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Chapter 11 Part 1: Habit and Numbness
The first ray of morning sunlight, cruelly clear, slanted through the curtain seam and fell across the rumpled bed.
I (Chen Fang) opened my eyes slowly, rising from muddled sleep, and the first thing I felt was the young, hot body pressed firmly against my back.
Xiaoyu's arm lay on my waist with an unquestionable claim; his breathing was steady and deep, fanning a faint tickle at my nape.
A forty-year-old body after the first rending pain and annihilating shame had, it seemed… gotten used to it.
Used to his young, aggressive strength; used to his unrestrained taking; even… used to the forcibly-awakened, suffocating pleasure that felt like destruction.
I turned my head slightly and looked at the sleeping line of his face.
Sunlight traced his angular jaw boyish freshness fused with a chill of mastery beyond his years.
That face had once been the treasure of my life; now it was the nightmare I couldn't escape and the source of my twisted desire.
My gaze slipped of its own accord, past his firm chest and flat stomach, to the undeniable swell tenting the thin cover.
Even asleep, the young male's instinct declared itself.
A familiar heat, shame-blended with secret yearning, stirred in my lower belly.
What are you thinking again? a cold voice asked.
He's your son! another voice numb and resigned retorted: And so what? It's already like this… Besides… My body this mature form thoroughly awakened and tilled by my biological son had accepted the reality ahead of my reason.
It remembered being filled, battered, sent to peaks; and each morning, when it sensed the male near at hand, it faithfully woke emptiness and craving.
I gently, almost holding my breath, moved his arm from my waist.
He didn't wake; he grumbled, rolled over, and lay on his back.
The bulge under the thin cover stood out more.
I sat up; a silk strap fell from my shoulder, revealing the ambiguous red marks over chest and shoulder last night's imprints, like brands of ownership.
I looked down at my still-full breasts, the nipples erect in the morning light, and felt a quiet blend of shame and sick satisfaction.
At least… this body could still attract him still… "satisfy" him.
It was the only pitiable value I could grasp in this twisted bond.
My gaze fell again between his legs.
With each breath, the outline under the cover seemed to pulse.
A thought twined up like a vine, driven by something near-instinct.
I lifted the cover gentle as if afraid to disturb something also with sacrificial piety.
His morning hardness reared like a waking beast engorged, veined, blazing hot and heady with male musk upright before me.
The size, the shape the weapon that had split me and hurled me to ruinous peaks looked both savage and… alluring in the morning light.
No hesitation, no struggle.
As natural as a morning ritual.
I bent; my long hair fell, hiding my profile and any telltale shimmer in my eyes.
I opened my mouth with numb expertise and slowly took the large, purple head into my warm mouth.
"Mm…" Xiaoyu hummed with sleepy satisfaction and twitched faintly.
He didn't fully wake, but the body responded.
His hips rose unconsciously, pushing deeper between my lips.
I worked him, my tongue teasing the sensitive ridge, mimicking the skills that pleased him.
My mouth filled mild suffocation and a strange calm in being controlled.
Saliva spilled and trailed from my lips.
I shut my eyes, blanking thought, focusing on the motion and the feel of him hardening and heating.
It wasn't that first, soul-tearing humiliation anymore.
The shame lingered, cold in the background, but more present was… habitual numbness even a twisted "sense of duty."
As if giving him a morning blowjob, like making breakfast, was part of keeping this home "running."
The "price" I must pay and my only way to prove I still had "value."
His breath roughened; his hand found the back of my head and he began to thrust, sliding in my mouth.
The salty tang, the coarse friction, the bumping at my throat all sharpened the hot, empty flutter deep in me.
When he growled, body taut, and poured hot into my throat, I swallowed without a flicker of resistance.
The thick musk had once gagged me; now it only brought a hollow calm of "task completed."
Sated, he sighed and opened his eyes hazy with waking and lazy afterglow.
He looked down; his lips curled in a near-smile satisfaction of the master, with a faint… affection?
He wiped the white from my lip with a rough thumb careless, like cleaning an object.
"Mom, come up." His morning-rasped voice brooked no refusal.
I obeyed swinging astride his firm waist.
My nightdress bunched at my waist, baring my lower body.
Already slick from before and from my own want.
I guided him and lowered enfolding him inch by inch.
"Mm…" We sighed together.
That familiar stretch and fullness swept away the hollow.
Hands braced to his chest, I began to rise and fall slow, self-soothing rhythm.
Sunlight bathed our joined bodies; the air was heavy with lust and semen's tang.
A paradox of wantonness and an eerie, everyday calm.
I watched his face as he sank into pleasure and felt the dizzy peaks as he reached my deepest place again and again; inside, only numb barrenness.
Life seemed "normal."
My husband still left early and came home late busy, oblivious to the upheaval at home.
His occasional concern felt muffled like through frosted glass.
My world was only Xiaoyu.
His desire, his moods, his control my life's center.
I grew used to waking him with my mouth; to nights bearing his conquest; to opening my legs when he wished.
My body was his drain and his warm nest.
This "habit" was a thick cocoon.
It blocked gazes and my inner screams.
It let me go on, numbly, day after day.
Life seemed "hopeful" as long as Xiaoyu was satisfied, the home's surface peace could be kept.
But beneath the "hope" was boundless rot and a soul's utter descent.
Like an emptied shell, I played "the son's private toy" amid the ruins of "mother" and "wife."
This was my "rebirth."
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