[Past Events Drift Away with the Wind] Author: Magina

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

Author 　　: 　　Magina 　　Word 　　Count
: 　　14711
********** 　　...　　　　　　　　　　Xiaoyu shifted her body, her smooth skin like a soft, warm snake slithering across it. She rested her head on my lap, 　　playing with her hair, brushing the ends against my glans. 　　She always knew my sensitive spots; soon, my enormous penis gleamed, while my thoughts 　　drifted. 　　That was a long, long, long time ago… 　　(Part 1) 　　“Don’t look at him, he’s a scoundrel, very, very bad.” 　　I heard someone whispering behind me, and glancing sideways, I saw two rather pretty female voices 　　startled by my gaze, quickly walking past me. 　　I spat and cursed, when I suddenly heard the girl with the long ponytail whisper, 　　"That scoundrel, his dad's a scoundrel, and I bet his mom is too. Sigh, I really don't know what kind of mother raised him." 　　The other girl didn't speak, but the girl with the long ponytail continued muttering, "Definitely not a good person, hey, 　　maybe a prostitute." 　　I won't go into the details of the violence that followed. The headmaster knew I wasn't anything special and didn't bother to scold me; anyway, the college entrance 　　exam was coming up this year, and he wouldn't see me again. 　　I skipped evening self-study to go out and played. When I got back, it was almost late at night. I was wandering aimlessly when I saw the 　　girl with the long ponytail alone on a dark path. The scene of her fighting with me that afternoon, spewing profanities, suddenly 　　flooded back, and my anger from being killed in a PK in Legend of Mir 2 erupted. 　　I took a few steps forward, covered her mouth, grabbed her shoulder strap, and dragged her away. She looked at me with terrified eyes and 　　bit my hand hard. I cursed and slapped her across the face. 　　She was fierce too, throwing her schoolbag and trying to fight me. With a burst of strength, I ripped one side of her clothes, 　　revealing her simple pink bra, her small breasts swaying slightly. I suddenly stopped, swallowed hard 　　, and felt aroused. 　　She finally panicked, clutching her chest and cursing. My mind went blank; I took a few steps forward, threw her to the ground, 　　and pounced on her, tearing at her clothes like a madman. Her eyes were filled with terror as she screamed, but I 　　ignored her, ripping off her bra, revealing two small, white mounds of flesh like steamed buns. 　　She was still struggling, so I simply sat on top of her, hurriedly unzipping my pants. 　　A sharp pain, seemingly from nowhere, snapped me back to reality. I cried out helplessly, 　　"Mom." 　　My penis was still erect and throbbing. Beneath me was a crying girl; before me stood my 　　mother, trembling, who suddenly squatted down and began to weep. 　　I don't know how I got home. I was standing in my mother's room. My father was probably 　　out drinking with his cronies again, and I didn't know where my brother was. My mother was standing by the window, her back to me. 　　"Mom," I called out, kneeling down. 　　"You really want to know what a woman's body looks like?" My mother's voice was deathly still, despair bordering on calm. 　　I knelt on the floor, head bowed, hearing the rustling of clothes. I looked up and saw a 　　woman, topless, with her back to me. The moonlight shone on her body, like a layer of ointment, so bright 　　I couldn't look away. 　　The woman moved her hand behind her back and calmly took off her skirt. She turned around, and a perfect body was presented 　　before me. 　　Her legs were long and shapely, without an ounce of excess fat, their perfect curves extending upwards like two clear 　　rivers converging in a grassy courtyard. Thick, sparse pubic hair surrounded her bulging vulva. I couldn't help but wonder 　　what lay beneath. I looked up; her slender waist led upwards to two enormous breasts, 　　their areolas somewhat dim, yet alluring. 　　I felt an unbearable swelling in my groin. I looked up; my mother's delicate face was ashen. 　　She was crying, tears streaming down her expressionless face. 　　All my desire vanished. I cried out loud, kneeling and kowtowing. My mother's ashen eyes 　　seemed to glance at me, and she said indifferently, "Didn't you want to see? I'll show you." 　　I shook my head violently, kneeling backwards, and after leaving the room, I ran out of the house, squatted 　　under a telephone pole, and wailed, desperately slapping my face. 　　I wasn't expelled. The girl with the ponytail spat at me, saying she was wrong to insult my mother first, 　　and I hadn't caused her much harm, so it was over. 　　My father, on the other hand, was very happy for me, saying I was indeed his son and would inherit his business. I cursed under my breath 　　. 　　I didn't like my father; he was a real scoundrel, doing nothing all day, drinking, fighting, and beating my mother 　　. They say fatherly love is like a mountain, but I felt no affection from him. My brother's imprisonment was also somewhat 　　related to him. 　　I started studying hard, but the college entrance exams in those years were unimaginably difficult. With so little time, 　　what good would all my efforts do? But I still wanted to try. In my spare time, I would always think about that night, about 　　that alluring body. I knew it wasn't good, but I couldn't control my thoughts, and I didn't dare look at it too much.

My mother's gaze remained unchanged, and sometimes she would even speak of me with joy, saying
things like, "My child has finally grown up."
It turns out that no matter how naughty a child is, there will always be someone who believes in them unconditionally, and that one day they will become better.
Days passed, and it was another ordinary evening. I returned home from evening self-study to find the house
reeking of alcohol and in disarray. My mother, disheveled, was curled up in a corner, weeping.
I was furious, forgetting my recent shyness, and squatted down beside her, asking, "Did Dad hit you again?"
My mother looked up, slightly bewildered, her face flushed, indicating she had drunk quite a bit. Seeing me, she seemed
to find her anchor, and finally burst into tears.
I hugged my mother, comforting her, when I inadvertently caught a glimpse of a patch of white flesh on her chest, and suddenly tensed up.
My mother sobbed for a while, then leaned on my shoulder, looking around the house with a dazed, drunken gaze. Suddenly
, she chuckled. She looked at me and said, "Ali, you're not like that person after all."
She pushed me away, stood up, and spun around. Her tattered clothes fluttered in the wind, and I could vaguely see
her pale flesh. I forced myself to calm down and was about to say something when my mother suddenly stopped, tilted her head, and looked
at me, saying, "Pretty, isn't it?"
"Uh, pretty." I was speechless for a moment. My mother chuckled and said playfully, "Of course,
I studied dance. I've studied for a long time how to spin like that beautifully."
My mother laughed and then suddenly cried, saying, "Ali, you don't know how scared I was back then. Do you
know how much I hate rape? If it weren't for him, how could I be like this now? How could I be like this?"
"I know, I know," I said, lowering my head.
"What do you know? He raped me. My boyfriend doesn't want me anymore, my parents don't want me anymore, nobody
wants me anymore!" My mother roared, squatting on the ground and crying, "Nobody wants me anymore."
"No, Mom, you still have me." Seeing my mother's tears, I panicked, rushed over and hugged her, shouting,
"I still have you, I'm still by your side, I won't abandon you."
"Ha, you're a bad thing too." Perhaps my lower body was pressing against my mother, because my mother laughed and scolded, pulling
away from my embrace. She lightly jumped a few times, then suddenly turned her head and said, "Everyone says I'm a slutty, vulgar woman,
so what if I'm slutty again?"
"Mom." My heart felt like it was being cut by a knife, filled with anger and helplessness. I wanted to say something more, but two red
lips sealed all my words.
My mind was like it had been struck, a blur. My mother looked at my expression, then suddenly clapped her hands and laughed, as
cute as an elf. She casually ripped off her tattered clothes, revealing a faded black bra that held up two enormous
breasts, swaying back and forth in front of me. She seemed tired, leaning back in her chair, casually playing with the round breasts inside
. Looking at me, her gaze suddenly softened, and she whispered, "Ah Li seems still hungry. I need to
express some milk."
My throat tightened; after all, I was just an ignorant 17-year-old boy. I struggled to dissuade her, but my mother,
focused on expressing her breasts, suddenly slapped her forehead and said, "Oh dear, what a forgetful thing I am." She quickly unhooked her bra,
revealing her white breasts. She happily looked up and said, "Ah Li, the milk is ready, come and eat."
I finally couldn't resist anymore, kneeling before the chair, gazing at the place where my mother had nursed me as if on a pilgrimage. My mother
gave me a strange look, then grasped her breast and brought it to my mouth.
I greedily sucked, the feeling was wonderful. My mother giggled, her breasts swaying in my mouth. I
couldn't help but grab her other breast; the touch was exquisite, and I unconsciously began to slowly knead it.
My mother hummed in response, and when I looked at her again, her eyes were almost brimming with tears. I was completely blinded by desire.
In the absence of any stimulation like pornography, a naked woman was enough to turn a person into
a beast.
My mother was drunk and weak, and with her breasts being violated, her body involuntarily leaned forward, resting on my shoulder. I embraced
my mother and hurriedly walked to my room, gently placing her on the bed, breathing heavily.
The momentary impulse subsided a little. My mother lay on the bed, only her underwear covering her most intimate
parts. I stood by the bed, unsure of what to do.
Just one look, just one look. I convinced myself, trembling as I lay on the bed,
looking through her underwear. My mother looked at my actions with confusion, as if she didn't understand what was happening. I licked my lips.
Just touch it, just one touch.
Through the rough fabric, I trembled as I reached out my fingers, first rubbing the inside of her thighs against the outside of her underwear for a while. My mother
seemed a little uncomfortable and shifted her legs. I changed positions, this time
rubbing her labia directly through the fabric.
My mother twisted her body, her pajamas came down a bit, and she groaned a few times.
These groans acted as a catalyst, and my remaining rationality completely collapsed. Without hesitation, I pulled off my mother's
panties, and her full breasts were finally revealed before me. I lifted her legs onto my shoulders,
knelt between her legs, and gazed greedily.
The smell of her vulva wasn't pleasant, a faint fishy odor, but it was irresistible.
My heavy breathing tickled my mother. She leaned against the wall, supporting herself with her hands. As her thighs and vulva withdrew from in front of me,
I felt a mixture of reluctance and, more than anything, fear. My mother looked at me for a long time, then suddenly sighed softly and
said, "You don't want me anymore, what are you doing here?"
I didn't understand the meaning of my mother's words, but I understood the meaning of her next action. She leaned in and
kissed my lips, closing her eyes and softly saying, "I dreamed of you again, it was so nice."
She leaned against the wall, spread her legs, and grabbed my hand, guiding it to her genitals. She said coquettishly, "
What are you standing there for? Lick it for me."
My mother became excited, pressing my head down between her legs, like a child, and commanded with a coquettish laugh
, "Lick it for me now."
I didn't know what to do, but these things are something I learned without being taught. I stuck out my tongue and tentatively pressed
it against the protruding part of her labia. My mother groaned and pressed my head down harder. I
got tired of pressing with my tongue, so I switched to slowly sucking with my lips. My mother leaned against the wall and finally groaned.
"So good. Yes, right here, lick it, thrust it in, ahhhhh, no, don't bite." My mother
's face was flushed with the intoxication of alcohol. She thrust her lower body forward, raising her hips to make it easier for me
to lick her genitals.
I licked a few times, and a stream of fluid slowly seeped out, with a faint salty taste. I was so focused that I didn't notice, and
I broke free from my mother's arms, raised my head, and spat a few times.
My mother giggled and said, "You're not licking anymore so soon? You want to fuck? Come on."
She leaned over and helped me undo my pants. My hard, burning penis sprang out of my underwear with a slap, hitting my mother
's face.
"Ouch." My mother grabbed my penis and suddenly said angrily, "What a bad thing."
She swayed and propped herself up, smiling slyly, and said, "Let me teach this disobedient thing a lesson."
My mother squatted on my legs, her right hand holding my penis, found a good position, and slowly sank down.
"Ah." My mother and I cried out at the same time. My mother trembled, almost falling off my lap.
I quickly held her close, her warm chest pressed tightly against mine. I felt my penis
enveloped by her warm, tight flesh, an indescribable pleasure surging from my penis to my brain.
My mother was clearly exhausted, one arm around my neck, the other hanging limply on the bed. I gently leaned
down, laying her flat. What followed was second nature.
I thrust wildly, my penis sliding in and out of her. Unfortunately, my first time
wasn't great; I quickly ejaculated my first semen inside her. But the vitality of youth
meant my penis didn't go soft after ejaculation. I thrust tirelessly, my eyes wide open, like
a general charging into battle.
"Mmm, ahhh. Ahhh." My mother's hair was a little disheveled; she cried out passionately, thrusting her hips in rhythm
with my thrusts. She lay flat on the bed, her breasts heaving like waves, gripping
my arm tightly. With each thrust, she would groan loudly, gazing at me with loving eyes.
Perhaps the force was too great, for my penis pulled out completely during one contraction. My mother slapped my
arm hard, shouting, "Continue, continue, don't stop!"
I gripped my penis, anxiously searching for an entrance. I knew nothing about female anatomy, and her labia were covered in my
semen. I thrust left and right, but I couldn't penetrate her.
My mother struggled to sit up, and seeing this, she suddenly laughed, reaching out to take my penis, saying,
"You can't even do this?"
Her hand trembled slightly; perhaps my thrusts had left her momentarily dazed. She held my
penis, bumping and groping, and finally, it went in again.
She exhaled, arching her back, and moaned, hooking her arms around my neck, "Give it to me, I want it, keep
going. Ahhh, that's it, ah, yes, yes, yes."
Lost in time, tireless, my mother and I were entangled like wild beasts. Every time my penis
was exposed, my mother would gently guide it back to its place; every time she patted my shoulder, I would again assault
her vulva like a torrential downpour.
Again and again, the long night seemed endless.
(Middle)
Was it a dream?
I was somewhat absent-minded, sitting below the stage. I kept thinking back to that night, wondering if it was just a vivid
dream.
After that night, when I woke up from the dream, everything was as if nothing had happened. My mother wasn't beside me,
there were no traces of madness, and even her daily behavior seemed normal.
The only reason I believed was that if it was a dream, why weren't there any semen
stains on my pants? And where did the weakness I felt the next day come from? But I didn't have the courage to ask.
The school had a power outage that day, so I went home early. My father wasn't home as usual, and my mother was clearing the dishes . She
seemed flustered when she saw me.
She wiped her hands on her clothes and said awkwardly, "Ali, you're back?"
"Yeah, Mom." I was silent for a moment. I usually had evening study sessions and came home late, and my mother
was always asleep when I got back. Today, I suddenly wanted to ask her something: "Mom... the other night..."
"What happened?" My mother had her back to me and forced herself to speak.
"Mom, were you drunk that night?" I made up my mind and mustered my courage to ask.
"Ah, um, oh." My mother said, "Yes, I was drunk, so I went to my room to sleep first. I
didn't even know when you came back."
"Mom." I was a little annoyed and turned my mother around, asking, "Do you know what I'm saying?"
My mother lowered her head without looking at me and said after a long time, "I don't blame you for what happened that day."
"But I love you, and I want to be with you." I blurted out, which earned me a loud
slap from my mother.
I didn't care anymore. I grabbed my mother's hand and shouted, "Later you realized it was me, right? You called
my name, didn't you? You love me too, right!"
My mother took a few steps back, like a wounded fawn. She wanted to say something, but I hugged her and kissed
her.
My mother pushed me away forcefully and shouted, "We can't be together! I'm your mother!"
"So what?" I shouted, "Human rights are inherent. Love is a fundamental human right. No
reason can override this basic love and hate."
I have to thank my education; otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to come up with so many words. I tried to persuade my mother, but she still
didn't agree.
I wasn't discouraged and tried to find ways to make her happy. I started to be more proactive. I cut my hair short,
distanced myself from my bad friends, and slowly became a good kid. Because in my mind at the time, a good kid
was reliable, and I wanted my mother to think I was reliable.
Several more weeks passed. Although my mother still couldn't accept me, she smiled more often, while
my father was still out partying day and night.
That day, in every spare moment, I did everything from writing homework for others to fighting for them, from doing odd jobs to collecting and selling trash.
Finally, I earned enough money to buy a pair of ballet shoes, and after haggling for ages, I bought a ballet costume. I
skipped evening self-study and nervously carried the things home. Although my mother might not accept me anymore, the thought of her
happy smile when she received these things made my heart as bright as an April day.
As soon as I opened the door, I saw my mother collapse like a wilting rose, and my father, holding a bottle of liquor, cursing
as he pulled his leg back.
"Dad!" A surge of anger welled up inside me. I threw the things aside, went over, helped my mother up, and angrily
scolded, "You only know how to hit Mom when you're drunk."
Before I could finish speaking, my father slapped me, cursing, "Damn it, you bastard from who-knows-where
, and you dare to tell your father what to do?"
"Why hit your son?" My mother stood up, pulled me behind her like a mother hen protecting her chicks.
My father was about to slap me again, but I stepped forward and stopped him. My mother cried, "He's your child!"
"Bullshit! My dick got smashed, I don't know how many men you've slept with, you slut!" My father
said, about to hit me again, but I yelled, "Let go!"
"Dad, have some more," I said coldly, grabbing his bottle and making him drink a few more mouthfuls. He cursed
a few times and collapsed to the ground. I carried him and threw him onto his bed.
Back in the living room, my mother was packing her things with her head down, her forehead still a little red and swollen. I watched her silently for a while, then said
, "Mom, let's go, I'll take you away."
My mother paused for a moment, then sighed and said, "Such childish talk."
A feeling of depression welled up inside me. I found some antiseptic, dragged my mother to a chair, parted her hair, and
slowly applied the medicine.
My mother was uneasy, and so was I. The feel of her hair brushing against the back of my hand, the faint fragrance of her body, all
involuntarily reminded me of that night. After calming myself down and quietly applying the medicine to my mother, I suddenly remembered something. I quickly
walked to the door, picked up the bag, and said, "Mom, happy birthday."
My mother paused for a moment, then said, "Really? I forgot."
At my request, she opened the bag, looked at the beautifully packaged dance costume and shoes, remained silent for a while, and then tears
suddenly streamed down her face.
"Ali." Her lips moved slightly, as if she wanted to say something.
"Take it." Seeing the happy look in my mother's eyes, all the unpleasantness from before was forgotten, and I said happily,
"Because I'm your..."
We both fell silent. I got up and started cleaning, gently asking, "Mom, does it still hurt?"
"It's okay."
"Let me massage it for you."
My mother was silent for a while, but finally agreed.
I put down what I was doing, walked behind my mother, placed my hands on her shoulders, and slowly massaged them.
Looking at this beautiful, fragile mother beneath me, my heart was filled with sorrow and grief.
After a while, my mother said, "I'm much better. If there's no evening self-study at school, you can go study."
She stood up, her right leg seeming a little weak. I pressed her down and said, "Mom, let me massage
your right leg."
I squatted in front of my mother, my hands wandering over her thighs. My thoughts drifted back to that night, and my lower body became aroused
.
My mother slapped my hands away, scolding, "Where are you putting your hands?"
I looked up and saw that my mother's breathing was a little erratic, her face flushed. Looking at the location of my hands, I realized
I had touched the inside of her thigh.
I gritted my teeth, stamped my foot, and swept my mother up in my arms. She struggled for a moment, but I ignored her and
held her even tighter. My mother was a little annoyed and opened her mouth to say something, but I bent down and silenced her with a kiss,
carrying her into my room.
When I placed my mother on the bed, she seemed to remember something, her face showing some anger, but mostly shyness.
I nervously rubbed my hands together, coughed a few times, and asked, "Mom, is it okay?"
"What can I do if I say no?" my mother sighed.
As if I'd received permission, I slowly climbed onto the bed. My mother leaned against the wall, turned her head, revealing her white neck
. I kissed her, nibbling on her ear. She let out a soft moan, her legs intertwining.
I slowly sucked on her earlobe, my hands wandering inside her clothes, exploring her breasts,
grasping and playing with one large breast through her bra.
My mother moaned softly, her legs tightening their embrace. I thought, according to the books, my mother
was aroused; perhaps it was time to take the next step. I withdrew my lips and nervously began to undress her.
My mother didn't look at me, but her movements were very cooperative. I swallowed hard, looking at my mother lying naked on the bed, and
suddenly chuckled.
My mother turned around and scolded, "What are you laughing at?"
I chuckled, looking at her, kneeling beside her rounded buttocks, and stroked them,
saying foolishly, "I was wondering if you want me to lick it, Mom."
My mother blushed, snorted, and turned her head away, but her legs parted slightly.
I took the opportunity to spread her thighs, lowered my head, and started haphazardly probing with my tongue. My mother panted
for a while, then patted my head and said, "It's not like that."
I looked up in surprise and asked, "Then how is it?"
My mother's face was already flushed, making her look especially adorable. She cleared her throat, but her voice was still incredibly soft, like
a mosquito's buzz, and said, "Look for yourself, there's a round bump on top, that's for licking. The rest
, you can suck."
"Oh." I looked for a while, then rubbed it with my fingers, "This?"
My mother trembled and nodded shyly.
I bent down and continued my efforts, my mother's legs involuntarily twitching, and her panting growing louder. When
I tasted that salty liquid again, I stopped. Curious, I poked at it with my fingers for a while, only to find that the liquid was very viscous,
leaving a clear, glistening line on my finger.
My mother blushed, looked at my actions, and exclaimed, "
What are you doing taking that out?"
"Nothing, it's salty, I wanted to see what it was," I said with a grin, starting to take off my clothes.
Seeing my mother staring curiously at my pants, I teased, "Mom, why are you looking so intently? It's not like we
haven't seen it before that night."
"I was drunk then," my mother said shyly, not looking away. When my penis reappeared,
she sighed and said, "I was wondering why it felt so good that night; your little penis is quite big."
I smiled foolishly and brought my penis closer, wanting to enter my mother's vagina, but found I still couldn't
find the entrance.
My mother chuckled, her soft hand holding my penis, and said gently, "Still can't find your way home
, Ali."
At that moment, my father coughed in another room, and I suddenly felt uneasy, wanting to back out.
"He's not your father," my mother said, her face still flushed, noticing my unease. Grabbing my penis, she
said as she pushed it inside, "Before marrying him, I had already been with my lover."
She sank in, clinging to me like an octopus, letting out a long moan, looking at me with seductive eyes, and exhaling
, "You look a lot like him."
I was shocked by this news and momentarily forgot what to do. My mother hugged me, sat on
top of me, and whispered in my ear, "So, don't worry. Mom wants it."
She breathed into my ear, and I instinctively felt my penis throbbing inside her, about to burst out of her body;
only constant thrusting could prevent it from exploding. But there were some things I couldn't help but understand.
"What do you mean? He's not my dad?"
My mother leaned against me, her voice tinged with sorrow. "Back then, I fell in love with someone,
and we pledged our lives to each other. Then, this guy raped me, and then..." She didn't finish her sentence, instead resting her head on
my shoulder and whispering, "Nobody wants me anymore, Ali, you still want me, right?"
I knew that the only way to express my resolve at this moment was to thrust upwards with force
. My mother, forgetting her sorrow, cried out and hugged me even tighter.
I was in trouble. My mother's vagina was incredibly powerful. With just this one movement, I felt
as if countless buds were growing from the walls of her vagina, squeezing and teasing my glans. A surge of desire to ejaculate welled up within me.
I took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing this desire, and began to follow the instructions in the book: nine shallow thrusts followed by one deep one, slowly
, with shallow movements interspersed with fierce, direct attacks that pierced my very core.
My mother quickly couldn't take it anymore. She tried to move her hips and sink down on her own, but I couldn't let her ruin my plan.
I supported her with both hands, preventing her from moving on her own. Otherwise, with her intense demands, I didn't think I could last
long.
My mother gave me a pitiful look with her watery eyes. Since she couldn't move her hips up and down, she started swaying
from side to side, panting as she said, "Give it to me, harder. I want it deeper."
Okay, I thought, I'm young and have good stamina, so let's do it!
I pounced on her on the bed, pressing down on her thighs, and began to thrust my hips violently—deep, fast, precise, and
forceful.
My mother quickly couldn't take it anymore, hugging my head and pressing it against her chest, her face flushed with excitement.
She wrapped her legs around my waist, moaning loudly, "So...comfortable...it's been so long...so...comfortable...ahhh
...ahhh...ahhh..."
The bed creaked, and my mother clung to me like a koala, moaning loudly without restraint. Suddenly,
she laughed between breaths, "Hahaha, Ali, ahhh, um, did you...um, cum?"
I didn't slow down, saying as I thrust, "It's okay, Mom, I'm fine."
"Haha, ouch." My mother wanted to say something, but under my powerful thrusts, she could hardly speak
. She patted my head, and I slowed down accordingly.
My mother's face flushed crimson, and she gave me a charming look before calming her breathing and saying, "Ali,
you can try your first method."
"Oh? You mean the nine shallow, one deep one?" I obediently slowed down and asked with a smile, "Didn't
you tell me to go faster and use more force, Mom?"
"Oh dear, you can't take what women say seriously at times like this," my mother said, her face blushing, as she whispered in my ear
, "That feeling of wanting something you can't have but are about to have it is wonderful."
"Is that so?" I chuckled mischievously and said, "Since I like Mom so much, I might as well let you have her."
With that, I increased the speed of my thrusts. Suddenly, my mother gripped my arm tightly, pulling hard, her whole body
tense like a startled shrimp. She shook her head frantically, screaming, "No, no, ahhhhh, I'm going to lose it,
I... ahhhhhhh!"
My mother's waist suddenly arched high, trembling as if in spasms. I felt a surge of heat wash over my glans
. My mother's vagina suddenly began to contract rapidly, like rocks caught in a waterfall. I couldn't help but exclaim, "Good,
so powerful, what is this?"
Before the words were even finished, my yang energy could no longer be contained, and I ejaculated again, this time without any strength to recover
.
My mother lay exhausted on the bed, her delicate face obscured by disheveled hair, a few strands clinging to her tongue
. I carefully brushed the hair aside, looking at my mother's beautiful, weary face, and pulled out my penis.
"You're all better now?" My mother's voice was a little weak. I nodded and hugged her tightly.
She rested her head on my chest and said quietly, "Ali is amazing! I even had an orgasm just now."
"Is it that rare?" I asked, puzzled.
"Yes, it's rare."
"Haha, don't worry, Mom, with me here, you can have whatever you want whenever you want," I said happily.
My mother sighed, said nothing, and slowly fell asleep beside me.
The next few days were the happiest days of my life. I tried every way to make my mother happy, and she became
much more lively. However, in terms of sex, it wasn't as enjoyable as I had imagined; my mother strictly controlled the frequency
. Even so, I was still as happy as a flower.
I no longer ate lunch at school, and although my mother strongly urged me to attend evening self-study, I
always came home for dinner. On one hand, I couldn't wait to be with my mother every minute; on the other hand...
The story of the noodles stems from a time when my mother was cooking and we had sex.
She was wearing an apron and focused on cooking when I sneaked over, my hands starting to wander.
She glared at me, trying to shoo me away, but I righteously argued that it had been so long since we'd done it, and it was
time for sex.
That time, my mother endured waves of pleasure while cooking, but eventually couldn't take it anymore. She
faced me, her arms around my neck, and I smiled as I thrust into her, taking the rice scoop from her. When we were
exhausted, we ate our "love feast," laughing heartily, but in the end, we could only cook some noodles
…
Sometimes my mother would wear the dance costume and shoes I gave her—the kind of super seductive dance. She would
make all sorts of alluring movements and look at me with seductive eyes, then demand that I could only engage in any physical or mental activities after she finished dancing
. Of course, she later paid the "price" for her seduction.
Sometimes, she would deliberately dance gracefully during the times we agreed not to make love. It was a beautiful and elegant
dance, and I would just watch quietly, appreciating the beauty of my mother that I had never known before.
But there was another father, a father who wasn't my father. One night, I had a fight with my father
and finally couldn't help but ask my mother why she wouldn't come with me.
"What will you do if I get a divorce?" At that moment, my mother turned to look at the sky and murmured, "You need to go to school
, you need to eat, all of these cost money."
I angrily grabbed my mother, pulled down her sleeve, pointed to the bruises, and said angrily, "So you just
let that bastard treat you like this?"
I pressed hard on my mother's bruises, wanting to shout something else. Suddenly, my mother slapped me, and I
fell heavily to the ground. She tried to help me up, but then cried, "I want to leave too, I want to leave too! But
what will you do if I leave? Who will wash your clothes and cook for you? Who will supervise your studies? If you come with me, you'll still need
to eat and go to university. Where will the money come from?"
My mother calmed down, lowered her eyes, sighed, and stroked my head, saying, "When you grow up and
become successful, Mom will be happy. Enduring this now is nothing."
Perhaps that's always been her thought. Every mother's wish, no matter how humble, even if crushed in the mud
, is always to raise her hand and try to lift her child up. And when her child achieves success, being able to come home
for a visit is their greatest happiness.
I was too young then, and didn't understand the weight of this love. I covered my face, stood up, and left without a word.
(Continued)
The conflict erupted on an ordinary night. My brother—no, that man's son—came back from prison
, and the father and son celebrated. I skipped evening self-study to be at the dinner table, wary of those two guys
beating my mother while they were drunk.
My "brother," with his burly face, and I'd never gotten along since childhood, was drunk with my "father," slamming his fist on the table
and bragging. Suddenly, my father slammed his fist on the table, pointing at my mother and yelling, "That bitch !
She wasn't a virgin when she married me! No, she wasn't a virgin when I slept with her! Damn it, all these years, my balls have been useless,
I don't know how many cuckolds I've been cheated on!"
As he spoke, my father threw a bowl at me. I raised my hand to block it, and my mother tugged at my clothes from behind.
I gritted my teeth and said, "You fucking drink your wine."
My brother chuckled a few times, giving my mother a lewd look. I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, my brother stood up and
stumbled towards my mother, saying, "Dad, I might as well fuck her. That bastard hasn't touched
a woman in years in prison, fuck her!"
"Fuck her then," my father cursed, "I'd rather you fuck her than let someone else fuck her."
"Fuck!" Of course, blood rushed to my head. I overturned the table, and my father and brother got angry too, rushing
at me to fight. Thanks to my father's usual "education," the two drunkards couldn't stop me. I knocked them both
down, grabbed my mother, and rushed out of the house.
My mother held my hand tightly, and I suddenly became afraid. My mother wasn't a brave person; in fact,
she was a somewhat timid woman. Would she go back? Would she be violated by those two beasts if she went back?
I stopped and looked at my mother. She spoke first, "I'm not afraid."
I couldn't say anything. My mother took my hand, which was holding hers, looked at me, and said earnestly, "With you
here, I'm not afraid. I'll stay with you."
Few pedestrians on the street stared in astonishment at the couple embracing. The man wept loudly, vowing to
give the woman happiness.
That cowardly, timid, yet playful mother, dared not oppose her parents' decision, and could only helplessly marry
a scumbag. She dared not leave him, and could only endure repeated domestic violence. Except for that one drunken outburst,
she seemed forever retreating, forever fearful. But at this moment, she mustered a courage she had never possessed in her entire life
, and told a 17-year-old boy that she was not afraid.
And that boy, finally, on that night, became a man.
It was a very unpleasant memory. I kept thinking about whether to describe it in the third person, but
I gave up. Because every time I recall that dark time, a soft, firm voice
tells me, "I'm not afraid."
I knelt on the ground, begging a driver for a seat. I wanted to thank him; on such a busy route, he gave my mother a
place to sit and took us to an unfamiliar place. As we parted, he looked at me for a long time, then pulled out two hundred
yuan and gave it to me. Two hundred yuan back then was an astonishing amount.
Whether he saw something or not didn't matter anymore. He was my benefactor.
In the days that followed, I constantly looked for odd jobs, and my mother, unlike her usual gifted dancer self
, seemed to unleash all the abilities God had given her, all for me.
We slept on park benches; it wasn't hot then. I sat at one end of the bench, watching
my mother sleep peacefully, her face filled with contentment.
We slept under bridges, finding secluded spots where the air was fresh, except for the abundance of mosquitoes and
the cold.
We made love in those places too; the benches and the bridge underpasses hold some beautiful memories, but I...
Ultimately, I didn't want to touch it. Compared to the heavy weight of happiness, I preferred the lighthearted simplicity.
Sometimes, my mother would go to the market to find some vegetable scraps or other things, and the two of us
would cook something to eat in a secluded corner. Sometimes, my mother would dance and then ask me if I looked good.
The most difficult month was finally over.
I pushed open a small door, inside was a tiny ten-square-meter room, with a lonely little bed inside.
My mother happily jumped on the bed, like a joyful sprite.
She stretched out her hand to me at the door and called out, "Ali, Ali, what are you thinking about?"
I wondered why my mother's fair hands had scratches, why my clean mother was so dirty, and
why my mother was so happy like a child in such a small space.
"I was thinking about how to celebrate," I said casually.
"Yes, my Ali has made something of himself, we should celebrate," my mother said with a smile, and
tears almost welled up in my eyes. I wanted to bring happiness to my mother, to take her away from that painful family, but I
only led her into an even more painful life. And yet, my mother still looked at me with a happy expression, thinking I
had succeeded.
I closed the door, hugged my mother tightly, and buried my head in her chest. My mother let out a soft cry, gently
patted my back, and said, "Don't cry, everything will be alright. As long as you're here, everything will
be alright."
That night, it was the first time since we left home that we made love properly in bed. My mother
came in from the public bathhouse, nervously closed the door, and complained, "Why do you have to wear this? It feels so strange."
"These are stockings," I replied casually, leaning against the wall, admiring the scene before me. Back then
, stockings weren't fashionable yet; few people wore them on the street.
Beautiful, so beautiful. That was the only thought I could muster. Her long, wet hair cascaded down her chest, and beneath her simple, worn
floral dress were two long, slender legs encased in black stockings. Her legs were crossed, revealing
the woman's unease.
My mother, noticing my unabashed staring, blushed slightly and whispered, "What? Stockings? They look
weird on you."
"I saw one of my boss's girlfriends wearing them, and I thought they looked pretty good. But you look much better than her,"
I said truthfully. My mother's figure was naturally well-proportioned, and the grace she exuded from dancing, combined with her long, slender legs, made her appear
exceptionally alluring. One hand was crossed over her chest, the other brushed against her hair;
she was like a fairy from a painting, yet the stockings added a touch of worldly charm.
My mother thought for a moment, then jumped onto the bed with a thud and asked, "By the way, what does your boss do? Why
does he pay you such a high salary? He's not doing anything bad, is he?"
I moved my penis and slowly rubbed it against my mother's stockinged legs. A strange sensation through my glans
made me shiver involuntarily. I casually said, "No, it seems like he works in the internet industry. I did
skip class a few times to play on the computer, and I looked at some things."
My mother felt the warm penis moving up and down her legs and grabbed it, saying, "This is the first time I've worn this
. Don't get it dirty with your thing."
I chuckled, pulled the penis back from my mother's hand, and slowly rubbed my mother's legs with my hand instead, laughing
as I said, "Then where should I get dirty?"
My mother glared at me, seemingly angry but actually timid, and met my lips. I kissed her passionately, skillfully taking off my mother
's skirt and unhooking her bra, but not taking off her stockings.
My mother wanted to take them off herself, but I chuckled mischievously, pressing her down with one hand while using the other to tease her through her stockings.
As I requested, she wasn't wearing underwear. I pinched her clitoris through the stockings, and she
gasped, struggling to get up and remove the stockings to prevent me from soiling them. However, the unique
sensation of the silky fabric against her sensitive areas made her shiver, and a stream of vaginal fluid flowed out,
slowly wetting her crotch. Back
then, stockings weren't as smooth as they are now; they had a noticeably slippery
and hooked feel. My mother couldn't take it anymore. Instead of insisting I remove her stockings, she leaned against the wall
, spreading her legs, displaying her most shameful parts to me without reservation.
Unfortunately, stockings were still quite thick back then, and my mother usually covered herself up. It was unusual for her to be so open, and I
felt a little embarrassed and started to remove the stockings. Once the dark fabric was gone, my mother giggled and
curled her legs up in various ways to prevent me from seeing closely.
But I, a grown man, couldn't handle a little woman. I lifted my mother by one leg and stood up. My mother
cried out, "No!" but I could only look down at her still-wet vulva with my unobstructed view.
My mother stood upside down, covering her eyes, peeking at me through the gaps. I chuckled and put my mother back in her original position.
This time, she didn't dare to curl her legs up. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Mom, aren't you going to help me?"
My mother blushed, arched her back, and grasped my penis, guiding it into her vagina, complaining,
"It's been so long, and you still haven't gotten in."
"You seem to be enjoying it," I said with a smile as I thrust in, guided by my mother. "Is
n't that right? Guiding your son's penis into your body, oh, I think you're enjoying this process, Mom."
My mother didn't bother to refute me; her face was radiant with sexual pleasure. I took the opportunity to thrust hard and asked, "Isn't
that right?" "
Yes, yes, yes," my mother said irritably, then suddenly cried out, "Ah, ah, ah, stop, slow,
slow."
I sucked on my mother's nipple, my lower body pounding in like a pile driver, refusing to slow down.
My mother had also gotten used to my strength, moaning and watching me suckle her nipple with amusement.
"Ah, hahaha." My mother seemed to be enduring great pain, but her face was full of pleasure as she laughed and said,
"You... sucking, mmm, it's so itchy, ah..."
I suddenly slowed down, and my mother fell from the blissful paradise, her body twisting and
sinking. I stopped sucking and started nibbling from my mother's head down to her waist and abdomen.
My mother giggled, twisting her body and pleading, "Hurry up, hurry up, please, Ah Li. Oh , don't
kiss there, hahaha, it itches. Ah Li, son, my lower body is so itchy, hurry up."
Finally, I satisfied her needs, speeding up a bit, but then slowing down again. My mother understood that I just
wanted to torment her, wrapped her arms around my neck, lifted her head, and angrily bit my shoulder.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch," I cried out, "I won't go fast, I'll play slowly."
"Hmph." In pain, I couldn't control my mother. She pulled away from my penis, pushed me down, and huffed
, "I don't need you, I'll do it myself!"
"No!" I cried out dramatically.
My mother sat on me, her hands on my chest, swaying her hips up and down, and suddenly said, "Hold
me down."
Of course, I obeyed my mother's orders.
But then my mother suddenly started shaking from side to side like a madwoman. My mother's vulva already had a strong suction, and
the friction and stimulation were particularly intense. With this shaking, I felt like I couldn't hold back and was about to ejaculate. At
this moment, my mother's body stiffened, but she shook even more violently.
"Ah, ah, ahhhhhhh!" My mother's head was thrown back, her chest thrust high, like a crowing
rooster. Her whole body trembled several times, and wave after wave of lust burst from her labia, soaking my genitals and the sheets
.
She seemed to have used all her strength to pull away from my penis, grabbed it, and said with a mischievous laugh
, "Now I finally understand why they say a woman feels completely safe if she has a gun in her hand while sleeping."
"Is that so?" I sat up, intending to clean up the mess, but my mother pressed me down.
She rested her head on my lap, playing with her hair, brushing against my penis, and softly said, "I feel
very at ease now."
Looking at this dilapidated rented room of less than twenty square meters, my eyes reddened. I touched my mother's face and softly
said, "Mom, I will definitely make you happy."
"Yes, I believe you."
Postscript:
"Son, son. What are you thinking about?" Xiaoyu called a few times, pulling away from my embrace and kneeling
on the bed.
"Son, come on." She turned her head, her eyes alluring; clearly, the word "Mom" had touched a nerve
.
"Mom..." I looked at my mother's face, nearly fifty years old but still well-preserved, and hesitated for a
moment.
Xiaoyu didn't speak, her waist lowering, her wet, juicy vulva raised high, swaying.
Before me, swaying, pleading vulva, was my mother, the mother of my child, my father's wife,
and my wife.
But we were ultimately each other's lovers.
She had lived a cowardly life for the first half of her life, yet she had mustered the greatest courage of her life for me. She once had such
beautiful hands, but life had roughened them as she walked with me through that dark time.
I had promised her a lifetime of happiness.
Without further hesitation, I tossed my phone aside, wrapped my arms around her thighs, and expertly returned to that place—
the
place where I was born.

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