“I…” Yang Haoran hesitated.
“Not willing to let go?” Shen Qing covered her mouth and chuckled softly. “Just enjoy it to the fullest. Don’t overthink things. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for ages. It’s just a pity…” As she trailed off, Shen Qing let out a regretful sigh. What a shame that Little Ranran wouldn’t remember this historic occasion in the real world.
She felt conflicted about Yang Haoran losing this memory—part of her hoped he would recall it, while another part prayed he wouldn’t, so it wouldn’t interfere with their real-life relationship.
“Let’s eat. Here, let Auntie pick a piece of fish for you.” Right then, Shen Qing was the picture of tenderness. Her bright eyes gazed at Yang Haoran like he was the love of her life, brimming with affection.
In that moment, she seemed like nothing more than a gentle elder, leaving Yang Haoran’s emotions in a tangle. He knew exactly what was coming next.
She was about to endure her first round of humiliation and abuse.
“Mm.” Yang Haoran shoved aside his flicker of mercy. He didn’t want to dwell on it any longer, afraid he’d go soft at the crucial moment. This wasn’t just his twisted fantasy—Aunt Shen was a willing participant, eagerly anticipating it. For her, the degradation and torment were pure bliss, the ultimate thrill for both mind and body.
Aunt Shen was a masochist through and through!
Yang Haoran pushed the thoughts from his mind and ate with her like any ordinary nephew and aunt. They behaved impeccably throughout the meal, and Shen Qing made no further attempts to tease him.
“Full yet?”
She set down her chopsticks and dabbed at her plump, sensual lips with a napkin.
“Yeah.”
“Mm. I’ll tidy up and slip into something you’ll like. Then we can get started.” Shen Qing offered a serene smile, rising to clear the table. She looked every bit the dutiful wife and mother.
In truth, though, she rarely cooked for Zhou Shiwen. She’d throw together a simple breakfast now and then, but lunch and dinner were usually lavish hotel spreads delivered for mother and son. He’d grown accustomed to it over time—the food was delicious anyway.
Once Shen Qing finished cleaning, she slipped into a bedroom under Yang Haoran’s watchful eye. He could faintly hear the soft rustle of fabric as she changed. Aunt Shen hadn’t bothered locking the door, merely pulling it shut with a smooth click, as if inviting him to peek.
But by now, Yang Haoran saw no point in sneaking a glance. Why bother when he’d get a full, unobstructed view soon enough?
Five or six minutes later, the door swung open. Shen Qing glided out with mesmerizing grace, clad in an erotic qipao that instantly captivated Yang Haoran’s gaze.
Aunt Shen wore a seductive ancient-style ink-green qipao, sheer enough to tease the eye like a noble lady from bygone eras. The deep hue made her slender arms gleam like fresh snow, while her heaving bosom strained against the fabric, threatening to burst it at the seams. Her wasp waist was accentuated to perfection by the garment’s cinch, and her ripe peach-like rear curved out full and firm. As her jade legs swayed, they sent gentle ripples through the air like blooming waves.
The high slit at the thigh revealed lush, creamy legs sheathed in sheer black pantyhose. The gossamer silk hugged her flawless skin like polished jade, translucent enough to hint at the snowy flesh beneath. Under the light, it shimmered with a lewd, carnal glow.
This provocative outfit suited her bewitching face and devilish figure to perfection.
Shen Qing approached Yang Haoran with a faint smile playing on her lips, clearly pleased by his reaction.
A subtle fragrance wafted toward him, her intoxicating body scent weaving through the air like a beguiling mist that clouded his senses. Staring at the alluring Aunt Shen before him, Yang Haoran felt his mouth go dry.
Up close, her delicate makeup was exquisite: slender willow brows like distant mountain haze, eyes brimming with allure like limpid autumn pools. Black liner and soft brown shadow enhanced their mesmerizing depth, adding an air of sultry elegance.
Beneath her proud nose, ruby lips glistened with vivid lipstick, moist and inviting like a ripe cherry. Her stunning features were a masterpiece, flawless in every detail.
As Yang Haoran drank her in, his eyes drifted lower and caught the telltale sign. Below her graceful neck, her massive breasts swelled against the tight qipao, forming twin peaks that soared like majestic mountains, tracing a breathtaking curve.
The semi-transparent fabric, thin as a cicada’s wing, offered teasing glimpses of her pert nipples, tenting the material with obscene little peaks. The pale, voluptuous flesh shimmered hazily through the sheer cloth, stirring his deepest urges.
Aunt Shen wasn’t wearing a bra? The realization hit Yang Haoran like a punch, and he swallowed hard. It was maddening.
Noticing his ravenous stare, Shen Qing’s lips curved upward. She turned gracefully, presenting her back to him for a proper inspection.
To make it easier, she bent forward at the waist, legs slightly parted, thrusting out her plump peach rear like a merchant displaying wares for a discerning buyer.
Her full, rounded cheeks formed an exaggerated arc between thigh and waist, juicy and ripe as a giant peach or a rolling hillside.
The translucent qipao skirt and stockings clung to her lush rear, carving a deep, tight cleft between. Veiled by the hazy fabric and silk, it gleamed as if slicked with black oil—slick, ripe, and utterly debauched.
After holding the provocative pose for half a minute, Shen Qing spun back around to face him. Her lotus-root-pale hands trailed slowly down her sinuous, mature curves, coming to rest at her crotch. There, she formed a heart shape with her fingers, drawing his eyes right to the spot.
Beneath the qipao and stockings, a vague, plump mound took shape like a tender shellfish—fat, succulent, and so visually soft that he could almost feel its yielding texture.
Above it, a thick patch of dark curls added to the wanton display, setting Yang Haoran’s mind racing and his desires aflame.
“Little Ranran, what are you ogling so lecherously? Naughty!”
Shen Qing’s cheeks flushed pink as she cast her eyes downward, her voice a soft, honeyed whisper—like a gentle breeze or a lover’s caress plucking at his heartstrings. That simple phrase alone stole his soul, her coquettish pose utterly irresistible.
Demoness, Yang Haoran cursed inwardly. You’re the one showing off, even pointing it out with your fingers. So utterly shameless! His heart pounded with excitement. He loved it, devouring the sight of her ripe body with greedy eyes.
The more he looked, the more he marveled: Aunt Shen was the epitome of bountiful breasts and generous hips.
