Forbidden Mother and Child

My home is in a small town in the north. Calling it a town is a bit of a stretch; it's really just a residential area bisected by a decent provincial highway. Behind the densely packed two-story houses on either side are endless rice paddies, so the townspeople's livelihoods consist mainly of migrant work and traditional farming. Although I've been away for ten years, my name is still widely known in the town. I am a disgrace to the town. I've only ever had one woman, my mother. My sex life is also very simple; for so many years, I've only had sex with my biological mother. My incestuous relationship with my mother is a perpetual topic of conversation among the townspeople, a story that will likely never fade. I was seventeen then. I was a good student; the teachers in town all said I could go to university. Having studied so much, I didn't look like a typical farm boy at all—I was as thin as a bean sprout! To others, my family was like any other ordinary family in town: well-fed, living a slow-paced, comfortable life. But in my childhood memories, home was terrifying and cold. My father was the clerk of the town's Party branch. He always had slicked-back hair and wore inexpensive suits, giving him a somewhat city-manly air. He was involved in meetings, reading newspapers, and conducting inspections, and he held a certain amount of power in the town. But to me as a child, my father was like a demon because he would often beat my mother for no reason at night. During the day, he was very kind and even considerate to her, but he became a different person at night. Once, twice, three times, I finally realized that my father was ill; he was sick. My mother and I were very close since childhood. She was an extremely gentle woman who loved and protected me. Because of my father's violence, my mother and I both weakly avoided him, weakly relying on each other, desperately shutting ourselves off. Perhaps it was this intense reliance, accumulated year by year, that gradually evolved from the depths of my heart into a deep, interdependent affection, leading my mother and me down a path of no return, a path of moral depravity. I remember that night, my father again assaulted me in the middle of the night, and my mother cried and screamed as she fled to my attic. I pulled away the ladder, and my father screamed and pounded on it from below, but to no avail. Normally, this would have been another ordinary night for our family. My mother and I would have squeezed onto my small attic bed, which was so tight I could barely stand up straight, and we would have cried until we were exhausted and fallen asleep. But that night was different. My father had probably just finished having sex with my mother and then became violent again. My mother had fled to the attic naked, her body still damp. That night, I felt none of the usual pain; instead, an indescribable heat swelled within me. My mother's two full, snow-white breasts almost filled my entire field of vision. Although the fabric had been removed, these two high mounds of flesh barely sagged! The translucent, snow-white breasts were perfectly rounded, looking like ripe peaches—firm, full, and brimming with juicy sweetness, making one want to take a bite! The two delicate nipples weren't large, but they were tender and protruding, like plump little cherries, adorning the round, snow-white breasts, creating an extremely provocative and sexy scene… I almost desperately tried to suppress myself for a long time, but finally, I felt the room getting hotter and hotter, so hot that I lost control. I closed my eyes, and my hands, trembling like wild horses, covered my mother's protruding breasts. My mother's breasts were unusually full, smooth and lustrous like thin-skinned, thick-fleshed fruits. The heavy elasticity brought an unprecedented stimulating sensation, making my blood boil and I act recklessly. My lips trembled as I captured my mother's warm lips, my hands kneading her round, firm breasts. I went wild, my penis uncontrollably erect, pressing against her warm, smooth thighs. My mother didn't resist or cry out; at first, she simply gripped my back tightly. Gradually, her body began to writhe, and soft moans escaped her lips… Instantly, the attic transformed into a sauna. My mother and I entwined passionately on the bed, caressing and kissing each other. Her fragrant breath brushed against my chest, her smooth legs rubbing against my genitals. Finally, we made love. I never imagined my first sexual experience would be with my own mother. That night, I ejaculated for the first time, but in my impatient movements, at the very moment of ejaculation, my penis slipped out of my mother's vagina, a large glob of semen shooting onto her plump thighs and the sheets. My first time was only with my mother. Because right after we finished, before we'd even recovered from the incestuous daze, my grandmother, as usual, got up and called my mother downstairs. Whenever my parents argued, my grandmother always acted as a mediator. My face was burning hot, and I helplessly looked at my mother. She quickly pulled a sheet over herself and hurried downstairs. Years later, my mother told me that after returning to the bed, my father suddenly became sexually aroused and wanted to have sex again. My mother desperately resisted, covering herself tightly because she was afraid he would touch her lower body, which was covered in my sticky bodily fluids. After that, I developed a deep hatred for the night, because my father usually slept with my mother every night. The heart-wrenching feeling of watching helplessly was beyond description! In fact, my heart was breaking, and I was driven almost mad with jealousy. [The End]

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