Liu Ruoxi didn’t believe a word of his nonsense!
Seeing this, Yang Haoran snatched the phone from the bedside table, searched for “interviews with foreign women who like acting like dogs,” pulled up a video, and handed it to his mother.
Liu Ruoxi took the phone. On the screen, a voluptuous Western woman wearing a collar crawled on all fours across the floor of a cozy living room, led by a leash.
“I like rolling around and frolicking just like a dog.”
“For instance, in a fast-food joint, I love lying on the ground and begging my boyfriend for scraps.”
“In the park, I’ll fetch a ball in my mouth when my boyfriend throws it, just like a dog.”
The video featured overlaid text: “21-Year-Old Girl Rakes in a Million a Month as a Full-Time Pet Dog.”
The scene shifted to the girl kneeling and crawling on the floor, striking various seductive poses at her boyfriend’s command… Had she not been clothed, the video never would have passed review. If the footage was this bold, one could only imagine the wild debauchery behind closed doors…
The clip was short—just over a minute—and it ended quickly. Liu Ruoxi’s face burned red. She pursed her lips, thoroughly shaken. Were things really this out in the open overseas?
“See, Mom? I wasn’t lying,” Yang Haoran said, pressing his advantage as his mother fell silent. He chattered on. “This stuff is totally normal. Foreigners barely bat an eye at it. Besides, it’s just a couple getting a little freaky—it doesn’t hurt anybody.”
Liu Ruoxi saw right through her son’s scheming little mind. He clearly dreamed of having women on both arms. His smug grin only fueled her rising irritation.
Shen Qing had spoiled him rotten.
She’d let him get so cocky that his lusts had free rein.
Liu Ruoxi twisted the flesh at her son’s waist viciously and glared at him. “You watched these videos, and that’s what twisted your head into this pervert shape, isn’t it?”
Her exquisite, icy features took on a mother’s stern authority. Yet with cheeks flushed like blooming peach blossoms—and in her current lewd predicament—that pose failed to cow Yang Haoran in the slightest.
Smack! Yang Haoran delivered a sharp slap to his mother’s plump rear. The crisp sound left Liu Ruoxi momentarily stunned.
“Mom, I’ve already fucked you—and you started it,” Yang Haoran said, his tone turning more commanding. “Slutty mommy, shake that ass and take it.”
He sounded half-joking, laced with a shameless thug’s swagger, almost flirtatious.
But his mother’s humiliation hit Liu Ruoxi like a thunderbolt. She froze, staring at him in a daze for several seconds. Her expression darkened—shame and embarrassment warring within her, mingled with profound disappointment in her gaze.
What seemed like playful ribbing had ripped open a scar she’d desperately tried to ignore, one she’d fled from in her thoughts—until her son’s words dragged it into the light.
A married woman, sneaking out in the dead of night to cheat… with her own flesh and blood. And worst of all, she’d taken the initiative.
If she’d been some inner slut all along, maybe it wouldn’t sting so much. But none of this was her choice. Guilt toward her husband, shame at her own depravity, the coercion that had led to this night—it all piled on: humiliation, agony, self-loathing, and a deep well of injustice that left her mute… numb.
Liu Ruoxi pressed her lips together and said nothing. After a pause, she humiliatingly rolled her plump buttocks and resumed bobbing on her son’s massive cock from below. The pace quickened noticeably, the lewd slaps echoing louder through the room.
Yet she moved like a hollow shell, her soul fled. She turned her head aside in a vacant stupor, her face blank as she mechanically rocked her hips up and down.
Mom might be pissed, but that very submission thrilled Yang Haoran to his core—especially with her bottled fury making those pale, massive peach-like cheeks drop all the heavier. His cock plunged deeper with every thrust, spearing toward her core.
Slap-slap-slap… slap-slap-slap… His swarthy shaft drove like a tireless lance, hilting passively in that tender pink slit, burrowing into the taboo depths of his mother’s body and churning her buried lusts. His thick black bush battered her mound relentlessly, teasing the smooth, delicate skin fringing her jade pussy. Each collision sent her pendulous breasts heaving in mesmerizing waves.
Waves of ecstasy drowned Yang Haoran’s reason. His searing rod ravaged his mother’s honeypot like a triumphant warlord. Then a frigid voice yanked him back to earth.
“Ten minutes. Cum, or I’m gone.”
Liu Ruoxi’s words came out flat, even as enticing moans slipped from her crimson lips. This voice bore no trace of passion—pure ice.
Yang Haoran caught the steel in her tone and grew frantic. He seized her arm and turned her face toward him, only to startle at the sight of tears tracing down her flawless cheeks—when had they started? The droplets gleamed on her flushed, aloof features like dying sunlight in the dusk. Belatedly alarmed, Yang Haoran rushed to apologize.
“Mother dear, I messed up. Don’t be mad—you know your son’s always had a motor mouth.”
He wiped the tears from her eyes as he spoke, his apology earnest. “Mom, I really do love you. You’re so gorgeous, I can’t help myself—even as your son. Please don’t stay mad…”
“That’s not love. That’s sickness.”
Liu Ruoxi didn’t budge, wouldn’t even look at him. She spat contempt. “If you love this shit, go beg Aunt Shen for it. I can’t stop you. Don’t call me Mom anymore—I’ll pretend I never had a son like you.”
His words had pierced her soul. Sneaking into her son’s room at this hour to offer herself up was humiliation enough. Shame and taboo guilt already choked her, wrapped in vague grievance; now his barbs had crumbled her last defenses.
This wasn’t her fault at all!
Yang Haoran panicked. He’d never dreamed a throwaway bit of mind-game shaming would set her off like this. He inwardly groaned.
He had no clue that since stepping into the room, Liu Ruoxi’s psyche had teetered on fragility. Her forced lewdness had crushed her with mental weight; his taunts and lack of understanding were the final straw that broke her.
Their earlier easy banter had been her steeling herself to play it cool, dodging exactly this nightmare. But Yang Haoran’s slip had shattered their fragile accord.
The shame only deepened for Liu Ruoxi. Her once vibrant phoenix eyes dulled, her spirit seemingly adrift.
As if resolved, she met Yang Haoran’s gaze squarely. Her tone softened oddly as she lectured. “Take care of yourself from here on out. And… I’m sorry… to your father.”
Her final whisper carried impossible weight.
The air turned to stone. Dread bloomed in Yang Haoran’s chest—a dire premonition, as if his greatest treasure stood to slip away forever.
His hands clamped down on his mother’s undulating plumpness, stilling the divine pleasure. Beneath her puzzled stare, he cracked a vicious slap across his own left cheek and muttered, “I was wrong… Mom… sorry… smack… I was wrong… sorry… shouldn’t run my mouth… I deserve this…”
Slap after slap, full force, left then right, as he begged her pardon.
He couldn’t say why—just that the foreboding gripped him like loss eternal. He struck without mercy; soon both cheeks ballooned, livid handprints blazing.
“You’re insane—what the hell?” Liu Ruoxi snapped to, pinning his wrists as fresh tears spilled.
A ingratiating grin cracked Yang Haoran’s puffy face. “Mom… can you forgive me?”
That hangdog look on his battered mug was almost comical—a whipped pup pleading for mercy.
He hadn’t held back, even on himself. The crimson imprints shocked the eye, if not quite a full-blown pig face.
