Closed-off mother-child family

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

Located in an upscale residential area, the building is a twelve-story tower, and our home is a duplex. The entire house is filled with a classic European atmosphere, and there are works of art everywhere. My father is a financial actuary who often travels abroad to visit clients. The second floor is my mother's and my room. Every time my mother finishes showering, she comes out wrapped in a towel, not fully covered, leaving her breasts partially exposed. As she walks, water droplets fall onto her fleshy buttocks, and with the swaying of her hips, I, hiding in the corner, am filled with lust.

Although the family seems happy, my mother and father have long been estranged. The main problem is that my father's family believes that my mother only married into the family for money and to climb the social ladder. Because of relatives, my mother had long been accustomed to being alone. Occasionally, she would go to the bookstore to read or go shopping, or at home she would go to the music room to play her favorite piano pieces. Although they were all simple pieces, her fingering was fluent and her playing was smooth. Sometimes I would stand by the large floor-to-ceiling window in the music room, looking at the small balcony in front of the window, where my mother had planted all kinds of flowers and plants. Through the afterglow of the setting sun, that golden glow shone on the flowers.

I watched that warm afterglow, time gradually moving from the flowers, until the entire sunset cast a shadow on the floor-to-ceiling window. Standing on the garden balcony, the light and shadow of the floor-to-ceiling window was like a gate to heaven. The aluminum frame on the floor-to-ceiling window was made of two large rectangular soundproof glass panels, and the aluminum frame embedded on them was a decorative item made of an unknown material, like a relief in a Roman church. Under the glow, the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window was even more beautiful.

I wondered if my mother also had a door in her heart, but that door called loneliness had long been closed and locked with a strong steel lock. My mother's fingers pressed the piano keys, the hammers struck the strings, and she played

a somber, melancholic Moonlight Sonata. The music mirrored her heart—the feeling of being neglected by my father, the resentment of being scolded by her in-laws. From the moment she married into the family, she had already lost the most vibrant years of her life. I forgot my mother's face, her brow furrowed. Looking at everything in the music room, I felt a lump in my throat. I turned to the balcony, gazing at the setting sun, and told myself, I must take my mother away from this home, away from this cold prison that has imprisoned her for almost twenty years.

"Knock, knock, knock!" A knock sounded on my palm-wood door. It was the maid, Sasaya, reminding me to come downstairs for dinner. Sasaya was an Indian woman, very young, a year or two younger than me. Last year, when I was eighteen, I went on a family trip to visit the Jama Masjid in India and then the Taj Mahal. As my mother and I walked behind my father, he, my grandmother, and some relatives chatted and laughed, while my mother and I were in a completely different, cold world. One family group, two different feelings: I accompanied my mother to the Taj Mahal.

Tourists came and went nearby. My mother gazed thoughtfully at the jewels inlaid on the white marble pillars. I casually responded to the other family members' chatter. Perhaps because I was the eldest and only son, the other relatives were less hostile towards me. I wondered if my mother's feelings at that moment were the same as mine. The tour guide explained that the Taj Mahal was built by Shah Jahan, the fifth Mughal emperor, in memory of his wife, Taj Mahal, who died in 1631. The Taj Mahal means "Remembering Maha."

Legend has it that when the Mughals learned of Taj Mahal's death, his hair turned white overnight, and he wept bitterly, his face streaked with tears. This grief, compared to his longing for his wife and his father's indifference and his mother's heart, was like a heavenly purgatory, a raging inferno and a freezing cold. That evening at the hotel, my father asked if I wanted to go shopping with my grandmother and the others, and try some local snacks. My mother, however, said she was tired and wanted to rest in her room. I think she probably didn't want to spend time with relatives anymore; after all, all the conversations were just polite formalities.

I excused myself by saying I was still adjusting to the time difference and apologized to my father. He whispered that I should keep an eye on my mother. I patted him on the back, smiled, and told him to hurry up and go with my grandmother, otherwise, my mother would be blamed again. My father's face fell, he sighed softly, and left. My mother lay exhausted on the bed. I asked her if she wanted to take a shower, and she nodded. This hotel was supposed to be five-star, and the large suite was originally meant for my parents and me to sleep together. However, it seemed my father would be occupied by my grandmother again tonight, so it would just be my mother and me.

The room was quite large, decorated in a style blending Indian aristocratic and Baroque Chinese influences. A white, pink, and light blue curtain hung from the bed, its material resembling chiffon. To the right of the bed was a door engraved with an Indian elephant pattern, leading to the bathroom. Entering through the doorway, there was a small living room with an unidentified LCD TV. A window opened onto a balcony, offering a distant view of the white facade of the Taj Mahal. I took a deep breath, letting out a sigh of relief. Thinking of my father's weakness reminded me of the cat's-eye ring on my mother's left ring finger, a ring I hadn't seen her wear in ages.

My father came from a wealthy family. Thanks to his grandfather's connections with political parties and his grandfather's status as a senior member of a certain party, he was strictly controlled by his grandmother from a young age. He was completely subservient to his mother, obeying her every word. He lived like a robot, following the path laid out for him, studying his way up to the top finance department. His grandmother had always expected him to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and become a member of parliament. But this time, my father made a decision that everyone opposed, a decision he was resolute in making, refusing to back down, even threatening suicide: he married my mother.

I heard they went to a notary office to register their marriage, but the details have been evasive and even lied to me since I was born. So, little by little, as I grew older, I finally understood the story. My father met my mother, three years his junior, at graduate school. She was preparing for her graduate school entrance exams, so my father visited her at the library every day. Like any typical love story, they fell deeply in love, almost to the point of madness.

My father knew about my mother's family background; she came from a musical family, but unfortunately, her parents didn't want her to pursue music, so they only nurtured her interest, leaving her to learn other things on her own. While not wealthy, her family was comfortably middle-class. My father knew this marriage was mismatched, but the two young and impetuous individuals, blinded by love, chose to marry without hesitation, believing it was true love.

Grandma was devastated by the news, unable to believe what she was seeing. Overwhelmed with grief and anger, she even threatened to forbid that woman from ever setting foot in the house, blaming everything on Mom. It wasn't until Dad left home and spent six months with Mom that Grandma finally accepted the truth and asked him to bring Mom back. Little did she know, this would plunge Mom into an endless abyss of darkness.

When Mom first entered the family, although the relatives outwardly offered their blessings, they gossiped incessantly behind her back. Moreover, living in a luxurious mansion in Taipei at the time, Mom was constantly subjected to Grandma's sharp criticism, while Grandpa turned a blind eye. Although Dad privately told Grandma not to do this, it didn't change the situation; he could only hope Mom would be more understanding. Dad also firmly believed this was only temporary. It wasn't until Mom gave birth to me the following year that Grandma and the others greeted Mom with smiles and took meticulous care of their precious grandson.

But this brief period of happiness faded as I grew older. My mother and father gradually became estranged, despite my efforts to mediate the family atmosphere. It wasn't until my mother decided to move out of the mansion to Tianmu, using her piano playing as an excuse to persuade my father to let her move out, that things changed. Initially, I lived at home, but after being admitted to university the following year, I moved in with my mother. My father frequently traveled abroad, and upon returning to Taiwan, he was constantly occupied by my grandmother, resulting in less interaction with my mother and me.

Rumors circulated that my grandmother had recently found a respectable woman for my father, intending for him to marry her as a concubine. Although it was just a rumor, experience tells us that such rumors are often true. While my thoughts were still immersed in memories of my father, my phone rang with the theme song of Han Yan Cui, a character from the Pili puppet show. I have a habit of watching puppet shows, so I often play Pili music as my phone ringtone. I checked my phone and saw it was a text message from a close friend from university. He's a natural talker with a lot of guts, wears frameless glasses, and has a refined face. Sometimes he's incredibly witty, and other times he's always right. He's someone I can confide in.

The text message said, "You're probably in India right now, enjoying the boundless spring scenery. If you're so capable, bring back a hot Indian girl. Remember, a night of passion is worth a thousand pieces of gold." I chuckled. This guy always manages to make me laugh; he's one of the few who doesn't have any financial motives. At school, some people know I'm quite wealthy because I drive a Mercedes, which I usually hide very well. But one day, some classmate sees it, and from then on, I'm the center of attention.

I'm involved in all sorts of university parties and nightclubs. I know they only approach me because of my money, but I haven't said anything. That's how I've lived my whole life. This kind of scenario often plays out on TV, but it actually happened to me—it's quite ironic. I can't remember exactly when I started talking to this friend, but I remember having a great time chatting with him. He mostly told stories or gossiped, avoiding any mention of schoolwork, so we got along quite well. This classmate was unpredictable, sometimes appearing and sometimes disappearing from class.

Anyway, I told my friend about my family story, not in every detail, but pretty much it. My friend's reaction was quite different. Instead of that ambiguous smile, he patted my shoulder and said, "Life has its share of sorrows, but once you get through it, things will be much better." I immediately burst into tears. The warm tears streamed down my cheeks to my chin, and my nose tingled. I thought about all of my life and everything at home. My shoulders relaxed; I felt so tired, so weary.

How I long for an ordinary little family. My father would come home after a long day's work, and I would greet him, "Hey, Dad, let's eat together later." My mother would already have the food ready, softly saying, "Hurry up, hurry up, take off your clothes, eat first, then wash up, quick!" My father, held by my mother's hand, would laugh and say, "It's not like I don't want to eat, I'm eating

now, why are you in such a hurry?" The three of us would sit at the table, eating my mother's home-cooked meals, listening to my father talk about the trivialities of his work. I've imagined this family scene countless times. Unfortunately, now, the cook is the one who cooks, and only my mother and I are at the table. The cold knives, forks, and cutlery, though expensive and exquisite, feel unreal. The table is silent. Even when I try to talk to my mother, she only responds half-heartedly, and eventually, I simply stop talking altogether.

As I reached for my phone, wondering what text message to send back, my mother came out of the shower, wearing a loose-fitting, dark red yukata—a style reminiscent of aristocrats—that completely covered her body. A belt around her waist held the yukata open, revealing her naked body to me. I spoke briefly with her, telling her father I might stay overnight at Grandma's. My mother's expression was indifferent; she focused on applying light makeup, poured herself a glass of red wine from the hotel room, and leaned against the other window, gazing at the moonlight. She said to me, "Go take a shower..."

After I finished showering, my mother, slightly tipsy, was watching TV and dancing in the small living room. Influenced by the program, I watched her graceful movements; the hem and sleeves of her bathrobe fluttered with her movements. I laughed and said, "I didn't know you could dance, Mom!" She turned and smiled, saying, "You don't know how many more I can do!" I let her dance until she was tired, and with the added effect of the alcohol, she was covered in a fragrant sweat. After another shower, she pulled me to bed.

Whether it was the alcohol or her good mood, she started chatting about completely different things, talking about her studies. I listened with great interest; it had been a long time since I'd had a conversation with my mother like this. We lay sideways on the bed, pillows under our waists. I saw her rosy complexion, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, and her beautiful hair, the ends of which were wrapped around the back of her neck and swept across her left chest, revealing her collarbone through her bathrobe. At that moment, we didn't seem like mother and son, but more like friends confiding in each other.

My mother yawned, said goodnight to me sleepily, and turned to sleep on her side with her back to me. I got out of bed, turned off the light, drew the curtains, and pulled back the bed curtains. I lay down on my mother's left side, also on my side. Around midnight, I was awakened by a very soft, faint sound. I blinked, still half-asleep, and listened intently. I realized it was sobbing. By then, I was already quite awake. The sound was coming from my mother's side…

I propped myself up on my left elbow and looked up. By the moonlight filtering through the curtains, I saw my mother's body trembling slightly. I reached out my right hand and gently shook her shoulder, asking, "Mom…! What's wrong? Why are you crying?" My mother didn't answer, but simply covered her sobbing nose and said, "Nothing… Mom's tired. You should go to sleep too." I didn't say anything more. Because I knew my mother must have been so upset that she cried. I wanted to tell her to lie down and pretend nothing was wrong, to let her calm down on her own, and that she would be fine in a while. For many years, whenever my mother cried, I would comfort her. But later, looking at everything in this family, I began to feel numb.

But today, for some reason, the turmoil in my heart made me restless. I thought of my father, my grandmother, relatives, school, and my mother. Why does my mother have to bear all the pain alone? Why am I always so weak and cowardly? In the past, I would only run away from all of this or choose to accept it all. Now, my life, my mother's later years, if it really has to be like this, I asked myself a big question. A friend once said, "Live in the moment, and you will be carefree." I

moved behind my mother, nestling my head against her neck, and whispered, "Mom...do you want to leave here, leave this prison-like home?" My mother's shoulders trembled, and she said, "How could you...say such a thing? I'm fine, don't worry." I wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing my body close to hers, and told her everything I had to say, including my deepest thoughts and what I wanted to do in the future.

My mother cried, not a loud sob, not a wail, but a soft, continuous sob. I comforted her and told her about my desire to take her away. My mother turned to look at me, saying she was very sorry, apologizing repeatedly, which only made me more upset and upset. I lifted my mother's face and said, "I will never let you suffer again, Mom. I hope you can live a happier life, instead of always frowning and looking so sad." My mother looked at me with reddened eyes, her gaze filled with unease, weariness, and fear, yet also with a touch of warmth that warmed my heart.

At that moment, I poured out all my feelings for my mother. I kissed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, letting me kiss her neck. I sucked on her sugary lips, and after a long kiss, she opened her eyes and half-pushed me away, saying, "No... this isn't right..." I sighed and said, "Mom... how does Father treat you, and how do others treat you?" My mother frowned, sat up, and her bathrobe was half-undone, hanging loosely on her shoulders, revealing her cleavage.

I cupped my mother's oval face in my hands and said, "Mom, if you don't want to, I won't force you. But I want you to remember, I will definitely take you away, away from this disgusting place!" A large tear rolled down my mother's cheek, her lips parted slightly as she looked deeply into my eyes. I lowered my hands, and my mother wrapped her arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder, her cheek pressed against mine, saying, "I want to leave, but I'm afraid you won't be able to." I lifted her arms from under her arms and said, "Don't worry, there will always be a way."

I felt the warmth of her firm breasts against my chest. I rubbed my cheek against her rosy cheek, kissing her ears and neck. My mother released her hands and looked at me. I placed my hand on her forehead, using my fingers to brush her bangs aside. I looked into her eyes, those large, alluring eyes. I kissed her lips, my tongue licking her soft, warm mouth, our tongues intertwining. My mother closed her eyes, going from passively letting me suckle her lips to actively engaging in a French kiss with me.

Saliva clung to the lips of both mother and son. After a passionate kiss, the mother, blushing, looked at him panting and said, "Go to sleep... we have to get up early tomorrow, or your grandma will scold us again." She then lay down with her back to me. Seeing her like this, I slipped under the quilt she was wearing and began to caress and knead her fleshy buttocks, which were covered by her silk bathrobe. The silk was very smooth. My mother pretended nothing was wrong and continued to sleep. I rested my chin on her neck, breathed on her ear, and began to lick the back of her ear, my tongue probing inside. I opened my mouth wide, and her entire ear was inside. I licked her with my tongue, and she let out a soft moan.

My hands continued to knead her buttocks, scraping against her cleft through her bathrobe. I pushed her right buttock forward with my palm, making her plump, peach-like buttocks even more prominent. My fingers kept squeezing her clitoris. Even through the bathrobe, her buttocks swayed, as if she didn't know what to do about my intrusion. I slid my hand down her buttocks to the inside of her thigh, reaching directly into her private area. My mother hurriedly tried to block me with her hands, turning her head anxiously to look at me.

Seeing that I couldn't touch it, I decided to be ruthless and pulled the hem of her yukata back, then threw the entire quilt behind me. A pair of fair, shapely legs, completely exposed, with black socks on her feet, were laid bare before me. I grabbed my mother's fleshy buttocks with both hands, pinching each fleshy part, and pulled them apart until her panties sank into her anus and covered her vulva. The pubic hair, the bulging mound of her pubic hair caused by the pulled panties, made my mouth dry. I immediately started sucking on her buttocks.

My mother, however, clenched her fists and remained silent. After I had tasted her buttocks, I turned her face away and, while still sucking, pulled the yukata off her shoulders. From the side, her breasts were quite ample. I felt that lying on her side like that made it difficult to tease her breasts, so I simply lifted her body up again, making her sit with her back to me. I stretched out my legs, intertwining them around my mother's slender waist. My hands kneaded her soft breasts from behind. My mother tilted her head back, leaning against my shoulder, and said, "Tonight's events will remain my secret, okay?"

Her breasts deformed in my hands as I squeezed them. I cupped the base of her breasts with my thumb and forefinger, moving upwards. When I reached her nipples, I pinched and pulled, pulling her breasts forward. My mother let out a soft moan. I licked her white, smooth back and said, "Mom... I will... I will definitely take you away." My mother lowered her head and said, "Don't say anymore..." I turned my mother's body to her side again. My fingers deftly slipped from her panties into her honeypot. Her vagina was already wet and overflowing with lustful fluids. My mother arched her back, resting her head on the pillow. Under the probing of my fingers, her body trembled, and she let out a soft sigh.

I quickened my pace, inserting two fingers into her vagina. As my wrist sped up and my fingers curved against the vaginal walls, a soft, shy moan escaped her lips. Her buttocks trembled violently, and a gush of fluid flowed from her vagina. The afterglow of her orgasm made her body tremble, and the only sound in the air was her deep breathing. My rock-hard penis was already erect. I pressed the head of my penis against her vulva, preparing to thrust it into her honeypot, when my mother's hand pressed against my abdomen. Her eyes told me, "Not here."

My face immediately darkened, and I looked exhausted. I kissed my mother on the lips and said, "Mother, as long as you feel comfortable... go to sleep." My mother blushed and said, "I... I'll help you..." She sat up, holding my penis in both hands, stroking it up and down. I lay down, my head resting on a soft feather pillow, enjoying my mother's masturbation techniques. As my mother's smooth hands and slender fingers grasped my hard, burning penis, I closed my eyes, savoring the aphrodisiac pleasure.

Indeed, women who have had sex understand the art of intimacy, especially a wealthy woman like my mother, who rarely leaves her home and has long been estranged from my father, having forgotten about sex. Now, with a man's penis before her, after the initial climax, she took advantage of her widowed desire, grasping her son's penis and rubbing it up and down until my penis, aroused by the masturbation, swelled even more, the glans stretching the foreskin. I gently pressed my mother's head with my left hand, signaling her to give me oral sex. My mother gave me a seductive look and shyly took my glans into her mouth.

At this moment, I turned my mother's buttocks to my left, and she knelt to my left, her mouth still adjusting to my penis, while my left hand continued to tease her vulva from behind. My mother's tongue circled the glans, her hand gripping the base; her lips sucked on my penis, the sucking sounds pleasant, making my legs straighten, my scrotum strain, and I felt I was about to ejaculate. Just then, her left hand forcefully thrust deep into my penis,

and my mother groaned, stopping her mouth movements, allowing the urge to ejaculate to subside. My thighs relaxed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt her vaginal fluid flowing again, my entire left palm wet, while my mother continued sucking on my penis. This time was different; she knew I was close to ejaculating. If I hadn't suddenly squeezed my body while stimulating her vagina, making her pause, I would have ejaculated long ago. My mother opened her mouth and began vigorously blowing, licking, sucking, and holding it. I couldn't hold back for more than five minutes. I extended my left ring and middle fingers, scratching incessantly inside my mother's vagina, while my thumb first circled around her anus.

Suddenly, a thumb gently inserted into her anus, while two fingers thrust against her uterine wall, causing her entire body to tense. Her vaginal fluids flowed out again. The instantaneous orgasm made her suck on the penis in her mouth even tighter, her cheeks hollowing out. From the base to the glans, the penis moved up and down. As it descended, my glans was already at its limit, and I ejaculated a thick, pungent, white semen from my urethra. My mother swallowed, absorbing all the semen that represented my years of love and affection for her.

She gently pushed against the glans with her fingers, and the penis, still trembling slightly from ejaculation, cleaned itself with toilet paper before we showered together. There wasn't much interaction; perhaps we understood each other simply through our eyes. In the bathroom, the steam from the hot water obscured my face, but her shy expression and alluring eyes revealed a captivating charm. That evening, my mother and I dressed and lay down. I thought about how, before we had finished our act, my mother was wearing a silk bathrobe without a bra, only pink thongs. Now, our relationship was different. I gently took my mother's right hand and held it tightly.

At that moment, a phrase came to mind: "When no one is around to whisper in the dead of night, silence speaks louder than words." I didn't care about anything else and kissed my mother again. After a passionate kiss, I turned over and went to sleep, waiting for the end of the trip.

Now, we were in a nine-seater SUV, driving back to the mansion from Songshan Airport. Originally, we were going to go to the mansion with everyone first to prepare for Grandma's 68th birthday celebration, but after I told my father, we decided to go there first to give Grandma face and wait a while before driving my mother and me back to Tianmu. Although on the surface, my mother and I were still the same as usual, but sometimes the way my mother looked at me was a little different. Although it was only for a moment, I could still feel it.

To put it nicely, it's supposed to seat nine people, but in reality, only the driver and the two rows behind are barely livable. The last row, where my mother and I sat, was basically a luggage compartment with a chair crammed in—it was incredibly cramped. My legs were too long to fit comfortably, so I had to spread them wide. And the air conditioning wasn't very effective at blowing on us. Seeing my mother's tired face, I sat down with her in the back without a word. To the right of the driver's uncle was my eldest aunt, in the second row were my grandmother's father and my aunt's son, and in the third row were two other aunts. My mother and I were in the very back.

My mother was wearing a simple yet elegant suit. On the bus, she maintained a ladylike reserve, keeping her legs close together and leaning slightly towards me. Our eyes met, and remembering what had happened the night before, I felt a pang of embarrassment and quickly looked out the window. As the bus moved, the highway lights outside gradually merged into a single line. It was already evening, and the streetlights, adorned with deep orange lights, formed a fiery dragon. In the distance, the city was ablaze with a string of red taillights due to traffic congestion. I wondered what my future held.

I watched my mother doze off in the car, but she was woken up by my sneaky touch of her left hand. I deliberately scratched her palm with my fingers. My mother's oval face smiled slightly at me under the headlights. Everyone in front of us, except for my uncle who was still driving, was fast asleep. I gently called to my uncle how much longer it would take. He turned his neck and said, "It's going to be a long time. Look how bad the traffic is." At this point, I started teasing my mother, using my index fingers and thumb as feet, crawling all over her arms, and finally just touching her legs.

However, all of this was done underneath. When my mother saw me gently touching her thigh, she didn't stop me. I moved closer to her and pulled her hand onto my thigh. My mother looked at me with a suspicious smile. I playfully made a shushing gesture and gently lifted my mother's long skirt. My mother hurriedly tried to stop me, looking a little frightened. I leaned close to her ear and said, "It's just a caress, nothing more." My mother blushed slightly and told me to keep quiet.

I slipped my hand under my mother's skirt and pulled it up to her waist, revealing a pair of black lace panties. I caressed her fair thighs, my fingers intentionally or unintentionally rubbing the inside of her thighs. When I touched her private parts, I lightly scratched her vulva with my fingers. Even through the panties, it made my mother blush. I placed my mother's hand directly on my penis and pressed it down to rub my shaft. Only then did my mother take the initiative to caress me. Under the thick jeans, I was uncomfortably hard. I unzipped my pants, slipped my panties to the side, and my semi-erect penis emerged.

My mother pretended to be asleep with her head down, but her eyes were secretly glancing at me. She used her left hand to caress me up and down, and after it got hard, she started to speed up the stroking, making it even harder and thicker. As the traffic jam gradually cleared up, the car started to pick up speed and we entered a mountainous area. I felt uncomfortable from the erection and wanted my mother to give me oral sex, but she said she was afraid someone would see. In the end, she complied with my request, lowered her head, and secretly licked my penis. However, my mother's fearful nature, coupled with the vibrations and bumps in the car, meant that her oral skills were not as good as usual, which only made me more excited.

Finally, we arrived at a luxury mansion in Taipei. I quickly put on my pants, while my mother tidied herself up. The car became noisy upon arrival. After everyone got out, my mother and I filed into the house. Of course, there were plenty of polite greetings and platitudes. Not only were there members of my own family present, but also other political and business figures, all there to wish Grandma a happy birthday in advance. My mother helped my father greet the guests, while I stayed in the main hall, holding a glass of Hiroshima iced tea. This was a bar set up in the corner of the hall,

with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Servants began pushing food carts, filling the dining table with exquisite dishes. Grandma liked grandeur, and I never understood her thinking. She was clearly tired from just getting off the plane, but she still pretended to be fine, chatting and laughing with these political and business figures. To me, much of what I heard was just flattery. I grew up in this kind of environment. I saw my mother look up from the hall and give me a look, signaling me to come down. The hall had intricately carved granite staircases on both sides, leading to a walkway from which one could see everyone below. I liked being here; it made me feel safe.

I descended the stairs, holding onto the Roman-style stone carvings at the top, and politely greeted passersby with glances and nods. Every time I appeared, I had to endure people's stares, listen to their whispers, and hear the girls' playful banter—but I was used to it by now. My father wanted me to greet a member of parliament. I had to maintain a smile; every gesture I made represented the family. It turned out the member's daughter was about my age, currently studying abroad, and returning to Taiwan today.

I greeted the beautiful girl; she wore an elegant dark blue dress, her hair styled in an updo, with long, beautiful legs and white high heels—she clearly wasn't an ordinary person. I knew what they all wanted me to do next, so I just went through the motions, asking the girl if she wanted to walk with me. These elders all wanted me to do this for two reasons: face, a hypocritical and disgusting act.

I took the girl's hand like a gentleman; she was even wearing gloves matching her dress. We strolled through the back garden. The garden was oval-shaped with a fountain in the center, filled with koi, and lined with streetlights typical of British streets. I made small talk with the girl, trying to get information out of her. I did this to see if she was like me, the same kind of person.

I roughly divided her into two types: one like me, who found these kinds of gatherings tacky, and another where the girl had come specifically to see the guy, intending to marry into wealth. Thankfully, this girl was the former. We talked about ourselves, especially complaining about our parents and families—it was quite satisfying. This is also why I went to private school—because I wanted to live a different life.

The girl was very humorous, but it was getting late, and I had to see her off quickly. So I went back to the hall, and my father said the girl's parents had already left and that I should take her home. I thought I was leaving anyway, so I pulled the girl and said goodbye to her grandmother. Then I exchanged a glance with my mother, and the three of us got into the car and hurriedly left this castle full of lies and hypocrisy. When we arrived at the girl's house, I gave her a goodbye gesture and then headed towards Tianmu. After the long journey and the bombardment of a banquet at the mansion, I no longer cared about my appearance and collapsed into a deep sleep in the back seat. As

I drove the car into the garage, Sasaya, who had already received my call, was waiting for me at the door. I carried my mother in a princess carry and took her directly to her bedroom. The maid followed behind with the luggage and asked me what I wanted to do. I told the maid to help my mother settle in before coming to find me. In my mother's room, I saw a photo of myself, my parents, my grandparents, and me. My grandfather was a political party member back then, so it was rare for him to go out with me. This photo is the only one that makes me happy

because everyone in it is smiling naturally and looking very happy.

When I woke up in the morning, it was already noon. My back ached all over, and I got out of bed wearily, opened the window, and breathed in the fresh air from this 12-story building. Then I went downstairs and ate the meal the maid was supposed to prepare for me, but my mother said she would cook it. Sasaya and I looked at each other in disbelief.

I joked, "Mom, it's been so long since you've cooked, are you sure you can manage?" My mother put egg noodles and some vegetables in the pot, added some sliced pork belly, a handful of scallions, and an egg. It was done in less than ten minutes. I told the maid to go ahead and get busy, and then my mother sat down next to me, watching me eat my noodles. I saw a tenderness in my mother's eyes, a look I hadn't seen in a long time. The noodles were piping hot, but truly delicious, better than any fancy restaurant's. No delicacy could compare to a single dish from my mother. A pang of sadness struck me, and tears welled up again. I quickly pretended nothing was wrong and finished the noodles in a few bites.

I asked my mother if she wanted me to play the piano later. She followed me to the music room. I didn't know the brand of the piano, but I'd heard it was imported, costing over six million yuan. Apparently, it was made by a famous family of piano makers. The sound quality, the condition, the wood, the lacquer—all indicated its exceptional quality. Now, it was impossible to buy one. My mother's fingers continued playing the Moonlight Sonata

. I'd seen my mother play this piece since I was little. Sadly, during a university general education class, when the professor played "The Legend of 1900," it felt familiar, as if I'd heard it somewhere before.

As the piece drew to a close, I wrapped my arms around my mother's neck, kissed her face, and then moved my hands from back to front, kneading her breasts. My mother wore a white dress; judging by the dress, it was clearly the work of a renowned designer. The dress featured a special stitching around the bust area that accentuated her breasts, making them appear high and her cleavage deep. Two gold rings fastened at the waist, highlighting her slender waist. The skirt was a classic Western style, with abundant lace trim along the innermost layer, and the back was open, revealing her fragrant shoulders and beautiful back.

As I played with her breasts, my mother stood up and locked the music room door. I watched my mother sit on the piano bench, her back to the keys. My mother shyly straddled my legs, twisting her hips under her skirt to stimulate my penis. I simply pulled down her bra, and two pairs of high, snow-white breasts popped out, drooping slightly, their nipples a deep red. I greedily sucked on my mother's breasts, while she twisted her hips, enjoying the stimulation I gave her.

I pulled up my mother's skirt, unzipped her pants, revealing my penis. I probed her vagina with my fingers; it was already soaking wet. I pressed the head of my penis against her labia. My mother frowned. I kissed her, then supported her buttocks with both hands. With a sit-up, my penis entered her vagina. My mother let out a shy cry. Her face was flushed, her eyes half-open, and her lips tightly closed, still adjusting to the size of my penis inside her vagina. I thrust my penis forward, stretching her vagina even wider. My mother's limp body leaned against my shoulder. Using my touch, I slipped my hand under her skirt through her buttocks, pulled her panties into a thong, and tucked them into her buttocks. I then pulled the panties around her vagina back to prevent them from interfering with my thrusting.

I started swaying my hips, making my mother grind against me. I began to thrust my hips up and down violently, and my mother twisted her buttocks, her breasts swaying up and down. My penis was almost completely inside her vagina. I made my mother ride on top of me, twisting left and right, squeezing back and forth. Her vaginal walls gripped my penis tightly. My mother looked so lewd at that moment, biting her slender fingers, a dent appearing on her nose, and her entire thighs were covered in vaginal fluid.

With one hand on her waist, I pulled her up until my entire penis was almost out, then forcefully thrust it into her vagina. Her buttocks slammed against her thighs with a loud slap, and my mother let out a wanton cry. I made my mother wrap her arms around my neck, then lifted her legs with both hands and stood up. My mother looked as if she was afraid of falling. I swung her upper body, thrusting my penis into her with great force, making her moan and sob, her hands gripping me tightly with pleasure.

I carried my mother to the back of the piano, making her turn her back to me, put her hands on the piano lid, stick her buttocks up, and spread her legs. I licked her beautiful back from behind, and then unzipped the back of her dress, making her take off her clothes and pull her panties down to her ankles. My mother was only wearing beige high heels. I pressed down on my mother's waist, making her stick her buttocks up even higher. My mother had no choice but to stand on her tiptoes, exposing her entire anus to me.

I first squatted down and licked her vulva and anus from bottom to top. Then I gently inserted my penis into her mons pubis, held her hips with both hands, and began to thrust at the base. The sound of her thighs slapping together made my mother moan and cry out. I didn't care if anyone could hear me. My lower body twisted rapidly, my hands squeezing her breasts that were suspended in mid-air. Faster, faster, faster! Her entire vagina was covered in vaginal fluid, which flowed down her thighs and down her high heels.

I thrust hard, stopping inside my mother's uterus. I lifted her right leg with one hand, turned her 180 degrees, and placed her on the piano lid with both hands supporting her buttocks. I held her hands, and her legs were spread open like a frog. I then thrust one last time. My penis rubbed against her sticky, wet vagina. It felt so tight, so grippy. Not only was it wet, but her sensitive erection made her even more wet. My glans tingled and went numb. I pulled out and thrust a few times.

Semen fell through the air, staining my mother's body—her lower abdomen, chest, face, and even the piano lid. The white semen on the black piano created a stark contrast. I lay on top of her, kissing her fragrant lips, recalling her wanton moans and shy expression from our passionate moment. I made a decision: my mother was the one I would protect. Later, my mother initiated the divorce, and we began our newlywed romance. We

were only somewhat reserved in public, but there were times when she gave me oral sex on the back of a bus, and another time we had sex in the park and got bitten by mosquitoes. My mother changed; she became cheerful and lively. I dropped out of school and started online shopping from home, with my mother helping me. This allowed me to spend every day with my stunningly beautiful mother, indulging in sweet love and wearing revealing goddess-like outfits. The past is long gone, and I don't cling to those memories. As long as my mother is by my side, I am

content .

The mother and son were entwined on the sofa early in the morning. The mother was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and hot pants; I had never seen her dressed like that before. Her eyes were alluring, and she was filled with deep affection for me. During this period, my mother and I were like newlyweds, making love every day—on the bed in the bedroom, straddling the toilet, performing oral sex under the kitchen counter, and today we were making love on the sofa. My mother has now started wearing pure cotton maternity underwear, completely shedding her former elegant demeanor. In another month, my mother's belly will gradually grow bigger.

The wind can bear witness, the night can confirm, my heart will never change; as long as you are willing, I will bring you happiness.

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