Fantasies
The three settle back into their folding chairs, sitting side by side. Li Jianguo takes the far left spot, Lin Xiulan sits in the middle, and Li Ran claims the far right.
The fishing rods are propped up once more, their three floats drifting motionless on the water's surface like unblinking eyes.
On the surface, everything snaps back to "normal": the father stares intently at the water, the mother fusses with her bait, and the son pretends to tweak his line.
But that ambiguous, musky-sweet scent still lingers thick in the air.
Beneath Lin Xiulan's skirt hem, her panties have been yanked aside by her son, the soaked fabric plastered to the root of her thigh. A cool breeze whispers through, leaving her between the legs chilly and exposed.
She presses her thighs together, but she can't help the subtle friction, desperate to soothe the aching void left by those probing fingers.
Li Ran's hand sneaks over, resting on her thigh, his fingertips tracing along the skirt's edge and slipping inward.
Lin Xiulan stiffens, but she doesn't pull away.
She turns her head slightly, her voice a bare whisper meant only for her son: "Ranran... your dad's right there... don't..."
"Mom... that asshole of yours was just deflowered... son hasn't had enough yet." Li Ran's finger glides into her butt crack, the pad pressing gently against that rear entrance, still faintly pulsing open and shut.
Lubricated by urine and intestinal slick, it's hot to the touch, hypersensitive.
Lin Xiulan bites her lower lip, pretending to bend down for the water bottle on the ground—but really, she arches her hips back a fraction, offering easier access.
She gasps softly: "Ranran... go easy... Mom's scared she'll cry out..."
Li Ran's middle finger eases in once more, slow and deeper this time, his palm root flush against her plump ass cheek.
He doesn't thrust right away. Instead, he circles gently inside, savoring the wrinkled folds and rhythmic contractions of her intestinal walls.
Lin Xiulan's breathing fractures instantly. Her hands clamp the chair's armrests like a vise, her knees trembling.
"Mom... it's so hot in there... squeezing son's finger so tight..." Li Ran murmurs huskily against her ear. "That piss-slut stench from earlier is still hanging around... son smells it and wants to cum again."
Tears gleam at the corners of Lin Xiulan's eyes, laced with a perverse satisfaction.
She shifts slightly, feigning a lean on her son's shoulder—really burying her face in the crook of his neck, her voice quivering: "Ranran... Mom's asshole... now it only knows your fingers... from here on... it'll know your cock too... Mom wants you to shoot inside... deep in Mom's guts... so every step she takes carries your scent..."
Li Ran's finger begins a languid thrust, each slide in and out coaxing faint, wet sounds.
The noises are faint, but in the pondside hush, they're piercingly clear.
Li Jianguo sits just a meter away, rod gripped in hand, utterly still.
His ears strain against the air itself—every tiny squelch, his wife's muffled pants, his son's whispers slice into his brain like knives.
He doesn't turn around.
But his body betrays him.
In his crotch, that thing which hasn't truly hardened in five years begins to swell, bit by bit.
Not a full erection, but a distinct outline tents his pants shallowly.
He clamps his legs instinctively, breath heaving, knuckles blanching on the rod.
He's imagining it.
Imagining his son plunging fingers into his wife's asshole now, thrusting in and out as she bites her lip to stifle cries, whispering the filthiest pleas in his ear; imagining her glancing back at him, eyes glazed with lust, laced with taunt and pity: "Old Li... see that? Son's training Mom's asshole... the place you never touched your whole life... now it's all his..."
Li Jianguo's Adam's apple bobs hard. The thing in his pants twitches, swelling another notch.
He swears he feels the tip leaking clear fluid, soaking his underwear.
He doesn't dare move, just glares at the water where the float sits dead still—but his heart hammers like a drum.
Behind him, Lin Xiulan's hips start rocking in time with her son's rhythm.
Face buried in his shoulder, her words come in broken gasps: "Ranran... deeper... fuck Mom's asshole raw... you're gonna ruin it... Mom feels so good... Dad's right there... Dad's hearing his son finger-fuck Mom's ass... Dad's gotta be hard now..."
Li Ran chuckles low. His finger suddenly picks up speed while his other hand snakes from the front, pinning her clit and rubbing furiously. The double assault locks Lin Xiulan's body rigid, a strangled whimper escaping her throat.
"Mom... you're cumming... that asshole's cumming too..."
Li Ran's finger rams to the hilt. Her walls convulse wildly, clamping his digit in a vise. Her pussy spasms in tandem, a hot gush erupting to splatter the chair and drench his hand.
Lin Xiulan sinks her teeth into her son's shoulder to muffle her scream. Her body shudders like chaff in the wind, the climax dragging on for a dozen seconds.
Li Ran eases his finger free, slick with intestinal juices and her squirt. He lifts it to her lips; she parts them on instinct, tongue laving it clean with care.
Li Jianguo can't hold back. He twists his head—just a flash—then whips it back.
But in that instant, he sees it: his wife's cheeks flushed crimson, eyes glassy with tears, a glistening strand at her mouth's corner; his son's fingers gleaming wet, feeding them to her.
His crotch soaks through completely.
Not semen, but prostate fluid leaking uncontrollably, staining a wide patch. He grits his teeth, fakes a cough, voice rasping: "...F-fish... looks like the fish is biting."
But the rod hasn't twitched.
The three sit on.
The floats remain serene.
Yet the air by the pond simmers, hot enough to ignite.