat."

Since I can remember, my mother has never been so enthusiastic, so uninhibited, so fully
physically intimate with me. Even through my pajamas, how could that incredibly soft, thin cotton fabric block the constant heat and fragrance emanating from
my mother's body, how could it block
the intoxicating sensation of her ample breasts rubbing against my chest, how could it erase the ecstatic feeling of her hips accidentally brushing against my crotch when she swayed?

I was momentarily entranced, feeling a hard, tight sensation in my pants, as if my whole body was burning and looking for an
outlet, yet I ignored my mother's playful, coquettish whispers in my ear. Perhaps seeing that I was ignoring her, my mother
gently bit my neck with her small mouth. "Daddy's naughty! Ignoring Yuzi!"

In a daze, I felt a warm, stinging sensation on my neck, a heat flowing from my neck throughout my body. It was my mother
gently biting and then sucking on the spot. After a few sucks, my mother probably found it amusing and giggled, her voice
tinkling like a silver bell, making me feel completely out of control.

I quickly composed myself, gently pushed my mother away, and said to her in a coaxing tone, "Yuzi, be good
, Daddy will find you something to eat right away."

My mother obediently nodded, stopped her tantrums, and sat obediently on the sofa, intently watching
the children's channel I had switched to, occasionally letting out joyful laughter.

I pretended to be busy in the kitchen, but my mind was still not calm. Although I had impulsively
changed my mother's memories to those of a five-year-old daughter, I had no plan for how to interact with her afterward.
But inside, I was filled with a completely free joy and an indescribable impulse, as if something was about to surge out
of .

Although I didn't know what to do, I knew I couldn't give up this sudden, sweet
feeling . I considered it for a moment; Dad wouldn't be back for another week and a half. I'd see how it went.
I'd take on the role of Mom's dad first.

Since I was Mom's dad, I had to be responsible for her daily needs and take good care of her. Since I
couldn't cook, I might as well go out and buy Mom something to eat. I remembered Mom's favorite foods were rice balls and takoyaki.
After telling Mom not to wander around, I left home and quickly bought those two items at a nearby grocery store.

When I got home and opened the door, Mom was still intently watching a children's program. I called out to her
, "Tamako. Look what Dad bought you!"

Mom turned around, her gaze falling on the two food containers in my hand. "Takoyaki!" She
ran over excitedly, snatched the containers from my hand, and eagerly started eating the takoyaki.

"Be careful, it's hot," I said, unconsciously embracing my role as a dad, offering slight concern
.

"Mmm." Mom ate without turning her head, I don't know if she listened to me.

Before I knew it, Mom had devoured more than twenty takoyaki balls by herself, but didn't try to eat any rice balls.
It seems that Mom's love for rice balls only developed after she grew up.

After Mom finished eating, she started to act cute and playful with me. "Daddy is so good!" She
half-knelt and half-crawled to my side as I sat on the sofa, frantically eating rice balls. "Takoyaki balls are so delicious."

"Daddy is the best!" Tamako hugged my neck, gave me a big kiss, and then looked at me coquettishly
. "Tamako wants to eat more!"

"Okay! Okay!" I stared at Mom's face. I had never
looked at , nor had I ever examined her beauty with this gaze. Mom had a delicate oval face,
with long, black, shiny hair cascading down her shoulders, fair and smooth skin, slightly almond-shaped eyes, and a straight and elegant nose. Even without
makeup, her eyebrows were still beautifully drawn. My mother has a small mole, no bigger than a sesame seed, on the corner of her full, upturned, rosy lips.
My father often jokes that it's a "womanizing mole," which my
mother laughs off, calling it nonsense. But undeniably, this little mole adds to her alluring charm.

What's irresistible is that while her face is full of mature beauty, her eyes are so
clear bright, as transparent and innocent as a child's. This contradictory illusion only enhances her irresistible
allure.

I glanced at my mother's lips out of the corner of my eye. Wait, that dark spot isn't a mole, it's takoyaki sauce. I
couldn't help but chuckle wryly. Sigh, I never imagined my usually meticulous mother could be so messy even as a child.

I ran my finger across her lips, wiping away the remaining sauce. The warm, bouncy touch
made me want to caress it more.

Suddenly, Mom exclaimed, "Oh my, delicious teriyaki sauce!" Then, she stuck out her bright red tongue and
gently pecked at my finger before I could retract it, licking away the remaining teriyaki sauce. Then, as if not satisfied, she opened
her mouth and took my finger in, gently sucking on it.

I was instantly struck dumb, my whole body burning with heat, as if my entire body was being held in Mom's mouth,
and I could feel the squeezing and teasing of her smooth, warm mouth.

After sucking for a while, Mom seemed to find it tasteless, so she opened her mouth again, tilted her head, and continued to shake my neck, "Daddy,
play with me, Daddy, play with me."

Because of my superior position, I could easily see
her full, white breasts through the opening of her pajamas. Today, Mom was wearing a bright red bra, the edge of which was trimmed with
lace, which looked dazzlingly beautiful against her snow-white skin.

Because my mother insisted on breastfeeding me until I was one year old, her breasts were
an enviable , probably a D cup. These two beautiful mounds
swayed restlessly with her movements, attracting my eyes and making my heart pound.

My mother noticed my gaze but, of course, didn't object. Surprisingly,
she expressed dissatisfaction with her daily bra. "Dad, my chest feels stuffy. That little top is too tight;
it's uncomfortable."

Seeing that I didn't respond, she unabashedly took off her top, revealing only her underwear, and held out her hands to me.
"Dad, I don't know how to take this off. Can you help me?"

Since I was seven, my mother had stopped bathing with me, and being conservative by nature, even at the pool or beach...
She refused to wear a bikini. Therefore, I hadn't seen my mother's abdomen or back for many years. I only saw that her
abdomen was flat, without any excess fat. Although it couldn't be called a wasp waist, it was still
quite slender and attractive against the backdrop of her full breasts and hips.

My mother urged me urgently, "Daddy, hurry up, it's uncomfortable being so tight."

I obeyed, turning behind her and reaching out with trembling hands to try and unfasten her bra. Due to
my nervousness, I failed several times. My mother became increasingly insistent.

Finally, with a satisfying "pop," the back half of the bra automatically opened. But perhaps because of my mother
's firm and full breasts, the front half still hung loosely on her chest. Before I could even reach out, my mother
cheered, casually tossing aside the bra and turning around, revealing her full breasts completely exposed before my eyes.

I was almost stunned by the beautiful sight before me. My mother's plump breasts, shaped like two full jade bowls,
stood erect on her chest. The skin on her chest was translucent and white, with faint blue veins faintly visible. Two bright red
nipples, the size of peanuts, stood proudly erect. Perhaps due to breastfeeding, her areolas were slightly large, about half a finger's width.

Before I could even finish admiring the sight, my mother, on her own, put on her pajamas top and started
jumping around shirtless. "Daddy, play with me!"

I was already dizzy and disoriented, so I foolishly followed my mother's instructions and started
playing a game of tag with her. I was the eagle, and she was the chick, chasing each other.

After becoming a little girl, my mother seemed to have a lot more energy. We chased each other for more than half an hour, and although
she was panting, she still wanted to continue playing. As for me, I was exhausted. The only thing I could call a reward
was seeing my mother's full breasts bounce and sway as she ran, a truly alluring sight.
The consequence of this was that I had to force myself to keep going and chase after her, adding to my exhaustion.

Of course, every time I caught my mother's little chick, I would take the opportunity to grope her all over,
kneading and playing with her plump breasts and round bottom. But my mother would giggle and bounce
away, leaving me utterly helpless.

During the play, my mother accidentally bumped into a vase in the corner. With a loud crash, the vase shattered into four
pieces.

My mother seemed to realize she had caused trouble and immediately quieted down, standing to the side, her face flustered as she glanced at me furtively.
She whispered, "Dad, I didn't mean to. Dad, please don't hit me."

I was about to comfort her when I suddenly remembered how my mother used to scold me. So I pretended to be stern and said,
"Yuzi, come here."

My mother looked very nervous and walked timidly to my side.

I said sharply, "Yuzi, you've done something wrong. Daddy has to punish you a little. Be good and
lie down on the sofa."

Although my mother was scared, she obediently lay face down on the sofa, burying her head
under , as if that would help her escape punishment.

I was amused by my mother's childish behavior, but the burning fire in my heart didn't die down;
instead, it grew even stronger. I walked over and gently pulled down my mother's pajama pants and underwear, leaving them behind her legs.
My mother's body trembled slightly; she was clearly very scared.

Although her legs were tightly closed, through the gap between them, I could still vaguely see the pink pubic hair and
the dark, curled pubic hair, the alluring scent and heat of a mature woman's body seemingly emanating from it.

I gasped and gently placed my hand on my mother's buttocks. My mother seemed to feel a little itchy and
squirmed uncomfortably. The sensation in my hands was incredibly strange; my mother's buttocks were plump and soft. My hands felt as if
they were touching a piece of warm, beautiful jade, so tender that I couldn't bear to let go.

"Smack!" I lightly slapped her. My mother's buttocks immediately rippled, a slight but
lingering tremor that lasted for a long time.

I found it amusing and started slapping her more vigorously. The ripples on her buttocks were spectacular and
moving . My mother was both frightened and ashamed, and she began to sob. Hearing my mother's cries, I felt no
pity, but rather an indescribable sense of control and pleasure, and I slapped her buttocks even more vigorously.

Before long, my mother's buttocks were red and swollen. My lower body was incredibly hard, wanting only to find
an outlet to ejaculate. I felt as if I were being burned by an inexplicable fire, trembling so much that I couldn't continue punishing her,
so I sat down to the side, panting.

I wasn't a simple, naive child. Living in Japan, I had already seen those so-called
banned books, including incestuous and sadistic comics. Although I don't have any particular fetish for this, I'm not particularly
averse to it either. At this moment, my half-naked mother is just a piece of beautiful flesh worthy of my debauchery in my eyes. The distinction between mother and son
doesn't cause me any taboo; on the contrary, it only increases my forbidden pleasure.

Something is bound to happen tonight, but I don't know how it will happen yet.

My mother sensed that I had stopped hitting and punishing her, and she also stopped crying, but she was still sobbing.
After a while, she finally caught her breath, timidly put on her pants herself, and turned her face halfway to look at me, "Daddy
, Yuzi needs to pee."

(My mother isn't a precocious child; at five years old, she still needs to be helped to pee. )

I led my mother to the bathroom, and she took off her pants on her own, revealing her two snow-white and smooth
thighs. She looked at me with difficulty, obviously wanting me to lift her up to help her pee. But looking at my mother's and my
size , it was obviously difficult for me to lift her up.

Helpless, I could only teach my mother to sit on the toilet and try to relieve herself. Despite this, Mom's
thighs remained stretched out high, maintaining the shameful position of being helped to urinate, thus exposing her secret vulva
to my view.

Mom's pubic hair was quite thick, but rather neat, perhaps due to frequent trimming, and not
messy . Among the hair, the shape of her vulva resembled a slightly open jade clam, its flesh pink and glistening with an alluring sheen
. A pearl, seemingly both shy and delighted, peeked out from above the shell, as if enticing me to pluck it.

Mom seemed uncomfortable with this position, her face flushed red, yet she couldn't urinate smoothly, her vulva opening opening and
closing , clearly struggling.

Mom looked at me with a troubled expression, but I could no longer restrain myself. I knelt before Mom and reached out to
caress tease her forbidden zone.

I felt a warm, moist heat where I touched, and the pungent, fishy smell permeated the air, yet it wasn't
unpleasant ; instead, it fueled the fire within me. Was this where I was born?

I was momentarily dazed, but my fingers continued their ceaseless stroking. Gradually, the sensation on my fingertips became even more slippery.
My mother's expression changed; her once pure and innocent eyes were now misty, her blush deepened
, and she let out a strange moan.

I imitated what I read in the book, increasing the speed of my caresses, and occasionally rubbing my mother's clitoris.
My fingers were gradually soaked with the viscous fluid, the fishy scent intensified, and my mother's moans grew more distressed. Her lips parted
slightly , emitting a soft, almost sobbing gasp. Her thighs could no longer remain fully open, but
unconsciously opened and closed, as if trying to hold onto something, or perhaps to drive something away.

Suddenly, I felt my mother's body begin to tremble, a flush spreading from her face to her entire body.
She screamed, "Ahhh, Daddy, I'm going to pee!"

I felt a warm, wet sensation on my hand, and a gush of warm liquid spurted from her vagina. Her
thighs convulsed uncontrollably, and she kept moaning. My mother had reached orgasm so quickly under my touch.

I pulled my hand away and saw my mother slumped on the toilet, her body flushed, her eyes half-closed, her lips
murmuring something, her lower body still twitching and swaying. Her weak, languid, yet sexy appearance was simply
irresistible.

I could no longer resist my mother's allure, feeling as if my lower body was about to explode. So I helped my limp
mother up, her upper body leaning over the washbasin, facing the edge; her lower body slightly raised, revealing her engorged
, overflowing vulva. My mother seemed to protest by slowly wiggling her buttocks, but she was still immersed in the afterglow of her previous orgasm
, constantly emitting meaningless moans.

I pulled down my trousers and underwear, grasped my already erect penis, aimed at the entrance of my mother's honeypot, and
slowly pushed it in. An indescribable, wonderful sensation instantly spread from my genitals throughout my entire body. Wet, hot, tight, slippery—
no matter how beautiful the adjectives, they couldn't describe the ecstasy I felt at that moment.

My mother's honeypot was still in a state of high tension; as soon as something intruded, it immediately and
mercilessly wrapped and squeezed, as if trying to expel it. But I, already at the point of exhaustion, would not be
deterred by such resistance. I continued to push deeper without mercy, until I was almost fully inside, when I felt that the
tip of my penis seemed to have touched a tender, soft, and numb spot, and could go no further.

As I was intently exploring my mother's honeypot, my actions seemed to have aroused my strength. My previously
limp body suddenly tensed up again, and I let out strange moans, as if I were extremely distressed and yet extremely joyful.

At this moment, my mind went blank, the pleasurable sensation between my legs made me forget everything,
and unconsciously began to thrust my hips vigorously, fully experiencing unprecedented pleasure. Each insertion was deep and thorough
, touching that mysterious flower bud, and each impact sent waves of tingling pleasure back.

I myself seemed to have transformed into a giant phallus, relentlessly thrusting, seeking to return to
the secret realm of the womb that nurtured me.

My mother's strength seemed to have fully recovered, and she began to twist her hips rhythmically
to meet my thrusts. The outline of her breasts was clearly visible on her sweat-soaked pajamas, her nipples
proudly erect, leaping with each of my thrusts.

My mother's cries gradually took on meaning, no longer just simple moans and groans. "Ahhh, Daddy...
ahhh, Tamako is acting so strange...but it feels so good..."

I couldn't help but groan too. "Ahhh, Mommy, your pussy is so hot, so tight, so good."

"Ahhh...Tamako can't take it anymore, Tamako needs to pee...ahhh, it's coming out. Daddy..."
I heard my mother let out a long cry, and a surge of hot fluid rushed from her flower core to my penis. Her honey hole tightly wrapped and enveloped my
penis, as if several streams were sucking it incessantly at the same time.

I couldn't bear this stimulation. I held my mother's waist and thrust hard, pushing my penis to its
deepest point . Immediately, my penis went numb, and waves of electricity shot from my spinal cord straight to my mother's honey hole,
giving me a feeling of ascending to heaven.

Scalded by my hot semen, my mother's cries became even more intense and loud, but to me, they seemed to be far away.

It might have been a while, or maybe a long time, before I came back to my senses. My mother was completely limp on
the vanity. In the mirror, her eyes were glazed and unfocused, as if desire had clouded her former purity
and innocence, turning her back into the lustful, beautiful woman she once was.

I withdrew my penis, only to see a thin, white fluid slowly flowing from her swollen vulva, an incredibly lewd sight.

At this moment, my previously limp penis suddenly hardened again. I couldn't resist sitting on the toilet, holding
my mother in a child-like embrace, my back to her, and thrusting my hard penis deep into
her vulva from below, beginning a new round of intercourse. My mother cried out repeatedly, "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,"
filling me with boundless excitement in this immoral act of intercourse, a act I couldn't quite define as mother and son or father and daughter. Since this was
the second , it took me a long time to reach another climax, and my mother, after several orgasms, was stimulated to
the point of losing control of her bladder, releasing her pent-up urine.

That day, I can't remember how many times my mother and I made love, from the bathroom to the bed. I only remember that at the end,
my penis, which was almost unable to get erect again, was inserted into my mother's warm, wet vagina. I fell into
a deep sleep with weak, trembling movements, while my mother, having lost consciousness in multiple orgasms, could only unconsciously moan
and passively raise her hips slightly to meet my thrusts…

In the morning, still half-asleep, I was awakened by waves of
pleasure . I forced my eyes open and saw a naked, long-haired beauty thrusting between my legs. Seeing that I
was awake, she slightly raised her head and looked at me with eyes that seemed both innocent and mature, containing both
the cunning of someone caught cheating and a hidden lust. While sucking on the glistening penis she had been licking,
she mumbled, "Daddy, wake up. Tamako wants Daddy to fuck her pussy."

Seeing that I didn't object or scold her, she immediately cheered, sat up, and presented her already overflowing, lustful pussy to...
Her erect penis slowly lowered. After penetrating fully, she let out a long groan and
began to thrust and stroke, gradually increasing the speed, occasionally swaying her body to stimulate her G-spot. Her large,
heavy bounced with her movements, drawing dazzling, erotic curves. My mother kept
shouting, "Daddy, Tamako is good... Daddy, Tamako's little hole is going to be pierced by you..."

As I enjoyed my mother's passionate and intense thrusting, I tried to recall the events of
the
past few days. It was because things had changed so quickly that it was hard to accept; it was also because I had indulged in unrestrained lust every day, losing track of time. I felt that these past few days were unreal, as if I were in a dream.

Ever since I used the memory bread to turn my mother into my Tamako daughter, I
took a long leave of absence from school the very next day, and as soon as I regained my strength, I began to rape and fuck her. As for Tamako's mother
, she immediately took to this lewd game that gave her comfort, excitement, and pleasure. From
initial bewilderment , constantly clamoring for intercourse with me whenever the opportunity arose.

Despite this, I tried to get her to perform oral sex on me, but for some reason, she always found my
penis disgusting and threw a tantrum, refusing to obey my commands no matter how I threatened or bribed her.
In desperation, I resorted to the memory bread, making her "like licking Daddy's penis and drinking the
white, sticky fluid flowing from it," and also making her "feel very comfortable being penetrated in the buttocks, just as comfortable as being penetrated
in the vagina "

Thus, by the fourth and fifth day, her mouth and anus had also succumbed, frequently
experiencing orgasms after I took turns penetrating every orifice of her body, leaving her covered in semen. For this, she always blamed me, blaming me for not
ejaculating her thirsty mouth, because my semen had become her favorite dessert. So, I often saw
my mother , after our frenzied intercourse, still mustering her energy, use her fingers to scrape
off the white, cloudy semen I ejaculated into her vagina or anus, mixing it with our other sweat and vaginal fluids, and put it into her mouth, eating it with relish
. Finally, she would always fall asleep sweetly with a satisfied smile.

The days of debauchery were joyful and short-lived, but also filled with hidden worries. One morning, when I woke up and couldn't find my mother
, I went to the kitchen and found her naked, preparing breakfast for me. Watching her skillfully toasting bread
and stir-frying vegetables, I almost thought my familiar mother had returned. If she hadn't blurted out "Dad,"
I would have truly thought disaster was imminent.

That day, I used the Anywhere Door to find Doraemon and asked him about the workings of the Memory Bread. I wasn't worried that
Doraemon would blame me after learning what had happened. Although Doraemon's programming includes virtues like honesty and
integrity , its primary function as a helper for young children means it
knows nothing about relationships or fidelity, and therefore cannot express approval or disapproval. This is why
Doraemon didn't object when I used the Girlfriend Badge to rape Shizuka.

While Doraemon didn't fully explain the Memory Bread to me, I eventually
grasped the general idea.

It turns out the Memory Bread is primarily designed for children, especially young children; its principle involves
using special substances to act on the cerebral cortex to leave false memories and imprint behavioral patterns. Since a child's
cerebral cortex is largely undeveloped, like a blank sheet of paper, the Memory Bread leaves traces, which are then
repeatedly reinforced, naturally stabilizing the memories and behavioral patterns.

However, for adults, their memories and behavioral patterns are already fixed; the Memory Bread merely covers them with
a thin layer, replacing everything but unable to change anything. Once the effects of the memory bread
wear off , the false memories and behavioral patterns will disappear, and the original memories and behavioral patterns will naturally revert to normal.

However, it's reassuring that
since this memory will naturally disappear along with the effects of the memory bread, leaving no trace.

Hearing Doraemon's explanation, I felt both disappointed and slightly relieved. These past two days, I've been worried about
how Dad would handle everything that had happened when he returned. Since that's the case, I just need to let things pass.

With a "seize the day" mentality, Mom and I resumed our all-night lovemaking. My penis and semen
repeatedly ejaculated inside and outside Mom's body, and in the end, Mom
swallowed every drop of semen from every part of her body without missing a single one.

Until the night before Dad's business trip, after I helped Mom wash up and cleaned
up . Then, I took out the last piece of memory bread and wrote, "Nobita's mother is Tamako.
Nine days ago, Nobita fell ill and was recuperating at home, and Tamako has been taking care of him."

Then, I coaxed my mother into eating the bread and watched her fall into a deep sleep. Before falling asleep, she gazed at me intently and said, "
Dad , Tamako will always be with you!"

I returned to my room, distraught, and lay on my bed, my mind a jumbled mess. Unconsciously, I drifted off to sleep, lost in
my own thoughts . In my dream, I seemed to be back in the days of passionate lovemaking with my mother.

"Nobita, wake up! Nobita, wake up!" The familiar urging voice
was accompanied by another series of urgent knocks on the door.

My Tamako mother had returned.

Flying Pig, the senior author of the Hypnotic Fetish genre,

first became known through his work "A Record of Family Hypnotic Lewdness." Unfortunately, that piece only went as far as the initial hypnosis of his mother before ending abruptly, leaving the rest unexplored. This new work, however, fulfills some of that hope.

Doraemon, such fond childhood memories! Although I've forgotten most of the story, the characters are still vivid in my mind, just like Li Lei and Han Meimei. Doraemon is indeed well-suited for H-fiction; the gadgets are very imaginative. I hope the author continues to work hard and publish more H-fiction. Most Doraemon fanfiction is poorly written, and the plots are often poorly developed. However, this one has a good plot and uses reasonable gadgets. I hope the author continues writing. Although over 10,000 words is quite a lot, I still feel unsatisfied. Personally, I think Nobita's classmates could be included to help him mess with his mother. For example, one day Nobita and his mother could be caught having sex by Gian, who would then threaten Nobita to share his mother's affections. A mother-swapping plot could also be added. This is just my personal opinion. The author's work is quite good; I've given it a thumbs up. Hope you continue to work hard and bring us more works! The author's imagination is truly rich! I've read several Doraemon books, and overall, there are so many gadgets!
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I wish I could have a Doraemon too. Articles that revisit childhood cartoons always resonate with readers. Doraemon's gadgets are always unexpected. I hope the author can create more works like Doraemon.

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