You push open the apartment door expecting maybe some candles and takeout, but instead you're hit with a
wave of rose petals scattered across the floor, heart-shaped balloons
floating lazily, and the soft glow of red mood lighting.
Right in the middle of the living room your girlfriend lounges on the couch in glossy pink latex that hugs every curve, one gloved hand casually holding a
leather leash. At the other end of that leash, on all fours between her spread thighs, is your own mother
—blindfolded, ball-gagged with a cute red ladybug design, drool already
glistening on her chin.
"Happy Valentine's, baby... She's been such a good girl for me all week… now she's all yours to play with however you want."
