Jason pushed open the front door, the familiar creak of the hinges greeting him as he stepped inside. The house was quiet, save for the faint clink of dishes from the kitchen. He kicked off his shoes and glanced toward the living room, catching a glimpse of his father disappearing into the hallway, shoulders slumped from the brutal early shift. The old man had probably shoveled down some food and was crashing hard—another casualty of the overseas job. Jason shook his head and moved toward the kitchen.
His mother stood at the sink, scrubbing a pan, still in her office clothes minus the coat. The formal pants hugged her hips, a stark contrast to the loose traditional stuff she usually wore. Without the coat's bulk, her figure popped—curves he hadn't noticed before, or maybe hadn't let himself notice.
Her ass, round and firm under the fabric, swayed slightly as she worked. Jason froze, a jolt shooting through him. His pants tightened, a boner springing up uninvited. He shifted, uncomfortable, heat creeping up his neck.
This wasn't him—not before Ariana left, anyway. A month without her had frayed his edges. Jerking off didn't cut it anymore, leaving him a weird, pent-up pervert staring at his own mother's ass. He slapped his cheek lightly, muttering, "Get it together," before heading to wash up.
Dinner was quick, solitary—Jenny, predictably, wasn't home. Friday nights meant she'd stumble in later than usual, reeking of smoke and booze, probably after screwing some rando.
It suited Jason fine; her absence gave him the room to himself. He finished eating, tossed his plate in the sink, and retreated to their shared bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him, and he exhaled, already tugging his pants down as he sank onto the bed.
His boxers followed, and he glanced at his dick—small, familiar, but… was it bigger? Thicker, maybe? He squinted, chalking it up to wishful thinking, but the thought fueled him anyway. Spitting into his palm, he gripped himself, stroking slow at first, savoring the build.
The day flashed through his mind—Sherry's abs, Sydney's armpits, Jenna's thighs, his mother's plump ass. His rhythm picked up, a low groan slipping out.
Then suddenly, the door flew open.
Jenny stood there, mid-step, eyes widening as they locked on him—hand on his dick, pants around his ankles. "Jesus, Jason!" she yelped, but didn't look away, her lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. She was in her tight office skirt, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair mussed like she'd just rolled out of someone's car. The room stank of her perfume and faint whiskey.
Jason scrambled, yanking the sheet over himself, face burning. "What the fuck, Jenny? Knock!"
She laughed, sharp and mean, leaning against the frame. "Oh, don't stop on my account, little bro. Looks like you're… growing up."
His jaw clenched, dick still throbbing under the sheet.
"So, this is what you do when I'm not home?" Jenny said, shutting the door with a soft click. She sauntered toward the bed, her heels tapping the floor, eyes locked on the bulge beneath Jason's sheet. His dick twitched, still hard, betraying him.
She smirked, a low laugh spilling out. "Your last resort is jerking off? Poor baby. Your girlfriend's probably getting dick every day while you're here, no pussy in sight."
"Ariana would never," Jason shot back, voice tight, defensive.
"Darling, I know how girls think," Jenny said, waving a hand. "But that's beside the point. Why don't you finish your business while I watch? You do this every night, don't you? Can't sleep without blowing a load. Come on, keep going—I know you want to." She plopped onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.
Jason's mind spun. Why was she home early? Why was she acting like this? It pissed him off, grated on his nerves, but she wasn't wrong—he needed the release. Work loomed in the morning, and this itch wouldn't let him rest.
He sighed, resigned.
Then Jenny moved. Her fingers flicked open her shirt buttons, one by one, until she shrugged it off and tossed it aside. She leaned back, spreading her legs wide. Purple lacy panties peeked out from under her tight skirt, the fabric riding up to flaunt her thighs, enhanced by the sheer tights clinging to her skin.
"I know you want to wank it," she teased, curling her hand in the air, mimicking the motion. "Cum for me, little brother."
Jason's breath hitched. He'd seen her in underwear before—casual—but this? Her stripping deliberately, legs splayed, skirt hiked up—it was new, electric, overwhelming.
His control snapped. He yanked the sheet aside, exposing his throbbing dick, and gripped it hard. Strokes came fast, desperate, her words and the sight of her fueling him. In seconds, he lost it.
The first spurt arced through the air, splattering onto Jenny's shin, glistening on her tights. The rest pulsed out, pooling on his tip, warm and thick.
Jenny didn't flinch. She swiped the cum off her tights with two fingers, smirking as she brought them to her lips and licked them clean, slow and deliberate.
Then she crawled forward, closing the gap between them. Her boobs jiggled and her ass swayed. Her breath ghosted over his skin before her tongue darted out, lapping the mess off his dick in one swift, wet slurp. Jason groaned, half in shock, half in a haze, as she pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"See? Told you you needed it," she said, voice smug, eyes glinting.
Without a word, Jenny stood, her movements sudden and bold. She hooked her thumbs into her skirt and let it drop, the fabric pooling at her feet. Her glorious buttocks came into view, round and taut, framed by the purple lace of her panties.
Jason's breath caught as she turned, planting one foot on the bed. She peeled off her stocking, the sheer material sliding down her thigh, then repeated the act with the other leg. Every motion—slow, deliberate—stirred him again, his dick hardening despite the release just moments ago.
She didn't speak, didn't even glance his way, just climbed onto the bed beside him. Her cheeks were flushed, a faint pink against her skin, and with one last look at him, her eyes heavy, she collapsed onto the mattress and fell asleep almost instantly.
Jason also laid down after this, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to take him. But minutes ticked by, and the heat wouldn't fade. His sister's near-naked body—purple bra and panties hugging her curves—lay inches away, her breathing soft and even.
He sat up, dick still rigid, and gripped it again. He'd never done this before, not like this, not with her right there. The thrill of it jolted through him, electric and wrong. His free hand hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing her breast, squeezing the soft flesh through the lace. She didn't stir.
His strokes quickened, fueled by the taboo, and within seconds, he came again. Less this time, a small spurt, but enough. He smeared it across her lips, watching it glisten in the dim light.
Then it hit—post-nut clarity, sharp and cold. His hand froze, hovering over her, the weight of what he'd done sinking in. His stomach twisted, arousal replaced by a dull shame.
Jenny slept on, oblivious, her lips parted slightly, the faint sheen of his cum catching the moonlight. Jason pulled back, heart pounding, and yanked the sheet over himself.
He turned away, forcing his eyes shut, willing his mind to blank out the image of her sprawled there, the feel of her under his fingers.