【The Sin of the Heart】(01-03) 【Author: Passerby】

Author: Passer
Word count: 4340
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Every Spring Festival, my family still doesn't get a proper
meal to treat them. It's a pity that not every young woman is blessed with good looks to marry well; ultimately, it depends on
whether they are favored by heaven while still in the womb.
My mother, perhaps, wasn't exactly a favorite of heaven; she mainly inherited her good
looks from her maternal grandparents. Speaking of my maternal grandparents, they were a perfect match, as evidenced by my
mother and her two siblings. Of course, I can no longer ascertain the source of their good looks
; I only know that they were in a free-love relationship, appreciating each other's beauty. However,
in their era, the price of free marriage was the loss of support from elders, and ultimately their lives... Life became increasingly
bleak. The harshness of life was especially damaging to women; my
maternal grandmother, who was said to be very beautiful in her youth, was now far from beautiful, her appearance altered by a host of ailments. It was precisely because of
their poverty that my mother married my father at the age of sixteen.
My father was like a wild cat, often unwilling to stay at home, driving his three-wheeled truck away for days at a time,
seemingly enjoying his freedom immensely. Since my uncle, who taught in the city, took my grandfather to live with them, my father was like a wild
horse, recklessly trying to turn his ideas into reality. Two years ago, he sold two large granaries of grain
, bought a three-wheeled truck, and used the remaining money to start a business. My mother was a gentle woman... My mother was
like the beautiful, clear river in front of our door, never losing her temper. When my father suddenly had a novel idea
, my mother would always listen with a smile. So when my father said he wanted to sell grain, buy a cart, and start a business, my mother simply told
him to think things through carefully; she seemed completely unconcerned about her husband's potential failure. Every time my father went out, my mother would
remind him to buy me some delicious food and fun toys, which filled me with gratitude for my mother and
anticipation for my father.
My mother rarely worked in the fields because she needed to operate the several machines in the house. The west wing of our house was a two-room machine room that my grandfather had acquired; the upper room was for rolling dough, and the lower room was for grinding rice and rice flour. My mother 　　mastered all the operations within
two months of marrying into the family , faster than my father.
Grandpa often praised my mother's virtue and
criticized my father's laziness to her face. During the day, people from other villages would often bring bags of wheat for my mother to make noodles;
families from our own village would come to our house every few days to mill rice, either for themselves or to sell in the market. During festivals and
busy seasons, dozens of kilograms of rice noodles would be milled. In a month, my mother could earn a considerable amount of money.
The work in the mill was delicate, requiring little physical exertion, and she wasn't exposed to wind, sun, or rain, so my mother didn't look
as fragile as other women her age, like a flower that couldn't withstand the ravages of time. Many older women
would jokingly call her a new bride when they saw her. In fact, my mother had been married into Pan Village for over six years, and
had given birth to my brother and me. Unfortunately, when I was three years old, my brother fell seriously ill and passed away. Now I'm all alone.
Grandpa wanted my parents to have a child to keep me company, but my father was reluctant to cause trouble
. My mother had been forcibly sterilized by the family planning commission after giving birth to me; the procedure to remove the sterilization was quite complicated, and the fines for having more children than
allowed were getting heavier. My father, who was keen on business, had no interest in the hassle. My mother's intentions were somewhat ambiguous; she might still want
another child, but she didn't want to go against my father. Grandpa repeatedly urged her to have another child to no avail, and the matter was left unresolved. From then on, my mother
gave me all her love.
Chapter Two:
My father, who had never shown much talent, was doing increasingly well in business, breaking even in just a few
months. Seeing his success, my mother used all the money she had earned in recent years to fully support him. Originally, her ideas were far-
fetched... My usually carefree father, after tasting the sweetness of business, didn't show his usual excitement. Instead, he appeared
remarkably calm, as if he had matured instantly. Gradually, the time he spent away from home grew longer and longer;
now, it was common for him to be away for half a month at a time. When he did come back, he would only stay for a day before leaving again, to the point that "father"
had become a vague word in my mind.
My mother and I lived in a courtyard consisting of a spacious main house and two standard side rooms. It was both empty and warm.
Empty because the two of us were tending to five or six empty rooms, and warm because mother and son were inseparable. I followed my mother
around every day, running around. Sometimes, when I was bored, I would grab her hand while she was busy, asking for this and that. At first, she
didn't care, but after I grabbed her a few times, she would look at me with a half-smile. In reality, her... Her eyes were full of laughter. Seeing that I
wasn't afraid, she quickly pulled out her flour-covered fingers and lightly ran them across my face, then chuckled, teasing me for being a little
kitten. Sometimes I would hide where my mother couldn't see me to play. If she couldn't see me for a few minutes, she would start calling my name.
I was usually too lazy to answer, so she would raise her voice. Before I could even respond, she would turn off the machine and go out to look for me. Suddenly, I
would leap out, and she would play along, pretending to be startled, and we would play hide-and-seek.
Occasionally, passersby would jokingly say that my mother was a crazy girl.
As night fell, people in those days with limited entertainment had to go to bed early. My mother would wash my face and feet,
carry me to bed to play, and then go out to check the main gate and the machine room. While I was rolling and tumbling on the bed...
My mother had finished everything. Sitting at the counter, combing her medium-length, glossy black hair was
something she did every night. At these times, I always found myself unable to resist watching her, lost in a daze. My mother, used to this,
completely ignored my expression, seemingly captivated by my gaze.
Although the summer nights in Pan Village weren't too hot, no one dared to sleep fully clothed; otherwise, they would break out in a sweat and feel
extremely uncomfortable. Watching my mother finish combing her hair, I consciously took off my clothes and lay down on the bamboo mat
to enjoy the coolness, watching her undress as she did so. She tossed her beautiful hair towards me, and my heart pounded faster and faster as I watched intently
, but in the end, all I felt was a fragrant scent as her hair cascaded down her back. Before the ripples of her tossed hair
had subsided, another wave of excitement arose as my mother's collar slowly opened to her shoulders. The light blue dress
slid down slowly, and I could almost hear the pleasant sound of it sliding down my mother's fair back and beautiful hair.
A straight spinal groove was revealed as the dress was removed, dividing my mother's back evenly in two: her
smooth shoulders were like white jade carefully carved by a master craftsman, the skin of her shoulders glowing with a hazy white light under the lamp
, and you could clearly see the fine downy hairs floating in the air; her slightly protruding shoulder blades made the surrounding tender flesh even
firmer, and the shallow depressions under her shoulder blades could hold a little morning dew;
the outline of her back narrowed slightly from top to bottom, tightening at the waist and gradually widening down to her rounded buttocks; the spinal groove also ended abruptly at her slender waist
, forming an oval depression. My mother stretched out her arms and swung them a few times, causing the light
blue shirt to flutter to the ground, revealing her fair and delicate bare back. I swallowed hard, clutching my pillow
.
Before I could savor the sight, my mother had already picked up the shirt and tossed it onto the wardrobe door next to the counter. Then she
looked down at her crotch. I couldn't see her hands moving in front of her, but her tight waistband gradually loosened
, revealing the edge of her light red shorts, which then covered her full buttocks. Seemingly to satisfy my curiosity,
my mother didn't hesitate to pull at her waistband with both hands, bring her legs together, arch her back, and thrust her buttocks up and down, instantly
sliding her shorts down to her knees. I didn't dare blink, afraid of missing the full, rounded hemispheres of her buttocks, afraid of missing the fleshy mounds covered by the shorts as they passed her thighs, afraid of missing her 　　perfectly straight, long legs and her compass-shaped body when
her upper and lower body formed a right angle .
Fortunately, through countless
nights like tonight, I've developed a keen eye, ensuring I don't miss any beautiful moments. Following the familiar routine, my mother
first lifted her left leg, then her right, smoothly removing her outer trousers. She straightened up, twisted the waistband, and shook the trousers,
perhaps to remove dust, or perhaps to straighten the legs. While she shook her trousers, I continued to enjoy
the visual feast of her rounded buttocks swaying rhythmically.
If my mother undressing behind my back already made my heart race and my expression one of fascination,
the sight of her turning around was simply intoxicating, to the point that only six or seven times out of ten could I maintain a clear head to watch the entire process.
Needless to say, there were her watery eyes beneath her delicate, arched eyebrows, her straight nose, her shallow
philtrum, her thin lips, her neat teeth, not to mention her well-defined cheeks and her symmetrical, tapering
chin. Just the firm clavicle grooves of her collarbones, her two pairs of breasts—not particularly large, but with pointed nipples and
pink areolas—and the faint outline of her navel beneath her smooth abdomen, were enough to
drive me wild. Not to mention her smooth, straight calves, her firm, shapely thighs
, and the prominent groin area, which I dared not look at too closely. Every night I could see more details, the endless anticipation my mother gave me.
Chapter Three
Anticipation, my heartbeat calmed. After my mother went to bed, she would occasionally playfully tease me,
provided she wasn't too busy during the day. Now, with her constantly busy in the machine room, she naturally lacked the energy to play with me.
Whenever my mother was tired, I would massage her shoulders and back. Before, she would coax me to help, but later I
started to take the initiative, partly because I was gradually becoming more sensible, partly to please her, and partly because I
liked it.
My mother buried her face in her clasped arms, lying motionless. I habitually sat on her waist,
supporting her shoulders and gently kneading them. The flesh on her shoulders was white, firm, and smooth, a delightful touch
, but kneading it was difficult, like catching an eel. After several attempts, I still couldn't get it right,
which made me somewhat uncomfortable and annoyed. I really wanted to pinch her, but ultimately couldn't bring myself to do it. At this point, my mother would make soft hissing sounds, making me
even more embarrassed. If one method didn't work, I'd change positions. Back pounding was much easier, which was
something I particularly enjoyed doing for my mother.
I moved my hips down until my entire body was straddling my mother's fleshy buttocks, and began
pounding her back with my fists, from top to bottom and bottom to top, gradually increasing the speed. This way, I could enjoy
the pleasure of sitting on my mother's writhing, plump buttocks. This pleasure was like floating on a white cloud, eliminating the effects of gravity on the body
. The touch between our skin reached the perfect balance of separation and union, exquisitely beautiful.
Unlike the previous times that had resulted in accidents, I used my now-mastered technique, slowly rubbing my mother's shorts down.
The more flesh was exposed, the more comfortable the writhing pleasure became. Just as I was getting into the swing of things, my mother suddenly raised her head. I
was stunned, not knowing what she was going to do. I carefully slowed down my punches, not daring to rub my buttocks any further
, trying to create the illusion of an accident. My mother unwrapped her arms, grabbed two pillows, and
hugged them, burying her face in them. Seeing the expression of pleasure on my mother's exposed face, I finally felt relieved
and continued to create the unfinished "accident."
I simply squeezed my legs together, forcefully rolled up the cuffs of my mother's shorts, twisting them like a rope,
then loosened my legs and moved forward, before squeezing them together again and rubbing downwards. I tried this about twenty or thirty times, only managing to peek out a tiny bit
of my mother's buttocks. The front cuffs and waistband of the shorts were pressed firmly against my mother's abdomen, and no matter how much I rubbed, I couldn't get them off.
I glanced helplessly at my mother's expression several times; she looked smug and happy, probably having already seen through my
little scheme. Never before had I felt such an irresistible urge; I was unwilling to give up pursuing that boundless
desire. I continued the repetitive actions, once, twice, three times… forty-one times, forty…
…Halfway through the movement, my mother suddenly lifted her buttocks. I had pushed too hard and couldn't stop in time, not only
rubbing her shorts up to her mid-thighs but also staggering and falling face-first onto her back, my head hitting her
shoulder blade and causing a dull ache. But it was all worth it. The moment I sat on my mother's plump, round buttocks,
all my worries vanished.
Soft, bouncy, gentle, smooth, cool…like cotton, like a sofa, like silk, like a sweet dumpling, like
a clear spring—this was my mother's buttocks, a mount far superior to any thoroughbred horse. My buttocks moved with abandon, gently
pulling and pressing, creating delightful tremors on my mother's hips.
My body, burning with inner fire, reached its limit. I was too tired to throw a punch or lift my buttocks, and
had to give up reluctantly. Slumped beside my mother, I was unwilling to give up, my eyes still fixed on her body with a hungry gaze.
My eyes, accustomed yet never tired of looking at her, searched for new sights on my mother's body.

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【The Sin of the Heart】(01-03) 【Author: Passerby】

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