Season 4 Episode 9: Neon Weeaboo Catachresis

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, Premium Pixiv Porn Pic Plunderer and step-orphan.

---

When Darkbloom gets home from work that evening, just as he's setting his satchel down on the end table in the foyer, Dalton's wife Karen strolls up to intercept him. It's obvious that she isn't happy. Darkbloom asks: "What's the matter, darling?"

This is the matter: she leads him to the living room where Dalton's 9 year old son is sitting on a recliner, his arms folded, his face red, and his frown deep. Petulant.

Darkbloom kneels to get at eye level with him. He puts a hand on the boy's knee, but the boy refuses to meet his gaze.

"Your mother told me that you got into a fight at school this afternoon."

The boy remains mute and unwilling to look at the man he thinks is his father. To underline the point, he theatrically deepens his frown.

"I want to hear your side of what happened," Darkbloom says. "Please."

"Just ground me!" The boy yells. His voice cracks, like a block of styrofoam snapping. "I don't care!"

"Was it something to do with Hazel?" Darkbloom asks. "I heard that's what your teacher said."

At last, the boy meets his eyes. His explanation comes at dizzying speed, and all in one breath: "Aiden said he saw Hazel steal Harper's joycons but she didn't and so I said so, and then he said that Hazel is ugly and stupid and that she's a thief and said she likes to kiss with Brody who's so annoying and has booger problems and everyone hates him and Aiden only said all that because he's lying and he's jealous that Hazel got a better score than him in the spelling test so he wanted to get her in trouble and make her embarrassed and like everyone thinks she kisses with Brody even if she doesn't because he's gross!"

"I see," Darkbloom says when the boy's tirade ends. "So what did you do?"

The boy scoots forward in his seat and gets his ruddy face right in Darkbloom's. "I told Aiden to stop spreading lies about Hazel and he said it wasn't a lie so I punched him! And I'm not sorry and I would do it again and I'll punch him again tomorrow if I see him and he doesn't take it back!"

"You're not sorry?" Darkbloom says.

The boy pounds a limp fist against the leather cushion upon which he sits. "I'm not! I won't let Aiden tell lies about Hazel and I don't care if you want to put me on grounded because I don't even need to play video games!"

Darkbloom slowly strokes the boy's arm a few times, from his shoulder down to his elbow, to calm his rage. "You protected your sister's honor. I'm proud of you, Finn."

Dalton's wife begins to say something, but Darkbloom, still watching for Finn's next reaction, cuts her off by holding up his hand.

"So I'm not on grounded?" Finn asks, hopeful.

"Oh, yes -- of course you are," Darkbloom says, and can't help smiling, if only a little. "I'm revoking your privileges for a week. No television, no video games, and no computer or tablet except when you do homework. You may still go outside, or read."

"But you said I was right! That's not fair!"

"Sometimes in this life you get punished for doing the right thing, Finn." He stands. "Yes, I am proud of you. But fighting can get you kicked out school -- I pay good money to send you there. Don't hit that boy again. You taught him a lesson he won't soon forget, and I think you'll find that this is the end of it if you leave the matter alone."

"I hate you! I hate you!"

"I'm sure you do," Darkbloom says. The cell phone in his pocket vibrates. Grimacing, he takes it out and checks the screen; as meanwhile Finn's blurred form zips past -- to thud and patter up the stairs and into his room and slam his door.

>Calling: Alabaster Soliloquy

Darkbloom sighs. He would dearly love to leave Alabaster hanging, that wanton moron. But he can't. What implicates Alabaster also implicates his beloved daughters -- all four of them. He picks up the call, but says nothing into the receiver. No matter -- it's Alabaster who speaks right away.

"You need to come here. We have a serious problem."

---

"But I feel real..."

Rose2 sucks nervously on a Capri Sun, the tiny yellow straw between her lips, both her hands squeezing the foil bag. She sits upon the couch in the living room, all eyes on her, and she obviously doesn't like being the center of attention in this way. The annoying "dah-DAH, dah-DAH" of the Smash Bros results screen plays on the TV on a continuous loop in the background, as every single person in the Nail House stares her down. (At least she finally beat Noelle's Ganondorf.)

"You're real," Amber tells her. She sits down next to her older sister and loops an arm around her shoulder. "Don't let any of these fuckers tell you otherwise."

Rose2 makes a nervous, but appreciative, murmur.

Amber lifts her eyepatch and takes a quick peek at Rose2, through grain and through the pain. She delivers her assessment: "Yep. Real."

"I'm so sorry, but..." Alex begins.

Amber, hugging her sister even tighter, growls at him. Literally, she growls. Guess that's an inherited trait. You've seen Mom do the same to threatening people.

"What do you see, when you look at her?" You ask. "You say she's not real -- but what does that mean? Do you think she's, what, a robot? A hallucination? What?"

"I don't know..." Alex says. "I mean, I see her. I see her perfectly fine. Rosie is right there on the couch for me, same as for all of you. She's fine. She's --" He turns and looks at her. "Rosie, you're fine. You're the same nice, sweet, cute girl I've always known!"

"T-thank you..." she replies. She sucks her straw.

"But when I look at you, something's wrong. It's the same way I can spot a deep fake. I can't explain it." He kneels and takes her hand. "I don't know what it means. I wish I did. It's not your fault..."

Cerise folds her arms. "Well I disagree."

"What do you mean?" He asks.

She shifts her weight, and puts her hands on her hips. She speaks past Alex, to Rose2: "You've got shit taste in everything and you're an obnoxious fuck about it, too." (Rose2 winces visibly at this). "But I've gotten used to thinking of you as my little sister. Little sisters are supposed to be annoying anyway."

"Hai..." she mumbles. It was impossible any longer to conceal from Rose2 the truth of the relationship between you and her; and while Cerise may have had months to adjust to thinking of Rose2 as a sister, Rose2 has had only a few minutes for the same. This is all too much for the poor girl to process.

"So you have no memory of anything other than the life you've always known?" Dr. Carte asks. "No flashes of anything else?"

"No," Rose2 says softly. She's done with her Capri Sun, and now she blows the empty drink sac up with air, and sucks the air back out, over and again, like a traveler with an airsickness bag. "I'm just-- just Rose2."

"You're Rose, dear," Mom says firmly.

"R-right. Sorry. I got used to Rose2."

"Stay used to it," Rose says. You slap her across the back of the head. She shoves you.

"will you two please stop" Gal says. "so annoying"

Unhappy intrusion, now: David Darkbloom enters via the front door, having apparently been let in by the guards outside. Tugging the lapels of his blazer, he strides purposefully into the living room and asks: "What's going on?"

"Let yourself in why don't you," you mutter.

"Do not start," he says. "You are the one who told me to come."

Alex fills him in. He nods along.

"And Mom," you add grimly. "He thinks Mom is a deep fake, too."

Alex turns back and glances her way now; Mom's expression is steely and skeptical. "I'm sorry, Ms. Catachresis, but yes--"

"Bullshit," Amber says. "How can they be fake, but not me? I'm her daughter for fuck's sake."

"Or Camelia..." Charlotte says. Amber flips her off.

"Don't be crude," Charlotte says. "Either way, I do consider you family -- and as your elder, I have the authority to punish you..."

"This all goes back to Sable Guiteau," Kay says, drawing the room's attention. "You remember -- that day at Gal's apartment. What she told you, Alabaster. That the world changed on the night of June 1st, 2018. When David Darkbloom died and Cerise got Penelope put inside her skull. That night... something shifted. Sable thought she knew what. Well, of course she did. She had that thing inside her telling her what." Kay sits on a beanbag chair, tents her fingers in her lap as she leans forward. "For a brief moment before she went into a coma, Cerise had the entire power of Sand Reckoner at her disposal. It's the only time any person ever has. According to Sable, she would have had the power to alter reality -- potentially. And what did Cerise Soliloquy want more than anything in the world? Her family back." She meets Cerise's gaze. Cerise slowly nods, agreeing to the premise. "Maybe --" Kay says, "imperfectly -- maybe you conjured the Catachresis family from whole cloth." Then, looking Darkbloom's way: "is that possible?"

"Nothing is impossible at this juncture," he says, his voice deflated, like a soldier with shellshock.

"It could be why the Russians are so hellbent on them," Noelle says. "If they're some sort of nexus for all of Sand Reckoner's... weird bullshit... for lack of a better word."

"Mom..." you say. "Is it-- do you really think you could be-- fake--?"

Her reply is instant. She hugs you tight. "As if I care what a bunch of egoistic eggheads playing God would tell me! I'm your mother. You're my son. That's all there is to it, and nothing is going to change that!" She drags Cerise into the embrace, too -- beckons Amber and Rose2 to join it, also: mama bear with the cubs. "And -- and if any darn Russians or anyone else thinks they can hurt any of you -- they'll have to go through me first!"

That is Mom's final decision on the matter, it seems.

Clattering and voices from the backyard draw everyone's attention. With trepidation gripping you, you peek out the sliding glass doors -- but what you find is just a work crew. They're busy setting up a portable gazebo, folding chairs, a dancefloor, bunting and other decorations.

They're the crew that Rose hired for Cerise and Gal's wedding, almost immediately after you had all agreed with Saul to have it on Tuesday. Amid all the horror and craziness after that conversation at breakfast, you'd almost forgotten. Now, Tuesday is only two days away.

"Fuckin' A," Whitney grumbles. "Jimbo needs to start letting me know when he buzzes people through. Noelle does."

"I do," Noelle agrees.

"You do! Exactly. Go out there and kick his ass for me, yeah? Teach him how to guard better."

"I'll tell them to get out of here," you say, starting towards the backyard door.

But Cerise stops you. "No," comes her voice, firm and decisive.

You furrow your brow. "Are you kidding? You mean you actually want to have the wedding?"

"It's what Mr. Mallory wanted," Cerise says. "Yes."

Her tone makes clear that she won't be swayed.

"Thank you, Cerise," Rose tells her softly. "I know it would mean a lot to him."

Of course, the bride-to-already-be is less enthused. Gal stares at her feet.

Darkbloom gets everyone's attention. "Glad tidings to the newlyweds, but we need to stay focused. Somehow, there is an unaccountable aberration in the fabric of reality -- tracing back to Sand Reckoner. We would do well to figure out what the hell it is, and how our enemies intend to exploit it..."

"Our implants," Amber says, to you. "That night when we saw into each other-- didn't you feel like--"

You know what she'll say: like you needed more manpower. It's true. Everyone you know with a Sand Reckoner implant is here, now: you, Amber, Gal, Vivian, and her father. Could you daisy chain them together and learn something more?

Then again, that comes with so many unknowns, and that equals risk. Even when it was only you and Amber -- and earlier, when you used to have similar experiences with Gal -- you felt like you might drown in the influx of data that came with linking implants. Who's to say that adding more to the mix wouldn't be fatal, rather than revelatory?

>[x] Try it -- link your implants together.

[ ] Pursue a more traditional approach, and try to track down the Russians targeting you using your wealth and influence instead. Meanwhile, have Alex research deeper into what's going on.

[ ] Some other strategy?

"Idiot! Idiot! Don't do this!" Rose is repeatedly pounding your shoulders with balled-up fists as you pull away from a hug with her and get down on your knees on the living room floor. She's the only person who's seen, from the outside, the effect that doing this has on a person; and she's worried for your well-being. Over her protests, you insist that this is the only way -- you need information.

Mom, Cerise, and Rose2 watch on with an equal measure of concern, although they're not so violent about it; Whitney massages Vivian's shoulders and doesn't seem any more confident in this scheme, either.

"We'll break the chain if it gets too intense," Dr. Carte assures you. "No matter what happens, we won't let any of you get hurt."

"How can you promise that?" Rose yells. "You don't know anything! You're all idiots!"

You array yourselves like a human sine wave: two facing every one, from either direction, in a closed circle.

Your eyes are closed. You hold each other by the arms, and you draw deep, bracing breaths. It feels like an occult ritual, honestly -- and in a way, maybe it is.

"Are you ready?" Darkbloom asks.

As if reading one another's minds, you all respond by opening your eyes, all at the same time -- and focusing.

You're falling, again. But this time you're not dropping headfirst like a diver off the North Tower. You're drifting gently down like trained skydivers forming a ring, the wind rippling vicously past you as you bellyflop through the stratosphere. It's cold, bitterly cold, and looking down you see not the warm sea of data awaiting you but a nearly featureless white plain, with only a few dark shadows created by the dunes to tell you that it's an arctic snowscape. What happens when you collide with it?

You ignore that for now. You look from face to face. They're as bewildered as you are, and they're equally trying to keep their attention away from the oncoming deadly collective thwack against the tundra. Over the roar of your own acceleration through the air, you can hear a steady thrum, a whirring hum, like the gentle whine of a processor getting overtaxed by a certain resource-hungry process. The data in its infinite multitudinous barrage is resolving into the phantom outlines of information you can use.

But you still can't sort it. Vivian blinks rapidly, like a television losing its vertical tracking. Gal vibrates. Darkbloom is trying to speak, but he can't speak at all -- his mouth, when he opens it, is a featureless void. You try to rouse Amber and get her attention, but she's flickering in and out, and whenever she flickers in, she's shrieking; and then she's blue, and then she's red, and then she's blue... you see... you see:

Cerise, at almost 8 AM, knocking you on the forehead and warning you you'll be late...

Dr. Carte sorrowfully explaining that she needed to knock you out to collect a sample of your essence... she has you strapped to a metal table in a closet at school...

Vivian Darkbloom competing with you at quiz bowl... Dr. Carte coaching you...

A foodfight... an airport shootout...

An absurd confrontation with a robotic Dalton Cantor, falling off a roof... dying?...

Waking up in North High, but it's not North High, it's an illusion of North High. You're there, and you're there again in duplicate, but far away, disembodied and unreachable. Like values outside the domain of a function, is Alex's way of putting it. You wouldn't be able to speak to your clones over there even if you tried.

But beside you, Sable is also here, and she notices you. She turns and looks at you. "Alabaster. Where... are we?"

"You tell me," you beg. "Is this -- is this the lighthouse? Is this what you were telling us about?"

"How could I know?!" She shrieks. "Where have you taken me--"

She's gone again.

You're standing now in the grand lobby of Darkbloom Analytics, reduced to flaming rubble, the enormous oil portrait of David Darkbloom lying amid it and also in flames, dozens of employees dead at your feet, klaxons wailing. It stinks of sulfur and something else, something that smells so strongly you can taste it, bitter and pungent, and sour, metallic. You see you running by. The version of you running neither sees nor acknowledges this version of you.

This is somehow a glimpse of both future and past. Or maybe something aside. An Alabaster aside yourself. The arrow of entropy is all fucked-up here, isn't it? It doesn't point decisively in one direction or another. Then, chasing you, comes a man you can put a name to although you've never met him: Alyosha Kerimov, the father of Mara Darkbloom.

Remember that name, Alabaster Soliloquy, it's probably important.

You snap out of it. Not back to the real world. Back to your rapid descent towards the snow. You're much closer to touchdown now. You can see the contours of the ridges in the ice, the way the wind has blown little dugouts and solid eddies into it. The others aren't so lucid, but still trapped in their own private hells, whatever it is they're seeing. In her sleep, Amber continues to shriek, and Vivian foams at the mouth. They're swapping places, Amber and Vivian are, instantaneously, as if teleporting back and forth. Gal gurgles, and her whole body is melting, like an ice cream cone, the droplets of her trailing behind her falling body. Darkbloom, his voidlike mouth having engulfed most of his face, seems to awaken; he makes the terrible mistake of letting go of Gal's hand to his right, to turn and grip Vivian's to his left, to shake her, and with the last of his strength try to wake her. This puts the foot on the accelerator and hurtles you all like a careening car off a cliff, towards the surface at mach speed. The moon is big and bright and full. Growing like a malignant obelisk from out of the white is a black tower -- a lighthouse -- old and in disrepair, filling your entire field of view. You scream. And microseconds before you splatter against the ground, you wake up again; for real.

They pulled the ripcord just in time. Rose pushed you over, Whitney pushed Vivian over, and Cerise pushed Gal over. Now as you shiver and vomit, you see Dr. Carte shoving wads of cotton up Vivian's nostrils, to stem a massive nosebleed; and Mom embraces Amber in a bear hug to still the awful tremors wracking her body. Cerise kisses Gal again and again -- who's probably the best off out of all of you, everything considered, although she's shaking and jabbering incoherently.

Rose is holding onto you like you'll float away the second she lets up, despite the mess you've made by puking. Whitney is crying, weeping in fact, and shouting obscenities at everyone who convinced her this was a great idea.

David Darkbloom has no one to baby him, he just lies there on his back, rocking side to side, his face a mess of blood and snot. It's Kay who finally takes a measure of pity on him, going to his side, and dabbing his face with a handkerchief. As he becomes cognizant again, he thanks her. And then with Kay's assistance he weakly rises to his butt, leaning against the couch to keep himself propped up, and panting, he meets your eyes. With one hand he clutches the fabric of the seat cushion. He grimaces.

"What'd you see?" You ask him.

"Ms. Vera's theory is right. Cerise changed everything."

3 AM, Cerise is sitting at the dining room table by herself, writing on a piece of paper under the dimmed overhead lights. Some sixth sense woke you up and brought you out here; this must be why.

You sit down across from her, cracking open a can of soda. As Cerise focuses on writing, you take a moment to snoop from afar. Cerise's handwriting -- a bizarre amalgam you can only describe as sloppy-neat -- fills the margins. You read aloud, with difficulty since it's upside-down and hard enough to decipher even when rightside-up: "I never thought I would get married, and I definitely never thought I would get married to a--"

Cerise flips the paper over so you can't spy anymore. "Fuck off."

You take a swig. "I should be the one mad at you, here. If the Catachresis family is your doing, that means Rose2 is how you see yourself, and so Amber is how you see me. In other words, your psyche rendered me as a girl. That's fucked up."

"I don't know what I did or didn't do!" Cerise insists. "Anyway, Amber is just Amber. She's not part of whatever I did-or-didn't make that night, at least according to Alex. So quit your bitching."

"Oh, gee, that's so much better. You didn't even recreate me in your ideal world!" She tosses the cap of her beer bottle at you. You laugh. "Anyway, I know you're hard on yourself, and perpetually depressed and everything, but man -- if you think of yourself as Rose2, you've gotta go into therapy or something."

Cerise peers at your, fist on cheek. "Do you think it's true? Did I fuck reality?"

"No," you say. "David Darkbloom fucked reality. Sable Guiteau fucked reality. It just happened to go through you as the conduit. It could have been anyone."

"How's Rose2?" Cerise asks.

"Shaken. But doing better. Sleeping with Mom tonight."

Cerise quirks an eyebrow.

"Chastely," you add.

"How about that little bitch who calls you Daddy?"

"Sleeping with Rose tonight."

Another quirked eyebrow.

"Definitely not chastely."

"Are you glad..." Cerise begins. "...that it worked out, like this?"

"I have to be, right?"

She shrugs. "I even fucked up my reality fuck-up. I couldn't bring Dad back, for instance... and instead of Mom being just our Mom, she's some other family's Mom, too... it's all screwed up."

"Excited for the wedding?" You ask, by way of changing subjects.

"God no."

So tsuntsun.

"I still don't know what I'm gonna say... and who's gonna be my maid of honor? There's too much to plan for, and not enough time."

"Dr. Carte, right?" You say. "Isn't she your maid of honor?"

"No," Cerise says. "She's Gal's."

"Oh. Well, how about Whitney?"

"She can't be."

"Why not?"

Cerise cocks her head. "You... don't know?"

You squint suspiciously. "No. Know what?"

She laughs. "You'll see, I guess. In any case no, Whitney can't be my maid of honor."

"How about your trusty sidekick, Besuto?"

She laughs. "I'd love to, but Gal wants him for a bridesmaid. She's a complete freak. Weirds me out."

You frown at her.

"What?" She says, as if she genuinely doesn't see the hypocrisy.

You move on. "Rose?"

Cerise rubs her elbow. "Um... well, maybe -- but..." she's definitely trying to be diplomatic in saying no.

"Why not?" You sputter. "You don't want Rose to be your maid of honor? What's wrong with picking her, huh?"

"I just--" she begins, then seeing the anger in your eyes, she slaps the table and says: "God, don't get so fucking pissy just because I don't want your cuntass wife standing right beside me at my wedding! It's my wedding, Alabaster, not yours!"

"Fine," you grouse. "Well, I don't know who else you've got to work with then. Ask Noelle or someone."

"Helpful as always," Cerise says. "I don't know why I even try to talk about my problems with you."

>[x] "Well -- there is one more option..."

[ ] Keep your trap shut.

You suggest it sarcastically, but Cerise takes it seriously, and it makes her so happy that it would break your heart to tell her you didn't mean it. Somehow you've talked yourself into the stupidest decision of your life.

Cerise is smiling, though, and hugging you over and over again, and telling you that now she actually is excited for her wedding.

You aren't.

---

It's been a crazy night -- a crazy past couple of nights. Lots of girls are in need of some healing.

[ ] Mom and Rose2.

[ ] Cerise and Gal.

[ ] Amber and Rose.

>[x] Charlotte.

[ ] Vivian.

You weren't planning on visiting Charlotte -- but when you pass by her bedroom, you hear soft crying from behind the door, and you feel a son's duty to make sure your mother is okay.

You poke your head into her room. The lights are on, and Charlotte is lying on her side on the mattress, huddled up under the blankets, her face obscured. She hears you enter, and senses your presence. She sniffles back her crying, wipes her face, and rises to a sitting position. For your sake, she fakes a smile. "Alabaster," she says warmly. "You're up late."

"So are you." You enter and shut the door behind you. "Are you all right?"

She insists that she is, unconvincingly. "Anyway," she continues, "you shouldn't be worried about me... that's such a bother, isn't it? You've got enough on your own plate to worry about." She smiles again, broadly enough that it forces her eyes closed.

"You're not a bother, Mom," you say.

Her eyelids flutter open, although through her shock, her smile remains frozen to her face. Calling her Mom always wins points. It's the surest way you know to cheer her.

But her moment of happiness turns suspicious: She narrows her eyes. "You... want sex, don't you? That's what this is."

You huff. You sincerely didn't come in here with the plan of fucking her; your intentions were pure. You try to say as much, but she isn't having it:

"Don't lie to me, young man! Prowling around this house in the dead of night -- you're cruising for someone to get off with, aren't you? I know how you think -- dirty boy..."

You're beginning to think that she's projecting here.

"Doesn't Rose take care of you?" Charlotte asks. "That silly girl... she can't keep you satisfied, can she?" There's a rising hitch of desperation to Charlotte's voice. Her sadness is transmuting into lust; she wants you, and your dick, to take away her sorrows. She scoots to the edge of the bed and sits there, waiting for you. "Come here," she says coaxingly, patting the mattress beside her. "Let's see what I can do for you... it's fine... I'll take your edge off, baby."

Even in her pajamas, she has a buxom form you can appreciate; the way her tits strain the buttons of the top, and the way her plump ass fills out the drawers. That sight, plus the knowledge that you're about to fuck this woman who adopted you, has your cock stirring in your own pajama pants despite yourself. She notices it straight away. Cooing, she pointedly pats the mattress again. "Come on, you dirty boy, I can see you getting hard. It's no use lying -- just come here and let's take care of it, all right?"

You nod, and sit down beside her. You've always liked the sweet way she smells, and the warmth she radiates both literally and figuratively. In the gentle light of the bedroom, her soft skin looks unblemished and fun to hold. So you can't help yourself; you lean in and kiss her, and let your hands wander. She laughs breathily, and doesn't fight your groping -- in fact, leans into it. You're her dirty boy, after all, right? So she knows this kind of thing is to be expected.

"Do you like those?" She whispers, as you find two handfuls of her titmeat. "Does that make your cock hard? ... To touch your mommy like that?"

"Yes," you groan, and kiss her tender neck.

She undoes the buttons of her pajama top and lets her udders hang free. Unable to help yourself, you abandon all dignity, and bury your head in them. It's unbelievable how supple those breasts of hers really are, and how warm -- and how fun it is, to suck on them, to kiss and lick them all over, to taste her there. She giggles and pets you while you violate her with your mouth. You're like a rambunctious kid right now. She loves it.

"Shh, shh," she warns. "You don't want to wake everyone up, do you?"

"Mmmf," you moan into her breasts.

She cups a hand over your crotch and gives your own meat a hard squeeze. Just briefly her motherly tone is replaced by something more forceful, desperate and a bit domineering: "So fucking hard for me, huh?..."

Charlotte takes the waistband of your pants in her hand and yanks them; you raise your butt a little to help her get them off you, never taking your head out of the heavenly confines of mama Mallory's jugs. You'd be fine to suffocate like this, honestly. But she isn't happy just letting you play like this, she wants to do something else. She puts her palm to your chest and pushes you back a bit. Able now to see your rigid cock in all its glory, she stares at it without shame. She even licks her lips -- something predatory in that.

"Do I make your cock feel good, Alabaster?" She wants to know.

You gulp. "Fuck yes, you do," you say.

She takes her pants off too, and crawls across the bed, and lies back. Spreading her legs akimbo, she parts the lips of her already dripping pussy using both her thumbs. "Lick me, please," she says. "I want to know what it's like... would you do that for your mommy, dear?"

How could you refuse? You get down in front of her with your face mere inches from her crotch. The skin around her pussy is all covered with goosebumps and the mound is shaved totally bare. MILF or not, her cunt looks like it belongs to a teenage girl. It's the same wonderful innie her daughter has, the vulva folded over itself and the clit just barely peeking out from its hood at the top. It's shiny with her need and you can see it slightly twitching -- just aching for some relief of its own. The fragrance of her fills your head and makes it go blank, that powerful, wonderful aroma of female arousal that causes your mouth to water of its own accord. When teasingly, you purse your lips and blow a little stream of air against her, she hisses as if in pain, and throws her head back. Clutching your hair firmly at the root, she mashes herself to your face and begins to ride you.

You won't tease her anymore. You open your mouth and clamp it to the hole of her pussy and start to service her. Charlotte Mallory's cunt tastes like sugar and is as slippery as melted butter. You have almost as fun sucking her off, as she has getting sucked off; underneath you, your rock-hard dick throbs and strains against the bedsheets. Your tongue wags back and forth, running along the tight crease of her labia, and then lodging itself deep in her vagina, before coming back up to run in loving circles around her pulsing clitoris. She bucks and humps back against your mouth like she's trying to fuck your tongue.

"Oh my god..." she repeats. "Oh my god... you're so good at this... oh, fuck... Rose taught you well, didn't she..."

You were never sure how much Charlotte really knew about the sordid history of me-time -- but maybe she knew more than you suspected all along. It's true, the many years of nights spent on your knees underneath Rose's desk, listening to her instructions, have given you oral skills that can make any woman's legs shake.

So it's not long before Charlotte cums all over your face. Like a slut, she screams her orgasm, rubbing her nipples as she squirts her girlcum all over the place. You gulp it all down, like nectar, and smile as you do. This sloppy little pussy of hers deserves a nice hard cum like that. Of course, her sexual appetite is as voracious as her daughter's, and getting licked out just isn't enough. She tugs your hands, and pulls you forward, so that you're lying on top of her. "Fuck me," she heaves. "Fuck your mommy. Do it. Fuck your cock up me."

You're only too happy to. You jab your dick into her. As tight as Charlotte is, the combined wetness of your saliva, your precum and her cream, make your entrance as easy as slipping into a lubed-up dicksleeve. She forces a tongue-kiss on you, and sucks the taste of her own cum from your mouth, moaning like a sow while she does. Charlotte's tummy, her thick legs and plump waist make a wonderful cushion to let you really fucking hammer her. And the sucking interior of her cunt, its ridged walls and its total lack of resistance to the battering you give it, make your cock sing with raw pleasure. You hardly rut for five minutes before you're already dumping a thick load of cum into her. It's what she wanted, so it's what you'll give her -- all of it, draining your balls inside her motherly womb without a care in the world. The far-away smile on her face, like a dope fiend shooting up, is sign enough that just this act -- of breeding her out, of squirting hot jizz into her -- made her cum again, too.

And since you're in the throes of climax, you can hardly be faulted for not noticing Charlotte's door opening.

"Wicked... I knew it!"

You keep humping Charlotte, as you look back over your shoulder: Whitney. Charlotte's room shares a wall with hers, and she must have heard the sounds of your fucking.

"Jesus," you moan, "can't you knock?"

"Fucking your mother-in-law too, huh, Ally?" Whitney laughs. She looks Charlotte's way. "How is he, Mrs. Mallory?"

"He's wonderful..." Charlotte pants.

Whitney sniffs the air. "He already came, huh? Bummer..."

"Oh yes, he did," Charlotte says. The sexual high has made her lewd, and shameless: "Is that your favorite part, too? Making him ejaculate in you?"

Taking this as her invitation to join, Whitney steps closer -- leaving the fucking door wide open -- and nods. She runs her hands up and down the bare navel between her tanktop and her spats. "Uh huh... it's nice and milky and creamy... and hot and thick... it feels so wet and runny and sloshy inside... y'know? And the way his cock gets even bigger and harder when he's jizzing in me..."

"I know," Charlotte agrees, as Whitney crawls up onto the bed on her knees. Although Charlotte is still getting fucked hard, she has enough focus to carry on the conversation. "It feels just wonderful when he stirs it all up... hmm... I know you two are involved, but I hope you don't mind."

"Naaaahhhh," Whitney says. "I like seeing him fuck other girls... and helping... but, you know... if you feel bad about it..."

"Hmmm?" Charlotte prompts. She wags her hips, fucking back against you, mashing up the the cum inside her and frothing it. Whitney watches the messy union of your bodies getting messier. Grinning, she tells Charlotte: "See, I made this rule with Ally about fucking other girls... I've been pretty easy on him about it, but..."

A few moments later, Whitney has her head between Charlotte's shapely legs much the same way you did only moments prior. She stares at Charlotte's cum-splattered pussy, transfixed. Charlotte isn't embarrassed by the attention at all, even as your cum seeps out of her fucked-out cunt and down around her butt, creating a pearly smear on the sheets. She chews a pinky and says coyly: "I've heard rumors about that mouth of yours, Whitney -- are they true?"

"Heeeh. You tell me~"

She latches her mouth to Charlotte's pussy and starts to eat her out. Like a trained whore, she slurps and sucks your jizz from Charlotte's hole. You need a little cleaning as well, so you kneel beside that lovely sight, and feed your cock to her, too. Whitney, fucking pig she is, alternates between wedging her tongue up Charlotte; and swirling it around your still-oozing cockhead, the sticky foreskin and cum-streaked shaft. This makes her happy, sucking cunt and dick at the same time. Spoiled, greedy bi bitch.

Her oral action has you raring to go a second time. She knows it, too, because as she lovingly nestles her head in Charlotte's pussy-crack, eating the older woman with long, languid licks, she puts both hands on her own butt, and spreads her asscheeks wide, and commands: "fuck my ass, Ally."

Every once in a while, Whitney likes getting anal, even though it really hurts for her to do it. Charlotte watches with interest as, half-standing, half-squatting, you mount Whitney's lithe little body and get your dick lined up with the entrance of her anus.

"You'll split her open..." Charlotte says.

"Yeah. So?" You say.

You ram your cock in to the hilt. Whitney gasps, and yelps into Charlotte's creamy pussy, which sends little droplets of your frothy cum spraying up.

"Oh my..." Charlotte mewls. "You're so rough, Alabaster. Don't hurt the poor girl."

But Whitney redoubles her oral service. Looking up at Charlotte between licks, face partially obscured by the meaty cunt she feasts on, Whitney says: "It's fine, Mrs. Mallory. I like to get roughed up a bit."

The smug, somewhat sadistic smile that spreads across Charlotte's face is one you recognize. "What a wonderful attitude," she says. And then she begins to fuck Whitney's face.

Reaching behind yourself, you find the tight entrance to Whitney's tomboy pussy with your fingers, and start to masturbate her. She loves having her cunt rubbed while you fuck her ass; that feeling of being entirely full makes her cum every time. This time, too. She wails loud and shrill into Charlotte's lower orifice, and you feel her cream spraying against your hand as you mercilessly nail her butt.

"Are you going to cum inside that hole, too, dear?" Charlotte asks.

"Yeah," you grunt.

"Dirty boy," she chides. "You'll cum in just any hole, won't you... what are we going to do with that cock of yours?"

"Just keep making it feel good," you snarl.

"I intend to," Charlotte says dreamily.

She pets Whitney gently, and the sound of your crotch slapping against Whitney's butt fills the room. Charlotte watches in all the lurid, unconcealed detail this position shows her, as your cock spasms, shudders, and then spews -- rope after rope of thick semen directly in Whitney's asshole. This tight rear hole of hers can't contain the sheer volume of your spunk, and it begins to leak out. You grunt and groan deeply, enjoying the way Whitney's athletic anal muscles milk it all out even as the excess splashes and squeleches right back out of her.

Charlotte, tugging Whitney's chin upward to meet her eyes, asks: "I get to eat tonight, too, right?"

Whitney smiles. "Of course, Mrs. Mallory... let's switch..."

---

What did you see, Amber?

You saw the entire history of you.

It's all true: you're Camelia. You're the terrorist who revealed David Darkbloom's crimes to the world and murdered him for everyone to see. He got what he deserved. You'd do it all again.

What else did you see?

Something you haven't revealed to the others yet: that the reason Cerise's little reality-rewriting traipse with Sand Reckoner got so fucked up, is because of you. You interfered with it. Her desire, to have her family back; and yours, to have a normal life - - melded. Like that poor motherfucker in the movie The Fly, they became grafted one to the other, and made this weird amalgamated mess, the Catachresis family.

You feel really guilty.

Was this part of the plan? You can't see that clearly into the heart of your past self, even aided by that implant of yours, which in theory you shared with that version of you. But you suspect that something has gone off the rails. Even the best laid plans always go awry. Now you're really cast adrift, you all are, in a reality that seems to come more and more untethered by the day.

Well, you always wanted revolution. The big one's coming.

It's made you weirdly horny, too. After a long session with Daddy and Mommy (can you call her that? She doesn't object to it anymore) -- you're sapped. They were in a fighting spirit when Daddy came back stinking like Charlotte, and they wound up taking it out on you. But even despite that somewhat painful session, you sneak out of bed, down the hall, and to Cerise's room.

You knock on the door, softly. The girl who answers is the one you wanted: Galatea.

"What did you see?" You ask her, whispering.

"you"

"Me? Or -- me? Which me, I mean."

"just you," Gal says.

You twirl an index finger in your hair. "Not blue Camelia?"

"you were red... i missed you, camelia... or -- do you still want to be amber"

You hold her face. She's about as tall as you, although she's so mousy that it doesn't seem like it. "Call me anything. I missed you, too. I remember enough to know that I really mean it, now... will you kiss me?"

She kisses you. And then she drags you into the room with her.

Gal sits down on the edge of her bed with her knees far enough apart to hike up the hem of the tee she's wearing -- no panties on underneath. She whips her head to one side to swing her long ginger hair back across her shoulder, and looks pleadingly up at you with big doe eyes.

"Where's Cerise?" You ask, as you stoop and rain kisses on Gal's lips, forehead, and cheeks.

"downstairs..."

"She's okay with this, right?"

"we sleep around... it's not a problem"

"Slut," you say, laughing gently, and then kiss her especially deep. She's such a nervous lover. Always all atremble. She was like that before, too.

You find the opening of the hole between her legs that makes her so slutty. You slowly push your fingers past the tight pink ring of its entrance and enjoy the warm slimy wetness within. Her breath is sweet and cool, and she sucks a gasp of air from your mouth when you begin to finger her.

But she's more assertive than how you left her as Camelia. You came to the room wearing only panties -- now she's pulling away from your kiss to wrap her lips around one of your nipples. Doesn't even ask, just does it. Ticklish there, you giggle, and finger her even harder as a light punishment for teasing you. Her cunt grips your fingers like it's trying to suck them deeper into her body... well, that's exactly what it's trying to do. She might be shy, but she's still a greedy slut at heart. When she purposely scrapes your nipple between her incisors, a full-body shiver wracks you and you nearly fall over. Immediately you feel your panties beginning to cream up. She remembered that this is a quick way to get you hot.

Her hand is already worming its way past the underwear's elastic and searching for your hole. When she finds the nasty mess already deposited there, she whispers: "you were fucking Sir weren't you"

"Uh huh..." you agree, tickling her clit.

"is he mean to you like he is to me" Gal asks.

"Sometimes," you say. "And sometimes I'm mean to him."

"you should teach me how"

She pulls her hand from your panties and, staring you in the eye, she licks Daddy's cum off her fingers. One by one, sucking off the ropy jizz from each -- then going back for more. She stirs the sperm inside your sloppy gash, smiling devilishly up at you.

"you like walking around the house with Sir's cum dripping out of you -- don't you"

"Oh fuck yes I do," you grunt. You hump up and down on her thin fingers, getting off on the way she's talking.

"get up on the bed amber... lets eat each other out"

You assume a position you're well familiar with: Gal on her back, you over top of her, 69ing to your hearts' content. Cerise never knew that you took Gal's virginity before she had the chance to snag it. So many long mornings, stretching into afternoons, at Gal's apartment with your faces in each other's cunts. You weren't a dyke before you met her. Gal has that effect on girls... a person like that, you can't help wanting to gobble up. You taught each other the contours of your bodies, how best to pleasure each other. She still remembers your buttons and you still remember her buttons. She remembers that you like to get your asshole fingered while she nibbles your clit. You remember that she likes to feel your licks alternated with hot puffs of air against the throbbing, surprisingly large nub of her own clit. The position itself is also nostalgic. It always feels really good to lie on top of her, and she loves your weight gently bearing down on her. Her fingertips against your thighs, your hands squeezing her soft butt... it just feels right.

Of course, this time Gal gets a bonus she never had before; she gets to drink Daddy's spunk out of you. You used to joke that Alabaster was like a gross older brother you two had to bully. Now you're swapping his cum like a couple of whores. Granted, he's still like a gross older brother you two have to bully... but it's such fun to get pinned down and fucked raw by your gross older brother, you've found.

Gal's cunt is as sweet as honey, same as always, although you taste just the slightest hint of alcohol on it; Cerise has had her mouth down here pretty recently. How horny can Gal be -- getting eaten out by her wife probably less than an hour ago, and still crawling to you for more. She's always been such a hopeless fucking pervert -- you wouldn't have it any other way.

Glancing to your side, you find a Hitachi magic wand lying discarded on the mattress. Oh no. Poor Cerise is getting up there in years -- she's got back problems! You pull it furtively towards you (Gal is way too distracted by trying to get her tongue as deep as it can go inside your creamy fuckhole to notice) and gently press the business end to her pretty pink pussy. She audibly gasps and begins to say something -- something like, "amber -- wait!" but you cut her off by clicking the power switch. The steady whir of the vibrator fills your eardrums. It sounds particularly lewd when you press the ridged plastic between the soft lips of her vulva and start to stir up all her wetness. It drips and patters and covers the toy with little dewy droplets... so pretty.

"aaa-aaaa-mmm-mmmm-b-b-berrrrr" Gal moans, her voice vibrating right along with the toy. You press the vibrating silicone dome directly against her slutty clitty and rub it in tight, quick circles, randomly varying the pressure. "i-itttssss t-t-t-toooo h-h-h-hiiiiiigh--" she squeals, "t-t-t-turn it-- t-t-t-turrrnnn itttt--- AAAA-- AAAAAA-- AAAA-AAIIEEE---!!"

Her voice goes hoarse then cuts out entirely, her whole body goes stiff as a board beneath you, her toes curl -- and she cums herself silly. You pull the humming toy off her pussy at the moment of her orgasm, and marvel as a geyser of her cum squirts in a perfect arc straight out of her. It curls up halfway towards the ceiling, and then back down in a wide fanning waterfall against the edge of the mattress about three feet away. "Coooool," you breathe.

You press the toy against her pussy again. This time, you finger her too. This dual approach, pleasuring her from inside and out, has her squirting jets of cum in fast, but random intervals. Each time she creams herself, you retract your fingers and pull the toy off her squelchy hole to watch the fountain she lets loose. This of course also has the effect of teasing her horribly, prolonging her rolling orgasm and making her sensitive pussy-hole get ever more sensitive to the fucktoy's vibrations.

Your lewd cruelty gets repaid ten times over, though. Gal latches her shrieking mouth to your own over-sensitive twat and does "that trick" -- the one you expressly forbade her from ever doing again, under penalty of death. As usual, it makes you cream yourself instantly. Your twat cums so hard that you drop the magic wand, lose control of your muscles and start to shake all over. With your muscles all loose like this, the stuff you cum all over Gal's face isn't only cum -- which should be deterrent enough to a normal person -- although she happily drinks it all down her gulping mouth like the dumb dyke bitch-pig she is. Your vision fills with stars and then you momentarily black out.

When you wake up again, still woozy, you're on your back, and she's on her tummy in front of you, eating your quim like she never stopped. She smiles up at you through a mouthful of your vagina, her glasses streaked with your fluids.

"You fucking bitch!" You hiss. "I told you not to do that!"

"you're cute"

You try to kick away from her oral violation, but you're too weak to move much at all. Your cunt, still buzzing with raw tingly pleasure, feels like it's on fire as Gal suckles it. "You'll -- be sorry for that," you pant, chest heaving.

"shut up" she says. "you love it don't you"

What has Cerise done to your obedient little church mouse? She's got a fucking mouth on her now... in more ways than one. And speak of the devil, here she comes now: Cerise enters the bedroom, groggily scratching her ass, only to discover her wife in the marital bed with another woman. Does Cerise blow a gasket? Throw things, scream, act jealous? No: she just sighs and says "really, Gal? I can't leave you alone for ten minutes."

"no"

And then Cerise is crawling into bed with you.

---

Coming in to work on Monday is a weird experience. The FBI security checkpoint in the front lobby has been there ever since Whitney took over as CEO; but no longer. Now, for the first time since David Darkbloom's death, you get to step past the badge swipe and the turnstiles without going through the song-and-dance of re-verifying your identity to feds in blue windbreakers on the other side.

You glance heavenward and silently tell Saul thanks.

Down in the R&D dungeon, Alex begins to reconstruct Diogenes in earnest. He and Dr. Carte make a good duo. As they clack away at their computer stations, you gaze at a whiteboard full of Alex's doodles and notes, and ask: "What is the actual difference, anyway -- between Sand Reckoner and Diogenes?"

Alex leans his upper half around his monitor. Although even as he looks at you and speaks to you, he doesn't stop typing. "Sand Reckoner can give you information at a glance, but it's only as good as the data it receives. GIGO: garbage in, garbage out. It's like being trapped inside the Chinese Room -- if you have a bad dictionary, you'd never know that you're mistranslating the characters slid under the jamb."

"...What?" You say.

Alex keeps going. "Diogenes mediates what you discern... it filters out the garbage. It tells you what's original, and what isn't."

"Isn't that Tiresias?" You ask.

"Hmm-- no. More powerful. Tiresias just makes Sand Reckoner blind to me. As a side effect, it can show me where Sand Reckoner has been used... but it won't tell me anything more than that. We still don't know the truth of the Catachresises, do we? Only a vague outline."

"It won't... erase them or anything crazy like that, will it?" You ask.

Alex is silent for a turn. He stops typing. "We don't want to erase them," he says.

"Of course not."

"So -- we won't."

That isn't good enough. You press him: "But could it?"

Alex sighs. "In theory, Diogenes can counteract anything Sand Reckoner has wrought. In theory. A basic example: if the Sand Reckoner platform is used to construct a deep fake, Diogenes can be used to remove the video's fictive elements. It can reverse anything assembled by Sand Reckoner."

"What if the wrong person gets their hands on it?" You say.

"The wrong people already have," Alex responds. "And they will again... if we don't get to it first."

"Ever play King of the Hill, Alabaster?" Dr. Carte asks.

You had intended to find Rose2 in the rec area, the place she usually haunts (seeing as she does nothing useful at this company) -- to check on her and see how she's doing. But on your way past a certain room, you get a certain psychic tingle at the back of your skull, and stop, and peek in. It's the creepy blacklit room of tanning booths, just across from the sauna. Inside, sequestered in one of the windowed sarcophagi, skin lit blue by UV lamps, lies Qiangxiang, wearing a bikini, and sunglasses, on her back, arms at her side, like she's lounging on a towel at a beach in Palau.

You rudely press the emergency release on the outside of the tanning bed. The UV lights cut out and the lid pops open. You lean over the opening. Qiangxiang has no reaction, positive or negative; does not even raise her sunglasses, although you can tell she's looking at you from behind them.

"How tan is too tan?" She asks.

"There's no upper limit."

"Oh? So you would have me charred as black as an Outback Aboriginal?"

"Why not? I've never had sex with a black girl before."

She rises to her butt, and takes her glasses off. "But I would surely develop melanoma."

"That sounds like a you problem - not a me problem."

"A man so consumed by his lusty whims that he would inflict terminal cancer on a woman just for a single night's exotic experience..." The content of what she says is recriminating, but how she says it is dreamy. "Have you come to me for some specific purpose, Alabaster, or are you just making sure that I continue to braise myself to your liking?"

>[x] "Do you know a man named Alyosha Kerimov?"

[ ] Don't ask her for help.

"Do you know a man named Alyosha Kerimov?"

"My late uncle knew him quite well," Qiangxiang says. "Please do not bring up such matters... I am still in mourning..." The wicked smile she wears says otherwise.

"Speaking of that -- who is CEO at Broad Dynamics now that you've gone and murdered the previous one?"

"Another uncle of mine. Uncles, in well-to-do Chinese families, are like cockroaches, Alabaster. Where there is one there are hundreds. You can never be rid of them."

You nod. "How did Li Xi know Alyosha Kerimov?"

Qiangxiang climbs out of the tanning bed and takes a squirt-bottle of lotion, and begins to lather it over her sweat-pearled body. The oily smell of it fills your nostrils. She purposely accentuates her tanned curves as she rubs the lotion in. "They were young diplomats in the tumultuous years of the Beijing Spring. Uncle traveled extensively to Moscow to learn from Mr. Kerimov how best to terrorize and starve people."

You arch an eyebrow.

"A political joke," she says. "Well, anyway: they worked together on the lighthouse."

Your heart skips a beat. "You... know about the lighthouse?"

"No more than you do. And Uncle no more than me -- may he rest in peace." She spits on the carpeted ground, and rubs it in with the ball of her bare foot. "I think I have mistranslated my words. They were not involved in constructing the lighthouse. They wanted to rediscover its location. But Li Xi, now, is dead -- very, very dead; and Alyosha Kerimov preceded him by nearly two decades."

"...Alyosha Kerimov is dead?" You say.

"Yes. He died in 2002. And his last known protege, a woman of the name Anastasia Lebedev -- you know her -- you snuffed her from existence some weeks ago. His only child, Mrs. Mara Darkbloom: also dead. Congratulations! His other, more distant relatives -- too involved in the vagaries of post-collapse Russian organized crime to involve themselves too deeply in matters of geopolitical intrigue. The Kerimov clan has become degenerate, like so much of Russia today: they would rather launder money, traffic sex slaves and sling heroin than chase the phantoms of Sand Reckoner. Short-sighted animals they are."

"Then who are the Russians who keep trying to fucking murder us?" You demand.

"I wouldn't know. That's why I tried to keep one of them alive, to interrogate, until Camelia's strange little boyfriend ruined everything."

"He is not her boyfriend, for the last time--"

"--but for some reason you have come to suspect the Kerimovs are behind it. Or rather their long-dead patriarch. Why?" Qiangxiang begins to put on her working clothes again, right over her bikini; the idea of her wearing a swimsuit underneath her blouse and skirt is weirdly erotic. "Don't tell me why, I already know. You've violated the law."

Are your goods now forfeit?

Of course, Qiangxiang wouldn't get it. You stay mum. She continues: "You used your implant, in flagrant contradiction of US law, to divine some new information. Now you want my help in tracking down the whereabouts of a man who isn't quite dead after all."

"It's your neck on the line, too," you say. "He's targeting you as much as us."

"He is. And I thank you for coming to me for help. It is a token of trust; and what's more, a milestone in our relationship."

"We have no relationship," you tell her.

"Yes we do," Qiangxiang says. She kisses you. Despite yourself, you kiss her back. Her breath tastes so strongly of mint that it's actually unpleasant. But she leaves the kiss with a warm, sincere smile. "I will set to work at once, and see what I can learn."

---

Rose2 is at the Morning Anime Club, as expected, sharing pocky with gangly Trenton McHalitosis (who never did recover from his ass-whooping at the tennis tournament) and Hamberly Manlove, who you've heard through the grapevine writes lots of AlabasterxDalton slash fiction -- a fact that makes you want to puke for multiple, complexly intersecting, reasons. The others in the ad-hoc club are hanging around in nearby seats too. Several seasons later, they're getting around to watching Darling in the Franxx. Well, at least they're finally watching something good, right? You were tired of being the only person around here with good taste in anime.

You hang around at the rear of the theater and just watch her. She doesn't know you're here. And she doesn't know this, either, but she's this group's leader, such as it is: they listen to her edicts and gravitate towards her tastes. She's slowly steering them in a positive direction, even. For instance, the MAC no longer watches their anime dubbed. By Rose2's decree, every show they watch must be subbed. Rose2 notoriously despises English voice acting in anime and will throw a temper tantrum if subjected to it. Her "YAAAAAA! YAMATE!!" can be heard on the tenth floor whenever someone tries to smuggle a dub into the rotation.

Some pidgin Japanese from a different source, now. "Subarashii!" Kimberly says as she bites into the wafer of proferred pocky -- and then laughing, pulls an exaggerated, greasy ahegao with dual peace signs. Rose2 giggles at the clown act; Trenton giggles harder, and higher. The other guys in the peanut gallery also encourage this degeneracy. Rose2 loops her scarf around her neck a little tighter and gnaws her own pocky, telling Kimberly sagely that she needs to start working in lewd catchphrases if she's going to make faces like that.

"Like what?" Kimberly wants to know.

"Like..." Rose2 replies, and puts a finger to her chin, thinking. Then, snapping, she comes out with: "You're impregnating me while I'm taking a duuuuump! ... I'm not sure what's going on, but my asshole is in danger! ... like that."

They giggle some more. You'd be a little disturbed at her speaking so lewdly with a room 90% composed of men, but you feel zero threat -- despite the Sahara-level thirst in here. And that's borne out by the fact that, when Trenton sees you back here watching from afar, he startles, and scoots a little bit further away from Rose2. So she finally notices you now, herself, and waves. "Ally! You never come here these days. Nice to see ya!"

Try as she might to maintain her same effusive personality, you can sense that it's a put-on. She's going through the motions, but she's rattled. Scared.

>[x] Heal her with tenderness.

[ ] Heal her with bullying.

"I'm taking you out of here," you say.

Her smile drops. "Huh? But Ally, we were just getting to--"

You grab her wrist, haul her upright, and drag her out. Her orbiters impotently watch her depart, as waving, she tells them: "S-sorry -- my boyfriend is such a jerk! -- I'll be back tomorrow, I guess!"

Into spacious area outside the theater now, where there are rings of space-age canvas chairs, and neon ottomans, and HDTV setups with attached video game consoles, and ping-pong tables, and foosball tables, and a rock climbing wall at one end, and all the other Silicon Valley employee-perk bullshit -- all of it lit naturally via the enormous curved glass walls -- you drag Rose2 past it all. "Geez, Ally, you're so rough!"

"Why do you hang out with those idiots?" You ask as you tote her like a sack of turnips.

"I dunno -- they're not too bad -- I--" She's still struggling to keep up with your brisk pace and brusque demeanor. "You're gonna bruise my hand!" She cries. "Geez! You're my big bro now, that means you can't bully me anymore!"

"Actually," you say, "that means I'm supposed to make bullying you my full-time job."

You pull her through a semicircle, depositing her past the threshold of a nearby room, and close the door behind you as you follow her in.

This is one of a set of small rooms on campus labeled "Rest and Relaxation." It's a cozy little space, with nothing but a twin bed, plus bedside table with lamp. There's barely enough floorspace for two people to stand facing one another -- as you do now. The intended use of this place is to take a nap during the workday, should you need it. You lock the door; Rose2 gulps.

"Y-you dragged me away from the MAC just to have sex with me?" She says.

"What?" You say. "No. I -- god, every time I end up in a bedroom with one of you guys, it's instantly with this 'ohhhh no, you obviously want to have sex' shit! Can't I just want to have a normal, private conversation with someone?"

Rose2 frowns. "But... you do want to have sex."

You take her by the shoulders and steer her to sitting position on the tiny bed. You sit beside her. "Are you doing okay?" You ask. "With the whole not being real thing. I need to know how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling."

"Yeah," you say.

"How I'm feeling?"

You nod, frustrated. And that does it:

"Hidoi yo!" Rose2 shouts, punching the comforter. "It's bad! Real bad! A-durr. What the heck else is there to say about it? But... what am I supposed to do, huh? Curl up and die? Give up? What do you want me to say?" She's working herself up into a lather, her frayed mental state coming to the fore.

"Alex is wrong," you tell her. "You're real."

Her eyes go dewy. She's uncertain: "Am I, though?"

You lean in, and kiss her softly. She melts in your hands like snow and kisses you back even as she begins to cry. She tastes, as always, like candy. Smells like candy, too. And even looks like candy. Your candy girl: Rose2.

"Was that real?" You ask as you pull back.

"I don't know..." she sniffles. "I couldn't tell. Do it again."

You do it again.

"This is wrong, isn't it?" Rose2 says. "We're brother and sister."

"Rose... you've watched me fuck Cerise SO many times. I like doing it with my sisters. Being my sister just makes you more attractive to me."

Rose2 blinks rapidly, and blushes. You think it's because of your crass endorsement of brother-sister incest. But it's this: "You-- you called me Rose."

"I did? ... I did."

She leans against you, clutching your collar in her little fists, and takes a deep breath. "Ally. You have no idea how much I love you, do you? I don't want to hurt you. The very last thing I want is to hurt you. And the only reason I'm all scared inside isn't because I'm scared for myself, but because I keep thinking that if what everyone's saying is true, then somehow -- somehow this stuff that's been going on is all my fault. Mr. Mallory dying, and Alex getting kidnapped, and what happened on the freeway that night, and everyone being in danger... do you blame me for it? Do you want me to go away? I'm so sorry... I'm sorry, Ally... if it's my fault then I'm sorry... and -- if I go away, maybe that'll fix it, right?"

She's talking herself into a panic attack. What started as gentle tears is full-blown sobbing.

"You can't go away," you say. You tug her back from your chest, force her to let go of your shirt. You peer into her eyes. "You're my little sister."

"Do you believe that?" She asks, grimacing with grief. "Do you really, really, with your whole entire kokoro, believe it?"

"I believe it," you tell her. You pet her soothingly, and put a hand on her knees. "But do you think you can manage it? That's a pretty big job, being a little sister."

She's calming down again. She thinks for a very long time, and as her tears dry up, a smile shines through. "I can do that," she finally says. "Of course I can. No problem. Easy-peasy, squeezy... lemon." She blinks a couple times, confused at her own mistaken phrasing. "Um. Anyway. I can do that... if that's what you want. I can be the best imouto in the world."

"Arigato," you tell her. "Let's go get fed." You stand, as if to make for the door, but she stays you by grabbing your wrist. "Hmm?" You say, turning back.

She scoots her plump little butt backwards, and gets her back propped up against the wall. Spreading her legs in the tempting way she's learned to spread them, she says: "Ally... being an onii-chan is a pretty big job too, isn't it? You dragged me all this way. Aren't you gonna fuck your little sister?"

All these girls treat you like you're the nymphomaniac here, but they're always the ones begging for dick. It's crazy.

"I could do without the nii-chan stuff," you say as you get back into the bed with her.

She laughs. "What, you don't like it? I know Amber calls you Daddy -- and that's ten times weirder!"

"I don't like that, either."

"You're so lame. AND a liar~"

She boops your nose.

You swat her hand away. "Stop that."

"Liar, liar~" she chants in a sing-song voice. "Nii-chan is a pervert, I know he is!"

You cup a hand across her mouth to shut her up. Her eyes bug out in fright -- and then they smile, glimmering. She pokes your forehead. When you let go of her mouth again, she says: "do you remember, the first time you had sex with me?"

You nod. "What about it?"

"You put me in a mating press... that felt SO good, Ally. That small little karaoke booth and just the two of us, with you forcing yourself on top of me... and the way you--" she gulps. "The way you came inside me without even caring whether I'd get pregnant... or anything else..." she strokes your chest. "I wanna try it again... just like that."

You give no response to this, just stare down at her as she strokes your chest some more and smiles at the memory. When finally she realizes that you haven't responded, she glances up, confused. "Ally? I said--"

You grab her roughly and spin her around, forcing her onto her back. You crawl over her, propped up on her elbows, face above hers. "I heard what you said," you tell her.

"A-Ally--"

You drown out whatever else she was going to say with a deep French kiss. You probe her mouth with your tongue, roughly, and wetly. In her fright over your sudden forcefulness, she hiccups a couple times. It's cute. She's a cute girl. Overfed, obnoxious, occasionally bratty, always weird, and dim bulb to boot -- but cute regardless. You like fucking her just as much as she likes getting fucked by you. Driving your cock in and out of her womb and dumping a load inside it at the end... it just feels natural, little sister or not. She's too cute not to soil with your cum like that. That's the kind of cuteness Rose2 has: the kind of cuteness you want to stain with jizz.

You get your hands under her kneepits, and force her calves back over her torso, doubling her up. The cotton of her panties, patterned with little cartoon strawberries, goes taut. You can see the roundness of her ass and the plumpness of her mound. With a flattened palm, you rub that mound of hers, reveling in the way it squishes and gives. She can only stare helplessly at the way you grope her. Her bright, wide, innocent eyes are so adorable. She's got the pussy of a little sister, all right: puffy and a bit immature, sweet-smelling and ready to plunge into.

You grab her panties by one of the legholes and tear them. Sccrr-rrchh, just like that: you rip a hole in her underwear that reveals the bubblegum cunt she begged you to fuck. The torn garment hangs in shreds around her crotch.

"What the heck! Those were my favorite pair!" She whines.

"Be quiet," you snarl.

She makes a little squeak, and then shuts up. No more speaking out of turn.

You quickly get naked from the waist down, and when she sees your veiny dick bobbing in the air, her eyes glaze over. That's what she wanted, this hairy meatpole of yours -- big brother's big dick, ready to ram into her and mess her up. Getting on your haunches, you squat over her. Her thick butt and thighs are a perfect pad to support you as you line your prickhead up with her oozing, tight little honeyslit. She's still, after all the times you've filled her with your dick, got probably the tightest pussy of anyone in your harem. It's actively painful to get wedged in at first. It constricts your dick with such vicelike tenacity that it turns the shaft an angry crimson. That crimson color is such a lewd contrast to her pale, tiny pussy mound that it only makes you even harder. Rose2 bites her lip, trying not to scream with the pain of that initial penetration, and you grunt as you press down on her with your entire weight.

The tight ring of her cunt loses its resistance -- all of a sudden you sink inside her body, half your dick getting swallowed up in a single stroke. Once you're in, you're in, and it becomes so much easier. The difficulty of that first pump is so deceptive, after all -- inside, she's as soft as velvet and so fucking wet that you feel like you submerged your dick in a hot puddle. The sticky walls of her vagina cling to every ridge and bump of your cockshaft. Tight little Rose2's cunt has truly conformed to the shape of your manly dick. She's as easy to fuck now as anything.

Rose2 is in her own private heaven. Her eyes roll back and she grabs the edges of the blanket up by her head, holding on for dear life. Her own knees knock repeatedly against her own face as you begin to really fuck her. Her body jiggles and shakes and shifts beneath you, such a lewd sight to drink in. But her cunt, her silky, grippy cunt, is all you care about. You thrust and rut inside her like a beast, with your tongue lolling out. You make deep, guttural growls of pleasure. It's a picture-perfect mating press, just as she requested. This position allows for total penetration -- your entire cock, up to the root, stuffed inside this hole that's way too small for it. After breaking open the entrance of her cunny-chute, busting through her cervix is no bigger problem, and you have zero reservations about fucking her right down to her womb. You're well aware that when you cum, the head of your cock will be in there -- peeking up past the mouth of her uterus. Yeah, you'll piss a wad of spunk directly into her baby room, and the force of gravity will keep it sloshing around in there.

She must be thinking along these same lines herself. Her face is contorting into a mask of obscene, mind-destroying pleasure. This ahegao is for real -- having her big brother rape her womb is making her cum as powerfully as she ever has before. And what she says might be a hentai cliche but she means it whole-heartedly: "Cum... cum inside my babyplace, onii-chan! Please cum with your dick and knock up your little sister!"

When this pushes you over the edge and you start to squirt your seed, you smile -- an evil, perverted grin of sheer debauched enjoyment, as you fill this pink-haired slut with rope after rope of gloppy, sloppy jism. The mating press is great because for as much as you cum -- and you always cum gallons -- not a drop leaves her body. It stays deep, deep within her, where it belongs, filling her completely with your milky load. It's also great for this reason: when she cums with her candy-smelling cunt, she's cumming not on you, but all over her own body, and all across her own face -- soiling herself even further.

As at last you feel yourself emptying, you let her legs come back below her hips, and settle into a true missionary with her. Your load begins to seep out from her body, all around your crotches, and down to the bed below, as you make out. You've made a terrible mess of your clothes, the bed and the room. You don't care. You fuck her slow and gentle, then, and she whispers over and again: "Nii... chan... nii... chan... I love you... Rose2 really loves you a whole lot... so please take care of her, okay?"

"Nii-chan loves Rose a whole lot, too," you say back. You swipe her hair from her face. "Don't call yourself Rose2."

"I'll do my best..." she murmurs, close to passing out. You kiss her again.

---

The night before the wedding, you're roused from a dreamy sleep by roaring laughter down in the dining room. You go and check it out.

It's not like the perverted bachelorette party Rose2 got, but it suits Gal and Cerise. The couple sit at the table with Renee -- they're all racing to see who can finish a six-pack of beers the fastest. Samantha Smatters is the referee.

"Drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink!" She chatters, pumping her fists. She is, as always, butt-ass naked. You resist the urge to go over and squeeze her cottontail. Daddy's bad habits are corrupting you.

Poor Gal is getting left in the dust, having barely imbibed her way through the first bottle-and-a-half. The seasoned alcoholics on either side of her are the real competitors. Eyeing each other viciously down the bridges of their noses, they pour the beers down their throats as fast as gravity allows, glug-glug, glug-glug.

Cerise, finishing just milliseconds faster, slams the final bottle down on the table with a triumphant belch and proclaims: "Take that, you busted old bitch!"

Renee, also belching, drops her bottle from her lips with a defeated "pwah" and struggles to catch her breath. "No... way..." she heaves.

"The winner by unanimous decision!" Smatters cries, taking Cerise's hand and holding it high aloft. Man, that bunnygirl has got a nice rack...

Gal stops drinking, too, since the contest is over. But her wife isn't going to let her off so easy. "Keep going," she says.

"but"

"No buts. Keep going." Cerise tips the bottle in Gal's hand back towards Gal's lips, forcing her to drink.

It's Smatters who actually first notices you lurking around. "Amber!" She says. "Come here and join us okay!"

Renee giggles drunkenly as you step fully into the room. "Someone wants a repeat of the last bachelorette party, huh?"

You sit down across from her, shrugging. "Are you offering?" You ask.

"For you and your illegal little pussy? Always." She's a lot more brash and bold when she's got some liquor in her.

Gal, who looks completely miserable, watches you from behind her bottle as she continues to drink. Renee finally snatches the bottle from her. "This is spousal abuse, Cerise. Quit abusing your wife."

"But it's so fun," Cerise slurs.

"thank you..." Gal murmurs to Renee. She burps, too. "excuse me"

"Uh huh," Renee says. "Now -- you were going to show me what this vaping nonsense is all about, weren't you?"

That's all it takes to replace Gal's intoxicated misery with a broad grin. "what flavor do you want to try"

"What flavor do you recommend?" Renee asks.

Cerise rolls her eyes. "Why do you encourage her? This is the most obnoxious shit."

"cerise is upset because she has the lungs of a baby" Gal says.

You laugh. Cerise shoves you. "Who invited you? Go away."

"she can't keep up," Gal tells you. "it's very sad"

Renee nods. "Well unlike Cerise, I can keep up. So -- what flavor is the best?"

"i like banana -- but you might like sour apple, i think"

"Smoking is not supposed to taste like candy," Cerise says. "Fuck."

Renee shushes her. "What do you know about smoking, baby-lung?"

"More than you know about drinking, apparently!" She fires back.

"I let you win," Renee says, dead serious, examining her fingernails.

"What!" Cerise howls. "You-- that's the stupidest fucking--"

"I let you win. Sorry, baby-lung, that's just the truth. I would have won if I had really tried."

"I won!" Cerise insists. She motions at the referee: "Smatters said so!"

"Y-yes!" Smatters squeaks. "It was a ruling b-by unanimous decision!"

Renee leans across the tabletop, leering at Cerise. "You might have taken the win, but you'll never be able to convince me that the win was legitimate. So you don't really get to enjoy beating me, do you?"

Cerise huffs, aghast, and angry. She can't think of anything to even say to that.

"Hurts, don't it?" Renee laughs. "Hahaha."

"Holy shit," you breathe. "Remind me never to play a game with you."

"She is a very scary woman," Smatters says sadly.

She should know; Renee's been lewdly groping her the entire time.

Renee's lewd groping of Samantha's tits and ass becomes outright molesting: right there at the dinner table, she starts to casually finger Samantha. Her middle and ring fingers work in and out of Samantha's pussy, while her pinky and index fingers keep the labia spread open. Renee isn't gentle about it, either. It's loud, wet-sounding -- cruel. Samantha leans woozily against Renee's shoulder and whines while Renee abuses her.

"You're going to fuck that poor woman to death," Cerise says.

"Blah blah," Renee says. "She can take it. Can't you, Sammy?"

"Y-yes," Samantha says, struggling to speak through the waves of unwanted pleasure that Renee inflicts.

"And why is that?" Renee asks her.

"B-because-- b-because-- aaahnn~" She trails off and nibbles on the side of her own hand to keep from screaming.

Renee forces her to quit the nervous self-gnawing. She grabs her wrist and makes her keep her hand down by her lap.

"Because why?" Renee says.

"Because... b-because, I am a s-slutty bunny."

Renee takes her fingers out of Samantha's gash just long enough to give the bunnygirl a loud, vicious slap on her inner thigh. Samantha hasn't even had time to scream in pain, before Renee is already knuckle-deep inside her body again.

"Nicely done!" Renee says. Samantha's muscles spasm, her eyes close and her mouth turns into a wide O. Then you hear the patter of liquid against the hardwood floor below the table; she's cumming on Renee's fingers.

Gal watches, grinning, chin propped between her fists like a kid absorbed in a school lesson. "you are so cool renee"

"Now you're just sucking up," Renee says. She's still fingering Samantha. She takes a brief moment to kick off her trousers and her panties. Settling again, she tells the bunny: "Do me, too."

Samantha does as ordered. Wincing in pleasure and narrowly opening her tear-filled eyes, she gropingly finds Renee's bare pussy. It's crazy how much Samantha really does look -- and act -- like a rabbit. The way her facial muscles twitch, the little high-pitched whines she makes, even the timid way she moves her hands. All suggestive of a person who's part bunny down to her DNA. Hell, maybe it's true. Because female bunnies love nothing more than getting fucked, right? And Samantha absolutely loves to get fucked in every hole, even to the point of unconsciousness, and well beyond. It seems she casts a spell on everyone around her that magically turns them into depraved rapists champing at the bit to do exactly that. Renee worse than most, clearly -- since she's already a depraved rapist to begin with -- but Samantha's sex magic does the trick to pretty much everyone. Pheromones, maybe? Is bunnygirl Samantha Smatters a person literally in heat, turning everyone around her horny with subconscious hormonal signals?

You can't deny how horny you are, at least. Your panties are soaked through, and you're sitting in a small puddle, just from watching this lewd scene. Well: when in Rome, fuck as the Romans do. You slide a hand past the elastic of your waistband and start to play with yourself. No qualms and no hesitation, just casually masturbating while you watch.

"Slutty little teenybopper over here," Renee laughs. "Don't you have any shame?"

"Nah," you say. You don't break the pace of your masturbation. "Anyway, you're one to talk."

"Mmmm," is all Renee responds with -- enjoying herself too much from Samantha's technique to banter back.

Gal prepares a vape pen for Renee, dousing a cottonball with flavored juice, but Renee waves her off. "No -- I need a real cigarette for this," she says. Her voice is low and husky. One-handedly, she takes a cig from her labcoat pocket, then a lighter, and lights up. After taking a single long, luxurious drag that makes the cherry glow neon red, she pulls the cigarette from between her lips, slouches way forward in her seat, and blows a huge billowy cloud of smoke. Through it all, Samantha's fingers work and work. "God, this feels so good..." Renee says.

When Gal fires up the vape pen and starts to use it for herself, Cerise snatches it from her. She bonks it against Gal's forehead. "I'm banning you from this thing for the next 48 hours. I want your mouth pure for our wedding night, and the night after."

Gal sticks her tongue out at Cerise.

Cerise, scowling, sets the vape pen aside and stands. Yanking down her shorts to bare her bouncy pale ass and bending over the table, she says: "Get under me and put that tongue to work."

Gal obsequiously slides off the chair, and down to her knees -- but not before winking at you. You swear, you never knew a turbo-sub like her could be so low-key cheeky. Cerise grins and enjoys the way her wife eats her out while she intently watches the same show you're watching, Renee and Samantha jilling each other. Peeking under the table, you see that Gal is her same selfish self, of course: she's sitting on her wide-apart knees, and both her hands are fucking both her lower holes while she laps at Cerise from below.

For several very fun minutes, the only sound in the room is five horny cunts getting serviced in various ways; and five horny girls making little grunts, coos and murmurs of pleasure. Cerise cums on her wife, Samantha cums on Renee's hand, you cum in your panties. It's super cool.

Breaking this trance of erotic pleasure is Renee -- turning her head and asking you: "Hey, teenybopper. You ever eat bunny pussy before?"

"No," you say. Your voice is rough and terse, since you're still so focused on fingering yourself. The more you toy with your quim, the hotter you seem to get. "How could I? You and Whitney keep her monopolized."

Renee laughs. "I gotta keep in better touch with my inner Marx, then. Smatters is communal property. We all get to use her."

Maybe it's wrong, but treating people as property is pretty hot. And if anyone was born to be a piece of property, low-value property at that, it's Samantha Smatters. You bite your lip as you let another little squirt of cum out inside your underwear.

Renee gets Samantha up on the table, on her back, and forces her legs apart.

"Eat my pussy yes!" Samantha pleads. She spreads it open for you with her thumbs, and you can see way up inside it, all its ridges and drippy parts, the little strings of her pussy juice clinging to the walls. "Slutty bunny pussy for master Amber to lick, okay!"

You get your face down to her fat little mound. The tail isn't attached by a buttplug, no: you can see her vagina and her asshole in all their glory. That pristine, glistening pussy of hers is so cute. Pink and soft and so smooth you'd think she never went through puberty. It's hot, too -- no, for real -- staring at her box, you feel like you've got a space heater set to low blowing directly against your face. When without further ado you clamp your lips around that wonderfully inviting fuckhole, your eyes bug out, and you think for a split-second you've literally burned your tongue. But it's only surprise that makes you think so -- her insides are only the temperature of a person with a very high fever. But no wonder the whore is always so keen to get fucked. She's burning up inside. In a house of people with unusually high libidos, Samantha surpasses you all: she is an actual nympho, in the clinical sense.

More surprising than her temperature, though...

"Well?" Renee asks, rubbing your neck and shoulders in a very, very perverse way as she watches you lick the writhing bunnygirl out. "How does she taste?"

You pull off Samantha's quim, strands of her cunt juice hanging off your chin. "It's... ungh, fuck -- she tastes like strawberry."

Renee giggles. "Is that so?"

"I mean literally -- it's just like strawberry..."

Samantha, on the table, whines pathetically: "master Amber, please... your mouth... please lick my slut hole more, please? Please?"

Cerise, who's already cum so many times on Gal's face that the poor bitch is going to stink like her pussy for the next decade, finally climbs off of her and stumbles drunkenly over to where you sit. "No fuckin' way," Cerise slurs, and shoves you aside to get at Samantha's hole. "You're lying."

She leans forward, and gives Samantha's pussy a curious sniff -- which makes Samantha cum a little, splashing Cerise's surprised face with a little splash of bunny cum. Finally then, Cerise dives in. She squeezes Samantha's thighs, which are badly bruised, you note (Renee must love wailing on them) -- and starts to suck Samantha's cunt in earnest.

Like you before her, Cerise's eyes bulge at the moment of contact. About 30 seconds later she pulls back, sticky with Samantha's fluids, and she gulps and says: "It's not strawberry... it's pineapple... oh my god... it's--"

"Master Cerise please your tongue PLEASE I need it in my pussy hole--"

Cerise obliges, and goes back for more of what she supposes tastes like pineapple. Samantha's humongous tits sway and jiggle, and her eyes roll around in their sockets, while Cerise performs expert oral on her.

Renee nods. "See, I think it tastes like oranges and cream... Whitney swears it's watermelon... and Alabaster thinks mango."

Gal is at Cerise's side. "may i" she says. Cerise is reluctant though, and selfishly just keeps eating Samantha out, casting annoyed glances back at her wife who waits patiently for her turn with the slave. Even Gal's patience wears, though: "cerise don't be greedy" she finally says, and this gets her to move aside.

Even for just the split second that there isn't a mouth on her gash, Samantha whines and squirms in frustration.

Gal gets her mouth on the pussy now. It's a blessed relief for the bunny, who chews her lip and cums so hard down Gal's throat that it sounds like she's using the toilet. The way Gal eats cunt is really second to none. You can see the way her tongue moves around inside Samantha's hole, just from the way the surface of Samantha's mound kind of writhes and bulges. It's sexy as hell. You didn't think it was possible, but it makes your already sodden, translucent panties even wetter (something about wearing undies soiled by your own arousal really gets you going). Just to show Gal that you enjoy her handiwork, you reach behind her and finger her pretty ass and pussy for her. She exhales hard from the unexpected rubby-rubby and redoubles the pace of her tongue-fucking.

Only because even she does have to breathe eventually, Gal at last pulls off. "this is bananas" she says.

"It really is..." Cerise agrees.

"no--" Gal says, "--this tastes exactly like banana"

Renee circles the table and pets Samantha lovingly. Samantha, tiny fists balled up  at either side of her absolutely massive knockers, looks Renee in the eye, wearing an expression that's caught between pleasure, pain, and subservience. "Am I a good slut, master Renee?" She asks.

"Sammy," Renee says, "you -- are a miracle of science."

With that, she lights up another cig, climbs on the table, and sits on Samantha's face. She smokes languidly, and humps Samantha like she's a dildo. When Renee ashes her cigarette, she does so on Samantha's body.

You don't see Samantha's face again for about an hour. But you do see a whole lot of Renee's mature cunt, and how spectacularly it can orgasm.

---

"Alabaster -- come out already."

"No."

"Alabaster!"

"No!"

Cerise pounds on the bathroom door, so hard you worry it'll come off its hinges. "You little dickweasel! You made me a promise! Come out of there this instant!"

You pick up a can of shaving cream, so recently deployed, and chuck it at the door. It whangs and rebounds off with a metallic clang. Cerise, on the other side, yelps. Then she pounds back even harder. "Don't you make me come in there! I will drag you out by your fucking hair! You're gonna ruin my wedding!"

You clutch at your coiffed hair, panicking. The thought of her ruining hours of hard work by grabbing your hair and tousling is all up? -- no, wait, that's not why you're freaking out. You can't be seen like this, by all the people out there. A small ceremony? Yeah, right. There's like two or three dozen guests out there, and they're not just randos but all the people closest to you. How are you ever going to live this down? The thought of what Armstrong will say alone --

"Alabaster! God fucking damn it! Come out! The ceremony's gonna start in like five minutes!"

God, why does this thing fit you so well? You tug at it, but it clings so form-fittingly to you that you can't pinch up any fabric. (Don't get aroused, don't get aroused). Why did Cerise have one that fits you so well? You didn't need to shop around -- Cerise just whipped it right out from her closet as if she'd been planning this. Fuck. And not that you're not thankful to Alex for all his help in getting you ready, but it all just felt a little fucked-up, you know? The process of it, getting dressed together, like this, with him. Does the hair in these places grow back? It does, right? Now your kokoro's going all doki-doki and it won't settle down. Oh, god -- what will Rose2 say? Fuck, what will Rose say? No, no, no, no, no... Rose can't see this... you will, for sure, pay dearly, if she sees this. What were you thinking? Oh god, oh fuck.

The banging gets louder. "Alabaster!!!"

Through the walls, muffled, comes the swelling sound of live orchestra music in the backyard. Oh my god, oh my god... Vivian Darkbloom is going to see you like this. Vivian fucking Darkbloom is going to -- Amber--!!

"Alabaster!!!!!"

You pull yourself back from the ledge of panic-induced fainting. You slow your rapid, shallow breathing. You gulp hard, and then you step out.

Cerise's angry expression, and her raised fist, both freeze in place as the door swings open. Then the grimace morphs into a broad grin, as she covers her mouth.

"Don't," you tell her.

All she responds with, balling up her fists and shaking them excitedly, is this:

"Aaaaahhhhh!!!"

Rose bobs side to side, singing along with the music.

"Here comes the bride, and here comes the bride... here comes the bride, aaaand heeeeere comes the bride..."

"Shut up," you tell her.

"...and here comes the bride, and here comes the briiiiide..."

You punch her in the shoulder.

"Ow! What the frick!" She turns in her seat slugs you back. God, she hits like a freight train when she wants.

"Stop it, you two," Mom chides. "If you ruin this day, I'll make you both sorry you were ever born!"

"Were we born?" You say. "That's in question, isn't it?"

"I said stop it, Amber! You were born. I should know. I still have the stretch marks to prove it!"

You open your mouth and point down your throat in the universal signal of gagging. "Yuch," you say.

"You rude, obnoxious little--!!"

Mom stops as, walking past down the white runner in the grassy aisle between the seats, comes Gal. Or as maybe you should call her on this holy day, Anna -- Anna Soliloquy. It seems a bit backwards to be doing the wedding ceremony after the legal shit, but hey. They're a couple of queers anyway. She's as gussied up as you've ever seen her, her dress's poofy shoulders and bust and long veil and even longer tail, all a pure satiny white, make her already pale beauty look positively albino -- but she pulls it off.

Mom immediately gets misty-eyed. She covers her face with both hands and sobs. Charlotte, smiling, hands her a tissue, and Mom dabs her cheeks.

She isn't the only one crying. Behind you, you hear a nasally, choked sob. You turn in place to find Nelson Berenstoin biting his fist, trying and failing to remain stoic.

"...you okay, dude?" You ask.

Nelson gives up the ghost. He pushes his glasses up with the back of his palm and rubs his eyes. "Sorry... I always get misty eyed at these things..."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Armstrong, next to him, says. "We're at a gay wedding and you're still the gayest person here. What is wrong with you?" He pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to him, as Charlotte did for Mom. Nelson gratefully accepts it, and loudly blows his nose.

Armstrong laughs. But then something off to the side catches his attention. Looking up, and going slackjawed, he says: "I take it back, Nelson. You're the third gayest person here."

You furrow your brow. What is that supposed to mean? You swivel the other way and look -- oh, here come the bridesmaids. Renee is so pretty... and Alex is always much cuter when he's a girl. And-- and.

And.

You rub your good eye.

Daddy...?

---

You are Cerise Soliloquy, the only actual patrician to ever browse /a/ in its entire history and congressional candidate.

When it comes to traps, you are a gourmand. Or maybe more like a wine connoisseur. You can discern the fine nuances and undertones of the various different vintages and styles... sampling here, dabbling there, tasting as you please from the extensive collection you've accumulated in the wine-cellar of your bookmarks on ex. Yes, like a sommelier, you have a true love of the infinite flavors to discover -- and like a wino, you can gorge until you're blackout drunk and there's nothing left...

You know traps.

Alex is the feminine type. The "I drew a girl and then added a dick" type. His short-cut little dress, which reveals a little too much thigh by design, is nicely complemented by knee high socks and heels with little red bows (how cute). He carries his bouquet with all the poise and confidence of a real woman. He's not a woman, of course. He's got a dick under that dress, and it's hard. Everyone can see it, which is why despite his poise, he's blushing. You lick your lips.

Now, Alabaster, on the other hand. Oh, this is too delicious.

Alabaster is the masculine type. He doesn't want to crossdress. He's made it abundantly clear. (Fatal mistake.) You have foisted it on him, practically blackmailed him into it. He doesn't look girly, he looks like a guy dressed as a girl. His gown is even tighter than Alex's (you made sure of it), and his blush is an even deeper crimson. And since his dick -- that big, meaty, brotherly dick you love -- is much bigger, its hardness is more prominent. Oh Alabaster, what a naughty little brother... getting all worked up like that in front of all these people. Rose is beside herself at the sight of it, so is Amber. Vivian is playing cool, but you can see as plainly as her button nose that she's wigging out internally. But none of these dumb bitches can really appreciate it: the true, unparalleled adorably erotic thrill of a cute boy who's been unwillingly forced to wear the clothes of a girl!!

Now, what else is going on?

Oh yeah, you're getting married. Let's get that taken care of.

---

"So beautiful it is, to see two young people in the prime of their life, drawn together on a day of love," Fazil says -- rambling a bit there, my guy.

You squint at him. "Isn't this against your religion? You know. Two girls? I'm pretty sure Allah says it's supposed to be like this:" you make a circle with thumb and forefinger, then poke your other hand's forefinger in and out. "...Not like this:" you make a circle with your other hand, two opposing OK signs, and bump them together.

"We are all sinners," Fazil says. "I am happy for the Soliloquys."

What a nice boy.

Vivian is a little more focused on a different matter. "Impossible... no, my eyes deceive me."

"Your eyes do no such thing," you tell her.

"I died when we linked our implants together. That must be it. I have perished and become bodily transported into another realm."

"An isekai?!" Rose gasps.

Vivian takes out her phone and googles that.

"Yes. An iseaki."

"Maaaybe..." Rose says. She puts a finger to her lips. "That'd be so coool."

Mom is similarly agog. She can't focus on whether to be awed by Cerise's spectacular attire, or Daddy's... spectacular-for-a-different-reason attire.

He conspicuously tries to avoid looking at anyone, staring instead at sunset's bright orange sky. Is he hard? What a fuckin' pervert. For real.

"The prospect of the reception just got... much more fun..." Charlotte breathes. Ohhh man.

You kick the back of the seat in front of you. Rose2 spins around, growling: "What is wrong with you? Can't you behave for one second?"

"Hey Mommy, what do you think of Mommy?" You point up towards the wreathed altar.

Rose2's face goes slack for a moment as she thinks. Cautiously, she throws it back on you: "What do you think?"

"Cute. Cute!"

She lowers her voice. "If you can keep him held down in bed for me tonight, I'll pay you a million dollars."

Her tone and expression convey stone-cold, dead seriousness.

---

"Sir... ce-cerise...!"

Gal's voice is about as breathy as it's ever been. If a leaf fell off a tree at the same time she spoke, you wouldn't be able to hear her. And as she looks from you, to Cerise, and back, she doesn't know who to focus on.

You clear your throat, shift the bouquet so it covers your crotch.

No, you shouldn't hold it ther -- that looks funny and just draws attention to the fact that you're covering up an erection. But... if you don't, then...

Aaagh, fuck.

"Just get this over with so I can change," you tell your loving sister and sister-wife. You tug at your brooch. Why did you have to wear the underwear, too? Why did you agree to that?

Cerise addresses you from the corner of her mouth. "You aren't getting changed anytime soon, Alabasterina. Strap yourself in."

You really don't want to hear anything about straps or strapping in while you're dressed like this. No sir, you don't like it.

But even Cerise's love for girls who aren't girls pales compared to her love for a particular girl who is a girl. The more she watches Gal standing across from her -- mousy little thunderstruck Gal, whose elaborately huge dress can't even make her look very large -- the more Cerise takes her in, the more Cerise's eyes well up.

Gal's gaze averts itself. She stares at her feet, abashed, and uncomfortable with being at the very center of attention. Even more uncomfortable with being the center of such powerful adoration.

"Gal, baby..." Cerise says.

She reaches out to part the veil, but she gets her hand slapped away.

"You gotta do your vows before you kiss her! Fuck!" Comes the voice of the ceremony's officiant, from the lectern between the two brides.

You gawp at Whitney. "You -- you're the --"

"What -- surprised?" Whitney says.

"I -- yes--" you hiss.

"Heeeh. You're a smokeshow today, Ally, by the way," Whitney tells you. "Same as last time. The hottest person at the wedding."

"Oh, and I'm just some ugly old lady then?" Dr. Carte pouts.

"Sorry ma. And sorry Cerise -- Gal! But Ally wins the wedding fashion award. Once again! Sausage."

"...Sausage?" You repeat.

"Isn't that how they say it? Sausage?"

"How who says-- what?"

"Rosie always says it. Sausage."

"Sasuga?"

"Yeah..." she shakes her head. "Fuck, you're getting me off track here. You fucking bimbo. Let's see..." she plops her copy of the bible down on the lectern and leafs through it. "Aha- here we go."

"But you're not a reverend," you hiss.

She glances up. "And you're not a girl! Anyway yes I am. I got a ordained online. They mailed me a certificate and everything."

"Seriously?"

"Uh huh. All you gotta do is answer a few questions about Jesus and stuff. Blah blah blah, died for our sins, do unto others," (she does an Arnie impression here:) "I'll be back." She giggles. "All that shit. Well, so, let's kick this pig."

She clears her throat, and addresses the gathering, who all fall instantly silent.

"We are here today to celebrate a union in holy matri-- matrim-- the holy wedding of two women, Cerise Soliloquy, and Galgal Soliloquy--"

Renee makes a pointed "ahem."

"--Anna Soliloquy, in holy wedding -- wait, no I said that part." She rubs the back of her head and glances down. "Okay, okay, yeah." She begins, adopting the same dignified, lilting cadence and boring gravitas of a real pastor at a wedding: "So. Do you, Anna, take this woman, Cerise, to have and to hummina hummina, for better or for even better, stinkin' rich or poor, in sickness and in healthy, to love and to cherish, and to bow chikka wow, chikka wow chikka bow -- for all time, til death do you part?"

Gal's response is a lot more mature than Rose's was at your wedding (how juvenile she was, you're still so upset). She immediately, and resoundingly despite her status as literally-blushing-bride, responds in the affirmative: "I do."

"And do you, Cerise... fuck, this is so much shit to say... have, hold, sick, poor, rich, healthy, et cetera?"

Cerise's voice breaks just a little as, nodding slowly, and staring Gal directly in the eyes, she smiles, and softly says: "I do..."

Whitney slams the bible shut. "Great. Fantastic. Then before you two start necking for everyone to see, I think you had some vows of your own?"

Gal is still thunderstruck, so Cerise is the one who takes Gal's hands in hers and begins the vow exchange. A bit haltingly at first, but gaining steam as she speaks:

"I -- I never thought I would... ever get married. And I definitely never thought I would get married to a woman. I didn't... didn't know what I really was before meeting you. I mean, not just about liking girls. Because that's always been-- but I mean-- I didn't know what I was. I was... I was really lost, Gal, before I met you. I was drinking myself to cirrhosis and stuck in a dead-end job and I was, sad, all the time. I was a sad sack. And when we met, we were both a couple of sad sacks, weren't we? Being sad together online. Wallowing in it together. But then something changed. We started bossing each other around. I made you eat more -- you made me drink less. We were so mean about it! Because -- because I didn't care if I was sad -- and you didn't care if you were sad -- or sick, or unhealthy, or anything. But we sure as shit weren't going to let the other one be that way! Isn't that what love is? I really don't know. I don't know anything, anymore, about anything. Life is so weird. And I don't know if that's really love. Who actually knows what love really is? But I do know this feeling in my heart whenever I see your face and when I think about -- how much you've accomplished--" she wipes away her freely flowing tears. "I'm so proud of you... I'm so happy I get to see you where you are now... this warm feeling in my heart, that can't ever go out, I don't care what you call it, but I know for sure that's forever! In this life, and wherever we go after... and no matter what comes... I want to go there with you. So I do love you. I love you so, so fucking much, Gal."

At that, she's apparently done, and silence descends over the crowd in the golden gloom. Silence punctuated only by the sound of Mom, sobbing her goddamn eyeballs out -- and, uh, Nelson, doing the same.

Gal's mouth is hanging open. She's swaying slightly, and she isn't saying a word. Thirty seconds pass, a minute. It grows awkward.

Dr. Carte elbows her. "Psst."

"i..."

"Go on," Dr. Carte whispers. She rubs Gal's shoulders.

"You can do this," Alex whispers. "I believe in you."

She glances back at the crowd. Her eyes are searching... searching for someone. And she finds her: Amber.

Amber, too, is crying -- smiling, hugging herself. When Gal catches her in that moment of softness, Amber quickly looks away, embarrassed.

"Say your vows, you fucking mute dyke!" She yells, concealing her face with one hand.

Gal looks back at Cerise now. Cerise nods.

Gal takes a deep breath, closes her eyes.

"i was going to kill myself"

Cerise's smile drops like a stone -- everyone's does.

Gal opens her eyes again.

"I was going to kill myself before I met you. I didn't care anymore about my life. Not even Amber, when she was -- not even she could make me change my mind about it. I didn't want to live anymore. I had no job. No friends. I hadn't been outside... in so long, even... I was a thief, and a hacker, and all I ever did, was to hurt people. And I was going to kill myself because the world would have been better without me in it. I had a bottle of pills -- these aren't my vows... I wasn't going to say any of this-- I'm sorry--"

"Keep going," Cerise says.

"I wanted to die so badly... it was all I wanted, but I was a coward, and I couldn't do it. My cowardice... kept me alive, until I met you. And I hurt you too, Cerise--"

"--No--"

"I did. Our whole relationship was built on lies. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you... I don't deserve -- any of this. But I'm not a sad sack anymore. I'm not that girl anymore who pities herself and wants to die. You made me better... you believed in me even when you shouldn't have, and trusted me even when you should have kept me out. You... love me... even though you should hate me. You're so stupid. And I don't deserve you -- but I'll take it. Because I'm getting there, Cerise, I'm going to make it there. I'm going to be the wife you deserve. I'm going to be the woman who deserves you. It's the only choice I have left. Because I was going to die... but now if I do, that would be the worst thing of anything I've ever done. So I have to keep moving ahead. For you. And -- and for me, too. It feels good, to be better. To have all of this. I'll stay with you. Forever. I love you too. Cerise."

Whitney uses her wrist and forearm to wipe the snot off her face. Gruffly, she says: "ah-- so. By-- ah-- sorry, there's something in my eye-- ahem-- and, uh, in my throat. By-- fuck. Fall allergies. Y'know? Shitty weather today." (It's 70 degrees and sunny. Pollen count is low.) "So... where was I. By the power invested in me by the dumbasses who run the state of California... I now pronounce you dyke and dyke! ... You may now kiss the bride. With tongue, prefer-ably."

Cerise sweeps Gal off her feet in the most literal way, holds her and kisses her deep.

Gal kisses back just as forcefully.

The song they share their first dance to is weirdly dirge-like for a song called "I Love You, Honeybear" -- but you suppose it suits them. At least the music selection for when the rest of you join them on the dancefloor is more uptempo.

Amber twirls with Vivian, you with your wife, Whitney with a stuttering and abashed Nelson. Mom and Charlotte gab over cake. The other guests flit to and fro at random, all here together to celebrate a wedding you never really expected to happen. The sun finishes setting, and torches get lit, and the party continues.

Noelle is her typical wallflower self. She hangs back by the buffet table, arms folded, pouting as she watches the revelers -- the newlyweds in particular. "Fucking lesbians..." you hear her mutter to herself, between swigs of rum and coke.

Kay saunters by her. She holds out her hand. "C'mon."

"C'mon what?"

"C'mon and dance, moron."

"With you? With-- anyone?" Noelle sputters. "No. I'm not a dancer. It's a fucking nightmare, watching me dance -- I've got no sense of rhythm or--"

Kay grabs her wrist and literally drags her out onto the dancefloor. The noise Noelle makes as she surges forward with the momentum of it, is a surprised "hup--!" And then it's too late for her to get away.

The two dance all night long.

As you and Rose slowly revolve around among the others with your hands interlinked, you stare into her eyes, and she stares back at you -- it feels good.

"Should we have done custom vows too?" You ask her.

"It's a little late to ask that question, don't you think?"

"Well. We didn't have time even if we wanted to..." you say.

"And they were so sappy anyway," she adds.

"So, so cheesy," you agree.

"Yeah."

You spin in silence with her for a bit.

"Are you happy we got married?" You ask suddenly.

"N--" she begins, as if by reflex, but stops. She's quiet again for a short turn, then: "It would be too much of a bother to get a divorce at this point."

"Of course. So much paperwork."

"Such a waste of time..."

You kiss.

It's a nice moment of tenderness, until Rose says:

"Does wearing a dress really make you that horny?"

"W-what?"

"I should have done this to you years ago. You're so into it."

"No I'm n--"

"You're going to fuck me through both of our dresses if you get any harder."

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. I'm not even -- you're hallucinating--"

Her somewhat sadistic grin is a little too smug for your liking.

---

"Okay," Whitney slurs, "okay, okay, okay, okay--"

"Okay?" You say.

"Okay."

The visitors are already on their way out -- although some, like an utterly agog Fazil and Ken, have to be pointedly ushered from the backyard, given how distracted they are by the lez peepshow Kay decided to put on for everyone. At some point a little while ago, she pinned Noelle up against the buffet table, ripped the poor woman's pants off, and started feasting on her cunt. (Guess the hors d'oeuvres weren't cutting it.) Kneeling in the grass, Kay ate Noelle for a good half hour before you realized it wasn't going to end anytime soon, and so saw fit to start ordering everyone home.

"I reckon I'm a touch green with envy at the denizens of this here abode," Ken says as Armstrong leads him away.

"Aren't we all," he says gruffly. "Horny motherfuckers."

Noelle, who can't hold her liquor, is totally at Kay's mercy. Who, as it turns out, is a rapey drunk. All Noelle can do under this oral assault is weakly writhe and whine. Her tailbone rests against the table's sharp edge while Kay, hands on Noelle's legs, keeps her face buried in Noelle's crotch. It's lewd, lurid, and loud. But this is all some pretty typical Nail House evening action, and most of the other girls continue to serve themselves drinks and cake from the table despite it. This hardcore, semi-consensual cunnilingus is just a pretty decoration to go along with the table-setting. Whitney, walking by with yet another wine glass, tweaks one of Noelle's nipples on her way past, and laughs at the pained yelp it elicits. That's about all the care anyone has for Noelle's plight.

"Okay, okay, okay--" Whitney downs her liquor in one gulp, tosses the empty glass across the lawn, and then calls for everyone's attention. "Sit down, sit down-- everyone, sit down!-- not you, you bitches!" She points at Cerise and Gal. "You two -- get over here." She strolls, or more like stumbles, to the lectern and beckons them over. "I wanna have one last 'I Do'."

"Drunk idiot," Cerise laughs. "We did that already."

"One more time!" Whitney says. She gets behind the lectern and waves for them again. "One more time, please -- it was so cute! I gotta see it one more time!"

Cerise casts an uncertain look back at Gal. But Gal, conflict-averse, approaches Whitney -- and so Cerise follows along.

Since you're a bridesmaid, you join them. So do Alex and Dr. Carte.

The rest of the girls all take their seats. Save Kay and Noelle, who are too busy cumming to notice the upcoming redux. Noelle's half-pained moans fill the cool autumn air.

"Okay, okay, okay--" Whitney says. "Do you, Cerise... fuck. How does it go?"

"You stink like wine," Cerise says. "How much did you drink tonight?"

"You stink like beer!" Whitney shouts, laughing. "Who the fuck drinks beer at a wedding? Huh? Fuck you!" Huffing and puffing, she stoops, reaches under the lectern for something, and struggles with it when she finds it -- even as she plows ahead: "Okay, okay... Gal-- do you take Cerise -- for having and holding and fucking and sucking?"

Gal is as confused as anyone, but she rolls with the flow. "i do"

"And do you, Cerise -- take this bitch to be forever yours?"

"I already did," Cerise says. "And I do."

"I'm cumming! Fuck, I'm cumming! AAAAAHHH!" (That would be Noelle, doing... exactly what she says she's doing.)

Whitney finishes with whatever she's doing behind that narrow podium. She stands upright. "FAN-tastic. You may now kiss the bride."

The brides are still perplexed -- so, frankly, are the rest of you -- but they won't say no to the opportunity for more tonsil hockey. They embrace, and share a tongue kiss that in politer company would definitely count as indecent. Whitney breaks it up by clearing her throat: "ahem. AHEM. Hi." The blushing brides turn and face her. "This time -- how about you kiss each other the right way."

She steps past the lectern and reveals her surprise. She's donned a strap-on: a big thick motherfucker made of green silicone, 9 or 10 inches long. She puts her hands on either woman's shoulders, and gently, but forcefully, guides them down. They sink to their knees, the excess fabric of their dresses pooling around them as they settle. Like a couple of fairytale princesses they are, in their tiaras, and veils, and satin -- but with a big fucking cock protruding between them.

"Kiss the bride," Whitney says with a hiccup.

Gal glances back at the audience. What she first sees is what you also first see. Charlotte, in the front row, parts her knees and hikes up her skirt to reveal that she isn't wearing underwear. She flashes you and Gal with a devilish wink, showing off her young-looking pussy. Her bare cunt is visibly wet in the glowing light of the torches.

Cerise isn't paying attention to that, but it's just as well -- she grabs Gal by the head in that moment of distraction, and pulls Gal's face towards her own. Gal's eyes bulge as she realizes what's happening. But she doesn't fight. From either side of Whitney's fake cock, then, the newlyweds kiss. As if to reward them, plus also to keep them from pulling away, Whitney pets the backs of their heads.

You've seen a lot of lewd things before, but this is a cut above: the reverend forcing a pair of freshly minted wives, still in their elegant dresses, to make out from either side of a giant strap-on dildo. Sighing, your sister and her wife resign themselves to something more than PDA -- something more like public sex -- and they kiss with the aim of putting on a show for everyone. Their tongues mingle and entwine and swirl around the length of the toy's rubber. Whitney lightly thrusts back and forth, just a bit, between their lips, to coat the ersatz dick with their collective slobber.

"LICK MY CUNT! LICK IT, YOU FUCKING BITCH!" There's Noelle again, the chorus of tonight's debauchery, in a sense... she's got one leg hiked, foot on the tabletop, and she's bouncing up and down on Kay's upturned face.

Charlotte, first of the crowd to expose herself, now is the first of the crowd to become involved. She pulls her skirt fully back, baring her genitals not only to you and the others at the lectern, but everyone sitting in the chairs around her, too. And openly, she begins to diddle herself.

"Mrs. Mallory!" Rose2 laughs. "You're so lewd..."

"I am," she agrees.

"Floozie," Mom sneers. "You can't keep it in your pants, can you?"

"No," she agrees.

Rose is blushing hard, and trying not to stare.

Samantha hops into action. "Charlotte!" She squeaks as she strides down the aisle. "Is your cunt getting wet? Do you need it serviced? I'll do my best, okay!"

She falls to her knees in front of Charlotte's folding chair and gets to work. Charlotte sighs in contentment, happy to let someone else take care of the hard part, while she just watches the show up front. Settling back, she languidly runs a hand through her blonde tresses. "Wow -- you're even better at this than you were in high school..."

"You and Samantha--!" Mom gasps. "I can't believe it."

"Oh come on, Scarlett," she says, rolling her eyes. "Spare me the puritanical act. Sam was the school bicycle. Of course I took her for a ride or two... or 20..."

Samantha has three fingers up Charlotte's cunt while she suckles on that big clitty of hers. She saws her fingers in and out, and sucks.

Stepping up behind Gal, Dr. Carte helps Whitney press the meek girl's lips to the shiny rubber dick. Taking that as a cue, you step behind Cerise, and do the same to her. So together, Dr. Carte, Whitney, and you force Cerise and Gal to fellate a dildo. There's something weirdly tender about it all. The way Cerise turns her face this way and that to rub her cheek and forehead against the toy, the way Dr. Carte mashes Gal's nose against the underside. The way the two wives' saliva mixes and froths up and runs in rivulets down the shaft. The way Whitney laughs to herself at the sight.

And: the way the others in the audience follow Charlotte's lead, and begin to masturbate.

First Vivian. She slips her panties off from under her dress and starts to dig at the hole between her legs. You've learned that for as prim and proper as Vivian is in most areas -- when it comes to sex, she's a fucking degenerate, and can't stay dignified. Her two-handed method of playing with her tiny cunt is like something out of porn. And quickly it turns out her hands are not enough to satisfy her lust. She asks Rose2 for help.

"With what?" Rose2 asks.

"Do you see what Samantha is doing to Mrs. Mallory's vaginal orifice?"

Rose2 slowly nods. "She's licking her!"

"Please employ your fingers and mouth on mine in the same way."

Rose2 giggles. "Geez, Viv, that's lewd. You--"

Vivian tugs her by the wrist and forces her off the chair. Rose2 grunts in surprise as she falls to the grass. Vivian grins down at her. "I should have asked less politely. Use your fingers and your mouth to pleasure me, right now -- or I will make you regret it."

Amber slugs Vivian's shoulder, lightly but only half-playfully. "What gives you the right to bully my sister, huh?"

"The itch between my legs," Vivian says simply, looking her dead in the eye. "I need relief. If you want, feel free to assist her. I rather like two mouths serving me."

Amber instead moves on -- to the row of chairs ahead -- where Mom isn't having as much fun as most of you. She's got her hands cupped to her mouth and her cheeks are glowing bright red. Amber sits beside her, but not before unbuttoning her own short-shorts. As she sits, she gets a hand down the elastic of her panties and tickles her quickly moistening pussy. "Wild, isn't it?" She asks Mom.

"This is -- indecent--" she protests. "I don't think it's-- Amber!!" Mom finally realizes that Amber, too, is getting lewd. "What is wrong with you?"

"What?" Amber says. "Everyone else is doing it. I can't cream my shorts, too?"

Mom's voice is tremulous: "Y-you... t-this sort of thing... you're really a little too young..."

Amber snorts. "You didn't say that when I was busy eating you out. Don't be a hypocrite. Just enjoy the show. And anyway--" She nods at the altar. "Blame your dyke daughter. She's the one who turned everyone on just now, isn't she?"

Up front, the simulated fellatio on Whitney's fake dick has become a deepthroat contest. Cerise, hands balled up by her chest, gags hard as Whitney humps her face. The expression Whitney makes is as if she were a futanari fucking Cerise with a genuine dick: her lips are puckered into an O of pleasure that bares her teeth, her eyes are squinting and her features are all scrunched up. When Cerise can't take the abuse of her esophagus any longer, Whitney dismounts with a sick slrrrrch that leaves mucusy drool hanging off her chin, turns the other way, and starts to fuck Gal's face instead. Whitney is just as brutal on the red-haired little bitch, using her like a dicksleeve, and Gal is perfectly happy to be employed to that end. Back and forth, then, Whitney subdues the brides with facefucking. It's getting Dr. Carte all hot and bothered, seeing her daughter go hog-wild on a couple of girls this way. She rubs her mound through the fabric of her dress and squeezes her thighs rhythmically together.

"Renee?" Alex says.

"Get on your knees," she grunts tersely. "I need your mouth..."

"C'mon, Mommy..." Amber says, stroking Mom's arm seductively. She's playing up the not-so-innocent babe act again. "I'm suuuper hot right now. Aren't you? You are. Won't you sit on your little girl's face?"

Mom is indecisive yet still, but Charlotte isn't. Still riding Samantha's mouth, she grins Amber's way and says, "is your mother still being a stick in the mud, dear?"

"It's such a drag," Amber replies. Her fingers are still busy stirring up her own quim inside her jeans.

"She's always been that way. Would you be all right if I sat on your face instead?"

"Charlotte..." Mom murmurs. "Please d--"

"Cooool," Amber giggles. She walks a few seats down the row to where Charlotte is. "Can I call you Mommy too?"

"Oh, absolutely," Charlotte says, agreeing emphatically. She pushes Samantha off her cunt like tossing away a tissue. "That's what you call my Rose, isn't it?"

"Uh huh."

"I like it."

The two embrace and share a long, obscene kiss. They swap spit like they've been lovers for years. Amber pulls her hand out of her pants only for Charlotte to replace it with her own. She masturbates the young girl's cunt without reservation. Doesn't care that she's underage, and certainly doesn't care that they're technically cousins.

"Thank you for feeding me your pussy honey!" Samantha says, standing, and wiping her mouth with the back of her palm. She calls out, "Is there anyone else who needs cunt-service? Or dick-service?"

Rose2, gaspingly, pulls back from Vivian's over-saturated pussy just long enough to heave: "me -- kudasai! My pusshi needs it!"

Samantha is only too happy to lie on her back underneath Rose2's fat bubblegum butt, while Rose2 resumes serving Vivian. The house's fuck-bunny eats out the house's fuck-kitten, letting Rose2 smear her face with sweet-smelling girlcum straight from her pretty pink gash.

"You're one of Scarlett's girls, so I assume you know your way around eating pussy," Charlotte says.

"Oh, absolutely," Amber responds, mirroring Charlotte's verbal tics. "But actually, it's because of your daughter. Rose makes me suck her off every night before bed, while Daddy fucks us..."

"Is that so?" Charlotte says, as she tugs her skirt off and chucks it aside. Not fazed by the revelation that her daughter's been using Amber's underage mouth for a toilet. "Did she teach you well?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself -- Mommy?"

Just like Samantha, Amber lies on her back in the grass. Charlotte straddles her ears with her knees, and lowers herself. The plumpness of Charlotte's calves, her thick thighs, and fat hips -- it's really something to behold. The way her fleshy, give-y form so obscenely contrasts against young Amber's tiny body. The older woman's sloppy pussy has left little trails of wetness all down her inner legs that Amber pauses for a moment to kiss and vacuum up. Charlotte thrills to this, and teases some more wetness out by tickling her clit while Amber works. She forcefully delivers her instructions -- like mother, like daughter -- "lick me, Amber. Lick me thoroughly -- inside and out -- clean me with your mouth. Make me cum."

She settles her weight fully on Amber's face, her fat ass compressing a bit, and spreading, to reveal her puckered anus. Fists gripping the turf, she leans forward, tits hanging low, and rides Amber without mercy. She doesn't let up, doesn't let Amber breathe. You realize then, that Rose's total indifference to whether Amber suffocates, is actually an inherited trait. Rose's mother is also a depraved sadist.

Rose herself finds a seat beside Mom. Both women watch for a long moment, the way Charlotte and Amber lez out. They're playing at disgusted, but in truth they're riveted.

"Your mother is awful," Mom tells Rose.

"She really is," Rose replies, "I don't know what's gotten into her. Or Amber for that matter..." Her glasses are getting fogged.

Mom paws at her own chest. "It's the bad influence of all these sluts. Your mother chief among them!"

"This is just like that night at the theater... we live with animals, Scarlett, we really do... shameless... slutty... cunt animals..."

Rose is, probably not consciously, stroking Mom's leg.

Mom gives her a severe look. "Is what Amber said true? Are you raping my daughter, young woman?"

"E-excuse me--"

"Be honest!"

"W-well..." Rose says, stuttering, "she insists on sleeping in bed with Alabaster and I. And she's so... insatiable... she's asking for it, Scarlett. Literally... she asks me to rape her. To do these terrible things to her..."

"I understand," Mom says sadly. "I raised a filthy little slut. As you can see. She does ask for it, doesn't she."

"Yes! She does... so it's not my fault that I use her the way I do, is it?"

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

Mom is, probably also not consciously, returning Rose's skinship. They're groping and feeling each other up as they discuss the wanton whorishness of their family.

You hear what sounds like a high-pressure sprinkler head on full blast. But looking up, you find that it's just Noelle pissing cum straight into Kay's upturned mouth. They're both fully naked at this point and Noelle uses all four fingers of one hand to rub her pussy in fast circles as she nuts in Kay's face. The stream collects in the back of Kay's throat and despite the wide-open yawn of her jaw, she's smiling brightly. She drinks every drop of cream Noelle dispenses. Vain lesbian she is, Noelle won't let Kay hog it all. When she's done blasting Kay with cum, she pushes Kay to her back and climbs atop her and forces her tongue into her mouth. She drinks her own pussy juice straight from Kay's mouth and throat, gargles it even, then swaps it back and forth. They spit Noelle's cum from one mouth to another. It's a game to them... the two Christmas cakes writhe and run their hands over each other's bodies as they relish the taste of Noelle's pussy-cream.

You, though? Wearing a skin-tight gown with matching underwear and fuck-me heels has you feeling abashed and uncertain. Even with all the debauchery surrounding you, and with as hard and aching as your meaty cock has grown in the restrictive confines of the dress, you're loath to draw attention to yourself by joining.

Thankfully then, it's Whitney who forces the issue. "These bitches need some real cock," she says.

"we do..." Gal agrees, a bubble of saliva popping on her lips. She sniffles back her snot, but her pretty face is covered in the stuff.

"You," Whitney says, pointing at you. "Come here and do your fucking job already. Yeesh."

"M-me?"

"Yeah, Alabaster..." Cerise slurs. Her face is just as slimy and messed-up as her new wife's. "Come here... give your big sister a taste of that trap dick, huh...?"

You glance back. Rose is riding Mom's face, cruelly so, bouncing her asshole up and down on Mom's tongue. How that happened, and so suddenly, you don't know. You can hardly believe your eyes. "That's it, Scarlett... just like that... kiss it like you would a mouth. This is how I make your little girl eat my ass... do it just like she does..."

Mom is doing her best to keep up, hands braced against Rose's thigh meat, leaving little indentations in it. Rose is cumming on her face. It's a Mallory family attack on the Catachresis family: mother and daughter teaming up against mother and daughter.

Cerise is insistent. "Alabaster, please... I really, really want your cock in my mouth."

You love your sister. You can't refuse her. You step forward, towards where she and Gal sit linking hands. They idly kiss and lick each other while they watch you from the corners of their eyes.

Meanwhile, Whitney forces Alex's face deeper into Dr. Carte's crotch. With Alex's head pinned between them as they stand facing one another, they make out for a few lingering moments. A deep, incestuous, mother-daughter tongue kiss that leaves them both half-lidded.

"Should I fuck his little asshole, Mom?" Whitney asks.

Dr. Carte shakes her head. "You should fuck mine..." She arches her back so her butt is sticking out.

Wheeze-laughing in her signature way, Whitney circles her mother and lifts the dress back and parts the older woman's ass with both thumbs. She stares down at it.

"I love your ass, Mom," she says. She spits on it, making Dr. Carte jump. Whitney rubs the spit in with one of her thumbs. "It's so fucking tight... think this thing will fit?"

"Only one way to find out, baby."

Whitney tries to force it in. Dr. Carte lets out a tiny scream, and bucks against poor Alex's mouth. You're not sure when the last time he took a breath was... he might be close to passing out. He wouldn't be the only one, either. Amber, beneath Charlotte, is convulsing, her arms flopping limply at her side as the mature woman takes her pleasure selfishly. Samantha is also struggling mightily under the surprisingly voracious face-fuck Rose2 delivers. Not that Rose2 is faring better herself because Vivian, hands gripping the pink curls by their roots, is mashing her little cuntlet as viciously as she can against the fatass weeaboo slut's lips. The wet noise of Vivian's puffy mound whapping repeatedly against Rose2's chubby cheeks is somehow cute, even if lurid.

Cerise strokes your legs. "You're so pretty today, Alabaster... or should I call you Alabasterina?"

"Fuck you," you mumble.

"Haha. You should wear that more often."

"Never again. NEVER again."

"we'll see" Gal says mysteriously. "i like you as a girl too Sir"

Cerise is rolling up the hem of your dress like a little kid unwrapping a favorite candy bar. Her glee, visible under the filmy sheen of her own saliva left behind by Whitney's deepthroat, is effusive and unconstrained.

As Whitney gets a firm grip on her mother's hips and gets the strap-on seated deep up her anus, a sight that makes your cock deposit another creamy dollop of precum in your underwear, Cerise reveals it: she pulls back your dress's material far enough to bare your panty-clad crotch, its prefuck-dripping satin almost transparent with how wet it's become. This garment is far, far too small to contain the monstrous dick you're blessed with. The bulbous head and a good four or five inches of shaft are visible, pinned up against your tummy; and your balls make the panties bulge obscenely. No one would ever, ever mistake you for a girl. Cerise's mouth, literally, waters at the sight. She's in love. She's in deeper love with this incestuous dick in her face, than she is with her own wife, probably.

"Can I?" She asks, gazing up at you in desperation.

"Both of you," you grunt.

She pulls your cock up and out of the panties, and strokes it tenderly even as she guides Gal's face towards it, too. As with Whitney, they kiss each other over the length of your huge dick. The girls in the crowd watching coo and sigh at the scene. Cerise and Gal worship your dick like they need it to live. Never breaking eye contact with you, they trail soft kisses up and down the shaft and the head. These kisses start small, just pecks really, but gradually become lewder and lewder. Their wet lips part, their tongues snake out; they start to knead your nuts and slurp up your oozing fuckslime; they sniff and huff your manly scent; in short they transition from kissing your dick to outright blowing you, in tandem.

Dr. Carte's hypnotically undulating stomach and ass as Whitney fucks her into oblivion is almost as nice to focus on as these two girls submitting themselves to your powerful erection. "Fuck me, baby, fuck me," Dr. Carte repeats over and again. She holds the back Alex's head to keep balanced while her daughter anally screws her -- which of course also helps drive her pussy mound into Alex's mouth. A lucky woman, Dr. Carte: getting full service at both ends.

Down in the crowd, Rose and Charlotte have linked hands and now are kissing each other while they get their pussies off on the Catachresises. Guess Rose is over her last hangups about incest, if the way her tongue probes her mother's mouth is any indication.

Vivian, shockingly, is the less selfish girl here. Having orgasmed a few times in Rose2's mouth, she climbed off the girl, and now is penetrating her with a vibrating egg (does Vivian just carry that around in her purse?) to help Rose2's rolling orgasm on top of Samantha. Rose2, as she always does, is pulling a true ahegao, her face all melty and droopy while she succumbs to pleasure of her roiling fuckholes.

"Orgasm for me," Vivian commands. "Orgasm for me, you filthy whore."

"Say more mean things to me... pleeeease..." Rose2 begs.

"Harlot. Tramp. Slut... slit-slut... that's what you are, aren't you? Slit-slut. Pink haired slit-slut."

"Ffffuuuuccckkk," Rose2 wails, and creams.

You never knew Vivian to be so dominant when the mood strikes.

"Hey-- hey--" Dr. Carte thwacks Alex's head with her knuckles. "You. Yeah, you. Little cunt. Go up and give the brides a hand."

Alex, face like a fish out of water, struggles to his feet. "Wh-what?"

Dr. Carte lets her arms hang uselessly at her side while Whitney full-force rails her asshole. Her voice sounds like it's coming through radio static, from the violence of getting buggered. "Go-- go up by the brides-- make like Alabaster--"

Alex, in his prissy dress, with his prissy way of walking, stumbles towards where you stand. Like a lamb to slaughter; Cerise and Gal eye him hungrily. Since it's Cerise's special day, she's taking full advantage, and getting greedy: she tugs Alex closer and starts to roll up his wedding dress, too.

"Cer-- Cerise..." he mutters. He's shivering.

"Shut up," she mutters back, still rubbing her face against your veiny, leaky prick. She gets him standing in front of you: face-to-face, and cock-to-cock. She has one hand on your ass, one one his. Alex solicitously holds his dress's hem up around his thin but boyish hips, to bare his underwear -- which like yours is similarly lacy and similarly translucent with precum and similarly much too dainty and feminine to contain his thick dick. Cerise fully frees it, and lines them up, comparing the two. Gal watches intently, jaw slightly agape. Cerise tickles the balls, yours and Alex's alike, and strokes the slime-coated foreskins back and forth across the slime-oozing heads. Her eyes are afire with lust. She couldn't be happier. The view, the texture, the scent, the debauchery of having you at her mercy... oh yeah, she's cumming in her britches and she isn't even touching her pussy.

The two girls begin to lick and suck you both. Their tongues swirl around, and swab the fleshpoles indiscriminately. Since your combined girth is so thick, they add their hands to help things along.

With her lips wrapped around your cockshaft, Cerise stares deep into your eyes, wordlessly thanking you for it all: total adoration there. Alex, feeling the waves of perverted pleasure along with you, as Gal's tongue scrapes across the sensitive underside of his own cock, whines and murmurs and fidgets. The added pressure of your dicks rubbing together, on top of this dual fellatio, is enough to start pushing you towards that delirious edge... you're about to blow your load.

"Ally..." Alex gulps. He looks up at you. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

"Me too," you grunt.

Cerise exhales hard through her nostrils and redoubles her blowjob technique. So does Gal. They lick and stroke you together. Quickly, but softly, their fingers and their wet pink tongues coax you to blow your cocks. You grit your teeth and bellow deeply, Alex shrieks, and soon the two of you are painting each other's bridesmaid gowns with ropes of pearly white cum. You blast wad after wad of it, staring down at the way your two hard, dark red cocks jerk and twitch and pulse in tune with each other. And also at the way your sister's face, and Gal's face, below the cocks just keep licking and stroking and helping you to cum as hard as possible.

You'd think it might wind down after an orgasm so divine, but it's really just beginning. Blame Dr. Carte:

"We should have -- a competition..." Dr. Carte says. "Yes... between Cerise and Gal."

Whitney is handing her mother a second strapon of her very own, and then the depraved mother-daughter duo are leading Cerise and Gal from the altar: Whitney dragging Cerise by the hair, Dr. Carte dragging Gal. They dump the brides on the ground and part their legs. Smiling at each other, they begin to fuck. Whitney drills Cerise's dark, pretty little pussy; and Dr. Carte drills Gal's incredibly tiny, incredibly pale pink twat. They turn their heads to and fro in the grass, unable to deal with the deep dickings they're suddenly getting, largely against their will.

But Dr. Carte's idea for a competition involves none of that. It involves you.

"We've got a couple of guys who want to dress as women here!" Dr. Carte laughs. "And since these newlywed lesbian sluts like girls so much, let's see who can make these guys cum like girls first!"

"What-- are you talking about--" you pant, still trying to bring both your breathing and your heartbeat back to normal. Alex, for his part, rests weakly against the altar, a palm to his forehead.

You stare down at Cerise's big, fat, jiggling tits as Whitney rapes her.

"A little birdie -- told me--" Dr. Carte grunts. She gets hold of both of Gal's thin wrists and really starts to put it to her, driving the fake cock as deep up Gal's womb as it goes. "--That your sister likes to lick your asshole. Is that true?"

"Who told you that?" You demand.

"Heeeh," Whitney wheezes.

"And I know Alex likes it, that little twink," Dr. Carte adds.

"I do..." he heaves.

"So, let's see if you can cum from just that." She leers at you. "Get in touch with your feminine side, Alabasterina..."

Only because it's true, and you really, really, really like having your older sister's tongue lapping away at your anus, you agree to the competition.

You balance on your haunches and squat over Cerise's face, and Alex over Gal's -- even as Whitney and Dr. Carte keep brutally slam-fucking them. Your cocks stand tall and hard and proud, poking up against your dresses. But you aren't allowed to touch them:

"Not a single person here gets to touch those cocks until one of them cums!" Dr. Carte shouts. "They have to cum with their asses!"

Those are the rules. And what's on the line? More fucking, of course. The girl who makes their trap cum first gets the pleasure of being traded around the reception and fucked by every other woman here. Being reduced to nothing more than a party-hole for a bunch of rampant lesbian bitches doesn't sound like what you should get for winning a competition -- but Cerise and Gal vie eagerly for that dubious honor.

Never mind that. You just enjoy the swampy heat of Cerise's mouth latched to your ass and that weird, impossible-to-get-used to sensation of her tongue wagging back and forth inside you. You've never tried to cum from only this, but you think if anyone can make it happen, surely Cerise can. She licks your prostate like an ice cream cone and kneads the cheeks of your ass while she does so. You watch the way her pussy goes from convex to concave and back again under the force of Whitney's fuck, how tenaciously that tight sisterly labia of hers clings to the silicone. Whitney smiles wolfishly at you. "Like what you see?" She asks.

"I do..."

Whitney fucks her even harder, just for you.

Out in the crowd, some tables have turned. Mom has wrested herself free of Rose's cruel grip; and Charlotte, weak from orgasming too much, is powerless to stop bratty Amber from getting on top of her and pulling out her titties and slapping them around for the hell of it. "Stop... stoooop..." she pleads, but Amber just tweaks and slaps and smacks the meaty udders to her heart's content, laughing, and letting the already wet denim of her shorts get wetter from arousal. Charlotte's titmeat begins to bruise and welt.

"Scarlett... Ms. Catachresis... please..." Rose begs, but Mom won't be swayed.

Face covered with your wife's cum, Mom scowls, and spits: "My turn. Open your mouth."

If the way Charlotte rode Amber was mean, then the way Mom rides Rose is felony assault. She bounces on your wife like she's a sybian, mashing her neatly trimmed but hairy pussy up and down on Rose's beet-red face. Her cream seeps out, stipples her fat thighs, and runs down Rose's cheeks and forehead. Mom's cunt juice smears Rose's makeup all over. Mascara, eyeliner, and blush all clump up and become messy with Mom's milky cum.

Meanwhile, Noelle has gotten Kay onto her back, doubling her over so most of her weight is resting on her neck and head. Noelle takes a double-ended dildo retrieved from god only knows where, and shoves it down Kay's twat without foreplay. Kay yelps. Having buried about half of it in the helpless drunk reporter, Noelle climbs atop her -- cunt-to-cunt, and shoves the other half up her own quivering quim. She humps up and down. It's maybe like a more extreme, lesbian version of the mating press; and it has them both cumming like whores. And Noelle's attention, finally, is on you: she watches this bizarre rimming competition with perverted interest while she uses Kay for sexual relief.

Mom is also watching. While she rapes your wife, she cheers you and your sister. "Cum for me, baby!" She cries. "Cum on your sister's face! Then we can all FUCK her!"

Amber laughs. "That's the spirit..." She stands, and squats over the dazed Charlotte Mallory. "Lick me, Mommy. Lick me thoroughly..."

Rose2, Vivian, and Samantha are sitting all in a row, spread-eagled in the grass, leg over leg over leg over leg, sharing their fingers and a couple vibrating eggs between themselves as they watch the show. A three-way mutual masturbation to cap off their multiple orgasms.

The problem, as you see it, is this... as much as you love the sensation of your older sister slurping on your asshole (and you do) -- Alex, the fucking slut, is a quickshot. He's definitely going to cum first. Just the way he braces his weight with his fists and starts to bounce on Gal's tongue, cock slapping back and forth in the air as he does so, tongue lolling from his mouth, is enough evidence for that. Even though he just came, his useless fucking quickshot cock is about to spew another load... that means Cerise will lose...

And then, that little cunt, he plays dirty. He turns his head, grinning smugly at you, and calls for Samantha:

"Sammy... come suck me. Suck my cock."

"Yes master Alex! Right away!"

She rushes over with all the speed of a jackrabbit, and kneels beside Alex's bouncing little body and starts to suckle on his meat. No hesitation.

"You're cheating!" You scream. "No one's allowed to touch your cock!"

"Haha.... Ally... Renee said no person could touch it... she said nothing about bunnies..." He pets Samantha's hair, and then starts to hump her face up and down on his dick like she's an onahole.

"He's right," Dr. Carte laughs, drilling Gal harder than ever. "He found the loophole."

Alex giggles again, and then he surrenders to the pleasure. He starts to really get into it. Gal's tongue rooted in his anus and Samantha's mouth around his cock: he's in utter bliss. He's mere seconds from dropping his load. You know that the unparalleled heat and wetness of Samantha's bunny-cunt mouth will bring him off in no time.

You're so fixated on your anger at this dirty trick that you don't notice it until it's happening -- Vivian's kid-sized cunt sinking down around your aching dick.

"Viv--" you breathe.

"Be still. Let me do all the work. Inseminate my pussy at your leisure."

Alex snaps his head around. "Hey-- hey--!! THAT'S cheating! Hypocrite!"

"Silence," Vivian sneers. "I am not a person, either -- I am a toilet."

"That's right, that's exactly right!" Whitney says. She squelches in and out of Cerise. "My kid sister is the best cum-toilet in the world!"

Alex looks to Dr. Carte for backup, but gets none. "Rules are rules," she says slyly. "Vivian is a toilet... not a person... so it's not cheating."

Vivian loops her arms over your shoulders and starts to fuck up and down your cock with her toilet cunt. Grinning, you kiss her deeply, and enjoy the bubblegum taste of her breath, the vestiges of Rose2's pussy on her lips. Bunnygirl Samantha might be the best deepthroating champ in the world, but nothing compares to loli pussy sinking down on your turgid cock while your sister rims you out. With your other sisters watching, as well as your mother, and your wife, and everyone else... you blow. You blow a thick, milky, creamy wad of sperm directly in Vivian's GothLoli uterus. Your nuts churn and surge and spit their seed. Whitney calls the game: "Ally's cumming! He's definitely cumming inside Viv right now! He wins!"

Cerise licks your insides a little faster to help you cum. She wants you to cum as hard as possible, even if it's inside Vivian.

"Ahhhhh--!!" Alex screams, blowing his load too, but just a little too late. His cock pumps his sperm straight to the back of Samantha's throat, and he holds her bunny ears to make sure she keeps the head of his cock in her gullet until he's done. Gal buries her tongue up him and keeps it there while he deposits his jizz in Samantha's esophagus.

You were supposed to cum like a couple of girls, but you ended up cumming like guys anyway. Oh well.

When Vivian pulls off your still-creamy dick, and you reluctantly drag your anus off your sister's face, Vivian is again a role model of selflessness. She begins Cerise's reward gang-rape the right way, by kneeling over her face and letting your load seep out of her by gravity, in thick strands, all over Cerise. And Cerise lets it happen, smiling.

Gal, seeing the nasty scene, pouts. "aww," she says. "i wanted to get raped too"

Dr. Carte slaps her hard across the face. Gal squeaks in pain and looks back at her.

"We'll rape you later," she says. And it's a promise she makes good on.

---

When everything is dying down again, Charlotte approaches Cerise in the living room, a disk in hand. She passes it off: "I... wanted you to have this."

"Hmm?" Cerise says, confused, but taking it in hand anyway.

Rose, lying next to you on the living couch, perks up. She knows what this is -- you and her both got similar disks on the night of your wedding. For the two of you, at the time, it was merely a nice -- albeit saccharine -- little surprise. For Cerise, you know, it's going to carry so much more weight and import.

"Do I watch this or something?" Cerise asks.

Charlotte nods. "But-- let me go to bed, first." She kisses Cerise on the forehead, then Gal as well. "Goodnight you two. Congrats. And good luck."

She goes.

Cerise looks at you. "Weird..."

"Put it in," Rose prompts.

"Do you want to go to bed?" You ask Rose. "We can go if you want."

"No..." she says. "I want to see it."

"This isn't porn, is it?" Cerise asks.

"God," you say. "No. Just watch it."

Cerise pops it into the BluRay player.

The screen fills with a hyper closeup on Charlottes face, holding a camera up high and pointing it back at herself: "Hiiii! This is Charlotte Mallory, June 14th, 2014."

She turns the camera around, so quickly that you get a bit motion sick, and reveals Saul sitting impatiently in the dining room of the Mallory house. He grumbles.

Cerise's face, watching the screen, goes wan. She settles back on the couch, and Gal hugs her close.

"We're rolling," you hear Charlotte narrate. "Say hi."

"Hello Cerise," Saul says, waving, although it seems he doesn't want to be a part of this.

Charlotte spins the camera back on herself. "This is your time capsule. We've missed a ton of milestones... first steps, first day of kindergarten, graduation... you came into our life a bit late! But we'll do what we can. You'll get this on the day you find some lucky man to marry!"

"Or woman," comes Saul's voice from off-camera.

Charlotte smiles. "Of course. Or woman. We wouldn't want to assume." She turns the camera back to him. "For now, though: any words to the future Cerise?"

"Get a job!" Saul says, folding his arms.

"Saul!"

"I'm sure you will," he adds.

Back to Charlotte's face: "We love you, Cerise! See you soon."

---

"This is Charlotte Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, January 24th, 2015."

This shot is of Charlotte in her car, the Volt that now belongs to you, holding the camera so that she and Saul are both in frame at the same time.

"Congratulations on the first day of your first job!" Charlotte says. "You'll be the best sandwich artist in the world!"

(Cerise, for a period of just a couple weeks, worked at a local Subway. The job went south when she showed up one day drunk... it was months again before she got hired at DBA.)

"She should set her sights a little higher than that," Saul says.

"Of course, of course," Charlotte agrees. "This is just a stepping stone--"

Saul tugs on Charlotte's arm to focus the camera on himself. "Screw Subway, Cerise--"

"Saul--"

"We'll keep interviewing you at better places. Or maybe you'll get into school. Anyway, by the time you watch this, you won't be jumping for joy to remember the day you began working at Subway. Capiche? I've failed in my job as a father-figure if this is actually still a highlight when you watch this video."

"Congratulations, anyway!" Charlotte says. "We knew you could do it!"

"I know you can do better," Saul says before the video cuts out.

---

"This is Charlotte Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, June 14th, 2015..."

Sitting on the back patio, she's glum. Saul yanks the camera from her and points it at himself.

"That's no good. You need to have some goddamn energy for this thing, Charlotte--"

"Give that back--"

"You're always telling me to have more energy on these things--"

"Saul!"

There's the sound of scuffling feet against concrete as Saul spins to keep his wife's grasping hands away from the camera. When he's still again, he continues: "She's upset, because an I-told-you-so is in order."

"Saul--!! We're cutting this! This isn't getting in!"

"I told you so," he says to the camera. "I told you. That you could do better. So congrats, Cerise, on getting in at Darkbloom Analytics."

"Yes," Charlotte says, "but--"

"That computer stuff flies right over my head, but I know you'll fit right in. In a few years, you're gonna kick David Darkbloom's ass to the curb and you'll be running the damn place. Bank on it."

"We love you, Cerise!" comes Charlotte's voice.

---

"This is Charlotte Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, December 6th, 2015. Congrats on the lease signing!"

"Thank god you're out of here," Saul says from the couch in the basement. "It's gonna take years to get the smell of beer out of this couch."

"We're cutting that."

"Don't cut that."

"It's not the right tone!" Charlotte says.

"Beer fumes aside... at least we get to use the rumpus room freely again..." Saul mumbles.

"Cerise, we're so proud!" Charlotte says. "A first apartment is such an accomplishment. Palo Alto is expensive, though! So watch out..." She refocuses, jostling the camera a bit. "Just know if you ever need a little help, all you have to do is ask for it. Our doors are always open!"

"Ours?" Saul says. "Shouldn't you ask me before making this decision? Why do I need to reopen my doors to her? I let her freeload long enough, didn't I?"

"We're cutting that, too."

Saul takes the camera.

"Fine. We're open," he says. "You make a much better freeloader than Alabaster does, anyway. And hey, even if you don't have to move back with us ever again... uh, side note -- please don't have to move back here with us if you can help it, seriously --"

"Saul!"

"Do come back for a visit and talk philosophy with me sometime. Maybe after your wedding. We'll hang out by the pool and get drunk like old times."

"We love you Cerise!"

---

"This is Charlotte Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, July 1st, 2016."

"Promotion!" Saul says, walking past in his signature Spaghetti Friday pink apron. Charlotte swivels the lens to follow him. He sets down the crockpot he's carrying on top of the kitchen's center island. "Give me a high five."

Charlotte bops the lens into her outstretched palm.

"Knock 'em dead," Saul adds. "But I know you will. You're that type. You're going to go so far."

"We love you, Cerise!"

---

"This is Charlotte Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, June 3rd, 2018."

She's in a hospital ward you know all too well. Sitting on one of those ugly green pleather chairs in the waiting room.

"When you see this," Charlotte says, "this will all be a terrible memory, and nothing more -- s-should we cut this, Saul, do you think?"

She spins the camera on him. He looks bedraggled, and has a scruffy 5 O'clock shadow.

"I have not slept in... about 48? 72? hours," he says. "So -- I don't know."

"Maybe we should cut this."

"Cerise," Saul says. "I'm so sorry for what happened. Listen, you... you're... you're a fighter. You're sick right now. But you'll get better. I'll make goddamn sure of it. I haven't always been so... I don't know. Fatherly? You're not my daughter. To be frank I didn't want you, or Alabaster... but I got stuck with you. And I'm so lucky I did. I'm so thankful. You are my daughter. You're going to be okay again, Cerise, and when you're watching this you'll think this is all so stupid. I'm, uh, not sure we should stick this in your time capsule... but I know we definitely will stick in the day that you kicked Sand Reckoner's ass to the curb. Hang in there, Cerise. Stay strong and we'll bring you back when we can. This is just... a short hiatus."

Charlotte's voice from out of view is thick with tears: "We love you, Cerise."

"We do."

----

"This is Charlotte Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, September 2nd, 2019!"

"I'm stuffed... and drunk..." Saul complains.

They're at Baumé. At the time, you had wondered what they were doing off in a corner filming themselves.

"We knew you'd make it," Charlotte says.

"Welcome back. Hey, have fun being a billionaire."

"We love you, Cerise!"

"I'm drunk..." Saul mutters before the camera cuts out.

---

"This is Saul Mallory for Cerise's time capsule, October 21, 2019."

Cerise's face is a mess of hot tears by now. So is Rose's. And... yours too. Only a little.

His face fills the frame. There's soft crying in the background of the video, too. He turns it around to reveal his wife, sitting on the bed in their bedroom. She covers her face, and waves at him angrily: "Don't do that! We're cutting this!"

Saul laughs and gets the camera back on himself.

"I wanted to get this one up on camera right away, so that I don't forget -- because the big day approaches. I'm doing this one in place of Charlotte. Hope that's fine." He whispers: "She got this way when we did this for Rose and Alabaster, too. So don't worry." He begins to walk around the room. "You're downstairs, and you don't know it yet, but you'll be watching this video in, oh, about a week."

He sits beside his wife.

"Cerise -- we're so proud of you. You made a great pick with this Gal girl, too. You sure do know how to pick 'em. Life is a bit crazy, but you need to always set aside a little bit of time to appreciate the good parts. That's my best advice. And what you've got with Gal is definitely a good part! I'm so happy you came into my life -- and I know I can't replace your real father -- but I'll do what I can. I want to be a father to you. And Charlotte wants to be a mother."

"I do!" Charlotte cries. "I really, really do!"

"We love you, Cerise," Saul says. "Congratulations. So, then."

He stands again.

"When you're done cringing at this silly little video, come on out back, and the first beer's on me -- even if you are a billionaire. See you poolside."

Cerise, that night, by herself, without even you or Gal to accompany her, goes out and sits by the pool and drinks her way through a whole 12 pack.

You can't hear her from beyond the glass doors, but you see her lips are moving: she's talking, with long pauses between, carrying on a one-sided conversation.

END OF EPISODE 9.