Chapter 2 Fourth Mother - Kang Da-eun
Chapter 2 Fourth Mother - Kang Da-eun
It was the darkest hour before dawn when all the mothers finally fell asleep.
Until then, I had been kneeling before my father's portrait. Only now did I quietly rise to my feet.
I looked down at my father's wives—the women who were, by extension, my mothers.
Though the funeral hall was cramped, the mothers lay apart from one another, their relationships strained.
Among them, my fourth mother, Kang Da-eun, was nowhere to be seen.
Drinking alone again?
If she got kicked out of here, she had nowhere else to go. I just hoped she wouldn't get drunk and cause another scene like she had the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that...
I had no idea where Fourth Mother had gone, but this wasn't the time to hesitate.
I lifted my heels, careful not to make a sound.
I stretched one leg over First Mother's ample chest and Second Mother's slender waist.
Then the other leg over Third Mother's wide hips.
And finally, over the delicate face of the youngest mother—who, despite being my mother, looked more like a college freshman than a woman with a grown son like me.
But just as my right foot cleared her face and my left remained poised, the youngest mother's eyes fluttered open.
I froze.
Her bright, alert gaze locked onto the space between my legs, hovering above her.
"You're not asleep?" I whispered.
Still lying down, she tilted her head slightly to meet my eyes. When she saw my face, she broke into a radiant smile.
Her grin was so dazzling it could have lit up the dim funeral hall in an instant.
But no matter how generously I interpreted it, it didn't look like the smile a mother gives her son.
There was something else in her eyes—not maternal affection, but the desire to be seen as pretty.
Like she wasn't looking at her son, but at a man she was flirting with.
Sensing my discomfort, she quickly schooled her expression and turned away.
Thankfully, her gaze soon returned to normal—the same uncertain, gentle look she always gave me when we were alone, as if she didn't know how to treat a son only three years her junior.
"Bathroom?" she asked.
That wasn't my destination, but it was in the same direction.
I nodded.
She must have read the mix of anticipation and dread on my face, because she gave me a lonely smile.
"Hurry back. Before Second Sister wakes up."
I moved my left foot over her face and nodded again.
But something in her expression told me she had more to say.
Kneeling beside her, I waited, hoping the broadcast wasn't over yet.
After glancing at the other sleeping mothers, she reached for my face.
Instinctively, I caught her wrist.
Her angelic face twisted into something monstrous for a split second.
Her nails dug into the back of my hand.
Startled, I immediately let go.
Just as quickly, her expression smoothed back into sweetness.
She pushed my hand aside and cupped my cheek.
Her touch was gentle, like any loving mother stroking her son's face.
I closed my eyes, savoring the pleasant sensation.
But I opened them again almost immediately.
Because that pleasant sensation was making me feel too good.
Fourth Mother traced my eyes, nose, and ears before lingering on my lips, her fingers moving with an almost sensual tenderness.
But as always, I pretended not to notice the sticky affection in her touch, calling out to her with the innocence of a devoted son.
"Mom."
"Yes, son?"
Though only three years older than me, she now called me "son" without hesitation—while simultaneously trying to slip a finger past my lips.
I clenched my teeth, blocking her.
But I couldn't hold out forever.
"I, uh... need to use the bathroom."
The moment my lips parted to speak, her long, pale finger slid inside.
She toyed with my tongue and teeth as she answered with a non sequitur.
"Are you leaving? Forever?"
"...No."
"Really? Even after the funeral, you won't abandon me?"
With every press of her finger against my tongue, my cock twitched in response.
This was dangerous.
Another minute like this, and I'd be fully hard.
I tried to stand, but she wouldn't let me.
Her other hand grabbed my cheeks, stretching them as she grinned.
"Not answering, son?"
"......"
"You're the Cult Leader's son. You have access to all the followers' personal files. So you know, don't you? That I'm an orphan. That you're the only family I have."
Even with my cheeks being pulled, I managed to look at her in shock.
Top of her class at the nation's most prestigious university—brilliant.
Excessively naive and kind-hearted—gentle.
A face so pure it drew attention—beautiful.
That was how the cult members saw her.
That was why she was chosen as the leader's wife.
Her appearance alone made her seem holy. And someone like her would never be a spy from outside the cult, nor would she be strong-willed enough to meddle in internal power struggles.
But how did she know the Cult Leader had secretly compiled dirt on his followers to control them?
Maybe the real her was nothing like the person everyone thought she was.
"So you know, right? That my mother—your grandmother—was a slut. That she ran off to suck her lover's dick the second my father killed himself. That she abandoned me at ten years old because she 'didn't need me.' You know all that, don't you?"
Her crude words, spat from those pure lips, sent a shiver down my spine.
I'd never heard her say things like slut, cheating bastard, or dick before.
The dissonance between her innocent face and those vulgar words made them even more electrifying.
My cock was half-hard.
"So you're the only family I have. That whore could never be my real mother. So you understand, don't you, son? ...Answer me."
"Yes, Mom."
"And?"
"I won't abandon you, even after the funeral."
"Good. That's all I need. Just that one thing. And I'll do anything for you."
The madness lurking beneath her surface receded, and her face softened back into its usual sweetness.
I exhaled in relief.
"Then, I'll just... go to the bathroom."
She slowly withdrew her finger from my mouth.
Seeing it glistening with my saliva, I glanced around for a tissue to clean her hand.
"It's fine. It's yours."
She pushed the wet finger into her own mouth, locking eyes with me.
Then she opened wide, as if to show off.
Her tongue—long and thin, impossibly so for her small mouth—slithered out to lewdly lick the trail of saliva running down her wrist.
Next, she reached for my hand and began cleaning the spit off it with that same tongue.
The words slut, cheating bastard, and dick echoed in my mind, sending another jolt through me.
My cock throbbed.
"W-well, I'll be going."
I scrambled to my feet—only to hunch over awkwardly before fully straightening.
My cock, already fully erect, was straining against my pants, its unnatural length and girth unmistakable even through the fabric.
"H-huh?"
Fourth Mother's eyes, already glazed with something indecent, widened further at the sight.
"Hey, son. Are guys supposed to be that big—"
She kept her voice low, glancing at the other sleeping mothers, but I pretended not to hear and turned away.
Quickly, I shoved a hand into my pants, adjusting my cock—so thick it barely fit in my grip—to the left side before hurrying out into the hallway.
I cautiously sat on a couch in the hall, trying to calm my racing heart with deep breaths.
After a few attempts, I reached for the remote on the table.
I'd practiced using it with a smuggled phone, but this was my first time trying it for real. After a few failed attempts, I finally got the TV on.
"I am Hanulnim!"
My father's voice boomed out.
I frantically turned the volume down and glanced back at the room where the mothers slept.
Still dark. No movement.
All asleep.
I turned back to the TV.
There he was—my father, mid-speech before thousands of followers, grabbing the wrist of a woman who had stepped onto the stage.
"To cure that illness, you must accept my body—the vessel through which Hanulnim's flesh, mind, and soul flow! Ugh!"
What kind of nonsense was this from a man who was impotent in every sense of the word?
A man who would pass out from blood pressure spikes if he even tried to take Viagra?
Wasn't that why he'd created the so-called Holy Medicine in the first place?
Disgusted, I couldn't listen anymore.
I changed the channel.
But every station showed the same face, the same voice.
It made sense—my father's indiscriminate terror attack had been barely a month ago.
Then, finally, I found what I was looking for.
A channel replaying the live broadcast of my father's execution.
The only reason such a horrific scene could be aired so openly was that my father was a monster hated by the entire nation.
Dressed not in his usual French-tailored suits but in a shabby prisoner's uniform, he sat bound to the electric chair.
"P-please, spare me. Spare me... I'll do anything! Apologies, donations—anything! T-this isn't right! This country doesn't even have* executions! Why am I the only one being killed when there are so many other bastards out there?!"*
Tears streamed down his face as he begged the young congresswoman who had played a key role in his arrest.
The gallery, filled with his victims—those he had defrauded, imprisoned, threatened, and attempted to murder—erupted in jeers.
Boooooo!
Boooooo!
Die!
Just die already!
"D-doesn't this country have laws?!" he whimpered.
The man who had spent years preaching that human laws were meaningless compared to the divine will of Hanulnim—the god he claimed resided within him—was now, in the face of death, clinging to the law more desperately than anyone.
There was no trace left of the arrogance he'd once shown when boasting to his followers that he would resurrect within ten days of his death, perform miracles, and punish those who betrayed him.
"...P-please, spare me. I was wrong. I admit it. I'm a sinner. Yes, I lied. I'm no messiah. I'm just—"
The executioner pressed the button.
The chair sparked to life.
"AAARGHHHH! AAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!"
His screams filled the room.
I cried silently.
Even though my father had never shown me an ounce of affection—leaving me nothing but his blood and a hollow title in his cult—tears spilled uncontrollably.
From the gallery, his victims burst into laughter mixed with sobs.
Relief that it was finally over. Regret for the lives he had ruined.
Only two people in that room neither cried nor laughed.
The young congresswoman.
And the policewoman who had arrested him, now a national hero.
I laughed through my tears.
But unlike them, this wasn't the end for me. My laughter soon faded into emptiness.
I turned off the TV and wiped my eyes.
Then I stepped into the bathroom, splashing water on my face until the tear stains were gone.
As I walked out, ready to finally get some rest—
"Son? What are you doing up? Ohhh, I see~♡"
A voice dripping with playful danger.
The sultry tone, the kind men instinctively lean into, froze me in place.
I turned.
There she was—tall, as befitting a former volleyball player, with just the right amount of toned muscle defining her abs.
But it wasn't just her body.
Before handling the cult's Holy Medicine sales, she'd been in charge of promotions—and her face was just as striking as her figure.
Not just pretty-by-neighborhood-standards, but the kind of beauty you'd find once in a crowd of a hundred thousand.
That beauty was my fourth mother, Kang Da-eun.
But even as she approached, I couldn't smile.
Because her grinning gaze was locked onto the bulge in my pants—still very much erect.
"Guess we really are mother and son. We're on the same wavelength. Yep. Mom was just thinking the same thing... I'm so* fucking horny right now♥"*
"That's not what this is."
She ignored me, closing the distance with light, bouncing steps—uncharacteristically cheerful for a widow who'd lost her husband barely a week ago.
Her smile was as bright as a child spotting an ice cream truck.
"Ssooon~"
She threw her arms around my waist, pulling me close.
Then she began grinding her chest against me with shameless intent.
No matter how generously you looked at it, this wasn't how a mother hugs her son.
She seemed to have forgotten we were in a funeral home.
Her demeanor was that of a woman walking alone at night with a man she couldn't wait to fuck.
"Should we?"
Unlike the youngest mother, Fourth Mother was short and plump, sticking out her cute tongue to tempt me.
She spread her legs wide, wrapping her thighs around my calves, grinding her soaked pussy against my knee.
Fourth Mother was already dripping wet.
"Sex."
I shoved her chest away with all my might and tried to bolt toward where the other mothers were, but in the end, I couldn't.
Not because I was turned on.
Well, not not turned on...
I gripped Fourth Mother's wrist tightly and glanced down between her legs—sopping wet, practically drooling slick.
Then I looked at her face, flushed red against her pale skin, burning hot.
Her eyes were completely glazed over.
She must've taken the cult's narcotic, the so-called Holy Medicine, which they manufactured and distributed even outside their ranks.
I pushed her away again—she had buried her face in my collarbone, sniffing my armpit—and shifted my gaze toward the hallway outside the funeral parlor.
Three detectives, no longer bothering to hide, were sipping from paper cups of instant coffee.
The shortest of them, the female detective, was the same woman I'd seen on TV earlier—the one who personally arrested my father.
A national hero.
I turned back to Fourth Mother.
Just standing there, liquid was trickling down the inside of her thighs.
It didn't look like urine, and it certainly wasn't tears—so it had to be arousal.
Seemed like Fourth Mother had taken way more than what could be relieved with just masturbation.
I knew she popped Holy Medicine whenever she got stressed, but... to take it even now?
If I didn't help her out, she'd lose her mind from frustration, and the detectives would come running with smirks on their faces.
With the entire nation hating my father's crimes, if something like that happened, Fourth Mother would be thrown straight into prison.
So I had no choice.
Because I was Kang Da-eun's son.
Even if the age gap between us was more like an older sister and her baby brother, and even if her... that place was already...
"Fine. Just stop it, please."
"Hmm?"
"Stop biting my earlobe. What if the other mothers see?"
"We can just do it in front of them, huhuhu. Hey, you bitches, I got to your son first!"
"...Never talk like that in front of the others."
"Talk like that? Oho, getting bold, huh? Back-talking your own mother now?"
"Let's just go. Quietly."
"Okay. But you're giving me extra service, got it? You know what my favorite thing in the world is, right?"
"No."
"It's my son's cock. Why pretend you don't know? ♡ Huhuhuhu~♡"
I grabbed Fourth Mother's wrist and dragged her to the most secluded corner of the funeral parlor, where no one would see.
On the day of my father's funeral, I couldn't refuse my mother's desire to devour her son's dick.
But I couldn't just blame her, either.
Because my own cock was already stiff with anticipation, leaking pre-cum in excitement for what was about to happen.
Even though I'd tangled bodies with Fourth Mother dozens of times, the sense of betrayal and guilt never dulled.
But the moment I saw her firm ass swaying slightly ahead of me as she walked—
Her son's cock twitched, eager to plunge deep inside his mother's pussy.