Chapter 52
Since the night I was taken care of by my mother, a new order had been established. I was no longer a hungry spectator, a desperate patient. I had become the chosen one for private “therapy” sessions. A complacency crept into every cell, a sick sense of superiority when I knew that, out there, a whole pack of wolves were howling in hunger, and I was enjoying the full benefits of special care.
Mom once again donned the cloak of an elegant vice principal, an excellent teacher. I often secretly took her iPad when she left it on her desk, curious to see how she dealt with her satellites.
** The Romantic **
Minh Khoi was the first attacker. He always used his cheesy literature to cover up his naked desires. That evening, while Mom was sitting in the study, her intellectual glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, intently reading the documents for the upcoming competition, a message from him appeared on the iPad screen.
*”Dear My, the moon is so beautiful tonight. It reminds me of your skin under the night light. I remember your scent, I remember your softness when I held you in the cinema. I remember the sweetness of your lips… Tonight, let me see you for just a moment, okay? I just want to see you.”*
Mom glanced at the message, not looking up from the document. The corners of her lips lifted just a thousandth of a millimeter, a smile of satisfaction, of a predator seeing its prey trapped. She didn’t reply right away, letting him wait a few minutes. Then she typed back slowly, word by word, cold and professional.
*”Focus on your studies, boy. I have a very important professional competition coming up, I don’t have time for anything else. When I have the prize, there will be a big ‘reward’ for good students.”*
*A very dangerous blow. Mother did not refuse. She only delayed. She turned the refusal into a promise, a debt of gratitude. She offered a reward, turning him from a predator into a small dog wagging its tail waiting for its owner to throw it a bone. He would not be angry, on the contrary, he would crave it more, counting the days until the day Mother “rewarded” him. A sweet torture. Mother was truly an artist.
**The Wild Beast**
For Ky Nam, things don’t happen in words. He’s a beast, and he acts on instinct. The next afternoon, when my mother and I returned from school, he was waiting in the parking lot. His bulky body blocked the front of my mother’s car. He didn’t say much, just growled, his eyes bloodshot from unsatisfied desire.
“Tonight. My house. My parents are away.”
It was a command, not an invitation. He was used to taking, to using force to get what he wanted. My mother, in her ash-gray business suit and pencil skirt, dwarfed him. But her presence was anything but small.
She did not retreat, did not show fear. She stepped out of the car, slammed the door, raised her head and looked straight into his eyes. Her voice was not loud, but it was cold as ice, sharp as a knife.
“Who do you think you are to order me around?”
Nam was stunned. He did not expect her to react like that.
“I’m not your whore. I’m your teacher.” She took a step forward, the distance between us was only a hand’s breadth. I could see Nam’s muscles tense. “Remember your place. Go away. Whenever I want, whenever I need a male dog to relieve myself, I’ll come to you.”
Having said that, she slipped past him and walked away calmly, leaving Ky Nam standing frozen in the middle of the parking lot. He was angry, his fists punching the air, but in his eyes, besides the anger, I also saw a… respect. A submission to a stronger female leader.
*With the romantic, she used promises. With the wild beast, she used a whip. She knew exactly what kind of reins to use for each horse. She was more than a sex toy, she was a trainer. She was teaching them who was boss in this game.*
** The Self-Conceited **
Khoa was a different case. He was not as romantic as Khoi, nor as rough as Nam. He was a complacent playboy, a player who thought he had been “tamed” after that time in the cafe restroom. He thought he had a special place. That night, while Mom was watching TV, her phone rang. It was his number. Mom glanced at me, then calmly turned on the speakerphone.
Anh Khoa’s voice rang out, smooth and confident. “My, it’s me. Are you free this weekend? I miss your mouth so much.”
He called his mother “My” and “em”. He was trying to affirm an equal relationship, an intimacy of lovers.
Mother did not seem upset at all. On the contrary, her voice sounded happy and childlike.
“Mr. Khoa?” (She deliberately called him “brother”, a subtle irony). “I’m very busy, preparing for the upcoming big competition. A good little brother should be at home cheering for me, not calling and bothering me at this time, right?”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. I could just imagine his stunned expression. “Good boy?” The title was like a bucket of cold water poured on his complacency.
Mom continued, her voice still sweet: “Okay, I have to review my lessons. When I finish my exam and have some free time, I will call my ‘little brother’ to go out for a drink. Be good.”
She hung up without waiting for him to answer. Then she turned to look at me and winked.
*A humiliating blow without a knife. Mother turned him from a “partner” to a “little brother”. She disarmed him with her own confidence. He thought he was special, but to Mother, he was just one of the puppets waiting to be pulled by the strings. She put everything into order.*
———————-
The competition hall was packed today. My father and I sat in the fifth row. From here, I could clearly see my mother on stage.
Today, Mom didn’t wear a suit. She chose a pure white silk ao dai, tailored to fit her perfectly down to the millimeter. The soft silk hugged her hourglass figure, showing off all her killer curves. Her full, round bust was accentuated by the high, discreet collar. Her slim waist tightened, then expanded into a curvaceous butt, bouncing with each graceful step. The ao dai was slit high up near her hips, and every time she moved, I could catch a glimpse of the curve of her white inner thighs.
Mom wore her hair in a high bun, revealing her long, slender neck and smooth nape. She wore only light makeup, but her lips were painted a rich red, which stood out against her porcelain-white skin. She was not a teacher. She was a goddess, a fairy come to captivate all the men in this room.
And she succeeded.
I looked around. All the men, from schoolboys to pot-bellied fathers, were staring at my mother. Their eyes were naked and full of desire. They were stripping her with their eyes. They were imagining crushing her ivory body, burying their faces in those plump breasts, burying themselves between those long, slender legs.
A sick sense of pride and furious jealousy rose within me at the same time. That was my mother. The woman you all drooled over, who knelt down every morning to suck my cock. Only I knew how hot and lustful her body was under that elegant ao dai.
My father sat beside me, slapping his thigh. “My wife is amazing! Look at her, everyone is looking up!” He nudged me, laughing heartily. He didn’t see the lust in those men’s eyes. He only saw admiration. He saw my mother as a trophy, a precious jewel that he was proud to show off to the world.
Mom and her team won by a landslide. Her voice, in English, was clear, fluent, and powerful. She stood on the podium, smiling brightly, an aura of wisdom and beauty surrounding her. At that moment, I knew I would never escape the influence of this woman.
The Director of the Department of Education, a man about my father’s age, personally presented the trophy to my mother. It was a transparent crystal trophy, sparkling under the light. When my mother’s hand touched the trophy, his hand also grabbed hers, holding it a little longer. His eyes were glued to my mother’s face, a gaze that not only contained admiration for a teacher, but also the desire of a man. I saw it. And a feeling of discomfort, a feeling of jealousy of the owner, rose in my heart.
The ceremony ended. Everyone rushed onto the stage, surrounding Mom to congratulate her. My father, proud as a king, pushed through the crowd to be the first to hug his wife. He kissed her cheek, cradling the trophy as if it were his own treasure.
To celebrate Mom’s victory, Dad booked a table at the most exclusive French restaurant in town. This was no ordinary place. The soft, golden light of honey spilled over the white tablecloths. The piano played softly and softly. The scent of garlic butter, wine, and expensive perfumes mingled together, creating an atmosphere of lavish enjoyment.
My father, Huu Thang, was the happiest man in the world tonight. The wine and pride made his face flush. He wore an expensive suit, but his tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, looking both worldly and a little refreshing and self-satisfied. He kept smiling, and his eyes were fixed on my mother, a look of possessiveness, of a man admiring the most beautiful achievement of his life.
My mother, Ngoc My, had changed into her ao dai. She was wearing a simple black silk dress with two straps and a plunging neckline, revealing her smooth back. The dress was not too revealing, but the soft silk clung tightly to her body, cruelly exposing every curve. Her braless breasts were like two small hills rising and falling under the thin silk layer every time she moved. She sat there, her demeanor relaxed and radiant, a smile always on her red lips. She was a black pearl, and tonight, she was the center of the universe.
I, Quang Huy, sat across from them, the only audience for this love performance. I just kept quiet, sipped my water, and observed.
“You are number one, My!” Dad raised his glass of wine, his voice full of enthusiasm. “When you stepped onto the podium, I sat below with my heart pounding. My wife, no one can compare!”
Mom smiled, a modest but confident smile. She raised her glass, lightly touching Dad’s. “It’s all thanks to you and my son’s encouragement. Without you two, I wouldn’t have had the spirit to take the exam.”
* Another sweet lie. Fuel? Yes, but not in the way Dad thought. Her fuel was the desire of other men, the feeling of power in controlling everything. Dad was just one of her fuels, a boring, orthodox fuel.*
The meal was served. Kobe beef steak, pan-fried to perfection, still dripping with blood. My father took my mother’s plate and used his knife and fork to cut the beef into bite-sized pieces.
“Leave it to me, leave it to me. You are the main character today, just sit still and let me serve you.” He said, his voice full of affection.
I looked at that scene, and a sick thought flashed through my mind. Dad was “eating” Mom right at the table. He wasn’t using his dick, but a knife and fork, and wine. He cut a piece of steak for Mom, as if he wanted to cut her up and taste her. He pinned a piece of meat and brought it to Mom’s mouth. Mom obediently opened her mouth and took it. Her red lips covered the piece of meat, and the silver fork. She chewed slowly, sensually, still looking at Dad lovingly.
* Look, a public oral sex show . She’s sucking and licking Dad’s meat and his plate. She’s showing him how skilled her mouth is. Dad, the fool, only sees it as romantic. He doesn’t know that just the night before, that mouth had masterfully sucked my cock, and the cocks of boys old enough to be his sons.*
Dad poured Mom another glass of wine. The sparkling red wine was poured into a crystal glass. “Drink this, baby. It will make your cheeks more rosy.” He said, then leaned close to Mom’s ear and whispered, but loud enough for me to hear: “…to make your pussy more juicy.”
Mother did not blush. She just glanced at him, then picked up her glass and took a sip. She did not drink it right away, but held the wine in her mouth before swallowing it slowly. A trace of red wine remained on the corner of her lips, and she stuck out her tongue and licked it off provocatively.
I felt my cock begin to throb in my pants. Mom was acting. She was playing a perfect role. The doting wife, the happy woman. But I knew, deep down, she was hungry. She was hungry for the things Dad could never give her. Roughness, chaos, novelty.
Towards the end of the meal, when all three of us were a little tipsy, my father suddenly became serious. He put down his knife and fork and took my mother’s hand.
“My this.”
“Yes?” Mom looked at him, her eyes a bit curious.
“I know you’ve been working hard and stressed out because of the competition. I… want to give you a gift, a worthy reward.” He said solemnly.
My mother and I were both silent, waiting.
My father took a deep breath, then smiled brightly and declared:
“I booked a trip for my whole family!”
“A trip?” Mom was surprised.
“That’s right!” Dad nodded, looking proud of his idea. “We’re going to a five-star resort. I’ve booked a private villa with a private pool right on the beach. Just the three of us. We’ll be there for five days. What do you think, is this reward worth it, honey?”
My mother was stunned for a moment. I saw a flash of joy and genuine emotion in her eyes. My father, though heartless, still loved her in his own way. My mother nodded, her voice a little choked: “Thank you. That’s wonderful, brother.”
I smiled too, playing the role of a happy son about to go on vacation. “I love it, Dad!”
But in my head, a storm was brewing.
*5-star resort. Private villa. Private swimming pool. Four days, five nights. Just the three of us.*
Those words repeated over and over in my head like a mantra.
The whole family raised their glasses. “To Mom’s victory, and to the upcoming trip!” Dad shouted.