I rubbed my mother's E-cup breasts in the mirror.

I stood in my mother's room, while she sat in front of her dressing table. A mirror in front of the table reflected her slightly flushed face, as if she'd been drinking. My mother had promised to wear a very low-cut silk t-shirt. Like those bra commercials on TV, each breast, accentuated by the bra, created a deep cleavage. In the mirror, my mother's breasts, beneath the low neckline, revealed part of the top of her bra—a violet E-cup bra with beautiful patterns and a smooth, supple feel. I don't know how many times I'd inhaled that bra and masturbated, yet now it was worn on my mother's chest. Beneath the low-cut t-shirt, where the bra peeked out, were two high, firm breasts, white with a rosy tint, pink and elastic. Supported by the bra and the low neckline, the breasts were lifted upwards, and the bra's push-up design made the two nipples slightly touch, like glossy, elastic pudding. My mother shifted slightly, her hands clenched into small fists, resting nervously on her thighs. She wore a very short, tight skirt with a checkered pattern along the hem, but it was only half-length, revealing her fair thighs and her underwear barely visible. She kept tugging at the skirt, trying to cover her private parts, while constantly worrying about my gaze. She looked at me shyly, hesitant to speak, looking incredibly cute. At 163 cm tall, she had a pair of large, beautiful breasts, quite voluptuous. With her slender figure, her breasts attracted attention wherever she went. The swaying of her breasts as she walked led to her being groped countless times. Once, someone hugged her from behind on a bus and repeatedly squeezed and kneaded her breasts, scaring her so much that she never dared to take the bus again. And I, her son, became her personal driver. My mother's beautiful breasts pressed against my back. Every time I rode, I imagined those breasts squeezing and deforming against my back, making me hard the whole way. Sometimes, when my mother was tired, she would simply hug me, her soft breasts pressed against me. With the vibrations of the motorcycle, her breasts pressed against me, making me dizzy. When I went on university social events, even when I picked up pretty girls, they would hold onto the motorcycle's rear spoiler tightly. Compared to that, my mother's huge breasts gradually became the object of my fantasies. In the bathroom, I would take my mother's underwear that she had just changed out of after showering. With my right hand, I would put the underwear on my penis and keep stroking it up and down, while my left hand would be against her bra, inhaling the milky smell and licking her nipples. I would fantasize that my mother was in the bathroom, and I was constantly kneading her breasts from behind, pulling each breast up and down with both hands, while the faucet continued to run, and I continued to suckle her nipples. I pressed my mother against the wall, her fingers spread wide, unable to fully cover her breasts with one hand. As she pressed against the wall, her E-cup breasts squeezed through the gaps in my hands, while my penis pressed against her vulva, leaving her only to whine and let me release my desire. We both lathered ourselves with shower gel, and I touched my mother's body all over. Whether it was her naturally smooth skin or the shower gel, her pear-shaped breasts distorted in my palms. I teased her areolas with the head of my penis, and this provocation caused her to continuously release vaginal fluid. The foam on my hands couldn't stop the tickling of her nipples; instead, she grasped my penis and rhythmically stroked it, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, while her eyes kept looking at me from below, her gaze full of provocation and embarrassment. I lowered my mother's breasts and began to rape her from above. I picked up the showerhead and rinsed the soap off her body. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I pulled her from behind to my chest, lifting her right leg and placing it over the sink. My mother looked at her genitals in the mirror; her vulva, pubic hair, and flesh were clearly visible. She tried to lower herself in shame, but I wouldn't let her, forcibly holding her leg up. I aimed the showerhead at her vulva, the warm water washing over her, making her feel both warm and itchy. I turned up the water flow and temperature, the water jets constantly changing direction as they hit her pubic hair. The increased temperature made her vulva burn even more. My mother gripped my left hand tightly, as if telling me to stop torturing her. I stopped the water, rolled over, and lifted my mother up. I had my mother lean against the door, where a towel hung, to prevent her body from touching the cold wall. She raised her right thigh, while her right calf hooked around the bend of my elbow, swinging back and forth. I couldn't resist sucking on her small feet, their nails painted a cherry-red. I licked every single toe, inside and out, down to the soles, making her laugh with ticklishness. Meanwhile, my mother used her delicate hands to rub my penis, pinching the foreskin under my glans with her index finger and thumb, repeatedly pushing it up to cover the glans. This made my penis tremble, almost causing me to ejaculate. Not to be outdone, I demanded her tongue. I pressed my lips against her small, smooth tongue, sucking hard on her fragrant lips, my tongue swirling and swirling, sweeping over all her pearly teeth. My left hand, of course, wasn't idle either. I used my index and middle fingers to spread her labia, exploring her vulva. Seeing my mother's rapid breathing, her left hand gripping my penis, I thrust upwards, all the way in at once. Her vagina, untouched by such a large penis, immediately cried out in pain. She wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, "Your dad's still taking a nap, he'll be up soon." I didn't care. My mother was mine in the bathroom now, and I wanted to savor this beautiful woman. I braved the thrill of being discovered. The door slammed shut. I held my mother's beautiful back, afraid she would fall. Her left leg was already on tiptoe, pushed higher with each thrust, almost making her unsteady. If it weren't for her son holding her, she would have already collapsed. My mother's cheek rested against my side. No words were needed between us; only her soft moans and the scent of shower gel filled the air. As my penis slid in and out of her vagina, the stimulation increased the speed of my thrusts. The sounds from the door grew louder. My mother said worriedly, "Your dad will hear, be gentle, um...""I had barely finished speaking when I clamped my legs together, pinched my mother's fleshy buttocks with my left hand, and squeezed her thigh against the wall with my right hand, so that my penis was completely filled into her vagina. When I thrust hard and ejaculated, my mother first let out a soft moan of pain. After I ejaculated, she thrust a few more times with great force. My mother's whole body tensed up, and she bit my shoulder with her neat pearly teeth. Because of my mother's tense body, her vagina was even tighter than usual, squeezing my penis and making it continue to swell inside her vagina, stretching her vaginal opening open again until my penis softened. Only then did I reluctantly pull it out, looking at the fluid flowing from my mother's vagina, some of which was cloudy milky white semen, and some was clear and shiny vaginal fluid, flowing down her thighs. My mother looked exhausted, as if she hadn't done such strenuous exercise. She slumped against me, panting heavily. I helped her wash up again before she hurriedly told me to leave, lest my father wake up looking for her and find her having sex with his woman—that would be infuriating. When I came to my senses, my mother's underwear was already soaked with semen. I smeared the semen all over her bra and panties, then put them back to see her reaction. My mother had noticed something was off about her underwear these past few days. She subtly asked my father, who denied it. She then realized it was me who had caused the problem. A few days earlier, after I had indulged in sex in the bathroom, my mother, seeing my guilty expression, waited until late at night to come to my room, gently call my name, and shake me awake. My erect penis in the middle of the night stretched my underwear open. I deliberately opened the blanket, letting my mother cover my penis. My mother sat by my bedside. Little did she know what teenagers like us did? She chatted with me, asking about sex. Although she appeared calm, she seemed quite nervous. She was wearing a thin nightgown, revealing her large breasts through her bra and silk panties, and she was yawning. I found myself pressing her down on the bed, relentlessly sucking on her neck. She seemed to know I was going to do this; she didn't resist, but she didn't condone it either. Only after I had pulled her nightgown up to her waist did she hurriedly tell me to stop. I knew this was incest, and my mother knew her large breasts were arousing her son, but this was incest, and it couldn't be crossed. No matter the method of release, it was incest. My mother held me to her chest, and I cried. I had suppressed my emotions for so long, releasing them only through imagination. My mother also wept, telling me to remember I was her mother, that we could be friends, but we couldn't cross that line. I promised my mother I wouldn't masturbate to her underwear anymore. When she left, I asked if I could kiss her. She shyly kissed my cheek, but I asked for her lips. This time, she just gave me a quick, perfunctory kiss. Unexpectedly, I grabbed her and pulled her into my arms, showering her with long, passionate kisses, including French kisses. She sobbed, and only then did I stop and let her go to her room to rest. The next morning, I asked her to wear a low-cut top and a very short, tight skirt for me, but she refused. I said, "Wear it for me, and I won't bother you anymore." She couldn't resist, so she chose a very low-cut, revealing top and t-shirt that only she dared to wear when she was young—so low that her bra was showing. She bought it once and never dared to wear it out. He chose a super short, tight skirt, a ridiculous outfit from his student days. Now, sitting in front of the vanity, with some light makeup, he softly called out, "Come closer and see." His eyes widened, just like the look he always got when strangers stared at him on the bus. I stood in front of the vanity, staring for a full ten minutes. I had this thought in my mind, even if only once, just once, to truly possess my mother's body. To thrust into her honey pot, slap her voluptuous buttocks, passionately kiss her fragrant lips, gently lick her beautiful back, play with her jade feet, pinch her nipples, hear my mother's real moans in my ear, hear the slapping sounds of her thighs and buttocks, to release my accumulated semen deep into her womb, to make my mother my own, kneeling at my feet sucking my penis, to openly fondle her when we go out, and to enjoy her body properly when I get home. Those outsiders could only watch, but I could actually do it. Thinking of this, cold sweat soaked my shirt. My mother looked at me standing behind her in the mirror and said, "Is that enough...have you seen enough...Son, it's not that I don't love you, it's just...ah..." Before she could finish, I kneaded her breasts with both hands. Looking in the mirror, my fingers squeezed her low-cut top and bra, her two snow-white breasts in the Northern Hemisphere, causing her to cry out in pain. I simply picked her up and threw her onto the spring mattress. Terrified, she tried to escape, but I was already preparing to tear everything off her. She cried out, "Stop! I'm going to tell your father, he'll be back tonight, you're dead!" Her voice was filled with sobs. I licked the earring on her ear and said, "Father's back tonight, so we have a whole day to enjoy ourselves. Ever since I tasted your lips yesterday, I already knew everything." The only sounds in the room were the tearing of clothes, the wetness of my thrusting into her vagina, my mother's hoarse cries of pain as she pounded my chest, and the ticking of the DV timer on the bedside table. I was already imagining how to play with my mother, violating those large breasts. First, I'd imagine breast sex; the feeling of being squeezed between E-cup breasts would be amazing. Then I'd place my penis between her breasts, and my mother would squeeze them with both hands, rubbing them incessantly. As for my father, I didn't need to worry. A smile crept across my face, the opposite of my mother's red, tear-filled eyes. I pulled her into my room to continue enjoying the incestuous pleasure until each ejaculation. When the door closed, my back was covered in scratches from my mother's fingernails, and my shoulders bore the marks of her teeth.

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I rubbed my mother's E-cup breasts in the mirror.

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