Mother and son try marriage

Mom, please stop pressuring me to find a partner. Good girls are hard to find. First, girls are materialistic. Housing is tight, and girls won't even look at someone who can't afford a house. Second, I work in the service industry. To earn a little extra pay, I often work night shifts, and all my colleagues are men, so I can't find a girlfriend. Third, I'm naturally introverted and not good at socializing; I'm considered a total shut-in. The biggest problem is that Mom listed ten criteria for a wife. Later, she stopped listing any criteria altogether. As long as she's a woman, that's fine. But finding a woman who's willing to marry you and whom you don't dislike is also difficult. Time flies, and I've almost given up on the idea of marriage. I've even lost interest in blind dates. My mother and I depend on each other for survival; she takes care of everything. She takes care of everything for me—what I eat, what I wear. Because of her, I don't lack female companions. The only thing she can't do for me is arrange a way for my sperm to be used. I feel sorry for my mother; sometimes she's the object of my sexual fantasies. There was no way around it; she always liked to wear that tight-fitting dance outfit to practice square dancing at home. She shouldn't dress so sexily at her age, because she still maintained her figure, her curves on full display. But I had ulterior motives; I always felt those dance moves by the older women were choreographed for men, utterly seductive. Not watching would be unfair to her, but watching would be torture for my little brother. Besides square dancing, all her energy was devoted to finding partners for me, her only son, and other relatives. One day, she saw a news report about a couple getting married in a church. She started to question my sexuality because I'd never had a serious girlfriend, and I was surrounded by a bunch of single male colleagues. She showed me the newspaper and, in a fit of madness, told me, "You absolutely mustn't marry a man!" I hated her meddling in my love life so much, and jokingly said, "Maybe I'll 'marry' them!" My mother was startled and burst into tears, wailing and cursing herself for giving birth to a freak, for disgracing our family's ancestors. I could only coax her, saying, "I'm sorry, I was just joking. I'm not gay, I don't love men, I love women. I just haven't met anyone to date yet. I'm a man of principle, I hire prostitutes two or three times a week to satisfy my sexual desires, don't worry, I'm not gay." "Really?" "No kidding." "That's good. How much does it cost to hire a prostitute?" "Including a hotel room, it's 300 yuan per time." "300 per time, 900 a week, 3600 a month." "You're right. I have an old flame, she's old and faded, her business is slow, but she takes good care of me, I go to her often. She said if I give her 3600 a month, she'll come home with me, and I can do it whenever I want." "Absolutely not." "Didn't you say any woman would do?" "Your mother is a woman too...""Yes, yes, yes. I just need a woman with big breasts and a pussy. At work, my colleagues only talk about sex, which makes me want to sleep with even a sow." "You want to sleep with a sow? Give me the three thousand six hundred, and I'll be your wife." "Mom, don't joke with me." "I'm not joking. If you don't mind my age, I can have sex with you for twenty years without any problem. Maybe I can even give you a baby." "That's impossible!" "Don't tell me you haven't had designs on me. You always look at me with lust, do you think I don't know?" "I'm just a fan of yours. You're so attractive when you dance, it's like you're seducing me." She wiped away her tears, tidied her hair, forced a smile at me, and said, "You're teasing your mother again." "That's not what I meant. But, how did you come up with the crazy idea of marrying me?" "To save you money. Besides, I'm no worse than other women." I was stunned for a moment, staring blankly at the ground, speechless. I sized her up, like I'd been looking at a girl on a blind date. I'd never looked at her like that before; these days, you can never guess a woman's real age. My old flame is over fifty, but she lies and says she's forty, and people believe her. My mother isn't actually that old; if she said she was forty, or even thirty-five, walking next to me would just look like a May-December romance. This mother of mine, being appraised and waiting for my explanation, seemed a little shy under my gaze, appearing younger and more coquettish. I have to admit, besides being my mother, and being too nagging and strict with me, she fits most of the criteria she listed for me when choosing a partner. In terms of looks and figure, my mother isn't bad; she's eligible to remarry, and if she's willing to give herself up, there must be many men who would want to pursue her. "How about it? Your mom isn't any worse than your old flame!" "Mom, I still don't understand. Do you mean you can marry me?" "Do you think I'm not good enough?" "Absolutely not." "Don't you want a regular sexual partner?" "Yes!" "We can try living together first, and then get a marriage certificate if we're both satisfied." "What certificate?" "Marriage is a major life event and shouldn't be taken lightly. Of course, we need a marriage certificate." The message was too strong; I didn't know how to respond. "Our good thing! Leave it to me to arrange." Who I marry has always been her decision. With that, I rushed off to work. Before leaving, my mother gently reminded me, "Child, now that you have me, don't go chasing after other women. Save the three hundred dollars for my household expenses." I was a little confused. Turning my mother into a marriage partner, overstepping generational boundaries, disrupting morals—was that a good idea? Sleeping with my mother, and her calling me husband instead of son—though it existed in my fantasies, it wasn't entirely unrealistic. I'm no longer calling her "Ama" (Grandma). What should I call her? My old flame wants me to call her "Little Sister," so can I call Grandma "Sister" (Grandma)? Would Mom be willing to strip naked for me to have sex with? Would she let me touch her breasts and buttocks? Also, what are the proper rituals for a trial marriage? But, basically, I should marry my mother. I asked my colleagues for their opinions, of course, concealing the mother-son relationship, only saying that a relative a generation older than me is willing to marry me. Colleague A said, "That's a good thing. Love has no age or generational limitations; when it comes, you can't stop it. Love is this thing—mother-son love, sister-brother love, teacher-student love—the more incestuous, the more exciting." Colleague B said, "No need to consider it. We all know that the male-female ratio is so imbalanced that we might return to the era of polygamy, one wife with multiple husbands. If someone is willing to marry me, who cares if she's my mother? There are always unforeseen circumstances; I'll marry her immediately." "But she's my elder, a very close relative, someone I've always treated with utmost respect. How could I possibly take her to bed? How could I possibly do that?" I asked a stupid question, and they surrounded me, berating me: "Are you even a normal man? Can't you get your thing up?" one said. "Who cares if she's your mother or your great-aunt? If she's willing to marry you, she's your woman. Being so timid, it's no wonder your little brother is always bouncing around. They'll look down on you," another said. "Sigh! A man who lacks the courage to enter into a relationship doesn't deserve sympathy. I'll despise you! You'll be a masturbator for life!" they all said in unison, effectively condemning me. My colleagues like to talk nonsense, but what they say isn't entirely without merit. I've never dared to consider my mother as a sexual partner, let alone marry her—it's a pipe dream. But ever since she suggested we marry, my little brother has gotten hard. The more my colleagues scolded me, the harder it got, almost bursting out of my pants. This primal reaction told me one thing: I can't deny the desire to sleep with my mother naked. Overnight, this spark of desire had spread throughout my body. Every nerve ending throbbed with the thought of my little brother receiving tender care. I prayed to the heavens that my mother wouldn't change her mind. On the way home, I pondered every detail of how my mother carried me to bed. After get off work, not wanting to discuss my sexual happiness with them, I left them and took the first bus home. As the bus passed my usual hotel, I made a call, and my old flame immediately answered the call to relieve my little brother's urges. I remembered her saying to me, "Boss, countless men have touched my breasts, but only you can make me feel anything..." I struggled with my thoughts but ultimately didn't get off the bus to seek that feeling, because I had promised my mother to save the money. My mind raced; if she was telling the truth, getting me to sleep with her for free for that feeling was obviously wishful thinking. But so what if it's my mother sleeping in my bed? My mother, naked, is just like any other woman, with two peaks on top and a seductive cave below, her legs spread wide, fragrant grass growing, and a gentle stream flowing. My hand wanders and caresses the peaks, wondering if I'll slap myself for the feeling. You're dreaming, you shameless little idiot. But was my mother's proposal of marriage a sudden whim, or did she have other motives? It's all my fault for being careless and not noticing her recent expressions. What triggered her to keep glancing at me? Perhaps she's lonely and feels a connection with me, secretly eyeing me. The bus turned a corner, onto the city center square avenue, not far from home, just two stops away. I got off the bus and walked towards the music to watch the older women dancing. My mother was the lead dancer at the very front. But it wasn't her; she was gone. I hurried home, my heart pounding, wondering what would happen when I saw my mother. Entering the house, I saw steaming hot porridge and several plates of cold dishes on the table. Mom was wearing a shimmering, off-the-shoulder, V-neck jumpsuit. She wasn't wearing a bra, because the straps would show. She also wasn't wearing those contrasting leggings, her two pale thighs more dazzling than her dance costume. She greeted me with a smile. "You're back. Let's have breakfast together." "I didn't go dancing." "You work so hard, I should treat you better." "Mom, you're already very good to me." "That's a mother's way of being good to her son. You think I'm too nagging." "It's all for my own good." "If you don't like it, then talk less in the future." She kept putting food on my plate and adding rice to my bowl. I just kept my head down and ate, not daring to look at her. I wolfed down my food, wiped my mouth, and Mom said, "I'm tired. Take a hot bath and go to bed." Mom actually followed me to the bathroom and helped me undress. I felt a little embarrassed. Mom said, "What are you shy about? Haven't I seen your body before? Besides, we're engaged, and I'll serve you." I was happy, but couldn't believe it was true. "Are you serious?" "Unless you think I'm not pretty and hate me." "No, you're very pretty." "What's pretty about me?" "Your looks and figure are both beautiful." "I knew it all along. You're always staring at people like that." I thought to myself, "Mom, to be honest, I wasn't staring at you. I didn't have the guts, I only dared to peek." Mom squatted down and pulled down my underwear. I looked down at her neckline, revealing a pair of bare breasts, the cleavage unfathomably deep. My little brother, with its glans erect, sprang out in front of Mom as my underwear fell to my knees. I hurriedly covered myself with my hands. My face was flushed, my blood was boiling. Before even getting close, I was already so excited I was about to burst. Mom patted my bare bottom and said, "Go, take a shower." Those few steps into the shower felt like sprinting a hundred meters uphill; my heart rate was at its peak. I turned the shower on full blast, hoping to cool my head down. Mom was right outside the shower, separated by a cold-effect glass screen. I felt like she was watching me shower. When I looked out, my heart couldn't take it. She was bending over, pulling down her underwear. Slowly straightening her back, completely naked, she stood facing the glass door and knocked. I pushed the door open, and two rolling mounds of flesh, like the big eyes of a Minion, met my gaze. She reached out her hand, inviting me in. We, mother and son, were completely naked, confined in the small space of the glass enclosure. My little brother, since Mom had taken off her pants, was already hard and erect, forming an "h" between our standing bodies. And it inevitably pressed against Mom's pubic area. My previously burning body suddenly felt a chill. I was terrified of the incest we were about to commit. "Mom, do you really want this?" I had nowhere to hide from her naked body. "Do you want it?" "I... I mean, I'm afraid to think about it." "I'm not asking if you dare. Do you want it?" "I do." "Give us three months to try. If you don't marry me after three months, I won't blame you. Come on, give me a kiss." Mom closed her eyes and offered her pouting lips. Hot water poured down like rain from the showerhead. I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around Mom's waist, and kissed her. Mom's slightly parted lips were thinner and softer than they looked. Her saliva was sweet and fragrant. As we kissed, Mom grabbed my penis, which was as hard as a vajra, and inserted it into her...Inside the opening, without any foreplay or teasing, penetration was a bumpy, upward struggle. Mom patiently secured it, then released her hands, her jade-like arms encircling my neck, lifting one leg to wrap around my waist. Instinctively, I cupped her large, firm buttocks, so pert and smooth. With her weight supported, she lifted her other leg, tightly entwining me, assuming a position of blissful union. I'd heard of Guanyin's selfless act of offering her body, appearing as a beautiful woman to have intercourse with a lost soul. In the throes of great pleasure, she would suddenly reveal her skeletal form, using her beautiful skull to enlighten the lost soul, preventing him from succumbing to the allure of flesh and blood. I dared not open my eyes to look at Mom's face, afraid of seeing Guanyin. I fantasized that she was my old flame, just as when I make love with an old flame, I fantasize that she is my mother. I pressed her against the glass screen. Our two wet bodies cooperated, shallow and deep thrusts mingling. A series of muffled groans came from her nose and throat, and an electric current quickly surged through my body, flowing into the fulcrum of our embrace. It was as if I could let go, and only the fleshy rod connecting our bodies could support her. I had reached a state of bliss, smelling strange floral fragrances and hearing beautiful celestial music. I opened my eyes and saw Guanyin's face displaying a solemn and holy countenance, both kind and gentle, her head tilted back, calling to me, this prodigal son, in a sweet voice, unwilling to part. I had grasped the profound meaning of the "enlightenment" technique. The "enlightenment" did not mean pouring it into the head, but rather into the lower part of the body, which was sucking and demanding the liquid it poured in. So my mother was Guanyin Bodhisattva. (III) A Second Blossom If my mother hadn't been leaning against my chest, I wouldn't have dared to embrace her naked body in my arms. I've always longed for a woman to share my bed with, and now I'm enjoying her warmth and comfort, receiving emperor-like treatment. Only an emperor can marry any woman he wants. A day later, my mother became someone else—my wife. The change was too drastic; I still couldn't believe it. First, I couldn't believe my mother would marry her son—it was a huge joke. Second, I couldn't believe my mother initiated sex with me—it was just a delusional fantasy. Third, I couldn't believe my mother was sleeping in my bed—it was just a wishful dream. My mother! The woman in my arms was undeniably my mother. I've known her face, her expression, her voice since childhood. I was certain it was real. My mother and I made love in the shower. She wrapped herself in a large towel and dried her hair. Then she called me out and dried me with her own towel. She knelt down, lifted the folds of her foreskin, and carefully checked if I was dirty and dry. My little brother obediently lowered his head, letting my mother knead and shape him in her hands, like molding clay. He looked up and said, "Mom is your woman now. You must treat Mom well." "Mom, I've always listened to you and respected you since I was little." "Mom knows that." "But why do this?" "You are my heart and soul. I will live my whole life for you, and I will die for you." Hearing the deep emotion in her words, especially the seriousness of death, I asked her, "Mom, what's wrong?" "Nothing. I just mean, the most important thing in my heart is to make you happy. Are you happy to marry me?" "Although I've never dared to have such presumptuous thoughts, I can only describe it as overwhelming joy." "My son is indeed quite cultured, knowing how to use four-character idioms. Say nice things to Mom more often, and love me more in the future! I'm a little woman, and I need a big man to give me lots and lots of love." As my mother gently rubbed and whispered, my little brother became erect again, paying homage to the great mother before me. Mom slowly stood up, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement, nipples pointing downwards, separated on her chest. My heart pounded even faster; my penis, not yet completely slipped from Mom's hand, already had its glans erect. Mom leaned closer, standing opposite me, gently stroking my face, moving my hand to her waist, gesturing for me to hug her. Then, she stood on tiptoe, tilting her head back. We kissed. To be honest, I had never kissed a woman before. Women in escort services, they'd agree on a price, let you kiss, let you touch, let you sleep with them, but all their reactions were merely pretentious. I can't describe how deep, how wet, my kiss with Mom felt. I closed my eyes, letting the wonderful feeling carry me away. Involuntarily, I wandered over every inch of that once forbidden territory. Gently kneading Mom's breasts, the feel was superb, the ratio of fat to muscle just right; large breasts weren't necessarily a bad thing, she had lost weight, making them even firmer. I've noticed that in recent months, my mother's bra size has decreased by one size, while the cup size has increased by one. I confess, I'm not a well-behaved son; I often secretly take my mother's dirty underwear and bra from the laundry basket to examine them and identify her body odor. What good deed have I done lately to deserve this kind of pleasure? I greedily cup my mother's bare bottom in one hand and support her breasts in the other, clinging to this unprecedented intimacy, fearing the end of the world might come. That wicked thing pressed against my mother's smooth belly, like a monster that can turn into a giant, assaults my mother. Once desire is awakened, it becomes uncontrollable, an animalistic urge to once again explore my mother's alluring little hole. My mother seems to hear the call of my little brother, or perhaps she already had this thought; she turns her face away, gently stroking my face, and whispers in my ear, "Is it in your bed or mine?" Of course it's mine; other men have slept in my mother's bed. Don't be wicked; she's not a cuckold. That man was my old man who had run away. She led my little brother, showing no embarrassment at our nakedness, into my bedroom, pulled back the covers, and we continued kissing and caressing each other. My mother skillfully guided my wild, blind little devil, leading him to explore the Peach Blossom Spring again. This time, my mother's vagina was lubricated by my semen from our previous lovemaking, and I reached my climax quickly. "Husband, don't rush this time, take it slow." "Mom, I understand. Do as I say." Actually, during our first lovemaking session, I ejaculated after less than twenty thrusts. Now, I could foreplay and make love simultaneously, taking my time and savoring the pleasure of being with my mother. My strategy was that, due to the reduced hardness and sensitivity, I could tolerate more stimulation, not a relentless onslaught, but a prolonged battle, which would actually torment the woman more. The actual encounter, however, was another matter. My mother laid her legs flat on the bed, opening them for me. After I was completely swallowed, she forcefully closed them, and I was gripped by her narrow, fleshy walls, with hundreds of delicate buds inside, like octopus suckers, clinging to my penis. If I didn't initiate the attack, my penis would be played with by my mother's contracting and relaxing movements, even though it was my mother who was taking me in, it was still embarrassing. I immediately used my kissing skills to suck my mother's tongue into my mouth, kneading her breasts like clay, making them round and flat, causing her nipples to bloom, but I still couldn't control the strength of my mother's waist and legs. I chanted the mantra nine shallow and one deep, trying to steady myself. In order to preserve my strength, I actually withdrew from the scene, thinking of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, "When practicing the profound Prajnaparamita, one sees that the five aggregates are empty." In that instant when the compassionate face of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva shone upon me, I ejaculated. As the massive army besieged the city, he called out just in time, "Mom, I love you!"She dried it. She squatted down, lifted the foreskin fold, and carefully checked if it was dirty and dry. My little brother obediently lowered his head, letting my mother hold and knead it in her hands, like molding clay. She looked up and said, "Mom is your woman now. You must treat Mom well." "Mom, I've always listened to you and respected you since I was little." "Mom knows that." "But why do this?" "You are my heart and soul. I will live my whole life for you, and I will die for you." I heard how emotional she was in her words, talking about dying so seriously. I asked her, "Mom, what's wrong?" "Nothing. I just wanted to say that my biggest wish is for you to be happy. Are you happy to marry me?" "Although I've never dared to have such presumptuous thoughts, I'm overjoyed." "My son is indeed quite cultured, knowing how to use four-character idioms. Say nice things to Mom more often, and love me more in the future! I'm a little woman, I need a big man to give me lots and lots of love." As my mother gently rubbed and whispered, my little brother became erect again, paying homage to the great mother before me. My mother slowly stood up, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement, nipples pointing downwards, separated in front of her chest. My heart pounded even faster; my little brother hadn't completely slipped from my mother's hand, the glans already proudly erect. My mother leaned closer, standing opposite me, gently stroking my face, moving my hand to her waist, gesturing for me to hug her. Then, she stood on tiptoe, tilting her head back. We kissed. To be honest, I had never kissed a woman before. The women who do compensated dating, for a agreed price, would let you kiss, touch, and sleep with them, but all their reactions were merely pretentious affectations. I can't describe how deep and wet my kiss with my mother was. I closed my eyes, letting the wonderful feeling carry me away. Involuntarily, I wandered over every inch of that once forbidden territory. Gently kneading my mother's breasts, the feel was superb, the ratio of fat to muscle was just right. Large breasts aren't necessarily good; she had lost weight, making them firmer. Actually, I noticed that in recent months, my mother's bra size had decreased by one size, and the cup size had increased by one. I confess, I'm not a well-behaved son; I often secretly take my mother's dirty underwear and bras from the laundry basket to examine them and identify her body odor. What good deed have I done lately to enjoy such a blessing? I greedily cupped my mother's bare buttocks in one hand and supported her breasts in the other, clinging to this unprecedented intimacy, fearing that the world would end. The naughty thing pressed against Mom's smooth belly, like a monster that could turn into a giant, assaulted her. Once the desire was awakened, it was out of control, an urge to once again explore Mom's alluring little hole. Mom seemed to hear my little brother's call, or perhaps she had this thought all along. She turned her face away, gently stroking my cheek, and whispered in my ear, "In your bed or mine." Of course it was mine; another man had slept in Mom's bed. Don't be wicked; she wasn't a cuckold. That man was the old man I ran away from. She took my little brother's hand, showing no embarrassment at our nakedness, and led us into my bedroom. She lifted the covers, and we continued kissing and caressing each other. Mom skillfully grasped my wild, blind little devil, leading him to explore the paradise again. This time, Mom's vagina was lubricated by my semen from our previous lovemaking, and I thrust in and out quickly. "Honey, no rush this time, take it slow." "Mom, I understand. Do as I say." Actually, during our first time making love, I ejaculated after less than twenty thrusts. Now, I can foreplay and make love at the same time, taking my time and savoring the pleasure of being with my mother. My strategy is that, because my erection and sensitivity are reduced, I can tolerate stimulation more. Instead of a relentless onslaught, I'll engage in a prolonged battle, which will actually torment her more. The actual act is another matter. My mother lay her legs flat on the bed, opening them for me. After I was fully inside her, she closed them tightly, and I was gripped by her narrow, fleshy walls, with hundreds of delicate buds inside, like octopus suckers. If I didn't initiate the attack, my penis would be played with by my mother's contracting and relaxing movements, even though it was my mother who was taking me in, it was still embarrassing. I immediately used the same kissing technique I had used to suck my mother's tongue into my mouth, kneading her breasts like clay, rounding and flattening them, making her nipples bloom, but I still couldn't control the strength of her waist and legs. I chanted a mantra, nine shallow kisses followed by one deep one, trying to steady myself. To preserve my strength, I somehow detached myself from the scene, thinking of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, "When practicing the profound Prajnaparamita, one sees that the five aggregates are empty." Just as Avalokiteshvara's compassionate face shone upon me, I ejaculated. At the last moment, as if a thousand armies were at the gates, I cried out, "Mom, I love you!"She dried it. She squatted down, lifted the foreskin fold, and carefully checked if it was dirty and dry. My little brother obediently lowered his head, letting my mother hold and knead it in her hands, like molding clay. She looked up and said, "Mom is your woman now. You must treat Mom well." "Mom, I've always listened to you and respected you since I was little." "Mom knows that." "But why do this?" "You are my heart and soul. I will live my whole life for you, and I will die for you." I heard how emotional she was in her words, talking about dying so seriously. I asked her, "Mom, what's wrong?" "Nothing. I just wanted to say that my biggest wish is for you to be happy. Are you happy to marry me?" "Although I've never dared to have such presumptuous thoughts, I'm overjoyed." "My son is indeed quite cultured, knowing how to use four-character idioms. Say nice things to Mom more often, and love me more in the future! I'm a little woman, I need a big man to give me lots and lots of love." As my mother gently rubbed and whispered, my little brother became erect again, paying homage to the great mother before me. My mother slowly stood up, her breasts bouncing slightly with the movement, nipples pointing downwards, separated in front of her chest. My heart pounded even faster; my little brother hadn't completely slipped from my mother's hand, the glans already proudly erect. My mother leaned closer, standing opposite me, gently stroking my face, moving my hand to her waist, gesturing for me to hug her. Then, she stood on tiptoe, tilting her head back. We kissed. To be honest, I had never kissed a woman before. The women who do compensated dating, for a agreed price, would let you kiss, touch, and sleep with them, but all their reactions were merely pretentious affectations. I can't describe how deep and wet my kiss with my mother was. I closed my eyes, letting the wonderful feeling carry me away. Involuntarily, I wandered over every inch of that once forbidden territory. Gently kneading my mother's breasts, the feel was superb, the ratio of fat to muscle was just right. Large breasts aren't necessarily good; she had lost weight, making them firmer. Actually, I noticed that in recent months, my mother's bra size had decreased by one size, and the cup size had increased by one. I confess, I'm not a well-behaved son; I often secretly take my mother's dirty underwear and bras from the laundry basket to examine them and identify her body odor. What good deed have I done lately to enjoy such a blessing? I greedily cupped my mother's bare buttocks in one hand and supported her breasts in the other, clinging to this unprecedented intimacy, fearing that the world would end. The naughty thing pressed against Mom's smooth belly, like a monster that could turn into a giant, assaulted her. Once the desire was awakened, it was out of control, an urge to once again explore Mom's alluring little hole. Mom seemed to hear my little brother's call, or perhaps she had this thought all along. She turned her face away, gently stroking my cheek, and whispered in my ear, "In your bed or mine." Of course it was mine; another man had slept in Mom's bed. Don't be wicked; she wasn't a cuckold. That man was the old man I ran away from. She took my little brother's hand, showing no embarrassment at our nakedness, and led us into my bedroom. She lifted the covers, and we continued kissing and caressing each other. Mom skillfully grasped my wild, blind little devil, leading him to explore the paradise again. This time, Mom's vagina was lubricated by my semen from our previous lovemaking, and I thrust in and out quickly. "Honey, no rush this time, take it slow." "Mom, I understand. Do as I say." Actually, during our first time making love, I ejaculated after less than twenty thrusts. Now, I can foreplay and make love at the same time, taking my time and savoring the pleasure of being with my mother. My strategy is that, because my erection and sensitivity are reduced, I can tolerate stimulation more. Instead of a relentless onslaught, I'll engage in a prolonged battle, which will actually torment her more. The actual act is another matter. My mother lay her legs flat on the bed, opening them for me. After I was fully inside her, she closed them tightly, and I was gripped by her narrow, fleshy walls, with hundreds of delicate buds inside, like octopus suckers. If I didn't initiate the attack, my penis would be played with by my mother's contracting and relaxing movements, even though it was my mother who was taking me in, it was still embarrassing. I immediately used the same kissing technique I had used to suck my mother's tongue into my mouth, kneading her breasts like clay, rounding and flattening them, making her nipples bloom, but I still couldn't control the strength of her waist and legs. I chanted a mantra, nine shallow kisses followed by one deep one, trying to steady myself. To preserve my strength, I somehow detached myself from the scene, thinking of Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, "When practicing the profound Prajnaparamita, one sees that the five aggregates are empty." Just as Avalokiteshvara's compassionate face shone upon me, I ejaculated. At the last moment, as if a thousand armies were at the gates, I cried out, "Mom, I love you!"
Mother and Son Trial Marriage (Part 4)
I originally thought I would hear my mother groaning and begging for mercy as she thrust into me. I only blame myself for my lack of skill; I hadn't yet grasped the ultimate sexual experience of "dying and coming back to life." When my little brother was being sucked and squeezed by the walls of my mother's vagina, I thought I was full of power and incredibly hard, so I greedily went deeper, thrusting all the way in for a moment of pleasure. At that moment, I should have withdrawn to seek a greater reward. Actually, I could already see the spring-like blush on my mother's face, and every breath she took seemed to be playing the excited rhythm of "I want it!" A few more rounds, and with repeated climaxes, she would have subdued my "Fan Lihua" (my penis). But just as I was about to pull out, alas, I ejaculated! I used all my remaining strength to prop up my upper body, trying to prolong the ejaculation by even a second. He'd run out of cum, shuddered, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto his mother, embracing her and caressing her breasts, trying to use the lingering warmth of sex to compensate for her unfulfilled climax. But Mom pushed me away, pulled me under her arms, and scolded, "Look at you, you rascal! You ejaculated half inside and half on my thighs, staining the sheets!" Saying this, she ran to the bathroom to get a towel. Mom's steps were light, her naked back, her swaying waist and hips disappearing in the blink of an eye. Then, I heard Mom shout from the bathroom, "I've made a mess! I've made a mess!" Startled, I jumped up, feeling guilty, and like Mom, without even putting on clothes, my little brother dangling between my legs, I ran naked to see what was wrong. Mom pointed to the shower stall; the glass screen was shattered. It was my doing; Mom and I had been so engrossed in our lovemaking that we'd forgotten ourselves. Her legs wrapped around my waist like vines, and I held her buttocks, pressing her against the glass screen. Our genitals slammed together violently, the glass screen rattling loudly, yet she clung tightly to me. After we finished, I didn't notice the crack in the glass screen. Thinking of the scene of us entwined under the hot shower, I laughed so hard I bent over. I said, laughing, "I can only take half the responsibility for damaging your things." "No, you're the man of this house now, all the responsibility is yours." We looked at the dilapidated shower room, then at ourselves, mother and son, naked together since breakfast. What was initially awkward, too embarrassed to look directly at each other's nakedness, suddenly seemed to have become a habit, more like a married couple than mother and son. What an absurd and bizarre scene! We laughed at each other. I had a feeling that although Mom's speech was still typical of a mother, her saying she wanted to marry me was probably true. But I had to ask her one more question, to confirm it again: "You said you could marry me, is that true?" "I've already seen you naked, and we've slept together. How could it be false?" I still owed her a "why," but I didn't press her further. Did I have to force my mother to admit that she had always secretly loved me? If I married my mother, would I have to give up finding a younger marriage partner? Well, finding a partner was too uncertain. So I replied to my mother, "Mom, I don't know what to say. Anyway, it's wonderful! It's really wonderful!" "I remembered something. Just now in bed, you kept chanting Guanyin. We got married three months later, and neither of us regretted it, so we went to register our marriage. But everything we do under this roof is under Guanyin's watchful eye. Being husband and wife is not a game. Come, come, let's quickly go and offer incense to the Bodhisattva and kowtow." My mother and I, naked and hand in hand, walked to the altar. With naked bodies and sincere hearts, we knelt down. On the altar stood a family heirloom, a white porcelain Guanyin statue with a fish basket. She was not attached to extremes of good and evil, contemplating the emptiness of the five aggregates. We two, yesterday mother and son, today husband and wife, are also empty. Mom shook off my hand, closed her eyes, clasped her hands in prayer, and bowed, addressing the deity: "Bodhisattva above, I, Qiusha, wish to marry my son, Dayong, who is beside me. A mother and son marrying is rare in this world, but I, Qiusha, willingly submit to this marriage. From now on, we will share joys and sorrows, depend on each other, and never be separated until death. Please, Bodhisattva, understand my plight and grant us this blessing." When she said "never to be separated until death," Mom choked with emotion and could not continue. She prostrated herself, her waist as supple as a willow branch, her movements elegant and captivating. As she bent over, her buttocks rose, firm and round, her breasts drooping and pressing against her thighs. Such a beautiful figure was displayed before me, a veritable nude dance for my eyes, an unparalleled feast for the senses, leaving me speechless and stunned. Mom noticed I was too focused on her to concentrate on the prayers, so she nudged me with her elbow. I understood, immediately straightened up, cleared my throat, and continued reciting as Mom had instructed: "This faithful man, Ma Dayong, wishes to marry my mother, Qiusha, who is beside me. From now on, we will share joys and sorrows, and treat each other with respect. May the merciful Guanyin Goddess bless us from old age—no, bless my mother, no, my wife Qiusha, so that she may remain young and bear children and grandchildren for the Ma family." As I recited, I didn't prostrate myself, but looked up at the statue on the altar. The Bodhisattva's eyes were phoenix eyes, gazing down at us. A slight smile appeared on her lips, her face kind. She carried a basket in one hand and made what looked like an "OK" hand gesture with the other. Before, she appeared to be a middle-aged woman; today, she looked like a young woman. The Guanyin Goddess had once descended to earth and married a young man surnamed Ma, bearing him a son, hence the name Ma Lang Guanyin (Ma Lang Guanyin). My cousin, who married Guanyin, is incredibly fortunate, having accumulated good karma over many lifetimes to enjoy the pleasures of intimacy with her. Now, I also have a mother who married me, saying she's willing to bear my children. Just now, during sex, she didn't ask me to use a condom; I believe she hasn't taken birth control pills. I wouldn't dare offend Guanyin and compare my mother's skills in bed with hers. I have nothing to complain about; this is the best arrangement Heaven has given me. My mother nudged me with her elbow again, signaling me to join her in prayer. After three bows, my mother said it was enough, so I helped her up. She swayed slightly as she stood, and I embraced her; she leaned against me. Her figure was perfectly proportioned, her skin smooth and tender. Looking at my mother again, she didn't seem old at all; her beauty was no less than the girls I'd been set up with on blind dates. We bowed to Guanyin, the ceremony was complete, and I had the right to kiss my bride. So, I kissed her. When my mother looked up at me, she showed a hint of girlish shyness. I caressed her breasts and gently patted her bare bottom; she didn't object. Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind: Could my mother be a reincarnation of Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy? If the person I was kissing was a deity, where was my mother's true form?

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