Could my relationship with my adoptive father be considered incest?

For an elderly man, frail and terminally ill, this might be his last birthday, perhaps the last birthday gift he hoped for.

So I made up my mind, no matter how rebellious, I would help him fulfill his final wish.

Years ago, he was a lonely, fifty-something-year-old scavenger, and I was a newborn child, an illegitimate child born of an affair. He carried me from a garbage can to his hut on a snowy night, raising me with his meager scavenging income and boundless love.

When I walked down the aisle under his loving gaze, I secretly vowed that I would give my life for him.

Another snowy night, just like years ago.

After washing him clean and settling him in bed, I went into the bathroom.

About to take that shocking step, I hesitated again.

Slowly brushing my teeth, I carefully examined my naked body in the mirror.

A thirty-year-old woman, full-figured and well-proportioned, certainly alluring to an eighty-three-year-old man. But thinking about our relationship, I couldn't help but close my eyes in fear.

I was so nervous I could hardly breathe.

I glanced back at the half-open bathroom door, knowing what was about to happen. This was

the first time I'd let him sleep in our bed since my husband went on his business trip.

This was the man I loved most deeply in my thirty years of life; he had raised me with so much hardship. I knew that old, lonely body lying in the warm blankets was waiting for my caresses. I

took one last look at myself in the mirror, turned off the bathroom light, and left.

The bedroom was pitch black, perfectly concealing the awkwardness between us.

The room was silent; we didn't need to say another word.

I didn't know what the outcome would be, but I decided to try.

Was this a betrayal of my husband?

I groped my way to the bed, slowly sat down, feeling my weight sink the bed down a bit.

I gently slipped my hand under the covers, stroking the wrinkled skin of his aging legs.

His legs trembled slightly, and my heart skipped a beat.

I slowly crawled under the covers, resting my head on his lower abdomen, pondering my next move.

The room was very warm, and I had turned on the air conditioner's heater beforehand, hoping to give the old man a feeling of summer's warmth.

I slowly moved my body under the covers, not wanting his frail body to get cold.

Finally, I knelt between his legs, my hands supporting me on either side of his hips, and lowered my head to kiss his lower abdomen.

I gently extended my tongue, licking and kissing his navel, feeling his body tremble and feel uneasy.

He pushed my head away with a little resistance.

I continued kissing the folds of skin on his stomach and his shallow navel, occasionally nibbling lightly on his folds of skin and caressing it with my tongue.

I slowly moved upwards until I kissed his small nipples, my tongue licking and kissing the fleshy tips.

I heard his panting and soft moans.

I lingered on his thin chest for a while, arousing both his nipples until they were erect, then slid down, my lips pressing against his pubic bone covered by pubic hair.

By this time, I was already aroused, feeling warm fluid flowing from my vagina.

I knew that if I turned on the light now, I would see the wet stains on the sheets. It's okay, I'll wash the sheets tomorrow.

He nudged my head again, but this time it didn't seem like resistance, but rather a desire for me to kiss his penis. Even without light, I could still feel it limply hanging between my legs. This was a penis that had perhaps never been touched by a woman. Due to poverty and low social status, he had never married and had never received any woman's favor. His understanding of women's bodies might only be limited to the nude photos of women in pornographic magazines he occasionally found in the trash; his experience of orgasm might only be through secret masturbation.

I stuck out my tongue and licked that old, yet still smooth-skinned, penis. It throbbed and trembled slightly, as if trying to lift its head. I licked my way down, pressing my lips against his pubic mound, and licked his glans with the tip of my tongue, tasting some salty pre-ejaculate. Oh, he was aroused too; his penis thickened, but remained semi-erect.

I needed more patience; I shouldn't give the old man too much stimulation. So I licked upwards again, slowly moving closer to his neck, kissing his collarbone, and sucking on his earlobe, my tongue probing into his hairy ear canal, hoping to ignite the most primal wildness and desire within his aging body. I felt his body twitch a few times, followed by a few soft moans, knowing he was getting aroused.

Turning back, I rubbed my full breasts against his thin, wrinkled body, my lips continuing to kiss downwards.

I knelt again between his still wide-open legs, lowering my head to lick and kiss him from the base of his thighs, first kissing the inside of his right thigh, then moving down to the soft back of his knee, and continuing down his calf to his ankle. The old man's feet were thin and bony, his heels and toes covered with rough, dead skin, the veins on his feet prominent. I thought, this is the record of the old man's difficult life, how he relied on these feet to brave wind and rain, struggling to make a living and raise me. Thinking of this, without any hesitation, I took his rough big toe into my mouth, licking and kissing his feet, which had been weary all his life.

Like a hungry, greedy baby, I took each of his toes in turn, sucking hard like a nipple suckling milk, my tongue licking the gaps between his toes.

When my tongue swept across the soft flesh of his sole, his body twisted a few times, and he groaned incoherently.

I knew he was a little ticklish, but his moans showed he enjoyed the licking and kissing, and craved the stimulation.

Turning my head, I hugged his left foot and, in the same way, gently licked and kissed every inch of his skin.

When I licked down his ankle to his left calf, a dark red scar, like an earthworm, crawling along the inside of his calf, evoked a moment I will never forget.

That year, I was in fourth grade. During summer vacation, I saw other children going on outings with their parents, so I begged him to take me out too. I never imagined that my family wasn't as wealthy as others, nor that he didn't have as much free time as other parents. You see, he scavenged for scraps and didn't have holidays or weekends; if he didn't work, life became increasingly difficult.

But he still granted my request, taking me on a tour bus to the mountains outside the city.

On the way back, the tour bus collided with a large truck on a winding mountain road, resulting in a comminuted fracture of my right thigh. Due to disputes over compensation, my treatment was delayed, leading to an infection of the wound.

Later, with the intervention of relevant parties, the compensation issue was resolved, and I was transferred to a hospital with better facilities for treatment.

The doctors removed the infected, loose bone fragments and needed to transplant some bone from another part of my body to help my injured leg recover and avoid disability.

After hearing this, he firmly disagreed with taking a bone from elsewhere in my body, insisting that the doctor take a piece of bone from his leg for me, saying that the child's leg was already injured and she shouldn't suffer pain and torment elsewhere.

So, a part of his body was permanently embedded in mine, while four steel nails were driven into his leg, leaving a permanent scar.

I remember him dragging his operated leg, caring for me day and night. Every time I needed to use the toilet, he would carry me, holding my legs to the toilet.

Looking back, what was that hard thing pressing against my lower buttocks must have been his erect penis.

But at the time, I didn't understand anything, thinking he had an extra bone there, so he would have extra bone to transplant to me.

Now, looking at his aging, limp penis, I truly regret not giving myself to him when his physical needs were at their most acute.

I kissed that scar for a long time, then slowly licked and kissed upwards along his leg, repeating the same actions and processes, every inch of his toes, ankles, knees, and thighs covered by my lips and tongue.

Slowly, I moved back to his crotch, but this time I didn't touch his penis or scrotum. Instead, I rubbed my lips against his mons pubis, covered in gray pubic hair, my warm breath stimulating his lower abdomen.

His abdomen heaved violently as he tried to calm himself with deep breaths.

Gradually, my full, soft breasts pressed completely against his chest, and my lips kissed his shaved chin and the bulge at his throat.

At this point, I hesitated, wondering if we could withstand the awkwardness and shame of facing each other if I continued kissing upwards to his lips.

But I thought, having taken the first step, I should give myself completely to him, to give him a complete birthday present.

So, I resolutely kissed upwards from his chin, finally pressing my lips against his trembling, dry lips.

He must have been a little frightened, his head tilting slightly, trying to avoid my wet kiss.

But I continued to pursue his lips, licking the rough wrinkles on them with my tongue, then parting his lips and inserting my tongue into his mouth.

The old man's breath was slightly bitter. He bit his weak, chipped teeth, trying to stop me from going any further.

But he was clearly less resolute than me, and soon his lips parted, his tongue entwining with mine.

The sweet kisses caused our hormone levels to rise rapidly, and our saliva became increasingly sweet.

Finally, I released his tongue and moved my lips upward to kiss his nose, his tightly closed eyes, his eyebrows, and his forehead, which was slightly sweaty.

Suddenly, he curled up and reached down from my firm chest, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, then sucking on it like a hungry child.

I straightened my chest, letting him alternately kiss and suckle my nipples, while my hand reached down to caress his slowly swollen penis, hoping to give him more and greater stimulation.

By this time, the blanket had slipped off our bodies, and an old man and a young man were simultaneously exposed without any cover in the sweltering summer room.

The exposed scene seemed to make him feel even more ashamed. He suddenly released his lips from sucking my nipple, and his rough hands no longer greedily caressed my smooth back.

I knew I had to give him more encouragement, so I rolled over and straddled his shoulders, my bare vulva and buttocks almost touching his chin.

My face was close to his somewhat erect penis, one hand kneading his testicles, the other stroking his lower abdomen.

At that moment, I suddenly felt that his skin was so smooth, so soft, so cute!

Under my stimulation, he also became a little audacious, his rough fingers exploring my soft, tender vulva and anus, making me suddenly recall that familiar feeling.

That year, when I was about four or five years old and just beginning to have some sense of shyness, I hadn't had a bowel movement for two days due to constipation, and my stomach was very uncomfortable.

Perhaps because we didn't have money to go to the hospital, or perhaps because he thought it wasn't a serious illness and he could handle it, he treated me according to folk remedies.

He pulled down my pants, made me kneel on the bed with my buttocks raised high, and inserted two wet, chopstick-thick strips of soap into my anus. Then he massaged my anus and perineum with his fingertips.

Looking back now, he probably felt a little aroused when he saw my most private female organs, because he even kissed my anus and vulva during the massage, murmuring, "Poor thing, my little baby..."

His folk remedy actually worked; I soon felt the urge to defecate, so I quickly told him, pulled up my pants, and ran outside to use the toilet. The constipation problem was really solved.

At that time, we lived in an old shantytown, with only one public toilet in the alley, and we had to walk a long way to use it.

Later, after I had a boyfriend and then a husband, I learned that a woman's vulva and anus could also be kissed and caressed by a man.

On our wedding night, as my husband inserted his tongue into my anus, he exclaimed, "I love you so much, my little baby..."

This suddenly reminded me of my childhood, of the feeling of an old man pressing his lips to my anus.

Now, the old man's anus was before me, and I wanted to repay him in the same way.

I gently pressed a finger against the folds of his anus, slowly caressing it, then slowly and firmly pushed my short-nailed finger inside.

Although old, his muscles were still firm and strong, contracting to resist my penetration.

But I knew what he felt, knew that such stimulation would rejuvenate him, so I continued to push my fingertip towards the center of his anus.

Finally, the first joint of my finger was completely inserted into his tight fleshy hole. I gently hooked my finger, probing, slowly moving and vibrating it inside his anus, skillfully massaging and stimulating his secret place that had never been touched by a woman before.

I used to use this method to give my husband special stimulation and pleasure when we made love.

Sometimes, he wouldn't even bother with penile penetration; he'd just want me to stroke his penis while licking and fingering his anus. He'd raise his legs, hissing and moaning like a woman being penetrated.

Eventually, I'd arouse him, and he'd satisfy my desire with an incredibly hard penis.

To give him even greater stimulation and enjoyment, I'd turn around and kneel between his legs, lifting them to fully expose his genitals. Then I'd lower my head, kissing his buttocks and licking the folds of his genitals.

After a while, I'd continue licking upwards, licking his scrotum covered in goosebumps and the perineum beneath, then taking his testicles into my mouth and caressing them with my tongue.

I alternately kissed and sucked on his two mounds for over ten minutes, feeling his testicles slowly swell in my mouth.

Then, I'd continue licking upwards along his long, drooping scrotum.

Because I had lifted the blanket, I could see his penis clearly in the dim light streaming in from the window.

This was the first time I had seen his penis so clearly—a very beautiful penis, though not fully erect.

The thick shaft was covered by a very delicate foreskin; perhaps it had never been truly used in its entire life, as the foreskin still covered the entire glans.

I gently pulled down his brown foreskin, easily exposing his purplish-black glans. Perhaps this was the result of his long-term masturbation?

Kissing and caressing this magnificent male organ, I thought that if he hadn't come from a humble background, if he hadn't lived in poverty, it might have been very successful, perhaps attracting countless women.

At that moment, I couldn't help but recall that when I was ten years old, someone introduced him to a woman, a woman in her forties who was quite attractive. She also appreciated his character and diligence and was willing to spend her life with him.

However, she made one condition: he had to send me to an orphanage.

Finally, he made a difficult choice between wanting a woman's tenderness and caring for me, who had been abandoned at birth. He gave up the pleasures of a woman and the companionship of a married couple because he couldn't bear the thought of me being abandoned again.

After my boyfriend and I had our first sexual encounter, after I lay in bed with my husband, after I couldn't resist temptation and secretly met with my lover behind my husband's back, I understood even more deeply how much willpower and courage it took for him to give up a woman's tenderness, and I felt even more deeply how much he had contributed and sacrificed for me.

So, when he asked me to give myself to him as a birthday gift, I felt that I finally had the opportunity and the means to repay him.

My left thumb and forefinger formed a ring, looping around his scrotum near the base of his penis, and I slowly pulled it down, squeezing his two swollen testicles in my palm, giving him a slightly painful yet intensely pleasurable sensation; my right thumb and forefinger pinched the foreskin on his glans, slowly pulling it down to fully expose the large glans.

His glans was hot, and a little fluid seeped from the fish-mouth-like urethral opening. I gently licked it with my tongue, tasting a fishy, salty flavor.

He seemed to be getting aroused.

So, I placed his legs, which I had lifted, back on the bed, and sat up, rubbing my breasts against his erect penis.

As my nipples slid across his shaft and glans, I felt his foreskin was so smooth, so soft, so…

yes, so heartbreaking—that word was absolutely apt! I

felt so sorry for a man who possessed such a magnificent penis yet had almost never experienced a woman's body; I felt so sorry for a man whose glans was still covered by his foreskin at this age; I felt so sorry that he had the right and opportunity to possess my virginity but let it slip away; I felt so sorry that I only had the courage to completely offer my tenderness to him in his old age…

I lowered my head and took the glans that had peeked out from my cleavage into my mouth again, carefully savoring his magnificence and long-suppressed desire with my lips and tongue.

The hard, swollen yet incredibly soft glans gave me an incredibly pleasurable sensation. My tongue savored the trembling of his urethral opening and the fragrant taste of his oozing fluid. I slowly lowered my head, swallowing his penis into my throat, letting him experience deep throat oral sex for the first time.

I knew my deep throat technique had once amazed my boyfriend, husband, and lover, and I was sure it would give him an unforgettable experience and stimulation.

Sure enough, he couldn't hold back any longer. His glans throbbed in my mouth, releasing even more fluid, and his soft moans turned into heavy breathing and groans.

I knew he was about to ejaculate, and I knew that men his age couldn't possibly get an erection again after ejaculation. I wanted him to experience real sex; I wanted him to ejaculate into my vagina.

So, I tightened the muscles of my mouth, using my tongue to tightly envelop his glans, while simultaneously pinching the base of his penis with my index finger and thumb, suppressing his impending ejaculation. Then, I quickly stood up, raised one leg to straddle his lower abdomen, knelt on either side of his hips, guided his hard penis to my wet vaginal opening, and slowly sat down.

Ah! Father and daughter were finally united!

Thanks to ample foreplay, his penis was as hard as a young man's, and my vagina was as wet as during our first tryst. Our bodies easily intertwined.

Years ago, he willingly offered me his leg bone to save me from the pain of disability and lameness, and I, passively accepting it, couldn't fully comprehend his pain and joy.

Today, as I bear eternal infamy for committing this immoral act, I can truly understand how exhilarating and joyful it is to endure pain to contribute to the one I love!

For the past thirty years, he has used all his love and sacrifice to save my life and create my happy life. Now, in this instant, I want to use all my love and dedication to make his life eternal.

I slowly raised my body, then slowly sat down.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

When I sat down for the fourth time, I felt his scrotum begin to tighten, his testicles swell, and his penis throbbed a few times inside my vagina. I knew he was about to ejaculate, so I quickly thrust up and down a few more times.

Oh! He really ejaculated!

Hot semen surged into the depths of my vagina like a torrent. How I wished he could keep ejaculating, keep ejaculating, never stopping, so that I could bear his child, so that his seed could blossom into a flower of monstrous love within my body…

I gently lay on top of him, my lips pressed against his, carefully feeling his every throbbing, every breath.

After a long time, when I felt his limp penis slip out of my body, I reluctantly rolled off him, lay on my side beside him, gently pinching one of his nipples with my fingers, continuing to feel his trembling, and occasionally kissing his cheek and neck.

Then, I uttered my first words of the night: "I hope you enjoy this moment as much as I do!"

But he didn't hear me, for he had already fallen asleep with a peaceful smile.

I nestled beside him, gazing lovingly at his sleeping form, knowing in my heart that what I had given him was more than just a birthday gift; it was the greatest and best reward for the life he had poured into raising me.

He had given me a second life, and he was my birthday gift too.

Happy birthday!

I said to him, and to myself, before slowly lying down beside him and drifting off to sleep with a poignant yet beautiful feeling…

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Could my relationship with my adoptive father be considered incest?

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