Mom has breakfast ready

Your sister moans softly as she kisses you, her soft lips moving against yours. Almost instinctively, you reach your hand up to grope her breasts through her sweater, admiring their softness and sheer heft. Tiffany had always been busty, like Mom, and when she’d given birth her boobs had gotten even bigger.

Abruptly, she breaks the kiss. A string of saliva connects the two of you for a few moments before breaking under your combined breathing.

Tiffany’s beautiful verdant eyes are wide as she stares at you, as if she’s surprised by her own actions.

“Oh.” She pants, her pale skin flushed. “Oh god, this is so fucked up. I’m actually kissing my own brother, and I like it!”

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline.

“Um-”

“I mean, yeah. It’s totally fucked up, far beyond the fact that I’m cheating on my fiancé. Have cheated on my fiancé.” She corrects herself, looking away for a moment before returning her gaze to you. “Yesterday when you were in my room looking at my naked body while I sucked you off… God, I’ve never felt so amazing in my life and I have no idea why! And the worst part… the worst part of it all is that I’m running out of reasons to care about how wrong it’s supposed to be.”

She grins wickedly, and you’re starting to wonder if she’s actually lost it.

“Tiffany.”

“Yeah, what is it?” she says.

“Are you feeling alright?” you say. You’ve stopped groping her tits, but your hand still rests on her left breast. She touches your hand with hers, gently pressing your hand against her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, a manic grin on her face. “Why? Do I not look okay? I can’t imagine why that would be the case.”

The light pattering of the rain on the windshield has intensified into a downpour, the impacts of the raindrops blurring into each other to the point that it seems like one continuous stream of falling water. You can just barely make out Kira’s house in the distance, along with her now-empty driveway. You feel a tinge of regret at not insisting that she stay home so you could get to know her better, even though you know intellectually that such is guaranteed with time, along with a lot more.

“Um, you look fine, actually. Beautiful as ever,” you say, deciding against questioning her for now. You don't know how she’ll react and it’s better and less risky to wait until the next time she’s hypnotized. Then you can get some clue as to her mindset; why she’s so ready to go beyond what you’ve programmed her to do and actually kiss you. Does she have feelings for you that go beyond her need for you to appreciate her looks? You can’t possibly imagine why.

She beams at you.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “You know, you can be a real asshole a lot of the time, but I think you might also be the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.”

You snort. Only Tiffany could pair an insult with a compliment and have it seem completely natural.

“Sheesh. Make up your mind.” You lean back in your seat, shivering slightly, the cool air and your damp clothes sapping the warmth from you.

Tiffany’s eyes twinkle.

“Who says I haven’t?” she says, quirking an eyebrow. Her voice softens. “Here, let me turn the heat and seat warmer on for you. You look like you’re freezing, you dummy.”

She pushes a black button near the transmission which depicts an illustration of a white seat before switching on the heat. Cool air blasts from the vent in front of you, momentarily chilling you before the car’s heater kicks in and within moments warm, crisp air is wafting against your skin. A satisfied sigh escapes your lips.

“Thanks, Tiff.”

“Uh-huh. Next time, don’t stand out in the rain like an idiot,” your sister says. “Now, let’s go home. Mom should be making breakfast now and I want to get there before it gets cold.”

Well, you won’t disagree with that. Your stomach grumbles softly as you buckle your seatbelt and relax as Tiffany puts her hands on the steering wheel and steps on the gas.

The ride home is smooth despite the rain, which begins to peter out somewhat by the time Tiffany pulls onto your street. You let your hand rest on Tiffany’s thigh for most of the ride, and she didn’t comment on it, happily engaging you in conversation while you squeezed her leg through her beige pants.

She turns into the driveway and stops the car. Rain still taps lightly against the windows. The two of you share a look.

“Race you to the front door?” you say, somewhat wary of leaving the car after having finally gotten warm again.

She rolls her eyes.

“Nah, fuck that.” She opens the compartment between your seats and pulls out the garage remote and presses one of the buttons. The large black garage door opens slowly, with a mechanical hum. The garage itself is big enough for two cars; Mom’s SUV and Dad’s BMW. It’s empty, aside from shelves that line the walls, holding tools and landscaping equipment. Four bicycles dangle from the left wall, opposite the door leading inside. Dad must be at work, then. Tiffany slowly pulls the car into the garage before turning the engine off and taking the keys out of the ignition.

“Hey Tiff, where’s your car?” you ask, and give her meaty thigh a soft squeeze.

Tiffany sighs.

“Rick’s driving it to work while his car’s getting repaired. The engine crapped out or something, remember?” she says.

“Right.” You nod. There’d been quite a fight between Rick and your sister when that happened. You’d shuttered yourself in your room just so you wouldn’t have to hear them screaming at full volume. Then Mom had gotten home and shut the both of them up. It’d been one of the few times you’d been glad to have her around before you’d vastly improved her attitude towards you. “That sucks. But at least Mom lets you drive her car, right?”

“I guess,” she says, shrugging. She gives you a weak smile. “Still, when she’s out I’m pretty much stuck here unless I get an Uber. There’s nothing to do in this part of town. I miss being able to go out with friends and see a movie or get a drink.”

You nod.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you say, thinking about what you could do to make Tiffany’s situation better. First off, you’ve got to get yourself a car. To do that, you need money, and to get money, you need a job or a MILF wealthy enough to front you enough that you don’t need to sign for an auto loan. Maybe when you have enough money at your disposal, you’ll even replace Tiffany’s old starter car with something new and sleek. She’s driven her current car since high school and done surprisingly well at keeping it intact since. For the first time in a while, you wonder where she might be right now if she hadn’t derailed her life with the pregnancy. Not that you’d ever wish for a world where your nephew didn’t exist. On the contrary, as you acquire more and more mothers into your burgeoning harem, you think you’ll want to arrange for someone to watch Ronnie, allowing Tiffany to spend the occasional night out of the house.

With you running things in the household, your nephew will receive the best upbringing possible; surrounded by people who will love and take care of him. He’ll have none of the neglect or scorn that you’d been raised with. And the same goes for any children you have with the women you’ve influenced. You might not be ready to be a father now, but you can’t deny that the idea has its appeal, not least of which is seeing your women sporting cute baby bumps, their tits engorged with milk to feed the offspring you’d impregnated them with.

Distracted by your thoughts, you run into Tiffany after moves past you towards the door.

“Oof. Watch where you’re going, John.” Tiffany looks back to glare at you, but her eyes hold little heat. She bites her lip and just stands there, your chest pressed against her back and your hardening cock nudging its way between her clothed asscheeks.

Seconds later, she starts moving her hips, grinding against your cock. Instinctively, you snake your arms around to touch her belly, lifting up the bottom of her sweater to feel her smooth skin. She shivers slightly, still grinding herself against you as you move your hands upward to cup two handfuls of her breasts.

Your sister lets out a soft moan. Her eyes are glazed with lust as she stares back at you.

“We should stop. Mom probably heard the garage door open,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away from you.

“Probably,” you say back. “We can… continue this in your room.”

“We can.” She still doesn’t move.

Reluctantly, you remove your hands and take a step back from her. She lets out a frustrated groan and turns to face you, emerald eyes gazing at you hotly. Your eyes flick down to her kissable lips and before you can stop yourself, you move forward to plant a brief kiss on them before pulling back.

“You really don’t think any of this is wrong?” you say after a few seconds.

She shakes her head. “Of course not. We’re both consenting adults, aren’t we? If society doesn’t like what we’re doing, they can get fucked.”

You blink. “That’s… surprising to hear.”

She raises her eyebrows challengingly.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises. It takes courage to find out just how many,” she murmurs cryptically before turning away from you and opening the door to the house. Her hips sway enticingly as she walks.

As the two of you make your way inside, the smell of something delicious being cooked reaches your nostrils. You hear the crackling sound of something being made on a skillet.

“What’s Mom making?” you ask Tiffany.

Your sister glances over at you as she takes off her shoes, her huge tits bouncing as she unties the laces.

“French toast,” she replies, smiling deviously. She licks her lips. “Are you hungry?”

Your erection throbs.

“For sure,” you say, keeping your voice level. “With Mrs. Thompson being in a rush to leave, I didn’t get a chance to eat this morning.”

“Well, you’re in luck. You got here just in time for breakfast.” A familiar voice draws your eyes to the entrance to the mudroom. Your mother stands in the doorway, looking somehow even more enchanting than usual. She’s wearing the same black button-down sweater you’d seen when she’d sent you a selfie and a pair of light brown pants that hug her wide hips and prodigiously thick thighs.

Your mother’s brilliant blue eyes focus on you, brimming with intense emotions burning just beneath the surface of the mask she’s put on since Tiffany is here.

You gulp subconsciously when she licks her lips and leans forward slightly, drawing your eyes to her deep, expansive cleavage.

“Hey, Mom,” you say.

“Hi, honey.” She beams at you. She continues, quietly: “I missed you last night.”

“I missed you, too.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, not knowing what to say yet wanting to say so much.

Tiffany clears her throat, scooting up to you and grabbing your arm possessively, clutching it against her hefty breasts.

Your mother’s eyes narrow slightly as she focuses on Tiffany, as if noticing her for the first time.

“Is the food ready yet, Mom?” Tiffany asks demandingly, pressing her voluptuous body against you.

Mom presses her lips into a thin line, and you wonder how long it’ll take before she runs out of patience.

“Just about,” she says flatly.

“That’s great,” Tiffany says, her breast squishing against your arm. “And how’s Ronnie?”

Your mother shifts her stance slightly, causing her big tits to jiggle.

“Asleep in his crib. I see you two are getting along better now.” She crosses her arms beneath her breasts, squishing them upward. Her bright eyes study the two of you curiously.

Tiffany chuckles and says, “Heh. We’re siblings. We fight all the time and make up. It’s what we do. Now come on, John. Let’s go sit in the kitchen. I’m starved!” She pulls you towards the kitchen, and you stumble after her. Like yesterday, it doesn’t even occur to you to resist.

You and Tiffany make your way to the kitchen table to find it already set, with three plates waiting for you along with napkins, silverware, a bottle of maple syrup, and three glasses of orange juice. Tiffany claims one of the side seats while you sit at the head of the table. Rain patters against the nearby windows and glass sliding door that leads out onto the deck and backyard.

Your mother nudges the last piece of French toast off the skillet with a spatula into a waiting plate where several pieces of French toast have already been stacked. She carries the plate over to the table, setting it down in the middle. She lets her eyes rove over you for a few moments, perhaps wondering why you’ve taken a seat at the head of the table when she normally would. Then she shrugs and sits down across from Tiffany, effectively putting you in the middle of the two women and their amazing tits.

God, it’s so hard not to leer at them openly with the way they’re dressed, the top buttons on their sweaters undone, showing off their milky cleavage. They have to know what they’re doing; what they’re showing off. You feel a hand grasp your right knee. You look at Tiffany and find her smiling innocently. Your mother looks between the two of you suspiciously. Then she grabs the bottle of maple syrup and pours it over her French toast.

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