After being "trampled" by An Nuo's pure white cotton-socked feet, my desire was temporarily satisfied.
This crazy girl's series of extraordinary actions made me increasingly curious. I wasn't in a hurry to leave. While she was buried in her homework, I wandered around the room.
The house resembled a family apartment from the nineties—the living room was cramped, the bedroom was large, the walls had yellowed, and there was no renovation. All the furniture and appliances were there, but they were full of period charm.
After wandering for a while, I saw a family photo next to the TV in the living room. In the front row sat two elderly people, with an old lady holding a seven- or eight-year-old girl in her arms. I could see a resemblance to An Nuo in her features. In the back row stood two middle-aged couples and a teenage boy around ten years old. The younger couple was likely her parents.
An Nuo's mother was very beautiful and bore a striking resemblance to her, about seventy percent similar. Her father wore gold-rimmed glasses and looked refined and scholarly, but whether in facial shape or features, the resemblance between father and daughter was minimal.
I picked up the photo for a closer look because she had mentioned that her father worked in the same unit as my dad. I might have seen him before.
After staring for a while, I had no recollection at all. But suddenly, it occurred to me: when I saw my dad shopping with An Nuo that time, didn't he say he was going to her house to discuss college entrance exam matters with her parents?
Why did her earlier words make it sound like her parents had passed away?
If what she said was true, then my dad must have lied.
My dad being so secretive about it was definitely strange.
Could he really be her client?
Wow, if that's the case, wouldn't my dad and I be "supporting" the same girl?
For some reason, I felt a strong sense of jealousy rising in my heart.
Just as I was lost in thought, An Nuo walked out of the room. She had put on her shoes but was barefoot, without socks. She must have cleaned up, as stepping into shoes with a load of cum would definitely be uncomfortable.
I quickly put down the photo, pretending nothing had happened, and forced a laugh, making small talk: "Finished your homework?"
The little enchantress ignored me, directly opened the front door, then turned to look at me as if inviting me to leave. I asked knowingly: "What do you mean?"
"Are you planning to spend the night here?"
Truthfully, I didn't want to leave. Even though she had "trampled" me out with her cotton-socked feet, I still felt a lingering sense of dissatisfaction.
But seeing her like this, she didn't seem interested in continuing to play, so there was no point in pushing my luck.
I picked up my backpack and, as I stepped out the door, couldn't help but turn back and ask: "Do you live here alone?"
An Nuo blinked her big eyes at me but didn't answer.
I said goodbye and prepared to leave, but after taking two steps, I turned back again, grinning: "Didn't you say last time that you wanted to sleep with me? When's that happening?"
The little enchantress smiled slightly: "I was teasing you. Did you really believe it?"
"What? You…" I grew anxious. "How can you go back on your word?"
"I never said I keep my promises."
Well, I've met someone even thicker-skinned than me.
After taking two steps, I hesitated for a moment, turned around for the third time, and stammered, "Then... then name your price." I knew this was unfair to Lu Yiyi, but it was as if I were under a spell, driven by an inexplicable impulse toward her.
"The price is too high; you can't afford it," An Nuo said nonchalantly.
"How do you know I can't afford it? Just tell me how much."
"It's not about money."
"Then what is it about?"
"Feelings."
"Feelings?"
"If you want to sleep with me, you have to be my boyfriend." She leaned against the doorframe, smiling as she looked at me.
I was taken aback and couldn't help but laugh. "Are you joking? What feelings do we have? Let's just talk about money."
Her words were always a mix of truth and lies, completely illogical, making it impossible to tell what was real and what was fake. Maybe she really did like me and was pursuing me in her own unconventional way?
To be honest, I liked her a little too. Who wouldn't like a cute, doll-like girl?
But her mysterious and unpredictable behavior was truly unsettling.
"If you want to sleep with me, you have to be prepared to take responsibility for me. Otherwise, forget it." The little enchantress lowered her head, looking at her toes. Her voice was soft, but her tone was firm, as if she wasn't joking.
"What kind of trick are you playing now?" I said with a bitter smile. "Can you stop messing with me?"
She clasped her hands behind her back, leaned against the door, raised her head, and smiled. "Alright, I won't mess with you anymore. But I haven't thought of the conditions yet. You can owe me for now, and I'll tell you when I figure it out."
"Let's just talk about money directly. If we don't clarify the conditions, I won't feel at ease."
Before I could finish, she slammed the door shut with a loud "bang." I stood there for a moment, lost in thought, then went home with a bitter smile.
For the next half month or so, the little enchantress didn't bother me again. Combined with the heavy workload of studying, I gradually forgot about her.
Mom still teased Dad from time to time, but it was clear that their relationship had improved significantly.
To reassure Dad, Mom even changed her permed waves back to her usual style, still wearing her hair up for work.
But I always felt that Dad wasn't really jealous of Mom. Even I knew Mom would never cheat on him. They had known each other for so many years—how could he not understand her?
Perhaps Dad's anger was just a manifestation of middle-aged frustration, a feeling of helplessness and dissatisfaction.
After all, most middle-aged men in their workplace were like that. Compared to Mom's glamour and confidence, they seemed to be just drifting through life.
Dad was actually doing better than most—at least he hadn't started losing his hair yet. Several of his colleagues around the same age were already half-bald.
That evening, both Dad and Mom had social engagements, and my sister hadn't returned from school, so I was home alone.
After eating something casually, I planned to play some games to relax while no one was home. But then I received a text message from Mom with a detailed address, asking me to pick her up there at 9:30.
Mom was often busy with social engagements and was quite experienced with drinking.
It wasn't the first time she had used me as a tool to escape when she wasn't feeling well, employing a "golden cicada shedding its shell" tactic.
There was nothing I could do. When the time was almost up, I changed my clothes and left home for the destination—Qian Gui KTV.
At the door, I did as my mother had instructed and called her. When she answered, she pretended to ask where I was. I told her I had arrived, and she asked me to come up.
When I entered the private room, a young couple was hugging each other while singing "Love Until Death," and about ten other people were gathered around a table, rolling dice and drinking beer.
Seeing me come in, my mother quickly stood up. Perhaps she had had a bit too much to drink, and she stood up too abruptly, swaying unsteadily and nearly falling.
A man beside her reached out to support her. My mother thanked him, pushed him away, and then waved at me.
I hurried over to hold her arm. The man stood up as well and said with a smile, "Leaving so early?"
"Something came up at home, so I have to go now. Enjoy yourselves," my mother replied, her voice slightly slurred. It was clear she had drunk quite a bit—no wonder she had called me to rescue her.
"What's the matter? Can't it wait?"
"It's something important. My son came looking for me in a hurry," my mother said as she picked up her bag and walked out of the lounge area.
It was only then that I noticed the man speaking was my mother's old classmate, that so-called Mr. Chen. Another middle-aged man sitting on the sofa also looked familiar—he seemed to be my mother's boss, Mr. Li.
After exchanging a few polite words with everyone, my mother leaned on my arm and walked out. As soon as we left the private room, she seemed to lose all strength, leaning half her body against my shoulder and walking unsteadily, as if stepping on cotton.
"Son... why did you take so long? I..." My mother took a few deep breaths to calm herself and said, "If you had come any later, I really would have been drunk under the table."
My mother was wearing a tight-fitting gray professional suit skirt, black velvet pantyhose, and black patent leather pointed-toe stiletto heels—an extremely sexy outfit. Her unique fragrance, mingled with the scent of alcohol, wafted toward me. With her face so close to mine and her warm breath brushing against my ear, I felt a growing restlessness. The forbidden desire I had suppressed deep inside gradually began to surface.
I lightly patted my cheeks twice and said, trying to sound composed, "Didn't I come exactly at the time you told me?" After a pause, I asked, "Mom, aren't you supposed to have a high tolerance for alcohol? How much did you drink? You can barely walk straight."
"We signed a big deal today, and the boss... treated us. Ugh..." My mother let out a drunken hiccup and nearly vomited.
I quickly said, "Hey, hey, don't throw up. Please don't throw up here. If you do, I'll have to apologize to the staff."
My mother reached out and patted the back of my head. As I lowered my head, I noticed that the top two buttons of her blouse were undone, revealing a deep, alluring cleavage. Her fair, plump breasts were pressed together, pushing the fabric upward.
Due to our position, her right breast was pressed against my arm, and even through the clothes, I could feel its softness and elasticity.
Afraid I might lose control, I wanted to look but didn't dare stare. I quickly helped my mother out of the KTV and hailed a taxi.
But once we stepped outside, the breeze hit us, and the alcohol's effect kicked in. After getting into the car, Mom seemed as if she'd been hit with a paralyzing agent, leaning weakly against me, her long hair coming undone from its updo and tickling my neck with its strands. It sent shivers and tingles through me, an itchy, unsettling sensation.
Though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't help but let my eyes drift downward. The black-stockinged legs beneath her gray pencil skirt were just too alluring. If she weren't my mother, I think I really would have been tempted to reach out and touch them.
Somehow, my mind wandered back to scenes from those erotic stories—a drunken mother being secretly fondled by her son, then having her clothes peeled off one by one, the son lying between her legs, licking her sweet spot until juices overflowed, before stealthily inserting his hardened member...
Just as I was losing myself in these uncontrollable fantasies, Mom suddenly murmured in a dreamlike voice, "Son, what am I going to do with you?"
I was startled, feeling like a child caught red-handed in mischief. I quickly tightened my legs, trying my best to hide my erection.
"What... what did I do now?" I asked, sounding a bit aggrieved.
Mom reached out and pinched my nose, grumbling, "You're being naughty, you... not listening."
"No, how am I not listening? I was studying hard at home, and as soon as you texted, I came right away to pick you up. I—"
Mid-sentence, Mom slapped me across the face, mumbling a reprimand, "Is this what you call listening? Talking back!"
Well, there was no point in saying anything now. Any sweet talk seemed utterly feeble in the face of sheer force.
After getting out of the taxi, I slung her bag over my arm and helped Mom walk home.
Once inside, I didn't even bother to change her shoes, just guided her straight to the bedroom. She was so drunk that she collapsed onto the bed as soon as we entered.
Dad wasn't home yet. I stood by the bed, wiping sweat from my brow, staring at Mom lying on her back, unsure of what to do.
Her dark hair was splayed messily across the sheets, her cheeks flushed, and her red lips slightly parted. At some point, the buttons on her blazer had come undone, revealing her chest, her shirt in disarray, exposing her long, pale neck. Her breasts seemed to defy gravity—even lying flat, they were full and round, like ripe melons, rising and falling with each breath. The black pointed-toe stilettos were still on her feet, her black-stockinged legs beneath the gray pencil skirt pressed tightly together and curled inward, the curves of her calves soft and graceful. The taut black stockings hinted at the flesh-toned skin beneath, an indescribable allure.
My mouth felt dry, and I swallowed involuntarily. After staring at Mom lying drunk on the bed for a moment, I suddenly remembered that people who drink often get thirsty. I quickly turned to pour a glass of warm water and placed it by the bedside.
Then I stared at the black high heels on her feet for a long time. My heart itched with temptation, but I just couldn't bring myself to touch them. In the past, when Mom was drunk, I could boldly take advantage of the situation, but now I felt a mental block.
After hesitating for a while, a thought suddenly popped into my head: If she doesn't take off her shoes before getting into bed, the sheets will get dirty. I knew it was just an excuse, but it did ease my psychological burden a little.
I leaned in, carefully cradling my mother's beautiful foot, muttering "don't dirty the bed" as I gently slipped off her high heels.
Gazing at her plump, adorable stocking-clad foot, I hesitated over whether to sneak a touch when my mother suddenly sat up, grabbing my ear. I yelped in pain, my heart sinking as I thought she had set a trap—pretending to be drunk to catch me in the act. But then I saw her swaying unsteadily, her eyes hazy with intoxication, clearly not faking it.
"What... are you trying to do?" she squinted, her head swaying from side to side.
I quickly explained, "I... I was just taking off your shoes. You can't sleep with them on. Ouch... that hurts!"
Before I could finish, she tugged my ear and fell back onto the bed, pulling me down with her.
Now face-to-face, almost touching, the scent of alcohol mixed with her perfume left me increasingly flustered.
Still holding my ear, her eyes narrowed to slits as she gazed at me with a dazed, dreamy smile. "Don't... think I don't know... what you're thinking. You... have a problem."
I couldn't tell if she was truly drunk or pretending, but my ear was genuinely hurting. Struggling, I pleaded, "Alright, alright, I have a problem. Please let go... ouch, ouch... let go!"
She twisted harder, her starry eyes misty, a strange smile playing on her lips. "What... did you do with my... my stockings?"
"Nothing! I didn't do anything!"
"You... think your mom... is stupid? What's... with all those stories... hidden on your phone?"
My heart sank as I suddenly remembered—I had downloaded a bunch of explicit stories on my phone, many of them about mothers and sons. I forgot to delete them after reading, and my mom must have found them.
"Tell me... are you... into your mom? Do you... like it when I wear stockings?"
I was both shocked and amused. Drunk, she really dared to say anything, blurting out questions she usually kept hidden.
"I... kind of do. But it's not just you wearing stockings—I like it when other beautiful women wear them too." Since she might not remember tomorrow anyway, I figured I might as well be honest. I'd been holding it in for so long it was starting to depress me.
My mother let go of my ear and slapped me across the face, shouting, "I'm your mother! How dare you act perverted toward your own mom? What... are you trying to do?"
"I've only ever thought about it! When have I ever acted perverted toward you? Ah—!"
Before I could finish, another slap landed on my face.
"Talking back!"
"No, I—"
Slap!
"Keep talking back."
I shut my mouth, not daring to utter another word.
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