The Old Man
Li Jianguo sits in the old rattan chair in the living room, the TV on but muted. The screen shows a boring health program where an old Chinese doctor drones on about remedies for kidney deficiency. He stares blankly, knuckles white on the remote, veins bulging blue.
His wife hums a little tune in the kitchen as she washes the lunch dishes, her voice light and cheerful like a girl in her twenties. Li Ran hasn't come home yet. It's just the two of them, the air still faintly scented with laundry detergent—and that lingering musky sweetness from last night on the sofa that refuses to fade.
He stares at her silhouette in the kitchen doorway. Lin Xiulan bends to wipe the stove, her hips lifting slightly, the fabric of her home pants stretching taut over full, rounded curves. It's the body he's been married to for over thirty years, but now every line mocks him—the man who could barely thrust a few dry times before finishing, now watching his own son fuck her senseless, make her cry and beg for his creampie, spill out twenty years of twisted memories.
Li Jianguo's throat goes dry. He swallows hard, but his groin only twitches with pathetic faintness, like a worn-out pipe leaking a couple drops before going limp.
Old thing... fucking useless. He curses himself inwardly, the words laced with masochistic pleasure.
Last night's scenes replay in his mind like poison, looping endlessly. He sees his son's thick waist slamming into his wife's ass, the sharp slap-slap like whips cracking across his heart; sees her scooping his son's cum from her pussy, licking it bit by bit with dazed, drugged eyes; sees her riding her son, tits bouncing as she confesses filthy secrets he's never known—masturbating with his underwear over her face, fisting herself with his fist, stuffing her asshole with his pencils...
He'd been outside the door then, jerking numbly, cumming twice but still unable to get hard.
Yet strangely, that impotence only fueled his arousal. The more worthless he felt, the more he craved kneeling at his son's feet, begging for a taste of his wife's juices, pleading for that young, vigorous cock to plunge into his old ass, to let him savor being conquered by his "son."
Old Li, oh Old Li... he mutters to himself with a low, twisted chuckle. You've got the green hat sunk into your bones... Not just wanting to watch your wife get fucked—you want to get fucked too... by your own son...
He closes his eyes, filthier visions flooding in: His son fucks his wife to climax, then turns, spotting him kneeling at the door, pants down to his knees, limp dick in hand. No words—just his son grabbing his hair, shoving that pussy-soaked cock into his mouth.
He'd suck it like a whore, tongue swirling the head, savoring her taste mixed with his son's cum, throat gagging but refusing to spit it out.
Then his son would flip him over, pin him to the sofa, ram in from behind. Brutal, merciless, like fucking a slut. He'd sob, "Son... Dad's your bitch dog... Dad's asshole is yours too... Fuck Dad rotten..." While his wife watches, fondling her breasts, fingering herself, cooing, "See that, Old Li? Our son's so strong... You'll never measure up..."
At the thought, Li Jianguo's cock jerks hard—a bead of clear precum soaks his underwear. He clamps his thighs, face flushing crimson.
Not yet... can't yet... he chants silently through gritted teeth. Wait a bit more... till son comes home... till they start again... then hide outside the door... listen... watch... till they treat me like air... like a toy to play with... then I'll kneel... beg son to fuck me... beg wife to let me clean up...
He takes a deep breath, forces himself up, pretends to head to the balcony for a smoke. Passing the kitchen, Lin Xiulan turns with a smile. "Old Li, cut back on the smokes."
That smile is gentle as ever, but he knows the wantonness lurks beneath—the knowledge that he heard, that he watched, that his head's full of depraved urges now.
She says nothing, just keeps tidying like the dutiful wife.
Li Jianguo nods, voice hoarse. "Yeah."
He reaches the balcony, lights a cigarette, inhales deeply. The smoke chokes him into a cough, but amid the hacking, he repeats the same mantra in his mind:
Son... Dad's waiting for you... Dad's ready... Dad wants to be your and Mom's plaything... Dad's asshole... Dad's mouth... everything Dad has... it's all yours...
Ashes scatter to the floor.
He gazes at the people milling below in the complex, his face settling back into the weary retiree mask.
But deep in his eyes, the fire burns hotter.
He knows—as soon as Li Ran walks through the door, the game resumes.
And he'll keep lurking in the shadows.
Listening.
Fantasizing.
Driving himself to the brink.
Until the day he can't hold back anymore—and kneels.