How Should I Train My Mom? 2
I cautiously approached my mother and checked her face. The fierce determination that had filled her dark eyes was now slightly glazed over, staring blankly at the floor—it sent a strange chill down my spine. Her slightly parted lips hung slack without any tension, as if drool might start dripping out any second, making it instantly clear she wasn't herself.
"Mother. Are you all right?"
"Uh, uhn. Why... do you ask."
She responded to questions, albeit slowly, as if processing them took effort. Communication was possible, but her replies were unnaturally sluggish, her words trailing off like those of someone utterly drunk.
I haven't fully tested the Monghwancho's effects yet. So even if she remembers, it'll be vague enough to brush off...
The moment I saw her limp form, my heart started pounding wildly. Just like last night, the thin thread of my reason kept fraying, and it took everything to hold myself together.
"Mother, you look exhausted. Like you did for me yesterday—would it be all right if I gave you a massage?"
I repeated to myself endlessly that this had to stay within bounds acceptable for a mother and son.
"Uh, uhm... y-yes. Do... that..."
I bowed my head slightly and moved behind her as she sat there dazed, slumped over. My eyes were stolen by the pale nape of her neck I'd glimpsed last night and the faint hint of collarbone peeking from her jeogori. I began carefully kneading her shoulders.
Even after I started the massage, there was none of the usual parental chatter—no "That feels good" or "Too hard." Nothing natural.
"Ah, uh... eung..."
She only reacted to the stimulation with low, staccato moans. I couldn't tell if it was relief from the massage or the rare touch of a man's hands.
I let my hands slide down from her shoulders, kneading her arms softly as I naturally pressed closer to her.
"Mother, if you're tired, lean on me."
"Uh..."
Though I'd said that, I was already embracing her from behind. I tilted her forward-leaning head back onto my shoulder. No matter how close a mother and son, this was an uncomfortably intimate distance, an absurd position. Yet her usual upright dignity was nowhere to be found; she yielded completely to my lead, nestling into my arms.
If she remembers, I can just say it was overly affectionate skinship.
But the soft texture of her arms under my grip fueled my dark urges. I kept reminding myself not to cross the line until I verified the effects, but each thump of my heart chipped away at my restraint.
"Gulp..."
Her face, right before my eyes, was hazily unfocused, like someone stripped of will. My hands, kneading her arms, drifted inward—toward her waist.
I have to stop... have to stop... have to stop...
My mind screamed to halt right now, but as I watched my hand slowly slip under her jeogori, my body wouldn't obey. My fingertips brushed soft skin, and soon my palm cupped the plump, yielding flesh.
I craved more of that tender, spongy feel; my grip tightened instinctively.
Squeeze!
Twitch!
As my hands clamped her waist hard, her whole body jerked in response. In the short time I'd known her, I knew her personality—she'd have scolded me fiercely by now, maybe even lectured me sternly on such sticky intimacy.
"Haa, haa, haa."
My breathing had grown ragged before I knew it. I gulped air to vent the rising heat in my body, but it lingered like late summer swelter. My head filled with muddy, viscous desire: I want to devour the woman in my arms.
Just a little... just a little more.
One hand, caressing her waist, crept upward. It lifted her jeogori and inner wear along with it, exposing her midriff. Then it reached the end of her voluptuous curve.
Twitch!
Just my fingertips grazing the underside of her breast made the woman in my arms heave as if touched by something forbidden.
Her taboo reaction ignited the beast wearing a son's mask. My hand lunged upward, seizing the dough-soft breast in a fierce grip.
"Eut...!"
A heated moan escaped her lips. But I was too fixated on the sensation in my palm to notice. The all-encompassing softness and warmth, the elasticity spilling between my fingers—it made veins bulge in my arms with the urge to squeeze harder. Especially the small, bumpy protrusion at my palm's center, that textured nipple—it stole my breath entirely.
"Haa! Haa! Haa!"
Pent-up breath burst from my mouth as mind-melting heat surged through me. Just groping her breast had my body thrashing in unnatural arousal.
Is it Jeong Yun's body?
This body, embracing its own mother, seemed to recognize the incestuous sin and bucked out of control. But regardless, the beast that was me pumped all blood southward, hardening my cock to the point of pain. I pulled her deeper into my embrace, grinding the aching erection into her ass.
"Hngh..."
A sigh of admiration slipped out at the plush feel of her buttocks, even through her skirt. The pitiful mother, one breast mauled by her son, remained limp and oblivious. Her languid, powerless state stirred my male sadism and sense of depravity.
My hot breaths made strands of her hair flutter by her ear, teasing my precarious reason.
"Ear..."
Beyond the swaying locks like reeds, a dainty ear appeared. As if entranced, I brought my lips to it and nipped the lobe lightly.
"Ah...!"
A lewd cry burst from her. Through the breast in my grip, I felt her heartbeat quicken slightly. Her unique body scent and taste flooded my mouth, sweet beyond words. More. Primal hunger filled my head. Led by it, I drew out my saliva-slick red tongue and lapped long along the shell of her ear.
Lick!
"Heek?!"
Her drowsy body jolted like it'd been pricked by a needle; I clamped her tight to stop her from springing away. Her head tilted sideways as if fleeing my tongue, exposing her ear canal like a meal laid out before me.
I lowered my head slowly, wriggling my snakelike tongue into the delicate hole.
Slurp, slrp, lick, lick.
"Hiit??!! Ah, ah...! Ah...??!!"
The sounds of me licking and probing her ear canal echoed in my mind. She must feel it even more intensely. My tongue tip traced the canal's shape and depth, delving into flesh untouched by any man.
"Ok?! Oook, ok... ooo...! Ok??!!"
Twitch! Twitch! Twitch!
She spat strange moans as if prodded by something illicit, her body trembling like she had the chills. I felt her instinctively straining to escape my arms, sensing danger like a cornered animal—it only made her cuter. The more she resisted, the tighter I hugged her, thrusting my tongue deeper to savor the tender flesh, grinding my cock against her ass.
Slither.
My arm, locked around her waist, slid slowly into her skirt like my tongue in her ear. My hand passed her scorching lower belly, slick with rising dampness, toward her crotch.
My fingertips, delving into her skirt, reached the moist cleft.
Lost in ravaging her ear, I caught a glimpse of her bizarrely contorted face.
She's feeling good.
The fragment of her pleasure-twisted visage was intensely seductive—a woman's face turned beast in heat. Desperate to see it fully, I rolled my eyes and spotted the vanity opposite. Amid crushing poverty, one small mirror she could never sell gleamed. Her sole treasure, a gift from this body's father. It reflected us: mother and son.
Slrp, slurrp, lick, lick, slrp...!
"O, o... ooo... ah, uah... ah...?"
There she was, head lolled sideways in her son's confining embrace, face hazily blank as if unaware of the violation. Tears like dew streamed from her half-lidded, unfocused eyes. Her slack red lips drooled sticky saliva amid staccato moans. Between her half-hiked jeogori and inner wear, the underside of her breast peeked; my tensed grip pinned it firmly, unescapable.