Doraemon's Memory Bread

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 09:31:52

"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 covers, 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 from afar
; 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 a 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 to burst out. Normally timid and fearful, I felt no fear whatsoever, imagining
the various adventures mentioned in the comics, thinking of alien pets or goddesses descending to earth. But
when the drawer opened automatically, what appeared was a huge disappointment.

The visitor before me was neither terrifying nor beautiful; perhaps a girl could be called cute, but she was definitely not within my
aesthetic range. It was humanoid, with a chubby, sapphire-blue body and a large,
round . It stood about 1.2 meters tall, with short arms and legs, no forked toes, and paws like pancakes, resembling a
large penguin. However, judging from its facial features and six symmetrical, long whiskers, it looked more like
a cat.

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
a 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 supernatural powers, it
had abilities in the present world comparable to magic.

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

As a mere fifteen-year-old boy, receiving such filial piety from a younger generation, I didn't know how
to feel. But I gladly accepted this generous gift, and countless grand ideas immediately surged within me
—grand ambitions like conquering the continent and unifying the planet, just like in comic books.

However, these unrealistic thoughts were quickly dampened by Doraemon. It turned out that although Doraemon 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 . Furthermore, Doraemon was programmed at the time of manufacture 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 but illusions
.

That being said, Doraemon's endless stream of gadgets still added a lot of
fun to my mundane and boring life. Although many of his gadgets malfunctioned, overall, they were still magical gadgets that were ahead of their time.

Thinking about this, I arrived at school. My school was an excellent
middle school, even in Tokyo, with a history of over a hundred years. The school buildings weren't large, but they were lush with vegetation and had various teaching
and physical education facilities, which were widely praised by parents. However, for me, classes were dull and boring every day,
and I wasn't good at any after-school activities. I also had very few friends. Among my classmates, I could only be considered familiar with three who lived nearby: Shizuka Minamoto, Suneo Honekawa, and
Takeshi Gouda. Of these, only Shizuka Minamoto could be considered my good friend; Suneo Honekawa
and Takeshi Gouda were just "bad friends" who enjoyed bullying me.

Shizuka was not only my friend but also the school's recognized beauty. She was not only beautiful and charming but also had a graceful and proper
demeanor, and her academic performance was also top-notch. What's even more commendable is that she's incredibly kind and friendly, never
neglecting or discriminating against other students because of her popularity. So, while I felt smug about her friendliness towards me
, I was also saddened by her treating 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 revealed it, I
'd probably be beaten to a pulp by their angry fists. That secret is that I once used Doraemon's girlfriend badge to
make Shizuka my personal girlfriend, and we reached home base on the very first day, even making her my
sex slave for a day! Although Shizuka left me shortly after due to a design flaw in the gadget,
the thought of her breasts and the alluring taste of her vagina still makes my little brother instantly erect.

Another boring day at school passed quickly. Besides sharing our lunchboxes with Shizuka,
we chatted for about half an hour under the school's shade, and I secretly glanced at her thighs and peeked at her underwear when she wasn't looking.
Aside from my failed attempt at seduction, I gained absolutely nothing. However, another unfortunate incident completely overshadowed
the joy Shizuka brought me during the day…

“Doraemon, you have to save me! The history exam is next week, and I haven’t attended a single history
class this semester…” The bloated figure I was hugging like a koala was Doraemon. I remember
when he first came to my side, Doraemon was practically 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 in my house this time, I certainly couldn’t let this
opportunity to seek his help

slip by. Although Doraemon’s round face couldn’t make many expressions, his big, round eyes undoubtedly
conveyed his helpless attitude.

“It’s your own fault for never studying, you’re going to suffer!” Doraemon’s voice was high-pitched and thin, like
a child’s, especially when he was 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've already tried 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 taste buds similar to those of 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. So, whenever I
make an inappropriate request of it, I'll unleash this magic weapon.

As soon as I said it, I could almost hear Doraemon swallowing hard.

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

After receiving my affirmative reply, it rummaged through its dimensional pouch on its belly 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 object 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 an enticing 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 they are also very particular about their appearance, feel, and even smell. 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 to ask for payment (I've always been curious about
how Doraemon, without five fingers, grasps objects). His mind was probably already on the food stall across the alley.

I readily placed several hundred dollars' worth of coins into Doraemon's palm, letting him enjoy his treat; then I began to
concentrate on studying 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 a history book and finding a page included in the exam.
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—the exact contents of 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 popped into 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 . Rather, I gradually acquired the relevant memories over time. It seemed that my memory speed was directly
proportional to my digestion speed.

Feeling reassured, 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 the family. At fourteen, while still a middle school student, 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 at home to take care of her husband and children. Because my mother hadn't experienced the hardships of society, although she never deliberately used expensive
cosmetics, her skin and appearance were still very good, like a charming young woman in her mid-twenties.
However, due to staying at home for many years, her figure was slightly plump, but still curvaceous and not bloated.

Father Nobisuke is a mild-mannered and easygoing man who doesn't like to argue. He
works as a sales manager at a small medical equipment company, usually working a nine-to-five job, but occasionally needs to travel for work. He feels sorry for Mother...
My mother works tirelessly, managing the household chores alone, and I often take great care of her. On the other hand, due to the age gap between my husband and his wife, he
is very obedient to her. Therefore, my mother handles all the household affairs single-handedly, and her word is law.

My mother is usually very kind, 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 disobey after she calls for me to come 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. Although I wanted to save room for a large portion of memory bread,
under my mother's strict supervision and the temptation of the delicious food, I reluctantly ate until I was about 90% full.

My mother doesn't eat much; she finished her lunch in just a few bites. Since Dad wasn't home, she focused all her attention
on me, constantly telling me what to eat, not to be picky, to chew slowly, and not to make
any noise while eating. I was both impatient and curious. How could my undeniably elegant and handsome father have
such a young, beautiful, and demanding mother? It was truly baffling.

After finishing my meal, I went upstairs to my room, looking at the bag full of bread with a sigh. The once sweet pastries
no longer looked or smelled appealing. Okay, I'll eat them as a late-night snack! That's settled then. With that thought in mind, I
comfortably lay down on my bed, flipping through my latest comic book, enjoying the lazy post-dinner time.

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

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

The problem was, the problem was, there was too much material for the exam. After downing nearly a dozen slices of bread, I
felt like food was 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 forced down those five or six slices of memory bread, one sip of water followed by another.

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 painfully full stomach and drifting into a light sleep.

However, near dawn, I was awakened by a sudden, sharp pain in my abdomen. Ouch, my stomach
hurts so much ! This was followed by a relentless urge to defecate. I guess I not only ate too much last night, but I also
upset my stomach by drinking cold water.

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

My heart skipped a beat. Could it be? I wondered how much of yesterday's bread had been digested. There was no
way to change 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 scattered
, incoherent, and utterly nonsensical—a complete mess. I forced myself to finish the exam, and
in a daze, I passed this miserable day.

Three days later, "20 points!" The test papers were finally handed out. 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 papers to my mother for signature
each time , and then give the signed papers to the teacher for verification. This was
a consensus reached between my mother and teacher after I repeatedly hid the test papers, leaving my bad grades nowhere to hide.

Sitting in my room, I was trying to figure out how to explain to my mother when I suddenly noticed the remaining memory bread on the table leg
. A wave of annoyance washed over me. What futuristic technology? It was useless. Without thinking
, picked up the bread bag, intending to sweep it into the trash can, but unexpectedly discovered
the second function printed on the instruction manual: "Memory Modification."

What was that? I wondered. A few days ago, in my haste to experiment, I didn't finish reading
the entire instruction manual for the Memory Bread; 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 was it 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?" Mom
launched a surprise attack before I could even think of an excuse, she must have heard something.

Caught off guard, I could only obediently hand over my exam paper. Mom's murderous aura
intensified upon seeing it. "Nobita, you failed again! Get down on your bed!"

Seeing Mom's attitude, my heart sank. Dad was away on a business trip today, so no one could stop Mom
. Besides, Mom responds better to gentle persuasion than harsh ones; a few words of pleading might 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 do my homework. Waaah."

But Mom was in a particularly irritable mood today, and her anger only intensified upon hearing this. "A boy crying..."
"Stop crying! Don't cry! You're such a wimp. Your father's not home, so you have to act like the man of the house!"

Mom scolded, 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 shamelessly wailed, only to be
punished even more severely by Mom.

After scolding me, Mom's anger hadn't subsided. "No allowance this month. When you pass
history, you can come back to me with your test paper for allowance."

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 planning to buy the manga that was 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 … I'll give it a try, even if it's a desperate measure.

So, following the instructions, I found a small, toothpaste-like tube at the bottom of the bread bag. This
was a 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 100 on his history test today
." Then I carefully took the bread downstairs.

Mom was still there, sulking and angry with me. 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 lecture, "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 pass the next exam, 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 time the history exam..."

But Mom's previous worried expression vanished, replaced by a bright smile. "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 had 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 hit you, feeling like you weren't like my child at all. I should encourage you more from now on.
Our Daxiong is actually quite smart. Besides, what kind of stupid child can only fail tests every time?"

The more my mother praised me, the more I felt it was 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, Daxiong, 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 definitely 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 back 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 in a naive tone
, "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 the first ten minutes, Mom's behavior didn't change much; she continued
doing things skillfully and methodically. After ten minutes, Mom started to seem lost. She picked up the spatula and then put it down, holding
a dishcloth but unsure where to wipe it, muttering something that was hard to understand.

Suddenly, Mom stopped her aimless work, looked around, and then stared at me intently. In a
clear, childlike voice, she called out, "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 I was already about the same height as Mom.
My mother hugged me tightly, like a child holding an adult, her arms outstretched, 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 had never been so enthusiastic, so uninhibited, so fully
physically close to me. Even through my pajamas, how could that incredibly soft, thin cotton fabric possibly block out my mother's...
The constant heat and fragrance emanating from my mother's body couldn't diminish
the intoxicating sensation of her ample breasts rubbing against my chest, nor could it erase the ecstatic feeling of her hips accidentally brushing against my crotch as she swayed.

I was momentarily lost in a trance, feeling a hard, tight sensation in my pants, as if my whole body was burning and seeking an
outlet, yet I ignored my mother's playful, coquettish whispers in my ear. Perhaps seeing that I was ignoring her, my
mother lightly bit my neck with her small mouth. "Daddy's bad! 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 sucking on the spot after the bite. After a few sucks, my mother, probably finding it amusing, giggled softly,
her silvery voice trembling, making me lose all sense of proportion.

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 quietly 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 unsettled. 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.
Yet, my heart was filled with a joyful sense of freedom and an indescribable surge of emotion, as if something was about to
burst forth from within me.

Despite not knowing what to do, I knew I couldn't give up this sudden, sweet
feeling. I considered it for a moment; Daddy wouldn't be back for another week and a half. I'd see how it went. I'd focus on being Mommy's father first
.

Since I was now Mommy's father, I had to take responsibility for her daily needs and care for her well. Since I
can't cook, I decided to go out and buy something for Mom. I remembered that Mom's favorite foods were rice balls and takoyaki.
After telling Mom not to wander around, I left home and quickly bought these two items at a nearby grocery store.

When I got home and opened the door, Mom was still engrossed in 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 unconsciously adopted the role of Dad, showing slight concern
.

"Mm." 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 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 play and cuddle with me. "Daddy's so good!" She
half-knelt, half-crawled to my side as I sat on the sofa, frantically devouring rice balls. "Takoyaki is so delicious."

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

"Okay! Okay!" I stared intently at my mother's face. I had never
looked at , nor had I ever examined her beauty with such eyes. My mother had a delicate, small oval face, with long
, black, shiny hair cascading down her shoulders. Her skin was fair and smooth, her eyes slightly almond-shaped, and her nose was straight and elegant. Even without
makeup, her eyebrows were still beautifully drawn. There was a small mole the size of a sesame seed on the corner of my mother's full, upturned, rosy lips.
My father often joked that it was a "womanizing mole," which my mother would laugh and scold him for being ridiculous. But undeniably, this little mole added
a lot of allure to my mother.

What was irresistible was that although my mother's face was full of mature beauty, her eyes were so clear
and bright, as transparent and innocent as a child's. This contradictory illusion only added to her irresistible charm
.

I glanced at my mother's lips. Huh, that black thing wasn't a mole, but takoyaki sauce. I
couldn't help but smile wryly. Sigh, I never thought my usually tidy mother would be so messy as a child.

I reached out and ran my finger across my mother's lips, wiping away the remaining sauce. The warm, bouncy touch on my fingertip
made me want to caress it more.

Suddenly, my mother exclaimed, "Ah, delicious teriyaki sauce!" Then she extended 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 body burning with heat, a warm current coursing through me. It felt as if not just a finger in my mother's mouth,
but my entire body, as if she were holding me in her mouth, and I could feel the squeezing and teasing of her soft, warm mouth.

After a few gentle sucks, she seemed to lose interest, so she opened her mouth again, looked up, 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, my mother 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 had insisted on breastfeeding me until I was one year old, her breasts were
an enviable , probably a D cup. And these two mounds of flesh
were swaying 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 actually
expressed dissatisfaction with the bra she wore every day. "Dad, my chest feels stuffy. That little bra is too tight;
it's making me 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 hadn't bathed with me, and being conservative by nature, she
refused to wear a bikini even at the pool or beach. Therefore, I hadn't seen her abdomen or back for many years. I only saw that her
abdomen was flat, without any excess fat. While it couldn't be called a wasp waist, it was still quite slender and
attractive compared to her full breasts and hips.

My mother urged me urgently, "Dad, hurry up! It's uncomfortable."

As instructed, I moved behind my mother and reached out with trembling hands to try and unhook her bra.
Too nervous, 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 remained loosely hanging on her chest. Before I could even reach out, my mother
cheered, tossed the bra aside, and turned around, revealing her ample breasts completely exposed before my eyes.

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

Before I could even finish admiring the beautiful scenery, Mom suddenly put on her pajamas top and started
jumping around shirtless, shouting, "Daddy, play with me!"

My head was spinning, I was completely disoriented, and I stupidly followed Mom's instructions
to play a game of tag. I was the eagle, and she was the chick, chasing each other.

Mom seemed to have a lot more energy after becoming a little girl, chasing for more than half an hour. Although
she was panting, she still wanted to continue playing. As for me, I was exhausted. The only thing I could call a gain
was seeing Mom's full breasts bounce and jump as she ran, which was very tempting and spectacular. But
the consequence of this was that I had to force myself to keep going and chase and play with Mom, which made me even more tired.

Of course, every time I caught Mom's little chick, I would take the opportunity to grope her all over,
kneading and playing with her plump breasts and full buttocks. But Mom would giggle and
then spring away, leaving me utterly helpless.

During our playful fight, Mom accidentally bumped into a vase in the corner. With a loud crash, the vase shattered into four
pieces.

Mom seemed to realize she'd done something wrong, immediately falling silent and standing to one side, her face filled with panic as she furtively glanced at me. She
whispered, "Dad, I didn't mean to. Dad, please don't hit me."

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

Mom looked very nervous and walked timidly to my side.

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

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

I was amused by Mom's childish behavior, but the burning flame in my heart didn't die down; instead,
it grew even stronger. I stepped forward and gently pulled down my mother's house pants and underwear, leaving them tucked behind her legs
. My mother's body trembled slightly; she was clearly terrified.

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

I gasped and gently placed my hand on my mother's buttocks. She seemed to feel a tickle and
squirmed in protest. The sensation was wonderful; her buttocks were plump and soft. My hand felt as if
it were touching a piece of warm, beautiful jade, irresistible.

"Smack!" I lightly slapped her. A gentle ripple spread across her buttocks, a slight but
persistent tremor that lingered for a long time.

I found this amusing and began to slap her repeatedly. The ripples on her buttocks were spectacular and moving
. My mother, filled with fear and shame, 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 harder.

Soon, her buttocks were red and swollen. My lower body was rock hard, desperately wanting
to ejaculate. I felt as if an unnamed fire was burning through my body, trembling so much I couldn't continue the punishment, so
I sat down to the side, panting.

I wasn't a naive child. Living in Japan, I had seen those so-called
forbidden books early on, including incestuous and sadistic comics. Although I didn't have any particular fetish for them, I wasn't particularly
disgusted either. At this moment, my half-naked mother was simply a piece of beautiful flesh worthy of my defilement. The distinction between mother and son
didn't cause me any taboo; it only increased my forbidden pleasure.

Tonight, something was bound to happen, but I didn't know how.

My mother sensed that I had stopped slapping and punishing her, and she temporarily stopped crying, though she was still sobbing.
After a while, she finally caught her breath, timidly pulled up her pants herself, and turned her head slightly to look at me. "Daddy
, Yuzi needs to pee

." It seems Mom isn't a precocious child; at five years old, she still needs to be helped to pee .

I led Mom to the bathroom. Mom willingly pulled down her pants, revealing her two bare, snow-white
thighs. She looked at me with a troubled expression, clearly wanting me to lift her up to pee. But looking at Mom's and my
size , it was obviously difficult for me to lift her.

Helpless, I could only teach Mom to sit on the toilet and try to relieve herself. Even so, Mom's thighs
still willingly maintained the shameful position of being helped to pee, straight and raised high. In this way, her secret flower valley
was completely exposed to me.

Mom's pubic hair was very thick, but quite neat, perhaps because it was often trimmed, it wasn't 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 shy yet delighted, peeked out from above the shell, as if beckoning me to pluck it.

My mother seemed uncomfortable in this position; her face flushed red, yet she couldn't urinate smoothly, her vulva opening
opening rhythmically, clearly struggling.

My mother looked at me with difficulty, but I could no longer restrain myself. I knelt before her, reaching out to
caress and tease her forbidden zone.

I felt a warm, moist heat where I touched, the pungent, fishy smell spreading irresistibly, yet not
unpleasant ; instead, it fueled the fire within me. Was this where I was born?

I was momentarily dazed, my fingers sliding incessantly up and down. 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 the book, increasing the speed of my caresses, occasionally rubbing her clitoris.
My fingers gradually became soaked with the viscous fluid, the pungent scent intensifying, and my mother's moans grew more distressed. Her lips parted
slightly , emitting a soft, almost crying gasp. Her thighs could no longer remain fully open,
opening and closing unconsciously, 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 fluid spurted from her vagina. Her
thighs convulsed uncontrollably, and she cried out repeatedly. 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 starry eyes half-closed, her small mouth
murmuring something, her lower body twitching and swaying intermittently. That 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 bathroom mirror; her lower body slightly raised, revealing her engorged
vulva overflowing with lustful fluid. My mother seemed to protest, slowly wiggling her hips, but 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 honey pot, and
slowly pushed it in. An indescribable, wonderful sensation instantly spread from my lower body to my entire body. Wet, hot, tight, slippery—no
matter how beautiful the adjectives, they could not describe the ecstasy I felt at that moment.

My mother's honeyed passage was still in a state of high tension. The moment something intruded, it immediately and mercilessly coiled
and squeezed, seemingly trying to expel it. But I, already on the verge of attack, was
not deterred by such resistance. I relentlessly pushed deeper, until I was almost fully inside, when I felt my
penis touch a soft, numb spot, unable to go any further.

Just as I was intently exploring my mother's honeyed cave, my actions seemed to ignite a burst of strength within her. Her previously
limp body suddenly tensed, and she let out strange moans, seemingly both extremely distressed and extremely pleasurable.

At this moment, my mind was completely blank; the pleasurable sensation between my legs made me forget everything.
Unconsciously, I began to thrust my hips forcefully, fully experiencing unprecedented pleasure. Each insertion was to the very root
, touching that mysterious flower bud, and each impact sent back an even greater wave of tingling pleasure.

I myself seemed to transform 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; she began to instinctively sway her hips, rhythmically
responding to my thrusts. Her breasts were clearly visible on her sweat-soaked pajamas, her nipples
proudly erect, leaping with each thrust.

My mother's cries gradually took on meaning, no longer just simple moans, "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 out. Daddy…"
With a long cry, a surge of hot fluid flowed from her flower core to my penis, her honeyed orifice
tightly enveloping and wrapping around it, as if several tiny mouths were simultaneously sucking it.

I couldn't bear the stimulation. Holding my mother's waist, I thrust hard, pushing my penis to its
deepest point . A jolt of electricity shot through my spine, coursing through my mother's vagina,
giving me a feeling of ethereal bliss.

My hot semen made her cries even louder and more intense, but to me, they seemed distant.

Perhaps a while passed, perhaps a long time, before I came to my senses. My mother was completely limp on
the dressing table. In the mirror, I could see her eyes were glazed and unfocused, as if desire had clouded her former purity
and innocence, reverting her to the lustful woman she once was.

I withdrew, only to see a thin, white fluid slowly flowing from my mother's swollen vagina, an incredibly lewd sight.

At this moment, my previously limp penis suddenly sprang back to life. I couldn't resist sitting on the toilet again, pulling my
mother into my arms like a child, my back to her. I thrust my hard penis into
her vagina from below, beginning a new round of intercourse. My mother moaned and cried out, "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,"
filling me with boundless excitement in this immoral act, a union I couldn't tell was between mother and son or father and daughter. Since this was our
second , it took me a long time to reach another climax, and my mother, after several orgasms, was stimulated
to the point of incontinence, releasing her pent-up urine.

That day, I lost count of 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 myself
fell into a deep sleep amidst powerless convulsions, while my mother, having lost consciousness in multiple orgasms, could only unconsciously utter
moans and passively lift her hips slightly to meet my thrusts…

In the morning, still not fully awake, I was groaning and drowsy when I was
awakened by waves of pleasure from my lower body. 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, carnal desire. 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 aligned her already overflowing pussy
with erect penis, slowly lowering herself. After penetrating all the way in, she let out a long moan 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 a dazzling, erotic curve. Mommy kept moaning...
"Daddy, Tamako is so good... Daddy, Tamako's little hole is going to be pierced by you..."

I cried out as I enjoyed my mother's passionate and intense caresses, trying to recall the events of the past few days. It was because things
had changed so rapidly, making it hard to accept; it was also because I had indulged in lust every day, losing
track of time. I felt like 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 daughter, Tamako, 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 abuse her. Tamako's mother
immediately took to this lewd game that made her feel comfortable, excited, and happy. From being at a loss, she became
addicted , clamoring for intercourse with me whenever she had the chance.

Even so, when I tried to get my mother to give me oral sex, she inexplicably 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, which made Mom "like licking Daddy's penis and drinking the
white, sticky fluid that flowed from it," and also made her "feel very comfortable being penetrated in the butt by Daddy,
just as comfortable as being penetrated in the vagina."

Thus, Mom's mouth and anus succumbed on the fourth and fifth days, often
experiencing orgasms after I took turns penetrating every orifice of her body, leaving her covered in semen. For this, Mom always blamed me, blaming me for not ejaculating
into her thirsty mouth, because my semen had become her favorite dessert. So, I often saw Mom,
after our frenzied intercourse, still mustering her remaining energy, using her fingers to scrape off the white, cloudy semen I had ejaculated into her vagina or anus
, mixed 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 licentious days 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 toast
and stir-fry 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 scold me after learning what had happened. Although Doraemon's programming included
virtues like honesty and integrity, since its primary function was as a child's helper, it was completely
ignorant of matters of the sexes and fidelity, and therefore couldn't offer any approval or disapproval. Because of this, when I used my girlfriend badge to rape
Shizuka, Doraemon didn't express any objection.

Although Doraemon couldn't fully explain the Memory Bread to me, I eventually
understood the general idea.

It turns out that the primary target of the memory bread is children, especially young children. Its principle is to
use a special substance to act on the cerebral cortex to leave false memories and imprint behavioral patterns. Since
most of a child's cerebral cortex is undeveloped, like a blank sheet of paper, as long as the memory bread leaves a trace, and this
trace is repeatedly drawn and reinforced, the memory and behavioral patterns can naturally be stabilized.

However, for adults, their memory and behavioral patterns are already fixed. The memory bread is merely
a thin layer covering them, replacing everything that was originally there, but it's powerless to change it. Once the effect of the memory bread wears
off, the false memories and behavioral patterns will disappear, and the original memories and behavioral patterns will naturally revert.

However, it's reassuring that since new memories and behaviors are generated on the thin layer created by the memory bread,
these memories will naturally disappear along with the effect 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 my father would handle everything that had happened when he returned. Since that's the case, I just need to let things pass.

With a mind set on immediate gratification, my mother and I resumed our all-night passion. My penis and semen
ejaculated repeatedly inside and outside her, and she
swallowed every drop without fail.

Until the night before my father's business trip, I helped my mother wash up, erasing all the strange traces of our lovemaking in the house
. Then, I took out the last piece of memory bread and wrote, "Nobita's mother is Nobita's mother.
Nine days ago, Nobita fell ill and was recuperating at home, and Tama 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
, Tama wants to be with you forever!"

Disheartened, I returned to my room 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 return to the days of our passionate lovemaking.

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

My Tamako mom is back.

[The End]

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