The Secret in the Wardrobe

This post was last edited by jiay46822 on 2020-10-7 at 19:32. With

the Lunar New Year approaching, we had an old wardrobe at home that we needed to get rid of. My father and I moved it downstairs, thinking that since he's getting old, I would move it to the intersection by myself in a cart. Before the cleaning crew arrived, I checked again to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Just as I was about to pull out the bottom drawer, I found it was stuck on the rails and wouldn't budge. I reached inside through the opening and felt that it was empty. This wardrobe had been in my parents' room for who knows how many years; it's normal for it to break down. But I thought the cleaning crew had worked hard, so why not help them by removing everything that could be disassembled so it would be easier to move? So I chose a secluded corner and pulled with all my might until I finally managed to pull the drawer out.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed the wooden bottom of the drawer was warped and bulged downwards, probably from being overstuffed. While waiting, I was bored and thought I'd flatten the bottom, hoping someone would think it was a waste to burn it and recycle it. So I flipped it over and started tapping and stomping on the bottom. Suddenly, there was a loud crack! I thought, "Oh no, I've used too much force; it might have cracked." Opening it, I found a thin piece of wood and a small, wood-colored booklet on the floor. Apparently, the drawer had an extra thin bottom and something hidden in the middle; no wonder it was dented after being pressed for so long.

It was so well hidden; thankfully, it wasn't thrown away. If it contained something important, it would be terrible. But to return it, I needed to know who it belonged to. What if it was one of my parents' secret stashes of money? I couldn't just return it carelessly. Opening the booklet, I saw several numbers that looked like dates and some unreadable multi-digit numbers. Judging from Xiujuan's handwriting, it must have been my mother's. When I opened the second half of the booklet, I was stunned.

The pages on the back of the notebook were all glued together, with a hole cut out in the middle to stuff in a few photos. When I picked them up, they were all pictures of my mother. Not only were they scantily clad, but they were also the kind of photos where she was trying her best to be sexy and provocative, like kneeling and crawling with her buttocks raised high, milking and squeezing her cleavage, spreading her legs, and so on. As I looked at them, I could only explain to myself that there was nothing wrong with them. The colors in the photos were faded, so they must have been taken many years ago. My mother is now middle-aged and still quite attractive. If it had been a few years earlier, of course she would have had more opportunities to be wilder, which is fine too. People always say you have to seize the last bit of youth.

Seeing the second half, I couldn't help but feel strange. My parents, an older man and a younger woman, always seemed so respectful to each other; I never imagined they'd be so romantic. Two of the photos then provided an unexpected answer. One was taken from below, showing my mother straddling the back of a man with a beer belly, seemingly reaching out to grab something. The other showed the photographer's hand, holding a drink to my mother, her expression somewhat dazed and confused, as if she were drunk. But my father, being in poor health, was very thin and didn't have a beer belly. Besides, he never touched or bought alcohol. How could my mother be drinking like that with him? Something was

definitely fishy. I thought to myself, and looked at all the photos again carefully. My mother's expression was so alluring and confused, her pose so seductive and alluring. Oh no! I'd gotten an erection from looking at them! I'd completely forgotten we were still outside. I quickly took the photos and the notebook home to figure out what was going on.

My mother prepared lunch early, saying she was worried I'd be hungry because of my morning activity. Watching her get up and go to the kitchen to plate the food, I saw her with shoulder-length, side-parted, medium-length curly hair, wearing a fitted light blue knit sweater and a white long skirt, revealing a small section of her leg, and flesh-colored stockings. She exuded a faint floral and fruity fragrance. Although my mother's figure was quite shapely, her attire was no different from that of an ordinary woman, and this was her usual style. She seemed quite conservative, so why would she agree to take such photos? But that

was all several years ago. Now, in everyone's eyes, my mother is a devoted wife and mother, caring for her son's studies. But ever since that incident, whenever I hear someone praise her like that, I unconsciously project the image of the lewd mother in the photos onto my own mother, secretly refuting that she might not be as beautiful as everyone sees her. And I even find myself looking forward to seeing this unknown side of my mother.

This idea started to linger in my mind, and I would take out the photos every time I thought about them, especially the one of my mother straddling that person and reaching out to pull him. My mother's expression was so pitiful, and the beer belly just happened to cover the part of their lower bodies that were in contact, so all I could see was my mother's pink legs spreading apart from the middle, which gave me a lot of room for imagination. To be honest, I also masturbated a few times with it. Whenever this image flashed in my mind, it would make me so excited that I couldn't help but ejaculate.

Stepping out of my room, I saw my mother reading in the living room, exuding elegance. I wanted to watch TV to distract myself, but she stopped me, admonishing me that I was in my final year of high school and needed to study more for the exams. She said that Taiwanese TV programs these days were all vulgar content with no substance, and she didn't want me to learn anything like that. Ugh, seeing my mother speaking so righteously and so convincingly made me feel annoyed. My mother's own experiences probably didn't even compare to what was on TV, yet she dared to be so righteous. When she saw my expression change, she raised her voice and scolded me, "What's wrong? Can't I even scold you a few times now?"

The family has always had an authoritarian system of discipline. Because my father is older and less capable of disciplining, my mother has been in charge of the children's education. Perhaps because she is a woman, she is worried that she is too gentle and won't be able to teach the children, so when she gets strict, she is very harsh, even more so than my father, who was less disciplined. Due to the habits I developed in childhood, I still feel intimidated when I see my mother's expression change. I can only apologize and say that I will go back to my room to study now, but of course I am not convinced. And it is my mother who has a problem. The more I think about it, the more unhappy I become. I just hope I don't find out about the pornographic photos.

So I started thinking about the photos. I had no clue who the subject was or when they were taken. I didn't dare to sneak a peek at my mother's notebook. It was from the past, so looking at the present wouldn't help. After thinking it over, I figured the only way to find information that had been stored for a long time was through the computer. Coincidentally, the only computer we had in the family was that old one that had been used for a long time. Only my mother and I knew how to use it. I originally wanted to buy another one for my room, but my mother objected because she didn't want me to start playing video games. My mother probably never imagined that her insistence on sharing would result in me being able to use it to investigate her.

My mother's focus was on her email account. She always used it for automatic login for convenience. People of her generation don't care as much about internet security as we do. I looked at some invitations to parties and reunions, and there was nothing strange about them. Thinking about it from another perspective, my mother could be so close to these people. Based on my understanding of my mother, they must be very familiar with each other. I decided to start by checking the senders. After listing them, I found something. There was one email from someone with an English name that he sent the most. He would send my mother an email every two months on average. Each email only contained the sentence "Teacher, let's get together" along with an address and a date. The earliest one had been from three years ago until now, and he still hadn't stopped. Seeing this, I should also reflect on myself. I hadn't noticed anything wrong with my mother over the years.

My mother, a teacher, wanted to revisit a story from around the time I was born. It seems she taught dance, and it appears the person she contacted had known her for a long time. Regardless of who this person was, the latest letter wasn't due for a while, so I could investigate then. When I closed the webpage, I realized my mother had gotten quite close, but thankfully I hadn't been discovered. She told me not to stay online and to take out the trash that night. Fine, I wanted to test her this time.

After taking out the trash and returning home, my father was watching TV in the living room, while my mother was leisurely reading her book at the dining table. I walked between them and turned to my mother, saying, "Mom, the cleaning crew was complaining that our wardrobe was difficult to disassemble the other day." My mother, still looking down at her book, casually replied, "Oh, why?" I continued, saying that the crew thought the wardrobe was too big and difficult to move, so they wanted to disassemble it for easier transport, but the bottom drawer got stuck. My mother didn't react at all. I wondered if she had forgotten or was pretending not to have hidden anything.

I deliberately mentioned that I didn't expect the other party to still have the perseverance to pull out the bottom drawer. Only then did my mother raise her face and stare at me. When I mentioned that the cleaning crew planned to open the drawer, I could see that my mother's face darkened for a moment. But I stopped the conversation at this point, complaining that my parents weren't listening to me. I said I wouldn't say anything more and sat down next to my father to watch TV. I glanced at my mother sideways. She had already closed her book, and her eyes were looking around, so I could tell she was a little uneasy.

Not long after, my mother sat down, reminding my father to take his medicine and telling him to go to rest early. It was obvious she was trying to get him out of the way. After my father finally left the living room, my mother suddenly started talking to me about how she hadn't been listening, basically trying to get me to continue talking about what had just happened. I knew she really wanted to know about the drawer. I thought to myself, "You're so worried about this? You were so shameless back then, taking those kinds of photos. You always act like such a respectable woman." I felt like peeling off that facade.

To make my mother like me but avoid offending her, I suddenly had an idea. I originally wanted to scare her by saying the drawer had been taken apart, but then I changed my story to stop them from taking it apart and then help put the intact drawer on the garbage truck. After I said that, my mother seemed more relaxed and even unconsciously praised me for doing a good job. Before going back to my room, I deliberately said to my mother, "After asking so many questions, you probably forgot to take something out, right?" She shrugged and replied casually, "No, I didn't." Ha, she's really good at pretending.

Finally, the date they agreed to meet arrived. I pretended to be sick and asked for leave. My mother complained that she had plans with friends today and couldn't take care of me. Why did she have to choose this time to be sick? I thought to myself, if that's really the case, she should stay and take care of me. It's not like I can't refuse her. Later that evening, I saw my mother come out of her room. She had changed her clothes and put on makeup. She wore a well-fitting white shirt with a gray skirt. The skirt was short enough to be above the knee, and she was wearing black sheer stockings with heart embellishments. I had never seen my mother show off her legs like this before, let alone with these stockings. Damn, who is she going to meet dressed so provocatively?

Hearing the click-clack of her high heels as she walked down the stairs, I quickly put on my hat and changed my clothes. Waiting for the swelling in my penis to subside took a little longer, but that was alright. Running downstairs, I saw my mother had just reached the street corner. This feeling of prying into my mother's privacy was actually quite exciting. After two more intersections, my mother stopped and waited by the sidewalk. Soon after, a black Mazda 3 approached and rolled down its window. My mother opened the door and got in. It was too far away for me to see who was inside, and besides, I was in a hurry to hail a taxi.

I told the driver to follow the Mazda 3 ahead. They drove to a restaurant entrance. First, I saw a short, overweight man in ordinary clothes get out. Judging by his build, I figured it was most likely him—the guy with the beer belly in the photo. Then my mother got out, and the waiter drove the car to park. I was really resentful. My mother is at least 170cm tall, and with her heels, she'd be even taller, making her appear slender and graceful. Compared to her, the man was probably only around 163cm. No matter what, he shouldn't have been interested in this much shorter, fat guy.

Luckily, they were sitting by the window, and I was able to keep an eye on them from the bus stop bench across the street. Their interaction seemed alright, but I could tell the man kept taking the opportunity to hold or touch my mother's hand, while my mother was rather passive. I thought to myself, thankfully, my mother is quite modest. But how am I supposed to explain her dressed so provocatively to him? Ah~ my feelings are so complicated. The man leaned forward against the table, his hands seemingly rubbing together under the table, I don't know what he was doing, while my mother covered her mouth and laughed. Could he be playing with my mother's legs?

Just thinking about it made me aroused. I really couldn't believe it. What happened to my respectable mother? How could she be having an affair with someone like that? Seeing my mother's elegant smile at the table across the street, while I was ashen-faced, I lost track of time. I only came to my senses when they seemed to have finished eating and were about to leave the restaurant. Since I was on the other side, it wasn't easy to follow them, so I quickly ran to the zebra crossing to wait for the green light to cross the street. In the distance, I saw the man seem to have gotten his car keys, but they were walking in the same direction as me.

Seeing the two people walking towards the opposite street, I thought, "Oh no!" I retreated behind a tree and peeked. They continued walking and stopped in front of a building with signs for a bookstore, a beverage shop, and a restaurant. Finally, on the 12th floor, there was a motel sign. Damn, no way, Mom, you just let someone take you up there like that? Although I wasn't sure if it was as I suspected, I didn't want anything to happen.

Just as they were about to walk into the building, I frantically grabbed my phone and called my mother. She stopped after taking two steps, took the phone from her bag, and turned to answer. I heard her ask what was wrong, and then I saw her turn to talk to someone else. I vaguely heard them say "my son." I told her I'd gone out to buy lunch and forgot my money, and asked where she was and if it was convenient for her to come back. My mother replied that it was a bit far, and suggested I borrow the key from the lady downstairs. She said she'd return it when she got back. I added that I didn't think I'd even brought the key. My mother said angrily, "Oh, you're so forgetful! But I really can't get back right now. Wait a minute." I watched as my mother walked away from the man, covering her mouth and whispering that she had a spare family key in the black boots in her shoe cabinet. If not, she'd call a locksmith, and I'd borrow the key from the lady downstairs.

I was utterly dejected, thinking, "Mother, you'd rather sleep with that ugly man than come back?" I mumbled in response, feeling extremely jealous. Suddenly, the man walked behind her and put his hand on my mother's waist. Then, the voice on the other end of the line said, "Okay, that's all for now. I'll be back in a bit. Bye," and hung up. I thought, "Damn it, Mom, you think it's that easy?" I was quite reserved during dinner, but seeing my mother putting her phone into her bag, I angrily grabbed it, zoomed in to the longest setting, and although it was blurry, I could still make out her features. I started taking pictures continuously. My mother turned and walked up the stairs, and the image of my groping hands circling her buttocks was all on my phone. Although she took the pictures, she didn't seem angry, which infuriated me. Unfortunately, I couldn't capture the elevator floor, otherwise, the evidence would have been irrefutable.

I took the bus home, feeling dejected. My mind was completely blank. I should have been unresponsive to my surroundings, but suddenly I overheard an old man getting off at the same stop saying to his friend, "Don't let the good stuff go to outsiders." For some reason, that was the only thing I heard that resonated deeply. Yes, the good stuff shouldn't go to outsiders.

In the evening, as soon as my mother came in, she saw me and said, "I was wondering why you didn't borrow money from Auntie." Seeing that my mother's face was rosy and she was in a good mood, I figured her stockings must have worked well, and she must have had a great time. "The New Year is almost here, and you still have the nerve to cuckold our family!" I replied with a silly grin, "To catch this big fish in the net, you'd better hold back for now." Later, I found some money hidden in my coat pocket, so I was out of trouble. My mother said, "That's good." As she was about to walk towards her room, I added, "Mom, you look very beautiful today. Those long, beautiful legs really appeal to me."

She stopped and scolded me for talking nonsense, asking how I could say such things to my own mother. I stuck out my tongue and apologized before she went back to her room. In the past, if I said something wrong intentionally or unintentionally and was scolded by her, I would feel guilty. But after what happened today, and this time I deliberately flirted with my mother, I felt no guilt at all when I was scolded. Soon after, my mother came out of her room, having changed back into her usual long dress, but she hadn't removed her makeup. Her exposed calves showed that she was still wearing those sheer black stockings with heart-shaped black dots. She started tidying up the house, looking every bit the virtuous woman. She really is outwardly pure but inwardly promiscuous.

I don't care about ethics or morality anymore. The thought of my mother's lewd behavior towards that man fills me with resentment. Once, I was with my mother at a department store. The elevator was crowded, and suddenly more people squeezed in on one floor. She was standing in front of me, and she tried to back away, but I was already leaning against the elevator wall. With so many people around, I couldn't free my hand. Seeing her push back, I had to raise my hand and press it against her firm buttocks, telling her I couldn't back away, so I could have some space.

Later, as people entered and exited the elevator, there was constant jostling, so my hand remained on my mother's body. After we got out of the elevator, my mother was very unhappy and scolded me for touching her like that. Then, in the empty stairwell, she gave me a good scolding, constantly emphasizing the importance of respecting other people's bodies. Although I felt wronged at the time, I reflected on my actions. I thought maybe my mother was a traditional woman who didn't like being touched, especially not in such a sensitive area as her buttocks.

I still remember these admonitions, but my mother allowed outsiders to hug her waist and touch her buttocks without any resistance. I was scolded that day for what? You can't blame me for being stubborn, but later a really extreme thought appeared. It seems that my mother had already accepted that her body belonged to that person, and when we relatives touched her, she rejected it as if she was afraid of being defiled.

I glared at my mother's back as she bent over mopping the floor. Because of her posture, her buttocks were naturally sticking out high. Since the skirt was long and made of a lot of fabric, it was relatively heavy, so it clung tightly to her buttocks. In the light, a large shadow fell on her lower back, the contrast between the black and white creating a striking effect. It was clear that my mother's buttocks were fleshy and perky, looking from a distance like two round, white steamed buns sandwiched together, swaying slowly from side to side. I hadn't thought much of it before, but today it was particularly captivating. After all, my mother's legs were the highlight.

If my mother had been dressed conservatively, I would have just glanced at her and moved on. But she was wearing black sheer stockings with heart-shaped black dots. This stark contrast drew my attention downwards. Wearing those stockings was clearly a sexual innuendo. Thinking about it, my penis twitched. It really felt good. You slut, let's see how I get you.

I went over to my mother and offered to help. She straightened up and told me it wasn't necessary, that I should rest while I was sick. Seeing her forehead covered in sweat, her body temperature rising, and the fragrance wafting even stronger, I felt even more aroused. I explained that I thought moving around and sweating might help me recover faster. My mother thought for a moment and said that was fine, as I was a little tired. I thought to myself, "That's true, I've been so energetic just now." I grabbed another bucket and a mop, and also brought her a clothespin.

I explained that her skirt was long and might be inconvenient, and it might get wet, so using this to clip it up would make things easier. My mother looked pleased, but her tone was sarcastic as she said, "When did you become so thoughtful?" Actually, my intention was just to have her shorten her skirt. Later, my mother folded her long skirt a few times, pinched one corner, and clipped it up. Great! It looked like a fluffy and unique cake-like short skirt, revealing her thighs.

I didn't dare openly peek at my mother's long legs. I walked behind her, but I would still turn my head from time to time to steal glances at her back and beautiful feet. I would also deliberately squat down to look up at the view under her skirt. I never expected that spying on my own mother would be so exciting, just like with a strange woman. Seeing my mother's private parts, my evil thoughts grew stronger. Just then, I happened to have a mop in my hand. I squatted down and slowly wrapped the handle of the mop under my mother's skirt, moving it between her legs. Seeing that she was mopping seriously and didn't pay attention to what was behind her, I pretended to squat down and mop the floor. I aimed the end of the handle at a 50-degree angle at her plump vulva, grabbed it with both hands, and pulled it back forcefully.

My mother let out a surprised "Oh!" I quickly turned around and apologized, saying I accidentally hit her. My mother turned around, her brows furrowed slightly, one hand behind her back, seemingly touching her buttocks. I pressed her to tell me where I hit her and if she was alright. My mother's expression didn't change; she just said calmly that it was nothing. I saw her turn around again, but her position was slightly off-center from mine, not in a straight line.

I felt a sense of satisfaction, but I felt that once wasn't enough. I wanted to properly punish her wanton cunt. After a while, I slowly stood behind my mother again, intending to repeat the same trick, but this time I missed. I first hit my mother's left inner thigh, giving it a light bounce, and then I scratched her private parts hard upwards. My mother let out a deep "Mmm." Seeing her suddenly turn around, I quickly turned my head back, pretending not to know anything, and continued my actions. I even pretended to squat down, scrubbing a tile vigorously as if I were washing it, muttering to myself, "Why can't I get this up?"

There was no further movement, probably because they were observing. After all, my private parts had been violated twice in a row, what a coincidence! My mother is a very shrewd woman, she might have become suspicious. A moment later, feeling like I had been caught red-handed, I turned around. My mother looked unhappy and told me to go to the other side of the living room to pull her away, saying it was dangerous for the two of us to be nearby. I said, "Did you hurt her again?" My mother nodded slightly and quickly said yes. "Oh, are there any bruises?" I asked. My mother hurriedly shook her head and said, "It's okay, no need." She even took a step back and said apologetically, "I was really rough just now, it's really nothing." My mother said helplessly, "It only hit my stomach. It's okay, you didn't do it on purpose." I pressed her to explain why she didn't seem happy, and she replied that she was probably tired.

Just then, hearing my mother say that, I casually suggested giving her a back massage and foot massage later to help her relax. As soon as I blurted it out, I immediately regretted it. I had just teased her by asking to touch her legs; was my intention too obvious? But perhaps those two massages had distracted her, so she readily agreed.

I used the back massage as a pretense. When my mother slowly closed her eyes, seemingly relaxed and enjoying herself, the time was right. I moved in front of her, and finally, the most anticipated part arrived: to properly play with my mother's beautiful legs. When my mother's stockinged legs were placed in my palm, the heart-shaped dots on her pink, tender flesh looked even more alluring up close. A faint body fragrance filled the air, almost making me lose my mind and start touching and licking them.

Unfortunately, my mother wouldn't let me go too far soon. In the end, I could only massage my calves and touch every inch of my thighs, sneaking a little groping to finish. I thought I was saying goodbye to those sexy legs, wondering when I'd ever see my mother dressed like that again. Did I have to wait until she met that fat guy? The thought that these stockings were for that man filled me with jealousy that I wanted to tear them to shreds.

Then a brilliant idea struck me: tear them! Just as my mother picked up the newspaper and it happened to cover me, I secretly bit my nails a few times to make a small thorn. Suddenly, with a tearing sound, I cried out, "Oops, Mom, sorry, I accidentally tore your stockings!" My mother closed the newspaper and quickly put her legs down, revealing two very obvious wide tears. I made the tear quite noticeable. She sighed softly, as if she didn't know what to say, only reminding me to trim my nails later. I said I'd buy her a new pair, but my mother said she'd buy them herself.

Although my mother's image of chastity might be fabricated, her thrifty and hardworking nature was genuine, which was why others considered her virtuous. I seized on this point and made up a story about seeing some cheap items on sale online, saying that a few pieces wouldn't cost much, making it sound like it was cheaper than buying a pair myself. Suddenly, my mother questioned me, asking how I, a boy, could have looked at such things. Luckily, I was quick-witted and made up a story about a robbery scene in a school play, which is how I found out about it. My mother accepted this explanation with some skepticism, but it really gave me a scare.

Later, I succeeded in my plan. I bought a lot of stockings online that I really liked, such as lace thigh-high stockings, flesh-colored fishnet stockings, and stockings with silver glitter. I even deliberately chose the kind that only went up to the thigh. I thought that rather than letting others see them, it would be better for my mother to wear them every day so that I could enjoy fantasizing about her body hidden under those conservative clothes, and also give my father a treat. I was confident that my mother would wear them. Even if the styles were too daring for her, as long as a long skirt or pants covered her up, no one would know what she was wearing. Since my mother is the kind of person who doesn't waste things, she wouldn't dare to give these away. Moreover, stockings are an essential item of clothing for her every day. I bought more of them partly to gradually force her to get used to wearing them, and partly to replace those unchanging flesh-colored stockings.

After giving it to my mother, she complained a few days later about buying strange things, but didn't say anything more. She wanted me to tell her how to buy it, but since it was cheap, she wanted to buy some more ordinary ones herself. She made up a lie, saying it was from an auction and the site had temporarily shut down, which stopped her from doing so. Luckily, she's not very tech-savvy at her age, or she would have been exposed.

During that time, I admired my mother's stockings every day. After a while, she started trying them on herself, and the thought of her wearing those sexy thigh-high stockings excited me. Afterwards, my father's mood improved. Perhaps my mother had gained an extra layer of allure, giving him the motivation to have sex with her at night. Thinking about this, I envied him greatly. How wonderful it would be if I could also have sex with my mother.

Not long after, another letter arrived urging my mother to have an affair. Checking the calendar, it was again scheduled for a weekday. Looking back at previous letters, the dates were all the same. No wonder my father and I had been completely unaware all these years. But this time, I couldn't use the fake illness trick; that would force me to skip school. Fine, I'd take the plunge. Even if it meant a confrontation, I had to stop my mother from being taken advantage of again.

That day, I went to school first, said I wasn't feeling well and went to the infirmary, asked a few of my friends to keep watch, and told them to call me if anything happened. I rushed home to the alleyway. I checked my watch; it was almost time for my mother to leave. Soon after, the electric lock on the downstairs gate opened, and my mother came out. Surprisingly, she was dressed very casually today, in an apricot-colored long dress, but I could still tell she was wearing makeup. This time, she was heading in a different direction than last time. I was relieved that she might have abandoned the man, but when she got closer, my assumptions were shattered when I saw her whole body.

I was surprised to see her wearing those nude fishnet stockings that I'd never seen her wear before, and they were the ones I'd been most looking forward to seeing her wear! Damn it, a strong sense of resentment welled up inside me—a feeling of being a scapegoat for someone else. Since that was the case, I followed her. This time, the other person didn't come to pick her up; instead, my mother took the subway herself.

I thought, "Why bother changing modes of transportation like that?" Later, she told me she was just chatting under the covers with him—nobody believed that. It felt like we walked for ages before my mother finally stopped at a street corner. The other person appeared and walked towards her. I watched as he took my mother's hand, and the two of them walked down the street. I was furious. Seeing so many hostels around, I was anxious, afraid they'd turn around and go inside before I could stop them. I couldn't think straight and just kept following, until the man kept turning his head to chat with my mother, but she never turned her face away. I was hoping she'd notice me watching her because of the conversation.

They were quite adept at loitering, seemingly worried their phones wouldn't have enough storage for recording or would run out of battery. One moment they looked up and the person was gone; they must have turned the corner again. They jogged forward, when suddenly the fat man turned around and walked out from the corner, blocking their way. He stood with his hands in front of his chest, menacingly asking who they were and why they were following them. He wondered why their mother hadn't come out with them. They didn't speak, just glared at him. Suddenly, he took a few steps back and told the person hidden behind the wall that he'd handle something; that person was probably their mother.

Damn it, a thief crying "stop thief!" while acting all manly and protective of his mother. It was ridiculous. Then, in an aggressive tone, he demanded they talk. They ignored him and walked towards the corner, just one step away. They wondered if he'd lost face, because he grabbed their shoulder, saying things like they could call the police for stalking. This completely enraged them. They retorted, "Shouldn't you be sued for interfering with family matters?" Then, gritting their teeth, they said, "I'm the son of that woman you were holding hands with."

I don't remember how the other person reacted, but their hand immediately let go. I darted around and saw my mother standing there, her eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth, her face ashen and looking completely lost. I stared at her with bloodshot eyes and coldly called out, "Mom." She asked me in a low, awkward voice why I was there and why I wasn't in class. Her voice trailed off. I didn't answer, but just said sternly, "Aren't you coming with me?" I turned around and saw that the man seemed to have slipped away. Damn it, the wicked are cowards.

I walked ahead the whole way, with my mother silently following behind. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer and came over to pull my hand, wanting me to listen to her explanation. Fine, I also wanted to get to the bottom of the photos, but the things were in my room, so I told my mother we'd talk about it when we got home. In the taxi, my mother proactively called the school to ask for leave for me, seemingly afraid to pursue the matter of me skipping class.

I insisted on talking in my room. Psychology doesn't have a so-called home-field advantage, so I didn't want my mother to talk in her room at all. However, my mother was guilty and listened to me on these small matters. There was also another reason: my voice recorder was in her room. Of course, I asked who the other person was at first. My mother said it was a former boyfriend of one of her students when she was still teaching dance. Wow, that's a really distant relationship. That means he's only about 10 years younger than my mother and a few years older than me. How could someone like that be involved?

Then she couldn't finish her sentence. It was alright, I'd start for my mother. I began by explaining why I'd skipped class that day: I was in a terrible mood. I tossed the small wooden booklet from the drawer onto the table, casually telling her the cleaning staff had given it to me last night. I thought to myself, I'm really bad at lying; most people would be too busy collecting such explicit photos and returning them to their rightful owner. But when my mother saw it, she slumped back onto my bed, head bowed, silent. She probably didn't care to expose my lie.

I pulled out the lewd photo of her straddling a beer belly and said sternly, "This isn't Dad. How do you explain this?" I pointed out that it was the man from earlier. My mother didn't deny it, but started sobbing. Was she playing the victim? I didn't know, but she still seemed unwilling to talk. I angrily said, "Look at you wearing those fishnet stockings to your rendezvous!" and then lifted her long skirt all the way up to her thighs. This was quite an overreaction; normally she would have been furious, but she didn't react much. Was it because of her guilt?

This is never going to end. I thought I'd scare her by saying I'd tell Dad if she didn't. My mother suddenly yelled at me, "I can tolerate outsiders, but I never expected even my own son to threaten me!" I was startled. I decided to soften my tone and said I just wanted to help her. My mother said sadly that there was nothing to help her with. She just said that she had gotten into trouble while drinking and someone had taken a picture of her doing this. She didn't dare to say anything now, but if it were my mother from before, everyone would say she was a woman with dignity. How could she have gone out drinking with a young man and lost her virginity?

I raised my questions, but my mother retorted, "Why do you need to know so much?" Never mind, that's not the point. So I asked her how he threatened her. My mother said the notebook had a number on it; it was hush money she had originally offered to the man, but he refused. He then confessed that he had been secretly in love with my mother, the teacher, behind his ex-girlfriend's back, and that he had finally caught her again. Therefore, he demanded that she accompany him regularly so he wouldn't tell her family. I wanted to ask her how many times she was taken advantage of, but don't be naive; given my mother's personality, she would never tell.

My mother actually agreed to such a ridiculous condition. Of course, she admitted she was bewitched, because she had a big fight with my father and her mind wasn't clear. She simply thought it was a student gathering, a chance to drink and drown her sorrows. She was really wary. However, I still don't quite believe it. Although what she said made me feel that there was some coercion in the photos, I think some of them were semi-voluntary. Besides, I saw them holding hands, touching each other's buttocks, and laughing and talking during both times I caught them cheating.

My face darkened, and I said with a pained expression that my mother still wasn't telling the truth. I decided to lay my cards on the table and showed her the photos from the first time we took them, implying that she had consented. My mother was stunned at first, then her expression turned angry. She said that I had already been with her twice, but I retorted fiercely

, asking about her frivolous and provocative attire and her unseemly attitude. My mother seemed to have given up on explaining and said, "Whatever you think is what you think," and turned away, not intending to ignore me. "Fine, you slut, so you're admitting to being promiscuous at heart? And Mom, have you forgotten that you were in my room wearing those alluring skin-colored fishnet stockings? Fine, I won't be polite." I turned around and secretly turned off the recorder, taking off my uniform pants as well.

The metal belt clicked, and my mother heard it and turned around to see me naked from the waist down, with my erect penis. My mother was surprised and tried to sit up, her eyes wide, asking what I was doing. But I pounced on her, knocking her soft, fragrant body down. It was too late for her to close her legs.

She frantically yelled at me, "What are you doing? Let me go!" Her body twisted and struggled, but I pinned her hands above her head. After a while, she stopped struggling, her eyes glaring at me fiercely, and she said in an authoritative tone, "I'm your mother. Let go." I replied to her in a daze, "You used to be my only set of values, but today they've been completely destroyed. The person in front of me is no longer my mother; she's just a woman. Otherwise, I'd go crazy thinking like this."

My mother said worriedly that she didn't know what I was talking about and told me to calm down. But I ignored her and continued talking, saying that I felt very aroused by these photos. "It's your fault for never letting me have a girlfriend, but you're messing around outside. If you won't let me eat out today, I'll eat at home." My mother already knew what I wanted to do and begged angrily, "No matter what, you can't do this!"

I planned to use one hand to restrain both of her hands. As soon as I let go with my left hand, she kept slapping my face. I endured the pain and took advantage of the weakening of her attack, but I managed to suppress her again. I freed one hand and reached for my mother's underwear. When my fingers successfully penetrated my mother's flower bud, she turned ashen-faced and begged me to turn back now. Seeing my mother's resistance, I thought that I definitely wouldn't be able to enjoy any foreplay this time. It seemed that I should just go straight for the finish. I pulled down my underwear, aimed at my mother's tightly throbbing vulva, and thrust in with all my might. A long, mournful moan echoed in the room. That time, I hadn't expected to go soft... I barely left my mother's vagina, savoring the sensation of her enveloping my massive member.

Actually, it hadn't been long since I started having sex with my mother, but her moral compass seemed to have crumbled. I don't know if this intense, forceful sexual encounter aroused her primal instincts, or if she felt resistance was futile. Suddenly, my mother slowly raised her arms, crossed them, and wrapped them around my back, bringing her face close to my ear as she breathed softly. At that moment, I knew my mother had given me free rein, allowing me complete intimacy—yes, without any restrictions.

I ejaculated inside her body again and again, inside her vagina, on her buttocks, and also on her face, breasts, and body. I had never ejaculated more than three times in a row, nor had I ever ejaculated, immediately become hard again, and continued thrusting. My mother could make me hard and ejaculate again simply by using her vaginal muscles.

Later, looking at my mother's allure tonight, that reserved yet wanton tenderness, I realized that what made me hard again was no longer the visual, tactile, or auditory temptation, but the pleasure of conquering the usually deeply hidden desire, intertwined with the virtuous wife and loving motherly qualities of my mother. I'm not sure if my mother had an orgasm, but I experienced pleasure four times on her. The last time, I couldn't ejaculate; my penis was just twitching inside my mother's vagina. After that intense and stimulating "mother-son exchange" ended, my mother gradually calmed down from her heightened desire. She sat on my bed in a slumped position, head bowed and silent. I could still see my semen gushing from her genitals, the sheets beneath her were soaked. When I tried to touch her face, she disdainfully pushed me away. I asked smugly if I was better than that student, right? My mother glared at me but didn't answer. Finally, she forced out a question in a cold tone: "Are you satisfied? Can this wipe the slate clean?"

I just smiled. My mother then tried to leave my room quickly, but I grabbed her arm. She couldn't shake me off and asked what I wanted. I whispered in her ear, "Mom, if you really have this need, you can come to me later." After hearing this, my mother pushed me away forcefully and scolded me, "I won't let you off so easily. Besides, aren't you going to be my mother?" I replied, "Mom, you didn't treat me like your son when we were in bed, did you?" After hearing this, she snorted and turned away.

I quickly grabbed the voice recorder from the drawer, removed the memory card and hid it, then chased after my mother into the living room. I called out to her and waved the recorder in my hand. My mother's eyes widened in disbelief; her lips seemed to want to reprimand me, but she trembled slightly and could barely speak. I then went over and put my arm around her waist from behind, saying to her, "From now on, if I need anything, I'll leave it to you, Mom." I could feel her trembling with anger. Later, I asked her again, and tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, "Whatever."

Later, I really enjoyed it, but I didn't force my mother to have sex with me again for a few days. I only kissed her forcefully and teased her when we were alone. Sometimes my mother would still resist. After a while, about a month or two, my mother got used to intimate physical contact with me, and she naturally let me caress and tease her as I pleased.

When I felt the time was right, one weekend while my father was taking a nap, I invited my mother to my room. She knew exactly what I wanted to do. That's how we had consensual sex. I didn't use a condom and ejaculated inside her, but she didn't say anything. During the process, I deliberately stopped at the most intense moments to tease her, and my mother would express her dissatisfaction in a coquettish tone. After she took off her virtuous mask, I was pleasantly surprised. I became addicted to this sexy mother, and I didn't plan to give her away again. Although she was very cooperative when we were together, I knew that it would take some time to truly make my mother's heart belong to me.

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