Goldie Bo (her original Chinese name was Bo Er-zhua) was in her bedroom, admiring herself in her black lace brassiere, panties, stockings, and high heels before a mirror. She'd deliberately left her bedroom door ajar.
Her 18-year-old son, Ma Ke-ting (his English name was 'Good': it isn't infrequent for Chinese and Taiwanese people to have non-standard English names), was supposed to be in his bedroom studying for a seemingly endless series of crucial final tests. The results of these tests would determine the quality of university he'd be allowed to enter, which would ultimately affect how lucrative a future he'd have. Nonetheless, she was willing to let her son have a free peek at her body.
And she had a body to enjoy peeking at. She was short, curvaceous, and with unusually large breasts, which didn't at all sag. Giving birth to Good didn't do any damage to her hourglass figure. She had smooth, coffee-coloured skin, beautiful Asian eyes, and a cute pudgy nose; and her black hair was done up in a bun. Her face was heavily, brightly made up: red lipstick, pink blush, dark blue eye shadow, and thick mascara.
With such a delicious body...and she was only 34.
Her detested husband, Ma Ni-man (his English name was Rich), was 22 when he'd gotten a 15-year-old Goldie pregnant. The family scandal was too much for them to bear: he was obligated to marry her, for her family abominated abortions. After an intense shaming not only from their families but also their whole neighbourhood, the newlyweds left their native town of Chiayi, in south-western Taiwan, to live in Hsinchu, up in the northern part of the island, as soon as Rich had graduated from university with a business degree.
Rich was now on a business trip to China, visiting a factory in Shenzhen, where he often went. He also had a sexy young mistress there, and Goldie knew all about that; to make matters worse, Rich was in Shenzhen a lot more than he ever was at home. Suffering in silence from her husband's so frequent infidelities, Goldie was lonely; and having a son to look after all the time made it impossible for her to find a paramour of her own, however desirable she may have been, potentially, to lots of men.
Good, her sweet, quiet, shy little boy, was also adorably cute, with big, sad eyes; and she didn't have to be his mother to feel that way about him. She also knew he had Oedipal longings for her. Far from being shocked or disgusted at such desires, she considered them natural, and as long as nobody knew of her soon-to-be intimate relations with her son, why not take advantage of his urges to satisfy her needs?
She heard him open his bedroom door and walk out into the hall; he was heading for the bathroom, which meant he'd be passing by her room. She knew he'd want to look at her in her underwear: though she could see him, looking furtively through the door crack, from her mirror's reflection, she pretended not to know he was watching.
The one eye he had looking through the door crack devoured every inch of her body. Her black bra strap with its clip, which he so wanted to unhook, made him want her to turn around so he could see that ornately designed bra, with its pretty flower patterns, cupping her large breasts. He sighed and touched his crotch.
Then he looked down her back and at her perfectly round ass: not too big, not too bony, beautifully shaped. Again, those black panties with the flower pattern were hugging her ass in a way that made his hands envious.
Now his eyes looked down at her legs, and at the black panty hose that made her sexy legs look appetizingly elegant. Finally, his eyes travelled down to her black high heels, which aroused his foot fetish. He kept sighing quietly and fingering the hard prick in his pants, careful not to be audible to her...not that she needed to hear him to know he was watching.
After allowing Good to look at her for a minute or so, she quickly turned around to face the door. This was his cue to rush to the bathroom, him hoping she hadn't seen him. She snickered to herself when hearing him clumsily run away.
A week later, she did the same thing, but this time she admired herself in the nude. The only thing covering her skin was that whorish bright makeup, and red nail polish on her finger- and toenails.
She had pointy, hard, small black nipples and wispy black pubic hair, some of which he could see through her mirror reflection. Again he'd left his room and been watching her through the door crack, admiring his mother's soft, round buttocks, and wishing he could get away with seeing her full frontal without the aid of the mirror. He softly sighed and touched his bulging groin.
Of course, she would have allowed him to see her frontal nudity directly, and she quickly turned around again so he could see for a split second or so before he sheepishly ran away and hid. She didn't know how to react to his sexual inhibitions: to find his shyness sweet and adorable, or to be disappointed at another delay in getting a lay from him.
Several days later, she was wearing a sexy, tight black dress, hosiery, high heels, and her usual heavy, bright makeup. She also had on a most provocative fragrance. She walked by his bedroom, assuming he was studying for that mountain of tests. Instead, she heard grunting noises.
Not liking what she was hearing, she barged in on him suddenly. His pants and underwear were off, lying on the floor behind the chair he was sitting at. His erection was in his shaking hand, and the computer screen showed a picture of a naked thirty-something Asian woman, one who looked practically like a twin of Goldie! A box of Kleenex was by his computer keyboard.
He spastically reached for his pants in embarrassment.
"Ke-ting!" she shouted. Then, in Chinese, said, "You should be studying!"
"Mama," he said, almost crying in shame. "I'm sorry," he said in Chinese, "I won't do it again."
"I don't care that you look at porn," she said. "All men like sex, I understand. But you're wasting valuable study time." She went up to him, stopping him from putting on his clothes. She reached for his cock.
"Mama, what are you doing?" he asked in shock.
"Finishing what you started." She held his half-erect penis and began fondling it. "If I leave you still excited without having gotten release, you'll just go back to the porn and waste more time. But if I give you that release, you'll get back to studying faster. Now just let me finish you off." She undid three of the buttons on her dress, exposing her red bra and tasty cleavage. She brought his face between her soft, smooth, large breasts. Their softness, as well as the flowery smell of her perfume, were driving him wild.
He was now too busy being turned on to be scandalized by their incestuous behaviour. Her hand gently and lovingly slid up and down his now rock-hard shaft, its hardness complemented by the softness of his mother's breasts squeezing against and rubbing on his face.
As she continued jerking him off, she gave him gentle kisses on the head, ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair, and occasionally wiggled her breasts, making them slap against his cheeks. She felt his warm, sighing breath heat up her chest, and her pussy was getting wet from contemplating his pleasure.
After a few more minutes of this, he came. Anticipating his orgasm, she'd reached for some Kleenex and caught his wad before it stained the expensive light blue bedroom carpet. She wiped his spent dick dry, then led him to the bathroom. He still had only his shirt on.
"Mama, why do I have to take a shower?"
"You're dirty, from what you did."
"What I did? Me? It was you who did it."
"Don't talk back," she said, slapping him. "Now, take your shirt off and get in the shower." He did as he was told.
Now naked, he went in. She voyeuristically looked up and down at his body, admiring her son's tall, thin body, his soft buttocks, and his penis, surrounded in black pubic hair. Only desperation for sex, from having a husband who rarely fucked her after Good was born, could have driven her to incest.
She pulled the shower curtain half-way, still ogling his body as he turned on the water and let it splash on his torso.
"Why are you watching me, Mama?" His shock at her ogling eyes sent ripples of fear through his body.
"Because I'm going to help clean you," she said, reaching for the soap. "Turn around. I'm going to clean your dirty places."
Byen tai (Chinese for 'perverted'), he thought.
She lathered the soap well in her hands, then soaped up his dick and balls, his perineum, his buttocks, and his anus, her finger poking in an inch or so.
"Ah!" he groaned in discomfort. "Mama, I can clean myself."
"That's OK. You're my baby; I can clean you. I have to take care of you." She started rinsing the soap off his body.
"When will you think of me as a man? I'm 18 now."
"When you've finished university and have a well-paying job, that's when. Then you can take care of me."
"But what if I have a wife?"
"You don't want a wife," she said, always over-protective of him. "You never have crushes on any of your female classmates, and many of them are cute. You only want me, you know that."
Knowing she'd said the embarrassing truth, he stopped arguing.
He got out of the shower stall and she dried him with a towel. She handed him his shirt.
"Now, go back to your room, put your clothes back on, and resume studying. No more dirty pictures or fantasizing about me. If you get good grades on your test tomorrow, you can want me again, and I'll reward you. Now, hurry back in there." She gave his bare ass a spank as he walked out of the bathroom.
He turned off his computer after putting his pants and underwear back on, and sat at his desk with his biology textbook open. He shook with fear and guilt over what his mom had just done, not so much because it happened than because he'd enjoyed it so.
How could she return my perverted love like that? he thought, unable to focus on his biology textbook. I know she's lonely without Papa for such long stretches of time, but why use me, her son of all people, to satisfy her needs? The way she was looking at my body in the shower...it scares me, because it excites me. Does she know I watch her when she's undressed in her bedroom? Does she leave her door ajar on purpose? Why isn't she as ashamed as I am? How could she have been so emotionless about playing with my thing? Is she repressing her shame? She must be. Anyway, I'll have to repress mine, too, if I'm to ace this test; not acing it simply isn't an option.
Then, he closed his eyes, imagining a black void where his shameful memory had been stored; and with that healing repression, his guilt was lost in blessed oblivion...for the time being, anyway. Now he could focus on biology.
I'm a student, he thought. I have no feelings. I have no pain. I have no life.
With that finished, he started reviewing the first lesson.
The next week, he received his test results: 98% on his biology test! What would he do in reaction to this great success?
Relax for a while, as a reward for his hard work?
Get a gift, such as a video game, from his mom?
None of these, of course.
He would immediately begin studying for his final exam for math: what else?
His mother did, however, keep her promise to reward him, in a manner of speaking, for his good grade in biology: after he'd been studying at home for three hours on Monday night, she went into his bedroom. She was tarted up as usual, in a sexy red dress, high heels, and heavy makeup.
She noticed he'd been touching the bulge in his crotch, so restless was he from ceaseless studying. There was no porn on his computer screen, though, and he was fully dressed.
"Oh, I see you want to feel good," she said. "I'll help you."
"No, Mama," he said, torn between being eager to get her 'help' and the shame of getting it. In spite of his words, he swivelled around in his chair and opened his legs as she knelt down. Between his legs now, she unzipped his pants.
"You know you want Mommy to do this," she said. (In the opinion of many Chinese and Taiwanese adults, it's not considered babyish to call one's parents 'Mommy' and 'Daddy'. The same applies to infantile words like 'pee-pee' and 'poo-poo'.) "Did you go pee-pee a little while ago?"
"No," he said, blushing as she pulled out his half-erect penis from his pants. "I just had a shower."
"Good," she said, fondling his cock and balls. "No stinky smell, no bad taste." She licked the underside of his cock.
"Mama!" he whined, as excited as he was shocked at what she was doing. "That's so perverted. Oh!"
"Be quiet and enjoy it," she said, then kissed and licked the knob a few times. She kept speaking to him between kisses and licks. "I used to do this...for your daddy...many times when...we were dating...before he knocked me up...with you...I'm good at it...enjoy."
She put his cock half-way in her mouth. The sight of her lipstick-red mouth tightly sliding up and down his shaft was too good a dream to be true, to say nothing of her slutty eyes looking up into his. The sight was also a nightmare of shame for him.
He closed his eyes tightly and raised his head up. He couldn't bear to watch his mother make a whore of herself for him. But oh, the tingling pleasure he got from her lips and tongue as they massaged his schlong! Her lips, lubed with her saliva, slid up and down his shaft gently and expertly; her tongue flickered against his bulging corpus spongiosum. Her hand played with his balls, gently shaking them; her fingers tickled his scrotum.
Her aim was to make him come as soon as possible, so he could get back to studying right away. He moaned and grunted, higher pitched and louder as he approached orgasm. Wanting to accelerate his climax, she worked harder and faster, moving her head up and down his cock so quickly as to be working up a sweat.
"Oh...oh! OH!" he moaned.
Finally, he came in her mouth: though she hated the taste, she repressed her disgust and swallowed every last drop, for she didn't want a stain to clean up on that beautiful plush carpet. After she'd gulped down the last of his spoutings, she put his spent member back in his pants and zipped them up.
Without missing a beat, she then said, as emotionlessly as always, "OK, you've had your reward; now, back to the books." And she got up and left his room, as if nothing shameful had happened.
His head was spinning in a vertigo of confusion: he didn't know whether to be horrified or thrilled that his most forbidden fantasies were coming true. This boy, up this point so innocent and virginal as to make Mother Teresa seem a prostitute in comparison, had heard vague rumours, from his male classmates, of the pleasures of fellatio; but the delight it had just given him was beyond anything he could have imagined. Was such deliciousness possible? Now he knew.
And yet, with his own mother?
The thought now sickened him. How could his mother, the angel of his existence, be so wicked? And how could he be so wicked as to enjoy it? His attempts at resisting temptation were contemptibly weak. The conflict in his head felt like the hemispheres of his brain were being pulled apart, so intense was his resulting migraine.
His lust for his mother was exploding in rapid growth. So was his nausea. He could contain himself no longer. He jumped up from his chair and rushed out of his bedroom.
He ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet, careful not to make a mess outside the toilet bowl water, for fear of angering his mother. He flushed the toilet and returned to his room.
He sat at his desk, his math book opened, and stared at the wall almost catatonically for several minutes.
His mother called up to him: "Ke-ting, you studying?"
He quickly snapped out of it and answered, "Yes, Ma." He closed his eyes and visualized the black void of peaceful repression again. I'm a student, he thought. I'm not a human being. I'm a studying machine. I exist only to get as many grades of 100% as I can. I have a head. I have no heart. I have a brain. I have no soul.
He pushed the shameful deed deep down in the darkest recesses of his mind, no longer accessible. They were momentarily lost in the happy world of forgetfulness. Now he could focus on his math.
He looked down at his math book and resumed studying.
Later that week, he wrote his final math exam. The following Monday, he got his test results: 100%! His immediate response to this great news was obvious.
Hit the books and study even harder, this time for his final exam in computer science.
That night, he'd been in his room studying for four hours, with only quick trips to the bathroom for breaks. His mother came into his room, wearing a fluffy white bathrobe.
"You've been studying very hard, Ke-ting," she said, caressing his cheek. "You're a good boy: we chose your English name well. Come with me. You can have a break now."
Goldie took him by the hand, led him out of his room and into hers. Standing facing him by her bed, she undid her robe, took it off, and let it fall to the floor. She now stood completely naked before her son.
Trying desperately to repress his desire, he kept his now teary eyes looking straight at hers. He was terrified of looking below.
"Ke-ting?" she asked with a grin. "Don't you want to look at Mommy's body?"
"Y-no. I mean yes...no!" He started to cry.
"Sweetie, enjoy yourself. Look at my breasts. Do you like them? Look at all of me. You know you want to." She turned around so he could see her buttocks. He looked at them and felt his hard-on straining painfully against his pants.
"But, what about Daddy?" he asked in sobs.
"Oh, your daddy can go to Hell," she snapped, still turning around. Now facing him again, she took Good's hands and put them on her breasts. "Here, touch me."
He gently, timidly squeezed them. What softness! What smoothness! They were more beautiful than he could have ever dreamed them to be! Still, he sobbed his shame, his face saturated with tears.
"Do you hate Daddy?" he asked.
"Of course I do," she said, annoyed that her son would even ask a question with such an obvious answer.
"Oh, you innocent boy," she said, stroking his hair. "Do you really think Daddy is always going to China just for business?"
"Well, yeah. Why else would he go?"
"He has another woman there. He has sex with her."
"But he's married to you. He's my father."
"That doesn't mean he's faithful, Ke-ting. Lots of married men cheat on their wives. Mommies and Daddies aren't saints. We have needs, like everyone else. He doesn't satisfy mine anymore, and vice versa. I know you want me, Ke-ting. That's OK, I understand. It's the Oedipus complex. I'll satisfy your needs, and you'll satisfy mine. Now, take your clothes off."
Nervously unbuttoning his shirt, he said, "But this is so shameful. Aren't you ashamed?"
"I don't need to be. We're alone here, and nobody knows what we're doing. You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"Of course not." He took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. "We know what we're doing, though. Isn't that enough? Don't you feel guilty?"
"Feel?" she asked, sneering. "I'm a housewife in Chinese society: I don't get to have feelings, so I don't feel guilty. You're a student in Chinese society: you don't get to have feelings, so you don't feel guilty, either. Problem solved. Now, come on: keep undressing."
He pulled down his pants, embarrassed by the bulge in his underwear. He took off his flip-flops and socks, then hesitated before pulling down his briefs.
"Oh, come on, baby," she said impatiently. "I've already seen him many times. Don't be so embarrassed. Take off your underwear."