The Secret in the Wardrobe

With the Lunar New Year approaching, we had an old wardrobe at home that we needed to throw away. My father and I moved it downstairs together, thinking that he was getting old, so I moved it by myself in a cart to the intersection. Before the cleaning crew came, I checked again to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Just as I was about to pull out the bottom drawer, I found that it was stuck on the track and wouldn't move. I reached my hand into the opening and felt that it was empty inside. This wardrobe had been in my parents' room for who knows how many years, so it was normal for it to break. But I thought that the cleaning crew was also working hard, so why not help them out by taking down the parts that could be disassembled so that it would be easier to move? So I chose a secluded corner and pulled with all my might until I finally managed to pull the drawer out.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the wooden bottom of the drawer was warped and bulged downwards. It was probably because I had been stuffing too many things in it. I was bored while waiting, so I thought I'd flatten the bottom of the drawer. Maybe someone would think it was a waste to send it directly to the incinerator and recycle it to store things. So I flipped it over and started knocking and stepping on the bottom of the drawer. Suddenly, there was a crack. I thought, "Oh no, I used too much force and it might have cracked." When I flipped it over, I found a thin piece of wood and a small wooden booklet on the ground. It turned out that the drawer had a hard bottom and a thin layer of wood, and I had been hiding things in the middle. No wonder the middle was dented after being pressed for a long time.

It's a good thing it was discovered before it was thrown away, hidden so well. It would have been terrible if it contained something important. But if I were to return it, I would at least need to know who it was. What if it contained one of my parents' secret stash of money? It wouldn't be right for me to return it carelessly. When I opened it, I saw several numbers that looked like dates and some multi-digit numbers that were unclear. Judging from Xiujuan's handwriting, it should have been written by my mother. When I opened the second half of the book, I was dumbfounded.

The pages on the back of the notebook were all glued together, with a hole cut out in the middle to stuff in several photos. When I picked them up, they were all pictures of my mother. Not only were they scantily clad, but they were also the kind of photos where she was trying her best to be sexy and provocative, like kneeling with her buttocks raised high, milking her breasts, spreading her legs, and so on. As I looked at them, I could only explain to myself that there was nothing wrong with them. The colors in the photos were faded, so they must have been taken many years ago. My mother is middle-aged now, but she is still quite attractive. If it had been a few years earlier, of course she would have had more opportunities to be wilder, which is fine too. People always say you have to seize the last bit of youth.

Seeing the second half, I couldn't help but feel strange. My parents, who were an older man and a younger woman, always treated each other with respect. I never expected them to be so romantic. The next two photos gave me an unexpected answer. One was taken from a low angle, with my mother straddling behind my mother's beer belly. She seemed to be reaching out to grab the drink. The other photo showed the photographer's hand, holding a bottle of wine and preparing to give it to my mother. Her expression was somewhat dazed and confused, as if she was drunk. However, my father was in poor health and was very thin. He didn't have a beer belly at all. Besides, he never touched or bought alcohol. How could my mother have gotten so drunk with him?

Something's definitely fishy, I thought to myself. I looked at all the photos again carefully. My mother's expression was so alluring and confused, and her pose was so seductive and alluring. Oh no, I actually got an erection from looking at them. I forgot that I was still outside. I quickly took the photos and the book home to figure out what was going on.

My mother prepared lunch early, saying she was worried I'd be hungry because of my high activity level in the morning. Watching her get up and go to the kitchen to plate the food, I noticed she had shoulder-length, side-parted, medium-length curly hair. She wore a fitted light blue knit sweater with a white long skirt, revealing a small section of her leg, and flesh-colored stockings. She exuded a faint floral and fruity fragrance. Although my mother had a rather shapely figure, her attire was no different from that of an ordinary woman, and this was her usual style. She seemed quite conservative, so why would she agree to take such a photo?

However, all of this happened a few years ago. Now, in everyone's eyes, my mother is a virtuous wife and loving mother who takes good care of her husband and children and cares about her son's studies. But ever since that incident, whenever I hear someone praise her like that, I can't help but project the image of the lewd mother in the photo onto my mother. I secretly refute in my heart that my mother may not be as wonderful as everyone sees her, and I even look forward to seeing the unknown side of my mother.

This thought started to linger in my mind, and I would take out the photos every time I wanted to look at them, especially the one of my mother straddling that person and pulling at him. My mother's expression was so pitiful, and the beer belly just happened to cover the part of their lower bodies that were in contact. I could only see my mother's pink legs spreading apart, which gave me a lot of room for imagination. To be honest, I also used it to masturbate a few times. Whenever this image flashed in my mind, it would make me so excited that I couldn't help but ejaculate.

Stepping out of my room, I saw my mother reading in the living room, exuding elegance. I wanted to watch TV to distract myself, but she stopped me, admonishing me that I was in my final year of high school and should focus on my studies for the exams. She said that Taiwanese TV programs these days are all vulgar and tasteless, and she didn't want me to learn such things. Damn it, seeing my mother speaking so righteously and so convincingly made me feel annoyed. My mother's own experiences probably couldn't compare to those on TV, yet she dared to be so righteous. When she saw my expression change, she raised her voice and scolded me, "What's wrong? I can't even scold you anymore?"

The family has always been an authoritarian family. Because my father is older and less disciplined, my mother has always been in charge of the children's education. Perhaps because she is a woman, she is worried that she is too gentle and the children will not be able to be taught, so she can be very strict when she gets angry. In order to make up for my father's lack of discipline, she is even more strict than he is. Due to the habits formed since childhood, I still feel afraid when I see my mother's expression change. I can only touch my nose and apologize, saying that I will go back to my room to study now. But of course, I am not convinced. And it is my mother who has a problem. The more I think about it, the more unhappy I become. Just don't let me find out about the pornographic photos.

So I started thinking about the photos. I had no idea who the subject was or when they were taken. I didn't dare to sneak a look at my mother's notebooks. It was from the past, so looking at the current ones wouldn't help. After thinking about it, the only way to keep the older data was to start with the computer. Coincidentally, the whole family only had that old computer that had been used for a long time, and only my mother and I knew how to use it. I originally wanted to buy another one for my room, but my mother objected because she didn't want me to start playing video games. My mother probably never expected that her insistence on sharing would result in me being able to use it to investigate her.

My mother's email is a key part of her life. She uses it to log in automatically for convenience. People of her generation don't care as much about internet security as we do. I looked at some invitations to parties and reunions, and there was nothing strange about them. Thinking about it from another perspective, my mother can be so close to these people. Based on my understanding of my mother, they must be very familiar with each other. I decided to start by checking the senders. After listing them, wow, I found something. There was one email that someone with an English name sent the most. He would send my mother an email every two months on average. Each email just said, "Teacher, let's get together," along with an address and a date. The earliest one started three years ago and has continued uninterrupted until now. Seeing this, I should also reflect on myself. I didn't even notice anything wrong with my mother all these years.

My mother's teacher is going to revisit things around the time I was born. I think she teaches dance. It seems like the other person has known my mother for a long time. Whoever he is, the latest letter is still a while away. I can find out then. When I closed the webpage, I realized that my mother had gotten very close to me. Luckily, I wasn't found out. She told me not to stay online all the time and to take out the trash at night. Fine, I want to test my mother this time.

After taking out the trash and returning home, I found my father watching TV in the living room and my mother leisurely reading her book at the dining table. I walked between them, turned to my mother, and said, "Mom, the cleaning crew was complaining that our wardrobe was difficult to disassemble the other day." My mother, still looking down at her book, replied nonchalantly, "Oh, why?" I continued, "They thought the wardrobe was too big and difficult to move, so they wanted to disassemble it for easier transport, but the bottom drawer got stuck." My mother didn't react at all. I wondered if she had forgotten or was pretending not to have hidden anything.

I deliberately mentioned that I didn't expect the other party to still have the perseverance to pull out the bottom drawer. Only then did my mother raise her face and stare at me. When I mentioned that the cleaning crew planned to disassemble the drawer, I could see that my mother's face darkened for a moment. But I stopped the conversation at this point and complained that my parents hadn't left to listen to me. I stopped talking and sat down next to my father to watch TV together. I glanced at my mother from the side. She had already closed her book, and her eyes were looking around, so I could tell that she was a little uneasy.

Not long after, my mother sat down. She kept reminding my father to take his medicine and telling him to go to bed early. It was obvious she was trying to get him out of the way. After my father finally left the living room, my mother suddenly started talking to me about how she wasn't listening to me. She was trying to get me to continue talking about what had just happened. I knew she really wanted to know about the drawer. I thought to myself, "You're so worried about this. You even took those kinds of photos back then. You usually act like a respectable woman." I really wanted to peel off that facade.

To win my mother's favor without antagonizing her, I suddenly had an idea. I initially planned to scare her by saying the drawer had been dismantled, but then I changed my story to stopping them from doing so and helping to put the intact drawer on the garbage truck. After I explained this, my mother seemed more relaxed and unconsciously praised me for doing a good job. Before going back to my room, I deliberately said to my mother, "After asking so many questions, I hope you didn't forget to take something out." She shrugged and replied casually, "No, I didn't." Ha, she's really good at pretending.

Finally, the date they arranged to meet arrived. I pretended to be sick and took the day off. My mother complained that she had plans with a friend today and couldn't take care of me. Why did she have to pick this time to be sick? I thought to myself, if that's really the case, she should stay and take care of me. It's not like I can't refuse her. Later that evening, I saw my mother come out of her room. She had changed her clothes and put on makeup. She was wearing a well-fitting white shirt and a gray skirt. The skirt was short, above the knee, and she was wearing black sheer stockings with heart embellishments. I had never seen my mother show off her legs like this before, let alone in stockings like that. Damn, who is she going to meet dressed so provocatively?

Hearing the click-clack of her high heels as she walked downstairs, I quickly put on my hat and changed my clothes. It took a little longer for my second child to recover from the swelling, but that was alright. When I ran downstairs, I saw my mother had just reached the street corner. This feeling of prying into my mother's privacy was actually quite exciting. After crossing two more intersections, my mother stopped and waited by the sidewalk. Soon after, a black Mazda 3 approached and rolled down the window. My mother opened the door and got in. It was too far away for me to see who was inside, and besides, I was in a hurry to hail a taxi.

I told the driver to follow the Mazda 3 in front of us, and we drove to the entrance of a restaurant. First, I saw a short, overweight man in ordinary clothes get out of the car. Judging from his figure, I thought that the guy with the beer belly in the photo was probably him. Then my mother got out of the car, and the waiter drove the car to park. I was really unwilling to accept this. My mother is at least 170cm tall, and with high heels, she looks even taller and more slender. Compared to my mother, the other man was probably only about 163cm. No matter what, he shouldn't have been interested in this much shorter, fat guy.

Luckily, they were sitting by the window, and I was able to keep an eye on them from the bus stop bench across the street. Their interaction was alright, but I could tell the man kept taking the opportunity to hold or touch my mother's hand, while my mother was rather passive. I thought to myself, thankfully my mother is quite modest. But how am I supposed to explain her dressed so provocatively to him? Ah~ my feelings are so complicated. The man leaned forward against the table, his hands under the table seeming to be rubbing together, I don't know what he was doing, while my mother covered her mouth and laughed. Could he be playing with my mother's legs?

Just thinking about it made me aroused. I really couldn't believe it. What happened to my respectable mother? How could she be having an affair with someone like that? Seeing my mother's elegant smile at the table across the street, while I was ashen-faced, I lost track of time. I only came back to my senses when they seemed to have finished eating and were about to leave the restaurant. I was on the other side, so it was hard to follow them. I quickly ran to the right onto the crosswalk to wait for the green light. From a distance, I could see that the man seemed to have gotten the car keys, but they were walking in the same direction as me.

Seeing the two of them just crossing the street, I thought, "Oh no!" I retreated behind a tree and peeked. They continued walking and stopped in front of the lobby of a building with signs for a bookstore, a beverage shop, and a restaurant. Finally, on the 12th floor, there was a sign for a motel. Damn it, no way, Mom, you were just taken up there to have sex? Although I wasn't sure if it was as I suspected, I didn't want anything to happen.

Just as they were about to walk towards the building, I hurriedly grabbed my phone and called my mother. She stopped after taking two steps, took the phone out of her bag, and turned around to answer it. I heard my mother asking what was wrong, and then I saw her turn to talk to someone else. I vaguely heard her say "my son," so I said that I had gone out to buy lunch but forgot to bring money. I asked where she was and if it would be convenient for her to come back. My mother replied that it was a bit far, and suggested I borrow the key from the aunt downstairs first, promising to return it when I got back. I added that I didn't think I'd even brought the key. My mother said displeasedly, "Oh, you're so forgetful! But I really can't get back right now. Wait a minute." I watched as my mother walked away from the man, covering her mouth and whispering that she had a spare family key in the black boots in her shoe cabinet. If not, she suggested calling a locksmith and borrowing the money from the aunt.

I was utterly despondent, thinking, "Mother, you'd rather give yourself to that ugly man than come back?" I answered with a soft "oh," feeling extremely jealous. Suddenly, the man walked behind her and put his hand on my mother's waist. Then, a voice came through the phone: "Okay, that's all for now. I'll be back in a bit. Bye," and he hung up. I thought, "Damn it, Mom, you think it's that easy?" She was so reserved during dinner. Seeing my mother putting her phone into her bag, I angrily picked up my phone, adjusted the camera to its longest zoom, and although it was blurry, I could still make out my mother's face. I started taking pictures. My mother turned around and walked up the stairs. The image of that lewd hand circling and groping my mother's fleshy buttocks was all on my phone. Although my mother slapped me away, she didn't seem angry. I was furious. It's a pity I couldn't capture the elevator floor, otherwise, the evidence would be irrefutable.

I took the bus home feeling dejected, my mind completely blank. I should have been unresponsive to my surroundings, but suddenly I overheard an old man getting off at the same stop saying to his friend, "Don't let the good stuff go to outsiders." For some reason, I only heard that one sentence, and it resonated deeply with me. Yes, the good stuff shouldn't go to outsiders.

In the evening, as soon as my mother came in, she saw me and said, "I was wondering why you didn't borrow money from my aunt." Seeing that my mother's face was rosy and she was in a good mood, I figured the sweet stockings must have worked well, and she must have had a great time. With the New Year approaching, how dare you cheat on us? To catch this big fish, I guess I'll have to hold back for now. I replied with a silly grin. Later, I found some money hidden in my coat pocket, so I was out of trouble. My mother said that was good. As she was about to walk towards her room, I added, "Mom, you look very beautiful today. Those long, beautiful legs of yours are really attractive to me."

She stopped and scolded me for talking nonsense, asking how I could say such things to my own mother. I stuck out my tongue and apologized before she went back to her room. In the past, if I said something wrong intentionally or unintentionally and was scolded by her, I would feel guilty. But after what happened today, and this time I even deliberately flirted with my mother, I felt no guilt at all when I was scolded. Soon after, my mother came out of her room, having changed back into her usual long dress, but she hadn't removed her makeup. Her exposed calves showed that she was still wearing those sheer black stockings with black heart dots. She started doing housework, looking every bit the virtuous wife. She really was outwardly virtuous but inwardly lewd.

I don't care about ethics or morality anymore. Thinking about how my mother acted like that person makes me feel really resentful. Because once, I went to a department store with my mother. The elevator was crowded, and suddenly more people squeezed in on a certain floor. She was standing in front of me, and my mother wanted to back up, but I was already leaning against the elevator wall. With so many people around me, I obviously couldn't pull my hand out. Seeing my mother push back again, I had no choice but to raise my hand and push her up and press it against her pert buttocks, telling her that I couldn't back up anymore, so that I would have some space.

Later, when people were getting in and out of the elevator, it was inevitable that there would be some jostling, so I kept my hands on my mother's body. After we got out of the elevator, my mother was very unhappy and scolded me for touching her like that. Then, in the empty stairwell, she gave me a good scolding and kept emphasizing that I should respect other people's bodies. At that time, although I felt wronged, I still reflected on my actions and thought that maybe my mother was a traditional woman and didn't like her body being touched, especially sensitive areas like her buttocks.

I still remember these admonitions, yet my mother allowed outsiders to put their arms around her waist and touch her buttocks without any resistance. I can't blame myself for being stubborn, but later a really extreme thought appeared. It seems that my mother had already accepted that her body belonged exclusively to that person, and that she would reject being touched by us relatives as if she was afraid of being defiled.

I glared at my mother's back as she bent over, dragging her skirt across the floor. Because of her posture, her buttocks were naturally sticking out. Because the skirt was long and made of a lot of fabric, it was relatively heavy, so it naturally clung to my mother's buttocks. When the light shone on it, a large shadow appeared on her lower buttocks, and the contrast between black and white was very obvious. It was clear that my mother's buttocks were fleshy and perky. From a distance, they looked like two round white steamed buns sandwiched together, slowly swaying from side to side. I never thought much of it before, but today it really struck me. After all, my mother's legs were the highlight.

If my mother were dressed conservatively from head to toe, I would have just glanced at her and moved on. But the fact that she was wearing black sheer stockings with heart-shaped black dots on her legs created such a striking contrast that it drew my attention downwards. Wearing those stockings was clearly a sexual innuendo. As I thought about it, my penis twitched. It really felt good. You slut, just wait and see how I get you.

I went over to my mother and offered to help. She straightened up and told me it wasn't necessary, that I should rest when I was sick. I noticed her forehead was covered in sweat, her body temperature was rising, and the fragrance was becoming stronger and more pervasive, making me even more itchy. I explained that I thought moving around and sweating might help me get better faster. My mother thought for a moment and said that was fine. I was a little tired. I thought to myself, "That's true. I don't know how many times I've had my way with this, it's really tiring." I brought over another bucket and a mop, and also gave her a clothespin.

I explained that my mother's long skirt would be inconvenient and might get wet, so I used this to clip a section up to make it easier for her to do things. My mother looked pleased but said sarcastically, "When did you become so thoughtful?" Actually, my intention was just to make her shorten her skirt. Later, my mother folded her long skirt a few times, pinched one corner, and clipped it up. Great! It looked like a fluffy and unique cake skirt, with her thighs showing.

I didn't dare openly ogle my mother's long legs. I walked behind her, but I would still occasionally turn my head to peek at her back and her beautiful feet. I would also deliberately squat down to look up at the scenery under her skirt. I never thought that spying on my mother would be just as exciting as watching a strange woman. Seeing that mysterious area of my mother's private parts, my evil thoughts grew stronger. At that moment, I happened to have a mop in my hand. I squatted down and slowly slid the handle of the mop under my mother's skirt, moving it between her legs. Seeing that she was mopping seriously and didn't pay attention to what was behind her, I pretended to squat down and mop the floor. I aimed the end of the handle at a 50-degree angle at her plump vulva, grabbed it with both hands, and pulled it back forcefully.

My mother let out a surprised "Oh!" I quickly turned around and apologized, saying I had accidentally hit her. My mother turned around, her brow furrowed slightly, and one hand was behind her back, seemingly touching her buttocks. I pressed her to tell me where I had hit her and if she was alright, but her expression didn't change. She simply said it was nothing. I saw her turn around again, but she was now standing slightly off-center from me, not in a straight line.

I felt great, but I felt that one time wasn't enough. I wanted to properly punish your lewd mother's cunt. After a while, I slowly stood behind my mother again, intending to use the same trick again. But this time I missed and hit my mother's left inner thigh first, then scratched her private parts hard. My mother let out a deep "hmm". Seeing her turn around suddenly, I quickly turned my head back and pretended not to know anything. I continued the action, and even pretended to squat down and vigorously clean a tile as if scrubbing it, muttering that I couldn't get it up.

There was no movement behind me; they were probably observing. After all, my private parts had been violated twice in a row. What a coincidence! My mother is a very shrewd woman; she might have become suspicious. A moment later, I felt like I had been caught red-handed. I turned around, and my mother didn't look too happy. She asked me to drag her to the other side of the living room, saying it was dangerous for the two of us to be in the same area. I asked if she had hurt me again. My mother nodded slightly and quickly said, "Oh, is that so? Are there any bruises?" I looked, and my mother hurriedly shook her head, saying, "It's okay, no need." She even took a step back, looking apologetic, and said, "I was really rough just now. It's really nothing." My mother said helplessly, "It only hit my stomach. It's okay, you didn't do it on purpose." I pressed her, asking why she didn't seem happy. She replied that she was probably tired.

Just then, hearing my mother say that, I took the opportunity to say that I would give her a back massage and a foot massage later to help her relax. As soon as I said it, I suddenly felt terrible. Earlier, I had teased her and wanted to touch her legs. Was my intention too obvious? But I guess those two touches earlier had made my mother upset, so I didn't expect her to agree so readily.

I started by patting her back as a pretense. When my mother slowly closed her eyes and seemed to be relaxing and enjoying herself, the time was right. I moved in front of her, and finally, the most anticipated part arrived: I got to play with my mother's beautiful legs. When my mother's stockinged legs were placed in my palm, I saw the heart-shaped dots distributed on her pink and tender flesh. They looked even more alluring up close. I smelled a faint body fragrance, which almost made me lose my mind and start touching and licking them.

Unfortunately, my mother didn't let me go too far soon. In the end, I could only massage my calves, touch every inch of my thighs, and sneak a little intimacy to finish the trip. I thought I had to say goodbye to these sexy legs. I wondered when I would have another chance to see my mother dressed like this. I wondered if I would have to wait until my mother had a rendezvous with that fat man. The thought that my mother had worn these stockings for that man filled me with jealousy that made me want to tear them to shreds.

Then a brilliant idea struck me: tear it! Just as my mother picked up the newspaper and it happened to cover my eyes, I secretly bit a few nails to make a small thorn, and suddenly—rip! I cried out, "Oops, Mom, I'm sorry, I accidentally tore your socks!" My mother closed the newspaper, quickly put her legs down, and saw two very obvious wide tears. I made the tear quite noticeable. She sighed softly, as if she didn't know what to say, and could only remind me to trim my nails later. I said I'd buy her a new pair, but my mother said she'd buy them herself.

Although my mother's image of chastity might be fabricated, her thrifty and hardworking nature is real, which is why others consider her virtuous. I seized on this point and made up a story about seeing some cheap ones online, where a few pieces wouldn't cost much. I made it sound like it was cheaper than buying a pair myself. Suddenly, my mother questioned me, asking how I, a boy, could have looked at such things. Luckily, I was quick-witted and made up a story about a robbery scene in a school play, which is how I found out. My mother accepted this explanation with some skepticism, but it still gave me a real scare.

Later, I succeeded in my plan. I bought a lot of stockings online that I really liked, such as lace thigh-high stockings, flesh-colored fishnet stockings, and stockings with silver embellishments. I even deliberately chose the kind that only went up to the thighs. I thought that rather than letting others see them, I would rather my mother wear them for me to enjoy every day, so I could fantasize about the body hidden under those conservative clothes, and also give my dad a treat. I'm confident my mother will wear it. Even if the style is too daring for her, as long as it's covered by a long skirt or trousers, no one will know what she's wearing. Since my mother is the kind of person who doesn't waste things, she wouldn't dare give it away. Besides, stockings are an essential part of her daily attire. I bought more to gradually get her into the habit, and also to replace her unchanging flesh-colored stockings.

After I gave them to my mother, she complained a few days later about buying strange things, but she didn't say anything more. She still wanted me to tell her how to buy them, as she wanted to buy some ordinary ones while they were cheap. She made up a lie, saying they were from an auction and the website was temporarily shut down, which stopped her from doing so. Luckily, she's not that familiar with the internet at her age, or she would have been exposed.

During that time, I admired my mother's stockings every day. After a while, my mother started trying them on, and the thought of her wearing sexy stockings that reached her thighs made me very excited. After that, Dad's mood improved. Could it be that Mom had become more alluring, giving him the motivation to thrust into her passionately at night? Thinking about this, I was incredibly envious of him. How wonderful it would be if I could also sleep with Mom.

Not long after, another letter arrived, urging Mom to have an affair. Checking the calendar, it was again scheduled for a weekday. Looking back at previous letters, it was always the same. No wonder Dad and I had been completely unaware all these years. But this time, I couldn't use the fake illness trick. Wouldn't that force me to skip school? Okay, I'll take the plunge. Even if I have to confront them this time, I'll stop Mom from being slept with again.

That day, I went to school first, and after roll call, I said I wasn't feeling well and went to the infirmary. I asked a few of my good friends to keep watch, and told them to call me if anything happened. Then I rushed home to the alley entrance. I checked my watch and it was almost time for my mother to leave. Soon after, the electric lock on the iron gate downstairs opened, and my mother came out. Surprisingly, my mother was dressed very casually today, in an apricot-colored long dress, but I could still tell she was wearing makeup. This time, she was heading in a different direction than last time. I was relieved that my mother might have stopped bothering the other person, but when my mother got closer, I saw her whole body, which shattered my assumptions.

I never saw her wear those nude fishnet stockings before, and they were the ones I was most looking forward to seeing her wear. Damn it, a strong sense of resentment welled up inside me, like I was doing all the work for someone else. Since that's how it is, I followed her. This time, she didn't come to pick me up in her car; instead, my mother took the MRT by herself. I thought she was being so careful, changing modes of transportation. But when she told me later that she was just chatting with her under the covers, I'd never believe a second.

I felt like we walked around for ages before my mother finally stopped at a street corner. The other person appeared and walked towards her. I watched as he took my mother's hand, and the two of them walked down the street like that. I was furious. I saw hostels all around, and I was anxious, afraid that they would turn around and go inside before I could stop them. I couldn't think of anything else, so I just kept following them closer and closer. But the man kept turning his head to chat with my mother, and she never turned her face away. I was hoping that she would notice me watching her because of the conversation.

They were quite adept at wandering around, seemingly worried that their phones wouldn't have enough storage to record or would run out of battery. One moment they looked up and the person was gone; they must have turned the corner again. They jogged forward, when suddenly the fat man turned around and walked out from the corner, blocking their way. He stood with his hands in front of his chest, asking aggressively who they were and why they were following them. They wondered why their mother hadn't come out with them. They didn't say anything, just glared at him. Suddenly, he took a few steps back and told the person blocked by the wall that he'd take care of things. That person was probably their mother.

Damn it, the thief is crying "stop thief!" while acting all manly and protecting his mother. It's ridiculous. Then he started yelling at me to talk, but I ignored him and walked towards the corner. I was just one step away from crossing when he grabbed my shoulder, saying something about calling the police if I was being followed. That really enraged me. So I asked him if he should be sued for interfering with his family, and then gritted my teeth and said, "I'm the son of the woman you were holding hands with."

I don't remember how she reacted, but she immediately let go of my hand. I turned around in a flash and saw my mother standing there, her eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth, her face ashen and at a loss. I stared at her with bloodshot eyes and coldly called out, "Mom." She asked me in a low, embarrassed voice why I was there and why I wasn't in class. Her voice grew softer and softer. I didn't answer, but just said seriously, "Aren't you coming with me?" I turned around and saw that the man seemed to have slipped away. Damn it, cowards are wicked.

I walked ahead the whole way, with my mother following silently behind. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer and came over to pull my hand, asking me to listen to her explanation. Fine, I also wanted to ask about the photos, but the things were in my room, so I told my mother that I would talk about it when we got home. In the taxi, my mother took the initiative to call the school to ask for leave for me, seemingly afraid to pursue the matter of me skipping class.

I insisted on talking in my room. Psychology doesn't say there's such a thing as home-field advantage, so I absolutely refused to let my mother talk in her room. However, my mother was guilty and listened to me on these little things. There was also another point: my recorder was in the room. At first, of course, I asked who the other person was. My mother said it was a student's ex-boyfriend from when she was still teaching dance. Wow, that's a really distant relationship. If that's the case, then he's only about 10 years younger than my mother and a few years older than me. How could he have gotten involved with someone like that?

Then she couldn't finish her sentence. No problem, I'll start for my mother. I began to explain why I skipped class today because I was in a bad mood. Then I took the small wooden booklet from the drawer and threw it on the table, casually telling her that the cleaning staff gave it to me last night. I thought to myself that I was not good at making up lies. Most people would be too busy keeping such explicit photos to keep them and would return them to their rightful owner. But when my mother saw it, she slumped back on my bed, head down and silent. She probably didn't care to expose my lie.

I pulled out that lewd photo of him straddling a beer belly, and I said sternly that this person wasn't my dad. How could I explain that? I pointed out that this was the guy from earlier. My mother didn't deny it, but she started sobbing. Was she pretending to be pitiful? I didn't know, but my mother still seemed unwilling to talk about it. I said angrily, "Look at you wearing those fishnet stockings to your rendezvous!" and then I reached out and lifted my mother's long skirt all the way up to her thighs. This was quite an outrageous act. Normally, she would have been furious, but she didn't react much. Was it because she felt guilty?

This was going to go on forever. I thought I'd scare her by saying I'd tell Dad if she didn't talk, but when my mother heard this, she suddenly yelled at me, "It's one thing to talk to outsiders, but I never expected even my own son to threaten me!" I was startled, so I softened my tone and said I just wanted to help her. My mother said sadly that there was nothing to help her with, except that she had gotten into trouble while drinking once and someone had taken a picture of her doing this. She didn't dare to say anything now, but if it were my mother from before, everyone would say she was a woman of dignity. How could she have gone out drinking with a young man and lost her virginity?

When I raised my questions, my mother retorted, "Why do you need to know so much?" Never mind, that's not the point. So I asked her how he threatened her. My mother said that the notebook didn't have a number on it; it was hush money she had originally offered to give him, but he refused. He even confessed that he had been secretly in love with my mother, the teacher, behind his ex-girlfriend's back. He finally caught my mother again, so he demanded that she accompany him regularly so he wouldn't tell her family. I wanted to ask her how many times she had been cheated on, but don't be silly, given my mother's personality, she would never tell.

My mother actually agreed to these ridiculous conditions. Of course, she admitted that she was bewitched. She had a big fight with my father at the time and her mind was not clear. She simply thought it was a student get-together, an opportunity to drink and drown her sorrows. She was really on guard. However, I still don't quite believe it. Although what she said made me feel that there was a bit of coercion in the photos, I think that some of the photos were posed by my mother semi-voluntarily. Moreover, I saw them holding hands, touching buttocks, and laughing and talking on both occasions when I caught them cheating.

My face darkened, and I said with a pained expression that my mother still wasn't telling the truth. I laid my cards on the table and showed her the photos from the first time we took them, implying that she had consented. My mother was stunned at first, then her expression turned angry. She said that I had already been with her twice, but I retorted fiercely, asking what was wrong with her frivolous and provocative attire and her unladylike attitude.

My mother gave up on explaining and said, "Whatever you think is what you think," and turned away, not intending to leave me. "Fine, you slut, so you're admitting to being promiscuous at heart? And Mom, did you forget that you were in my room? Wearing those alluring nude fishnet stockings. Fine, I won't be polite anymore." I turned around and secretly turned off the recorder, taking off my uniform pants as well.

The metal belt clicked, and my mother turned around to see me naked from the waist down, with my erect penis. She was shocked and tried to get up, her eyes wide as she asked what I was doing. But I pounced on her, knocking her soft, warm body down. It was too late for her to close her legs.

She frantically yelled at me, "What are you doing? Let me go!" Her body twisted and struggled, but I pinned her hands above her head. After a while, she stopped struggling and glared at me fiercely with piercing eyes. In a stern tone, she said, "I'm your mother. Let go!" I replied weakly, "You used to be my only set of values, but today they've been completely destroyed. The person in front of me is no longer my mother; she's just a woman. Otherwise, I'd go crazy thinking like this."

My mother said worriedly that she didn't know what I was talking about and told me to calm down. But I ignored her and continued talking, saying that I felt a strong connection to these photos. "It's your fault for never letting me have a girlfriend, while you're out there messing around. If you won't let me eat out today, I'll eat at home." My mother already knew what I wanted to do and pleaded angrily, "You absolutely can't do this!"

I decided to use one hand to control both of them. As soon as I released my left hand, she started slapping my face repeatedly. I endured the pain and, taking advantage of the weakening of her attacks, managed to regain control. I freed one hand and reached for my mother's panties. When my fingers smoothly burrowed into her vulva, she turned ashen-faced and begged me to turn back. Seeing my mother's resistance, I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy any foreplay this time, so it seemed like I should just go straight to climax. I pulled down my underwear, aimed at my mother's tight little hole that was trying to dodge with all her might, and thrust in with all my might. A long, mournful moan echoed in the room. I never expected that I would not go soft that time... I was also almost completely inside my mother's flesh, enjoying the place where she enveloped my huge penis.

Actually, it hadn't been long since I started having sex with my mother, but her morals and reason seemed to have collapsed. I don't know if this intense sexual situation aroused her lustful nature or if she felt that resistance was futile. Suddenly, my mother slowly raised her arms and wrapped them around my back, bringing her face close to my ear and breathing softly. At that moment, I knew that my mother was letting me do as I pleased, allowing me to have intimate contact with her throughout. Yes, there were no restrictions set.

I ejaculated inside her body again and again, inside her vagina, on her buttocks, on her face, on her breasts, and dripped all over her body. I've never ejaculated more than three times in a row, nor have I ever experienced getting hard again immediately after ejaculating and continuing to thrust. My mother could make me hard just by using her vaginal muscles to make me ejaculate again.

Later, looking at my mother's seductive charm tonight, that kind of reserved yet wanton tenderness, I realized that what made me get hard again was no longer the visual, tactile, or auditory temptation, but the pleasure of conquering the desire that was usually deeply hidden, intertwined with the virtuous wife and loving mother qualities of my mother. I'm not sure if my mother had an orgasm, but I experienced pleasure four times on her. The last time, I couldn't ejaculate; my penis was just twitching inside her vagina. After that intense and stimulating "mother-son communication," my mother gradually calmed down from her heightened desire. She sat on my bed in a slumped position, head down, silent. I could still see my semen gushing from her genitals; the sheets beneath her were soaked. When I tried to touch her face, she disdainfully blocked me. I asked smugly if I was more capable than that student, right? My mother glared at me but didn't answer. Finally, she forced out a cold question: "Are you satisfied? Can this wipe the slate clean?"

I just smiled, and my mother then tried to leave my room quickly, but I grabbed her arm. She couldn't shake me off and asked me what I wanted. I whispered in my mother's ear, "Mom, if you really have this need, you can come to me later." After hearing this, my mother pushed me away forcefully and scolded me, saying, "I won't let you off so easily. Besides, don't you consider me your mother anymore?" I replied, "Mom, you didn't treat me like your son when we were in bed just now either." After hearing this, she snorted, turned her head, and left.

I quickly grabbed the recorder from the drawer, removed the memory card and hid it, then chased after my mother into the living room. I called out to her and waved the device in my hand. My mother's eyes widened in disbelief; her lips seemed to want to reprimand me, but she trembled slightly and could barely speak. Then I went over and put my arm around her waist from behind, turning to her and saying, "From now on, if I need anything, I'll leave it to you, Mom." I could feel her trembling with anger. Later, I asked her again, and tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, "Whatever."

Later, I really enjoyed it, but I didn't force my mother to have sex with me again for a few days. I only kissed her forcefully and poked and prodded her when we were alone. Sometimes my mother would still resist. After a while, about one or two months, my mother got used to having intimate physical contact with me, so she was more willing to let me caress or penetrate her at will.

When I felt the time was right, one weekend while my father was taking a nap, I invited my mother to my room. She knew exactly what I wanted to do. And so, we had consensual sex. I didn't use a condom and ejaculated inside her, but she didn't say anything. During the act, I deliberately paused at the most intense moments to tease her, and she would express her dissatisfaction in a coquettish tone. After shedding her virtuous facade, I was pleasantly surprised. I became addicted to my sexy mother, and I didn't intend to give her away again. Although she was very cooperative when we were having sex, I knew that it would take some time to truly win her heart.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, we had an old wardrobe at home that we needed to throw away. My father and I moved it downstairs together, thinking that he was getting old, so I moved it by myself in a cart to the intersection. Before the cleaning crew came, I checked again to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Just as I was about to pull out the bottom drawer, I found that it was stuck on the track and wouldn't move. I reached my hand into the opening and felt that it was empty inside. This wardrobe had been in my parents' room for who knows how many years, so it was normal for it to break. But I thought that the cleaning crew was also working hard, so why not help them out by taking down the parts that could be disassembled so that it would be easier to move? So I chose a secluded corner and pulled with all my might until I finally managed to pull the drawer out.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the wooden bottom of the drawer was warped and bulged downwards. It was probably because I had been stuffing too many things in it. I was bored while waiting, so I thought I'd flatten the bottom of the drawer. Maybe someone would think it was a waste to send it directly to the incinerator and recycle it to store things. So I flipped it over and started knocking and stepping on the bottom of the drawer. Suddenly, there was a crack. I thought, "Oh no, I used too much force and it might have cracked." When I flipped it over, I found a thin piece of wood and a small wooden booklet on the ground. It turned out that the drawer had a hard bottom and a thin layer of wood, and I had been hiding things in the middle. No wonder the middle was dented after being pressed for a long time.

It's a good thing it was discovered before it was thrown away, hidden so well. It would have been terrible if it contained something important. But if I were to return it, I would at least need to know who it was. What if it contained one of my parents' secret stash of money? It wouldn't be right for me to return it carelessly. When I opened it, I saw several numbers that looked like dates and some multi-digit numbers that were unclear. Judging from Xiujuan's handwriting, it should have been written by my mother. When I opened the second half of the book, I was dumbfounded.

The pages on the back of the notebook were all glued together, with a hole cut out in the middle to stuff in several photos. When I picked them up, they were all pictures of my mother. Not only were they scantily clad, but they were also the kind of photos where she was trying her best to be sexy and provocative, like kneeling with her buttocks raised high, milking her breasts, spreading her legs, and so on. As I looked at them, I could only explain to myself that there was nothing wrong with them. The colors in the photos were faded, so they must have been taken many years ago. My mother is middle-aged now, but she is still quite attractive. If it had been a few years earlier, of course she would have had more opportunities to be wilder, which is fine too. People always say you have to seize the last bit of youth.

Seeing the second half, I couldn't help but feel strange. My parents, who were an older man and a younger woman, always treated each other with respect. I never expected them to be so romantic. The next two photos gave me an unexpected answer. One was taken from a low angle, with my mother straddling behind my mother's beer belly. She seemed to be reaching out to grab the drink. The other photo showed the photographer's hand, holding a bottle of wine and preparing to give it to my mother. Her expression was somewhat dazed and confused, as if she was drunk. However, my father was in poor health and was very thin. He didn't have a beer belly at all. Besides, he never touched or bought alcohol. How could my mother have gotten so drunk with him?

Something's definitely fishy, I thought to myself. I looked at all the photos again carefully. My mother's expression was so alluring and confused, and her pose was so seductive and alluring. Oh no, I actually got an erection from looking at them. I forgot that I was still outside. I quickly took the photos and the book home to figure out what was going on.

My mother prepared lunch early, saying she was worried I'd be hungry because of my high activity level in the morning. Watching her get up and go to the kitchen to plate the food, I noticed she had shoulder-length, side-parted, medium-length curly hair. She wore a fitted light blue knit sweater with a white long skirt, revealing a small section of her leg, and flesh-colored stockings. She exuded a faint floral and fruity fragrance. Although my mother had a rather shapely figure, her attire was no different from that of an ordinary woman, and this was her usual style. She seemed quite conservative, so why would she agree to take such a photo?

However, all of this happened a few years ago. Now, in everyone's eyes, my mother is a virtuous wife and loving mother who takes good care of her husband and children and cares about her son's studies. But ever since that incident, whenever I hear someone praise her like that, I can't help but project the image of the lewd mother in the photo onto my mother. I secretly refute in my heart that my mother may not be as wonderful as everyone sees her, and I even look forward to seeing the unknown side of my mother.

This thought started to linger in my mind, and I would take out the photos every time I wanted to look at them, especially the one of my mother straddling that person and pulling at him. My mother's expression was so pitiful, and the beer belly just happened to cover the part of their lower bodies that were in contact. I could only see my mother's pink legs spreading apart, which gave me a lot of room for imagination. To be honest, I also used it to masturbate a few times. Whenever this image flashed in my mind, it would make me so excited that I couldn't help but ejaculate.

Stepping out of my room, I saw my mother reading in the living room, exuding elegance. I wanted to watch TV to distract myself, but she stopped me, admonishing me that I was in my final year of high school and should focus on my studies for the exams. She said that Taiwanese TV programs these days are all vulgar and tasteless, and she didn't want me to learn such things. Damn it, seeing my mother speaking so righteously and so convincingly made me feel annoyed. My mother's own experiences probably couldn't compare to those on TV, yet she dared to be so righteous. When she saw my expression change, she raised her voice and scolded me, "What's wrong? I can't even scold you anymore?"

The family has always been an authoritarian family. Because my father is older and less disciplined, my mother has always been in charge of the children's education. Perhaps because she is a woman, she is worried that she is too gentle and the children will not be able to be taught, so she can be very strict when she gets angry. In order to make up for my father's lack of discipline, she is even more strict than he is. Due to the habits formed since childhood, I still feel afraid when I see my mother's expression change. I can only touch my nose and apologize, saying that I will go back to my room to study now. But of course, I am not convinced. And it is my mother who has a problem. The more I think about it, the more unhappy I become. Just don't let me find out about the pornographic photos.

So I started thinking about the photos. I had no idea who the subject was or when they were taken. I didn't dare to sneak a look at my mother's notebooks. It was from the past, so looking at the current ones wouldn't help. After thinking about it, the only way to keep the older data was to start with the computer. Coincidentally, the whole family only had that old computer that had been used for a long time, and only my mother and I knew how to use it. I originally wanted to buy another one for my room, but my mother objected because she didn't want me to start playing video games. My mother probably never expected that her insistence on sharing would result in me being able to use it to investigate her.

My mother's email is a key part of her life. She uses it to log in automatically for convenience. People of her generation don't care as much about internet security as we do. I looked at some invitations to parties and reunions, and there was nothing strange about them. Thinking about it from another perspective, my mother can be so close to these people. Based on my understanding of my mother, they must be very familiar with each other. I decided to start by checking the senders. After listing them, wow, I found something. There was one email that someone with an English name sent the most. He would send my mother an email every two months on average. Each email just said, "Teacher, let's get together," along with an address and a date. The earliest one started three years ago and has continued uninterrupted until now. Seeing this, I should also reflect on myself. I didn't even notice anything wrong with my mother all these years.

My mother's teacher is going to revisit things around the time I was born. I think she teaches dance. It seems like the other person has known my mother for a long time. Whoever he is, the latest letter is still a while away. I can find out then. When I closed the webpage, I realized that my mother had gotten very close to me. Luckily, I wasn't found out. She told me not to stay online all the time and to take out the trash at night. Fine, I want to test my mother this time.

After taking out the trash and returning home, I found my father watching TV in the living room and my mother leisurely reading her book at the dining table. I walked between them, turned to my mother, and said, "Mom, the cleaning crew was complaining that our wardrobe was difficult to disassemble the other day." My mother, still looking down at her book, replied nonchalantly, "Oh, why?" I continued, "They thought the wardrobe was too big and difficult to move, so they wanted to disassemble it for easier transport, but the bottom drawer got stuck." My mother didn't react at all. I wondered if she had forgotten or was pretending not to have hidden anything.

I deliberately mentioned that I didn't expect the other party to still have the perseverance to pull out the bottom drawer. Only then did my mother raise her face and stare at me. When I mentioned that the cleaning crew planned to disassemble the drawer, I could see that my mother's face darkened for a moment. But I stopped the conversation at this point and complained that my parents hadn't left to listen to me. I stopped talking and sat down next to my father to watch TV together. I glanced at my mother from the side. She had already closed her book, and her eyes were looking around, so I could tell that she was a little uneasy.

Not long after, my mother sat down. She kept reminding my father to take his medicine and telling him to go to bed early. It was obvious she was trying to get him out of the way. After my father finally left the living room, my mother suddenly started talking to me about how she wasn't listening to me. She was trying to get me to continue talking about what had just happened. I knew she really wanted to know about the drawer. I thought to myself, "You're so worried about this. You even took those kinds of photos back then. You usually act like a respectable woman." I really wanted to peel off that facade.

To win my mother's favor without antagonizing her, I suddenly had an idea. I initially planned to scare her by saying the drawer had been dismantled, but then I changed my story to stopping them from doing so and helping to put the intact drawer on the garbage truck. After I explained this, my mother seemed more relaxed and unconsciously praised me for doing a good job. Before going back to my room, I deliberately said to my mother, "After asking so many questions, I hope you didn't forget to take something out." She shrugged and replied casually, "No, I didn't." Ha, she's really good at pretending.

Finally, the date they arranged to meet arrived. I pretended to be sick and took the day off. My mother complained that she had plans with a friend today and couldn't take care of me. Why did she have to pick this time to be sick? I thought to myself, if that's really the case, she should stay and take care of me. It's not like I can't refuse her. Later that evening, I saw my mother come out of her room. She had changed her clothes and put on makeup. She was wearing a well-fitting white shirt and a gray skirt. The skirt was short, above the knee, and she was wearing black sheer stockings with heart embellishments. I had never seen my mother show off her legs like this before, let alone in stockings like that. Damn, who is she going to meet dressed so provocatively?

Hearing the click-clack of her high heels as she walked downstairs, I quickly put on my hat and changed my clothes. It took a little longer for my second child to recover from the swelling, but that was alright. When I ran downstairs, I saw my mother had just reached the street corner. This feeling of prying into my mother's privacy was actually quite exciting. After crossing two more intersections, my mother stopped and waited by the sidewalk. Soon after, a black Mazda 3 approached and rolled down the window. My mother opened the door and got in. It was too far away for me to see who was inside, and besides, I was in a hurry to hail a taxi.

I told the driver to follow the Mazda 3 in front of us, and we drove to the entrance of a restaurant. First, I saw a short, overweight man in ordinary clothes get out of the car. Judging from his figure, I thought that the guy with the beer belly in the photo was probably him. Then my mother got out of the car, and the waiter drove the car to park. I was really unwilling to accept this. My mother is at least 170cm tall, and with high heels, she looks even taller and more slender. Compared to my mother, the other man was probably only about 163cm. No matter what, he shouldn't have been interested in this much shorter, fat guy.

Luckily, they were sitting by the window, and I was able to keep an eye on them from the bus stop bench across the street. Their interaction was alright, but I could tell the man kept taking the opportunity to hold or touch my mother's hand, while my mother was rather passive. I thought to myself, thankfully my mother is quite modest. But how am I supposed to explain her dressed so provocatively to him? Ah~ my feelings are so complicated. The man leaned forward against the table, his hands under the table seeming to be rubbing together, I don't know what he was doing, while my mother covered her mouth and laughed. Could he be playing with my mother's legs?

Just thinking about it made me aroused. I really couldn't believe it. What happened to my respectable mother? How could she be having an affair with someone like that? Seeing my mother's elegant smile at the table across the street, while I was ashen-faced, I lost track of time. I only came back to my senses when they seemed to have finished eating and were about to leave the restaurant. I was on the other side, so it was hard to follow them. I quickly ran to the right onto the crosswalk to wait for the green light. From a distance, I could see that the man seemed to have gotten the car keys, but they were walking in the same direction as me.

Seeing the two of them just crossing the street, I thought, "Oh no!" I retreated behind a tree and peeked. They continued walking and stopped in front of the lobby of a building with signs for a bookstore, a beverage shop, and a restaurant. Finally, on the 12th floor, there was a sign for a motel. Damn it, no way, Mom, you were just taken up there to have sex? Although I wasn't sure if it was as I suspected, I didn't want anything to happen.

Just as they were about to walk towards the building, I hurriedly grabbed my phone and called my mother. She stopped after taking two steps, took the phone out of her bag, and turned around to answer it. I heard my mother asking what was wrong, and then I saw her turn to talk to someone else. I vaguely heard her say "my son," so I said that I had gone out to buy lunch but forgot to bring money. I asked where she was and if it would be convenient for her to come back. My mother replied that it was a bit far, and suggested I borrow the key from the aunt downstairs first, promising to return it when I got back. I added that I didn't think I'd even brought the key. My mother said displeasedly, "Oh, you're so forgetful! But I really can't get back right now. Wait a minute." I watched as my mother walked away from the man, covering her mouth and whispering that she had a spare family key in the black boots in her shoe cabinet. If not, she suggested calling a locksmith and borrowing the money from the aunt.

I was utterly despondent, thinking, "Mother, you'd rather give yourself to that ugly man than come back?" I answered with a soft "oh," feeling extremely jealous. Suddenly, the man walked behind her and put his hand on my mother's waist. Then, a voice came through the phone: "Okay, that's all for now. I'll be back in a bit. Bye," and he hung up. I thought, "Damn it, Mom, you think it's that easy?" She was so reserved during dinner. Seeing my mother putting her phone into her bag, I angrily picked up my phone, adjusted the camera to its longest zoom, and although it was blurry, I could still make out my mother's face. I started taking pictures. My mother turned around and walked up the stairs. The image of that lewd hand circling and groping my mother's fleshy buttocks was all on my phone. Although my mother slapped me away, she didn't seem angry. I was furious. It's a pity I couldn't capture the elevator floor, otherwise, the evidence would be irrefutable.

I took the bus home feeling dejected, my mind completely blank. I should have been unresponsive to my surroundings, but suddenly I overheard an old man getting off at the same stop saying to his friend, "Don't let the good stuff go to outsiders." For some reason, I only heard that one sentence, and it resonated deeply with me. Yes, the good stuff shouldn't go to outsiders.

In the evening, as soon as my mother came in, she saw me and said, "I was wondering why you didn't borrow money from my aunt." Seeing that my mother's face was rosy and she was in a good mood, I figured the sweet stockings must have worked well, and she must have had a great time. With the New Year approaching, how dare you cheat on us? To catch this big fish, I guess I'll have to hold back for now. I replied with a silly grin. Later, I found some money hidden in my coat pocket, so I was out of trouble. My mother said that was good. As she was about to walk towards her room, I added, "Mom, you look very beautiful today. Those long, beautiful legs of yours are really attractive to me."

She stopped and scolded me for talking nonsense, asking how I could say such things to my own mother. I stuck out my tongue and apologized before she went back to her room. In the past, if I said something wrong intentionally or unintentionally and was scolded by her, I would feel guilty. But after what happened today, and this time I even deliberately flirted with my mother, I felt no guilt at all when I was scolded. Soon after, my mother came out of her room, having changed back into her usual long dress, but she hadn't removed her makeup. Her exposed calves showed that she was still wearing those sheer black stockings with black heart dots. She started doing housework, looking every bit the virtuous wife. She really was outwardly virtuous but inwardly lewd.

I don't care about ethics or morality anymore. Thinking about how my mother acted like that person makes me feel really resentful. Because once, I went to a department store with my mother. The elevator was crowded, and suddenly more people squeezed in on a certain floor. She was standing in front of me, and my mother wanted to back up, but I was already leaning against the elevator wall. With so many people around me, I obviously couldn't pull my hand out. Seeing my mother push back again, I had no choice but to raise my hand and push her up and press it against her pert buttocks, telling her that I couldn't back up anymore, so that I would have some space.

Later, when people were getting in and out of the elevator, it was inevitable that there would be some jostling, so I kept my hands on my mother's body. After we got out of the elevator, my mother was very unhappy and scolded me for touching her like that. Then, in the empty stairwell, she gave me a good scolding and kept emphasizing that I should respect other people's bodies. At that time, although I felt wronged, I still reflected on my actions and thought that maybe my mother was a traditional woman and didn't like her body being touched, especially sensitive areas like her buttocks.

I still remember these admonitions, yet my mother allowed outsiders to put their arms around her waist and touch her buttocks without any resistance. I can't blame myself for being stubborn, but later a really extreme thought appeared. It seems that my mother had already accepted that her body belonged exclusively to that person, and that she would reject being touched by us relatives as if she was afraid of being defiled.

I glared at my mother's back as she bent over, dragging her skirt across the floor. Because of her posture, her buttocks were naturally sticking out. Because the skirt was long and made of a lot of fabric, it was relatively heavy, so it naturally clung to my mother's buttocks. When the light shone on it, a large shadow appeared on her lower buttocks, and the contrast between black and white was very obvious. It was clear that my mother's buttocks were fleshy and perky. From a distance, they looked like two round white steamed buns sandwiched together, slowly swaying from side to side. I never thought much of it before, but today it really struck me. After all, my mother's legs were the highlight.

If my mother were dressed conservatively from head to toe, I would have just glanced at her and moved on. But the fact that she was wearing black sheer stockings with heart-shaped black dots on her legs created such a striking contrast that it drew my attention downwards. Wearing those stockings was clearly a sexual innuendo. As I thought about it, my penis twitched. It really felt good. You slut, just wait and see how I get you.

I went over to my mother and offered to help. She straightened up and told me it wasn't necessary, that I should rest when I was sick. I noticed her forehead was covered in sweat, her body temperature was rising, and the fragrance was becoming stronger and more pervasive, making me even more itchy. I explained that I thought moving around and sweating might help me get better faster. My mother thought for a moment and said that was fine. I was a little tired. I thought to myself, "That's true. I don't know how many times I've had my way with this, it's really tiring." I brought over another bucket and a mop, and also gave her a clothespin.

I explained that my mother's long skirt would be inconvenient and might get wet, so I used this to clip a section up to make it easier for her to do things. My mother looked pleased but said sarcastically, "When did you become so thoughtful?" Actually, my intention was just to make her shorten her skirt. Later, my mother folded her long skirt a few times, pinched one corner, and clipped it up. Great! It looked like a fluffy and unique cake skirt, with her thighs showing.

I didn't dare openly ogle my mother's long legs. I walked behind her, but I would still occasionally turn my head to peek at her back and her beautiful feet. I would also deliberately squat down to look up at the scenery under her skirt. I never thought that spying on my mother would be just as exciting as watching a strange woman. Seeing that mysterious area of my mother's private parts, my evil thoughts grew stronger. At that moment, I happened to have a mop in my hand. I squatted down and slowly slid the handle of the mop under my mother's skirt, moving it between her legs. Seeing that she was mopping seriously and didn't pay attention to what was behind her, I pretended to squat down and mop the floor. I aimed the end of the handle at a 50-degree angle at her plump vulva, grabbed it with both hands, and pulled it back forcefully.

My mother let out a surprised "Oh!" I quickly turned around and apologized, saying I had accidentally hit her. My mother turned around, her brow furrowed slightly, and one hand was behind her back, seemingly touching her buttocks. I pressed her to tell me where I had hit her and if she was alright, but her expression didn't change. She simply said it was nothing. I saw her turn around again, but she was now standing slightly off-center from me, not in a straight line.

I felt great, but I felt that one time wasn't enough. I wanted to properly punish your lewd mother's cunt. After a while, I slowly stood behind my mother again, intending to use the same trick again. But this time I missed and hit my mother's left inner thigh first, then scratched her private parts hard. My mother let out a deep "hmm". Seeing her turn around suddenly, I quickly turned my head back and pretended not to know anything. I continued the action, and even pretended to squat down and vigorously clean a tile as if scrubbing it, muttering that I couldn't get it up.

There was no movement behind me; they were probably observing. After all, my private parts had been violated twice in a row. What a coincidence! My mother is a very shrewd woman; she might have become suspicious. A moment later, I felt like I had been caught red-handed. I turned around, and my mother didn't look too happy. She asked me to drag her to the other side of the living room, saying it was dangerous for the two of us to be in the same area. I asked if she had hurt me again. My mother nodded slightly and quickly said, "Oh, is that so? Are there any bruises?" I looked, and my mother hurriedly shook her head, saying, "It's okay, no need." She even took a step back, looking apologetic, and said, "I was really rough just now. It's really nothing." My mother said helplessly, "It only hit my stomach. It's okay, you didn't do it on purpose." I pressed her, asking why she didn't seem happy. She replied that she was probably tired.

Just then, hearing my mother say that, I took the opportunity to say that I would give her a back massage and a foot massage later to help her relax. As soon as I said it, I suddenly felt terrible. Earlier, I had teased her and wanted to touch her legs. Was my intention too obvious? But I guess those two touches earlier had made my mother upset, so I didn't expect her to agree so readily.

I started by patting her back as a pretense. When my mother slowly closed her eyes and seemed to be relaxing and enjoying herself, the time was right. I moved in front of her, and finally, the most anticipated part arrived: I got to play with my mother's beautiful legs. When my mother's stockinged legs were placed in my palm, I saw the heart-shaped dots distributed on her pink and tender flesh. They looked even more alluring up close. I smelled a faint body fragrance, which almost made me lose my mind and start touching and licking them.

Unfortunately, my mother didn't let me go too far soon. In the end, I could only massage my calves, touch every inch of my thighs, and sneak a little intimacy to finish the trip. I thought I had to say goodbye to these sexy legs. I wondered when I would have another chance to see my mother dressed like this. I wondered if I would have to wait until my mother had a rendezvous with that fat man. The thought that my mother had worn these stockings for that man filled me with jealousy that made me want to tear them to shreds.

Then a brilliant idea struck me: tear it! Just as my mother picked up the newspaper and it happened to cover my eyes, I secretly bit a few nails to make a small thorn, and suddenly—rip! I cried out, "Oops, Mom, I'm sorry, I accidentally tore your socks!" My mother closed the newspaper, quickly put her legs down, and saw two very obvious wide tears. I made the tear quite noticeable. She sighed softly, as if she didn't know what to say, and could only remind me to trim my nails later. I said I'd buy her a new pair, but my mother said she'd buy them herself.

Although my mother's image of chastity might be fabricated, her thrifty and hardworking nature is real, which is why others consider her virtuous. I seized on this point and made up a story about seeing some cheap ones online, where a few pieces wouldn't cost much. I made it sound like it was cheaper than buying a pair myself. Suddenly, my mother questioned me, asking how I, a boy, could have looked at such things. Luckily, I was quick-witted and made up a story about a robbery scene in a school play, which is how I found out. My mother accepted this explanation with some skepticism, but it still gave me a real scare.

Later, I succeeded in my plan. I bought a lot of stockings online that I really liked, such as lace thigh-high stockings, flesh-colored fishnet stockings, and stockings with silver embellishments. I even deliberately chose the kind that only went up to the thighs. I thought that rather than letting others see them, I would rather my mother wear them for me to enjoy every day, so I could fantasize about the body hidden under those conservative clothes, and also give my dad a treat. I'm confident my mother will wear it. Even if the style is too daring for her, as long as it's covered by a long skirt or trousers, no one will know what she's wearing. Since my mother is the kind of person who doesn't waste things, she wouldn't dare give it away. Besides, stockings are an essential part of her daily attire. I bought more to gradually get her into the habit, and also to replace her unchanging flesh-colored stockings.

After I gave them to my mother, she complained a few days later about buying strange things, but she didn't say anything more. She still wanted me to tell her how to buy them, as she wanted to buy some ordinary ones while they were cheap. She made up a lie, saying they were from an auction and the website was temporarily shut down, which stopped her from doing so. Luckily, she's not that familiar with the internet at her age, or she would have been exposed.

During that time, I admired my mother's stockings every day. After a while, my mother started trying them on, and the thought of her wearing sexy stockings that reached her thighs made me very excited. After that, Dad's mood improved. Could it be that Mom had become more alluring, giving him the motivation to thrust into her passionately at night? Thinking about this, I was incredibly envious of him. How wonderful it would be if I could also sleep with Mom.

Not long after, another letter arrived, urging Mom to have an affair. Checking the calendar, it was again scheduled for a weekday. Looking back at previous letters, it was always the same. No wonder Dad and I had been completely unaware all these years. But this time, I couldn't use the fake illness trick. Wouldn't that force me to skip school? Okay, I'll take the plunge. Even if I have to confront them this time, I'll stop Mom from being slept with again.

That day, I went to school first, and after roll call, I said I wasn't feeling well and went to the infirmary. I asked a few of my good friends to keep watch, and told them to call me if anything happened. Then I rushed home to the alley entrance. I checked my watch and it was almost time for my mother to leave. Soon after, the electric lock on the iron gate downstairs opened, and my mother came out. Surprisingly, my mother was dressed very casually today, in an apricot-colored long dress, but I could still tell she was wearing makeup. This time, she was heading in a different direction than last time. I was relieved that my mother might have stopped bothering the other person, but when my mother got closer, I saw her whole body, which shattered my assumptions.

I never saw her wear those nude fishnet stockings before, and they were the ones I was most looking forward to seeing her wear. Damn it, a strong sense of resentment welled up inside me, like I was doing all the work for someone else. Since that's how it is, I followed her. This time, she didn't come to pick me up in her car; instead, my mother took the MRT by herself. I thought she was being so careful, changing modes of transportation. But when she told me later that she was just chatting with her under the covers, I'd never believe a second.

I felt like we walked around for ages before my mother finally stopped at a street corner. The other person appeared and walked towards her. I watched as he took my mother's hand, and the two of them walked down the street like that. I was furious. I saw hostels all around, and I was anxious, afraid that they would turn around and go inside before I could stop them. I couldn't think of anything else, so I just kept following them closer and closer. But the man kept turning his head to chat with my mother, and she never turned her face away. I was hoping that she would notice me watching her because of the conversation.

They were quite adept at wandering around, seemingly worried that their phones wouldn't have enough storage to record or would run out of battery. One moment they looked up and the person was gone; they must have turned the corner again. They jogged forward, when suddenly the fat man turned around and walked out from the corner, blocking their way. He stood with his hands in front of his chest, asking aggressively who they were and why they were following them. They wondered why their mother hadn't come out with them. They didn't say anything, just glared at him. Suddenly, he took a few steps back and told the person blocked by the wall that he'd take care of things. That person was probably their mother.

Damn it, the thief is crying "stop thief!" while acting all manly and protecting his mother. It's ridiculous. Then he started yelling at me to talk, but I ignored him and walked towards the corner. I was just one step away from crossing when he grabbed my shoulder, saying something about calling the police if I was being followed. That really enraged me. So I asked him if he should be sued for interfering with his family, and then gritted my teeth and said, "I'm the son of the woman you were holding hands with."

I don't remember how she reacted, but she immediately let go of my hand. I turned around in a flash and saw my mother standing there, her eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth, her face ashen and at a loss. I stared at her with bloodshot eyes and coldly called out, "Mom." She asked me in a low, embarrassed voice why I was there and why I wasn't in class. Her voice grew softer and softer. I didn't answer, but just said seriously, "Aren't you coming with me?" I turned around and saw that the man seemed to have slipped away. Damn it, cowards are wicked.

I walked ahead the whole way, with my mother following silently behind. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer and came over to pull my hand, asking me to listen to her explanation. Fine, I also wanted to ask about the photos, but the things were in my room, so I told my mother that I would talk about it when we got home. In the taxi, my mother took the initiative to call the school to ask for leave for me, seemingly afraid to pursue the matter of me skipping class.

I insisted on talking in my room. Psychology doesn't say there's such a thing as home-field advantage, so I absolutely refused to let my mother talk in her room. However, my mother was guilty and listened to me on these little things. There was also another point: my recorder was in the room. At first, of course, I asked who the other person was. My mother said it was a student's ex-boyfriend from when she was still teaching dance. Wow, that's a really distant relationship. If that's the case, then he's only about 10 years younger than my mother and a few years older than me. How could he have gotten involved with someone like that?

Then she couldn't finish her sentence. No problem, I'll start for my mother. I began to explain why I skipped class today because I was in a bad mood. Then I took the small wooden booklet from the drawer and threw it on the table, casually telling her that the cleaning staff gave it to me last night. I thought to myself that I was not good at making up lies. Most people would be too busy keeping such explicit photos to keep them and would return them to their rightful owner. But when my mother saw it, she slumped back on my bed, head down and silent. She probably didn't care to expose my lie.

I pulled out that lewd photo of him straddling a beer belly, and I said sternly that this person wasn't my dad. How could I explain that? I pointed out that this was the guy from earlier. My mother didn't deny it, but she started sobbing. Was she pretending to be pitiful? I didn't know, but my mother still seemed unwilling to talk about it. I said angrily, "Look at you wearing those fishnet stockings to your rendezvous!" and then I reached out and lifted my mother's long skirt all the way up to her thighs. This was quite an outrageous act. Normally, she would have been furious, but she didn't react much. Was it because she felt guilty?

This was going to go on forever. I thought I'd scare her by saying I'd tell Dad if she didn't talk, but when my mother heard this, she suddenly yelled at me, "It's one thing to talk to outsiders, but I never expected even my own son to threaten me!" I was startled, so I softened my tone and said I just wanted to help her. My mother said sadly that there was nothing to help her with, except that she had gotten into trouble while drinking once and someone had taken a picture of her doing this. She didn't dare to say anything now, but if it were my mother from before, everyone would say she was a woman of dignity. How could she have gone out drinking with a young man and lost her virginity?

When I raised my questions, my mother retorted, "Why do you need to know so much?" Never mind, that's not the point. So I asked her how he threatened her. My mother said that the notebook didn't have a number on it; it was hush money she had originally offered to give him, but he refused. He even confessed that he had been secretly in love with my mother, the teacher, behind his ex-girlfriend's back. He finally caught my mother again, so he demanded that she accompany him regularly so he wouldn't tell her family. I wanted to ask her how many times she had been cheated on, but don't be silly, given my mother's personality, she would never tell.

My mother actually agreed to these ridiculous conditions. Of course, she admitted that she was bewitched. She had a big fight with my father at the time and her mind was not clear. She simply thought it was a student get-together, an opportunity to drink and drown her sorrows. She was really on guard. However, I still don't quite believe it. Although what she said made me feel that there was a bit of coercion in the photos, I think that some of the photos were posed by my mother semi-voluntarily. Moreover, I saw them holding hands, touching buttocks, and laughing and talking on both occasions when I caught them cheating.

My face darkened, and I said with a pained expression that my mother still wasn't telling the truth. I laid my cards on the table and showed her the photos from the first time we took them, implying that she had consented. My mother was stunned at first, then her expression turned angry. She said that I had already been with her twice, but I retorted fiercely, asking what was wrong with her frivolous and provocative attire and her unladylike attitude.

My mother gave up on explaining and said, "Whatever you think is what you think," and turned away, not intending to leave me. "Fine, you slut, so you're admitting to being promiscuous at heart? And Mom, did you forget that you were in my room? Wearing those alluring nude fishnet stockings. Fine, I won't be polite anymore." I turned around and secretly turned off the recorder, taking off my uniform pants as well.

The metal belt clicked, and my mother turned around to see me naked from the waist down, with my erect penis. She was shocked and tried to get up, her eyes wide as she asked what I was doing. But I pounced on her, knocking her soft, warm body down. It was too late for her to close her legs.

She frantically yelled at me, "What are you doing? Let me go!" Her body twisted and struggled, but I pinned her hands above her head. After a while, she stopped struggling and glared at me fiercely with piercing eyes. In a stern tone, she said, "I'm your mother. Let go!" I replied weakly, "You used to be my only set of values, but today they've been completely destroyed. The person in front of me is no longer my mother; she's just a woman. Otherwise, I'd go crazy thinking like this."

My mother said worriedly that she didn't know what I was talking about and told me to calm down. But I ignored her and continued talking, saying that I felt a strong connection to these photos. "It's your fault for never letting me have a girlfriend, while you're out there messing around. If you won't let me eat out today, I'll eat at home." My mother already knew what I wanted to do and pleaded angrily, "You absolutely can't do this!"

I decided to use one hand to control both of them. As soon as I released my left hand, she started slapping my face repeatedly. I endured the pain and, taking advantage of the weakening of her attacks, managed to regain control. I freed one hand and reached for my mother's panties. When my fingers smoothly burrowed into her vulva, she turned ashen-faced and begged me to turn back. Seeing my mother's resistance, I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy any foreplay this time, so it seemed like I should just go straight to climax. I pulled down my underwear, aimed at my mother's tight little hole that was trying to dodge with all her might, and thrust in with all my might. A long, mournful moan echoed in the room. I never expected that I would not go soft that time... I was also almost completely inside my mother's flesh, enjoying the place where she enveloped my huge penis.

Actually, it hadn't been long since I started having sex with my mother, but her morals and reason seemed to have crumbled. I don't know if this intense sexual situation aroused her lewd nature, or if she felt that resistance was futile. Suddenly, my mother slowly raised her arms and crossed them behind my back, bringing her face close to my ear and breathing softly. At that moment, I knew that my mother was letting me do as I pleased, allowing me to have intimate contact with her throughout. Yes, there were no restrictions.

She let me ejaculate inside her body again and again, inside her vagina, on her buttocks, on her face, on her breasts, and dripping on her body. I had never ejaculated more than three times in a row, nor had I ever experienced getting hard again immediately after ejaculating and then continuing to thrust. My mother could make me hard and ejaculate again just by using her vaginal muscles.

Later, looking at my mother's alluring charm tonight, that subtle yet wanton tenderness, I realized that what made me hard again was no longer the visual, tactile, or auditory temptation, but the pleasure of conquering the usually deeply hidden desire, intertwined with the virtuous wife and loving mother qualities of my mother. I'm not sure if my mother had an orgasm, but I experienced pleasure with her four times. The last time, I couldn't ejaculate; my penis was just twitching inside my mother's vagina. After that intense and stimulating "mother-son exchange" ended, my mother gradually calmed down from her heightened desire. She sat on my bed in a slumped position, head bowed and silent. At that moment, I could still see my semen gushing from her genitals, the sheets beneath her were soaked. When I tried to touch her face, she disdainfully blocked me. I asked smugly that I was probably more capable than that student, right? My mother glared at me but still didn't answer. Finally, she forced out a question in a cold tone: "Are you satisfied? Can this wipe the slate clean?"

I just smiled, and my mother then tried to leave my room quickly, but I grabbed her arm. She couldn't shake me off and asked me what I wanted. I whispered in my mother's ear, "Mom, if you really have this need, you can come to me later." After hearing this, my mother pushed me away forcefully and scolded me, saying, "I won't let you off so easily. Besides, don't you consider me your mother anymore?" I replied, "Mom, you didn't treat me like your son when we were in bed just now either." After hearing this, she snorted, turned her head, and left.

I quickly grabbed the recorder from the drawer, removed the memory card and hid it, then chased after my mother into the living room. I called out to her and waved the device in my hand. My mother's eyes widened in disbelief; her lips seemed to want to reprimand me, but she trembled slightly and could barely speak. Then I went over and put my arm around her waist from behind, turning to her and saying, "From now on, if I need anything, I'll leave it to you, Mom." I could feel her trembling with anger. Later, I asked her again, and tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, "Whatever."

Later, I really enjoyed it, but I didn't force my mother to have sex with me again for a few days. I only kissed her forcefully and poked and prodded her when we were alone. Sometimes my mother would still resist. After a while, about one or two months, my mother got used to having intimate physical contact with me, so she was more willing to let me caress or penetrate her at will.

When I felt the time was right, one weekend while my father was taking a nap, I invited my mother to my room. She knew exactly what I wanted to do. And so, we had consensual sex. I didn't use a condom and ejaculated inside her, but she didn't say anything. During the act, I deliberately paused at the most intense moments to tease her, and she would express her dissatisfaction in a coquettish tone. After shedding her virtuous facade, I was pleasantly surprised. I became addicted to my sexy mother, and I didn't intend to give her away again. Although she was very cooperative when we were having sex, I knew that it would take some time to truly win her heart.

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The Secret in the Wardrobe

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