Lewd past events have faded with the wind.

Of course, maybe it was yesterday; I don't know.

I received an email that seemed to be from my brother saying, "Father has died; burial tomorrow.

This is to inform you." So I don't know when my father died.

Of course, I don't know how he died either.

Although I send him money every month, I haven't been home for a very long time.

My wife got out of bed; the moonlight shone on her slightly loose skin, giving her an extra radiance.

She rested her head on my shoulder, her soft hair gently brushing against my chest. She lazily breathed into my ear, drawing out her voice softly, "Darling, what are you looking at?" "Nothing." I put away my phone, turned my head, and kissed her lips, softly saying, "Mom." I haven't called her that in a long time; I call her Xiaoyu, and she calls me Ali.

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

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

It was a long, long, long time ago… “Don’t look at him, he’s a thug, really bad.” I heard someone whispering behind me. I glanced back, and two fairly pretty girls, startled by my gaze, quickly walked past me.

I spat and cursed, when suddenly I heard the girl with the long ponytail whisper, “That scoundrel, his dad’s a scoundrel, and I bet his mom is too. Sigh, I really don’t know what kind of mother raised him.” The other girl didn’t speak, but the girl with the long ponytail continued muttering, “Definitely not a good person, hey, maybe a prostitute.” I won’t go into the violence that followed. The headmaster knew I wasn’t anything special and didn’t bother to scold me. Anyway, the college entrance exam was coming up this year, and he wouldn’t see me again.

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

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

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

She finally panicked, clutching her chest and cursing.

My mind went blank; I took a few steps forward, threw her to the ground, and pounced on her, tearing at her clothes like a madman.

Her eyes were filled with terror as she screamed. I ignored her and ripped off her bra, revealing two small, white mounds of flesh like steamed buns.

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

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

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

I don't know how I got home. I was standing in my mother's room. My father was probably out drinking with his cronies again, and I didn't know where my brother was.

My mother stood by the window, her back to me.

"Mom," I called out, kneeling down.

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

I knelt on the ground, looking down, hearing the rustling of clothes.

I looked up and saw a woman, topless, with her back to me. The moonlight shone on her, like a layer of ointment, so bright I couldn't look away.

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

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

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

She was crying, tears streaming down her expressionless face.

All my desire vanished. I cried out loud and knelt on the ground, kowtowing.

My mother's lifeless eyes seemed to glance at me, and she said indifferently, "You wanted to see, didn't you? I'll show you." I shook my head violently as I knelt and backed away, running out of the house and squatting under a telephone pole, wailing and slapping my face repeatedly.

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

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

I cursed under my breath.

I didn't like my father; he was a real scoundrel, doing nothing all day, drinking, fighting, and beating my mother.

They say fatherly love is like a mountain, but I felt no pity from him.

My brother's imprisonment was also somewhat related to him.

I started to study hard, but the college entrance exams in those years were unimaginably difficult. With so little time, what good was all my hard work? But I still wanted to try. In my spare time, I would always think about that night, about that alluring body. I knew it wasn't right, but I couldn't control my thoughts, and I didn't dare look my mother in the eye. My mother, on the other hand, remained the same. Sometimes she would even be happy when she talked about me, saying things like, "My child has finally become sensible."

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

Days passed by, and it was another ordinary evening. I came home after evening self-study. The house reeked of alcohol and was a mess. My mother, disheveled, was curled up in a corner, crying.

I was furious. Forgetting my shyness of the past few days, I squatted down and asked, "Did Dad hit you again?" My mother looked up, slightly confused, her face flushed, indicating that she had drunk quite a bit.

When she saw me, it was as if she had found her pillar of support, and she finally cried.

I hugged my mother and comforted her, but I accidentally glanced at the white flesh on her chest and suddenly became nervous.

My mother sobbed for a while, then leaned on my shoulder, looking around the house with a dazed, drunken gaze. Suddenly, she chuckled. She looked at me and said, "Ali, you're not like that person after all." She pushed me away, stood up, and spun around. Her tattered clothes fluttered in the wind, revealing glimpses of her pale flesh. I forced myself to calm down and was about to offer some words of comfort when my mother suddenly stopped, tilting her head to look at me. "Pretty?" she asked. "Uh, pretty," I stammered, momentarily speechless. My mother chuckled again, playfully saying, "Of course! I studied dance.

I've studied how to spin like that beautifully for ages." My mother laughed for a while, then suddenly burst into tears. "Ali," she said, "you don't know how scared I was back then. Do you know how much I hate rape? If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be like this now. I wouldn't be like this." "I know, I know," I said, lowering my head.

"What do you know? He raped me.

My boyfriend doesn't want me anymore, my parents don't want me anymore, nobody wants me anymore!" My mother roared, squatting on the ground and crying, "Nobody wants me anymore." "No, Mom, you still have me." Seeing my mother's tears, I panicked, rushed over and hugged her, shouting, "I'm still here, I'm still by your side, I won't abandon you." "Ha, you're a bad thing too." Perhaps my lower body was pressing against my mother, because my mother laughed and scolded, pulling away from my embrace.

She lightly jumped around a few times, then suddenly turned her head and said, "Everyone says I'm a slutty, lowly woman, so what if I'm slutty again?" "Mom." My heart felt like it was being cut by a knife, filled with anger and helplessness. I wanted to say something more, but two red lips sealed all my words. My

mind was like it had been struck, a blur. My mother looked at my expression, then suddenly clapped her hands and laughed, as cute as an elf.

She casually ripped off her tattered clothes, revealing a faded black bra that held up two enormous breasts, swaying back and forth in front of me. She seemed tired, leaning back in her chair, casually playing with the round breasts inside the bra. Looking at me, her gaze suddenly softened, and she whispered, "Ah Li seems a little hungry. I need to express some milk." My throat tightened; after all, I was just an ignorant 17-year-old boy. I struggled to dissuade her, but my mother, focused on expressing her breasts, suddenly slapped her forehead and said, "Oh, look at my memory." She quickly unhooked her bra, revealing her white breasts. She happily looked up and said, "Ah Li, the milk's ready, come and eat." I finally couldn't resist anymore, kneeling before the chair, gazing at the place where my mother had nursed me as if on a pilgrimage. My mother gave me a strange look, then grasped her breast and brought it to my mouth.

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

My mother hummed in response, and when I looked at her, her eyes were almost brimming with tears.

I was completely blinded by desire. In the absence of any stimulation like pornography, a naked woman was enough to turn a person into a beast.

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

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

Just one look, just one look.

I convinced myself, trembling as I lay on the bed, looking through her underwear.

My mother looked at my actions with confusion, as if she didn't understand what was happening.

I licked my lips. Just touch it, just one touch.

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

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

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

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

My heavy breathing tickled my mother. She leaned against the wall, supporting herself with her hands. As her thighs and vulva withdrew from in front of me, I felt a mixture of reluctance and, more than anything, fear.

My mother looked at me for a long time, then suddenly sighed softly and said, "You don't want me anymore, what are you doing here?" I didn't understand the meaning of her words, but I understood the implications of her next action. She leaned in and kissed my lips, closing her eyes and softly saying, "I dreamed of you again, it was so nice." She leaned against the wall, spread her legs, and grabbed my hand, guiding it to her genitals. She said coquettishly, "What are you waiting for? Lick it for me." My mother became excited, pressing my head down between her legs, like a child, and commanded with a coquettish laugh, "Lick it for me now." I didn't know what to do, but these things are something I instinctively learned.

I stuck out my tongue and tentatively pressed it against the protruding part of her labia. My mother groaned and pressed my head down harder. I got tired of pressing with my tongue, so I switched to slowly sucking with my lips. My mother leaned against the wall and finally groaned.

"So good.

Yes, right here, lick it, thrust it in, ahhhhh, no, don't bite." My mother's face was flushed with the intoxication of alcohol. She thrust her lower body forward, raising her hips to make it easier for me to lick her genitals.

I licked a few times, and a stream of fluid slowly seeped out, with a faint salty taste.

I was so focused that I didn't notice, and I broke free from my mother's arms, raised my head

, and spat a few times. My mother giggled and said, "You're not licking anymore so soon? You want to fuck? Come on." She leaned over and helped me undo my pants. My hard, burning penis sprang out of my underwear with a slap, hitting my mother's face.

"Ouch." My mother grabbed my penis and suddenly said angrily, "You're such a bad thing." She swayed and propped herself up, smiling slyly, "Let me teach this disobedient thing a lesson." My mother squatted on my lap, her right hand holding my penis, found a good position, and slowly sank down.

"Ah." My mother and I cried out at the same time.

My mother trembled, almost falling off my lap.

I quickly held her close, her warm chest pressed tightly against mine. I felt my penis enveloped by her warm, tight flesh, an indescribable pleasure surging from my penis to my brain.

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

I thrust wildly, my penis sliding in and out of her.

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

"Mmm, ahhh.

Ahhh." My mother's hair was disheveled as she cried out, her hips undulating in rhythm with my thrusts.

She lay flat on the bed, her breasts heaving like waves, gripping my arm tightly. With each thrust, she would groan loudly, gazing at me with loving eyes.

Perhaps the force was too great, for my penis pulled out completely during one contraction. My mother slapped my arm hard, shouting, "Continue, continue, don't stop!" I gripped my penis, anxiously searching for an entrance. I knew nothing about female anatomy, and her labia were still wet with my semen. I thrust left and right, but I couldn't penetrate her.

My mother struggled to sit up, and seeing this, she suddenly laughed, reaching out to take my penis, saying, "You can't even do this?" Her hand trembled slightly; perhaps my thrusts had left her momentarily dazed. She held my penis, bumping and prodding, and finally, it went in again.

She exhaled, thrusting her hips and moaning as she hooked her arms around my neck, "Give it to me, I want it, keep going.

Ahhh, that's it, ah, yes, yes, yes." Lost in time and unaware of fatigue, my mother and I were entangled like mad beasts. Every time my penis was exposed, my mother would gently guide it back to its place. Every time my mother patted my shoulder, I would once again assault her vulva like a torrential downpour.

Time and again, the long night seemed endless.

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

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

The only reason I was convinced was that if it was a dream, why weren't there any semen stains on my pants? And where did the weakness I felt the next day come from? But I didn't have the courage to ask.

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

She wiped her hands on her clothes and said awkwardly, "Ali, you're back?" "Yes, Mom." I was silent for a moment. I usually had evening study sessions and came home late, and my mother was always asleep when I got back. Today, I suddenly wanted to ask her clearly: "Mom… the other night…" "What happened?" My mother, with her back to me, forced herself to speak.

"Mom, were you drunk that night?" I steeled myself and mustered my courage to ask.

"Ah, um, oh," my mother said. "Yes, I was drunk, so I went to my room to sleep first. I didn't even know when you came back." "Mom," I said angrily, turning my mother around and asking, "Do you know what I'm saying?" My mother looked down at me without looking, and after a long while said, "I don't blame you for what happened that day." "But I love you, and I want to be with you," I blurted out, earning a loud slap from my mother.

I didn't care anymore. I grabbed my mother's hand and shouted, "Later you realized it was me, right? You called my name, right? You love me too, right!" My mother took a few steps back, like a wounded fawn. She wanted to say something, but I hugged her and kissed her on the lips.

My mother pushed me away forcefully, shouting, "We can't be together! I'm your mother!" "So what?" I retorted, "Human rights are inherent, and love is a fundamental human right. No reason can supersede this basic love and hate." I have to thank my upbringing; otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to come up with such a long argument. I tried to persuade my mother, but she still wouldn't agree.

I wasn't discouraged and tried to find ways to make her happy.

I started to be more proactive, cutting my hair short, cutting ties with my bad friends, and slowly becoming a good child. Because in my mind at the time, a good child was reliable, and I wanted my mother to think I was reliable.

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

One day, in every spare moment, from doing homework for others to fighting for them, from odd jobs to collecting and selling trash, I finally earned enough money. I bought a pair of ballet shoes, and after haggling for ages, I bought a ballet costume.

I skipped evening self-study and nervously carried my things home. Although my mother might not accept me anymore, the thought of her happy smile when she received these things made my heart as bright as an April day.

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

"Dad!" A surge of anger welled up inside me. I threw my things aside, went over, helped my mother up, and angrily shouted, "You only know how to hit Mom when you're drunk!" Before I could finish speaking, my father slapped me, cursing, "Damn it, you bastard from who-knows-where, and you dare to tell your father what to do?" "Why hit your son?" My mother stood up, pulling me behind her like a mother hen protecting her chicks.

My father was about to slap me again, but I stepped forward and stopped him. My mother cried, "He's your child!" "Bullshit! My dick got smashed, I don't know how many men you've slept with, you slut!" My father said, about to hit me again, but I yelled, "Let go!" "Dad, drink some more," I said coldly, grabbing his bottle and making him drink a few more mouthfuls. He cursed a few times and collapsed to the ground. I carried him and threw him onto his bed.

Back in the living room, my mother was packing her things with her head down, her forehead still a little red and swollen.

I watched her silently for a while, then said, "Mom, let's go, I'll take you away." My mother paused for a moment, then sighed and said, "Such childish talk." A feeling of depression welled up inside me. I found some antiseptic, dragged my mother to a chair, parted her hair, and slowly applied the medicine.

My mother was uneasy, and so was I.

The feel of her hair brushing against the back of my hand, the faint fragrance of her body, all involuntarily reminded me of that night.

After calmly applying the medicine to my mother, I suddenly remembered something, quickly walked to the door, picked up the bag, and said, "Mom, happy birthday." My mother paused for a moment, then said, "Really? I forgot." At my request, she opened the bag, looked at the beautifully packaged dance costume and shoes, remained silent for a while, and then tears suddenly streamed down her face.

"Ali," she said, her lips moving slightly, as if she wanted to say something.

"Take it." Seeing the happy look in my mother's eyes, all the unpleasantness from before was forgotten, and I said happily, "Because I'm your..." We both fell silent. I got up and started cleaning, gently asking, "Mom, does it still hurt?" "It's okay." "Let me massage it for you." My mother was silent for a while, but finally agreed.

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

Looking at this beautiful, fragile mother beneath me, my heart was filled with sorrow and grief.

After a while, my mother said, "I'm much better. If there's no evening self-study at school, you can go study." She stood up, her right leg seeming a little weak. I pressed her down and said, "Mom, let me massage your right leg again." I squatted in front of my mother, my hands wandering over her thighs. My thoughts drifted back to that night, and I felt aroused.

My mother slapped my hands away, scolding, "Where are you putting your hands?" I looked up and saw that my mother's breathing was a little erratic, her face flushed. Looking at where my hands were, I realized they were already touching the inside of her thigh.

I gritted my teeth, stamped my foot, and swept my mother up in my arms. She struggled for a moment, but I ignored her and held her even tighter.

My mother was a little annoyed and opened her mouth to say something, but I bent down and silenced her with a kiss, carrying her into my room.

When I placed her on the bed, she seemed to remember something, her face showing anger, but mostly shyness.

I nervously rubbed my hands, coughed a few times, and asked, "Mom, is it okay?" "What can I do if I say no?" my mother sighed.

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

I slowly sucked on her earlobe, my hands wandering inside her clothes, exploring her breasts, grasping and playing with one large breast through her bra.

My mother moaned softly, her legs tightening their embrace. I thought, according to the books, my mother was aroused; perhaps it was time to take the next step. I withdrew my lips and nervously began to undress her. My mother didn't look at me, but her movements were very cooperative.

I swallowed hard, looking at my mother lying naked on the bed, and suddenly chuckled.

My mother turned around and scolded, "What are you laughing at?" I looked at my mother with a grin, knelt down next to her round buttocks, reached out and stroked her upturned bottom, and said foolishly, "I was wondering if you want me to lick it." My mother blushed, snorted and turned her head away, but her legs parted slightly.

I took the opportunity to pry open my mother's thighs, lowered my head, and began to rub my tongue haphazardly. My mother gasped for a moment, then patted my head and said, "It's not like that." I looked up in surprise and asked, "Then how is it?" My mother's face was already flushed, making her look especially adorable.

She cleared her throat, but her voice was still incredibly soft, like a mosquito's buzz, and said, "Look for yourself, there's a round bump on it, that's for licking.

You can suck the rest." "Oh." I looked for a while, then rubbed it with my fingers. "This?" My mother's body trembled, and she nodded shyly.

I bent down and continued my efforts, my mother's legs involuntarily twitching, and her gasps growing louder.

When I tasted that salty liquid again, I stopped. I curiously poked at it with my fingers for a while, only to find that the liquid was very viscous, leaving a very clear line on my fingers.

My mother's face flushed. She gasped at my actions, then scolded me shyly, "Why are you taking that thing out?" "Nothing, it's salty, I wanted to see what it was," I said with a grin, starting to pull down my pants. Seeing my mother staring curiously, I teased, "Mom, why are you looking so intently? We've seen it before that night." "I was drunk then," my mother said shyly, not looking away. When my penis reappeared, she sighed and said, "I knew it felt so good that night, turns out your little penis is quite big." I smiled foolishly, bringing my penis closer, trying to enter my mother's vagina, but found I still couldn't find the entrance.

My mother chuckled, her soft hand holding my penis, and said gently, "Still can't find your way home, Ali." At that moment, my father coughed in the other room. I suddenly felt uneasy and wanted to back out.

"He's not your father," my mother said, still flushed, noticing my unease.

Grabbing my penis, she said as she pushed it inside, "Before marrying him, I had already been with my lover." She sank in, clinging to me like an octopus, letting out a long moan, looking at me with seductive eyes, and exhaling, "You look a lot like him." I was shocked by this news and momentarily forgot what to do.

My mother hugged me, sat on me, and whispered in my ear, "So, don't worry.

Mom wants it." She breathed into my ear, and I instinctively felt my penis throbbing inside her, about to burst out of her body. Only constant thrusting could prevent it from exploding.

But there were some things I couldn't help but understand.

"What do you mean? He's not my dad?" My mother leaned against me, her voice tinged with sorrow. "Back then, I fell in love with someone, and we pledged our lives to each other.

Then, this guy raped me, and then..." She didn't finish her sentence, instead resting her head on my shoulder and whispering, "Nobody wants me anymore, Ali, but you still want me, right?" I knew that the only way to express my resolve at this moment was to thrust upwards with force. My mother, forgetting her sorrow, cried out and hugged me even tighter.

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

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

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

My mother gave me a pitiful look with her watery eyes. Since she couldn't move her hips up and down, she started swaying from side to side, panting as she said, "Give it to me, harder.

I want it deeper." Okay, I thought, I'm young and have good stamina, so let's do it! I pounced on her on the bed, pressing down on her thighs, and began to thrust violently, deep, fast, precise, and fierce.

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

She wrapped her legs around my waist, moaning loudly, "So...good...it's been so long...so...good...ahhhhhh, ah...ah..." The bed creaked, and my mother clung to me like a koala, moaning loudly without restraint. Suddenly, she laughed between breaths, "Hahaha, Ali, ahhh, um, did you...um, cum?" I didn't slow down, saying as I thrust, "It's okay, Mom, I'm fine." "Haha, ouch." My mother wanted to say something, but under my powerful thrusts, she could hardly speak.

She patted my head, and I slowed down accordingly.

My mother's face flushed crimson, and she gave me a charming look before catching her breath and saying, "Ali, you can try your first method." "Oh? You mean the nine shallow, one deep one?" I obediently slowed down and asked with a smile, "Didn't you tell me to go faster and harder, Mom?" "Oh, you can't take what women say seriously at times like this." My mother blushed and whispered in my ear, "That feeling of wanting something you can't have but are about to have it is wonderful." "Is that so?" I smiled mischievously and said, "Since I like Mom so much, I might as well let you have it." After saying that, I increased the speed of my thrusts. My mother suddenly grabbed my arm tightly and pulled hard, her whole body tense like a startled shrimp. She shook her head frantically and screamed, "No, no, ahhhhh, I'm going to lose it, I... ahhhhhhh!" My mother's waist suddenly arched high, trembling as if in spasms. I instinctively felt a surge of heat wash over my glans. Her vagina suddenly began to contract rapidly, like rocks caught in a waterfall. I couldn't help but exclaim, "Wow, so amazing! What is this?" Before I could finish speaking, my yang energy could no longer be contained, and I ejaculated once more, this time without any strength to recover.

My mother lay exhausted on the bed, her delicate face obscured by disheveled hair, a few strands clinging to her tongue. I carefully brushed the hair aside, looking at my mother's beautiful face, now showing signs of fatigue, and withdrew my penis.

"Are you done too?" My mother's voice was weak. I nodded and pulled her into my arms.

My mother rested her head on my chest and quietly said, "Ali is amazing. I just had an orgasm." "Is it that rare?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes, it's rare." "Haha, don't worry, Mom. With me here, you can have whatever you want whenever you want," I said happily.

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

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

Even so, I was as happy as a flower.

I no longer eat lunch at school, and although my mother strongly insists I attend evening self-study sessions, I always come home for dinner.

On one hand, I can't wait to be with my mother every minute; on the other hand, it stems from a time when my mother was cooking and we had sex.

My mother had put on an apron and was focused on cooking. I sneaked over, my hands starting to wander. My mother glared at me, trying to shoo me away, but I righteously argued that it had been so long since we'd done it, and it was time for sex.

That time, my mother endured waves of pleasure while cooking, but finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She faced me, her arms around my neck, and I smiled as I thrust into her, taking the rice spoon with me.

When we were exhausted, we laughed heartily while eating our "love meal," but in the end, we could only cook some noodles... Sometimes, my mother would wear the dance costume and shoes I gave her, the kind of dance that's incredibly seductive. She would make all sorts of alluring movements and look at me with seductive eyes, and then demand that I could only engage in any activities beneficial to my body and mind after she finished dancing. Of course, she also paid the "price" for her seduction.

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

But there was another father, a father who wasn't my father.

One night, I had a fight with my father, and finally couldn't help but ask my mother why she wouldn't come with me.

"What will you do if I get a divorce?" At that moment, my mother turned to look at the sky and murmured, "You need to go to school, you need to eat, all of these cost money." I angrily grabbed my mother, pulled down her sleeve, pointed to the bruises, and said angrily, "Then you just let that bastard treat you like this." I pressed hard on my mother's bruises, wanting to shout something else.

Suddenly, my mother slapped me, and I fell heavily to the ground. She tried to help me up, but then burst into tears, saying, "I want to leave too, I want to leave too!

But what will you do if I leave? Who will wash your clothes and cook for you? Who will supervise your studies?

If you come with me, you'll still need to eat and go to university. Where will the money come from?" My mother calmed down, lowered her eyes, sighed, and stroked my head, saying, "When you grow up and become successful, Mom will be happy. Enduring this now is nothing." Perhaps that's always been her thought. Every mother's wish, no matter how humble, even if crushed in the mud, is always to raise her hand and try to lift her child up.

And when her child achieves success, being able to come home for a visit is their greatest happiness.

I was too young then, not understanding the weight of this love. I covered my face, stood up, and left without a word.

The conflict erupted on an ordinary night when my brother—no, that man's son—came home from prison, and the father and son celebrated.

I skipped evening self-study to be at the dinner table, wary of those two guys beating my mother while they were drunk.

My "brother," with his burly face, and who'd never gotten along with me since childhood, was drunk with my "father," slamming his fist on the table and bragging.

Suddenly, my father slammed his fist on the table, pointing at my mother and yelling, "That bitch! She wasn't a virgin when she married me! No, she wasn't a virgin when I slept with her!

Damn it, all these years, my balls have been useless, I don't know how many green hats I've been given!" As he spoke, my father threw a bowl at me. I raised my hand to block it, and my mother tugged at my clothes from behind. I gritted my teeth and said, "You fucking drink your wine." My brother chuckled a few times, giving my mother a lewd look.

My heart sank. Sure enough, my brother stood up and stumbled towards my mother, saying, "Dad, I might as well fuck her. He hasn't seen a woman in years in prison, fuck her!" "Fuck her then," my father cursed. "I'd rather you fuck her than let someone else fuck her." "Fuck!" A surge of blood rushed to my head. I overturned the table, and my father and brother, enraged, rushed at me to fight.

Thanks to my father's usual "education," the two drunkards couldn't stop me.

I knocked them both down, grabbed my mother, and rushed out of the house.

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

I stopped and looked at my mother. She spoke first, "I'm not afraid." I couldn't say anything. My mother took my hand, which was holding hers, looked at me, and said earnestly, "With you here, I'm not afraid. I'll stay with you." Few pedestrians watched in astonishment as a man and woman embraced. The man wept loudly, wishing the woman happiness.

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

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

It was a very unpleasant memory. I kept thinking about whether to describe it in the third person, but I gave up.

Because every time I recall that dark time, a soft, firm voice tells me, "I'm not afraid."

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

Two hundred yuan back then was an astonishing amount.

Whether he saw something or not didn't matter anymore.

He was my savior.

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

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

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

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

Compared to the heavy weight of those beautiful memories, I prefer the ease and tranquility of everyday life.

Sometimes, my mother would go to the market to find some vegetable scraps or other things, and the two of them would cook something to eat in a secluded corner.

Sometimes, my mother would dance and then ask me if I looked good.

The hardest month was finally over.

I pushed open a small door, inside was a tiny single room of ten square meters, with a lonely little bed inside.

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

She stretched out her hand to me at the door and called out, "Ali, Ali, what are you thinking about?" I wondered why my mother's fair hands had scratches, why my clean mother was so dirty, and why she was so happy like a child in such a small space.

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

"Yes, my Ali has made something of himself, we should celebrate," my mother said with a smile, and I almost burst into tears.

I wanted to give my mother happiness, I wanted to take her away from that painful family, but I only led her into an even more painful life, and at this time, my mother still thought I had made something of myself with a happy face.

I closed the door, hugged my mother tightly, and buried my head in her chest. She gasped, gently patted my back, and said, "Don't cry, everything will be alright. As long as you're here, everything will be alright." That night, it was the first time since we left home that we made love properly in bed. My mother came in from the public bathroom, nervously closed the door, and complained, "Why do you have to wear this? It feels so strange." "These are stockings," I replied casually, leaning against the wall, admiring the sight before me.

Stockings weren't fashionable then; few people wore them on the street.

Beautiful, so beautiful.

That was the only thought I could muster.

Her long, wet hair cascaded down her chest, and beneath her simple, worn floral dress were two long, slender legs encased in black stockings, crossed over each other, revealing the woman's unease.

My mother, noticing my unabashed stare, blushed slightly and whispered, "What? Stockings? They look weird on you." "I saw one of my boss's girlfriends wearing them, and I thought they looked pretty good.

But you look much better than him." I was telling the truth. My mother's figure was naturally well-proportioned, and the grace she exuded from dancing, combined with her long, slender legs, made her appear exceptionally alluring. With one hand crossed over her chest and the other brushing her hair, she was like a fairy from a painting, yet the stockings added a touch of worldly charm.

My mother thought for a moment, then jumped onto the bed with a thud and asked, "By the way, what does your boss do? Why does he pay you such a high salary? He's not doing anything bad, is he?" I moved my penis and slowly rubbed it against my mother's stockinged legs. A strange sensation through my glans made me shiver involuntarily.

I casually said, "No, it seems like he works in the internet industry.

I skipped class a few times to play on the computer, and I looked at some things." My mother felt the warm penis moving up and down her legs and grabbed it, saying, "This is the first time I've worn this. Don't get it dirty with your thing." I chuckled, pulled the penis away from my mother's hand, and slowly rubbed my mother's legs with my hand instead, laughing as I said, "Then where should I get dirty?" My mother glared at me, seemingly angry but actually timid, and met my lips. I kissed her passionately, skillfully taking off my mother's skirt and unhooking her bra, but not taking off her stockings.

My mother wanted to take them off herself, so I chuckled mischievously, pinning her down with one hand and using the other to tease her through her stockings.

As I requested, she wasn't wearing underwear. I pinched her clitoris through the stockings, and she gasped, struggling to get up and remove the stockings to prevent me from soiling them. But the unique sensation of the silky fabric against her sensitive areas made her shiver, and a stream of vaginal fluid flowed out, slowly wetting her crotch.

Back then, stockings weren't as smooth as they are now; they had a noticeably slippery and hooked feel. My mother couldn't take it anymore. Instead of insisting I remove her stockings, she leaned against the wall, spreading her legs and displaying her most private parts to me without reservation.

Unfortunately, stockings were still quite thick back then, and my mother usually covered herself up. It was unusual for her to be so open, and I felt a little embarrassed and started to remove the stockings. Once the dark fabric was gone, my mother giggled and curled her legs up to prevent me from seeing more clearly.

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

My mother stood upside down, covering her eyes, and peeked at me through the gaps.

I chuckled and put my mother back in her original position. This time, she didn't dare to curl her legs up. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Mom, aren't you going to help me?" My mother blushed, arched her back, and guided my penis into her vagina, complaining, "It's been so long, and you still haven't gotten in." "You seem to be enjoying it," I said with a smile as I thrust in, guided by my mother. "Isn't it? Guiding your son's penis into your body, oh, I think you're enjoying this process, Mom." My mother didn't bother to refute me; her face was radiant with sexual pleasure. I took the opportunity to thrust hard and asked, "Isn't it?" "Yes, yes, yes," my mother said irritably, then suddenly cried out, "Ah, ah, ah, stop, slow, slow." I sucked on my mother's nipple, my lower body pounding in like a pile driver, refusing to slow down.

My mother had also gotten used to my strength, moaning and watching me suckle her nipple with amusement.

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

I suddenly slowed down, and my mother fell from the blissful paradise, her body twisting and sinking. I stopped sucking and started nibbling from my mother's head down to her waist and abdomen.

My mother giggled, twisting her body and pleading, "Faster, faster, please, Ah Li.

Oh, don't kiss there, hahaha, it itches.

Ah Li, son, my lower body is so itchy, faster." Finally, I satisfied her needs and sped up a little, but then slowed down again.

My mother understood that I just wanted to torment her, wrapped her arms around my neck, lifted her head, and angrily bit my shoulder.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch," I cried out, "I won't go fast, I'll play slowly." "Hmph." In pain, I couldn't control my mother. She pulled away from my penis, pushed me down, and hummed, "I don't want you, I'll do it myself!" "No!" I cried out dramatically.

My mother sat on me, her hands on my chest, swaying her hips up and down. Suddenly, she said, "Hold me down."

Of course, I obeyed her command. But then, she suddenly began to sway wildly from side to side. Her vulva already had a strong suction, and the friction was incredibly intense. With this swaying, I felt I was about to ejaculate.

At that moment, her body stiffened, but she swayed even more violently.

"Ah, ah, ahhhhhhh!" My mother's head was thrown back, her chest thrust high, like a crowing rooster.

She trembled violently, waves of lust bursting from her labia, soaking my genitals and the sheets.

She seemed to have used all her strength to pull away from my penis, grabbing it and chuckling mischievously, saying, "Now I finally understand why they say a woman feels safe when she has a gun in her hand while sleeping." "Is that so?" I sat up, intending to clean up the mess, but my mother pressed me down.

She rested her head on my lap, playing with her hair, brushing against my penis, and softly said, "I feel very at ease now." Looking at this dilapidated rented room of less than twenty square meters, my eyes reddened. I touched my mother's face and softly said, "Mom, I will definitely make you happy." "Yes, I believe you." "Son, son.

What are you thinking about?" Xiaoyu called a few times, pulling away from my embrace and kneeling on the bed.

"Son, come here." She turned her head, her eyes alluring; clearly, the word "Mom" had touched a nerve.

"Mom..." I looked at my mother's face, nearly fifty years old yet still well-preserved, and hesitated for a moment.

Xiaoyu didn't speak, her waist lowering, her wet, juicy vulva rising high, swaying.

Before me, swaying, pleading vulva, was my mother, the mother of my child, my father's wife, and my wife.

But we were ultimately each other's lovers.

She had lived a timid life for the first half, yet she had mustered the greatest courage of her life for me.

She once had such beautiful hands, but life has roughened them as she accompanied me through that dark time.

I promised her a lifetime of happiness.

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