Getting... biscuits.

Gilbert looked back down at the Book of Reality, and what he had written. Self-consciously, he adjusted his position on his squeaky chair.

Frankie Harton and Lillian McGee have regular massage sessions with each other. These massages typically involve extensive kneading and stroking of the lower and upper body, and ministrations on the anatomy that will involve probing, slapping, inserting, grinding, and other seemingly crude methods, which, in fact, are scientifically proven to be effective technique.

Lillian will perform a massage on Frankie within the next twenty seconds.

It is normal for women to produce a creamy bodily fluid from their pussy that is just as thick, if not thicker, than male semen. It has incredible versatility, and is used for cleaning hard surfaces, cooking oil and food seasoning, and lubricant, including during massages. It is generated by rubbing and fingering their crotch.

Gilbert's hand was hurting by the time he got to the last run-on sentence of the hour, but it was worth it for the absurdity. He had tested out an actual transformation of reality that should not have been possible already with his sister's ass and everything down south of it by thickening them up a bit, but this was a bodily function that shouldn't have made any sense -- and here they were. Frankie, the unreachable girl of Gilbert's dreams, (though to be fair, she was one of numerous), was, at present, half-naked and half covered in her sister's vaginal fluids, legs gleaming and glistening under the natural light, like it was just another Friday. Right now, the two were giggling like incessant schoolgirls as Lillian spread her friend's ass-cheeks apart like roast turkey and began playfully sawing down the crack with the side of her hand. She proceeded to slap the inside-faces of both cheeks with said hand, imitating a boat paddle.

Frankie, the girl with the ass being paddled, was always the more rational of the two; while his sister, Lilly, often got carried away by her whims and aspirations, Frankie would be quick to anchor her down to practicalities. Not in a discouraging way. She was somehow good at being constructive without disparaging, even if she didn't realize it herself. In addition to that, she was a hottie and probably sculpted by perverted angels who weren't getting enough tail back home. Owning a natural set of killer legs supporting her killer, lithe bod, and a very cute face, she was a long time fantasy for her friend's brother.

And no one knew.

No one has to know, thought Gilbert as he raised his pencil once more. That's what I'd always told myself, to keep up appearances. To be a normal guy. If everyone knew what perverted images flashed through his mind on a regular basis, after all, he'd probably be thrown to a Bible camp for three summers. Seriously, they did that to Dave, his older brother by four years, once. Granted, he managed to come back after about two weeks after crying over food poisoning, they reconciled, and it was never brought up again.

Speaking of which...Gilbert careened his ear.

Were those footsteps?

Knock-knock!

Jumping, Gilbert instantly closed his book, covering it with his forearm, and faced the door, only to hear the sound of one opening a muffled murmur away.

"Lil? I have some biscuits for you two. I know you're probably hungry, Frankie."

"Oh, thanks Mom!"

"Yeah, thanks Mrs. McGee. Ow!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"How's the massage going?" Gil could hear his mother permit a small laugh. By instinct, his eyes darted to the monitor on his screen, where he saw the three females conversing, his mom with her hands on her hips as the two continued their massage on the bed. "My girl get to her two-finger technique yet?"

Frankie winked, and shook her head. "Not yet, but I bet she's going to surprise me with it, like she always does."

"You prefer it that way, though." Whining, Lil gave Frankie a light spank on her right butt cheek. Jiggle, went the flesh. Boing, went Gilbert's groin.

"Don't make too much of a mess up here. Lady syrup is good for cleaning, but not on beds."

Lilly uttered a curt apology before the older woman bid them goodbye and left, closing the door. Under Mom's gentle but firm gaze, there was no alternative but to say sorry. She was a conventionally stalwart, but caring matriarch -- and still retained some of her youthful good looks. It had been a rough start with David, who she had fairly young, after all, both on her and their dad. But, as everyone could attest to, it only sharpened her into the woman she was now. Always considerate, and, when it comes to her and her children, always... right.

Oh come on. You know how moms are.

Gilbert felt himself tracing the edges of the Book of Reality's musky pages with a finger when, suddenly, he heard more raps on wood. This time, it was unmistakable whose door her knuckle was dancing on.

Knock-knock! "Hey hon? There's a letter here for you."

"Er, yeah, uh--" Gilbert stood up. Then he wondered why he was standing, and sat back down. Just act normal man. Jeez. "Come in."

When Mrs. McGee entered a room, she was usually followed by the eyes of all heterosexual men occupying it. There was a subdued but natural sway to her hip; her legs were fit, lengthy; her bottom was not as bubbly as it once was, but still tight; yet most eye-grabbing of all, the main entree to her arousing menu, were her pendulous orbs, a pair which strained the fabric of her knit top, which invited any possible amount of gratitude to gravity and earthy physics and the apple that fell on Isaac Newton, by proxy. They weren't as ripe as they used to be, but they were still large and immaculate in curvature. A set of jugs you'd wish she'd allow to smother your face in, going brbrrbrbrrr--

Thwap.

"There you go." As she dropped the letter on her son's desk, she noticed the book and gave him a playful smile. "How's that antique treating you, hm?"

Gilbert flinched, then immediately relaxed. She had just walked into her daughter slapping her friend's ass while her hands were covered in a fluid that came out of her vagina and didn't bat an eyelash. She was his mom, but right now, everyone was at the whim of the book. She didn't know. She couldn't know.

So why did he feel like he just got caught jerking off on the family recliner, wearing Aunt Lisbeth's panties on his head, while upside down?

"I like it, actually." Coughing into his fist, Gilbert realized with horror that the browser with video feed was still live on his screen. He quickly switched tabs, hand almost sending his mouse flying off the mousepad.

The blonde-haired woman above simply gave him a prolonged look before shaking her head, causing her ponytail to shake along with it. "Whatever you say." She then turned and walked out of the room, leaving the young McGee to suddenly slink into his chair, exhaling as if he had been **** into another one of his sister's rueful breathing exercises.