Sayuri was in the kitchen, apron tied over nothing but a thin camisole and panties, humming as she flipped pancakes. Her thighs still bore faint red marks from where Hiroshi had gripped her last night—round three, on the dining table, while Kenta watched and waited his turn.
Kenta himself was sprawled on the couch in just sweatpants, lazily stroking himself through the fabric while replaying the memory of his father painting their mother's breasts white at 3 a.m.
Neither of them expected company.
Sayuri wiped her hands and padded to the door. Through the peephole: Mari—her younger sister, thirty-nine, divorced, and infamous for "just dropping by" whenever she felt lonely.
Mari was the wild one of the family. Short bob dyed honey-blonde, always in tight dresses that showed off the body yoga and spite had sculpted. Today's outfit was a burgundy wrap dress that clung to her narrow waist and flared over hips even wider than Sayuri's, the neckline plunging so deep the inner curves of her breasts were on full display.
Sayuri opened the door with a bright, slightly panicked smile.
"Mari! What a surprise—"
Mari didn't wait for an invitation. She swept in, heels clicking, carrying a department-store bag and the faint scent of expensive perfume.
"I heard my favorite nephew was dying of fever," she announced loudly, kicking off her heels. "Brought soup, vitamin C, and—" Her eyes landed on Kenta lounging half-naked on the couch, cock outline impossible to miss. "—well, hello, big boy."
Kenta sat up fast, yanking a throw pillow over his lap. "A-Aunt Mari…"
Mari's gaze flicked between them—Sayuri's flushed cheeks, the faint hickeys peeking above the camisole neckline, the unmistakable smell of sex still lingering in the air.
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
"Looks like someone's already been giving him very thorough care."
Sayuri tried to protest. "It's not—"
Mari held up a hand. "Nee-san, please. I've been single for two years. My vibrator ran out of batteries last month. Don't insult me by pretending I don't know what a well-fucked woman looks like."
She stepped closer to Kenta, reached out, and plucked the pillow away like it was tissue paper.
"Oh my," she breathed, staring openly at the thick bulge straining his sweatpants. "When did my little nephew grow this?"
Kenta's cock jerked under her gaze, leaking a dark spot through the fabric.
Sayuri bit her lip. "Mari, we can explain—"
"Explain later," Mari said. She untied the wrap dress in one smooth motion and let it fall.
Nothing underneath except sheer black lace panties already soaked at the crotch.
Her body was a masterpiece—toned stomach, full heavy breasts with pierced nipples glinting gold, hips that begged to be bruised.
"I came to help," she purred, climbing onto the couch and straddling Kenta's lap. "Family takes care of family, right?"
Kenta looked at his mother, eyes pleading and desperate.
Sayuri's breath hitched. Instead of stopping it, she locked the front door, dimmed the lights, and walked over slowly.
"Be gentle with him at first," she murmured, kneeling beside them. "He's still recovering."
Mari laughed softly and rolled her hips, grinding her soaked panties along Kenta's trapped length.
"Gentle is boring."
She reached down, freed him from the sweatpants, and both women sighed at the sight—thick, flushed, already dripping.
Mari lifted herself, pushed her panties aside, and sank down in one slick glide.
They both cried out.
She was tighter than Sayuri, hotter, riding him with sharp, practiced snaps of her hips that made the couch creak dangerously. Her pierced nipples flashed with every bounce of her breasts.
Sayuri watched for a moment, hand slipping between her own thighs—then leaned in and caught one of Mari's nipples in her mouth, sucking hard.
Mari moaned, threading fingers through her sister's hair. "That's it, Nee-san… help me milk our boy dry…"
Kenta could only grip Mari's ass and hang on, thrusting up into her clenching heat while his mother lavished attention on her sister's breasts, then his—kissing, licking, biting.
When Mari came, it was loud and spectacular—back arching, pussy spasming so hard Kenta nearly followed her over.
But Sayuri pulled her sister up at the last second.
"My turn to taste," she whispered.
She pushed Mari onto her back, spread her thighs, and buried her face in the creamy mess Kenta had left inside her sister. Mari screamed, legs wrapping around Sayuri's head, hips bucking as her older sister licked her clean and then kept going, tongue fucking her through a second orgasm.
Kenta watched, stroking himself slowly, until Mari reached for him blindly.
"Come here, baby… let Aunt Mari swallow you while Mommy eats my pussy…"
He fed his cock between her lips, groaning as she took him deep—effortless, practiced, throat fluttering around him. Sayuri looked up from between Mari's thighs, eyes glazed with lust, and the sight of his mother and aunt like that—devouring each other and him—sent him over.
He came with a hoarse shout, pumping thick ropes down Mari's throat. She swallowed greedily, then pulled off to let the last spurts paint her tongue and lips.
Sayuri crawled up immediately, kissing her sister deep and messy, sharing the taste of their nephew between them.
When they finally broke apart, Mari licked her lips and grinned.
"So," she said breathlessly, "when's Uncle Hiroshi home? I want to see if the family cure works on grown men too."
Sayuri laughed, low and filthy, and reached for Kenta's still-hard cock.
"Tonight," she promised. "And you're staying for dinner."
Mari's eyes sparkled. "I was hoping you'd say that."
She glanced at the clock. 11:05 a.m.
"Plenty of time for seconds," she murmured, already pushing Kenta onto his back again.
From the kitchen, the pancakes burned forgotten.
No one cared.