Just... a little touch?

“S-Stop…” he managed to say.

Serena stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him. “Ye–”

“Hands behind your back,” Mason said, interrupting her.

Serena obeyed instantly. She dropped the knife on the counter with a soft clatter and put both hands behind her back. The motion pushed her massive tits out further toward him, presenting them like an offering. Her shoulders pulled back, spine straight, chest thrust forward. Those heavy mounds looked even bigger this way, nipples pointing right at his face, the soft undersides curving outward.

Mason stared at the massive mounds of flesh in front of him. He had fantasized about them for so long. For so long he’d jerked off to big breasted women online, always imagining what his sister’s tits would look like in real life. Every time she had brushed them against him during one of her hugs, his cock would get painfully hard and he would have to hide it. He never admitted it to anyone, but those accidental presses against his chest or arm had driven him insane for years. Now they were right here, bare, inches from his hands, and she was holding them out for him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He found himself reaching out for them. His right hand had a mind of its own as he imagined how good it would feel to knead those tasty titties. To squeeze the soft flesh, to feel their weight in his palms, to pinch those dark nipples and hear what kind of sound she would make. His fingers were trembling. He was only an inch away when the doorbell rang, breaking his horny stupor.

The sharp sound cut through the apartment like a slap. Mason jerked his hand back like he had been burned. Shame flooded through him immediately, hot and heavy in his chest. What the fuck was he doing? He had almost grabbed his own sister’s tits while she stood there topless in his kitchen cooking dinner. He had been seconds away from crossing a line he couldn’t come back from. The guilt hit him so hard his stomach twisted.

Then the panic set in right after. Who was at the door? His eyes darted toward the hallway. Was it the frat guys? Had they already tracked her down? Maybe they noticed the call dropped and came looking for their missing ****. Or maybe they had some way of knowing the trigger had been used. His mind raced through every worst-case scenario. If it was them, what would he do? He couldn’t fight a group of guys. He didn’t even know how many there were or what they were capable of.

The doorbell rang again, longer this time, more insistent.

Mason’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. His cock was still hard, betraying him even now. He looked at Serena. She was still standing exactly as he had commanded, hands behind her back, massive bare tits pushed out, eyes calm and waiting. Completely topless. If whoever was at the door came in, they would see everything.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Stay here. Put on your top and continue cooking like normal.”

“Yes, Master,” she said softly.

Mason quickly grabbed the t-shirt she had taken off from the counter and shoved it into her hands. “Put this back on. Fast.”

He didn’t wait to watch her obey. He turned and walked toward the front door on shaky legs, trying to pull himself together. His face felt flushed. The shame was still burning in his gut. He had almost molested his brainwashed sister in the middle of his kitchen. And the worst part was how badly he had wanted to. How close he had come to just grabbing those tits he had dreamed about for years.

The doorbell rang a third time.