A seemingly righteous mother

(1)

I always thought of my mother as a conservative woman, conservative in her manners and clothing. She never used foul language herself and wouldn't allow my sister and me to swear. She went to church every week without fail, rain or shine. Neat and tidy, serious and devout, this was my image of my mother for a long time.

However, something happened later that made me start to consider another possibility: perhaps my mother had another side that no one knew about.

It was an afternoon after school, and a few friends and I were huddled in our kitchen, wolfing down snacks. I finished my "battle" first and went to the basement to turn on the game console there, preparing to invite them down to play online games later.

A few minutes later, I went upstairs to find a cable. I saw my mother in the kitchen; she had probably just come home from work. I hurried into the living room and started looking for the cable. I didn't make much noise, so they probably didn't notice me. I could hear their conversation from the living room.

My mother greeted my friends, and they all responded, "Hi, Mrs. Baring!"

"Where's Brad?" my mother asked.

“He’s downstairs connecting the game console to the internet!” Brian replied.

They chatted for a while longer. Mom asked them how their day at school was, whether they needed more snacks and drinks, and so on. My friends answered each question.

Finally, Mom said, “I got some stains on my clothes at lunch, so I’d better take them off now and wash them properly.” Hearing this, I felt a little uneasy and turned to look.

From my angle, I could see Mom’s tall figure and her long, light brown hair. She was facing away from me, wearing ordinary work clothes: a jacket, a sweater, and black trousers.

She slowly took off her jacket, draped it over the back of an empty chair, and then swayed gently as she slowly walked into the adjacent laundry room—our laundry room was connected to the kitchen.

All eyes followed her figure; no one noticed my presence.

Mom seemingly casually closed the laundry room door, leaving a gap at least a foot wide. My friends craned their necks, peering inside.

From my vantage point, I could only see part of my mother's figure, but my friends could see her clearly; they were less than two meters away from her.

I watched as my mother grabbed the edge of her sweater, pulled it over her head, and took it off. Then she unbuttoned her black trousers and slowly peeled them off along her shapely, long legs. She stood there gracefully, wearing only a black bra and pink cotton panties.

For the first time in my life, I realized how perfect my mother's figure was! Full breasts, a pert bottom, long legs, a slender waist, her curves were exquisite and alluring; she exuded a mature and sexy aura from head to toe.

I stared in disbelief at my mother's figure as she picked up her clothes and threw them into the washing machine. My friends also held their breath, staring at her body.

My mother, with her back to the door, took a few items of clothing from the hanger, then bent down and put on her coarse twill cotton trousers. Her movements were unhurried, and everyone's eyes were focused on her round, large buttocks.

Then she turned around and, under the boys' watchful eyes, slowly and deliberately fastened her belt and put on a t-shirt. She acted as if no one else was around, seemingly oblivious to the hungry gazes outside the door. Her black bra disappeared beneath the loose t-shirt, her full, firm breasts revealing two rounded, alluring contours.

Mom opened the bedroom door and went back into the kitchen. The boys snapped out of their daze and hastily averted their gazes. Everyone remained silent; the atmosphere in the room remained eerily quiet.

I quickly moved away too, hearing Mom simply say, "Boys, see you later!"

Then there was a clattering sound as Mom went upstairs.

As soon as Mom disappeared, the oppressive atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to suddenly ease. My friends began to let out low groans and heavy breathing, each one seemingly relieved.

“She usually looks as serious as a nun,” I heard Zade whisper, “but when Brad isn’t around, she acts like a prostitute!” His comment elicited a chorus of snickers.

I felt both angry and embarrassed. Damn it! Mom’s behavior was unbelievable! How could she humiliate me like that, letting my friends see her half-naked?! She didn’t even let me see!

Just now she was wearing only two pieces of underwear, posing provocatively in front of my friends, and now they talk about her like a prostitute—it’s all so embarrassing!

My anger was still boiling over by evening. Finally, my friends left one by one, but then my sister Susan came home from school. This left me no opportunity to confront Mom and vent my pent-up frustration.

I felt suffocated all evening. As bedtime approached, Susan was still downstairs watching TV. I saw Mom get up and go upstairs, probably to her room. I quickly tidied myself up and followed her. I wanted to confront her and ask her why she had done that.

I ran upstairs and saw my mother's bedroom door open; she was about to go into the bathroom. I stormed into the room, and my mother turned to look at me. "What's wrong, Brad?"

"Mom, all the guys saw you changing in the laundry room!"

"What? Oh, no, I don't think they saw you."

"Of course they saw you! They were right outside the door! You left the door so wide open!"

"Oh, the door wasn't wide open," she denied with a smile, a nonchalant expression on her face, her hands casually on her hips. This made me even angrier.

"Aha! I saw it with my own eyes, the door was wide open! You could have closed it, or even changed in the bathroom, but you deliberately let them see you in your underwear, half-naked! Why did you do that? Do you know how embarrassed I am? I can't even face my friends now!"

"Oh, it's nothing, just underwear."

"Just underwear?! You haven't even let me see you in your underwear!" I was furious and blurted out without thinking, "Fine, I'm going to tell Dad about this and see what he thinks!"

My eyes were blazing with anger, but she didn't seem to care, as if I were being unreasonable. My mother's nonchalant attitude made me feel that she didn't respect my feelings at all.

"Please don't tell your father, okay?" my mother said softly. It seemed that my threat had worked, making her take me a little more seriously.

"You want me to keep this a secret and not let Dad know?" I snorted twice, still angry.

My mother stared into my eyes, hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons. Then she nodded slightly and said softly, "If I let you see me in my underwear, can you promise not to tell your father?"

Hmph! Ha! Wait, is Mom suggesting a bribe to keep me quiet? For a moment I was at a loss, even unable to believe my ears. Is this real? Can I really do that?

I was both surprised and excited, and a little guilty. Before I could even respond, I heard the garage door open downstairs. Mom heard it too. Without a doubt, Dad was home.

"You promise you won't tell Dad?" Mom asked again, each word calm and collected.

By then, I could hear the garage door open and Dad's distinctive footsteps enter the kitchen.

"Oh, okay! I promise!" I mumbled.

Mom crossed her arms, grabbed the edge of her t-shirt, and pulled it off over her head, just like I'd seen her that afternoon.

She threw the t-shirt on the floor, reached down, and unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down to her hips. Then she bent down and pulled the jeans off her long legs.

I stared blankly at the large, full, white breasts above the black bra cups, and the mysterious, deep cleavage between the high peaks. My mouth went dry, and I moved my lips, but couldn't utter a single word.

My God! I had never realized before how large Mom's breasts were!

Mom emerged gracefully from beneath her clothes and took two steps closer to me. She gathered her flowing, beautiful hair with both hands, palms up, and like a lingerie model facing a camera, she posed in front of me, twisting her waist and hips in several breathtakingly sexy poses.

"See, it's nothing special," Mom said calmly. Her demeanor was nonchalant, yet a hint of ambiguity played on her lips, as if implying the truth wasn't quite as she described.

I was speechless, dumbfounded. This was the first time in my life I had ever seen a woman posing so seductively in only a bra and panties—just for me. Good heavens! And such a beautiful, sexy woman at that! Even though this woman was my mother!

I stared, mouth agape, for a long time, until the sound of Dad's footsteps coming up the stairs dispelled this dreamlike scene.

Mom quickly grabbed her pajamas from the bedside table, turned lightly, and gracefully walked into the bathroom. I felt as if I were nailed to the spot by invisible shackles, unable to take a step. My gaze unconsciously followed the two pert buttocks that swayed from side to side through the thin cotton panties as I watched her walk in and close the door.

I was in a state of shock and trembling. I never thought that I would be so aroused and unable to control myself, just because I saw my mother wearing her underwear!

I stumbled back to my room, climbed onto the bed, and fantasized for the first time in my life about my mother ejaculating!

My God, my mother is such a slut!

(2)

In the following days, I wore loose running pants so that I could masturbate from time to time. I recalled again and again the image of my mother wearing only a bra and panties, half-naked, smiling and posing at me.

A primal desire for incest was quietly awakened. I began to observe my mother carefully, paying attention to her every move, every smile.

I had never looked at my mother with the same eyes I used to look at women. Now, like Columbus discovering a new continent, I suddenly realized with astonishment what a charming and alluring mature woman my mother truly was!

As a woman just over forty, she maintained a remarkably good figure, a classic "S" shape, curvaceous and alluring. My mother was tall and well-proportioned, with full, firm breasts (a 40D, based on my visual estimation and bra cup size), large, rounded buttocks, and long, shapely legs—all exuding irresistible charm. Her face was delicate and alluring, with pearly white teeth, full, rosy lips, and beautiful, flowing gray-brown hair that always drew attention.

No wonder my mother flaunted her charm in front of men—as I had inadvertently discovered that day—as a beautiful and sexy woman, she had the right to do so!

It wasn't just my perspective on my mother that changed; now I also paid closer attention to her relationships with other people. Zade's words, "But when Brad isn't around, she acts like a prostitute!" often echo in my mind, piercing my nerves like a needle. Those sharp, biting words had humiliated me then, making me feel utterly ashamed. But now, the thought of using the word "prostitute" to describe her behavior towards my friends that day gives me a morbid pleasure.

The following weekend, my whole family went to my aunt's house for a holiday and to celebrate my cousin's coming-of-age ceremony. It was a grand family gathering; I saw my cousins, uncles, aunts… almost every member of the family was there.

Because some family members had to leave early Saturday morning, the birthday celebration began after breakfast, with many still in their pajamas. My aunt, beaming, presented the birthday cake, and everyone began singing "Happy Birthday" in unison; the atmosphere in the hall was warm and peaceful.

Suddenly, my dog broke free of its leash and dashed off. I chased the mischievous boy all the way to the kitchen window before finally catching him. It was a gloomy morning, as if all the light was confined indoors. Standing outside the window, I could see the figures of various heights in the hall.

Dad stood in the middle of the group, his back to me. Mom wasn't with Dad; she was positioned far back, next to my Uncle Bill.

Mom was wearing a loose, oversized navy blue nightgown, continuing her usual style: conservative and unfashionable. The oversized nightgown almost covered her entire hips, concealing her alluring figure in a plain and unremarkable way. I noticed she was wearing a white crew-neck shirt under her nightgown.

My gaze shifted to Uncle Bill beside Mom. He was my dad's older brother, probably a year or two older than him. He looked more robust and well-proportioned than my dad. But his hair was thinning, making him appear prematurely aged.

Uncle Bill and Mom stood side by side in the back of the group, huddled together. I stared at him for a moment, about to look away, when I suddenly saw Uncle Bill do something shocking! He stretched out his hairy hand, wrapped it around my mother's waist, and placed it on her right hip!

Oh my God!

I stared in disbelief at the hand Uncle Bill had placed on my mother's ample buttocks!

Everyone in front of us was saying congratulatory words and watching my cousin unwrap his birthday presents one by one. No one noticed this lustful scene except me.

My mother glanced quickly at Uncle Bill, and the two seemed to exchange a subtle look. Then they both looked forward at the same time, staring ahead, as if nothing had happened. Then I saw Uncle Bill lower his hand and slowly stroke my mother's right hip.

My mother did not stop this shameless and lewd act at all. If she had any reaction, it was that she moved closer to Uncle Bill, and the two of them pressed even closer together.

Their eyes were fixed ahead, watching my cousin excitedly open each gift, my mother clapping occasionally in encouragement. Uncle Bill's large hand didn't stop there; it did more—slowly lifting my mother's nightgown, sliding down her blouse, disappearing into her pajama bottoms. A large bulge appeared in my mother's clothes at her hips, but she seemed oblivious. Watching my

mother and Uncle Bill's filthy behavior from afar, anger rose within me. My father was only inches away, and these two lewd people dared to be so shamelessly involved! At the same time, I felt a throbbing pain in my groin as my penis inappropriately began to erect.

Uncle Bill's hand roamed over Mom's plump buttocks. Occasionally, a bulge would appear in her clothes, then fall back down, smoothing out—Uncle Bill seemed to be kneading her flesh. Mom remained calm and unmoved, as if Uncle Bill wasn't playing with her buttocks at this moment.

I glared at the mischievous hand, watching it slide up and down between Mom's buttocks… A feeling of shame and indignation filled my chest.

The celebration continued noisily. Everyone else chatted and laughed, oblivious to the lewd couple enjoying themselves. I stood outside the window, filled with resentment and jealousy.

All of our clothes were in a bedroom upstairs. After the celebration, Mom got up to change. I quickly settled the dog and followed her. The door was slightly ajar, and Mom was preparing to change. I barged in and slammed the door shut behind me.

Mom stared at me in surprise. Before she could speak, I blurted out, "Mom, I saw you and Uncle Bill outside the window—you let him touch your butt!"

"What…you…what did you say?" Mom stammered, her face contorted in shock. She was speechless for a moment, just staring at my blazing eyes in alarm, before finally reacting after a few seconds.

"Oh, it's nothing, he just patted my back," she said, blushing. "We're family."

"He didn't just pat me, he did more!" I said in a low voice. I'd already experienced her sophistry before.

"Honey, it's nothing," Mom said softly. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Also, don't tell anyone what you saw."

"Really? If it really isn't anything, you wouldn't mind if I told Dad—and Aunt Jenny—about everything I saw today," I said coldly, turning and heading for the door.

My mother rushed to my side, blocking my path. "Brad, wait! Don't tell anyone about this."

I looked into her eyes; they were tense and flustered, as if she were desperately trying to cover up this shameful affair.

"Why shouldn't I say anything?" I said casually, stepping aside to face her, slightly angled towards the door.

"What do you want—from me?" she asked.

Was my mother trying to bribe me? Yes, she was in a difficult situation. What could I do? Take the opportunity to ask her for pocket money? Oh, of course not! I knew what I truly desired.

"Because 'it's nothing,' I want to do what Uncle Bill did."

My mother looked angry, her brows furrowing and her face turning frosty. Even I, who was usually so composed, felt a pang of anxiety, thinking that perhaps I had gone too far.

But her expression quickly softened. "Is that the price you pay for remaining silent?"

My mother looked at me quietly, and we stared back at each other silently. The room was silent, the only noise coming from the faint sounds of a crowd downstairs.

My mother took a deep breath. She reached out and grabbed my wrists, pulling them closer to her body and wrapping them around her waist. She placed my hands on her full buttocks.

At that moment, my mother and I were so close, almost embracing each other. I suppressed my excitement, tilting my head back slightly, gazing at my mother's beautiful face, feeling the roundness and fullness of her buttocks where my hands touched.

I stood frozen for a moment, motionless. Suddenly, a mocking smile appeared on my mother's previously stern face.

I steeled myself and began to move my slightly numb fingers, tracing and caressing her two fleshy and elastic buttocks.

Now I was doing what Uncle Bill had done. My hands caressed and embraced my mother's plump, round, and elastic buttocks. I could feel my mother's taut buttocks gradually relaxing. I squeezed the soft flesh of her buttocks, letting it overflow between my fingers. My hands were pressed against my mother's pajama bottoms, wandering and roaming over her full and firm buttocks, fully enjoying this wonderful touch.

This silent, blissful moment lasted for what seemed like an eternity, like a glacier melting. My mother raised her arms and naturally wrapped them around me, her hands resting on my buttocks! This unexpected "attack" sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could even react, she playfully pinched my buttocks, just as I had done to her! Meeting my surprised gaze, my mother's eyes were filled with a teasing smile.

We were now close to the door, my mother's back pressed against it. She pulled me closer, her legs slightly parted, her lower body slowly undulating forward, causing my swollen penis to rub against the curves between her legs. The sensation was as exhilarating as touching my mother's buttocks!

My erect penis pressed tightly against my mother's vulva through her clothes; I could almost feel the shape of the crevice.

She slowly moved her lower body, rubbing her vulva against my penis. The forbidden contact, the bone-deep pleasure, made me gasp for breath, like a fish out of water.

I used to hug my mother often, so I thought I was used to physical intimacy with her. But this time was different—in fact, everything was different.

I looked directly into my mother's eyes, only centimeters away from them. Her full, soft breasts pressed against my chest, and our lips were already touching. An urge to kiss her surged within me, but after several hesitations, I ultimately dared not try.

The rule of this deal was that I could do what Uncle Bill had done, but I also tried something he hadn't: I cupped my mother's firm, full buttocks and swayed them up and down and side to side for half a minute. My mother didn't stop my "transgression"; instead, she closed her eyes slightly, letting me do as I pleased. She seemed to enjoy it.

So I pressed my advantage, extending my right middle finger and carefully slipping it under the elastic band of my mother's pajama bottoms, exploring her bare skin.

Unfortunately, I only went a few centimeters before my mother withdrew her hands from my buttocks. She grabbed my arm, preventing me from exploring further.

“Enough,” she said in a low voice, her tone firm. She put my hands back to her sides. The spell was broken, and she was back to the mother I knew.

“Now I have to change my clothes,” Mom said, dismissing me. She turned and opened the door, urging me to leave immediately.

I reluctantly went out and watched her slam the door shut. But just as the door closed, I saw Mom smile at me, a smile that was both mocking and provocative.

Good heavens, my mother is such a slut!

(3)

The next day was Sunday. In the afternoon, the family gathering ended. Everyone packed their bags and left one after another.

Jamie’s family was also preparing to go home; they were faster than my family, and their luggage was already in the car. Jamie is one of my cousins; he is about my age and is polite and shy.

At such family gatherings, I often spent time with Jamie, watching TV, playing video games, exchanging gaming experiences, and passing the time together. My mother was quite familiar with him, and she couldn't help but chuckle whenever Jimmy called her "Mrs. Baring" with that peculiar rolled "r" sound.

We were loading the car, and Dad opened the hood to check its condition. Jimmy walked past me and called out. He went back to retrieve his coat, which he had accidentally left behind. I then went back upstairs to my bedroom to check for anything I had forgotten. Just then, I heard Mom come upstairs, calling Jimmy's name.

Jamie responded; he was in the room across the hall. Mom went in when she heard him. In the past, I certainly wouldn't have thought anything of it, but things were different now. I tiptoed to the door and peeked into the bedroom across the hall.

"Jamie! I thought you wouldn't leave without giving me a hug, right?" Mom said to him, half-jokingly.

Jamie was a little shorter than me. He had delicate features, but was rather thin. "...Oh, of course!"

he stammered, sounding a bit reserved. He looked up at my mother.

Mom was wearing a heavy knit sweater. The style was a bit stiff and not very fashionable, but it made her breasts look large and round.

"Then come on, give your aunt a warm hug!" Mom said with a smile. She opened her arms, wrapped them around Jamie, and hugged him tightly for a full minute.

Hugs weren't common among our family members. Aunts and uncles sometimes give their younger relatives a light hug, and aunts might occasionally peck a child on the cheek—usually just a symbolic kiss.

But my mother's actions at this moment were something I had never seen before! She lowered her head and pressed her lips to Jimmy's, gently kissing him!

My pupils dilated in surprise, staring at my mother in disbelief. Her right hand cradled the back of Jimmy's head, tilting it slightly. She gently sucked on Jimmy's lips, like savoring jelly; I could even hear the soft smacking sounds. My mother's full breasts pressed against Jimmy's body, rubbing slowly.

At first, Jimmy seemed a little uncomfortable, stiffening his body and passively accepting his mother's kiss. But soon he became more active. His arms wrapped around his mother's waist, embracing her and passionately returning the kiss—the two of them were as intimate as lovers! I stared at them, burning with jealousy.

After a while, Jimmy pulled his head back, panting heavily. His eyes sparkled, his face beaming with excitement.

"Come see me when you have time," Mom said calmly, a half-smile playing on her lips. She didn't say "we," but "I." Jimmy nodded like a chick pecking at rice, watching her gracefully leave the room.

On the way home, I was restless, constantly glancing sideways at Mom's rosy lips, wondering what it would feel like to kiss them. Damn Jamie! He clearly enjoyed kissing Mom so passionately.

She was his aunt!

Mom acted like a thirsty harlot! Damn! I gave Mom's full, alluring lips a hard look, filled with jealousy and resentment.

We returned home in the evening. After dinner, my sister went to her room to do her homework, while Dad lay on the sofa in the living room, watching the baseball game on TV with me. Perhaps from driving too much, Dad soon fell asleep, his head lolling to one side. He snored softly. My glasses slipped down to the tip of my nose.

Mom was in the kitchen around the corner, busy washing dishes. I stood up and tiptoed over. Mom was still wearing that dowdy sweater and black casual trousers—the same outfit she'd worn with Jamie a few hours earlier. I crept closer to her.

“Mom! Mom!” I called in a low voice.

“What is it, Brad?” She glanced back at me as she continued working.

“My cousin, your nephew!”

“Huh? What did you say?” Mom turned around.

“I saw you and Jamie!”

“Oh, when? What did you see?”

“I saw you kiss him!”

“Oh, in the bedroom.”

“Yes!”

“I was just saying goodbye. Can’t I kiss my own nephew?”

“Aha! You know that wasn’t just any kiss, it was a very passionate one!” I couldn’t help but raise my voice.

“Shh! Keep it down!” Mom scolded. She frowned and gestured with her chin toward the living room behind me.

I turned to look at Dad. From this vantage point, I couldn't see his face, but I could see his feet still resting on the sofa armrests, and hear his snoring, which sounded like a windmill.

"Do you want me to wake Dad and tell him what we talked about?" I whispered, playing my tried-and-true trump card again: "I'm going to tell Dad."

"No, not a word. Tell me, what do you want me to do?"

"I want what Jimmy got!"

Mom understood. Her brows furrowed, and she looked exasperated, as if dealing with a child's tantrum. "You know we can't do that."

I didn't say anything, just stood quietly in front of Mom, looking directly into her eyes. Mom leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, facing me silently for a moment. I think she could see the determination in my eyes.

Mom glanced quickly into the living room, then looked into my eyes again. She sighed softly.

"Where is your sister?"

"She's doing her homework in her room."

A silent smile bloomed on Mom's lips, like the first melting of snow. She lowered her crossed arms, reached out and wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me closer. Mom tilted her head slightly, pouting her rosy lips, and gently pressed them against mine. The

soft, warm touch spread from my lips, this exquisite sensation quickly engulfing my entire body, making me involuntarily close my eyes, lost in the sensual and enchanting atmosphere. Mom licked my lips, gently sucking and lightly biting them. Her tongue slowly explored my mouth, searching for my tongue.

I shuddered and opened my eyes. Completely inexperienced with this, I didn't know how to respond, only mechanically sticking out my tongue, letting Mom gently lick and touch me. Mom's bright eyes were full of laughter, her tongue rhythmically swirling around me, nimbly turning in circles. I tried to imitate her by curling my tongue, but saliva slid down my chin and onto my mother's chin.

How embarrassing! I was a little frustrated, but the smile in my mother's eyes deepened.

I tried even harder to move my tongue, trying to match my mother's rhythm. I could hear the soft "sizzling" sounds of our lips. My mother's full, high breasts pressed tightly against my chest, and I could fully feel their amazing softness and elasticity.

To get extra "compensation," I boldly lifted my mother's sweater and placed my hands on her round, pert buttocks, kneading her plump flesh as I had done yesterday. My mother tacitly approved of my impudent behavior. She hissed as she inhaled, and her arms tightened around me. Her tongue swirled and churned in my mouth, continuing her "whipping" of me.

My penis swelled and throbbed, creating a tent in my lower body, pressing directly against my mother's lower abdomen through my pants.

My mother tacitly opened her legs, clamping my penis between them, and slowly swayed her hips back and forth. Waves of pleasure surged through me like a tidal wave, relentlessly assaulting my senses.

Gradually, I felt an unbearable heat coursing through my body, as if a flame was burning and rising in my chest and abdomen. I couldn't help but increase the pressure of my hands, vigorously kneading my mother's round, plump buttocks. My mouth held her warm, smooth tongue tightly, sucking, licking, and biting, wishing I could swallow it whole.

A blush crept onto Mom's smooth cheeks, her eyes glazed over as if about to overflow with tears. My heart pounded even faster. "Alright!" Mom said softly. She abruptly pushed me away, wriggling out of my arms.

I quickly turned to look at the living room. Dad was still fast asleep. I turned back, gazing at Mom's beautiful face. Her lips and chin were covered in my saliva. Mom wiped it away, giving me a reproachful glare. My heart fluttered, and I stared longingly at Mom's full lips.

What a wonderful feeling! If only I could experience it again!

But Mom ignored me. She turned away and continued doing her chores. I lingered in the kitchen for a while, but ultimately dared not make a move, and left dejectedly.

As I climbed the stairs, I looked back at Mom with resentment, only to meet her gaze unexpectedly. She smiled at me, a smile still so ambiguous and mocking. I smiled and looked at her, and my mood became cheerful again.

I went back to my room and lay on my back on the bed. Whether my eyes were open or closed, the passionate scene just now was still lingering in my mind, like a movie replay, flashing before my eyes again and again.

I masturbated several times until I could no longer ejaculate, and then I fell into a drowsy sleep.

My God! My mother is such a slut!

(4)

Recently, my car broke down and I left it at the car shop for repairs. In order to avoid the inconvenience of walking home, my mother and I reached a small agreement: I would drive her car to school, and after school I would pick her up from work and then we would go home together.

My mother's job is part-time, and she only needs to work three days a week. I arrived at my mother's company at around 3:30 pm. My mother led me from the reception area into her office. She could only leave after about an hour. My mother asked me to do my homework in the small lounge next door while waiting for her to get off work.

From the moment I first saw my mother in the reception area, I was captivated by her stunning beauty: this woman seemed unlike my mother—she wasn't dressed like this when I drove her to work that morning!

She was wearing a loose, zip-up wool sweater and light blue casual pants. The sweater was oversized and ill-fitting, almost covering her entire hips. My mother always wore such old-fashioned clothes when she went out to work: oversized cardigans, button-down jackets, or zip-up sweaters. The cardigans were long enough to cover her hips. Now, my mother had taken off her oversized coat, and for the first time, I saw what she was wearing underneath.

She was wearing a red, tight-fitting sweater, the fabric thin and clinging to her body, like a second skin; I could even see the texture of her bra through it. The neckline was low, outlining a deep cleavage between her full breasts.

As she walked towards me, I could see her large breasts trembling slightly beneath the thin fabric. As she led me through the hallway to her office, I couldn't help but stare intently at her swaying, voluptuous buttocks.

Her pants, as taut as her skin, clung tightly to her large, round, pert bottom, clearly showing the outline of her underwear—these underwear were smaller than any I had ever seen! I couldn't believe that such a large bottom could fit into such tight, tiny underwear! Her two plump buttocks swayed before me, rising and falling repeatedly, so sexy it almost took my breath away!

Damn! At home, in front of me, Mom dressed so conservatively, but in the office, she dressed like a prostitute!

I sat in the cubicle next to her, able to hear Mom tapping away on the keyboard, occasionally getting up to organize documents.

After a while, it sounded like a man walked down the hallway and placed something on Mom's desk.

"Hi! Linda!" a middle-aged man's voice rang out.

"Hi!" Mom responded cheerfully.

"If I had known you were dressed so sexily today, I would have come to visit sooner!" the man rudely and blatantly flirted with Mom.

I held my breath, waiting for my mother to deliver a sharp rebuke to this rude bastard. But all I heard was a soft chuckle from her, "Oh, really? I dressed like this just for you."

This flattery clearly pleased the man, who exclaimed, "You look so delicious!" I heard my mother let out a soft moan, and then he left.

A few minutes later, someone else came in. A middle-aged man said, "I need you to correct these documents." He then began to explain his requirements to my mother.

At this point, I couldn't concentrate on my homework anymore; all I wanted to do was peek at my mother next door. I quietly stood up and carefully observed the partition between the two rooms. Luckily, I found a very inconspicuous gap in the corner. I quickly moved closer and peered inside.

Great! The situation next door was clear!

My mother was standing next to a middle-aged man, listening to him explain what changes needed to be made to the documents in his hands. The man's left arm was around my mother's waist, his hand roaming restlessly over her ample buttocks. My mother seemed completely unconcerned, her face expressionless. She was actually letting these bastards grope her backside while she was working!

After the conversation ended, the man patted my mother's buttocks, kissed her cheek, and then slowly walked out. My mother sat down and continued typing, as if nothing had happened.

A short while later, a young man, probably in his twenties, swaggered in and plopped down on my mother's desk.

Clearly, he had nothing important to do; he just wanted to flirt with her. "Did I tell you you looked particularly charming today?"

"Actually, you already said so," my mother smiled brightly at him.

"I'd also say that's what I admire most," he said flippantly.

I stared wide-eyed as the young man extended his right index finger and slowly traced circles on the full breasts at my mother's neckline. His fingers finally slipped into her deep cleavage, sliding in and out as if he were fingering her breasts.

Mom didn't stop him, a half-smile on her face, continuing to type until the man finished his "entertainment" and left the room satisfied.

A little while later, an older man came in from the room opposite Mom's. Actually, Mom hadn't been working there long, so I didn't know this man was her boss, Tom, although I'd heard Mom mention his name a few times.

Mom was still typing away. "Let me see how far you've gotten," the older man said, standing behind Mom, his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward to examine her computer screen.

"Good, looks good," the older man commented. Then I saw his gaze leave the screen and fall down to Mom's chest.

"I've been in meetings all day, too busy to do this," his hands slid down to Mom's chest, slowly squeezing and kneading her ample breasts through her sweater.

Mom stopped working, tilted her head back, and moaned softly, clearly enjoying her boss's "massage service."

I leaned forward, peering intently through the narrow gap at the scene before me, and my lower body involuntarily hardened.

Although I had stopped typing, my mother's hands remained on the keyboard. Her face was rosy, and she smiled, letting Tom knead her full, high breasts.

My mother's seat was facing me. From my angle, I could see that her red sweater was noticeably bulging, and I guessed Tom's hand was inside her bra, playing with her bare nipples. I felt myself almost unable to control my breathing, and I could only desperately try not to make a sound.

"Why don't you come to my office for a while?" the old man suggested.

"My son is right here, waiting to go home with me," my mother said softly, gesturing in my direction.

Even though I knew they couldn't possibly see me, I instinctively backed away. Just then, I heard the old man's footsteps; he had returned to the office across the street.

On the drive home, my mother put on a loose blouse again, covering her slutty clothes underneath.

"Have you finished your homework?" she asked.

I didn't waste time on such a trivial question. "Mom, let your boss touch you!" I said bluntly. By this time, I knew that the old man was my mother's boss, Tom.

My mother glanced at me quickly, then looked back at the road ahead and continued driving.

She was silent for a moment, not speaking immediately.

“Brad, it’s just that sometimes people get bored at work, so they occasionally make jokes that go a little too far. It’s no big deal. Besides, it helps me keep my job. I bet the same thing happens at your dad’s company.”

“Mom, that’s not some trivial joke! You let a guy touch your breasts!”

“So he can help me get a promotion. It’s not really cheating.”

I played the “dad” card again: “Do you think Dad would think the same way if I told him?”

Mom took a deep breath. “No, please don’t tell your dad.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell him?” I pressed.

This pattern of behavior between my mom and me had almost become a fixed routine. Whenever I saw someone do something to Mom, I would ask them to do the same to her—that was the price for my silence. But in the past, it was just looking at her in her underwear, or pinching her butt, or asking for a kiss, not this—touching Mom’s breasts.

I didn’t say anything more. Mom turned to look at me and found me staring at her breasts.

“No, that’s not right!” Mom immediately refused. We both knew what “that” meant.

She continued driving, staring straight ahead. I thought for a few seconds, considering what to say next. I didn’t want to give up.

Finally, I retorted, “Maybe I should let Dad decide what’s right.”

Mom continued driving, but my threat had clearly affected her; she needed to consider the consequences of refusing.

Suddenly, she jerked the steering wheel to the right, and we left the main road, entering a densely wooded path.

The car slowed down and stopped in the bushes by the roadside.

Mom didn’t say a word. She unbuckled her seatbelt, loosened her loose cardigan, leaving it open, and turned to face me.

In the dim light, I could see the red of her sweater underneath.

Mom had agreed to my request, which I found hard to believe. I tentatively reached out my right hand and touched her high breasts, then moved it up to her left breast, feeling how round, large, and incredibly elastic it was.

I gently kneaded it.

The bra was surprisingly thin. It was just a layer of cotton yarn with no padding, allowing me to easily knead and fondle my mother's full breasts, experiencing the real feel of them.

My mother remained silent, offering no protest. I placed my left hand on it as well, eagerly and quickly squeezing and kneading the two full breasts. I could feel the two firm nipples protruding through the thin sweater.

She tilted her chin back, took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled, as if sighing in pleasure.

My mother's lips trembled slightly, her expression a half-smile, and she said nothing.

I held the two heavy breasts, caressing, kneading, and gently shaking them. My mother arched her back, her chest lifted, her eyes slightly closed, whimpering softly, a smile appearing on her lips.

After playing with them for a while, on a whim, without thinking, I reached towards the neckline of the sweater, trying to slip my hand inside my mother's bra. "No! That's enough!" My mother grabbed my wrist.

“But Tom did it.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did!” I insisted.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Mom said with a smile, gentle yet firm. She removed my hands from her breasts, then quickly fastened her blouse, re-fastened her seatbelt, and started the car.

We were on the road again.

On the way, Mom asked me how my day at school was. I had no interest in that and just gave a perfunctory answer.

Scenes from the afternoon flashed through my mind: Mom’s ambiguous words and actions with men, how Mom’s boss played with her breasts, and finally, I couldn’t help but think of the wonderful feeling I had just experienced, with my hands on those full breasts.

(5)

I had the flu and stayed home to rest. I didn’t go to school on Tuesday. Mom didn’t have to go to work that day because of her part-time job.

Mom came in in the morning to take my temperature. I lay lazily on the bed, feeling a little weak. But it was actually quite pleasant to just lie in bed and sleep in.

She asked how I was feeling, and I mumbled, "Not bad."

Mom sat on the edge of my bed, wearing loose pajamas. "Are you planning to lie here all morning?"

"Yes." I glanced at Mom's rounded profile, turned over, and mumbled a reply.

"Okay then," she said, "the plumber will be coming to fix the pipes this morning, I have to go downstairs and wait."

"Okay, don't worry about me."

After Mom left, I drifted off to sleep again, and even had a wet dream: Mom was masturbating me, and then we were intimately entwined... The dream was beautiful but short-lived, and a low truck engine sound woke me up. The plumber must be coming.

Back to reality, I couldn't help but feel a little frustrated. The scenes in my dream were unrealistic; I thought it was impossible.

I stared blankly for a while, and then it suddenly occurred to me that Mom would be alone with the plumber later. Would they flirt?

Just then, I heard the doorbell ring.

Mom closed my bedroom door as she went out. I jumped out of bed, ran over, quietly opened the door, tiptoed to the stairwell, and crouched down to peek towards the front door.

I saw my mother opening the door, letting two men carrying toolboxes in. My mother stood behind the door, her figure obscured by the doorway. I think she was deliberately trying to hide her from the neighbors, because her attire at that moment was shocking!

The pajamas I'd seen that morning were gone, replaced by a white spaghetti strap nightgown—more like lingerie than pajamas, something I'd seen my mother wear on a hot summer night—thin, short, and very form-fitting, the hem barely covering her upper thighs, and with a low-cut neckline!

When my mother turned around, her full, firm breasts trembled, the two nipples barely visible beneath the white fabric. It was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.

I pulled back, and after my mother led the plumber into the kitchen, I quietly slipped down the stairs, crouching low to peek.

"The crack's under the sink," I heard my mother say. She opened the closet door under the sink and bent down to move some items out.

Her back was partially obscured by the two plumbers. From my angle, I could see the hem of the short nightgown almost reaching her waist with her movements.

Damn! Those two plumbers could definitely see most of her underwear!

Mom, bent over, slowly and deliberately took things out of the closet and placed them on the counter.

I saw the two plumbers staring intently at Mom's protruding buttocks, their expressions a mixture of surprise and lewdness, their jaws practically dropping.

A sudden urge stirred within me, and I leaned forward to get a better look. Just then, one of them stepped aside to put down his toolbox, clearing the way, and my gaze fell upon Mom's round, plump buttocks: Good heavens! She wasn't wearing underwear!

Nothing under her bra!

Damn! She actually let these two guys admire her bare bottom!

I stared in astonishment at Mom's figure, thinking my jaw was about to drop too! I really didn't know what to think… After cleaning the closet, Mom, still with her buttocks sticking out, pointed to the crack in the sink. Then she straightened up, clapped her hands casually, and said, "All done! You can fix it now, I'm going to do the laundry over there."

She smiled as she walked past the plumbers and gracefully into the adjacent laundry room. The two plumbers watched her walk away before snapping out of their daze. They opened their toolboxes and got to work,

their eyes still occasionally drifting towards the laundry room. There, Mom's semi-nude show continued. She flitted around the room like a butterfly, constantly bending over and sticking out her buttocks to operate the washing machine and dryer.

From my side, I could only see parts of Mom's figure, but I think the two plumbers were clearly having a feast for the eyes.

They not only got to enjoy her bare buttocks but also occasionally glimpsed the curves of her breasts—when Mom bent over in their direction.

One of the plumbers looked older, about the same age as my father. He told the younger man to go to the truck and get a few more tools.

After the younger man left, Mom went into the kitchen. I heard her whisper to the one who remained, "You brought a partner today. I didn't know you had a partner before."

"Yes," the man replied, looking up, "I have another job today, and I need help."

Mom didn't say anything more; she turned and went back to the laundry room. I noticed she seemed a little unhappy.

The young man returned quickly. A little while later, Mom came out of the laundry room with some clothes and headed towards the balcony.

"Damn!" the young man muttered as soon as Mom left, "That's fucking hot!"

"Yeah," the older one replied, "a slutty housewife!"

"Do you often encounter women like that?"

"Yes, when I was younger," the older one chuckled.

"So do you think if one of us came alone, we could 'do it' with her?"

"Maybe. Sometimes they just want to 'show off,' but most of the time we can get our hands on her."

They fixed the sink soon after and left.

"Damn it!" I heard Mom curse in disappointment as she closed the door. I rarely heard Mom curse like that.

I ran back to my room and paced aimlessly.

How could Mom do this? Had she flirted with that plumber before? Or even gone further, had they slept together?

My cold seemed to have healed itself; I felt nothing at all. But the turmoil within me surged like a tidal wave—anger, hunger, jealousy… a mix of emotions that wouldn't subside.

Then I heard footsteps clattering on the stairs; my mother was coming up.

In my confusion, I suddenly realized that she would likely soon change out of that revealing nightgown and into something more ordinary. Should I just stand by and let this opportunity slip away? I had to act immediately!

Without hesitation, I jumped up and rushed out again.

At the top of the stairs, I bumped into my mother; she was still wearing that short nightgown.

“What’s wrong, honey? Is something the matter?” She was surprised to see my hurried appearance.

“Yes! Something’s wrong! Of course something’s wrong! My mother is dressed so provocatively, showing off to the plumbers!” I couldn't contain my anger.

My mother was momentarily stunned. Following my gaze, she glanced down at the short nightgown that accentuated her curves, revealing two dark nipples faintly visible on her round breasts.

"You mean this? They arrived earlier than I expected, so I had to let them in first. You know we've already prepaid for the repairs; if we missed it today, we'd have to reschedule. Besides, I just need to be careful not to expose myself." Mom said casually.

If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I might have been convinced. But her explanation only fueled my anger!

"You didn't cover yourself at all when you bent over! They could see your whole butt!"

"You saw it?"

"Yes! I could see it from a distance, let alone when they were so close! And I even heard them talking about it!"

"Okay, I wasn't paying attention, so they saw my butt. I'll be more careful next time. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Maybe I'll tell Dad, unless—unless you want to make a deal."

Mom sighed softly. “What deal?”

“I want to see your ass.”

“You know you can’t do this, Brad! I’m your mother! No! You can’t do this!”

I didn’t say anything, standing motionless, staring into her eyes.

Mom and I stared at each other silently for a moment. She bit her lower lip, then suddenly walked past me, heading straight for the bedroom, as if she saw through my bluff.

Had this tactic failed? I turned around, staring blankly at Mom’s back, unsure of what to do.

Just as I was at a loss, a beautiful and astonishing scene appeared before my eyes: Mom walked along, crossing her arms in front of her, lifting the bottom of her short nightgown, slowly pulling it up to her head, and then taking it off.

Mom’s naked body was facing away from me, her chest covered by the short nightgown, slowly walking down the porch towards the bedroom, seemingly unaware that her voluptuous and slender figure had almost petrified her son!

I stared dumbfounded at my mother's plump, round buttocks. The two smooth buttocks rose and fell alternately with her leisurely steps, swaying and trembling like the most delicious jelly in the world.

I watched my mother walk into the bedroom. Her bra and panties were scattered on the floor. My mother bent down to pick up her underwear. In the instant she bent over, her round, full buttocks rose high, and the brown pubic hair between her legs was instantly fixed in my sight.

My mother turned around, the short nightgown in her hand half covering her chest. She glanced at me calmly and closed the door. However, in the instant the door closed, I caught a glimpse of a mischievous and ambiguous smile on my mother's lips.

Good heavens! My mother is such a slut!

(6)

At school, my chemistry course was still at the beginner level, while my parents wanted me to move up to the advanced level. This was not in line with usual practice, as schools generally do not make such adjustments in the middle of the school year.

My parents negotiated with the school several times. My advisor finally agreed that if I could get Mr. Pindyck's approval, I could be transferred to another class. So I went to ask Mr. Pindyck for his opinion, but his answer was a curt "No."

Being turned away wasn't a big deal for me, since I didn't want to go to that advanced class where even keeping up with the lessons was difficult. But this cold rejection infuriated my mother, and she decided to talk to the chemistry teacher herself.

She quickly made an appointment with Mr. Pindyck to meet him at school. My mother was going to bring me along so that we could have a small "three-way meeting" after school. My mother

left work early that afternoon to come to the school to find me. We met at the school gate, and then I led my mother to Mr. Pindyck's office on the second floor. He was sitting behind a desk in the corner of the room, facing the door.

Mr. Pindyck was a thin, middle-aged man, balding, wearing thick glasses, and had a somewhat pedantic air about him. When we entered, he stood up to greet us and asked us to sit down.

As Mom sat down, she took off her coat and casually draped it over the back of the chair. She wore a black, tight-fitting sweater and a red, button-down skirt.

I noticed the skirt was unbuttoned up to mid-thigh. I remembered seeing it all buttoned up when she left that morning.

Mom's sweater was very form-fitting, thin and sheer, highlighting the contours of her full, rounded breasts; I could even vaguely see her white silk bra underneath.

I think Mr. Pindick must have seen it too, because he was staring intently at Mom's chest.

Mom leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, and I caught a glimpse of white underwear beneath her skirt.

The skirt slid up to her thighs with her movement.

She wore black stockings and red stilettos, looking both elegant and sexy.

After settling down, Mom told Mr. Pindick why she wanted me to switch shifts. She was friendly, articulate, and engaging. I thought if I were Mr. Pindyck, I would surely have been persuaded.

But in reality, I wasn't sure how much of her words Mr. Pindyck had actually taken in, because he seemed distracted. His gaze lingered on my mother's full, high breasts and shapely, long legs.

When it was Mr. Pindyck's turn to answer, he pushed up his glasses and slowly offered a series of flimsy excuses, such as not having enough seats in class, not having a suitable partner for experiments, and so on. In short, this stubborn fellow remained adamant and refused to compromise.

His expression was indifferent, clearly lacking sincerity, merely offering perfunctory excuses. I think my mother noticed this as well.

I sensed a flash of anger in her eyes. She didn't show it, her tone remaining gentle.

As she subtly refuted Mr. Pindyck, she lowered her crossed legs, intentionally or unintentionally spreading her knees apart.

My seat was diagonally opposite my mother, and from this angle, I could almost see her underwear under her skirt. I figured Mr. Pindyck, sitting across from her, must have seen it too.

In fact, while he was talking, his gaze kept drifting between my mother's legs.

The conversation reached a stalemate. My mother insisted I switch shifts, but Mr. Pindyck wouldn't budge.

"Brad," my mother said, turning to me, "you can go now. I'd like to speak with Mr. Pindyck privately for a while."

Having been unable to get a word in edgewise, I was happy to leave. Relieved, I got up and walked towards the door.

"Please close the door behind you, thank you!" my mother said. I closed the door behind her.

The moment the door closed, I glanced back and saw Mr. Pindyck still lecherously surveying my mother's body.

What did my mother want to say to Mr. Pindyck? I looked up at the office window, wondering.

The window was mostly obscured by posters and items piled up near it, but there were still gaps to peek through.

I looked around; the long corridor was empty, with the boiler operator occasionally going in and out of the bathroom at the corner, but it seemed no one was paying attention this way. So I cautiously approached the window.

Mr. Pindick's desk faced the door, and I could see his face and my mother's back.

It seemed my mother was talking. The doors and windows were very soundproof, and I couldn't hear what she was saying. But judging from her tone, she seemed to be asking a question.

I also noticed that my mother's legs seemed to be spread wider.

Then I saw my mother cross her arms and pull up her tight sweater!

She pulled the sweater above her chest, stopping at her armpits. My mother was still facing away from me, but from my angle, I could see a small portion of her exposed breasts—she had pushed up her bra, exposing her breasts to Mr. Pindick!

Oh my god! Just like a scene from that New Orleans film, *Wild Girl*!

Mr. Pindick was stiffly leaning forward, his glasses slipping down his nose, as if frozen in place.

His eyes were wide open, staring unblinkingly at my mother's chest, his mouth agape, looking both comical and ridiculous.

My mother remained in that position for a while. Then she lowered her hands and bent her elbows. I imagined Mom's posture at that moment was supporting her breasts with both hands.

Then, I saw her arms gently swaying up and down—she was shaking her breasts in front of Mr. Pindick!

Mom's body trembled slightly as well.

Damn! I wish I were the one sitting in Mr. Pindick's seat right now!

I stared straight at Mom's slender back.

In my shock and daze, Mom pulled down her sweater again. She stood up and put on her coat.

I snapped out of my daze, quickly left the corridor, and went downstairs to get my car. When I drove up to the school gate, Mom had just gotten into her car.

As I drove closer, she rolled down the window and said only one sentence to me: "You've moved up to the advanced class."

I drove ahead and got home first. Mom stopped at a fast food restaurant for a while to prepare dinner.

After returning home, she immediately changed into her pajamas. I noticed that when she came in, the buttons on the front of her skirt suit were already fastened.

Dinner was served at the kitchen table. During the meal, Dad asked how the class transfer was going. I replied that Mr. Pindick initially disagreed, but Mom negotiated with him, and he eventually relented.

Dad then asked Mom how she had persuaded Mr. Pindick.

Mom casually replied, "I just assured him that moving Brad to the advanced class would be beneficial for him."

Her tone was very relaxed. I glanced at Mom. She was wearing cotton trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. Her usually prominent breasts were concealed by the loose clothing.

My gaze swept over her chest, and I couldn't help but start planning to "demand" from Mom after dinner. I wasn't sure if she would "give in," but my lower body was already stirring.

After dinner, my sister went to the basement to watch TV, while Dad leaned back on the living room sofa to watch the baseball game.

I waited for a while, and when Mom passed through the hallway, I quietly intercepted her.

“Mom, I saw how you ‘convinced’ Mr. Pindick,” I said in a low voice.

“What did you see?” Mom frowned at me and asked softly.

“I saw you shaking your breasts at him from outside the window!”

Mom glanced towards the living room and sighed. “I was just using my feminine assets. I did it entirely for you.”

“Then I should ask Dad if he approves of you displaying your ‘feminine assets’ to outsiders, or if he wants you to keep them for him?” My gaze involuntarily drifted to Mom’s chest.

Following my gaze, Mom looked down at her breasts.

“Absolutely not, Brad!” she said firmly. She knew what I wanted.

“Impossible! I won’t expose my breasts to please my son! Don’t even think about it!”

After saying that, Mom pressed her lips together, expressionless, and looked away from me. But she didn’t leave.

Seeing this, an idea struck me; I decided to “turn the tables” on her!

I turned and walked towards the living room. Dad was reading the newspaper, and a baseball game was playing on the TV in the living room.

I plopped down in the recliner, facing the TV at an angle, about ten paces away from Dad.

Dad glanced up at me, but seeing that I looked like I was going to watch TV, he didn't say anything. He kept his head down, continuing to read the newspaper. I

turned my head slightly to look at Mom. She was staring at me nervously, her expression anxious, clearly startled by my actions.

As soon as my gaze met hers, she raised her hand to her lips, gesturing for me to be quiet.

Then I saw Mom take a few steps back. She was in a blind spot in Dad's view, but I could see her clearly.

She crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her sweater, and slowly pulled it up, revealing her flat, white stomach and white lace bra. Mom took the sweater off her head and threw it on the floor.

My breathing quickened.

Dad flipped through a page, still engrossed in his newspaper. The baseball game on TV was in full swing, a noisy and chaotic scene.

Mom was standing near the stairs. I thought that if Dad suddenly got up or moved around, or if my sister ran up from the basement, she could quickly slip upstairs.

Mom looked directly into my eyes, a slight smile on her face. I sat frozen like a puppet, trying to maintain my original posture to avoid attracting Dad's attention.

She loosened the bra straps. Then, Mom reached behind her back to unhook the back clasp.

The white bra gradually loosened with her movements, and I couldn't help but widen my eyes, feeling a rush of heat to my head and a throbbing pain in my temples.

Seeing my stunned expression, Mom's smile deepened. She raised her hand and took off the bra. Her large, firm breasts, freed from the fabric's restraint, sprang out, violently assaulting my vision, making me hold my breath.

The perfect, full breasts before me left me speechless, and I was thankful that Dad hadn't noticed my lapse in judgment.

Mom's breasts were even fuller than I had imagined. On her large, firm, full breasts, two erect nipples, like ripe and delicious grapes, stood proudly atop her beautiful areolas, breathtakingly beautiful, a masterpiece of nature.

My mother struck a familiar pose—oh! Just like the night she put on her "lingerie show" for me—she tousled her long hair with one hand, while the other rested on her hips, twisting her waist and swaying her hips, crossing her legs, like a fashion model posing for a magazine cover. Her curvaceous S-shaped figure magnetically drew my gaze.

Next, she leaned forward, swaying and shaking from side to side, as if performing a passionate Hawaiian hula dance. Her full breasts, with the swaying of her body, gradually transformed into waves of surging, sensual flesh, almost mesmerizing me… My mother cupped her full, round breasts in her hands, gently shaking and kneading them. She pinched the two nipples at the peaks of her breasts with her fingertips, slowly kneading them under my fervent, thirsty gaze. My blood surged, and for a moment, I felt as if I were in a dream, both real and unreal… I saw my mother lean forward, her hands resting on her knees. Her hanging breasts swayed and trembled dramatically under my gaze.

My mother looked up at my wide-open mouth, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

Just as I was completely mesmerized, my mother suddenly stopped her "topless show." She picked up her clothes from the floor, turned briskly, and went upstairs.

Watching my mother disappear silently around the corner, I swallowed hard and withdrew my resentful gaze.

My father was still engrossed in reading the newspaper, and commercials were playing on the television.

Everything seemed normal, but my heart couldn't calm down from the shock I had just experienced. I felt like my lower body was about to burst.

Oh my god! My mother is such a slut!

(43137 words)

[The End]

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A seemingly righteous mother

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