OVA 2: No Fuck No Life (Part 2)

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, harem master.

Your quest for quiz bowl greatness hits some snags, like all the best plans always do.

The problem is: not all of this has happened before. You know the basic contours of history but it varies in the details. That's why, although you're at the same national tournament you rollicked through in the previous universe, you don't have a guaranteed path to victory in this one. You and Rose recognize some of the questions, yes, but the vast majority are different. You can't rely on past experience to see you through. You have to use good old-fashioned quiz nerdery instead.

So as the second and far more grueling day of matches marches onward, the competition becomes stiffer. You have a particularly close scrape with a school from Montana at the end of the pools stage, emerging victorious 5,520-4,590. For any other team, a win by nearly 1k points would be seen as a drubbing. For the Mindbreakers, who have made a habit of shutting the opposition out entirely, it's a bit close for comfort.

Some of the fault lies on you. There's the special present you gave to Vivian to wear today, for example -- let's call it an undergarment served extra creamy -- that left her less focused on answering questions and more focused on vacantly squeezing her thighs together and drooling, looking a bit like the mindbroken mind of your team's logo.

Then there's the special game you played with Rose and Whitney, who were seated on either side of you during the match -- let's call it mutual dual-wielding underneath the podiums -- which left the three of you somewhat distracted, too.

Actually it was Alex and, surprisingly, Hank, who scored a lot of the points in that match, and kept disaster at bay (thank god for questions about big game hunting). But the experience of "nearly" losing has left the team chastened -- plus also Ms. Carte afterwards, hammering the point home by beating you all about the head and neck, backstage:

"How many times do I have to tell you little shits?!" She shouts. "Quiz now! Dick later!"

"Am I missing something?" Mr. Langley asks, oblivious as always.

"This team needs discipline! Things are only going to get harder from here on out!"

"Harder... how wonderful..." Vivian mutters, eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Her big sister has to keep her steady with an arm looped over her shoulder.

"You don't have to beat us, ma," Whitney grouses as she keeps Vivian from fainting. "We hear you loud and clear. Less handies during matches."

"Fewer," you correct.

"NO handies during matches!" Ms. Carte clarifies. She wheels, pointing at Vivian. "And you! Change your underwear! You smell like an oyster farm!"

Vivian, woozy, slurs: "Will you change them for me?"

Ms. Carte makes a disgruntled purr that actually sounds like "grrr," then grabs Vivian by one wrist. "Come with me," she barks, dragging her in the direction of a nearby restroom.

"Oh, I will..." Vivian promises.

(And she does. Inhuman sounds emerge from that restroom for many minutes hence.)

"Gosh, my Mom is such a freaking Nazi," Whitney says, only when Ms. Carte is well out of earshot. "We won, didn't we? So what's the big deal?"

"She's right, though," Alex says. "The next school is gonna be really tough. We need to keep our eyes on the prize--"

The clack of approaching footsteps on the slick finished concrete ground backstage draws your collective attention. Turning, you see Sable. So she finally decided to show.

"Ms. Guiteau...?" Alex marvels, clearly unable to believe what he's seeing. But he's really seeing her, in all her mismatched spats-with-pants, labcoat-with-tie, mussed-hair glory, this strange nigh-bipolar woman he idolizes.

"Am I too late?" She asks, looking from face to face. "Have you already lost?"

"What?" Alex says. "No -- we -- just won our last match... what are you doing h--"

Sable cuts him off by shoving a small wrapped package to chest. "Take this," she demands.

Alex, hesitantly taking the package foisted upon him, examining the snowmen and penguins on the wrapping paper, can only sputter: "Ch-Christmas...?"

"No."

"...A present for winning the game?" He asks.

"No."

"..."

"Birthday," Sable says. Her voice is so soft as to be nearly inaudible. She's crimson.

"My birthday was last m--"

"Shut up!" Sable shouts, face contorting in anger. "Shut up!"

"Do you... want me to open it?" Alex asks, timid.

Sable balls her fists and stomps. "Of course I do! Why would I give you a gift I don't want you to open!"

Alex begins to tear at the paper. Sable's wrapping is a complete botch job, with the seams uneven, the folds thick and bulky, and bits of scotch tape adhered in odd places. Alex has trouble getting in. But when at last he has one end of the package shredded enough to reach inside, he slides the little box of gourmet chocolates out.

He doesn't recognize the name stamped on the box, but you do: Alegio, a high-end chocolatier out of Palo Alto, once a favorite of Rose's back when you had your billions. That Sable would splurge her meager teacher's salary on such an extravagant gift is...

"Chocolate," Alex mutters.

"You had better not lose here," Sable warns him. "If you lose this tourmaline after abandoning our robotics team, I will--"

Whatever threat Sable had in store is lost the moment Alex tenderly hugs her. He wraps his arms around her waist, still clutching the box of chocolates, and nuzzles her chest. Sable, clearly unsure what to do with her own hands, startles, and stares down at him.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Guiteau... this means so much to me! We'll all do our best!"

When he pulls back, Sable is blushing even more madly than before. As Alex opens the box's lid and surveys the bonanza of chocolate within, he does the only thing he can think to: he offers to share. "Would you like some, too, Ms. Guiteau?"

"No. I hate chocolate."

"O-oh," Alex says, a bit deflated. "Well... thanks again, anyway. I love chocolate."

"I know you do. That's why I got them," Sable says -- then snatches the box from him.

Alex squeaks in surprise.

"I see a couple white chocolates in here," she says. "I do like those." She takes one of the bonbons out, and bites into it, leaving a little strand of the raspberry filling to drizzle down her bottom lip. She hands the box back to Alex then, who happily takes a peanut butter cup for himself and eats it with her.

For that moment, with their mouths full, they just silently enjoy one another's company.

Sable spends the rest of the tournament as a spectator, perched at the very front row. She even wears a pink Mindbreakers shirt like the others.

"Gimme an M!" Rose shouts, waving her pom poms to one side.

By this late stage of the tournament, none of your friends and loved ones are enthused by Rose's pre-game cheerleader act. The only person to respond to her call for an M is Sable, and only because she probably thinks she's obliged to:

"M," she says robotically.

"Gimme an I!"

"I," Sable says.

"I can't heeeeearrrrr yooooouuuuu!" Rose calls, cupping a pom-pom to her ear and leaning way in.

"...I."

"I still can't heeeeeearrrrr youoooouuuuu!" (Rose nearly loses her balance trying to lean in even further, and has to windmill her arms to stay standing.)

"...I."

Rose pouts, be-pommed hands on her hips. "You guys have no team spirit! What the hecky!"

"Sit down, honey," Mom tells her. "Root for your brother with the rest of us."

Rose, still pouting, blows a bang from her face. "Hmmph."

"I have team spirit," Sable insists, sounding a bit hurt. She looks at Mom. "I have team spirit, don't I?"

"Of course you do," Mom says.

Rose plops down in her seat, still clearly upset. Sable turns to her. "Say. Would you like to cheer for our FIRST Robotics team next month?" She asks.

"Oh no," Cerise cuts in, suddenly haunted by visions of Rose's cringe-inducing cheering following her for the subsequent weeks leading up to that event. Rose's caterwauling practice every night in preparation for this tournament, conducted in her bedroom adjoining Cerise's, was enough. Cerise can't bear any more. "We don't need a cheering section in Vegas--"

"Yes we do," Sable says. "We need to broaden our appeal beyond only the intelligent."

"I'd be totally honored to help out!" Rose says, having obviously missed that last bit.

"Thank you, young lady," Sable says. Cerise looks like she already has PTSD, as she contemplates more sleepless nights listening to Rose practice.

Your margins of victory grow thinner and thinner. But that's no problem -- winning is winning, whether by 10,000 points or 100 points. You're still confident.

And although the contours of history can vary in the details, some parts remain fated. In the grand championship, you go up against that magnet school from New York and their showboating little shit of a team captain.

To strike the fear of God into that shitter, you do a little showboating of your own, when the host comes by to interview you before the game.

"It all hinges on this match, Alabaster," he says. "What would you say is your gameplan tonight?"

"Well, my gameplan is to win," you say simply, with a smug grin.

"Confident!" The host says. "...Overconfident?"

"Not at all. We've been prepping for this moment all year. We know we're going to win."

Your teammates nod along in agreement.

"And -- it's more than that," you add. "More than winning, that is. Because it's not enough for me to succeed--"

But the host takes the microphone back from you and turns towards the other team's captain.

"And you, Ji? What's your gameplan?"

"My gameplan is also to win," he says, from behind his dorky spectacles and buck teeth and pimply face and button-down shirt and khakis. "May the best mind come out on top." Fucking asshole.

"The host didn't let me finish..." you mutter, aggrieved.

"It's okay, honey," Rose says soothingly. "You'll get another shot." Behind that smile of hers is a hatred of the rival team to surpass even your own. The thing you love most about Rose is that when you truly hate something, she truly hates it too.

"Stop calling him 'honey,'" Whitney says. "It's creepy. You'd think you two were married."

When the match begins, it becomes immediately apparent that you've gotten more than you bargained for. Your rival captain is quicker on the buzzer than you. So are all his teammates. Quicker than they were even in 421. Quick enough to beat out not only you and Rose but the dork all-star team, the dork dream team, the dork MVPs. On this lavishly lit stage in the sleepy city of Boise, watched on by nearly everyone you care about, you're getting trounced. And it isn't close.

"COBOL is an acronym for what?" Common Business-Oriented Language, answers one of the Marduk Acaemdy Nerves, before Alex can buzz in. He hides his face in shame from the teacher who came a thousand miles to watch him.

"Of all integers larger than 5 and smaller than 90, what is the largest integer relatively prime to 422?" The answer, an asthmatic manlet from the Nerves shouts loud enough to make him wheeze, is 89. A question that's a complete layup, Rose tells you in anger at herself, although you're not so sure.

"Who scored the winning goal in the 1999 FIFA Women's World Cup?"

For the first time all tournament, Whitney answers. Or tries to. She's pounding her buzzer so hard you think the thing will explode in a shower of plastic shards. But the buzzer on the other side of the stage registers first, lighting up with a steady blue glow: Ji Shin himself is ready to respond.

"Goddamn it!" Whitney howls. "But I know this one! I totally know it!"

"We ask that all contestants please keep calm," the host chides.

"I know it, though--"

"Brandi Chastain," Ji says.

"Correct. 500 points to the Nerves."

"FUCK!" Whitney howls, even louder.

"Any further outbursts and you will be ejected from the competition," the host intones.

Fuel to the fire: Ms. Carte shouts from the audience, hands cupped to her mouth, "try it, you little bitch! Try to kick her out and see what happens!"

But what actually sobers the host, it seems, is the truly frightening expression the mute David Darkbloom, sitting beside Ms. Carte, wears. Seeing that glare, the host tugs at his collar, gulps -- and then play continues.

"Who wrote Ballad of the Goodly Fere?" Ezra Pound, answers not Vivian, but a 300 pound simulacra of Vivian on the Nerves' side of the aisle, a greasy girl in a too-small dress.

Not even Hank can get a lick in. "Plugs, jigs, spinners, spoons, and flies are all examples of what?" Fishing lure, apparently -- but Ji Shin grabs the bait first, and answers correctly.

In the second half of the championship match, you and Rose adopt a bold strategy of play: you buzz in at the first possible instant, no matter what, relying not on your recall but on your reaction time. The reason it's a bold strategy is because wrong answers penalize the team. And although you sacrifice some points, it pays dividends: together, you claw the Mindbreakers back to within spitting distance of the win.

The 422nd scenario giveth, and the 422nd scenario taketh away. You hammered oology back into Whitney's brain in preparation for this moment. But the final question, the one that can bridge the 400-point gap remaining between your teams, is not "what is the study of eggs commonly called?" -- but rather: "What is the study of time commonly called?"

Whitney doesn't buzz in. So you do. You don't know the answer.

"...Fuck," you heave.

The announcer frowns. "I ask once again that you please refrain from using foul language."

"Just -- give me a second..." you plead.

"You have five seconds," the announcer says.

You could be given a billion seconds. You still don't know the answer. So you take a stab in the dark: "Temporology?"

"Sorry," the host says. That's 500 points down the drain, and with it all hope of your win. "Nerves -- you have a chance to steal."

Ji Shin, the FUCKING COCKSUCKER, buzzes in, even though his team has already won. "Horology," he says, triumphant.

The announcer replies with a cold stare. But over the course of a few moments his steely expression breaks into a Cheshire grin.

"Congratulations!"

An uproar of adulation and applause from the crowd. But not for you. Confetti streaming down from the rafters. But not for you.

The Mindbreakers have lost it all, right at the very end.

Your friends and loved ones crowd the stage to palliate the sting of defeat, while simultaneously the friends and loved ones of the Nerves crowd the stage to celebrate along with them.

As the shock of not coming out on top rapidly subsides, you find yourself feeling strangely... zen.

You lock eyes with Rose, and shrug. Winning isn't everything. It was an experience anyway -- a better experience, even, than the time you did win this tournament so many eons ago.

If only the others could say they felt the same way. Vivian is openly sobbing, and Charlotte has to physically restrain Whitney from charging the rival team and single-handedly beating them to a pulp. Sable, in a burst of speed you didn't think she was capable of, jumps on top of Alex and prevents him from fleeing the stage in shame; together with Cerise, she hugs him and promises better times ahead at the national robotics competition in Vegas in a few weeks. Ms. Carte is so shellshocked she's mute and ashen-faced, like a researcher exposed to Lovecraftian cosmic horrors; Darkbloom requires a tissue from Mom to hide his tear-stained face and preserve what little dignity remains to him. Mr. Langley is the best-composed, on balance; he's glum, but masks it by asking your little sister: "C'mon, Rosie -- give us one last cheer."

Rose, voice hoarse, and face dripping tears of her own, sniffles and says: "Gi... give... give me a -- an M--" and then dissolves into horrible weeping, burying her face in the multicolored pompoms.

"Don't be sad, everyone," you tell them. "We had fun. Didn't we? That's what counts."

"Second best in the whole country ain't too bad!" Hank agrees, but you can tell it's a put-on.

"We should cherish our memories," Rose tries. "The time we all had together here--"

"Oh, fucking BULLSHIT," Whitney shouts. "Shut the fuck up!"

"This is the worst day of my entire existence..." Vivian snivels, wiping the snot from her nose with the back of her wrist.

You sigh. Such drama queens in your harem. Oh well. You'll make them feel better on the ride(s) back.

The camera crews are already surrounding the winning team, and you figure it's probably time to move on. "I guess we should be headed back to the--" you begin. But whatever train of thought you had is derailed, the moment you see... her.

Rose notices her at the same time. Her breath catches. She clasps a hand to her chest, and takes a stumbling, shrinking step backwards.

Qiangxiang Xi has climbed up onto the stage, and is walking towards you.

"No, no, no..." Rose mumbles, shaking her head violently, wrenching her eyes closed; trying to wish the nightmare away.

Your heart is palpitating, your mouth is dry. You're literally shaking. You never truly comprehended what it meant when veterans spoke of getting war flashbacks; now you do. So many horrible images are flashing through your mind that you're paralyzed, stopped dead in place, unable even to scream. You want to vomit, to pass out, to run -- you can do nothing.

Right now, in the year 2015, Qiangxiang cannot be much older than 11 or 12. She looks even younger than that. But the all-consuming fear she strikes in your heart is as real as anything, no matter her age or looks.

The others around you are so consumed with their own small-fry worries that they don't notice the panic that has suddenly gripped both you and Rose.

When at last you find the strength to move, you step forward, not back, to interpose yourself between the people you love and this utter psychopath walking towards you with obviously ill intent. Rose joins you, ready to strike, too. Ready to murder this child in public, if needs be. You'd do it in a heartbeat, without remorse. You both would.

But Qiangxiang isn't walking towards you, after all. She's walking towards the game's host -- and in her hands is a sheaf of papers.

She beckons for the host's attention. He has to stoop pretty low, to hear her over the din of the crowd. She whispers something in his ear, something you can't hear.

The Nerves' captain, finally noticing her too, breaks away from his hangers-on and starts to curse at her in Mandarin. Qiangxiang is not fazed in the slightest. When Ji starts to stride towards her, an older Chinese man steps to him and pushes him firmly back with a palm to his chest -- a man you recognize from Rose's old oppo research document as Qiangxiang's late father. Not-so-late, in this version of the universe, as it turns out.

As Qiangxiang whispers into the host's ear, the host's eyes go wide. He steps back from her, peering at her disbelievingly. Qiangxiang nods, and hands him the papers.

---

An agonizingly long review period follows. The victory celebration for Marduk Academy is put on hold as the moderators and judges go over the evidence. An hour, two hours, three hours pass; the crowd at the Morrison Center thins, leaving only some scattered press, including ESPN-3 (+/- 1). The air on your side of the stage is bated hope; on the Nerves' side, fittingly enough, agitated nervousness.

Finally the host appears again from backstage, tugs at his bow tie, and announces haltingly into the microphone:

"Folks, we've gotten some late-breaking evidence of cheating. It seems that questions and answers were illicitly sent to the team from Marduk Academy prior to the tournament. We have reviewed the evidence and believe these accusations to be founded. In light of this -- unfortunate revelation -- we are left with no choice but to disqualify the Nerves, and name the second-place team, North High's Mindbreakers, the champions."

Immediately upon the host's declaration of your default victory, Whitney pumps her fists and screams: "WOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOO! EAT IT, FUCKERS! EAT MY ASS!"

Ms. Carte is similarly overjoyed. As Whitney turns around, moons the Nerves and spanks her own ass -- Ms. Carte grabs either side of Whitney's hips and shakes them so that the globes jiggle. "Eat it!" Ms. Carte mimics. "Eat it!"

"EAT THE WHOLE ENTIRE ASS!"

Rose, the pink one, spontaneously breaks out into song, waving her pompoms spastically: "Miiiiindbreakers, with the guts to thrill! Miiiiiindbreakers, with the brains and will!"

But most of the rest of them, exhausted, are just smiling wanly. Sure, winning isn't everything. But winning is sweet all the same.

You pose for the cameras, hoist the trophy overhead, wave and smile and self adulate.

But you, and Rose too, feel a peptic sourness underneath the facade of joy.

And as you file out of the venue, you pass by the source of your indigestion: Ji Shin, or more properly, Xi Shin -- or more properly still, Shin Xi, a distant cousin of Qiangxiang's -- is shouting angry recriminations at her along with a number of his branch of the Xi family, in the lobby leading to the outside. Qiangxiang's father is defending her, the only one of the Xis willing to do so it appears, shouting back at them, and bodily shielding her small frame from them. You don't understand a whit of the words exchanged, of course, but you don't need language to get what's going on. They're apoplectic that she would betray them by snitching.

Qiangxiang locks eyes with you as you and the others pass. But she stays mute, and only clutches her father's pantleg a bit tighter.

>[x] Ask her why she revealed the rival team's cheating.

[ ] Don't approach her.

Qiangxiang's father whisks her away, striding with her down the semicircular expanse of the lobby towards a set of exit doors on the opposite side. You pause in place, watching them, as Qiangxiang's now-estranged family curses after her. Rose stops with you, too.

"Alabaster..." Rose says softly, taking your hand, and trying to get you to come.

"C'mon," Whitney says, less subtle about it, as she passes you up. Hands on her head with her pits bared to the world, she spins 180 degrees and walks backwards towards the doors, calling after you. "Let's goooo. You don't wanna get the stink of losers all over you. Come get the stink of winners on ya instead~"

"I'll catch up," you tell her. "I, uh-- gotta use the bathroom."

Whitney snorts. "Want me to hold your dick for you?"

You're not sure whether that's sarcastic or genuine. But when you meet her question with silence, she moseys on out with the rest.

You stride towards Qiangxiang and her father, Rose fast on your heels.

"Chloe," you call. "Chloe!"

But of course, here and now, she has no recognition of that name. She and her father keep walking.

"Qiangxiang," Rose says as the two of you draw closer.

She stops, turns. So does her father. He's a grim-faced, imposing man -- and he stands between you and his girl, partially shielding her, just as he did against his own kin.

"I'm... sorry," you begin. "But I just have to ask. Why? Why did you --"

Qiangxiang's father clears his throat. Qiangxiang is still half-hiding behind him. But when he steps aside, she stands straight-spined and confident before you, chin held high.

"They cheated," she says.

"But why did you tell the judges?" You ask. "Isn't the captain... isn't he family of yours?"

"Family or not," Qiangxiang says, "he does not deserve to win if he only can do it by cheating. There is no honor in lies -- or trickery and deceit."

"I... see," you say.

Rose adds, voice quavering: "thank you." And you can tell she really means it. It's a thank you not only for what Qiangxiang did just now. It's a thank you for so much more.

"Alabaster Soliloquy," Qiangxiang says. "You mentioned prior to the start of the match, something... about success. The host interrupted you. It was very rude of him. You said..." She stares at the high-vaulted ceiling, thinking back. "It's not enough for you to succeed..." She looks back down at you. "What was the rest?"

You swallow hard. "No," you say softly. "I was wrong."

Qiangxiang cocks her head.

"It's enough to succeed," you tell her.

"If you do it the right way," Qiangxiang adds.

You nod. "If you do it the right way."

"You played well tonight. You almost beat them even despite their cheating. I was rooting for you the entire time."

You smile at her.

"May we meet again," she says, and departs holding her father's hand.

You hope you never do.

---

As you climb aboard the waiting bus, you immediately notice that someone's missing. You glance around, confused.

"Pff," Whitney chortles. "What, is your gaydar not going off? Is that it?"

"I--" you begin.

"Don't even. You're, like, immediately missing Alex right now. Don't even joke us. Don't even lie."

"Well... where is he?"

"He's riding back to the hotel with his sensei!" Rose tells you, excited.

"In her free-candy rape van and everything," Cerise says with a wry grin. "My boy's growing up... forcibly."

"Cerise!" Rose squeaks from beside her, swatting her shoulder. "You hentai!"

"I will circle of shame you, Rose," Cerise growls, spinning in her seat to glare menacingly at her. "Right here, right now."

"Do it," Rose says, apparently in a cheeky mood after the vicarious high of victory. "You won't."

She will. Cerise gets her in a headlock and gives her a vicious noogie. It's the perennial Cerise special. She's given Rose so many noogies over the years that you're surprised the poor girl doesn't have a permanent bald spot. Rose whines and cries, but doesn't have the strength to get free. And although she pitifully screams, "Mooooommmmm!" -- Mom tacitly ignores it. She accepts that sometimes Rose needs a bit of bullying.

Rose -- err, the other one, the one you're slightly less related to -- walks to the back of the bus and settles down on the gravy-brown plastic bench seat back there. You sit beside her, serenaded by the wailing of your little sister. It makes you hard... you're not sure whether that's a bad thing.

"What's on your mind?" Rose asks. She strokes your arm and leans in. "Are you still upset about-- you know... seeing... her?"

You shake your head. "Actually? I'm thinking more about that, uh... 'free-candy rape van' Sable's got going."

Rose laughs, the tension draining from her face. "You're the worst."

She goes from stroking your arm to stroking your leg. She can already feel the monster there. She surreptitiously glances forward, to check on what the parents are up to; Saul and Charlotte are distracted, gabbing with Mom about something or other, up front.

"We've got an opening," Rose whispers. "Or do you want to go and mark your territory with Alex?"

"You wouldn't be upset?"

Rose laughs again, low and husky. "God. You really are the worst. But no. If you want to go be gay--"

"--I am not gay--"

"If you want to go and be bi-curious, I can bully your little sister instead."

>[x] Go celebrate the win with Alex and Sable.

[ ] Stay and celebrate the win with the Roses.

>[x] Passing Sable between you like a couple of good friends do.

[ ] Passing Alex between you like a good student-teacher duo do.

[ ] Just fuck everyone's shit up, senpai.

>[x] Alabaster and Rose keep predicting the future. It's weirding everyone out.

>[x] Charlotte confronts Alabaster over his intentions with her daughter!

[ ] Mom gets to know this odd Anna girl who Cerise is always hanging out with.

[ ] Sable might regret asking Rose to cheerlead for her...

[ ] Cerise couldn't stay a NEET forever. But is that a good thing or a bad thing?

When the van is a-rockin', you definitely will go a-knockin'. Sable's idling van, sitting at the ass-end of the Morrison Center's parking lot, is humming under the hood and swaying side to side in the back. Cerise wasn't joking around when she said Alex had been spirited away to a rapemobile.

Your knock receives no response. So you knock more insistently -- and this time, you finally get something:

"Go away!"

That would be Alex's voice, and it's gruffer than usual -- the voice of someone in the midst of heavy exertion.

Well, you don't intend to go away. And maybe you were a bit prescient -- the other night, you palmed a spare key to this thing when you were eating dinner in there with Sable. You unlock the van's back doors and swing them open unceremoniously. The dying daylight washes over the rutting pair. It's a sight you hadn't expected, although maybe you should have.

Alex isn't being taken advantage of. He's in control: fucking Sable on top of the mattress in the back of the vehicle. It's not a gentle fuck, either. Sable is on her back, nude, and Alex, equally nude, is lying over her in a missionary. He's holding her wrists above her head as he slams himself in and out of his beloved teacher's beloved cunt. There's a sloppy mess there already, around the union of their bodies, seeping wetly out and back down to the sheets below. You were late to the moment of truth. Alex has already lost his real virginity inside Sable's body. But that hasn't slowed him down one iota. The thing about Alex is that although he's an awful quickshot, he's always got multiple rounded chambered. He can cum himself fucking stupid -- five, six times in a row -- and never miss a beat. Horny bitch.

Of course, he does miss a beat now. So does Sable. When you horn in on this sordid teacher-student mating session, they startle.

"A-Ally--! It's not -- this isn't what you --"

"What are you doing here?! Pervert! Idiot! Get out of my--"

Thinking quick, then, you swoop into the van and close the doors behind you. You push the flat of your palm firmly against the broad side of Alex's back, so that he can't dismount. Alex grits his teeth and gasps. The globes of his butt go deliciously firm and taut. This is a shock to him: your barging in, and the forcefulness of your silent command to keep going. That, plus the way Sable's vain attempt to wriggle free from underneath him only succeeds in humping herself against his still-erect dick... it's too much to withstand. The look of surprise on his face melts away -- the dopey grin of sexual pleasure replaces it.

When you're sure he'll keep on fucking, you let go of him, and circle the pair. You sit on your knees beside Sable's head.

Sable looks reproachfully up at you, even as Alex continues to use her fuckhole for selfish relief. "What -- are you doing here--?" She chokes in between thrusts.

"I'm just here to watch the show," you say. "Maybe jump in and fuck you too."

"Oh, please!" Sable says. "You're a homosexual. You wouldn't be able to get it up!"

"What makes you think I'm a homosexual?" You ask, playing confused.

"I know what you and Alex get up to! You and he are complete--"

Sable's eyes go wide as you begin to stroke her cheek.

"Sable..." you say gently.

"F-for the last time! Call me Ms. Guit--"

You smack one of her little tits, making her jolt. The pale skin turns quickly red where you struck her. Your voice is a lot rougher now: "Sable. Shut up. I'm gonna fuck you."

You glance up at Alex, to gauge his reaction. You might be taking quite a commanding role here, but you wouldn't carry through with this promise if you didn't have his approval -- or Sable's for that matter, although she's a lot more difficult to read. Anyway, Alex's eyes glimmer in delight. He laughs, not a little cruelly, as he fucks at a frenzied, squelching pace. "Heee... Ally, you're so dirty."

That's good enough for you. You ditch your pants and toss them aside. Your boxer-briefs, you keep on. You loop the crook of your arm around Sable's head, gripping the side of her face the way you might palm a basketball. Settling down to your butt, draw her towards your lap, and the enormous tent poking up there.

"I dunno," you tell her. "Seems like I got it up just fine."

She tries to pull off of you, but it's no use. You keep her firmly rooted there, her nose pressed straight up against your shaft. Only the thin wet cotton of your underwear separates her. The effect is powerful, and nearly instant -- as your manly scent wafts through her nostrils, she can't help but go just a little glassy-eyed. This in combination with the full-force strokes that Alex delivers, work together to dissolve the token resistance she tried to put up.

"There we go," you say. You pet her. "See? We can all get along."

Gripping her next by her hair, you nudge her face upwards and downwards, to rub it against your leaky dick. It doesn't take very long before she's doing it of her own free will, without you guiding her through the motions -- although whether she realizes that is another story. She turns her pretty face this way and that, coating her cheeks, lips, nose and forehead with your precum.

Meanwhile, Alex is blowing another load. You can actually hear the additional volume of cum he deposits, sloshing around inside Sable's tight pussy and getting frothed up by his pulsing dick. Then of course there's Alex's shrill whine, the same one he makes every time he cums. "Ahh-- aahhhnn~~" -- followed by the increased pace of his humping as he milks the cum out of his dick. The jiggle of his cute ass is a nice accompaniment to these lewd noises and sensations.

"Have you ever sucked cock before?" You ask Sable.

"Yes," Alex says leeringly, on Sable's behalf, as his orgasm subsides and he resumes the less frantic rhythm he had before. "She sucks me all the time... after school... or sometimes even during..."

How interesting. So the Sable of 422 is just a little less domineering -- or maybe she has an oral fixation this time around. Well, if the shoe fits: "let's put that mouth to the test," you say.

You pull your cock out of the fly of your underwear. Sable's previously docile eyes bulge in apparent disbelief. It was obvious enough that you were big -- but this big... she's got some new doubts about the geometry here, clearly. Too fucking bad for her.

"Show me how you suck on Alex," you tell her.

"Y- you're crazy," Sable says.

"That's awfully rich, coming from you," you say. You slap her a few times with your cock, enjoying the way her supple flesh gives and quickly bruises under the assault. "Don't make me force you. Suck my dick."

Sable makes a little mewl, from the back of her throat, one that melds hesitance with lust. You keep idly slapping her face with your cock... it's always fun to beat a girl with your manhood. Alex releases her wrists. She uses her newly freed hands, both of them, to immediately clasp your twitching penis down by the base. The bulbous, spongy head, she gives a few appreciative sniffs -- to get high on your smell directly from the source. And then at last she dives in. She wraps her lips around your cockhead, and sucks.

Alex was telling the truth. She's had practice, and a lot of it. Her wet lips slide across your foreskin and her tongue swirls around inside it. You haven't showered since last night; she scoops up whatever residue of stale cum and piss remains leftover from the day. She does it without reserve -- savoring the taste, in fact. She swallows it all down to the back of her throat, and in return salivates like a broken fountain, coating your prick in viscous lube. As her gullet expands and she envelops your length with her hot, sloppy mouth, you let out an almost agonized groan of relief. It's been too long, way too long, without the sexual service of this crazy bitch. It's good to be back.

Alex is really hammering away. He grips the sheets on either side of Sable's head and hunches his back as he works her over. He keeps his eyes fixed on the obscene sight of Sable's bulging cheek as she swallows up your cock.

"Do you ever fuck her throat?" You ask.

"Uh-huh..." Alex gulps.

"Great. I wanna try it too."

Sable shakes her head no, but who cares? You swing your legs over her face, straddling her. You grip her by her hair, firmly, with both hands. Between that iron grip you exert and your thighs pressing against her cheeks, she's pinned.

"Open up," you tell her. She has no choice -- she opens up. And with that, you begin to fuck her.

Sable's tight esophagus is a joy to screw, and she hardly gags at all. Her tongue, a bit longer than the average person's, snakes around your horny cockshaft and services it as you fuck her. You feel your face contorting in pleasure as you stare at the low ceiling and hump away. Slimy spittle goes flying, and behind you, you can hear Alex's girlish squeals as he gets off with you.

This first round is merely to take the edge off. The sight of such a woman as Sable getting so degradingly used has put you on a hair trigger. You knew right away that you were going to bust quick. And you do. Your nuts tighten, then comes the joyous race of sperm up your urethra as you seed Sable's throat like a pussy. Although she didn't gag much from getting her gullet pounded out, having half a pint of jizz pumped in it without warning is enough to choke her. She coughs and sputters as you dump your load. You don't loosen your grip on her head at all, nor do you modulate the speed of your throatfuck. You milk it all out, and let her worry about her gagging. It's her problem -- not yours.

When you're all done and pull off her head, she coughs, croupy and hard. A little spray of frothed-up sperm goes flying in an arc, upwards, and then back across her sweaty face. Her deep red hair is matted by spit and fuckslop, and stuck in places to her glossy features. She's breathing ragged. And her eyes are full of anger.

"Yoooouuuu MOTHERFUCKER!" She shrieks. "How DARE you--!! Piece of shit! Stupid fucking faggot!"

You fish-hook her with your index finger to shut her up. "I don't know how you put up with this," you tell Alex, who's still banging her.

"She's fun..." Alex insists. Then: "nnnf~~" as he deposits another creamy load inside her. Her nuzzles her neck, then works his lips northward, towards her messy face. You pull your finger out of Sable's mouth so he can kiss her properly. He licks your jizz up from her cheeks, and out of her mouth. Sable kisses him back. Under his tender ministrations, her rage immediately dissipates. They make out like the lovebirds you suppose they are, Sable moaning sweetly into him, as they share your cum. It messes Alex's face up too, but he hardly cares.

"Roll over once, huh?" You prompt him.

"Hmmm?" He says between kisses.

"Roll over. Let's fuck her at the same time."

Alex, the pervert, is perfectly happy with the concept. And Sable, newly docile again, is too. She helps, as Alex gets onto his back, and the two shift into a reverse missionary. Alex suckles sweetly on her nipples as she slides up and down on his dick.

You spread Sable's ass cheeks apart and take some time to admire that soft-looking, brown ring of her anus. Tight as a drum though it looks, you can somehow tell it's no stranger to toys and fingers... Sable may be a bit more into oral in this timeline, but you know that she's still a dyed-in-the-wool buttslut. That's Sable and Alex for you. A couple of horny buttsluts.

You spit, a long thin strand that lands squarely on Sable's hungrily twitching asshole. With a thumb, you smear it in -- and this produces, by a wide margin, the most pleasurable moan of the evening so far. Oh yeah. She likes it up the ass, all right.

"Alabaster..." she says. Her voice is hoarse. "Go slow... I've never had anything that big -- inside me, back there..."

You pet her tenderly. "You'll get used to it."

"I'll--"

You spread her cheeks as far as they'll go and thrust your prick past the rubbery ring. You missed it so much... the wet, unbearably tight confines of Sable's anal chute. Even with just your cockhead inside, it's enough to make you want to nut. And with Alex's chode of a dick inside her slickened vaginal chute, the tightness is doubled. It takes real effort to get any more than the squishy head inside her ass. Sable, her scrawny body sandwiched between the two of you, is not having an easy time. Her senses are in overdrive. Still choking a bit on the thick wad you deposited in her throat, with Alex nursing on her little titties and his cock sawing in and out of her pussy; plus you, forcing your fucking monster past the pucker of her butthole and up into the depths of her guts... she can't focus on any single thing. She's completely overwhelmed, inundated by conflicting impulses of pain and pleasure. That's why she suddenly cums -- hard and wet, all over Alex's cock. You hear the splashy splatter of it, and smell the sweet tang of her feminine ejaculation.

You kind of regret that you never got the chance to do this before. Sable is a small woman where it counts: her holes might be smooth and slippery, but they're brutally vicelike. With you and Alex DP'ing her, the effect is just like sharing an onahole, only this one is living -- and making all sorts of delighted, pained noises while you get off in her. Centimeter by centimeter you slip ever deeper into her bowels. Through the thin membrane separating her ass and cunt, stretched so taut you halfway worry it'll snap, you can feel Alex's dick. Just like your dick, his is buzzing with electric pleasure, and he wears an expression of fucked-out bliss on his face. He's not always such a bottom bitch. He likes to dominate a slut, too.

"Ally... I think she likes it in the butt... huh?"

You smile deviously. You sweep Sable's hair back over her shoulders, gathering it into a ponytail. Using the ponytail as a handle to yank her head back, forcing her to look you in the eye, you sneer at her: "Well, bitch?"

"Yes... yes!" Sable moans.

As a reward, you fuck her ass harder. You don't loosen your grip on her hair. The effect is to yank cruelly on her head and neck as you rail her.

Alex laughs again. "I knew that, though... she always makes me rim her... Ms. Guiteau is reee-eeeally slutty..."

Pulling even harder on her hair, you lean across her back, and around it, to kiss her. You swap spit as you pound her asshole with full-force strokes.

"Fuck my ass..." she moans against your lips, delirious. "Fuck it, you fucking bastard..."

As if on cue, you and Alex cum almost at the same instant. First him, and then you, in rapid succession. The sheer volume of this dual cum-load, getting jizzed into both of Sable's lower holes, makes her dizzy with perverted relief. What a lucky girl, getting cummed inside so much. Her eyes roll back and she almost loses consciousness. When you let go of her ponytail, she flops limply to her stomach atop Alex, who hugs her with his lithe arms and fucks the rest of his cum into her like that. You do the same, fucking her from above. Just a couple of friends sharing some holes.

But if Sable thought she was done servicing you, she was wrong. You've only just begun. Next, you sit side-by-side with Alex, against the van's sidewall, legs splayed out before you. Your cock, tall and proud; his, thick and meaty, jut out from between your laps. Sable, all three of her fuckholes leaking sperm, looks from dick to dick.

"Get to work," you tell her.

"Yeah, Ms. Guiteau..." Alex says, revealing more of his inner sadist. "Don't make us wait."

You do all sorts of terrible things to her. You make her suck her own ass off your cock, while Alex evilly fingers her butt. You make her rim you both, while you rub your nuts and cocks in her already ruined hair, using it for a jizzrag. You spitroast her, and DP her again, and fuck her throat while plugging her nose, competing to see whether one of you can make her pass out. There was something in the air tonight, something that told you Sable really needed to be humiliated, maximally. Alex feels it too. And although her eyes burn with rage at times, although she sometimes starts to scream and holler; all it takes is Alex slapping her in the face, then following it up with the sweetest of kisses, to calm her. He's got a way with her, you have to admit. He can flip her switch back and forth at will. He delights in doing just that. Driving her bonkers, then bringing her back from the edge of insanity. And all the while, he uses her body to get his cock off... you do, too. She's your communal cock-dump tonight, and she knows it.

But probably the favorite game you play with Alex, in terms of using Sable's body for relief, is this. Sitting side-by-side again, you make Sable go back and forth between the two of you. First she sits on your prick, taking it to the hilt inside her asshole. You hump her brutally for a few thrusts before you push her off you and it's Alex's turn. The process repeats: she sits in his lap, their slender bodies pressed together, and he fucks her silly for some brief moments. Then he shoves her off like she's nothing, and she has to crawl back to you for more. It's a wonderfully depraved way to share her. It keeps you both from cumming for a very long time, and it keeps her from ever getting used to the abuse. Every time she switches partners, her anus has just enough time to seal back up before the other of you is breaking it open again. It's such a painful way, a deliciously painful way, to do her anally.

And she loves it. The more she bounces between your waiting cocks, the wetter her dark pink cunt gets. Soon she's rubbing orgasms out of it as she bounces willingly up and down on you. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth, and you take turns sucking on it for added perversion. She presses and gropes her own sensitive tits, cums and cums and cums.

To cap it all off, comes this. You lie on your back amid your commingled fluids on the bedspread. You get Sable on top of you, belly to belly. Alex takes his spot above her. But this isn't a typical DP. You're both going to use her asshole this time.

When Sable realizes your intent, she gasps. "N-no-- wait-- that's too much!"

"No it isn't," you say.

"You can take it," Alex adds.

"No... please..." she's almost crying in panic.

"Stop it," Alex says. He nips her earlobe. He whispers sweetly, "you want it, Ms. Guiteau... just shut up and be our dicksleeve, okay?"

She shivers, but she doesn't try and stop you.

Here's another thing you missed dearly. Using a hole in tandem with Alex. The same hole -- nudging your dicks together and frotting as you get off inside a wet, hot dicksleeve. Synthetic, bunny, or human, it doesn't matter. It all feels the same to your cocks. And it feels fucking good. You might break Sable apart in doing so... but that's a small price pay... and she kind of wants to break on your dicks, anyway.

"Ally-- your dick is so big--" Alex moans.

"Yours, too," you say. "And-- she's so tight--"

"Uh huh," Alex agrees. "Let's cum together!!"

Sable is only half conscious, and can only slur something like "yesssshhhh," which is consent enough.

You cum in unison, again, spraying Sable's anal walls with your sticky seed. It feels so good to cum all over the place with Alex, coating your thrusting cocks in your sperm, and messing up the hole you're sharing. Well, Sable accused you of being a homosexual, so you may as well lean into it. At least she gets to enjoy it too. She squirts, her pussy spasming and climaxing without any attention paid to her erect nubbin of a clit. She gets off purely from the bliss of being fucked in the ass. As expected of Sable Guiteau.

Of course, Alex is a bottom at heart. Over the ensuing next few minutes, he eats the nasty creampie out of Sable's asshole, and licks up the fluids from the sheets, your cock, and your belly, too. He just lives to eat cum -- it's his favorite. Sable wears a dreamy smile on her face as she lies on her stomach, and lets Alex gobble it all up from her hole. She might just forgive you both for raping her, if Alex can eat ass like that all the time.

As you get dressed and prepare to depart, they curl up together, still nude, staring deeply into one another's eyes. They kiss -- and then they Eskimo kiss -- guess it's contagious among teacher-student pairings.

"I love you..." Alex tells her.

"I --" Sable says, but stops herself. She glances away, blushing.

"Just fucking say it," you tell her, completely sick of her bullshit, as you pull your jeans back on.

Sable nods tremblingly. "I love you," she says.

Alex cries. Only a little, to his credit.

When you leave them, Alex is sharing a favorite joke of his, the way a normal person might whisper sweet nothings:

"So... this is so cheesy."

"Tell me," Sable prompts.

"Uhh. Two programming students are given two spreadsheet files... each containing... hundreds of tabs. And each tab contains thousands of signed integers. The professor tells them to verify that the two files both contain exactly the same content. The first student is... totally horrified, and says -- he says do we really have to check every single one of these numbers? So the other student says -- well, no... you... only need to check some."

Sable laughs, long and loud. But you're lost.

That's all right. It wasn't for you. You leave the van, and catch an Uber back to the hotel.

---

It's a lazy Sunday. Mom works in the kitchen desserting-for-dinnering. Cerise is out with Gal. Dad's flying a plane to Malaysia. And Rose is with her family. Rose lies curled up beside you on the living room couch. She's tending to her town in New Leaf; you're playing PS3.

Dark Souls II is a hard game. Really hard. Really, really hard.

"Fuck!" You yell, as you die for probably the 50th time today.

"Language, language, language!" Rose chides.

You grunt.

She curls up just a bit tighter, drawing her knees towards her prodigious chest and absentmindedly scratching her thick thigh. You can't help staring at her smooth, unblemished skin and the way her miniskirt rides up.

But enough ogling your own little sister. It's game time. You turn your focus back towards the TV screen -- but this Dragonrider motherfucker just keeps kicking your shit in. You have no idea how to get past him.

"FUCK!" You yell, as you die again.

"Allyyy..." Rose whines. "Your negative energy is so totally a kimochi warui right now."

You grunt.

Cerise was always better at this game than you. You're loath to admit it, but you might need her help, in just a few spots, for this playthrough.

"I'm trying to focus positive energy here," Rose tells you. "I really need Hazel to move into my new town. So positive vibes ONLY! Okay?"

"Hazel?" You say. "That butt-ugly squirrel with a unibrow--"

Rose looks up at you, pouting. "Hazel is a precious little cinnamon bun cupcake and I will NOT listen to you talk smack about her! Hmmph!"

"Who's got the negative vibes now?" You say.

"Hmmph," Rose repeats, more pointedly.

You take another swing at the Dragonrider. Rose is fast coming down from her little spate of anger -- as she usually does -- and soon enough she's grinning happily at her screen as she rearranges her house's furniture. Would that you could say the same for your own mood. Then, injury to injury: you die. Again.

"Fffff-- aaaggghhh--" you groan, consciously trying to keep yourself from cursing in Rose's presence. You take your controller in one hand and beat it repeatedly against the couch cushions to your right.

Rose jumps, frightened. "Ally! Nani the hecky!"

You grunt.

"Geez, Ally. This game makes you so mad... aren't video games supposed to be fun?"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you sneer.

Rose rises partially to her butt, enough to grip the back of the sofa and peer towards the kitchen. Mom is zipping back and forth between the stovetop, the kitchen's central isle, the fridge, and elsewhere -- working hard on tonight's feast. Rose whips her head back around to glance at you, cotton candy bangs lagging behind, and grins devilishly.

"I -- don't like that look," you tell her.

"You gotta have a little fun, onii-chan..." Rose says, and starts to stroke your leg.

"I REALLY don't like that look--" you say.

The source of your apprehension is this. Mom was okay with brother-sister incest in a universe where she partially remembered a lifetime being someone other than your mother. But how would she react in this universe, if she walked in on you fucking your little sister? This is way too dangerous, even for you.

Rose reaches for your zipper. This causes a renewed jolt of panic -- but you compose yourself, and set your controller aside.

"I... gotta go take a leak," you say, in an attempt to extricate yourself from the situation, beginning to stand.

But Rose pushes insistently down on your upper legs with strength you didn't suspect, and all but forces you to sit again. She lays her head sidewise in your lap. You meet her dewy eyes. Wordlessly, with one forefinger, she presses down on her own squishy cheek, right near her lips.

"You're -- joking --" you stammer.

She shakes her head in an exaggerated way, neon hair going wild with the momentum. Then, still wordlessly, she mashes on her cheek with her forefinger like an impatient person hammering on an elevator's call button.

"God," you breathe.

She unzips your fly. This time, you don't try to stop her. You just nervously glance over your shoulder, back towards the kitchen, to make sure Mom is keeping busy. And she is. She's absorbed in her cooking, has no reason whatsoever to stray into the living room. But she could... and she could see you sitting on the family couch, pissing into your 15 year old sister's mouth.

Rose laughs to herself, a low "hmmm~" when she gets your dick out. Even flaccid, she loves it, its heft and its give. She takes a couple moments to appreciatively squeeze and caress it. But when this adoration quickly makes it start hardening, she gets down to work. She gets her lips around the mushroom tip -- just the tip, pressing it against her bowled tongue. Even taking your tip into her tiny little mouth is enough to distend it, and make the lips slightly blanche. Lying with her head in your lap and your cock firmly rooted in place, she pulls her DS towards her face so she can continue to play. Although now she has to watch the screen from around your meaty shaft, and through a forest of pubes. She obviously doesn't mind -- her eyes glimmer excitedly.

"Mmmf mmf," she goes, in an approving tone, your signal to let loose, you suppose.

You draw some bracing breaths and flex your muscles. The first few dribbles take concerted effort to make come. But once they do come, there's no holding back. Right here in the living room, you're taking a leak inside your imouto's thirsty mouth. It's audible -- so much so, that you worry it will carry all the way into the kitchen and alert your mother -- the hollow echo of your hot pee splashing against the back of Rose's tight wet throat. As you void your bladder, Rose has trouble keeping pace with the flow. Her cheeks bulge like a chipmunk's. To keep from drowning her, you cut the stream off, and give her a moment. She gamely swallows, loud and gulpingly, apparently enjoying the flavor of onii-chan's pee. More than enjoying it -- loving it. She blushes a deep pink and despite the cock filling her mouth, she's smiling as she drinks the nasty liquid down. When you judge she's swallowed everything in her mouth, you start pissing once again, to fill her up a second time. Rose's mouth is extraordinarily small. It fills fast. So it takes multiple cycles of topping off the urinal in her face and letting her swallow it before continuing, until you at last go empty. The rhythm you establish with her draws this disgusting act out, makes it feel all the better. First the sweet agony of cutting off your urine in mid-flow, having to wait for her to catch up. Then, the even sweeter relief, of starting to piss in her mouth again. She guzzles everything without missing a beat. Spills not a single drop. It's beyond amazing, her skill at this new game of hers. You expected it to be horribly messy, but it's as clean as can be; it all goes straight into her hungry tummy. Your little sister is a human toilet par excellence.

When you have no more pee left, Rose lets your semi-erect penis slip out of her mouth, and gives the piss slit an appreciative peck -- like a more wholesome little sister might kiss her big bro on the cheek.

Fear suddenly grips you. You stopped paying attention to the looming danger. You spin your head around and check the kitchen. Whew -- Mom is still in her own little world of culinary delight.

Rose rubs her squishy cheek back and forth across your cock, nuzzling it as she continues to play her DS game. "Aren't you gonna keep playing too, Ally?" She asks.

"Y-yeah..." you grumble.

You begin, again, to play, but Rose's skinship with your prick makes it hard to keep focused. Especially when, apropos of nothing, she says: "you smell goooood~ ... and your dick is so warm, onii-chan..."

You choke. "Be quiet, will you," you hiss.

She giggles dumbly. Regardless of your protests, you're getting hard. "Want me to suck you, too?" Rose asks.

You can't but nod.

Rose twists in place, settling down on her belly. In this position, with her arms across your lap, one on either side of your throbbing dick, she can properly go down on you even as she attends to her mayoral duties in the game. You always thought of her as a dim bulb, but she's got a knack for multitasking, at least in this regard.

Her rotation also makes her skirt ride ever higher -- and you see she wasn't wearing panties. Rose's fat, pale ass is on free display, and you can even see her candy-pink anus.

You try to play your game, you really do, but with a hole that inviting staring you in the face, and her gobbling on your prick, it was never really an option. You reach down, and begin to lewdly finger her butt. Rose giggles in surprise, but doesn't resist. Instead she just wags her hips back and forth, inviting you deeper, making the globes of her ass ripple.

You keep looking back to the kitchen, terrified as hell that you'll be caught. So far, so good. And Rose's excellent fellatio technique, combined with the fleshy, grippy, pliable anus of hers you're molesting, is working to tear down your own higher reasoning faculties. For the next several minutes, there's only that, only the gug-gug, sllck-sllck  noise of Rose sucking on your achingly hard cock like a lollipop. But your ministrations on Rose's rear end have their own effect. You can see how wet it's making her little twat, stippling her thighs with a sheen of arousal. Finally, Rose pulls her mouth off you just long enough to whine: "Allllyyyy... you're teasing me too much!"

"Don't tease your sister!" Mom hollers from the kitchen.

You exhale hard. "Fuck," you mutter.

"Language, language, language," Rose chides.

You keep molesting her asshole. It's impossible not to. She happily kicks her besocked feet, sets the DS down, and grins at you -- as she languidly jerks your prick with one hand.

"Ally... do you need a little bit better dick-service?

You grunt.

She laughs. "Use my cumhole, okay?" She says. Full dick-service today, from your little cum-toilet of a sister.

She climbs into your lap, her back to your belly, and settles down onto your waiting dick without foreplay. There's no need for any more foreplay, anyway -- her cunt is sopping wet. Your hot prick slides between the in-turned folds of her labia with zero resistance and nestles itself in her inmost parts. She gulps air, shuddering, as she impales her small pussy on you. Penetrating your little sister is a divine sensation, the very best... this bubblegum cunt is so soft, sticky, and warm.

After she adjusts to the size of your manhood (she always needs a few moments), she takes her Nintendo in hand again. You decide to follow suit, and pick up the PS3 controller. Together, brother and sister game while they fuck. It's a slow, delicious, and lazy fuck -- just perfect for this seemingly endless Sunday afternoon.

But your worst fear comes to pass. For some reason, Mom randomly decides to come towards the living room. You hear her footsteps approaching from the kitchen, and through the foyer, before she arrives. Knowing there's no time to make yourselves decent, you go for the desperation play. You let your arms and hands fall south, into Rose's lap, pressing the frilled hem of her skirt down. This manages to poorly conceal the obscene union of your bodies, largely with your controller. And not a moment too soon -- Mom is standing over the back of the sofa already.

You're trembling with adrenaline. But Rose, dumb cunt she is, has no sense of danger, and her pussy continues to ooze and flutter around your leaking prick. You try not to moan.

Mom looks from Rose, to you, and then to the television screen. "Are you winning, son?" She asks you.

"Yes... I am..." you say, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. On-screen, you die.

"It doesn't look like you're winning," Mom says.

"Fuck," you grunt.

"Language!" Mom says. She frowns, thinking, back of her wrist perched on her thick hip. "...Why is Rose sitting in your lap?"

Rose humps up and down on you. Only slightly. Only as much as your forceful downwards pressure on her thighs will allow her to. It isn't enough motion to be noticed... you hope. You perch your chin on her shoulder, grit your teeth, and let an almost inaudible groan escape your throat. And since you're in no state to answer Mom's question, Rose answers for you. She throws her head way back, to stare at Mom from an upside-down vantage. Smiling broadly, she says: "We're just hangin'."

"That's nice," Mom says. "So he stopped teasing you?"

"Oh yeah," Rose croons, clamping your prick again and again with her vicelike cunthole.

"Mm," Mom murmurs, approvingly, then turns back towards the kitchen.

"Oh my god, Rose..." you whisper, chin still perched on her shoulder for support.

"Hmmm~ this is so naughty and fun, Ally... we almost got busted, huh?..."

"Yes... yes, we did..."

"Take off your pants," she whispers.

"What?"

"Take off your pants, onii-chan."

"This is fucking crazy--"

But Rose is already on her knees, in front of the couch, tugging at the waistband of your jeans. Desperate to bury your cock inside her again, you'll do anything she wants, and she knows it. You help her get your pants off, your boxers too. Rose sashays out of her miniskirt. Now if Mom returns to the living room... you don't want to think about it. You don't HAVE to think about it, do you?... all you have to think about, right now, is the return of that divine sensation -- the sensation of penetrating your imouto.

The two of you start to really fuck now. Rose sets the pace. She pumps her body up and down on top of you. Her meaty thighs colliding repeatedly against your lap create a steady, lewd fapping noise, a plop-plop, plop-plop. It's unmistakable as the sound of two people screwing. By sheer serendipity, Mom begins to use her electric mixer. The cacophony this creates is the cover you need to pick up the pace even further. You hold your sister about the waist with one arm, and join her in shaking your hips. You fuck without care for the risk... plop-plop, plop-plop, you fuck. Her flesh ripples and jiggles all over, her skin flushes and she gets feverishly hot all over, inside and out. The swampy wetness and vacuum-like suction of her inner walls is too much to resist... you throw caution to the wind. Rose's mind is as gone as yours. Her jaw hangs open, and she drools like a moron as you rail her.

You were so scared of Mom finding you out that you hadn't even considered other possible calamities. Like this one: Cerise comes back home early. You hear the unlatching of the deadbolt and the creak of the front door. Rose, in her ecstasy, doesn't -- and so she doesn't stop.

"Rose--!" you gasp.

Cerise closes the front door behind her, and stands in the foyer sniffing at the air. "Smells good..." she says.

"Dinner around 7:30," Mom calls over the whirr of the mixer.

Rose is as cognizant as you, now, of the imminent risk. But she doesn't care. She just keeps fucking herself silly on top of you. Well, you shouldn't have expected any less. She is a toilet, after all.

Cerise turns her head now towards the living room. She can't see you fucking your sister, but she can see the TV screen, and the huge red letters saying "YOU DIED."

"Pfff," she laughs. "Sucks to suck, huh?"

Oh no... here she comes. As you and Rose continue to mate, unable to stop with this insane pleasure coursing through you -- Cerise enters the room. And as she draws closer, she can finally see over the top of the couch. She gasps. "What the f-- oh my GOD..."

Cerise knew there was funny business going on between you and Rose. She's seen you sneaking between each other's rooms, she's heard the sounds at night. But this is her first glimpse at the un-ignorable truth -- what a rude glimpse it is. She stands there, frozen in place, trembling as she watches.

"Alabaster..." she whispers. When at last she has the wherewithal to move, she simply circles around, to face the scene head-on. "Our own sister?"

"Yeah!" Rose says, and humps up and down on you even harder, to drive the point home. You're too far gone to try to stop this insanity, and just let it happen. You shrug nonchalantly at Cerise.

Cerise glances uncertainly towards the kitchen, to verify that Mom is distracted, then fixes her eyes on you. Keeping her voice to a whisper, she says: "you're really having sex with Rose...?"

"Silly," Rose giggles. "Ally and me aren't having sex! He's just using my cumhole!"

"Your--" Cerise gulps.

"He's masturbating inside my cumhole!" Rose says. "It's not sex... it's just little sister dick-service!"

Cerise, going weak in the knees, gets down on the floor in between your legs. She grips the edges of the couch cushions and examines that spot where your slimy dick plunges in and out of Rose's thick little body.

You know that over the past few months, your friskiness with Rose has had a secondary effect on Cerise, too. The blossoming of Rose's cockteasing ways has inadvertently made her into a cuntteaser, too. Cerise is attracted to Rose, degenerate weebs they both are. And having been hit with this revelation of incest like a schoolgirl getting isekai'd by a semi truck, there's no going back for your dear sweet onee-sama. Her breath is hot against the underside of your dick, and the crevice that it's buried half to the hilt in.

"Y-you're not even..." Cerise says, gulps again, and starts over. "You're... not even using a condom..."

"Nope," you say.

Cerise licks her lips.

"Haha," Rose laughs, "Cerise... your breath tickles..."

"What if -- she gets pregnant?" Cerise asks.

"Toilets don't get pregnant, silly," Rose says. "A-durr."

"Alabaster," Cerise pleads, begging you to be the reasonable one.

You grin cruelly down at her. "I have some condoms in the drawer beside my bed," you tell her.

Cerise stares at you dumbly.

"If you don't want Rose to get pregnant... you'd better hurry," you say.

Cerise springs to her feet and goes dashing up the stairs. You hear her heavy feet thudding across the house's upper floor.

"Chill out up there, missy!" Mom screams.

"Ally," Rose whispers. "Play with my boobs too."

You help her out of her blouse. Of course the slut wasn't wearing a bra either, why would she be? With her fully naked save for her ankle socks, you fuck her freely and grope her heavy udders. These fat tits of hers with their huge, soft nipples are always fun to squeeze and torment. You suckle her neck and enjoy her body to its fullest extent. You're pretty close to cumming...

Cerise comes down the stairs, two at a time. She has a little roll of condoms in hand, and tears off one of the foil packages. She tries to hand it to you, but you don't take it -- just keep toying with Rose's sensitive breasts instead.

"Alabaster," Cerise says, voice trembling. "Please!"

"What?" You say.

"Put it on--"

"If you want me to wear it, put it on yourself," you tell her.

You pull out of Rose's honeyhole and present your dripping dick to her. Entire body trembling, Cerise goes to her knees once more before you -- but she's completely at a loss.

"I... don't know how," she says.

"Didn't you take sex ed?" You ask.

"Shut up," Cerise says.

"Fucking figure it out. It's not difficult. And hurry up... if you don't get going, I'll just cum inside her like I was going to."

Rose watches with a smile on her face, and tickles her own clit. This is all a fun game to her.

Panting, Cerise tears the foil's top off and takes out the latex ring. She turns it this way and that, trying to gauge which side is the right one to apply. Guessing, she fits it over your prickhead, curls her index finger and her thumb into a rough O, and rolls it down your shaft. The thing hardly fits. The pressure of it, plus the sensation of Cerise putting it on for you -- your first bit of skinship with her in trillions of years -- is a pleasure all its own. When the rubber is stretched taut around your straining cock, and the little reservoir at the tip is centered over your piss slit, she tests the snugness of the fit by squeezing your shaft a couple-three times. Rose laughs at the sight. Your little sister may be a stupid slut, but she can tell that Cerise's fondling of your dick is driven more by lustful curiosity than anything practical.

"Are we good?" You ask.

Cerise lets go and haltingly nods.

"Put me back inside her," you say.

"Alabaster..."

You guide her hand back to your dick. There's nothing she can do. She's a slave to the moment, just as you and Rose are. She grasps your dick more firmly than before, and pushes it away -- back towards Rose's onahole cunt. The rubber-coated head slides across the shiny, lubed-up crease of Rose's pussy, and towards the orifice hiding at the bottom of it. With a low sucking noise, it slips back into her vagina. Rose does the rest. She settles her weight back down on you, and swallows up your shaft in one motion. Cerise shudders just to see it.

Condoms were Rose's idea. The other Rose, that is. She's not on the pill and doesn't want a baby yet. She also doesn't want you making a baby with this Rose (yet). But none of you like them, and thus the supply you've got has remained largely unused... risky sex is usually the order of the day, unless you're close to the most fertile part of the month. Even then, you sometimes forego the rubbers for the bliss of cumming raw. As now. This is one of Rose's dangerous days. You got so used to the pleasure of cumming inside, in the universe before this, that it's hard to be a good boy and play it safe the way you know you should.

But although you're not a fan of protection, it still feels pretty good -- fucking is fucking, after all -- and the perversion of forcing your older sister to aid in the defilement of your younger sister makes it even better.

So with these thoughts in mind, it doesn't take too long before you're blowing your wad inside the bag. You kiss Rose voraciously as you pump her, and enjoy the alien sensation of the latex expanding almost to its breaking point with the sheer volume of sperm you ejaculate. Despite everything she just did with her mouth, Rose tastes like candyfloss, and you enjoy the warm sweetness as you cum like a bull. Cerise, underneath you, transfixed, watches.

"Ooooh," you moan, shivering. "That was good... that was really, really good. Thanks, Cerise."

"Yeah!" Rose agrees. "Thanks for helping Ally masturbate inside me!"

Cerise falls to her butt as if she'd been pushed by a strong wind. She stares vacantly back, as you pull slowly out of Rose's hole. You take care not to snap the over-stretched condom. You slowly pull it off your cock, letting the load coalesce towards the tip. Greedy, Rose snatches it from you, and puts the open end to her lips. She starts to suck. She swirls her cute pink tongue around the rim, and siphons up the dense, creamy jism, moaning to herself, and letting out a little trickle of her girlcum from the debauched fun of it. You scruff her hair, like she's a favored pet. She smiles dreamily.

"Don't hog it," you tell her, with faux severity.

"Awww..." she whines, as you wrest the condom back from her grasp.

"What are you--" Cerise begins, but she doesn't get anything else out before you upend the condom and let some of your juicy load drizzle out, and all across her face. "Alabaster--!!" She hisses.

You hand the condom back to Rose, so she can keep sucking on the cummy residue. She mewls in delight as she turns it inside-out and puts the thing back to her shiny lips. She's gonna suck up every single molecule of it. Meanwhile, disbelievingly, Cerise touches her face and tests the pearly mess spattered across it. "Oh my god... oh my god..." she repeats.

"There's more here," you say, nodding down at your still erect, still twitching, and still oozing penis. A dollop is waiting thickly on top of the urethra, and the veiny shaft is coated in even more frothy sperm.

Cerise's teeth are chattering.

"You better get it all off of there, before it comes into contact with Rose's pussy," you warn.

"Yeah... yeah..." Cerise pants, nodding, agreeing with this twisted logic. "Only to keep Rose safe... so she doesn't get pregnant..."

"That's it."

Cerise lets her jaw hang open, grips the edges of the couch cushions a bit tighter, rolls her tongue out -- and starts to lick up your cum. She can't help moaning as she does. It's her first taste of your jizz, and she's savoring it. Yes, the first lick is hesitant, maybe even a bit grossed-out -- but the second is hungry, and enthusiastic. So are the third, fifth, twentieth and hundredth licks. She sucks up the salty-sweet mix of your cum and Rose's pussy juice like a woman who's been starved. And soon she begins to outright fellate you -- as she scoops your drying cum from the bridge of her nose, and shovels it into her hungry maw. Rose's sweet-smelling pussy leaks a bit too, but Cerise doesn't mind Rose cumming on her.

You decide to leave Cerise hanging, though. It's best to stay safe in a different way: you really don't want Mom stumbling upon this scene. You force Cerise off of you, and get dressed again. So does Rose. Cerise, reduced to a cum-hungry sow, gets her hands down her pants and begins to masturbate right there on the floor.

"Do you... do you fuck her like that a lot?" She asks desperately.

"Yes," you say.

"You never use protection?" Her hands quicken in her shorts.

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no. If you want us to use it every time... you'd better be there to make sure it happens..."

She cums wetly in her pants, and falls to her stomach on the carpet. "Unnfff..." she moans.

Just a few moments later, all is back to relative normal. You're playing Dark Souls II, in a much better mood, and Rose is curled up beside you planning for the arrival of her new villagers. Cerise is still lying on her stomach on the floor, though, half-conscious -- with a huge wet spot in the crotch of her shorts.

Mom comes back into the living room. "Hungry?" She asks you all.

"Yeah," you say.

"Mmm-hmm!" Rose agrees.

"Good. I made cream pies tonight!" Mom announces. "Hope you're all in the mood!"

"I know I am," Rose says, giggling.

"Me too," you say.

Cerise mewls. She's going to have her work cut out for her.

---

You leave Rose -- uh, wife Rose, not sister Rose -- slumbering in your bed one evening, around 1 AM, to go downstairs and grab a drink of water. Not just any water: cucumber water. It's been a recent addiction of Rose's -- uh, sister Rose, not wife Rose -- and it's rubbing off on you. You crave the stuff constantly.

You make your way groggily to the kitchen, fish through the fridge, pull the pitcher out. But as you swing the door closed, you jump in terror as a human form reveals itself. In the pale pool of light from the moon, you can barely make her out: Charlotte fucking Mallory.

"What the f--" you yelp. "Mrs. Mallory...?! How the hell did you-- why are you in my house?"

"Why am I in your house?" She repeats. "Why is my daughter in your house!"

"You can't break into my house--"

"Don't turn this around on me, you little twerp!"

You calm yourself before this can blow up, set the pitcher on the center island, and invite her to sit at one of the stools there. If Charlotte is anything like her girl, and you know she is, she won't be deterred.

You grab two glasses from the overhead cabinets. Pouring one for yourself, you offer the other to Charlotte: "cucumber water?"

"What is your intention with Rose?" She demands.

You slide her a glass of water, regardless of her refusal -- but she doesn't take a sip.

As you settle in on a stool across from her, you fold your arms and regard her for a silent moment -- thinking how best to play this. You decide honesty in the best policy. "I'm in love with her, Mrs. Mallory. When we're both 18, we're going to get married. So I guess you could say my intention is to be her husband."

Charlotte obviously doesn't like this response, but you can tell from the look on her face that she believes in your sincerity -- even if she disbelieves in the probability of the relationship being successful.

"You're children," Charlotte says. "You don't know about love."

You shake your head. How could you possibly even begin to explain?

"It's like Mom told you," you try. "Rose and I -- we're doing okay, aren't we? Good grades, scholarships lined up... we're using protection--"

Charlotte turns crimson. "Y-you-- oh my God--"

"TMI. Sorry. Well anyway, we're not exactly an episode of 16 And Pregnant here. Right? So what's the harm?"

"The harm is that she's practically a runaway!" Charlotte says. "And on top of that, she's your cousin--"

"No. You're my cousin."

"--fine, once removed. Regardless. You're closely related! It's not right."

"It's right," you tell her. "Just give it time. You'll see."

Charlotte lays a hand on yours, leans in. "I believe you. I believe you mean it. But you don't know it -- you don't! And this kind of thing is only going to end horribly. For both of you!"

You stare at the ceiling as you take a long, ruminative sip of water. What to do?

>[x] Tell her the entire truth.

[ ] Tell her your version of the truth -- sans the timeline jumping and universe resetting.

You meet her eyes. "What would you say -- if I told you that I'm not 18, but 24 -- and that Rose is not 16, but 22?"

"I'd call to have you committed!" Charlotte says. "What are you even talking about?"

You take another sip, and then gently drum the table a bit, mustering up the words. History might vary in the details, but you think this one should be the same. You hope it is, anyway.

"The universe comprises strange curvatures," you say, and Charlotte recoils. "Stranger than the human mind can comprehend even as we travel through them in the course of our lives. How absurd it is to plan for the future when the path ahead is not only invisible but incomprehensible! How fearful it is to travel along knowing no compass rose can ever orient us. Our existence itself becomes strange as the curves we are bound to. I could never possibly have guessed the curvatures of our lives would converge. We tried to veer them apart. No use. Now inescapably we are fellow travelers, in our little two-passenger boxcar, together. I will never fear the unforeseeable path as long as I have that."

Charlotte's face is bloodless and slackened, and she looks at you like a woman haunted. Which is great news.

"How...? How do you know about that?" Charlotte finally asks.

"You showed it to me."

"I haven't shown that letter to anyone-- he'd kill me!--"

"You showed it to me. On the night I married Rose. It was a very, very long time ago."

Charlotte shakes her head. "The night you married Rose? This is crazy... you're speaking complete nonsense."

"How else could I know about a letter that only you and your husband have ever read?" You take a sip. "It's a really nice letter, by the way. Saul has quite a way with words... then again, I guess you bring it out in him. He's a lucky man."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm telling you that Rose and I -- are, in layman's terms, reincarnated. We remember a prior life in a world very much like this one. At least through about the year 2020. In that world, we were married... and you, Mrs. Mallory, were like a second a mother to me. I called you Mom. You wanted me to."

"Ridiculous," she mutters. "This is insane."

You take a notepad and a pen from a junk drawer nearby, and begin to write.

"I ought to have you sent to a psych ward," Mrs. Mallory is saying. "Listen to yourself. You aren't well--"

"If you don't believe me--"

"You're psychotic!--"

"--If you don't believe me," you repeat, much louder, and firmer. "Then try this." You slide the paper across the countertop towards her. She takes it and reads it. "In about a week, you'll be invited to attend a gala for the local humane society, since you're such a big booster. It hasn't been announced publicly yet, but it'll take place on that date, at that address. And while you're there, the keynote speaker, Malcolm Turnwater, will get sick during his remarks. Some bad vegetarian pizza from the buffet. He'll throw up right there at the lectern." Charlotte begins to say something, but you cut off her obvious question: "I know because I was there. I went with you last time this happened, since Saul was out of town on business."

"Do you really understand what you're saying?" Charlotte asks. "--What you're asking me to believe?"

"What I've just told you isn't even the half of it. The really crazy stuff is yet to come. But don't take my word for it. Go to that gala, on that date. See for yourself. All I'm asking is for you to withhold judgement until then."

---

A few minutes later, Charlotte and Rose are conferring over the darkened kitchen's center island while you chug another glass of cucumber water by the fridge. Rose echoes everything you've said. She's sore at you for not getting her involved before you blabbed. But she does back you up.

The longer Charlotte has to mull the concept of lovers reincarnated, the more violently she rejects it. She begs Rose to tell her that she's joking -- that it's all a farce, or a trick, or a flight of fancy. She accuses you both of being on drugs. But you -- you and Rose -- stand firm, and hang your hats on the promise of that gala.

You prophecy a few other upcoming events, too, just in case. You're pretty sure these things should happen as foretold... if they don't, you're fucked. You'll be sent to the nuthouse for sure.

Rose, as a little bit of collateral, goes back to stay in the Mallory home full-time until your predictions come to pass. In exchange for that, Charlotte agrees to keep this all a secret, pending the outcome.

That Thursday -- Rose tells you at school, that Charlotte has received an invitation in the mail for a gala hosted by the Gilroy Humane Society. And that Charlotte just about fainted when she opened the letter.

She wants you to go with her.

---

"Saul's gonna be mad," you tell Charlotte as you step out of the Uber, to meet her on the curb outside the little conference hall, and take her gloved hand. You never enjoyed these white tie affairs, but you've had plenty of practice to get used to them. Charlotte's sequined cocktail dress is easy on the eyes, anyway. And her hand, even through the glove, is warm to hold.

"Mad about what?" Charlotte asks. "His wife going on a date with the boy who stole his daughter?"

"Is this a date?"

"I'm speaking strictly of how he might characterize it."

"He might be mad about that," you say. "I'm thinking about something else, though."

"Oh?"

"He'll definitely be mad about the fact that Rosencrantz v. Gilroy Public Schools isn't going to get picked up by Scootus -- um -- SCOTUS -- this term. It's going to die in the 9th Circuit. For want of a substantial constitutional question."

"So you say," Charlotte says, rolling her eyes.

"So I know. But I hope he has fun in San Fransisco this weekend."

"Oh, I'm sure he will," Charlotte tells you. "As for you -- enough playing Miss Cleo for one night. I don't want to hear anymore fortune tellings. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," you say with mock deference.

You sit in the gently lit hall at a small round table near the room's periphery, admiring, as you did last time, the charcoal grey and cream striped wallpaper more than you admire the interminable presenters and their interminable presentations. Charlotte sits with you. An elderly couple occupy the table's other two chairs. Charlotte knows the couple, the husband an accountant for one of her firm's clients (or something). She introduces you to them: "This is Alabaster. He's my -- daughter's boyfriend. He's... erm, an animal lover. So I thought I'd take him along."

You shake their hands and ignore their plaudits for being such a socially conscious young man. Here it comes: the servers are carrying out trays of food to line the buffet table at the back. You watch, clutching and unclutching the linen napkin in your hands. It's hard not to be nervous. Charlotte is intently focused too, and equally in a tizzy. The trays get lined neatly up, and then the chrome tops come off, and the servers arrange the little placards at each serving station. Build your own salad, whitefish in cream sauce, vegan tofu quiche. And vegetarian pizza. The codger hosting the night's event is first in line: Malcolm Turnwater grabs three slices of the pizza and dumps them on his plate, commenting to his wife that he simply cannot resist.

Charlotte looks like she's going to be ill before Malcolm is.

"Want anything?" You ask her, standing. You feel a renwed confidence and energy. "Quiche? Salad? ... Pizza?"

"I'm not hungry," Charlotte tells you.

You are, though. You eat the whitefish, and some Caesar salad, and enjoy the fireworks. Malcolm's remarks begin with a little slideshow of recently adopted pets out of their no-kill shelter -- "this is what we do it for!" He says enthusiastically, fighting back some indigestion. Among the adoptees is an animal you recognize. A rottweiler with distinctive markings on his fur, male. Underneath the photo, in comic sans, the footer says, "Found his forever home with: Kay." You smile to yourself.

He grows greener as the speech progresses. Charlotte is on tenterhooks -- the only person actually absorbed in this little self-congratulatory speech. Then it happens. Malcolm is barely through thanking all the donors for their generosity before he projectile vomits all over his own wife sitting beside, and faints.

Amid the rush and shock and gasping guests and people calling for a medic, Charlotte grabs your hand, and whisks you away -- straight out of the hall, into the calm night, and down the sidewalk at a full-bore jog. She kicks off her heels and tosses her handbag. You have no idea what's going through her mind as you run with her, but you run with her, holding her hand. And finally near a public park about a block down the street she's out of breath, and stops, clutching her knees, gulping down air.

"How did you get reincarnated?"

You begin to explain.

---

>[x] Family Movie Night Mk. 2

[ ] As decreed by chartanon's bot -- Characters: Alex & Cerise, Tags: orgasm denial, urination, shimapan

[ ] Kay and Noelle, minus penis

[ ] Sable discovers sapphism

>[x] Rose and Alabaster decided to combine Mom's sweets with Vivian's aphrodisiacs. Has science gone too far?

After school one day, you're in the StuCo room, stonily standing at the window, staring down at the quad below. You watch the students leaving for the day -- all of them oblivious to what's happening... you sort of envy them.

"This is the hardest decision... we'll ever have to make here," Rose says, voice choked.

"I know," you tell her, not looking back.

"Nothing is ever going to be the same after this... do you think they'll forgive us?"

"Why would they be mad at us?" You ask. But you feel like you know the answer already. Of course they'll be mad. How could they not be? Cerise, most of all...

You clear your throat, turn around. "Well. I guess it's best to rip the bandaid off now. We have to tell them one way or another. So let's get it over with."

Rose shakes her head. "They're going to blame me. I know they will."

"I'll take the blame," you tell her, going to her, and hugging her. "It's my fault anyway."

"No it isn't... no, it isn't..."

The truth is that the blame lies on neither of you. You just hope the others will understand. They have to, right? They have to understand why you made the decisions you did. Still, you can't believe it came to this.

Fartin' Franklin reported the anime club for showing pirated material at meetings, and now the school administration is pressuring you to disband the club entirely. Even if you refuse, you'll just get booted from the council, and anime club will be disbanded regardless. It's a no-win situation.

As expected, Cerise is apoplectic when you and Rose go to tell her. "That egg sandwich smelling little freak!" She shrieks. She grabs a stapler from the teacher's desk and savagely hurls it across the clubroom. Rose, who was in its flight vector, barely dodges it -- scoring some graze points, there.

"Could you please not assault me--" Rose begins.

"I'll show you some fucking assault!" Cerise says. She grabs her own head with both hands and scratches her scalp like she's been doused in itching powder. "AAAAGGH. Franklin! Fuckin' Franklin!" She stomps, balls her fists. "This is all because Anna told him that he's got bad taste in anime, isn't it? Isn't it!"

"Did she really say that?" You ask.

"yes" Anna says.

You startle, shirking away from her. As if from nothing, she's appeared at your side. "Jesus. Don't sneak up on me."

She sticks her tongue out at you -- just ever so slightly -- just the very tip.

"I'm impressed," Rose tells her. "You stood up to that shitlord, huh?"

"He's not a shitlord," you tell her. "Let's be precise. He's a fartlord."

Rose ignores you. "Assertiveness is the key to success!" She tells Anna.

Cerise throws another stapler at her.

"Will you stop?" Rose says, after successfully clearing this unexpected QTE for a second time.

"This is all your fault!" Cerise tells her. (There it is.) "This has your stink all over it."

"Are you sure that's not Franklin?" You say. You sniff at the air. "Man, does he have a way of making his presence felt after he leaves a room."

"Don't defend her just because she sucks your dick!" Cerise says. She points at Rose. "You don't want anime club operating at North High anymore. Because it's objectifying towards women or some shit. Don't lie."

"Well--" Rose begins.

"some women like being objectified you know" Anna offers.

Cerise who was ready to toss a third stapler, instead freezes. She gives Anna a look tinged with surprise, curiosity, and barely-constrained lust. Ultimately, though, the horribleness of the moment wins out over her mounting horny level. Groping for the rolling chair at the teacher's desk, she pulls it towards her and sits as if she'll faint otherwise. She props her elbows on the desktop, cradles her head in her hands. "I'm such a pathetic fucking loser," she mutters.

You frown. "Are you day-drunk?" You ask her. She always gets depressed when she is.

"Fuck you." She sniffles back tears. And doesn't fight your soothing palm on her back. "Look at me. Sad because a high school anime club got banned. I'm not even in high school anymore. What the hell is wrong with me? If these fucking faggots want to kick me out of their precious club so bad, that they'll destroy it to keep me out... all because I tried to show them some culture? Then whatever. I don't care anymore. Let anime club die."

"i care" Anna tells her.

That alone seems to give Cerise some solace.

Rose sighs sadly.

Rose, on the other hand, is peppy:

"Aaaactually -- maybe we can save this thing!"

You jump in fright, as she draws alongside you. "Do you guys live in this clubroom or something?"

"Just because anime club died, doesn't mean we can't start a new one!" Rose says, holding up an index finger. "Cultural clubs are all the rage. How about one of those?"

Cerise looks at her younger sister through rheumy eyes. The pieces are coming into place inside her mind. "A cultural club?... yeah... a Japanese cultural club! Rebranding!"

Rose nods.

"You're a genius!" Cerise says, without a hint of irony. Rose beams like the sun.

"Now hold on a moment," Rose says -- the one who's (marginally) closer to being a genius. "North High has a Japanese cultural appreciation club already. And as far as I know, everyone in it despises you people."

"most people despise us" Anna says.

"For good reason," Cerise says.

"Can't blame 'em!" sister-Rose says.

Cerise sighs and lets the backs of her palms fall flat to the desk. "...Fuck. Well there goes that idea, then."

"So anime club is doomed after all?" Rose asks, toying with one of her pink bangs. "Mou~ ... and I thought I was a genius for a sec..."

"Maybe you are," you say, thinking aloud. (If Rose beamed like the sun when Cerise called her a genius, now she's Sirius A.) "Why does it have to be a club focused on Japan? You guys could be a Mongolian cultural club, or a Thai cultural club, or a Laotian cultural club, or--"

"Turkey?" The yellow Rose asks.

"...Turkey," you say. "And I just so happen to know a young Turk who'd be happy to help."

Rose the Lesser claps excitedly, and Rose the Fatter smiles.

But Cerise and Anna aren't sold:

"i don't want to turn into a turkey club" Anna says -- giving you unhappy flashbacks to /gg/'s resident shitposter who fantasized about Galatea magically transforming him into a sandwich.

"If we become a club dedicated to the nation of Turkey," Cerise says, interrupting herself to add: "Fucking Turkey? Really? ... Then how does that leave space for anime?"

"All you have to do is make token appearances at the winter and spring cultural festival," you tell her. "What you guys actually do during club time is up to you."

"But get a few Turkish-to-English dictionaries," Rose adds. "You'll need them. All cultural appreciation clubs are required to do language practice, too."

"We actually have to learn Turkish?" Cerise says, plainly frustrated.

"That's not too bad! I've always wanted to know a foreign language!" Rose says. She starts hopping up and down, clapping even harder. "Sugoi!"

"Inanılmaz," you correct.

"Bless you!" She replies.

---

A few hours later, you come in clutch for the newly Christened Turkish Cultural Appreciation Club. You've secured a huge endowment: Vivian agreed to purchase brand-new translation dictionaries for the entire club, out of her own deep pockets.

You'll never tell anyone the awful toll she took in exchange for her charity.

---

Saul unlocks and opens the cabinet in his garage. "Take your pick," he tells you.

You immediately reach for the Colt 1911. It's a model you carried with you for months in Alaska. You became used to the way it handles. Easily concealed, but more than capable of killing -- and you've gotten pretty good at aiming it, too.

"Pussy," Saul says.

"--Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He takes a shotgun off the rack on the other side of the cabinet, and checks the breech, mostly to call your attention to his choice's signature feature: its three barrels. "Now this is a personal defense weapon. Chiappa triple barrel. If a horse became a cat burglar and tried to rob my house, this sucker would take him out."

"Horses aren't cat burglars, Saul."

"Am I seriously to believe that you kept my little girl safe from an army of Chinese mercenaries, armed only with sidearms like that? That's the most unrealistic aspect of this entire story, as far as I'm concerned."

(Of course, Saul had to find out eventually. You knew when you told Charlotte that the news would have to make its way back to him. If for no other reason than practicality.)

"Rose was the shtogunner. I guess it's not hard to figure out where she gets it."

"You're supposed to wear the pants in the relationship," Saul tells you with a frown.

"That's a bit patriarchal, don't you think?"

"Smash patriarchy!" Myrna shrieks from the corner. "Smash! Smash!"

Saul sighs. "Kids these days. Listen to yourself! I can't believe you let your once-and-future wife bend you over like that."

"Only figuratively," you say. "It's not like we have a special dungeon in our basement or anything."

Saul sputters, and blushes, and falls silent for a turn. He clears his throat. "Ah -- well. Rose can handle herself pretty well with a firearm, but she's got some bad habits I never weaned her of. And you're obviously beyond incompetent. Now... I mean it when I say that I had goddamn better not become a grandfather before my 40th birthday. But when that day far in the future comes, you send your kids to me to learn how to shoot."

Ohhh man.

You move the conversation quickly on. "If you want to teach me some real skills, why don't we shoot some real guns?"

Saul arches an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?" He says, faux-ignorant.

"You know what I mean."

Saul goes to hands and knees, and triggers a hidden catch under the cabinet. A compartment in the cabinet's back wall comes open. Inside is some more weaponry. All of it illegal in the state of California, and most of it illegal federally.

"M1919 or minigun?" He asks, standing, folding his arms, and admiring his own cache.

"I'm thinking the grenade launcher, myself."

"Now you're talking like a man."

The drive to the desert takes longer than you actually spend firing. But it's ample opportunity to get to know Saul Mallory again, this time as something like a peer; and, more critically, for him to get to know you.

That night, he allows Rose to return to your house.

---

Whitney lies across your bed, on her belly. She's snacking on chips, kicking her feet back and forth in the air. Her ankles make a satisfying fleshy scruffing noise as they scrape against each other. She has her phone laid out in front of her, and browses it with her thumb.

You sit at your PC. Rose (blondie ver.) is underneath your desk -- keeping busy.

"Whoaaa," Whitney gasps all of a sudden. "This is wild! ... Guess who just announced that they're running for President!"

Rose chokes on you, and tries to pull off of you, but you force her back down. "I already know," you grunt over your shoulder. Rose repeatedly smacks your knees, but your palms are pressing too hard on her scalp for her to get away.

"Dorkus malorkus," Whitney laughs. "Of course you already know. Is there anything you don't know, smartass?"

"Very little."

Whitney takes a potato chip and eats it. "Uh huh... know-it-all." She grabs the edge of your bed and uses it to pull herself forward on her belly. She cranes her neck, to get a glimpse at the difficulty Rose is having between your legs. "Ally -- you're gonna knock her out if you don't let her breathe once, you know?"

You let her breathe. She comes up amid an arc of flying spittle, gasping: "ASSHOLE!!" But her voice is hoarse and whispery, and she gets nothing else out before she starts coughing and choking. Eyes wrenched shut, she props her weight on one wrist between her splayed-together knees as she covers her hacking mouth with the other.

"Heeeh," Whitney wheezes. "So hot." She scoots herself off the mattress, toned butt jiggling against her tight spats as she stumbles standing. Then she gets down on her knees beside Rose. "Need some help with that thing, bitch?"

"No--" Rose begins.

"Too bad," she replies, grasping you, "you're getting it."

Afterwards, while Rose is on her back recuperating, and Whitney is on hands and knees licking the remnants of the festivities out of Rose's mouth, you get dressed again.

"Excited for prom?" You ask.

"Oh hell yes," Whitney says between slurps. "How about you?"

"Why wouldn't I be excited to have a prom date with the cutest girl in the universe?"

Whitney, some of your genetic material dangling in a pearly strand off her lower lip, whips her head around to meet your eyes. A deep blush is spreading across the bridge of her nose. "Y-you -- you liar! Don't make fun of me, you fag!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Whitney grins like a fiend and giggles. She turns back towards Rose and continues her cleanup duty.

"Errrgghhh..." Rose moans, out-of-it. And yet still with enough cognizance to swirl her tongue around to meet Whitney's.

"Do you have a dress picked out?" You ask as you sit next to the girls. You part Rose's meaty thighs and begin to idly molest her.

Whitney gulps. "Dress?"

"You know, those long frilly things that girls occasionally wear?"

"Sometimes boys..." Rose mutters.

"Mostly girls though," you add. You add another finger, too, to keep her quiet.

"I've never worn a dress!" Whitney complains.

"Yeah. I know. You weren't planning on wearing one for prom?"

"No. I was just gonna... wear what I usually wear..."

"A tanktop and spats?" You say with a frown.

Whitney grows indignant. "Yeah! Why the heck not, huh?"

"Language, language, language..." Rose murmurs. You make her lick herself off your fingers.

"This is senior prom, Whitney," you tell her as Rose holds your wrist and her tongue slithers all around your invading digits. "You have to wear something more -- formal -- you know?"

"Hmph," Whitney says. "Dresses are gay as shit. You wouldn't catch me dead in one!"

"Don't talk about dying," you say severely.

"God, you're so touchy sometimes. I don't want to wear a stinkin' gay-ass dress! Okay? It's my date too, shouldn't I get to pick?"

[ ] Okay, Whitney. I'll take you to prom in the cutest, sluttiest tank and spats you've got!

[ ] If you won't wear a dress, how about a tux?

>[x] Sorry, babe. The cutest girl in the universe has to wear the cutest dress in the universe.

Whitney chuffs. "You are such a fucking dweeb." (She can hurl insults, but she can't hide the color she turns every time you call her cute.) "Anyway, I would look like complete ass in a dress."

"No you wouldn't," you insist. To which Rose adds, slurring: "You look good in a dressh..."

"Would look good in a dress," you correct, giving your wife(?) a sour look.

"P'yeah right." Whitney gets up onto her knees, and draws up close to where you sit, way close -- so close that you can feel her body heat and she has to tilt her head practically all the way back just to look you in the eyes. Her chin is almost touching your chest. You suppose this is supposed to come off as intimidating. "What are you gonna do if I say no? Huh?"

You shrug.

"Gonna call it all off?" She goads. "Gonna take your fatass cousin to prom instead? Or -- maybe you'll stoop even lower than that! -- Maybe you'll have to take your little sister! Hahaha--"

"I won't have to," you tell her. "You're going to wear a dress. That's all there is to it."

"No."

"Then I'll be forced to discipline you," you tell her flatly.

"Yeah? How?"

You push her flat on her back and then flip her over so she's lying on top of Rose. You execute the maneuver so quickly that she has no time to launch a counteroffensive. Climbing over top of the pair, you reach for Whitney's spats and yank them down. You pull the spandex just far enough to bare that wonderful butt of hers.

"We'll start like this," you say.

"Oh-- ohhhhhh--" Whitney breathes, as you get inside her -- before Rose wraps her arms around her, and draws her into a deep tongue kiss that cuts off any further protests.

As you enter the hallway with Whitney and Rose in tow, you run into Mom right at the head of the stairs.

"O-oh!" Mom says, surprised but somehow already naggy. "Are you all done having sex for the night?"

"Probably not," you tell her.

She sputters.

"What's for dinner, Mrs. Soliloquy?" Whitney wants to know. "I super worked up an appetite."

"Something you won't be eating!" Mom tells her.

"Heeeh. That's a myth."

"...A myth?" Rose says, drawing a strand of hair behind her ear, and checking that her skirt is straight.

"If either of these skanks gets pregnant, I'm not paying for the abortion!" Mom tells you.

"Then start coming up with good names," you tell her, brushing past, and hurrying downstairs. Your girls follow.

"I -- tch! I cannot believe you, Alabaster--"

"So what's for dinner?" You ask, nonchalant, as Mom turns and also descends the stairs.

"You tell me!" Mom says. "I've been trying all day to get Cerise out of her cave. But she won't come! And I need some help with this cake."

"Geez. What's her deal now?" You ask, stopping at the foyer to let Mom catch up to you.

"Probably listening in on us with a glass against the wall," Whitney says, literally elbowing you. Then she pantomimes it for effect.

"Disgusting," Mom says.

"That's n--" you begin, then stop, thinking, and ask Mom: "Wait a second. Why were you outside my bedroom just now, anyway?"

Mom can't say.

You turn and set towards the dining room. That's when you see her, sitting alone at the table.

"hello Sir"

"Oh," you say, nodding. "That explains it. Cerise is hiding from her wife."

Anna blinks rapidly, and looks away.

"This strange little redhead has been lurking around all day asking for Cerise!" Mom says. "It's absurd. The least Cerise could do is talk to her club members when they come over!"

You slide into a chair across from Anna. "What's going on?"

"cerise won't talk to me"

"I gathered. Is this about your upcoming prom date with you-know-m'who?"

She half shrugs, half nods, and refuses to meet your gaze.

You glance up at Mom: "Well. As long as she's here, why don't you put her to work?"

"What do you m--"

"Teach her how to cook. One of them should know how. They can't eat ramen for the rest of their lives."

"Anna is a girl," Mom says. "Stop it with these perverted jokes about her marrying your older sister."

"You think I'm joking."

Anna fiddles with her own hands in her lap.

"Besides, I can't teach her what she's clearly incapable of!" Mom says, motioning at Anna with one hand. "Everyone knows that girls from this generation are awful at cooking. All they know how to do is play on their darn phones!"

"that's not true," Anna lies. "i can cook"

She nervously begins to nibble on a spicy Cheeto.

"It's no use," Mom tells you. "You and Rose2 have to help. At least then I'll have some halfway competent support."

"I wish I could," you say sincerely, "but I have to take Whitney dress shopping."

"Dress shopping!" Mom says. She swats her own apron. "Whoever would put this rampant lesbian in a dress?"

"Beats the snot out of me, Mrs. Soliloquy," Whitney says. "But Ally really wants it. He raped me until I agreed to it."

Mom clenches her fists and locks her elbows, shocked beyond words. Then, grimacing, she barks at Anna: "You! Missy! Come over here and make yourself useful! If you're going to come into my home uninvited, you won't be slouching around!"

Anna, unable to refuse, gets timidly up and follows her future mother-in-law to the kitchen.

"...I suppose I should help too," Rose says, sighing. "Have to keep on her good side as long as I'm living here rent-free, huh."

"Well, it's what a good tradwife would do," you say. Rose slugs you.

You follow Whitney towards the living room. "Hey -- aren't we going?" You ask her.

"I'm gonna need some serious help with this..." Whitney says, plopping down on the couch. She almost doesn't see the other Rose, who's already lying there playing Brain Age on her DS and struggling with mental arithmetic. Only at the last moment does Whitney alter the trajectory of her plop, to avoid landing butt-to-butt with the pink menace.

"Ohayou!" Rose says.

"Michigan," Whitney says. She turns to you. "Look -- I don't know shit about dresses. Viv, though..."

"You're going to wait for Vivian to drive all the way out here from Palo?"

"Nah. She's at Mom's place. I'll text 'em."

Oh boy.

[ ] Stay home and help Mom, Rose, and Anna cook dinner.

>[x] Go out dress shopping with Whitney, Vivian, and Renee.

Secondly:

>[x] Make Cerise go dress shopping too.

[ ] Have them surprise Cerise by bringing back a prom dress for her.

---

You wheel a pilfered chrome serving cart down the halls of North High. As you push it through the door of the anime clubroom (scratch that, the Turkish Cultural Appreciation clubroom), you announce: "Hey guys, I brought some calzones--"

You had expected to find the club in normal session. But only Cerise and Anna are here. They're in the midst of anything but a normal session. Both are nude from head to toe, slouched back side-by-side at two schooldesks. They have their ankles propped lewdly up on the desktops as they piston dildos in and out of their pussies. On the opposite wall's projector screen, hentai is playing at full volume. The caterwauling of a slut getting gangraped fills the air.

They've obviously been at it for a while, too. The room is rank with the musky scent of their arousal, and they're panting like bitches while they diddle themselves. "Hah -- ah -- ahhh -- haahhh~~"

Anna's glasses are all fogged up, and Cerise's tongue is lolling from her partway open mouth. Her chin is coated in drool. It's adorable. You're glad they have the chance to bond like this after hours.

Unfortunately, your entry puts a dampener on the fun. The girls immediately startle, and go tumbling ass-over-elbow from their desks. They tug the dildos from their cunts and go groping madly for their discarded clothes. In the confusion, Anna ends up wearing Cerise's black tee, and Cerise ends up wearing Anna's shorts. Of course, Cerise's ass is so fucking fat that the shorts can't be buttoned or zipped, and her cuntal mound remains prominently on display.

"What the fuck!" Cerise gasps between wild attempts to get un-disrobed. Anna is meanwhile sputtering: "S-Sir... it's not -- we're not -- we didn't --"

Cerise, her massive yet perky tits still hanging out, finds the pair of slime-coated dildos on the ground and tosses them into Anna's bookbag. "Why the fuck are you just standing there!!" She wails -- at you, or at Anna, it's hard to say.

You answer anyway. "What am I supposed to do? Jump in and help?"

Cerise stumbles her way towards the teacher's desk, and the laptop connected to the projector there. Her movements are cum-drunk and uncoordinated. With a slam of her thumb against the mousepad, she kills the hentai. A mindbroken cumslut's mating-call of "ikuuuuu~~!!!" cuts out all at once, and awkward silence engulfs the clubroom in its stead.  

Both girls are still panting, though -- dazed with unfulfilled sexual need, shame, and embarrassment. Their bodies are flushed all over. Anna stares madly at the floor. Cerise gulps.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" Cerise demands once more.

You heft a calzone up to wordlessly indicate it, on the assumption that that is answer enough.

"Asshole!"

"That's no way to treat the guy bringing you free food," you retort. You can't help letting your eyes be drawn southward, towards Cerise's wet cunt hardly contained within Anna's equally wet shorts. Cerise covers it with a palm. But she can't conceal her jugs, and so you stare at those instead. She has such nice, big, mauve colored nipples...

"Pervert! Idiot!" Cerise shrieks. Music to your ears.

"I thought I'd bring some lunch in as a peace offering for disbanding anime club," you tell her. "This was supposed to be the club's usual meeting time... what happened?"

"club's canceled today" Anna says. She meekly removes the shirt she's wearing and hands it to your sister. Cerise puts it on. But that gives you some time to admire Anna's barely-there buds instead. Puffy and pink -- so small, so pretty. But Cerise interposes herself between you and Anna, blocking your view.

"She's underage, dick munch."

"That's a great point," you say. "Why are you masturbating with her?"

Cerise stammers, but has no response.

"Even if the club was canceled today, this is kind of risky, isn't it?" You say. "What if it wasn't me who walked in on you two, but someone from the administration, huh?"

"the risk is what makes it so fun" Anna says, getting her own shirt back on. Cheeky slut.

"I'd prefer for you not to become a registered sex offender anytime soon," you tell Cerise. "If you're going to masturbate to hentai with an underaged girl, have the common decency to do it in the privacy of our home."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Cerise says venomously.

"I absolutely would," you agree.

"Not gonna happen," Cerise snarls. Big words for a girl whose pussy is still visible, the dark pink clitoris still hard.

You pause to enjoy a bite of the calzone you're holding, since neither of these dykes are partaking. "All right," you say after swallowing. "Well -- since anime club got canceled, I'm sure Rose is devastated. How about we have a normal, wholesome club meeting at home tonight?"

"What about Mom?" Cerise asks.

"What's Mom got to do with anything? Didn't I just say this was going to be wholesome? Such a dirty mind you've got."

Cerise is stumped, again.

"Mom is over at Charlotte's tonight," you say. "She won't be home until late."

"Rose does need a constant, watchful eye..." Cerise muses, a finger to her lips. "If I don't keep her on the straight-and-narrow, anime-wise... she'll relapse right back into Naruto and One Piece."

"we could finish neekyu tonight" Anna offers.

Cerise snaps. "Yeah -- perfect."

You grunt your assent, and take another bite of the calzone. Then, nodding at Cerise's exposed crotch, you tell your sister: "XYZ."

Cerise turns neon, covers her genitals with one hand again, and chucks a stapler at you.

---

That evening, Cerise is curled up on the couch with Anna partially in her lap. They're sitting like this, Cerise informs you, purely so she can protect Anna from your evil clutches. Of course. It only coincidentally looks like the posture a lovey-dovey couple would adopt on movie night.

Rose of the cousinly variety is sitting with her back against the couch's armrest, her black-socked feet in your lap. Making herself right at home, as usual.

But the night's viewing activities are on hold while Rose of the sisterly variety thuds around upstairs, doing God only knows what.

"Will you tell that dummy to get down here already?" Cerise says.

"Why don't you get up off your fat ass for once and do it yourself?" You say.

"Rose actually listens to you," Cerise replies. "You're the Rose whisperer, apparently. Got Roses hanging off of you everywhere you fucking go."

Rose, smiling, wiggles her toes, cracking them. You stroke her smooth calf. Cerise flips her off.

"we can wait" Anna says, always the diplomat. "we have all night... no rush"

Cerise rolls her eyes. She pulls the laptop from the armrest on her side of the couch, and checks its wireless connectivity to the living room's television. "I'm gonna start the episode," she tells you all.

"don't start without rose" Anna says, trying to brush Cerise's hand off the mousepad. Cerise swats her away. Anna sticks her tongue out at her. You swear they're nanoseconds away from diving in for a passionate French kiss.

Before the lesbianic tension can escalate, though, Rose comes down the stairs. "Totemo gomen that it took me such a chotto!" She chirps as she rounds the corner into the living room. "All stocked up and ready to go!"

Her arms are full of lewd implements. Dildos, onaholes, vibrators, and lube. She must have been digging through your drawers -- Cerise's, too. These items, she dumps on the coffee table in front of the couch as nonchalantly as she might dump an armful of snacks. Righting her posture again, she salutes you. "Ready for some tanoshii?" She asks.

"W-- what the--" Cerise stammers. "Why did you -- is that MY dildo? Were you in my fucking room?"

The Rose with her feet in your lap sniggers, covering her lips with her dainty fingers. "Oh my," she says.

"rose you freak" Anna adds, laughing.

Rose's cheerful expression turns uncertain. "What's the matter? ... Ally said we were gonna do lewd stuff tonight. Aren't we?"

"I knew it," Cerise sighs. "You completely corrupted our little sister."

Rose grins broadly. "No way," she says. She strikes a pose reminiscent of a mahou shoujo: "I was already one-hundred-percent corrupted before Ally put his dick in me!"

Cerise exhales, the wind knocked from her.

Rose is once again uncertain. Her pose dissolves. "Do you guys... not wanna do lewd stuff right now?" She asks.

The other Rose, parting her legs just slightly, smiles back at your sister. "I'm game," she says.

"me too" Anna says. Her glasses are getting foggy again -- always a promising sign.

"You know I'm always up for it," you tell her.

Rose, spirits lifted, points triumphantly at Cerise. "There! Outvoted!"

"This is -- too much --" Cerise tries. "We can't just-- just--"

"Hey, if you want to duck out, that's your right," you tell her. "No one's forcing you."

Yellow Rose mockingly imitates Pink Rose: "We'll have some totemo tanoshii without you. That's all."

Cerise shakes her head. But she doesn't leave. Instead, she begins navigating folders on her laptop. "Changing the plan up at the last second... honestly, you guys. Now I have to completely rearrange the playlist."

"Ganbare," you tell her.

"Next person to speak pidgin Jap gets put in the circle of shame," Cerise warns.

"The circle of hazukashii, you mean," you say.

Cerise glares at you. This should be an oh-shit moment... but you're perfectly happy with your fate. If you could be encircled by girls this cute, even if they're disparaging and shaming you, is that really a punishment?

That game will have to wait for another day, though. Cerise is already queuing up files in the media player.

"This had better not be your trap bullshit," you say.

"Oh!" Cerise huffs. "That's pretty funny from the boy who fucked another boy in a maid costume just yesterday!"

"Ally did it with Alex again and I missed it?" Rose pouts. "Awww..."

"You didn't miss much," Rose informs her. "Alabaster is a quickshot whenever he gets his penis in another boy... I think he's a little gay. Not that there's anything wrong with tha-- ggghhh-- ooof--"

You cruelly grip Rose's calf, pressing into her flesh with your nails, to give her her fair share of pain for that comment. She responds by mashing the ball of her heel directly into your crotch, pressing down hard on your already growing erection. This could turn violent, and quick. But thankfully, Rose comes between you and Rose. She sits, forcing Rose to move her legs, and curls up around you in much the same way Anna is curled up with Cerise. Monkey see, monkey do.

While Rose of the infinite weebiness settles in, Rose of the infinite nagginess draws her knees back towards her body -- and, getting ready for the oncoming fun, she flips her skirt up at the waist, baring her pristine, smooth innie of a pussy. In the pale light of the TV screen, it glistens already. She's not too possessive of you at the moment. She likes watching the incestuous relationship among siblings blossom.

The hentai begins. Full bore, right away: it opens on a shot of a hardcore deepthroat. This is an animation you recognize. A certain highly-anticipated H OVA from several months back. Cerise is still getting good mileage out of it, it seems. (Of course she would be. It's a plot that centers on an older sister who's addicted to her little brother's cock.)

The five of you watch with bated breath, and the only sound in the homey living room is the slick sluicing of a dick getting serviced on-screen. You rub Rose's shoulders as you tug her a little closer to you, and bury your face against the crown of her head while she snuggles against you. The warmth and intoxicatingly sweet smell of her are fuel on the fire of your lust. Meanwhile, Anna uses Cerise's tits for a pillow, rubbing her cheeks back and forth against them. Cerise's nipples get hard from the attention, and become visible through the thin fabric of her tee. And your first-cousin-once-removed is the most shameless of all. She begins to masturbate right away. Not with her pussy, but with her anus. Anal masturbation is one of her favorite forms of foreplay when she doesn't have you available to lavish attention on her. She digs two fingers into her asshole and stirs it up while her cunt gets more and more drenched. She spreads her own anus this way and that, toying with herself, burying her fingers as far as they go -- then pulling them out and spreading herself some more. Occasionally she switches hands, to suck clean the fingers that were so recently inside herself.

"Rose..." Rose breathes, noticing the display. "You're so lewd..."

"Hand me something, will you?" Rose asks, voice husky with desperate need.

Rose reaches for the table, and finds a vibrating egg at random. She passes it off.

"Hey -- that's mine!" Cerise complains.

"It is," Rose says smugly as she takes the thing from Rose and clicks it on. She admires the way it buzzes for a moment, before adding: "...And it's about to go inside of me." She puts it in her mouth, and sucks on it to get it wet, even as it continues to buzz. Then pulling it back out by the long pink cable, she finally sticks it into her asshole. "Ohhhh," she breathes happily as the vibrations rumble through her back hole.

"Eugh," Cerise fumes.

"Get me another one," Rose says, tickling her clit.

Rose gets her another one. This second vibrating egg is a toy that actually belongs to her -- and so instead of sullying it by putting it in her asshole, she sticks it up her pussy. With two vibrators in both of her lower orifices, your lovely wife(?) is vibing in the most literal sense... she lounges back and lets the pleasure course through her body while she watches the hentai.

"Tell your girlfriend not to put my things up her ass!" Cerise tells you. "She's such a fucking--"

Whatever complaint she was about to make ends in a choked grunt as Anna, growing bold from how randy she is, tugs Cerise's shirt up to bare her breasts. Anna begins to grope them with both hands.

"soft..." she mewls.

"A-Anna--"

"you don't mind do you" Anna asks, gazing up at her like a fawn. Who could say no to those big innocent eyes? "Be gentle," is Cerise's only stipulation.

That leaves you and your imouto as the only ones not getting hot and heavy. She won't put up with that. She spreads her thighs, takes one of your wrists, and guides your hand to the dewy cleft of her panty-covered crotch. "Make me feel good, onii-chan," she begs.

"Get my cock out," you say into her pink hair, as you slip your hand past the elastic of her undies. She's perfectly happy to do as ordered. You hiss in pleasure as, with her assistance, your hot prick meets the cool open air.

For a long lazy while, not much changes: Anna mauls Cerise's tits with both hands, you and Rose masturbate for each other, and Rose lies back enjoying the sensation of two vibrators at once. You all watch the hentai together and enjoy the obscene images of throatfucking. Anna was exactly right: you've got all night. No need to rush.

Cerise has a whole playlist of depraved animation on tap. No hands required: as soon as one episode ends, another episode of another OVA series begins. This one is about a proud kingdom's proud royals getting conquered and raped.

"Rose," you whisper to your little sister. "Use my onahole on me, okay?"

She's more than okay with that. She slides down to her butt. Taking a bottle of lube from the table, she opens the top and squeezes it in a viscous laminar stream across your throbbing member. Not wanting to ruin your pants, you slide them off -- your shirt, too, why not? It's liberating to be nude while your sister services you, and your other sister lezzes out beside you.

Rose takes a few moments to make sure your cock is thoroughly coated with the slimy liquid. She loves to jerk you off, and she has a nicely honed technique after months of practice. Her two hands corkscrew around your shaft in opposing directions, milking you, and making you moan involuntarily. But she knows that no handjob will satisfy you right now. So at last she takes your favorite closed-end onahole of sticky pink silicone and fills that with the lube, too. Once it's full to the brim with the transparent slurry, she upends it and slips it over your cock. It's like fucking your prick into a warm puddle. As your cock displaces the huge volume of the lube Rose used -- way more than was ever needed -- it flows back out, down across your cock, over your balls and ass, and seeps into the couch cushions. Should have laid out some towels... too late now.

The other three girls all have their attention fixed squarely on this nasty sight, not the ongoing anime sex scene. Rose cums hard on her vibrators, squirting a little as she rubs herself. Cerise is getting hot, too. Between yet again watching her siblings get freaky, and having her little schoolgirl lover toy with her breasts, she's at her limit. She slides her fingers down her pants, lost to shame. But Anna, helpful as always, quickly removes Cerise's hand, and replaces it with her own.

"You're--" Cerise gasps. "You're touching my--"

"shhhh" Anna coos. "let me help..." She slips her fingers past the opening of Cerise's hole at the same time as she latches her lips to Cerise's nipple.

Rose establishes a steady fapping pace with the toy. You lean forward, and Rose never breaks pace as you grab two of the dildos off the table. You dump them next to the lovebirds on your left. "Use these," you tell them. More of a command, really -- but it's a courtesy, too. They could use the relief.

No recriminations of "pervert!" from Cerise right now. She's too horny to play the prude. Instead, she struggles free of her shirt and shorts, with Anna's eager help. Anna strips, too. Grinning at each other, they each take one of the ersatz cocks. The two do as StuCoRo did -- using their lips and tongues to get the toys nice and wet with slobber, in preparation for insertion. There's an obvious debauched enjoyment in this for them, too. They take a long couple minutes fellating the rubber toys as they grin and stare into one another's eyes. Then they swap: Anna licking the toy Cerise is holding, Cerise licking the toy Anna is holding. Dick sucking practice for lesbians -- valuable curriculum. 

Rose's fapping of your cock is close to bringing you off. You don't want her to be the only one missing out on the enjoyment, though. You nudge her with your ankle, silently signaling her to spread her knees a bit. This gives you enough clearance to molest her cunt with your foot. It's just enough pressure, through her panties, to tickle her little kitty's clitty and make her sigh in pleasure at the tease. That's you -- you love to tease your little sister's cunt. She closes her eyes, breathes hard, and picks up the pace of her dicksleeve-assisted service. She uses both her hands to slosh the pocket pussy up and down on your horny cock, like churning butter. The pink toy is a blur on you. It sounds just like fucking a real pussy -- squelchy and wet.

Cerise and Anna are ready for the main event. And rather than use their dildos on themselves, Rose has given them the deliciously pervy idea of using them on one another. They open their legs akimbo, Cerise's thick and jiggly, Anna's scrawny and firm. With the crook of Anna's knee hooked over one of Cerise's fat thighs, they rub the heads of their toys up and down against each other's pussies. It gathers up their dew, and smears them with their spit too. You so love both their darling little fuckholes: Anna's all pink and tight, Cerise's dark and squishy-looking. They're such a contrast with one another, but they both get your cock throbbing in their own special ways. And right now, with your cock throbbing in the slick confines of your favorite masturbation device, it feels... really, really good.

The Rose beside you on the couch is the only one paying much attention to the TV. Hentai centered on rape always gets her motor revving. That word is what's on her mind right now -- and her lips. She shoves the vibrators as deep as she can get them, muttering to herself over and over, "rape... rape... rape... I love rape..."

It doesn't take much effort for Cerise and Anna to get these fake cocks lodged inside each other's bodies. Even as huge as the sextoys are, and as small as their sopping cunts are, they're so turned-on that a little bit of pain is nothing to them in service of cumming. They watch Rose playing with your cock while they pump the dicks in and out of each other, for each other. Each dildo's base rams against the puffy mound of each masturbating girl, and a loud meaty thwacking noise joins all the other elements of tonight's indecent chorus.

"I wanna fuck you... I wanna fuck you, onii-chan..." Rose pants, as your pussyfooting starts to melt her mind.

This catches the attention of Cerise, cum-addled though she is. Her glassy eyes regain their focus. "C-condom--!!" She says, unable to form full, coherent sentences, but still desperate to keep her sister unimpregnated.

"We've got one," you tell her.

Rose giggles like the dumb cunt she is. You love her so much. "Yepperoni! Don't worry, Cerise-neesama! He's already got his condom on!"

She takes the now mostly-empty bottle of fuck lube again, and this time she drizzles it over the outside of your onahole.

"no-- no way..." Anna murmurs, understanding but disbelieving the spectacle she's about to witness.

With the thick walls of the silicone toy hugging your already thick dick, the thing that Rose is about to stick in her baby pussy is an absolute monster. She's up for the challenge. And the other three girls are up to see her tackle it. Cerise and Anna's hands quicken, fucking each other's holes faster and faster. Rose meanwhile tugs the vibrating eggs from her holes and begins to use a good old-fashioned dildo too, to reach those really deep spots that she wants to feel getting repeatedly hammered.

Rose's pink bangs sway as she crawls into your lap, on her knees, and clings to your shoulders. You hold your rubber-encased dick against her twat for her, as she rubs herself back and forth.

You start to buck, but: "hold on... hold on, hold on," she pleads. She pulls up just a smidgen, takes the lube one last time, and squeezes the remainder of the bottle's contents straight into her own body. It's one of the most perverted things you've seen in a while, and that's saying a lot. She gets the lid of the bottle inside her cunny and presses down. It takes more than a few long, sputtering, wheezing squeezes on the bottle before all the slick liquid is inside her -- it's like she's inseminating herself. And as she pulls the bottle's lid out of her and tosses the now empty thing to the ground with a clatter, all that stuff is dripping and oozing from her orifice in thick, gloppy strands, all over your lap and the cushions below. She's inundated, inside and out. A total mess. So are you, now.

She's not the only mess. Rose rapes herself on her rubber dick, so wet that she's sitting in a puddle. She bows her knees and grips the dildo's base with her surprisingly prehensile socked toes, freeing up her hands to tug out her enormous boobs and tweak her nipples while she keeps up the pace of her self-fucking. Cerise and Anna are hardly more dignified: they're writhing against each other and sucking on each other's tits while they hump each other's toy cocks and make a wet mess of their own from out of their leaky crotches.

Despite greasing herself up as much as humanly possible, Rose needs help getting fucked. You have to hold her thick tummy about the waist, and force her down over your dick. You've talked about trying this before, figuring it would feel better than a condom, but it's your first attempt at actually doing it. She grunts in something approaching agony as the head of your prick pushes past the tight pucker of her twat. It's way more than a girl of her size and age should ever be made to accommodate. She even begins to cry a little as you relentlessly force yourself into her and wreck her cunt up. But through the tears, she smiles, and enthusiastically helps you defile her. She wants nothing more than to be her big brother's living cock-hole.

But does this kind of thing even really count as sex anymore? It truly is like you're masturbating inside her body. Her cunt is an actual dicksleeve now, and your cock is likewise a dildo. You and your sister are just helping each other masturbate, not having sex. The nice thing about it, though, is it feels just as good as actually fucking her.

Rose hugs your neck and kisses you deeply as she begins to hump up and down. Her pussy's fluttering makes the synthetic pussy wrapped around you clamp down and kiss your prick all over with its many ridges. You can feel her immense body heat translated through the silicone. "Cum for me, big bro! Cum for me!" she says, voice slurred like she's drunk or drugged.

"she -- really did it -- that's so hot..." says Anna, cumming herself fucking stupid. "i want to try it too..."

"Try it, hell..." Cerise moans. "I want to see it..."

Cerise adopts a now-familiar position, on her knees in front of you as you fuck Rose silly. But this time she's got a second, and a third. Anna and Rose both join her. They get the suction-cup bases of their dildos affixed firmly to the ground, and fuck themselves down to the root on their respective toys as they huddle in close to the sight of your union with your young sister. They get their noses pressed up against your nuts, and your ass, and Rose's candy-sweet cunt too. They don't mind how the collective fluid of your mating seeps out, down, and across their faces. The disgusting commingled mess of it -- a slime of lube, cock juice, and girl-cream -- spatters and splashes and drips across Cerise's, Anna's, and Rose's girlish features. They not only do not mind this humiliation, but they open their mouths and welcome it inside themselves... and in unison, they begin to buck their hips, getting their pretty pussies off while they watch.

It's a wonderful view, these three beauties sniffing your genitals, and your sister's genitals too. Horniest of the three, Rose is unable to hold herself back, and begins to lap at Rose's asshole. Cerise, seeing this, focuses instead on your asshole -- rimming you out while burying her nostrils against your heavy testicles. And so Anna gets the good bits in between. She uses her tiny pink tongue to lick your prick, and Rose's quim, and the opening of the flesh-toy separating the two. She's indiscriminate, and a bit selfish in the way her tongue explores. They all are. Cerise licks your asshole not to help please you but to help please herself -- because wagging her tongue around deep inside your anus is just the thing to set her cunt off to an explosive orgasm. Ditto Rose, who enjoys the sweet flavor and aroma of her former love-rival's asshole, and could not possibly care less how good it feels for the stupid bitch.

With all this nasty action happening, these horny gals could be forgiven for losing their situational awareness. Honestly, you do too. But you have enough left over to finally hear the soft rustle behind you. With both elbows looped over the couch's headrest, you turn your face and glance over your shoulder towards the foyer. There, standing nearly motionless and transfixed, are two women. You mother, and Rose's mother. They've come back much earlier than anticipated.

Mom and Charlotte both have adopted similar poses. They clutch their tops up by their collarbones, and blush deeply as they watch this unfolding depravity. Their thick thighs are pressed together tight as can be. Subconsciously, their fingers are drifting down, down... towards their denim-covered crotches, and the wet spots quickly developing there, as their breathing becomes heavier and heavier. They notice you notice them -- you lock eyes first with Charlotte, then with Mom. They gasp, but can't bring themselves to move.

You decide to go for broke, then. Not breaking eye contact with Mom, you say in your gruffest voice: "Fuck, Rose... I'm gonna cum inside you."

Mom moans.

"Cum inshide me, big bro!!! Cum inside my pusshhhyyyyy!!!"

And below you, Cerise eggs you on: "Yes! YES!! Fill her up!!"

The Rose between your knees adds: "Cum on our faces, too! Let it all out! Rape us!"

Charlotte cups her pussy through her jeans and begins to squeeze her mound rythmically. Mom wobbles like she's about to faint.

You maintain eye contact: "Oh fuck... oh fuck... I'm cumming! I'm fucking cumming!"

The sloppy sound of it is audible over the hentai, as your seed escapes the overfull dicksleeve and splatters the three cunts orally servicing you. As your long, luxurious, incestuous orgasm goes and goes; as your little sister, humping you, wails like a banshee; as Cerise, Anna, and Rose make noises like pigs at a trough as their bury their faces into their chosen spots and rub them all around the sloppy mess of your genitals -- Charlotte and Mom both forego their own decency, slip their hands into their jeans, and begin to openly masturbate, too. They paw their breasts through their sweaters, and orgasm in their pants while they watch you use their daughters.

You even hear Mom mutter under her breath: "yes... rape your sisters..." -- and Charlotte tacks on: "use my little girl..."

You grin at them as you do just that.

But that little vocal outburst of theirs draws notice, other than your own. It happens just as the two moms finish cumming and the post-nut clarity hits them. They have barely enough time to vacate the foyer, fleeing towards the stairs, as the girls all poke their heads up.

"Was someone there?" Cerise asks.

May as well tell the truth: "Yeah, I think so."

"Ehhhh?" Rose says, unable to keep herself still, continuing her lazy humping on your dicksleeve. "Who?"

You shrug. You help Rose climb off your cock, and take the onahole in hand -- and begin to dump the creamy load all over the other three. They tilt their heads back and cup their hands in front of their chins to happily receive it, swirling their tongues around in the slimy mess that pools in their palms and on their faces. As they fuck themselves on their dildos, they're already desperate for round 2, and have forgotten any concern over who the interlopers were.

"Cerise," you say. "Get on your stomach. I'm gonna fuck you."

Cerise's eyes bulge. "C-condom?" She says.

"No fucking condom," you snarl. "Get on your fucking stomach."

Cerise can only obey. She climbs off her dildo and lies on her stomach on the carpet -- face down, ass up. For moral support, Anna adopts an identical position beside her. They link hands and kiss as you get seated inside your elder sister. Meanwhile, the Roses continue to enjoy the pleasures of rimming -- mutually this time, in a 69.

As you begin to fuck Cerise raw with your already cummy cock -- on a maximally unsafe day, check -- she finds your discarded onahole and sucks on it. So... Rose isn't the only sister of yours who likes to suckle on your used condoms. Although, since Cerise is kissing Anna too, she has to share. Their ruined faces become even more disgusting.

Mom and Charlotte are already back and watching again. They haven't joined in. Yet. But you're fully confident that they've crossed a point of no return. Their jeans are unzipped and their hands are working hard -- on each other's pussies.

---

You jimmy the lock on Cerise's door. Thank you, Rose, for finally imparting that skill.

Cerise is surprisingly content with you trespassing. Sitting at her PC in just panties -- nothing else whatsoever -- she grumps at you: "go away, asshole." But it's a halfhearted demand and she makes no real move to oust you.

"You've got an admirer waiting for you downstairs."

"No I don't. I've got a slut who's gagging for weeaboo dick waiting for me downstairs. Excuse the holy fuck out of me if I don't rush to go meet up with her." She cranes her neck down to look at her own naked tits. Frowning, jaw and lower lip jutting out, she notices a single long strand of her hair stuck in her cleavage. She takes a moment to pull it out, examines it for a moment, then tosses it unheeded onto her messy carpet. Such a high-class lady, your sister.

"Look at yourself," you tell her. "You're jealous of Connor for godsakes."

"I'm not jealous of anybody," Cerise says flatly.

"Just a few days from now, Connor is going to get Anna's dress hiked up in the back of a limo and deflower her. And all you c--"

Cerise does that thing where she scratches her scalp madly with both hands as if infected with lice while groaning like a fatally wounded animal.

"Right," you say. "You're not jealous."

"I AM NOT JEALOUS, ALABASTER, YOU COCK! YOU ABSOLUTE COCK!"

You go to her desk, reach behind it, and unplug her PC tower. The gentle LED glow from the tower dies, and the gentle whir of the fans along with it. You can hear the monitor cut out, too -- a high-pitched electric ca-liiiick of dissipating static.

"I was in the middle of something important!" Cerise shouts. "What is wrong with you?"

"You were shitposting on *chan," you say. "That's the opposite of important."

"Who the hell are you to define what's important to me?"

"If you spend too long on there, it'll rot your brain," you tell her. "And sooner or later, a girl like you is gonna get those weirdos all obsessed with her."

Cerise snorts. "Yeah, right. I don't reveal any personal info on *chan. The last thing I want is their thirst coming through my monitor. I'm not stupid. I know they'd trip over their cocks to get at a cute girl like me."

"Cute," you repeat. You make a show of looking her from head to toe, as if skeptical. Grimacing, Cerise grabs a stapler from her desktop.

"If you toss that thing at me," you warn her, "I am going to beat you black and blue with your own dildo."

Cerise's face goes slack as she notices her favorite pet dildo has been left out in the open. It's standing tall and proud just beside her PC monitor. She drops the stapler, and grabs the sex toy instead, rolling it under her bed like a SWAT member rolling a canister of tear gas. So smooth.

"Get dressed, tits," you tell her. "We're going shopping."

"Fuck off."

You take it in stride. "We're both fucking off. And while we're gone, I'll have Rose and Rose try to febreeze the pussy funk out of here. You live like a pig. Do you know that?"

Cerise spins in her chair to face you, unashamed of her tits hanging out, as she obscenely cups her crotch. "Suck my dick."

"Your degenerate media has got you confused over your own gender now," you say in mock sadness.

"You'd love it," Cerise insists.

"Suck my dick," you rejoin.

Cerise arches an eyebrow.

"Later," you add, and Cerise just barely can't hide the whiff of disappointment that crosses her face. You glance around her sty of a room before continuing: "Whitney and I are going dress shopping. I thought it would be a good chance for you to get out of the house too, and away from Anna. Since you're so not-jealous and not-upset at her that you're hiding from her like America's most wanted. Besides, we can get you a dress while we're out, too."

"Why do I need a dress?" Cerise asks.

"You're a chaperone."

Cerise looks at you like a particularly dull cow.

"Chaperones should be presentable..." you say, as if explaining numbers to a kindergartner. "It's important."

"I'm getting my strap-on. Suck my dick, Alabaster, for real. Suck it."

"Why do you even own something like that?" You ask. "Got some big plans for it?" But Cerise won't answer. You move on. "Ms. Carte is coming, too. Maybe she can help you with all the latest trends in underage drinking, like usual."

Cerise's face lights up, just a little. She loves hanging out with the science teachers in your life: Sable and Ms. Carte alike. The two older women are in the midst of a minor war over the affections of both Cerise and Alex. Well... minor is a bit of an understatement.

"I'll get dressed," Cerise says.

"Oh, that's too bad. I was looking forward to parading you around town fully tits-out."

Cerise threateningly hefts her stapler.

You rub your chin. "Arms ziptied behind your back... embarrassed look on your face... maybe a little something else all over your face, too... no?"

"Get out of my room, you fucking prick!"

Well. She's going, anyway. Which is the important thing.

Fōtsūtsū is a designer boutique Ms. Carte insists is perfect for the occasion. You're skeptical. You seem to remember this place, or one quite like it, from a world before. And back then, all it sold was slutty cosplay apparel.

"Trust me," Ms. Carte tells you, petting your arm as she drives you all towards the destination. (Snagging shotgun from the three girls currently sitting in the back of the car took quite some doing.) "This place has such an amazing selection. We'll turn these hos into knockouts."

"I'm not a ho!" Whitney whines.

Ms. Carte meets her daughter's eyes in the rearview. "Oh you know I love you, baby, but you're a ho."

It seems Whitney's unique patois is rubbing off on her mother -- and now is being weaponized against her. Whitney rears back and repeatedly kicks the back of her mother's seat. Ms. Carte just laughs at the assault.

Vivian says: "I agree with Ms. Carte. You are a slattern, Whitney. No shame in that." She glances from her sister, towards her surrogate mother. "And it isn't your fault. Being a slattern runs in your genes."

Ms. Carte gives Vivian an unimpressed glare. "Are you calling me a ho?"

"More than that. I believe I am calling you a dirty whore."

Whitney cups her hands over her mouth: "Shots fiiiired!" She says in her deepest voice, like a ringside announcer. She jumps up in her seat as if caught in the radius of an exploding landmine: "Kapow!"

"Pot calling the kettle whore, don't you think?" Cerise asks Vivian, cheek-on-fist, elbow-on-windowsill. "I've seen some of the stuff you and my brother do."

Vivian is cool and collected. She examines her fingernails. "I already said that there is no shame in being a dirty whore. The sooner the rest of you come to accept that, the more fun we can all have..."

Cerise rolls her eyes.

---

"All this place sells is slutty cosplay apparel!" Cerise groans as she looks through the racks at Fōtsūtsū.

"That's not all of it!" Ms. Carte says. "There are some wonderfully elegant dresses along the walls. You just have to look in the right place for what you want."

Making a disgusted face, Cerise tugs a gyaru-style seifuku from the racks: the blouse cropped mega short and tied off like a do-rag at the chest, the skirt cut even shorter. It comes with a free pair of baggy kneesocks and all.

"That's not the right place to look," Ms. Carte admits.

"We sure about that?" You ask.

"In your fucking dreams," Cerise says.

"But you'd look great as a gyaru--"

Ms. Carte takes the thing from her and examines it appreciatively. "Is that what's it called? A gyrau style?" She holds against her chest. It's pitifully small for her build, in all dimensions. "What do you think? Would it accentuate my youthful beauty or what?"

Whitney puts her thumb and forefinger between her lips and literally wolf-whistles. Vivian's impression of a wolf, meanwhile, amounts only to silently gazing at Ms. Carte like one -- she even licks her chops.

This trip could be interesting.

Vivian and Ms. Carte, neither of whom need a dress for prom, while away the time trying on slutty cosplay apparel. Ms. Carte forces her buxom body into that gyaru seifuku. The cropped blouse strains against her tits, the single black button threatening to pop at any moment. If not for her bra underneath, you're pretty sure her nipples would be visible. And if not for her panties, you're certain her cunt and ass would be. You're intensely interested in seeing her wear the outfit like that, braless and pantsuless, as God intended.

Vivian, on the other hand, dresses as a succubus. It's an outfit not dissimilar from the one you used to make Alex wear.

Now there's an idea... Vivian would be the perfect person to initiate Alex into the seedy world of succubus-ing. Vivian's tiny body looks amazing in the form-fitting leather onepiece, and the fishnets make her twig-like legs somehow infinitely sexier. You're curious about the possibility of an aftermarket mod on the demon tail. You did that for Alex once upon a time, too -- and you know it would be even easier to convince Vivian to use the same solution for affixing the tail to her rear end...

"What do you think?" Ms. Carte asks Vivian. She slowly twirls through a full 360 degrees, admiring her body in a full-length mirror. "Do we look like hos?"

"Oh yes," Vivian says slyly. "Wouldn't you agree, Alabaster? Do we not look like cheap sluts?"

You nod, mouth dry.

"His head is full of indecent images," Vivian says. "He wants nothing more than to pin me to the wall, and rip my fishnets to shreds --"

Ms. Carte boxes her ears, making her wince and clutch her head like a scolded child. "Don't get carried away. We're in public."

"All the better..." Vivian murmurs as the pain subsides. "Would you like to punish me some more?"

You tug your collar. Turning and heading towards the dressing room where Whitney is cooped up, you raise your hand to knock on the wooden-slatted door. But the delinquent known as Renee Carte pulls you back.

"Ah-ah-ah," she chides. "You don't get to see."

"The hell?" You sputter.

"You heard me. You don't get to see Whitney in her dress before the big night."

"Don't tell me you believe it's bad luck or something," you say.

"God no," Ms. Carte says, disgusted at the mere implication she would be so superstitious. She circles you and strokes your chest. Then she raises her leg, and gently presses your crotch with her knee. The absurdly baggy sock around her calf jiggles with the motion. "I just want your first glimpse of her to blow your mind." She perches her chin on your shoulder and whispers: "If you don't fuck my little girl in the back of the limo on your way to the dance, I've failed as a mother."

As Ms. Carte pulls back, you flap your lips, but no words escape.

Ms. Carte giggles, low and smoky. "Run along now, baby. Go help your sister pick her dress out. But don't get your dick too wet. Dressing like a horny teenager made me feel like one, too. I'm calling dibs tonight."

You sneak into the dressing room where Cerise is hiding. She has a number of dresses hanging off a small rack on the wall -- ones she hand-picked as potentials. You watch her rifle through them as she searches for an outfit you'll find acceptable. She's wearing only her bra and panties.

"I usually charge for a show like this," she tells you over her shoulder. She pulls out a plain carnation-pink evening gown from the riot of dresses and holds it up for your appraisal. You give her a thumbs down. She tosses the dress aside and goes back to rooting around.

Finally she pulls a stunner out. It's a long, sweeping white dress with ornate pearl-like baubles around the chest, a wide hip, and a flowing skirt. Playing aloof, you meet this with a shrug rather than a thumbs down, which is good enough for her. She begins to put it on.

"You're putting that thing on over your dirty underwear?" You demand. "Are you the grossest human being to ever live or what?"

She pauses, one arm inside the selected dress. "You want the panties to come off too? I definitely charge for that."

"Do I seriously have to be your fucking daddy, Cerise? Put it on nude."

She uses her index finger to make the universal signal for "turn around," and you oblige her at least that level of dignity. She changes in relative privacy.

"You know that this is nothing I haven't seen before, right?" You ask. "No need for modesty now."

"Shut up."

"You literally drank my sperm out of a used onahole the other night--"

"Shut up. Shut up."

"I'm just saying. It's not like I'm never going to see that fat ass of yours again. But that's fine... play it prudish if you want--"

"You can turn around now."

You do. She makes a half-heated "ta-da" motion, showing off her dress. Rather than refined, she looks uncomfortable, all itchy and hot.

"Do you have a brooch?"

A few moments later, you're pinning a brooch for her in front of the mirror. She sits in a chair as you lean over her shoulder, your cheek against her cheek. Your fingers are quick and nimble.

You like the way her perfume smells.

As you work, the two of you fuss and bicker without fully forming any real sentences. It's just a back-and-forth of: "come h- will you- stop- for the- Ala- Ceri- just stop mov- tch- hss-"

You have to swat her hands away every time she tries to move them towards her collar. You can tell she's mortified.

Finally, it's over. "I could have done that myself," she grumbles.

"The first five minutes of watching you try was more than enough," you say. "We don't have all day."

Cerise turns and examines herself in the mirror. "...Do I look presentable?" She asks, worrying her lower lip.

"Just barely. Presentable enough to make a weeaboo go full dyke for you -- we'll see."

---

One day, Alex rides to school on a pogo stick. You see him cross through the front gates at North High as you and some of the others are just getting to campus yourselves.

As he hops around like a methed-up bunny, with apparent ease, Whitney goes agog and stares at him like she's hallucinating. She literally rubs her eyes with the balls of her fists. "Is that a fucking pogo stick?" She says.

"Yep!" Alex says, laughing, as he crosses in front of her.

"Ehhhhh?" Rose says. "Sugoi!"

Alex glances over his shoulder, back at Whitney. "What do you think?"

"It's nucking futs, it what I think!" Whitney says.

He keeps hopping back and forth, and all around, as you walk through the quad. He's drawing no small amount of attention from his peers. They watch him, murmuring among themselves. Not in a mocking way, either. Such a strange sight is sincerely impressive to them. (It doesn't hurt that Alex is far from a typical nerd. A cute boy doing something so quirky is as fun for the other students to witness as it is for you.)

"Isn't that kind of... tiring?" You ask him.

"Nope! Using a pogo stick is actually easier than walking, once you get the hang of it."

Rose snickers. "My, my. I suppose you are rather acquainted with bouncing up and down on sticks."

Alex almost falls over.

"What compelled your decision to act in such a bizarre fashion?" Vivian asks.

"I told Ms. Guiteau yesterday that a spring-assisted hopping mechanism for our robot would be the perfect solution, but she thinks jumping is inefficient!" He finally comes to a halt, and gets down off his stick. He hefts it over his shoulder like a soldier toting his rifle. In an almost apologetic tone, he tells you: "Ms. Guiteau is a genius, but she doesn't have a solid grasp of physics... she doesn't understand at all the stored potential energy of springs! So I'm proving to her how efficient it is!"

There's a brief, awkward silence.

"...Good luck," you finally tell him.

"I'll need it!"

As he hurries towards his first period class, you notice Anna watching him with a curious look on her face.

Thus begins a two-week war of unusual locomotion.

You don't know why she wants to best him. Anna is the precise opposite of an attention hog. But she comes to school the next day on a pogo stick, too -- and hops literal circles around him, ten times faster than the poor boy. He's humiliated by the spectacle, and the students hooting and hollering over it. Anna, though remaining her usual quiet self, is plainly exultant in her cruel one-upsmanship. When, at lunch, you ask her why -- she only shrugs. But a sly grin is visible on the edges of her lips.

The next day, Alex returns having obviously trained in the hyperbolic pogo chamber. He's a speed demon -- and he even does a few sick stunts, pogoing up and down stairs, across the outdoor tables in the quad, and over some low railings. If Anna was exultant yesterday, she's downright sullen and pouty now.

After that, Anna comes to school on a velocipede. Apparently her mother works in a museum, and found a way to steal such an artifact just for her daughter to outdo her twink rival. Anna isn't amused when you ask where her bowler and handlebar mustache are. Alex is even less amused at her hijinks. Whereas fellow students were gaga for his pogo, now they're all paying much more attention to Anna's old-tymey contraption. He hates it.

So the next day he blazes in on rollerblades. Olympic-quality rollerblades -- complete with a spandex racing suit (pink). He vaults into the air and rollerblades across the walls a little. Rose claps; Rose gasps. Whitney shrieks with laughter. And Anna -- is so mad she's red.

So she comes into school on a razor scooter. Terrible miscalculation. Razor scooters are lame no matter how you ride them. And she flubs it anyway, missing a jump down a short flight of limestone stairs, scuffing her knee. As you kneel to tend to her booboo, Alex looms over you: "Oof... that looks like it really hurt."

"Fuck you," Anna says -- voice crystal clear with hate.

"Oh well," Alex says, smiling. "There's always tomorrow!"

Alex has the advantage now. He presses it by arriving on campus the next day riding a motherfucking, goddamn unicycle. He's obviously been practicing for this... it's his coup de grace in this battle of iron wills. As he circles the campus, he's a virtual pied piper. Dewy-eyed girls and suddenly-bicurious boys alike go following him around as he performs for them.

But it doesn't end. The next day, Anna comes to school on a unicycle of her own. And she's pedaling it with her hands. Upside-down, legs high in the air.

She doesn't maneuver the thing as well or as quickly as Alex does. But the fact that she can ride it at all, like this, is enough. Alex at last must concede defeat. He can't top her. He stomps off, ego injured.

At lunch, Anna is smug in victory: "theres always tomorrow"

Whitney slaps her back, making her jolt. "You're a laugh riot, Gal!"

"That nickname is silly," Alex grouses.

"You're silly," Whitney tells him.

He chews a french fry and simmers.

---

After programming class, Sable asks you to stay back. "There's something important that I need to speak with you about," she tells you.

You wait for the other students to file out. Stackleford is the only one who doesn't.

"'Sup?" He asks Sable, drawing up alongside you.

Sable stares at him blankly.

"I said 'sup?" Stackleford repeats.

Sable stares at him blankly.

"...I think this is meant to be a one-on-one conversation," you tell him.

"Oh."

"Just us," you add. "Us as in Sable and I."

"Oh -- ohhh. Yeah. Uhhh. Sure. See you in Turkey club!"

He finally leaves. But his smell lingers.

Sable frowns at you. "Why are you friends with that boy?"

"That's really overstating the case," you say. "Hey -- at least he lost weight this semester."

Sable goes to the window. She's a little downcast. More than usual. "Alex has taken an interest in unusual forms of locomotion," she says, as if announcing that he has terminal cancer.

"No shit? It's not like I saw him riding to school on a unicycle today or anything."

"Sarcasm is not appreciated," Sable says. She turns, and looks at you. "I can tell when love is in the air. It's a seasonal phenomenon... springtime infatuation. He's vying for the love of one Anna Healy by trying to impress her... and her him."

You think she's severely misunderstanding this situation. Their battle is just one of two cheeky cunts being cheeky at each other. But you understand why she would see it the way she does. Especially when her own perspective is clouded by infatuation.

"What's the problem with that?" You ask. "They're your two best students. Wouldn't it be neat if they dated?"

"No!" Sable shrieks, so shrill it could shatter glass, as she pounds the desk with a fist. You jump back. Sable clears her throat, and brings her voice level again. "I want to learn to ride a unicycle. You have sex with Alex often enough -- do you know how to unicycle, too?"

"Having sex isn't like Megaman," you tell her. "Why the fuck would having sex with Alex make me into a unicyclist too?"

Sable sneers at you. "So you can't help. As expected. Useless boy."

You suspect something is missing in her baseline knowledge here. So before things move any further, you ask: "do you even know how to ride a bike?"

"No," she says.

"Shouldn't you learn how to ride a bike first?"

"Doesn't it make sense to begin with one wheel before moving on to two wheels?" Sable replies.

Alex was right. Sable does not have a good grasp on physics.

"Do you own a bike?" You ask her.

She shakes her head, just barely enough to be discerned.

"All right. Let's begin there. We'll buy you a bike."

"I don't need--"

"Do you want to impress Alex or not?" You demand. "Do you want to win him back from the clutches of that redhaired slut, or not?"

"I don't need to impress -- I don't care ab -- this isn't --"

You pull out your phone and look up a local bike shop. "Here... The Blue Sprocket. Sounds promising. Do you have some time to go shopping?"

---

The day after family movie night, Alabaster is out at that skank Ms. Carte's house, visiting with her and her two skank daughters. Mom takes the opportunity, with the house to themselves, to have an important conversation with Cerise, Rose, and Rose2. She gets them sitting in three chairs, all in a row, just off to the side of the dining room table. She sits in a fourth chair directly facing them, like a teacher about to read a storybook at storytime.

The girls already have a pretty good idea what this rigmarole is all about. And Cerise is already defending herself: "Mom -- what you saw last night -- it wasn't--"

"Shush," Mom tells her. "I know exactly what I saw. You're having sex with Alabaster."

No use denying it. They're mortified, all three of them are. Yes, in the throes of passion last night, Mom was clearly into what she saw -- the girls did eventually notice her there since she made herself hard to miss diddling herself on the floor of the foyer with Charlotte -- but in the harsh light of day, they think, she may not be so enthusiastic. Cerise hangs her head. Rose fiddles with her skirt. Rose2 takes off her glasses and cleans the lenses.

"How long have you been doing this with him?" Mom asks.

"A few months," Rose says. She knows Mom may or may not approve, but she's still happy to announce how long her big bro has been fucking her.

"We've fooled around a little bit here and there..." Cerise begins, putting it as mildly as possible. She's crimson. She can't look up from her lap. "But... uh, last night was our first, uh... ahem... you know..."

Mom nods. "That's wonderful. You gave your flower to him..."

"Please don't call it that," Cerise begs.

Mom glances at Rose2. "How about you?"

Rose2 looks rather like a deer in headlights. She puts a palm to her chest, to indicate herself: "--Me?"

"Yes!"

"How long have Alabaster and I been having sex, you mean?"

Mom nods expectantly.

"...Quite a while, I should think," Rose2 finally says.

Mom, raising an index finger in the air, says: "I'm glad the three of you have such an intimate relationship with him. Even you, Ro, dear... you've practically lived here so long that you're like a third daughter to me. It's so sweet."

(Cerise rolls her eyes. Rose2 smiles warmly.)

"But you need to be careful!" Mom tells them, cutting to the chase.

Cerise sighs. "I... I know, Mom. We're usually careful. I swear."

Mom nods. "Good. I heard some mention of condoms... so you're using condoms with him, then?"

Cerise puts an arm around Rose's shoulder. "Yeah. Of course. I always make sure Alabaster uses protection with her."

Mom looks Rose's way for confirmation.

"Mm hmm!" Rose chirps, nodding, pink pigtails swaying. "She's a real stickler about it. Always makes us use 'em!"

"Stop that!" Mom barks at Cerise.

Cerise coughs.

Mom's expression grows stern. "You need to stop using condoms! That's the worst thing you can do!"

"Are you -- are you joking?" Cerise stammers. She takes her arm back from around Rose's shoulder. "You have to be joking right now."

"Why do you think Alabaster has sex with you?" Mom asks. She answers her own question: "He does it because sex feels good! But sex doesn't feel nearly as good with a condom on. Any man will tell you. Men hate using condoms -- in other words! If you force Alabaster to wear a condom, he won't feel as good, and he'll stop wanting to have sex with you. That's obvious!"

"Ehh?" Rose says. "Do you really think so?"

"Alabaster is fine with condoms," Rose2 insists. "He won't leave us just because he has to use them sometimes. He loves us."

"And anyway, what about the risk?" Cerise says.

"If you're worried about pregnancy, I can get you all some birth control," Mom says. She pauses before adding: "...If you want me to."

"I mean, if you expect us not to use any condoms--" Rose2 begins.

Mom cuts her off. "Right. Since you won't be using condoms, you can use the pill instead. ... If you want to."

"Well if we don't use *something*, we'll end up getting pregnant," Cerise says.

Mom lets that remark hang in the air.

"Alabaster is a young man," Mom says. "Young men are looking for one thing and one thing only in a partner: someone to cum inside of!" The girls are a little gobsmacked by the directness of that one. "Sorry to be so crass. But it's the simple truth. Alabaster has a biological need. He can't help it. If you make him wear a condom, that need isn't being met... and he'll go find another pussy to meet it with!"

"Mom..." Cerise whispers.

"Let me ask you this. Do you think Whitney makes Alabaster wear a condom? Or how about that creepy little Darkbloom girl? Certainly not! *They're* letting Alabaster fuck them raw! That's why he's over there right now, instead of here, fucking you! Think about that!"

"This isn't a competition," Rose2 says. "Don't frame it that way."

"That's what you think," Mom says. "But don't you want to be his wife one day?"

"Well -- yes," Rose2 admits.

"That makes it a competition. And you won't win if you keep a mindset like that! None of you will! If you girls are going to have sex with Alabaster, you need to do it the right way -- without any protection. Only by letting Alabaster ejaculate raw inside of you, will you keep him coming back for more. It's not about love! It's nothing to do with how he feels about you! I'm sure he loves you all. But none of that matters when it comes to sex. Men might talk a big game about lovey-dovey romance, but when they're having sex, that isn't what they care about. They have sex to cum! You girls need to accept the fact that when Alabaster fucks you, he's using you as a receptacle for his lust. So be a good receptacle!"

"A semen toilet!" Rose, peppy, adds. "That's what Ally says I am."

"Exactly," Mom says with an encouraging nod. "That's the perfect way to think of it. Your pussies are semen toilets for Alabaster now. So if you won't actually let him use your pussy as a semen toilet, you've failed as a lover."

Rose giggles: this is exactly what she wanted to hear. Cerise chews her thumbnail: this is way too much for her to absorb.

"I just know that Alabaster will get completely hooked on our pussies if we use them the right way," Mom says. "You've all got wonderful pussies for him to use, don't you?"

"I know I do," Rose2 says, smug as usual.

"Yep!" Rose says. "He's always saying how he loves my pussy."

Cerise can only nod.

"Let me see them," Mom says, crooking a finger as if to beckon someone closer.

"--What?" Cerise sputters.

"Let Mama see your pussies. Don't be shy."

Rose2, who's maybe the most perverted of all, has no compunctions. She slides a bit down in her chair, flips her skirt up, and spreads her legs. Her bare cunt is visible for all to see. She likes exposing herself -- especially on command.

Rose won't be outdone. She stands and shimmies out of her underwear, sits and hikes her skirt up too. Like Rose2, Rose's cunt is a perfect, tiny innie. Side-by-side, they look like a matching pair.

"Rose, baby, you need to stop wearing underwear around the house," Mom tells her. "You should always be ready for Alabaster to fuck you."

Rose tosses her panties like a litterbug tossing a candy wrapper. "Okay!" She says.

Cerise, hands trembling, undoes the button of her jean shorts. She slowly unzips the zipper. Raising her butt just enough to tug them past, she pulls the shorts over her supple thighs, across her smooth calves, and down around her ankles in a bunch. Her pussy, unlike the other two girls, has defined labia. Those meaty lips look just as supple as the rest of her flesh down there.

"As I thought!" Mom says. She takes the hem of her own dress now, and pulls it up to show off her own mature cunt. "We're all wet."

She's right. All three girls are so wet they're dripping. She is, too.

"We also have a biological need," Mom explains. "We need Alabaster to cum inside us. That's why we have sex with him -- it's why we spread our legs for him. Having sex without getting semen inside you is like having dinner without dessert. Pointless!" Her voice is developing a half-crazed lilt and tremor as she rambles. "Look: even just talking about having Alabaster's... manly cock... putting its rich, gooey sperm in us... made our pussies get like this... now just think about how good it feels to actually experience it... you need Alabaster to cum inside you, girls. It's what your bodies are craving... what your little pussies and wombs are crying out for..."

Rose2 shamelessly starts to dig at her own horny twat. So Mom encourages the other two: "it's all right... you can play with yourselves. It's only natural to get turned on when thinking about getting cummed inside of. It's the #1 thing any pussy wants... even mine... hot, sticky, creamy semen... ungh..." with that, she starts to masturbate too. She sighs happily to herself as she rubs her clit and fingers herself for her own daughters to see. "That's better..." she mewls.

Rose and Cerise can't resist any longer. They masturbate just like their mother does: one hand's fingers rubbing the clit in a rapid circular motion, the other hand's fingers pistoning in and out. Rose2's method, as always, is perhaps more depraved... she fingers both her holes at the same time, bouncing up and down on her hands. Sloppy wet noises fill the little room as all four girls race towards a mutual climax.

"I want your promise, now..." Mom says, gulping, "that you'll keep your pussies open for Alabaster's total use... you'll let him cum inside you raw, the way nature intended... be good semen toilets for Mama..."

"I promise!" Rose2 screams, ejaculating her own fountain of girl-cum as she continues to viciously finger her holes.

"Me too!" Cerise says. "He -- came inside me last night... I wasn't even safe, but he came inside me last night... it felt so good..."

"No more condoms?" Mom says.

"No!!"

"Do you want the pill, then?" Mom prompts, driving her fingers deeper and deeper into herself.

"No!" Cerise screams. "Fuck, no! Fuck the risk!" She partially stands, knees bowed, as she rubs a rolling orgasm out of her steamy twat. She sprays and squirts all across the ground.

Mom smiles warmly. Cerise is her daughter after all. "That's it, baby... the riskiest sex feels the best... your body can tell the difference. You want to be inseminated... so just accept it..."

Rose cums, too. She wails, and shivers all over. Then just barely composing herself, she says in a tiny voice: "Mommy... my pussy feels so good... it's so hot and tingly and squishy! Can Ally make a baby in me, too?"

"Of course," Mom says. "He gonna make a baby in all of us."

Rose slides out of her chair and down to the ground, and crawls to Mom on all fours. She puts her hands on Mom's meaty upper legs, pressing them a little bit apart. Mom gazes down at her, surprised.

"Mommy... can I be everyone's cum toilet...? Not just Ally's? Can I be your cum toilet, too? Can I lick you?"

Mom takes her hands off her genitals, and holds her palms flat against the tops of her thighs. She nods. "Go ahead, honey. Use your mouth as Mama's toilet..."

Rose buries her face in Mom's crotch. "You smell so good..." she mutters, before starting to lick. "Mmmf... mmmf..."

"You... are really good at that..." Mom says, genuinely impressed. She starts pawing at her tits while she watches the pink crown of Rose's head twisting back and forth.

"I taught her," Rose2 says with the smuggest of smiles. "You're welcome."

"Thank you, honey. You're the best daughter in law I could ask for--"

Mom is even more surprised when Cerise joins Rose on the floor in front of her. "Me too," Cerise gasps, voice husky and desperate. "I want do it, too..."

Mom pets her two daughters while they take turns eating her sweet cunt. They lick her all over, from the well-groomed patch of hair above her mound to the star-shaped pucker of her asshole, and everything in between. They get their tongues nice and deep, and wag them around -- both at the same time, even, battering her interior walls with their slimy probing. But she knows, and they know too, that this is an appetizer. Nothing more. It's just a diversion, to get off a little, before Alabaster can come home and fuck them properly.

Mom explains to the three girls what they'll do.

And so, that night after dinner, just as Alabaster is finishing up his banana cream pie, he looks up from his plate in surprise to find both the Roses, Cerise, and Mom all coming back from the kitchen in nothing but matching pink-and-yellow aprons. They line themselves up along the side of the table, gripping the edge as they hunch themselves forward -- jutting their asses way out. They wag their hips hypnotically back and forth. Like four hookers trying to entice an indecisive john.

The stem of a cherry protrudes from each girl's anus, and a little dollop of whipped cream sits just above, on their tailbones. Another commonality: All four asses are huge, smooth, fat and round. And an additional commonality: below each ass, framed perfectly by squished-together thighs, is a bare, wet, raw cunt.

Alabaster chokes on nothing.

"What are you waiting for?" Mom asks him. "Come get some dessert."

---

Alex is already waiting, sitting on the curb, when you step out of Sable's van with her.

"Alex--!!" Sable gasps, noticing him, as she closes the driver's side door. "What are you doing here?"

Alex hops to his feet, and brushes the dirt from the back of his shorts. "Ally texted me that you were going bike shopping. I wanted to help out!"

"Yoouuu..." Sable drawls, obviously angry at you. "This was all set up to embarrass me, wasn't it? Admit it."

"Yes," you admit.

Sable's face goes livid both figuratively and literally. And it only gets worse when Anna pulls up on her unicycle.

She's pedaling with her feet this time, at least. "hello Sir. hello ms. guiteau."

(She conspicuously leaves out Alex, and doesn't even glance his way. Alex shoots her a sour look.)

Sable's head swivels this way and that as Anna rides in tight circles around you and her.

"This is cruel," Sable says, voice tinged by despair. "You've all come to mock and denigr--"

"whoaa-oaa-oaaa," Anna cuts in, struggling to maintain her balance for a moment. She just barely rights herself and continues to circle you.

"Be careful!" Alex tells her -- in a voice dripping sarcasm.

"hey ms. guiteau, can you tell alex to please regrade wednesday's quiz. he marked me down because he didn't understand how i set up the recursion function."

"Maybe you should start commenting your code!" Alex offers, face twitching.

"hey ms. guiteau, can you explain to alex that good coders don't need comments to understand code."

"You didn't comment the code in your quiz?" Sable asks, just before Anna slips out of view behind the two of you.

"not enough time" Anna says as she draws back around towards your front side.

"Good coders make time," Sable says sternly. "You're lucky Alex graded that quiz. I would have failed you immediately."

Anna stops pedaling, and fumbles her way down from her unicycle. With unsteady hands she hoists the contraption up and holds it under her armpit, the ultralight frame no trouble for even her anemic ass to tote around. "i..." she mutters, surprised and embarrassed.

"I can definitely regrade it, though, if you want!" Alex tells her.

Anna pouts.

"No one is obligated to make sense of your code," Sable tells her. "If you did something in an unorthodox way, explain it! Otherwise you're wasting everyone's time. Not commenting your code is your way of saying that your time is more valuable than Alex's. It isn't!"

(You can only smile bemusedly. You've lost count of the number of times Alex has bemoaned to you, in this universe and in the last, how Sable never comments her labyrinthine, meandering, byzantine code.)

Sable brushes past Anna, towards the shop's entrance.

"ms. guiteau -- i..." Anna begins.

You shrug at her.

"aren't you going to say something, Sir?" Anna asks, having come to expect that you'll leap to defend her whenever she faces bullying.

"No comment," you say. You follow Sable and Alex into the bike shop. Anna glumly brings up the rear.

You enter the cozy little shop. Bicycles and assorted gear line the four walls. An assortment of racks in the middle have even more bikes for perusal. As you step in, the bell over the door announces that customers have arrived. A figure hops up from behind the counter.

"Hello! Welcome to the world-famous Blue Sprocket! An easy ride for everyone!"

You feel a world-warping sense of shock. Samantha Smatters is here, in the flesh -- bunny ears and bunny tail and bunny suit and all.

"Is this place really world-famous?" Sable asks, skeptical, as she glances all around.

"I'd like to think so!" Samantha says.

"You would know whether or not you're world famous," Sable tells her.

Samantha giggles.

"Is she wearing a..." Alex begins, half-whispering to you.

"Yep," you affirm. What sight for sore eyes. She's got the best rack here.

"unf," Anna breathes, unable to contain herself.

"Are you just here to look, or do you need some service?" Samantha asks.

Alex is here to look, that's for sure. He's staring unashamedly at Samantha's considerable cleavage. And as Samantha steps out from behind the counter, his eyes drift down to her fishnet stockings, admiring the way the criss-crossed nylon bites into her thighs.

Sable notices Alex noticing Samantha. She looks from him to her. "Yes, I'm here for a bicycle," Sable says, in a tone of barely-concealed jealousy.

"Wonderful!" Samantha says. She's unable to register the jealousy in Sable's voice. "What sort of biking do you want to do? Mountain biking? Courier service? Or just riding around town?"

"She's never ridden a bike before," you tell Samantha.

Samantha blinks. "Oh! Oh my goodness! That's no good! You need to fix that right away. Riding a bike is so fun... the very best, even!"

"I think I'm done, actually," Sable says, turning away. She beckons for Alex: "Alex -- let's go."

But Alex is firmly rooted in place. So is Anna for that matter. So are you for that matter.

Samantha stops Sable by putting a hand on her shoulder. "Come on now, miss! You don't want to disappoint your son, do you?"

"...My son?" Sable says.

Samantha nods at Alex.

"Alex is not my son!!!" Sable shrieks.

Samantha shirks back, hands clasped over her ears. She stares at Sable in sudden fright. "I-- I'm so sorry, miss! I just thought... well, you're both so cute, and the way you called after him-- you-- must be siblings, then, right?"

>[x] Tell Samantha that they're lovers.

[ ] Tell Samantha that Alex really is Sable's son and that Sable is just self-conscious about her age.

[ ] Let Sable and/or Alex answer on their own.

>[x] Dommymommy Cerise

>[x] Dommymommy Cerise

>[x] Dommymommy Cerise

>[x] Dommymommy Cerise

---

One day at lunch, right in the middle of the cafeteria at North High, the discussion becomes a long and protracted debate over the question of who's best at orally servicing you.

You're not sure why it became such a heated point of contention. But you won't try to quell the spirited back-and-forth.

"I bought a dildo off of www.Amazon.com in seventh grade just to practice!" Whitney says, beaming proudly. "I haven't had a gag reflex since I was 13! Of course I'm the best!"

"Alabaster enjoys making girls gag," Vivian says between sips of a little carton of strawberry milk. "A gag reflex is not a malus to one's overall technique. In fact, it is a benefit. It increases his sense of male dominance, and adds to the tableau of perversity inhering to irrumatio... put simply, it makes his pleasure all the greater."

"I can gag if I want," Whitney says. "I know he likes to gag a bitch! It's not like I can't gag. I just don't have to. So if he wants to go all the way in and really pound my--"

"I don't care if I gag or not!" your little sister proudly says. "He's even made me puke before and everything, and it's fine!"

"Not on purpose--" you add hastily. "And that's not really--"

"Plus," Rose adds, "since I'm his imouto, that automatically makes my blowies ten times better! No, a hundred times! Nothing compares to having sex with your little sister's mouth! Tell 'em, Ally!"

Rose goes for a direct appeal to you, too. She puts a hand on your shoulder. "I've been having oral sex with you for so long that I know every square millimeter of your dick. Tell them, honey... there's simply no comparison... right? Especially when I add my breasts to the mix..."

Alex is faux apologetic. He rubs the back of his head, smiling. "I'm sorry, but... none of you can compete on my level! Since I'm a guy, I know exactly what feels best to a penis, so..."

"So?" Whitney demands.

"My technique just can't be beaten! Don't be upset. It's no one's fault. That's just how it is..."

"Alabaster may use you as a sperm receptacle when there are no girls at hand," Vivian says, "but he much prefers to fuck the mouth of a girl. That is not your fault, either, of course..." She gives him a pointed smile as she sups her milk.

Anna's eyes drift from face to face as debate continues. She says nothing, just keeps picking daintily at her fruit cup. She's the only one not taking part in the discussion.

"You have to factor in tongue action!" Whitney says, pounding her fist in her palm. "Mom's been showing me so many advanced techniques. Stuff that you bitches can't even begin to master... it's not even close! My mouth is basically a pussy with a tongue!"

"Is that supposed to be a sexy image?" Rose says. "How vile."

You shrug. "Actually, it is kind of sexy to me..."

Rose tuts at you. Whitney smirks at her.

"There is nothing too far advanced for my able mouth," Vivian says. "I have on multiple occasions made Alabaster climax just by orally stimulating his anus. Once I turn my attention to his penis, it practically melts. On average, he ejaculates in less than five minutes' time under my superior oral service... if I let him..."

"Ha! Sucking Ally off is like making minute rice for me!" Whitney crows. She points at herself with her thumb. "And I can make minute rice in 57 seconds!"

"One time, Ally got on top of my face and counted to a hundred before he pulled out!" Rose says. "And I let him use my face as a urinal, which makes me even better!"

"That's hardly unique!" Alex says. "I let Ally pee in my mouth all the time--"

"That is more or less prerequisite," Vivian agrees. "If you cannot do that much, you don't even deserve consideration in this arena..."

"Maybe we need a neutral arbiter," you suggest.

"We could make a day of it," Rose agrees. "Excellent suggestion. Although we would need to rig up a glory hole, to make it anonymous -- therefore objective --"

"Pff," Whitney chuffs. "Of course you'd want to do it glory hole style. That's one of your strong suits. You're rigging the game just like you try to rig everything else!" They get into a little kicking fight under the table.

Anna clears her throat. Since she's been mute for so long, it draws everyone else's attention. They expectantly look her way.

She shoves a whole cherry past her pale pink lips. Her face is still as stone for about 10 seconds. Then she slowly opens her mouth and lets her tongue unfurl like the red carpet. Sitting atop it, tied into not one, not two, but three concentric Celtic knots, is the stem of the cherry.

So ends the debate.

(Although you're intensely interested in having that neutral arbitration, anyway.)

---

You lie with Rose in bed together, on your sides, facing each other. The nights when you fuck other girls are numerous nowadays, but you still usually wind up in your bed with Rose at the end of the night. It shook out like this in the Nail House too, of course. Although in 422 there's an even better reason for it. You never know when one of those nightmares will strike. They're starting to taper off... but only just.

This isn't the time for such a morbid train of thought. You haven't seen Rose since the afternoon, and so as you sweetly kiss, you break the good news. "I saw Samantha today."

Rose's eyes light up in joy. "No! You saw Sam again? Really?"

You nod.

"Oh my goodness." Rose's voice is fluttering with happiness. "I thought for sure we would never find her..."

"Blessed be the Optimizing Parameter, I guess," you say wryly. "Hallowed be her name."

Rose isn't in the mood for jokes. She wants details, quick. "How did you find her? How is she?"

"She's doing really well," you say. "She's working at a bike shop not too far away. It suits her. I didn't expect to see her when I went there... but... there she was."

"Why were you at a bike shop?" Rose asks, confused.

"Long story."

She moves on. There's a lot of long stories in this carefree day and age. "Did you have sex with her?"

"I saw Samantha Smatters for the first time in trillions of years. You do the math, math genius."

She tuts at you. "Prick. You should have called me or something."

"Calm your tits. Fuck. We'll get another crack at her. It's not like she disappeared. And it's not like it's particularly hard to get her to spread her legs, in case you forgot." You turn through a full 180, and reach down over the side of the bed for your backpack. From inside you produce a little something special. "Here. I brought back a souvenir to whet your appetite until we can go back to the shop together."

Rose grabs the G-string from you, pulling it towards herself like a child handed their favorite toy. She presses it to her face and joyfully inhales Samantha's unique scent. You can hear the rush of air past the silky underwear and straight into her lungs.

This isn't her typical brand of fetishism, but when it comes to Samantha, Rose makes an exception... well, pretty much everyone does. The familiar smell of Samantha's pussy is both fruity and musky, sweet and sexy, clean and dirty. It's an intoxicating blend that overwhelms the brain with all its complex notes and undertones. As Rose presses the crotch of the undergarment against her nose, her eyes roll to the back of her skull and she seems to be practically cumming just from that. Still, you can't resist the opportunity to rib her. "You're a real pervert. You know that?"

Rose nods, blushing, and closes her eyes as she huffs and huffs.

"You gonna hog that thing all night?" You ask her.

Eyes still closed, she nods again.

"Selfish slut," you say with a smile.

Through the garment, Rose replies: "You had Sam's actual pussy all to yourself, and didn't even tell me. Don't give me that. Let me have this..."

"I didn't have it all to myself," you grouse. "Alex, Anna, and Sable were all there too. We passed her around."

"Not my problem," is Rose's muffled reply between deep inhales.

"Well, what are you gonna do for me?" You ask.

She starts to knead your manhood with her knee, as she suckles on Samantha's g-string.

"That's a start," you allow, shifting to allow her better access. "But that's not good enough."

Rose sighs in frustration. "You're so demanding. Can't ever let a girl have the fun, huh?"

"I believe in equality, that's all..."

You feel the blankets shift around and hear the smooth noise of Rose's legs moving one over the other, as she gets one foot's toes in the elastic band of her other leg's kneesock. She takes the sock off like that, reaches down under the covers, and pulls it up. "Here," she says.

You snatch it from her. Unfortunately, over the years, the scent of Rose's used socks have gone from being a torture for you to being a perverted pleasure of yours... is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like?

She has your number, anyway. You hate and love her for it. What can you say about this dirty thrill? This girl who has become your wife gets off on taunting you with it: the tart, sweaty, slightly nutty aroma of her socks after a long day spent confined inside her flats. As you press the sole of this strangely alluring, slightly damp thing to your nostrils, your cock get a little harder. And Rose laughs lowly at you, feeling it twitch against her leg. "Who's the pervert?" She asks.

"We both are," you say. It's true. Who else other than a pair of perverts would lie in bed together sniffing underwear? Oh well. You roughly grab her and twist her to her other side.

"Alabaster--!" she grunts, still holding Samantha's underwear to her face.

"Shut up," you tell her, still holding hers to yours.

You enter her. You and Rose fuck like animals, just like that.

Afterwards, lying spent in each other's arms, trading the G-string and the sock between yourselves (Rose is nothing if not vain) -- kissing one another from between them, even -- you mention an idea of yours:

"We've got all the ingredients, you know. Whatever strange pheromone cocktail Samantha has... my Mom's cooking... and whatever the hell it is Vivian likes to drug us with... if any of those work on their own, then..."

"That's dangerous, isn't it?" Rose says, gulping.

"Danger is fun," you say, as your tongues swirl around one another's past cotton soaked variously with sweat and cream.

---

At school, you and Rose find Vivian in the library reading Marx. It's an interesting discovery.

"Know thy enemy," is Vivian's explanation when you ask her about it.

While it's true that politics makes strange bedfellows, maybe one day in the future Vivian will find that bedfellows make strange politics, too.

"I have a question for you," you tell her, settling in across from her at the long study table.

"Out with it, then," Vivian says. "I am deep in contemplation, and would like to return to my research."

"Uh huh. What do you drug me with when you want to get me in the mood?"

Vivian at last puts her book down, and perches her cheek on her fist. "I've no idea what you're talking about. I think you're delusional."

"A spectre is haunting our love life," you tell her. "The spectre of aphrodisiacs."

"Very droll. Consider a career in standup."

"We're asking for a good cause," Rose tells her, standing at your shoulder.

"We want to conduct a... scientific experiment, on my family," you explain.

Vivian smiles with one side of her mouth. "I see. You want to drug your mother and your sisters, then have your rapacious way with them."

"Me too," Rose says.

Vivian nods at her.

"So what do you use?" You ask.

"To reveal that would be to ruin the magic, would it not?" Vivian asks.

"Look -- I can ask you nicely, or I can beat it out of you," you say.

"You are a terrible negotiator, Alabaster. You have just weakened your position by making an even better counteroffer on my behalf."

Rose grins sadistically. "We'll beat you in appreciation, then."

"I expect you to. But I must demand something more than that."

You wait for her to say.

"If I tell you the secrets of how I ply my trade... and provide you with a source for my ingredients... you will promise to use it on me."

"...Promise to use it on you?" You say.

"Mm. You must deploy it against me, without my foreknowledge. Then, at the moment when I am at my weakest and most desperate, take sexual advantage of me. These are my conditions. Do you accede?"

"I accede," you say solemnly.

She nods. "Wonderful. The concoction I use on you is a roughly one-to-one-to-one mixture of heroin, cocaine, and MDMA -- aka ecstasy -- cut with microdoses of PCP, LSD, and methamphetamine."

You feel a sick revulsion in your chest. You push your chair back from the table, jumping to your feet, as if blown back by an invisible force. "Oh my -- oh my god--"

Rose meanwhile has her hands tented across her nose like a person frozen in the moment of sneezing. Her eyes, from either side of her knuckles, are saucers, and she's gone completely pale. "You used -- that on us--? Without our consent--?"

"Consent?" Vivian says, cocking her head. "How quaint."

Revulsion turns to rage. This horrific breach of trust is something you'd never expected. "How could you... how could you do something like that to us! What the fuck, Vivian?!"

"It's not as awful as you make it seem," Vivian says. "The mixture I use carries a quite small risk of fatal overdose... less than 1 in 100, perhaps, if administered with care."

You want to beat her. For real. Rose seems right there with you. And it's made all the worse when Vivian begins to laugh at your sense of betrayal.

"Ufufuf--"

"Fuck you, you horrible... horrible... raper!" you scream. "You raper! You drug dealing raper!"

"Go to hell!" Rose adds. "How on Earth could you do that?"

She wipes mirthful tears from her eyes. "Please... please, sit. I am only joking."

"...Joking?" you sputter, mid-rant, caught off-guard for the second time in as many minutes.

"Yes. I wanted to see your reaction. Of course I would never dream of trafficking in such highly illegal narcotics. To say nothing of the risks and immorality. Pervert I may be, but entirely mad I am not. Sit. You are both making a scene."

Temples throbbing, you grope your way to your seat and practically fall to your butt. "Holy shit," you whisper, as your heart slowly returns to its normal pace.

Rose sits beside you, with equal difficulty, wiping the cold sweat from her brow. "Don't fuck with us like that," she says.

Vivian giggles. "What I really use is a serum of Spanish fly, ground rhinoceros horn -- ethically obtained, never you worry -- bull's testicles -- aka Rocky Mountain oysters -- ambergris, yohimbine, rabbit pheromones--"

"Doubling up a little, then," Rose mutters.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

"--and sildenafil. All of which is legal, nonaddictive, impossible to overdose on, and quite horny-making."

"Horny-making," you repeat flatly.

"Yes. Horny-making." She reaches past the collar of her dress, and produces the pendant of her necklace -- which isn't a pendant at all, but a phial. "1/16th of a teaspoon is enough to drive even the most frigid person to insatiable sexual frenzy."

"You carry it with you?" Rose marvels.

"I am ever prepared." She yanks the phial, snapping her necklace, and hands it to you. "Enjoy, Alabaster. May you think of me when you have a gaggle of overstimulated blood relatives clambering over one other to mount you."

In the kitchen that Sunday, when Mom excuses herself to take a restroom break, you quickly swoop into the kitchen. The Soliloquy family kitchen is already awash in the heavenly scent of rendering chocolate and freshly whipped batter. Rose is using a handheld wire whisk to beat that chocolate and that batter together -- creating a finely grainy mixture that will be just perfect as brownies, once baked.

Mom has taught her so well. It's the only reason she was even willing to leave the room for so short a time as to go pee. She trusts the night's main course is safe in Rose's hands.

"Did you do it?" You ask, sidling up to her. You watch while she whisks. The widening gyre of the brownie mix is as hypnotic as a swinging pendulum.

"Mm, not yet," she says. "I was waiting on an opening."

From the pocket of her apron, she produces Vivian's phial.

You go searching through the little fob of measuring spoons sitting on top of the counter. "The smallest they go is 1/8th of a teaspoon," you report, glum.

"Let's eyeball it, then," Rose suggests. "We don't have much time anyway."

She unscrews the black cap. Maybe it's only the placebo effect manifesting itself, but you swear simply being close to the uncorked serum is enough to make your dick lurch.

Rose slowly tips the thing towards the mixing bowl. A tiny droplet the color of bromine comes viscously out, like a drop of melted tar, and lands on top of the batter. You and she eye it.

"Is that enough, do you think?" She asks.

"Try a little more."

She adds another couple droplets.

Then a couple more. And a few more after that.

Then finally, she just upends the entire thing. Glug-glug. Fully a tablespoon or more seeps out before the supply is spent.

You take another pair of Samantha's panties from your back pocket and rinse it a little under the sink's tap. You wring a tiny bit of the water into the bowl, too. You're just putting the panties back into your pocket when Mom returns.

"So you've decided to help after all!" Mom says. "Finally learning that a husband's place is at his wife's side?"

"I think you two have got it from here, actually," you tell her. Rose starts to whisk again.

"Hmmph," she says as you draw past her. "You'd better be thankful for all this hard work!"

You know you will be. You leave the kitchen again.

From the living room couch, your other Rose watches you coming out. She's gripping the headrest, chin resting atop -- obviously sitting on her knees.

"Smells oishii in there," she tells you. "What's good in the neighborhood, Ally?"

"Brownies," you say as you sit beside her.

She twists around and sits on her butt again. "My favorite!" She pips.

"They'll be especially good tonight, I think," you tell her -- just as the doorbell rings.

---

One day when you come home with Cerise, you find Rose sitting at the dining room table, writing. Since this is the Rose who once refused to write an essay by shouting at Mom, "I'll write when I'm dead!" -- you find her sudden turn towards the authorly a little strange, and tell her so.

"I have a penpal," she tells you, rather imperiously. "Sugoi desu ne."

Cerise karate chops Rose over the top of her head. "Shut the fuck up desu ne," she says.

Rose hunches forward, elbows propped on the table, clutching at her head where Cerise struck her. "Cerise nee-sama... itai! Onegai don't hit watashi!"

You frown. "Pidgin Jap is taking up an even bigger fraction of your vocabulary now... is your penpal from glorious Nippon, by any chance?"

Rose is all smiles again. She bolts upright. "Hai!"

You nod sagely. So -- that explains that.

"Don't tell me that you're exposing some poor Japanese person to that butchery of their language," Cerise says, from over by the fridge, having wandered kitchenward in search of beer.

"Uh... well, no..." Rose admits. "My new penpal wants me to use English, so she can learn better."

You sit at the table too. "That's for the best," you say. "I'm sure your penpal is better at English than you are at Japanese."

Cerise is back with a bottle of Kirin, cracking it open by hand. She tosses the bottlecap over her shoulder, where it lands with a swish in the bin behind her -- an old trick of hers that she never fails to demonstrate in her faux-nonchalant way. She takes a swig of the beer and then points at Rose with the hand holding the bottle. "Why not choose a penpal who speaks a foreign language you're actually practicing to learn?"

"I've got Fazil for that," Rose says. "I want to broaden my horizons."

"Baka," Cerise says.

"Siktir!" Rose retorts.

Cerise begins to say something, but Rose turns her attention to you: "Did you know! My penpal used to be a famous idol!"

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be?

But you have a more immediate concern: "you're not still under the impression that you'll be a famous idol one day, are you?"

Rose abashedly looks away, and biting her lower lip, focuses again on the letter she's penning.

"Oh, you know she is," Cerise says. "You hear her in her bedroom in front of her mirror, yowling into her hairbrush every night, same as me. She thinks she's a Japanese pop star already. But what Puffy CummyCunny doesn't seem to understand is that she's a disgusting gaijin."

"I'm keeping my options open!" Rose insists. "You never know!"

"We're gonna need to do an impromptu circle of shame tonight," Cerise says severely between guzzles. "I'll call Anna over... maybe we can get Mom and Whitney, too, for backup."

"Don't mock me!" Rose says bitterly. "You're so mean, Cerise!"

"Let her dream," you tell Cerise. As always, it ends up being big bro who's the slightly lesser bully as compared to big sis. Cerise rolls her eyes.

"Me and my penpal both have dreams," Rose says. "She's such a major inspo."

...Rose tries so hard to punish you whenever you stand up for her. "Don't say inspo," you tell her.

You reach across the table, for the trifolded paper sitting beside Rose's letter-in-progress. Arching your eyebrows and tilting your head forward in the universal signal for "can I?" -- Rose allows you to take her penpal's letter in hand, and begin to read it.

>To Rose.

>It is a big joy to see your letter today! I am so happy to make a friend from America. America is so big country! I want to have a dream as big as America one day.

"Isn't that beautiful?" Rose asks.

"It's meaningless," you say. But Rose isn't so convinced... you aren't, either. Maybe it's not so meaningless:

>My dream used to be as a idol singer on the stage. I could not succeed at my first dream and my new dream is to travel all around the world as a scientist. I want to help the people of the world who do not have so much. There are so many sad and sick people in the world. It would be a good thing to help.

>To answer your questions. I am not much often watching cartoons but there is recently a show of the name Rabu Raibu to which I enjoy. I have also seen many times the shows, Sailor Moon and Pretty Cure. I do not much often play video games but my elder brother has lost to me a lot at Tekken (LOL). My favorite kind of candy is a type of melon flavored hard candy with a name I do not know of English. In Japan we are calling it, おおきなメロン飴. Maybe you can find it on a shelf in one of America's large stores. I read that in America there are stores called Wallmartu which are so large, you need to rent a special car when you go there and drive it around inside. Have you drove this car? Does it go fast?

>Do you read the series of Harry Potter? I am a big fan. My favorite character is Draco. I think he is misunderstood.

>I want to go to America one day. Are you close to Hollywood? Let's star in a movie together! (LOL)

>Dieng your hair pink is so brave! I want to see a picture. I think you are probably so cute that way! A girl with pink hair is ready to break a lot of hearts! (LOL)

>Please criticize my grammer. It will make me better to speak with you if you "hate" on it. I will not be sad. One day we can speak face to face when I am better with English! This letter took so long to write because I want to choose the best words!

>Sincerely

>Kikuchi Makoto

---

Charlotte pesters you with questions about the future. She wants to know everything from the political outlook of the coming six years, to the stocks she should invest in, to the more intimate personal details of your collective lives. You tell her what you can, which is all you know. But caveat emptor: history varies in the details. Buy long calls on Tesla in 2015, yes, but watch out that Muskfucker doesn't do something wacky in 422 that he didn't in 421. You never can tell.

She has you over at the Mallory house all the time nowadays -- seems almost desperate to become close with you. (How fast things have changed from the still very recent days when she hated your guts.)

Maybe more critically, she's fully on-board, and Saul is too, with the idea that David Darkbloom must be prevented from fulfilling whatever plans he may or may not have with regards to Sand Reckoner tech. You intend to do this by exerting a little soft pressure on him -- joining his company and steering him away from the poor choices of the past. But if needs be, there's always the other way. The Camelia way. Charlotte even personally volunteered to assassinate him at the soonest available opportunity, a suggestion you shot down (no pun intended). "Let's get to know the guy first," you had said. "He doesn't seem as bad as he used to be."

Even as you said it, you couldn't believe the words coming from your mouth. But all Charlotte could think of was a world in ruin, a chain of events leading to her husband's death and then to her daughter spending six cold months in the barren far reaches of Alaska running from murderers.

You talked her down from going full Camelia herself, though. Via your shared connection to David Darkbloom's daughters, you were able to engineer several encounters between him and the Mallorys, like the quiz bowl trip to Boise, for instance. Saul and Charlotte's Type A personalities took things from there. Soon they had Darkbloom thinking of them as friends. When they joined Darkbloom E-Pay's legal team this May, they did so at his suggestion.

It never hurts to have friends on the inside.

Today, though, Charlotte fields a different strategy for the future. As she hands you a drink and sits beside you on the living room sofa at her house, just the two of you, she asks: "should we tell the others?"

"About what?" You take a sip: grapefruit juice. Not your favorite, but Charlotte likes it.

"Everything," Charlotte says.

"I wouldn't even have told you if I didn't think you were about to call the cops on me," you admit. When she looks a little stricken, you explain: "this kind of stuff is traumatic. I don't want to burden everyone if they don't need to know. Rose doesn't either."

"I understand. But it's no burden... or rather... it's better not to shoulder things alone. The ones you love mean more than anything -- remember that. It goes both ways. You mean so much to them, too. They wouldn't want you to suffer with this knowledge. Do you think that Scarlett, or Cerise, or Whitney, or anyone else, would choose to remain ignorant if they could?"

You shake your head and close your eyes. "I don't know. But for now... I don't want to tell anyone else."

You open your eyes again when you feel Charlotte's fingertips against your cheek. She pets you. "You poor thing," she says softly. "I brought up your bad memories again."

"It's fine."

She gently takes the glass of grapefruit juice from you and sets it down. "Let's get your mind off such morbid things."

You didn't bother to dispense with your clothes. She just unzipped you, and fished out your dick, and started to play. Now, in the middle of the day, with sunlight streaming through the windows, Charlotte Mallory jerks you off on her living room couch.

"Did we fool around like this before?" She asks, as her soft but nimble hands twist around your shaft. She pauses to slather more lotion onto your cock, from the little tub sitting out on the coffee table. She likes to make it messy -- because, she always points out, "your cock likes it messy."

"We did," you grunt. "I fucked you all the time..."

Her swift jerking motions stop for a moment, as she absorbs that. "Really?"

You nod.

She starts again to tug your cock. This time her pace is quicker, but somehow just as sweet and gentle. The way Charlotte jerks you off is motherly, in its way. As if she's trying to soothe you by massaging a knot from your neck or calf, chaste as can be -- and not trying to milk you of your cum. Sitting just beside you, she hunches forward a little bit to stare lovingly down at your member while she works. Her double-barrel handjob technique makes a steady, slick thwapping noise that's deliciously lewd. Her hands are able to wring such wonderful sensations from your prick.

She flings her hair back over her shoulder, and looks up at you. A couple stray droplets of lotion have landed on the lenses of her glasses, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"Was your mother involved, too?" Charlotte asks.

"Everyone was... her, Rose, Cerise..."

Charlotte pauses. "Did you really call me Mom -- back then?"

You nod.

"Even when we... fooled around?"

You nod again.

She kisses your cheek, and brushes her face against yours as she whispers to you: "please keep doing that..."

She pulls away to lock eyes with you, eyes shimmering with need and uncertainty. You smile to reassure her and reply: "anything you say, Mom."

"Alabaster..." she coos. Her voice lilts with adoration. "I always wanted a son... let's fuck."

"Is that okay?" You ask, anxiously glancing towards the front door. You're more concerned with being walked in on than the mere fact of Charlotte's adultery. This was supposed to be a quickie, after all. She replies with: "it's fine, honey, really. If Saul can go have sex with random women whenever the mood strikes him, I'm entitled to help my son blow off some steam. Don't you agree?"

She licks her lips as she stares down at your pulsating cock. She likes to pretend that she does this to help you relieve your stress (some things never change). The reality is that she's a horny degenerate bitch, and your dick is her stress relief toy equally as much as her cunt is yours. She never fails to get off hard on your cock. In a hurry, she kicks herself free of her oppressive jeans and yanks off her itchy sweater... revealing, beneath the clothes, her plump but shapely body. If Rose keeps a body half as sexy in the future, she'll have no choice but to become  your baby factory -- you won't be able to help yourself. And she may object to it, but you know Charlotte won't. Charlotte would have you knocking Rose up right this instant if she got her way. She's as baby-crazy as Mom.

Clad only in her silky black panties and matching bra -- what a naughty thing to wear under her unassuming outfit -- she straddles you and hugs your neck. "You can use your mother's pussy as much as you need to," she whispers. "Don't hold back."

So it's like that: although she sits atop, she wants you to do all the moving. You take her about her hips, squeezing hard and finding no bone, only flesh. She's hot but your touch makes her shiver. And as you nudge aside her underwear with your prick, to find the sticky, clean-shaven hole underneath, a perfect match to her daughter's -- you thrust inside her. Unable to contain herself, she throws her head back and moans like a sow.

Fucking her in this position feels a lot like using a life-sized onahole. That's the fantasy Charlotte wants to fulfill... she wants to be your masturbation toy today. You have no qualms taking part in that depraved daydream. You keep a firm grip on that squishy, fleshy midsection of hers, and bounce her up and down on your cock as you stab your prick into her over and again. The syncopated pace of it is erratic but forceful, and soon her swampy insides are leaking all over the front of your jeans. She's such an indecent woman, Charlotte Mallory, unable to keep her lewd body in check. She apologizes again and again for making such a mess of your clothes. "I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry for staining your jeans -- Mommy doesn't mean to -- don't stop, don't stop -- I'm sorry, baby, Mommy's a slut -- " And through it all, she doesn't stop cumming on you.

As the two of you fuck with utter abandon, you lose track of time. This raw, sweaty mating with Charlotte Mallory's stress-relief hole has a way of doing that to you. And so you do get walked in on, exactly as you had feared.

Thankfully it's by a member of the family who's fully in-tune with the perversion. Your loving soon-to-be-wife comes through the door, and catches you fucking her mother. Her reaction isn't to freak out, but merely to tut: "Good lord... I can't leave you two alone for five seconds anymore, can I?"

Charlotte meets eyes with her girl by arching her spine and tilting her head back. She holds the sides of your arms for balance. "Oh, honey... don't be so selfish... we can share."

Rose is always a little jealous of her Mom. She saunters up, around the couch, and strokes your shoulder from behind as you continue to rail Charlotte. Her blonde tresses tickle your cheeks as she leans over. She tries to entice you away. "Alabaster... why are you wasting time like this? Shouldn't you be having sex with me instead? I won't be 16 forever, you know..."

"Your pussy will be... if you age like your Mom..."

Charlotte likes that, a lot. She squeezes your prick with her insides in appreciation, and a trickle of her cream spurts out, too.

"Tch -- pig!" Rose barks.

"He's telling the truth," Charlotte says, her voice vibrating slightly as you bounce her up and down on you. "Mallory pussies age like fine wine... if he was blindfolded, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between us!"

---

...Which inevitably leads to the greatest competition of mother and daughter ever to unfold. Rose uses her mother's panties to blindfold you, and her mother's bra to tie your hands behind your back. This immobilizes you from any inadvertent groping in the heat of the moment, and keeps the competition pure. You will have only the friction of their cunts against your dick to judge who is who.

The first pussy to sink down on your turgid prick feels a lot like Charlotte's... no, maybe it's Rose's. Both girls are moaning, like a couple of bitches whisked in from a hardcore porno -- working in league to keep you from getting any clues. You hear, too, the nasty sound of them kissing each other, as this mystery pussy begins to slide up and down. The warmth, the rubbery tightness and stickiness of it leaves no doubt whatsoever that this is prime Mallory pussy, but Charlotte was exactly right... they age like wine. You really cannot tell. Charlotte's 36 year old pussy is just as nice a cumdump for you and your massive dick as Rose's 16 year old pussy is. These fleshy lips, the way the tucked-in labia get pulled further inwards and rumble with raw lust while you fuck, the way the internal body heat increases seemingly without bound... you realize that everything you love about fucking Rose's pussy is everything you love about fucking Charlotte's pussy.

"Mommy... Mommy..." Rose pants. Your dick twitches just hearing her say it.

"Are you going to get pregnant today?" Charlotte asks.

"I'll try... I'll really try... will you let him cum inside me?"

"He's going to cum inside us both, honey. He's so backed-up, I can tell... we both need to take care of it for him. Let's wring him dry, okay?"

"Yes, Mommy..."

You shudder as the divine sensation of fucking a cunt gets replaced by air wafting across your unmated dick... whoever was on you has suddenly dismounted. You try to reach out, frustrated. But you can't. Your hands are tied, after all. You can only moan instead.

Rose's face is pressing against your right cheek. Charlotte's face is pressing against your left. Each Mallory girl has a hand wrapped around your cock, and they jerk you in tandem.

"Who was that?" Rose asks.

"Was it me?" Charlotte asks.

"...Or me?" Rose asks.

You shake your head mutely. You've no idea.

"Guess we need to keep testing," Charlotte says.

They let go. Soon after, a second pussy is wrapping its creamy insides around your oozing prick. ...Or is this a fakeout, and they're giving you the first pussy again? You furrow your brow, trying to focus, but wave after wave of insane pleasure is beginning to overwhelm you. You buck your hips to meet the hips of your anonymous fuck-bitch.

"He's so worked-up," Charlotte coos.

"What a disgusting man," Rose purrs.

Divorced of visual stimulus, the carnal pleasure of a Mallory cunt is still enough on its own to coax you to climax. This Mallory cunt, whoever it is, is about to make you blow your load. It's going to be a big one. You warn them with a deep rasp: "I'm gonna cum--!!"

Instead of pulling off, the cunt you're fucking presses down on you. Her pussy swallows your dick up entirely, to the root. Then using her full weight, she mashes against you in tight circles. This is the vaunted Mallory special: a balls-deep milking to cap things off. You can't see a thing, but you see stars anyway. Your cock belches squirt after squirt of dense, sticky seed straight into the depths of whichever girl was first to bring you off. Mother or daughter, you don't care -- with teeth gritted you yell out: "get fucking pregnant! Fucking bitch!"

When you finish cumming inside, and your unknown partner climbs off of you, Charlotte says with wonderment: "there's so much... oh my goodness..."

"You were right, Mom. He WAS backed up..."

"Still is..."

"Mm."

"Here... let's get some of Alabaster's sperm on your tongue, hmm?"

What follows is a lewd, wet noise as -- presumably -- Charlotte digs some sperm from out of the pussy you just creampied, and puts her cum-smeared fingers in her daughter's mouth. Then even more wet noises, as the two begin, again, to kiss. They may even be kissing from either side of Charlotte's fingers, still probing Rose's tongue and the back of Rose's throat. Your cock is as hard as it ever was.

"Who was that?" Charlotte asks, tickling your nuts.

"Was it me?" Rose asks, suckling on your neck.

"Or me?" Charlotte asks, running a hand under your shirt, and playing her thumbtip against one of your nipples.

You shake your head. You really need to fuck something again, right away.

"Did you make me pregnant, Alabaster?" Rose asks.

"Or did you make a baby with Mommy?" Charlotte asks.

Someone gets on top of you again. They're laughing at your desperation and confusion, both of them are -- even Rose, who ostensibly wants you to discern the difference. These girls will be the death of you... you need a devious strategy. With a low grunt of "unghhh..." you bow your head forward, and peek. The crotch of Charlotte's panties draped over your eyes allows just enough space to see a sliver of the world, from this severe down-facing angle. You can peek without them knowing that you are. Huge violation of the rules. Oh well.

You find a glimpse of your own cum-stained lap, and an even narrower glimpse of the girl grinding on top of you. You see a thick thigh, jiggling as you fuck. And you see a slick, drippy, shiny pussy, with a cute little button of a clit peeking out.

Even seeing this much, it's impossible to tell. Or it would be, if not for one minuscule yet crucial discrepancy. The pussy you're fucking has a small brown beauty mark just above it, to the right. That beauty mark belongs to Charlotte. Rose hasn't got one to match. You're still not sure whether Charlotte is the cunt you just came inside of... her pussy is streaked with cum as if she's just taken a load, but your lap is all streaked with cum too, and the mess down there in Charlotte's pussy easily could have been deposited just now when she climbed on top.

Regardless, you now can tell who's riding you... and that's all you need. You let your head rest against the couch's back, and enjoy the fuck on its own merits. You bask in it. A few moments later you feel pressure against your dick from the back walls of Charlotte's cunt, and realize it must be fingers, pressing on the membrane between pussy and anus. Rose is fingering her mother's asshole while she fucks you. Dirty bitch.

That image, which you have to settle on merely envisioning in your mind's eye, brings you across the finish line a second time. You creampie Charlotte without forewarning. But Rose, who knows the signs of your impending orgasm without needing to be told, and who's an excellent actress, responds with surprised moans to match her mother's. She times is perfectly. And so you get the noise of two girls being creampied, simultaneously, for the price of one...

Charlotte is still mashing herself against your embedded prick, as she and her little girl do their schtick again:

"Was that me?" Charlotte asks.

"Or--" Rose begins.

"It was you," you cut in. "It was you, Mom."

Charlotte immediately rips the panties from your face. She's pouting harder than you've ever seen her pout  before, even as she sits impaled on your member. "You cheated!"

"No he didn't," Rose says, smiling smugly. "He loves young pussy way too much to be fooled by someone as old as you..."

"I cheated," you instantly inform Rose. If only to knock her down a peg. Now they're both pouting at you. Is it really advisable to anger both Mallory women while your hands are tied?

Charlotte roughly blindfolds you again with her panties. Her musky feminine scent overloads your system. "Well you won't be able to tell our buttholes apart!" She snaps.

And you probably won't.

---

You smile at Samantha, adopting a cocky tone: "They're lovers." Then you take Anna's hand in yours. "We're on a couple's date, actually."

It's hard to tell who's the most taken aback... Anna, whose clammy hand trembles like one of Cerise's vibrators in your grip; Alex, who's turned a crimson bordering on infrared; or Sable, who's sputtering incoherently.

Samantha draws a sharp inhalation, to register her understanding. "Ahhh -- uh huh! Lovers. How lovely!" She leans way in, one palm bracing her fishnet-clad upper thigh, and cups her other hand over her mouth as if sharing a secret. "I love lovers."

"Alex and I-- are not-- we aren't-- this is absurd-- he's my student!--"

Meanwhile, Alex is waving both hands in front of him. "I-it's not like-- we didn't-- she's my--"

"It's a shame you're taken," Samantha tells him. Or is she talking to Sable? Or to you? Or to Anna? She straightens her posture, the back of her wrists on her hips, her torpedo tits sticking out. "Of course, taken doesn't always mean taken..."

Alex forces a loud, false laugh. "Hahaha! Taken! That's... you're really funny! I mean--"

Sable interposes herself between Alex and Samantha, like a mother fending off a bus pervert. "Taken means taken," she announces. Not so embarrassed anymore, at the threat of a rival.

"Oh sure," Samantha agrees. She winks. "Keep an eye on him, then, okay! He might get gobbled up!" Sable glowers at her, but Samantha doesn't seem to notice or care. She casts a glance at Anna instead, who's staring at the ground, and too timid even to take her hand from yours. "You might get gobbled up, too!" Samantha warns her.

Anna squeaks. Her hand in yours grows sweatier.

"Do you have any tandem bikes?" You ask. "We've recently taken an interest in unusual forms of locomotion... it's what all the cool kids are into."

Samantha nods. "Oh yes, sir! We have bicycles built for two, three, four, or more! The only thing more fun than riding a bicycle is riding it with someone else at the same time!"

Alex pipes up. "Actually -- a tandem bike is a little bit advanced for Ms. Guiteau, I think..."

Rather than react negatively, Sable surprises yet again with an emotional swing, this time towards calm rationality. "I agree. Let's start with the basics." (Maybe she's on her best behavior to make sure she stays in Alex's good graces.) "Do you have a bicycle for beginners?"

"Yes!" Samantha says. She points at a child's bike in a rack in the middle of the room. It has training wheels on it, and little multicolored pastel streamers hanging off the handlebars, and daisies painted on the pink metal frame. Sable is well over a foot taller than the target demo, clearly. Samantha obviously took the word "beginner" quite literally.

"May I test it out?" Sable asks.

"Feel free!"

Dutifully, Samantha then helps Sable don a helmet, kneepads, and elbow pads. It takes some fussing, as Sable is completely unfamiliar with how to do up the straps and catches, and she doesn't make herself very easy to assist. The two make a strange contrast as Samantha presses up against her, and forcibly holds her still as she works to get the protective gear on her. But finally Samantha has Sable all kitted out: ready to face the rigors of piloting baby's first bike.

"You can take it for a spin outside, if you want!" Samantha says. "Ride around the block a couple times, and let me know if you like it! First-timers get a discount!"

"You aren't worried about theft?" You ask.

"You... won't steal it... will you?" Samantha asks, looking suddenly unsure.

"Well -- no," you say. "But--"

She's feeling fully assured again. "Then it's no problem!" She says, swatting at the air and giggling.

"I do not want to be seen in public, struggling to ride a bicycle," Sable says. "It's bad enough being seen by my students like this... and by a slut in a bunnygirl costume..."

Alex coughs. He casts a worried look at Samantha. "Uh -- no offense -- she doesn't mean what she says sometimes..."

"No offense taken!" Samantha replies, obviously sincere. She goes to the shop's entrance, and flips the sign hanging there, to announce to the world that they're closed. She locks the door securely, turns to face you all: "There's plenty of room in here to do a little bike riding!"

Leaning with your tailbone against the checkout counter, you watch Alex guide Sable around the store's perimeter. You figure this will take a little while -- Sable still gasps and nearly falls whenever Alex lets up his grip on her. So you hoist yourself up, using the countertop as an impromptu bench. Anna tries to mimic you. But she's shorter, not to mention weaker, and when she tries to haul herself up, she fails. She lands flat back on her feet almost as soon as they leave the ground. She tries a second time, drawing herself slightly higher, but her butt still doesn't clear the edge of the counter and she ends, again, on her feet.

She gives up, and decides to sit on the floor in front of the counter. Whenever Alex and Sable come by, she draws her knees up towards herself to make way. Then when they pass, she lets her legs stretch out again. With the heels of her tennis shoes touching, she idly swivels her feet towards and away from each other, staring at them.

"Those two make a cute couple," Samantha whispers. She looks from you to Anna: "So do you."

"With Anna and I, it's less like a couple and more like master and slave..."

Anna is over her shyness about meeting a new person, enough at least to elbow you. "i'm your master now?" she says, glancing up at you.

"What? No--"

"that's the order you put it in"

Samantha squats to get at Anna's level. "I saw you on a unicycle earlier! Do you ride it often?"

Anna shrugs. With the way Samantha squats, thighs folded over her calves, balanced precariously on her pumps, legs a little spread... it's hard not to stare at the taut seam of her bunnysuit's crotch. Anna does. So do you.

"It's such a unique skill!" Samantha says. "I don't think I've met a unicycle rider since I was in the ci-- well anyway, it's been awhile!"

On the other side of the store, Sable shouts at Alex: "Don't let go! Don't you dare let go! I'll expel you from the FIRST program if you let go of me!!"

"You're pretty unique, too," you say. Samantha doesn't rise, but does look up. "Your boss lets you dress like that at work?"

Samantha nods. "Mr. Eichmann is understanding! He knows this is how I'm most comfortable."

You blink. Mr. Eichmann... now there's a name you hadn't expected to hear.

"Doesn't it draw a lot of attention?" You ask.

"I don't mind attention," Samantha says.

"Well, you're getting it," you tell her. You nod at Anna. Anna is still staring transfixedly at Samantha's crotch and the cameltoe there. Her glasses are getting fogged. Her lips are slightly parted.

Rather than conceal herself, Samantha just smiles slyly and scooches her stance a bit further akimbo -- giving Anna an even better view.

"Anna," you say firmly.

She shakes her head, at last tearing her eyes off Samantha's barely-concealed cunt. "whuh"

"Are you ogling this poor woman?" You ask.

"huh"

"I said are you ogling Samantha."

Anna blushes.

"I'm sorry," you tell Samantha. "My pet is a slut."

Samantha tilts her head. "Do you mind a slutty pet?"

You and Samantha get Anna onto her butt on the countertop. Anna is her usual taciturn self: "Sir... is this really a good idea...?"

"Don't look a gift bunny in the mouth," you chide. "Or actually... do. Samantha, say ahhh."

Samantha fishhooks either side of her own lips, letting her jaw part and her tongue loll out. "Ahhhhhh," she says.

So far, neither Sable nor Alex have noticed the oncoming lewdness as they draw lazy circles around the store. Sable is getting a bit more comfortable on her training wheels, so Alex has graduated her to a grownup bike. But now with just two wheels to support her she's really freaking out. The pair are so consumed with it that they don't have the bandwidth to pay attention to what you're doing with Samantha and Anna.

Samantha stands between Anna's legs. Her tits, pressing up against Anna's plank-flat chest, make for a cute contrast. She takes Anna's face in her hands. "You want to be a better kisser, right? For that girl you're trying to make fall in love with you?"

"i... w-what Sir told you about cerise... is totally--"

Samantha kisses her. Anna goes stiff all over, holding her balled fists up on either side of her. Then she wilts, going all floppy, and gives in to this bunnygirl's insistent kissing. She opens her mouth to Samantha, and lets Samantha's tongue root around. One of Samantha's long pointy ears twitches -- she's enjoying herself, too. When finally Samantha cuts the practice kiss off, she gives her feedback: "your tongue should be more lively okay! Try again!"

If Anna's glasses were fogged before, they're San Fransisco in October now.

Samantha begins, again, to kiss her. Just watching this older women teach a new protege the ways of a true slut has got your cock engorged with lust. You unashamedly reach for Samantha's rear end, groping and squeezing her always so squishy flesh. She gives absolutely no protest. In fact, she arches her back, to jut her ass out a little more. All the better for you to get a nice firm hold on both globes of her ass. You reward her sluttiness, and follow up the groping with a little tail-play... yep, Samantha's cottontail is just as sensitive as ever. Even just brushing it with the broad side of your palm causes her to jolt and shiver. This has a delayed effect on Anna, too -- who jolts in turn when Samantha's kissing gets suddenly hungrier. Teasing Samantha's tail makes her sluttiness go into overdrive.

This display is enough to at last draw the notice of Sable and Alex. You no longer hear the rotation of the spokes of Sable's bike. You can sense their eyes upon you as you stand there feeling Samantha up and she stands there molesting Anna's mouth with her tongue.

"Lesbian..." Sable mutters. "So Anna is a lesbian after all..."

It seems her primary concern is that Anna has been eliminated as a potential source of competition for Alex's heart.

Alex himself is a bit scandalized. "Ally--! We're in public!"

"Why is this my fault?" You demand. You glance over your shoulder at them. "This slut attacked us. She seduced us both."

Samantha turns, relinquishing her grip on Anna's face. Anna is half-dazed from the oral assault, and sways lightly, unable to form any comprehensible words. Samantha, all hot now, eyes Alex like a carnivore after prey. Gobbled up, indeed. "Alabaster says you like to be underneath a woman. Is that true?"

"Let's go," Sable insists, struggling to step off her big-people bike. Alex is no help to her, because he's struck still as stone staring back at Samantha.

"Come lick my butt," Samantha says.

Alex takes a single unhesitating step towards Samantha, ready to heed the command. But that's as far as he gets. Sable grabs his arm and hauls him back. "What are you doing?!"

"I-- I'm sorry, Ms. Guiteau..." he begins, dithering. "B-but..."

Samantha may be brazen, but she's no thief. "You're really not okay with sharing?" She asks Sable.

"No!" Is Sable's immediate response.

"Samantha's a good teacher," you say, playing salesman. "...Or so I assume. She could help Alex's technique -- vis-a-vis butt licking."

"Alex has all the technique he needs to learn from me!" Sable says.

The only thing Samantha likes better than fucking is solving a tough problem using practical solutions. "You like to get your butt licked too?" She asks Sable. "Let's get our butts licked together, then! Alex can do you... Alabaster can do me!"

You choke. "How did I get roped into this?"

Samantha frowns. "You don't want to lick me there? But you were playing with my rump so much..."

Anna, ever the subby bitch, swings herself down off the counter and gets on her knees on the ground. "i'll do it"

This wasn't the kissing that Anna set out to practice at first... but Cerise will be happy with the gained exp points, either way. Samantha tugs her one-piece's crotch aside to bare her drippy bunny cunny and the pristine, twitchy, pale pucker of her her bunny butt.

Anna goggles. "the tail..." she breathes. She's just now realizing that thing is the real McCoy, connected at the base of Samantha's coccyx.

Sable is equally awed by the tail. She gets on her knees beside Anna and grabs a tuft of it, and yanks -- what more scientific way to test its authenticity? Samantha lets loose an ear-splitting shriek of agony that blows the now utterly flabbergasted Sable back.

"Please don't do that!!!" Samantha cries. "It hurts a lot, okay!"

Sable, after a long awkward silence, can only think to reply: "...I'm sorry."

She fights her way to her feet as Anna, maybe wanting to patch things over, gets to work on Samantha's asshole. That pristine little star between Samantha's cheeks quickly becomes sloppy with Anna's drool. Samantha sighs pervertedly.

"I'd no idea you were a lesbian," Sable says.

Between languid laps at Samantha's asshole, Anna corrects her. "i'm bi"

"Bisexual?"

Anna nods even as she continues to tongue Samantha's hot butt. She hugs Samantha's meaty thighs to keep balanced.

"So you're a whore," is Sable's assessment.

"Ms. Guiteau..." Alex says, unable to look away from the erotic sight of Anna servicing the bunny. "That's not nice. I'm bisexual too, you know!"

Sable looks at him reproachfully. "You're also a whore."

The erection clearly visible through Alex's shorts twitches.

"Get on your knees," Sable commands, as she undoes her belt buckle. Alex has no choice but to obey his beloved teacher. Soon the proud Ms. Sable Guiteau is taking off her pants and panties in the middle of the bike shop, so that her underage student can eat out her asshole. Where does she get off calling anyone else a whore?

Samantha's eyes go wide with childlike wonder. "Whooaaaa... he's so good at that! You taught him so well, Sable!"

"Of course I did!" Sable says. "It's what his mouth was made for. It's only good to say yes and eat cum."

Alex, hands folded in his lap, suckles on Sable's dark asshole like it's his favorite candy. You suppose it is. These two women who could not be less alike, Sable Guiteau and Samantha Smatters, face one another as they receive their dual rimjobs. Who's going to cum first? It's a contest you're keen to witness... Sable's fat cunt lips and Samantha's peachy twat both ooze girl-cream all over the faces of the teenagers serving them. It's nearly enough to make you cum just by watching it. Sable might be a hypocrite, but she was precisely correct: you've never seen a pair of more eager whores than Alex and Anna.

"Don't you want to join too?" Samantha asks you.

The answer is yes. Satisfying your horny cock on Samantha's slutty body is a joy you've missed. You get nude -- Samantha marvels at your size. "Oh geez, Alabaster! You'll break my pussy apart if you're not careful!"

"Should I be careful?" You ask.

Samantha shakes her head, an emphatic no on that count, and grinds her ass a little harder on Anna's able tongue.

With Anna's face buried in Samantha's rear end, your only option for getting yourself stuck inside Samantha's cunt-hole is to fuck her facing forward. It's an awkward position that even you aren't used to, but you'll manage. Samantha, grinning, pulls her humongous tits free of her too-tight nylon costume and lets them hang out in the open for you to grope and ogle while you mate. She may be an older woman, but her tits are bolt-ons nonetheless. They're as perky and springy as the rack of a little teen bimbo. And the soft red nipples, you know, are another weak spot of hers. You thumb them as you plunge your tumescent dick into her. Samantha shivers, and squirts another little stream of cum -- all over your cock shaft, all over Anna's face.

Sable is losing her last remaining dignity, too. As Alex enthusiastically eats her out, making shrill feminine moans the whole time, Sable begins to masturbate. Her ring and middle fingers dig at her twat and her thumb scrapes her clitoris. Her fore and pinky fingers hold her cunt lips open. You've never seen Sable play with herself so wantonly. The reason is obvious. Samantha is bringing out her inner whore, too.

As in the world prior, Samantha's pussy is almost scorchingly hot. Its strange ridges and crannies burn against your thrusting manhood. You know, too, that Samantha's asshole is equally as hot, and you wonder how Anna is taking to it. Pretty well, you'd guess, judging by how desperately she tries to get her entire tongue into Samantha's anus.

"This... this is too goooood..." Samantha moans, tongue wagging. Her eyes are glazed and staring into the middle distance. You slap her tits to be cruel, but she thinks you're paying her a favor: "You're too nice... gonna... gonna cum..."

"Me too," you grunt.

"Do it inside okay! It's what my pussy is made for!"

Anna's paying more attention than you thought. She scooches a little forward. Her tongue, so recently rimming Samantha out, is now licking you both at the point where you're connected. This extra bit of stimulation is enough to push you across the edge. You bellow, and dump a load. You dump it straight into the sucking depths of Samantha's rabbity cunt. But that cunt of hers is achingly tight, and sends long tendrils of spunk seeping out around your thick dick. Anna is happy to take the overflow. She twists her spittle-covered face this way and that to catch it all and drink it up. Baby batter, girlcum, whatever -- she doesn't care. Her mouth is a willing hole for anything you want to put in it.

Speaking of willing mouth-holes, Alex is playing cleanup duty on Sable's creamy cunt too. Like a dog lapping up water, he laps at Sable's cunt and cleans the aftermath of her orgasm out of her. Sable orgasmed from his rimjob, and now she's riding a post-cum buzz as Alex gets his fill. Her smile is always the cutest right after she busts a nut -- slightly tired, but carefree. She keeps her pussy held open for him.

As you dismount Samantha and a veritable waterfall of jizz seeps from her, Anna is quick to latch her mouth over the gaping orifice. But not before giving you her appreciation: "thank you Sir for cumming so much" -- and then it's back to work.

"You eat pussy so good!" Is Samantha's judgment. "You'll get Cerise addicted for sure!"

You know she will.

Alex, glassy-eyed, still on his knees, stares at the sight. Sable regards him, the way she might a bug. She nudges his cheek with her knee to catch his attention. "Do you want to lick up Alabaster's cum, too?"

"Uh... uh huh..." Alex moans, hypnotized.

She leans over and puts both hands on his shoulders and pushes him towards Samantha. "Then eat it," she sneers. She rights herself and watches with satisfaction as Alex immediately joins Anna under the bunny. From either end, they eat her out, vacuuming up your sperm. And this degrading act has left them needing some relief too. Wordlessly, they help each other out: Anna gets Alex's cock out of his shorts, and Alex gets his hand into Anna's spats. They never stop feasting on the creampie you left in Samantha. The spectacle is at once hot and pathetic. A couple of desperate sluts masturbating for each other while they eat your sloppy seconds. Anna tugs Alex's cock and Alex fingers Anna's pussy.

"Thank you for sharing him!" Samantha tells Sable.

Sable folds her arms while she watches. "He has to know his place."

"Between my legs!" Samantha guesses.

"Between the legs of anyone who wants him there," Sable says.

Samantha giggles. "He's a fuckpet! Just like me!"

Sable nods.

"Will you let him put his cock inside me?" Samantha asks.

Sable is much less certain of that. But maybe the way Alex so sweetly moans at just the suggestion of it, and loses a couple spurts of precum into Anna's palm, makes her take pity on him. She seems to be considering it. The thing that breaks down her last barrier of resistance to seeing Alex fuck another woman is this: Samantha, rubbing her own tits and smiling brightly, offers: "I'll lick your pussy if you let him do it!"

This is the power of bunny pheromones. Sable, so recently disgusted by lesbianism, plops down on her naked butt and spreads her legs. "Do it."

A change of position, now. Samantha gets on her belly in front of Sable, and Alex mounts Samantha from behind. He's much slighter than she is. His lower half could be wholly enveloped by Samantha's thick body, her fat butt and hips. Sable uses Samantha's pointy ears as handles, and directs Samantha's face towards her pussy as Alex gets himself seated inside. Samantha's interior walls, you know, are still coated in your jism, and provide a slick tunnel for Alex to fuck to his heart's content. Together, he and Sable spitroast the bunny. It's oddly sweet.

As for Anna... you get her flat on her back and mount her face. Enough with these teasing licks from before like your cock is an ice cream cone. You're going to fuck Anna's face until she blacks out, and then you'll keep right on fucking it.

As if she's nothing but a disposable onahole, you pound her throat and enjoy the way your cock creates an outline in her neck visible from the outside. True, Anna is hopelessly in love with your older sister. But she's also hopelessly addicted to cock, and as long as you've got that, she'll submit to any degradation for it. If it means getting pumped with cock, she'll even let you knock her out... like now. Her body convulses and she nearly aspirates on your dick slime, but her eyes are rolling around in sheer joy. She loves getting raped.

Samantha likes rough use, too. Alex bares his dominant side the more he fucks. He holds Samantha rudely by the hips, and really pounds her. His dick is no tiny thing, and you know with every pump, he's really making Samantha feel it. That erotic pleasure is being translated through Samantha's mouth, and into Sable's pussy. Sable humps Samantha's face like you hump Anna's. The tiny shop is filled with the shlicking noise of that, of Sable's wet cunt slapping Samantha's face.

Sable grunts. "Fuckpet... what better word for it is there... this is our fuckpet now..." She throws her head back, grits her teeth, and hisses: "Yessss... cum with me, Alex!"

Alex obliges. The two let loose a spectacular, synchronized orgasm. Alex sperms Samantha's cunt, and Sable sprays all over Samantha's face. If Sable is going to be forced to share Alex, she's set on making clear who's on top in the hierarchy. Or more importantly, who's on the bottom. But being the bottom bitch suits Samantha just fine. She happily acts as their sperm bank.

Oh no... Anna really did pass out. You feel her constrictive throat suddenly loosen, and her convulsions completely stop. She's still breathing, though -- as the hot, gentle exhalations from her nostrils against your balls evince. So you decide to keep enjoying the fuck. You did fantasize about fucking her after she passed out, so why not? Anna likes to get cummed inside while she's unconscious, anyway.

You fuck Anna's now resistance-free face, and spew a cummy mess right into her gullet. It feels like fucking a heated fleshlight that occasionally blows a puff of air against your testicles. You can hear the distant echo of your cum filling her oxygen-starved throat.

After you've had your fun on Anna's mouth, cumming straight into her belly, Sable takes a turn. She squats over Anna's unconscious, slime-coated head.

"How do you like being a lesbian?" You ask, bemused.

Sable rubs her gash all over Anna. "She can be our fuckpet, too. It's what she gets for humiliating Alex..."

(So possessive.)

Alex, meanwhile, is still rutting inside Samantha, this time in a missionary position, and suckling on her breasts. You guess that things won't die down for a while yet. So you decide to enjoy a little anal with Alex for a change of pace. Without warning, you lean over him, belly-to-back, and press your palms to the backs of his hands, pinning him.

"Ally--!"

"Shut up," you sneer, and fuck him. It's always so nice to fuck Alex's bubble butt. And every thrust of yours drives his cock deeper into Samantha's cunt. Samantha mewls and moans, and presses Alex's head to her bosom. He continues to suckle on her nipples while you bugger him -- they're like a pacifier to him.

While the three of you fuck, Sable makes a game of smearing your cum all around Anna's face, mashing it into her cunt in the process. It makes a creamy, cummy, frothy mess. Anna is still out cold, but Sable doesn't care. She rides Anna and cums all over her, adding to the sheen of slop.

"Have you ever eaten pussy?" Samantha asks.

"Are you talking to me?" Sable says, taken aback.

"Give it a try!"

Sable must have been curious. It's all the sales pitch she needs. She twists around and enters into a 69 with Anna. This sensation is enough to bring Anna out of her stupor. She gasps and sputters back to consciousness, only to find her face full of her teacher's cunt, and her cunt full of her teacher's face. "ms-- ms. guiteau..." she says, voice hoarse, cum bubbles forming on her lips.

"Be quiet."

"you're--"

"Eat me!"

The two lez out for what feels like hours, sucking and licking each other's twats and assholes, while you give Alex the prostate orgasm of a lifetime. His cock embedded in Samantha, and his ass stuffed full of you, he's riding a wave of bliss he probably didn't imagine was possible. The squelchy, nasty noises of his rolling orgasm inside Samantha are evidence enough of that. So too is the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull. He seems on the verge of losing consciousness himself. But Samantha keeps him awake by rubbing her tits back and forth against his face, all but smothering him, and adding to his depraved delight. He cums and cums, and cums and cums. You never knew before meeting Alex that boys could have multiple orgasms, but Alex always does. And by the time you empty your load deep into Alex's anus, he's panting like a fucked-out slut.

In the midst of all this orgiastic depravity, you almost don't notice the figure striding out of the room in the back, wheeling a bicycle towards the racks on the walls. And when you do notice it, you can hardly believe it.

"S-Spancer?!" You gasp. Shocked, you stop fucking -- but you're the only one who stops.

Samantha's head snaps up. She smiles at him. "Spancer! I thought you clocked out!"

"Negative. There are five more units to complete."

He turns and starts towards the back room again, where, apparently, he builds bikes for the Blue Sprocket.

"Keep working hard!" Samantha says encouragingly, as she cradles Alex's face to her sweaty boobs and humps against his still-spurting cock.

"Affirmative."

Spancer shuts the door behind him.

---

One night Cerise decides to go through your sadpanda history at the worst possible time. It's a bad time because recently, for reasons beyond you, you've been on a MILF binge whenever you indulge in a little bit of dueling with the bishop. Moreover, the type of MILF hentai you've been into has been pretty heavy on M part of that acronym. Cerise is getting totally the wrong impression of your tastes here.

"Is this really what you jerk off to?" Cerise, sitting at your computer desk, asks as she scrolls through your favorites.

"Look, I can explain. This isn't my usual h-- wait. Now hold on a second. Why am I even justifying myself to you? Since when did you decide it was okay to snoop on your little brother's porn habits?"

"Since you decided that 'Comic MILF' was the best thing since sliced bread! What the fuck, Alabaster? This is totally wrong! You're supposed to be a lolicon. This is turning my entire concept of the universe upside-down..."

"I thought you hated lolicons."

"I hate you for changing the script!" Cerise shouts. She chews her thumbnail as she browses through a few pages of a recently favorited doujin. Her eyeballs dart around as she reads bits and pieces of the scanlation. "Straight shota is a league of degeneracy so much greater than what I figured you for..."

"I don't want to hear it from Little Miss Trap Rimmer," you roar. "You... you... stone in glass house... throwing... person!"

Cerise spins in your chair to face you. "You've got insults. But I'm hearing a distinct lack of denial over the fact that you jerk off to this shit."

"What, do you think I read it for the story?"

"...Do you?"

"No!"

Cerise frowns, and her voice grows softer. "Is this what you want?" She asks after a short silence.

"What I want is for you to get out of my bedroom. Rose is gonna be back soon and--"

Cerise holds up a palm. Her voice loses its gentleness. "Jeeesus. Go two seconds without mentioning your live-in landwhale. Try it once, for big sister, will you?"

"You're getting the wrong idea. That's all. All that hentai -- this isn't real life. It's just fantasy."

"Oh yeah fucking right," Cerise fumes. "There's a digital goddamn landslide of Mommydom porn on your favorites list! There's no escaping that, Alabaster!"

"Open your eyes!" You shout. "Look up my favorites tab and see. After the MILF stuff, you'll find my perfectly normal tastes--"

She turns back towards the monitor and scrolls some more. "Happiness Milk?"

"After that."

"Kurenai Yuuji?"

"After that."

"Drill Jill?"

You throw your arms up. "So what if I was on a futa kick before my MILF kick! Don't make some big fucking point of it!"

"Oh, you poor boy," Cerise says with mock sympathy. "It can't be easy to cum when you're looking at all these fetishes you hate."

"Get out of my room!" You yell. But Cerise is heading the wrong way -- towards your bed. Or more specifically, towards your bedside table.

There, in the drawer, she finds what she's looking for. Your prized onahole, and a bottle of silicone lube. She clacks the cap of the lube open. With a lewd splurt, she douses the open end of the toy with an overflowing supply of the slick transparent fluid.

"What are you doing?" You demand.

"Shock therapy." She approaches you, slowly waving the onahole, as lube that missed the mark runs down the sides of it, and across her fingers.

"Stay back--!"

"We're either gonna exorcise your Mommydom fetish or we're gonna help you embrace it. Either/or."

"Cerise--"

"Sit down," she says. Her voice is sterner, and deeper, than you've ever heard.

[ ] I need backup. Get Alex on the case.

>[x] No time for that! I'm about to get ara-ara'd!

You sit down at your computer chair, as if under an irresistible gravitational pull. The leather seat makes a soft pomf underneath you.

"What are you doing?" You ask, voice shaky.

Cerise fucks her index finger in and out of your wet onahole to demonstrate. "You're a dirty boy, Alabaster... even dirtier than I thought. I have to punish you."

It's ridiculous, but you're actually a little scared. Her voice has no trace of play-acting to it. She means it. Cerise so readily stepped into this role that it's freaky. She looms large over you, an arm folded under her breasts to accentuate them through the cotton of her tee. She holds the onahole up by her cheek, teasingly -- a little dribble of the lube smears her face a bit -- and says in a voice that's deep and silken, "oh my... you're not getting turned on, are you?"

"No," you lie. "This is stupid--"

Cerise's eyes dart downward. She stares down the bridge of her nose at your crotch, and the tent developing there. She lifts a foot, sets it on the chair just between your legs. The implication is menacing. "You're a liar," she says with venom.

You move to stand up, but she shocks you back to sitting again by jostling the chair with her foot. That's all it takes. You gulp.

"Is this what you wanted all along, Alabaster? For me to be your mother? Did you need a little discipline in your life?"

"You're crazy!" You say.

"And you're a nasty little pervert." She takes her foot from between your legs and tilts her chin up, as if imperiously judging you. "Come sit in bed with me."

She turns and sits there too, patting the mattress to beckon you along. "Don't worry," she says. "I'll take care of that perverted part of you that makes you such a dirty boy." She hefts the sextoy to demonstrate, its open end pointing down. A few lewd viscous strands of lube seep from it like a mouth set to drooling.

The idea of "discipline" is still frightening, but the promise of Cerise jacking you off with an onahole is too alluring to resist. You stand.

"Take your clothes off," she says.

You ditch your shirt. Cerise, giggling smokily, watches the show with a hand to her cheek. Next, hands trembling, you undo your belt, and your button, and your fly.

"You're in such a rush," Cerise says.

Hands on either side of your waistband, you pause, and suddenly ask: "are you gonna get naked too?"

"Hmm~ Would that make your perverted dick even bigger, seeing my body?"

You nod.

"You want to see my breasts?" She folds her arm under her bosom again, to show it off -- the outline of her nipples are poking through now, proud and erect. "Or do you want to see... down here?" She lightly grips the hem of her shirt, where it sits draped across her soft, pale legs. She hikes it up, but only a little. And with her thighs pressing so tightly together, you can see nothing but the barest hint of the top of her pussy mound. And that only for a split moment. She drops the hem of the shirt over her lap again. "You're hopeless~" she laughs. Then, tilting her head: "what are you waiting for? Take your pants off already."

You have no clue how sadistic or gentle Cerise intends to be with you, but you're going along for the ride either way. You ditch your pants as well, and your boxers, and stand nude before your elder sister. You dick is jutting out in front of you, so hard it could fuck a hole in diamond.

"Sit down. Right here, Alabaster. Let me take care of you... the way you should be taken care of..."

You sit beside her. She hugs you around your shoulders, and pulls you right into her buxom bosom. You can feel her tits pressing against you, so soft and pliant. She's focused on her task -- gazing hard at your prong, she slooooowly lowers the onahole towards it, and finally, after a long few moments, lets the tip of your prick kiss the opening. The onahole is so lubed-up that the moment of contact with your cockhead actually makes a smooch-like sound.

"Oh god--" you grunt. You try to buck your hips to seat yourself inside, but she presses down on your shoulders to keep you at bay.

"Shhh. Be quiet, perverted boy... do as I say, understand? Or I won't play with this dirty thing anymore."

"Yes," you agree.

She smiles warmly, hugs you a little tighter, and plunges the toy down around your shaft. You shiver with an exhilarated rush of pleasure, and can't help moaning again: "unghhh... oh fuck..."

"I told you to be quiet..." Cerise says. "Tch. You really do need discipline."

"I'm s--"

Cerise leaves you balls-deep inside the onahole as she takes off her shirt. It's like watching some kind of goddess reveal herself as she luxuriously peels the thin garment from her sweat-damp body. Her spine arches severely, arms raising high above her head, as it comes off. Her wide hips, her enormous tits, her skin that's milky and unblemished and soft-looking all over... and that ass that's so round and squishy looking, even when she's sitting on it. All of it is coated in just a thin layer of perspiration, smelling so womanly that it nearly blows you back. With her arms aloft, you see a few larger droplets of sweat descending from her flawlessly smooth armpits, and across the sides of her tits. Is she wearing Mom's perfume? Just a hint of it... and just a hint of something else, of female arousal, tangy... sweet and dirty, too. She keeps her legs pressed together, and you can see nothing of the cunt she's hiding.

"Mmmf--!" you grunt in surprise as she takes the back of your head and roughly pulls her towards her rack.

"It's too hot in here. Cool me off."

As she resumes masturbating you, adopting a pace that's maddeningly teasing -- too slow to make you cum, too fast to relish to eroticism; just a lewd drumbeat rhythm of slick, wet fapping -- you begin to lick her. You swirl your tongue around the salty expanse of her body's flesh -- from her oblong spongy cowtits, to her areolae and nipples, and in between her cleavage. She twists herself lightly this way and that to help you get to every spot. You lick the hollow of her neck, siphoning up a few larger pearls of her sweat, then her shoulder blades, and her upper arms... she doesn't stop you when you go a bit lower, but rather lifts her arms, each in turn, to grant you access to her pits as well. Like a pig, you bury your face in Cerise's fragrant armpits and suck her sweat from there too. As she tugs on your lube-slick cock with the silicone dicksleeve, your entire world becomes nothing more but the squishy crease of flesh there, in between your older sister's arm and torso. It smells like a concentrated version of everything Cerise: girlish but mature, clean but not well-kept, a whiff of probably days-old deodorant overpowered by much more recent daubs of perspiration, and just slightly tainted with the astringent reek of alcohol... it's unmistakably the essence of your sister. The taste matches: you could get addicted to this, you could become an addict of worshiping Cerise's armpits. You moan into her skin and are inwardly thankful the noise is muffled. But she hears it anyway, and tsks at you in her gently chiding way, even as she keeps her hand pressed to your skull and your face pressed to her body, even as she quickens the pace of her indecent cock-strokes.

Just as you feel you'll go blind and pass out, she lets go of you. You pull back and let the cool rush of fresh air into your lungs with a coughing gasp like a victim of drowning resuscitated.

"Cerise... I-- I'm gonna..." you pant.

"Quickshot."

"Oh, fuck--"

"What a disgusting little brother you are, getting off on sniffing your sister's *armpits*... how indecent... you really are a pervert~"

She lays a hand flat against your chest and forces you to your back. She climbs atop you, adopting the position of a cat about to pounce: spine forming a concave arc, body rearing way back with her butt touching her heels. Her hard nipples tickle your ribcage. She strokes your face.

"You're so hot," she coos. "You're absolutely *burning* up... did licking me there really turn you on that much?"

You nod yes, desperately.

"I'm all hot too..." she admits with a gentle tone. She slides her body against yours as she rises to a sitting position astride you. Her hands, supporting her weight against your solar plexus, conveniently block your view of her pussy. She looks so large from this angle... larger than you, even. "I'm a pervert, too..." she says, "...and your nasty body really turned me on."

She slowly parts her hands, to reveal behind them the cleft of her sopping pussy, and below that spot, her puckered brown anus. She's sitting on her tailbone, pussy angled up -- but having shown you everything, everything -- she settles her weight forward, and you feel a slick, wet, hot sensation against your groin: her wet cunt making skin-to-skin contact with you.

"What are you going to do about that?" She asks.

"Let me fuck you--"

She laughs. Husky and sly. "Hmm hmm~ ... no... no. I want to sit on you. I want to feel that tongue of yours down here."

You begin to respond, with what you aren't sure. Cerise cuts it off anyway, by quickly twisting around and doing what she promised. She sits on your face.

Her meaty ass and cunt smother your air supply and completely blot out your vision. This, just as with Cerise's armpit, smells like her concentrated self. It smells so strongly because she's all sweaty here, too, and turned-on. You can feel her secretions making a ruin of your face. Her soft butt presses insistently down on your forehead, both pillowy and oppressive at the same time. Your nose is directly against the entrance of her asshole, and every breath you take is filtered through it. Your lips, puckering, are against the soft folds of her labia, that puffy mound of Cerise's that you're so obsessed over. Her cream is trickling out of her, and you can't help giving her a kiss right on her cunt to sample that ambrosia from its source.

"Good boy," she sighs happily. Her voice becomes harsher, and she grits her teeth: "Kiss my cunt. Kiss it."

You kiss her cunt again, and again. Your hesitant pecks become more forceful until they're full-on, open-mouth French kisses. Soon your tongue is snaking out, without your conscious command, to rub against her genitals and inundate your tastebuds with her flavor. You could lick your older sister's pussy all day and never tire of it. It's not candy-sweet like Rose's, or thick and cloying like your Mom's, but it might taste the best of all. It's like a pussy made specifically for you... even the way your flattened tongue fits so perfectly into her vagina, the way her pink insides clamp around it and keep it rooted there -- it's like your bodies were designed to pleasure one another.

Happy to ride your face, humping her cunt against your tongue and her ass against your nostrils, Cerise uses both hands to masturbate the onahole on your shaft. It sounds as sloppy as it surely is. You can feel the hot, slimy lube, mixed now with your cock's own natural juices, oozing from out of the opening, all around your balls, and down your ass. It seems you're as wet in your dirty places as Cerise is in hers. You're both a mess. You're making each other messy. Cerise's sweat and arousal pour out of her body in equal measure. Between the swampy wetness surrounding you, and the fleshy cling of her impossibly soft, thick butt, every breath has become a desperate struggle not to asphyxiate. You can breathe only shallowly, through Cerise's anus, as she jerks you off. You're making noises like a chronic snorer, or maybe like a hog -- a filthy hog at a trough of slop. Through it all, dutifully, you suck. You suck her soft cunt lips and her pulsing clit. You suck her dewy pussy-slit and the overheated interior of her pussy itself. You cup your mouth over as much of your sister's pussy as you can, and suck up all of her juices, right to the back of your greedy throat. You gulp it all down, throat undulating with the effort.

Cerise plays with your balls and lightly scrapes the insides of your thighs with her fingernails. She's ranting: "Perverted boy... that's what you are... making me get like this... getting so horny over having your own sister sit on your face... nasty, dirty... drink it!"

You can't dispute the judgment. It makes your cock sing with lusty, masochistic enjoyment.

Without warning, Cerise cums on you. She suddenly bears down even harder than before, cutting off every last molecule of air, and squirts a hot stream of her girlcum into your mouth. Her orgasm voice is an octave lower than her speaking voice, as she sensually sighs: "oooooh... oooooooooohhh~ -- ooooh yesssss... like that... let me cum in you, Alabaster... open wide for mommy Cerise... that's it... suck, suck... suck me..."

She cums such a volume that you feel like you'll drown, as she uses you for a personal cum-toilet. But the flavor is so divine you can't think to complain, the pressure is so soft that it soothes the burning ache in your oxygen-starved lungs. You squeeze either globe of her ass as she rides you through a rolling orgasm, and you feel as if your hands will disappear within their infinite give.

After at last she finishes cumming, she clambers off of you and settles on her butt against the headboard. She sits Indian-style, with some pillows in her lap, and gets your head lying atop them. She slips a pair of her panties over your head, such that the crotch's inseam is directly against your nose -- as if you needed to be further overpowered by her scent.

"Do you like that?" She asks.

You nod up at her. "Yes... I do..."

"Aren't you such a dirty darling..." She lovingly brushes the matted hair from your face, first one side, then the other. She stares down at you like a mother staring at her child, smiling and cooin. "Do you want to cum now, for Mommy Cerise?"

"Yes... god, yes..."

"Shh, now... shh..."

Pulling your mouth towards her nipple, she sets to work on finishing off your orgasm. Your face feels like it's buried in a cloud, as you latch your lips to her and start to suck. Her slippery hand manipulates the slippery toy around your dick.

She stretches it out, and really makes it last. You lazily nurse on Cerise for minutes stretching into an hour, stretching into two... while she plays with your perverted cock the whole time. She doesn't do more than lightly tsk in motherly exasperation when you start to grope her tits. And as she works on you, she begins to masturbate her own horny pussy, too.

You and Cerise, in the end, share a sweet and explosive and incredibly messy orgasm together.

And you swear, although it should be impossible, that as Cerise creams herself, and as you blow a dense wad into the hot wet confines of the toy she uses on you, that you can taste from her nipple a small but definite trickle of mother's milk.

---

This is one for the record books. You're all dressed-up, and Rose is slumming it. Rather than exert the effort of wearing her typical prim pencil skirt + blouse combo, she sits curled up on the living room couch wearing one of your t-shirts (and probably not much else), watching an episode of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives... suitably trashy TV for such a trashy getup. Since she's got no prom date, she has nothing better to do.

(You promised, after much nagging, to take her to prom in her senior year. Purely because she got so het up over it.)

Mom, standing over your shoulder, fusses with the pin on your lapel in front of the mirror in the foyer. Rose (the other one, that is), watches from the dining room table and giggles at the sight.

"Will you stay still-- geez--" Mom says.

"Will you stop manhandling me?--"

"Just be still!-- GEEZ--"

"I thought you didn't even like Whitney -- so why do you care whether I look nice for her?"

She finishes with your pin and guides you through a 180 to face her head-on. She brushes your hair from your face and takes hold of your shoulders. "If you're going to take that lesbian temptress to prom, you'll darn well look nice for her! I didn't raise a boy without the common decency to look good for his prom date!"

"...So do I look good?" You ask.

Mom pouts at you. Then, licking her palm, she tries to flatten your cowlick. It's humiliating, and infantilizing. But she won't take no for an answer.

It's then the doorbell rings. Rose Too leaps from her seat at the dining room table and rushes to answer it.

"Where's Casanova?" You hear Ms. Carte boom. Rose laughs, and points the way. Ms. Carte strides into the Soliloquy household.

You make a halfhearted ta-dah motion at her. Ms. Carte sizes you up like a buyer at a produce stand -- all but squeezing you to test for ripeness.

"You hardly look presentable," she says.

You let your arms fall to your side. "Seriously? What the fuck."

"Didn't you raise a boy with the common decency to look good for his prom date?" Ms. Carte demands of Mom.

"Don't complain to me!" Mom says. "I did my best! You just worry about your daughter. I hope you taught Whitney at least enough to know that she has to wear a bra under her dress!"

"Of course she's wearing a bra!" Ms. Carte snaps.

"Oh? Well that's a world first, then! She never seems to be wearing one when she comes by to steal the food out of my cabinets!"

They growl at each other.

"Where is she, anyway?" Rose Tou asks, from over by the living room couch. "I just have to see this."

Ms. Carte explains: "She's still in the limo. She's got a little bit of stage fright... typical pre-date nervousness, that's all."

You wonder at the kind of mind that can suck your dick in public but gets all antsy over a prom date. That's Whitney for you.

"Of course," Rose says. "I'll go get her." Before anyone can stop her, she strides from the Soliloquy house, towards the car parked outside... barefoot, clad only in a loosely fitting tee.

As Rose passes, Anna pokes her head in.

"Look what the cat dragged in," you say. You wave for her to come fully inside.

"We picked her up on the way over," Ms. Carte says.

Anna timidly steps into the light of the foyer. Her dress is breathtaking. It's a flowing pastel yellow gown studded with many-faceted sequins that turn complexly opalescent when the light refracts through them. Her hair is done up in a complicated Celtic braid-and-bun. Her makeup makes her porcelain skin blush and almost glow.

"Where's your date?" You ask. Though Anna definitely did not go to all this effort for the sake of the boy she's going with tonight.

"he's ... on his way..."

You sigh. This brinkmanship between Cerise and Anna is about to culminate in a nuclear catastrophe of epic prom-portions. Cerise was too proud to ask Anna to call the date with Connor off. And Anna is too proud to fold her bluff.

"Where is my fellow chaperone, anyway?" Ms. Carte asks. "I can't keep a bunch of horny teenagers under control all on my own."

"Tch--" Mom says. "You're such a nasty woman!"

Ms. Carte smirks at her. "Really, lady? I know how you handle the horny teenagers under your roof. Don't get high and mighty on me."

"She's upstairs," you say. "A little bit of pre-date nervousness herself."

"What date?" Ms. Carte laughs.

"Good question ... I'll go get her."

---

Cerise is sitting on her bed, head cradled in her hands. She's equally as breathtaking as Anna. She looks like she's dressed for a wedding, not to chaperone a high school prom.

"Well, Cerise," you say with an air of disappointment. "We're T-minus 10 minutes, give or take, before Connorocalypse 2015. You ready?"

"Fuck off."

"Anna's pussy is dripping at the thought of the fingerless gloves he'll be wearing tonight. Said so herself."

"Sicko! Freak!" Cerise takes a pillow and tosses it at you. You deftly dodge it.

"The truth is that she's almost as miserable as you," you say, sighing.

"Good. She deserves it."

"Fucking hell, Cerise. Are you really going to subject her to this?"

"I'm not subjecting her to anything!"

You stomp. "Goddamn it, you drunk dyke dummy! Yes you are! God you piss me off."

Cerise scowls.

"Did you dress in that outfit because you're super duper excited to be a chaperone?" You demand. "Or because you were hoping that you'd be doing more than chaperoning tonight?"

"I wore it because you made me."

The doorbell rings -- you hear the far-off echo of it through the house. Then come indistinct voices below, one of them male.

"...Fuck," Cerise says, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You've got about 30 seconds," you warn her. "Make a choice quick. And make it good."

Cerise stares at you with frightened eyes. Only when you nod expectantly at her, arching your brows in a wordless gesture of, "get a move on!" -- does she get a fucking move on.

She jumps to her feet, gathers up the excess of her dress's skirt, and rushes downstairs to avert disaster.

You get downstairs in time for the fireworks.

"Oh -- Cerise-sama," Connor says in his reedy voice, turning away from an obviously-repulsed Anna. Anna is holding a bouquet of lilies up by her chest like it's a shield. Connor bows at Cerise in the pose of a Judo contestant, one flattened palm pressing against a fist. "M'lady. You look positively scrumptious... if I might be so forward... I could almost deign to beckon you on a date as well!"

Cerise punches him.

Right in the kisser -- full force, no warning. Just hauls back and klobbers him one.

The foyer of the Soliloquy household dissolves into confused noise. Your little sister cackles, Mom gasps, Ms. Carte vainly tries to pull Cerise away. Connor, nose bloodied, totters back. The fedora falls from his head as he stumbles, revealing his greasy hair, over-applicated with gel and swooped into a curly-Q.

"Fuck off, Connor!" Cerise shrieks. "She's mine!"

"Wh-whad?" Connor sputters, trying to stem the flow of blood with pinched fingers. The crimson drips from both his nostrils, over his philtrum, and down onto the black t-shirt beneath his cheap blazer. Cerise, stepping to him with menace in her eyes, forces him backwards out of the house, onto the doorstep.

Rose is just coming back with Whitney in tow. In all the hubbub, you've no time to appreciate Whitney's beauty. She sidesteps Connor's backwards-going exit as she enters, keeping both her hands raised in front of her and laughing, "whooaa-oaa-oaaa--" as she passes. Connor looks confusedly first from her, to the half-naked Rose beside her, and then to Cerise. Finally he tries to settle his eyes on Anna, who's still inside the house. But Cerise puts herself between them, blocking his line of sight.

"Anna is mine!" Cerise says. She pounds her chest like the alpha baboon warding off a weak upstart. "She belongs to me. Me! So go fuck your hand tonight and leave her alone!"

"Whad are you dawging abou?" Connor says petulantly. "I -- ghe-- dell her, Annda-- we're on a dayde--"

After a brief silence that seems to stretch far beyond its actual duration, like melted taffy being pulled, Anna finally says: "...date's canceled"

"Bud--" Connor begins.

"You heard the lady," Ms. Carte says. "Date's canceled."

"Bud!"

"Do you have a ride home?" Ms. Carte asks. Mom hands her a tissue, and she hands it off to Connor, for him to plug his freely bleeding nose.

"No I dond," he says glumly, once the reality of rejection settles in. "...I doog a daxi."

"I'll give you a ride back," she says with a sigh. "Sorry for the trouble... you've been used as something of a pawn, I think."

He sniffles as Ms. Carte leads him out. Cerise watches him depart with a grimace.

"i... belong to you..." Anna says, repeating Cerise's words in an obvious daze.

Cerise wheels on her. "Shut the fuck up!" She yells, grabs Anna, and kisses her. Anna's hands drop to the side as Cerise grips her shoulders tight and macks on her. She drops the bouquet of lilies to the floor.

Rose, like a trailer park Vanna White, uses both hands to indicate the splendor of Whitney's dress.

How splendid it really is.

Ms. Carte and Vivian selected only the very best for her. Like Cerise, Whitney looks as if she's dressed for a wedding more than for a prom. It's a gown of pure white, strapless, that shows off her chest without being slutty, and shows off her arms without being classless. The skirt is much longer than she is tall, and lies billowed around her feet in 360 degrees. The whole thing is tied off with an enormous bow in the back, like she's a present wrapped up for you. Her hair is done up with flowers, and she wears a tiara. For one of the only times in history, in this universe or the last, she wears makeup.

Her lips quaver, and she won't look at anyone -- least of all you. Her tan face is blushing darkly red.

"Well?" Rose asks, soliciting your thoughts.

But Rose answers first. "Whitney-chan!" She breathes. "You... you look like a girl! ... Coooool!"

Whitney grunts.

"It's true... you don't look half-bad," Mom allows. "I guess your mother and sister must have helped you quite a bit."

Whitney fiddles with the hem of her dress. She stares at her high-heels.

"Damn," Cerise says. "I thought I had the best dress tonight... oh well. Can't compete with billionaires."

"you're cute whitney" Anna adds.

Whitney huffs and sniffles, and turns her face away.

"What do you think, Alabaster?" Rose asks.

"I think--"

"Shut up," Whitney interjects.

You open your mouth to speak again.

"Shut up!" Whitney repeats, more forcefully. She stomps and looks at you with anger in her eyes. "Don't make fun of me! Okay? I'm not in the mood!"

"You're gorgeous."

She chokes, and draws chin back like you've sprouted a second head. "I... I'm..." She grimaces, and grits her teeth. "Asshole!"

"--What?"

She rubs her shoulders and glances all over her own body like she's just felt a bug crawling on her. "Fuck you. I'm ugly. This dress is itchy. It's too hot. It's gay as shit. I hate it. You're just laughing at me. I can see that smirk! You're fucking laughing! I'll kill you! Shut up. Shut up!"

She's beyond overloaded right now with her own embarrassment. So you do the only thing you can to shut her up: you kiss her. She immediately goes all limp and swoony in your embrace, and you have to support her by holding her around her back, lest she fall to the floor.

"OOOoooOOOoooOOO," your little sister croons, hands clasped over her mouth to amplify it. Whitney, even as she kisses you back, flips her the bird.

"Rude," Rose grumps.

You pull back from the kiss and meet Whitney's limpid eyes. "Let's go to prom, huh?" You say.

"...Yeah," she says with a grin.

A prom is never as interesting as it sounds on paper. Though the planning committee that you helped select, composed of only the best people, tried hard to lend the gymnasium an air of elegance... it is, after all, just a high school gym. The gentle many-colored lights and balloons and bunting and curtains and flower arrangements can only do so much. And the insipid music on tap is far from your style. And having to sway around the dancefloor with a gaggle of other BO-inflicted hormonal teens isn't precisely the cutting image of romance.

But Whitney is smiling, and her arms are warm where you hold her, and that's what matters.

You're a better dancer than Cerise is, at least, that's for sure. Whitney is a better dancer than Anna, too. Neither of you trip. But Cerise and Anna stumble so many times that it becomes almost vaudevillian -- as if they're dancing with four left feet. When they finally almost tip over the punchbowl, they give up the ghost, and resign themselves to being wallflowers for the rest of the night. Whitney chuckles at them, but only a little.

As you and she pass them during one of your revolutions through the gym, you hear them softly speaking.

"Anna... can I tell you something... without you thinking that I'm weird or creepy?"

"of course"

"I think I'm in love with you. Just a little."

Anna hugs her close, wrapping her arms around Cerise's sides, and buries her head in Cerise's bosom. "don't ever stop" Anna says.

Alex is here, too. He was on the planning committee. (See? Only the best people.) And Sable got voluntold to be a chaperone herself. Over the course of the night, they gravitate slowly towards one another. At last, they're standing side by side on the periphery, pretending not to notice each other. Until finally Alex musters up the courage to say: "um... Ms. Guiteau... will you dance with me?"

"...Why would I want to dance with you?" Sable asks.

Alex seems a bit stricken at that.

"Well. Why not?" Is his best argument.

Sable considers it.

Then she takes his hand and goes onto the floor with him. They're weirdly good dancers... and Sable lets Alex guide her without compunction. It's a favorite song of Alex's -- some psychedelic thing entitled Queen. How fitting.

The music towards the end of the night grows slow, and with it your dancing. As always in slow moments, your mind turns to trivia. "Do you know what the word prom is short for?" You ask.

"Promenade?" Whitney answers. She must have seen it written. She says it not how it's supposed to be pronounced, but in a way that rhymes with the word lemonade.

"Promenade," you tell her with the correct pronunciation.

"Oh," Whitney replies, blinking. As you continue to sway with her, she buries her face against your lapel. "I'm so stupid," she says.

"--What?" You reply, taken aback by the sincerity and sadness with which Whitney says it.

She sniffles, and looks up at you, smiling through the tears. "I'm so stupid," she repeats. "That's why you don't love me, right?"

You stop dancing. Though you try to keep her close, she wriggles out of your grip and steps back. In the middle of the crowded dancefloor, among all the noise and bustle of the dance, time nonetheless seems frozen. "What are you talking about? I love you. Of course I love you."

"I get it. It's okay. You love me -- but you don't love me like that. Not the way you love Rose, or Cerise, or Viv, or even Alex... people you can have a conversation with. I can't keep up with you. I never could. I'm so stupid... you can't love me like that because I'm not smart enough for you."

"You're smart," you tell her firmly.

"No I'm not. Don't lie to me, Ally--"

"You're the smartest girl in the universe."

She stomps. "See! You think I'm so stupid that I'll believe you! You're such a liar!"

"You're smarter than me," you tell her.

She shakes her head.

"You're smarter than all of us, really. Ask Rose, she'll tell you the same thing. Ask Alex. Ask your mom and dad. Ask V-- well, uh, ask pretty much anyone."

She wipes her tears with the back of her wrist, but then starts to cry pitifully. "What's gonna happen after school? When you graduate and move away?"

"We'll go to college together. Your dad... wants to hire me... and I know he wants to hire you... it's the family shop, after all. We'll be together."

"Is that what you really want?"

"I can't think of anything I'd want more."

She shakes her head.

You massage the bridge of your nose. "How can I make you understand -- that you're the better part of me? I don't know where I'd be without Whitney Carte. I'd be such a miserable fucking asshole... I mean... I am. But I'd be alone, too. You once told me -- well -- maybe you won't remember. But you said I was your friend when no one else would be. That's wrong, though. You were my friend when no one else would be. You loved me before anyone else. And fuck... I don't deserve it. Not at all. But I'd be the biggest idiot in the universe to turn it down. I love you, Whitney... I really do."

She's a bawling mess now, as you lead her from the floor amid gossipy whispering.

[ ] Tell her you want to start a family with her.

>[x] Tell her you want to start a family with her -- and marry her, too.

Stackleford, who got ditched by Kimberly and now is playing with a fidget spinner in a nearby chair, yelps in surprise when you grab the spinner from him.

"Hey-- what the fuck, nigger?"

You ignore him as you take out your keyring and pry one of the bearings loose from the toy using one of your keys. The bearing is shiny, smooth and chrome, and the exact perfect diameter for Whitney's left ring finger.

You get down on one knee.

"A-Ally--?" Whitney breathes.

You're drawing eyes now, all right. A public marriage proposal in the midst of prom is a somewhat unusual, although not entirely unprecedented event. So non-unprecedented in fact, that a busybody administrator strides over to say: "Uh -- this isn't allowed during school dances--"

"Oh, fuck off," Ms. Carte tells him. She yanks him back by his collar. "She's my daughter. She can get proposed to at prom if she wants!"

"Well that's a fucking curveball," Cerise says, hands on her hips. She glances at Whitney. "What are you waiting for? Say yes before Alabaster gets cold feet."

"Just so you know," Ms. Carte warns Whitney, "if you don't say yes -- I'm gonna take him from you. Don't make me marry a boy 16 years younger than me!"

Whitney covers her mouth with both hands. "Ally... Ally...! No fucking way--"

"Say yes!" Alex tells her, hand on her shoulder. He's beaming.

"marry that sucker" Anna chimes in.

"I mean, you don't have to say yes--" Stackleford begins. But he stops when Sable glowers at him.

Whitney doesn't say yes. She's too choked with tears to do it. But the way she throws her arms around you and happily slips the ad hoc ring onto her hand, is yes enough on its own.

On the ride back to the house in the limo, Whitney lies with her head in your lap, her arm stretched way out in front of her so that her hand is at the level of your face. She stares up at the ring as if in a trance.

"We'll get you a better one," you promise.

"This is the only one I want..."

"I thought you were going to marry Rose," Cerise says, petting a softly dozing Anna -- a girl still at her core an introvert who's sapped after public events like these.

"He obviously came to his senses!" Ms. Carte crows. It's hard to tell whose face is ruddier: hers or her daughter's. They've both been crying nonstop. "And not a moment too soon. He realized that us Carte girls have the goods! Signed, sealed, delivered!"

The truth is that you're going to marry them both.

Not legally, of course. One will have to change their name or be adopted by your Mom, and won't be recognized by the government as your lawfully wedded wife. So while they'll both be Soliloquys, only one of them will have the tax benefits.

Which one? Well, that doesn't matter. Who Uncle Sam thinks is your wife doesn't make any difference at all.

"Whitney Soliloquy..." she murmurs. She looks from the ring, to you. "I always dreamed of this... even on the first day I met you... I walked around all night at home saying, 'Whitney Soliloquy, Whitney Soliloquy' ... so much that I thought Carl would slap me. But even back then I didn't think I'd ever... I didn't think that it would actually be real..."

You kiss her tenderly.

"I love you so fucking much, Ally," she says.

You whisper in Whitney's ear that you want to put the wedding off for a couple more years -- not because of cold feet -- but so that Ms. Carte can enjoy a little bit of time with a girl named Whitney Carte. She deserves that much. And there's all the time in the world for Whitney to be a Soliloquy.

Your entire lives, in fact. And trillions of lives after.

>Sometime in the future.

You find the others waiting in the waiting room. Which makes sense. Does that make sense? Yeah.

...It's been a very long day.

Exhausted, you sit and slump in one of the puke green chairs, the cushion letting out a little wheeze of air as your weight settles upon it.

"How is Rose doing?" Charlotte wants to know.

"Whitney?" Is Renee's concern.

You sigh deeply. "They're both done," you announce.

A ripple of surprise spreads through the room as everyone variously leans in or stands, all eyes on you.

"Good man!" Armstrong bellows. He starts to dole out cigars, despite the disapproving glare of the RN behind the counter at the doors to the delivery ward. Saul takes one, Darkbloom takes one, Nelson takes one -- but you decline with a wave of your hand.

"Come on, now," Darkbloom chides. "Live a little. If not today, then when?"

"I just had Rose shrieking in my left ear and Whitney shrieking in my right ear for the past 10 hours. I'm not in the mood to cough up a lung right now, too."

"Is it our fault that you impregnated two girls at once?" Kay demands. She swipes a cigar for herself, and, winking at the RN, lights it up with a zippo. She blows a ring of smoke, plus a little arrow of smoke to pierce it. "Oh yeah. That's the stuff." She tilts her head. "So? What do we got?"

"Girls."

Her smile disappears. "Girls? Girls as in girls plural? Both girls?"

You nod.

Noelle is at her side immediately -- she makes the international symbol for cash money, rubbing her fingertips together with her thumb. Kay, rolling her eyes, hands over a crisp $50 note. You hadn't known there was a wager.

And it wasn't the only one. Mom hands Charlotte a twenty. Anna hands Cerise a fiver. Nelson, groaning, counts out six Benjamins and hands them to a smug Armstrong.

Renee is beaming -- until suddenly she isn't. A look of horror spreads across her face. "Wait... I'm a grandmother."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Mom says.

"The best!" Charlotte agrees.

"No!" Renee hollers. "I'm too fucking young to be a grandma-- oh Jesus... Alabaster... go put that baby back!"

"You can't put babies back, Renee--"

"Do it!"

You rub your forehead.

"When can we see the little shits?" Cerise asks.

"Cerise..." Alex mutters.

"What? Am I wrong to insinuate that babies are little shits? Because they definitely are."

"I think babies are wonderful," Samantha says, practically swooning. "If you ever need a babysitter, remember me okay!"

You're not sure whether that's the greatest idea.

Vivian smirks at you. "One sister down, and one to go."

"Huh?" You say.

"Do not think I have forgotten all that pillow talk of impregnating me, Alabaster Soliloquy."

Darkbloom takes the cigar from his mouth and awkwardly examines the cherry, pretending he didn't hear what he just heard.

"All right." You stand up. Not like you'll be getting any rest out here anyway. "It's okay to go back there... but only the closest family and friends."

Of course, everyone follows you back.

The girls both had tough labors, but Rose's was probably the tougher of them. The doctor had remarked that if he didn't know any better, he'd swear the baby was deliberately kicking, punching and clawing at Rose's uterine walls on its way out the door.

This kid's gonna be a real pain in the ass, you can tell.

By contrast, Whitney's baby didn't put up too much of a fuss. The labor was hard mostly because of Whitney's own slight hips... and also because she probably wasn't ready to give birth quite yet. When Rose's water unexpectedly broke earlier in the morning (at the worst possible moment, right as she was giving a presentation to shareholders), Whitney decided she had better go into labor, too. Via sheer willpower, Whitney broke her own water, determined to get her baby out into the world first. She wants to be the mother of the older "twin."

Rose, on the left, all bedraggled, hair mussed, face unusually pale from the loss of blood, nonetheless glows. She cradles the little bundle of, uh, joy -- who shrieks and cries so hellishly that you'd think the world was ending.

She's got the reddest fucking hair you've ever seen. You and Rose are both reasonably certain you've settled on a name.

"I love her..." Rose says. "I didn't know a love like this was... even possible..."

You love her, too. Even as horribly and obnoxiously as she wails, you love her unconditionally, in a way that makes your heart swell until it aches and you think it will explode. You can hardly believe you made something so amazing and perfect.

Whitney's child is a little harder to place than Rose's. The baby girl is small even for a newborn, with wispy black hair. Staring back at you, not making a single peep, she's got a strange expression on her face. Like somehow she knows you -- like somehow she's been waiting for you, rather than the other way around.

Whitney may well have just gotten some stiff competition for the title of smartest girl in the universe. She cradles the baby, rocking her back and forth, with pure love in her eyes. "What are we gonna call you?" She wonders.

"...How about Ophelia?" You say.

Whitney laughs. "I love it... Ophelia. Ophelia what, though?"

"Penelope?"

"Done. Perfect."

"Ophelia Penelope Soliloquy," you say, testing out how the full name feels on your tongue. You love it, too. You nod at Whitney, and repeat it: "Ophelia Penelope Soliloquy."

"Heeeh."

The end of Fuck Quest. (For real.)

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Amber finds Ophelia in the study (of course). She's studying (of course). A big thick tome about the rise and fall of the Roman empire... actually, that's its name. That Ophelia, such a hoot.

Amber slaps her back. Ophelia lets out a tiny "oof."

"Well!" Amber says. "If it ain't my sister from the same damn mister! How the heck are ya?"

"I am fine."

"Fine," Amber repeats. "Fine is fine. But good is better. And great is spectacular! How can we get you from fine to great?"

"By leaving me alone."

"Nope." Amber sits in a chair beside her.

Ophelia sighs.

"I just got back," Amber says. "Guess from where! Wrong! Mom took me shooting. Pew pew." She makes finger guns, which Ophelia, still reading, doesn't even glance at. "Got me all hyped up like I was double-barreling Monster energy drinks... trademark! ... Now I'm in the mood to do something bad!"

"Mm."

"So what'd you do today? You didn't spend all day reading, I hope."

"Aunt Vivian took me to the museum."

Ophelia has such a hard-on for the local nautical museum, and Aunt Vivian, the big old softie, always indulges it. Ophelia's got every famous ship and every famous captain and the location of every famous lighthouse memorized, just about. It's nuts.

"Listen, Ophie -- I need some help. Put down the book once and do something useful, huh?"

Ophelia finally puts the book down. "What do you want to do?"

"The same thing we do every day..." Amber says, and rubs her hands together. "Try to take over the world! Muwahaha!"

"...Do you have anything more specific in mind than that?"

Amber frowns. "Well... we could always prank Aunt Cerise."

Ophelia considers this. "Hmm. I suppose we have not done that in some time, have we... it could generate useful data."

Amber snorts. "Data... well, whatever you gotta tell yourself to justify it."

The two little girls leave the study together, ready to make some mischief.