The mother adorned with a gilt mask gazed down like an imposing queen, her presence daunting and fearsome.
Yang Haoran steeled himself and said, “Mother, I truly cannot change. Even if you beat me, it won’t make a difference. This is just my nature, and asking me to change is harder than scaling the heavens.”
“From the sound of it, you just want your mother to indulge your perverted desires?”
Yang Haoran’s unyielding, shameless attitude gave Liu Ruoxi a headache. She had already beaten and scolded him, yet now she found herself truly caught in a dilemma.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t satisfy her son’s twisted tastes—as a mother, she could always be more accommodating. The main issue was that Liu Ruoxi didn’t want her son to torment her best friend Shen Qing. She had hoped to reform his nature, but her efforts always ended in failure.
How did I give birth to such a thing?
Liu Ruoxi massaged her forehead in exasperation. Seeing his mother’s resolve waver slightly, Yang Haoran pressed his advantage: “My tolerant and merciful mother, I beg you! I’ll give you time to adjust—please be compassionate and grant your son’s wish!”
“Enough, enough… Stop putting on an act… Looking at you irritates me…” Liu Ruoxi sighed helplessly. “I could never fully agree to this—it’s my bottom line. But if you torment me without going too far, I’ll… silently allow it from now on.”
Regret washed over Liu Ruoxi as soon as the words left her mouth. But it was too late to take them back. Now, she worried about how her son would torture her to satisfy his depraved cravings.
Sure enough, Yang Haoran’s face lit up with excitement upon hearing her words. He could hardly wait to hear his mother whimpering beneath him. He knew she always kept her promises—with this concession, he had taken a step toward making her his human-shaped beauty pet.
Forcing down his exhilaration, he pretended to be obedient and reached out, pinching the exposed nipple of her full, towering breast between his thumb and forefinger. Liu Ruoxi noticed his movement and knew the torment was beginning. Anger stirred within her, mingled with deepening regret over her earlier moment of soft-heartedness.
Frowning tightly, she braced for the sharp pain in her chest.
“Mother, does this hurt?”
Yang Haoran employed his usual tactic, experimentally twisting her delicate, rosy nipple forty-five degrees.
“It’s fine, not too painful.”
Uncertain of her son’s intentions but knowing she couldn’t avoid it, Liu Ruoxi played along, wanting to see if he would cross the line. If he went too far, she would have grounds to retract her earlier agreement.
“How about this? Does it hurt now?”
Yang Haoran twisted her nipple another ninety degrees. The alluring nipple was cruelly contorted into a knot of flesh, even slightly distorting the surrounding areola. Watching his mother’s pained expression, he immediately stopped.
“It hurts now… let… let go.”
Liu Ruoxi’s brow furrowed deeply, her voice trembling slightly, her exquisite face a mask of agony.
Seeing his mother in pain, Yang Haoran felt both distress and a strange, rising pleasure. It was a peculiar sensation—he pitied her, yet he immensely enjoyed tormenting her. He quickly said, “Mother, hold on for ten seconds. If it hurts, you can scream.”
Liu Ruoxi was too preoccupied to respond. The searing pain in her breast made her delicate body quiver faintly. Hearing her son’s seemingly concerned words, she shot him a cold glare. Seeing his smiling face, his eyes slightly narrowed as if reveling in her suffering, she gritted her teeth and endured, wishing she could thrash him right then—and slap her earlier soft-hearted self twice.
The sight of his mother, forced to endure torment tinged with anger, gave Yang Haoran an intense sense of conquest. His scalp tingled; this drug-like ecstasy intoxicated him.
Liu Ruoxi had never imagined ten seconds could feel so long. As the moment passed, she glared at her son. Yang Haoran fawned obsequiously: “Mother, I didn’t use too much force. See, this level is just right. Let’s take it slow, you and I.”
“What else do you want?” Liu Ruoxi’s tone carried a cold edge, though it sounded more defiant than genuine. Yang Haoran knew his mother well—if she were truly angry, she would already be reaching for her whip. Clearly, she was still within her limits. He smiled; the thrill of humiliating his mother was irresistible.
It was like dancing at the edge of a cliff.
Right under his mother’s watchful eyes, he tugged down the garment covering her other ample breast. Instantly, both of her towering, voluptuous breasts swayed into view—their deep cleavage, smooth silvery skin, and perfectly rounded fullness were mesmerizing, a testament to their magnificent and flawless form.
Liu Ruoxi’s cheeks flushed, but she maintained a composed demeanor under her son’s heated gaze, allowing him to look his fill at her exposed chest. She had an idea of what he intended next.
Smack!
Without warning, Yang Haoran slapped his mother’s lofty, snow-white breast. Immediately, the pale flesh trembled and swayed like colliding waves, rippling with movement. The undulating curves looked both lewd and tantalizing.
“Mother, does this hurt?”
“It’s fine.”
“How about now?”
Smack!
This time, Yang Haoran used seventy percent of his strength. The obscene scene repeated itself—the quivering white flesh swayed uncontrollably, taking six or seven seconds to gradually settle.
“It hurts a bit…” Liu Ruoxi straightened her spine, supporting her swaying breasts as she felt the pain, her brow furrowed.
Her face was flushed crimson. Though her expression remained calm, Yang Haoran detected shame in her eyes—clearly, presenting her breasts for him to slap humiliated her.
Yang Haoran didn’t point it out, lest she become angry. Instead, he said with a smile, “Mother, you’ll have to offer up these big breasts regularly from now on for me to slap, understand?”
His tone was full of mockery and smugness, instantly filling Liu Ruoxi with shame and indignation. She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the urge to beat him, silently repeating to herself: I gave birth to him, I gave birth to him…
As if hypnotized, Liu Ruoxi noticed her son watching her with nervous apprehension, as if afraid she would refuse. This made her feel considerably better. She nodded slightly and said, “Alright,” agreeing to this humiliating treaty.
She needed to gradually acclimate to her son’s training to prepare for what was to come.
Delighted, Yang Haoran said to Liu Ruoxi, “Mother, say it: ‘My big breasts are a pair of lewd tits—they grew so large just for my son to torment.'”
“Yang Haoran, are you pushing your luck?” Liu Ruoxi’s eyes narrowed coldly, her voice icy.
“Okay, okay… We won’t say it.” Yang Haoran knew when to stop, afraid of angering his mother into ending their game.
He understood she was putting on a stern face deliberately. The so-called “third time’s the charm” didn’t apply here—his mother still had some dignity to maintain.
The understanding between mother and son was unspoken. Liu Ruoxi’ earlier submission had pleased Yang Haoran; now, his backing down allowed her to reclaim some face.
“That’s enough for tonight. You may leave.” Liu Ruoxi issued her dismissal.