Dreamlike Morning
Sunlight filters through the gaps in the old curtains the next morning, spilling across the living room sofa.
That sofa, soaked through with sweat and bodily fluids last night, now has a clean towel draped over the cushion, making everything look perfectly normal.
Lin Xiulan rises first.
She wears the same pale pink silk robe from last night, but with the belt cinched tight and the neckline pulled up to her collarbone, as if nothing ever happened.
She busies herself in the kitchen, and soon the aroma of frying eggs fills the air.
The steady clatter of the spatula against the pan rings out rhythmically, as though the screams and moans of the night before were nothing but a dream.
Li Ran emerges from his room, dressed in a fresh shirt and trousers, his hair neatly combed. He steps into the kitchen, his voice calm as ever. "Morning, Mom."
Lin Xiulan turns, her face lit with her usual gentle smile, though a faint flush lingers in her eyes. She plates the fried eggs and hands it to him. "Morning. Sleep well last night?"
"Yeah." Li Ran takes the plate, his fingertips "accidentally" brushing the back of her hand.
For that instant, they both pause, but neither says a word.
He sits at the dining table and eats his breakfast with his head down, like any normal son.
Li Jianguo comes out of the master bedroom last.
He's in loose gray sweats, his hair a mess, faint dark circles under his eyes—he stood outside the door too long last night, his arms aching, knees weak, and he barely slept a wink.
He clears his throat and shuffles into the kitchen, his voice hoarse. "Nice weather today."
"It is." Lin Xiulan responds, serving him another plate of breakfast.
The couple exchanges a glance; her eyes are calm as still water, but he quickly looks away, avoiding her gaze.
The sliver of light through the door crack last night, his wife's wanton cries, his son's heavy grunts... those images burn into his mind like a branding iron. Just seeing his wife now conjures the sight of her on her knees between their son's legs, swallowing cum before kissing him.
But his face betrays nothing. He simply sits and shovels food into his mouth mechanically.
The three of them sit around the table, and no one mentions last night.
Li Ran finishes eating, rinses his bowl in the sink, and says casually, "I'm heading to the company this morning. Be back after work."
"Okay." Lin Xiulan nods, her tone flawlessly tender. "Drive safe."
Li Jianguo suddenly speaks up, his voice a touch unnatural. "Ranran, come home early tonight. Mom says she'll make your favorite twice-cooked pork."
Li Ran pauses, glancing back at his father.
That look carries a complex undercurrent—he was so lost in his mother's body last night that he never noticed his father returning.
But now, seeing his father's aged face with that strange hint of satisfaction, a flicker of inexplicable unease stirs in his chest.
"Sure." He replies, then turns and heads out the door.
The moment the door clicks shut, the living room falls into brief silence.
Lin Xiulan stands with her back to Li Jianguo, washing dishes, the water rushing steadily.
She knows he's watching her, knows how long he watched last night, knows exactly what's swirling in his head right now.
But she doesn't turn around. She only says softly, "Old Li, you heading back early today too?"
Li Jianguo's throat bobs, his voice barely audible. "Mm."
He stands, steps behind her, hesitates—his hand rises, then falls. In the end, he just pats her shoulder, so lightly it's like he's afraid to wake something.
Lin Xiulan's hands pause under the faucet. She turns suddenly, her wet fingers grazing his chin, her voice soft. "Last night... you were out on that walk for quite a while."
Li Jianguo stiffens, his face flushing crimson.
He opens his mouth, but no words come.
His eyes meet hers, complex with humiliation, longing, self-loathing, and an excitement he can't hide.
Lin Xiulan smiles, letting it drop. She rises on tiptoe and brushes her lips against his—light as a dragonfly skimming water. Then she turns back to the dishes, her silhouette graceful, as if truly nothing happened.
Li Jianguo stands frozen, breathing heavily.
His mind replays last night's scenes: his wife riding their son, moaning wildly; licking his son's cum into her mouth; confessing in that filthy tone...
His groin stirs again, weak and futile. He leans against the wall, eyes shut, drawing deep breaths.
And Lin Xiulan, washing dishes, lets her lips curve upward ever so slightly.
She knows her husband was at the door last night, heard everything, and that those new, twisted desires are budding in him now.
She can even picture it: him fantasizing about kneeling to lick his son's cum off her body, joining in...
But she says nothing.
Li Ran walks toward the company, his phone buzzing with a group message.
He opens it, but his mind is filled with his mother's body from last night—the tight grip inside her, her tearful confessions, those perverse memories built over twenty years.
His cock hardens again; he adjusts his pants and takes a deep breath.
At his cubicle, the screen shows unread reports and emails, but his eyes stare at a blank Word doc, fingers idle.
At ten-thirty, the office AC hums, colleagues murmur about project timelines, someone passes with coffee mingling with printer ink.
But Li Ran's world feels cut off, replaying last night in vivid loops like a high-def film.
He closes his eyes, breathes deep—and the details sharpen.
His mother straddling his lap, silk robe slipping to her waist, breasts swaying toward his face, nipples hard as ripe cherries.
He remembers sucking one; her whimper like an electric shock, body shuddering, walls clenching to pull him deeper.
"Ranran... Mommy's tits... I've wanted to feed you since you were little..." she'd gasped, fingers in his hair, pressing his head to her chest.
Li Ran shifts in his seat unconsciously; his crotch throbs painfully. He clamps his thighs, pretends to scan the screen, hand sneaking under the desk to press his thigh root, easing the ache.
The flashback continues.
His mother riding him, voice breaking as she recounts middle school perversions: kneeling in the locked classroom, math formulas lingering on the board, yet she deepthroats him, tongue swirling the ridge, slurping noisily.
He'd cum in her mouth; she swallows half, holds the rest to kiss him, passing the semen like a taboo rite.
"Ranran... Mommy wanted back then... for you to fuck me pregnant... for your dad to watch... watch his son swell my belly..."
Li Ran's throat tightens sharply.
He opens his eyes; the female colleague across bends to pick something up, skirt taut over her thighs.
But his mind swaps her face for his mother's—her bending to suck him, ass high, robe hiked to her waist, panties soaked.
He grits his teeth, forces focus on work. The harder he resists, the more the images flood.
He wonders what his mother is doing at home now.
Washing dishes in the kitchen? Sneaking into his room to rifle through his underwear? Pressing his dirty socks to her face? Lying on his bed, grinding against his pillow between her legs?
Li Ran's fingers type a few words, then delete them all.
Suddenly, her final confession echoes: "Mommy's womb... only recognizes your cum forever..."
In climax, her body spasms, pussy squeezing like countless tiny hands, milking his last drop.
He'd shot so deep, cum battering her cervix; she presses her belly, murmuring, "Cum inside... knock Mommy up... let Mommy carry your baby..."
Li Ran bolts up; his chair screeches.
The colleague nearby looks over. "You okay?"
"Fine, bathroom break." His voice strains; he hurries toward the break room.
In the stall, he locks the door, slumps against the wall, panting.
His cock strains purple in his pants. He unzips, frees it, wraps his palm around, strokes fast.
His mind is all her face—licking his cum with dazed eyes; riding him, tits bouncing, begging for more; trembling through perverse tales with sick satisfaction.
"Mom... Mom..." he mutters, pace quickening.
He imagines her waiting outside the company, eager for him to get home—dropping to her knees at the door, unzipping him, sucking like in that classroom.
"Ranran... Mommy can't wait... Mommy's pussy is wet again..."
In the fantasy, he pins her to the entry shoe cabinet, slams in from behind; she screams in welcome, ass slapping his belly with wet smacks.
He cums.
Semen spurts against the toilet wall, thick ropes hot and heavy. He bites down, silent, but envisions her throat working as she swallows.
Afterglow leaves him slumped against the wall, legs shaky.
He knows tonight at home, it all continues.
On the surface, they'll eat and chat like nothing's wrong.
But he can't wait.
He wants to get home, pin his mother to the sofa, fill her depths again.
Hear more twisted memories.
Make her utterly his woman.
He cleans up, straightens his clothes, breathes deep, and steps out.
His face is calm once more.
But deep in his eyes, that fire burns hotter.