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—an old Chinese doctor droning on about tonifying kidney deficiency. He stares at it 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 him and her in the house, the air still faintly scented with laundry detergent—and that lingering musky sweetness from last night on the sofa that no amount of airing can chase away.
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 curve mocks him—the man who used to leave her lying there dry and unsatisfied after a few pathetic pumps. Now he watches his son fuck her senseless, fuck her until she's sobbing for a creampie, fuck her until she spills every perverted memory from the past twenty years.
Li Jianguo's throat goes dry. He swallows hard, but his cock only twitches with feeble, pitiful swelling—like a rusty old pipe that dribbles a couple drops before going limp.
"Useless old fuck..." he curses himself inwardly, the words laced with masochistic thrill.
Last night's scenes replay in his mind like a poison he can't shake. He sees his son's thick hips slamming into his wife's ass, the sharp slap-slap cracking like a whip across his heart. He sees her scooping his son's cum from her pussy, licking it bit by bit from her fingers, eyes glazed like she's high. He sees her riding her son, tits bouncing as she confesses filthy secrets he's never known—masturbating with her son's underwear over her face, fisting herself with her son's hand, stuffing her ass with her son's pencil...
He'd been outside the door then, jerking his numb hand raw, cumming twice—but still couldn't get hard.
Strangely, that impotence only fueled his excitement. The more worthless he felt, the more he craved kneeling at his son's feet, begging for a taste of his wife's juices, begging that young, virile cock to plunge into his old ass, letting 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 cuck fever deep in your bones... Not just wanting to watch your wife get fucked—you want to get fucked too... Fucked by your own son..."
He closes his eyes, and even viler images flood in:
His son fucks his wife to climax, then turns to find him kneeling at the door, pants down around his knees, limp dick in hand.
No words—just his son grabbing his hair, shoving that cock, slick with his wife's juices, into his mouth.
He'd suck it like a whore, tongue swirling the head, savoring her taste mixed with his son's cum, throat bulging and aching but refusing to let go.
Then his son would flip him over, pin him to the sofa, and ram in from behind.
Rough. Merciless. Like fucking a slut.
He'd sob, "Son... Dad's your bitch dog... Dad's ass is yours too... Fuck Dad's hole raw..." While his wife watches, fondling her tits, fingering herself, and 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 together, face burning red.
"Not yet... Can't yet..." he chants silently through gritted teeth. "Wait a bit longer... Wait for son to come home... Wait for them to start again... Then hide outside the door... Listen... Watch... Wait until they treat me like air... Like a worthless toy to play with... That's when... I'll kneel... Beg son to fuck me... Beg wife to let me clean up..."
He takes a deep breath, forces himself to stand, pretending 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, like old times. But he knows the slutty fire smoldering beneath—the fire from last night.
She knows he heard. Knows he watched. Knows his head's full of depraved urges right now.
But she says nothing, just keeps tidying the house like the perfect wife.
Li Jianguo nods, voice hoarse. "Yeah."
He steps onto the balcony, lights a cigarette, inhales deep. 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 plaything—yours and Mom's... Dad's ass... Dad's mouth... Everything Dad has... It's all yours..."
Ashes scatter to the floor.
He gazes down at the people milling about the complex, his face settling back into the weary retiree mask.
But deep in his eyes, that 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.
Keep listening.
Keep fantasizing.
Keep pushing himself to the brink.
Until the day he can't hold back anymore—and drops to his knees.