Chapter 43 Second Mother, Lee Eun-bi (2)
Chapter 43 Second Mother, Lee Eun-bi (2)
"What are you doing? Move aside. I need to wash up."
I pushed aside my second mother standing in front of me.
At first, I intended to shove her away roughly to show my firm resolve, but in the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it and settled for a light push.
And for good reason—
The first mother, who remained utterly indifferent to me until I became an adult with a fully matured face, body, and cock.
The fourth mother, who treated me more like a violent older sister or a school bully using her personal errand boy rather than a son.
The third mother, who hated me for no reason at all and openly displayed that hatred to the cult members.
And the youngest mother—though I only recently met her and had no proper title for her, calling her "youngest mother" despite the age gap between us making the mother-son relationship comical...
Among these four mothers, the one who had been the most motherly to me was the second mother, who now obediently stepped back as I pushed her shoulder.
Of course, I knew better than anyone that despite appearances, the second mother was the farthest thing from a true "mother."
In a world without caste systems, anyone who groveled before a five-year-old child, calling him "Heavenly Lord" or whatnot, couldn't possibly be sane.
Before being my mother, the second mother needed to become a normal human being first.
I stepped inside the funeral hall. Only the kitchen area, where food could be prepared, had its lights on, leaving the rest dim. Aside from family, no one else had arrived yet to pay respects to my father's remains.
Still, it felt less desolate than when I had first opened my eyes to confirm his death.
The second mother had worked her culinary magic, covering the dining table with an extravagant spread.
My gaze naturally drifted toward the feast.
Grilled eel, roasted oysters, braised oxtail with garlic, steak drizzled with bokbunja sauce—all dishes meant to whet the appetite.
But their underlying intent was so blatant that my appetite vanished instead.
Pretending not to glance elsewhere, feigning that I was heading to the shower to wash up, I observed the mothers.
The third mother, who struggled with low blood pressure and was always sluggish in the mornings, had woken up and was seated but still half-asleep.
With her messy hair hanging loose and her eyes closed, her face looked unbearably cute.
Even among mothers who each exuded distinct sexual allure, her usually sharp, domineering aura was softened into something adorable—an expression I'd never seen on her before.
Before I could figure out what it was, I quickly averted my gaze.
Immediately, I locked eyes with the youngest mother, who was arranging dishes on the table.
Still a college student in the outside world, she gave me an awkward smile, clearly unsure how to treat her "son," who was only a few years younger than her.
Our relationship was already strained from mutual uncertainty, and her forced smile only made it worse.
But instead of breaking the tension with small talk as usual, I coldly turned away and kept walking.
I entered the men's changing room inside the funeral hall. It was a cramped space for changing clothes, but since I was the only male mourner so far, I had only been in here once before.
Still, there was a small shower stall where I could wash up.
I turned around to close the door.
"...What are you doing?"
Or at least, I tried to. If not for the second mother following me right up to the door and shoving her hand into the gap as I tried to shut it.
She probably wouldn't have withdrawn her hand even if I had pushed the door closed on it.
Should I just slam it shut?
But I couldn't bring myself to go that far.
Even if my second mother was a fanatic of a pseudo-religion... even if she was lost in delusions, seeing me not as her son but as some divine incarnation... she was still my mother.
I pulled the door handle back.
Creak—
As the door opened slightly, the second mother squeezed through the gap and stepped inside.
Her hips got briefly caught between the door and the wall.
Her ass wasn't as plump as the first mother's, but her pelvis was noticeably wider.
Despite her slender frame—her chest was decently sized, but overall, she was lean—I'd always wondered how her hips alone were so disproportionately broad.
I opened the door wider. She slipped in immediately.
Then, as she tried to push my hand—still gripping the doorknob—against her ass, I quickly let go and stepped back.
Given her frail constitution, I could have easily overpowered her shove, but doing so would have meant measuring the width of her pelvis with my palm.
'Damn it... As her son, why am I even curious about my own mother's hip width? Maybe the first mother is my real mom after all. That would explain why I'm such a deranged pervert...'
How long had it been since I'd gotten hard imagining my sisters naked, barely calming myself down, only to start thinking like this again?
Guilt and shame washed over me.
But I wasn't the only one. Any man who had seen the second mother's body would have wondered the same.
Her disproportionately wide pelvis, clashing with her delicate frame, was impossible to miss—a true marvel of the female form.
"If you wish to see, I will undress. For the Heavenly Lord, I can bare myself anywhere."
Just then, the second mother spoke up, as if reading my mind.
Despite being better at understanding me than even the fourth mother—who had stuck to me like glue this past year for the Holy Medicine distribution—how could she only ever say things that wounded her son?
With a deference she had never shown my father—her own husband—she placed her hands on her hip bones.
Neither the fourth mother, who took the Holy Medicine regularly under the guise of stress relief, nor the first mother—a certified pervert—would dare act this boldly toward me in front of the others.
The second mother wouldn't do this unless she genuinely believed I wasn't her son but the Heavenly Lord.
Her pants slid down, exposing her pelvic bones.
The stark contrast between her narrow waist and wide hips became even clearer.
My eyes lingered for a moment before a single strand of her dark pubic hair—matching her jet-black locks—snapped me back to reality.
If I left her like this, she'd undoubtedly start stripping right in front of her son.
So I quickly reached out, grabbed her wrist, and shouted:
"What are you doing?! Are you insane?! Why would you do this in front of your son?!"
Fury burst out of me.
Because I was her son, yet for a fleeting moment, I had desperately wanted to see what was beneath her pants—succumbing to forbidden incestuous desire.
The words sounded stupid the moment they left my mouth.
Asking someone already insane if they were crazy.
I steadied my breathing and tried reasoning with her normally.
"...The other mothers are outside."
"Yes. They are."
She tilted her head as if that were irrelevant.
For a split second, I found her expression and mannerisms unbearably cute—and cursed myself for it.
"Mom, are you doing this just to torment me? Stop messing with your son like this. I don't want it. Incest with my own mother?!"
I moved closer, keeping my voice low so it wouldn't carry outside.
"But you did it with Ye-hwa and Da-eun."
"......"
How did she know?
"During the family meeting, you and Da-eun disappeared to the bathroom holding hands. You came back panting, face flushed—it was impossible to miss. And Da-eun only returned much later, barely able to stand straight."
"......"
Horrified, I hesitated. Misinterpreting my reaction, she continued bitterly.
"And yet, you refuse me... So my body must disgust you. I'm not toned like Da-eun or ripe like Ye-hwa."
"That's not it, Mom."
"Then what is?"
I wanted to comfort her—she looked genuinely hurt—but I couldn't bring myself to compliment her body sexually.
Even if, as her son, I found her incredibly arousing, saying so would irreversibly change everything.
"Should I call A-ra and Gaeul too?"
"...Let's not."
"Then I shall serve the Heavenly Lord not with words but with—"
"That's not what I mean, you crazy bitch!"
Angry at her relentless nonsense, I grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.
Her frail body couldn't withstand my strength, swaying violently.
For a moment, she looked startled, even frightened—but then her expression melted into submission.
A wave of guilt crashed over me for resorting to violence—along with a twisted pleasure that only deepened my self-loathing. I released her.
"...I'm sorry, Mom."
Too ashamed to meet her eyes, I muttered with my head down.
But despite my sincere apology, my submissive second mother showed no reaction.
Instead, she stared at me blankly, as if unable to comprehend why the Heavenly Lord would apologize to his lowly servant.
Mother and son, speaking entirely different languages.
Just as we had for over a decade, I gave up on having a normal conversation.
I carefully stepped back, studying her face like it was a book written in an incomprehensible foreign script.
Looking younger than her age was a trait all the mothers shared (except the genuinely young youngest mother), but the second mother stood out even among them.
Not just youthful—she looked downright childlike.
As a kid, I had taken pride in her ageless beauty, but now, it unsettled me.
'How... how can a normal human being not age a day in ten years?'
A fleeting thought crossed my mind—that just as the human experiments and Holy Medicine had warped my body and mind into a pervert lusting after family, the second mother, responsible for gathering the Holy Medicine's ingredients, might have been altered in some unnatural way too.
'No, enough. I'm running away soon, cutting all ties with the cult. No more digging into its dark secrets.'
"...Mom."
"Yes, Heavenly Lord."
Still, our conversation remained hopelessly misaligned.
"I'm going to wash up now. ...Wait outside."
My heart ached, knowing these mundane words might be my last goodbye to her.
"Understood, Heavenly Lord."
She replied with perfect deference.
Unlike the first mother, who gaslit me with threats and twisted logic, or the fourth mother, who'd slap me at the slightest disobedience, her response was in a league of its own.
But I didn't let my guard down.
Experience had taught me no one was more stubborn than the second mother.
With the scheming first mother, I could at least negotiate "deals." The violent fourth mother could be swayed by catering to her whims (usually through oral service). But the fanatical second mother? We couldn't even hold a basic conversation.
No one manipulated her son as relentlessly as she did.
After all, she was the one who had subjected me to those human experiments.
Yet despite everything, I couldn't bring myself to hate her completely—because of the love she had shown me when I was young, love the other mothers never gave...
'If only you had just abused me, tormented me—then I wouldn't hate you this much...'
The second mother, who had wept harder than me after forcing lethal doses of Holy Medicine ingredients into my body, then held me tightly.
The second mother, who played with me until bedtime after strict cult indoctrination sessions.
A mix of abuse and affection.
It left me unable to distinguish what was love and what was cruelty disguised as love.
This upbringing was likely why I grew up so emotionally starved.
'If not for the genuine love from my sisters, I would have been completely broken.'
I kept my eyes on the second mother as I stepped into the shower stall.
I tried locking the door immediately, but the lock was broken—probably because this funeral home was so desperate for business it even welcomed cultists.
Not that I planned to actually shower anyway.
I turned the water on full blast, letting the sound fill the stall.
Then I waited.
Though I desperately wanted to wash off the scent of the first mother's ripe femininity and the fourth mother's provocative musk clinging to my clothes, body, and especially my cock—now wasn't the time.
I stepped onto the toilet. A small window was there.
Too small for a man to slip through easily, but if I contorted my shoulders just right, I could escape.
My plan was to climb out, then sneak into the women's changing room through its connected shower, raid the fourth mother's bag for cash, and vanish from my family's lives forever—seizing this rare moment when I wasn't trapped in the cult's holy grounds or under the devotees' watchful eyes.
But—
"Heavenly Lord."
Before I could even attempt it, the second mother ruined everything by barging into the shower while I was "washing"—completely naked, no less.
"I will help you release your seed. Though my body is unworthy, please use me as you would a tool."
(Note: The translation maintains the formal and submissive tone of the original while conveying the intended meaning naturally in English. The phrasing is kept elegant yet straightforward to match the character's voice.)