Rape of an honest mother

I'm glad to see everyone openly discussing the topic of incest.

The internet age is an era of great freedom, with various ideas strongly impacting everyone. The revolutionary consequences it brings are still unpredictable, and I hope everyone cherishes it.

Now, I want to share some true stories from my life.

Remember, this isn't the first chapter of a novel;

the past is unforgettable

. My sexual development was strange. Strange perhaps because no one talks about it, making me feel like only I am like this; I don't know. Therefore, I also hope everyone will talk about some real things (maybe not everyone has experienced this, please don't fabricate). Anyway, online you don't need to use your real name, nor do you need to show your face or leave a message; feel free to speak your mind. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't feel ashamed while discussing it; it's normal).

Just to clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm very welcome, and I won't refuse to meet you, but you must bring your mother and proof of your mother-son relationship.

I was definitely before first grade when I first had sexual fantasies about my mother. Due to the passage of time, I can't recall the exact age now, but it was very, very young.

I clearly remember, more than once, in my dreams, I loudly proclaimed to my mother, "Mom, I want to take off your pants and touch you." Saying this gave me a thrill of breaking taboos. Although I didn't know the word "incest" then, I understood it was a very "vulgar" thing to do. To say such vulgar things to my mother, whom I respected in my daily life!

In the dream, my mother didn't react, so I unbuckled her belt, feeling a nameless pleasure, mystery, and relief, and reached out to touch her genitals. The location was always her office or a nearby playground.

However, I had never seen an adult woman's private parts before, so I couldn't experience it in my dreams.

This kind of dream only happened a few times. Other, more frequent childhood dreams involved running into a store, smashing the shop window to get food, of course, knowing it was a dream. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies at the time, such as

Pan Dongzi from [a movie title] (most Chinese people around thirty years old probably know him, right?). Several times I dreamt he was playing with my neighbor's child—playing with his penis. I went up to him and we touched each other.

Until I was in junior high, I still imagined handsome men from comic books, including Lu Bu, Zhao Zilong, and the Yang family generals from the Three Kingdoms period, imagining them as my wives and male wives, and traveling together. Having these skilled and handsome men with me would be very romantic. They would often fight over me, and I would be the mediator.

As for sex, it was still just fantasies of touching; I never thought about anal sex or anything like that because I couldn't get an erection then.

I didn't know what these historically handsome young generals were like; my impressions came from comic book depictions. I then feminized their personalities according to my own interpretation.

But in terms of Oedipus complex, I was very strange. I only had these thoughts in my dreams at night; they were almost nonexistent during the day. It wasn't that I didn't dare to think about it, but that I simply didn't think about it. Sometimes, thinking about it made me feel disgusted.

I was only a few years old then, and I didn't have much of a moral compass. As for homosexuality, I almost never thought about it when I was awake. I only really thought about it during the day in junior high. At that time, I didn't know that homosexuals could have anal sex, and my genitals weren't erect (I was under fifteen). I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play, and we stripped naked and played around on the bed, rubbing our butts together. But it was just out of curiosity, excitement, and fun; there was no sexual pleasure.

This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around eleven or twelve years old?

Other things related to sex happened during my childhood, so this isn't a dream.

I often played with some girls, playing games, one of which involved injections. Once, I saw my sister and another girl of similar age exposing their breasts in front of a public toilet, sticking popsicle sticks they had picked up from the ground into each other's nipples. My sister was also very young then, I don't know how young, but she was only three years older than me, so she hadn't developed yet either. When they saw me, they told me not to tell my mother. This shows they knew it was shameful, but they still did it; I don't know what that felt like.

I really liked it when my sister touched my butt; I remember once during my afternoon nap, I pulled down my shorts and asked my sister to touch me before I could fall asleep. It just felt very comfortable; I didn't have any sexual feelings about it. My sister always said it was wrong, but she did it anyway.

She was always very good to me until I grew up. Once, when I was young, I touched her breasts in the kitchen. They felt soft and comfortable, but I felt disgusted. Especially when she smiled at me.

I couldn't think of anything softer than a woman's breasts.

Even recently, some of her letters to me still contain strong sexual advances. Once, she heard I published an article that caused a sensation, and wrote, "...many young girls must be infatuated with you. Could you send me some to see, so I can be infatuated too?" And so on, countless times. I felt uncomfortable reading them. I wonder what my brother-in-law would think if he saw them?

This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that incestuous desires are inherent in everyone!

I swear my sister is beautiful. If her wedding makeup photos were published, those Miss Hong Kong and Miss Asia contestants, if they had even a shred of self-awareness, should all go eat shit.

But I just wasn't sexually attracted to her. My mother, though beautiful in her youth, aged considerably after giving birth to me, and I've always been very sexually aroused by her. Isn't that strange?

The only difference between my mother and sister is: my mother is strict, rarely smiles, and protective of her family; my sister is gentle and always puts others before herself.

I've played similar games with other girls. There was a girl a few years older than me who loved playing with me. She'd insert a popsicle stick into my foreskin, and I'd insert the stick into her vagina. Then I'd put on my pants, casually walk around, and then come back to remove it. Of course, it hurt a little. We called this game "Doctor's Injection."

Back then, I didn't like the feeling of a girl's genitals because there was a lot of dirty fluid, which I thought was urine, but she said it was water for washing her bottom. I actually enjoyed giving her injections in the bottom, but I didn't think about it sexually; the pleasure came more from the mystery.

Our parents both worked at a movie theater, and our activities took place there. Because employees' children could come and go freely while outsiders couldn't, the theater was empty when there were no movies showing. There was another wall surrounding the cinema, and between the wall and the theater, there was nothing but birds and weeds growing from the cracked cement.

We once had a teenage nanny; compared to me, she was an adult, a very grown-up. I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my sister. I was quite handsome and quiet as a child, which might have attracted some attention from girls. One time, when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, and then undressed herself, undressing me as well. Then she lay down and wanted me to press against her and suckle her breasts. I sucked twice and said there was no milk, it didn't taste good. She then sat opposite me with our legs spread apart, and tried to force my penis into her vagina. Of course, it wouldn't go in; it didn't even touch, and it hurt my foreskin, so I refused (I regret it now). At that moment, my mother came home and knocked on the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone.

I honestly can't remember if I told anyone. Sometimes I think I didn't, sometimes I think I did.

It's been so long.

She probably didn't have any body hair back then, because I don't remember. I was intensely repulsed by anyone with body hair at that time, so if she did, I certainly wouldn't forget. This is purely logical deduction, not memory.

Later, she went to work as a nanny for someone else. Once, I walked by and saw her carrying a child on her back, chopping vegetables.

She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn!

This incident reveals a woman's true nature. If a woman is cold and indifferent to you, it doesn't mean she's uninterested in sex, but rather uninterested in you. Or perhaps she's simply pretending.

Sometimes, when I read a poet's description of a pure and ethereal beauty, I feel sorry for the poet: she doesn't like you! If a woman likes a man, she won't be like a celestial being, but like a prostitute, even more cheap than a prostitute, someone you can have for free, and then be happy with.

In my twenties, I returned to my hometown, hoping to find those women from back then to erase my regrets, but unfortunately, I couldn't find any. I didn't know how to find them, and frankly, I was too embarrassed to.

There was also a woman in her twenties or thirties who often visited my home. One winter, she and my mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, so she told me to put them inside her clothes. I mischievously kicked her breast, and she glared at me and gave me a warning. But I disobeyed and kicked it again, and she angrily took my foot out. I do remember there was a hint of sexual awareness involved, because I remember feeling incredibly ashamed at the time. Nothing else made me ashamed.

When I was seven, my family moved from this small county town to the city, where I continued my second-grade education. That's the only age I clearly remember.

The city was crowded and noisy; there were no secluded spots, and my city friends hadn't played those kinds of games. This continued until I was a teenager. I believe that sexual attitudes in rural areas are much more open than in the city.

During those years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, they argued, fought, and almost divorced.

Parents fighting is terrifying for a child; I could only cry and tremble. They fought behind closed doors. The shouts and screams inside were deafening. One moment I thought my father was dead, the next I thought my mother was dead; I was almost driven insane with fear.

They ultimately didn't divorce for the sake of the children. Later, my father was transferred to work in another city, coming back once a year to see us and send some money. From then on, he disappeared from my life. My mother was left to raise the three of us sisters alone.

One night, I was sick and feeling dizzy. My mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't keen because I couldn't stretch out when I slept with her, but I didn't object.

As I lay down, my mother was setting up a mosquito net. Because of my dizziness, I closed my eyes. After a while, I felt something strange in my genitals, so I opened my eyes and found my mother straddling my legs with her back to me. I was only wearing thin shorts, and although my penis wasn't erect, its length and firmness pushed the shorts up about an inch. My legs were together. My mother was wearing white briefs and a white tank top. She was squatting, one foot to my left and the other to my right. Because I was sleeping on the outside, she straddled my legs and reached under the mosquito net to keep mosquitoes out.

Her lower body brushed against my erect penis. When she looked back at me, I quickly closed my eyes, but left them slightly ajar. I saw her turn her head to look at me, then look elsewhere, and then intentionally or unintentionally rub her genitals against my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my genitals for more than ten seconds before turning off the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult at that time.

I didn't feel sexually aroused by my mother's actions; instead, I felt disgusted. Thinking about it now, I feel like I was a really strange person. Because I remember that before my father passed away, I often slept between them. Once, I suddenly had desire again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.

My mother moved, so I stopped, then gently stroked her again, and then purposefully moved closer to the groin of her thigh. When I touched my mother's genitals through her underwear, my mother's whole body shrank. I was startled, but soon I touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards, and my mother shrank again. This time I didn't dare to move anymore, because I had thought my mother was asleep and that's why I dared to do this; now it seemed she was probably not asleep. So I cried out that I needed to pee, and my parents turned on the light. I heard my mother tell my father that I was naughty in my sleep. I pretended not to understand, but I was mortified inside. Of course, I never dared to do it again. At that time, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a genuine sexual awareness.

Now, when my mother touches me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had been as bold and had incestuous thoughts that night as I do now, would we have had sex? Back then, our education made me think that sex was shameful, and incest was something I had never even heard of, let alone considered.

By the time I was around twenty, I had lost all interest in homosexuality, but my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I would secretly imagine having an unusual relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw certain parts of her body, I felt disgusted (because they weren't pretty). Later, it became unconditional liking.

Wherever I went to work, my mother always followed me. I often got annoyed with her, and arguments were common, but she just followed me. I often secretly wrote articles about incest between mother and son. Back then, there was no internet. After writing, I'd hide it for a while, and once my emotions calmed down, I'd regret it and burn it immediately. But then, seeing my mother again would make me angry. Actually, when I wrote those things, I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but about another woman—a voluptuous woman in her thirties or forties with a beautiful face—who didn't even exist.

I've analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't truly sexually attracted to my mother. It was more about dissatisfaction and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity, and I deeply despise a certain organization. This shameless thing calls itself the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to have us incest enthusiasts rape this slut who calls herself the mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country, it has mentally raped the entire nation countless times!

Of course, there are also people who are being raped by it while cheering loudly. These people are either born prostitutes or mentally challenged, so I won't bother mentioning them.

As for fellow enthusiasts elsewhere, I believe they are also the result of too much repression, just not as intense as I am.

Easterners are bound by far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (damn Confucius!), and Chinese creativity is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of our nation and people, let's commit incest!

Incest, with mother-son incest as its highest form, is the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I am sexually attracted to ordinary women, but sexual relations between mother and son bring a powerful sense of liberation, a liberation of the mind, and a shattering of all moral constraints. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful.

I suggest everyone adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no scruples in their thoughts.

The taboos surrounding mother-son incest or other incestuous acts stem from two sources: sociology and biology. Sociological issues are easily resolved with mutual consent and secrecy.

Biologically, we know that thoroughbred horses are inbred; while this breeding method may lead to harmful genes meeting and causing genetic diseases, it may also lead to the meeting of superior genes, resulting in more outstanding offspring—a double-edged sword. If you can't handle the shock of having a freak, then don't have children.

Society is progressing, and there's absolutely no need to cling to outdated morals and laws. If you're powerless to fight against the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience.

I really can't think of any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat.

My view is, if you and your mother or other relatives are mutually attracted, and she (he) agrees, then go ahead and have sex! It's practically an ideal situation! If you invite me to visit, I'll be so grateful I'll kneel down and kiss your feet.

Now, back to myself.

Chapter Two: How Many Regrets Did My Mother Give Me

In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me. I can't quite recall the exact time or sequence, so I'll just use a certain day to indicate it. I'll write down what I remember.

One summer, my mother said a thorn had fallen into her clothes and pierced her flesh, and she asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I eager to help my mother, but I did it anyway.

The thorn was there, very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in the flesh; you couldn't find it without careful observation.

My mother couldn't have found it herself, as it was right there in a blind spot, below her neck and at the collar. To make it easier, she shifted her position several times, tilting her head back as she lay on the bed, while I pulled open her tank top, revealing her breasts without a bra.

Her breasts weren't pretty, a bit flat and sagging, but very white and tender. Her nipples weren't the black I disliked, but brown, only slightly larger than a fist. With her face tilted back, I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, and a surge of desire rose within me.

At twenty-one, I was fortunate enough to find a job in a very wealthy and open city, and my mother came with me. For the first time, I had enough money to buy adult films on the street.

Perhaps this was a misfortune for me; after watching my first adult film, I also ejaculated for the first time in my life while fully conscious. After that, masturbation became an uncontrollable habit, and I developed a strong interest in women.

One day, while helping my mother serve dishes, I masturbated frantically, ejaculating into a dish before taking it out.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door, believing my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened later made me suspect she had.

Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified!

Another time, I was masturbating on the bed with the bedroom door wide open. I had checked beforehand from outside; the room lights were off, and the living room light shone brightly through the mosquito net, obscuring the view inside. Just then, my mother walked past my doorway. I boldly knelt on the bed, pointing my penis at her.

She looked inside, stopped, and then came in. I was terrified again. I quickly stopped.

My mother came to my bedside and softly asked if I was feeling unwell, then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said,

"No, no,"

clutching the opening of the mosquito net tightly. She tried to lift the net from another angle, but I panicked and loudly refused in a very irritated tone. Only then did my mother leave. After a while, I got up and looked outside again. I could vaguely see inside the mosquito net from the doorway! Good heavens! What was going on? Why couldn't I see anything when I stood outside looking? Was some divine intervention at work? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net? Why did I want it so badly, but back down at the last minute?

Another day, I felt unwell and lay on the sofa. My mother came over and asked me what was wrong, then offered to massage me. I agreed. She knew a little about medicine and massaged me very carefully. When she massaged my groin, she saw my erect penis under my shorts, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and left without saying a word.

If my mother rubbing my penis with her genitals that night when I was a teenager made me realize she was interested in me, then seeing my erection during this massage should have made her realize I was interested in her too.

But we kept going like this until I finally got my first girlfriend.

This girlfriend was hard-won, and I owed it all to my close friends from high school.

My mother's teachings from a young age instilled in me the belief that staring at women was lecherous, flirting with girls was immoral, dating was irresponsible, and harassing women was utterly heinous.

For example, when my sister mentioned that a man at her workplace frequently stared at her, my mother exclaimed in disgust, "Shameless!" Growing up surrounded by such influences, my natural instincts for courtship, though developed, were suppressed. Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I struggled to grow, yearning for sunlight and rain.

My sisters received similar upbringing, but the impact wasn't as severe. They could easily maintain their composure and remain serious, yet boys still pursued them. Their ladylike demeanor only increased their suitors. But

I was doomed!

Whenever I saw a girl I liked, I seemed to lose my ability to speak, becoming completely silent. When I wanted to pursue or express my love, my mother's shadow would haunt me, preventing me from uttering a thousand words, and rendering my limbs unresponsive.

While I was single, studying and working hard, my friends were having affairs with countless women. But they had no money. I, on the other hand, had accumulated some savings after years of diligent work. So I reconnected with them.

These old classmates had all distanced themselves from me during our school days because of my mother. Whenever they came to visit, my mother would call them hooligans. And whenever I caused trouble at school and was asked to see my parents, my mother would blame it all on my friends, and they still harbor resentment.

"Hey, does your mom still care about you? If you're with us, she won't come knocking on your door again, will she?" This was the first thing my long-lost friends asked when we got together.

I impatiently interrupted them, telling them I was different now. They were skeptical, but I quickly proved them wrong.

I never dreamed they'd been with so many women during those years I spent sitting in an office like a hermit.

When they talked about women at the dinner table, I thought they were just bragging, and I looked at them with disdain and mockery.

They, too, quickly proved themselves wrong. At the second gathering, everyone brought a respectable woman they didn't know to accompany them. By the fifth gathering, most of the women had already slept with them.

I felt inexplicably sad and resentful. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how many women I wanted to sleep with; I just thought that I was far superior to these guys in terms of looks, figure, education, and income, yet I couldn't even find a wife!

One of my friends noticed my distress and expressed sympathy. One day, after drinking, he said,

"Ah Xun is treating us; we're going to play around with women, haha." Everyone probably felt sorry for me. At the next gathering, they introduced me to a girlfriend.

Before that, they taught me a lot about playing with women: "You think too highly of women, that won't work. You have to see every woman as a prostitute!"

"Be cool, don't act like a pedant!"

"We'll help you brag, don't look down on us, women are stupid, they have no judgment. If others say it's good, they think it's good. One compliment from us is worth a year of your education." "You have to sleep with a woman to call it a success, otherwise you'll always be a failure!" These golden words still make me grateful to this day! But at the time, I was skeptical, and even argued with them.

A friend said impatiently, "You think you're so innocent? So high and mighty? I used to be like you, and I almost committed suicide!"

I knew that; he had once chased a girl all the way to her hometown, only to end up penniless and homeless, when he saw the girl and another man walking out of a dance hall. Enraged, he attacked the man, getting arrested by the police. He was only brought back by friends who rushed to his aid.

Now, he's slept with a whole platoon of women, including nurses, doctors, respected female teachers, and enviable female university students.

Hearing his story, I felt like my heart was being stabbed: "Women, are you really that despicable?!" Finally, my friends told me, "Believe it or not, do as we say!" As a result, in less than a week, I slept with that girl, finally releasing years of pent-up depression!

This was my first girlfriend, and I cherished her. She was also very attached to me. However, our relationship was met with unanimous opposition from my mother and friends! This was the first time my mother and the "hooligans" she considered to be on the same side.

My mother expressed extreme disgust for my girlfriend for two reasons: First, the girl's family wasn't wealthy, and her parents weren't intellectuals; they were not a good match for my family. Second, my mother didn't think she was a good girl; she knew she had a relationship with me. That was when my mother raised her first objection, and I said, "She's been doing... that thing..." hoping to salvage the situation, that's when my mother found out. But she didn't think the woman was making a sacrifice; instead, she thought she was improper.

My friends' reasons for objecting varied widely. They said, "Really? You're already giving up after just one?" "Yesterday I said you were smart, that you'd learn in no time, but you're a fucking idiot." "I thought you'd got her, looks like she got you." My girlfriend and I went home together, and my mother gave her a hard time. My friends were also causing trouble; they were busy introducing me to another girl while trying to stop us from seeing each other. Their method was simple: at every gathering, if I wanted to beat them up or report them for breaking the rules, or call my girlfriend out, they'd all rush to make me break the rules and report me! Or they'd snatch her away, or declare beforehand, "If she comes, we leave, it's either her or me."

What man doesn't want to sleep with a few women? I'm a man too, and I was tempted by my friends' suggestions, but I doubted my own abilities; after all, the shadows accumulated over the years weren't easy to erase. Once I got on track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the first one.

My friends painted a grand picture of my womanizing journey: after hooking up with ordinary women, they wanted to introduce me to middle-aged women, married women, middle school girls, and so on, and first, let me sleep with all the women they had slept with. I was absolutely ecstatic!

But things didn't go as smoothly as I'd imagined. Two of my friends soon went to do business in other cities; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, being a filial son, he was devastated; the last one slept with the daughter of a deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, resulting in a conviction for indecent assault and imprisonment, and we all broke up. Despite

having ample experience and proper theoretical guidance in womanizing, without the help of my friends, I still couldn't go it alone, and slowly reverted to my old ways. My second girlfriend ended the relationship before we even slept together. My first girlfriend married someone from another city and left.

Chapter Three: Kissing away her longing and lustful desires, comforting her lonely vagina,

life became empty and boring again. At this time, I had been working in my hometown for a year because my company was opening a branch there.

One day, I was sitting in front of the computer playing games out of boredom, smoking and propping one foot up on the stool.

My mother came over and told me to smoke less, which was normal. I ignored her, which was also normal.

But when she came over to repeat it for the fifth time, it was very abnormal.

Before, I hadn't even looked at her, just focused on my game. The fifth time, I glanced at her, and she quickly looked away and walked away. But I had already caught her gaze. Looking down, I realized that my shorts were too loose, and with one leg up on the stool, the leg had slipped down, exposing half of my buttocks and testicles.

I was extremely embarrassed and wanted to curse. In

the afternoon, I was watching TV and unconsciously put my feet up on the sofa again, then fell asleep. My mother had gone out to buy groceries, and when I woke up, she was already back. As soon as I opened my eyes, I found her squatting beside my feet, tidying up the things she had just bought.

That spot used to have a flower stand and a few pairs of old shoes, which my mother had never tidied up before; the shoes were covered in a thick layer of dust.

Remembering what happened that morning, I glanced down at my pants. There was a gap, and one leg was propped up on the coffee table, wide open. I reached in and touched it, but before I could get very far, I touched a cold bird egg.

My mother's unusual expression confirmed my suspicions. Her gaze was unfocused; she didn't dare look at me and hurried away.

I thought for a moment, then pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet, tidying things up! Her head was so low, lower than the sofa armrest. After a while, she looked up, glanced at the door behind me, and gave me a quick look, but I still pretended to be asleep.

Then, my mother slowly lowered her head until her eyes were level with the sofa armrest, and began to look into my pants leg, intentionally or unintentionally. I had a sudden inspiration and started to snore softly.

In an instant, my mother's expression completely changed. From nonchalant to extremely focused, from peeking out of the corner of her eye to staring intently.

It was the first time in my life I had seen my mother look at me with such an almost greedy gaze—an unforgettable experience!

What I had dodged and weaved about in the past had become a stark reality!

From that day forward, I made an astonishing decision.

Back then, there were no computers or the internet. The computer I used required inserting and removing two discs in turn. Games were just long, scrambled programs written in basic programming. Incestuous literature online was unheard of.

I felt alone, burdened by a deep sense of guilt. The only thing that sustained me was Freud's theories of psychology. During that time, I actually read quite a few psychology books.

My mother also loved to read; she usually read biographies of famous figures from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign. She would often sit under the lamp, wearing her reading glasses, reading late into the night. I once saw one of her books; the margins were filled with philosophical maxims, but she seemed to take days to finish even a single page. She usually gave the impression of a scholar, with noble manners and commanding respect.

You can imagine why it was so shocking when she squatted behind the sofa, staring intently at my genitals!

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed the book to my mother. She said she wasn't interested. I insisted, and she agreed to read it, but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't take it seriously.

Later, I discovered she really hadn't read it, so I took the book back, saying, "The author of this book is strange; he thinks incest is normal." My mother looked up, her gaze passing over the top of her reading glasses, and said, "I haven't read it yet." I said, "I thought you'd finished it. Do you still want to read it?" She said, "Have you finished it?" I said I had, and she said, "Then leave it here; I'll read it when I have time." The next day, I discovered that my mother had already read the book.

I didn't know what she thought after reading it; outwardly, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not the kind of change I expected. However, she seemed much nicer to me.

During this time, I seemed to focus all my energy on my mother. Sometimes I really didn't know what had gotten into me!

About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was unusually vague.

"What?" I asked.

"I've finished reading, a little bit," she finally managed to utter a coherent sentence, her gaze darting around.

I took the book and examined it carefully, and sure enough, I found a sentence she had underlined. I don't remember the details, but it was something like "Every child secretly loves their mother." Then, while she was around, I wrote something in the book. She asked me what I was reading, and I answered, then marked the book and inserted it randomly on the bookshelf. What

I wrote was: At least that's how I feel.

It was right next to the sentence my mother had underlined.

When I came home from work, I immediately noticed the book had been moved. But unfortunately, my mother hadn't added anything else.

However, my usually serious mother gave me several rare smiles that night. I had never seen my mother with that expression before, and I was momentarily at a loss, only managing to regain my composure and return the smile the next day.

There were many similar incidents afterward, which I don't want to describe in detail, but a few major breakthroughs are worth mentioning.

I watched pornography late at night, deliberately letting my mother see me. Then I taught her how to use a VCR, and she borrowed some science popularization videos from me. Soon I discovered the marked yellow videotape had been tampered with.

I started wearing underwear at home, and soon my mother was also often seen walking around the house in just her underwear. Her figure wasn't great, and occasionally I found it a bit annoying. So I encouraged my mother to do aerobics; she initially said it was boring, but a month later I found she was already participating.

I asked my mother to demonstrate aerobics for me, and she agreed, performing some movements in a high-slit aerobics outfit.

Although I tried to restrain myself, I quickly became erect. My mother saw this and walked away.

I also invited my mother to the movies, and she went. Soon after, it was her birthday, and I bought her a gift and flowers, which made her very happy. Her expression was different from anything I had ever seen before.

My mother began to act like a woman, instead of the strong, independent woman she used to be; her voice became much gentler.

While she was doing laundry, I gave her a pair of underwear and asked her to wash it for me; she washed it very clean.

In my diary, I wrote: "I love watching her in her aerobics outfit and cheongsam." The diary also contains some of my erotic dreams, recorded in a very subtle way. Many of them are about my mother.

The diary was on the table, and I discovered it had been touched.

On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said it looked very beautiful, extremely beautiful. My mother started doing aerobics at home, and I would come out to watch every time.

She would watch the instructional video on TV, doing the movements, while I sat on the sofa watching. She would turn around and ask me if I was doing it correctly, and I would deliberately let her notice me looking at her private parts.

I pointed out that she wasn't lifting her legs high enough, and went up to help her lift her thighs a little higher. Seeing that she was wearing long stockings, I said that it wasn't good for her skin to breathe. The next day she stopped wearing them.

I immediately bought her a new aerobics outfit, but she said it was a swimsuit, yet she wore it anyway.

I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into my notebook. Some were borrowed from the library, and I photocopied some, but I didn't want to spend too much money on photocopying, so I just copied some. Soon, I added my own opinions to the real-life examples and critical investigations, mixing the truth with falsehood.

I wrote: "According to research by American scientists, humans have an incestuous nature. Scientists believe that incest is unacceptable from a eugenic perspective, but from the perspective of love, it is perfectly acceptable..." Of course, I put it on my desk so my mother would see it.

One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in the swimsuit I had bought her, and I sat on the sofa watching her in tight underwear. Her figure was much better than before.

During this time, I had the experience of touching my mother's inner thigh and we had spontaneously danced a few times, each time ending with laughter. My mother had completely become a woman.

When she asked me to help her stretch her legs again, I found her posture very alluring today.

My mother supported herself with her hands on the ground, one leg kneeling, the other leg stretched straight back and raised, asking me to help her raise it higher.

I saw a brownish indentation around the crotch of my mother's labia majora, with a few pubic hairs on it.

I lifted her thighs and tried rubbing my swollen penis against her legs; she didn't seem to notice. I squatted down, my knees touching her genitals. Her body contracted slightly, then relaxed, and she immediately asked, "Is this it?"

I said, "Almost there, can you go a little higher?" She said, "Try it." I held her knees with one hand and slid the other down her thighs to the base of her buttocks.

After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was tired. I told her to change positions, and she asked what. I stood in front of her, leaning back until my hands were on the ground. My penis was bulging under my underwear, aimed at her. Then

I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up." My mother laughed and helped me up, my penis pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. After we got up, I held her, panting, and said my back almost broke. My mother just laughed.

Then I helped my mother and asked her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was getting old and her back was stiff, so she couldn't do it.

I told her she was very young and that I was there to protect her. With my support, my mother slowly leaned back.

Her thighs were spread wide, and our genitals were pressed together through two thin layers of fabric.

Before my hands even touched the ground, my mother said she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, and my mother struggled to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, so our genitals rubbed together.

After I lifted my mother up, she felt dizzy and leaned against me. At this moment, I got excited and boldly touched her buttocks. After touching her, my mother said that she was fine there, but her lower back was a little sore, and she asked me to massage it for her. I felt a little guilty, so I moved my hands up to her.

After massaging for a while, my mother said it was okay and got up and walked away. When she turned around, I saw that there was a wet patch on her crotch.

The next morning, I put the underwear stained with semen on the bed, and my mother took it to wash.

After work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals.

I did the same seductive move she made, and I'm sure my testicles were already pushing open a crack in my underwear. I wonder how much my mother saw

. We did the same backward leaning motion as yesterday again, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance. As usual, she said she didn't know how, but I still said, "I'll teach you," and hugged her.

It was getting dark, and we didn't turn on the lights, only the fluorescent light from the TV illuminated the room.

Then I asked my mother to dance a cheek-to-cheek dance. Of course, I didn't say the words "cheek-to-cheek dance," but just asked her to put her arms around my neck instead. My mother said, "This is fine." I insisted, letting go of her and putting my arms around her waist. She had to put her hands on my shoulders, and I pushed her hands to my neck before she would hug me. After

dancing for a while, I touched my mother's buttocks again, and I slipped my fingers between her legs, finding them wet and slippery. Then my mother said, "Give me a massage on my lower back, it's a bit swollen." Learning from yesterday's experience, I said, "Let me help you clear the meridians in your back." My mother said, "Okay, do you know how?" I said, "Of course." Then I started touching her from her shoulders to her buttocks.

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, and the perineum," I said as I touched her, feeling a sticky, slippery fluid. I felt myself losing control and kissed her. My mother smiled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit at the hip and touched her buttocks. My mother glanced at me and pulled away to the right, but I still felt her genitals, wet and sticky.

"Don't do this," my mother whispered, pushing me away.

I refused to pull out, and she pushed harder and harder; it looked like we were about to fight before I finally withdrew.

My mother hugged my neck again, and I slipped my hand inside her pants, this time directly touching her genitals. My mother warned me again in a low voice, "Stop it, just dance properly," and pushed my hand away again.

We continued dancing, and I kept kissing my mother, who would occasionally flinch. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling her blouse up to her buttocks so my touch was directly on her flesh.

My mother didn't object to me touching her buttocks anymore, but when my hand moved down again, she would suddenly stop, look at me, and only continue dancing after I pulled my hand away. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed, avoiding my entry. After

a while, I stopped, feeling dejected. My mother asked, "Not dancing anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer, and she said,

"Then Mom will go cook." Seeing that I didn't react, my mother went back to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.

The next day, I was absent-minded all day. When I came home from work and saw that my mother wasn't doing aerobics, I felt all the anger I had held back all day dissipate, and I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well, and I asked her why she hadn't done the exercises that day. She said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to clear my head. A little girl kept pestering me to buy her flowers, so I bought a red rose and brought it back to my mother. My mother was very happy to receive the flower. After a while, she went back to her room, changed into her swimsuit, and came out to do some aerobics.

After a few steps, I went up to her and hugged her without saying anything about dancing. My mother looked at me and smiled,

"What's wrong?" I pressed her head into my arms, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I didn't speak, she broke free and looked at me again. I then said, "Let's dance." Then I put on some music and turned off the lights.

We hugged silently and swayed to the music for a while. Then I started kissing my mother and touching her buttocks. She didn't object. I tentatively touched her crotch, but it was still dry. Seeing that she didn't react, I boldly used my fingers to lift the cloth covering her buttocks and touched inside. My mother's labia were also dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were full of nectar, which immediately seeped out along my middle finger.

At this moment, the mother raised her head, put on a stern face, and said, "Don't touch Mom there." Fortunately, her tone was not very harsh.

After several attempts to resist, my mother stopped refusing my touch on her vulva. She just clung to me tightly, rubbing her face against my shoulder and neck.

After a while, I carried her to the sofa. Sensing something was about to happen, she resisted. I don't remember what I said, but it was something like "I love you."

During the struggle, my mother cried out, "My clothes are torn!"

I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." I

then pushed up her swimsuit, which was torn in the crotch, and finally managed to get it off after much persuasion.

Once naked, I pulled down my underwear, exposing my penis. This was obviously very uncomfortable, but I didn't dare get up. If I relaxed even slightly, my mother would run away.

Then I pressed myself against her, gently prying her legs apart with my own while trying to persuade her. My mother whispered, "No." "Be good, you can't do this." "No, I can't." Finally, it became, "Mom isn't feeling well, can we do it tomorrow?"

I said, "I really want to... please... give it to me... I love you..." and other such cheesy things women like to hear, exploring with the head of my penis. My mother struggled, twisting her hips to prevent me from entering. This was almost exactly the same as when I slept with my first girlfriend. I wonder if other women are like this too?

"Mom, just put it in for a little while, please..."

I said, and my mother seemed to cry as she moaned and stopped moving, which meant she consented. I immediately found the entrance and inserted my penis into my mother's warm body, completing our first intercourse.

The pleasure of ejaculation was indescribable. After it was over, I lay down, and my mother kept cursing me in a low voice, saying she wanted to die. It wasn't until I got an erection for the second time and pressed down on her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper mouth.

The second time we did it for a long time. I occasionally thrust in and out, but most of the time I kissed her and talked to her. I told her all the times I had seen her spying on me in the past, but my mother denied it all, saying I was making things up, that it didn't happen, and so on.

I didn't argue with her, and changed my story to lie that I had fallen in love with my mother when I was very young, the kind of lie that women like to hear, and that I would slowly play with her when she felt sweet inside.

At this time, my mother stopped talking and let me do whatever I wanted. I carried her to her bed and we made love for half an hour. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. When I ejaculated, my mother held me tightly, making soft moaning sounds, her buttocks arching repeatedly until I squeezed all my semen into her vagina.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was real; it felt like a dream.

I kissed my mother awake, constantly asking myself: Is this real? Was I really touching my mother's breasts? Was I really touching my mother's genitals?

My mother opened her eyes, looking confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little worried.

"Mom, you're still not awake?" I asked her. She smiled, looked at me, and stroked my forehead.

I rolled over and pressed myself against my mother, kissing her.

Our kiss was awkward; our teeth occasionally touched, and our tongues flicked haphazardly. Later, my mother wisely took a passive stance, reducing the impact.

My mother closed her eyes, her body rising and falling beneath me, occasionally taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself down.

I want to clarify the difference between having sex with my mother and having sex with my girlfriend. I suspect everyone has a gene that resists incest, because every time I hug my mother and smell her scent, I feel as if it erases my desire for her. But incestuous people experience another force fighting against it. For me, this force is forbidden pleasure. It's far stronger than the first force.

While showering, my mother and I had sex again, but I didn't ejaculate.

When I came home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa watching. She turned around, found me naked, and was quite surprised, scolding me.

I laughed and tried to take off her clothes, but she refused, saying I was vulgar, but finally let me. We had sex on the sofa, then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, and my mother hugged me, carefully touching my body.

A week later, our sexual relationship normalized, and we had sex once or twice a day.

Every day when I came home, my mother would open the door for me, put my things down, help me take off my clothes, and then immediately hug me. I would ask her,

"Did you miss me?" She would nod, and then we would go to bed and make love. We were newlyweds, inseparable.

Then one Sunday, I took my mother shopping, saying I wanted to buy her something. When we arrived at the jewelry store, my mother refused to go in. Only after my persuasion and the shop assistant's invitation did she finally enter.

I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was uneasy. When I asked her if it was okay, she always said, "You decide." When it came time to pay, she started haggling with the shop assistant, her attitude very unfriendly. Fortunately, the shop assistant didn't mind, but because of her, we actually saved several hundred yuan.

When we got home, I hugged my mother and sat her on the sofa, took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another thing that impressed me was that my mother's sitting posture had changed. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with her thighs slightly crossed, her body straight, and her hands at her sides. Today, she lowered her head slightly, her legs together, her hands clasped on her knees. What moved me even more was that her calves were together, slightly tilted to the right, while her upper body leaned towards me to the left, an expression of boundless tenderness and care.

This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely come to rely on me, more than a thousand words could express. At this moment, she was no longer the prim and proper, unsmiling mother who would often scold me with a stern face. She had completely become my new wife.

Especially when I took her hand and placed the ring on her fingers, roughened by years of hard work but still long and slender, words could not describe the expression on her face.

My heart pounded wildly at that moment!

I haven't explained the meaning of that ring then, or even to this day, but we both understand. At least we both think of it that way: it's our engagement ring.

Afterwards, my mother and I had sex. It was the most enjoyable and successful sex we'd ever had since we started our relationship. With a gentle pull, my mother gracefully stood up, her lightness like that of a vibrant young girl. We walked arm in arm towards the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.

At the door, she paused, closed it, and then followed me to the bedside, embracing and kissing.

I unbuttoned her cheongsam and discovered she had changed into new underwear, which I couldn't recall when she had bought it. Before, my mother had made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear but also sensed her feelings. The underwear wasn't particularly sexy; what was sexy was my mother's sentiment: son, I belong to you.

My mother smiled shyly, and we kissed again. Her underwear fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while I remained impeccably dressed in my suit. When I saw myself in the mirror, impeccably dressed, holding my naked mother in my arms, caressing her until she gasped, I felt a surge of excitement.

Heh, it was like a client playing with a prostitute.

My mother, with her eyes closed, enjoyed my caresses and kisses, completely unaware that her son was treating her like a prostitute.

This was the result of my friends' teachings.

However, I didn't actually see my mother as a prostitute; it was just a thrilling thought. I believe that even if my mother knew my true feelings, she would forgive me.

After touching her for a while, my mother stood up straight, smiled at me, and gently loosened my tie and removed my shirt. Then, seemingly embarrassed to take off my pants, she hugged me again, pressing her breasts against my chest.

I put one leg on the bed, draped one of my mother's thighs over mine, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her, and rubbed her vulva.

My mother opened her eyes and whispered, "You've dirtied the bed." I smiled, not caring at all.

After all, it wasn't me who washed the sheets, but my mother, so she was more concerned than I was.

My mother took her leg down, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off my shoes, then stood up, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her face against my chest.

It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked in front of me to take off my shoes, I felt a strong surge of pleasure!

Her kneeling posture seemed to tell me: "Son, you've conquered me."

Perhaps it was that ring worth over three thousand yuan that was working? I thought: Actually, my mother and a prostitute aren't that different, except the initial fee is higher, and you don't have to pay afterwards. Comparatively speaking, paying for a mother is more cost-effective than paying for a prostitute. Of course, this was just for the thrill, nothing more.

After taking off my shoes, my mother and I held hands and went to the bed, kneeling facing each other. I fiddled with my belt a few times, looked at my mother, and she understood what I meant, smiling as she loosened my belt. Then I knelt higher, and she pulled my pants down to my thighs. I sat down and crossed my legs, and my mother took off my pants and carefully placed them on the stool beside the bed, unlike me, who threw her underwear all over the floor.

At this point, I was still wearing my underwear, but my mother didn't move, kneeling there, looking down at the bed. I went up and hugged her, kissing her. Her hands caressed my body under my arms, and then she finally started to take off my underwear.

I lay down and reached out to pull my mother up, wanting her to lie on top of me, but this time she didn't understand. She lay on her side next to me, so I had to turn over. She also turned and lay on her back. When I pressed down, she spread her legs. Everything was perfectly coordinated.

My glans was wet and slippery, making it easy to slip into my mother's vagina.

This was the first time we made love in a brightly lit place. My mother kept her eyes tightly closed, not daring to look at me. Her thighs were wrapped around my waist, and her hands were wrapped tightly around my neck. I used a nine-shallow-one-deep method to penetrate her. Occasionally, she would open her mouth and exhale silently.

After all, I was born of her, and our reproductive organs were very compatible. My mother's vagina and my penis were almost the same length. When I inserted it to the hilt and then applied a little more force, I reached my mother's clitoris. If I thrust in too hard, my mother's body would involuntarily tremble.

She was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to suppress the pleasure. I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.

During ejaculation, my mother's whole body tensed, clinging tightly to me until a minute after I finished, when she finally relaxed.

As she hugged me, her vagina contracted rhythmically with her panting.

At dinner, we were very close. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. In all my life, I had never seen my mother smile so much.

After that, we shared a bed for a year, and I estimate that I ejaculated a whole bucket of semen inside her during that year.

For a while, she stopped bodybuilding, seeming lazy and quite coquettish. After my persuasion, she resumed exercising, and her figure improved. Of course, she can't be compared to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, even those twenty years younger than her, she's quite good. I also often buy my mother high-end shower gel and skincare products, keeping her skin smooth and supple. She also takes good care of herself, even wearing gloves when washing vegetables.

The only flaw was that my mother's breasts just wouldn't grow bigger.

The first time I gave my mother oral sex was at night. I was already in bed, and my mother went to take a shower. After she finished showering, she got into bed wrapped in a towel, and I suddenly had a strange idea. I pushed her down, spread her legs, and buried my face between her legs. My mother was startled, thinking I was going to bite her there, and she cried out. After I licked her, she became extremely excited and produced a lot of fluid, which had a slightly fishy smell, but it was still bearable.

Later, I asked my mother to lick my penis. She didn't want to refuse, but she seemed reluctant and licked it a few times. I felt that forcing it wouldn't bring happiness, and it didn't feel good, so I said, "Forget it, if you don't want to lick, then don't." My mother hesitated and asked me, "Will you kiss me after you lick me?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out that she was afraid I would find her dirty.

My mother then confidently gave me oral sex. After a while, to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard, sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. To be honest, it was a little disgusting because she seemed to have had her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But after that, things were much better. When my mother sucked on my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept swallowing. I made her eat my semen once, but she said it made her throat uncomfortable.

Another time, after I ejaculated, my mother put my semen in her mouth and let me taste it. I ate it and found it salty and fishy, yet also bland. My throat felt numb, which wasn't very pleasant, so I never wanted my mother to eat my semen again. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to like the feeling again. She said, "The numbness is also very fun." So later, when she was happy, she would still suck on my penis until she sucked out the semen, and then swallow it.

We also tried anal sex, but my mother didn't like it, so we did it less often. I hope she will change her mind someday.

This year we tried everything, including various positions, but in the end we both felt that face-to-face embracing and thrusting was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We also tried having sex in parks at night while traveling, but I found that the pleasure wasn't great when I ejaculated, so we stopped.

A year later, our passion had waned somewhat, but we were still very much in love. My mother suggested that I find a girlfriend, promising she wouldn't be jealous.

Around this time, my friends all came back, and I spent more time with them chasing girls, spending less time with my mother.

When I came home at night, my mother would always complain, but as soon as my penis entered her vagina, she would become as docile as a puppy.

Soon, I found another girl and brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin, seemingly more concerned about it than I was. I said, "Where are virgins these days?" My mother looked down on that girl and condoned my finding another one.

My live-in girlfriend was unwilling to be dumped and came to our house to make a scene several times. My mother scolded her mercilessly and drove her away, ending the relationship. Soon after, I slept with my second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but not a virgin either. However, this time when my mother asked, I lied and said she was. My mother was very happy, treating her like a future daughter-in-law and urging me to get married quickly.

A year later, my girlfriend became pregnant, and we prepared to get married.

The night before our wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her parents' house. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time, so given the chance to be alone, we naturally went to bed without hesitation.

After we had sex once, I told my mother to put on her wedding dress, and then we had sex on the wedding bed. My mother said, "How could you even think of that?" while her body writhed excitedly.

After the wedding, life at home became peaceful. My wife soon gave birth to a son, and my mother loved taking care of her grandson, finding a new purpose in life.

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, not even letting me kiss her, afraid of being seen.

Once, when my wife was in the bathroom, I secretly told my mother, "Don't wear underwear." She asked curiously, "Why?" I felt awkward. Another time, during dinner, my wife went to the kitchen, and I secretly touched my mother's thigh, startling her so much that she almost dropped her bowl. She whispered angrily, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes, I would sneak out from work to rekindle our past romance with my mother, but each time it was rushed and I couldn't fully enjoy myself. Occasionally, when my wife is away on business or there are company events, my son and I can immerse ourselves in sex again.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compare them in my mind, and my mother seems quite interested in my wife's bedroom skills. Out of female modesty, she's embarrassed to ask, but she listens very attentively whenever I bring it up.

To be honest, my mother is inferior to my wife in many ways. She gave birth to three children, so her vagina is naturally looser, but fortunately, her vaginal fluid is thicker and less abundant, which compensates somewhat for the lack of friction. Also, my mother is over fifty years old; her face has many wrinkles, her hair is streaked with gray, her breasts are small and sagging, and her nipples point downwards. She

also has a lot of fat on her lower abdomen, always looking like she's three months pregnant. Although compared to women her age, my mother is well-maintained, she's far inferior to my youthful and beautiful wife.

However, because I enjoy excitement, my mother's shortcomings due to age become advantages in my eyes. It is precisely because of this that I truly feel: I am having sex with my own mother!

Also, my mother is very conservative. Every time we sleep together, we do it the traditional way. Because we are mother and son incestuous, she has a deep sense of inferiority and is very concerned about my attitude towards her. She dislikes me making her lie on the bed and then having sex with her from behind like a dog. I wanted her to imitate the actresses in adult films, but she said she didn't want to imitate those kinds of sluts. At that moment, I thought to myself, even if they are sluts, they wouldn't be so slutty as to sleep with their own son. Of course, this is something I absolutely cannot say out loud. I also wanted her to secretly watch my wife and me make love, but she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open. She has tried all the positions in adult films with me. Once, I asked her if she wanted me to break the rules and report me! She said, "I'd do it if you let a dog do it." She was serious and meant what she said, but I didn't want to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I once asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "If others like it, that's none of our business." Once, while watching an adult film, I pointed to an actor having sex with his mother and said, "If we have a handsome son in the future, would you want to have sex with him?" She retorted, "Have you slept with your mother?" I pretended to be angry and ignored her, but inside I was terrified and never dared to ask that question again.

Besides the forbidden thrill, what made my mother superior to my wife was her snow-white skin. I've never seen a living woman whiter than my mother in my life. And her body's suppleness was unparalleled.

Women's bodies are generally supple, but compared to my mother, it was nothing. She was practically boneless and muscleless.

Holding her, even without committing adultery, was incredibly pleasurable.

My sisters' beauty was no less than that of Miss Hong Kong or Miss World, arguably even surpassing them, but I've never felt any sexual interest in them from childhood to adulthood. I find this strange. This is probably the result of natural selection and evolution, a kind of protective measure.

In fact, you can often observe that women become less attractive after giving birth to boys, while becoming more beautiful after giving birth to girls; and sons usually resemble their mothers (this is more easily seen in reproduction between different races), while daughters usually resemble their fathers (most people don't experience sexual desire for themselves, and perhaps have less sexual desire for those who resemble them the most). Are these changes perhaps to prevent incest between mothers and sons, or fathers and daughters?

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing their studies, and I spend less time with them. When we were young, we were often at odds over toys and such, and there wasn't much affection between us. I don't know what the future holds; if anything happens, I'll write it down for readers. I

originally thought that our sexual relationship would decline over time like that of ordinary couples, eventually ceasing altogether, but it hasn't turned out that way yet. I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially after reading my first incest article online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and then we reached a new peak.

In the past year, I've had sex with my mother far more often than with my wife, and it happens more often in the kitchen than in bed, usually right after I get off work. Because my wife sells vegetables, she usually gets home half an hour later than me, and my mother and I use this opportunity to have affairs. At this time, my mother is usually in the kitchen chopping meat or washing rice, and I go straight to the kitchen as soon as I walk in. If she's not there, she'll be washing clothes in the bathroom.

When my mother is sexually aroused, she'll put down what she's doing, turn around, and hug me as soon as I reach out. Then we'll kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother prefers me to touch her; she rarely initiates it. While touching me, I'll reach under her skirt, pull down her panties, and pin her against the kitchen wall for a rape.

My mother usually wears a skirt, and occasionally a robe, which means she's interested. If she's not wearing anything under her robe, it's very stimulating. Even if I'm not sexually aroused, she'll use oral sex or something to arouse me. If she wears trousers, then there's no chance; no matter how much I touch her, she won't get wet. I always feel annoyed when I see my mother wearing trousers. However,

both of these situations are rare. Usually, I'm the one who initiates the touching, and she'll become aroused in less than three minutes.

Come to think of it, it was more often me who wasn't interested, and less often my mother wasn't.

Ultimately, the bond that held our sex life together was forbidden pleasure, at least that's how I felt.

Sometimes I think about it, and after my mother and I developed a special relationship, the way we looked at each other changed. If my wife were perceptive, she could have noticed. Why hadn't she noticed all these years? I think one reason is: when she married me, my mother and I had already been intimate; the way we looked at each other would have changed long ago, so she probably thought it was normal.

Of course, I would never dare to ask her.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/577.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=577&aspx=1

Previous Page : "The Apocalypse Has Arrived, and I'm Surrounded by Female Zombies" - Chapter 157: The Zombie Horde Has Dispersed

Next Page : Shoot to Mommy

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Rape of an honest mother

comment Open a new window to view comments