"If you want to talk nonsense again, I will tear your mouth."
Because of those inexplicable photos, my father and mother had fallen into a cold war. Yet, strangely enough, the relationship between my mother and me had eased considerably. At least the atmosphere at home was no longer so stifling, and we could share small jokes like we used to.
I stood beside my mother in the kitchen and asked, “Dad is still angry. Haven’t you two reconciled yet?”
My mother placed the freshly cut vegetables onto a plate and ignored me.
I pressed on. “Didn’t we analyze those doubts that day? Didn’t you explain it to Dad?”
Mom hummed dismissively. “What’s there to say? He can’t figure out something so obvious. He’s a pig.”
A dark part of my heart secretly wished for my parents to divorce quickly, but reason urged me to hope they would reconcile. I adopted a serious, old-fashioned tone and tried to persuade her. “Mom, I think you can be too stubborn sometimes. These things that could be resolved in just a few sentences—you get angry instead.”
My mother did not appreciate the advice. She brought the kitchen knife down hard onto the chopping board with a sharp thud and scolded me. “You’re full and have nothing better to do, so you meddle in our affairs every day! With that kind of energy, why don’t you focus on your studies? I warn you—if your grades drop again in the next exam, don’t call me Mom.”
My kind intentions had been treated like shit. I hurried to explain myself. “I used to ignore everything outside and focus only on my books. But the stiff atmosphere you two have created at home makes it impossible for me to concentrate on studying. That’s why I said a few words. Why are you getting upset with me?”
Mom replied angrily, “Then why don’t you go persuade your father!” It seemed everything was my fault now.
“No, you’re right, and Dad is right too. The real culprit is the person who sent those photos. That individual is truly despicable.”
“All right, all right. Stop talking nonsense here and get out,” Mom said impatiently.
I clasped my hands together and asked hesitantly, “Mom, can I discuss something with you?”
“Speak.”
“Recently, aside from eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom, all I do is study. My brain feels dizzy from it. Can I take a night off?”
Mom pondered for a moment before replying coldly, “You’re the only one with so many demands.”
Her tone was harsh, but the subtext was clear—she had agreed. I felt like a prisoner granted parole. Overjoyed, I exclaimed loudly, “Thank you, Mom!” Then I leaned in, raised my cheek, and planted a vigorous kiss on hers.
My mother was clearly startled. She suddenly pushed me away, looking at me with slight panic. Only then did I realize what I had done and instinctively stepped back.
In the past, such playful intimacy between mother and son had been normal. But lately, these close actions carried an awkward undertone.
“All right, hurry out. You’re really annoying,” Mom said, breaking the tense atmosphere and shooing me from the kitchen.
Back in the living room, I sat beside my father, waiting for dinner. Dad flipped through channels with the remote and asked casually, “What were you muttering about with your mother in the kitchen?”
“I didn’t say much. Just the usual—study hard and get into a good university.” I answered perfunctorily, then remembered the mysterious little witch. I turned and asked, “By the way, Dad, have you been in contact with your colleague’s daughter lately?”
“What colleague’s daughter?” Dad looked a bit dazed.
“The one who’s also taking the college entrance exam this year. Didn’t you go shopping with her last time?”
“Oh!” Dad suddenly turned to look at me with suspicion. “Why are you suddenly asking about her?”
I had always sensed that his relationship with her was not simple. Judging by his reaction, she was likely one of his clients. If that were the case and Mom found out, it would surely lead to a complete breakdown and divorce.
Divorce? The thought startled me. I quickly shook my head to dispel it, but curiosity got the better of me. “Is her name Anna?”
Dad’s body trembled. His eyes widened. “You… How do you know? Did you meet her again?”
“We exchanged a few words.”
The moment the words left my mouth, Dad roared in anger, “Didn’t I tell you not to meet her? Huh? Did I give you money for nothing?”
I hadn’t expected such a strong reaction. Startled, I explained earnestly, “It wasn’t like that… She came to me. I didn’t provoke her.”
Dad slammed the remote control onto the floor and yelled, “There’s already enough trouble at home, and now you’re adding to it!” With that, he stood up, stormed out without even grabbing his coat, and slammed the door behind him.
Mom rushed out from the kitchen, frowning. “What was all that shouting? Where did your dad go?”
“I don’t know.” I was confused too. Dad’s temper seemed inexplicable.
“Why did you provoke your dad again?”
Mom stared at me for a long time, then snorted angrily. “A pair of debt collectors.”
Dad didn’t return, and Mom didn’t call to check on him. I had earned my one-night vacation. After dinner, I prepared to play some games. Mom finished cleaning the dishes, changed into Bathrobe , and headed to the bathroom for a bath. She didn’t forget to warn me, “Just play for a while. Don’t overdo it.”
“Yes, Master Mother,” I replied with a playful salute and a smile.
At first, thoughts of Dad and the little witch lingered in my mind. But it had been so long since I had touched a controller that I soon became absorbed in the game.
At a critical moment while fighting a boss, Mom’s cell phone on the sofa rang. I shouted toward the bathroom, “Mom, your phone is ringing!”
The sound of running water stopped. Mom’s voice came through the door. “What did you say?”
I repeated while still controlling the game, “Your phone rang!”
“Pick it up for me.”
“I’m busy right now. I can’t pause!”
The bathroom door opened, releasing a burst of steamy heat. Mom walked out quickly. Instead of grabbing the phone first, she picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV.
At that crucial moment, I turned around in surprise. “What are you doing? I was just about to—”
I froze. Mom had wrapped her naked body in a bath towel, clutching it tightly against her chest with one hand while reaching for the phone with the other. Because she was bending over, her wet, curly long hair cascaded down, partially covering her face. Her round, plump breasts squeezed together, forming a deep, inviting cleavage. The ruddy flush beneath her milky-white, delicate skin, combined with the rising steam and the faint scent of gardenia, was intoxicating.
Even though the little witch had recently set me on fire, this sight struck me like dry wood meeting flames. My entire body grew hot and dry. Desire surged rapidly, swelling my lower body and clouding my mind.
Mom picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, and said reproachfully, “It’s your dad’s call.” She looked at me and noticed my fixed stare. Realizing her state of undress, she turned and hurried back to the bedroom.
I sat there stunned for a moment, then turned back dizzily to the now-dark TV. Before my imagination could run wild, the bedroom door burst open again. Mom said urgently, “Your dad drank too much and got into a fight at the restaurant. He’s been taken to the hospital. Get ready quickly—we’re going together.”
“Dad got into a fight?” I frowned, finding it hard to believe.
“Yes. Hurry and change clothes,” Mom urged. She turned back into the room, but in her panic, wearing only bathroom slippers, she slipped on some water on the floor. With a sharp “Ah!” she lost her balance. The slippers flew off, and she nearly fell.
I rushed over to help, but what I saw next was unbelievable. The hem of her bath towel had ridden up during the slip, bunching at her thighs and parting to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her soft, snow-white pubic mound.
That single glance nearly caused my nose to bleed. Mom’s face flushed crimson. She frantically adjusted the towel to cover her thighs and yelled, “Close your eyes!”
I obediently shut my eyes, but the image was already seared into my mind. Though partially hidden, what I had seen was vivid. Her pubic mound rose prominently, the skin on her inner thighs a slightly deeper shade than the rest. A closed, delicate slit recessed inward—white, tender, and clean like a freshly steamed bun. Most strikingly, there was no pubic hair.
After I helped her up, Mom urged me to change, and we headed to the hospital together.
Dad lay on the hospital bed, heavily intoxicated and covered in blood. Police from the station were already there. The man he had fought—a middle-aged fellow in his fifties—stood nearby. When Mom arrived, she slapped him hard across the face. If the officers hadn’t intervened, she might have kicked him as well.
Throughout the night, Mom argued fiercely with the man, displaying a level of anger I rarely saw. For the first time, I realized that the grumpy tigress who usually kept Dad under her thumb actually loved him deeply. For some reason, that realization brought a trace of loss to my heart.
Of course, seeing Dad beaten stirred both distress and anger in me. I stayed by Mom’s side as we negotiated with the other party for half the night. Though Dad looked frightening with blood everywhere, his injuries were not severe—just a broken nose.
The other man wanted to settle privately, but Mom firmly refused. She insisted on legal action. The police tried to mediate, and in the end, compensation was paid.
After the ordeal, my parents’ relationship eased noticeably. I was naturally happy about that. Yet whenever I closed my eyes, the image of Mom slipping replayed in my mind, along with one persistent question: Was she truly a white tiger?
The more I thought about it, the more restless I became. After three days of holding back, the aftertaste of the excitement and comfort the little witch had given me overwhelmed me. Studying was impossible; my mind was flooded with lewd thoughts, leaving my body unbearably agitated.
Finally, I couldn’t resist any longer. I called the little witch on impulse. She gave me an address and told me to come after school. I hesitated for a long time but ultimately surrendered to my desires and rushed over.
In front of an old residential building, I met Anna—the little witch. Her hands were in her pockets, and a schoolbag hung slantwise across her body.
For some reason, the moment I saw her, my body burned with thirst.
“Did you just get out of school too?” I asked awkwardly.
“That’s right.”
“I thought you weren’t going to school,” I joked lightly.
She said nothing, simply turning and leading me up to the second floor and into the apartment on the left.
She walked straight into the living room, dropped her schoolbag on the sofa, and headed to the kitchen to boil water on the electric stove. The house was old but spotless, though it lacked any sense of daily life. It seemed usually unoccupied.
“Is this your home?” I asked curiously.
I felt something odd about the situation but couldn’t pinpoint it. After she returned, I continued, “Do you live with your grandmother? Where are your parents? Working out of town?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she approached and extended her soft, white palm. Startled, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Where’s the money?”
It took me a moment to understand. I quickly replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t default—especially not on this kind of account.” To fund these encounters, I had sold many prized collectible stamps. It pained me, but she was like a drug: addictive from the first touch, impossible to quit.
After settling the payment, I asked eagerly, “What tricks are we playing this time?” I glanced around the house. “You brought me here on purpose. Are we going straight to bed?”
“I have homework to do. I don’t have time,” she replied.
“What?” I felt a surge of anger. “Then why did you call me over? To mess with me?”
“Come with me.” The little witch picked up her schoolbag and entered a room. Curious about her intentions, I followed cautiously.
It was clearly her old bedroom, furnished with a bed, a desk, and posters on the wall. She moved to the desk and said, “Come help.”
I frowned, utterly confused, but helped her shift the desk beside the bed anyway.
Watching her set out her books and sit down to start homework, I finally demanded, “What exactly are you trying to do?”
“Do your homework,” she said, looking up with a perfectly natural expression.
“Huh? You called me here just to move the desk and watch you do homework?”
The little witch lowered her head and continued writing. “Take off your pants and lie down under the table.”
I scratched my head. “What for?”
“Don’t ask.”
I stared at her, hesitated, then complied. I removed my pants, positioned my lower body under the desk while my upper body remained outside, and waited.
It felt strange, but I went along with it.
“Okay, what now— Hiss~ Oh~!”
Mid-sentence, the little witch suddenly pressed her cute little foot, still clad in white cotton socks, onto my cock and began rubbing it gently. The sudden rush of numbness made me throw my head back with a moan.
She had an endless repertoire of tricks. Compared to masturbation or oral pleasure, the sensation of a girl’s foot in pure white cotton socks was uniquely exhilarating.
After some initial gentle pressing and rubbing, my once-soft member hardened rapidly, standing tall like a mighty pillar.
As if nothing unusual was happening, the little witch kept writing her homework. Beneath the desk, her right foot pressed against the base of my shaft, slowly sliding downward almost to my abdomen. Then she worked it like a sewing machine pedal—pressing, lifting, and separating her toes to grip the sensitive coronal groove between her thumb and index finger, stroking with delicate precision.
A suffocating heat built in my lower abdomen. Through the thin white cotton, I felt the warmth of her foot. The blend of physical sensation and psychological thrill was intensely pleasurable.
“Oh~!” I groaned uncontrollably. “Where did you learn all these tricks? Ah~! It feels so good.”
She offered no reply—only the sound of turning pages and the addition of her left foot.
I lay there, savoring the trampling service from her socks feet. After the initial sharp stimulation faded, a leisurely, refreshing pleasure took over.
After several minutes of rubbing and stepping, her feet suddenly withdrew. Then, from left to right, she formed a tight tunnel with the arches of her feet, clamping my cock firmly. She began sliding up and down with rhythmic strokes.
A chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t help reaching out to grab her cotton-socked feet. Even through the fabric, they felt plump, bouncy, and irresistibly cute as I held them and thrust between them.
The little witch didn’t resist. She allowed me to play with her feet shamelessly while she continued her homework.
After a while, an idea struck me. I grabbed the tops of her socks and began pulling them off. She cooperated, lifting her feet so I could remove them completely. Her bare, white, tender feet returned to my cock—cool, smooth, and offering an entirely new sensation.
The precum leaking from my tip provided natural lubrication, making every stroke slicker and more intense, like plunging into a warm, welcoming passage.
I had once convinced Lily to try this, but it paled in comparison to the overwhelming pleasure Anna’s feet delivered.
For over ten minutes, her beautiful white feet worked my throbbing cock between them. Pleasure gathered relentlessly in my core. Knowing I was close, I gripped her tender feet with both hands, thrust my hips upward frantically, and fucked the tight channel formed by her arches with wild abandon.
Faster and faster I moved until, with a final powerful thrust, I pressed the head of my cock tightly against the soft center of her foot. My shaft pulsed rhythmically as thick, hot semen erupted, coating her sole.
I lifted my upper body, neck straining, teeth clenched, before collapsing back as the waves of ecstasy gradually subsided.
The little witch continued her homework calmly, as if nothing had happened. Her bare feet remained resting on my softening cock, seemingly unconcerned by the sticky warmth now covering them
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