To Steal Her, I Must Make Her Mine First
After the first day I used Monghwancho on her, I began researching this herb's precise effects. Naturally, my guinea pig was Mother. I verified everything one by one, like testing an item in a game: the duration—about 30 minutes to an hour—the level of stimulation she could accept, how she'd respond to commands, and so on.
"Chujeongjeon's author must've planned an incest route for the side story."
With just this Monghwancho, there was no need for separate hypnosis or brainwashing—its effects were that potent. Of course, it had more restrictions than the cheat items you'd see in abuse fantasies. Still, the fact that you could interact with the real Mother as if she were blackout drunk was a key element stirring up that forbidden thrill, and I figured plenty of people would prefer it for that reason.
Most strikingly, even after the memories vanished, the lingering afterglow of pleasure etched into her body continued to gnaw away at her from within. I was convinced that by exploiting this effect of imprinting pleasure into the subconscious, I could keep her mentally pure as a pine tree, an upright widow of unyielding virtue—while turning her body into that of a whore craving cock.
Verification complete. Now I just had to slowly proceed with her conditioning.
"It's been quite some time since I arrived here."
I'd thought that once I confirmed Monghwancho worked on her, I'd pound into her like a dog in heat. Surprisingly, the experimentation process was so enjoyable that I hadn't gotten around to it yet. The omnipotence of toying with one person like a plaything had overtaken my lust.
But that was ending now.
"The magistrate who'll try to steal Mother should arrive this autumn. I need to dose her once before then."
As the title Chujeongjeon suggests, the story's backdrop was autumn. The magistrate transfers to this village in early fall, then acts like a typical corrupt official, indulging in power and women. In that process, the lecherous net he casts ensnares our Mother, Jeong Hyang.
The maple leaves were just starting to turn, so the magistrate's arrival was truly imminent. Before that, I needed to shatter her pine-like chastity once and drink the sweet honey pooled within. Only then, when she was stolen away, would she feel parched, desperate, aching for it.
"And Father's death anniversary is coming up soon, isn't it?"
To be precise, it was this body's father. But since I was now Jeong Yun, he was my father too.
I'd been agonizing over when to topple Mother and taste her depths, and this seemed perfect timing.
On Father's death anniversary, Mother would dress up more than usual. It was the ideal day to devour a widow more refined and elegant than ever.
Until the deed was done, I halted the Monghwancho experiments to maintain a starved state and played the perfect filial son.
Finally, Father's death anniversary arrived.
"……"
Mother exuded a quieter, more solemn air than usual, constantly fussing with her hair and clothes. I stole glances at her preparing an overflowing table of foods she rarely touched otherwise for the ancestral rite. Dressed more plainly and neatly than ever, she resembled a single flower.
Her hair pinned up impeccably, as if not a single strand out of place could be tolerated; her pristine white jeogori and skirt, evoking virginal purity despite her widowhood—it was dazzling. Amid her porcelain-white form, the only splash of color was the jade ring on her left ring finger.
"Pay your respects to Father."
Since we were a common household, the rite emphasized sincerity over formality, so we kept it simple without strict procedures. With no photo, I bowed to the faceless father.
'Mother, I'll take good care of you, so don't worry.'
The direction I faced wasn't conventional, but what could be done? A beast had entered the home and taken its seat.
Soon, Mother gracefully bowed to her late husband with demure propriety. Her lovely form, eyes softly lowered in reverence, was cloaked in the poignant solitude only a widow could possess.
"That's enough now. Let's have dinner."
To lighten the heavy mood, Mother joked lightly that fulfilling the rites mattered more than rigid formality—Father wouldn't have liked it anyway.
Even as we cleared the rite foods and set the dinner table, a bitterness lingered on her lips, her face etched with sorrow.
"Mother. Would you like a drink?"
For today, I'd procured an expensive bottle of clear liquor. She could've scolded me for buying booze, but instead, she smiled faintly and brought out two cups with some snacks.
"You've become an adult, so it's time you learned to drink."
Muttering about finding out later which bastard sold liquor to a dutiful son, she still filled my cup too.
"Liquor should be learned from one's parents, after all."
With those words, she taught me the etiquette of drinking. What a consistently upright woman.
I sipped just one cup, urging her to drink most of it. Unused to alcohol, her tolerance unknown, I'd prepared several bottles—but even one had her eyes glazing over.
'What to do.'
Get her blackout drunk and take her, or use Monghwancho as usual? With the night still young, I approached her swaying form first.
Her pale, round face, flushed like a lotus under the harvest moon, looked utterly beautiful.
"You're drunk."
"Mm…? No. You think this little bit would intoxicate your mother?"
Her words said one thing, but her head lolled precariously.
Under the pretense of supporting her drunken self, I sidled close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to lean her against me.
"Mm…"
Leaning her head on my shoulder, she seemed torn between shedding her maternal mask and acting spoiled. Knowing parents tire too, I decided to nudge that lock open a bit.
"Mother. Are you weary?"
"……"
Normally, she'd smack my back for such nonsense, but she clamped her lips and stayed silent. I pulled her closer into my embrace.
A bit too intimate for mother and son, but with the alcohol and the anniversary's weight, she was endlessly vulnerable. The soft feel of her arm under my hand was exquisite.
Wanting to tease this rigid widow while sober, I slipped up.
"Mom. Ah…?!"
"Hm?"
A mistake. Constantly thinking of Jeong Hyang as Mom, Mom while plotting to fuck her, the filial Jeong Yun's "Mother" slipped into "Mom."
Mother, nestled against me, looked puzzled, then chuckled softly.
"I thought you'd grown up, but you're still a child."
"……A slip, Mother."
"Yes, yes."
Her stiff, mournful aura softened, tension easing. Seizing the moment, I gently hugged her from behind.
"Wh-what…?!"
She startled, trying to pull away, but I wrapped both arms around her shoulders and whispered in her ear.
"Mom. Can we stay like this just a little longer?"
Formal speech and "Mother" be damned. These were the words of the beast wearing the filial son's skin.
I couldn't see her face, but her hands, reaching to pry my arms off her shoulders, trembled faintly.
"W-well… if, if you insist…"
With her permission, I hugged her deeper, trapping her. I felt her back stiffen with tension against me.
It might look like a son seeking comfort, but the reality was a beast lusting for its dam—confusing as hell for Jeong Hyang.
'He's just grown in body. Still a child. A baby.'
Jeong Hyang felt her alcohol-warmed body heat up further. Even in her son's arms, she couldn't recall the last time someone held her hand or embraced her.
Was another's warmth always this comforting? one part wondered, while another screamed, You crazy bitch, what are you thinking?!
'Accepting a son's spoiling is a parent's duty too. Just… a little…'
Since losing her husband, she'd lived alone with Jeong Yun in this poverty-stricken thatched house. Her son, mature beyond his years, always so respectful—it made her proud yet sorry.
She couldn't even remember the last time he'd acted spoiled like this.
'Mom…'
Unfamiliar yet nostalgic. Savoring the warmth of the word, Jeong Hyang leaned a bit more into her son's embrace.
'Look at that?'
Her initially rigid body began to relax languidly. Likely seeking solace from exhaustion, but the son beneath the shell harbored entirely different intentions.
The subtle floral perfume wafting from the embraced woman fueled my sordid desires. Gazing at her defenseless face, eyes closed in steady breaths, I surged with the urge to rape her without Monghwancho, tears be damned.
'Can't sacrifice future joys for one moment's pleasure.'
The sight of Mother wailing in despair at her son's lust could only be seen once. Deferring that sweet harvest, I decided to lick the current sweetness.
So slowly she wouldn't notice, I wrapped my arm around her waist, palm caressing the soft flesh along her curve. It seemed like adjusting position, so no reaction came.
'Want to bite.'
Shifting to hold her closer, her ear was now right before my lips. Recalling ravaging her earlobe and ear canal that first Monghwancho time, I ached to nibble—but held back.
Instead, to indirectly signal the man behind her excitement, I exhaled hot breaths softly.
"Mm…"
Drunk and pleased, she seemed fine with this stimulation. I continued acts filial Jeong Yun would never do.
Tucking stray hair behind her ear, caressing her ear and neck; sliding my hand at her waist deeper under her jeogori.
Twitch!
My hand delved too deep for accident, and her body in my arms jerked visibly. But feigning spoiling, I hugged tighter, stoking her maternal instincts.
'Why's he so clingy today?'
Jeong Hyang's nerves fixated on her son's hand burrowing under her jeogori, caressing her waist. His once slender hand had thickened, roughened.
Each press of his palm sent jolts through her, heat surging. Her pounding heart—alcohol or something else? Unclear.
Shoving him away would make her rigid, dutiful son never spoil again, bottling his hardships like her. Agony.
"Mom."
His wet whisper in her ear, like craving maternal warmth, left her powerless. A strange weakness drained her from head to toe.
As his hand delved deeper, craving motherhood, her mind went blank. His breath thundered; when his fingertips brushed under her breast, a scream nearly escaped.
"Gulp…"
I swallowed dryly without thinking. Eyes trembling, unsure where to look, I squeezed them shut.
Then his warmth, solid embrace, thick hand inside her jeogori, heated breaths amplified—eyes snapped open.
Was the way he massaged her arms like forbidden caress an illusion?
'Wh-what to do?'
He was drunk too, surely. Repressed weariness bursting as spoiling, unaware of his actions. Must push away. But then he'd never open up again.
"Ha, haa…"
Her hot exhale startled her; eyes widened like full moons. Darting glances wildly, they met "hers" in the small vanity mirror.
"Ah…?"
A cherished gift from her husband, commemorating sweet dreamlike days—now reflecting her.
Son hugging from behind, head bowed, face hidden. But the spectacle was her: jeogori slightly lifted, exposing secret skin; yielding to his caresses on waist and shoulders.
'I've gone mad.'
Not mother, but woman reflected. Amid Monghwancho tests, long-forgotten pleasure's sweetness recalled—her body craving it again, turning "woman."
Son’s subtle conditioning already bearing fruit. Mirror showed no mother-son: only disheveled woman in man's arms.
Slither.
His hand on her shoulder slid slowly down—like snake from shoulder to waist to hips, toward her skirt. Her hand moved first.
Slap!
Her pale-knuckled hand gripped his thick wrist hard. Jeong Hyang's lips trembled repeatedly.
'Wh-what to say?'
Rude? No more spoiling? What is this? Words swirled.
"Uh, uhm…"
Instead of scolding, a feeble moan escaped—like a frail woman drunk beyond control.
Hearing it, he slowly withdrew his hand from her skirt.
Heart thundering to burst, head spinning.
"Mother."
The word in her ear made her shudder violently.
"Ah, ahh… y-yes. What is it?"
Forcing nonchalance to hide tension.
"The night deepens. Shall we retire?"
"Y-yes, let's."
Early yet, but entranced, she agreed.
Clearing the table, laying bedding. Should change, but shame overwhelmed.
"Mother. Shall I burn the soothing incense as usual?"
Son offered the routine incense. Back turned, she assented—but hesitated changing.
Normally carefree, stripping freely—why so shy now?
'This makes it seem like I'm the one conscious of my son…'
Silver incense scent filling the room hazed her mind like fog.
"Uh, uhm…?"
Strength fled; she crumpled to the floor. Consciousness plunged into abyss before registering.
"Mom. When you wake up refreshed, a new world will await."
His murmur from behind barely registered before her head drooped.