Lewd past events have faded with the wind.

Today, my father died.

Or maybe yesterday, I don't know. I received an email, seemingly from my brother, saying, "Father
has died . Burial tomorrow. This is to inform you." So I don't know when he died.

Of course, I don't know how he died either. Although I send him money every month, I haven't been
home for a very long time.

My wife got out of bed, the moonlight shining on her slightly loose skin, yet giving her an extra glow.
She rested her head on my shoulder, her soft hair gently brushing against my chest. She lazily breathed into my ear, drawing out her
voice, softly asking, "Darling, what are you looking at?"

"Nothing." I put away my phone, turned and kissed her lips, softly saying, "Mom."

I haven't called her that in a long time. I call her Xiaoyu, and she calls me Ali.

Xiaoyu shifted her body, her smooth, warm skin like a snake gliding across her body. She rested her head on my lap,
playing with her hair, brushing the ends against my head.

She always knew my sensitive spots. Soon, my enormous manhood gleamed, but my thoughts
drifted.

It was a long, long, long time ago…

“Don’t look at him, he’s a scoundrel, really bad.”

I heard someone whispering behind me. I glanced back, and two fairly pretty girls,
startled by my gaze, quickly walked past me.

I spat and cursed, when suddenly I heard the girl with the long ponytail whisper ,
“That scoundrel, his dad’s a scoundrel, and I bet his mom is too. Sigh, I really don’t know what kind of mother raised him.”

The other girl didn’t speak, but the girl with the long ponytail continued muttering, “Definitely not a good person, hey,
maybe a prostitute.”

I won’t go into the details of the violence that followed. The headmaster knew I wasn’t anything special and didn’t bother to scold me. Anyway, the college entrance
exam was coming up this year, and he wouldn’t see me again.

I skipped evening self-study to go out and didn't get back until almost midnight. I was wandering aimlessly when I saw the
girl with the ponytail alone on a dark path. The scene of her fighting with me that afternoon, swearing and spewing profanities, suddenly
flashed before my eyes, and the rage from my legendary PK defeat erupted.

I took a few steps forward, covered her mouth, grabbed her bra strap, and dragged her away. She looked at me with terrified eyes and
bit my hand hard. I cursed and slapped her.

She was fierce too; she threw her backpack and tried to fight me. With a sudden burst of strength, I ripped one side of her clothes,
revealing her simple pink bra, her small breasts bobbing slightly. I suddenly stopped, swallowed hard
, and felt aroused.

She finally panicked, clutching her chest and cursing. My mind went blank; I took a few steps forward, threw her to the ground,
and pounced on her, tearing at her clothes like a madman. Her eyes were filled with terror as she screamed. I
ignored her and ripped off her bra, revealing two small, white mounds of flesh like steamed buns.

She struggled, so I simply sat on top of her and hurriedly unzipped my pants.

A sharp pain, seemingly from nowhere, snapped me back to reality. I cried out helplessly,
"Mom."

My penis was still erect and throbbing. Beneath me was a sobbing girl, and in front of me was my
mother, trembling, who suddenly squatted down and began to weep.

I don't know how I got home. I was standing in my mother's room. My father was probably
out drinking with his cronies again, and I didn't know where my brother was. My mother stood by the window, her back to me.

"Mom," I called out, kneeling down.

"You really want to know what a woman's body looks like?" My mother's voice was deathly still, a despair bordering on calm.

I knelt on the ground, looking down, hearing the rustling of clothes. I looked up and saw a
woman, topless, with her back to me. The moonlight shone on her, like a layer of ointment, so bright
I couldn't look away.

The woman moved her hand behind her back and calmly removed her skirt. She turned around, revealing a perfect body
before me.

Her legs were long and shapely, without an ounce of excess fat, their perfect curves extending upwards like two clear
rivers converging in a grassy courtyard. Thick, sparse pubic hair surrounded her full vulva. I couldn't help but wonder
what lay beneath. I looked up again; her slender waist extended upwards to two enormous breasts,
the areolas somewhat dim, yet alluring.

I felt a painful swelling in my groin. I looked up again; my mother's delicate face was ashen.

She was crying, tears streaming down her expressionless face.

All my desire vanished. I cried out loud and knelt on the ground, kowtowing. My mother's lifeless eyes
seemed to glance at me, and she said indifferently, "You wanted to see, didn't you? I'll show you."

I shook my head violently as I knelt and backed away, running out of the house and squatting
under a telephone pole, wailing and slapping my face repeatedly.

I wasn't stopped. The woman with the ponytail spat at me, saying that she was wrong to insult my mother first, and that
I hadn't caused her much harm, so it was over.

My father, on the other hand, was very happy for me, saying that I was indeed his son and would inherit his business. I
cursed .

I didn't like my father; he was a real scoundrel, doing nothing all day, drinking, fighting, and beating my mother
. They say fatherly love is like a mountain, but I felt no affection from him. My brother's imprisonment was also somewhat
related to him.

I started to study hard, but the college entrance exams in those years were unimaginably difficult. With so little time,
what good was any effort? But I still want to try. In my spare time, I always think about that night, about
that alluring body. I know it's wrong, but I can't control my thoughts, and I don't dare look
my mother in the eye. My mother, on the other hand, is as usual. Sometimes she's even happy when she talks about me, saying things like, "My child has finally become
sensible."

It turns out that no matter how naughty a child is, there will always be someone who believes in him unconditionally, and that one day he will become better.

Days passed by, and it was another ordinary evening. I returned home after evening self-study to find the house
reeking of alcohol and in disarray. My mother, disheveled, was curled up in a corner, sobbing.

I was furious. Forgetting my recent shyness, I knelt down beside her and asked, "Did Dad hit you again?"

My mother looked up, slightly bewildered, her face flushed, indicating she had drunk quite a bit. Seeing me, she
seemed to find her anchor and finally burst into tears.

I hugged her, comforting her, when my gaze inadvertently fell on a patch of white flesh on her chest, and I suddenly tensed.

My mother sobbed for a while, then leaned on my shoulder, looking around the house with a dazed, drunken gaze. Suddenly
, she chuckled. She looked at me and said, "Ah Li, you're not like that person after all."

She pushed me away, stood up, and spun around. Her tattered clothes fluttered in the wind, and I could vaguely see her
pale flesh. I forced myself to calm down and was about to say something to comfort her when she suddenly stopped, tilting her head
to look at me and saying, "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Uh, pretty." I was speechless for a moment. My mother chuckled and said playfully, "Of course,
I studied dance. I've studied for a long time how to spin like that beautifully."

My mother laughed and then suddenly cried, saying, "Ah Li, you don't know how scared I was back then. Do you
know how much I hate rape? If it weren't for him, how could I have become like this? How could I have become like this?"

"I know, I know," I said, lowering my head.

"What do you know? He raped me. My boyfriend doesn't want me anymore, my parents don't want me anymore, nobody
wants me anymore!" My mother roared, squatting on the ground and crying, "Nobody wants me anymore."

"No, Mom, you still have me." Seeing my mother's tears, I panicked, rushed over and hugged her, shouting,
"I still have you, I'm still by your side, I won't abandon you."

"Ha, you're a bad thing too." Perhaps my lower body was pressing against my mother, because my mother laughed and scolded, pulling
away from my embrace. She lightly jumped around a few times, then suddenly turned her head and said, "Everyone says I'm a slutty, vulgar woman,
so what if I'm slutty again?"

"Mom." My heart felt like it was being cut by a knife, filled with anger and helplessness. I wanted to say something more, but two
red lips sealed all my words.

My mind was like it had been struck, a blur. My mother looked at my expression, then suddenly clapped her hands and laughed, as
cute as an elf. She casually ripped off her tattered clothes, revealing a faded black bra that held up two enormous
breasts, swaying back and forth in front of me. She seemed tired, leaning back in her chair, casually playing with the round
breasts inside the bra. Looking at me, her gaze suddenly softened, and she whispered, "Ah Li seems still hungry. I need to
express some milk."

My throat tightened; after all, I was just an ignorant 17-year-old boy. I struggled to dissuade her, but my mother,
focused on expressing her breasts, suddenly slapped her forehead and said, "Oh dear, what a forgetful thing I am." She quickly unhooked her bra,
revealing her white breasts. She happily looked up and said, "Ah Li, the milk is ready, come and eat."

I finally couldn't resist anymore, kneeling before the chair, gazing at the place where my mother had nursed me as if on a pilgrimage. My mother
gave me a strange look, then grasped her breast and brought it to my mouth.

I greedily sucked, feeling a strange sensation. My mother giggled, her breasts swaying in my mouth. I
couldn't help but grab her other breast; the touch was wonderful, and I unconsciously began to slowly knead it.

My mother hummed in response, and when I looked at her, her eyes were almost brimming with tears. I was completely blinded by desire.
In the absence of any stimulation like pornography, a naked woman was enough to turn a person into
a beast.

My mother was weak from the alcohol, and with her breasts being violated, her body involuntarily leaned forward, resting on my shoulder. I embraced
her and hurried to my room, gently placing her on the bed, breathing heavily.

The initial impulse subsided a little. My mother lay on the bed, only her underwear covering her most intimate
parts. I stood by the bed, unsure what to do.

Just one look, just one look. I convinced myself, trembling as I lay on the bed,
looking through her underwear. My mother looked at my actions with confusion, as if she didn't understand what was happening. I licked my lips.
Just touch it, just once.

Through the rough fabric, my fingers trembled as I reached out and first rubbed the outside of her underwear against her inner thighs for a while. My mother
seemed a little uncomfortable and shifted her legs. I changed positions and this time
rubbed her labia directly through the fabric.

My mother twisted her body, her pajamas came down a bit, and she groaned a few times.

These groans acted as a catalyst, and my remaining rationality completely collapsed. Without hesitation, I pulled off my mother's
panties, and her full breasts were finally revealed before me. I lifted my mother's legs onto my shoulders,
knelt between her legs, and greedily looked at her.

The smell of her vulva wasn't pleasant; it had a faint fishy smell, but it was irresistible.

My heavy breathing tickled my mother. She leaned against the wall, supporting herself with her hands. As her thighs and vulva
withdrew I felt a sense of reluctance, but even more so, fear. My mother looked at me for a long time, then suddenly sighed softly and
said, "You don't want me anymore, so what are you doing here?"

I didn't understand the meaning of her words, but I understood the implications of her next action. She leaned in and
kissed my lips, closing her eyes and softly saying, "I dreamed of you again, it was so nice."

She leaned against the wall, spread her legs, and grabbed my hand, guiding it to her genitals. She said coquettishly, "
What are you waiting for? Lick it for me."

My mother became excited, pressing my head down between her legs, like a child, and commanded with a coquettish laugh
, "Lick it for me now."

I didn't know what to do, but these things are something I learned without being taught. I stuck out my tongue and tentatively
pressed it against the protruding part of her labia. My mother groaned and pressed my head down harder. I
got tired of pressing with my tongue, so I switched to slowly sucking with my lips. My mother leaned against the wall and finally groaned.

"So good. Yes, right here, lick, thrust, ahhhhh, no, don't bite." My mother
's face was flushed with the intoxication of alcohol. She thrust her lower body forward and raised her waist, making it
easier to lick her genitals.

I licked it a few times, and a stream of liquid slowly seeped out, with a faint salty taste. Concentrating on my work, I didn't notice, and
pulled away from my mother's arm, spitting a few times.

My mother chuckled and said, "You're done licking so quickly? Want to fuck? Come on."

She leaned over and unzipped my pants, and my hard, burning penis sprang out of my underwear with a slap, hitting my mother
's face.

"Ouch!" My mother grabbed my penis, suddenly angrily saying, "What a bad thing."

She swayed and propped herself up, smiling slyly, "Let me teach this disobedient thing a lesson."

My mother squatted on my lap, her right hand holding my penis, finding the right position, and slowly lowered herself down.

"Ah!" My mother and I cried out simultaneously. My mother's body trembled, almost falling off my lap.
I quickly embraced my mother, her warm chest pressed tightly against mine. I felt my penis
enveloped by her warm, tight flesh, an indescribable pleasure surging from my penis to my brain.

My mother was clearly exhausted; one arm was around my neck, the other hanging limply on the bed. I gently leaned down
, laying her flat. What followed was second nature.

I thrust wildly, my penis sliding in and out of her. Unfortunately, my first attempt
wasn't great; I quickly ejaculated my first semen inside her. But the energy of youth
kept my penis from going soft after ejaculation. I thrust tirelessly, my eyes wide open, like
a general charging into battle.

"Mmm, ahhh. Ahhh." My mother's hair was disheveled as she cried out, her hips thrusting in rhythm
with my thrusts. She lay flat on the bed, her breasts heaving like waves, gripping
my arm tightly. With each thrust, she would moan loudly, gazing at me with loving eyes.

Perhaps the force was too great, for my penis pulled out completely during one contraction. My mother slapped my
arm hard, shouting, "Keep going, keep going, don't stop!"

I gripped my penis, anxiously searching for an entrance. I knew nothing about female anatomy, and her labia were still wet with my
semen. I thrust left and right, but I couldn't penetrate her.

My mother struggled to sit up, and seeing this, she suddenly laughed, reaching out to take my penis, saying,
"You can't even do this?"

Her hand trembled slightly; perhaps my thrusts had left her momentarily dazed. She held my
penis, bumping and groping, and finally, it went in again.

She exhaled, thrusting her hips, hooking her arms around my neck and moaning, "Give it to me, I want it, keep
going. Ahhh, that's it, ah, yes, yes, yes."

Lost in time, tireless, my mother and I were entangled like wild beasts. Every time my penis
emerged, my mother would gently guide it back to its place; every time she patted my shoulder, I would again assault
her vulva like a torrential downpour.

Again and again, the long night seemed endless.

Was it a dream?

I sat absentmindedly in the audience, constantly replaying that night in my mind, wondering if it was just
a vivid dream .

After that night, when I woke up, everything was as if nothing had happened. My mother wasn't there,
no trace of the madness, and even her daily behavior seemed normal.

The only reason I remained convinced was this: if it was a dream, why were there no
traces of semen on my pants? And where did the weakness I felt the next day come from? But I didn't have the courage to ask.

The school had a power outage that day, so I went home early. My father wasn't home as usual, and my mother was clearing the dishes . She
seemed flustered when she saw me come home.

She wiped her hands on her clothes and said awkwardly, "Ali, you're back?"

"Yeah, Mom." I was silent for a moment. I usually had to go to evening self-study and came home late. My mother
was always asleep when I got home. Today, I suddenly wanted to ask her clearly: "Mom... the other night..."

"What happened?" My mother had her back to me and forced herself to speak.

"Mom, were you drunk that night?" I made up my mind and mustered up my courage to ask.

"Ah, um, oh." My mother said, "Yes, I was drunk, so I went to my room to sleep first.
I didn't even know when you came back."

"Mom." I was a little annoyed and turned my mother around, asking, "Do you know what I'm saying?"

My mother lowered her head and didn't look at me. After a long time, she said, "I don't blame you for what happened that day."

"But I love you, and I want to be with you." I blurted out, which earned me a loud
slap from my mother.

I didn't care anymore. I grabbed my mother's hand and shouted, "Later you realized it was me, right? You called
my name, right? You love me too, right!"

My mother took a few steps back, like a wounded fawn. She wanted to say something, but I hugged her and kissed
her.

My mother pushed me away forcefully and shouted, "We can't be together! I'm your mother!"

"So what?" I shouted, "Human rights are inherent. Love is a basic human right. No
reason can override this basic love and hate."

I have to thank my education; otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to come up with so many words. I tried to persuade my mother, but she still
didn't agree.

I wasn't discouraged and tried to find ways to make her happy. I started to be more proactive. I cut my hair short,
distanced myself from my bad friends, and slowly became a good kid. Because in my mind at the time, a good kid
was reliable, and I wanted my mother to think I was reliable.

Several more weeks passed. Although my mother still couldn't accept me, she smiled more often,
while my father was still out partying day and night.

That day, in every spare moment, I worked odd jobs—from doing homework for others to fighting for people, from odd jobs to collecting and selling trash—
until I finally earned enough money. I bought a pair of ballet shoes, and after haggling for ages, I bought a ballet costume. I
skipped evening self-study and nervously carried the things home. Although my mother might not accept me anymore, the thought of
the happy smile she might have when she received these things made my heart as bright as an April day.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw my mother collapse like a wilted rose. My father, holding a bottle of liquor, was cursing
as he pulled his leg back.

"Dad!" A surge of anger welled up inside me. I threw my things aside, went over, helped my mother up, and angrily
scolded, "When you're drunk, all you do is hit Mom."

Before I could finish speaking, my father slapped me, cursing, "Damn it, you bastard from who-knows-where
, and you dare to tell your father what to do?"

"Why hit your son?" My mother stood up, pulling me behind her like a mother hen protecting her chicks.

My father was about to slap me again, but I stepped forward and stopped him. My mother cried and said, "He's your child."

"Bullshit, I've had my dick smashed, I don't know how many men you've slept with, you slut." My father
said, trying to hit me again, and angrily shouted at me, "Let go."

"Dad, drink some more," I said coldly, grabbing his bottle and making him drink a few more mouthfuls. He cursed
a few times and collapsed to the ground. I carried him on my back and threw him onto his bed.

Back in the living room, my mother was packing her things with her head down, her forehead still red and swollen. I watched her silently for a while, then said
, "Mom, let's go. I'll take you."

My mother paused, sighed, and said, "Such childish talk."

A feeling of depression welled up inside me. I found some antiseptic, dragged my mother to a chair, parted her hair, and
slowly applied the medicine.

My mother was uneasy, and so was I. The feel of her hair brushing against the back of my hand, the faint fragrance of her body, all
involuntarily reminded me of that night. I calmed myself down and quietly finished applying the medicine to my mother. Suddenly, I remembered something,
quickly walked to the door, picked up the bag, and said, "Mom, happy birthday."

My mother was stunned for a moment, then said, "Really? I forgot."

At my request, she opened the bag, looked at the beautifully packaged dance costume and shoes, remained silent for a while, and then tears
suddenly streamed down her face.

"Ali." Her lips moved slightly, as if she wanted to say something.

"Take it." Seeing the happy look in my mother's eyes, all the unpleasantness from before vanished. I happily said,
"Because I'm yours..."

We both fell silent. I got up and started cleaning, gently asking, "Mom, does it still hurt?"

"It's okay."

"Let me massage it for you."

My mother was silent for a moment, but finally agreed.

I put down what I was doing, walked behind my mother, placed my hands on her shoulders, and slowly massaged them.

Looking at this beautiful, fragile mother beneath me, my heart was filled with sorrow and sadness.
After a while, my mother said, "Much better. If there's no evening self-study at school, you can go study."

She stood up, her right leg seeming a little weak. I pressed her down and said, "Mom, let me
massage your right leg again."

I squatted in front of my mother, my hands wandering over her thighs. My thoughts involuntarily returned to that night, and my lower body became aroused
.

My mother slapped my hand away, scolding, "Where are you putting your hands?"

I looked up and saw that her breathing was a little erratic, her face flushed. Looking at where my hand was, I realized it
had touched the inside of her thigh.

I gritted my teeth, stamped my foot, and swept my arms around her, picking her up. She struggled for a moment, but I ignored her
and held her even tighter. She was a little annoyed and opened her mouth to say something, but I bent down and silenced her with a kiss,
carrying her into my room.

I placed her on the bed, and as if remembering something, her face showed a mixture of anger and shyness.

I nervously rubbed my hands, coughed a few times, and asked, "Mom, is it okay?"

"What can I do if I say no?" she sighed.

As if I had received permission, I slowly climbed onto the bed. My mother leaned against the wall, turned her head, revealing her white neck
, and I kissed her, nibbling on her ear. She let out a soft moan and her legs intertwined.

I slowly sucked on my mother's earlobe, my hand wandering inside her clothes, exploring her breasts, and
gently fondling one of her large breasts through her bra.

My mother moaned softly, her legs tightening around me. I thought, according to the books, my mother
was aroused; perhaps it was time to take the next step. I withdrew my lips and nervously began to remove my mother's clothes.
My mother didn't look at me, but her movements were very cooperative. I swallowed hard, watching my mother lean against the bed, completely naked,
and suddenly chuckled.

My mother turned around and scolded, "What are you laughing at?"

I looked at my mother with a grin, knelt beside her round buttocks, and reached out to stroke her shapely bottom, saying
foolishly , "I was wondering if you want me to lick you, Mom."

My mother blushed, snorted, and turned her head away, but her legs parted slightly.

I took the opportunity to pry open my mother's thighs, lowered my head, and began to rub my tongue haphazardly. My mother gasped
for a moment, then patted my head and said, "It's not like that."

I looked up in surprise and asked, "Then what is it?"

My mother's face was already flushed, making her look especially adorable. She cleared her throat, but her voice was still incredibly soft, like
a mosquito's buzz, and said, "Look for yourself, there's a round bump on top, that's for licking.
You can suck the rest."

"Oh." I looked for a while, then rubbed it with my fingers. "This?"

My mother's body trembled, and she nodded shyly.

I bent down and continued my efforts. My mother's legs twitched involuntarily, and her gasps grew louder and louder. When
I tasted that salty liquid again, I stopped. I curiously poked at it with my fingers for a while, only to find that the liquid was very viscous,
leaving a very clear line on my fingers.

My mother's face flushed, and she gasped as she watched my movements, then shyly scolded, "
Why did you take that thing out?"

"Nothing, it's salty, I wanted to see what it was," I said with a grin, starting to pull down my
pants. Seeing my mother staring curiously, I teased, "Mom, why are you looking so intently? It
's not like we didn't see it that night."

"I was drunk then," my mother said shyly, not looking away. When my penis reappeared
, she sighed and said, "I knew it felt so good that night, turns out your little penis is quite big."

I chuckled foolishly, bringing my penis closer, trying to enter my mother's vagina, but found I still couldn't
find the entrance.

My mother chuckled, her soft hand holding my penis, and gently said, "Still can't find your way home
, Ali."

At that moment, my father coughed in the other room, and I suddenly felt uneasy, wanting to back out.

"He's not your father," my mother said, her face still flushed, noticing my unease. Grabbing my penis, she
pushed it inside, saying, "Before marrying him, I had already been with my lover."

She sank in, gripping me like an octopus, letting out a long moan, looking at me with seductive eyes, and exhaling, she said
, "You look a lot like him."

I was shocked by this news and momentarily forgot what to do. My mother hugged me, sat on me
, and whispered in my ear, "So, don't worry. Mom wants you."

She breathed into my ear, and I instinctively felt my penis throbbing inside her, about to burst out of her body
. Only by constantly thrusting could it avoid exploding. But there were some things I couldn't help but understand.

"What do you mean? He's not my dad?"

My mother leaned against me, her voice tinged with sadness. "Back then, I fell in love with someone
and we pledged our lives to each other. Then, this guy raped me, and then..." She didn't continue, but leaned on
my shoulder and whispered, "Nobody wants me anymore, Ali, you still want me, right?"

I knew that the only way to express my resolve at this moment was to thrust upwards with all my might.
My mother, forgetting her sadness, cried out and hugged me even tighter.

I was in trouble. My mother's vagina was incredibly powerful. With just this one movement, I felt
as if countless buds were growing from the walls of her vagina, squeezing and teasing my glans. A surge of urge to ejaculate welled up inside me.

I took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing this urge, and began to follow the instructions in the book: nine shallow
thrusts followed by one deep one. Slowly, the shallow thrusts were interspersed with intense, direct attacks to my core.

My mother quickly couldn't take it anymore. She tried to twist her waist and lower herself down, but how could I let her ruin my plan?
I supported her with both hands, preventing her from moving on her own. Otherwise, with her intense demands, I didn't think I could last
long.

My mother gave me a pitiful look with her watery eyes. Since she couldn't move her waist up and down, she began to sway
from side to side, panting as she said, "Give it to me, harder. I want it deeper."

Okay, I thought, I'm young and have good stamina, so let's do it!

I pounced on her onto the bed, pinning her thighs down, and began thrusting my hips violently—sharp, fast, precise, and
ruthless.

My mother quickly couldn't take it anymore, clinging to my head and pressing it against her chest, her face flushed with excitement.

She wrapped her legs around my waist, moaning loudly, "So...good...it's been so long...so...good...
ahhhhhh , ah...ah..."

The bed creaked, and my mother clung to me like a koala, moaning loudly without restraint. Suddenly,
she laughed, panting, "Hahaha, Ali, ahhh, um, did you...um, come?"

I didn't slow down, continuing my thrusts, saying, "It's okay, Mom, I'm fine."

"Haha, oh dear." My mother tried to say something, but under my powerful thrusts, she could hardly speak
. She patted my head, and I slowed down accordingly.

My mother's face flushed crimson, and she gave me a charming look. After catching her breath, she said, "Ali,
you can try your first method."

"Oh? You mean the nine shallow, one deep one?" I obediently slowed down and asked with a smile, "Didn't
you tell me to go faster and use more force, Mom?"

"Oh dear, you can't take what women say seriously at times like this," my mother said, her face blushing. She whispered in my ear
, "That feeling of wanting something you can't have but are about to have it is wonderful."

"Is that so?" I chuckled mischievously and said, "Since I like Mom so much, I might as well let you have her."

With that, I increased the speed of my thrusts. Suddenly, my mother gripped my arm tightly, pulling hard, her whole body
tense like a startled shrimp. She shook her head frantically, screaming, "No, no, ahhhhh, I'm going to lose it,
I... ahhhhhhh!"

My mother's waist suddenly arched high, trembling as if in spasms. I felt a surge of heat wash over my glans
. My mother's vagina suddenly began to contract rapidly, like rocks caught in a waterfall. I couldn't help but exclaim, "Good,
so amazing, what is this?"

Before the words were even finished, my yang energy could no longer be contained, and I ejaculated once more, this time without any strength to recover
.

My mother lay exhausted on the bed, her delicate face obscured by disheveled hair, a few strands sticking to her tongue
. I carefully brushed the hair aside, looking at my mother's beautiful, weary face, and pulled out my penis.

"Are you all better now?" My mother's voice was a little weak. I nodded and hugged her tightly.

She rested her head on my chest and said quietly, "Ali is amazing! I even had an orgasm just now."

"Is that so special?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes, it is."

"Haha, don't worry, Mom, with me here, you can have whatever you want whenever you want," I said happily.

My mother sighed, said nothing, and slowly fell asleep beside me.

The next few days were the happiest days of my life. I tried every way to make my mother happy, and she became
much more lively. However, our sex life wasn't as blissful as I had imagined; she strictly controlled the frequency
. Even so, I was still as happy as a flower.

I no longer ate lunch at school, and although my mother insisted I attend evening self-study sessions,
I always ate dinner at home. Partly, I couldn't wait to be with my mother every minute; partly,
it stemmed from a sexual experience I had while she was cooking.

At that time, my mother put on her apron and was focused on cooking. I sneaked over and started fidgeting.
My mother glared at me and tried to shoo me away, but I righteously argued that it had been so long since we had sex and it was time for us to make love
.

That time, my mother was cooking while enduring waves of pleasure. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She
faced me, her arms around my neck. I smiled and thrust, taking the rice spoon from her.
When we were exhausted, we ate our "love feast," laughing heartily, but in the end, we could only cook some noodles
…

Sometimes, my mother would wear the dance clothes and shoes I gave her—the kind of super seductive dance. She would
make all sorts of alluring movements and look in her eyes, then demand that I could only engage in any physical or mental
activities after she finished dancing. Of course, she paid the "price" for her seduction.

Sometimes, she would deliberately dance gracefully at the times we agreed not to make love. It was a very beautiful and graceful
dance, and at those times, I would just watch quietly, appreciating the beauty of my mother that I had never known before.

But there was also a father, a father who wasn't my father. One night, I had
a fight with my father and finally couldn't help but question my mother about why she wouldn't come with me.

"What will you do if I get divorced?" My mother murmured, turning to look at the sky. "You need to go to school
and eat; all of that costs money."

I angrily grabbed my mother, pulled down her sleeve, pointed to the bruises, and said resentfully, "So you just
let that bastard treat you like this?"

I pressed hard on my mother's bruises, wanting to shout something more. Suddenly, my mother slapped me, and I
fell heavily to the ground. She tried to help me up, but then suddenly cried, "I want to leave too, I want to leave too. But
what will you do if I leave? Who will wash your clothes and cook for you? Who will supervise your studies? If you come with me, you still need
to eat and go to university; where will the money come from?"

My mother calmed down, lowered her eyes, sighed, and stroked my head, saying, "When you grow up and
become successful, Mom will be happy. Enduring it now is nothing."

Perhaps that's what she always thought. Every mother's wish, no matter how humble, even if crushed in the mud
, is always to raise her hand, wanting to lift up her child. And when their children achieve success, being able to come home
for a visit is their greatest happiness.

I was too young then, unaware of the weight of this love. I stood up, covered my face, and left without a word.

The conflict erupted on an ordinary night. My brother—no, that man's son—returned from prison
, and the father and son celebrated. I skipped evening self-study to be at the dinner table, wary of these two
beating my mother while they were drunk.

My "brother," with his burly face, had never gotten along with me since childhood. He and my "father," drunk, were slamming their fists on the table
and boasting. Suddenly, my father slammed his fist on the table, pointing at my mother and cursing, "That bitch, she
wasn't a virgin when she married me! No, she wasn't a virgin when I slept with her! Damn it, all these years, I've been useless,
I don't know how many times she's cuckolded me!"

As he spoke, my father threw a bowl at me. I raised my hand to block it, and my mother tugged at my clothes from behind.
I gritted my teeth and said, "You fucking drink your wine."

My brother chuckled a few times, giving my mother a lewd look. I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, my brother stood up and
stumbled towards my mother, saying, "Dad, I might as well fuck her. That son of a bitch hasn't
seen , fuck

her!" "Fuck her then," my father cursed, "I'd rather you fuck her than let someone else fuck her."

"Fuck!" Of course, blood rushed to my head. I overturned the table, and my father and brother got angry and
rushed at me to fight. Thanks to my father's usual "education," the two drunkards couldn't stop me. I knocked them both
down, grabbed my mother, and rushed out of the house.

My mother held my hand tightly, and I suddenly became afraid. My mother wasn't a brave person; in fact,
she was a somewhat timid woman. Would she go back? Would she be violated by those two beasts if she went back?

I stopped and looked at my mother. She spoke first, "I'm not afraid."

I couldn't say anything. My mother took my hand, which was holding hers, looked at me earnestly, and said, "With you
here, I'm not afraid. I'll stay with you."

Few pedestrians on the street stared in astonishment at the couple embracing. The man wept loudly,
wishing the woman happiness.

That cowardly, timid, yet playful mother—she dared not oppose her parents' decision, forced to marry
a scumbag. She dared not leave him, enduring repeated domestic violence. Except for that one drunken outburst,
she seemed forever retreating, forever fearful. But at this moment, she mustered a courage she had never possessed in her life
, telling a 17-year-old boy she was not afraid.

And that boy, finally, on that night, became a man.

It was a very unpleasant memory. I kept thinking about whether to describe it in the third person, but
I gave up. Because every time I recall that dark time, a soft, firm voice
tells me, "I'm not afraid."

I knelt on the ground, begging a driver for a ride. I wanted to thank him; on that busy route, he gave my mother a
seat and took us to an unfamiliar place. As we parted, he looked at me for a long time, then pulled out
two hundred yuan and gave it to me. Two hundred yuan back then was an astonishing amount.

Whether he saw something or not didn't matter anymore. He was my benefactor.

In the days that followed, I constantly looked for odd jobs, and my mother, unlike her usual gifted dancer self
, seemed to unleash all the talents God had given her, all for my sake.

We slept on park benches; it wasn't hot then. I sat at one end, watching
my mother sleep peacefully, her face filled with contentment.

We slept under bridges, finding secluded spots where the air was fresh, except for the abundance of mosquitoes and
the cold.

We made love in those places too—on benches, under bridges—these are some beautiful memories, but I
ultimately don't want to revisit them. Compared to those heavy, beautiful memories, I prefer the light, simple ones.

Sometimes, my mother would go to the market to find some vegetable scraps or other things, and the two of us
would cook something to eat in a secluded corner. Sometimes, my mother would dance a little and then ask me if I looked good.

The hardest month was finally over.

I pushed open a small door, leading to a tiny, ten-square-meter room with a lone little bed inside.

My mother jumped happily on the bed, like a joyful sprite.

She reached out her hand to me in the doorway and called out, "Ali, Ali, what are you thinking about?"

I wondered why my mother's fair hands had scratches, why my clean mother was so dirty, and
why she was so happy like a child in such a small space.

"I was thinking about how to celebrate," I said casually.

"Yes, my Ali has made something of himself, we should celebrate," my mother said with a smile, and
tears almost welled up in my eyes. I wanted to give my mother happiness, to take her away from that painful family, but I only
led her into an even more painful life, and yet, my mother still looked happy, believing I
had made something of myself.

I closed the door, hugged my mother tightly, and buried my head in her chest. She gasped, gently
patted my back, and said, "Don't cry, everything will be alright. As long as you're here, everything will be alright
."

That night, it was the first time since we left home that we made love properly in bed. My mother
came in from the public bathroom, nervously closed the door, and complained, "Why do you have to wear this? It feels so strange."

"These are stockings," I replied casually, leaning against the wall, admiring the scene before me.
Stockings weren't fashionable then; few people wore them on the street.

Beautiful, truly beautiful. That was the only thought I could muster. Her long, wet hair cascaded down her chest, and beneath her simple, worn
floral dress were two long, slender legs encased in black stockings, crossed, revealing
the woman's unease.

Seeing me staring at her so openly, my mother blushed slightly and whispered, "What? Stockings? They look
weird on you."

"I saw one of my boss's girlfriends wearing them, and I thought they looked pretty good. But you look much better than her,"
I said truthfully. My mother's figure was naturally well-proportioned, and the grace she exuded from dancing, combined with her long, slender legs, made her look stunning. She was slightly
damp, one hand crossed over her chest, the other brushing her hair, her charm captivating, like
a fairy from a painting, yet the stockings added a touch of worldly allure.

My mother thought for a moment, then jumped onto the bed with a "ha!" and asked, "By the way, what does your boss do? Why does
he pay you such a high salary? He's not doing anything bad, is he?"

I moved my penis slowly against my mother's stockinged legs, a strange sensation sending a shiver down my spine
. I casually said, "No, it seems to be an internet company. I skipped
class a few times to play on the computer, and I looked at some things."

My mother felt the warm rod moving up and down on her leg, and grabbed it, saying, "This is my first time wearing this,
don't get it dirty with your thing."

I chuckled, pulled the rod back from my mother's hand, and instead slowly rubbed my mother's leg with my hand, laughing as I
said, "Then where should I get dirty?"

My mother glared at me, seemingly angry but actually timid, and met my lips. I kissed her passionately, skillfully taking off
my mother's skirt and unhooking her bra, but not her stockings.

My mother wanted to take them off herself, but I grinned mischievously, pressed my mother down with one hand, and used the other hand to grope her through the stockings.

As I requested, my mother didn't wear underwear. I pinched and played with her clitoris through her stockings. She
gasped and struggled to get up and take off the stockings to prevent me from getting them dirty. However, the special
sensation of the silky fabric lingering on her sensitive areas made her shiver. A stream of vaginal fluid flowed out,
slowly wetting her crotch.

Back then, stockings weren't as smooth as they are now. Touching them revealed a noticeably slippery
and hooked feel. My mother couldn't take it anymore. Instead of insisting that I take off her stockings, she leaned against
the wall , spread her legs, and displayed her most private parts without reservation.

Unfortunately, stockings were still quite thick back then. My mother usually covered herself up, and this unusual openness made me
a little embarrassed. I started to remove the stockings. Once the dark fabric was gone, my mother giggled and
curled legs up to prevent me from seeing more clearly.

I, a grown man, couldn't handle a little woman. I lifted my mother up by one leg each. She
cried out, "No!" but I could only look down at her still-wet vulva with my unobstructed view.

My mother stood upside down, covering her eyes, peeking at me through the gaps. I chuckled and put my mother back in her original position.
This time, she didn't dare to curl her legs up. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Mom, aren't you going to help me?"

My mother blushed, arched her back, and grasped my penis, guiding it into her vagina, complaining,
"It's been so long, and it still won't get in."

"You seem to be enjoying it," I said with a smile as I thrust in, guided by my mother. "Is
n't it? Guiding your son's penis into your body, oh, I think you're enjoying this process, Mom."

My mother didn't bother to refute me; her face was radiant with sexual pleasure. I took the opportunity to thrust hard and asked, "Isn't
it?"

"Yes, yes, yes," my mother said irritably, then suddenly cried out, "Ah, ah, ah, stop, slow,
slow."

I sucked on my mother's nipple, my lower body pounding in like a pile driver, refusing to slow down.
My mother had also gotten used to my strength, moaning and watching me suckle her nipple with amusement.

"Ah, hahaha." My mother seemed to be enduring immense pain, yet her face was filled with pleasure as she laughed and said,
"You... sucking, mmm, it's so itchy, ah..."

I suddenly slowed down, and my mother plummeted from a blissful paradise, her body twisting and
sinking . I stopped sucking and began nibbling from her head down to her waist.

My mother giggled, twisting her body, pleading, "Faster, faster, please, Ah Li. Oh, don't
kiss there, hahaha, it itches. Ah Li, son, my lower body is so itchy, faster."

Finally, I satisfied her needs, speeding up a bit, but then slowing down again. My mother understood that I just
wanted to torment her, wrapped her arms around my neck, and angrily bit my shoulder.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" I cried out. "I'm not going to rush, I'll play slowly."

"Hmph." In pain, I couldn't control my mother. She pulled away from my penis, pushed me down,
and grumbled , "I don't need you, I'll do it myself!"

"No!" I cried out dramatically.

My mother sat on me, her hands on my chest, swaying her hips up and down. Suddenly
, she said, "Hold me down." 　　Of course, I obeyed my mother's

orders . But then, my mother suddenly started shaking from side to side like a madwoman. My mother's vulva already had a strong suction, and the friction was particularly intense . With this shaking, I felt like I was about to ejaculate. At this moment, my mother's body stiffened , but she shook even more violently 　　. "Ah, ah, ahh ... 　　She seemed to have used all her strength to pull away from my penis, grabbing it and chuckling mischievously, saying , "Now I finally understand why they say a woman feels safe and secure when she sleeps with a gun in her hand." 　　"Is that so?" I sat up, intending to clean up the mess, but my mother pressed me down. 　　She rested her head on my lap, playing with her hair, brushing my glans, and softly said, "I feel very secure now." 　　I looked at this dilapidated rented room of less than twenty square meters, my eyes reddening slightly. I touched my mother's face and softly said, "Mom, I will definitely make you happy." 　　"Yes, I believe you." 　　"Son, son. What are you thinking about?" Xiaoyu called out a few times, pulling away from my embrace and kneeling on the bed. 　　"Son, come here." She turned her head, her eyes alluring, clearly, the word "Mom" had touched a nerve with her . 　　"Mom..." I looked at my mother's face, which was nearly fifty but still well-maintained, and hesitated for a moment. 　　Xiaoyu didn't speak, her waist sinking, her moist vulva rising high, swaying precariously. 　　Before me, swaying, pleading vulva, was my mother, the mother of my child, my father's wife, and my wife. 　　But we were ultimately each other's lovers. 　　She had lived a timid life for the first half, yet she had mustered the greatest courage of her life for me. Her hands, once so beautiful, had been roughened by life as she walked with me through that dark time. 　　I had promised her a lifetime of happiness. 　　Without further hesitation, I tossed my phone aside, wrapped my arms around her thighs, and expertly returned to that place— the 　　place where I was born.

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