Season 3 Episode 6: Ore no Okaasan ga Konna ni Kawaii Wake ga Nai

You are Alabaster soliloquy, meganeko fetishist and LVP of the Darkbloom Analytics Annual Tennis Invitational.

A few days ago...

Alex walks up and down the aisles of the server farm that seem to stretch all the way to infinity. A fat man in his late 40s or early 50s, with a patchy, frizzled tuft of a beard and big coke bottle glasses, wearing a denim button-down shirt and wrinkled dockers, accompanies him. Alex thinks the man introduced himself as Ben, but he can't be bothered to recall for certain.

"...99.99999% uptime - that's five nines -- which we have maintained with total ease for the past 10 years..." Ben drones. Alex is looking from rack to glowing rack, as they snake their way back to the perimeter of this enormous grid of shelving units. The air is sterile and recirculated and unnaturally cool, but bears just a tinge of ozone.

"Are there offices?" Alex asks, completely interrupting Ben mid-sentence.

"Oh? Yes... yes, would you like to see?"

"Lead the way," Alex replies.

As they go, they pass a rent-a-cop in a golf cart, who stops at an intersection and toots his horn; this man is even fatter and sadder-looking than Ben is. The two wave and nod at one another in their sad, fat way.

"We are just so pleased you could get all the way out here, Mr. Best. It's quite a drive from Palo Alto out here to Diablo Grande--" (he says it grand-ay, Alex notes, cringing) "--I think you're the first person from the main campus to show up around these parts in a few years."

"That's our model, right?" Alex says. "Highly decentralized!"

"Uh -- right..."

The offices are small, their fluroescents dim and gray-tinted, the carpeting threadbare, the old desks chipped and office chairs literally coming apart at the seams. This might be the most depressing place Alex has ever seen. On the wall of Ben's cubicle hangs a yellowed newspaper cutout, an old Family Circus strip. The strip depicts two children serving lemonade at a curbside stand, which has a handwritten sign above advertising "LEMONADE - MADE FRESH - 25¢" The strip's caption below reads: "Yep, made fresh from the powder mix just this morning!"

He sees Alex staring at this. Ben laughs, a high pitched, ululating belly laugh; pushes his glasses up his nose (leaving greasy fingerprints on the lenses) and wipes away a tear. "Doesn't that just beat all?" he says when he regains his composure.

Alex frowns. "You are such a waste," he says.

"...What?" Ben says.

Alex is only a little abashed to realize that he accidentally said that part aloud. He presses on. "That security guard. Is he the only security on staff?"

"Uh, yeah," Ben says, the hurtfulness of Alex's comment clearly beginning to set in, and deeply so. "We -- have three shifts, but usually just one guard on shift at a time. Um... t-that's all that's in the budget, so, you know... if there should be more--"

"No, that's fine. It's just, he didn't even ask me for ID or anything when I came in."

"Err-- well, uh, you're Alex Best. Of course we know that you work here..."

"How long have you been managing this facility, Ben?"

"Ever since it was built. 10 years this next March."

He seems so proud for a person whose career has been frozen in place for a decade.

"Is there a mail room? Who checks it?"

Ben furrows his brow. "Yeah... um. Usually that would be me. Or Cynthia. She's the other team lead here."

Alex wanders around the tiny, sad, gray cubicle, idly touching various items on Ben's desk: his dusty, food-flecked monitor, a red stapler, a framed photo of Ben with his parents. He looks Ben in the eye now: "What's your emergency evacuation plan?"

---

Alex climbs into the back of Sable's van. Sable is lying on her back on the mattress, among her cozy, amber-lit trappings, the hot plate, the mini-fridge, the laptop, the tiny footlocker. Closing the door behind him, Alex turns and faces her, sitting on his knees.

"Would you like to go to yet another?" Sable asks, peering at the list of locations, and scratching off Diablo Grande; the fifth so far.

"No. I can't stand it anymore. It's like purgatory's waiting room in these places..."

"And here -- the security?"

"Like the others. Nothing. I can't believe it, Ms. Guiteau... after 3/10, and Darkbloom's death, and everything... we're not doing anything to keep our satellite facilities safe!"

"That's great news," Sable says. "Dalton is in Mara's pocket. Likely he's keeping security lax to give Mara's friends better access if they should ever want it... but they won't have any idea what's really coming."

"Nothing happens without my say-so," Alex reiterates for the thousandth time, his voice firm. "These servers stay up until Ally and everyone else have guaranteed safety."

Sable nods. Alex, his eyes drifting down, realizes that Sable isn't wearing pants -- or panties. Noticing him notice this, Sable tosses the list of server farms aside, sits up, and spreads her legs invitingly.

"Forget about all that for now," she says. "I need you, Alex..."

---

You sit at the dining room table across from Mom. Next to Mom, Cerise has her arms wrapped around her -- leaning hard against her, cheek to Mom's bosom. Cerise holds on like Mom will float away the second she lets go.

Still, Cerise's smile is deep and dreamy. She nuzzles Mom lovingly, and Mom absentmindedly pats her head in return.

"What else do you remember?" You prompt.

"That's all," Mom says. "Leaving that night with your father... and then there's just nothing. Until now."

"We'll make up for all that lost time," Cerise says, her voice just a bit muffled by Mom's chest.

"It's absurd..." Mom says. "I can't be two people. I remember being with the two of you on every Christmas we had together... but also with Rose and Amber. How could I have been in two places at once?"

You shake your head.

"How am I supposed to be your mother and their mother, too?"

"I don't want to lose you again," Cerise pleads.

Mom pets her, and this seems to soothe her.

"Should we tell them?" Mom asks.

Your answer is instant: "No. Absolutely not."

Mom nods. "I suppose you're right. I don't think Rose would understand. And Amber..." she trails off. "Tch. There's only one solution, then."

You wait for her to finish.

"Since you saw fit to get your jollies off with Rose, you'll just have to take responsibility and marry her now. Then it won't be strange for you and Cerise to treat me as your mother too."

You shudder. Thinking fast, you offer: "Uh... if you're our mother already, that makes Rose2 my sister... and of course, it would be unnatural to carry on a relationship with my own sister, right?"

Mom makes a sour face at you. She clearly doesn't buy in to your logic here.

"Furthermore," she says. "Why do you keep calling her Rose2? I sure would like to meet this girl who's somehow more deserving of being just 'Rose' to you."

"You already met her--" you begin, but Mom's stern glare is enough to stir you to action. You rise, and go upstairs, and drag a bleary-eyed Rose from bed.

"You are such a fucking asshole," Rose is grumbling as you lead her back, "I wish I could strangle you until you pass out and fucking pis-- oh, hi, Ms. Catachresis. I didn't know you were visiting."

She frowns. "Am I interrupting you, young lady?"

"N-- no," Rose says.

Cerise explains: "We lived with the Mallorys after you and dad... well, they took us in. Rose is their daughter."

Even though she's still badly bruised from tennis, Mom instantly recognizes the resemblance: "Of course. You're Charlotte's daughter?"

Rose nods.

"That would make you and Alabaster..." she thinks for a moment. "Cousins, yes?"

Rose closes her eyes sighs, and shakes her head in frustration.

Mom folds her arms and harumphs. She says to you, "My Rose told me that you and this young woman here are carrying on a relationship. What happened to your qualms about being involved with close blood relatives?"

"We're not THAT close--" you begin, at the same time Rose says: "we're not just COUSINS--" Then, rethinking, you both come out with: "We're not in a relationship!"

"Uh huh," Mom says. She and Cerise share a glance, roll their eyes: neither one seems particularly impressed by the deflection.

Mom points at Rose now. "You -- you mentioned the possibility of hiring me the other day. Is that still possible?"

"I, ah..." Rose stammers.

"I could use the extra cash," Mom admits. "And it would let us keep in touch more easily."

"You want to work for Darkbloom Analytics?" Cerise asks. "What -- as a pastry chef?"

She shrugs. "Why not? Are you trying to imply I wouldn't be capable of it?"

>[x] It can't be helped. We'll have to hire Mom.

[ ] Sorry. That place is too dangerous for you to work.

"But you need to understand a few things first--" you begin.

"YOU need to understand a few things too!" Mom cuts in. "I'm no slouch. If I have to cook for the whole company every day, I'm going to run a tight ship! I'll need only the best employees, and good facilities. If I'm not pleased with what I see in the morning, you'll be the first to know it."

"--In the morning?" You sputter.

"Of course. Why not start right away?"

You can't argue against it -- the more time you have to reconnect with her, the better, as far as you're concerned.

"We'll talk with Whitney and get you cleared," you say. "We don't want a repeat of what happened the last time you showed up."

"We don't?" Mom says. She tilts her chin up, haughty. "I should think it's that awful Noelle Keki person who doesn't! I can't wait to see her face when she finds out that I'm a favored employee there now!"

Is this entire thing just some sort of roundabout revenge ploy? Mom, as always, knows how to carry a grudge.

"Don't get carried away," you warn her. "Antagonizing the FBI is just about the worst idea in the world."

Mom shifts her weight in her chair and looks over at Cerise. Somehow she's the first to notice: "Cerise, honey... what happened to your eyes just now?"

Darkbloom seems shocked to be sitting in Mom's presence: the expression on Cerise's face, before Darkbloom regains composure, is slackjawed, disbelieving. He stutters but gets nothing out.

You regain control of the situation and explain to Mom that Cerise has an ocular implant similar to the one she had installed in you. (Mom is a little ashamed to be reminded of this). Eliding over critical details, you say that it sometimes acts up and changes Cerise's eye color.

Darkbloom knows better than to speak out of turn. He only agrees that what you say is true.

"I think we should all get some rest now," you say nodding at Rose. Rose takes the cue, walks over, and loops an arm across Cerise's shoulders.

"Yes..." Darkbloom says. "I'm tired... it's been -- it's been just, so great to see you again, mom..."

The expression on Mom's face is severe and distrusting. She knows that something is off about Cerise.

Rose takes Darkbloom, a willing prisoner for now, and goes upstairs.

You hug Mom goodbye, but she's standoffish and still disturbed.

"Are you telling me the truth about Cerise?" She says flatly.

"What do you--"

"Nevermind. I'll see tomorrow, Alabaster. I --" She pauses, and her expression softens. Then she hugs you again, more closely. You smell her distinct perfume, the same she always wore, and feel her hair brushing against you.

"I love you, Alabaster," she says.

Your voice catches, but you know better than to squander the miracle of an opportunity like this, no matter how it came about. "I... love you too, Mom."

She leaves.

Cerise is hogtied on her bed already when you get back to her room.

"I know nothing about that!" Darkbloom insists as you step in. "How that woman came back --"

Rose raps her knuckles against Cerise's skull. Darkbloom flinches in vicarious pain.

"You know something," Rose says. "Start talking."

"I know nothing," he repeats. "You insane jackals -- believe me when I tell you that I am equally as lost -- no, more lost, even, than anyone! I wish I had answers! I don't!"

"Ally...?"

You turn; Alex is at the threshold, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Seizing the moment and thinking quick, Rose swoops over, takes him by the arm and ushers him away. "Let's get back to sleep, Alex, hmm?" Alex is still drowsy and confused, and easily led by a demanding woman, as usual.

"I believe you," you say, alone now with Darkbloom. "You have no idea what you really unleashed on the world, do you?"

He seems monumentally relieved by the fact that you believe him, while at the same time nursing a wounded ego at admitting his own ignorance.

A beat passes. And then:

"Alabaster," he says. "I know things between us are at a nadir. But I beg of you -- to take some measure of pity on me -- and, just once, if only for a little while... permit me to see my daughters. You reunited with your mother -- how happy you must be to do that. Would you deny Vivian the same joy? For her sake, Alabaster--"

You slap Cerise -- just enough for it to smart for Darkbloom -- hopefully without leaving any marks.

He recoils at the blow, wincing. Tears begin to stream down his cheek. Despair is setting in; you've reduced David Darkbloom to silently crying.

>[x] You can see them again.

[ ] Only Whitney.

[ ] No.

He doesn't seem to know what to say. He can only manage: "Thank you, Alabaster... I... thank you."

You kneel at the edge of the bed and lock eyes with him. "I didn't have to do this. Remember that."

He nods.

"You will help me," you say. "You will help me figure out what's going on. You will help me run your company. And you will help me deal with your sociopath of a wife."

"Yes, Alabaster. Yes."

"And you won't complain, ever. You won't step out of line."

"I understand."

"I'm glad you understand. Don't forget your place."

The queer mixture of indignation and happiness on Cerise's face is hard to make sense of.

When you wake up in the morning, it's Cerise who's beside you in bed -- it's really her.

As you cut the zipties loose, Cerise massages the mild abrasions on her wrists where the plastic left indentations in the skin. "We need to figure out something better," she grouses. "Those things hurt like a motherfucker. Plus it gives me this horrible kink in my neck--"

"We can always buy a kennel..." You say.

She makes a disgruntled little purr.

You fill the gaps in her memory of last night while you drive with her to work.

---

It's past 9 AM when Whitney shows up on campus. She comes in looking bedraggled, with Dr. Carte and Vivian in tow. It's easy to figure out what the story here is.

"Long night?" You say, arms folded.

"Uh, yeah," she says. "We were playing board games... you know..."

You glance at Dr. Carte, unamused. Dr. Carte, much more amused, winks. "We played all night long."

Vivian steps past, towards the elevators; her gait has only the slightest limp to it. Whitney rubs the back of her head, laughing awkwardly.

"So since you're late," you say, "you haven't heard the good news. My m-- Ms. Catachresis came by last night. I told her she could work here as a chef for the cafeteria."

Whitney's grin is as wide as her face. "You didn't! You fucking genius! That's genius! I knew you were a genius." She slugs your shoulder, hard enough to actually hurt. "I'll tell Spancer to get all the HR bullshit together for her. W4's or W2's or whatever the fuck. When does she want to start?"

"Today."

"Fucking A! Wow. Shit, yeah. That's -- whoa." Whitney is just a whirlwind of uncontained glee and curses. "What are you waiting for, then? Get her and her mom jeans over here already!"

You almost feel like she's even happier than you at the prospect of reunion. Then again, Whitney missed Mom's cooking most of all.

Mom is only too happy to wave the tax forms in Noelle's face when Spancer delivers them to her on the other side of the security cordon.

"See this?" She shouts. "I work here now, hussy!" She repeatedly slaps the papers with the back of her free hand.

"Congratulations," Noelle says, totally disinterested. "I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, I bet you are! Now if you and your cronies give me any trouble, I'll be sure to file charges! Got it?"

"Absolutely, Ms. Catachresis. We'll add you to the whitelist -- you shouldn't expect any trouble from us."

Mom swivels her head to keep an eye on Noelle as she steps past the checkpoint. The look she gives Noelle is long, shifty, filled with suspicion and contempt.

Rose2, who tagged along, follows -- oblivious as ever. "It's so hecking cool that you're working here, mom! Wowie zowie!"

Rose and Cerise receive them. They offer to show Mom the way to the kitchens.

As they walk off, Noelle says to you: "That's a strange woman. With an even stranger daughter."

"Yeah, she's pretty great," you say absentmindedly.

Noelle frowns at you.

"Whatever you're thinking, keep it to yourself," you warn her.

She seems to want to say something to you -- and not about Mom -- but you're not sure what.

>[x] Make conversation with her.

[ ] Go to the kitchens.

[ ] Get Whitney.

"Out with it," you say.

"Are you and Rose2 really..." she begins. She shakes her head. "I thought you had better taste."

You narrow your eyes at her. "Got cameras on me or what? Following me?"

Noelle huffs. "She told me. God, you paranoid -- how many times do I have to say this? You're not a target of this investigation -- at least not yet--"

"Uh huh. And when would Rose2 ever have the chance to talk to you?"

She rubs her elbow and looks away. "Uh, well... I get bored in the mornings. And there's this little ad hoc sort of club in the theater--"

"Oh my god. The morning anime club? You're hanging out with those wastes of skin? And criticizing me for bad taste?"

"I am -- not proud," she admits, gaze still averted.

[ ] Well, you're right. I'm seeing Rose2 now.

>[x] You're half right. I'm just fooling around with her.

[ ] What kind of guy do you take me for? Of course I'm not involved with a girl like her!

"It's complicated," you say. "As far as I'm concerned, it's nothing serious -- but other people may have... other ideas..."

Noelle takes it on the chin. "You're gonna break the heart of every guy at MAC. You know that? They're all thirstier for Rose2 than I thought was humanly possible. I mean. They treat her like actual royalty. It's pathetic."

"Sounds about right," you say. "It was the same in high school. But are you sure it's just the guys whose hearts are getting broken here?"

Noelle curls her lip. "I don't think Kimberly Manlove is too interested in you. So no."

"Nice save," you say.

"This is a fair warning, now," Noelle says. "Rose2 has a much different understanding of things than you do. Try not to break her when you tell her that she's just your jizz tissue. I don't like her but I'd rather not walk into the theater one day to find her strung up on a noose, either."

"Thanks for the advice. Here's some advice in return: you're better off watching anime by yourself on your phone in the bathroom than spending even half a second with any of those idiots at morning anime club. For real, Noelle. I'm honestly disappointed in you."

"What can I say. My fellow agents aren't much for Mongolian shadow puppetry. And I don't really know anyone else who has the same interests."

[ ] If you have to suffer their company, I can at least come along sometime for moral support.

>[x] Forget them. We should watch something together, you and me.

[ ] Leave for now.

"I'm legally obligated to say no," Noelle says. "You're not a target of this investigation, but you're certainly a subject, and fraternizing with you is a bad idea."

You sigh.

"Then again," Noelle adds, "I'm legally obligated not to download half the things I look at on ex. Yet here we are."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's no, with a but."

"I... don't know what that means," you admit.

"It means I'll be in touch, Mr. Soliloquy. Have you seen Yuru Camp yet?"

You feel a hot rush of embarrassment: "Uh -- no, not yet..."

She slugs you, right where Whitney did a little bit ago, and you can feel the bruise developing under your shirt. "I told you to watch it over a year ago. What is wrong with you?"

"You know me. I don't get anything done unless you keep on top of me."

"Har har. I bet you think that was cute just now."

"It's not going to be like last time," you say. "I'll be on the lookout for any interrogation tactics. So you can forget pumping me for information."

"I wouldn't dream of pumping you," Noelle says, tilting her chin towards you, grinning. "Sorry to disappoint."

You leave it at that.

In the kitchen, Whitney is watching with utter, undistilled happiness as Mom berates the cooks:

"What is this? What is this?" Mom is saying to the man you recognize as Pablo, the undocumented Mexican chef Whitney herself browbeat you into hiring. She points at a tin of bread sitting on top of an industrial oven among the chrome countertops. "This dough is raw! You were going to serve this? It's raw, Pablo, you donkey! Get this garbage out of here!"

He grabs the baking pan and, in a paroxysm of mixed macho rage and self-loathing, he dumps it, pan and all, into the trash.

"I quit!" He tells Whitney, folding his arms. "This woman is impossible!"

"Hell no you don't quit," Whitney tells him. "You two need to, like, synergize. That's a business term. Look it up. Focus on your strengths -- you're good at Jap shit, Mom is good at sweets." She brings her two hands together, interlaces the fingers for show. "See? Synergy."

Mom narrows her eyes at Whitney. "Since when do you get to call me Mom? Just because you snuck into my house all the time to mooch dessert off my table, doesn't make me your mother!"

"Sneaked," you offer. "Snuck isn't a word."

"Do not correct me, young man! I will say snuck until I'm blue in the face!"

"Well you'll be saying a word that doesn't exist, then."

She stomps a foot and locks her elbows. "Snuck! Snuck snuck snuck!"

Whitney puts a hand on Mom's shoulder. "You and Pablo will get along great, I just know it. Take over all the bread-making duties from him and let him do his noodle-y, Japanese-y, chicken and egg thing."

"Oh no, not a chance," Mom says. "This hairy little gremlin needs supervision. I'll have to help him make all his dishes."

Whitney raises her eyebrows at you. This could be a problem. Mom's desserts are second to no one else on Earth -- but her skills at literally anything other than baked goods are... not as good, to put it diplomatically.

Pulling her aside, you try to explain it to Mom as gently as possible. "We've got 500 employees -- that's a lot of people to cook for -- so some division of labor is necessary, right?"

"Until Pablo knows how to cook, I can't let him serve to these people. And that goes for all the other incompetents you have working here, too. How has no one contracted salmonella from all this undercooked food yet? Honestly!"

Yeah. Mom's idea of making sure that meat isn't undercooked is to keep it in the oven until it turns into a hockey puck. Cerise once privately remarked to you that Mom's chicken is drier than her pussy after talking to Stackleford; a mental image that will haunt forever you on multiple levels.

"I don't want to step on your toes day 1 here," you try. "But everyone likes Pablo's oriental cooking. And Jose's breakfasts and Raul's burgers -- they've all got their niches, yeah? If you take over all the desserts and breads and sweets and stuff -- you'll really round out the cafeteria's offerings."

"You're saying you don't like my cooking. Is that it?"

"No--"

"I never! I only fed you for 18 years. Housed and clothed you! Now my cooking isn't good enough for you?"

"Fuck's sake, Mom--"

"Don't fuck's sake me, you brat!"

You made a mental oath to be more courteous and kind to Mom, but it's hard to break old habits. Especially when she seems so committed to them herself.

"Fine," you say. "But please don't scare our entire cooking staff away. You can't do everything on your own -- not for this many people. Take it easy and let them help -- that's what they're here for."

"Hmmph," she says. "You'll see. This whole company is going to realize what they were missing out on by the time lunch is served today. They'll fall to their knees thanking me, for saving them from this pitiful excuse for cooking they had to suffer before I got here. Then you can march your butt right back in here and say: 'you were right, Mom! Wow!'"

"I look forward to that," you say sarcastically.

"I have to get to work," she says. She pounds a fist in her palm: "Time waits for no woman! But... don't be a stranger, Alabaster."

You nod.

>[x] Go see Whitney and Vivian.

[ ] Go see Rose and Cerise.

>[x] Go see Makoto.

[ ] Go see Alex.

[ ] Go see Dr. Carte.

You find your way to Whitney's office, but she's not in at the moment. Usually if she's not schlubbing around in here, she's across the hall annoying Vivian, so you decide to check there next.

Vivian's mostly-black color palette extends to her office space, and even illuminated by sunlight, this place seems remarkably dim and dreary. It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust when you walk in and shut the door. Vivian is seated at her tall desk -- a very tall desk, which comes up past her chest even when she has her chair fully lifted. On a chair beside her, is who you expected: Whitney. She has one arm around Vivian's shoulders, and another down somewhere in the vicinity of Vivian's lap. And though the desk obscures your view, you can tell by the way the both of them are squirming -- Vivian more than Whitney, of course -- that nothing chaste is happening under there.

"Holy shit, you two," you say. "Lock the door if you're going to do that." You turn to do just this, but Whitney stops you:

"We've got an appointment coming up. Keep it unlocked."

You eye her quizzically. All the while, Vivian struggles and writhes and makes little discomforted noises as Whitney's hand does whatever it's doing. (Nothing bad, you hope.)

You're not sure about this. But Whitney knows what she's doing. Besides, you're too curious to waste time arguing. You circle the desk, and get an eyeful.

Vivian's black satin dress is hiked up around her waist, her white-stockinged legs are spread and her panties are missing. She's resting way, way back on her pale little ass. Her tiny slit of a pussy is upturned, delicious-looking, glistening -- while Whitney corkscrews two fingers in and out of her equally tiny asshole. Whitney's fingers are coated in a white lotion, smearing it all over Vivian's lower hole, and all around on the inside too, making a greasy, creamy mess.

"Oh my god," you mutter. "What are you doing?"

Whitney grins. "Mom went extra hard last night. I don't know what kind of switch your dick flipped inside her brain, but she's wild. Anyway, this stuff is supposed to soothe aches and pains, so I'm, uh... soothing Vivian's asshole."

Whitney's nimble fingers continue to work in and out, the thin flesh of Vivian's anus stretched to a seeming limit around them. Although Whitney's fingers are quite small, they look enormous in this little hole. There's no way this can feel good for poor Vivian.

"Are you sure you're not just hurting her even more?" You say.

"Wellll," Whitney says with a devilish laugh. "If it hurts, that's how you know it's working."

"Whitneyyyy..." Vivian whines. Her eyes are glazed over and distant. "That'sss... quite enough, I-I think... Alabaster... c-can see us..."

"You like being seen, you little whore," Whitney sneers. When Vivian whines again in protest, Whitney adds: "come here, baby. Let big sister kiss it all better..."

She leans forward and locks lips with Vivian, wantonly intermingling tongues and practically drooling into her little sister's mouth -- still molesting the poor girl's ass all the while. Vivian warms to this, though, and kisses right back. Soon she even begins to buck her hips against Whitney's invading fingers even though her asshole is sore from abuse already and only getting sorer from this use. There's two things that both girls really like, you've come to learn: kissing, and Whitney's fingers having their selfish way with Vivian's holes no matter how much it hurts.

You're not complaining. Those are two things you really like, too.

"I think you're making Ally horny~" Whitney whispers.

"Mmmh... is... issh he going to put hish cock in me now...?"

If you weren't planning to before, you certainly are now.

You unbuckle your jeans and step out of them. But just as you begin to pull down your boxers, and Vivian locks her hungry, fuck-stupid eyes on your throbbing prick, the door of her office opens again -- and in walks, of all people, Makoto.

"Fuck--!" You grunt, and, unable to think of what else to do, you dive behind Vivian's desk to conceal your nakedness.

Makoto lazily passes the threshold, shuts the door and pulls up a chair. She has a notebook in her hands. "An unexpected third. Is such common in your love life, Whitney?"

"Oh yes," Whitney purrs. "Ally finds his way to the action all the time..."

Makoto takes notes like a student at a lecture.

"What the fuck!" You yell. "What are you doing here?"

"You have told me to be more energetic. Therefore I endeavored to ask Whitney from where does her energy come. And I have received an answer. It comes from sex. Now I am to observe."

Vivian, her jaw hanging open, is still staring at your dick, and hardly seems to care that there's an interloper. Whitney cares even less, and continues to violate her little sister's anus without inhibition. She massages the creamy lotion practically into a froth, fingers sawing in and out, slowly, twirling them in semicircles. And now she's trying to worm a third digit into the overstuffed little orifice.

"Please to continue," Makoto tells you. "I am -- how is the term? A fly on a wall."

You give Whitney a disbelieving look, but she just nods. "Roll with it, Ally. She wants to watch us fuck."

Whether or not this is a good idea, your cock is doing your thinking for you. You can't resist the sight of Vivian's adorable little cunt, that puffy mound, the soft sheen of the pale skin there, as she gets wetter and wetter for your cum. She's got a pussy so tight that the in-turned lips are actually overlapping just a little, but the fat button of her clit is visible and throbbing with arousal at the top. She might have the body of a little girl, but there's nothing juvenile about her very real lust, her desire to get mounted and fucked raw.

You step forward. In turn, Whitney pulls back, and at least for now takes the role of spectator. Maybe out of carelessness, or maybe to degrade Vivian -- which is a minor hobby of hers -- she wipes her greasy fingers clean on Vivian's dress.

"Your sister appears to struggle against this," Makoto notes.

"Yep. It's always more fun if it feels a little rapey."

"Rapey," Makoto says, taking note. "Understood. Rape is good."

"Rape..." Vivian repeats, lost to pleasure. "Yesss... rape me, Alabaster... please rape me..."

You get over top of her, grabbing the arms of the office chair. You jab your cock forward, pointing it at the entrance to her pussy. Makoto wheels herself around to the side and leans way in for a better vantage, peering closely for the moment of penetration, her pencil at the ready; a diligent student of proper rape technique, now.

Whitney gently takes the pencil and notepad from her -- sets them aside. "Nerd," she says. "If you're watching, you have to really watch. That means having fun, too."

You thrust forward, pushing your cock in a practiced motion past the rubbery resistance of Vivian's pussy. The lips are so hot they almost threaten to singe and the moist interior is absolutely decadent against your needy prickmeat. You throw your head back and just revel in the way her walls slide and grip and squish against you as you slide slowly, oh so slowly in.

A gasp now, to your left: you look to see that Whitney has both hands busy. One down her panties (when did she take off her slacks?) and one in Makoto's skirt. Clearly Makoto did not expect the intrusion. Kind of stupid, you think -- Whitney has shown herself to be prone to molestation. Makoto should have expected this to happen.

"Come on, babe," Whitney says. "You're me, right? So you're watching your little sister get fucked. And nothing gets your cunt hot like seeing your sister fucked..."

"U-understood..." Makoto says, uncomfortable, but willing to go along.

Vivian has her tiny fingers wrapped around the part on either side of the chair that connects the chair-arms to the seat, as she keeps her legs splayed open and presents her defenseless pussy to you. You sink ever further in, your grip tight on the armrests, your body almost totally eclipsing hers. And then, bottoming out against her cervix, making her squeal in agony and delight, you begin to really fuck her in earnest. The chair shudders and rattles beneath you as you pound her. You have to bow your knees just a bit to get a nice angle on her cunt, and this just fuels the animalistic feeling inside you. Vivian is such a nice fucktoy.

Meanwhile, Whitney's hand is working magic even on ice-queen Makoto, and she's chewing her lower lip, trying to fight against the pleasure, but failing.

"Come onnnn," Whitney pressures, "I know you like this. Your pussy is wet, too. Just let it happen, babe... you'll have more fun that way..."

"Mm-- mm--" Makoto mumbles, trapped between resisting and giving in.

"Have you ever gotten fucked?" Whitney asks.

Makoto timidly shakes her head no.

"Hah. Liar. I bet you're a little slut for all those record execs. Aren't you?"

She shakes her head more forcefully, but the accusation must do something to her, because she gyrates her hips just a little.

"I bet you've never had a dick as big as my Ally's, though, have you. Ever wonder what a white dick feels like? I just know he's always wanted to try a Japanese pussy... I'll tell him to fuck you, if you want it..."

Makoto leans her head against the back of her seat and lets out a shrill little whinny -- Whitney is overloading this poor girl's brain with dirty talk.

Vivian, under you, is barely conscious as her body flops back and forth from the force of your thrusts. You're railing her, using her body as hard as you've ever used it, prompted on by Whitney's obscene treatment of this prim and proper idol. If her fans at home saw her in this state, her career would be over. Not only having sex, but with gaijin like you and Whitney -- the shame would follow her forever. She must surely be aware of it too, because she keeps shaking her head, and even says, in a soft breathy voice that seems more to herself than anything: "ya-- yamete-- yamete kudasai--"

"I don't know what the fuck that means," Whitney says. "So I'm gonna keep going."

She gets down on her knees and forces Makoto's skirt off, her panties too; and you see now Makoto's pop star pussy in all its glory. Despite her stature, she's certainly a woman, and the downy tuft of hair she has down there proves it. Without a moment's hesitation about that, Whitney just smirks and dives in -- latches her lips onto Makoto and starts eating her out. Makoto is dying with the sensation of it, a hand to her lips, eyes wrenched shut, but nonetheless thrusting her butt forward, feeding her wet cunt to Whitney's searching mouth. Protest all she will; her body tells the truth. She likes it.

You like it, too. It's a great accompaniment to Vivian's squishy pussy hugging your cock. You leak precum into her like a drippy faucet as you alternate between staring down at her delirious fuckface, and Whitney's lez session with this young woman playing her.

"Having fun yet?" Whitney asks Makoto.

"It's... it's good!" Makoto screams, that last barrier breaking in her brain. "It's a so good!"

"Wanna get fucked now?"

"Fuck me! Fuck me, Mr. Alabaster, yes!"

Whitney is forceful, as she tugs Makoto by the arm and drags her to the carpeted floor. You catch the cue and haul Vivian up, gripping her under her knees, with your cock still wetly mated inside her. This is going to be one to remember; you and Whitney are on the same wavelength. As Whitney gets Makoto laid out on her back, you lie Vivian atop her -- stomach to stomach. And there they lie, the gothic Lolita and the genki Jpop idol, two nice and proper and wholesome girls that you've turned into nothing but a couple of wet holes begging for your cock. Those wet holes, lined up, are going to get fucked in tandem.

Whitney gets behind you and hugs you, her arms rubbing your chest as you continue to fuck Vivian senseless. "Don't say I never do anything for you," she coos. She kisses the side of your face and watches in delight as you have your way with her sister. Vivian's pussy is so warm and so much fun to rape that you hardly want to pull out, but Makoto's heaving, impatient little whines and Whitney's chiding in your ear -- "don't you want to try that ricey pussy?" -- get you to switch.

You pull out of Vivian, tenderly, watching her ruined little hole slowly close back up -- and then get yourself positioned at Makoto's hole now instead. Vivian, in want of stimulation, finds it in Makoto: without asking first, she kisses Makoto; and Makoto, totally beyond fighting anything that happens, kisses back. Method acting at its finest. She kisses just like Whitney, sloppy and lewd.

With that sight indelibly in mind, you push forward, and get your cock up Makoto for the first time. She groans, not that fake high-pitched wail of JAV stars, but a deep, womanly, lustful groan. Whether she's really a virgin or not you have no idea, but you can tell she's never had her pussy spread apart like this. She fucks back against you, loving every second, while swapping spit with Vivian.

You can hear Whitney's fingers in her cunt as she stands behind and watches the show; she loves to see you conquering other girls. As jealous as she gets, there's something about helping you dominate a girl that really gets her off -- it becomes you and her teaming up against a little slut -- and that puts her a rung above them, so she enjoys it. This is no different. She kisses your face all over as she masturbates, kisses so hungrily that she's practically just licking you, and entices you ever forward: "That's it, Ally... fuck them... fuck both of them... fuck their little pussies full of cum for me..."

You begin to switch back and forth at random now, unable to settle for very long on one cunt or another -- sliding first into Vivian's, getting your cockhead nestled in her womb as the pain knocks the wind from her -- then into Makoto's, her pubic hair tickling your shaft as you enjoy the rich texture of her genitals, as tight and toned as the rest of her idol body. As you swap between pussies, you occasionally find the wrong hole, shoving your cock with a growl up Vivian's abused little anus, or into Makoto's which is probably cherry given how loud she screams each time at the unexpected sodomy. Not that you care, their assholes feel just as good on your dick as their pussies do. All four orifices great, hot little fuckholes; and you enjoy buggering them with little purrs of sadistic pleasure before moving on to the next thing. Easily distracted here, you are, like a kid in a candy store, with these beautiful holes on display to rape to your heart's content.

It's by chance that you end up coming close to the edge while you're in Makoto's pussy. You don't really care anymore where you cum, as long as it's inside. But you might as well cum here, there's novelty in it after all; and Makoto's overheated body is more than welcoming for your equally hot seed. Whitney, feeling your balls in one of her palms, knows that you're close, and encourages you to do it. "That's it -- blow your load in her -- blow your fucking load in her, Ally!"

You intend to. Whitney gets down between you and Makoto, and her mouth finds Vivian's unattended pussy, and her fingers find Vivian's unattended asshole, as she watches up close and personal the way you fuck Makoto raw. Whitney is an expert multitasker, and masturbates too while you get ready to finish inside Makoto.

"Yes... yes... yes..." Makoto repeats, dazed. "Give me semen... give me semen..."

Whitney's mouth and fingers bring little Vivian off, gets her little sister to cum all over you and Makoto. Vivian's wails of "yessh... yesshhh..." join Makoto's in a chorus of debauched enjoyment, and finally bring you to climax. You unload, balls tightening, and fire your cock milk into Makoto's squeezing insides. Whitney is cumming too, you can hear her juices spattering against the office floor as she sucks her sister's cunt. You and Whitney enjoy the moment together, a nice sloppy orgasm as you use these two girls for your personal perverted enjoyment. You no sooner pull out with a heave of satisfaction than Whitney is sucking your jizz from Makoto's stretched out cunt -- she never fails to claim her share when she's around.

GIRLS FUCKED: 9/12

Vivian is recuperating with the questionably tender asistance of Whitney while you grab a coffee with Makoto in the executive lunchroom. Aside from being a little bit shaky, she took the hard use well, and now she nurses her drink as she enjoys the afterglow. It's not quite the lunch hour yet so the only other person here is Armstrong, accompanied by his wife Grace who occasionally stops by campus to visit him. From their table across the room she casts a sort of judgmental look at you and Makoto, and says something inaudible to Armstrong, who replies -- you can't make out what, but it contains the words "horny motherfucker" -- before he roars in laughter.

"I think I am beginning to have understanding," Makoto avers.

"Of?"

"Energeticness."

"I don't think that's a word," you tell her.

"I do not presently care."

"Just so you know," you say, "you're going to be in danger now whenever Whitney's around. She's like a shark. Once she gets a taste of you... you're pretty much done for."

"Oh?" Makoto says, smirking. "Are you sure she will not be the one in danger?"

You feel a twinge of apprehension here. "Explain further."

"I am learning. I am learn quickly, Alabaster. The source of energy for Whitney Darkbloom: is not merely to sex, but to rape. Therefore, to become Whitney Darkbloom, I must also become a lesbian rapist."

You rub your forehead and can think of absolutely nothing sensible to reply with. What can you say to a Japanese popstar who has just vowed, in broken English, to become a lesbian rapist?

One Whitney was bad enough. How will you handle two?

Your thoughts are interrupted by Mom -- who enters in a rage, followed closely by a frazzled Rose and Cerise.

"There you are!" Mom says. "Do you know about--" she trails off, and sniffs the air. "Are you kidding me, Alabaster? Do you have sex with everything that has a vagina?" She glances down at Makoto. "No offense, miss. I'm sure you're a lovely girl."

"I am taking none."

"Come on now -- that's unfair," Rose says, and you briefly marvel at the fact that she's defending you, before she adds: "he has sex with some things that don't have a vagina, too."

"What's the matter?" You ask Cerise, trying to move the conversation along. "Why are you all looking for me?"

"Mom found out about--" Cerise begins, but Mom cuts her off:

"What's the matter? THIS is the matter." Mom shoves a phone in your face. "Were you aware of these horrible people, Alabaster?"

You look at the thread on-screen -- /csg/, a *chan staple. You're more than aware of its continued existence. As much as it pisses you off. 

"I'm told you own this terrible website," Mom says. "So do something about this! These people are slandering your sister!"

You push your cup away and sigh, shifting in your seat. "It's the Streisand effect," you explain. "If you try to squash the discussion, you'll only make it stronger."

"Stronger? I'm sorry. How can it get any stronger than drawings of Cerise with a penis, mating with herself?"

Makoto cranes her neck, trying to get a look at the phone screen.

"I know," you say. "It's messed up. I thought after this long, they'd stop obsessing, but... look, it's best to just leave them alone. Don't poke the beehive. Trust me on this one."

"This is your sister!" Mom shouts. "You're going to let these people talk about your sister like that?"

You cast an uneasy glance at Cerise, who seems equally unsure what to say.

[ ] Shut it down.

>[x] Let it continue.

"You need to understand something about the internet, Mom. And you need to trust me, because I've thought about this a whole lot more than I ever wanted to think about it."

She folds her arms and listens.

"When people get obsessed," you tell her, "they don't stop being obsessed just because you shut down the discussion. They go somewhere you can't control, and they get louder. These people are happy where they are now -- being weird and creepy in their own self-contained hive of scum and villainy. They're quarantined. You cut them loose, who knows what they'll do. They could start climbing through our fucking windows or something. It's a bad idea. Bad, bad idea."

"As much as I hate these words: Alabaster is right," Cerise says.

"I hate this," Mom says. "I always told you two, didn't I? I said being famous is the worst thing that can happen to a person!"

"I agree with Alabaster too," Rose says.

"I didn't ask, dear," Mom says.

Rose purses her lips.

You check the clock on the wall. "It's almost lunchtime, isn't it? Aren't you busy?"

Mom laughs. "You forgot how quickly I work, didn't you? Lunch is ready. You can come, if you're hungry -- and if you're ready to see exactly how wrong you were!"

Cerise coughs. She knows as well as you do what this portends.

People are suffering. And you're no bleeding heart -- but the moans of despair, the retching, the unanswered pleading to God for help, the insensible sobbing that fills the cafeteria -- you hate it. Ken limps past as you enter, supporting a swooning Fazil under the armpits, crying: "we need a medic! We need a medic!" A woman at a table near the entrance pulls at her hair and trembles before a burnt pile of stirfry heaped on her plate. A man lies passed out on the glazed terracotta floor, face-down in a puddle of his own vomit. Employees wander the cafeteria in a daze, like zombies, clutching at their faces, dead-eyed. The entire hall stinks of charred meat and scorched sauces. Like a warzone's aftermath, a fog of smoke hangs low and heavy in the air. "Why, God, why?" you hear from one corner, and like a call-and-response, from another: "what did we do to deserve this?"

"Oh dear," Mom says, putting her hand to her lips.

Tyrus now, on a bullhorn, standing atop a milk crate, is bringing a peaceable end to things: "Y'all, we're sorry about this, but lunch is canceled today. I'm gonna have to ask that you leave in an orderly fashion and return to work." He retches now himself, and seems to fight the urge to hurl through sheer force of will, clutching a hand to his collarbone (caught off-guard, his mannerisms sometimes dip to the femme side). Regaining himself, he adds: "If you're too sick to go back to work, go on and see HR for a pass. And, oh yeah -- see me if you'd like to get comped a free meal at the Sizzler as our way of making things right."

(Tyrus offers people free coupons to Sizzler whenever he can. Where he gets them, you have no clue. You're sure there's some sort of petty kickback or bribery scheme involved here.)

"Is my cooking really so awful?" Mom asks.

Rose2, barging in, answers for you and Cerise:

"Mom! What the heck! You said this morning that you were only cooking the sweets here. Now this! Not cool! And now I hear that Pablo is quitting because of you! Whitney is gonna be, like, so totally mad at me. I busted my butt to hire that guy!"

"You busted your butt?" Rose sputters. "I don't seem to recall you doing much of anything but sitting out in the car on your phone while I--"

"Don't mouth off at me, missy!" Mom snaps at Rose2. "Pablo wouldn't know oyster sauce from his own rear end. This is probably all his fault."

"It is not his fault!" Rose2 says. "It is so completely not his fault! Why didn't you tell me you were cooking the main course too? I would have brought a bento from home!"

Seeing Rose2 go off like this is rare -- and the fact that the person she's blowing up at is Mom has you conflicted. On the one hand, you don't like to see anyone mistreat her, even her ostensible daughter. On the other hand, Rose2 is speaking truth to power.

Mom folds her arms and frustratedly blows her bangs out of her eyes.

"Your strength is dessert," Cerise says, being diplomatic. "Why not stick to that? Let other people do the other stuff, Mom--"

"Mom?" Rose2 says, looking at Cerise like she sprouted antennae.

"She's trying to insinuate that I'm too nosy because I made a remark about her drinking habits," Mom lies. "Pardon me! I'm so sorry if I expressed concern about your penchant for showing up to work on a buzz!"

That's Mom for you, quick enough on her feet to score a twofer -- deflecting Rose2's confusion over that slip of the tongue while simultaneously chiding Cerise for day-drinking.

"I suppose I'm outnumbered here," Mom finally admits.

You glance over to the center of the cafeteria where Tyrus, still on top of the milk crate, is dispensing coupons. "There ya go. Tell 'em Tyrus sent you. That's right. Tyrus Kang. Free dinner buffet for one. There ya go. Remember that name now -- Tyrus Kang. That's right. Tell 'em Tyrus sent you. There you go. Dinner for one. All the food you can eat. Bring a friend."

"Tomorrow's another day, right?" You say idly.

Rose2 cuts past your field of vision, hurrying across the cafeteria to get her meal ticket: "Heck yeah!" she's saying. "I love Sizzler."

"I didn't intend for her to be dim..." Mom hums.

"It couldn't be helped," you say.

"I suppose not. Just as I didn't intend you to be a smarmy know-it-all."

You frown at her; she winks. Then, thinking, and obviously humbled, she adds: "I think I need to go convince the cooks not to go on strike... I don't want to get us all fired on my first day."

At home that evening, you somehow wind up on the living room couch with Cerise, curled in a spooning position. You're her babysitter for tonight since Rose is prepping Whitney for an upcoming TV interview -- Oprah or Ellen or someone like that, you've lost track of her television appearances. There's supposed to be some sort of mea culpa over what she keeps calling "that N word thing."

You're watching the series Cerise is so fond of: NeeKyu, an action/horror seinen about a vampire hunter and her incompetent little brother. After all the character development of the first two cours, it seems like the writers just reset everything and brought their relationship back to square one -- despite the fact that the two characters had done everything short of fucking already. It's aggravating, to say the least. You don't understand why she likes it so much.

That being the case, you're bored as hell -- and for want of anything better to focus on, you're starting to feel the familiar pangs of horniness in your groin that seem to show up more and more often these days.

Since your sister is the only woman around, and since you're getting inexplicably hotter by the moment -- does holding her close like this do something to you? -- you can't be faulted for what you do next. You snake a hand between your bodies and find the waistband of her jean shorts -- typically slutty home attire for your dear sister. Her ass is warm even with the fabric of her panties separating you from the real target.

"Al--Alabaster," she says, her voice catching. "What the hell?"

"Don't mind me. Just watch your show, Cerise."

She kicks against you. "Asshole. I'm not some schoolgirl on the subway for you to get handsy with when you're bored."

You roll your eyes as you pull your hand back. "Pushy, pushy. Fine." You're not a complete freak -- if she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it.

But then she spins around in your arms so that she's facing you. The two of you are so close your noses are practically touching. "You're a real fucking pervert. Has anyone told you that?"

"Many people. And frequently."

"If you want to do something like that," she says, rubbing her knee against your crotch, "we could always make it to Gal's. It's been a while since I visited her."

>[x] I just want you tonight.

[ ] Let's go.

You kiss Cerise on the lips in a very, very unbrotherly way. Her mouth opens to yours, no resistance, although she squirms a little in your embrace. Your tongues meet and wrap around one another. This is good for her too. She moans into your mouth -- a resounding vibration you feel racing all the way down your lungs.

"Just us tonight, okay?" You say. "We've got the house to ourselves. Why waste it?"

Cerise is fine with this. That kiss was all it took to convince her. (She doesn't take much effort to convince, when it comes to keeping her little brother all to herself.)

You spend the next few minutes -- stretching into a half hour, stretching into an hour -- just kissing Cerise. Somehow it seems your mouths work really well together. Maybe it's due to being so closely related. Her taste, the smooth texture of her tongue, the way she breathes hot against you, is like no girl you've had before, and this is enough to keep you content. Like a couple of teenagers, you lie there on the couch with her just making out and dry-humping. The night is young, you've got nothing to hurry for, and your sister's tongue is in your mouth. Why stop? You press your hardness against Cerise's body and enjoy the soft pressure of her tummy, a minor relief for your aching cock that tides it over, while you and Cerise explore the warm confines of one another's mouths.

The best thing about kissing Cerise is how flustered it makes her. This is unique. Whitney keeps control over the situation, ditto her mom; Vivian just goes nuts with lust and Alex is too intent on pleasing you to lose himself. Other girls have similar reactions. They all know what they want. But Cerise, despite skillfully kissing you back, just doesn't. She doesn't seem to know what to do with herself at all, doesn't seem capable of handling the reality of incest, the reality that she's entwining her tongue with her own younger brother's. It makes her shiver all over like she's cold, even as her body gets feverishly warm. It makes her breath go all jagged and shallow. It makes her let out these tiny little uncertain noises that are cute and sexy all at once. The taboo of it does things to her that she struggles to deal with. Her mouth is hot and wet and her eyes are tightly shut as she shudders against you. But she never stops kissing you back.

Soon though, Cerise does pull away a little. Her lips are shiny, and her eyes only manage to open halfway. "Why the fuck are you such a good kisser? It's not fair. A loser like you shouldn't be so good at this."

"I should ask you the same thing," you reply. "Ms. Christmas Cake over here is suspiciously good at making out. Who's been giving you lessons? Gal, Whitney -- Alex?"

"I am NOT a Christmas Cake!" Cerise fumes.

"Get real. You're 99.9% of the way there."

She narrows her eyes.

"I mean, technically, sure, you're not a Christmas Cake. Not yet. But let's just say Santa's sleigh has come and gone, the presents are all open..."

She slugs you. Then, grabbing your collar and hauling you in, she kisses you again. Even if she's irate, she knows this is too good to quit. And you might tease her, but you adore it too. Your (soon to be) Christmas Cake sister is way too cute.

"Mmh~" Cerise mumbles as she wriggles free of your grip. You reluctantly let her loose. You wonder briefly what she's up to, but when she sits on a nearby recliner and gets on her laptop, you have an inkling. The NeeKyu episode played and finished while the two of you were distracted, and now the giant flatscreen displays her messy, icon-strewn desktop instead. But navigating with apparent ease (however she can manage that nightmarish labyrinth of sub-sub-sub-sub folders), she pulls up something different.

"I hope you don't mind," she's saying, as she closes the laptop's lid, and soft piano music plays over Kanji credits on the TV screen. "My backlog is pretty big, after all."

"This isn't about traps, is it?" You say skeptically.

Cerise, hooking her thumbs in her shorts and shaking them down her hips without unbuttoning them, laughs. "No. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's a slice of life about a perfectly wholesome family."

Cerise is pulling down her damp panties as well, the cotton peeling lewdly away from her wet cunt. The sight is almost hypnotic. The way the strands of her arousal glimmer in the light of the screen. And you're not going to let her have all the fun, so you also quickly kick your pants and boxers off. Your hard cock springs up against your belly with a little thwap. Cerise eyes it hungrily, licking her lips.

"You ARE a pervert," she says.

"Says the woman whose idea it was to watch hentai with her little brother."

You sit upright on the couch, and Cerise sits next to you. The action on screen is anything but wholesome -- the family in the show is one man and a harem of sisters, and he's fucking them already, less than a minute in.

"Do you mind if I jerk you off?" Cerise asks. Her voice is husky and you know she's probably going to insist on it no matter what you say.

But you want her to. "Do it," you tell her through gritted teeth.

Your sister wraps a warm, loose hand around the base of your cock, and slowly tugs -- first upward, then downward, taking her time, and enjoying the way your foreskin slides back and forth in her grip. This is another thing you're in no mood to rush. You'll let her jerk you off however she pleases. Cerise lazily masturbates you.

After a minute or two, you decide to return the favor. You reach a hand down, finding the nubbin of her clitoris. You pinch it, only lightly, just enough to draw a hiss of pleasure.

"Put your fingers in me..." she begs in a low groan.

You obey. Your bring your fingers together and rub the fat mound of her pussy back and forth a couple times before parting the lips -- which stubbornly want to stick together, adhered by her thick wetness. And then, finally, you slide a couple of your fingers into the hot hole at the bottom. Her pussy hugs them with a vicelike tightness, and her efforts on your cock quicken. She likes what you're doing to her. She likes the way you play with her cunt.

She's torn between watching the obscene animation on the TV and staring down at the way you play with her, the way she plays with you. There you are, two perverted siblings rubbing each other, helping each other get off to porn that's not, technically, legal -- it makes your heart swell with contentment. The way your older sister plays with your cock feels way beyond good. She's holding you loosely enough to tease, to make your cock hurt sweetly for more attention, but she's still jerking you fast enough to keep you building towards orgasm all the same. It overloads your brain with delirious waves of lust, and soon your higher thought processes are all but obliterated. You care nothing anymore for taboo, approve or disapprove, you just want to cum. You need to cum. And cumming in someone's hand isn't enough, not for you, not anymore. Why settle for that when you can shoot your cum inside a warm, wet, welcoming cunt-hole?

"Get on top of me," you instruct her.

"W-what?" Cerise pulls her hand away and seems somehow flabbergasted that, after masturbating each other, and everything else, you might want to put your dick in her too.

"I want to fuck you. Get on top of me."

Cerise is struck with indecision. This is the final rubicon of course. You've done so many other sexual things together, but you've never had your dick inside her pussy -- you've never cummed inside your sister. You're certain the thought has crossed her mind, she's imagined that scenario probably as often as you have -- but somehow she may not be ready for it.

You keep your fingers strumming her hard little clit, and you take it a little bit slower: "It's okay, right? We've basically done it already."

"I know... but..."

You don't want to fight her over it -- it wouldn't feel right. She'll take this at her own pace.

"You can fuck my throat if you want," Cerise says.

Now there's a compromise you can live with.

Cerise gets down on the ground -- on all fours -- and crawls over to you. Like a kitten hungry for milk, she lets her head droop into your lap and catches your dick between her lips. Her lips seem purpose made for kissing your prick. She licks you around the underside of your dick too, that most sensitive part that makes you groan in pleasure. The wet trail of kisses and suckles and little licks she leaves, just eggs you on. So does the way she traps the base of your cock in both palms and rubs your leaky cockhead against her cheeks. And also this: "What are you waiting for? Grab my hair. Fuck my face already, Alabaster."

You do. You grab her silky, raven-black hair in both hands, and slide your dick into her mouth. You go slow, to begin with. You let her get used to your size and girth, let her clenching throat part and give way to the battering ram of your cock. She takes it well, keeping her tongue rolled out over her bottom teeth, the tip coming to a rest against your nuts. She heaves and retches, so you pull out, and give her air -- and then repeat the cycle, this incestuous invasion of her face.

But gently as you might have begun, your primal need to unload your heavy balls is taking over. And after all, she did say to fuck her face. So you speed up, bouncing your butt up and down on the couch cushion as you hold her head against your lap, and fuck your sister's throat just like it's her cunt. Like this, fellatio has become irrumatio. Her gagging, her sputtering gasps for air, are just as good as music. It's the perfect companion to the equally obscene, high-fidelity sounds of the porn on the TV, which you watch with detached enjoyment.

But putting on the hentai was Cerise's idea, and you wouldn't want her to miss it. You pull her off of you. She gasps loudly now, gulping air like a drowned swimmer resuscitated. Her face is a drooly, slimy mess. Her unfocused eyes don't show any trace of understanding as you get her to her feet, and spin her around, and position her on the couch with her head dangling upside-down over the edge. The crown of her head is nearly touching the floor as you get on your knees and mount her. Her hands weakly hold on to your flexing thighs, and you thrust home again. It's good. So good you growl like a dog -- spending just few moments with your cock outside the hot recesses of Cerise's throat was agonizingly frustrating, it felt like an eternity. Now that your cock is back inside your sister's body, it's happy again. And so your growl turns to a deep sigh as you establish a steady pace inside her, as you fuck Cerise's throat again. When you crane your head down, you see the bulge that your prick makes in her pale, slender neck. You can just about see the outline of the shaft and head, in all its glory, pushing in and out.

You can't see the screen anymore, but she can - it's probably just about all she can look at from where she lies. You're not selfish, and you want her to enjoy herself too. So you fall forward, and clamp your mouth onto her searingly hot cunt. Nothing in the world will ever compare to the way your sister's cunt smells and tastes and feels against your tongue. It really is like honey. It's sugar-sweet, the juices viscous. You gulp it down greedily and eat her out. It's all for you. And as you wag your tongue back and forth, still pumping her face, she creams for you. Cerise cums -- she cums unashamedly on your face. The stimulation of your cock in her mouth, and the hentai she's watching, and your skillful tongue against her hot twat, are more than enough to get her off. As ever, she's just as big of a pervert as you are. And getting cummed on by Cerise, having your own sister squirt into your mouth and buck against your tongue, is enough for you too. You reach down and viciously grab her on either side of her head, near the ears. Forcing her head up, you seat yourself as deep as you can get. You imagine you're going to cum straight into her tummy.

"Eat my cum!" You grunt cruelly, "eat my fucking cum!" You feel her lips doing their best to suckle you, pressed all the way up against your ballsack -- it's about all the autonomy Cerise has in this position, but she's doing her best to obey you, to suck out your sperm, to eat your cum. You feel that thrilling release -- your jizz shooting up your urethra, and out of the twitching cockhead. You feel your prick meat expand and contract and pulse as you seed Cerise's mouth with sperm. You cum in big fat spurts. Meanwhile you jam your tongue back in her pussy and relish the flavor, the wonderful taste of your older sister's pussy.

With the edge off, you and Cerise spend a long, lazy hour (or two) in a 69 position, her on top, sweetly exploring each other with your tongues. There's more hentai cued up on the screen, but you couldn't care less -- you're way more focused on the two delicious holes your sister is presenting to you, and of course the sensation of your dick in her mouth.

You think you could spend the whole night like this. But without warning, Cerise is suddenly gasping. She goes rigid, then after a moment, she climbs off of you.

More confused than anything, you rise to your butt. You see her huddling against the far corner of the couch, using her curled-up legs and arms to cover her nakedness from you as best she can. She's smacking her lips as if trying to get a bad taste from her mouth. And... of course, you realize. The fear that's been present at the back of your mind all night has come to pass -- her eyes are blue.

"Dear God, man," Darkbloom says. "Is there no bottom to the depth of your depravity?"

You grope around on the floor, find Cerise's shirt and underwear and shorts. You're somehow not abashed to be seen naked yourself -- maybe it's because of how obviously disturbed Darkbloom is right now. With a shrug, you say: "I don't want to hear it. This entire situation is your fault. You're the trespasser here."

The idea that Darkbloom can see Cerise's naked body galls you, so much so that it makes you wish you could beat him without hurting Cerise too. You force him to look straight ahead as you help put Cerise's clothes back on.

"Do you have -- anything to drink?" Darkbloom asks, lips still smacking.

"Coke or orange juice?"

"I could rather use a glass of whiskey right about now."

"We'll go with Coke on that one."

You dress yourself too, and take him to the kitchen. He gulps down an entire can of soda, then another, and the expression he makes is one that clearly indicates how violated he feels.

You frown at him. "Well, since you sucked my dick, I guess it's only fair to take you out on a date, too."

"I'm sorry?" Darkbloom says. "What on Earth--"

"I'm a man of my word. Let's go see your daughters."

END OF EPISODE 6.