One
黄狸黑狸，得鼠者雄.
Huáng lí hēi lí, dé shǔ zhě xióng.
Yellow li (wild cat) or black li, the one that catches mice is the superior one.
“Ma... where’d you put my socks yesterday? I’ve been lookin’ all over the closet and can’t find ‘em,” I called out to my mom, my voice echoing softly in the quiet room. She was chillin’ on the living room couch, sittin’ next to her boyfriend, who’s four years older than her. Yeah, her boyfriend. Mom responded quick, her tone a mix of soft and rushed.
“Hold on, sweetie. I forgot where I put ‘em. Babe, gimme a sec, alright? I gotta take care of my kid’s stuff for college. You know how Wei-Lun is, always misplacin’ his things,” she said to me, excusing herself to her boyfriend, her voice drifted faintly from the room, like a whisper carried by the breeze. She came over fast, her steps light but urgent.
Mom stepped into our room. Yeah, the bedroom me and her share, a private space heavy with unspoken secrets. She was rockin’ a dark green sweater that hugged her shoulders like a cozy fall blanket, paired with a black mini skirt that danced on the edge of temptation. She opened the closet with quick moves, helpin’ me look for those socks, like it was just another morning routine.
“I swear I put ‘em here. Hang on, let me dig around,” she mumbled, bending over, her body leaning into the bottom shelf, searchin’ for my socks with care. Meanwhile, I shut the door while she was focused on the search. Truth is, I had the socks, tucked in my pocket, like a trap I’d set for this moment.
I locked the bedroom door and, from behind, grabbed both of her big-ass tits. They’re 39C, full and ripe, like fruit beggin’ to be touched. “What’s Mom been up to, huh? Suckin’ Uncle Jia-Wei's dick? How dare you go down on him without my permission.”
Mom instantly knew what I wanted, like an instinct honed by our dark years together. She stayed bent over in front of me, pausing her search, her body still but trembling slightly. “S-sweetie, I was just doin’ normal stuff with Jia-Wei. I-I asked you first, baby. But you were too busy playin’ your games.”
I yanked her black skirt up to her waist, the fabric rippling like disturbed water. From behind, I also pulled up her light green sweater, revealin’ skin still tight despite the faint traces of age. I smacked her ass hard, the sound echoing softly like a whip in the silence. “You’re bein’ naughty, Ma. You’re hurtin’ my feelings, you know that? Cheatin’ on me, suckin’ him off, I’m not okay with that.”
“A-ahhh... I’m sorry, sweetie. I messed up with Jia-Wei. But he’s been so good to our family. A-ahhh...” I pulled down her black g-string panties to her knees, exposin’ her pussy open like a secret that couldn’t stay hidden anymore.
Her pussy was already wet, probably from Jia-Wei messin’ with it earlier, her juices glistenin’ like tainted morning dew. I was pissed as hell. I’ve never liked Jia-Wei. Sure, he’s some big-shot official with stacks of cash, but he acts like he wants to own Mom, like a wolf stalkin’ a lamb in our family’s pasture.
“Then I’m gonna punish you, Ma! You can’t just give your pussy to some other guy! It’s gotta be with my permission!” I snapped at her, my voice like thunder in the tight room. I slid my middle and ring fingers into her pussy. I went to town on it, hard, and she let out soft moans, her voice like trapped wind.
“A-ahhh! Sweetie, Jia-Wei's right outside. A-ahhh! A-ahhh! Baby, I can’t hold back my moans! A-ahhh! Please, punish me later after Jia-Wei leaves, okay? Please understand, sweetie,” she begged, but I wasn’t listenin’. Her words were just empty air to my burning ears.
I fingered her pussy harder, curling my fingers up. I kept hittin’ her G-spot over and over, like pluckin’ a hidden string. Her pussy got soaked in seconds, her juices flowin’ like a river burstin’ its dam. “No, Ma, you’re gettin’ punished now. So you won’t make the same mistake again.”
She fought hard to stifle her moans, coverin’ her mouth as her hands shook like leaves in a storm. “A-ahhh! Baby, you’re makin’ me so horny. If this keeps up, I might end up fuckin’ Jia-Wei. Don’t make me hornier, I’ve been crazy horny since this morning.”
She kept talkin’, her voice breakin’ under waves of uncontrollable lust. “I’ve been horny since morning. A-ahhh! I even asked you to fuck me earlier, but you were too busy with your games. You ignored me, left me all worked up. A-ahhh! A-ahhh! You’re to blame too for leavin’ me horny.”
Truth is, I’ve never liked any of Mom’s boyfriends. And I’ve forbidden her from fuckin’ anyone else but me. I know it’s tough for her. She’s so damn wild, her instincts like a fire that never goes out, burnin’ everything it touches. How could it not? She’s a single mom, a warrior carryin’ the weight of the world alone.
She raised me by herself (yeah, I used to have a dad). But he died when I was about six. The reason? Mom’s wild side, shadows of sin chasin’ her like an invisible ghost. My dad was killed by a guy who got her pregnant before, a former boyfriend, a monster from the past who came back to destroy.
The woman raisin’ me now isn’t my biological mom. My real mom died after givin’ birth to me, leavin’ me like a poem cut off at the last verse. My stepmom now is my biological mom’s niece, her younger sister’s daughter, a tangled bloodline like the roots of an ancient tree.
Confused yet? Read it again if it’s not clear, like decipherin’ some old-ass text that needs a map. To be exact, my stepmom is my oldest cousin, a sibling who took the throne in our family’s tragedy. After my real mom died, my stepmom moved to Taixuan right after finishin’ junior high and startin’ high school, like a bird flyin’ to a new nest.
Her parents couldn’t afford her schoolin’ anymore, a cruel fate like somethin’ out of a Dickens novel. My biological mom heard and felt bad, so she offered to pay for her schoolin’ in Taixuan. My stepmom agreed, her heart full of hope. She helped take care of my real mom during her pregnancy, her young hands a support in fragile times. Then my real mom died, leavin’ a wound that never fully healed.
My dad didn’t remarry for years, his loyalty like a rock in a stormy sea. But livin’ with my stepmom, sparks started to fly. They started likin’ each other, but nothin’ happened. Just meaningful glances. My dad poured his grief into workin’ nonstop, his rough hands a distraction from his broken heart.
He had strong principles: he wouldn’t touch a woman who wasn’t his, an ethic solid as an old house’s foundation. But then, right before high school graduation, my stepmom got pregnant by her boyfriend. Did he step up? Hell no, he bailed, like a coward in a folktale left to fate.
Turns out, my stepmom had the same issue as my real mom: a weak uterus, like a cracked vase before it’s filled. The baby she was carryin’ died, a miscarriage that cut like a dull knife. And when she was pregnant, lookin’ and actin’ so much like my real mom, it stirred up buried desires.
My dad married her, and she was all in to be his wife. She said he was drop-dead gorgeous, like a prince in a fairytale who didn’t know his own charm. She’d been into him since she first saw him, but my dad was straight as an arrow, no way she could seduce him; there was no crack in his armor, like an untouchable fortress.
She couldn’t have tempted him while my real mom was alive, an invisible but solid barrier. My dad only married her three years after my real mom passed, a pause like a break in a symphony of grief. After they tied the knot, their life was calm and peaceful, like a harbor after a storm. My dad guided her, his steady hand a compass for her shaky soul.
Then, three years into their marriage, her ex who got her pregnant came back. He claimed he wanted to take responsibility for the kid, sweet words rotten as fallen fruit. But Mom told him straight: the kid died, a raw truth like a surgeon’s knife.
Her ex didn’t buy it. Instead of backin’ off, he showed up at our house, like a ghost risin’ from the grave. Back when they dated, he used to come over, old footprints now turned toxic.
They got into a huge fight, voices thunderin’ like a storm in the dark. My dad saw his wife in danger and stepped in, at first throwin’ punches with bare fists, his blows like a hammer strikin’. He was winnin’ big, but her ex couldn’t take it. He pulled a blade, its glint thirsty for blood.
My dad’s neck was stabbed clean through, a wound deep as betrayal itself. Luckily, my stepmom had already fled the house with me, her escape like an animal mother’s instinct. We didn’t see the brutal torture. She screamed for help from the neighbors, her cries wakin’ the darkness.
The mob beat her ex to death, his brains splatterin’ from bein’ stomped, a primal violence like the climax of a Shakespearean tragedy. When my stepmom got back, my dad’s neck, wrists, and some fingers were severed. That was it. She’s been a widow ever since, like a bird with broken wings.
The problem is, she didn’t finish high school ‘cause she got pregnant and was kicked out, her fate cut short like a snapped thread. So she only had a junior high diploma. She raised me alone, usin’ her beauty and sexy body as her assets, like a gift from Greek gods fallen to earth.
She found work that paid for her looks and sex appeal, a harsh world that worships, like an altar to a broken Venus. I’m 20 now, and she’s still 35. Her face? Don’t even ask. She’s still smokin’ hot, like a flame that doesn’t fade under time’s rain. She supports us by doin’ live sex shows (yeah, she’s working as a sexy content creator with multiple social media accounts), like a spider’s web of lust.
Every night from 11 p.m. to 3 a.m., she goes live, naked, fingerin’ her pussy, a solo performance like an erotic dance on a shadow stage. She works just 4-5 hours a day, but the gifts she gets can rake in millions TWD, riches from strangers’ desires.
Back when I was in school, she also took requests to hook up with fans. For a few hundred thousand, guys would show up at our house, payin’ guests like ghosts in the night. I’d have to hide in my room, a silent witness behind the door. She’d fuck ‘em while streamin’ live, a mix of intimacy and exhibition.
Yeah, it’s dirty work. On stricter platforms, she just does sexy dances in tank tops, mini dresses, camisoles, slip dresses, corsets, you name it. She dances in front of the camera, her moves like a siren callin’ a storm. Her followers are at 5 million now, a virtual crowd thirsty for illusion.
That’s why she goes all out on body maintenance, a beauty ritual like modern alchemy. She can spend over almost a hundred thousand a month on it. No wonder at 35, she looks like a 20-year-old college girl. Her skin like a canvas that never wrinkles.
She’s in her 30s but looks like she just graduated high school, a face that tricks time like an upside-down hourglass. When we’re out together, people think we’re datin’, their stares like arrows of jealousy. I’ve stayed in hotels where staff or others thought we were a couple, not mother and son, a bond more twisted than just blood.
We’d have to show our IDs to prove we’re family. But once we’re in the hotel, we act like lovers or to be precisely more like husband and wife. Our life’s like I’m the husband and she’s my wife, roles flipped in our absurd family drama.
The difference? She’s the one providin’ for me. She’s still a damn responsible mom, even if that responsibility’s stained. Sure, she supports me in ways that seem dirty and shameful, but I’m still proud; her strength’s all she’s got, like a double-edged sword that cuts and heals.
She only finished junior high but got her high school diploma through a catch-up program, risin’ like a phoenix from the ashes of education. She even went to college, late (when I was in elementary, she studied and worked as a model). From second grade to my graduation, she quit modelin’, climbin’ a slippery ladder step by step.
“A-ahhh! A-ahhh! Baby! M-Mom’s gonna cum! Your fingers are hittin’ my sensitive spot! A-ahhh! My naughty little boy! A-ahhh! A-ahhh! Baby! I’m cumming! A-ahhh!!” she screamed, her voice breakin’ like glass under pressure.
It was a soft scream, short, quiet enough not to reach the living room, like a whisper lost in the wind. Her pussy juices gushed out, spillin’ on the floor and splashin’ her crotch and legs, a puddle like tears of lust. I pulled my hand out, my fingers wet like evidence of sin.
Next, I replaced my fingers with my dick. Mom, who’d been bent over, holdin’ herself up with shaky legs and a raised waist, collapsed to the floor, like a statue crumblin’ after climax. Her first orgasm left her weak, her body like a wilted leaf after summer.
“M-Mom finally came, baby. Haahhh... Feels so good, thank you for fingerin’ me. Now I gotta go; Jia-Wei might come lookin’,” she said, tryin’ to stand, her movements wobbly like a boat in waves. But I held her back, my hands like cuffs that wouldn’t let go.
“Not done yet, Ma. I haven’t cum in your pussy. C’mon, stand up, hold the closet again. I’m gonna punish you with my dick. Punishment’s not over!” I said, stoppin’ her from leavin’, my voice like a king’s command in our dark kingdom. As she stood, I turned her around. Back to me, just like when I fingered her.
I pulled her skirt back up to her waist. From behind, I slid my dick into her sopping wet pussy, still hot from her recent orgasm, like smolderin’ embers. Didn’t take long; my dick, measured by her at 19 cm, went almost all the way in, like a sword findin’ its sheath.
“A-ahhh... Baby, I won’t be able to hold my moans. Jia-Wei might hear,” she whispered, her voice like a desperate prayer.
I pulled her green sweater and black bra up, grabbin’ her firm, smooth, pale tits from behind, like livin’ marble. At the same time, my dick started movin’, thrustin’ in and out slowly, a rhythm like a crazy heartbeat.
Since I had to head to college, I kept it quick with Mom, an intense, brief hookup like an erotic haiku. I sped up my thrusts after the first 10 seconds. “A-ahhh... A-ahhh... Moan louder, Ma. Let Jia-Wei hear. Why you scared, huh?”
She shook her head softly, refusin’ to moan loud, her eyes like a ripplin’ lake. Whisperin’, she said, “N-no, baby. A-ahhh... A-ahhh... No, I love Jia-Wei. He’s a good man, I don’t wanna hurt him. A-ahhh... A-ahhh... A-ahhh...”
I got so jealous hearin’ that. She’s asked me a few times since last year to let her marry Jia-Wei, a request like a tragic opera’s refrain. But I’ve never agreed, always shut it down. I don’t want her marryin’ again, and since I say no, she can’t; my control like a petty tyrant in our palace.
But instead of droppin’ it, Jia-Wei's been pushin’ her to convince me to let ‘em marry. She’s tried talkin’ to me about it over and over, like a cold war family negotiation. She says marryin’ Jia-Wei won’t change a thing. I could still fuck her every day, still get her to suck me off, just more limited, only when Jia's at work. But I still say no. I want to fuck her whenever I want: morning, noon, evening, midnight, anytime, absolute freedom like a god.
But that’s just one big reason I’m against it. There’s more, layers like an onion that brings tears. First, Jia-Wei got a wife; she’s paralyzed from illness. He’s got two daughters. As a guy, I think that’s wrong, a moral stain like a blotch on silk.
Marryin’ again while his wife’s sick, chasin’ a healthier, prettier, sexier woman, what happens if Mom gets sick someday? Would he ditch her too? Second big reason: Jia's caught up in a corruption case. He’s a regional secretary, a position like a thorny crown.
Last year, news broke about his involvement in corruption. That’s the biggest reason I’m against it, if he gets caught, all our family’s dirt could get aired out by the media, includin’ Mom’s job, a scandal like a ticking time bomb on a national stage.
And the last thing, what’s got me hooked on fuckin’ Mom, she’s the one who started it when I was a junior in high school. She was the first to suck my dick, her lips like fire. She was the one to ride me, her moves like a ritual dance. She promised no limits, a sweet deal with the devil.
“Does Mom love Jia-Wei or me more? Does you like fuckin’ him or me better? You’ve fucked Jia-Wei, right? Be honest, Ma! You hooked on his dick, right? That why you wanna marry him?” I grilled her, my words like lashes.
“N-no, baby. A-ahhh! Yeah, I fucked Jia-Wei twice. I’m sorry, it was just last month. A-ahhh! A-ahhh! Your dick, baby! A-ahhh! It’s hittin’ so deep! I need a husband, sweetie,” she confessed, her words like a wet confession in a church booth.
“I wanna get out of the dark world of sex work. I wanna be a respectable woman. I’m gettin’ old, I can’t stay pretty forever. A-ahhh! A-ahhh! So someone can take care of me when I’m old,” she went on, her reasons like a sad elegy for a fragile future.
