Memories of peeping

Mother, what a sacred word, evoking the greatest love and warmth in the world. Yet, whenever I encounter this word in newspapers, books, or on television, a complex mix of emotions wells up within me—bitterness, sorrow, resentment, melancholy, and the unresolved impulses of adolescence. I was born into an ordinary family in a coastal city, grew up like an ordinary person, completed a dull but necessary higher education at a second-rate university in my city, and now, having just entered the workforce, I work a job that barely provides a living. Every day, returning to my rented room, my most frequent activity is reminiscing about the past. Back then, I was a junior high school student, obedient and well-behaved, with decent grades—the kind of good student teachers typically envisioned. But good students and bad students alike are ultimately human, and everyone goes through a phase of curiosity about sex. I was actually quite precocious; before I even had a clear understanding of sex, I unintentionally and without instruction learned to masturbate. Later, a pornographic book I found at a bookstore near the school gate propelled me to a higher level, and masturbation became a frequent, conscious act. If it were just these things, I think I would have gotten through this period smoothly like most other children. If school hadn't let out early that Friday afternoon, if I hadn't rushed home like a good kid, I probably wouldn't have witnessed that unforgettable scene through the crack in the half-open door. No one should have been home at that time; my parents hadn't come home from get off work yet. I happily entered the house, thinking I could enjoy these rare few hours of freedom with no one at home. Just as I was about to cross the living room back to my warm little room, I heard unusual noises coming from my parents' room next door. Someone was home? I was startled and quietly approached. The door was ajar. Peeking through the crack, I saw a naked man and woman on the bed, engaged in vigorous activity in a position that was both familiar and strange to me. They were… My head buzzed with blood rushing to my head. In that instant, I realized that this was real sex. After a brief blank of two or three seconds, I was shocked to realize that the woman on the bed was my mother, and even more surprisingly, the man wasn't my father. He was a dark-skinned, burly middle-aged man with a fierce, furrowed brow. He had his arms wrapped around my mother's legs, kneeling on top of her. His dark buttocks thrust powerfully forward, making a "slap, slap" sound. My mother, with her fair skin and petite figure, looked so fragile beneath him. This stimulating scene left me speechless. Although I had read about sex in books before and knew what it was like, this "performance" up close still exceeded my imagination. The man and woman before me were so "unequal." The man's movements were so fierce, as if he concentrated all his strength in his hips to ravage my mother, while she was so weak, like a small boat tossed about in a storm, completely powerless to resist. At that moment, I felt that this man was deliberately bullying my mother, completely different from what I had imagined about male-female sexual intercourse. I had a strong urge to rush in and beat this man up, but I hesitated. It wasn't just because I was afraid I couldn't beat this burly man, but also because my penis was uncontrollably erect. I felt an excitement I'd never experienced before, so I chose to keep watching. The man and woman on the bed continued their movements in that position, and the man showed no signs of fatigue. At this point, my senses gradually shifted from focusing on the man's fierce movements to my mother's reaction. My mother's brows were furrowed, her face flushed, and the blush extended to her snow-white neck, as if she was trying her best to suppress something, but she still let out moans of "hmm...hmm..." Her slender arms gripped the sheets, looking quite pained. At that moment, I really didn't know if my mother was showing signs of pleasure or discomfort; I only knew that seeing my mother's reaction made me very "sexually" aroused. The man seemed very concerned about my mother's reaction. He freed one hand and forcefully kneaded her breasts, panting as he said, "You always pretend in front of me, don't you? Today I'm going to make you cry for your parents." The man's movements became increasingly brutal. Red marks appeared on my mother's snow-white breasts as he ravaged them. My mother's moans gradually changed, from the initial intermittent "hmm!" sounds to extremely short "ah" sounds. The sounds were not loud and not continuous, with intervals in between, but the pitch was very high, making me feel ashamed and embarrassed, thinking that my mother was very lewd. The man noticed my mother's change and seemed even more excited. He straightened up, wrapped his arms around my mother's legs, and held her calves with both hands. While thrusting his hips, he frantically sucked on my mother's toes, sometimes sniffing the soles of her feet as if he were on stimulants. It was only then that I noticed that my mother wasn't truly naked; she was wearing flesh-colored stockings on her two slender legs. To be honest, the man's crazy behavior made me realize how sexy my mother looked in stockings. Looking back, I think this man probably had a foot fetish. In the subsequent sexual encounters I witnessed between him and my mother, she almost always wore stockings. I don't know if he intentionally made her wear them or if it was just a coincidence, because I remember my mother being very vain back then, often wearing tight skirts and stockings. It's possible that this kind of attire aroused his lust. About ten minutes later, the man suddenly lifted my mother's buttocks and turned them outwards. I guess he wanted to make it easier for him to watch his lewd act with this woman from the mirrored door of the wardrobe at the foot of the bed. Essentially, he turned his buttocks towards me. Although I couldn't see their facial expressions, the "disastrous" state of their genitals was clearly exposed to me. To be honest, I was "educated" once again. The man's dark, thick, long, angular, and erect penis pierced my mother's body again and again. At that moment, I felt inferior and jealous; my own penis was so small compared to his, it was truly pathetic. Even now, this man certainly had the assets to be a scoundrel. On the other hand, what shocked me most was seeing a woman's vagina for the first time, and it was my own mother's vagina. Shaped like a clam, it was being repeatedly swollen and forced into by the ugly male penis, only to be pulled out again and again, the tender red flesh flowing endlessly from within, running down my mother's buttocks, past her anus, and forming a large wet patch on the sheets. A pubic hair, one of them shed, was stuck to the edge of my mother's vulva by the vaginal fluid; one end of the hair had been pulled into the vulva when the man penetrated. I naively imagined that if it went all the way in, it might never come out again. As I was lost in thought, the man hoisted my mother's legs onto his shoulders, leaning forward to press her into an inverted "U" shape. His buttocks rose and fell dramatically, the rhythm quickening. His buttocks were covered in hair, the central indentation appearing even darker, seemingly displaying its wickedness with each thrust. The splashing sounds grew louder, the slapping sounds of flesh colliding grew louder and faster, and my mother's white buttocks were now a bright red. My mother's voice was no longer suppressed; the intermittent "ah"s had transformed into continuous "ah ah ah... ah ah..." sounds that echoed with the rhythm of the man's thrusts. I had never heard such a sound before, so lewd it seemed to emanate from the depths of her flesh, yet it was as beautiful as celestial music. Even with the door closed, I could hear them clearly from my room. I'd never heard my parents making sounds during sex before. Now I think my father was definitely no match for this experienced womanizer. Even if my mother was forced into this relationship, she certainly experienced a level of satisfaction she'd never felt before under his "rogue methods." With each powerful thrust, my mother's voice gradually turned into a sob. The "Ahhh..." sounds conveyed an increasingly intense signal; I could feel it—she seemed to have reached a breaking point. Finally, after a short, extremely loud, distorted "Ah," it stopped abruptly. My mother's body convulsed, and I could see her vaginal fluid rhythmically gushing from her vulva, her anus contracting and relaxing. I was terrified. Although subconsciously I was prepared for their repeated stimulation, the noise was still overwhelming. I could only stand there dumbfounded. The man continued his assault on the seemingly unconscious mother for a short while, then finished with a low growl and collapsed on top of her. After a while, the mother slowly regained consciousness and tried to push the man off her. The man, fondling her body, said shamelessly, "See how excited you were just now hx0123.""I know you're not some virtuous woman. A truly good woman wouldn't let a man other than her husband bring her to orgasm." The mother said sadly, "Okay, stop talking. This is the end. There won't be a next time." The man's face changed, and he said fiercely, "I can have sex with you whenever I want. If you serve me well, I'll give you face. That way, everyone's happy. Otherwise, don't blame me for making things difficult for you!" The mother almost cried as she pleaded, "Please leave quickly. It's getting late, and my son will be back soon." The man said, "Then you should clean me up first." He then shoved his ugly penis into the mother's mouth. The mother opened her small mouth in humiliation and licked it diligently, her eyes filled with sorrow. I had been standing motionless outside the door for over an hour. I suddenly realized that if I continued watching, I would be in big trouble. I quickly picked up my bag, tiptoed back the way I came, and left the house almost without making a sound. My mind was a complete mess. The amount of information I'd absorbed in the past hour was overwhelming; I couldn't process it all. I wandered around a short distance from my building, waiting for the man to leave. I figured he was probably my mother's boss, and I was certain he'd do the same thing to her again. I didn't know what to do. I was torn. Whether or not to tell my father was a huge dilemma. I was instinctively afraid of his reaction and the potential breakdown of our family. I've never been a decisive person, so I instinctively chose to avoid the issue and observe. This led to me spying on my mother's sexual activity countless times afterward. Perhaps it was my inner desires that prevented me from speaking out. [The End]

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Memories of peeping

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