Mother in a Woman's Eyes

Before the 21st century, a place with water and fields was considered a good place. People in good places could always eat fragrant white rice at every meal, and families that could afford white rice didn't have to worry about finding wives. My family lived in a remote corner deep in the mountains, with a large river in front and a mountain range behind. Every autumn, a gentle breeze would blow, and the terraced fields would ripple with golden waves of rice. Outsiders would marvel at our remoteness while envying our full granaries. My father was able to marry my mother thanks to those times when even basic sustenance was a problem, and to those fertile, water-rich fields.

My mother was a petite woman with a gentle nature, always wearing a smile. She seemed to always be accommodating to others, rarely showing her own emotions, living like a little deer, a typical submissive wife. My mother's marriage was entirely arranged by my maternal grandfather. Before marrying my father, she had barely even seen him a few times. My grandfather was particularly domineering, and perhaps women raised in such families inevitably develop a submissive nature. My grandmother and several aunts had no say in his presence. Because my grandparents favored my uncle, my father never received strict discipline and was practically a playboy. It's said that before marrying my mother, he had an affair with a widow across the river. In a poorer area, my father would have been a bachelor for life. Because of his reputation, most families were unwilling to marry their daughters to him, and many matchmakers couldn't find a suitable girl. Later, my maternal grandfather took the initiative to contact a matchmaker, which finally brought my parents together.
My father loved to stir things up and was always looking for trouble. Not long after the marriage, he took my mother's savings and gambled with some young men from the village. They lost everything, but my mother didn't say anything and acted as if nothing had happened. My mother seemed somewhat weak and subservient in front of my father, always following his lead. In the family, my father was the undisputed head, letting my mother do as she pleased, and she always fully cooperated. What impressed me most was her marital life; she always fulfilled her wifely duties and provided exceptional service.

From as far back as I can remember, my father could have sex with my mother anytime. Some might ask, isn't it normal for a husband to have sex with his wife? Of course not. A man has to wait for the right time and the woman's consent before he can have sex with a woman. But my mother was treated like a tool to be used, and my father could play with her as he pleased. Even when my mother was menstruating, my father would still have sex with her when he was aroused. Or, if my mother was urinating, my father would pull her up and thrust into her violently.

The first time I clearly remember visiting my parents was when I was four years old. "Eight...eight...eight...two...two..." I vaguely heard my mother calling out, and the bed creaked and shook. Looking down, I saw my father thrusting into my mother. He had his left hand around her stomach and his right hand slapping her repeatedly. Usually, my mother slept at the foot of the bed with me, and my father slept at the head. In winter, my mother would always use her body to warm my body and my father's feet. I woke up to find my mother gone from beside me. Looking up towards the sound of her voice, I saw my father kneeling in the middle of the bed, his broad back obscuring her body. I could barely make out her legs, her outline, and her hands gripping the headboard. Through his crotch, a thick tuft of dark hair came into view, the tips glistening with translucent, milky droplets. His dark, wrinkled scrotum was rhythmically thrusting against my mother's, occasionally parting her red labia, and I could vaguely feel something being pushed inside, white foam scattered around. "Mom, Mom, Mom," I called out, unable to bear seeing my mother being violated. Everything fell silent. My father lowered his right hand, wrapped his arms around my mother's waist, and turned to face me. My mother twisted her body, her left hand bracing against my father's chest, her right hand gripping the mosquito net frame, looking at me sideways. After a brief respite, Father turned back and launched another fierce assault on Mother. Mother tried to break free, but her petite frame was no match for Father's strength. Mother crawled towards me like a puppy, her face flushed, and as she drew near, she lifted her body to embrace me. My face pressed against the small, fleshy mound of her breast, a familiar tenderness, the sweet memory of suckling still lingering in my mind. Mother gently encircled my head with one hand and covered my eyes with the other, soothing me in a trembling voice, saying, "Sweetie... sweetie, you're awake... Mommy... is here. It's alright... it's alright... wait... wait... wait a bit... Mommy will... sleep with you, uh...!" Mother seemed exhausted; her body slowly slumped, resting lightly on my shoulder. My chin rested on her shoulder, allowing me to witness Father's struggle behind us. Father, seemingly glued to Mother, held her waist tightly, facing me directly alongside her. He thrust his hips violently, slamming into my mother, making her body feel like it was about to fall apart. His strength increased, and the bed almost collapsed. My mother tried again to lift her body, attempting to cover my eyes to prevent me from witnessing their intimate act, but she failed several times, repeatedly being pushed down by my father. "Ah! Ah! Ah! What do you know, you four or five-year-old? Who hasn't seen their parents doing it when they were little! You lie still, it's coming!" my father said to my mother, somewhat impatiently. He gritted his teeth and attacked my mother with all his might. Suddenly, my mother's body tensed, her head stiffened, her mouth opened wide, followed by a spasm, and her body went limp on the bed, panting heavily and trembling. In that instant of my mother's strange reaction, my father immediately withdrew, his red, wet, hard, and trembling member disappearing from my mother's rear; one after another, a stream of fluid gushed from my mother's anus, like a man holding back his bladder to urinate. Father glared fiercely at Mother, as if there were some rare treasure behind her. Before Mother finished urinating, Father continued to hold Mother's waist with his left hand, while his right hand, supporting his throbbing penis, first slapped it three or four times on Mother's back, then rubbed it diagonally up and down her crotch, finally pressing it against a certain spot, and thrusting forward violently, like driving a nail into her rear. "Mom, Mom!" I cried out, feeling that Mother was about to be killed by Father, and threw myself on her. Mother's front body lay weakly against the bed, trying to turn her face to smile at me. "Sweetie, it's okay, Mommy's okay, ah, sweetie," Mother kept comforting me, holding my little hand. "Good son, Mommy's fine, it's okay. Daddy won't bully Mommy. So good! Son, you're so filial, you know how to care for Mommy even at such a young age. You'll be lucky in the future." Father slowed down his thrusting rhythm, arching his back against Mother's, supporting himself with his hands. My mother's back was now free, and she lay firmly on the bed. My father's thrusts from above were no longer as intense as before. Hearing my father's words, my mother's smile became even brighter and warmer. My father would occasionally stroke the hair that fell across my mother's face with his right hand, and at the same time, he would stroke my hair to soothe my emotions. "No, my son is watching," my mother said, looking at my father with aggrieved expression, pressing her body down tightly. "What's wrong with that? A four or five-year-old doesn't know anything, he won't remember," my father said with a hint of disdain, while manipulating my mother's left arm. "Turn over, do it from the front, it'll go in deeper. Looking at your face will make me feel better," my father repeatedly pulled at my mother, but each time he was pushed back down by her at the last moment. "I'm telling you, you woman, really, what does he know! What are you embarrassed about? They're all your children, why are you ashamed? Be good, listen to me!" my father persuaded while pulling hard, and my mother finally reluctantly turned over.

My mother is only about 1.5 meters tall, slender and thin; an adult man could easily lift her. Despite her lack of physical advantages, she compensates entirely with her well-proportioned and coordinated figure. Her delicate features, slender frame, and pretty ponytail make her a truly endearing and lovable young woman. Perhaps my father always considered my mother "useless," but in my eyes, she is uniquely perfect.

My mother's breasts were particularly small, almost nonexistent when she lay flat. "They've shrunk again; once the milk stops, they'll be completely flat," my father teased, pinching my mother's small, reddish-brown nipple. My mother just pursed her lips and remained silent. I curiously observed their naked bodies, like a kitten eager to discover something new. My mother's upper body resembled my father's, except her skin was much more delicate, and her belly wasn't as protruding as his. Before I could finish admiring her, my father hastily and violently pried open my mother's tightly twisted, slender legs and tucked them around his waist. A wet, dark, and messy thicket of bushes appeared before us, growing wildly on my mother's raised, gray mounds, its rough edges speckled with strands of paste and snot bubbles. My father reached into the thicket and rummaged around, pulling out a pink fleshy slit, topped with a clitoris, flanked by thin, glistening, light brown flakes of flesh. "Oh dear, you can't look!" Caught off guard, Mom covered my fascinated eyes again with her hands. Fortunately, the gaps between her fingers negated her efforts, allowing me to continue watching. "Just now, huh? Feeling good?" Father used his thighs to prop up Mom, spreading her raised vulva apart with his hands. Inside, there was a hidden world: tender, red flesh, the opening and closing of the bloody opening resembling a baby's mouth waiting to be fed. Suddenly, Mom removed her hands from my eyes, instead gripping the blankets tightly. It turned out Father had inserted his fingers into Mom's vulva, causing her to writhe in pain and pleasure. His fingers moved faster and faster, and Mom's breathing quickened accordingly. With Father's fingers suddenly withdrawn, Mom trembled, convulsed, stiffened, and went limp, as if her old ailment had relapsed. Several spurts of urine sprayed from her vulva, soaking Father's erect penis. Having experienced this before, I knew Mom was alright; in fact, I found it strangely amusing. Before Mother could react, Father quickly laid her down, using his waist to hold her legs together. He leaned forward, his right hand supporting her, while his left hand parted her labia. "In!" Father shouted, and a reddish-purple penis plunged diagonally into Mother's body, completely engulfing her. I couldn't help but worry that Mother's stomach might be ruptured. "Oh! Be good, don't look, okay? Listen to Mommy, good child," Mother said, still trying to avoid me as Father penetrated her, guessing that what they were doing was mostly unsavory. "What are you thinking, you woman? Tell me, which child doesn't sleep with their parents? Don't other parents have sex? Besides, who hasn't seen their parents have sex when they were little! So what? They're not going to copy you and have sex with you, are they?" Father stopped and began to scold Mother. Mother blushed, her eyes fixed on me. So what they were doing was called sex; presumably, all parents in the world had sex. My mother's legs were spread wide on my father's shoulders, perpendicular to his body. Her vulva pressed tightly against his, her labia turning in and out, white fluid and foam seeping from their point of contact. My father gripped my mother's thighs tightly, his fingers almost digging into her flesh, thrusting harder and harder into her. My mother's breathing became more rapid, her body rubbing against the sheets, her hands forced to grip the foot of the bed, her dark armpit hair revealed to me for the first time.

After a few times, my mother stopped trying to stop me from watching them have sex. I watched my parents' performance with fascination. My father lowered my mother's legs, pressed down on her, and straddled her, holding her shoulders. He thrust up and down like a pile driver, the pleasant "slap slap slap" echoing throughout the room. My mother embraced my father, and even though their bodies were pressed tightly together, my father was still not satisfied. He cupped my mother's head in his right hand and bit her lips, they became one from top to bottom. Jealousy is innate. Seeing my father about to melt my mother, how could I bear it? I instinctively reached out and touched her body. Like a calf rubbing against its mother, perhaps it was instinct. I stealthily stroked her side, then slid down to her thigh. Without knowing why, aimlessly yet inexplicably, my hand entered her pubic area. My mother sensed something amiss and quickly grabbed my hand, preventing further intrusion. While continuing to merge with my father, she gently kneaded my hand that had touched that forbidden zone. A slippery sensation seeped into my heart, and my hand even produced tiny, milky-white bubbles resembling snot. Instantly, my mother quietly held my hand, preventing it from moving.

"Keep calling out, okay?" My father pulled away from my mother's mouth, looking at her affectionately, awaiting her reply. My mother dared not meet his eyes, shifting her gaze left and right, saying, "The child is here, so act a little more respectable, okay?" My mother appeared extremely embarrassed. My father was clearly dissatisfied with her answer, giving her a domineering look. He kept inserting, stopped thrusting, then straightened his back, pulled his mother up, and held her tightly, standing upright on the bed. "Ahhhhh!" she cried out several times, her mother now draped over his waist. It was thrilling but not dangerous: her mother clung tightly to his neck, her legs gripping his waist; he held her, his penis embedded in her body. Next, he thrust violently up and down, making her scream "Ahhhhh!" The sudden change shocked me; my smooth hand had already been flung away by my mother in her panic. I looked up and saw my mother facing me with her snow-white, translucent breasts, her slightly dark, perfectly folded chrysanthemum petals rhythmically contracting. My father's penis, like a giant python, pounded into her, the resulting foam bursting into tiny, crystal-clear droplets that flowed towards her, eventually gathering into large drops that fell in front of me. My mother shook her head frantically, screaming incoherently—an inappropriate metaphor: it felt like being slaughtered. The scene before me left me stunned, like someone completely bewildered and paralyzed in the face of a sudden event. My father suddenly tossed her high into the air; with a "pop," my mother's body arched upwards, spitting out my father's milk-covered fluid, while simultaneously spraying water like a flood onto my face. I instinctively touched my face; a pungent, fishy, astringent, salty... indistinguishable taste—my mother's taste.

"Let's see if you scream or not, I'll fuck you until you scream," my father said, holding my dying mother, mercilessly thrusting into her wide-open vagina again. My mother, exhausted, spread her arms and arched her back. My father, quick as a flash, squatted down, ensuring my mother's safety. My mother rolled her eyes at me; the sight was chilling. I panicked, tears welling in my eyes. My father held my mother upside down by the waist, trapping her legs under his armpits, and thrust into her ruptured, swollen vagina in a diving posture, each thrust heavier than the last, each round more intense. After every twenty or so thrusts, he would pull out, teasing her swollen clitoris with the purplish-black tip. "Dad...Dad..." the mother uttered weak syllables, "Son...Son...Son..." In her daze, the mother repeatedly uttered "Dad" and "Son." Finally, in a final burst of lucidity, she cried out "Dad" and "Son." It seemed I had misheard at first; the mother hadn't called "eight" and "two," but "Dad" and "Son." Upon hearing this, the father suddenly accelerated, then let out a long howl and abruptly stopped. "Puff puff puff," bubbles rose continuously from the mother, and fluid gushed out around her like bursting pressure. Gradually, the penis inserted into the mother's flesh shrank and softened. The father reluctantly withdrew it, slowly laid the mother down, and fell into a deep sleep, soon snoring loudly.

The mother lay on the bed like a corpse, her hair disheveled, her eyes tightly closed, her face covered in sweat, her breath shallow, her limbs limp. Helpless and disoriented, I tugged at my mother's hand, hoping to wake her, like a puppy circling its injured mother. After what seemed like an eternity, my mother finally came to her senses. She slowly opened her eyes, gently sat up, tidied her hair, looked around, and then looked down at her lower body. Her pubic area looked as if it had been glued together; the nipples were nearly twice their normal size; her labia were red, swollen, and everted; the opening opened and closed, constantly oozing a white, cloudy fluid; and there was a small, yellowish-brown substance clinging to the wet, wriggling opening. My

drowsy mother grabbed a pillowcase and wiped herself clean, then, with tears welling in her eyes, pulled me into her arms, drew the blanket over me, and snuggled up to sleep.

[The End]

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