Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The idea that modern technology might one day remove the need for hard labor represents the latest installment of society’s tendency for exaggeration. For one reason or another, an average person can very easily imagine a world wherein machines handle the more laborious and dirty aspects of maintaining society as they know it. Inexplicably, though, this same person is typically unable to imagine the ins and outs of building and maintaining such machines, the cost of their maintenance, and their effectiveness when applied to practices that require human delicacy.

Needless to say, all of this amounts to a conclusion that many ‘in the know’ acknowledge at the outset of these discussions: no matter how far technology advances, the need for human labor will never completely disappear.

As a ‘modern’ child born to ‘rural’ parents, Amos Villry spent the majority of his youth in a state of willful ignorance towards this fact.

At the time, his position was not entirely unreasonable. Growing up as the first of two children to farmers with several generations of tradition behind them necessitated that he participate in these traditions whether he wanted to or not. Doing so only remained tolerable for as long as the world at large remained a mystery to him: a period of 8 years that ended on the first occasion that he saw another child accomplish something ‘fantastic’ with a smartphone.

From this point onward, he began wondering. About the cities that existed far away from his home, the devices within them, and the machines that had built them. He continued his daily routines just as he always had, but his heart and mind lay elsewhere throughout. When at last he grew old enough to recognize that the modernity he longed for had edged its way into his community well before he was born, a conviction took root inside of him:

“One day, I’m going to learn how to make tools that’ll make it so that no one has to do farm work ever again.” 

Housing a dream like this at his core framed his daily life as a series of unnecessary chores. Worse still, everything that surrounded his routines became framed as chores as well–the education of his youngest sibling in particular. Being an older brother to a sister only 3 years his junior meant that the task of guiding her through work on the farm normally fell to him. Later, it necessitated that he work with her to see these tasks done efficiently. While firm in his intent to ensure that he did not ‘slip’ where their work was concerned (this so that the two of them could enjoy a pittance of free time for themselves), the steady decline in his enthusiasm for the work itself turned a bonding activity for siblings into a silent plod towards efficiency. 

The path he had set himself on had only one destination. Well before the end of his high school education, he announced a desire to continue his education in a city far away from the community he had been born in. If not to the same extent as their firstborn, his parents maintained just enough ‘modernity’ to both expect and encourage that he pursue some kind of formal education off of the farm. All the same, his desire to do so at such a distance from them came as a surprise. Neither of them were the sort of rigid fundamentalist that might hold their children to the ‘family business’ for the sake of tradition, but both had hoped that he’d do so closer to home.

No arguments were had on the subject. Both Amos and his parents resigned themselves to it as an inevitability–a necessary evil for the latter and a display of intent for the former…

All whilst a third party suffered in silence without a single word of complaint.

The remaining years of Amos’ adolescence passed precisely like this. The lead-up to his departure was celebrated just as it would’ve been otherwise, and on the day itself, the young man parted with his family while prideful tears welled in their eyes.

Nothing about the circumstance was unheard of. Countless children had departed from their homesteads in search of more. He was not the first, and modernity’s endless march towards ‘more’ all but guaranteed that he wouldn’t be the last. 

To some, however, the unremarkable make of the situation constituted an opportunity. In the game played between a certain boy and his peer, the ‘third party’ that Amos abandoned in pursuit of modernity stood out as a plaything too tantalizing to be abandoned.

And so, the unremarkable became remarkable. For seemingly no reason at all, years of mundanity were abruptly (and completely) terminated by a series of events best categorized as a single, overwhelming tragedy.

The sole silver lining for these events could be found in what they triggered. Years removed from his initial pursuit of education, the tragedy and those concerned with it necessitated an indefinite homecoming for Amos at a time when he least expected it.

What transpired in the wake of his return was nothing short of a miracle. Succinctly, though,  it can be thought of as an example of the very thing he had devoted his youth to ignoring:

The limits of technology and the ever-present necessity of human ingenuity.

-

VILLRY FAMILY FARM – 2 MONTHS FOLLOWING AMOS’ RETURN

The tillage of soil during the spring routinely reminded Amos of admonitions from his father when he was a boy. Despite having a surplus of machinery designed to make the task trivial, Titus Villry required that a portion of the fields be done by hand right from the moment Amos was old enough (and strong enough) to do so at a reasonable pace. On these occasions, he reminded his son not to ‘look at his damn phone so much’ so as to make the process faster.

Even now, Amos couldn’t help himself. After an hour of uninterrupted labor, a pang of curiosity at the back of his mind drew his left hand into one of his pockets in search of the device.

Guilt attacked him as he unlocked it.

Today, he had a reason that Titus may well have understood were he present.

AHARHELIT DEVELOPMENT APPROVES SPECIES MALLEABLE GROWTH HORMONE–LIVESTOCK IMPLEMENTATION TO BEGIN IN Q4

Aharhelit. A name so deeply ingrained within the fields of bio-mechanics and gene therapy that knowledge of their work is nearly mandatory for those in the field. Even before their foray into medicine, it was never very difficult to find the name listed among the primary shareholders for all manner of ‘business ventures’. In his years spent in the city, Amos encountered it so often that he ceased recognizing it as something novel that deserved his attention.

Today, he fixed his eyes on the name and ruminated on the dealings behind it in hopes of making sense of something.

Only days after returning home, a package marked with Aharhelit branding had sat atop the family porch. Seeing one of their products on a farm was not at all abnormal if taken at face value, but face value was not what he was interested in–

This privilege belonged to the young woman who had dutifully retrieved the package before he could give its contents a second glance.

“Mornin’ Amos! I was wonderin’ who all would be doin’ th’ fields by hand at this hour! Shoulda’ known it’d be you, huh?”

“Pa’d love t’see this. Even after bein’ gone so long, yer still th’ same guy that showed me how t’do all this stuff in th’ first place.”

Preoccupation with his thoughts allowed their subject to approach from Amos’ left. Dressed (and equipped) for the same labor that he had busied himself with, Lauren Villry greeted her brother with more of the same sisterly reverence that had become the ‘standard’ since his return home.

So far as Amos was concerned, this behavior was the only aspect of his sister that had withstood the years he had spent away. Prior to his return, the mental image that he maintained of Lauren was that of a petite but sturdy girl whose appearance seemed destined for a progressive descent into tomboyishness. Personal preference had kept her head of pale brown hair cut and styled to a length just below her cheeks, and genetics she had inherited from their mother had peppered the middle of her face with freckles that gave her profile a distinctly rustic appearance.

These features and the inexplicable paleness that she maintained despite her regular contact with the sun were all that remained from their youth. Alongside several inches of height that put her only a handful of inches below him in stature (a considerable growth spurt considering his height), Lauren had grown into a figure that their community openly regarded as ‘grain-fed’. Breasts that he recalled as barely visible underneath her t-shirts and tanktops had swelled into C-cups that mirrored obscenely ripe pomegranates in scale. Although nowhere close to the ‘extremes’ he had observed within the city, the sight of them bloating the front of the corduroy button-down that she had messily tucked into her denim remained shocking to him even after several months spent glancing at similar sights.

Below her breasts, the contrast between reality and what he recalled grew even sharper. As could be expected of a young woman born and raised on a farm, Lauren had donned a pair of worn-yet-flexible denim jeans in expectation of a day of activity. Its make was the furthest thing from fashionable and washed-out stains could be seen strewn out across its front–a modest piece of workwear if ever there was one.

However, Lauren filled it in. Comparative narrowness at her waist bled down into hips that challenged the broadness of Amos’ shoulders. Though the garment’s waistline spread to accommodate them, the end product was a seemingly skin-tight fit that filled Amos’ mind with questions of fertility and comfort. 

Compliments the bow-shaped arc sat directly below and behind it. Thighs built like tree trunks balanced the obscene femininity of her middle with hints of physicality–provided one was willing to look past the fact that the denim-gloved blocks were as much fat as they were muscle. As if to dwarf her torso even further, buttocks with an even more fat-biased composition sat at the peak of her stalks and reduced every garment she tried to cover them with down to a fabric-based frame for a corn-fed dumptruck liable to swallow any seat that she sat in (shy of 30 inches from the edge of one cheek to the other).

When first Amos was exposed to this version of his sister, his mind readily waived off the differences as the fruits of her genetics and the work that she performed around the farm. There were no other explanations readily available to him, and truth be told, other matters had consumed his attentions at the time.

The same could not be said of late–

Each time he saw her, his mind could not help but ask questions of ‘how’ and ‘why’.

“I think you’re giving me too much credit for this hack job I’m doing, Lo. The only upside to doing this by hand is saving a bit of fuel. At the pace I’m going, it might not even out as far as labor goes,”

As quickly as he had succumbed, Amos recovered from the split-second debilitation he had slipped into and regarded his sister with a wry smile and a reduction of his efforts–

Years ago, this would have been the norm for them.

“Besides, I might as well keep myself busy while I’m here. If I don’t, you’ll just end up working yourself into a rut while I’m here,”

“Dad would beat the hell out of me if he knew I was sitting around watching my little sister take care of the farm all by herself.”

Right from around the time she had developed a sense of self, Lauren had taken issue with her brother’s habit of minimizing his accomplishments and speaking poorly about himself. It was not his doing so that she took issue with, but the fact that the things he said about himself conflicted with the image that she maintained of him. 

In her eyes, Amos would always be her stronger, wiser older brother. The one that had shown her how to do countless things on her own, and more recently, the one that reminded her so much of their father.

Now more so than ever, his self-deprecation cut to a depth that made her innards squirm.

“Hey! You gon’ stop talkin’ like that, y’hear?  I don’t care how proper-like y’say it–you ain’t nothin’ but Pa’s firstborn son and he’d be damn proud t’see you back here! He n’Ma never stopped talkin’ about how proud they were of ya, so I ain’t gonna let ya say they weren’t just ‘cause they’re gone now!”

Worked up to a huff seemingly out of nowhere, Lauren shot an aggressive point at her brother before her own words dragged her mood back down to a baseline.

Her gaze fell along with it

“M’sorry. Y’know what I meant. I didn’t mean t’bring up that stuff again. Jus’...jus’ don’t be so mean to yourself, ‘kay?”

Amos was not so far removed from his upbringing as to never admit that he was wrong. With a silent nod accented by a withered smile, he turned to resume his work before the mood of the moment could sink any further downward.

As he did so, Lauren stepped in from his side.

“Nuh-uh. You’ve been out here damn near 3 hours. Go get some lunch or somethin’ an’ I’ll finish up.” She exhaled, firmly. “N’don’t get on about needing to do your share. Yer the one that made stuff go smoothly th’ past couple months, so you’ve been doin’ plenty.”

“Now get.”

Stubbornness from Lauren was always a good sign that all was well with her. Overcome by additional nostalgia, Amos took her words as a sign of her growth and shrugged his shoulders in a display of brotherly acquiescence. 

This was very nearly how their meeting on the field ended. Had he shifted on his heel a bit faster or pushed off with a wider stride, he’d have left his sister to work to her heart’s content without a second thought.

Despite all that had transpired, Amos remained a brother too attentive for his own good. The very last glance that he passed towards her before beginning his departure sent his gaze up to her face for a final assessment of her features.

Her expression suggested that she was fine–galvanized, even. But the broad strokes of it were not what interested him–

In that moment, all that he could see was a coiled arc of pubic hair curiously glued to the left side of her mouth.

-

PERSISTENCE WITHOUT SUPPORT

As a girl, Lauren’s initial response to her brother’s departure into the ‘modern world’ was emulation. There was nothing to be gained from moping around in his absence, but plenty to be gained from internalizing the skills he had taught her and building new ones on top of them. Becoming him was not an option; cloying as they were, her frustrations were not potent enough to blind her to reality. Still, a firm belief that she could support her family in a way that made a comparable impact to his presence took root in her

Being her brother’s sister, she succeeded at this as well. Within a year, the gap that he had left in the family was very nearly filled by her. Slow and steady improvements in the farming technology that the family made use of picked up the remaining slack, and per usual, the help that they hired did its part as well.

For a time, Lauren felt proud of herself. Even if things weren’t perfect, the knowledge that her brother could come home at any time to find that the family home was more or less as he had left it filled her with a sense of pride and accomplishment that bled into her daily life. The fact that she was largely directionless in terms of her education and perfectly happy to work on the farm the same way her parents had was an afterthought. The future could be dealt with when it arrived–or so she told herself.

Much to her dismay, the future found her more quickly than she had anticipated. What started as her father ailing in his old age bled into her mother’s degeneration without him at her side. More responsibilities were heaped on her shoulders, and before she knew it, the economic realities of running a farm in the modern world had struck her in the face several times over.

Even before her parents were driven to their deathbeds, Lauren was pressured to make all of these things go away. To her, the tasks of saving her brother’s inheritance and preserving what her Mother and Father had spent their lives building fell to her. Were her brother in her position, he’d have done the same. Without a second thought, he’d have sacrificed anything to make it work, whether to his detriment or otherwise.

The very least she could do was the same. If she was to turn to him for his help in the end, there needed to be some benefit for him. Something more than another disaster for him to manage.

In her naivety, she allowed herself to believe that she could manage everything on her own. That, whilst at her lowest, what she required would fall directly into her lap without any sort of lasting consequence–.

All that was required of her was to swallow the shame of embracing it.

-

THE PREVIOUS EVENING – A LOCATION

“Ooooook. Right there, that’s a good shot. Go ahead and start whenever you want to,”

“Try to put some actual energy into it, too. We’re not going to be able to get away with you being clumsy at it forever, so the sooner you start compensating for it, the better.”

“If you need pointers, ask for them. Getting this done properly should be your only priority”

Lauren loathed the voice that addressed her. It reminded her of a listless school teacher and worsened whatever discomfort her environment had to offer–partly because she had no choice but to comply with it, but more so as a result of its tone.

Tonight, it served as her cue for one of several activities that she neither understood nor enjoyed. Several minutes ago, Lauren had set her back to face a mounted camera and a professional-grade lighting arrangement within a bedroom that was far hotter than she would’ve liked (this in spite of the fact that the only clothing on her body was a woefully undersized bikini whose straps dug into the succulent flesh padding strewn across her frame). In the time that she had spent following the voice’s directions, her exposed flesh had acquired an appealing glaze of perspiration whilst rivulets of the same trickled down the opposing sides of her face.

None of it was caused by genuine exertion; her upbringing had simply taught her body to perspire as much as possible in order to stay cool during the day.

“...It ain’t gotta be THIS hot in here, do it? M’already sweatin’ like a pig, so movin’ around a bunch’s just gonna make it worse.” She exhaled.

“That’s the point.” The owner of the voice met her complaints with even more listless direction. “It’s only going to get worse, so think of it like a warm-up. Or don’t–just start. The sooner you do, the sooner you won’t have to worry about being sweaty anymore.”

Lauren did not like this argument but had no ground to stand on in the first place.

“One’a these days, that fuckin’ mouth of yours is gonna get you hit by someone and I’m gonna make damn sure that someone’s me…”

Months prior, embarrassment and inexperience would’ve stymied her. Today, she applied her frustrations to immediate action. As she was already in the position that she needed to be in, she dipped her upper body downward and dropped her palms into contact with her knees the moment she began nearing a 90-degree bend.

Here, she grit her teeth and started shaking and swirling her hips just as she had been taught. Recalling the movements that had been shown to her by memory, she combined a barely visible bend of her knees with a sharp downward flick of her hips to ‘bounce’ that fat and flesh infused into her rear downward. Doing so set her flesh into an aggressive wobble against itself that did not require any input from her. For a split second, the meat of her buttocks jiggled in and out of contact with itself and ‘bloomed in a way that left her cheeks ever so slightly spread–just far enough for the useless span of her bikini’s fabric to expose the inner sides of her cheeks and the succulent pink of her holes.

Once certain that her cheeks had been set in motion, what remained came naturally to her. If slightly ‘off-beat’ relative to what could be expected of a professional, Lauren reversed her downward flick with an upward motion that carried her rear into its first genuine ‘bounce’ for the camera. In pursuit of momentum, she used the completion of her first as an excuse to move directly into her second. Before either of her cheeks could settle (and before her seething embarrassment could get the better of her), she transitioned into the exact chain of clumsy twerking motions that the mind behind her had requested.

Whether or not she was doing enough to avoid being ‘corrected’ by him was no longer a question that she had to ask–

These days, her body had a way of conveying this all on its own.

*CLOPP-CLOPP-PLAPP-PLAPP-CLOPP-CLOPP*

For every bounce that Lauren completed, a sodden clobbering noise unmistakable as the impact of sweat-moistened flesh against itself sounded out into the open air. More accurately, the momentum that she built carried the lower end of her flanks into hearty impacts against the back of her quads, and to a point, themselves. By virtue of her newfound ‘gifts’ this equated to repeated, sweat-splattering collisions between fixed globes of dimpled assfat–a noisy, garish affair designed to draw the eye..

Experience had taught Lauren to accept this noise as ‘compensation’ for whatever imperfections her motions had. As long as she was making a gaudy enough show of herself to keep the airspace that surrounded them choked with the sound of assflesh clapping against itself, the rest of her work would effectively solve itself…

Or it had in the past, at least.

“Great, keep it up. Turn your head back and try not to look so pissed off. There’s no need to fake a smile  when no one will be able to make out your face, but for fuck sakes, at least stop scowling.”

Lauren despised these requests. Assurances that her identity could be obscured with modern technology did not make the idea of her face appearing in “them sleazy online videos” much more palatable. Had she realized that a black rectangle set across her eyes barely constituted censorship, she was likely to have continued fighting the issue right into the present.

On this day, she did as she was told. A slant of her profile over her shoulder presented sweaty, peach-flushed features to the same camera(s) responsible for tracking the bounce of her rear. An embarrassed pout tinged with the disgust that she felt at her core was set on display as well, but in practice, its ‘effect’ on her appearance was more adorable than anything else.

It was not in her nature to begrudge these things in silence, either.

“T-There. Ya fuckin’ happy now? C’n I jus’ keep doin’ it like this ‘till the end?” Hissing through half-grit teeth was her only catharsis in these moments. She knew that genuine volatility would be edited out of the content that was being made and thus took full advantage of it.

As one might imagine, the fact that her pouty frustrations qualified as ‘content’ as well never dawned on her.

“For sure.  A couple more minutes and we’ll be through.” The voice replied. “Looking at this, I think we’ll be able to get away with ending your treatment plan, too. It’d be too obvious if your tits got any fatter, so we may as well focus on the fact that the wobbling meat dumpster you’re carrying around these days has turned out for the best,”

“Everyone needs a specialty, right?”

At this, Lauren’s face went as red as a cherry. What her ‘consumers’ would see was a sharp transition between her earlier blushing profile and the reddened anger and embarrassment that ultimately consumed it. The audio and visuals associated with the transition were denied to them.

These amounted to an outburst equal parts girlish and ornery.

“...The HELL is wrong with you!? Ain’t your Momma ever teach ya not t’talk about a lady like that? I-It’s a little big, b-but it ain’t some…”

“S-Some…”

Naivety was truly her achilles. Despite having willingly made herself a part of the thirst-trap and/or heavily fetish-focused content production machine that had taken the online world by storm, she remained tetchy on the subject of her own body and the appeal that it might have to the opposite sex. 

Needless to say, this made her very easy to deal with.

“‘Some pale, sweat-glazed dumpster of assfat that men would play money to splatter steaming jizz all over’? We’ve been over this: what I described is exactly what it is. There’s no sense in prettying it up,” The voice retorted.

“I appreciate the reminder, though. I got a little fixated there. Give me another 30 seconds of bouncing your ass and we can move on…”

“We still have other things to shoot, after all.”

The final handful of words from the voice added the most embarrassed warmth to Lauren’s profile. Abruptly made to recall just how low she had been brought by circumstance, her desire for verbal sparring was overwhelmed by mental images of what was to come.

The fact that her twerking continued irrespective of her turmoil spoke volumes of her natural capacity for perversion. In the time that had passed since her gaze had been cast over her shoulders, her motions intensified the perspiration of her lower body such that heavy teardrops of sweat could be seen streaking across the face of her globes at regular intervals, The persistent motion of her rear resulted in the majority of this perspiration being bounced off of her buttocks, but if one looked closely–as content consumers were prone to– the sight of sweat trickling between her cheeks and further moistening the edges of her occasionally-exposed holes was presented just often enough to serve as masturbatory fuel.

Comically, Lauren’s thoughts were completely removed from these realities. In order, the focus of her thoughts shifted from arguing to silently counting to 30 in her head. 

Bracing herself was more important than arguing. Her mind had already been wobbled by the sexual humidity that choked the bedroom–any more disorientation would leave her too vulnerable to function.

Strictly speaking, her efforts were admirable–

Ineffective in practice, but proof of her willingness to try.

“Awright…j-just calm down. Ain’t nothin’ you haven’t dealt with before. All ya gotta do is get through this. Concentrate on that, y’hear?”

“I gotta be ready in 7…6…”

“!!!??”

For better or for worse, naturalistic responses are best extracted from subjects who are denied time to think about how to behave. 

The owner of the voice knew this and thus used the knowledge to his advantage. In pursuit of a ‘natural’ response from Lauren,  he asked for another 30 seconds from her when he only actually needed 20. In the seconds he earned, he quietly abandoned his perch manning the cameras and readied himself to take up a position to her left.

Just as she arrived at ‘5’,  both of his hands grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her out of her position bent over for the cameras. 

The position that he chose for her was one directly ahead of his crotch. Her rustic features were set within inches of the reeking masculine humidity that billowed away from his crotch whilst her lips were left just shy of a kiss with unwashed bloat of his erection’s tip.

Per usual, these things made it very easy for Lauren to forget the fact that she had been rudely manhandled only seconds prior. Here, a familiar blend of revulsion and arousal combined to draw her eyes into yet another seconds-long stare at the phallus that had subjected her innards to several months worth of ‘bullying’. 

In her mind, it was borderline bestial. Years spent on a farm with more than one ‘healthy’ male farm animal biased her toward this assessment before any sense or logic could come into play. The groundwork laid by her upbringing was used to raise towers of comparison to the only other human shafts she had seen in her life thus far: her father’s, her brother’s, and those sent to her phone by some of the other young women within the community.

If assessed within this group, only her brother’s was large–or so she assumed. She had yet to see her brother’s manhood bloated with blood, so in truth, there was no way for her to be certain. She couldn’t say for certain whether his foreskin was as loose and sweat-greased as what enveloped her suitor’s glans, nor could she be certain that his maintained the same vein-infested submarine-loaf girth. The image of it that she had built in her mind did not have the occasional jet-black pubic hair curling out of its foreskin, and it certainly didn't have any curdled, semi-solid filth packed into it.

It didn’t. And yet–

“But it probably does got those things on it, huh?”

“‘Cause Amos’ th’ same type’a guy…”

Time that she could have used to brace herself was instead devoted to muttering a conclusion at her core. All the while, her eyes were drawn into a fixated stare at the steaming, near-foot-length breeding loaf ahead of her face.

Staring on its own could have been forgiven–

Doing so whilst a fresh flush bloomed underneath her sweaty freckles was a bit too telling for her beloved fans to ignore.

“Come on, you know the drill. Are you trying to say you need help or something?” In recognition of the stupor Lauren had slipped into, the voice addressed her and swiftly set a palm to the back of her head to remind her that she was still in the middle of something. “We might be able to finish with just this depending on how much effort you put in. With how much you’ve been complaining, that should be enough motivation for you, right?”

These words fished a display of expertise from Lauren without her even realizing it. Instead of scowling and shouting per the norms of months prior, she did so while also snapping her left hand up to the root of the wriggling phallus ahead of her. With it braced, she popped up into a squat that accentuated the puffy mass of her buttocks and thighs, then leveled her lips to a perfect position opposite the filth-clogged knob that she was expected to service.

Even the retorts that she produced were curtailed with efficiency in mind.

“...Shut up, would’ja? If ya’d wash this damn thing more often, maybe I’d be able t’think straight in front of it,”

“We’re DEFINITELY done after this. Just you fuckin’ watch!”

It was not in Lauren’s nature to back down when challenged–even in matters that she didn’t particularly enjoy. This as combined with the prospect of arriving at the part of the evening that she had actually planned for motivated her through a firm tip-to-hand plunge of her mouth down along the rancid length of cockflesh set ahead of her. Stalwart from the start of her drive right through to the wet *GLRK!* that signaled its end, her appearance throughout maintained an air of professionalism; a stark contrast to the clumsy twerking session that had preceded it.

Loathe as she was to admit it, Lauren had grasped the ins and outs of slovenly cock service faster than the innumerable techniques concerned with twerking. Goaded on by a pleasant churning sensation just below her midsection (to say nothing of the mild high imposed by the stench of her suitor’s erection), her descent was spent with her tongue outstretched in a slow, deliberate swirl around the girth she had consumed. Taking the organ’s entirety between the plush of her lips required that a portion of it be slotted down her throat, but not even this was enough to stop her.

Arrival at her destination saw her set off into a sprint towards another. With her eyes turned up into a hateful scowl at the man above her–one that just so happened to be captured by a phone camera sustained by his free hand–she tightened her palm’s choking embrace of his cockroot and used it to hold the organ in place while she wrenched her lips up through a suction-backed ascent back to the tip of his glans.

Had she any sort of context for what she looked like throughout, the whorishness of it would have mortified her.

*SCHLLRLRRR~~~*

Immediately, her freshly cock-greased lips were drawn back up to the tip of his glans with only a sheen of spittle to show for the effort. His foreskin was peeled out of position just slightly; fractions of an inch mitigated by the yellowed mush packed inside of it.

Neither of these things were accomplishments for Lauren. At the peak of his shaft, she produced another lewd swirl of her tongue that lasted only a split second before skewering herself full of engorged cockflesh all over again. This time, the aggressive intent behind her plunge and what remained of her brutalized gag reflex combined to see her eyes moistened just as her lips delivered another kiss against her fingers. More than this, it signaled for the saliva ducts inside her mouth and the natural ‘slop’ produced by her throatpussy to begin playing the roles required of them.

What started as two pedestrian plunges of her skull became a vigorous flurry of suck-throating potent enough to put a seasoned prostitute to shame. Without loosening her scowl, Lauren pumped her mouth up and down along the same stretch of inches she had trapped as if trying to scrub them clean with her insides. She slanted her wrist slightly to better feed cockflesh down her throat and intentionally allowed all of the salivation and mucus her gullet had to offer to ooze out of her however it pleased.

If ‘pace’ was the baseline of her efforts, her slovenly disregard for herself was the mechanism that it supported. For as much as she disliked the activities that were required of her (or for as much as she appeared to dislike them) Lauren displayed no reservation in making a mess of herself to finish the task ‘effectively’. Both during the acceleration and ultimate ‘settling’ of her slurping, mixed slop from the confines of her mouth streamed out across her suitor’s shaft with enough consistency to leave it perpetually greased. The hand that she used to brace his girth became gunked with the same murky slime in the process, which in turn allowed for some of her ‘lubrication’ to end up smeared to her fingers as well.

Lauren noticed these things, but refused to allow them to change her approach. Well aware of the fact that the slime she was spewing was a by-product of the abuse she subjected her gag reflex to, she happily maintained her efforts in hopes of creating more of a mess.

Her rationale was simple: in the past, messily squeezing logs of cockflesh back and forth through her throat until mucus oozed out of one of her nostrils had never failed to make her suitor erupt. The sloppier her efforts, the more quickly he’d arrived at an orgasm. The more quickly he arrived at an orgasm, the sooner she’d be able to take control of proceedings once and for all. 

A single naive chain of belief was all that she needed to push herself. The masculine stink that she huffed on a second-by-second basis and her newfound ‘affinity’ for stale cockflesh and coagulated semen provided supported her as well, but their influence went unacknowledged by her even as they took direct control over the methods of her performance.

Lauren was smart; throating was not the only thing that her ‘viewers’ wanted to see. Within a minute of consistently stroking her maw up and down between the stopping point set by her fingers and the mess of flesh and filth at her suitor’s glans, she effortlessly transitioned into an entirely different set of ministrations.

Without warning, one of her *SCHLLRRPPP ♥ * narrated ascents back up to her starting point bled into a seamless assault on the sock of foreskin flesh that she had loosened with her gullet.

“...I’ll show you. Y’think I’m some kinda idiot jus’ ‘cause I don’t commit none of this perverse internet stuff tah mind,”

“Let’s see how you like lookin’ all stupid when I make you dump out all’a those gross ropes you went and built up!”

To reiterate, Lauren’s sexual naivety was offset by an almost bestial affinity for some of the acts that were expected of her. Prior to her transition, the jackhammering of her skull was defined by reflexive ‘gulps’ against the trunk of her suitor’s erection that pressed the mucus-glazed meat of her esophagus into rugged, vein-enveloped cockflesh with enough pressure to drain it. Simultaneously, she rolled her tongue through lazy (and intentionally showy) swirls around his girth to see the throatslop she produced evenly applied to the entirety of his girth. Split seconds separated a given plunge of her skull from one of the suction-backed ascents she produced; intricacy had its place in her ministrations, yet voracious aggression remained their core.

Pivoting from one form of aggression to another was trivial for her. After carrying a half-mouthful of spittle up to the peak of her suitor’s glans, she loosened her lips’ impressions into its meat to see a segmented waterfall of slop burst out from underneath her lips.

It was the opening act to a far more arousing show. In time with the loosening of her lips, Lauren ascended until only the very tip of his erection remained inside her mouth (a position that made her appear as though she was kissing it). Here, she immediately pressed her tongue underneath the loosened foreskin flesh that sagged at the face of his erection and swiped the organ back and forth inside the sleeve as if in control of a windshield wiper.

What started as a localized flutter became full-scale swirls a moment later. After showing off the pillars of slop inside her mouth and the humidity of her cock-scented breath, she pulled the impression of her tongue around his glans’ girth. Immune to the compaction of bitter, slop-loosened smegma to her tastebuds as she worked, her first rotation motivated her into a second, and her second into a third.

Before long, the air was infected by the sounds of puffy breaths streaming out of her open maw and the raucous slithering of a slimy tongue within a grotesque sleeve of foreskin.

“Ahhh–hahhhhhh—hh ♥ ”

*Sshclrsh–schlrssh-schlrsshh-schlrsshh*

Her self-generated duet served two purposes. Before anything else, it drew additional attention to the confines of her mouth–a mess of spittle, phallus-grease, and pubes that Lauren could not be bothered to clean. Past this, it imposed a grating change of pace for her suitor. In the seconds that she maintained it, the focused rigidity that stared at her as she worked was washed away by something resembling consternation. 

Lauren had no way of confirming the effectiveness of her first aim in the present, but confirmation for the second was delivered to her just as her swirling hit its 10-second mark–

For the first time in recent memory, the man ahead of her was forced to grit his teeth and throw his head back in a display of bliss.

“...That’s right ya bastard. Betcha didn’t think I’d get so good at this, huh? I bet you were thinkin’ about how you’d have t’tell me what to do to finish again, huh?”

“Nope, not this time. Yer dead fuckin’ wrong. I know exactly how t’make you bust your smelly dickjuice. I’ve done it a bunch of times, n’now I c’n even get you t’do it before you wanna!”

“Now hurry up and nut down my throat so I c’mn see how damn stupid you’ll look ♥ .”

Though the tone of Lauren’s thoughts betrayed the arousal visible on her face–and for that matter, the puddle that had formed underneath the crotch of her bikini--the fact remained that she could not have come this far without an explicit desire for the off-white slop that gurgled within her suitor’s depths. Her body was perfectly happy to allow her to believe otherwise so long as she actively worked towards obtaining it; a familiar compromise where stubborn, tomboyish young women were concerned.

The man ahead of her was content to allow her to believe these things as well. His response to her efforts was genuine, but his decision to present it to her was influenced by the effort she put forth.

A good performance required energy and proactivity: two things that she was currently displaying in spades.

‘Why’ she was displaying them didn’t matter in the slightest.

“Oh, so ya wanna stretch this out?” In recognition of the fact that her suitor was not breaking down at the pace that she hoped he would, Lauren galvanized her with another taunt.

“Nah, sorry. Ain’t no way I’m lettin you,”

“Gimme that FUCKIN’ nut and then fuck off!”

Several seconds of aggressive tongue-grinding from her ended without warning. Out of nowhere, she snapped the slop-gunked fingers that she had wrapped around the base of his shaft up to a telling position just an inch or so below his glans–a height that left only the nastiest fraction of his shaft and its tongue-loosened foreskin exposed to the open air.

Upon isolating it, she devoured it. She spread her lips as quickly as she raised her hand and plunged her skull downward to pop the entirety of the phallus-section girth into her mouth.

If her nostril-flaring cocklust had not been made apparent up until this point, the seconds that followed made it undeniable. Whilst a fresh stream of mucus dribbled headily from her right nostril, Lauren applied a combination of suction and rapidfire pumping to the peak of the man’s glans whilst vigorously stroking the remainder of his length with her palm.

Yet again, shamelessly disgusting aggression defined her approach.

Barely a minute removed from pushing half-melted wads of smegma down her throat, she applied the messes that she had made thus far to make her slurping as effective as possible. Right from the start, the excess salivation that had oozed from the edges of her mouth was localized into a controlled dribble across the man’s glans and foreskin. At the end of the first plunge of her skull, it–and not the dregs of cockfilth that her tongue had failed to scoop out–became the dominant substance plastered to his length.

In the first place, finding any kind of success without this level of lubrication would have been difficult for her. As if intending to mitigate her own motions, the suction that Lauren applied with her mouth was enough to pull her cheeks concave on occasion–particularly at the peak of one of her strokes. 

The squirming within her uterus demanded that she apply it in hopes of pulling semen up through the spire that much more quickly–this was all there was to it. The fact that its application fed a chain of spittle-frothed *SCHLP-SCHLP-SCHLPPP ♥ * noises through the air was incidental, as was the accelerated clearance of loose smegma from off of his glans.

Nevertheless, its application complicated what could have been a much more vehement series of motions from her. Attacking her suitor’s phallus this way amounted to an attempt at pulling boiling cement through a narrow straw. Although not strictly impossible, the difficulty associated with the effort should have made it a non-option to begin with.

As a result, the throatslop and mucus that had defined her efforts thus far became even more integral. The flavors of cocksweat and filth that had violated her tastebuds in the time that she had spent swirling her tongue had tempted the ducts within her mouth into a perpetual ooze of spittle. Similar outflows of a thicker mess dribbled out of the back of her throat on occasion, but as she was not strictly throating her suitor’s length anymore, these discharges were few and far between. If anything, more of the substance could be seen trailing out of one of her nostrils and constituting the bubbles that her haggard breathing blew from them.

With or without what her gullet provided, Lauren already had everything that she needed. By twisting and swirling her tongue at an irregular pace (that just so happened to tease fractions of its length out from underneath her lips) she carried the majority of the mess that she produced into sometimes frothed, sometimes smeared glazes across the inches of cockflesh she was servicing.

Doing so reduced the pumping of her pube-edged maw to a matter of reflex. Having created an effective counterbalance for her suction, executing her slurpjob became as simple as ‘doing’ it. This was to say that for as long as her feminine innards desired the sensation of fattened sperm cells squirming within her esophagus and pooling into sludge within her stomach, she could be expected to service cockflesh indefinitely. 

Lauren had this and more–

With each pump of her mouth, her desire to see the man ahead of her crippled by stimulation inched closer and closer to overtaking the mating lust that had infected her body in recent months.

“Y’gonna do it? Gonna clog my throat with your nasty dickjuice? Better not drop yer damn phone or that precious vidya’a yours’ gonna get ruined. Everyone’d know that gettin’ your stinkin’ dick throated is enough t’make you cry like a baby, too,”

“M’not gonna give ya a choice, though. I c’n feel th’ way your pulsing and squirmin’ Your dick wants to give me all’a that nasty sludge you went an’ built up n’you’re just being tough about it.”

“Doesn’t matter, though…”

“You ain’t got much longer now ♥ .”

There could be no denying Lauren in her current state. Even as her efforts became increasingly hazy and lust-addled, their effectiveness went unchanged. As the half-grasp she had sealed around her suitor’s length tightened, so too did the pace at which her wrist carried it along his cocktrunk. These things provided her more insight into the desperate pulsing conducted through the veins of his length, which in turn triggered an even more ‘focused’ assault on his glans.

At some point, technique evaporated from her efforts. What remained was a fit of slobbering accented by scowling and a feminine desperation that could not be described as anything other than adorable.

No amount of business-minded efficiency could blunt the potency of these things. The man ahead of her made a spirited effort to maintain the camera angle that he had set in silence; anyone else would have crumbled minutes ago. 

Doing so indefinitely was too much. After a veritable eternity in the realm of monetized sexual content (like 7 minutes nigga), his biology compelled him to raise his free hand up from his side and press it into the edge of Lauren’s head.

Lauren took this as her ‘cue’. Once again, she transitioned out of her latest set of ministrations into one that she deemed to be best suited for the task that lay ahead of her.

At that moment, it took the form of another depression of her skull. Instead of squeezing inches of her suitor’s length back into the warm embrace of her throat, she slanted her skull to press his glans into a curved impression against her right inner cheek. Once certain that the texture of the pocket was firmly blanked against his helmet–a circumstance that made the right side of her mouth appear tented by cockflesh, she brandished her slovenly disregard for herself one final time and took to swirling her tongue around the inches of cockflesh that she had trapped within her mouth.

Snotty swivels of her skull followed in short order. As opposed to sucking or even throating, she spent several seconds nuzzling her inner cheek against the most sensitive region of his length. 

She did not need to do this; any focused effort that she produced would have sufficed to make his shaft erupt. Her doing so was a simple matter of getting what she wanted as quickly as possible–

Succinctly, she knew that all of these things would make the man ahead of her burst that much faster.

“....F-Fuck.”

Another cue. Barely a minute into the perverse contortion she had applied with her face, Lauren heard a sound that turned her feverish again. In time with it, she reeled her skull backward against the suckling pressure applied by her lips and messily popped her suitors' glans out of her mouth once and for all. With it exposed, she sharpened the pumping that she applied with her free hand such that a deafening chain of *SCHLK!* noises were fed out into the open air.

Then came further action from her tongue. In her mind, it was not enough for her to simply stroke the man to completion. As though she had yet to display any ‘perversion’ thus far, she complimented her stroking by outstretching her spittle-laden tongue into contact with his glans and attacking it with a combination of pressure and motion.

Straits such as these were meant to destroy those subjected to them. A veritable eternity was required for it in the grand scheme of proceedings; elongated seconds that Lauren’s viewers might’ve described as tortuous. 

All the same, it occurred. In the wake of a series of convulsions that threatened Lauren’s grasp on the erection within her palm, a half-rope, half-flourish of the reeking resin-porridge that she had worked for was blasted out into a messy vertical bisection of her profile.

“Hiuhh..!”

Intimate familiarity with the weight and heat of the sludge that was splattered across her face did not stop Lauren from reacting to it virginally. Far from the sort of seasoned ‘content piece’ that could ignore the sudden eruption of reproductive fluid against her face, a cute squeak burst from her lips at a volume just loud enough for her viewers to catch. 

No sooner did it kiss the air did the layering of nut across the middle of Lauren’s tongue smother it.

The taste of congealed cockjuice was something that she was sensitive to as well. Having her left eye glued shut whilst sperm cells wriggled against her pores, but having the denatured glut assault her tastebuds was another thing entirely.

A degree of revulsion was warranted, of course. As opposed to the thin, off-white paste that another man might’ve produced, the semen that was blasted across her face maintained an off-white consistency and a lumpy, nigh-chewable texture that could only be described as ‘nutrient-rich’. On her face, it acted as a bulbous cement destined for a slow and sludgy descent across her profile–if it descended at all.

On her tongue, it was a meal. A revolting, bitter meal that she disliked, but one that her body had learned to respond to. Dedicated observers would see saliva well at the corners of her mouth whilst her brow furrowed in a mixture of frustration and disgust.

None would hear the expletives that reverberated through her head as the first spurt of seed she received was followed up by more of the same.

“FUCK FUCK GOD DAMN IT. THE FUCK’DYOU GOTTA NOT JERK OFF BEFORE THESE DAMN THINGS FOR! WHY DOES THERE ALWAYS GOTTA BE SO MUCH’A IT!!”

“HURRY UP N’FINISH YA BASTARD. MY FACE N’ MOUTH’RE GIONNA REEK SO BAD THAT EVEN AMOS MIGHT NOTICE!!”

Lauren’s internal complaints were contradicted by her handling of the situation. After a second and third surge of semen threatened to leave more than half of her profile smothered underneath a ‘mask’ of chunked jizz, she adopted proactivity for the umpteenth time: another descent of her mouth along the spurting nose of her suitor’s length.

Once again, she descended from root to tip. Ignoring the sensation of esophagus-clogging nut spewing out towards her stomach, she planted another kiss against the root of the man’s crotch and bounced straight back up along the girth of his erection.

Her aim in this wasn’t service, but evacuation. Both throughout her plunge and the ascent that followed, she applied a hellish amount of pressure with her lips and mouth. Proof of this could be found in the *shclllll~~pppp* that cut through the air as she rose, and more saliently, in the deliberate slowness she applied to it. Together with the compression of her throat and the warmth inside her mouth, these things assisted in pulling a disgusting excess of semen up through her suitor’s erection at an alarming rate.

If the dousing of her face had taken several seconds, the clogging of her esophagus took moments. Firm in her intent to bring proceedings to an end as quickly as possible, Lauren actively gulped against the phallus inside her mouth to pull as much seed into a slow, oozing descent into her stomach as she could–all whilst maintaining the breakneck pumping of her skull.

The end result of this was another startling display of talent. For as often as she felt herself ‘clogged’ with semen, her stomach ultimately assumed the role of reservoir for her suitor’s nut. For as often as deafening *BLRPS…* produced by the discharge of semen into the ‘narrow’ confines of her esophagus echoed through her brain, her efforts went unaffected by them. Not even the persistent squirming and throbbing at her crotch could stop her from finishing the task that she had set for herself.

And she did finish. After about thirty seconds of throating and swallowing, the end of the man’s orgasm prompted Lauren to peel herself backwards one final time. Yet another soggy, tugging ascent of her lips pulled them from the root of his erection up to a sodden *PLORP~!* off of its nose.

Here, even she could not help but huff and puff as a young woman exhausted from her efforts.

“Hahhh, huuuh, hahhh…hyuuu…”

The sight of her added further weight to every exhalation she produced. Taking every drop of seed her suitor had for her had left a vile thread of the substance oozing out of the same nostril that had served as the main outlet for her mucus. The perspiration that had peppered her profile had grown even thicker and the complexion of her skin rosier. Even the stray pubes that had been ‘missable’ up until this point were far more apparent to the eye if one bothered to look.

These features were unique to young women that prioritized the sexual satiation of their partners over both stamina and dignity: points of appeal that only the most whorish could pursue.

But Lauren hadn’t pursued them. Having acquired her appearance accidentally, she panted and huffed away from the camera above her face as though there was nothing for it to capture.

As a result of this, her suitor’s second task after ensuring the drainage of his balls did not leave him incapable of standing upright was an attempt at correction. 

His straits were no better than Lauren’s. Every muscle in his lower body desired the sweat release of collapse. At some point or another, Lauren’s slurping had blurred his vision as well.

Nevertheless, he did as a ‘producer’ ought. Reaching down with his free hand, he pushed his index and middle fingers underneath Lauren’s chin and pulled her face up towards the camera—

All so that she could be seen with semen on her tongue and pubes on her face.

“What? Not even going to say bye to everyone after working so hard?” He teased, smirking. “Say bye for the camera, come on.”

How close Lauren came to defying the man was debatable. In the first place,  her ‘core’ was only one imposition of contact away from wrenching her chin from out of his grasp and brandishing a scowl for him.

The priorities of the organs below her navel could not have this.

Per their oozing and wriggling, she compromised–

A pout for the camera and vitriol for the man that had reduced her to this.

“Ya don’t gotta tell me that…”

“B-Bye. Thanks for watchin’, ah’ guess…”

-

HOURS LATER–

Filming amateur porn content focused on the darling of a given rural community in the very same community that she grew up within requires a unique combination of indifference and tact. The former is necessary for one to entertain the idea at all whereas the latter is what ensures that the act of doing so will result in a ‘success’.

Yulen maintained both of these in equal amounts. It was more accurate to say that he was ‘made’ to have them, but the result was the same. Indifferent to the attention he might draw to himself in doing so, he acquired a property inside the town that the Villry family called home and set a schedule for Lauren to visit him at it. 

Her doing so was her ‘part’ in honoring the financial agreement between them. There was no room for her to argue against it, nor compromises to mitigate it. No matter how conspicuous or questionable, she’d arrive per their schedule, and would leave only after her work was complete. Tact on Yulen’s part made certain that her visits would attract as little attention as possible. As with all clandestine meetings, though, a certain amount of risk remained in every one of her outings.

Leeway was left for Lauren to manage this risk as well. Normally, she did so by leaving as soon as she was finished working. Without properly scrubbing away the evidence of her presence, she departed from his residence without so much as a word.

The occasions where she did not make use of this strategy could be counted on a single hand. Being a young woman whose ‘real’ life was as far removed from her circumstance as possible, she scarcely missed an opportunity to remove herself from the presence of the man who had ‘helped’ her.

As a matter of course, this made the occasions where she did linger that much easier for Yulen to catch.

When she failed to remove herself at the end of their session, he addressed her before she could him.

“...Well? What is it? You usually never waste time when it comes to getting out of here.”

“If it’s about how you did today, I thought it was fine. That shouldn’t be something we need to talk about, though.”

While securing the footage he had captured, Yulen spoke out without turning his attention toward Lauren’s stewing near the mouth of his living room. By his measurements, she should have left minutes ago. 

Had he turned his gaze upwards, he’d have found both of her fists balled with conviction and an expression of certainty on her moisture-softened profile.

“Yer damn right we don’t need to talk about that. I’ll have you know we ain’t never gonna need t’ever again, too!” She spat.

“Ah’m done with all’a this! I didn’t have any other options ‘fore my brother came home. I felt like this was all I could do t’keep things goin’. Maybe it was, but none’a that matters no more,”

“Ah’m not gonna keep doin’ this alone no more! I ain’t gonna say that you didn’t help me when I needed it, b-but continuin’ while my brother’s working hard t’help me ain’t what a sister does.”

“I’ll figure this out on my own from on, y’hear?”

The fire in her words belied a glassy base that seemed as though it would shatter under its own weight at any moment. Her eyes were downcast throughout the beginnings of her declaration, but in time, they rose upward to direct a degree of confidence towards the man who had effectively owned her.

To her eye, her courage reaped results. 

Yulen said nothing– could say nothing. Their agreement was verbal, and though he owned footage of her at her worst, there was nothing truly stopping her from quitting.

A part of her thought the ensuing silence strange, but this was unimportant relative to her aim of separating herself.

“You c’n do whatever you want with all of th’ other videos. I don’t care about that stuff. I ain’t gonna be comin’ next week, though. If ya so much as message me again, I’ll…”

“I-I’ll get you in a lot of trouble, y’hear?”

Lauren had no concept of the fact that she had very little legal recourse to stand on. She didn’t intend to actually involve authorities, either. The shame that it would draw onto her and her brother would be too much.

These words failed to move Yulen as well. His face was as affectless–even more so than the norm.

It hardly mattered, though. Whether he cared or not, she had done everything she had needed to do.

“S-So…”

“Goodbye.”

With this, Lauren departed from the living room as she normally would’ve. As if fearful of the possibility of backlash, she did not look back until she was several steps removed from the front door of Yulen’s residence and safely enveloped by the humid night that surrounded it.

As a matter of course, this left Yulen to his own devices within the residence. Watching and waiting in anticipation for a rushing return that never came, he eventually ‘loosened’ in the same way that Lauren had hours prior.

“Well…”

“Let’s hope that’s the end of it.”

Chapter Text

Cutting ties with the man who had helped her keep the family homestead out of bankruptcy was not a decision Lauren Villry made lightly. Much like her decision to cooperate with him in the first place, she regarded it as an all-important first step into the next phase of her life. 

The difference in this case was a matter of what this phase would pertain to. Becoming an ‘actress and model’ for Yulen had been the same as committing herself to suffering and discomfort more or less indefinitely–a reality that she embraced by necessity. With her parents’ passing and her brother’s return to the family home, she conceived of a more fulfilling life for herself and began laying the groundwork required for her to pursue it.

Although well past the age where she gave all of her undertakings a special title (or at least past the age where she might proudly announce these titles), the weight of her circumstance brought her back to the comfort of old habits. Upon departing from Yulen’s residence for the last time, she titled the next phase of her life as ‘Getting Amos to Stay With Me By Any Means Necessary’: partly as a display of conviction, and partly to celebrate the fact that she could devote herself to the process in both body and mind.

Despite her inclinations as a ‘little sister’, Lauren correctly framed the work ahead of her as a matter of effort, not time. Growing up with Amos provided her unique insight into the kind of man that he was–or rather, the kind of man that he had been. Before his disenchantment with rural life and long after it, the constants that defined him from her perspective were his capacity for suffering and the importance that he placed on her well-being as his sister. Faced with the loss of their parents and the reality of his younger sister being left to manage their affairs on her own, his return home was a given.

Whether or not he would stay indefinitely after the fact, however, remained up in the air. 

Lauren hadn’t acquired ‘self-sufficiency’ for nothing. Begging, or even strongly requesting that Amos consider returning home to the farm was tantamount to admitting that all of the work he and their father had put into raising her had been for nothing. As well, she had already sacrificed a great deal to create the illusion of everything being under control. Had Amos refused to return home in the first place, she’d have continued making ‘online content’ with Yulen as a matter of principle until one of her mind or body collapsed.

More important than either of these things was her desire to avoid having her brother uproot his life under duress. 

He had left home for a reason. For him, there was something he needed in life that could only be found away from where he was born. Forcing him to abandon all of it out of a sense of filial piety was no different from her forcing herself to continue working with Yulen forever.

One after another, these considerations narrowed her options until only a single route to success remained for her:

Somehow, she needed to make herself more valuable to him than anything else in the world. She needed to compliment his life in a way that made pushing other things aside seem like a natural choice. Succinctly, she needed to encourage her brother to make the choice to stay all on his own. She realized that such a result would result in the very same losses that she wanted him to avoid, but she didn’t care. In this case, him uprooting himself was reasonable because he’d acquire something of similar value in return–or so she told herself.

Where an ‘ordinary’ sister was liable to shrink in the face of this ultimatum, Lauren bloomed. Growing up away from modernity (and her relative indifference towards it) left her unshackled. No length was too far where her goal was concerned, and social conventions were more so soft guidelines than hard rules. 

She had learned a great deal about what modern men deemed ‘appealing’ in her time working with Yulen as well. With Amos as her target, any shame or discomfort she might’ve experienced in making use of them could be softened into a brand of embarrassment that she could fight through at a moment’s notice.

Acknowledging these things made Lauren confident about her odds of success.  It was not a baseless brand of confidence, either. The moment she returned home, she cleaned herself up and quietly set about making preparations for the first day of the rest of her life.

She was not especially tactful as she did so; in her mind, she didn’t need to be. Amos Villry was a deep sleeper–or at least she recalled him being this way when the two of them were children. To her, a few years apart was unlikely to change one of his foremost habits. 

Any ‘younger sister’ in her position was liable to make the same assumption, and rightly so given the information at hand.

Here, though Lauren’s preoccupation with what was likely inadvertently blinded herself to what was possible:

Amos caring for her was a two-way street. While she readied herself to become an irreplaceable presence in his life, her behavior prompted him to start investigating her circumstances as only he could.

His gut suggested that the strange packages Lauren had received were the best place for him to start. Although all of the packaging and labeling pointed towards Lauren making use of a high-grade livestock supplement, ‘information’ available to him as an upper-level employee within the company that created it revealed that experimental stock for an entirely different compound had been distributed to a number of certified testing facilities across the country.

The address of the farm that he grew up on had no place on the list of these ‘facilities’. Regarding the shipment as some kind of mistake wasn’t an option either–not unless he willfully ignored the old packaging that Lauren had dutifully stowed away within the main barn. Taken together, his instincts told him that his sister had gotten herself wrapped up in something unsavory in his absence–something with implications for the rest of her natural life.

Mulling over the question of ‘what’ brought him back to the headlines that had been pouring from the company of late. Averdine had made something new, and were excited to inject it into a relevant market.

How quickly they had moved into formal trials was as stunning as usual. Of course they could afford to speed things along however much they wished, but what if the manner in which they did so was especially ‘unsavory’?

What if it always had been?

And what if…

What if the waifish tomboy he had helped raise had ended up contributing to it somehow?

At some point or another, Amos decided that asking himself the question of ‘what if’ was no longer good enough. After several nights spent arming himself with information, he committed himself to using the rest of his time at home to ascertain the truth–

Both for Lauren’s sake, and his peace of mind as an older sibling suddenly without his parents.

-

3 DAYS LATER–VILLRY HOMESTEAD

Amos’ time away from farm life had done little to the habits he had formed while growing up on it. Days for him began in the darkness before sunrise and ended well after sunset. Automations enjoyed by modern farms meant that he did not have to spend every waking hour working, but the nature of the circumstance he had returned to compelled him to use his time effectively anyway.

Since his return, nearly all of his mornings were spent outside. Though the farm remained just barely profitable enough for the family to keep a handful of ‘staff’, any work that he completed himself became work that they wouldn’t have to pay for (whether in terms of time or resources). To this end, he engaged himself as his father had raised him to and ensured that as many animals as possible were fed before returning to the house to begin the day in earnest.

Of late, he had broken his short-lived routine out of concern for Lauren. Putting aside the goods she had received from a ‘certain company’, her behavior in the past few days had been eyebrow-raising to say the least. In their years together, he had come to know Lauren as a particular type of girl. Firm in her convictions, but woefully disconnected from some of the things that made young women…young women. This made it painfully easy for him to spot when she wasn’t acting like herself–

All he needed to do was watch for something that only a well-adjusted young woman would do. 

For the third day in a row, Amos awoke to the familiar darkness of his bedroom and unfamiliar sounds of activity from the first floor of the house. On the first day, the latter was easy to discount as a product of Lauren coming home late from her night out. The day after that and the current one were not so easy to gloss over, however.

Their stubbornness lay in the source that they shared. Once dressed for the day and out of his bedroom, Amos was immediately attacked by the scent of breakfast.

One step on from the foot of the staircase, the sound of Lauren’s voice revealed that this scent had been prepared for his sake.

Again.

“Amos, hang on! You weren’t gonna head straight out again, were ya?”

“Ya can’t start th’ day without eatin’. The animals ain’t gonna kill ya if you’re a couple minutes late. Come stuff your face a bit before you head out–it’ll only take a sec!”

Amos prided himself in his ability to remember things. The number of times that Lauren bothered to prepare breakfast in their youth could be counted on a single hand. In the first place, all of these attempts had been spurred on by some kind of special occasion, or an intolerable amount of nagging from their mother about Lauren’s lack of ‘homemaking skills’.

This by itself was enough to raise an eyebrow with him upon rounding into the kitchen. When coupled with the sights Lauren had attached to it (the same brand of sight she had presented for three straight days), Amos was reminded of the fact that there was something genuinely amiss with his sister.

Being siblings, the sight of her half-naked was not new to him. Last he had checked, though, her ‘development’ as a teenager had done away with the worst of her habits before they could do any real harm to either of them.

‘Harm’ was precisely what he imagined when his gaze fell on the succulent boulder of panty-gloved buttocks flesh that protruded away from Lauren’s backside. It had caught his attention the moment he had returned home, but now it was simply undeniable. 

The growth spurt she had hit simply wasn’t normal. When last he had spent an extended period of time with her, it seemed as though she had inherited a reasonable combination of soft femininity from their mother and sturdiness from her father. More of the former than the latter, but enough of the latter to support her activities on the farm. In the span of a few short years, the ‘fairness’ of her assets had mutated into a pale dumptruck of flesh more than 30 inches in width from cheek to cheek, a waistline curious devoid of excess fat, and hip-curvature that made that refused to be covered by the ragged tank top she favored as sleepwear.

She wasn’t naked, but she may as well have been. The simple white panties that offered her decency were devoured by the rounded, peach-like bloat of her cheeks. Neither was completely exposed at the face, but a healthy flare of exposed flesh at their outer sides made all the difference. For all of her endurance, both cheeks remained more fat than raw muscle, which made the crotch-smothering puffiness on display that much more alluring.

Similarly dense thighs descended from where these cheeks ended. Both were made of the same plush, gropeable meat as her rear and sat completely exposed to the open air. Neither disqualified Lauren as a woman with a conceivable figure, but they added further credence to the idea that she had been altered by something.

Looking (and concluding) was all that Amos had time for. Staring at his sister’s ass while she prepared a meal for the two of them was not exactly ‘brotherly’ behavior, so he forced himself to settle with the bare minimum and made his way straight up to her side.

Once again, the stove was devoid of the charred skillets that he recalled in their youth. There wasn’t much food on the stove at all, truth be told.

By the look of it, Lauren had already finished cooking most of it.

“Haha, couldn’t resist, could’ja?” Lauren chirped. “Most of it is on th’ table already–this is just the pancakes. If I made too much, we can just warm up the leftovers later.”

“Don’t worry about me, y’hear? You were just about to go out, right? You c’n just grab what you want and get started on it,”

“Unless you jus’ feel like standing all close to me, which I don’t really mind bein’ honest.”

Amos made the mistake of slanting his gaze down to the right to attend to his sister as she spoke. In doing so, the disparity between their heights was highlighted for the umpteenth time, and the satisfied rosiness that had invaded Lauren’s profile of late was presented to him at its warmest.

It was as though she was completely aware of what she was doing, but only barely flustered by the implications of it.

“You definitely made too much, yeah. It’ll make things easier in the next few days, so it’s no problem. I appreciate it, by the way.” Said Amos. “I’ve been kinda wondering about something, though..”

For fear of what he might see were Lauren to open her eyes and look back at him, Amos wisely stepped back from his position beside her after surveying the stove. Making his way over to the dining table as he spoke, he maintained his usual tone and even appeared to become preoccupied with making a breakfast sandwich for himself.

In practice, his focus never fell away from Lauren’s figure and the edge of her profile.

“Lemme guess: th’ food, right?” 

“That obvious, huh? Well, it makes things easier, I guess,” Amos replied.

“It’s not that I don’t like it or anything. Thing is, you weren’t doing much cooking when I first got here, which makes sense since you’ve never really liked it. At first I thought you might’ve just picked up a new hobby, but with how much you used to hate it, it’s tough to believe that you’d force yourself to get so good at it,”

“Why the sudden change? Is everything alright?”

Amos made certain to start eating throughout his delivery. In the worst case, the cause of Lauren’s behavior could be something unsavory enough to warrant hiding it. If keeping the cause hidden was her aim, suspicion from him would only strain her. Given all she had endured, it was his responsibility as her brother to avoid subjecting her to any more stress–hence why he placed so much importance on making his inquiry seem natural.

His worries proved unfounded. No–if Lauren’s behavior was to be taken at face value, the reality of the situation was the exact opposite of what he had expected.

She wasn’t hiding the truth…

She was wielding it.

“Nope, not a thing! I might’ve had plenty t’complain about a few months ago, but everythin’s been great since you’ve been home, Amos.” Lauren chirped. “That’s just it, y’know? I noticed how much of a difference it makes bein’ able to tackle stuff together with you makes. Even if it’s just for now, I wanna make sure bein’ here is nice for you too,”

“‘Sides. A sister doesn’t need a good reason to make breakfast for her brother. A lil’ while after you left, I decided I wasn’t gonna let you come home t’the same ‘ol me. Ma was finding it harder to be on her feet for so long every day, so it was pretty good timin’ if I do say so myself,”

“Enough about that, though–”

Like Amos, Lauren opted to talk and walk at the same time. Skillet in hand, she strode inward to deliver the pancakes she had prepared onto the plate at the center of the table.

Next came a shift toward Amos. From the front, the perspiration that had glazed her skin during her time opposite the stove highlighted the complexion that she had maintained since their youth. If far less obscene relative to her rear, it pulled his eyes onto the solid handfuls of breastflesh that sat completely uncovered under the fabric of her tanktop.

A few short breaths of pheromone-threaded air locked Amos in place long enough for her to make herself undeniable.

“How’s it taste? Better’n th’ muffins I made that one time, right?

The taste?

The taste. All this time, Amos’ preoccupation with the strangeness of it all had blinded him to the fact that all of the breakfast foods he had eaten were cooked and seasoned in the same way their mother used to prepare them. 

Today was no different. Once again, his sense of taste was so used to what he was consuming that he had managed to consume more than half of the stuffed biscuit he had prepared without thinking about it.

Taken aback, his eyes darted down to the meal in his hand, then back up to Lauren’s face–

There, the flushed gaze he had avoided at the stove sat waiting for him.

Expectant nervousness and all.

“By far. Almost can’t believe you made both in the same lifetime.” Amos teased. “Seriously, though, it’s good. Thanks for going to the trouble.”

In sequence, astonished delight exploded across Lauren’s features, then settled into a more ‘mature’ brand of bemusement. Evidently aware of what she looked like, she only allowed herself a few moments of indulging in these expressions before brandishing a familiar smirk at her brother.

As quickly as she flashed it did she slip inward to apply the finishing touches she had planned for the moment.

“Awh, shucks. Thank ya, Amos–I had a feelin’ you liked it, but it feels better t’actullay hear ya say it.” She replied. “Don’t worry about stuff in here. I’ll head out with ya once I’m done tidyin’ up a bit,”

Everything right up to what came after her utterance was very much like Lauren. She was not especially bashful in the face of praise, nor did she allow the feminine flutter of her heart to change the shape of what she wished to express.

This did not stop her from pecking her lips to her brother’s right cheek and swiftly retreating back towards the stove.

“Now get ♥. I don’t wanna hold up your morning.”

This one gesture from Lauren forced Amos right back to where he had started before entering the kitchen. No–in a way, his position was worse.

Now, he had no way of knowing how much of Lauren’s behavior was herself, and how much stemmed from what she had become.

EXECUTION

Over the course of the next few weeks, displays like Lauren’s breakfast routine were sprinkled throughout various aspects of Amos’ life until they became the norm. 

Lauren did not take the task she shouldered lightly. For her to succeed, every aspect of Amos’ life at home needed to be enhanced by her presence. A home-cooked meal here or there and the right attitude were not enough; Amos was an adult who had seen more of the world than she had, so her approach needed to be equally ‘worldly’.

Where this was concerned, the ‘shame’ that Yulen had subjected her to proved very useful. Having already become desensitized to presenting herself in modern outfits and performing modern behavior, she applied both in tandem to create ‘appeal’ for her brother wherever she could.

Calling her efforts heavy-handed did not do them justice. Despite taking care to not suddenly become a different person overnight, the soft pink dolphin shorts and pink-striped panties that she donned to deal with the ‘heat’ while around the house were sharply contrasted against the male-centric clothing she had once favored. Wearing a bikini while doing farmwork would have set off too many alarm bells, so she softened these occasions with denim shorts that barely covered more of her rear and thighs than her underwear.

It wasn’t just how she presented herself. Whilst working to become ‘profitable’ with Yulen, she had participated in plastering herself across several online media platforms. This allowed her to reapply her knowledge of the platforms to learn about what the average adult male not living in the middle of nowhere might find appealing.

Without conventional shame (or sense) to hold her back, Amos’ days became littered with a combination of skinship from her that the two of them should have aged out of, and curious displays of incapacity from her in the strangest possible spots.

Suddenly forgetting how to do farm work wouldn’t have made much sense given their upbringing. In the first place, Amos had been the one who had made her self-sufficient; if anyone was capable of calling out her behavior as odd, it would be him.

On the other hand, asking for ‘help’ with physical tasks while drenched in sweat could be played off as something completely natural–as a learned girl respecting her limitations and avoiding injury by relying on her brother. Coincidentally ‘forgetting’ how pieces of technology worked so that she could be retaught by her brother whilst painfully close to him was similar. She had never been particularly good with technology, so it only made sense that she’d require guidance on occasion.

Away from the daily work the two of them shared were where her efforts became more blatant. A young woman in her early 20s asking to sleep with her brother after watching a scary movie was not normal behavior, but she asked to do so anyway. When Amos caved to this request, she continually upped the ante of her attempts to find where his limit sat.

As a little girl, their parents fed into her desire for intimacy by folding kisses on the cheek into a reward system for her. Out of nowhere, Lauren suggested–no, demanded that they return to the practice for old times' sake.

After particularly long days of work, she began complaining about soreness at her hipline and shoulders that could only be dealt with via massage. During the ‘treatments’ that she nagged her brother for, she made certain that her body was at its sweetest, and that she produced as many adorable squeaks as she could get away with throughout.

These things (and others) were done by her in pursuit of an aura of femininity for herself, and the creation of a sense of purpose for her brother. Lauren did not completely understand how these things worked, but she didn’t need to:

The internet had not lied to her thus far, and she had no reason to believe that it ever would–not after Yulen had managed to generate so much revenue through it.

Being both a recipient of and a participant in Lauren’s efforts had a very corrosive effect on Amos’ psyche. 

He had never been one to deny her things if she had a reason for asking. Their being siblings meant that there was nothing truly ‘weird’ about responding to her requests unless he made things ‘weird’. In a sense, his being unused to the extent of her femininity was his problem: it was no excuse to not be a good ‘older brother’ even if it strained him in other ways–

Or so he told himself.

For as hard as he worked to avoid acknowledging it, the source of the strain that he felt lay in his loose understanding of where Lauren’s behavior was coming from.

The substance that Lauren had used to alter herself was no ordinary cocktail of growth hormones. Per the documentation he had looked through, it was a compound for the stable amplification of fecundity and the creation of a frame capable of accommodating it. In livestock, this would produce healthy, birthing-age females given less time and resources: a dream for farmers with quotas to meet.

The state of Lauren’s body suggested that a similar effect would be observed in humans. With the ‘development’ of her body complete, some part of her psyche was undoubtedly in hot pursuit of her genetic purpose:

Brainless reproduction with a suitable mate.

Amos’ opinion of himself was not high enough to warrant imaging himself as an ideal partner–less so from his little sister’s perspective. Lauren respected him for his experience, but had she any knowledge of his lack of contact with the opposite sex, some of this ‘respect’ may well have melted into pity. With or without insights into his failings, being her brother meant that she was unlikely to consider him an option.

What concerned him was whether or not she would remain in her right mind, and to a lesser extent, whether or not he would as well.

 No matter how he fought to ignore it, the reality of his situation went unchanged–

 His sister’s clumsy attempts at marketing herself as a young woman were not as ‘clumsily’ as they looked.

And why would they be?

Nothing backed by such raw femininity could ever truly fail in the presence of the opposite sex.

-

3 WEEKS LATER – AMOS VILLRY’S BEDROOM

Older houses without central air conditioning can require a certain amount of acclimation from those more used to ‘modern’ amenities. 

An adolescence spent in one such house left Amos quite comfortable upon returning to it. The same could not be said of his body, however. While perfectly willing to fall asleep and awaken in a degree of humidity, the pampering that his body had received from his apartment’s air conditioning left it with no other choice but to perspire in protest of the straits he had placed it in.

As if this by itself was not enough trouble for him to deal with, these periods of perspiration were intensified by a completely different problem that his innards demanded that he solve.

More than two weeks of the exact same reaction made his ‘problem’ undeniable. Roused from yet another modest night’s sleep, Amos peeled the thin layer of sheets glued to his frame by perspiration off of his front and sat up to inspect his body’s foremost source of discomfort.

Per usual, he found a bloated erection laid out across his abdominals and a disquieting excess of precum pooled at his midsection. What was usually a manageable morning-time erection had been warped into a vascular, bee-stung state whose steaming heat was only outdone by the visible glut of off-white smegma caked to his glans. The way that it throbbed suggested that it needed something, and a moment’s assessment of its ‘source’ reminded him that he hadn’t so much as attempted to provide this ‘something’ in several weeks.

Frowning at it was hardly a solution, but this was exactly what he did.

“I really don’t remember it ever being this bad. I know I’ve been ignoring it, but this is just weird man,”

“Unless…”

Hours spent in front of computer screens made Amos’ sleep quality subpar at best and a coin flip at worst. It was no longer something he actively thought about, but it was still easy enough for him to tell the difference between the ‘norm’ and a decent night’s sleep.

His latest night of sleep had been more than decent. If not for the stinging erection he had woken up with, he’d have gone as far as calling it ideal.

‘Ideal’ should not have been possible within the stuffy confines of his old bedroom. It hadn’t been on his best nights as a child, and hadn’t been in the weeks since his return.

Disbelief and curiosity turned his upper body toward his pillow. It was not the object himself that interested him, but the flattened, disheveled state he had left it in after a night of sleep.

In its slant, the bed linen that it should have covered sat exposed. Atop this bed linen was fabric from something else. Something colored and cut in a way that spoke to some of his freshest memories.

Reaching in to pull it out into the open air was reflexive–

As was the corkscrew of his upper body when the sound of his bedroom door opening caught his ears.

“G’moooooooooornin’, Amos! Looks like ya didn’t need me t’come and wake ya after all!”

“Ya sleep alright? S’not like you to sleep in so much. I mean, we don’t got too much goin’ on, but you’re normally up super…”

“Early…”

Amos’ tendency to sleep naked was known to Lauren. His doing so was normally limited to the confines of his bedroom, so it was an extremely easy habit for her to avoid wrapping herself up in.

When she wanted to, at least. Set in wait for the one day when her brother was tempted to oversleep, Lauren intentionally entered when he’d be at his most vulnerable and reacted to his vulnerability in a way that he was unlikely to predict.

The little girl he had helped raise was gone, and a perfectly ‘modern’ young woman was all that remained.

“Well, shoot. Ya could’ve said somethin’ if bein’ here was gettin’ rough, Amos. I’m not dumb–I know that guys got…y’know…needs n’whatever,” Lauren huffed, hands reproachfully slotted against the curvature of her hips. “I saw some stuff online that said fellas can get sick if they go from doing it a bunch t’not at all.  I never really asked ‘cause it didn’t seem polite, but I bet you’ve at least got somethin’ like a girlfriend back home in th’ city…”

Lauren kept talking, but Amos wasn’t listening. There was his astonishment at her sudden entrance, and then there was the fact that she wasn’t covering her eyes and screaming at the sight of his exposed erection.

It would be some time before he accepted his circumstance, and his sister knew it.

“...S’awright, though. You’ve been helpin’ me with a bunch of stuff lately, so this is a good chance for me to help you for a change. It’s pretty easy last I checked, so I’ll have ya right as rain in a jiffy!”

If Lauren hadn’t started walking forward after her declaration, Amos wouldn’t have processed it. Her stride from the mouth of his bedroom over to the edge of his mattress carried a familiar scent into the airspace closest to him, which immediately wrangled his senses in its direction.

In his arousal, he recognized the source of this scent reflexively.

Seemingly fresh out of bed, Lauren had arrived inside his bedroom wearing only her panties and another one of her woefully ‘standard’ t-shirts. The freshness of both garments (i.e., the fact that their fabric had yet to be glued to her skin by sweat) suggested that she had been forced to change into them lest she walk around the house coated in her own sweat. The slightly disheveled state of her hair aligned with this, as did the nervous perspiration that drooled down the front of her face even now.

Amos had ample time to stop her ingress but spent most of his time staring at it instead. When he spoke out, it was because he felt his sister’s forearms press down into the meat of his thighs whilst the warmth of her hand enveloped the root of his shaft.

Neither was normal, and one of them was the very last thing that he needed.

“Wait, what? Lauren, c’mon now, hold on just a damn minute. What’re you talkin’ about?” Stammered Amos. “The fuck kinda videos have you been watchin’? Forget me for a second and THINK. Whatever problems I got, it’s the same shit guys deal with all the time. Even if it weren’t, you’re my sister. You’re th’ last person that should feel responsible for some shit like, so c’mon. Knock it–”

Amos’ best attempt at being serious with his sister earned him more aggression from her. Without warning, she used her position laid out between his legs to press her face into the underside of his length. Undaunted by the combination of grease and filth that was plastered to her pores, she tilted her head upwards until her nostrils were set directly opposite the messes caked around his glans. 

Her expression throughout was one of stubbornness, not arousal. The peachy flush in the dead center of her face and the sweat that streamed across it conveyed that she had been pricked by it, but not enough of it for her actions to be altered by it.

The balance she had struck went from impressive to unthinkable out of nowhere. A trio of deep inhalations against the masculine scent ahead of her saw Lauren part her lips and push her tongue out of her mouth alongside a controlled stream of salivation. None of the murky slime spilled from the edges of her mouth; all of it ran off of the face of her tongue straight into contact with Amos’ shaft.

Amos might have been able to ignore it if the underside of his shaft and the bloat of his testicles were the only recipients of this spittle. As it happened, though, Lauren’s presenting the exceptional length of her tongue coincided with her sweeping the organ’s span around his girth until she could show off its oozing span at the face of his length. At it, she fluttered it from left to right whilst steamy huffs of air escaped the exposed depths of her mouth.

Somehow, the core of her expression remained solid throughout. Some of this could be attributed to the fact that she only engaged in the showy practice for a handful of seconds, but the fact remained that her behavior was almost too measured to have been produced by Lauren Villry.  

It was too potent as well. From start to finish, Amos lay too captivated to stop her.

At the core of the matter was her conviction. She had to succeed…

Whether her brother appreciated it initially or not.

“Hahh ♥Hahhh ♥ Huuahhh…”

A prolonged period of tongue squirming that soaked the face of his erection (and the pubes at his crotch) with a healthy excess of saliva was supplanted by another deep breath from Lauren.

Straight afterward, she furrowed her eyebrows in discontentment and pulled her features out from behind Amos’ shaft to scowl at him.

“God damn yer sweaty. Not worryin’ about perverted stuff’s one thing, but you ain’t got a good excuse for not bathin’, y’know?” Complained Lauren. “I ain’t gonna listen t’any complainin’ from you, neither. All you’ve done since ya got here is work yourself like a dog. Ma and Pa wouldn’t want ya t’start treatin’ yourself like shit just ‘cause they’re gone,”

“You could’a left right after th’ funeral too. S’not like you this place is th’ only one for you. I’m not little anymore, so there ain’t no obligation for you t’look after me or worry ‘bout what ah’m doin’ with my life.”

“But…”

“But ya stayed anyway. I dunno when you’re gonna leave, but I’ll be damned if I let th’ last thing you remember about being home be how uncomfortable it was!” She spat. “If yer whole problem is bein’ related to me, jus’ think of it like th’ massages you give me sometimes when somethin’ starts to hurt. There ain’t nothin’ weird about that, so this ain’t any different!”

No amount of conviction could completely numb Lauren to what she was doing. For as much as it defined her behavior, the novelty of her position filled her with embarrassment, which her personality translated into the indignation of a much younger girl.

There was no stopping her now–not unless she was rejected by her brother firmly enough to shatter all of her plans for the future.

“Lauren, this ain’t the same as that! Are you even hearin’ me? Who the hell said being here was hard for me? I swear, it’s like you went and got hit in th’ head while I wasn’t looking!” Amos spat. “Look, just calm down and talk to me. Where is this coming from? Have you been feeling alright late–”

“Amos.”

Lauren was not adept at making herself sound imposing. Whereas her brother had inherited this ability from their father, she had acquired her mother’s capacity for conveying seriousness with her actions.

The grasp that she had set around the root of his length had tightened, and the stubbornness on her face along with it.

“Yeah?” Amos grunted.

“You got a girlfriend back in the city waiting for you t’come home? I’m yer sister, so ya don’t gotta lie if ya do.”.

“Nah. That ain’t why I went there and you know that.”

“Then shut yer damn mouth and let me look after yer smelly, messed up dick before you go n’lose your mind.”

Chapter Text

Risking everything and winning was a much better feeling than Lauren had expected it to be. What she intended to do was not something that could be glossed over by reasoning, but in the moment, she couldn’t have cared less.

A single utterance from her brother had made her odds of success much more real to her. With it in mind, she slipped behind his shaft again and leveled her lips with the precum-clogged nose of his glans. 

Her comments about it implied revulsion, but her actions conveyed hunger. So as to not lose the moment she had created, she threaded air between her cheeks and aggressively swirled the saliva inside her mouth until its consistency resembled oil.

When her tongue was submerged by the volume she created, she parted her lips to do away with it. 

All at once, the shamelessness she had displayed with her tongue returned in full force.

“Behhhhh….”

This time, a controlled overflow of salivation drained across her tongue straight into contact with the aching swell of Amos’ glans. Lauren maintained the outflow just long enough for fresh sheets of mouthslop to begin their descent along the face of his shaft before putting the gap between her lips to better use. Before her brother could properly burn the sight into his brain, she punched her skull downward and smoothly squeezed the meat of his shaft through her lips.

Had Amos the wherewithal to spot it, all of his suspicions about the goings-on inside Lauren’s body could have been confirmed in the smoothness of her descent–

After a sodden *Kupooh* sounded out from the depths of her throat, the full length of his erection disappeared inside the gooey embrace of her depths. Her tongue remained splayed out at the right side of her mouth, and her profile was not at all perturbed by the fact that she had slotted just under a foot of cockflesh straight into her esophagus.

In spite of all of this, the annoyed firmness in her visage remained.

She couldn’t speak, but the sight of her expression spoke directly into his brain.

“Like I said: done in a jiffy. Don’t go an’ make this tougher for me, y’hear?”

Exactly how much his sister had absorbed from her non-specific sources on the internet became clear to Amos very quickly. In his initial seconds inside her gullet, the conditions that he faced were along the lines of what he had imagined: a hot, sodden hole made to feel slightly narrow by the difference in scale between it and his cock. 

In the wake of Lauren’s glance, it became an onahole. Lauren should not have known that contracting her throat in against his shaft would create more stimulation for him. No–

‘Should not have’ was not the right phrase. As balmy esophagus flesh squirmed against his cock (this whilst the meat of her throat became a vice for the lower reaches of his cocktrunk), Amos recalled that he hadn’t kept in contact with her as well as he could’ve in the preceding few years. 

It was entirely possible that she had found herself a boyfriend, and had learned how to skewer her face with cockflesh without gagging or spluttering on it. This same person could have trained her to keep her tongue mushed against the edge of his crotch throughout, and to ignore the inevitable descent of mucus from both of her nostrils. Lauren was not a little girl, so the sky was the limit.

Reconciling with these things was easy for him–even in his current state.

Reconciling Lauren’s decision to fishhook the left side of her mouth before stroking her skull along the length of his shaft was borderline impossible in comparison.

There was no good excuse for her ability to do so, nor a means of numbing himself to the destructive stimulation that she subjected him to as a result.

*GLRKK–GLUCKK–GLRKK–GLUCK–GLRKK!!*

In the grand scheme of her throating pattern, the way that Lauren initiated things was brief. Peeling half of her maw away from Amos’ length as she worked was counterproductive to her aim of draining him, and at the same time denied her the ‘intimacy’ that she thought to be vital in focusing his attentions on her.

Nevertheless, a certain amount of ‘showing off’ remained vital for her ends as well. Right from the start, she wanted to show her brother that she knew exactly how to make good on her promise and would make use of everything at her disposal to succeed.

Throughout her misadventures, Lauren had learned that few things spoke louder than stroke-fucking a pipe of flesh through her face while imagining it as a sleeve that needed to be opened up. During her first ascent along Amos’ length, her fingers’ presence prevented her from creating the sort of suction and pressure that she intended to apply to his shaft. 

In place of these things, she acquired a stage. With the same scary ease that she had hilted herself, she reeled her gullet up as far as the head of his length. Intent on keeping at least part of his erection where it belonged, arrival here prompted a second dunk that flattened her right cheek against the sodden pubes at his crotch. 

Both movements were smooth, noisy, and effective. With her maw half open, the squelching noises made as bloated cockflesh was squeezed back and forth through a mucus-glazed tube were pushed out into the open air with every move that she made. With nowhere else to go, displaced gullet slop was forced out into a slow descent from her nostrils, which in turn made subsequent strokes of her skull even noisier.

All of the garish salience these things offered paled in comparison to what her gullet strokes actually accomplished. For every hilt-depth stroke of her skull, the noisome crown of moistened filth and pubic hair that sat caked to Amos’ glans was either loosened or outright ‘scrubbed’ into the meat of her esophagus. 

Loathe as she was to admit it, Lauren was an expert at this sort of thing. Having recognized the nasty, pent-up state of her brother’s erection within seconds of entering the bedroom, she made certain that her first display of ‘talent’ included something that would make cleaning his shaft easier down the line.

This ‘something’ was exactly what it appeared to be. No amount of contraction could stop her esophagus from reacting to her stroking efforts with a mixture of mucus and saliva. The taut conditions within her gullet applied it as a solvent for the grime layered at the peak of his shaft, and the motions of her skull initiated the process of pulling the substance into her stomach.

A minute or so of these motions was all that Lauren needed to create a proper foundation. Once certain that she had it, she dropped her left hand away from her face and terminated her pumping chain with a flat impression of her maw against Amos’ cockroot. 

Something about the sensation of spreading her throat this way tempted her into a flattening nuzzle once hilted. Training that she’d never admit to having received kept her line of sight focused on Amos throughout, but in truth, all of her focus was applied to swirling the healthy length of her tongue around the entirety of his girth.

Amos had enjoyed the benefits of shock and disbelief throughout her initial display. He didn’t have the bandwidth to think about the stimulation that was ground into his shaft, and was actually better off for it.

Lauren’s gaze and a firmer impression of her lips into his crotch injected addictive stimulation into his brain and forced him to acknowledge that his little sister’s skull was the ‘source’ that it stemmed from.

This was his last chance. If he was going to do anything other than savor the situation he had ended up in, now was the time for him to do it.

Every ounce of brotherly decency that remained inside of him came together to pull his right hand up from his side and into contact with the left side of Lauren’s forehead. He started pushing on contact with her (albeit weakly), and sucked air into his lungs to speak–

In the moment, the only thing that he failed to muster was real conviction.

“Lauren…f-fuck…c-c’mon now. I get it? Y-You proved your point. Let’s find some other way t’ figure this out. There’s gotta be–”

*SCHLRPPPPPP…*

*PLOORPP!*

Lauren did not take kindly to her brother’s attempt at forcing her off of his length. 

The actual source of her frustration lay in her desire to make the most of the opportunity she had been given. Outwardly, though, annoyance was all that could be taken away from her behavior–

In sequence, she batted her brother’s hand away with one of her own and pulled her throat up and off of his length of her own volition. Slurping inward throughout her retreat, she made his glans’ escape from her lips as strenuous as possible and wasted no time in rearranging her features into something like a scowl.

‘Something like’ was the very best that she could do while swirling and fluttering the meat of her tongue against his helmet like a mop.

“Nope. Ain’t gonna hear it. This ain’t work on th’ farm, so you don’t always know what’s best.”

“If ah’m doing somethin’ that your body doesn’t like, you c’n go ahead n’stop me.”

These were Lauren’s last words for several agonizingly pleasant minutes. Abbreviating her tongue-mopping to speak hadn’t been in the cards for her, but as Amos had addressed her, she had no choice but to devote some of her ‘precious time’ to the task.

Once finished, she made up for the time that she had lost and then some. 

However short-lived, the pouty tongue swirls she had produced successfully pushed meaty chunks of smegma off of Amos’ glans and onto the face of her tongue. It would have been easy for her to continue scrubbing off the substance just like this, but instead, she chose a gaudier, more performative option that allowed her to take out some of her frustration on her brother.

As soon as she finished speaking, she wrapped her left palm around the root of his erection again. Set, she kissed her lips to the peak of his glans–a moment of completely unnecessary ‘alignment’ that showed off the ruddy exterior of her lips’ plush and the pubes that curled away from the edges of her mouth.

Then she plunged. To the tune of another wet *Kupohhh*, Lauren plugged herself full of cockflesh right down to the ‘buffer’ set by her fingers. This time, though, she pressed her lips into the phallus flesh that had spread them and immediately set about ‘slurping’ as a starved child attempting to thread chunks of milkshake through a straw.

Gorging herself on the entirety of his length was not the ‘point’ of her ministrations–this was made abundantly clear in the slop-drenched fingers she used to brace the final two inches of Amos’ shaft. 

The ‘point’ was draining the inches she did attack as effectively as she could. Her very first ascent along his shaft after her pseudo-hilt was a suction-addled drag that included languid rotations of her tongue and the descent of fresh spittle rivulets across Amos’ length. Whereas the former ensured that his shaft maintained an even glaze of slop, the latter gunked her fingers into a state that framed her grasp as an embrace from one of the sodden holes between her legs.

Stuttered tugs of her facehole along his length were just the beginning. Returning her lips to the peak of his glans prompted Lauren to turn the beginnings of her ministrations into a chain. For a handful of seconds, she volleyed between punching her lips down to kisses with her fingers and painstakingly wringing the pressure inside her mouth up Amos’ length just shy of extraction.

If short-lived, her throating was distinct:

 In its visuals, its accomplishments, and most importantly, the noises that it produced.

*GLRUPP!-SCHHH-SCHL-SHCLLLRRRR!!*

*GLRUPP!-SCHHH-SCHL-SHCLLLRRRR!!*

*GLRUPP!-SCHHH-SCHL-SHCLLLRRRR!!*

The noises made by her descent were more or less expected. Neither sibling was particularly sensitive to them, and both recognized them as the gulping sounds made by the spread of a monstrously lubricated sleeve around a grotesque battering ram of flesh.

In their wake came the segmented  ‘slurps’ produced by Lauren’s tugs. As she refused to simply surge back up to where she had started, the sounds made by her suction were reproduced for every yank that she produced until she arrived at her destination. All of them benefited from the curling grinds of her tongue across slickened cockveins and the modest volumes of spittle she dragged back into her maw as she rose. More than this, though, they acquired a distinct ‘wetness’ from the innumerable blobs of precum that she dragged through his length as a result.

With no obstacles to speak of, Lauren was free to reproduce these noises as vehemently as she wished. She was indifferent to the mess of honeyed spittle that drenched her hand, the flow of sweat across the front of her face, and the perpetual ooze of her mouth’s lubrication from her lips and nostrils. She knew all too well what she looked like as she worked, but it simply didn’t matter.

Amos’ eyes were not the same as stifling lighting and camera lenses.

“.This is a good start. I kinda wish it could’ve been more…I dunno…” 

“More intimate. I had t’get angry for it to work, but it would’ve been better if I could’ve made Amos just want it more. I still got time for that, though. Just gotta go through my plan one step at a time..”

“Now should be good. Time t’ show him exactly what I c’n do!”

Comfort with her position allowed Lauren to speed through the checkpoints she had imagined for herself in record time. After a handful of minutes spent slurping, tugging, and throating, she terminated her motions to showcase their worth.

In the wake of a hilt that saw her roll her skewered skull around in short circles with Amos’ length squirming inside her neck, she ascended. With all of the ease of her first plunge, she wrenched her lips through to a gross *PPPAHH* off of his glans and left its cleaned flesh to pulse and drool uninhibited.

Yes–cleaned. In two sets of ministrations, her capacity for servicing cock had transferred nearly all of the reeking filth that had crowned his length into her stomach. 

What remained outside of it remained because she wished it to:

While Amos’ erection quivered, Lauren pushed steamy pants out of her throat with the face of her tongue fully exposed to the open air.

In some ways, the state of it was even worse than Amos’ glans had been. Layered atop the dead center of its face was a spittle-infused smegma paste whose consistency mirrored a bulbous melted rubber. Arced strands of pubic hair could be seen extending out of its coverage (joining those the odd strand that persisted at the corner of her mouth), and smears of a thinner, comparatively milkier substance could be seen sprinkled across what amounts of her tongue remained uncovered.

Where this mess was concerned, sexual experience was irrelevant. Lauren’s position was revolting, and only the most dedicated (or internally motivated) young woman would have dared to subject themselves to such straits.

Initially, Lauren had deemed her brother to be a man capable of recognizing this fact. She hadn’t planned to do anything more than expose her tongue and make her case, but his admitting to not having a girlfriend gave her no choice but to push further.

As quickly as she exposed her tongue, she folded it back into her mouth and tilted her head backwards. With so many offensive flavors within her mouth, her already overactive saliva ducts were pricked into yet another fit of oozing.

This one, however, was for Lauren and no one else.

*SLRSH-SLRSH-SLRSH-SLRSH*

In yet another display of whorish talent, Lauren swirled spittle around the confines of her mouth with enough force and consistency to melt the glut that remained inside it. 

What should have been an impossibly revolting task for her failed to furrow her brow anymore than it had been to begin with.  If anything, she was scarily efficient with the effort. Her cheeks were kept from puffing out any further than was necessary to get fluid where she wanted it, and not so much as a murmur of discomfort escaped her throat as she worked.

It was what came after the deafening *GLRP!* produced as she swallowed that was gaudy and unnecessary–

Whereas she could have worked the swill atop her tongue down her throat in silence, she chose to deal with what she had consumed bit by bit so that the sound of her swallowing might violate her brother’s eardrums.

In practice, ‘violate’ may have been putting things far too lightly.

*GLRP–GLUCK–GLRUP…*

However short-lived, her gulping proved visceral enough to force Amos to imagine precisely what she was swallowing and the difficulty associated with it. Worse still, he was made to pose a question to himself that no good brother should have ever entertained:

If she can chug that mess without flinching, taking a load down her throat must be nothing for her.

“Behhhhh…”

 Lauren corralled his thoughts before they could begin wandering. Having done away with the worst of her brother’s filth, she parted her lips and allowed her tongue to flop out of her mouth.

The display itself was as much a show of frustration as it was proof of what she had accomplished. All of the smears and clumps of cockfilth that had previously dominated the face of her tongue had been replaced by familiar, pink-red flesh that made it seem like Lauren hadn’t consumed anything at all.

The discontentment on her face and the wet hiccups that escaped her as she spoke was all that she could offer as ‘proof to the contrary’.

Fortunately, her brother’s mental state didn’t require much convincing at all.

“There, y’see–hic–? That’s how much of a m-mess you left yourself in. Would’a looked a lot worse if I didn’t deal with half of it as I went, too.” Huffed Lauren. “Hardly took me any time at all, too. It’s gross, but this kinda stuff’s way easier th’n cooking if ya ask me,”

“I just need a couple more minutes now that you’re cleaned up, but I ain’t gonna force ya or nothin’,”

“What’s it gonna be? Want me t’stop?”

Stopping her ministrations to speak with Amos was another gamble of sorts. The seeds of her harvest had been laid, but her brother’s convictions could very easily wash them away before they took root. 

A ‘smart’ play would have been to bury them as deeply as she could, as quickly as she could. At worst, her initial successes would catalyze the growth of crops she could use in the future.

Lauren was greedy. She had no intention of accepting anything less than success, so the slighted girl at her core reasoned that this much was owed to her.

Forcibly creating the conditions for success wasn’t good enough–

She wanted her brother to tend to the seeds that she had planted all on his own.  (BOooo get off the stage booo. You know that’s real gay my nigga boooo. You get that shit from TLC my nigga? Boooo)

“...Sis, this ain’t th’ time or the place, but I gotta ask anyway: why’re you so god damn stubborn? About some shit like this, no less?”

When first Amos’ diction reverted to what it had been in his youth, Lauren had no time to enjoy it. In the present, however, she was ‘safe’ enough to take it as an invitation for natural conversation between the two of them.

If Amos was speaking to her like this without a scowl on his face, she had already won.

“Well, I ain’t stubborn. I just know what’s right an’ go out and do it. You gotta at least be able t’do that much if you wanna run a farm by yourself, Amos.”

A lie, but not an unreasonable one given her position.

“Right. Let’s call what’s goin’ here what’s ‘right’, then,” Amos retorted. “I don’t know how many guys you’ve been with since I’ve been gone, and I’m not going to ask. If you’re askin’ that, though, I’ll take a shot in th’ dark n’say it’s pretty low.”

“No one’s gonna tell ya to stop after gettin’ this far, Lauren.”

Blended into the strange cocktail of traits that defined Lauren was a strong distaste for being teased. 

Even now, her brother’s light jabs made her blood boil. Coming from Amos, though, the temperature of this boil and the sensations that it created within her were more motivating than they were annoying.

She had intended to act quickly regardless, but now she had a reason to.

She’d show Amos just how quickly she could learn. By pushing this desire to the forefront of her mind, time that she might have spent frowning was applied to a surge up to her knees atop Amos’ mattress. Next came a whirl that turned her back to his chest whilst dumping the oppressive shelf of wobbling assflesh she carried behind her straight onto her brother’s crotch.

A worldlier woman might have recognized that making this move placed her in an extremely advantageous position. Lauren, however, operated under the assumption that her move meant nothing without action.

In sequence, she turned her head over her shoulder and reached back behind her to feel the fabric of her panties across the face of her rear. As soon as the majority of her cheeks were exposed to the same air as Amos’ length, she began sliding her hips back and forth every so slightly–

Not deeply enough to properly stimulate Amos’ length, but more than enough to create sensual contact with it.

“Yeah? Well, I might not have known that, but I do know that guys usually don’t get all mad when a girl offers to take care of ‘em. Lucille-Anne told me she did this with her cousin and he didn’t make a peep. So there.” She huffed.

“Now, if you’re done askin’ yer questions, I’m gonna go ahead and finish. If there’s somethin’ you don’t wanna end up doing, tell me now. Otherwise, that’s on you.”

Once again, Amos was given an opportunity to worm his way out of his circumstance if he truly wished to.  Lauren knew that he wouldn’t, though, and thusly began ‘working’ well before he finished speaking.

In her position, this was as simple as pushing her hips backwards and arching her back as moved. Together, these motions steamrolled the meat of her rear back across the underside of Amos’ length until the organ was half smothered, half swallowed by its mass. Throatslop and sweat combined to lock the girth of his erection between her cheeks one way or another, and subsequent swirls from her hips saw the puffy warmth of her buttocks flesh ground in against its swollen exterior.

These things affected the answer that Amos produced precisely as one might’ve imagined.

“I…”

“G-Got nothing at this point. I don’t give a fuck about what Lucille-Anne thinks is normal or not, by the way. I don’t want you doin’...anything that’d mess you up in the future.” Said Amos.

“But you ain’t gonna tell me not to do something, now are ya ♥ ?” Lauren retorted.

Lauren had heard Amos’ line before. Someone else had used it several times, and for a time, she had struggled with processing it.

When it clicked with her, it clicked for good. Amos would neither confirm nor deny his meaning with his shaft swallowed between her cheeks, so in practice, she would not be held responsible for anything that she did.

This made sprinting towards her goal that much easier for her. 

To start, she pressed Amos’ shaft straight between the ample warmth of her cheeks. Once finished with this, she changed course and planted both of her palms into the mattress space ahead of her. 

Set, she began bouncing her rear and swirling her hips in tandem. What began as a series of short, up-and-down flicks swiftly transitioned into a blend of long, sweat-slicken bounces and dedicated rotations that would have put a blender to shame.

Their potency (and the deafening *PLORPP-CLOPP-PLAPP-CLOPP* that accompanied them) were owed entirely to the uniqueness of her frame. Stroking Amos to completion would not have been impossible for another woman, but Lauren was one of very few who could simulate an orifice with her cheeks and apply it at the same time. When her first bounce pressed his glans through a slimy breach from the peak of her cheeks, she raised her hips ever so slightly so that her next stroke would leave the peak of his shaft enveloped by flesh. When she found that her next stroke failed to soundly clobber the meat of her rear into his crotch, she elongated them so that gravity would feed into her efforts as well.

The end result of her adjustments was a masturbatory pump of her cheeks that demanded Amos grit his teeth and drag his line of sight up toward the ceiling.

*SPLRSH!!-PLRPP ♥♥ -SCPLRSH!!*

Each time Lauren popped her rear upwards, the precum and sweat wadded between her cheeks came with it. By this point, both had combined into a murky soup that could be seen oozing down toward the root of Amos’ erection as she worked. All the same, the bulk of it was lathered and kneaded into the most sensitive inches of his shaft even as more of his precum was threaded out between her cheeks. 

With or without lubrication, the strokes themselves were punishing. As if born for this exact activity, the weight of Lauren’s buttocks simulated the grasp of an oppressively taut orifice with none of the ‘variety’. Mushy pressure was wrung from a point near the root of his shaft straight up to the nose of his glans time and time again.

At the end of every one of these wringing ascents came a descent that threatened to squeeze semen out of Amos’ innards just as frequently.

*PLAPP-PLORPP-PLAPP-PLORP-PLAPP!*

What went up had to come down. Lauren’s mastery of far more ‘technical’ displays with her hips and rear made driving her assfat into her brother’s crotch child’s play. Reversing course squeezed the inner sides of her cheeks back down along the same stretches of trunkflesh that they had choked to begin with. Precum was coaxed through the stretches of his urethra just as was the case when she rose, and familiar squelches produced as her cheeks lathered slop across his shaft sounded out just as noisily as before.

All of this similarity became novelty when the mass of her cheeks collided with Amos’ crotch. For every sodden clap of glossed cheeks against the root of his crotch, his innards were very strongly encouraged to feed her cheeks all of the gluey seed that they had to offer.

It wasn’t just the fact that his erection was swallowed in its entirety. It wasn’t merely the impacts delivered against his testicles, either. Amos was so disarmed by these fat-pancaking impressions that he discarded his own coping mechanism and pushed his gaze back to Lauren’s rear in search of an explanation.

A prolonged state at what occurred there convinced him to stop thinking about the subject altogether–

If everything about his sister’s assjob was worth dissecting, nothing was.

“Fucking hell man…”

If Amos’ earlier complaints were to hold any weight with his sister, silence throughout her efforts was his only option. 

His body had a different opinion and sought catharsis for itself accordingly. A single grunt from him offered an opportunity to Lauren. One that no amount of lust-charged concentration could convince her to pass on.

“Hooo…huwahh…”

“Whassat? Can’t hear ya, Amos–it’s kinda noisy,” She huffed, perspiring features arranged into a smirk. “Got something you..wanna say?”

“This’d go way quicker if ya’d just tell me what ya like…ya know…?”

Long-suffering ran deep in the Villry family. Uttering these things without allowing any needy moans to slip through Lauren’s lips was difficult for her. Whereas sucking cock provided her with a form of penetration to distract herself with, attending to Amos’ shaft this way offered her nothing but frustration. Her mind remained focused on the task at her hand, but simulating intercourse made her body fixate on this and nothing but.

Thankfully, proof of this could only be found at the soaked face of her crotch and in the visible pool of syrup-dense squirt that had formed between Amos’s legs.

He’d never notice these things–

She wouldn’t let him.

“N-No need. Gonna cum, s-so we ain’t got nothing to talk about.” Amos replied.

“Y-Yeah, then what’re we doin’ right now? Do you jus’ not wanna listen to my butt making slurpy squishing noises on ya?”

“And what if I didn’t?”

“Then I’d jus’ make it louder ♥ . Y’think I can’t solve problems on my own jus’ cause I’m your little sister?”

Empty declarations were not Lauren’s style. To show her brother that she meant business, Lauren sharpened her strokes up to a borderline unattainable pace. Throughout, the swinging swirls of her hips that she produced after a hilt were her only respite from the exertion required of her, and the needy clenching that had invaded her uterus. 

It would all be worth it in the end, though–

She was so close to success that she could feel it convulsing through her folds.

*PLAPP-PLAPP-PLAPP-PLAPP*

“Almost there. Almost there Almost there ♥ . He’s going to splatter his dickstuff on me,”

“Yer gonna coat my ass with it, Amos ♥ .”

Simulating sex with Amos so effectively was not the ‘wrong’ choice in Lauren’s situation. After all she had accomplished, it was both the fastest route to an orgasm for him and also the most intimate one at her disposal.

Really, there were no failings in the choice she had made–only miscalculations.

Amos spoke a lot about what was right and what she was and wasn’t responsible for. But, as the pressure at the root of his shaft began surging through his urethra and reproductive mania began surging through his brain, his actions slipped out of congruence with his beliefs.

Right as his orgasm began, he met the weight of Lauren’s bouncing with a firm thrust of his hips and forced the nose of his length past the peak of her cheeks’ embrace.

The moment he cleared this barrier, the congealed mire that had plagued him in the preceding few weeks cleared the nose of his length.

*SPLUUUUUR~TT*

“Ooouuhhh s-shitt ♥♥… ”

Over the course of a second or so, a noise akin to the discharge custard through a narrow tube sounded out into his bedroom. In time with it, a sustained outflow of discolored seed exploded through a jagged ascent up the length of Lauren’s back with enough force to draw a squeak out of her.

The offensive virility of the substance was set on full display immediately. The contrast between it and the flesh that it was spewed across made Lauren’s complexion seem far whiter than it already was. ‘Fluid’ in spite of its lumpy density, the plaster-like path that it cut across the majority of her spine lost chunks of its volume to gravity after hardly any time spent in place. What amounts fell to the rounded peak of her buttocks were swiftly replaced by the sustained discharges that followed, but the process itself created a garish picture of just how much Amos had ignored his own health.

Lauren’s position spared her from processing the sight of wadded semen caking the peak of her rear like papier mache–a very fortunate circumstance given the other forms of stimulation that were assaulting her.

Amos’ thrust against her rear had pushed her over the edge. When the oppressive warmth of his seed made contact with her back, her uterus spiraled into contractions and audible sputters of feminine slime began surging from her lower lips. Out of nowhere, her mind was consumed by ripples of stimulation that demanded she grit her teeth to remain silent.

Avoiding direct stimulation for her folds allowed her to manage this...more or less. Trembling jitters from her hips and breathy hisses from her mouth were all that she needed to cope as her back was drenched in slop.

She had prepared for this. She knew Amos was likely to be backed up at the outset of her efforts and had braced herself accordingly.

No matter how his seed squirmed against her skin or how thoroughly she was caked with it, she could persist until he was empty.

It was all so simple–

Until he touched her, at least.

“A-Amos, wha–”

“Guuuuuhhyuuuu ♥♥♥ ….”

At the peak of his release, Amos’ body became of the opinion that he had asked too much of it. Specifically, the idea that he was to lay still while and ‘waste’ a perfectly good load across his sister’s back while her squirt drenched the inner sides of his thighs was perceived by his instincts as too distasteful to endure.

As such, Amos was convinced to forget. 

It was not his younger sister’s hip curvature ahead of him, but the curvature of a stupidly fertile woman. As such, there was no harm in him pushing it upward with his palm and dragging the meat of her rear up along with it.

It was not his little sister’s puffy lower lips that oozed cuntsyrup onto his length, but the folds of a woman silently starved for his seed. As such, there was no harm in aligning her lower lips with the tip of his shaft so that she could soak his length as much as possible.

Convincing himself of these things prompted an epiphany just as his innards spewed a fresh rope of cockjuice onto the face of Lauren’s crotch:

If the woman on top of him was not his baby sister, there was absolutely no harm in pouring the rest of his load out inside of her.

*SCCHLLRRRR—PLAPP!!*

*SPLRTT…SPLORT—BLURRPPP…*

Once in position, one firm upward stroke was all Amos needed to slot himself through Lauren’s folds. No–even this was excessive. The moment he wedged the head of his glans past the syrup-glazed face of her lower lips, Lauren’s lower body all but collapsed onto his crotch and met the force generated by his thrust in kind. As such, what delivered the nose of his glans to the face of her cervix was a combined effort between the two of them. 

The deluge of semen that followed was owed to Amos and Amos alone. Within the embrace of her folds, the same glutted semen that was painstakingly spewed across her back was regurgitated into Lauren’s depths. One after another, sustained, urination-like surges of the substance were blasted out against the face of her cervix such that it and the stretches of canal most immediate to her were drowned in cockjuice in the space of seconds.

Displacement was inevitable. The first smear of swimmers to smother her cervix was smothered by another outflow of semen just like it. Beyond this point, slop was compiled atop slop until the clogging of her depths was pushed from the peak of her vaginal canal towards its mouth.

Draining out the remainder of his load this way put the beginning of Amos’ orgasm to shame. Grinding his hips upward and inward to savor the sensation was reflexive for him. Equal amounts of stimulation and satisfaction further warped his perception of his sister and looped his forearm around her midsection as well. 

Holding her down against his length and spewing cockjuice into her depths until it overflowed became his foremost priority–even if doing so required ‘unnatural’ intimacy with her.

Needless to say, suddenly taking the full length of her brother’s shaft inside of her was debilitating for Lauren. Throughout her penetration, her tooth-grit perseverance melted into ‘o’-mouthed debilitation. As if pushed out of her by the sludge blasted against her cervix, steamy huffs of pleasure escaped her one after another until outright groans became her only recourse.

Although not unused to the stimulation, her innards still sought to mitigate it. Trembling squirms below her waist attempted to pull Amos’ shaft away from its dead-center depression against her cervix to no avail. His forearm kept her more or less in place and demanded she cope with his release until it finally ebbed off.

All of her hours spent as a ‘disgruntled online professional’ paid dividends in these seconds. Through it, Lauren’s psyche outlasted the tension in Amos’ forearm and the dollops of nut that burbled out of his length at the end of his orgasm. Without them to hold her in place, she found an opportunity to drag her rear upward right through to a slovenly extraction of Amos’ length.

*SCHLLRRRR–*

*PLORP!!*

The noises made as she subverted the greedy suction of her folds were one thing, but the outburst made as his glans escaped the mouth of her depths was enough to flush her drenched profile even further.

Thankfully, she was under no obligation to show her profile to her brother. After extracting herself, she embraced debilitation and flopped forward into a heap across the mattress space ahead of her. 

Here, she could embrace the trembling afterglow of her orgasm and the smirking self-satisfaction of ‘accomplishment’ without any concerns about what she might inadvertently show her brother in doing so.

And yet, she curled her profile over her shoulder anyway.

“...W-Would it fuckin’ kill ya t’give a girl some warnin’ before… y’go and do that? C-Could’a done it my damn self if you weren’t such so set on makin’ things tough on yerself,”

“S’ok, though. N-Now y’can’t lie about it at least:”

“Big ‘ol Amos needed help and little ‘ol me’s the only person who can give it to him ♥ .”

Amos did not attempt to deny Lauren’s claim. He was not in a brain space that facilitated it, and even if he had been, he didn’t have it in him to try.

No man warmed by the cherried afterglow that billowed from his sister’s sweat-drenched frame would dare…

Not whilst she was smirking at them, at least.

Chapter Text

 At no point during Amos’ youth or adolescence did he wonder whether or not he was capable of one day taking over the management of his family’s farm. Through his father’s instruction and the lack of anything else for him to busy himself with, a significant fraction of his formative years were consumed by precisely this. Weeks of cycling the associated tasks turned to months, and months to years until his idea of a normal life was effectively merged with rural living.

Truthfully, the only thing that he truly wondered about during these periods was whether or not a life like this was good for him. His developing interests outside the world of practical agriculture led him to conclude that it wasn’t, and ultimately set him on the winding path that returned him to the same place he had started (albeit with a very different set of priorities).

Fervently as he may have argued that the ‘purpose’ behind his return was split between helping mitigate the side effects of what his sister had likely done to herself and managing their parents’ estate back to a point where it could be easily sold off or maintained, his sluggishness with actually doing these things argued otherwise.

Comfort had consumed him. Half-heartedly participating in a sexual relationship with his little sister was not a good thing. At the same time, however, both it and Lauren’s behavior throughout it were comfortable. 

Working on a farm was the same. Although by no means untalented in his field of study, the worlds of science and technological advancement were an acquired taste for him. Making consistent progress, contributing to his team–all of these things required genuine effort from him relative to the effortlessness of doing what he had been raised to do at home.

These circumstances induced stagnation. After confirming the state of his sister’s body, he dragged his feet in acquiring the hormone regulators that might even out the symptoms he was enduring. Similarly, his work on the farm continued well past the point that it needed to. Lauren was far from incompetent, and truth be told, their parents had successfully maintained a business that could be dragged out of most financial gutters (provided they were not overly deep).

In short, the sooner he attended to his sister, the sooner he could return home and try to forget that any of the events surrounding his parents’ death had happened in the first place.

Procrastinating on the removal of this lynchpin eventually began dragging Amos away from the farm and its environs and into the town closest to it.

To better serve its population (and those around it), stores specializing in farming equipment and related supplies had persisted in the area for decades. A handful of longstanding eateries with aged houses peppered around them made up the remainder of its shape; a typical arrangement for the middle of nowhere.

Try as he might to deny it, Amos derived a great deal of comfort from the town’s stagnation. Largely unchanged after his years away from it, the familiarity he had built up throughout his youth allowed him to waltz into the same stores he had visited throughout his adolescence without any reservation. The majority of the owners still recognized him, so after working past the waves of condolences they offered for his parents, getting what he needed was as simple as walking in, picking it up, and leaving.

On a day much like several others before it, Amos’ latest attempt at striding out of a store with a bulk box of work-safe gloves was thwarted by a sound of a familiar voice from the back of the store.

Once again, feelings of familiarity created work for him where there was otherwise none to be found.

“Amos, Amos. Can I stop ya fer a second?”

“Sorry, I know yer headin’ out. Jus’ need a quick favor.”

The voice belonged to an aged man who Amos’ had known for most of his life. A strange sense of propriety and filial nostalgia had associated the man’s rambling with better times making pickups at the store with his father.

Aged reflexes stopped his stride and drew him over to the store’s front counter as a matter of course.

“Sure, what’s up? If this is about paying me to unload stock again, you’re out of luck. I do enough of that at home.” He replied. 

“G’heh. Still got that fuckin’ mouth on you, I see.” The man chortled. “Nah, nothin’ like that–you should actually be thankin’ me for this one. That sister of yours ordered a package that got delivered here by mistake. Came from one of those city couriers, so it figures that they wouldn’t know how t’find your plot all th’ way out there.”

Mid-utterance, the man produced a brick-sized package from underneath the counter. The noise it made as he set it down and the ease with which he scooped it up suggested that it was largely empty.

Amos’ eyes lingered on it for a moment before he scooped it up.

But only for a moment.

“Figured I’d save us both some trouble and you can jus’ bring it to her yourself. It’d have been a trip to th’ post office otherwise n’who knows how long it’d take them to get it to her. Helps that I don’t have to make the trip, either.” He continued. “How’s she been, anyway? A lot of us were startin’ to worry about her after your parents passed. She was keepin’ it together, but she’s always been the sort to wear her heart on her sleeve, y’know?”

“Between the last few months and back then, s’almost like she’s a different person. She’s got a glow to her like she did when she was biting at yer ankles.”

“Common sense says you got somethin’ to do with that. Or am I wrong?”

The man’s question was harmless; families supporting one another in trying times was to be expected, particularly in places like this. Amos knew this, but could do nothing to stop discomfort from flashing across his face. It was true that he was likely related to the improvements in Lauren’s mood, but how he had gone about this was the furthest thing from harmless.

Thinking about it for even a moment made him defensive, which in turn prompted a knee-jerk reaction meant to obscure that fact.

In order, he stepped back from the counter and forced a smile.

“...You’re probably giving me too much credit. She was on the mend before I got here–everyone needs to work through situations like this on their own time. Having me around might’ve sped things along, but who knows.” He replied. “This is good, though.  If other people are noticing, it’s probably time for me to start thinking about heading home and letting her figure out the rest.”

“Anyway, thanks for the mail. I’ll make sure this gets to her.”

In the moment, this was the best that he could do in the way of making a smooth escape. Before the man could attempt to contradict his responses, he feigned a casual brand of urgency by putting on a smile and slipping back into a retreat toward the main entrance.

His sole saving grace in this was his nature:

It was not the first time he had presented as awkward to someone in his community, and it wouldn’t be the last.

-

VILLRY RESIDENCE – NOON HOUR

If not to the same extent or effectiveness as urban and suburban areas, expedited home delivery services slowly invaded the lives of those who called rural sprawls ‘home’. Driving or walking oneself to the goods that they required remained the norm, but when this was not an option, younger types were all too happy to pay third-party couriers exorbitant fees to get something that they needed.

Days ago, a newfound need of Lauren’s required that she do the same. Although in no way unfamiliar with delivery services, her reliance on them was below average for young women in her age group. If not for her escapades as an ‘internet content creator’, she may well have never dabbled in them in the first place.

That she would reach the point of idling on her front porch in anxious anticipation of one of her orders was not something that she had considered until it became her reality. 

This anxiety was not a matter of life or death, but rather a product of her desire to confirm that her capacity for planning things was more or less aligned with her brother’s.

Everything from the courier service that she selected to the day the package was supposed to arrive had been planned down to the letter. Today was the day that Amos typically made his stops in town, so selecting a delivery time in the early afternoon shortened the odds of him noticing that anything had been delivered to a level that she could handle. A short message to the courier service barring them from handing over her package to anyone else removed most of the remaining risk she had taken on, provided she made herself available throughout the entire drop-off window, at least.

As such, all that remained was making certain that she was present. Since her brother’s departure an hour prior, Lauren had stewed on the front porch whilst casting her gaze across the single road leading in and out of the beginnings of their property.

Right before her nervousness became truly unsettling, an unmarked van appeared   at the mouth of this road. In time this, a calming exhalation burst past her lips and the tightness of her shoulders was undone by a relaxed slump.

She had done it–she could do it.

All she needed was a degree of support and a certain amount of motivation.

“Phewww….”

“There it is, right on time. Sorta. Must be a real hassle finding this place. Hopefully my directions helped,”

“Just gotta sign for this, then I can get started figuring out th’ rest of this...”

With nothing further to worry about, Lauren was content to wait on the porch until the courier drove up to the front of the house. How close they came concerned her for a moment, but when a young man dressed in the company’s colors appeared from behind the driver’s side of the vehicle with a package, she dropped what remained of her guard and set off to meet him halfway.

A step or so brought her too close to the truth to ignore it. 

The courier’s frame was familiar–

And the face underneath his ball cap as well.

“It’s been a while, Lauren. I was expecting your brother, but this works too,”

“Here–I just need a signature for this and I’ll be on my way.”

For her own sake, Lauren had never asked what her former business partner did for work when the two of them weren’t filming porn together. Knowing wouldn’t have changed anything about the arrangement, and in the first place, keeping herself as far removed from his personal life as possible was simply in her best interest as well.

Although she had never asked, a part of her doubted that delivering packages was his main source of income. This doubt and the decidedly casual state of her dress on the front porch lit the short fuse of her temper and dumped enough fuel onto it to create an eruption of flame.

Burnt, she flung herself forward in search of something to take her pain out on.

“Th’ FUCK are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want nothin’ to do with you no more?!” Lauren barked. “If you think pretending to be a delivery person’s gonna let you get away with it, you got another thing comin’. Tampering with other people’s mail’s prolly illegal, too!”

“And, hey– GET YOUR HANDS OFF’A THAT!”

In her anger, Lauren forgot the importance of the package she had ordered. Snatching it from Yulen’s grasp, she pulled it into her chest to confirm its contents.

A moment’s investment in this dumped fuel onto the flames raging inside her head for a second time. At the same time, however, disbelief prevented her from spewing these flames at Yulen–

A moment’s respite offered Yulen just enough time to advocate for himself.

“I’m hurt, Lauren. I’d have understood if you were just mad about having to see me again, but did you really think that the videos we made were the only thing I spent time on?” Yulen replied. “Everyone has a day job, right? Work isn’t exactly easy to find out here, so I needed to pick up a few extra shipping routes to make ends meet.”

“You never asked if I had another job, so there was no need for me to–”

“THIS ISN’T WHAT I ORDERED, YULEN!”

“Huh?”

“CUT THE SHIT. TH’ LABEL SAYS THIS IS FER AMOS–I DIDN’T ORDER THIS!”

“I never said I was here to deliver a package for you , Lauren. Didn’t I say that seeing you here waiting for it was strange?”

“ Amos Villry is the person I’m supposed to deliver to, not you.”

Abruptly, Lauren’s rage was levelled out by disbelief. The situation itself was perfectly believable– what floored her was the fact that the package she had ordered through the same courier service had likely ended up somewhere else. 

This, too, created a conflict in her mind. The last update she had read on her phone stated that the package was out for delivery in the area nearest the farm plot. Unless the system had blatantly failed, it should’ve been somewhere inside the shipment that Yulen was responsible for.

Her brother’s package displacing her own or some other mishap simply refused to compute in her mind–

Somehow, everything became Yulen’s fault.

“T-There…”

“There ain’t no way that’s true! Even if Amos was supposed to get somethin’ delivered on th’ same day as me, you should still have it! You’re just trying to make trouble for me since I decided to stop makin’ those videos with you!” She spat.

“If you don’t cut th’ shit, I’ll–”

Eventually, Yulen’s calm in the face of her vitriol bled into a display of quiet frustration. As Lauren worked her way through another outburst, he made his way to the exposed face of his van and wrenched it open to expose its contents.

“Go ahead and look, then. If I’m lying, you should find what you’re looking for in there, right?”

“I’ve got time. If it’ll shut you up, you can look for as long as you want.”

Lauren’s instincts nearly saw her fling herself into the opening that had been created for. Ultimately, though, she hesitated.

Time with Yulen had trained her to recognize when she was being manipulated by him. Being manipulated here was utterly trivial, but for her, it was strictly a matter of principle:

She had sworn to never allow herself to be manipulated by him again–not even if avoiding it was to her detriment.

“Not going to? Alright, I offered.” Yulen spat. “I have work to do, so just do me a favor and make sure your brother gets that package. He paid for the safest delivery option possible, so it must be something important.” 

“And one more thing: you may not want to see me again, but so long as you’re living the way that you are out here, you probably will.”

“If you don’t like that, the only thing I can suggest is making some kind of change.”

Yulen had circled around to the driver’s side of the van before warning Lauren this way. Wisely, he took her wordless dismay as an opportunity to excuse himself without any further conflict.

This left Lauren with nothing save her thoughts and the package that her brother had ordered to the house–

A weight as familiar as it was terrifying.

-

10 DAYS PRIOR

For Amos & Lauren, arriving at a fair agreement on the amount of sexual intimacy that a brother and sister could engage in was inevitable. In the wake of their initial confrontation, Amos was made to understand that Lauren would neither back down from her behavior, nor compromise strongly enough to deny herself the opportunity to make good on her intentions (or at least what she suggested them to be). This left the onus of accepting or rejecting the interactions on him: an ideal circumstance for men with deeply-rooted convictions and the stubbornness required to keep them in place.

Amos maintained neither. Although not without strong beliefs on whether regular intercourse with his sister was a good idea, the ‘complexities’ in their circumstance (Lauren’s substance-addled state, for example) softened him to the point of uselessness. Denying her when so much of her mental state seemed to hinge on something that wasn’t strictly bad for him did not strike him as something that a brother ought to do. This belief was set into conflict with one that suggested he avoid sex with her as her sibling until an impasse took shape.

Lauren’s know-how did the rest of her work for her. What she knew about her brother suggested that tacit agreement from him amounted to actual agreement. The longer he waffled on  her whims, the less likely he was to reject them at any point in the future.

This in mind, she removed what little pretense remained in her actions and began to speak and act precisely as her innards demanded.

Together, her behavior and Amos’ molded the shape of their daily lives into something familiar yet unrecognizable.

The nature of these alterations was such that a day that should’ve seen the two of them engaged in an afternoon crop inspection became a day infested (and abbreviated) by slovenly intercourse.

Had it been the normal sort confined to their now-shared bedroom, one might’ve explained away the happening as something ‘expected’. Today, though, Lauren’s hormone-driven adventurousness and Amos’ comical inability to reject it had created a situation that would have been utterly inexcusable in virtually any other setting.

Set in a squat supported by the tips of her sneaker-clad toes that levelled her face with her brother’s crotch, Lauren repeatedly drove her skull from a cheek-hollowing suckle at the nose of his erection to a lip-flattening kiss at the face of his crotch. Several minutes of this had fished a frothed combination of mucus and spittle up from her gullet, a great deal of which could be seen greasing the face of Amos’ crotch and the pubes matted there as a form of slime. Just as much persisted inside of her and contributed to consistently smooth descents of cockflesh through the back of her throat and into her neck.

She was an expert. Not solely at the process of draining a man past completion with her throat, but at the process of draining her brother past the point of completion with her throat.

When the rippling veins bulked across his cocktrunk demanded it, she pivoted from her ceaseless pumping into something that was guaranteed to supplement them in the near future. Bouncing up from her latest kiss at the face of his crotch, she elongated wide sheets of murky spittle across the full length of his shaft until the slogged *PLRPP!* of her lips from off of his tip of length severed them.

This done, she snapped her right hand from its brace of his left hip and snapped her palm into a stifling coil around his glans. Once set, she transitioned into a vigorous, glans-focused pump of her vice along his length–

The only thing louder than the * PLRSH-SCHLRSH-PLRSH-SRLSH-PLRSH * of her increasingly slop-gunked palm along his length was the hissing and squealing of insects threaded throughout the surrounding field.

“Gonna cum?”

Of late, some of Lauren’s bashfulness in the realm of intimacy had been replaced by warm pragmatism. Some of it was owed to the knowledge that she could get away with it regardless of when she brandished it. Most, however, was validated by raw effectiveness.

The more proactive she behaved, the more active participation she secured from her brother.

“Sure.” Short as it may’ve sounded, Amos’ response was accompanied by a seething elevation of his line of sight away from the sexual bedlam his sister had created at his crotch.

By this point, Lauren knew to take sights like this as a compliment.

“‘Kay. Well, face or throat? Doesn’t really matter to me. Just want to make sure you pick th’ one that’ll make you empty your balls out best.”

“You want to walk around in this heat with a smelly mess plastered onto your face?” Amos retorted. “You’ve…you’ve already been sweating a ton. It’s just going to make it grosser for you.”

“...I a-ain’t that sweaty, y’know. Even if I was, sex is gross anyway, so it’s fine.” Lauren replied. “If it helps you out, I don’t mind. Now, c’mon. Pick one ‘fore your dick picks for you ♥ .”

Exactly where Amos’ thoughts were whilst conversing with his sister was debatable. There was no denying the part that he played in each of their couplings–the level of enthusiasm he displayed throughout some of them almost suggested that they were his doing and not Lauren’s.

Nevertheless, moments of attempted detachment persisted for him. He had started the day with sex with Lauren, and had ended up invested in it again barely three hours later. It was far from ‘productive’ for someone who claimed that his entire purpose at his family’s farm was shoring up business in preparation for sale.

And yet–

“...”

“Throat. If yer not gonna look after yourself, I gotta do it for you. What feels best for me…”

Mid response, both the pace and make of Lauren’s stroking changed. The crippling effectiveness of a tight, sharply paced grind of her palm along the most sensitive inches of his shaft had become the norm where her handjobs were concerned. A punishing one, but something he had learned to speak through when circumstances demanded it.

Any deviations from this norm, regardless of their severity, gave both his erection and the core of his psyche a reason for pause.

As if to speed his decision along, Lauren applied herself as only she could. Indifferent to the mucus-slogged state of one of her nostrils (to say nothing of the sweat and slop-greased state of the rest of her face), she dove back down to the peak of his glans and parted her lips. A descent for the placement of her vicegrip meant that more than half of his glans was secured by the warm pinch of her lips while the remainder (and several inches of trunkflesh below it) were consumed by greasy palmpussy.

Had she resumed her throating after the fact, neither of these things would have registered with him. Instead, she blended pumping suckles that stopped just short of the base of his glans with saliva-laden swirls of her tongue around the girth of his shaft. In the midst of matting layer after layer of throatslop across the inches she had targeted, she began turning her wrist in rhythmic half-circles throughout every descent of her hand. By itself, this took the pressure applied by her grasp and created localized intensifications of it across more than half of the vein-studded girth of his shaft.

Being attacked by two separate forms of stimulation at the same time wasn’t new to Amos, either. In this case, though, the synergy of her motions and the shameless perversion that Lauren displayed throughout made her changed efforts impossible to resist.

The moment he dropped his gaze and caught sight of Lauren tonguing, stroking, and kneading a viscous mess across the peak of his shaft, his throat tightened and momentarily halted his attempt at scolding her.

Seeing this made Lauren invest more in her approach. Her ministrations wanted for nothing, yet she followed up what she had observed by briefly kissing her lips to the most slop-sodden fractions of his shaft’s upper half (and the fingers that braced it). Contact became an instance of noisy suction that pulled lubrication from her ‘throatpussy’ across her tongue–

But only until the resumption of her swirling lathered it right back where it had come from.

“W-What feels best for me doesn’t matter if…yer walkin’ around uncomfortable smellin’ like jizz a-all day. You think it’s a joke, b-but it’s really not. There’s actual shit for us to do and you know that.”

Lauren didn’t particularly mind being scolded this way, largely because Amos was only doing so in an attempt at levelling out what she was doing with her mouth and hands.

In the past, her satisfaction might’ve led her to commit to her giggly slobbering for longer than was necessary. Today, she took his words as a reminder to remain on the task at hand. 

As quickly as she had started with it, she abandoned it. Dropping her hand away from his length entirely, she parted her lips a bit wider and dove straight back down along his length. Both her throat and esophagus were so accustomed to the ask that she made of them that the only noise that escaped her skull throughout was a succinct *GLRK*.

Expectedly, the throating noises that followed were far louder.

*GLRK-GLRSH-GLUCK-GLRSH~*

Nothing in these strokes defied the standard that she had set thus far. At the base of her plunges, she gulped against Amos’ shaft to attack its root–an effort that sent ripples all the way down her esophagus. As she pulled herself backward, she flailed and swirled her tongue to tease the worn outer sides of his shaft at the same time.

By instinct, Lauren understood that attacking Amos’ length with anything more intense than this was likely to stimulate him in a way that he found uncomfortable. The orgasm that followed was guaranteed to be larger, but to her, a ‘victory’ like this was hollow.

Understanding on her part led her to compromise. With her throating metronome solidified, she dropped her right hand away from Amos’ hip and back toward his length again.

This time, she plunged her palm even deeper. Below the root of his shaft, the low-hanging spheres responsible (in part) for creating the sludge she was trying to remove poured semen-scented humidity into the open air at all times. There was no stopping this, but at this juncture, she was well within her rights to ‘attack’ them the same way their scent had attacked her.

However narrow and feminine, her hands remained the hands of a farm worker. Now intimately familiar with the girth of her brother’s testicles and how much of them she could capture within the span of her palm, she folded her palm along the drenched underside of his balls and pressed in against them with a level of force meant to inform the organs that they were trapped. 

Between the impression of her fingers across his sac’s backside and the circular grinds of her thumb at its face, her message was conveyed loudly and clearly–

Not only were Amos’ hips drawn into a telling stint of trembling, but the expression on his face tightened as well. 

At the sight of these things, experience guided her thoughts for a second time. All that remained for her in the wake of these transitions was further commitment to her consistency and a display of just enough patience to bridge the gap between the present and her reward.

Understanding this did little to measure her arousal, however. Although she had reduced herself to a sweaty onahole with mucus running out of her nose for her brother’s sake, the satisfaction that she derived from her position had soaked through the well-worn tights she had worn out for the occasion several times over. As well, Amos’ steady plod toward an orgasm and the swelling and throbbing that it introduced into his erection treated her to a level of satisfaction that caused her to squirt through the garment such that the ground between her legs was visibly mired with slime.

Managing herself while such stimulation rippled through her frame required her to lean on the only coping mechanism she had left:

Addressing Amos in her head as if he were capable of actually hearing her thoughts.

“Anytime now’s fine, ya know. There’s not a big rush, but I don’t want you t’feel like you’ve gotta do it at a certain time or somethin’,”

“Didn’t we talk about how you should just clog my throat the way you wanna? Y’can’t use the excuse that I don’t know how to swallow it all properly or that I’d just end up makin’ a mess if you surprised me. I mean, that was never gonna happen with how many times I’ve done this, but you don’t need t’ know that…”

*GLUCK-GLRUCK-GLURK-GLUCK*

“I jus’ want you t’cum down my thropat Amos. Sayin’ this stuff’s out loud is hard, but I want you t’squeeze out so much it gets stuck in my throat like jelly. I-It feels kinda nice, but th’ main is like…like knowin’ that I helped you empty your balls that much,”

“So please cum. Blast your cockjuice down into me ‘till it’s splurting outta my nose. I promise I won’t puke it up so–”

“ ♥♥♥ .”

Correlation does not imply causation. Lauren understood this on some level, but the moment she felt Amos’ hand find the back of her head, everything that she understood was drowned out of her mind by a deluge of stimulation–

Or perhaps it was the sustained torrent of semen that was sprayed out through the lower reaches of her esophagus.

* BLORRRRSSHHHH *

A familiar noise was accompanied by a familiar sensation. After her cheeks were depressed to the face of Amos’ shaft so that the entirety of his length could be slotted into her esophagus, Lauren was plugged into the destruction of the reproductive dam at the root of his crotch and the immediate, urethra-fattening surge of semen through his length. The grotesque splattering noise produced as the beginning of his load erupted from his cocktip reverberated through her skull like a distant gunshot and provided context for feelings of warmth and swelling that descended through her esophagus after the fact.

The familiarity of these sensations briefly masked the intensity of the orgasm attached to them. Despite having sworn to swallow every drop of squirming gunk that was pumped into her, the extent of her esophagus’ fattening with semen triggered an immediate attempt at rejection inside her.

It was very unlike her depths, but understandable when considered in context. The level of effort she had put into teasing and draining his shaft and testicles had fed volume into his release such that the beginning of his orgasm was much more trying than usual. It was the same chewable, ever-so-slightly off-white resin with the same lumpy, jelly-like texture; there was simply so much of it (and so many sperm cells packed into it) that even her trained innards were overwhelmed by it.

The rejection itself went as far as the inside of her mouth. As the beginning of Amos’ release bled into sustained surges of nut that were just as, if not even more trying for her, almost all of his orgasm’s beginnings were rejected from her depths straight back into her mouth.  With nowhere to go, her cheeks were fattened to a state of telling dumpiness, and the mucus oozing from her nose was replaced by messy burbles of excess nut from both of her nostrils.

Lauren refused her body the opportunity to drag proceedings any further than this. Amos’ pinning her face to his crotch provided her the stopper that she required to wrestle her way through these happenings and get herself back on track. 

Furrowing her brow and squeezing her eyes shut were all that she needed to push the contents of her mouth down around her brother’s shaft.

What followed wasn't quite as easy for her to overcome–

Amos’ orgasm had only just begun, after all.

*BLORTTT-BLRRRUPP-BLRSHHHH-BLORRRPP*

The time and effort that Lauren devoted to pushing a fraction of his load back toward her stomach was time that saw her depths filled with even more semen. Her body was quick to establish a new standard of normalcy (which meant that she wasn’t immediately reduced to vomiting), but to keep things this way, she was forced to adapt.

Every noisy gulp she produced to counteract the pressurized splatters of nut toward her stomach became an exercise of mental conviction. Heated sludge fattening her esophagus and squirming against its lining (to say nothing of the inundated molestation at the pit of her stomach) tempted her toward spewing time and time again.

Without an idea of what might happen to her if she succumbed to this, Lauren restrained herself–

Adorably and to her detriment.

“You ain’t gonna puke. Yeah, it’s super gross today. Yeah, you’re gonna be tasting it for a couple hours no matter what you do. Doesn’t matter, though–”

“You ain’t gonna let yourself puke. Swallow. One at a time–like it or not, you’re good at this. If y’feel like you can’t take it, save it for later,”

“Right now, you’re swallowing. You’re th’ one who wanted him to cum so much, so spitting all of it out after is damn near the rudest thing you could do…”

“Specially when he’s enjoying it so much.”

The clarity and focus that her inner voice maintained borrowed equally from her practice at consuming semen and her newfound familiarity (and preference for) her brother’s loads. In practice, it was more natural for her body to persist in mild discomfort with a pool of steaming semen in her stomach than it was for it to go through the process of grinding the substance out of her body by vomiting. Her innards were perfectly capable of doing so all the same–they simply preferred not to for the moment.

Lauren had trained them to be this way. Though her gaze had been harshened somewhat by the strenuousness of her swallowing, her vision went unaffected. Slanting her gaze upward revealed the sight of her brother’s face contracted in pleasure. Growing up with him allowed her to translate the individual aspects of his expression into a nuanced effort that her gulping had required of him:

He was doing everything that he could to remain silent whilst an extremely crippling form of stimulation egged him on to groan.

*GLRPP-GLORPP-GLRPPP-LGRPP…. *

What confidence she felt in the accuracy of this translation was soon validated by reality.

Right from the moment his orgasm began, Amos could not bring himself to terms with how much pleasure assaulted him. The foundation of what he was feeling–this being the sensation of an orgasm inside his sister–was perfectly familiar. How much of it and its intensity were another matter entirely.

When clenching his fist and gritting his teeth failed as catharsis, he turned to internal rumination just like his sister–

“Can’t believe it still feels like my insides are getting drained out like this. There’s no way this is just hormones. I don’t know how, but she must’ve learned how to do this from somewhere,”

“I should’ve figured this out by now. If I actually looked into it properly, it’d be obvious. But I don’t care, do I?”

“She just looks too cute when she’s threading nut through my cock….”

Distracting himself with thoughts along these lines sufficed to keep Amos from opening his mouth right up until the apparent ‘end’ of his orgasm. At this, Lauren responded to the steady thinning of the ropes discharged through his length by ‘encouraging’ the remainder of his seed out as best as she could.

It was overkill, but overkill was in her nature. Seemingly unaffected by her veritable eternity spent at the root of his shaft, she took advantage of his loosened grip on her skull and peeled her lips back up to the peak of his glans. Here, she recommitted herself to a series of starved flutters and swirls for her tongue. Each stint of clockwise motion around its girth or right-to-left scrubbing along its underside was swiftly abbreviated by a sudden dunk of her lips back down to the root of his shaft. Squeezing gulps against phallus veins followed, which wormed the most troublesome spurts of semen from the midsection of his length out between the face of her tongue and the confines of esophagus.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Amos, she only continued with this pattern for as long as she had to. When what turned out to be his final blob of mire found the back of her throat, she ended proceedings by peeling herself up and off of his shaft to the tune of a succinct *Pwuah*.

Seamless as it all seemed, the experience left her winded–

Not so winded as to prevent her from speaking, but enough so to add to the list of inadvertently arousing displays that accompanied sex with her.

“Huuu…huwahhh..huuuhooo…”

“Muwaahhhh….”

Without being asked, Lauren drew a final surprise from the playbook that had been reluctantly drilled into her by ‘validating’ her panting stint. As her breath returned to her, she spread her lips and presented the recently semen-wadded face of her tongue up toward Amos before making a final concerted effort at pushing the noisome remainder into her stomach.

What should have been a fairly simple task for her was complicated by the straits she had placed herself in. Volatility inside her stomach was compounded by the sheer amount of squirming semen sitting inside of it until the organ (and its contents) became a squishy powder keg.

Breathing with her mouth open for even a handful of seconds sufficed to catch air inside her throat. Clearing it was as simple as pushing a short, barely-noticeable burp out of the back of her throat–an utterly harmless display relative to her newfound shamelessness.

Her innards disagreed. Contracting her esophagus for even a moment told her stomach that the time had come for it to empty itself. Lauren recognized the sensation’s onset early enough to avoid the ‘worst’, but by this point, contractions had already carried a cheek-fattening volume of semen right up to the back of her throat.

It was only visible for a split second before she pinched her lips shut. Semen no less glutted for its time in her stomach submerged her tongue and the back of her throat alongside it. Before it could begin spilling over the edge of her lower lip, Lauren closed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from vomiting. 

Success at this did not come cheaply for her. Swallowing what her stomach had attempted to part with again required a mixture of chewing and gulping that was strictly unpleasant for her.

To make matters worse, it was noisy as well.

*GLRSH-GLRSH-GLRP*

*GLRSH-GLRSH-GLRP*

Chained noises along these lines sounded out from her skull in time with the deflation of her cheeks. When all was said and done, a breathless Lauren spewed another weary *PUWAHHH…* that conveyed just how long she had held her breath for.

How unnecessary these were displays failed to register in Amos’ mind. Just as the sounds surrounding them in the field had been quieted by the noises Lauren made with her mouth and hands, his orgasm had deafened him to the squeal of his reason.

As a result, scolding Lauren was deprioritized while praising her became essential.

“...You’re…”

“You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep pushing yourself like that. It’s not going to be any less good for me if you cut yourself some slack.”

Amos should’ve known better than to phrase his appreciation this way–

With Lauren, it only ever resulted in stubbornness.

“Don’t…care…” She huffed, breathlessly.

“As long as ya like it, I’ll do what I want ♥ .”

Lauren Villry’s convictions as a young woman did not allow her to go back on her word once stated. It didn’t matter if her commitments were scrutinized or ultimately forgotten by those she made them to. What mattered was the commitment itself, and the fact that she had made it in sound mind and body. To renege was to suggest that her word didn’t mean anything to anyone, not even herself.

Convictions aside, certain circumstances remained firmly out of her control. In the aftermath of providing some relief for her brother, the two of them recommitted to their pruning as though nothing had happened at all. In fact,  they finished with their remaining work in record time.

Amos’ efficiency was a matter of clear-headedness. His mind had been drained of its capacity for wandering, which allowed him to attack his task in its entirety. 

Lauren’s, however, was a matter of urgency. It didn’t hit her immediately, but her physical condition was not agreeing with the straits that she had put herself in. Leaving her brother to finish by himself wasn’t an option, which left her with no other choice but to push to the end of the task as best as she could. 

Her brother’s detachment from his reality lasted just long enough for her to escape under the pretense of ‘toweling off a bit’–

Per her body’s request, her definition of this activity was warped to include escaping behind the first structure she could find and vomiting pure semen aggressively enough to see excess amounts of the substance drizzle out of her nostrils.

Lauren’s sole concern about the experience was its similarity to other onsets of nausea she had dealt with in the past week. Initially, she had believed herself to be coming down with a flu of sorts. When this theory failed, she naturally assumed that something recently introduced into her diet (other than her brother’s semen) was not agreeing with her.

Today, she had refrained from eating in an attempt to pare down her list of possible explanations. Nothing was allowed to enter her stomach before her brother’s semen, yet she was reduced to doubling over and vomiting all the same.

There were only so many other possible explanations for persistent vomiting that she could lean on. Recent forays into the world of her own femininity doubled her sensitivity to one cause in particular. 

Her symptoms had persisted for too long for her to ignore them–

What remained was ruling out the obvious, or embracing it.

“Blehhhh…”

“God damn. S’like nothin wants to sit in there ‘till it feels like having stuff in it. Amos’ stuff might be ripe, but spewing it all’s just a waste.” She huffed. “If I were sick, I’d have no energy at all. I know what that feels like and this is somethin’ different,”

“Which means…”

Pulling herself upright, the frustration on Lauren’s face was replaced by nervous embarrassment. Vomiting had left the edges of her mouth smeared with an unflattering combination of semen and the odd pubic hair–a circumstance that made her profile oddly perverse depending on how one viewed it.

Her embarrassment went untouched by this perversion. Like oil atop water, it remained bright and undiluted:

Precisely what one might expect from a young woman who had spent most of her life on a farm.

“...Nah. N-No sense in getting all worked up thinking about it. I-It’s…nothin’s real until I confirm it for sure. Until then, I-I’ll just deal with it.” 

“If it’s for this, I-I don’t mind. It’s a good thing no matter what–”

“Amos n’ I might just be meant for each other after all.”