Another day, another turning point

It's a Saturday morning in the middle of August, and you're taking a quick shower. Once you're done washing off last night's jizz, you try to wrap a towel around your inflated tits: it takes a few tries to get right, and ends up hanging suspended off the front of your body, threatening to fall at any moment.

With a deep sigh you head downstairs, intending to grab a bowl of cereal and retreat back to your bedroom. Unfortunately, the kitchen is already occupied.

Your mother is sprawled across the floor, face-down and ass-up. The plump rear end in question is being mounted by your father, who's thrusting into his wife's asshole at a blistering pace. Judging by the ingredients strewn across the counter and the egg beater lying on the floor a few feet away, Dad must have interrupted Mom in the middle of making pancakes.

"Morning sweetie," he grunts, giving you a lopsided smile. He's naked from the waist down, and you don't see his pants anywhere nearby; he must not be planning on going out anytime soon. Mom's outfit is just as lacking: she's only wearing a white apron and the pair of ridiculous high heels that Pete bought her for Christmas (gross). You have a matching pair in your closet somewhere, just as pink and just as impractical (double gross).

You return Dad's smile, then shimmy around the rutting pair to get to the cupboard. Mom doesn't even seem to have noticed you: she's staring at the far wall with her eyes half-closed, panting like a dog while your father plows her ass.

"Hey, uh, Sarah... Mgh..." You can barely hear your father over the slap, slap, slap of his hips against Mom, but instead of slowing down he just raises his voice. "Can you take out the garbage?"

When you see that the garbage can has already been taken out of the kitchen counter, the pieces fall into place: Dad came downstairs sometime before you did, and found Mom busy cooking breakfast. She asked her husband to perform a simple chore, and instead of just doing it, he decided to fuck her up the ass. That's what their marriage amounts to, these days.

"Yeah," you sigh, grabbing the can. That's what your life amounts to, these days: Yeah, Dad. Yeah, Pete. Whatever you want.

Garbage in hand you head out onto the back patio, closing the door behind you to block out the grunts and slaps. The air is cold on your body; you're still only wearing a towel, after all. You barely make it two steps before you hear someone clear their throat.

"Hey Funbags, get over here."

Peter is lounging on a deck chair, with his cock in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He's slowly and methodically jerking off to... Not porn, exactly. You recognize it as one of his favorite videos: "POV Celeb Blowjob Compilation."

Your brother loves watching formerly-respectable actresses and pop-stars blowing their fans or crew members for a free dose, especially when they don't seem to know they're being filmed. There's a particularly despicable clip in there (Pete's favorite, of course), featuring a dolled-up K-Pop singer in the back of a limo. The guy getting his rocks off pulls out his phone mid-blowjob and starts filming, praising the girl as she bobs her head in his lap. A few seconds in she tries to look up... But since he doesn't want her to see the camera, he pushes her head down and starts facefucking her like a man possessed. You've blown Peter a few times while he watches the clip, pretending that your lips, tongue, and throat belong to the young Korean woman.

Stifling another sigh, you put down the garbage can and head over. Kneeling down between your brother's legs, you reach for his cock--

"Hey, what the fuck? Get your hand off my dick... Slut," he chuckles, batting you away. "Turn around."

Confused, you stand up and shuffle in a circle.

"I want a lap dance," Peter says, leaning back further. "Twerk for me."

You wish your reply was "I don't know how to twerk," or even "fuck off, Pete..." But the first would be a lie at this point, and the second just isn't an option.

Instead, you squat over your brother's lap, hold your towel in place with one hand, and begin gyrating. As the flimsy garment rides up your ass slips out, occasionally rubbing against Peter's bare crotch.

"Little lower... Yeah," he murmurs. Then you hear the sound on his phone go quiet: judging by the way he's holding it, he's switched from watching a video to making one. "Might as well make an early start on your work day, huh? Gotta give the fans what they want."

"I thought they wanted my... My new tits," you reply sarcastically. "Fake is better, right? Why show off my actual body?"

"Good point," Pete says, reaching out to cop a feel of your modest booty. "Drop the towel."

As the last thing protecting your modesty drops onto the deck, you dance faster and begin showing off the rest of your body. This isn't the first time you've put on a show like this... It's not even the tenth. There are videos of you dancing naked all over the internet (and far worse, of course), so why freak out about one more?

When your hands slide up your body to cup your tits and shake them for the camera, Peter finally continues masturbating. "Lean in. Brush against me more... Yeah, like that, bend over..."

Soon his cock is nestled between your ass cheeks, slapping against your tailbone as he beats it furiously. You close your eyes and shake what your half-brain-dead mama gave you, waiting for the inevitable--

"Quick, I'm cumming... Woops..." The first jet of jizz hits your lower back, splattering across the "heart pierced by a cock" tramp stamp that Peter and Dad made you get a few months ago ("for the Gram," of course). But you're quick to respond, twirling around and falling to your knees in time to catch the second blast on your face. As you swallow your brother's pulsing shaft, the third, fourth, and fifth pumps all end up directly in your gut.

"Gmph... Mph... Fucker," you growl, pulling away the moment he's finished. Then you set to work cleaning off your face, ignoring Peter as he continues filming the aftermath of his orgasm.

After a while your brother gets bored and heads inside, leaving you kneeling and dripping jizz all over the patio. Once the door closes behind him, you breathe a sigh of relief and bend down to lick some fallen medicine off the ground. It's degrading, yes, but at least nobody's there to see it.

That's the best any woman can hope for, these days.