Chapter 6, his clenched fists and erect penis were
It was ten minutes earlier than usual.
The reason is simple—he didn’t want to sit across from his mother at the breakfast table. Last night’s scene was still like…
Each high-definition screenshot was glued to his retina: the neckline of the V-neck loungewear drooped down, and there was no bra.
Her G-cup breasts, bound by the fabric, swayed beneath the thin modal cotton cloth; her cleavage was deep and the outline of her nipples was visible.
The fabric is faintly visible—
He ejaculated in less than three minutes after locking the door in his room last night.
That image is all I can think about.
After ejaculating, he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal, a familiar, unsettling feeling washing over him.
A wave of shame washed over him. He closed his eyes and told himself: You’re a pervert. You…
You’re masturbating while your own mother is masturbating. You’re a fucking pervert.
But this self-loathing lasted for about fifteen minutes before being replaced by another, stronger feeling—
He got hard again.
So he masturbated again. This time it took seven minutes. He ejaculated less than the first time, but the pleasure was stronger.
The intensity stemmed from the fact that he added a new element to the image in his mind: he fantasized about reaching inside the V-neck…
He reached down to her collar, his palm covering her soft, burning breast, his fingertips pinching the nipple that peeked through the fabric—
—
So this morning, he chose to escape.
He got up when the alarm rang at 6:40. Brushing his teeth, washing his face, and changing into his school uniform took less than ten minutes.
Zhong. When he came downstairs, Gu Xueqing was frying eggs in the kitchen, wearing a loose white crew neck T-shirt and a plaid shirt.
She wore casual loungewear and her hair was loosely pinned behind her ear with a hair clip.
”Xiao Mo? So early?” She turned around at the sound of footsteps, the spatula still raised in mid-air.
Breakfast isn’t ready yet, please wait five more minutes.
”I’m not eating, Mom, it’s too late.” Lin Mo picked up his schoolbag from the entryway, looking at the shoe cabinet instead of her.
”The morning reading session was moved up today. The homeroom teacher said we have to be there before 7:20.”
”There’s no such thing as morning reading at 7:20, aren’t you supposed to start at 7:40?”
”It’s changed; it will be moved up starting this week.”
”Then at least bring some bread—”
”It’s in my backpack. I bought it yesterday.”
He changed his shoes and opened the door. The morning in the coastal city in mid-September was already slightly chilly, with a sea breeze blowing from the east.
A damp, salty breeze blew in. He took a deep breath, feeling the stuffiness that had been lingering in his lungs since last night.
The foul air finally dissipated a little.
”Be careful on the road—” My mother’s voice came from behind me, gentle, with a hint of helplessness, like…
It’s the kind of standard line that every Chinese mother says to her child when they go out.
He didn’t turn around.
”knew.”
The door closed.
——
The corridor on the third floor of the senior high school building at Bincheng Experimental Middle School.
7:40.
There were already quite a few students in the corridor, some standing in twos and threes chatting, others leaning against the windowsill scrolling through their phones.
Some students were squatting in the corner memorizing vocabulary, while others were chasing and playing around with their classmates. The air was filled with the greasy smell of steamed buns from the cafeteria.
The scent of cheap laundry detergent, and the unique blend of sweat and youthful hormones unique to eighteen-year-old boys and girls.
A sense of mystery.
Lin Mo leaned against the window at the end of the corridor, his left hand in his school uniform pants pocket, his right hand holding his phone, his thumb…
He swiped unconsciously across the screen. He wasn’t looking at anything specific—his WeChat message list, his Moments.
QQ Space—these are all irrelevant information streams; his eyes are looking, but his brain isn’t processing them.
.
His mind was still stuck on last night.
No, to be precise, his mind was still stuck this morning. Stuck at the moment he went downstairs—his mother…
The image of her standing in the kitchen, wearing a white T-shirt, turning her head to look at him. The white T-shirt had a V-neck that she wore last night.
The loungewear was much more conservative—round neck, loose-fitting—so you couldn’t see anything you shouldn’t be seeing. But his brain automatically interpreted it as…
I replaced my white T-shirt with last night’s V-neck loungewear—dark gray, thin, form-fitting, and I wasn’t wearing any.
The bra—and then, in his visual imagination, the movement of his mother turning her head caused the two huge mounds on her chest to move.
The breast flesh jiggled—
”Brother Mo!”
A hand slapped him on the shoulder from behind, with considerable force, causing him to stagger forward half a step.
Lin Mo was abruptly pulled from his reverie and turned his head.
Zhao Yong.
He was 1.83 meters tall, with slightly dark skin, and a bright white smile. His school uniform zipper was only zipped up to his chest.
Inside was a black T-shirt with the NBA logo. In his left hand, he was carrying a plastic bag containing two…
He had a meat bun and a cup of soy milk, and held his phone in his right hand, the screen lit up. He still had half a bun in his mouth, his cheeks…
It bulges out like a hamster.
”Good morning, Brother Mo,” Zhao Yong mumbled, crumbs of steamed bun falling from the corner of his mouth. “What brings you here today?”
So early? I went to your class to look for you, and your deskmate said you came very early this morning.
”I couldn’t sleep, so I came early.” Lin Mo put away his phone and leaned back against the windowsill. “What about you? Don’t you step on it every day?”
Should we go to class when the bell rings? Did the sun rise in the west today?
”Don’t even mention it.” Zhao Yong put the plastic bag on the windowsill and plopped down next to it. “My mom is six today…”
They dragged me out of bed at 1:30, saying I was a senior in high school and couldn’t be late anymore, or they’d confiscate my phone.
His mother was so sleepy she almost missed her stop on the bus.
”So you often miss your stop even when you’re not sleepy.”
”That’s different. I was reading a novel, completely engrossed.” Zhao Yong grinned, pulling the plastic bag…
He pulled out another steamed bun and took a bite. “By the way, Brother Mo, I have something to tell you.”
”explain.”
”Take a look at this.” Zhao Yong handed over his phone, which displayed a screenshot of a WeChat group chat.
Lin Mo took the phone and glanced down at it.
The screenshot shows a WeChat group named “Senior Three (7) Class Parent Communication Group”. The group chat history shows…
The time was yesterday—September 15th, 4:17 PM. There were several text messages and one…
A voice message.
The sender of the voice message had a face he knew all too well—Gu Xueqing. (WeChat name)
The username is “Sunny Day,” and the profile picture is a side profile shot, backlit, showing only the delicate jawline and long, flowing hair.
And the outline of eyelashes defined by the sunlight.
The voice message is 23 seconds long.
There’s no sound in the screenshot, but there are several replies from other parents below the voice message:
”Lin Mo’s mother is right 👍”
”Agreed, agreed, there are indeed too many extra classes on weekends.”
”Lin Mo’s mom has such a lovely voice 😍”
The last reply was sent by someone whose WeChat name was “Zhao Yong’s Mom”.
Lin Mo glanced at the phone and handed it back to Zhao Yong. “What’s wrong?”
”Didn’t you listen to that voice message?” Zhao Yong took the phone and tapped the screen with his fingernail. “Wait, take a screenshot.”
I can’t listen to it. I’ll play the original version for you.
He exited the screenshot, opened WeChat, and scrolled to a group chat—but it wasn’t the parents’ group; it was a different group altogether.
The group name was “For Bragging in the Dormitory of Class 7, Grade 12”. Zhao Yong scrolled up in the message history and found…
I clicked play on a forwarded voice message.
The sound from the phone’s speaker rang out in the hallway—
”Hello parents, I’m Lin Mo’s mother. Regarding weekend tutoring, I personally feel that the children…”
Their schoolwork is already heavy enough during the week; they should have some time on weekends for independent review and rest, otherwise their efficiency will be negatively affected.
And it will decrease. Of course, this is just my personal opinion; ultimately, we’ll leave it to the school’s arrangements. Thank you everyone.
Twenty-three seconds.
Gu Xueqing’s voice flowed from the phone’s speaker, like a warm, silky stream—
—The tone is low, with a soft, magnetic quality unique to mature women; the pronunciation is clear but not harsh, and the speaking speed is not…
Not fast, not slow—each word seemed to be gently held on the tip of her tongue before being uttered. The ending syllable rose slightly.
With a touch of natural, unconscious tenderness, it’s like a lazy cat stretching its yawn next to your ear.
Lin Mo’s fingers tightened slightly inside his pocket.
He knew that voice all too well. It was the voice that woke him up, called him to eat, and asked if he’d finished his homework.
She would remind him to be careful on the road, and whisper “Mommy’s here” when he was sick. That voice was the most…
That familiar voice, without a doubt.
But hearing that sound from Zhao Yong’s phone speaker at that moment felt different.
It became a “voice that others could also hear”.
It leaked from his private sphere—the living room, kitchen, and stairwell of his home—into the public space.
It was recorded as a 23-second voice message and uploaded to a WeChat group with more than forty parents.
It has been played by countless fingers.
Zhao Yong played it three times.
Zhao Yong put his phone away, chewing on his steamed bun, his face displaying the carefree attitude typical of an eighteen-year-old boy.
A wicked grin.
”Brother Mo.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice, but even after lowering it, the volume was still louder than a normal person’s.
Be bold. “Let me tell you the truth, don’t be angry.”
”you say.”
”I listened to your mom’s voice message three times last night.” Zhao Yong held up three fingers in front of Lin Mo.
He shook it. “Three times. Do you know why?”
”Why?”
”Because that voice is just so damn sweet.” Zhao Yong’s expression was so serious it didn’t seem like he was joking. “Really.”
She’s sexy. Not the kind of sexy that’s deliberately faked, but the kind that’s innate, ingrained in her very being. You know what I mean.
”Huh? It’s the kind of thing—the kind that makes you think, ‘Damn, just hearing it makes me hard.'”
Lin Mo’s smile remained unchanged.
His lips maintained a standard, proper, “appropriate” curve—the kind of smile one close friend would strike when making a dirty joke.
—It wasn’t a loud laugh, nor a sneer, but a helpless smile that said, “You’re talking nonsense again.”
”Get lost,” he said. His tone was relaxed, with a hint of a smile, like someone who’d been teased by a friend for “your mom is really pretty.”
The standard response when “bright”.
But his right hand was clenched into a fist in the pocket of his school uniform pants.
The fingernails dug into the flesh of the palm.
pain.
Zhao Yong didn’t notice the movement in his pocket. Or rather, even if he had, he wouldn’t have gone in that direction.
He wanted to think about it. In Zhao Yong’s mind, Lin Mo was his best friend, a gentle, academically excellent, and…
A talkative but occasionally witty and surprisingly funny guy. He has never, and could never, say anything like that.
One can only imagine that this refined young man is currently experiencing an incredibly intense emotional storm.
”I’m serious, Brother Mo, I’m not joking,” Zhao Yong said, taking a bite of his steamed bun with meat filling in his mouth.
”Do you know what the boys in our class were talking about in their group chat yesterday?”
”What should we talk about?”
”Talk about your mom.”
Lin Mo’s smile froze for 0.3 seconds.
Then it was restored.
What do you talk about with my mom?
”Let’s talk about that voice message.” Zhao Yong wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll forward that voice message.”
It’s in the boys’ group chat—don’t look at me like that, I didn’t forward it to any random places, it’s just the boys in our class.
The group chat was full of friends. And then guess what? The group exploded.
Lin Mo didn’t speak. His expression remained that “helpless smile,” but his eyes—if there were any…
If you look closely at his eyes at this moment, you’ll notice that his pupils have shrunk slightly, and the edge of his iris…
The dark brown band deepened, as if something was stirring beneath a calm lake.
Chen Hao said, “Holy crap, whose voice is that? It sounds like my ex-girlfriend!”—His ex-girlfriend my ass, his ex-girlfriend…
”Her voice sounds like a duck’s quack.” Zhao Yong counted on his fingers. “Li Mingyang said, ‘Which auntie is this? Her voice is nice.'”
”Su.” Liu Zixuan said, “Holy crap, is this Lin Mo’s mom? I saw her at the last parent-teacher conference; she’s even prettier than her voice.”
Then Zhou Hao, that jerk, sent a drooling emoji—”
”Alright,” Lin Mo said.
Two words. The tone wasn’t strong, it could even be described as very soft. But Zhao Yong’s words were abruptly cut off by those two words, like…
It’s like a train traveling at full speed suddenly having its brakes pulled.
Zhao Yong paused, stopping chewing the steamed bun in his mouth. He glanced at Lin Mo, his expression turning from refined and clean-cut…
He read something on his face—not anger, not displeasure, but something more subtle, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
The emotions that came.
”What’s wrong?” Zhao Yong’s tone softened a little. “Are you upset? I was just saying, nothing.”
It means something else.
”No.” Lin Mo’s expression returned to normal—the curve of his lips, the warmth of his eyes, the muscles in his face.
The level of relaxation had returned to the standard parameters of “Lin Mo’s daily mode.” “I just feel like you guys…”
It’s really boring to see grown men discussing other people’s mothers in a group chat.
”Hey, high school boys, what else do we talk about? College entrance exams? Life ideals?” Zhao Yong chuckled.
She made two noises. “Besides, I’m praising your mom, okay? Your mom is indeed beautiful, it’s no secret.”
Everyone in the grade knows, right? At the parent-teacher conference last semester, your mom wore that—what was it again—
It was one of those very form-fitting dresses. When I walked into the classroom, all the boys in the front row turned their heads to look at me.
I saw it with my own eyes.
Lin Mo did not respond.
His right hand was still clenched in his pocket, and his fingernails had already dug four shallow crescent-shaped marks into his palm.
What is he thinking?
He was thinking about the scene Zhao Yong had described—a parent-teacher conference, his mother walking into the classroom in a fitted dress, in the front row.
The boy turned his neck completely.
He wondered what those boys saw—the same thing he saw every day: exquisitely beautiful faces.
A swan-like neck, G-cup breasts creating an amazing curve in a fitted dress, a slender waist, and plumpness.
Her full, pert buttocks were outlined beneath the bodycon skirt, and her long, fair legs…
The boys saw his mother.
his.
The thought was like a red-hot iron rod, piercing right through the center of his chest.
It wasn’t pain. It was burning. A suffocating, burning sensation that spread from my chest to my throat, and then…
The throbbing started in his throat and spread to the top of his head. His temples began to throb, his heart rate quickened, and his breathing became shallow.
anger?
Yes, there was anger. A primal, instinctive anger, the anger of a male animal whose territory has been violated. Those
Why do guys look at her? Why do they talk about her? Why do they use the word “slutty” to describe her voice in the group chat?
What qualifications do they have?
But it’s not just anger.
Beneath the surface of his anger lies another emotion—a distorted feeling he is unwilling to acknowledge, yet unable to deny.
The pleasure of music.
The boys thought she was sexy. They thought she was pretty. They thought her voice was enough to get them hard. They thought she was the best girl in the whole grade.
The best-looking parents.
And she was his mother.
She makes him breakfast every day. She wakes him up every day. She asks him every day if he’s finished his homework. She wears that…
Some clothes that unintentionally exposed his figure were swaying back and forth in front of him.
She is his.
Those boys could only chat for a few minutes in the group, steal a few glances at each other during parent-teacher meetings, and listen for a few seconds in voice messages.
Her voice.
And he saw her every day. He could smell the gardenia-scented shower gel on her every day. Every day…
At the dining table, one can admire her face and neck up close, without any obstruction, and for as long as one likes.
Her collarbone, her chest—
Last night he even saw the outline of her nipples protruding through the fabric when she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Can those boys see it?
I can’t see it.
You’ll never see it.
The pleasure derived from this realization was almost as intense as anger. They were like two currents flowing in opposite directions.
The collisions, intertwining, and fusion within his chest created something he had never experienced before, something so complex it defied description.
The emotions described in words —
He didn’t want anyone to covet her.
At the same time, he felt a perverse, hidden urge because of the fact that “she is mine, not yours.”
The satisfaction of secrets.
”Brother Mo?” Zhao Yong’s voice pulled him out of his inner turmoil. “What are you daydreaming about?”
”No.” Lin Mo blinked and straightened up from the windowsill. “I was thinking about what to hand in for today’s math class.”
No homework.
”Damn, you’re a real academic genius.” Zhao Yong rolled his eyes. “I’m talking to you about your mom, and you’re talking to me about…”
Math homework.
”So what do you want to talk about? Continue talking about my mom?” Lin Mo glanced at him, her tone carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible undertone.
It feels sharp.
”Let’s chat, why aren’t we?” Zhao Yong clearly hadn’t caught that sharp edge—or perhaps he had but chose not to.
He selectively ignored it because, in his dictionary, “there are no topics that good buddies can’t talk about.” “Brother Mo,”
I have a question for you, but don’t think I’m being frivolous.
When have you ever been serious?
”Hey, I’m just a straightforward person,” Zhao Yong chuckled, stuffing the last bite of the bun into his mouth.
He mumbled. “I’m just asking you—does your mom talk like that at home too? Like that—soft, gentle way?”
Gradually, each word carried that—how should I put it—that kind of energy?
”What’s wrong?”
”It’s like—” Zhao Yong thought for a moment and found a word. “It’s the kind of feeling that makes you think she’s being affectionate with you.”
It’s a natural charm. Not the kind of deliberate coquetry, but something innate. It’s like everything she says carries a layer—a layer of sweetness.
No, no, it’s not candy—it’s that kind of thing—damn, I can’t describe it.
”If you can’t describe it, then don’t describe it,” Lin Mo said.
”Don’t rush me, let me think.” Zhao Yong scratched his head. “That’s right, it’s that kind—you know A…”
SMR? You know, those sleep aid videos where someone whispers in your ear and gives you goosebumps.
That kind of thing. Your mom’s voice is natural ASMR. Let me tell you, if your mom did that kind of thing—
She’s the kind of livestreamer who helps people sleep—she’s absolutely popular. She doesn’t need to do anything else, just read from a textbook.
”Zhao Yong,” Lin Mo called him by his full name.
Zhao Yong was taken aback. Lin Mo usually called him “Brother Yong” or simply “Zhao Yong,” but rarely used this—
How to put it—it sounded like a homeroom teacher calling his full name during roll call.
”What’s wrong?”
”If you say my mom’s voice sounds like ASMR again, I’ll screenshot those three voice recordings on your phone.”
Post it in the parents’ group chat so your mom can see what her son is doing.
Zhao Yong’s mouth opened and then closed. Then he burst into laughter, laughing so hard he almost fell over.
They slid down the windowsill.
”Hahahaha, Brother Mo, you’re too ruthless! Okay, okay, I won’t say anymore.” He laughed and raised his hands…
He made a gesture of surrender. “I was just praising your mom, okay? Is it really that big of a deal? If anyone else had a mom as beautiful as you, they would have already…”
He’s been showing off everywhere. And you, on the other hand, are acting like a possessive mother.
Food guarding.
The word was so precise that it made Lin Mo’s heart skip a beat.
Zhao Yong didn’t mean it. He just used a metaphor casually. But that metaphor hit a bullseye—
Lin Mo’s current mental state is indeed one of “food guarding”.
No, it’s more serious than food guarding.
Food possessiveness stems from fear that others will take away what’s in one’s bowl. His current feeling isn’t “fear of others taking it away,” but rather…
It means “others are not even worthy of looking at it”.
”Alright, enough about your mom.” Zhao Yong jumped down from the windowsill and brushed the crumbs from his steamed bun off his school uniform.
Let’s talk about something else. Did you do your English reading comprehension yesterday? I spent half an hour on the third cloze test.
”I couldn’t finish it, could you copy it for me later?”
”The third one isn’t difficult. You just need to find the transition word in the second paragraph,” Lin Mo’s tone returned to normal.
Normal, voice steady, expression relaxed, as if the internal turmoil just now had never happened. “but after…”
That clause is key.
”I recognize every single word you say, but I don’t understand them when they’re put together,” Zhao Yong sighed. “Never mind.”
”Just copy this for me before class. Oh, and by the way, Brother Mo—”
”What’s wrong now?”
”One last question, that’s all for now.” Zhao Yong leaned closer, his voice very low, so low it was barely audible.
At a level that only the two of them could hear. “Does your mother…have a younger sister?”
Lin Mo was taken aback. “What?”
”So, does your mom have any sisters?” Zhao Yong asked with a serious expression. “Because I think, you…”
Mom’s genes are too strong; if she had a younger sister, she’d probably be pretty too. I’m thinking, what if it were…
Single—
”Zhao Yong”.
”Okay, okay, I’ll shut up, I’ll shut up.” Zhao Yong laughed and took two steps back. “Just kidding, just kidding.”
”Let’s go, let’s go, class is about to start, let’s go back to the classroom.”
He turned and walked towards the other end of the corridor, his long legs moving quickly, calling out to Lin Mo as he went:
English reading! Don’t forget to copy this for me!
Lin Mo stood still.
The hallway was filling up with more and more students; the bell for class was still five minutes away. Someone walked past him, and…
He greeted her—”Lin Mo, good morning.” “Brother Mo, can I borrow yesterday’s physics homework?”
He nodded, smiled, and responded mechanically, but his attention was not on these people.
His attention was focused on Zhao Yong’s last question.
Does your mother have a younger sister?
have.
He has a younger aunt. Gu Qinghan. Thirty-one years old, a senior executive at a listed company, single. She resembles her mother.
They resemble each other by seven-tenths, but their temperaments are completely different—the mother is a gentle and refined intellectual beauty, while the aunt is as cold and aloof as frost.
A cold and aloof queen.
But he didn’t tell Zhao Yong.
He didn’t say a word.
It wasn’t because of his aunt’s privacy. It was because—he didn’t want Zhao Yong to know. He didn’t want Zhao Yong to know about him.
His aunt didn’t want any thoughts. Just like he didn’t want Zhao Yong—and no one else—to have any feelings towards his mother.
They share the same thoughts.
His mother. His aunt. His family.
his.
This “his” is no longer just “his” in the sense of “his family”.
It transformed into a more primal, savage, and unspeakable “his”—a male animal.
A creature’s declaration of territory, a predator’s mark on its prey, a kind of—
The school bell rang.
The piercing electronic bell pulled him from his thoughts. Students in the corridor began to surge towards their respective classrooms.
Footsteps, voices, and laughter blended into a noisy background.
Lin Mo straightened up from the windowsill and took his hands out of his pockets. His right palm had four crescent-shaped…
The fingernail mark was light red and slightly painful. He glanced at it, then put his hand down at his side and walked towards the classroom.
.
His steps were steady, his expression calm, his school uniform neat, and his back straight. From his appearance, he was just an ordinary…
An ordinary, quiet, and well-mannered senior high school boy is walking towards the classroom, ready to begin a new day of learning.
No one knew that beneath his calm exterior lay a beast that had just opened its eyes.
Before yesterday, this beast was just a vague shadow, huddled in a dark corner—its
Its name is Desire, its food is the mother’s body, and its activities are limited to fantasies during masturbation and voyeurism.
Visual stimulation at that time.
But today, Zhao Yong’s words—”That voice is so damn sweet, so incredibly seductive”—are like a…
The iron rod was thrust into that dark corner, waking the curled-up beast from its slumber.
It stood up.
It’s no longer just hunger.
It began to get angry.
It began to feel jealous.
It began to declare its territory.
It’s saying: She’s mine. Her face is mine. Her body is mine. Her voice is mine. She…
Everything is mine. No one is allowed to see it. No one is allowed to hear it. No one is allowed to think about it.
Lin Mo walked into the classroom and sat down in his seat. He opened his English textbook and took out the copy Zhao Yong had wanted to pass.
The reading comprehension passage was marked on a sticky note and left for Zhao Yong to pick up.
His movements were normal. His expression was normal. His breathing was normal.
But his heartbeat has not fully recovered.
He could feel his heart beating a little stronger than usual in his chest—not because of Zhao.
It wasn’t Zhao Yong’s words that angered him, but rather that Zhao Yong’s words made him discover a part of himself deep within that he had never previously acknowledged.
Things that have been seen.
He wanted more than just his mother’s body.
He wanted to possess her entirely.
He wanted her to belong to him alone. Not the kind of “belonging” as a son—that natural, blood-related kind.
It’s not the sense of belonging that every child has to their mother, but a different kind of “belonging”—a man’s sense of belonging to his mother.
A woman’s possessiveness, exclusive, aggressive, and uncompromising with any other male.
The intensity of his possessiveness surprised even himselF