After a long, silent moment facing each other, my mother suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace, sighing deeply with sorrow. "Son, what... am I supposed to do... with you? You were so cute... and so well-behaved... when you were little. How did you turn into such a pervert?"
My face pressed tightly against her neck, I savored the smooth, jade-like skin, my nostrils filled with the rich, intoxicating fragrance unique to a mature woman—a scent both musky and not, utterly bewitching.
My lower body gradually swelled, but I didn't dare let Mom notice. I could only arch my back as far as possible, almost curling into a shrimp-like shape.
Mom stroked my hair, mumbling sleepily, "You men... always staring at other people's stockings... all a bunch of perverts. You... even at such a young age, so lustful, just like your dad."
I thought to myself, well, if you dress so provocatively all day long, why don't you just stop wearing it?
After mumbling for a while, Mom fell silent, her breathing gradually growing heavier—she must have fallen asleep.
But she still held my head in her arms, a feeling both comfortable and unbearable.
I called out a few times, but there was no response. I tried to break free from Mom's embrace, only to suddenly feel a black-stockinged leg draped over my thigh, holding me even tighter.
A tingling sensation shot through me, my heart pounding wildly. My body grew hot, and down below, I was hard and throbbing.
After struggling for a long time, reason finally overcame desire. I forcefully pried Mom's arm away and was about to sit up when her arm wrapped around me again, her delicate face pressing close. It seemed she had mistaken me for a body pillow.
Mom's seductive red lips parted slightly, moist and full, with a plump, rounded center that drew me in like a magnet.
I kept warning myself in my mind—no, no, I can't—but my lips seemed summoned, moving on their own as I leaned in and gently kissed her lips. An electric tingle instantly spread throughout my body.
Before I could even process the sensation, I quickly pulled my mouth away, only to see Mom extend her pink tongue and lightly lick her lips, as if savoring the kiss.
My mind exploded. I thought, since I've already kissed her, what's one more?
Finding an excuse for myself, I kissed her again, then immediately pulled back, panting heavily.
Mom's lips were sweet and soft, a pleasure I had never felt before.
It was like an addiction. Though I kept warning myself—once or twice is enough, not a third or fourth time—my lips moved on their own, and this time, I didn't pull away immediately. Instead, I pressed against her seductive red lips in a wet, lingering kiss.
Mom let out a soft, dreamy moan, sending a chill down my spine. Just as I was about to pull away, she actually stuck out her tongue and licked my lips.
How could I resist such a stimulus? It would be rude not to reciprocate, so I quickly extended my tongue, tangling it with hers.
My mind went blank, but reason told me I couldn't go too far. If Mom noticed, I'd be done for. Yet my hand found its way to her black-stockinged leg, gently caressing the smooth, silky texture—a sensation I could never tire of.
After kissing and touching for what felt like an eternity, I felt my heart gradually sinking deeper. In the end, I simply gave up resisting, thinking that since things had already come this far, holding back was no longer an option.
I reached down and pulled off my pants, freeing my already rock-hard member. After hesitating for a long time, making sure Mom showed no signs of waking, I tremblingly thrust my hips forward, pressing it against her thigh.
The moment the tip touched her stocking-clad leg, my entire body shuddered. If I hadn't held my breath, I might have come right then and there.
The firm erection gently rubbed against the black silk-clad leg, emitting a faint rustling sound. Through the velvet pantyhose, I could feel the delicate, supple softness of her skin. Both psychologically and physically, the pleasure quickly reached its peak.
After rubbing for a while, I felt I was about to climax. Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind: Is Mom really a "white tiger"?
Ever since that fleeting glimpse that day, this question had lingered in my heart for a long time. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity to find out.
But reason told me this was going too far.
Then another voice chimed in: Since I've already gone this far, and maybe this is the only chance in my lifetime—after all, it's just looking, nothing more.
After a long internal struggle, desire ultimately triumphed over reason. I gently pushed my mother's arm aside, sat up, and then knelt beside her legs. Placing a hand on my chest, I tried to steady my breathing while repeatedly telling myself in my mind: just look, just look.
I stared at my mother's adorably drunken face, making sure she wouldn't wake up. Only then did I tremblingly place my hand on her thigh and carefully push up her gray pencil skirt, bunching it around the top of her thighs. My mother's private area, encased in black velvet pantyhose, was now completely exposed before my eyes.
My breathing grew increasingly rapid. After gazing for a while, I reached out, grasped the edge of the pantyhose, and together with the black lace-trimmed panties, slowly pulled them down. It was like peeling an eggshell—glistening, snow-white skin gradually revealed itself before me.
My mother offered no resistance or struggle. When the pantyhose and panties were pulled down to her knees, her private area was fully exposed. The high, plump mound was pale and tender, like a freshly steamed bun. In the center was a delicate slit, slightly indented, surrounded by clean, hairless skin. Most peculiarly, her labia majora were very small, almost not protruding, hidden at the entrance of her honeyed cleft, as smooth and lovely as a young girl's.
My mother truly was a "white tiger," and she even had the legendary "steamed bun pussy."
My eyes were fixed, and my breathing grew even more labored, as if I had asthma. I suddenly understood why my father was often jealous over my mother. If I had married a woman like her, I would also keep a close watch, never letting her come into contact with any other man.
I wanted to touch my mother's little slit, but halfway there, I pulled my hand back. Reason told me that I had already gone too far today. After all, she was my mother. If I didn't stop now, I might not be able to control myself.
Restraint was painful. Though it was difficult, I didn't want to hurt my mother.
Staring at the mysterious slit at the center of my mother's mound, I gripped my erect cock with my right hand and stroked it rapidly, desperate to release. Yet in my heart, I thought: Mother, Zheng Yiyun, in my next life, I must have you.
Just as I was about to climax, the sound of the front door closing suddenly startled me, sending chills down my spine. I hurriedly pulled my mother's pantyhose back up haphazardly and straightened her clothes.
My father pushed open the bedroom door and walked in. Seeing me standing by the bed, he paused, glanced at my mother lying on the bed, and asked, "What's going on?"
My heart was pounding, but I forced myself to stay calm and said with a smile, "Mom had too much to drink. She just got back, so I poured her a glass of water."
My father's brow gradually furrowed, and he muttered, "Drinking again, endless socializing day and night. Alright, go back to your room and do your homework."
Chased out by my father, I returned to my bedroom, gasping for breath as I replayed the earlier scenes in my mind. It had been a close call.
If my father had caught me molesting my own mother, a few slaps wouldn't have been enough to settle it.
That night, I tossed and turned in bed, my mind filled with images of my mother's "white tiger steamed bun pussy." I jerked off several times, but my cock just wouldn't soften, and I kept at it until dawn.
During breakfast the next morning, my mother frowned and complained of a headache. Feeling guilty, I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
Before I left for school, my mother called me over.
Seeing her strange expression, I thought to myself, "It's over, she must have found out about last night's incident."
But Mom hesitated, taking a long time before finally asking, "Your birthday is coming up. Do you want to celebrate at home or go out?"
I turned it over in my mind, thinking that Mom might have some recollection of what I said last night. But now that she was sober, she probably felt too embarrassed to ask directly.
As for what happened after she fell asleep, she likely had no idea.
Feeling slightly relieved, I said, "Let's just celebrate at home," and then hurried off to school.
Over the next two days, I felt like I was under a spell. Even after masturbating several times, I couldn't extinguish the burning desire inside me. I figured I had to ask Lu Yiyi for help.
But when I followed her around, pestering her to let me have a go, she smugly told me she was on her period. I was so frustrated! In the end, with no other choice, I dialed the little enchantress's number and arranged to meet her.
On Sunday afternoon, I found an excuse to slip out of the house and headed to the meeting spot—a cold drinks shop.
When I saw An Nuo, my eyes lit up. She had completely changed her style—gone was the edgy streetwear, replaced by a sweet, girly look. A pink jacket, a light blue pleated skirt, cream-colored tights, and black Mary Janes. Even her wild, messy braids had been undone and styled into twin ponytails, with fluffy bangs framing her forehead and a kitten hair clip pinned to her head. She looked incredibly cute and innocent.
I looked her up and down, feeling a flutter in my heart. Though she was dressed in a similarly girly style, the impression she gave was completely different from Lu Yiyi's.
I had to admit, she really was a little enchantress—always coming up with new tricks, leaving people itching with curiosity.
I sat down across from her and noticed she was quietly sipping milk tea through a straw, looking as docile as a little sister. It was hard to connect this image with her illogical behavior.
"You're dressed... quite... something today."
She glanced up at me. "Cute?"
I chuckled. "Cute. But it's also a little weird."
An Nuo rolled her eyes and asked, "Why did you ask me out? Do you want this again?" As she spoke, she made a jerking-off gesture with her hand.
I quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching, then said with a mix of amusement and exasperation, "Can you talk without the gestures? You're a young girl—being so direct makes me a little embarrassed."
After a pause, I lowered my voice and asked, "Back to the same topic—going all the way. How much exactly?"
"I don't want money."
I really couldn't figure out what she was up to. Scratching my head in frustration, I said, "You have to give me a condition. If you don't give me a straight answer, I won't feel at ease."
"I told you I haven't decided yet. You can owe me for now, and I'll tell you when I think of something."
I eyed her suspiciously, thinking there must be something fishy going on. If we didn't clarify things now, who knew what she might ask me to do later?
After hesitating for a long time, I held up two fingers and said, "How about this—two thousand yuan? I've checked the market rate. That's more than enough to find a pretty girl around here."
She lowered her head and said nonchalantly, "I'm not interested."
"Money! Isn't that why you're doing compensated dating?"
She raised her head, eyebrows arched. "Fine, then twenty thousand."
I gasped in shock, "That's daylight robbery! Are you a princess or a queen?"
Annuo smiled, "See, I named my price, but you can't afford it."
I couldn't tell if she was deliberately messing with me or not. After a moment of thought, I gritted my teeth and asked, "What about my dad? What's his price?"
Annuo was taken aback, "Your dad?"
"Yeah, last time I saw you, you were arm in arm with my dad, shopping. Don't tell me he's not one of your clients."
She stared at me, as if pondering something, before finally nodding after a long pause, "Right, your dad is my client, but his price is even higher—you definitely can't afford it."
That confirmed it—my dad really was out there flirting with young girls. But I couldn't exactly condemn him morally, since I was also sneaking around behind my girlfriend's back to find an escort.
"Your prices are just a joke," I suddenly felt that what she was doing wasn't really about money—it seemed more like she was trying to lure me in.
But what exactly she wanted was still a complete mystery to me.
Annuo bit her straw and mumbled, "Anyway, I've laid out my terms. Whether you agree or not is up to you."
I didn't want to always be led around by her, but I couldn't help feeling a bit restless. Her outfit was just too tempting, like a sweet, creamy cake—especially those white-stockinged girl legs, something you rarely see in everyday life. I really wanted to reach out and touch them.
Or what would it feel like to have her white-stockinged feet trample and torment my cock?
I gritted my teeth and said, "Then let's skip the home run and stick to the usual service. That should be fine, right?"
"Suit yourself," Annuo replied with an indifferent expression, lowering her head to sip her milk tea.
Just as I was about to speak, I felt a strange sensation between my legs. Looking down, I realized her right foot had somehow slipped out of its shoe. Her small, adorable white-stockinged foot had stretched from the other side of the table right between my legs, gently pressing against my cock through my pants.
I held my breath instantly and glanced around. Fortunately, we were sitting in a secluded spot, and there weren't many people in the shop.
I wanted to tell her to stop, but my cock was gradually hardening. Such a bold act in a public place was incredibly thrilling psychologically.
Annuo acted as if nothing was happening, resting her chin in her hands and sipping her milk tea through the straw. No one would have guessed that this innocent, cute girl was secretly pressing her white-stockinged foot against my cock under the table, sometimes rubbing, sometimes tapping lightly, sometimes teasing with her toes. The pleasure was almost unbearable.
Just as I closed my eyes to enjoy it, I suddenly sensed something off. Turning my head, I saw a waitress in her twenties not far away, her face flushed, eyes wide open, staring at us in astonishment.
Clearly, she had noticed the little act under the table but hadn't said anything. When she saw me looking over, she quickly lowered her head and busied herself with tidying the table.
The waitress was fair-skinned and pretty. For some reason, being caught in this embarrassing moment didn't make me nervous—instead, it felt incredibly thrilling, as if I were deliberately putting on a show for her. I even reached down, grabbed Annuo's white-stockinged foot, and squeezed it firmly.
The waitress's cheeks flushed even redder, and she turned and hurried back to the counter.
Under the dual stimulation of both physical and psychological factors, I soon couldn't hold on any longer. I couldn't just let it happen in my pants, so I hurriedly said, "Alright, let's head back to your place."
Annuo retracted her white silk-clad feet, slipped on her shoes, and stood up to walk out.
I followed behind her. Just as we were about to leave the shop, I couldn't help but glance back. The young lady was leaning close to another female attendant's ear, whispering something. By chance, our eyes met, and she blushed, flusteredly turning her body away.
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