Mother became pregnant after being gang-raped by migrant workers

My experience began in the summer of 2003. I had just finished my college entrance exams. My mother was a construction supervisor at the time, and she had to live on a construction site for a project. Originally, she was supposed to live with another woman, but that woman had to go home for a few days. My mother was worried about her safety, so she asked me to live with her. Actually, I was quite willing to go, because by then I had already developed an attraction to mature women, especially a bit of a mother complex. Although the construction site was tough, I could see my mother dressed very lightly every day in the summer. My mother was 42 years old at the time, 163cm tall, and weighed over 130 pounds. She looked fair-skinned and plump, especially her breasts and buttocks, which haven't changed much to this day.
It was almost evening when we arrived at the construction site. The site was in the suburbs, and we lived in one of those two-story blue prefabricated houses. Friends who have been stationed in the wilderness might remember them; they were very simple and had little in the way of facilities. There were a lot of mosquitoes in the suburbs. After dinner, my mother and I went to sleep.
But the mosquitoes were biting me so much that I couldn't sleep at all.
Around midnight, as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard my mom getting up, probably because she'd drunk too much water in the heat and needed to relieve herself. I pretended to be asleep and listened as she got out of bed, put on her slippers, grabbed some toilet paper. There was a chamber pot in the corner, and I was thinking of peeking at her bottom when she went there to pee
, but she didn't go to the corner. Instead, she put on a coat, opened the door, and went out. I guess she knew I wasn't asleep. I heard her close the door, so I got out of bed and listened as she went downstairs. I crouched down and went to the door, peeking out through the glass. Not far from our prefab house were huge mounds of construction waste, stretching for over ten meters and two or three meters high. The moon was quite bright that day, so it wasn't too dark outside. I remember seeing my mom wearing a thin coat over a vest, and printed capri pants. She walked to a relatively secluded spot next to the mound. I looked around, then hid in the shadow of the mound of dirt, pulled down my pants, and squatted down, half of my buttocks suddenly exposed, white and shiny. My heart skipped a beat, and my face flushed. I stared at that white buttocks, urine flowing everywhere below. After about half a minute, my mother wiggled her buttocks and then used toilet paper to wipe herself. I knew she was done urinating, and I was about to quickly retreat back to bed so she wouldn't notice when I suddenly caught a glimpse of a figure tiptoeing up behind her. I was about to call out to warn her, but then I realized she would discover I was peeping. I hesitated, and by then my mother had already stood up and pulled up her pants. I quickly ducked my head under the glass door, but then, feeling uneasy, I looked out again. What I saw was that the figure was already rolling around on the floor with my mother.
By now, being closer, I could see things more clearly: my mother was lying face down on the ground, struggling to get up, but the man was clearly taller and stronger than her. Although lean, he had a good amount of muscle, and his sweat glistened in the moonlight. He had already pinned my mother's hands together and was using his other hand to pull down her pants. As he pulled, he lowered his head and said something to my mother, probably trying to scare her into silence. My mother was very timid and had previously been so frightened by mice that she couldn't scream. My mother twisted her legs and waist to stop him from taking them off, but he pulled hard twice, tearing the elastic waistband of her pants, and then pulled them down to her buttocks, exposing her bare bottom. Then he poked around the area where my mother's buttocks met his genitals a few times. My mother struggled even more, but then he thrust forward, and my mother stopped moving. He pulled his hand out and released my mother's hand with his other hand. Although he let go, my mother lay there, motionless, without any resistance.
The man rode on my mother's buttocks, moving back and forth, her flesh jiggling with each thrust. As he moved, he lifted my mother's vest, pulling it up to her armpits, probably trying to take it off. But my mother's arms wouldn't move. After several unsuccessful attempts, he reached his hand from behind to my mother's chest and touched her breasts. Looking down from above, I could only see a small part of her. Perhaps the stimulation from my mother's breasts was too much for him; he grabbed her breasts while moving noticeably faster, thrusting wildly against her like he'd been electrocuted. After a while, he thrust forward, froze, his buttocks twitching, and then he went limp, collapsing onto my mother.
I retreated to the glass door, suddenly feeling a throbbing pain down there. I realized I was incredibly hard, the pressure from my underwear making it uncomfortable. Without thinking, I pulled out my penis and started masturbating. The feeling was more intense than any female celebrity I'd ever fantasized about during masturbation. Looking back, I think that from that moment on, my initial Oedipus complex had transformed into a cuckoldry. This intense feeling made me ejaculate very quickly—probably the fastest I've ever masturbated, probably in less than a minute or two.
After ejaculating, I became somewhat more lucid and wanted to check on my mother. Just as I was about to stick my head out, I heard someone yell outside, "Who's there! What are you doing!" I jumped in fright, and then I saw flashlight beams outside. There were about two or three beams, swaying violently, heading this way. I didn't dare peek through the glass door, so I pulled back the curtain a crack and saw three figures walking quickly towards us, seemingly carrying something. They were shouting, "Don't move! Don't move!" After a few steps, they reached the base of the prefab house, blocked by the stairs. Then I heard someone yell, "What are you doing? Tell me!" A moment later, someone else yelled, "I'm asking you, tell me!" At this point, I realized that the night patrol had probably noticed the commotion and thought it was a thief. I hesitated for a moment, then risked sticking my head out through the glass door so it wouldn't be blocked by the stairs.
The three flashlights shone on my mother and the other person lying on the ground near the mound of earth. My mother had managed to get up by then, but she couldn't stand. She was slumped on the ground, one hand supporting her weight, her face turned to the side, her body trembling. I couldn't tell if she was crying or scared. Her lower body and thighs, where her pants had been torn off, were naked. They were stark white in the flashlight beam.
The man who had been on top of her was kneeling on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly to the three men with the flashlight. I could now make out he was quite old, over forty, not short, but dark-skinned and thin, completely naked. He looked like an old migrant worker I'd seen at the construction site that evening. He was kowtowing and muttering something, but I couldn't understand him. Suddenly, a man with a flashlight shouted, "Get up! Go to security!" Upon hearing this, the man kowtowed even faster, clearly in a hurry, his face looking like he was about to cry. Suddenly, he straightened up, pointed at my mother, said something, and then bent down again to kowtow frantically, occasionally straightening up and pointing at my mother. I couldn't understand what he was saying. My mother seemed a little bewildered, struggling to sit up and shaking her head at the men, her face somewhat flustered, her face covered in dirt, and her hair disheveled.
But one of the men with the flashlight turned and said a few words to the other two. The two men exchanged glances, seemingly discussing something. I thought they were going to let the man go, but what happened next was something I hadn't expected. The three men turned off their flashlights and walked towards my mother. The man also got up from the ground. Because the flashlight beam was off, I couldn't see my mother's expression; I could only see her body struggling to get up. But the three men quickly grabbed her and pinned her down, ignoring her kicks and struggles. Two of them grabbed one of her legs each, while the other and the old migrant worker grabbed her arms, lifting her off the ground. The migrant worker also seemed to cover her mouth. My mother was dragged along the construction site like a sow, her body still twisting, but it was too late.
I tensed up again, wondering what they were going to do. I watched them walk away, wanting to follow them out to see what was going on, but I was afraid they would hear me opening the door. After a while, I estimated they were about twenty meters away and couldn't hear me anymore, so I went back inside, put on my shorts and shoes, carefully pushed open the door of the prefab house, and quietly walked down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. When I got down to the ground and walked to the corner of the prefab house, I peeked out and looked towards the construction site. I saw that they had already gone far away. I could only see a few small figures heading towards one of the unfinished buildings on the construction site. The building had actually been topped out, but the exterior walls and interior had not yet been insulated and waterproofed.
When I saw them during the day, the bricks were still exposed. They were almost downstairs. I crouched low, afraid they would spot me, until I saw them enter the building. Then I continued to crouch low, tiptoeing towards the building, trying to avoid the mounds of dirt and sand as much as possible to avoid being discovered. I was drenched in sweat after walking less than a hundred meters. When I reached the building entrance, I listened carefully but heard nothing. I wondered if I was seeing things. After climbing two floors, I heard faint sounds from upstairs, which reassured me a little. So I continued to tiptoe upstairs. The higher I went, the louder the sounds became. Of course, "louder" was relative to the absence of sound, but it was still not easy to hear unless you listened carefully. When I reached the fourth floor, the sounds became clearer. I could tell people were talking and groaning, but I still couldn't make out what they were saying. However, I was certain it was this floor, as if it was on the right-hand side of the stairs. I crept inwards following the sound, my heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. I could feel myself trembling; my legs were practically giving way. By the time I reached the fourth room on the right, I could clearly hear a man's heavy breathing, a woman's moans, whispers, and scattered movements.
The first thing I heard was, "Damn, that feels fucking good." The building wasn't finished, so the doors and windows weren't in place yet. I couldn't remember what the project was for, but I think it was probably a commercial area or something. This building was likely a shopping mall, so there were many rooms on each floor, and almost all of them were the same, with doors and windows facing the hallway. I stopped by the window, wanting to peek inside but afraid of being discovered. Then someone said,
"Quick, get up, it's my turn." Then I heard the sound of someone pulling down their pants and then pulling them up. The first voice said, "You go first, I'm going to have a smoke, fucking good." There was a hint of lingering pleasure in the voice.
Then came the click of a lighter being flicked. Afraid of being discovered by that person, I quickly and quietly slipped into the next room, shrinking into a corner. Just as I hid, I saw a wisp of smoke drift from where I had been standing.
The panting and groaning from next door resumed, more like soft sobs than groans.
The truth was clear now: the three night patrolmen and the old migrant worker were gang-raping my mother. I was at a loss. Actually, after following them, I realized I didn't even know why I had followed. Logically, I should have gone to find someone to catch them in the act, but I was afraid that if I did, they might do something to my mother. Looking back
, those were just excuses I made for myself. I came here simply to see my mother being raped, but I refused to admit it at the time.
I huddled in the corner, too afraid to move, lest I be discovered. After a while, the man smoking finished and flicked his cigarette butt, the red ember grazing the doorway of the next room. I heard him walk into the next room again, so I tiptoed out, trying to find a good angle to look. But as I moved, my fingers suddenly touched a hole in the wall. I looked down and saw a missing brick in the wall at waist height. I didn't know why. I looked at the opposite wall and saw another hole, also missing a brick. It was probably left in advance, but I still didn't know what it was for. But I knew my chance had come. I crouched down quietly and put my eyes close to the hole in the brick. By the moonlight, I couldn't see the scene inside very clearly, but I could make out the general outline.
My mother was lying naked on several straw mats used to keep the cement floor moist. A young man, probably in his twenties, was pressing down on her white body. Her two plump, white thighs were wrapped around his waist. He was holding my mother's breasts in his hands. Because my mother's breasts were so large, he could only hold the top half, with the bottom half spilling out from the edge of his palm. My mother's head was tilted to one side, her eyes tightly closed, tears streaming down her face, and she was humming softly, whether crying or moaning, it was hard to tell. The young man was kissing my mother's mouth as he fucked her, occasionally licking her earlobe, but no matter how hard he tried, my mother didn't react at all, just passively letting him do as he pleased.
Three people were standing nearby, one of whom was the old migrant worker. Although he was still naked, he had a fawning smile on his face and was saying to the other two, "I told you this woman isn't bad, she's really comfortable." The other two stood aside, ignoring him, their hands behind their backs, whispering amongst themselves. Seeing that the two were ignoring him, the old migrant worker stopped talking and turned his gaze back to my mother, who was being brutally fucked by the young man. After watching for a while, perhaps he was aroused again, at first slightly bending over and panting, but then, disregarding the others present, he shamelessly began masturbating in front of my mother.
The young man was almost there. He was thrusting his hips between my mother's thighs, the slapping sounds of his flesh being louder than the other two men's voices. He was also gripping my mother's breasts tightly. A short while later, he cried out, then thrust forward and collapsed onto my mother, panting heavily, his hands still gripping her breasts. The
two men next to him laughed. One of the older men said, "Little Li, your stamina isn't good. You can't even last as long as your brother Liu." The young man finally managed to get off my mother, panting, and said, "Uncle Han, it's not that I can't, you try. This woman's vagina and breasts are more potent than other women's. You can't do it either. Ask Brother Liu if you don't believe me." The older
man said, "Get up, make room." Then they heard the sound of his belt unzipping. The young man got up from the ground, pulling up his pants as he walked towards the other man standing nearby, without even glancing at the old migrant worker. The older man, short and stout, seemed to be balding. He took off his pants and underwear, then squatted down, patted my mother's buttocks, and said, "Turn over." My mother didn't move. He got a little angry, patted her buttocks again, and said, "Hurry up." My mother remained motionless, lying there. This time he was really angry and was about to explode when the old migrant worker quickly came over with a smile and said, "This woman's been fucked numb, I'll turn her over for you." After saying that, he picked up my mother's upper body and forcefully turned her over. My mother let him turn her over without resisting, and he positioned her face down on the straw mat. The short, stout man waved his hand, telling him to get out of the way, then climbed onto my mother's back, reached down and scratched his genitals, then thrust forward, letting out a long "Oh..." from deep in his throat. The two people standing next to him seemed to chuckle secretly. The short, fat man lay on my mother's back for a few seconds before slowly beginning to thrust, gripping her shoulders and moving his hips back and forth. The old migrant worker stood to the side, drooling with desire but not daring to say anything. After watching for a while, he started masturbating again.
The short, fat man's movements weren't fast, but within a few minutes, his body tensed up, he pressed his buttocks down, raised his head, and then collapsed onto my mother. The two men next to us laughed. The younger man said,
"I told you you couldn't handle it." The short, fat man got off my mother, patted her buttocks, and said, "It really felt good. Don't let her age fool you, it's tight and slippery inside." He picked up his underwear and pants and put them on, asking the other two men as he fastened his belt, "Now that you're done, what do we do?" The one who had been smoking earlier said,
"What's the rush? Let's play a little longer." He walked over and beckoned the younger man next to him to help lift my mother off the ground, make her sit down, squatted down, pinched her face, and slapped her cheek, saying, "Wake up, hey, wake up.
I'm talking to you." My mother opened her eyes, glanced at them, and then closed them again. The one who was smoking slapped my mother's cheek again and said, "Watch this, I'm telling you."
My mother opened her eyes and said, smoking, "Sister-in-law, look, you've had your fun with us brothers today, so we won't make things too difficult for you. Now there's one last thing: lick our lips, and we'll be fine. If you don't obey, we'll take you away. We won't kill you, we'll just dump you in some village outside. Who you run into there is up to your luck. What do you say?" My mother looked at him, silent for a long time. He couldn't wait any longer and asked, "Hurry up and say something straight." My mother turned her face away, and the man released her face, saying, "I'll give you one more chance. You decide what to do." He stood up, unzipped his pants, took out his penis, and brought it to my mother's face, saying, "Hurry up, we don't have time to wait for you." My mother trembled, and her body finally moved. Although slow, she still reached out and grasped the man's penis, slowly rubbing it. The man grew impatient, grabbed my mother's hair, and shoved his penis into her mouth, saying, "I told you to use your mouth, not your hand." My mother silently opened her mouth and took his penis in. The man took a deep breath, placed his hand on my mother's head, and my mother began to suck and swallow his glans.
After a while, he checked his watch, probably thinking it was still early, and his lust flared up again. He said, "No, it's back again."
He pulled his glans out of my mother's mouth, pushed her, and told her to lie down. My mother probably resigned herself to her fate and obediently lay down on the straw mat, on all fours. He pulled down his pants and knelt behind my mother. The two men next to him laughed, "You're really something. Another round." He said, "Of course." Then he patted my mother's buttocks and said, "Bend over." My mother lowered her upper body to the ground, leaving only her buttocks facing him. He thrust his penis forward and began to pump. My mother remained still and silent, just like before.
By this time, the moon's angle had changed, and the moonlight was now shining directly on my mother. Her large breasts, like small balls, swayed back and forth as he bumped into them. This scene probably aroused the two men and the old migrant worker nearby. The two men also started panting. I hadn't paid attention to the old migrant worker until now, but when I glanced at him, I saw that he had squatted down and was tilting his head, probably looking at my mother's breasts.
Not long after, the two men couldn't resist any longer. They went to my mother's side, pulled down their pants, and one of them knelt in front of her. He grabbed my mother's hair, lifted her upper body off the ground, and brought his penis to my mother's face. This time, my mother didn't resist. She opened her mouth and took his glans in
, sucking and swallowing. The other man was a step behind, hesitated for a moment, then squatted down next to my mother and started playing with her breasts. Perhaps he used too much force, and my mother wasn't as numb as before. She probably felt pain, and although she still didn't dare to resist, she started moaning softly. Then I glanced at the old migrant worker again. He stood up and started masturbating again.
At that moment, I felt a sharp pain in my glans accompanied by an intense pleasure that almost made me cry out. Then came a feeling of exhaustion. I looked down and realized I had ejaculated, making my underwear wet. Perhaps the scene was too stimulating, and I had maintained my squatting position, my glans tightly wrapped in my underwear, constantly being rubbed, so I couldn't help but ejaculate. This was the second time I had ejaculated that night. After ejaculating, I became clear-headed again, just like the first time. But my thoughts were different now. I looked through the hole in the brickwork; the men were still continuing. I thought for a moment and decided to leave quickly. I was certain they wouldn't harm my mother, but if they found out I was next door, things would be different. Even if they didn't harm me, it wouldn't be good for my mother to know I was next door. As for my mom, they'll probably let her go after they're done playing. She's always been timid and easily frightened; they've probably already figured that out, so they won't let her go thinking there'll be any trouble. Besides, it gets light early in the summer, and I didn't have a watch, so I didn't know what time it was. It might get light any minute now
, so while their attention is still on my mom, it's best to leave quickly. So I slowly stood up, held onto the wall, and inching my way out of the room. Luckily, I didn't bump into anything. Then I tiptoed down the stairs again, until my feet touched the muddy ground below. I breathed a sigh of relief and jogged back to our prefab house.
After entering, I drank some water and looked outside. The sky was already starting to turn gray. I looked at the bed; my mom's clothes were still there. I stared blankly for a while, then a wave of weariness washed over me. I realized there was nothing else to do now but wait for my mom to come back at dawn. So I changed out of my soaked underwear and went to bed.
The next day's events were completely unexpected. The foreman yelled at me, urging me to get dressed and come with him as soon as I opened my eyes. I looked around and realized my mother wasn't home. My heart pounded with anxiety. I quickly dressed and followed the foreman downstairs, asking what had happened. The foreman only told me to wait a moment. He led me to his beat-up Volkswagen Santana parked downstairs, drove out of the construction site, and onto the main road. Only then did he tell me that my mother had been assaulted. I immediately realized the gravity of the situation and asked him where my mother was. The foreman said that when someone went to work that morning, they found my mother lying naked in the building, unconscious, covered in filth.
He lowered his voice when he said "filth," and I realized he meant my mother was covered in semen.
He continued, saying they had called the police, and a police car and ambulance had taken my mother to the hospital. My heart sank. Although I felt my mother would be alright, I hadn't expected them to abuse her so badly. I didn't say a word the rest of the way. When I arrived at the hospital, I saw a police car parked downstairs. I followed the foreman out of the car and went to the emergency room on the first floor. There were several migrant workers at the entrance of the emergency room. When they saw the foreman, they all came over to talk to him; they were probably from the construction site.
The foreman asked them about the situation, and they told him that the two people who first found my mother had been taken away by the police for questioning. The foreman asked if my mother was alright. Just then, the emergency room door opened, and the foreman went up to ask the doctor who came out how she was. The doctor didn't answer him, but only asked if any family members had come. I went over and said I was a family member. The doctor, a woman in her forties, glanced at me and said she was fine, but needed to be hospitalized for observation for a while, and told me to go and complete the formalities. I asked the doctor if I could go in to see my mother. The doctor tilted her head, gesturing for me to come in. I quickly went in. There were three beds in the emergency room. My mother was lying on the one furthest inside, with an oxygen tube in her nose, resting with her eyes closed. As soon as I approached, I smelled a strong odor of semen. Her hair looked like it had been washed during the emergency room, and there was a strong smell of disinfectant in the room, but the semen odor was still very clear. I gently called out, "Mom." My mother opened her eyes and saw me. She was about to speak when I stopped her, saying, "I know everything, it's alright. I'll get you admitted to the hospital in a bit; you can stay here for a couple of days." My mother nodded. I took her hand and patted it. I saw the doctor had already changed her into a hospital gown. Then my mother closed her eyes again, and tears streamed down her face.
When I was getting my mother admitted, the hospital asked for a deposit. I didn't have a single penny on me. The foreman lent me three thousand yuan first, then moved my mother to a regular ward. Only then did I start calling my parents' workplaces.
Since it was a gynecological injury, it wasn't appropriate for me to stay with my mother at the hospital, and the doctor also said it wasn't suitable for me. So I called my aunt to come and stay with her. My aunt came that afternoon, but my dad happened to be out of town, so it took several days for her to arrive. It wasn't until the third day that my dad arrived. Also, I was about to fill out my college applications, so they switched me back.
I need to say that some people say I'm cold-hearted and inhuman. I want to say that I don't regret not taking action. In that situation, if I had acted rashly, I definitely wouldn't have been able to protect myself. Letting them have their way with my mother and letting her go was the best outcome. As for what happened afterward, it's impossible for anyone to predict the future, and what happened afterward was much better than making them desperate. That's all for now. Let's continue.
A week after I returned home, my mother came back too. Actually, she wasn't seriously injured, just very frightened and had some lacerations. At the hospital, she mainly received IV fluids to prevent infection. After returning home, the doctor prescribed a lot of calming and heart-strengthening medication. My father had other commitments, so he asked me to make sure my mother took her medication on time. I was worried that my mother might not fully recover, but later she seemed alright, and spoke to me normally. She was just afraid to go out, and couldn't watch TV scenes of men and women together. She also developed frequent urination, needing to urinate after every drink of water. While she was at home, my aunt and some of my mother's friends would sometimes come to visit her. A month passed like this, and then my university acceptance letter arrived—a university in Beijing, a bit far from home. Another month passed, and it was time to register, but my mother still didn't dare to go out. My father was also busy out of town, so my aunt accompanied me to register at the university.
I won't go into details about my school days, since everyone knows what they were like, so I'll skip that. I'll just mention one thing: back then, DVD sellers in Beijing weren't practically extinct like they are now. They still existed, but when my roommates went to buy DVDs, I always asked them to bring me some featuring mature women. Mature women were harder to find back then, and nobody watched them. I don't know why I liked mature women, but I just didn't feel anything watching porn with young girls. Looking back, it might have been because I always projected the mature women in those videos onto my mother.
The real trouble started when I went home for my first winter break from university. My dad had said he'd drive to pick me up from the station, but after waiting for ages, no one showed up. I called him, and his voice sounded like he'd been drinking.
So I had to take a taxi home myself. When I got home, I knocked on the door, and my dad opened it. I could smell alcohol on him. After opening the door, he forced a smile, took my things inside, said, "Rest now, we'll have dumplings later," and then went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed.
My mother only came out of the kitchen then. When I saw my mom, I froze. She was wearing a maternity jumpsuit with straps. Her belly was swollen like a drum, and her breasts, like two small balls, were spilling out from the sides of the straps, making her sway as she walked. It took me a while to come to my senses. I was about to ask her what was wrong
when I suddenly realized it must be related to what had happened, so I stopped asking and just said a few perfunctory words to her, pretending not to see her belly. Actually, my mom had noticed too, but she pretended not to know. After a while, the dumplings were ready, and we sat at the table, eating and chatting. Neither my mom nor my dad asked me about school; they wouldn't say a word about the strange things at home. After dinner, I rushed to wash the dishes, feeling the oppressive atmosphere in the house.
The next day, my third aunt and eldest aunt invited me to my eldest aunt's house for dinner. My mom and dad didn't go. My mom and eldest aunt were very close, but my eldest aunt was old and couldn't stay with my mom at the hospital. After finishing my meal, I lingered, making an excuse not to leave, until all my aunt's children had left. Only then did I cautiously ask my aunt about my mother's pregnancy. My aunt immediately slapped her thigh, shook her head, and sighed, saying, "This is just fate." It turned out that since the accident, my mother hadn't had her period for two months by the time I left. After I left for school, my mother went to the hospital for a checkup. The hospital said it was due to the mental stress combined with a physiological stress response, causing menstrual irregularities, and prescribed some medication for her to take care of herself.
My mother took sick leave from work and rested at home, but after several months of recuperation, her period still didn't return. Every time she went to the hospital, they said it was a normal reaction and told her to take her medication on time. It wasn't until my mother noticed that her stomach and breasts had become noticeably larger that she started to panic. That morning, on her way to the hospital for another checkup, she passed a breakfast stall selling fried dough sticks, and upon smelling the fumes, she couldn't help but vomit in the nearby green belt.
Now my mom was really worried. She went to a maternity hospital and a test showed she was five months pregnant, the fetus was already fully formed. Terrified, my mom's legs went weak, and she couldn't get up from the hospital corridor. A friend saw her and took her home. Because my dad hadn't touched my mom in the past few months, if she was pregnant, it must be one of those people. My mom cried her eyes out, but she didn't dare tell my dad. She planned to have my aunt accompany her to secretly get an abortion.
Unexpectedly, she went to several hospitals, but they all refused to perform the abortion because of her age and the advanced stage of the pregnancy, fearing complications. This scared my mom, and she delayed for over a month, her belly growing bigger and bigger.
Just when she didn't know what to do, the police notified my mom that they had caught the group and asked her to come and identify them. Somehow, my dad found out about this and came back without informing my mom. His intention was probably to beat up those people; he figured that as long as he bribed the detention center, they would usually be lenient as long as the beating wasn't too severe. When my dad came home and saw my mom's belly, he immediately understood what had happened. He was so angry he didn't say a word all day. The next day, he made my mom go for an abortion. When he learned the doctor said it was impossible, he was even angrier and went back to his construction site in Inner Mongolia that very day. My mom had my aunt accompany her to the detention center to identify the people. According to my aunt, my mom was so scared when she saw those people that she kept shrinking back. The court said the case had entered the public prosecution process and was scheduled to go to trial after the New Year. My mom was told to prepare or have a representative.
So, the family didn't have a good New Year. My mom's belly had gone from six months to seven months, and an abortion was out of the question. When my dad was home, he either slept or went out to gamble and drink.
We usually went back to our hometown for the New Year every year, but we didn't go back this year. After the New Year, I couldn't stand staying at home anymore, so I packed my things and went back to school. My parents didn't really stop me.
But I regretted it as soon as I got back to school. Every time I closed my eyes at night, I would think of my mom with her big pregnant belly, and that reminded me of the night she was gang-raped. My penis would swell painfully. It was around this time that I had my first experience with a woman in her forties, about the same age as my mom, just not as voluptuous. We met on QQ and naturally went to a hotel together.
The first time, I ejaculated quickly, and she didn't complain. The second time was a little better. The first night we did it three times, none of the times lasting very long. A month later, we met again. This time, for some reason, no matter what I did, I couldn't ejaculate. Finally, she started begging for mercy, and I was a little worried. Then, I suddenly thought of my mom being gang-raped, and the feeling became incredibly intense. I penetrated her for another three minutes and ejaculated. From then on, I often did this: first, I would fuck her until she was half-dead, then think of my mom being fucked and quickly ejaculate. After I ejaculated, I kept joking with her, looking at the semen flowing from her lower body, about asking her to remove her IUD so she could have a child for me. She always laughed and scolded me for being crazy, but actually, I really wanted to see what a middle-aged woman with a big belly looked like, especially since I hadn't seen my mom naked with a big belly at home, which I really regretted.
When I went home for summer vacation again, although I carefully avoided mentioning my mom when I called home, I was already mentally prepared.
Sure enough, as soon as I got home, I smelled a strong milky smell. My dad wasn't home, and my mom was wearing a nursing outfit, the kind where you can lift a piece of cloth at the chest for easy breastfeeding.
Although her belly had gone down, her breasts were twice as big as when I saw her at the New Year, almost overflowing her chest, the two breasts squeezed together. There used to be a crib in my bedroom, with a healthy-looking baby boy lying in it. When I asked my dad, my mom said that my dad hardly ever came home anymore. Although he didn't plan to divorce my mom, he didn't want to see the child either. As we were talking, the baby woke up. My mother quickly picked him up, gently rocking him while lifting her clothes to put a dark purple nipple into his mouth. The baby immediately began to suckle eagerly. Looking at the way my mother looked at the child, I saw no humiliation or sadness, only love and maternal love. I could only sigh inwardly.
After the baby fell asleep again, I cautiously asked my mother about her future plans. She then told me that those people had already been sentenced, the longest being eleven years and the shortest four. Before the baby was born, my parents had already discussed it, and after the birth, they would contact someone at the prison to arrange a paternity test. Whoever found out who the father was, that would be whoever it was. The day before I returned, my mother had taken the baby to have the test done; the results wouldn't be available for a few days. I breathed a sigh of relief; this matter was finally coming to an end.
A few days later, the test results came back: the child belonged to a man named He Yonggui from Henan, in his forties.
At the time, I didn't know who He Yonggui was; I later learned he was the old migrant worker who first raped my mother, and he was sentenced to six years. The prison authorities helped contact his family. He was an old bachelor, living alone with his mother. His siblings were there, but none of them wanted to come; his mother, however, readily agreed. The prison authorities told them to contact my family directly and then left it at that, because my father didn't want to face the matter anymore. So, contacting his family fell to me. We arranged a date for his mother to come by train from her hometown. But right at that crucial moment, my mother's gynecological problem flared up again; she was in so much pain that she couldn't walk and had to be hospitalized. The doctor said she would need about two weeks of rest, and the child had to stay with my aunt. On the third day of my mother's hospitalization, He Yonggui's mother arrived from her hometown in Henan. I went to pick her up at the station. The old lady looked to be in her late sixties, perhaps because she was poor; her clothes were simple and her complexion was sallow, but her clothes were very clean, and she seemed quite energetic. Her gray hair was tied back, and she was a thin, wiry old woman. When she got off the bus, she was carrying a basket of red eggs and other local specialties, which she wanted to give to my mother. I had originally intended for her to leave the things there and then go to my aunt's house to pick up her child and leave that night. However, after learning that my mother was in the hospital, she insisted on going to see her, and I couldn't stop her no matter what I did. When we arrived at the hospital, the old lady met my mother. By then, my mother had almost fully recovered, her spirits were basically back to what they were before the accident, and because she had just given birth, she was plump and looked quite prosperous and elegant. When the old lady saw my mother, her eyes widened, and she grabbed my mother's hand, saying, "My child, you've suffered so much," even shedding a few tears. My mother, who usually disliked these kinds of rural people, was now so embarrassed by this, she couldn't speak. After the old lady's rambling, she finally managed to utter two words: "It's nothing." Once she finished speaking, my mother quickly urged her to take the baby and go home. Unexpectedly, the old lady said that since my mother had given birth to her grandson, it was already wrong of her not to come and help with her postpartum care. Now that she had finally come, and my mother's health had deteriorated from giving birth to her grandson, she should take good care of my mother. She insisted on taking care of my mother until she was hospitalized, and no amount of persuasion could change her mind. Luckily, my mother was alone in the hospital room at the time; otherwise, it would have been truly embarrassing for others to see. Finally, we had no choice but to agree to let her take care of my mother, but we made it clear beforehand that she wouldn't come to our house. The old lady readily agreed, saying she could sleep on the floor of the ward.
And so, the old lady began taking care of my mother in the hospital. Initially, it was agreed that the three of us—her, my third aunt, and I—would take turns, one day at a time. But every time it was our turn, the old lady would rush to do the work, taking incredibly meticulous care of her, leaving us standing around with nothing to do. On the sixth day, my third aunt couldn't come due to other commitments, leaving only the old lady and me. The old lady ran around, calling nurses, changing IVs, getting medication, and helping my mother with her bodily functions, showing no signs of fatigue, doing her utmost. I could hardly bear to watch. My mother also felt a little guilty. She repeatedly told her not to work so hard, but the old lady just smiled and continued to work just as diligently. On the seventh day, another woman, very thin, moved into the ward. This woman, who seemed to have some illness, was also being cared for by her own sister. However, I later realized this woman really needed to get her tongue checked, because she talked incessantly all day long. After chatting with her friends, she would talk to my mother, and when my mother ignored her, she would pick a fight with me. The day after she moved in, she keenly sensed the strangeness between my mother, me, and the old lady. I don't know if she did it on purpose, but one time, after the old lady helped my mother to the toilet and came back to bed, the thin woman said to my mother, "Sister, your mother-in-law takes such good care of you." My mother immediately blushed and didn't know what to say. The old lady, however, preemptively smiled and said, "She gave me a big, healthy grandson. If I don't take good care of her, I'll be ungrateful." That's when I realized this old lady was quite something. Although she wasn't very educated, she was really good at interrupting and blocking. She first shut my mother down, and sure enough, until my mother was discharged, she never dared to deny that she wasn't my mother-in-law. Even later, the doctor started treating her as my mother-in-law, and even said I wasn't considerate of the elderly, which made me so angry I almost wanted to punch the doctor.
Later, the thin woman kept talking about how she had given birth to a daughter, how her mother-in-law had treated her badly, and how her husband had treated her badly. As she spoke, she never forgot to praise the old woman for how much she doted on her daughter-in-law. My mother was both ashamed and angry, and because she had been interrupted earlier, she couldn't refute her, so she could only listen patiently. The old woman, on the other hand, became more and more enthusiastic as she listened, her face beaming with smiles, and she and the thin woman echoed each other, praising my mother. The two of them together made my mother blush with embarrassment. Later, two more women moved into the ward, so it wasn't convenient for me to stay with my mother anymore. That left only the old woman. I would occasionally go to check on her, and the more work the old woman did, the more energetic she seemed. She was practically standing on the floor all day without rest, constantly attending to my mother. All the women in the ward were incredibly envious of my mother.
After enduring this for half a month, my mother was discharged. After being discharged, my mother never wanted to see her again. Once home, she immediately asked me to buy her a train ticket to send her away. My mom was discharged from the hospital in the morning. She didn't even let my mother-in-law have lunch; she just had me take her to my aunt's house to pick up the baby and go to the train station. I took a taxi to the train station with my mother-in-law. On the platform, she kept thanking my mom, even saying that it seemed my dad wasn't very good to her, and that if my mom was unhappy or missed the baby, she could visit her anytime. I was too lazy to listen, so I just gave a perfunctory "uh-huh," and I didn't even remember the address she gave me. I only breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her off on the train and it started moving away
from the station, thinking, "This is finally over." After seeing my mother-in-law and baby off, life gradually returned to normal. Everyone carefully avoided mentioning the incident, as if nothing had happened. I continued my studies at university like everyone else.
But we all knew in our hearts that it was all just an escape. My dad applied to his boss to stop being sent on overseas assignments, and my mom stopped going on business trips. Although they are both home every day now, they only talk to each other half-heartedly. And this incident left a deep mark on my heart. My attraction to mature women is something I can never shake, and my fondness for replaying my mother's sexual encounters while masturbating is also something I can never change. And the cold, impersonal atmosphere at home every year when I go back is something I can never shake off.
In the summer of 2007, I graduated with my bachelor's degree. My dad wanted me to go back to our hometown to work, but I was fed up with the coldness at home. The thought of facing my parents' cold faces every day was unbearable.
So, I worked in Beijing while preparing for graduate school entrance exams. I drifted along like this for another six months, and unsurprisingly, I failed the exams. My job search wasn't going well either. That year, prices in Beijing and across the country skyrocketed overnight; some of you might remember. I almost couldn't make ends meet in Beijing. So, in the fall, I returned to my hometown from Beijing and stayed home for several months. During that time, I masturbated frequently because being with my mother made it easy to have all sorts of sexual fantasies based on her figure. Although my mother had a child at forty, the birth barely affected her figure. Perhaps because she didn't breastfeed, her breasts seemed to have grown larger than before. They used to be round and big, but now they felt almost heavy, and she couldn't even wear a bra anymore. My mother had to wear looser clothes, and even then, her entire chest was clearly visible swaying under her clothes when she walked, making the clothes bounce. Once, I saw a man staring at my mother's breasts and swallowing hard when we were out on the street.
After the Spring Festival in 2008, I felt I couldn't stay at home any longer and was preparing to go out and find a job again. But then something happened. I don't remember exactly, but it was either the fifteenth or sixteenth of the first lunar month. My parents were both out, and I was home alone when someone knocked on the door. I opened it and saw a postman holding a letter. The postman handed me the letter and left. When I got home, I looked at the address on the envelope—it was for my mother. Then I saw the postmark—it was from Henan! A sudden, inexplicable excitement welled up inside me; I felt a surge of heat, because I guessed who might have written this letter. I had an urge to open it, to see what was inside, but I desperately suppressed the urge. I squeezed it; something hard seemed to be tucked inside. I looked at it against the light—it looked like a photograph. I took a few deep breaths, thought for a moment, and decided to hide the letter for now.
That night, my dad was on duty and didn't come home, leaving my mom alone. After dinner, I casually mentioned to her that I had a letter for her. She asked who sent it, and I said I didn't know, but the postmark was from Henan. I took the letter from my room, handed it to her casually, and went back to my room to play on the computer. But as I turned away, I secretly glanced at her and sensed she looked a little nervous. Just as I got back to my room, I heard her go into her bedroom and close the door, which confirmed my suspicions.
Around 10 PM, my mom urged me to go to sleep. I turned off the computer and hid under the covers, but I couldn't fall asleep, so I started chatting on QQ on my phone. Around 11 PM, I suddenly heard a strange sound, seemingly coming from the living room. At first, I was startled, but upon closer listening, it sounded like it was coming from my mom's bedroom. I suddenly became excited, wondering if my mom had started masturbating because my dad hadn't touched her in a long time. Thinking of this, I threw down my phone, got out of bed, and tiptoed out of the room barefoot, heading quietly towards my mother's bedroom. The closer I got, the clearer the sound became. When I reached my mother's bedroom door, I finally understood—it wasn't the moaning of masturbation, but my mother's soft sobbing.
I had only heard this kind of sobbing once before, the night my mother was gang-raped. Immediately, I thought of the letter; I felt it must be related to this incident. I wanted to take a closer look, but my mother's door was tightly closed. I observed that the small window on the door frame wasn't closed, and the glass pane was horizontal. There was light in the room, reflecting the scene inside onto the window pane. I looked up, carefully searching for the right angle, and finally saw my mother's reflection in the glass. Sure enough, my mother was sitting on the bed, wearing pajamas, holding a letter in one hand and covering her face with the other, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. This confirmed my suspicion; something in the letter must have triggered my mother's reaction. After a while, my mother put the letter away and turned off the light. I noted down where she had put the letter, then tiptoed back to my room, lay in bed, and planned what I needed to do the next day. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.

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Mother became pregnant after being gang-raped by migrant workers

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