[A Good Dream Is Hard to Fulfill] (Revised) - Author: Unknown - Incest Novel

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【A Good Dream Is Hard to Fulfill】(Revised) Part 2 Author: Unknown Word Count: 9470 Previous Article Link: (IV) The Wildness Is Calling
For me, being able to unbutton every button of her clothes, to remove her garments one by one, even the most intimate clothing, to personally peel away the last thing covering her body with my own hands, is just as thrilling as making love itself. Regarding undressing women, I'm not usually particular. After undressing women hundreds of times, it's all the same: as long as they're naked, that's enough. Where to start, how to undress—it no longer arouses my desire. I'm talking about undressing other women. Undressing my mother, however, evokes a perpetual mix of complex emotions and excitement. I can't be careless; my fingers must be extra nimble. Which garment would be easiest to remove from her most intimate clothing? Intuitively, I envisioned her bra, letting her expose her breasts first, getting used to my gaze and caresses. This is a woman's first psychological hurdle. Then come the stockings and panties, and finally, only the panties covering her private parts—that's what's called the private parts, supposedly a woman's most mysterious, beautiful, and alluring place. A body with its private parts exposed is called naked. This logical reasoning forms a ritual before our lovemaking, like a social etiquette. Sometimes, I want to test her. Now that we've made love many times, and we're a straightforward couple, will she succumb to her burning desire and hastily undress, like many other lovers' rendezvous? She won't, she simply won't; I know her best. And this package of love, opening it, fully possessing its joy—I won't let it slip by. The entire process, including undressing her, possessing her body, and sharing sexual pleasure with her, every step is important. Because the gift itself is her. But I can try something new. The thought of taking off her panties first flashes through my mind. I'll save the bra for last, to see her wearing it, her bottom bare. Will she cover her genitals with her hands? Like when I unhooked her bra first, her arms, with nowhere to go, will cross over her chest, concealing her breasts that have nowhere to hide. Or perhaps, all I need to do is pull down her panties to make love; that's one way to make love, so why not give it a try? Actually, if a woman is willing to make love with you, she won't mind where you want to start undressing her, just as she wouldn't mind you undressing her, even if your mother were your woman. Nothing more, I just want to slowly reveal her naked body, inch by inch. Because I don't often have the opportunity to make love with her outside, leisurely and unhurriedly. I don't have the right to enjoy her body, so I cherish every detail, making it all my memory. Outside, dusk is falling, the snow is falling heavier, I stir the firewood in the fireplace, sparks fly, the fire burns brightly. The room is filled with the scent of pine resin, the scent that brought us to this mountain fir forest, the scent associated with making love with Peiyun. Sex can be different, extraordinary, just like us, single-minded, earth-shattering, relentless, loving until the end of time, until the seas run dry and the rocks crumble. Every time we make love, it's like the last love before the end of the world, love on the carpet by the fireplace, love on the windowsill with a lake view, love between wine glasses clasped in each other's arms, love in a king-size bed.
To love one's mother requires giving one's all, exhausting every last ounce of energy to love her. When we make love, there's never a dull moment; if I don't disappoint her, I'm completely satisfied. I withdraw from that gentle, beautiful consciousness within her, becoming soft and weak, and lie prone on top of her. She shifts her body, freeing herself from my weight, sits up, brushes her hair with her hands, and her breasts tremble slightly. My mother, after making love, wears a satisfied smile, gently kissing my lips; her red nipples brush against my face, still firm. She gets up, swinging her long legs, and walks towards the window overlooking the lake. We used to stroll along this lake, boating and fishing on it in the summer, skating and enjoying the snow in the winter. She leans against the window, displaying a beauty after making love, a beauty different from the beauty before. Pleasant, relaxed, free, confident, and uninhibited. A pair of flawless, beautiful buttocks faced me, my kisses etched on her neck and shoulders. She gazed out the window at the falling snowflakes, swirling wildly in the streetlights. Suddenly, she turned to me, a glint of an idea in her eyes, and said, "It's snowing! Let's go out and see. If you're a coward, don't come with me!"
Completely naked, she opened the door, called to me, and ran out. Snowflakes were falling outside, but my mother didn't stop. I hesitated for a moment, then quickly got up, put on my slippers, grabbed a blanket, and chased after her. I saw my mother's pointed breasts swaying with every movement of her body. In the dim, hazy light, white snowflakes landed on her black hair and her naked body, white as jade and cream. She thrust her breasts forward, waving her arms, offering her entire body to me without reservation. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, waving. Joyfully, barefoot, she shivered and panted. She danced lightly in the snow, kicking up snowflakes. Just as I was about to catch up, she bent down, scooped up the fresh snow with both hands, formed it into a snowball, and threw it at me. I retaliated, rolling my own snowball into an even bigger one. Braving the snowball attack, I strode forward, seized her, and held her naked, nearly frozen body tightly. She cried out, throwing herself into my arms. I wrapped her in the sheet, embracing her passionately, caressing her, kissing her, drawing out her red tongue, and engaging in a passionate kiss instead of a snowball fight. Her cold yet soft flesh instantly heated up as our skin touched.
I could no longer withstand the chill that threatened to freeze us into icicles, and was about to lead her back inside when she gave an innocent, silly laugh and said, "Remember? There seems to be a hot spring behind the house. I'd like to go there and soak in it." "The snow is so heavy, aren't you afraid of the cold?" "A hot spring? I'm not afraid of the cold," she said.
I scooped her up in my arms and made my way through the thick snow. Rounding a bend, where the mist rose, we found the natural hot spring pool. The pool was only about the size of a regular bathtub, the hot spring water bubbling and gurgling from the ground, chest-deep. All around was a vast expanse of white snow, the biting wind whipping up piles of snowflakes that rushed towards us, only to be melted by the warmth of the hot spring and fall like raindrops. My mother soaked in the water, her breasts above the surface, bobbing in the hazy snow and mist. In the vast expanse of earth, only my mother and I were there, naked, bathing in the river of love. We seemed to have returned to the most primal place of our nature, discovering our true selves in each other's eyes—so this is how it is. I had nothing to hide from my mother; I was bone of her bones, and she shouldn't hold anything back from me; she was flesh of my flesh. In love, there was no fear, no guilt. Besides her, who else could share with me the most complete nakedness and intimacy between us? On the deep and desolate snow, there was a destined rendezvous. At a specific juncture, mother and child had to become one, merging with heaven and earth, breaking a spell. Mother returned to herself. Her alluring body transformed into a young doe, trembling with desire, emitting the scent of courtship, awaiting that stag, whether son or brother, as long as strong and vigorous, would share her lust, ride upon her, and fulfill the eternal law of nature. She needed the wild lust of a beast, the simple, direct, and untamed union of the forest and the plains. With my bare arms, I embraced her equally bare, soft waist. Chest to back, lips to face, legs intertwined, hearts in harmony, my palms covering her breasts, gently kneading, washing away the dust of the world. Her small hands swam to the junction of her buttocks and my thighs, finding what she needed. My mother's hands, familiar and gentle, caressed and teased my scrotum. My perineum immediately received the signal, obeying her call, rising again towards her upturned buttocks, thrusting deeply from behind. Snowflakes fell like snow, and my mother and I clashed violently and rapidly, like wild beasts, primal and shameless. "Fuck me, take me, completely take me!" she cried out. She gripped my hand, biting it between her teeth, enduring the pain of the violent impact amidst pleasure. "Ugh...oh..." She let out a long, wolf-like howl, echoing across the silent, boundless lake, vibrating my heartstrings. This was the cry of her long-suppressed lust, an unrestrained release of her wildness. With a woman who has achieved sexual liberation, anything is possible. My mother and I were determined to be together; no amount of social conventions or morals could stop our love. And we actually became lovers, sharing many blissful moments. Only now did I encounter my mother, a woman I had never met before. That fearless, trusting love finally unleashed her wild side.
That was her cry of liberation during the climax of sex! This is love! It's a complete surrender in love. I've never been so moved. She was more persistent than I was before, but now she pursues her love and happiness more freely and unrestrainedly than I have. I hold her breasts tightly, our bodies connected, and look up at the sky. Heaven above, may this love bear witness and offer its sacrifice.
She followed me, taking my hand, as we climbed up the rocky spring. The luminous female form emerging from the mist and water seemed like someone else entirely, someone I'd never seen before. Like two playful children, we ran hand in hand back into the house. A little longer outside, and we'd freeze into icicles. We stoked the fire, facing each other, still breathless. Looking at her, this newly discovered body, I felt an even stronger attachment to her, a longing to never leave her.
I told her to stand, took a large bath towel, and began to dry her from head to toe. She stood motionless, letting me do the drying. She seemed as delicate and alluring as a little girl, now revealing her innocent and wild side to me. Her breathing gradually became softer, her breasts rose and fell, her face was flushed, her whole body shone, her legs were slightly parted, and her buttocks were firm and upturned, like a boy's. Her wet pubic hair clung to her mons pubis, dripping water, and looked sparser than usual...
She seemed a little shy as I looked at her. She walked to the mirror, carefully examined her naked body, then turned away from the large mirror, staring at her back and buttocks, utterly bewildered. "Why are you looking at me like that? Haven't you seen me before? What's so interesting?" she asked, continuing to search her body from all angles. Only I had the right to look at her body however I pleased, whether she was clothed or not. I saw all her flaws. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; imperfections are seen as perfection, and beauty is what the lover sees. If she were willing to be beautiful for me, I could have her wear things to suit my taste, highlighting certain aspects of her figure… making me feel satisfied would be wonderful! In truth, a son's taste is cultivated from a young age by the person most influential to him—his mother. "You are beautiful, but I just caught a glimpse of your stunning figure from one angle." "Tell me what it was?" "I'm trying to find that angle." I held her arms, making her lift them up and support them behind her head. This way, her breasts were high and exposed, her abs were tucked in, and her armpit and pubic hair formed a triangular shape. She became impatient, or her hands felt heavy, and she tried to let them fall. I gestured for her to stay in the position. "What are you doing? Aren't you hungry? Want something to eat?" "Wait. Just like that, don't move. You look beautiful like this. I want to give you a little something." "What little something?" she asked. "Don't ask, you'll find out soon enough." I took her silk scarf, folded it several times, and blindfolded her. "What are you doing?" "Listen to me, don't ask, close your eyes, don't look, I'm going to give you a surprise." She tightened the silk scarf, blindfolding her. She was told to stand, her arms crossed over her chest, gently supporting her breasts, waiting for something to happen.
I prepared a gift for my lover: a pair of precious little scallop nipple shields, adorned with jewels and connected by a thin chain. A matching G-string brooch complemented them. I don't know if it can be called underwear, because I imagine it as an ornament, something worn on the outside. That is to say, its design concept is as the sole adornment covering the genitals. Worn inside underwear, it loses its function. It's a precious little scallop strung on two small chains, its size certainly not enough to cover her mons pubis, or any woman's mons pubis. A string of matching jewels hangs from the little shell, perpendicularly aligned with the lower end of the triangle formed by the nipple shields.
I saw these two items in Hawaii three years ago during my honeymoon. I was delighted the moment I saw them, secretly bought them, and hid them for my mother. I don't know why I had that thought back then; they were extremely impractical and unsuitable as a souvenir for my mother. However, I kept them anyway, carrying them with me every time I met my mother, hoping that one day the right opportunity would come and she could wear them. I believed that the time I was waiting for had arrived. I used the small scallop shells to cover her nipples, the concave part of the shell perfectly nestling her bulging nipples. After adjusting the length of the chain connected to the scallop shells and fastening the chain behind her back, the two small shells became ornaments set on her breasts, making her exposed breasts appear even more proud and high. As for the G-string chain, the tightness had to be adjusted according to the width of her waist and the depth from her waist to her groin. The chain had no elasticity and was digging into her crotch, that is, the G-string part. Each small link had to be adjusted individually to ensure that the small shells just covered Peiyun's pubic hair. My mother's pubic hair wasn't very thick; only a few strands escaped through her small vulva. The intersection of the three curved lines on her genitals formed the visual focal point. Throughout the dressing process, she stood quietly, maintaining a fixed pose, just like a mannequin in a shop window, completely at my mercy.
I led her to the mirror. The small shell and G-string chain between her thighs, nestled between her buttocks and labia, became an obstacle to her walking. The jeweled pendant swayed with her movements. She had to walk with her legs slightly apart than usual, and more lightly, to avoid the chain and jeweled pendant rubbing against her genitals and thighs. So her gait was a little awkward and unnatural. But I found her graceful and incredibly sexy. Blindfolded and wearing this small shell ornament with her nipples, my mother, did not restrain her wildness. Instead, it seemed to liberate her body from all constraints and taboos. The body of my mother presented before me was vibrant, alluring, and infinitely seductive, transforming into Venus born from the water, the goddess of love I worship! I untied the blindfold. She rubbed her eyes and, seeing her most primal, instinctive beauty reflected in the mirror, gasped in surprise. Like a woman in a wedding dress, she posed in front of the mirror, caressing her face, shoulders, breasts, and thighs, almost indulging in self-pity, even masturbation, indulging in her reflection. Naturally beautiful, how could such a stunning body not attract admiring eyes and tender hands?
"How is it? Do you like it?" Seeing that she seemed to appreciate me, I said confidently. "Thank you, I've never seen underwear made of seashells before." "It's not underwear, it's jewelry, jewelry to decorate the body, like earrings, necklaces, nipple rings, and the like." "So, am I dressed? Should I wear panties?" "You can't wear panties, you can't wear a bra, you can't cover it up." "Can these things be worn as clothes?" "Its original intention is for you to just wear them and not wear anything else." "Do you think I look good like this?" "You look great. Come here, let me see more clearly." I opened my arms to her, and she leaned in, letting me shelter her whole body under my protection, accepting my gentle caresses. I felt that this was our most intimate moment, I had never felt this way, loved her like this, possessed her like this. Full of confidence, taking a great risk, I whispered in her ear: "Mommy, oh! My mommy..." 5) Who knows if there will be a tomorrow? If there's any barrier between us, this is it. Even now, I still don't dare call her by her name. She lets me kiss her, lets me caress her most private parts, lets me see her naked body, and lets me make love to her in various positions, but she won't let me call her by her name. The name Peiyun can only be uttered by my father and her elders, by her peers. The moment I see her, her name gets stuck in my throat, I can't utter it, as if I'm unworthy to call her by her name. What kind of psychological barrier is that? Is it just the difference in generation? In the vast restaurant lobby, there were only the two of us. The waiter told us that we had brought a blizzard. The roads were piled high with snow, and several avalanches had blocked the roads, preventing other guests who had booked rooms or were coming for dinner from arriving. The pianist, regardless of whether there were guests, played one romantic piece after another on the Steinway grand piano. Sometimes, he sang along, occasionally humming a few love songs. I felt that everything was arranged for us, including this terrible weather. I will remember this heavy snow for the rest of my life. My hands reached across the table, holding my mother's, silently, foolishly gazing at her. The waiter, who had been waiting for a long time, smiled knowingly as he watched our affectionate gaze. "Are you envious of us?" I wondered. The food didn't need to be special; the chef's recommendations were fine. However, to celebrate our three years of love, I would personally select a bottle of fine aged wine from the cellar—it had to be mellow enough to match my beauty. The large fireplace in the dining room had just been lit, carrying the scent of pine resin, a smell that reminded me of the passionate lovemaking with my mother. She would occasionally lower her hand under the table, tugging at the chain inside her skirt, adjusting the shell and chain that had shifted due to her changing position. I must have fastened it too tightly, constricting her lower body; I should loosen it a bit. I imagined making love with her—without unfastening the chain, how? There were shells in front, but I could enter from behind. This was her favorite position because I could penetrate very, very deep. Her seemingly ticklish gesture was quite unseemly, but no one saw it; we were the only guests. The pianist, head bowed, played and sang. Even though I was the only one seeing her, I didn't think she was being disrespectful. A lover can accept his lover doing the most private things in front of him. I explained to her the origin and purpose of the three seashells—they weren't underwear, but ornaments, worn on the outside, not underneath—but she insisted on wearing a dress and couldn't go to the restaurant naked. The restaurant was a high-class place with strict dress requirements for its guests. I could have simply booked the entire restaurant, and no one would have cared what she wore. Now, no guests were coming, almost as if the restaurant had been booked for us. She said, "It's all because of your crazy idea, it made me so itchy down there." "Tonight, you'll make love to me while you're dressed." "That's enough. Today, you came really deep and hard several times, maybe you taught me to have your child." "Am I really that good? Is that how women know if they're pregnant?" I momentarily lost in thought and moved to her side, kneeling down and touching her belly. "It's a woman's sixth sense, very accurate." Under the tablecloth, I saw her sitting with her legs spread. Her thighs were shapely, long, and spread open. Under her skirt was a deep, unfathomable tunnel, at the end of which was a small scallop pulled from the deep sea. She couldn't close her legs, or fold them, as this would cause the small scallop, along with the G-string chain and the gemstone pendant, to rub against her labia. I gently stroked her exposed, round knees, then brought them back together. She moved my hand away, spread her legs, and said, "Ugh, sit up straight, it's not good if someone sees us." "What are you afraid of? There's no one else here." The waiters all discreetly moved away. "You're going to be a father, and you're still not serious." "Yes, I'm going to be a father, that's great!" "But, how are you going to explain to your father where this child came from?" "Go back and sleep with him right away..." I rushed out, but before I could finish, I regretted it. "Will he believe it? He doesn't even believe it himself." "We can't do that. I mean, this is my child. I can't call him a younger brother or sister. We can go somewhere, to Mexico, get married there, and have him..." "I won't go to Mexico. How will we survive there?" "There's always a way. I'm willing to do anything, even hard labor." "I don't want to be exiled, wandering in a foreign land. And what about your wife? What about your father? Haven't you thought about that?" "Mom, they're not important. Haven't you thought about it? Who do you love most? Who do you want to be with forever? Who can't you live without? Think about it, we'll have our own home, and a child, living happily ever after..." "...................." "Tell me." "I don't know." "What will you do to our child?" "Don't say these things anymore. Maybe you didn't get me pregnant. If I did, it's my child, and I'll find a way..."
"It's our child." "It's mine." Her tone hardened, then she fell silent, and so did I. The intimacy, love, and romance we'd built up all day vanished abruptly, like a bubble bursting. I was instantly bewildered... Romance and reality can't coexist. Or perhaps, what is romance is subjective. I thought it would be incredibly romantic to let my mother's lover carry my child and then travel the world with her, living a carefree life. She, however, was unimpressed. I've realized it now, my mother and I have no tomorrow... Tomorrow holds too many unknowns. My mother might get pregnant; we might break up. Tomorrow... what will become of us? Will the snowstorm block our return? Or will there be no tomorrow at all...? The whole world was a vast expanse of white, still snowing heavily, the snow covering the earth, covering the skylight of the room. The lights were off, the room was dark, the fire in the fireplace was dying down, and the room was filled with the smell of pine resin. On the king-size bed, Peiyun held me tightly, her warm, soft body pressed against me—a familiar, homey feeling. My mind became hazy. Was I drunk? Or was it a dream? In the dream, I didn't know where I was? Was I in a mountain resort? Or in Mexico? Or back home...? I remember when we got into bed, we didn't speak, didn't give each other a pre-sleep kiss, and unusually, didn't make love. Had I asked her for sex and been rejected? Or was she trying to seize the opportunity to make love more, and I resentfully refused? I can't remember anymore, it doesn't matter. The next moment, in the darkness, I touched her half-naked breasts, still wearing the precious seashell nipple shield I gave her as a gift from my lover. Her eyes were closed, silent. Her waist was still so slender, tied with a thin chain, and the small seashell shield covering her modesty, and the fine pubic hair that the shield couldn't cover. Unable to sleep, I lay half-reclined, silently watching her, pondering. What would happen to us if she were pregnant with my child? I have no answer. It's strange that I've never really looked at her closely before, never truly seen her face. It's a kind of taboo, or perhaps a self-deceptive thought—a fear that if I saw her clearly, I wouldn't be able to forget her appearance, and I would fall in love with her. A small face, white as jade, a pointed chin, broad eyebrows, clear eyes, cherry lips—the very image of a beauty from a painting. In my memory, my mother looked just like that, never aging. I want to firmly remember her beautiful face, though no longer young, yet still youthful, so that my lover will always be beautiful, never old. How could she be my mother? How could she become my lover? What does it matter if someone is born early and therefore ages early, and the duration of love is short? As long as the heart remains young, the differences in age and generation will not cast a shadow on love, and in fact, will make many love stories sensational. I promised her that one day, when she grows old, I will also grow old in a terrible mess. We may not be young together, like some childhood sweethearts, but we can grow old together. She smiled without speaking; was she happy or lost in thought? "Holding your hand, growing old together." Could the word "子" in that famous line from the Book of Songs be interpreted as "son"? Would she hold her son's hand, carrying the son she bore for him, and grow old with him? I gently stroked her eternally youthful face, using my tongue as a paintbrush to draw her eyebrows, touch her nose, outline her lips, and kiss her small mouth. She didn't want to open her eyes, burying her head in my chest, avoiding my touch and kisses. Her hair, recently straightened with ion, cascaded down my chest, making her look ten years younger, even more fitting for me. I inhaled the scent of her hair, gently kissing her lips and the back of her neck, licking her most sensitive spot behind her ear. Suddenly, she cried out, her voice sweet and coquettish, "I'm tired. We've been making love all day, and my whole body is sore. Even if you don't want to, I need to sleep. Stop bothering me." Her hands resisted me, not allowing me to roam over her most sensitive areas. I pushed her hands away, gripping them firmly, preventing her from holding on. In bed, she was usually very cooperative, but when she wasn't, I had a way of dealing with it: I would use the blindfold to tie her wrists, raising her snow-white arms behind her head. Her breasts would then harden, her legs would spread, and she would open herself completely to me.
But she still kept her eyes half-closed, seemingly asleep. I used the tip of my tongue as a paintbrush, sketching a picture of a naked lady, starting with her eyebrows, slowly and gently moving to her small mouth, tracing the outline of her lips. Her tongue emerged, giving me a light taste of her unique fragrance. Then, I sketched the outline of her breasts. The coolness of the chain covering her nipples held my tongue, lingering between her breasts and cleavage, connected by the chain. Then it slid down to her navel. She couldn't resist the tickle and giggled, but remained lying there lazily, letting me do as I pleased. My tongue circled the chain around her waist, sliding down, only to be blocked by the small scallop covering her private parts. I didn't untie the chain; I wanted her to make love to me while wearing the small scallop—this was what I had decided to do. I turned her over, and from her back, along her spine, I traced my tongue down. Peiyun's buttocks, though she had given birth, remained firm, without much excess fat. Deep between the two soft mounds of flesh lay that G-string chain; I slipped my tongue inside… and a wonderful fragrance filled the air! I heard a few soft moans and soft Wu dialect. She said, "What a sin!" and those whispered murmurs. But what she said, I only vaguely understood. In my youth, she spoke to me in these same tones; that should be considered my mother tongue. I couldn't understand them, but I didn't need to—they were my mother's murmurs. Now, it sounds like something from a distant past, yet infinitely familiar. She spoke these same accents with my father. How many more of these pillow-side whispers could we two share? My mother trembled slightly beneath me, her buttocks twisting, her upper body supported by my bound hands. My gun was fully loaded; I had to fire again. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulled on the chain around her waist, and gently lifted her buttocks, kissing her two smooth mounds of flesh incessantly, like jeweled pendulums swinging. The small scallop shell blocked my path, but behind me was only the G-string chain binding her anus and vulva. Pulling it open even a little wouldn't prevent me from entering my paradise to commit my wicked deeds. I remembered there, the many sins I had committed, and perhaps unformed embryos. I believed I had never penetrated so deeply, ejaculated so forcefully. She said that as long as the force was enough, and the ejaculation deep enough, she would become pregnant. I believed her without a doubt, vowing to ensure that my sperm reached her uterus, that she would bear my child, for only then could our relationship be complete. I finally understood that even if she was willing to sleep with me, to be naked and unrestrained in front of me without shame, even to wear a shell-shaped nipple bra, it was all superficial. Unless the seed I planted within her, inside her body, bears fruit, and she carries my child, she will not truly be my woman. With each deep, shallow thrust, my hands cupped her breasts, her nipples becoming tiny shells. Her buttocks pressed against my thighs, swaying to my rhythm, her back glistening with sweat, her straight hair cascading over her shoulders, the jeweled pendants clicking against her nipples, growing faster and faster, her breath quickening. Then, I heard our wild cries, smelled the incense of pine resin. "Love me, I want your love, deeper, deeper still." "My mother, I will always love you." Forgetting the frozen mountains and rivers outside, the utterly silent world. At this moment, mother and I were making love, intertwined as one, a love that would last forever, who cared about tomorrow! The End

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