Watching the impatient Yang Haoran, the corners of her mouth curved into a graceful arc. As she drew near, she curtsied to him like a noble lady from the Ming Dynasty greeting the lord of the manor. Her soft, charming voice rang out, full of tender allure.
“Lord, this slave greets you.”
Her voice carried a coquettish edge laced with seduction, soft tones threaded with charm. At first hearing, it resembled an oriole emerging from the valley—clear and melodious, yet gentle and winding.
It brimmed with temptation. Simply listening was an exquisite pleasure.
The intensely enticing scene before him set Yang Haoran’s heart pounding wildly. He swallowed hard, barely restraining the primal urge to throw himself at her. Feigning composure, he waved a hand casually. “Rise.”
Yang Haoran’s pretentious air drew a secret chuckle from Shen Qing, but she held it back and stood as ordered.
“Lord, please collar this slave. Wild by nature, this slave needs a saddle to rein her in under your hand, for proper training.”
No sooner had one wave subsided than another rose. Yang Haoran watched Aunt Shen deliver her coquettish plea, only for her to kneel before him once more—not with a curtsy, but fully on her knees.
Her black-silk-clad knees met the cold tiles with a faint thud.
Aunt Shen’s elegant yet utterly depraved words pierced Yang Haoran’s mind like arrows, leaving his mouth parched. The sight of her kneeling before him pushed his arousal to new heights, his blood surging like boiling lava through his veins.
Yet her performance screamed foreplay. He couldn’t afford to seem crude or hasty with such a beauty—that would ruin the mood. Gritting his teeth, he tamped down his impulses.
“Aunt Shen… cough, cough.”
Yang Haoran blurted her usual title before realizing it clashed with the moment. He covered with a fake cough, then adopted a commanding tone. “Shen Bitch, where’s the collar and leash the Lord entrusted to you?” He hadn’t given her any such things, but her words implied she had them ready.
“In response to the Lord, this lowly concubine placed them in the bedside cabinet.”
Shen Qing replied with downcast eyes, her voice meek and measured.
Yang Haoran rose and rifled through the bedside table. Sure enough, the bottom drawer held a black collar.
The collar was masterfully crafted, its leather supple and beautiful. At its center sat a heart-shaped cutout framed in gleaming gold. Delicate red patterns bloomed across the leather like flower buds, accompanied by the bold initials SHQ—undoubtedly standing for her name. A slender silver chain over a meter long dangled from it, ending in a leather handle. It resembled the collar of a pampered pet from a wealthy household—or rather, a bespoke dog collar.
Even affluent families customized collars and leashes for their pet dogs.
Tucked below was a black leather whip, which he grabbed as well.
Yang Haoran returned to the bed’s edge and sat, eyeing Aunt Shen still kneeling before him. An idea sparked in his gaze. As her master, why handle such drudgery himself? A dog should fetch it in her mouth. Resolved, he dangled the black collar toward her pale neck. Just as Shen Qing expected him to fasten it, the collar sailed past her eyes to land on the tiles three meters away.
“Cough, cough…” Yang Haoran cleared his throat theatrically, then sternly commanded, “Shen Bitch, as a filthy, lowly bitch, how dare you order your master about? Go fetch the collar… no, bring it in your mouth and present it to your master.”
Shen Qing froze for a beat, then caught on. She flashed him a flirtatious glance, her voice humbly submissive. “This slave overstepped, Lord—spare your blame. This slave begs you to invest more effort in her training henceforth, guiding this lowly one to master the household rules without delay.”
As she spoke, she made a show of rising, baiting Little Ranran for a demonstration. He took it hook, line, and sinker, barking at once, “Crawl over there, Slutty Bitch! Don’t you even know how to act like a proper bitch? Crawl, pick it up with your mouth—hear me?” He snatched the nearby black leather whip and cracked it against the tiles beside her. The sharp snap echoed with authority.
Thrill coursed through Yang Haoran. He saw it now: in moments like these, Aunt Shen craved his dominant side, a master who seized total control.
The stronger he asserted himself, the more she melted into a pliant kitten.
Sure enough, the whip’s crack made Shen Qing flinch in feigned fear, though the glow deep in her, silken eyes burned brighter.
“Yes, Lord.”
Her charming voice deepened with husky allure, intoxicating.
Shen Qing eased from her kneel, lowering her torso until her plump rear rose high behind her. Like a bitch in heat, she dropped to all fours and crawled toward the black collar several meters distant.
She crawled just like a Bitch, her lithe body quivering, lustrous hair spilling over her shoulders. The degrading posture crushed her human pride beneath waves of shame, an electric thrill suffusing her frame and setting her trembling. Her exquisitely beautiful face burned crimson.
The sheer erotic qipao hazily traced her massive, ripe peach of a rear—like a succulent, juice-laden fruit, perfectly shaped and mouthwatering.
With each forward creep, those lush cheeks swayed hypnotically, rippling with seductive waves.
Yang Haoran’s throat went dry. Aunt Shen’s millstone-round, plump ass was pure temptation.
He couldn’t resist. Gripping the whip, he lashed her raised rear with measured force. “Faster, Slutty Bitch!”
Crack! The leather struck Shen Qing’s upthrust buttocks, sending tremors through the flesh. It rebounded instantly, revealing their pillowy resilience.
A top-tier fuck frame.
“Mmm~” Shen Qing’s lascivious moan unfurled, soft and seductive, like decadent music filling the room.
She paused, then resumed with greater sway in her hips—as if a coquettish beauty waving her fan toward Yang Haoran.
How could he hold back? Aunt Shen was blatantly begging for the whip, putting on a shameless display.
Yang Haoran swung the black leather whip harder now, seven or eight tenths strength. It whistled through the air before slamming into her plump rear.
Crack… crack… The crisp reports rang out.
