Does This REALLY Count, Though?

Hey wait, what? No, stop that, fucking psycho brain! You're not going to fuck your sister; you don't even HAVE a fucking sister! You clutch your head in disorientation and flop back onto the bed as Issa slips off of your cock, the satiated-looking girl quickly wriggling into an unnecessarily brief maid's uniform. You barely notice as she gives you a peck on the lips and flounces off, opting instead to stare blankly up at the lightly panting candy-haired hunk that gazes dumbly back at you from the reflection in your ceiling mirror. It's okay. This is fine. You're going to figure this out.

You find yourself moving on instinct as you try to work through the situation you find yourself in, namely the perverted fairy tale you've been transported into and the unbearably fuckable little sister that you've apparently been assigned. You throw open the wardrobe, pulling on a luxurious robe as you sip your feet into a pair of furry slippers decorated with little crowns. If you think about it, you're really in the clear here, right? You've only actually been around for, like forty minutes. And you're pretty sure that screwing a maid doesn't count as an employment agreement.

You nod at that as your body starts to autopilot itself out of the bedroom and down a grand staircase. Yeah! You're just a visitor here, totally unbound by anything that whoever had this, uh, body, did or happened to be related to before you were zapped into it! The prosecution has no case! You're growing inordinately pleased with yourself for no particularly good reason as you wind your way through richly appointed rooms, stone-faced butlers bowing and blushing maids curtsying as you brush past. That settles it then. She is definitely not your sister.

Your body seizes up at that as an image of the little princess, eyes trembling and immense breasts jiggling as she stands before you, floods your mind. You don't seem to recall her having shyly cradled that ungodly rack when this actually happened? And you're quite confident she didn't needfully whisper "Take me, Big Brother..."? But the thump in your chest and the lump in your pants are more than enough to convince you: The one thing you fully understand about this world is that that stacked little princess IS your baby sister, and you are **** for her.

Okay. Fuck. You're not sure which is worse, sleeping with your sister or getting out of this place without having slept with your sister. As you begin to frantically consider the pros and cons of sister-fucking, you realize you've walked yourself into a huge banquet hall, the absurdly long dining table set with an obscene amount of food for the two people currently seated at it. The first you utterly ignore because the second is your sister. She quickly sits up as she sees you enter, the abrupt movement sending her wonderfully full chest wobbling ponderously in her desperately straining gown.

Oh boy. How's that pros and cons list coming?