The three of them worked from morning until sunset before they stopped.
By then my mother’s alluring little hole was swollen and red.
White semen leaked slowly from the gaping opening and ran down her buttocks.
The two Black men seemed to have turned into wild beasts, frantically fucking her little mouth and cunt.
From the way they drove in, they looked ready to stuff their balls into that charming little hole as well.
Two thick, long black shafts even split her pussy, shoved their heads straight into her womb, and came wildly inside, filling that womb with an unknown amount of disgusting semen.
Mom is so careless.
Is she not afraid of getting pregnant?
Look again at that voluptuous, sexy, devilish body.
The fishnet stockings had been torn to shreds, full of holes of every size.
Her two round, large breasts were covered in purplish-blue marks.
Her plump snowy buttocks were swollen and red.
It was clear how hard the two Black devils had used her.
Wet golden hair lay scattered and stuck to her snow-white skin.
Her pretty face was flushed.
Those seductive eyes held a satisfied look.
There was even a strand of white semen on her lips.
She lay languid on Mike’s muscular dark body.
Her snow-white legs, still in the tattered fishnets, stayed wrapped tight around Dee’s thick dark thighs.
The sofa was a mess.
Complete disarray.
In that heartbreaking scene the only consolation was this: the two men took turns using those huge black cocks on her mouth and vagina, but when they tried to force themselves into her tighter hole she stopped them.
She only let them lick her pussy and work it with their tongues and fingers a few more times before they gave up.
After a while Mom struggled to sit up, cross-legged on the sofa, the way a martial artist in a wuxia drama sits to circulate inner energy.
Her pretty face grew rosier.
Her skin grew smoother.
She looked younger.
I suddenly remembered the description of my mother on the turquoise disc.
The technique line had read Cloud-and-Rain Harmony Art (incomplete).
Was she practicing that?
Clouds and rain.
Aphrodisiacs.
Why were they all synonyms for sex?
The art was strange.
Could it be one of those legendary dual-cultivation techniques?
Judging from how drained the two Black men looked, they resembled the men in those books after being sexually harvested.
While I was lost in that, emerald light flashed in my mind.
A line of gold appeared in the center of the disc.
The Cloud-and-Rain Harmony Art practiced by the host’s mother, Jing Lan, is a mid-grade Mystic-rank art.
It is currently incomplete and can only replenish Yin by absorbing Yang.
Only after the art is fully restored can one cultivate both Yin and Yang.
A Mystic-rank cultivation art?
What the hell was that?
I quickly checked Zhang Biao’s and the Black brothers’ entries.
Without exception their arts had grades too.
The brothers’ Virility Art was low-grade Yellow.
Zhang Biao’s Black Tiger Fist was mid-grade Yellow.
Were techniques ranked across four levels—Heaven, Earth, Mystic, and Yellow?
The thought made the turquoise disc even more exciting.
If I ever drew a top-grade Heaven-rank art, wouldn’t I rise in a single step and become something like Superman?
Ring ring…
A school bell cut through and woke me.
I was exhausted from standing all day.
My legs were weak.
I looked up at Huang Erlang and caught him gloating, laughing at me.
What a scumbag.
The math teacher announced that school was over.
Students cheered and ran out of the classroom.
As I neared the gate, a long screech of brakes filled my ears.
Huang Erlang pulled up beside me in a red Ferrari.
In the passenger seat sat a young woman with dyed green hair, a nose ring, and heavy makeup, leaning against him.
His small hand was inside her short skirt, groping and playing with her.
He looked at me, arrogant, and cursed, “You little brat.
I snorted and ignored him, and kept walking.
He drove up alongside me again, shook his phone, and shouted, “I’ll let you off the hook for your slutty mother’s sake!”
Then he slammed the gas and shot forward.
The rear of the car threw thick smoke and a foul gasoline stink.
“Pah!
Fuck your ancestors, you son of a bitch Huang Erlang!”
I covered my nose and mouth and stepped aside.
Just then my phone vibrated.
I thought of the way he had shaken that phone.
I took it out.
It was a nude photo he had sent me.
A woman with a devilish figure knelt on the carpet, head down, long golden hair spilling over the floor.
Her two snow-white legs in black stockings were spread wide.
Her full, plump buttocks were raised high.
Two slender jade-like hands held those tender white cheeks and spread them, exposing her smooth pussy.
The whole pose was extremely lewd and threw off a seductive heat.
On her left thigh, at the groin, sat a bright butterfly tattoo.
Below it was that shocking black character: Slave.
This was Mom.
So she really was having an affair with Huang Erlang.
In that submissive pose she clearly wanted the man behind her to drive a hard cock deep into that empty, hungry hole.
Mom, how could you be this lewd?
How am I supposed to face Huang Erlang after this?
My heart ached so badly tears welled up before I noticed.
It was not until the driver pulled up beside me that I snapped out of it and sat down silently in the back seat.
All the way home I could not help thinking of the happy days I had spent with her, and I even found reasons to accept that lewd, shameless behavior.
Regardless, my mother did need a man to practice her art.
The affair with the Huang grandfather and grandson might have been forced.
Old Man Huang controlled the lifeline of her company.
Thinking that, I felt a little better.
And the emerald disc in my mind could hand me rewards at any time, which would help me support her later.
The gloom lifted for a short while.
I clenched a fist and shouted in my heart, Go, Jing Xiaotian.
Make Mom the happiest woman in the world.
When the driver reached the light at the intersection ahead he stopped.
Suddenly thick smoke rose in front of us.
Two cars had collided.
A crash?
Hey.
Wasn’t that red sports car Huang Erlang’s Ferrari?
I felt a secret thrill and hoped it had run that annoying little toad over.
Huang Erlang’s toad-like body crawled out of the car covered in dust.
His beloved sports car was half wrecked.
To my disappointment the scumbag himself was unharmed.
The moment he got out he started cursing and shouting.
He had been speeding, enjoying himself, with that young delinquent girl giving him a blowjob.
He had not expected the light ahead to be red.
Without thinking he had slammed into the car in front.
Full of resentment he stepped up and kicked that car door hard.
“You blind fool, get out here for your father!”
He kicked it several times.
No answer from inside.
He pressed his face to the window and saw the driver covered in blood, fainted.
By then more and more onlookers had gathered and begun to criticize him.
The toad glared and cursed, “A bunch of nobodies, meddling in other people’s business.” Then he took out his phone, dialed, and muttered a few words.
This scumbag had such poor manners.
He had hit someone and still played the thug.
I wanted to rush up and slap him across the face.
Before long police cars arrived and boxed him in.
Several officers tried to cuff him.
Despite his short stature he had incredible strength.
Four policemen could not subdue him.
He beat them with fists and feet instead.
Like a mad dog he swung wild while yelling, “You damn cops, open your dog eyes and see who I am!
How dare you arrest me?
One day I’ll have those skins off you and sell your wives and daughters to Africa!”
One officer, unable to swallow it, pulled a pistol and pointed it at him.
Huang Erlang started.
The arrogance vanished.
He turned docile at once.
“Officer, please!
I’ll go with you, all right?” He raised those two short arms, smiling obsequiously.
Just as they were about to cuff him, a loud crash came from behind.
A thug had punched a police car and left a deep dent.
A burly man in a vest slowly raised his arm.
His left arm, covered in blue scale tattoos, was a full size larger than the right.
The rugged muscle on it trembled.
His fist was bigger than a child’s head.
Zhang Biao.
I knew him at a glance.
He had obviously used Black Tiger Fist to smash that car.
This is martial arts?
It’s amazing.
Zhang Biao was only mid-stage Acquired Realm and already had destructive power like that.
Wouldn’t my mother, at Acquired Perfection, be even stronger?
Seeing a martial artist look like a superman only excited me more.
If a mere mid-grade Yellow art like Black Tiger Fist was this strong, how powerful would Heaven-rank martial arts be?
Zhang Biao’s face was cold.
He faced the astonished officers and said in a chilling voice, “You damn cop.
Let go of Young Master Huang.” Then he raised that left fist and waved it, threatening.
The officers tensed, drew pistols, and pointed them at him.
“Get down on the ground or we’ll shoot!”
Zhang Biao smiled, contemptuous, pointed at his own head, and said, “Go ahead and shoot.
Shoot me here.
If you can’t kill me, I’ll break your limbs.”
Arrogant.
Domineering.
He did not regard the police at all.
The four pistols aimed at him were toys to him.
Just as the officers were stuck, one of them took a call.
“Ah!
Captain Li… I understand… all right… all right… I’ll release him right away!”
He immediately ordered the other three to holster their guns, put on a flattering face, and said to Huang Erlang, ingratiating, “So it’s Young Master Huang.
Sorry for the offense.
Everything here is fine.
I can handle it.
You can go.”
Huang Erlang’s expression changed.
That ugly face put the arrogance back on.
He walked up to the police and hopped around like a monkey, slapping each of them hard across the face.
“Fuck your mother!
How dare you point a gun at me?
You’ve got some nerve!
Just you wait.
You’ll see!”
In front of the crowd the officers were extremely embarrassed.
They tried to soothe him while urging people to leave.
Fortunately Zhang Biao came to their rescue—of a kind.
The gangster glared and yelled, “You bunch of lowly people, what are you looking at?
Get the hell out of here!”
The words worked better than an imperial edict.
Ordinary people had never seen a man that fierce and powerful.
They scattered, terrified.