Until you stir the pot

No one knows how to react to you getting groped, and clearly enjoying it, other than to follow your lead and try to have a normal brunch. Well, as normal as a brunch with everyone’s tits out can be. At first your mother and sister take hesitant bites, eyes scanning for signs of what they should be doing. Mom looks to you mainly, which in turn draws Hannah’s gaze your way too.

Feeling the heat of the spotlight, you come up with a way to direct the attention elsewhere. “So, Sis, how was your week?” The atmosphere relaxes a bit further when you break the silence, switching gears from sexual topics to the family catch-up everyone’s more accustomed to.

“Gosh, I feel like I hardly did anything this week” your sister laments, “A bunch of people called out, so I was mostly just working.” She perks up as an idea comes to her. “I did make some progress on the Instafam following. I finished a fast-cut video of Halloween makeup looks and it got picked up! Not as many views are converting to follows as I hoped, but I might be able to get a sponsorship while the Starshine brand is hot.”

You never know what to say when she talks about social media as a career, so you keep it simple with, “That’s so cool, Sis!” It really is something you admire about her, having the guts to make her face the center of attention. Her body too, in the case of her semi-regular beach days and less-regular pool parties. When she drops one of those, it’s a mix of admiration along with the feelings that inspire you to make meticulous backups of each photo.

“Y’know, you kids figure this stuff out so fast” your mom says, once again saving you from the black hole of distraction that is your own brain. She reaches across the table to give her eldest daughter a loving hand caress. “I’m proud of you, Dream Stone.”

Mom soon pivots away from the congratulatory moment, not risking a return to awkward silence. “Well, the highlight of my week is always seeing my babies,” she launches into her own story unprompted, “but after that, probably the date I mentioned. Apparently I did well enough to get invited to a second one. She told me about a rave coming up, and honestly I’m pretty excited for that even if things don’t really go anywhere dating-wise. They’re not announcing the exact location until 2 hours before showtime, so you know it’s gonna be–” Your mom stops herself. “Sorry, I know you two aren’t into that scene. Let’s see, what else… Oh! Violet, you’ll appreciate this one…” she says, a little stilted as she wrenches her phone out of a tight pocket.

You and Hannah share your usual in-the-know glances at Mom taking forever to find something in digital menus. “It’s a character from one of your devil games!” she announces, showing you a tattoo of the squid-centaur lady who has adorned your computer screen alongside the words You Are Dead countless times. “This was just yesterday.”

You didn’t get the implication from seeing a tattoo alone, but knowing the exact day ink was installed can only mean one thing. “This is one of yours?”

“Sure is!” your mom confirms. She smiles, excited to have caught your attention.

You try and fail to come up with a compliment specific to tattooing. “I’m impressed! For someone who doesn’t know the character, you managed to capture a lot of detail.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hannah rolling her eyes, most likely annoyed by the pretension in your compliment.

Thankfully because of the heated expression on your mom’s face, you can tell the target audience didn’t mind. She stammers out, “Th- thanks sweetie.” The blush stays on her face for a short while longer, however it becomes accompanied by an expression halfway between fear and confusion as it persists. Mom fidgets in her seat, looks down at her bare flesh and then suddenly jerks her head up to look at you and Hannah in quick succession. Since she was last to speak, all eyes are on her and she seems to have just realized this. She slinks back into her diner chair, trying to hide what little area she can for reasons yet unclear.

Her sudden anxiety confuses you. She’s normally good with attention, and you’d think she would have been this nervous much earlier if being topless was the issue. Curious, you look for external causes. Right before she got all nervous– OH SHIT! You triggered her passive arousal from praise! This could mean two things: 1, Your mom was probably uncomfortable from being aroused during a family meal, or more interestingly 2, she finally put two and two together and realized who she’s been aroused by. The second option seems more likely given how she ashamedly looks down whenever you enter her field of vision. Not to mention the Training Clicker from the beginning of the meal probably would have made the correlation easier to accept. In order to sexualize your daughter, you need to have sexual thoughts about her after all.

Thankfully, you have a remarkably easy avenue of experimentation. These compliments won’t be a magnum opus, but with how half-assed your tattoo one was, you don’t think that matters. You start with the low hanging fruit. “This meal is wonderful, thank you so much Mom.”

Mom starts to writhe immediately, confirming your suspicions. “Oh y-you’re welcome sweetie, I live to please– I mean I’m glad it pleased you.”

Seeing these reactions is highly amusing. One glance over at Hannah suggests she is enjoying the show as well even if she does look understandably confused. You decide to press on with the mealtime entertainment. “God, did you do anything to your hair? You’re looking radiant!”

Your mom squeaks out, “Maybe it’s because I’ve been preparing for dates a lot more lately?” That’s all she can manage, it seems. She’s breathing heavily now, unable to avoid her arousal.

“That makes sense. Y’know, from what you’ve told me about these dates you’re going on, you sound like a great partner. Anyone would be lucky to get a date with you.” She can’t even respond at this point. She just sits in her seat with a mortified expression on her face. A droplet of saliva drips out of her mouth onto her breast before trailing down the curve of her flesh. Ultimately it drips off the left side of her nipple before plinking out of sight. You keep barraging her with compliments mercilessly, smiling as she flusters in her seat.