I have never loved so deeply

Foreword:

The story of the prince and princess living happily ever after is a fairy tale, not a love story.
Great love stories are usually full of twists and turns, and dreams are hard to come by. The more
unforgettable , the more difficult it is to achieve.

Fate often plays tricks on lovers; those who love each other may not be a good match, and the one you love most may not be with you.
Such love gives people a profound and intense feeling.

Sometimes, in order to pursue true love, one must transcend the norms and common sense of the world. The following
story takes place on a certain day in a certain place, and is an unusual, even impossible, forbidden love.

Safran said, "If a person loves someone madly, then all his sins
should be forgiven." However, those who are madly in love do not need anyone's forgiveness.

(I) The Old Place

After passing through continuous glaciers and traversing the coniferous forests of high mountains, fine snow was falling, covering the sky and the earth. By chance,
a car drove by, kicking up snow and leaving tire tracks on the snow.

Peiyun and I, enclosed in our car, drove along the winding mountain road, heading into
the silent, colorless depths of white snow and clouds. The snow-covered road was slippery, requiring extra caution. Loose snow clinging to the branches drifted down,
melting instantly upon hitting the windshield. The snow obscured the road signs, forcing us to navigate by feel.
On one side of the road was a mountainside, on the other a sheer cliff, below which flowed a frozen river. In this white
world, there was tranquility, a stark stillness, a sense of directionlessness, and a feeling of timelessness.

At the start of the journey, Peiyun sat upright beside me, resting her chin on her hand, silent. Only when the car left
the city and entered the expressway did she allow me to gently place her soft hand in mine
. With her other hand on the steering wheel, she carefully drove along the snowy road, determined to reach
our destination before sunset: Lakeview Villa.

We had been here several times, always during the off-season, and the receptionists recognized us. Only we
chose to visit this summer resort during the snowy season.

"Sir, Madam, welcome back." A warm smile bloomed behind the counter
.

I smiled back, but Pei Yun looked around, pretending not to hear.

"Honey, welcome!" I pulled her stiff body into my arms, and she
reluctantly nodded. At the same time, she winked at me, pulled me aside, and
said in a soft voice, almost a whisper, but with a firm tone:

"What are you doing? Don't you think I feel guilty enough?"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted you to be more natural and relaxed. This isn't our first time here
. People recognize us."

Actually, we came here because we didn't want anyone to recognize us. However, over time,
we became regulars, and with the conveniences offered by regulars, we didn't want to go anywhere else.

Our first time here was vivid in my mind, as if it were yesterday. And all those years, the lobby
's decor hadn't changed. Back then, I stood awkwardly at the counter, while she
waited , too afraid to accompany me to the counter to register, lest someone question our backgrounds. Our
furtive expressions made it clear to everyone that we were there for an affair.

A couple with an age gap, a mismatched pair, whatever they did would attract attention and suspicion.

Actually, no one cared about our backgrounds. Even if we were there for an affair,
what ?

In a place like a hotel, respecting guests' privacy is essential. Everyone is a passerby,
with their own story. Check-in only requires providing basic information; it's not that anyone
is interested in who is who or what their relationship is, but rather it's for police requirements.

We were another pair of lovelorn lovers coming and going from the hotel every day. Every couple might have an ambiguous
relationship , and hotels are where these things happen.

The staff can't casually call a guest's female companion "Madam"; they are professionally trained, unless
the guest admits it or they have a good grasp of their information. Peiyun's identification document indicated her
husband's surname, and mine was Di.

My dear wife, don't be embarrassed, it's true. You, like me, bear another
man 's surname. This isn't the first time we've appeared together in this place; when will
you stop feeling all those conflicting emotions?

I gently put my arm around her shoulder, offering just enough affection to ease the sudden tension,
to show the lady behind the counter, to confirm that Pei Xue is indeed my wife, even though she's borrowed
. The

fact that she's willing to stand openly with me at the counter shows she's overcome a huge psychological barrier.

"Will there come a day when we can meet without hiding it from others, without feeling guilty?" I wondered.

To be honest, we do this for the thrill. Just like eating chili peppers, if they're not
spicy, they're not good.

In this season, in this place, there's no worry about running into acquaintances; we can be carefree, there's
a sense of release and liberation. A woman is a woman, still reserved, standing beside me, watching me fill out
the registration form, afraid I might make a mistake that would reveal our relationship we don't want anyone to know.

Her doubts were unnecessary; the surnames on our identity cards proved everything. She was indeed
a "lady" with the same surname as me, although she was someone else's wife. The waiter
returned our ID cards without even looking at them. We were already regulars.

"You want your usual place? No problem, you've made a reservation. I'll give you the same discount as always
," the ever-smiling face said tactfully.

We specifically requested a detached house by the lake, with a fireplace, a small bar, and a jacuzzi. The bedroom
had a skylight, which, when covered by snow, became a mirror hanging on the ceiling. It was the off-season,
but Peiyun was still worried and called early in the morning to make the reservation. We had fond
memories of that house and held a special affection for it.

Our large luggage had been delivered to our house by car while I was filling out the registration form.
The waiter arrived early and lit the fireplace for us.

Without needing the waiter to lead the way, we carried our light travel bags and strolled hand in hand along the lakeside path.

The fresh snow covered the ground, leaving behind our footprints, deep in the slush. We had taken many wrong
turns to get here. We treated this relationship like a fragile object, handling it with utmost care.
On the path of love, we tread carefully, not allowing the slightest mishap.

Wisps of smoke rose gently from the chimney of our house, and rows of
icicles . This was our temporary home. At the door, I couldn't wait
to embrace and kiss Peiyun. She only allowed me a light kiss on her cheek and lips before turning her face away. Our
breath frosted over our hair, the brim of our hats, and my glasses.

I held her warm, winter-like smile in my hands, and with my warm, soft lips, brushed away
the frost from her eyes. Fine snowflakes drifted down, landing on our shoulders. The mountains embraced the frozen lake, opening
their arms to welcome us, these migratory birds of love.

The fireplace warmed our hearts. Peiyun took off her thick, long snow coat, revealing her graceful figure
before . The door closed; no one would intrude into our world. Our world was too small; though the world was vast,
only our two hearts, beating in unison, could truly contain us.

She smoothed her hair, went to the bar, and ordered two gin martinis. I watched her
focused and graceful movements as she cranked the cocktail shaker, as skilled as a professional bartender, yet with an added
thoughtfulness . She had the perfect amount, enough to make me intoxicated even before I took a sip—it was that
irreplaceable warmth, the comfort emanating from her every smile and gesture.

She opened the small freezer, picked out a lime, cut it into small pieces, placed them in a glass, added an
ice cube, inserted a plastic stirrer, and brought it over, sitting beside me.

We sat around the fire, watching the sparks dance. I pulled her close, and she nestled
softly against me, snuggling close.

Now, stripped of worldly trappings, we were like lovers.

Our sorrows and anxieties didn't need words. Her brow relaxed, her eyes shimmering with
longing and adoration.

The fire burned brighter, hotter and warmer, and our passion, like moths drawn to a flame, fluttered wildly. I
felt that my winter clothes were a burden.

Shedding the thick, sweaty clothes, I opened my broad chest, proclaiming my masculine charm.

Her face flushed, and I brushed it with the back of my hand, feeling its burning heat. She turned her head away, then,
like a little
girl, buried her face in my chest. I never thought that a mature woman showing such girlish shyness to the man she loved was coy or affected. A woman's essence is gentleness—this
is not a derogatory term. Softness can overcome hardness! Love can make a strong mother revert to her childlike nature,
demanding the tenderness and care she deserves.

I reached into her collar, feeling her warm body, massaging her smooth neck, where a woman's sweet fragrance
wafted . I inhaled deeply, holding her close, wanting to absorb her scent.

Every time we made love, I carried that scent with me. With my eyes closed, I could recognize
Peiyun by that scent, feel her presence. Before, this scent was called motherly love; now, it is my
love .

Separation is the price of love, and we will compensate each other with the most passionate lovemaking. I'm not
in a hurry to unpack this package of love that has already been delivered to my hands. Opening it immediately would certainly be pleasurable. However,
I plan to tease her first, thaw things out, and train her body and emotions to the most excited state. Some
days , she's eager for lovemaking; she'll tell me she wants it.

We've loved each other so deeply, to this point, that her body and soul have
been given . So, on other days, although we have plenty of opportunities to meet, due to circumstances, we must
interact with each other under different identities and relationships. This not only fails to soothe our longing but also creates
long-term repression, which I can't bear; I fear that one day, I might develop a split personality.

I don't need to immediately feast my eyes on my lover's naked body, because I will undress her and be able to see her body
through her clothes. The curves of her body, the softness of her breasts, and the contours of her nipples are all
precisely etched in my memory.

I suddenly have a thought to test her feelings, to see who among us can't suppress
the fire of desire first? In other words, who misses whom more? Who needs whom more?

Peiyun has always intentionally tormented me, a hint of seductive allure always lurking in her eyes and brows. At
her age, she deliberately flaunts her curves, including the arc of her large breasts beneath her low-cut dresses and
the depth of her cleavage, swaying them at the angle most advantageous for my voyeuristic gaze. But with a third party present, she immediately conceals it.

An outsider, someone completely unfamiliar with us, would see that this mother, despite her
restraint, still doesn't forget to flirt in front of her son, her eyes brimming with desire. The son
, on the other hand, is very close to his mother, treating her with gentlemanly manners and meticulous care. What would they think
? Would they suspect our relationship might be unusual? Those around us, however, remain
unconcerned . Our close relationship facilitates our affair, such as visiting relatives together or
traveling.

A woman's heart is like a mystery at the bottom of the sea; her intentions are meant to be guessed, never explicitly stated. You must guess correctly
before you can take the next step. But if you misjudge, you're in deep trouble. I've been guessing for a long, long time,
and I think 'm starting to understand, but I just can't bring myself to take that step. No son would
ever think about love and sex in that way. I even hate myself for having such dirty thoughts about my mother. I once went to a priest for confession
and poured cold water on myself to calm my desires. But she still haunts me like a ghost, day and night, and
I can't shake her off. It wasn't until I could follow my instincts and let my impulses take over that we finally met on the same track
.

Peiyun, unable to bear the heat of the stove any longer, wiped a layer of sweat from her forehead, sat up, lifted
her sweater, and revealed a section of long-lost snow-white skin and delicate, rounded wrists before my eyes. A woman
doesn't need to show all three points to be irresistible. Of course, I would be a gentleman and help her undress. Her arms,
clad a bra, were raised without any guard, revealing her armpit hair. After she ripped my sweater off, her arms fell
naturally , and the bra straps slipped down one after the other. Her hair was loose, messily covering her lips
, giving her a sexy, mustache-like appearance.

A deep, long cleavage, between a pair of seamless demi-cup bras, held the love I longed for.
The exposed edges of most of her breasts formed a pair of misaligned brackets, one arch against the other, with
the other bracket peeking out from the other end of the cup. Her breasts, unrestrained, pressed against the soft silk,
bursting forth. The drooping straps weren't pulled up, giving the illusion that her bra might fall off at any moment.

Actually, she was a woman with refined manners, privately trained in traditional ways. You haven't seen her
elegance ; she was more graceful than Maggie Cheung in a cheongsam in Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love." If I...
If I were a painter, I would definitely use her as a model to paint a portrait of a lady. However, I would paint her nude,
and there are no paintings of naked ladies in China; those paintings of nude women are called erotic paintings.

Peiyun stirred her martini with plastic, took a small sip, and tasted the wine.

I raised my glass to her, offering a toast and a savoring.

"Peiyun, thank you. I admire your courage in acknowledging our love and accepting my love. My
unrequited love has finally found its place." This was the "dialogue" I had prepared for her.

I raised my glass, opened my mouth, but couldn't find the words, and paused.

Peiyun raised her glass to clink with mine, her breasts simultaneously thrusting forward. Her bra, without shoulder straps
, slipped down, revealing a faint nipple unintentionally.

"Let's drink tonight. Cheers!"

Our forearms intertwined, we tilted our heads back, and drank it all in one gulp.

We couldn't escape the past, nor could we escape tomorrow. Only today, this moment, she belonged. And I
belonged to her. In love, we are not afraid, we are not afraid to love, we love each other without hesitation, and
we are not even afraid of what we still have—fear.

For tonight, let us cherish it.

I pulled Peiyun into my arms again and kissed her hard, and she obediently accepted. I put my fingers
into the bra cups that were almost completely pressed against my skin, and explored in the soft, narrow space.
The electric current crackled and ignited the flame of desire.

I have never loved so deeply (2)

(II) A sin

When Peiyun let me kiss her lips like a lover for the first time, she said in
a : "A sin!"

This was a sin!

The deeper I love Peiyun, the heavier my guilt becomes. Because besides my wife, I also have to face someone else, Peiyun
's husband, my father.

It is very unusual to fall in love with my mother. And I respect my father. Although he is not
good at expressing fatherly love, he has fulfilled his fatherly duties. I love him too. But she actually went behind his back, flirting and sleeping with his other
woman , he'd be furious. I've truly committed a heinous act!

If I were her father, I would have known long ago that her mother would have an affair, because there was simply no
chemistry between them, no spark ever flew. Among their generation, this wasn't a
big deal. But a lonely wife is easily stolen away by a man who cares for her.
He would never have imagined that his wife's "affair" was with their son.

Peiyun, however, wasn't like other women who simply let life
pass by whether they had love or not. She wasn't satisfied with the status quo and wanted to find life outside her stagnant marriage.

Using her son as a guinea pig to test her own attractiveness seemed immoral, but
it was perhaps the most convenient method for her. I was the second man closest to her. A son can be an
ideal lover molded by a mother according to her own needs and demands.

Truly, I was too foolish, completely oblivious to her constant hints. Because I dared not even think about
it , I never fantasized about things beyond my reach. I can't blame her for not letting me see through
her heart sooner, for making me unjustly and desperately escape her eyes burning with desire, as if escaping the fires of
hell .

So, I found a girl who was devoted to me and married her. At the time, I
had no shortage of men willing to marry me. On the wedding day, my parents came and stayed at my new home.

At the wedding banquet, my mother opened my eyes to what true beauty was; the Shanghai beauties described by Pai Hsien-yung and
Eileen Chang came alive before my eyes. She wore a dark red floral brocade cheongsam with a mandarin collar,
made by the most famous Shanghai tailor in Chinatown. The cheongsam had a high slit, revealing her thighs, and
she wore red high heels and an embroidered shawl, attracting the attention of all the Chinese and foreign guests,
even more so than the bride in her low-cut wedding dress. She was unusually excited, drank a lot of wine, and flitted around the room. Getting
a wife , one should be happy. She didn't even glance at the bride.

On our wedding night, late at night, my bride was asleep. I heard someone moving around in the house.
I got up to check, and in the living room, Peixue's lonely figure, wearing a bathrobe, sat on the sofa, holding a wine bottle,
humming an old tune.

"It's late, why aren't you asleep?" I sat down beside her and realized she was sobbing.

She didn't answer me, continuing to pour herself more wine. I snatched the bottle from her, forbidding her to drink anymore.

"Don't drink anymore, you've already drunk too much today.

" She said, "Don't worry about me. Go back to your wedding night."

"Mom, are you alright?" I comforted her gently.

"I'm fine, I don't need your fake concern." She cried even harder.

"Why are you crying? Who broke your heart?" I stretched out my arm, placed it on her bare shoulder, and
asked tenderly and gently.

"It's you, you made me cry."

"What...did I do wrong?"

"You're playing dumb."

"I really don't know."

"You've ignored me. Why are you so cold to me? I've been wandering around all day, all for
you!"

"Mom, what did you say? You..."

"Don't you understand? Do you want me to say it out loud?"

"Mom, I..."

"You heartless stone, you don't care about me anymore." Her head rested on
my shoulder, her sweet voice captivating, making me dizzy.

A strange atmosphere filled the air, my heart pounded, and I held a burning desire within me, gentle
yet intense, slowly melting me. I couldn't help but reach for her, my comforting hand on her arm
transforming into a hand of lust, sliding down, down, caressing the soft curves of her waist. That wasn't enough
to satisfy my desires; it
moved lower and lower, inch by inch, between her soft, warm thighs, until the place on her body that I most fantasized about was
overflowing with desire, and my manhood, filled with an astonishing power,
stood erect before her...

"Oh my God, we shouldn't..."

She lowered her head, silent, not stopping my unrestrained hands from roaming over her body.

"Stop me! I know you will..."

Her warm, soft body nestled against my chest, filled with boundless grievance, as she poured out her heart to me.

She said, "You make me cry. Tonight is your happy night, but it makes me feel lonely and desolate. I
need a chest to lean on, someone to tell me they love me. This is a special day; everyone is asleep
, just the two of us in this living room. Whatever you want to do, I'll do it, because I
'm a little woman, and sometimes I need comfort..."

To this day, I still don't know where I got the audacity—or rather, the sheer audacity of lust—to dare
to flirt with my own mother like that, unbuttoning her nightgown, revealing her cleavage. There, a
fragrance stronger than wine wafted over. I was terrified, grabbed the bottle from her hand,
tilted my , and gulped it down. I silently prayed to God to forgive my sins, and then went to commit that heinous crime, on my
wedding night, to take my mother to bed.

What a terrible thing!

Does anyone even have a sense of morality and shame?

I must admit, not long ago, in our bridal chamber, the person I imagined making love with
had melted solidly into my arms, everything unfolding before me, completely begging for my tenderness.

My lips pressed against her bare arm, wandering over her most sensitive and sensual shoulder, the curve of her neck
, and behind her ear. I found her warm, soft, slightly trembling lips.

She parted her lips, revealing her teeth, allowing me to find the mark of "misdeed" on her warm tongue.

In a dreamlike state, she lay quietly on the sofa, trembling as she surrendered to me.
My hand, guided by its touch, went to where it craved, unbuttoning her robe. Then
, slowly and carefully, I pulled off her silk panties, even more fragrant and sensual than the ones my bride wore on our wedding night
, down to her feet. This was a vibrant banner she had hung in my heart, one she often
intentionally left in the bathroom, or unintentionally exposed, allowing me to peek, to discover, to
smell her femininity.

I looked at her, capturing every change in her gaze, and she looked at me too. We didn't look at each other's
bodies, only exploring each other with our hands. I touched her smooth, sweaty shoulders and back, then moved deeper
into her cleft, reaching her firm, round buttocks. I sucked on her incredibly elastic breasts while kneading her
inner thighs, spreading her legs apart; she was more willing to part for me than my bride. The path opened,
unobstructed, leading straight to my destination.

When I entered her, she trembled, and in her eyes I saw my long
-suppressed desire and our mutual fear. Then, she lowered her eyes, pressing her flesh against mine,
her body erect, clinging to me, seeking her own satisfaction. In her warm, safe flesh, I
swelled, swelled, thrusting and penetrating deep within her,
forgetting the passage of time in that swirling, sensual vortex.

A muffled moan escaped from beneath me, from the boundless darkness of the night—the cry of a woman of
flesh and blood .
The thought that I had made this woman, my mother, my lover filled me with dread and trembling.

Peiyun's eyes and her kisses never left me. Every glance, every
change in expression, every movement and reaction of her body during lovemaking was clearly etched into my heart.
Did she, when making love with my father, or during childbirth, furrow her brow, bite her lower lip, and moan like that
?

And yet, I couldn't even remember if my bride had experienced an orgasm with me on her first night.
Even her image was blurred.

To be continued...

I have never loved so deeply (3)

(3) Perhaps it was not easy

to make love with Peiyun before I was sure that it was something I should do.

In the deepest moment of the night, my body covered Peiyun, and I sowed
the seeds . We should not have loved each other, let alone become one naked. Once I stepped out of this
threshold, I was doomed and could not turn back.

As dawn broke, I made a big mistake and suddenly realized who my true love was. Without her, my love
was gone.

My lover, limp between my legs, sweetly said to me:

"I think you just gave me an orgasm."

These words captivated my soul, and I decided that loving her was the purpose of my life, because if
I did not love her, no one else would love her.

Thus, we became lovers, as if we had loved each other for a lifetime. She began
to tell me many things, about herself, about her love, about her sex life. She said how much she
missed me and hoped to get my attention. If I glanced at her or ignored her and walked away, it would fill her
with unease and restlessness. What else could these be but sweet nothings? I doubt anyone but me
would have heard my mother say these things to him.

Love is such an inexplicable thing; affection transcends age, and generational distinctions cannot extinguish
it.

The simultaneous occurrence of loving and being loved generates sexual arousal, and orgasm is
a product of this chain reaction. The sexual climaxes she experienced, and the taste of being loved, all came from me—
how absurd it sounds, yet it's the truth. Her sex life with her husband was always routine; they even had children
, but it was unremarkable. Over time, she came to believe that this was the essence of life,
causing a woman to lose all hope for sex.

She said I gave her hope for love. Loving her might not be easy. Because she wouldn't stop
hoping, and those who have hope never grow old. Peiyun's love sometimes resembled a young man's infatuation,
demanding that you devote your entire spirit to her, especially in bed; she wanted my full attention.

A man's prowess, when used on a woman, requires her cooperation and appreciation. Whenever my mother compared
my father's and my sexual prowess, I felt a sense of vanity—what my father couldn't do, I
could. I became even more convinced that what I was doing was right, that only I could make my mother happy. We had to
constantly find more reasons to support ourselves, to convince ourselves. Only then could we live, for each other.

"You know better about sex than Dad; it would be great if you could be her coach," she said.

I practically felt like a hero, rescuing my mother from her misery. My penis immediately
became erect again, begging my clueless father to pay off all the debts he owed my mother in one go.

Those debts would never be paid off; from that moment on, we were mired in an illicit affair.
During our honeymoon, we planned a trip together, and after returning, we found an
excuse to come to this resort for a unique honeymoon.

Only in this snow-covered resort could we make love freely.

These memories flashed through my mind like a rapidly searching image. I didn't notice that Peiyun's
nipples were hard and swollen from being twisted by two fingers, as if they would be ripped off with another twist.

"You've been touching me here for too long, it's making me numb and sore," she reminded me, pulling me back from
my reverie to her side.

"Oh, really? I'm sorry." I kissed her again.

The kiss was light, the tongue was warm, the love was intense. She returned a kiss, a kiss that touched her red buttocks; I
knew she couldn't wait any longer.

She pulled my hand out from under her bra and placed it between her thighs; she needed
caresses . My erection, throbbing with barely suppressed urges,
was about to explode.

I would let Peiyun know what she could do to me, down to my waist. Because I didn't need to hold back,
it would boost her confidence. She had complained about why her husband wasn't interested in her. Whose fault was it that he was so
slow ? I gave her the affirmation a woman needs—that a man younger than her
could still be captivated by her.

Long-suppressed desire burned like embers in a furnace. Peiyun made no secret of her need and
longing , kissing my manhood incessantly. We had both been waiting for this moment, for us to indulge in
physical pleasure.

"Love me," came the words of a completely liberated Peiyun, a stark contrast to
the reserved, neurotic woman who had stood before me at the counter.

I could only stammer, because I wanted to hear more explicit words, from my mother,
directly :

"Fuck me! Crush me!"

To get the love she wanted, she would even utter such vulgar language. She humbled herself so much in front of her son
for his pleasure; it evoked pity in me. How could I bear to mistreat her?

However, I still followed a fixed routine, paying attention to every detail,
like , when making love with her. After all, the woman I was having this physical relationship with was my mother, and
she deserved different treatment.

Women constantly want men to tell them they love them. And every time she asked me to tell her I loved her,
I proved it with my actions. In truth, our love cannot be spoken, nor does it need to be! For her, loving her mother
as a woman, telling her I love her, telling her I want to make love with her, is actually
harder to say than to do. Even she herself admits it.

Lover and mother, mother and lover—this dual identity, her nakedness before me without any concealment, should absolutely not
be taken for granted. In the older generation, some couples made love while clothed, feeling
ashamed even to be naked in front of their spouse. When she and her father made love, were they both naked? I never asked her,
but in my imagination, they slept in their pajamas and made love while dressed. But how could they
do it dressed? I couldn't imagine. Now, Peiyun and I are making love. She's a mother. Shouldn't I leave her
something behind? When we're having sex in bed, should I consider her different from other women and
leave ? After all, a woman is a woman. When she's having sex with you in bed, she
's no different from any other woman. It's not that she won't do it, but if she's going to, it's real and straightforward, not half-hearted.

It's just that some women are impatient, taking off their clothes and rushing at you for love. Peiyun is
n't like that. She always waits for me to undress her, whether I undress her completely is up to me.

Then she can say:

"You took off my clothes!"

"You wanted to have sex with me!"

"It's all your fault!" The psychological defense mechanism of a mother having sex with her son. It makes her feel better psychologically
, as if it lessens the guilt of betraying her husband and committing incest.

I'm happy to admit this mistake, it's like taking credit for myself. I've never achieved anything, never
done anything meaningful, and putting this blame on me feels like a crown, a halo.

For me, being able to unbutton every button of her clothes, to take off her clothes one by one,
even the most intimate garment, to personally peel away the last thing covering her body with my own hands,
is just as thrilling as making love itself.

I'm not particular about undressing women; after undressing hundreds of women,
it's all the same—as long as they're naked, that's enough. Where to start, how to undress—it no longer arouses my
desire .

I'm talking about undressing other women. Undressing my mother, however, is always a complex mix of emotions and
excitement . I can't be careless; my fingers must be extra nimble.

Which garment would be easiest to remove from her most intimate clothing? Intuitively, I imagined
it would be her bra, letting her expose her breasts first, getting used to my gaze and caresses. This is a woman's first
psychological hurdle. Then comes the stockings and panties, and finally, only the panties cover the last remaining private parts—
that's called the private parts, supposedly a woman's most mysterious, beautiful, and alluring place.
A body revealing its private parts is called nudity.

This logical reasoning forms a ritual before our future lovemaking, like a social etiquette.
Sometimes, I want to test her. Now that we've made love many times, and we're
a straightforward couple, will she succumb to the burning desire and hastily undress, like many
other lovers' rendezvous?

She won't, she simply won't; I know her best. And this package of love, opening it,
fully possessing its joy—I won't let it slip away. The entire process, including undressing her, possessing
her body, and sharing sexual pleasure with her, every step is important. Because the gift
itself is her.

But I can try something new; the thought of taking off her panties first flashes through my mind. Leaving the bra
for last, to see her wearing a bra, her bare bottom. Will she cover her genitals with her hands? When
I unhook her bra first, her arms, unsure of where to go, would cross over her chest, trying to conceal her
breasts. Or, I could simply pull down her panties to make love—that's another way of
making love , why not give it a try?

Actually, if a woman is willing to make love with you, she won't care where you start undressing her.
Just as she wouldn't mind you undressing her, even if your mother became your woman, it would be
the same.

Nothing more, I just wanted to slowly reveal her nakedness, inch by inch. Because
I don't often have the opportunity to go outside with her and make love calmly. I have no right to enjoy
her body, so I cherish every detail, making it all my memory.

(II) A Sin

When Peiyun let me kiss her lips for the first time like a lover, she said in
a , "A sin!"

This was a sin!

The deeper my love for Peiyun, the heavier my guilt. Because besides my wife, I also had to face someone else, Peiyun
's husband, my father.

Dating my mother was extremely unusual. And I respected my father; although he wasn't
good at expressing fatherly love, he fulfilled his duties as a father. I loved him too. But to secretly flirt with and sleep with her
woman— if he found out, he'd be furious. I was truly rebellious!

If I were the father, I would have expected the mother to have an affair, because there was never any
chemistry between them, never any spark. Among their generation, this wasn't a
big deal. But a lonely wife is easily stolen by a man who cares for her.
He would never have imagined that his wife's "affair" was with their son.

But Peiyun wasn't like other women who lived their lives with or without love
. She wasn't satisfied with the status quo and wanted to find life outside her stagnant marriage.

Using her son as a guinea pig to test her own attractiveness seemed immoral, but
it seemed to be the most convenient method for her. I was the second man closest to her. A son can be an
ideal lover molded by a mother according to her own needs and demands.

Really, I was too foolish, completely oblivious to her constant hints. Because I dared not even think about
it ; I never fantasized about things beyond my reach. I can't blame her for not letting me see through her heart sooner
, for making me unjustly and desperately try to escape her eyes burning with desire, as if escaping the fires of
hell .

So, I found a girl who was devoted to me and married her. At the time, I
had no shortage of men willing to marry me. On the wedding day, my parents came and stayed at my new home.

At the wedding banquet, my mother opened my eyes to what true beauty was; the Shanghai beauties described by Pai Hsien-yung and
Eileen Chang came alive before my eyes. She wore a dark red floral brocade cheongsam with a mandarin collar,
made by the most famous Shanghai tailor in Chinatown. The cheongsam had a high slit, revealing her thighs, and
she wore red high heels and an embroidered shawl, attracting the attention of all the guests, both Chinese and foreign, and
stealing the spotlight from the bride in her low-cut wedding dress. She was unusually excited, drank a lot of wine, and flitted around the room—she should be happy to get
a wife , after all. However, she didn't even glance at the bride.

On our wedding night, in the dead of night, my bride was asleep. I heard someone moving around in the house.
I got up to check and saw Peixue, a lonely figure in her bathrobe, sitting on the sofa in the living room, holding a wine bottle and
humming an old tune

. "It's late, why aren't you asleep yet?" I sat down beside her and realized she was sobbing.

She didn't answer me and continued to drink. I took the bottle from her, forbidding her to drink anymore.

"Don't drink anymore, you've already drunk too much today."

She said, "Don't worry about me. Go back to your wedding night."

"Mom, are you alright?" I comforted her gently.

"I'm fine, I don't need your fake concern." She cried even harder.

"Why are you crying? Who broke your heart?" I stretched out my arm and put it on her bare shoulder,
asking tenderly and gently.

"It's you, you made me cry."

"What...did I do wrong?"

"You're playing dumb."

"I really don't know."

"You've ignored me. Why are you so cold to me? I've been wandering around all day, all for
you!"

"Mom, what did you say? You..."

"Don't you understand? Do you want me to say it out loud?"

"Mom, I..."

"You heartless stone, you don't care about me anymore." Her head rested on
my shoulder, her sweet voice captivating, making me dizzy.

A strange atmosphere filled the air, my heart pounded, and I held a burning desire within me, gentle
yet intense, slowly melting me. I couldn't help but reach for her, my comforting hand on her arm
transforming into a hand of lust, sliding down, down, caressing the soft curves of her waist. That wasn't enough
to satisfy my desires; it
moved lower and lower, inch by inch, between her soft, warm thighs, until it reached the place on her body that I most fantasized about,
overflowing with desire like a flood. My manhood, brimming with an astonishing power, stood erect,
pointing high at her...

"Oh my God, we shouldn't..."

She lowered her head, silent, not stopping my unrestrained hands from roaming over her body.

"Stop me! I know you will..."

Her warm, soft body nestled against my chest, filled with boundless grievance, as she poured out her heart to me.

She said, "You make me cry. Tonight is your happy night, but it makes me feel lonely and desolate. I
need a chest to lean on, someone to tell me they love me. This is a special day; everyone else is asleep
, just the two of us in this living room." Whatever you want to do, I'll do it, because I
'm just a little woman, and sometimes I need comfort...

To this day, I still don't know where I got the audacity—or rather, the audacity of lust—to dare
to flirt with my own mother like that, unbuttoning her nightgown and revealing her cleavage. There, a
fragrance stronger than wine wafted over. I was terrified, grabbed the bottle from her hand,
tilted my head back , and gulped it down. I silently prayed to God to forgive my sins, and then went to commit that heinous crime,
to take my mother to bed on my wedding night.

What a sin!

Does anyone have any sense of morality or shame?

I must admit, not long ago, in the bridal chamber, on our wedding night, the person I imagined making love with her
had already melted solidly into my arms, everything unfolding before me, completely begging for my mercy.

My lips pressed against her bare arm, wandering over her most sensitive and sensual shoulder, the curve of her neck
, and behind her ear. I found her warm, soft, slightly trembling lips.

She parted, revealing her teeth, allowing me to find the mark of "mischief" on her warm tongue.

In a dreamlike state, she lay quietly on the sofa, trembling as she surrendered to me.
My hand, guided by its touch, reached where it craved, unbuttoning her robe. Then
, slowly and carefully, I
pulled off her silk panties—more fragrant and sensual than the ones my bride wore on our wedding night—down to her feet. This was a banner she had hung in my heart, something she often
intentionally left in the bathroom, or unintentionally exposed, so I could peek, discover, and
smell her femininity.

I looked at her, capturing every change in her gaze, and she looked at me. We didn't look at each other's
bodies, only our hands explored each other. I touched her smooth, sweat-drenched shoulders and back, then slipped back
to her cleft, reaching her firm, round buttocks. I sucked on her incredibly elastic breasts while kneading her
inner thighs, parting her legs—she was more willing to part for me than my bride. I forged a path,
unimpeded, leading straight to my destination.

When I entered her, she trembled; in her eyes, I saw my long
-suppressed desire and our mutual fear. Then, she lowered her eyes, pressing her flesh against mine,
her body erect, clinging to me, seeking her own satisfaction. In her warm, safe haven, I swelled, swelled, thrusting and penetrating deep within her, forgetting the passage of time
in that swirling, sensual vortex . A muffled moan escaped from beneath me, from the boundless darkness of the night—the cry of a woman of flesh and blood . The thought that I had made this woman, my mother, my lover filled me with dread and trembling. Peiyun's eyes and her kisses never left me. Every glance, every change in expression, every movement and reaction of her body during lovemaking was clearly etched onto my heart. Did she, when making love with my father, or during childbirth, furrow her brow, bite her lower lip, and moan and groan like that ? And yet, I couldn't even remember if my bride had experienced an orgasm with me on her first night. Even her appearance became blurred. 3) Perhaps it wasn't until I had made love with Peiyun that I was certain it was something I should have done. In the deepest moment of the night, my body covered Peiyun, sowing the seeds . We were not meant to love each other, much less should we have become one naked and intertwined like this. Once I stepped across that threshold, it was an irreversible descent into ruin, with no turning back. As dawn broke, the grave mistake was made, and I suddenly realized who my true love was. Without her, my love was gone too. My beloved, limp beneath me, sweetly whispered, "I think you just gave me an orgasm." Those words captivated me; I knew then that loving her was the purpose of my life, because if I didn't love her, no one else would. And so, we became lovers, as if we were destined to be together forever. She began to tell me many things—about herself, about her love life, about her sex life. She said how much she missed me, how much she longed for my attention. Even a glance from me, or ignoring her and walking away, would fill her with unease and restlessness. What else could these be but sweet nothings? Perhaps no one but me would have ever heard my mother say these things to him. Love is such an inexplicable thing; affection knows no age limits, and generational distinctions cannot extinguish it. The simultaneous occurrence of loving and being loved generates sexual arousal, and orgasm is the product of this chain of actions. The sexual climaxes she experienced and the feeling of being loved all came from me—it sounds absurd, but it's the truth. Her sex life with her husband was always routine; they even had children . But even so, it was unremarkable. Over time, she came to believe that this was the essence of life, causing a woman to lose all hope for sex. She said I gave her hope for love. Loving her might not be easy, because she wouldn't stop hoping, and those who have hope never grow old. Peiyun's love sometimes resembled a young man's infatuation, demanding that you focus all your energy on her, especially in bed; she wanted me to give my all. A man's prowess, when used on a woman, requires her cooperation and appreciation. Whenever my mother compared my father's sexual abilities, I felt a sense of vanity—what my father couldn't do, I could. I became even more convinced that what I was doing was right, that only I could make my mother happy. We must constantly find more reasons to support ourselves, to convince ourselves. Only then can we live on, for each other. "You know better about sex than Dad. If only you could be her coach," she said. I felt like a hero, rescuing my mother from her misery. My penis immediately became erect again, begging my clueless father to pay off all the debts he owed my mother in one go. Those debts would never be paid off. From that moment on, we were mired in an illicit affair. During our honeymoon, we planned a trip with Peiyun, and after returning, we found an excuse to come to this resort for an unconventional honeymoon. Only in this snow-covered resort could we make love freely. These memories flashed through my mind like a rapidly searching image. I didn't notice that Peiyun's nipples were hard and swollen under the manipulation of two fingers, as if they would be ripped off with another twist. "You've been touching me here for too long, it's made me numb and sore," she reminded me, pulling me back from my reverie to her side. "Oh, really? I'm sorry." I kissed her again. The kiss was light, the tongue was warm, the love was intense. She returned the kiss, a kiss that touched her red buttocks; I knew she couldn't wait any longer. She pulled my hand out from under her bra and placed it between her thighs; she needed caresses . My erection was also in a state of extreme arousal; if I didn't let it out to breathe, it would explode. I would let Peiyun know what kind of reaction she could make me feel below the waist. Because I didn't need to hold back.

This would boost her confidence. She had complained about why her husband wasn't interested in her. Whose fault was it that he was so
slow ? I gave her the affirmation a woman needed—that a man younger than her
could still be captivated by her.

Long-suppressed desire ignited like kindling in a furnace. Peiyun made no secret of her need and
longing , kissing my manhood incessantly. We both anticipated this moment, when we could indulge in
physical pleasure.

"Love me," came a completely liberated Peiyun, a stark contrast to the reserved
, neurotic woman who had stood before the counter.

I could only stammer, because I wanted to hear more explicit words, from my mother's mouth,
directly :

"Fuck me! Crush me!"

She would even utter such vulgar words to get the love she wanted. She was so humble in front of her son,
seeking pleasure; it was pitiful. How could I mistreat her?

However, I would still follow a set routine, paying attention to every detail,
like , when making love with her. After all, the woman I had this physical relationship with is my mother, and
she deserves different treatment.

Women constantly want men to tell them they love them. And every time she asked me to tell her I loved her,
I proved it with my actions. Actually, our love can't be spoken, nor does it need to be! For her, loving her mother
as a woman, telling her I love her, telling her I want to make love to her, is actually
harder to say than to do. Even she admits it herself.

Lover and mother, mother and lover—a dual identity, being completely naked for me—should absolutely not
be taken for granted. In the older generation, some couples made love while clothed, feeling
ashamed even to be naked in front of their spouse. When she and her father made love, were they both naked? I haven't asked her,
but I imagine they slept in their pajamas and made love while clothed. But how can you do it clothed ? I can't imagine. Now, Peiyun is making love with me; she's a mother. Shouldn't I preserve something
for her ?
When making love in bed, why worry about her being different from other women, or whether to
leave on her? After all, a woman is a woman. When she's making love to you in bed,
she's no different from any other woman. It's not that she won't do it, it's that she'll do it properly, not half-heartedly.

It's just that some women are impatient, stripping naked and throwing themselves at you. Peiyun is
n't like that. She always waits for me to undress her, whether I strip her completely naked is up to me.

Then she can say:

"You took off my clothes!"

"You wanted to have sex with me!"

"It's all your fault!" The psychological defense mechanism of a mother having sex with her son. It makes her feel better psychologically
, as if it lessens the guilt of betraying her husband and committing incest.

I'm happy to admit this fault, it's like taking credit for myself. I've never achieved anything, never
done anything meaningful, and putting this blame on me is like wearing a laurel wreath, a halo.

For me, being able to unbutton every button of her clothes, to remove her garments one by one,
even the most intimate clothing, to personally peel away the last thing covering her body with my own hands,
is just as thrilling as making love itself.

Regarding undressing women, I'm not usually particular. After undressing women hundreds of times,
it's all the same: as long as they're naked, that's enough. Where to start, how to undress—it no longer arouses my
desire .

I'm talking about undressing other women. Undressing my mother, however, evokes a perpetual mix of complex emotions and
excitement . I can't be careless; my fingers must be extra nimble.

Which garment would be easiest to remove from her most intimate clothing? Intuitively, I envisioned
her bra, letting her expose her breasts first, getting used to my gaze and caresses. This is a woman's first
psychological hurdle. Then come the stockings and panties, and finally, only the panties covering her private parts—
that's what's called the private parts, supposedly a woman's most mysterious, beautiful, and alluring place.
A body is called naked.

This logical reasoning forms a ritual before our lovemaking, like a social etiquette.
Sometimes, I want to test her. Now that we've made love many times, and we're
a straightforward couple, will she succumb to her burning desire and hastily undress, like many
other lovers' rendezvous?

She won't, she simply won't; I know her best. And this package of love, opening it,
fully possessing its joy—I won't let it slip by. The entire process, including undressing her, possessing
her body, and sharing sexual pleasure with her, every step is important. Because the gift
itself is her.

But I can try something new. The thought of taking off her panties first flashes through my mind. I'll save the bra
for last, to see her wearing it, her bottom bare. Will she cover her genitals with her hands? Like
when I unhook her bra first, her arms, with nowhere to go, will cross over her chest, concealing her breasts that have nowhere
to hide. Or perhaps, all I need to do is pull down her panties to make love; that's one way
to make love , so why not give it a try?

Actually, if a woman is willing to make love with you, she won't mind where you want to start
undressing , just as she wouldn't mind you undressing her, even if your mother became your woman
.

Nothing more, I just want to slowly reveal her naked body, inch by inch. Because
I don't often have the opportunity to make love with her outside, calmly and leisurely. I don't have the right to enjoy
her body, so I cherish every detail, making it all my memory.
(IV) Wildness calls

outside. Dusk falls, the snow falls heavier, I stir the firewood in the fireplace, sparks fly,
the fire burns brightly. Pine resin fills the room with the scent of love; it's this scent that brought us to this mountain
fir forest, the scent associated with making love with Peiyun.

Sex can be different, extraordinary, like us, single-minded, earth
- , relentless, loving until the end of time, until the seas run dry and the rocks crumble. Every time we make love, it's
like the last love before the end of the world—love by the fireplace on the carpet, love by the window overlooking the lake
, love between intertwined wine glasses, love in a king-size bed.

To love Pei-yun is to demand all my strength, to exhaust the last ounce of energy in my body to love her. I've always loved her...
During sex, there can be no awkward silences. If I don't disappoint her, I'll be satisfied.
I withdraw from that gentle, beautiful consciousness within her, becoming soft and weak, and lie on top of her. She shifts her body, freeing herself from my weight, sits up, and smooths her hair with her hands, her breasts trembling slightly. Peiyun,
after sex , wears a satisfied smile and gently kisses my lips. Her red nipples brush against my face, still firm. She gets up, swinging her long legs, and walks towards the window overlooking the lake. We used to stroll along this lake, boating and fishing in the summer, skating and enjoying the snow in the winter. She leans against the window, displaying a beauty after sex, a beauty different from that before. Pleasant, relaxed, free, confident, and uninhibited. Her flawless buttocks face me, my kisses mark her neck and shoulders, and she gazes out the window the falling snowflakes, dancing wildly in the streetlights. Suddenly, she turned to me, a glint of an idea in her eyes, and said, "It's snowing! Go out and see! If you're a coward, don't come with me!" Completely naked, she opened the door, called to me, and ran out. Outside, snowflakes drifted down, and Peiyun didn't stop. I hesitated for a moment, then quickly got up, put on slippers, grabbed a blanket, and chased after her. I saw Peiyun's pointed breasts swaying with every movement of her body. In the hazy, dim light, white snowflakes landed on her black hair and her naked body, white as jade and cream. She thrust her breasts towards the falling snow, waving her arms, offering her entire body to me without reservation. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, waving at me. Joyfully, barefoot, she shivered and puffed. She danced , kicking up snowflakes. Just as I was catching up with her, she bent down, scooped up the fresh snow with both hands, gathered it into a snowball, and threw it at me. I retaliated, making an even bigger snowball . Braving the snowball onslaught, I quickly moved forward, caught her, and held her naked, almost frozen body tightly. She cried out and threw herself into my arms. I wrapped her in the sheet , embracing her passionately, caressing her, kissing her, drawing out her red tongue, and engaging in a tongue-and-lip battle instead of a snowball fight. Her cold yet soft flesh instantly heated up as our skin touched . I could no longer withstand the chill that threatened to freeze us into icicles, and was about to take her back inside when she gave an innocent, silly laugh and said, "Remember? There seems to be a hot spring behind the house. I want to go there and soak in it." "The snow is so heavy, aren't you afraid of the cold?" "A hot spring? I'm not afraid of the cold," she said. I picked her up and carried her through the thick snow. After rounding a bend, where the mist rose, we found the natural hot spring pool. The pool was only about the size of a regular bathtub, and the hot spring water gushed up from the ground, bubbling and gurgling, reaching chest-deep. All around us was a vast expanse of white snow, and the biting wind whipped up thousands of snowflakes, rushing and crashing towards us, only to melt them into raindrops by the warmth of the hot spring at the edge of the pool. Peiyun soaked in the water, her breasts above the surface, bobbing up and down in the hazy snow and mist. In the vast, desolate land, only Peiyun and I, naked before each other, were immersed in the river of love. We seemed to return to the most primal place of our nature, discovering our true selves in each other's eyes— this was how it was all. I had nothing to hide from Peiyun; I was bone of her bones, and she should hold nothing back from me; she was flesh of my flesh. In love, there was no fear, no guilt. Besides her, who else could share with me this utter nakedness, this intimacy? On the deep, desolate snow, a destined rendezvous took place. At a specific juncture, mother and child were bound together, merging with heaven and earth, breaking a spell. Peiyun returned to herself. Her alluring body transformed into a young doe, trembling with desire, emitting the scent of courtship , awaiting the male deer—whether son or brother—any strong enough to share her lust, to ride upon her, fulfilling the eternal law of nature. She craved the wild, untamed passion of a beast, the simple, direct, and untamed union of the forest and the plains. With my bare arms, I embraced her equally bare, soft waist. Chest to back, lips to face, legs intertwined, hearts in harmony, my palms covering her breasts, gently kneading, washing away the dust of the world. Her small hands wandered to the juncture of her buttocks and my thighs, finding what she needed. My mother's hands, familiar and gentle, caressed and teased my scrotum; my perineum immediately received the message, obeying her call, rising again towards her upturned buttocks, thrusting deeply from behind. Snowflakes fell like snow, and Peiyun and I clashed violently and rapidly, like wild beasts, primal and shameless. "Fuck me, possess me, completely possess me!" she cried out. She gripped my hand, biting it between her teeth, enduring the pain of the violent impact amidst pleasure. "Woo... Oh..." She let out a long, wolf-like howl, echoing resonating in my heart. This was the cry of her long-suppressed desire, a sudden burst of unbridled wildness. Her untamed nature could not be restrained and was released. For a woman who has achieved sexual liberation, anything is possible. Peiyun and I were determined to be together, and no amount of propriety or morality could stop our love. And we two actually became lovers, making love many times, and now, I finally encountered my mother, whom I had never met before. That fearless love, that believing love, finally awakened her wildness . It was a cry of liberation, a declaration of her sexual climax! This is love! It is a complete surrender in love. I have never been so moved. She was more persistent than I was before, but now, she pursues her love and happiness more freely and unrestrainedly than I have. I hold her breasts tightly, our bodies connected, gazing up at the sky. Heaven above, may this love be our witness, our prayers offered. She followed me, taking my hand, as we climbed up the stone spring. The luminous seemed like someone else, someone I had never seen before. Like two playful children, hand in hand, we ran back into the house. Outside, a little longer...

Soon, we'd freeze into icicles. We stoked the fire, facing each other, still breathless. I
looked at her, this newly discovered body; I would cherish her even more, never wanting to leave her.

I asked her to stand, took a large bath towel, and began to dry her from head to toe. She stood motionless,
letting me dry her. She seemed as delicate and alluring as a little girl; she was now revealing her innocent,
wild side to me. Her breathing grew softer, her breasts rose and fell, her face flushed, her body
radiant, her legs slightly parted, her buttocks firm and round, like a boy's. Her pubic hair, soaked and dripping wet, clung to her mons pubis
, looking sparser than usual...

I felt a little embarrassed by her gaze. I walked to the mirror, carefully examining my naked body, then turned away from the large mirror, staring at my back and buttocks, utterly bewildered. "Why are you looking at me like that? Haven't you seen me before? What's so interesting?" she asked, continuing to search her body from all angles. Only I had the right to look at her body however I pleased, whether she was clothed or not. I saw all her flaws. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; imperfections are seen as perfection, and beauty is what the lover sees. If she were willing to be beautiful for me, I could have her wear things to suit my taste, highlighting certain aspects of her figure... It would be wonderful if I could have my way! In fact, a son's taste is cultivated from a young age by the person most influential to him—his mother. "You are beautiful, but I just caught a glimpse of your stunning figure ." "Tell me what it was!" "I was just trying to find that angle." I held her arms, making her lift them up and support them behind her head. This way, her breasts were high and exposed , her abs were tucked in, and her armpit and pubic hair formed a triangular shape. She became impatient, or her hands felt heavy, and she tried to let them fall. I gestured for her to stay in the position. "What are you doing? Aren't you hungry? You want something to eat?" "Wait. Just like that, don't move. You look beautiful like this. I want to give you a little something." "What little something?" she asked. "Don't ask, you'll find out soon enough." I took her silk scarf, folded it several times, and blindfolded her. "What are you doing?" "Listen to me, don't ask, close your eyes, don't look, I'm going to give you a surprise." I tightened the silk scarf and blindfolded her. She was told to stand, her arms crossed over her chest, gently supporting her breasts, waiting for something to happen. I had prepared a gift for my lover: a pair of precious little scallop nipple shields inlaid with gemstones , connected by a thin chain. A matching gauze was also present. I didn't know if it could be called underwear, because I imagined it as an ornament, something worn on the outside. That is to say, its design concept was to serve as the sole covering for the lower body. Wearing it under underwear would render it useless. It was a precious little scallop strung together by two small chains; its size certainly wouldn't cover her mons pubis , or any woman's mons pubis. A string of matching gemstones hung from the little shell, perpendicularly matching the lower end of the triangle formed by the nipple shields. I saw these two items three years ago during our honeymoon in Hawaii, and I was immediately delighted. I secretly bought them and hid them for Peiyun. I don't know why I had that thought back then; it was an extremely impractical gift, even less suitable for my mother. However, I kept it, carrying it with me every time I met Peiyun in secret, hoping that the right opportunity would come to wear it on her. I believed that the time I was waiting for had arrived. I used the small scallop shells to cover her nipples, the concave part of the shell perfectly nestling her erect nipples. After adjusting the length of the chain connected to the scallop shells and fastening it behind her back, the two small shells became ornaments set on her breasts, making her exposed breasts appear even more proud and high. As for the glove chain, the tightness had to be adjusted . The chain had no elasticity, constricting her crotch, that is, the glove section, requiring individual adjustments to each small link to ensure that the small shells just covered Peiyun's pubic hair. Peiyun's pubic hair was not very thick, and the small shells only allowed a few pubic hairs to escape. The intersection of the three curved lines of her genitals formed the visual focus. Throughout the dressing process, she stood quietly, her posture fixed, like a mannequin in a shop window, completely at my mercy. I led her to the mirror; the small shell and string chains between her thighs, nestled between her buttocks and labia, became an obstacle to her walking, and the gemstone pendants swayed limply with her movements. She had to walk with her legs slightly apart than usual, and more lightly, to avoid the chains and gemstone pendants rubbing against her genitals and thighs, so her gait was somewhat awkward and unnatural. But I found her graceful and incredibly sexy Blindfolded by the satin strip and adorned with these small shell ornaments, Peiyun couldn't restrain her wildness; instead, it seemed to liberate her body from all constraints and taboos. The Peiyun body presented before me was vibrant and alluring, transforming into Venus born from the water, the goddess of love I worship! I untied the satin band covering her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and, seeing her most primal , instinctive beauty reflected in the mirror , gasped in surprise. Like a woman in a wedding dress, she struck different poses in front of the mirror, caressing her cheeks, shoulders, breasts, and thighs, almost self-pityingly, indulging in her reflection. Natural beauty is hard to ignore; how could such a beautiful and alluring body not be admired by adoring eyes and touched by gentle hands? "So? Do you like it?" Seeing that she seemed to appreciate her appearance, she said confidently. "Thank you, I've never seen underwear made of seashells before." "It's not underwear, it's ornaments, body ornaments, like earrings, necklaces, nipple rings, and the like." "So, am I considered dressed? Do I need to wear panties?" "You can't wear panties, you can't wear a bra, you can't cover it up." "Can these things be worn as clothes?" "The original intention was for you to wear them without wearing anything else."

"Do you think I look good like this?"

"Absolutely beautiful. Come closer, let me see you more clearly."

I opened my arms to her, and she leaned in, letting me shelter her entire body under my protection,
receiving my gentle caresses. I felt this was our most intimate moment, a feeling I had never
experienced before, of loving her and possessing her like this. Full of confidence, and taking a great risk,
I whispered in her ear,

"Peiyun, oh! My Peiyun..."

"What?" She was a little taken aback.

"Is it alright? Can I call you Peiyun? If you don't want to..."

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I have never loved so deeply

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