The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, accompanied by a gentle breeze that set the curtains fluttering. Potted flowers on the windowsill danced along with them.
Yang Haoran stretched lazily and glanced at the time: 6:13 a.m. His sleep the night before had been unusually restful. Now, he felt invigorated, his entire demeanor refreshed and renewed.
He stepped out of his room. His sister’s door remained firmly shut—she was probably still asleep. He headed to the bathroom alone to freshen up, then descended the spiral staircase to the first floor.
The vast living room stood empty, the only sound a faint rustling from the kitchen.
At this hour, Yang Haoran figured it had to be his mom making breakfast. He followed the noise toward the kitchen.
She stood at the counter, cracking an egg against the rim of a bowl and pouring it in. A few broken eggshells lay nearby; she was busy and hadn’t noticed him.
From his vantage point, her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, her graceful silhouette swaying gently. A black dress hugged her voluptuous figure, tracing an S-curve of dramatic swells and dips. She looked like a living hourglass from afar—full breasts and plump hips, ripe and irresistibly seductive.
Her slender waist seemed graspable in one hand, swaying like a willow in the wind, soft and boneless. Her full, round buttocks strained against the fabric, forming a massive peach shape. The sheer sensuality hit him like twin bombs of desire exploding in his vision, igniting waves of lust and sending his blood racing!
Tracing downward from her perky rear, the skirt’s tight hem ended mid-thigh. Sheer flesh-toned stockings encased her long, shapely legs, their subtle sheen flawless and mesmerizing—like artworks sculpted by the gods themselves.
Her dainty feet slipped into pink slippers, revealing round, glistening heels clad in stockings. Tender white skin peeked through the sheer fabric, hazy and ethereal, every inch radiating an intoxicating allure that stirred the deepest urges.
It was early morning, hormones surging at their peak. Yang Haoran couldn’t withstand the temptation.
His gaze roamed her curves like a starving wolf’s, greedy and unrelenting. A spark of desire in his heart blazed into an inferno, steeling his nerves.
He glanced around. No sign of Dad—he must still be sleeping. Tiptoeing forward, Yang Haoran placed each step with care, holding his breath to stay silent.
He crept like a thief—or a predator stalking its prey.
Liu Ruoxi stirred the egg mixture with chopsticks, her thoughts drifting. Was it some mother-son intuition? Her mind flashed to last night’s scene, that wicked game that had entangled her and her son in a taboo beyond societal norms. A frown creased her stunning features, leaving her oblivious to the boy sneaking up behind her.
“Mom!”
Unable to contain himself any longer, Yang Haoran lunged forward. His arms wrapped around her slim waist, his abdomen pressing flush against her plump, peach-like buttocks.
The beast in his pants had swollen to full mast, hot and throbbing. As he hugged her, it slithered like an eel into the cleft of her full ass, burying itself deep in the valley. It nudged what he’d dreamed of—a tightly closed clam, brushing her plump, petal-like folds.
Even through their clothes, those soft, succulent lips sent a shiver through Yang Haoran, weakening his knees and bones. The exquisite, bone-melting pleasure made his arms tighten around her waist, his hips grinding closer, craving more.
Holding her like this filled Yang Haoran with a profound satisfaction from within, as if embracing her meant possessing the entire world.
His sudden assault startled Liu Ruoxi. She nearly dropped the bowl of eggs. But recognizing her son’s voice at her ear, she instinctively relaxed.
Then she registered his tight embrace around her waist—an indecorous hold. Worse, she felt a thick, rigid rod pressing insistently against her most private place, twitching and rubbing. Her face darkened. “Let go.”
Liu Ruoxi snapped coldly, fury boiling inside her. She hadn’t expected her son to grow so bold, groping her right there in their home. Had her moment of weakness last night only encouraged him to push further?
“Mom, I missed you. Just let me hug you for a bit.” She had no intention of calling out his filthy intentions directly. “Is that really just a hug?”
“It’s a hug—what else could it be?” Lust clouded Yang Haoran’s judgment as he spoke without shame, though his heart hammered wildly and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
His shameless defiance killed any patience Liu Ruoxi had left. That thick shaft nestled between her thighs, rubbing gently, filled her with shame and rage.
“Yang… Hao… ran.” She enunciated each syllable like cracking ice, her face a mask of eternal frost, chilling to the bone.
Her icy tone jolted Yang Haoran like a bucket of cold water, dousing the raging fire in his veins and leaving him chilled to the core.
“Mom… if I let go now…” His teeth chattered. “You won’t hit me, right?”
He could tell she was livid—the kind of fury that demanded retribution. Regret hit him hard; his guts twisted in remorse. Lust had blinded him, made him reckless.
All this was the fault of those damn morning hormones.
“Ah~ Mom, that’s a sneak attack!”
He’d been fantasizing about her showing mercy or bargaining until she promised no violence. Instead, her elbow slammed into his abdomen. Pain doubled him over, forcing his hands to release. Only then did he realize he’d messed up.
He looked up. Her beautiful face was frosty, her eyes locking onto him with a piercing, emotionless glare that made his scalp tingle.
“Misunderstanding… Mother… total misunderstanding… I’ll just head out if that’s fine.”
Yang Haoran bobbed his head obsequiously, his body inching backward to escape the wrath of the Old witch.
But Liu Ruoxi, truly enraged, had no intention of letting him slip away so easily.
Before he could make his getaway, her long legs strode forward in a blur, catching up to his retreat.
“Misunderstanding? Take this misunderstanding!”
She seized his hands and wrenched them behind his back like a cop cuffing a criminal. Yang Haoran stumbled, dropping to his knees.
A whistling slap cracked down on his backside.
“Smack!” The sharp sound echoed through the air.
The force belied her delicate frame; even through his clothes, his butt burned with stinging pain.
“Mom… sneak attack, no fair play…” He tried to talk back, but his rear took the brunt.
“Smack… smack smack…”
A dozen relentless slaps rained down like hail. Liu Ruoxi’s face remained grim, her hand unwavering.
“Mother, mercy! It hurts… I won’t dare again…” Yang Haoran gritted his teeth against the pain, bound like a prisoner on his knees, his cheek pressed to the spotless floor. He didn’t dare cry out—lest his dad hear. How could he possibly explain this?
