The Mother Under the Rich

I stood outside the bathroom door, incessantly masturbating, imagining my mother's body bathing inside. The bathroom steam and the scent of her bath products seeped through the vent under the door, but even though I was crouching greedily, I couldn't see anything. 　　I

listened to the sound of the running water, the water flowing from my hair and face, down my breasts, from my cleavage down my pubic hair, then gathering at my vulva, flowing down my inner thighs, a drop of water sliding down my thighs and calves, finally pausing briefly on the instep before flowing into the drain.

Our home was in a high-end residential area of Tianmu, a twelve-story building, and our apartment was a duplex, filled with a classic European atmosphere, art pieces everywhere.

My father was a financial actuary who often traveled abroad to visit clients.

The second floor was my mother's and my room. Every time my mother finished showering, she would come out wrapped in a towel, not fully covered, leaving her breasts partially exposed. Water droplets would drip onto her fleshy buttocks as she walked, and with the swaying of her hips, I, hiding in the corner, would watch with even greater fervor.

Although the family seemed happy, my mother and father had long been estranged. It wasn't just because of her work in Kansai; more importantly, my father's family believed that my mother had only married into the family for money and to climb the social ladder.

So, because of relatives, my mother had long been used to being alone. Occasionally, she would go to the bookstore to read or go shopping, or at home, she would go to the music room to play her favorite piano. Although they were all simple pieces, her fingering was fluent and her playing was smooth. Sometimes I would look out from the large floor-to-ceiling window in the music room at the small balcony in front of the window, where my mother had planted all kinds of flowers and plants. Through the afterglow of the setting sun, a golden glow would shine on the flowers.

I watched the warm afterglow, time slowly shifting across the flowers, until the entire sunset cast a shadow on the French windows. Standing on the garden balcony, the light and shadow on the windows resembled a gateway to heaven, with aluminum frames on the glass.

These were two large rectangular pieces of soundproof glass, their aluminum frames, decorative items of an unknown material, like reliefs in a Roman church. Bathed in light, the reflection in the windows was even more beautiful.

I wondered if my mother also had a door in her heart, a door called loneliness, long since closed and locked with a heavy iron lock.

My mother's fingers pressed the piano keys, the hammers striking the strings, playing a low, melancholic moonlight sonata. The music mirrored her state of mind—the feeling of being neglected by her father, the resentment of being scolded by her in-laws.

From the moment she married, she had already lost the most brilliant golden years of her life.

I forgot my mother's face, her brows furrowed. Looking at everything in the music room, I couldn't help but feel a lump

in my throat. I turned to the balcony, gazing at the setting sun, and told myself, I must take my mother away from this home, away from this cold prison that has imprisoned her for almost twenty years. "Knock, knock, knock!" A sound rang out on my palm-wood door. It was the maid, Sasaya, reminding me to come downstairs for dinner.

Sasaya was an Indian woman, very young, a year or two younger than me.

Last year, when I was eighteen, I went on a family trip to Jamaica Mosque in India, and then to the Taj Mahal.

As my mother and I walked behind my father, who was chatting and laughing with my grandmother and some relatives, it was a completely different, cold world for my mother and me.

One family group, two different feelings—I followed my mother to the Taj Mahal.

Tourists came and went nearby. My mother gazed thoughtfully at the jewels inlaid on the white marble pillars. I casually responded to the other family members' chatter; perhaps because I was the eldest and only son, the other relatives were less averse to me.

I wondered to myself, was my mother feeling the same way I was? The tour guide explained that the Taj Mahal was built by Shah Jahan, the fifth ruler of the Mughal Empire, in memory of his wife, Taj Mahal, who died in 1631. The Taj Mahal means "Remembering Mahal."

Legend has it that when the Mughal Emperor learned of Taj Mahal's death, his hair turned white overnight, and he wept bitterly, his face streaked with tears.

This grief, compared to his longing for his beloved wife and his father's indifference and his mother's coldness, was like a purgatory of heaven and hell, a raging inferno and a chilling frost—a stark contrast.

That evening at the hotel, my father asked if I wanted to go shopping with Grandma and the others, and try some local snacks. My mother, however, said she was tired and wanted to rest in her room. I think she probably didn't want to spend time with relatives anymore; after all, all the conversations were just polite formalities.

I excused myself, saying I was still adjusting to the time difference, and apologized to my father. He whispered that I should keep an eye on my mother. I patted him on the back, smiled, and told him to hurry up and go with Grandma, otherwise, Mom would be blamed again. My father's face fell, he sighed softly, and left.

My mother lay exhausted on the bed. I asked her if she wanted to take a shower, and she nodded.

This hotel was supposed to be five-star; the large suite was originally meant for my parents and me to sleep together, but it seemed my father would be occupied by Grandma again tonight, so it would just be my mother and me.

The room was quite large, decorated in a style blending Indian aristocratic and Baroque Chinese influences. A white, pink, and light blue curtain hung from the bed, its material resembling chiffon. To the right of the bed was a door engraved with an Indian elephant pattern, leading to the bathroom.

Entering through the doorway, there was a small living room with an unidentified LCD TV. A window opened onto a balcony, offering a distant view of the white facade of the Taj Mahal.

I took a deep breath, exhaling a sullen sigh. Thinking of my father's weakness reminded me of the cat's-eye ring on my mother's left ring finger, a ring I hadn't seen her wear in ages.

My father came from a wealthy family. Thanks to his grandfather's connections with political parties and his grandfather's status as a senior member of a party, he was strictly controlled by his grandmother from a young age. He was completely subservient to his mother, obeying her every word.

He lived like a robot, following the path laid out for him, studying his way up to the top finance department. His grandmother had always expected him to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and become a member of parliament.

But this time, my father made a decision that everyone opposed, a decision he was resolute in making, refusing to back down, even threatening suicide: he married my mother.

I heard they went to a notary office to register their marriage, but the details have been evasive and even lied to me since I was born.

So, little by little, as I grew older, I finally understood the story.

My father met my mother, three years his junior, at graduate school. She was preparing for her graduate school entrance exams, so my father visited her at the library every day. Like any love story, they fell deeply in love, almost to the point of madness.

My father knew about my mother's family background; she came from a musical family, but unfortunately, her parents didn't want her to pursue music, so they only nurtured her interest, leaving her to learn other things on her own. While not wealthy, her family was comfortably middle-class.

My father knew this marriage was mismatched, but the two young and impetuous individuals, blinded by love, chose to marry without hesitation, believing it was true love.

Grandma was devastated by the news. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Overwhelmed with grief and anger, she even threatened to tell her father to forbid that slut from setting foot in the house and to blame everything on her mother. It wasn't until her father left home and spent half a year having a sweet time with her mother that Grandma finally admitted the truth and asked her father to bring her mother back. Little did she know that this would push her mother into another boundless darkness.

When my mother first entered our family, although the relatives outwardly offered their blessings, they secretly gossiped constantly. Moreover, living in a luxury mansion in Taipei at the time, my mother was frequently subjected to my grandmother's sharp criticism, while my grandfather turned a blind eye. Although my father privately told my grandmother not to do this, it didn't change the situation; he could only hope my mother would be more understanding.

My father also firmly believed this was only temporary. It wasn't until my mother gave birth to me the following year that my grandmother and the others greeted her with smiles and took meticulous care of their precious grandson.

However, this brief period of happiness faded as I grew up, and my mother and father gradually became estranged. Although I tried to mediate the family atmosphere, it remained the same.

Finally, my mother decided to move out of the mansion to Tianmu, using playing the piano as an excuse to persuade my father to let her move out. Initially, I lived at home, but after being admitted to university the following year, I moved in with my mother.

My father frequently traveled abroad, and upon returning to Taiwan, he was constantly occupied by my grandmother, resulting in less and less interaction with my mother and me.

Rumors were circulating that Grandma had recently found a woman from a respectable family for Father, intending for him to marry her as a concubine. Although it was just a rumor, experience tells me that such rumors are often true.

While my thoughts were still lingering on my father's memory, my phone rang with the theme song of Han Yancui, a character from the Pili puppet show. I have a habit of watching puppet shows, so my phone ringtone is often Pili music.

I checked my phone; it was a text message from a college friend. He's a natural talker, incredibly bold, wears frameless glasses, and has a refined face. Sometimes he's incredibly witty, sometimes his words are spot-on—someone I can confide in.

The message said, "I suppose you're in India right now, enjoying the boundless spring scenery. If you're so capable, bring back a beautiful Indian girl. Remember, a night of passion is worth a thousand pieces of gold." I chuckled. This guy always manages to make me laugh; he's one of the few who doesn't have any financial motives.

At school, some people knew I was quite wealthy because I drove a Mercedes, which I usually hid very well. But one day, some classmate would see it, and from then on, I was the center of attention in class.

I was involved in all sorts of university parties and nightclubs. I knew they only approached me because of my money, but I never said anything. That's how I've lived my life since I was a child. This kind of scenario often plays out on TV, but it actually happened to me—quite ironic. I

can't remember exactly when I started talking to this friend, only that we had a great time chatting. He mostly told stories or gossiped, avoiding any mention of schoolwork, so we got along quite well. This classmate was unpredictable, sometimes appearing and sometimes disappearing from class.

Anyway, I told my friend about my family's story, not in every detail, but pretty much it.

But my friend, upon hearing this, reacted quite differently. There was no half-smile; he simply patted my shoulder and said, "Life has its share of sorrows, but once you get through it, the world will be brighter." At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes, warm tears streaming down my cheeks to my chin. My nose stung, and I thought deeply about my life and everything at home. My shoulders relaxed; I felt so tired, so weary.

How I long for an ordinary little family, where my father comes home after a long day, and I greet him, "Hey, Dad, let's eat together later?" My mother has already prepared the meal, softly saying, "Hurry, hurry, take off your clothes, eat first, then wash up, quick!" My father, held by my mother's hand, laughs and says, "It's not like I don't want to eat, I'm eating now, you're in such a hurry!" The three of us sit at the table, eating my mother's home-cooked meals, listening to my father talk about the trivialities of his work. I've imagined this family scene countless times.

Unfortunately, the servants were cooking, and only my mother and I were at the table. The cold knives, forks, and cutlery, though expensive and exquisite, felt artificial. The table was silent. Even when I tried to talk to my mother, she only responded half-heartedly, so I stopped talking altogether. As

I reached for my phone, wondering what text to send back, my mother came out of the shower, wearing a loose, dark red aristocratic-style yukata that covered her entire body. A belt around her waist, if pulled down to that belt, would separate the yukata, revealing her naked body to me.

I spoke briefly with my mother, telling her that my father might stay overnight at my grandmother's. My mother's expression was indifferent; she focused on applying light makeup, poured herself a glass of red wine from the hotel room, and leaned against the other window, gazing at the moonlight. She said to me, "Go take a shower..."

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

Whether it was the alcohol or her good mood, she started chatting about completely different things, talking about her school days. I listened with great interest; it had been a long time since I'd had a conversation with my mother like this.

We lay sideways on the bed, a pillow under our waists. I saw her rosy complexion, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, and her beautiful hair, the ends of which were wrapped around her neck and swept across her left chest, revealing her collarbone through her bathrobe.

At that moment, we didn't seem like mother and son, but more like friends confiding in each other.

My mother yawned, said goodnight to me sleepily, and turned to sleep on her side with her back to me. I got out of bed, turned off the light, drew the curtains, and pulled back the bed curtains. I lay down on my mother's left side, also on my side.

Around midnight, I was awakened by a very soft, faint sound. I blinked, still half-asleep, and listened intently. I realized it was sobbing. By then, I was already quite awake. The sound was coming from my mother's side…

I propped myself up on my left elbow and looked up. By the moonlight filtering through the curtains, I saw my mother's body trembling slightly. I reached out my right hand and gently shook her shoulder, asking, "Mom…!? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" My mother didn't answer, but simply covered her sobbing nose and said, "Nothing… Mom's tired. You should go to sleep too." I didn't say anything more.

Because I knew my mother must have been so upset she cried. I wanted to tell her to lie down and pretend nothing was wrong, to let her calm down on her own, and that she'd be fine in a while. For years, whenever my mother cried, I would comfort her. But later, looking at everything in this family, I became numb.

But today, for some reason, the turmoil in my heart made me restless. I thought of my father, my grandmother, relatives, school, and my mother. Why did my mother have to bear all the pain alone? Why was I always so weak and cowardly? Before, I would only run away from all of this or choose to accept it all. Now, is this how my life, and my mother's later years, really going to be? I asked myself a huge question. A friend once said, "Live in the moment, and you'll be carefree."

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

My mother cried, not a loud sob, not a wail, but a soft, continuous sob. I comforted her and told her about my desire to take her away.

My mother turned to look at me, saying she was very sorry, apologizing repeatedly, which only made me more upset and upset.

I lifted my mother's face and said, "I will never let you suffer again, Mom. I hope you can live a happier life, instead of always frowning and looking so sad." My mother looked at me with reddened eyes, her gaze filled with unease, weariness, and fear, yet also with a touch of warmth that warmed my heart.

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

I cupped my mother's oval face in my hands and said, "Mom, if you don't want to, I won't force you. But I want you to remember, I will definitely take you away, away from this disgusting place!" A large tear rolled down my mother's cheek, her lips parted slightly as she looked deeply into my eyes.

I lowered my hands, and my mother wrapped her arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder, her cheek pressed against mine, saying, "I want to leave, but I'm afraid you won't be able to." I lifted her arms from under her arms and said, "Don't worry, there will always be a way."

I felt the warmth of her firm breasts against my chest. I rubbed my cheek against her rosy cheek, kissing her ears and neck. My mother released her hands and looked at me.

I placed my hand on her forehead, using my fingers to brush her bangs aside.

I looked into her eyes, large and full of longing. I kissed her lips, my tongue licking her soft mouth, our tongues intertwining. My mother closed her eyes, going from passively letting me suckle her lips to actively engaging in a French kiss with me.

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

My hands continued to knead her buttocks, scraping against her cleft through the bathrobe. I pushed her right buttock forward with my palm, making her plump, peach-like buttocks even more prominent. My fingers kept squeezing her clitoris. Even through the bathrobe, her beautiful buttocks swayed, seemingly unsure how to react to my intrusion.

I slid my hand down my mother's fleshy buttocks and onto the inside of her thighs, my hand reaching directly into her white, private area. My mother hurriedly tried to block me with her hands, even turning her head to look at me anxiously.

Seeing that I couldn't touch her, I became ruthless and pulled the bottom of her bathrobe back, then threw the entire blanket behind her. Her pair of fair, shapely legs, covered by black stockings, were laid bare before me. I used both hands to grasp my mother's fleshy buttocks, pinching each fleshy part, and with a stretch and a pull, her panties sank into her anus and covered her vulva. The pubic hair and the mons pubis bulging from the pulling of the panties made my mouth dry, and I immediately began to suck on her fleshy buttocks.

My mother, however, clenched her fists and remained silent.

After I had tasted all of her pert buttocks, I turned my mother's face around and, while sucking on her, pulled down her yukata from top to bottom. From the side, her breasts looked quite full. I felt that it was not easy to tease her breasts while she was lying on her side like this, so I simply helped her up again and made her sit with her back to me.

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

I quickened my pace, inserting two fingers into her vagina. As my wrist sped up and my fingers curved against the vaginal walls, a soft, shy moan escaped my lips. My mother's buttocks trembled violently, and a gush of fluid flowed from her vagina. The afterglow of her orgasm made her body tremble, and the only sound in the air was her deep breathing. My rock-hard penis was already erect.

I pressed the head of my penis against her vulva, preparing to thrust it into her honeypot, when my mother's hand pressed against my abdomen. Her eyes told me, "Not here."

My face immediately darkened, and I looked exhausted. I kissed my mother's lips and said, "Mother, as long as you feel comfortable... go to sleep." My mother blushed and said, "I... I'll help you..." I watched as my mother sat up, her hands grasping my penis, stroking it up and down. I lay down, my head resting on the soft feather pillow, enjoying my mother's masturbation techniques.

As my mother's smooth hands and slender fingers held my hard, burning penis, I closed my eyes to relax and enjoy this aphrodisiac pleasure.

As expected, women who have had sexual experience understand the art of sex, especially a wealthy woman like my mother. Rarely seen in her home and estranged from her father for so long, she had long forgotten about intimacy. Now, with a man's penis before her, after her own climax, she seized the opportunity of her widowed desire, grasping her son's penis and rubbing it up and down incessantly until my penis, aroused by masturbation, was even more swollen, the glans stretching the foreskin completely. I gently pressed down on the back of my mother's head with my left hand, signaling her to give me oral sex. My mother gave me a seductive look and shyly took my glans into her mouth.

At this moment, I turned my mother's buttocks to my left, and she knelt to my left, her mouth still adjusting to my penis. My left hand wasn't idle either, continuing to tease her vulva from behind.

My mother's tongue circled the glans, her hand gripping the base; her lips sucked on my penis, the sucking sounds pleasant, making my legs straighten, my scrotum strain, and I felt I was about to ejaculate. Just then, her left hand forcefully thrust deep into my penis, and my mother groaned, stopping her mouth movements, allowing the urge to ejaculate to subside. My thighs relaxed, and I exhaled.

I felt her vaginal fluid flowing again, my entire left palm wet, while my mother continued sucking my penis. This time was different; she knew I was close to ejaculating. If I hadn't suddenly squeezed my body while stimulating her vagina, making her pause, I would have ejaculated long ago.

My mother opened her mouth and began vigorously blowing, licking, sucking, and holding it. I couldn't hold back for more than five minutes. I extended my left ring and middle fingers, scratching incessantly inside my mother's vagina, while my thumb first circled around her anus.

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

She gently pushed against the glans with her fingers, and the penis, still trembling slightly from ejaculation, cleaned itself with toilet paper before showering with me.

There wasn't much interaction; perhaps we understood each other simply through our eyes.

In the bathroom, the steam from the hot water obscured my face, but her shy expression and alluring eyes revealed a captivating charm.

That evening, my mother and I got dressed and lay down together. I thought about how, before we had finished relieving each other, my mother was wearing a silk bathrobe without a bra, only pink thongs. But now our relationship was different. I gently took my mother's right hand and held it tightly.

At this moment, a phrase comes to mind: "In the dead of night, when no one is around to whisper, silence speaks louder than words." I impulsively kissed my mother again, and after a passionate kiss, I finally turned over and went to sleep, waiting for the trip to end.

Now, we're in a nine-seater SUV, driving back to our mansion from Songshan Airport. Originally, we were going to go to the mansion with everyone first to prepare for Grandma's 68th birthday celebration, but after telling my father, we decided to go there first to give Grandma face and wait a while before driving my mother and me back to Tianmu.

Although on the surface, my mother and I are acting as usual, sometimes the way she looks at me is a little off, even if it's just for a moment, I can still sense it.

To put it nicely, it's supposed to seat nine people, but in reality, only the driver and the two rows behind are barely livable. The last row, where my mother and I sat, was basically a luggage compartment with a chair crammed in—it was practically a modular chair that could be assembled and disassembled. The legroom was very short; my legs were long, so I had nowhere to put them, and I could only spread them apart. The air conditioning wasn't very effective at blowing on us from the back. Seeing my mother's tired face, I sat with her in the very back without a word. To the right of the driver's uncle was my eldest aunt, in the second row were my grandmother's father and my aunt's son, and in the third row were two other aunts. My

mother and I were in the very back. My mother was wearing a simple yet elegant suit. On the bus, she had a ladylike reserve, so she kept her legs close together, leaning slightly towards me, and her body slightly tilted towards me .

Our eyes met, and remembering what happened the night before, I felt a pang of embarrassment and quickly looked out the window.

As the bus moved, the streetlights of the highway outside gradually merged into a line.

It was already evening, and the streetlights, adorned with deep orange lights, formed a fiery dragon. In the distance, the city was ablaze with a string of red taillights due to traffic congestion. I wondered, what would become of me? I watched my mother feign sleep in the car, but she was awakened by my sneaky touch of her left hand. I deliberately scratched her palm with my fingers. My mother's oval face, illuminated by the car lights, gave me a slight smile. Ahead, everyone except my uncle, who was still driving, was fast asleep.

I softly called to my uncle, "How much longer?" He turned his neck and said, "Long time, look at this traffic jam." At this point, I started teasing my mother, using my index fingers and thumb as feet, crawling all over her arms, and finally, even touching her legs.

However, all of this was done underneath. My mother didn't stop me when she saw me gently touching her thigh. I moved closer to her and placed her hand on my thigh. My mother looked at me with a suspicious smile. I playfully made a shushing gesture and gently lifted her long skirt. My mother hurriedly tried to block me, a little frightened. I whispered in her ear, "It's just caressing, nothing serious." My mother blushed slightly and told me to be discreet.

I slipped my hand under her skirt and pulled it up to her waist, revealing a pair of black lace panties. I caressed her fair thighs, my fingers intentionally or unintentionally rubbing the inside of her thighs. When I touched her private parts, I lightly scratched her vulva. Even through her panties, it made my mother blush.

I placed her hand directly on my penis and pressed it down to rub my shaft. Only then did my mother take the initiative to caress me. Under her thick jeans, I was uncomfortably hard. I unzipped my pants, slipped my panties to the side, and my semi-erect penis emerged.

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

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

Grandma liked grandeur, and I never understood her thinking. She was clearly tired from getting off the plane, but she still pretended to be fine, chatting and laughing with these political and business figures. To me, much of what I heard was just flattery. I grew up in this kind of environment. I saw my mother look up from the hall and give me a look, signaling me to come down.

The hall had intricately carved granite staircases on either side, leading to a walkway from which one could see everyone below. I liked being there; it made me feel safe.

I descended the stairs, holding onto the Roman-style stone carvings at the top, and politely greeted passersby with glances and nods. Every time I appeared, I had to endure people's stares, listen to their whispers, and hear the girls' playful banter—but I was used to it by now.

My father wanted me to greet a member of parliament. I had to maintain a smile; every gesture I made represented the family. It turned out the member's daughter was about my age, currently studying abroad, and returning to Taiwan today.

I greeted the beautiful girl; she wore an elegant dark blue dress, her hair styled in an updo, with long, beautiful legs and white high heels—she clearly wasn't an ordinary person.

I knew what they all wanted me to do next, so I just went along with it, asking the girl if she wanted to walk with me. Which of these elders wouldn't want me to do that? It all boils down to two words: face. It's a disgustingly hypocritical display.

I held the girl's hand like a gentleman; she was even wearing gloves matching her dress. We strolled through the back garden.

The garden was oval-shaped with a fountain in the center, filled with koi, and lined with streetlights typical of British streets. I made small talk with her, trying to elicit information. I did this to see if she was like me, the same kind of person.

I roughly divided her into two types: those like me who found these kinds of gatherings tacky, and those who had come specifically to see the guys, hoping to marry into wealth.

Thankfully, this girl was the former. We talked about ourselves, especially about our parents and families—it was quite satisfying.

This is also why I went to private school—because I wanted to live a different life.

The girl was very humorous, but it was getting late, and I had to see her off quickly. So I went back to the hall, and my father said the girl's parents had already left and that I should take her home. I thought I was leaving anyway, so I pulled the girl and said goodbye to her grandmother. Then I exchanged a glance with my mother, and the three of us got into the car and hurriedly left this castle full of lies and hypocrisy.

When we arrived at the girl's house, I gave her a goodbye gesture and then headed towards Tianmu. After the long journey and the bombardment of a banquet at the mansion, I no longer cared about my appearance and collapsed into the back seat, falling into a deep sleep. As

I drove into the garage, Sasaya, who had already received my call, was waiting for me at the door. I carried my mother in a princess carry and took her directly to her bedroom. The maid followed behind with the luggage and asked me what I wanted to do. I told the maid to help my mother settle in before coming to find me.

In my mother's room, I saw a photo of myself, my parents, my grandparents, and me. My grandfather was a political figure at the time, so it was rare for him to go out with me. This photo is the only one that makes me happy

because everyone in it is smiling naturally and joyfully.

I went outside, up to the music room and then to the garden balcony. Whenever I'm lost in thought, I come here to look at the scenery.

I remember that time was in fourth grade of elementary school. At that time, my father was a financial analyst in the country, and my mother was already a daughter-in-law.

That day, I think I was the one nagging, saying I wanted to go to the beach, and that everyone was being lazy. We'd agreed that Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and Grandma would all come with me. I sulked for three whole days because of this. Finally, Grandma couldn't bear it and asked Grandpa to spare a day. Plus, I kept going to Grandpa's study and begging him, so he finally agreed.

The photo shows me at the beach, with the sea behind me. Grandma is hugging me, and Grandpa is standing to my left. He's surprisingly not wearing his usual serious expression; he's pressed his face against mine and made a funny face. Grandma laughs, and behind me, my father makes an exaggerated smile, making my mother cover her mouth and laugh. The person taking the photo even said that our family has a very good relationship.

But times have changed. Grandma is unrecognizable now, as is my father. I haven't seen Grandpa smile at all. My mother only smiles faintly when she's with guests, but that's fake.

The next morning, I woke up around noon, my back aching all over. I got out of bed, opened the window, and breathed in the fresh air from the 12th floor.

Then I went downstairs and ate the meal the maid was supposed to prepare, but my mother said she'd cook it. Sasaya and I exchanged unbelievable glances. How long had it been since my mother had cooked? I joked, "Mom, you haven't cooked in so long, are you sure you can manage?" My mother put egg noodles and some vegetables into the pot, added some sliced pork belly, a handful of scallions, and an egg. In less than ten minutes, it was done. I told the maid to go ahead and do her work. Only then did my mother sit down beside me, watching me eat.

I saw love in my mother's eyes, a look I hadn't seen in a long time. The noodles were piping hot, but truly delicious—better than any fancy restaurant. No delicacy could compare to a single dish from my mother. A pang of sadness hit me, and tears welled up again. I quickly pretended nothing was wrong and finished the noodles in a few bites.

I asked my mother if she wanted to play the piano later. She followed me to the practice room. I didn't know the brand of the piano, but I'd heard it was imported, costing over six million yuan. Apparently, it was made by a famous family of piano makers. The sound quality, condition, wood, and lacquer all showed its exceptional quality. Now, you couldn't buy one even if you wanted to.

My mother's fingers continued playing the Moonlight Sonata. I'd seen her play this piece since I was little. It reminded me of the time in my university general education class when the professor played "The Legend of 1900," and it felt so familiar, like I'd heard it somewhere before.

As the piece drew to a close, I wrapped my arms around my mother's neck, kissed her face, and then gently stroked her breasts from back to front.

My mother was wearing a white dress. Judging by the dress, it was clearly designed by a famous master. The dress featured special stitching around the bust area, which lifted her breasts high and created a deep cleavage. Two gold rings fastened at the waist, accentuating her slender waist. The skirt was a classic Western style, with abundant lace trim underneath, and a bare back revealing her shoulders and beautiful back.

As I played with her breasts, my mother stood up and locked the music room door.

I watched my mother sitting on the piano bench, her back to the keys.

My mother shyly straddled my legs, twisting her hips under her skirt, stimulating my penis. I simply pulled down her blouse, revealing two pairs of high, snow-white breasts, slightly drooping, their nipples a deep reddish-brown. I greedily sucked on my mother's breasts, while she wiggled her hips, enjoying the stimulation I was giving her.

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

I started swaying my hips, making my mother grind against me. I began thrusting my hips violently up and down, my mother twisting her buttocks, her breasts swaying back and forth. My penis was almost fully inside her. I made my mother straddle me, twisting left and right, squeezing back and forth, her vaginal walls gripping my penis tightly. My mother's wanton appearance at that moment was utterly lewd; she was biting her slender finger, a muffled bulge on her nose, and her entire thigh was covered in vaginal fluid.

I held her waist with one hand and pulled her up until my penis was almost out, then forcefully thrust it into her vagina. Her buttocks slammed against her thighs with a slap, and my mother let out a lewd cry.

I made my mother hold onto my neck, and I lifted her legs with both hands as I stood up. My mother looked as if she was afraid of falling. I swung my mother's upper body, thrusting my penis forcefully, making her moan and sob, her hands gripping me tightly in pleasure.

I carried my mother to the piano, had her carry me on her back, held the piano lid, stick her buttocks out, and spread her legs. I licked her beautiful back from behind, and then unzipped the back of her dress, letting her take off her clothes. She then pulled her panties down to her ankles, leaving her in only beige high heels. I pressed down on her waist, wanting her to stick her buttocks out even higher. My mother had no choice but to stand on her tiptoes, exposing her entire anus to me.

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

With a powerful thrust, I stopped inside my mother's womb, lifted her right leg with one hand, turned her 180 degrees, and placed her on the piano lid with both hands supporting her fleshy buttocks. Holding her hands, her legs spread wide like a frog's, I thrust one last time. My penis rubbed against her sticky, wet vagina; it felt so tight, so gripping. Not only was it wet, but her sensitive erection made her even more aroused. My glans tingled with pleasure. I pulled out and thrust a few more times.

Semen fell in mid-air, staining my mother's body—her lower abdomen, chest, face, and even the piano lid. The white semen on the black piano created a striking contrast. I lay on top of my mother, kissing her fragrant lips. Recalling her wanton moans and shy expression from our passionate moment, I made a decision: my mother was the one I would protect.

In an apartment in Kaohsiung, a mother and son were entwined on the sofa early in the morning. The mother was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and hot pants—I had never seen her dressed like that before. Her eyes were alluring, and she and I were filled with deep affection. During our time in Kaohsiung, my mother and I were like newlyweds, making love every day—on the bed in the bedroom, straddling the toilet, performing oral sex under the kitchen sink, and today we were making love on the sofa. My mother started wearing sexy lingerie and cosplaying, completely shedding her former pampered lady image.

We were only a little more reserved in public, but once on the back of a bus, she performed oral sex on me, and another time we had sex in the park and got bitten by mosquitoes. My mother had changed; she had become cheerful and lively. I dropped out of school and started selling things online from home, and my mother helped me. This made me want to hold my mother every day, enjoying the sweetness of love all the time.

Everything from the past is long gone, and I don't cling to those memories. As long as my mother is by my side, I am content.

********

This is a story from a friend of mine; apart from the incestuous relationship, everything else is his story.

You would never imagine that a wealthy young man like him could have so many troubles. I know it's like a TV drama, but he didn't tell me the ending, so I wrote a happy ending for him. Because shortly after I heard his story, he seemed to vanish into thin air; we couldn't find him anywhere. The school only said that his whole family went abroad.

Is that possible? I asked myself. Although I only knew him for a short time, his pain and expression at that time stirred ripples in my life. But things have changed, and everyone has their own path. I can only wish him well and hope he can live the life he wants.

I apologize for the lack of explicit content in this story; please forgive me.

I stood outside the bathroom

door, incessantly masturbating, imagining my mother's body bathing inside. The bathroom steam and the scent of her bath products seeped through the vent under the door, but even though I was crouching greedily on the floor, I couldn't see anything.

I listened to the sound of the running water, the water flowing from my hair and face, down my breasts, from my cleavage down my pubic hair, then gathering at my vulva, flowing down my inner thighs, a drop of water sliding down my thighs and calves, finally pausing briefly on the instep before flowing into the drain.

Our home was in a high-end residential area of Tianmu, a twelve-story building, and our apartment was a duplex, filled with a classic European atmosphere, art pieces everywhere.

My father was a financial actuary who often traveled abroad to visit clients.

The second floor was my mother's and my room. Every time my mother finished showering, she would come out wrapped in a towel, not fully covered, leaving her breasts partially exposed. Water droplets would drip onto her fleshy buttocks as she walked, and with the swaying of her hips, I, hiding in the corner, would watch with even greater fervor.

Although the family seemed happy, my mother and father had long been estranged. It wasn't just because of her work in Kansai; more importantly, my father's family believed that my mother had only married into the family for money and to climb the social ladder.

So, because of relatives, my mother had long been used to being alone. Occasionally, she would go to the bookstore to read or go shopping, or at home, she would go to the music room to play her favorite piano. Although they were all simple pieces, her fingering was fluent and her playing was smooth. Sometimes I would look out from the large floor-to-ceiling window in the music room at the small balcony in front of the window, where my mother had planted all kinds of flowers and plants. Through the afterglow of the setting sun, a golden glow would shine on the flowers.

I watched the warm afterglow, time slowly shifting across the flowers, until the entire sunset cast a shadow on the French windows. Standing on the garden balcony, the light and shadow on the windows resembled a gateway to heaven, with aluminum frames on the glass.

These were two large rectangular pieces of soundproof glass, their aluminum frames, decorative items of an unknown material, like reliefs in a Roman church. Bathed in light, the reflection in the windows was even more beautiful.

I wondered if my mother also had a door in her heart, a door called loneliness, long since closed and locked with a heavy iron lock.

My mother's fingers pressed the piano keys, the hammers striking the strings, playing a low, melancholic moonlight sonata. The music mirrored her state of mind—the feeling of being neglected by her father, the resentment of being scolded by her in-laws.

From the moment she married, she had already lost the most brilliant golden years of her life.

I forgot my mother's face, her brows furrowed. Looking at everything in the music room, I couldn't help but feel a lump

in my throat. I turned to the balcony, gazing at the setting sun, and told myself, I must take my mother away from this home, away from this cold prison that has imprisoned her for almost twenty years. "Knock, knock, knock!" A sound rang out on my palm-wood door. It was the maid, Sasaya, reminding me to come downstairs for dinner.

Sasaya was an Indian woman, very young, a year or two younger than me.

Last year, when I was eighteen, I went on a family trip to Jamaica Mosque in India, and then to the Taj Mahal.

As my mother and I walked behind my father, who was chatting and laughing with my grandmother and some relatives, it was a completely different, cold world for my mother and me.

One family group, two different feelings—I followed my mother to the Taj Mahal.

Tourists came and went nearby. My mother gazed thoughtfully at the jewels inlaid on the white marble pillars. I casually responded to the other family members' chatter; perhaps because I was the eldest and only son, the other relatives were less averse to me.

I wondered to myself, was my mother feeling the same way I was? The tour guide explained that the Taj Mahal was built by Shah Jahan, the fifth ruler of the Mughal Empire, in memory of his wife, Taj Mahal, who died in 1631. The Taj Mahal means "Remembering Mahal."

Legend has it that when the Mughal Emperor learned of Taj Mahal's death, his hair turned white overnight, and he wept bitterly, his face streaked with tears.

This grief, compared to his longing for his beloved wife and his father's indifference and his mother's coldness, was like a purgatory of heaven and hell, a raging inferno and a chilling frost—a stark contrast.

That evening at the hotel, my father asked if I wanted to go shopping with Grandma and the others, and try some local snacks. My mother, however, said she was tired and wanted to rest in her room. I think she probably didn't want to spend time with relatives anymore; after all, all the conversations were just polite formalities.

I excused myself, saying I was still adjusting to the time difference, and apologized to my father. He whispered that I should keep an eye on my mother. I patted him on the back, smiled, and told him to hurry up and go with Grandma, otherwise, Mom would be blamed again. My father's face fell, he sighed softly, and left.

My mother lay exhausted on the bed. I asked her if she wanted to take a shower, and she nodded.

This hotel was supposed to be five-star; the large suite was originally meant for my parents and me to sleep together, but it seemed my father would be occupied by Grandma again tonight, so it would just be my mother and me.

The room was quite large, decorated in a style blending Indian aristocratic and Baroque Chinese influences. A white, pink, and light blue curtain hung from the bed, its material resembling chiffon. To the right of the bed was a door engraved with an Indian elephant pattern, leading to the bathroom.

Entering through the doorway, there was a small living room with an unidentified LCD TV. A window opened onto a balcony, offering a distant view of the white facade of the Taj Mahal.

I took a deep breath, exhaling a sullen sigh. Thinking of my father's weakness reminded me of the cat's-eye ring on my mother's left ring finger, a ring I hadn't seen her wear in ages.

My father came from a wealthy family. Thanks to his grandfather's connections with political parties and his grandfather's status as a senior member of a party, he was strictly controlled by his grandmother from a young age. He was completely subservient to his mother, obeying her every word.

He lived like a robot, following the path laid out for him, studying his way up to the top finance department. His grandmother had always expected him to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and become a member of parliament.

But this time, my father made a decision that everyone opposed, a decision he was resolute in making, refusing to back down, even threatening suicide: he married my mother.

I heard they went to a notary office to register their marriage, but the details have been evasive and even lied to me since I was born.

So, little by little, as I grew older, I finally understood the story.

My father met my mother, three years his junior, at graduate school. She was preparing for her graduate school entrance exams, so my father visited her at the library every day. Like any love story, they fell deeply in love, almost to the point of madness.

My father knew about my mother's family background; she came from a musical family, but unfortunately, her parents didn't want her to pursue music, so they only nurtured her interest, leaving her to learn other things on her own. While not wealthy, her family was comfortably middle-class.

My father knew this marriage was mismatched, but the two young and impetuous individuals, blinded by love, chose to marry without hesitation, believing it was true love.

Grandma was devastated by the news. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Overwhelmed with grief and anger, she even threatened to tell her father to forbid that slut from setting foot in the house and to blame everything on her mother. It wasn't until her father left home and spent half a year having a sweet time with her mother that Grandma finally admitted the truth and asked her father to bring her mother back. Little did she know that this would push her mother into another boundless darkness.

When my mother first entered our family, although the relatives outwardly offered their blessings, they secretly gossiped constantly. Moreover, living in a luxury mansion in Taipei at the time, my mother was frequently subjected to my grandmother's sharp criticism, while my grandfather turned a blind eye. Although my father privately told my grandmother not to do this, it didn't change the situation; he could only hope my mother would be more understanding.

My father also firmly believed this was only temporary. It wasn't until my mother gave birth to me the following year that my grandmother and the others greeted her with smiles and took meticulous care of their precious grandson.

However, this brief period of happiness faded as I grew up, and my mother and father gradually became estranged. Although I tried to mediate the family atmosphere, it remained the same.

Finally, my mother decided to move out of the mansion to Tianmu, using playing the piano as an excuse to persuade my father to let her move out. Initially, I lived at home, but after being admitted to university the following year, I moved in with my mother.

My father frequently traveled abroad, and upon returning to Taiwan, he was constantly occupied by my grandmother, resulting in less and less interaction with my mother and me.

Rumors were circulating that Grandma had recently found a woman from a respectable family for Father, intending for him to marry her as a concubine. Although it was just a rumor, experience tells me that such rumors are often true.

While my thoughts were still lingering on my father's memory, my phone rang with the theme song of Han Yancui, a character from the Pili puppet show. I have a habit of watching puppet shows, so my phone ringtone is often Pili music.

I checked my phone; it was a text message from a college friend. He's a natural talker, incredibly bold, wears frameless glasses, and has a refined face. Sometimes he's incredibly witty, sometimes his words are spot-on—someone I can confide in.

The message said, "I suppose you're in India right now, enjoying the boundless spring scenery. If you're so capable, bring back a beautiful Indian girl. Remember, a night of passion is worth a thousand pieces of gold." I chuckled. This guy always manages to make me laugh; he's one of the few who doesn't have any financial motives.

At school, some people knew I was quite wealthy because I drove a Mercedes, which I usually hid very well. But one day, some classmate would see it, and from then on, I was the center of attention in class.

I was involved in all sorts of university parties and nightclubs. I knew they only approached me because of my money, but I never said anything. That's how I've lived my life since I was a child. This kind of scenario often plays out on TV, but it actually happened to me—quite ironic. I

can't remember exactly when I started talking to this friend, only that we had a great time chatting. He mostly told stories or gossiped, avoiding any mention of schoolwork, so we got along quite well. This classmate was unpredictable, sometimes appearing and sometimes disappearing from class.

Anyway, I told my friend about my family's story, not in every detail, but pretty much it.

But my friend, upon hearing this, reacted quite differently. There was no half-smile; he simply patted my shoulder and said, "Life has its share of sorrows, but once you get through it, the world will be brighter." At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes, warm tears streaming down my cheeks to my chin. My nose stung, and I thought deeply about my life and everything at home. My shoulders relaxed; I felt so tired, so weary.

How I long for an ordinary little family, where my father comes home after a long day, and I greet him, "Hey, Dad, let's eat together later?" My mother has already prepared the meal, softly saying, "Hurry, hurry, take off your clothes, eat first, then wash up, quick!" My father, held by my mother's hand, laughs and says, "It's not like I don't want to eat, I'm eating now, you're in such a hurry!" The three of us sit at the table, eating my mother's home-cooked meals, listening to my father talk about the trivialities of his work. I've imagined this family scene countless times.

Unfortunately, the servants were cooking, and only my mother and I were at the table. The cold knives, forks, and cutlery, though expensive and exquisite, felt artificial. The table was silent. Even when I tried to talk to my mother, she only responded half-heartedly, so I stopped talking altogether. As

I reached for my phone, wondering what text to send back, my mother came out of the shower, wearing a loose, dark red aristocratic-style yukata that covered her entire body. A belt around her waist, if pulled down to that belt, would separate the yukata, revealing her naked body to me.

I spoke briefly with my mother, telling her that my father might stay overnight at my grandmother's. My mother's expression was indifferent; she focused on applying light makeup, poured herself a glass of red wine from the hotel room, and leaned against the other window, gazing at the moonlight. She said to me, "Go take a shower..."

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

Whether it was the alcohol or her good mood, she started chatting about completely different things, talking about her school days. I listened with great interest; it had been a long time since I'd had a conversation with my mother like this.

We lay sideways on the bed, a pillow under our waists. I saw her rosy complexion, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, and her beautiful hair, the ends of which were wrapped around her neck and swept across her left chest, revealing her collarbone through her bathrobe.

At that moment, we didn't seem like mother and son, but more like friends confiding in each other.

My mother yawned, said goodnight to me sleepily, and turned to sleep on her side with her back to me. I got out of bed, turned off the light, drew the curtains, and pulled back the bed curtains. I lay down on my mother's left side, also on my side.

Around midnight, I was awakened by a very soft, faint sound. I blinked, still half-asleep, and listened intently. I realized it was sobbing. By then, I was already quite awake. The sound was coming from my mother's side…

I propped myself up on my left elbow and looked up. By the moonlight filtering through the curtains, I saw my mother's body trembling slightly. I reached out my right hand and gently shook her shoulder, asking, "Mom…!? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" My mother didn't answer, but simply covered her sobbing nose and said, "Nothing… Mom's tired. You should go to sleep too." I didn't say anything more.

Because I knew my mother must have been so upset she cried. I wanted to tell her to lie down and pretend nothing was wrong, to let her calm down on her own, and that she'd be fine in a while. For years, whenever my mother cried, I would comfort her. But later, looking at everything in this family, I became numb.

But today, for some reason, the turmoil in my heart made me restless. I thought of my father, my grandmother, relatives, school, and my mother. Why did my mother have to bear all the pain alone? Why was I always so weak and cowardly? Before, I would only run away from all of this or choose to accept it all. Now, is this how my life, and my mother's later years, really going to be? I asked myself a huge question. A friend once said, "Live in the moment, and you'll be carefree."

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

My mother cried, not a loud sob, not a wail, but a soft, continuous sob. I comforted her and told her about my desire to take her away.

My mother turned to look at me, saying she was very sorry, apologizing repeatedly, which only made me more upset and upset.

I lifted my mother's face and said, "I will never let you suffer again, Mom. I hope you can live a happier life, instead of always frowning and looking so sad." My mother looked at me with reddened eyes, her gaze filled with unease, weariness, and fear, yet also with a touch of warmth that warmed my heart.

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

I cupped my mother's oval face in my hands and said, "Mom, if you don't want to, I won't force you. But I want you to remember, I will definitely take you away, away from this disgusting place!" A large tear rolled down my mother's cheek, her lips parted slightly as she looked deeply into my eyes.

I lowered my hands, and my mother wrapped her arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder, her cheek pressed against mine, saying, "I want to leave, but I'm afraid you won't be able to." I lifted her arms from under her arms and said, "Don't worry, there will always be a way."

I felt the warmth of her firm breasts against my chest. I rubbed my cheek against her rosy cheek, kissing her ears and neck. My mother released her hands and looked at me.

I placed my hand on her forehead, using my fingers to brush her bangs aside.

I looked into her eyes, large and full of longing. I kissed her lips, my tongue licking her soft mouth, our tongues intertwining. My mother closed her eyes, going from passively letting me suckle her lips to actively engaging in a French kiss with me.

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

My hands continued to knead her buttocks, scraping against her cleft through the bathrobe. I pushed her right buttock forward with my palm, making her plump, peach-like buttocks even more prominent. My fingers kept squeezing her clitoris. Even through the bathrobe, her beautiful buttocks swayed, seemingly unsure how to react to my intrusion.

I slid my hand down my mother's fleshy buttocks and onto the inside of her thighs, my hand reaching directly into her white, private area. My mother hurriedly tried to block me with her hands, even turning her head to look at me anxiously.

Seeing that I couldn't touch her, I became ruthless and pulled the bottom of her bathrobe back, then threw the entire blanket behind her. Her pair of fair, shapely legs, covered by black stockings, were laid bare before me. I used both hands to grasp my mother's fleshy buttocks, pinching each fleshy part, and with a stretch and a pull, her panties sank into her anus and covered her vulva. The pubic hair and the mons pubis bulging from the pulling of the panties made my mouth dry, and I immediately began to suck on her fleshy buttocks.

My mother, however, clenched her fists and remained silent.

After I had tasted all of her pert buttocks, I turned my mother's face around and, while sucking on her, pulled down her yukata from top to bottom. From the side, her breasts looked quite full. I felt that it was not easy to tease her breasts while she was lying on her side like this, so I simply helped her up again and made her sit with her back to me.

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

I quickened my pace, inserting two fingers into her vagina. As my wrist sped up and my fingers curved against the vaginal walls, a soft, shy moan escaped my lips. My mother's buttocks trembled violently, and a gush of fluid flowed from her vagina. The afterglow of her orgasm made her body tremble, and the only sound in the air was her deep breathing. My rock-hard penis was already erect.

I pressed the head of my penis against her vulva, preparing to thrust it into her honeypot, when my mother's hand pressed against my abdomen. Her eyes told me, "Not here."

My face immediately darkened, and I looked exhausted. I kissed my mother's lips and said, "Mother, as long as you feel comfortable... go to sleep." My mother blushed and said, "I... I'll help you..." I watched as my mother sat up, her hands grasping my penis, stroking it up and down. I lay down, my head resting on the soft feather pillow, enjoying my mother's masturbation techniques.

As my mother's smooth hands and slender fingers held my hard, burning penis, I closed my eyes to relax and enjoy this aphrodisiac pleasure.

As expected, women who have had sexual experience understand the art of sex, especially a wealthy woman like my mother. Rarely seen in her home and estranged from her father for so long, she had long forgotten about intimacy. Now, with a man's penis before her, after her own climax, she seized the opportunity of her widowed desire, grasping her son's penis and rubbing it up and down incessantly until my penis, aroused by masturbation, was even more swollen, the glans stretching the foreskin completely. I gently pressed down on the back of my mother's head with my left hand, signaling her to give me oral sex. My mother gave me a seductive look and shyly took my glans into her mouth.

At this moment, I turned my mother's buttocks to my left, and she knelt to my left, her mouth still adjusting to my penis. My left hand wasn't idle either, continuing to tease her vulva from behind.

My mother's tongue circled the glans, her hand gripping the base; her lips sucked on my penis, the sucking sounds pleasant, making my legs straighten, my scrotum strain, and I felt I was about to ejaculate. Just then, her left hand forcefully thrust deep into my penis, and my mother groaned, stopping her mouth movements, allowing the urge to ejaculate to subside. My thighs relaxed, and I exhaled.

I felt her vaginal fluid flowing again, my entire left palm wet, while my mother continued sucking my penis. This time was different; she knew I was close to ejaculating. If I hadn't suddenly squeezed my body while stimulating her vagina, making her pause, I would have ejaculated long ago.

My mother opened her mouth and began vigorously blowing, licking, sucking, and holding it. I couldn't hold back for more than five minutes. I extended my left ring and middle fingers, scratching incessantly inside my mother's vagina, while my thumb first circled around her anus.

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

She gently pushed against the glans with her fingers, and the penis, still trembling slightly from ejaculation, cleaned itself with toilet paper before showering with me.

There wasn't much interaction; perhaps we understood each other simply through our eyes.

In the bathroom, the steam from the hot water obscured my face, but her shy expression and alluring eyes revealed a captivating charm.

That evening, my mother and I got dressed and lay down together. I thought about how, before we had finished relieving each other, my mother was wearing a silk bathrobe without a bra, only pink thongs. But now our relationship was different. I gently took my mother's right hand and held it tightly.

At this moment, a phrase comes to mind: "In the dead of night, when no one is around to whisper, silence speaks louder than words." I impulsively kissed my mother again, and after a passionate kiss, I finally turned over and went to sleep, waiting for the trip to end.

Now, we're in a nine-seater SUV, driving back to our mansion from Songshan Airport. Originally, we were going to go to the mansion with everyone first to prepare for Grandma's 68th birthday celebration, but after telling my father, we decided to go there first to give Grandma face and wait a while before driving my mother and me back to Tianmu.

Although on the surface, my mother and I are acting as usual, sometimes the way she looks at me is a little off, even if it's just for a moment, I can still sense it.

To put it nicely, it's supposed to seat nine people, but in reality, only the driver and the two rows behind are barely livable. The last row, where my mother and I sat, was basically a luggage compartment with a chair crammed in—it was practically a modular chair that could be assembled and disassembled. The legroom was very short; my legs were long, so I had nowhere to put them, and I could only spread them apart. The air conditioning wasn't very effective at blowing on us from the back. Seeing my mother's tired face, I sat with her in the very back without a word. To the right of the driver's uncle was my eldest aunt, in the second row were my grandmother's father and my aunt's son, and in the third row were two other aunts. My

mother and I were in the very back. My mother was wearing a simple yet elegant suit. On the bus, she had a ladylike reserve, so she kept her legs close together, leaning slightly towards me, and her body slightly tilted towards me .

Our eyes met, and remembering what happened the night before, I felt a pang of embarrassment and quickly looked out the window.

As the bus moved, the streetlights of the highway outside gradually merged into a line.

It was already evening, and the streetlights, adorned with deep orange lights, formed a fiery dragon. In the distance, the city was ablaze with a string of red taillights due to traffic congestion. I wondered, what would become of me? I watched my mother feign sleep in the car, but she was awakened by my sneaky touch of her left hand. I deliberately scratched her palm with my fingers. My mother's oval face, illuminated by the car lights, gave me a slight smile. Ahead, everyone except my uncle, who was still driving, was fast asleep.

I softly called to my uncle, "How much longer?" He turned his neck and said, "Long time, look at this traffic jam." At this point, I started teasing my mother, using my index fingers and thumb as feet, crawling all over her arms, and finally, even touching her legs.

However, all of this was done underneath. My mother didn't stop me when she saw me gently touching her thigh. I moved closer to her and placed her hand on my thigh. My mother looked at me with a suspicious smile. I playfully made a shushing gesture and gently lifted her long skirt. My mother hurriedly tried to block me, a little frightened. I whispered in her ear, "It's just caressing, nothing serious." My mother blushed slightly and told me to be discreet.

I slipped my hand under her skirt and pulled it up to her waist, revealing a pair of black lace panties. I caressed her fair thighs, my fingers intentionally or unintentionally rubbing the inside of her thighs. When I touched her private parts, I lightly scratched her vulva. Even through her panties, it made my mother blush.

I placed her hand directly on my penis and pressed it down to rub my shaft. Only then did my mother take the initiative to caress me. Under her thick jeans, I was uncomfortably hard. I unzipped my pants, slipped my panties to the side, and my semi-erect penis emerged.

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

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

Grandma liked grandeur, and I never understood her thinking. She was clearly tired from getting off the plane, but she still pretended to be fine, chatting and laughing with these political and business figures. To me, much of what I heard was just flattery. I grew up in this kind of environment. I saw my mother look up from the hall and give me a look, signaling me to come down.

The hall had intricately carved granite staircases on either side, leading to a walkway from which one could see everyone below. I liked being there; it made me feel safe.

I descended the stairs, holding onto the Roman-style stone carvings at the top, and politely greeted passersby with glances and nods. Every time I appeared, I had to endure people's stares, listen to their whispers, and hear the girls' playful banter—but I was used to it by now.

My father wanted me to greet a member of parliament. I had to maintain a smile; every gesture I made represented the family. It turned out the member's daughter was about my age, currently studying abroad, and returning to Taiwan today.

I greeted the beautiful girl; she wore an elegant dark blue dress, her hair styled in an updo, with long, beautiful legs and white high heels—she clearly wasn't an ordinary person.

I knew what they all wanted me to do next, so I just went along with it, asking the girl if she wanted to walk with me. Which of these elders wouldn't want me to do that? It all boils down to two words: face. It's a disgustingly hypocritical display.

I held the girl's hand like a gentleman; she was even wearing gloves matching her dress. We strolled through the back garden.

The garden was oval-shaped with a fountain in the center, filled with koi, and lined with streetlights typical of British streets. I made small talk with her, trying to elicit information. I did this to see if she was like me, the same kind of person.

I roughly divided her into two types: those like me who found these kinds of gatherings tacky, and those who had come specifically to see the guys, hoping to marry into wealth.

Thankfully, this girl was the former. We talked about ourselves, especially about our parents and families—it was quite satisfying.

This is also why I went to private school—because I wanted to live a different life.

The girl was very humorous, but it was getting late, and I had to see her off quickly. So I went back to the hall, and my father said the girl's parents had already left and that I should take her home. I thought I was leaving anyway, so I pulled the girl and said goodbye to her grandmother. Then I exchanged a glance with my mother, and the three of us got into the car and hurriedly left this castle full of lies and hypocrisy.

When we arrived at the girl's house, I gave her a goodbye gesture and then headed towards Tianmu. After the long journey and the bombardment of a banquet at the mansion, I no longer cared about my appearance and collapsed into the back seat, falling into a deep sleep. As

I drove into the garage, Sasaya, who had already received my call, was waiting for me at the door. I carried my mother in a princess carry and took her directly to her bedroom. The maid followed behind with the luggage and asked me what I wanted to do. I told the maid to help my mother settle in before coming to find me.

In my mother's room, I saw a photo of myself, my parents, my grandparents, and me. My grandfather was a political figure at the time, so it was rare for him to go out with me. This photo is the only one that makes me happy

because everyone in it is smiling naturally and joyfully.

I went outside, up to the music room and then to the garden balcony. Whenever I'm lost in thought, I come here to look at the scenery.

I remember that time was in fourth grade of elementary school. At that time, my father was a financial analyst in the country, and my mother was already a daughter-in-law.

That day, I think I was the one nagging, saying I wanted to go to the beach, and that everyone was being lazy. We'd agreed that Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and Grandma would all come with me. I sulked for three whole days because of this. Finally, Grandma couldn't bear it and asked Grandpa to spare a day. Plus, I kept going to Grandpa's study and begging him, so he finally agreed.

The photo shows me at the beach, with the sea behind me. Grandma is hugging me, and Grandpa is standing to my left. He's surprisingly not wearing his usual serious expression; he's pressed his face against mine and made a funny face. Grandma laughs, and behind me, my father makes an exaggerated smile, making my mother cover her mouth and laugh. The person taking the photo even said that our family has a very good relationship.

But times have changed. Grandma is unrecognizable now, as is my father. I haven't seen Grandpa smile at all. My mother only smiles faintly when she's with guests, but that's fake.

The next morning, I woke up around noon, my back aching all over. I got out of bed, opened the window, and breathed in the fresh air from the 12th floor.

Then I went downstairs and ate the meal the maid was supposed to prepare, but my mother said she'd cook it. Sasaya and I exchanged unbelievable glances. How long had it been since my mother had cooked? I joked, "Mom, you haven't cooked in so long, are you sure you can manage?" My mother put egg noodles and some vegetables into the pot, added some sliced pork belly, a handful of scallions, and an egg. In less than ten minutes, it was done. I told the maid to go ahead and do her work. Only then did my mother sit down beside me, watching me eat.

I saw love in my mother's eyes, a look I hadn't seen in a long time. The noodles were piping hot, but truly delicious—better than any fancy restaurant. No delicacy could compare to a single dish from my mother. A pang of sadness hit me, and tears welled up again. I quickly pretended nothing was wrong and finished the noodles in a few bites.

I asked my mother if she wanted to play the piano later. She followed me to the practice room. I didn't know the brand of the piano, but I'd heard it was imported, costing over six million yuan. Apparently, it was made by a famous family of piano makers. The sound quality, condition, wood, and lacquer all showed its exceptional quality. Now, you couldn't buy one even if you wanted to.

My mother's fingers continued playing the Moonlight Sonata. I'd seen her play this piece since I was little. It reminded me of the time in my university general education class when the professor played "The Legend of 1900," and it felt so familiar, like I'd heard it somewhere before.

As the piece drew to a close, I wrapped my arms around my mother's neck, kissed her face, and then gently stroked her breasts from back to front.

My mother was wearing a white dress. Judging by the dress, it was clearly designed by a famous master. The dress featured special stitching around the bust area, which lifted her breasts high and created a deep cleavage. Two gold rings fastened at the waist, accentuating her slender waist. The skirt was a classic Western style, with abundant lace trim underneath, and a bare back revealing her shoulders and beautiful back.

As I played with her breasts, my mother stood up and locked the music room door.

I watched my mother sitting on the piano bench, her back to the keys.

My mother shyly straddled my legs, twisting her hips under her skirt, stimulating my penis. I simply pulled down her blouse, revealing two pairs of high, snow-white breasts, slightly drooping, their nipples a deep reddish-brown. I greedily sucked on my mother's breasts, while she wiggled her hips, enjoying the stimulation I was giving her.

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

I started swaying my hips, making my mother grind against me. I began thrusting my hips violently up and down, my mother twisting her buttocks, her breasts swaying back and forth. My penis was almost fully inside her. I made my mother straddle me, twisting left and right, squeezing back and forth, her vaginal walls gripping my penis tightly. My mother's wanton appearance at that moment was utterly lewd; she was biting her slender finger, a muffled bulge on her nose, and her entire thigh was covered in vaginal fluid.

I held her waist with one hand and pulled her up until my penis was almost out, then forcefully thrust it into her vagina. Her buttocks slammed against her thighs with a slap, and my mother let out a lewd cry.

I made my mother hold onto my neck, and I lifted her legs with both hands as I stood up. My mother looked as if she was afraid of falling. I swung my mother's upper body, thrusting my penis forcefully, making her moan and sob, her hands gripping me tightly in pleasure.

I carried my mother to the piano, had her carry me on her back, held the piano lid, stick her buttocks out, and spread her legs. I licked her beautiful back from behind, and then unzipped the back of her dress, letting her take off her clothes. She then pulled her panties down to her ankles, leaving her in only beige high heels. I pressed down on her waist, wanting her to stick her buttocks out even higher. My mother had no choice but to stand on her tiptoes, exposing her entire anus to me.

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

With a powerful thrust, I stopped inside my mother's womb, lifted her right leg with one hand, turned her 180 degrees, and placed her on the piano lid with both hands supporting her fleshy buttocks. Holding her hands, her legs spread wide like a frog's, I thrust one last time. My penis rubbed against her sticky, wet vagina; it felt so tight, so gripping. Not only was it wet, but her sensitive erection made her even more aroused. My glans tingled with pleasure. I pulled out and thrust a few more times.

Semen fell in mid-air, staining my mother's body—her lower abdomen, chest, face, and even the piano lid. The white semen on the black piano created a striking contrast. I lay on top of my mother, kissing her fragrant lips. Recalling her wanton moans and shy expression from our passionate moment, I made a decision: my mother was the one I would protect.

In an apartment in Kaohsiung, a mother and son were entwined on the sofa early in the morning. The mother was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and hot pants—I had never seen her dressed like that before. Her eyes were alluring, and she and I were filled with deep affection. During our time in Kaohsiung, my mother and I were like newlyweds, making love every day—on the bed in the bedroom, straddling the toilet, performing oral sex under the kitchen sink, and today we were making love on the sofa. My mother started wearing sexy lingerie and cosplaying, completely shedding her former pampered lady image.

We were only a little more reserved in public, but once on the back of a bus, she performed oral sex on me, and another time we had sex in the park and got bitten by mosquitoes. My mother had changed; she had become cheerful and lively. I dropped out of school and started selling things online from home, and my mother helped me. This made me want to hold my mother every day, enjoying the sweetness of love all the time.

Everything from the past is long gone, and I don't cling to those memories. As long as my mother is by my side, I am content.

********

This is a story from a friend of mine; apart from the incestuous relationship, everything else is his story.

You would never imagine that a wealthy young man like him could have so many troubles. I know it's like a TV drama, but he didn't tell me the ending, so I wrote a happy ending for him. Because shortly after I heard his story, he seemed to vanish into thin air; we couldn't find him anywhere. The school only said that his whole family went abroad.

Is that possible? I asked myself. Although I only knew him for a short time, his pain and expression at that time stirred ripples in my life. But things have changed, and everyone has their own path. I can only wish him well and hope he can live the life he wants.

I apologize for the lack of explicit content in this story; please forgive me.

********

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