I passionately kissed my mother's soft, tender lips.

Recently, there was a news report about a student being sexually assaulted in the back of a train. My mother and I were on the train when she
mentioned . Since I'm leaving for Australia to study in a few days, my mother accompanied me to Taitung today. Our
carriage was at the back, and because it was a weekday, there were practically no passengers. After a few stops, our carriage
was even emptier.
I had initially underestimated the situation, but as soon as we passed through a tunnel, the darkness immediately woke me up, and I could
n't fall back asleep. My mother was leaning against the window, her breathing shallow and even. Looking at her profile, I could see crow's
feet at the corners of her eyes, though they weren't very noticeable because of makeup. Today, her hair was styled like an office lady's
, pulled up in a bun, not particularly fashionable, but not unattractive either.
My mother is a retired high school teacher who taught Chinese literature. She speaks with great elegance, and every movement is refined. I
was taught by her from a young age never to use foul language. My mother is a classic Eastern beauty, and although she's over forty, she maintains a good
figure . But of course, a woman of her age still has the plumpness that's expected—flared arms, slightly sagging
hips . However, given her profession as a teacher, it's perfectly normal for her to wear flesh-colored stockings.
My mother has also developed this habit, always wearing flesh-colored stockings when she goes out. Her beautiful legs are like ice cream, making me
want to lick them, but that's just a thought.
My mother wore white closed-toe high heels, looking noble and elegant, with a touch of ethereal refinement. Today,
she wore a light gray suit, a standard knee-length skirt made of a cotton-silk material. I casually
touched the hem; it was very smooth and pleasant to the touch. She wore a well-fitting white women's blouse
with a gold flower decoration on the breast pocket. The fabric sleeve around the buttons was sewn with small, floral lace-like
details, not flashy, but it accentuated her breasts, making the buttons protrude slightly—
not in the exaggerated way of a voluminous erotic comic. Over my mother's shoulders, she wore a grey cloth, a dress-like
material , with a bow tied at the front around her neck and chest.
It overlapped with the pale blue gemstone necklace around her neck, and the gemstone, illuminated by the afterglow of the sun and reflected through the train window, shone even more brightly against my mother's
face .
Looking out the window, I could see the sea; it must be the coastal line. The view of the sea,
bathed in the pale light of the sunset on the distant horizon, made me even more reluctant to leave my mother for Australia. My mother dozed off,
yawned , and said the long train journey was quite tiring. I told her to sleep a little longer, and I would wake her when we arrived. She
shifted her body, lowering her back and shoulders, resting her head on my left shoulder,
her shoulder against my left arm. She said, "Just a moment," and drifted off to sleep again.
Then I straightened up, letting my mother slump against my left side, the scent of her hair
constantly stimulating my senses. I pulled my mother's blouse up a bit, adjusting it to cover her shoulders.
I noticed her shoulders were quite narrow, making her look even more petite and delicate. Then, I had a mischievous thought. I
deliberately moved the bow on her shoulder to the side, allowing me to completely peek at her breasts. Through
the gap in the buttons, I thought I could see her off-white bra. My mother had never liked wearing overly patterned
bras remembered seeing this one on a clothes rack—
something like a "magic shaping bra," though I couldn't quite place it. Back then, bras had patterns on them. I secretly touched her
bra, glancing back over my shoulder, afraid of being discovered.
I found only a tiny bit of padding inside, meaning her breasts were real, not padded
. Although peeking at my mother's underwear felt great at the time, a few days later, while chatting with her and standing in
front of her, I felt guilty thinking about her breasts. After all, she raised me, and I was having
such lewd thoughts. I never peeked at her underwear again. Now, many years later, looking at
my mother on my shoulder, her breasts still rubbing against my left arm from the train's vibrations, makes me
fantasize about her bra even more. Although I can't see her cleavage through her shirt collar, only a glimpse of her pinkish-white breasts and
bra, it's enough to satisfy me.
My father is a politician, and my two older sisters are married, leaving me as the youngest. My mother and I have always had
a very close relationship, with my mother even showing me more care than my two sisters. Because I was her only son, my father
adopted my mother cherished me dearly from a young age. This was partly because she felt sorry for my father's high-pressure management, and partly because she was a new
mother and a teacher, so her love for me was boundless. Therefore, I deeply respect my family, and I have always
held my mother in high esteem. I have never even considered incest.
But now I'm leaving this home. My longing for my mother... perhaps I've already fallen in love with her,
a love that transcends romantic love and friendship, etched deep into my heart. Since I won't see her for a long time,
I want to imprint everything about her in my mind during these final moments. Looking at my mother
, already fast asleep, her whole body relaxed, her legs spread wide, her skirt
pulled up by the reaction of her hips, reaching past her knees to mid-thigh.
I looked at her flesh-colored stockings; although her calves had some bulging veins, I figured it was from standing for long periods as a teacher.
The visual enjoyment was quite nice. I secretly took my ever-present mirror and placed it
in the mesh rack in front of my mother's seat—the kind that retracts and holds a vomit
bag
. Looking at my mother's lace panties through the mirror, my glans instantly swelled, my penis lengthening and swelling. I secretly pulled down my pants, propping my penis up, as if afraid my mother would notice. My mother's
underwear was indistinguishable in the dim light, but I was certain it was made of lace, as it was
slightly sheer. She seemed to prefer seamless underwear, especially since she was wearing a tight skirt today;
panty lines wouldn't look good.
I looked at my mother's oval face, her features defined, her skin pale, with a sickly, weary look.
I'd often seen her with that kind of sickly expression, as she'd always been in poor health. Her lips
were slightly protruding, and although she wore lip gloss, they still looked pale. But my mother's eyes were my
favorite—large, bright eyes. Even with just eyeshadow, her alluring gaze was captivating;
it seemed like a breath from her could make you willingly die.
My mother and father married because they were both politicians; it wasn't a
marriage based on parental consent and pregnancy, where the daughter and son were close in age. I vaguely remember my mother having a lover before her marriage. I once asked her about it, and she
said that the time before meeting my father was the happiest period of her life. I was young then, and naively asked, "And
now? Is my mother unhappy?" My mother smiled and said I was silly, that having me was enough to make her happy for a lifetime.
But when her old lover was mentioned, although she seemed unaffected, her expression was actually quite melancholic
. It was only for a moment, but I remember it very clearly.
Unconsciously, I started fantasizing about my mother, imagining her leaning on my shoulder,
lifting , and looking at me with deep affection. In a moment of impulse, without caring if there were other people in the carriage, I passionately
kissed her pink lips, my tongue exploring her mouth, sharing the
sweet, moist sensation of our tongues, and then leaving her lips. I watched my mother's breathing and the slight rise and fall of her chest.
At that moment, no words were needed; the action was just right.
I pulled my mother onto my body, making her straddle my penis. I
pulled up to her waist, and she seemed embarrassed, pulling the back of the skirt down to cover
half of her buttocks. I looked at her thighs in flesh-colored stockings, covered by her lace panties. I spread her
legs wider, and she seemed to understand my intention, bending her knees and kneeling on the chair I was sitting on.
I pinched her buttocks hard with both hands, then squeezed them from behind towards my stomach
. At this moment, my mother's face looked even more shy, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her heavier breathing
excited me even more. My jeans were bulging. My mother hooked her arms around my neck, constantly twisting her
round and alluring buttocks, burying my face in her C-cup breasts. My penis rose and fell with
the twisting sometimes rotating clockwise, sometimes counterclockwise, sometimes twisting rapidly back
and forth, sometimes slowly pressing against my penis, and sometimes suddenly squeezing my penis up and down, making me feel so good that I almost ejaculated.
I remember my mother was very flexible; I had seen her do the splits at home before, both front and side.
I just didn't expect my mother's buttocks to be so powerful, twisting and shaking. I almost ejaculated before I even penetrated her; if I did penetrate her,
I would ejaculate within five minutes. My mother used to love watching TV, especially those gymnastics
programs , like "bye-bye" to concentrate underarm fat and "Kegel exercises" to increase the curve of the buttocks. My mother was very fond of
this kind of fitness stuff back then, and I never thought it would come in handy now.
I unbuttoned my mother's lace blouse. Seeing how slowly I was unbuttoning it, she smiled and simply did it herself,
saying I'd never been good at buttoning clothes. I just smiled faintly. Once the blouse was open, my mother's
pink and white breasts were before me. Beneath the off-white magic bra, the deep V-neck cleavage was even more pronounced. I
asked my mother to squeeze her breasts together with her arms. She not only squeezed her C-cup breasts tightly but also leaned forward, letting me
admire her breasts from above.
I asked her to move her breasts closer to me, and I immediately stuck out my tongue and licked the cleavage from the bottom up.
My mother said it tickled. I unhooked her bra from behind, flipping the shoulders back to let me savor
her beautiful breasts. My mother was surprised that I could unhook her bra so easily, and with a provocative expression, she said I'd learned bad habits.
I said no, I learned it from watching TV. My mother didn't believe me and even asked if I'd used this trick to unhook many girls' bras.
Afraid my mother would be jealous, I kissed her first. She didn't say anything, so I kissed my way down to
her breasts . Her snow-white breasts were slightly sagging, and to my surprise, her nipples were pink. My mother looked
away shyly, then let me reach out and play with her ample breasts. They were like incredibly elastic mochi; I pinched them with my fingers, kneaded and
twisted them, pressed my thumb against her nipple, and rotated it constantly. Sometimes I would use my thumb and forefinger to support the base of her breasts, shaking them rapidly
. Her breasts felt like they were being massaged with a vibrator, the surface covered in soft, undulating waves.
My mother laughed and said, "Where do you get all these tricks?" I replied that I only had so many techniques for my mother's beautiful breasts.
Seeing that it was about time, I directly sucked on her nipple, which was now in my lips. My mother let out a soft
moan , gripped my upper arm tightly with both hands, and said, "Gently, I'm afraid it will hurt." I told her I wouldn't bite, not to be afraid,
and then, like in an adult film, I used every trick in the book: sucking her nipple, licking around it, quickly digging my fingers into
her nipple, or pinching it and stretching her breast until it was deformed. My mother's expression was a mixture of unspeakable enjoyment
and utter ecstasy; she was completely limp and let me do as I pleased.
As I continued to fantasize about my mother's intimacy, her waking up pulled me back to reality.
She seemed to have noticed my swollen penis, but didn't say anything. I looked at her, and she softly asked if
I was almost there. I said I thought so. Her voice was sweet and seductive, with a tingling tone,
not a babyish one. My penis was throbbing, so I quickly made an excuse to go to the toilet to clean myself
. After I closed the door ,
I started imagining my mother in the train toilet, being penetrated hard from behind. I imagined bringing
her to the toilet, because if I had just thrust directly on the chair, it would have been too conspicuous. My mother was about 164
cm tall, not tall, but with a well-proportioned figure, a perfect golden ratio. I made my mother brace her hands against the wall above the toilet.
She grabbed a metal bar from the toilet seat. I grabbed the back of her shirt by the collar
and pulled it back, revealing her smooth, white shoulders and back. I pulled her skirt up to her waist, making
her arch her buttocks. She raised her buttocks with a hint of humiliation, perhaps because she felt as a teacher and found the behavior
shameful. I didn't care.
My hands moved down her waist, reaching her buttocks where I had almost ejaculated. I pinched hard, and
she groaned, turning to look at me. Her gaze made my penis even harder. I gently inserted my fingers into
her buttocks , then pulled and ripped them, tearing her flesh-colored stockings along the cleft, tearing her tender vulva.
I felt an intense pleasure. Hearing the tearing sound, I squatted down and tore
the stockings . My mother said, slightly annoyed, "Why did you tear them? How are we going to face people later?" I said it didn't matter,
just don't wear it. My mother was worried that people would stare at her legs when she walked down the street. I said, "Who can blame her when her legs are so
beautiful?"
When I touched my mother's tender vulva with my fingers, I knew she was already wet from the vibrating motor. I could feel it through her underwear...
I wanted to play with her a little longer, but I couldn't hold back any longer. I didn't want my burning hot penis
to suffer any more. I pressed my penis against her buttocks, moved the glans down along the cleft, and pulled her panties aside to reveal
her vulva. It was dark, and I couldn't see the colors clearly, only the dim light illuminating my mother's face. She
was staring at me, constantly biting her lower lip, clearly burning with desire.
I aimed the glans at her vulva and slowly inserted it. After the entire glans was inside, I paused, feeling
my mother's vulva squeezing and gripping my glans. I deliberately pressed my chest against her back, playing with her
breasts, and then moved my body slightly. My mother was incredibly itchy, her buttocks constantly pushing against my penis
. I deliberately didn't insert the whole thing, making her vulva even more itchy.
My mother said I was getting worse with age, so good at bullying people. Suddenly, I arched my back and thrust my entire penis into
her tender vagina. She probably hadn't expected me to do it so suddenly, and let out a long moan—a genuine, wanton
moan. Strike while the iron is hot, thrust with feeling. My mother's vagina was warm and tight, and my penis
kept moving in and out. The slippery fluid made my penis feel incredibly good. Every time I reached deep inside her, her
anus would contract sharply, making her vagina even more constricted. Each time she squeezed, I almost ejaculated.
This continued for five to ten minutes, and my mother's moans never stopped—not the loud, violent
moans but the comfortable, pleasurable moans.
Because it was in the train toilet, even if the moans were a little loud, they would be drowned out by the train's noise.
As it neared its end, I held my mother's slender waist with both hands and thrust rapidly, even slapping her
buttocks hard with my handprint. The pain made her turn to look at me again. Finally, I wrapped my arms around her lower abdomen and continued
to pound her buttocks. At the climax, I lifted my right leg and placed it on the toilet seat, ejaculating
all my longing for my mother, along with my white semen, into her womb. I slowly waited until my penis shrank
before pulling it out.
My mother, like a puppet with its strings cut, slumped on the toilet, letting the semen and vaginal fluid drip into
the bowl. She looked blissful. I brought my penis to her mouth, and her warm
mouth and tongue enveloped it, licking it clean. My legs went weak, and I simply squatted down
in front of her. As I left, she took off her stockings and threw them in the trash.
Back in my seat, I gave my mother another forceful kiss. She said that next time I tear my stockings, I should tell her first so
she could prepare extra pairs. I laughed and said that three pairs might not be enough for one day. My mother lowered her head, blushing,
her ears burning. She pinched my thigh and laughed, saying, "You only know how to tease your mother." I
said, "How could I?" and hugged her to my chest, waiting patiently for our destination.
A knock on the door pulled me back to reality. My mother said I'd been in the bathroom too long and was worried
something might have happened to me. I saw my own semen in the toilet, quickly cleaned myself up, and came out to
greet her. I sat next to her. She said she thought I had an upset stomach and was very worried. I said it was nothing, I'd
be fine after I finished. Actually, I was afraid she'd smell the semen on me. When we arrived at the station, my mother suggested
we stay at a nearby hotel after shopping. I agreed, saying it was up to her. While we were shopping, I noticed my mother
had her arm around mine, her breasts pressed against mine without any hesitation. She didn't say anything. I looked at her, then
pressed myself even closer, completely immersed in the blissful atmosphere. We strolled along Taitung's famous beach
, savoring every sweet moment with my mother.
********** ... It's a pity I liked the atmosphere it created; it wasn't just about the thrill of incest, but also carried the genuine sorrow of a mother in real life. The protagonist's imagined sex, the inability to revisit the past, and the final shopping trip—these are the main reasons . I hope you'll enjoy this side story. Whether it's true or not, as always, you'll have to guess and experience it for yourselves. ********** ...

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I passionately kissed my mother's soft, tender lips.

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