Fatal Temptation

Chapter 1 The Feeling

Hearing him enter the room, that feeling returned.

"Hi, Mom, how are you today?" With his question, I heard him toss his backpack on the dining table and walk towards me. I was busy washing vegetables at the sink when he came up behind me, stroked my shoulders, leaned down, and kissed my cheek.

"I'm fine, my little darling. How are you today?" I answered, turning to face him, immediately feeling his breath and his touch, even though he had already removed his hands from my shoulders. I mustered my courage and gazed into his lovely dark eyes with a touch of curiosity, seeing the sparkle within them. That feeling welled up in my heart again.

I don't know why, but lately, whenever he's around, and sometimes even when he's not, I inexplicably have this strange feeling. Subjectively and objectively, it seems I shouldn't have this feeling, but I really can't explain why.

"Never mind, I won't think about it, or I'll just get more and more confused," I told myself.

I struggled to resist the urge to kiss his lips, only lightly kissing his cheek before saying, "Why don't you sit down, kid? I'll get you something to eat, and we can have a good chat."

He chuckled and said, "Okay, okay, thank you!" He then sat down in a chair near the dining table.

Walking to the refrigerator, I opened the door and couldn't help but bend over, sticking my buttocks out, my underwear exposed to him. I knew it was an obvious temptation, either for me or for him… Oh, that feeling intensified within me.

Lately, whenever he approached me, strange fantasies would surface in my mind; this had been going on for weeks. This was, in fact, a familiar gesture to him; whenever I washed dishes at the sink, he liked to stand beside me, put his arm around my shoulder, and stroke my skin. Sometimes I thought it was his way of thanking me in a special way, thanking me for cooking him a delicious meal and for diligently washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.

His caresses and intimacy allowed me to completely relax. Suddenly, his hand seemed to unintentionally land on my breast. Oh, he probably wasn't on my breast, because I could still feel his hands gently massaging the muscles in my shoulders. But, I must say, his grasping of my breast and rubbing of my nipples was obvious, shocking me and leaving a very strong "impression."

I shook my head, trying to clear my head, and he seemed to notice my reaction, stopping and withdrawing his hand. But even after he left the kitchen, even after I had finished washing the dishes, I still couldn't suppress the stinging and throbbing sensation spreading through my body.

Later, while helping him with his homework, I leaned over, bracing my arms on his desk, close to him as he sat at the desk, and another intense "feeling" washed over me. I saw his hands on the desk, one holding a book, the other a pencil, but I "felt" another hand sliding up and down my thighs. Slowly, that hand slipped between my legs, fingers tapping lightly on my inner thighs like playing the piano, slowly moving upwards until it reached my vulva. Delicate fingers slipped through my underwear, caressing my labia.

My knees went weak, and I could only hold onto the desk to keep from collapsing to the floor. He was engrossed in his homework, seemingly oblivious to what I was going through. And that "feeling" hand continued to roam under my skirt. I could clearly "feel" those fingers sliding across my crotch, exploring my buttocks, gently scratching my anus, and then boldly trying to penetrate. My entire lower body was burning, burning with... that was... my... son's "imagined caresses."

Another time, after dinner, while I was washing dishes at the sink, he came over and massaged my shoulders. I knew his hands were stroking my shoulders, but I "felt" fingers repeatedly rubbing my groin. My buttocks were spread apart, and those fingers were rubbing back and forth on my inner thighs. Although I knew he was only massaging my stiff neck and wasn't touching any other part of my body, I still "felt"

a hand rubbing my buttocks and cleft, then moving to my lower abdomen, and gently stroking the thick, inverted triangle of pubic hair covering my pubic bone. And I... seemed to crave even more the friction of his hard penis against my cleft.

Feeling this "imagined" caress, I couldn't help but moan, murmuring to him, "Thank you, baby, your caresses make my stiff muscles feel so much better." As I spoke, I couldn't help but lean against him. But he quickly stepped back a few paces, avoiding any further contact with my body, though his hands continued to gently stroke my shoulders.

My son's hands moving across my shoulders shattered my reverie, so I said, "Okay, honey, if you keep stroking me like that, I won't be able to finish washing the dishes." But he didn't stop... the sensation returned.

This "touch" always comes when he gets close to me; this real touch started a few years ago. As the child grew, the space in the house seemed to shrink, and whenever we stood together or walked past each other, I could always feel his gentle yet careful caresses.

First, I felt his hands "brushing" across my crotch; then, every time we passed each other in the cramped living room or kitchen, I often felt a slight "crushing" sensation in my breasts. Later, several times, when we stood very close together, I felt his fingers occasionally poking my mons pubis.

But now, even when he sits across the table, I can still "feel" his fingers sliding on my bra, gently squeezing my breasts and rubbing my nipples. Moreover, I've felt a hand "stroking" my crotch more than once, or several fingers sliding along the edge of my underwear, occasionally "slipping" into my buttocks.

However, I know in my heart that these are just my "imagination."

Almost every day, I'm troubled by this "imagination," imagining my underwear slowly sliding down from my buttocks to my thighs, revealing my private parts. I have to stop what I'm doing and carefully examine myself to make sure I'm still dressed. I'm increasingly having these vivid dreams, constantly unsure if I'm dressed, or if I've put on a bra or underwear. I have to check my attire again and again.

But even when I'm absolutely certain I'm not naked for some reason, I can't stop that throbbing feeling. That feeling often makes me wet down there—no, it should be said, overflowing with vaginal fluid… I also can't stop the occasional urge for sexual games, even the urge to have sex… These thoughts manifest in various forms.

And things are getting increasingly serious. Now, almost every day, even when he's not by my side, images of him kissing my thigh flash through my mind. More than once, I've found myself lost in fantasies of him caressing and sucking my breasts, and not only have my nipples actually hardened and erected, but I even crave his attention.

Lately, these fantasies have become increasingly frequent, forcing me to stop what I'm doing and try to temporarily escape the images in my mind. In those imagined scenes, he slowly creeps through the mist of my mind until he "slides" his tongue into my labia and teases my clitoris.

At least once, when I lay in the quiet bedroom masturbating, I imagined his hard penis replacing my fingers, thrusting in my wet, thirsty vagina. The orgasm brought by that imagination was more intense and stimulating than the orgasm I experienced during actual sex… almost the most perfect one.

Now, as I go into the kitchen to prepare a quick meal for him, I feel myself becoming increasingly excited, almost to the point of being unable to control myself. I realize my body is trembling, waves of heart-pounding tingling spreading through me… My nipples are hard and erect, rubbing against my bra, making me itch; I feel my breasts becoming heavier and fuller, eagerly anticipating his caresses and kneading; my labia are becoming engorged and moist; my excited cleft eagerly awaits his “touch”; my thighs are pressed tightly together, clamping my vulva to prevent vaginal fluid from flowing out; the muscles of my buttocks are tense, imagining his hard penis rubbing against my cleft, trying to penetrate my already overflowing honey pot.

Finally, after I placed the sandwich and soda in front of him and sat down opposite him, I couldn't help but ask myself, "Why are you so confused?"

Chapter Two: The Plan

In my opinion, implementing this plan should be the second phase of action. I planned to seduce my mother, or rather, in my mind, she was seducing me, in an obvious or subtle way… After she sat down, I didn't know if this method would still be effective, but if I tried my best, I thought it should be. However, from a practical point of view, I knew that this was just me daydreaming, and that so-called "mind control" was probably worthless.

Nevertheless, I so longed to touch her, to taste her, certainly not as her son. So during this time, I tried my best to maintain "distance" and "propriety" from her.

Therefore, whenever I was around her, I tried my best to influence her with fantasies of sex. I would try my best to pretend to be an innocent child who knew nothing of love, but in my own inner world, I caressed her, touched her body and all her sensitive, private parts, kissed and licked her, nestled in her arms and gently rubbed her body…

In some of my daydreams, she resisted my temptation, or rather, the temptation within her own heart. Generally speaking, she still liked my intimacy and caresses. However, no matter what, I had to be careful and maintain the proper etiquette between mother and son.

When it went beyond the boundaries of touch, I tried to expand my imagination, letting my mental hands caress her breasts, or my lips suck on her nipples, or my tongue slide in and out of her warm, moist vagina, or my fingers wander around her crotch, inserting into her buttocks and caressing her tight, anus-like opening, using her own vaginal fluids as lubrication to explore her back door, while simultaneously thrusting my hard penis in and out of her vagina.

I often imagine her sucking my penis, and me licking her vulva. My most exciting fantasy is of me straddling her, spreading her sexy thighs, and slowly moving until my penis is pressed tightly against her overflowing vagina, about to enter her body; or, imagining myself slowly pulling down her panties from behind, letting my penis slide comfortably between her buttocks, while my hands tightly grasp her buttocks or breasts.

Sometimes, I simply focus all my imagination on her nipples, seeing if I can use the "power of imagination" to make them erect. Sometimes, I gaze at her body from behind, mesmerized by her swaying buttocks and mysterious vulva, while imagining my penis thrusting in and out of her tight anus. But I must be careful, because I don't want her to see me gazing at her… if she catches me, it could get me into trouble.

Whenever I get close to her body, I often have to try my best to control the urge to caress her more, and the only way to control myself is to playfully stroke her shoulders. I don't know why, but whenever I stand behind her and want to touch her body, I have to concentrate and constantly remind myself to only touch her shoulders and back, lest I impulsively touch her breasts and vulva... I imagine touching her as just a game, setting forbidden zones where I absolutely cannot get close to or touch the edges of her bra and panties. To me, more difficult than avoiding her seeing my pants bulging with my swollen penis is the urge to rub my hard penis against her crotch. Sitting in the corner of the room, watching her figure, imagining her walking naked around the room, controlling such urges seems like an impossible task. But I must accomplish it.

And whenever I touch her shoulders, I have to do everything in my power to control my hands from being controlled by my wild thoughts.

But more and more, I imagine her completely naked. My mother is truly beautiful; her long hair flows over her shoulders, she is tall, and her expressive eyes constantly attract my attention. What's even more captivating are her firm, prominent breasts and full, round buttocks, which I constantly yearn to caress and knead.

Her long, sexy legs are like a magnet, constantly drawing my gaze. With every step she takes, I can't help but wonder what shape her love hole will take.

She always wears loose clothing, sometimes even slightly open, "hinting" at what's underneath. In the summer heat, people wear light, thin clothes, but hers are always somewhat transparent, somewhat ambiguous. When she sits on the sofa or chair, her posture always "reminds"

me to look under her clothes.

When she wears shorts, looking at her round, plump buttocks, I really want to slap them hard. Her mons pubis slightly pushed up her shorts, drawing my gaze to the narrow slit beneath the bulge. I knew then the location of my most longed-for mysterious vulva, and I couldn't resist the urge to stroke its soft, thick pubic hair, kiss its raised mound, and lick the fragrant fluid flowing from it.

And then there were her equally alluring breasts, especially when her bra clearly beckoned to me through her thin summer clothes; I couldn't suppress my excitement. Fortunately, the thin outer garment and soft bra couldn't conceal her dark areolas and erect nipples, like pretty little buttons on a handful of white cream, attracting my attention and waiting for my sucking. I

repeatedly and quickly examined her beautiful thighs and the passionate nest encased in her panties. My mother was a very meticulous woman, always impeccably dressed, except that her dresses were a little short.

When she sat on the sofa or crossed her legs, her mysterious place, hidden beneath her dress and panties, would instantly be revealed. That mysterious place allowed me to spend many sleepless nights speculating and imagining.

Once, when I was very young, just beginning to experience a vague curiosity and longing for the opposite sex, I had a rare opportunity to spend an entire day in her study, rubbing against her beautiful, sexy thighs.

That day, she sat at one end of the sofa, her legs stretched out, watching TV with me. I sat at the other end, her feet right next to me, and I began to stroke her. At this moment, through my seemingly unconscious caresses, she felt very comfortable and relaxed, and I knew she liked being stroked like this. So, seemingly unintentionally, I began to massage her calves.

Actually, I really wasn't thinking anything at the time; my hands lingered and wandered over her beautiful calves, quickly moving to the muscles near her knees. Meanwhile, although my eyes were still watching the TV, I sensed she was starting to get sleepy and soon dozed off. Then, I noticed her legs were spread apart on the sofa.

Out of curiosity, I continued massaging her calves and ankles while slowly lifting her knees, bending them and propping them up on the sofa. With my movements, her legs naturally parted slightly. The hem of her skirt slid down her raised thighs, exposing more of her smooth skin.

Incredibly curious yet terrified of being caught, I dared not be too brazen. But I persisted, rubbing her knees as I slowly leaned down to a position parallel to the hem of her skirt, managing to lift the edge even wider. Her thighs parted further, allowing me to see her underwear. Now, I was even more curious and excited. Feeling her ankles unconsciously pressed against my swollen penis, my hands trembled uncontrollably.

At this moment, her breathing was steady and peaceful; she seemed to be sleeping soundly. I, on the other hand, was terrified, desperately wanting to see more of the secret between her legs. Even in the shadow of her skirt, I could still see her thin panties, the thick pubic hair beneath them, and even the folds of her vulva where the crotch of her panties dug into her flesh—that was her genitals, which I would soon finally understand.

However, in my eager desire and excitement, I wanted to spread her legs a little wider, which made her sense something amiss and open her eyes, completely depriving me of the opportunity to explore her mysterious place.

That night, I lay on the bed as usual with my erect penis, but a new, curious boy was uncontrollably sprouting and growing. I desperately wanted to know more about girls, about the mystery of women, and about my mother's captivating charm.

I guess it was around that time that I wanted to be a "perfect" son. This is understandable; I truly love my mother, so I couldn't do anything that might hurt her. Moreover, I knew that my mother worked so hard every day for me and this family, and often took time to tutor me. In many ways, she almost "contributed" everything to me, leaving very little time for herself.

She would sometimes go on dates, but she never seemed to go anywhere or maintain a long-term relationship with any one man. After a few meals or movies together, those men would disappear without a trace. But I was certain that no man ever won her heart.

So, I was always with her. I loved having her by my side; we were very happy and content together.

Later, when I was still quite young, my mother and I even started playfully teasing each other, rolling around on the floor and bed together. This close contact and affectionate behavior made me accustomed to stroking and rubbing against her body. Whenever I stood next to her, I couldn't help but stroke her. Because our apartment was rather small, this rubbing of our bodies often happened naturally.

Gradually, as a somewhat fearful yet enjoyable experiment, I started crawling behind her and intentionally or unintentionally gently stroking her buttocks. And whenever she stood next to me, I would casually swing my arm to touch the mysterious mound of flesh below her abdomen. This clandestine, rapid contact brought me unexpected pleasure, often leaving me lying in bed at night, excitedly recalling those thrilling feelings.

However, one moment of overconfidence distorted this seemingly unintentional act.

One day, as we were laughing and joking, deciding who would ultimately choose which TV program to watch, things subtly changed, or rather, entered an unspeakable situation.

As usual, my mother pressed me face down onto the floor, pinning my arms behind my back. Her long hair brushed against the skin of my neck, her breasts pressed against my back, trying to force me to admit I was under her control.

But I wouldn't give in. I struggled, kicking at the table and the objects around her, trying to sit up. After freeing myself from her grip on my arms, I wrapped my arms and legs around her, "naively" placing my hands on her breasts. At

that moment, my movements involuntarily paused; the primal urge between the sexes surged through my brain and body. I had never realized before how firm, soft, full, and arousing her breasts were.

As she twisted and struggled, her skirt had slipped down to her buttocks, revealing her smooth thighs and sexy panties. My penis, uncontrollably throbbing against her buttocks as I held her tightly, swelled with desire.

But in that moment of distraction, she rolled over, pinning me to the floor. We lay face to face, chest to chest, my lower body pressed firmly against her abdomen. To maintain this position, I gripped her buttocks tightly, holding her body close.

I guess, perhaps due to the pressure and rubbing of her buttocks, and the combined effect of her panties having slipped down to her hips and my hard penis pressing against her vulva, she suddenly gave up resisting and teasing me, saying, "Okay, you win."

At that moment, I was genuinely confused and a little scared, realizing I might have angered her. But Mom didn't even glance at me. She just stood up, straightened her clothes, and said, "I really don't want to watch those news clips that have already aired. You can watch a movie if you want." Then she turned to me and said, "You can control the remote." She then went to comb her hair, which I had messed up.

I don't remember the movie, but I definitely remember it, and I relive that playful encounter with my mother in my mind over and over again. However, that kind of touching stopped after that.

As I grew older, I started going out with boys and receiving their "community sex education," listening to the older kids tell all sorts of sex stories. And occasionally, I would touch my own penis.

But the pornographic pictures weren't very appealing, and the stories they told were crude. After that accidental, exploratory intimate encounter with my mother, my curiosity about women intensified. Later, I heard a story about a mother wanting to suck her son's penis. I immediately thought, "The next chapter will probably be him thrusting inside her." This story gave me a major intellectual breakthrough.

Right now, I haven't thought much about how to do that, but

the more I "learn" about sex and the more I masturbate, the more I realize that oral sex is a very "normal" thing, and I'm even a little fascinated by photos of men performing oral sex on women. However, I'm somewhat skeptical of photos of huge penises (don't they use drugs?), and a little afraid that something that big might harm a woman. I think eight inches is enough.

Oh, I'm getting a bit off-topic. Right now, all my attention is on this beautiful and lovely woman in my own home; too much external distraction will keep me from sleeping. Right now, I'm sitting face to face with her, and all signs indicate that our story might begin today.

Chapter Three Approaching

"Well, you know, I took Debbie to the college prom a few weeks ago, and we had a blast," he began. "But now, she seems to never have time to go out, at least not with me."

"Well, my sweetheart, things change," I said. "Maybe she wants to make more friends."

He sniffed and said, "Yeah, I think so too, so she's always with her girlfriends."

“Honey, you have to understand that boys and girls your age are going through a lot of changes, and you're both trying to figure out what you need most in your lives. Maybe you should give her some time, and you should also try dating other girls.”

“But they all seem so silly and just want to spread rumors…” he said, a little frustrated. “At least with Debbie, we have so many things to talk about, not just boring stuff like who's dating whom.”

“That depends on ‘who’s dating, honey, but there seem to be things harder than that. Is there anything else bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the table. “That’s all dating is about… that’s what boys and girls do… just hang out together, go out… everyone in school is paired up now…” he said quietly.

“Come on, tell me what you really think,” I encouraged him.

“Well, I’m not dating just to learn about that kind of thing, and I might get stuck with the thought of ‘I’ve done it all,’ and miss out on opportunities to meet better people.”

“My dear child, I’m not entirely sure what you mean by ‘that kind of thing,’” I said (though I completely understood). “But dating a girl doesn’t mean you have to marry her… You’re too, too young to get married.” I paused, then continued, “Besides, even if you have many girlfriends, you don’t have to get too deeply involved with them, because there are many people you haven’t met or known yet, and maybe the people you meet later will be more suitable for you.”

“But, Mom, most boys date girls these days, and if it’s not for marriage, it’s easy to understand why they can’t maintain long-term relationships. I see that most girls are only interested in luxury cars and money.”

Realizing I hadn’t provided my child with a better life, and recalling the poverty I experienced as a child, I suddenly felt a pang of guilt and pain. “Honey, you don’t need to compete with those vain girls. You’re handsome, intelligent, kind, and warm-hearted, and of course, you have many other excellent qualities that attract girls.”

“Well, you’re right, but maybe there’s another problem…” he said hesitantly.

“Okay, just tell me what’s wrong,” I said gently, trying to help him out of his predicament.

“Well, you know I’ve dated a lot of girls, and Debbie wasn’t the only one I… well… you know… did that…” he said, his eyes still on the table, “but I don’t seem to get… whenever I kiss a girl… like in the movies… they get a little annoyed… like I’m tearing their clothes… and doing that…”

Hearing him say this, I knew our conversation had entered a very sensitive area.

“Well, I don’t know how good your skills are,” I began, “but I can offer some useful information… which you might not like.” I paused, then continued, “First, you have to be extremely patient in your relationships with girls; it’s much harder than you think.”

“Relationships with girls are like planting a tree; you need to nurture the feelings slowly. If you want a tree to grow tall and strong, and you don’t want it to be affected or harmed by a harsh environment, you must have love, and you must also… like I said before, be extremely patient.” I laughed, then added, “Of course, unlike planting a tree, the tree won’t love you back, but a girl who is right for you and loves you can fulfill all your fantasies, and the whole process will surprise you.”

"The second thing you need to consider is that girls your age don't really know what they need, and this doesn't improve much as they get older... because by the time they try to figure out what they really need, they've already started playing games with life."

I paused for a while, pondered carefully, before continuing, "When they grow from girls into women, when they mature, when they are more certain about what they need and don't need, their choices, while still not easy, won't be too problematic. Men and women are actually the same, but there are also fundamental differences; they can sometimes even find it difficult to merge... Men and women must remember to consider each other more, to appreciate each other's needs more, so that when the other person needs you, whenever and in what way, you can give them what they need."

I paused, that feeling returning to me. Suddenly, I "felt" a dozen hands caressing my body, unbuttoning my clothes, stroking my thighs, fingers exploring my vulva, palms rubbing my buttocks, fingers parting my buttocks, my breasts being rubbed, my nipples being...sucked.

I took a deep breath, shaking my head to try and shake off the growing, chaotic, and lewd thoughts, confused about how to deal with these thoughts that kept assaulting me.

"At your age, you'll encounter more and more things,

and these things will bring you more confusion." Was I talking to him, or to myself? I tried desperately to calm myself, but I still felt waves of blood rushing to my head, my breathing quickening, my juices flowing, my breasts becoming more sensitive and… "Your body is changing. Hormones you've never had before are accumulating and increasing in your body, so you'll become more proactive and a little bolder than girls your age," I said with difficulty.

I took another deep breath, feeling myself sinking deeper into this. I knew I had to end the conversation quickly to extricate myself, or I'd soon lose control… “I bet all your so-called 'skills' are from movies, right? You know, movies are only an hour and a half or two hours long. Within that timeframe, to tell a story, the protagonist quickly finds a girl, wins her unwavering love, saves the world, and there are lots of passionate sex scenes. But real life isn't like that. Don't expect to meet someone and immediately establish a committed relationship… like in the movies.”

At this point, I felt myself starting to lose control. Watching him sit across from me, hands on the table, eyes looking down, a hint of frustration in his expression, I felt "someone's" tongue driving me wild. That tongue whispered in my ear, then slowly slid down to my vulva, licking my clitoris, sucking my nipples, drawing me closer and closer to orgasm…

"Let me tell you," I struggled to end the conversation, "you need to put in more effort. Over the next few weeks, go out at night with some new girls you've met, or girls you've met but aren't very familiar with, or different girls." As

I spoke, I parted my legs slightly, letting that "penis" of my imagination slide into my vagina and begin thrusting. My vagina was incredibly itchy; I desperately wanted to scratch and rub it. Oh, oh, oh, just when I was trying so hard to suppress it, that "feeling" began uncontrollably.

Using every ounce of my strength to remain calm, I stood up and said, “By then, after you’ve dated different girls, we can talk about how you felt and what you truly want. Who knows? Maybe it’ll all be a waste of time, but you’re still young, and maybe you’ll meet someone who’s right for you. You just have to go out and broaden your horizons.”

“Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with an older woman like me. But remember, whatever you do, be very gentle… like you are with me.” I walked around the table and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

As I moved, that "feeling" intensified, as if "someone" was caressing my buttocks, stimulating my vagina, and that "penis" was sliding in to fill my emptiness, making me produce even more lustful fluid. Oh, I've been dry for so long.

I rushed back to the bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and a wave of sexual climax quickly spread through my body. I didn't even have time to touch myself.

[The End]

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