A Mother's Confession (1-2)

(1)
The Confessor, I am Wenjun, yes,
the middle-aged woman with long hair and a voluptuous figure who passed you by that street corner just yesterday. She smelled faintly of perfume.
Of course, if you were a man—yes, I mean a living, breathing man—then… I'm sure
you glanced at me a couple of times.
No doubt, that's the kind of woman I am. I know those men… heh, want me!
Even though we've been doing this for over a year,
I still feel dizzy whenever he pounces
on me with his intense masculine scent and thrusts his aroused body into my waist... Perhaps I just like this feeling of being suddenly possessed. After we had this intimate relationship
, whenever he gives me that look that's both commanding and pleading, I always obediently
sit or lie down in any spot in the house facing him, in any position he likes, spreading my
legs and letting him take the pleasure and release he desires.
Even though we always deliberately kept quiet while doing this, trying to forget our identities, it
was like a magic spell
that never failed. Whenever he lost his composure and cried out something like, "Mom... I'm going to cum..." a surge of illicit excitement would rush to my head, making me instantly
transform into a thousand tiny flowers, then melt into a hot, writhing mass of flesh, reaching the heights of ecstasy
. My face would flush red, my vagina would tighten, letting every drop of his lubrication seep into
the deepest part of my body without reservation... Pregnancy? Such concerns from a worldly perspective were merely a way to enhance the pleasure of our intercourse in our moments of blissful oblivion . If 　　I hadn't had a tubal ligation
after giving birth to him, for health reasons , I... oh, how should I put it? 　　For someone like me, already hooked on the opium of "incest," the mere thought of "being pregnant with his child" was enough to 　　stir up a burning desire, not to mention... sigh! I admit, this whole wonderful thing (well, I prefer to 　　say it this way...) happened entirely under my control! 　　Yes, from the moment I had the thought of "wanting to possess him," my thoughts 　　revolved solely around this nemesis on my body... 　　"Ugh, he's trying to use his pillow on my butt again... phew, so deep, I hope he doesn't 　　rupture my uterus?" 　　Looking back, seducing a young man like him, who had just developed a strong curiosity about "sex," into bed wasn't 　　the hardest thing; the hard part was convincing yourself to do it. 　　At least in my view, once confidence arises, making you willing to become a sexual demon, then your 　　primal inner self will quietly emerge and dominate everything that follows… I've always believed that unless 　　you're extremely unattractive, any woman with even a little bit of beauty, as long as she's willing to boldly 　　offer her body, will immediately and clearly receive 　　the "I want" message emanating from her—that's their duty. 　　This… certainly includes young men like my son. 　　"Sigh, so pathetic. Every time he puts my legs on his shoulders like that, I can only go limp and 　　helplessly let him do whatever he wants to me. Everyone knows that we women are at a huge disadvantage in this position…" 　　If you really want to pinpoint the reason, it's simple: it's just "loneliness." 　　You know? It's that kind of life with a peaceful, stable exterior, but a suffocatingly restless interior 　　... 　　As you know, in this male-dominated world, 　　there's a long-standing, wishful, and presumptuous moral expectation placed on women like me who lost their husbands early. 　　Every time, while those loyal and devoted brothers perfunctorily bury the recently deceased man in 　　his designated grave, they also, with an "expectant" gaze, 　　seal away all the emotions and desires of the weeping woman beside them. 　　In my "high society," women's feelings are deliberately ignored. 　　The constant "hints" I receive tell me that no matter what methods a 　　man uses, once he's fortunate enough to enter this class, no matter how obscure he was in life, after he 　　leaves this world, he still deserves a woman's eternal remembrance and unwavering chastity. 　　In my opinion, in most cases, this is just 　　a moral view fermented from a man's "the fox mourns the rabbit's death" mentality. 　　It's true that many sentimental women are willing to remain widows for their deceased husbands, but if their 　　deceased husbands are truly unforgettable, and the living woman is forced to feign a "if we 　　cannot live together, we will die together" kind of devotion, then the performance will inevitably become distorted and awkward... It sounds easy, but actually, this 　　"realization" only came 　　to me in the fifth year after my husband's death. 　　Before that... 　　well, I dare not lie to you, I was a good wife and mother praised by everyone! 　　I don't know whether to say it's a pity... or a hateful thing, but this woman, praised by everyone back then 　　, suddenly changed after her son entered junior high school. 　　Let me think... Yes, back then, he, the one on top of me, seemed to have been pumped up, 　　growing taller inch by inch, unconsciously exuding a masculine confidence and ease in every gesture. 　　And once he was a full head taller than me, I realized I had a completely different feeling towards him 　　. 　　How should I put it? You know, it was that... warm, soft feeling. 　　Looking back, at first, my feelings for him were just like a typical mother's surprise and 　　delight at her newborn child suddenly becoming an adult. 　　But, as the room began to fill with his masculine scent, the dormant 　　female instincts within me were finally awakened, stirring subtly...until they became uncontrollable 　　.

As my mind became increasingly unrestrained, and his scent permeated my entire being, I began to interpret his
every smile and gesture in different ways, catering to my own desires.
I always felt that his intentional yet unintentional closeness and aloofness deliberately concealed a series of
pink codes that would make a woman blush; intermittently irritating, yet clearly unsettling.
As the masculine scent emanating from him grew stronger, my moments of losing control became more and more frequent.
My infatuation with him finally and uncontrollably transformed from "protecting me" to "loving me"; and then from
"loving me" to "cherishing me"...
As if possessed by an evil spirit, I unknowingly transformed into a lioness in heat,
starting to frivolously plot against the little lion king who was always around me...
Hehe, I guess... at this moment, you're already eagerly asking me on the other end: "Why would you suddenly
have such... 'evil' thoughts about your own son?" "
Well, I must answer you properly.
First of all, the 'perfectly fine' you mentioned isn't as 'settling' as you might imagine.
Of course, if you think a woman is 'perfectly fine' as long as she has enough to eat and wear,
then I must unfortunately tell you that with the possessions my late husband left me, not just one 'perfectly fine
,' but a hundred 'perfectly fine's' wouldn't be enough.
But, like other women, besides food and clothing, I also need love—a profound emotional
connection and a deep, physical union; I can't do without it for even a moment.
So, I'll just return this 'perfectly fine' to you, and let some high monk or nun
enjoy it.
As for why I poured my romantic love into my son?
To be honest, I have no answer to that, given your current situation."
It's just that those thousands of lively little devils only
popped up one by one when "he" gazed at me with his shy eyes. Of course, by then, you... weren't there again.
Heh, afraid you'd be too honest to ask further, I'll just confess to you myself.
Actually, that dreadful "loneliness" didn't initially torment this weak
woman like a raging flood. Facing an empty bed, if you call it "cool," I initially thought it was "peaceful"!
It's just a pity that all this outward leisure and tranquility was so easily disturbed. A single thought
, a few twisted arguments, and it all crumbled! I know you're well-read, but I wonder if your father ever taught you 　　the saying
, "A thousand scratches are not as good as a gentle brush" ?
This is a living, breathing, yet subtly pervasive rule of the Stone Shield, an ironclad law. If you carefully understand it and
apply it properly, even a seven-foot-tall chastity archway built of bluestone can be reduced to
a pile of mud with just a few soft words from you.
You're still asking me how I know this principle?
Heh… to be honest, I'm not wronging you. Right now… what you see of me is a perfectly good "
pile," isn't it?
"How embarrassing! How could I be so weak today? He only gave me a few strokes… and I came? Look at his
smug face, I guess I couldn't hide it from him, could I? You little rascal, you're getting worse and worse…"
Heh, don't rush, don't rush, I'm fine, but… you have to let me catch my breath first before
you can continue, right?
At that time, all the unspeakable things swirled in my mind. From the outside, I
was no different from any other mother, and my care and concern for him were never improper. Confucius would definitely give me a perfect score
, unless… he found those “disobedient” marks on my underwear.
Ignoring my deliberate suppression, a “calm urgently needing to be broken” still stubbornly permeated the room, and
I, as a mother, began to fall into a stalemate of confusion.
To go forward would only lead to an abyss of utter destruction; to retreat would only result in endless spinning.
Just as I was desperately trying to come up with a way to escape unscathed, hey, hey, hey, something actually
happened!
Last year, around this time of year, after I came back from shopping, went into the bathroom, removed my makeup, and was about to take a
shower when, guess what, I discovered… My pink underwear
, which I had carelessly tossed aside on the pile of clothes, had been washed again and was neatly hung on the towel rack.
Tilting my head to examine the perfectly straight pair of underwear, instead of being completely baffled, I immediately
had an answer.
This answer made my face flush red with excitement, my heart pounding, and
I almost cried out… It turned out that while the lioness was secretly in love with her
cub, the proud little lion was also scheming against his lioness.
And… just today, that lustful little lion had begun to sniff out the lioness's genitals
.
Oh… just thinking about this, my entire sanity collapsed… my restless hands immediately slid to my
breasts and genitals, responding to their cries for liberation, giving them immediate caresses and comfort.
“Oh, my child, when you do this to your mother, do you know what kind
of impact it will have on her? You certainly didn’t think that she might not be able to withstand such intense excitement and silently faint in this small
space?”
In my mind, which was already surging with turbulent waves, scenes of adultery that should have been absolutely forbidden were being reenacted brazenly
.
I felt the surroundings turn into a blurry dark red, and I heard
the panting sounds mixed with “Mommy, Mommy…”.
When the imposing tiles of the bathroom surrounded me like beasts, maliciously enveloping me,
I, limp on the ground, instinctively clutched my thin panties tightly to my chest.
I absolutely refuse to let go of it, because it's a pink mark between mother and son—a mark that could
be tragic, or it could be radiant.
All I know is that since I've already embraced it, there's no reason to let it go…
The sexual horns my son sounded only brought me a brief moment of panic; I couldn't tell whether it was the guidance of emotion, or…
Seduced by desire, I quickly cast aside the fragility of morality that bound me, transforming into a predatory
beast eager to devour.
Before my soul could surrender, my body had already launched its attack.
"This young man, did he take some kind of magic pill today? He's practically peeling my skin off down there, and he still won't
ejaculate..."
When I entered the living room, he was on the sofa, his arm behind his head, intently watching the television screen. The male host on the screen
was making suggestive jokes about the female special guest. Through my deliberate arrangement, I
subtly exposed several areas of my body that would make men nervous. Of course, I didn't want him to notice that
I was already quite aroused under my bathrobe.
Just as I pulled out my still-soaked underwear from behind and displayed it to him, he quickly grabbed the
remote control and turned off the television. Then, he buried his head weakly in his chest, too afraid to move.
His series of actions, which seemed to confess without being asked, finally made me certain that something had happened in this family not long ago
.
Staring intently at this "child" who had "done something wrong," my newly awakened lustful desires surged.
I knew that the next few words would affect the rest of my life and his.
I could scold him like a mother "like" someone else had taught me, continuing to study the
old chapters of being a good wife and mother; or I could lead him to
a new page without any restrictions, painting the whole world with eroticism, like a mother who submits to herself.
Which choice did I make?
Heh, you probably wouldn't even guess, would you?
Suppressing the urge to confess my love directly, I casually asked, "
Tell me honestly, what... happened?"
His strict upbringing had prevented him from hiding anything from me, but the mistake
he'd made was unprecedented, making his explanation difficult and fragmented. "It...it was me...
I accidentally got it dirty...I was afraid...afraid...so I washed it..."
His hesitant tone and the suggestive word "dirty"
solidified my initial assumption.
The "evidence" I possessed was not something easily explained.
Indeed, while I wasn't home, he had done "that
" thing with my worn underwear. However, he never expected that his passionate ejaculation would not only stain his mother's underwear but
also completely destroy her defenses...
Although the whole matter was now obvious, I, with other plans in mind, firstly to confirm my doubts and secondly to
satisfy my sudden urge to tease my prey, after he stammered for a while with burning ears, I pretended to be
stern and questioned him: "Scared? Tell me clearly, what are you afraid of? Are you afraid I'll scold you... or afraid I'll
... get pregnant?"
This fabricated consequence of "pregnancy" indeed terrified him immediately. Losing his composure
, he ignored my reprimand and anxiously asked me, "Really? Just like that... will... will
... make you pregnant? Then... then..."
Seeing his helpless state, I felt both amused and excited.
The funny thing was, I never expected that the man I had raised would have almost zero knowledge about sex.
What excited me was that if things really went as I wished, then… besides
becoming his first woman, I would also be his… first lover?
My heart swelled with shy anticipation, and facing this clueless young
man, I couldn't muster the energy to scold him. So, I couldn't help but chuckle
: "Hehe, do you think I'm a frog, that I'll get pregnant just from touching a little… that kind of thing?"
Hearing this, his expression immediately relaxed a bit. Even so, knowing my personality well
, he adopted a look of sincere remorse, ready to take a good scolding. Therefore, he absolutely wouldn't have expected that what
would come out of my mouth was this: "No, now, no matter what a man does to me
… to me… I… won't get pregnant…"
This short string of words, which should never have come from me, his mother, had just left his simple mind reeling, leaving him
speechless for a long time.
You know, back then, seeing his flushed face, his bewildered and timid appearance, I...
sigh! How to put it? I was just a hair's breadth away from confessing my feelings to him and
... oh... how embarrassing!
Unfortunately, back then I wasn't as "open-minded" as I am now, so the kind of
thing where "skirt and pants fly up, mistaking the sofa for a bed" didn't happen.
Thinking back now, I was incredibly timid. Even though every cell in my body
was burning with desire, I
was held back by those long-held "ethics and morality," wasting several fun encounters. I'm so hopeless... Even so, judging from the way he looked at me then , I can still be sure that my words, "I won't get pregnant," are still 　　echoing
in his mind . 　　Even more strikingly, the guilt that had previously filled him with unease had clearly vanished without a trace. 　　This is understandable; for a near-criminal incestuous man like him, what could be more precious 　　than a mother who couldn't conceive? 　　There's no doubt about it, because at that moment I could clearly feel his fiery eyes 　　, radiating a constant stream of naked sexual intent, tearing away all my feminine 　　protection, penetrating between my legs, and wantonly stimulating the vulnerable thing encased in my underwear… 　　Oh, as a willing victim, I felt both panicked and excited by his silent plunder 　　! 　　Although, as I expected, my infertility had successfully unleashed his ambition, 　　facing my son with his erect penis for the first time still felt somewhat strenuous—there's no parenting encyclopedia…

Let me tell you what to do now.
"Here it comes, here it comes, my darling, you finally came... Mom's with you, let Mom be with you...
Hmm... Ah... Today yours... yours... is especially hot..."
We stood silently facing each other in the living room for over ten minutes. Although we
could both clearly feel that forbidden message being exchanged passionately, we maintained
a delicate standoff. What stood between us, besides the title of mother and son, was the age gap.
Completely inexperienced with men and women, he could never have imagined that at this crucial moment, if he simply mustered his courage and
pushed me closer, I would simply fall backward, fulfilling our desires.
Unfortunately, the chaos I had been waiting for never happened. To be honest, besides disappointment, I was also
a little angry. The situation in front of him was so obvious, yet he just
stood there like a wooden statue. This immediately dampened my initial "enthusiasm," replacing it with a
desire to tease him.
"Yes, besides verbal teasing... can't I use some other methods to encourage
him?" I asked myself like a skilled playwright.
The answer came quickly; it was the only method my hormone-fueled brain
could come up with at the time.
I knew this method was a bit... absurd, but I was certain it would work!
Without hesitation for even half a second, I turned around like a woman he didn't know at all, with my back to him,
bent down, parted the hem of my robe, and slowly unfastened the black silk underpants beneath me.
When I stepped out of my pants and turned around, holding that small wad of fabric in front of him, he quickly lowered his head.
I knew he must have thought I was doing this with some serious meaning, so you can imagine
how shocked he was when I said the following:
"Listen carefully, this is the only one. I'm giving it to you, and you can play with it however you like.
But you're not allowed to touch the others. Mom doesn't want to wear pants that have been stained with your...that..."
I spoke casually, but I knew perfectly well what I was doing—I was blatantly seducing
my son, and using the most extreme methods.
I was surprised that I could utter such a shocking sentence so fluently and smoothly,
as if I were simply recounting an ordinary household matter.
This...you just say that when a woman is swept away by the waves of desire, restraint becomes the last thing she thinks of
.
I remember it perfectly: after hearing those words, he was completely disoriented, frozen in shock for a full half-
minute.
Who could blame him? Tonight, the discipline he received was so "strict."
Standing so close, I could almost hear his erratic heartbeat, but I couldn't predict his
reaction.
For a fleeting moment, I guiltily wondered if I had committed some terrible mistake.
Thank God, despite the shock, my energetic son wasn't
defeated by the challenge his mother had presented him.
He first gave me an awkward smile, silently admitting that this small piece of cloth was a priceless treasure to him;
through its guidance, his young life could easily be reduced to ashes.
Then, like a ravenous beast, he began to stare intently at his prey in my hand—the
pair of underwear still warm from my body.
From his increasingly heavy breathing, I knew that my previous worries about him were unnecessary. My son
believed not in reason, but in his hormones.
As time slowly passed, the silence in the living room began to torment us.
I gradually felt his gaze, sharp as a knife, fiery as flames.
The little thing in my hand had already been torn to shreds by his lustful thoughts. He, on the other hand, was seeing his excitement gradually
drive away his hesitation, his suppressed impulse causing his hands to tremble uncontrollably.
Finally, just as I was somewhat at a loss, and was about to pull the little pair of pants away from his sight, he
swiftly grabbed them!
Although this was all within my expectations, the speed of his search still genuinely startled me
.
Holding my breath, I looked at her with vulnerable eyes. The carefree me of the past had
vanished without a trace; only a timid, hesitant woman remained in the living room.
I silently reminded myself that no matter what happened next, I must not make a sound. Tonight,
what happened in this house was only for "me" and "him" to know.
"Thank you..."
You won't believe it, but these two short words were the only thing that silly goose uttered after that sudden grab
!
Although I could clearly sense his nervousness from his tone,
I almost burst out laughing at the fact that this young man, who had attempted to subvert propriety, had managed to maintain his composure at this crucial moment...
Unfortunately, my reaction had no effect on him whatsoever. Because, after uttering those two considerate words,
"Thank you," he turned around and dashed towards his room like an arrow, slamming
the door shut behind him.
Although I didn't even need to think about what he was doing in his room right now, you know, not
many people can resist eavesdropping at a time like this. So, without realizing
it, my ear was pressed against his bedroom door… “Oh…oh…hum…hum…” Sounds carrying pleasure
drifted through the thick doorway, whispering his comfort to me.
Thinking about my underwear, which I had just taken off, now tightly wrapped around his penis, rubbing back and forth, my legs
could barely straighten.
Over a decade ago, to care for his tender little bottom, I chose the most expensive diapers for him; today,
to care for his full scrotum, I prepared the freshest underwear for him.
As the cold air seeped through the hem of my robe and assaulted my empty private parts, I wondered if I, as a mother, had
gone a little too far in being "great"... Fortunately, my mind isn't my most developed part, and that fleeting self-
reproach was quickly chased away by the life lessons I had just grasped.
For a moment, I absolutely loved this feeling of being in control. From this day forward, in this little pink kingdom
, I would manage both the Executive Yuan and the Legislative Yuan; I would inevitably be the president of this room—oh,
even higher, the vice president... "Kid, take care of yourself! Don't ruin your health! Mom's counting on
you to take care of me for the rest of my life!"
This was the only sentence I dared to silently murmur as I left...
You ask me what I did the rest of the night?
Well, if I told you that I actually spent the entire night clutching that book, "Son of Taiwan," deeply absorbed in it,
would you... believe me?
Well, the only thing I remember is that my bedroom door... stayed open all night.
Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders from behind and whispered in my ear in a coquettish tone, "It smells so good,
Mom! What did you cook today? I've smelled the aroma since I walked in..."
I knew he wasn't really praising the food I was cooking... I know my cooking skills
very well; they're barely good enough to kill anyone.
What made him unable to resist leaning closer was definitely the scent of my perfume. Because, standing behind me
, after saying that double entendre, he boldly and "secretly" used his swollen member to
gently stroke around my buttocks… On a whim, I retorted, not to be outdone, "How
about it? Still working?"
"Working? What works?"
"Don't play dumb, it's that… thing I gave you the other day!"
"Oh, that… thing, I, I…"
"Hehe! Did you break it with your clumsy hands? Now… you're eyeing this
thing on me?"
"No… no, I…"
Hearing his still-sincere denial, I deliberately leaned back against him, twisted my body, and
rubbed my spine against his flesh, then said meaningfully, "Good that it didn't… Kid, be careful,
touching things like that randomly will make us women's pants dirty…"
"Take it off, if you dare to actually do it, whatever you take off is yours..."
"Is it really that useful? Why don't you take one off too, and let Mom try it on?"
"Hmm, young people are so amazing, look at him, he just ejaculated not long ago, and now... he's hard again
! Sigh! If I keep playing with him like this, I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow..."
An unintentional touch of skin, a slight smile, hot pants, a certain tacit understanding, the walls of our relationship are already riddled with holes,
just one careless bump and they will all collapse, letting him know that I'm wearing underwear stained with his semen
.
Carefully choosing underwear, like a bride on her first wedding.
The loose white nightgown only reveals my smooth, tender neck and arms, unintentionally letting him know that I've
had a tubal ligation.
"Mom, I want to marry a clean and elegant wife like you someday..."
"Hehe, it's rare to see you so supportive. If you really can't find the kind of girl you're looking for, then... Mom will fill in
and let you be her wife, okay?"
Following this blatant teasing, I leaned closer, wrapped my arms around his left arm, and adopted a girlish, coquettish
posture. I intentionally or unintentionally rubbed my firm breasts against his elbow through my robe...
Heh, just as I predicted, under my wave of pink attacks, his... well, you know... showed a noticeable
change. Although he was shy and tried his best to appear nonchalant, I knew that if I
added a few words from him at this crucial moment, I guaranteed he wouldn't be able to sit still...
The screen was showing a discovery program, pointing to his bulge, saying, "You naughty
boy, what are you thinking about? You're making this bulge like a thorn..."
Blushing, I couldn't answer...
"What? It's still there after all this time?"
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
"Come on, go to sleep, take a nap," and it "...will go away."
"Really? Just a nap," and it "...will go away?"
"Well...it depends on whether you sleep alone...or with someone?"
"Mom, you...I..."
When I looked up and met his fiery red eyes, I timidly lowered my head and
said in a barely audible voice, "The house is only so big, do you really need me to ask to know
where Mom sleeps?"
"It's just the two of us in one room. If you really want to do something... then do it! Mom... will
let you have your way,"
she gasped, sucking on my neck. "Mom, you're so beautiful... I... I want... I
really want..."
Unfortunately, the moral compass that lingered in my heart hadn't even had time to unleash its feeble, outdated arguments.
My audacious spine, unable to resist the temptation of sin, eagerly
cast its vote of approval for its master, softly arching me back on the waiting spring bed.
The vigilance that should have jumped out to stop this impending farce, to bring everything to its senses,
was maliciously absent at that crucial moment.
Already slightly panting, I buried all my will and clarity within my burning vulva,
under its seduction, believing that this blind following of desire had an irrefutable logic. All I lacked
was a captivating reason to justify it.
In short, I had made up my mind and was fully prepared to have a good time with my son
.
Although I was in charge of all of this, when everything went wrong as I had predicted
, I suddenly lost my confidence.
The instinct to absolve myself immediately kicked in, transforming me into an innocent mother being violated.
That feeling made me sting at his burning gaze. My eyes
unconsciously drifted over his hair and ears, landing on the crystal shards of the lamp base behind him, to mask my anxiety
…or rather…guilt!
At this point, I seemed to have no reason to refuse his body, so when he hurriedly
pulled down my underwear, casting a pleading look at me, I could only shyly turn my head away, slowly
yielding to him, spreading my legs… At that moment, I felt like an
infant still in swaddling clothes, innocently exposing my most private parts to those grown men, completely unable to stop
them from having those ugly, terrifying fantasies. Facing the vulva that had brought him into this world, he 　　froze
completely, as if struck on the back of the head. Although I couldn't see his expression, from his disordered breathing, I assumed he still 　　harbored the hesitation that everyone has about doing this with his own mother. But after experiencing that fiery 　　impact, I realized that what stopped him wasn't moral restraint, but 　　the unique experience of a virgin facing this procreation for the first time… 　　After a considerable period of hesitation, he finally succumbed to his lust, clumsily crawling between my legs 　　, supporting his upper body with one hand and holding his stiff, unresponsive member with the other, nervously 　　and curiously searching for the fleshy crevice at the base of my thighs. 　　When he finally found the right spot and steadily aligned his glans with the entrance to my vagina, I could clearly hear 　　the rapid thumping of his heart from his chest. This made me turn my head back, which I had initially turned away from, because 　　I wanted to know what kind of expression and reaction my only son, the man currently on top of me, 　　would have when he first tasted the pleasure of a woman. Especially since the woman who brought him into this world was the one who brought him all this pleasure 　　. I thought it would be difficult for any man to handle. I even wondered if his overly excited 　　emotions might cause him to… 　　As his penis sank deeper and deeper into my vagina, overwhelmed by guilt, I felt only a 　　chill, and my skin became soaked with sweat. 　　You wouldn't believe it, but the moment his glans slid in completely, my limbs 　　shrank back in fear, like a specimen being stretched open, as if I were being subjected to some inhuman torture. In my daze, 　　the pain I felt when I gave birth to him returned vividly. 　　But this time, I couldn't push it out with my own strength, unless… he was willing! 　　Time, as if startled by everything in the room, almost stopped. 　　His penis, which should have been of considerable size, felt like endless waves 　　of penetration to my already overwhelmed senses; just when I thought I had completely taken over his body, another fierce thrust would suddenly appear, 　　forcefully pushing back my weakened resistance, completely disregarding 　　the fact that I could no longer accommodate it. 　　Eager to explore the full potential a woman could offer a man, he inevitably harbored 　　the assumption that "the unknown depths hold unknown benefits." Therefore, until our bodies, so tightly and deeply intertwined, 　　produced a dull thud, he never considered the possibility that I might not be able to accommodate his engorgement, let 　　alone leave even a tiny bit of my flesh outside. 　　Indeed, a young man's desire for love cannot be taken lightly or neglected. 　　The thrusting and withdrawing followed immediately after he had secured my body. 　　I was surprised and secretly delighted… He didn't ejaculate immediately after penetration as I had expected 　　. 　　Like a novice learning to sail, he carefully pulled his penis out halfway , took a breath, and then cautiously pushed it back in, letting the reddened glans throb 　　and swell pleasurably inside 　　my vagina several times. 　　Clearly, he must have secretly rehearsed this a thousand times, no wonder he could 　　enjoy his mother so methodically and unhurriedly. 　　Soon, after several gentle withdrawals and insertions, having memorized my body temperature and become familiar with my 　　surroundings, he began to grow bolder, increasing not only the frequency of his thrusts but also the arc of his movements. 　　The previously eerily quiet room began to echo with the creaking of the spring mattress… 　　“Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak…” 　　Each creak represented a deeper penetration, the increasingly louder creaks indicating that each penetration was 　　longer and deeper. 　　My lower body, unable to cope with such intense and frequent insertions, sank deeply into the mattress; 　　every chance to rise above the surface was missed by another of his thrusts… 　　Although completely submerged in the waves of the mattress, my stubbornness compelled me to forcefully open my eyes for a quick 　　glance at him. 　　From his smug expression, I realized that as long as it brings him 　　the pleasure of tightness and friction on his penis, and visual appeal, a man doesn't really care whether the woman he's doing it with 　　is another woman, or…his mother. 　　Even today, I still can't explain why, at that moment when, after such careful planning, I finally got what I wanted 　　, two streams of tears silently appeared on my cheeks. I don't know if he was too busy savoring 　　the sweetness of the fountain of desire to ponder this sudden emotional outburst; or if he, always prone to overthinking, had already cleverly 　　found the answer for me. He didn't say a word. 　　Like a considerate lover, he stopped thrusting, lowered his waist, and leaned towards me. 　　After looking at me deeply, he gently lowered his head and lightly kissed my eyelids, my nose, and finally rested on my slightly trembling 　　lips. 　　And just like that, my tears earned him his first kiss. 　　Having never kissed before, he tried his best to appear experienced, but still revealed many 　　flaws. So when his tongue frantically tried to pry open my lips, I could only slit my lips to indulge 　　him.

It wasn't until his tongue made its first contact with mine in my mouth that I suddenly remembered that he was,
besides my husband, the only man in my life to have held me so tightly.
The thought that my first affair was with my own son made me chuckle inwardly. Who would have thought that
I, who always hated trouble, would secretly take the easy way out in such a crucial matter… using my closest
son to fill the void left by his father.
The kiss, from light to heavy, was like the thing he had inserted into my lower body. His tongue chased after mine in my mouth
, and through the distorted taste buds, we exchanged intense, lewd thoughts.
Through this forbidden kiss, the two people on the bed finally achieved the most intimate union a man and woman could ever have.
Without any inhibitions, we let our budding passion grow wildly, until the only two
breaths in the space could no longer distinguish which was their master.
This sudden, dizzying tenderness brought my previously stiff limbs back to life, and my
body temperature and heart rate began to rise uncontrollably.
The same reaction occurred in him; I could clearly feel that
the flesh that had been roughly holding me captive was now growing thicker and hotter.
I hated myself, because while he, my son, was filling the void in my body, I had
also made him so vulnerable that he had breached the dam of my emotions, making me his pink captive…
“Look at me, look at me!” I urged resolutely, stubbornly demanding that he open his eyes, which he had involuntarily closed due to the approaching climax
.
I knew that doing this was an incredibly difficult thing for a man. But I didn't care; I had to make him
clearly understand that the woman into whom he was about to ejaculate a large amount of sperm was indeed his beloved
mother.
And the reason he could do this was entirely due to my immeasurable maternal love for him.
I watched the whole thing unfold with an air of detachment, as if he were assaulting another
woman unrelated to me. When I finally succumbed to the vortex of incest he had created, I glanced sideways and told myself,
"Accepting my own son's semen...it's not hard at all..."
I tightly closed my vulva, afraid the semen would leak out, savoring the sensation of it inside me.
The pleasure from incest was so intense... In the bathroom, facing my reflection in the full-length mirror, my hair disheveled, my face
still flushed, I struck poses, proud of my continued womanly allure. Staring at
the semen sliding down my thighs, I leaned against the mirror and said to myself, "Little mirror, catch the semen." I initially wanted to taste it, but later smeared it on my lips.
"You, you bad woman, even with your own son..."
After my son entered, we had a new relationship. His eyes held confidence and gentleness. He first exchanged glances with her
, then embraced her from behind. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lightly bumping her hips against his groin.
"Do you regret it?"
"Yeah!"
"Me too..."
"Really...really?"
"I regret it. I should have...been with you the first time you gave me your underwear."
"Hehe, at most...we'll finish him off tonight..."
"Sleep later?"
"No, sleep earlier..."
"Sleep earlier? Then that means..."
"Hehe, I'll sleep after breakfast..."
"Wow, such a horny mom..."
"So, I can only give it to...your obedient son..."
She reached under my legs and lifted me onto the bed. Just as he was about to start again, she turned around
and hugged him from behind: "Help! There's a mother here who wants to use this to penetrate her son..."
"Come home early after school, Mom has prepared something delicious for you..."
"What...delicious food?"
"How about I feed you...meat...soup...?"
We lay together in the specially made porcelain tub. He played with my hair, while I gently stroked his broad chest,
savoring this new bond between us. Regarding what had happened not long ago, I felt less
guilty and more hopeful... Thinking about how cold I had been to him just now, I felt incredibly
guilty. So, after the water in the tub had thoroughly warmed my skin and mind, I lowered
my head and gently suckled his nipple. When he gripped my back tightly with pleasure, I added
fuel to the fire by moving my hand to his already aroused area. This time, I wanted... It was a boundless, unrestrained
pleasure.
On such a night, when morality was completely liberated, this "mirror of his" finally became "my
mirror," or rather, "the mirror of me and him"...
I secretly used my will to writhe the walls of my flesh below, continuously brewing droplets of pleasure into
the piece of flesh he had inserted into my body, making his body tremble laboriously as if connected to a power source of ecstasy.
At that moment, I made up my mind that after that night, I would not only conquer his young body, but also possess his vibrant
soul...
And now, the one lazily leaning here chatting with you is still me, Wenjun.
Hehe, don't tell me you finally remembered that I am the middle-
aged woman who passed you by that street corner yesterday, with a faint scent of perfume, long hair, and a voluptuous figure.
Hmm, that was... the most dishonest thing ever.
On the contrary, if you are so kind, and my story along the way has secretly melted
the budding belief in your heart, then I want you to slowly come closer and quietly tell me...
that you... have never even thought about the love between a mother and son.
(2)
The next day, when I woke up, it was already noon—I couldn't help it, I had been reading too late last night and
couldn't get up... After I groped around on the bed with sleepy eyes, I suddenly remembered that my
underpants, which I had been looking for everywhere, were now serving their little master. Thinking about the possible fates they had suffered along the way
, a sweet smile involuntarily appeared on my face.
The dawn brought me not a trace of regret; I was still quite pleased with my near-perfect performance last night
. The only thing troubling me was—should I talk to him face-to-face and settle "that matter"?
Sigh, although he had blatantly swallowed my bait, it was
clear that I was the one who had to approach him, untangle the hook, and lead him into the room!
Although I could foresee that it would bring me another round of control and domination,
I was still somewhat apprehensive about the foreseeable chaos. After all, it was always us women who played the victim in such matters,
wasn't it?
I wasn't naively convinced that the identity of "mother" could truly provide me with any protection. In fact,
from the series of moans last night, I was certain that my true identity might still be a
reason for a slaughter.
I ruffled my tangled hair, lazily got out of bed, went into the small bathroom, and began my daily grooming
routine. Looking in the mirror, thinking of him who might appear at any moment, my grooming process was much slower than usual. Frowning, I gave myself a urging look: you absolutely must devise 　　a "reasoning" to say to him
as quickly as possible . 　　What kind of reasoning should I, as his mother, impart to him at this crucial juncture? I didn't know, 　　because that wasn't important. I only knew that everything I could think of had to maintain his moral compass 　　and… his emotional integrity. Oh, the effort involved in creating such twisted logic is something you can't 　　easily understand unless you've experienced it firsthand. 　　Unfortunately, the burgeoning thoughts of spring that had been brewing all night had completely wiped out my already lacking quick wit. 　　No matter how hard my brain worked, all that came out were those three words: "I can." 　　Clearly, such a direct answer would either captivate him on the spot or destroy him instantly, and 　　I wasn't willing to take that risk. 　　My persistent mental fog started to make me sulk. Unskilled at self-reflection, I even began to attribute 　　all this stagnation to some cruel twist of fate. That's certainly possible; otherwise, why would all my emotional 　　deficiencies be filled by desire? 　　"Actually, if he just barged in like that, why would I need to prepare any lines? All I have 　　for him is a ready-made room, perfect lighting, my mother just showered, and 　　the bed just made. I'm just afraid that before I can even speak, he'll take advantage of me..." 　　"Why don't I just pretend to be deaf and dumb and let him do as he pleases? He... should either... speak first, or 　　... just come at me. I just need to follow along, enjoy the show, and have a relaxing time." 　　Yes, that was my final conclusion at the time, not something you should admire, right? 　　Finally out of the bathroom, I sat down at my vanity, pretending to be relaxed, and started applying my makeup. I was still wearing 　　that convenient bathrobe, and humming "Double Pillow" to myself. The originally ordinary melody, 　　coming from me in my current state of passionate love, was inevitably slow and disjointed, full of unspoken meaning. The slightly louder 　　volume revealed my intention—I had to let the other person in the room know that his dear mother 　　had woken up and… was inviting him closer. At this moment, all I wanted was for him to appear 　　at my door. 　　However, the longer the wait dragged on, the more chaotic my melody became. Just as I finally 　　finished drawing my face, the frustration of waiting almost made me want to yell at him on the spot. 　　Before my frustration could turn into anger, a familiar school bell rang from outside. 　　It was then that I suddenly remembered that today was Friday, and my precious son, despite 　　being tired last night, still had to go to school. 　　On the one hand, it means I still have to be a good mom all day; on the other hand, I 　　finally have plenty of time to prepare his after-school lessons for tonight—of course, they'll be 　　related to "being a person. " 　　But what I really want to do right now is something that requires absolutely no brainpower. Right? With such a good 　　free time, how could I not conduct a "loving exploration" of his other room? 　　It's necessary. Because, although I don't need any proof, I'm certain that what made him groan last night was 　　n't a stomachache. But, if I'm lucky enough to find evidence of his "crime" last night, then 　　whatever I do to him afterward will only be considered an exercise of "disciplinary power," right? 　　Oh, my diligence deserves a reward! 　　Once outside the room, I immediately confirmed he was gone, because his keychain, which he usually keeps on the TV, was 　　missing. His absence calmed me down—oh no, I misspoke, it didn't calm me down. Because 　　I was about to do something exciting. 　　As if having an affair, I tiptoed to his door. Being cautious, I even 　　coughed twice, like an old scholar. Honestly, if he had actually jumped out to greet me then, I wouldn't know 　　what to say! 　　Half a second later, I realized I'd been overly cautious. My son, clearly anticipating my grand 　　arrival, hadn't even properly closed the door. 　　He deliberately presented the entire crime scene to his mother, perfectly intact, almost as if he'd put up a "Welcome 　　to Visit" sign. 　　Yes, from the overwhelming smell of male semen that hit me as soon as I entered, I immediately knew that besides readily 　　admitting all his crimes, he was eager to be arrested. 　　Absurd traces were everywhere in the room; I can only describe it as "utterly filthy." Here and there 　　, clumps of tissues soaked in bodily fluids surrounded a pile of blankets. Most of the bed sheet 　　lay unruly on the carpet. Everything indicated that last night, he hadn't considered reserving 　　any semen for himself. 　　In this small room reeking of lust, filled with the stench of filth and depravity, my brain felt 　　oxygen-deprived. Half-closing my eyes, I couldn't help but conjure up a scene of sexual punishment for him—a hellish place, imprisoned by caution.

He, the only male in the prison, lacking female mates, could only spray and wipe himself in the air,
spray and wipe again… until his organs finally refused to function.
Although such intense release of desire was something I hadn't anticipated when I gave him the underwear,
I wasn't alarmed by the outcome. On the contrary, I was quite satisfied with my current
harvest.
My son, through this deliberately left room setting, had responded positively to my sexual instructions and
agreed to unconditionally participate in all the following crimes, and I was his designated victim.
This was without a doubt, because the little strip of cloth I gave him was now lying neatly on his
desk. Only a blind man wouldn't have seen it, because it was in the most conspicuous place in the room.
How should I describe "it"? I mean the "treasure" I gave him just yesterday.
Did I just say "only a blind man wouldn't have seen it"? Oh, sorry, I misunderstood.
I should say, "Even a blind man would notice its presence," because clinging to these precious trousers
was not only a wet, sticky sensation, but also a strong, pungent odor.
At this moment, it was less like a pair of "trousers" and more like a piece of "cloth." Yes, it wasn't just
a piece of cloth, but also a densely written "letter," a letter filled with cries of "I want, I want..." filled with the desires of someone who would pour their young life into it
. And coincidentally, the anonymous recipient was me.
Receiving such a "letter," written stroke by stroke with my penis, shattered my will instantly
. As I slumped dazedly into the chair at my desk, the seal of lust within me crumbled.
And a photograph that happened to catch my eye on the desk ignited a fire of passion in the room.
The solo photo was taken by him in my front yard not long ago. I was the one who took it. At the time, he was only wearing
a tank top and shorts, with a shy smile on his face.
Next, what I'm about to say is something I don't believe, because a woman like that should only exist
in those perpetually risqué erotic novels, while I am a living, breathing woman.
Staring intently at the solo photo of him clipped to his desk, I began
to expose every inch of my skin to him in what I considered the most seductive poses, like a stripper lost in a performance.
First, my snow-white neck, "It's so pink and tender, you want to bite it, right?" I teased
him in the photo.
Then, my full breasts, "Tonight, I... I'll feed you with them again, okay?"
I still couldn't let go of him in the photo.
Next, it was my flat stomach. "This is where you've been..." I finally fell in love with this kind of
teasing... Finally, um, it was... that place. "You know what? This is what you wanted most, and
it's also what I wanted most for you? Look, it's already..." Heh, I really don't know if he in real life could resist
such... temptation? If it were me, I definitely couldn't!
The lust that kept rising from my heart could not be covered up by those few words. Still hot
, I had a sudden inspiration and picked up that well-worn pair of underwear on the table, and started smearing it all over my body.
In an instant, the semen produced by my imagination began to overflow all over my body... First, my face.
"What a strong smell. You must have just walked in and already shot into it, right?"
It's not easy to stop teasing him like this.
Then it was my Adam's apple. "Shooting out such a thick stuff must have exhausted you, right?"
Oh, someone save the poor guy. I'm such a bad woman...
Then it's my cleavage, "Is it just my imagination? It's burning hot..." I just can't allow
it to be cold...
Finally, um, still... that place, "Phew, only naughty children would want to
shoot this stuff into their mother's. Oh, darling, you can't, you absolutely can't do that... before Mommy's completely wet
..." Sigh, I couldn't help but ask...
It turns out that the "diaper" I gave him, once it reached my secret place, refused to leave, because
it was so desperately needed.
Biting my lower lip, I used the remaining liquid on the cloth to oint my genitals.
After my clitoris and engorged labia received their due blessing, I hesitated about the sin I was about to commit...
My other hand, unable to respond to the conflicting demands of my body and reason, gripped the air tightly.
My breath was quietly stolen by the lustful spirits lurking all around.
The devil truly gave me no chance to regret it, because at such a crucial moment, my finger
landed squarely on his crotch… After that moment, in the photo, his smile remained, but
in my own eyes, all restraint vanished!
I began moving my finger towards his genitals, first gently and slowly drawing circles.
As the condensation blurred his shorts, the hand remaining on his vulva continued its
ravages.
With the ever-increasing craving for pleasure, my finger abandoned the gentle circles, focusing its force and
range, roughly rubbing back and forth against his still-flat genitals. You know very well what I want
… When time, unable to bear witnessing all this, suddenly snapped, my eager hand, finally
unable to resist its enticement, hastily wrapped my two restless index and middle fingers in cloth, using them as a
nameless flesh spear, and thrust it into my vulva. I never expected to be so cruel to myself
… With the moral decay brought on by this, I seemed to suddenly go mad, lowering my head, sticking out
my tongue, and… began to lick it. My tongue was so greedy that it
could only be easily pierced through the coldness of the glass…
You see, I accidentally described the situation so vividly, making you laugh. Or should
I go back and only mention the important parts, and tell you another story?
(To be continued
)

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