Making Mother My Lover
Copyright© 2026 by Satya69
Chapter 6: The Little Witch’s Scheme 18+
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 6: The Little Witch’s Scheme 18+ - "Tap, tap, tap, tap..." The sound of high heels striking the floor echoed through the corridor of the teaching building, crisp and resonant. As the footsteps drew closer, my heart began to beat faster and faster. I was all too familiar with such an imposing stride. Moments later, a stunningly beautiful woman in a black professional suit and skirt entered the office. She had an exquisite, fair-skinned oval face, with long, dark hair elegantly pinned up at the back...
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Reluctant Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Mystery School Western Workplace Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Rough Spanking Harem Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Facial Food Lactation Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex Sex Toys Spitting Squirting Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts Foot Fetish Leg Fetish Public Sex Size Teacher/Student
Even though Mom forced me to study, my mind was completely occupied all afternoon with the image of Mom’s beautiful butt wrapped in pantyhose and the scene of Dad strolling around with that pretty girl. How could I possibly focus on studying?
As evening approached and it was almost time for dinner, my sister, having played outside to her heart’s content, came home humming a cheerful tune. She was in high spirits, but the moment she stepped through the door, Mom unleashed a torrent of harsh scolding on her.
My sister was left bewildered by the reprimand. After it was over, she dragged me to the balcony and whispered, asking why Mom had been so furious.
I figured Mom was probably still holding onto the anger from the morning incident. Since she had already taken it out on me, she couldn’t bring it up again, so she had suppressed it all afternoon and ended up venting it all on my sister.
But I couldn’t explain this to her directly, so I played dumb and casually said, “Who knows? Maybe it’s something work-related. I’ve been tiptoeing around all day, and you just happened to walk right into it. Tough luck.”
My sister pouted, muttered something under her breath, and turned to go back to her room.
I had been stewing over Dad’s situation all day and was desperate to talk to someone about it, so I pulled her back. I told her everything that had happened during lunch.
Her first reaction after hearing it was to look at me in surprise. “What? You guys went out for steak at noon and didn’t even invite me?”
Truly, a mother knows her daughter best—her reaction was exactly what Mom had predicted.
“You were the one who went out early in the morning. Mom definitely tried to reach you. It’s your own fault for not coming back.”
“She asked me to come eat, but she never said it was Western food! Besides, you’re the one who tricked me into going out. No way, you owe me a steak!”
“That’s not the point. Didn’t you hear what I just said? Dad was walking arm-in-arm with a girl who looks about your age, and they seemed really happy.”
Only then did my sister snap back to reality. After a moment of thought, she frowned and said, “No wonder he’s been acting so mysterious lately. So he’s secretly dating a young girl. Ah—!”
She suddenly let out a gasp, startling me. I quickly asked her what was wrong. She said, “If Mom finds out about this, it’s going to be a huge disaster.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Obviously. Did you really need to say that?”
My sister furrowed her brows, her face full of worry. “But you can’t hide something like this forever. Mom will find out sooner or later. When she does, their relationship will fall apart—first they’ll argue, then they’ll fight, and in the end, they might even get divorced.”
She suddenly looked up at me, her expression serious. “If they really do get divorced, who would you live with? Let me make this clear—I’m definitely staying with Mom. You’re the eldest son of the Ling family, so you have the duty to carry on the family line. That means you’ll probably be assigned to Dad. And if Dad ends up marrying that young girl, you’ll have to call her ‘Mom’!”
I looked at her, torn between laughter and tears. “What on earth goes through that little head of yours all day? None of this has even happened yet. What if that girl is just the daughter of one of Dad’s friends? What if she’s some distant relative of ours? Think about it—if Dad really were having an affair, wouldn’t he go for a woman closer to his own age? Why would he pick a high school girl? Sure, Dad’s a little handsome, but he’s not handsome enough to charm a high school girl, is he?”
“Maybe that girl is just after his money. Maybe she’s being kept by Dad?”
“Even though Dad is successful in his career and earns a decent salary, keeping a high school girl would cost a fortune. Where would Dad get that kind of money?”
My sister shot me a sidelong glance. “You sound like you know all about it.”
“Just guessing.”
Right then, Mom suddenly appeared behind us, looking suspicious. “What are you two hiding here for? Whispering away—what can’t I hear?”
We both jumped. I quickly put on an act, stretching out my hand and shouting, “Pay up! The money you borrowed last month, give it back now. Mom, Bei Bei is a deadbeat—she owes me money and won’t pay.”
My sister put her hands on her hips. “You’re the deadbeat! When did I ever borrow money from you?”
Mom sighed. “Will you two ever stop? All you do is argue all day. Come out and eat.”
We exchanged a glance and followed Mom to the dining table. I glanced around—only three sets of bowls and chopsticks.
Just as I was about to speak, my sister beat me to it. “Mom, where’s Dad? Isn’t he coming home for dinner?”
“Who knows where he went? He’s not answering calls or messages.”
My sister and I exchanged another look but said nothing, sitting down obediently to eat.
After dinner, Mom cleared the table herself and told us to go back to our rooms to study.
My mind was weighed down with thoughts—sometimes about Dad and that girl, sometimes about Lu Yiyi, sometimes about Mom’s stocking-clad legs. My head was a tangled mess, and I had no interest in studying.
My phone, computer, and comics had all been confiscated by Mom. That afternoon, I was so bored I cleaned my room twice. With nothing else to do, I rummaged through my desk drawer and found an old radio. Luckily, it still had batteries, so I lay on the desk and listened to the radio broadcast.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, the door behind me suddenly swung open. Without turning around, I knew who it was. Startled, I quickly sat up straight, but I didn’t manage to turn off the radio in time.
Mom strode over, slapped me on the head, and snatched the radio away, fuming. “Why is it so hard for you to study? Where do you get all these little gadgets? How many more things are you hiding?”
“None, none, they’re all gone.”
“Really, all gone?”
“If you don’t believe me, search.”
Mom stared at me for a moment, then said, “Study hard,” and left the room with the confiscated radio.
With all the distractions gone, I should have been able to focus on studying—but I still couldn’t.
I don’t know what was wrong. Sitting there, I’d read for a while and then feel my head swelling and my eyelids drooping. In the end, I gave up and just lay on the desk, dozing off.
I don’t know how long I was in that hazy state when suddenly I felt a smack on my head. Instinctively, I sat up, wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth, and turned to see Mom standing behind me, holding a cup of hot water, her face dark.
I quickly pretended to be working on a test paper, muttering, “So hard, this question is really tough.”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Mom said, slamming the cup of water onto the desk. “Is this how you study hard?”
“I really am studying hard. I just overused my brain and needed a break. I’d just laid down when you came in.”
Mom didn’t say a word, just turned and left the room. I was just starting to think something was off when she came back, carrying a chair in her hands. She placed it right beside me.
I quickly asked, “What ... what’s this for?”
Mom sat down, crossed her arms, leaned back in the chair, crossed her slender, beautiful legs, and looked at me expressionlessly. “To keep an eye on you, so you don’t daydream again,” she said coldly.
I grew anxious. “That’s ... that’s a bit much. How am I supposed to study with you here?”
“You can’t study with me here? What about when you’re in the exam hall and the invigilator is standing right next to you? Can you kick them out?”
It seemed Mom was determined to monitor me here, so I had no choice but to reluctantly accept it.
With her sitting next to me, not only was daydreaming or dozing off out of the question, but even scratching an itch would earn me a warning. It was stricter than self-study sessions at school.
I tentatively asked, “Mom, are you planning to keep watching me like this from now on?”
“I don’t have that much free time. Right now, I’m just correcting your habits. Once you can focus on studying, I’ll step back.”
“Great, then you’ll be by my side for the rest of my life,” I muttered under my breath.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’re truly comparable to Mencius’s mother, who moved three times for her son’s education.”
“Stop being cheeky and focus on your studies.”
Just then, Mom’s phone dinged with a message. She picked it up to check, and I lowered my head, pretending to study seriously, but my eyes couldn’t help but glance sideways.
When Mom is at home, she changes out of her professional attire into a loose-knit long sweater that drapes over her hips like a dress. She swaps her stockings for leggings, which are similar to tights but slightly thicker, with less shine and transparency.
Maybe it’s more comfortable—I’ve never worn them, so I don’t know how they feel. Anyway, Mom always changes into them after coming home.
Sometimes her hair is still up in a bun, other times she lets it down into a loose ponytail, looking very casual.
Of course, this kind of home attire isn’t entirely without merit in my eyes. Though it might lack a bit in visual appeal, it adds a touch of lazy charm.
Especially when Mom bends over to do chores, her round, plump bottom sticking out, I always feel an urge to hug her from behind and ask, “Ma’am, need any help?”
Today, Mom had her hair in a low side ponytail tied with a bow. She wore a black-and-white striped knit batwing sweater on top, flesh-colored leggings below, and panda-print cotton slippers on her feet.
The leggings looked a bit like the flesh-colored ones worn by female figure skaters—up close, they seemed thick, but from a distance, it almost looked like she wasn’t wearing anything.
Mom looked down at her phone, a smile playing on her lips as she unconsciously bit the nail of her right thumb, looking somewhat playful.
My pen tapped lightly on the desk, one tap after another, as my mind wandered. Then, accidentally, I rolled the pen onto the floor.
I quickly bent down to pick it up, and as I straightened up, I instinctively reached out to steady myself by placing a hand on Mom’s thigh.
Mom glanced up at me. I pretended not to care and continued writing on my test paper, but that brief touch lingered in my mind, leaving me unsettled for a long time.
Although the feel of leggings isn’t as smooth as stockings, this unintentional touch felt particularly thrilling.
My attention was completely diverted now, and I had even less interest in reading.
Mom was still on her phone. After a while, I couldn’t resist. Hesitating for a moment, I deliberately rolled my pen onto the floor and bent down to pick it up.
This time, I directly pressed my hand against Mom’s thigh, letting out a meaningless groan as if struggling, searching back and forth on the floor.
It was a bit dark under the desk, but I could still clearly see Mom’s calves wrapped in flesh-colored leggings and her cute feet in panda-patterned cotton slippers.