The only question is... how?

The wet warmth of Chrissy’s mouth on your wilting erection is almost enough to get it going again. Almost. While your refractory period has definitely improved over the last week, a third round in less than four hours is more than you can manage. You look down at your half sister lazily suckling your cock and have the thought once more that this is something you could really get used to. You reach down and grab a handful of that hair to drag her up to you and kiss her fiercely, ignoring the foul combination of morning breath and your recently swallowed semen that assaults your olfactory senses.

Ok, so how are you going to do this? How are you going to find a way to stay a part of this beautiful woman’s life? The answer flashes in your peripheral vision in the form of her scores escalating again. Without even thinking about it you hand slides from her hair and wraps almost lovingly around her throat and you deepen the kiss. She writhes against you, kissing back hungrily, a hunger which seems to grow even more when you tighten your grip. The feeling of her ridiculous breasts pressing against your chest, her strong legs rubbing on yours, gives lie to the earlier idea that there wouldn’t be a round four as He Who Must Be Obeyed clearly begins to wake up from his brief nap.

This time you have to do what you set out to last night before being distracted by the fact that you’re falling in love with yet another sister. You need to bind her to you with the only tool you have at your disposal. Your cock.

You roll her over on to her back and tighten your grip on her throat further, mauling her improbable breasts with your off hand while she wraps her legs around your waist and pulls you to her. Mr. Happy is definitely awake now and seems to be drawn to her slit as if by a magnet.

You just begin to penetrate her when your attention is caught by the sound of breaking glass and Pyewacket’s angry yowl. A bottle follows the rock which shattered the window and the bluish flame that is burning on the ironically fire engine red rag stuffed into its neck shows oddly in the morning light. You rapidly disentangle yourself from Chrissy’s lovely limbs and dive for the bottle, scooping it up in your hand and returning it through the hole in the window before whipping the comforter off the bed and throwing it down on the patch of carpet which has managed to catch fire.

You and your cock stare defiantly out the window searching for what you’re pretty sure is going to be a Vincent Black Shadow and a leather clad biker, but the only thing in evidence is something that chills you to the bone, and while the cold wind flooding the bedroom isn’t enough to dissuade the proud piece of flesh between your legs the apparition on the sidewalk causes it to wilt rapidly.

Chrissy comes up behind you and clings to you, the utter shock of the situation sinking in and you gaze out the window at a hideous white faced clown waving back at you.