Chapter 21: Trampling Him
Lin Xiulan still hugs him from behind, leaning on Li Jianguo's shoulder. On the surface, she looks like a gentle, caring wife, but in reality, her hand sneaks downward into her husband's crotch.
Her fingers first stroke that half-soft, half-hard thing through his underwear, her fingertips tracing its outline. She feels it swelling bit by bit in her palm, yet it never quite reaches true hardness.
A complex, exquisite pleasure surges in her heart—that taboo thrill of "total control," like a drug rushing straight to her brain, making her lower belly twitch again.
As she slowly strokes it, she presses her face close to her husband's ear. Her voice is so low only he can hear it, laced with a cruel, syrupy sweetness: "Old Li... look, you're getting hard now... It's still so soft and floppy, but at least there's some reaction..."
Li Jianguo's breathing grows ragged, his knuckles whitening on the fishing rod, but he doesn't dare make a sound. He just stares fixedly at the water's surface.
Lin Xiulan quickens her fingers' rhythm, pinching the base of that thing and squeezing gently, like wringing the last dregs from a tube of nearly empty toothpaste.
She whispers on, her tone like coaxing a child, yet each word stabs straight into his heart: "You know what? When our son's finger plunged into my asshole earlier, I came so hard my legs went weak... My insides were covered in his fingerprints... clenching and unclenching like they were kissing him... A place you've never touched your whole life, now played with by our son until it's red and swollen... You're throbbing like this—bet you're thinking how great it'd be if you could shove your cock all the way in like he did."
She bites down hard on "our son," her voice dripping with mocking amusement.
A faint whimper escapes Li Jianguo's throat. The thing in her hand twitches, leaking more prostatic fluid that slicks her palm.
Lin Xiulan chuckles low, her voice even softer, even crueler: "Too bad, Old Li... you just can't anymore... Five, six years now? Every time I wanted it, you'd lie there panting for two breaths and spurt... And now? You only get this pathetic little semi-hard watching our son fuck me... Tell me, weren't you born to wear a green hat? Born to watch your own wife get her asshole and sloppy pussy played with by your biological son until she squirts... while you just leak in secret on the sidelines?"
Her hand doesn't stop—instead, she strokes more deftly, fingertips occasionally scraping the coronal ridge, smearing that pitiful fluid evenly, like oiling up a toy.
The taboo pleasure courses through her like electricity, from her fingertips to every inch of her body.
She knows exactly how humiliated her husband feels right now—and she knows their son is watching nearby. He thinks she's just "comforting" his father, oblivious to how she's humiliating her husband in the vilest way possible, channeling that shame straight into her own raging arousal.
Suddenly, she leans in closer, her tongue tip flicking his earlobe as she murmurs: "Old Li... you know what gets me off the hardest right now? It's not our son fucking me... It's knowing you're listening, watching, but totally powerless... You're hard, but so pathetically so... You can't cum, you just tremble in my hand... That's the real thrill... Taboo right down to my bones... Getting my asshole trained by our son while I jerk you off... Climaxing while I humiliate you... Old Li, tell me—am I just born to be a filthy slut?"
Li Jianguo finally cracks. His body shudders violently, prostatic fluid gushing out in spurts, soaking her palm.
It's not a proper ejaculation—just a weak leak. He slumps limp in the chair, eyes bloodshot like they're about to bleed.
Lin Xiulan pulls her hand free, wiping it on his pants before leaning in with a smile for the killing blow: "Old Li... see? You didn't even shoot clean... Our son always fills me up with a huge load... You? Just this sad bit of clear water..."
She turns back, nestling against her son's chest as if nothing happened. But her hand slips discreetly between her own thighs, smearing her husband's prostatic fluid over her still-dripping labia.
Then, in a soft voice to her son: "Ranran... Mom's hand got dirty... Will you lick it clean for me?"
Li Ran bends down, taking her fingers into his mouth. His tongue coils around them, lapping away that unfamiliar, humiliation-tainted fluid.
Lin Xiulan closes her eyes, a smile of utter satisfaction curving her lips.
Taboo, humiliation, control, possession... All the sensations weave together, making her feel like a queen—and the cheapest whore alive.
And it's this ripping duality of identities that has become her most addictive drug.