[Urban] Must be fucked to death (Complete) - Chapters 25-27 (End)

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Chapter Four

That evening, after dinner, I told him, "Mom has prepared your single bed. You'll sleep in the single bed tonight. " He asked, "What about

tomorrow?"

I said, "You'll sleep in the single bed tomorrow too." He asked, "Why? " I said, "Because you're too old to sleep in the same bed as Mom anymore." He asked, "Why not?" I said, "Because people will laugh if they see us." He said, "Who will see us? Who will come to our house?" That's true. Over the years, we've hardly ever had anyone as guests. In this city, my son and I live a secluded life, exiling ourselves to this apartment. I said, "This is Mom and Dad's bed. The child should sleep in the child's bed." He said, "When Dad comes home, I'll give it to him. When he's not home, I'll take care of Mom." I gritted my teeth and said, "No." That night, I lay alone on the empty bed, fully expecting to sleep soundly with the whole bed to myself, but I tossed and turned until 2 a.m. before finally falling asleep. For over ten years, I've gotten used to my son's soft snoring, used to him squeezing and kicking me. Suddenly sleeping separately was really hard to adjust to. In the middle of the night, I was half asleep when I vaguely felt someone nudging me. I opened my eyes and saw it was him, back in my bed. I asked, "Why don't you sleep alone?" He said, "I can't sleep alone." He didn't say anything more and quickly fell asleep peacefully. I also quickly drifted off to sleep. From then on, he still slept in the same bed with me every day. Neither of us mentioned sleeping separately again; we probably both felt it wasn't worth the fuss. What's the big deal? Why make a fuss? Later, I often found myself spacing out for no reason, my eyes glazed over, recalling the smell of my son's semen and the heart-pounding experience of licking it while masturbating. I'm a woman with a hard life; my husband has been absent for years, and I've had a tough time, especially the days before my period. So many nights, I lay beside my son, who was fast asleep, biting my lip and secretly masturbating. I dared not make a sound, dared not make too much noise, dared not let my son feel the bed shaking. In the throes of a burning, dizzy climax, I shoved my fist into my mouth, biting it to stifle my moans. I've had a masturbation habit since I was little, though I can't remember exactly when it started. I'd gently rub my middle finger up and down through my underwear; it felt so good, my whole body would heat up, my face would turn red, and every time the pleasure came, I felt like I was floating on air, I could feel a mysterious throbbing down there. I remember thinking I had some strange illness, and realizing it was "bad," I dared not tell anyone, so I had to guard it closely; but desire is a monster, it always manages to sneak up and succeed. When I masturbated, I only rubbed my clitoris, and it wasn't until several years after I gave birth that I dared to insert my finger inside, and the feeling was wonderful. Every time that monster of desire raged and receded, I was in unbearable pain, the double torment of body and mind leaving me on the verge of collapse. My finger could temporarily satisfy my physical needs, but I felt sad and lonely inside. Then, about three months later, one early morning, in the dim light outside the window, I suddenly woke up, feeling discomfort in my stomach, my entire lower abdomen felt heavy, as if my anus was about to be breached. I didn't even have time to check the time before I jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. Without even turning on the light, I plopped down on the toilet, and my stool began to gush out like water. I gritted my teeth, frowned, and quickly flushed; but the gushing started again, and again, until I was completely exhausted. Just then, I heard my son's footsteps approaching the bathroom—we never close the door. I looked up and saw him walking towards me in only his underwear, his enormous penis bulging out. He usually gets up around this time every day to pee, but today I'd already taken the spot. He was half-asleep, still half-asleep, when he reached me and pulled his penis out of his underwear. The head of his penis was positioned directly in front of what he thought was the toilet seat—my mouth. In the hazy morning light, my precious son's penis was almost touching my lips, less than a centimeter away. I could smell the pleasant, slightly fishy odor of his penis. My heart was pounding so hard it made me dizzy. It was the first time I'd ever seen my son's erect penis. A young man's morning erection is incredible. It's so hard, like a rock, unyielding! I looked at that thick, hard cock with affection, like admiring a museum treasure. I so wanted to reach out and touch how hard it was. The dizziness returned. I sat on the toilet, swaying precariously, thinking: How can there be such a difference between people? How can a penis be so thick and so hard? I didn't dare look up at his face. I was too embarrassed to look. I wondered: Is he really still half asleep? What will his reaction be if he sees me here? What will happen if I gently touch him? Would that be considered teasing him? Even a sudden surge of heat crossed my mind, and I had the thought of opening my mouth and taking it in. Looking back on that moment now, I was definitely possessed. My heart was racing, my hand was already outstretched, my mouth was already open, when suddenly, a blinding light flashed before my eyes. My son had turned on the bathroom light. I quickly said, "Mom's here. Wait a minute." He gave a curt "Oh," turned, and went back to the bedroom. After wiping my bottom and flushing the toilet, I went back to the bedroom and said, "Go ahead." --- This incident had a consequence: one night, I had a strange dream. In the dream, my son was between my legs, gently licking my vulva. I love being licked; the feeling is intoxicating. But his father had only licked me once since their marriage and never again. My son looked up at me, smiling, but I realized I didn't recognize him. This was a demon. A lewd demon had entered my body and burrowed into my heart. I woke up, acutely aware that my gaze towards my son had changed. My eyes were constantly scanning his crotch, always glancing at his penis. Sometimes his penis was soft, but even at its softest, it was bigger and thicker than his father's, making my poor heart pound wildly. I cursed that lewd demon, and I cursed myself. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and said, "You devil! You'll die a horrible death! Get out! " But the devil wouldn't leave. After that, I dreamed about my son more often, and the things we did in my dreams became increasingly disgusting and heinous. When I woke up, my underwear was often cold and sticky, and my vulva was even worse, as you can imagine. Then one time I dreamed that my son was fucking me. I groaned, "You're rubbing my cunt raw. You're going to fuck my cunt to pieces." He then fucked my anus. He spread my anus open and spat into it. He inserted his fingers into my anus, making it incredibly slippery. He pushed his slippery, big cock into my rectum. He fucked a few times, pulled out, licked it a few times, and then thrust it in again. I said in a tearful voice, "You're going to fuck my intestines raw!" He thrust into me from behind, saying, "Mommy, I'm going to fuck you to death!" I said, "Mmm~ Okay~ Fuck me to death~" His thrusting increased in frequency, almost reaching a fever pitch. The creaking of the bed made me feel especially lewd, wanton, and shameless. What was I doing? He said, "Mom, I'm going to cum!" I knew I was close to orgasm too. I was standing at the edge of the well, like a ball slowly rolling towards the goal, just waiting for the final kick. I asked him, "Mom, am I horny?" He panted and said, "Hmph! You old horny cunt!" I asked, "Does your horny cunt's asshole smell bad?" He said, "Stinky! I'm going to cum in your asshole. I'll give you an enema with my semen, I'm going to fuck your stinky asshole raw!" With that, he cummed. I reached a fierce orgasm in my sleep. When I woke up, my son was still sleeping beside me. Did I make a sound?

During the day, I desperately tried to think about other things; I even started paying attention to Chinese football, but at night I still had those kinds of dreams and still reached orgasm.

This was happening more and more frequently. I became increasingly worried. I realized that if this continued, something bad would happen sooner or later.

---

I'll never forget the first time my son penetrated me. That night, we lay side by side on the bed, under the sheets. My hand touched his.

He immediately pulled my hand down to touch his penis. His penis was quite large, much larger than his father's.

I exclaimed, "So big!"

He excitedly touched my body and tried to take off my underwear.

I pushed his hand away, looked into his eyes, and said, "Son, you have to promise me that you'll still respect me as much as before."

He said, "I promise."

I said, "No matter what happens in the future, we won't blame each other."

He said, "I promise."

I said, "Pinky promise ."

He pinky swear with me.

Actually, at that moment, the dry tinder in our hearts had already been ignited into flames. I highly doubt he listened.

I asked him, "What do you want to do?"

He whispered to me, "Mom, I want to masturbate you."

I asked, "How much do you want it?"

He said, "I really, really want it."

I said, "Then let's get horny."

His fingertips started dancing on my pussy, making me so itchy. He teased my clitoris, lips, and mouth.

I was going crazy from all the pleasure he was giving me. Two of his fingers easily slipped into my wet vagina, thrusting into me hard, making lewd squelching sounds.

He said, "Mom, can you hear that?"

I asked, "Hear what?"

He said, "Squeak, squeak."

I was so embarrassed, my face was red, and I didn't dare look at him. He masturbated me while kissing me. I was so excited by his kisses that I said, "Okay. Mom's okay."

He asked, "What's okay?"

At that time, my son didn't understand the special meaning of the word "okay." It was a secret between his father and me, meaning that I had reached orgasm, I was satisfied, and his penis could go in.

Later, he quickly understood. How clever he was.

His penis went into the bitch's pussy. The bitch was completely limp, turned her head towards him, and raised her arms to hug his neck. He leaned in and kissed my burning face.

I moaned. My pussy couldn't remember the last time it had tasted meat. I was so pathetic! In the darkness, I was being fucked while tears streamed down my face. What woman was more miserable than me?

Tears streamed down my face, but my body gradually became wanton in the darkness, actively cooperating with his piston-like movements.

The bitch's pussy was greedily chewing with each thrust. Having been starved for so long, finally getting a bite of meat, I didn't care about face, morality, or neighbors.

My son haphazardly touched my hair and my breasts, saying impulsively as he thrust: "Mom, fucking feels so good! My whole body is numb!"

I was so ashamed that I whispered to him: "Just move. Don't talk."

After only seven or eight thrusts, he suddenly stiffened and made a powerful groan deep in his throat: "Mmm!"

My vagina felt his penis twitching. I knew what had happened.

I turned my hips to the side, twisted my upper body, and hugged him, comforting and encouraging him: "Cum, cum, it's not a sin." He ejaculated it all into Mom.

He trembled all over, then suddenly let out a horrific scream, utterly horrific, like a pig being slaughtered. His mouth was a centimeter from my ear. That scream was incredibly penetrating in the dead of night.

Instinctively, I covered his mouth with my palm, perhaps accidentally covering his nostrils at the same time. He was gasping for breath, his head jerking violently like a crocodile hunting its prey, shaking off my hand and continuing to howl.

I closed my eyes, falling into depravity, sinking into slumber, silently enjoying the animalistic pleasure like a female dog. The male dog's panting continued incessantly.

The female dog remained motionless, silently, quietly, greedily extracting this hard-won penis in the darkness. I was so depraved. Utterly devoid of conscience. Shameless. Lewd.

Chapter Five

For the past six months, I have been trying to control myself, I have tried my best. In the end, my body betrayed my will.

My son cupped my face, touched my tears, and panicked a little, asking: Do you hate me?

I said: I'll bite you to death!

Saying that, I grabbed his arm and opened my mouth to bite. I really hate him. I hated how strong and attractive he was.

I actually bit him. My teeth dug deep into his flesh, and I actually felt a thrilling pleasure from biting him. It was the pleasure I had before I evolved, a beastly instinct.

My mind went blank, thinking only of one thing: biting feels so good! I have to bite off a piece of his flesh.

My jaw tightened, tightened, tightened, and tightened, the more I bit, the more excited I became, staring into the eyes of the she-wolf. Suddenly, I was slapped hard on the head. The beast woke up, bewildered and at a loss, looking up at his son.

His son grinned, frowned, and complained: What are you doing? You bit me to death! The lecherous demon is gone. I returned to being the kind people's teacher, the dutiful mother I used to be. I found myself lying naked on the bed, motionless. My son and I were lying naked on the same bed. I had become a harlot. I felt extremely guilty.

Suddenly, he said nervously: Oh no!

I asked: What?

He said: I ejaculated inside.

I laughed and said, "I know."

He said, "I didn't wear a condom."

I said, "I know."

He said, "What if I get pregnant?"

I said, "Silly boy, Mom will get an IUD.

" He breathed a sigh of relief, climbed down to me, parted my legs, and asked in bewilderment, "Where's all the semen I ejaculated? Why didn't it flow out?"

I said, "It was all absorbed. Mom was so thirsty."

I looked at his face, so handsome, so young.

I reached out and gently stroked his hair, asking tenderly, "How did it feel just now?"

He said, "Yes. But you're quite loose down there."

I felt like I'd been doused with cold water, and said, "Think about how old Mom is."

He said, "If you had a C-section when you gave birth to me, your vagina would have been much tighter, right?"

I said, "You little rascal, you're still not satisfied."

He said, "I am satisfied, the key is that your vagina is really loose."

I said, "But you know, I haven't had sex for many years..."

He said, "That's still loose. I know mine isn't small."

I asked, "Do you know how big your head was when you were born?"

He said, "A big Fuji apple? A small grapefruit?"

I said, "Good to know."

He said, "It's really loose, like being in a cave."

At this point, I was genuinely annoyed and said, "If I'm so loose, how come you ejaculated so quickly?"

He said, "Your lower body is so wet and slippery, it's really stimulating. And most importantly, I'm having sex with my mother, and just thinking about that makes me unable to control myself."

Even without his reminder, I knew that this wasn't an ordinary affair. This was incest between mother and son, something many people consider immoral.

I was a little scared and told my son, "Don't tell anyone about this."

He said, "I know."

I emphasized, "Don't tell anyone, absolutely no one."

He got a little annoyed and said, "Ugh, I know!"

I said, "I'm getting up."

He said, "Okay. I'm so tired, I need to sleep for a while. Make me something good to eat. I need to nourish myself."

He lay down on the bed and quickly fell asleep.

I lazily got up, feeling slightly disappointed. No matter what kind of man, no matter how sweet-talking or considerate he is, they all have one goal—ejaculation to relieve stress. Once they ejaculate, they become a different person: tired, sleepy, lazy, and selfish. Are all men like this?

---

At the dinner table, I asked him, "What will you do in the future?"

He said, "Get married and have a family."

I said, "What about Mom?"

He said, "Of course I'll take care of her. I'll come to see you every day."

I said, "Don't be silly. How will you take care of your mother after you get married?"

He said, "It's easy, my wife and I will live with you."

Young people think so simply.

I sighed, "Sigh."

He said, "Mom, I'm not getting married." I'll spend my whole life with you.

I was amused and annoyed: Fine, it's rare to see such filial piety. I can die in peace now.

---

The first time my son penetrated me, I didn't reach orgasm. Before he penetrated me the second time, I made sure the door was securely locked.

He took off my vest [I call bras vests], grabbed and kneaded it. His rubbing made my breasts itchy, like a thin copper wire whizzing through me and sending an electric shock down there. My lower body was aroused.

I felt sticky down there. I knew I was very wet, my underwear was soaked. I hummed in agreement with his technique.

His hand slipped into my underwear and continued to slide down, gently teasing and circling my vulva.

My whole body was almost standing up, as if facing a formidable enemy, every muscle tense and ready to go. A great battle was inevitable.

Inside my underwear, his index and middle fingers kept alternating and rubbing my wet, hot lips. I sighed, feeling my body begin to float. I longed, I was greedy, I even wanted to be affectionate.

He told me erotic stories while masturbating me. I kissed my son's face frantically, and soon I reached orgasm.

My son saw me reach orgasm from his masturbation, and he was also excited, greedily inhaling the sweat from my armpits.

My vagina felt empty, and I desperately wanted something to fill it. I reached out and touched his penis. What a hard cock! So proud.

I said to him: Put it in.

He told me to take off my underwear myself. I said, what woman takes off her own underwear? You take it off for me.

He started to take off my underwear, his movements clumsy and ridiculous, but I liked it. I liked the feeling of him taking off my underwear.

When he took it off for me, it was me being violated. If I took my own underwear off, I would be a slut. That's what I thought.

He knelt and moved between my legs, looking at the gate of life with worship and scrutiny.

He slowly inserted his thick penis into my vagina, like an eel burrowing into tofu. This eel was very strong, twisting and turning, its waist muscles exceptionally developed.

My whole body was numb, every blood vessel and nerve was singing with joy. I felt no pain, only pleasure.

I bit my lower lip, reached out and grabbed him, hugged him tightly!

The big, thick eel ground and ravaged every nerve deep inside me. My heart wanted to scream, my womb wanted to sing.

I was like a dancing candlelight, like a swaying flower branch, panting and bobbing with the eel's intrusion. Mucus seeped out uncontrollably, like a honey pot leaking.

This time he was much more composed, completely controlling the rhythm. He arched and stopped, even pulling my hand down and rubbing it on my clitoris. I understood, he wanted me to masturbate while being fucked, he wanted to intensify my pleasure.

I was a little embarrassed. After all, masturbating in front of my conscious son was a psychological barrier for me.

He said: It's okay. I like it.

I gradually let go of the constraints in my mind, my fingers began to skillfully manipulate, ravaging my clitoris.

He rubbed and nudged me inside, slowly and deliberately ravishing me. He was a composed and experienced artist in the Louvre, not one of those pitiful tourists rushing about.

He was exploring every tiny wrinkle in the Louvre, savoring the different angles of each friction. The Louvre was intoxicated. Everything was swaying.

I hummed softly, lost in ecstasy. Suddenly, the big mudfish launched a powerful attack, everything electrified. Sparks flew from the complex and vast neural network.

My mind was completely blank. Nothing existed. I didn't want to think about anything. If things went wrong, so be it. If I died, so be it.

I opened my mouth wide, but no sound came out. I reached a long-awaited vaginal orgasm.

I was covered in sweat, my hair was soaked, my vagina throbbed powerfully, tightly gripping the big mudfish. It was a complete enjoyment, the most beautiful experience a woman could have.

The mudfish began to ejaculate, howling, violent and wild.

My whole body was limp, blissfully exhausted.

The mudfish withdrew from the Louvre. I scrutinized the valiant loach, its body covered in a layer of slime, gleaming with an obscene light.

I asked, "How does it feel?"

He said, "Great. And you?"

I said, "Mom is completely and utterly satisfied. Mom is the happiest woman in the world."

He said, "This time is better than last time."

I said, "Yes, and you moaned well too. Everyone downstairs could hear you."

He said, "Really? I didn't think it was very loud. I even held back from moaning out loud."

I said, "What will you say if people ask you why you moaned?"

He said, "I'll say I was watching a horror movie, and I got scared."

We both laughed until our muscles gave way.

I felt completely weak and asked him, "Want to take a bath?"

He weakly hummed in response, and then fell silent.

I used my last bit of strength to check his breath, and finding him still alive, I felt relieved and closed my eyes.

Chapter Six

: I slept until dawn.

When I woke up, I regained my senses and began to feel deeply uneasy. Am I born with a promiscuous nature? No. Am I sexually active? No. Am I an adulteress? No, I'm not. But how could I do such a shameful thing with my son? Tsk tsk, how could a mother do that?

I'm a perverted woman, a devastating blow to my son's future. I've brought uncontrollable disaster to our peaceful family life. Shame on me. I feel extremely ashamed, even secretly hoping for punishment. Let me die, or go to jail. In short, I want to be free. My

son woke up too. We looked at each other, both a little embarrassed, a little unaccustomed to our new identities.

He said: Mom, yesterday was so good.

I said: Will we get retribution for what we did?

He said: Yes, definitely. Incest between mother and son always gets retribution, either killed by a car or electrocuted, the way they die is bizarre, anyway, a violent death.

Although I was prepared, hearing my son say that still made me quite sad.

Suddenly, I heard that evil "click" sound again, and smelled that familiar, peculiar stench, mixed with a strong fishy odor.

I quickly told my son to get up and check the door, and he came back and said: Our door is open.

I said, "This is weird. Which perverted man was it?"

He said, "How can you be sure it was a man?"

I said, "Huh? Could it be a woman doing this?"

He retorted, "How can you be sure it was a person?"

The hairs along my spine stood on end. The lecherous demon was right beside me, occasionally burrowing into my body, gnawing at my nerves. I couldn't fight it off; I really couldn't take it anymore. I was about to break down.

---

Midnight. I walked alone in a huge, strangely shaped, and complex building. I entered an empty elevator, pressed "B3" to go to the third basement level, and the elevator kept going, falling, falling. The display showed "B2," "B3," but the elevator didn't stop; it continued to descend. I tensed up and pressed the emergency button, but it was no use. The elevator continued to operate methodically, evil, insidious, like a virus. The elevator fell and fell, like an airplane landing. I suddenly felt the urge to urinate. A burning sensation shot through my lower abdomen, and my vagina started to feel it, like that time in junior high when I couldn't answer the last big question on an exam. Time was ticking away, the teacher was pacing around me, repeatedly threatening, "Thirty seconds left, fifteen seconds left," and suddenly my penis contracted, inexplicably, like a child who had wet the bed uncontrollably.

"-18," the elevator finally stopped. The doors opened, and a strong, pungent stench hit me. The ground outside was covered with writhing intestines—eighty thousand of them, piled together, intertwined, their surfaces glistening with a pale green or pale blue mucus. In the distance, I could faintly hear a woman's voice, I couldn't tell if it was singing or moaning. Terrified, I stepped out of the elevator, then suddenly lost my footing and began to fall rapidly, the wind whistling past my ears. I tried to grab onto something, but nothing. I completely lost control, and in utter terror, I started to defecate. The excrement was long, hot, and continuous. After emerging, it transformed into a giant, live octopus, pressing down on me. Long, sucker-like tentacles gripped my body tightly, and my mouth was gagged. I desperately tried to scream, but no sound came out. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to wake up, but I couldn't. My last remaining consciousness told me I was about to die.

I opened my eyes and woke to find my son on top of me, kissing my face and repeatedly saying, "Mommy, I love you so much." Looking closer, I realized he wasn't awake; he was just having a fit of delirium in his sleep. I tried to push him away, but he was too heavy, my hands were weak, and he didn't budge, continuing to sleep on top of me, his sleeping posture repulsive, his breath spraying onto my face. This was "sleep paralysis." Who was the ghost? My son?

My body couldn't live without him; even in my dreams, I was doing those filthy things with him. What would I do when his father came back?

People in the streets are already incredibly bored, even making wild guesses, let alone when something like this has happened. The truth will always come out. If even the slightest clue is exposed, how can I live?

Doing something like this, once discovered, is certain death. I used to be a well-behaved, law-abiding woman; now I've committed a sin, I'm utterly wicked, and I'm doomed.

---

Many things in this world are actually simple; what's complicated is just the thin veil. Breaking through that veil is like passing through a bottleneck.

After my son and I passed that bottleneck, we gradually opened up and became more unrestrained, no longer feeling that there was nothing we couldn't say or do.

That day he licked my anus, and I felt so good, so good. His father had never mentioned anal licking or anything like that.

Afterwards, I asked him: "How did it feel?"

He said: "My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it was going to jump out of my chest."

I said: "Why?"

He said: "This is the first time I've ever licked anus. I've never licked anyone's anus before. How did you feel?"

I said: "Mom was also very nervous. You know, no one has ever licked that part of Mom's body before. That's a woman's most private part."

He said, "I feel like I'm doing something forbidden, that's why my heart is beating so fast.

" Hearing the word "forbidden," I remembered that my son and I had broken a taboo and would suffer a terrible fate. My mood instantly soured.

I said, "Mom has ruined you. We shouldn't have done this. "

But he calmly said, "It's already like this, let nature take its course. We're happy, we've gained something. Being with you is the happiest time of my life.

" "Hahaha!"

Someone laughed loudly in the courtyard of the apartment complex.

We have a nasty guy living here, his episodes are unpredictable, he practices his voice like this every day, as if he's mocking everyone, as if everyone is stupid and ridiculous in his eyes.

I continued chatting with my son: "What do you like about Mom?"

He said: "Obedient, easy to fuck, silly."

My body is strange. I don't know what the neuronal synaptic conduction mechanism is like for other women, but humiliation electrifies me.

The more humiliated I feel, the wetter I get down there, the hotter and itchier the depths of my vagina.

He suggested playing a palace role-playing game with me. I agreed.

I said, "Your Highness, which palace maid would you like tonight?"

He said, "This prince wants to play with a eunuch."

I said, "You've come to the right person, this servant is a eunuch."

He said, "Oh? Your voice is very feminine."

I said, "After this servant was castrated, I've been taking Karma Beta hormone capsules, so my vocal cords have changed."

He said, "Are your breasts real?"

I said, "They're 100% real, all thanks to hormones, not silicone."

He said, "Do you know how this prince plays with eunuchs?"

I said, "This servant doesn't know. It's all up to you."

He roughly rubbed my breasts, violently ravaged my anus, using positions and vulgar language that I couldn't comprehend. I gradually came to appreciate his creative genius in this area.

We took turns possessing each other, rubbing our organs together, each venting our desires, greedily extracting sensual pleasure.

That day I orgasmed three times, each time feeling different. He stared wide-eyed, roaring like a monster. Clearly, he was possessed. The monster hesitated to ejaculate.

I said, "Mom has already been satisfied three times. Mom can't take it anymore. Hurry up and cum."

He said, "Huh? How dare you talk to me like that?"

I said, "Young Master, Young Master, Your Highness, this servant is too tired from kneeling.

Please spare this servant." He said, "No. This servant hasn't had enough yet. Keep going!"

In the end, he was still a sensible child. Every time the game ended, he immediately changed his address, used polite language with me again, and would considerately ask if I was in pain? Was there anything I couldn't accept?

---

After the palace game ended, I muttered to myself: In this world, who is playing whom? Who is fishing for whom? Who is fucking whom? Who controls whom? Who gets more pleasure? How to measure it? Who can say for sure?

He said, "Who cares! "

He quickly fell into a deep sleep, unconscious.

I couldn't sleep, feeling as if every joint in my fingers had lost its connection, my hands and feet were weak and limp, like an old doll. My hair felt cool at the roots, and my pillowcase was soaked with sweat. I was sweating profusely, exhausted, and completely drained.

In the dead of night, all was quiet. My son insisted on taking me to a bus terminal. Dozens of buses were parked there, but none were occupied.

The loudspeaker on the roof of the dispatch office was mute. During the day, it would periodically announce to the buses about to depart.

He pried open a bus door and pulled me on. The novel environment made me feel hot all over.

I asked, "Is Mom okay?"

He said, "Yes."

I asked, "Do you like Mom?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "Then fuck me."

He asked, "Why?"

I said, "Mom's having a bad day. I feel unwell and really upset. Come on, son, comfort Mom."

He said, "Women are such strange creatures."

I said, "Don't talk so much nonsense. Come on, give Mom one hand. "

He said, "Shall I let you go?

" "Let go" is a special term between my son and me, meaning to release sexual tension with my hand.

I said, "Okay."

He reached out his hand. I grabbed it and stuffed it under my skirt.

Suddenly, there were many strangers outside the train window, as if the sky had suddenly brightened. The station's loudspeaker started playing my moans at a high decibel.

I was extremely nervous, just about to climax, when suddenly I heard a "click" as all the doors opened automatically, and the passengers waiting below began to surge onto the train like a tide.

They saw me naked and grinned. I was very embarrassed and tried to get off, but no matter how hard I tried, it was no use. There were too many people getting on. Their strength was overwhelming. I couldn't fight them off.

I was anxious, angry, and finally I woke up to see my son turn over next to me and continue sleeping. I felt unbearably hot all over. My mouth was dry, I was terribly thirsty. I felt ashamed. I was the woman who had committed incest with my son.

My son finally woke up and said softly, "Goodness, you're snoring so loudly, if the neighbors heard you, they'd think you'd been moving mountains and were exhausted."

I said, "Mom is exhausted. I haven't been this tired in twenty years."

He said, "Don't worry, there's no such thing as plowed land that's been over-plowed, only oxen that have died from exhaustion.

" I said, "You little rascal, your mouth is full of filth."

He said, "Mom, how did you feel yesterday?"

I said, "Mom died several times, you completely electrified me."

He asked, "Am I okay?"

I said, "You're bad. "

Chapter Seven

: A clothing market far from my home. That day, my son and I were walking slowly, browsing the various styles of clothes on both sides of the stalls.

He couldn't help but put his arm around my lower back, occasionally leaning down to whisper a few mushy words in my ear. I felt wet down there, and my heart felt very comfortable, especially happy, warm.

Suddenly, I caught sight of a somewhat familiar face about thirty meters ahead. I hadn't spoken to him before, but we both knew each other.

That was a guy from our neighborhood, a kite enthusiast. Our eyes met. I was genuinely startled and quickly shook off my son's arm.

My son was engrossed in looking at his favorite military uniform and hadn't noticed the neighbor walking towards us. His arm stubbornly wrapped around mine again. I shook him off again, my face flushing red.

When we got home, I said sternly to my son: "From now on, you're not allowed to touch me in public."

He said, aggrieved, "I really tried to hold back. I couldn't."

I said, "Even if you can't hold back, you have to. Don't do things that are wrong."

He suddenly laughed.

I said, "There's a difference between inside and outside. At home, you can do whatever you want, but outside, we have to wear a mask, understand?"

He said, "Yeah, you mean I have to act like a coward, right?"

I said, "Mom doesn't want to hide or conceal things either, but I have to. Everyone has secrets, everyone has things they can't show. Having secrets doesn't mean you're a bad person."

He said, "It's so annoying."

A dark shadow began to fall over me.

---

I'm becoming quite dependent on this little rascal. Physically, emotionally, in every way. My face flushes, my body feels hot, my head spins, I want to be with him every second, and I go crazy if we're apart. I'm afraid something will happen to him, afraid he'll fall for someone else. I just want to see him, touch him, and sleep with him. I know this is typical love syndrome.

Sometimes he's pretty reckless, a man of his word, doing whatever he says. For example, he sold a patent behind my back and came back saying, "Mom, you should retire. Women need to treat themselves well."

That's his philosophy.

I said, "Retiring early would be a huge loss; my pension would be much less." He said

, "What can you do with that little bit of money? Take a break and take care of yourself at home."

I said, "The money you made from selling the patent is limited; it'll run out quickly."

He said, "Don't tell anyone, your son made a fortune; we can't spend it all in our lifetimes.

" I got nervous, looked him in the eyes, and said, "You didn't rob me, did you?"

He laughed: "Look at you." I used that money to buy lottery tickets and won the grand prize. Then I went to my older brother and told him I wanted to make money work for me, and I wanted to keep the principal. He's a high-ranking executive at a stock company, and he gave me some advice, telling me to buy a few stocks, and sure enough, I made a fortune. Now I can't even count how much money I have.

I said, "Really?"

He said, "Of course."

I glared at him and said, "You little brat, you dare lie to your mother! I'll beat you to death!"

He said aggrievedly, "I'm telling the truth. I'll let you meet my older brother sometime."

I said, "Tomorrow!"

He said, "That depends on when he's free."

I listened to my son and took early retirement due to illness. I don't care about his money. As long as I'm not worried about retirement and have enough to eat and wear, that's fine.

---

That day, I came out of the shower, dripping wet. My son put down the newspaper he was reading and looked me up and down.

I said, "You little rascal, do I have a good figure?"

My son said, "Hmm, chubby, pleasing to the eye, feels good to the touch, perfect for holding handfuls of it."

I said, "Nonsense, I'm not chubby." "That's called being voluptuous."

My son said, "Accept reality, Mom, you're just fat. You'd have to lose seven pounds to be considered voluptuous."

I said, "You mean I'm bloated?"

He said, "You'd have to gain eight more pounds to be considered bloated. Being bloated isn't good; it's easy to get high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and high blood sugar, chest tightness, and shortness of breath. It's dangerous to fuck

you." I said, "Go away, I can't be bothered with you.

" He said, "We have different ideas about being voluptuous and fat. But it's okay, I like bondage with fat people, it feels good to fuck them, I want to fuck fat cunts..."

I said, "Shut up. You're being vulgar."

He suddenly hugged me, touching my big white breasts, and said, "Vulgar language is what flirting is all about. Last night, even the teachers were fucked crazy."

Yes, last night, I lay in his arms, his fingers dancing skillfully on my wet clitoris, playing out my incessant moans.

I shamelessly opened my bare legs, thrusting my buttocks upwards to meet his fingers. He breathed hot air into my ear, uttering lewd words, while my lower body secreted a wet, slippery, arousing fluid.

I admit, it was an incredibly pleasurable experience. It was wanton, pleasurable, animalistic.

Thinking about it made me blush.

My son kissed my warm cheek: "When is a woman most beautiful?" Ding-dong, answering quickly: "A woman is most beautiful when she blushes."

I said: "It's broad daylight, shut up."

He said: "Who says you have to be a gentleman during the day?"

As he spoke, his hand reached between my thighs. His

fingers began to dance again. Lewd moans resumed.

He suddenly whispered towards the bedside: "I'm going to insert a tube into my mother's vagina. Can you hear me?"

I asked him: "Who are you talking to?"

He said: "My older brother."

I said: "Where is he?"

He said, "On the other end of the phone."

Anyone would be angry if they were teased. I questioned him: "Why didn't you discuss this with me beforehand?"

He said, "I wanted to give you a surprise. What's the point if I told you beforehand? Please don't be angry."

His voice had a hypnotic effect. I felt weak all over.

The thought of another young man listening to my moans and lewd words on the other end of the phone made my body heat up, a surge of magma welling up from deep within my womb.

That young man's penis must be hard, maybe about to ejaculate. Oh my god, how am I supposed to see him after this?

I said seriously, "Turn off the phone!"

He said, "My older brother has been wanting to see you.

" I said, "Turn off the phone."

He said, "Okay, I was just teasing you. I didn't call."

I said, "Really didn't call? "

He said, "Really didn't call." Oh, would I lie to you?

I said, "If you keep doing this, I won't talk to you anymore.

" He said, "Oh, just have some fun, why take it so seriously?" I felt that having someone eavesdrop while playing around would add extra excitement.

I said, "I've never been a promiscuous woman."

He said, "I know, my mom is the best mom in the world." Any game gets boring after a while.

My body and mind relaxed, but I also felt a slight sense of disappointment.

My son embraced my smooth body again, kissing me gently, his fingers once more wandering between my legs, lightly teasing me. My thoughts, however, were already firmly entangled with my son's "older brother."

I asked, "Is your older brother married?"

My son said, "Divorced."

I asked, "What's he like?"

My son said, "At first glance, he looks fierce, bald, 1.86 meters tall, 180 pounds, works out every day, runs and swims, lives in a villa by himself. Actually, he's not a bad person. Once, I was walking with him talking about stocks when suddenly a bad boy jumped out, pulled out a knife, and demanded money. My older brother took out his wallet and gave it to the bastard, who turned and ran. My older brother called out to him, "Hey! Come back! I still have a Rolex here, you forgot to take it." The bastard was terrified, ran back trembling, and returned the wallet to my older brother. Later I asked my older brother, "Do you really want to give that bastard your Rolex?" He said it was true. "How much determination did he have to dare to rob someone? He must have been laid off, his family is really struggling, and his mother is sick. We should help him if we can; we don't need that watch." My older brother is so soft-hearted. They're upper class, they don't think like us. We're not in the same class as them.

I closed my eyes, and the outline of a villa seemed to appear before me, along with a 1.86-meter-tall bald thug.

My son's fingers were increasingly mischievously teasing my clitoris, the sensory stimulation intense and continuous. It was as if my son's fingers had unconsciously transformed into my older brother's. I sighed, then sighed again, and gradually, the sighs connected, slowly turning into moans.

I asked, "Then why did his wife leave him?"

He said, "He divorced her because she wasn't sexy enough, she wasn't good in bed." My older brother's thing is huge.

I asked, "Bigger than yours?"

He said, "Bigger."

I tensed my toes and thrust my buttocks upwards.

A housewife, a virtuous wife and loving mother, actually let her son hold her, let him masturbate her, and while she was thinking about her son's friend's penis, she reached orgasm, her vagina contracting intensely.

I felt utterly ashamed, yet somewhere deep inside me, I felt a strange excitement. It was contradictory; I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't control it. It was like when I breastfed him; every time I breastfed, I felt an irresistible excitement that filled me with shame. It was unmistakable female sexual excitement, frenzy, and guilt, leaving me soaking wet down there, my vagina thinking only one thing: for a scoundrel to fuck me, for a thick, hard cock to fuck my breastfeeding cunt. Each time, I felt incredibly guilty, but the situation only escalated. Several times, even just my son sucking on my nipples, my vagina began to twitch rhythmically. My physical reactions made me feel incredibly embarrassed, and this embarrassment, in turn, intensified my excitement and sharpened my orgasms, creating a vicious cycle. I was trapped in it, unable to escape.

---

Later, my son really did arrange for me to meet the bald man. He dropped me off at the villa gate and left.

I met him. He really was bald. He called me "Auntie," and was very polite and considerate.

I said, "My son keeps mentioning you."

He said, "Hey, that's just one side of the story, don't believe it."

I said, "I didn't believe it, that's why I came for a home visit."

He shook my hand and said, "It's an honor. Auntie, your actual voice is quite nice, but I think your voice on the phone is even nicer."

My face flushed red to my neck. I tried my best to maintain my dignity and composure, saying, "So, he lied to me that day.

" He said, "Yes. Actually, I heard the whole thing on the phone, I heard you get angry in the middle, you ask me about the situation later, and even when you went to the bathroom to wash yourself."

I said, "I don't know if you've ever been stripped naked in public, I…"

He said, "Being eavesdropped on and spied on can be very exciting. Frankly, you made me very excited; I ejaculated twice that day. We're both adults, no need for formalities, we can even skip foreplay to get more enjoyment, what do you say?"

I said, "You're quite frank."

He said, "My frankness comes later. As an opening, I'd like to introduce myself like this: I'm successful in my career, have a strange sex habit, my ex-wife couldn't tolerate it, communication failed, and we broke up in tears."

I said, "I'd like to hear about your habit."

He said, "Okay. As for me, by normal standards, I'm impotent. That is to say, I'm not interested in purely mechanical movements like missionary.

I said, "You like men?"

He said, "Oh no. But I can't get an erection without first oral sex."

I said, "That's not a strange habit. That's a good man."

He said, "I wasn't finished." To maintain my hardness, I need some other elements, including eavesdropping, peeping, bondage, enemas, fucking the disabled, fucking breastfeeding women, fucking old ladies, fucking feet, fucking women with glasses, fucking women with wigs, fucking women with headscarves, fucking pregnant women, fucking women with diarrhea, fucking corpses, fucking armpits, watching stud dogs fuck women… Auntie, what's wrong?

I said: I'm a little… your interests are a little… He said: Too abundant?

I said: Maybe.

He said: How could that be? I've only just begun; what I've said is just the tip of the iceberg.

I asked: How many elements do you need at the same time?

He said: One or two, two or three, three or four. I'm not greedy.

I said: I'm very happy to be your guest today.

He said: Auntie, don't be nervous. My self-introduction might be a bit complicated, but I'm basically a good person, really. I never force anyone, I never drug anyone. I look down on those lowlifes. Don't be afraid. I have my principles.

I said: I believe you. But maybe you've picked the wrong person. Actually, I'm quite conservative.

He said: I like older, conservative, and gentle women.

I asked: What do you mean? You think I'm gentle?

He said: Yes, from your voice and conversation on the phone, I feel I particularly admire you. Of course, I won't put pressure on you. If you want to leave, I'll take you home anytime. This is how I see life. Living is all a game. Making money is a game, dealing with all sorts of people is a game, and even sex is a game. Playing different roles, gaining experience points, the price is life.

I said, "That makes sense. You're an interesting young man."

He said, "Auntie, you haven't seen my swimming pool yet."

I followed him out of the villa's back door to the sunlit back terrace. What caught my eye was a pool of clear blue water, a completely private pool.

He said, "The water is changed daily, and the temperature is intelligently controlled."

Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "It's especially suitable for water conditioning."

I didn't understand what "conditioning" meant, but I was intrigued.

I said, "I've been systematically training in swimming since elementary school. In college, I even won a place for our school's swimming team in the city and received the title of Master Swimmer. After getting married, I swam less and gained weight."

He said, "That's good. I like fuller figures. I think your figure is quite beautiful, really. Those fashion designers are all sick, damn, are they even designing for people? A 1.3-foot waist, damn. Those models are even sicker, their waists are like wasps, damn, are they even human?"

He opened his robe, revealing his penis, and shouted at the sun: "Fuck!" "I'll fuck you! I'll fuck your mothers! I'll laugh with my cock pointing to the sky, to hell with your two Kunlun Mountains!"

I glanced at him. His cock was indeed frighteningly big, ridiculously big. My son hadn't lied to me about that.

He asked, "I didn't expect Auntie to be so amazing. Coincidentally, I also really like swimming, can I have a little swim with Auntie?"

Like a drunkard who can't resist alcohol, I started to feel itchy all over.

I said, "I didn't bring a swimsuit."

He asked back, "Why should I wear a swimsuit? Are there any strangers here?"

I felt a surge of excitement. He was extending a bold invitation to me. Skinny dipping, I'd thought about it but never had the chance to try.

If I refused the invitation, he would take me home. If I accepted, what would I lose?

I said, "Are you serious?"

He said, "Of course."

Saying that, he started taking off his clothes first. Taking off the bathrobe wasn't complicated, it just came off with a swish. Before I could even take a good look at his naked body, he had already plunged into the pool.

His body was taut, and there was almost no splash. I knew I'd met my match.

He took his clothes off first, just as a gesture. He jumped into the water first, giving me time to overcome my shyness.

I hesitated for a moment, then took them off anyway. Naked, I plunged into my son's friend's swimming pool.

Why should only men swim naked? Women want liberation, I want to turn my life around! Chapter 8,

June 1st . He really did take me home, but it was a bit late, already two in the morning. I don't understand, how can time fly by so quickly during this period of indulgence? We said goodbye at the entrance of the complex. I dragged my weak legs home, my face still flushed. I really hoped my son was out, that no one was home, I was really afraid he would see me like this. When I got downstairs, I saw the lights were on in my house. Sigh! Coming home with someone else's semen in my clothes, how can I face my son? I went inside, took off my leather shoes in the entryway, changed into slippers, and said loudly and guiltily as I did so: I'm home! Actually, my heart was pounding, my hands were trembling, as if I had done something heinous. I silently reassured myself: It was my son's arrangement, what am I afraid of? Thinking this, I went to the living room and saw my son sitting calmly on the sofa, casting a wise and peaceful gaze at me from above his massive book, *An Outline of the History of German Philosophy*. He said casually, "So late?" I went over and sat next to him, saying, "Ah…yes, we chatted, ate salad, and watched DVDs. Hey, he's really collected a lot of French films, many of which I've always wanted…" He interrupted my evasive remarks, pressing me aggressively: "How was it? How was he?" I awkwardly replied, "Well, he…he's not bad." I could feel the bald man's semen seeping from deep inside my vagina. I instinctively squeezed my legs together. The bald man ejaculated three times. Of course, I didn't intend to tell my son any of this. Two in the morning, a good mother sneaking home with a stranger's semen inside, her son acting like a best friend, pressing for details; her son actively acting as a go-between, introducing his friend to have sex with his mother, and afterwards interrogating and humiliating her. This is wrong. All relationships were in chaos. I couldn't figure out where things had gone wrong in my relationship with my son. Suddenly, he expertly scratched my arm with his fingernail, leaving a white mark. After swimming, scratching your body with your fingernail will definitely leave a white mark. He asked with certainty, "You swam at his place?" I said, "Ah...yes." "What? Are you jealous?" He asked, "No." I said, "If you're jealous, just say so. Why lie to yourself?" He said, "If I wasn't, I wasn't. There's no need to lie." I said, "Aren't you sleepy? I want to sleep." As I said this, I stood up. Unexpectedly, he grabbed my wrist with a "bang." It hurt from his grip. He said, "You didn't bring a swimsuit." I said, "I swam naked. " He asked, "Was it fun?" I said, "Of course it was fun." He also asked if I had breastfed him. He asked, "What did you say?" I said, "I told the truth." He asked, "What else did he ask?" I said, "Many things." He asked, "For example?" I said, "Why should I tell you?" He said, "Because this was agreed upon beforehand." I said, "No, I'm afraid you can't handle it." He said, "I need to know. I absolutely must know! Don't break the agreement!" I said, "Listen, son, what you want to know might be a bit different from what you can accept. Why make yourself uncomfortable?" He asked, "What exactly did he do to you?" I said, "He likes to lick women." He asked, "Did he lick you?" I said, "Yes." He asked, "Where?" I said, "Puss." He asked, "What else did he do?" I said, "We played a 'kbum' game, tied each other up. He even used a stick to penetrate my vagina, and later he penetrated me, it felt so good, I orgasmed three times. Are you satisfied?" His face turned ashen, his fingers turned pale, and his lips trembled. I felt a sense of vengeful pleasure. And I felt very happy. When I go out to play, my son gets jealous, which means he cares about me. After a long pause, he finally managed to say, "But he's impotent." I proudly said, "No, that was before he met me." Today, he said I cured him. He looked extremely jealous, gritting his teeth and muttering to himself, "That liar!" I said, "I'm exhausted, really. I want to take a shower, okay?" He raised his eyelids and glared at me, then suddenly lunged at me, ripped off my underwear, and began to violate my genitals. I tried to dodge, because the bald man's semen was flowing out more and more. My dodge only fueled my son's animalistic instincts; he finally pushed me down onto the carpet in front of the sofa and, as he pleased, began to fondle my vagina. After he finished, he withdrew his fingers, turned away, and didn't say a word. I knew he must have felt the bald man's semen inside me and my vaginal discharge.

He looked hurt and dejected. Men are so strange! If he couldn't stand it, why arrange for me to meet Baldy? He knows what kind of person Baldy is.

---

The next afternoon, I was watching TV and got a craving. I got up to get some pistachios, and suddenly felt a heavy, uncomfortable sensation down there.

I took off my pants and squatted down on the carpet in front of the TV. I reached behind and touched a warm, soft, small ball with some sticky fluid on the surface.

I was startled and quickly and carefully used my fingers to push my rectum back in. Then I slowly stood up, clenching my anus tightly, afraid to move. Will it keep falling out?

I stood there clenching for a while, feeling fine, and went to the cabinet to get the bag of pistachios.

But before I even got back to the sofa, I suddenly felt my rectum prolapse again, rubbing painfully. I broke out in a cold sweat. What should I do? How could I tell the doctor? How embarrassing!

Just then, my son came in, saw my expression, and asked what was wrong.

I told him everything. He was heartbroken. He made me lie face down on the big sofa, my buttocks sticking up. He held me from behind, gently licking me, using his warm tongue to push my prolapsed rectum back into my body. I felt warm inside, quite happy, and strangely so.

I lay flat on the sofa to recover.

He stood up and dialed a number: "You're so ruthless! You even made my mom's rectum come out!"

I quickly whispered to stop him: "No."

He covered the phone and glared at me: "No what? No?"

I said: "Don't ruin our relationship."

He said: "He's too rough."

I said: "Mom, it's okay, besides..."

He asked: "What else?"

I said: "Besides, sometimes women like roughness."

He looked at me, dumbfounded, as if he didn't recognize me.

I said: "Hang up."

He hung up and asked me: "You really like him?"

I said: "I can't say whether I like him or not, I just think he's a pretty good person."

He turned off the TV and took out a rope.

Seeing the rope, I realized I was possessed again. I obediently put my hands behind my back, wrists clasped together, turned to my son, and whispered, "Tie me up."

He asked, "Why should I tie you up?

" I said, "I'm a bad woman."

He bound my hands behind my back, tightly, very tightly. In SM, who does what to whom is superficial; the core of the game is the sense of dominance and humiliation. Now I felt incredibly humiliated, utterly humiliated, utterly disgraced. Being tied up by my son made me feel safe.

He used one hand to penetrate my clitoris and the other to make a phone call.

I asked, "What are you going to do?

" He said forcefully, "Slut! I'm going to call all my buddies! I'll call them now. I'll have them all come and touch you, grope you, take turns fucking you! I'll fuck you until your face is covered in semen, then piss on your face! You old slut!"

I felt a strange pleasure from his insults and his handjobs. The thought of a large group of young men arriving soon, seeing my wanton state, touching my full, white body, and taking turns fucking my slippery orifices made me involuntarily tense my thighs.

He forcefully spread my legs, touched my cunt, and said, "You slut! You're already wet!"

Yes, I was now a bitch in heat, my vulva smeared with sticky, clear juices. I was shameless, shameless, and brazen, my mind filled only with the thought of being fucked.

His fingers entered me, and he began to stir frantically. I groaned, twisting my waist, "Son, masturbate my cunt!"

He said, "I'll fuck you to death! We're going to fuck you all night!"

A vision of apocalyptic chaos appeared before my eyes—a smoky, chaotic mess, countless hard cocks vying to penetrate me. My entire body was soaking wet, every orifice wide open.

He pulled down his underwear, revealing his hard, large cock. My head was spinning, and I said, "Guys, fuck me!"

A fierce battle ensued. A wild fucking session.

He fucked me while cursing me: "Stupid pig, bitch!"

I nodded as I was being fucked, saying, "Yes, yes."

He asked, "Do you have any shame?"

I said, "I don't have any shame."

He pretended to direct the young men in the room: "Fuck her hard! Don't be gentle! She likes roughness!"

He used his angry cock to violate my vagina while pressing hard on my anus with his thumb.

A thick cock, roughness, and profanity—it actually made a woman so wanton. I was a little surprised by my own wantonness and gained a new understanding of my body.

The battle ended, and we called it a day. My son and I were panting, both satisfied and released.

My hands and arms were numb and I couldn't feel anything.

He untied my ropes. My wrists and arms were already purple. The blood started to flow back, and it hurt terribly, like thousands of steel needles piercing my flesh at the same time.

He asked, "Mom, do you really like rough play?"

I said, "Sometimes, depending on my mood."

He asked, "Did it hurt just now?"

I said, "It hurt comfortably."

He said, "Next time, you can tie me up.

" I asked, "Okay. You didn't call Baldy just now, right?"

He smiled but didn't answer.

I said, "You weren't planning to call any of your other buddies either, right?"

He said, "What do you think?"

How could I take it seriously? It's all an illusion. Of course, I know it's all just a game. But I'm increasingly enjoying this game. It adds excitement to my sex life.

But is it really just a game?

---

After that day, I never had rectal prolapse again, meaning my son miraculously cured my rectal prolapse with love and his tongue.

After that, my son and I became more and more open, with no taboos in talking or making love.

After the game, we would communicate like civilized people, talking about our orgasmic experiences.

Some purely fantasizing guys like to write mushy things like, "Mom holds her son's face and says, 'Dear son, your technique is amazing, much better than your father's.'"

We don't talk like that.

Our conversations were always very brief, with phrases like "You broke my back," "I'm out of energy," "You've killed me," and "You've killed me." The subtext behind these short sentences was praise for each other's skills, but we were straightforward and never used flowery language.

That day, after my son ejaculated, he was covered in sweat, panting, and weakly said to me: "You ruined me... Mom, you ruined me..."

I was secretly shocked, a wave of sorrow washing over me.

I understood that he probably meant that I had exhausted him, that I had completely drained him.

But in reality, looking back now, I did ruin my son, ruined everything for him.

In fact, everyone is like a CD; out of laziness, we often become immersed in our own familiar world, too lazy to step back and examine ourselves. "

You can't see the true face of Mount Lu because you are in the mountain itself." If you're too close, you can't see the real thing.

One day, he wore a ghost mask, the black and white skull was exaggeratedly elongated, and the mouth was crooked, like Munch's "Howl," which was quite scary.

He said, "Little bitch, come here, bend over."

I bent over, turned around and asked him, "Where does Yama want to fuck?"

Yama said, "First fuck my slutty cunt, then fuck my stinky anus."

I said, "You damned Yama, you big pervert!"

Yama gripped my big white breasts tightly, panting heavily, and said to me while fucking me, "Mom, you big slutty cunt, I'll fuck you to death!"

I was completely excited, my heart began to soar. I responded to Yama, saying to him while being fucked, "Fuck me, son, kill me!"

Yama said viciously, "I'll fuck you, I'll fuck you!"

I chanted, "Fuck me, fuck me!"

Yama ejaculated, roaring hoarsely. I climaxed, dizzy and continued to say bold things. Both of their cries were desperate, sounding like lovers who had nowhere to go and were about to commit suicide by jumping off a cliff.

Really, if things continue like this, where is the way out for my son and me? I live in constant fear, afraid of being discovered.

I ruined a young man's promising future, I ruined my own son.

Just then, I heard the door lock click. At the same time, I thought I saw a figure, silent and fleeting.

I smelled that peculiar, wicked odor again, mixed with a rich, fishy stench.

I asked, "What did you hear? "

He said, "I heard you moaning, it sounded really good, your hoarse moans are the most exciting."

I nervously said, "I'm serious. There was some noise in our house just now."

He still didn't seem to care, smiling and saying, "Yes, there was an earthquake on this bed just now."

I said, "I saw someone just now, and they disappeared in a flash."

He said, "Many people experience visual and auditory hallucinations during orgasm."

I got up and went over. The door was ajar, the lock was open.

My son and I had been having so intense sex that during our jump off the cliff, we were both deafened by each other's and our own screams.

Who was it? A voyeur?

I said, "I hope I'm just seeing things, hallucinating."

He said, "Mom, you're not old. Don't always think you're old." "You really aren't old."

I smiled and said, "Is your mom an immortal?"

He said, "Yes. In my heart, Mom will always be young."

I said, "You're so glib."

But I was still secretly pleased. Women are naturally drawn to pleasant words.

Actually, illusions are just inner demons.

Chapter Nine:

The floor lamp cast a warm, dim light, making one drowsy.

My son and I sat on the sofa watching a boring TV show.

I asked him, "How's Mom?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "What's so good about Mom?"

He said, "You're good in every way."

I said, "Although Mom's mind is a little slow, Mom isn't a child. Be serious."

He turned off the TV with the remote and said, "Mom, what's wrong with you today?"

I said, "I'm feeling insecure again. I feel worthless."

He hugged me and said, "Mom, you cook for me every day, and you've been doing it for so many years. You even took care of me when I had my period. You've worked so hard. For so many years, you've raised me all by yourself, being both a father and a mother, sewing clothes for me. It hasn't been easy. And also..."

I asked, "And what else?"

He continued with a serious expression: "You're quite horny."

I felt a surge of heat down there and got up, saying, "You brat."

He asked, "Mom, where are you going?"

I said, "I'm going to take a shower.

" He got up too and followed me, saying, "I'll give you a back scrub."

---

In the bathroom, my son and I were both naked. Hot water was showering my body.

My son turned off the shower. The bathroom suddenly became quiet.

He said to me, "Mom, lean against the wall."

I obediently leaned against the wall, my back to him.

He took a dry towel, wrapped it tightly around his right hand, and began to scrub my back vigorously. He used considerable force.

My son patiently scrubbed my back, getting harder and harder. The areas being scrubbed hurt a little. I endured it. It was a painful yet pleasurable pain. So pleasurable that I wanted to yell, to curse.

After the scrub, a hot shower felt like floating on clouds, my whole body relaxed.

I believe there are many, many important acupoints on the back. Scrubbing the back massages those acupoints. And it's difficult for someone to thoroughly scrub their own back. You know? If someone can scrub your back, cherish it; it's the greatest pleasure in life.

His dad never scrubbed my back. Right after we got married, I said to his dad, "Let's take a bath together."

He asked, "Why?"

I said, "I've heard of 'couple baths,' where men and women bathe together. Isn't that interesting? Want to try?"

He frowned and asked, "How do you know that?"

I laughed and said, "Who doesn't know? Haven't you heard of it?"

He said, "No."

Before I could finish, I continued, "Come on, scrub my back. I'll scrub yours too."

He looked at me, puzzled, and said, "Are you alright? How could you think like that? Who's ever scrubbed your back before? Who have you scrubbed your back for?"

I was completely confused and said, feeling wronged, "No one. You're my first man. Do I have to say it a thousand times?"

He said, "If it's a lie, it's a lie even if you say it ten thousand times. Words aren't reliable."

I was a little unhappy and said, "How could you think like that? Look at me. I'm your wife."

He said, "That's why I think that way."

I said, "What's wrong with you?"

He said, "Your mother told me you were sick and hospitalized when you were little. Actually, I hate her. She only told me this after we got married. If she had told me before, I wouldn't have married you."

I got really angry and said, "It's not too late for you to divorce now. Before we have children. Hurry up and get a divorce."

He said, "See? You really didn't plan to live a good life with me, did you?"

I said, "Is there any way for good people to walk? You were the one who said divorce first!"

He said, "I won't divorce. Divorce is bad for my reputation. I want revenge, I want to torture you. I want you to get pregnant, to have a child, and to let the child wear you down."

I felt like I'd been hit over the head with a stick, completely humiliated. After that, I never mentioned taking a bath together again. But the rift between us grew thicker and thicker.

So, what happened between my son, was it subconsciously an attempt to compensate myself? Or was it revenge?

---

Enjoying my son rubbing my back, I couldn't help but say, "Your father never did this before.

" He said, "Mom, how could you have married such a good-for-nothing?"

I said, "Don't talk about your dad like that."

He seemed a little unhappy; probably no man wants his woman to defend a rival.

I wasn't happy either. His disparaging of my husband was a veiled insult to me. What woman wants to hear that?

He stopped talking, and his back-rubbing slowed, the pressure decreasing.

I said, "Okay, come on, let Mom rub your back."

He pushed me away and said, "Go rub your husband's back." Damn it!

He finished speaking and walked out of the bathroom.

I chased after him naked, not even bothering to put on clothes, and quickly asked, "What did you say?"

He said, "I said go to hell!" "What's wrong?"

I said, "We agreed beforehand, you're not allowed to disrespect your mother."

He said, "Okay, I respect you. You're a good mother, you're a model wife, okay? I'm a good son, we're a lucky family, a happy and auspicious family."

I suppressed my anger and tried to calmly tell him, "I did something wrong, I'm very sad, I feel guilty, but I don't know how to make amends. I know some things are wrong, very, very wrong..."

He interrupted me, saying, "But you still did it. You wanted to! You asked for it! You're so shameless!"

My anger finally exploded: "What did you say? I gave birth to you, raised you, fed you, cleaned and tidied you. How could you say such a thing?"

He said, "Please, whose money do you use to eat and drink now?"

I said, "I'm letting you have my way with me."

He said, "That's because you use me to fill your emptiness. Take a piss and look at yourself, count the wrinkles on your face, okay?"

I was trembling with anger, saying as I dressed, "What a mess! You've had your fun with me, you're tired of playing with me, and now you think I'm too old?"

He said, "You're not only old, you're lazy! I hate washing your socks! But you always make me do it! I feel so humiliated."

I said, "But you said you loved washing my socks."

He said, "Please use your brain! How could anyone be stupid enough to love washing other people's socks? You must be brain-dead!"

I said, "When you were having sex with me, you sat on my chest, rubbed my face, and slapped me. You're a pervert."

He said, "You said you liked me insulting you like that, you liked being masochistic."

I said, "Bullshit! Who in the world really likes being insulted?"

He said, "My mom!"

I said, "You're crazy. You took me, and now you look down on me.

" He said, "You're the one who took me! You won't allow me to find other girls. No early relationships, no masturbation, if you want to ejaculate, go to Mom—you said all of that!"

I said, "So what if I said it? I want to be good to you. But you brat, you're full of lies." That time you said you didn't call. Actually, you did. Your older brother heard me washing my butt in the bathroom the whole time!

He said: "Stop pretending to be a lady. That time you were wetter than ever, your orgasm was more intense than ever, I almost broke my fingers! You think I don't know who you were thinking about? I just didn't call you out, you slut!"

I said: "You're a beast!"

He said: "That's right. I'm a beast. And you? You're a model mother, you should be on TV, you should win awards. It's a shame you don't go on a speaking tour."

My son choked me until my face turned purple and my hands were ice cold. I trembled all over, staring at this young man in front of me. What a tragedy. If only I had known this would happen!

I slammed the door and left home.

---

Walking on the street, I thought back to the good times we had. We were so close when we were together, why did it turn out like this?

What was I thinking back then? How could I have made such a stupid decision! Now we're both hurt, tearing each other apart, our hearts bleeding.

I think, a short pain is better than a long one. I wanted to sever this evil relationship with him completely.

Lost in thought, I looked up and found myself standing in front of a nunnery. As if possessed, I went inside.

The nunnery was almost empty. I went to the back courtyard.

It was quiet, leaves falling gently in the sunlight. A nun in simple clothes sat on a chair near the entrance to the inner hall, reading and meditating.

I approached her timidly and asked, "Master, hello, may I ask you a question?"

She looked up at me and said, "Of course."

I said, "Master, I'm extremely distressed right now." She said,

"Oh, distressed, my friend."

I said, "My life is a mess."

She calmly said to herself, "All love in this world is sinful, regardless of the name or the banner."

Her unperturbed and uncurious attitude actually made me relax, and I opened my heart.

I said, "My lover and I had a fight. We said the most hurtful things, ruthlessly hitting each other where it hurt. Now I regret it, but it's too late. What's done is done, there's no going back."

She said: Love is futile. Love is an abyss.

I said: I feel that life is meaningless.

She calmly said: Actually, living is very ugly. Mucus, secretions, excretion, quarrels, eating and drinking, development, pain, fatigue, injury, repetition, monotony, doing foolish things, disease, suppuration, exhaustion, death. To be born is to die, and to die is still to die. To be confused is to be confused, and to be clear-headed is still to be confused, because this world is a big mess.

I asked: Master, how can I understand this as soon as possible?

She countered: Why do I need to understand this?

I said: To understand the ways of the world.

She said: By the time you understand all the ways of the world, your teeth will be loose, your hair will be falling, you will be old and frail.

Suddenly, I smelled a peculiar odor that I had recently become very familiar with, mixed with a strong fishy stench.

I saw the nun shudder, her face quickly turning red, and then her expression changed, and the way she looked at me changed, becoming unusually eerie.

She wickedly stuck out her tongue, greedily licking her lips. Her left hand gripped my lower back, her right hand forcefully holding the back of my head. Before I could even understand what was happening, her lips were on mine.

She breathed heavily, her words suddenly becoming incredibly vulgar, even her voice changing. She said, "Hmm, quite slutty. A good cunt."

I was shocked, my limbs went weak, and in a daze, she dragged me into the back chamber.

She was incredibly strong, carrying me at a brisk pace. I realized I was being "lifted" out of the back gate, "lifted" up the back mountain.

The wind whistled past my ears. Trees, bushes, and dry grass flashed by.

Finally, she stopped. I was placed on a grassy field. Looking around, I was at the top of the mountain, and there was no one around.

Without a word, she pushed me down, ripped off my clothes, and forcibly licked my face. Her saliva reeked. Her gaze was fierce and powerful.

I struggled, resisted, and groaned. It was no use. Her fingers began to rub my clitoris.

My resistance seemed to stimulate her nerves. I gave up resisting. Her fingers suddenly plunged into my vagina.

Her technique was incredibly skillful, intimately familiar with my body parts and my physiological reactions. She brutally massaged my G-spot. She made me feel like my soul was floating, soaring to the heavens.

She masturbated me while licking my face and my neck.

I was still a little nervous. I had never had this kind of contact with a woman before. This was a completely new experience for me.

She commanded me: Kiss me.

I asked: Have you been suppressing your feelings for too long?

She said: Stop talking nonsense. Kiss me.

I trembled, wondering how much power she still had up her sleeve. The best strategy against this kind of violent and aggressive criminal is temporary submission.

I began to kiss her face. Her face was soft, but incredibly hot. I must admit, kissing a bald woman in heat felt very strange.

She became excited by my kisses, her breathing grew heavier, and my masturbation became correspondingly more forceful and varied. Her hand roamed inside my vagina, violating every tiny corner. So be it

. It's come to this, might as well give in. I was aroused by her ministrations, my body and brain heating up, and more and more lustful fluid gushed from below.

My vagina was sticky, my vulva and clitoris were sticky too. I reached orgasm from her touch.

Before I could recover, I saw her lift her robe, get on all fours, and raise her buttocks high in the sunlight, spreading her buttocks apart with her hands, commanding me: "Lick here."

I kissed her buttocks and licked her anus. Her anus was very clean, with only a slight natural scent.

She was driven wild with excitement by my licking, moaning shamelessly, thrusting her buttocks against my face, trying to get as much pleasure as possible.

As I licked, her hand reached between her legs, rubbing her vulva. Her pussy was already soaking wet, like half a jar of honey spilled there.

She said, "Put your hand in."

I slowly inserted a finger into the honey cave.

She said, "Your whole hand!"

I gasped, my mouth agape, and obediently inserted my whole hand. It was hot, wet, and sticky inside.

She said, "Move!"

My hand began to increase in pressure.

She almost screamed, "Fuck me! Fuck me faster!"

I fucked her harder and harder. Her body arched back more and more frantically, slamming against me, responding to my movements. Half of my forearm was already inside. My hand touched the tip—something hot, soft, and round.

I said, "I've hit something."

She said, "Fuck! Bitch! Fuck! Fuck me to death! Fuck this slut to death! Fuck her to pieces! Get out! Oh no! Harder!"

Her words grew increasingly fragmented, her vocabulary more and more incomprehensible.

Suddenly, her whole body began to tremble violently. I watched as a glistening layer of sweat covered her skin.

It was like a champion boxer, like an excited doe.

Her body collapsed, completely limp, sprawled on the grass, gasping for breath in despair, like a terminally ill patient, like a chicken seeing a tiger.

I sat beside her, trying to brush the dry grass off my clothes.

As I dressed, I looked at the distant scenery. In the distance, my city was as usual, with buildings and smog. The masses crawled around like ants.

The pungent smell in my nostrils gradually faded. I turned to look at her. She sat up, put on her robe, and then glanced at me apologetically, her face still flushed.

She said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I said

, "It's alright. "

She said, "I've practiced asceticism for ten years, and I'm no match for it."

I asked, "Who?"

She said, "The one tormenting you is the Nightmare Demon. I was possessed by it again just now."

I asked, "What is this Nightmare Demon?"

She said: "There really are ghosts in this world. There are many kinds of ghosts. Simply put, good ghosts are called 'immortals,' and fierce ghosts are called 'demons.' This evil spirit, the Lustful Demon, is the most powerful ghost. It is dualistic, sometimes male and sometimes female, committing countless evil deeds, infamous, and free to move between the Yin and Yang realms. Its magical power is boundless; it is formed from millions of years of lustful essence. Those possessed by it are completely controlled by it, and none can escape. Many monks take vows and practice asceticism in order to find a secret way to fight it."

I asked: "Have you found one?

" She said: "So far, as far as I know, no one has."

I said: "So, no one can control this harmful spirit?"

She said: "Hmm, do you think it's just harmful?"

I thought for a moment and said: "Sometimes, it also brings me joy. But overall, it's very bad."

She said: "Please keep what happened just now a secret. Don't ask my Dharma name. And please don't come again. "

I asked: "Why?"

She said: "I need to calm down for a while. Maybe I'll leave."

Chapter Ten:

I went home, but the door was locked. I reached into my pocket. Empty. Then I remembered that I was so angry when I left that I forgot my keys.

I sat on the stairs, recalling my adventure on the mountaintop and everything the monk had said to me.

"Ding-dong!" My son came out of the elevator, a little excited to see me.

I said, feeling wronged, "I forgot my keys."

Then I cried.

My son hugged me, saying nothing. Sometimes, a hug can make a woman feel incredibly satisfied. I heard a door

open on the next floor. A neighbor came out to throw out the trash. My son and I quickly separated, terrified.

He took out his keys and opened the door. I scurried into my own home like a thief.

He said, "Mom, forgive me. "

I said, "It was Mom's fault. You have to forgive Mom."

He said, "Mom, don't say that."

I said, "Mom is guilty, really."

He said, "I'm guilty, I deserve to die."

I said, "I tried to control my desires, but it didn't work."

He said, "I understand. Actually, I wanted to control them too. But those desires were too strong; I wouldn't care if I lost my head, I just love you.

" I said, "Don't say 'love'." He said, "I will."

I said, "Mom's an old woman."

He said, "No, not old."

I said, "You said

I'm old yourself." He said, "I was confused at the time. Forgive me. I felt like I was possessed. The person who spoke then wasn't your son."

I said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't clear-headed at the time either, my mind was a mess. I was possessed too.

" He said, "You forgive me?" I nodded. He hugged me again and kissed me . The last bit of reason I had was leaving me. Actually, we were both calm when we argued. Now, we were truly possessed. That's the most terrifying thing. A fierce lovemaking session. He grabbed my hair and wildly fucked me from behind, his manner and roars were completely barbaric. My screams were almost inhuman, my neck straight and my throat hoarse from shouting. Are people possessed when they make love? He turned my body over, so I lay flat facing him. He tied my wrists with my bra, then pulled the bra straps and bent me over. My hands were bound, my wrists pulled behind my back, and my elbows were raised high, exposing my armpits to my son. He was violently fucking me while rubbing my face and squeezing my armpits. I was terrified, trembling all over, and I begged him to swear at me. He pinched my cheeks, spat at me, and cursed me with the most offensive things. I climaxed. During and for several minutes after my climax, I was in what was called a dying moment, between life and death, my body limp, my lips parted, my pupils dilated, and I lost control of my bladder. Each climax was a mini-death experience. In that mini-death moment, I seemed to hear that mysterious "click" sound again and smell that familiar stench mixed with a strong, fishy odor. I was horrified .

I looked in the mirror and found that the woman in it had become incredibly alluring lately, her eyes and very essence exuding charm. She seemed to have entered a second spring—no, she hadn't even had a first spring; she was just approaching menopause and suddenly blossoming. My relationship with my son, after being tested and tempered, seemed to be growing stronger. We spoke very openly to each other, and our role-playing became increasingly elaborate.

Once, he made me pretend to be a maid, making me lie naked on the floor scrubbing, while he sat beside me reading the newspaper and making phone calls in the sunlight.

Another day, I asked him to call me "slutty girl," and he hesitated.

I said, "Hurry up, say it!"

He said, "Slutty girl."

I happily replied, "Yes."

I asked, "How does Dad feel?"

He said, "Dad feels really strange."

I said, "Pretend your slutty girl is home from school."

He got into character and said, "Slutty girl, come here."

I said, "Yes."

He said, "How many points did you get on the test?"

I said, "Dad, don't be angry, I copied someone else's test paper and the teacher found out, gave me a zero, and they're calling my parents."

He said, "Slutty girl! Take off your pants!"

As he spoke, he picked up a rolling pin.

I said, "Dad, don't spank me."

He used the rolling pin to hit my bottom. My bottom was burning hot and painful. He got excited and started hitting harder. I cried from the pain.

He said, "I'll hit you once, and you'll remember it for life."

I struggled out of his clutches, naked, and scolded him, "Aren't you done yet?"

He was still in character, his face stern and authoritative, saying, "Hmm? How dare you talk to your father like that?"

I said, "Stop! I'm done playing."

He put down the rolling pin and looked at me.

I said, "This can't go on. We need to agree on a safe word."

He said, "Okay. If you want to stop, just say 'class dismissed,' okay?"

I said, "Okay."

---

Every time I poop, I immediately wash my anus with warm water. It's clean, hygienic, and makes me feel comfortable. It's said that this can also prevent hemorrhoids.

One day, I had just finished pooping and was getting water to wash when my son came over, put both hands into my underwear at the same time, rubbed my clitoris with his left hand, and went straight for my anus with his right middle finger.

I panicked and quickly dodged to the side: "No! I just pooped."

He said: "I know."

I said: "I haven't washed it yet."

He said: "Hearing you say that, I immediately got hard. Feel it, feel it."

I reached out and touched his underwear, and sure enough, I felt a big, hard penis.

I said: "Mom will let you play after she washes, okay?"

He said: "No, I want to play now!"

I looked at him and said: "How can you be so perverted? You're a pervert."

He said: "Research shows that behind every pervert, there is a perverted mother."

His right middle finger was already inside my anus. Actually, I was enjoying this perverted mother-son game. I enjoyed this dirty pleasure.

I felt really good. I liked my anus being touched and ravaged. Soon, I felt my vagina getting wet.

He kissed my face, ravaging me from both ends, and said: "Mom, you're wet. Touch it yourself."

I said: "Do I need to touch it? You only know you're hard when you touch it yourself?"

He grinned wickedly and said, "Mom, you're especially wet today, unbelievably wet. Your pussy is soaked from the entrance to your clitoris, all slippery."

Yes, I could feel it. I was unusually wet today.

I said, "I've had a lot of discharge these past two days."

He pulled down my underwear and pressed his hard penis against my wet pussy.

Actually, I was already incredibly aroused down there, but I still had some reason left. I quickly pushed him away: "No! I need to ovulate!"

He was a beast, holding me tightly and insisting on thrusting in.

I twisted my waist, resisting stubbornly. Soon, I was panting heavily. I said, "I really can't!"

This was my last remaining sanity. I struggled and resisted, quite resolutely, but unfortunately, he was stronger.

A hard gun, when it tries to penetrate a wet, soft hole, will always succeed. He thrust in. We both sighed simultaneously.

My reason vanished. I never believed before that women could experience pleasure or orgasm from being raped. Now I do.

I never understood why so many women had abortions before, now I understand. Passion really can destroy a woman's reason.

I resigned myself to my fate, wallowing in self-pity, while simultaneously enjoying the friction of his hard, erect penis against my ovulating, throbbing cunt.

Afterwards, I was terrified. Everyone knew his father was rarely home. What if I was pregnant? I rushed to the pharmacy to buy a pill to undo my pregnancy.

Thankfully, by the grace of God, I escaped unscathed.

—My

period arrived on schedule. I breathed a sigh of relief, but then felt annoyed. While changing my sanitary pad, I thought: Why isn't my period stopping? Once it stops, I can play freely with my son without any worries, and I won't have to live in fear anymore.

My son suggested playing bondage again. I agreed. I'm usually exceptionally docile during my period.

He bound me tightly. The tighter he bound me, the stronger my sense of security. He forced me to look in the mirror.

Looking at myself in the mirror, bound and helpless, I was indeed quite sexy. Seeing my son so excited, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

Suddenly, he pulled down my underwear, yanked my sanitary pad out from under me, and stuffed it into my mouth. The sanitary napkin was soaked with my menstrual blood, emitting a peculiar, fishy odor.

Soaked in my saliva, the blood seeped out and flowed down my throat. I felt a little nauseous.

He started penetrating my blood-soaked vagina. During my period, my vagina was full of blood and mucus, incredibly slippery. Several times his penis slipped out.

He slapped my buttocks hard as he fucked me, the sound echoing throughout the room.

Afterwards, I asked him how it felt.

He said: "I felt like I ejaculated my very marrow. "

---

One day, he touched my mouth and asked me: "Mom, what's this?"

I replied: "This is my eating tool." He pointed to his

penis and asked me: "What's this?" I said: "The fucking tool." "What's wrong?" He said : " The fucking tool wants to fuck the eating tool.

" I said: "No." He asked: "Why not? " I said: " I feel too humiliated. " He said: "Why do you think that?" I said: "That's just how I feel. " He said: "You said you didn't think I was dirty." I said: "I didn't think you were dirty." I was afraid I'd throw up. He said, "What's wrong with throwing up?" Then he seemed very relaxed. I said, "Easy for you to say. It's not going to go down your throat." He picked up a banana from the coffee table, peeled it, measured its length with a ruler, and said, "Mom, this banana is supposedly from Panama, 22 centimeters long with pure flesh." He handed me the peeled banana and said, "If you shove this whole banana down my throat, then I'll shove it down yours, okay?"

I looked at the banana; it was an exceptionally thick and long one. I said, "You'll throw up if you insert it halfway."

He said, "You haven't even inserted it yet, how do you know? There's a technique to it. Let me tell you. For deep-throating, just lie flat on the bed or the dining table, it doesn't matter. Just stick your head out from the edge, let it hang naturally, relax, open your mouth wide, and you're all set.

" I said, "What do you mean, 'all set'? It's that simple?"

He said, "It's that simple. Come on, try it."

Saying this, he lay flat on the large coffee table, his head sticking out from the edge, hanging naturally, and opened his mouth wide towards me.

I hesitantly picked up the thick, white, peeled banana and said, "I'm really going to insert it?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "If you can't take it, pinch my arm."

He said, "Yes."

I aimed one end of the banana at his mouth and began to slowly insert it.

He closed his eyes, and without biting the banana through his teeth, he actually swallowed the whole banana without vomiting. After

eating the banana, he sat up and said, "My penis is eighteen centimeters long when it's hardest." I want to tell you that some things, you always think they can't be done until you try; but actually, with practice, they might be possible.

I said: I'm telling you, I'm not rejecting you. Ever since your dad married me, he's been trying to shove me in the mouth. I gave in once, and I vomited half the bed. The sheets and blankets were washed and washed, but I still felt they weren't clean enough. After that, I never agreed to let him shove me in the mouth again.

He said: Mom, you and Dad are both so inexperienced. You have to fast for at least eighteen hours before deep throating.

I said: Anyway, do you know what it feels like when stomach contents are spraying out of your mouth and nose all at once? At that time, the pressure in my abdominal cavity was so strong that I lost control down there too.

He asked: Did you pee?

I said: It's worse than peeing. Suddenly, I don't know how it happened, but at the same time as I was vomiting the most, my lower body relaxed, and I vomited a mess on top and pooped all over my underwear.

He said: Never mind. Just pretend I didn't say anything. What are we eating tonight?

I still regret this to this day. My son and I are so close, I've never let him interrupt me. Actually, even if he did, what's the big deal?

Chapter
Eleven, June 1st

. That evening, I cooked dinner and brought the dishes to the table one by one.

My son stared at me blankly. I was naked, wearing only a maid's apron.

I said to my son: What are you staring at? Never seen a slut in an apron before? Come and eat.

He said: Mom, I just got a phone call.

I asked: Oh. Who?

He said: Dad.

I didn't think much of it: Oh. What's up?

He said: He said he's coming back.

I asked: Oh. It's almost Chinese New Year again. Years go by so fast. He

said: He said he's not coming back.

I was stunned, looking up at my son.

He said: He was laid off by his company.

That's when I realized what was going to happen. My ears rang, and a heat shot through the back of my head, like being hit on the head with a blunt object. I quickly asked my son: When is he coming back?

My son said: The day after tomorrow.

I panicked: So soon? What...what are we going to do with this house? Quickly tidy it up, don't let him find out. Hurry, hurry! Quickly make the single bed, make a mess of it.

He calmly said to me: "Mom, this time, one of us three is definitely going to lose our lives."

I looked at him. My son, my only child, stood directly under the ceiling light, his lips hardened, his features strong. He was right. Two tigers can't share one mountain.

I couldn't bear to lose him. I couldn't lose his father either. His father was nothing compared to him. He was getting old, all flabby, and his running shoes hadn't been worn for twenty years.

My intuition had already decided the outcome of this duel—my son would win, his father would be out.

I quickly whispered: "Don't talk nonsense. Someone's died, they'll investigate. If they investigate…"

He interrupted me: "If no one reports it, the authorities won't investigate. Who will investigate if no one files a complaint? Just for show?"

I said: "Then...how do you explain someone dying in the family for no reason?"

He coldly retorted: "Why should I explain?" "With whom? My grandparents died long ago, and I have no uncles, aunts, or great-uncles."

I said, "You have your maternal grandmother. We have neighbors. We haven't entered paradise yet. How can you be so foolish?"

His reaction intensified: "I hate it when you call me foolish. In fact, I'm much smarter than you, you just don't realize it."

I said, "Okay, okay, okay. You're smart, I'm foolish, alright? Let's hurry up and clean the house. Your dad is still your dad. If something happens to him, you'll feel guilty for the rest of your life."

He suddenly said, "How can you be so sure it's my dad who's going to die?"

I said, "Actually, Mom is quite worried about you too."

He said, "Mom, actually, I'm more worried about you."

I was shocked.

He continued calmly, "My dad is ruthless and cunning. After he comes back, I can't guarantee I can always be there to protect you."

I felt a chill run down my spine. Yes, it could be me who dies too.

---

The next day, my son went out. I sat on the sofa in my bathrobe watching TV, waiting for him.

It was very late when he came home, looking energetic, with a rosy complexion and remarkably young, as if he'd taken some kind of stimulant.

He said, "Mom, you're still awake?"

I said, "Of course. How could I sleep if you weren't home

?" He looked puzzled and innocently asked, "Are you going to have some bad luck again?"

I said, "You're the one who's going to have bad luck!

" He said, "Mom, I have something to tell you. I've fallen for a girl. She's really nice to me, very gentle. I'm starting to like her."

I said, "Oh."

He said, "I'll bring her home sometime, and I'll introduce you."

I exploded: "What do you think this is? An ultimatum? You little brat! Who do you think you are? She's gentle? Isn't your mother gentle? What did that slut do to you?"

He said, "You're not allowed to talk about my girlfriend like that."

I got angry: "But you can call your mother a slut!"

He said, "Your hysterical behavior is really annoying.

" I said, "You should talk about your mother like that!"

He said, "I hate your hysteria."

I said, "All women are hysterical."

He said, "No, my girlfriend isn't hysterical."

I said, "That's just her putting on an act. How long have you known her? Once you fully understand her, you'll find she's just like me—vulgar, lazy, selfish, and prone to periodic bouts of madness and extreme emotional outbursts."

He said, "Don't assume all women are like you."

I said, "All women are the same."

He said, "Wrong. She's younger and prettier than you."

I said, "Everyone ages, but it's more heartbreaking when a beautiful woman ages."

He said, "Don't worry, even if she ages quickly, she'll still be behind you."

I said, "Just you wait and see, young man. How old are you?"

He said, "I like her. I'm not asking for your permission. To tell you the truth, what you think doesn't matter, because this is my life."

I said: Wrong. This isn't just your life. This is our life together.

He said: I'll leave you sooner or later.

I asked: Why?

He suddenly laughed: Be mature, okay? You think I'll waste my whole life with you? Haha, you're so funny.

I said: You should address your mother as "you"!

He said: Face reality, this relationship is abnormal, don't pretend you don't know.

I said: No one can separate us. My love for you is eternal and endless.

He said coldly: I'm tired.

I pressed: What do you mean? You think I'm too old?

He said: I'm going to sleep.

I persisted: You keep telling me you like older women. You stop right there! Don't even think about sleeping until you explain yourself!

He said: Here we go again. The more irrational you are, the faster I'll leave you.

I said: Tell me, do you still love me?

I stared intently into his eyes, desperately observing his pupils. It's said that a person's pupils change when they lie. But I didn't see any change in my son's pupils.

He said: Yes.

I grabbed his hand like a lifeline: "That's good. Come on, let's talk."

He shook off my hand: "Please, I want to sleep."

My world was collapsing. I said: "Don't sleep! Let's talk. Come on, hold me."

I unbuttoned my robe, revealing my large, white breasts, soft belly, and round thighs to him.

He sighed and said: "I'm always on edge whenever I go out. Just hearing the neighbors whispering sends chills down my spine, making me feel like they all know about you and me. Every time I go back to my grandma's, I'm incredibly nervous, thinking she already knows, but just doesn't say it. Every time my buddy blurts out 'your mother's cunt,' I freeze, feeling like the end of the world is here, everyone knows, even if it's just a joke or a slip of the tongue. I'm afraid to stay out overnight, afraid I'll talk in my sleep! I'm so annoyed, so annoyed, so annoyed! I'm going crazy!"

I asked: "You think I don't have pressure?"

He said: "I know you have pressure too." But if you hadn't seduced me back then, would we be in this mess now? Neither human nor ghost.

I trembled with anger: You resent your mother?

He said: I hate you!

I was stunned, and asked him: How could you do this? I loved you with my body, and now you turn around and insult me?

He said: I'm insulting you!

I stammered: You devil, you're a devil!

He said: You slut, you slut, you cheap slut!

I trembled violently, unable to speak. I felt like I didn't quite recognize this young man in front of me.

I asked: Who are you? Are you my son?

He said: Unfortunately, I am your son. Mom, I want to live an upright life, not this despicable one. To be honest, I don't plan to maintain this perverted relationship with you for even a day longer.

I listened to my own son say this, my robe open, my white breasts exposed. My temples tightened. In this life, I've suffered, I've been insulted, but I've never been rejected.

He said: There's still a lot to say, we'll talk about it tomorrow. Now, I must go to sleep.

After he finished speaking, he resolutely walked into the bedroom. My legs went weak, and I could barely stand. I quickly grabbed the cabinet next to me and slowly sat down in a chair.

—

He slept beside me all night, snoring loudly.

I lay beside him all night, eyes open, my heart churning with unease and resentment.

I thought of the agonizing ten months I spent pregnant with him, the anxiety of not being able to carry him to term, of how I used to play with him as a child, make him laugh, and all the games we played together.

I laughed, I was intoxicated, I was dizzy, foolishly believing myself to be a happy woman, unaware that he was actually toying with me. Now, he had abandoned me, and the game was over.

What I did was unlike anything someone my age would do. I am not mentally sound. I really should mature.

Or perhaps my son wasn't truly in love with that girl. He was just hastily finding someone to appease his father? So, is there still a glimmer of hope? Oh no, I see no hope.

My son's words from last night kept replaying in my ears. They say alcohol emboldens the bold and speaks the truth when drunk. He kept those words to himself, things he wouldn't normally dare to say. Looking back, they actually made sense, but I couldn't accept them at the time. I even thought arguments were a good thing, because I felt we were becoming more like normal people. Ask anyone in the world, are there any couples who don't argue?

Arguments are a way to vent, a safe outlet for stress. It's a good thing he argues with me.

Later he said, "If I don't talk to you about these pressures, who else can I talk to?"

Thinking about it, he's right. He's just as frustrated as I am, maybe even more distressed. At least I'm married, with a husband and a son. What about him? Unmarried, no wife, no children.

But, thinking about it more carefully, I'm actually worse off than him. He's young, free from the constraints of marriage, free to come and go as he pleases, free to sleep with whomever he wants.

And me? I'm stuck at home day and night, pitifully waiting for my son to come home. But my son is out there sleeping with strange women.

That damned dad of his insisted on coming home and isn't even leaving. I'm so annoyed. Back when his dad was practically invisible, things between my son and me were relatively easy to hide. But this time, his dad's come back—frankly, he's been laid off; and me? I'm on medical retirement. Neither of us middle-aged people can find work again, we're constantly facing each other, unable to escape each other.

How am I supposed to hide my relationship with my son now? Should I make him move out and live separately? What if I miss him? Should I go to his place every day?

He woke up, rubbed his eyes, looked at me, smiled like an angel, and greeted me: "Hmm? You're awake too?"

I casually replied: "Yeah, that's right."

I didn't mention I hadn't slept all night.

He looked at the clock on the bedside table and said: "Oh, it's already eight o'clock?"

I said: "Yeah, it's eight o'clock."

He said: "I'm getting an erection again. Mom, feel it."

Saying that, he pulled my hand down and stuffed it into his underwear. A hot, hard penis stood proudly erect inside his underwear.

How many times has this penis given me friction, how many orgasms? I can't remember. Touching it now still sends a shiver down my spine. Is this the last time I'll touch it? Will I ever have this chance again?

He said, "Go down further, touch his balls."

I know he likes me touching his balls. If he's not hard, touching them will make him hard quickly; if he is, touching them will make him even harder.

I gently touched his balls.

He groaned comfortably, saying, "Premature erection is because I'm holding back a lot of hot pee."

I nodded, feeling heavy-hearted.

He kissed my cheek, grinning mischievously, and said, "I want to insert it now, and then pee in it, okay?"

I slowly stopped what I was doing, because I couldn't stand his hot-and-cold attitude towards me. What did he mean?

I said, "Son, you said yesterday you had a lot to say, what were they? Can you tell me now?"

His smile froze, and he asked, "What...what did I say to you yesterday?"

I countered, "Don't you remember?"

He said, "No. I drank outside yesterday, and I was already drunk when I got back." What exactly did I say yesterday?

I looked into his eyes and asked, "You really don't remember?"

He said, "Mom, when have I ever lied?"

I said, "You recently met a girl, right?"

He said, "Yes. She's a nice person."

I said, "What are your plans?"

He said, "No plans. Just seeing each other."

I asked, "How did you meet?"

He said, "In the restroom.

" I was shocked: "Huh?"

He said, "She was in a hurry to pee, there was a long line in the women's restroom, so she went into the men's room, and that's how we met. She's a decent girl, quite quiet-looking, with long hair..."

I interrupted him: "You're going to have a serious relationship with a girl you met in the restroom?"

He said, "What's wrong with the restroom?

" I said, "Isn't that inappropriate?"

He said, "It's better than incest, right?"

My son's rebuttal hit the nail on the head. I was speechless, and lowered my eyes.

He quickly said, "Mom, that's not what I meant. I meant that being with you is fine, and being with her is also good." I was thinking about whether there was a compromise.

I said, "Son, listen carefully, there is no compromise in this world."

My son immediately showered me with sweet words, trying to numb me.

I said, "You don't need to flatter me. I know I was wrong, I deserve to die. I shouldn't have done those things with my son."

He hugged me, kissed me, and apologized a thousand times. I made myself believe he was sincere, I let myself revel in it. I forgave him.

He said, "Mom, I love you. You'll never know how much I love you. Really."

I said, "But yesterday you said I was hysterical, that I was annoying."

He said, "I might have been possessed yesterday. Please don't mind."

I asked, "Which of your words are true?"

He said, "They're all true. I never lie."

I said, "Son, you're so contradictory. Isn't this a form of schizophrenia?"

He said, "Yes, who's to blame for my current situation?"

My heart, which had just been warmed, plummeted into an icy abyss again. What's wrong with my son? Why does he say things like that all the time? He's never loved me. His eyes are filled with hatred.

He coldly said, "I need to pee."

I felt terrible.

He looked at me, motionless.

I said, "Go ahead."

He asked, "So, you're not planning on trying anything new with me?"

I was in a terrible mood and listlessly asked, "What new stuff?"

He touched my vaginal opening and said, "Let me pee in it."

I then remembered his earlier suggestion, but I was so weak and confused; I really didn't want to.

I said, "I'm feeling a little unwell."

He said, "Conservatism is a sign of aging."

Honestly, I don't think I'm that old at all. I've never felt like I'm approaching menopause.

I said, "Oh, you think I'm old?" He said, "

No, some people are young at heart, but others are the opposite."

I said, "Some other time, okay? Another time I'll let you pee in it."

He got up and went to the bathroom to urinate. I got up, washed, cooked, and tidied up; everything seemed normal.

But a deep wound had been cut into my heart, still oozing pus and unhealed.

---

At the breakfast table, I asked my son, "What are your plans for today?"

He said, "Nothing."

I said, "Then invite your girlfriend over."

He said, "No."

I said, "You said you met a girlfriend. I believed you."

He said, "I really met her in the restroom. It was a high-class restroom, not one of those in the alleyways."

I said, "Let Mom meet her. Don't be nervous."

He said, "Never mind. I'll date her for a while longer and see if she's suitable. If she is, then I'll let you see her."

I said, "You said yesterday she was very gentle. Do you think Mom isn't gentle?

" He said, "No. You're both gentle, just in different ways."

I said, "How are you different? What did she do to you?

" He said, "That's my privacy."

His phone suddenly rang.

I asked, "Who is it? Calling so early?"

He ignored me, got up, and went to another room to answer the phone.

I tried to eavesdrop, but I couldn't hear clearly. His voice was very low.

After hanging up, my son seemed distracted and rushed out the door.

I felt incredibly disappointed. Did he really have a girlfriend? Could it be that he's fabricated a lie to get revenge for my previous "betrayal"—the day trip with his older brother, branding me with the word "betrayal"? I've repeatedly explained to my son that I only played the game physically, but I've always loved him emotionally, but he just won't believe me.

I'm also lost. Are there really two completely different kinds of betrayal: physical betrayal and emotional betrayal?

Betrayal is betrayal. Once you take that step, it's broken forever, irreparable.

No.

Chapter Twelve .

I felt lost all day. What was my son doing outside?

I told myself: Face reality, my son must really have a girlfriend. With his looks and qualifications, finding a girlfriend wouldn't be difficult. Before, I restricted his outward development, partly out of selfishness. I was afraid he'd get hurt, afraid he'd be rejected—in short, I was afraid of losing him. I've committed a sin, unforgivable. I've messed everything up.

Finally, my son came back from outside, travel-worn, but still full of energy.

After he showered, I asked: What did you all do?

He said: "Shopping, going to the park, watching movies, chatting, having sex, McDonald's, clubbing."

I sighed, "This is the life young people should truly enjoy."

I asked, "What did you guys do today?"

He said, "She tied my ankles and tickled my soles."

I said, "Huh? Did she take off your socks?"

He replied nonchalantly, "Tch, look at your question. She stripped me completely naked. See, you're jealous again.

" I pretended to be nonchalant and said, "No. Did you use protection?"

He said, "I wanted to wear a condom, but she insisted I ejaculate inside her. "

I asked, "You ejaculated?"

He said, "Of course, your son won't pretend to be a coward."

I said, "What if she gets pregnant?"

He said, "You can think she's a pervert, but she's not brain-dead. She has plenty of ways."

I said, "I know you don't like wearing condoms. You got what you wanted this time."

He said, "Of course! You don't know, flesh-on-flesh is so satisfying!"

Hearing this, I was tempted, grabbed his hand and put it inside my underwear, saying, "Mom, it's safe these two days." If you want, you can play with meat too.

He said: Mom, I paid my dues today, and I'm pretty tired now.

I held my son's hand down, my buttocks rubbing shamelessly against his, while I shamelessly asked, "What position are you using? How does she moan? Are her breasts bigger than mine?"

He said, "Not as big as yours, but her nipples seem more sensitive; they get hard as soon as I lick them."

My lustful heart pounded, overwhelming me. I said, "Really? Try licking them now. Mom can get them too."

My son started licking my nipples. I arched my back, meeting his mouth.

I started panting and asked, "Is she horny?"

He said, "Her. She twisted her waist as she was being fucked."

Hearing this aroused me, my body heated up, and I writhed in my son's arms, spreading my legs. My son masturbated me even more brutally.

I asked, "What else did she do?"

My son said, "She made me slap her mouth while I was fucking her." I slapped her hard across the face. She screamed in pain as I slapped her, and even asked me to spank her ass. I slapped her even harder. She made me call her a slut. So I did. Oh, she's getting aroused, her pussy is so wet, it's gushing out.

I closed my eyes, spread my legs, and let him masturbate me.

I said, "I want to hear you call me 'slut,' but I'm too embarrassed to say it."

He said, "You'll have to beg me."

I said, "Call me 'slut.' I'm begging you."

He said, "Slut, lie on the bed, your big white ass facing me, let me fuck you while I'm touching your asshole." So I touched it. The more I touched it, the more she twisted her waist. She's such a pervert, huh?

My head was already burning and numb. I knew I was close to my orgasm. I didn't answer his question, but suddenly changed the subject and asked, "Son, do you like to fuck Mom with your hand?"

He said, "Yes."

I was possessed by a lustful demon, shamelessly asking, "Will you fuck me later?"

He nodded and said, "Yes."

I said, "Didn't you already pay your dues?"

He said, "I'm a good member, I'll pay again."

He continued to masturbate me. I loved the feeling of him masturbating me. Every nerve ending in my body stood erect, welcoming his ravaging, welcoming his humiliation.

I helped him pry open my petals, fully exposing my clitoris; my own fingers aided and abetted the assault. Mucus, heat, lubrication, entry. I touched everything, except for shame.

He was still saying something, but by then I was already delirious, unable to hear clearly, or perhaps I heard clearly but couldn't remember. Everything before my eyes faded into a hazy white. Like a cold gun suddenly striking the back of my head, the climax arrived. My hot vagina began to contract, contract, contract violently. Mucus, discharge, secretions, and vaginal fluid mixed together, gushing out in spurts.

My thighs clamped violently together, trapping his hands between them, as if if I loosened my grip even slightly, he would disappear forever.

Contraction, contraction, contraction!

Contraction, contraction, contraction… The contractions finally stopped. I was completely powerless, collapsing into my son's arms. He held me, kissed me, gave me support, gave me strength.

---

When I finally managed to speak, I was incredibly weak and whispered, "Hurry up."

He asked, "What?"

I whispered, "Come in, fuck me."

My son flew into a rage, pulled his hand away from mine, and slapped me hard across the face.

I was stunned and stared at him, bewildered.

My prince said to me, "Mom, how can you be so shameless?"

I said, "It's just frankness."

He slapped me again and said, "You're so filthy!"

I said, "We're alive. Living is never clean."

He slapped me again and said, "You slutty old woman!"

I said, "Well said."

He slapped me again and said, "You old slut! Want to see your son fuck your girlfriend?"

I said, "Yes. The old slut wants to."

He slapped me again and said, "Slut! Slut!"

I said, "Yes, I'm a slut. Let the slut have a bite."

I pulled down his underwear and saw an angry bull.

I asked the bull, "Want to fuck Mom? "

The bull said, "Is that even a question?"

I urged the bull, "Come in then."

The bull thrust into my lower body with a "plop," stirring wildly. I realized he wasn't positioning it correctly, so I pressed my clitoris against his pubic bone and actively rotated my hips, starting to grind against him.

I'm a mature woman; I know what kind of stimulation I need and how easily I orgasm.

I said, "Don't move." I moved.

He said, "I'll go soft if I don't move!"

I teased him, "Is Mommy horny?"

He said, "Yes."

I asked, "Is Mommy cheap?"

He said, "Yes."

I asked, "Is Mommy's pussy pretty?"

He said, "Yes."

I asked, "Does the big male dog like to be fucked?"

He said, "Yes."

I asked, "Does the male dog want to lick my breasts?"

The big male dog grabbed my breasts and started licking them fiercely.

I felt the big male dog's penis get harder, and the thrusting became more vigorous. While fucking me, he said, "You horny pussy, your face is so pink, so sexy."

I felt both sore and itchy inside, unbearably uncomfortable, and I screamed as if I was going to die.

The room was filled with my moans and the wet, obscene sounds of our bodies colliding.

My son's thrusts slowed, and finally, his penis went limp and slipped out.

I knew that a dozen more thrusts and I would climax.

I asked, "Why did you go limp?"

He said, "I told you, I'm tired."

I felt like I was hanging on the edge of a cliff, unable to go up or down, it was so painful.

I grabbed the rolling pin he had used to hit me, stuffed it into my wet, slippery hole, and started masturbating in front of my son.

I had seduced him; he had increased my hormone levels. I had completely degenerated into a shameless slut.

My son watched me masturbate.

I said, "Will you still be able to get hard in a bit?"

He said, "Maybe."

I asked, "Do you still want to fuck Mommy?"

He said, "Yes."

I asked, "How do you want to fuck me?"

My son snatched the rolling pin and, while using it to rape me, described daring and lewd scenes in my ear.

My organs were swollen, my desire was rampant. I screamed and died happily in my son's arms. I

wished I could just die like that and never wake up again.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, the lights were still on, and my son was asleep beside me. We were both naked, like two shameless dogs.

I was incredibly thirsty and got up to get some water. Suddenly, the lights went out silently, and at the same time, the refrigerator compressor stopped.

Who pulled the switch? Was a thief about to break in? Or was it a child's prank? Later, I learned that we had been hit by a snowstorm; the snow and ice had caused many high-voltage transmission towers to collapse, paralyzing the city's power infrastructure. Darkness enveloped me. I woke my son and told him there was no power.

He put on his clothes, went out for a walk, and came back excitedly saying, "It's a complete power outage!"

He grabbed a flashlight and told me to come with him. I asked where we were going. He wouldn't tell me.

I wrapped myself in my bathrobe, and just as I was about to put on my socks, the devil grabbed me and said, "What are you putting on! No!"

I was dragged into the street barefoot in my bathrobe by my son. It was snowing heavily outside, the air was cold, and the ground was cold.

It was midnight, and the streets were deserted. This was a once-in-a-century citywide power outage.

I was extremely nervous. What if the power came back on? What if someone saw us?

He suddenly stopped and said to me, "You old bitch, pee!"

I obediently raised one leg, and peed like a dog into the roadside bushes.

As soon as I finished, my son grabbed me and dragged me forward again.

---

My son dragged me into a crematorium. It was empty. He dragged me to the crematorium and stopped in front of the furnace. He brutally stripped me naked and tied me up.

He ordered me, "Go in!"

I asked, "Why?"

He said, "Only by experiencing death can you truly live."

I said, "When I gave birth to you, I already experienced death."

He said, "That doesn't count. Go in!"

I was pushed into the yellow paper coffin, and the large drawer was shoved into the crematorium. My son closed the furnace door.

I lay in the crematorium, feeling that pounding heartbeat! I would lie here one day, burned, but not now. Now, I'm still alive. I know the power will be restored sooner or later, but I don't know exactly when. I struggled desperately, screaming at the top of my lungs.

My son pulled me out, untied the ropes binding me, and smiled, saying, "Well? Have you thought it all through?"

I said, "I've thought it all through. Now it's your turn!"

I snatched the rope, pushed him into the large drawer, shoved him into the crematorium, and closed the furnace door.

He struggled inside, making exaggerated faces at me, making me laugh out loud. Okay. The game should end here. Just

as I was about to pull him out, I suddenly realized the crematorium door had automatically locked. The power was unexpectedly restored! Power

came back on so quickly?

A programmed voice came over the loudspeaker behind me: "Family member, on your way!"

Several nozzles in the furnace began spraying gasoline at my son, then automatically ignited.

I saw my son sit up, desperately pounding on the scorching glass window of the iron door, his face filled with extreme terror. In the blink of an eye, his hair was burned off.

I didn't know which button to press to stop. I backed away, backed away, powerless.

The furnace roared, over a hundred orange-yellow flames dancing. The cremation had begun.

The programmed voice over the loudspeaker: "The cremation process has been initiated. This operation is irreversible. The ashes will be collected in twenty minutes."

This was retribution, a nightmare.

No, this wasn't a dream. This was happening. In the furnace, my son was fighting the flames bare-handed.

I was terrified, my legs went weak. I panicked, frantically trying to move, completely helpless.

In the furnace, my son stopped moving.

Gradually, I calmed down.

This devil was finally silenced, which wasn't so bad for me. A secret that a second person knows isn't a secret at all. Besides, this kid is a complete liar, he never even blushes when he lies.

—I

remember when he was ten months old, he got a strange illness. He had a high fever in the middle of the night, and medicine wouldn't bring it down, nor would physical cooling methods work.

He cried incessantly in my arms, his cries were so strange, I'd never heard him make that sound before. I looked down at him, trying to comfort him, and found his eyes frightening, strange and eerie to me, seemingly human, yet not quite. A pair of large, dark eyes stared at me blankly, devoid of any emotion. Suddenly, he weakly called out "Mama," the first time he'd ever called me that. Then, it was as if all his joints had fallen apart, his body went limp, his head tilted to the side, his neck arched back to an angle I'd never seen before.

I suddenly felt he was dying, that he was leaving me, that I was losing him. In the middle of the night, there was no one to hear my cries. I carried him to the hospital, but it felt like I was holding a corpse. I firmly believe that illness is evil, an out-of-body experience, possession by a nightmare, a demon. Each time a person gets sick, the "evil" accumulates more within their body. Perhaps a little grilling can completely eradicate it.

I remember him thrusting into me from behind, saying, "Mommy, I'm going to fuck you to death!" I remember

him telling me, "I'll leave you sooner or later."

I remember him masturbating me, then using a large, thick German sausage to fuck me until I was half-dead.

I remember something from my childhood. When I was very young, my parents separated, and I lived with my mother. Life was hard; the house was cramped, and we slept in the same bed.

I was three or four years old. One night, I felt the bed shaking and heard my mother moaning and groaning, like a sow in labor.

I groggily opened my eyes and saw the sow lying on her side, her back to me, wearing only a vest, her big white buttocks bare. A boar [not my father], naked and plump, was thrusting into my vagina, about ten centimeters away on the bed. Their act was ugly. The bed shook more and more violently, making a piercing creaking sound. The sow grunted. Creak, creak, grunt, grunt. Creak, creak, grunt, grunt. Creak, grunt, creak, grunt, grunt, grunt. Finally, the boar began to squeal, a mournful and terrifying sound, extremely eerie. The sow quickly covered his mouth.

The next morning, when I woke up, I found a pair of brand-new thermos flasks on the table, with glass liners, bright green plastic covers, and tacky bamboo panda prints.

I remembered that time when I was watching a TV series, and my son, unable to eat or sleep, came to me.

He said: Mom?

I said: Hmm? What's wrong?

He said: I feel unwell.

I said: How do you feel unwell?

He said: I just feel really unwell all over.

I said: Go back to your room and sleep. You won't feel unwell by tomorrow morning.

He said: I can't sleep.

I said: Relax, and you'll fall asleep.

He said: I've tried for two hours, but I just can't sleep.

I said: Take a hot bath.

He said: I did. It's no use.

I said, "Then what do you suggest we do?"

He said, "Mom, lately I keep thinking about women's bodies, about what's under their bras and inside their panties."

I looked at my son. My heart was pounding.

I took off my clothes and showed my body to my son.

He couldn't resist reaching out to touch it. I pushed his hand away and said, "You can only look, not touch.

" ---

Less than a centimeter below my left eye, there's a dark brown mole, not big, about the size of a full-width period in a size 4 Chinese character, but it's very noticeable on my face. I wanted to go to the hospital to have it frozen off with liquid nitrogen. My son said, "No. It's quite pretty, it's a beauty mark, keep it. Why go to the hospital? Surgery has risks, what if it gets infected and disfigures you?" A woman went to the dentist and got AIDS. Another woman had a fever and got leukemia while on an IV drip. The news on TV just aired about a woman who went for cosmetic surgery and ended up with a disfigured face, and now she walks around with a huge winter melon on her neck all the time. She's in the middle of a lawsuit. Even if she wins, what then? And here she is, a woman going to a dermatology clinic…

I felt really uncomfortable listening to this, so I quickly interrupted him: "Okay, okay, stop talking. I'm not going."

Later, I met someone who studied the I Ching or the Eight Trigrams. He said my mole was in a bad location and I should be careful. I asked how it was bad. He said it was called a "tear mole," also known as a "perpetual tear mole," meaning I was destined for great misfortune and would cry forever. I said I should go to the hospital to have it removed. He said everything was fate, predetermined, and no amount of alteration could change it.

Now, it all seems to have come true.

---

My fragmented memories were interrupted by a broadcast announcement: "Crimping complete. Collect the ashes."

I went forward and looked through the hot glass window. The flames in the furnace had died down. Only a layer of grayish-white powder remained on the tray, with a few slightly larger pieces of bone scattered around; I guessed they would turn to ashes with a single touch.

Son, I have finally lost you.

"Ding-lang-lang!"

My cell phone suddenly rang; it was our landline.

I answered and heard his father's voice: "Hey, I'm home. Where are you? What time does our son get out of school?"

I panicked and quickly hung up, my heart pounding. Thinking I had to get out of here right away,

I ran only two steps

before my phone rang again. This time it was Baldy's number.

After hesitating for a long time, I finally answered and heard Baldy's usual calm voice: "Auntie? Don't be nervous. We're safe now, no one's bothering us. I'll take care of your husband, absolutely no one will know. I've arranged a huge industrial sulfuric acid tank, there won't even be any bone fragments left, don't worry."

I was terrified and said, "W-you, what did you say? I didn't hear you clearly."

He calmly said, "Auntie, it's no big deal if two people die. Anyway, they both deserved to die."

I asked nervously, "Where are you?"

He slowly said, "Turn around now and look out the glass window."

I turned my head and looked out the large glass window and saw two bald men, one was my son's older brother, and the other was that nun.

My legs went completely weak.

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[Urban] Must be fucked to death (Complete) - Chapters 25-27 (End)

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